Gettin' ready to get ready.

I'm one of those guys who owns a couple of cars at a time and is constantly trading, buying and selling them.
It's definitely not the way to build up one's savings, but I've had the pleasure of driving a myriad of cars in my life. From 60s MG sports cars, hot rod Mustangs, hot rod and working class pick up trucks, luxury cars, VW campers and vans.
(Just for the record my favorites were my "built" 1967 Mustang Fastback, my hot rod 1964 El Camino and my 1972 VW Westfalia Camper.)

Anyhow, I currently own a 1990 GMC Safari cargo van, a child molester's special with no windows.
It started life as a beer delivery van. They painted it blue, insulated the inside and put rough paneling all around the inside to keep the flying beer kegs from denting the walls.

The next owner owned a pawn shop in Eugene, Oregon where the law wouldn't let him put up an overhead sign. He painted it bright orange and stuck decals all over it advertising his shop and parked it out front. It sat for years with only occasional trips to the post office.

There is a law engraved on the wall at the Cosmic Joke Control Center that states any vehicle I find that is a good deal and runs great MUST be painted screaming orange, industrial yellow or some other painfully loud color.
With a few vehicles I've just gritted my teeth and driven them anyway but with most I've broken down and laid out the bucks to have them painted.

Not only was this van the same color as the county road crew vehicles (they always waved to me thinking I was on the team,) it had decal residue that would just NOT come off. People would ask me where my pawn shop was.
CASH, GUNS, GOLD, VIDEO EQUIPMENT screamed from the sides.
I tried every chemical I could find to get it off. I tried steel wool. Nothing would remove it. I'd bet a bag of donuts that shooting it into space and re-entry into the Earth's atmosphere wouldn't burn it off. The only recourse was to sand it down to the metal.
Since I was going across country, I needed to fix things up for camping; build a bed, rig up a place to hang clothes, etc. So I decided to paint the damn thing while I was at it.

A couple of inquiries at paint shops floored me. They wanted more for a paint job than I had invested in the whole vehicle! They wouldn't even give me a discount for being a senior on social security! "Screw this." I says to myself, "I'll do it myself."

I went down to the hardware store and looked at rattle-cans but figured that it would take a few cases of cans to cover that orange paint. The paint lady at the store asked me what I used the van for. I told her and she said "It sounds like you got a huntin' van. Why not just camo it? Use flat latex, put it on with a roller and you're ready to roll. You won't be worried about tree branches scratching it out in the woods. Just slap some other color on it to touch it up."

Perfect! my new motorcycle is a military model in Russian camo, so the van will match.

Kerouac had his Oldsmobile, the Merry Pranksters had their Magic Bus and Sgt Stumble will have Rolling Camo.

...more follows...

Choosing the ride.

Remember travelling when you were a kid? "Are we there yet? When do we get there?" I've always had that feeling in my gut about work. When do I get to the end and get to do what I really want to do?

Well, I finally got there. Actually, I retired about 5 years ago (!) but it's taken me that many years to get my mind around it. It was impossible for me to undo 42 years of conditioning overnight. After all, I AM a first child.

Then I discovered that in order to figure out what it is that I REALLY want to do, I had to jettison a lot of material "things" that I had dragged into my new life. I discovered those things were dragging me down, keeping me tied to old ideas about what I had to own to be happy. Keeping me from being light on my feet and ready for new action.

Now that I've lightened the load, I'm still not sure what it is I want to do but I know I've always wanted to travel around the USA and see the sights.
I figure I'll follow that lead and see what follows.

At first I thought of walking. Very tempting but nah, too many weird people and you can't carry even a pistol for self-defense these days.
How about a bicycle? I've logged many miles on touring bikes. But back problems rule that out.
Next thought, traveling by motorcycle. Nah, not enough cargo space and motel rooms would soon empty the treasury.
How about the sidecar? More space for camping gear but the idea of sleeping on the ground every night (more specifically, getting up off the ground in the morning) sounds like an invitation to an addiction to pain-killers.
Then I looked at my van. Aha!

All through the 60s I was in the Air Force, overseas mostly. When I was discharged in 1970, I returned to San Francisco and an alien landscape. Men had long hair. Women burned their bras. All went barefoot, in spite of the piles of dog crap on the sidewalks. Graffiti on the walls said I should "Question Authority." All of this while the coolest music of all time played in the background.
Naturally, I was up for this! I let my hair grow for 9 years, joined a rock-n-roll band and bought a van. With the 8 track playing Van Morrison and the Allman Brothers, I explored the west coast, even down into Mexico, sleeping on a sofa bed in the back.

Now that's the way to travel. Comfortable bed, no leaky tent or wet sleeping bag, no motels and plenty of old time rock-n-roll on the CD player.

I can also indulge another passion of mine by bringing my sidecar motorcyle along on a trailer. That way I can find a nice place to set up camp for a few days and use the motorcycle to explore the area. One advantage with a sidecar is it's not threatening to citizens like a regular motorcycle. It actually encourages strangers to come up and start a conversation.

If there's one thing I really love about life, its listening to people's stories. Everybody, from the person that cleans the toilets to the person at the head of a corporation, has a story. Some oddball on a sidecar may be enough to get them to open up and tell me that story. And also to tell me where to find the best pie in town.

...more follows...

The journey begins

When does my journey begin? With the first step out the door? Or back to the moment the idea of the journey was born? Or maybe back when I graduated from high school and set out on my own? Or how about when I was born?

Well, so much for the philosophical bullshit. It's starting now, with a brief overview for those who haven't heard.

The plan is to drive my van (1990 GMC Safari cargo, for those of you who care) with a trailer in tow, loaded with my Ural sidecar motorcycle.

The first known destination is Kansas where I drop off the Ural to its new owner.
The next known stop will be in Arkansas where I pick up my new Ural Gear-Up, a military model sidecar motorcycle, painted in Russian camo.
The only known stops after that are in Tennessee and Indiana. The rest of the trip is totally unplanned but I want to see the Great Lakes, Mount Rushmore, and Wolf Point, Wyoming.

No schedule and no time restraints. I'll just keep going till the gas money runs out.

My only requirements are to avoid any cities over a certain population (I'll work out the size on the road) and to only use backroads.
I'll be roamin' the lone prairie, hearin' the coyotes howl and eatin' home-made pie at every opportunity.

...more follows...