No, (fortunately) that's not me. It is Carlo Marchi, photographed by Ruth Orkin on August 22, 1951, in Florence, Italy.
The scooter is not a Vespa, but the legendary Lambretta and, in case you are wondering, not every Italian behaves like these jerks.
Members of the
Omaha Scooter Club.
Camping outside of Cortez, Colorado.
A Vespa 250gts manufactured by Italian scooter giant Piaggio - (vespa means wasp in Italian, hence the buzzing theme) - was quickly prepped for long distance touring with a small windshield and a luggage carrier and I was off.
Departure date was set for July 12, 2009 from the parking lot of the Humane Society in Omaha, Nebraska. The Omaha Scooter Club proved very supportive and several members showed up early that Sunday morning, despite the drizzling weather, to escort me out of town.
With this awareness ride I really wanted to stress the importance of spaying and neutering companion animals: in the United States we have made tremendous progress as far as the rights of companion animals are concerned; still, our shelters are overflowing with unwanted pets, people keep breeding dogs and cats in their backyards and puppy mills house animals in conditions that we, as a nation, should be ashamed of.
"Growing up in Italy scooters were everywhere... Oblivious to their (low) maintenance needs, we rode them to school, to the neighborhood field for the daily soccer games or to meet friends during the warm summer nights. We flogged them mercilessly and they just kept on running, sipping gas and spewing very little fumes; short of pedaling, it is a very green way to travel. I plan to buzz across America and, like a stubborn wasp, I will remind anybody that is willing to listen that, if we don't spay and neuter our animals, we will never overcome the tragedy of homeless pets."
What follows is the log of the ride that took me from Omaha to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Utah and back in a 4,000 mile loop on some of America's greatest back roads.
July 12, 2009:
We cruise out of the parking lot of the Nebraska Humane Society in a pack of five scooters with Piaggio being the most represented brand. It is a perfect morning for traveling, overcast and cool, and my ride, freshly tuned by the local scooter shop, buzzes happily down the road. In Lincoln, we find a coffee shop and hang out for a while talking scooters and dogs. Then it's time for me to press on, so I wave goodbye to the members of the Omaha Scooter Club, point the Vespa in the general direction of Colorado and hit the gas. I stay off the interstate, flying at an indicated 60/65 mph on deserted back roads, stopping for gas every couple of hours amazed at the mileage I am getting. At one such stop I pull in the station and skid to a halt next to a chopped up Harley. A wiry biker stands next to it and eyes my scooter skeptically.
His T-shirt reads "Support your local Bandidos!".
"Where you headed on that thing?"
"Utah", is my curt reply.
He looks at my army surplus pants:
"Was you in the service?"
"You is very perceptive!", I reply then remember that the Bandidos are a notorious motorcycle gang engaged in criminal enterprises and decide to quit being a smart ass. I gas up and split. By nightfall I am in McCook, Nebraska, and simply too tired to keep riding. I spot a run down motel and pull in. I seem to be the only guest and 40 bucks buy me a bed and a hot shower.
In the morning, I leave at dawn and quickly reach the state line. As I cross into Colorado, I notice that the scenery is starting to change and that the air feels fresher. The Vespa is running seamlessly and I clock 86 miles on half a tank of gas. I start to see mountains in the distance and make a bee line for Alamosa. I arrive at my friends' home, Robert and Robin, who run a small rescue out of the 40 acres they lease, and I am greeted by a pack of dogs ranging from 15 to 190 pounds. I unload my gear and crash at their place. I will stay here for a few days, visiting with my friends. The next stop will be in Durango, a paltry 160 miles away, so the next day ride will be a fairly short one...
Wolf Creek Pass, elevation 10,550 feet, on the way to Pagosa Springs, Colorado.
July 18, 2009:
I leave Alamosa on a gleaming white Vespa, thanks to Robert that detailed it for me in his garage. It is still early and the sun hasn't heated up the day yet. I climb towards Pagosa Springs and enjoy some of the best mountain views this country has to offer. After a quick stop in Pagosa, I pick up the pace a little and make it to Durango in time for a late lunch. Hundreds of big bikes, American iron for the most, roll into town and I assume that all this two wheel traffic is related to Sturgis and the rally that will happen in early August. The Vespa is a big hit and everybody wants to know how fast and how many miles to the gallon I can manage. Instead, I talk about stray dogs and the importance of being responsible pet owners. I can tell they think I'm nuts, but in a charming sort of way. I chill at the city park and wait the heat out. As soon as it starts to cool off a bit, I crank the engine, grab a handful of throttle and split for Zuma, where I stop at a really cool health food store/coffee shop. Here, I relax talking veganism and animal activism with a few rebels who are loitering outside. Later in the evening, I set up camp in a field just outside of Cortez.
Cortez has a charming old western town feeling; unfortunately, the downtown is dwarfed by a giant Walmart Super Center with a parking lot the size of an airport. Developers, you shall burn in hell for what you have done to America! In the morning I am up at dawn and break camp in 15 minutes flat. The under seat storage swallows most of my gear and the rest is quickly strapped on the luggage rack. In no time I am back on the road determined to make it to Lake Powell by nightfall.
On a whim, I take a long detour through Monument Valley before getting back to the main highway and stopping at the 4 corners for a photo op in front of the sign that marks the intersection of these four western states.
The Four Corners Monument.
Somewhere in Monument Valley, Arizona.
In Kayenta, Arizona, I grab gas and a quick snack then chat with a few locals of the Navajo tribe and marvel at how open yet desolate these lands are. Boy, did they get screwed on this reservation deal! It is so hot that I have no choice but rest under the only tree I can find: riding in these temperatures would probably result in a fried engine...
On my way to Page and Lake Powell, Arizona.
As soon as the sun dips a little lower, I am off. Finally, the blue water of the lake appears like a mirage in the shimmering heat. I am baked and can't wait to park the scoot and grab a cold shower. Tomorrow I will arrive in Kanab a few days earlier for my meeting with Best Friends; a perfect opportunity to tour Zion National Park... If you've never visited this spectacular park, make sure you mark it on your map. You will be awed by its majestic beauty and reminded both of the power of nature and of how insignificant we, the human race, are in the large scheme of things.
Lake Powell, Arizona.
July 22, 2009:
Greetings from Kanab, Utah! 79 easy miles took me from Page, Arizona, into Kanab. I left early to beat the heat and cruised through this small town and all the way up to the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary. Smack in the middle of Angel Canyon, the Sanctuary is stretched over 3,000 acres and surrounded by thousands more of BLM land. From horses to pigs, dogs, cats, birds, rabbits... you name it, they have it. All animals rescued from the street or abusive situations and given a second chance to life. I worked as a dog caretaker here for a couple of years and many of the old timers still remembered me and greeted me with a wag and a smile. I spent the day rolling in the sand with them, hiking on the trails and throwing toys that were happily retrieved and brought back only to be tossed over and over again.
Later in the evening I joined Sherry, Best Friends Animal Behavior Consultant, and several other volunteers to search for a lost dog in the Kaibab National Forest. We hiked around for a while, studied tracks left around watering holes and hacked through the underbrush looking for the lost puppy. We tried every trick in the book, but no dice. A few of the volunteers set up camp in the forest, determined to stick around untill the dog is found. Sherry dropped me back in town and I slept fitfully, wondering about the dog and hoping for the best.
Today, I meet with the editors of the Best Friends Network web page to discuss the programs we are trying to implement in developing nations to humanely control dog and cat population.
Then it will be time to say goodbye and, for many of these old furry friends, it will be my last one. I plan to head north and visit with Skylere who cycled with me in Costa Rica during the 2009 Cycle 4 Strays charity ride. We will talk about next year's event: from the US to Costa Rica to, once again, say no more homeless pets!
My old buddy Smokey, now happily adopted by my buddy Ethan.
Hanging out at the HQ of the Pig Department at the Best Friends Sanctuary.
There are now over 2,000 miles on the Vespa, so I will stop along the way to service it. The step through design and the nicely padded seat make all the difference in the world as far as comfort is concerned during long stretches and, after 10 days of hard riding, I feel happy and relaxed.
Oh, by the way, remember the dog lost in the forest? She was eventually found and reunited with her owner.
Water in the desert is always a precious commodity...
... Daya and Oso, both rescued from the street, cool off after a long hike.
July 26, 2009:
I am camped in the desert about 18 miles northwest of Kanab. The Vespa proved the perfect vehicle to buzz in and out of town shuttling water and supplies to my campsite.
Last night a powerful storm blanketed the canyon with a sheet of rain that reduced visibility to just a few meters and flooded the street, sending rivers of water down the road. The scooter carved a path through the rain, tracking steadily as I fought the cross winds huddled behind the short windshield in an attempt to stay as dry as I could. My tent was fairly flooded, but I snuggled under my fleece blanket and managed to sleep well. At one point I could hear coyotes howling in the distance and this morning I found that a harmless gopher snake had found shelter under the canvass of the tent. I am stoked because Best Friends agreed to let next year's Cycle 4 Strays depart from Dogtown (the dog department at the Sanctuary): a long ride through the southwest, Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua and, finally, Costa Rica to raise awareness and funds to promote spay and neuter programs in these impoverished nations. Very soon I will park the scooter and start training on the bicycle to prepare for the ride. Meanwhile, I can't get enough of this user friendly, light weight scooter that carries me around for mere pennies, requires virtually zero maintenance and runs smoothly never missing a beat...
My home in the desert, just a few miles north of Kanab, Utah.
The Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, Utah.
July 31, 2009:
... I left Kanab yesterday after freezing my ass off in my scrawny tent during the night. Nothing like a chilly night in the desert to remind you of why you should always pack some extra gear. I took highway 89 and cruised north, enjoying a great detour towards Cedar Mountain. Suddenly, it poured. I stopped and quickly donned my rain gear. All bundled up, I kept plugging along at reduced speeds, my feet kept dry by the leg shield and the Vespa tracking with confidence through miles of asphalt extension joints and rain grooves. At the bottom of Cedar Mountain I stopped for gas and rode into a sea of Harleys. A crowd gathered and the usual questions about distance and mileage started... at this point I am so used to it that I try to avoid stopping for gas unless it is absolutely necessary. This last time I managed a 100 miles on half a tank! I swear gas mileage is improving as the engine breaks in; one way or an other, I could not be happier with the frugal habits of my ride: she really is a cheap date! By night fall I arrived in Panguitch and decided to call it a day.
This morning I took my time getting ready and, on a whim, detoured again on 12 through the Paiute reservation. Awesome landscape, fertile green valleys on my right, the rocky desert on my left. A quick stop in Richfield for gas, food and this update then I will press on...
Rio Colorado.
August 2, 2009:
... Some days I ride from dawn to dusk, others only for a few hundred miles because I keep stopping to visit a shelter or detouring to carve up some twisty asphalt. Today I rode to Orem... left around 8am and made it here by noon; safely, if you discount a semi - carrying what appeared to be the blade of a wind turbine - which almost chopped my head off, when the driver made a right turn and let the flatbed trailer swing all the way into my lane. The tapered end of the blade came straight at me, I ducked low and felt a swoosh of air and a light tap on the top of my helmet, the Vespa went into a low speed wobble and I almost ate a mouthful of asphalt, but, somehow, at the last second, I saved it and kept on scootering. It is always a good day when your head is not severed while out on a ride!
I stop at a farmer's market and grab some healthy lunch. Man, do we have a huge obesity issue in this country or what?
Several people are moving down the aisle seated on indoor electric scooters, an oxygen bottle casually placed in the basket, others are lumbering around hyperventilating. What the hell do these folks eat? If this is the crowd at the health food store, I am afraid to walk into Walmart... I catch up with the news and it seems that the talk of the day is that the President had a beer with the VP and two other guys in the backyard of the White House... I don't know what to think... we are still engaged in 2 war fronts, the economy is in the tank, despite all our talk we are still the biggest polluter on the planet, the conditions of animals in rural America rival the ones of third world countries and the biggest headline is the Prez sipping a cold one? What happened to journalism? Didn't Britney Spears get blasted and marry someone or hasn't anybody seen Michael Jackson alive and boarding a space ship? Now, that would be worth reporting!
Ok, have I ranted enough for today? Maybe this long ride is getting to me after all...
August 3, 2009:
Salt Lake City at last! I am elated because this marks the turning point of the trip: soon the sun will be in my face instead of behind me when I cast off in the mornings. The ride up from Orem was simply awesome. I took 89 north and detoured into national forests and state parks, ran up to Park City and cruised around for a while looking for sleeping quarters. In the end, I chose to leave the upscale set up of Park City and found more affordable accommodations, (free), camping in the middle of nowhere. When the lake popped up in front of my windshield, my mouth dropped open: from this angle it appeared as vast and choppy as the Mediterranean sea and it immediately reminded me of arriving to the Tuscan coast near Livorno on my way to the island of Elba, when, exactly 30 years ago, I flogged a Ciao Piaggio 50cc 2 stroke all the way from Milan in a cloud of blue smoke that spelled disaster (I had the Ciao rebuilt in Portoferraio, Elba's main port city, before shipping it back home by train, but that is a whole other story...)
Ciao Piaggio: every 14 year old should have one of these!
Salt Lake is an awesome city. It is a European style city, with a downtown that reminds me of some areas of San Francisco... there's a trolley car mass transit system very similar to the one's of San Francisco and Milan. It is also scooter country with dealers all over the place mixed with some cool tattoo shops. There's a bad ass underground scene with music, clubs and bars. The main Public Library reminds me of a smaller version of the Centre Pompidou in Paris: an all glass and steel structure overlooking the downtown area.
I spend the morning running around town, zipping through traffic making sure I cross the trolley tracks very perpendicularly, a technique learned the hard way growing up in Milan, when traffic routinely pushed you sideways into the tracks, your skinny front wheel locked up and you found yourself catapulted over the handlebars. I check in at Eco Scooters and browse the huge showroom floor with nothing other than scooters and scooter paraphernalia. A whole corner is dedicated to vintage Vespas: they appear beautifully restored and sit low to the ground, their soft flowing lines bringing me back to the summer days of my youth, when coming home from class with a girl hanging tightly behind you made you feel invincible. Those were the days when pack of scooters littered the sidewalks outside of ice cream parlors in the hot hours of the afternoon, a soccer ball casually bounced around, books left unopened in back packs and a new romance blossoming every other week. Safety gear was non existent... cut off jeans, a T-shirt and flip flops being the uniform of a whole generation. Helmets did not belong and we rode carelessly and carefree, sporting the occasional bruise like a badge of honor... Motorcycling at its purest state, the way it was and the way it ought to be.
The Scooter Lounge, in Orem, Utah.
August 5, 2009:
I take a break from scootering and Skylere sets me up with a mountain bike and gear for an afternoon of trail riding. His "loaner" bike is a state of the art, feather weight, Specialized that fits me like a glove. He invites his friend Mandy and she invites her friend Sarah. We meet the girls at the trail head some where in the Wasatch mountains and we get ready to climb. The girls are totally hot and look bike-specifically-fit in a menacing sort of way... I sense that I am going to get royally spanked, promptly lose focus and tip over in the parking lot when I forget that I am clipped in.
The ride turns out to be a beautiful experience with a steady uphill pace through some spectacular nature, followed by a breathtaking downhill ride on a single track trail with plenty of sharp turns and big roots where you can catch some (small in my case) air. In the end, Skylere barely broke a sweat, but I definitely got a solid work out and a wake up call to the extent that, if I am going to be cycling from Utah to Costa Rica (and I am), I better stop screwing around on motorized devices and start pedaling regularly or it will be a painfully memorable experience...
Skylere's basement: don't ask...
... Just came back from having the scooter serviced by Vespa Utah. I arrived right around opening time and they welcomed me in. Dropped everything and went straight to work on my ride. While the guys in the service bay crawled all over my Vespa, I hung out in the showroom talking bikes and dogs with Gill. Vespa Utah has a huge selection of Vespa, Moto Guzzi and Aprilia models and Gill and I check out every single one discussing pros and cons before finally agreeing that the best way to go around the world would be on a Moto Guzzi Stelvio, the ultimate adventure tourer made in Italy. Later, I meet owner Chuck Barber, a fellow Italian and avid cyclist. Chuck is originally from Calabria (the toe of the Italian boot) and he and I talk at length about our home country and the scooter advantage. He tells me that he dreams of traveling to Italy and spending time scootering and cycling over there, so I recommend a tour of the Tuscan hills with stops in Siena, Firenze, Montalcino, Arezzo, before trespassing into Umbria and visiting ancient monasteries and medieval villages. Then the coast, riding on the Aurelia, the road built thousands of years ago by the Romans and, to this day, one of Italy's main arteries.
In a short while my Vespa is ready and I say goodbye to my new friends. If you ever find yourself in Utah on a scooter don't miss the opportunity to visit Chuck and his shop. He offers the best of both worlds: the superiority of Italian motor scooter engineering and the ultimate American customer service.
Tomorrow Skylere and I will cycle again, then, on Friday, I will head straight for the border with Colorado and the town of Paonia. Perhaps a short detour to Moab and the Arches National Park is in order... after all, I might not be back in this neck of the woods for a while.
Also, I have decided that this trip will not end in Omaha: I intend to continue to the east coast, stopping on the way to discuss the No Kill, No Shelter model that I am applying to dog and cat rescue in Central America. From there who knows? I could even consider riding all the way back to Costa Rica. Crazy? Perhaps, but, after all, a hint of madness is the spice that makes life worth living. I hear that the Interamericana is well paved with plenty of gas stations and taco stands strung along the way... I can easily see myself cruising through Mexico towards Guatemala... the more I think about it, the more I like the idea: it would be the perfect way to reconnoiter the route in preparation for next year's bicycle ride. What begun as an easy 500km charity ride has morphed into a much longer adventure throughout the northamerican continent... hopefully it will result in extra attention to the needs of homeless animals. I wonder if they serve vegetarian tacos along the way...
Skylere's dog: Drama, possibly the best behaved puppy in the world.
August 9, 2009:
I had planned to leave Salt Lake City at dawn on Friday, but the night before we went to a free concert downtown, one thing led to the other and we ended back at the house fairly late after bar hopping by bicycle. The concert area was mobbed and the crowd hip hopped to the beat of Qtip and his crew. So, I said good bye to Skylere around 10am and hit the road. Took the long way around through the Wasatch mountains before dropping southeast towards Duchesne, Price and, finally, Green River. A quick loop around Moab brought me back to Highway 70 and I headed for Grand Junction, Colorado. This part of Utah is very desolate and I baked under the sun for a solid one hundred miles before catching a glimpse of the blue water of the Colorado river. The road follows the riverbank for a few miles and just seeing the water on my right hand side wiped away all sense of fatigue.
The Colorado river on the way to Grand Junction.
I turned south on 50, gassed up in Delta, then turned east on 92 towards Hotchkiss before climbing up to Paonia on 133.
Paonia turned out to be a charming mining community with a strong hippie presence. I went to Paonia to visit with Cindy, also a former Dogtown crew member, who now works for Solar Energy International, a non profit that focuses on educating people in renewable energy. In the end, if we want to make a difference in the lives of stray animals in developing nations, we must help communities achieve a higher standard: clean water, electricity, medical care, education, sustainable food programs, these are all elements of the equation. When the community suffers, its animals suffer, whether it is pets or farmed animals we are talking about.
Cindy introduced me to the founder of C.A.W.S. (Citizens for Animal Welfare and Shelter), a non profit that encourages the humane treatment of dogs and cats using a network of volunteers. They do amazing work and are in the process of building a series of Foster Cabins: each cabin will have a fenced yard, house a caretaker and several animals up for adoption. What a brilliant idea: the ultimate rehabilitation tool for abused animals. Dogs and cats will become used to a traditional home environment, making them more suitable for adoption and setting them up for success!
August 10, 2009:
Cindy and I go for lunch at this funky health food store where, every Sunday, there's free food offered to the community. The menu is spelled out on a board and reads "Today Soup & Smoothie" and we help ourselves to a generous bowl of Miso Vegetable Pasta Soup, a thick concoction of veggies and pasta in a miso style broth. I dunk two slices of homemade bread in it and wash it all down with one of the best veggie/fruit smoothie I've ever had. This is totally cool. After lunch we hop on the Vespa and take a long ride through the countryside to Crawford and Black Canyon.
Colorado is impossibly beautiful and the road rolls over hills and through canyons surrounded by spectacular mountains and alpine reservoirs. The Vespa buzzes happily along and I enjoy banking it into the turns. After the straight drone of Hwy 70, these gentle sweepers are a welcome change. The weather is warm, but the air is fresh and the wind in my face doesn't have the hot, dusty texture of southern Utah, where you felt as if you were riding inside a giant convection oven. Tomorrow I head for the Rockies before dropping back towards Alamosa where, once again, I will make a pit stop at Robert & Robin's. So far this ride has been absolutely awesome. I reconnected with friends I had not seen in years and made many new ones. I thought that by now I would be beat and eager to get off this damn scooter, but, instead, I feel happy and relaxed and can't wait to ride again.
Somewhere between Hotchkiss and Gunnison, Colorado, in the Curecanti National Recreation Area.
August 11, 2009:
I made it to Monte Vista, about 20 miles shy of Alamosa. I left around 9am and took the long way around getting purposely lost in several wilderness areas before making to a spectacular blue lake wedged deep into a canyon. Off the pavement, the Vespa handles herself surprisingly well as long as the road is reasonably graded, dry and free of loose rocks. Perhaps Piaggio should consider coming out with a dual sport model: long travel suspension, knobbies and an extra fuel cell... the Dakar Limited Edition, the ultimate Adventure Scooter. I am perfectly happy with my off-the-shelf one, though. Today I even improved my personal mileage record, going 104 miles on half a tank of gas (about 1.2 gallons!) I stopped to fill her up and the clerk inside the station did a double take when I casually said "$1.78 on number two, please" as I dropped a handful of coins on the counter. Lunch was a blueberry smoothie and a slice of banana bread in a coffee shop downtown Gunnison. Great smoothie, excellent banana bread. The shop is decorated with earthy tones and organic shapes and I took my time enjoying a break from the wind that hammered me sideways for most of today's miles. After lunch, I pressed on and arrived to Monte Vista which has a nicely restored mid 1,800s western Main Street full of new businesses in old storefronts. After this short break at the Public Library, I will continue to Alamosa then call it a day. Tomorrow marks the one month anniversary of this road trip: 30 days and about 3,500 miles later I can honestly say that this has been the most enjoyable two wheel adventure of my life. The low speeds allowed me to really see the environments I was traveling through and, thanks to the quietness of the engine and the low emissions, I always felt unobtrusive and welcome. Long gone are the days of pushing my motorcycle out of the campground, (with its engine off), in order not to startle my neighbors with the sudden bark of my Ducati 900 motor breathing through virtually straight Conti pipes. Sure, twisting the throttle wide open on the Vespa doesn't result in the forward rush the Duck routinely delivered, yet the Vespa's almost silent power plant propels you effortlessly down the road, delivering a floating sensation that becomes almost hypnotic...
A lonely stretch of highway in the Cochetopa Hills, Colorado.
August 15, 2009:
After a couple of days in Alamosa, I am back on the road heading north towards Breckenridge. As the miles roll by the temperature drops and I start feeling cold. I stop in Alma and stare at Mt. Lincoln, elevation 14,286 feet. At the top of Hoosier Pass I am shivering uncontrollably. On the long descent into town I seek shelter behind the windshield and try to stay focused. Once in Breckenridge, I duck into the first coffee shop and regroup with a scalding mug of tea in front of me. I sit there for what seems like an eternity, then I pull every piece of clothing from my dry bag and layer everything on. Simply too cold to stick around and enjoy the sites, I waddle up to the Vespa, crank the engine and blow out of town in hope that lower elevations will bring warmer temperatures. As soon as I hit SR6 to Golden I feel the first drops of rain, but I am already all bundled up in my rain gear so I just keep on motoring. The road twists and turns its way into Golden and I enjoy the spectacular views despite the miserable weather. I arrive in Wheat Ridge, find my way to the house of my friend Marla and soon the sun is shining again. I park the Vespa, hop in her truck and we take off for the mountains and a nice long hike with her dog Rio, a Beagle mix she rescued from the streets of Puerto Rico. Marla volunteers for Best Friends and coordinates the volunteers that contribute to the Central and Latin American Network. She is smart and a true animal advocate and talking to her is pleasant and refreshing. Later, she feeds me a delicious meal of quinoa and veggies, then we go out and catch the tail end of a free concert at the city park. I wish I could stay longer, but I need to be in Miami by the end of the month, so tomorrow I will cross back into Nebraska and make my way to Omaha, where this whole Vespa thing started.
Once a stray on the streets of San Juan, Puerto Rico, now Rio enjoys the quality of life that every pet should be lucky enough to have.
August 17, 2009:
I leave Golden fairly early after some home cooked Buck & Blue (buckwheat & blueberries) for breakfast. I weave my way through Denver then hop on the freeway for a short stretch in the general direction of Ft. Collins before picking up SR 34 and heading east to Omaha.
As I near completion of the big Nebraska-Colorado-Utah loop, fatigue starts seeping in and, suddenly, I can't wait to near the finish line.
The ride back to Omaha is an uneventful one: just a very long, straight stretch of highway flanked by open fields and some very tall corn. By evening, I am fried and call it a day in Hastings after 10 straight hours of scootering. I spot a motel sign and pull in, hand my credit card to the clerk and sign on the dotted line without even noticing the price. The place turns out to be cheap, but also a dump. The door to the room next to mine is wide open and the occupants have spilled out in the parking lot, a case of beer sitting on the concrete in the midst of them. They seem friendly enough and I answer the usual questions about mileage and top speed before crashing with my clothes on. The party outside goes on till the wee hours of the night, but I am simply too tired to care and sleep like the dead. In the morning, I am up at first light, bungee my gear to the luggage rack and hit the gas. It stormed during the night and the road is covered by a film of moisture. My wheels kick up a nice spray, but there's no traffic whatsoever so I stay dry. Soon I am in Lincoln and stop at the same coffee shop that marked the first pit stop of this ride exactly 36 days ago. I order some hot tea and check the odometer: 4,247 miles, 500 of which were logged during the break in period prior to my departure.
An hour later I pull into my friend Vicky's driveway. Vicky and I met in 2003 at Best Friends, when I was a caretaker at Dogtown and she came as a volunteer. A police officer with the Omaha Police Department, she is very involved with animal rescue and has six rescued dogs in her home. Each one with a sad history of neglect and abuse, so it is wonderful to see them happy and well adjusted. In the end, animals need so little to be relaxed: that's why it is difficult to understand why so many people inflict such cruelty on their pets, whether physical or emotional, intentionally or not. There is nothing I enjoy more than to visit a former stray, listen to the story behind the rescue and see the enormous progress induced by a little veterinary care, regular meals and lots of love. Seeing first hand former strays blossoming into wonderful companion animals renews my commitment to this cause.
I switch off the engine and sit there for a few seconds. I reflect on this last adventure and feel satisfied... I rode through some amazing nature and met some very interesting people. I also had some very productive meetings and set the stage for the next fund raising event: the 2010 edition of Cycle 4 Strays will depart from Dogtown on January 23rd and arrive in San Jose`, Costa Rica, about 50 days later, weather, traffic, bandits, etc. permitting.
After that it will be time to get serious about a job because the state of my finances is now best described as "sorry." Still, I don't regret a thing. I dropped out in the summer of 2002, quit my job as a kayaking/fitness instructor in Miami's trendy South Beach, loaded my 3 dogs in a clunky Volkswagen bus and headed west. After 2 years at Dogtown the same bus took me to California where I spent 5 years in a 9' x 9' cabin, with no running water and no bathroom, smack in the middle of the forest while I cared for about 100 rescued dogs before heading to Central America and cycling for charity. At 48 years old, my 3 beloved dogs buried in the woods of northern California, I now live an errant life: I have engineered a system of existence that is free of the constraints of modern society. The flip side can be loneliness and discomfort, but I am blessed with great friends who cheer me on in my efforts to contribute to the global fight to end animal suffering.
My home in the woods of northern California: 5 long years I spent in this tiny cabin, yet I loved every single moment, the dogs making up for the lack of traditional amenities with their unconditional love and friendship.
Behind the cabin, a young Douglas fir marks the grave of my 3 dogs, Trudy, Bluto, Dino. The earth is your blanket, the grass your soft pillow, the wind your night sentry... Sleep tight, my friends: wherever I go, you are always with me.
Post scriptum:
After stopping at Leisure Life Sports of Omaha, where - once again - Marco and Ryan went to bat for me hooking me up with the service department for a quick oil change, I took off and cruised to Kansas City to visit Brandi, Anthony and their dog Sadie, who was one of my protegés at the Best Friends Sanctuary.
The ride from Missouri to Florida had some interesting moments, especially in the Ozarks, where I met a few wild characters. I arrived in Saint Petersburg rolling on a bald rear tire, so I promptly called Michael Wolf of Vespa Tampa and arranged for some maintenance work. Michael adopted a flat coated Retriever 8 years ago and we had a nice visit discussing dogs and scooters. He serviced my Vespa at cost to show his support for this project.
The odometer on the Vespa now reads 5,976 miles and I am ready to take a long break from it. A very long break.
