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  • robertfarago1

Lord I Was Born A Random Man

In three weeks, I leave Austin. Come June 1, I'll hop on my Bimmer and begin blogging my year-long Ridiculously Random Motorcycle Tour. The stress of leaving my life as she is currently lived is taking its toll. I've started taking to myself. Don't worry. I'm not completely crazy...

I wear earbuds when I'm talking to myself outside, so people think I'm having a conversation. To help sustain the illusion I pepper my rants with occasional tech bro terms: disruptive, innovative, agile, pivot, synergy, deep dive, disintermediate and scale. I used to shout "unicorn" (a.k.a., a start-up valued at a billion dollars), until a homeless person asked "you see one too?"

It works so well that I recommended earbud self-talk to another homeless person. Sorry, "unhoused person." I've had real trouble switching to the new PC term, after the aforementioned unicorn-spotter thought I called him "unhinged." Anyway, he/she/they didn't seem particularly interested in looking like a tech bro'.

You Can Dress 'Em Up...

You ever heard the expression "If everyone hung their problems out on a washing line they'd take their own back when they were dry"? Whoever deployed that one successfully should sell timeshares. But point taken. We all have our own cross to bear, although none of us should cross a bear or barely cross a raging river (hint: completely cross it).

My problem isn't my metaphorical laundry or timeshares – other than the psychological damage caused by Chuck McDowell, CEO of Westlake Financial Group. Played ad infinitum on [John McEnroe's You Cannot Be] Sirius XM, Mr. McDowell radio ad promises to extricate timeshare owners from contracts written by mafia lawyers, under the direction of experienced leg breakers.

My problem: my actual laundry. What clothes do I pack for a motorcycle trip that pinky swear promises to subject me to a farrago of weather conditions?

An alternative weather motorcycle jacket, a Gerbing heated vest and Dianese waterproof trousers fill an entire pannier (pants and saddlebag to you Yanks). The other has just enough room for a week's worth of cigars and a toothbrush.

I've got be extremely selective about which clothing I choose to accompany me into the American and Canadian hinterlands.

No doubt the big Bimmer's Texas-plated bad assery will elicit a succession of narrow-eyed "you're not from around here are you?" comments. I'm hoping sartorial splendor will put locals at their ease. That said, finding a way to pack a tuxedo without creasing it to ragamuffin status is proving problematic.

The Devil's Plaything

My mind and mouth may be running wild, but my hands are not idle. I'm busy fixing the 300+ posts transferred from Substack.

Every post that made the exodus must be tweaked: pictures reduced, paragraphs separated, YouTube videos embedded, categories chosen, tags added. To all those readers who complained that I was too prolific: correct! Payback is an OCD bitch, riding me like INSERT PORNOGRAPHIC REFERENCE HERE.

Also enervating: getting my main media man Michael to make the design tweaks that my Adderall-fed OCD demands. He's done an excellent job so far, but I'm not sure the world champion whistler understands that progress isn't perfection, as my rehab counselors never said.

Or that "taking the weekend off" is as foreign to me as Mies Vailla Menneisyyttä, the 2002 Finnish film where Markku Peltola saapuu junalla öiseen Helsinkiin ja nukahtaa puistonpenkille, jolloin kolme rikollista pahoinpitelee hänet. Obviously.

Gladiator Ready!

While I don't have the will and the skill, the speed, the strength and the heart to be a Gladiator, I'm reasonably sure I'm mentally, physically, emotionally, financially and spiritually prepared to sit on a motorcycle for six to eight hours. day.

Especially as I've overcome some of the techno-logistic issues.

Noise-cancelling earbuds have cancelled my concerns about going deaf. A Shoei Neotec 2 convertible helmet evokes Matrix moments, and lets me to prise apart the ear-covering bits and remove my lid without sending the BOSE or Apple Pro earbuds flying for the nearest sewer drain.

A Quad-Lock mount on the handlebars juices my iPhone on the move and gives me on-the-move access to Apple and Google maps, and the 165th episode of Black Sails. A Chubby Buttons controller on the opposite side lets me control my music.

Other than the world's worst fabric repair on a tiny portion of the seat, I reckon the Special K bike is now perfect for this trip in every regard. Especially if you give warp speed and slick sticky handing the highest priority.

Twisted Sisters

I'm about to embark on a practice run to Texas' famed Twisted Sisters, overnighting somewhereorother. It's got nothing to do with Dee Snider, although timid bikers have been known to say "we're not gonna take it." And rightly so.

This 100-mile loop is, without a doubt, among the best, most challenging motorcycle roads in the state. The route follows canyons and climbs jagged, steep hills; the roads offer many tight, twisty curves with shear drop offs alongside and not much in the way of guardrails. In one 15-mile section, there are approximately 65 curves! Experienced riders bliss out on this ride. Beginners are cautioned to focus on the road—even when a panoramic vista pops up along the way.

I love the fact that would have us believe that people crash on the Sisters because they're distracted by natural beauty, rather than driving like mucho macho maniacs. Or, it must be said, forgetting to top up with water in the billion degree heat.

Health /Sanity Check

Examining a heat rash that looks like a tropical disease gone wild, Doc Garrett asked me why I was doing this. "Adventure is worthwhile in itself," I demurred, quoting Amelia Earhart, presumably before she disappeared. Although I'm convinced Amelia married a post-plastic surgery Elvis in a Hackensack, New Jersey.

That's one place not on my agenda, consisting of places I don't want to visit. Generally speaking, I want to avoid large cities. And... that's about it. To see if I can avoid the bright lights of big cities, please follow along as I blog this shit out of my peregrinations (#falcons4eva).

At some point before exfiltration, I'll have an email Bat Signal in place to alert you to posts emerging from my fevered imagination. Fetid? Let's go with keen journalistic mind.

I sincerely hope this FREE website finds a wider audience and new writers (text 401 835 5054 to apply). We shall see. But I'll carry on regardless, As Jack Dixon said, "If you focus on results, you will never change. If you focus on change, you will get results.”

Meanwhile, I should probably stop talking to an empty condo and transcribe this recording. Testing. Testing. One. Two. Three.

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1 Comment

May 15

Well, it's time to get out. We have to touch Indians. We have to see the mountains and the prairies and the whole rest of that song.

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