When the dog bites, when the bee stings When I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don’t feel so bad Julie Andrews, The Sound of Music After a full day of writing today, I had a late dinner in a brasserie and then jumped a cab in St. Germain. I asked the cab driver to take the long way back to my motel in the 16th Arrondissement and the cab driver told me, in broken English, that there was really only one way to get to the 16th from St. Germain—a

Oh what a perfect day, I’m glad I spent it with you Lou Reed Back in 1972, I used to sit behind Carole Brennan in our ninth-grade French class. We were both national champion speedskaters, but I could always tell that she was much more into her other sport—in which she excelled equally. Carole was a bicycle racer at heart who passed the wintertime skating because the two sports went hand in hand back when we were kids in the 60’s and 70’s. She was a great skater, but she co

“You using the whole fist doc”? —Fletch Some time ago I was told a joke—the gist of it was, who was the boss of the body. According to the joke, the contenders were your brain, your heart, your lungs, your kidneys, your liver, and sitting silently off to the side of some body cavity or another, your anus. The center of the joke was an argument between the various contenders who had decided collectively that there was far too much democratic equality going on inside you, and

It’s been four weeks since I pulled into my driveway, and I’ve only now been able to clear the road grime out of my ears after a month-plus ride along the Mississippi River and across the deep South. Dirt-filled ears are a certain side effect of a long motorcycle road trip. This is not true for every moto-tourist, as most riders opt for a full-face helmet that covers their ears. But for those of us who wear what they call “suicide buckets,” half shell helmets that prop on the

For years and years, the Maui Chapter of the Sons of Hawaii Motorcycle Club met every Sunday morning in Kahului, in front of an old tree that stood outside of Ah Fook’s Super Market. When Ah Fook’s burned down, we still met under the same old tree each Sunday, but instead of saying “see you at Ah Fook’s,” we’d say, “see you at Burger King,” which was kitty corner to, and shared a parking lot with what was left of Ah Fook’s. Being that almost all of us were hung over, part of

As I sit at the very back of the stern of the S.S. Badger, a flood of thoughts and memories overcomes me. The Badger, an enormous car ferry, is a decades old National Historical Monument, but it is also a living, working, black smoke-belching way to cross Lake Michigan. As I sit with my big feet up on the back rail, watching the seagulls dive bomb into the churning waters and Ludington Michigan fade into the distant horizon, dozens of cars, trucks, tractor trailers, and motor

Oh I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way! —Gordon MacRae, recorded from the movie, Oklahoma! So, there are a few different methods of going on extended motorcycle rides. Up until recently I've stuck to the leisurely, go slow, meander and explore, and never miss a roadside historical sign or a chance to smell the roses—way of seeing the U.S.A. I spent several days in Mississippi where most road travelers would spend a day or three at most, for instance, and

This fucking road is made to kill and maim. —Marcel du Cochon When my sister Rita walked toward me out of her house in Asheville North Carolina earlier this week my first thought was, she sure has aged well. If not for her silver hair, she would easily pass for a beautiful young southern debutante. My second, almost simultaneous thought was, I hope she doesn’t throw anything at me or shoot me. — My dear sister has many reasons why she could hold a grudge against her five-year

Back in ’82 I was given the gift of a visit to Destin Florida with some of my all-time besties: John, Marshall, and Robert Crenshaw, along with Chris Donato, and if I remember right, two guys named Hammy and Haggus. The reason for our visit was a tour stop for Marshall Crenshaw and his band, and it was quite a stop, with plenty of shenanigans and the band absolutely killing it. Robert Crenshaw described the visit better than I ever could on Facebook, and I believe, also in hi

After a few days reveling in Clarksdale Mississippi, I woke up the third morning in my downtown motel singing a song, but not just any song. As I lay in bed, still half asleep and more than a little bit hung over, I nonetheless happily, in my best 1968 Eric Clapton croon, hollered/croaked at my motel room ceiling; I’m goin’ down to Rosedale, tried to flag a ride… Except I didn’t need to hitchhike, because I had my trusty 2021/1969 retro Harley Davidson eagerly waiting outside

Come on back to Friar's Point, mama, and barrelhouse all night long Robert Johnson I was bleeding when I wrote this: It was later in the evening, more towards the middle end of the night when I made my way over to Red’s. I’d already had too much at my previous stop and struggled to park my motorcycle on the cracked up, lurching with old age sidewalk across the street. I could hear the music calling out a few blocks away, and as I approached the beat up, t

I was warned several times from people who care about me that I should stay away from Memphis Tennessee. They said it had the worst crime rate in America. They said it was dangerous and ugly. They made a big deal out of it—so much so that their dire exclamatives had the opposite effect on me. If Memphis was that terrible and horrible and filled with scary, vicious, murderous people who are hell bound train-bent towards preying upon me unto my own tragic, painful death, well,

I must interrupt my regularly scheduled ride Down the Mississippi River programming for this very important special announcement. I turned 69 years old today. I’ve been looking forward to turning 69-years-old since I was a little kid. 1969 was my best year of my life. I peaked in 1969 and it’s been all downhill ever since. I accomplished a bunch of incredible things for anyone, let alone a 12-year-old, and I got suspended from Hamilton Elementary School in Berkley Michigan, i

On the backroad going south out of St. Louis I stopped off at a 24-hour diner for an early lunch. I think it was called Pat’s Diner, but I can’t be sure because I am a member of the Satan’s Seniles Motorcycle Club but anyway, Pat’s, or Jerry’s (who knows?) is the kind of place where everything on the menu sounds like that’s what I want. Until you read the next item. Then it’s, no, that’s what I want. I didn’t know that yet, but from the road the place looked right enough to m

Man, I don’t want to make too much out of it. I know I’m prone to emotional outbursts. Sappy soliloquy. Excessive, and I do mean excessive hyperbole. I even lie and bullshit here and there. Some would emphasize, “A LOT.” But I’ve been dreaming about visiting Mark Twain’s boyhood home since I first read about Tom Sawyer. That must have been somewhere around 1969 or1970, and since then I’ve always looked at a potential trip to where Samuel Clemens grew up as a necessary pilgrim

Follow the mighty Mississippi River on a journey through American history, music, and flavor. From Mark Twain’s iconic river tales to the soulful roots of Delta Blues and the rich tradition of Mississippi barbecue, this tour blends culture, storytelling, and unforgettable Southern experiences into one epic adventure.

Why does death change the way you live? This honest, thought-provoking look at grief and loss explores how death reshapes your perspective, your emotions, and your understanding of life itself.