It’s hot in the middle of the day en route through Lake Hughes and the Rock Inn for lunch. Total time thus far is about 90 minutes. My route was the 126 to a few miles on the 5, then Lake Hughes Road.

Two choppers looked like they were just delivered on a time-machine from 1969. The riders looked the same.

The 126 was dense with truck traffic and impatient cage drivers. The only CHP unit thus far was in Fillmore. Highway 178E en route to Kernville was busy with CHP and Sheriff deputies rushing Westbound.

As a newly-minted amateur phenomenologist, today I experienced distracting discomfort, diluting my appreciation of post-apocalyptic, burned meadows and hills.

In Kernville, Ewings Steak House is excellent, for at least an 8-oz hunk of Salmon. It’s officially my spot.

I like my spot for the night, the Whispering Pines. Rooms 105, and 106 are my favorites to select from.

I have about 183 miles to home tomorrow AM. The route is all freeway — I’m testing my tolerance for 180-200 miles of freeway/interstate..

I’ll leave early, when it’s not 100F and less windy than later in the day.

I’ll stop at the Mojave Starbucks. It’s half-way.

Launched at 0630 into a beautiful morning. The Whispering Pines motel is now a favorite at Kernville.

What about Santiago?

My alter-ego is beginning to develop. This has been a rare excursion solo on a motorcycle. I believe experiencing this alone is impactful — a lot of self-talk. I feel an absence of responsibilities. I’m not thinking about work. After decades of my mind serving complex technical challenges, it’s free to explore philosophical topics — such as who am I really? I am a husband. I was a father. I was a prolific medical device inventor. I was an executive. Now, I am the boss of only me.

For the preceding 77 years, “me” was a composite of me and who people manifested in me. For the years ahead, my Santiago is liberated.

K

Why Two Wheels? Two-wheeled machines require continuous input. In a car, we ride in a bubble, insulated from nearly everything beyond the tinted windows and the controlled environment.

Phenomenology is a word that I repeatedly misspell.

Phenomenology is the careful study of conscious experience as it is lived and perceived, before theories, assumptions, or scientific explanations are added.

If philosophy were a traffic accident:

  • A physicist measures the skid marks.
  • An engineer inspects the brakes.
  • A lawyer asks who is liable.
  • A phenomenologist asks: “Can we take a moment to explore what the collision felt like?”

Because operating a two-wheeled machine is continuous, I sought to dive deeper into how I perceive the experiences.

I began on a bicycle. I imagine every child is introduced to the bicycle, first with training wheels, then comes a day when the extra pair of wheels are removed — and with a loving shove, the parents shriek with pride and joy as junior wobbles down the sidewalk. Freedom! The child can now roam for miles — his world radically expands, liberated by a pair of wheels.

Armed with a few weeks of experience pedaling the two wheels, clothespins and playing cards attached to the spokes sound like a motor. Terrific idea! Motorize the bicycle!

My parents gave me a motorcycle when I was 15 and a half, I obtained a permit and began riding Northern California freeways and backroads.

The motorcycle was when I began to think about what I was experiencing.

Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was required reading. I digested and regurgitated as necessary for the course — but I did not appreciate it.

I backed into this study through seeking to understand how I process experiences in motorcycling. I’ve been attracted by adventures as a pre-teen — as family experiences and in solo adventures.

At the age of 10, my parents volunteered me to live and work as a ranch hand for an elderly couple on their 100-acre ranch in Washington state. Lee Anderson was 70-ish at the time, and had been a working cowboy decades earlier. I milked cows, drove a tractor to spread bales of hay, fed chickens, cleaned farm implements, and enjoyed my daily reward of saddling and riding a beautiful palomino throughout the forested portion of the Anderson ranch.

At home I rode my bicycle alone into Washington’s countryside to fish and eat handfuls of blackberries. Even at the age of 10, I enjoyed the experiences.

I’ve fought in karate matches, ridden a dirt bike in jungles in the Philippines, served in the Air Force, and authored more than 100 issued U.S. patents teaching medical devices. I’ve owned and flown 2 airplanes. I am married and was so twice before. I am a father, and raised my Son with sole custody since he was 10. He was drafted by an MLB team as a right-handed pitcher; but decided not to sign. My father taught me to ride a motorcycle and was my flight instructor.

The things my eyes have seen…Experiences, thousands of experiences.

Last year, I sold my beloved Cessna Skywagon.

mine

I sold my 23-year old Harley and bought a new BMW motorcycle, an R1300RT.

mine

For the past few months, I’ve frequented a nearby motorcycle gathering spot, the Rock Store. I arrive early on Sunday mornings — it’s Church. I’ve met several guys who have ridden for weeks, spanning thousands of miles. I became curious to learn why people ride for long hours on two wheels. I began to unpack the complexities of what I enjoy about motorcycling and its human-powered relative, the bicycle. I bought Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for the second time in 50 years.

There are far fewer summers ahead than behind me.

I discovered phenomenology, a study of the experience of the experience.

I’ve found a book.

https://a.co/d/0c9vsKaZ

My objective is to sharpen my senses to appreciate the experiences ahead in motorcycling while my body continues to obey my mind. The two have occasional arguments.

https://www.relive.com/view/vevWzgYyzGq

We joined a group of about 100 bikes on a guided tour of Ventura County police and fire stations. The mission was to show group support for our county’s first responders and honor the courageous acts by a police officer killed in the line of duty. It’s annual event.

One of the stops

I have been interested in why some motorcyclists ride for days and thousands of miles, and typically solo. My trusty assistant, Claude.ai, has helped by introducing phenomenology.

Decades ago, I rode a BMW R100S into Death Valley National Park (DVNP) in July with two acquaintances. I carried little equipment, a sleeping pad and bag, and a small jug of water. Each time we stopped, the Sun began to bake our skin, and every breath exhaled precious moisture. Dehydration? What’s that to a 30-year-old Boomer? At one stop inside DVNP, an epiphany flashed into my mind. If my engine quits, I will surely die. I spent one night on the ground at a campsite, and my associates drank until they were unconscious. As the Sun rose over the horizon, I loaded my bike — it started, and I headed home. The discomfort was too high to achieve a meditative state. Flow state? No, a survival state with the Sun rising at my back was my focus, and the major flow was sweat.

Over the past eight months, Jen and I have ridden a BMW for 2-3-day trips in comfortable weather, wearing great gear. We are planning week-long adventures, all within California. I’m seriously considering two weeks or more on the road in the U.S., and we are looking at European motorcycle tours. Phenomenology has helped me to understand the why.

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