Episode 34 of the Rider Magazine Insider Podcast is brought to you by Fly Racing. Our guest is Cat MacLeod, the man behind Leod Escapes “Track and Tour” motorcycle tours, which combine track days at MotoGP circuits with multi-day scenic sport tours in Italy, Spain, Germany, Australia, and other destinations. Leod Escapes is celebrating its 10th anniversary in 2022. We talk about what makes Track and Tours unique, what makes for a successful tour, and what tours are available this year. Cat’s an interesting guy who has turned his passions for track riding and foreign travel into a business. Other than professional racers, not many people can say they’ve ridden on 10 MotoGP tracks like Cat has. You can find Leod Escapes’ 2022 Track and Tour calendar at leodescapes.com. You can aslo read our review of a Leod Escapes tour in Italy that included a track day at Mugello.
You can listen to Episode 33 on iTunes, Spotify, and SoundCloud, or via the Rider Magazine Insider webpage. Please subscribe, leave us a 5-star rating, and tell your friends! Scroll down for a list of previous episodes.
Though rarely on my bike these days, Hannah’s always along for the ride. Photo by Tristan Willey; other photos by the author.
The room is dirt cheap and smells it. I’ve been on the road for five weeks now, mostly camping to save money, and as I lay on the squeaky bed counting flies on the ceiling, I’m suddenly sick for fresh air. But nothing feels fresh in this part of Philly. The only thing I can think to do is pack up the bike and ride.
Though it’s not even 4 a.m., I find a young guy in work clothes sitting on the curb between our rooms, undoubtedly waiting to be picked up for some ass-kicking shift. He watches as I load up my BMW R 1200 RT test bike. Beyond “Hi” we don’t share a language, and it’s clear he’s baffled by the middle-aged lady with the big motorcycle, but I get a double thumbs up as I throttle away.
The Gold Wing Tour DCT devours backroads as eagerly as it does interstates.
My first task of the day is riding 200 miles north to swap the RT for a Honda Gold Wing Tour DCT. I’ve been testing bikes as I slowly crawl around America searching for its best roads. I tell people that when I return to the West Coast, I’ll write a book about what I’ve found, but really, it’s all an excuse to run. And yeah, we all know it’s not always the answer, but if you’re on the right bike, it sure can put some distance between you and dissatisfaction.
I’ve just returned from New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine on the RT, and am not quite sure where to point the Gold Wing. The one thing I know for certain is I want to be somewhere memorable on my birthday, and I have just one day to get there.
THE KEYS TO A PLAN
Pancakes embody my love of the road. I never eat them at home, but boy how I love to tuck into a full stack with a side of bacon when I’m traveling by bike.
Does anything say road trip better than a hot breakfast in an old-school diner?
As I wait in a kitschy diner in upstate New York for a Honda rep and the fob to my fresh ride, I surf my notes, woven like a fragile net intended to encase what’s been meaningful about my trip so far. Everything is about the roads: their surface quality, the number of twists and undulations, surrounding scenery, traffic density, the character of the towns on either end. I feel taxed. Like rating so many roads has taken the fun out of riding.
I zoom in and out on my map, frustrated. Where to splurge on a birthday layover? And then I feel that familiar tickle. A wild hair. This time in the shape of the Florida Keys, with Key West a formidable 1,502 miles from my current location, and the start of my birthday just 36 hours away.
The Honda Gold Wing is brilliant on long, straight roads and tight, twisty ones.
Just before noon, I’m shooting onto I-95 South aboard a candy red Gold Wing Tour. The bike, one of my perennial favorites, feels familiar, even in its modern, more lean and athletic form. The first time I tested a Gold Wing, it was a 1987 GL1500SE for Rider. I remember being transfixed by the way its enormity disappeared once it was moving. That sleight of hand has only become more pronounced over the years as Honda oh-so-slowly refined its Wing, especially in this sporty sixth-generation version, with its state-of-the-art rider aids and electronics.
CAT’S IN THE CRADLE
As the afternoon air thickens, I remember the poison ivy. Both of my ankles and shins are covered in an angry rash, punishment for getting a peek through the window of an overgrown church near Chesterhill, Ohio, a couple weeks back while I was checking out the famous Triple Nickel, Highway 555.
The price for a quick peek inside this abandoned church was a raging case of poison ivy that lasted for weeks. Luckily, my Facebook friends have lots of advice on curatives. The most popular suggestion is ocean water. The one that actually works is a steroid injection.
While trying to curb thoughts of ramming a hairbrush down my Sidi boots, I notice I’m buzzing New York City for the second time today. So close to the most important person in my life, my adult daughter, Hannah, who’s living in Brooklyn. You’d think I’d spend my birthday there, but the hard truth is, my kid just moved into a one-bedroom with a guy she’s super serious about, and I’ve already popped in and out too many times over the last couple weeks. It makes me feel all “Cat’s in the Cradle,” but I get it, and it feels right to give her space.
As a huge thunderhead slowly walks its way across the horizon, I shuffle through memories of rides a younger Hannah had taken behind me. Countless trips in the U.S., but also adventures to places like Namibia, Greece, Scotland, and South Africa. A couple days ago, I did manage to get her on the back of the RT for a little run up into the Catskills. Once away from the city, I felt her relax against the top case and sink into her love of being on the bike.
How satisfying it is to have someone in your life who understands the deeper value of motorcycles, who gets what it means to be called to the road. Because it’s not just about machines and transportation. A motorcycle is an open window, a free ticket to a fully immersive experience. Not a lifestyle. A way of living.
GOOD NIGHT
It’s pouring rain all the way from D.C. to Richmond, and I’m happy for the stability of the big Wing. I’ve signaled to the Tour model’s electronic suspension that I’m one-up with luggage and toggled to Rain mode in case there’s a slow down or emergency, but generally, the gyroscopic effect is the science I trust, and despite occasional hydroplaning and people in cars staring like I’m a wack job, I’m finding this part of the ride weirdly relaxing. Concentration and meditation are the same thing, after all, and as the day fades into a long, dark night, I realize I’m no longer ruminating over negative crap. Not even the itch of poison ivy is breaking through.
Once traffic lightens, it’s time to hit up a playlist via the Honda’s Apple CarPlay app. The intuitive infotainment system on the Gen 6 GL is easy to navigate, and smart features like LED lighting, multiple ride modes, traction control, walking reverse, and hill-start assist prove worthy accoutrements. It’s not my first tour with Honda’s automatic Dual Clutch Transmission, however, and it has yet to grow on me. Even in manual mode, I just don’t find it as satisfying as letting my highly trained left hand work its muscle memory magic.
My ride from Upstate New York to Key West takes exactly 36 hours, an accidental Iron Butt Bun Burner, complete with gas station junk food (thanks Honda, for the built-in cup holders) and emergency roadside pit stops.
My buzz flickers around 1 a.m. and I duck into a brightly lit Best Western in Florence, South Carolina. I don’t bother to unpack the bike. So far, I’ve knocked only 700 miles off my quest for Key West, but that’s on top of 200 pre-dawn miles to get the Wing and that sad, sleepless night in the dirty motel. I hit the pillow hard, my head empty for the first time in weeks. No route to choose for tomorrow, just jump back on the asphalt river and row south until the road ends.
THE ONLY ROAD THAT MATTERS
In the morning, I’m greeted by an unusual cotton-ball-strewn sky of mammatus clouds that warn me to get a move on. Georgia flies by, and with it goes any chance of riding twisty roads today. I take solace in knowing I have two weeks to ride and rank the mountain roads of Georgia, both Carolinas, and Virginia on my way to return the GL in New York.
In South Carolina, soft mammatus clouds hint at more unsettled weather, not a huge concern thanks to the Gold Wing’s inherent stability and available electronic interventions.
And besides, it’s all too apparent this is exactly what I need right now. Tedium. Just a straight road, an empty head, and a comfortable motorcycle.
It’s just past 9 p.m. when I finally touch down on the famous Overseas Highway with 122 miles to go. It’s dark, but I’ve ridden this unique road and its 42 bridges so many times I can sense the bright color gradations of the surrounding waters. There is a familiar smell, too, a penetrating humidity that lingers in these islands like a briny musk.
While the straight, miles-long bridges of Florida’s Overseas Highway provide a unique and pleasurable experience, two days later I’m jonesing for the tight corners and less crowded spaces to the north.
Instead of feeling wrung out from the long ride, I’m wide awake. The miles from Big Pine Key to Key West are quiet and slow: dreamlike. Forgotten are complaints about the flies in my room in Philly, the rash on my ankles, my disillusionments back home, the baby girl who grew up.
Finally, at midnight, I arrive at The Paradise Inn feeling deeply tired yet completely cleansed by the long hours in the saddle.
In fact, I get a text from Hannah at 11:47 p.m., just as I’m crunching into the gravel parking lot of the historic inn I booked from a rest stop in Virginia. “Is this where you’re staying?” she asks. I’m moved that she’s followed my ride online, and I’ll cry tomorrow when balloons and a bouquet of birthday flowers arrive at my room.
It’s an awesome day of celebration. I ride a bicycle to a swimming beach, see my first six-toed Hemingway cat, eat seafood stew, and take in the sunset from Mallory Square. There’s a burlesque show, and finally, cake from a dimly lit dessert shop called Better Than Sex.
I laugh every time I see this photo of me posing at the Southernmost Point marker. We’ve all been there: intangibly compelled to secure “must-have” touristy keepsakes, often at great cost. For this one, it is a 45-minute queue in sweltering humidity in a black Aerostich while surrounded by inquisitive tourists in beachwear. Who can relate?
But the real gift of being in Key West is feeling cleansed by the long miles that brought me here. A reminder that an awesome ride isn’t always about a curvy road, scenery, or even the people with whom you share the ride.
Sometimes the best ride is as close as the seat of your motorcycle. And as far as a fast road will take you.
Key West is a treasure that must be experienced to be understood. Sure, it’s blessed to be surrounded by inviting Gulf waters and typically pleasant weather, but the island is so much more about a vibe – about history and food and music and doing whatever feels right, at whatever time of day.
In my favor, I do not spend money on fancy tropical drinks or conch shells.
Episode 33 of the Rider Magazine Insider Podcast is brought to you by Fly Racing. Our guests are Inna Thorn, executive director of Backcountry Discovery Routes, and Tim James, BDR’s board president and creative director. Backcountry Discovery Routes is a non-profit advocacy organization that creates off-highway routes for dual-sport and adventure motorcycle travel. Started in 2010, BDR has created 11 routes, many of them south-to-north routes that cover individual states in the West, along with two multi-state routes in the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic. The Wyoming BDR was released in 2022. We talk with Inna and Tim about BDR’s mission, the resources it provides for ADV riders, including free GPS tracks and route information, and what it takes to complete a BDR successfully. For more information, visit ridebdr.com.
You can listen to Episode 33 on iTunes, Spotify, and SoundCloud, or via the Rider Magazine Insider webpage. Please subscribe, leave us a 5-star rating, and tell your friends! Scroll down for a list of previous episodes.
Looking down on the road that brought us up to Col du Galibier, an 8,668-foot pass in the French Alps just west of the Italian border. On Day 8 we summited many alpine passes that challenge competitors in the Tour de France bicycle race.
Sunshine, wine, good food, and savoir vivre (knowing how to live) – these are just a few reasons why the Côte d’Azur and the Provence region of southern France are so captivating. But for motorcyclists, the real draw of this region near the western border of northern Italy are the roads threaded throughout the Maritime Alps. The Edelweiss Bike Travel Best of Southern France Tour gives motorcyclists a taste of the good life in this enchanting part of Europe.
Riding high above the Gorges de la Nesque on one of its many “balcony” roads carved into the canyon walls.
The tour begins and ends in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, a medieval village tucked into the mountains with views of the picturesque Mediterranean coast. The town is not far from iconic French Riviera cities like Cannes and Nice (which has the closest major airport), as well as the casinos and Formula 1 course in Monte Carlo, Monaco.
The tour covers approximately 1,300 miles over nine days, with a rest day in Mostuéjouls. A wide range of motorcycles are available for this tour, from small bikes like the BMW G 310 R to mid-sized bikes like the Honda NC750X and Ducati Monster 821 to liter-class bikes like the Suzuki V-Strom 1050XT, BMW R 1250 GS/RT, and Harley-Davidson Pan America. Prices start at $6,550 and vary based on choice of motorcycle and single vs. double room. Lodging and most meals are included as part of the tour price.
A pair of sportbikers make the climb to an alpine pass on a perfect riding day.
Like so many cities, towns, and villages in southern France, Saint-Paul-de-Vence is full of history and character. The picturesque walled city was initially a fortified medieval defense post and played a significant role in the French Revolution. For centuries it has been a lodestone for tourists, travelers, and artisans, as well as a significant center for the Impressionist and Expressionist art movements of the 20th century. Recently it was home to, and is the final resting place of, modern artist Marc Chagall, who bequeathed to the city some of his most significant works.
Part of what draws one here is the magical blend of tranquility and brilliance. For artists it’s the light, for others it’s the mild climate and rustic setting. For many it is simply the nearness and yet quiet respite from the hustle and bustle of France’s more famous Mediterranean cities.
Col du Galibier is one of several alpine passes we summited on Day 8.
Seven guests have arrived, coming from the United States, Brazil, and Germany, and all have chosen to ride adventure bikes: BMW R 1250 GSs and S 1000 XRs and a KTM 1290 Super Adventure. The bikes are parked next to the pool, ready to ride. For all but two of the tour participants, this is their first time in this region. For some, this is their first time in France. The evening before the tour we met for a briefing, followed by camaraderie over a delicious meal of good wine and poisson à la provençale. Marlene and Klaus, a couple from Germany, received a special recognition for having completed many Edelweiss tours already.
On our first riding day, from Saint-Paul-de-Vence to Saint-Michel-l’Observatoire, we visited Gorges du Verdon, one of the most iconic canyon landscapes in Europe. The limestone walls, which are thousands of feet high, attract many rock climbers.
Day 2: Saint-Paul-de-Vence to Saint-Michel-l’Observatoire
Our day begins with a nip in the air and long shadows stretching across the lawn. There’s not a cloud in the sky, yet the sweltering heat of summer is behind us and it’s a pleasure to don some warmer riding gear for a picture-perfect autumn day. It’s in the mid-40s now, but by the afternoon it will be in the mid-60s. Our route takes us along the Gorges du Loup, to the medieval walled city of Gourdon, and ultimately the spectacular Gorges du Verdon – one of the most iconic canyon landscapes in Europe. Moustiers-Sainte-Marie is our last stop of the day, right at the foot of an ancient monastery, for a coffee before reaching our lodging for the night. This ancient town was first settled in the 5th century, and with its 12th-century Romanesque church, it is considered one of France’s plus belle ville de pays (most beautiful country towns).
Taking a break to enjoy the view of Gorges du Verdon.
After a full day of riding, the day ends with a respectful appreciation of the amazing scenery, stunning vistas, extensive history, and relaxed simplicity that is typical of Provence. Our group is getting into the swing of things as the cares of their lives back home begin melting away. Can it get any better?
Day 3: Saint-Michel-l’Observatoire to Avignon
We’re on our way to Avignon, and it’s a gorgeous day, with blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds, creating the perfect backdrop for the charming villages we visit. After a short warm-up ride, we stop in the beautiful village of Roussillon for coffee. With its ancient buildings seeming to tumble down the mountainside, we find our lunch stop in Sault even more enchanting.
On Day 3, during our ride from Saint-Michel-l’Observatoire to Avignon, we had lunch in the beautiful village of Sault.
After lunch, we follow part of the famous Tour de France route over 6,263-foot Mont Ventoux, where the blue skies give way to thick, gray fog. We pause to allow a herd of sheep to pass and keep a keen eye out for bicyclists. They’re everywhere! We must be cautious, as some of the bicyclists descend the mountain faster than our motorcycles. We’re amazed, and the fearless cyclists command our respect.
Upon arriving in Avignon, we enjoy a little tailgate party with snacks and post-ride “boot” beers served from the back of the chase van. The night’s accommodations are in an old palace in the center of the city, and we’ve arrived early enough for a visit to the spa or to explore the beautiful city perched on the bank of the Rhône River, which is a veritable jewel of provincial culture and heritage. We’re rewarded with another delicious dinner, and afterward we all linger to chat about what we’ve seen and experienced so far. The anticipation of the next day’s ride is palpable.
Day 4: Avignon to Mostuéjouls
The Côtes du Rhône region is renowned for its red cuvée wines made from a blend of Grenache, Syrah, and Mourvèdre grapes. We visit La Chartreuse-de-Valbonne, a monastery founded in 1203, where Carthusian monks first cultivated the grapes and fermented the juices to produce the wine that made this region world famous.
La Chartreuse-de-Valbonne is a monastery in the Côtes du Rhône region that is famous for wine.
The day continues with a major highlight: a thrilling roller-coaster ride on narrow, heavily shaded forest roads, over a 3,000-foot pass, and into Grands Causses Regional Natural Park. Within the park is Gorges de la Jonte, a jagged, plunging canyon up to 1,500 feet deep where vultures can be seen circling in the thermic winds high above the rugged terrain. After another thrilling day of riding, we arrive in Mostuéjouls, where we spend the next two nights and a rest day at a first-class hotel with a pool.
Day 5: Rest Day in Mostuéjouls
This picturesque alpine village on the Tarn River is popular with climbers, kayakers, bicyclists, and motorcyclists. Some took the opportunity to squeeze in another day of riding on the fantastic local roads, while others explored or relaxed. One of the area’s highlights is located nearby in Cévennes National Park – an enormous limestone cave called Aven Armand that’s filled with intricate stalagmites and stalactites. Another is Viaduc de Millau, an 8,000-foot-long multi-span cable-stayed bridge that’s the tallest in the world, with a structural height of just over 1,100 feet.
A few of us visited Aven Armand, an enormous limestone cave, during a rest day in Mostuéjouls.
Day 6: Mostuéjouls to Chabrillan
We continue our triangular, clockwise loop route, riding through the Gorges du Tarn and Gorges de l’Ardèche, where we stop at Pont d’Arc, an enormous natural stone bridge that was formed when the Ardèche River broke through a narrow escarpment of soft limestone. The arch is nearly 200 feet wide and more than 100 feet tall, and a nearby beach makes it popular with swimmers and sunbathers. It’s another beautiful day, and we take the opportunity to stop and enjoy the view down into canyons and across to distant mountains carpeted in rich green vegetation.
Pont d’Arc is natural stone bridge that was formed when the Ardèche River broke through a narrow escarpment of limestone.
Day 7: Chabrillan to Chambéry
As we travel northeast, we’re making our way into the foothills of the French Alps. The scenery gets more rugged and the mountains soar higher. We summit Col de la Machine, a breathtaking 3,316-foot pass, followed by another gorge. We’ll spend the next two riding days at higher elevations, mostly above 6,000 feet. Days like this are why we go on alpine motorcycle tours. The vistas, the undulating pavement, and the surprises around every unfamiliar corner. This is riding heaven – we all know it and enjoy sharing it with each other.
Rounding hairpins on the descent from Col de l’Iseran. At 9,068 feet, it is the highest paved pass in the Alps.
Day 8: Chambéry to Arvieux
More alpine passes today. Col du Télégraphe (5,138 feet). Col du Galibier (8,668 feet). Col du Lautaret (6,752 feet). Col d’Izoard (7,743 feet). Each is legendary in its own right. They are rites of passage for bicyclists – challenges on the grueling Tour de France race. We are grateful for throttles!
Col du Télégraphe (5,138 feet), a pass that is often used during the ascent to Col du Galibier in the Tour de France.
Being high in the Alps made for an ideal location to enjoy one of Edelweiss’ famous picnic lunches. One of the tour guides bought a variety of local delicacies, and the chase van was stocked with tables, chairs, and everything needed for a nicely catered buffet. With the sun shining and beautiful mountain views, we relaxed and enjoyed having this little part of paradise all to ourselves.
Enjoying one of Edelweiss’ famous picnic lunches on a beautiful day in the Alps.
Day 8: Arvieux to Jausiers
We wake up in Arvieux to cold rain and fog, our only inclement weather of the trip. After riding briefly into and out of Italy (ciao!), we ride back into France and find that a landslide on the route to Col de la Bonette has blocked our passage. With torrential rain and temperatures just above freezing, our hands are soaked and our spirits are numbed. We detour back to Vinadio, Italy, and assuage our disappointment with hot beverages and perhaps the best pizza we’ve ever eaten. We backtrack and follow a clear route to Jausiers, where we all welcome a hot shower, a warm dinner, and a soft, dry bed.
This was our view as we rode up to Col de la Bonette on a clear morning after the previous day’s heavy rain.
Day 9: Jausiers to Saint-Paul-de-Vence
Since we missed Col de la Bonette (8,907 feet) yesterday, on our last riding day we do an early-morning up-and-back ride to the monumental pass. We squeeze in more mountain riding on our way back to Saint-Paul-de-Vence, where we put down our kickstands for the last time.
After a landslide blocked our access to Col de la Bonette from the south, we summited the pass the next day from the north.
Our international group shares a mix of elation and disappointment. We’ve had a wonderful tour and even faced a few challenges, and we don’t want it to end. Over our final dinner together, Edemar from Brazil says, “The end of a dream is the birth of new plans!”
We all were at a loss for words to describe how stunning the trip had been. Great food, amazing riding, impressive historical sites, exploration of new places, and a soul-warming group experience. A wonderful adventure that made us ready for more!
We passed through this idyllic valley on the ride up to Col du Télégraphe.
Edelweiss Bike Travel’s Best of Southern France tour is scheduled to run in June and September of 2022 and 2023. Prices start at $6,550. Visit edelweissbike.com for more details.
Our guest on Episode 32 of the Rider Magazine Insider Podcast is C. Jane Taylor, who describes herself as a writer, a biker, a mom, a wife, a warrior, and sometimes a bit of a chicken. But at age 50, when she received an invitation to join the AARP, she ripped up the letter and bought a motorcycle. On April 19, Jane is releasing a new book called Spirit Traffic: A Mother’s Journey of Self-Discovery and Letting Go, about a 10,000-mile cross-country motorcycle trip she took with her husband and son. You can read an excerpt from Jane’s book in the April 2022 issue of Rider. You can buy Spirit Traffic online or at bookstores, and it’s available as an audiobook. For more information, visit cjanetaylor.com.
You can listen to Episode 32 on iTunes, Spotify, and SoundCloud, or via the Rider Magazine Insider webpage. Please subscribe, leave us a 5-star rating, and tell your friends! Scroll down for a list of previous episodes.
Connecticut Route 43 has new tar, which encourages a pace Muriel would not have preferred. Photos by the author.
She’s taking her first ride on a motorcycle. Posthumously, as it turns out, but my Aunt Muriel is along for the ride, her ashes secretly stowed in my top case.
Muriel had not been a fan of motorcycles. She found them too fast and noisy and their riders too careless and selfish. For decades she lived near the coast in south Florida where a grid of congested, multi-lane streets put motorcycles right next to her. The ones she encountered, at least the fast and loud ones that stood out in her mind, didn’t give her much to like.
East River Road in Riverton, Connecticut, winds along the Farmington River through People’s State Forest. Muriel’s ashes are along for the ride, stowed in my top case.
While she enjoyed hearing stories of my long-distance adventures on motorcycles, she always made one thing quite clear: “You will never get me on a motorcycle!”
Now, as the miles are adding up, a thought keeps bouncing through my brain: Would Muriel have found this ride okay?
Muriel with Steve Efthyvoulou (right) and your humble scribe on one of our two-wheeled visits to her home in the North Carolina mountains.
Her attitude about motorcycles and their riders evolved after she retired and moved to the mountains of western North Carolina – one of the best motorcycling regions anywhere. When Muriel first took up residence in the town of Franklin, my wife, Sheila, and I drove down for a visit. Muriel drove us to lunch at a barbecue place she liked in the town of Highlands.
As we motored south on State Route 28, the road became tremendous, with baby’s-bottom-smooth tar and continuous tight turns, nicely banked. On one side of the road were jagged outcroppings, and on the other a fast-moving river in a rocky ravine. She pulled her car into a lay-by and drove us behind a waterfall.
On U.S. Route 221 west of Blowing Rock, North Carolina, a face seems to be emerging from the mountain.
Muriel was not what you’d call an expert driver, but to her credit, she stayed in her own lane on this intensely curvy road. Sheila was pregnant at the time and sat nervously in the back seat, clutching her rounded belly and hoping our destination was close. In stark contrast, I was thinking how fantastic this road would be on a motorcycle. I mentioned this to Muriel, and she suggested I come back riding one. “Bring a friend,” she said. “More than one if you like.”
This invitation, I later learned, was despite a homeowner association rule that did not allow motorcycles in Muriel’s neighborhood. “I don’t have a motorcycle,” she explained, “but if visitors come to see me and arrive on their cycles, there’s not much I can do about that, is there?” Muriel believed that it is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Our bikes cast early morning shadows on corn ready for harvest in Franklin Township, New Jersey.
Over the next 15 years, I took every opportunity to visit her with one, two, or three friends on motorcycles. We would arrive on quiet Hondas and BMWs, ride slowly through her neighborhood, and offer a friendly wave to anyone we encountered. Forgiveness was never required.
Muriel’s home was on a hilltop, providing an impressive view of the mountains where those roads we came to ride lay waiting. Her neighborhood emptied onto Route 28 (aka Moonshiner 28), and gems like Wayah Road, the Cherohala Skyway, U.S. Route 129 (Tail of the Dragon), and the Blue Ridge Parkway were there to be enjoyed. On every visit we discovered new roads.
Where the Skyline Drive ends, the Blue Ridge Parkway begins.
We’d return from a day’s ride excited and full of stories, then take Muriel out for dinner. Over these meals, she got to know an orthopedic surgeon, a military logistician, a powerplant engineer, a metal fabricator, a warehouse manager, and a truck driver – each a gentleman, a gracious guest, and a motorcyclist.
Steve pilots his Honda ST1300 through a corridor of corn.
One time Muriel casually asked if we’d help her change out the storm windows for screens. “You’ll keep an old lady off a stepladder,” she explained. We installed those screens, and on every subsequent visit we asked for her honey-do list. Leaky faucets, wobbly towel bars, and uncooperative wi-fi never stood a chance. Muriel came to appreciate that not every motorcycle was too fast and noisy, nor every rider too careless and selfish. When talking with her church lady friends, she referred to us as her gentlemen friends on motorcycles.
This Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, Labrador pup approached us in full wag mode but was quickly corralled by his protective mother. (Good dog.)
Now, on a warm Sunday at summer’s end, I depart my home in western Massachusetts and point my BMWR 1200 RT south and west. Weaving through the Berkshire Hills of Connecticut, I seek out places Muriel would have liked: Saville Dam in Barkhamsted, East River Road overlooking the Farmington River, and historic covered Bull’s Bridge across the Housatonic River. At the New York border, the road becomes Dogtail Corners Road … Muriel would have chuckled at the name. She would have been less amused by the 10-mph hairpin turns on Dutchess County Route 22 east of Pleasant Ridge Road, but I lean in to savor them.
Muriel would have chuckled at the other name of Dutchess County Route 22 in New York State.
I curve through the Bear Mountain and Harriman State Parks into scenic northern New Jersey, where Steve Efthyvoulou joins the ride. Over the years, Steve arrived at Muriel’s on a motorcycle more often than anyone except me, and on this ride, he is helping me to fulfill a request: Muriel had directed that her ashes be “scattered in the North Carolina mountains.” No specific location was indicated, so I asked Steve to join me in seeing this through appropriately. He agreed without hesitation.
Amish farms like these present a pastoral landscape in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
The next morning, we are rolling at first light. Steve has plotted a route to keep us off main roads, so we’re riding through small New Jersey towns, past fields of corn ready for harvest. We cross into Pennsylvania, and in Lancaster County the distinct sights of Pennsylvania Dutch country abound. Amish farmers with a team of four mules are harvesting the first row of corn, right next to the road. A bonnet-clad teacher is holding class outside as children dressed in homespun clothes sit attentively. Farther on, an older group of boys enjoys recess on a baseball diamond. I’ve been told Monday is laundry day for Amish families, and countless clotheslines brimming with union suits and long-legged underpants offer anecdotal evidence. At an intersection, a young buggy operator struggles with her charge. Steve points out that teenagers aren’t typically the best drivers – even when driving a horse.
As we return north through Virginia, this Blue Ridge Parkway lay-by at 3,700 feet elevation affords a panoramic view of the Arnold Valley.
On Pennsylvania Route 372 we cross the expansive Muddy Run hydro power project, which uses excess power from the grid to pump water from the dammed Susquehanna River into a lake. During peak power demand, water flows down from the lake through turbines that generate electricity. The lake, essentially, is a battery. It’s also the center of an area operated as a park.
Midday finds us in Maryland, and what would a lunch stop in the Free State be without crab cakes? Muriel would have given two claws up. After a brief run through the state of West Virginia, we continue through western Virginia to Harrisonburg for the night.
My bike’s reflection reveals steady rain during a break on the BRP.
In the morning we hop on Skyline Drive to curve through Shenandoah National Park. On a dreary weekday after Labor Day, the few vehicles we encounter are noticeably disregarding the painfully slow 35-mph speed limit. After we join the Blue Ridge Parkway, the rain begins. Beyond Roanoke we shift to U.S. Route 221, and the rain continues to fall hard and steady, but as Steve reminds me, a great road in the rain is still a great road. In the town of Boone, North Carolina, we call it a day. Torrential rain and flash flood warnings will continue through the next 36 hours, so we opt for a rest day in this happening college town in the mountains.
The 35-mph speed limit on Skyline Drive provides all kinds of time to take in the scenery. Muriel would have liked that more than we do!
A day later, morning arrives with brilliant sun and temperatures in the low 40s. With heated gear plugged in, we make an early start. Branches and limbs litter the roads in a testament to the fierce storms that had rolled through. Steve shares warnings of road hazards ahead, a great benefit of bike-to-bike intercom. Especially in this region of Appalachia, the mountains form a creased and crumpled landscape, and the roads built into it twist and turn like a roller-coaster ride that you control. Rock outcroppings are common, and some are fascinating, such as one on U.S. 221, west of Blowing Rock, that looks like a face emerging from the mountain. Beyond North Cove we turn right on State Route 226 and left on State Route 226A to partake in another asphalt masterpiece.
Then, somewhere beyond Little Switzerland, an appropriate spot in the North Carolina mountains reveals itself and Muriel’s final request is fulfilled.
Dense gray clouds signal impending rain on Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park, Virginia.
Professionally, Muriel had been a city clerk, certifying elections, officiating weddings, and serving as president of the municipal clerks’ international association. She traveled extensively for work and in retirement. A simple church-going lady, she loved conversation, voiced strongly held opinions, and agreed to disagree (agreeably). One thing Muriel and I disagreed about was motorcycles, though curiously they brought us closer together. She knew how much motorcycles matter to me and that she lived in a special place to enjoy them, so of course I should come visit with friends.
On this trip, I gained the satisfaction of ensuring that Muriel’s wish to find rest in the mountains of North Carolina was met, and in the process Steve and I enjoyed some amazing roads. But there’s no escaping the irony that Muriel’s final ride was also her first ride on a motorcycle.
Back in the late 1980s, the European market was as important to Honda as the American one. And motorcycles were popular, as cars and car insurance were more expensive than they were here. The demand was quite different, with Yanks liking big cruisers and narrowly focused sporting machines, while those east of the Atlantic had more of a practical approach, favoring motorcycles that could be used to commute on workdays, and then go two-up on a vacation.
Each motorcycle company is constantly looking around to see what the competition is doing. The Japanese Big Four undoubtedly have their own domestic spying networks, trying to keep track of each other’s doings, but there are also the local manufacturers. In the U.S., the only indigenous competition was from Harley-Davidson, but in Europe numerous homegrown marques were taking their share of the market.
In the late 1980s, BMW, with its new four-cylinder K-bikes, was doing quite well in the touring market. The head of Honda Germany decided he wanted a piece of that action and got permission from Japan to design his own bike, a sport-touring model, with emphasis on touring but still agile.
Hence the ST1100, introduced in Europe in 1990 as the Pan-European, with a wind-protecting fairing, removable saddlebags, and shaft drive. Ride to work in the rain, load the bags for a trip, and never have to worry about cleaning and adjusting a chain. This was an all-new machine, with a transverse-mounted (meaning the crankshaft was at a right angle to the axles) V-4 engine, putting out close to 100 rear-wheel horses.
This was no lightweight, as the ST weighed about 700 pounds with the huge 7.4-gallon gas tank filled. But the blessing was that the tank was beneath the seat, keeping the weight down low, which is where many sensible touring riders like to have it. That required a fuel pump pushing the gas up to the four 34.5mm Keihins – carburetors in the coming age of fuel injection. No matter, as the carbs did an excellent and trouble-free job of keeping the engine spinning. A choke lever on the handlebar was a reminder of the carburetors.
The liquid-cooled V-4, with a bore of 73mm and a stroke of 64.8mm, had a total capacity of 1,084cc. It used double overhead camshafts, with a single timing belt running all four camshafts and four valves per cylinder. Valve adjustment was by shims, not always appreciated by home mechanics, but service intervals were set at a fairly lengthy 16,000 miles. Ignition was transistorized, with electronic advance. And the oversquare engine pulled strong all the way from 2,000 to the 8,000-rpm redline.
Down in the bowels of the wet-sump engine, everything was built to last, with almost four quarts of oil capacity and a cooler up front. It sat in a full-cradle steel frame (contributing to the bike’s hefty weight), which gave confidence to the rider when leaning hard into the curves at considerable speeds. Up front was a 41mm Showa cartridge fork, with Honda’s TRAC anti-dive mechanism and allowing nearly 6 inches of travel. No adjustments here. At the back, a single Showa shock, with adjustability for rebound damping and spring preload, offered nearly 5 inches of travel.
The longitudinal power ran back through a wet clutch and a cassette-style 5-speed transmission to the driveshaft. Aluminum three-spoke wheels used an 18-inch 110/80 tire on the front, a 160/70 17-incher on the back, with a shade over 61 inches between the axle centers.
The Europeans loved it – perhaps for no better reason than it was a good alternative to the BMWs, along with a bit more power. The American market got to see this bike a year or so after it was released east of the Atlantic. Several improvements were made after that first version, including raising the alternator output from 28 to 40 amps and offering a combined ABS and traction control system. The initial ABS, running from 1992 to ’95, had separate systems on the front and rear wheels, but an upgrade for ’96 used linked brakes. A mild upgrade of the windscreen arrived for the 1995 model year.
Most important for a motorcycle of this design is comfort. On this ’02 model, which belongs to yours truly, a Laminar Lip was added to the top of the windscreen to smooth airflow around my helmet, since I’m taller than average. A nice addition is over to the left of the instruments, where a hand-turned knob can alter the angle of the dual halogen lights; very simple, very useful. Fitting a tankbag on the plastic cover over the engine was simplified by a company called Bagster that makes Naugahyde covers for over 200 motorcycle models, to which a bag can be neatly clipped. That bag has logged a lot of miles, as I had it on my ’92 model, which was sold after 93,000 miles, and then on my then-new ’02 ST1100, which has 103,000 miles and counting.
The flattish saddle is comfortable for long two-up days, or even longer solo days, allowing the rider to move back and forth. The saddlebags are locked onto the bike, but they can be removed with only minor fuss. However, it is far more useful to have liners in the bags; just open the bags, take out the liners, and you are on your way.
A convenient frill on the ST is the handle under the left side of the saddle, which folds against the bike until pulled out 90 degrees to be very useful when lifting the bike onto the centerstand. Another much appreciated addition is the concealed crash bars on the fairing, allowing for a slow fall without doing any damage.
Big smiles could be seen at Honda Germany after the ST1100 appeared. They had given the competition a good kick in the old wazoo, with the ST soon winning all sorts of awards. And it was pretty much left unchanged for the next dozen years until the ST1300 debuted in 2003.
Throw a leg over that saddle, turn the key, push the button, clutch in, click into first, and the sheer, silent rush of power is exhilarating. And 500 miles with one fuel stop in between is always a temptation.
On this Spring Trifecta ride, Tim Kessel combined his three loves: a scenic motorcycle ride, baseball, and live music. Photos by the author.
I am not one to repeat most motorcycle rides, and I am certainly not one to revisit my old articles. However, there is a curious symmetry to this Spring Trifecta piece. Two years ago, virtually to the day, I wrote a web article for Rider titled, Spring Training: A Good Reason to Dust Off the Bike. I penned the piece after intertwining some great southern Arizona motorcycle rides, Cactus League spring training, and concerts at the appropriately named Innings Festival. It was a great time, but the precipitous onset of Covid-19 followed immediately cutting spring training short and rendering gatherings like music festivals a thing of the past.
This spring, with Covid loosening its talons on society, I was going to return to spring training to watch the boys of summer hone their skills and to the Innings Festival for more good music. I had already traced new southern Arizona motorcycle routes. This time, it was not a novel virus that interfered; it was a dispute between those same boys of summer and their bosses that silenced the baseball diamonds. With one leg of my trifecta of fun severed, I cancelled my spring riding and concert plans.
Sloan Park is home to the Cactus League spring training for the Chicago Cubs.
A few weeks later, the baseball owners and the players’ union agreed to an eleventh-hour deal, and spring training was green-lighted for a late start. My routes were already in place and bats were again going to crack. All I was missing was a musical component to complete my return to southern Arizona and some semblance of normalcy. An Internet search revealed that Roger Clyne, the rock balladeer of the Southwest, was to perform at the intimate and beautiful outdoor Mesa Amphitheatre, which is just a stone’s (or hardball’s) throw away from the Arizona training facility of the Chicago Cubs. Perfect!
Arizona’s Sonoran Desert is the perfect place for a scenic springtime ride.
As it turns out, it was perfect. My ride south of Phoenix was amazing. Towering cacti stood sentinel as I wound though Sonoran Desert National Monument. Blue skies and rugged mountains served as backdrop in my loop ride even further south through the Southwestern desert. Things like labor disputes, global viruses, and two years of missing many of my favorite things blurred in my rearview mirrors.
The night after my sojourn into the arid version of God’s country, I settled my saddle fatigued posterior into my seat at the Mesa Amphitheatre. Intermixed in the enthusiastic audience were Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers concert shirts and various iterations of baseball jerseys. Clearly I was not the only one enjoying a vibrant melding of spring activities. Under the Mesa, Arizona, stars, Clyne played his raucous mix of original songs, threw back shots of his proprietary tequila, and generally whipped his fans into a communal frenzy. I offer up a strong recommendation. Experience a Roger Clyne show as it is very easy to become a fan.
Enjoying a performance by Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers at the Mesa Amphitheatre in Mesa, Arizona.
In the couple of days that followed, I embarked on another much-needed and spirited desert ride through Arizona’s burgeoning wine country. The high grasslands of southeastern Arizona are fertile ground for both grapes and entertaining riding. I rode past isolated vineyards and unique small towns in the high desert expanse. My big BMW R 1200 GS seemed as happy to free from the stagnancy of winter, variants, and quarantines as I was.
I followed the riding with a bit of sun-warmed bleacher time watching the relaxed pace of an early Cactus League practice at the Cubs spring training facility. Listening to bats cracking and the banter of players returning to their diamond sanctuary was just what the doctor ordered.
So there you have it – one man’s return to some kind of normalcy. Baseball is back, concerts are returning, and riding is always there. There is a smile on my face. Trifecta complete.
Taking a short break on U.S. Route 89A in Arizona at the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument. Temps reached 103 degrees with nothing in sight for miles!
What could possibly be better than a 75-day, 15,000-mile motorcycle ride around America? How about visiting the best Jewish deli in almost every state along the way? My journey, which took place last summer, gave a whole new meaning to that popular motorcycling motto, “Ride to eat, eat to ride.” It echoed in my head as I threw a leg over the seat of my Honda Gold Wing each morning for two and a half months.
With fellow JMA members at Protzel’s Delicatessen in St. Louis.
It all started with a suggestion by a fellow riding buddy of mine, Roger Burton. He knew that I love long-distance riding, and he forwarded me an article published on The Nosher website with a map listing the top Jewish deli in nearly every state. On previous rides, I had ridden to the four corners of the U.S. (14,000 miles), to all of the lower 48 states (11,500 miles), and to nearly all of America’s national parks (17,000 miles; read “One Ride, 47 National Parks”). This new challenge was right up my alley.
Roger Burton (the instigator for this ride) with his daughter, son-in-law, and Rabbi Jacobson, the owner of Maccabee’s Kosher Deli in Des Moines, Iowa.
When I discussed the trip with my wife, Judi, she suggested contacting MAZON, a Jewish nonprofit that fights hunger in America through advocacy and public policy change. The idea was to partner with MAZON and use the ride to raise awareness and funds to help alleviate hunger. When I called someone at MAZON, they loved the idea … right after having a few laughs because they had never heard of a Jewish biker before.
With my wife, Judi, on June 1, the first day of the 75-day tour. She helped me maintain a daily blog during the trip and prepare this story.
We decided to call the ride the Great American Deli Schlep, since “schlep” is a Yiddish word for carrying something heavy or awkward, or a difficult journey. And we split up the responsibilities. I created the route, did the ride, visited the delis (and ate the food!), took photos, and wrote a blog (with editing assistance from Judi). MAZON did the behind-the-scenes work, such as creating a logo and donation webpage, printing up materials, contacting the delis, promoting the ride on social media, and contacting print and media outlets for interviews.
Jewish delis aren’t known for low-calorie fare. Before the trip, my friends said I would gain 40 pounds and my cholesterol would skyrocket. I got lab work done before and after the trip, and I share the results at the end of this article.
My journey started on June 1, at Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen in Chicago, near where I live. It was a picture-perfect day: 75 degrees, abundant sunshine, and 35 to 40 family members and close friends to see me off. Fox News and ABC came to cover the event, which added to the festivities. I realized that one of my goals – getting the word out about hunger – would merit TV news airtime during the deli visits.
Opening day at Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen in Chicago.
This was the most structured and time-sensitive of my long-distance motorcycle trips. I had to stick to a schedule because of the specific dates and times set up for meeting deli owners, doing media interviews, and meeting fellow club members of the Jewish Motorcyclists Alliance (JMA). I belong to the Chicago-area Chaiway Riders chapter – “chai” (pronounced high) is a Hebrew word that means “life.” Other chapters include Hillel’s Angels, Shalom n’ Chrome, Kosher Hogs, Golf Riders New Jersey, and King David Bikers of South Florida.
Matzo ball soup.
My strict schedule required long days. I was up by 6 a.m. and riding, visiting delis, and managing details of the trip until 10 p.m. As much as I enjoyed visiting delis and meeting people, I had to leave each deli no later than 2 p.m. to allow time to ride to my next destination. Although the logistics were tricky, after visits to the first few delis I got into a rhythm similar to what I have experienced on other long-distance trips. I felt like a politician on the campaign trail. At each deli, I’d introduce myself to the owner or manager, explain why I was there and what MAZON does, do a photo op, sit for an interview with the local media, and finally eat too much deli food.
With the MAZON team at Canter’s Deli in Los Angeles.
Going into this trip, I knew there were going to be logistical and riding challenges. I mentally prepared myself that not every day was going to go as planned. Being flexible and going with the flow helped me tackle the most difficult motorcycle trip I’ve ever done. My planned route took me on backroads most of the time, but when I got within 50 miles of a major city (which is where most of the delis are located), I’d jump on the freeway to avoid stop-and-go traffic.
JMA members and grammar school friends at Rosenberg’s Bagels & Delicatessen in Denver.
Fellow JMA members met me at delis along the way, and a few of them joined me for three or four, but I rode solo for most of my 75-day journey. MAZON got the word out to the Jewish community in each city, which led to some funny encounters. In Westport, Connecticut, an older couple and another woman arrived early at Gold’s Delicatessen because they were afraid of not being able to find parking for the event. When they arrived, they asked me, “Where are all the people?” I replied, “You’re it.” We ended up having a lovely quiet lunch together.
Hanging out with my “fan club” at Gold’s Delicatessen in Westport, Connecticut.
Throughout my trip, I heard incredible stories of survival and tenacity. When I met the owner of Hershel’s East Side Deli in Philadelphia, he told me he named the deli after his father’s older brother. During WWII, his father and uncle lived in a small town in Poland. When the Nazis rolled into town, Hershel ran home and got his little brother and escaped into the woods. They survived by living in a camp for six years in Russia. The brothers eventually made their way to New York, where they started working in a deli.
Meeting with the owner of Herschel’s East Side Deli at the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia.
I was the very first customer at Bubbie’s Market & Deli in Providence, Rhode Island. They weren’t planning to open for another week, but they let me be their “test” customer. On the other end of the spectrum was Attman’s Delicatessen in Baltimore, Maryland, which was celebrating its 105th anniversary. Every deli had a story about how it began and how it survived over the years.
Celebrating the opening of Bubbie’s Market & Deli in Providence, Rhode Island.
At each interview, I was asked, “What is your favorite deli?” My response was always the same. I compared this trip to my national park tour. Just as each national park has its own story and personality that makes it special, so does each deli. And like national parks, delis reflect their geographic location. Rose Foods in Portland, Maine, serves a Fisherman’s Feast that includes bagels, cream cheese, rose lox, nova, and whitefish salad. The General Muir in Atlanta, Georgia, serves deviled eggs and pecan-crusted French toast.
Meeting up with Josh from MAZON at Rose Foods in Portland, Maine.
Posing with the Sabra Riders at The General Muir in Atlanta.
Even though I visited 42 delis, I never got the same sandwich twice. There was always something that made each one unique, such as how the pastrami or corned beef was prepared, or the particular type of bread or toppings that were used. Since I was often busy meeting new people and doing interviews, I rarely finished my entire sandwich. The other half went into my saddlebag and served as dinner in my hotel room.
Every sandwich at every deli was delicious, especially when paired with Dr. Brown’s soda.
Traveling for weeks on end by motorcycle opens you up to interesting experiences. I chalked up a few memorable “tales of the road,” such as my encounter with a lone tire on the highway. While riding down the New Jersey Turnpike at 70 mph on a sunny afternoon, I saw a tire rolling along in front of me. I backed off my highway pegs and watched it meander off into the emergency lane, where it disappeared in the grass. Then I saw a huge splash, and figured the tire ended up in a pond.
Stein’s Market & Deli in New Orleans, unlike any deli you’ll ever visit.
As I passed by, I glanced over to see if I could spot the tire. When I looked back at the road, that same tire was 50 feet in front of me and about to cross my path of travel. Before I knew it, the tire rolled behind my bike, or at least I thought it did. I pulled over about a mile down the road to check on things and found that the tire had hit my rear pannier, though I never felt the impact.
Playing tourist at the boyhood home of Butch Cassidy, near Circleville, Utah, on U.S. Route 89.
Although my trip began on a beautiful summer day in Chicago, the next day rainstorms hit Indianapolis and followed me around the country. Riding through heavy rain in Texas, I went through a puddle so deep that I lost control of my bike. When I rolled into Phoenix, I encountered monsoon rains for four days straight. My fellow JMA bikers told me they hadn’t seen that much rain in more than a decade, and they nicknamed me “Rain Man.”
As I also found out, scorpions leave their nests during Arizona’s monsoon rains to avoid the water in the soil. The night before leaving for Los Angeles, I was packing up and reached into my bag, only to narrowly miss a scorpion that had taken up residency there. I don’t scare easily, but I looked under my bed 20 times before going to sleep that night. Once I got to California, the rain was replaced with dryness and heat, and I had to navigate around enormous wildfires that filled the skies with smoke.
At the geographic center of the United States near Lebanon, Kansas, with fellow JMA member Bruce Ente.
After 40 years of long-distance touring, I have learned several tricks that were helpful on this trip. As I approached Red Bluff, California, the day before riding the famous State Route 36 (140 miles of curves known as the Serpent to the Sea that was on my bucket list), the temperature was 108 degrees. As I usually do, I used a cooling vest, water-soaked bandanas, and a 3-liter hydration pack filled with ice water to stay cool. I also carried a half-gallon, wide-mouth container of water that I could reach into while riding. Every 20-30 minutes I soaked my lightweight leather gloves in the water, which cooled the blood in my hands and felt like the opposite of heated grips.
Connecting the dots between delis was a delight. I rode the Natchez Trace Parkway through Mississippi, and visited the boyhood home of Elvis Presley in Tupelo. Near Circleville, Utah, I visited the boyhood home of Butch Cassidy. In Lebanon, Kansas, I visited the geographic center of the United States. I rode the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado, and I visited Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks in California.
Enjoying some rest and relaxation somewhere on the Natchez Trace Parkway.
Meeting new people was one of the best parts of this trip. From the deli owners, employees, and customers to random people who just came up to me to ask what I was doing, special connections were made based on our shared love of Jewish food, fascination with travel, or just plain curiosity. It only took two or three questions to find out if someone was from Chicago, or if we knew someone in common, or if their best friend knows my brother. Six degrees of separation played itself out over and over.
Party time at Dingfelder’s Delicatessen in Seattle.
When I was in Seattle visiting Dingfelder’s Delicatessen, I did an interview with a young woman from the local Jewish newspaper. When she asked if my friends had strong feelings about which deli I should visit in each town, I mentioned a grammar school friend of mine who lives in the Boston area and has a very strong opinion about the “best deli.” As soon as I mentioned his name, she said, “I know him. I went to college with his daughter, and I stayed at their home.” She went on to describe his house and backyard – 3,000 miles away – that I’ve visited many times.
Checking out the bike with Ziggy Gruber, owner of Kenny & Ziggy’s in Houston.
As with my previous trips, I felt fortunate to travel by motorcycle and experience many parts of America. I had the opportunity to meet a variety of people, from cosmopolitan hipsters to farmers, from children to centenarians – a true cross section of individuals. When talking about this trip with my wife, she coined the phrase “new friends, old food,” which is exactly what I took away from this experience.
After two and a half months on the road, I had a wonderful reunion with Judi in Chicago. She and members of the Chaiway Riders joined me the next day, on August 14, for a ride up to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to visit Jake’s Deli – the 42nd and final deli on my list.
The final stop at Jake’s Delicatessen in Milwaukee.
By visiting Jewish delis, which are typically located in large cities, and wanting to cover most of my miles on backroads between those cities, I rode through the full spectrum of America – urban areas, rural areas, and everything in between. You could plan this sort of motorcycle trip around any kind of food, whether it be varieties of ethnic food such as Italian, Mexican, Greek, or Chinese, or specific types of food such as BBQ, hamburgers, pie, you name it. Or, as I did with national parks, you could visit baseball parks or other landmarks in every state. Think of something you love, do some research, design a route, and hit the road.
So, after visiting 42 Jewish delis, did my health deteriorate? No. My blood pressure, cholesterol, and glucose went up, but I lost two pounds. And since returning home things have returned to normal. But I’ve developed a serious itch, one that can only be cured by another long-distance motorcycle adventure.
The Great American Deli Schlep raised more than $18,000 for MAZON, a nonprofit organization that is committed to ensuring that vulnerable people have access to the resources they need to put food on the table. Even though Steven Goode’s trip is over, MAZON’s mission is not. Please consider making a donation by visiting mazon.org/events/delischlep.
Getting to know the granddaughters of the original owner of Attman’s Delicatessen in Baltimore.Getting to know Joe, Ellen, and their daughter at Jo-El’s in St. Petersburg, Florida.
Our guest on Episode 31 of the Rider Magazine Insider Podcast is Alan Wilzig. Alan is an automotive and motorcycle enthusiast who has been a semi-professional racecar driver and race team owner. He owns Wilzig Racing Manor, the largest private racetrack in the U.S., located in upstate New York. Alan has amassed an impressive collection of race cars, sports cars, and motorcycles. His collection of more than 100 motorcycles includes many Bimotas, Ducatis, KTMs, sportbikes, and racebikes. He was also an early investor in Brammo electric motorcycles. Retired from a career in banking, Alan is active in many charitable and philanthropic endeavors. He serves on the boards of the Wilzig Hospital and the Wilzig Family Foundation, and provides financial support for the Rainforest Alliance, JCP Downtown, High & Mighty, Cars for a Cause, and many other organizations.
You can listen to Episode 31 on iTunes, Spotify, and SoundCloud, or via the Rider Magazine Insider webpage. Please subscribe, leave us a 5-star rating, and tell your friends! Scroll down for a list of previous episodes.
