When I first met Kenny, we were both sportbike riders. We’d go out on long day rides in search of full lean and speed and get up to shenanigans we had no business getting up to. But, it wasn’t long after we’d met that our interest in strictly hooning around changed. The desire to get out of our comfort bubble and explore started to worm it’s way in. We’d managed to find a partner in each other who was willing to move at a familiar, comfortable pace and had a willingness to take a leap of faith.
As we started kicking around trip ideas, we never balked because we both rode sportbikes. Those were our bikes. If we wanted to travel, that’s what we had to travel on. Go or don’t, those were our choices.
So, we went…
There were ninjas in Tennessee. ::karate chop::
At over 6ft tall, Kenny would fold himself up on his little 636 and ride hundreds and hundreds of miles. Yes, stops to stretch his legs were welcomed but the excitement of being out in the world trumped the discomfort.
Traveling on a sportbike was a no whining zone. It always came back to the same thing. Go, or don’t…
Over time things have changed. We’re both on much more travel-friendly motorcycles these days. Even so, when I think back there was something sweet, some pleasure in the pain of those early road trips with Kenny. It was just us against leg cramps and sore bums and we won the battle.