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DoubleTake Mirrors Version 2.0 Review
Published in: Gear
We might not pay much attention to them sometimes, but rearview mirrors are one of the most important safety components on our bikes. As adventure riders, we place special demands on them. We tend to ride bumpy, uneven surfaces with thumpy motors that vibrate more than street bikes. Stock mirrors often don’t adjust easily, or fold down for trail riding, or articulate enough for that “just-right” viewing angle around our elbows. And stock mirrors also tend to break too easily when the bike is dropped. Ned Suess’s in-house-designed DoubleTake mirrors solved many of these problems by using the widely popular RAM ball mounting system. And for many years it seemed to work all right… or did it?

The DoubleTake team set out to tackle a few issues inherent to the original RAM mount design, which largely stemmed from the ball’s squishy rubber that tended to degrade over time. Ned’s Version 2.0 now utilizes a larger 1.125-inch ball at the base (the mirror end is still the same) that has an aluminum core with a crush-resistant nitrile coating. This modification makes the entire mounting system more rigid and should last much longer under rigorous use than the old solid rubber RAM ball system that would crush, crack and flex over time.

Another notable improvement is the new custom-cast arms. They resemble a melon baller, and the “scoops” grab more ball surface than the RAM-style arms could. The new arms are also thinner and lighter; they provide a more positive grip while also being slightly longer (by 3.5 or 6 inches, depending on the model). Further, the oversized tension knobs make adjusting the mirrors on the fly really easy, even with gloves on.

Other than the shell molding around the mirror shapes, there doesn’t appear to be other changes of note. The same three Adventure (polygonal), Dual Sport (round) and Enduro (round with extension) mirror types are still options as they seem to fit almost every need or preference.

DoubleTake Version 2.0 installation is simple, too. Just remove the stock mirrors down to the base, install one of the three included bolts through the new base ball with an 8mm allen wrench, slap on the arm and mirror being sure to match the larger scoop in the arm to the base-ball, and you’re good to go.

It’s not easy to innovate simple designs, but DoubleTake has done a good job making important improvements to an already very capable product. Given the versatility and quality of Ned’s home-grown kits, we would recommend DoubleTake’s Version 2.0 mirror kits for pretty much any motorcycle as an upgraded mirror system.

DoubleTakeMirror.com | Also available on Amazon.com

MSRP:$127 (Enduro and Dual-Sport) to $145 (Adventure) per set

PROS:
- Stronger clamping and longer life
- Easier adjustment
- Small privately owned U.S. company
- Lifetime warranty
CONS:
- No spring-loaded arms
- Pricey for mirrors (but arguably very worth it)
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Island in the Sky: Riding the White Rim Trail

Published in: Rides

As I roll towards the edge of the canyon it feels like a stage curtain is rising, revealing the opera unfolding below. Shafer Trail drops down into the valley with a series of exposed switchbacks, like the walls of a huge amphitheater, setting the scene for the surreal world I am about to enter. Here, the earth reaches up to cradle me in its sprawling hands on the crumbling edge of the canyon’s rim.

A great motorcycle ride often unfolds in chapters, allowing you to move through yourself as you move through the landscape. You change, reflect, grow and expand as you overcome obstacles, marvel at the vistas, and emerge from the experience subtly transformed. For 100 miles through one of the American West’s harshest deserts, this is what the White Rim Trail does—offering a moment to test yourself against edges and abysses, marvel at the raw beauty of the canyons, and escape into an era lost in time.

I first came to the Canyonlands on my pilgrimage across the West in 2021—a shakedown trip for my eventual journey to South America. The recent death of my father drove me to the road; the trip was a chance to sort through waves of grief in the isolation chamber of my helmet. In the canyons of Moab, I found the solace I was looking for, brushing up momentarily against a pure expression of the vastness of the world laid bare. Feeling the tiny insignificance of a human life, but also the grand resilience of all living things; from the small kangaroo mouse scrounging seeds in the desert to the prickly-pear cacti clinging onto life on harsh layers of windswept stone, blooming briefly and vibrantly. Growing up in the lush and verdant Pacific Northwest forests, this place felt like an absence. For my heart, the desert was a place for grief to blow across like the wind.

At the time of this pilgrimage, I had neither the skill off-road, nor the required supplies of water, food, and tools to ride the entirety of the White Rim Trail safely. Entering it briefly, camping on the most approachable of the sites, it was a place that touched me deeply with its power. I always dreamed of returning one day, and this spring, that chance suddenly arose.

• The Trail

Before the National Parks existed, a road was blasted and carved into the stone by uranium prospectors, hoping to find deposits of the element that fueled Cold War weapons. The layers of sandstone and labyrinthine canyons proved to be barren in this regard, revealing no grand deposits. Yet once Canyonlands was established as a park in the 1960s, the White Rim Trail (WRT) was preserved so visitors could experience this generally unapproachable terrain. From the entrance at the Shafer Switchbacks to the exit at Mineral Bottom Road, the White Rim Trail itself is approximately 71 miles long. With a departure from Moab and exit to the highway, the loop is 120 miles. This road has never been paved and is rarely maintained, shifting and transforming through the seasons as stones crumble and sands drift across the mesa. While not especially technical in favorable conditions, the isolation and lack of any services make this a more demanding ride. It’s possible to complete the trail in a day, and many dirt bikers do. The more beautiful way to appreciate the White Rim is to camp somewhere along it, in one of the 10 official camping zones, which allows for a much deeper experience of this otherworldly place.

A unique aspect of the WRT is that you can only ride it with a permit from the National Park Service. There are day-use permits for driving the road often available at the last minute, and camping permits which book out for the peak seasons of spring and fall months in advance. Yet if you have the flexibility for a spontaneous visit, there are often cancellations of campsites about two weeks out. This is how I scored a camping spot at Hardscrabble Canyon and found myself unexpectedly plotting a return to the trail. Unlike most off-road trails in Moab, the White Rim is only for street-legal on-highway vehicles with registration. This, along with the low permit numbers each day, has kept the trail free from the hordes of side-by-sides that tear through the surrounding landscapes and degrade trail conditions with their careless use.

• Ready for Launch

With my partner Steve and our friend Pat, I set out on a bright spring morning to finally attempt the entire White Rim Trail. With many miles and experiences under my belt, the gaping mouth of the Shafer Switchbacks no longer terrified me as they had at first sight. Many of the obstacles on the trail are an illusory mind-game of sorts—not overly difficult, but with elevated stakes due to the steep drops and sudden edges of the towering canyon walls you will traverse.

One of the challenges of completing the trail as an overnight motorcycle expedition is carrying enough supplies, especially drinking water. In the arid, often scorching desert conditions, the National Park Service recommends one gallon of water per person per day. We loaded up our bikes like dromedaries—water strapped in pouches and pockets to all the available surfaces on our machines. This proved to be an unstable solution almost immediately when Pat raced off on his KTM 890 at rally pace, and one of the soft waterbags popped like an overripe melon only a mile into the ride.

We gulped down what remained of the precious liquid and carried on through the maze-like landscape of towers and crags. Rock features named like chapters in a story, The Washer Woman, Murphy’s Hogback, and the ominous Hardscrabble Hill. Throughout the ride you follow along the white upper layer of rock deposit that gives the White Rim its name, carving a course around the base of the Island in the Sky mesa. While I have heard it said that the White Rim Trail is a “beginner ride,” for me it held a variety of trials and obstacles. The greatest is likely endurance—between the unforgiving desert sun, and mile after mile of staccato sandstone ledges bouncing and pounding my Suzuki DR650, I found fatigue the toughest aspect to manage. There are a few spots of deep sand to negotiate which can be difficult on a heavier bike, but also sections of sandy two-track that can catch you off-guard with their rattlesnake-weave if you are not focused fully on the trail ahead.

• Getting Technical

I had done my research and knew to expect two tricky hill climbs along the trail. Yet when the exposed ridge of Murphy’s Hogback reared up before me from the vast plain, it still sent my heart skipping like a river stone. The climb up is at a sickening incline, with a dizzying exposed drop, and sugarcoated with a layer of powdery silt. Muttering a mantra of “Stay on the pegs, stay on the throttle, you can do it!” through clenched teeth while never glancing down, I somehow made it up. A spellbinding vista of the Canyonlands unfurled all around, which I had been unable to take in during the tunnel vision ascent. High on this sky island, we shared our snacks with a grateful troupe of mountain bikers and drank in the seemingly infinite views.

Riding through this terrain is as close as you can get to riding on Mars, and time after time I found myself stopping to soak in the otherworldly surroundings, feeling like an astronaut setting foot on an undiscovered planet. There is something about the vastness of the Canyonlands that does not come across in photos—its scale is overwhelming as it engulfs you.

Rolling into our campsite in the late afternoon, dusty, worn, yet grinning from ear to ear, we set up our camp among the black brush and spring wildflowers. Spending a night in a place this remote is almost a holy experience. Each campsite is isolated several miles from the others, allowing you to truly experience the isolation and silence of the Canyonlands. A silence or rather stillness that transports you an eon into the past with only a rare airplane echoing in the canyons to break the spell momentarily.

The great desert poet Edward Abbey called this stillness “A suspension of time, a continuous present.” Spaces where you can still feel this aloneness are a rare treasure in our frenzied crowded world. Waking in the night, I was astounded by the spectacle of stars visible through the sheer net of our tent, the thick blanket of the Milky Way pressing down on the black sandstone walls. It was a glimpse into ages even greater and brighter than those that shaped the mesa.

At times it seems this mercurial landscape is ruled by the whims of trickster gods. The mocking chatter of inky black ravens, and the yipping cries of coyotes in the distant valleys seemed to sneer at the human folly of entering a place this primal and wild.

We awoke in the morning to find one of our bikes would not start, and the Colorado River had flooded its banks and drowned the trail ahead in waist-deep water. Through sheer serendipity, we joined forces with another group of travelers confronted by the same river puzzle. They agreed to ferry the uncooperative 890 through the river on the hitch-carrier of their truck. The rest of us banded together to get the remaining bikes across the flooded arroyo, pushing and riding them through the silty water to safety on the other side.

For a ride like this, you need contingency plans, companions you can trust, and a bit of luck on your side. In a place this wild and raw, you will always be confronted with unique conditions and challenging situations, but the reward for braving the cliffs and canyons of the trail is great. I’m already dreaming of my next return to this Island in the Sky, and the ways the desert will continue to teach me and change me in unexpected ways.

Redd Walitzki is an artist, explorer, and avid naturalist. For several years, Redd has been wandering in the wild beautiful spaces from North to South America, sharing the discoveries they find on the way. ReddWalitzki.com | Instagram @explo.redd

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Crossing the Sahara on a Honda C90

Published in: Rides

On the edge of the Sahara sits Marrakech, a gateway city surrounded by mountains, spanning the end and beginning of two worlds, where West African and Saharan cultures blend with the traditions of their North African neighbors.

I rode from England to Marrakech on a 24-year-old moped, a Honda C90. It took two and a half months and it felt like a milestone to arrive in Marrakech—the last hub of familiar culture, where things seemed exotic and easy, yet a place where I could still easily meet fellow Europeans. My girlfriend had flown in for a week, adding to my sense of comfort before I ventured out into the sands of the great unknown to ride across the Sahara.

My anxiety had been building in the month before I attempted to traverse the desert. I thought about breakdowns, water shortages, running out of petrol, miles of solitude, and Saharan jihadists. I tried unsuccessfully to find travel partners. When the time came for my girlfriend to return to England, the last time I would see her for the better part of a year, I experienced one of the loneliest moments of my life.

Alone, riddled with doubt and fear, sitting on the bed where we’d nested over the previous week, my heart felt raw now that my love was gone. I sat there, lonesome beyond anything I’d known before, about to ride further into my fear.

On the second day after leaving Marrakech, I arrived at the edge of the desert—a land called Hammada, a barren and seemingly endless plain of rocks and sand where the dwindling Atlas Mountains further diminish as the road stretches out of sight. Vehicles became scarcer, as did people and dwellings, yet as human presence vanished, the forces of nature became more dominant.

As my wheels slowly put the miles behind me, the wind picked up. The locals call the wind “Sirocco,” and I quickly understood why it was looked upon as something that deserved a name. It transforms the landscape.

The scarce plant life there is bent and contorted, and the mountains on either side of the road are carved to the point where you can see the layers of time etched into the rock, almost as if they were living things. By no means are they as big as the Atlas range before them, but in this barren landscape they are omnipresent.

Riding through Hammada, I pulled over to the side of the road for one of my frequent stretches. A man started waving from a distance—maybe a kilometer away, so I waited for him to come over. He was a goat herder, wearing simple clothes and a black turban. He asked if I had run out of petrol. Although we couldn’t speak each other’s language it’s amazing how far we got with gestures.

Eventually, he invited me to his home for food and tea. Not wanting to pass up my first chance at human interaction since Marrakech, I accepted. He pointed to a track I could ride while he ran over the sand. About two miles out we arrived at his makeshift home. It was very basic living, a wooden bed with a few sheets, bare walls, empty space and a rug. Around it were animal lodgings where he showed me, with considerable joy, his two newborn baby goats.

Over a fire he started from scratch in about twenty seconds, he made a mint and very sugary tea in a tiny kettle. We then ate a stew that he’d made earlier. I had to show through gesturing that I was too full so he wouldn’t offer it all to me.

When the time came for my new friend to return to his goats, he gave me a parting hug, a customary kiss on each cheek, and then ran back over the sands to his livelihood. I rode away from that moment with a newfound sense of why I was doing this. Acts of hospitality like this remain some of the kindest things strangers have ever done for me.

Within a few days, I’d officially crossed into the Western Sahara. I’m not sure if “officially” is the correct term, as borders in this part of the world are heavily disputed. It’s clear that Morocco is winning. Moroccan Dirham is the currency, and a vast number of Moroccan military and police, as well as a substantial NATO presence, are evident.

Sadly, one of the pitfalls of this territorial dispute is that the area is now one of the most heavily mined places on earth. And one of the many desert wonders, along with the mirages and whistling wind, is that the dunes shift. Of course, this means that the mines drift, too—a fact I didn’t take lightly when searching out a place to camp.

Aside from dodging mines, finding places to stay in the sand turned out to be one of my favorite things while crossing the desert. After hours on the windy road, combating blasting sand while trying to keep the bike upright, it was a delight to find quiet places. As the wind settled down most evenings, I was free to take off most of my clothes to set up camp.

Detaching myself from the riding gear, I’d lay on the sand, watching the sky as blue turned to pink, orange and then a deepening purple, pierced with tiny, bright specks. Those sunsets were treasured moments, and I was content, lying there on my own.

I looked over to my bike, standing beside the tent without complaint. It was a precious thing to me and had become my friend. I couldn’t believe its tiny engine and wheels had brought me to this place. It was the object of freedom—we were now on the journey. I had found the joy that I had been searching for, the joy of solo travel on my own two wheels.

Originally, when I imagined crossing the Sahara, I envisaged pulsing heat and a ferocious and blinding sun, causing the landscape to evaporate before me. The latter was true to some extent, but ironically, as it was winter, the Sahara was one of the wettest places of the journey so far.

One night, as I camped on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, I sat for hours watching a lightning storm far out at sea, amidst the dotted lights of a few distant boats. The bright bolts carried no sound as they shot into the once black, then illuminated water. Just as I settled into bed the storm began to descend on me. The lightning became brighter, and the thunder roared closer until it was above me.

The wind and rain came hard and fast. Against their driving forces I had to brace the bending tent poles. The rain soaked my sleeping bag and I barely slept that night. In the morning I packed everything away in the rain and rode away from the cliff covered in mud. Definitely not one of the scenarios I had imagined.

Within a few days I came to the end of the Western Sahara, reaching my first true African frontier—the Mauritanian border. I had read that the road leading to the border was notorious for banditry and the scene of a recent Al Qaeda kidnapping—although I didn’t remember this until I arrived at the campground in Nouadhibou that evening. Fear seemed to have left me.

The no man’s land, a three-mile stretch that’s totally unpaved and ignored by both countries, was a startling reminder of how far away from home and culture I’d come. Yet, it’s home to a large number of people—West African refugees who were denied access to the Western Sahara and can’t get back to Mauritania. They eke out their living by any means they can, on land that’s essentially a minefield.

It had taken thirteen days to reach Nouadhibou from Marrakech. For me, Nouadhibou signified the end of my solo trek across the Sahara. On my second day there, which also happened to be my birthday, I met up with other travelers, ceasing my solo travel for the time being.

My time crossing the Sahara on my own, where every decision I made formed the path in front of me, marks one of the pinnacles and definitive moments of my journey. It’s a place I look back to when times get difficult. It has inspired me to travel alone again; without fear, without doubt, with the pure exhilaration of just me on my bike, with the conveyor belt of the world flowing under my two wheels.

Liam Parkin was born into a family of travelers in a small country town in the North of England. Taught from a young age that travel is the best education, after completing a fine art degree at Manchester Metropolitan University, Liam set off to traverse the Earth on his Honda C90.

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Kawasaki's New 2026 KLE500 - Revival Details Released

Published in: News
Kawasaki just rejoined the middleweight adventure game with the 2026 KLE500 ABS, a machine that bridges city streets and dirt trails under the company’s new banner: Life Is a Rally. Ride It. The model resurrects a nameplate familiar to long-time riders but reimagines it for the modern dual-sport era—lighter, more refined, and far more connected than its 1990s predecessor. We'll have another article on KLE 500's history and evolution coming up soon, but first we wanted to get this urgent release from Team Green out. We've been waiting over 15 years to see this model since our 2008 Kawaski Versys 650 ADV project bike.

The KLE500’sdesign makes its intent obvious. A tall windshield, short rally-style tank, and sweeping side panels frame a purposeful stance built around 21-inch front and 17-inch rear spoked wheels. A compact skid plate and trellis frame signal equal readiness for commuting or exploring. On the highway, the upright riding position and elevated screen deliver comfort and visibility. Off the pavement, long-travel suspension, slim bodywork, and generous ground clearance invite riders to stand and steer with confidence. Although the official weight was not released, the 2025 Ninja 500 curb weight comes in at around 375lbs; so we expect it to be in the sub 400lb ball park.

• 2026 KLE 500 Powerplant

Powering the new KLE is Kawasaki’s 451 cc liquid-cooled parallel twin, the same base engine used in the Ninja 500 and Z500. Tuned for torque and tractable response, the twin delivers smooth, linear pull from low revs and steady acceleration up top, staying within Europe’s A2 license limit of 35 kW (47 hp).

Engineers fitted lightweight internals, oil-cooled pistons, and a downdraft intake system for efficient breathing. The result is crisp throttle reaction and minimal vibration, aided by a fully machined balancer shaft. A six-speed gearbox with Assist & Slipper Clutch gives an easy lever pull on long rides and added stability under aggressive downshifts—features that make the bike friendly for new and seasoned riders.

A high-tensile steel trellis frame forms the foundation and weighs only 41.8lbs. Rather than borrowing motocross geometry, Kawasaki engineered the chassis for balance between highway composure and trail stability. At just over 40 lb, the frame uses reinforced gussets and cross members for rigidity without excess weight. The engine acts as a stressed member, rotated forward to lower the center of gravity, helping the KLE feel lighter than its numbers suggest while maintaining 6.8 inches of ground clearance. A 4.2-gallon tank provides useful range without compromising agility. For reference, Kawasaki's Ninja 500 gets about 45-55 mpg.

• 2026 KLE 500 Suspension and Brakes

Suspension hardware moves the KLEbeyond entry-level expectations. The front features a 43 mm KYB cartridge-type inverted fork with 210 mm of travel, while the rear employs Kawasaki’s New Uni-Trak® linkage offering 200 mm and adjustable preload. The setup prioritizes comf

ort in the first part of the stroke and strong resistance to bottoming in the last, keeping the ride plush yet controlled. Braking is handled by a 300 mm front disc with dual-piston caliper and a 230 mm rear, both managed by a selectable Nissin ABS system that can be switched off for dirt riding.

• 2026 KLE 500 Ergonomics and Electronics

In keeping with its dual-purpose mission, the ergonomics cater to a broad range of riders. A wide aluminum handlebar, slightly forward footpegs, and a narrow midsection create a natural position for both seated and standing control. The 33.9-inch seat height balances reachability with leg comfort, while hollow-core foam provides long-distance support. Rubber-topped footpegs can be stripped to reveal serrated metal surfaces for off-road grip. The adjustable windshield offers three heights—standard, +27 mm (~1inch), and +55 mm (~2 inches)—giving riders flexible wind protection for touring or trail work.

Instrumentation merges classic clarity with modern tech. The base KLE500 ABS uses a high-contrast LCD display with a sweeping bar-style tachometer and the full range of trip, gear, and fuel data. Connectivity comes through Rideology The App, allowing smartphone pairing for route logging, maintenance tracking, and on-screen notifications. Riders can check remaining range, review fuel economy, or use optional voice commands for navigation and search functions.

For those seeking more, the KLE500 SE ABS upgrades to a 4.3-inch full-color TFT display with customizable backgrounds and auto-brightness. The SE also gains a taller 4.1-inch touring screen, larger aluminum skid plate, metal-reinforced hand guards, LED turn signals, and exclusive graphics. Both versions share the same trellis frame, engine, and wheel sizes but differ in trim, giving riders the choice between practical and premium adventure features.

Kawasaki’s attention to detail extends to everyday convenience. The aluminum rear frame is strong enough to carry panniers and a top case simultaneously, while the standard bash plate and exhaust routing maintain clearance and symmetry for luggage mounting. The radiator fan shroud directs hot air away from the rider and tank—small but thoughtful touches that improve comfort on long days.

• 2026 KLE 500 Wheels and Tires

The bike’s 21-/17-inch wheel combination rides on lightweight aluminum rims with steel spokes wrapped in IRC GP-410 tires. Their tread pattern blends street grip with wide center blocks for dirt traction, ensuring stability on pavement and bite on loose surfaces. The single-disc front brake setup saves unsprung weight and helps suspension follow terrain better, underscoring Kawasaki’s emphasis on balance over brute force.

A wide accessory catalog completes the package. Factory options include panniers, top box, heated grips, larger screens, crash protection, fog lights, center stand, and GPS mounts—everything a commuter or long-distance traveler could need. An Ergo-Fit low seat and alternate pillion seat allow riders to tailor fit and comfort, while optional LED fog lamps and a large skid plate prepare the bike for extended back-country use.

• 2026 KLE 500 Pricing and MSRP

Now for perhaps our favorite part! Rather than bringing the all new model in at around nine or ten thousand dollars, they made the smart decision to make the new KLE 500 affordable. With all the features and a proven powerplant, this could be a great option for a spectrum of new and old riders.

In the showroom, two color schemes mark the launch: Metallic Carbon Gray/Ebony for the base model at $6,599 USD, and Pearl Blizzard White with Metallic Bluish Green for the SE at $7,499 USD. The base model is actually less expensive than the KLR 650which is priced at $6,999. Both will be available early 2026 (roughly Spring) through Kawasaki dealerships. Listed out differently below.

Kawasaki KLE500 ABS (background)
Color: Metallic Carbon Gray/Ebony
MSRP: $6,599
Availability: Early (Spring) 2026

Kawasaki KLE500 SE ABS (foreground)
Color: Pearl Blizzard White, Metallic Bluish
Green
MSRP: $7,499
Availability: Early (Spring) 2026

This all-new platform shows the 2026 KLE500’srevival isn’t about nostalgia; it’s about reconnecting Kawasaki’s adventure DNA with qualities the modern market demands. Versatile, sporty, efficient and affordable, it offers a bridge between commuter practicality and off-road curiosity for a broad spectrum of riders. While we can't yet comment on how it actually rides, we're initially happy with the bike's redesign and market placement. In an era of increasingly heavier and more expensive adventure bikes, Kawasaki’s message is refreshingly clear: Versatilty should be fun and affordable!Now that's a message we can get behind.

Stay tuned for our upcoming artlce on KLE 500 history and whether or not we think the new KLE 500 checks all the boxes needed for success. Until then, for more information, visit: Kawasaki.com

All images and video sourced from offical Kawasaki press release materials.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLUmucmSsdo

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Southwestern Solo: A Two-Wheeled Vision Quest

Published in: Rides

The fog swirled in, swiftly covering any recollection of a beacon. No matter which way I turned my head, I couldn’t shake the thick invasion. Direction became murky as I tried to rely on intuition as my inner GPS.

I heard the voices of my loved ones calling to me from different locations, but the sounds of home faded into the distance. I was lost… and, I hadn’t even left my head.

As I slipped further into the automation of daily routine, the idea that it had been three years since my last solo weighed heavily. There was just one prescription to lift that “fog.” And, that could only be made by the road doctor—Jack B. Nimble, my DRZ.

His prescription was: “Three weeks on the road, solo, where I am the needle, and you are the thread, as we stitch together the most beautiful tapestry of connection with nature, with friends, with ourselves.”

“As usual Jack, you’re a wise little bike. Think I’ll take heed.”

And out the door we flew, after kissing my angels goodbye. You see, my kids have grown up knowing how important these journeys are to me, and to them. They get to witness me living life in a bigger way, and are embracing it for themselves. There will come a day when they, too, will spread their wings and have the confidence to find the highest thermals.

For some reason, I hadn’t been drawn to sit down with the maps to flush out a route. The only things set in stone were the homes of loving friends who were waiting for me to make my way to them in Arizona and Colorado. The pull that I felt strongly, though, was the desire to fly by the seat of my pants and leave it all to serendipity—a decision that would chart a journey of the heart. At every turn, friends, strangers, and circumstance would nudge me in the direction I needed to follow to fill my soul.

My first day on the road felt like I wasn’t soloing at all. I was in the company of trusted friends—familiarity, excitement, freedom, and oneness. Jack was packed for adventure, while I wore extra armor of self-sufficiency.

Along for this ride were products that would make me lighter and more efficient, and would help me to document this trip as never before. I took on the challenge of videoing this journey hoping to capture innermost desires and revelations from myself, others, and the landscape.

Oh yeah, I know it adds at least quadruple the road time to set up the shot, turn on the camera, go back to enter the frame cleanly, stop beyond, and come back to retrieve the camera, and so on. And, invariably around the next corner after getting a shot, there would be a more beautiful piece of scenery to capture.

The blooper reel will be hilarious, as I had to run back to get the camera, huffing and puffing in moto gear and helmet, over and over again. It was all so worth the effort to capture these gems of authenticity.

My first night’s destination was a remote campground at the Painted Rock Petroglyph site just northwest of Gila Bend, AZ. Having this place all to myself, I felt a deep sense of ancient history from the Indian tribes and long-ago explorers who left their inscriptions in the rock. After a quick camp set-up, I scrambled up the volcanic rock formations to catch the petroglyphs by twilight.

The past surrounded me in a way I had never felt before, giving me the sense that I actually had the power to help create newhistory for my own people. Later that night, after slipping into my Big Agnes Copper Spur 2p tent and BA Roxy Anne sleeping bag, I reflected further on how to effect change in this world. As I drifted off to sleep, I realized it would be through finding ways of giving back, and inspiring others to live life more fully. What a powerful way to start this journey.

I knew the next leg would test my dirt riding and navigational abilities. I also knew that staying open to the way the adventure unfolded would keep me flowing with the current rather than rowing against it. Friends Roseann and Jonathan Hanson, founders of Overland Expo, invited me to stay with them on their 23-acre off-the-grid Arizonan desert oasis.

The screen shot they emailed showed that all roads were marked, and seemed comprehensible. I felt confident that I could find them. But, after two hours of circling around on unmarked dirt roads with deep wash-outs, ruts, baby head boulder fields, and 30-foot soft sand pits, I needed an alternative solution. I had a SPOT satellite messenger, but didn’t want to press the help button… just yet.

I flagged down the first car that happened by within a two-hour period. “I’m trying to find Roseann and Jonathan Hanson on Cloverfield Road. Do you happen to know where that is?”

The husband looked at me quizzically, then responded, “No, I can’t say that I do.”

His wife smiled and while gently backhanding his shoulder said, “Welive on Cloverfield Road.”

He laughed embarrassingly. “All I know is that I live next to a big cactus.” And we all had a chuckle as they pointed in the direction of the Hansons’.

I finally made it to my friends’ hideaway. Over the course of one of the most beautiful desert evenings I have ever encountered, these dear souls taught me the nobility of leaving a small footprint on this Earth. I fell asleep in the guest tent adorned with African handiwork, while I dreamt of building my own future off-the-grid home.

The next morning as I returned to the pavement I was proud of myself for staying upright through the torturous dirt-riding test with such a big load. Almost back to the tarmac, and on my way to visit Michael Battaglia of the famed Tucson motorcycle shop, On Any Moto, I realized I’d forgotten to put on my deodorant. As I flicked down the side stand, pulled my backpack around and took care of business, a sudden gust of wind knocked over the bike over.

Would I be able to get myself out of this predicament without anyone else around? Running the video camera out of battery juice only added to the comedy of errors as I filmed unloading the little beast to get it lifted. It was quite a feat when all was said and done. I sure hope Michael and crew appreciated how great I smelled by the time we cruised into Tucson.

With a new pair of Dunlop D606 shoes from On Any Moto,I rolled on to the quaintest of hillside towns, Bisbee, AZ. It was another gorgeous day of Arizona riding as I pulled up at sunset to my friend Grant Sergott’s custom hat shop, Optimo Hatworks. Grant knows the ultimate scenic backroads of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah like the back of his hand, and took it upon himself to map out my entire route. For this, I would be ever so grateful.

The landscape that these roads took me through was life-changing, and the most powerful experience there landed me in Navajo territory for a couple of days, at the Canyon de Chelly National Monument in northern Arizona. This was just before the government took it upon themselves to shut down National Parks for a few weeks to sort out their crazy red tape affairs.

Here I became fast friends with Howard, the Navajo owner of Spider Rock Campground, and took advantage of the culinary skills of his grandchildren, who were busy cranking out fry bread. That evening, I topped mine off with butter and powdered sugar, the perfect dessert after wolfing down a homemade rehydrated East Indian dinner to the Sunset Channel of Mother Nature’s big screen TV.

The next morning I set out early with a backpack stuffed with camera, tripod, camp chair, and lunch to discover the rim trail, which took me right to the expansive canyon striated with grades of red rock. Having this natural splendor all to myself was beyond anything I could have imagined, and it gave me a deep sense of clarity, with visions of my future as if I were already walking it.

Within this vision, I saw a greater tomorrow that’s growing exponentially. So many people are creating ripples of action that turn into huge waves of change. This concept of the “butterfly effect,” where the flapping of a butterfly’s wings might affect the outcome of weather across the continent consumed me for the rest of the trip.

The idea played itself out in a small way when I donated my time at the Thodenasshai Navajo Shelter Home.

No matter the size of the action, the people it touches will pay it forward into a larger wave of compassion. It was at this shelter that I helped Ron Grace’s Lost for a Reason deliver direly needed supplies to women and children. As I looked into the eyes of the four-year-old Navajo boy trying on a new jacket that would get him through the winter, I saw the future of humanity dance.

And, I took that vision home with me as I swept my children up in my arms to feel our love as one. And just beyond this embrace as I felt its power growing, was a butterfly in the garden gently opening and closing its wings to the sound of our laughter.

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