WetLeather Motorcycle Rider Information

As a child, I was for lack of better descriptive terms, precocious. I was also the youngest of four, then the youngest of seven after my mother re-married.

Being the littlest put me in a unique place. I never got in trouble. Oh, sure, trouble happened aplenty. But I wasn’t ever the one blamed for it. Not even when the blame really should have been mine to bear.

My phone rang this evening, my brother David on the other end of the line. This is unusual in a couple of ways. First, I rarely get phone calls from anyone. Second, I’ve only talked to my brother twice in the last ten years. In his typically strange way of cutting to the chase, David told me he was calling to tell me what a great visit he’d had when he and his wife Kay came through Eugene two months ago. “Ok” I say, while wondering what the real purpose for the call was, “Thanks, we had a nice visit too.” Then he dropped the bombshell, “Uncle ‘Benny’ died today.”

PART 1

It had been a tough winter and a tougher spring. My marriage officially ended in April. The reality is; my marriage had been over long before. Divorce is such an ugly thing. Divorce is even uglier when someone you loved turns on you with a vindictive rage.

I needed to get my head together. I needed to travel and I needed to think. There’s no better place for both than on the seat of a motorcycle.