In June of 2022, I set out on a 3500 mile motorcycle trip with my close friend David Wright. We left from Los Angeles, CA with our end destination being Glacier National Park, searching for the space in-between life’s brutal & beautiful exploration of our short time upon this world. I personally have gone through life altering changes these past few years; death, a divorce, more death, the on going pandemic and having to confront life, loss and the overwhelming notion that time continues to travel forward with or without you.
Life has had a strange way of showing me what’s important, who’s important, what really matters and who really matters. To me, it’s times like this that matter. You’re either in it, or you’re not. You either get it, or you don’t. Riding a 70 year old motorcycle you built thousands of miles forces you to abandon your callous, somewhat unimportant traumas and seemingly be thrown into chaos that transforms the way you approach everything. Everything in the future is built upon everything in the past, it just takes time, distance and a new perspective to finally realize it.
Here is a collection of my journal entries and photographs I took along the way. I lost a dear friend at the end of last year and he always used to say, ‘you gotta live it while you got it Josh’. My hope is that this may inspire you to live out something you’ve always wanted to do, and to live it while you got it.
North Hollywood, CA - Bishop, CA
170 > 5 > 14 > Sierra Hwy > 14 > 395
110 degrees for at least 200 miles on the first day. We were as prepared as we could be for the trip, but not prepared for the heat. Guess nothing can really prepare you for it, you just have to dive in like a swimming pool, but instead its like opening the oven door when its at 500. It sounded like the engine on my motorcycle was dying of thirst. I usually don’t handle the heat well but for some reason as the day went on it didn’t seem to bother me. I thought for sure my bike would be a slice of burnt toast as we were hammering 75-80 mph all day but it kept a consistent golden brown. Now the real decision, butter or jam? Id choose jam.
We stopped in Lone Pine for a beer and to get out of the heat. Played a few rounds of pool, ate some bland Mexican and made the last leg to Bishop. We were planning on camping but needed a motel pool and cheap a/c. We found both. Wheeled the bikes inside as the desk clerk looked the other way. Sleep sweet.
Bishop, CA > Lake Tahoe, CA
395 > 89 > 50
I ate a waffle and had some stale coffee to start the day. 395 is a beautiful highway and the cool morning air was like a beautiful woman whispering sweet nothings on my neck. We got up to hwy 89 to cut over to hwy 50 and did the first switchback riding of the trip. Got up to Tahoe basin and the sky caved in and dumped rain on us relentlessly. My front end developed a wobble when I took my hands off the handlebars just as the roads were flooded. I felt like an ice skater that pirouetted in the air and the blades of their skates fell off….. slip and slide. Fucking sketchy. We pulled over to find some shelter behind a sign to hide from the horizontal rain. Waited for it to let up and made it into Lake Tahoe as wet as a seal. I didnt think my boots could fill to the top with water, felt like my feet were a ship in a bottle. Wobble fixed, wet toes, warm heart.
Lake Tahoe, CA > Austin, NV
Hwy 50
Woke up after restless sleep. The power in the motel was off til 2 am & thundered back on like a lightning crack. Found a diner close to the motel and walked over in soggy boots. Never realized how long it takes for leather to dry. I drank ample amounts of coffee hoping that the jitters would translate to my feet and the friction would dry my boots quicker. It didnt. Found a place to change my oil and the sun was out so the spirits were high. Filled up, started to set out and Daves bike completely cut out. No power, no nothing. Spirits changed. Realized it was his charging system so we were dead in the water, but dry this time. Found a friend of a friend who lived a few towns over and drove up a new regulator as we sun bathed. People show up when you need them the most. Got it fixed, rode around the eastern part of Lake Tahoe and the water was the deepest color blue i’ve ever seen. Into Carson City and due east towards Austin, NV on the loneliest highway in America.
It’s hard to put into words what this stretch was like. 100 miles in between stops, meeting mine workers who don’t register their vehicles because they live that far off the grid. The colors, the clarity, the isolation, the loneliness. Those 100 miles were the most alive ive ever been. Most alive in the loneliest place. Daves bike started to limp again so we pulled over to asses. I thought we were fucked. No service, no one around, sleeping in a ditch where the last running car we passed was 70 miles ago. Low desert, low times. We luckily found a crutch and the limp went to a hobble for the last 30 miles to Austin. An old mining town that had a population of 6,000 in 1886, and 10 in 2022. Gas station dinner of beef jerky and Doritos and the best feeling hot shower. The motel had one movie playing, My Bloody Valentine. Guess Harry Warden lulled us to sleep.
Austin, NV > Stanley, ID
26 > 20 > 21 > 75 > 93 > 90 > 93
The mornings are freezing in the high desert so we got a late start. Dave needed to fix some more electrical issues but those seemed to fail as we only made it 10 miles out of Austin. Luckily we weren’t stranded in the middle of nowhere as we’ve heard it takes tow trucks 2-3 days to show up. I stayed in town as Dave hitched a ride with a local named Trip, who took him the 80 miles to the closest uHaul for a full tank of gas and $60. A trip with Trip who was a Trip. I lounged in the sun, made friends with some stray cats & a wanderer who talked my ear to the ground. I figure he doesn’t see a lot of people so he was making up for lost time. Loaded the bikes & made it the 400 miles to Boise, ID late last night.
Got a late start the next morning as the hotel beds felt like quicksand. Dave bought a coil from a shop in Boise so we could get back on the road. Packed up around 2:30pm and headed towards the canyons. Today was the best day of riding a motorcycle I’ve ever had. We danced along a river that seemed to be moving as fast as we were. Climbed a summit with views like I’ve never seen, then broke through a clearing and the Sawtooth mountains finally appeared. Feeling overwhelmed and fulfilled to think I’m riding a motorcycle I built & it took me to a place like this. These machines are the ultimate healing vessel, pushing you to a place you didn’t think you could go.
We got into Stanley, ID which might as well been some place in the Swiss alps, with the full Sawtooth Mountain range at our backs and fully in frame. Found a motel with a back patio with all the views. Whiskey, cigarettes and reigning in our wandering minds.
Missoula, MT > Glacier National Park > Polson, MT
93 > 35 > 2 > 35 > 93
Today was the day, Glacier National Park. It was hard to believe that my motorcycle hadn’t broken apart into 10,000,000 pieces by now. Trials and tribulations with this machine over the past year before we left for the trip have tested me beyond my limits, but it’s ran perfect since we left LA. But thats life right? Kicking you then kissing you. It’s like a woman who you love and desire more than anything in this world keeps blowing you off, then just shows up at your doorstep, smiles with her eyes and takes you to bed. Actually better than that.
40 miles past Missoula we’re greeted with snowcapped mountains and sunny skies. The cool air that’s blown down from the snowy peaks is like tall glasses of cold water for our bikes and I don’t think this motorcycle has ever ran better. We do our best to pull over and stop and take everything in. We got into Polson, MT and see Flathead Lake, which is the largest fresh water lake in the country. Rode the eastern side, stopped to skip stones and eat sub par key lime pie. As we inched closer north to Glacier the weather seemed to get warmer, maybe that was just our excitement or our blood pressures started to climb.
Fuck man, we made it. At the gates of Glacier. The pass was closed at Lake McDonald so we rode in 15 some miles and found a place to dip our toes. We told ourselves before leaving that as long as we made it to Glacier the trip was a success. Here we are, riding without helmets and feeling all of everything all at once. All of everything from the past and all of everything in the now just melted away. Living it while I got it.
We were leaving the park on cloud 10,000 and the winds picked up, dark clouds rolled in. Heard through the grapevine of park rangers that it was about to get fucked. We found some shelter at a white river rafting rental shop, where a bunch of young girls on their summer jobs giggled at us through the windows. Dave had his 100th cigarette of the trip and I had my 100th bag of peanut M&Ms as we waited for the rain to pass.
Dodged the rain and got to Polson for the best steak dinner of my life. Got to our campsite, setup camp and faded as storms rolled over us all throughout the night. Sleep sweet sweets.
Missoula, MT > Lewiston, ID > Kennewick, WA
93 > 12 > 730 > 82 > 14
Lolo pass, a theme park ride dancing back and forth following a river that really does run through it. The best day with the best company on the best roads with the best weather. Not really much to say beyond that. Stayed in Hellsgate State Park on the edge of Lewiston, ID. Dave had bought some old western novels at a goodwill in Montana and was hooked, he actually couldn’t put them down. Night time reading as the cool breeze and crickets sung us to sleep.
This next day was a hard stretch of riding. I feel like being in the sun constantly had finally caught up with us. I dont’ think SPF 1000 would have helped. We stopped to get Root Beer floats and of course they were out of ice cream, so a lunch of french fries and stale soda pop was all that sounded appetizing. We were about 150 miles out from the campsite and Daves exhaust made the sound of a shotgun that made us both almost jump of our bikes. We battled for a few hours trying to figure out what went wrong as the sun started to fade, stranded again in the middle of nowhere. What to do, what to think, what to fix, what to what. It’s times like this where you finally have a moment to catch up with everything thats around you. To realize where you’ve come from, where you’re at, where you’re going and where you’ve actually ended up.
We decided we needed to get a tow and AAA platinum service means nothing in eastern Oregon, or anywhere outside of a major city. ScAAAm. Called up a local tow company and 3 hrs later a guy shows up with a beat up Chevy and a brand new motorcycle trailer. His truck had every check engine light on and he was driving like a student driver testing to get their license. Not sure if it was how we looked, how we smelled or just how he operated. I thought we’d either crash or break down and have to get rescued two times over.
Got into Lewiston and found a cheap hotel to shower and sleep in a cool, dark cave. We were both pretty toasted. Ate at an Applebees and it didn’t matter how much water we drank, our skin felt like beef jerky. Salted and seasoned.
Kennewick, WA > Portland, OR > North Hollywood, CA
82 > 84 > 96 > 14 > 205 > 84 > 5 > 99 > 18 > 101 > 1
I rode around in the morning picking up any part Dave might need to fix his bike. We realized that the distributor he got in Lake Tahoe slowly fried his battery. New battery, new bike, new outlook on life. We grabbed some breakfast before hitting the road and all Dave wanted was blackberry pie and 5 glasses of Sprite, no ice. Like Popeyes spinach, pie and sprite made all the difference. This was a fun day of riding even though the heat was intense. We finally got into eastern Oregon and we were met with rolling fields of golden flowers. For a second, I questioned the decision to shoot BW film for this trip because of those fields but that passed as that moment of pure color is just for Dave and myself. The camera I carried around my neck was never a priority, and most of the time I forgot it was even there. This trip was about being engulfed into each mile and experiencing it all without distractions. Second, being there for my friend and lastly remembering I have a camera and maybe I should take some photographs along the way.
The landscape changed so fast as we got closer to western Oregon. Mt Hood winked at us through the landscape and the realization of how far we had rode and how close we were to Portland smacked us in the face. We followed the north side of the Colombia river and watched as the foliage kept growing greener and thicker as we passed through tunnels underneath mountains. We pulled into my friends house where we were staying and were greeted by them, their beautiful child, cheeseburgers and cooked vegetables. Grabbed a beer at a bar within walking distance and slept in their camper van. Top bunk forever.
I guess this is it, this is where the trip starts to come to a close. We had intended on riding the coast all the way down from Oregon to Southern California but the excitement quickly faded as we were met with the gnarliest roads we’ve experienced on the trip. I never really understood how stretches of the Pacific Coast Highway could be closed for months on end, but after riding the majority of it I was thrown into being a believer. Back and forth, up and down, twist and turn until you wanted to puke. A two lane road that might as well be a one lane with no guardrail and a 2” hump thats pathetically labeled a curb. That small slump is the only barrier you have before you would plummet to a rocky death and would forever be sleeping with the plankton. It was cloudy, cold and made us despise it that much more. The camper van couples and city guys trying to impress their outdoorsy girlfriends driving their new off road pickups with a camper special in tow were just as sketchy as the road. They swerved into our lane at each corner we hit. Dodge, duck, dip, dive, dodge.
I had zero time to think about anything other than riding my motorcycle. I forgot we were even on this trip as it took everything in me to fully concentrate on not crashing, pure and utter chaos of the mind. We actually looked forward to not riding a motorcycle and greeted coastal camping as if it were being home in our own bed. At one site a little north of San Francisco, we met a guy named Spence who lived out of his early 80s sedan and had an abundant supply of Miller High Life’s. He hauled timber for a living and would sleep in his car on the coast when he wasn’t working. Just countless stories and a guy you wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of a conversation with. In between beers and him showing off his razor sharp 12” Bowie knife I was able to get a photograph of his one and only tattoo. It was the last photograph I took on the trip. Seemed fitting, fuck you, goodnight.