Tim Notier's Blog, page 3
May 28, 2022
Dragons
By Tim Notier 
Knighting our motorcycle with its rightful name was not an easy task. It involved days of consideration and deep meditation in order for us to find the One True Name of our newest family member. I think that if Marisa and I had a child, it would have been easier to name.
"Tim Junior?"
"T.J. for short?"
"Sounds good!"
End of discussion.
But our motorcycle needed a name that not only had meaning to us, but one that others would be able to understand the magic that was built directly into the machine. Our last motorcycle was named Pegasus, as it was a mythical creature that carried us halfway around the world. With the Honda Goldwing pegs installed as Marisa's foot pegs, the name just came to us and we dubbed the bike Pegasus right there in the middle of Death Valley.
The name of our newest motorcycle had to come to us just as naturally. I was also up to the trial of a peyote induced hallucination where I might find the bike's spirit animal. But sadly, Marisa denied my request to leave this realm in my hunt for true clarity. The two of us just wanted the bike's title to have importance to us, and one to be proud of as we spoke about its great accomplishments.
While on the road over the last four years, I often found myself missing some creature comforts. Not of old habits that I used to have, but the actual comfort of the creatures that I left behind. My cats Kamiko and Moto were my little buddies, and 22 years later, we just said our final goodbye to my best friend Moto. After a blood-clot in his right paw, Moto was on the tail end of his journey, and even though we said our farewells to Kamiko years ago, her and Moto have always been a part of our adventure.
But with them in mind, I couldn't name my motorcycle Moto. That seemed a little redundant. And Kamiko's name has a whole backstory that I wouldn't necessarily say upsets Marisa, but is kind of awkward. Long story short, I named my cat after a girl in high school that was super pretty, who also happened to be one of Marisa's good friends. So naming the bike in honor of either of my cats seemed unrealistic.
Pegasus was a legendary animal, but in reality, we slithered our way across the ground in place of soaring above the clouds. Fluids and acidic spit dripped out of nearly every gasket instead of the pristine and stoic image that comes to mind of the divine winged horse. We rode on the back of a dragon, not a flawless deity of perfection.
Dragons came in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Our newest wyvern would hopefully be able to claw its way to Alaska with us mounted in its saddle. I realized that speed will not be our greatest feature, but the reliability and dependability of a tank. It then dawned on me that our bike's spirit animal was a Komodo dragon. And with a little splash of improper spelling, which I am almost a pro at, we have now knighted our KTM 1190 R 'KaMoto' as tribute to our best friends that will join us in spirit, as well as honoring the motorcycle's true nature.
It is the best of both worlds as we explore the globe on our lumbering beast of burden. I am happy that we found its name and am thankful that Marisa insisted that I not take magic mushrooms until we felt all other options had been exhausted.
We are so excited to be back in the thick of nature, this time with my three best friends along for the ride. Marisa, my copilot, and my two little buddies making the engine purr as we all go over the mountains to see what we can see.
We would love for you to follow us along via our YouTube channel at: www.youtube.com/notiersfrontiers
Or via the books we have written along the way at: https://smarturl.it/AdvMotorcyclebooks
Help push us 35 miles down the road at: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/NotierFrontiers or
https://www.patreon.com/notiersfrontiers
Knighting our motorcycle with its rightful name was not an easy task. It involved days of consideration and deep meditation in order for us to find the One True Name of our newest family member. I think that if Marisa and I had a child, it would have been easier to name."Tim Junior?"
"T.J. for short?"
"Sounds good!"
End of discussion.
But our motorcycle needed a name that not only had meaning to us, but one that others would be able to understand the magic that was built directly into the machine. Our last motorcycle was named Pegasus, as it was a mythical creature that carried us halfway around the world. With the Honda Goldwing pegs installed as Marisa's foot pegs, the name just came to us and we dubbed the bike Pegasus right there in the middle of Death Valley.
The name of our newest motorcycle had to come to us just as naturally. I was also up to the trial of a peyote induced hallucination where I might find the bike's spirit animal. But sadly, Marisa denied my request to leave this realm in my hunt for true clarity. The two of us just wanted the bike's title to have importance to us, and one to be proud of as we spoke about its great accomplishments.While on the road over the last four years, I often found myself missing some creature comforts. Not of old habits that I used to have, but the actual comfort of the creatures that I left behind. My cats Kamiko and Moto were my little buddies, and 22 years later, we just said our final goodbye to my best friend Moto. After a blood-clot in his right paw, Moto was on the tail end of his journey, and even though we said our farewells to Kamiko years ago, her and Moto have always been a part of our adventure.
But with them in mind, I couldn't name my motorcycle Moto. That seemed a little redundant. And Kamiko's name has a whole backstory that I wouldn't necessarily say upsets Marisa, but is kind of awkward. Long story short, I named my cat after a girl in high school that was super pretty, who also happened to be one of Marisa's good friends. So naming the bike in honor of either of my cats seemed unrealistic.Pegasus was a legendary animal, but in reality, we slithered our way across the ground in place of soaring above the clouds. Fluids and acidic spit dripped out of nearly every gasket instead of the pristine and stoic image that comes to mind of the divine winged horse. We rode on the back of a dragon, not a flawless deity of perfection.
Dragons came in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Our newest wyvern would hopefully be able to claw its way to Alaska with us mounted in its saddle. I realized that speed will not be our greatest feature, but the reliability and dependability of a tank. It then dawned on me that our bike's spirit animal was a Komodo dragon. And with a little splash of improper spelling, which I am almost a pro at, we have now knighted our KTM 1190 R 'KaMoto' as tribute to our best friends that will join us in spirit, as well as honoring the motorcycle's true nature.
It is the best of both worlds as we explore the globe on our lumbering beast of burden. I am happy that we found its name and am thankful that Marisa insisted that I not take magic mushrooms until we felt all other options had been exhausted.We are so excited to be back in the thick of nature, this time with my three best friends along for the ride. Marisa, my copilot, and my two little buddies making the engine purr as we all go over the mountains to see what we can see.
We would love for you to follow us along via our YouTube channel at: www.youtube.com/notiersfrontiersOr via the books we have written along the way at: https://smarturl.it/AdvMotorcyclebooks
Help push us 35 miles down the road at: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/NotierFrontiers or
https://www.patreon.com/notiersfrontiers
April 27, 2022
Mythical Creatures
The Notiers Notes Our Sunday Scoop By Tim Notier 
Marisa, Pegasus (our KTM 1190), and I have been a trio of man, woman, and machine over the course of the last 4 years. We have struggled together, overcome hardships together, and each of us has pushed the others past their limits, urging them to continue on when things got tough.
All of us have our roles as we navigate the world. I am generally the pilot, with my black chauffeur hat and gloves replaced with my motorcycle helmet and plastic knuckle gloves. My limo is our KTM, but Marisa is no ordinary passenger. Marisa is the true hero of our story. She is my cheerleader, my support crew, and my morale booster when both the bike and I are feeling grumpy and worn down. Between the three of us, Marisa is usually the one with the least amount of 'issues' as we bounce along gravel roads and across rivers.
There have been times when our struggles are of our own doing, most notably as we rode across the Bolivian Salt Flats when they had a thin layer of water reflecting the heavens above. And even though we took some of the most memorable pictures of the trip while coasting through this dreamlike scenery, it very well may have led to the large portion of electrical and mechanic issues that kept rearing their ugly heads as we continued further down the road. This is not what teammates do to each other. 
After troubleshooting a malfunctioning kickstand sensor, we hoped that was the only damage we had done on our blissful ride through paradise. But a year later in Africa, our radiator had sprung a leak. The mechanic who took a look at the bike asked me, "Where have you been that could have caused this type of corrosion?"
I knew the answer, but kept it to myself.
But Pegasus pushed on, rarely complaining as we traveled down sandy corrugated tracks that often left her laying on her side while fluids leaked out of overflow hoses. I patched her wounds the best that I could, and Marisa was always right there behind me to say, "You are doing an amazing job."
The three of us had a few more scars on us than we did the day we left, but we wore them like badges of honor. We successfully rode halfway up the African continent before Covid hit and tossed a wrench in our sprocket. After a year of waiting things out in Kenya and Uganda, Marisa and I decided that going back home to save up some cash and doing a full rebuild of the motorcycle would be a good use of our delayed travel plans. But before we wintered in Chicago, we wanted to tour the States, present at some overland expos, and take full advantage of the summer before we hunkered down to endure our first Chicago winter in four years.
Unknowingly, this would be the farewell tour to a member of our trio, one that had carried us nearly halfway across the globe. Our trusty steed was becoming less reliable as different failure codes flashed across my dash. After 85k of tough and overburdened miles, Peg was reflecting some of the abuse that I had put her through.
I had asked a lot of that motorcycle, and it had performed better than I could have ever expected. Some may say that 85k miles is not the full lifespan of an expensive adventure motorcycle, but my mind flashes to the way people age. There will be significant differences between Kim Kardashian when she reaches her 50's versus a blue-collar coal miner who had spent decades of their life through difficulties and hard manual labor.
Marisa and I knew that Peg had served her time. Fixing her up via a full rebuild would cost 6k dollars or more, and there still may be hidden gremlins lurking deep within her components that aren't diagnosable until they present themselves in some foreign land.
The good news is that Marisa and I still have the same wanderlust as we did so many years ago. The dream of riding through the plains of Mongolia are still alive and well. Our passion to explore the unknown has not faded in the slightest, and we have already chosen the next character of our story.
We can't wait to mount the newest member of Notier's Frontiers, but this story is not about what is to come, it is about the successes and triumphs that our honorably discharged motorcycle has faithfully guided us through, all with the enthusiasm of a new puppy. I will always remember the sound of her engine as she eagerly burst into life, ready for whatever nasty roads we may traverse down that particular day.
Marisa and Pegasus are both mythical creatures that have been crafted by the gods and by some source of unbelievable luck and fate, are a part of this little chauffeur's life. Another machine that has been forged by Hephaestus himself will be put through the same tests, if not more than its predecessor (minus any future salt flats).
Ride alongside us via our YouTube Channel and check out my latest publications of two Adventure Motorcycle Journals to document your own epic quest!
Subscribe to Our Blog
Marisa, Pegasus (our KTM 1190), and I have been a trio of man, woman, and machine over the course of the last 4 years. We have struggled together, overcome hardships together, and each of us has pushed the others past their limits, urging them to continue on when things got tough.
All of us have our roles as we navigate the world. I am generally the pilot, with my black chauffeur hat and gloves replaced with my motorcycle helmet and plastic knuckle gloves. My limo is our KTM, but Marisa is no ordinary passenger. Marisa is the true hero of our story. She is my cheerleader, my support crew, and my morale booster when both the bike and I are feeling grumpy and worn down. Between the three of us, Marisa is usually the one with the least amount of 'issues' as we bounce along gravel roads and across rivers.
There have been times when our struggles are of our own doing, most notably as we rode across the Bolivian Salt Flats when they had a thin layer of water reflecting the heavens above. And even though we took some of the most memorable pictures of the trip while coasting through this dreamlike scenery, it very well may have led to the large portion of electrical and mechanic issues that kept rearing their ugly heads as we continued further down the road. This is not what teammates do to each other. 
After troubleshooting a malfunctioning kickstand sensor, we hoped that was the only damage we had done on our blissful ride through paradise. But a year later in Africa, our radiator had sprung a leak. The mechanic who took a look at the bike asked me, "Where have you been that could have caused this type of corrosion?"I knew the answer, but kept it to myself.
But Pegasus pushed on, rarely complaining as we traveled down sandy corrugated tracks that often left her laying on her side while fluids leaked out of overflow hoses. I patched her wounds the best that I could, and Marisa was always right there behind me to say, "You are doing an amazing job."
The three of us had a few more scars on us than we did the day we left, but we wore them like badges of honor. We successfully rode halfway up the African continent before Covid hit and tossed a wrench in our sprocket. After a year of waiting things out in Kenya and Uganda, Marisa and I decided that going back home to save up some cash and doing a full rebuild of the motorcycle would be a good use of our delayed travel plans. But before we wintered in Chicago, we wanted to tour the States, present at some overland expos, and take full advantage of the summer before we hunkered down to endure our first Chicago winter in four years.
Unknowingly, this would be the farewell tour to a member of our trio, one that had carried us nearly halfway across the globe. Our trusty steed was becoming less reliable as different failure codes flashed across my dash. After 85k of tough and overburdened miles, Peg was reflecting some of the abuse that I had put her through.I had asked a lot of that motorcycle, and it had performed better than I could have ever expected. Some may say that 85k miles is not the full lifespan of an expensive adventure motorcycle, but my mind flashes to the way people age. There will be significant differences between Kim Kardashian when she reaches her 50's versus a blue-collar coal miner who had spent decades of their life through difficulties and hard manual labor.
Marisa and I knew that Peg had served her time. Fixing her up via a full rebuild would cost 6k dollars or more, and there still may be hidden gremlins lurking deep within her components that aren't diagnosable until they present themselves in some foreign land.The good news is that Marisa and I still have the same wanderlust as we did so many years ago. The dream of riding through the plains of Mongolia are still alive and well. Our passion to explore the unknown has not faded in the slightest, and we have already chosen the next character of our story.
We can't wait to mount the newest member of Notier's Frontiers, but this story is not about what is to come, it is about the successes and triumphs that our honorably discharged motorcycle has faithfully guided us through, all with the enthusiasm of a new puppy. I will always remember the sound of her engine as she eagerly burst into life, ready for whatever nasty roads we may traverse down that particular day.
Marisa and Pegasus are both mythical creatures that have been crafted by the gods and by some source of unbelievable luck and fate, are a part of this little chauffeur's life. Another machine that has been forged by Hephaestus himself will be put through the same tests, if not more than its predecessor (minus any future salt flats).Ride alongside us via our YouTube Channel and check out my latest publications of two Adventure Motorcycle Journals to document your own epic quest!
Subscribe to Our Blog
April 3, 2022
Alaska Bound
By Tim Notier 
With the weather warming up, we are getting unbearably excited for our launch date in just under a month and a half!
Our newest motorcycle is still in pieces, some of our new gear is yet to arrive, and I have only put about 20 miles on our newest member of Notier's Frontiers. The 1st real test ride will be 13k miles as we ride around the lower 48 before heading north to Alaska.
This isn't our first launch date that seemed like we may not hit the target... Four years ago, I didn't even have my driver's license delivered to me in time for our departure date. But everything seemed to sew itself together into a fine silk tapestry that looked fragile at first, but presented a wonderful picture of what life on the road was like when everything ran 'smoothly'.
First on our to do list, is one of our favorite events ever - the Overland Expo West in Flagstaff, Arizona, May 20th-22nd. We always have a blast presenting, trading stories with like minded travelers, and are so thankful for all of the support from the Overlanding community!
After our meet and greet in Flagstaff, and after a formal introduction to our newest, untamed steel horse, we are off to something truly amazing. We will be part of a tour through Yellowstone with an awesome motorcycle touring company called Temple of Moto! 
This will be a couple of steps above our usual camping down any secluded path we can find. This our will have some pretty fancy accommodations, aka "glamping" that we are ecstatic to be a part of.
Not only will Marisa and I help guide people around Yellowstone (where I proposed to Marisa not too long ago), we will also ride through our own memory lane on the tour through Beartooth Pass, and the Grand Tetons. This all sounds absolutely amazing... and it just so happens to also be the week of my 40th birthday!
If you are interested in celebrating and riding with us, check out Temple of Moto's website, there are still a couple of spots open for the tour!
Our last obligation before heading north through Canada on our way to Alaska, is the Overland Event in the Pacific Northwest! This is a brand new venue, and we can't wait to be a part of the premier July 8th - 10th in Bend, Oregon!
It takes place in one of the most beautiful regions of the States, and will be our last touch of American soil before we head to our friendly neighbors to the north on our way to some pretty remote, but fascinating landscapes.
It is hard to imagine that our bike, which currently has no rear or front suspension, will be the triumphant beast of burden to take us as far north as we can go in Alaska. At the moment, it is only halfway pieced together with the farkles, protection, pannier racks that will hold our seemingly half-ton worth of gear. But we know that this bike is up to the challenge.
The torch has been passed, and the next legs of the journey are on a more nimble, reliable, and younger machine that will take us to the remaining sections of the earth waiting for our arrival. Subscribe to our Blog
With the weather warming up, we are getting unbearably excited for our launch date in just under a month and a half!Our newest motorcycle is still in pieces, some of our new gear is yet to arrive, and I have only put about 20 miles on our newest member of Notier's Frontiers. The 1st real test ride will be 13k miles as we ride around the lower 48 before heading north to Alaska.
This isn't our first launch date that seemed like we may not hit the target... Four years ago, I didn't even have my driver's license delivered to me in time for our departure date. But everything seemed to sew itself together into a fine silk tapestry that looked fragile at first, but presented a wonderful picture of what life on the road was like when everything ran 'smoothly'.
First on our to do list, is one of our favorite events ever - the Overland Expo West in Flagstaff, Arizona, May 20th-22nd. We always have a blast presenting, trading stories with like minded travelers, and are so thankful for all of the support from the Overlanding community!
After our meet and greet in Flagstaff, and after a formal introduction to our newest, untamed steel horse, we are off to something truly amazing. We will be part of a tour through Yellowstone with an awesome motorcycle touring company called Temple of Moto! This will be a couple of steps above our usual camping down any secluded path we can find. This our will have some pretty fancy accommodations, aka "glamping" that we are ecstatic to be a part of.Not only will Marisa and I help guide people around Yellowstone (where I proposed to Marisa not too long ago), we will also ride through our own memory lane on the tour through Beartooth Pass, and the Grand Tetons. This all sounds absolutely amazing... and it just so happens to also be the week of my 40th birthday!
If you are interested in celebrating and riding with us, check out Temple of Moto's website, there are still a couple of spots open for the tour!
Our last obligation before heading north through Canada on our way to Alaska, is the Overland Event in the Pacific Northwest! This is a brand new venue, and we can't wait to be a part of the premier July 8th - 10th in Bend, Oregon!It takes place in one of the most beautiful regions of the States, and will be our last touch of American soil before we head to our friendly neighbors to the north on our way to some pretty remote, but fascinating landscapes.
It is hard to imagine that our bike, which currently has no rear or front suspension, will be the triumphant beast of burden to take us as far north as we can go in Alaska. At the moment, it is only halfway pieced together with the farkles, protection, pannier racks that will hold our seemingly half-ton worth of gear. But we know that this bike is up to the challenge.The torch has been passed, and the next legs of the journey are on a more nimble, reliable, and younger machine that will take us to the remaining sections of the earth waiting for our arrival. Subscribe to our Blog
March 26, 2022
The Newest Member of Notier's Frontiers
By Tim Notier 
Just a quick introduction to our newest member of the family...
Our mighty KTM 1190 had served us well over the past 85k miles, and has taken us across 3 continents and 25 counties. But, it is time to honorably discharge her from active duty.
Marisa and I wanted to stay with KTM, as I was familiar with the bike and how it handled. But we definitely wanted an upgradable suspension.
So we got ourselves an 1190 R!!!!
It is pretty much the exact same motorcycle, but with larger wheels and a better suspension!
Plus, all of our farkles and racks will be able to be transplanted onto the new bike!
I have already added the rear luggage rack as well as the lower and upper crash bars onto the new beast, and it looks pretty identical to our old bike!
There is still a whole lot to be done to prep the bike for our next round of adventures. But it is comforting knowing that pieces of "Pegasus's" soul will be embedded into the heart of our new motorcycle.
The headlight guard, double take mirrors, hand guards, air box, and the wide Honda Goldwing passenger pegs that gave "Pegasus" her namesake, have all been installed on the "Horse with no name".
We have yet to name the beast, but she will let us know what to call her when the time is right. As of right now, both the front and the rear suspension have been removed to be re-sprung and re-valved for the amount of weight we put on her... but she will be ready by the time we head back out into the wilds in early May!
She might not look battle ready at the moment, but we couldn't be more excited about the places we will see while riding on the back of this magnificent motorcycle!
A huge thank you to all of our Patrons who have helped us along the way. And to everyone who has bought us a gallon of gas, and to everyone who has liked and commented on our posts, blogs, and YouTube channel.
There is a whole lot more to come!! So stay tuned!
Just a quick introduction to our newest member of the family...
Our mighty KTM 1190 had served us well over the past 85k miles, and has taken us across 3 continents and 25 counties. But, it is time to honorably discharge her from active duty.
Marisa and I wanted to stay with KTM, as I was familiar with the bike and how it handled. But we definitely wanted an upgradable suspension.
So we got ourselves an 1190 R!!!!
It is pretty much the exact same motorcycle, but with larger wheels and a better suspension!
Plus, all of our farkles and racks will be able to be transplanted onto the new bike!
I have already added the rear luggage rack as well as the lower and upper crash bars onto the new beast, and it looks pretty identical to our old bike! There is still a whole lot to be done to prep the bike for our next round of adventures. But it is comforting knowing that pieces of "Pegasus's" soul will be embedded into the heart of our new motorcycle.The headlight guard, double take mirrors, hand guards, air box, and the wide Honda Goldwing passenger pegs that gave "Pegasus" her namesake, have all been installed on the "Horse with no name".
We have yet to name the beast, but she will let us know what to call her when the time is right.
As of right now, both the front and the rear suspension have been removed to be re-sprung and re-valved for the amount of weight we put on her... but she will be ready by the time we head back out into the wilds in early May!She might not look battle ready at the moment, but we couldn't be more excited about the places we will see while riding on the back of this magnificent motorcycle!
A huge thank you to all of our Patrons who have helped us along the way. And to everyone who has bought us a gallon of gas, and to everyone who has liked and commented on our posts, blogs, and YouTube channel.
There is a whole lot more to come!! So stay tuned!
February 12, 2022
Memories and New Frontiers
Tim Notier 
The mighty KTM on our 'Maiden Voyage' long before she was knighted with her 1st sticker Things have definitely changed since the day we bought our 1190 way back in 2013 as we daydreamed about traveling the world.
As with most things, it was a learning process. Our original set up was... rather interesting to say the least. Our luggage, the way it was packed, as well as our gear, all failed the initial test as we roamed around the Rocky Mountains. But the three things that still seemed eager and willing to travel the world were Marisa, myself, and the mighty KTM 1190.
This post is our way of saying goodbye to the third member of Notier's Frontiers, and consists of some of our favorite memories as we meandered around 3 continents, over 4 years, while raking up over 85k hard miles that the motorcycle (mostly) took with stride. [image error] To prepare both man and machine for what was to come, I took an off-road class at D.A.R.T. (Dragoo Adventure Rider Training) where I learned invaluable lessons that we would carry with us over the course of the next 4 years. I am so thankful that I learned the basics and some intermediate technics as they got us out of some pretty nasty situations where I was able to dig into my 'toolbox' of knowledge. [image error] The first time we meandered down aggressive dirt was in New Mexico, where Marisa wasn't exactly 'comfortable' as I zipped down gravel and sandy roads. It took another year and a half for her to relax and to not completely freak out. But she ended up coming around, and even now urges me to take the path less traveled.
It was nice to know that as my skill level grew, and Marisa got more confident as a pillion, the KTM was always ready to take it to the next level of adventure riding.
Once we entered Central America, we knew that we were in it for the long-haul. The trio that was Marisa, the bike, and myself, had passed multiple tests. We had lived together in tighter quarters than members of the Navy on a submarine, and somehow, we still felt the urge to push forward.
The motorcycle had experienced a few bad days, as well as its riders, but we were a team, and were an unstoppable force that knew how lucky we were to be doing what we loved.
After Central America, we put the bike on a small sailboat, and crossed the Caribbean Sea from Panama to Colombia. Now we were in a brand new land, and a continent that held more wonders than we could have ever imagined. 
The KTM, now dubbed 'Pegasus' was preforming nearly flawlessly as we continued to explore South America. [image error] We were able to travel to remote villages, through landslide-ridden muddy backroads, all while smiling the entire way. 
Then... we did something wonderfully stupid. The Bolivian Salt Flats were a dream landscape to ride on when wet. But maybe not the smartest idea as that was the first time I unintentionally messed the bike up. Salt is the destroyer of all things electrical, and our KTM had plenty of electronic gizmos that all fed into the CPU of the motorcycle.
During our ride on the salt flats, the kickstand sensor was corrupted by the watery salt. It wasn't anything that we weren't able to figure out within a few days, but I still think that salty ride may have led to even more problems further down the road.
Me trying to figure out why the bike was overheating in the middle of a mountain pass. But the motorcycle still chugged along. It successfully got us to the tip of South America where we celebrated an achievement that we had only dreamed of a few years prior.
Most of the hard work and abuse was put solely on the 1190, but it absorbed everything that I threw at it, and didn't seem to complain much.
That is Marisa 'jumping' in joy, nearly 6 inches off of the ground. After our South American adventure, we headed back to the States, and got married! And we treated the bike to a spa day at the mechanic where we replaced nearly every bearing, fluid, and scrubbed every electrical connection clean before assembling it back together.
Then we launched the three of us to Africa! [image error]
The KTM seemed to be healthy again, but in Namibia, we snapped the monoshock (for the second time). The first time we had snapped the monoshock was back in Ecuador. This time around, the corrugated sandy roads seemed too much as loaded as we were.
[image error] One fault that I knew of on Pegasus was her monoshock. It was proving to be her achilles heel. On most motorcycles, the spring and valves can be upgraded. The KTM 1190R, for example, has a much more heavy duty suspension, and one that can be modified. Unluckily for us, the standard KTM did not have an aftermarket 'beefier' spring and valve replacement.
I began to sometimes wish that we had bought an 'R'. [image error] With a new spring, we pushed forward further up the African continent. We still had the same sense of wonder as the very first day we took off from our home in Chicago.
[image error] We camped in the most remote places that reminded us of the seclusion one could find in South America. Vast open landscapes filled with picturesque mountains and valleys. Sometimes we would be woken up by curious tribesmen who saw Pegasus and were blown away by the achievements that she had done. Carrying two people around the world is no small task. [image error] The last foreign soil that her tires dug into was in Kenya. But just like in South America, she was in need of some TLC once again. Our road had ended on the African continent due to the pandemic, so we flew home to see friends, family, and to hit up some of the Overland Expos back in the States. 
We were having an amazing time, but the bike was continuing to have more problems as we crossed the States.
Sadly, when we returned home, I knew that I would be retiring the old girl after years of faithful service. I have had her for 8 years, four of them were on the road. With over 85k miles she has served her duty. The cost to repair just about everything on her was nearing 7k, and that would still leave us with a frame and subcomponents with 85k miles on them.
I began to ponder once again about the KTM 1190 R that I knew had a better suspension, and if there were any good deals with low milage in the surrounding area. I knew that a new shiny 1190R would run us around $10-11k, a huge dent in our budget, but hopefully the last investment into a motorcycle that would more confidently get us to Mongolia.
And I think I may have found one... [image error] So, I honorably discharge Pegasus from active duty. Let us all wish her well, or what is left of her, after I scrap her for parts and strip her of all the farkles. She has been a reliable steed, and even though she has given us grief in moments, I believe she held up just as good, or better, than any of the competition. That fact alone is why I want to stay with KTM. I know that I can take it to the ends of the Earth.
If you want to help contribute to pushing us further down the road, there are a few ways that you can do so! Kinda like an NPR Pledge Drive... but in this case, NPR stands for 'Notiers Phenomenal Ride'.
The simplest way would be to travel along side us in any of the three books that I have written that are all available on Amazon by clicking here.
You can also join our Patreon Page and get early access to all of our videos as we meander around the world!
Or, if you're feeling generous, you can donate to our adventure via PayPal or buy us a tank of gas via paypalme/notiersfrontiers or buymeacoffee.com/NotierFrontiers.
Marisa and I are thankful for all of the support. And hope that everyone enjoys the ride reports and videos that we post as we continue our passion.
Marisa and I know that the life we have chosen is our financial responsibility. We don't expect to have our journey completely paid for by our following, but for those of you who would like to contribute, we are forever grateful!
Cheers to what is still to come!! To NEW FRONTIERS!
Tim here... so expect less poetic words than you're used to with Marisa, and more pictures of the motorcycle!
The mighty KTM on our 'Maiden Voyage' long before she was knighted with her 1st sticker Things have definitely changed since the day we bought our 1190 way back in 2013 as we daydreamed about traveling the world.As with most things, it was a learning process. Our original set up was... rather interesting to say the least. Our luggage, the way it was packed, as well as our gear, all failed the initial test as we roamed around the Rocky Mountains. But the three things that still seemed eager and willing to travel the world were Marisa, myself, and the mighty KTM 1190.
This post is our way of saying goodbye to the third member of Notier's Frontiers, and consists of some of our favorite memories as we meandered around 3 continents, over 4 years, while raking up over 85k hard miles that the motorcycle (mostly) took with stride. [image error] To prepare both man and machine for what was to come, I took an off-road class at D.A.R.T. (Dragoo Adventure Rider Training) where I learned invaluable lessons that we would carry with us over the course of the next 4 years. I am so thankful that I learned the basics and some intermediate technics as they got us out of some pretty nasty situations where I was able to dig into my 'toolbox' of knowledge. [image error] The first time we meandered down aggressive dirt was in New Mexico, where Marisa wasn't exactly 'comfortable' as I zipped down gravel and sandy roads. It took another year and a half for her to relax and to not completely freak out. But she ended up coming around, and even now urges me to take the path less traveled.
It was nice to know that as my skill level grew, and Marisa got more confident as a pillion, the KTM was always ready to take it to the next level of adventure riding.
Once we entered Central America, we knew that we were in it for the long-haul. The trio that was Marisa, the bike, and myself, had passed multiple tests. We had lived together in tighter quarters than members of the Navy on a submarine, and somehow, we still felt the urge to push forward.The motorcycle had experienced a few bad days, as well as its riders, but we were a team, and were an unstoppable force that knew how lucky we were to be doing what we loved.
After Central America, we put the bike on a small sailboat, and crossed the Caribbean Sea from Panama to Colombia. Now we were in a brand new land, and a continent that held more wonders than we could have ever imagined. 
The KTM, now dubbed 'Pegasus' was preforming nearly flawlessly as we continued to explore South America. [image error] We were able to travel to remote villages, through landslide-ridden muddy backroads, all while smiling the entire way. 
Then... we did something wonderfully stupid. The Bolivian Salt Flats were a dream landscape to ride on when wet. But maybe not the smartest idea as that was the first time I unintentionally messed the bike up. Salt is the destroyer of all things electrical, and our KTM had plenty of electronic gizmos that all fed into the CPU of the motorcycle.
During our ride on the salt flats, the kickstand sensor was corrupted by the watery salt. It wasn't anything that we weren't able to figure out within a few days, but I still think that salty ride may have led to even more problems further down the road.
Me trying to figure out why the bike was overheating in the middle of a mountain pass. But the motorcycle still chugged along. It successfully got us to the tip of South America where we celebrated an achievement that we had only dreamed of a few years prior.Most of the hard work and abuse was put solely on the 1190, but it absorbed everything that I threw at it, and didn't seem to complain much.
That is Marisa 'jumping' in joy, nearly 6 inches off of the ground. After our South American adventure, we headed back to the States, and got married! And we treated the bike to a spa day at the mechanic where we replaced nearly every bearing, fluid, and scrubbed every electrical connection clean before assembling it back together.Then we launched the three of us to Africa! [image error]
The KTM seemed to be healthy again, but in Namibia, we snapped the monoshock (for the second time). The first time we had snapped the monoshock was back in Ecuador. This time around, the corrugated sandy roads seemed too much as loaded as we were.[image error] One fault that I knew of on Pegasus was her monoshock. It was proving to be her achilles heel. On most motorcycles, the spring and valves can be upgraded. The KTM 1190R, for example, has a much more heavy duty suspension, and one that can be modified. Unluckily for us, the standard KTM did not have an aftermarket 'beefier' spring and valve replacement.
I began to sometimes wish that we had bought an 'R'. [image error] With a new spring, we pushed forward further up the African continent. We still had the same sense of wonder as the very first day we took off from our home in Chicago.
[image error] We camped in the most remote places that reminded us of the seclusion one could find in South America. Vast open landscapes filled with picturesque mountains and valleys. Sometimes we would be woken up by curious tribesmen who saw Pegasus and were blown away by the achievements that she had done. Carrying two people around the world is no small task. [image error] The last foreign soil that her tires dug into was in Kenya. But just like in South America, she was in need of some TLC once again. Our road had ended on the African continent due to the pandemic, so we flew home to see friends, family, and to hit up some of the Overland Expos back in the States. 
We were having an amazing time, but the bike was continuing to have more problems as we crossed the States.Sadly, when we returned home, I knew that I would be retiring the old girl after years of faithful service. I have had her for 8 years, four of them were on the road. With over 85k miles she has served her duty. The cost to repair just about everything on her was nearing 7k, and that would still leave us with a frame and subcomponents with 85k miles on them.
I began to ponder once again about the KTM 1190 R that I knew had a better suspension, and if there were any good deals with low milage in the surrounding area. I knew that a new shiny 1190R would run us around $10-11k, a huge dent in our budget, but hopefully the last investment into a motorcycle that would more confidently get us to Mongolia.
And I think I may have found one... [image error] So, I honorably discharge Pegasus from active duty. Let us all wish her well, or what is left of her, after I scrap her for parts and strip her of all the farkles. She has been a reliable steed, and even though she has given us grief in moments, I believe she held up just as good, or better, than any of the competition. That fact alone is why I want to stay with KTM. I know that I can take it to the ends of the Earth.
If you want to help contribute to pushing us further down the road, there are a few ways that you can do so! Kinda like an NPR Pledge Drive... but in this case, NPR stands for 'Notiers Phenomenal Ride'.
The simplest way would be to travel along side us in any of the three books that I have written that are all available on Amazon by clicking here.
You can also join our Patreon Page and get early access to all of our videos as we meander around the world!
Or, if you're feeling generous, you can donate to our adventure via PayPal or buy us a tank of gas via paypalme/notiersfrontiers or buymeacoffee.com/NotierFrontiers.
Marisa and I are thankful for all of the support. And hope that everyone enjoys the ride reports and videos that we post as we continue our passion.
Marisa and I know that the life we have chosen is our financial responsibility. We don't expect to have our journey completely paid for by our following, but for those of you who would like to contribute, we are forever grateful!
Cheers to what is still to come!! To NEW FRONTIERS!
January 1, 2022
A New Year, A New Bike
The Notier NotesOur Sunday (Saturday) Scoop
I love New Years, because I love the idea that maybe this year I could become a better version of myself. I love thinking that maybe this year all those hopes I have will come true. And maybe this year I'll work harder to achieve my dreams.
But it also gives me the chance to look back at the past year, and realize that I actually have achieved a lot, and honestly, I am already living my dreams.
The pandemic put a lot of our lives on hold, and for Tim and I, our travel plans were no different. But somehow we still got plenty of motorcycle traveling in, and had incredible adventures throughout the riding months of 2021. In the spring, we flew back home to the US from Africa, and we hit the road in the States, venturing all the way to Key West in Florida, and out west to Idaho. We saw the fall colors of the Northeast, and we successfully went to all three Overland Expos all across the country!
Idaho! Wow!But there was a reoccurring theme throughout our journeys - bike breakdowns. Our KTM 1190 now has 87,000 hard-earned miles on her. We've put her through a lot (we're still apologizing for the Bolivian Salt Flats), and it definitely shows. It's not just scrapes and dents (and lots and lots of stickers). It's electrical failures, throttle body misalignments, and a full list of error codes that permanently pop up on the dash. It's the fact that we just don't have confidence that even if we spend roughly $6,000 to fix her up (that's what it'll cost with new parts), that we'll be able to successfully get to the top of Alaska, which is our plan for the summer.
It's the hard, sad truth. But I think our motorcycle is ready for retirement.
Which means one thing - we need a new bike.
There was a lot of towing involved this summer. And it was only thanks to dear friends that we were able to make it.And so that is our task for the beginning of 2022, finding our new third member of our trio. Though we've reached out to the major motorcycle companies for sponsorships, no one has responded back to us so far. But we've also been in contact with a friend who has a lightly-used KTM 1190 S for sale - our exact bike! And we wouldn't be spending too much more than it would cost to fix up our current one. This seems like it could be our best option at the moment, and we're really excited.
So things are looking up. [image error] I believe that 2022 is going to be the year where we all get a fresh, new start on our life's journey again. Yes, it might feel like we've just been hitting one breakdown after the next, and every time we get that engine up and humming again, we hit another bump in the road, and BAM! Down for the count. Closures, stuck in the house, worried about ourselves our our loved ones getting sick... worried that we'll never get that engine starting again like it used to.
But this year is going to be different. This year we're given a shot at a new beginning. A new key to start her up. And yes, we know this new bike will have its problems too, but we're also confident that whatever it is, we'll be able to get through it.
There's a lot of beautiful tarmac out there that's just waiting for us to glide down it.
And I can't wait to do so.
I hope everyone out there has a wonderful New Years! And I hope that all our wishes for new beginnings in life come true.
We have a New Years video out today that I think you will enjoy! It a bit of a time traveler's video, because we recreate our steps seven years ago through one of our favorite National Parks - Bryce Canyon. It's stunning, it's otherwordly, but most of all, it teaches us that time is a relative thing. And that sometimes the passing of time does not necessarily mean change.Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
I love New Years, because I love the idea that maybe this year I could become a better version of myself. I love thinking that maybe this year all those hopes I have will come true. And maybe this year I'll work harder to achieve my dreams.But it also gives me the chance to look back at the past year, and realize that I actually have achieved a lot, and honestly, I am already living my dreams.
The pandemic put a lot of our lives on hold, and for Tim and I, our travel plans were no different. But somehow we still got plenty of motorcycle traveling in, and had incredible adventures throughout the riding months of 2021. In the spring, we flew back home to the US from Africa, and we hit the road in the States, venturing all the way to Key West in Florida, and out west to Idaho. We saw the fall colors of the Northeast, and we successfully went to all three Overland Expos all across the country!
Idaho! Wow!But there was a reoccurring theme throughout our journeys - bike breakdowns. Our KTM 1190 now has 87,000 hard-earned miles on her. We've put her through a lot (we're still apologizing for the Bolivian Salt Flats), and it definitely shows. It's not just scrapes and dents (and lots and lots of stickers). It's electrical failures, throttle body misalignments, and a full list of error codes that permanently pop up on the dash. It's the fact that we just don't have confidence that even if we spend roughly $6,000 to fix her up (that's what it'll cost with new parts), that we'll be able to successfully get to the top of Alaska, which is our plan for the summer.It's the hard, sad truth. But I think our motorcycle is ready for retirement.
Which means one thing - we need a new bike.
There was a lot of towing involved this summer. And it was only thanks to dear friends that we were able to make it.And so that is our task for the beginning of 2022, finding our new third member of our trio. Though we've reached out to the major motorcycle companies for sponsorships, no one has responded back to us so far. But we've also been in contact with a friend who has a lightly-used KTM 1190 S for sale - our exact bike! And we wouldn't be spending too much more than it would cost to fix up our current one. This seems like it could be our best option at the moment, and we're really excited.So things are looking up. [image error] I believe that 2022 is going to be the year where we all get a fresh, new start on our life's journey again. Yes, it might feel like we've just been hitting one breakdown after the next, and every time we get that engine up and humming again, we hit another bump in the road, and BAM! Down for the count. Closures, stuck in the house, worried about ourselves our our loved ones getting sick... worried that we'll never get that engine starting again like it used to.
But this year is going to be different. This year we're given a shot at a new beginning. A new key to start her up. And yes, we know this new bike will have its problems too, but we're also confident that whatever it is, we'll be able to get through it.
There's a lot of beautiful tarmac out there that's just waiting for us to glide down it.
And I can't wait to do so.
I hope everyone out there has a wonderful New Years! And I hope that all our wishes for new beginnings in life come true.We have a New Years video out today that I think you will enjoy! It a bit of a time traveler's video, because we recreate our steps seven years ago through one of our favorite National Parks - Bryce Canyon. It's stunning, it's otherwordly, but most of all, it teaches us that time is a relative thing. And that sometimes the passing of time does not necessarily mean change.Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
December 25, 2021
Happy Holidays!
Merry Christmas everyone (or Hannukah, and all the other incredible celebrations out there)! We just wanted to make a fun post to celebrate the holiday season by showing you a recap of all the cool places we've been for Christmas over that past four years.That's right, this is our first Christmas that we'll be celebrating back in the States, at home with friends and family (and that is a great feeling). For the past four winters we've been in faraway lands, and have been welcomed into other peoples' traditions and customs.
Here's a quick glance at the past four Christmases going back in time -
Last year we were celebrating in our rental home in Kenya. I made comfort food - a roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and mac and cheese. A little strange, but it worked. We also had a little tree decorated. And even though we were somewhat locked down due to the pandemic, we had great company (Marco and Dora, the kittens).
The year before that we were slightly more south in Africa, in Zambia. And that Christmas was celebrated with our good friend, Emiliano, a fellow American motorcycle traveler who we had met in South Africa. We had steak dinner at the restaurant at the hotel we stayed at. We picked that hotel to spend Christmas because it had a pool, which sounded luxurious, until we realized the water was green with scum. Oh well, the steak was good!
As is our tradition, we decorated the bike.The Christmas before that was a fantastic one! We were in Bolivia, and surrounded by a whole incredible community of motorcycle travelers. We rented an apartment with the Adventure Haks (best friends for LIFE!), and we had a fantastic lasagne dinner that Kira Hak cooked (she's an amazing cook). And there was Rick, and Diana and Nathan, and Odd from Norway, and his two dates that he brought (yes, that's right, two), and wow! What a great time that was!
Brendon, Tim, Rick, me, Kira, Diana, Nathan, and Odd
Again, we decorated the bike!And finally, our first Christmas in another country was equally wonderful - it was with our drear family friends in Mexico, Bob and Emerson and their family. We had a great celebration with presents exchanged, all while contemplating what a Christmas is like in warm, tropical weather. It turns out, it's pretty nice too!
To celebrate today, and to show our appreciation for all of you out there who keep tabs on our journeys, we have a video about one of our favorite roads we've EVER RIDDEN! And guess what... it's right here in America. So check it out!I hope you guys have a wonderful day, and a wonderful holiday season, wherever you find yourself this winter (or summer for all you Aussies and South Africans).Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
December 11, 2021
Never A Dull Moment
The Notier NotesOur Sunday Scoop
It had been a tough choice, but Tim and I finally decided that it was time to go home. We hadn't had a winter in Chicago in four years, and the truth was, we hadn't had a winter at all during that time. We'd been chasing summer throughout our travels, first wintering in Mexico, then in Peru and Bolivia, and finally we spent two winters in Africa - in Tanzania and Kenya. But now that our travel funds were coming to an end, and our bike was in desperate need of repair, plus it was getting a bit too cold for traveling in the northern US, we knew it was time to start heading home.
Now we just had to hope that we could get there without too much mishap.
The previous day had been rough. It was so bad, that we figured there was no way things could get any worse. We'd been having the time of our lives riding the Northeast BDR backroad through the Catskill Mountains of New York state, when we hit a particularly nasty section of loose rocks hidden under fallen leaves. And we fell.
That wasn't the real problem though. The falls were fine, and besides a bit of a busted lip that I got from hitting the windshield, we were uninjured. But on one of these drops, the bike wouldn't start again once we got her uprighted. It was that same electrical issue that we'd been having for months, actually ever since we started off on our journeys and broke down over the Mississippi River. It had all the symptoms of that problem that we thought we'd fixed out in Utah. And so far, everything had gone fine.
But now as we stared at the flashing error codes, we knew the problem was back. And our hearts sank.
Once we got her up again, Tim had to ride the dead bike down the mountain with no motor running.We did get her started again though. And after finding our way back to a hotel through some torrential rain, we had a discussion about what to do next. Since the weather was getting fairly cold anyway, we felt that this was the right time to go back home to Chicago and spend the winter working odd jobs in order to build up some cash for our next journey (Alaska!!!).
It was disappointing, to say the least. We had dreams of scaling Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, and of possibly finishing the Northeast BDR that would end in Maine. We had plans to visit my friend Kim in Vermont, and perhaps taking the Canadian road back to Chicago and see our friends Phil and Sapna (who we traveled with in Central America), and if we were lucky, Craig and Michelle (who we traveled with in Ecuador). But the bike was telling us that it needed a rest (and a good mechanic to look at it), and so none of these dreams were going to happen now that we were just going to be heading home.
But if there's one thing we've learned from traveling, it's that you can't plan too much and too far ahead. Something will always divert your plans, and it's best to not resist it. Just go with the flow.
The morning started off crisp and sunny.So the next morning we headed off from New York, and rode into Pennsylvania. We passed an area where the Pennsylvania Dutch lived, clearly marked by their antique-looking signs displaying windmills, and their horse and buggies trotting along the road. We almost made it out of the state and into Ohio, but after an exhausting and frigidly cold day of riding on noisy highways for hours on end, we decided to stop at a hotel near the border for the night.
But as we were turning on the heat in the room and getting ready to take a nice shower, Tim said to me, "What's this?" He could feel something on his skin under his left armpit. But as he pulled up his shirt, I gasped with horror.
"Oh my God!" I cried.
"What?! WHAT?!" Tim shouted, and tried his best to see his back in the mirror.
"Wait, stop, let me look at it!" I held him still. "It's a tick bite, but it's the worst tick bite I've ever seen."
Now, it's a sad thing to say, but I am VERY familiar with ticks and all their different bites. I've had hundreds of ticks on me, if not thousands in my years of traveling. One day in particular, a whole tick bomb of hundreds of baby ticks had gotten under my socks and pants when going through a corn field in Guatemala. Like out of a nightmare, they swarmed up my body in an instant (it's surprising how fast they are). I spent over a month pulling ticks out of random places on my body, including in my hair on my head.
I had also lived in rural Maine for years, and I had many friends (and even my dog) who had gotten Lyme disease. I knew its tell-tale bullseye sign, I knew what type of ticks carried it, and I knew it was no joke.
Unfortunately, the tick that had now buried itself deep into Tim's flesh was definitely a female deer tick (the ones that carry Lyme disease), it was definitely deep, and the wound area was definitely all red and pussy. But the bullseye wasn't there (it doesn't have to for it to still be Lyme disease), and strangely enough, the entire area of the bite itself was black.
This was Tim's tick bite on his leg in Africa.I had never seen this type of black rotting skin before in the States. In fact, the only time I'd seen it was when Tim had gotten African Tick Bite Fever (ah yes, another horrific tick experience) while we traveled in South Africa and Lesotho. That was a flesh-eating necrosis disease that Tim still has scars from. This looked like that, but it couldn't be. We weren't in Africa (we had cured Tim of it years ago), and this was a different tick. I was completely stumped as to what was going on.
I did my best right there in the bathroom to pull the tick out gently to get its full head, but it was so deep, it was the first time in my life that I couldn't get everything out. The whole thing ripped in half, and I just stood there shaking my head. "We need to get you to a doctor as soon as possible," I told Tim.
If we had been back in Illinois, this wouldn't have been a big deal. But we were on the road in rural Pennsylvania, still many days' ride away from home in Chicago. We knew we needed to find a doctor before getting home, because if this was Lyme disease, time was of the essence.
Ok, I'll stop with the disgusting pictures and show you some beautiful fall foliage instead.The next morning, we made all sorts of phone calls, and found a walk-in clinic in Akron, Ohio, not too far away. So we zoomed over there as quickly as we could, and Tim was taken right in.
While I waited in the seating area, he texted me updates.
"The doctor says she doesn't think it's Lyme disease, but as a precaution, I'll be taking a round of antibiotics just in case. But she does say it's badly infected," Tim texted.
Then he shot over a picture of him with his shirt up and a scary looking scalpel being shoved in the direction of the bite. "She's going to dig out all the pieces with a scalpel!" he texted, punctuated by a TOTALLY-FREAKED-OUT emoji.
Poor Tim. I guess even when just coming home, there's never a dull moment.
This is one brave man.While Tim underwent his surgery, the waiting room filled up with anxious patients. The receptionist told every new entry, "It's going to be several hours because the doctor is dealing with a very difficult patient right now." Then she corrected herself, "I mean, not difficult, but just the situation is difficult."
Yup. I knew that was Tim.
Finally he was released, missing a whole chunk of his shoulder blade's flesh like he was the Merchant of Venice. His expression looked like he had just gone into battle. He told me, "She said she kept finding pieces, that tick was so deep in there."
"But you're feeling all right?" I asked.
"Yeah." He gave me a weak smile. "Let's go home."
Despite our not-so-great reason for being there, Akron, Ohio is a very beautiful and historic town.It was another two days of riding through Ohio and Indiana until we finally made it back to Illinois and Chicago. We were cold, tired, and in desperate need of a good rest.
Once home, Tim picked up his cat Moto again, and gave him a big squeeze. "Oh, it's never felt better to be back!" he said. And I couldn't have agreed more.
Sweet Home Chicago.That was late October. Since then, we've gotten jobs for the winter, seen our friends and family, and have caught up on all the rest we needed after our travels. And most importantly, Tim did not get Lyme disease.
The bike is in the shop under a different type of scalpel doing surgery on it, and we're making exciting plans for our spring and summer trip to Alaska.
So I'm sad to say, but this will be my last Sunday Scoop for the winter until the spring, or unless we have any updates we'd like to tell you guys. I hope you have a wonderful holiday season, and if you'd like to see our adventures in more detail, keep checking our YouTube channel as we'll be uploading new videos every Saturday morning. Below is our latest episode on a challenging ride in Canyonlands that had once gotten the best of us.Thank you for staying tuned to all our adventures, and for being a supporter of our journeys.
Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
It had been a tough choice, but Tim and I finally decided that it was time to go home. We hadn't had a winter in Chicago in four years, and the truth was, we hadn't had a winter at all during that time. We'd been chasing summer throughout our travels, first wintering in Mexico, then in Peru and Bolivia, and finally we spent two winters in Africa - in Tanzania and Kenya. But now that our travel funds were coming to an end, and our bike was in desperate need of repair, plus it was getting a bit too cold for traveling in the northern US, we knew it was time to start heading home.Now we just had to hope that we could get there without too much mishap.
The previous day had been rough. It was so bad, that we figured there was no way things could get any worse. We'd been having the time of our lives riding the Northeast BDR backroad through the Catskill Mountains of New York state, when we hit a particularly nasty section of loose rocks hidden under fallen leaves. And we fell.
That wasn't the real problem though. The falls were fine, and besides a bit of a busted lip that I got from hitting the windshield, we were uninjured. But on one of these drops, the bike wouldn't start again once we got her uprighted. It was that same electrical issue that we'd been having for months, actually ever since we started off on our journeys and broke down over the Mississippi River. It had all the symptoms of that problem that we thought we'd fixed out in Utah. And so far, everything had gone fine.But now as we stared at the flashing error codes, we knew the problem was back. And our hearts sank.
Once we got her up again, Tim had to ride the dead bike down the mountain with no motor running.We did get her started again though. And after finding our way back to a hotel through some torrential rain, we had a discussion about what to do next. Since the weather was getting fairly cold anyway, we felt that this was the right time to go back home to Chicago and spend the winter working odd jobs in order to build up some cash for our next journey (Alaska!!!).It was disappointing, to say the least. We had dreams of scaling Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, and of possibly finishing the Northeast BDR that would end in Maine. We had plans to visit my friend Kim in Vermont, and perhaps taking the Canadian road back to Chicago and see our friends Phil and Sapna (who we traveled with in Central America), and if we were lucky, Craig and Michelle (who we traveled with in Ecuador). But the bike was telling us that it needed a rest (and a good mechanic to look at it), and so none of these dreams were going to happen now that we were just going to be heading home.
But if there's one thing we've learned from traveling, it's that you can't plan too much and too far ahead. Something will always divert your plans, and it's best to not resist it. Just go with the flow.
The morning started off crisp and sunny.So the next morning we headed off from New York, and rode into Pennsylvania. We passed an area where the Pennsylvania Dutch lived, clearly marked by their antique-looking signs displaying windmills, and their horse and buggies trotting along the road. We almost made it out of the state and into Ohio, but after an exhausting and frigidly cold day of riding on noisy highways for hours on end, we decided to stop at a hotel near the border for the night.But as we were turning on the heat in the room and getting ready to take a nice shower, Tim said to me, "What's this?" He could feel something on his skin under his left armpit. But as he pulled up his shirt, I gasped with horror.
"Oh my God!" I cried.
"What?! WHAT?!" Tim shouted, and tried his best to see his back in the mirror.
"Wait, stop, let me look at it!" I held him still. "It's a tick bite, but it's the worst tick bite I've ever seen."
Now, it's a sad thing to say, but I am VERY familiar with ticks and all their different bites. I've had hundreds of ticks on me, if not thousands in my years of traveling. One day in particular, a whole tick bomb of hundreds of baby ticks had gotten under my socks and pants when going through a corn field in Guatemala. Like out of a nightmare, they swarmed up my body in an instant (it's surprising how fast they are). I spent over a month pulling ticks out of random places on my body, including in my hair on my head.I had also lived in rural Maine for years, and I had many friends (and even my dog) who had gotten Lyme disease. I knew its tell-tale bullseye sign, I knew what type of ticks carried it, and I knew it was no joke.
Unfortunately, the tick that had now buried itself deep into Tim's flesh was definitely a female deer tick (the ones that carry Lyme disease), it was definitely deep, and the wound area was definitely all red and pussy. But the bullseye wasn't there (it doesn't have to for it to still be Lyme disease), and strangely enough, the entire area of the bite itself was black.
This was Tim's tick bite on his leg in Africa.I had never seen this type of black rotting skin before in the States. In fact, the only time I'd seen it was when Tim had gotten African Tick Bite Fever (ah yes, another horrific tick experience) while we traveled in South Africa and Lesotho. That was a flesh-eating necrosis disease that Tim still has scars from. This looked like that, but it couldn't be. We weren't in Africa (we had cured Tim of it years ago), and this was a different tick. I was completely stumped as to what was going on.I did my best right there in the bathroom to pull the tick out gently to get its full head, but it was so deep, it was the first time in my life that I couldn't get everything out. The whole thing ripped in half, and I just stood there shaking my head. "We need to get you to a doctor as soon as possible," I told Tim.
If we had been back in Illinois, this wouldn't have been a big deal. But we were on the road in rural Pennsylvania, still many days' ride away from home in Chicago. We knew we needed to find a doctor before getting home, because if this was Lyme disease, time was of the essence.
Ok, I'll stop with the disgusting pictures and show you some beautiful fall foliage instead.The next morning, we made all sorts of phone calls, and found a walk-in clinic in Akron, Ohio, not too far away. So we zoomed over there as quickly as we could, and Tim was taken right in.While I waited in the seating area, he texted me updates.
"The doctor says she doesn't think it's Lyme disease, but as a precaution, I'll be taking a round of antibiotics just in case. But she does say it's badly infected," Tim texted.
Then he shot over a picture of him with his shirt up and a scary looking scalpel being shoved in the direction of the bite. "She's going to dig out all the pieces with a scalpel!" he texted, punctuated by a TOTALLY-FREAKED-OUT emoji.
Poor Tim. I guess even when just coming home, there's never a dull moment.
This is one brave man.While Tim underwent his surgery, the waiting room filled up with anxious patients. The receptionist told every new entry, "It's going to be several hours because the doctor is dealing with a very difficult patient right now." Then she corrected herself, "I mean, not difficult, but just the situation is difficult."Yup. I knew that was Tim.
Finally he was released, missing a whole chunk of his shoulder blade's flesh like he was the Merchant of Venice. His expression looked like he had just gone into battle. He told me, "She said she kept finding pieces, that tick was so deep in there."
"But you're feeling all right?" I asked.
"Yeah." He gave me a weak smile. "Let's go home."
Despite our not-so-great reason for being there, Akron, Ohio is a very beautiful and historic town.It was another two days of riding through Ohio and Indiana until we finally made it back to Illinois and Chicago. We were cold, tired, and in desperate need of a good rest.Once home, Tim picked up his cat Moto again, and gave him a big squeeze. "Oh, it's never felt better to be back!" he said. And I couldn't have agreed more.
Sweet Home Chicago.That was late October. Since then, we've gotten jobs for the winter, seen our friends and family, and have caught up on all the rest we needed after our travels. And most importantly, Tim did not get Lyme disease.The bike is in the shop under a different type of scalpel doing surgery on it, and we're making exciting plans for our spring and summer trip to Alaska.
So I'm sad to say, but this will be my last Sunday Scoop for the winter until the spring, or unless we have any updates we'd like to tell you guys. I hope you have a wonderful holiday season, and if you'd like to see our adventures in more detail, keep checking our YouTube channel as we'll be uploading new videos every Saturday morning. Below is our latest episode on a challenging ride in Canyonlands that had once gotten the best of us.Thank you for staying tuned to all our adventures, and for being a supporter of our journeys.
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December 4, 2021
Dead Bike on the Mountain
The Notier NotesOur Sunday Scoop
In our last blog post, we were stuck near the top of a mountain in New York state, and the bike was dead. The road had gotten pretty rough, and after a few too many falls, the motorcycle would simply not start again. It was the old gremlins resurfacing once more, but this time we were in a particularly bad spot.
To make matters worse, the skies were getting darker and darker, not just with the approaching evening, but the deep rumblings of a thunderstorm could be heard brewing not too faraway.
"This is bad," I just kept repeating over and over again to Tim as he tried repeatedly to get the bike going again. I didn't know what to do, as my brain was fresh out of ideas. I felt helpless, and a part of me just wanted to plop down on the ground and wallow in misery for our situation, but that wouldn't have done any good.
"We'll get through this," Tim reassured me. "We always do."
But things at the moment felt particularly bleak.
A couple hiking along the trail came up to us and asked if everything was all right. We gave them the rundown of our newest woes, and they told us that they were parked at the base of the mountain. If we could get our bike down there, after they finished their hike, they'd meet us and try to get us a tow truck.
"Well, we can't go up the mountain with a dead motorcycle," I told Tim. "So I guess down is the only way we can go."
Tim agreed, and we decided that I would walk down while he rode the bike using momentum alone. That way there would be less weight to prevent him from falling, but also, I could push him whenever he got stuck.
So Tim headed off with a silent motorcycle, clicking and clacking its way over the stones and down the trail. Until I could no longer see him.
I walked and walked and walked. But apparently, Tim had not gotten stuck (it was pretty steep, so the momentum was good), and he made it all the way down without me. As I trekked, still wearing my helmet and all my gear, with my big clunky boots squeaking over the rocks, I took a rest on a log by a tree. I removed my helmet, and sat there for moment just to collect my thoughts. And I wondered why I had felt so hopeless before? Certainly, Tim and I had been in worse situations in the past. At least here there were people hiking this road, and the paved part wasn't too far down the slope. And at least we were in America where we could speak the language, and call for help. Things may have seemed dire in the moment, but I reminded myself that we were going to be fine. We had not hurt ourselves, and we had each other, and that's really all that matters.
With higher spirits, I made it down the mountain and saw Tim and the bike parked next to the hiking couples' van. He had taken off the seats and was unplugging and replugging in the battery in an effort to reboot the bike's electrical system. It had been electrical problems before, and so we figured it might be an electrical glitch again.
Once the battery was plugged back in, and Tim hit the ignition... VRRRRRRRM! The bike started!
Just as that engine roared back to life again, Tim and I looked at each other with excited eyes. And it began to rain.
The rain started off just as a few massive droplets, but very quickly turned into a plummeting patter of thick, heavy globs of water.
"Let's get to the nearest hotel!" Tim shouted over at me. I quickly Googled some hotels, and the best option seemed to be a half hour away. "We can make it," he said. And with fingers crossed, we got on the bike.
We hadn't really had enough time to prepare ourselves for the torrential downpour that was suddenly upon us. Tim still didn't even have his jacket zipped up, and had to pull over to get that fixed and his gloves on. But we soon realized that it didn't matter... we were going to get soaked.
That ride to the hotel was one of the worst storms we've ever been in. It was Barranquilla, Colombia bad. It was cats and dogs bad. The streets became rivers, and the streetlights became blurry mirages of colors through the grey, watery world. The cars next to us splashed us like they were hosing us down, and our front tire cut through the flooded streets like a ship carving its way through the ocean. It was cold, and we were drenched.
At last we arrived at the place we'd marked on the map, and pulled up to a very welcoming hotel that had a roofed section in front under which we could park the bike out of the rain. They gave us a key to the room, and we stepped in with squelching boots filled with water, dripping right over the carpet.
Thank goodness this hotel had a little covered section. It was bucketing down rain!We stripped off all our wet gear, piled our soaked bags by the front door, and reveled in the warmth and dryness of our room. We even ordered a pizza, figuring we deserved it after everything we'd just been through. But soon, the conversation turned to more serious matters.
I asked Tim, "Now that the bike is working again, should we continue on down the BDR all the way to Mt. Washington, or even to Maine?"
He didn't give me an immediate answer, as we both just contemplated it all. It hadn't been more than a couple of hours ago that we were thrilled to just keep going... we were having the time of our lives. But now that the bike had this hiccup, and it was reminiscent of our earlier motorcycle malfunctions, we were worried this wouldn't be the last time it would happen.
"We've been riding more than 80,000 tough miles all over the world on this motorcycle," I finally said. "I think it's expected that it's going to have some problems now, and I think it would be foolish of us to believe that this won't happen again."
Tim said, "Yeah, we need to give the bike a good refurbishing before we head down any remote mountain roads with it again."
We both looked at each other, and with a sadness heavy in our hearts, we knew that this was probably the end of the line... at least for now.
We had been having a wonderful time just that morning.Stay tuned, because in next week's episode, we make the journey back home, which unfortunately requires a visit to the hospital.
In the meantime, check out our latest video on a day that had equally terrible weather, but this time it was highly unusual - a sandstorm.Have a great week, and we'll see you next Sunday for the final installment of our summer/fall adventures!Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
In our last blog post, we were stuck near the top of a mountain in New York state, and the bike was dead. The road had gotten pretty rough, and after a few too many falls, the motorcycle would simply not start again. It was the old gremlins resurfacing once more, but this time we were in a particularly bad spot.To make matters worse, the skies were getting darker and darker, not just with the approaching evening, but the deep rumblings of a thunderstorm could be heard brewing not too faraway.
"This is bad," I just kept repeating over and over again to Tim as he tried repeatedly to get the bike going again. I didn't know what to do, as my brain was fresh out of ideas. I felt helpless, and a part of me just wanted to plop down on the ground and wallow in misery for our situation, but that wouldn't have done any good.
"We'll get through this," Tim reassured me. "We always do."
But things at the moment felt particularly bleak.A couple hiking along the trail came up to us and asked if everything was all right. We gave them the rundown of our newest woes, and they told us that they were parked at the base of the mountain. If we could get our bike down there, after they finished their hike, they'd meet us and try to get us a tow truck.
"Well, we can't go up the mountain with a dead motorcycle," I told Tim. "So I guess down is the only way we can go."
Tim agreed, and we decided that I would walk down while he rode the bike using momentum alone. That way there would be less weight to prevent him from falling, but also, I could push him whenever he got stuck.
So Tim headed off with a silent motorcycle, clicking and clacking its way over the stones and down the trail. Until I could no longer see him.
I walked and walked and walked. But apparently, Tim had not gotten stuck (it was pretty steep, so the momentum was good), and he made it all the way down without me. As I trekked, still wearing my helmet and all my gear, with my big clunky boots squeaking over the rocks, I took a rest on a log by a tree. I removed my helmet, and sat there for moment just to collect my thoughts. And I wondered why I had felt so hopeless before? Certainly, Tim and I had been in worse situations in the past. At least here there were people hiking this road, and the paved part wasn't too far down the slope. And at least we were in America where we could speak the language, and call for help. Things may have seemed dire in the moment, but I reminded myself that we were going to be fine. We had not hurt ourselves, and we had each other, and that's really all that matters.With higher spirits, I made it down the mountain and saw Tim and the bike parked next to the hiking couples' van. He had taken off the seats and was unplugging and replugging in the battery in an effort to reboot the bike's electrical system. It had been electrical problems before, and so we figured it might be an electrical glitch again.
Once the battery was plugged back in, and Tim hit the ignition... VRRRRRRRM! The bike started!
Just as that engine roared back to life again, Tim and I looked at each other with excited eyes. And it began to rain.The rain started off just as a few massive droplets, but very quickly turned into a plummeting patter of thick, heavy globs of water.
"Let's get to the nearest hotel!" Tim shouted over at me. I quickly Googled some hotels, and the best option seemed to be a half hour away. "We can make it," he said. And with fingers crossed, we got on the bike.
We hadn't really had enough time to prepare ourselves for the torrential downpour that was suddenly upon us. Tim still didn't even have his jacket zipped up, and had to pull over to get that fixed and his gloves on. But we soon realized that it didn't matter... we were going to get soaked.That ride to the hotel was one of the worst storms we've ever been in. It was Barranquilla, Colombia bad. It was cats and dogs bad. The streets became rivers, and the streetlights became blurry mirages of colors through the grey, watery world. The cars next to us splashed us like they were hosing us down, and our front tire cut through the flooded streets like a ship carving its way through the ocean. It was cold, and we were drenched.
At last we arrived at the place we'd marked on the map, and pulled up to a very welcoming hotel that had a roofed section in front under which we could park the bike out of the rain. They gave us a key to the room, and we stepped in with squelching boots filled with water, dripping right over the carpet.
Thank goodness this hotel had a little covered section. It was bucketing down rain!We stripped off all our wet gear, piled our soaked bags by the front door, and reveled in the warmth and dryness of our room. We even ordered a pizza, figuring we deserved it after everything we'd just been through. But soon, the conversation turned to more serious matters.I asked Tim, "Now that the bike is working again, should we continue on down the BDR all the way to Mt. Washington, or even to Maine?"
He didn't give me an immediate answer, as we both just contemplated it all. It hadn't been more than a couple of hours ago that we were thrilled to just keep going... we were having the time of our lives. But now that the bike had this hiccup, and it was reminiscent of our earlier motorcycle malfunctions, we were worried this wouldn't be the last time it would happen.
"We've been riding more than 80,000 tough miles all over the world on this motorcycle," I finally said. "I think it's expected that it's going to have some problems now, and I think it would be foolish of us to believe that this won't happen again."
Tim said, "Yeah, we need to give the bike a good refurbishing before we head down any remote mountain roads with it again."
We both looked at each other, and with a sadness heavy in our hearts, we knew that this was probably the end of the line... at least for now.
We had been having a wonderful time just that morning.Stay tuned, because in next week's episode, we make the journey back home, which unfortunately requires a visit to the hospital.In the meantime, check out our latest video on a day that had equally terrible weather, but this time it was highly unusual - a sandstorm.Have a great week, and we'll see you next Sunday for the final installment of our summer/fall adventures!Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
November 27, 2021
The Falls of Fall
The Notier NotesOur Sunday Scoop
The previous day, things couldn't have gone better for us. We'd been riding along the Northeast Backcountry Discovery Route in New York state, and had zigzagged across the Delaware River, and were now headed towards the Catskill Mountains. We were enjoying ourselves so much, I even told Tim, "I think we should do the whole thing - the whole Northeast BDR."
And he agreed. "And if anything, we should try to get to the top of Mount Washington in New Hampshire. Hopefully it won't be too cold by then," he said.
But the weather was already changing on us. Plenty of leaves had fallen off the trees, and autumn had set in with full force. We passed lovely orange pumpkin patches while the skies sometimes clouded over into a gray haze. Exposed bare branches of trees turned the world around us from green to brown.
Even that morning, as we woke up at our idyllic campsite next to a bubbling creek, there was a heavy layer of dew on the ground, and a sharp bite to the air. Winter was certainly coming.
But we were optimistic that we would be able to have at least another week of blissful BDR riding left. I even contacted my friend (hi Kim!) in Vermont to see if we could visit her. We were thrilled to be seeing more of the Northeast and to explore New England!
We packed up that morning and headed back onto the BDR road, expecting to have another fantastic day full of forest views, cascading waterfalls, and tranquil farm roads. And if we were lucky, maybe even a covered bridge.
"This is what I wanted to see!" I cried when we came up to our first covered bridge.
We got off the bike, and took a few dozen pictures of the spectacle. I ran my hands over its old beams, imagining how hard it must have been to build it. There used to be hundreds of covered bridges all across the Northeast region, but now, only ten percent of them remain, and many of them are in terrible disrepair. But this particular bridge had been refurbished by the local community. And as we walked through it, imagining we were in a horse-drawn wagon from 100 years ago, we were thankful that it had been rebuilt so that we could experience it. [image error] Back on our modern steel horse, the gravel road continued twisting through the sloping mountains. The Catskills were like gradual waves of stone covered in forest foliage. The bright colors of the leaves from the previous day seemed to be subdued by the cloud cover today, but every once in a while, when the sun would sparkle through, the golden and fire-red leaves painted the scenery in the perfect palette of a fall kaleidoscope.
And then we came across a magical valley where "God rays" shimmered down onto the ponds and trees below. I could just envision some ancient Greek god of the heavens tossing down his sun rays to whichever tree and gulley he wished to bless that day, touching them with his beams of light. It was stunningly beautiful, and a feeling for complete awe and satisfaction for our journey filled me.
But like all beautiful things, it couldn't last forever.
As we headed on down the road, we came to a particularly rocky section. The problem was that with all the fallen leaves, it was very hard to see what was beneath them. This made Tim's job quite difficult, and he was doing great... until he got stuck in an unseen rut. He gave the throttle gas, but the bike just didn't have the momentum to make it over the embankment that we didn't know existed. And so, as if hitting a brick wall, we hit the stones in front of us, and couldn't make it over.
This sent me flying forward, and because Tim was leaning to the left to save the bike from falling (it was also leaning to the left), as I lurched forward, I headed past him and straight for the windshield. It was a scary thing watching that windshield come right at me. Even though I was wearing my helmet, the visor was cracked open, and the windshield somehow sliced its way in. My face hit the edge of it - I could feel the plastic of the windshield wobble against my teeth. It all happened for me in slow motion.
Tim couldn't hold the bike up anymore, and eventually we fell all the way over. It was a slow fall, but the real damage had already been done. My upper lip had been knocked by the windshield, me teeth ached, and I could taste blood.
I lay on the ground and felt around to make sure all my teeth were there. They were. Tim leaped up and asked if I was ok, and I told him that I was, but that the windshield had hit my lip. I crawled over to the bike's side mirror to inspect, and everything looked all right.
"The windshield hit you? How is that even possible?" Tim asked.
"I don't know. I think it was a freak thing," I said. And although I felt fine, with just a bit of a sore lip, that image of the windshield veering towards my face was stained in my memory now. And it was a terrifying moment. [image error] I'm feeling (and looking) a bit frazzled here.We took a breather, ate a snack, and decided that we were going to take it easy for the rest of the day. Tim told me, "There's a difficult section of road up ahead marked on the BDR map, but they also have an easier detour we can take."
"Then let's do that," I insisted, not really in the mood for any more off-road surprises.
And so we continued onward. The bits of sunlight coming through the clouds became less and less frequent, and soon the clouds settled into a thick mass above us. [image error] But as day was nearing to an end, and we were almost to the rough section of road, I realized that the rocks beneath our tires were getting bigger. The uphill climb was getting steeper, and the leaf coverage over it all was getting thicker. This was all bad news.
"I thought this was supposed to be the easy road?" I asked Tim.
"Oh no," he said when he checked his map. "I think I made a mistake and didn't put the detour on."
"Great..." I wanted to say, but as the word came out of my mouth, we hit a boulder. And after a few wobbles, we were down.
It was almost impossible to pick a good line on the road with all the leaves covering everything.At least this time, both of us were completely unharmed. But our joyous spirits had definitely been dampened. We righted the bike, and took a better look at the map.
"It seems like we only have this little bit to do. We've already done most of it," Tim said. But as we looked up the rocky hill that we were supposed to climb, I wondered how easy this little bit was going to be.
But we pushed on (I was literally pushing Tim over some technical sections), until once again he fell.
The problem is not so much the falling, but the getting-the-bike-back-up-again part. It's just so heavy, and with all of our gear, even with the two of us, it's never too much fun to do. This was now the third time this day we'd fallen, and we were not making a lot of progress up this hill.
I pushed Tim on and let him deal with the road without my weight on the back. As he tackled the loose terrain, I heard him drop the bike again. The engine died, and there was a bit of swearing carried over the wind.
But this time, when we righted the motorcycle and Tim went to turn it on, a colorful display of flashing warning lights greeted us from the dash. And it wouldn't start.
"It's the same warnings we've been having all summer," Tim said. "Damn, I thought we fixed all this back in Utah."
We tried for fifteen minutes to get the bike started, but it simply wouldn't. And now we were stuck on a mountain in the middle of the Catskill mountains with night (and a thunderstorm) approaching fast.
This was bad.
We didn't have far to go, but without a working bike, we simply couldn't get anywhere.The final few chapters of our summer adventures are coming up. So stay tuned!
And in the meantime, we have a Thanksgiving special video for everyone about another time this summer that the bike was having issues (I don't know if you've noticed a theme yet!).If you haven't subscribed to ourYouTube channel already, please do so, as it's just another way that you can support our adventures. We thank all of you for being a part of our journey!
See you next week.Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
The previous day, things couldn't have gone better for us. We'd been riding along the Northeast Backcountry Discovery Route in New York state, and had zigzagged across the Delaware River, and were now headed towards the Catskill Mountains. We were enjoying ourselves so much, I even told Tim, "I think we should do the whole thing - the whole Northeast BDR."And he agreed. "And if anything, we should try to get to the top of Mount Washington in New Hampshire. Hopefully it won't be too cold by then," he said.
But the weather was already changing on us. Plenty of leaves had fallen off the trees, and autumn had set in with full force. We passed lovely orange pumpkin patches while the skies sometimes clouded over into a gray haze. Exposed bare branches of trees turned the world around us from green to brown.
Even that morning, as we woke up at our idyllic campsite next to a bubbling creek, there was a heavy layer of dew on the ground, and a sharp bite to the air. Winter was certainly coming.But we were optimistic that we would be able to have at least another week of blissful BDR riding left. I even contacted my friend (hi Kim!) in Vermont to see if we could visit her. We were thrilled to be seeing more of the Northeast and to explore New England!
We packed up that morning and headed back onto the BDR road, expecting to have another fantastic day full of forest views, cascading waterfalls, and tranquil farm roads. And if we were lucky, maybe even a covered bridge.
"This is what I wanted to see!" I cried when we came up to our first covered bridge.We got off the bike, and took a few dozen pictures of the spectacle. I ran my hands over its old beams, imagining how hard it must have been to build it. There used to be hundreds of covered bridges all across the Northeast region, but now, only ten percent of them remain, and many of them are in terrible disrepair. But this particular bridge had been refurbished by the local community. And as we walked through it, imagining we were in a horse-drawn wagon from 100 years ago, we were thankful that it had been rebuilt so that we could experience it. [image error] Back on our modern steel horse, the gravel road continued twisting through the sloping mountains. The Catskills were like gradual waves of stone covered in forest foliage. The bright colors of the leaves from the previous day seemed to be subdued by the cloud cover today, but every once in a while, when the sun would sparkle through, the golden and fire-red leaves painted the scenery in the perfect palette of a fall kaleidoscope.
And then we came across a magical valley where "God rays" shimmered down onto the ponds and trees below. I could just envision some ancient Greek god of the heavens tossing down his sun rays to whichever tree and gulley he wished to bless that day, touching them with his beams of light. It was stunningly beautiful, and a feeling for complete awe and satisfaction for our journey filled me.
But like all beautiful things, it couldn't last forever.As we headed on down the road, we came to a particularly rocky section. The problem was that with all the fallen leaves, it was very hard to see what was beneath them. This made Tim's job quite difficult, and he was doing great... until he got stuck in an unseen rut. He gave the throttle gas, but the bike just didn't have the momentum to make it over the embankment that we didn't know existed. And so, as if hitting a brick wall, we hit the stones in front of us, and couldn't make it over.
This sent me flying forward, and because Tim was leaning to the left to save the bike from falling (it was also leaning to the left), as I lurched forward, I headed past him and straight for the windshield. It was a scary thing watching that windshield come right at me. Even though I was wearing my helmet, the visor was cracked open, and the windshield somehow sliced its way in. My face hit the edge of it - I could feel the plastic of the windshield wobble against my teeth. It all happened for me in slow motion.
Tim couldn't hold the bike up anymore, and eventually we fell all the way over. It was a slow fall, but the real damage had already been done. My upper lip had been knocked by the windshield, me teeth ached, and I could taste blood.I lay on the ground and felt around to make sure all my teeth were there. They were. Tim leaped up and asked if I was ok, and I told him that I was, but that the windshield had hit my lip. I crawled over to the bike's side mirror to inspect, and everything looked all right.
"The windshield hit you? How is that even possible?" Tim asked.
"I don't know. I think it was a freak thing," I said. And although I felt fine, with just a bit of a sore lip, that image of the windshield veering towards my face was stained in my memory now. And it was a terrifying moment. [image error] I'm feeling (and looking) a bit frazzled here.We took a breather, ate a snack, and decided that we were going to take it easy for the rest of the day. Tim told me, "There's a difficult section of road up ahead marked on the BDR map, but they also have an easier detour we can take."
"Then let's do that," I insisted, not really in the mood for any more off-road surprises.
And so we continued onward. The bits of sunlight coming through the clouds became less and less frequent, and soon the clouds settled into a thick mass above us. [image error] But as day was nearing to an end, and we were almost to the rough section of road, I realized that the rocks beneath our tires were getting bigger. The uphill climb was getting steeper, and the leaf coverage over it all was getting thicker. This was all bad news.
"I thought this was supposed to be the easy road?" I asked Tim.
"Oh no," he said when he checked his map. "I think I made a mistake and didn't put the detour on."
"Great..." I wanted to say, but as the word came out of my mouth, we hit a boulder. And after a few wobbles, we were down.
It was almost impossible to pick a good line on the road with all the leaves covering everything.At least this time, both of us were completely unharmed. But our joyous spirits had definitely been dampened. We righted the bike, and took a better look at the map."It seems like we only have this little bit to do. We've already done most of it," Tim said. But as we looked up the rocky hill that we were supposed to climb, I wondered how easy this little bit was going to be.
But we pushed on (I was literally pushing Tim over some technical sections), until once again he fell.
The problem is not so much the falling, but the getting-the-bike-back-up-again part. It's just so heavy, and with all of our gear, even with the two of us, it's never too much fun to do. This was now the third time this day we'd fallen, and we were not making a lot of progress up this hill.
I pushed Tim on and let him deal with the road without my weight on the back. As he tackled the loose terrain, I heard him drop the bike again. The engine died, and there was a bit of swearing carried over the wind.
But this time, when we righted the motorcycle and Tim went to turn it on, a colorful display of flashing warning lights greeted us from the dash. And it wouldn't start."It's the same warnings we've been having all summer," Tim said. "Damn, I thought we fixed all this back in Utah."
We tried for fifteen minutes to get the bike started, but it simply wouldn't. And now we were stuck on a mountain in the middle of the Catskill mountains with night (and a thunderstorm) approaching fast.
This was bad.
We didn't have far to go, but without a working bike, we simply couldn't get anywhere.The final few chapters of our summer adventures are coming up. So stay tuned!And in the meantime, we have a Thanksgiving special video for everyone about another time this summer that the bike was having issues (I don't know if you've noticed a theme yet!).If you haven't subscribed to ourYouTube channel already, please do so, as it's just another way that you can support our adventures. We thank all of you for being a part of our journey!
See you next week.Subscribe to Our BlogBecome a Patron!
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