The countdown begins. Not that the last two years of planning, reading,
dreaming and anticipating haven’t served as a slow burning fuse leading
up to d-day. But today I’m homeless. Someone strange has moved into my
house. Now this feels real.
I stood staring at the few bags and boxes sitting on my driveway. Filled
with either stuff that will be packed on my motorcycle or things
representing stragglers and fragments from closing up my life in
Southern California still needing some of my attention. A strange
feeling took over my body as I thought about my impending life over the
next couple years. Nothing I did prepared me for this. Though for the
last two years of my life I’ve focused on research, planning and
preparation for my journey around the world on a motorcycle.
With no home I tried to cram the remaining possessions into my car.
Those that wouldn’t fit in the car I stuffed into the trunk of my old
classic Pontiac GTO. The huge cavity of this 1971 Detroit legend would
serve as a temporary storage bin until the car would find its new home
in Huntington Beach in the garage of my auto and wine enthusiast friend
Phone is disconnected. Mail is forwarded. What am I doing?
Four days until Independence Day. No turning back. This is for real.