Dancin’Dave’s
Mileageslaves
certificate and the price of the
award is even lower than
normal. Gee…if you’ve never
done a Saddle Sore, now is a
good time. Etcetera, et cetera,
et cetera, schmooze and
more schmooze.
No takers. I was to be a
Raiding Party of One for
Indiana (although there were
Raider List folks doing the ride
elsewhere). [To get on the
Raider Ride List visit
I understood the larger global
significance of being a part of
this ride, but truth be told I do
better when a ride has a per-
sonal purpose, like taking me
back to a great rally, or taking
me 1,000 miles to end up on
great new technical roads with
the 1000-mile run allowing me
to stay on those great roads a
day or two longer, as I only
had to spend one day to get
there.
Running around the state of
Indiana chasing my tail is not
getting me anywhere on my
own personal journey. That
said, there was no doubt I
was going to do the Shoalmire
ride. I now had a reason to
ride a Saddle Sore. Putting
the idea into my head was no
different than a pusher
showing me my drug of
choice. Hold that thought.
Nobody wants to say they are
addicted to something.
Instead, we all come up with
some other rationale. But in
fairly short order following that
first long ride out of Chicago, I
was feeling no pain and
fabricating reasons to ride.
I remember one example in
particular of my stunning
ability to fabricate a rationale
and purpose. It was decades
ago, or so it now seems,
that I agreed to stop by for a
few hours and help Paul
Zarcovich assemble “soft
clutches”—a gizmo he would
sell as a vendor at that year’s
national rally. It gave me an
excuse to ride west to a part
of the world I had yet to see,
in this case Okla-homa, as up
to that point I’d not been far-
ther west than St. Louis.
Besides, my
Airhead could use a soft
clutch properly installed.
(Don’t ask what harm these
could do to your clutch if not
properly adjusted.)
So I was not just going for a
long ride because I had to. I
was getting a soft clutch for
free and installed, hanging
with one of the last old school
vendors, and pushing farther
west. I started that ride
--3--
somewhere in the southeast. By
noon, the temperature turned
Africa hot. As the temperature
rose, the lure of the West waned.
So I checked in by phone.
“Paul. Give me a reason to suffer
through and end up today at your
place. Please. Motivate me.”
“Dave, I’ll have a cold beer
waiting for you.”
Just what the Doctor ordered
when you are young and stupid.
Right after that ride I made it my
mission to learn about vented
gear and air wings and how to
stay cool.
Staying cool was not going to be
a worry on the Shoalmire ride. By
the time I gassed up and got my
first receipt, I was already cold.
But the heated grips would soon
be heating up and I had layers
aplenty, so it was time to wonder
if my proposed Interstate mind
game was going to work.
What deliberate delusion was I
counting on? Very simple. I
planned to delude myself that I
was actually going somewhere.
So I was not simply running I-69
to get to the border and then
turning around. Oh no. I was
running to Howell, MI, to see
Tiffany, our famous Great Lakes
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