I first read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in 2004. Since my boss (now my boss' boss) gave me a copy of it about five years ago, I've read it a few more times. It is not an easy read, but every time I got more out of it. It is an epic about life, mental illness, family and friends, motorcycles, quality, and melds Eastern and Western philosophy.
It would seem appropriate if on the day of Pirsig's death this were the beginning of a motorcycle trip out West, but this one is headed southeast.
Phaedrus rests.
The company I work for made a change in how the previous years vacation can be used; before this year it needed to be consumed by the end of April. Even though I have more time to use it, I guess I'm indoctrinated at this point to need to take at least a short trip in April.
My Uncle and Aunt recently moved to southern South Carolina. I'm not sure if they invited us down or if we invited ourselves down. But we're headed down to spend a couple days with them and hopefully do some coastal fishing.
SO had training for work in the morning and subsequently headed home to take care of the dogs and get the house cleaned up before leaving. Jackson is getting to be a very old 16 years and I worry about putting him in the kennel. Considering I thought he was down to a few weeks near the end of 2016, he is still chugging along well enough. Spring can be a dicey time to travel on two wheels weather-wise, but at least the first few days look good.
After packing everything up and double checking the house, we headed out for a short ride. I hate sitting at home once the dogs are kenneled, so I'm willing to coin up for a hotel a couple hours away.
It was a bit of a slog to do this after work, but the weather was splendid. Sunny with a few puffy clouds and temperatures in the mid 70's.
Day 1: 120.2 miles
We headed out before 3:30, getting us around Cincinnati before any rush hour mayhem. Once a little ways south, traffic thinned. Just north of Lexington we headed east. The hills rolled in Kentucky green although it almost looked less green than at home. This was horse country. This was Bourbon County.
We arrived in Paris, Kentucky. For all the jokes I've heard over the years of Paris, Kentucky vs. Paris, France, I think the Kentucky version is prettier. Having been in the France version a few times, I don't think that the reputation of rudeness is totally deserving, but I'll also suggest that Kentucky is a little friendlier.
We checked into our hotel and got unpacked before heading to the Huddle House to eat. Fine French dining it may not have been, but it was tasty, filling and inexpensive. A to-go turtle shake rounded out the evening.
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