I haven’t been able to sleep right since starting work on the pilot episode. Something has been very wrong. Whenever I talked to a motorcyclist about producing the show their first question is unfailingly, “What kind of bike are you riding?” I would then inform the inquisitor that I would be renting a bike for the pilot. After this response, I would watch the blood of joy run out of their face leaving nothing but a pallid stare. This  glare spoke volumes without words – “Oh, so you’re not really a motorcyclist, you’re just a poseur. ”

Now those who know me, understand I could give two flips about what anybody thinks or says, but in my heart I was certain something was wrong. Reflecting on the blogs of my past bikes, I realized that ownership is half of the equation of being a motorcyclist. I have compared the the bond formed between man and machine to that of a cowpoke and his horse. Can you imagine Roy Rogers on a rented palomino instead of his trusty Trigger? No, this will not stand, man.

My good sense grabbed me and reminded me I was in debt. Generous friends donated money to my Kickstarter campaign to make this show a reality, and that money is already in an account earmarked for production expenses and equipment. No way I’m touching that blessed bread. I thought deeply well into the night.

I kept coming back to a conversation that I had with Jenny. She is very understanding about my battle with depression and when I was feeling down one day, she asked me if I considered seeking therapy as I have done in the past. I arrived at a revelation. I told her that out of the many therapists I have seen over many years, none of them made me feel much better. I thought about the rare moments when my anxious mind was calm, and the answer became very clear. Playing music and riding motorcycles. When I am doing those two things, I need nothing else.

I logged into my retirement account and took out a loan. For $100 a month over 5 years, I could get $5K. This would be enough for a used bike and the much needed luggage. I have been lurking on Craig’s List ever since I sold my BMW K75, and one bike jumped out at me. A Italian red 2002 Honda VFR800 Interceptor. When the words “sport touring” are spoken, this bike is always mentioned. I got in touch with the owner who is way out in Hampton Bays, Long Island and worked out the deal.

In 1984 I had a deposit on a VFR500 Interceptor when I lived in Jacksonville, Florida. My girlfriend at the time talked me out of the purchase declaring that there was no way she would get on the beastly machine. I got my deposit back and bought a ’79 Fiat Spyder 2000 convertible which broke down often. My purchase of this VFR800 is the correction of that unrequited Interceptor love.

I’m sure at close to 50 I’m never going to be the next Freddie Spencer as I thought I might be back in 1984, but blasting up the Palisades and into the mountains in a few short weeks on the Interceptor will surely beat the hell out of sitting in front of a disconnected therapist asking me repeatedly “So how does that make you feel?”