Wrenches and Willpower - Learning to Fix Your Own Bike

The Intimidation Factor

There’s a moment most riders know:  something’s not right with the bike, and your stomach sinks.  Do you haul it to the shop?  Do you search YouTube?  Do you just hope it fixes itself?  You feel like the end is near if you don't do something soon...but what to do?

I’ve been there.  The first time I tried to adjust my chain tension, I wasn't even sure where to start.  But once I got over the nerves and actually put wrench to bolt, something clicked—not just in the bike, but in me.  I'm going to share what went through my head (and still goes through my head) every time I realize that something isn't right on the bike, and the thought process from "uh oh" to "wow, I did that??"

This isn’t a how-to. It’s a why-you-should.  Because the rewards of learning to wrench on your own bike go far beyond saving a few bucks.

Why It’s Worth It

When you fix your own machine:

• You are no longer at the mercy of a shop's schedule or budget.  Why wait even a week to schedule an oil change, brake replacement, chain tightening or replacement, etc. when you can do it in a few short hours yourself?  Fix it and ride!
• You will be hard-pressed to find a repair shop a hundred miles from nowhere.  If things go sideways in the middle of one of your journeys, you'll have to fix it and ride.  More than once I have had my bike up on the center stand in the middle of a mall parking lot.
• There is a quiet confidence that comes from turning the bolts yourself.  From understanding the rhythm of your engine.  From knowing exactly why squeezing that lever makes the bike stop.  From knowing that if something goes wrong, you have options.

The truth is, the more you understand your bike, the better rider you become.  You start to hear things differently.  Feel things differently.  You ride smarter, because you ride with your machine -- not just on it.

The parallels between facing the challenges of a bike that needs your attention and facing the challenges of a life that needs your attention could be the subject of an entire post or ten.  The way you approach a motorcycle repair or maintenance -- maybe an overwhelming feeling, maybe denial, maybe anger -- is just the way you might approach a part of your life that is in need of repair.  And just like a bike repair, you study the manual, you ask others for help, you come up with a plan, you set aside the time, and you roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty.  And you succeed.

You Already Have What It Takes

Riders tend to be a gritty bunch.  We already have what mechanics call “mechanical sympathy”—the ability to sense what’s wrong by feel or sound.  With a little patience, a decent manual, and the willingness to screw up now and then, you’ll get there.  You don’t need to be a certified mechanic.  You just need to be someone who’s willing to try.  This is about becoming more self-reliant. More aware. More in tune with the ride.

This is the most important idea that I want to impress upon you.  You, you, reader, can fix your motorcycle.

My Own Story

I am not a mechanic.  At all.  I am the quintessential computer nerd.  I work in Information Technology.  Honestly, I never owned a socket set until I was 50+ years old.  I could technically explain how an internal combustion engine works, but changing the oil in my truck was a challenge.

I started with a used Suzuki DL650.  Once I actually discovered adventure bike riding, I put something like 10,000 miles on that bike the first year I owned it.  Of course it needed regular maintenance, and of course the odd thing or two would go wrong with it.  I went through brakes, oil, chains, tires etc. like crazy.

I live in a small town, and it's difficult to find a reputable bike mechanic who isn't so overwhelmed that you can't get your bike in for weeks or even months.  There was just no way I was going to wait that long to ride.  Necessity being the mother of invention, and in the true nature of a solo adventure biker, I invested in some basic tools, and set to work learning to do it myself.

The small projects gave me a huge confidence boost, and a real sense of connection to the bike when I was on it.  I fixed a few flat tires on the side of the trail, felt my own work in action every time I squeezed the brake, and felt the extra "zip" of a freshly tensioned chain.  When the time came for new tires, I bought myself a basic set of tire spoons and set to work.

Eventually, as the miles ticked off on the bike, the maintenance and repairs became a bit more involved.  I kept at it, and my skills (and array of tools) has managed to keep up.  I can happily say that other than the routine DMV inspection, my bike has never been in a shop for maintenance or repair.

So, I guess I am a mechanic.  Go figure.

Start Small, Learn Fast

You don’t have to dive in with a valve adjustment or a carb rebuild.  Start with something simple.  Each of these tasks teaches you a little more about your bike—and about yourself.  And each small win builds momentum.  Before you know it, you’ll be diagnosing strange rattles, patching things trailside, and maybe even helping someone else get back on the road.

The essentials.  Start with simple things.  Again this post is not a how-to.

• Check your tire pressure.  One of the most neglected actual safety issues you can face.  Do this before every ride.
• Change your oil.  Do this regularly.  This is a 30 minute job once you've done it a few times.
• Oil your chain.  This is often neglected.  With a street bike on clean roads, you might get away with that.  With an adventure bike, not so much.  Oil your chain every other tank of gas, and clean it at least every 1,000 miles, depending on how you ride.
• Check/adjust your chain tension.  You should check this every time you clean your chain, and adjust it if necessary.
• Patch a tire.  We'll do a whole post on this.  One of the handiest things you'll learn, trust me.

Build Your Setup

You don’t need a fancy garage.  Lots of bikes have been worked on with a tarp, a milk crate, and a wrench or socket set.  Start with the basics: 

• A good set of hex keys, both metric and conventional.  You'll need these more than you might think.
• A torque wrench.  Sure, you can try to get away with "pretty tight" and "really tight," but it's really not smart -- especially with things like chain tension, brake clipers, etc.  If you are an adventure biker, your bike is going to take a bit of punishment and jarring, and the middle of a dirt road is the last place you want to realize that you didn't tighten your front brakes properly.
• A socket set and a set of wrenches.  They don't need to be the best of the best (and you can always upgrade later once you realize how amazing you feel working on your own bike).
• A few pair of pliers (conventional, needle-nose, maybe vice grips).
• A manual for your bike.  A manual for your bike.  A manual for your bike.  Trust me.

As your skills grow, your toolkit can grow with you.  Build the kind of setup that fits your riding needs—whether that’s a full workshop or just a compact roll to stash in your panniers.  

(Pro tip: I’ll be sharing a gear and a tool list in an upcoming post if you want help getting started.)

Mistakes Are Part of It

You’re going to mess up.  Drop a bolt into the skid plate.  Strip a screw.  Forget to reconnect something.  That’s okay.  The best mechanics we all know have war stories and scraped knuckles to prove it.  You’ll laugh about it later.  Or you’ll learn something critical.  Or both.  I have made quite a few mistakes of my own.  Don't worry, the bike will let you know.  And you'll remember.

Final Thoughts: Wrenches and Willpower

Fixing your own bike isn’t just about saving time or money—it’s about becoming the kind of person who doesn’t panic when things go wrong.  The kind of rider who packs a toolkit with pride.  The kind of friend others are glad to have on the trail.  

Everyone starts somewhere.  So start small.  Be curious.  Be patient with yourself.  Ask for help when you need it.  And most of all—keep going.  You’ll be amazed how far a little willpower (and the right wrench) can take you.

Now -- go get a 12mm wrench and an oil filter, and change your oil.  You'll feel good.  About life.

Choosing Riding Partners: Why the Right Company Matters on Long Journeys

It's Not Just About the Ride

A long ride isn’t about the route or the gear.  Well, it is, but it isn't just about the route or the gear — it’s also about the people you share it with. 

Riding with the right people on a long journey can make it unforgettable.  Riding with the wrong people can make it...well, unforgettable.

Riding Is Personal… But It’s Not Always Solo

Riding tends to attract independent-minded people. I, for one spend, 95% of my time riding alone, and I rather enjoy it.  And I'm definitely not the only one.  When I discuss the best parts of adventure biking with fellow riders, they mention the solitude, the chance to clear one's mind, the sense of self-sufficiency they get from doing a thing alone.

That’s not to say that riding with a group — even on a long ride — can’t be a deeply rewarding experience. There are things you learn about yourself (and others) on group rides that you simply don’t learn when you’re solo. In fact, I recommend that every rider take at least one long, multi-day ride with a group, just to get a taste of the experience.

What Makes a Good Riding Partner?

On long-distance or multi-day rides, riding partners matter more than most people realize -- in terms of rhythm, attitude, and shared priorities.  There are quite a few things to consider when choosing your riding partners for a longer journey.  Here are just a few things to consider:

• Adaptability – things will go wrong, and you want someone who rolls with it.  As I discussed in a previous post, you (or they) will fall off the bike at some point.  And on a trail with several friends, you (or they) have nowhere to hide.  How will that rider react?  How will they be treated by the group? 
  
  The best schedules will fail -- the whole group will pull into a restaurant parking lot tired and hungry, only to find it closed.  Will there be a mutiny, or will your group soldier on?  (I SO speak from experience on this one.  It is only by the good grace of the group and a strategically placed sub shop that I am alive today to write this.)
  
  Someone will lose their wallet or cell phone.  How long will the group spend backtracking the trail to find it?  Will that person insist on delaying the ride for hours, or backtracking a hundred miles to find a cell phone?

  

  Restaurant closed.  Drink water.  Ride on.

    You can't plan for everything, but you can choose partners who adapt and share burdens well. 
• Pace Compatibility – mismatched speeds are either terrifying or exhausting, depending on which group you belong to.  Our group rides "at the pace of the slowest rider."  This makes things very safe -- but if the skill gap is too wide, it can really test your patience and group cohesion.
• Shared expectations – Some people want to camp.  Others want motels. Some stop for every photo op, others hammer through.  Lodging plans can be usually be handled in pre-planning, but the photo-op stops can be spontaneous, and don't play well with the hammer-throughs.  Setting an "average" expectation helps.
• Mechanical and trail-side awareness – can they help in a pinch, or do they need rescuing?  We have someone in our group we've nicknamed "MacGyver," so we count ourselves lucky.  Most of us know how to contribute some mechanical fortitude to the trip, and the others know how to get out of the way.  You'll have to identify who has the know-how, who has the trail-side awareness, and then let them do their thing.  Who is who among your group?
• Good communication – even without comm systems, do they “get” the group flow?  My experience has been that often develops during the ride.  The key here is not to early disorganization of the group ruin the entire ride.  This is a skill that can be honed while riding, and you are very likely to see some amazing results.  Story later.

The Wrong Partner Can Ruin the Right Ride

On one multi-day ride, I had invited two riders to go with me.  One was someone that I knew very well and trusted in stressful situations.  The other was a good friend that I had only ridden with once or twice for maybe an hour at a time.  

We faced a few substantial challenges — nothing extreme, just typical multi-day chaos — and most of them were met by the second friend with, “That’s it, I’m going home.” He never actually did anything to go home (we were 500 miles out, after all), but the phrase became his go-to reaction. Every time something went wrong: “That’s it, I’m done.”

He finished the ride, but that running commentary took a toll. It drained morale. It became the thing we had to work around — and it dulled the overall joy of the trip.

It wasn’t malicious. It was just his reflex. But mismatched stress responses — like mismatched paces or priorities — will rise to the surface once your wits are tested.

The Right Partner Makes Everything Easier

Now contrast that with my last BDR ride in the fall of 2024.

There were five of us — statistically risky when it comes to “plays well with others.” One was “MacGyver,” two were my brothers, and two were first-timers I hadn’t ridden with. But based on their backgrounds — one a pilot, the other in law enforcement — I had a good feeling.

We all joked that we were so laid back we needed a reverse gear just to get going. When you combine our skill pool, humor, and relaxed attitude toward life, we had high hopes. And it turns out… we were right.

We started that ride as five individuals, sometimes riding a half-mile apart. By the end, after weather, breakdowns, missed turns, and yes — the one fall (mine) — we came home as a unit. Figuratively and literally. Riding 15 yards apart. Laughing. Relaxed. In sync.

I’ll journal that whole trip in another post. But for now, just know: it worked because we worked well together.

MABDR 2024

How to Choose Wisely

• Start with a short ride first.  Multiple short rides.  Don't spin them as "I'd like to invite you on a long journey, but first let's test our chemistry."  Just ride.  Have fun.  See what shows up.  If you click, then invite them on the long ride.
• Talk openly about expectations.   Safety, pace, lodging, food -- all of it.  I like to schedule a dinner a day or two before a long ride, just to go over these -- but even on short rides, have a little briefing.  Does the new rider participate?  Do they take the discussion to heart and apply it to the ride?  The best laid plans will fail, of course, but having a plan makes it easier to define when you're off-plan.  That matters.
• Watch how they handle setbacks.  On shorter rides, how do they react to challenges?  Do they lose their cool when the gas station is closed? Do they laugh it off? Do they blame someone? Small setbacks reveal a lot.
• See if they respect the rhythm of the ride.  Do they fuel up when everyone else does, to prevent extra stops?  Are they ready to go when the ride starts, and after each break?  Do they know when to push versus pause?
• If you have a group you like, add one.  One person among many is more likely to learn and adapt to your group's culture.  Too many new riders may unintentionally form a "subgroup" and dilute the dynamic.  Grow your riding circle slowly.  The five of us are considering adding one, possibly two more riders for the next BDR.  Carefully.
  
  
  

Final Thoughts

800 miles behind us, 200 ahead of us.

You don’t need your best friend on the trail — you need the right kind of friend. Someone who matches your rhythm, respects the journey, and doesn’t make things harder than they need to be.  

If you've got friends who ride, odds are good they know all of this.  And if not?  Maybe send them here.

Just make sure that you don't set off on a three-day journey with someone based on "oddd are."  That rider, your group, and you, will all thank you for it.

Gear Review - The Sedici Adventure Modular Helmet

This year, I decided it was time for a new helmet. I had been wearing the same one for three years, and it had seen its share of wear and tear. That helmet was a “freebie” when I got the bike, and at the time, I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to know whether it was a quality lid or not. It served me well for over 20,000 miles, but it was time to move on.

I wanted a modular helmet for a lot of reasons (which I might expound on in a future post). Since I ride an adventure bike, I wanted something ADV-style. I definitely “bike on a budget,” but since a helmet is easily the most important thing you own besides the bike itself, I was ready to spend a few hundred dollars on something I could trust.

After some research and browsing my go-to gear source, RevZilla — enter the Sedici Adventure Modular Helmet.

Overview

The Sedici Adventure Modular is a flip-up, almost dual-sport helmet with a drop-down sun visor and space for a comm system. I picked it up from RevZilla for around $250.

Note: I try to avoid describing my riding as “dual sport.” Dual sport is a thing unto itself. I’m an ADV rider, and we are our own breed. Maybe I’ll write about that someday too.

This helmet is my everyday helmet. Actually, it’s my every-ride helmet. I’ve used it at high speeds on pavement and low speeds on gravel. I ride in everything from 35°F to 90°F, rain or shine. This is my "the helmet."

If I had to give the Sedici a one-word rating, it would be: Excellent.

Features & Fit

Easy-to-find chin bar tab

Modular Function.  The modular mechanism is excellent. The face release tab is centered and easy to locate and press, even while wearing gloves. The chin bar flips up smoothly with a solid, confident feel, and it stays wherever you put it.

The peak has a clever design: it flips back slightly to get out of the way during the final inches of chin bar movement.  There are no issues getting the chin bar all the way up.  

The visor has solid detents throughout its range, and it stays solidly where you put it.  When fully raised, it almost tucks under the peak — which can make it hard to grab with gloves while riding. That said, there's a detent at about 90% open that works well and is easier to reach.

Pulling the visor down gives a satisfying “click” as it seals — a nice touch. My last helmet didn’t do that, and it adds to the overall impression of quality.

Note: Sedici says riding with the chin bar in the ¾ configuration is nice for hot days. I strongly recommend not riding with the chin bar up.  Ever. — for obvious reasons I’ll explain in a future post.

Comfort

Outstanding. The helmet stays firmly in place even when raising the visor or chin bar. Of course, head shape matters, but this model seems to have a fairly neutral fit. The sizing chart is accurate — no need to adjust up or down.

Tons of padding, just the right firmness

There’s a removable chin skirt that I really like. It helps reduce wind noise and cold drafts and it fits very comfortably over my big beard.

There are recessed slots at the temples for eyeglasses. My glasses slide right in and stay put with just the right amount of pressure — a big win for me. That said, if your glasses sit differently than mine, you might find this a bit of a challenge.

For me, comfort is one of the most important aspects of a helmet (second only to keeping your egg in its shell), and this is where the Sedici really shines.

Utility

The helmet uses a double D-ring for the chin strap — classic and reliable. However, the strap could be an inch or two longer. For a while I had a hard time getting it threaded and snapped. There’s a nylon pull tab to help release it, but that can get in the way while fastening. Mildly annoying until I got used to it, but not a dealbreaker.

Get the Pinlock!

I also installed the Pinlock anti-fog system. Installation was easy, and while it works in theory… I get fog. It is limited to the bottom portion of the visor (which makes sense).  Granted I've used the helmet in nearly freezing weather, but still, there were times when I couldn't see my dash.  I don’t think it’s the
Pinlock’s fault — I suspect it’s a ventilation issue. I didn’t feel cold inside the helmet during cold days, and in the heat I haven’t felt overheated either. So the airflow seems balanced, but something’s off when it comes to preventing condensation.

Both the visor and peak are tool-less and easy to remove. I appreciate that, especially since I’ll be doing some riding on a Victory 1400cc cruiser this summer, and I don’t want the other riders to laugh at me.  It's difficult to look "tough" on a big cruiser wearing a "dirt bike helmet."  There, I said it.

Wind & Noise

This is my first helmet with a peak — and I like it. I can tilt my head slightly to block a sudden sun glare or duck a bit and let the peak take the "whip" of a tree limb. I haven’t ridden without the peak yet, but I suspect it would reduce wind noise a bit.

Speaking of wind noise: the Sedici feels average. There’s some wind noise at higher speeds, but nothing annoying. RevZilla’s review suggests the design of the release mechanisms for the visor/peak may

contribute. I ride with earplugs anyway (note to self: future post), so it’s a non-issue for me. Overall, I’m satisfied, and I think you would be too.

I can tell you that there is zero turbulence while riding with the visor in just about any position.  I rode for a couple of hours today with the visor 90% up, and it was very smooth.  You don't want to collide your face with a bumble bee at speed, but if you want to risk it, at least you can do it without turbulence.  😁

Comm Compatibility

The helmet is comm-system ready. Personally, I prefer to buy my comm system separately — that way, every dollar I spend on the helmet is going toward the helmet itself.

For example, Sedici also sells a “Duale Parlare” helmet with a built-in comm system for $279. Since my helmet was $250, I’m skeptical that the comm system only adds $29 of value — likely, some compromises were made to the helmet itself. I’ll be installing my own system and will post an update once I’ve tested it.

Honestly, those pre-installed comm systems aren't that great anyway.  I've used a couple on borrowed helmets, and meh.  Do yourself a favor -- when you buy your helmet, spend every dime on the helmet.  Then later get yourself a nice Cardio system and install it yourself.

Visibility

Aside from the fogging issue, visibility is excellent. The visor has great optics and a wide field of view.

Pros & Cons

Pros:
- Extremely comfortable
- Removable peak adds versatility
- Easy to configure and adjust
- It just “feels” solid and well-made
- Good visibility
- Wind noise is totally manageable
- Did I say it was comfortable?

Cons:
- Some fog/condensation in cold or humid weather, even with Pinlock
- Chin strap could be longer
- Eyeglass fit may not work for everyone

Final Thoughts

This was a solid buy for me, and I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it — or buy it again. It’s going to be with me every mile this year, including some very long trips. If anything changes as it breaks in, I’ll follow up with another post.

This is the first iteration of the Sedici Adventure Modular Helmet, so the company is likely watching closely and may refine it in the next version. If you want to wait, that’s fair — but honestly, I don’t see any major improvements needed.

I recommend this helmet to any ADV rider, especially those who want the option of removing the peak for street or cruiser use. I also recommend the Pinlock insert — it’s $20, super easy to install, and you certainly can't go wrong with it.  You're typing in your credit card number anyway...just check the box and upgrade!

If you’re a straight-up dual-sport or off-road rider, you might want something more specialized. But if you ride a mix of pavement, gravel, and forest roads, this might just be your helmet.

If you're interested in the Sedici Adventure Modular Helmet, I recommend checking it out at RevZilla. They have a great video review on their site, and if you're a new customer, this is a good time to use that 10% discount.

Falling Down (On and Off the Bike)

The Motorcycle Doesn’t Care Who’s Watching — And Neither Should You

There’s something uniquely awful about falling down in public — especially when you're trying to look competent, cool, or in control. Add a motorcycle to the mix and you've got the perfect storm: the gear, the noise, the sheer visibility of it all. Everyone sees it. No one forgets it.

But here’s the truth: you will fall. On a bike. In life. It’s not a matter of if, but when. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can get better at doing the only part you can control: how you respond.

Let me tell you two stories about falling down.

Story #1: First Ride

A good friend of mine shared a story that still makes me cringe on his behalf.

He had ridden motorcycles years ago, but life got busy — a demanding career, long hours, shifting priorities — and riding faded into the background. But eventually, the desire came back. And when it did, he jumped in with both feet.

He bought a brand-new BMW from a nearby dealer. Not just any bike — a pristine, top-tier machine. And he did it right: brand-new helmet, armored jacket, gloves, pants, boots. The full high-tech kit. If you’re going to re-enter the riding world, why not do it with style?

So there he was — geared up, proud, maybe a little nervous — rolling off the dealership lot. The open road awaited. But first… coffee.

He pulled into the diner next door. All eyes were on him. That new-bike smell, that fresh gear, that unmistakable whirr of German engineering. He eased the bike up to the front door.

And then… he tipped over.

Right in front of everyone.

He wasn’t hurt, thankfully, but his leg got caught underneath the bike. It took some wriggling to get free. And then came the worst part — the incline in the parking lot made the bike too heavy for him to lift. He tried. And tried again.

Eventually, he had to walk into the diner — the very place filled with the people who just watched him fall — and ask for help picking it up.

Story #2: The “Experienced” Rider

A few years into my adventure biking journey, I had logged over 20,000 miles and was in the middle of my fourth BDR excursion. For this trip, in addition to my two regular riding partners (my brothers, thankfully), we invited two friends along for their first-ever BDR.

As the unofficial "leader" of the group, I had planned the trip, coordinated it, and felt responsible for making sure everyone had a good time. And I was the most experienced rider by far.

So naturally… I was the only one who completely blew a gravel corner and laid the bike down.

It was a low-speed event. I wasn’t hurt at all — at least not physically. The bike took a few scrapes and bent parts, all fixable right there on the trail.

My ego, though? That took a deeper hit.

But to their credit, the guys didn’t pile on. In fact, they were too busy feeling relieved that I wasn’t injured, and then helping me upright the bike. We bent things back into shape in just a few minutes. I don’t consider my story nearly as cringe-worthy as my friend and his BMW caper. In no time, we were moving again.

A year later, I still haven’t been picked on for that moment. I’m not sure if they’ve truly let it go… or if they’re just saving it for the perfect opportunity on the next BDR.

Falling Is Inevitable

Here’s what both stories prove: it’s going to happen. Maybe not today, maybe not this trip, but eventually you’ll find yourself on the ground. You can’t always control that part. You can prepare, practice, and plan — but there are still variables you can’t manage.

What you can control is your response.

Will you get angry? Ashamed? Will you retreat inward and hope no one saw? Or will you laugh, shake your head, and accept it as part of the ride?

Ride On

Motorcyclists like to say, “There are two types of riders — those who’ve gone down, and those who will.” It’s a bit dark, but it’s true. It’s also freeing. Once you’ve dropped the bike — once you’ve been there — it loses some of its power over you.

You stop trying to avoid embarrassment at all costs, and start focusing on growth, humility, and connection.

You learn to be the rider who gets up, dusts off, and keeps going. And that, in the end, is all that matters.

The Real Lesson: Everyone Fails

You can have 20,000 or 200,000 hours of life on Planet Earth under your belt, but it’s going to happen. You’re humming along, navigating your life like a boss. Your work life, your home life, your spiritual life — all is right with the world… and then life throws a slight curve in your path — maybe dusted with a little gravel — and you wind up laying your bike down.

It doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been riding — you’ll drop the bike.

It doesn’t matter how much life experience you have — you’ll fail at something. More than once.

Falling is inevitable. But strangely, it’s also freeing.

You stop clinging to the illusion of perfection. You realize your friends have all fallen too — maybe not in the same way, but deeply and publicly in their own lives. And you learn to focus less on the anger or the loss of control, and more on the humility that follows.

That’s where the growth happens. That’s where character is built.

When I dropped my bike on the BDR trail, I was lucky — I had friends who rushed in, not to mock me, but to help me bend the parts back into place.

That’s life too.

Sometimes we just need a little help standing the thing back up. A few hands. A few kind words. Someone who knows what it’s like to fall, and who shows up not to judge, but to help you ride again.

Ask for that help. Accept it. Then keep going.

Because when you’re out on a trail — or in the middle of a life that doesn’t pause for your pride — the only real option is to carry on.

Pick the bike up.

Patch yourself together.

Keep moving.

You’re not broken. You’re just a rider who fell. And now you're a rider who knows how to get back up.

You can turn your failure into an opportunity for growth, humility, connection with friends and family, and character building. You can be the person who gets up, dusts off, and keeps going.

And that, in the end, is all that matters.

The Important Things Are Simple - And the Simple Things Are Hard

A deeply personal reflection on a truth learned through experience: the most important parts of life are often the simplest — and yet the hardest to do.

At a commencement address in 2014 at the University of Texas at Austin, Admiral William H. McRaven said, “If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed”  (watch the inspiring address on YouTube).

(You also might want to check out "Make Your Bed: Little Things That Can Change Your Life...And Maybe the World" by Admiral McRaven)

On the surface, it’s a simple idea. But anyone who’s ever been on an adventure bike for any length of time knows just how hard simple can be.

The "Bear Taco"

I’ve been on a fair number of grueling multi-day motorcycle journeys — hundreds of miles a day, over rough roads, in unpredictable weather. After a long day of riding and trying (and failing) to eat properly, I sometimes crawl into my sleeping bag and crash before the campfire even dies.

I wake up sore, cramped, and disoriented (you know who you are, "tree root that wasn't there when I put my sleeping bag down last night") — a bit like being unplugged and plugged back in crooked.

And then comes the really simple, really hard part: getting up.

Simple things are hard.

It’s not just about standing up and making my bed. It’s the whole routine: stoke the fire, boil water, make the coffee, tear down the tent, roll up the sleeping pad, and repack all the gear I just unpacked in the dark the night before. Try to get back in the saddle by 8 a.m. so you can do it all again.

The morning routine is a grind. A simple grind. And yet, it’s also the most important part of the trip.

That act — getting up, doing the small, simple things slowly and with purpose, and moving forward — is the heart of what this kind of riding teaches. The things that matter most in life aren’t flashy. They’re simple. But they aren’t easy.

Don't just ride.  Rise.

Adventure biking, like life, isn’t about conquering some epic destination. It’s about showing up again and again, especially when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when that tree root you didn’t notice the night before pressed into your ribs all night. Especially when the ride ahead is long and the firewood is wet.

The secret to life isn’t buried in some exotic trail or expensive gear. It’s in that quiet moment when you do the hard thing — the simple thing — because it needs to be done. Because it’s the only way forward.

It’s not just riding — it’s rising.

Even if you aren’t going to ride today, get up. Make your bed. Focus on the simple things. They matter, and they will change your life.

But if you do ride...then rise.  Make your coffee.  Brush your teeth.  Pack your tent.  Load your bike, and own the day.  Over and over, until you've accomplished what you set out to do, and the journey is part of your history.  And then,

“If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.”
— Mother Teresa

Rider, Thinker, Seeker: My Journey Into the Dust

Some people ride to get somewhere. I ride to get away. Away from the noise, the deadlines, the screens, the distractions — all of it. Out on a gravel road, with the steady sound of the engine and the crackling (get it?) of the tires spitting dust and stones behind me, I can finally hear myself think.

I’ve been riding motorcycles, a lot or a little, for the past twenty years. But it's only been four years since I learned that the miles that matter aren’t measured on odometers — they’re measured in memories, in lessons, and in the stillness you find between moments. Ironically, in those four years I've racked up over 30,000 miles. Like most things, if you focus on enjoying the process and not measuring the progress...BAM.

How I Got Here

I wasn’t born on a bike. In fact, I was afraid of motorcycles all through my 30's and early 40's.  And then I actually got on one. I took a basic safety course, and went from "well, at least I know how to spell motorcycle," to "holy cow, what have I been missing all these years??"

You know that saying, "If you don't ride, then you don't know?"  Yeah, that happened.

Four days, 1,000 miles

Since then motorcycles have become more than a hobby — they became a compass. I’ve ridden through cities and silence, across paved highways and rutted trails. 

Some of the best rides I’ve had have ended with a dirty bike, a sore back, and a calm heart.  You can expect much, much more writing on the topic of motorcycle zen in this blog.

I ride a 2012 Suzuki VStrom 650DL — it’s not the flashiest machine (...or is it?), but it’s taken me where I need to go. Over time, I’ve learned how to fix it myself, pack it light, and trust it like a travel companion. We’ve both earned our miles.

What I’ve Learned in the Saddle

Riding a motorcycle teaches you to be where you are. You can’t daydream your way through a gravel curve. You can’t fake confidence on a muddy trail. Every ride reminds me to be alert, humble, and grateful. Again, much, much more on this is dotted all over this site.

Catskill Mountains, NY

There’s a lot of talk out there about specs, upgrades, and speed. But what matters to me is the ride itself — the way it slows the world down and puts you back in your own skin.

I’ve dumped the bike. I’ve gotten lost. I’ve fixed tires on the side of the trail with nobody around. I’ve also sat by a fire after a long ride with a pipe and a glass of scotch, and realized I didn’t need much else.

Why I Started Cracklin Roads

This site is about more than motorcycles. It’s about choosing a different kind of life — one that’s more sincere, more grounded, and more connected to the dirt under your wheels and the thoughts in your head. I write for riders who feel the same pull I do: toward the backroads, the overlooked places, and the parts of ourselves we rediscover out there.

Cracklin Roads is a space for stories, gear that matters, checklists that work, and ideas that stick with you. It’s also a place where other voices are welcome — if you’ve got a good story or a hard-earned piece of advice, I’d love to hear it.

About Cracklin' Roads

Cracklin' Roads is more than just a motorcycle blog — it's a roadmap to a simpler, more grounded life.
In a world that’s too fast, too digital, and too disconnected, I found peace on unpaved roads — the forgotten gravel tracks winding through forest and farmland. Riding them helps me slow down, breathe deeper, and reconnect with something real. This site is my way of sharing that journey.

I created Cracklin' Roads for people like me:

• Independent-minded
• Done with the rat race
• Hungry for nature, silence, and honest challenge

You might be an adventure rider looking for hidden routes.  Or someone looking for a quieter, truer way to live.

Either way, this place is for you.

What You'll Find Here

• 📍 Gravel road adventures — documented rides, maps, gear, and stories from the trail
• 🧭 A return to low-tech living — tools, tips, and reflections on a slower, more sincere life
• 🐑 The bigger picture — my personal path toward a simpler life
  
  

Why It Matters

Cracklin' Roads is part of my long-term goal: to live simply and sustainably, with dirt under my boots and a life I can truly call my own.
This isn’t about escapism — it’s about coming home to yourself, on two wheels and a gravel road.

Thanks for riding along.

— Michael