I’ve got to conserve my words about the motorcycle adventure weekend for the magazine story, but here are two images that speak, and a video that roars. The first photo shows your author. It is a self-portrait created to express the fact 39 I still have nagging fantasies—as silly today as they were at 15 when I was trying on Jim Morrison pants and the girl at the leather store was laughing at me—that someone, someday, might see me as cool. Second photo is of our trackside campsite, and my pal Tom Gillespie’s bikes, a ’65 and a 2006 Triumph.
And the movie—turn up your sound—is a Saturday morning in the pits.
I’m back … and so is Steve Crescenzo
You're not having an acid flashback, but you are, after a brief interruption, having Corporate Hallucinations again. Brought to you, of course, by my old pal Steve Crescenzo, who's not with Ragan Communications anymore but who is, thankfully, still with all of us. Bookmark his new blog.
(Less heroic is my own return, from a wild motorcycle ride through Dixie. Once I dig out—I've sent 60 e-mails today and counting; Jesus!—I'll write an account.)
Uneasy rider
"You sound nervous," my photographer told me over the phone, after instructing me on what kind of rain gear I'd need for our motorcycle trip this week from Nashville, Tenn. to Birmingham, Ala., where we're covering antique motorcycle races for Road Racing World magazine.
With luck, back here Tuesday.