1 Gone (cruiser) Camping
1 GONE (CRUISER) CAMPING
FUN FACTOR
FINDING FUN ON THE TOP OF A MOUNTAIN
Bradley Adams
MY LIFE AS A MOTORCYCLIST was forged early on by lap timers, checkered flags, and the god-awful fear of finishing second. I wasn’t a motorcyclist; I was a racer. And while I wouldn’t trade my years spent at the track for any amount of money, I've since come to the realization that there’s more than one way to enjoy two wheels and a motor. Which brings me here-to a patch of dirt on the top of a mountain, 200 miles from home, curled up in a tent that’s tethered to a cruiser. Happy as I’ve ever been.
How did I end up here? In a literal sense, a 2016 Victory HighBall. A bike that I first decided on because of its looks but quickly grew to love thanks to its silky-smooth powerplant, solid chassis, and comfortable seat.
More figuratively, I ended up here through a conversation I’d had with a co-worker some time back. Having just met, but before long stuck together in a truck and over the, “How are things going?” talk, we got on about life experiences and how he’d-at one point in his more loosely guided days-took three weeks off and rode clear to Seattle, crashing out beside the bike whenever and wherever he got tired, under a tarp he’d drape over it, and with the help of a little whiskey, of course.
That’s true freedom, I thought. And, man, if I don’t want a piece of it...
And so I'm here, a handful of miles from the nearest stretch of actual highway and being caressed to sleep by a High-Ball’s left-side footpeg, with a few more creature comforts on hand than my co-worker-turned-friend would have had but nothing to adversely weigh me down. Things like a jetboil Flash java kit and freeze-dried food aid in whatever caloric intake the whiskey offered him, while OFF! Deep Woods Insect Repellent works wonders to keep the mosquitos from turning my blood into a five-course dinner of their own.
My bag is honest-to-god empty otherwise, hold for bottled water, clean underwear, and a bathing suit, the latter of which I’d put to good use upon stumbling across a nearby ski resort’s water reservoir turned local swimming hole. “Never mind the ‘No Trespassing’ sign,” the volunteer manning the nearby fire lookout suggests. And I didn’t. Because freedom.
Back at camp, the pace is as easygoing as it gets, the fleeting sun acting as the only nudge to get things done. Fortunately, the Abel Brown Co. tent I brought along was easy to set up, and my freeze-dried meal comes together quickly.
Everything else around my no-cost, first-come-first-served campsite gets done in no real hurry and under little more than a 200-lumen headlamp. Farther down the mountain, city lights start to click on, and I can't help but stand there, pause, and think of how special it is to have both literally and physically left all of life's stresses at the bottom of that hill.
It really is amazing the places a motorcycle can take you and how much fun you can have along the way. Sometimes, all you need is your motorcycle, a tent, and small plot of dirt out in the middle of nowhere. That, to me, is living. CTJJ
