Adventures in Being Myself

It is not like me to do things out of order. I'm a Virgo, and just a tad perfectionist, so it really pains me to interrupt the never-ending tale of our motorbike trip through Michigan for a non sequitur. But when I read this story I had to make an exception. It seems some yahoo from San Francisco decided to torch the Man four days early. What a selfish lowlife! He deserves a swift kick in the shins with a pointy-toe slingback. Right now in Black Rock City humans from all over the world are participating in an experiment in temporary community. They are covered in playa dust, costumed, painted, naked, drunk, sober, happy, sad, contemplative, expressive, dancing, standing still, singing, crying, they are hot, they are cool, they are weird, they are beautiful, they are hopeful, they are fearful, they are shy, they are outgoing - they are all of us, at our best and our worst, all at once. But most of all they are are coming together to live for one week in the REAL WORLD: a desert......

The Mackinaw City Bridge (aka Mackinac Bridge) is a suspension bridge spanning the Straits of Mackinac to connect the Uppper and Lower peninsulas of Michigan. Interestingly, the Mackinac Bridge is one of only two segments of Interstate 75 that is tolled. The other segment is Alligator Alley, nary 30 miles south of where we live. Yet another Florida-Michigan connection, but I digress...apparently crossing the Mackinac Bridge is really scary...or, so we had been warned. Upon seeing the bridge, I really didn't get what all the fuss is about. I mean, I live in Florida, surrounded on all sides by water and I regularly travel across long, tall bridges that span deep water. And crossing the Mackinac bridge, even on the back of a motorbike, proved to be no big deal (sorry, Mom LeB!) The picture at left shows our perspective as was traveled south from St. Ignace into Mackinaw City. See? Nothing scary about. Well, there was one sort-of scary thing about the bridge: the inside lane is const...

Life really IS a bowl of cherries (and blueberries...and raspberries...), especially if you happen to be touring Northern Michigan on a BMW GS 1200 in mid-July. As a native Floridian, my impressions of Michigan are largely shaped by the enormous flock of snowbirds that annually flies south on Interstate 75, usually in some form of van or minivan moving at a snail's pace in the left lane. My one and only trip to Michigan - a short weekend trip to Detroit for the Auto Show in early January - did little to convince me that Michigan is anything other than a cold, dirty, grey, industrial wasteland where people speak with a terribly unfortunate accent and suffer from a severe case of sour grapes in college football. On the flipside, I have many good friends who hail from the Wolverine State and wax poetic about the natural beauty of their home state. My love was born in Cheboygan and spent the first three years of his life there while his Pop was stationed aboard the USCG Mackinaw. He al...