Don't Just Go Somewhere. Be Somewhere.

Last September, I had to be in St. Louis to manage a video shoot for work on the last Friday of the month. It’s only about 300 miles from Chicagoland, or about a five-hour drive, so it didn’t make any sense to fly. I made plans to drive down with the video team Thursday, returning Saturday or Sunday. Wednesday morning, I woke up with a thought… what if I rode my motorcycle down instead? Stupid, right? Crazy. Last-minute and dumb. I mean, I’d never taken the bike anywhere but to work and back, and St. Louis was in a whole other state, for heaven’s sake. Come on, Dan. Idiot thinking.

But then, something unexpected happened. That Wednesday morning went by quickly and somehow, I still don’t know how, I found myself repacking my clothes into much smaller piles, placing said smaller piles in the saddlebags of my bike, and I just took off. On my bike. Seriously. I have no idea what I was thinking. It just…sorta happened.

I don’t have the hunger or thirst for riding on the highway, so I set off for county roads and rambled my way out of Chicagoland and into the crossings of the farmlands of northern and middle Illinois. With music playing in my earphones, the afternoon went by quickly. I stayed that night in a roadside motel in Clinton, IL. By the time I got there, the visor on my helmet was riddled with smashed bugs. The guy at the front desk of the hotel gave me a key for my room – seriously, an actual key. I imagine my bike rested well in the parking lot that night, and I slept really soundly. I think I fell asleep with a smile. Maybe a smirk.

I took off the next morning following historic Route 66 across old bridges and passing countryside that illuminated life. The kind of beauty you only see when traveling from one small town to another. No wonder country people, farmers and ranchers and such, have a reputation for being good people. I don’t mean to oversimplify their lives, but they live in a painting. I crossed the Mighty Mississippi on an old wooden bridge and landed at my hotel in downtown St. Louis, feeling refreshed and alive in a way I hadn’t in a long time. I enjoyed a second night of sound sleep and a smile; and definitely the smirk.

The video shoot went well, and I headed for home the next day (see the video from that effort, below). I followed a different path this time, stopping again in various small towns along the way. I gassed up in Carlinville, IL, where they were hosting a community outing in their town square (which is a circle, by the way). Kids were finger painting, live music was being performed in a gazebo (seriously, a gazebo), food was being consumed and shared, and some of the townies were even sharing their arts and crafts on tables here and there. It was a scene out of an old-time movie, and I was struck with fascination. I stopped and took it in, amazed with it all. A whole lot of peace and joy were on display, and it made me wonder what kind of weirdos live in such a place. I was there for two hours and found myself wondering what I needed to do to become such a weirdo.

I eventually headed down the road, staying the night in Bloomington, IL, where I ate dinner at the local Cracker Barrel and took in a movie. The next day, I stopped down the road at a Harley-Davidson dealership in Ottawa, IL, and had the clutch adjusted on my bike. When they were done, I rode home.

Four days of countryside motorbiking with a day-shoot featuring Billy Joel’s monitoring team sandwiched in the middle. Midwestern motels, small-town diners, and some of the best farms and two-lane roads you can imagine. That’s what I got to enjoy that week, all because I followed my heart and not my head. I just did it. Very little thinking about it. I just…went.

Life just can’t be only about getting somewhere, but about being somewhere. During those five days in September, I got to do both, and I’m more than a little bit better for it. Ride on.