At Year's End

End of the year coming up, and what a busy year it has been. My book, Murder on Route 66, came out in July, I took a six week motorcycle tour to promote it, we went through two (either hundred, or five-hundred year) floods, and still managed to make our annual trek to rural Florida for the winter. And now at year's end I just put my book up on Kindle. Check it out http://tinyurl.com/867y8zo .

Don't laugh, for me this meant conquering a big technological hurdle, even if most of it was mental.


There were other mental challenges to take on during the year as well. Before I hit the road, I had contacted a number of places I thought might carry my book. I made a point during the tour of visiting as many as I could. I'm a strong believer in face-to-face contact. This wasn't always easy. I hate trying to be a sales person, and I respect the fact my book, any book, is not suited to everyoe. I did it anyway. Somewhat difficult, but it did pay off in some books being ordered that might not have been picked up otherwise.


In a similar vein, I hate making cold calls, but I made it a point to stop in at places I felt might be potential markets for my book. When I was a teenager looking for a summer job, my mother gave me some excellent advice. She convinced me I should go up one side of the street, then down the other, making a job pitch at every business I encountered. I had a job long before the day was over. I didn't pitch my book at every business on Route 66, but I used some of the same principle. Some places turned out to be interested, others didn't. In those cases where they declined, I still made out. I learned. Knowledge is power.


Sometimes success is a matter of luck. At other times, success is in the details. In Tucumcari, the setting for Murder on Route 66, the Chamber of Commerce held a signing for me. I had a great time, and a great turnout. They had done a terrific job of promoting the event before I got there. Great attention to detail. For example, when I arrived for the signing, Lisa Laureault, the director, asked me to park my motorcycle at the entrance to the building. The bike drew attention. It sparked interest. It told people the guy doing the motorcycle tour was on the scene. It let everyone know the guy inside wearing a bandana and biker clothes was the author they had heard about.


One important lesson I learned was to not put too much store in all the things I thought I knew. I had heard not to bother with independent book stores, and I had heard I should focus on them and forget about the big chains. What I learned from experience, was that preconceived stereotypes are unreliable. Some events will work, and some won't.


Overall, I felt the tour went very well, and was a terrific thing to do. I met a lot of people, introduced my book to (hopefully) future fans, book stores, and shops. And, how could I go wrong taking my bike on a sixty-five hundred mile road trip? What I would do differently would be to do even more promotional work in advance, especially trying to get articles and interviews in newspapers and journals. Every day on the road was a set of opportunities, but most of the work had to be done in advance. Once on the road, there was no such thing as advance time. It was all execution.

I always have fun revisiting my trip. I hope you enjoyed your vist to my blogspot. You can also visit my website, http://www.glennnilson.com/ , or e-mail me at ride2write@yahoo.com . Most important, have a good year, and enjoy the ride.
Glenn

Lessons Learned-1

Lessons Learned-1

I recently completed my six-thousand-five-hundred mile solo motorcycle trip to the Southwest promoting my novel, Murder on Route 66. When I was in Gallup, New Mexico, almost at the end of my tour, Tropical Storm Lee turned the creek at the end of our backyard into a raging river determined to gouge away our property. I was more than anxious to get back to Lesley, who had stayed at home, so I pushed the return run. For example, I drove seven hundred fifty-three miles the last night out. To my delight, Lesley had supper waiting when I finally reached home. Next day, I threw myself into the clean-up. Then I built a shed to store things we did not want to return to the basement. I’m afraid my writing had to take a back seat for awhile. Now, things have settled down and it’s time to do a little reflection on the lessons I can take from the tour. For this blog, I’m going to look at what went well, what did not, and what lessons I can learn from my experiences.

There were a number of things that I felt went well. The radio interview I did in Albuquerque was one. My host, Travis Parkin, did a terrific job with the questions he asked and in taking a few minutes before air time to explain the process and put me at ease. The fact that I had been a guest on radio shows before helped as well. Interviews like that not only get the message out about what you have written, but help to develop a comfortable public persona. The lesson? Grab any opportunity you can to make a public appearance as a writer.

Some of the signings I did went well, and others failed to produce more than a faint trickle of people. I'm told that happens to everyone. I never discovered a magic formula for getting a large audience, but did learn one thing, location counts. I enjoyed sitting in a place where I could meet and greet people as they came in, not hawking my own wares, but rather as a guest member of the team. It was fun, too. It allowed me to be a part of everyone's visit, whether it be a visitor center or bookstore.

People I met at signings mentioned hearing about me on the radio, or seeing an article in the newspaper, or noticing a flyer. The impression I got was, the more coverage the better. I think it helped that I sent out e-versions of flyers and announcements my host could use if desired. Anything to help get the word out.

I’m used to people coming up to exchange a few words when I’m on the motorcycle going cross-country. People often exchange “good mornings” in the motel breakfast room or even at fuel stops at a travel center or gas station. Since this was a business trip, I had to get used to saying I’m a writer doing a promotional book tour. Putting myself “on-stage”, happy to talk about writing, my book and tour, paid off. A number of people were eager to get a signed copy of my book. Lesson learned...don’t be afraid to adopt a public role as a writer, and realize that you’re on-stage twenty-four—seven.

I'll have some more lessons-learned to share on my next post. Love to hear what lessons others have learned about the business side of writing.

Old Town Albuquerque Plaza

Old Town Albuquerque

The Old Town Plaza in Albuquerque is a terrific place to visit. Dozens of shops crowd around a central plaza. Crowds of locals and tourists walk about, some with destinations and others apparently checking things out. When I arrived, a Mexican band was setting up for a wedding. The gazebo in the plaza is a popular site for such functions. Treasure House Books, my destination For a signing, is located on one side of the plaza. Luckily, I was able to park my motorcycle close by.
It turned out to be a terrific day, and I enjoyed getting to know John Hofsis, his father and their clientele. John takes pride in knowing his clients and their reading preferences. He had read my book, liked it, and was effective in steering people who would like my book toward the table where I sat to do the signing. Everything went well, and I had a great day.
One more stop in Amarillo, and I was on my way home. I have to say, the people at Hastings in Amarillo treated me wonderfully. I can't thank them enough. I also have to say, knowing Lesley and our home had been through a flood, I was more than ready to ride in earnest. By that I mean laying some miles down. From Amarillo to New York in three days. With weather promising to get worse the day after I got home, I pushed things a bit and rode seven hundred thirty five miles my last day out. It should have been a little shorter, but some of the roads were washed out, and I had to take a detour in New York. The good thing was, I made it home safe and sound, and Lesley even had dinner waiting. It felt like more than the end of another trip. It felt like the completion of an oddesy.
A few days rest would have been good, but that was not to be. I was astounded at the amount of damage the stream had done to our property, and the clean-up in the cellar couldn't wait. In addition,I decided to build a shed to house the things I took out of the cellar and didn't want to put back. With the days filled with projects, all rush items, I can't tell if I've been back a week or a month. I hope however, at this point, to find a little more time for the business of writing. That includes getting ready for a presentation at Huntington Memorial Library in Oneonta on the seventeenth and catching up on some of the things I want to talk about on my blog. I was unable to post pictures on my trip as readily as I had expected, and I have some I want to share. I also want to do a piece on lessons learned and vision gained. I hope you'll join me for them.

At the Eagle Cafe in Gallup

At the Eagle Cafe In Gallup

I was in the Eagle Cafe, in Gallup, downtown on old Route 66, a place where locals hang out. I mentioned it in my last blog. They have terrific lamb stew. An old man, an Indian, came in and sat in the booth next to mine. As it turned out, we sat facing each other. His face was deeply creased, his eyes sunken. I put him to be well into his eighties. It was clear he had had too much to drink.

He also ordered the lamb stew. I thought his selection reinforced my own decision, you know, eat what the locals eat. I dug into my serving with relish. The lamb was falling-off-the-bone tender, the hominy savory and delicious, the onions and carrots a perfect accent. It was wonderful.
Suddenly the old man gave a shout. I think he could have been heard clear out on the street.
I was shocked, both by the volume and the occurrence. It turned out the old man felt his stew not edible. He complained that he didn't have any teeth and couldn't eat the stew without them. Shoving the plate away, in a show of disgust, he told the young woman serving us to just bring him some soup.

He then sat for awhile, toying with the food on his plate, eating some of the bread and slurping coffee. Then he sampled the mashed potatoes that came with the plate of stewed meat and vegetables, but with his fingers rather than his fork. I looked away in disgust and tried returning to my own tasty meal.

After a few minutes he again shouted out, this time demanding more coffee. The waitress told him she was helping other customers and he would have to wait. When she finished the other table, she brought his coffee, but not before he shouted his demands another time or two.
As she poured his coffee, she caught me watching. She rolled her eyes slightly and smiled. I smiled back and signaled for my check. When I paid her, I added a generous tip, in part to reward her patience with the old man in spite of his obnoxious behavior.
When I later thought about the whole event, I had quite a range of reactions, and my thoughts keep coming to mind, ergo this blog.

Clearly, the old man was rude and obnoxious. On the one hand, there was no excuse for his behavior. I've seen drunks thrown out of places before for behaving like that, and I was glad to see them go. On the other hand, the waitress handled the situation rather well, I thought. I don't know if she excused his behavior, but I think she understood him. I tried doing the same.
An old man should not be obnoxious, but shouldn't an old man be allowed to come into town once in awhile, even to get a little drunk? Who am I to judge? He was very old. He was Indian. Perhaps he carried memories of receiving worse consideration from others than he displayed. Perhaps it was that he harboured memories of injuries beyond his own personal experiences. Maybe he just felt resentment beyond his caring about others, and anger beyond his concerns for what they might do to him in return.

I could not respect his behavior. I'm not even sure I should respect the man. He may be a thorn in the lives of those around him all the time, and may have been that way all his life. In any case, I'm sure he'll inspire a character in my writing somewhere down the line, and I can’t wait to see that.

But I had respect for the waitress and the way she handled him. And for a little while, I thought I gained some perspective and a bit of understanding. I hope to hang onto that. In spite of his behavior, I did feel some respect for the old man, and a little more tolerance as well. And I did like the lamb stew at the Eagle Cafe in Gallup.

After Kingman

After Kingman

Kingman, Arizons was my farthest point west for this trip. I still had additional signings in Albuquerque and Amarillo as I started my return trip, but first, a bit of down time in Gallup, New Mexico.
I used to go to an intertribal pow wow in Gallup. I wondered how much might have changed. Of course, the pawn shops selling Indian jewelry and curio stores selling souvenirs still lined the strip, and native Americans still appeared in numbers for a day or two in town. Not much had changed that I could see. Not like some of the places on Highway 40 that had gone from half-deserted mining towns to boomtowns once again as McMansions and new shopping centers blossomed overnight.
I discovered a restaurant in the old section I hadn't been to before, the Eagle Cafe. The sign said it offered lamb stew. Are you familiar with that? It's pretty common in the southwest, but varies a lot from group to group. The Hopi have a version called "nuc qui vi" that has a clear broth. The Navajo use a tomato base broth. Both seem to use hominy corn, which gives the stew a distinctive taste and combines with lamb extremely well. What a treat. I love it.
The tough part about my stay in Gallup centered on New York. Tropical storm Lee was dumping inches of water on ground already saturated by Irene and a generally wet summer. Lesley was reporting the rise of the creek into our backyard and the state of emergency in the area. It was frightening. Much more so for her.
So many people have been devastated by bad weather this year. Everyone seems to be commenting the same way, first it was a hundred year storm, then a five hundred year storm. Is this the new norm? Or, will it be worse next year? Some talk about end times, and others about global warming. I wonder how many of us who write will be including a flood in our next novel?
I once heard that the adventures you talk about most are the ones that scared the hell out of you at the time. My trip was an expected adventure, but not anticipated to be especially frightening. Old places, new faces. Fresh experiences along a route traveled before. A different reason for being on the road, and a set of goals I hadn't any familiarity with, but not terrifying. Sometimes the greater "adventure" can occur at home, watching the creek come up, and rising to meet the challenge. How did all of you fare with this year's storms? Will you be talking about them for years to come? I hope you fared well.

Kingman Arizona

KINGMAN, AZ

Between Williams and Kingman there's a northern loop of Route 66. You pick it up at Ash Fork, heading toward Seligman to Peach Springs then dropping south to Valentine and then Kingman, with several smaller stops along the way. Typical of the old Route 66 competition for passing motorists, curio shops and eateries along the way try to attract attention with paintings of scenes from earlier days, Route 66 signs, and cutouts of celebraties such as James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. It's garish, but feels authentic and vintage and fun. Tee shirts available everywhere and for two dollars you can get a bottle of rootbeer and sip it standing next to a fifty seven corvette while exchanging notes with a couple from England. Love it.
Some of the ride was windy, and reminded me of my first bike ride crossing the Texas panhandle. When you get a side wind, a motorcycle leans into the wind. This meant leaning to the side for miles and miles. When I got to Albuquerque after that panhandle crossing I had to buy new tires. They had worn smooth on the left side. This time I was luckier. I checked.
When I got to Kingman, I got a motel, a nice one that had been there quite awhile. Imagine my surprise when I saw a plaque on my door announcing the room had been used by Martin Melner, one of the co-stars of the Route 66 television series. I felt like a celebrity myself. Well, almost.
The thrill was dampened a little when I tried to call the place I was supposed to do a signing at the next day. Phone number no longer in service.
Undaunted, I got on my bike and headed for the address. Turned out to be a consignment shop with a for sale sign. Now, I was starting to get worried. Actually, I was thinking of Willy Lowman, from Death of a Salesman. Speaking of Willy Lowman days, I'd love to hear what other we writers have encountered on tour.
I went back to the motel, checked the plaque to make sure I was still the favored one, and started digging though my notes. I found another address, and headed there. Voila! There was Don's Bookshop, in a new location, and Shannon, who I learned is taking over. Long story short, had the signing, enjoyed getting to know Shannon, and did a second signing at the Power House Visitor Center the next day.
The Power House is a terrific structure, now standing for a hundred years. It was used to supply electricity for the construction of Hoover Dam. Had a great time. The magic of the Quality Inn, Martin Melner, and Route 66 didn't let me down.
The high point of my stay in Kingman was having lunch with Clark Isaacs, (Clark's Eye on Books), and his wife, Loreen, at a diner across the street from the Visitor Center. They had reviewed my book, and this was a chance to meet them. The diner was a nineteen-sixties haven with fabulous burgers and malted milk shakes served sixties style, with the metal cup used for the mixer.

Back on the Road

After Deming, I worked my way toward Show Low, thinking I might head toward Payson and sneak up on Flagstaff the back way. The route was gorgeous, with a few twisty turns every now and then to keep one alert. Like a lot of bikers, I find curves a bit fun. On one set, as I leaned through the curve, a sandstone bluff exploded into view a short distance ahead. It was so startlingly beautiful that I almost forgot I was driving.
Later on, the weather became threatening, so I decided it was time to suit up. A corrugated metal building that looked like a garage and claimed to offer food as well offered an alternative. Lunch. As I pulled up, a young man offered the use of a covered picnic area to keep the bike dry. So often, I find people are like that, friendly, thoughtful, caring.
Inside, I ate a microwaved cheeseburger that tasted a lot better than I expected and drank a cup of hot tea that tasted as good as I hoped it would. An older man was entertaining two women with tales of downed planes found to have rich, and sometimes illegal, cargoes. It reminded me the hills can hold a lot of secrets.
One of the women was working at her laptop and I gave her my website address. They were excited at the discovery of a chance encounter with a mystery writer. One of them bought a copy of my book, and I signed it.
After awhile the rain lifted and we all went outside to assess the weather with local experience. The verdict favored an optimistic outlook, so I paid my tab and got back on the road. The line of storms was breaking up, although I was glad I had put on rain gear for the determined few that remained.
I rarely have those kind of encounters in cities. More people, fewer exchanges that prove memorable. Underneath the protective armor there must be as many stories, but not as readily discovered or shared. Maybe that's why I avoid cities when I ride, at least one reason anyway. I always think these chance encounters are a treasure trove of images and ideas for my writing. Maybe they're simply a glimpse back to my childhood growing up in the hills and discovering the world through stories told by others or absorbed through the books I read. Where do you find your connections to the world as you most like it to be, your chance treasured moments?

OnThe Rode Again

I took a couple of days off to visit friends in Las Cruces. My old riding buddies. It was great to visit and catch up. It was wonderful to sit on the veranda in the evening with a cold beer and talk about life's enduring issues as though I had never left. No strain, just sharing thoughts and the moment.
On my way from Deming to Silver City I stopped to take a picture. Unfortunately, I'm still having trouble posting pictures from my android to my blog. Any help out there? In the meantime, picture desert grassland stretching to the horizon in all directions, mountains looming in the far distance. Realize, in this imaging, you are alone, on a motorcycle in my case, with no traffic to speak of, or break the silence. What's your reaction? Just for fun, I made up the following test to see if you might be a desert rat. Try taking it.
1. Is your first reaction
a. To think, "Omigod, there's no one around. What if something should happen?"
b. "Omigod, how beautiful."
2. Do you see
a. A barren wasteland?
b. A landscape uncluttered?
3. Do you feel
a. A sense of forboding?
b. A sense of peace?
4. Does a sense of loneliness
a. Make you want to hurry on?
b. Settle over you like a gentle mantle?
5. Do you
a. Have an intense craving for a radio and air conditioning?
b. Feel lucky to be on a motorcycle?

If you answer B for the first four questions, you just might be a desert rat.
If you answered B for all five questions,
a. You might just be crazy.
b. You truly are a desert rat.

Tucumcari

Tucumcari felt like a special destination. It should have. It was the setting for my novel. Seeing it again, everything looked the same, and everything seemed different.
I drove around before getting a motel, in order to check out the places that inspired settings for the story. it was exciting. It was like going back to a place you once lived. It was exciting. I almost wanted to say to people, "I'm back." Of course, no one knew I was there when I wrote the story. The only people I told about my story at the time were a ranching couple, from Switzerland, and they lived outside of town.
I did have someone I could say Hi to, Lisa Lauriault, at the chamber of commerce. I stopped in and talked with her for a few minutes, and then picked out a motel.
I decided to stay at the Blue Swallow, a vintage Route 66 motel that has been refurbished by it's new owners, Kevin and Nancy. They've done a great job with it, too. It's one of those motels with the tiny carports built for cars before the sixty's giants came along. Just right for my motorcycle.
The inside was decorated very tastefully, with pictures appropriate to the era and location. There was even a rotary dial telephone.
I did some shopping, picked up a new bandana at Tucumcari Ranch Supply, where the woman who waited on me had heard about my signing on the radio. She snapped a picture of me to put on the company's facebook page. I was feeling quite the celebrity.
The signing went well. I had fun talking with people who came and bought books. I really got a sense of a community of people who are upbeat and enthusiastic about their town.
When I get back to the motel, I met Bob Saar, another writer, was doing a signing at the chamber the next day. He was on tour with his classic 64 Buick, to promote his book, David's Buick. He had chosen the same motel. It was great meeting up with another writer.
Next morning, it was off to Albuquerque and a radio interview with Travis Parkin, and a signing at Taylor Ranch Library, then a few days off to visit friends in Las Cruces, where I used to live.
Tucumcari was fun, a real highlight. Like a lot of Route 66 towns in today's economy, it's struggling, but it has a core of people who are clearly up to the task. It's like the writing industry...struggling to hang on in the face of change, working to adapt to new opportunities and challenges. Tough times, but it can be exciting. What a ride.

Tucumcari-Route 66

Rode across Oklahoma and Texas in triple digit heat. What a ride! Driving along the mother road was a ride back in time. The asphalt ribbon is narrow by today's standards, and undulates in a soothing rhythm. Oak trees lined the sides of the rode in places. Along other sections the route is framed by farms and fields. I found myself slowing down emotionally,mentally, physically. When I drove down Interstate 40, it all changed back to something much more familiar. Kick it up. Make some time. How many miles to the next town?
But that was not the whole experience. Some was a disturbing glimpse into a paralell universe, but not one in a sci fi dimension. Age and decay. I see enough of that every time I look in the mirror. Old and rundown is not pretty. Neither were the depressed portions of the towns I passed. Route 66 was once the future of our country. It was exciting and hopeful. Now hope appears to be about all some of these towns have to live on.
Of course, much of their present hope relies on tourism. Is there any? You bet! Smokey Joe's Cafe in Amarillo was a biker bedlam, or haven, or delightful oasis for the weekend rogues. Biggest surprise to me...the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian served lunch to a group of thirty-one bikers from Norway! Happens a lot. Italy, Spain, Germany. It's truly an international attraction. I ran into a group of a half dozen bikers from Japan.The world is in love with the mother road, and in many cases Harley as well. Any thoughts as to the attraction? I'm glad it's there for wharever reason.

Fourth Day

I'm in Oklahoma. I've been on Route 40, and it's been hot. This will be a short post. It reached 108 degrees according to my little thermometer that I used to wear on a ski jacket. One humdred eight. That's pretty hot when you're on a bike on a strip of asphalt. Arkansas was beautiful, though, and so is Oklamoma. Stopped at the welcome center and talked to the women at the information counter, Nancy and Jennifer. Terrific people. They gave me maps and brochures on Route 66 in Oklahoma. More on that next post. I am taking a day to do some of the old route. Looking forward to it.

The heat actually got to my bike. The fluid for the clutch lever heated up and expanded so that I couldn't disengage the clutch. That created a problem or two handling the traffic at a couple of toll booths and at the off ramp where I was trying to bail out. Ended up right across the stree from a good motel, decent restaurant and good air conditioning.

We'll see how things go tomorrow. It should be a little cooler, although still in the triple digits. As long as the bike doesn't act up, I'll be fine. Oh, Jennifer writes too. Sci Fi. Good for her.

Third day

Heavy cloud cover. Decided to suit up with rain gear before getting on the road. Took more time that way, I wasn't happy about delays. I wasn't in a great mood, to be honest. That happens sometimes.
I got wet. I tried to be smart and sit the first storm out. It didn't amount to much. I thought Lesley would be pleased. I kept my promise. Next storm got me before I could get off the road. Heavy this time. Oh well... At least I still had my rain gear on. I had been looking for a place to take it off. Then I drove around a curve and there it was, waiting for me. More to grumble about.
I enjoy most of the rode, and I'm never bored. Sometimes I get irked, though. Like the BMW that passed me. The driver was reading a map held against the steering wheel. He pulled in ahead of me and drove on, but before he got out of sight he got rid of some trash by lifting his hand up through the sun roof and letting the breeze take away his little bit whatever. Nice car. Clean looking BMW. Irksome Beemer driver though.
Well, I didn't find everything making me grumble. I stopped to gas up and get a cup of tea. I REALLY felt ready for the tea. The guy behind the register commented on how infrequent it is that Americans get tea. I said I love tea. Turned out he comes from the middle east. He told me he was fasting. One of his (apparently many) local customers came in and teased him about what he had been eating. We talked a bit more. I learned he isn't allowed to have ANYTHING during the day. Not even water. He gets up around four in the morning, works until late at night taking care of his place, is cheerful to everyone, and hasn't had a thing to eat all day. Although, I have to say he looked at my tea pretty longingly.
We didn't talk about religion, or politics, or economics, or world problems. We did share some feeling about tea. It was a very pleasant break from my point of view. And the tea was good.

Second Day

I wasn't able to post to my blog the last couple of days due to unavailability of internet access. Can you believe it? I even had trouble getting a little cell-phone signal. Anyway, here is my second day.
The weather was great, the air fresh, and the day filled with promise. That's something I look forward to. The first day out, I usually am still thinking about what I might have forgotten to bring, do before I left home, etc. Second day usually begins with a sense of being on the road.
The weather held. The road was good, and the bike ran sweet. Can't always say that happens, but it's good when it does. When I stopped for lunch...another Wendy's salad day... I noticed a guy talking with one of the staff. I overheard her make the comment, "I never thought it would come to that." But I didn't hear what they were talking about. He seemed downcast. I got my lunch and took a table. He sat nearby with another fellow, and the two of them appeared to be going over a list of contacts the second guy was giving to the first.
By the way, maybe I should tell you, I'm a hardcore people watcher. Make that a snoop. Well, there are stories out there. Besides, I'm still a sociologist at heart. Anyway, I people watch.
When I got up to leave, the two guys came outside too. They were on motorcycles as well, and had parked their's next to mine. We spent a few minutes saying hi and exchanging the small talk people do in such situations. They seemed particularly interested in my camping gear. They were astounded I could get a tent, sleeping bag and air matress rolled into such a small bundle. The one who had been talking about his troubles inside told me he wanted to ride to California some day. He said he had arranged for nine days off one time, but his friends had talked him out of trying to take the ride with such a short amount of time. His eyes got wistful, and his voiced softened when he asked me more about my trip. I dug out a map and we went over alternative routes. Then it was time to get on my way. We wished eachother well and shook hands. Friends.
Friends of the road. Something like that.
I felt pretty good that, for a little while, he had been absorbed with biker stuff, and appeared not to be taken up with his troubles, whatever they were. But isn't that also what writing is all about? For a little whilel, our readers can escape from, indulge in or dream of, something they find appealing apart from the day-to-day. Like people who stop and talk to me when I'm on the rode. It all comes down to sharing the ride.

First Day On The Road

This morning crept out of the rainy darkness with all the signs of a dismal day in the offing. Got up anyway. The paper said it would be sunny. So did the weather forecast on the net. Well, maybe sunny later on. Fifty-fifty shot at sunny later on. Decided to give it a couple of hours before deciding to go or abort for another day. Finally decided to suit up and heade west wtih the belief that I should be able to work my way through the rain and into decent weather. Had to be cautious. I just put new tires on, and they are slippery when new, very slippery when wet. Got on the road just before 11:00 AM.
Turned out to be a good decision. The sky grew lighter the further west I rode, until it was free of clouds altogether by the time I reached New York's western border at Jamestown. Actually the ride was a good one. As I said before, I've hardly been on the bike in quite a while. I was reminded what it feels like when a big truck pushes past and sucks you in toward the side of the truck as you clear the bow wave of wind. I was treated to the wet spray truck tires cast off when they siphon the moisture off a damp road surface and spin it off as they rotate. Soon don't even notice that sort of thing. Makes you wonder if you are compensating at a subconscious level or somthing.
The ride reminded me of my first road trip on a bike. I went from Connecticut to Casanovia, NY to attend a sociology conference. Everything went smoothly until I had to stop for some roadwork and it poured rain. No big problem. I was thrilled that I had almost completed my run.  Throughout the conference, people were impressed that I had ridden there on the motorcycle. They seemed bent on telling me of the horrible accidents they knew of involving a motorcycle. Why do people do that?  They don't tell you of some drowning they heard of when they learn your are going for a swim. Oh well, it's all good.
Put in about 360 miles. Not bad for the first day out, and in consideration of the time I left.
Found a nice motel next to a restaurant with good seafood and Guiness stout. I indulged in a walleye sandwich and fries with malt vinegar. Excellent. Chatted with some other travelers as well. Altogether a good day. Now it's time to give Lesley a call. Love those cellphones.

Countdown Over

Today was my scheduled day of departure, but on a motorcycle trip I always like to keep a little slack in the plan. Weather!  Today looked bad. Tomorrow doesn't look great, but it looks better. Besides, one more day with my family. Why not? I hate the thought of not having Lesley and the cats to spend evenings with whilte listening to the gurgling of the Butternut a few yards away.
I've taken a number of cross-country trips by bike, and people would always ask me when I was leaving. At first I tried to explain, it all depends on the weather. Later, I learned to give a date and explain why the weather kept me from meeting that date, if necessary. Similarly, people used to ask me the route I intended. I'd tell them that it depended. Weather again. Maybe some slack for allowing myself to be whimsical?  I like to think of it as being "open".  A ride can be magical, but you have to be open. I'd sometimes pick my final route, and departure, the day I started out. To me, it was all consistent with being open to the adventure and following my best thoughts when it was time for action. I knew I was heading west. I'd know the general plan before departure. I'd let the rest happen.
Tomorrow I expect to leave, weather being tolerable. I'm heading west through up-state New York, then turning south around Cleveland. I intend to head toward Oklahoma City, and pick up Route 66 in Oklahoma. I won't ride the whole route, but I look forward to getting in a few miles on the Mother Road before I get to New Mexico and Arizona, where I have the most engagements. This has been a very different experience that way. I've had to plan a lot of things out in advance. Schedule signings, presentations and interviews. I keep reminding myself that it's a business trip. My gut keeps telling me it's a ride, and I have to leave room to let things happen. I'm sure they will. Happen.
I know there are advantages to planning everything out. How about you? How do you travel, and why do you do it the way you do? Share your adventures in a comment. Especially any along Route 66, even if you live there. I look forward to hearing from you. Meantime, I'm off to promote Murder on Route 66. Talk to you soon...

One Week Left

Only a few more days, and what feels like a month worth of things to do before I leave on my book tour. Nevertheless, this was Otsego County Fair week, and that could not be ignored. Fairs and I go way back. I grew up with them.  I love them. It opened this past Tuesday with harness racing during the afternoon and fireworks at night. Lesley predicted the winners of every race we watched. Too bad we couldn't have had money on them, but betting is not done here. Of course, we had to go around and check out the animal barns and exhibits, and we both agreed that fair week is not for dieting. It's for fair food! My first choice was a sausage and onion sandwich.  Since the fairgrounds are just down the street, we watched the fireworks from our backyard. They were magnificent. Made a couple more trips to the fair during the week after that. I think county fairs are such great reminders, or celebrations, of farming community life. I even love the smells, and miss the sounds of the animals when they are taken home. Now, I'm back to trying to finish up my projects and get packed for my road trip. How about you? Are you a fair-goer? Did you grow up with them, or discover fairs in adult life? I know not everyone is enthusiastic about fairs, but many of us are. What is your take?

Booklaunch for Murder on Route 66

At last, my mystery novel, Murder on Route 66 has been officially launched. Lesley Diehl, author of A Deadly Draught, was there to help. We enjoyed a good turnout and had a lot of fun. In this story, Bobby Navarro, a bad-boy biker with a heart of gold, promises a young boy he’ll find who killed his father and left his body lying in a parking lot along old Route 66 in Tucumcari, New Mexico. The victim was Bobby’s friend, and temporary employer. The boy is the victim’s son.  With his working vacation turned into a sleuthing quest, Bobby must deal with a hostile ranch foreman, suspicious police detective, and worried girlfriend to track down the killer before the victim’s widow, son, or Bobby himself become the murderer’s next victim.
Next on the agenda, completing arrangements and getting ready for my cross-country motorcycle trip to visit towns on Old Route 66 and promote my book. I look forward to sharing the adventure.

Southwest tour countdown

With less than three weeks until departure time, I feel like I'm in a whirlwind of last minute details and projects. I did manage to take a short ride on my bike the other day, wanting to get used to being on a motorcycle again. It seems ironic, but I've been too busy trying to get set up for my ride to actually do any. No big surprise, I got caught in a thunderstorm, a real downpour. Actually, "downpour" seems a poor choice of words. With the strong gusts of wind and my location, the rain was reddish brown, and nearer to horizontal. I saw it coming in time to pull onto a gravel lot and drop the kickstand before it hit. I even managed to throw on a rain jacket, but not the pants. Then it showed me just how much an upstate NY thunderstorm can be like a southwest torrential downpour, the kind I've been caught in before, flooding and all.  I waited it out under some pine trees on a nearby slope, trying to ignore the fact that my jeans were soaked through and my ride home was going to be wet and chilly. The good thing was, it didn't last long, and I got home just fine. A good reminder of what a cross country ride can be like sometimes. The other good thing-when it's not bad, it can really be great!!  Got any storm stories to share from your trips?

Welcome to Murder on the Road

Welcome to my blog, Murder on the Road. This blog is designed to share my cross-country motorcycle tour along parts of Route 66, starting mid-August 2011. The ride is to celebrate my novel, Murder on Route 66.  I will be visiting a number of towns along the old route, enjoying the sights, doing signings, meeting new friends. I'll try to include a picture here and there, and relate whatever adventures come up. I hope others who read the blog posts will share some of their travels as well. Have you ever ridden on Route 66? Have you seen any reruns of the old television show? Are you a member of one of the Route 66 organizations keeping the romance of the Mother Road alive? Post a comment and share your experience.