Longhaulpaul's Chasing the Cure

You would think meeting racing legends and top corporate executives in the motorcycle industry would warrant a good story, but unfortunately this adventure is about surviving a lodging experience at what will herein be referred to as “The Resort.”

 

 

The AIMExpo is an international trade show held once a year in Orlando Florida for all that is motorcycle. Manufacturers unveil their new models and concept bikes and aftermarket companies bring their A-game, trying to lure new retailers and customers. The American Motorcycle Association (AMA) holds it’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony at AIMExpo as well.

 

 

For me, the AIMExpo was an opportunity to meet and share my story with companies and manufacturers from across the globe, potential sponsors and leads on speaking opportunities. I needed to have my bike seen and my story heard. As a journalist for ABILITY magazine, I was able to secure media credentials and get the benefits of access to the show and all the perks.

 

 

Captain Kirk helped me book a few nights at a motel close to the convention center. I wasn’t going for ambiance, I just needed a cheap place to sleep. I rode the 1400 miles to Orlando and checked in. I was beyond exhausted and barely noticed the squad cars partially blocking the parking lot or the people just hanging out in the shadows. While walking around the building looking for my room, a sheet of water cascaded over the balcony above, barely missing my head. It wasn’t raining, so I stepped out a bit to witness a guy squeegeeing out the carpet from a room on the second floor. “Thank you,” I waved.

I strong armed my way into my room; evidence of multiple forced entries lined the door jam. The room was very basic but appeared neat. I took a shower and attempted to use the phone to call the front desk.

 

 

 

The remote did nothing and the TV didn’t seem to have any cable wires going to it. Unfortunately the phone was missing a few parts, such as the buttons with numbers. I tried to look the hotel up on the Internet, only to find the free wi-fi advertised online was only free after paying a one-time fee of $14.95 per night. I switched on my phone’s cellular data and began to read the reviews posted for this Resort. I quickly decided to return to the parking lot and strip my bike of everything valuable or shiny.

 

 

 

I convinced myself the reviews were written by angry prima-donnas and rival establishments; no one could have so many horrible reviews and still be in business, right?
The bad reviews shared a common theme of identity theft, missing electronics and diminishing bath towels. The last review I read was, “RUN AWAY, NOW.”
Completely exhausted, I turn off my phone, closed my eyes and fell instantly to sleep.

At half past midnight, a pounding on my door and a peek out the window brought my first encounter with the Orlando police department. I unlocked the deadbolt and creaked out,

“Yes?”

“Are you Longhaulpaul?”

Now, to be fair, I had just ridden 18 hours straight and my cognitive deficiencies from Multiple Sclerosis are well documented, so was I wrong to think the paparazzi had found me?

“Isn’t it a little late for an autograph?”

The officer chuckled and held up a set of keys.

“Are these yours?”

While patrolling the area parking lots he had spotted my Yamaha and was a bit worried to see the saddlebags open and the keys dangling from the lock!

“I looked over your bike, I don’t think anything was stolen, so I locked your bags up for you. I took one of your brochures, I can’t wait to read more about your adventures. Be careful my friend, you do know this is one of the worst motels in Orlando, right?”

After staying at over 100 motels this year, I left my keys and luggage wide open in the only one that had police patrolling the parking lots with assault rifles.

I woke up early with plenty of time to get ready and have breakfast before riding over to the convention center. I went to the front desk and told them I did not want room service. Many of the reviews I read the night before said room service removed the used towels each day, but never replaced them with clean ones.
I asked about the TV and the remote not working and the woman laughed out loud,

“You don’t know how lucky you are to even have a remote.”

My important question was about coffee. The clerk directed me to the Resort’s breakfast suite where I could enjoy coffee and a free breakfast.

In the light, I finally got a good look at the advertised newly landscaped grounds and relaxing outdoor pool. If it wasn’t the yellow police tape that kept me from the pool area, it would be the fear of leaving my socks and shoes unattended at the lounge chairs.

 

 

 

As I entered the breakfast suite, my eyes were first drawn to the security guard sitting on a stool in the back, protecting the intercontinental smorgasbord. I nodded hello and pumped out a cup of something labeled house blend.

 

 

 

There were three tubs of food against a wall, a bucket of unidentified cereal and a jar labeled TIPS, pre-populated with a crumpled dollar bill. The 3 tubs contained white sliced bread, off-white sliced bread, and a single pastry dribbled with icing and what might have been jam flavored ooze.  I wasn’t sure if I should be taking the bun.

I mean, was it the last one or the only one? Was I supposed to break a piece off and leave the rest for the next person?

 

 

 

I looked to the guard for some sign of approval or guidance. Her right hand was hovering over her weapon. I decided I was entitled to the one pastry, after all, I was the early bird. With slight of hand, I palmed the rare pastry and disappeared into the dining area.

 

 

My surroundings slowly came into focus. The breakfast suite was actually two adjacent motel rooms melded by a circulating saw and a sledge hammer. One room had the elaborate buffet and the other was the dining area with tables covered in red picnic plastic. The room’s toilet and shower area had been partitioned off by a make-shift curtain. The door was blocked by a small table with a lonely toaster chained to the wall. A flower vase attempted to conceal the wall mounted HVAC system.

 

 

 

While taking the first and last bite of pastry, I could not help but notice how the faded paint on the scarred wall stenciled a shape remarkably similar to that of a queen-sized headboard.

I shuttered at the thought of hundreds, if not thousands of theme park visitors who had celebrated their vacation by pounding a headboard into the stucco wall that was now just inches from my breakfast. I quietly regurgitated the partially petrified confection into my napkin.

 

 

Being a moto-journalist can be very dangerous but I knew documenting this adventure was important, after all, without pictures, who would ever believe me? I covertly snapped photos as I made my daring escape from the breakfast suite.

At the convention, Yamaha introduced a concept dirt tracker bike and new models to the press. They were also kind enough to mention me and how many miles I had piled on my Super Tenere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I spend the day visiting with sponsors and potentially new sponsors before heading back to my room at the Resort late in the evening.

I thought I had made it clear I did not want room service, but someone had entered and removed the towel I had hung over the rusty curtain rod to dry. Of course, they did not leave a clean one to replace it, just like they said in the reviews! I counted three remaining towels. The following morning I again neatly hung the towel to reuse, and again told the front desk that I did not want anyone to clean my room.

 

 

 

On the second day of the AIMExpo, I was able to get my bike into Twisted Throttle’s display booth and spend the day handing out brochures and explaining my goal to ride a million miles as an advocate for Multiple Sclerosis.

 

I went out for dinner and drinks with friends and walked back to my room late and quite exhausted.

I slept late the third morning and when I went to use the bathroom, something was leaking onto my head as soon as I sat on the toilet.

 

 

Liquid was dripping out of a vent and for the first time, I noticed mold on the ceiling. I grabbed one of the two towels (ONLY TWO TOWELS?) and wrapped it on my head until I was done.

 

 

 

I could hear the occupant in the room above me was clearly using the shower. I prayed it was a water pipe leaking and not the tub drain. Grossed out, I tried to take a shower myself, but had no hot water. I had to wait for my neighbor to finish before I could shower. I dried myself off with the last remaining clean towel.

 

The fourth day at the convention was mostly spent telling this resort from hell story. Worried about my safety, my friends at Twisted Throttle offered to share one of their hotel rooms. I was on the fence, after all, the resort adventure was not over yet, and I was no quitter!

 

 

We each went back to our own hotels to clean up and agreed to meet later for dinner. After making my way past a group arguing on the walkway and kicking open my room’s door, reality and the heebe geebees hit me hard. An army of bugs scurried under the bed. My underwear looked like it had been rifled through and on the rack in the bathroom I noticed what looked like dried blood. I hadn’t noticed it before because now the towel rack (are you kidding me?) HAD NO TOWELS ON IT!

 

 

With only one night to go, I quit, cried, “Uncle”, and couldn’t leave the nasty room fast enough.

I packed all my clothes and phoned my friends to make sure the offer to crash with them was still available; otherwise I’d be heading for a park bench. After packing up the bike, I went to the front desk and waited patiently in the complaint line. I didn’t expect much, but I felt the need to voice my opinion of their so-called resort. Well, that was until I overheard the following exchange:

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I was just bitten by a rat.”

“That’s terrible, would you prefer a room on the second floor?”

“Nah, but can I get two free Cokes?”

 

 

-Longhaulpaul

Please support my journey by entering or sponsoring a rider in this year’s MS5000 Motorcycle Fundraiser.

15,000 Miles of Smiles

My June road trip began with unexpected coronary surgery and a two-wheeled dash from New Hampshire to the Arctic Circle in Alaska. The second part of this trip of a lifetime was heading south through hellish heat in Vegas and Los Angeles. After 10,000 miles in less than two weeks, I would finally get to rest a few days in sunny California. Relax, wash my clothes and do some much neglected maintenance on my motorcycle. Part three, and the final leg of my June journey to raise awareness for Multiple Sclerosis included stops along the California coast and Oregon before boomeranging back across the country to New Hampshire where I had a life and a wife anxiously waiting my return.

A friend who had just relocated from Rhode Island to Huntington Beach offered up his home and garage space for the weekend. Kevin Nixon, who was the marketing manager at Twisted Throttle; one of my very first sponsors, was now the marketing manager for AIMExpo, one of the largest international motorcycle shows in the world.

 

 

I had picked up some spark plugs, oil and a filter at a Yamaha dealer earlier in the day and was anxious to get to work, finding out why my bike was barely running, burping and sputtering, unable to idle. I do have to admit I beat the crap out of my motorcycles and gear, after all, I ride more miles in a month than the average rider puts on in years. I don’t pay attention to regular maintenance schedules and wait for stuff to break or fall off before attending to it. My bike had been having rough running issues for about 20,000 miles and I just kept applying band-aids. Sometimes a back flush of the fuel pump helped and sometimes fresh spark plugs would get me a few more thousand miles down the road. This time it was pretty serious, it was barely running and when I reached Kevin’s driveway, it conked out all by itself. “Done”, it gasped out loud. I could not fault the machine, I had truly beaten it to death and yet it still managed to get me to my destination. Kevin was still at work, but had left me a key.

I pushed the tired bike into the garage without much worry. I decided to let it cool off a bit and retrieved a cold adult beverage from the house. I searched boxes marked kitchen stuff I saw in the corner of the garage for a bottle opener. It was pretty obvious a single guy had recently moved in because the boxes were still sealed with packing tape. I ended up peeling off the bottle’s cap with a screwdriver and took a long swig. The two weeks of hard pavement pounding miles were over, I had made it all the way to the west coast and I finally had a moment to relax, reflect and regroup.

I eventually got back to the task at hand, removed the fuel tank accessing the heart and lungs of my 1200cc riding companion. I extracted the fuel pump from the inside of the fuel tank and flushed out the dirt and gunk from the little fuel filter sock inside. After reassembling it, I set about removing the ignition coils and spark plugs. 10,000 miles of high speeds and nasty roads clearly had an effect on the motor’s state of tune. I replaced the oil filter and drained the thick, black oil that stunk of adventure into a container I found in the garage, hoping it was not my host’s favorite salad bowl. The four spark plugs looked a little rough, so I replaced them all as well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time my friend arrived home, I had the bike back together and running like new again. I never had any doubt, I picked this Yamaha bike for a reason. Even with 88,000 strenuous miles on the clock, it was a faithful companion.

 

We rode a few blocks to the Pacific Ocean for dinner, enjoying the sights and sounds of the famous Surf City beach, a beer and a bunch of fish tacos. On Saturday I slept late, did laundry, worked on updating my social media sites, talked about motorcycles, my journey and headed off to a local dirt track to watch some exciting motorcycle racing. Sunday we met up with a few of Kevin’s friends and took a casual ride up the coast to check out a few motorcycle hang outs. We don’t have many motorcycle cafés on the east coast, so it was a real pleasure!

 

 

 

 

Monday came quick and I had two important meetings on my agenda. Networking had finally paid off and some of the movers and shakers at Yamaha Motors had heard about my quest and expressed interest in meeting me. Yamaha headquarters was only a few miles away and I had left a message on Friday afternoon that I was only in town until Monday morning and if it were possible I would like to get a few minutes of their time. This was not an opportunity that I wanted to miss or mess up. I had been trying to get noticed by Yamaha for two years and this would be the first real connection that could lead to a manufacturer supporting me.

The other connection I wanted to make while in Southern California was to finally meet the man who gave me my first national voice, ABILITY’s Chet Cooper. We had communicated back and forth for years, but I always said when I get to California, we would have to meet up. When I did not hear back from Yamaha, I called Chet to see if he had any time available on such a short notice to meet up that morning.

I was giving Chet directions to my friend’s place when  the GM of Yamaha Communications called on my other line, and I toggled between them. Chet was already heading over to where I was, and Yamaha said they could meet with me in about an hour!

 

 

 

Of course, Chet wanted to ride his prized chopper with me to the Yamaha corporate offices in Cypress. As I had just met him, I had no idea how this might turn out, but agreed to us going together.

We met with three of the top guys from Yamaha and they wanted to see my motorcycle. I hadn’t washed it, it wreaked of dead bugs and was covered in dried Alaskan calcium crud from the famous Dalton Highway. Not washing the bike before presenting it to potentially my biggest sponsor ever was a gamble that paid off as soon as I saw three camera phones unilaterally being whipped out.

 

“You just came from where?” One of the smartly dressed men asked.

“Arctic Circle.”

“How many miles on this bike in two years?” As he continued the questions.

“88,000.”

“What have you had to do to the motor, any major work?” Asked the group’s leader.

“Uhmm, why don’t you ask me if I have ever checked the valves.”  I replied.

“Holy &*^%!” As they clicked a few more photos.

“Yep, when I couldn’t find a manufacturer to sponsor my journey, I chose a bike that wouldn’t need factory sponsorship. The Super Tenere has been the perfect tool for me.”

“So, Paul, what can we do to help you?”

 

It was a short sentence, but one I had never thought I would hear. I was unprepared and had no answer ready. I stuttered and muttered, falling back on all the miles I was riding, my fundraising, my website popularity, but never really answered the question.

What did I want from Yamaha?

 

 

Chet was quick to chime in, explaining all the press I was getting and my columns in ABILITY, and how a sponsorship from Yamaha would make a great feature story in the magazine.  I should have said Chet was my agent instead of my publisher!

Thankfully I was able to put together a more legible proposal later on and have had many great conversations with Yamaha since. They are now supporting me in a variety of ways, including some publicity and a rather heavy package is heading my way as I write this! (Stay tuned!)

 

 

Chet and I rode back to Huntington Beach and I invited him to stay for dinner. I had gone shopping earlier and filled my friends fridge with goodies. Chet, Kevin and I then had a great evening exchanging stories over an array of grilled meats and vegetables. Good times!

I gave a presentation to a group of people living with MS the next day in San Luis Obispo, and the following day in San Francisco. I rode along the Pacific Coast Highway, visited elephant seals and another great sponsor of mine, Bill Mayer Saddles in Ventura.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last stop on my three-week speaking tour was Eugene Oregon which just happened to be where my wife’s mom and sister live. They both attended the dinner and were able to hear me share my MS story for the first time. I spend my last night on the west coast with family.

After an amazing adventure encouraging others to continue chasing their dreams, the bike was pointed east very early the next morning for the last three days of my incredible June trip.

 

 

 

The Wheels Out West for MS tour added 15,000 unforgettable miles to the Yamaha’s clock, but by now, I couldn’t wait to get home, wrap my arms around my wonderful wife and get my hands on some toenail clippers!

I think everyone should take a trip of a lifetime, at least once a year!

– Longhaulpaul

 

Please like, share, comment, and check out my new promotional video:

 

 

If you are interested in having me speak to your school, organization or company, I have cobbled together below a video sample of some of my different presentations. 2016 will be a busy year, book your dates now!

 

Heat Waves

Part 2 of Highway to Health; my June Wheels Out West Tour for Multiple Sclerosis.

(Part 1 here)

 

We left off having arrived at Coldfoot, Alaska, 60 miles north of the Arctic Circle. My next talk was five days and 4000 miles away in Vegas. I didn’t have much time or space on the bike for souvenirs. With the help of gravity, I headed south.

 

 

Riding through Jasper National Park in Alberta Canada by accident two days later was probably the biggest surprise jackpot of my entire trip.

 

 

I was merely following the GPS prompts for the quickest route back to the States, and WOW! Mountains with snow, glaciers, wildlife, and it was truly breathtaking. I stopped and took quite a few photos. My only regret was the same as it always was; that Elin, my wife was not me. And as always, I jotted down the location and promised myself I must return to this very spot with her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Alcan Highway and Haul Road destroyed another rear tire, and I knew I would not make it to California where I had shipped another set. I had my friend Scott Mingo make a few calls to see if he could locate a tire in the vicinity of where I would be in Idaho that afternoon.

He not only located a shop that had the tire, but one that was willing to mount and balance it while I waited. Without me knowing, my friend had also paid for the tire! Hey Scott, did I mention I’m looking for a company to repave my driveway?

 

 

 

I spent a night in Idaho Falls courtesy of Core Temperature Controls president John Sims and took a tour of the Klim headquarters.

 

 

We discussed my experiences with the cooling system and ideas for future improvements. They were genuinely interested in my suggestions and experience reagarding riding gear and equipment. The crew from Klim gave me a tour and had me check out their line of hi-tech protective motorcycle gear. I was treated to a big fat steak and some magic berry potion drink.

I’m pretty demanding on my riding gear, and believe if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

5:00 am came early and I headed off for Vegas; still wearing my trusty and beloved Aerostich Roadcrafter.

The temperature in Canada and Alaska was mostly in the 40’s and 50’s, but as I returned to the lower 48, it began to rise. I made my way to Vegas, and rode through as high as 117 degree heat. It was so hot I could not keep my hands on the bike’s handgrips, even with gloves on!

 

 

 

 

 

So hot, the tar was melting under my feet in traffic!

 

 

And cars were spontaniously combusting.

 

 

My personal cooling system, the CTC-100 had been strapped to the side of the bike for the entire ride so far, waiting for the call to duty. When I turned it on for the first time, it yelled and screamed to a stop. 8000 miles of dirt, mud, gravel and bugs had packed themselves into the unit and jammed the cooling fan. It broke.

 

 

I was left with trying to cool myself down the old fashion way, switching my dash temperature gauge from Fahrenheit to Celsius. My brain didn’t fall for the trick this time, it was just too damn hot.

Lucky for me, someone was riding alone, keeping me safe.

 

 

After my talk in Vegas, I was really looking forward to visiting one of the famous casinos, but between the heat and fatigue, I never made it the 1/4 mile walk from my hotel to the strip.

 

 

My body gave up, MS struck hard and rendered me powerless. I was sad and felt defeated for the first time since leaving New Hampshire. I had managed to ride a motorcycle across the country and to the edge of the continent, but at that moment, my body was utterly useless. I did not have the ability to make it down the street. MS, like many other illnesses can rob people from enjoying even the simple things in life. Depression is common in people with chronic illness, and I can understand why.

I am, however, one of the lucky ones. These rare feelings that often overwhelm people do not stay with me long. Retreating back to my room, I cranked the A/C as cold as it would blow, stripped naked and swallowed every loving spoonful of an overpriced tub of Ben and Jerry’s Karamel Sutra I had charged to my room. Vegas plan ‘B’ was screw MS and heart disease; and I got to gamble after all.

I the drapes wide open.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

 

I left at 4:00 am under the cloak of anonominity and after it had cooled down to 86 degrees. I followed a route that bypassed Death Valley by riding through the canyons to Los Angeles. My safety relied on my ability to stay hydrated and cool as much as possible. I packed ice into the pockets of my Aerostich riding suit, drank like a fish and found interesting signs along the way to keep me amused like a giant ice cream come in the middle of the desert and multiple icy road signs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The cool distractions worked for most of the morning, but by the time I reached Beverly Hills, I was smack dab in the middle of another heat induced pseudo MS attack. Leg weakness, mild confusion, fatigue and inability to speak legibly. I could not understand where the valet wanted me to park my bike, even though the garage was just around the back of the building. He repeated it four times, but I just nodded, unpacked my bags, check in, and went to my room. I didn’t think they would tow my bike, and frankly by this point, I didn’t care if I ever saw it again.

 

 

I laid down for 20 minutes, took a cold shower and regained most of my heat induced deficits before returning to the front of the hotel an hour later. I explained about MS and that I was not trying to be rude earlier, I just could not move my bike another foot because of the heat. By now, my encrusted bike had become a Hollywood celebrity, drawing a small crowd of hotel staff, guests and live bugs feasting on the dead ones. A couple wanted to take their picture with me, people took my brochures and were amazed to hear that I had travelled to the Arctic Circle and Alaska just a few days earlier.

 

 

It was a humbling realization moment for me as well. Despite being challenged by having a progressive disease that can strike at any given moment, I had indeed just accomplish something absolutely amazing.

 

For the first time since leaving home, it also occurred to me that it was because of my MS, that I was experiencing the trip of a lifetime.

That’s a level of cool that will never be affected by temperature.

 

– Longhaulpaul

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