Author: Mike Huber

My First Motorcycle Arrest

By Mike Huber

Instead of one of my usual blogs on motorcycles, I felt it was time to highlight some of my motorcycling shortcomings. Many of us when starting this magnificent hobby have had a few blunders along the way and, well, some of us have had more significant blunders than others.  Being who I am, it seems when I do anything it is extreme.  Over my 28 years of motorcycling, it is pretty obvious that riding is no different.

I was a young U.S. Army Specialist serving in the 82nd Airborne Division.  One of my best friends was about to go through a rough divorce at the same time that I felt the call to obtain my first motorcycle.  He let me practice on his bike and use it for the test if I purchased it from him.  Facing an imminent divorce allowed for an extremely generous discount (he needed divorce and beer money), and being flat broke, this was what led me to make the purchase.  The bike was a bright yellow Honda Magna 750 that had more than enough power (probably too much) for a first motorcycle.

The deal was pretty much done.  I passed my written test and was ready to take my driver’s exam.  I’m not sure if I was nervous or inexperienced (or both), but as soon as I started the test maneuvering around cones, I knew I was making a ton of mistakes.  The Honda Magna was heavy and not the best choice for a new rider taking the motorcycle license test.  Amazingly, though, I passed the exam.  I later learned my friend had been chatting up the evaluator while I was testing to distract him.  Regarding a successful test output, my friend had as much skin in the game as I did.   After passing the test, I paid him $3500 in cash that I obtained by somehow qualifying for a personal loan.  I became the proud owner of a 1995 Honda Magna 750!

It didn’t take me long to realize I was invincible on the Magna, even though I had no riding skills.  I was a 22-year-old unstoppable 82nd Airborne Paratrooper with a fast motorcycle.  What could go wrong?

Pretty much everything could go wrong.  Almost every evening when leaving Ft. Bragg there would be lights flashing in my rearview mirrors.  It couldn’t be for me as I was way too far ahead of them.  This, of course, was because I was going over 100 miles per hour.  Everything was distant in my rearview mirrors at that speed.  From what others had told me, the MPs were not allowed to leave post and had to call any pursuits into the local Fayetteville police.  By the time that happened and an officer would be dispatched, I was long gone and most likely home on my couch watching TV and having a beer.

This cat and mouse game went on for months.  Not daily, but usually one or two times every week.  I didn’t care as it was nothing but entertainment for me.  These near run-ins with the law helped my ego, but did not improve my riding skills one bit.  Until one day when the birds came home to roost.

Sitting at a light on Ft Bragg, I decided to teach myself how to split lanes.  Not noticing an MP (a Military Police officer) nearby, and noticing even less the car driver next to signaling the MP.  Instantly the lights flipped on and I heard the “whoop whoop” of a siren.  This happened at the moment the light turned green.  All traffic stopped to allow the MP to move forward but he couldn’t as everyone had frozen (except for me, of course). Clicking down into first gear and blasting off like a Shillelagh missile, I was out of there.  Knowing the MP would be able to catch up quickly (I was in the heart of Ft. Bragg), there was no running to the safety of the post border.  After a quick couple turns, I realized it was probably best to pull over.

It was no surprise that the MP was not too happy.  As he was listing my charges, I asked him if I could go inside my battalion headquarters to let my team know I would be late returning from lunch.  The MP agreed, and I entered the headquarters building and proudly announced “Hey, Sarge, I am gonna need a little longer lunch today.”

My sergeant asked why, and the MP promptly and quite loudly said, “His ass is coming with me to the station!”  As I rode to the MP processing station and received my charges, it hit me: It was my wedding anniversary.  Since my CQ (Charge of Quarters) shift was 24 hours, I hadn’t called my wife.   While the arresting officer was rambling to everyone in the station about my reckless driving, I thought this would be a good time to call her.  I asked and was granted permission to make a phone call.  I called my wife and wished her a happy anniversary.  She was quite pleased that I somehow found the time to call during my busy day.  The call was going great until my wife asked where I was.

“Ummm, jail,” I said.  “I am in jail.”

My wife was instantly very mad at me.  Prior to that she had been happy.  I’ll never understand women.

Once released from jail, I was not punished, other than receiving a written letter stating that I had embarrassed the battalion and the 82nd Airborne Division:

The letter was quite stern.  I could not ride a motorcycle on Ft. Bragg until I successfully completed a motorcycle training class.  The safety class was sorely needed, as my riding skills were horrendous (to say the least).  The one hope I had was that upon completing the training class my new riding skills would be used for good and not evil.  Sadly, there would be a Part 2, a Part 3, and even possibly a Part 4 to my maturing as a motorcyclist. For the time being, however, I was allowed back on post and I didn’t receive any military judicial punishment, and that was something to be thankful for.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget: Visit our advertisers!

A Drought While Surrounded By Water

By Mike Huber

This year I decided to expand my hobbies while traveling across the United States by motorcycle.  I enjoyed camping and riding but felt with the long summer days I needed something to do once I arrived in camp (other than drink beer around a beautiful campfire, which will still happen no matter how many hobbies I take up).  Fishing seemed to be a perfect way to spend early evenings once my campsite was set up. I was going to become a successful motorcycle fisherman.

OK, well the successful part ended rather quickly.  I started off just crushing it and catching fish almost every time I went camping.  I was fishing lakes around Arizona and thought that once I was in California it would only improve.  It didn’t.  In fact, I didn’t catch a single fish from July to the end of August.  In my own defense, I was fishing rivers where most were fly fishing and not using lures or worms.  But still, to be skunked day after day for a few months was demoralizing, especially one day when fishing in Lassen National Park.  There was a couple next to me, literally right next to me, using the exact same power bait and reeling in bass after bass.  As soon as he landed a fish his wife would clean and cook them on the spot. Meanwhile, I wasn’t even getting a bite.  I may have cried that night in my tent a little (or a lot).  I kept a positive outlook, as I was just starting my trip and had so many states to visit that my luck would surely turn around.

My luck did not turn around.  It got to where the fish were mocking me jumping all around my lures.  Even when I changed from power bait to spinners to gummy worms every 30 minutes or so, it just wasn’t happening.  This is where my friend said to me “That’s why they call it fishing, not catching.”  Ugh.  I clearly need better friends.

As my travels (and my fishing drought) continued, I camped and fished in 14 states without a bite (AZ, CA, OR, WA, ID, MN, PA, NY, VT, NH, ME, NJ, VA and MD).  Talk about a drought. This was awful.  I think what made it worse was my BMW GS1200 was so loaded down that I had the pole visible on the bike held by ROK Straps which invited people to come up and talk with me about my fishing success and comment “oh, you will definitely catch something here…I’ve never been skunked there.”  Well, I didn’t and  I was skunked.  Repeatedly.

On November 1st my BMW was stolen.  The steering column was cracked open like a lobster and it was pushed into an alley where the thieves pried open my panniers and took only a few items.  One of them happened to be my trusty $40 Walmart collapsible fishing pole. This was the ultimate insult to wrap up an unsuccessful fishing year.

Not being one to give up, the first thing I bought after the BMW was recovered was another fishing pole.  Over the winter months my plans are to start watching YouTube videos and reading how to improve my chances on the waters I travel along next spring throughout this great country.  2024 is my year to catch fish!

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget: Visit our advertisers!

The Great Flood of 2023 in Augusta, Maine

By Mike Huber

I found myself without my motorcycle spending the holidays with friends and family in my hometown of Augusta, Maine.  Normally Augusta is a pretty low key (boring) town to me.  I pass my time here watching my favorite evening news show 207.  The show covers local hometown people, their unique to Maine hobbies, and the lives of those that reside in Maine.  The show is hosted by Rob Caldwell, and my favorite, Samantha York. It’s always a pleasure for those who are within earshot of me during this show.  I constantly blurt out entertaining Maine stereotype commentary throughout the show.  Everyone really loves and embraces my unedited commentaries as the show goes on (no they don’t).

Sadly the week or December 18th would not be a week of me watching my beloved 207 news show due to a massive rain and windstorm that blew through the state that Monday. In all fairness to my obnoxious sidebar comments it was a hell of a storm.  Up to 5 inches of rain and winds topping out close to 70mph.  Although we made it through with minimal power outages, we were in the minority as close to 80 percent of the largest power company’s customers were down. Throughout the state about 400,000 were out of power (about a third of Maine’s entire population).

The following day I decided to go for a ride into the bustling city of Augusta to see what it looked like after the storm.  I thought it would be quiet in the city; boy, was I incorrect.  There were lines for gas that were easily 40 cars deep in almost every gas station.  An attempt to go to a local grocery store was quickly shot down when the line to just get into the parking lot was about as long as the gas lines.

Now my biggest concern at this point was when the internet and cable would be restored so I can watch 207 and continue to absorb Maine life through their perspective. It was another letdown on Tuesday as when 19:00 came around, there was still no cable, which meant no 207.  I had a bit of a cell phone signal to help pass the time and a decent book to read, but it just wasn’t the same without 207 to light up another dark evening.  My mom helped me pass the time by having me engage in crosswords, and as I did it allowed me to reflect on my poor decisions in life that led me to this point. Either way as 19:30 approached that constant red light on the modem continually reassured me this would be another night without 207 had come and gone.

At the writing of this on Wednesday morning the water of the mighty Kennebec River has crested and I can only assume it will be another quiet evening without the internet (or 207) as the river level lowers and the heroes who work at the power companies restore power.  We are all maintaining continued optimism for a speedy internet and power recovery so that we can enjoy 207 during the holiday season.

Stay strong my fellow Mainers!

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget: Visit our advertisers!

Digital Nomad: The Seattle Years

By Mike Huber

I wasn’t thrilled the first few months in Seattle after having moved from Victoria.  The timing of my move didn’t help since it was at the end of summer when the sun almost totally gives way to the gloomy gray clouds.  It wasn’t so much that it rained there but you absolutely could feel less energy around you due to a serious lack of vitamin D in everyone’s system. Nonetheless, I was here and had signed a one-year lease in a high rise in the Seattle neighborhood of Belltown, so I had to make the best of it.

It didn’t take too long to feel closed in living in the city.  Seattle isn’t a big city but what was missing is the nature that had engulfed and spoken to me over the past year.  My “office,” which I went in maybe once every few weeks to meet the team for coffee or happy hour, was in Bellevue.  I am usually not one to badmouth areas, but instead I like to look at the positive side and its attributes. In Bellevue I couldn’t find any.  It was a suburban plastic city with nothing but cookie cutter restaurants and bars.  It was like the Truman show, but with a “keep up with the Jones” mentality.  Everyone had expensive cars and would even move parking spaces to flaunt the material items they had become slaves to.  When asking them what they did on the weekend it usually entailed going to Costco and dinner at a Chili’s or Cheesecake Factory to wrap up a day at the mall.

Thankfully, I rode my Ducati Monster M1100 out from Maine.  This became the best way to leave the beaten path and explore the state of Washington, and boy did I explore it.  It was a quick learning curve to find incredible roads and remote camping areas that most people not only didn’t dare to explore (there were no Chili’s out on the Olympic Peninsula).  This was fine with me.

Once again, every weekend was like a vacation for me as I explored Washington.  When I went into the office my peers would gather to hear about where I went over the weekend and what I had experienced.  There were numerous challenging hikes, remote beach camping on the Olympic Peninsula, motorcycle rides through the Cascades, numerous volcanos, and countless treasures I discovered by talking to fellow hikers and riders.  I was starting to love Washington.  The diversity inspired me to explore the region and it was a rare weekend when I stayed in Seattle.

It didn’t take long before I got over the fear of city life, built a circle of great friends, and became fully acclimated to living in Belltown.  The weekends involved traveling through the state or up to Vancouver, BC and weekdays I spent in coffee shops and bars with my new friends. Life became pretty routine (which was odd for me), but it was enjoyable.

One of the cooler things I loved about Seattle is how dog friendly of a city it is.  For years they had a dog that rode the city bus with a bus pass to the local dog park.  Also, dogs are not only allowed in most bars but actually sit at the bar and the bartender provides a water dish and treats for them.  I have been in bars where at times there are more dogs than people.  This just added to my feelings for this city.

Although after almost three years living in the Seattle area and exploring most of its secrets, there were a few moments that told me it was time to return to my nomadic lifestyle.  One was during a Seattle Seahawks playoff game.  It was on TV and I went out on my tiny balcony to get some air, I looked around at all the high-rise apartments next to me and EVERY television was on the same channel watching the same thing. It was a scene out of George Orwell’s 1984.  It freaked me out and that was one of the seeds nudging me to move on.  The other was the gray skies. I was beginning to become depressed from lack of vitamin D and no matter how many supplements I took I could feel I was sinking into a depressive abyss. My parents, always ones to come up with creative solutions (that’s where I get it from) sent me a mood light for Christmas. It didn’t help.

That one final Seattle winter only provided the city with 20 hours of sun from mid-October until May.  I decided to take action.  I threw the mood light in the trash and devised a plan to leave Seattle and spend a month in Montana.  Little did I know that this decision would morph into a series of life changing events.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget: Visit our advertisers!

Mount Rainier

By Mike Huber

Mount Rainier, just a two-hour drive south of Seattle, was something I became obsessed with while living in the Pacific Northwest.  I loved looking at that volcano.  Mount Rainier often wasn’t visible during the winter months due to the cloud cover, but when it was visible it was a sight to be seen, especially at sunset.  The entire volcano would glow orange, almost as if it was a 14,000-foot candle. It was magical.

To summit this peak, one has to be extremely skilled as a mountaineer or have a guide due to the multiple avalanches. This was something I had to experience up close, but I didn’t have the climbing talent.  I would have to find another way to experience this.

The following August I began training by spending two months climbing numerous peaks in Washington until my body felt solid enough for an attempt to climb to Mount Rainier’s base camp, Camp Muir.  I drove to the base of Mount Rainier in Paradise, Washington, and slept in the back of my car that night.  That gave me a better chance of snagging a camp permit for Camp Muir in the morning.  This mountain base camp was mostly for those who dared to summit this volcano, and it was nothing more than a hostel at 10,000 feet.  It was a small wooden shed with two levels of plywood that held 12 hikers.

The hike up to the camp was a smoker.  I left at 7:00 a.m. and didn’t reach Camp Muir until 14:00.  It was like climbing up a black diamond ski slope.  I didn’t have crampons and my pack was quite heavy as I had loaded it with a lot of water (a rookie mistake).   Once arriving at the camp and securing a spot in the shed, I spent the rest of the day talking with those that would be summiting in the early hours the following morning.  They summit at night to avoid warmer periods of the day when avalanches were more prevalent.

The hikers all woke around 2:00 a.m. to begin the summit.  Even though the temperatures were low I decided to get up and see them all leave. This provided the opportunity to view all the stars as well as the entire Milky Way spread across an otherwise dark night sky. As the hikers made their way I could hear the loud cracking of avalanches in the distance.  Camp Muir was angled so it was well protected, but that loud thunderous sound sure got the hairs on the back of my neck up.

In the morning as the sun came up I could see 270 degrees around me, and volcanoes were visible in every direction.  It was a site to behold as I finished my breakfast (the remainder of a crushed Subway sandwich).  It was time to begin my descent. The coolest part of this hike was going back down.  I brought a large black garbage bag with me on this hike.  The reason being is as you descend there are luges carved throughout the path down the mountain.  This allowed the opportunity to glissade, sometimes picking up an unreal amount of speed to the point where I would use my legs as brakes to ensure I didn’t get too out of control.

Once returning to a much lower elevation the snow began to disappear and it was time to pack the garbage bag up and hike the remaining 2 miles down.  Not having slept much the night prior due to the higher elevation I was looking forward to hitting a breakfast place in Paradise to refuel as the crushed Subway sandwich gave way to hunger.  I could tell I was close to the base as the people I ran across were less and less in shape or prepared and once I saw a family wearing crocs I knew my breakfast had to be within a ¼ mile or less.

As I entered the café, I got a coffee and a breakfast sandwich.  I felt fulfilled because I was able to experience the hike even without summiting.  The hike to Camp Muir was still challenging and I knew it would leave me sore for the next few days.  It would also provide memories that have lasted.  Every time I see Mount Rainier in the Pacific Northwest, I am able to relive my experience and appreciate that magnificent mountain in a more personal way.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget: Visit our advertisers!

Digital Nomad: Returning to the USA

By Mike Huber

I had been living and working on the beautiful rain forest island town of Victoria, British Columbia, but I had noticed the past couple of times returning from my work trips to Seattle that the Canadian Immigration people started to take notice of me and were more than aware that the stories I was feeding them weren’t true (they could see my entry/exit dates and they did NOT track with what I was telling them).   During one of the last times I crossed the border I was pulled aside.  They ran my Massachusetts driver’s license and the agent quickly stated “You’re a long way from home, son.”  To which I provided my normal reply by pointing at my backpack:  No, sir. My home is right there.  He didn’t find it funny (they never do).  He returned my IDs and had me move through Customs without further issue.

It was definitely time to return to the United States.  It didn’t take too long over the next week to pack up, deflate the leaky air mattress I had been sleeping on for 8 months, and place the Good Will furniture on the corner (the furniture and I shared the same situation; we were both looking for our next home). Loading everything into the car was the final step before getting on the Tsawwassen Ferry, which would bring me to Vancouver.  It was a short and uneventful 3-hour drive to my new residence in Seattle, Washington.

Victoria was one of the very few places that made me cry when I left.  I had a beautiful eight months living there and felt so fortunate that I was not only able to experience this island and the great people who live there, but that I was able to stay for so long.  It is one of the few places I have lived that I proudly called my home.

I was back in the United States after a year and a half.  It was time to get an actual apartment and furniture that wasn’t from Good Will.  Belltown in Seattle seemed to be a no brainer as far as a location.  There were tons of bars and restaurants, it was next to the Olympic Sculpture Park, and the Victoria Clipper was right there (if I felt the urge to jump back to Victoria on the high-speed catamaran).  Maybe the coolest part of Belltown was that my apartment was in the shadow of the Space Needle, which is one of my favorite buildings.

The one big lesson I learned in my vagabond, digital nomad travels is it is much easier to get back on the wheel than it is to exit it. Getting an apartment and having my furniture sent from Boston was easy.  Leaving the wheel required a ton of planning and preparation.  It took months to downsize, find a storage for my vehicles, rent my condo, etc.  The tasks seemed to never end when I prepared to leave the wheel, and as I completed each task I found myself constantly questioning my decision as I counted down to Day 0.

I was now a Seattle resident.  Over the past 18 months I left from the start of I-90 near Fenway Park to the end of the same road at Safeco Field.  It would have only been a three-thousand-mile trip on I-90, but I took the longest route possible by meandering through five countries.  I was anxious to meet new friends and see how being back on the wheel would treat me, and more importantly, how I would adjust to this old lifestyle I had left 18 months ago.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget: Visit our advertisers!

Season of Change: Part 4

By Mike Huber

I awoke in my tent still buzzing from the previous night’s ceremony. A frequent side effect from ayahuasca is not being able to sleep that well, but even with little sleep I was ready and excited to face the day with a renewed feeling of positive energy.  I had not only made it through the ceremony but came out the other side feeling a confidence and happiness that I hadn’t felt in years.

Even though I had this elated feeling I was still cautious not to be too upbeat.  I had a final ceremony that evening to go through and I was certain there were still a few things I had yet to process.  Hopefully, this evening would be where I would find the purpose that I originally sought, a star to steer by to light a path, even if it was just a few nearly dead chem lights to point the direction.  Just something.

I passed the day by talking with the others and listening to their experiences and getting to know everyone a little better.  As the day wore on, I began to feel uneasy again as to what that night’s experience would be.  With the ceremony starting at 19:30, the two hours leading up to it I spent in solace and went fishing to pass the time (I had two solid bites but didn’t set the hook so off they went).

Upon entering the yurt I sat on my mat and awaited to be called.  Since this was the third ceremony and I felt as though I had resolved a lot of what I had come here for I chose a smaller dose.  I wanted to be semi-coherent this night so that I could work with the plant, build a relationship, and have her assist me in bringing my purpose into the light.

As I returned to the mat with my cup of medicine, I sat looking deep into the cup for several minutes asking for guidance before I drank the bitter tasting plant medicine.  It didn’t take too long before the muscular black panther appeared and strutted up the mat to be face-to-face with me again.  As I sat eye-to-eye with this magnificent beast, I noticed behind it was the entire universe filled with an infinite amount of lavender colored geometric fractal patterns. I felt so uplifted and began to repeat “what is my purpose?” It was at this time the panther left and the universe melted into a dark scary funhouse as I began to violently purge into my trusty bucket that was kept at my side.  All the while the facilitators were singing and their icaros were resonating through my entire body.  It was beyond overwhelming.  Every sense in my body was heightened as I was blasted with emotion from every direction.

One of my proudest accomplishments is being a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division, but on prior occasions taking ayahuasca my prior Army service never entered my hallucinations.  As the madness of the funhouse carried on, I looked up through the ceiling and could see an enormous 82nd Airborne insignia light up the entire universe.  I once again was in a dark place and began asking why was I seeing this insignia.  Did the plant have a problem with soldiers?  Paratroopers?  Every time I asked my surroundings just became darker and darker.  Every so often it would uplift me for a moment and I would ask about the insignia.  Each time I was thrust back into the funhouse of Hell.  Obviously, I was asking the wrong questions (I learned this after the third or fourth time purging and visiting these dark places).

I am a slow learner. I managed to refocus for a moment and it hit me.  It was almost as if the plant was screaming at me and punishing me for not coming to the obvious conclusion of these signs.  I had asked for purpose during that ceremony and that was it.  The medicine was showing me what my purpose was.  It is to help my fellow veterans in some capacity (this was the conclusion I reached). This was what I had asked for, but I had been too overwhelmed by the hallucinations to focus and obtain that answer.

It’s been three months since I attended the ayahuasca ceremonies. While I am still very mindful of what lessons the plant medicine has taught me, life (as it tends to do) has had me distracted and I find myself backsliding into old habits and losing focus on my new purpose.  I am now alert enough to realize this and I have the discipline to push myself back on track.  As I continue my path forward I am thankful for having the resolve to attend and learn from this beautiful plant medicine.  It is not a magic bullet, but if you follow through on the lessons this plant teaches you there is no doubt you will be a better person.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget:  Visit our advertisers!

Season of Change: Part 3

By Mike Huber

I returned to my mat/astral spaceship with a full dose of ayahuasca in a cup that I was about to drink.  This would be my 12th time consuming this magical potion from the jungles of South America.  As I sat staring into the cup that would soon bring me into another world I was as scared as I had ever been in my life, especially having just had one of the most frightening journeys of my life the night prior. Looking into the cup of dark molasses-colored and textured fluid I set my intentions and fearfully drank what was a little over an ounce, but it would prove to be more than enough to benefit me.

Similar to the prior evening I sat back to let the medicine absorb into my body.  There was nothing for me to do but let the medicine perform its work now.  Once the singing of the icaros began I could feel another entity coming towards me, but it wasn’t the panther from the previous night.  It was a War of the Worlds type of jellyfish with tentacles.  I was relaxed since in previous ceremonies this was the hallucination I was used to.  One of the tentacles came down and at the end of it was the pattern of the inside of the ayahuasca vine but I could tell it was an eye scoping me out.  Yet again I was eye to eye with a new entity introducing itself to me.  What was constantly on my mind was if this entity would disappear and return me to the Hell I was in the previous night.

Pretty much as soon as the hopes of not returning to that Hell faded, yup, you guessed it I returned to the exact same Hell as the previous night.  Damn it!  It was for a shorter period of time though (or so I thought as time is relative in the spirit world).  There were no voices or guidance this time, though, so I wasn’t quite sure of the lesson I was being taught (but I did vomit ferociously for quite some time). Once that began to wind down my name was called and I moved to the facilitator that would sing to me face to face.  I was instantly uplifted and felt just pure happiness.  A happiness and peace with myself that I hadn’t felt for years. I was comfortable within my own skin and felt as though I had been reborn and given a new chance to experience life through this new lens that I hadn’t had previously.

That evening I went back into the room to have tea with others and was no longer huddled in the corner.  I participated in the conversations while also checking in on others to ensure none of them felt as I did the previous night. It was one of the best experiences I had to date with this medicine, but I still had one more night to go through, so I was cautious not to become overly comfortable. It was time to rest, eat, hydrate and get my head together for tomorrow night’s final ceremony.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Don’t forget:  Visit our advertisers!

Physical Security

By Mike Huber

Okay, so having served in the United States Army I am always aware of my surroundings, my gear, and most importantly physical security of these items.  This is even more true nowadays as a fulltime traveler on my motorcycle.  This involves not leaving sensitive items on the motorcycle overnight and parking it near me (usually line of sight) or in a garage.  These habits have kept my gear safe over the past six years of traveling, not just in the United States but across the globe.

Upon waking up in Baltimore on November 2nd and looking out the window from my bedside I instantly was shocked to see that my BMW GS1250 was not in the parking spot where I had left it the day prior.  My heart sank.  Not only was the bike gone but so was a lot of my gear.  Non-sensitive items thankfully were inside my friend’s house where I was staying.  I combed the parking spot to see if I could find any pieces from the bike or any type of clue as to what happened.  There was nothing.  The bike was just gone.

I was devastated to say the least.  The GS1250 still had its temporary tags on it; that’s how new it was. What hurt me even more was the panniers with dozens of stickers identifying where I had traveled.  They were gone along with some sentimental items from the Army that were kept locked in them.

Within five minutes of calling the Baltimore police, three officers showed up, took the report, and fully understood my pain.  They issued an alert for the missing motorcycle, which was my home.

It only took two hours and my phone rang.   They had found the BMW two blocks away. I quickly ran down to meet the officer and was anxious to view what was left of the bike (if anything) and my gear.  The bike had a few thousand dollars in damage, mostly from whoever took it snapping the steering lock to push it into this dark alley. Amazingly, most of my gear was intact, but the panniers were destroyed from the thieves prying them open with a crowbar (I’m assuming).  Some of the gear was still hanging off the panniers and some of it was thrown all over the alley.  Fortunately, my losses only included my raingear, air mattress, tool kit, and my fishing pole. I asked the officer to alert the Coast Guard as obviously the thieves were going to blow up the air mattress and go fishing in Chesapeake Bay.  Even in times of darkness I find humor to lighten the mood, if for nothing else but my own sanity.

So the police found my bike, but it wouldn’t start due to the steering lock being destroyed.  That began a painful day of finding a local BMW dealer, calling a tow truck, and beginning the paperwork for the insurance claim. I was still extremely distraught and depressed over the whole incident, and rightfully so. Over the years my mindset has changed from the “woe is me” negative thinking to a more positive one of “maybe this is meant to be and had the bike not been taken I possibly could have been injured or killed in a wreck that day.”  It sounds cheesy, but I do believe this. Having a positive outlook helps take a bit of the pain away, even if momentarily.

Luckily for me I have incredible friends pretty much all over the world.  The decision to rent a car was a no brainer.  It would be a fun way to kill a couple of weeks and Kia Kamp while the bike was being repaired.  I could continue the “Mike Huber friends and family tour.”  This would not only occupy my time but reassure me that even though I was going through a difficult time, being surrounded by beautiful friends would provide the inspiration and confidence to move forward.  This is not to say that a few times a day I don’t feel an emptiness in my gut.  Having traveled so much of the world and especially doing so by motorcycle where I am so exposed has provided much more good than bad throughout the years.  If you get off your couch and go live sometimes bad things happen, but more often than not you meet wonderful people and build relationships with new friends for life.

Lessons Learned

Sadly, this isn’t the first time I had a motorcycle stolen.  I had a brand new Suzuki GSXR750 stolen when I was in college at Boston University.  That moto was never recovered, but I immediately bought a caliper lock for my next motorcycle.  This provided comfort, but it would not stop three or four big guys from simply picking the bike up and throwing it in the back of a truck. I stopped using the caliper lock when I bought my first BMW GS (in hindsight, this was not a good move).  I didn’t think stolen BMWs were in as much demand as the Japanese motos.

There are motion alarms, airtags, and a ton of other security devices out there that I am sure I will be writing about in the near future.  For now the bike is back and the panniers have a clean canvas to start over and begin adding new stickers.  My travels will continue after a brief hiatus as we await BMW parts from the Motherland.

Don’t forget:  Visit our advertisers!

Season of Change: Part 2

By Mike Huber

I was about to consume ayahuasca for the 11th time in my life.

The twelve of us gathered in the yurt around 19:30. Having previously participated in ten ceremonies, the process felt natural and comfortable. That’s not to say that I wasn’t scared, but I was familiar with this beautiful plant.  Most importantly I trusted the plant and the people overseeing my consumption of it.

In the past, the first night for me was not that painful and was more of a “getting to know you” feeling. Normally it was a very pleasant experience. I would see a lot of colors and just the entire universe would unfold in front of me. The second night is when the effects of this medicine would become serious and step up intensely.

This would not be the case tonight. Within 30 minutes of setting my intentions, consuming the brew, and the singing of beautiful icaros (native Peruvian songs) by the facilitators, I began to feel the effects. About this time is when the hallucinations began along with an uneasiness in my stomach. One of the side effects of drinking this medicine is that purging, or vomiting, is a frequent occurrence.

What I am about to describe is my ayahuasca journey.  Full disclosure: A lot of it won’t make any sense, but it is the outcome that I want to highlight. The hallucinations first came as a beautiful black panther crawling up my mat to sit in front of me. It was so close and real that I could feel the vibrations of it purring as we sat face to face for some time just staring at each other. I thought this was a new form of an introduction. The muscular black panther disappeared after a short time and at the instance of his departure I was instantly thrust into a hellish scene with a red sky and fire everywhere. The only structures visible were totem poles made of fire, and they were screaming at me.  I then began to violently throw up into a bucket (which I had placed exactly where I could find it in the dark). This went on for…well, until I was finished reliving every mistake I had ever made in my life.  Every time I’d been rude to someone.  Every time I had put someone down. Every time I had doubted myself.  Every time.  Once that was over, I felt like one does when awakening from a bad dream, still having that feeling the dream was real.  It was that feeling, but it was multiplied a thousand times.

After the ceremony the host came by and checked in with us all. I was still pretty shaken.  I was putting the evening back together to try to ground myself.

Upon formal closure of the ceremony a group of us went inside the house to have tea and discuss our individual experiences.  I sat quietly in the corner of the room listening to everyone’s stories.  They were all beautiful and gentle. I was still reliving the hell I was shown.  It would be a night of very little sleep for me.

The next day I was DONE. I was ready to leave and not stay for another ceremony. The day began with me crying inside my tent and really not much else. I talked with my friend who ran the retreat sharing my feelings about leaving.  For me, even thinking I would quit is unheard of. I am a paratrooper and we do not quit! But that first night was so painful it was hard to imagine another two evenings like it.  My friend shook it off as part of the growing experience. I knew he wasn’t wrong.

The next night not only did I attend ceremony, but I requested a 20% higher dose. As I drank it I said aloud “Run towards the sounds of guns” and tapped one of the practitioners and said “Hey, please look out for me I may need some help tonight.”  He promptly replied, “I’ve got you!”

I returned to my mat to set my intentions for that evening and waited to see what this next ceremony would bring.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

Please click on the popup ads and visit the folks who advertise with us.