Can you believe Hurricane Katrina was more than four years ago? I can't. It seems like no more than last year that the 6th biggest hurricane ever recorded hit the gulf coast and devastated one of the coolest towns in the world, New Orleans. From a rider's perspective the tragedy was more than a legendary city sunk deep in the Mississippi Delta with lives lost and otherwise destroyed. As we all know it was far from just New Orleans, but also the entire gulf coast delta area in Louisiana and Mississippi, which left hundreds of miles of beachfront coast road (and the cool little restaurants and shops that went with them) trashed as well. The whole area continues to struggle to get back on its feet, as the vicious Catch 22 of not having tourist infrastructure is keeping the area from rebuilding quickly and attracting more tourists (and their money).inline_mediumwraptextrightThe Bonny's plush suspension and sharp handling came in handy on the bumpy, blind and crowded streets of the French Quarter.31283487/rideanddest/0912_crup_motorcycle_touring_down_on_the_bayou0912_crup_04_z+down_on_the_bayou+action.jpgTrue

Rusting classic cars and trucks, vintage signs, and more tchotchkes than anybody could ever use for anything other than making a perfect Route 66 roadside stop. There was a lady reading a book in the breeze outside, a couple of other bikers cooling off with a drink (as was I), and just a nice place to sit and explore for a bit before heading back out on the road. Hackberry might be a bit of a ghost town, but this little gem was clearly still doing some business. I get another 80 miles of Arizona backroads before being forcibly reunited with Interstate 40; 80 more miles of solitude and cool old buildings. One big advantage of being on a road that parallels a much larger one is that there isn't any through traffic other than other motorcycles, and almost no big trucks. Lonely, peaceful, beautiful.inline_mediumwraptextright31199406/rideanddest/0912_crup_motorcycle_touring_arizona_adventure0912_crup_10_z+arizona_adventure+flags.jpgTrue

Back on the Grid

For those not looking to camp out at Slab City or crash at some farmhand flophouse in Brawley, one nice thing about being so close to a big tourist area is the infrastructure. You can spend the day feeling like you're a thousand miles from nowhere, and dine at a five star restaurant for supper. Not that we did that. We split the difference, and used the plentiful availability of rooms to cut a sweet deal at a couple of fairly nice joints.

In the morning it's still foggy and raining, but shortly after leaving the first gas stop I ride into clear weather. It's been my experience that Interstate travel is the most boring way to travel, but on this day, Interstate 70 is a welcome sight; dry, clear, and warm. My son has one of those caffeine drinks before work each morning, so I try one at a gas stop, and the next one, and so on. For some reason, I decide to ride straight through, getting home at 4:30am.

Follow along as we test new touring rigs from Kawasaki and Harley along with old hands from Victory, Honda, and Star. We'll be taking a zig-zagging path from LA to Sturgis, SD just in time for the big rally.

In case you missed the last issue, after being laid off, I decided to take the opportunity to see the Rockies on my new Kawasaki Vulcan 1500 Classic. Part I recounts my adventures and misadventures with my friend Pete Puccio through Washington State and up into Canada. Pete headed back to work and I made my way back through Washington, Idaho, and Wyoming to see Yellowstone and The Grand Tetons before turning south for Denver where we pick up the tale...

"Well Bill, I have bad news for you. We're closing your department."

The next morning we picked up the second leg of our 'following the dotted green line' adventure. Just out of Sumpter we picked up two Scenic Byways (the Elkhorn and Blue Mountain) that connect to form a 236 mile trek that cuts a diagonal across the northeast corner of Oregon. We head up over the Elkhorn and Blue Mountains that reach 9,000 feet and find the road well maintained, but a narrow two lanes. Again, almost no traffic, often going a whole day only passing 1-2 vehicles. Not far out of Sumpter I tried to convince the guys to head up a dirt road to explore the ghost town of Bourne; but they opted out not sharing my willingness to risk my bike! Dual sport riders find this area target rich with dirt and gravel forest service roads unsuited to those of us with 1/2 ton touring bikes.

A.P. Carter had a wandering soul. The chronic road traveler spent much of his life searching out songs and music in the Appalachian Mountains, and the sorrowful ballads he discovered started a musical movement that became popular in the 1930s and 1940s and lives on today at bluegrass festivals and as the musical background for films like O Brother Where Art Thou.

The concept of a quest is perhaps as old as humankind, a hero's journey to attain something elusive and desirable, whether real or spiritual. The Odyssey by Homer told the tale of a man seeking respite from the wrath of the Olympian gods. Homer of The Simpsons tells the never-ending tale of a man seeking donuts. Sir Galahad - and Monty Python - sought the Holy Grail.

There's something visceral and deep that touches your soul when on the hunt for animal flesh to consume. Never mind that, in this case and most others, all of stalking is done by politely asking a host/hostess for a table, and the killing is done in a mostly mechanized fashion far, far from your view. The anticipation and travel involved effectively whets the appetite and makes for a more satisfying meal.

Motorcycling is a fun bit of controlled madness. No other human activity allows us to experience life quite so viscerally. Of course if you're not quite human, the experience reaches a whole other level.

For more than 10 years now I've made a point of adhering to an annual tradition with three of my good friends. Every year we embark on a weeklong motorcycle trip that includes . . . just the four of us. Sure, we all met through our wives, but what with kids at home and soccer games and orthodontist appointments to shuttle to, we never managed to find the time to include the gals on our jaunts. In the beginning the excuses were understandable: Our re-entry into motorcycling after a 25-year absence plus our domestic responsibilities meant these had to be guys-only trips. At least that's what we told ourselves to assuage the guilt of leaving the family behind. But now things are different-the kids have flown the nest and our obligations have melted away. And this year the gals announced, "We want to go, too!"

Ever luck into one of those days that captures the essence of cruising? It doesn't happen that often, but every once in a great while you find yourself immersed in that happy confluence of time, place and mindset. It happened to me on Highway 89 in central Montana last summer.

I'm a bit of a free spirit. I have no life and no responsibilities and can do whatever, whenever. But that freedom comes with a price: I have no place to call home, no woman and little coin for living the dream. On the plus side, though, occasionally someone will call me up and ask me to do something that takes a bit of time like, say, ride a Harley across the country.

The world's largest motorcycle rental and touring company has set its sights on the sweet scenic potential of Central America. EagleRider has opened its first location in San Jose, Costa Rica, at the world-famous White House Hotel, Restaurant, Casino & Spa.

With forest fires raging in my home state of Idaho, a leisurely ride through the Canadian Rockies beckoned to me like a tall, cool glass of water. It was August and time to escape the 100-degree heat in Boise, along with the smoke covering the city like a veil.

Trying to go for a theme while you're planning your road trip this season? Here's one: Think about hitting up these shrines to two-wheel culture along the way, especially if you're doing a multiday marathon tour-it'll be more interesting for you and your riding buddies (and your significant other, if you've managed to convince 'em to come with).

The Hamster Parade down Main Street in Sturgis, South Dakota, stops all activity. For a moment, T-shirt vendors relax, conversations cease and scantily clad ladies turn their attention from the sidewalk to the titillating sight of 100 custom American motorcycles-each piloted by a yellow-shirted member of the mythical Hamsters Motorcycle Club.

The center of activity at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning in Jasper, Arkansas, is the Ozark Caf. Coffee cups rattle in the caf's bacon-fried air while Billy Bell and his dad, Gene, hold court at a big checkered-cloth-covered table. The family resemblance is clear as the two sit with a group of weather-beaten locals swilling coffee and swapping the news of the day.

Two Classic, Best-Selling Bikes From The Oldest And Most Storied Marques In Motorcycling Haven't Lost Their Luster.

2007 Harley-Davidson Road King Custom
Caretaker: Kay
Odometer: 7,558
Miles RIDDEN: 889
Modifications: Heli Horizon bars, Kryakyn ISO-Grips, ISO-Throttle Boss, Boss Blades

There's red dust embedded in the lugs of my boots. The wind blasts coming out of the canyons are fierce and cool. Half an inch of bug carcasses caked onto its windshield, the Road King hums contentedly over a red clay roadway.

By the time you read these words, the cotton will be high, the fish will be jumping and riding season will be in full swing. Personally, we're raring to go. You? Yeah, thought so.

If I only had one afternoon to share with riders from out of town, I'd treat them to a ride along the Route 7 corridor between New York and Connecticut. Naturally, we'd have to do some tire kicking at Marcus Dairy (just off Route 84 in Danbury) first, though I'd caution them to tread lightly when ordering breakfast, especially if they're watching their cholesterol-care for some eggs with that grease? From there, we'd head north on the local roads I've been exploring for 30 years. These secondary routes wind among farms, small lakes and homesteads that were already old before the redcoats were chased out of New England.