Departure point. A non-refundable ticket to a place less traveled.

This morning I truly began the upcoming adventure. Committed beyond a
point of return, boarding a flight, Houston bound! A short stop-over
in Salt Lake City, Utah and back in the air once more.

As it comes closer to ‘connecting’ with “Mavis” the Hell bike,
excitement, fear and a whole swag of other emotions swirl about.
Nothing is certain and everything is amazingly new and unplanned. I
guess when we were little, we didn’t learn to walk in a day, but
slowly, step-by-step, we figured it out and here we are now, striding
around stomping all over the globe without so much as a thought.

Finding myself once more sitting in a plane, watching the ground rush
by underfoot. Scenery changing as we hurtle through the air above
scattered clouds, snow capped mountains and peaks. Look back another
moment only to see a vast plateau, a river snakes its way to the sea
or perhaps a lake, cutting a gorge between soil and rock. Retract back to the
screen, typing away as the plane rumbles and shakes. Glance once more
through the portal to reveal a salt pan somewhere in Utah,
stretching as far as the eye can see. A cluster of vehicles gathered
in the middle, perhaps a land speed record attempt? All these places
are a distant location to an air traveler, but soon, I will, along
with the bike be able to explore all that is missed, as I snake my own
way from Texas to Alaska and beyond.