Today was one of those days that makes a fellow think he might actually know what he’s doing on a motorcycle. That delusion lasted most of the morning. We knocked out 190 miles on a fine early-fall day, and eight Sandies decided the cooler weather was too good to waste sitting at home pretending to have something productive to do. So off we went. We wandered through backwoods trails, canopy roads, and eventually made our way to the Highest Point in Florida, which sounds more

Today was way different. It wasn’t a Bobby Day. You know what a Bobby Day is: hot, wet, and miserable. The kind of day where you’re not sure whether you’re riding through Florida or being slowly boiled in a bag. But today? Today was different. When we took off, it was in the 70s and pleasant. I know that sounds suspicious, but it really happened. The sky was overcast, the humidity was manageable, and for once you could ride without feeling like somebody had thrown a wet blank

A Bobbie’s Homecoming As Bobbie once so eloquently put it, he was “tired of coming home hot, wore out, and wet.” Now, the wet part was not the result of any particularly exciting adventure. It was sweat, brought on by the sort of heat that makes a grown man question every decision that led him to get on a motorcycle in the first place. Well, today was what I’m calling a “Bobby Homecoming.” And it had just about everything Bobby has grown tired of. Here are the facts, for thos