Real-Life Gypsy Stories

The author, his motorcycle and his job for a week.Early may sunshine gently warmed formerly frozen pavement as the old Electra Glide made its faithful way along the small, secondary South Carolina hwy. Dressed in only boots, Levs and thermal shirt, I relaxed into the finely forested scenery that lined either roadside. It was a […]

  Years ago… Early summer wasupon us and perfect weather oversaw this journey as the two heavilyloaded motorcycles picked their way slowly through the strikinglygreen forests of one small Virginia highway. Behind my aging ElectraGlide Michelle followed on her old Honda Shadow. Five yearsearlier, having never ridden a motorcycle before, Michelle had paid$700 for that

Winter, 2014 – Read Part 1 Here.   Compared to the U.S., deep Mexico is another universe; but after two weeks in the city of Oaxaca I was beginning to settle in. My $3.50 a day campground was set, membership in a local gym offered something of a daily routine, and I’d begun to meet

  Deep in Mexico now. Here the world, as I know it, does not exist. All the rules, land, and language, are different. The roads had become potholed and twisted as they ran through such jungle foliage as the U.S. has never seen. With only a motorcycle for company, I rode alone.      

  The Texas border crossing had been a terrifying experience for all the media hype, American’s telling me horror stories, and even the border guards worried for my security. But life is always a gamble and living by the confines of fear does not seem like much of a life at all. So I’d simply

    The winter of 2014 was uncommonly brutal and many friends in the frozen north seemed to be loosing their minds. But for those who live by the motorcycle and spend their days outside, the ways of ice and snow are generally avoided by simply drifting south. And so I had.     For

    It was just after new year’s when New Orleans finally turned cold. It would prove an uncommonly brutal winter over most of the U.S. this year. For two decades I’d spent these frozen months all over the southern states and had learned beyond doubt that southern Florida is the only stateside place that

It had been weeks since my arrival in New Orleans and by now waking at camp in the tiny bamboo infested backyard of B.B.’s little house in the French Quarter seemed perfectly normal. After the coffee she’d soon bring to my tent-door on this sunny morning I’d laze a few hours away before walking through

Part 1   Fall of 2013   The freedom of warm summer months, allowing easy movement throughout the continent, were almost gone. As the southbound highway led onward through the slight chill of fall and to the promise of milder southern climates, I thought of my destination… A long time motorcyclist, B.B. St. Roman learned

    Rally coverage is not my bag, and there are plenty of other guys interested in that job, so I’m not going to get into it. For me Leesburg was about seeing a lot of old friends and meeting new. Think I’ll talk about pals for a few minutes.          I’d

    Winter’s bite has always pushed those who call the road home far into the south. As my old Electra Glide made its faithful journey for the warmer climates of southern Florida it seemed a nice idea to visit B.B. Saint Roman, who lives in the French Quarter of New Orleans. And although the