"Baseball, Hot Dogs and a Long-Ass Motorcycle Ride" By Chris Harrington Copyright ©1997-2012 Nosemobile Productions
	"Did you really ride that thing all the way from New York?" the guy asked me as he hung up the telephone. He was referring to my ’82 Yamaha Virago with New York license plate. Since we were both parked at a gas station outside Conroe, Texas, I wasn’t sure whether his question was a complement or a condemnation. I nodded and explained I was on a cross-country trip to see a baseball game in every major league stadium in the United States and Canada. "What for?" he asked. Before I could answer, he began telling me of his own motorcycle exploits. Had this guy closed his mouth for a minute, I would have told him my real reason for making such an insane trip, especially on an old and uncomfortable bike like my 750. It wasn’t because I had to exorcise any road demons or make a name for myself. All I wanted was to see the United States in all its grime and glory - simple as that. The baseball stadium aspect provided the theme and basis of my route, since a ballpark could be found in nearly every part of the country. What better way to see the country, I thought, enjoying America’s national pastime and traveling by motorcycle, smelling the grass and vehicle exhaust in equal parts? As exciting as the idea sounded, though, my trip nearly ended as suddenly as it began. At the time, the circumstances were right for making the trip. I had just relocated from Los Angeles to Rochester, New York with no permanent job, so essentially I had all the free time I needed. Of course, the other obstacle was money. Luckily I was able to borrow a little here and there with the majority of funds coming from a bank loan and my credit cards. But there were two main reasons why I had to make this trip at this time. The first was my age. I was approaching my 30th birthday - not old, but I felt the push to become a little more serious in my life. Making the trip would be my equivalent to a bachelor party before the big wedding. And then there was Jason, the second reason. Jason inspired me when he crossed the country just two years earlier on his motorcycle. "What if I did a baseball tour of the U.S. by motorcycle?" I proposed over some weed. "You should do it," Jason said without a flicker of hesitation. Amazingly the idea seemed possible even after I was sober. I was possessed from that point on. Not knowing when I might have the chance to make this trip in the future, I began my plans.
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