ROAD TRIPS

ROAD TRIPS 

BY DUNCAN

1950 Schwinn Speedster with chrome wheels and fenders.  

When I was young, I couldn’t wait to leave the house. My father bought me a new fire-engine-red Schwinn Speedster with chrome wheels and fenders. I could travel all over the neighborhood and see places I didn’t know existed—Ford’s drug store at the corner of Belmont and Morris was a world away from my home. They had a soda fountain, and I would meet people I didn’t know. Wow, I was twelve years old. I got invited to Betty’s porch. I got invited to Maxine's Spin the Bottle party. I didn’t realize it then, but road trips can be fun. 

Those early road trips were a mere four (4) or five (5) blocks from home.     

After high school, I attended college in New York City. The Air Force sent me to Homestead, Florida, and Galena, Alaska, and I married. 

I had an itch. I didn’t know I had an itch until one Sunday morning. 

A parade of motorcycles, escorted by police cars with red and blue flashing lights, passed the downtown Indianapolis corner where I stood. I had just experienced church ‘On The Circle’ and was surprised at the sights and sounds of the motorcycles as they passed: Harleys, really loud, sexy women on the back seats waiving at the silly guy in the dark blue suit. (Me.) They were having the time of their life, and “I wasn’t!” 

I told my girlfriend, standing next to me, “I want to do that.”  

She said, ‘’You will kill yourself; you're not good enough.” 

This was the third time I was told by a woman,

“I’m not good enough.” 

My mother would never allow me to own a motorcycle. Why? 

“I will kill myself.” 

My first wife would not allow me,

“I don’t need you dead; we have a child.” 

And now I’m told by a girlfriend I’m not good enough. 

We will see, we will see. 

In the late 80s, I worked for a bank in Speedway. Jack was the new Trust Officer, and we hit it off. I was working mortgages, and Jack was working trusts. We talked in the hall and decided to have lunch, or was it dinner? 

DUNCAN, TRUDY, MARTHA, JACK. - Dinner on a River Boat on the banks of the Ohio River, Louisville, KY. (1990) 

We enjoyed each other's company. And became friends. At some point, we both agreed that the bank in Speedway would not fulfill our life ambitions. Jack moved on to opportunities in Tampa, Florida. I moved on to another mortgage operation in Indianapolis. 

Jack: “You’re coming to see us this winter, right, Duncan?”  

This was my first invitation to Florida. I decided to drive to Tampa without stopping. My first road trip (in a full-size Buick) was 16-17 hours. When I arrived at Jack’s condo, he laughed at me. 

“Did you drive all night? You look road-weary. Go upstairs, get your swimsuit, and meet Martha and me in the hot tub. You need a drink.”  

Yes, I was dog-tired and beat. I slid into the hot water, and my body instantly turned to putty. Jack offered me a Vodka and Seven-up, and Martha brought out a large Waterford Crystal Bowl with ice and the biggest shrimp on top I had ever seen. Now, this is living. I didn’t know this lifestyle existed. 

It was winter; I was experiencing the Florida weather, a hot tub, cocktails, shrimp, good company, and lots of laughs. My eyes, ever so tired, I surveyed the room and realized I was missing out on life. I realized I had to leave the house and go places and do things. When the door of life opens, I need to walk through the door. 

Then, Jack moved to Seattle. 

Jack: “You’re coming to see us at New Year, right, Duncan?” 

This trip will require me to get on a plane. I don’t normally do planes. But I was invited, and I know when the door of life opens, I need to walk through the door. And yes, I flew to Seattle to enjoy the New Year festivities with Jack and Martha. 

January 1, 2008 - Seattle - New Year's Day. Jack Maynard.

Jack lived in Seattle for a few years. Milwaukee, Wisconsin, was calling his name. Jack and Martha packed up and headed for home. Jack and I talk about once a quarter and chat on the phone for a while. 

“Why don’t we do lunch? We are too close not to do lunch. I’ll meet you halfway.” 

I asked Google, “What city is halfway between Milwaukee and Indianapolis?” 

Google said, “Highland, Indiana.”

So, Jack said, find a mom-and-pop, and let’s do lunch. 

Instead of once a year, we decided to have lunch once a quarter. It's about a two-hour drive from Indianapolis to Highland, Indiana. I include a stop at a little Cafe I discovered in Lafayette as I was headed north on I-65. 

Years ago, I stopped in Lafayette to gas Mean Yellow’s tank. I was waiting for the pump to finish filling the tank when I noticed a small mom-and-pop Cafe hiding behind the gas station. I decided to drive behind the gas station and grab a bite to eat. 

I liked this place so much that I visit every time I drive past Lafayette. 

At some point in life, you have got to follow the dream. Maybe it wasn’t a dream I was following; it was an “Itch.” I simply wanted to buy and ride a motorcycle. I wanted to feel the excitement that I noticed others were having. I didn’t have the same experience, nor would I ever have, if I had to keep playing life safe.  

I went big, no sense messing around; there are two kinds of people who ride motorcycles. The Harley Guys who love leaving home and hitting the bars and standing around admiring their thirty-thousand dollars of chrome. These police-style motorcycles are called “Crusiers.”  

Then there are the “Touring Motorcycles” that go places and travel. They are designed for long “ROAD TRIPS.” I had to make a choice. Did I want to travel or drink? As I began riding, I attended the bars where motorcycle enthusiasts gathered for special occasions. I found like-minded people, and we began to talk. I didn’t know anyone. But after several meetings, I had new contacts who seemed to feel the same way I did. 

One of those people was Jim Tsareff. He was also a brand-new motorcyclist. We talked a couple of times, and we were comfortable with each other. One day, he told me he and his friend Ralph would be at the Hog’s Breath for lunch on Thursday at 1:00 PM; why don’t I join them?   

“Hog’s Breath? I don’t know that restaurant. Where is the Hog’s Breath?” 

“Key West, Florida.”  

Yes, I decided to put aside my fear of “I’m going to kill myself.” And get on the road and experience life. I hope they show up at the Hog’s Breath when I arrive. No, I didn’t tell them I was on the way. I wanted it to be a surprise. Of course, I might be the one who is surprised if they’re not there. 

SURPRISE!

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“You invited me.” 

Jim, Ralph, Duncan - 2001 - Hog’s Breath Saloon, Key West. 

That is when the world started becoming smaller for me. It was no problem going places at the drop of the motorcycle helmet. Daytona, Key West, Colorado, The Four Corners, Mount Rushmore, Big Bend, Texas, Lake Placid, New York, Manhattan, Times Square. Travel was a part of my DNA. 

 

As I was riding, one of the guys who occasionally went on road trips with us wanted to stay home and watch cowboy movies. I visited his home, and he proudly showed me his film catalog. I admit it; I was critical of his stay-at-home attitude. I thought, 

(You’ll watch other people live their lives, but you won’t live a life of your own?) 

I didn’t say anything at the time. It wasn’t my place to impose my attitude about how anyone should live their life. But I always remember him sitting in his chair watching cowboy movies on television. He passed, and I went to the funeral, and I said to myself, if I do that, shoot me. 

We all have different goals as we age. I admit I was a different man back then. I had my agenda (Whatever it was then) and thought it was my way or the highway. I was in love with motorcycles and couldn’t get enough of them. Road trips on a bike with new friends throughout the United States were the order of the day. I was in love with life. I was in love with “Road Trips.” 

And then, one day, I realized I was going to kill myself if I didn’t give off my machine. I had a heart-to-heart talk with the “Big Guy” in the sky, and he said, “It’s time to move on.” 

I sold the bike and started looking for a replacement toy. My father suggested, 

“Have you looked at that Pontiac, Solstice?”

I had never heard of a Solstice. I looked and fell in love with the idea of a two-seat convertible. This Solstice thing is as close to a motorcycle as it can get. And I loved the color yellow. I asked the dealer what GM calls that “Yellow,” I liked it a lot. The sales guy looked up the color code and told me that GM called the yellow - ‘Mean Yellow.’  

I thought about it and decided it had more trunk space than a motorcycle and was safer. Unlike a bike, I could put the top up if it started to rain. This 2007 Pontiac Solstice GXP two-seat convertible supercharged hot rod was perfect. I want it, I bought it. 

Seventeen years later, I still love Road Trips and ‘Mean Yellow.’ 

So here I am in 2025. The holidays have passed, and I’m in Indiana's gloomy, overcast winter days. It's not an inspiring and joyous atmosphere for a wild and crazy guy like myself. But never fear. I got an invitation. 

Jim, do you remember him? (Yes, the one who invited me to lunch at Hogs Breath.) 

“You’re coming down to pay me a visit when I vacation in Cape Coral, right Duncan?”

Jim plans to rent a large, beautiful home on Cape Coral's canals between late January and the first week of March. (Seven weeks.) 

“So when is my Three Days, Jim?” 

I will be his first guest. As a guest, I’m scheduled to begin my visit on January 30th or the 31st. It’s nice to have friends who give me a call and invite me to lunch, dinner, or a Florida vacation in the dead of winter. 

A little history: 

I wanted to live in Florida full-time because I had the opportunity to have a week in Pompano Beach, Florida (2009-2011-2012) in a Time Share. So, I put together a plan to move to Florida full-time. In 2014, I packed and headed to North Fort Myers, Florida. 

In 2019, I decided to move back to Indianapolis. Yes, I had my 99-year-old dad with me, and he passed in 2018. While at the funeral (in Indianapolis), I looked at Indy with different eyes. I knew I could travel again, and my responsibilities of caring for my father were over. It was time to take care of me. Sounds selfish, doesn’t it? I decided to move back to Indiana.  

The only thing that worries me is that I watch a lot of YouTube videos.

“Don’t shoot me just yet.”