Joe’s purchased Harley (see image) is now in my garage. Joe himself is still in Melbourne, Australia. He sounds calm and collected on email, sending extremely well-organised lists of necessaries, and easygoing thoughts. I remind myself that he biked – on a used BMW – from London to China. I am in good hands. My own hands are a major worry: I suffer from numb fingers as a result of bike vibration (my BSA was the worst, my various Norton Commandos the best), and my Harley is being fitted with new grips to address this; meanwhile I scour the internet for silicone-filled gloves; I ponder bar-end weights, bar snakes, and something called a vibronator. People are recommending routes, places to visit, places to avoid. My original route, approved by Joe, took us to San Diego, where I have good, long-standing friends from the time I spent there teaching at the University of California at San Diego. I now envisioned a week off from the searing road, spent relaxing on a beach. Gradually this came into better focus. What beach? Mexico – where alas we’d be facing spending money on hotels, is a better spot for beaches; and San Diego… wait, a week sponging on friends, no matter how fond they are – friends without back yards where we could put up the tents or tent we plan to bring… it was all going a bit blurry on me, as was the long tedious journey up to Los Angeles, then up to San Francisco… all that extra mileage. My mind cleared: we should aim for Frisco in the first place, where I do have a friend with a back yard; where we’d be in the one city Joe is hoping to take a good look around… and our route a little more northerly, a little less of the blazing south as summer comes on… some common sense may be entering in, at this late stage. My friend not far from Frisco is my working partner, the composer Nolan Gasser, and we have work to do which I could do while Joe scopes out SF.