I did a lot of riding in my younger days. Being a career mechanic, it seemed natural that I should ride with as much intensity as I wrenched. In those days, motorcycling was a daily lifestyle, not the occasional weekend activity that it is for many today. All of us rode like cars didn't exist. Had friends who thought nothing of doing three states in day. You know, Ironbutt types. So, invited to a rally in the midwest, I decided to ride the distance from my home in southern California. Took two weeks off from work, prepped the bike and myself, and took off. Made a beeline more or less through Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Nebraska and Iowa, to the northwest corner of the prairie state, arriving at historic Galena, Illinois, the birthplace of General Ulysses S. Grant and site of the moto-gathering. That was the first 2,000 miles. After spending a few days there, I departed to take the long way home through South Dakota, Montana and Idaho, stopping at Oregon, another 2,000 mile leg. After resting a bit it was time to go home, so I pointed my CBX toward California, arriving in San Diego 1,000 miles later. I had ridden 5,000 miles in just 10 days.