I had some back and forth electronic correspondence with a junior writer over several months. He had erroneously posted some advice for wannabe and newbie writers on an Internet bulletin board about self-publishing and my publishers. When we gave him an opportunity to correct his error he began a campaign of denial, going so far as writing my representatives to say when he met me he would "make it (sic) point to settle up the old fashion way and when out paths cross also be certain that Frazier is not going to like the way it turns out." We received this response after I had written him that I looked forward to someday having an intellectual meeting with him. It was my first threat by a cyber headhunter.

We were legally surprised at the crudeness for his need of attention. It was a highly entertaining exchange from someone who, over time, had lost my respect by the unwiseness of his actions. I had never read his sole publication, choosing instead to read a Kawasaki Concours owners maintenance manual the night I had the option. Scanning the first few pages of his tome, I could not enter the world of the suspension of disbelief, so chose to read the technical purity of a motorcycle maintenance manual. I believed that not reading his book had seriously miffed him over the years.

Our e-mail exchange showed how the Internet and e-mail afford many people a chance to publically display the fact their IQ was smaller than their neck size, that too many men still lead with their muscle instead of their mind and some men live with low levels of noradrenalin, or in this case, may have suffered from head trauma that had damaged his frontal lobes, which can be displayed by bad temper and impulsiveness. At first we thought his responses were merely penis envy, a short penis complex, or someone suffering from the personality disorder of obsessive anti-social or paranoid behavior, clearly a psychopath. My work as a journalist over the years and his swark on the Internet reminded me of the adage that "An error does not become a mistake until you fail to correct it." John F. Kennedy said that. President Kennedy was a pretty smart man. Obviously, the demented individual who had been e-mailing me and my associates, while choosing not correct his error and letting it become a mistake, was not.

As I rode some of the long stretches of the boring super slabs in Malaysia I would be off the Internet for extended periods of time. Other than e-mail, I usually spent very little time surfing the Internet when I was not riding, the same during my office life. I chose, and choose, motorcycling time over mouse clicking or cyber surfing. Those long days, riding slowly through Malaysia, gave me time to reflect on how much time I did waste on the Internet doing what little research and reading I did. I wondered how and why some people took the time to write 1,000’s of posts on some sites, especially purported motorcycle travelers and adventures. Some I had met, not knowing their avatars or cyber names. I granted all people respect when I met them, and continued to do so until they did something to lose that respect. Once the respect was lost I could forgive that they had done something to lose it, but I could not forget they had done it.

One poster had the personality of a sack of potatoes, but had been a roaring tiger on the Internet. In reality he was a nerdy or social reject, sitting at his computer fantasizing about making the world obey him or accepting his opinions, instead of ignoring him the way it always had, one of those whose IQ took a nose dive every time they opened their mouth or hit the "Send" or "Post" button, reflecting that his intellect was measured at under 100 on the Stanford-Binet Test. Reading his posts and having met him proved he was operating well outside his circle of competence, something the Internet allows but a print publisher and their copy editor would not. His membership in the motorcycle cyber world was keys to his motorcycle, which I once watched him poorly pilot from far behind. I concluded other motorcyclists and his wife riding pillion were safer with him at the keyboard than piloting a motorcycle.

Malaysia had pristine beaches on the eastern coast. Here pictured I was able to ride for miles without having to pay a beach fee or be ticketed by the police for beach riding, like at Daytona Beach, Florida. My Kawasaki KMX 200 was able to pass every Harley-Davidson and Honda Gold Wing I saw on this beach, there being none.

I left my research in Southeast Asia in March to return to the USA for spring riding from Montana to Mexico. I used a 2008 Kawasaki KLR 650, one of the first of the new models from Kawasaki Team Green. It was far superior to the 2001 KLR 650 I had ridden around the world. I noticed that many of the upgrades I had made on the 2001 were factory standard on the 2008 model. It was nice to learn that a motorcycle manufacturer, in this case Kawasaki, listened to its customers and designed motorcycles to reflect customer demand.

One of these 2008 Kawasaki KLR 650s was a gift, the other a loaner. They were set up differently but both handled equally well on and off-road. Pictured here in the Arizona desert, I was doing some dirt riding with friends for an afternoon, sharing comparison thoughts and the camaraderie of all of us enjoying the Kawasaki KLR 650s.

Riding from Arizona to California had me enjoying warmth and good roads, plus the camaraderie of the company of an intellectual motorcyclist, Andy Goldfine. "Mr. Aerostich/Riderwearhouse/Ride-To-Work-Day/AMA Board Member/Thinker/Motorcyclist" shared time, ideas and gray matter minutia with me during two days on the road. It was an intellectual motorcycle adventure: Ride to Think, Think to Ride.

Andy Goldfine and I found ourselves in Irvine, California answering questions from two hardcore women moto-journalists, Teri Conrad and Frankie Santos. Goldfine and I were being pressed, pleasantly, to reveal secrets of adventure motorcycle riding and touring.

Honored by the Adventurers’ Club in Los Angeles was humbling. The private society of adventurers asked me to speak at one of their meetings. I did this through my multi-media show, SUN CHASING: FOUR TIMES AROUND THE WORLD BY MOTORCYLE, using a media trailer about my fifth global ride with a Parkinson’s pillion. After the presentation I was given an award. They had seen other presentations by motorcycle travelers about their adventures and I was told each were interesting. Then they drop kicked me, humbling me more by telling me my recounting of my rides and adventures around the world were the best show they had seen. Then I was humbled further when they invited me to become a member of their private society. As I rode out of Los Angeles after meeting some of the true heroes of the adventure world, I knew I had experienced a unique time in life that night in the Adventurers’ Club, time with real men sharing the commonality of having experienced real adventures.

Publisher of ADVENTURE MOTORCYCLE magazine (www.adventuremotorcycle.com), Toby Lampson, and I gave our thoughts about meeting a polar bear. The bear was enjoying "Number One" status at the entry to the Adventurers’ Club in Los Angeles, California.

Coggers, a nickname for members of the Kawasaki Concours Owners Group, aka COG, met in Colorado as I rode through on my way home to Montana. Riding in snow and cold, I noted they were a happy bunch of Kawasaki riders. My thoughts were focused on how to keep warm, but my sub-conscious was wondering why the Coggers were smiling during their cold weather riding. I discovered it was because they were serious long distance motorcycle riders, and possibly why I had long been a fan of not only the Kawasaki Concours motorcycle model but also the group of owners.

The snow stopped and the sky cleared enough to take a group photo of the COG gathering. The picture later appeared in an industry magazine, a tribute to my $250.00 Canon camera.

The summer solstice found me sharing time with friends and new and old motorcycle acquaintances during the annual Summer Solstice Party hosted by Bob Clement and his wife Ann at their Montana home and BMW Airhead Central, also known as Bob’s Motorwerks. Located over the hill from my home (a two hour ride), my Kawasaki KLR 650 was as welcomed as was a Harley-Davidson, Yamaha, KTM Adventure or Honda Gold Wing at this motorcycle shop that specialized in BMW motorcycles. Clement and I were both members of the Airheads Beemer Club, a group of BMW owners that put validation aside and appreciated motorcycle enthusiasts no matter what brand or model they owned.

Fun, food, motorcycle motor heads and camaraderie was found at Bob’s Motorwerks on the longest day of the year, an annual celebration near Red Lodge, Montana, for open minded motorcyclists, known as the Summer Solstice Party.

Riding to Lincoln City, Oregon with friend and riding pal James Aiken, me on a 1977 BMW R 100 and him on a R 100 GSPD, we were luckily invited to a private party, I suspected by his status more than mine, the party being "by invitation only." A small group had been invited to share dinner with Roberto Duran, world champion boxer, known as "Hands of Stone." One of the greatest fighters in the last 50 years, he surprised me as we were introduced when he said he had heard of me. Duran was from Panama and said he knew of me because I had ridden a motorcycle to Panama. "You’re a tough man," he said when we shook hands. "I hear about what you did, riding to Panama." "No, I’m not tough, you’re tough. Only my ass was tough." I answered. We both laughed. Then Duran asked, "Tell me about this Motorcycle Sex on your shirt and the sticker you gave me."

I rose to the level of a used car salesman, saying that it was the basis of a book I had written, a spoof on Freudian psychology and how Americans were likely the only consumers who bought into Freudian cranial psycho analysis. As I marketed my product with words like "therapy," "narcissistic/self-love," and "object choice," Duran’s Latino eyes shifted from mine to an attractive service lady who was snipping the ends of cigars off, wearing a mini dress, high heels and tight fitting blouse. When I slowed my sales pitch, seeing I had lost Duran’s attention, he looked back at me and asked, "You like ladies?"

One of the toughest men in the world (right), Roberto Duran, tells me to keep liking the ladies, riding motorcycles around the world, and to hold my wrist straight when hitting.

see page 3 for more...