The R rule is one of the seafood basics I remember from my younger days on the Chesapeake Bay. If a month contains the letter R, it's OK to eat oysters. My destination is the Florida Panhandle, the month is February, and the Apalachicola area of the Panhandle happens to be world renowned for its oysters. I'm certainly no rocket scientist - they're all over at Cape Canaveral - but it appears that somebody's going to be slamming down some bivalves.

Mention Gillette, Wyoming, to most people and you'll get a blank stare. Motorcyclists may show a glimmer of recognition and a puzzled frown. When you add "90 miles west of Sturgis," the lights come on. Western-based bikers frequently stop for gas here, northeast Wyoming's last major town en route to the annual Black Hills Motorcycle Rally.

The flight was long - 8 hours from Miami - and although it was a night flight, I was too excited about the upcoming tour to sleep well. Drowsy, I staggered from the plane. A morning brew of warm, humid air swamped my face. A curtain of gray clouds concealed the mountains of Rio de Janeiro.

A washed-out track that winds through green banana plantations to the Ugandan border has led us here. And once inside the post on the Kenyan side, it's obvious we've committed the serious offense of disturbing a well-fed immigration officer during his power nap. Call out the guards!

I've been hammering the Interstate for the last nine or so hours and I'm ready to quit for the day. Despite the surprising comfort of the Aprilia Falco and the diversion of my trusty iPod, I'm beginning to wilt. Thankfully, the mileage numbers to Jamestown, New York, have also wilted to single digits. This mind-numbing super-slab has me thinking curves, hills, and scenery. Right now though, I'm ready for a cold beer, a hot shower, and a firm mattress.

Parked at Extended Stay America in the Denver suburb of Aurora, I make sure the reinforced steel cable lock wraps around the front wheel and frame of my '04 Electra Glide. This baby's goin' nowhere. The next morning I'm packed, ready to roll, and slide the key into the barrel. It jams solid. I guess I was right. We're not going anywhere...

It's amazing how a few years of separation can inspire a whole new outlook on things previously unnoticed. Having grown up in Annapolis, Maryland, I was aware of the region's deep historic roots. But, like most teenagers, my coming of age concerns centered on girls, parties, and bikes. The Eastern Shore was that place across the bay you had to ride through to get to Ocean City and the beach for the girls, parties, and bikes.

Since its introduction in 1986, the largely unchanged Kawasaki Concours has inspired a loyal, some would say fanatical, following. The Concours Owners Group (COG) is well represented from coast to coast and beyond. This crew motors out of the woodwork for practically every motorcycle show and consistently show themselves to be some of the "ridin'-est" sons of guns around. What is it about this landmark sport tourer that keeps them rolling off the showroom floor year after year?

The name is explosive, the design aggressive, the engine eruptive, and the sum total is the Benelli TnT 1130, one of the sharpest bikes on the market.

Still kind of new to this scooter thing, I have to constantly remind myself to temper my skepticism. I know for a fact that 250cc motorcycles do just fine as commuter machines and can hold their own on the open road. Why, then, am I so quick to scoff at a 250cc scooter? It's called ignorance, and the cure for that is education. Come on, let's go to school.