I arrived in Las Vegas in May, and my two‑month journey began.
On August 2nd, I finally decided to return to Japan. The next available flight home was on the 22nd, but after much hesitation, I chose to return on the 2nd.
I had come back to Las Vegas from the Midwest on July 14th. My total distance traveled had easily exceeded 14,000 km. Even after returning to Las Vegas, I rode all over the city— so much that I even learned the back roads of this indulgent city.
I went to see the evening performance of Cirque du Soleil’s “O,” spent late nights enjoying the casino atmosphere, cruised through the heart of Vegas, visited the desert outskirts like Red Rock, stopped by Irish pubs, and even extended my rides to Yosemite National Park, Sedona, and Arizona. Sedona requires at least an overnight stay— a day trip is too tough— but Yosemite is doable in a day. Even after the long journey, I used Las Vegas as my base and visited many places. I also stopped by the Harley dealer and met the boss there.
“How is it? The bike is spotless—no damage at all!”
“…Did you really travel for two months?”
Yes… I truly rode across North America, covering 14,000 km, with nothing but a paper map in hand. Thinking about that, something wells up from deep inside my chest.
I left Japan impulsively, driven by heartbreak.
“I want to ride across America on a Harley.”
That was the only reason.
Maybe I used that reckless momentum to finally make a long‑held dream come true.
But this journey left a powerful impact on my life. It helped me build my own foundation— a sense of confidence that has become unshakable.
A solo journey.
Travel strips you bare. You feel firsthand that your own actions create new experiences. When you act, the results come directly back to you. That’s what makes it interesting. Maybe that’s the true essence of travel. You move forward into unfamiliar lands. If you don’t move, nothing begins. It’s as simple as that.
Then came the day of my return. My North American father and mother drove me to the airport. A quiet atmosphere filled the car. The sky was as blue as ever, the air crisp and dry. The climate of the American West truly suits me.
The city of indulgence was growing lively again. Everyone walking the streets looked happy. Until yesterday, I was one of them. Gradually, the airport came into view. This is it. The car stopped. I unloaded my luggage— bags filled with countless memories, packed with two months’ worth of excitement. I looked at my father and mother. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I cried out loud, from the bottom of my heart. But I couldn’t stay like that forever. I gathered my resolve and headed into the airport. I didn’t look back. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to move forward. Holding back tears, I walked toward the check‑in counter.
Two women were working there. As I showed my passport, one of them said, “I ride a Harley too! 😉💕”
All I could do was smile and nod. But when I saw her bright, cheerful face… I started crying again. She must have been surprised (lol). She tried to comfort me, but of course she didn’t know why I was crying. She looked a little flustered.
“I’m okay. Thank you.” I quickly walked away.
……………………………………
And that concludes my two‑month journey. Twenty‑seven chapters in total.
Even after this trip ended, I continued traveling to America once a year. Each time for about two weeks, riding different types of Harleys. Always in summer— the perfect season for riding. When will I go next…? Still undecided. But someday, I plan to ride through the American West until the day I die.
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