As a BMW motorcyclist and long-distance touring afficionado, I found the book diverting as a travelogue. However, it became annoying as a the author's self promotion, not only professionally but personally, began to intrude. Mr. Rogers siezed every opportunity to remind us that his travelling companion, Ms. Estabrook, was not merely a platonic friend. This apparently needed to be alluded to often, as she had thoughtfully prepared for the journey by actually taking motorcycle repair classes, and would probably otherwise have been mistaken for a mechanic rather than a tootsie. By way of example, he helpfully lists "birth control pills" rather than the boringly generic "prescription medications" in his travelers' packing checklist appendix. If Viagra had been available at the time, one wonders if it would have merited special mention as well?