The feeling of riding is hard to explain, especially when there’s no destination in mind. I’ve never bought into the gimmicky sayings road riders like to throw around, but I’ll tell you this straight: there’s therapy in the wind, the asphalt, and the freedom of being fully in the moment. It’s real, and it’s undeniable.

This trip wasn’t about a finish line or a checklist. It was about time on the bikes, pushing miles, and letting the road decide where we’d sleep. No plan, no safety net — just two friends chasing the open road and the unknown, even if it meant crossing into a different country just to feel it all.

Nick Amrhein and I have been riding together since our early 20s. Back then, it was beat-up Hondas — his CB750, my CB550. Two kids figuring out life, finding freedom on two wheels. Now, in our 30s, the bikes have changed but the brotherhood hasn’t. I leaned toward dirt and adventure; Nick fell in love with the Harley aesthetic and took the street glide path. Different machines, same love for the ride.

This trip was a reminder of why we started — why we keep riding. It’s not about chrome or clout. It’s about miles shared, moments caught in the wind, and a friendship forged through the throttle.

Nick and I met through both being creatives - we have always been driven by shooting photos & videos. Of course he was behind the lens on this one! Here is our bikes back on May 6th, 2012.

Fast forward about twelve years, and riding together had become tradition. Every 4th of July, Nick and I would plan a trip. This time, life shifted the calendar and it landed us in August — but we weren’t about to let that stop us.

Our vision was simple: be nomads for a few days, ride around Lake Erie, and see what the road had in store. It wasn’t far from home, but it was big enough to stretch us — to push miles, deal with the unknown, and test ourselves in a way we hadn’t before. Neither of us had ever done a true multi-day trip, so gearing up felt serious.

I had just pulled the trigger on a brand-new Husqvarna Norden 901 — a machine built for exactly this kind of adventure. Fresh Mosko Moto Reckless 40L bags strapped on, packed with the bare essentials to be comfortable but not cushy. Nick had his Street Glide dialed in, classic Harley style, and together we looked like two different worlds of motorcycling about to collide on the same journey.

We kicked things off in Toledo. I had ridden up the night before to crash, so we could hit the road early. First stretch was Detroit, then straight over the bridge into Canada. I had no idea what to expect — new country, new rhythm, no plan except to keep moving forward.

Nicks rig was simple - Duffles and bunjee cords, this dude slept on the ground because his air pad had a hole in it. He made the best of it!

I learned so much on this trip - for instance, how useless and uncomftable adventure gear is for travel. You have to wear what makes the most sense for the ride and I hoped once we got to PA I could get into the dirt …

Day One: Into the Unknown

We kicked things off in Detroit after a quick blast up I-75 from Toledo. Honestly? The ride sucked. That stretch of highway is bumpy as hell — felt like we were dodging potholes more than cruising. But that’s part of it. You eat the rough miles to get to the good ones.

Crossing the bridge into Canada was the moment it all shifted. The unknown stretched out in front of us. The border agent was chill — quick questions, a nod, and we were through. (Can’t say the same about the guy on the way back into the States, but that’s later in the story.)

Right away, Canada felt like another world. No homelessness on the corners. No endless rows of fast food chains. No overweight crowds dragging themselves around. It was clean, it was sharp, and it felt alive. The roads were smooth, well-kept, and begging for throttle.

And Lake Erie? Man, it blew us away. Crystal clear, like Caribbean waters. Not the murky shoreline we were used to back home — this was something else entirely. And then the kicker: cannabis everywhere. Legal, open, part of the culture. Straight up heavenly.

By the end of the day, we had hammered out about 360 miles and spent close to ten hours in the saddle. We settled in a little lakeside town called Port Stanley, just outside of it really — a Hipcamp spot up on a massive cliff overlooking the water. From that view, you could see the abyss stretch forever.

For me, it hit harder than just another night on the road. Years back, a close buddy of mine passed away on Lake Erie. This was the first time I’d come back to these waters since then — the first time I felt ready to let go, even just a little. Sitting up on that cliff, staring out over the lake, it was more than just a campsite. It was a release.

The vibes were good, the air felt right, and for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace with it.

Day Two: Road to Niagara Falls

We woke up early, hungover as hell. The beer in Canada hits different. You’ve got to buy everything from the LC, and they sell singles from all the local breweries. Naturally, I had to sample them all — and naturally, I regretted it every damn morning while throwing a leg over the bike.

We hit the road, hugging the coastline for as long as we could. More hard miles. More small intercoastal towns that felt frozen in time. That was the rhythm of Day Two — grind it out, soak it in, keep pushing east.

We had set Niagara Falls as the big destination. Neither of us had ever seen it, and it felt right to have one “must-see” locked in on a trip that otherwise had no script. The miles felt heavier on this stretch, though. My gear setup was a mess. I had on Alpinestars Tech 7 Enduro boots, EVS knee pads, Klim overpants, an Alpinestars naked upper body protector, heavy leather gloves, and my Arai ADV helmet. Looking back, it was overkill for this kind of ride. Should’ve been rocking Red Wings, jeans, and a solid riding jacket. But that’s how you learn. Sometimes the wrong setup teaches you more than the right one ever could.

We landed in this wild little spot on a private lake — turned out the folks there were all pro or retired skiers, living in their own slice of heaven. We had beds offered to us, running water, electricity… even AC. I wasn’t really about it. Didn’t need it. I stuck with my tent and just threw my beer in the fridge to keep it cold. That was enough luxury for me.

Dinner was fat steaks thrown on the grill while the sun dropped behind the lake. Nick and I’s bond is special. We go years sometimes without seeing each other, and then pick right back up like nothing changed. That night we smoked stogies, ripped a fire, and crashed out heavy. Simple. Real. The kind of night that sticks with you.

Day Three: Border Agents and Back to Allegheny

Before throwing a leg over the bike, we decided to take a lake bath. Now, this one was… different. The bottom of the lake was soft, sticky, almost slimy — gross as hell, honestly — but refreshing all the same. After three days on the road, it was our first “shower” since Toledo, and it felt like a reset.

Nick and I always fall back into our creative side, and this day was no different. We were chasing portfolio-worthy shots for Nick — he never stops pushing behind the lens. We found a pull-off right off the expressway and burned an hour shooting before pressing on toward Niagara.

The crazy part? Niagara was only about 20 miles away. As soon as we rolled in, it felt like Florida — tourist traps everywhere, neon lights, and the kind of energy built for crowds. Crossing the bridge into U.S. customs, I was glad I had ditched all the weed I’d picked up. Even though it’s legal in New York, I wasn’t about to roll the dice.

The border agent wasn’t buying the “just two guys riding” story. He thought we were part of a motorcycle club and grilled us with questions before finally waving us through. Wild experience.

And then — Niagara Falls. Standing there, watching that water pound over the edge, it hit both of us. Pictures don’t come close. We hung around just long enough to soak it in before doing what we do best: back on the bikes, dispensary stop, then pointing it toward Pennsylvania.

We aimed for Allegheny, but this time wanted something different. Ended up in a small town I can’t even remember the name of — straight out of a movie. Quaint, quiet, like time slowed just for us to park the bikes and breathe.

This was a heavy-mile day — another 250, maybe 300. I remember feeling tested. By the time we made camp, we were cooked. The spot was tucked back in the woods, about fifteen minutes out of town. We ripped around back roads trying to find it, until the landowner — who had been in contact with Nick — rolled up in a Polaris SXS and guided us in.

We set up camp the way we always did, then rode into town for dinner, a firewood restock, and regular-sized beers this time (lesson learned). Back at camp, it felt like the perfect last night. Fire crackling, bikes cooling in the dark, one more taste of the road before we had to point it all back toward home.

Day Four: Baptism in the Rain

Woke up hungover, same as every day on this run — but this time it hit harder. Four nights on the ground will do that to you. Body sore, head pounding, but part of me wanted more. I knew the ride was wrapping up, and the thought of going back to the 9-5 felt like putting chains back on.

Nick and I hung out for a bit that morning, finished filming some reels we’d been piecing together, and then it was time. Refueled, shook hands, and split ways. Nick hit the highway — he had a big client shoot waiting. I wasn’t in a rush, so I took the back roads. Needed time to process.

Riding solo, it hit me. This wasn’t just a “motorcycle trip.” It was a reset. A taste of freedom that I didn’t want to shake off. I knew then — this wasn’t a one-off, a hobby, or some bucket list box checked. This life — the road, the adventure, the freedom — was meant to be more for me. I was meant for more.

It had been seven years since Andrew Rose passed on Lake Erie. His death marked a major shift in my life, one I carried heavy. But somewhere between the cliffs of Port Stanley and the quiet woods in Pennsylvania, I felt like I finally let go. Ready to move forward, carrying him with me instead of holding me back.

Crossing back into Ohio, that’s when the skies opened. Not just rain — the kind that makes regular drivers throw hazards on and crawl. I pulled on my rain gear and pushed through, highway soaked from Cleveland to Columbus. It felt like a baptism. Not into misery, but into the new life I wanted to chase. By the time I rolled into home, I felt alive.

This trip was an honor. A test. A release. And riding it with Nick made it even better. He’s one of the good ones — a brother I wish everyone could know.

Until next time.