The wind howls across the Arizona plains as I aim a Honda Gold Wing 1800 toward the Petrified Forest National Park on US 180 east. I lean the 850-pound machine into the gusts to hold a straight line. The Painted Desert spreads before me - a vast horizon of cracked earth and colored sandstone - and the cloudless sky is tinged with a red film of dust dispersed by the dirt-devils swirling the air.

I awake in Flagstaff to a dusting of snow on the trees and bushes. More of the same is heaped upon the naked rock that crowns Humphrey's Peak, the highest point in Arizona. This sharp summit, stretching 12,633 feet above this old railroad town, tears holes in the fast-moving storm clouds, and I'll come to use it like the North Star to navigate in Northern Arizona.

Few places on earth offer more diversity. One moment I'm sweating bullets and then, less than an hour later at times, I've pulled over, teeth chattering, to hurriedly button the jacket liner into my shell so I can stuff my fingertips back in my gloves before they turn blue. Northeast out of Phoenix, the elevation is 1,000 feet and the temperature is pushing 90 degrees. But in the next four days, I'll top out at over 9,000 feet and sit through several snowstorms. In between these extremes are some of the America's most beautiful landscapes - connected to one another by some of the world's most-coveted riding roads.

You may know how it is. You're sitting through a long, cold winter evening beside the fireplace and dreaming about tours while the bike hibernates in the garage. Years ago I was in this situation. The fire crackled and Pink Floyd played in my headphones while I read an article about Route 66 in a motorcycle mag. The whole theme immediately captivated me and that very same evening, Christa and I began planning a vacation, our first in the States on a motorcycle.