The light slanting through the slit in the blackout curtains seems to indicate the day has dawned bright and sunny. Slowly, like a tortoise, my dream-fogged head extrudes from the dark shell of the motel room at the door and swivels in the outside world. Yes, it's a beautiful morning to begin a tour. A familiar grin tugs on the corners of my mouth and suddenly I'm ready for that first cup of bad coffee.

I'm 38 years old and I've only been west of the Mississippi River by air. Today, that all changes. As the miles tick down to Cape Girardeau, Missouri, the anticipation is beginning to grow. If I'm going to tour Missouri, I have to complete a pilgrimage. I have to cross a watercourse of such great physical and metaphorical power that its mere existence has inspired millions - and me - to wander free.

Father Jacques Marquette and Louis Jolliet left the first written account of the land that became Missouri after descending the Mississippi River in 1673. Today, Father ChristianNeuhauser, his wife Christa, and their sonsManuel and Florian are on the road withAprilias and Piaggios to follow their trail.

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.