Caging it today, headed home I wanted to change lanes, checked the mirror. Attention was drawn to a motorsickle with modulating headlight.
I didn't change lanes, and as he drew closer I saw that it was not a headlight modulator at all. It was a Harley. The modulation was caused by the vibration which shook the entire front end of the bike. It varied with his RPM.
Hmmmm ... I thought it was just a side-effect of the single-crankpin engine design. Now I see it's a safety feature!
The Old Man and the Motorcycle
The Old Man and the Motorcycle
by Liam Rector
The old man had inoperable cancer.
The old man's wife was dead
And the old man's kids didn't like him,
So the old man sold most everything
And bought a motorcycle
And the old man got back
To the backroads, to the roads he'd so
Enjoyed as a young man,
And the old man figured what the hell,
I'm sick I don't have long I might
As well die falling off this thing
Somewhere: this affordable, this moving,
This very roaring thing on these last roads.
by Liam Rector
The old man had inoperable cancer.
The old man's wife was dead
And the old man's kids didn't like him,
So the old man sold most everything
And bought a motorcycle
And the old man got back
To the backroads, to the roads he'd so
Enjoyed as a young man,
And the old man figured what the hell,
I'm sick I don't have long I might
As well die falling off this thing
Somewhere: this affordable, this moving,
This very roaring thing on these last roads.
Burr Oak Trip Report
My second successful Burr Oak trip is behind me.
I use the annual pilgrimage to Glouster, OH as a time to reflect on my riding career. The trip to Glouster itself cuts through a rich cross-section of my life...
In 2006 I made my first attempt at Burr Oak, aboard Raven, my 1984 VF500C. It was my first out of town trip. I'd been commuting on it for one entire season before this attempt. That trip ended with the death of Raven in Dayton, OH, on Saturday morning. And, a tail-between-my-legs trip back home aboard a trailer. Had to call my wife to come pick me up in Dayton. Honey, bring the trailer.
By the time the next year rolled around, I had already bought, put 6000 miles on, and sold a 1982 Goldwing Interstate. I had just ridden it on an 800 mile trip a few weekends earlier. Foremost in my mind last year was how inadequate the VF750C was to touring, compared to the Wing. It did shine in the twisties, though.
By the time this year's trip rolled around I had made some improvements to the tour-ability of the VF750C. After Charlie let me try his Mustang Seat last year, I bought one for myself this year. And, I added a memphis shades windshield.
I still envy Charlie's forward controls and pullback risers -- ergonomic enhancements that would probably suit my 6' 0", 80-year-old frame. (True, on the clock I've only got 41 years, but under the hood, I've got about 80 years. So says my orthopedic surgeon...)
The trip over was less painful than the year before. It's only May, so I opted for leather instead of mesh -- a decision that I regretted. I left at 9 am on Friday, and slabbed to Shelbyville, IN on I-74. I wanted to try the eastern part of Indiana on a locally-favored motorcycle road, IN-44. Turns out that *most* of IN-44 east of Shelbyville, IN is unremarkable -- the best parts of IN-44 are west of Shelbyville and are the subject of other trip reports of mine. It was straight-shot "prairie run" from Shelbyville to Rushville to near Connersville.
East of Connersville to Liberty, IN things got just a little more interesting. Nothing like Athens County Ohio, but not a straight shot either. At the State Line, IN-44 becomes OH-725, which I took east. It was interesting for a while, through Camden and Gratis.
However my high hopes for OH-725 went mostly unfulfilled. My hope was to avoid the superslab this time, and try to pick an interesting non-interstate route. I wouldn't say that I succeeded in that quest -- OH-725 goes through basically south Dayton suburbs; I'd have made better time on I-70.
At Spring Valley a short jaunt north on US-42, then US-35 east from Xenia all the way to Chillicothe. So much for my desire to avoid superslabs -- alas US-35 is a limited access divided highway, interstate riding without the formal designation.
US-50 east from Chillicothe to Athens was better -- mostly 2 lane, with things getting twistier as I headed east. Athens was a gas stop, and then north on OH-13 to Glouster, and OH-78 east to Burr Oak.
I arrived right in time for food. Parked the bike, took off the helmet, gloves and jacket and stood in chow line. Apparently since "His Philness" is known for showing up at dinnertime, folks joked that at first they thought I was him, based solely on the timing of my arrival.
Familiar faces and warm welcomes from folks I hadn't seen since last year. Met Mike Seidel and Pete Karasz, my cabin-mates. Despite my inquiries about "beer on bike" I arrived without a drop. I think I was more concerned about arriving in time for dinner when i past the convenience store in Glouster -- I didn't procure any liquid refreshment. After the meal, Carl Custer saw my sad and sober countenance, correctly surmised the problem and the remedy. Promptly appeared with three bottles of his personal stash. My disposition improved greatly as I quenched my thirst.
I heard tales I hadn't heard before, about RDS's encounter with drunken dope-smoking hostess in BF Nova Scotia. Saw pretty pink sparkles and smoke bombs by the fire, courtesy Rooster. Not sure why I was fall-down drunk after just four beers -- but I was. I staggered off to bed. Perhaps being dehydrated on the trip made me more susceptible. Perhaps the approaching head cold I didn't want to admit I was getting. At any rate, I was still wise enough to avoid that nasty home-brew that was being passed around.
Next morning was scattered showers early in the morning. Breakfast and waiting for the rain to pass. Some attempt at breaking and entering first by Ozzy -- who was locked out of his cabin -- and later by Adventure Ed, who was thin enough to be passed through the window into the kitchen, from there to unlock the front door of the cabin. Good times.
Somehow, in the waiting for the rain to clear, and not being sure where to go, I turned around and found myself the lone interested rider. Others had left already, by the time I was ready, those who were still around declared they were not going to ride at all.
Unable to drum up any interest in an eastward ride, I took off solo toward McConnellsville on OH-78. I lunched at the Blue Belle diner in McC, and decided that Ohio pork tenderloins cannot hold a candle to the ones in Indiana. (For Pork Tenderloins, I recommend the D&D Restaurant in Franklin, IN ... which is on that great Indiana road, IN-44, but I digress.)
The wait staff at Blue Belle was, however, better looking than their Indiana counterparts. Having filled my stomach, I again turned east along OH-78 all the way to Caldwell. Fueled up in Caldwell, backtracked along OH-78 west to OH-83 south, through Waterford to Watertown, to pick up tha wonderful discovery of a road, OH-676. This road reminds me of Brown County Indiana -- you can be traveling in four directions at once -- up, down, left and right.
Last year I had been warned off of OH-555, and had been -- probably inaccurately -- convinced that it was beyond my skill levels. This year I knew I was up for it. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. There was, of course, no way I could keep up with Mr. Ross or Mr. Ryder, or probably 75% of the folks there, but still I knew I could ride a little of OH-555, and have a blast doing it.
I rode OH-555 from OH-676 north through Chesterhill, up to where I picked up OH-78 again.
This time, before I returned to camp, I gassed up in Glouster, and found a 6-pack of Sam Adams. (Wrapped, on advice of the group, discretely in brown paper before being strapped to the pillion seat.)
I stowed the beers in the fridge on my return to camp, and went to look for Katherine, who had the night before graciously offered me a ride on her pre-wrecked VFR.
Had she changed her mind, having seen me in my drunkenness the night before?
No.
"Do you still want to ride the VFR?" she asked, then, looking askance at me, added "...assuming you haven't had anything to drink yet..."
I said, "No I haven't, because I was hoping to ride that bike."
I hopped aboard the VFR, and had what Ryder so aptly describes as a "Where The F*** are the Footpegs" moment.
Compared to the Magna, the VFR handles like a dream. It is controlled by pure thought. A merely incline of the head causes the bike to steer in the direction I want. I can see the appeal of this. I immediately felt better in my lower back -- the rearset pegs tipped my pelvis and relieved pressure on the low back.
"Hey, this could work! This could be my next bike!"
But after a mere 10 miles -- west on OH-78 and north on OH-13 -- the pain began in the shoulders. The ergonomics, even of the so-called "Barcolounger" of sport bikes, will not work for my 40/80-year-old frame.
I came back with a grin on my face. Phil sees me dismounting the VFR and said, "Have we made a convert of you?"
Unfortunately no. Still searching for suitable ergonomics. Upright seating with a slight rearset to the pegs looks like it might do it. Not sure if that puts me in Triumph Speed Triple territory, or BMW R1200R territory, or GoldWing territory. I already know the Wing ergos suit me ... though not its overall demeanor.
Delicious dinner -- again. Afterwards, though I was feeling under the weather, I looked around long enough to find Carl Custer, and introduce him to the Sam Adams I had bought in Glouster. "Thanks, Carl, for sharing beer last night with a fellow maggot in his time of need!"
I finally succombed to the head cold I'd been trying to deny I was getting. Saturday night's celebration was cut short, I headed to bed.
Pete K was gone before I even thought about awakening. Next morning by the time I arrived, breakfast was nearly vaccuumed up but I did still manage to eat well. Last night's bratwurst had become this morning's breakfast sausage.
Mike S was a gracious host at the cabin, gave me a spare set of earplugs and some cold remedy tablets he had in his personal stash. Mike took off, I downed cold tablets and black coffee, trying to wake up enough for the trip home. At 11:00 I pointed Jezebel toward the west, and left Burr Oak again for another year.
Leaving Burr Oak I headed west on OH-78. I was determined to find better roads westbound than I did in my eastbound trek. OH-78 did not disappoint. OH-78 to Nelsonville, a short jaunt north on US-33 to catch OH-278 and head west again. OH-278 to OH-56 west, through the Hocking Hills area. A good ride, despite the unexpected road work and sitting and waiting in full gear on hot asphault for 10 minutes. Ugh.
OH-56 was good up to Laurelville. I stopped for gas in Laurelville, and pulled into a parking spot next to a Virago. The Virago's owner, in his shorts, flip-flops, T-Shirt, and no helmet, eyed me in my head-to-toe gear. I expected some snide comment, but instead, he spotted the "Honda V-Four Magna" emblem on the side of the tank.
"A V4!" he exclaimed, like he had never heard of the concept before.
"Yep!" I said.
"Wow," he said, "That must have incredible power!"
I searched his face for the slightest inkling of sarcasm and saw none. He gave every indication of being truly impressed. I wanted to say, "You think a 750cc V4 is impressive?!?! This is the smallest steed in the modern-era V4 herd! You should try an Interceptor, or an ST."
But instead, I said, "It's fun! A sportbike engine in a cruiser chassis." More or less true, and an easy catch-phrase to toss out there, for the sake of conversation.
"Wow, cool!" he said. "When did Honda come up with a V4!?!"
I cannot fathom this. How can you not have heard of a V4? Again I searched his face for sarcasm.
"In the early 80's," I replied. I gave him a brief overview, through the demise of the Magna in 2003 and the current king of the Honda V4 Hill, the ST1300.
"Wow," he said, "Leave it to Honda to come up with that kind of innovation."
"Have a good ride!" I said. He pawed the kick stand of his Virago with his flip-flop, fired up his -- what? 30 HP V-Twin - and was on his way, east.
With a booted heel I kicked up my own kick stand, jabbed the starter with my gloved thumb, and headed west.
OH-56 became a boring "prairie run" West of Laurelville. From there, I continued west on OH-56 to Circleville, then US-22 west through Washington Court House, all the way to Wilmington. In Wilmington I picked up OH-73, and took that through the Caesar Creek area, to Springboro, Carlisle, and Middletown. This was still suburban-sprawl running, but better than my eastward trek through Miamisburg on OH-725. In Middletown, picked up OH-744 west to OH-122. North on OH-122 to my old friend OH-725, at Gratis.
West on OH-725 to IN-44, and basically retraced my steps back to Shelbyville, IN, where I picked up I-74 for the jaunt home. All told, just shy of 700 miles. A great way to spend the weekend!
I use the annual pilgrimage to Glouster, OH as a time to reflect on my riding career. The trip to Glouster itself cuts through a rich cross-section of my life...
In 2006 I made my first attempt at Burr Oak, aboard Raven, my 1984 VF500C. It was my first out of town trip. I'd been commuting on it for one entire season before this attempt. That trip ended with the death of Raven in Dayton, OH, on Saturday morning. And, a tail-between-my-legs trip back home aboard a trailer. Had to call my wife to come pick me up in Dayton. Honey, bring the trailer.
By the time the next year rolled around, I had already bought, put 6000 miles on, and sold a 1982 Goldwing Interstate. I had just ridden it on an 800 mile trip a few weekends earlier. Foremost in my mind last year was how inadequate the VF750C was to touring, compared to the Wing. It did shine in the twisties, though.
By the time this year's trip rolled around I had made some improvements to the tour-ability of the VF750C. After Charlie let me try his Mustang Seat last year, I bought one for myself this year. And, I added a memphis shades windshield.
I still envy Charlie's forward controls and pullback risers -- ergonomic enhancements that would probably suit my 6' 0", 80-year-old frame. (True, on the clock I've only got 41 years, but under the hood, I've got about 80 years. So says my orthopedic surgeon...)
The trip over was less painful than the year before. It's only May, so I opted for leather instead of mesh -- a decision that I regretted. I left at 9 am on Friday, and slabbed to Shelbyville, IN on I-74. I wanted to try the eastern part of Indiana on a locally-favored motorcycle road, IN-44. Turns out that *most* of IN-44 east of Shelbyville, IN is unremarkable -- the best parts of IN-44 are west of Shelbyville and are the subject of other trip reports of mine. It was straight-shot "prairie run" from Shelbyville to Rushville to near Connersville.
East of Connersville to Liberty, IN things got just a little more interesting. Nothing like Athens County Ohio, but not a straight shot either. At the State Line, IN-44 becomes OH-725, which I took east. It was interesting for a while, through Camden and Gratis.
However my high hopes for OH-725 went mostly unfulfilled. My hope was to avoid the superslab this time, and try to pick an interesting non-interstate route. I wouldn't say that I succeeded in that quest -- OH-725 goes through basically south Dayton suburbs; I'd have made better time on I-70.
At Spring Valley a short jaunt north on US-42, then US-35 east from Xenia all the way to Chillicothe. So much for my desire to avoid superslabs -- alas US-35 is a limited access divided highway, interstate riding without the formal designation.
US-50 east from Chillicothe to Athens was better -- mostly 2 lane, with things getting twistier as I headed east. Athens was a gas stop, and then north on OH-13 to Glouster, and OH-78 east to Burr Oak.
I arrived right in time for food. Parked the bike, took off the helmet, gloves and jacket and stood in chow line. Apparently since "His Philness" is known for showing up at dinnertime, folks joked that at first they thought I was him, based solely on the timing of my arrival.
Familiar faces and warm welcomes from folks I hadn't seen since last year. Met Mike Seidel and Pete Karasz, my cabin-mates. Despite my inquiries about "beer on bike" I arrived without a drop. I think I was more concerned about arriving in time for dinner when i past the convenience store in Glouster -- I didn't procure any liquid refreshment. After the meal, Carl Custer saw my sad and sober countenance, correctly surmised the problem and the remedy. Promptly appeared with three bottles of his personal stash. My disposition improved greatly as I quenched my thirst.
I heard tales I hadn't heard before, about RDS's encounter with drunken dope-smoking hostess in BF Nova Scotia. Saw pretty pink sparkles and smoke bombs by the fire, courtesy Rooster. Not sure why I was fall-down drunk after just four beers -- but I was. I staggered off to bed. Perhaps being dehydrated on the trip made me more susceptible. Perhaps the approaching head cold I didn't want to admit I was getting. At any rate, I was still wise enough to avoid that nasty home-brew that was being passed around.
Next morning was scattered showers early in the morning. Breakfast and waiting for the rain to pass. Some attempt at breaking and entering first by Ozzy -- who was locked out of his cabin -- and later by Adventure Ed, who was thin enough to be passed through the window into the kitchen, from there to unlock the front door of the cabin. Good times.
Somehow, in the waiting for the rain to clear, and not being sure where to go, I turned around and found myself the lone interested rider. Others had left already, by the time I was ready, those who were still around declared they were not going to ride at all.
Unable to drum up any interest in an eastward ride, I took off solo toward McConnellsville on OH-78. I lunched at the Blue Belle diner in McC, and decided that Ohio pork tenderloins cannot hold a candle to the ones in Indiana. (For Pork Tenderloins, I recommend the D&D Restaurant in Franklin, IN ... which is on that great Indiana road, IN-44, but I digress.)
The wait staff at Blue Belle was, however, better looking than their Indiana counterparts. Having filled my stomach, I again turned east along OH-78 all the way to Caldwell. Fueled up in Caldwell, backtracked along OH-78 west to OH-83 south, through Waterford to Watertown, to pick up tha wonderful discovery of a road, OH-676. This road reminds me of Brown County Indiana -- you can be traveling in four directions at once -- up, down, left and right.
Last year I had been warned off of OH-555, and had been -- probably inaccurately -- convinced that it was beyond my skill levels. This year I knew I was up for it. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. There was, of course, no way I could keep up with Mr. Ross or Mr. Ryder, or probably 75% of the folks there, but still I knew I could ride a little of OH-555, and have a blast doing it.
I rode OH-555 from OH-676 north through Chesterhill, up to where I picked up OH-78 again.
This time, before I returned to camp, I gassed up in Glouster, and found a 6-pack of Sam Adams. (Wrapped, on advice of the group, discretely in brown paper before being strapped to the pillion seat.)
I stowed the beers in the fridge on my return to camp, and went to look for Katherine, who had the night before graciously offered me a ride on her pre-wrecked VFR.
Had she changed her mind, having seen me in my drunkenness the night before?
No.
"Do you still want to ride the VFR?" she asked, then, looking askance at me, added "...assuming you haven't had anything to drink yet..."
I said, "No I haven't, because I was hoping to ride that bike."
I hopped aboard the VFR, and had what Ryder so aptly describes as a "Where The F*** are the Footpegs" moment.
Compared to the Magna, the VFR handles like a dream. It is controlled by pure thought. A merely incline of the head causes the bike to steer in the direction I want. I can see the appeal of this. I immediately felt better in my lower back -- the rearset pegs tipped my pelvis and relieved pressure on the low back.
"Hey, this could work! This could be my next bike!"
But after a mere 10 miles -- west on OH-78 and north on OH-13 -- the pain began in the shoulders. The ergonomics, even of the so-called "Barcolounger" of sport bikes, will not work for my 40/80-year-old frame.
I came back with a grin on my face. Phil sees me dismounting the VFR and said, "Have we made a convert of you?"
Unfortunately no. Still searching for suitable ergonomics. Upright seating with a slight rearset to the pegs looks like it might do it. Not sure if that puts me in Triumph Speed Triple territory, or BMW R1200R territory, or GoldWing territory. I already know the Wing ergos suit me ... though not its overall demeanor.
Delicious dinner -- again. Afterwards, though I was feeling under the weather, I looked around long enough to find Carl Custer, and introduce him to the Sam Adams I had bought in Glouster. "Thanks, Carl, for sharing beer last night with a fellow maggot in his time of need!"
I finally succombed to the head cold I'd been trying to deny I was getting. Saturday night's celebration was cut short, I headed to bed.
Pete K was gone before I even thought about awakening. Next morning by the time I arrived, breakfast was nearly vaccuumed up but I did still manage to eat well. Last night's bratwurst had become this morning's breakfast sausage.
Mike S was a gracious host at the cabin, gave me a spare set of earplugs and some cold remedy tablets he had in his personal stash. Mike took off, I downed cold tablets and black coffee, trying to wake up enough for the trip home. At 11:00 I pointed Jezebel toward the west, and left Burr Oak again for another year.
Leaving Burr Oak I headed west on OH-78. I was determined to find better roads westbound than I did in my eastbound trek. OH-78 did not disappoint. OH-78 to Nelsonville, a short jaunt north on US-33 to catch OH-278 and head west again. OH-278 to OH-56 west, through the Hocking Hills area. A good ride, despite the unexpected road work and sitting and waiting in full gear on hot asphault for 10 minutes. Ugh.
OH-56 was good up to Laurelville. I stopped for gas in Laurelville, and pulled into a parking spot next to a Virago. The Virago's owner, in his shorts, flip-flops, T-Shirt, and no helmet, eyed me in my head-to-toe gear. I expected some snide comment, but instead, he spotted the "Honda V-Four Magna" emblem on the side of the tank.
"A V4!" he exclaimed, like he had never heard of the concept before.
"Yep!" I said.
"Wow," he said, "That must have incredible power!"
I searched his face for the slightest inkling of sarcasm and saw none. He gave every indication of being truly impressed. I wanted to say, "You think a 750cc V4 is impressive?!?! This is the smallest steed in the modern-era V4 herd! You should try an Interceptor, or an ST."
But instead, I said, "It's fun! A sportbike engine in a cruiser chassis." More or less true, and an easy catch-phrase to toss out there, for the sake of conversation.
"Wow, cool!" he said. "When did Honda come up with a V4!?!"
I cannot fathom this. How can you not have heard of a V4? Again I searched his face for sarcasm.
"In the early 80's," I replied. I gave him a brief overview, through the demise of the Magna in 2003 and the current king of the Honda V4 Hill, the ST1300.
"Wow," he said, "Leave it to Honda to come up with that kind of innovation."
"Have a good ride!" I said. He pawed the kick stand of his Virago with his flip-flop, fired up his -- what? 30 HP V-Twin - and was on his way, east.
With a booted heel I kicked up my own kick stand, jabbed the starter with my gloved thumb, and headed west.
OH-56 became a boring "prairie run" West of Laurelville. From there, I continued west on OH-56 to Circleville, then US-22 west through Washington Court House, all the way to Wilmington. In Wilmington I picked up OH-73, and took that through the Caesar Creek area, to Springboro, Carlisle, and Middletown. This was still suburban-sprawl running, but better than my eastward trek through Miamisburg on OH-725. In Middletown, picked up OH-744 west to OH-122. North on OH-122 to my old friend OH-725, at Gratis.
West on OH-725 to IN-44, and basically retraced my steps back to Shelbyville, IN, where I picked up I-74 for the jaunt home. All told, just shy of 700 miles. A great way to spend the weekend!
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