I remember how excited I was the first time I went on a group ride with some friends from work. It was a rite of passage, an important milestone in my progress as a rider -- I graduated from riding alone, commuting back and forth to work, to riding with a group.
How exciting to ride with a group. To spend a day riding for the sake of riding.
It sounds wonderful, and adventuresome.
I remember the first twinge of regret on that trip. I remember seeing an interesting site along the way, which I wanted to explore. I remember asking Bob, over the sound of our idling engines, at a stop sign. Which way should we go?
I remember being overruled. Instead of the wayward trip, we took the twisty road more travelled.
I was willing to forgo my choice in destination, in favor of companionship.
I continued to ride with this group, once or twice a year.
It wasn't until a few years later that the clash in our riding styles really came to a head.
All along, as a rider, I have had a bad back, but despite this limitation have ridden across state lines, even from Indianapolis to Huntsville in a single day. I am able to overcome my bad back by nurturing it. Simply stopping to stretch every 60 to 90 minutes allows my back to stay healthy.
But surrendering my riding style to accommodate my friends riding style, I rode for three hours without a break. Not familiar with the territory, having no notion of our route, I dared not disengage from the pack, though my screaming back begged for relief.
Finally I had no choice but to break off. When we finally took a break, I separated from the group, and limped home with frequent stops to rest my aching back.
I won't do this again.
I'd rather ride my own ride, at my own pace.
Showing posts with label Trip Reports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trip Reports. Show all posts
Franklin Indiana - Don & Dona's
Trip To Madison, IN |
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| My wife and I took a motorcycle trip to Madison, IN in early June. This blog post is part of a series which presents each step of our journey. If you missed the beginning, the story starts here. |
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| Courthouse in Franklin, |
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| The ATGATT Rat |
My wife and I rode from Nashville, IN north on IN-135 until IN-44, which we took east back into Franklin for a stop at one of our favorite stops -- Don & Dona's Restaurant, across from the Courthouse in Franklin.
Some restaurants are worth stopping at if you're hungry the moment you're driving right by them. Others are worth going out of your way for. As motorcyclists, riding to an eating destination is always fun ... we all need to eat, and a scenic ride to a great restaurant is a great excuse to ride.
http://www.theddclub.com/
From Franklin we jumped back on the interstate and made our way home.
Trip To Madison, IN |
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| The story ends here! Thanks for riding along. Next time we go for a ride, I'll invite you along. |
Cold Weather Ride
I bought my "new to me" ST1300 last Saturday and brought it home. I took it for a ride on Sunday, and again on Tuesday night. Then we were plunged into a cold snap, and it's been rainy and cold for the past several days.
This afternoon while working in my home office, slaving over bills and tax forms, I noticed the thermometer perched atop the 45 degree mark.
Time for a ride!
First, I installed the wiring harness for my Gerbing heated gear. It attaches to the battery of the bike, and allows me to plug in my controller and my heated jacket. Installation was a snap. Honda finally wised up and put bolts to hold on the side cover. I'm sure fewer side covers are lost on this model of bike than on the previous model, with friction fit rubber tabs holding on the side cover.
Fired up the bike. Gotta love that fuel injection. No messing with choke. She purred along happily while I donned my gear.
Out on the street the face shield on my full-face helmet was fogging up. I rolled up the power windshield, and opened my face mask about an inch.
The bike purred along happily, and with heated gear on max, I was actually getting toasty. I think the full fairing plus windshield plus heated gear will afford plenty of protection from the cold.
A quick 4 mile ride "around the block" was all I had time for. But I blew out the cobwebs from my brain, and arrived back home with a smile on my face.
Now, back to work.
This afternoon while working in my home office, slaving over bills and tax forms, I noticed the thermometer perched atop the 45 degree mark.
Time for a ride!
First, I installed the wiring harness for my Gerbing heated gear. It attaches to the battery of the bike, and allows me to plug in my controller and my heated jacket. Installation was a snap. Honda finally wised up and put bolts to hold on the side cover. I'm sure fewer side covers are lost on this model of bike than on the previous model, with friction fit rubber tabs holding on the side cover.
Fired up the bike. Gotta love that fuel injection. No messing with choke. She purred along happily while I donned my gear.
Out on the street the face shield on my full-face helmet was fogging up. I rolled up the power windshield, and opened my face mask about an inch.
The bike purred along happily, and with heated gear on max, I was actually getting toasty. I think the full fairing plus windshield plus heated gear will afford plenty of protection from the cold.
A quick 4 mile ride "around the block" was all I had time for. But I blew out the cobwebs from my brain, and arrived back home with a smile on my face.
Now, back to work.
Spoons, and forks, in the road...
I took my first ride of the year yesterday. It's been a winter filled with snow and ice, more so than usual for central Indiana.
Years past we've had a traditional "New Year's Day" ride, and even with frequent snow and ice there are usually occasional thaws which allow me to sneak in a quick ride on a Saturday afternoon.
Finally, the opportunity for a winter ride presented itself yesterday. It took almost a week of above-freezing daytime temps to melt the thick layer of ice which coated the streets and roads.
It was 45 degrees, warm enough to go for a ride without risk of hypothermia. I was properly dressed ... of course.
Winter rides are always challenging, at least in this climate. Salt accumulates in the roadway after the ice melts, and gathers in piles in the center of the lane, between the tracks where the automobiles' wheels typically go.
Potholes emerge in winter, with the damage caused by freezing and thawing. Snow plows gouge these pot holes, ripping them into larger holes. The debris from the pot hole gets strewn across the road.
When riding in the winter, I'm on the look-out for this special breed of winter road hazard. I've lost traction on one of those winter-road salt piles before, while cornering. It was a little nerve-wracking.
I was on the lookout for these road hazards during my ride yesterday. I had no issues with the roads. But I did have to laugh when I pulled to a stop at an intersection, and noticed a spoon in the right of way.
I've heard of forks in the road, but that was a new one to me.
Years past we've had a traditional "New Year's Day" ride, and even with frequent snow and ice there are usually occasional thaws which allow me to sneak in a quick ride on a Saturday afternoon.
Finally, the opportunity for a winter ride presented itself yesterday. It took almost a week of above-freezing daytime temps to melt the thick layer of ice which coated the streets and roads.
It was 45 degrees, warm enough to go for a ride without risk of hypothermia. I was properly dressed ... of course.
Winter rides are always challenging, at least in this climate. Salt accumulates in the roadway after the ice melts, and gathers in piles in the center of the lane, between the tracks where the automobiles' wheels typically go.
Potholes emerge in winter, with the damage caused by freezing and thawing. Snow plows gouge these pot holes, ripping them into larger holes. The debris from the pot hole gets strewn across the road.
When riding in the winter, I'm on the look-out for this special breed of winter road hazard. I've lost traction on one of those winter-road salt piles before, while cornering. It was a little nerve-wracking.
I was on the lookout for these road hazards during my ride yesterday. I had no issues with the roads. But I did have to laugh when I pulled to a stop at an intersection, and noticed a spoon in the right of way.
I've heard of forks in the road, but that was a new one to me.
Craig Ferguson crashes a Harley-Davidson V-Rod
It's old news, if it's news at all. But TV's Craig Ferguson, host of CBS's "The Late Late Show" recently gave details of his Harley Davidson V-ROD crash, in England. He's an experienced motorcyclist, and owner of an Indian motorcycle. But apparently on a visit to England several years ago, he rented a HD V-ROD, and wrecked it.
He mentioned the accident on his show recently, when the topic of cracked ribs came up in conversation.
In his words, "The Harley V-ROD doesn't like to turn." Then, apparently thinking better of disparaging the product of a potential sponsor, he said, "Okay, it was my fault."
"I was going around a corner and I turned, and the bike didn't. I broke three ribs and my collar bone. And it was springtime in England, and I discovered I had pollen allergies. Let me tell you, sneezing with broken ribs is a good way to invent new cuss words."
Like a true comedian, he turned his misfortune into laughs for the audience. And like a true corporate guy, he deflected the produce defamation into self-deprecation, for the sake of the corporations involved.
The cracked rib discussion appears at about 4:45 into this segment on YouTube.
But if truth be told, I think he's right about the bike. Following my own test drive of the V-Rod last year, I didn't give it points for handling or comfort.
Of course, Craig rightly also blames himself. Shame on him, as a rider on an unfamiliar bike, for putting himself into a position where he was outside his skill level. Next time he jumps on a rental, I bet he'll make allowances for the differences in the handling and performance of the bike. He'll be careful!
He mentioned the accident on his show recently, when the topic of cracked ribs came up in conversation.
In his words, "The Harley V-ROD doesn't like to turn." Then, apparently thinking better of disparaging the product of a potential sponsor, he said, "Okay, it was my fault."
"I was going around a corner and I turned, and the bike didn't. I broke three ribs and my collar bone. And it was springtime in England, and I discovered I had pollen allergies. Let me tell you, sneezing with broken ribs is a good way to invent new cuss words."
Like a true comedian, he turned his misfortune into laughs for the audience. And like a true corporate guy, he deflected the produce defamation into self-deprecation, for the sake of the corporations involved.
The cracked rib discussion appears at about 4:45 into this segment on YouTube.
But if truth be told, I think he's right about the bike. Following my own test drive of the V-Rod last year, I didn't give it points for handling or comfort.
Of course, Craig rightly also blames himself. Shame on him, as a rider on an unfamiliar bike, for putting himself into a position where he was outside his skill level. Next time he jumps on a rental, I bet he'll make allowances for the differences in the handling and performance of the bike. He'll be careful!
I've done Three Sisters on a motorcycle
I took the day off work, and rode with my wife to have lunch at the Three Sisters Cafe in Broad Ripple. It's is a great place to eat. Everything on the menu is fresh and home-made. The sauces are delicious. It started as a vegetarian restaurant, but they quickly added fish and poultry items to the menu. I recommend the fish tacos.
If you're passing through Indianapolis, take a detour to Broad Ripple to visit the Three Sisters. Here's the route my wife and I took. It's not the most direct route, but it's an enjoyable, winding road which follows Fall Creek from where I-465 crosses the creek on the city's east side.
View Larger Map
The route follows Fall Creek Road just a few hundred feet west of I-465 to Fall Creek Parkway. Left on Fall Creek Parkway to Kessler Boulevard. Right on Kessler Boulevard to Guildford avenue. Right on Guilford Avenue all the way to The Three Sisters Cafe. It's ten miles off the highway, but worth the detour.
Parking is free, but scarce.
View Larger Map
If you're passing through Indianapolis, take a detour to Broad Ripple to visit the Three Sisters. Here's the route my wife and I took. It's not the most direct route, but it's an enjoyable, winding road which follows Fall Creek from where I-465 crosses the creek on the city's east side.
View Larger Map
The route follows Fall Creek Road just a few hundred feet west of I-465 to Fall Creek Parkway. Left on Fall Creek Parkway to Kessler Boulevard. Right on Kessler Boulevard to Guildford avenue. Right on Guilford Avenue all the way to The Three Sisters Cafe. It's ten miles off the highway, but worth the detour.
Parking is free, but scarce.
View Larger Map
Rider On The Storm
One of the most memorable rides of the summer found me an hour west of home, watching an approaching line of storm clouds. The storm front was to the north, heading south east. It was a race against nature in all its fury - our paths converged. Would I make it home before the lightning storm and torrential rains hit?
The raw power of this storm was amazing. The temperature difference between the hot muggy summer afternoon air, and the (seemingly) icy blast of air of the storm front was staggering. I rode through alternating pockets of still, hot, muggy air, and whirling, dust-filled "ice cold" air. I would never have felt these dramatic shifts in a car.
A mile from home the wind picked up with gusts up to 30 mph, and the street lights switched on beneath the dark clouds.
I rolled into my garage - safe and dry - not one minute too soon. The rain began in earnest behind me even as I closed the garage door.
I made it.
Adventure Riding In Tennessee Floods
DRRiders.com, the Suzuki DR650 Forum, has amazing photos and a first-hand account of adventure riding amidst the Tennessee Floods last month.
See more >>
See more >>
Trip Report, Lust Confession
I don't care if it's 42 degrees today with gusts to 40 mph, and a chance of rain in the forecast, I needed to ride. Turtle fur and leather and all the usual gear, and a trip to the local Honda dealer, 10 miles north, and a little west of me.
True maggot fashion, my trip north and west begins with a jog south and then east. I mean, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but that doesn't appeal to us riders anyway.
The trees were actually quite lovely, bending in the wind. Didn't have any trouble as I wound my way through tree-lined back roads. But when I reached the final stretch of obligatory 6 lane megaslab, it was freaking windy. The gusts wanted to blow me over whenever I was stopped at a light.
The Honda dealer has the NT700V, the VFR1200F, both of which I studied a while. I know the Viffer would suit me fine. The dealer has sticker price and estimated monthly payment posted. Couldn't imagine paying more than a car payment for the Viffer. I think it looks cool, just couldn't swallow that sticker price.
Two full aisle of V-Twin boredom -- God help me. Chrome everything, 4 foot long straight pipes. Fuel injection and shaft drives are about the only thing these polished turds have going for them. No thank you.
The I stumble into the Kawasaki aisle, where previously I've ogled the Versys and ER-6n with envy. And here are two Ninja 500R's. How can I have never noticed this bike before? Nearly naked -- should I say scantily clad? And pretty much a standard seating position. The famous Kawi parallel twin. Snapped a photo on my camera phone, sent it to my Kawi-luving friend and said "what do you know about this bike?" He endorsed it heartily.
The dealer offered a test drive, but it was drizzling, and I didn't really want to ride a new bike in the rain for the first time. I'd rather ride it when I can put it through its paces a little better.
I'm not overly interested in a liter-bike of the sporting variety. Gas mileage for commuting suffers. The temptations are too great for my self control. This is supposed to be fun yet economical....and yet keep me from offing myself.
Back at home, I confessed my bike lust to my understanding wife, who understands my bike-slut ways, and shall we say, we have an "open garage" arrangement. I start negotiating for additional garage space.
"One bike is not enough, dear." I say.
"i *know*," she says, smiling "They're like pairs of shoes."
No fuel injection, and it still has a chain drive, but it might offer a low-budget antidote to the cruiser blahs.
Keep the Magna for road trips? Ride the ninja as my daily commuter? Trade the magna for an ancient Wing (again) as a comfortable mile-eater?
It's just infatuation at this point. Haven't test driven it yet. But, looking ain't a sin.
Slip Into Spring 2010
Friday 8 pm.
I looked at the weather report for Saturday, and saw that it was going to be sunny with a high in the 60's. Perfect riding weather. Forget about all the stuff I'm supposed to be doing, I want to go for a ride. I email my riding buddies, Dennis, Bob, Rick and Brian. "Sorry for the short notice ... but, wanna go for a ride tomorrow?"
Brian and Rick bowed out citing prior obligations, but Bob and Dennis agreed.
We chose a later start than we typically do, with a planned rendezvous at the Plainfield Bob Evans at 10 am
My chain was in need of lubrication. What ever possessed Honda to make the 3rd gen Magna chain driven and to omit the center stand!?!
It's easier with a second pair of hands. My wife graciously agreed to help and she walked the bike across the driveway while I followed along behind, liberally spraying Honda lube on the chain.
I debated whether to remove my windshield for the day's journey. It's a large, touring windshield which is an absolute essential for long trips at highway speeds, but I find it detracts from my enjoyment of a back-road jaunt. Perhaps I need a smaller, sportier windshield for trips like this. I decided to remove the windshield for the day.
Saturday 9 am
Depart home
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This was the only section of the trip where I would use the interstates. 30 miles of boring slab from where I live to Plainfield.
Saturday 10 am
Plainfield
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A late breakfast at Bob Evans. I arrive first, followed by Dennis. Dennis and I speculate which bike Bob might bring for the day's festivities. He owns two -- a Honda Magna and a Buell 1125r. The Buell is for sale, but also it's the bike best suited for the twisty roads where we are headed.
Shortly Bob pulls up on the Buell. He was unable resist the temptation!
After breakfast we gassed up and I snapped these photos.
Dennis lead us on our first leg of the journey, from Plainfield to Martinsville, via SR39 and what we call the "Pumpkinvine Route", which features local roads with lots of twists and grades and technical challenges, and little traffic. It is one of our favorites, and is a well-kept secret ... until now, I guess.
View Larger Map
Saturday 12 noon. Martinsville
We stopped in Martinsville to discuss the next leg of our journey.
Saturday 2:30 pm
Subway - Nashville
It was here we made the mistake that ended our journey together. We decided to continue south on SR 135 to SR58, and then take SR 58.
I looked at the weather report for Saturday, and saw that it was going to be sunny with a high in the 60's. Perfect riding weather. Forget about all the stuff I'm supposed to be doing, I want to go for a ride. I email my riding buddies, Dennis, Bob, Rick and Brian. "Sorry for the short notice ... but, wanna go for a ride tomorrow?"
Brian and Rick bowed out citing prior obligations, but Bob and Dennis agreed.
We chose a later start than we typically do, with a planned rendezvous at the Plainfield Bob Evans at 10 am
My chain was in need of lubrication. What ever possessed Honda to make the 3rd gen Magna chain driven and to omit the center stand!?!
It's easier with a second pair of hands. My wife graciously agreed to help and she walked the bike across the driveway while I followed along behind, liberally spraying Honda lube on the chain.
I debated whether to remove my windshield for the day's journey. It's a large, touring windshield which is an absolute essential for long trips at highway speeds, but I find it detracts from my enjoyment of a back-road jaunt. Perhaps I need a smaller, sportier windshield for trips like this. I decided to remove the windshield for the day.
Saturday 9 am
Depart home
0 (17077)
This was the only section of the trip where I would use the interstates. 30 miles of boring slab from where I live to Plainfield.
Saturday 10 am
Plainfield
30 (17107)
A late breakfast at Bob Evans. I arrive first, followed by Dennis. Dennis and I speculate which bike Bob might bring for the day's festivities. He owns two -- a Honda Magna and a Buell 1125r. The Buell is for sale, but also it's the bike best suited for the twisty roads where we are headed.
Shortly Bob pulls up on the Buell. He was unable resist the temptation!
After breakfast we gassed up and I snapped these photos.
Sunlight glinting off the instrument cluster on my Magna. Full tank and good times ahead.
Bob on the Buell 1125r; Dennis on the Suzuki DR650
Dennis lead us on our first leg of the journey, from Plainfield to Martinsville, via SR39 and what we call the "Pumpkinvine Route", which features local roads with lots of twists and grades and technical challenges, and little traffic. It is one of our favorites, and is a well-kept secret ... until now, I guess.
View Larger Map
Saturday 12 noon. Martinsville
We stopped in Martinsville to discuss the next leg of our journey.
Dennis and Bob confer. The bikes in the photo are Dennis' Suzuki DR 650, my own Honda Magna, and Bob's Buell 1125r.
For the next segment, I took a road I'd never been. Dennis led us through the Morgan-Monroe Forest to locally-famous SR 45 for some real corner-carving fun.
It's funny to look at the route on the map; it's certainly not "direct". But it links together a bunch of great motorcycle roads.
The state roads are two lanes, well paved, with broad sweepers and switchbacks. Curves are super-elevated (banked). Aside from a few decreasing-radius turns, nothing too technically challenging. Just plain fun. On of the best is SR 45 which links Beanblossom to Bloomington. SR 46 is also nice, but much more heavily traveled.
The county roads are paved, with occasional potholes and rough pavement. Curves are sometimes sharp, 90 degrees. The rougher pavement, presence of sand and gravel, and the sharper curves make these routes more technically challenging.
The county roads are paved, with occasional potholes and rough pavement. Curves are sometimes sharp, 90 degrees. The rougher pavement, presence of sand and gravel, and the sharper curves make these routes more technically challenging.
When we left the little county roads and pulled onto State Road 45, Bob took the lead, followed by me, then by Dennis. Bob pulled away from me like I was sitting still as he pushed that Buell through the corners. Nimble, easy to turn, and with an abundance of power, he left me in the dust.
I'm quite sure that Dennis would've given a respectable chase to Bob's Buell, had I not held him back.
Before we reached Bloomington, Dennis took the lead and showed us another secret county road which connected us from 45 to 46, without having to enter the city. Good-bye "State Road" and back to the county roads, complete with pot holes, frost heave, and sand and gravel in the corners. Dennis showed no trepidation throwing his DR650 through the corners. His dirt bike experience must make him comfortable feeling the rear wheel slide a little, that's my guess. This time Bob was in second place, and the Buell lost ground to the DR650. Some of these were tight turns with plenty of gravel between the wheel tracks, and after three consecutive 90 degree turns with my rear wheel slipping through the gravel, I gave up trying to keep up with Dennis and Bob, resigned myself to being in uncontested last place. I dialed it back.
Knowing what jokers Bob and Dennis are, I half expected them to be waiting for me at the junction of the county road and SR 46 with their bikes parked beside the road, and they themselves lying flat on their backs in the field, feigning taking a long spring nap. But when I arrived they were waiting patiently at the junction.
Yikes! I've never had my riding companions had to wait on my like this before? Were they riding more aggressively than previous years? Was I a little out of practice? Did this particular road showcase their strengths and exploit my weaknesses?
Saturday 2:30 pm
Subway - Nashville
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We stopped in Nashville, Indiana, a popular day-trip-to-the-country for Indianapolis residents, and a motorcycle hotspot. It's the hub of a lot of great motorcycle-riding roads in Brown County.
We stopped in Nashville, Indiana, a popular day-trip-to-the-country for Indianapolis residents, and a motorcycle hotspot. It's the hub of a lot of great motorcycle-riding roads in Brown County.
Dennis' bike and his right ear.
Our next leg would take us from Nashville through Story to Freetown, on SR 135. This stretch of SR 135 is one of most popular motorcycle routes in the area.
Story, IN features a historic Inn, with rooms for rent, a restaurant, and bar. It backs up to Brown County State Park's horse trail, and features a hitching post. This establishment caters to riders of iron horses and warm-blooded horses alike. It's a popular destination for weekend riders.
But we're not looking for atmosphere, or food, we're looking to ride, so we press on southward on SR 135 to 58.
View Larger Map
View Larger Map
Saturday 3:15 pm
South of Story
South of Story
Between Story and Freetown we stopped on a bridge across a brook, stretched, and snapped a few pictures.
It was here we made the mistake that ended our journey together. We decided to continue south on SR 135 to SR58, and then take SR 58.
I said, "I remember SR 58, I thought it was boring."
Dennis said, "There are other segments of SR 58 that are pretty good."
Bob said, "Yeah, I'm familiar with SR 58 east of here, and it's pretty good."
So, with that we got back on our bikes; Bob, Dennis and me. Within a few miles they were hopelessly out of sight as I simply could not keep up with them. Once in a while I would see Bob's helmet, disappearing through the next turn just as I pulled into the straightaway.
Then came SR 58, and where I expected to see Bob and Dennis waiting semi-patiently for me at the junction, I saw no one.
I figured I'd try to catch up with them, and headed east on SR 58. I pulled out of Freetown, and sailed along the gentle sweepers of SR 58. But I had the sinking feeling that I had missed them, or misunderstood. Should I push ahead in hopes of catching up? Should I turn back and proceed west?
I ended up trying to catch up with them, assuming they had pushed east. I figured they would stop at the next major junction and wait for me.
When I reached the town of Columbus, and had no sign of them, I knew I had chosen wrong. I gassed up on the outskirts of Columbus, and sent text messages to them both: "I am okay. I turned east on SR 58. Did you guys turn west?"
Saturday 4:00 pm
Columbus
Columbus
Magna and Buell, sunlight on chrome and carbon fiber, respectively.
Bob pointed me to County Road 400, which connected SR58 to SR46. On SR46 I headed back west toward Nashville, where I gassed up.
Saturday 5:00 pm
Just then I saw Bob pull into the gas station on the Buell. He confirmed that they'd headed west when I headed east. When I didn't show up, they decided to split up to find me. Bob headed east on SR58, while Dennis retraced our route north on SR135, in case I'd met with some trouble.
From there Dennis would head home. Bob had plans to stop by and show his bike to a potential buyer in Indianapolis. I decided to find my own way home.
Bob pointed me to County Road 400, which connected SR58 to SR46. On SR46 I headed back west toward Nashville, where I gassed up.
Nashville
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Now that I was riding solo, I could go where I want and stop where I want. On the other hand, the lengthening shadows reminded me that I was racing against the sunset, and if I wasn't careful I'd be riding home through deer country at just the time the "forest rats" like to come out and prance across the road.
I took SR135 north out of Nashville to Beanblossom, where I snapped some photos from a scenic overlook. The camera doesn't catch it the beauty of it, but the old growth forests and rolling hills of this area contradict the preconceived notion that Indiana consists only of corn fields, interspersed with soybean fields.
Saturday 5:30 pm
Beanblossom Lookout
From there I slipped back up SR135, connected to the interstate system, and slipped home just as the deer emerged to munch the roadside clover.
251 (17328)
I took SR135 north out of Nashville to Beanblossom, where I snapped some photos from a scenic overlook. The camera doesn't catch it the beauty of it, but the old growth forests and rolling hills of this area contradict the preconceived notion that Indiana consists only of corn fields, interspersed with soybean fields.
Saturday 5:30 pm
Beanblossom Lookout
From there I slipped back up SR135, connected to the interstate system, and slipped home just as the deer emerged to munch the roadside clover.
Saturday 7:30 pm
Home again251 (17328)
Life goes on: After the crash
Dylan Weiss wrote a great account of his first motorcycle accident at his blog, Twisting Asphalt. Unlike some riders who seek to find an excuse outside of themselves, he accepts his mistake, analyses it, learns from it. It's a good philosophy, and the mark of a smart rider.
It's the riders who deny their own responsibility for their well-being that worry me. If they have no accountability with themselves, how will they ever improve their riding ability? How will they learn from their mistakes? If everything that ever goes wrong is always somebody else's fault, how will they survive?
You take your life into your hands when you ride. You should come to grips with this. If you're going to blame someone else for what happens, how can you face the risks?
I have to believe that I have the power to change my circumstances, to affect the outcome. It's not a question of "fault", or "who's right" ... it's a question of taking ownership, taking responsibility for what happens.
Bigger than motorcycling, this is about life itself.
First Ride
This year has been tough. Averaging about 15 degrees below average, and with snow and ice lingering on the roadways for months.
I traditionally have a ride on New Year's Day, and usually ride once a month even in Winter. There is usually a weekend afternoon with temps in the 40's and no ice on the street. But not this year! This year the bike was parked for 4 months, beginning in November.
I can't wait to resume my daily commute on the bike.
Great Motorcycle Roads -- in Florida?!?
A decent motorcycle road in Florida? It's the land of sunshine and oranges, but I don't typically think of Florida when I think of great motorcycle roads. But friend and fellow rider Ed managed to find one, and posted this trip report.
Ed took some great photos of the Ravine Gardens State Park in Florida.
Other recommended roads ...
I set out for a place called Ravine Gardens State Park outside Palatka, FL. This allowed me to set a route through the Ocala National Forest via FL-19, which for Florida isn't a bad ride. It really didn't matter what route it was since the roads in Florida are substandard compared to what I am used to, but at least I *am* riding.
Along the way I passed a couple of rolling road blocks -- you know the "loud pipes save lives" crowd. There were two sets of them and both in groups of about 10 bikes per and all riding side by side.
Yeesh! I just don't get it. There *are* a -few- people I know that I will ride next to (even though it limits my escape options), but to ride IN a group *that* size AND side by side ... not my cuppa tea!
I managed to find the park without incident, but was a bit disappointed due to the expectation of the park's name I thought it would be more garden-like. I hiked a couple of the trails, but never found any "garden" areas. Although I didn't find the garden, I did find the spring that cut the ravine that gave the park its name.
Ed took some great photos of the Ravine Gardens State Park in Florida.
Other recommended roads ...
- A1A is a good road too because of the scenery.
- US 17 is one of those quiet roads that only has a few small towns on it, so there is very little traffic and even less law enforcement
| About The Author | |
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| Ed's a fellow Honda V4 owner, but lately has been seen riding his 600cc Suzuki Bandit, or even his dad's Harley Davidson. This is his first contribution to The ATGATT Rat. |  |
Revisiting the V-Rod Muscle
| About The Author | |
|---|---|
| Bob contributed a report after his brief, 5-mile test drive of the 2009 Harley Davidson V-Rod Muscle. The bottom line was ... not worth the hefty price tag. But while on vacation in Vermont, he had a chance to put the bike through its paces on some fantastic roads. You'll see by the following trip report -- he changed his tune.... |  |
Yesterday I took one hell of a Harley test drive. I called the Harley shop over in Barre, VT to inquire about renting a VRod muscle for a few days. They didn't have any on the rental program, but would be glad to let me take one out for a few hours for free.
Beauty. So I drove 44 miles down to the shop and picked up a brand new, shiny V-Rod Muscle. I rode it up I-89 to the Stowe exit - highway 100. I took highway 100 up past the Ben & Jerry's factory and some other landmarks to Stowe, VT. From Stowe I rode up 108 through "Smuggler's Notch", stopping along the way to take some pictures. 108 is a curvy, hilly piece of road; a royal pain in the ass in a minivan, but amazing on the V-Rod.
Over the notch and around 50 miles later, I showed the bike to my wife and her parents. Initially the plan was for me to take her for a quick, scenic spin through the notch, drop her off, and head back to the dealership. Well, my wife loved the bike and ended up riding all the way back to Barre with me. This is the longest trip we've ever taken together and it was a blast!
All in all I rode the bike around 100 miles on some of the most scenic roads you can imagine.
I am a certified V-Rod Muscle fan and a Harley convert. I plan to buy one within the next 5 years. I may even sell the Magnaceptor.
I wrecked it today!
I give myself a dumbass award today. I'll tell you about it, but first, the backstory.
I took a little ride today to my local Triumph dealer. I test drove the Speed Triple, and while I liked the power curve, and I already knew I liked the looks of it, I decided the seating position doesn't suit me. At least, the stock position.
While I was there, I stopped into the BMW dealership next door and test drove the R1200R and the F650GS. i loved the handling and the power of the R1200R, though I was surprised at the vibration at idle. The F650 did surprisingly well, and seems like an able commuter bike, which would suit me well. I think the BMW "Beak" front end is fugly, however.
As I was riding the third bike, the F650GS, it started to rain. I didn't mind much. Came back to the dealership and talked dollars and cents, monthly payments, etc. Took his card and told him I'd check with "the minister of finance" and get back to him. Very low key ... they must hear this every day.
On to the dumbass award...
Back onto my own bike, the rain still falling gently. A 20 mile ride back home through city streets. Coming up to an intersection, I faced a red light. I moved into the right turn lane and glanced to my left as I braked gently to a stop. I was going maybe 20 mph.
Fwoop. Suddenly I'm on my right side, my bike grinding to a stop on its side. What happened?
My right leg pinned under the bike. The woman behind me stopped her car, got out and ran toward me. "Are you okay?"
A sharp pain in my right side, where my elbow jabbed into my ribcage when I landed. "I'm okay."
"It's leaking!" she yelled, "It's leaking gas!" She sounded frightened, ran back to her car, and left. Afraid it was gonna blow, I suppose.
I freed my leg from under the bike and stood up.
A remembered Skert's lesson on lifiting a bike, and began to pick it up. A man stopped his white Humvee behind me, hazards on, ran to me and helped me pick up the bike. He caught it as I lifted it, ensuring it wouldn't topple over when I righted it.
We looked over the damage.
Driver and passenger pegs on the right side mangled. Mufflers scratched a little on the right side. My new levers were unscathed, as was the grip. The windshield was scratched, and the brackets bent. The handlebars are cockeyed -- when I'm driving the bike straight, the handlebars are turned slightly to the right.
A cop stop and asked if I was okay, asked what happened. I said I slipped on an oil slick, pointed it out to him. He asked if I was okay, I said yes.
Cranked the bike for about a minute. It started. I imagine it was flooded at first.
Rode the bike home, without event.
Further inspection shows a goose-egg on my elbow, no broken bones. My helmet smacked the pavement, so I'll be buying a new one. Right shoulder of my leather jacket scuffed
I Just offer this as a reminder ... watch for oil slicks in the rain. I know this, I am always extra careful in the rain, but in a moment it got away from me.
Be careful out there.
I'm thankful it didn't happen on the test drives ... I plan on going back and test driving other Triumphs in the future -- a stupid stunt like that might've blacklisted me.
I took a little ride today to my local Triumph dealer. I test drove the Speed Triple, and while I liked the power curve, and I already knew I liked the looks of it, I decided the seating position doesn't suit me. At least, the stock position.
While I was there, I stopped into the BMW dealership next door and test drove the R1200R and the F650GS. i loved the handling and the power of the R1200R, though I was surprised at the vibration at idle. The F650 did surprisingly well, and seems like an able commuter bike, which would suit me well. I think the BMW "Beak" front end is fugly, however.
As I was riding the third bike, the F650GS, it started to rain. I didn't mind much. Came back to the dealership and talked dollars and cents, monthly payments, etc. Took his card and told him I'd check with "the minister of finance" and get back to him. Very low key ... they must hear this every day.
On to the dumbass award...
Back onto my own bike, the rain still falling gently. A 20 mile ride back home through city streets. Coming up to an intersection, I faced a red light. I moved into the right turn lane and glanced to my left as I braked gently to a stop. I was going maybe 20 mph.
Fwoop. Suddenly I'm on my right side, my bike grinding to a stop on its side. What happened?
My right leg pinned under the bike. The woman behind me stopped her car, got out and ran toward me. "Are you okay?"
A sharp pain in my right side, where my elbow jabbed into my ribcage when I landed. "I'm okay."
"It's leaking!" she yelled, "It's leaking gas!" She sounded frightened, ran back to her car, and left. Afraid it was gonna blow, I suppose.
I freed my leg from under the bike and stood up.
A remembered Skert's lesson on lifiting a bike, and began to pick it up. A man stopped his white Humvee behind me, hazards on, ran to me and helped me pick up the bike. He caught it as I lifted it, ensuring it wouldn't topple over when I righted it.
We looked over the damage.
Driver and passenger pegs on the right side mangled. Mufflers scratched a little on the right side. My new levers were unscathed, as was the grip. The windshield was scratched, and the brackets bent. The handlebars are cockeyed -- when I'm driving the bike straight, the handlebars are turned slightly to the right.
A cop stop and asked if I was okay, asked what happened. I said I slipped on an oil slick, pointed it out to him. He asked if I was okay, I said yes.
Cranked the bike for about a minute. It started. I imagine it was flooded at first.
Rode the bike home, without event.
Further inspection shows a goose-egg on my elbow, no broken bones. My helmet smacked the pavement, so I'll be buying a new one. Right shoulder of my leather jacket scuffed
I Just offer this as a reminder ... watch for oil slicks in the rain. I know this, I am always extra careful in the rain, but in a moment it got away from me.
Be careful out there.
I'm thankful it didn't happen on the test drives ... I plan on going back and test driving other Triumphs in the future -- a stupid stunt like that might've blacklisted me.
Race To The Clouds
Fellow Sabmaggot Pete posted some pics of his recent trip in Colorado high country. Beautiful stuff ... almost enough to make me want to buy a dual-sport or adventure bike. 
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!
Daydreaming while riding
Riding home, eastbound, in rush hour traffic on the city streets. I thought I was paying attention. I noticed the BDC approaching from the right. I was alone in the right lane -- would she mistakenly assume the lane was clear and pull out in front of me? She stopped. Cars ahead were stopped for the light, traffic was bunching up. The step van on my left had already stopped, but there was room in my lane ahead of me and I toodled onward, not knowing that the step van obscured from my sight the car in front of it, crossing traffic, turning in front of me.
I didn't see him.
Thankfully, he saw me. He stopped. I continued.
I kicked myself and swore an oath to post this reminder to the group.
If he hadn't seen me, and he had plenty of reasons not to -- the step van between us, the fact that I had no cover in my lane -- if he hadn't seen me, I'd have T-boned him.
I could've kept this dumbass move to myself. E.g. I didn't tell my wife. But I decided to share in hopes that it helps someone else ride defensively.
Ride safe!
I didn't see him.
Thankfully, he saw me. He stopped. I continued.
I kicked myself and swore an oath to post this reminder to the group.
If he hadn't seen me, and he had plenty of reasons not to -- the step van between us, the fact that I had no cover in my lane -- if he hadn't seen me, I'd have T-boned him.
I could've kept this dumbass move to myself. E.g. I didn't tell my wife. But I decided to share in hopes that it helps someone else ride defensively.
Ride safe!
Riding Out The Old Year
My wife and I were gonna clean out the garage on 12/31. The kids were at gramma's house.
It was 40 degrees and the sun was shining.
We kept eying the bikes in the corner of the garage.
At noon I said, let's get something to eat.
My wife said, if we can get my bike started, let's ride.
I had put sta-bil in both tanks earlier in the month, and had tried to start 'em both. Hers hadn't started. That was a cold day.
Today her bike fired right up on the second try.
Rode to Arby's cause we had a coupon.
As we're eating she says, "I'm thinking let's take the long way home."
"Really?" I asked. "Won't you freeze?" She's more "cold blooded" than me; I figured if I was cold she'd be freezing.
"I'll be okay," she said, "I really wanna do this."
"You'll never catch me saying no..."
She had already plotted a brief tour of some of the more interesting roads near our house. A couple of S-turns along tree-lined roads, some ups and downs. Not much, but better than 96th street's 5 lanes of mega slab.
Piles of sand and road salt in every curve and in the center of the road. Residue from snow removal efforts of prior week.
The numbness of my hands started affecting my clutching ability. This isn't right -- I usually ride down into the mid-30's without much trouble. I guess a few weeks in a cage with the heater on have thinned my blood and made me susceptible to the cold again.
In the summer this ride wouldn't have merited mention. But to get any riding in during the dead of winter -- that's worth noting.
New Year's Day brought snow and cold, the bikes are back on their battery tenders. But at least we rode on New Year's Eve.
It was 40 degrees and the sun was shining.
We kept eying the bikes in the corner of the garage.
At noon I said, let's get something to eat.
My wife said, if we can get my bike started, let's ride.
I had put sta-bil in both tanks earlier in the month, and had tried to start 'em both. Hers hadn't started. That was a cold day.
Today her bike fired right up on the second try.
Rode to Arby's cause we had a coupon.
As we're eating she says, "I'm thinking let's take the long way home."
"Really?" I asked. "Won't you freeze?" She's more "cold blooded" than me; I figured if I was cold she'd be freezing.
"I'll be okay," she said, "I really wanna do this."
"You'll never catch me saying no..."
She had already plotted a brief tour of some of the more interesting roads near our house. A couple of S-turns along tree-lined roads, some ups and downs. Not much, but better than 96th street's 5 lanes of mega slab.
Piles of sand and road salt in every curve and in the center of the road. Residue from snow removal efforts of prior week.
The numbness of my hands started affecting my clutching ability. This isn't right -- I usually ride down into the mid-30's without much trouble. I guess a few weeks in a cage with the heater on have thinned my blood and made me susceptible to the cold again.
In the summer this ride wouldn't have merited mention. But to get any riding in during the dead of winter -- that's worth noting.
New Year's Day brought snow and cold, the bikes are back on their battery tenders. But at least we rode on New Year's Eve.
The Return
Fellow maggot Carl Parker made a movie about his journey through western china.
Visit his website where you can buy his DVD.
Visit his website where you can buy his DVD.
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