mostuff

Big Money Rally

2012-01-12T18:35:00.006-05:00

And so it begins.

On a rainy, cold January day, I set off to earn a primo t-shirt for participating in the Big Money Rally.

Of course, it wasn't raining when I left the house. Nature revolted as I reached the point of no return, nearing my first bonus location. By the time I had found a parking spot that would show the building with its zip code visible, as well as the bike and the required placard, rain was pouring.

Since I started out without rain gear on, I figured I might as well stay wet. I quickly set up the shot and posted it to the internet with the wrong site location. I was in Dundee, MI on Monroe Street. Monroe is another Michigan town, due East about 20 miles. So, naturally I labeled the bonus picture Monroe instead of Dundee. No matter, I punched the next address into the GPS and headed for the Post Office in Tecumseh.

By now, the rain was coming down in sheets and I was starting to re-think my choice of wearing an open face helmet. There is a sweet spot on the Goldwing that allows rain to fly above your face at speeds greater than 80 mph. At speeds of about 35 or less the rain hits your face but just gets you wet. On the way to Tecumseh, traffic required a speed between 60 and 70, which is similar to having someone constantly shooting you in the face with a low powered BB machine pistol.

At any rate, I arrived at the Tecumseh Post Office more or less intact. I composed a beautiful shot of the building. Then I sent the wrong picture in to the Rally web site. The one I meant to send is this:
When I got home I realized my error and re-submitted the correct picture. I checked the web-site later, and found the BMR scoring administrators had given me credit for the two locations in spite of the liberties I had taken with place names.

I chalk it up to the sympathy vote. They must have taken pity of the soggy guy from Michigan trolling around in a rainstorm in the middle of January trying to score a complimentary t-shirt.

If anyone is actually reading this, take a look at the BMR site. It threatens to be a fun couple of months for anyone who owns a bike and hasn't got enough sense to come in out of the rain.

2011-09-22T16:19:00.000-04:00

Fall has officially arrived in lower Michigan

Deception Pass

2011-06-19T18:30:00.000-04:00

Whidbey Island

2010-12-20T12:56:00.000-05:00

GL1800 Starter - When good starters go bad

2010-10-25T12:44:00.003-04:00

The Goldwing motorcycle is a wonderful feat of engineering. It is a leading edge machine, and reliable to a fault. That is what makes a mechanical problem so irksome. The machine rarely breaks. The usual routine involves adding gas and occasionally changing the oil. The first valve clearance check isn't even needed until 32,000 miles. And then adjustments are seldom needed.

When the key is turned and touching the starter button results in silence, there is a moment of disbelief. Then follows the checklist. Kill switch set, lights and other electrics work. What could it be? The ignition key assembly must be ok or the lights wouldn't come on. There is a click noise coming from the area behind the battery but no starter engagement.

Lately, I've begun to rely on the internet to solve problems whether it be a toilet tank that won't shut off or a medical condition. The usual routine is to examine a number of potential diagnoses and their respective solutions, pick one and exhaust time, energy and money finding out it has nothing to do with the issue. There's a greater than 50% chance things will actually get worse using this process, but it is irresistible.

My search for the starter solution began with checking my favorite Goldwing site; gl1800riders.com. Advice was abundant when I described my problem. It was almost universally agreed upon that the problem was a bad relay which was simple to fix.

Armed with new confidence I looked up the procedure for accessing the relay. It turns out the manual wants you to remove the left saddlebag, which requires removing the rear fender and entire lower portion of the trunk.

Of course, after taking apart about one third of the bodywork and replacing the relay, I fond that when I tried the starter the same click followed by silence remained. On the upside, I discovered none of the bodywork really had to be removed to access the relay. All one has to do is remove the battery and battery box and the relay practically jumps out of its moorings. (This knowledge would be handy later).

Having exhausted the collective knowledge of all the internet experts, I went back to my roots and decided to test the starter itself. Although this endeavor eventually proved to be semi-successful, it is not a project to be undertaken by the faint of heart. Honda engineers have packed a lot of technology into a small package. Consequently, any time you want to tinker with something it requires removal or adjustment of several other systems. In the case of the starter motor, you have to remove the side panels, the dashboard, the top shelter (faux gas tank), the real gas tank, the rear hydraulic brake system, the reverse linkage, and numerous fasteners, clips, wire connectors, etc.

The starter is held to the engine case by three bolts, one of which requires the use of all the swear words ever invented to remove.

Besides the rear brake linkage, and hydraulics, the worst part of the job is getting the gas tank out of a space that is smaller than the tank itself. Once again, removal involves a liberal application of magic incantations. (Important tip: siphon out the gas before attempting to lift out he tank). Even after all the gas has been removed, about a gallon will spill all over the bike and work area even if it is kept perfectly right side up at all times.

Bottom line. The starter turned out to be the culprit. Since no one in the greater Detroit area would rebuild it. I cleaned it up the best I could and replaced it. It worked for about a year before giving up again. This time I troubleshot the job by putting the bike in gear and rocking it, then trying the starter. A few rocks and it would start. Has to be the starter. According to the internet a replacement starter for a 2002 Goldwing is worth about $500 to $700.00. A 2006 starter is $112.00 including shipping. According to the experts online it should fit. Hahahaha. Anyway, I have started stripping down the bike and waiting for the part to arrive. The saga continues.

Fast forward a week. The 2006 starter arrived via FedEx. At first glance it looked close. Upon comparing it side by side with the original, the new one is about 3/8" shorter overall. This may be a good thing since it the old one takes up all the available space to manipulate. The catch is the electrical connection stud. On the new one, the stud sticks right out of the top. About 2 inches beyond the maximum reach of the cable.

The solution is to remove the mounting collar using the three long screws. Rotate the housing 120 degrees and reinstall. Of course there is an alignment pin to deal with and the two planetary gears to trick back into the right position. The alignment pin came out fairly easily using a pair of needle nose pliers. Putting the whole thing back together was uneventful. Now-on to the install in the bike and reassembly of all the pieces.

I just noticed I never finished this saga. It ends well. After putting everything back together (including using the parts left over after the first strip down) the mighty gold wing started like it was brand new.

The moral to the story, if there is one, is to trust your own experience and knowledge (if you have any) over all the armchair experts. And secondly, no matter how devious motorcycle engineers have become, we can still fix our own broken machines like we did in the old days. It just takes more magic words.

Gas Cap

2010-09-12T20:53:00.000-04:00

Never lose your gas cap again. K.I.S.S.

Fork Seal Change on a Gold Wing

2009-08-03T00:59:00.005-04:00

While repairing an uncooperative starter, I noticed fork oil running down the right side of the front suspension. Closer inspection revealed soaked brake pads and coated wheel and undercarriage on the right side.

I decided to get an estimate at the local Honda shop. Four hundred plus parts. Naturally I opted for the most difficult choice and bought the new seals and dust covers, optimistically assuming nothing else would need repair once I opened up the job.

The first step I recommend is to find a truck stop or industrial waste site and collect about 5 gallons of used petroleum products and if possible add to this a few pounds or pureed rotten moose guts. Spread this mixture liberally over the garage floor, walls, and any tools and benches you plan to use to mask the smell and roughly match the volume of the goo you will "drain" from the forks.

Next spend a few hours reading on the internet how easy it is to swap out a set of seals in 30 minutes to two hours tops. Don't forget to study the "shop manual" for useless information that has nothing to do with the actual work you are about to tackle. After wasting half a day looking for time saving shortcuts, give up and actually start taking the bike apart.

It turns out the geniuses at Honda use two bolts on the left brake caliper and two on the right to hold said devices to the forks. When you try to remove them you find two bolts take a 13 mm socket, one a hex wrench, and one a #40 Torx socket. Yes, three different fasteners to hold what amounts to the same component to the same structure, just on the opposite side.

Removing the front half of the fender and the front wheel is pretty straighforward. Unless you count the 30 or so fasteners you have to take off to get the brakes out of the way. It's also important to consult a higher power before trying to fish the back part of the fender out of the tangle of brake lines and sytem of tabs and slots designed to test the patience of Job.

Once all the various contraptions that are stuck to the fork legs are removed the job gets a little simpler. There are still a couple of tricks up Honda's sleeve however. The dash has to be removed to access the top caps. This of course means dealing with the wire connector which cannot be pulled apart no matter how many times you have done it before. (Every time I take it apart I swear I will file off the little catch that causes the problem).

Another procedure calls for loosening the hex bolt in the bottom of each leg. Many people suggest using an air impact wrench for this. I opted for the low tech method. Using a standard hex wrench, I found a giant Crescent wrench and fitted the "L" part into the jaws and broke loose the stubborn bolt. This is also the time when random spurts of stinky black oil will begin to fly out out in all directions without warning or deference to physics.

Speaking of oversize tools, the top caps can not be loosened without resorting to extra leverage. After straining with a ratchet wrench and inventing a few new words, I decided to gain an advantage by using my torque wrench with the long handle. As I was holding the right handlebar with my belly and pulling the wrench for all I was worth it occurred to me it might be interesting to see how much torque it took to break this particular bolt loose. Just as my eyes started to focus on the tiny numbers the bolt gave way. I didn't get the reading but I did put the torque wrench on the floor where I could trip over it a few minutes later.

One more obstacle remained before I could actually remove the right fork and spill more oil on the floor. The upper pinch bolt came loose pretty easily. The lower one is semi-hidden up under the front body work and of course coated with a thick mixture of oil and dirt. After loosening the lower pinch bolt I soon found the fork tube was still stuck fast and no amount of cursing would cause it to budge. I re-loosened the upper pinch bolt and began hammering on the top of the fork cap with a big hammer and a half inch socket extension. For some reason I came to my senses temporarily and re-examined the lower pinch bolt. This time I noticed the second bolt immediately above the lower one I had already loosened. A couple of turns and the leg came sliding out, dripping filthy smelly oil all the way to the work bench where it puked another puddle of grayish ooze before I had time to react.

Now I have mentioned several times the odor associated with the used fork oil. It is severe. Think of what it might be like to sniff a vagrant's sweat sock which has been soaked in kimchi, and buried under a damp chicken coop for about three years. Then double the effect.

Once the dismantling is complete, the rest of the job is anticlimactic. At least I hope so. I haven't started putting it together yet. And I still have the left side to do.

Father's Day in Afghanistan

2008-06-15T23:07:00.001-04:00

"We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm."
-Winston Churchill

Yellow Wolf Directs Traffic on the Cherhola Hwy.

2008-03-10T19:37:00.001-04:00

Interesting Sights Along the Freeway.

2007-08-19T20:48:00.000-04:00

Coming back to Michigan from the mountains on Colorado, one is prepared for the relative monotony of miles of freeway riding. The alternative is a multi-day ride on secondary roads with the chance to enjoy a little more local color. Luckily, even the freeway offers the occasional respite from the sameness of the desert or flat farmland.

Coming down old route 666 after visiting Four Corners, the town of Ship Rock offers a view of its namesake off to the west.
The area sports a number of lesser volcanic remains, all impressive, none as imposing and elegant in its command of the surroundings.

Continuing south, isolated thunder storms filled nearby arroyos with fast moving muddy water which at one point crashed against the roadway before turning 90 degrees to seek a culvert. The road had just enough turns that we were able to avoid getting rained on. Sneaking between the huge blue-gray clouds became a gamble with cooler air as the prize.

At Gallup we turned left on I-40 and headed straight for another huge storm cloud. This one didn't get out of our way and as we rode into the leading edge, an overpass beckoned. Apparently we weren't the only ones looking for cover. Several vehicles were already using all the level ground so we pressed on into the dark pouring rain. Traffic was heavy with most vehicles opting for the truck lane. This left the inside lane available for passing. The roadway had water standing in many places and the spray from the semis was blinding. At one point a Ford Explorer appeared in the median with a panicked driver at the wheel. Hydroplaning was obviously a concern for some but didn't seem to be an issue for the motorcycle. Ten miles of rain and suddenly dry road. The wet apparel felt good in the 95 degree heat. I was glad we opted to ignore the rain gear.

The fourth tank of gas for the day brought us to Santa Rosa, about halfway between Albequerque and Amarillo. We had been passing remnants of the famous Route 66 all day. Billboards hawking restaurants boasted of authentic ties to the fabled road. Naturally, one such cafe was across the street from the hotel we chose for the night. The food was good, the memorabilia was predictably tacky. An early 60s T-Bird was parked outside with a fading coat of yellow paint over everything except the windows. Obviously, not intended for close inspection. We had made fewer miles than we had intended due to numerous stops for photos, but all in all it was a good run from Montrose, Colorado.

Rockies Gold 2007 - Day 5

2007-08-05T19:35:00.000-04:00

Having seen the Colorado Monument Road, I knew it would be hard to top. With so many routes to choose from and our last day before heading home we decided to head east on 50.

Frank, Don, Mikee and I headed east on highway 50 toward Gunnison. Along the way we found Blue Mesa Reservoir and stopped for the snapshot. Once in Gunnison we decided to take a less traveled road (135) north to Crested Butte for lunch.

The town is an artsy type of place with tourism the obvious sustaining industry. This is fine with me because like the rest of the area around Montrose, the scenery is free and the roads are appealing to motorcyclists.

Among the t-shirt and "paraphernalia" stores are scattered a wide offering of cafes and restaurants. There may be one that is a step up from uber-casual but I didn't notice one.

The Cowboy Saloon boasted BBQ and that is always a draw. Rustic would describe the interior. Framed exterior walls showed were unfinished and made of rough wood with the siding showing into the interior. The first three barstools nearest the entrance were western style saddles on pedestals. The staff was likewise laid back, yet efficient. The food was good and in the cool mountain environment, hot sandwiches hit the spot.

Once again we consulted the maps and almost decided to go over the pass which had been opened for summer. After a discussion of wet dirt roads with some input from the waiter, we got bluffed out and decided to head back down to Gunnison.

Intermittent rain and several previous long days in the saddle helped us decide to retire early and prepare for the long ride home. We took the scenic Highway 50 back to Montrose and spent the afternoon resting up and preparing for the marathon trip home.

All in all our visit to Montrose had been too short. So many roads, so little time. There were many people attending whom I had intended to see, and never did. I knew from the roster there were folks I had met in Arkansas, Tennessee, and New York floating around but again, so many roads.

I will say this. Not a minute was dissappointing. This is one place everyone should visit. Good people, good food, spectacular scenery. I hope to bring Pam here someday.

Bighorn Sheep in Colorado

2007-08-04T20:17:00.000-04:00

Rockies Gold 2007 - Day 4

2007-08-04T18:09:00.000-04:00

Friday there was an open invitation to any of two hundred or so riders who showed up in Montrose to assemble at Dallas Divide for a group photo.

The previous evening we got together in two shifts to swap lies and eat Mexican cuisine at the Fiesta Guadalajara. Somehow the staff got everyone waited on efficiently. They must practice on tour bus loads of visitors. Speaking of staff, they were all friendly and accomodating. We pretended to understand their Spanglish and they pretended not to understand us.

Riders headed south in twos and threes, sometimes more. Along the way our little band encountered a landing hot air balloon.

When we got to the meeting place Toyo was directing traffic and Wingnutzz was supervising. The bikes lined up on the south side of the road and the riders stumbled around in the weeds on the north side. In the middle was Jim Morris (Wingit) snapping semi-official pictures of the event.

Trying to assemble a group of long distance motorcycle riders into something of a group for a photo is sort of like picking up marbles while wearing boxing gloves. Finally, most were cajoled into holding still for a photo which I think included an old couple who had stopped their PT Cruiser to look and were too afraid to leave.

The group dissassembled as quickly as it formed with people anxious to explore the mountains. I fell in with Frank, Don (Betthe) an Mikee. We planned to head to Utah and have alook at Arches National Park. We were joined along the way by Wayne and Kendra from Florida.

It was a hot ride but once again the scenery was worth it.

We cooled off at the visitor center for a while and got out the maps. We had intelligence that route 128 snaked along the Colorado river, then across the high desert to I-70 which would provide a shortcut to Grand Junction and another great road through the Colorado National Monument.

After gagging down thelast of the hot Gatorade we headed out again into the afternoon heat. We backtracked a few miles toward Moab then turned north after crossing the river. We were enjoying the views and the intermittent shade provided by the cliffs when I spied a sign that said the bridge was out 32 miles ahead - local traffic only. I blazed ahead, being in the lead, but started to wonder if it was good call. After a brief meeting we decided to continue. The road twisted and turned following the canyon and river with rises and blind corners and smooth pavement. Eventually we climbed out on the north rim and made our way to I-70. For some reason the road continues to turn even though there is nothing but lumpy desert for miles in all directions.

Heading east on I-70 we somehow skirted just around the edge of a blue/black rainstorm with lightining dropping out of its edges. With the storm behind us Wayne took the lead and we headed for the Colorado Monument.

We arrived at the Park gat at 6:03 local time. The Park closed at 6:00 and the sign said proceed. Talk about perfect timing. We had the place to ourselves and the only thing to get in our way was the overlooks.

Evening turned out to be the perfect time for canyon viewing. At one turnout we looked down on almost a dozen Bighorn Sheep. The one pictured here put on quite a show, climbing around on the rocks.

The road was the best we had seen on the trip. If I could only ride one road in the area, this would be it. If I get another chance I will bring a camera and lunch and do some exploring on foot.

Speaking of lunch, that was our next destination. We had fooled around until dusk and decided to stop in Grand Junction at a little brewery/pub for supper. From there we headed back down the 60 or so miles to Montrose and some sleep. More later...

Rockies Gold Slideshow

2007-08-04T01:58:00.000-04:00

Rockies Gold 2007 - Day 3

2007-08-03T22:36:00.000-04:00

Our first official day of Rockies Gold 2007. Dave Turley had suggested a number of routes for us tourists to enjoy so the first order of business was to decide which way to go. The road to Durango an Cortez looked good so we headed out.

Frank needed a camera so we stopped at the local Walmart Where he promptly got in way over his head. In a nutshell, he bought a bargain digital and wound up taking it back and buying a better one that had a viewfinder the next day.

The trip to Durango was spectacular. (I'm going to risk overusing that word). The first 3o miles to Ridgeway are unremarkable, then suddenly you enter the Uncompahgre National Forest with a brown river on one side and rocky outcroppings on the left.

The canyon gradually narrows until you arrive in Ouray, a quaint little tourist town in the south end of a box canyon. The highway is carved out of the cliffs at the edge of town and you can look back down on the tops of the buildings as you zig-zag your way up the slope.

Continuing south you pass steep gorges, waterfalls, a short tunnel, an avalanche shed and of course more beautiful scenery.

With so many photo opportunities, there is a genuine risk of overload. The rest of the ride through the mountains was just as beautiful but for a motorcyclist the ride was just as inviting. Traffic was light and the sweepers and tight turns were plentiful. A light rain started to fall which turned into a toad strangler before we got back down to Durango. Going up the switchbacks the rain accentuated the oil slick left by someone ahead. With no guard rails and corners hidden by rock walls, it was time to use extra care. We were reminded of the grade by the acrid smell of burning brakes. This stretch of road is not to be missed.

Once we finished the winding descent and arrived in Durango, the rain storm was behind us and temperature were in the 90s. But it was a dry heat. Our wet clothes were dry again and we were sort of missing the rain. Not for long. As we turned north again out of Cortez the red rocks closed in on us and thundersorms once again threatened. We stopped near a pass south of Telluride for a shot of a rock. The clouds parted and the rain held back long enough for a picture.

We skipped the side road to Telluride proper and opted for the 20 minute wait for construction on the main road instead. Road construction is liable to be encountered anywhere in the mountains and usually entails waiting for a caravan cautiously sidling by gaping dropoffs where half the roadway is somewhere much farther down the canyon than it is supposed to be. At any rate, as we sat absorbing the drizzle, we had time to discuss the roads and the prospects of making it back to Montrose in time for the 5:00 seating at the Fiesta Guadalajara.

Once we were underway again it looked like we would be on time - that is until we encountered the second road closure. This one involved one way traffic and a mudslide. The crews were working on the source of the mud but did not seem interested in the mile or two of red goop covering both lanes beyond the slide site.

We slipped and slid down the hill and finally reached a point where the ooze was able to find its way to a culvert or some other escape route. The steady rain kept the mud in a consistency somewhere between toothpaste and vaseline. It was a relief to find the cutoff to Ridgeway and back to town.

We arrived in town just in time to go directly to the restaurant where our tablemates were able to enjoy the rare ambience of two motorcylists who had spent the day on the road in torrential downpours, 95 degree heat, and a couple of miles of mud road. I felt like I was back in Alaska.

More to follow...

Rockies Gold 2007 - Day 2

2007-08-02T14:31:00.000-04:00

The second day of our trip found us anxious to continue west. Partly in anticipation of finally getting into the mountains, and partly to put some distance between us and last night's accommodations.

We were on the road at 5:40. After a brief stop for gas we headed toward Denver on I-76. Unfortunately it would be a while before the scenery would become interesting. Miles and miles of low rolling hills with sparse patches of brush were all we could see. Once in a while we would spot something on the road that resembled a small brown fur coverd tortilla. Close examination revealed tire-flattened, sun-dried, remains of the little rodents that seemed to be forever on the wrong side of the highway. Gotta be a tough life between the traffic and the hawks.

As we approached Denver traffic began to increase until we finally came to stop somewhere on the north side of town. The delay was temporary and soon we were on I-70 climbing quickly into the Rocky Mountains. It was literally an figurativey like a breath of fresh air. We were suddenly surrounded by nature's grandeur and man's executive mansions perched on every available ledge.

I-70 winds through some of the most engaging scenery in the west. With light to medium traffic, it was challenging to keep focused on the road with beautiful landscapes around every corner. The sky was bright blue, the mountains were dark tan with pine trees poking out here and there. Between the earth and sky white fluffy clouds lined the peaks like whipped cream on top of chocolate ice cream. Which reminded me - no breakfast this morning.

We pulled in at Silverthorne for lunch at Wendy's. Even the fast food places have a good view. We made our phone calls and started out again. It wasn't long until we had to stop for another photo opportunity.

Dillon Reservoir provided an opportunity to stretch our legs and take a break before pushing for the finish line at Montrose. We had decided to do an IBA Bun-Burner since we only had another 300 or 400 miles to qualify.

The roads were so much fun on a motorcycle, we didn't stop often. After going through an especially long tunnel I noticed my GPS had locked and would not reset. We stopped just short of Glenwood Canyon for some adjustments. My riding buddy Frank, always the technophile, finally took a time out from fiddling with his own GPS and consulted the paper map.

Glenwood Canyon was spectacular. Again we were torn between trying to capture the scenes on film and enjoying the curvy roads that seemed to be designed for riders. The riding won and we made our way through the narrow canyons and along the upper Colorado River to the high desert of Garfield County. Once out inthe open we fell in behind a BMW sedan and a late model Corvette who led us toward Grand Junction.

We turned south at Route 141 and intercepted US 50 for the rid down to Montrose and the Rockies Gold 2007 gathering. One last stop for gas in Delta and we were there. Over 1623 Honda miles in under 36 hours. We found William Bunt of Divide, CO who agreed to sign us in at the Black Canyon Motel, officially completing the ride.

We had already checked in at the Comfort Inn up the street so after meeting and greeting for a while we retired for some overdue rest until the next day's rides and dinner. More to follow...

Rockies Gold 2007 - Day 1

2007-08-01T13:42:00.000-04:00

So Tuesday has finally arrived. It's off to I-94 and Zeeb Road near Ann Arbor to meet Frank Carpenter for a day's ride to Sterling, Colorado.

I arrived at location about 10 minutes early and saw Frank in the McDonald's parking lot. The gas station next door, where we were to officially start our "Ironbutt" ride was closed. After due consideration and an Egg McMuffin, the lights came on at the gas station and we got the necessary time-stamped receipts. Shortly after 6:00 a.m. we were on our way west.

There is not a lot I can say about our first day. I have come to the conclusion there is little chance of the Unites States running out of corn or dead skunks in the near future. The Midwest is the price a traveler pays to see the rest of the country.

The first highlight of the trip was lunch and gas at the Iowa 80 Truckstop in Walcott, Iowa. Billed as the world's largest truck stop, a must see for shut-ins and people who want to add to their collection of truck themed Zippos.

Since we were on a mission, we hurried through the lunch line at Wendy's and then started to , gas up. Within moments, Frank broke his glasses. After a brief, unproductive search around the gas pump for a missing screw about the size of an atom, we opted for plan B. I found a small piece of tiny wire that fit through the screw holes in the glasses frame. We fitted the lens back in place and twisted the wire until the hinge barely moved, clipped off the excess with a leatherman and back on the road.

We were getting about 200 miles per tank and this was our 3rd fill up, a little after 11:00 CST.

Continuing accross the vast source of all Corn Flakes, we finally got into Omaha, Nebraska. As we threaded the maze of off ramps, road construction, farm trucks, tourists, and shredded truck tires, I kept an eye out for the famous Omaha Steak. Never saw one. Once past the hectic city, I glanced down at my newly installed GPS and one of the saddest things in recent memory. The little gizmo read: Turn left in 308 miles.

The rest of the day was as uneventful as the morning. We ground steadily westward and finally turned left on US-76 toward Sterling, Colorado. We found Officer Rusch at the Sterling Police Department who was willing to witness our arrival at 9:37 Mountain time (11:47 Eastern) thus officially qualifying for an Ironbutt (1000 miles in 24 hours) ride.

Prior to tracking down a witness, we had started the search for a hotel. Apparently Sterling is a destination for travelers as the only place we could find was a smoking room at the Super 8. The clerk had a voice like Sonny Barger and an indifferent attitude. The room smelled like a pair of old Army socks which had been marinaded in road kill. We kept the lights off and crept into our beds. The next day beckoned. We were loooking forward to some 3D terrain. To be continued...

New Shoes

2007-07-05T14:30:00.000-04:00

With a little over 40,000 miles on the clock it seemed like a good time to inspect the brake pads. The timing was good because one of the four fronts was down past the wear lines. The rest still had the line but the depth was just enough to catch with a fingernail.

Rockies Gold is coming up which means about 1300 miles each way plus four days of riding the mountain roads aroud Montrose, Colorado.

No use trying to squeeze any more miles out these pads.

To get the ball rolling, I consulted the trusty Clymer manual to see if there was any tips that would make life easier. There wasn't. One suggestion was to push the caliper housing inwards to shove the pucks back out of the way before removing the old pads. I tried this. It would have been easier to push a '57 Buick up Lombard Street.

I opted for plan B. Put away the manual and pull out the pin holding the pads in place. The pads dropped out without assistance as soon as the pin cleared. The micrometer showed only .05" at the thinnest part of the pad and .1" at the thickest remaining part. According to the book, minimum service thickness is .14".

The next challenge was to push in the brake pistons or pucks to make room for the new pads. Three pucks/pistons on each side. On the left side I was able to get the middle one to move with finger pressure. The upper and lower had to be convinced with a flat bladed screwdriver. All three on the right side had to be pushed in with a tool.

By the way, if you plan to do this job here are some of my tips:

Take off the front brake reservoir cover
Wrap the right handlebar area in plastic to catch any overflow
Check the fluid level in the reservoir after pushing in each puck
Only do one side at a time to avoid pushing too much fluid back into the reservoir
When pushing in the pucks, do not pry against the disc

Anyway, the only hard part of the job was pushing in the pistons. Once they are out of the way, put the inboard pad in place, then the outboard pad, grease up the retaining pin and put it back together.

I did the left side first and before tackling the other side I squeezed the front brake to reseat the pistons against the new pads. This allows the brake fuid in the reservoir to go back down so you have room to do the right side. It is even more important to keep an eye on the reservoir level as you do the second side. You have raised the pre-existing level by putting in thicker pads on the first side.

The rear brake pads are still pretty thick so I'll probably wait to change them at 80,000 miles.

The only thing left to do was a test ride. I squeezed the front brake until it was hard and hit the street. Everything was great until I decided to stop fast and used both brakes. I forgot all about the linked brake stuff and of course the rear pedal went to the bottom. A couple of quick pumps and it is back. I am pretty light on the rear brake unless I really need it and from the looks of the pads, that is what is expected by the engineers. The left side was only slightly more worn than the right.

If you have a goldwing and have 40K on it, I'd suggest taking a look at those pads. And the link I included is the cheapest OEM set I could find. Good luck.

Rte 116, April 2007

2007-04-29T21:30:00.000-04:00

If you like nonstop curves take Hwy 116 out of Lake City Tennessee to Brushy Mountain Prison. There are a few hairpins like the one in the picture at the north end but then it turns into lots of curves through some scenic hills. About a 30 mile run. If you add up all the straight parts it would equal maybe 3/4 mile. Fun ride.

Falls Creek Park, Tennessee

2007-04-29T21:15:00.000-04:00

Early spring in Falls Creek Park. From this vantage point, one can survey the whole valley and watch the buzzards float on the updrafts. The location is "Buzzard's Roost" just to the right of Milliken's Overlook on the Park Loop.

Of course, getting there is half the fun. Once you get to the park, there's a chance to meet up with all the people you saw last year and exchange lies about your exploits since you last saw them. That's the other half of the fun. And don't forget the last half, the ride home. (Everyone knows riding a touring bike is greater than the sum of its parts.)

For me the trip to Tennessee meant a 8:00 a.m. start near Ann Arbor and a long haul to Lake City, Tennessee. Along the way the weather held and only light sprinkles cropped up from time to time. On the I-75 leg I fell in behind a Mercedes SLK and made pretty good time.

The Maumee River just south of Toledo was overflowing its banks with tons of sediment from as far away as Fort Wayne. There are some scenic drives if you have time to explore its historic shores.

One break in the monotony of riding the superslab is navigating the section running through Cincinnati. Entering from the north, the traffic becomes more and more congested, often coming to standstill just before the Ohio River bridge. Once on the bridge drivers start jockeying for position for the race up the hill on the Kentucky side. The whole thing resembles a running start at a NASCAR event.

From Cincinnati on I-75 starts to become interesting. The hills and curves give some texture to an otherwise bland trip.

By the time I got to Lake City I was looking forward to a change of pace. I quickly gassed up and headed down Rte. 116. About a mile into the woods and I came upon stopped traffic. After about ten minutes a County Deputy came walking toward us pushing a roller-tape. It was obvious something bad had happened up around the corner. The assumption was confirmed when the first tow truck came by with a smashed cruiser in a trailer. The second tow truck was pulling a red Ford F-150 with major damage to the left front. As we were allowed to proceed I saw short skid marks obviously left by the truck which were all the way over to the right side of the road and ending in a pile of debris and dirt.

It appeared to me the motorcycle had been northbound toward Lake City in a right hand curve. The impact occurred in the oncoming lane indicating the bike had crossed well over the center line before hitting the truck. The bike left no skidmarks nor scrapemarks. Who knows why the wreck happened. Just guessing: the corner was posted with a caution of 25mph and looked like it could be done at 50 or better. From the amount of damage to the truck I'd guess subsantial speed was involved. Anyway, back on the road.

Once clear of the wreck, traffic thinned, then dissappeared. I was alone on a very cool, twisty road for the next 30 or so miles. When you first start to climb into the hills there are several switchbacks that require full attention to avoid winding up like the hapless cruiser rider described earlier.

Route 116 is one of my favorite Tennessee roads due to its good condition, constant turns and hills, and scenic location. It is also one of the least travelled roads in the area. (Bonus)!

This is the one of the few straight sections on the road and one of the few places it is wide enough to pull over.

After winding my way down to Highway62 I headed east and found a Comfort Inn in Oak Ridge. There was a Ruby Tuesday right next door so I settled in for the night.

Saturday I was up early looking forward to the free breakfast bar in the lobby. Apparently so were a few dozen teenage girls. After standing patiently in line for coffee for a while, I gave up and hit the road. It was another beautiful spring day and the temperature was already at 55.

I headed for Dayton to connect with Route 30 over to Pikeville. Between Dayton and Pikeville there is a ridge that provides fantastic motorcyle riding. On the way up I notice something big and dead up ahead. Too big for a deer, no elk around here, maybe a bear? As I passed the carcass I recognized it was a mule. The only mule I've ever seen in Tennessee. A second incongruous sight was a car wash in the middle of nowhere on the top of the pass. I stopped and hosed off a days worth of bugs and continued over and down the other side into Pikesville.

From Pikesville it is a short run to Falls Creek Falls. The Tennessee Lunch Run IV was scheduled for 11:30 so I had some time to look around. The park's namesake falls is one of several in the park that are accessible by foot a short way from the roadways. The long freefall is what sets this site apart from its counterparts.

Motor Cop

2007-01-17T14:22:00.000-05:00

Cool picture of a "motorman" from a flyer. Symbol Arts sent out a magazine insert with this photo.

Let me know if you can ID the rider or the bike, or the Sgt.

January Rain

2007-01-15T17:22:00.000-05:00

The roads are clear and damp. The highways are coated with salt. The news crews are scurrying around in search of broken tree limbs and claiming we "will not believe" the scenes they will show on the evening program.

The reality is, most winters treat us to the beauty of freezing rain storms. More people than usual crash their cars, most just deal with it.

For all the hype and downed power lines, little is changed in the bigger picture. By Spring, the broken twigs and bent fenders will have been forgotten and a new riding season will be with us.In the mean time, motorcyclists will content themselves with visiting computer bulletin boards and perhaps dealing with some minor maintenance issue until Mother Nature decides to change her approach.

If nothing else, the freezing rain forces us to acknowledge a power greater than our own. So far no one (except maybe Al Gore) has figured out how to control the weather. We are faced with the choices of fight, flight, or adapt.

I recommend the latter.I think this is a good time to slow down and admire the art that decorates every twig and blade of grass. Even street signs and our vehicles are wearing their finest winter clothes.

We could choose to fight, but in the end, the windshield will be just as clear by starting the car earlier as by scraping and chipping and cursing our way to visibility.

We could flee, but how would we ever be able to experience the scenes created by freezing rain?

New Years Day, Lansing MI

2007-01-01T22:26:00.000-05:00

Great day for a ride.

Members of the gl1800riders.com group that made the lunch were:
Sid Moen, CJS, MichiganMike, Cakeman48, Mainmouse, 5Ross, ZAT111, Bob VanNess, HiYoSilver, BlueWing & Holly, David & Jan Smith, Rich & Becky, and Radar 52. I probably missed somone but I chalk it up to exhaust fumes and the Chile Deluxe. (Not necessarily related).

Weather was cloudy, light intermittent rain, 36 degrees, damp roads.

VTX

2006-06-25T11:27:00.000-04:00

Pam finally gets the bike she has wanted. VTX 1300R with lots of extras.

A Rainy Visit

2006-05-17T10:41:00.000-04:00

I have a son in the Navy. He flys helicopters in Fallon Nevada. Last winter he decided to outbid everyone on E-bay for a 400 KLX with 1800 miles on it. The problem was it was located in Bloomington Indiana. His solution was to have a friend of a friend who lived in Bloomington Illinois go pick it up and store it til spring arrived. The plan was to come out for a visit and we would ride back crosscountry together in May.

The usual complications set in. There was leave to be arranged, schedule conflicts, his friend got transferred to another state and had to clear the garage suddenly. One thing led to another and Sunday I got a call saying he was in Illinois with the bike in the back of a truck he borrowed in Colorado on his way to Michigan.

His friend Marcus was going to visit friends in Lansing and would drop John in Marshall Michigan so he could continue on the Kawasaki the last 75 or so miles to my house. With a rainstorm circling the area for the past week, I told John I would meet him halfway and escort him back to town.

The first part of the plan went like clockwork. I spotted the bright green Kawasaki just before the rest area we had picked for a meeting place. A quick photo and greeting and we were off, heading east toward a black wall of clouds. It didn't take long for the first sprinkles to start. I pulled under an overpass and offered rain clothes and heavy gloves. A couple of exits later, now in a downpour with lightning flashing, he took me up on the offer.

The open bike at freeway speeds was draining off body heat faster than John could generate it. We took a side road to lower the impact of the rain. I was pretty toasty on the Gold Wing but John was starting to turn a light shade of blue. After what seemed like hours, we finally pulled in to a tiny gas station in Manchester. John was soaked and frozen. A few sips of cocoa and on the road again.

By the time we made it home, another 15 miles away, the last of John's resolve was beginning to fade. I offered him a cold beer or a hot shower and he chose the latter. About half an hour later his estimated core temperature had returned to slightly less than that of an Eskimo Pie.

Monday was more rain so we decided against any long bike trips. An even better decision was to have Marcus bring the truck down and load the bike at our house for the trip west.

Tuesday morning we left early for work just as Marcus pulled in. When we got home the boys and the bike were gone.

I'm glad my son has followed in my footsteps as far as spontaneous travel goes. His visit also gave me a chance to reflect on my own youth in Alaska when my father used to take me on forced marches in the rain, only to kill a moose and commit us to a days worth of misery, cleaning and packing through the dense wet brush of the Chugach Range. This trip finally gave me a chance to pass on this family tradition of torturing sons with the elements.

It was a great visit and Ihope we have more (and warmer days).

Tennessee Lunch Run III

2006-05-10T13:30:00.000-04:00

It was a beautiful April morning. The sun was bright in the east, casting long shadows of our bikes as Frank Carpenter and I pulled out onto Michigan Avenue near US23.

With 200 miles to the first planned stop, we settled in to a fairly innocent pace, just faster than the average traffic speed and allowing an occasional local commuter to draw out radar traps.

I saw the first coyote I’ve ever seen in Michigan about 4 miles after we started. He was on the west side of the freeway, squinting into the sun. 196 miles to go.

Our plan was originally to meet up with Polecat on the south side of Dayton and ride down to Lake City Tennessee. Then on to Falls Creek Falls the next morning. The Cat had bowed out due to family responsibilities so it was up to us to carry on. The ride through Ohio was the same as always – boring. There are great roads in Ohio but I-75 isn’t one of them, at least until you hit Cincinnati.

My low gas indicator lit up just north of Dayton and I decided to go for it. We made it to the Waffle House on the south side of town and topped off the tanks at the gas station on the corner. We hung around the WH for a while, kind of hoping Polecat would drop by but no luck. We pressed on, this time heading for the Bushtec facility just north of Lake City. Frank is toying with the idea of adding more storage capacity. He already has a hitch-mounted storage tray in back. He carries enough tools and food to outfit a Dakar run.

The Bushtec factory is hidden back in the foothills east of I-75 and is stocked with lots of trailers, ready to roll. We got the grand tour and I did my best to talk Frank into adding to his collection of rolling stock.

By 4:00 we were checked in at the Day’s Inn so we took a little trip up to Norris Dam. The weather had warmed from the 43 degrees in Michigan to 69 in Tennessee. We took a few photos and headed down to the old Grist Mill, arriving just as they locked the doors to the museum. We got out some rags and washed the motorcycles in the stream that used to provide energy for grinding grist (whatever that is). After removing several ounces of bug guts we headed back to the Cracker Barrel for some catfish, and then turned in.

The next morning we were up early for free coffee in the lobby. We were to meet RonBien and some of his riding buddies at a café in front of the Lamb’s Inn. The problem was the café had been turned into a Mexican restaurant sometime since my last visit. At 7:30 on the nose Ron’s group appeared. They spotted us in the gas station. Greetings all around, filled tanks, and we were off – to the McDonald’s across the street.

We met Iwing, Ronbien, Jay and Steve on 1500s and Don on a HD. Ron’s group had come up from Pigeon Forge where there was a gold wing Spring Fling rally of some kind. Coincidentally, that’s where John from Bushtec was when we stopped at his store.

We headed out with me in the lead looking for Route 116. I failed to mention to the group to expect a few hairpin uphill turns at the beginning of the ride. We hadn’t gone far when I noticed I was alone. RonBien pulled up and reported one of the 1500s had bailed after getting into the tricky parts. We continued at a leisurely pace all the way to Brushy Mountain Prison. The southern part of 116 is the best, new pavement, a variety of corners. Most of the whole route is 2nd through 4th gear stuff. Once in a while you can use 5th.

From Brushy Mountain Ron took over with his GPS leading the way. Thanks to some tips from Wimpy Honda, Ron had programmed in a route going down Highway 62, 298, and some numbers I can’t remember. It was a great mix of roads, light traffic, and an enjoyable pace.

We got to Falls Creek Falls early and I led the pack to Cane Falls where we stopped for pictures. That was when the great debate about what time it was started. After a while, we agreed we were an hour ahead of schedule and had time to loaf around the park like tourists for a while.

We ran into lots of others milling about smartly as if they really did know what time it was. Anyway, after a while we wound up at the actual Falls Creek Waterfall. Very scenic; the kind of place where time stands still. At least until some fellow travelers told us it was really an hour later than we thought. They were positive because they had the same argument yesterday and were assured by somebody who knows… etc, etc. So It was back to the parking lots – double time – and off the buffet.

As our intrepid group of time travelers arrived at the parking lot it was apparent we had been duped by people with less knowledge of the earth’s rotation than we had. There were dozens of gold wing riders hanging around telling stories in the cool morning sunshine. I couldn’t resist one arcing peg-grind as I pulled in. This got the attention of Yellow Wolf who seemed relieved someone else was willing to risk the wrath of less flamboyant riders.

The parking lot was a Who’s Who of GL1800riders.com members. According to Galute there were 74 gold wings in attendance, by actual count. In addition, there was a bunch of different brands ridden in by friends of invitees.

While meeting and greeting and speculating about the whereabouts of Closet Chef, a low murmuring could be detected, having to do with the buffet being open. In the interest of avoiding being fashionably late, I staked out a chair close to the dessert bar. By now the group I rode in with was scattered all over the place and new acquaintances were the standard.

Stop everything here: I’ve been trying to write this up for a week now and keep getting interrupted by things like near death experiences in the family, actual paying work to do, and the demands of a 9 month old Labrador dog. Here’s what I mean: The dog just got done dragging me away from the keyboard for an emergency round of toy throwing in the back yard. All was going well and Maggie was prancing across the yard with her favorite toy in her mouth when suddenly, she remembered she had to pee. She dropped the toy, took a couple more steps and squatted directly over her new Cabela’s Training Dummy. She turned and looked at the mess, looked at me, and returned to me without the toy. Together we returned to the scene of the crime. We looked at the toy and then looked at each other. Next we looked around at the clear skies and considered the odds of rain. Since my wife was not there to decide what to do, we gave up and I returned to work on the blog while Maggie took up stalking robins.

Keep in mind this is only an example of why this is late – not an excuse.

Anyway, the buffet was a great success. The waitresses kept busy refilling glasses, the cooks kept busy re-supplying the buffet, and the rest of us kept busy telling tall stories about what great adventures we had encountered en route to the Lunch.

In the middle of everything, Closet Chef himself showed up. I don’t know if he even got to eat because he was busy greeting everybody and handing out chances to win door prizes, all the while enduring a steady invocation of “Girly-Man” remarks. (For those who don’t know, CC is behind this get-together and last year wussed out because of cold weather).

As the lunch wound down, attendees gradually migrated back out to the parking lot and laid hasty plans about which way to go next. Lots of different groups headed in all directions. Before the meeting broke up, Closet Chef put all the entries in a bag and held a drawing for fabulous prizes.

The Tennessee Lunch Run III was finally over. Everybody there had a great time. There were no injuries and no arrests. Thanks CC!

The end of the lunch get-together was the beginning of another adventure. About 18 of us decided to run down the Cherahola Skyway on the way to Deals Gap, then back to Madisonville for the night. Yellow Wolf and Galute set the pace and showed us the way to our destination. The Cherahola is made for gl1800s. Great curves with lots of Dogwood and Wisteria decorating the course. At one point we came up behind 5 riders on cruisers. They rode very deliberately and seemed consumed by uniformity. The speed never varied. Neither did their relative position. They all wore black helmets, black clothes, and dark expressions. After a few miles it became apparent they either didn’t notice the herd of gold wings behind them or didn’t care, so we made our way around them. I was struck by the contrast between these serious souls and our merry group of bikers on responsive, brightly colored scoots, laughing and waving as we listened to Steppenwolf on our xm radios and enjoyed the ride at a different pace.

Once again, the road became a motorcycle road. Swooping into the corners and powering out the other side, setting up for the next corner and the next. Motorcycling the way it was intended. Along the way we stopped at a turnout and took some pictures. It was here one of our group smoked his rear tire for about 40 feet while waiting for the rest of our group to arrive. The sight of that many touring bikes lined up on the Skyway would make a good ad for Honda.

Back on the road, it didn’t take long for another adventure to occur. This one wasn’t quite as upbeat as the rest of the trip. With Yellow Wolf in the lead, TonyB took up the next position and I fell into the number three slot. Suffice to say those other two can ride. I soon found myself exceeding the suspension limits of my bike. As usual, I was running with my suspension set on soft. I love the smell of grinding engine guards and melting boot sole as much as the next guy but decided discretion was the better part of staying right side up. It turned out to be a good call. My plan called for charging the corners and using lots of brake prior to committing to the curve. This put me about 40 feet behind TonyB when the pavement rose up in a sharp right-hander and pulled him to the ground.

Tony put on a spectacular show. He stayed on the bike all the way to guard rail where the laws of physics required him to launch over the bars and windshield. The steel on the right side of the Honda left a shower of sparks that would make the Gruccis proud. I saw him stand as I stopped downstream of the debris fan. With Tony on his feet, I hurried back to the uphill side of the corner to flag down approaching traffic. Yellow Wolf Was back in seconds and other riders set up traffic control downhill from the wreck and others lent moral support and assistance. Tony’s bike was un-drivable with the engine puking hot oil all over the place. Apparently a highway peg mount made its way into the right side case.

(Safety tip: When those little acorn nuts on the bottoms of the stock pegs are gone along with half of the metal part of the peg itself it might be a good time to replace them so you’ll have some early warning of critical lean angle).

In typical supportive fashion, as soon as it was determined Tony would survive, the bidding started for his I-way GPS. When all the dust settled, the ride went on. Snoppy stayed behind to wait for the tow truck (and police) and the rest of us beat it for Deals Gap.

We got to the store just after it closed. Luckily Yellow Wolf is in cahoots with the owners and conned the proprietor into switching on the pump long enough to gas up the one cruiser that was in our party.

It was dusk as we pulled out onto the Dragon. Yellow Wolf in the lead as usual, and this time it was me in the unlucky #2 position. It took about 3 turns for YW to disappear into the shadows. With Dice Pilot and Galute pushing me, I did the best I could to set a respectable pace on my first run of the famous road. All I can say is we survived and it was a fun ride. (At least for me). Once we came out near the lake I noticed it was getting pretty dark, my fuel gauge was showing about one click above empty and I had no idea which way or how far the nearest town was. I motioned for Dice Pilot to take the lead and felt reassured that we were all getting the same mileage. Then I remembered I had skipped topping off my tank at the last gas stop. Oh well, Galute was still behind me. Until he passed. There were still a dozen or so wings behind us somewhere – unless they took a different route after the Gap.

About half an hour later we could see occasional lights. We were soon pulling up to the pumps of a well-lit gas station on the outskirts of Madisonville Tennessee. From there it was a short ride to our hotel. Except for Dice Pilot. He had a couple hundred more miles to do that night so he could be home in time for an event his son was involved in the next morning.

At the hotel, we took stock of the survivors. Frank Carpenter had bailed out before the Cherahola with a cramped hand and headed straight for the hotel. TonyB we know about. Snoppy was waiting out in the boondocks with Tony. Dice Pilot had beat feet back to his house. So 13 of us loitered around the hotel parking lot spinning yarns about past rides and today’s events. After a while Snoppy arrived on is ’06 with Tony on the back seat. Just to make sure Tony wouldn’t be traumatized by his earlier dismount; Snoppy rode peg to peg through the Gap in the pitch dark to restore his confidence. You know, “Get back on the horse” and all that rot. Riders gradually disappeared into motel rooms without any concrete plans for the next day and that was fine.

Sunday dawned with clouds to the west and reports of potential bad weather on the television. Frank and I conferred with experts and decided to head for the Blue Ridge Parkway via the Tail of the Dragon. We said goodbye to Closet Chef and a bunch of other riders and set out with Snoppy (and Tony), and Yellow Wolf toward Fontana Dam. There had been high winds during the night and the Tail of the Dragon was littered with green leaves, twigs and bits of limbs. Still, riding in daylight was even more fun than the previous night’s experience.

We said goodbye to YW, Snoppy, and TonyB at the Gap Store. After buying the mandatory souvenirs, Frank and I took off down highway 28, an excellent road toward Tellico Plains and Cherokee, North Carolina. The southern entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway is littered with the detritus of failed entrepreneurs. Blocks of rusty lawn tractors followed by blocks of what appear to be permanent yard sales welcome visitors to the area.

A small town just inside the Cherokee Reservation was littered with faux Indian names on all the businesses. The Wig-Wam motel, the Tomahawk Pawn Shop, The Running Brave Car Wash come to mind. (11,000 years worth of deceased Cherokees must be quietly spinning in their graves). I wish I had the foresight to open the “Medicine Man Tattoo Emporium” since there was some sort of Harley Davidson rally going on. There were about a thousand black motorcycles in attendance, each rider eager to race his engine as Frank and I rode by. I made it a point to smile and nod a lot but got little response form the bleach blond passengers and no eye contact from the riders. I just know these guys were having a ball, but you would never know it from the looks on their faces.

Once we got through the traffic jam, we were only a few minutes from the Parkway. The traffic was sparse and the weather and road were perfect. Each turnout was more spectacular than the last. We stopped briefly and often to look down into the valleys and enjoy the blue skies clear air. Diving into the blackness of the countless tunnels gave the headlights a real test. If it hadn’t been for reflectors on the centerline, navigation would have been real iffy. The time slipped away too quickly and we were soon at Ashville, once again in search of a gas station.

From Asheville we set our sights on a semi-direct route back to Detroit Metro. US-23 was the route. We headed north, again in light traffic, from North Carolina, through Virginia and into southern Ohio. US-23 is built to Interstate standards with 4 lane divided highways, high speed ramps, good signage and for some reason a 55 mph speed limit. Away from the small towns we rarely saw another car. We made good time on the 23 until after a right hand sweeper over a bridge. The bridge was striped with dozens of tar snakes which I barely noticed on my relatively new Metzlers. Frank on the other hand wanted to pull in at the next exit to check his tire pressure. He experienced enough slip to make him think he had a flat. We chalked it up to worn tread and continued on to Portsmouth Ohio for the night.

The ride across Ohio Monday was uneventful and we got home in the early afternoon. All in all, it was another outstanding ride. Something over 1600 miles, much of which was through the best motorcycle roads in the country. Having the company of people who knew the area like Galute, Snoppy, Yellow Wolf, and others made for excellent use of time. Closet Chef started something that has become a real event. It was good seeing so many familiar faces. Be careful out there.

New Year's Ride in Michigan

2006-01-01T16:04:00.000-05:00

Frank Carpenter (middle of picture) decided January 1st would be a good time to go for a motorcycle ride. So he invited everyone on the bulletin board to meet at Whitmore Lake Tavern in SE Michigan at 1:00 pm.
The attendance was more than I expected and nobody (with the possible exception of CJS) seemed any worse for wear from the previous night's events.
All together there were about 15 attendees. Among the brave souls were Frank, Kathy, and Jacob (HiYoSilver), ZAT111 and Mrs. ZAT111, 5Ross, YellowYolk, Tam6, Rich and Becky, CJS, Betthe, and others.
The weather was a balmy 37 degrees and the highways were damp but not slippery. The only wheel spin was leaving the scene of the obligatory snow picture above.
It was good to see a bunch of like-minded bikers in the off season. It was also good to communicate by voice for a change as opposed to the usual keyboard method.
I actually heard a discussion of oil. Along with a lot of opinions on various GPS units, and even some haphazard planning to attend CatsCade and the Tennessee Lunch Run. The 5Ross clan from Logansport Indiana got the furtherst to attend award (free ketchup for the fries). Closet Chef and Bulldog got honorable mention in the "Too much of a wuss to ride in the snow" category.
All in all everyone seemed to have a good time and a chance to put some new faces with names. Now the trick will be to see how many are remembered by the next meeting.
It was good to see everyone. Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas!

2005-12-12T10:50:00.000-05:00

Harrison Arkansas Gathering

2005-10-11T17:04:00.000-04:00

Besides the obvious(1), there are a couple of major differences between the upper Midwest and Arkansas. In Michohindiainois, there are vast cultivated lands with an occasional tree. In Arkansas, there are vast forests of trees and occasional cultivated field.

(1)Armadillos

More importantly, there are few if any straight roads in the Harrison area. This presents an ideal environment for motorcyclists and apparently quite a challenge for our four-wheeled friends. On the way out of town on Sunday, we saw two overturned cars (along with loaded ambulances) within the first 30 miles.

This is not to say we are immune from mishap. When Frank Carpenter and I pulled in after an 800+ mile ride from Detroit, we spotted one of our own wrapped up like a mummy. Frank hoped out loud there had been a terrible ladder accident, but no such luck. It seems a boulder somehow sucked a perfectly good GL1800 out of a corner on Route 7 and destroyed the machine and part of our intrepid board member. At least he was ambulatory and could laugh about it. (I suspect morphine).

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

It all started in the usual way. I had been following the plans to meet in Harrison, AR on the gl1800riders board for the better part of a year. A few days before the event, my calendar looked clear so I decided to broach the subject with my wife. In spite of several major projects coming due in the following week, she insisted I go. What a woman!

My old riding buddy, Frank Carpenter (HiYoSilver), had emailed wanting to know if I was going. We arranged to meet at the Zeeb Road exit off I-94 near Ann Arbor and run straight through to Harrison on Friday. The weather was in the 80s during the week, so naturally by the time we hooked up at 0700 Friday morning, the temp gauge was showing a solid 38 degrees. We paused at the gas station to put on all the extra clothes we could find and headed west.

Traffic was light in the going away lanes and we made good time in spite of the unfriendly temperatures. Eventually the darkness had to give way to morning light. Then in the rearview mirror the bright orange edge of the sun appeared somewhere east of Detroit. Soon the center of our solar system was casting long shadows on the highway ahead of us. As we passed stands of trees, the new sunlight struck deep into the woods, lighting parts of the earth usually unnoticed under the thick canopy of leaves.

Next to the feeling of powering through a perfect sweeper, I think nature’s splendor is the second most important reason to ride.

The sun warmed our backs, and then our left sides as we turned south toward Indianapolis. The few extra degrees were appreciated. And we were headed southwest in the general direction of Mexico and eternal summer. The rest of the trip down was uneventful. The only close call was when I was ahead of Frank (and his GPS) in St. Louis, snapping pictures of the Gateway Arch, and almost missed an exit. Luckily, I heard his horn in time to cut back across the paint and onto highway 55.

With 12 hours of superslab behind us, we arrived at Springfield Missouri and turned south once more for the last leg into Harrison. Highway 65 is a secondary road, but it's built on the roadbed of a future freeway. It runs straight as an arrow toward the Antarctica for a good 40 miles before dissolving into a series of excellent high speed sweepers leading to Arkansas.

Having collected a time zone on the way out, it was approaching 7:00 PM by the time we snuck across the last state line of the day. We were treated to a beautiful sunset to the west and wispy golden clouds hung high above our destination, urging us toward well earned rest.

Frank had been leading the way most of the way down and as darkness finally arrived, he motioned for me to pass as we approached some ess turns. The pavement was smooth and there was a certain feeling of lightness in anticipation of getting off the bike. Perfect conditions for exercising the suspension and new set of Metzlers I had installed the day before.

A few minutes later we were in downtown Harrison (if there is a downtown) and Frank was pointing to a “Catfish restaurant” as we searched for the Holiday Inn. The GPS led us home and it was good to see a parking lot filled with GL1800s and a number bench riders trying out their latest stories. Stiff and cold, I still couldn’t resist an attempt at a grand entrance. I put on all my blue LED lights and with rock and roll station 6 on the XM, executed a neat u-turn up and into the covered hotel entrance. I figured it would draw attention if I made it or if I tipped over like that guy on Laugh-In. Either way, I was glad to be done for the day.

As Frank and I disembarked, several riders greeted us. I felt exactly like I did forty years ago when my ship pulled into port after a long deployment (except there were no hippies spitting at me and yelling about killing babies).

After checking in and heading back up the road for some “catfish,” I started to get my land legs back and the buzzing in my head started to die down. Maybe I should get headsets.

From Friday night to Sunday morning, we met up with a lot of folks from the board, some of whom had been to CatsCade last spring or various other informal gatherings.

Saturday morning, Frank and I joined a small group headed south. We visited roads numbered 65, 74, 123, 16, and 23. Each of the sections has its own attractions. 123 was especially interesting with its narrow lanes and steep drop-offs. We hit a short stretch of construction where flagmen stopped us on freshly graded dirt that fell away into a wooded abyss that was probably several hundred feet down. I could imagine the skeleton of a hapless traveler still behind the wheel of his ’28 Buick, never discovered in the thick jungle that covered decades of roadside relics and litter.

Traffic was light and we saw a number of other riders on the way up 23 where we stopped for gas. I mentioned to Frank that his brake lights were stuck in the on mode. Beating on the brake light switches with metal instruments didn’t seem to help, so we opted to drop out of the pack and head back to Harrison for repairs. Naturally, the Honda shop was about to close as we arrived and the mechanic wasn’t sure what the problem was, so we were on our own.

After several hours of dissecting various hydraulic, electrical, and mechanical systems, we resorted to the unthinkable and asked for advice. Luckily, Tom Finch was there with his cell phone. Surrounded by tire kickers and a sprinkling of exotic beverages, the analysis was joined by Fred Harmon via long distance. Before long the source of the annoyance was traced to a bad connection under the rear fender. An aftermarket brake/running light switch for the spoiler was the culprit. Wires were separated and all was well.

About 5:30, all the shade tree mechanics took a break to attend the only organized portion of the get-together. Dinner at a nearby steak house was well attended with the banquet room filled and some attendees seated out in the main hall. Our hosts, John McCaskill and Randy Brown made everyone welcome and handed out more door prizes than I’ve ever seen. The handful who did not win one of the prizes were given a kickstand pad provided by Anpac Insurance, one of the event sponsors.

Other vendors/sponsors included:

Gene's Gallery Goldwing accessories and more
ProCycle Springfield Missouri Honda Dealer
Escapade Trailers Motorcycle Trailers
Honda Direct Line Great parts and motorcycle dealer-great site.
Cycle Care Great products to keep your ride clean
Electrical Connection Lights, parts, and accessories for your bike
Bushtec Trailers Motorcycle trailers
Garmin Maker of GPS systems
Shirtznthingz Joe's shirts for any occasion

After a great day of exploring back roads and camaraderie, we decided to take a leisurely two day trip back to Detroit using parts of State Route 66 and other colorful roads until we were forced back onto the freeways for the final run. It was a good plan and we enjoyed some great riding across the northern tier of Bill Clinton’s home state. We went north a little and took 160 east through Missouri.

Some of these roads qualify as “must see” in my opinion. A lot of them are well cleared, allowing for sport riding. Much of the area is older but well maintained road edged by old growth hardwoods whose limbs sometimes cover the entire road. Scenic river access and pullouts are available too. It seems like people down there don’t like to get rid of their old cars. There’s plenty of interesting iron mixed in with the small herds of cattle along the roads.

We bypassed St. Louis and took 57 north to Effingham, Illinois for a layover. Monday morning greeted us with clouds and drizzle and stayed that way the rest of the day. By now, home was calling loudly. It felt good to be back and to recall the good times and good friends from another motorcycle tour through the Midwest.

2005-09-30T16:27:00.000-04:00

No vests!

Not Your Daddy's Goldwing

2005-09-25T11:11:00.000-04:00

Here's some links to short videos of "FUSE" and "Yellow Wolf" riding Deals Gap. http://media.putfile.com/Riding-the-Dragon-Part-One
http://media.putfile.com/Riding-the-Dragon-Part-Two Don't forget to turn up the sound... Wings are pretty quiet til the corners touch down.

I had the pleasure of following Yellow Wolf through Route 116 in Eastern Tennessee this summer.

The picture shows FUSE following YW. If you like roller coasters and acceleration, you'd love riding with these characters.

Rising cost of gas

2005-09-01T22:23:00.000-04:00

Well, the cost of gas finally got our attention. The transmission was slipping on the Trailblazer and this one looked like it would do what we want, so...

In case you don't recognizize it, its a Chev, HHR, 2LT. Supposed to get 30mpg highway. We have our fingers crossed. Sure has a cool sound system and quiet smooth ride.

Michigan's "Tunnel of Trees" Rte. 119

2005-08-28T18:19:00.000-04:00

They call this a road but I think "lane" might be a more appropriate term. A ride down this lane brings you in close proximity to every type of tree that grows in NW Michigan. You also get treated to beautiful views of Lake Michigan, sand dunes, beaches and a very interesting paved trail with little other traffic, even on a Sunday.

This picture gives you an idea of how wide the lane is. Its 20 or so miles of narrow, unmarked track with lots of blind corners and hidden driveways. I'l post a couple more pictures later. I wish I would have snapped some of the hairpin (Yes Michiganders, I said hairpin) turns.

Thanks CJS for the recommendation of this ride.

I'm back with the rest of the story:

There’s a mostly invisible line that wraps around Earth, halfway between the equator and the North Pole. I crossed the 45th parallel twice yesterday while traveling to and from the top of Lower Michigan.

Sunday morning was crystal clear and pretty comfortable as far as temperature goes. It was about 4:00 a.m. when I decided to take a little spin on the Goldwing. I figured it would get warmer as daylight approached so I took off with just a t-shirt and armored jacket with liner. I did wear my chaps, which turned out to be a good call.

I started from the southeast part of the state, heading for the opposite corner. Since it was dark out and I couldn’t see anything anyway, I decided to stay on the freeway at least for a while. I headed more or less north. The moon was a sliver over my right shoulder, surrounded by bright stars. I knew the weather would hold since the bottom part of the moon was showing, holding in all the rain. (At least that was what my father told me when I was a little kid).

As a late sleeper, I had forgotten how long the darkness lingered this time of year. As the first hour eroded away, I was starting to wonder.

The traffic was light and I decided it would be a good time to rack up a few quick miles since I intended to meander around slowly later in the day. I noticed some weird signs in the construction zones and stopped for a picture. Back on the road, I set the cruise well inside my headlight range and just low enough to make a warning more likely than a ticket if I busted somebody’s radar.

When US-23 turned into I-75 Flint came into view and just as quickly faded into the darkness behind me. I did pass a tow truck with a lot of extra running lights on it. I flipped on by blue LEDs and he flashed all his lights in response. I imagined he was going to pick up the remains of somebody’s Saturday night.

As I passed Bay City (remember the Bay City Rollers?) the temp dropped from 61 to 52 in the space of about ¼ mile. I was already wearing all the clothes I brought so it was time to shiver for a while. The tension was causing pain in my shoulders and I had to concentrate on relaxing, if such a thing is possible. Saginaw Bay was a couple of miles off to my right and I knew the temperature might drop, but I hadn’t anticipated how much.

Eventually, the sun decided to slowly peel back one edge of the night sky. The change was visible to the east as the horizon let in the slightest hint of daylight. Then the sky turned a different shade almost every minute with purple, pink, and finally every shade of blue imaginable, then at last the bright yellow sun with its warmth which I anxiously anticipated.

Now, in the daylight, my anxiety about stray deer began to subside and I started thinking about sleep. About then, I crossed the mythical 45th parallel for the first time today. As soon as I saw the sign, I was hit with the aroma of fresh sawdust. There must be a lumber mill nearby. It reminded me of my youth in Alaska. I was raised on a homestead in the woods and my father was constantly building, repairing, or creating something made of wood. He left piles of wood scraps and sawdust in his wake and it usually fell to me to sweep it up. I hated sawdust at the time but now it seems like an old friend I haven’t seen for a while.

I stuck to the freeway all the way to Mackinaw City and rode directly down to the Straits below the fabled “Mighty Mac,” bridge to the Upper Peninsula. I took a few snapshots while a seagull took the opportunity to leave his calling card on my back seat. If that was an intentional shot, we could use him on our side.

That reminded me of an old joke about the bald guy who had a seagull take a dump on his head. His buddy asked “Do you want me to get you some toilet paper?” the bald guy replies “Nah, that seagull will be long gone before you could get back.”

I decided to let it air dry and remove it later. As it turned out, I didn’t have to. I forgot and laid my jacket on it when I stopped at the Big Boy for coffee and that pretty much took care of it.

Prior to stopping for coffee, I took a turn around the town and ran across a group of travelers on Goldwings getting ready to hit the road. They were from New York or New Jersey and were heading to the Badlands. Some of them were members of gl1800riders.com but I didn’t get their handles. I couldn’t quite make out what they said due to several hours of XM set at 20 on the way up.

I got general directions for Route 119 from the waitress at the little restaurant and headed west. I should have brought a map. I considered crossing the Mac but figured – been there, done that.
The directions took me into a snooty neighborhood with lots of signs saying “local traffic only.” I decided to follow my infallible instincts and was soon at the end of a dirt road somewhere along the east shore of Lake Michigan. The water puddles and greasy mud from the previous night’s rain made for an interesting turn-around.

After finding pavement again, I kept taking right turns until I found a sign that said 119. This is the road CJS mentioned a while back. He found it on his way back from the Midnight Ride to St. Ignore. His description of the area intrigued me. It turned out to be just as he had described.

I expected to see tons of bikes since it was a beautiful Sunday. Not a single one. I did see a bunch parked at a little inn called Legs which features genuine Polish fare. See http://www.legsinn.com/news_hunts1.html for some interesting background on this place.

I forgot to mention there were Corvettes all over the place in Mackinaw City. Must have been some kind of car show or swap meet. When I got there, Corvettes were heading out in all directions. I came across a blue one while traveling south on 119 and we swapped positions several times, as I stopped often to take pictures.

I don’t know if there is an official start to 119 but if there is, it is probably Cross Village. As soon as you leave town, the road narrows and trees form a canopy over miles of winding road. I use the term road loosely. The trail is wider than most bike paths, but not much. Large and small trees line both sides of the lane, some dangerously close to the pavement. There is no paint on the centerline, or shoulders. Approaching cars slow and pull to the right. I doubt if some portions of the road are wider than 18 feet.

All along the way, you are treated to views of the deep blue Lake Michigan waters. Where the water is shallow, a green color takes over. The road winds in and out along bluffs, maybe 100 feet above the water line. Most of the way is buffered from the cliff by an assortment of trees. There are many varieties of firs as well as birch, poplar, willow, various oaks, maples and others too numerous to mention. There are many places to pull onto the grass unless you’re in a car. In a car, your best bet is to stop along one of the short straight-aways for photos.

When riding the trail, watch for debris on the corners. Just when you think you have the rhythm figured out, a tight corner appears that is covered in sand. The whole area is sand just beneath a thin layer of topsoil. The other surprise is the couple of creeks you encounter. With the tunnel effect and the constant turns, it’s hard to see very far ahead. Entering one left-hander, I found a tighter than anticipated rising, then falling turn. Of course the apex contained an oncoming nine passenger van. The road suddenly dropped away to the bottom of a little draw with a hairpin turn at the bottom and a series of quick twists up the other side.

The encounter with the van was exciting, given the width of the road and fact that a hard turning Goldwing takes up a lot of width already. I’d estimate my windshield and left grip were well within two feet of the van. At the time it felt like two inches. I got a chance to practice changing my line, mid-turn. The divot I took out of the macadam was rivaled by the one left in the seat. Back to acting my age I guess.

The road is fun to ride but should be considered a scenic ride as opposed to “spirited.” Too many driveways, bicycles, and blind corners to get carried away.

Once you think you have seen all the beautiful vistas you can stand, you arrive at Harbor Springs with its stately old houses, church steeples and its port, filled with sailboats and other yachts.

A little farther south, you pass through Petosky with its lakefront park and more grand old houses. Route 119 is gone and a modern but still scenic stretch of road leads south past countless little stands where locals sell cherries and all manner of fresh produce. Charlevoix, Eastport, and Elk Rapids all display attractive roadside conveniences designed to separate the traveler from his funds. I managed the trip without purchasing a single piece of driftwood.

The scenic drive ended in Traverse City and it was time to slog back through oceans of corn and soy bean fields. I was back in the Michigan I know. I angled southeast on 115 for a while, then cut south. I was tempted to stop at the casino in Mt. Pleasant, but soldiered on. I made good time all the way to Lansing, in spite of heavy traffic. I-96 was a piece of cake until everything came to a stop. A couple of miles at a crawl and I got to look at a SUV and its upside down trailer in a ditch. Nothing obstructing anything on the roadway, but my fellow travelers couldn’t bear to miss the free show. Back under way, I took a shortcut through Pinckney and Hell and snuck back into the garage before 5:00 pm with an extra 837 miles on the clock.

I sure wish Route 119 was a little closer. Don’t miss it if you’re ever in the neighborhood.

2005-08-18T13:34:00.000-04:00

17 minute wait for U.S. Customs

Forest, Ontario

2005-08-14T22:13:00.000-04:00

It was a great day to be riding in Ontario. Eight of us on 7 bikes got through Customs at the Blue Water Bridge with very little delay. Pete took the lead since he: A-is a transplanted Canadian, and B-seemed to know which way to go to get to Stefanik's house. This turned out to be not entirely accurate, as he homed in on the wrong address when we were within a few blocks of our goal.

The confusion was short-lived as Mike L. came to the rescue. He and his wife zoomed ahead with the rest of us following. Mike turned confidently into Don's yard and around some silos where he parked. A while later we found out he was just looking for a wide spot to turn around when he spotted Don's Amsoil sign.

I have come to expect this sort of behavior among bikers. It used to be called falling in it and coming up smelling like a rose. Any way you look at it, we looked good thanks to Mike, and that's all that counts.

Don came out to greet us and one by one, his family joined us. I got out my note pad and dutifully wrote down everyone's name as they arrived, along with their screen name and home town. I maintained this log through out the day since I have been so bad at remembering names in previous blog entries. Needless to say, I made it to my garage before realizing I had left the note pad on one of the picnic tables.

I mentioned the Stefanik family's hospitality in an earlier entry but I'll say thanks again here in case they are reading this. They have a lot of good friends, but with a family like theirs the friends are just a bonus.

As the day wore on, more and more people arrived. At about 3:00 or so Bulldog and Meesh rolled in along with Wild Bill Moore and his wife (whose name is on the note pad - sorry). Before them, Doug Holman who goes by Tenpinarm came in from Rochester. We had one attendee from Dallas; Peter who goes by Slovak on the boards. Peter didn't ride as far as it seems. He has been working in Lansing and had a fairly short jaunt to meet us. Interestingly, he couldn't stay for dinner, as he is leaving for Anchorage on Sunday. The guy gets around.

The motorcycle group and the non-cyclists were cordial and even friendly. There were even a few worthwhile conversations. But inevitably, the groups sort of settled in among their peers and enjoyed the company and conversations unique to their experience.

Polecat and I planned ahead and started putting a dent in the beer supply early in the day. I was at a disadvantage, planning to return home that evening. Steve was better prepared than I. He took over the LaBatt duties since he intended to camp out on the farm.

Everybody had a great time. Don was spread pretty thin with so many guests to attend to. But now he is retired, maybe he can make more of the events. Accessories were assessed, tires were critiqued, lies were told, tentative plans for the next meet were laid. In short, it was a perfect Saturday. To top it all off, two catering trucks full of goodies arrived and everyone had a feast that rivaled a Thanksgiving dinner at the in-laws.

All good things must come to a middle, then end. CJS was the first to voice what we all knew had to happen. It was time to go. One by one others saddled up. Like a dustbunny, our little group grew until five bikes were ready to head west into the sunset.

Now I like Canadians, usually better than U.S. people. But I have to wonder about some of their traffic engineers. On the way back, we took a side road south. As we approached 402, there was a sign directing us to turn left before we reached the highway in order to head west. Huh? I always thought the "Michigan U-turns" were inspired by Satan. This is the craziest way to enter a highway I've seen yet. To quote my old friend Bill Dennis: "I been to 14 axle greasins, four goat ropes, and a County Fair, but I ain't never seen nuthin like that!"

The rest of the trip to Sarnia was uneventful. It cost us 50 cents more to leave Canada than to get in. We waited in line 17 minutes for the privelege. Orange Crush was still leading and paid for everybody when he went through. So all we had to do was convince the guard we weren't terrorists or carrying any Bing cherries. That reminds me. I owe Pete $2.00. Pete, if you're reading this, remind me when you see me!

Once back in the States, the trip was almost over. Frank and I kept going south on 94 while Orange Crush, CJS, and Mike L. headed west on 69. Frank and I kicked it up a notch on the way south. 80 to 85 and still getting passed from time to time. We took 696 west and Frank dropped off at I-75 to head back north to his place. I ratcheted it up a little more to play tag with a Porsche Carrera and later, some type of sport bike whose rider gave me a thumbs up when I broke off for my exit to M-14.

After skirting a the edges of a few rain clouds I made it home and began searching for my carefully compiled name list. When that was over, I was welcomed home by my beautiful wife. the end to a perfect day for a Gold Wing rider.

Don Stefanik's BBQ

2005-08-14T18:29:00.000-04:00

Friday the 13th came on a Saturday this month. It was also the date chosen to celebrate Don Stefanik’s retirement.

Don and his wife Carole invited friends, family, business associates and members of the motorcycle community to join them in Forest, Ontario to kick off the next career move.

Don is a guy who prepares for the future. All this time, while growing food in Canada’s banana belt, he was building an Amsoil business on the side. Like Bulldog, his southern neighbor, Don plans to run a business from home and let others pick up the stresses of cultivating the land.

From my perspective, Don’s transition from farming gave me an opportunity to explore some new roads on the Goldwing, meet up with fellow riders, including Don, and let’s not forget – free food!

The farm on Fuller Road is a modern operation with acres of Soy Beans maturing in the fields along with the associated equipment and storage facilities. I’m agriculturally challenged, but to me this year’s crop looked healthy and substantial.

In speaking with Don’s son-in-law I learned a little about how much land it takes to produce a load of soy beans. When you add in fickle weather and other variables I am amazed anyone is willing to grow crops for a living. The Stefanik family seems to have mastered the technique and I’m sure will be sorely missed in the market.

Speaking of the Stefanik family, a nicer group of folks would be hard to find. I had the privilege of meeting three generations and they all were gracious and hospitable. Even little Joshua (maybe 1 year old?) did his part by smiling through the entire event. He didn’t have much to add by way of conversation, but contributed to the spirits of all he encountered.

On the way up to Forest I caught up with six other riders at the McDonalds in Port Huron. After the usual road construction and detours in downtown Detroit I was running a little late and was glad to see Polecat arrive about five minutes after me. Come to think of it he was running late the last time I met up with him in Dayton Ohio en route to Tennessee.

The Michigan contingent consisted of Mike L. and his wife Sherry, Orange Crush, HiYoSilver, Slovak, CJS, and me. With Polecat in tow, we headed for the border.

I managed to snap a few other pictures and will post a few more here when I have time.

Goodbye Columbus!

2005-08-01T16:03:00.000-04:00

Ohio curves...who knew?

The last weekend of July was the Honda Homecoming near Marysville. The hotel rooms in the immediate area were spoken for and as a notorious last minute planner, I wound up staying on the west side of Columbus.

When I checked in to the Fairfield Inn, I met Bernie Keller, a H-D dealer from Gaithersburg, MD. He had athe biker's tan that I recongnized when I saw him in the lobby. He was on his way home from a business trip that had taken him to the Black Hills area. He had put in some long hours crossing the country on his Harley the last few days. He invited me to visit Rockville Harley-Davidson if I was in the area. Nice guy. I'll keep his card in case I get over that way.

The Marysville factory turns into Mecca for Honda motorcycles for a few days, accompanied by the red carpet treatment from surrounding towns. The crowds and organized events are great. Meeting old friends and making new ones is always fun too. The part I have passed up in previous years is exploring the countryside nearby.

Until last week, my picture of Ohio has been one of cornfields and more cornfields. Roads laid out along ancient section lines. Roads with as much character as oatmeal. On this trip though, I actually consulted the handout material from Honda and set out to see what was there.

I had the best intentions of getting up early Saturday and going on the Ride For Kids but that didn't quite work out. I did see Bernie again. He and his girlfriend were heading across the parking to to the Cracker Barrel. We wished each other good riding and parted ways.

I dug the map out of the trunk and found the route with the most wiggly lines. The route was marked in gold highlighter and was located about 45 mile east of me, straight across Columbus.

Saturday morning, the traffic was light and the weather was in the mid 70s. I headed east on 70 and was admiring the dozen or so skyscrapers off to my left when someone in the exit lane changed his mind. He suddenly crossed the solid white line into my lane. Discretion being the better part of valor, I nailed the gas and swerved left, then back right, using all the power and handling the Wing is known for to avoid a shoving match with a Ford Explorer. Then I resumed the speed limit (or just a little over) and watched my mirrors as the careless driver slunk farther back to avoid my gaze.

I had skipped coffee this morning, but now, fully awake, I began to more fully appreciate my surroundings.

About the time I started thinking I had missed my exit, the turnoff for Thornville appeared. As soon as I started south past Buckeye Lake, the road actually dipped down into a swale. I was so suprised, I stopped for a picture. The road curved down around to the right, then straightened and flattened again. "That didn't last long" I thought.

I got to the first turn at 204, and instead of going east, turned west to visit the little town of Thornville. Very picturesque. A quiet little town on a hill surrounded by rich green farmland.

After retracing my track, I headed east on 204. Another suprise. The road was like a roller coaster. I could feel the suspension stretching to the limits at each crest. I also learned to approach these hills with caution because of the immediate turn on the other side. Another interesting observation is how much undercarriage on an approaching pickup is visible when you both arrive on top at about the same time.

My third surprise followed quickly. Just as I rounded off a hard right hand corner, I noticed an old lady walking a dog in a field to my left. She raised her hand and waved a friendly greeting. It wasn't the only wave of the day. I was amazed at the friendliness of the people in the area.

I followed the backroads, generally east through tiny towns, past farms and woodlands, even to an Industrial Sand mine probably from the Paleozoic Period. (The sand, not the mine). I had just cleared a series of twisties and headed for a straight stretch when I noticed big rusty buckets traveling back and forth on cables above the road. I made a turn into a driveway which was covered with powdery sand. Very slick. After wallowing back to pavement I snapped a picture of the operation and what passes for a town in the background.

Back on track, I passed several interesting sideroads that beckoned with tree tunnels and sharply rising turns. I figured with my E-Trex for a guide, and none of the roads showing, I should keep following the signposts and stay on the gold highlighted trail.

I am lucky in that all my life I have wanted to know what lies around the next corner. The course laid out by Honda didn't dissappoint. Dozens of blind hills and turns kept me guessing and kept my speed in check as well.

Finally I reached a crossroads somewhere south of Zanesville and stopped to refer to the map. A fellow who had been sitting on his porch came trotting up to make sure I found the right road. I was starting to get used to Buckeye hospitality. After assurances the unmarked road heading north was highway 22, I was off again.

Zanesville got in my way for a while. I was looking for 146 east and after a few tries, returned south to where I had passed a couple of hundred bikers milling around a blocked off street. I drove the only Honda in sight into the middle of the event and asked what was up. It turned out to be a Viet Nam Veteran's ride. I fit the participation requirements, but didn't feel like my current "uniform" fit in. There were enough "do-rags" present to build a weeks worth of RoseAnne Barr's drawers.

I finally found someone who knew the area and headed out once again. Up to this point, the only bikes I had seen were Harleys and a couple of sports bikes of undetermined origin. I kind of thought I'd be wagging my clutch hand at Wingers all day. As it turned out, a little over 300 miles and the only Wings I saw were westbound on I-70 near Columbus.

Anyway, I headed east on 146, then 313, then angled up toward Plainfield on 83 and 93. These little backroads were fun and almost totally traffic free. It was a good thing too, due to the sneaky corners and blind hillcrests. A couple of times, I turned around for a second run at a chicane once I had it sorted out.

Stopping frequently to make sure I was still on the "gold route," I meanderedup to Coshocton and finally headed west on 541. This section of road was still curvy but obviously was designed for something faster than an Amish buggy. You could actually see into the corners and the hillcrests were not backloaded with switchbacks.

I made good time heading down to Newark and found my way to west 16. I wanted to get back to Marysville in time to claim the free motorcycle they were giving away, so I pulled over one more time to consult my trusty souvenier map.

I was on 16 near 37, stopped alongside a road sign. A guy on a Harley pulled up along side me facing against traffic and asked if I needed help. We had a nice conversation about area roads and the relative merits of various bikes. Randy Kinzel is a K-9 officer with Columbus PD. He noticed my Blue Knights windshield sticker and we exchanged thoughts on retirement and how the world changes after you hang up your "shootin' irons." After pointing me in the right direction, we went on our ways; me west, Randy east. You meet the nicest people on a Har... I mean Honda.

About this time, Ohio started looking like it used to and I started remembering I hadn't had breakfast yet. The Tumbleweed in Bellefontaine was good. Why not? I made a bee-line for the dining room. It was about 3:00 pm and I had been listening to '60s music on the XM for 6 hours. Time for a snack and a little down time before the big Gold Wing give-away.

The chimichanga hit the spot and I returned to the Honda factory to join thousands of bikers holding our collective breath so as not to miss the magic moment. The announcer strung us along for a while with "important announcements" then finally said something about Michigan. Then I really started paying attention. "The winner of the brand new GL1800 Gold Wing is... David Palmer of Berien, Michigan!"

Bummer - maybe next year. If not the free bike, I have a feeling I'll at least go for the red route. I hope a few folks will read this and decide to tag along.

Honda Homecoming Rally - 2005

2005-07-31T20:33:00.000-04:00

Heading for Homecoming

Honda of America puts on a pretty good show every year and invites the public to inspect their motorcycle factory near Marysville, Ohio. The open house is only part of the event. The whole area puts out the welcome mat for thousands of pilgrims who come to see the birthplace of Gold Wing and VTX motorcycles.

The nearby town of Marysville closes off downtown streets and makes space available for vendors, bands, a light parade, and other events.

About 20 miles to the west, Bellefontaine hosts another large vendor area where you can find almost any accessory for a Honda and lots of stuff for other makes as well.

As usual, my attendance was a last minute decision. I had been following a bulletin board thread on the internet about a get-together on Friday and decided that was plenty of reason to run 150 miles down the road.

Luckily for me, the first hotel I called had a room available and the price was right. The Fairfield Inn was at exit 91 off I-70, just west of Columbus. That put me about 20 miles south of Marysville. A little off the beaten path, but considering there were 16,000 visitors at last year's Homecoming, finding a hotel anywhere in the area at the last minute is a little iffy.

Since Marysville is so close to home, I have managed to sneak down there for the last 3 years. I always head down I-75 to Findley where I take 15 east to 68. Route 68 runs almost straight the whole way to Bellefontaine. It is a quick route but boring. Along the way you encounter elevation changes of maybe 15 feet total. The highway is a tribute to the efforts of lumberjacks. There are few places on earth with a greater fondness for telephone poles. One redeeming feature of the road is the neat lawns that line the west side of the road. I passed lot after lot of freshly mowed lawn with the accompanying green aroma. Several scenes were repeated as I noticed thin old men wearing thin, sun-bleached shirts, atop lawn tractors, their backs slightly bent from decades of tending the land.

The east side of the road contains fewer houses but more corn fields. This section of road is so boring the non-domesticated animals run, leap, mosey, slither, and otherwise fling themselves in front of traffic to escape the monotony. The poor sad cattle watch in envy from their enclosures.

The upside is 68 leads directly south to civilization and a motorcycle rally. Like Elwood and Jake, I was on a mission. I hit 33 and headed straight to the factory. There were thousands of bikes in the lot and just as I pulled in, a space opened next to the demonstation pad. No, not protesters, riding demonstations. There was a guy doing donuts on a dirt bike and he was just finishing up his act. As I got my stuff put away, the "Ride Like a Pro" guy was starting his program. He was doing his confidence course and has added some pretty good dialogue through his mobile P.A. system if you listen closely. But I was on a mission.

I headed directly for the registration desk where I signed up to win a brand new Gold Wing. I was confident this year would be my year. My confidence was only equaled by the ten thousand or so other seekers of the holy grail. Still, the odds favored me since this is the third time I have entered to win. So I deposited my ticket in the drum, picked up a few freebies and confidently strode out into the sunshine to await the anouncement.

With a whole day to kill until they called my name, I headed to downtown Marysville. I had a secondary mission. I wanted a cradle for my GPS.

I dodged around a barricade and located an empty space on the street which was reserved for motorcycles only. After carefully shoehorning my 800 pound bike into a slot, I set out in search of the elusive E-Trex GPS holder.

I ran into Bill Morph who makes/sells mike-mutes. He and his family were enjoying the sunny weather and answering questions about the product line.

After surveying the vendor area and inspecting the ribs and chicken stand, I notice a few more displays on the next block. There I located the object of my search. After about 15 minutes of labor and $40.00 lighter, my GPS was installed. No more dangling from the strap wrapped around the clutch reservoir. It may be cheap, but it's nice to know how far the next town is when you're travelling and low on fuel.

While making the transaction, Polecat from the gl1800riders board wandered up. He too was in the market for some RAM mounts. When I was done with my install I found Polecat about a block away, poking at his clutch mounts with some odd tools. I dug around in my trunk and found the right size hex wrench and assisted with his install by giving helpful suggestions.
Partway through this exercise, RRIXX showed up and announced he was off to the same vendor, Cycle Gadgets, for some similar gear.

There was some talk of riding up to the Bellefontaine vendor area before the 4:00 dinner at Tumbleweeds. Time slipped away and we left Marysville with just enough time to make it to the restaurant on time. Along the way, I took the lead out of town and headed for the closest freeway access. Polecat and RRIXX turned off at a downtown intersection and headed for a different access. I caught them again on Route 33 but I'm still not sure if they thought I was lost or were just trying to shake me. Either way, we arrived at Tumbleweeds intact and were greeted by about twenty other riders from the gl1800riders board.

Dinner at the Tumbleweeds

With the precise skills of surgeons, a dinner was sheduled at the Tumbleweed Restaurant by CJS, Polecat and RRIXX. A gregarious lot, the dinner was open to anybody who showed up. Someone had tipped off the waitstaff and an area was hollowed out in the middle of the dining room to accomodate our little group.

I took a seat accross from Tourit and Alabama Ironbutt and his wife who had recently experienced a flash of minor celebrity. To my right was Natalie and her beau from Milwaukee. Others in attendance included Iwing, Hedoman, Bash, Mrgl02, Toyo and his bride, and a bunch of others. I think I'm the only one without an AKA. Not an original thinker, I guess.

The dinner was a great success. Lots of old aquaintances renewed, new aquaintances made, war stories spun and re-spun, time/distance records remarked upon and the usual touring rider conversations. When it was all over, the entire readership of gl1800riders.com was invited to Natalie and Chuck's wedding next August. Details to follow. All in all the festivities resulted in a good time for everyone. I'm pretty sure there was no damage to any of the facilities and no other guests were harmed or insulted during our stay.

Outside in the parking lot there was time for more conversation and pictures before the riders headed off in different directions. Hedoman and CJS invited me to stop by the Drury for a pop but I didn't make it. Polecat and RRIXX were headed for Dayton for the night, I think. Being the "King and Princess of CatsCade" you never know.

In a matter of minutes the parking lot emptied of Gold Wings and another get-together was history. This is the third time I have made an effort to meet up with members of the bulletin board, and each time I am impressed with the cross section of Americana represented. At each event, more people show up whose names or nicknames I have seen on the internet. More often than not, the people look different than I had expected (in a good way, mostly). I hope more who follow the BBS posts will take the time to stop by future meetings.

See you on the road.

Norris Dam, TN

2005-07-05T19:33:00.000-04:00

When it comes to hobbies, motorcycle touring is hard to beat. The only down sides that comes to mind are initial cost, and arranging for time away from the normal routine.
My last adventure was a two day event which started on a Friday morning and ended late the following night. In between was about 1200 miles of good times.
Never a long-term planner, I waited until the annual week long Honda Hoot was half over before deciding to attend. My real goal was a side event hosted by Honda Direct Line, an online Honda dealer. Several vendors had set up a breakfast get-together for GL1800 riders at the Days Inn just north of Knoxville.
Part of the draw was a much publicized showdown between two riders who had taunted each other for months about their respective skills on a road course. The rest of the Bulletin Board community followed the postings, even encouraging a match that was finally scheduled to follow the breakfast.
The time was chosen to coincide with the Hoot and at first the route seemed to be leaning toward the infamous “Dragon.” At some point the location was changed to Route 116, a lesser known twisty road that snaked between Lake City and Brushy Mountain Penitentiary about 20 miles north of Knoxville. The selected road starts with a yellow sign and posting that says curves next 25 miles.
I’ll come back to the actual road course. With all the hype preceding and surrounding the breakfast ride, I really wanted to attend. Even if only to meet in person Rodehard and Yellow Wolf, the two antagonists who got this whole thing started.
Scheduling conflicts kept me from signing up for the actual breakfast gathering. The organizers had posted a cutoff date that I could not meet. On Thursday I got clearance to attend and posted my intent on the gl1800riders.com BBS. A short time later I got a private message from Polecat saying he would ride down with me if I wanted to meet him in Dayton. Some brief messages were exchanged and the following morning we met at the Waffle house on Dayton’s south side.
There is something about the anticipation of a long ride that keeps me awake the night before. This one was no exception. I got to bed promptly at midnight and soon after 0400 I fell soundly asleep. At 0500 the alarm went off. By 0530 I had gathered some clean socks, my E-Trex GPS, a camera and was ready to hit the road. I said goodbye to my beautiful wife and the chipmunk who lives under my front porch and was in the wind.
The bike was gassed up the night before and the 200 miles to Dayton was no problem on one tank. Polecat was to meet me at 0930 unless I contacted him with an updated time. At about 0730 I called to warn Polecat I would arrive closer to 0830. The trip between Ann Arbor and Dayton was uneventful. I lit up my blue LED lights a few times as I passed some of the big rigs which had their own fancy running lights. That got a few flashes of headlights in response. The air was amazingly still, the bugs were few, and there was not a drop of rain. In other words, everything was the exact opposite of the conditions I had expected.
At exactly 0830 I pulled into the Waffle House lot and looked for a parked Gold Wing. By roughly 0900 it started to dawn on me that Polecat was not a morning person. In the meantime I had time to fill the gas tank and gag down a few cups of weak coffee. Polecat arrived and after breakfast and topping off his gas tank we headed for Knoxville. We chose different degrees of riding attire. I had on my leather chaps and gloves, leather boots, and a Joe Rocket armored mesh jacket. My riding buddy on the other hand suited up in his tennis shoes, bare hands, and cotton pants and shirt.
Operating on one hour’s sleep, I sort of lost rack of much of the trip down. I remember traffic was light in Cincinnati, and I remember the weather was hot and getting hotter. We somehow managed to be going at an inconspicuous speed every time we went by the occasional police car. The only real scare came as I noticed a Crown Vic coming up behind Polecat somewhere in Tennessee. We were both in the fast lane and were easing past the other traffic. I pulled into the middle lane and watched Polecat follow, expecting the Vic to join us. Now slowing to the posted speed, we watched the officer continue south, obviously on a mission more important than traffic enforcement.
By 2:30 we had covered the 300 miles from Dayton and were looking for a hotel near exit 108. The Clarion was full but the staff directed us to a nearby Econo-Lodge. I am just guessing here but I think the staff took a look at us and figured a less expensive venue might suit us better. We got Polecat a room and then he and I headed downtown to investigate the HOOT.
We found our way to the rally with only one slight “shortcut” inserted into the trip. Once in the parking lot, I headed straight for the Dunlop booth for my semi-annual tire pressure check. Front 38, back 41. Right on the money.
In the meantime, Polecat had parked in the shade and was patiently waiting by the entrance. We got to the registration desk and were informed it would cost us $15.00 each to attend the remaining two hours of the exhibits. We headed north. Polecat dropped off at his hotel and I continued back to exit 129 where I had a room reserved at the inexpensive but partially clean Lamb’s Inn.
After checking in I headed out one last time to look over an interesting road I had noticed one exit south of me. It turned out to be the road to Norris Dam and some scenic back roads. I was tired but started to get a second wind as I slalomed back up into the hills above Lake City. It was peaceful and relatively cool on the narrow tree lined roads. I stopped for photos here and there and found a State Park with paved trails through the woods. I circled back out to Route 441 and found my way down to the base of Norris Dam. A few more snapshots and back on my way.
A little farther down the road I found an old grist mill. It had been preserved for tourists and was an interesting stop. The mill had a little stream between it and the dirt road. It was a short walk to a nearby barn where I found a huge scalding tub used for rendering hogs in days long past. Inside the barn there was a section of log which was on edge against one wall. The marker said it was taken from the world’s largest Ash tree which was lost when the TVA flooded its home back in the ‘30s. The section stood at least 7 feet high. It must have been a magnificent old man in its day.
After walking around the grist mill area I decided to follow the stream farther back away from the paved road. The trusty Gold Wing was steady on the dirt road but I paused when I came to a place where the stream crossed the road. I knew depth wouldn’t be a problem. It looked like maybe 6 inches deep at the worst. My concern was with the coefficient of friction beneath the water. I briefly considered speeding up and coasting across but opted to park and check the traction on foot. Another photo op and it seemed safe enough. Off I went and nary a slip. On the other side the road narrowed even more and rose quickly up the next grade. Along the way there was a number of challenging blind corners, most of which had a good line where a biker could avoid most of the loose gravel. After a while I came to wider road, then pavement, then houses and figured a main road must lie somewhere ahead. As the sun started to go down, along with my gas gauge I started to wonder if I should retrace my route. I stopped and consulted my handy E-Trex and discovered even though I was not on a listed road, my heading was indeed pointed toward a secondary road. A few more miles and I was back on 441.
On the way back to Lake City I stopped at one of the Norris Dam overlooks and rode up to within 20 feet of a deer which was grazing on the lawn. We looked at each other for a while and I made a U-turn and headed back toward my hotel.
The road between Norris Dam and Lake City is perfect for a heavy touring bike. Smooth road and long fast sweepers where you can set a foot peg down and see how long you can keep a perfect turn going.
Back the Lamb’s Inn via the local grocery for some fresh fruit and some diet Coke. (I had TV dinners in my pack). Nothing quite like dining solo on a microwave meal in a cheap hotel. Well, I wasn’t completely alone as it turns out. Tennessee grows some peculiar large bugs, one of which was attached to the wall over my headboard. I snuck an occasional look as I dined but could never quite be sure if the critter was interested in my food. He hadn’t moved far by morning (or had cleverly returned to the same spot to throw me off). I had seen enough bug guts on the windshield and there was always the chance he might elude me if I attacked and return the favor while I slept. At any rate he was quiet or I was tired and we got along fine.
The next morning was the big day. The Breakfast Get-Together was scheduled for 8:00 am with the big ride following. Earlier in the week, one of our heroes, Rodehard, had wiggled out of the big race by crashing his motorcycle in Memphis. He showed up at the breakfast anyway, complete with a fresh set of scrapes and bruises.
This didn’t dampen the spirits of the diehards who had come from around the country to meet the dynamic duo and ride the twisties with whoever was still standing. Following the required roasting of Rodehard, the 300 or so attendees broke up and headed out leaving about 15 riders to tackle the 116.
Since pretty much everybody was lost, it was decided Bob and Tom from Virginia would get us far as Brushy Mountain Prison. I didn’t get the whole story but it had to do with them either scoping out the route the night before, or (more likely) they heard from somebody, who heard from an in-law who knew somebody who said we could find the road by going “this way.” Lo and behold, we went almost directly to Prison where we stopped for what might be the last opportunity for a whole group photo.
The ground rules were simple. Yellow Wolf would lead and everybody else would ride their own ride which is GoldWingspeak for try to keep up.
Route 116 begs to be traveled by motorcycle. It’s a shame it can’t be roped off and turned into a full time road race venue. We made due without the ropes.
We pulled out in random order except for Yellow Wolf who took the lead. Robeth was next, followed by Gale, a friend of Galute’s, then me, then Polecat, then everybody else. I think the last 1800 in line might have been a yellow bike, two up pulling a trailer.
The road starts out with tight ess turns that take you uphill on what would be a scenic drive if you went slow enough to look around. On this trip, the meadows and woods could have been filled with neon glowing yetis and none of us would have noticed. The road was the reason we were there and it didn’t disappoint.
Yellow Wolf and Robeth disappeared almost immediately leaving the rest of us to flog the corners without our fearless leader. Gale set a pretty good pace and never gave me an opportunity to pass. As it turned out, this was probably for the best because I had left my suspension on a soft setting and was tripodding my way through a lot of the corners. When we stopped, Polecat mentioned he could see sparks coming off my undercarriage even in the bright sunlight. I love the smell of burning metal in the morning.
I don’t know how many corners there are between Brushy Mountain and Lake City but they never stop. Even the short stretches of dotted lines toward the end are not on straight or level road. Luckily for us there was no traffic going our direction until we overtook a group of other riders about a mile outside of town.
Stopped traffic was another matter. Coming out of sharp, uphill left hander a pickup was parked facing us, taking up the entire lane. That got my attention. Up until then the only variables were the occasional oncoming motorcycle and once in a while watching the bike ahead come close to the edge coming out of the corners. The pickup wasn’t a real challenge because at our speed, the only option was to slingshot past (across the double line) and hope nobody was coming. It worked.
For the first half of the run we were much faster than the oncoming bikes. Then a yellow blur went by followed by a red one. I knew they were GL1800s but they were going as fast as us… or faster. Then it started to sink in. YW and Robeth had turned around and headed back. We all pulled over at a wide spot and waited for a few minutes. Pretty soon our heroes returned and we were off again. This time a young fellow on a ST1100 came up and passed our string as we were motoring along at the speed limit for a few minutes. When he got around YW we picked up the pace and once again it wasn’t long before YW and the sport bike were gone. The next time I saw them was at the end of the ride. It turns out a Gold Wing can stay with an ST1100 through the mountain roads of East Tennessee.
The official ride ended as it had started, with a tire kicking session in a parking lot. As is typical of the free spirits who inhabit the GL1800 world, several riders said quick goodbyes and were on their way to various destinations. The remaining group headed out once more. This time through town to Route 441 and then a few miles up into the hills to a lookout over the Norris Dam. A few more pictures were taken, a few more tires kicked, and a few more riders peeled off for their own destinations.
The consensus was Route 116 was the highlight of the Honda Hoot. Every person in attendance was worth meeting and getting to know. I am looking forward to next year’s Yellow Wolf Ride. This one should have been videotaped from the air. What a show! See everybody next year.

The Motley Crew at the East Overlook, Norris Dam

2005-06-26T17:16:00.000-04:00

These are most of the hardy souls who ventured beyond the end of Route 116 to explore the hills east of Lake City, TN.
Front row L to R Polecat, Tom (yellow-03), Bob (Robeth), empty space where I was, and Galute. Back row L to R is Tony B, Steve Meadows (Brobubba), Yellow Wolf, Bonnie, Eric (Hogsmemberisold), Natalie Czarnecki, Chuck Wiggins, and on the end is Gale, the guy I followed through 116.
Thanks to Steve (Brobubba) and Chuck for helping with the IDs.

First annual Yellow Wolf Ride survivors at Norris Dam

2005-06-26T17:14:00.000-04:00

Yellow Wolf insists we make this an annual event. Some of his closest friends said he is looking forward to seeking out another "brisk ride" location for next year. (At least that's what I think I heard).

Yellow Wolf

2005-06-26T17:13:00.001-04:00

Our fearless leader just before we headed for Lake City. We weren't the only bikes on the road but we probably set one of the quickest average ETs through the hills. I managed to freshen up the exposed metal on both sides since I left my suspension on a soft setting. Most everyone managed to leave a little of their bike on the pavement. This was my first time through heading east and much more pleasant than last spring. No snow this time!

Brushy Mountain Prison

2005-06-26T17:13:00.000-04:00

Last chance to drink water and get ready for an extremely fun ride from Brush Mt. Prison to Lake City, TN via Rte. 116.

Polecat

2005-06-26T17:10:00.001-04:00

This photo was taken in the parking lot of the Days Inn at exit 108 Knoxville. We had just come from the gl1800riders breakfast sponsored by Honda Directline, Electrical Connections, Bushtec, and probably someone else I forgot. The breakfast was a big success. Many prizes were awarded by the sponsors. Personally I thought Polecat deserved a best dressed award.
There were an estimated 300 attendees at the breakfast. That number whittled down to about 15 riders who wanted to explore the infamous Route 116. While many, including myself, climbed into protective leathers and road-proof armored mesh jackets, Polecat swathed himself the only way he knows how - casual chic. The possibility of an unplanned getoff doesn't intimidate the Polecat. Once in the twisties he never let up and with tennis shoes smoking, pulled into Lake City right on my tail.
I met the famous Polecat at CatsCade earlier this year and rode with him from Dayton to Knoxville last Friday. I learned quickly he doesn't take anything too seriously and his casual approach makes him a great riding partner and the ultimate "easy rider."

Norris Dam, completed in 1936

2005-06-26T17:10:00.000-04:00

This overlook is about 4 miles east of I-75 at exit 128. There are some great parks and sights in the vicinity.

Grist mill on Rte 441

2005-06-26T17:09:00.000-04:00

The tall trees provided some shelter from the sun along a scenic creek south of Norris Dam. The nearby barn contains a section cut from the largest Elm tree ever discovered.
I wanted to buy a sack of milled grist to see what all the ballyhoo was about but the souvenir shop was closed.
The mill is marked by a sign along the road and is worth the stop if you are into sightseeing. By continuing up the dirt road, along the creek, you eventually get to a ford (not an abandoned car...a water crossing). It's not very deep and is fun to splash through on a hot day. The dirt portion continues uphill and around some interesting turns until you once again reach civilization and pavement. After that you're on your own. A GPS helps. Otherwise, you might just want to go back the way you came in. Especially if you're low on gas.

Norris Dam Spillway

2005-06-26T17:08:00.001-04:00

I didn't realize it at the time but this is where they have the big fish fry on Saturday. Another event I didn't have a ticket for.
Whoa...look how skinny I look!

Houseboat in the middle of Tenessee

2005-06-26T17:08:00.000-04:00

Who'da thunk it.

Norris Dam area

2005-06-26T17:06:00.000-04:00

The 3rd week of June was the time for Honda Hoot in Knoxville, Tennessee. Thousands of Honda riders gathered along with owners of probably every other make of motorcycle as well. The idea was to test ride new bikes provided by manufacturers, look over acres of aftermaket parts and accessories, and oh yes, try out some of Tennessee's famous motorcycle roads.

I got a late start and headed for the Hoot Friday morning. Polecat (Pole to his friends) told me via the gl1800riders BBS he would ride along if I would meet him in Dayton. I left Michigan in the dark as always, without any rain which is unusual for a long ride. Also as usual, I couldn't sleep the night before taking off. So, bleary eyed but determined, south I went.

Just as we had planned, Polecat showed up half an hour late at the Waffle House with an empty gas tank. I don't remember much after that except the weather was perfect and we didn't get any tickets. We took I-75 all the way to Knoxville. At exit 108 we tried to get a room for Polecat at the Clarion but they either were booked or got a close look at us and referred us to the Econo-Lodge down the street. I already had reserved a place about 20 miles north that I shared with a huge black bug which clung to the wall the whole night (I hope). I didn't mind. The price was right and the bug was quiet and didn't eat much.

Before attempting to make up two nights sleep I needed I went for an eighty mile ride east of the freeway through some back roads and parks. I wanted to get my pegs used to scraping for the following day's ride. My plan worked.

2005-06-09T11:50:00.000-04:00

Hawk's Nest road

2005-06-09T11:49:00.000-04:00

Soloquest puts on a show!

2005-06-09T11:48:00.000-04:00

Tire kicking at the "Dawg" house

2005-06-09T11:47:00.000-04:00

Prime rib night at the Candlelight Restaurant

2005-06-09T11:46:00.000-04:00

Prime rib night at the Candlelight Restaurant

2005-06-09T11:45:00.000-04:00

Anybody can miss an off-ramp!

2005-06-09T11:44:00.000-04:00

Sam "Hitman" near his natural habitat

2005-06-09T11:18:00.000-04:00

George and Cindy, our tour guides

Home from "CatsCade"

2005-06-09T09:29:00.000-04:00

Hawk's Nest, Delaware River

Every year, the largest motorcycle rally in the world is held near Lake George, New York. This year an event rivaling Americade in significance if not size was held near Liberty, NY centered around the "Bulldog & Meesh" garage.

For several days preceeding Americade, GL1800 riders, VTX riders, and other invitees were treated to spectacular hosted rides through some of the most scenic roads in the east. In addition, there were social events including a prime rib dinner at the Candlelight and a cookout at the Fireman's Park.

I had ridden down from the Detroit area on Friday with "Hitman" from Windsor and "HiYoSilver" of Rochester Hills. It was a soggy, overcast day interrupted by stops at Tim Horton's and an off-road excursion following a missed off ramp. We followed Frank's GPS to The Candlelight Restaurant in time for dinner with a few dozen fellow Wing riders and then found our way back to the Days Inn in Liberty.

Along the way we got our first taste of the local back roads. Deer came out to greet our party of about 25 bikes as dusk fell. They stood and stared from the edges of the road as the line of quiet touring bikes snaked past and disappeared around the next curve. Back at the motel, riders thanked our impromptu guides and were told the ride was only a teaser for what was to come. They were right!

Saturday Sam had to head back to Windsor for a family emergency. (Everybody is ok now). Frank and I were priveleged to join a group of about 15 bikes led by George and his beautiful wife Cindy. Our guides rode VTX 1300s and were very knowledgable about the history, geography and other aspects of the area. They took us on a beautiful ride along narrow, two lane, twisty roads in the Big Indian area. For several hours we enjoyed the rivers, reservoirs, hills and valleys leading to Woodstock where we stopped for lunch. We only rarely encountered a car which allowed a very "spirited ride" as Yellow Wolf alludes to from time to time. Often the route felt more like a roller coaster than a road.

Saturday afternoon, we rejoined the other groups at Bulldog and Meesh's house for some more tire-kicking. Then it was off to another feast, this time a cookout with live music compliments of fellow rider Soloquest. The food was outstanding, the company was great, and the entertainment was better than we deserved! Soloquest could take the stage anywhere and be a hit.

Sunday was another gorgeous day. While another day of local rides was being arranged, Frank and I headed for Michigan. We went south on 42 to the Pennsylvania border to check out the Hawk's Nest area, (featured in numerous car and bike advertisements). We took the the obligatory pictures overlooking the Delaware River then struck out in a generally west direction. We had now run out of maps and the GPS had failed. Keeping the sun more or less to our left we found Route 6 and started eating up the miles. Route six is a secondary road in good condition with lots of opportunities to test the leaning limits of a Gold Wing. Traffic was light and the mile slipped away as we crossed Pennsylvania along the northern tier.

Hitting Ohio is always a little decompressing after the hills and curves of "3D" states. With storms threatening, we stopped for the night in Ashtabula. A call home confirmed we had made a good call. High winds and hail knocked out power in large parts of SE Michigan while we snored the night away in peace.

Monday the sky was gray but the Weather Channel showed only isolated thunderstorms. In the interest of time we took 90 west to Route 2. We zigzagged through downtown Cleveland for a while and saw some nice views of Lake Erie and the port. Once we were out of town Route 2 becomes typical midwest travel. Flat, cultivated fields, and constant wind. Everything in Norther Ohio leans to the east because of the wind. The trees, telephone poles, even old barns have a permanent list to the east. Everything that is except pedestrians and motorcycles which tend to lean to the west to compensate. Altogether sort of a Dr. Suess kind of condition.

At any rate, Monday was a day to make tracks, and we did. The concrete canyon of construction along route 280 north was exciting with large trucks crowding the narrow detour. Once we hit I-75 the trip was almost over. I turned off at 94 and Frank continued north with a wave and it was time to try to tell spouses what can't be described in words. The pictures help. The welcome, the rides, and the scenery have to be experienced.

Thanks to Bulldog, Meesh, and all who helped put CatsCade together. Hope to see you next year!

2005-06-09T09:25:00.000-04:00

London, Ontario

2005-04-08T14:09:00.000-04:00

Ohio River Near Carrollton KY

TN Lunch Run - Part III

2005-04-08T13:58:00.000-04:00

The Falls Creek Park Restaurant puts on a great buffet. I can’t decide whether I preferred the BBQ or the banana pie. The restaurant provides a great view of a lake and there is a big lobby with a fireplace just down the hall. Plenty of comfortable furniture to try out while warming up or waiting for the weather to break.

I’m not the most sociable rider in the world but everybody I met was worth meeting. That “Illusionblue” guy is pretty scary until you get to know him. Everybody who showed up had a unique experience to remember.

A nice ride on a sunny spring day is fun but a challenging weather situation makes for an adventure. Several riders from Florida got to break trail through some freshly fallen snow on the way over. Most of the attendees from out west hit sleet. Everybody got try out his or her rain gear.

I was in a hurry to plant a travel bug (geocaching) before heading back to Michigan, and took off on my own right after lunch. I later found out I missed meeting several riders who arrived late. My loss. I understand some of them rode twice as far in half the time than I did to get to Falls Creek and back home.

I also have been informed the picture I posted of a waterfall is really Cane Creek Falls. According to “Hydor” the park’s namesake falls is elsewhere and spectacular. Good reason to come back for another visit.

I headed west on 30, planning to ride out from under the rain and then turn north. When I hit 111, I headed north to Sparta in search of a hidden geocache. I followed my handheld GPS through town at exactly 25 mph, followed by a city police officer. When the GPS indicated straight to my right I parked and set off on foot in a straight line that took me up a steep hill and through some soggy red mud. I located the stash under the roots of a big tree and placed the traveling mini-Mini Cooper in its new home. I also noticed the paved road that led to within a few feet of the cache. Looking down at my muddy boots and pant legs, I made a mental note to be more circumspect in the future.

With the thick clouds heading east and rain down to a light drizzle, I headed north again. It didn’t take long to realize I was making better time than the clouds. At I-40 I vowed to continue with Plan One – head west until dry. Next stop Nashville for gas.

Late afternoon on my second day on the road and my visor was finally clear. I figured at this point I could make a run for home by midnight. I headed north on I-65. One tank later I was on the outskirts of Louisville and it was getting fairly cool out. Wind was taking its toll as well. I started off into the blackness looking for I-71. It was reassuring to get visual bearings from the lighted dome as I approached downtown. I had forgotten about the diagonal metal strips in the sharp curves as you get closer to the river. If anyone was watching closely, I put on a little show as I skipped around the corner. At that point I started thinking maybe my enjoyment of all-night rides was approaching an end.

For the first time I can remember, I threw in the towel with my goal in range, a mere 4 to 5 hours away. I stopped along the freeway near Carrollton KY for the night. Some pizza, beer, and a good warm night’s sleep awaited.

Homeward Bound

The weather report was right. Sunday was clear, cool and windy. I asked directions to the Ohio River at the front desk. After consulting my map, I headed the opposite way and found myself on the riverbank a few minutes later. Since I had opted for another day on the road, I figured I might as well take the back roads home.

Carrollton turned out to be kind of an unremarkable little town. Route 36 led west to the towns of Milton and over the bridge to Madison Indiana. Before getting that far, I found Route 55 to the south, then 559, which led off into the woods and up a hill. It looked like it might be interesting and it was. What a great little ride. The sun was shining, the close hills and thick trees kept the wind at bay, and my XM radio never missed a beat. The winding country lane led to the top of a ridgeline then zigzagged along the spine toward the south until hugging the contours back down to the intersection with 55.

Well, time to start making tracks. I returned to Milton, crossed the bridge and spent about half an hour trying to find “scenic route 7.” With the clock ticking and the wind speed building, I found a line pointing up on the map and headed for Greensburg Indiana and another tank of gas.

Along the way, I enjoyed looking at the classic architecture of small towns like Madison, Rexville, and Napoleon. Having grown up in Alaska where few structures predate 1945, I always am impressed with the neighborhoods in the Midwest that look so much like sets from Leave it to Beaver or My Three Sons. As a kid, I thought those scenes were made up of plywood and paper mache to fit some writer’s ideal of a utopian society.

On the other hand, I am totally unimpressed by the miles of flat straight roads where nothing changes except the color of the cars for sale in the driveways. The only respite form the boredom is dodging sailcats and the occasional flat opossum. Sunday also had the added ingredient of high winds from the west. I swear I beveled off the left side of both tires compensating for the pressure.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. I snuck around the outskirts of Muncie and angled toward the northeast. I put away the GPS and paper map and alternately turned right and left until connecting with I-475 near Maumee Ohio. From there it was a quick trip up US23 to home and my beautiful wife. To celebrate, we pulled out her Magna and rode the bikes over to Hooters in Taylor, MI for some hot wings. What a great wife!

When I checked in with my favorite bulletin Board, GL1800riders.com, I found out I had been nominated to receive the grand door prize from the Tennessee Lunch Run. There was some kind of mysterious modified selection system in place since the expected hat-drawing didn’t occur. The instigator, I mean organizer, had been stopped from attending due to snow in Tennessee in April.

Thanks to Closet Chef of Chrisco Accessories, Honda DirectLine, and Metzler Tires for a brand new set of skins. With any luck, I’ll be using them to get to next year’s buffet!

2005-04-06T10:21:00.000-04:00

Rapids below Cane Creek Falls

Cane Creek Falls (Not Falls Creek Falls)

2005-04-06T10:20:00.000-04:00

Cane Creek Falls

2005-04-06T10:17:00.000-04:00

Falls Creek Restaurant View

Tennessee Lunch Run 2005-Part II

2005-04-05T13:47:00.000-04:00

Friday had ended much as it had started - with electrical problems. Luckily, nothing that couldn't be handled on the road. My home-made accessory wiring had survived many miles in the rain but last night's deluge seems to have overcome my best efforts.

It was a new day. Saturday I woke to improved weather and an improved outlook on my "Big Adventure." There was a buffet meal with my name on it somewhere to the southwest, in a park called Falls Creek Falls.

The first order of business was to reconnect the battery and check to see if my LED lights had "fixed themselves" overnight. No. I left the LEDs disconnected and loaded the bike. I dropped the motel key in the drop box and headed for the nearest gas station for fuel and a GPS check. I was in unknown territory but knew a cross-country route had to be better than the freeway.

According to my map and Etrex, my destination was about 150 miles away in the direction of Mexico. The rain was down to a manageble level and at 6:30, the darkness was being replaced by heavy overcast skies. The temp on my dash read 40 degrees. Good start I figured. It was bound to get warmer as the day wore on.

About a mile down the two lane road I found a turn off marked 116. It was narrower and looked less traveled than the one I was on, and more interesting. I crossed the tracks and left the semi-developed area behind.

Route 116 started with some gentle curves, and low hills (pronounced heels in Tennessee). The road was paved and wet. In short order it became steeper, and followed the contours of the hillside (heelside). I have experienced this type of road in Alaska but there they are called Jeep trails and are not paved.

180 degree switchbacks

If you visit the area, this is not to be missed. The pavement is smooth and I have a lot of respect for the workmen who put it down. There are twists and turns that would make the inventor of the Slinky proud. Some of the turns were so tight I could almost read my own license plate. I actually had to gear down to 1st on at least one corner to maintain low enough speed and high enough rpms. This is one of those roads that requires maneuvers usually seen at air shows.

As I traveled farther into the terrain dwellings became fewer. I expected to hear dueling banjos at any minute. The scenery was a tribute to every southern movie producer. There were the requisite appliances and furniture stored on front porches. Parted out Camaros and various pickups decorated many of the yards. Wherever there was a wide spot in the road, the steep banks below were covered with refuse and the hulks of cars and machinery.

In spite of the signs of human presence, the area was beautiful. Almost every corner held a stream and usually a waterfall. Rock outcroppings appeared in the forest among the bare trees. The twisting, sometimes rollercoaster road demanded full attention. Some corners were littered with gravel. All of it was wet with rain and sleet in the higher elevations. The altitude arrived stealthily, causing pressure in my ears on several occasions as I climbed, then descended one hill after another. The low areas all contained rushing brown creeks, threatening to overflow the banks.

Eventually, the road arrived at a small valley containing the Brushy Mountain Prison. I thought about stopping for a photo op, but with the current security situation and guards present, I didn't feel like taking the time to explain I was harmless.

I lost track of the time it took to traverse this section of the trip. It was worth the trip from Michigan by itself. The road may be more suited to a trials bike than a Gold Wing, but whatever you ride don't miss it if you get close to Lake City.

Once out of the woods, so to speak, the roads opened up a little and required less attention and allowed more sightseeing. More swollen creeks, small ranches complete with newborn colts, calves, and various other critters and all the accompanying smells.

As I approached Dayton, the ride became downright boring. That would soon change. The road from Dayton to Pikeville was built for touring bikes. As I approached the highest elevation the sun broke through for about 100 yards. That was immediately followed by big thick snowflakes. The snowflakes were quickly replaced by more light rain. On the other side of the mountain, the road dropped down into a wide valley, again following the contours of the hillside.

I stopped at the gas station/hardware/grocery/feedstore to get fuel. I had to pay inside and was immediately accosted by an ancient local Harley owner. He grilled me about riding in this weather, and when he found out I came from the Detroit area the day before, he announced to everyone in the place that touring on a motorcycle was all that made life worthwhile. Not suprisingly, I kind of felt he was on the right track.

The clerks and other patrons offered directions and other advice on what to see in the area. I promised to follow up on all leads and escaped into the rain. I rode in 77 degree weather today in Michigan but it was no warmer than my reception in Pikesville. These are the folks people are talking about when they use the term "salt of the earth."

Next stop: Falls Creek Falls. I found the entrance just as it was described by the locals. Carved signs led to the restaurant where GL1800 riders from various parts of the country were to meet for some lunch, tire kicking and perhaps a little ride in the country.

All through the park I watched for GoldWings at campsites and parking lots. As I came down the hill to the restaurant, I started wondering if I was the only one dumb enough to ride in these conditions. Nope. There, by the dumpster, was parked a yellow and a red Wing.

Being ever optimistic, I circled the building and found a dry space under the facility and parked. I was greeted by James and Dolphus(?) Armor, brothers who had come about 250 miles that morning through the blizzard from west Tennessee. We waited in the lobby discussing how we would divide up the door prizes since obviously no one in their right mind (besides us) would venture out in this mess.

As lunchtime approached, others started to arrive, one or two at a time, until 10 participants made it in. We all congratulated each other on surviving the "Blizzard of 'o5" when we got word our host, Closet Chef, had phoned it in. Furthermore, it was reported CC had made certain disparaging remarks about BB posters who had backed out of the run. Apparently the Chef had mentioned publicly that people who got bluffed out by the weather reports would be considered "Girly-men" by hardier souls who endured a little pain for the comraderie of like-minded bikers.

Naturally, the topic of Girly-men and who deserved the title replaced the usual MC conversation at lunch. The upshot is something about a dress being provided for our resident Girly-man at next year's Lunch Run.

Its late and Letterman will be on soon. More of the trip will follow.

Tennessee Lunch Run 2005

2005-04-04T19:09:00.000-04:00

Tennessee Route 116

As a motorcyclist living in Michigan, I look forward to the first clear roads of every spring. This winter has been lingering far too long. To pass the time, I have been following the adventures and plans of riders to the south.

see: http://gl1800riders.com

Among the many posts was one promising a meeting with other riders, a fantastic buffet lunch, beautiful scenery, and best of all it would be in Tennessee...far from the frozen north. A perfect way to break out of the winter doldrums.

If you follow the saga of the GL1800 GoldWing you may have heard of a recall to check the aluminum frames for weakness and possible re-welding. I got the dreaded letter of recall and dropped the bike off in mid-March. Time dragged and I finally got the call. The welds passed inspection and the 2nd annual Tennessee Lunch run was meeting in two days. It was Providence. I had to go!

That afternoon I posted on the BB I was in. A quick glance at the map indicated I could make it down near the event in about 10 hours. The weather report said rain, clearing by Friday afternoon. Giddyup.

Friday morning arrived with a couple of items that needed attention (unrelated to riding). Then it was time to pack a bag and hit the road. Since it was a bit cool and the sky looked pretty overcast, I put on an extra layer of clothes, leathers, chaps and went to the garage. I flipped the key to "on" and nothing appeared on the dash. Bad news. The battery was completely dead. I hooked up the battery charger, waited about 5 minutes, and click, click, click. News getting worse.

About that time, I retreated to the house and noticed my lower trim on the back of the right saddlebag was dangling about an inch below its intended location. Now I'm starting to become a little anxious about making it to Tennessee. I'm also having bad thoughts about the dealer.
Back in the house, a call to the dealer. I asked if he had thoughts about my dead battery and what may have caused the trim to be flapping in the breeze. He had no idea. Imagine my suprise.

Well, I told the guys onthe board I'd be there so I figured "what the hay," a push start might get me on the road. Luckily, the charger had worked its magic and the three year old battery had just enough oomph left to fire up the Honda. Things were looking up. I disconnected the charger and tossed it in the corner. I stuck the side cover back on and backed out into the driveway, being careful not to kill the engine. I figured the flapping trim issue could be remedied by some well placed duct tape until I could find a Honda dealer along the route and buy the needed hardware. "Improvise and overcome."

It was about 11:00 a.m. when I pulled into a honda shop in Maumee, Ohio. It's a miracle! They had the fasteners I needed in stock! A few minutes of laying on the parking lot and it looks almost like new. The only permanent damage was the scuff marks on the bag itself where something scraped down the back and took the trim loose to begin with. Oh well, its not even lunch time and I'm almost 50 miles closer the buffet. Plus the battery was holding a charge and was stronger than ever.

By the time I stopped for the first tank of gas, it was time to put on a sweatshirt. The next tank, it was time for another layer but I already was wearing everything I'd brought except my back up undies and spare socks. Onward and southward!

Cincinatti came and went, along with the last of the dry weather. Time for the Frogg Toggs. No more looking cool. The rain was light at first but gradually increased until it started getting interesting.

Even in the steady downpour, my raingear kept me dry and it was great to be on the first long ride of the year. It was great right up until both lanes of I-75 came to a halt. Now the rain that had been blowing over and around the fairing and windshield came straight down, and occasionally from one side or the other as the wind shifted.

Thanks to a late start and some on-the-road maintenance it was getting late and dark. With my less than perfect night vision, rain and darkness are a bad combination. On the upside, when I hit the traffic jam my gas tank was almost full and my bladder was almost empty. It was a good thing (as Martha would say) since it took about two hours to travel the next 10 miles.

The traffic crawled, when it moved at all, at less than idle speed. This is always awkward on a big touring bike but I made a good show as I passed and was passed by the same cars a few dozen times. I started to become familiar with several families who looked at me with pity as they sat with their heaters on and munched snacks. Every time we would creep to the crest of a hill, you could sense the disappointment as everyone saw the brake lights marking the route ahead until they dissappeared over the next crest or into the fog.

Well, I was still fairly dry except for my face and hands. My ski gloves had absorbed all the water they cold hold and were providing a wet barricade against the weather. I decided this was about as bad as it was going to get, barring a drastic drop in temperature. After all, I have been through worse...boot camp comes to mind. Shoot, I could stand on my head in peanut butter til the next exit!

Then the fog rolled in. Thick. You could watch it coming closer, from the depths of the cuts and hollows. The fog was cold on my face and now I knew Mother Nature had thrown everything she had at me and I hadn't cracked. She heard me thinking! Lightning. Not just a little lightning - spectacular flashes. Some were close enough that I could feel the jarring effect. My mind started wandering to thoughts of a direct helmet strike. I wondered if there was any chance of survival. I wondered if the little boys in the mini van would laugh or cry if I were to be suddenly transformed into a cinder.

About the time I started looking for a place to cross to the northbound lanes there was a sign. It said "Begin Merging - Right lane closed 4 miles ahead." I calculated at 1 mph we should reach the bottleneck in about 4 hours. I underestimated our speed. We reached the one lane point in slightly less than 1 hour. I was making much better speed than I thought! In the interest of good car/motorcycle relations, I resisted the urge to split lanes or ride down the shoulder to the front. Not everyone was so disciplined. Several drivers sped past the merging vehicles to a chorus of honking horns and I'm sure many unheard expletives.

Finally we arrived at the construction area that held back several thousand Florida-bound spring breakers for so long. At last sitting in the downpour would be over. At least I'd be moving forward. After each driver slowly examined the road improvements they sped off into the monsoons. It was raining so hard I could only occasionally see the lines on the road. I assumed everyone else could see better so I estimated where I should be and it seemed to work. I'm just glad I didn't encounter any road kill or tire parts along the way.

Finally an exit and just in time. I could see traffic ahead backing up from yet another construction site, accident, whatever. I had had it. I headed for motel row along with half the population of Wisconsin. There was no room at the inn. There were no covered areas. There were no hollow logs in sight. There was no recourse but to get back on the freeway. The next exit I came to was Lake City. Again motel row was full. No more freeway. I headed away from I-75 and stumbled across a Mom and Pop motel with a vacancy! Salvation. I must have looked (and smelled) like a big wet gorilla. The proprietor, sensing my desperation, charged 3 1/2 star prices for a room with two beds and pubic hair in the sink. Home at last.

The adventure wasn't over. My XM Commander model radio had absorbed enough water to wash out the digital display. Thats okay, I just left it on the '60s channel and boogied into the night. A bigger concern was some cool LED lights I had put on last year. When I turned the bike off, they didn't. I pulled the machine under the narrow eave outside my room. This kept most of the rain from falling directly on the bike. The runoff, however, was perfectly centered on the back of my neck as I looked for the short. I took a shortcut and disconnected the lights and turned in for the night.

The next day was the Tennessee lunch run and I was finally going to meet the famous Closet Chef in person. Only about 100 miles to go. I could hardly sleep! NOT!

2005-03-21T16:41:00.000-05:00

New GPS
A little blurry, but lots of fun.

2005-02-23T15:07:00.000-05:00

Well, it's that time of year again. Some dry pavement is starting to appear. A glimpse of sunlight from time to time. It won't be long now. Time to remove as much accumulation of winter residue as possible before real riding season is here.

A lot of people recommend BOM cleaning products for this type of work. I happened to run across this Eagle One stuff at an auto parts store and it works pretty well. Plan on using up several paper towels and following up with spray wax and a real cloth to bring out a shiny finish.

2005-02-23T15:02:00.000-05:00

Aluminum Rim Crud

2005-02-23T14:59:00.000-05:00

Winter Grunge

2005-02-23T11:04:00.000-05:00

Sam's Club m/c lift