Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Scenes from a motorcycle trip.

The AA referred to is indeed the alchoholic one, my kin being littered with the same. I regard me and my brother as living proof that the affliction is genetic; we both drank heavy growing up, he craved it, I never did.

AA ain't the worst organization to be in, and it ain't bad having 150,000 friendly people running around downtown (AA only does this national thing once every five years, this time its here ). Having hit rock bottom sure seems to give folks perspective. From what I've seen, its like having family everywhere, and its a good place to meet women too.

Anyhoo... I was somewhere in Arkansas.

Not many pics from that day. The day began with a chain adjustment. The bike was still wearing the same "o" ring chain it had on when I brung it back to life. Hard to tell with a chain how much life they have left. Typically they last and last, but then start stretching big time on the way out.

I was slow getting started, and stopped at the next exit fer coffee and breakfast. Here's the bike that morning, note the newspaper bungeed on, a sure sign I was going just down the street, it would never have survived the interstate.



And then after breakfast, lubing the chain with spray-on lube. This always seems a pointless and messy exercise, yer not actually lubing the chain, the o-rings keep the lubricant in, mostly you are trying to keep the o-rings oily.

Finally I was on the road about 9:30am, seeing Arkansas and the world in an amber, high contrast version through the tinted visor, the southern sun already hot. One thing about starting late; I missed rush hour in Memphis, and crossed the Mississippi and ran through that city no problem.

Then along that long stretch of I 40 through Tennesse to Nashville.

One thing I noticed is that the motorcycling demographic had changed in my absence. I didn't see any other low-rent, bungeed-on wonders on mid-sized bikes like in the old days. Mostly I was seeing retirees on big "dressers". Used to be that demographic was all Gold Wings, now there's any number of big Japanese V-twins, as well as Harleys of course.

Bikers, I mean real bikers, ain't changed much: Harleys and hostility and exposed skin, riding in close packs.

I already pointed out on another thread my acquired aversion to the sun from the old days. Long sleeves for me thank you. Also helmets on a road trip.

I am vehemently opposed to helmet laws and used to ride about half the time without one. But what a full-face helmet does do on a 700 mile day is keep the wind and sun off of your face and head. You can sit all day in a 70 - 80 mph gale at 100+ F if ya want, I've been there, done that, many times. Under such circumstances, I'll opt for a helmet.

The bike was running hotter than I recall from the old days. Not hot, just warmer. KLR owners have a temperature gage and needle to tell them what the motor is doing. As per a previous suggestion, I was already running high octane. KLR's come jetted lean, and especially when lugging off-road, detonation can be a problem.

I even stopped at a gas station and hosed out the radiator. No difference, finally I concluded that the big, square saddlebags in back might have been slowing up the slipstream around the radiator.

Short of Nashville at about 800 miles out total she was down half a quart so I added oil. Half a quart in 800 miles weren't bad, plus I dunno how much was lost through the continuing oil seep, a drop or two under the bike at every gas stop. The downside of full synthetic in a big thumper is that it seeps by the rings, and is real good at seeping past aging seals and gaskets.

At Nashville I picked up I65 and ran north towards Kentucky. In the heat and sun, drowsiness became a problem and I stopped once or twice. Also, it was amazing how much one dehydrated just riding in the hot sun. Gassed up again outside of Elizabethtown...





At stops I had been observing the chain with some concern. If ya look close you can see the chain drooping off of the sprocket. Plus it was easy to pull the links almost clear of the sprocket teeth, a sure sign of a worn-out chain. The chain was dying and going down fast, I would be needing one pretty quick, but today was Monday when most dealers were closed.



The shadows were growing long when I made it to Louisville, here I picked up I 71 towards Cincinatti, through surprisingly pretty, rolling country along the Ohio. As the heat faded, my energy picked up. I rolled through Cincinatti just as I was losing the last of the light, and rolled on through the dark to Columbus, dodging thunderstorms on the way.

Hard to see through that amber face shield, so I opted for the usual trick, falling in behind a suitable car or truck going about the same speed, and using their headlights to see on down the road.

Ten oclock that night I stopped for gas at a truck stop about 30 miles north of the Columbus city limits. I was on a roll, but I was going to have to stop somewhere or else ride all night. At the truck stop it occurred to me that here was everything I needed: It was out in the country and there were no shady characters visible, some travellers were parked, sleeping in their cars. The parking area was well-lit, and there was a quiet stretch of well-kept grass at the far end. Far off enough to be quiet, lit up enough to be visible. The whole visible to whoever was working the 24 hour drive-through window at the fast food part. This was a concern because I wasn't actually carrying any defensive firearms, thanks to the laws in %&$+#W@& New York State, my destination.

Taking a page from my past, I drove over to the far edge of the lot, pulled out my motorcycle cover from inside the backpack, lay down inside it, and quickly fell asleep.

Birdwatcher