Here was the situation. Last year my brother announces his plans to ride his motorcycle down to San Antone for the big AA convention here in 2010.
Now clearly I had something to do with this, as I had lived on motorcycles for some years,and ridden up to see my kin every years for several years running. But I hadn't thrown a leg over a bike for six years, and turns out my last road trip was back in '94, when I rode my then Beemer to the National Rally in Silverton, Colorado.
So anyhow, my brother's plans turned my attention to my long-neglected high-mileage '92 KLR650, which had sat in my garage unstarted and neglected since '04 (amazing how time flies), and not ridden much at all since '94 (marriage and all that).
Neglect had not been kind to my KLR, when last I rode it for a week in '04 it had serious carburetion problems. Turns out that was probably from developing rust inside the gas tank, this time around it was so rusted I had a hard time opening the cap. So, off went the fuel tank for cleaning and coating at a local radiator shop that does motorcycles too.
Two weeks later, tank and new battery in place, I hit the starter switch and she fired right up, a glimmer of the legendary reliabilty of these particular bikes. Still had serious carburetion problems though, and would cut out seriously over 3,000 rpm.
The first order of the day was a complete wheel to wheel service; new fluids, valves clearance, replacing a broke windshield the works. And of course a carb rebuild. I had picked up a new seat over the years, and ordered new fork boots put on to match. Needed a new Metzler Sahara enduro tire on the back. The front fork springs had to go too, those being the originals from eighteen years and 48,000 miles ago.
When the time came, I drained the old oil, put in new synthetic 20-50 for the ride over and rolled out the driveway at 5 in the morning towards the old dealership.
The reason for the early departure was that the dealership was 35 miles away down the loop and the tags on the plate were from '04. Weren't much point in renewing the tags before I knew she would run.
So we headed out, trailed by the missus in our car, in case she died on the way over (the bike I mean).
Did I say "died"?... Halfway there, with a sudden cough or two, she remembered her legs and roared to life, must be the rust had gotten blown out of the jets.
A week later she was back, a new old bike, firing up like clockwork at a touch of the button.
I rode the bike daily for a week or two before the trip, looking to see if problems developed, other than a slow oil drip from a leaking seal somewhere, there were none.
'Course, about like shooting black powder, actually having the bike was only half the battle, now I needed all the stuff to go with it. The theme of this trip was to do it for as little as possible, and I was already several hundred dollars into it just putting the bike back on the road again.
Here's some pics from the second morning of the trip, somewhere in Arkansas...
Note the brand new Metzler (story to follow)...
The helmet was my old Shoei, a fine helmet fifteen years ago. The only face shield the dealer had to fit was that amber one, good for southern afternoons in the sun but about like riding in the dark at night given the KLR's less-than-blinding stock headlight.
For gloves I bought black army surplus leather shells, as good as any of the purpose-built items on the market for less than half the price.
The improvement of inexpensive riding attire during my absence was a pleasant surprise. Leather always has been expensive, hot in the summer, and stretching when drenched, but back then synthetic riding gear weren't as protective. Now there is a wide array of inexpensive synthetic jackets incorportating functional armor, for less than $200, mine came from Firstgear.
The saddlebags set me back only $150 over the 'net, from Nelson-Rigg. The exaust pipe set 'em on fire on first trial, more about my wife's brilliant solution for that later.
On top sits an actual pack and frame. See, I really didn't know that the bike would just up and run for another 6,000 miles, and if something big broke and it wasn't worth fixing, I could walk to the bus station with the most critical stuff in my pack.
Holding the pack on... bungee nets.... STILL only about $7 per... the guy who came up with 'em shoulda won a Nobel Prize.
Footwear? My trusty Timberlands, which allus was too hot to wear down here. The Crocs on the top were for casual wear, and for holding sodas and water bottles.
Ya 340, the irony is that I quit riding the KLR in '94, in favor of a BMW, "a bike that I could own and rebuild forever". Turns out the KLR has been in production for so long (and still is) that there is a huge aftermarket, and yes, if/when it dies, I could rebuild it forever, or at least for the rest of my natural life time.
Anyhoo... Sunday morning the 13th, the time came for me to leave. Seemed like a big deal at the time, like an adventure, truth be told the bike still felt alien to me, tho I had ridden so many miles on 'em years back. Loaded up, the bike looked like this, this pic taken later in New York State...
..and here was the odometer the morning I left...
My wife followed me to a restaurant outside of town and we stopped to east breakfast. I have been exceeding fortunate, I have not wanted to take a trip without her, the only reason this one was happening at all was the first grandchild is due in September, and she is taking her vacation time then.
After breakfast I rolled on alone 100 miles up to Austin, where I stopped in to see my ol buddy Tommygs and gloat (he ain't ridden in years either )
After that came the serious business of putting on miles. First day out, in the old days I always aimed for an even 1,000 . That was years back, I didn't know how I would do now.
North out of Austin towards Dallas I found myself running with droves of Harleys; turns out there had been a big rally that weekend. We was all running fast, 80 - 90 mph, but we had a tailwind. I have always been amazed at the performance Kawasaki wrung out out the simple carbureted thumper on the KLR. It will torque at low RPM through the dirt on the one hand, yet happily hammer along all day on the Superslab, smoothed out by a chain-driven internal counterweight.
It redlines at 7,500 rpm, but peak power is at 6,000 rpm, which is about 85 mph in top gear. It has useful acceleration all the way to that point, but ordinarily tops out and runs out of gears in the mid nineties. Fast enough for what it is.
I stopped to gas up just south of Dallas, made better than 50 miles per gallon despite the fast pace, probably due to the tailwind.
Heading east from Dallas on I 40, I arrived at near to Texarkana about 3pm, where I stopped for gas again.
This is where the trouble began.
Pulling up to the pump, my back tire, the new one, was almost flat. I rolled it over to the pump, fed in the quarters and put in air, but could hear air hissing out... damn....
No nails or screws in the tire, had to be the tube... damn again...
So I topped off the tire and parked the bike outside a restaurant and went in to eat, watching the bike to see how long till the tire went flat. About fifteen minutes. Put in a can of Fix-a-Flat, tried it again, no difference.
Hookay.... twenty miles outside of Texarkana... ten minutes of riding time per fill up. Ten dollars in quarters from an obliging cashier and off I went, exit to exit, putting in air at each.
Made it all the way through Texarkana that way, looking for motorcycle shops. There was a Harley dealer, but this was Sunday and it was closed. Got directions to a Honda shop across town, but it weren't gonna be open until 10am on Tuesday.... damn.....
Meanwhile the tire had gotten worse, now it was flat ALL the time, so I rode-walked it up the side of the road back to the interstate, looking for a motel I didn't want to stay in. Two nights 'till Tuesday.... damn....
First motel, like a crack house, the sort of place they raid on "Cops", "thirty-five dollars a night" says the clerk, "wait, is that too much? I can cut you a deal" he says as I leave.
Ninety-something heat, full Arkansas sun, off down the side of the access road to a Holiday Inn maybe a half-mile away. Except there ain't an access road, just construction on the interstate where a bridge takes it over a railroad track. No way for me to advance.
I seen a road running along the tracks and walked/rode the bike down an embankment to reach it, then started making my way up the road, looking for a crossover so I can get back to the Holiday Inn I dont want to stay at.
Took forever, maybe two miles before I reached a crossing over the tracks. At one point a well-meaning lady pulls up and shouts "Hey Mister, do you know you have a flat tire?"....
OK, this all started around three, now its seven pm, four hours later. I'm getting close to the Inn at last, except the bike finally gets close to overheating, a thing which I have heard can happen to KLR's.
So I shut it off and wait, hot, tired, dehydrated. Not stranded really, just delayed.
Just then a white delivery van pulls up, "I can help you" the driver calls out "get to that parking lot". God Hisself had sent Archie.
Archie (never did catch his last name) had just finished a 100-mile enduro in Arkansas and was headed back to Dallas when he seen my predicament and turned around.
He rolls open the back of his van.... there sits his race bike and all his tools, a rolling shop. All I did was hold the bike, meanwhile he pulled the wheel, took the tire off with a set of big honking tire irons, pulled the tube, replaced it with a much heavier one like he used, and put the wheel back on. Meanwhile I drank about a gallon of his bottled waters and didn't even have to pee afterwards, dry as I was.
Took maybe a hour, and all he would take fer saving the trip was $20 for the tube
By this time it was 9pm and getting dark, it had been a long day but I was pumped. So I pushed on that night on through Little Rock towards Memphis.
Slight problem with the bike... headlight flickering, going brighter and dimmer. I put it down to old wiring and hoped the alternator wasn't on the way out. It was still ridable and was running, so I rode it.
I finally quit around 11pm, I weren't all that tired but at the pace I was going I would pass through Memphis around 1 am, not a good thing.
In the old days I would have slept out, or maybe not, Eastern Arkansas 'skeeters are a force to be reckoned with, so I looked for a motel.
The little motel at the exit I got off at was clean and safe, and only $55 for a night.
The next morning the odometer read like this....
674 miles, not bad considering. If I hadn't lost them six hours with a flat it might have been 1,000.
I ain't complaining. Thank you God for sending Archie....
tho if I was to pick nits ya could have sent him along about five hours earlier...
My Klr 650 ran noticeably cooler on premium gas.Give it a try if it starts to run warm. Also,my headlight flickered and such also,dealership found out the battery connections were loose.Maybe yours is ,too.
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.
Thumbs up from me for taking the time. I'm almost on my way to a couple dealers to see what KLR's run(grin).
I paid about $5,000 back in 1992 for mine. In '09 they re-did the front end, front brakes, and headlight (always a weak spot on the original), they also added heavier spokes and a bigger fairing offering wind protection to the legs (for the Alaska crowd). They lowered it an inch too.
Here's a pic from an outfit that does diesel conversions, happens to be the best pic I could find of a new one. Personally I liked the looks of the old one better tho' I expect this one is a better bike...
The price for this new, improved KLR? About $5,000. Now is a great time to be buying a motorcycle, my local dealer has an new '09 KLR in stock for $4,500.
Speaking of diesel KLR's, that same outfit also sells 'em to the Marine Corps, based on the older version. I dunno how many motorcycles besides the KLR are currently in service with our military arms. Looks like a lot of the parts on mine would drop right in, or else seems like I could retrofit mine to look like that, I'll bet someone sells a kit.
On the military version they went clear back to the pre-'87 KLR for the smaller fairing, needing a headlight mount that turned with the handlebar, the bike having both conventional and night vision lights. Note the stock KLR exaust, stock KLR's are real quiet, a feature I prefer when off road, something the Marines want too apparently.
Back to the trip.
Soon after I lay down it commenced to raining, heavy at times, with distant thunder and lightning. You would be mistaken though if you reckoned this a hardship, I'm a connoseur of rainfall. I miss the Northeast, the rain feels different up there, and there ain't no fire ants. By morning everything I had on was damp. I had a good wool blanket though, a replica, bought two years ago at the Ticonderoga 250th. The thing about wool is, it keeps you warm even when damp.
Up at dawn to the songs of catbirds and robins, rolled up the cover and 18th Century-style blanket and put 'em back damp. No matter, a couple of hours of sunshine further down the road would suffice, or else in 48 hours I'd be at my cousin's place. Here's my accomodations, free of charge, though if this had been the 18th Century, that Huron war party on my trail would see that I had slept there....
Grabbed a change of clothes and a toothbrush out of the saddlebags and headed in for coffee, breakfast, newspaper, and a $10 truckstop shower with clean towels and all the hot water I could handle.
Back at the bike afterwards it was time to take up the slack on the chain again. It was loose since yesterday. I weren't real worried, I've ridden bikes with chains so slack they jumped the teeth on the sprockets. Still, I needed to change it at first opportunity.
For those out of the loop, this is what adjusting a chain looks like.
Ya just pull the cotter pin and loosen the axle bolts on each side, then sticking out the end of each swingarm is a threaded rod, you just tighten up the nut on each, shifting the rear wheel back by increments. Doesn't take much to take up a lot of slack, then you lock the nut in place with a second nut over the first, tighten the axle nuts, put the cotter pin back and yer ready to roll.
Note the rear brake too, I switched out both front and rear brake pads on this trip, a ten-minute operation each time. The beauty of a bike like the KLR being there ain't any place to hide anything, so pretty much anything you need to fix is hanging right out there where you can get at it.
And a word on the saddlebags. When I ordered them I paid $154 for the bags plus and extra $20 for "heat shields", the heat shield on that side being the part that caught fire during the trial run. After that I was in a fix, running to Home Depot looking for sheet metal or anything I might cut to shape and use to support the bag and keep it from sagging into the pipe.
It was my wife who came up with the solution, she went to the dollar store and came home with two wire grill oven racks. It was like they were custom made for the purpose.
Chain adjusted, everything packed, it was time to roll. Here's the odometer reading before starting out that morning.
1,403 miles from my front door, but only 709 miles over the previous 24 hours. The latter figure a bit disappointing, attributable to a late start and a couple of long stops in the afternoon prompted by sleepiness.
Wow, 674 (or is it 709) miles in one day on that bike! Impressive endurance. Some aggressive looking tires for highway use. How well did they stand up to the miles?
No insult nor offense intended on my AA wisecrack, Birdy. AA and NA has helped save a couple people I hold dear from killing themselves or otherwise ending in destruction, of that I'm sure. That said, I was twice upon a time strongly advised to attend (actually, it was court ordered during my misguided donkey years as a youth, truth be told). What they were doing was perfectly OK and productive, IMO, and clearly it helped some folks that otherwise couldn't--or wouldn't--help themselves.
One thing I had issues with was the religious thing they pushed along with the sobriety stuff. But then I guess as that angry young adolescent I had issues with everything from how candy bars were wrapped to the day's temperature. Carry on. Thanks again for sharing. I get my baby back next week, and I can't wait to have some fun carving up some twisties.
No offense taken Honda. Prob'ly like me, you never felt powerless against alchohol, though I'll admit it near killed me a few times, one way or another. As for AA, I just picked my brother up from downtown amid the hordes. Recalling the crowd, I'll say it again, were I a single man, joining AA might be my first move.
Mac....
700 miles in a day is about average for all-day interstate droning in motorcycle circles, provided one has a bike comfortable enough to do it on. The KLR notably shines in that regard, being both smooth-running and roomy. Often I would hook my boot heels onto the passenger pegs, throwing my weight forward a bit, and ride like that for a while.
My tire choices were from fifteen years back, though probably still relevant as both are still on the market. On back I had a Metzler Sahara, known to be hard-wearing on the street yet still functional in moderate dirt. Mine has more than 6,000 miles on it now, and looks to be about half gone.
Up front I had on an Avon Gripster. Gripsters are soft tires, but as the name implies stick well on pavement, like when that skinny front contact patch is pushed hard into corners. They do wear out quick, and are noisy.
I prob'ly should have replaced the front before I left, as there was ozone cracking all along the thread. It wore out quick (brittle rubber?) and was positively howling as I rode by the time I got to Ohio. The wear pattern by then was typical for a front tire, which bears a sort of a reverse load from braking. If you look at this pic of it you can see alernating tread blocks worn out, a washboard pattern, sometimes manifested as "cupping", usual in worn out front tires. This tire and its tube had probably been on that bike since 1995.
The only photo I have of what the new one looks like also has some old guy who resembles my late father in it, but he is dressed exactly like me and thats my bike parked at my brother's place right before we headed out so we will go with it.
The kerchief I bought at a BMW rally years ago, it is actually purpose-built and can hold water if you soak it. Mostly it is useful for keeping the sun off of your neck and preventing chafing, just as they were for cowboys back in the days.
The whole front of that Firstgear jacket is codura mesh, essential in Texas heat. Plus, unlike leather, it is easily washed. Most importantly, it incorporates armor into the forearms, elbows, shoulders and back. The removable lining that came with it is actually a rain jacket. Not all that good at keeping you dry but since the real value of rain gear lies in its proclivity for keeping you warm rather than the often problematic task of keeping you dry, that doesn't matter a whole lot.
My brother has normal-looking jeans with kevlar inserts, I plan to buy a pair. The snake leggings are a recent affectation. I wore 'em while riding the bike to go count birds back in May, and they made so much sense on a bike I brought 'em along. The boots are just plain ol' Timberlands.
Anyhow... it weren't even seven yet when I rolled out from the truck stop, heading north towards Cleveland, and keeping an eye out for dealerships. Sure enough, 40 minutes later one showed up on cue right by the I71/I271 interchange. It wouldn't open for more than two hours yet so I rolled out the motorcycle cover and took a nap.
The owner rolled up about an hour later, and did not seem to find it strange at all that some guy was stretched out next to a loaded up bike next to his store. Turns out he was a habitual motorcycle trekker hisself, and we drank coffee and talked about bikes while his crew opened up their various departments.
Though they were busy back in the service bay, they fit me into the schedule and fixed me up with a new chain. This is what a new chain looks like with me pulling on it.... almost no play at all. I didn't need to adjust it again the whole rest of the trip.
I was back on the road by noon, and headed out east on 271 around Cleveland, picking up I90 towards Erie, Pa. My first destination was a little place called Indian Falls maybe thirty miles east of Buffalo. Suddenly all the distances were compressed; Erie wasn't very far and neither was Buffalo very far beyond that.
On the way I stopped at a gas station and had a good conversation with two Honda Gold Wing guys heading west from a rally at Lake George. We spoke of destinations and distances and places to see. I suggested the September Gold Wing rally in Ruidoso, New Mexico, two or three days hard riding to the West.
I think it was in Pennsylvania I looked to the left and saw this, the whole Northern horizon was blue...
The Lake of the Eries of course, it shouldn't have surprised me but it did.
I'm pretty sure this wasn't in #$%&! New York, because #$%&! New York, not wasting any time, greets you with signs saying "Welcome to New York" and "Stop and Pay Toll Ahead". Ya sure I know other states got tolls, but on this trip ALL the tolls were in #$%&! New York, and it ain't just about the tolls, more about a whole philosophy of governance.
No offense taken Honda. Prob'ly like me, you never felt powerless against alchohol, though I'll admit it near killed me a few times, one way or another. As for AA, I just picked my brother up from downtown amid the hordes. Recalling the crowd, I'll say it again, were I a single man, joining AA might be my first move.
I'm missing my right lung, several teeth, a few weeks of my freedom and more other nightmarish episodes I care not to relate here over the years, thanks to dancing with the old bottle over a couple decades. You and I understand each other on this well, I assure you. Thanks for the enjoyable pics and words. Keep it up, have fun and be safe out there, huh, and here's hoping your brother keeps on keeping on.
I�ve taken some long trips, one of them was 4,500 miles in 9 days, but I don�t remember doing more than 700 in a single day. In the days before my bikes had mag wheels I would carry my own hand polished tire irons, patches, and pump as I found there were dang few places along the road that can fix a flat tube type motorcycle tire. Never had to repair one of my own tires, but I was the tire fix guy when I went with a group. Not a title I wanted, but the best option when someone in the group gets a flat out in the middle of nowhere?
I run Metzler LaserTec on my street bike as they are real soft and sticky, but only good for 6,000 miles. Not cheap per mile, but I�ve had to pay for long life hard tires with my hide more than once.
How many mile do you get on tank of gas? I was riding through Wyoming on I80 west of Rock Springs and saw signs for the world�s largest gas station up the road in Little America, so I figured I would skip the gas stop in Green River so I could brag about filling up in the world�s largest gas station. I got hooked by that marketing hype and figured I had enough gas to make it. Well I did make it, but one of the many thunder storms common to that part of the country in early summer knocked out the power to all 102 pumps. Not wanting to wait around to see how long it took the local utility to fix their system I hit the road knowing I still hadn�t switched over to reserve. That comfort evaporated about a mile down the road, but I was still confident as the map showed the town of Lyman about 20 miles ahead. When I got to Lyman I discovered that it�s not on the interstate, and I had another 4 miles to go. I kept my speed down to about 40 mph and made it to Lyman on the last cup or two of fuel. I learned my lesson and since then I always keep to my fill schedule. I learned that bigger gas tanks help, but only if you keep gas in them.
� bigger gas tanks help, but only if you keep gas in them.
Fliers have an old saying about the five most useless things in flying � � runway behind you � altitude above you � yesterday's weather � fuel still in the truck � three seconds ago
Wow, 674 (or is it 709) miles in one day on that bike! Impressive endurance.
I'd say!!! I'd get about 20 miles on it and have to stop to get off... Only way I'd get 700 miles out of that bike is if it was on a tow truck and I was in the cab..
I've never made a motorcycle excursion as epic as yours, but I've done enough miles to understand what it entails.
I can also appreciate the satisfation evident in dragging a retired motorcycle out of the back of the garage, making it road worthy again, then reeling some more miles on its long dormant odometer.
It has inspired me to entertain the possibility that I may have a few touring miles left in my creaky old vessel,....but I doubt that I'll try it on the Bonneville. My arthritic knees complain about being held in a stationary position for any length of time.
I always maintained that a motorcycle is the ultimate convertible... I had a Honda 750 Magna back in 98 and 99.
I got him by a deer, actually about 5 of them..I missed them, they didn't miss me.. at about 50 mph..but I dumped it and got scrapped up...
It really bothered my 6 year old son, so I sold the bike after it got fixed...but riding here in Oregon and No California in the summer.. you can't have no more beautiful environment to enjoy it...
It has inspired me to entertain the possibility that I may have a few touring miles left in my creaky old vessel,....but I doubt that I'll try it on the Bonneville. My arthritic knees complain about being held in a stationary position for any length of time.
Crash bars and highways pegs? Somebody must make 'em to fit. Enough gear bungeed on the bag to make a backrest maybe. Be a shame to need another bike just fer road trips.
I will say there's few finer things than a good motorcycle loaded up with clothes, tools and camping gear, and a road trip in the offing.
Anyhoo... some time back I was less than complimentary to your motorcycle here, I think I must've been on my period.
Here's some pics from a Triumph/Ducati/Husquarva dealer in Highland Falls NY (Rockwell Cycles, owned by kin of Norman Rockwell, good to see his family made good). Took photos of some of the Triumphs, I didn't think to take pics of the rest.
A Rocket III, 2,200 cc, the largest-displacement production motorcycle in the world.
A 1,700cc edition of the Thunderbird vertical twin...
...and assorted Bonnevilles...
Geeze, a motorcycle dealership all about motorcycles, imagine.
I�ve taken some long trips, one of them was 4,500 miles in 9 days, but I don�t remember doing more than 700 in a single day.
Ain't no trick to it of course, just patience, and far easier than driving in a car on account of it is less boring. Anyhow, as it worked out that 709 miles was the longest one-day total of the trip.
KLR's have a 6 gallon gas tank, mine hits reserve at 4.3 gallons, anywhere between a low of 180 and a maximum of 230 miles on this trip.
Back to the journey....
My first specific destination, a stop-off really, was Indian Falls, on Tonawanda Creek, maybe thirty miles East of Buffalo NY.
Hard to explain why without spinning this off into a history thread but here's the briefest version I can manage.
A cabin above the falls was the birthplace of Eli S. Parker, the Seneca Indian who served with Grant and who was famously present at Appomatox.
Eli Parker's parents were William and Elizabeth Parker, this being a photo of Elizabeth in her later years.
William Parker fought on the American side in the War of 1812, greviously wounded in that service. It would seem they were a remarkably forward-looking couple, actively collaborating with Lewis Henry Morgan in his pioneering anthropological work The League of the Iroquois. And of course, one of their kids went to West Point.
The specific reason for the stop-off was this, a painting hanging in a small British museum, purchased in New York in the late Nineteeth Century, presently known as "Pochahantas and Child".
The question came up on a reenactor board as to who these people really were. Apparently by the her dress they were Iroquois from around the 1830's or 40's. I noted the degree of resemblance to what Elizabeth Parker and young Eli might have looked like.
Eli Parker was born "in a log cabin overlooking Indian Falls".
Browsing around on the web some months back, I came across this photo of the falls...
...and this photo of a historical marker.
Although I am told the painting was a studio portrait, I was looking to match that cliff with anything in the Indian Falls area which might clinch the ID.
A strange feeling riding in, about like homing in on a given GPS waypoint, me knowing about where it was, but not what it would look like when I got there.
Anyways, here's that marker, set in pretty, rolling country that was apparently in the process of gradually going under to high-dollar, large-acreage houses, prob'ly Buffalo commuters. hard to tell in the pic, but across the road from the bike is a cornfield, the corn barely a foot high. Down here in South Texas they are already running the harvesters ...
And around a corner and about fifty yards downhill, the falls...
Right there above the falls, where the Parker cabin might have been is the "Indian Falls Log Cabin Restaurant" with a small dining room overlooking the falls.
It seems likely that the Parker cabin was the origin of that name, though only one person there knew that the historical marker was there just up the hill (I found the restaurant first and asked directions).
Here's my motorcycle in the parking lot, Tonawanda Creek in the background...
I wasn't able to check out the area, all around the falls and creek at that point was private land, but I still ain't ready to abandon my theory
I did eat in the restaurant, apparently its a popular spot and the food was pretty good. I got into some good conversations too, folks having seen the Texas plates on my bike.
"San Antonio, Texas" is a pretty good place to be from, most folks around the country seemingly having positive connations about the place, and it SOUNDS far away, like when your in Upstate New York fer example.
You put a guy, his wife, his kids and his motorcycle up on a scenic overlook...
Guess what he takes a picture of first.... Motorcycle people understand this.
And Rick... ya know what the problem with the innernet is? Ya never know WHO might be reading....
Nice bike... um.... who's is it?
Anyhow...
I have this love/hate relationship with New York. The thing about New York State is there isn't a "dud" area of the whole place, geographically speaking that is. In common vernacular it is divided into different regions for a good reason, each region is unique and beautiful.
So each area has significance, and when I spout off the name of a watercourse, like Cayuga Creek fer example, it ain't just a creek.
Hard to explain exactly unless you know the state.
I had about two hours of daylight left when I left Indian Falls, and headed to my planned overnight layover; Letchworth State Park on the Genessee, the gorge there maybe a tad overstated as "the Grand Canyon of the East". Not fer nothing though does "Genessee" come down from the Seneca term for "beautiful valley". Open rolling country, on the west side of the Finger Lakes Region, the river flowing north from the Southern Tier area to Lake Ontario.
Time was short and I never did get a good landscape photo of that country, not even with my motorcycle in it, but this one has the shadow at least....
On my way to the Genesee this was a shock, here's a photo: Cayuga Creek, farm... and windmills....
I have grown used to seeing windmills in droves on the drive to West Texas, but I didn't think I'd find 'em here. Seen up close, it is hard to imagine they ain't hitting red-tails and what-not clear out of the ballpark with a fair regularity.
Gassing up outside of Letchworth I noticed the only bona-fide mechanical breakdown of the trip. The fuel petcock dripped gas when turned to "reserve". Not unexpected that 18 year-old seals might give out, and I have heard ethanol does bad things to seals anyway. I just didn't use reserve for the rest of the trip, gassing up before 180 miles on each tank of gas to be sure.
Letchworth State Park was a place familiar to me during my college years, but I hadn't been back since. One quiet evening in June thirty-five years ago I had stood upon a hilltop there, and heard wood thrush upon wood thrush singing clear off to the horizon.
The plan was to find that hilltop to compare it as it is today (wood thrush populations have reportedly suffered a particularly steep decline over the years) and then to sleep out overnight at the park. The following day I was gonna meander through regions familiar to me back then before heading down to my cousin's place in Pennsylvania.
Well, here's some quick shots from the park...
I was all set to stay but then one of them real-life phenomema hit: Suddenly I was flooded with surprisingly vivid recollections of someone I knew back then, who was since taken from among us far too soon. Staying there alone in company with my melancholy seemed a dismal postscript to happy recollections. It occured to me that where I would rather be just then was drinking coffee the next morning at my cousin's breakfast table, maybe 250 miles away on the Delaware. I did hear a wood thrush, and a veery.
There are some motorcycle rides you know it ain't smart to take, but you do it anyway. So it was that night. It was getting dark when I left the park, more so for me on account of my tinted amber faceshield. Highway 19 south was pretty quiet south to the Southern Tier Expressway, so there was no one for me to fall in behind to use their headlights.
Once on the Expressway, I fell in behind a fast-moving semi. Quite often when yo do this at night, the truck driver becomes aware of you and why you are tailing them, close enough to use their headlights, far enough back to give you time to react in case roadkill or something suddenly emerges from under the semi trailer. I followed the guy clear to Elmira, us exchanging flashing high beams when he came to his exit (my headlight was still wavering, as it had been since Arkansas).
Stopped the next exit to get coffee and wake up, like I said, not a smart ride. The temperature was down in the 50's too, but I didn't want to climb in my raingear to stay warm. Back on the Expressway, some of the construction was surprisingly rough even for a bike with a long-travel suspension like mine, the bumps and potholes arriving abruptly in the dark, without warning.
I took 81 south to Scranton, stopped again to wake up, and then followed a fast truck east on 84 to the Delaware, riding up my cousin's driveway about two in the morning. Great therapy for him, who just had a knee replaced two weeks before, he scrambled up and met me on the porch, pistol in hand. He claimed afterwards that he knew it was me all along... Heck, it ain't like he didn't know I was coming, sooner or later.
Anyhow, here's a photo of part of his travel trailer and the very front of a car in his driveway the next morning....
...and while I'm at it, here's an artsy photo of the tree canopy at his place, as reflected in the glass of a tachometer.
Mike, There is no doubt as to my status in regard to the 'BIKE'....I am sure I will live to regret my statement's and the punishment for owning the bike will last for a long time, if not forever. I have no regrets and Mrs Hardass will just have to live with both of us. (me and the bike) May be a long dry spell ahead, think I will start drinking again. Rick
if you all will note the rust on Birdy's handlebars. not the type of thing often seen on a 'show' bike. this ain't one neither. but it works. been there done that. rust and dings are just party scars. been a while since i been on two wheels. need to finish the house before i get the bug again though... depreciable assets come after appreciable assets. that's the way it works in my house...
sorry Birdy, it'll be a while 'fore we ride together again. but i'm looking at the Kawasaki website, however...
-tom
globemaster, welcome to the fold. mebbe you'll be a roadtrip soon, or we can meet in the mountains of colorado, or some other out of the way place...
tom too...
p.s. didn't know you'd quit drinking... last i heard from you "Moose Drool" was your latest affectation...
Tom, Did not quit.....just busy enough with the family that I never felt like drinkin, Mrs Hardass dislikes my drunken butt as much as she does the bike! soooooo..... in for a penny, in for a pound! R ps....you and Mike meet me halfway and I will go for it. (I have a box of corona and some lime i need to attend to)
Well heck Rick, I don't things will go near as dark as you wrote, this just happened is all, things will blow over. And dont be talking about booze to a guy who was just around 50,000 reformed alchoholics. If we'd a drunk just 10% of all that alchohol back then, it'd still have been more'n enough.
Anyhoo... next time call me fer advice on how to handle these things BEFORE the fact, as I recall I offered a number of viable options
Tom, be not forgetting the depreciability of our own assets. I mean, if I hang onto this bike for ANOTHER 18 years, I might not have a pulse by then.
Back to the trip...
Nine days in NY State before I was to roll out with my brother, four households to visit; my time there was pretty scripted.
Here I am picking my nephew up from school one day in front of all his friends, he thought it was cool as all get out. I went and shaved as soon as I saw the pic...
And here's another nephew on our way to a poker run at Orange County Choppers. We had cleaned up my old thumper as best we could beforehand, wiping off the rims and scrubbing off the old faded surface plastic layer with steel wool. The good thing being that dirt bikes are cool for what they are, not how much they shine.
Leastways I think so.
OC Choppers, for years my claim to fame among my students was that my brother knew these guys before they were famous. Here's him and the Teutel brothers back at their old shop in the early years of the show. He stopped in and got this photo took at my request back then so I could show it to my students...
Anyhoo.... here's the new OC Chopper place today outside of Newburgh, NY...
A decent turnout for the poker run, about 75 bikes. A lot of guys down from Canada, and a surprising number of import "cruisers".
It has been with keen interest that I've followed this entire thread from the beginning... And I must admit with no small amount of curiousity that you can log the miles you do considering what you ride. Not that I'm disparaging your ride, but I admire THAT you ride. I've been known to do some iron butt riding in my younger days... But now I prefer quality of ride rather than quantity (miles)...
Keep the story coming, I'm enjoying it immensely...
for cryin' out loud... this is almost like the trip we took to durango way back when... i dunno... a marriage and a couple a 'relationships' ago... didn't know the orange county spoken of in the show wasn't in Cali-forni-ca. didn't realize it was in Nuevo York.
welcome to the fold Rick. post some pix of those boys... only guy i ever knew that named his kid after my dog.... was a good dog too... bet the kid is better...
Ben Jamin... been jammin'....
both you jerks are good folk... we are all turdlike people...
you'll get used to the banter quickly Globemaster... it's a lot like the Benchracers... do either of you still have a tee shirt after all these years?
In this case, there weren't any way to ride back with my brother, without riding there first. And what a rare experience to discover that I was still good at something, long after I had let it drop. With respect to the miles covered, I expect 12 years of my life spent pretty much entirely on two wheels had upped my frame of reference somewhat.
But lots of guys put high miles on KLR's, that being part of the appeal of the model. It really is a comfortable mount on the superslab, it can be hustled right quick down a backroad, and be ridden anywhere a jeep can go. Kudos to Kawasaki Heavy Industries for quietly producing this bike for so many years, and then updating it as per rider feedback while holding it to about the same price point.
On the web there's accounts of guys still riding these things up into Alsaska and down into Central America. In a perfect world there would be where I'd be heading next.
Anyhoo...
The OC Chopper showroom deserves more time.
Check out the Easy Rider replica
And this one, built for the Reeves foundation...
In the shop in back they were filming for the TV show.
Later on, Paul Sr. was signing autographs in the shop and a bunch of people went in. I didn't get on line but did take a look. Interesting was this lineup of non-Harley choppers back there.
You make me wish my legs were long enough fork a KLR 650. But the seat is too far off the ground for a guy with a 29 inch inseam.
I do kind of miss my 1976 Honda XL 350, though it was certainly not suited to more than about ten miles of pavement at a time.
I used to ride /own a klr650,and I have a 29" inseam
That's answering one of my questions. I might have to give one a sit. I was eyeing a Yam TW200, which the experts tell me is sorta a small version of the KLR650. In my case it would be commuting or trail rides in the Sierras.
Most enjoyable thread, by the way. I've known guys who did cross-country rides on full dress Harleys and Aspencades, but not a KLR- type bike.
i've done it both ways, it's a LOT more comfortable on a full dress bike. but then, birdy's never OWNED a full dress bike... that i know of... and i've ridden with him for years...
A few highlights before we head on back with my brother...
This here is Moroney's HD/Suzuki, just around the corner and down the road from OC Choppers, one of the more prominent and older dealerships around...
Significant here because it is where I found this, one of the funnier helmet stickers I have seen...
...and also this, the "Throttle Rocker", one of the greatest inventions to come down the pike in a while. My right wrist ain't been all that since a mountain bike wreck a few years back and your right hand operates the throttle as well as the front brake wherein most of the power to stop a motorcycle lies. My wrist was sore even before I left, and it was a real worry setting out that it would leave me grounded.
Turns out that didn't happen, but putting one of these things on the throttle afforded enormous relief on long hauls, and better throttle control on short hops. Every motorcycle oughtta have one. It retails for around ten bucks on the internet...
New York is a beautiful state, and I prob'ly could do another ten posts of scenery pics, but these are from Pennsylvania, looking across the Delaware at New York...
The time came to leave at last, and on my way over to my brother's house I detoured up the Delaware above Port Jervis to the Hawk's Nest overlook. I was feeling kind of down at the thought of leaving all this to go back to hot and sunny and flat and dusty Texas. So I rode up to the overlook. There was this couple already there with their parked Harley, enjoying the view.
Turns out the NYDAO (New York Department of Auspicious Omens) was open that day.
I climbed off the bike, my bird watcher eyes going into their usual auto-scan function.
No sooner had I gotten off the bike than I spot an adult bald eagle soaring up the cliff face towards us from below. "Eagle" I pointed out, with a sort of nonchalance that suggested this sort of thing happened to me every day.
We all scrambled for our cameras as it sailed right past us. I shot a hurried series of pics with my pocket digital that captured only trees or empty sky. But before it sailed on over the mountain I caught an image of it, circling overhead.
...and also this, the "Throttle Rocker", one of the greatest inventions to come down the pike in a while. My right wrist ain't been all that since a mountain bike wreck a few years back and your right hand operates the throttle as well as the front brake wherein most of the power to stop a motorcycle lies. My wrist was sore even before I left, and it was a real worry setting out that it would leave me grounded.
Turns out that didn't happen, but putting one of these things on the throttle afforded enormous relief on long hauls, and better throttle control on short hops. Every motorcycle oughtta have one. It retails for around ten bucks on the internet...
Just put one on my bike yesterday.....it's fantastic! Best ten bucks I've spent on a bike. Mines called a "Wrist Rest". Same principle. What I really like is that it allows you to "cover" your brake lever with a couple fingers, with less effort. I like to cover both the brake and clutch levers whenever possible. Especially in traffic.
Mike, Thanks for the offer of advice.....I am sorta stubborn and hard of head. (but so is Mrs Hardass) I was not serious about the return to my hard drinking days as witnessed by you and Tom, although with no wife and kids around i have downed a few more than ususal. It is great to get back in the fold again and Tom.......My last shirt fell apart about 6 months ago. Rick
My older brother has only been riding for about five years, somtimes commutes. He is an Army Veteran and is active in the Patriot Guard, that volunteer organization that protects military funerals.
He puts on maybe 6,000 miles in an average year, and his expectations as to mileage per day were about the same as folks here, which is to say less than mine.
We had about five days to get to Texas so that was OK.
His mount was an 800cc Suzuki, one of them innumerable Japanese V-twin cruisers...
The kicked-out riding position looked uncomfortable to me but he had enough stuff bungeed on to form a backrest.
It was after eleven am before we left, it always takes longer than you think to get away from yer own home.
Got off the highway some distance south of Wilkes-Barre Pa. to get gas, ended up here, in a Pennsylvania mining town... Minersville, Pa. The blue dome threw us for a loop at first until we recalled Russian Orthodox. This was Charles Bronson country.
How do you know yer in a coal town? When roadside shacks are selling bags of coal....
Friendly folks at the gas station (Pennsylvania Redneck), no visible minorities that we saw (not even illegal-looking Mexicans, which is pretty much everywhere anymore), lots of chain-smokers.
Back on the highway.... past Harrisburg, Gettysburg, Chambersburg and Greencastle in quick succession, on again past Hagerstown and Martinsburg. Finally, as the shadows were getting long, stopped for gas outside of Winchester Va.
Filled up the tank, took a break, climbed on the bike and.... nothing.
The barest "click" when I pushed on the starter button, not even a draw on the headlight... damn.
OK, what could it be? I did HAVE a headlight, and the starter didn't draw down on it, so it weren't the battery, ergo not the alternator. Most likely a bad connection... if the starter weren't dead.
Pushed it over off of the pumps, unloaded the luggage, took off the seat to get at the battery and assorted innards. Nothing wrong that I could see, all the connections appeared sound.
At this point a gracious local, deeply suntanned with faded tattoos and a long Virginia drawl came over to help. Turns out he had travelled many a mile in his day on his Harley, before age had forced him to quit. He said he loved Jesus and motorcycles, in that order.
On finding how far I had come and how far we were going he said "Happy to meet you brother, ain't many of us left." He called a friend of his on his cellphone, a noted local wrench, but the guy was on a run delivering a vehicle out of state. "Come back in the morning" I told our friend, "I'll prob'ly still be here". This was late Saturday afternoon, natch, a THREE night wait until the dealerships opened.
OK, I got a kick starter on this thing, I'll try that.
I had the kick put on in 1992 because REAL motorcycles had kick starters. Ya gotta be King Kong to start it that way. Kicking it over ain't the problem, kicking over it fast enough to start, is.
About a dozen kicks later, NO sign of a pulse. So I hit the starter button again, just like I had done about fifty times already since it had died at the pump, in the way that we do with suddenly dead vehicles...
Fired right up like there was nothing wrong. Shut it off, hit the starter button again, fired right up again. WooHoo!!
OK, quick conference: Clearly I had to carefully go over the bike. But we only had maybe ninety minutes of daylight left and the closest dealer was the wrong way (Manassas?).
Decision: Run through this tank of gas (about 150-170 miles for his bike) to Roanoke, Va., which was about that far away and big enough to have a dealership.
Stopped for gas outside of Roanoke.... "click".... damn... "click".... damn.... tried again a little bit later, fired right up...
Found a hotel just off the interstate (Buckhannon?), stopped for the night.
Winchester, Virginia? I grew up and went to school in Winchester. I now have been living back in Winchester for the past three years. Wonderful part of the country. Glad you were treated well.
Ya, thats what they call it in the manual, I checked. It can be seen in this pic right below the red kill switch. Ordinarily you press it with your right thumb, it only works if the bike thinks it is in neutral (as indicated by a green idiot light right below the speedometer).
So as you can guess, there's a number of electronic hurdles between that button and the starter motor that can cause the starter motor to go "click" (or do nothing at all), even supposing the starter is still good.
I was out at first light, impatient to get started....
....aware that the events of the next hour would determine my course of action over the next few days, nay, even affect the outcome of the entire trip. Plus, electronic gremlins on aging bikes can be a real PITA to find.
Turns out God Hisself was waiting out there to help (and He can fix anything), at least I think He was.
What I did was pull the seat to expose the battery and some connections again and hit the starter button (the exact same one in that pic). This time the starter didn't go "click", it went "clickclickclickclickclickclickclick" while a shower of sparks obligingly cascaded from the positive battery terminal. The positive battery cable nut was loose.
Gentlemen, it doesn't get much easier than that. A few moments with a 10mm socket is all it took, and of course I had brung tools Solved the headlight problem too. The only thing was I was kicking myself for not having done that two weeks and 2,000 miles earlier that night back in Arkansas.
...and a life lesson on the power of assumptions here: When the headlight started to flicker I had just assumed it was old wiring, and accepted that unquestioningly as fact.
Motorcycle trips are sort of like life; when the starter button of life goes "click" everything is suddenly gloom and doom, down the tubes. When it works again, well hey, you are back on the road.
Me and my brother both spent our formative years in England, and it had not espcaped our attention that a certain sporting event was underway in South Africa. That day England was to play Germany in an elimination match at 9:30 ET. Since all we had planned was ride to the Smokey Mountains (Deal's Gap) that day, we had time to watch the match AND make it to the mountains before dark.
My brother ain't really about getting up and out early, so this change in schedule suited him just fine.
The Indian guys running the hotel were soccer fanatics, so we all sat in the lobby, along with the Mexican kitchen guy, and watched it on their big screen. I might add that for less than $60 for a double, the hotel also laid on a better-than-average breakfast buffet and coffee
"Ahem"... while we are off watching the match I shall relate a story.... ______________________________________________________
Same stretch of highway, same bike, same rider, same month, but seventeen or eighteen years ago. Different hair color, opposite direction (northbound)....
I was on my way to New York, day two, after having done the 1,000-miles-to-the-Tennessee-rest-area thing the day before.
It was probably early afternoon, and I was getting drowsy. Not breaking pace, I reached back with my left (clutch) hand and pulled a bottle of diet coke out of the saddle bags. I then wedged it underneath my leg, opened it, flipped open my face shield (same helmet) and drank half of it out of the left side of my mouth while watching the road with my right eye.
All this in less time than it took to type it, and then I reversed the above motions and put it back in the saddlebag. I was good at stuff like that back then.
I look over to my right and there's this white passenger van of Amish teenagers, being driven by a bearded Mennonite guy (I believe the Amish make such arrangements when necessary) all laughing and waving. I waved back.
Just then it commenced to rain. Not merely rain, but a regular deluge, about like a car wash, with flashing lightning and rumbles of thunder. Usually you can ride right through these things in about two minutes or less, but this went on for the next twenty or thirty, we must have been riding along a front. The wind picked up too, slanting the rain from left to right.
Visibility dropped to near zero, lots of people were pulling off of the interstate to the side of the highway.
The only thing worse than riding your motorcycle in conditions like that is standing by the side of the road next to your motorcycle in conditions like that, so, in the words of a certain fictional George Armstrong Custer, I "endeavored to persevere"....
I got in right behind a semi rig, I could barely see the two tail lights on the trailer as we crept along, maybe ten or fifteen miles an hour, lightning lighting up the rain every few seconds.
At length the sky brightened and the rain dwindled to a light drizzle. I was drenched, like I had been swimming, my soaked leather jacket all goopy and hanging off of me. There weren't a single part of me that weren't soaked.
The KLR of course, never missed a beat.
Just then the van with the Mennonite guy and the Amish kids pulled up alongside again, they had stuck to my tail the whole time.
I motioned for him to wind down his window and then theatrically stuck out an upraised palm while looking around at the skies....
"Its raining" I said. We all started laughing.
I dunno, maybe you had to be there. I got off at the very next exit. Wet as I was, I suddenly had to pee real bad.
My brother has hung onto his working class Brit patois over the years more better than moi. After the match was over he summed it up with a Lancashire "that was a load of rubbish". Compared to the Germans the English side looked out of shape and out of practice. IIRC they lost 4-1 (3-1? 4-2?).
On that slightly downer note, we headed out for the Smokies.
what all you guys don't realize, is that having breakfast and coffee with Birdy is just about like reading this travelogue. He's kinda 'out there' but all really good teachers are a little 'out there'. In Birdy's case, it's in a good way. a very good way...
when i went to minnesota recently on a fishing trip, we saw plenty bald eagles, every day as we motored to the fishing grounds. quite the excellent birdwatching opportunity.
Birdwatcher: you need to step up the consistency of your posts. i know there's an interesting story here and want to read the rest of it. Lemme know if you and the missus want to come down and help me paint or lay tile....
Man its good to be back on 2 wheels....Mike you have been and will always be a great story teller. Mrs Hardass and my boys are due home soon Guess I better finish off my beer and shave and bathe. Rick........headed for the dog house of love.
Distance from where we were to Deal's Gap in the Smokies, just about 300 miles, maybe six hours.
Where we were headed was an eleven mile stretch of Highway 129 on the west side of the Smoky Mountain National Park around "Deal's Gap"; a windy stretch of road made famous in innumerable motorcycle magazines over the years....
"318 turns in 11 miles" AKA "The Tail of the Dragon".
I had ridden many stretches of winding asphalt over the years, in different parts of the U.S. I dunno how extra-special this one was really going to be, but one thing was fer sure; I weren't likely to be passing that way again with my brother, both of us on motorcycles yet. So we had to go.
In my previous experience there simply ain't no fast way to get in or out of the Smoky Mountains, not on account of the roads, but becuase of the traffic. 'Course, both times I had gone in through Pigeon Forge, past Dollywood and all that
Two ways of getting to Deal's Gap. One way, my preferred route, was to go south by Ashville NC and then swing southwest up the back side of the Smokies through Cherokee and the Mountain Cherokee Reservation and then on through Bryson City.
After the soccer game though time was a bit short, so we opted for the more direct route through Knoxville and on to a town called Maryville TN. From here we would pick up the bottom end of 129 and ride up through "The Tail of the Dragon".
Either way the plan was to sleep up high, and the next day do the dragon, and then ride the "Cherohala Skyway" eastbound (a 60 mile winding mountaintop parkway) in the direction of Echota. From there, in a perfect world, we would have the time to check out Lookout Mountain over Chattanooga before cutting south through Alabama through Birmingham towards Mobile and the Gulf Coast. That was the plan.
OK, back to Interstate 81 southwest towards Knoxville. Every time I cross the New River on this stretch I think "man, one day I gotta explore that river".... but I digress.
Pretty country all along, and we were making good time, until we came upon a wreck east of Knoxville. Looooong line of traffic leading up to it, miles of trucks and cars creeping along. Stop and go, on a hot and sunny afternoon. Nuthin' to do but stop and go too, and sweat.
Then our bikes began to run hot. The KLR never did get into the red zone, the fan blowing hot air and roasting my left knee. My brother was on a water-cooled bike too, but his bike started to stall out repeatedly. His bike didn't have any instrumentation besides a giant speedometer on the gas tank and a bunch of idiot lights (a situation pretty common on cruisers of all sorts, and an idiot fashion statement if ya ask me).
The idiot light for temperature hadn't come on but we didn't know for sure if it was even working. Now during this time one Harley after another had breezed by us on the shoulder. I know why they were doing it, their air-cooled motors were overheating and it was either shut it off and sit or run down the shoulder.
Not really wanting a ticket, but feeling like we had no choice, we ran down the shoulder too, slow and careful. We were catching dirty looks from folks who figured we were just cheating. Actually I hate running on the shoulder, fastest way to get a flat I know of.
Came time to cut back in and this guy just about ran us over, actually knocking into us slightly as he brushed by. At walking speed, no damage done, but close. A real regular-looking guy in a car, with wife and kids, him looking stone-faced straight ahead, them all just pretending we weren't there.
I tried to communicate with hand signals that our bikes had been overheating, a rather complex message as it turns out, not readily communicable non-verbally while sitting on a bike. I think they thought I was throwing gang signs. My brother knew a different sign and threw that instead.
Anyhow, next time ya see people on motorcycles rolling down the shoulder past stalled traffic on a hot day, it ain't necessarily because they are just trying to jump the queue.
Got off at the airport exit in Knoxville as per the "mapquest.com" instructions I had printed back at the motel lobby, and then maybe thirty miles to Maryville, not an especially appealing drive; traffic, and stoplights and all that. By then we were feeling a tad frazzled and road-weary.
But then... AT LAST.... THE BOTTOM END OF THE LEGENDARY HIGHWAY 129!!!... THE TAIL OF THE DRAGON!!!..... here came the turnoff on the left....
We had timed it just about right, despite time lost to the traffic jam on the Interstate we had maybe two hours of daylight left to get on up into the mountains, ride the vaunted "Tail of the Dragon", and find a place to sleep.
We turned left, and saw this....
Twenty-one miles to what some claim is the finest eleven miles of motorcycle road on the planet, a place that attracts motorcyclists from all over the world....
That is a downer.......sux. on a good note.....just knocked out 100+ miles along the river and thru the mountains. Good day.....(and mrs you know who is gonna get here soon.) Rick
just knocked out 100+ miles along the river and thru the mountains
Well dang Rick, all ya need to do now is ride another 5,900 miles and ya can post about it here....
(My gosh! Who would say such a mean thing? ME?..... I'm sorry, I musta been having Benchracer flashbacks.... )
And speaking of Benchracers, here's a blast from our collective pasts...
And a story....
Long ago, in a time far far away in a place called College Station, there was this area just off of campus called Northgate.
At Northgate sat two bars side by side. One of these bars was/is called the Dixie Chicken (AKA "The Chicken"), the other was/is called Duddley's Draw (AKA "Dud's").
The Chicken? The best I can describe it was when a friend walked in around Halloween one time, came out and said "Everyone in there came as a cowboy".
Dud's? Fallen into disrepute or so I'm told, gone all Yuppified. Painful to relate, I have been told they even have a "Gay night" every week now.
But, back in the days, Dud's was like the bar in Star Wars. You could find ALL SORTS at Dud's. Dud's was the bar that Toby Keith prob'ly didn't know he was singing about.
Best off all, out front, there'd always be a row of ten or twenty motorcycles. All kinds, just like the bar.
At that time there was a German woman, in her twenties, who was employed doing lab research on campus. Marina dressed all in black leather and smoked alot. She liked beer, men, and Ducatis (I ain't sure of the order).
At that time too there was this very serious organization (to judge by their habitual demeanor) of frat boy types on sport bikes (which was just emerging in their present form in the 80's, recall the era of the Kenny Lawson replica had just passed)... any how, frat boys on sport bikes wearing gold chains. They even had a club, the "Cafe Club".
Marina shows up on the front porch of Dud's one night all bummed out. Seems she had tried to join the Cafe Club but those idiots had turned her down.
Right there, on the benches in front of Dud's, occurred one of them moments in time about like Camelot or something. A bunch of us got together and the Northgate Benchracer Motorcycle Association was born. It just happened is all.
(A "benchracer" in the parlance of that time was a guy who sat around talking about what a good motorcycle rider he was).
Marina was/is/alway will be the President (wherever she is now, Germany I suppose). Rule number one was there were no rules, rule number two referred you to rule number one.
To get in you had to buy a t-shirt. Women got in free of course, all they had to do was buy a t-shirt. They were pretty much sold at cost, no one got rich off 'em anyhow. Near as I can recollect, all sorts of people bought 'em. If you didn't happen to have a motorcycle, it was requested that you say nice things about the motorcycles of those members that did.
Founding member Walter was/is a talented artist, and came up with the design. Here it is, might be the last NBMA shirt in existence. Thats Marina's Ducati on the front....
...and here's the design on the back, which may lead one to believe we drank a lot. I dunno, my memory goes strangely clouded on that point...
I do recall lots of great rides and good times. I don't ever recall running into the Cafe Club out there on the backroads, we doubtless woulda soundly trounced 'em if we had, we had more'n a few members that were pretty good hands on a bike.
Heck, I even got MARRIED in one of these t-shirts, and friends rode in wearing 'em from all over
Ok, next post post on this thread I'll continue that more recent motorcycle story....
i do seem to recall you were hitched in one of those shirts. keep on with the storyline Birdy...
with regards to the t-shirt... once i was bumming around the BMW motorcycle dealership on a saturday morning, swilling coffee with the assembled faithful in the parking lot, spitting, kicking rocks and telling motorcycle lies and i saw a guy in an NBMA t-shirt, and i didn't recognize him. i asked if he went to Texas A&M, and he said no, he had never been there...
so, i asked, how'd you get that t-shirt.
well, he said he was in D/FW airport late one night, and met a girl from Germany who was all out of sorts. she was leaving Texas permanently for Germany, apparently, and her flight had been cancelled at the last minute. through further conversation at the airport bar they discovered they were both motorcyclists. did birdy mention the Benchracers tended, as a group, to imbibe a bit now and again?
at any rate, he further let on that his flight too was cancelled at the last minute, forcing both of them to book rooms at the airport Hilton and wait until the next day for outbound flights. his, to california, hers, to Germany. he further indicated that she advised him it would be wrong, somehow, for them to book separate rooms... Marina evidently rocked his world all night, and as she was leaving the room, tossed him the t-shirt as a memento... then flew off to Germany and her whole other life, the life after the Masters program at Texas A&M...
i let on that he was a lucky man... and that was a special shirt. ah, he sez... it's just a t-shirt...
Well damn Tom, what a story and what are the odds? Musta been meant to happen
Anyhoo....
In hindsite of course, all is familiar, but for us this was a first time into these roads. Best way to explain our situation is a map, copied from the "Tail of the Dragon" website.
Where we were was at the intersection of 129 and 411, southwest of Maryville. Where we wanted to be was at the intersection of 28 and 129, east of Fontana Dam. The distance between them two points is about 30 maybe 35 miles.
From there we were gonna take the Cherohala Skyway from Robbinsville to Tellico Plains (about 55 miles) the next day and on towards Chattanooga and Lookout Mountain. The two "must ride" roads being the Dragon and the Skyway.
No way around it, we were gonna have to go around and do a retrograde up the Skyway to the Dragon, much as we hated to backtrack (we were headed west). 'Course back then, neither of us had any idea of the lay of the land. Neither do most of you I expect, can't get that from a map.
Suffice to say we were still down on the flats, but could see the mountains to our south. Not shown on the map is a friggin huge body of water, the conjuction of the Little Tennessee and Tellico Rivers, this being part of the Tennessee Valley Authority complex of dams and reservoirs.
We knew none of this, as our compact-size road atlas was strangely reticent on that point, but anyhow, it had somehow been a long day, and we were pulled over at the "road closed" sign, wondering where we should go next.
Just then a big, jovial biker-looking dude pulls up, dwarfing the little Suzuki 400 twin (an 80's bike) he was riding. The bike still had the red plastic tab on the key from a dealer. He explained he had bought his wife an 883 Sportster not long ago, but alarmed at the size and power of the thing, had just bought her this used bike instead to learn on. He was laughing and waving at his buddies as they drove by.
Anyhow, arriving at exactly the right moment the way he did, he gave us directions to the back way to Tellico Plains at the west end of the Skyway. Highway 360 at Vonore (a wide spot in the road), not much signage and easy to miss, and strangely enough left off the Tail of the Dragon site map above.
This was a phenomenal road, winding over and along the reservoir and through the Cherokee National Forest, passing the Sequoia Birthplace monument and Old Fort Loudon Historic Site, site of the Cherokee victory alluded to in "The Patriot".
No pics from this part unfortunately, and we shoulda stopped in at the fort, but didn't. See, we were racing daylight and had no idea of the exact nature of our destination other than it was a place called Tellico Plains.
Beautiful road riding in, and the good news about Tellico Plains being there aint much there. As it would turn out, there ain't many places to stay up at the Tail either, so, lodging-wise, we made the better choice.
Folks was plainly pushing hard to make this area a motorcycle mecca (even more than it is), there was even a new HD dealership sitting incongruously at Tellico Plains (I have no idea how sales are, not many people actually LIVE around there, and how many people buy a bike while on vacation?).
Once we got there, or more correctly, once we got to the intersection (wasn�t a whole lot "there"), we broke out the cameras again.
Here's a shot of the Tellico River.....
...and our bikes on the road at that place, to someone who just rolled in like us, we were surprised that there weren't much here. The HD dealership was along this road.
There was this, a KOA, at the intersection. A place to pitch our tents on, charge our cell phones, and all the hot water you could handle for only $27.
ah. motorcycle camping. warm, shaken up beer. no ice chests. scant grub. re-living vienna sausage and busted up cracker suppers... forget bungee-ing a loaf of bread off on the back... aluminum coffepots and a baggie of folger's or maxwell house in the 'bags for comfort, a plastic 750 of jim beam or other noxious likker alongside it for sweetener... the necessity of keeping a roll of toilet paper on your bike at all times. public restrooms in state/county parks are notoriously low on such a firm necessity. it's a necessity if you don't have it and have to put in 800 miles the next day. if you forget it one time, you never will again...
but then there's the campfires... and the stories from 'em.
once, camped at enchanted rock with Birdy and assorted ne'er do wells, we were treated to the call of a bird with a long-forgotten name out in the blackness beyond the flickers of the fire...
"That", intoned Birdy, "is the call of a somethingorother whatzit... it winters in texas and flies yearly to bumfuzzle uruguay... that's a male, the female sounds like this... (insert bizarre birdlike sounds of your furthest imagination here) and it's in the middle of it's migration route, prolly searching for a mate and foraging along the way..."
then there was the time my cousin and i shared a KOA campsite up in Cortez Colorado. extremely well kept camp, and like birdy's adventure, clean bathrooms and kentucky bluegrass on which to pitch our tents... good times at the 'fire then, with the rockies all about and full bellies from steak, potatos and salad, a tad of beer to cleanse the palate... almost makes me forget the homicidal maniac two days later who was trying to kill me and the cousin coming off the mountain... interesting times...
Guy who lives across the street never did get it when I told him I belonged to a exclusive club called the BENCHRACER's! It is a group of folks who ride (or used to).....for very long distances. Mike has once again outdone us. NBMA LIVES.
...he was writing from the "doghouse of love", which apparently is wired for the 'net. Actually while there he is working on a new self-help book fer guys entitled "Getting the Motorcycle Anyway Part 2: The Aftermath." .......
Anyhoo.... did someone mention birds?
Actually, there were birds at the KOA campground, including this tree swallow nest...
Closest I could get with my pocket camera. So why dont I get a better camera? Hey, as soon as a better one shows up at the pawn shop for $29.95 I'll be all over it....
Leaving the KOA, it turns out if we had turned right yesterday evening instead of going left towards the Skyway we would have come upon downtown Tellico Plains, such as it is, right away.
A lumberyard, and this, a fine place to eat a gourmet omelette with great coffee at a good price...
And then, does civilization get any better? A motorcycle shop on the corner just down the street from a used book store.....
Under that cover sat an absolutely beautiful Moto Guzzi, but she was veiled like a Saudi Princess, seemed sort of crass to ask the owner of the store to take the cover off for a photo.
OK, well fed and cultured, off we went up the Cherohala Skyway. Maybe 55 miles of curves. One thing we noticed pretty quick was that the highway engineers had an uncanny knack of placing the scenic overlooks just down the road from the scenic overlooks...
We couldn't tell about this one, here's the view at 4,500 feet
But this one they got right, the view being about where the sign was...
And this shot was taken off of the parking lot at the Joyce Kilmer Woods towards the Deal's Gap end. Note the shaded hillsides (good for running after elk with your shirt off), streambed mosses (good for tracking Huron war parties), and thickets of mountain rhododendron (good for your girlfriend to snap twigs so that you "will find her, no matter where they take her, no matter how long it takes" ........if you still feel that way the next day).
The Joyce Kilmer Woods would have been cool, a patch of old growth forest maybe fifteen minutes down the walking trail. But by that time, time was nipping at our heels. This was getting to be noontime on Monday, we still weren't to Deal's Gap yet, and my brother had to be in San Antonio by late Wednesday afternoon. Plus there just ain't no fast way in or out of the Smokies.
I want to come back to these mountains with my wife, on a motorcycle. She has already expressed a willingness to ride there two-up on the KLR, like how we rode all the time when we first met. I dunno though, maybe a bigger bike is in order.
Anyway, leaving the Joyce Kilmer Woodland parking lot I got ahead of my brother, and turned around on a hill to go back and see where he was. Mid turn I went to put my foot down, only there weren't any "down" as that foot was on the downhill side.
The bike tipped over. No matter, it had also tipped over in my cousin's driveway earlier in the trip. One of the good things about KLR's being ya can kick 'em over in a parking lot all day long if ya want. Ordinarily nothing breaks, nothing broke here either.
I quickly picked it up using the smart method of; back to the bike, lift up on the bottom handlebar using your legs not your back (even so my legs and back both weren't shy about reminding me we had just done this a few days earlier, but had not done it for years and years before that).
Anyhow, bike back on its feet, no harm done, I was walking across the road to retrieve my helmet and jacket from where I had tossed them, still wearing earplugs from the ride.
Just then a Harley came over the rise with quieter-than-a-whisper stock pipes, I didn't hear it coming and nearly got run over.
loud pipes suck. IMHO. YMMV. irritates civilians and the cops, not to mention bystanders... look both ways 'fore you cross the road or you're a dead chicken... at any rate, love the travelogue, amigo. sorry i weren't there for this one...
-tom the irritator, according to my new new next ex-girlfriend...
Tom, you will HATE my bike, cobra strait pipes....as loud and rude as they come. Today is my sunday, tomorrow is my monday. Mike..... Yes I think I will consider writing a book titled 'How to Make Her Mad' and then top it off with 'Why you gotta be such a Hardass about it'(and then tell her she is just like her dad).....i could go on but everyone gets the picture right?
loud pipes suck. IMHO. YMMV. irritates civilians and the cops, not to mention bystanders... look both ways 'fore you cross the road or you're a dead chicken... -tom
Tom,
Have to agree with you on the noisy pipes... My Harley's stock and it's sure nice to cruise down the Hwy and jam to some good tunes...
Next time I visit Tx, I might have to motor down from D/FW and meet up with you guys...
Keep the story coming, Birdy, I'm enjoying it immensely.
Yes I think I will consider writing a book titled 'How to Make Her Mad' and then top it off with 'Why you gotta be such a Hardass about it'(and then tell her she is just like her dad)...
Dang Rick, why don't ya just go outside and kick around a hornets' nest instead...?
...or find a Cop and drive up and down flipping him the bird and revving them staight pipes just as loud as you can ?
...or better yet, go out into the woods and find a grizzly to fight
Women is all about kind words, and feelings, act accordingly.
Doesn't mean you have to get rid of the bike, or lie, far from it. A little Ghandi might go along way here; don't hit back, not even verbally. Be not forgetting how much she has done for you, you know, bearing yer children and all of that. JMHO.
Anyhoo....
It has been awhile since I rode motorcycles much, and it still has been awhile in some ways, even after this ride. Most of this ride was on the superslab, not much in the twisties.
I used to be a fair hand, and tormenting Ninjas on that KLR back then was a joy Fact is, a thumper on back roads has much to recommend it; they are lightweight, got a broad powerband, and will lean over as far as you care to take 'em.
My old Ninja I used to ride was better than me everywhere, if I messed up going into a corner on the wrong line or too slow, a quick downshift back into the powerband and I could horsepower my way out of anything.
Not so a thumper, you gotta hit all your shifts just right, pick your lines just right, and hit the brakes at just the right time. Do all of that Grasshopper, and you can torment anybody on a tight backroad. Plus you get to wring out every last foot-pound of torque the engine has, pegging the throttle regular. Never mind the tach, you don't need one, that thumper will sing to you where it is constantly. Loads of fun
Now there is a new class of bike out there, not seen ten or fifteen years ago when last I was out there... this, the "Moto" class bike. Like this one at the Tail of the Dragon store at Deal's gap....
...or this one outside of a dealership in New York State...
Everyone I spoke to who was on one of these things was a lifelong motorcycle loonie, typically thirties or older, who had switched over from sport bikes on account of their "moto" was so much more fun. They ain't cheap either, everything extraneous removed or lightened, lots of high dollar performance modifications put into 'em.
They ain't about looks, they ain't about comfort, and they aint about image, they are about a sort of motorcycling in its purest form. You see a bike like this on a backroad? Unless you are very good, move over so he can pass...
My own cornering was out of rythm. I mean I did OK, respectable, but I weren't carving like back in the old days either. Part of it was the sage principle about never riding faster than you can see, a lot of it was a whole lot of those turns changed radius constantly (maybe a result of the local geology I dunno), but most of it was me.
OK, when you are leaned into a turn where the the radius increases, you just roll on the throttle and feel like an expert. A decreasing radius turn however will get yer attention, a downhill decreasing radius turn will really grab your attention ( ) and leave you clumsily rolling off of the throttle while reaching for the brakes and trying to keep from drifting off of the pavement (while leaned over to the left) or drifting across that double yellow line (while leaned over to the right).
The thing is, most of your braking power lies in that little patch of tire contact up front. In a tight turn, when you are far leaned over, a whole lot of friction forces are acting on that few square inches of rubber (this is why tires purpose-built for that sort of thing are wide, of a soft compound, and have little if any tread). Hit the front brake in the middle of all that and you can overload that little contact patch and lose traction. Pretty much you can slide the back tire all over and not go down, but lose traction up front, and most of us will go down in a heartbeat.
Along the 55 winding miles of the Skyway I was hitting downhill decreasing-radius turns reg'lar, enough to get my attention. My brother's lowered cruiser weren't about cornering anyhow, and he didn't have high expections based upon remembered performance like I did, so he prob'ly had a better time than me.
Actualy, for all my cornering histrionics along the Skyway, he kept up pretty well.
For reference, here's that map again....
We had turned left off of the Skyway to get to the Joyce Kilmer woods, which as it turned out was just below the dam of that lake that lies just above the word "Robbinsville". You can't see the lake from the Skyway, the country is too steep and mountainous. Coming back to the Skyway we climbed up the road that ran back up the other side of the lake (where I dropped my bike) to Highway 129 and so inadvertently missed Robbinsville, so I cannot comment on it.
It seemed to us that there was a bunch of lakes impounded behind dams up there. Highway 129 northbound on that stretch was steep and winding, right after crossing below yet another dam and a small lake we leaned into a hard, climbing right hand curve, that was where we came upon the signs for the Tail of the Dragon Store, just ahead.
So quite suddenly, in the middle of all those hills and corners, we had arrived; the intersection of Highway 129 and 28, Deal's Gap, a place of motorcycles....
I can't imagine how I've missed riding Deal's Gap, As I've ridden Rte 129 from Knoxville thru Marysville and into the Smokies... And I've been on at least three sides of Deal's Gap. Once on a Gold Wing, and once on my old BMW R-90... I rather regret letting that old R-90 part company with me... Some fine day, a 1975 R-90/S may even find it's way into my garage...
truer words haven't been spoken regarding the physics of motorcycling on these pages, i'll warrant.
somehow, i think that the older i get, the better i was when i was younger. flying around corners and the very *edge* of control is a lot more fun if and when you survived the event. i still remember Tony Overby... he didn't even have a deer to blame, that anyone could prove. just took a bad turn after a straight line run up to college station from houston way too hot, went off-road, hit a culvert (bad) and a YIELD sign (worse, and fatal) and it's STORY OVER. we risked way too much back then, and although we fancied ourselves riders, on Big Bill Jagers runs on a track nowadays... all 300+ lbs. of him... and doing that in the middle of a bunch of squids is a lot safer than touring the hill country at triple digits with a belly half-full of warm, shook up beer...
it may have been scary then, but it's absolutely terrifying now, to me at least. still have a license, and won't say i'll never own a bike again, but i'll be a lot slower and much more cautious than i was when i was much younger...
I dunno Tom, I'm recalling the BEST rides were on Sunday mornings, on bellies full of migas and coffee, and that we always rode spaced out, in staggered formation. Neither did we pull idiot squid stunts like weaving through traffic, or crowding people's tails.
Luck though, played a big role and we all had close calls. I myself once went into a 30 mph turn at 90. Though in blue jeans and no helmet I got nary a scratch (slid into a field of tall grass). I even rode the bike to the shop afterwards, with the bars pointed 60 degrees from my direction of travel.
The funniest though was Clint on his classic six-cyclinder CBX 1100, doing a stationary "Mad Max" style burnout one night in front of Dud's.... only to have the hot rubber suddenly gain traction and launch him into the back of a parked pickup
Clint and the pickup rear bumper both survived the experience unscathed, the CBX, not so much....
Anyways....
OK, I'll say it up front... the "Tail of the Dragon" is a decent road, but it ain't a life-changing experience or anything. The eleven-mile stretch itself being at tad overrated, especially in its present form.
Sure, its a very pretty road, winding up (or down depending which way you are going) the hillside through the forest. And the view from the lookouts along its length was spectacular....
If you had come upon this stretch unawares you would have said "wow! that was cool!" afterwards. Indeed, if you had a bike and lived close, you'd go out and ride it on purpose.
But as it is, being as famous as it is, the very popularity of the place impedes the ride itself.
The speed limit along the whole stretch is a marked 30mph, which ain't bad, on account of many of the hairpin turns are so tight you'd do well to hold 30 mph in 'em anyhow. But as anyone who has ridden a bike through a popular stretch of windy roads will tell you, the biggest worry isn't negotiating the curves in fine style, the biggest worry is who else is coming around those turns in the other direction.
In that regard we were fortunate, this was a Monday, plus the road being blocked off from below had the effect of making the "Tail" stretch a sort of motorcycle preserve. But, when the road is open, and on the weekends, its gotta be a regular zoo.
Sorta funny, at either end and in the middle they have signs specifically warning you that medical services are limited. This might be the only place in America where they find it necessary to do that.
Along those lines too, the Tail of the Dragon Store has a "wall of shame" of wreck photos, and to their credit, list fatalities on their web page...
...actually, considering the use it gets, just five fatalities in 2009 ain't bad, but of course most wrecks dont end up dead.
The other effect of all those riders is this..... Even on a Monday, and even with the road blocked off from below, the State of Tennessee felt it necessary to have two cruisers posted, just on that one stretch of dead-end road....
All that being so, I ain't gonna say not to go, see the appeal of Deal's Gap ain't the road, but the motorcycles that travel there, and the people that ride them. That place, and that road, as evinced by the graffitti on the rocks along the way, is sort of a public shrine to motorcycles and motorcycling....
Soon after our arrival at the store we went out and did the Dragon, downhill to the road closure and then back up. I liked coming back up better, most of the curves are on a slope, either you go down through them or are coming back up.
Leaning a bike over is easy, the trick is to not worry about the lean at all but instead to look ahead to where you want to go, the lean takes care of itself. The hardest part of a turn is choosing your line and your speed going in, and applying the right amount of brake if necessary.
Going downhill required a heavy hand on the front brake, always a difficult proposition while setting up for a corner. Coming back uphill was much easier, just roll off of the throttle and you'd slow down as needed.
Anyways, we did the Dragon and rolled back to the store to mingle with motorcycles and motorcyclists.
Since we were there, the road has been reopened, sounds like it was quite a party
July 10, 2010: Well it was like a big celebration at the Dragon today as US 129 was reopened for through traffic after 117 days of disappointment for tourists and hardship for local residents. There were thousands of bikers, tourists in vehicles and locals in pick-ups. Even the LEOs showed-up for the party. Five THP cars, a Blount County SO car and two Blount County cycle officers....
[quote=Birdwatcher]I dunno Tom, I'm recalling the BEST rides were on Sunday mornings, on bellies full of migas and coffee, and that we always rode spaced out, in staggered formation. Neither did we pull idiot squid stunts like weaving through traffic, or crowding people's tails.
Luck though, played a big role and we all had close calls. I myself once went into a 30 mph turn at 90. Though in blue jeans and no helmet I got nary a scratch (slid into a field of tall grass). I even rode the bike to the shop afterwards, with the bars pointed 60 degrees from my direction of travel.
The funniest though was Clint on his classic six-cyclinder CBX 1100, doing a stationary "Mad Max" style burnout one night in front of Dud's.... only to have the hot rubber suddenly gain traction and launch him into the back of a parked pickup
Clint and the pickup rear bumper both survived the experience unscathed, the CBX, not so much....
Tom.......how is Clint?
Leaning a bike over is easy, the trick is to not worry about the lean at all but instead to look ahead to where you want to go, the lean takes care of itself. The hardest part of a turn is choosing your line and your speed going in, and applying the right amount of brake if necessary.
Going downhill required a heavy hand on the front brake, always a difficult proposition while setting up for a corner. Coming back uphill was much easier, just roll off of the throttle and you'd slow down as needed.
'yep those words are coming back to my body every corner I get around'
She is home.........and I used the kind words and thoughts + flowers and sweets.
haven't heard from Clint in years. last i heard there was dark rumblings regarding his step-son being... shown unnatural male affection... by his biological father. this happened 15+ years ago... have made a couple attempts to contact him again, but all phones are changes (not surprising, given the circumstances...) and i wasn't in the "must call this guy and tell him the new number..." loop. always liked the guy, thought he worked way too much for far too few $, but liked him quite a bit...
When people who have no idea have the gall to claim that motorcycling is actually dangerous....
Anyhoo.... a discussion of perspective.
Folks have been making much of me riding across the country on that bike, as if it were an exercise in masochism or something.
I suspect much of it has to do with size. Here's that same overlook at Deal's Gap again, plus a pic in New York. In these pics two things become apparent: a) I really oughtta grow out my beard again or do something and b) physically I am just not very big, 5' 7" on a good day, old-guy belly notwithstanding....
So fer me, the KLR ain't a small bike (in fact, with the new fork springs I had to rediscover my inner Bruce Lee each time just to throw a leg over when getting on), but I can see how those among you that were fed steroids by your high school football coaches might have problems.
Meanwhile, back at the Tail of the Dragon Store, some motorcycles, and three approaches to the same mission....
A way-cool, spotless Buell (from Ontario) parked next to an BMW R1200 GS dual-purpose bike.
That same Beemer, a BMW F800 GS ("GS" = "Gelande Strasse", meaning they can go off road) and the KLR. (At first I thought those red bottles were fire extinguishers so organized were these folks down from Alberta )
BMW also makes a 650 dual purpose thumper for about $9,000, but its a wierd bike, with the gas tank under the seat and the filler cap in back somewhere. 'Course, you can get anti-lock brakes as an option on BMW's, and any one of these, having a sixth gear and being fuel injected to boot, would smoke the KLR in a top-end contest.
Out on the roads around Deal's Gap, it'd pretty much come down to who was driving.
Which one would I choose to ride to Costa Rica? I dunno, but the KLR has earned a reputation as a mount of choice for such rides. I do know which one I'd rather wrestle through the mountains in a pouring rain somewhere way off road in the boonies....
After the Dragon we spent a pleasant hour or so talking about bikes with friendly folks who were serious about motorcycles.
The coolest bike/rider combo I met there was a guy from Pennsylvania, a retired career Marine NCO, very much like our own Evil Twin in general demeanor. He was on a Polaris Victory (I wish I had thought to take a pic) and was on the return side of about a 4,000 mile ride in five days (I could relate ), having just hustled his bike all the way up the "Moonshiners' Highway"; Highway 28 from Georgia.
But... time was passing... so we topped off, and headed out south on 28 towards the Georgia state line. One thing was, they sold REAL gas there at the Dragon store, no ethanol (and therefore worth the premium).
I am told that modern 10% ethanol is real hard on carbureters, and it was on this trip that I learned about Star Tron, an ethanol-digesting fuel additive developed by the boating industry.
geez... i remember those zips around the brazos valley with serious affection.
remember J.C. buying a $1500 motorcycle sound/intercom system for his Gold Wing, then planning a 2 week, two up trip to Sturgis, then telling Christy (his girlfriend at the time...) he was gonna break up with her when they got back? and he told her this right before they left... ergo... he had to listen to it for 2500 miles...
I recall riding to Enchanted Rock late at night, women in back, past all them many deer, and then scrambling up the rock in the dark ("just go uphill, ya gotta reach the top eventually") so as to be sitting on top of the rock in time to watch the sun rise.
It was sorta like sex actually, a whole lot of bother and work to get where ya needed to be.... a long dramatic buildup.....
...and then just like that it was over: "OK, get up and lets go get breakfast".
Naah, 'Twin is a well-regarded member here from NY State, a combat veteran and retired Cop. who people here would like even if he didn't own a an original 1878 Sharps that he let my nephews shoot last summer
I recall riding to Enchanted Rock late at night, women in back, past all them many deer, and then scrambling up the rock in the dark ("just go uphill, ya gotta reach the top eventually") so as to be sitting on top of the rock in time to watch the sun rise.
It was sorta like sex actually, a whole lot of bother and work to get where ya needed to be.... a long dramatic buildup.....
...and then just like that it was over: "OK, get up and lets go get breakfast".
remember the critically wounded doe we found in the middle of the road? she'd been hit by a car, and another passerby was there. you asked me if i had my pistol and i replied no, i'd left it at home. prolly first time in i dunno how many years... i said no, and you suggested i should slit it's throat with my razor sharp pocketknife. which was duller than it had ever been... i declined, because it would have been like trying to beat someone to death with a balloon... we rode off, sealing that doe's fate into agony for the remainder of her short life. broken spine in the middle of the road... just a matter of time until some semi comes along and splatted her or a suburban comes roaring along and kills her...
I do recall the time we came across that deer around two or three in the morning, and our strangely having no means on hand to dispatch it. Hard to imagine too but this was in "the age before cell phones" (yes, such a time really existed), so summoning local Law Enforcement to come and shoot it was out of the question.
Anyways....
One more time to the map, and a discussion of an optical or perceptual illusion.
It was Monday afternoon when we left the Dragon, still about 1,200 miles from San Antonio. We had a long way to go.
Our first target was the city of Franklin, just 45 miles away down Highway 28. Our expectation was that we would be running south, down and out of the Smokies.
Highway 28 turned out to be a tremendous road, I liked it more than the Dragon. At first it took us past Fontana Dam and the lake by that name, and then on down a winding course towards Franklin. Pretty country, "Dukes of Hazzard" country to judge by the houses we passed.
Except, strangley enough, we must have been going UP to Franklin, though the country seemed less mountainous. The river in the valley we found ourselves following was running north, a thing which puzzled me at the time.
For example, here's the lookout view from the Dragon...
I believe that is the Little Tennesse River down there, all of which must actually be lower in elevation than the Franklin area clear over to the other side of Georgia state line, at least fifty miles south as the crow flies.
Like I said, an illusion of perception, which I will work out next time I pass that way. It sure felt like we were going downhill.
Highway 28 was indeed a great road, but not the sort of road we needed to be on just then, it was late afternoon by the time we got to Franklin. If there's a fast way out of the Smokies, I ain't found it yet.
We needed to get to Highway 441 south, for a fast run into Georgia to pick up Interstate 85 westbound through Atlanta.
It was getting to be time to eat too, so we stopped at a gas station to get our bearings. Franklin was a busy town, with many semis pouring though the narrow streets. There were motorcycles there too, this being one of the prime outlets from the Skyway and the Dragon. At the gas station a guy had this classic '69 Triumph. I posted these on another thread, but they bear repeating here....
I was a kid in England when that bike was made, and well recall the Triumphs, BSA's and Nortons of the sixties. Interesting to reflect how much the British designs of that era still resonate today.
So we stopped to eat, not really wanting to stop, but knowing that we needed to, we hadn't eaten since leaving Tellico Plains that morning and had been riding most of the day.
It was getting towards evening when we started out southbound on 441, a lot of stoplights at first, but then becoming the four-lane sort of highway we needed. Before too long we were able to make 365 southeast past Gainesville Ga for a fast run on Atlanta.
Not much traffic through Atlanta (losing time there had been a worry going in) and we made it past downtown just as the light was fading. The next major city on our route was Montgomery Al, 160 miles down I 85.
Didn't make it that far though, we finally stopped for the night at a motel somewhere around Lagrange Ga, maybe 250 miles since leaving the Dragon.
I'm really enjoying this and don't want it to end. But can't wait for the next installment!
Funny, a friend has always has large road bikes, currently a Hayabusa (I borrowed his 'old' GXR1100 to ride home from Sydney to the country when I was there in March) but lately he has been talking of getting a DR650 also, with a large tank. Sounds good to me.
Crikey! Australia! (to be read with suitable Steve Irwin/Paul Hogan accent).
....sorry, we all react that way up here.... ___________________________________________________
...and referencing an earlier post....
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B.W. This is a great read, thanks for sharing. Making my old Nighthawk feel like a traitor though, all it does is haul me to work.
Ah, the ol' Honda 750, been around in one form or another since... 1969?? My cousin (the same one in the thread) bought a CB750 in the early seventies.
...and immediately mounted a "sissy bar" on it and put on front forks 6" over stock. No adjustment to the rake of the frame you understand, just 6" over stock front forks Such lunacy was common back then. And back then the CB750 was "the first superbike", though I believe my KLR might actually be faster than the '69 CB.
Ten years later, I was a grad student during the Benchracer era at Texas A&M. Texas A&M hosts an uber-conservative, tradition-bound student Military organization called the Corps of Cadets. When the Benchracers would gather for breakfast at an off-campus coffee and taco joint,looking all unshaven and leather clad, thinly veiled looks of disgust from passing Corps of Cadet members were not uncommon.
This we quietly found humorous as there were a couple of Military vets in our ranks, and also a former Police Detective who after having been shot in the line of duty, was attending Veterinary school.
Actually, I had a number of Corps of Cadet members in the class section I taught and usually got along with them pretty well. One of them was from Idaho, had a Honda 750 up there (already called the "Nighthawk" IIRC), and he was all amazed to learn I had ridden up to Idaho and back on a 550 Yamaha a couple of years earlier. He hadn't thought it possible.
The next year the same guy was appointed Commander of the Corps of Cadets and got a big write-up in "The Battalion" (campus newspaper). They made a big deal of how he had just ridden his motorcycle down from Idaho (the nefarious influence of the Benchracers in action ) __________________________________________________
But I digress....
Stopping for the night along the Interstate can be a chancy proposition, and this night I was not to rest easy. Not that anything happened, but I should explain...
There exists in the South a social melieu recently alluded to in Gangsta Rap tunes as the "Dirty South", wherein not everybody in the countryside is your friend, especially along the Interstate.
My alarm bells started going off immediately we pulled off the superslab, into the parking lot of a gas station that had already closed for the night. Two young Black men rolled through in an old pickup truck pulling a john boat on a trailer (fer the benefit of Australians and such, a john boat is a small, square, aluminum boat, commonly used on inland waters for fishing).
I gave 'em a friendly nod as I would any fishermen, and got back cold, appraising stares in return. My brother, not having travelled in the South before, weren't aware of the vibe.
Another warning sign: The Indian Indian lady behind the motel counter gave an evasive, non-commital answer when I asked about leaving our luggage on the bikes in front of our motel room. We were gonna bring our stuff in anyways, but this is a question I usually ask to get an idea of the surroundings.
Seems like most of our motels are run by Indian couples now, legal immigrants brought over to run their motels by other, wealthy Indians. I have taught a number of their kids over the years. Typically these foriegn people work very hard 24/7 and endure much loneliness in a strange land (and the occasional moments of sheer terror if the motel is in a bad area) all to give their kids a shot at the American dream. Quite often as well their marriages were arranged, and not all get along well so far from friends and family. In most cases these couples live in a few rooms directly behind the reception desk and spend long years at the motel, hardly ever going anywhere else.
And even in bad areas, they will strive to keep the motel looking clean and neat, so it can be hard to tell going in.
Pulling up to our room, I noticed that a car parked a few spaces down was entirely missing the passenger side window... another bad sign.
Ordinarily, I would have had a handgun somewhere in my luggage. This time there wasn't one, you can thank $%&#* New York State laws for that. Not that I WANTED to get in a shoot-out or anything like that, its just better to have a gun too is all.
One solace was that, most guys on motorcycles with Texas plates travelling through the South probably have a gun on them somewhere. I was hoping any potential assailants would realize that too. One of us was from Texas at least.
So I slept on the floor behind the door, close to the front window, not any sort of hardship as I sleep on the floor all the time anyway. I was just uneasy is all, as vehicles came and went late in the night.
The funniest though was Clint on his classic six-cyclinder CBX 1100, doing a stationary "Mad Max" style burnout one night in front of Dud's.... only to have the hot rubber suddenly gain traction and launch him into the back of a parked pickup
I saw a guy do much the same thing on a brand new 900 Ninja back in the 80's,...except he was doing it on a road atop a bluff which paralleled the Kentucky River.
When the tire got soft enough to gain traction, the front wheel went vertical and dumped him on his butt in the middle of the road,..where he had a ringside seat to watch his new bike wobbily make its way to the edge of the bluff, go over, and dramatically crash its way all the way to the bottom,....bouncing off of many large boulders along the way.
He was a snooty rich kid and the 40 or so motorcyclists who were observing from the parking lot of an adjoining roadside tavern immediately launched into a raucous display of knee slapping hoots and jeers.
Lexington has long had an event known as "The Thursday Night Ride".
It was on one of those rides that the above mentioned event took place.
Back in the late 70's, early 80's it was a group of about 30 or 40 of us guys who rode down to Charlie's Steak House on the river. We'd just drink beer, eat burgers, and hang out in the parking lot back then. It's turned into something a bit more active over the course of a few decades.
Charley's Steak House has been replaced by a Bananas restaurant/bar now and several hundred young people typically turn out for the event every Thursday night during the spring and summer.
Here's a fairly current video of it. You'll notice the road is the one mentioned that's on a bluff above the Kentucky River. There's a guardrail along it now, but back then it was only bordered by a series of wooden posts.
I'll 'fess up, I didn't even start riding motorcycles until I was 27, and never have done a wheelie on purpose, though I've been told I've lifted the front wheel on a number of occasions, including on the KLR, always when I was leaned forward accelerating hard.
What I cant figure is, how on earth do you learn how to do stunts without dropping a whole bunch of bikes in the process?
Must be all these guys started out as kids on dirt bikes.
you do pretty good for starting at 27 Bird-man. i started at 14, against the wishes of a **very** disapproving father. i earned the money for the bike working in the stockyards as much as i could over hot, hot summers. that was when i wasn't working helping Dad as a veterinary assistant, or building fence and gates at the ranch. summers were a busy time, and usually it didn't even think about getting cool until we were in school for some time...
i learned to ride on an aermacchi (ck. spelling, prolly wrong) Indian 70cc bike. piece of crap motorcycle. prolly the best motorcycle i've owned and shoulda never sold was a kawasaki klr 250, a way scaled down version of the bike Birdy is riding. very capable off-roader, street legal, and capable of sustained 65 mph stuff, although it's at the top of it's game. liquid cooled motor, and while it was underpowered on the freeway, was ideal for tooling around town.
Ya, threw a leg over when I was 27, and pretty much didn't get off until I was about 40
Anyhoo...
First light, all was well, the bikes still there.
A perusal of the Weather Channel however revealed momentous news....
Last I had heard, two days prior when we were in the motel in Virginia, a tropical depression had passed over the Yucatan Peninsula and into the western gulf. Computer models at that time had it making landfall on Thursday anywhere from Veracruz to Louisiana.
Anyone who pays attention to these things (like just about everyone who lives on the Gulf Coast) knows that computer models more than a day or two out are notoriously fickle. Not innacurate in the literal sense, its just that these weather systems are so unpredictable based on even the best data.
Folks that ain't familiar, like my brother for example, assume the worst of it is the wind. The wind does count for something, but again as anyone famliar knows it ain't so much the wind as it is the rain associated with these things.
And again, even the rainfall varies. We have had hurricanes make landfall just 200 miles away and seen nary a drop in San Antonio, so localized around the eye was the rain. Other times it is like what I saw on the TV that morning.
The eye was still way down off of Mexico, the storm barely a hurricane, but much of the Gulf was covered by rain bands, including a large area of rainfall heading towards New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. Then too, the estimated time of landfall had been moved up, Wednesday afternoon in Northern Mexico, putting the whole South-Central Texas coast and San Antonio on the rain side of the storm.
How much rain would fall? No way of knowing. If the eye stalled out after landfall possibly a whole bunch, like in many inches. This was Tuesday morning, landfall due in 30 hours, thunderstorms and heavy rains already forecast for all along the Gulf Coast that day, and we were still more than 900 miles away from home, on motorcycles yet.
We were sort of in a hurry before, now we were in a horse race.
Montgomery Alabama, down the superslab to Mobile, and along the Gulf Coast was out the window, now we were going to head directly west from Mongomery across Alabama and Mississippi, staying away from the coast.
If we could make 600 - 700 miles that day without stopping we would be somewhere in Texas, and maybe only four hours from home Wednesday morning. Only problem was there isn't an Interstate heading west out of Montgomery so we would surely lose time on that stretch. Then too a front was moving down into Lousiana, and at some point we would have to ride along it.
Here's a look at our revised route plan that morning (never mind the "1" and "2", that was the only way I could generate this image on randmcnally.com ) .
We were still in Georgia on I 85, and were looking to pick up I 20 eastbound at Meridian MS after crossing Alabama.
Probably we would cut off at Tyler and go through Waco, but note; while not as bad as West Virginia... there ARE no short cuts in East Texas, anytime off of the interstate, you're gonna lose time.
Rain somewhere along our route that day was a virtual certainty. As described earlier in this thread, lubing an "o" ring chain is a pain and of dubious effectiveness anyhow since you are only lubing the outside of the chain. Thus far the chain was still pretty greasy with the original factory lube, but on account of the rain prospects lubing it up further seemed like a good idea.
On bikes lacking a centerstand there is only one way to do it. You spray the bottom part of the chain with some sort of backdrop to prevent yourself from lubing the back tire too (NOT a good idea ), I use a newspaper or anything handy. You lube it stretch by stretch, rolling the bike each time to expose the next length of chain.
So once again I was out at first light, and while lubing the chain I noticed the master link retaining clip had flown off somewhere along the route.
I have noticed in this dialogue that I have no pictures of crises... no photos of a dropped bike, no photos of the bike with the seat taken off, and now no photo of the missing clip. Prob'ly indicative of my state of mind at those moments.
But any how, what I was missing is illustrated in this photo lifted from the 'net....
The master link joins the ends of the chain, the sideplate being pressed on and then secured with the clip.
Most likely the clip had flown off up in the mountains. Due to the range of suspension travel, dirt bikes are set up with the chain fairly loose, and the repeated transition from trailing throttle to getting on the gas while negotiating all those curves must have whipped the chain taught repeatedly.
Naturally, because I needed it, I didn't have a spare clip on hand.
Not likely the side plate of the master link would come off (I have since been told horror stories ), but I planned to stop in at the first dealership I saw.
A rich scent of curry cooking in the motel lobby when we checked out�� and a Cop, who was needing security camera footage, from what I gathered, of a group of bikers who had been perpetrating some crime or other at motels along the Interstate.
That we did not stop for breakfast right away is indicative of our haste, instead we made the Alabama state line first, and then stopped at that old Interstate standby�. a Cracker Barrel restaurant; elaborate put-on �country� shtick to be sure, but good, predictable food, and good coffee. My brother, being from New York and all, remarked upon the Alabama drawl of the waitress. I pointed out that everyone talked that way around there, and further opined that the prettiest female Southern drawls can be found in women from Tennessee (YMMV).
After �Uncle Herschel�s Sampler� or whatever, we hit the road again. You might have noticed I have lots of pictures of my bike, after all we tend to take photos of the things we love, and I have always been totally smitten with whatever bike I was owning at the time. Except for a certain BMW that is, that one ended with a bitter, disappointed break-up, after I had such high expectations going in. Ain�t that the way life is? You find something who you think will stay with you the rest of your life but she proves to be expensive, tempermental and unreliable.
Anyhow, here�s the one that has never let me down and which has forgiven me all my neglect, as seen that morning in the Cracker Barrel parking lot�
Rested, fed, caffeined, we were through Montgomery in no time, and then turned east onto Highway 80, towards Selma. Just the highway we needed�divided, two lanes in each direction, no traffic. Open farmland and pastures, not at all the endless longleaf pine forests I was expecting.
I weren�t expecting the history either. Took me a bit to realize it but we were riding along the Selma � Montgomery Highway, the scene of that epochal civil rights march in the 60�s�.
I wish I would have read up on it first, as I surely would have stopped to photograph the Edmund Pettus bridge. As it was, by Selma the weather was clearly closing in, the whole sky across the horizon to our left piled high with looming cumulonimbus.
In downtown Selma we needed to take a left and I got in the left lane behind some traffic. My brother, in front, had missed the sign and was pulled up at the light in the right hand lane, three lanes over. I beeped the feeble KLR horn and called his name. No luck, he was wearing earplugs. The elderly Black gentleman in the old pickup to my right saw my dilemma, beeped his horn and called out my brother�s name too. In case that weren�t enough, a pedestrian walking by also paused to get his attention.
See? Ya never can tell WHAT to expect when you go somewhere new. My impression was just then that Jesus would NOT have advised folks to �shake the dust from their sandals� and leave this town.
We met up again at this gas station by the intersection, and got gas there since we were stopped anyhow. Note the sign by the front entrance, shades of Chris Rock�s classic �How not to get beat-up by the police� video�
By now there was a thunderstorm practically marching up the highway from the south, clearly with our name written on it, we could feel its winds and smell the rain. With moments to spare we mounted up and skipped town, quirting our horses in the direction of the Mississippi state line.
I would think that, if you married a child bride like I did, anything you can do in later years to promote the illusion that you ain't actually up in the mandatory prostate exam age bracket yet is probably a good thing.
I would think that, if you married a child bride like I did, anything you can do in later years to promote the illusion that you ain't actually up in the mandatory prostate exam age bracket yet is probably a good thing.
That's not how her mind works. She just looks at something and either "dork" or "non dork" registers.
I'll 'fess up, I didn't even start riding motorcycles until I was 27, and never have done a wheelie on purpose, though I've been told I've lifted the front wheel on a number of occasions, including on the KLR, always when I was leaned forward accelerating hard.
What I cant figure is, how on earth do you learn how to do stunts without dropping a whole bunch of bikes in the process?
Must be all these guys started out as kids on dirt bikes.
Birdwatcher
Well, I have to 'fess up and admit that although I threw a leg over a number of dirtbikes and scooters when I was 14-15, I didn't climb on a cycle again until last spring. I'm having a helluva good time now that I'm back on. It's gonna take me a while to make up for 40 years of not riding, but I'm doing my damnedest. Put 1200 miles on in 2.5 days a couple weekends ago.
But I have to say I'm enjoying this travelogue even more than your winter/blizzard travelogue from a couple years back, and looking forward to the next installment!
You find something who you think will stay with you the rest of your life but she proves to be expensive, tempermental and unreliable.
I've had two wives like that.... , but never a motorcycle... (I 1st straddled a motorcycle and grabbed the grips when I was 18 yrs old... Bike was a Norton Atlas, 750...
This is a fantastic thread. Thank you for posting it. I'm certainly glad you're enjoying the trip too.
Your mention of the Atlas put things over the top for me here. I'm a sexagenarian heart attack survivor whose bike days are long behind me. I started with a '66 Suzuki X6 Hustler but quickly moved to a snortin' Norton. Over the decades I had 8 of them, ranging from a stock 750 Commando to an 850 with a California Sidecar to a '70 Dunstall Road Racer. None had a klunky electric start thankfully.
Took many a road trip with the. Some from my then home base in Onondaga County, NY. One of the more memorable was into Canada and north for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Most fantastic Northern Lights and starry skies I ever saw. Always carried a stash of spares to ensure I didn't get stranded. Your saga here brought back fond memories. Again my thanks!
dork is not the word or phrase my wife used when I showed up on a 1100 V star harley clone. My dog house has HD tv........hope yours does. Rick Bike loves me though......So does the Dog.
Well, I have to 'fess up and admit that although I threw a leg over a number of dirtbikes and scooters when I was 14-15, I didn't climb on a cycle again until last spring. I'm having a helluva good time now that I'm back on. It's gonna take me a while to make up for 40 years of not riding, but I'm doing my damnedest.
You go Doc�. And don�t let all the petty concerns of the worrying nay-sayers get to you one bit....
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But I have to say I'm enjoying this travelogue even more than your winter/blizzard travelogue from a couple years back,
Oh, you must mean the one where I peed into that coffee cup at dawn on Christmas morning while driving north on the superslab in Virginia, unable to shut off the car, knowing it wouldn't start again. "Don't drink the coffee Honey" I told my wife when she woke up...
I dunno exactly it took us to reach Mississippi, a couple of hours maybe, slowed up by towns en route. Couldn�t really say how long we had been riding that day.
On a road trip time is measured in towns passed and rivers crossed, as indicated by town names and distances given on road signs, said towns reeled in one after the other. Until at last one is just too far to reach and you pull over to sleep for a bit.
On this day our frame of reference was the Mississippi River; after that everything would become finite� three hours across Louisiana, and then wherever we could get to in Texas. Much hinged on what time we could reach that river.
Across the Missippi state line and then there was the Interstate, and then straight away running hard southeast towards Meridian. In Meridian we came upon a motorcycle dealership at last, as I knew we eventually would. We pulled off right away.
There was an older gentleman there, big and still tough, like someone who had worked hard for a living� a farmer maybe, or a logger perhaps. Without pathos he related how his wife of more than thirty years had passed suddenly and unexpectedly not two months before.
He had worked hard his whole life, supporting a family and then attending to his grandchildren. Now he was contemplating heading out to see the continent on a motorcycle, never having visited much of North America. Contemplating this not to assuage his catastrophic loss, for nothing at all would help with that, but just to get out and see the country. I hope he does it.
This first dealership was fresh out of master links in my size, but they gave us directions to a Honda dealer a couple of exits down. They had master links on hand, and it didn�t take but a moment to replace the missing retaining clip on my chain.
Back on the interstate again, and south out of town�. only to find a monster thunderstorm in our path, a great looming pillar of clouds, with a broad gray pillar of rain appearing to support the whole. Caught at last�.. but just then the interstate we wanted exited to the right, heading west towards Jackson, and once again we ran west, effecting another narrow escape.
Onward as fast as prudence (whoever she is) allowed, hammering the ninety miles west to Jackson, and then on again towards Vicksburg on the Mississippi River.
Not having looked at a map since breakfast, I didn�t know how far from Jackson Vicksburg was exactly, assuming the usual 90 to 150 miles. Turns out I had forgotten Grant�s brilliant campaign, and how he had separated himself from his supply lines, stolen a march, and assaulted the Confederate forces at Jackson to secure his rear, before turning around and laying siege to Vicksburg.
Thus Vicksburg couldn�t have been that far off, and it weren�t, a little while out of Jackson we came across a sign saying Vicksburg was just 30 miles further on down the road
I wouldn't expect someone who rides a glorified chain saw to be so judgemental.
What? I was trying to be nice.... Its true... I looked on the net; you can fit a whole quiche, two large cheesecakes, and a whole case of pink daquiri coolers under that seat.
Anyhoo... I think they call this "tough love". I mean... wait untill you ride to Sturgis on that thing
Montana?......I can still see snow in the Bob Marshall/Rocky MT wilderness area> plus its like COLD this morning! Keep it going Mike........I love it when you tell a story. Rick
ooooooo! mistah sagebrush bringin' out the BIG GUNS! i like it a lot! i'd have to get in touch with the ex-wife, then scan a half-jillion photos of our trips into the 'puter before i could play here. listening to Birdy go on, makes me have happy, happy memories, as we were young once, free and able to do this kinda thing all over the place.
mackay sagebrush, now *those* are motorcycle pix. enjoy the prattle birdwatcher, just as i have for the last 30 years or so...
Your mention of the Atlas put things over the top for me here. I'm a sexagenarian heart attack survivor whose bike days are long behind me. I started with a '66 Suzuki X6 Hustler but quickly moved to a snortin' Norton. Over the decades I had 8 of them, ranging from a stock 750 Commando to an 850 with a California Sidecar to a '70 Dunstall Road Racer. None had a klunky electric start thankfully.
Took many a road trip with the. Some from my then home base in Onondaga County, NY. One of the more memorable was into Canada and north for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Most fantastic Northern Lights and starry skies I ever saw. Always carried a stash of spares to ensure I didn't get stranded. Your saga here brought back fond memories. Again my thanks!
Your very welcome Baldy, and good to know we still have REAL motorcyclists in our midst
(I mean, some of us are riding Burgmans now.... )
(OK, I'll lay off on the Burgman jokes. Some things is just endlessly funny is all )
We was coming up on Vicksburg....
Coming into Vicksburg I had a decision to make�. It was only 4:30 pm�. four hours of daylight left, enough time to get clear across Louisiana and well into Texas�.
OTOH my brother had not seen this country before, and already we had just hurried across all or parts of three southern states without seeing much at all. Ain�t too many historic places more accessible to the Interstate than is Vicksburg (on that score, the Little Big Horn tops the list, where you can practically see Custer Hill from the gas pumps of the convenience store/casino right on Interstate 90). Plus there�s a historic downtown in Vicksburg overlooking the river with a restaurant or two.
Vicksburg ain't very big, and as we approached the downtown/battlefield exit the skies made the decision for me.... a large thunderstorm was waiting for us up ahead right over where the river and bridge were probably located, other thunderstorms could be seen moving on the far side and to our south. I pulled ahead of my brother and moved over to the exit, turn indicator flashing.
My wife and I had just passed this way last year at about this time. The battlefield museum lies right off the end of the exit ramp, and there�s a paved loop road around the battle lines that is much used after hours by local runners and walkers.
Time constraints, weather, the late afternoon hour, and the worry about a certain hurricane in the Gulf all conspired to make a battlefield visit not practical this time, but here�s a few photos from last year�.
Downtown is just about ten blocks from the battlefield. I took a couple of random pics, but at this time we were still in �roll� mode, and just looking to get off the bikes, grab a bite, and get back on the road again. You can see the sort of skies we were facing in that second pic looking west across the river.
Can�t say much for the restaurant (no pic); a historic place located in an old brick building located on a steep, cobbled hill above the river. Must be they make their money from the bar, on account of both last year and this the food was both expensive and disappointing.
Rain came and went while we were eating, and there was some hope we might have gotten lucky again when we rolled out about 6 pm.
I had forgotten about that front moving into Louisiana but the front hadn�t forgot, if that makes any sense. Shortly after crossing the river it commenced to rain, heavily. Already wet, we stopped to put on rain gear. Rain gear hardly ever keeps you dry anyhow, not in heavy rain, its chief value being that it keeps you from getting chilled.
Two hours of rainfall: heavy and a bit less heavy. On looking at the radar loops on the Weather Channel that night it became apparent that we had ridden east-west right along a single large rain band associated with the front, which is why, much to our chagrin, the whole time we could see brighter skies both north and south of the highway.
Rain heavy enough that we were riding slower than the semis, many of whom weren�t shy about crowding our bikes as they passed, scarce feet from me who was up front on �point�; riding the tire path on the left side of the right hand lane, each passing semi throwing blinding sprays of water.
At last, somewhere west of Monroe, the rain stopped, or at least slowed to a drizzle. We had lost time though, what with the Vicksburg stop and the rain, it was getting dark and we were still twenty miles on the wrong side of Shreveport, and maybe thirty miles from the Texas state line.
Doable, but in the fading light I was just able to make out against the western sky that there was more rain falling up ahead. I have forgotten to point out that I had found a clear faceshield for my old helmet up in New York, so I was no longer riding in the dark after dark, but even so riding in the rain sucks, and riding at night in the rain sucks even worse.
Time to quit; we got off at the next exit and found a motel.
We had ridden just about 550 miles that day, not as far as hoped, but by this time tomorrow anyway, we would certainly be in San Antonio.
It is with mixed feelings that realize that you are nearing the end of your trip. I have enjoyed it immensely.... I am planning a trip soon, and I think I'll endeavor to do same... Perhaps return the favor, if you will...
Good Times.....The Good Times, gotta get ready for work. I am also bummed that the trip is getting close to ending, Great story as usual. Rick officially out of the doghouse of Love. LIFE IS GOOD! (and the bike got tuned and tweaked.....runs great)
The hurricane was to make landfall maybe 100 miles south of Brownsville later that day, heavy rain a certainty in places, San Antonio included in the "4 to 6 inches possible by tomorrow" area on the weather map. Chance of rain in the forecast pretty much increasing as you went south.
The plan was to go west on I 20 to Tyler Tx, then to cut across southwest on Highway 31 through Athens and Corsicana to Waco, a distance of about 130 miles, as opposed to the 190 miles of Interstate between Tyler and Waco by way of Dallas.
Out of the motel by 6:30am so as to miss the worst of Shreveport inbound commuter traffic, an unknown quantity to us. Still cloudy, rain possible.
Turns out the traffic into Shreveport weren't inconsiderable, even before 7am, but we were slowed only a little through downtown, having taken the direct route rather than the city loop, such loops always being an unknown quantity in this part of the world.
We were in the fast lane of a three lane highway, moving along with fast moving traffic in all three lanes, one of those deals where you cannot change lanes without care.
A little before downtown the pickup in front of me smashed violently into the back of a blue minivan in front, an accident that puzzled me in retrospect because I can recall no reason for the minivan to slow down so precipitously, as it must have done.
Interesting how vague our recollections can be of the moments leading up to a surprise, sudden event. I vaguely recall the pickup had just passed us on the inside and moved over into my lane ahead of me at a higher rate of speed. I�m not sure of that though, I�m pretty sure the pickup was tan or pale in color. I do recall the minivan was dark blue.
A sudden violent collision just up ahead, a shower of plastic shards of bodywork flying onto the roadway, and the sound of a muffled "crump!" through my earplugs.
Call it accumulated experience; by habit I had at least the prerequisite two second interval behind the truck, closer to three I'm thinking. Anyhow, on a bike, stopping quick usually ain't the problem, stopping quicker than the guy behind you can is more often the problem.
As it was, I laid on the front brake, but am not sure how much, this being one of those situations where moments drag on in time, tunnel vision sets in, and you react without conscious thought, looking on with a sort of detached interest.
The truck went left onto the highway margin immediately upon impact, laying on the brakes, in a skid I think, so quick did he stop. The minivan careened crazily onto the grassy median, first one way then the next, clearly struggling to retain control. It ended with a sharp right curve, nearly flipping over but not, then heading on a course that would put it broadside back in the fast lane.
In those long moments I saw it come to a stop at the edge of the pavement just as I rolled through the debris field, the driver looking in my direction. I�m sure I was braking, but part of those ingrained reactions that come into play was an awareness of the traffic on my tail.
All of this I think, being part of that trained �muscle memory� we all hope kicks in if TS ever HTF in a gravest extreme deadly force self-defense scenario.
Just like that, it was over, we rolled on past the scene, now it was in the past. I had a rational appreciation of what could have happened, but no gut fear reaction, I wasn�t shaken.
Not like I was one night after my wife and I found ourselves driving along the snow-covered median of an interstate in a blinding West Virginia snowstorm. I think the difference was, here I had felt in control throughout, the other I didn�t, knowing that a tree or culvert any moment could result in instant catastrophe.
Had that van rolled into my lane, I�m pretty sure I had the skill set in place to get around it, or felt like I did. On that West Virginia occasion, I gingerly maneuvered the car back onto the highway, knowing that stopping in that situation was about as dangerous as moving, given the traffic coming up in back. And indeed I was thoroughly rattled afterwards, pulling off at the very next exit. I would have stopped anyway even if prudence (her again) didn�t dictate.
Once on the other side of Shreveport, we stopped and got breakfast, gassed up, and I lubed the chain again. That motel in Georgia, where I had just done that the morning before, felt like a long time ago.
Then we headed out again, still a bit more than 400 miles from my front door.
Thanks, it is interesting that as a bike rider you (we) pay much more attention while riding (survival requires this)and I believe the pay off is we are less prone to those [surprise's] that inattentive drivers find themselves faced with. Glad you were ok. Rick
A little before downtown the pickup in front of me smashed violently into the back of a blue minivan in front, an accident that puzzled me in retrospect because I can recall no reason for the minivan to slow down so precipitously, as it must have done.
Easy... in your wardrobe, channel Ulysses S. Grant... before he got famous... Buy an inexpensive motorcycle and ride it 'till the wheels fall off... Spend far too much time on the internet.....
Oh wait, ya already got that last part nailed
Rick... technology marches onward, if you're a Lefty (clutch hand) you can ride AND text while riding, otherwise yer gonna need a throttle lock or cruise control. Given that the younger generation can text by feel without looking, it is only a question of time before we start seeing that.
OK... about a hundred quick miles down I 20 to Tyler... which exit to take to cut across to Waco, like lots of folk must need to do?
We were stymied here by the famously obtuse Texas highway signs, even having problems finding signs for Highway 31. I think Aggies (Texas A&M graduates) are responsible, I'm quite serious, if you've ever ridden or driven through College Station around that famous highway engineering school you'll note the WORST traffic light timing you have ever seen. Must be a sort of mindset that extends to highway signage too, like if you don't know the way already its probably your fault.
Lost a great deal of time getting through Tyler, where the "loop" is probably slower than straight through. But then, outside of town on Highway 31, 80 to 90 miles an hour in spots, running with traffic.
Texas Law Enforcement... a complex entity. Out of staters are often flat amazed at the speeds we take for granted here.
Yet at other places we have speed traps like no other, given that fines can be a major source of revenue for rural townships. Best thing to do is do as the locals do... and never be the guy in front, in case all the locals slow down and you don't notice.
Even with the fast spots, the 130 miles between Tyler and Waco was psychologically the LONGEST part of the trip.... speed-killing towns along the highway every 10-20 miles, and without the saving grace of pretty like around the Smokies or in Northern Georgia.
My brother has little experience with Tropical Storms, but fer me, every minute lost here could be more minutes we might well have to deal with absolutely drenching rainfall later that day. If it got too bad, dropping in unannounced at Tommy�s house in Austin again en-route ( ) was always an option, but then, worse-case scenario, we could be stuck there by the weather for 24-48 hours, and for my brother this conference in San Antonio was a big deal.
Corsicana was the worst; there we came upon the Dallas-to-Houston Interstate 45, of absolutely no use to us, even though we went right under it. Instead, tedious, crawling, stop-and-go Corsicana traffic, right along the main drag, from one edge of town to the next.
I should have remembered, there are no shortcuts in the Eastern half of Texas (West Texas is different, there ain't no towns ). 190 miles to Waco via Dallas on the Superslab might have been faster, and less aggravating.
All this time we were looking at the sky off to our left, expecting rain, the sky sure LOOKED like rain. But we lucked out, and mercifully, Highway 31 cut directly to Interstate 35 just north of Waco proper, with only about five stop-and-go traffic lights.
Actually, we palpably weren�t into the tropical weather system yet. When you are within the aegis of a tropical depression, even the far fringes, there�s a steady breeze, stronger at times, but constant, and the whole overcast and rainy sky moves in unison in response to the distant eye. It looks sorta like the special effect in that alien invasion pic Independence Day.
What was unusual here were the clouds and occasional sprinkles. In our experience, outside the edges of a tropical storm the skies are clear and the air oppressively hot. It�s the Chinook effect: All that air that spiraled up into the sky inside the storm (hence the low barometric pressure), dumping all that rainfall as it climbed, has to come down somewhere, and it does, right outside the storm, warming at it falls, the relative humidity also dropping as it warms.
A couple of times we have been absolutely sweltering under sunny skies in San Antonio under such conditions, the clouds of the adjacent system clearly visible moving along the horizon.
Not this time, and after Waco we would be running south-southwest, right towards the system.
Anyhow, we arrived at Interstate 35 at last, and just as we had done 24 hours earlier inside the Mississippi state line, we got onto the interstate without delay and hammered straight away down the fast lane.
Just about 200 miles from my front door. Practically home in Texas terms.
OK, so nothing did happen, but perhaps the trip holds some interest, presented here as we experienced it at the time...
....back into the familiar dash down Interstate 35... Waco.... Temple... Round Rock... 80-90 mph at times, 70 at others, depending upon what the traffic was running.
We was all running south like migrating wildebeast on the Discover Channel...
...and the predators were out in force as usual.... pulling over the unlucky and the unwary, one at a time.... red and blue lights flashing.
100 miles to Austin, and stopped for gas at this half-way point, and to call ahead, to check upon the weather...
Cloudy where we were, with occasional showers, in Austin the first telltale signs of that steady breeze.
Not living on a floodplain, I actually love being out in tropical depression rainfall, its like taking a shower, not cold enough to be cold, you could lather up and wash in it. Plus these things hit like rare treats in our hot season, a welcome break from far too many days of too hot and too sunny. Fer me anyhow, but like I said I don't get flooded.
My wife said it had just rained heavy where she was, and a guy coming northbound at the gas station asked if we were going to San Antonio. "Good luck" he said, saying how that there was a major rain band just south of town heading north.
After all this way, we were just ninety minutes from my front door, so we got back on right away and headed out.... along the fast lane with fast-moving traffic, heavy in places.... Buda (past Cabela's).... San Marcos... New Braunfels... Schertz.... only getting rained on once en route... though there were patches of rain all around.
Coming into town, we could see it was raining heavy downtown so we ran around the Loop, just missing a rain area or two on the way.
Well hey, exactly four o'clock in the afternoon and back safe in my own driveway at last , rain closing in.... both of us not too wet....
..whereupon I learned that my daughter-in-law had a dead battery across town, and my wife and son were both working so could I go and get her? ....plus I had to run my brother downtown....
Hey, back to business as usual without missing a beat...
Anyhow... here's the mileage in that same driveway three weeks earlier....
...and here's another fuzzy pic of the mileage upon our return....
48,616 miles on the odometer upon departure....
53,977 when I got back....
5,361 fast miles on that eighteen-year old KLR (after six years of neglect, never been rebuilt, never even had the carburetor cleaned), and it ran like a Swiss watch.
Dang Bristoe, thanks fer the kind words, but if I knew it was THAT easy to win accolades, I woulda just gone out and rode around the city loop 165 times.
Anyhow, if it helps any, I actually saw a hot chick riding on the back of some guy's Bergmann yesterday.
I hadn't thought that was possible.
(no idea if the guy was actually heterosexual or not)
Dang Bristoe, thanks fer the kind words, but if I knew it was THAT easy to win accolades, I woulda just gone out and rode around the city loop 165 times.
Anyhow, if it helps any, I actually saw a hot chick riding on the back of some guy's Bergmann yesterday.
I hadn't thought that was possible.
(no idea if the guy was actually heterosexual or not)
Birdwatcher
Better watch that!
You too have a Burgman and a rubber donut in your future.
Well, Birdy; That was quite a saga, and I enjoyed it immensely. Ye are braver than I to attempt a ride of that magnatude with a bike that has set for that long. Altho' many years ago, I purchased a BMW R-90/6 that had set for about 10 years and did much the same thing. And it had twice the miles on the clock as yours... But I got it running and rode it for about a month before embarking on the trip... My only issue was a broken clutch cable that I should have replaced before I left... and I knew it, and plain forgot...
I think perhaps a sojourn is in order for me soon...
Given your experience with the KLR, I wonder how it would work in a bike with a Cafe Racer format... Something to ponder on... Always like the big singles...
I hate to admit to being envious of Bristoe... but I have been looking at the Suzuki Burghman my own self... But I want it just for a run-around-town transport... Got the Harley for the long haul... Wish the Suki had a clutch and a manual tranny. There is some technology I don't mind not putting up with...
yep....that is a true ride to put in the books. I not ashamed to admit that I would not have gone any further than the dealer after I found the missing master link clip. I once had a chain depart the bike due to that link breaking and it took out the case. End of ride, bike went to dealership and lots of money was expended. Mike this is another wonderful story of your adventure's in life and is once again amazing. Leann and I both miss your company and will sometime in the future change that. Take care. The Goss's
When I got back, I was all wired for a bigger bike, wanting to take the missus somewhere too. Found a Honda 1300 v-twin with bags and windshield for only $5,000, was pumped.
But then, I'm sorta hooked on the simplicity of the KLR, and we used to put in all-day rides two-up on this thing (don't laugh, over much of the world, and back in my youth, the KLR is a big bike..
Here's the bike, one more time....
A problem of length, and space.... note how the saddlebags impinge upon the passenger pegs, and how that backpack bungeed on the back (going into it I figured there was a 50/50 chance I'd be walking home) extends over the end of the seat.
Fear not! Being as the KLR has been around forever... There are aftermarket solutions...
Rear set side racks....
...and an expanded, rearset luggage rack, that matches a hard luggage case if ya want (be nice to have a component that locks)....
Plus, to make use of all that wasted space up front.... a KLR-specific tank bag, front panniers, and in-front-of-the-windshield tool kit....
Turns out you can make a KLR into a regular Gold Wing... Here's the highway pegs....
Hmmm... 2,000 miles to Chiapas, another 600 miles to Costa Rica through Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua... hmmm....
We're a long way from going at this point, but the thought has crossed our minds...
I have read this thread about 3 times now. BW...you have a superb touch on your keyboards when you run off these stories. Excellent,informative reads.Thanks!
i thought we could go to alaska at some point, before arthritis prohibits it. but that's just me, apparently...
i'm good for the costa rica trip. lemme know when you want me to get a bike and how many chances you think a coupla gringos got of getting through mexico to get to that costa rican paradise on the pacific?
People do, there's that motorcycle gathering every year at Tierra Del Fuego, I believe one guy on a Harley made it there when he was in his sixties. Gotta go through Central America at some point to get there, to that crowd, Costa Rica would be child's play.
Anyhow, check out klr650.net, one guy there posted recently from Costa Rica, having spent some weeks meandering down there. And other folks still ride to Mexico and back regularly.
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if so, am i invited?
Si, por que puede hablar espanol muy bien.
This is a back-burner issue at this point.
Sure is doable though, even a new KLR is pretty cheap, and for a six week trip $2,500 oughta cover expenses ('course for that kind of money, you can FLY to Costa Rica and just hang out).
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how many chances you think a coupla gringos got of getting through mexico to get to that costa rican paradise on the pacific?
I woulda thought Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua would be the worry, but not according to the travel books I perused this weekend.
I dunno the odds overall, but hey, look at the bright side; as time goes by we have less and less to lose anyhow
you know, birdy, as we travel through life, we get to know our REAL FRIENDS. my father once told me that at my deathbed, i would only be able to count my TRUE FRIENDS on the fingers of one hand.
you, my old friend, my brother... you helped me bury both my parents, and listened interminable to my whining about their care... even visiting mom in the rest home one sunday visit...
you are my brother. i would like to go to the ends of the earth with you to listen to your drivel and be a better man for it.
yes, sir. you are my brother...
-tom
p.s. globemaster, you go in the pot too... just 'cause you were there for most of it,ds and ... just 'cause...
-tom
so, what's the time frame you're thinking of? can we bring guns? please say we can bring guns...
so, what's the time frame you're thinking of? can we bring guns? please say we can bring guns...
Guns? In Mexico? Not fer us I'm afraid....
As it is we would have to travel through a country where our fortunes would be dictated by the whims of whoever DID have a gun, and maybe a uniform, in places without the constraints of any meaningful rule of law.
Playing the odds actually, and avoiding lingering in the Border area as much as possible. People still do trips like that, even today.
I have that rearset luggage rack on order. The missus and I will make a trial long-distance run (on our side of the Border) when the weather cools down a bit.
Flat amazing the positive comments on this thread, I mean most of the stuff that interests me just bores a lot of people.
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Given your experience with the KLR, I wonder how it would work in a bike with a Cafe Racer format...
I believe all three of the Japanese makers have offered big singles in a cafe format from time to time. They don't (or didn't) sell well and were dropped from the lineup pretty quick.
I test rode a new Yamaha 600 set up like that once. At the time it felt small and slow.
Speaking of thumpers (one-cylinder motorcycles), I was in Costa Rica last summer and found the motocycles there fascinating (warning: most stuff I find interesting most people don't).
Costa Rica is motorcycle country, they are all over. But traffic codes there appear to be strictly enforced, and whether for tax rates, price or whatever reason almost everyone there rides thumpers.
Like this one, undetermined brand, biggest thumper I saw there....
..at the other extreme, this.....
Shades of Moto... this cool two stroke...
I don't think I saw the same bike twice, so many different kinds there were....
They were almost all small, under 200cc, I'm guessing a tax or licensing restriction...
I just a couple of weeks ago passed on a Suzuki 650 Savage with only something like 258 miles on the clock.
What impressed me about the KLR, is your report of spending many miles on your trip at sustained speeds in excess of the legal speed limit.
My interest in the big singles goes back to the 60's and to my mentor who had a soft spot for the 500 singles. I remember riding his 1937 BSA and his 1950 something AJS 500's. (He also had a BSA Victor and a Gold STar... and others...)
I remember reading about motorcycles back in the '60's and always wanted a Velocette. I'm thinking that a KLR could be made into a modern day Velocette with a lot more heart and dependablilty. (OK, So I'm wierd that way... )
I started on two wheels with a Norton Atlas (1967) that I purchased in 1969, Also had a '68 BSA Firebird Scrambler, and a '73 Triumph Bonny and a '73 Trident that I wish I still had. FWIW, in a revered place in my big tool box lie my Wentworth spanners, and a set of Wentworth sockets... (BTW my first car was a 1959 Morris MInor...) I have a soft spot in my heart (AND MY HEAD) for English iron....
I have always liked the Suzuki Savage and if I had one I suspect I would ride the wheels off of it.
The only bad things I have heard is that the drive belts are prone to break and the rear suspension bites.
With regards to performance, one of the many intelligently thought-out features of the KLR it that maximum horsepower (about 6,000 rpm) coincides with ninety something in top gear, putting the peak horsepower right about where wind resistance starts to overcome those 34 rear-wheel horses. I don't think a sixth gear would make it much faster.
With regards to performance, everyone says the KLR is dog slow compared to the other big 650 dual purpose thumpers, especially the Suzuki DR650 and KTM. This doesn't worry me any as it would appear this detuned state, along with the water-cooling, contributes to the famous longevity of these motors (at 54,000 miles, mine runs about like new).
I expect the KLR motor could be horsed into any sort of chassis, except the basically finless cyclinder and radiator hanging on somewhere might spoil the look. And if the big air cooled thumpers are toast at 40,000 miles, they are also an easy rebuild.
Oh, BTW, did I mention I have photos of Costa Rican thumpers....
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