Motorcycle Safety

I have two articles to write this weekend so only a short ride for me.  I did get into what is a typical online argument on motorcycle safety, this one strangely enough on a sports board.  A yutz there claimed he put straight pipes on his bike as a safety feature.  Having had this argument many times before, I pointed out that none of the organizations in the United States, Europe, Canada, Australia or elsewhere concerned with motorcycle safety, whether the Motorcycle Safety Foundation, the state highway safety organizations, state police, or insurance companies, recommend loud mufflers as a safety feature.  Yet all do recommend high visibility clothing, full protective gear, especially a full face helmet (preferably white), getting regular professional safety training, regularly practicing skills like fast stops, and developing a hyper defensive riding still with minimum distractions.  I asked Mr. Straight Pipes if he did those things.  I haven't received a reply yet.

Back in the Saddle

After spending the last few months of winter in meticulous planning for the three day Virginia-West Virginia ride I wanted to take in April, I ended up cancelling it.  The tires on the bike were almost shot.  I thought I would get a replacement set under the one year warranty that I purchased when I got them, but I was a few weeks past it.  I decided that I couldn't both pay for the new tires and the trip.  As it turns out, I probably would have cancelled for weather reasons anyway. 

Between weather and health issues, I did the least riding over the winter of 2012-2013 since I began in 2008.  Spring was more than welcome.  I have again gotten in a few 300+ mile Saturday rides the past couple of weekends, the first west of Carlisle out the fantastic section of Route 30 and up to Raystown lake, the second to the World's End state park east of the Susquehanna and then through coal country around Shamokin.

The second of these included a lunch stop at the charming Forksville General Store, just over the covered bridge

The weather was great for both rides but, as has happened so often over the years, my Garmin Zumo GPS screwed me.  It added random diversions and detours to the routes I had designed and uploaded.  I tried stopping then restarting the routes but then they became hopelessly corrupted and I had to just ride until I figured out where I was.

This has been an ongoing problem as long as I have had a GPS on the bike.  I've contacted Garmin multiple times but the company simply denies the problem.  As one of their tech support people said to me, "That can't be happening."  Well, it has happened to me dozens of times, maybe more than a hundred.

All I want is a device that takes the route I designed and runs it--I don't want Garmin to "improve" or shorten it for me. Here's an illustration.  I just designed a route using Garmin's bizarrely bad Base Camp software.  The program shows it as 72.5 miles and taking 2 hours, 2 minutes.  I then transferred it to my Zumo.  On the Zumo, the same exact same route shows as  74.9 miles/1 hour, 36 minutes.  I'm going to ride it later today after I draft my weekly column and would not be surprised if detours and short cuts that I didn't design show up in the route.  I simply cannot understand why Garmin can't find competent software engineers who can successfully integrate mapping software and the GPS devices.

I would dearly love to throw the Zumo away and move to something else, but there is no serious competitor.  The only other motorcycle-specific GPS is the Tom Tom Rider, and I can't even figure out if it's still being sold in the United States. 

And this is more than a nuisance.  When the GPS screws up, I tend to become so angry and distracted that I lose my concentration and my riding erodes.  Yesterday I had a near miss when a yutz ran a stop sign and pulled out in front of me while riding through a town.  He avoided a crash by hitting the brakes but if I hadn't been distracted, I would have been in control of the situation and wouldn't have had to depend on the driver to prevent diaster.

Speaking of which, in June I'm taking the advanced safety course that Pennsylvania began offering last year.  I've taken the basic riders' course and what used to be called the advanced riders' course (which was a compressed version of the same thing) four times.  Those courses are useful but limited--since they're given in a parking lot, speeds never exceed 20 MPH so it doesn't replicate real street riding.  This new advanced course is at higher speeds, so may be more helpful.  That means it requires a bigger course, so I'll have to go to Gettysburg to take it.

I also need to get out on a isolated road and practice some fast stops and U turns.  I may do that today.  I'll continue to try and do long Saturday rides, leaving Sundays to write my column for World Politics Review.  Hopefully at some point I'll be able to do a multi-day ride.

There is one other thing.  While my R1200R remains my favorite physical thing I've ever owned, I'm just starting to look ahead.  It has 43,000 miles which is young for a BMW (and I have about 78K total in a little under five years of riding), but I'm beginning to think that it might be a good idea to move away from a sporty bike that compels me to ride hard and fast, and shift to a bigger touring bike.  In the 1990s I drove a 3 series BMW sedan which forced me to drive fast.  I have five wrecks in the five years I owned it.  I traded it for a larger sedan, first an Audi A6 and now a BMW 528i and haven't had a wreck in either.  So there may be a BMW K1600GT in my future. 

I Need Spring

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The Silence of the Hexheads

During the past six months I've ridden the least since I began almost five years ago.  A number of things have caused this.  In September 2012, I began writing a weekly column called "Strategic Horizons" for World Politics Review.  Since this is moonlighting, I have to do it on weekends, so it fills much of every Sunday.  Then during the autumn I had a few lingering health problems.  None were major but they did keep me off the bike.  Once winter got here we've had month after month of cold, grim weather.  We haven't had any huge snowstorms but there have been enough small ones to keep the roads covered in gravel, making all of the fun mountain roads very dangerous to ride.  Finally, there's Fritz.  He's an absolute sweetheart but very needy and takes up a lot of time.

Because of all of this, all I've been able to do is an occasional hour ride just to make sure I still remember how.

As winter grinds to an end, I'm hoping this will change.  I'm already plotting a two day ride through Virginia and West Virginia for late April to try and make up for the two failed attempts I had last year.




View VA WV April 2013 in a larger map

I'm tingling with excitement about this but it remains contingent on weather and my job conditions since like hundreds of thousands of other civil servants, I'm being used as a political plaything by Congress.  If I'm furloughed, I'll have to cut my riding back dramatically.

Finally

Various commitments--canine, family, and professional--have dramatically cut into my riding this year.  In previous summers, I would have been on 350-450 miles rides every weekend.  This year, I hadn't been on a single long ride since my disastrous late June/early July unadventure so I decided to take yesterday off of work, take advantage of having a dog sitter, and ride one of my favorite routes to the north and northwest of home, stitching together routes 74, 235, 144, 120, and 477.

The weather was good and the traffic light.  It didn't take long until my riding was back in the zone and I was deep in the ecstatic feeling of flying.  There wasn't anything particularly noteworthy or photo worthy on the trip but I did notice something about diverse motorcycle subcultures.

Since it was a weekday, there weren't a lot of other motorcycles on the road.  But I did encounter other riders twice.  The first was in a lovely section of Route 144 that runs for nearly twenty miles through state forest land,  It is purely woods--no businesses, no farms, no cross roads.  It can be a hoot to ride but can also be a problem.  There are no passing areas whatsoever for the entire length so if I'm alone, it's great but if I get stuck behind someone, not so much.

In this instance after I was a few miles in, I came up behind a couple of other motorcyclists.  I won't mention what brand they were riding but just say they were dressed like pirates and had after market "mufflers" that literally caused me pain when I was behind them even though I was wearing a full face helmet and ear plugs. 

Their riding skills were pathetic.  They wallowed below the speed limit on a completely empty road.  Their brake lights came on at the slightest curve. And they did their best to avoid leaning in the curves.

Luckily they eventually pulled over and let me pass.  A bit later I'd stopped at a picnic area to drink a Red Bull and they went wallowing past again.  Of course I felt and heard them coming long before I saw them.  But by the time I was finished they had ridden away, undoubtedly to a local bar or wherever else wannabe pirates hang out.

Later I was sort of lolling along on Route 11.  It's a heavily patrolled road, so I don't speed there.  In my mirrors I saw a bike coming up fast and it passed me in the left lane.  To my surprise, it was another BMW R1200R.  They're rare enough that I've only seen another one on the road a handful of times.  The rider was clearly one of my "own kind," not only riding my bike, but also geared up the way I was (white Arai helmet, BMW and Rev'it protective gear).

He got a bit ahead of me and turned off only Route 34.  I decided to chase.  The easternmost section of Route 34 is nicely open, running through sections of forest and farmland with a few twisty sections.  I thought I'd run the guy down but quickly realized he was GOOD.  He was running in the mid to upper 60s so I had to really rocket to catch up.

When I pulled up behind him, he didn't acknowledge me but I know he saw me.  So then we began to play.  We were knifing through the curves on perfect outside-inside--outside lines a couple of inches from scraping a peg.  Pennsylvania posts a sign with a recommended speed before most curves.  We were averaging 20-25 over that.

I didn't push him but stayed glued about 20 yards back.  This went on for about ten miles.  But then we hit the section of 34 where there were a series of little towns.  And I never speed through towns.  The other rider turned off on what was probably a shortcut and I lost him.  Pity because that was someone I'd really like to ride with on a regular basis.

My Worst Vacation Ever

I often tell people that my stories have a short version and a long version.  This one has no short version.

I hadn't been able to take a summer vacation for several years so planned a three day motorcycle ride for the end of June.  I had worked out the details for months, designing and re-designing the routes, carefully putting together exactly the right gear, and getting the bike in tip top condition.  I'd anxiously watched the weather forecast beginning about ten days out.  While it shifted daily as it often does during the summer, as the time approached the forecast was very hot but with a fairly small chance of scattered thunder storms, so the trip was a "go."

As events conspired, it turned into a disaster.  Like a Clark-Griswold-in-the-Wagon-Queen-Family-Truckster disaster.  But without Christie Brinkley in the swimming pool.

The plan was to take ride the 110 miles to Front Royal Virginia on Interstate 81 following work on Friday.  The first day, I was going to ride the full length of Skyline Drive then most of the Virginia section of the Blue Ridge Parkway, spending the night in Galax.  Both of these are stunning national parks twisting along the ridge of the mountains.

The second day I was going to pick up Route 16.  I'd heard that the section between Marion and Tazewell Virginia was one of the best motorcycle roads in the country.  I planned to stay on 18 to northern West Virginia, skirting about 35 miles from my ancestral homeland near Charleston, and overnighting in Weston.  The third day would be a fairly short ride back to Carlisle on some of my favorite Pennsylvania roads.  At least that was the plan.

The Friday afternoon ride to Front Royal was OK.  I hit triple digit temperatures once I crossed the Potomac, getting readings as high as 106 in the motorcycle's ambient temperature gauge.  But a new Rev'it mesh jacket I'd ordered the previous day had arrived, so I wasn't unbearably miserable.  I checked into the Front Royal Quality Inn--which was crawling with motorcyclists--walked a couple of blocks, had a nice dinner and a couple of excellent IPAs, and stumbled into a free concert in the park by a folk trio named Chatham Street.  All in all, it was a good start.

As I was falling asleep I got a text message telling me of a tornado warning in my area, but I didn't know if that meant Carlisle or Front Royal.  I heard a thunderstorm outside but at that point had had four beers and sleeping pill, so I slept the sleep of the dead.

The hotel served breakfast at 6 so I'd set my alarm for 5:30.  But by 5:00 I was completely awake so I grabbed a Red Bull and a pickled sausage at a convenience store next to the Quality Inn and headed for Skyline Drive.  I could see that it had rained the previous night, but it didn't look too bad.  The only strange thing was that the stuff sack to my bike cover, which I'd left on the seat UNDER the cover, had blown about 50 yards to the other side of the parking lot.  But the cover stayed on the bike, so I didn't think much of it.

The Skyline Drive entrance was only about a mile away.  No one was at the ranger fee booths at the park entrance but there was a sign saying that if no one was there, you could pay when you left, so I dodged my first deer of the day and headed up the mountain. The sun hadn't come up at this point but it was light enough to see. 

I hadn't gotten 500 yards when there was large tree down across the road.  I stopped, took off my helmet, and tried to figure out if I could move it or get around.  A couple of guys on Harleys pulled up and they did the same.  The three of us decided there was no way to get past the tree.  Luckily I had bought a Virginia road map when I filled up with gas the previous evening.  So I found the next entrance to Skyline Drive which was about 25 miles south near Luray.  I got on Route 340 and headed that way.

By then the sun was coming up and I began to see the effects of the storm.  It was immense. Trees were down and branches blown around everywhere.  From Luray, it was a short jump on Route 211 up the mountain to Skyline Drive.

Heading south on Skyline, things were looking good.  There was very little traffic and it was nicely cool.  The only problem was that the road was covered with wet leaves and debris from the storm, so I had to ease through the curves.  When I stopped for a photo at one of the overlooks, the same two guys on Harleys pulled up.  I asked how they'd gotten on Skyline and turned out they came the same way I did, but were a bit behind me.

About another 15 or 20 miles down the road I was getting hungry so decided to stop at one of the store/restaurants that the Park Service runs on Skyline Drive.  The sign on the place said it opened at 8.  It was 7:40 at this point so I decided to wait.  I went to the restrooms which opened on the outside of the building.  The light didn't work which seemed a bit strange.  About this point the two Harley guys showed up again and also decided to wait for the restaurant to open.  Turns out they were from Indiana and were meeting their families for a vacation at Myrtle Beach, so we talked about that for a while.

At 8:00 the staff opened the door to the restaurant but told us they had no electricity, so couldn't serve anything.  So I mounted back up and headed south.  That had made me hungry enough that I decided to jump off of Skyline and find food.  The next exit was Route 33 and I could see from my map that the town of Elkton was about 6 miles away.  So, dodging deer as is normal for Skyline Drive, I twisted my way down off the mountains and went to a McDonald's in Elkton.

The place was jammed.  As I listened to people while I was standing in line, most were saying they had no electricity and thus no way to fix food at home.  A woman in front of me said the pump on her well was electric, so she had no water either.  And the afternoon temperatures were heading for triple digits.

It was strange that Elkton had power and surrounding areas didn't, but I figured it was just a local thing. Having not seen or read the news, I had no idea that this effected the whole mid-Atlantic region and Midwest.

I ate then backtracked up the mountain to get back on Skyline Drive. By now  there was a ranger at the entrance.  When I tried to pay him, he was saying something.  I had my earphones in and the music going, so had to take all that off to hear him.  He told me Skyline was closed and impassable to the south.  I decided to go back down the mountain to Elkton, again pick up Route 340 and head south to Waynesboro.   There I could pick up Interstate 64 and get on the Blue Ridge Parkway.  That was annoying since it meant I would miss the best section of Skyline Drive, but I didn't know what else to do.

On Route 340, I tried to top off my gas.  But every station I pulled into had no electricity and was closed.  Riding through Waynesboro was weird--there clearly was no electricity in the whole town.  Even the traffic lights weren't working. That reminded me, in miniature. of driving through Basra in May of 2003.

I hopped on I-64 and hit the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The northernmost eight miles or so of it aren't great but then I began getting into the more entertaining sections. The wet leaves had dried and blown off at that point, so I was able to lean through the curves. Things were looking up.

By then I was down to about 60 miles of fuel at that point so decided to go looking for some. My Garmin Zumo told me there was a Sunoco eight miles away in Raphine, so I headed that way. 

Getting down from the mountain was a challenge.  Route 56 is tiny and very twisty, and was covered with wet debris.  When I got to Raphine which is right off I-81, people were pulling up to the pumps at the Sunoco.  But when it was my turn, I saw that the pumps were off and the store had no electricity.  By then my fuel was reaching the critical level so I decided to get on Route 11, which parallels I-81, and ride south until I found gasoline.

Just north of Lexington there was an Exon with long lines of cars waiting to fuel up.  By this point the temperature was in the upper 90s and even a mesh jacket didn't help when I was sitting still.  But I waited it out and gassed up.  I did want to kick the butt of one geezer from New York who was in front of me--with the line of cars 20 deep, he left his parked at the pump while he went inside and used the restroom.

But anyhow, I checked the map and saw that the closest way to get back on Skyline Drive at this point was to take Route 60 through Buena Vista.   It was  fun ride back up the mountain and I was starting to get my mojo at this point, leaning hard enough to scrape a peg in the tight turns. 

When I got to Skyline, a Park Service lady had a truck across the entrance and said the road was closed until south of Roanoke.  That was at least 100 miles.  I was getting annoyed at this point.

I once again reversed course, back down the mountain, back through Buena Vista, and back on to I-81.  At this point it was over 100 degrees and there was a lot of traffic, so riding was no fun.  I was growing grumpier by the minute.

I went past Roanoke and told my GPS to get me back on the Parkway.  It sent me through Salem,  This is a sprawling developed area with malls and traffic lights every block.  I was broiling in the triple digit temperatures.  By pure happenstance, I rode past Frontline Eurosports, a new BMW/Triumph motorcycle dealership, so decided to stop in.  It is a gorgeous store and I spent a very nice half an hour in the air conditioning looking around and talking motorcycles with the owner.  If it was closer, I'd be a regular.

After that, I continued to wander around Salem and Cave Springs, looking for the Parkway and sweating like a pig.  When I finally got there, it was closed with a gate across the entrance.

I decided to get on Route 221 which parallels the Parkway and just shoot into Galax.  There was one very short but very nice section of high speed twisties that allowed me a few peg scrapes but other than that, the road was no great shakes.  Certainly not worth coming all that way for. 

Then I reached a point where there was another entrance to the Parkway right off Route 221.  I figured it was worth checking out.  Amazingly, the road was open.

So then I was having a little fun even though the southern Virginia section of the Blue Ridge Parkway is not nearly as nice as the parts north of Roanoke or in North Carolina.  At least it was bit cooler on it and there was limited traffic given all the closures. 

Continuing the theme of the day--which apparently was Annoy Steve As Much as Possible--it began raining.  I pulled off in the deluge, wrestled into my rain suit, got back on the bike and, as I should have expected, it then stopped raining.  After a few steamy miles, I stopped again and took the rain gear off.

As it came time to get off the Parkway, my Zumo told me to take the next right.  But there was no next right.  Then it told me to do a U turn.  As it turns out, Garmin's data base was screwed up--Route 97, which I was supposed to take, crosses the Parkway as an underpass but does not intersect it.

I backtracked a bit, got off on a little country road, and let the GPS get me on to Route 97.  From there is was only about 10 miles into Galax.

I checked into my hotel which was quite a bit newer and nicer than the previous night's one and rode back into town to the Galax Smokehouse.  I got a nice barbeque platter and listened to an excellent bluegrass trio playing in the restaurant.

Back at the hotel I was looking forward to a a few beers I had left from a six pack I'd bought in Front Royal which I had chilling in the little refrigerator.  I could hear my cell phone ringing in my jacket pocket during the ride.  By the time I got to the room, I had a couple of voice mails.  One was from Jayne but the other was from the hotel in Weston, WV where I was to spend the next night.  It said they had no electricity and no idea when they would get it, so they couldn't honor my reservation (although I found out when I got home that they did charge my credit card for it).

Now I was in a pickle. If that hotel had no electricity, none of the others in the region would either, so I couldn't ride the route I'd planned for the next day.  But I hated the idea of just getting on I 81 and returning home at that point.  Not only would it be a boring day, but the whole trip would be shot since at that point I'd had maybe one hour of decent twisties. And I'd miss the crown jewel of the whole trip--the section of Route 16 I'd heard so much about.

So I decided to split the difference.  I'd ride Route 16 through the Virginia section and in West Virginia until Beckley.  Then I'd pick up Interstate 64 to 81, shoot through the Shenandoah Valley, and come home a day early.  It would make for a long ride but I thought I could do it.  Little did I know then that the previous day would eventually look easy by comparison.

The Virginia section of Route 16 between Marion and Tazewell was all that it was cracked up to be.  It was a stunning series of tight twisties, ascents, and descents.  The only down side was some gravel in the tight turns washed in by the storm, so I had to carefully scan them before leaning.





There were some pretty nice sections in West Virginia as well but I was traversing McDowell County which is read hard-core, rural poverty coal country.  The whole place smelled of cigarettes and despair.

At  Welch I hit rain again so had to suit up for about an hour.  The further north I rode, the more storm damage I saw.  It was truly amazing with trees down all over the place, many of which had fallen across the road and been removed.  At one point a power pole with the wires attached had been blown down onto the road.  The transformer had smashed on the pavement.  But I was able to work around it.

I talked briefly to an old man when I stopped for gas and he indicated that electricity was just spotty.  Some spots and towns had it, but others didn't. 

Eventually I got on Interstate 64 east of Beckley.  As far as interstates go, this one is very scenic and at times is stunning such as when it crosses the New River Gorge.  I-64 is the West Virginia Turnpike but was quite a bit different than when I was last on it in the 1960s. 

At this point my fuel was getting a bit low so I pulled off to gas up.  The line at the gas station was 8 or 10 cars deep so I decided to get back on the interstate and keep going.  Bad mistake.  Bad bad.

By the time I got to Lewisburg I was down to around 60 miles of gas left so I again when looking for fuel.  I pulled into a Sunoco station which, like so many others, had no electricity.  A guy sitting in front told me one station about a mile away was functioning, but the line was two hours long.

I went over there and he was right.  The line went from the station on to the main road and then wound down a side road.  It was at least a quarter if not a half mile long.  But I went to the back and got in line.  After 15 minutes, I hadn't moved.  But the guy behind me came up to admire my bike.  He told me that he'd heard there was a station working in Clifton Forge which was about 25 miles further along on I-64.

So I headed that way.  The interstate was almost deserted at that point.  But there also was no highway patrol around, so it was like being on the German autobahn.

By the time I got to Clifton Forge I was down to 15-20 miles of fuel.  A Shell station right off the Interstate did, in fact, have electricity.  But it was out of gasoline.  A local told me that on Saturday, that had been the only place with gas for 100 miles so people were lined up for hours there with the police directing traffic.

I was at a loss.  I heard there was gasoline and electricity in Roanoke but I didn't have enough fuel to get there.  And it was south of where I was and I needed to head north.  The next town on I-64 was Lexington.  I didn't know if there was gas there but it was irrelevant because I didn't think I could make it.

I called Jayne and instructed her to buy several 5 gallon gas cans, fill them up, and be prepared to drive down to get me (which would have been four hours each way).  But then one of the clerks at the Shell station said that a fuel truck was on the way from Roanoke, but it would be two hours before it arrived.

Since I was out of options I parked my bike by one of the pumps and decided to wait it out.  At least the convenience store at the station had water and a restroom.  I was mentally preparing myself to spend the night beside the bike on the pavement.

I spent the time chatting, reading, and just sitting around.  People would occasionally pull in and get in line at the pumps.  I'd walk over and tell them it was going to be hours and most of the time they'd leave.  But out of anticipation of gas being available, dozens of cars converged around the station, spewing out of the parking lot and into the roads.  At least one person had run out of gas as he pulled up to the pump. The temperatures were back to the upper 90s at this point.  So I had a small hint of what it's like to live in a post conflict or collapsed society.  I wanted someone in a position of authority to take charge of this mess, but there was no one to.

Eventually the truck showed up.  I suspect it's the first time that driver was cheered as he delivered gasoline.  He fought his way through the massive crowd of vehicles and after 15 minutes or so, filled up the station's tanks.  I'm sure that supply of gas only lasted an hour or so but since I was parked at the pump, I had dibs.  And I exercised them.

My bike takes premium fuel and all the truck brought was regular, but I sure wasn't going to quibble  I filled up and was back on the road in minutes. 

I knew that tankful wouldn't get me home and was a bit concerned about that because I'd heard a rumor that everything was down all through Virginia and into Maryland.  I figured that if Jayne had to bring me gas to somewhere in Maryland, that would be better than coming all the way to Clifton Forge. 

Once I got to I-81 it was the normal summer traffic.  The road was jammed, it was in the upper 90s, and I was pretty tired at that point.  I was grumpy enough that I showed no mercy to people lolling in the left lane.  South of Winchester I pulled off to see if I could find anything open where I could get some fluids back into my system.  To my surprise, everything had power, so I ate a couple of hotdogs with a Gatorade, topped off my gasoline, and continued north.

With a couple of more Gatorade stops, I was moving along.  I was surprised that I felt OK considering the temperature, what I'd been through during the day, and the fact that it was turning into my first ever 500 mile day on a motorcycle (540 actually).  As one more little poke in my eye by the fates, there was a wreck on I-81 around Winchester but I was able to get off on Route 11, skirt around it, and get back on at the next exit.  By the time I got to Pennsylvania, the sun was going down and it was cooling off.  I could have ridden another 50 or 100 miles if I'd needed to.

I remember seeing a flatbed truck with a military vehicle beside the road near Chambersburg and thinking, "Wow--that was sitting in the same place when I left on the trip."  Then I remembered that it had only been about 50 hours.  So much had happened that it seemed like weeks.

I eventually stumbled into the house, drank the only beer around, soaked in a tub, and fell into bed.

OK, maybe it wasn't the worst vacation ever in an objective sense.  But a quirk of my personality is that a lack of control bothers more more than pain, discomfort, or other challenges.  That, and the fact that I had so anticipated this ride, made it "my" worst.  And I realize that it was a very, very fortunate chain of events that led me to be standing at the only gas station functioning for miles around at the very time that the clerk announced that a fuel truck was inbound.  I could easily have spent the night by the side of the road out of gas.

The good news is that my bike and all my gear performed well.  After exactly two years, I have about 38,000 trouble free miles on the motorcycle.  Now I know that I could, if necessary, ride 500 miles a day or more, at least as long as I was stoked with Gatorade and energy shots.  And, more importantly, the routes I'd designed were great.  So now I'm thinking maybe I'll try and do this same ride again in September.  Maybe this time I can avoid Armageddon.   Or at least get Christie Brinkley in a swimming pool.

The Kingston Ride

My puppy had really cut into my riding this year so I'd been anxiously awaiting early June when Doug Lovelace and I were going to ride to a conference our organization co-sponsored in the lovely town of Kingston,Ontario.

We were anxiously watching the weather forecast as the date approached, but got very lucky.  It was a bit hot on the way up, with temperatures touching the low 90s, but certainly decent riding weather.  It was above the range for my beloved Roadcrafter riding suit, so I opted for a new AGV Topanga perforated leather jacket I'd recently  bought for warm weather rides.

The total distance from Carlisle to Kingston is about 400 miles with most of the way on I-81, but Doug and I decided to split the trip up over two days and take the scenic route.

On Sunday we went through some of my favorite Central Pennsylvania twisties, stopping for lunch in Lock Haven, taking a quick side trip to Hyner View State Park which overlooks the Susquehanna valley between Lock Haven and Renovo, and then hitting the Finger Lakes district of western New York.  After passing through Watkins Glen and miles of vineyards and wineries on the shores of Seneca Lake, we spent the night in Geneva, NY, a cute little town that is the home of Hobart and William Smith College.  After a long day in black leather, I did some serious re-hydrating at a pub near our hotel.



Hyner View State Park



The next day we scooted along the shores of Lake Ontario to Cape Vincent, NY, took a quick ferry ride to Wolfe Island (which is Canadian so we had to clear customs and immigration), rode across the island, and took a much larger ferry into Kingston.

After a couple of days at the conference (which was in a hotel right on the shore of the St. Lawrence River as it begins out of Lake Ontario), we headed back.  We decided to do the return in one day so our plan was to cross the St. Lawrence at the Thousand Islands Bridge, stay in I-81 for a few hundred miles, exit at  Cortland, NY, pass through Ithaca and Elmira, enter Pennsylvania on Route 14 and eventually pick up Route 15, which would bring us home, just north of Williamsport, PA.

While it rained the first day we were in Kingston, the weather on the return was even nicer than going up.  Everything was proceeding according to plan until Doug, who was in the lead, missed the exit at Cortland.  I had a few seconds to decide whether to follow him or stick to the route and I opted to take the exit.  With hindsight, this was a mistake. 

Once Doug noticed I wasn't behind him anymore, he backtracked looking for me.  After I exited, I pulled over and waited a bit for him but thought he had decided to just come all the way back on I 81, so I took off on the planned route.  He tried to call me but called my work Blackberry, which was packed, rather than my personal cell phone which was in my pocket.  As it turned out, Doug also took the planned route but was probably a half an hour or so behind me.  Once I got on to the "go fast" isolated rural roads in Pennsylvania, he was probably an hour behind me.

Despite this kerfuffle, it was a great ride.  We went through some lovely country, much of which I'd never seen before.  The bike and the new gear I'd bought for the trip--the AGV jacket, a new Frog Togg rain suit (which I didn't need), and an additional Ortleib dry duffle all functioned as they should.

Now I'm all excited about my upcoming Virginia/West Virginia ride.  Stay tuned.

American and European Motorcycle Cultures

I've been thinking about the difference between American and European motorcycle cultures as seen in both how and why people ride, and in the bikes and riding apparel they use. It seems to me that this is a result of the different origins of the two cultures. 

While motorcycles had been around in the United States for a long time, motorcycling really took off after World War II. Many returning veterans had a difficult time re-adjusting to civilian life after their wartime experience. They had developed a high risk tolerance and felt more comfortable in the company of other men in a rough setting rather than "polite society." So they gravitated to riding. Some of them even formed the motorcycle gangs that still exist today.

The key was that riding a motorcycle was intended as an act of nonconformity to social norms or even outright rebellion. So the riders reveled in a tough image and disdain for personal safety.

This continues today. Many, perhaps most people in American motorcycle culture, centered around the Harley cult, see it as an act of nonconformity or rebellion. Whether it really is or not given the huge number of people who ride (and the fact that in any given pack of Harley riders, the chances are pretty good that they'll all be wearing the exact same thing) is a different issue, but that is what's intended.

That's the reason that Harleys and the gear Harley riders wear tends toward retro design. It's the reason that a lot of Harley riders try to dress like a pirate. And it's the reason that Harley riders are significantly more likely to not wear a helmet and other full protective gear than are people coming out of the European traditions.  (Of course there's also the Japanese sports bike culture which seems to revel in wearing a helmet with sneakers, shorts, and a tee shirt, but that's another blog entry).

The origin of European motorcycle culture was very different. People rode not as an act of nonconformity or rebellion, but because few could afford cars in the decades after the war. Because people had to ride in all kinds of weather conditions, the bikes and the apparel had to be more reliable and practical rather than focused on making a statement.

This also continues today--European motorcycles and motorcycle apparel concentrate on cutting edge technology, performance and handling, and safety rather than the traditional or retro look. You'll seldom see someone on a BMW, Ducati, or Triumph without a helmet and other protective gear, or with "ape hanger" handlebars (which have to be the single stupidest thing people do to motorcycles). People with European motorcycles are much more likely to ride through the winter rather than putting their bikes up.

I don't intend this as a critique of American motorcycle culture or Harleys. While I've cast my lot with the European approach, I'm not suggesting it's somehow better or preferable. But I just thought it was interesting to think about the origin of the differences between the two.

Anniversary

This weekend marks my fourth year of riding. I have a bit over 70,000 miles under my belt with only a few low speed drops, most during the first couple of months. I head for Ontario next Sunday and hope to get video and photos, weather permitting.

Plotting Again

I'm once again plotting a multi-day ride through Virginia and West Virginia.  I've done this the past two years and ended up cancelling, so we'll see if this work.

The plan is that on June 29, I pop on I-81 south and spend the night in Front Royal, VA.  The next day I ride Skyline Drive and the Virginia section of the Blue Ridge Parkway, spending the night in Galax.  On July 1, I pick up Route 16 in southwest Virginia (which I've heard is stunning) and stay on it through West Virginia, over nighting in Weston.  The next day I slip back through Maryland and into Pennsylvania, taking Route 30 back to the east.

Fingers crossed.

Day 1

View VA - WV Trip Day 1 in a larger map
Day 2

View VA - WV Trip Day 2 in a larger map
Day 3

View VA - WV Trip Day 3 in a larger map

Little Bits of Ride

The weather has been stunning but the combination of meeting the needs of my devil dog and frantically working on a consulting project due next month has kept me close to home.

I did have a nice 200 mile ride east of the Susquehanna yesterday weaving together some of my favorite stretches of road--Route 443, the lovely Goldmine Road (where I someday want my ashes scattered), and routes 125, 225 and 849.

The first part of the ride was great but during the last hour I ran into a number of fun thieves lumbering slowly along twisty roads with no passing areas.  That's always a risk on weekends.

I picked this ride because my GPS is once again in the shop so I needed a route that I knew well.  This will be the fourth replacement or repair of my Zumo 220.  Garmin has some serious quality control problems.   Since I normally use the digital speed display on the Zumo, I found myself pretty much disregarding my speed.  Luckily I only hit one speed trap and was behind a truck and a line of traffic at the time.  So my ticketless string--I was last cited in 1998--continues.

During a quick afternoon ride on Friday I was in a trance, flying along Route 997.  This is an amazing little road that twists for 15 miles through Amish farm country.  It's not unusual to ride the whole stretch without seeing a car on the road.  But then I came roaring around a curve as a pickup pulled out in front of me.  Luckily once the driver realized that he'd screwed up, he stayed on the gas rather than hitting the brakes so I was able to scrub off 20 miles per hour of speed and swerve around his rear.  It was a buzzkill, knocking me out of my trance but could have been disastrous a few years ago when my riding skills were less developed. 

I've been thinking about something during recent rides.  I almost always listen to music on all the shortest rides, usually electronic dance music like techno, house, and trance.  This is a bit strange since that isn't something I'd normally listen to.  But here's my theory: being physically awkward, I never danced.  On the bike, though, I can be graceful and elegant.  When I'm really in a groove it's like I'm floating above reality.  So riding is my dance and I'm drawn to dance music.

Since I have lots of time to think while riding (which it part of its appeal), one other thing recently popped into my mind.  When asked why they ride, many people say, "the freedom."  When I first started, that made no sense to me.  After all, a car can go pretty much anywhere a motorcycle can.  But over the years I've come to understand it even though it's hard to explain.

In part it's because on a motorcycle you don't have all the passive protection you have in a car--air bags, steel beams, and so forth.  You live (or in some cases don't) based purely on your own skill.  That is psychologically liberating.  On a quick, agile bike like mine, there is also a physical freedom since with a slight movement of my hand I can flick the bike wherever I want it to be.  And there's also the fact that you're part of the environment rather that being separated from it.  Birds fly right by your head, you feel cold, heat, rain, and smells more intimately than in a car.

So it's like you've been freed from the thousand pounds of metal that encase you while driving and, at times, from the laws of physics.  It almost seems as if there is no machine involved.  All of this is a form of freedom but it's a type that's very hard to explain unless you experience it.

I do have one ride thing coming up--in June my boss and I are planning to ride to a conference our organization is involved with in Kingston, Ontario.  The plan is to take a leisurely two day ride up hitting the state parts of north Pennsylvania and New York's Finger Lakes district.  We'll spend the night in Geneva, NY then cross the St. Lawrence River by ferry.  The last day of the conference, I've plotted a 95 mile ride north of Kingston around Fronteac Provincial Park.  We'll do the return in one day, re-crossing the St. Lawrence on the Thousand Islands Bridge, taking I-81 to Cortland, NY, then cutting over and picking up Route 15 which will bring us home.  We just have to hope for non-horrid weather since that might kill the ride.

The Continuing Thrill

The pattern of my life has always been to take on new challenges and seek new skills, pursue them to at least the point of minimal competence, then lose interest.  Motorcycling is different.  After nearly four years and 70,000 miles, I remain as passionate as the beginning.  If I could, I would do nothing but ride.

That said, I rode less in the past winter and passing spring than in the past.  There's a reason.  In early January, I lost my nine year old Golden Retriever to cancer.  This devastated me more than the loss of any of my other dogs, so three days later I bought a five month old Doberman puppy. 

This has been--to put it lightly--an intense experience.  Because I enjoy and feel obligated to spend as much time with him as possible during this crucial part of his life, I've only snuck out an occasional medium length ride on the weekends (and, for me, medium is 150-250 miles).  This means that I'm traveling routes that I've ridden many times.  Hence little blogging or photography.

In June I plan to ride to a conference in Kingston, Ontario, hitting the great roads of north-central Pennsylvania, passing through New York's Finger Lakes region, and crossing the St. Lawrence River by ferry.  Hopefully there will be some photo-worth experiences then.  I'm also toying with trying to reconstitute the full-length-of-the-Blue-Ridge-Parkway that I had to cancel last year, but an invitation to spend a week in Singapore in August will cut into my available vacation time.  Since I took no vacation in 2011, I do have a stockpile, so may pull it off.  At a minimum, I plan on some two or three day rides through Virginia and West Virginia.  So stay tuned.

There is one other thing of note.  In March I retook what the Motorcycle Safety Foundation used to call the Experienced Riders' Course and now calls the Basic Riders' Course 2.  This is a day of coached instruction, including nine skill exercises in a large parking lot.  This is the fourth time I've taken it during my days of riding.  In every course, there are riders with marginal skills who struggle to pass the final test (and sometimes fail) and other, more experienced ones who do it with ease. 

Happily I've moved from the first category to the second.  I didn't get a perfect score like the last time I took it, but I suspect I was close.  Even the daunting exercise euphamistically known as "the box" which requires two super tight U turns in a box about the size of a three car garage, which used to flummox me, is easy now. 

I'll admit, though, that my ease with the course had less to do with innate skill and more to do with my motorcycle--it's signficantly easier to do a fast stop or swerve on a BMW with anti-lock brakes than on the huge, hulking Harleys than most of the other riders in the course used--and the fact that I ride year 'round so didn't have any winter rust to knock off.  Still, after all of my struggle learning to ride, I have to admit that it was wicken fun to snicker at the difficulty some of the other riders in the course were having.  Bad me!

Long Time No Blog

The past month hasn't been great for riding.  As can be expected this time of year, the weather was often bad.  When I was able to get out, it was normally overcast, keeping me from spending much time on photography.  And other commitments, both family and professional, cut into my seat time.

I did get a short ride in on Christmas day.  Every Christmas since 1967, I've been in Myrtle Beach with my family.  This year a few days before we were to leave, my dog collapsed, was diagnosed with cancer, and given a few weeks to live.  I couldn't kennel him in that condition.  A commitment is a commitment.  So while my immediate family headed south, I stayed home with the dog.

I'm only able to leave him a few hours at a time, but got in a short ride over the mountains to the next valley and back on Christmas.  It was nice--not only did I badly need the ride, but the roads were empty.  There were no fun thieves to hold me back on the twisties.  Even though I was a tad rusty from a lack of riding, after an hour or so I was back in the groove.

The day after Christmas I decided to ride to Gettysburg and do something I'd been meaning to do for years: walk the path of Pickett's Charge.

I started at the North Carolina Memorial which would have been where Pettigrew's division began.

View across the field toward the Union line from Seminary Ridge

Codori farm which would have been in the middle of advancing Confederates.

  

 

 The stone wall which was the "high water mark" of the Confederacy.

The "copse of trees" from "the angle"

 The Eisenhower farm which is just behind Seminary Ridge where the Confederates were arrayed before the charge.

Northward

I wanted to get in one more long ride to north central Pennsylvania before the days get too short and the rural roads are covered with Highway Department gravel.  It was colder than I expected for the first few hours--I was getting temperature readings as low as 23 in the low lying areas.  The mountain crossings were mercifully a bit warmer.  With my electric gear, the only thing uncomfortable was my feet and I fixed that when I put on my boot rain covers at the first stop.

Some of the roads still had gravel from the snow a couple of weeks ago so for the first couple of hours, I rode much more slowly than I normally do, at times as low as the speed limit. 

I followed routes 144 and 44 through Snowshoe, Renovo, north to Ole Bull State Park and back through the town of Jersey Shore.  Since the leaves are past peak, there were fewer wallowing minivans than a few weeks ago.  I often had the road to myself and only got caught in one long string of cars behind a crawling water truck working for the gas fracking operations that are so common north of Interstate 80.

I had to dodge a deer herd once and then almost ran into an Amish buggy coming around a blind curve in a state forest.  I wasn't expecting a buggy there.  I also set my personal motorcycle speed record on one of the deserted straight sections where I do such things.

It turned into a gorgeous day once it warmed up into the 40s and 50s.  Unfortunately, though, I forgot my camera bag so have no pictures.

Gettysburg

So I thought I'd pop down to Gettysburg after work--something I do often.  I particularly like it on weekdays outside of summer when the crowds are smaller.  But this turned into one of those rides that was more adventure than I'd planned.

Last week we had the earliest snow I've experienced in Pennsylvania.  As a result, the back roads, including the wonderful Route 233 through the Pine Grove and Michaux state forests, were covered with the nasty gravel that the Highway Department spreads.  It accumulates in curves, leaving me terrified of having the bike slide out from under me as I leaned.  Between the gravel and watching for deer which are rutting this time of year and particularly active (and particularly stupid), I was going 15-20 MPH slower than I normally would.

But then I took a little rural road I'd never been on toward the battlefield.  The way it looked through there, I thought I'd accidentally ridden all the way to West Virginia.  But that road, in addition to being tiny, twisty, and badly in need of repair, was even more covered in gravel.  I was crawling through the curves so slowly that I was holding up pickup trucks behind me.  That never happens.

I finally did make it.  It was overcast by then so I didn't shoot any photos as I rode across the field where Pickett's Charge took place, but did take this one at Sach's covered bridge which is right outside town.  Both armies crossed it during the battle.

Leaf Peekers

The foliage in Central Pennsylvania is at or near peak.  I went for a long ride Saturday to the west and northwest,.  I hit some good color but it was overcast all day so it wasn't worth taking pictures or video.  I did gain an increased appreciation for my heated gear with the dual controller for the gloves and jacket.  It was so nice to just twist a knob as the temperature changed.  I took the heated gear off after lunch and soon put it back on.  Even though it wasn't terribly cold--upper 40s/low 50s--it was clammy and damp.

I did a shorter ride Sunday afternoon east of the Susquehanna and back through Perry County.  There were splashes of color but so many leaf peekers on my favorite twisty roads that I had to spend much of the ride below mach 2.  I was only able to scrape a peg once.

I passed 29,000 miles on my bike during my Sunday ride and first began grappling with the idea that I'm going to be out of warranty and past my pre-paid maintenance plan in the next six months.  I'm also out of my tire replacement plan so will have to pay for the next set, so I'm going to have watch the mileage a bit.

Bridge Run

After work yesterday I popped over to the wonderful Academia-Pomeroy covered bridge in Juniata County, hoping there would be some color in the foliage around it and I could get pictures.  Nothing yet--it will be another week or so.  But the ride back on Route 74 was absolutely stunning, with a piercing blue sky, splashes of yellow, orange and red in the trees, and no fun thieves to keep me from dragging a peg in the tight curves.  October is grand.

A Bit of October Color

I headed north and west yesterday, looking for fall foliage.  Any motorcycle ride is better than no ride at all, but this one turned into a bit of disappointment.  First, while mounting my video camera about an hour into the ride, I pulled a muscle in my side that is a persistent problem. Despite taking three Aleve, I was in grimacing pain all day, at least until I got home and sucked down my last remaining vicodin. And as the ride went on, the clear skies and sun of the early morning gave way to a grim overcast. Finally, the foliage itself was disappointing.  Someone told me that it would be because Pennsylvania has had the wettest year on record.  It was certainly below average.  There were nice splashes of color here and there, particularly around Lock Haven, but none of the take-your-breath away displays of past years.

While there was a lot of traffic on the outstanding Route 144, mostly from slow moving leaf peekers, I was able to gallop on most of the other twisties.  Ironically on the twisty sections of Route 477, I got held up by a gaggle of slow moving Harleys just as I did the last time I was there a few weekends ago.  The guy at the back of the pack--and directly in front of me--was emblematic: he was dressed completely in black, his exhaust was so loud that it caused me discomfort even though I was wearing a full faced helmet and ear phones, yet he couldn't ride worth a darn, slowly wallowing through every curve.  There are skilled Harley riders out there but that brand sure attracts a lot of posers more interested in dressing like a pirate than learning to operate their machine.  This group turned right and I turned left on Route 192, so at least I didn't have to fight past them.

I had a bit of weird experience on the way back. My bike is relatively rare model.  I'd never seen one on the road before.  But I pulled into a gas station and there was not one, but two of them.  I talked to the riders for a while.  They were from Bloomsburg, PA.  I didn't ask what they did but it wouldn't surprise my if they were also college professors, so maybe I am in the core demographic for the R1200R.

I did make a short video.  One thing I learned from it is that there is too much vibration to mount the camera directly on my windshield brace, which I did for much of this.  So the quality isn't great.

(Mileage on the bike: 28,500)

I Sing the Body Electric

October is by far my favorite riding month, with the leaves bursting with color, the weather brisk but not uncomfortable, and none of the winter gravel on the roads.  But I do ride year around, and am looking forward to this winter more than previous ones because of a couple of new purchases.

For the past two winters, I used First Gear electric gloves (made by a company called Warm & Safe).   I found them absolutely essential when the temperatures fall below 45.  Even the beefiest insulated gloves didn't cut the mustard. But for the rest of my body, I'd just layer enough clothes to be comfortable.  That worked but by the time I got four or five layers on my torso, I could barely move my arms.  It was quite annoying.

Over the summer I finally broke down and added a 90 watt First Gear electric jacket liner as well.  Not only will this keep my torso warm with just a base layer and a top coat, but it also allows me to plug the gloves directly into the sleeves of the jacket rather than having clumsy wires running from the bike to the gloves.

It was chilly enough last weekend that I could try out the new electrics.  I did find that having a single heat controller didn't work well.  If I cranked it up enough to keep my hands warm, my torso was too hot.  So I added a dual controller.  By getting a "semi-remote" one, I was able to get a very clean installation with the knobs on my dash but the controller box under the seat.  The cables to attach the heat controller to the jacket and gloves come from under the seat, so I can stuff the wires out of the way when I'm not using the electrics.

My First Gear gloves were getting a bit worn so I've also added a pair of Gerbings.  That company  makes heated gear for the military, so it has a great reputation.  And I got them new on Ebay for an excellent price.

I haven't had a chance to try them out yet, but am very impressed with the comfort.  And they have a slightly longer gauntlet which should make it easier to put them on over the sleeve of a big winter jacket.

So let the cold come.  But let the snow and ice stay away.

Thousand Miles

Despite, as my daughter asserts, not actually working, by October I'd taken a grand total of one day of vacation in 2011.  While I had to cancel my planning Blue Ridge Parkway ride, I decided to take a couple of days of "vacation in place" and see if I could get in a thousand more miles in the few days before the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America's annual mileage contest ended.

The weather was gorgeous--a bit chilly in the morning (enough so that I tried out my new electric jacket, which is great) but warming to 60s and 70s in the afternoon.  On Thursday I went northwest looking once again for and failing to find the wild elk herd.  On Friday I went northeast and got tangled in the damage from September's massive floods in Pennsylvania.  I detoured around two sections of road still closed a month after the flood.  On Saturday, I joined a couple of buddies for a ride to the newly opened Flight 93 memorial near Shanksville, PA.  On Sunday, I ended with a medium distance ride on some of my favorite roads.  For some reason, the 25 year old future organ donors on sports bikes were out in droves that day.  I admired their skills but didn't even try to hang with them.

I did top 1,000 miles for the four days, and ended up with a bit over 13,000 miles for the six months of mileage contest.  Based on last year's results, this may put me in the top 20 in the state, but I can't match the 50K or more done by the contest winners (who must be retirees).

I didn't take a lot of pictures or video during the rides, but this was the one to the Flight 93 memorial.  As you can see, the leaves are beginning to change in western and northern Pennsylvania, but it will be a few more weeks until the color hits my area.