Sojourner's Moto Tales

Greetings from the Old Joliet Prison

2011-08-10T07:07:00.006-05:00

Joliet Prison by shrosa814 (back, but catching up)">
Greetings from the Old Joliet Prison, a photo by shrosa814 (back, but catching up) on Flickr.

Who doesn't love this old movie: "The Blues Brothers"? The brothers are featured on a faux gasoline pump on the Joliet prison grounds. "Prison Break" and "Let's Go To Prison" were also shot here--neither of which I've seen. This is a mammoth structure that opened in 1858 and closed its doors in 2002. A woman's facility stood across the street. Almost always operating above capacity, one of its most famous revolts occurred in 1973 when inmates rebelled against what they felt was unfair removal of other prisoners to other facilities. These transfers were designed to break up the control some prisoners had over others and to eliminate the rampant gang activity at Joliet.

The great thing about riding to Joliet is that parts of it fall along Route 66 and the town has done a nice job of capitalizing on that. Stop at the Joliet visitor's center--a very cool place to hang out (and when I find the picture I have of it, I'll post it here).

The Old Joliet Prison

2011-08-10T07:03:00.001-05:00

The Old Joliet Prison, a photo by shrosa814 (back, but catching up) on Flickr.

Jesse Owens and I took a jaunt to the Joliet Prison. Short ride but long on fun and learning about this once notorious hole.

A return of sorts...

2011-07-31T07:17:00.011-05:00

I've missed this space and the people who used to regularly visit. I won't bore readers with all the details but I'm riding--not as much as I'd like, but I'm riding and it feels almost like having a piece of my late grandmother's homemade carrot cake with the cream cheese icing--a full body pleasure sensation that I've never been able to fully reproduce anywhere else. Riding again has come close. I've had more than my share of health issues and having never been a person with health problems this has been humbling to say the least.

Permit me to send major thanks all of those who have sent me emails or visited my flickr site to make comments and inquire. I so appreciate your thoughtfulness and kind words. Thanks too all those who used to visit this space and simply wondered about my absence. I'm touched by it all. I apologize for not visiting your sites. I just couldn't bear all the motorcycle chatter and photos of trips. It felt like slow torture. Hearing the roar of a motorcycle on the street was more than enough reminder of my clipped wings. Turning off and tuning out was difficult but necessary. It allowed me to avoid dwelling on the negative--what I couldn't do and concentrate on getting well. Please accept my apologies for being MIA. I did think of you all.

July 7th marked one year since I resigned from a job that was killing me. Literally. And, things have improved considerably since then. I've joined the ranks of those with an auto immune disease, which I'm convince may have been 1) triggered after my brother was killed (written about on previous blog entries); and, 2) exacerbated by a stressful job, which I don't miss at all. OK, well, I miss the income--it was a well paying position. Still, zero regrets about leaving. Mysterious aches have disappeared, once persistent hives now rarely surface, and a debilitating fatigue that often left me bedridden for most of the day, all gone. Mostly. I can walk for miles now when before I needed a nap after walking to the bathroom.

Since spring, I've been riding on and off with saddle time improving all the time. The itch--and thank goodness it's not from hives--to ride and renewed energy to do so, has returned.

It's amazing that I used to go to Indianapolis for lunch and turn around and head home, or zip down to the St. Louis, MO area and back the same day. A 600 miles day ride was nothing and a 1500 miles weekend was more typical than not. It's all relative, isn't it? Now, a 20 miles ride feels just as sweet as those iron-buttish rides of yore! Now, I ride by feel. If I feel like going longer or shorter, that's what I do. This disposition seems to have helped build the ride muscle gradually--sort of like experiencing my own break-in period. I remember early spring throwing my leg over the bike and having to sit there to rest before turning the key. That ride was all of about two miles. Two glorious miles!

Riding now, however, is almost mindless. That is, I'm comfortable on the bike and I ride as often as I can. And, when I do, I more often feel "one" with the bike--you know what I mean?

Chippewa Falls, WI. I took my first multi-day trip recently; actually, it was a last minute trip to Chippewa Falls, WI., to catch the last day of the BMW RA rally. The rally was a bust, but it was fun to be on the road. I left with no plans. After talking to my pal, Chris, at Everyday Riding, I decided to chuck my tentative plans to go to Prairie du Chien, WI and headed to Chippewa Falls. I'm learning that when I feel like my old self, it's time to take to the road. One possible perk of going Chippewa Falls was meeting up with Chris given that Chippewa Falls is only about 100 miles east of Minneapolis. It didn't happen but not for lack of trying. And, I would have enjoyed the company.

I've enjoyed many day-rides of varying lengths. I've had a few short jaunts with Dave (spouse). A recent trip to the Nachusa Grasslands in Franklin Grove, IL was nice. I selected the destination and had every intention of going alone but having company wasn't too bad. It's the negotiating around riding that always hangs me. It takes time to figure out where to eat, when to stop for a nature call, how long and what route. Exhausting to put it mildly. You know, so much of life--at least mine--holds enough mandatory negotiating to last a lifetime. Even before getting ill, I rode solo. You all know that. It was my way to reconnect with self, nature and just be on my own. That has not changed. In fact, I need to be out there on my own more than ever. Because my ability and time to go often and far has changed. Thus, when all systems are ready to go, I'm going.

I now know like never before that riding is a fun-filled stress-buster for me. Every concern, big or small, personal or political melt away when the wheels start rolling. My mind is as close to being blank as possible. My focus is on riding; my energies go there and after a while when I reach an open space, I can feel myself shift into automatic pilot and feel as if I'm floating, sailing, flying effortlessly and all worries are left behind, put somewhere high on a hard to reach shelf. This state that I sometimes reach when I'm easy-riding has resulted in nearly running out of gas more than once. That old feeling of getting on the bike and just riding, riding for long stretches is reactivating the dormant, exercise-deficient muscle memory needed to ride well.

Accepting that tomorrow I may not feel up to riding has been humbling indeed. I have a few trips plan but they are written in pencil. I ride when I can ride and lately I've been feeling it more and more. For now. I'm glad to be (sort of) back.

2011-07-28T22:23:00.001-05:00

A Healing visit and a ride to boot!

2010-08-29T13:14:00.012-05:00

On a recent Saturday, Chris of Everyday Ride and his lovely wife, whom I'll call "V" gifted me with a visit. Chicago was in line of their return trip of following the Great River Road. Chris had heard a lot about how bummed I felt about not being able to ride. I was thrilled that he selected me out of three options for an overnighter in Chicago. Reading some one's words can give you a feel for the person. About a whole two minutes after Chris and V arrived, I felt we'd been pals forever. We have many common interests only one of which is motorcycling. We even have similar eating habits, although Chris is way out there being vegan, while V and I are sensible vegetarians--just kidding Chris.

For folks who had been on the road for 17 days, of sometimes challenging weather, they arrived looking fresh, relaxed and cucumber cool. I was totally impressed with both, especially V, who looked like she had just come off a cruise--totally relaxed. I know that being a pillion can be hard work. Chris said they had worked out the two-up riding issues, or something like that so that during their trip, they came learn each other's riding ways and found what works for them and that's, in part, what makes for an excellent journey. Many many years ago, I was pillion for a very brief time. I figured if it this much fun on the back, I would have a blast if I could get this guy out of my line of vision (just kidding, Dave). Let's just say it's best for everyone that I ride my own.

Chris and V entered my shoebox size apartment, unloaded their gear and we chatted. I admit I talked their ears off. If they had plans to rest before dinner, I squelched that! Conversation was easy and fun; I hope I didn't behave too much like a woman who had been held captive for a year. My husband and daughter were in Portugal at the time. I'd been pretty much alone for days.

Eventually, I let them get to dinner. I declined their generous invitation to join them because I wanted nothing to stand in the way of me tagging along with them the next as they made their way north to Wisconsin. That's right. I was planning to ride with them! I had been resting up for this for a couple of days and I wanted to go the distance. Kenosha bound! Perspective is relative, isn't it? What in the past would have been an early morning warm up ride was now a huge thing for me. I still struggle with fatigue and muscle/tissue craziness. But I was going with Chris and V if I had to ride as a second pillion on that SV650!

When they returned from dinner, we talked some more and I was very glad to hear that they enjoyed their meal at Chicago Diner. V had done her research well and picked a favorite here. Chicagoans are very serious about cuisine. If you come here, you can't leave without having a scrumptious meal or two. It's a city ordinance that every resident has vowed to enforce.

Chris and V preferred a leisurely start the next day, thus forcing me to contain my enthusiasm a bit. I woke up feeling ready but it would be my first longish outing since July when I ventured to Milwaukee BMW for service. It took me a few days to recuperate from that. Since then, my riding has been restricted to short, occasional rides to the doctor's office, my suburban home and to the apartment in the city. Not much fun but better than nothing.

I don't recall the time we left the apartment but I know the sky was a gorgeous blue with puffs of clouds here and there to create excellent photos. The temps were in the low 80s, if my memory is correct. I remember not caring about the details. I wanted only to get on the road and follow the lake and steal glances whenever the traffic allowed. The traffic was heavier than normal but not for this time of day. Our first stop was a short distance from downtown to get a good picture of Chicago's skyline we headed south a short distance on LSD.

The spot I thought would be good turned out to be already crowded with cars. We headed back north near the Museum Campus and parked at the Adler Planetarium. It's a spot I like to take people because it's just gorgeous--even when the weather is crapola, the pictures are always cool.

Chris took some great pics from the Adler location, which you can see on his blog, Everyday Riding or on his Flickr photostream. I don't recall him taking that many pictures but he was clearly busy shutter tripping and riding! I've never seen myself riding on LSD (aka Lake Shore Drive) until viewing his images. I loved them, mostly because the lake was always in view. Riding along LSD is one of my favorite outings. Early Sunday morning, as the sunrises, there are few places I love more. I know other places may be more beautiful but it's the familiarity and the fact that I grew up here and have had little or no desire to ever seriously live anywhere else.

We made it to Kenosha in no time, at least for me. I was ecstatic to be on two wheels! I discovered that there is one good thing about riding with someone else, especially if you haven't been riding for a time. You can follow the rider--assuming the person is a fine rider. Chris is definitely a fine, natural rider--I'm not just saying that. Out of five people I've ridden with before, Chris becomes the third with whom I will gladly ride again. Although he's been riding only a few years, you can tell right away that Chris is finely tuned to riding motorcycles, especially sporty types. I have a theory--or perhaps it's just my opinion--such riders have a certain look (it has nothing to do with age, either); they look a lot like long distance bicyclists, motorcycle racers and soccer players. They are fit, lean, and compact. When these types of two wheelers get on their steed, they melt into it, like it's a second skin; they don't ride on the bike, they ride with or in the bike. They just look like they're made for the bike--and there a group of them I know race the SV650. (Note: I'm not dismissing the value or talents of any other riders, I'm just pointing out an observation of a group of riders I've watched in the real and on TV. And I know that not all of them are fine riders).

Following good riding can rub off. Whenever I've ridden with an instructor, I would end the session riding differently, more confidently--no matter how finely tuned I thought I was when we started. This is why I like to start the season with an advanced course and end the season with a track day or some other advance experience. I still think back to this and this. This season will go down with zero classes. I remembered being tired at the end of a great class. But to start one already fatigued, no thank you.

On Chris and V's visit, I admit to feeling a tad rusty and a bit uptight about riding. This time last season I had already amassed thousands of miles on Jesse Owens. I am far from that. But hey, life happens.

As I watched Chris, I could feel myself loosening up and settling in. Riding is a lot like learning a new language. Practice makes improvement. It's also like riding a bicycle; you never completely forget how to ride but you can feel rust setting in after a long absence.

We took Sheridan Road (US Rt 41 North) much of the way. I enjoyed getting off the beaten path a few times. One place I always like stopping by is the Bahai Temple in Wilmette, IL.

If you look real close, you'll see Chris and V peering inside the temple windows (something to do with the witness protection program?--we had that in common too ;-)). Before we reached the Wisconsin Motorcycle Museum, we stopped in a parking lot and Chris took me up on my offer for him to ride Jesse Owens.

I never get to see my bike zipping by. I wanted his opinion of Jesse Owens and I really wanted to see my bike in motion. Chris spent a few minutes getting acquainted with Jesse, rode around in circles a few times, and off he went!

V and I prepared our cameras and waited for him to re-appear. He didn't disappoint. He zoomed by several times. He looked maaavalous!

My bike looked great--if I say so myself! Chris was dressed perfectly for it. His black and grey gear made him look like a slick BMW ad for the F800ST. It was pure excitement to see him flying by. I shared some pics with him, but many I have selfishly kept to myself. This was one of the highlights for me. We soon left the lot and headed to the museum only to find it CLOSED! Bummer!

We peeked in the windows and stood around talking. We were not the only people bummed by the closure as others drove up and sighed their disappointment.

We said our good-byes--me very reluctantly. (Chris, I hadn't forgotten my water bottle after all. I found it buried in my backpack). But I did want them to get to the HD Museum and on to Madison. I learned that they exercised a more leisurely option and hung around the lake before heading to Madison, WI.

I'd reached a milestone. Upon arriving in Kenosha I felt really strong. I had planned to stop at the Botanic Garden in IL on my way back but after having lunch I figured it best to head home. I did take a brief side trip to the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center. They had already closed for the day. I still felt pretty good but resisted the temptation to take any additional side trips. That's the challenge when I'm feeling good, I then try to resume my former life only to learn the next day that I've over done it. Life sure is a teacher! I headed home but took the long way 'round.

The test would come the following day. I woke up anticipating familiar pain. I felt none. Well, I felt a little bit but it was more annoying than anything. I waited until late morning. No increase. By late afternoon I had left on two wheels. I clocked in only about 70 miles but didn't feel much worse--and felt (mood wise) a whole lot better! My Minnesota visitors helped to jump start my riding, which coincided with me embarking on a path of feeling better more often. I had a blast riding with Chris and V, sort of like a mini refresher following him. It was a wonderful weekend meeting new/old friends, talking, riding, doing some healing too.

Chris and Vicki, thanks for stopping by!

Upcoming post: How I averted the jaws of death with a little help from some very cool firemen

I'm back...fingers crossed!

2010-08-24T17:36:00.010-05:00

I'm inspired to write this blog entry because I've been feeling so much better lately. Additionally, I've heard from some of you and I'm particularly touched by your concerns. Some people lament that we, as a society, have lost our “sense of community,” that people are too plugged in to technology and not tuned in enough to “traditional” ways of caring about each other. I reject this outright; nothing is ever so black and white. Thanks to everyone who has reached out or just thought about me these last few months. I am left with a strong feeling of community with my fellow moto-bloggers.

I'm sorry that I've been invisible. I wouldn't wish my health challenges on anyone! For too long, I've had neither the energy nor desire to read moto blogs much less post on my own. Every time I step outside a motorcycle appears out of nowhere and zips by me as if mocking my pedestrian mode of transportation. And occasionally, it's all made be whiny, pouty and really uninterested in forcing my foggy brain—thanks to some crazy prescribed drugs—to focus on anything requiring attention. Trying to live vicariously through others' adventures was not helping. So, I apologize for neglecting the pleasure I usually experience from reading your blogs—and the fun I get from sharing my journeys (which have been few and far between). So I've laid low and tried to focus on reclaiming my former self.

What's up with me, you've asked? I have a nasty auto immune disease of the connective tissues that has brought with it a rather persistent, chronic fatigue and more than its share of itchy, hideous hives. My immune system treats my muscles and tissue cells as enemy invaders and wants to destroy both. At one point, the least bit of physical exertion was followed by what I can only describe as an acute case of lactic acid burn in every fiber of my being. For reasons unclear to me, I continue to experience incredible muscle/tissue fires inside. After a lively 5 mile walk, which used to be a skip in the park, I now (more often than not) feel a burning sensation under my skin. I will spare you the details but after more than a year of trying to get a doctor to listen to me and not dismiss this as “all in my head,” I finally have received a diagnosis that makes sense. Not good news in the end, but what a relief to know what I'm dealing with.

I've had to consume some awful drugs that have compromised me cognitively and erased my energy and only slightly eased the pain, which always leaves me asking, “What is the point?”

Through trial and error, I've learned what drug to cut out—most of the prescribed stuff—and I've started to feel considerable better—at least I have my mind back, which I know might be debatable. Still...

Currently, I'm feeling as if I'm in a healing phase (a remission of sorts). I've had a few weeks of feeling well enough to get through an entire day without several naps. Knocking on wood. Photo therapy has done wonders. I felt so well that on a Friday in July I took a ride to Milwaukee's BMW for a big, overdue service on the ST.

Other than occasionally running errands, this would be my first trip since May, when I ventured to Michigan to do some underground railroad hunting. I left for WI at 7am and already the air was hot and humid underneath an overcast sky. Milwaukee is an easy trip of about 100 miles; I arrived a few minutes before the shop opened at 10am. In the past, Dave had volunteered to ride my bike up there for me; while I appreciated his offer I could think of only a one word response: NEVER! I rested two whole days to make the trip. By the time I pulled into the large lot, I felt like a privileged six year old on Christmas morning. Three guys were waiting outside for the head guy to open the place; they watched me as I did a U-turn. Thankfully, my time off the bike, did not show. Within ten minutes my bike was checked in. I headed off to a coffee shop to get some reading and writing done. I felt tired but in a good way. Fortunately, I would have seven and a half hours to rest up before the return trip.

Throughout the day, the sky threatened rain and eventually the rain came in buckets. Didn't matter to me as the rain gear was packed. By the time I took to the rode, the rain had dwindled to a trickle—not even worth pulling out the rain gear. The return journey took 1.5 hours longer than it took to get to Milwaukee. The return dished up everything that makes riding fun and challenging. My clutch hand ached from constant use in stop and go traffic. Friday evening traffic from Milwaukee into Chicago is always an endurance test. Rarely, during the last fifty miles did the bike move beyond third gear, which actually was good as the big service on the bike made the brakes so precise that I cherished the time needed to get accustomed to the new feel. I pulled into the garage just before 9:00pm, just before the night turned the sky black. The true test would come the next day. And, it came with a vengeance that was both excruciating and instructive. I couldn't walk straight. My thighs and the muscles in my legs were aching (I would rather give birth than to feel as I did). t took two days for my muscles/tissues to cease the fire within. Still, my progress could be overlooked if I just focused on the pain that had me frantically searching my cabinets for the very drugs I had sworn off.

But here's the big lesson: It took two days to recuperate from the Milwaukee 200+ miles trip compared to the two weeks it took me to get over the 300+ miles Michigan trip I took the Saturday over the Memorial Day holiday. I'd say this is tangible evidence of progress. Why my immune system throws off histamines and sends my body into hyper drive is beyond me. Fortunately, I now have some astute docs and together we are working on solving the mystery.

This down time has been good in many ways. First, I quit my research job that would try the patience of Biblical Job. I miss ONLY the money. The number of people I miss I can count on one hand with several fingers left over. It's been a good decision that has eliminated a boat load of stress. Trying to work in that environment was like trying to fit a big triangle into a small round space. This down time is also great for unlimited reading, that is, when the drug-induced brain fog has lifted. When clear of mind, I've done some serious thinking about all the things I've yet to do in this lifetime. One major decision I've made is an unequivocal recommitment to finishing an on and off again book I've been doodling on the life and times of Bessie B. Stringfield. I've accomplished more in the last month than I have in the last seven! I'm presenting a paper on Stringfield in November to the Social Science History Association; planning a trip (via plane, unfortunately) to Florida, where she lived; and, submitting a book proposal soon. The unanticipated time off has had some nice breakthroughs.

While I don't want to announce a full return to anything just yet, (since I still can't predict with any level of accuracy when and why these annoying “flare-ups” occur), I feel, at the moment that I'm on a healing path. I plan to show up here more often. Even some recent news that I would undergo a minor surgery procedure hasn't dampened my optimism. I had that procedure and learned that I do not need the more invasive surgery. Whew!

On a recent short ride to the grocery store, I had a distinct feeling of Que sera, sera (Whatever will be, will be).

So here's to a heartfelt thanks to everyone for your patience and concern. I am looking forward to catching up with you all soon.

I had a huge boost in energy this past weekend when I met up with the Chris and his lovely wife, whom I'll refer to as "Vee" —more about that fun soon.

GoPro test 1

2010-05-22T00:55:00.022-05:00

Took a short ride on some main city streets downtown Chicago. I was heading to LSD (Lake Shore Drive) to reach Montrose Harbor--it was an excuse to try out the new video cam. I mounted the GoPro Motorsports Hero HD video Cam on the hump of the F800ST. It proved sturdy and remained rock solid on some pretty bumpy city streets. I was quite pleased with the variety of mounts included in the box--unlike the pitiful mount and lack of options with the Scientific Oregon ATC video cam.

Still haven't figured out how to use the different attachments on the GoPro suction thingy to make it work but I don't feel an urgency for it at the moment. However, the height of the suction attachment makes for a nice tall mount for the camera, which makes sense when you need a view above the handle bar clutter on my ST.

My handlebars are not as generous as the bar on my old Suzuki SV650; thus, space on the Beemer bar is tight. I ride with mounts for a GPS, the Spot, and a XM satellite radio--the latter of which I can easily remove as I rarely ride with music unless I'm doing something big like a Saddle Sore or a day trip of over 600 miles. For mounting on the ST's hump, I had to clear handlebar space. I loosen the mounts and moved them aside to give the camera a clearer view of the road ahead. Yes, the GoPro mount needed to be higher. Hmm...note to self: figure out that suction thingy...

Uploading with iMovie. Things started off smoothly. Then, at the point of uploading, I received an error message in iMovie 8. I learned that this error message was a common occurrence with iMovie 8. In fact, Apple generated a fix (iMovie 6) soon after releasing iMovie 8 but the fix (released a long time ago) is no longer available. Every time I downloaded Apple software related to this fix, I was blocked because I needed the original iMovie 6 fix--UGH!!!

I switched to my PC and used Windows Movie Maker. It was okay and I'm glad to know that I now have it on the netbook, which I take when traveling. Still, iMovie seemed more intuitive so I upgraded to iMovie 9 and all issues with uploading that I encountered with iMovie 8 vanished. So here is my newbie attempt. No edits, just elimination of some of the non dynamic clips. I think I'm going to enjoy developing new skills and learning how to use this cam.

Received the GoPro "Chesty" harness Friday. It fits and rests comfortably on my chest. Looking forward to comparing it to the hump mount. Chris at Everyday Riding, uses the chest mount. He said something like, the body becomes the cushion upon which the camera rests and absorbs shocks from the ride--or something like that (sorry, Chris if I've misquoted you). Looking forward to trying out the harness mount this weekend (fingers crossed).

I'm loving this little camera and send mucho thanks to Chris, who endured many wacky and wild emails from me. He showed both good humor and the patience of Job. My excuse, many of those emails were written while on some heavy brain fogging meds. Even I knew I sounded scary!

Watch the GoPro test on YouTube

p.s. So, what's the secret for posting the YouTube here without it being so huge it's full screen is not viewable. Chris, bobskoot?

UPDATE: Thanks Claye AKA Fleeter!

I lied! (Sort of..). & fellow bloggers help out!

2010-05-17T06:50:00.019-05:00

In a previous post I tried to talk mindfully about gratitude at being able to ride, regardless of the miles amassed. I'm trying to appreciate and value tiny moments. Training myself to adopt this disposition is a work in progress. At the moment, it isn't okay in the deep regions of my being. But what can do? I could make my sulking overt and make myself miserable and a drag to be around. Thus, I continue to seek meaningfulness in the rides that I do manage to accomplish.

Saturday I was on the road by before 7am to head home for a graduation celebration to honor a dear family member. Construction made the going long and arduous. While I didn't ride my bike to the actual graduation, motoring home was a great way to start the day. Being among the graduate's family and friends was far more powerful than any medicine the docs can prescribe.

Sunday was a two wheeler's dream but I felt like CRAP. Still, I could hear my bike rocking its wheels in the garage. I imagined the tiny led lights framing the licence plate randomly flashing to signal its readiness for flight. Yet, the thought of getting up from my set and putting on gear seemed to take monumental energy that would require before actually mounting the bike--assuming I manage to get the gear on.

My friend, Claire, called and volunteered to retrieve me. We'd plan to get together on Sunday. She is a second daughter from whom I always love hearing. She's a delightful breath of fresh air. Her heart is one gigantic jelly-bean--all sweet! Our walk around Chinatown and lunch at Hoang Vietnamese Restaurant reminded me that this is auto immune disease is easy to yield to. It difficult to get out, I had to push myself.

Once out there, however, I feel light and unloaded of the dead weight that seems to anchor down my shoulders and cement my feet in place.

At the end, Claire dropped me off at the apartment and once inside it, I could feel the exhaustion revisit. I rested an hour and it seemed to recharge my battery a bit. It would be sinful not to get out and enjoy the weather. I pushed myself out of bed and geared up for a short moto ride. My trip was short despite having all the best long ride conditions:. the sky, a most brilliant blue and temps in the low 70s. I swear, the bike looked downright forlorn, parked in an near empty garage. I flicked the button to release it security system and it flashed a series of seemingly happy red and yellow lights that tickled my spirit.

The streets were filled with people. The pack-oriented urban sport riders dominated Lake Shore Drive as they weaved in deep leans all along north and south Rt. 41. My short ride took me to the Osaka Gardens in Jackson Park, a beautifully harmonious example of East meets (urban) West. It's a small place that is most often isolated and tuck far enough off LSD to make the escape feel like a

On this day, I saw more people than I've ever seen gathered here. I took a bunch of lenses and walked around the garden and snapped whatever filled my eyes--without regard to anything else--just taking pictures to remember comforting scenes and to forget the deep, creeping ache in my innermost bones that still catches me off guard.

Not any interesting pictures of my beloved bike as one has to park far from the garden. The short ride was a good one.

The return, even better as Chicago's breath taking skyline is an unabashed welcome to the big city with the small town disposition (IMHO). I thought of the videocam again. Had it been strapped on the bike, I could have shown just how gorgeous a day it was. And, I am sick--literally--and figuratively about not being able to pile on the miles.

To me amassing miles signals movement, transformation--even voluntary displacement; it means stepping outside my ordinary and embracing new experiences.

It's about small and large acts of courage and risking-taking on mysterious machines and strange people and unexplored places. So, I did lie. In a way. With me it is about the miles and the more of them I cover, the more journeys I've taken and the more I learn about myself on my own.

My challenge then is to find transformative moments in the small roads and paths--even in the congested urban street as well as along remote back roads. I'm trying to be attentive to this regardless of what I manage to venture. 'Cause the big trips may be on hold; in fact, the season appears threatened. (Fingers crossed, prayers sent).

***

I will write more on my meeting with a fellow blogger this week. Here's a hint on his identity: twisted refers to both his mind and the roads he likes to ride! Meeting him made a drab day dynamic! And, thanks to consulting at length with another blogger pal, this site will soon have nice video!

Mother's Day: Joy in a simple ride

2010-05-11T20:08:00.012-05:00

My rides have consisted of riding to work a few days a week and daily errands—if I'm lucky. No long trips yet and I'm being gentle with myself and mindful to let it go. Comparison to where and how much I had done at this time last year are silly, meaningless ruminations. That I can ride is the point.

My babysitting for the F650GS is over *sigh*. Dave's shoulder has healed enough that he's been cleared to ride his bike!

I will do what I can to steal some rides on the GS, especially since I've registered it as a second bike for the 2010 BMW mileage contest. He is thrilled to be back on two wheels and I'm hoping his new membership in the Chicago BMW club (I'm not a member) will expand his options for riding with others. He recently donned his gear and headed out. It was not a good day for me and I reluctantly declined his invitation and encouraged him to go out alone.

I lounged around all Saturday storing up energy for a Sunday, Mother's Day ride. I was asked what I wanted to do. The day promised to be cool and clear. In other words, ride-perfect. I wanted to ride but with me, myself and I. Our child, who used to, with Dad's help, bring me breakfast in bed on MD, is in graduate school in California. She called in her daughterly Mother's Day wishes; and, I called in mine. I felt free.

Sometimes, before a big ride, I won't sleep well (I should say, I sleep less than usual). I call it “trip anticipation syndrome” or TAS for short. Ordinarily, I prefer early starts, to be on the road by 6:30ish. Instead, I woke up at 2am and four hours later, I looked and felt like a zombie! Didn't leave the house until after 1pm. This letting go of things is a real challenge.

My plans were to head to the Great Blue Heron Rookery & Wetland Wildlife Sanctuary, part of the Almond Marsh Lake County Forest Preserve in Grayslake, IL. The sanctuary has been in the news lately for its innovative method of building man-made tree structures to attract the herons back to this once favorite heron habitat. I took the long way there and enjoyed the azure sky, the 50+ degree temps. The sweet and acrid mix of earthly smells of city, suburban and rural living made me quite happy and I cracked my lid to inhale deeply.

I did encounter some crazy traffic for the first hour but eventually exited the Interstate and took lesser roads the rest of the way. The video camera would have been great on this trip—oh well... Something strange happened when I got to Almond Marsh. I couldn't find the entrance. I rode around a huge area and ended up back where I thought an entrance would be. A man and his young daughter were there looking through their binoculars at the spot I recognized from a news report. I squinted at the spot but didn't see any herons. A metal gate blocked the entrance and the fine print stated on the gate stated that the marsh was closed. How and why would a forest preserve be closed on Mother's Day?! The father said it was indeed closed for the day. Wow! I almost felt like, “What a waste.” I caught myself for the ride out was joyous.

Plan B was that if time allowed, after my Rookery visit I would spend some time in Fort Sheridan, IL. The fort was a US Army military post after the Civil War, named after Philip Sheridan, a Civil War Calvary General. When the Department of Defense closed the fort in 1993, they sold the land to developers for commercial land use. Developers refurbished the land and resold it.

The now residential land use has a unique appearance of homes and condominiums. Part of town edges the lakeshore of Lake Michigan, much of the woodsy space is preserved. The town has an air of affluence with a military twist for the military ambience is obvious. I mean, it looks like a fort—just a fort for rich soldiers. The winding streets, the functional looking buildings and the spacious greens made this stop a great visit. (Please take a moment to read a bit about Fort Sheridan).

I also made a stop at The Fort Sheridan Cemetery, which sits right outside the town.

I arrived there with only about five minutes to spare before the cemetery closed. I noticed that among the ancient, uniformed Civil War headstones were some with more recent dates of births and deaths, suggesting that after the transformation of Fort Sheridan to a residential area, the cemetery has become the final resting place for nonmilitary personnel. I watched a woman sitting in front of a headstone for all the time I was there. I wanted to take a picture of her as she looked so serene and focused. Her back was to me and it would have made a nice photo op but it didn't seem the respectful thing to do. So I took a few obligatory photos of the area and left. Funny thing is, I pass the town whenever I ride along the northern part of the Lake Michigan Circle Tour, a favorite leg I often ride when I take the long way to Wisconsin.

By my own standards, this was a short ride just over 100 miles, one I'd generally brush off (last year) as paltry. I can't, however, articulate the meaningfulness this ride held for me. It felt great moving along, leaning into wide sweeping curves, passing through wooded areas—even navigating through the congested traffic felt healing--even if temporarily. I welcomed, even embraced the challenge to be sharply attentive, alert and vigilant of vehicles around me. In the faster lanes, I remember sneaking peeks at the ground as it move swiftly underneath me and peppered throughout the ride were moments when everything seemed well with the world and me in it. Two wheel travel always demands focus, which in turn requires prioritizing the mind's worries.

This day was the official start of my ride season and although the weather has since has turned cold and rainy again, it really doesn't matter. On this Mother's Day, I needed this simply joy. I needed to feel flight and unburdened. Riding two wheels, at least for me, are always potential opportunities to connect with myself. I am on my own. Making my way in both familiar and unfamiliar places. No negotiating (other than the traffic). It is all about me.

And, sometimes the best form of self care is saying “No” others and “Yes” to self.

This was indeed a wonderful Mother's Day.

Finding lost things, accepting new selves...and unearthing a 2yr old video camera

2010-05-09T11:05:00.009-05:00

Recently, I read Premeditated Scootin', about blogger Jim losing one of his favorite gloves and it was as if he were talking directly to me. That tale touched me deeply as lately I've been losing important things. This is out of character for me.

When I lose things, I am doing so because I am stressed about something and my mind is wandering, I'm worrying about something, and walking about in a brain fog.

On a recent Tuesday I rode Jesse Owens to campus, where I teach two days a week. When I finished and returned to the bike, I searched for my keys in vain. I returned to the building where I work and searched everywhere but I couldn't find my keys. Finally, I asked the Director of the center, which I hated doing because she has knowledge of several previous loses. She sympathized with me and suggested I look in the ladies room where lost items are sometimes placed. Nada. Just before leaving the building to go weep somewhere, I asked the security guard if anyone had turned in keys. He reached toward a wall near him and handed me the keys. Whew!

Two days later, I made a conscious effort after I parked to put my keys in my knapsack. A voice reminded me of the little plastic ring built inside the front pocket of my knapsack. I did not listen to the voice. However, I placed them deep inside my sack. When class was over, I gathered my belongs and left the building. When I reached the bike and reached for the keys, they were not there. I unloaded the bag completely, they were missing. When I emptied my backpack of the lecture notes and books, the must have fallen out? I reluctantly returned to the Center. When I entered, the guard turned to look at me with what I interpreted as a deja vu moment for him. Before asking him anything, I searched like I had done two days prior. While searching unsuccessfully, I had a mini meltdown, my skin got all hot and my breathing labored. I decided to search my classroom thoroughly--again--this time looking where I didn't expect the keys to be.

A few weeks prior, it is that very place in which I left behind my mobile phone and another time, two thumb drives that hold huge parts of my life in photographs. After searching the room several times, I focused my eyes on the dark colored floor. I then pulled out the chair next to the one I occupied. I recall tossing my knapsack there. When the chair slid out I saw the bright red keys to my Givi luggage first. What a relief not to have to confess my absent-mindedness to the security a second time. I waved to him as I left the building.

These loses pale in comparison to the next day, Friday. I woke up to what promised to be a beautiful day--only it was not day yet. It was 3am--my normal wake up time. I wanted to start the work day and get it over with but start time was still six hours away. Ugh! Really, I didn't feel like work at all. I decided to head to the office early; but I was at my desk less than an hour and that voice roared in my ear. It said, "Go home! Get free while you can! You are sleep deprived and exhausted." So, I took a personal day and left.

Before going home, I went to Whole Foods and bought fruit and twelve cartons of Fage Peach Yoghurt to which I am seriously addicted. I loaded up my trusty knapsack and left the store. When I got home it was 9am. I gave into a nap.

At noon, I decided to take a motorcycle ride. I packed a few things and checked for my wallet. It wasn't in my knapsack. I searched everywhere. Then I remembered, "It's in the topcase of my bike." Whew!

Geared up and headed to the garage. No wallet in the topcase! My skin began to warm and my breathing became rapid. I returned to the house to search again. No wallet. It had to be at Whole Food as I needed it to pay for the groceries. I called Whole Foods and a woman put me on hold for a long time while she checked. She returned with bad news. No wallet. I gave her my contact info and hung up. What has become a daily ritual of late, "The Meltdown." I thought briefly of riding without my wallet but as one old Blues song goes, "If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all."

As I prepared to put the bike back in the garage, that voice announced itself again. "Go to Whole Foods. Go there!" I said a silent prayer and rode to Whole Foods. So I did. On the way there, I had another mini meltdown inside my helmet. My growing stress was palpable. Before going inside WF, I searched the parking garage even though I knew that had I dropped it there, it would be long gone by now.

Inside, I saw two men at the customer service desk, not the women who had told me over the phone that the wallet wasn't there. "Excuse me...I called earlier and someone told me that my wallet, which I lost here this morning, wasn't here. But I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd come to check. Did anyone find a wallet early this morning?"

The young man was tall, thin (probably vegan) and soft-spoken. "What color?" I told him. "What shape?" I told him. He smiled. Reached inside a drawer and said, "What's your name?" I told him. His smile widened and held the wallet out towards me. I didn't take right away. "It's been here all morning,"he said. "The bagger noticed it right after you left and it's not moved from this drawer--so everything is there."

The energy in his smiled washed over me and helped lightened the load I've been lugging for weeks. The other guy behind the desk, looked at me and smiled too and agreed that it had been there all morning. I stood silently for a few seconds and tried to articulate my gratitude and my relief to be reunited with my wallet.

It had been a tough week of doctors' tests, a sleep study, horrific hives and a debilitating fatigue that makes my daily walks feel like I'm pulling along a Volkswagen Beetle! I used to run as much as 60 miles a week. Now, my four mile walks require a nap afterwards, a nap where my battery never seems to fully recharge and never holds the charge for long.

If nothing else, life is about adjustments, isn't it? We have little choice but to deal with whatever comes our way, in the best way we can. I deal with just about anything if I can get rid of this chronic fatigue. I am on a mission to do just that.

So, I'm turning my goal-oriented head on figuring out how to overcome fatigue that I am told will be my cross to bear. I have been diagnosed with an auto-immune disease of the connective tissues--I still can't call it by its medical name just yet. One of its major symptoms is a sometimes debilitating fatigue that can be resistant to change regardless of the amount of sleep one gets.

My motorcycle travel this summer has no room for fatigue. While I will not ride fatigued; I will not rest until I find a solution. I've got places to go and people to meet. I can hear you say, "Can't the doctor just give you something for the fatigue?" He did. And for two days, I felt like my old self. I couldn't believe the difference. I felt as if the little pill he prescribed had performed a miracle. For me that's huge. I'm not a good pill taker at all.

Then on the morning of day three, the itching started. The side effects warned that in "rare" cases a "severe" allergic reaction might occur. I am the rare case. Hives were everywhere and my whacked out immune system sent out histamines to attack the foreign invaders. It waged a war a whole week even thought I had stopped taking the drug and had been given a huge dose of daily antihistamines to counter act the hives. The doc said was a "significant" allergic reaction. Yeah, tell me about it!

I am hereby, right now, embarking on a mission to fight fatigue. By hook or crook, this will be a great, safe ride season. I have to just figure out how to ride despite my new life challenge.

VIDEO NOTE: I unearthed my video camera, which I've used maybe twice. I abandoned it when I couldn't find a screw to make it fit securely around the handlebars and none of the accessories that came with it worked either. Yes, I've contacted the manufacturer but well after the warranty and well after searching hardware stores too numerous to count. So, it's been sitting in a bin untouched.

The camera is mounted to my handle bars with DUCT TAPE. I know, the windscreen if filthy; I know, the image is not great (totally unedited); and the road is ragged. This is a ONLY a test to see if I even want to keep the camera. So, I'm just winging it--I have dug out the manual but haven't reacquainted myself with it so the resolution is whatever it was last set too. Since I haven't used the dang thing in two years (and even then I used it once or twice) I fumbled my way through and it probably shows. Still, it was worth it to give it a try, learn to use it before rushing off to buy something else I may also toss in a draw.

A full review of the camera is in the process--after a fair testing...

Test #1 Oregon Scientific Helmet Camera

Test #2 will occur under more ideal conditions: a clear, bright, sunny day--a clean windscreen. On this test day #1, the sky was dark, ominous and foreboding--and getting blacker by the minute. With all those strikes against it, I think the camera did a fair job and would probably perform better if I had done some editing, aimed the camera through a clean windscreen, and had checked the camera settings for the best resolution. I did none of those things, which is why I'll give it another test drive.

Last but definitely not least, HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY! If you can read this, there's a mother somewhere to thank.

Two (rides) a day--keeps the doctors away!

2010-04-24T15:52:00.019-05:00

Recently, I received some sobering news about which I will blog about in the near future. I wrote it up and then just didn't feel like making it real just yet. Now that the weather had “broken” I am on the bike as often as physically possible. Like Chris, in Everyday Riding, I'm aiming to ride each day; it's a great goal but when it doesn't happen, I'm learning to let it go. So far, I'm able to ride to work two days a week. The only reason I can't on the other three days is that my place of work on those days is only four blocks away. I've decided that on those mornings, I will get up hours before needing to prepare for work and take a ride somewhere to watch the sun rise, which is always a grand way to begin any day.

Now, when I say the weather has “broken,” let me be clear. The snow has vacated! The cold remains much of the time. *Sigh.* Thus, my mornings begin in the cold but depending on when I return, the day usually has warmed to the mid 50s—perfect riding weather in my opinion. Last Thursday was a perfect riding day—at least it ended that way. It started off cold enough to use my heated hand grips on “high” and by the time I reached the campus, where I teach a couple of days a week, my hands were definitely a bit cold. But four hours later the weather couldn't have been more perfect with an azure sky that dotted heavens with small puffs of clouds.

As I've mentioned before, I'm charged with babysitting Dave's '09 BMW F650GS. He's only has about 4900 miles on it and a chunk of those miles I claim. Last summer, when his knee surgery prevented him from riding I stepped in to help ;-). This year, it's his shoulder that will keep him off the bike until June; I'm encouraging him to take as long as he needs to heal—his bike is in good hands! Yesterday, I rode my bike to work and back downtown, unloaded bike and rode off to the suburbs. I superslabbed it most of the way but it was great just to be moving along on two wheels. I was able to get in a good 50 miles even before I decided to take the F650 on a spin.

The F650GS is definitely an easy bike to love. The one thing I usually need to adjust to is the the distance from the ground to the pegs. Compared to my ST, it is a short, lift of the feet that requires only a minuscule tuck of the legs. I am always missing that and tucking up my legs way too high before lowering them to the pegs. I left our winding suburbs and headed toward the back roads. While riding, I thought of how much easier it might be to do a SaddleSore on the F650 because the legs and seating position are quite relaxed. I will probably never get to take it on a SaddleSore given Dave's belief that such long distances are “dangerous.” Of course, as one who has done two SaddleSore rides, I totally disagree. But it is his bike and therefore, his call. I think his attitude may be changing. I've been a BMW owner longer than he has and I have yet to get the urge to job the club. He has and he's hearing a lot of LD riding adventures and that notion of such rides being “dangerous” may be shifting.

I only did about 65 miles on the bike but each mile was fun and it made me think about how a bike's set up can help or hurt one's skill development. Those little Honda Rebels in the training classes are confidence building little bikes. I love them. One doesn't have to worry about weight of the bike too much and when you sit on one, it just feels friendly. That's how I felt while on the GS. It makes for easy maneuverability. For reasons I don't understand, doing a u-turn on the GS is easy. Think about it. And it happens! Part of this may be that it is a relatively light bike? U-turns on my bike are easy only because I practice them and I'm very used to the bike. But each execution on my bike takes a bit more thought IMHO. The friction zone is also different on the GS. It seems to have a wider tolerance for silly mistakes. Like pulling off in second gear—it does so without hesitation.

The one yucky thing about the bike is no longer an issues because Dave has installed a Sergeant seat that is not only more comfortable (anything would be) it is taller, which means I no longer can get my heels on the ground. When the new seat is broken in, I don't anticipate this being an issue. It's also, I think, the lightness of this bike compared to mine that I makes the GS a breeze to push around as in back peddling it out of the driveway.

I took the back roads to Kankakee River State Park. It made me think about how I need to get the helmet camera mounted as it has collected dust since I bought it two ride seasons ago. I'm even thinking of selling it and getting something newer. The problem has been not being able to find a screw long enough to mount the thing and the one that came with it doesn't fit around the thingy that goes circles the handlebar. I should have returned it but who would have thought that finding a screw would be difficult. Yes, I've been to hardware stores that specialize in European screws and a little elderly man from Poland, I think, who owns a great little neighborhood hardware store, searched old bins and couldn't find anything that would fit either.

The roads leading to the park are lined with farms and tall prairie grasses and the occasional subdivision tucked in. The smell of manure is overwhelming in places. Mostly, however, there is old, small town life. My route took me through Manteno, IL., a place I thought, as a child, was where insane people were sent to live out their days. I remember overhearing adults say things like, “If he keeps acting out, he's going to get himself sent to Manteno.” It was always described as a snake pit of sorts. Yet, I glance at the few people on the Manteno streets. They look like you and me. Still, I wonder about their mental state. It's a perfectly good looking, quaint town, in spite of the labels that adhere to it.

Time on the GS flew by. The bike sang with a pleasing engine hum marred only by a slight, but unmistakable. rattling of the newly installed V-Stream windshield.

Kankakee River State Park was virtually empty, which is in stark contrast to lazy summer days when the place is packed with visitors.

By the time I arrived it was early evening, the Kankakee river that runs through the park moved swiftly and the bright setting sun shone brilliantly on the darkening water. I parked the bike several times and looked around and stared at the foliage. Finally, I stood along the river's edge and daydreamed into the water.

I wished I had come earlier; I wished I had brought a book and a blanket and one of those Kashi Honey Almond Flax bars that I've developed a slight addiction to. I wished it was warmer to spread a blanket and rest on the grasses and read and lose myself even if just for an hour so I could shelve all the world's problems and all the personal little dramas that make up a life, my life.

I left the park reluctantly. But not before dismounting at the gate one last time and looking back at the ground I had traveled. A mirror image captures a bit of the tree-lined winding road. Only when I left the park did I realize just how cold it was turning.

The warmth of the setting sun strained against swiftly moving clouds that made it dark one minute and light the next. The ride home was uneventful. For miles nary a car was behind me. I passed through Manteno again and thought perhaps I ought to visit that State Hospital on the next outing that brings me this way.

F800ST = 55 miles

F650GS = 65 miles

Ride total: 122 miles o' smiles!

Rain Riding and the BMW Mileage Contest Results!

2010-04-07T07:43:00.015-05:00

The weather has been ride-perfect for the last week or so. This week, the week I'm taking off from one of my jobs, the weather has been cold(er), rainy and quite windy. I couldn't care less! I've taken to the road as much as time allows! Riding in the cold rain is better than no riding at all.

My Easter Sunday ride promised to be a nice one but ended up mostly in the rain. I left the house so optimistic that the weather would clear up, I failed to pack the rain gear, which really is optional when wearing my preferred jacket. My Fieldsheer Adventure jacket is water proof and kept my body dry, but when the exterior got drenched it led to feeling chilled, which never really went away--my fault for not taking the time to put the wind/rain liner in the jacket. Thank goodness for heated grips.

Stopped at a gas station to put air into the tires and accidentally overinflated the tires. It was a crappy air system and it registered amounts that were inconsistent with my old fashion air gauge. When I tried to take some of the air out, it was always too much and then I'd inflate again and go over. Ugh! Eventually, I just left it several pounds over-inflated. I learned that this is not good. For those of you out there who know more about this sort of thing than I do, tell me if my logic makes sense.

I'm assuming that an overinflated tired can be pretty dang bad on wet pavement. It seems to me that over inflation means that there is less rubber on the road, that the contact patch will be smaller, which could lead to less grip and even more slippage than one would encounter if the tires were inflated properly. This all makes sense to me but I'm going strictly on feel. When the rain came and it came fast and furiously at first, there was no shoulder on which to pull off so I continued on. I've ridden in many rain storms, some that produced a religious re-awakening in me--if you know what I mean.

The Easter rain was heavy and as I rode down two lane roads, with speed limits of 45-55 mph, I experienced a lot of slippage of the back tire--at least that's where I felt it most. This sliding around was definitely over and above the normal slippery feeling that is common in the early stages of riding on wet roads. It was a bit spooky at first but when I adjusted my riding accordingly, I was able to ride until I found a pull off place. Throughout the rest of the ride I experienced many breath-taking moments on the road.

So, is my theory correct about the over-inflated tires, smaller contact patch, etc.? (Yes, now home, the correction has been implemented).

I road most of the day and night in on and off again rain. In the dark of night, the lightening flashes forced me to take refuge at my mother's house. She put my jacket and gloves in the dryer and that warmth was pure joy. The rain didn't stop so after an hour of visiting, I headed out again when the rain seemed lighter. Within 5 minutes on the road, the dark skies opened again. It was after 10pm; I made it home around 11pm, chilled to the bone with prayers answered. Other than being a tad cold, I ended the day with no complaints about my wet day on two wheels.

BMW MILEAGE CONTEST RESULTS ARE IN!

Well, guess who made it among the top 25 women mileage contest winners?! I think I was 19th. And, guess who did extremely well among the 89 Illinois finishers! I think I was 15ish? I say "think" because once again I didn't receive my April issue of the BMW MOA magazine! So, I'm writing the place positions from what I recall reading in Dave's magazine.

In print, I am short of my mileage goals because I rode two other motorcycles during ride season and couldn't count the miles on those bikes. This time, I'm adding the BMW F650GS to the contest since I'm going to be babysitting it until June. I have bigger mileage goals this year. Still, the ultimate goal is lots of long, safe miles of smile.

I'm a sucker for contests of this sort because you compete against yourself. You have no idea what others are doing. It's about doing your own thing. Setting goals and figuring out how to accomplish it. I like that it's no fuss, no muss. Just enter, ride and report your certified miles.

Today is dark, dreary, rainy and cold.

They say it might clear up. I'm waiting...

2010-03-17T23:38:00.038-05:00

Bringing Jesse Owens home, notes on the SV650 and F650GS, and dogs I love...

Wednesday: Another soul-sucking day at job#1. My panacea? I took off early and headed for Motoworks Chicago to retrieve my gal pal! I've said this before and I'll say it again, few things bust stress like a nice long moto ride where one's attention must focus precisely on the task at hand. To ride safely, all the other troubles of the world must be shelved. Period.

While at Motoworks I spotted an old friend, Queenie, my beautiful blue 2001 Suzuki SV650. It sat on the showroom floor, shining and looking sad at me (forgive my anthropomorphisizing). It seemed forlorn. The day before, I had photographed a six week old baby boy who couldn't possibly be cuter and met the energetic Jack Russell Terrier the baby's parents were dog sitting. As a breed, JRTs often are hi-energy, smart, totally wired, air-leaping, ready to bolt right out of the gate kinda dogs. Tireless little buggers. When I spotted Queenie, I thought of the Jack Russell I had met the day before.

My BMW F800ST is no Jack Russell terrier. I do not hold that against it. It reminds me more of a beloved dog I had in my youth. Sheba was a stray who followed me home. Although she became the family dog, Sheba seemed to know she belonged to me. She slept in my room; I never ate pizza I didn't share with her. We were inseparable. On school days everyone had to be careful about opening and closing the door because Sheba's goal was to sneak out and follow me to school. I would yell at her to go home and eventually she would turn around and appear to comply. But on more than a few occasions I was called to the office to "either take my dog home or call someone to come and get her." I'd scold her but Sheba didn't care. We resorted to locking her in the basement while preparing for school. She'd do a wolf howl the whole time. Except for those times, Sheba was sensible and obedient.

Sheba was obviously German Shepherd but it looked like a bit of Husky was in her too. She took orders directly from my father and me. She obeyed the other siblings only if we were not present. She was loyal, smart, fit, and just about the coolest dog ever. If she were in the backyard and saw me pass by, that dog would cry until I was out of sight. Fence jumping was her hobby. Back then, I rarely if ever put that huge dog on a lease. She just seemed to know not to automatically chase people or things or leave my side. When neighborhood boys would tease me (a seemingly favorite activity), she would charge them and they would beg me to call her.

One time she chased a boy atop a mailbox and everyone laughed. Sheba never bit a soul; never held a grudge for long. Her size and carriage made that unnecessary. In the end, it became almost a status symbol among the boys to have Sheba chase them. But even those she repeatedly had to chase, she would let pet her and scratch her head.

One time a man, obviously not from my neighborhood, slowed his car and pretended to need directions. I walked on the curb side of some hedges with Sheba was on the other side, invisible to the man. His passenger window, which was on my side, was down. When he stopped the car he made a lewd gesture. I gasped. I don't remember what happened next. But in a blink, half of Sheba's body flew inside the man's car! Sheba released a deep guttural growl-snarl that I'd never heard before or anytime after that. I remember how it frightened me and how snow white the man's face became. Sheba was trying to get inside his car. It threw me into a panic and I started screaming at my dog to "get down." The man froze! I remember that Sheba's hair was high and stiff and she sounded like a dog gone mad, as in mental! When the man got his wit about him, he took off with Sheba running behind the car--despite my please for her to stop. That event circulated the neighborhood because people watched my dog chasing a car and me running after my dog. Eventually people knew not to bother Sharon and her "crazy" dog. When I was without her, neighbors asked where and how she was. When Sheba died, Chicago's Mike Royko, Pulitizer Prize winning columnist, wrote an article about her. (Note to self: hunt down that article).

I know this sounds strange, but my ST is a lot like Sheba. It doesn't expend energy for the heck of it. It's mature and doesn't show off needlessly. It has mucho kick--more than this rider will ever maximize-- but on those rare occasions when I summons it (e.g., on early morning rides along old country rodes devoid of traffic), the power is there, eager to answer the call. True to his name, Jesse Owens pulls out silky-smooth--smooth as baby's skin. Its sheer ease at acceleration, the way it kerplunks into gear, the sound of the engine, all works together fluidly. It doesn't snatch the breath away; still, it's gone before know it. A palpable difference between the SV and ST is in how speed feels, which is perhaps the biggest adjustment I had to make transitioning from the Suzuki to the BMW. What was 65 mph on the SV650 was about 80mph on the ST. Too often I would think I was doing the speed limit (I'm no speed demon) only to glance at the speedometer and surprise myself at traveling nearly 20 miles over. It felt easier to do the speed limit on the SV--despite it being an incredibly fast bike. I'm not technical and don't know how to explain better how it feels/felt to me.

Both the SV650 and my ST have huge fun factors but show it in different ways. I remember the SV, no matter how long I rode it, skillful throttle control was mandatory. I credit my SV650 for teaching me, if i say so myself, excellent throttle use. I can inch my motorcycle so slow it appears to be barely moving. Practicing slow maneuvers is one of my favorite skills to keep sharp. I'm convinced that slow practice sharpens one's motorcycle skills for better overall technique. On the SV650, one careless blip or lazy twist could immediately increase the heart rate because the bike is instantly responsive. It often felt like a wheelie-waiting-to-happen. I love the friskiness of that bike and remain distressed that I sold it to my husband who now has decided, after a season of riding her, to sale Queenie to focus on his '09 BMW F650GS.

Perhaps it is because last summer I failed miserably at trying to keep three bikes in running shape while he adjusted to his new knee. I don't know how folks with multiple bikes do it. Thing is, I love my ST way too much to want to ride anything else. When I did ride the other two bikes, I would think of how that same trip would be on my bike. I know it's probably more a matter of just making up one's mind to rotate their riding to keep each bike in shape. Once I would actually get on the SV, for example, I couldn't contain my glee and I'd realize how much I missed that bike. Just on the bike would send endorphins coursing through my body. And, I would always ask myself: "Why did I ever give up Queenie?" I'd have to remind myself again that while a thrill to ride, after a 600 miles day on her, my legs cramped badly and my lower back would complain and nag me the next day. Still, I'd ride her and take a tight twisty curve, which the SV650 carves like no other (IMHO) and convince myself that the painful, crampy legs and backache weren't really that bad. I'd wonder why I never lowered the pegs and added handle bar risers. My SV650 was the indefatigable Jack Russell terrier, a dog I' like to own one day--no offense to present and faithful dog, Noel.

My other task last summer was riding the BMW F650GS. It too is a fun bike. Overly practical and functional. It is efficient and eager to tick of miles on varied pavement with nary a complaint. I enjoyed every mile I put on that bike. But it's no Jack Russell or Sheba. No offense to GS650 riders, it simply doesn't have the charisma and irresistible appeal of the SV or the ST. Others have said it and it bears repeating, the F650GS is the Swiss army knife of bikes--and there's nothing wrong with that. It gets the job done. Like last summer, this summer I will keep the GS running as Dave recovers from rotator cuff surgery (he's going bionic and clearly planning to get all new parts). I'm looking forward to some GS fun.

When I mount Jesse Owens, my F800ST, the grin is immediate. The bike fits me; everything about it works for me. I've added farkles to make it distinctly mine but even in its raw state, I knew the moment I sat on it that it was made for my extra long legs and aging back. It can be a Jack Russell if I want it to be. It plays smooth; it too is efficient. It hides its wild streak until called. Another huge difference I experienced between the SV605 and my ST800 is that the former is ready to snatch your attention from the moment you twist the throttle. It can behave rather bat-out-of-hellish right from the "git-go." The ST, at the start, is tamer, its pull has never bolted me to attention. It promises to stay in the ground even if I happen to start a wee throttle sloppy.

So, when I retrieved my bike from winter camp, my heart swelled at the reunion. I took the long way home; still, it was too short. Despite an exhausting and soul draining day at work, I felt alive by the time I parked the bike in the garage. Before going inside, I stood there and stared lovingly at Jesse Owens.

I vowed to rise early the next morning and find a quiet spot to watch the sun rise--a great way to start any day.

My gal pal is back and since then the weather has cooperated with temperatures in the mid-60sF.

That is, until today, Saturday. It is snowing--a wet, blowing, cold snow. After all, it is Chicago. And like many of the politicians here, the weather always has a few tricks up its sleeves. But, "this too shall pass."

We are ready to ride!

Joy.

"Asphalt Therapy" and my stolen bike of yore...

2010-02-28T08:48:00.012-06:00

"Asphalt Therapy." I owe this blog title to a dear friend, who identified in an email message to me precisely what the doctor ordered. He should know; he needs some asphalt therapy too. Lucas is a highly skilled motorcyclist who rides a gorgeous--and tall--Kawasaki Versys, a bike I contend is a close relative of the Suzuki SV650! But I digress...

I needed a fix.

Each winter I reluctantly have stored my bikes, first Queenie (the wonderful Suzuki SV650) and now Jesse Owens (the sweet mile gobbler, BMW F800ST). This winter, the shop where I store my bike even offered, with a day or so notice, to allow me to reclaim my bike over the winter sans charge if and when the withdrawal became unbearable and a ride was the only panacea to save me, the patient.

Well, I've got the heebee-geebees something awful! I'm also exhausted and short of everything, including time. If my bike were in my garage, I could stumble my way out to sit on the bike, start it up and ride, if possible.

'Cause there's a monkey on my back . The incessant itch of withdrawal will surely leave visible scars...Something has to give soon.

I'm lucky that I have several outlets that can work in a pinch: reading, photography, bicycling, rollerblading, and mapping. But two wheel whizzing quells my soul like no other; perhaps, because it combines the best of my activities. On a weekend of bicycling I can go only so far--and only at a comparatively snail's pace. No matter how hard I peddle I can't get to Amherstburg, Ontario and back in a weekend and have energy left to call it fun. Inline skating, a activity that sports the most wheels, restricts me the most too. I am confined to a small geographic area unless I ride my bicycle or motorcycle to my skating destination. I can do long distance inline skating--many former runners, like myself, have turned this into a distance sport-- but I can skate all day and never get close to leaving Illinois. Reading and photography--I can do both for endless hours and each is good for my replenishing my spirit.

Still, something about getting on my motocycle that blends the "feel good" activities and offers the best therapy I can access without a prescription. Riding requires continuous reading of words and behavior (my own and everyone around me--in and out of vehicles!). Wanting to "shoot" something I've read about that is tucked inside a small town is reason enough to go for a ride.

Motorcycling is so much like my wanderings on my Schwinn bicycle with the "S" on the seat that I told everyone really stood for Sharon. I went everywhere, fast, on that entirely manual bike even though I was told, no warned, to remain within a tightly circumscribed, microscopic area near my home. My family told me about the evil that lurks and awaits those who stray too far from home. The Boogeyman was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. In addition to not straying far, always, always take someone with you.

Yet, ninety-nine percent of the places I ventured back then, I did so alone. My family also told me that "God takes care of children and fools" so I figured I was covered--and I always tried to remember to say a prayer before I went off into supposedly dangerous neighborhood. Sure, I'd ride around with my neighborhood friends whom I was always itching to ditch so I could explore the places that their fear kept them from sampling.

It was on one of those forbidden voyages that my beloved Schwinn with the "S" on the seat was stolen. Right from in front of the Walker Branch Public library no less, which is where I spent a huge chunk of my childhood. On that fateful day, I learned what it meant to "cry a river." I cried myself dry! The worst part was I had to do all that crying before I got home where I knew my childish behavior and stolen bike would be seen as justice for disobedience. I cried all that summer when alone whenever my mind wandered to another girl, somewhere, riding my bike with my initial on the seat.

In my family, you don't bite off more than you can chew, which can lead to hesitancy and tentativeness I found stifling to a traveler at heart. I received little sympathy about my bicycle. I asked for a new one often and heard variations of this whenever I did: "Yes, you can get another bike," [LONG pause, long enough to get my hopes up and my heart beating with joyous anticipation] "...just as soon as you buy one for yourself."} I thought, "How could I be related to these heartless people?! "

In reality, they were not heartless. They were folks who felt that when you don't listen, the best sense, is bought sense! Not only did I disobey, I foolishly left my bike unprotected--and that wasn't the first time. I went through serious two wheel withdrawal that summer and the entire next summer too. I did eventually get another bike, a five speed, oddly name bike from Montgomery Wards that my parents bought. It had no "S" on the seat. It lacked the smoothness and quality of my Schwinn. Regardless, I was thrilled to be on two wheels once again.

The next Schwinn I owned came many years later. And I did buy it myself--a ten speed that came with a killer racing seat that not big enough for an "S" or most butts! I rode it everywhere. It is now over 30 years old, still in my possession and somewhere in the recesses of a garden shed. Days of riding it from the southside of Chicago to downtown or to Harvey, IL to my college job at the YMCA, remain fresh in my memories.

Two-wheel riding for the adult soul

Motorcycling makes get aways easy and fun. I can experience great distances from home in car-time. Without sweating, I can travel joyously from home to Amherstburg, Ontario and back in a weekend and still show up for work on Monday refreshed and relaxed. I lunch in Indianapolis and am back home before dark. Motorcycling combines all that I enjoy: strategy, skills, athleticism, fitness, planning/goal-setting, travel, photography, solitude and plenty of Zen moments to reconnect with others. And most of all, just plain fun. It's an update to the Schwinn in all the best ways.

So, it makes perfect sense that since my last ride on a cold December day, the need for asphalt therapy is acute. "Doctor, we're losing the patient!... Wait, I think I'm getting a pulse."

"She has pulled through yet again..".

This weekend I agreed to get away with Dave who will be basically home bound for a few weeks following surgery on Tuesday. We didn't venture far and it was via four wheels. But the distance was enough to reap the benefits from the flow of endorphins that travel promises.

Despite unequivocal evidence everywhere one looks of dwelling in the depths of winter, we answered the screams of the beach and wound up at Illinois Beach State Park, spending good, cold time hiking. The pictures here are some of the cold wintry scenes I'll remember.

Not quite asphalt therapy.

But a nice second.

Bloggers gone (one forever) but not forgotten...

2010-02-21T18:37:00.029-06:00

I certainly know what it's like to lose track of what anchors you in place and how easy it is to find yourself so overwhelmed that you drop out of sight. I'm prone to going underground for long stretches of time myself, as winter takes a toll on my energy and desires and disposition. For me, it's mostly work that encourages my occasional disappearing acts.

So, I understand when posts from other bloggers become few and far between. While updating this blog, I decided to visit each of the "Haunts" I've followed and delete the dormant ones. I was surprised by the number that haven't been updated in an extremely long time--like more than a year.

I couldn't help wonder where life had taken these fine bloggers. I hope that they are enjoying a long hiatus; that they are simplifying their lives and shifting gears. Still, the long absence of these well-crafted blogs, replete with memorable prose and dramatic photography, raises nagging questions. As I made my rounds, I recalled some of the exchanges I've had with these fellow riders. I poked around each blogspace reading and recalling fond memories.

Then the saddest memory of all.

When I visited this blog, my recall was instant. I remembered the death announcement when it was first posted there. I had forgotten, I think, or perhaps just suppressed a memory I preferred to deny. Then as now, I want to know what happened to Chris. Perhaps the mystery isn't what's important. Still, I couldn't help wonder how and why this life ended so young, so early. I paused there to re-read posts, which brought him back to life even if momentarily. I exited the site but not before re-reading the beautiful poem dedicated to this short and obviously rich life. This blog was the only specific confirmation that answered what happened to one of the missing bloggers. I never knew Chris, really, but we communicated nonetheless. His is a site that will live on my blogroll.

Experiences like this always make me relive my brother's death. They say you need a year to grieve. I know well that death is a fact of life. None of us gets out of life alive. Still, it's a challenge. My revisits to blog sites has taught me a lesson I keep learning again and again in different ways: letting go is not so easy. Even if a site is “dormant,” pushing "delete" demands more than simply depressing the button.

People live on in us in ways even we might not be able to comprehend.

We each learn to let go at our own time, in our own way...

Update:

Just before posting this, I decided to do a general Google search on Chris. I found this (scroll to read).

RIP

Blog under construction

2010-02-21T04:49:00.005-06:00

Yes, things are a bit too dark as it stands now. I'm testing out new banners and colors so bear with me while I clean house and spruce up the place...

Here are pics I'm considering. Actually, I've far too many that I am considering to post. So, I'm throwing out three that were quick finds.

Woman Seeking Women

2010-02-15T11:28:00.008-06:00

It has been a long time between posts and I've missed you. I've been embracing the winter fully by doing my daily long, cold walks with a camera in hand.

As I continue to seek balance in my so-called life, I appreciate your patience. Neglecting this blog, unfortunately, is but one of my many outlets spiraling through gaping dark holes and disappearing forever. A backlog of incomplete or unedited posts await my attention. Some days pass by pleasantly—even enjoyably. Other days--too many days in fact--drag by with the energy that would make a sloth look like a speed demon.

While my hectic life has left little time to indulge the things I want most to do, day dreaming has proved a viable distraction. I've ridden off into the sunset during more than one business meeting. The ride calendar is filling up with tons of legal fun! Aligned with my previous blog about riding with purpose, I've come up with several projects that I'll need several life times to complete. I know that I'm probably far more project- and goal-oriented than many would care to be, but hey, different strokes for different folks, right? Very few things compare to two wheel riding. I do it for the sheer joy of moving through space; whizzing pass buildings and trees; and, inhaling smells both good and malodorous. It is fun and solitude on my terms.

Last season, my travels took me to many Underground Railroad Stations, National Historic Sites and Monuments; I enjoyed every outing. This season, I will continue picking these sites but I'm my pleasure sensors with some new projects.

One that I am announcing here now was sparked by reading motorcycle magazines. You may have noticed that some of them are aimed at the male reader. To many of these rags, the fact that women have increasingly joined the ranks of riders hasn't seemed to catch on. Yes, an increasing number of mags publish stories about and by women riders. Glad to see better inclusion. Still, the ads in some of these same magazines haven't evolved much. Typically, the women in the ads are sprawled, skimpily-clad, on or across the motorcycle.

The clothes they wear—or should I say, the clothes they are not wearing—scream volumes about who these ads are meant to attract.

I read these magazines too. Forgive me while I rant a bit. Sorry men, but I'm annoyed with poofy-haired, leather bustier wearing, Barbies with spike heeled, thigh high boots and pouty mouths, and grossly inflated adipose tissues staring out at me! Rather than continue getting mad, I'm taking action.

I'd like to proffer a counterpoint. So, I'm eagerly seeking women.

I'd like to interview a different kind of woman on a bike. For the upcoming ride season, I'm looking for women who ride solo. I prefer that they reside in the Midwest. They must also be ATGATT (all the gear, all the time). If you a woman who rides solo and lives in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Ohio, Minnesota, and Wisconsin, send them my way.

I will ride to meet up with her, interview her and take some photos of her and her ride partner, that is, her motorcycle. By “ride solo,” I mean, she rides alone 99% of the time. Before anyone debates me about my requirements, let me explain. I don't believe it is a challenge to find women to interview who ride. Such woman have become rather commonplace.

Women who prefer to go it alone will be a challenge I look forward to interviewing. Think about it, given women's socialization to stay near home, to never travel alone, to find protection with a male, that any woman rides alone is noteworthy. I know why ride alone. I'd like to know about those who other women who swim against the current.

Why do they ride alone? Where to do go? What bike do they ride and why? Do they camp alone or stay in hotels when they travel? Is riding alone choice or circumstance? Are they committed solo riders or just biding their time until the right riding partner comes along?

My hope is to eventually turn these interviews and images into a multimedia story accessible via the WWW. Eventually, I'd like to stretch beyond the Midwest. Details remain foggy at this stage but the planning is underway.

I will recruit on a few motorcycle boards and female motorcycle forums. Still, if you know someone, don't hesitate to let me know. Thanks!

Riding with Purpose and other news...

2010-01-23T22:39:00.015-06:00

I continue to struggle to get it together! I am contemplating some tough decisions regarding work, decisions that will either free me up significantly and leave me with the time I need to get some projectS underway; or, decisions that will restrict my ability to do some of the things I love doing. Either way, I’ve got to make some changes...

I have embarked on a couple of documentary photography projects, which I’m planning to use as a entry to teaching visual sociology. The first project involves documentary style photographs of grandparents rearing grandchildren. I will spend some time with them, conduct interviews and put the narratives and images together. The second project is motorcycle related! It focuses on photographing and interviewing women solo riders. I would travel around to meet the women and spend time engaged in ethnographic, “interviews as conversations.” The women must be solo riders and hopefully they are LD (long distance) riders too. I am quite excited about both of these projects.

I also have a third project in mind and would like the readers feedback on it. I have been thinking about riding with purpose. I am finishing up a book by Nicholas D. Kristof and his wife, Sheryl WuDunn, called Half the Sky. I recommend it to anyone. But prepare to be transformed. It is not an easy read but it is a necessary one in my opinion. Half the Sky is about many things; mostly, it is about human being’s inhumanity to each other. In some ways, it is a depressing read, but the book is replete with hope. It deals with violence against women, infanticide, human trafficiking, children bought and sold into sexual slavery, acid burnings of women by scorned men. The book doesn’t just document horror stories; it balances out the horror by including amazing stories of human triumph and survival over adversity. It’s a book of action too. It lists aide organizations, charities, foundations, and programs whose great humanitarian works too often operate on slim budgets stretched to the max. The question, “What can I do?” is fully answered in this book.

The book has so moved me that I have decided to do some purposeful riding this season. This is nothing novel. Motorcycle groups do charity rides all the time. Walks, runs, bikes and hikes for breast cancer are not uncommon. Many diseases have given birth to clever organized physical exertion. I recall one of the stories of a woman living in a rural area of India or Africa who because she was far from a hospital, had to ride on a motorcycle to get to a hospital. Under normal situations, I can’t imagine a motorcycle ride that isn’t fun. But I’ve given birth. The thought of riding a motorcycle in the middle of labor makes my brain hurt as I write this. But for these woman the bike was a welcome sight. (Motorcycle transport in healthcare)

So,

Here are three of my ideas: 1) Ride to purchase a small cc motorcycle. In some countries the easiest and least expensive way for healthcare workers to get to rural areas is via two wheels. Many women never receive prenatal care because they are unable to get to a clinic/hospital. A motorcycle will allow healthcare to come to them. (Motorcycle transport)

Ride to purchase a motorcycle ambulance. I didn’t even know such vehicles existed. I can’t imagine these being very comfortable either if you’re in active labor but it is clearly better than nothing--and it’s all relative. 3) The work of hospitals that repair obstetric fistulas needs help. Fistulas often turn women into pariahs when left unrepaired. Shunned by their communities and families, women with fistulas can die unnecessarily. Most fistulas are the result of obstructed childbirth, which is highly related to 1) and 2). (More motorcycle transport)

I have some ideas about how I can make these work, but I’m open to reader suggestions as I can probably only pull off funding one of these ideas. I’m also receptive to partnerships that include other’s doing a charity ride, so to speak, to support/donate to the charity I select. More to come... (Still more motorcycle transport)

I'm back among the living!

2010-01-05T15:34:00.016-06:00

Wishing you and yours a great, safe 2010!

Whew! Where did the time go?! I'm glad the old is over and the new is underway. I know it's a cliche, but the new year always brings new hope and inspiration. Like many others, I had a challenging year, but I am still breathing. The key to a stressless holiday, IMHO, is to avoid all stores. If I couldn't make the gift or purchase it online--it just didn't get gotten! (excuse poor grammar).

(The anguish on the face of these figures in Lorado Taft's "Fountain of Time" is exactly how I felt a few days before Christmas, click for closer look)

I think I've taken my last ride of the season (sigh). This decision has nothing to do with the cold weather that has gripped Chicago. In fact, on my last ride, which started off around 20 degrees F with a high that day of 24, was quite comfortable. My Tourmaster electrics are great. I dressed so well that I felt a bit too warm when I reached my destination. By the time I returned home and disrobed, I was sweating. Even the black ice that my back tires greeted didn't factor into my decision to end my ride season. No, I realize that the numerous must-do tasks that I procrastinate with during the summer, need to winter to resolve. Trying to also fit in riding is contrary to my "seek balance" and "let go" philosophy I've been trying to implement. I live in an environment that makes winter riding a challenge that I choose not to fit in this winter. (Big sigh)

Right now things are out of whack and I need to shift gears, so to speak. Besides, it's long winter evenings slurping down Japanese Sencha or various Oolong teas, while pouring over maps and tossing around trip ideas I fantasy for the new ride season that gets me through the winter doldrums. It is also the time that I re-read motorcycle classics and catch up on magazine articles on riding technique and safety. The last great book I read is Riding in the Zone: Advanced techniques for skillful motorcycling, by Ken Condon, a protege of David Hough. I've read it once and will re-read it before the start of spring. It's a must-read book for all two wheel travelers.

(Looks like a nice spring, summer or fall day, doesn't it? It was below freezing-fun!)

(LOOK where you want to go!)

When I saw this family out for an afternoon of ice skating, I thought of the motorcycle safety class axiom: look where you want to go. This family went down often that night. I wanted to yell to them to look ahead, look up, look anywhere but down, but I didn't. I just smiled at their family fun and tripped the shutter to capture images of one or more of them prostrate on the ice. I could relate. On my last ride, I found myself having to look at the ground more than I know is good. Mostly, one can scan the ground now and again to look for changes in the color or surface but one doesn't want to lock the eyes there. I must confess, I did some eye-locking on the last ride because those deceivingly small patches of ice that blended so well with the road surface caught me by surprise a few times. The longer I rode the better I was at winter scanning of seemingly clear roads, which is a bit different than summer scanning...imho.

(Seen on a power walk morning).

Physical issues that I plan to correct before the spring. I've read that despite my painful back, I should still do the weight lifting. I slowed down and stopped completely when my back became chronically inflammed. I've missed weight lifting but the back was giving me so much trouble that I thought I should lay off. But I'm convinced that when I was lifting--seriously lifting--my back seemed to breakdown less. Yes, "the old gray mare ain't what she used to be" but I'm not dead yet! I won't go down without a fight! Riding a motorcycle well--at least the way I want to continue to ride--requires excellent fitness. I believe that the older I get the more I need to rely on smart strategies and techniques to do what I used to do without thought.

Now, it's training most wisely. It is now better for me to do 25-30 miles a week of jogging than 60 miles a week of running/training, which I used to do a couple of decades ago. My knees and back now prefer long power walks, robust hiking, and inline skating over a ten miles early morning run. But even my "preferred" outlets were taking a toll on my back. My F800ST is a perfect bike for me because the slight forward position (which I actually uprighted a bit) keep the pressure off my tail bone. My Suzuki SV650 was perfect in every way except that after a 600 miles day, I felt it. This is not the case on the ST. I plan to keep up the long distance riding and there is a direct positive correlation with fitness and miles (IMHO). At least, that's true for me. My last Saddle Sore was a breeze compared to the first one. A fit body can handle more stress. Period. So this winter, I'm back to becoming one with free weights.

(I will miss Jesse Owens, my motorcycle--but heck, it's only for a few fly-by months)

So, this blog will, for the next three months morph into riding news, book and gear reviews an occasional rants about something motorcycle related (like that essay I've been working on about solo riding). This will also be the place I toy with some trip ideas and might even solicit some ideas from you. I have a motorcycle related project in the early stages that will help those living in a poor country. When the details are worked out, I will share it with you 'cause I'm hoping you might want to offer your two cents.

(The picture is of the City Auto Pound, situated on the lowest level of Chicago (the City's underbelly). It's where unluck illegally parked cars wind up. The area also provides a short cut through much of the downtown area. I motorcycle often in and out of this space).

Until next time...happy riding if you're still riding the asphalt. And if you're tucked away your ride partner for the winter, remember: "This too shall pass."

Share your talent(s)

2009-12-09T07:30:00.008-06:00

Something funny happened on the way to posting my weekly blog. In the wee hours, while surfing the 'net for ideas on a new project I'm starting in January, I came across a project that took priority over my ride report from Sunday.

Since most of those who ride two wheels and blog also take photographs to enrich both the riding and blogging, I thought I'd share this find with you.

Help-Portrait Project

Cheers!

Update: It's late in the project. Some locations may need volunteers to do all sort of things other than--and in addition to--taking the portraits. Your help may be needed to hold lights or help entertain the children getting their picture taken. Check your location for the Help-Portrait Project in your area to determine their need.

Roots and Wings

2009-11-23T07:45:00.008-06:00

Rode with my passenger pegs down in honor of my brother and all the ancestors who have gone before.

The birthday ride was a peaceful panacea.

Strolling through wonderous gardens really does reconnect us with our roots.

Watching the endless flight of birds left me feeling as if I too had wings.

Karmic Justice for "Smiley"

2009-11-21T15:56:00.017-06:00

It is difficult to comprehend that it was one year ago today that my brother, Michael, aka "Smiley" died after being struck and dragged by a hit and run driver, barrelling through an alley at the wheel of a rental car for which he had neither license nor insurance. Michael lingered for four days and died one day before my birthday.

I will not rehash the story, but strange things can happen in a year. For the past many months, I have been in court to represent my brother along side the state's attorney. I see his killer enter the courtroom armed with his thuggish friends. They watch me. They slouch in their seats. They are often late. The laws seemed written to protect him and his rights. He has never shown one iota of remorse. In fact, the last time I was in court, October 17, it looked like this guy would get off because the witnesses are afraid to come forward and without eye witnesses there is no one to publicly state what so many called the police to report that November night. As I've said before, I understand not coming forward. We've all heard of cases where witnesses were not protected and lost their lives trying to do the right thing. This guy has known gang affiliation and is a rumored drug dealer. On many occasions, I will admit to leaving the courtroom with murderous thoughts about him. His cavalier disposition enrages me. I know I should have better self-control, but I don't and apologies will not be forth coming.

About several weeks ago, this same guy was involved in a serious traffic accident, with him at the wheel. The four occupants were transported to two hospitals with three in seriously condition. He suffered the gravest injuries. He was not expected to live out the first week and had been kept in a medically-induced coma. Although he remains in serious condition and in and out of consciousness, he has survived several surgeries. A few days ago, one of his legs was amputated. He cannot speak and has had to have some internal organs repaired. "IF" he lives, the word is that he will never be able to use his limbs and his cognitive functioning is uncertain.

Despite the times I've wanted to personally kill this guy, the news of his accident did not make me happy. It made me sad. It didn't need to be this way. His mother today is in the same place my mother has been in, that is, praying that her son will survive. No matter how despicable this guy is, he was and is some one's child. Had he just admitted what he had done, I think, in my heart I would have been more forgiving. My mother, siblings and the extended family have long ago, put this whole matter "in the hands of the Lord." To that I say, "God known my limitations." I went to court! I wanted him to know that someone speaks for Michael. I wanted him pay for what he had done.

Yet, from the moment I heard the horrible news about his accident, I've been sad.

Sad that he lived his life in a way that made the adage, "What goes around, comes around," rap hard on his door. Sad that his family will know the same grief we have lived. Sad that exactly one year ago today, Michael died. Sad that whether this guy lives or dies, he is right now experiencing a hellish pain on a level to which we are not privy. Even sad that a strange otherworldly source of justice may have intervened. All those times I thought I'd be happy if he didn't exist. I am not.

Somewhere, at some point, this guy lost his way and didn't care whom he hurt along his path to nowhere. Very sad indeed.

I plan a birthday ride tomorrow. I shall ride with my passenger pegs down in remembrance of Smiley.

R.I.P. Michael

Did you get "The Memo"?

2009-11-19T21:01:00.009-06:00

9:00am, Wednesday Morning

When I left the house it was raining. It was also cold and foggy. I could have used the car sharing program that I joined after I sold my hardly ever driven Honda CRV, but four wheel travel just didn't sound interesting. So, I geared up for the weather and set out on Jesse Owens.

The cold was made worse by the wind. I had the heated jacket plugged in but didn't wear my heated pants. Some folks complain that the F800ST throws off unwanted heat. I cherish that warmth--and it's a nonissue if you wear motorcycle overpants, which I always do. So, my bottom half kept toasty through my jeans and overpants. The heated grips were on full power.

The wet roads were made worse by the wind too. I had all the luggage on the bike, still I slide around a bit and said a silent prayer to the ancestors to ride along with me. Doing the speed limit or a bit slower, is the key to keeping safe. In the city of Chicago, however, doing the legal speed limit on an Interstate is considered extreme sport.

My trip out was about 35 miles in the direction of the rain. Within 10 minutes the rain turned angry and heavy. I listened to my helmet being pelted. I turned my jacket up a notch and road the rest of the way in comfort. I know what the riding instructors say about a day like Wednesday. But all motorcycle riding is about risk-taking and the level of it that one is willing to take on any given day. I adjusted my riding to the conditions and took to the Interstate.

What I noticed immediately is that those tucked inside their cars--and trucks--either didn't notice or care that the pavement was drenched and the conditions challenging. Too many drivers zipped in and out of lanes with no regard for conditions. For the longest, a car tailgated me. When he finally passed, he was talking on his phone.

When I arrived at my destination more than an hour later, the people assembled for the meeting seemed curious, if not, shocked that I arrived on a motorcycle. They had questions galore: "Isn't it dangerous to be on a bike in the rain?," "Aren't you cold?," "How do you wipe off your helmet," "How do you see?" I answered the questions and downplayed their kind concerns.

What they don't understand is that two wheels isn't just a fun, summer hobby. It a form of transportation. Yes, the risks are higher on a bike. And, on a cold, rainy day the risk is even greater but if one takes her time, understands the challenges and rides with heightened awareness, it remains a safe method of travel. My biggest concerns weren't weather related. The biggest threat to my safety were those on four wheels! I realize that I can be a highly skilled 'cyclist but still there remains things about which I have limited control. I am confident that my skills will allow me to handle the weather. But a driver who decides to tailgate and then change lanes directly in front of me even though there is clear and empty space to change lanes safely without coming near me, is a knucklehead that has a deathwish and wants to take someone with him/her. I try to anticipate crazy drivers and get as far away as I can.

Did you get the memo?

Somewhere some of these drivers must have received a memo stating that the use of turn signals is optional. This memo told them that they should ride as close as possible to a motorcycle. And, that driving with a phone cocked in one's neck is mandatory. They clearly were told that in heavy downpours it is always best to crank up the mph so that your usual 20 mph over the speed limit is either matched or exceeded. The memo goes on to say that if desired, share the lane with a motorcycle--after all, it saves space and is more efficient. This memo closes by ordering all those in possession of the memo to IGNORE the weather. It is an artifact. Recipients of the memo possess a license to drive like the road is your personal Indy 500!

Four hours later, when the meeting ended I reassured those concerned about my safety that I would be okay and was prepared for the conditions. What I failed to do and now regret, was to say to the dozen or so at the meeting that they, as drivers in cars, should give up the view that two wheels is a summer hobby and to LOOK for two wheels at all the times. I should have encouraged them to take their concerns for me and apply it to anyone on two wheels and ride with care for those on two wheels.

My return trip greeted me with a head wind and I watch my fuel drop dramatically.

Still, I enjoyed my day off from paid labor and found great pleasure in two wheel riding, despite the rain, the cold and the fog, it was a great day to be out.

Upcoming: Essay on solo riding

Note to my fellow bloggers: (You are fun and sweet anchors in my daily online life. My peeks in on your life have been undermined by life's clutter and work. I know we're all busy and I don't give up easily, so bear with me as I fight my way back to visiting you. I miss you all. Thanks for your patience).

Busting stress with riding time...

2009-11-09T16:10:00.021-06:00

By Wednesday of last week, I had already worked nearly 40 hours. In an economic context where many people are experiencing hard times, it's difficult to complain about work. Some people are impatient and simply don't want to hear it; they are likely to tell you things like, "Just be glad you have a job." Or, "At least you're not unemployed." And,, "You're blessed to have a paycheck coming in." I understand these sentiments--though times are not lost on me. Still, responses like this are annoying. In fact, they are lame and thoughtless. Yes, relative to many situations, I'm doing well. Personally, life isn't a relative matter IMHO! I never feel better knowing that someone else feels worse. One's pain isn't lessened knowing that someone else's is greater. To offer, "Well, it could be worst, you could be unemployed," or, just be happy that you have a roof overhead," is to buy into a form of self-denial that devalues one's reality. It's sort of like saying, something I heard on television. A woman was saying that she knew her husband was a cheater but at least he didn't beat or abused her like some husbands did. What??? That is just insane! I think we all feel a little better when we feel heard.

I am acknowledging that the events in my life, at the moment, are making me nutz! So excuse me while I rant a bit about time and how little I feel I have to experience joy. I'm exhausted from work. Riding the 'cycle is a stress buster for which I've always made time. But on days when I've arrived home at 11:30pm after having arrived at the office at 7:00am that morning (or before), I have little energy to do anything. I have forced more late night rides than I care to count, but I know when I'm really pushing that envelope to the danger point. That was an awful work week. I fired up the bike only for grocery shopping.

Given that winter is knocking on fall's door, I want to take advantage of every ride-worthy day that comes my way. I've loved my 33 degree F morning rides! But I won't mount the bike if I'm exhausted. I'm spending too much of my time doing things that rob me of spending time doing the things I love. I used to own my own business and each year since reminds me of how much I miss that freedom. I definitely worked harder then but I loved every minute of being able to exercise control over my time.

The weather in Chicagoland this past weekend reached the low to mid 70sF! Motorcyclists were out and about. Prior to the weekend, the roads had been lonely on those cold morning rides. Finally having others to wave to made me think of spring rather than Thanksgiving. Didn't do nearly as much riding as I wanted this past weekend but I did enough to give me that rider-rush I seek. Saturday, I had no destination in mind. My main ride consisted of riding Dave's GS home for him. Sunday, I took a trip to an arboretum to be alone and reconnect with nature. Hundreds of other people had the same idea but the vast grounds hummed with people on foot, bikes, and in cars. Sunday was heavenly.

I was able to get my fix in. One of the best things about motorcycle riding is the need to be singularly focused on the ride. When I am, I strive to that place where I can feel myself zooming in on the ride and zooming out distracting clutter like the mental noise that a stressful job can produce. Work becomes a non-issue. Those who don't ride might not understand this, but riding a motorcycle is a most relaxing activity--even when I'm stuck in traffic. To ride well and safely, I need to block out all those things that tax the cells and clog the immune system. I enjoy that motorcycling demands sharp attention. I feel both alive and extra worldly when the riding seems automatic, the gear changing is smooth, my lower body moves my hips effortlessly to maneuver the bike, I'm relax--there's just nothing like it. Old, lightly traveled county roads, with tall cornstalks lining each roadside, have become genial, hiding places for weekend solo retreats. These rides are time well spent; they save me from appearing in the headline news--if you get my drift!

Time. It is elusive. We all have the same amount yet we use it differently. I had a woman tell me that she was bored and had nothing to do. I tried hard to understand her. I have been bored before; but never, to my knowledge, have I ever had nothing to do. I will continue to try to reign in my time robbers--even though the biggest one is the one I have the least amount of control over. Oh well...

For November, my time now includes Nanowrimo. By the end of the day, I will have over 18,000 words toward the 50,000 needed to crank out the first draft of a novel. If this amazing and strangely warm weather continues, I smell a weekend trip in the air.

I will not take time for it.

I will MAKE time for it.

Safe riding

Riding and Shutter tripping (Click on pics for better fall colors)

2009-10-27T04:13:00.032-05:00

Recently while on a trip to Starved Rock State Park, I embraced the inevitability of the riding season ending soon. I started out in damp, cold temps below freezing. The day progressed nicely and reached the low 50s. When I arrived at the park, I unpacked and de-layered. As I removed my camera gear a group of men exited a car. They too had camera equipment. We were all there for the same thing: Starved Rock's annual Fall Color Hike, a series of guided hikes thought the park. One man said to me, "Eh, a little cold to be on a bike, uh?" I looked at him, "What?" He responded, "A little cold to be on a bike, uh?" I told him I had heated gear. "Still, a little cold, don't you think?" Now, this always makes me wonder..."Why is he talking to me?" But I responded with as much cheer as I could muster. So I say to him, "Oh, it's exhilarating...it's really not a problem. I'm toasty--the heated gear is the key." His friends all said they hadn't heard of heated motorcycle clothes but felt that it would make for comfortable travel. But their show off buddy was having none of it. "Well, that's good...but I think it's still a little cold to be on a bike this time of year." I wanted to say so many things to him, but thought, "What's the point?" Different strokes for different folks. Still, I had to consciously shake off my first question, "Why is this man even questioning me"?!

I haven't much to say today. I shall ride until they pry the bike from my hands that remain comfortably tucked inside heat gloves atop heated grips. One year I was able to ride until December 3rd or so. On that day a huge blizzard-like snow storm was predicted. I remember riding to the shop that stores my bike over winter. It was near rush hour and everyone had the same idea--leave work early to get home before the deluge. I sat in snarled traffic as the wet, fat snow flakes began to fall. By the time I reached the shop the streets were wet, temps were dropping, roads were becoming slick. Winter was putting an exclamation point on its arrival.

I see fewer bikes on my trips nowadays but when the temps reach 50, the two wheels hit the road again. Today, I have pics to share. Some are from two wheel rides I've taken recently; some are from a recent car trip on four wheels, to Savanna and Galena, IL. All are about embracing the fall and it glorious colors. Some were taken with my faithful Nikon D80 and some with my new toy, the Nikon D300s.

Embracing Fall (The colors look their best when viewed large, click on the image)

Included are three abstracts. Two are taken of trees; I am using a very slow shutter speed. shooting up into the trees and twisting the camera while tripping the shutter to get a swirling effects and a creative way of conveying fall transformations. One is a multiple exposure effect (ten, to be exact) to give the forest a dreamy appearance. You can probably guess which is which.

Embrace the fall...Ride safe and watch out for wet leaves in curves.

Gallimaufry Time!

2009-10-12T11:35:00.032-05:00

So many things to say and so little time. I'm not usually this invisible but life has been rearing its head and reminding me of the many things beyond my control.

Here's a hodgepodge of happenings that will allow me to catch up.

Fall is here and its cousin, "Winter" is never far behind...

This weekend, I took my coldest rides thus far--33 degrees F. The day started off in the low 50s and by the time I reached Fountain City, Indiana, the temps had reached the mid-50s. Beautiful fall weather. Still a bit cool, but with a heated jacket, I remained comfy. I did notice that my left hand grip, which already had been replaced under warranty, failed to heat up as smoothly as the right hand grip. Thus the fingers of my left never really warmed up. I packed the heated pants but never donned them. This is the time of the year when the heat that the ST is known for throwing off, is a welcomed feature. On my returned home from central Indiana, the temps dropped to 33F. Yeowwww! My thighs did get cold and I had by evening forgotten that I had packed the heated pants. So, I sucked it up and thought warm thoughts the whole way.

Sunday's ride started out colder with temps in the 30s and eventually reached 39F and hoover there. By mid-morning the temps were in the low 40s. This time, from head to toe, I was prepared and thus, I enjoyed the ride without distraction. Watching the leaves' evidence of change in the many shades of golds, reds, and greens and every hue in between was humbling as well as breath-taking. Fall is an amazing reminder that all things that nature has spent the spring and summer seasons building, begins to fall apart and in doing so, displays the beauty of this season of change--only to start over again next year, which it will as sure as the sun rises again.

Levi Coffin House, Saturday, Oct. 10th (Underground Railroad Research)

On this brisk fall morning, I motored to Fountain City, Indiana (formerly Newport) to tour the Levi Coffin House, where it is believed that over 2000 human beings escaping slavery found safe shelter. Coffin, a Quaker, felt free to ignore unjust laws and spent the rest of his life doing what he could to destroy the institution of slavery. I arrived at the Coffin House around 3:29pm--after having a wonderful lunch at Shapiro's Deli in Indianapolis.

The Coffin house closes at 4pm. I'm beginning to think that it's good practice to arrive at these sites near the end of the day. I received one of the best tours from Janice McGuire. She shared stories that are not part of the official tour. She was knowledgeable about UGRR sites in general and knew the Indiana history well. And, what she didn't know, she was eager to assist me in finding the answer. For example, four of the pallbearers at Levi Coffin's funeral were African American. That is UNUSUAL as they were present not in a position of servitude but in a role honor, friendship and respect for Levi Coffin. I wanted to know who these men were. How did they come to carry the coffin of Coffin (no pun intended)?

In Coffin's obit, a church is mentioned along with the name of a Reverend who shares the surname of one of the pallbearers. This is definitely a case for the History Detectives--but why should they have all the fun? I plan to do some research to find the answers and see where this leads. Wish I could find a funder to fund UGRR research. Oh well...

Wisconsin's Rustic Roads (RR) Revisited

Wisconsin's rustic roads program is always fun.

I get terribly lost on many of the roads but there isn't a turn or bend that isn't exciting and fun to follow. County roads DD, C, FF-- and many other--are simply wonderful gems with interesting sites, house, and animals along the way. These hidden pockets thrill the urban rider. Even when I can't seem to follow the map to link one RR to another, this is never a dull trip. These lightly traveled Wisconsin back roads allow me to hear myself think and reacquaint myself with me, myself and I. What I love most is that I can get to Racine, WI, for example, in a fairly short amount of time and lose myself as if I've traveled through many states--and still be back home before nightfall. Let no one say the Midwest is flat--well, it is, but there are lots of hilly places too.

Where there are rivers, glacier activity, drifts, moraines, kettles, there are bound to be some fun twisty and rolling roads to explore. I hear that some Wisconsiners (?) tire of Illinoisians coming to their state. I don't know if this is true and if so, why. This is America and last I heard, it is a united states. So, I shall freely go again and again 'cause I love the terrain! And, I'm certain that my few pennies contribute to the Wisconsin coffers.

Track Day (TD)

Ok, remember I did a Track Day this summer? Well, Motoworks, who sponsored the TD, mailed the participants a gift. A CD with all the participants riding around the track! They had a professional photographer there, who really did a fab job. She managed to make everyone look like experienced racers! She shot us at our best. I look fast and furious in these shots--of which there are many! Don't you agree, I look Ma-va-luss! Yeah, I know...looks can be deceiving.

Thank you Motoworks! Looking forward to TD next ride season.

BMW Mileage Contest Closes (October 11, 2009)

It started in April, right around the time that I flew to Fredericksburg, VA to retrieve my bike, which had been at Morton's BMW dealership since my "get off." Before leaving VA, my pal Claye at Fleeter Logs reminded me that the BMW mileage contest had started and that I should make my ride home count. My start form was signed by a person who has reached 1 million miles on BMWs. I couldn't ignore this--this would mean some huge tires to fill. No one puts this kind of pressure on me--I'm just goal-driven enough that instantly I felt obligated to live up to this man's riding legacy. So, I set a goal of 20,ooo miles for the ride season. I would have been nice to have completed it all during the six months.

I watched my bike turn over to 22,000 miles Saturday around 8ish p.m. I took a ride on Sunday too because that was the official end of the mileage contest and I wanted to end on a good note. Thus far, I've put on over 15,000 safe miles--not counting the miles I've put on the BMW F650GS, which can't be counted for the contest because I didn't include that bike on the start form. Nor do those miles include the time I spent in the SV650's saddle. And, the official ride season isn't over yet and won't be until they pry my hands from the handle bars. So, I still have time to hit that 20,000 miles goal for the season--all done on my Beemer. Fingers crossed. Still, I'm quite pleased with the miles I've put on Jesse Owens so far, given that most of my long distance riding is accomplished on weekends. I now know that when I hear of someone putting 40,ooo miles on their bike from April to October, they typically don't have a regular job. Am I envious? You dang tootin' I am. I want a life where once April arrives, I just ride off...and return some time after Labor Day. Oh well...dreams are free.

Bun Burner before the season ends?

I am seeking one decent weekend, a good 36 hours to scratch an itch that bugging me. It's an itch to do a Bun Burner. For those who don't know, this is an Iron Butt Association Ride of 1500 miles in 36 hours. Yes, I know, I just finished a Saddle Sore. But I have a nice route all planned out. The fall, with it shorter days and unpredictable weather, and the insane demands on my life, might make accomplishing a BB a tough undertaking. I'm keeping my eyes peeled for a nice break in the weather.

Okay...that's it for me. I've missed you.

I have a project I'm working on that I can't reveal at the moment (don't you hate it when people tell you something and then tell you they can't tell you about it?!) but I plan to share it with you in a future blog. For now, if you have an extra million dollars sitting around, wondering what to do with it, I have a project that needs funding. Call me...

The Two-wheeled historian visits Iowa's UGRR

2009-09-21T16:13:00.033-05:00

While still fussing with the Nicodemus and Topeka, KS post, other road trips have come and gone. As part of my ongoing Underground Railroad project, I headed out on Sunday morn, September 20th, for southern Iowa.

View Larger Map

I had huge riding plans for the weekend but everything changed when I lost my wallet Friday night and discovered it missing as I was packing at 3:30a.m. for my trip. The restaurant, where I knew I left it didn't open until noon! They didn't even have an answering machine set up. I started calling at 6a.m. and by 9a.m I still couldn't get through. What business doesn't have an answering machine?! I called throughout the morning, hoping someone would pick up. No one picked up until noon! The wallet was there and a dear friend (thanks, Cindy) retrieved it for me as I dared not ride the bike without having my driver's license. That would be the day I'm stopped for some reason. Isn't there an old Blues song that goes..."if is wasn't for bad luck I wouldn't have any luck at all." By the time I got my hands on my wallet, with all cards and money intact, it was way too late and I was way too stressed to begin a trip. Missed another gorgeous day.

Sunday, I was ready to leave at 5 a.m. In one direction the weather gurus predicted a 20% chance of rain; in the other, 40%. I took the road statistically less rainy--southern Iowa. The two sites there that I wanted to visit didn't open until 1pm, which is late for my taste. First stop, Salem, IA, a once all Quaker town in the 1830s, and onto the Keosauqua, IA. Like Ohio, Iowa had a large number of UGRR (Underground Railroad) stations given the Quaker presence there. Unlike, Ohio, most of Iowa's are now gone, some through fire or deliberate demolition after falling into disrepair.

In Salem, stands the Henderson Lewelling House on Main Street, just a stones throw from the old Quaker cemetery down the road. I like getting to the place I want to explore, so I took the Interstate, knowing that some pretty nice county roads awaited me, which are always a treat. I like too old two lanes highways. The only thing I don't like is too often there are too few places to pull off for a photo op. Fortunately, many of these roads have very little traffic so it's not impossible to get a picture of a beautiful old barn or grazing cows and horses. I was in a riderly mood and didn't plan to stop much. I would have been fun to have Dave's GS on this trip as it would have better handled all the gravel encountered on this trip. I recall a U-turn I executed and a slight wiggle of the back tire on gravel--oops!

Temps in the 70s, the weather was ideal until I got near Galesburg. The sky turned angry and gray and opened. It rained from 1:20 until 2:00p.m--a hard, heavy downpour! So much for taking the road less rainy! After a good soaking, I checked the GPS for the nearest gas station where I headed to find a shelter to don my rain gear. By the time I reached Burlington, IA a blue sky with nary a mean cloud in it welcomed me. I stopped at the Port of Burlington to set the GPS for Salem and poke around a little.

I was doing badly on time but I didn't care. I just needed to ride and if I arrived and the UGRR sites were open, fine; if not, I would at least see the structure. I passed far too many old barns without stopping, which is plenty of reason to return to this area.

Ugh! Time is always an issue. I realized that I was later than I thought! Oh well...I was now on course to arrive in both Salem and Keosauqua after the UGRR stations were closed.

I arrived in Salem, and immediately found Main St. Nicely placed signs lead right to the Henderson Lewelling House. I observed two cars in the gravel lot and one was leaving. According to my watch, the museum should already have been closed for fifteen minutes. But opened back door beckoned me in and after parking the bike, I made a beeline inside.

Once inside, I walked to the front of the house and startled a white-haired old lady who was sitting in a rocking chair going through some old newspaper clippings. She said they were closed but that she would quickly take me through, "since I'm not busy." I signed the book but didn't have two dollars in exact change for the donation. She didn't have change. I dropped a five dollar bill into the jar and told her to keep the extra three (am I a big spender or what?!). When she checked my sign in and saw that I was from Illinois, things changed. "Oh, since you're from Chicago, I'll do a tour for you--that's a long way." And tour she did! We had a most lovely discussion of the Underground Railroad stations in the Midwest. She beamed when she told me she had attended the recent conference in Springfield, IL, which I had so wanted to attend. She picked up some new titles on the subject and shared stories she had heard about various stations throughout the Midwest. She kept interrupting her tales with memories of stories related and unrelated to the UGRR--I was loving each minute!

The Henderson Lewelling House was a safe place for runaway slaves. Lewelling, was a staunch abolitionist and member of the Quakers who believed that they should become actively involved in resisting slavery's evils. It is a myth that all Quakers were anti-slavery to the point of activism. Salem's Quaker activity is a good example of the split that fractured the Quakers in one small town. Quakers shared that slavery was an abomination but some felt strongly that they should obey the law and not get involved in anti-slavery activism. I guess, they were the "let's just pray about it" faction. Another group (thank God!) felt that they had no obligation or responsibility to follow unjust laws and felt it their moral and religious duty to help put an an end to that "peculiar institution" called slavery.

In his travels, Henderson Lewelling never forgot seeing humans shackled and vowed to do what he could to put an end to such human suffering.

Several areas inside his house--all built beneath the floor--provided temporary shelter for escaped slaves. This secret network of transporting fleeing slave to safety was efficient and orderly. Runaway slaves were hidden until they could be carried safely--only at night-- farther north until they reached Canada. Inside the Lewelling house these clandestine places were kept out of sight by throwing a rug over the space and putting a bed or table over the hideaway. Looking down into these dark, small, cramped holes is pretty frightening but I would imagine nothing is as awful as being owned and kept in involuntary servitude where beatings and selling off "stock" were frequent.

(The railing was put in place to protect tourist. The trap door would be closed and covered by a rug and a table placed over the area.)

Lewelling sounded like a real character. He was the father of a big brood. He lived in Salem for years and then moved on to Oregon. He's known for more than his anti-slavery work. He is also acknowledged for almost single handily bringing fruit trees to Salem. He carried many fruit trees on to Oregon too during a particularly difficult journey west and planted them. There he also established a fruit production industry. In fact, Fruitvale, CA is named for Lewelling's fruit production in that area. Today Lewelling is know as the "father of the Pacific fruit industry" and credited with permeating Iowa, Oregon and California with his gift for fruit production. I applaud this too but it is his work as a devout and activist Quaker that captures my heart most.

Salem, Iowa is in a location that benefited its anti-slavery efforts. It is in close proximity to the Mississippi and Des Moines rivers, both providing escape routes for slaves.

The problem is that Salem is close to Missouri, a slave state. My favorite story is when a Missouri slaveholder named Daggs came to Lewelling's door, bring with him a cannon that he placed in Lewelling's front yard, aimed at Lewelling's house! He threatened to use it if Lewelling didn't return his human property. Lewelling didn't scare easily. He claimed not to know what the man was talking about. News travels fast in a small town. Let Rachel Kellum tell the story of the Daggs' slaves and the cannon. I couldn't help think of the terrorist behavior of the Missourians who, as Kellum describes, bogarted their way into people's homes, searching for slaves and threatening to level an entire town. These terrorist acts are repeated throughout every states suspected of helping slaves escape bondage.

The Underground Railroad was an efficient network of people and houses that worked in the dark of night, moving slaves from one safe house to the next until there was no more clear and present danger. Their work was deliberate, methodical and quick. Secrecy was key. To make it work, the cooperation of many people was mandatory--even children were trained to not discuss their parents' nighttime activities.

Slaveholders were suspicious and befuddled. Slaves would flee and all roads seem to lead to Salem. But once there, the slaves seemed to vanish. Word would spread that a slaveholder was in town demanding his property. In one incident, the Salem authorities were summoned and the "owner" was asked for names and descriptions of his property. Eventually, because he was able to identify his "property" he was able to have several of his slaves returned to him but some were not returned. I'm hope they ran away again the first chance they got for they knew that once they crossed the Des Moines or Mississippi river, safe house in Salem would shelter them until they could move "up yonder."

Of the safe houses in Salem, only the Lewelling house still stands. If you are ever within 100 miles of this area, go there. Hear history come alive. Revisit the timea. Feel inspired by the abolitionists, the resisters, and the unsung heroes (and she-roes) that our history books either don't mention or gloss over.

I heard so many stories while at the Lewelling House that I left there riding a cloud. I already knew I wouldn't get to tour the Pearson House in Keosauqua. Still, it was only 25 miles away and the ride would be lovely beneath an azure sky with mash potato clouds. The bright sun had already dried out my wet gear and soaked gloves and my bike, Jesse Owens, purred along.

The ride to Keosauqua did not disappoint. The roads swoop and curve and roll along. Dodge Street in Keosauqua is easy to find, just look for the courthouse. The Franklin Pearson House is a big structure with many windows across the second level. The area around the Pearson House looked rich in history and I wished I had come early enough to hear the activities that transpired at the Pearson house. I took a couple of pictures and headed for home. I was feeling great and thinking I would abandon my plans to stay overnight somewhere nearby. According to the GPS, if I didn't stop, I would arrive home at 11:30pm but I needed to eat and take break soon as I now heard my stomach complain.

I enjoyed the roads for another hour before stopping to eat. I passed through many small towns that were cute and begging to be explored. I would have if I were sleeping over but I was in a ride mood and just wanted to keep going. I definitely felt moved to pause in Fort Madison. I passed by their "rebuilt" fort and wanted to know more about it. The town looked inviting. There were signs announcing the history of this and that--little towns all claiming their place in the regional and national history pages. I've never heard of Bentonsport or Bonaparte, but they both claim a national historic district that I'd like to visit.

Roads of note. Many places along US Hwy 34, 67 and 61, as well as State Hwy 2. Fun! Lots of big swooping curves, hilly with travel along a several state parks, preserves, and wildlife areas.

Both homes are on the National Registry of Historic Places and worth a visit. The Henderson Lewelling House may soon be made a National Historic Site, which is a huge accomplishment.

Sunday mileage: 620 miles

Fun factor 8/10--the rain was a bit much...

Part I: Saddle Sore #2--best so far...

2009-09-15T05:36:00.027-05:00

I had wanted this season to end with a Bun Burner, 1500 miles in 36 hours or less. In fact, I had a route tentatively selected that would send me to Minnesota with a brief sleep over and then head back home. That will need to wait for another season.

Friday, Sept. 4 was a day at work I'd rather mention than give power to by talking about it. I will say that it left me needing something to do to obliterate the evil thoughts I had--some of which had I acted upon could land me in prison. Alas, nothing de-stresses me like a long ride.

So, at the last minute, with little planning, I decided to go "West young (wo)man!" My earlier plans to do a quick Saddle Sore (SS) that would coincide with the WIMA (Women's International Motorcycling Association) and AMA Women's Conference in Keystone, CO. I had a conference participant all lined up to sign my finish form (thanks, Marsha) but that didn't happen as I was needed at home during that time. As a backup, I had contacted a forum member who lived in CO, near Denver in the event I later rode in that direction. But until Friday, things looked dim for a westward journey to stretch my ride muscles, which had suffered three consecutive long trips. Then came the agony of Friday.

While trying my best to scrub off Friday, the thought of riding farther west than I've ever traveled before on two wheels popped into my mind again. A quick check of Google maps and I was determined to go. I had enough time to figure out an easy route and pack. But I did pause long enough to ask myself "How can I make this trek different from the first SS, which I think was a good first Iron Butt ride but most things can be improved upon. I recall in SS#1, I felt tired--in a spirited way and a bit wobbly when I dismounted the bike at the end; I recall too a tightness between my shoulders. This SS would be driven by the question, "How can I complete this 1000 miles plus adventure feeling as if I could ride another 500 miles after a 5 hour break?" The answer would tell me if I were prepared for the coveted Bun Burner.

Here are my little secrets that I feel helped make SS#2 an easier undertaking than the first SS.

Food--ya gotta eat!

Before retiring for the evening, I packed my food. On the first attempt I only packed a few snacks, thinking that stopping for food would be a good excuse to relax and get off the bike. But buying food is not only a time robber, it is expensive and the choices typically are dismal--unless you're a junk foodie, which I'm not.

I packed oranges, bananas, GORP (granola, oats, raisins and peanuts), cheese 'n crackers, water, Kashi and Odwalla bars. Keeping the blood sugar level normal is critical. A drop for me can mean light-headedness and foggy thinking. By the time I feel it, it's too late. And it difficult to recuperate from quickly. Thus, it's best to never let it drop below normal. On the other hand, one doesn't want to load up with sugars either; extreme highs or lows can wreck havoc (no pun intended). This brings me to drinking.

I usually prefer water to stay hydrated. Especially, in hot weather. But water is only one part of keeping hydrated. In hot weather, it is definitely important to have drinks that offer a bit more. But beware of those sugary drinks--some of them are loaded with both simple and complex sugars. I prefer good old, no sugar added OJ, grape or apple juice. I also recommend taking two water bottles to dilute even these juices if you've been drinking them all day. This may sound like a lot but it really isn't. For me, too much undiluted OJ and I'll need to spend time flushing--if you get my drift.

While it may be best to sip from a CamelPak throughout a SS, this doesn't work for me because of my fussy, microscopic size bladder. On other rides, where time is not an issue, the CamelPak can't be beat. To manage my liquid intake on the Saddle Sore, I consumed water at almost every stop. But on other stops, I ate liquid-heavy fruit like kiwi, grapes and oranges. This is an excellent way to get more liquids in but at the same time, slow down the absorption rate of the liquids. It helped me stretch the bathroom breaks. This method of balancing the water with water-heavy fruits helped me stick to my "stop" strategy.

On SS#1 I stopped for lunch in a crowded fast food joint. I vowed never to stand in line again for an order of fries and a drink--not worth it. I avoided this on SS#2. My stop for lunch was a pleasant respite where I consumed my own food. It was relaxing, quiet and refreshing--and it required far less time too. Eat light is my recommendation. Riding with a load in the belly can't be comfortable.

Stops--you just have to do it and the more, the merrier

In Saddle Sore#1, I started off planning to stop at regular points. The reality is I didn't always do this. If I didn't feel the need to stop, I didn't. In hindsight, I believe this had a cumulative effect for the ride's end. After 700ish miles, I was beginning to feel some physical tension that I pretty much ignored. On this, the SS#2, I vowed to stop every 90-127 minutes regardless of a felt need to do so--even if the stop only was to dismount from the bike and walk around it, get back on and go, I would stop without fail. I confess, in the early riding stages this became annoying, really annoying... but I stuck to it. At times I stopped right at 90 minutes; other times, I stopped nearer the 127 minutes mark. I learned that even five minutes off the bike can do wonders for the body, such as shaking out the limbs and letting the blood flow therein. Straightening and bending one's aging back after being positioned on a sport tourer is a welcome relief and your back will appreciate it. Stopping is a great time to stretch the muscles, flex the ankles, rotate the wrists, and hold an exaggerated curve in the spine for a few seconds.

These stops do not necessarily coordinate with stops for fuel. That's fine. I don't believe one can stretch too much--but I'd imagine if one isn't accustomed to stretching, something might pop--so be careful if stretching is new to you. I know that my back is an issue even when I'm not riding. So, I took extra care this time not to allow too much discomfort to settle there. Another point, stretching while riding is something I also encourage. For example, scanning from side to side was not just for watching for deer or other critters and bad drivers. It was also a great way to keep my neck loose. I always make full head turns when changing lanes. I moved my head a lot. I'd get the chin part of my helmet aligned with my shoulder. In fact, I did a series of head turns and neck rolls. Recommended only when road/ride conditions allow.

During stops and while riding, I routinely did body checks. I used to be prone to leg cramps. On my SV650, I typically had cramps after 300 or 400 miles. Some were so painful and paralyzing that I'd have to stop, message my legs and wait until the discomfort subsided. The ST doesn't have as tight a tuck of the legs as the SV, which is one reason the SV doesn't make as great a long distance tourer as the ST. Low potassium may also be a culprit in leg cramps so I've added more than a few bananas to my diet. Bananas don't travel well, but fortunately, they are easy to buy on the road.

I believe regular stopping precluded muscle tightness, leg cramps, and any of the tensions I felt creep in on the first Saddle Sore. In retrospect, I can see how in SS#2 I was far better at managing my physicality over the 1000+ miles. In other words, I was able to spread out my energy better. I think I gutted out the SS#1 and had to dig deeper at the end, which didn't detract from the joy and fun I had on SS#1. However, in SS#2 it was even-steven the whole way. The only "push" I encountered on SS#2 were mental (more on that later).

Darkness--Unavoidable on a SS

Unless you do your SS in Alaska, some stretch of your SS will occur in the dark. I don't mind night riding and I accept the extra risk involved. My bike is equipped with lights that hopefully make me more visible. I've added Martin Fabrication lights, which Steve at Motoworks fixed for me (thanks Steve!) and I also now have hyper lights and a 3 in 1 LED license plate that does all sorts of flashing and pulsating when brakes are applied. My Martins light up the sides of the road amazingly well. While there's no guarantee this heightened illumination will save me, these extras give me some peace of mind knowing that I've done my best to be most conspicuous.

My thoughts on the night riding portion of the SS is to try to always do the dark parts on familiar ground. In my first Saddle Sore this worked. I did an out and back route. I left in the dark, so I traveled roads I know well. My return was on those same roads. Even when a tad tired, I knew every curve, every dip in the road and which lane to avoid because of that huge gouge in the left part of the lane. Had I left on SS#2 at the time I had planned, I would have left in the dark and arrived in CO just before blackness. Well, this didn't happen. I did leave in the dark but several hours later than planned so I arrived in pitch darkness, which made the last 188 miles an interesting mental challenge of having to focus extra hard on unfamiliar, pitch black roads. You might also want to take note of the sun's direction as riding into a sunrise or sunset can be a challenge--but I wouldn't let it stand in the way of a great route.

The loneliness of a long distance rider...

Not another soul, it seemed, rode I-76 after midnight. Before reaching I-76, I had spent considerable time on I-80. It too was dark and rather isolated. Truck, however, were omnipresent. Normally, I avoid trucks. But I found on I-80 that the sight of a truck filled me with joy. I still stayed far enough away to avoid surprises but I found one ahead of me and I gladly settled behind it and rode in the comfort of its lights and presence for many miles, approximately 40 happy minutes. When he turned off, I shouted in my helmet for it not to leave. Oh well. The isolation on I-80 paled in comparison to the total blackness and absence of vehicles on I-76 heading into Colorado.

It's spooky looking into the mirrors and seeing nothing. Total black nothingness. It's surreal. I recall shivering a couple time, not from cold but from the spookiness of it all. Less than 200 miles from Golden, Co and I was seriously alone. The moto-type lights beautifully illuminated the side of the road where I kept searching for death wish deer, angry bears and rabid mountain lions. It didn't help that at a post midnight stop at a McDonald's to get a Coke, a man came up to me and said, "Hey, be careful out there, there's been a lot of deer spottings." I thanked him. "You being on a bike, you better be careful." I thanked him again. "Last week or so, they had to air lift a man off the road 'cause he hit an elk." I thanked him again. Then the clerk behind the counter chimed in. "My uncle hit a deer and his car caught on fire--totally destroyed his car--he was hurt too." I thanked him too. "Just be careful, 'cause there's a lot of deer out there." I'm sure they meant well, but I left feeling that McDonald's was about the most dangerous place for me to be!

The mind is a strange thing and vulnerable to suggestion. My normal scanning for animals took on paranoid dimensions after that stop. Every twinkle of a reflector embedded along the side of the road appeared to be the eyes of a deer waiting to dash out at the precise point of impact. It took me many miles to shake off the "helpful" advice from the late night McDonald group. I remained vigilant but settled down to enjoy the lonely black road to Denver, CO. Another place that spooked me: rest areas, advertised with the blue and white road signs. I've visited many rest stops at night. Some are fine, some are downright terrifying. I stopped at one somewhere along I-76. Not a car in sight but packed with trucks. Inside the building, men who looked sleep deprived including a few who looked this side of deranged, made me wish I'd taken my switch blade with me into the bathroom. Before entering the slightly opened bathroom door, I bent down to see if anyone was inside any of the stalls. I consciously used the first stall, figuring it was closest to the door and if necessary, I'd have a shorter distance, if attacked, to fight my way outside. When I left the bathroom, I stood inside the building to make my phone call to my contact, Robert, in Golden, CO. I told him that I would be arriving way too late for him to sign my form. He provided me with much helpful info for getting to a police or fire station to get the form signed and directions to the hotel.

I settled back into the dark, lonely ride west until I could see signs of Denver way in the distance. The sky twinkled in the massive congregation of lights and tall structures. As if I were being propelled by a giant magnet, I moved tirelessly toward those lights. I realized that it wasn't the dark road that bothered me most, it was the pitch blackness that permeated the entire sky and the lack of light in air space. I'm talking absolute nothingness. The lights shining in Denver gave the jet blackness much welcomed sparkle. It made the world seem alive and it made me a tad emotional. I was almost there and I immediately remember the ending of the motorcycle documentary "Long way Down," where an accident occurred near the end of the journey. It's true, the ride isn't over until it's over. I hadn't made it yet but I was getting closer. I did my body check and realized that I felt great, not good, great!

Contacts--activating your network

After hanging up with my Golden CO contact, I called Claye, who had been my hotel checker, weather reporter and general "call a friend" person on the road. I could call her for any reason. Her best delivery was the AMA code for hotel discounts (Thanks, Claye). A few times, I was able to call or text her to check something for me. Two hours later, I could call her for the answer. Gosh, how did I get along before text messaging and email. On my first SS, I called no one and only advocate it if you have a need. It was great having someone who could look something up for me. No offense Dave, if I had called you, it just wouldn't have worked so easily. Call a computer savvy person. It saves time and beats having to drag out your computer or fiddle with the Blackberry.

When I reached my hotel in Golden, I got lost. The GPS kept trying to steer me correctly but for the life of me I couldn't find the turn. Claye had warned me that it was tricky to find and was tucked behind an Outback steak joint. While being lost, I found my last gas station from which I needed a time stamped receipt. This was an unmanned station and I prayed that the machine would give me a receipt. On SS#1, the printer was broken and I couldn't get a receipt. I forced the clerk to get a piece of paper and sign it, which he reluctantly did. I had to return to the station the next morning to ask for a better, more formal receipt. On this SS, success! An accurate receipt popped out. Now if I could only find the hotel. I passed the restaurant again and turned in where my mind told me not to. It's tough getting lost at the end of a ride. My goal was to check in, find the police or fire station, and get my form signed.

I snaked my way around and behind the structure. I saw one hotel but not the one I was booked in. I continued riding around and there it was: Comfort Inn. After parking the bike, I looked at the time it was about 1:40a.m. I decided to ask the clerk to sign the finish form but first I had to wait at the front desk until the clerk appeared. Finally, another guest went to retrieve her. The clerk returned; she was cordial, apologetic and willing to sign my form. Evidently, she knew motorcyclists in Chicago and that seemed to give me some street "creds." She wanted to chat with me about motorcycles and rides she's taken on the back of bikes. Form was signed at 1:45ish a.m. so I didn't mind chatting with her a bit.

Later, I unpacked the bike, checked into the room, checked my body signs and I felt great. Not tired at all. No tension in the shoulders, ankle rotated without noise--I felt giddy and had to force myself to settle down and go to sleep. Although I hadn't had a real meal since the day before, the ongoing munching had kept stomach growls away.

Were I not meeting a dear friend later in the day in Aurora, CO, I know this for sure:

If I follow my common sense secrets, a Bun Burner is not far away...wonder if I can fit one in before the snow falls. Hmmm....

Saddle Sore#2 -- 1,054 miles (21 hours)

Stay tuned...

Part II--The Return and Riding the Great Plains of Kansas

Second Saddle Sore Success

2009-09-06T11:13:00.005-05:00

I'll write more about it later, but wanted to report that I just completed my second Saddle Sore (1000 miles minimum in less than 24 hours). This one was far more fun than the first for some very excellent reasons that I'll share when I return home.

I left the Chicago area around 5 a.m. (two hours later than I had planned). This, by the way, was a totally unplanned Saddle Sore. I started toying with the idea a day or so before I left. I arrived in Golden, Colorado around 1:45 a.m. The last two hours were very interesting. I was NEVER tired on this trip--I'll share my secret, which does not involve anything artificial and certainly NOTHING illegal. Hey, it doesn't even include coffee!

Covered 1,054 miles.

I plan to see a friend in Aurora, CO and then head to Nicodemus, KS, a historic rural town founded by African Americans. Hardley anyone lives there now but it is a national historic site. Then it's on to Topeka, KS, to view the national site of Brown vs the Board of Education at Topeka.

Stay tuned...

The Healing power of the sun...

2009-08-24T09:12:00.010-05:00

Been dodging some curve balls lately. I won't complain. I guess if we don't get some occasional challenges we'll get out of shape and not be prepared for the really big stuff that inevitably comes along.

Another sleepless night (well, I did get three hours). Woke up early and peered at the blackness outside. In the distance I could see a new day dawning. I dressed as fast as I could. Got my camera ready, geared up and left the house. At 5:30 a.m., the road was whizzing by.

As I rode northbound, high on LSD,* I peered to the east, my right side, and watched the sky transform from dark blue to soft reds and golden hues. Lake Michigan is east of the city. Any place along it, is a great setting to watch a new beginning each day. (Click photo for better view)

My latest favorite spots to watch the sun present itself are near Wilson Avenue or Montrose Harbor. Wilson is best because the parking is readily available. When I arrived it was 5:47 a.m. According to the sunrise and sunset almanac, the sun would perform it miracle soon after 6:oo a.m. To catch the kaleidoscope of colors one needs to be on site early.

(Click photo for better view)

I found my favorite spot and prepared the Nikon D80. I waited while looking out on the lake, which still looks like an ocean to me.

I took picture after picture and in between I felt new energy as I watched the sun rise and the gulls' incessant racket overhead. By the time I left, I felt renewed. I had let go of the disappointment of having to cancel my weekend trip; I permitted myself to embrace whatever waited ahead today, tomorrow, next week. Every where I wanted to ride, will still be there...waiting.

*LSD=Lake Shore Drive

My first Track Day!

2009-08-12T20:24:00.032-05:00

Three events have converged nicely to hone my riding skills. First, on July 26, I took an advanced street riding strategies class that stressed better braking, proper cornering and entry speed, and using lower body action to become a maximally efficient rider. Second, about a week later I came across an excellent book, Riding in the Zone: Advanced Techniques for Skilled Motorcycling, that I’m planning to review soon. Third, I was approached to participate in my first Track Day (TD) event.

I had planned to do a TD before the end of this ride season. Then on Saturday, while in Motoworks to retrieve my SV650, I ran into Johnny, the owner who asked me when I was going to participate in their TD. I said I wanted to and had planned to—sort of. This has been my response now for several years. He asked what I was doing Sunday, the next day. Actually, work had made me cancel my trip, so I was relatively free(er). He sprang it on me that the Motoworks sponsored TD would commence with a Sunday dinner gathering at Gingerman Raceway on Monday in South Haven, MI. Although caught a bit off guard, it didn’t take much to convince me that it was time to do Johnny's TD. I had one tentatively scheduled for September at the Autobahn in Joliet--but what the heck…

Had a nice, hot and sweaty ride up to South Haven on Sunday. Only the last 30 minutes of the less than 2 hours ride turned dark and rainy with an added benefit of a cooling wind. The dinner at Clementine’s was a chance to see familiar faces (the Motoworks staff) and meet a few new ones. “Thanks” to Johnny for picking up the dinner tab for the whole group.

Monday, 7:30 a.m. check in at Gingerman Raceway. The day began with registration, high energy snacks, bike prep and inspection, and track staff introductions. The event was taught by the folks at Sportbiketracktime.com. The instructors all seemed highly skilled and unquestionably competent. They were an engaging bunch and full of clear and easy to instructions to share. I was impressed with how accessible the instructors were. I appreciated that they emphasized safety above all else and underscored that the tone of the day was not about racing but about improving one’s skills at cornering and its related components. After introductions and spelling out the rules of the day we were ready to roll.

(Beemers were out in full force)

We were separated into groups by skill level. One of the neat things about this TD was that it was low keyed and non-competitive. About half of the participants were new, either never having done a TD or having only one under their belt. This made for a dynamic group, in my opinion. All told, there were around 50 riders with half being “advanced” TD riders and the other group consisting of varying levels of “Novice.”

Prepping the bike is quite interesting. Everything that could send a signal to the rider and those around him or her gets taped. This includes all lights, speedo and tach. Initially this seems rather extreme but soon the “why” becomes clear. One doesn’t need distractions on the track. Moreover, not having this information forces one to rely more on the brain and other sensory cues. Deflating the tires to 30lbs also made sense in that doing so increases the tire contact patch, which puts more rubber on the road.

Classroom meetings: Each ride session was approximately 30 minutes followed by a classroom meeting. In class, we listened and learned things about the track, heard strategies for maintaining clean lines, and asked for assistance on specific track challenges. We learned about tricky corners and how to enter and exit them; we even heard a bit of physics on how bikes behave when leaned, when given more or less throttle and how body action works for or against one’s efforts. Bright orange cones, located throughout the track were demystified and explained as more than place holders but as valuable pointers for executing turn-in and noting an apex; we learned to use visual cues as aids in honing our developing cornering skills.

The Track layout: We began by following our instructor, whom we shadowed on the inner line, the outer line, and then the race line of the track. Each line requires an adjustment on how good cornering is accomplished. I found some of my pre-lunch runs better than some of the later ones. Adrenaline might be the reason. I had made goals the night before that this was going to be about my own improvement. Nothing more. Nothing less. I will never be the fastest rider on the road. It’s not a goal I covet. I do, however, want to be highly skilled and competent on the road, to be in control no matter the road challenges I’m likely to encounter. So, I happily settled in or near the back of the queue for my group.

The track is fast—or so it seemed to me. The ground, which I should not have been looking at, whizzed by at shockingly extreme speed, which was mostly mental as I never got out of third gear—but I never ran in third gear THAT fast and THAT hard before! Regardless of the actual gear the bike was in, we were moving FAST! The speed definitely required one’s full concentration as the track’s challenges were inspiring, surprising (at times) and ongoing. Getting lazy in any one area could lead to trouble down the road, so to speak. Although the 30 minutes time slots on the track always seemed to fly by, being in the zone, in such an intense way demanded huge chunks of physical and mental energy. Remaining focused, hydrated and responsive on such a hot day, added to the TD demands.

On the track, some turns/corners seemed effortless but it was not something one could count on. One easy corner turned out to be a tricky set up for the more challenging ones down the track. I learned early on that the corners could never be taken in isolation. One had to consider the track as a whole. Corners are linked in that how one enters one corner can make or break the next. In other words, it was necessary to set up properly for corner "A", because it could determine how one handled corner "B" and so on. That’s not to say one can't make corrections. But it does say that it’s easier to do the cornering correctly so that the road doesn’t become one big struggle to survive each turn. The only way to deal with this well is to ALWAYS be looking ahead, always be aware of what is coming up on the road so that you can set yourself up properly. For those blind corners, well, if you're in the correct position on the track/road, you can even handle these blind corners well by being in a good lane position to act swiftly when you finally can see around that corner. Constant scanning is exhausting work as is being on high-alert every minute of a ride.

(Some of Motoworks' staff)

One of the biggest lessons I learned was trusting my bike to execute my input. As someone with a huge investment in my brain, I tend to deliberate before I’m willing to commit to an action. Motorcycling often requires quick judgment. Yet, some things seems counterintuitive. Like counter steering. In the early days of learning to ride, counter steering seemed (b)ass (a)ackwards. Now, I can’t imagine why that concept once gave me pause. On TD, I realized that while I have no problems leaning, I was not as quick to roll through all corners—particularly at the more extreme lean angles--I was conservative at best. The thought of giving it more throttle at such times seemed crazy. I learned that this inability almost always meant that I had entered the corner too fast to begin with! The bike behaves better when one can enter the corner a tad slower, start the lean and roll completely through. On baby, moderate speed corners this was a non-issue. But on faster corners, that came at me in a flash, and required sharper leans even a split second of hesitance is not good. I began trying to decidedly and consistently roll through each corner, more and more, and by the afternoon, I got it. This is huge for me. I thought of my Suzuki SV650 with its light weight and high fun factor and realized that it would be a perfect TD bike. I made a mental note to use it next time. I must admit, I had to shake off thoughts of damaging my ST. Perhaps that’s good for it kept my focus totally on the task a hand, so much so that I think I gave myself a headache by the afternoon.

I marveled at the advanced group. I saw people dragging their knees. I saw people who looked like they were sitting on the side of their bike they were hanging that far off the seat. I’m not sure I ever what to join their ranks but I leaned farther that day than ever before on my bike and I am confident in trusting it to respond to inputs from my throttle, handlebar and body shifts.

Throughout the day, the classroom continued to be a place of wise instruction and check in on the track experience. I asked a question about turning wide in one particular corner. The instructor told me what to do, he stressed being aware of my cornering line. The outside-inside-outside we learn during early motorcycle instruction, works in many circumstances. But one can’t apply that to every corner. I had been using the cone as the point at which I executed my turn in but consistently was going wide in the same corner. He told me to watch my entry. Am I turning in too early or too late? Am I leaning too much? He suggested I follow a delayed apex line, that I should travel a little pass the cone, look well into the corner and quickly execute the turn in. It was the quick, deliberate execution of the turn in that worked. All this while not focusing directly on the cone, of course. Bottom line, slow down the entry, look through the corner, commence the lean and throttle through the corner. It’s what I’ve read from other as: the slow in and fast out method.

(The Suzuki Gladius 650)

This brings up something that is powerfully examined in Ken Condon’s new book and included DVD, Riding in the Zone. In it, Condon emphasizes the importance of visual acuity, that is the ability to read the road, use one’s eyes to make a host of determinations about what is observed on the road, when to initiate one’s plan for safe riding and proper execution and knowing at all times the best lane position for conditions. Condon’s stresses that our eyes are not only for looking but for seeing, which are not necessarily synonymous.

(Holly's too cute trail bike!)

I ended my TD a little early only because I managed to acquire a headache. On my last run I found myself paying more attention to my brain drain than the track. Time to get off. I had a fabulous time, a day full of learning and getting outside my comfort zone. We improve by stretching our limits in a safe and controlled environment. As I packed up for home, I thought, “I’m impressed. I’m getting out of here without anyone asking me anything about my hair or making some ridiculous hair comment. But before I pulled off, four people separately made a hair inquiry. “Yes, it’s my real hair.” “No, it has never gotten caught in the chain--my bike doesn't have one.” “I’ve had locks for more than 10 years.” “No, they don’t take a long time to ‘braid’”

Still, it was a special day and I’m looking forward to returning next ride season.

(Thoughtful of them to match the tape to my bike)

I rode home that day with renewed confidence from having participated in my third rider skill building activity in weeks: an advanced street riding course, reading a new skills book, and my first Track Day. It’s all about riding with confidence and competency and an ongoing goal of increasing skills mastery. Do a TD, it stretches your riding muscles.

It doesn't get any better than 3 in 1...

2009-08-10T22:19:00.007-05:00

Another canceled weekend trip turned out to be a very good thing. On Saturday, I was able to ride all three bikes. I used the ST to do some general errands. Afterwards, I dropped by Motoworks to retrieve the SV650 to take home to the suburbs. When I arrived, I took Dave's BMW F650GS on a little trip (still helping out to keep the GS running well). This is tough work (hehe). Riding three bikes in one day is pleasurable beyond description. Each on required a different touch: the throttles had unique personalities. The ST is smooth, even and tame. The SV is twitchy, itching to go and a tad on the wild side. The GS is jeepish, solid and gets the job done without the drama of the SV, for example. Friction zones too have different personalities with the GS being the most forgiving--from a dead stop, it pulls in second gear without hesitation--the ST will too but it doesn't like it. The GS and I headed for Kankakee River State Park in Kankakee, IL.

I avoided the Interstate in favor of back roads and long stretches of emptiness and sweeping curves. Corn and soybean fields lined each side of me much of the way.

For the most part, the roads were devoid of traffic. At times, the isolation was interrupted with an attractive old farm house or a fancy, modern mansion sitting on vast land. The GS seems made for roads like these. The road shoulders are replete with gravel that I didn't find objectionable. I never hesitated to pull over in because the bike enters and pulls away easily from such shifts in road surface. I think these roads will make for some nice early morning photos and I made a mental note to return in the near future.

When I arrived at the park, I spent a little time at the river. I parked near another motorcycle because that's where an empty space existed. Had I known what was in store for me, I probably would have parked farther way. As I turned off the bike a couple sitting at a park bench turned. I thought the man was saying something but I couldn't hear him until I removed my helmet. He looked like he belonged to the Harley Davidson I parked next to.

"Hey, aren't you hot with all that stuff on?" He motioned to his head and body.

I hate when this happens. I mean, I don't ask folks anything about the gear they wear or don't wear. Why do I seem to always get people who shun gear asking me about mine. It bugs me. His voice is not questioning, it's more of an accusing statement. Inside I want to tell him to leave me alone. Instead, I just say, "No, I'm not, I'm fine." Frankly, I am ATGATT (all the gear, all the time). If I were burning up, sweating profusely, ready to drop of heat stroke, I'd never admit it to people who adopt that tone with me. It was a warm day but donning weather appropriate gear is possible. It requires an investment of money to find the right gear and a commitment to wear it. Period.

I reversed my route and headed home. While on one of those lonely roads, I thought about why I love solo riding so much. I am able to ride my own ride. Whenever I've ridden with Dave, for instance, I am paying attention to him and thus slightly distracted. My thoughts are interrupted as I watch him for and ignore the rode. Out there alone, I quickly settle into my own zone; I self talk about the ride and potential hazards; I vary my speed; I stop when I want; I do not need to synchronize my nature calls with anyone else. Solo riding. It's all about me and that's not a bad thing.

Stay tuned to hear me yak about Monday, my first Track Day of fun-filled learning.

Kettle Moraine Scenic Drive on the BMW F650GS

2009-08-03T10:40:00.020-05:00

Sometimes letting go is the only thing to do. I had another 1000 plus miles weekend planned. What I have to show is roughly 320 miles on the GS and less than 50 on the ST. Recall, I'm in the BMW mileage contest--I think, which is another story I'll save for another time.

Saturday I had research on the Underground Railroad planned that would take me to Indiana and OH. Excitement? Anticipation? Anxiety? I don't know. But I didn't sleep Friday and by 4am Saturday morning, just two hours from the time I wanted to depart, I was sleepy, cranky, and bewailing the insomnia that seems to have a stranglehold on me. I canceled the trip and for the rest of the day dragged around, doing an incredible performance of a zombie that was nothing short of academy award winning.

Sunday, I would spend the day with Dave's new BMW F650GS, the twin engine, detuned 800cc. His knee problems have him temporarily sidelined. I am going to hang in there and make this sacrifice to help him out by doing the honorable thing and helping to take care of his bike. It's tough work, but I'm willing to go the distance. Dave, I've got your back--or is that "...your bike."

I was up early preparing the bike--probably should have done that the night before. But we have our rituals. Well, my Cortech tank bag couldn't be attached properly. Neither did a second tank bag I tried. It took close to an hour of frustrating fiddling. Dave's tank bag is a towering top hat sort of bag, which is simply not to my liking. I rigged up my small tank bag, which sat cock-eyed on the tank. I departed almost two hours later than I planned.

Wisconsin's Kettle Moraine Scenic Drive (KMSD) has been calling me for a a long time.

It starts near Whitewater and ends about 115 miles northerly at the Sheboygan Marsh near Elkhart Lake. I'm more than 100 miles away so getting an early start is key. To me, it is never too early to head out. I live for those times, where I can motor along without all my defenses on extreme high alert, a time when the streets are quiet, almost barren. Some are entirely devoid of cars, which can feel like I'm alone in the world. I can settle back a bit and enjoy the hum of the F800ST engine, take in the smells of nature--alive and dead-- and the observe landscape whizzing by. It's a time that also brings out deer in search of breakfast.

I decided to take the back way to WI, avoiding the Interstate and tollway. Any chance I get, I will do the northern portion of the Lake Michigan Circle Tour, which carries me through some of Chicago's finest neighborhoods. It's the route I like most because it winds along Lake Michigan, allowing gorgeous views. On an early Sunday morning this normally congested route has few cars but in place of this are bicyclists--tons of them. They are ubiquitous! They ride solo and in packs--sometimes four abreast, taking up 3/4 of the lane with impunity! As a former bicyclist, I always wave and give them their space. In addition, motorcyclists were out in droves Sunday. Before losing sight of the lake, I saw a beautiful doe in Winnetka, appear instantly on the street. She looked lost and confused as she pranced across Sheridan Road. I wished her safety and kept moving. Probably etched in her DNA is residue memory that what is now Sheridan Road used to be prime foraging ground before the humans came.

It took more than a couple of hours to reach WI but on days like this, when the weather is perfect, time is never really an issue. Still, by the time I located the start to being the Kettle Moraine Scenic Drive, the chances of completing the entire course were fading. In all, I did approximately 1/4 of the KMSD but that was enough to assure my return to do the complete route and the Holy Hill side trip. The KMSD is made up of several units within the Kettle Moraine State Forest, which covers thousands of acres of land. My ride was limited to the Southern Unit. The roads are replete with long sweeping curves and rolling hills. Motoring along quiet county roads like "H" and "ZZ" "VV" are nothing short of amazing. County road C is a favorite. Look for the green and white acorn shape signs and follow along. At times that's challenging but even getting terribly lost on these roads is fun. Just let go.

Let no one say that the Midwest is only flat and straight. The KMSD demonstrates advancing and retreating of the Wisconsin glacier thousands of years ago. The diversity in the landscape is breath-taking. The road curves, sweeps, has rolling hills and beautiful cliffs. Moraines that are hundreds of feet high can still be seen in the area. It is worth a stop at the Kettle Moraine State Park, where the history of the area can be demystified.

Along the route one encounters interesting historical sites and enough quaint stores and shops to help break up the isolation of the county roads. I should have snapped a photo of one obviously popular place where a bunch of bicyclists and motorcyclists co-existed over ice cream or a cold beverage.

Although there are plenty of photo ops on the site, I didn't take many. Pulling over on many of the roads takes considerable care as many of the shoulders are filled with sand and gravel, which makes sense given that moraine are comprised of gravel, rock and sand. Curves can be tricky in spots and stopping requires careful footing. I settled back and just enjoyed the ride. I plan to return soon. I realize now this trip warrants an overnight stay so that I'm ready to roll in WI the day of the ride and devote an entire day to riding all the units. Stay tuned.

I rode enough to do a little review of the F650GS, which I'll post in a few days. I will say, it is a fun bike with great ergos and enough power to hang with the big guys. It has, without question, a tortuous stock seat. More later on the incredible GS twin.

Mileage: 320

Fun factor: 8 out of 10

Letting go: 10/10

Clutchless shifting,downshifting, and trail braking: SRTT, Part 2

2009-07-29T09:55:00.012-05:00

Now that I've had some time to consciously apply some of the skills learned and relearned in the SRTT class, I wanted to share a few more things from the SRTT advanced strategies class. Now, these skills may be old hat to the experienced riders-readers of this blog. To me, they were not new skills per se but they were skills I either don't regularly employ or need to improve.

First, is clutchless shifting.To be perfectly honest, I've done such shifting more times than I can count. But until my SRTT class, I had never done it purposefully! No, I clutchless shifted before out of error and it was something I tried to avoid doing. I recall once when doing it badly, it freaked me a tad. Not knowing what I was doing made me think I was screwing up something.

Now, I've learned how to clutchless shift and when it is appropriate to use clutchless shifting. I am now a conscious clutchless shifter. I am judicious in my use. And, before anyone thinks clutchless shifting messes up the transmission, let me tell you, you are wrong! Proper clutchless shifting does not. Improper shifting does. You pre-load the clutch, just as you would do in ordinary shifting. There is a moment, a brief moment when the engine has a space where it is perfect for snapping the shifter up (of course, you're off the throttle for that brief time) and the gear, Voila, changes quickly, smoothly and easily.

Here's when I've used it: I enter lots of fast traveling Interstates where allowing mergers in is like asking a driver to surrender a kidney. Sometimes it takes much time to get up to speed, merge smoothly and watch out for those vehicles resistant to letting you in. Traditional shifting can consume valuable micro seconds. By having one less thing to think about, that is, pulling in the clutch, one can get on with the business of getting quickly on the expressway. I love this new skill, which I've gotten really smooth at executing since the class. I see it as my method for getting on aggressive, fast moving, Interstates.

Second, is downshifting. This is a technique I consciously have always used. I've owned my share of automobiles. I've never owned an automatic transmission. I learned to properly downshift with years of handling a stick shift. I understand this technique. Bottom line, if you simply downshifted without slowing down your engine speed, it can freak out your machine, hurl your body forward, throw the back end out of line--it could upset the bike and cause rider injury. Downshifting badly in a car is no huge deal--you've got four wheels to keep you grounded. Bad downshifting on two wheels can be ugly.

If you're in fourth gear, moving at a fast clip and you need to get to first quickly you listen to your engine revs. You want to match that. You want to give the throttle enough blip--not too much and not too little. This is learned. You will blip the throttle (blipping is by definition a quick jolt to the throttle) and then downshift. You'll know if you've given it just the right amount because the bike will smoothly change to the lower gear without pulling you forward, or yanking your body backward or disturbing the back end of your bike. Just right, means the bike continues in its forward line of travel without showing signs of being disturbed. Here's what the sport riders say about it.

Third, is trail braking. Another one of those skills that I've done because it makes sense. But I didn't remember the theory behind it. Here is the theory. All I know is, it works and it gives the rider a high level of comfort in curves or when the bike is leaned over and you need to use/keep brakes applied. To know this is to increase one's comfort level when the bike is not perfectly upright. I don't ride mountain road enough to have yet feel entirely fluid. I do well, but I don't have the skills yet to blast through. I do the speed limit, perhaps 5-10 over. Now, long sweeping curves, no problem. To me, trail braking adds to the bag of strategies one can used when traveling in less than an upright position.

So, that's it. I've had some time to practice and you know what they say about practice...here's what we should say: Practice makes improvement."

Introducing: The Scorpion EXO-900 Transformer

2009-07-28T05:05:00.016-05:00

The BMW rally was a great place to check out vendors and spend a little cash. With a budget firmly in mind, I was receptive to being convinced to acquire a few "must-have" farkles. My own list included a new helmet. My friend, Lucas, wears a full-face Scorpion. He's not the kind to push his favs on others but he'll answer all your questions about a product he's been impressed with. He's likes his Scorpion and says it's quiet. Like me, he does a lot of research before parting with his dollars. So, the Scorpion was on my radar as a possible alternative to buying a fourth Nolan helmet. I've loved my Nolans. Obviously. Although some say, "if it's not broken, don't fix it," I say, change is good sometimes.

My friend, Claye, was also looking for a new helmet--the result of a theft in Johnson City, which I'll talk about in the rally blog that I'm working on. We knew that Nolan was having a big sale. I missed the Nolan vendor booth upon first search. Then Claye and I found the Scorpion booth. The helmets looked sleek and aerodynamic, almost space age to me. We checked out the full face, which I keep saying I'm going to purchase to add to my modular collection (helmets to me are like shoes are to some women--one can't have too many IMHO).

I shared with Claye, my friend's comments about his Scorpion. After much consideration and a return to the Scorpion booth, we both bought the Scorpion EXO-900 Transfomer helmet. It gets its "Transformer" name because the modular system that surrounds the front of the helmet is removable. This removable piece can be replaced with another, similar piece that surrounds the top part of the helmet, making a sort of external top guard. This operation opens the helmet's face and turns it into a 3/4 helmet. I'd never wear such a helmet--now; although I own a Nolan 3/4 helmet that I unfortunately bought in my first year of riding and wore about three times before shelving it in favor of a Nolan modular. Because of this, the helmet is also referred to a 3 in 1 helmet (modular, full face, and 3/4).

Claye and I thought the separate transformer feature so unimpressive that we each gave it back to the vendor for recycling. So, what is it I like about this helmet. Many things. Compared to my beloved Nolan N102, the Scorpion is significantly quieter. Since I didn't have a reference point, I didn't realize that my Nolan was noisy until I heard something different. My HJC Sy-Max seemed quiet until I experienced the Nolan. Wearing ear plugs also makes the noise less of an issue. But with or without ear plugs (I wear the Etymotic er6i noise isolating plugs) the EXO-900 is significantly more quiet.

The helmet has some interesting features. I like its internal visor system. On the left side of the helmet is a glove friendly slider that can be raised to releases a sun visor inside the helmet. It is not a deeply dark visor but it is certainly enough to block the sun from one's eyes. Both the internal and external visors are coated with an anti fog solution, which worked as I went through fog in VA on my way home from the rally. My Nolan's visor is external to the helmet. I've had no problem with this style but others have complained about it being caught in the wind and rattling. My problems started only after dropping the helmet, which I did several times. After that, the visor was randomly loose and occasionally giggled. The internal Scorpion visor can also be lowered fully or part way. It fits nicely over my eyeglasses. Speaking of which, if you wear glasses, to me, the modular is the way to go. Initially, I had trouble getting the new helmet over the glasses and had to remove them to get the helmet on. This didn't make me happy but I correctly attributed it to the helmet being new. After more than 2500 miles, I'm able to get it on and removed without removing my glasses.

The helmet has two top vents and one at chin level. I've not tested the venting system in 90 plus degrees Fahrenheit weather, but the air flow seems adequate. The helmet is a snug fit, which demands that I take care in inserting my ear plugs. If not, any protuberance will hurt, given the helmet's snug fit, after a few miles. On the back, bottom of the helmet is a small rubber bubble that is part of the "Airfit" system. If the bubble is pushed, it adds snuggness to the cheek and lower neck area. The more it's pushed, the more snug the fit and the more air is prevented from getting inside the helmet--pretty cool. This allows one to tweak the helmet for more snuggness around the checks and helps secure the helmet around the neck. I've pressed the bubble and frankly I don't notice much difference as it is already rather snug fitting in those two areas.

On the lower left side of the helmet is a doorway of sorts that looks as if it is the portal to a communication system. The Nolan has one in the same place that allows one to hook up a communication unit. I made one modification on the helmet. I loved the ratchet system on the Nolan for securing the helmet at the neck. It's a cool feature that allows easy opening and closing. The Scorpion has--or had--the old D-ring system, which I don't like. So for $10, Claye made the D-ring superfluous. We had installed a two-part slide and click system. It required minor surgery to remove the snap and replace it with the two part slide and click. Unfortunately, this doesn't remove the D-ring, so I'm left to tuck it away, which isn't a problem. So, I've had to tuck the D-ring behind the strap. This may seem complicated but it isn't and now that I've tucked the D-ring a few times, it sort of stays put.

Overall, an excellent investment. Selecting the new helmet was easy. The hardest part will be keeping the dang helmet from hard drops on hard surfaces!

Webbike World Video Review

Scale: 1 -- 10 (from weakest to strongest)

Performance: 10

Style: 9

Design: 9

Colors (available) 2

Cost: 10

Saturday: Street Riding Technical Training (SRTT) class!

2009-07-26T12:15:00.013-05:00

I try not to allow a season to pass without taking an advanced riding class. The only one I've ever taken is the SRTT class offered by Ride Chicago, the private motorcycle school where I re-entered the world of motorcycle riding and to whom I credit my ever-evolving skills. I've written extensively about this class before so I'll be briefer here. I don't know about the ERC given by the MSF team, but this one is superior and one I'll keep taking.

It was a gorgeous day to spend with a small group of motorcyclists. The class was small, six students (I can't remember if that includes me or not). In any case, the first thing I couldn't help notice is that the other bikes looked mean! They were bikes that made asking if they were fast, a ridiculous inquiry. They reeked speed. It showed in their hiked up tail and fierce headlights angles. For the first time, I felt my bike somewhat anemic. Jessie Owens looks downright docile standing next to those sportbikes. The riders of those aggressive looking bikes were all young men (emphasis on "young") dressed in varying styles of street bike riding jackets. One came in full leathers that reminded me of an astronaut ready to take off. One of my first thought was: I'm old enough to be the mother of every single rider here--and that includes the two instructors, Chris and Rocky! That I was the only female added to my initial sense of both bike and personal anemia.

I felt a tiny edge in that I've taken this course before and knew, more or less, what was in store. Everyone else was new to the course. The class was a half day rather than the full day program I've taken before. Still, I knew the course would be challenging, especially at first and would seem manageable at the half way point. I knew the skills that would be introduced and some are now second nature habits of my own. For example, braking. It is taught very differently than one encounters in a basic course. I can't remember the wrong way to brake anymore. In this course, braking is taught by leaving the clutch alone until the last minute. So imagine, you're riding along. You see the need to apply brakes, you do so. You apply the front and back brake in a progressive fashion. You apply pressure and then squeeze on greater presssure. Before you feel the bike chug, you then pull in the clutch. First, with this method, you're thinking of one less thing but more importantly you allow the bike to do its work easiest. It's also how racers brake and I can only say, it makes more sense and feels more logical to me.

The other huge thing one learns in this class has definitely changed my riding since first taking this class. That is, hugging/squeezing the tank as one rides and using the lower body to facilitate steering. The stress is on the lower body while the rider consciously keeps the upper body loose and light.

The course is a vast lot on the grounds of Toyota Park in Bridgeview, IL where the Chicago Fire holds its soccer games. The course is set up with the expected challenges of weaving, emergency braking, curves that stress entry angle that demand you slow down, look where you want to go, lean and roll through. I especially liked working on this skill. There is a rhythmic beauty to these steps. Think about it: Ride at a brisk pace toward a curve. You slow down, which can almost look like stoppingl brake before entering the curve if you must. You turn your head in the direction you want to move in, lean and roll through the curve. It's that rolling through that I enjoy. Some curves were long sweeping, some were tight and sharp. The most challenging were the multiple curves (the back to back ones) that required you to make certain that the first curve you entered you did so with spot on entry angle (the old outside inside). If not, you could (and often did) conceivably throw off all the subsequent entries! This meant making sure that you not only looked at the curve right before you, but that you also were looking way ahead, far beyond curve #1 to make sure that you, your brain and your bike are also preparing for the next curve. It reinforced what we all know or should: don't allow a road situation to surprise you; to ride well requires technical skill; look far ahead too; and, practice makes improvement.

Our first taks is to learn the course. We rode around multiple times and still I would occasional space out. I'd be concentrating so hard on the skill that my brain would suddenly switch back to reality and I'd not know where I was. I counted. This happened four times. Once it happened during the time Rocky was taking pictures/video of the class. Fortunately, I stopped and was called over by the other instructor, with whom I chatted while the gang of guys sped around the course.

The half day flew by. One highlight for me was having both instructors try out my bike. Thumbs up from both of them. I was surprised at how undramatic my bike seem when standing next to a group of overtly fast bikes. I'm not a fast rider but I do believe that in the hands of either of my instructors, Jesse Owens, my bike, could run with the best of them.

Saturday wasn't about what kind of bike one has or how good a rider one already is. It was about taking one's riding to another level--no matter where it was currently. It was about developing mastery over machine and the many road situation that exist. It was about riding efficiently and effectively. It was also about getting a glimpse of two instructors riding with skills and talents most of us can only dream about. It was interesting to see the two instructors ride students' bikes--they could hop on and ride as it they knew the bike. In reality, they know how to ride and the bike doesn't matter in the end.

The class ends with each rider completing the course while riding with one hand. Not only is this possible, it is actually rather enjoyable once you get over the fact that you'll have to make all those curves and complete the weaving with one hand! Like nothing else, one hand riding forces one to use their lower body to steer the bike. If you hadn't gotten it before, you get at this point just how important using your lower body IS--a wonderful test of how much this lesson has been internalized in the class. To manage the curves, to complete the cone weaving, and ride around the course multiple times with only the throttle hand on the bike makes you feel in control of your machine!

(Me and Jesse Owens!)

I don't have a lot of pictures of the day--after all the time was spent riding. It has yet to fail that after this class I always ride home a little differently, more in control, more confident, more straight up in the saddle, so to speak. It was a day well spent--even if I am old enough to be every one's mother!

Images from the BMW MOA Rally, Johnson City, TN

2009-07-22T20:51:00.020-05:00

I arrived home Monday night around 11:30pm after riding 680 miles that day from Wytheville, VA. My goal was to get to Indianapolis to have dinner at Shapiro's, which readers here know by now is one of my most favorite places to stop for a meal. I arrived at 6:30pm, plenty of time for dinner--or so I thought. It really was 7:30 EST and I had only 30 minutes before Shapiro's closed. Had I gotten there and found it closed, I would have wailed like a hungry infant! I ordered my usual tuna sandwich, side of vegetables, slice of cake and a tumbler of sweet tea. It's that meal combo that always gets me back to Chicago in a flash.

(Welcome to the 37th Annual BMW MOA Rally!)

I left for Knoxville, TN on Wednesday morning and arrived before dark at my friend's house where I spent the night with her and her husband, cousin and granddaughter. For ten years I've been promising to visit. Well, I did it and my friends laid out a welcome mat I will never forget.

(These bikes were calling my name!)

Early Thursday morning I headed out to the Appalachian Fairground in Johnson City, TN for the 37th annual BMW International Rally. The ride along I-81 is far more scenic than many interstates I've traveled and the beautiful landscape and long sweeping curves on the road kept me entertained. At every gas stop beyond Indianapolis, I spotted one or more Beemers. We didn't speak but shared a dip of the head in recognition of our mission. The rally call had been sounded and heard around the globe and the pilgrimage to Johnson City was on. When I'd see two or more Beemers motoring down interstate I'd feel my heart swell with pride. It felt great to belong to a group that seems to take wearing head to toe gear seriously. The riders looked sharp, focused and determined. I like my people.

(This Frenchman loved his K-bike. He got a ticket in Johnson City. He said the officer

was nice and gave him a "break" on the ticket)

(Tents and shelters of all kinds provided respite for weary bikers)

The rally was spectacular, filled with people passionate about bikes and riding. You could see it in their faces, in the gear they wore and in the ongoing wipe downs of their bikes. I didn't see all the people I needed to see, people I had truly wanted to connect with. But all those I did see, I enjoyed spending time with. I had one ongoing issue that nagged me throughout the rally but I'll write about that later. It was almost enough to make the rally really annoying but I went there mentally prepared to ignore the annoying... Still, it is worth exploring in the next blog. Overall, I had a grand time with friends and appreciated my alone times in the evening. Unlike the majority of folks, I did not camp. After a long ride, I need a bed, a hot shower, and quiet.

(A constant parade of bikes made for interesting bike and people watching)

The rally ended on Saturday evening. Sunday morning, I visited dear friends in Durham, NC. Getting there from Johnson City required travel on some very twisty roads through mountains that dipped, tipped, banked and switched back. In several places roade changes snatched my breath away. I kept within five or six miles above the speed limit, which one car and several motorcycles behind me clearly didn't appreciate. When they all zipped past me I loudly called them "speed demons" inside my new Scorpion helmet I bought at the rally. After that, there was never a two or four wheel vehicle behind me and I could, in peace, allow state highway 321 to swiftly move me into highway 421 with its dips and twists. Without shoulders to pull off the road to catch my breath I could only focus on good riding skills. Even when I think back on it now, I wonder how I managed it all as some of those tight descending curves made my brain vibrate! As I sailed by, I recall only the blurring of trees and rocks as I seemed to float up and down and around bends in the road. I reached Durham in four hours and spend far too little time with friends who don't live in the mountains but still lack level ground. Before leaving, I dropped my bike and again appreciate the pricey frame sliders I have to protect that beautiful blue frame. I have more to say about the rally but it must wait for the next blog.

I've had a challenging day and looking at the photos from the rally rekindled good memories of a few days ago. Until I can steal away some real writing time, I am sharing these photos in hopes that you'll get a feel for the bikes, the event, the weather and the folks who ventured there. One of the highlights for me was learning at the closing ceremony that the oldest BMW rider to Johnson City won not only that age category but also won for the oldest combined age category. He was 92 years old and his wife-passenger, who came along in a sidecar, was 87. Pretty impressive.

Enjoy some photos.

(If you didn't want to walk the vast fair grounds, you could hop a ride on one

of the many omnipresent truck driven carts)

("Teach" does things with a motorcycle that defy gravity and logic)

(This "Mac Pac" photo is proof of my tireless search for Jack of Twisted Roads)

(At the closing ceremony, we all hoped we'd win one of the two GS bikes that were raffled off)

(This little doohickey allows the motorcyclist to see what is behind him.

Power it on and the camera shows you "live" what's behind you)

(Etched on this plate is a USA map with gems adhered to the states that the rider

(young man on the left) has visited. Very cool!)

(The guys above (I hope they don't mind me using the photo) really made me feel welcomed.

I first met the one on the left and right at the BMW Rally in West Bend, WI)

(I'd like a bike with a side car. In it, I'd ride with a highly trained German Sheperd dog).

(Time to head home along the long and winding roads...)

(Homeward Bound!)

Looking forward to Redmond, Oregon, site of the 38th BMW Rally in 2010.

Two Wheelin' it on The Pony Express Trail

2009-07-13T05:44:00.009-05:00

I know that some of you, like me, are history buffs. My pal, Brent Miller at Sojourn Chronicles recently returned from a fascinating motorcycle journey (over 6000 miles in three weeks) that followed the Pony Express Trail. His tale, however, extends beyond the trail to include some other interesting side adventures. Read about his encounters with weather and wind. You'll enjoy his insightful comments on solo riding, friendship and self. I think I remember a few words regarding butt issues too.

No matter the trail or trial, Brent's V-Strom handled superbly under his piloting. Before selecting the F800ST, the "Wee" was high on my list. It's a great bike--has to be--it has the same engine as my beloved and wildly popular, SV650.

Anyway...hop on over to read and enjoy Brent's full account. Brent is a professional photographer/journalist so you'll be gifted with spectacular scenes and wise words. Dang, I should have led you there as the events were unfolding...didn't think of it then.

Enjoy!

The countdown begins…flower sniffing on the horizon!

2009-07-12T09:51:00.016-05:00

Early Saturday morning as I was motoring southbound on the Dan Ryan Expressway, I saw the familiar lights of motorcycles in my mirrors. Three of them, to be exact, and they were moving fast. My speedometer showed me at 6 miles above the speed limit. They rode in the staggered, multiple rider motorcycle formation. They were blasting down the left lane. When the first one zipped by me, I saw the familiar circular blue and white BMW rondel. The rider looked back as he passed me and nodded his head. I dipped my head in his direction. The second rider, looked back and gave his head an upward lift. I was thrilled to see them. Then the third one rode by and we exchanged the same the familiar motorcycle greeting.

Then it hit me! They had to be heading for the BMW MOA International Rally in Johnson City, TN. It made sense. Each bike towered with luggage. Each rider was totally ATGATT (all the gear, all the time). Each looked smooth, sharp and serious. My heart leaped. I felt such pride and elation. I wanted to fall in step with my people and be on my way too! I watched them fade into the distance and felt that leap in my heart dropped with a palpable thud. Eventually, they disappeared without a trace. I started humming some old "Freedom Songs."

The rally starts on July 16th.

Clearly, these guys were heading out early probably planning to take in some of the riding in the area, where there is no lack of magnificent roads. To name just a few, one can ride the Blue Ridge Parkway, The Cherohala Skyway, the roads around the Great Smokey Mountains, Fort Knox, The Dragon, and many scenic byways and squiggly roads off the beaten path. Like nothing else before, spotting these riders got me pumped!

It will be days before I leave. I will need to make a straight shot ride there given that I’m leaving at the last minute (work issues). I’ll still have plenty of time to enjoy the workshops and meet up with friends from the BMW F800 forum and some fellow bloggers. Just about everyone I know is leaving this weekend.

Dave is planning to attend. He’s probably leaving Monday or Tuesday. For good reasons, we will make separate journeys. First, we have different riding styles. I prefer long days and distance with a good ride day being around 500 miles and if necessary, 700 miles, and not feel drained. A good day for him is around 250 miles max. Different strokes for different folks. No one should ride beyond what they are comfortable doing. He will take his time getting there; I will get there in the time I have. We will meet up in TN probably on the same day.

Jesse’s oil has been changed, loose things all tightened up. I’m poking around with maps and drooling over scenic roads I’ll not have time to take in route to Johnson City. I will, however, make some stops in hopes of accumulating a few stamps along the way.

I’m also hoping for a detour in route home. I have friends in Knoxville, TN and in Durham, NC and I want to stop by even if it’s only to say, “Hey.”

The countdown begins…

Happy Belated Fourth and Four Easy Stamps, yeah right!

2009-07-06T06:29:00.026-05:00

A long four day holiday found me working mostly--at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Consequently, I missed amassing another huge chunk of miles. I had planned a weekend ride that would have added 1200 miles to the odo. As they say, "this too shall pass." I am attempting to finish up overdue work so that when I leave for the BMW MOA International Rally in TN, the work will not be among my luggage.

Still, I could not NOT ride (forgive the bad grammar). So, I decided to compromise and hunt for local stamps. For those who don't know, the National Park Service, to encourage visits to national parks, battlefields, historic sites, National Memorials, National Parks, Wild Rivers, National Seashores--and a host of other historically important places, sells a "Passport To Your National Parks" booklet that allows you to collect stamps and amass ink stamp (imprints) to mark your visits. The Iron Butt Association, those obsessive-compulsive long distance riders (I'm a wannabe) has a National Parks ride that requires a visit to 25 different states and proof of those visits with 50 stamps. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, even when you're out hunting for local stamps, stuff happens that adds a degree of challenge to acquiring the stamps. My ride on July 3 is a perfect example.

Because of work I decided to get up early make four stops and pick up four Illinois stamps. The whole thing should have taken a couple of hours if I took a direct route--I did not. Still, I had things fairly well planned. I would hit Willow Springs to pick up the stamp at the Little Red School House Nature Center. Then on to Lockport, IL, where the Gaylord Building stands at Lincoln Landing. Zip on over to Joliet, IL where a stamp awaited at the Joliet Area Historical Museum. Last stop, a nice ride to Morris, IL for a stop at Gebhard Woods State Park that would allow me to follow a bit of Rt. 66 too. A quick lunch and home to get back to work. This entire ride is familiar to me as each stop travels through part of the Illinois & Michigan Canal National Heritage Corridor, which I've done before. It is never boring with its parks and canals, dams and nature preserves along the way.

Well...here's the deal. The Little Red School house was closed.

I had asked if they were open but what I didn't ask is whether the Visitors Center was open. The trails were open but not the office! So, no stamp! I did enjoy the message printed on the red sign about loud noises, like that coming from a radio, annoy both people and animals.

On to Lockport. The Gaylord Building stood proudly in the distance as I motored along Lockort's main drag.

The GPS led me to a street that I couldn't turn into but a quick ride over the bridge and a turn around in a swanky country club put me back on track. The Gaylord Building, which is not in its original location is a beautiful old place made of "cream-colored dolomite limestone." If you've seen Chicago's Water Tower, you'll see the same bumpy stone popular of that era (1800s).

I spent a lot of time in the building, viewing a video, touring the exhibits where there was also a special exhibit on Lincoln.

On the first floor of the building is a nice looking, upscale restaurant, The Landing, that I definitely want to check out in the future. The women at this center were amazingly helpful and cheery. First successful stamp capture of the day! At their suggestion, I made a quick stop at the Will County Historical Society across the street but they didn't have any stamps so I moved

on to Joliet.

Joliet Area Historical Museum (JAHM) is an excellent stop.

Incredibly helpful folks. There is the kind of reception that always makes me want to tour a place, watch the video(s) and leave a donation! I had a grand time there--gave my brain lots of new information. I;m very familiar with this geographical area but I never appreciated the role that Joliet played in the industrial period. I enjoyed the exhibits here immensely.

I will return to do it more justice as Joliet has some amazing architecture that I didn't have time to capture. In hindsight, I should have at least taken a photo of the Rialto Square Theatre, called "The Jewel of Joliet."

When I ask for the cancellation stamp, the woman is eager and excited. She pulls out the ink pad and her stamp. She looks curiously at the stamp. She searches and searches and says, "I guess the '09 hasn't come in yet. I called them back in May and I guess they haven't sent it yet--oh darn." Had she not be such a sweet, helpful woman I would have been a bit upset. So I had her sign and date my Passport. I don't think it will count, but she and I both felt good about walking away with something. I shall return to the Old Joliet Prison--it is an interesting place. And here's something I just learned: The prison may be turned into a tourist center to

capitalize on the Rt. 66 mania.

It would make for an interesting site if they don't over commercialize it and teach the history of the place and the prison system in this area. I plan to return to the site to exploit the photo opportunities. The place is now dilapidated and desolate, which should make for some dramatic early morning or near nightfall pictures.

The helpful folks at the JAHM told me to take Rt. 6 to Morris. It added to the length of the trip but it was worth it. The ride took me through the hugely industrial areas and backyards of Joliet. I passed but did not stop at the Brandon Road Lock and Dam, built in 1923 and opened to barge traffic in 1933.

So far, three stops and only one legitimate stamp.

Gebhard Woods State Park is a lovely and inviting place where fishing, hiking, biking along the canal, or just hanging out is an excellent way to spent some time.

I called the park from the JAHM because the clerk thought the office might not be open given that it was July 3rd? I called and the automated voice said they were open, the the trails were open and to "come on over." As I pulled in, I noticed that the sign in the park window said, "Open." Good.

After parking the bike and watching some families fishing, I walk to the window. The large "Open" is the only bright thing in the window. The place is dark and obviously closed. Now, I am ticked. Adjacent to the building is a garage and I see a man without a shirt and low hanging pants walk in the garage. I watch him. He is talking loudly to someone on the inside. They are talking about cars. I wait. And wait. And wait. When the shirtless man goes back to fishing, I walk toward the garage. I ask if the office is open as the sign indicates. The young man looks puzzled and hesitantly says it is. I tell him why I am there and he continues looking befuddled but tells me to follow him. The garage is big and dark in its deepest interior. I hesitate about following him. "Do you mean literally follow you?" He says, "Yes." We walk through a very black hallway that leads into the closed office.

He searches for the stamp and ink pad and find them quickly. He rotates the stamp. He keeps rotating it. Then he searches more. Then he says, "I don't have a stamp with 2009 on it. We just have the one that goes up to 2008." I am incredulous. I gently plead for him to search again. He does. His stamp goes up to 2008. For the second time I ask someone to stamp with a '08 stamp. After stamping with the old stamp, I ask for him to legitimate it. He apologetically complies. He initials the book and writes in the current date.

Four stops and only one legitimate stamp to show for it.

Oh well, the ride and roads were great; the weather could not have been more perfect. Lots of motorcycle sightings. And the privilege of riding a motorcycle that I love more and more with each passing mile. Just priceless.

Whether you celebrate the holiday or not, hope your weekend was a great and safe one!

Stamp total = 1 & 2 that probably won't count.

Clipped wings…No Cuba, No Peru

2009-06-30T06:14:00.007-05:00

My wings felt clipped this weekend. So, I am glad in some ways to see it pass. A ton of incomplete work is squeezing the breath from me. Glad this too shall pass because it’s painful, relatively speaking, to sit at a computer and stare at a screen where the words simply refuse to appear easily. Some famous writer once said writing is easy, all you have to do is open up a vein. On the other hand, I’m also not thrilled to see the weekend go as it signals that yet another 48 hours have elapsed and I’m still not where I need to be in my task. I need more time but I’ve had too much time already.Thus, my plans to visit Peru and Cuba remain unfulfilled. Internally, I’m whining and that feeling of being constrained is both distracting and blocking. I did an errand on the ‘cycle, which should have taken 30 minutes tops. Took me nearly 2 hours as I found all kinds of reasons for other errands that had to be done. Riding is more than a physical act. It is also spiritual and can be a muse of sorts. To ride safely, one needs to be completely focused on the task and perhaps doing that, helps loosen up other regions of the brain to let the creative juices flow. Sometimes taking a very long walk will have the same effect and something I‘ve been puzzling over all becomes clear. I should have taken a short 50 miles ride--it would have done wonders for me, I‘m sure about that. It is my fault that I am shackled (more or less) this weekend. I have only myself to blame. A too full plate will eventually topple.

When shall I learn? This is not unfamiliar territory. Still, it’s got to end this week. A long weekend is on the horizon and the sweet scent of freedom beckons me.

Feeling sorry for myself this weekend made me think of a poem by one of my favorite poets, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, appropriately titled “Sympathy.”

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
Paul Laurence Dunbar

When I am free, I shall visit Dayton, OH where Dunbar is from. There is a National Parks stamp I can collect on him. He was a classmate of one of the Wright brothers, so I can also retrieve an aviation stamp to honor their contributions to flight. I shall also visit Woodland Cemetery where Dunbar is buried and say a special thanks to him for poems I first read as a child.

Remembering...

2009-06-25T21:02:00.008-05:00

Early Wednesday morning, I went for a ride before going to work. I was out and on the road by 5:10am. I wanted to catch the sunrise, which the online sunrise/sunset chart said would occur at 5:17a.m.. I knew just where to go too. I didn't even think about sharing my capture on this site, although I did put it on flickr where I house much of my photography.

Then, today I was at Redleg's Rides blog and he writes about and shares his photographs taken during the "Golden Hour." His mention of the Golden Hour instantly got me to thinking about my morning out and my success at catching the sunrise, another brief and important window of time when the light is sweet and pure and the color that shines down and out from it, is warm and glowing and beautiful. One is rewarded whenever the magic of a sunrise is witnessed.

Photography is light and light-play is always an amazing thing to behold and try to freeze for later memories.

This has been a sad news day that has made me remember.

I grew up with Farrah Fawcett and "Charlie's Angels." She had a light bulb smile and seemed to love Ryan O'Neal forever and a day, in ways that he seemed overwhelmed by and only later seemed to easily return. Her death was expected. Still, it was sad. Then I heard about Michael Jackson's demise this afternoon. What a brilliant, gifted but also tragic figure. It's a sad story.

I loved the Jackson 5. I remember them dancing up a storm on the Ed Sullivan Show. I bought their records and sang their songs. Something changed for me, though, when the group disbanned and he took on a solo career. Still, I'd stop to watch his magical feet dance and hear his silky voice deliver his latest hit--songs he wrote. "Thriller" is an album of genius. Listen to "Billie Jean." Something tragic seems to happens to many uber-celebrities, particularly those who step into fame and fortune early. Eventually, he just seemed to me to be stunted mentally/emotionally and never grew up.

To me, his physical metamorphosis and increasingly strange and controversial personal life began to overshadow his genius and I simply lost interest--that is, until I'd hear an old Jackson 5 tune on the radio and I'd remember the teenage memories and the prodigy from Gary, Indiana.

On my ride this past Sunday, a Jackson 5 tune came on the XM radio, it was, "I Want You Back," and I sang along to the top of my lungs inside my helmet. I remember thinking how I should download some of the J5 on my Ipod because those old tunes would make great motorcycle riding music. I will do that...

Remembering memories...

First, Portugal...now Brazil and Paris!

2009-06-23T05:23:00.025-05:00

I had planned another Iron Butt Saddle Sore 1000 for Sunday. My route would be a simple one. I would leave by 3:30am and return home 10pm. But the anticipation must have gotten to me for I didn’t sleep well the night before, which isn’t the way to start—and finish—a LD ride. So, I scrapped my SS and decided on something more fun. I guess you can say I did a half SS as the mileage totaled a bit over 500 for the day.

Following on the heels of Portugal, I decided to take a visit to Brazil and then on to Paris. Okay, so it’s Brazil, Indiana and Paris, IL but still… I was on the road by 6am because I was determined to have breakfast at Shaprio’s in Indianapolis and get back home before nightfall. I succeeded on both accounts.

I took the interstate getting to Indianapolis but after that, I knew getting to Brazil and Paris would allow me some nice country roads and old two lane highways. Given that it was Father’s Day, I felt a nice connection with my deceased father who fought in the Korean “War” as I rode along stretches of the Korean War Veterans Memorial Highway.

My Sunday ride was a welcomed relief from stamps hunting. For a change, I took my time and enjoyed this ride. I even turned on the new XM satellite radio! A cloudy sky with dark threatening clouds in some places kept reminding me that it might rain today. Even at 6am the temps were in the 70s and humid. I wore a comfortable summer jacket with lots of open flaps and my mesh pants with knee and hip armor. I love these pants even though they make me look like I’ve packed stolen goods in each hip.

After an easy three hours, I pulled into my favorite eatery--Shapiro’s Deli. It is nearly 10:30 EST I have driven basically straight through. I usually lunch here so breakfast here will be a treat. I order pancakes. When they arrive, I gasp. They are mammoth—and scrumptious! I barely ate half. I wanted so badly to buy lunch too but given the hot weather, I thought better of it. I didn’t want to fuel the wrath of salmonella.

Before leaving Indianapolis, I learned in some former research that near Shapiro’s is a spot that was a terminus on the Underground Railroad. This was a totally unexpected discovery. The place is now the Slippery Noodle, a rather famous blues joint. It is also the oldest bar in the state.

Crown Hill Cemetery was my next Indianapolis stop.
It’s a vast place (3rd largest in the country) and several people are buried there whom I wanted to locate.

Top on my list were Benjamin Harrison, 23rd President, and his two wives. I stopped in the office and they pointed out his plot on the map. After the death of his first wife, Harrison remarried. His second marriage was to his wife’s niece, who happened to be 25 years younger. According to a couple of sources, his two adult children (41 and 38 years old) were ticked at old Dad! They did not attend the wedding to show their disapproval of his marriage to their first cousin, which made the child from this second wife, their sister as well as second cousin. I asked also about the infamous John Dillinger, who is also interred there. I found none of the graves I was looking for, but I still enjoyed myself. It’s a massive layout. I thought of the “loud pipe saves lives” bikes rumbling through this cemetery—and chuckled at the thought of “waking the dead.“ I was happy my bike is smooth and quiet—no complaints from the residents.

Brazil, Indiana

Riding to Brazil was a joy. US 40 parallels I-70W so I took US40. Brazil is supposed to have an interesting county courthouse and a Carnegie funded public library.

Carngegie funded libraries everywhere—or so it seems.

I read something that said Brazil streets were in bad shape, that the brick roadbed is exposed in many places and that one can see that the brick is actually in better condition than the top street. The roads were bumpy but didn’t seem any worse than other roads I’ve encountered. Nice small rural town that appears to have seen better times--haven’t we all, though? I saw two oldish teens on scooters who eyeballed me and the bike. They must have been doing some serious dirt riding with those scooters as they were filthy boys, with completely dirty shirts. I pulled in behind them at a stop light and kept my eyes on them. I noticed that both young men had cigarettes hanging from their mouth. RWS (riding while smoking).

Know the name Erwin “Cannonball” Baker? He was an award winning motorcycle racer back in the day. Born in 1882, he set a slew of records. In 1908, he bought an Indian motorcycle and the rest, as they say, is history. Sounds like he was the Michael Jordan of this time--only on two wheels. Take a look at this dapper gent.

Before leaving Brazil, don't forget to stop at Eddie's Sandwich Shoppe.

It was closed but looks like a neat little place. It's been around since 1931 and they're known for their "little" hamburgers.

Paris, Illinois

I rode to Paris to get more pics. They too have a noteworthy county courthouse.

It’s an easy trip from Brazil. I took US 40, which by the way, is one of the US National Roads. This led me to US 150 for miles and then Route 1, right into town. Paris is in Edgar County and they have their own little historical buildings complex.

They really do have an absolutely gorgeous county court building.

I took way too many pics of it but couldn’t help myself. Paris, IL is on the map also for having 4 buildings on the National Registry of Historic Places—that’s pretty dang impressive for a town so small.

The Edgar County Courthouse is one of the National Historic sites. Hey, I wonder if I could have picked up some stamps here. Hmmm? Oh, well…

Paris is also famous for Carl Dean Switzer. Know that name? It’s great Jeopardy game show knowledge. Both Carl and his brother were childhood actors whom almost everyone has seen on the silver screen. Does, Our Gang ring a bell? Remember Alfalfa? Remember that bad falsetto voice that cracked whenever he tried to sing? Well Alfalfa, aka Carl Dean Switzer, was born in Paris, IL! Yes! Alfalfa comes from Paris, IL! Both he and his brother (who played in the gang) were discovered when they were on a trip to CA. At the time, they were already fairly big in Paris, IL.

I left Paris, IL with every intention of heading to Champaign, IL to have a late lunch at another of my favorite restaurants, Nitaya Thai for crabmeat fried rice. But when I arrived at the Champaign turn off, I was feeling good and just didn’t want to stop. Big mistake. I should have stopped and eaten for a couple of reasons. I felt hungry the last two hours of the trip. I also rode through three separate, brief, bursts of rain—one rather heavy. Nothing to write home about but I probably would have avoided them had I stopped. In the end, this was a trip of pure fun.
Arrived home long before dark. Energized, hungry and history geekism, completely satisfied.

Miles completed: 531
Fun factor 10/10
XM radio -- priceless! (I listened to NPR, CNN and '70s tunes!)

Happy Ride to Work Day!

2009-06-15T15:37:00.010-05:00

I am back from Portugal. Time flies when the shackles are off.

This is the second consecutive RTWD that I've missed. Before leaving for Portugal, I dropped off Jesse Owens at Motoworks Chicago to get the Fuzeblock installed. The shop isn't open on Monday so I'm bikeless.

If I walk slowly, I can make it to work in ten minutes so riding to work doesn't make much sense. But if I had my bike, later, when rush hour had thinned, and the cabbies were on simmer and the streets were less angry, I'd hop on Jesse and make a ceremonial pass of the building and give it a little nod.

Hope you were able to ride to work today or just ride to a favorite destination!

Ride safe!

Motorcycle Views from Lisboa, Portugal

2009-06-10T04:04:00.001-05:00

This week, I have no two wheel adventures of my own to post. Instead, I am in Lisboa, Portugal, missing my bike and acutely tuned to the many motorcycles I see buzzing about the downtown streets of Lisboa. Everywhere, two wheels (occasionally three),

are out and about.

In the downtown area where I am staying, many of the streets are old brick, which is not particularly fun to ride on . There is a jostling and bumping that can be jarring. Electric cable cars share many streets. The cable car tracks weave throughout the narrow streets. They obviously require considerable skill by motorcyclists to skirt safely around. When wet, these bricks are slippery--I know because one of my favorite routes in Chicago has bricks like these and when wet, they are slicker than castor oil. It rained a bit yesterday here and there are small, shiny variously shaped bricks that cover the pedestrian walkways, which required my full attention to stay upright.

Thought I'd share some of my motorcycle observations while here in Lisboa. First, there are motorcycles and scooters everywhere! While I've seen lots of small cc scooters, there are lots of huge displacement (650cc) scooters whizzing by. Boy do they move! Next, every rider on two wheels wears a helmet! I now have tons of pictures of motorcyclists, not one have I seen yet without a helmet.

Funny thing though, while the modular helmets seems to be most popular, the trend seems to be to wear it in the upright (flipped up) position! I don't know if this is a statement against having to wear a helmet or just a local motorcycle fashion. It's an interesting sight to behold.

Motorcycle parking is ample! On many occasions I've had a motorcycle riding by me on the sidewalk! They are heading to spaces (some unmarked) near corners of the sidewalk. At times, these areas are marked with a large blue and white sign with an image of a motorcycle posted underneath it. Motorcycles also park on the street next to cars. They are also parked outside buildings--again on the sidewalk. I would imagine that these considerable parking allowances relates to the sheer number of bikes in Lisboa needing space.

Lisboa reminds me of San Francisco. In fact, the tour guides have said the same thing. It's the streets of Lisboa! And, like many European cities, the streets, particularly in the old sections of town are narrow--really narrow. I've seen cable cars, motorcycles, and cars partake in a seemingly precarious dance of close calls and near misses. But they all seem to manage well. Lots of stopping in curves so one must remember to straighten up and out those motorcycle wheels before applying the brakes.

The Honda Transalp motorcycle is ubiquitous! Lots of Honda CBs and Honda 599. Dualsports of all types can be spotted among the crowd. I've counted many BMWs but no F800ST--yet. I know that at least one resides here because the owner participates in the F800riders.org forum that I frequent. I'm hoping to see him before I leave this incredibly interesting country. I have seen no HDs! None. Zip. Nada!

The "Policia" are fitted with motorcycles--pretty cool ones too. They ride dualsports and standards. The most popular is a white bike with the checked paint design and matching paint job for the helmet. I've taken many pics of motorcycles. I heard that there are motorcycle tours available. I'm still checking that out. They do have self guided tours in the SmartCar. It is equipped with a GPS that narrates the trip and tells you where to go. They also have a similar tour in a three wheeler, which is really a little car (like a three-wheel Piaggio) in a colorful, roofless body. The driver and passenger don helmets and it navigates through traffic just like the big cars--it sounds extremely motorcyclish!

I still don't get the driving here. Enough head scratching round-abouts to cause permanent brain damage. Yet, Lisboa would be a thrilling place to ride two wheels--once one gets accustomed to the curving streets, the steep climbs and sharp descents and the many many blind side streets that people seem to enter and exit with some mysterious order that keeps the traffic flowing but escapes logic.

The food is something to write home about! I've had some of the best grilled salmon ever! The gelado, local ice cream, is simply "to die for!" I speak not a word of Portuguese but my daughter is here with us and she is fluent. It is amazing to me to see her navigate her way around, take the public transportation system with ease, do all our food ordering and hotel negotiations.

For a price, I'm willing to share her. If you need a tour guide to any place where Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese, or Catalan, is spoken, she is available during the summers. All negotiations must go through her mother--and I get to come along.

This week away from my bike warrants a big trip when I return. I'm seriously thinking that another Saddle Sore is in order. Hmmm?