Marquette--just what the Doctor ordered..

Monday, August 6th.

Stayed in Marquette an extra day—I think I needed to recoup from Sunday. Glad I did. Until now, I'd only passed through Marquette. My hotel, the Econo Lodge on US 41, stands directly across Lake Superior. Never stayed in this chain but I liked that my room is meticulous and on the ground level, which means that Queenie is parked outside my door. I slept well, not once imagining thieves hauling her away. A couple of other bikes were in the lot but neither as cute as my gal-pal leaving me to believe that she’d be the first pilfered.

Marquette is a bustling port city of approximately 20,000 people, making it the largest city in the UP with a proud history that has contributed greatly to the railroad history and rail network across the nation. Called the Queen City of Northern Michigan, Marquette is a center for business, shopping, banking, medical services and recreation activities. It is home to Northern Michigan University, where the US Olympic Education Center stands as a place for promising olympic hopefuls to receive training on several sports. Given its proximity to Lake Superior, its diverse terrain, Marquette is a year-round sporting, outdoors, and recreational hotspot for recreational and serious athletes and families just wanting to get away and have some fun.

Marquette is a picturesque blend of the old and the new. Many of the region and nation’s big names in lumbering, iron ore (mining) and railroad development had residences here. Its historic district is well-preserved and the homes of some of the past developers remain. This place is a walker (and bicyclist’s) delight. If you visit the area, head for Arch & Ridge streets to see the stately homes, churches, and public buildings. According to Margaret Beattie Bogue, most of these structures were built in the “last three decades of the nineteenth century during the heyday of iron mining in the Marquette range.”

One of my favorite spot was the Marquette County Courthouse off Third Street near west Washington Street. This is a great old building still in use and open to the public. I hung around outside it. It is probably most famous as the setting for the Hollywood movie, starring Jimmy Stewart and Lee Remick, Anatomy of a Murder, based on the fictionalized account of a true incident that transpired in Big Bay, a town to the northwest of Marquette. The author of the novel was Robert Traver, who in real life was attorney and county prosecutor, John Voelker (now deceased).

Stopped by Book World Bookstore, formerly the Nordic Theater where the hand and footprints of Stewart and Remick could be seen. They’ve been removed to undergo repair after suffering water damage. Book World is a great bookstore and I managed to leave it with buying only one book, which doesn’t even count since it was on the region. This reminds me…does the GPS include bookstores?? Hmmm….The downtown area is a wonderful space that all the travel books proudly note has managed to resist over “malling” to preserve the unique history and charm of this area. In fact, some of these old structures have been transformed into unique grouping of stores where local artists display and sell their art.

I toured the Marquette Maritime Museum, where a retired volunteer with an IL connection (he used to live in Joliet) gave a passionate, detailed history of lighthouse, ships (and wrecks) and many suggestions on where to tour next. The lighthouse is now federal property, under the jurisdiction of the US Coast Guard and they let are unequivocal in letting you know it. Come on their property without permission and get ready for a serious strip searching and surrendering of your firstborn! They are not playing around. They now license the museum to give the tours and require participats to wear the blue badges handed out after you pay your fee—a new feature that our guide says he has to “remember” to collect at the end of each tour. You’ll be glad to know that if Elvis is out there in the water somewhere, the US Coast Guard is there, ready for the rescue.

Presque Isle Park is highly recommended. The park is perched on the northern edge of Marquette. The scenic drive out there follows the narrow Lakeshore Drive and is worth the slow speeds posted to get there. It is a public park that has everything: fabulous views, cliffs, hiking, biking, driving trails and pebble beaches. Bogue describes it as a “beautiful 323-acre forested peninsula.” In a word, it is breathtaking and highly endorsed by seemingly everyone around here.

I rode the narrow, winding path through the park and the only problem I have about such places is they often lack a decent shoulder for pulling off for a street motorcycle. This one definitely had places to park and many lookout points but these were often sandy and pebbly, making them a little challenging for my gal-pal—and we’ve got proof, which I don’t’ want to talk about! A keen eye on one of the pics might spot the proof, which is why I’ll always remember Presque Park for more than it beauty. I have no pics of the park itself, but when I pick up Marquette again at the end of my circle, I plan to hike or rent a bicycle to explore this area and give it its proper due. The cliffs looked inviting and to lunch near the Marquette Marine Harbor, while looking out on all the blue that is Lake Superior, would be a nice way to close the office start/end of the tour.

Yes, the extra day in Marquette was just the respite Queenie and I needed. We’re off to Canada today---but oh, so many stops before we get there.

Note to self: Beware the sand and wildlife!

Upper Peninsula--Finally!

Didn’t leave IL until Sunday—more than 24 hours later than planned! If I told you all the details that transpired that day, you wouldn’t believe it. At some point, I’ll write about the tale fully but for now, I’ll spare you the Academy Award winning drama and give you the highlights. (Sorry for the funky formatting--I'm experiencing some connection challenges).

Prepared to leave Saturday, August 4, 8:00 a.m.
Bike is packed. Queenie fires up and I make it, oh, about 100 ft.
Queenie sputters as if she has Whooping Cough. Recent check up=100% A-Okay.
She’s probably out of gas—I was on my way to fill up.
I cab it to the station #1. No gas container.
Station #2 has everything I need.
I add gas. Bike still sputters and coughs. Hmmm?
Bike will start but sputters and dies out when I open the throttle.
Shop sends someone to tow the bike.
I wait over 5 hours.

Two city tow trucks circle me. I’m parked in a tow zone. (Hum Steve
Goodman’s classic song, "Lincoln Park Pirates" about the towing
biz in Chicago).
Shop driver, a great guy, had car accident on his way to retrieve me.
Shop seems to come to a stop to attend to Queenie.
Shop owner offers me his BMW R1100R to ride around Lake Superior—he is serious and pulls out the bike to prepare it.

My mechanic uses his hands like a vacuum to suck and/or choke off
something and Queenie sounds like her throat is clear. All things check out.
Queenie is test-driven and passes with flying colors. She sounds great!
Debate ensues on whether I should go in a day or two.
I side with the test rider and plan for a Sunday departure.
Leave the shop after closing time. I love those guys!
Arrive home 6:00 p.m. Exhausted. Realize I’ve missed breakfast, lunch and
too exhausted to eat dinner now. I nap instead.

Sunday, August 5:

Awake at 4a.m. It is raining and Bob Dylan’s "A Hard Rain’s
Gonna Fall" pops into my brain.
I have pasta for breakfast and want to get moving ASAP.
I repack and reduce my load by one whole bag!
The weather has tuned stormy.
Four hours later, I hum Dylan again.
Hook or crook, I’m leaving as soon as possible
Rain predicted in parts of WI and MI.
11:30 a.m. the sky has brightened a little.
12:30, I am on the road.
Choke on, Queenie sputters. Open the throttle, she belches and coughs--a little.
She idles. Her throat seems to gradually clear.
I vow to ride for an hour to check things out.
I figure I need to run through the bad gas before it’s entirely out of her system.
I encounter gray skies and light rain throughout parts of IL and WI.
Queenie performs beautifully.

Green Bay, WI feels 20 degrees colder than in IL.
I stop every 90 minutes to stretch and drink—I even remember to have lunch.
Crossing into MI, it looks like I’ve avoided the rain in Menominee, MI.
I travel territory I covered on the Lake Michigan Circle Tour. I’m excited.
I can reach Marquette, MI, faster if I stay on US 41.
I take the more scenic M-35 and travel along the big waters of Green Bay.
In Escanaba, it’s like visiting an old friend met on the Lake Michigan Circle Tour.
It is getting dark and cold. Marquette is 67 miles away.
Next 17 miles are uneventful..
Pick up US 41 again near Rapid River.
Things get interesting.

The next 50 miles provide more adventure than I want—at a time when my
energy level is beginning to wane.
I motor along US 41 underneath a canopy of trees and dense forest.
It starts to get really cold, dark, and foggy.
The area is surrounded by rivers.
The misting is heavy.
Many cars are heading in the opposite direction but only the faint red light of
a car ahead of me.
A deer, my first sighting, darts into view. My heart leaps into my throat.
Through the mist and fog, I scan for deer and pray I don’t see any.
Prayers not answered.
Many alive and dead deer along the route. I am in full alert.
Every thing now looks like a deer—mailboxes, tree stumps, tree barks…
After a few miles, the mist and fog clears. The cold remains.
More deer sightings have spooked me. My bladder begs for release.
No place to pull off the road.
A sign warns that an upcoming bridge may be slippery when icy or wet.
I cross the bridge hoping it doesn’t collapse.
Signs for Marquette, trigger the adrenaline flow.

My hotel is across the street from Lake Superior.
I pull into the lot and shortly sink into sand! Good thing I was going slowly!
It is 9:50pm. I have been on the road over nine hours.
I settle in but am famished.
Hunger leads me out again to find the “Big Boy” the clerk claims is open.
It is not.

I head back. The hilly, curvy road is near black.
Over a hill, I am met with a deer—what is it doing out this late?
Its eyes look like two huge shiny gold pieces. We spook each other.
It freezes.
I swerve to the extreme left—not a deliberate, planned response—
but sheer panic! I remind myself that this trip will have many wildlife sightings like this!
The next two minutes are—thankfully—calm.

Safely inside my room, I have graham crackers and water for dinner.
I read to calm down.

I awake at 5am.
From my window, I see a magnificent purple-red sky over Lake Superior.

It is the dawning of a new day.

Sunday ride total: 390 miles

Route (sort of...) Mileage differences due to slightly different route and avoiding tolls.

No pictures yet.

Cleaner than the Board of Health!

Took Queenie in for a safety check before the big trip. While there, I saw a red, and I mean RED, 2004 BMW R1150R.

The owner, a collector, accessorized the bike in unique ways and in doing so he used only high quality, expensive parts for the modifications. I could tell by looking at it, that he left no stone unturned--even those ordinarily ugly plastic oil containers have been transformed into art. He's clearly given attention to every detail of the bike. To make his vision for the bike real, he had to import some of the bike's farkles and the result is a bike that looks more European BMW than American BMW. It is meticulous and unblemished. And, this is a bike that has been ridden. I think it had 14,000 miles on it. The lines of the lower fairing are one of a kind. Down to the screws, the bike is extraordinary. It looks brand new. His asking price is, well, pricey, and clearly aimed at recoup some of his investment in this work of sheer beauty. I hear, however, that he's building a new house and unloading some of his garage holdings. Hmmm... I wonder how far south he's willing to go on the price 'cause I'm willing to take this off his hands.

No ST ride, No Sleep, and No skates

Well, I didn’t get to ride the BMW R1200ST. The man who promised to buy it finally showed up and took it off the dealer’s hands. Boo-hoo! I met a woman at the BMW Rally who generously offered me a ride on hers. I just might take her up on that. I hate that BMW discontinued the bike. Wonder what’s in store to replace it?

The insomnia has started. I’ve strange sleeping habits to start with, so it doesn’t take much for sleeplessness to kick in. I’m already walking around zombie-like because I can’t settle down to sleep longer than a few hours at a time. As I’ve said before, I see this as part of the trip process for me. I’m preoccupied with thoughts about all the things I need to complete before I leave, the excitement of leaving, you name it.

No inline skates on the trip. More Boo-hooing. I will miss many scenic opportunities to skate in regions near Lake Superior. Riding a motorcycle isn’t the most aerobic outlet. Thus, skating would have ensured some heart-pumping activity on the trip. But alas,…they take up more space than I can spare. I’ll have to settle for taking a jump rope to launch each day and my hiking boots to explore Canada’s plentiful provincial parks.

I have three hours before heading off to work. I’m going to try again to get some shut-eye…

Circling Lake Superior--the countdown begins...

In eight days, I will leave for my second Great Lakes trip, 1500 miles around Lake Superior, not counting how long it will take me to get from Chicago to my official starting point, Marquette, MI. According to William Murphy, in Motorcycling Across Michigan, Lake Superior is the "crown jewel" of the Circle Tours. I trust Murphy's take on things as his depiction of the Lake Michigan Circle Tour was spot-on and indispensable to my magnificent journey last summer. Murphy transcends the basics by proffering little known aspects of the history and herstory of the area, by demystifying the local topography and by revealing the best motorcycle roads--all the information one expects from reading a great travel guide. I will not leave home without him.

While Murphy and other travel books usually cover the joys of travel, they rarely cover the angst and fears about travel, particularly solo travel. But some fear is healthy and we should talk about it. Within reason, I follow the "feel the fear and do it anyway" philosophy. I ride solo. I am female. I am black. Alone, anyone of those attributes can challenge the human spirit on any given day. Together, they always make for an interesting trip, especially in places where folks get their education about people who look like me from watching television, for example, "The Bill Cosby Show," "Law and Order" or late night comedy with Chris Rock. For the most part, folks are fine once they get over their initial shock and their "where did you come from" queries. I don't seek out the bad, but I must always prepare myself mentally for the dolts who will surely fling a few nasty epithets my way before I return home. As long as no one touches me, I ignore the ill-informed among us. And let it be known: I never travel entirely alone--if you know what I mean. I accept now that my anxieties are a way of getting me in shape, a way of preparing me for the road ahead and all the experiences it will engender.

To some some family members I should stay home, where it is safe. "Why," they ask, "put yourself in the line of fire?" "People are crazy," they remind me. Yet, staying at home is no panacea. To me, that's not living. In some ways, going out and about alone has saved me from an acute weariness about humankind that too often gets beneath my skin. Traveling near and far has reminded me that a lot of good remains. All I can do is promise to be careful and trust my intuition. I will expect the best but prepare for the worst. In the coming days, I presume that my bizarre, pre-trip night terrors will be ignited. This is one place where I don't listen to my gut. If I did, it would signal, no, it would scream: "Stay home!" In reality, I know this is only the subliminal work of my inner mind signaling me in its weird way to "Proceed with Caution," to "Be careful out there." At least this is what I tell myself.

So, I'll accept the inevitable night visions as par for the course. I'll treat the messages embedded there as cautionary tales reminding me to "ride smart, ride safe. And to boot, I'll toss a hammer in my luggage just in case I need to whack any ornery characters.

I have more than a few rituals I perform before a big trip, such as gearing up from head to toe, packing and unpacking and taking practice trips on the fully loaded bike. This prepares me for the ride in every way. Another ritual is the need for a new journal to capture my brain dumps. I buy journals of all kinds, probably as frequently as folks buy their favorite staple. Mine range from the cheap to the occasional expensive. Some I collect and never write in; others, I write in with no hesitation. Rare is the day, I don't journal. My current favorite is the little black classic Moleskine that writers and artists have loved for hundreds of years. Recently I found a cute spiral-bound journal for motorcycle riders. It arrived a day ago and although it lacks blank pages for writing long, stream of conscious thoughts, it's a keeper for anyone who wants to record the basics: mileage, motorcycle performance, restaurants, sites, accommodations and interesting people met along the way. I'll make room for it in my luggage. However, my ritual of penning a few morning pages before riding, will go into a journal I've had in my collection for years. For reasons I don't fully comprehend, I am only now ready to write on its wonderfully textured pages. I can almost hear the lake's call...

F800ST--addendum

I've had a couple of private emails regarding the seat height of the F800ST. It would have been so simply to link to the BMW website! You readers know that I typically over link--I simply forgot. Blame it on brain cells that refuse to fire up fully when they know they should be sleeping. So, here is BMW website . On it is everything you'll ever want to know about Beemers, Beemer accessories, Beemer testemonials, great Beemer pictures--you get the point.

The F800ST seat height, by the way, is 32.9 inches; however, you can order it in the low seat version that will take it to an amazing 31.1 inches. My understanding is that it can be raised a tad also with aftermarket seating options. The dry weight is 412lbs, with fluids, it is approximately 461lbs.

Try Googling, you'll find that the bike has been reviewed by almost every magazine and everyone except my 90 year old grandmother! Here's what the AMA had to say about it. Also check out Road Runner Motorcycle Touring and Travel magazine's (my favorite!) August '07 issue.

While you are at the site, register to win a "K" bike!

The BMW F800ST--Ride Review

The “F” in F800ST should stand for “Fun,” which is exactly my experience with the bike yesterday morning when I road tested one. I arrived early at Chicago BMW, hoping to beat any chance of the bike being checked out as a loaner for a service work agreement. I had planned also to test ride the one R1200ST in the shop but it was spit-shined and waiting to be retrieved by someone who had promised to purchase it that day. Sigh…I could only gaze at it a lot. I did get a detailed review of the bike from Ken at Chicago BMW. Thanks!!

I spoke with General Manager, Mike Abt and deeply appreciate the time he spent with me. He was patient, attentive and listened to my ramblings about what I needed and wanted, which really are two different things. Mike could give lessons to other salespersons, some of whom slight women buyers and worst, fail to listen to them when they explain their needs—don’t even get me started!

After taking the requisite driver’s license info and signing the waiver to eliminate any liability on BMW’s part, Mike rolled out the "gun-metal" F800ST to the side entrance with me at his heels trying to look calm as if I do this sort of thing everyday (inside I was downright giddy!). Mike gave me a mini intro on the bike’s functions and button locations. Immediately, I liked the instrument panel. It packs all the info one wants, some of which I currently lack, such as gear indicator and fuel gauge. The F800ST is liquid cooled and fuel injection so there is no need to fiddle with a choke. Yet, the bike, according to Mike, still requires a “couple of minutes” to warm up. On the coldest days, my choke only demands counting from 1-Mississippi to 30-Mississippi to awaken the engine. I know the pros and cons of EFI and carbureted bikes and air and liquid cools engines. It's all about tradeoff.

A little twist of the F800ST key fired the engine, and it purred instantly.

The turn signals are extending tabs on the F800ST, perfectly located at thumb’s reach on the right and left side slightly below the handlebar grip. The turn signal cancellation button is directly above the right turn signal. This placement seemed intuitive and never gave me pause! The cancellation button, however, did give me fits a few times, as I repeatedly and inadvertently opened the throttle while attempting to reach up for the cancellation button. This mistake gave me a chance to experience the F800ST’s responsiveness. It’s quick but still tamer than Queenie, who behaves more rocket-like at the start, whereas, the F800ST exhibited such responsiveness most in the higher gears? I may be explaining this all wrong. I’m trying to capture the feeling I got.

The kill switch is a little red lever that pokes out above an alternate ignition switch. A no-frills instrument panel is easy to read and fun to refer to for information. I have, on more occasions than I care to admit, forgotten what gear I’m in and have tried to shift to 6th only to discover I’m already in 6th . I’ve also downshifted and miscalculated the bottom gear. Fortunately, I’ve outgrown this newbie habit—well, for the most part. Still, knowing what gear I’m in, having my tire pressure and fuel monitored is not a luxury. It might be good stats to compare the bike’s tire pressure with my digital tire pressure gauge. For similar reasons, I’ve been fascinated at my record keeping of how my bike’s odometer varies from the GPS reading.

Before mounting the bike, an observant BMW worker placed huge strips of blue tape along the lower tank of the bike to preclude scratches from the metal of my jacket zipper. Several spectators were hanging around the garage waiting and inside the shop I saw other (men) watching the instructions I was being given on the bike. Now, I’m certain they were watching the bike. Still, this made me a tad self-conscious in that I’m always feeling that I don’t have the freedom to make mistakes around men, particularly men I don’t know. I don’t know why I even care. I assume that they are waiting for me to make an error, do something stupid and attribute that to gender. This is probably TMI but it’s how I feel. I do a lot of self-talking to let this kind of stuff go. I feel similarly about race too. Oh, the crosses I bear!

I mount the bike and my goal is a smooth take off without bucking or killing the engine. Mike gives me some suggestions of where to ride and states, “Take your time.” I wiggle onto the seat. I am not flat-footed but three-quarters is enough to feel confident. The bike feels narrow and my knees hug the tank with a familiarity that makes me feel as one with the bike. I slowly ease out the clutch and feel for the friction zone. I find it and pull slowly to the stop sign. I feel eyes on me. As I wait for the road to clear, I glance toward the showroom and see about three males watching. I wiggle the bike side to side. It feels light. When I see a respite in the busy Western Avenue traffic, I visualize the sharp right turn, pull easily out and I’m off.

At the next light, I make a right turn onto Pratt. The bike feels amazingly agile even though a fairing surrounds me. I deliberately left out the earplugs, as I wanted to hear the parallel twin engine and compare it to the pleasing sound of my V-twin. The F800ST has a distinct sound and seemed slightly louder, but perhaps it wasn’t louder--just different. I did hear a clear “clunk” sound when shifting gears, particularly downshifting. Yet, gearing was smooth and precise, taking far less foot pressure than my SV. The bike accelerated unexpectedly several times but that’s my fault from trying to reach the turn signal cancellation button while maintaining a steady throttle. Once I became cognizant of my hand movement, I was more precise and that solved the surprise accelerations. Speaking of acceleration, I noticed that the throttle was not as sensitive as my SV. I’m not sure how to explain this well. With just a bit more flex of the wrist than necessary, my gal-pal bike will take flight! The F800ST appeared not to be as sensitive--at least in the lower gears. However, I felt its responsiveness in fourth and fifth gear. I think this might be what people mean about low end versus midrange or high-end torque—but I don’t know for sure. I just know how it felt.

Turning the F800ST is a breeze. How a bike that weights nearly 50 lbs more than mine can feel at least that much lighter, is beyond me! But it did. Perhaps the location of the gas tank accounts for some of this. On the F800ST, the gas tank is behind the rider seat, which is huge plus for me! I detest wasting time tampering with my tank bag to get at the gas tank. Imagined the minutes saved on a timed ride if you never had to tinker with the tank bag. Locating it behind the seat is an idea I love.

Leaning the F800ST is easy fun. Getting onto Kedzie Avenue required a nice wide turn, which I take in third gear and the bike leans with ease. One moment of puzzlement occurred when I looked down at the bike’s front and witnessed that the fairing doesn’t move (Duh). Of course, the front wheel moves but it is encompassed by the fairing, preventing me from watching the tire's movement. (Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to be looking there, but I'm test riding, so I'm excused this time). In my peripheral vision, on my bike, I can see my front wheel turn. When I stole a glance at the F800ST and watched the fairing remain straight when I pressed on the handlebars, it was a strange sensation. I wondered why the bike didn’t seem to be moving in the direction of the turn. The wheel was simply harder to see. It reminded me of my transition from a VW beetle (a hundred years ago) to a VW Sirocco. In that first car, I could see the ground beyond the car’s hood, which I couldn’t in the second car. Looking through the Sirocco’s windshield only allowed me to see its hood! It took some getting used to before I fully trusted that the wheels were responding to my turn directions. It took a few turns to ignore the fairing and once I did, I sat back and let the bike do its job, which it did beautifully. Finally, I made a deliberate quick-stop to see if the ABS would kick in; unfortunately, I can’t say I noticed since I’ve never ridden an ABS bike. Nonetheless, the F800ST definitively and smoothly executed an exclamation point stop.

The Beemer took about two minutes to feel comfortable on. I felt on intimate ground with the bike--almost instantly. While riding I continued to think of my SV. The F800ST feels like its tamer sibling. It is a fun, flickable bike thanks to a slim, narrow frame that made me want to hug it. Does it have the SV fun factor? I’d need to put on far more miles on it to answerr that but I will say it’s not a bike easily dismissed. I tried to imagine the bike after 300 miles of riding and I smiled at the thought.

The distance from my knees to my feet on the pegs felt right—a tad roomier and perhaps bent back a bit more than my SV. The seating position was back-friendly and I liked the handlebars, which are wide like the SV. The windscreen was tall enough to provide protection on the open road. Tucking low and leaning forward, if necessary, on the ample tank will be comfortable on those breezy head wind days.

Well, I’ve rambled on long enough to say, there are many things I like about the F800ST and a lot of things I loved. Is it the bike for me? I don’t know. I did get a little “Wow” out of the ride. That it has ways similar to my SV gives me reason to pause before fully embracing it as my next bike. Do I need more of a challenge when I move up? Or is staying almost where I am but having a few more toys at my finger tips sufficient? I could live with it as my next bike if I decided to. But what is it I really want?

I am struggling with wrapping my brain around owning any bike over a certain cc. Perhaps I shouldn’t focus so much energy on displacement. I can’t help it, though. I’m not convinced that I need anything over 650cc; thus, even an 800cc will be a stretch-even if just mental. Nor am I convinced that I need major bhp. More than 20 years ago, when I first learned to ride on a Honda CB360—before specialization—people rode smaller displacement bikes that had no problem taking them where they wanted to go.

As I go through the process of deciding what to purchase, I am reminded of Robert Pirsig, in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Pirsig’s long trip with his young son as a passenger was on a 1964 Honda Superhawk CB77—a 350cc motorcycle! Ernesto “Che” Guevara’s legendary adventure (with a passenger) from Argentina to North America, was launched on a 1939, 500cc Norton.
I’m looking forward to riding more bikes. The more I research and test ride, the more I’ll learn what I will or will not live without on a motorcycle. No matter what I purchase, the choice will be a tradeoff and I’ll live with those limitations. Happily, I hope. This time next season, this will all be a memory.

Travels tips from Whitehorse Press

Hot off the press, from Whitehorse Press--a major motorcycle publisher and retailer--is The Essential Guide to Motorcycle Travel: Tips, Technology, Advanced Techniques by Dale Coyner. I’m reading it now and will finish before August 3, when I depart for my Lake Superior Circle Tour. I saw this book and didn’t think I needed it. I feel I’ve gotten the three “Ps” down pat: preparation/planning, packing, and patience. Last year, I remember that someone emailed me and said they had been following my preps and enjoyed my stories but he felt that I “plan too much” and that I should just get on with the trip. I’ll admit to a touch of anal retentiveness when it comes to trip planning. We do what works for us. He’s sounds like the type who enjoys hopping on his iron horse and taking off into the sunrise. I like spontaneity too. But as a female, there are some things I need to consider that he might not because he is male. I’m not being sexist here. I believe both genders face similar challenges but let’s be honest. Statistically, men assault women far more than the reverse. Some men, if they think they can get away with it, are always up to exerting power over the less powerful.

Physically, most women cannot easily drop a man. Without a little “something extra,” to help me, I am no competition for the average male. The chances of a lone man being confronted by evildoers are less than that of a lone woman being confronted. Riff-raff prefer easy targets and unfortunately, children, women, the disabled, and elderly are perceived as easy marks. (Notice to all riff-raff men: I never leave home without something to protect myself. I will use it. Moreover, I will fight to the death if forced to defend myself). And, don’t get me started on some folks' archaic cross-racial dispositions and behavior! I won’t elaborate here but trust me, some folks are still living and thinking like it was 1955. Thus, there are things and issues that I, because of who I represent to others, need to be cognizant of before I head out. Hopping on my iron horse without being deeply prepared is downright irresponsible. We all have our crosses to bear.

Back to the new book. When I saw it, I figured it would be a good read. Besides, I’ve been impressed with other Whitehorse Press publications, such as, Mark Zimmerman’s, The Essential Guide to Motorcycle Maintenance: Tips & Techniques to Keep Your Motorcycle in Top Conditions; Ron Ayers’ Against the Wind: A Rider’s Account of the Incredible Iron Butt Rally and his, Going the Extra Mile: Insider Tips for Long-Distance Motorcycling and Endurance Rallies. Like these titles, Conyer’s Travel book is exhaustively research and fun to read. Section III on “Outfitting Your Bike,” is cutting edge with info on mounts, adhering cameras to your motorcycle and using camcorders, entertainment and communication systems (e.g., satellite radio) to accompany your on your trip. The chapter on “Cockpit Instruments” is worth the price, particularly if you’re a novice when it comes to navigation devices. Tons of product information and clear instructions, for example, on soldering and modifying one’s ride before heading out.

I will say more about this book as I continue to read it. For those about ready to take their first trip or for those seasoned travelers who want to streamline their packing and planning, don’t wait on my review: get this book now!

The risks we take to live...

This morning, I was up before the crows. I had planned to get out early for some sunrise picture taking before heading off to work. Instead, I journaled a little, still enjoying some lingering euphoria from the BMW rally and hoping to capture some additional thoughts about the event--yes, I know, I do far too much navel gazing (I really do know this about me). But my experience over the weekend was personally noteworthy as I tend to gravitate away, rather than toward groups. So to have such a grand time occupying roughly the same space with nearly 8000 people is huge for me. And, I had fun too.

But while feeling the remaining endorphins, I came across another post rally news story that gave way to sad reflection. On Monday, the Rourks, a motorcycle couple with a sidecar was on their way home from the rally when they collided with a car and were killed.

Life is full of risks. I know that for some people, non-riders particularly, riding a motorcycle is a crazy, unnecessary risk. Why we do it is grist for a future blog entry. This post is about how a wonderful event for some can turn so easily into a personal tragedy for others. Motorcycle riders, if nothing else, must be an incredibly faithful lot. Every time we mount the bike we have faith that the ride will start and end safely. We have faith that our skills will prevail over the incredibly thoughtless things we see in the behavior and attitude of our fellow humans. We have faith that our ever-evolving riding skills will allow us to successfully manage any unanticipated road challenges. Even the wild, seemingly death-wish, daredevil riders have faith that their flagrant riding style will not be a death knell.

Whether on two wheels or four, we hope that people will drive carefully, that they will stay in their lane, that they will behave thoughtfully. The reality often deviates from our faith. But what's a person to do but live life fully in spite of it all?

The unsettling news about the couple, as disturbing as it is, made me wonder about their lives, what they must have been like, their personalities, their courage, and their faith. What brought them joy? Given the couple's journey to WI from West Palm Beach, FL, they must have loved motorcycling to ride the 1,438 miles one way. In West Bend, they spent time enjoying the company of new and old friends; and, if they had half the fun I did, they left on a high note, filled with warm, shared memories. Life really is short. We should all try to live it well. I hope the Rourks lived well.
R.I.P.

BMW International Rally--July 12-15, 2007

Day 1—Friday night

I should be sleeping now, but my excitement about what the day promises precludes that. I am at the BMW International Rally in West Bend, WI, approximately 41 miles northwest of Milwaukee, which is where “home base” is for me. I couldn’t get a hotel any closer.

This is not meant to be a long ride report. Just wanted to convey my initial impressions. Well, I’m loving it! Nothing like that other rally I attended a few weeks ago…let’s just say, I can definitely see myself attending another BMW rally.

Right off the bat, I felt comfortable rolling in the Washington County Park Fairgrounds. My head to toe gear-wearing preference was inline with seemingly everyone else. Needless to say, I didn’t stick out. Serious brand loyalty exists among the BMW crowd too, but it is not over the top and fringes don’t seem mandatory. And riding my SV650 here is a non-issue; in fact, I got many positive comments about my bike. Many non-BMWs showed up, which conveys, to me at least, a level of tolerance that I certainly didn’t experience at that other rally.

Several highlights: Although I arrived Friday and the event started Wednesday, many intriguing seminars are left for me to participate in, leaving me feeling as if I’ve not missed all the great stuff. When I arrived Friday afternoon, I did so only fifteen minutes before the “Women who Ride” seminar. It was great! Unfortunately, I missed, “Women who Ride Alone,” which Helen Two Wheels presented earlier that day. Tomorrow, I plan to attend “Women of the Iron Butt” among many other sessions. Much to select from—almost too much.

One joyous highlight: I finally met D.Brent Miller! He’s at the rally on behalf of Road Runner magazine. Two minutes into my search for him (the grounds are mammoth), I found his vendor spot. We read each other’s blog and have chatted via phone a couple of times. I’ve admired his work in Road Runner (RR), and his beautiful photography. Before I even knew Miller, I had read one of his RR articles and enjoyed it—what a small planet to later be in the company of Brent! In between promoting RR, we chatted about magazines, photography and family. Brent’s one of those souls who makes communicating easy. As a former professor of journalism, Miller has that gift of meaningful gab. When talking to him, one can’t help but learn some new, intriguing and useful things by the conversation’s end.

Another amazing super-highlight: Drum roll, please…I met Ardys Kellerman! Visualize me with my arms extended above my head, waving them from side to side--or imagine me flicking a Bic lighter in a darkened room as they do, I’m told, at rock concerts. Kellerman was part of a woman’s seminar panel. Her information and humor kept me on my seat’s edge. She is just too cute for words! I also met her daughters, Susan and Ellen. I’ll share this: I gladly would have paid far more than the $35 rally fee to see Ardys Kellerman! I now understand what it must feel like to be a groupie. I had a momentary urge to toss an undergarment. When meeting Ardys Kellerman, I felt myself in the presence of greatness. She is one of those rare sprits who walks the earth. She is exactly how I imagined her to be: kind and friendly with a warm face that is lined with adventures that a week of telling about couldn’t do justice. Meeting Ardys was like connecting with someone you’d swear you’ve known all your life.

I look forward to Day 2 and more joy.

Day 2

Saturday started with a nice 41 miles to the rally site—what a great way to start and end each day! Given my distance from the rally, I wasn’t about to arrive at 4 a.m. to queue up for a demo ride, which one of the BMW folks said would guarantee me a spot. If I’d brought my tent, I might have camped out but alas, I didn’t. In the end, I didn’t miss being unable to take demo rides. The rides were conducted in small groups, under the auspices of a ride guide—too much like a group ride to me. But hanging out at the BMW tent, talking to BMW owners, picking their brains about their bikes, saddling up to Sylvia, a BMW super employee, and learning about the bikes was a huge plus—probably more valuable than a demo ride.

I had a blast at the rally. Just studying one of the many bikes parked along the ground was enough to spark a dialogue. I met many new faces and re-connected with a few. Met Sandra H, a friend of Denise M, whom I finally met at the Galena rally in June after a year of occasional email exchanges. Sandra generously allowed me to sit on her bike while giving me an impressive, super positive review of her R1200ST. I’ve since spent hours researching the bike. It’s now made my short list that includes the F800ST and the F800GS that is rumored to be announced sometime in the fall. The folks at the rally were hugely friendly, reaching out and striking up conversation left and right. (Note: This friendly atmosphere was so contrary to the June rally I mentioned and still can’t bring myself to post what I wrote about it). The people I met from the Chicago BMW owners group, like Christy, really made the event special. I look forward to future interactions.

The number of self-educated bike historians was amazing. Every conversation seemed to gravitate to an oral history about one’s bike—I love such passion and as a history major, I appreciate the lessons. BMW folks support, through dress, the BMW brand. I watched the women. Their support manifested itself differently than the women at the other rally (sorry to keep mentioning something I’ve yet to post about. Clearly, it has left a painful thorn in my side that I can’t help picking at). No leather bras, vests, or fringes to be found. The cultures are different and the cultural expressions reflect the differences. While I won't say that one is better than the other is, I will say, from the beginning, I felt an affinity for this one over the other. Much of this can be attributed to one group reaching out to include others while the other did not. With the exception of two absolutely lovely women at the other rally, with whom I hope to stay in touch, that first rally experience was painful.

Even the unwanted attention I received at the BMW rally because of my long wooly hair, didn’t bug me--much. Ordinarily, such interest gets tiring fast, I am soon peeved, and it shows. One man asked me, “How do you ride with all that hair-what do you do with it?” I’ll spare you my thoughts. Rather than looking annoyed—my usual disposition after hearing the question the umpteenth time. I explained that I sometimes, if I don’t pony tail it with a series of elastic bands, ride like a 21st century Medusa, with tentacles flying out from my helmet. Another one touched my hair and made some statement about “cool.” It amazes me that perfect strangers will do such things. Touching without knowing or permission should be grounds for beheading but I digress…Nonetheless, the overall experience put me in a perpetually good, sociable mood.

The seminars were plentiful and impressive and extended throughout the day and into the early evening. I attended one on riding with pain, led by a doctor. Thought I might get some insights in the leg cramps I occasionally feel after 150 miles or so—actually, they’ve gotten better, but still…The session was highly informative because it talked about the effects that over-the-counter and prescriptions drugs have on riding. Microscopic changes in one’s chemistry can have macroscopic effects. The strategies mentioned on getting and staying healthy were excellent reminders. It was rather striking when the doc mentioned that in the packed room; approximately 85% of us were dehydrated at that very moment. Bingo! I know that I’m working on staying hydrated and I do believe that has helped address the leg cramps. I attended another seminar led by motorcycle guru David Hough. Just golden! No matter how good a rider one is, a corner not executed well can take you out! His graphics and lively, funny interaction with the audience really made the lessons stick. All the seminars I attended had standing room only; the overflow often extended beyond the door, with people craning to hear and see.

Another attention grabber was being one of a microscopic minority of black women present. I met, I think, all of the black males there and the other female I saw. I know what it’s like to be the only fly in the buttermilk, so to speak. Therefore, I appreciated meeting Charles and his wife from the Rockford area, Magic Scott and Rodgers and others. I look forward to seeing them again.

Overall, a spectacular rally. If I have a complaint it was that I didn’t arrive on Thursday, the first full day of the rally. Meeting Ardys Kellerman was the thrill of a lifetime! Moreover, finally meeting Brent Miller made the two days I spent in West Bend special.

I have found my people. I depart with a belly full of information, new bike knowledge, new friends and enough memories to last until the 2008 rally in Gillette, Wyoming.



Post Rally note:

Sadly, I must close this post with awful news. I now know of two accidents during the rally, one fatal. The first occurred at the gates of the rally when a rider’s back tire slipped on a road obstacle. After a few stitches, the rider is fine; the bike is not. On Sunday, when so many were heading home, the fatality occurred. A WI female, drunk driver hit an IA male rider head on and killed him. The sad story is here.


More rally pics

Back among the living...

Been doing far more riding than writing lately. But I’m back! Visited Brookfield Zoo (BZ) recently, a place I haven’t been since the darling daughter was a little one—at least 15 years! I don’t remember the cost back then, but visiting BZ now isn’t cheap! In addition to an $8 parking fee, I forked over an admission fee and three separate fees to visit specialty section: children’s zoo, the dolphin arena, and a butterfly exhibit. Let’s just say, I spent $25 before seeing one animal. I couldn’t help think about a family outing with multiple children—don’t even think about feeding the little ones once you get in. A regular (it was small) soda was $2.25! Free refills if you wanted to spend $3.25 on a large drink. Let’s encourage greed! I realize that dollars are needed for the care and feeding of the zoo’s residents and for the staff and animal trainers. Still, it was a rude awakening.

Unfortunately, I went on Sunday, a scorching, sultry, humid day to which only small children seemed oblivious as they ran about thrilled at the sights, smells, and sounds around them. However, many of the animals had sense enough to avoid their outdoor quarters, preferring instead the cooler indoors. The few animals outside were motionless and resting in wet areas or buckets watered for their comfort. Some sat placidly underneath shaded foliage.

The ride to Brookfield was uneventful. Even thought it was hot, I remain comfortable in my head-to-toe gear. I wore a short mesh jacket and lightweight textile over pants. Amazingly, my tall Sidi boots were not noticeably hot. I saw other bikers out. I don’t buy it that riding without gear keeps them cooler. Certainly, their skin must be hot as the sun beats down on them. Without protection, the skin is a huge target not just for sunburn but…road rash in the event of an accident.

After parking the bike, I removed my gear and immediately I noticed my skin heating up and I wished for more riding. As long as I’m riding, I’m fine; it’s when I stop that I am aware of the heat.

BZ offered an opportunity to test drive a new camera lens, a 70-300 mm Nikkor zoom that seems to be a comfortable handheld lens. Still, I probably should have waited for a cooler day when the animals would surely have been more active and visible.

The return trip had me to thinking about some road challenges and situations that are beyond my control. I’ve written about this before but some of them bear repeating. I can be the best, most safety conscious rider in existence, aware of all the risk involved in riding a motorcycle, riding always with my head in the ride and still encounter road and people challenges that can end my life. For me, donning gear is a necessary part of my riding. Always wearing gear, always having to take the time to put it on reminds me to “get” my head and body prepared for the ride. Just as checking out the bike is a ritual that reminds me to stay abreast of what needs to be tightened, inflated, filled, etc. Jumping on the bike, pressing the starter button and taking off is way too easy. I’ve watched people do just that. Hop on, start ‘er up and take off while I’m still hooking up and snapping gear, positioning my helmet, pulling on my gloves (there are people who ride gloveless) and hiking up the pants so that my leg movement is not obstructed in any way. As I go through these rituals, my mind considers the risks I’m about to accept. Rather than make me fearful, it makes me confident that I’m doing all that I can to stay safe.

As I’m riding, I do a lot of self-talking. I see a driver and I say, “What is s/he planning to do, does s/he see me? As many other rides have said, “I ride as if I’m invisible.” I never assume anyone sees me. And never do I take for granted that someone will obey the traffic laws. Never do I ride through an intersection without covering the brakes and slowing down some. I trust only that someone will behave badly and I should ride prepared. Amazingly, doing so does not detract from the joy of motorcycling. After awhile, the scanning for dangers and hyper vigilance become second nature.


On the return trip, I saw what has unfortunately become normal bad driving behavior: people talking on cell phones, eating and/or drinking, anti-signal lane changers, lane straddlers, tailgaters and the ubiquitous left turner, who even when the turn is not completed, often sticks the car out so far in the turn lane that an accident could still happen. I try to stay away from such drivers. It requires an acute surveillance and solid ride skills that become mandatory to stay safe. A couple of days ago, I found myself next to a woman who had a newspaper folder over her steering wheel. I call that deadly multitasking!

Sunday, thought blistering, turned out to be a great day for Interstate riding because the breeze brushing through the mesh jacket was enough to keep me cool and focused. I enjoyed riding along at 55 mph--ok, I did more than 55mph but only to keep up with the flow of traffic, Officer.

Rides and Rain

June 16th weekend turned out to be mostly local riding. My total: around 125 miles tops. For the most part, the weather was gorgeous. It was my luck that the two times it rained—and it really rained—I was riding in it.

I attended a “Rocker” bike show on the near north side of Chicago. Johnny, the owner of Motorworks, invited me to the Saturday event. Attending a bike show got my attention immediately. Bikes of all periods, manufactured and homemade, and a diverse assortment of riders promised to make this a worthwhile event. The group ride feature, gave me pause. At the end of the show, the bikers would assemble and ride back to Motorworks for a complimentary Fish & Chips dinner. If you know nothing about me, know this: I have no conscious desire to ride with a group. The one and only time I’ve ridden with anyone, doesn’t really count because, we never had a chance, due to heavy traffic, to ride side-by-side. I’m truly solo.

For those who are in a club or who enjoy social riding, I say “Godspeed and more power to you.” I’ve tried to get into a group mindset once or twice before, imagining the group rumbling through the city or some small town. Let me tell you, just envisioning it elevates my blood pressure.

The bike show was fabulous! Motorcycles and scooters galore! Vintage bikes and new and experimental machines lined the streets. One could observe the evolution of motorcycle manufacturing and design. With many of the bikes segregated into country of origin, one could visually appreciate how the German, British, and Italian, for example, developed throughout their history.

A diverse crowd strolled along Lincoln Avenue for blocks to drool over the ‘cycles. The crowd ranged from rather conservative looking riders to some way out, free sprits donning tight black jeans and matching tee-shirts, chains, tattoos, and piercings, all co-existing for their shared motorcycle passion.

The day was hot and bright. By 3:30, however, the rains came. I hid under an awning until it subsided. At 4pm, the time the group ride was scheduled to begin, yet nothing appeared to be moving on that front. I left and once again avoided a group ride. The rainy ride home was cooling and the wait before riding prevented motoring on overly slippery streets. I was able to anticipate the few slick spots. Rain-riding demands a change in riding style and pace. The space cushion should be larger, stopping should be even more carefully controlled, and footing must be monitored. Stepping down on an slick spot can be unsettling (don’t ask me how I know this).

I arrived home with only enough time to change jackets. I needed to be 90 minutes south of where I was and it looked like I’d be lake. One golden rule I have for myself: No rushing on a motorcycle for it is far better to arrive late than not at all. I switched jackets four times, thinking that the rain was over and I didn’t need to ride with a multipurpose jacket. Alternatively, I could ride with a mesh jacket and take my rain over-jacket in case I needed it. I bet on the rain being over (I was wrong) and took a jacket that was only so-so when it comes to rain.
When I left, the sky seemed brighter and the rain clouds appeared to be swiftly moving away—actually they were but in the direction I was heading. With high humidity and barely a breeze, my mesh-leather jacket with perforation seemed perfect. Getting out of the city required extreme patience and I ignored what appeared to be epidemic rudeness in drivers. The snail’s pace was just long enough for the weather to change again. Forty minutes into the trip, the sky darkened considerably. The bumper-to-bumper traffic followed me out of the city. Not until I reached the Interstate did the traffic ease some. Ten miles from my destination, the sky opened. Within minutes, the interstate turned into a very ugly place.

Not only is a stretch of interstate under construction, with the usual construction hazards, people tend to ride on the Bishop Ford Expressway as if it is their personal Indy 500! Rain does not appear to deter bad driving behavior. It is one thing to exercise extreme caution when weather conditions are favorable, doing so when the weather is not, will make you a true believer if you’re not.

The rain was not normal. It whipped horizontally. I know they say it’s not good to ride in the rain those first 15 minutes or so. The rain needs time to wash away the oils and grease that have built up on the road. But I do not see a safe place to pull off. I keep the throttle steady but could feel the back tire wiggle a bit, indicating a momentary lost of traction now and again. Now I’m riding without the rain jacket on. My windshield needs to be wiped off every few seconds. As cars pass, I’m being splashed. Fortunately, I have on waterproof pants and the jacket, while decent, is only water resistant—that makes a difference.

I deal with conditions until the left and right hand lanes become flooded. I have only about ten miles to my destination. But things begin to deteriorate quickly. I see an overpass and hope that the underpass has a wide shoulder for me to pull over. As I approach it, I see that the shoulder leading to the underpass is flooded and littered with construction debris. I ease off the throttle and try to get into the right hand lane. Cars, obviously driven by people with a death wish, zoom by as if they do not notice the rain. I make my way to the underpass and leave the bike in neutral with the engine running. I become worried that someone will get target fixation, see me and crash into me. I sit there imagining being killed while sitting on a motorcycle NOT riding on a motorcycle. I weigh the dangers and decide that I will try to wait until the rain subsides. I turn my head to watch the traffic. I figure if I see a car aiming in my direction, I can move out of the way before impact.

I call the family to say I’m caught in the rain. The connection goes through but I can’t tell if I’m heard. I only hear a voice say, “Hello” a few times. My wait lasts 10 minutes. The rain does not appear to be stopping any time soon. I wipe off my visor, adjust my clothing and still forget to put on the rain jacket! I carefully pull out into the traffic and out of nowhere someone changes lanes and he is dang near hugging my rear tire. I try to forget about that and motor on.

The next ten miles are wet, uncomfortable and humbling. I arrive safely and enjoy great company and great food—both of which calm my frayed nerves and help me shelve the memory of the “adventurous” rainy ride.

Rain update: On Monday, I was caught in another rainstorm! I left the suburbs around 6pm, heading for the city. Huge rain difference. This was a gentle, steady rain—no blowing and whipping; also, I had on rain gear. Consequently, I was comfortable the entire 1 hour 15 minute ride. I settled in, relaxed and enjoyed the trip. The temperature was pleasant, the heavy traffic was going in the opposite direction and those traveling in my direction seemed saner than the weekend crowd did. I enjoyed the ride because I felt safe and snuggly inside my protective gear. I don’t like rain riding and I certainly don’t seek it out. But I need to be comfortable in it. Rain riding is one of those things that you can read about, but the only way truly to handle riding in it is to ride in it. I’m grateful for these recent opportunities to practice. Now, go away, rain. Please!

(Late) Ride Report: Sunday, June 10, 2007—Hennepin Canal Parkway State Park, Sheffield, IL

Picture-perfect weather on Sunday made the 130 mile trek to Sheffield pure pleasure even though I followed the interstate most of the way... At least this time, I started out early. The new Givi top case exceeded my expectations. I used it to tote my hiking clothes and boots, a book, a SLR camera and several bottles of water. Although it is tricky to open, like the Givi side cases, it’ll loosen up with use.

By late Saturday night, I still had no definite travel plans for Sunday. I decided to head southwest for Hennepin Canal Parkway State Park because it jumped out at me from the atlas. I figured I’d tour the state park and visit the locks. The park is located in the town of Sheffield, IL. It is festival time in Chicago and every weekend is guaranteed to be replete with people and vehicles. I had to wage war to get out of the city. I followed LSD (US 41) south for a brief moment to pick up I-55, which I followed approximately 43 miles to pick up I-80, which took me the next 85 or so miles. I passed through the town of Hennepin, which had I planned better, I would have known to exit there to visit the locks in Hennepin.

I-80 was littered with an extraordinary amount of fresh road kill—big animals-- several deer and huge raccoons that all appeared to have been killed recently. I tried not to focus on the carcasses but I kept my peripheral vision on high alert for animals darting across the highway. Thank goodness, none did. That’s one of the down sides of leaving early--you’re motoring at the breakfast time of four-legged creatures. I made a mental note to leave the park long before their dinnertime.

Hennepin Canal Parkway State Park is a “104.5 mile linear park that spans five counties.” Now listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the canal connects the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers. The place has lots of impressive history about canal construction, politics, and funding. While construction began in 1890, the canal wasn’t completed until 1907. Today, 32 of its 33 locks are still viewable and six of its original aqueducts exist. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any of this! I had to be content with reading about it in the park’s literature. Hennepin is where I would have gotten a better look at the lock system. I saw the park on the map and headed there. A bicycle would have gotten me to the locks easily from the park. (Note to self: This is what happens with eleventh hour decisions about where to ride.) Oh, well... I made the best of my visit to Sheffield and it turned out to be a nice solitary experience. Few people were in and around the park, which became a little spooky after a mile of hiking along one of the unpaved trails that paralleled the river. While out there, I had one of those moments that freaked me. With nothing but trees on one side and the river on the next, I thought of some half-man half-beast leaping from the thick trees attacking me and leaving behind only my head and my camera.

I spent several hours hanging around the park and probably saw a dozen people total. The quiet and serenity of the place was punctuated only by the melodious singing of birds. Bright red cardinals, beautiful blue jays and gold-colored birds swooped across the sky, squawking to alert others of their kind to the presence of a two-footed creature. The most striking sound was the steady “knock-knock” of woodpeckers that I heard all along the trail but never spotted. Their hullabaloo was hearty and consistent. Those new binoculars I purchased—and the National Audubon Society Field Guide to Birds—would have been put to great use on this trip! (Note to self: toss those items into the cases so that they are always on hand!)

I hung around a few hours, experiencing the park’s magnificence on foot and on two wheels, riding its paved roads. Queenie received her share of attention. When I first entered the park, three men and one woman were eating lunch at a picnic table. I parked the bike and headed for the Visitor’s Center—it wasn’t open. So I read the literature they thoughtfully put out. Returning to the bike, one of the men said they were wondering what kind of bike I had. I told them and he walked over. He seemed surprised and said, “We were thinking it was an Italian bike or something because it was so quiet. Yeah, I placed it as a Ducati or the Moto Guzzi.” When I told him it was a Suzuki, his head raised and he looked at me in disbelief. He eyeballed the bike as if trying to verify its roots. “Really, it’s Japanese, a Suzuki? Wow, it’s so quiet.” Later, as I was preparing to leave the park, another man loading his family’s bicycles onto their vehicle, eyed Queenie. “What kind of bike is that?” I told him and he said he’d never seen one like that. “Pretty bike.” I’ve said it before: I like people who like my bike! Queenie’s aftermarket accessories make her difficult to label at a glance. I like that. Keep ‘em guessing.

My idea to run by Hennepin was quelled when I realized it was getting late, I hadn’t had lunch or dinner and was starving. I ate a granola bar before leaving but it didn’t hit the spot.

Jumped on I-80 east and road about 25 uneventful miles until hunger nearly slapped me upside the head. Stopped at a Steak ‘n Shake and had a really good grilled cheese sandwich and a raspberry yoghurt shake. Either that was the best grilled cheese sandwich (with cheddar cheese) that I’ve had or being famished makes even mundane food taste fabulous. At the first bite, I felt my blood sugar level perk up! Such a small thing like stopping to eat can make a huge difference in ride enjoyment—duh!

After that meal, I thoroughly enjoyed riding the next 105 miles back to Chicago. Before the riding season ends, I’m making a trip to Hennepin to see those dang locks and to rollerblade along the many paved trails that follow the river.

Total distance: 260 miles