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

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

Woman Seeking Women

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!

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

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."

Saturday: Street Riding Technical Training (SRTT) class!

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!

The countdown begins…flower sniffing on the horizon!

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…

A "Welcome Back" Ride Report

On Saturday, I went for a motorcycle ride with Dave. He is the proud owner of Queenie, my former '01 Suzuki SV650. Other than the recent motorcycle safety classes and subsequent parking lot practicing, he hasn’t ridden a motorcycle in more than 25 years. In the late seventies, he purchased a red and black Honda CB360, which he learned to ride when the dealer gave him a lesson after he purchased the bike. This was long before MSF classes. That Honda was a cool little number and soon after acquiring it, Dave taught me to ride. I rode many miles pillion on that 360cc bike but nothing compared to the times I rode it alone. After riding that bike for a year of so Dave bought a greenish-blue Suzuki GS750. I remember the bike looking mammoth, heavy and aggressive compared to the gentle little Honda. I think I may have attempted to ride that bike once and decided it wasn’t for me.Seasonal changes didn’t seem to phase Dave. He rode that Suzuki all the time. I remember brutally cold nights of him coming home from Illinois State University, wet, cold and exhausted from the nearly 300 miles round trip he made each week. Dave and a friend took their motorcycles on a trip to Colorado, where they camped, rode up Pike’s Peak and returned safely with a lot of tall tales.

Dave was ATGATT before we called it that. I remember the heavy leather jacket, the pants and the Frye boots. I remember that his Bell helmet closely matched the color of the GS.Then one day when I was home sick with the flu, I got a call from a hospital, telling me that he had been in an accident. I felt loony from the bug and had a hard time understanding what the voice on the line said. I think someone from the police department called too and said the same thing. Evidently, some teenagers in a car were goofing off and hit him—the driver had no insurance—I remember that part well. In that accident, one of Dave’s tall, snug fitting Frye boots flew off—never could figure that out. He broke his collar bone and the opposite leg, very badly. When the local policeman, who was a motorcycle officer, showed me Dave's helmet, it looked like an explosion had occurred underneath the shell. The glass pieces were completely shattered and splattered like billions of tiny pieces, still encased within the helmet shell. Without a helmet, that would have been his skull atop his definitely dead brain.

Surgery cleaned up the leg break and more than 25 years later he sports a slight limp as a reminder. Having a broken collar bone on the opposite side of the leg break, prevented him from being fitted with crutches. So he sat in a wheel chair until the collar bone healed. The cast on his leg extended from his toes to his upper thigh. If he had "average" healing bones, they predicted he'd be casted for six months. He was out in about four months, which his doctor attributed to fast healing bones. I credit the extra calcium and bone meal I gave him and the exercises a physical education professor suggested he do inside the cast. That was more than 25 years ago BC (before child). Even then, he must have harbored the thought that he’d go back to riding at some point for he never allowed his "M" license to lapse.

Last month, he took the MSF class and is officially riding again. He is cautious, studied, and eager to learn. I know he’ll do all he can to ride safe and smart. On Saturday, he didn’t initially feel up to the 60 miles round trip to Kankakee River State Park that I suggested. Instead, we road quiet, scenic back roads, passing farms of cornfield, soybeans, horses and cows. Most of the roads were smooth and some recently blacktopped. One road was downright ugly, replete with gravel, rocks and holes that we slowly navigated safely over. The ride allowed us to cover speeds from 15 mph to 55 mph so Dave was able to get through all the gears. There were turns, curves, and straight-aways galore. I watched him closely, noticing how easy it was to keep that red helmet in view. For the most part, he did all the right things. I reminded him to stay a little left of center at strategic times, particularly when oncoming cars are present (be aware of that left hand turner I reminded him). Be careful of tucking in behind a truck or a bus--that driver coming in your direction will not see you. You want to increase your chances of being visible. One good thing about my old bike is the headlight modulator I had installed. It's noticeable. In fact, a fireman who was out collecting for Muscular Dystrophy told Dave that his headlight was flickering. Dave also noticed that at least one car seemed to take extra notice. Dave probably didn't need my reminders but it doesn't hurt. When you're just getting back out there, there's a lot to remember.

After four hours of riding, with many stops to discuss the ride and a much needed lunch break at Peotone Bier Stube, a German restaurant, we returned to our starting point. We covered approximately 84 miles—far more than a trip to Kankakee would have entailed. This was proof that he had a good time. The only thing I saw that he will need to work on is doing a complete head turn/check before changing lanes. Even if you check your mirrors, which he always did, before changing lanes a head check is mandatory to assure lane change safety. If one doesn’t have time to do a quick head turn after checking the mirrors, then one shouldn’t make that change IMHO.I made a couple of mistakes that I should confess. We switched leads often. Once when it was my turn, I rode too far ahead of him—actually, I think I did it more than once. I should have waited and had him tuck in closer behind and to the right of me. I kept thinking he’d catch up. But when he fell behind he just rode on his own. At those time, I should have slowed down. I kept my eyes glued to him when he led. Second mistake: while he was leading I watched him do correct lane checks before proceeding onto a high speed roadway. When it was my turn, I looked both ways. Then I looked right again, the direction in which Dave was traveling. I should have looked left again. I did not. I then pulled out and as soon as I entered the lane, a car came barreling down on me from around a bend. The car had to brake and back off to remain at a safe distance. Unless that driver is a saint, I know s/he uttered some choice expletives at me. This is one reason I ride solo. I can keep distractions to an absolute minimum by worrying about me, myself and I.
All in all a fun ride. Dave is on the road to re-discovering his rider within. Soon he will be the safety conscious, magazine hoarding, uber-motorcyclist of old. I sent our daughter some photos of the ride. She was unimpressed. In fact, she said we look like a couple of renegade Power Rangers. Fourteen hours of labor, a year of breast-feeding and this is what I get. *sigh*

Welcome back, Dave.

Long Way Down--Review

Disclaimer: I am a sucker for motorcycle flicks. I’m prone to love them more often than not.

Last night I saw Long Way Down. I was going to miss this as I wasn’t feeling my old self. Then I figured, I can feel not well while being entertained by McGregor and Boorman’s antics! It was just what the doctor ordered! I loved every second of the movie. My analytical abilities could not be invoked as I was sucked into it quickly. The friendship between Ewan and Charley is part of the appeal for me.

The duo rides from Scotland to Cape Town, South Africa on behemoth BMW R1200GS, bikes that make my ST look scooterish! My bike weights a bit over 400lbs; the maximum permissible weight of the GS is nearly 1000lbs and theirs were loaded with gear and easily topped over 800lbs. All drops—and there were many—required two men to upright.

What I truly loved and appreciated was the scenery and the diversity of the terrain and its culture and people—not to mention the rich differences in language. Botswana, Libya, Egypt, Sudan—very different places. The visuals are stunning. The various grades of sand, I found striking. I just think of sand as, well…sand. The roads, as diverse as the people, made the journey endlessly exciting.

There are many moments when Charley and Ewan’s hold diary chats. They wax poetic about their day but I would have liked even more. Inherent in their exchanges are really interesting nuggets of wisdom. Like when Ewan talks about why one goes on an adventure. You go to see what will happen and how you’ll deal with it. An excursion can be overwhelming—even scary—but you go anyway and you remain fully open to the experience and if you’re lucky you might learn a little about what you’re made of.

Another memorable moment for me was McGregor’s speculation on the kindness of strangers. He says that people sense that you’re out there on your own, that you are more vulnerable out there in the elements, you’ve come from far away. Most people want to reach out to you, to offer friendship, food and shelter. This motorcycle documentary poignantly brought home the kindness of strangers. I hope it helps demystify Africa to those who know nothing about the country beyond the headlines of war, torture and famine.

Near the end of the film, Ewan talks about the importance of being particularly careful near the end of a journey. Think about it: you’re almost home, you’ve just covered—in their case—15,000 miles and you’re feeling comfortable knowing that you made it. The problem is, this is a false sense of security. Ewan calls this the “most dangerous time” of a journey because of the propensity to let your guard down. Lurking nearby is an accident waiting to happen. In reality, the journey doesn’t end until you pull into the garage, shut the engine off and safely dismount. Be mindful of this always.

Long Way Down had many thoughtful moments, many of which were sad. Despite facing considerable trauma, children are children and they posses a resiliency that is amazing and optimistically hopeful. Meeting orphans, street children and children in impoverished families obviously touched the pair, as it did me and served as a reminder that while most of us live in relative safety and comfort and retire each evening with a full belly, people--particularly children--suffer every second somewhere on this earth. Something as simple as pencils and writing tablets are luxury items that bring joy to children who don’t have these resources.

(Skip political rant paragraph here, if you want). There is a point in the film where one of the riders mentions that Bill Clinton said that not acting on Rwanda was one of his major regrets. I won’t get too political here. After all, I voted for him his first go-round. His failure to act on Rwanda is inexcusable! He was told, he had every opportunity to do something. Guess he was too busy staining a blue dress! Sorry for that little digression).

Back to the film. I love Charley and Ewan’s whining! In some regions their struggles with sand that appears as if it could easily swallow the bikes with them on it are funny and frustrating—you feel for them. But there is a scene when they are on a particularly arduous road, replete with rocks, sand, and just plain old, bad. Along comes a skinny guy on a fully loaded bicycle who had been riding a gazillion miles on those same roads. It’s a funny and humbling experience for the tough motorcyclists. It is a great scene for the viewers too.

I enjoyed Ewan’s wife joining the group for a bit of the ride. They implied that she was “off” learning to ride so that she could join them. To me, she looked really newbie. Lots of falls—proof about good gear and how well it can protect you. I must say, I was ready when she departed for the film seemed to slow down when she joined the team. Yet, I think this was an important segment to add a different take on the journey. If nothing else, she was great with the townspeople and must clearly now have a deeper, more meaningful understanding of Ewan and Charley’s passion.

The ride into Cape Town is beautiful and I must admit to getting a little misty eyed. The duo are surrounded by other motorcyclists and I think they are all Beemers. It's quite a striking scene.

Did I like it as much as the first one? I don’t really know. But that’s not what’s important. I loved this enough to order my personal copy the second it becomes available here. Then, I’ll have “Long Way Round,” “The World’s Fastest Indian, and “Long Way Down” to get me through the winter.

I hope their next adventure brings them to the Americas.

Bikes that talk to me!

Lately, a few bikes have be talking to me. Some I can ignore. The venerable dualsport Suzuki V-Strom, the KTM Enduro and the Kawasaki KLR650 are attractive but not designed for the vertically challenged. I've read about lowering kits and to that I say, there are too many fish in the sea...To varying degrees, these bikes sport that naked, minimalist look I love. Still, I don't do the kind of riding that warrants these type of motorcycles. Hmmm...I could be wrong but it seems a little like owning a fancy sports car that is never taken on the highway.

By far, the motorcycle that has spoken to me the longest and loudest is unequivocally the BMW F800ST. I'm not the only one smitten. Rider magazine named the F800 ST "the best tourer in 2007"! That's huge! Since its inception this middle weight tourer has won a slew of accolades for its performance and comfort excellence.

Since that one memorable ride last summer, I hear the F800ST calling me by a childhood nickname--we've become that close! The ride was exhilarating--pure joy. Lightweight, flickable, and amazingly responsive. The F800ST is heavier than my SV yet feels lighter and sleeker even with the ST's fairing. Compared to Queenie, frisky pony that she is, the ST feels tame and more behaved. By the end of the ride, I discovered that the ST masks it playfulness--it's there--it just doesn't show it all at the gate. Although I don't fancy fairing--the more naked the bike, the better--I think a little lower leg protection might be a good shield against head winds. I love the F800ST's on board info that monitors tire pressure, displays the fuel gauge (which the SV lacks), is fuel injection (although I appreciate a well-carbbed bike like mine), gear indicator and heated grips. ABS? Well, I could live without it, I think. I've read ABS pros and cons and it seems one of those personal preferences that some 'cyclists like to debate. I've learned solid braking skills without ABS. I still practice braking, including emergency braking--as much as one can simulate an emergency. Is ABS an added security or a false sense of security? Will non-ABS be the reminder to keep those braking skills sharp and not rely on technology? Is ABS an industry driven option that we only think we need? Does riding today's faster, more tech savvy bikes make ABS essential? I'm hoping my pal Crusty will lend his expertise/opinion here. I see it this way: It's better to have something and not need it than to need something and not have it. Maybe that philosophy doesn't apply to ABS brakes?

Then there's the F800S, the sportier, more naked sibling of the F800ST. It's a jazzy looking bike and can be made easily into a tourer with some luggage and a taller windscreen. Leaning over the tank, however--even slightly--on a 300 miles day trip would be havoc on my aging sacroiliac. Sitting on the F800ST can't feel more comfortable. My test ride, probably around 10 miles, was sweet, smooth and still the memory of it is sharp. What attracts me --besides the ride--is the handling ease. It feels a lot like Queenie. In fact, I heard someone compare the BMW F800ST to the SV and claims that the F800ST is "like an upgrade to the SV650." Someone else said it's like the SV with the fun factor removed. Hmmm? I'm not sure about that. IMHO, the fun factor on the F800ST is not in your face like the SV650. It's true too that the ST's throttle seems more tame initially. By third gear, the fun factor had kicked in and there three gears still left!

Shortly after the appearance of the two 800 models, rumors filled motorcycle forums with talk of a F 800 GS model. Long before the GS became reality (it's now available in Europe and soon to be available in the USA), drawings of what it might look like could be found all over the Internet and I toyed with the idea of possibly falling in love again. For those who want more than the BMW's F 650GS but less than the behemoth R 1200GS, the F800 GS fits the bill. Early reports are that it too is a winner. I like the looks of the F800GS and appreciate that it can go just about anywhere it's pointed. But didn't motorcycles once go anywhere a long time ago, before all the specialization? What's the difference today? It's not like I actually will do any off road riding. Then again, perhaps I would if I had the right kind of bike. Okay, who am I kidding? I'm leery of backwoods in this country and especially alone.

I just know that the F800ST eats streets for breakfast! I'm listening to it talk to me. Given my passion for long distance touring and my plans to do some major cross country riding, the F800ST meets my demands for high performance, excellent build, light weight, nimble/flickable- fun, comfortability and cuteness. I want a great little sport-tourer that can pile on the miles with as little wear on me as possible. What's that I hear...sounds like a German accent?

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.

SRTT Revisited

Rather than spend last weekend (my original plan) in WI, I spent Sunday riding around a massive lot for six hours. The weather could not have been better! Still, Sunday started out a bit shaky. I was a wee bit tired--but in a good way--after having spent much of Saturday riding to and from WI. By Sunday morning, something I had eaten Saturday in Harvard, IL, was making my stomach rebel. Still, I didn’t want to miss the hard work and fun that awaited me in Ride-Chicago's SRTT (Street Rider Technical Training) class, which I had taken last year. I rode the 13 miles to Maywood, trying to ignore the unpleasant rumbling in my gut.

When I arrived at the range, I was met by an assortment of colorful, serious-looking bikes. In my first SRTT class, the bikes appeared tamer, some nakeds, several cruisers and a couple of Goldwings. While sport bikes seemed to dominate this class, we had a diverse mix. Don Helle, teacher par excellence, is the instructor. In addition, teachers from Ride-Chicago were on hand to assist.

It doesn’t’ take long to know that Don is a master rider. He rides an aptly colored yellow and black Yammie FZ1, which makes me thing of a zip-zagging bumblebee. Don has garnered many awards for his riding and teaching and I’m sorry I can’t list them here (next time I’ll have to interview him at the end of the class). I do know that while in the military, Don was in charge of teaching motorcycle safety. I know his riding and teaching has transcended North America to include international ventures. He advocates superior skills, particularly Japanese style street riding techniques. Don is a demanding, clever instructor who knows that so much of effective teaching is relationship-building. Before you know it, you’re sucked into his circle; you’re convinced that mastering the skills and techniques he teaches are achievable and potentially life saving. Basic motorcycle safety skills, which you need to take this course, scratch the surface in the vast world of motorcycle riding. We know, that the more we practice, the more proficient we become. But at some point, many of us will want to deepen our knowledge and hone our skills with a track day, private lessons, experienced riders course or an advanced “super” course like SRTT. It is a demanding, doable step-up regardless of one’s current skill level.

Whole body riding is key to SRTT style. The class is about developing confidence-inspiring skills, being in absolute control of one’s machine; it’s about efficiency, maximizing stability, and becoming a highly skilled motorcyclist. As Ride-Chicago states, it’s about riding “with” the motorcycle and not “on” the motorcycle.

Many of us rely on upper body strength to maneuver our bikes. For the most part, this works. Before you finish SRTT class, however, you realize how much more efficient riding is that incorporates the whole body. Think of all that unused power in the lower body. It’s a different ride altogether when you’re cornering in full body synchronization. Thus, the class commences with stretching exercises to loosen up the joints and get mentally prepared for riding. A pre-class suggestion recommends taking an Advil before class. I was smart, this time around, I did. Don always bets that by 2pm the aches and discomfort will be palpable to some of us. Really, it’ll be the next two days before you stop walking as if you’re imitating John Wayne.

After riding the vast lot to warm up self and tires, our first lesson is braking. My explanation will probably not do justice to the technique, but here goes: When learning to ride, I was taught to ease off the throttle (engine braking), disengage the clutch, and apply both brakes simultaneously. SRTT teaches a solid, firm application of the brakes just before you hear/feel that unmistakable sound of the bike beginning to peter, at which point, you pull in the clutch and downshift to first gear. Don gave a convincing, technical explanation of why this method is superior to what most of us are traditionally taught. I can’t explain it better than I have. I know this: it feels better, more certain and definitive, more streamlined and far more efficient. That skill alone is worth the $105 tuition!

Get a good night's sleep before the course as the class requires almost continuous riding around a massive space that is marked off with cones and directional arrows that create a maze of real-road challenges. Thus, learning the route is the first challenge. I zoned out and lost my way a few times, which of course, throws off anyone trailing you. The class is devoid of long queues of bikes waiting for their time on the course. Sunday’s class had more than a dozen bikes buzzing about the range together the whole day. I never felt crunched for space or time. By the end of class, even with pulling out for 15 minutes to settle my churning stomach and to fret over a sore thumb, my odometer registered more than 45 miles.

Considerable time is devoted to proper cornering in tight spaces. After hearing Don’s sound instructions on entering, braking, and accelerating--all of which are executed at specific points--we spent significant time applying these skills. Some of the more talented riders (and there were a lot in this class) inhaled the technique and demonstrated it early and easily. I understood the theory and the technique, but I was stuck a bit in basic cornering technique, which works, but I needed to step-up. It took me many attempts to sorta put it all together. I didn’t mastered it with the precision, smoothness and gracefulness that seemed second nature to some of the others. These riders seemed to fly into the marked space, brake on a dime by applying both brakes, turn their head at exactly the right point, get off the front brake (while staying on the back brake) and accelerate to the next corner. The entire course had its share of cornering opportunities but these particular corners were set up back-to-back. It was challenging, yet fun. I ended the class feeling that I had greatly improved my cornering skills but still had a lot to learn. That’s the beauty of SRTT, no matter the level at which you begin the class, you end it feeling like a highly improved rider.

I can’t forget the straight-line cone weave. Not a problem, right? Well, the goal isn’t just about getting through. None of us had a problem with that. Yet, many of us managed the cones by working harder than necessary because we depended heavily on our ability to steer the bike around the cones, ignoring the power inherent in our lower body. This is where the whole-body riding shines. Don said if done properly, our knees would move up and down as we navigated around the cones. Sure enough, while watching one group, we could observe some of them bowling through with nary a move from the hip/knee region, and others who seemed to be marching as their bikes flicked flawlessly around the little orange domes.

Riding with both hands firmly on the handlebars is what motorcyclists do. Imagine riding the entire course with one hand. Last year, I remembered liking this a lot. But I had forgotten how exacting it was. One hand riding makes you acutely aware of how often we compensate for flaws in our skills by using both hands. One hand riding demands that you think ahead and prepare yourself for what’s coming up next; it forces you to be precise and on point with your head turns; it requires you to exercise smooth throttle control; it makes you deliberate in using whole-body riding. Without the use of both hands, you automatically call upon all your resources to help you ride; thus, your lower regions are activated to assist. One hand riding around a challenging course is also mental and you’ll be amazed at just how good a rider it renders you and how aware you’ll become of the need to put your whole self into riding.

The class doesn’t end before Don takes everyone on a ride on his Yammie. Even though it may feel like it, the goal is not to make you pray for divine intervention. The objective is to help the passenger feel how to ride the course by riding with a master. Anyone who has ridden two-up with Don knows that it is an understatement to call it "an amazing experience." Having had the ride the previous year, I knew what was in store for the unsuspecting participants and I did my part to encourage them to take the ride. I did not ride with Don. Not because I didn’t want my turn but because my stomach warned me not to. I imagined going down in Ride-Chicago history as the woman who upchucked on Don during SRTT—I would never live that down.

It’s not just a ride. It’s an experience. You come away with a tangible sense of how it feels to execute a flawless corner, how it feels to control speed, how it feels to stop on a dime, how it feels to make your bike seem as if it is being held upright by an invisible string, you feel what real leaning is and how proper throttle use maintains stability. It’s hard to convey, but I know this: after you ride with Don and return to riding the course, you'll see that your riding has changed and greatly improved because you’ve felt what it feels like to do it right and in seeking that same feeling in your own riding, you ride so much better than before.

The class ends with Don introducing us to riding with no hands (beyond straight line riding) and teaching us four rather showy but important skills, one of which is said to help enhance your love life (well, sorta). Of these, I love the bump and roll and the Chicago stop/California stop (I heard it said both ways). All in all a magnificent day and one that I’ll repeat each year to mark the beginning of a new riding season.

Interesting "trips" with Blogger Buddies...

Over the weekend, I visited a fellow motorcycle blogger's site and had an unexpected treat. DBrent Miller's Sojourn Chronicles is a neat place to tool around any day. He offers lots of entertaining motorcycle fare. On my last visit, I not only read an excellent review of Carla King's American Borders (I swear, I'm going to post my own review soon--I only finished it in February!!). Beyond the review, Miller presents the real thing. He has a podcast interview with "the" Carla King and it's a wonderful way to hear the two talk travel, motorcycles and the challenges of both. How cool is that?! Listen to it--it's fun! You'd miss a lot, however, if you restrict your visit to two wheeling. Miller's site is multi-layered, proffering great views on small towns, photography--wonderful photography, even stories about people and places as far away as Malawi. And of course, Miller's excellent writing keeps things interesting. I'm not just saying this because he's a fellow moto blogger and he visits me on occasion. I'm saying this because Miller has created a great place to hang out. Period.

Crusty The Biker is one of those friends from whom you'll always get the straight, honest answer whether you want it or not. As my late father would say, "He doesn't bite his tongue--he'll tell you like it is, like it was, and like it's gonna be." Read Crusty's advice on motorcycle maintenance and you'll know you're in the hands of a master. I trust his expertise and therefore his advice. Like DBrent Miller, Crusty is a map lover. Do all motorcyclists love pouring over atlases and maps? I sure do. I received one of my favorite freebies from reading a blog entry on travel and maps that Crusty did some time ago. He has tons of interesting favorites on his site that you should not miss. Crusty would be the first to say, he's not a gadget man. He uses technology because he has to and because he knows, on some level, it's supposed to make his work easier but he'll tell you about those times when technology has made his work far more arduous than it needs to be. In any case, his is another place I like to visit. Check him out and get smarter about taking care of your bike too.

Carla King is omnipresent. Not only has she been in the forefront of motorcycle blogging, she's been on two wheels a long time. She too knows a lot about bikes and is an intrepid solo traveler. While Carla may have met some roads she didn't like, I don't think she's met a motorcycle she hasn't been willing to test in some challenging, interesting way. Her enthusiasm for taking on roads in faraway places is contagious. She's a good role model--a young Ardys Kellerman! I read American Borders with an atlas at my side and with her keen descriptions and ethnographic eye, Carla kept me on the edge of my seat. No one can tell me I wasn't her riding companion on that trip! Now, in addition to her regular hang outs, Motorcycle Misadventures and American Borders, you can visit Carla at OpenRoad.TV -- sort of an odd name, but it works. Read about these folks and you'll be impressed. Carla is the moderator/host of the motorcycle forum, where you can share, learn and find out all you want to know about two-wheeling in the American West. After reading Carla's book and Neil Peart's, Ghost Rider: Travels Along the Healing Road, I've felt the urgent call to "Go West young [woman]!"

"I get by with a little help from my friends." Thanks.

^^^

The weather here promises to be at least 70F and above by the weekend. I smell a trip coming up! See you on the road.

Role models all!

I am ecstatic to report (rather belatedly, I know) that one of my heroines, Ardys Kellerman, a woman I’ve written about before and the person I nominated for the Motorcycle Bloggers International Hall of Fame, won in two categories: for “best contribution to motorcycling” and for “women’s riders booster of the year.” She earned those honors and deserves so much more. She’s a 74 year young, adventurous, and intrepid motorcycle “superhero.” What I admire most about her is an unwavering tenacity that puts most of our efforts to shame.

Then there’s Linda Bootherstone-Bick, WIMA (Women’s International Motorcycle Association) introduced me to this amazing woman, artist, songwriter and free-spirit. I had not heard of Linda before this but I’ve now followed her magnificent travelogue. In 2005, Linda, a seasoned motorcyclist, turned her long-held dream into reality when she embarked on a solo trip from Gibraltar to Australia. While on her challenging trek, Linda celebrated her 61st birthday. Her trip, which took 21 months to complete, is an inspiring narrative about old and new friends, personal fortitude, and survival. View Linda's warm and inviting pictures; follow her trials and tribulations atop a Suzuki DR650. Fall in love with Linda's spirit.

And then there’s my all-time heroine, Bessie Stringfield, a black woman who served as a military dispatch motorcycle rider during WWII, motoring around the USA eight consecutive times, outperforming other dispatch riders with her successful completions. Bessie rode at a time when race relations made it difficult at best for a black person to travel freely through the South. Fearless Bessie rode with abandon. Imagine the tales of Bessie Stringfield, a lone black woman on a motorcycle, often forced to sleep on her bike because she was refused hotel accommodations—I’m talking about a time long before Civil Rights was on anyone’s radar. There are moments when I believe she summons me from her grave, whispering, “Tell my story,” which I am planing to do.

These are not just role models for woman; they are role models for anyone breathing. These courageous individuals rode day after day—solo—expecting the best from life but forever prepared to deal with the worst. This summer, when I’m out there alone, navigating around Lake Superior, enjoying the scenic, often desolate roads that proudly profess nature’s miracles, these are the brave, strong, independent souls I shall dwell on and feel a connection. Collectively, they goad and motivate me to persevere, to get out there and live my dreams, and to ignore naysayers and one’s own internal critics. I’ve always marched to a different drummer. Now I ride to one too.

Nightmares

Does this happen to other riders or am I the only one? I’ve had my first one of the season. I don’t recall hearing it discussed on the forums either. But it seems that my riding season begins with me having a spat of nightmares. Horrible, ghastly tales of being struck by a Mack truck that sends me soaring through the air hitting metal traffic poles as I go down at which point I land in the street where cars run over me or my motorcycle falls from the sky on top of me. Sheer panic awakens me and I’m usually sweaty, confused wondering if I’ve just witnessed my future finis. I swear I have no death wish.

I remember having a particularly gruesome mind trip last year where I saw the accident about to happen and on some subterranean level I screamed at myself to wake up and I did just before impact. It worried me for days and sent me off journaling about the messages embedded in the dream. I’m not afraid to ride and I don’t harbor fears beyond the normal. The only thing I’ve come up with is that the nightmares are my brain’s way of dealing with the real dangers out there; they are close-ups of the extreme risks I can face; and, they serve as reminders to be forever vigilant and sharp. I think it’s my unconscious dealing with the injuries and fatalities that all riders read about, talk about, and some of us feel will/will not happen to us.
I’m don’t believe in the commonly expressed adage that there are only two types of riders, those who have crashed and those who will. Frankly, I don’t know why any rider would buy into such a negative expectation for him or herself. Those who do, I believe will surely live up to it. These figments of my imagination are dramatic reality checks—extremes to be sure, but valuable admonitions nonetheless. My night visions remind me of the popular—and old—television “cop” series, Hill Street Blues, where the police chief, after relaying a list of grisly neighborhood crime stats to his officers, would warn them as my seasonal dreams tell me, “Let’s be careful out there.”

“Thanks,” Cycle World!

I attended Cycle World’s International Motorcycle Show on Saturday. And, it was all that—and a slice of sweet potato pie! I don’t know if suffering from cabin fever rendered me more receptive to the swarm, a rather large slowly walking throng, all drooling over motorcycles, waiting patiently (mostly) to swing a leg over, or if I was just in rare form. I was determined that nothing would detract from my joyful mission--even after remembering that I forgot my gloves that I wanted to don to ward off other people’s germs, I remained sanguine. I never hesitated to grasp the throttle and clutch levers on a gazillion bikes. Yes, I was in rare form.

I wanted also to take pictures that I hoped would make nice additions to future blog entries. I managed to trip the shutter 130 times and have posted most of the results on flickr. It is difficult to believe that I, true believer in asceticism and a practicing hermit, walked around the mammoth floorplan for 6.5 hours! I left the show with every intention of returning on Sunday. A reappearance never transpired. When my eyes opened in the wee hours of Sunday morning, I noticed something familiar. Whenever I travel by air or find myself in tight quarters with strangers for long periods, I get sick. The insides of my throat felt like it had been seized by gravel. Even thinking about swallowing felt like my throat was being scoured with a Brillo pad. I imagined little germy soldiers lining up to launch a full attack any minute. This would be the price paid for daring to venture out without protection. I can say this now: it was worth it. Frigid weather can make one desperate. Besides, as the adage goes, “no pain, no gain.”

I’m certain I’ll write more about the show in the coming days, but I did want to post the pics and mention a few highlights.

I think it was Friday that I went to Carla King’s website and learned that her book, American Borders: A solo-circumnavigation of the United States on a Russian sidecar motorcycle, was out--finally. While poking around her site, I also discovered that King would be coming to the Rosemont to promote her book and support the Urals. I couldn’t believe my luck! I would have been happy just to discover the book’s release date. I have read about Carla’s "misadventures" for some time—long before I bought my gal-pal. I wanted to beat the crowds I figured would be lining up for the book. So, I decided that my first goal would be to find Carla. (I have a very bizarre David Sedaris story about me waiting in line for hours to buy his book and have him sign it—but I digress). I located Carla King right near the Urals, sitting at a small table covered with a plain white cloth, nicely accented by two layers: a colorful, blue-purple-ish tie-dye material that peeked beneath a top black layer. A small stack of books sat at the table’s front edge. Carla, dressed in black sat at the table but I could tell right away, she isn’t the sit-down for long type. In fact, she soon stood up to fiddle with stuff, purse, books, look for a pen? I only remember her moving about before settling in her seat.
I always think it’s silly when people meet celebs and say, “Wow, you look just like you do on TV.” I avoided being that lame--I hope. Carla, however, does look like her writings, which are accessible, humorous and lively. She is clearly dynamic, inquisitive, open and has a very strikingly friendly face, the kind you want to talk to (I hope I’m not sounding too much like a groupie). I’m being as truthful as one can been when first meeting someone you’ve sort of met previously through their words. She has a persona that conveys a comfort folks often possess who have traveled a lot. Perhaps she’s always been that way; perhaps I’m just over-analyzing matters. IMHO, such people don’t know what it means to meet a stranger. They are engaging, gregarious and always seeking to go beyond the surface. I know part of that is being a journalist, but I’ve met journalists who lack this quality (I have a few stories about that too!).

Carla would make an excellent ethnographer—more about that when I finish the book. In any case, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting Carla; she is how I imagined her from reading her “misadventures.” Some time later at the show, I ran into Carla again—actually, she ran into me. At the time, I was half-daydreaming and her sudden reappearance bolted me back to reality. I was happy to see her again! We had a brief chat and a photo op. BTW, while I’m reading the book and don’t want to say much about it until I finish, the first chapter had me putting it down a few times to take some notes. Some of her stories sparked some memories that I’ve written about before and now want to revisit. Mind you, these memories have nothing to do with motorcycles. That to me is always a good sign that I will love a book. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve met the author. If a book doesn’t measure up, I will say so.

Another show highlight? Custom-made ear plugs! If there were a tiny ear canal contest, I would win. Not only are my ear holes microscopic, they are angry. Stick something in and they will spit out the intruder, close shop and throb for days on end. Name an over the counter ear plug and I have it. Extra small, are not small enough. “Guaranteed to fit,” they don’t know my ear canals! I learned from the audiologist’s assistant that “racial” groups have different size canals and that the angel of the canal also differs across groups. I wish I had known that before investing in every ear earphone on the market before abandoning that struggle and wearing headphones. You’ll see the purple, pliable, putty-like ear stoppers in one of the pictures. I tested them Saturday night by wearing them under my helmet. After about ten minutes, I removed the helmet. The plugs had stayed in place; they had not fallen inside the helmet’s ear well and greatest thing of all, no lingering, pulsating pain after I extracted the plugs. I am happy knowing that I can now save what little hearing I have left.


Although tempted, I did not buy the Nolan N-102 helmet. Perhaps the deals were saved for Sunday. On Saturday, the prices were above some of the online deals so I resisted the urge to have it now. I did pick up more maps and the American Motorcycle Association’s, Ride Guide to America: Favorite Motorcycle Tours in the USA.

Of late, the weather here has been challenging. Relatively speaking, it is now warm outside at 28 F with a wind chill of 18F. Currently, a heavy, wet snow is blanketing the downtown area and we’re bracing for a winter storm over the next 24 hours. Compared to the 11 feet of snow in Oswego, NY—and more on the way, I shall not complain. I will even avoid whining about my sore throat. I remain optimistic that Punxsutawney Phil is right and an early spring is on the way. In the meantime, Saturday turned out to be the spark I needed to jump-start my mood.
I'm thrilled anytime I can combine multiple joys: new friends, new books, new maps and seat time on new motorcycles. I’m looking forward to the coming spring.

More pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/shicksba272214/sets/72157594529330404/