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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Test #1 Oregon Scientific Helmet Camera

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

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

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!

I'm back among the living!

Wishing you and yours a great, safe 2010!

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

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

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

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

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

(LOOK where you want to go!)

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

(Seen on a power walk morning).

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kettle Moraine Scenic Drive on the BMW F650GS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mileage: 320

Fun factor: 8 out of 10

Letting go: 10/10

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…

Insurance woes and my next moto trip

(Note to the reader: Given that my insurance case is pending and that there may be some nasty action taken, I have decided not to post the name of the insurance company here--yet--although I mention it on a certain forum I frequent. My claim should be paid--that's my goal. Nothing more, nothing less).

If my insurance issues are not resolved soon, I am going to be one rabid woman--including foaming at the mouth!

I've written about this on one forum so I'll try to be brief. My mishap was October 4th. My insurance company was notified immediately and they released a claim/case number and promised to dispatch an adjuster soon.

I received a call from Morton BMW telling me that when they called to get an okay to order the parts, my insurance company told them "we" had canceled the policy on Sept. 29th; therefore, they are not responsible for the claim.

We did no such thing.

I called the insurance company. They insisted that my husband had called and had canceled the "policy." Now, we've been with this company for years. At one time, they had both cars, the house, and the two bikes. I sold my car and made that one policy change in May '08. Dave did indeed call them on Sept. 29. He did so to cancel the house and the remaining auto. We would never ride motorcycles without insurance! Thus, we left that policy untouched--or so we thought.

Yet they contend that we canceled. We know that we didn't. Although we did received two reimbursement checks in the mail, we assumed it was for the house and auto since no letter of explanation accompaned the checks.

The company said they would launch an internal investigation. Investigation result: They will not cover the bike because "we" canceled the insurance according to the notes in our file. This went on for a few days.

Finally, Dave called. He was told by someone--the first time we've ever heard this, that the company does not ordinarily cover motorcycles. They will, however, if one has other policies with the company. This person stated that when we canceled the auto and house, the bikes would be automatically dropped. When asked why wouldn't we be alerted to that very important detail, we received a non-response response.

Dave finally reached the person with whom he canceled the house and auto. By the way, we canceled only because we found a better deal. This individual expressed surprise that we were having difficulties. He recalled taking the cancellation request for the house and auto. He claimed to have canceled only that. He knew nothing about the motorcycles being dropped. After all, they are separate policies with separate numbers, which he claims he didn't touch. He seemed ignorant of the drop-bike policy that his co-worker mentioned. Regarding the canceled motorcycle policy, he apologized and said he would immediately reinstate us to show no lapse in coverage and will send paperwork to that end.

I have contacted the state's insurance fraud and abuse department and they've dispatched their paperwork. Given that three superior's of the helpful customer service rep have already denied the claim, I feel for this guy's job. We've yet to receive any paper work detailing this drop bike policy for not having other policies with the company.

Some insurance companies get a bad rap for doing whatever they can to avoid paying a claim. A riding pal told me that some people are still waiting for hurricane relief from several years ago because the insurance companies keep requesting additional proof of lost. I've heard my share of insurance horror stories too--just never figured I'd have my own.

We're now waiting to see if the insurance company will do the right thing.

***

Still, I'm checking my calendar to see if I can work out a nice winter trip to VA. Hopefully, Claye, Sylvia and I can take a little trip somewhere. I'll need to still leave the bike in VA and return again in the spring to finally ride my much missed bike home.

Vermont--"Green before it was cool"--and "Don't Trash" it!

Note to the reader: (Unfortunately this is not a motorcycle report on riding the sweeping, twisting, rolling roads in Vermont. I was caged for six days, wishing each mile that I was on my bike. Lessons learned: 1) three hours in a car feels like nine hours on a motorcycle; 2) I possess a high threshold for multiple levels of discomfort; 3) I still love Vermont; 4) come hell or high water I'm riding to Vermont next season.)

I first visited Vermont in the late seventies. It was somewhat of a delayed honeymoon trip to Ludlow, Vermont. We stayed in a wilderness community that consisted of trekking our gear along a footpath to climb a lofty tree to our three-sided tree house. I fell in love again--despite the fact that there is relatively little racial diversity in Vermont. Still, I ended up loving the place. I then devised other reasons to visit Vermont, like the time I participated in Professor Charles T. Morrissey's Oral History workshop--one of the best workshops ever offered anywhere. It met in Montpelier, the state capitol. Although there were many workshop highlights, the side trip to Hope Cemetery in Barre, VT was among the most memorable.

On my first trip to Vermont, we bicycled along hilly roads and to this day I can recall my labored breathing and thundering heart from ascending endlessly rolling hills and studying the grandiose Green Mountains. I remember inhaling deeply as if for the first time and the air filling body parts never before filled with such clean air. I remember thinking that inner city children needed this kind of sensory experience to feel just how alive one can be sans the supersensory drain that living in some urban areas exact from their souls.

I recall too not seeing any people who looked like me for many days and when I did eye one, I had to restrain myself from waving and smiling like an idiot. Judging from the double takes I too received, those feelings of relieved recognition were mutual. I remember most Vermont's unequivocal love, respect, and protection of the earth, which was obvious almost everywhere I looked. And today, signs like, "Do not Trash Vermont," still profess that same passionate stance and esteem for the earth we inhabit and too often neglect.

For those who might wonder why diversity matters and what possible relationship it has to motorcycling, my quick response reminds me of the adage: "If I have to explain it, you probably won't understand." But allow me to try to explain. A little experiment might help. Here is a favorite thought experiment to try as it might yield an insight or two into what I'm talking about. (As I write this, I think I have written about this before here. Well, forgive me. It's on my mind again given my trip).

Imagine traveling, not to some foreign land but somewhere in your own country. Now imagine that almost every place you venture--and it must be alone, by the way--every restaurant you enter, every hotel, every fuel station, and 98% of the rest stops, you are the only person who looks like you. If you are a woman, imagine that everywhere you go you are the lone woman--cute and fun for a while--but I'm talking about all the time. Seeing only raised toilet seats and wet spots--from sloppy aim, I guess--on the floor around the base of every toilet. If you are male, imagine that your terrain exists almost exclusively--putting aside some male fantasies--within a female milieu, nary a reflection of you or what is important to you and your kind in sight.

It is easy to respond with, "Such things wouldn't matter to me at all." I'll even concede that this might not matter one or two, perhaps even a dozen times that one finds him or herself in a situation in which they are the only one. Slumming for sport and adventure doesn't count. You might even have convinced yourself that you're above such matters. Up the experiment for a minute. Reduce things down to the issue of race and race alone while recognizing that such reductionism isn't ever fully possible. Still, imagine yourself traveling in circles where you are the one and only. Time and time again. I'm not referring either to the time you were in college or the time you visited that church where they sang the best gospel music and you drank lemonade and talked about broadening the circle, yada, yada.

I'm talking about a deliberate and conscious insertion of one's self in situations where he or she is the visibly distinct one. Sorry, but for this experiment it doesn't count if you're the only German American, for example, among the Irish or the only Irish American among the Polish American--not that those experience aren't relevant. I'm talking about reducing things to visible distinctions. Blending is fine if you can get away with it. If you're the only Asian among the Irish--it counts. I can hear the protest that "We're all American and thinking of ourselves as hyphenated is the problem." I wish it were that simple. I see myself as fully American; it's other people who seem to want to call my otherness to attention.

After you've executed your experiment tell me the results. Is the movement of your feet along this earth as certain? Tell me if your dinner on the restaurant's patio feels as carefree or if your hike through the deep, dense thicket of a secluded woods is the worry and stress-free respite you've saved your hard earn dollars to enjoy. If you're honest, you'll admit that your striking appearance in a sea of others presents some interesting multi-level challenges for your travels, which by the way, should never prevent one from going where s/he pleases. After all, it is adventure we ultimately seek, right?

As I traveled through Vermont this past week, I was reminded of what it takes me to get mentally ready to go, to just get on my motorcycle and go. I don't want to make it sound like some loathsome process each time I leave. Still, there is an intense mental, physical, and mechanical preparation that is requisite and each must be in place before I feel the call of the road, so to speak. This may also be why I ride alone. For me, the answer to "When is it time to go?," evolves over time and is rarely instant. What group wants to wait around until the feeling is right for one of its members? Weirdness in any one of those prep areas is evidence that I need to reconsider my plans and deal with the inner stuff before heading out. I envy those who do the normal planning and then leave. I need to take the time to disentangle what is pressing on me. Is it the normal nerves that one can encounter before any trip? Or, given my history and daily realities, is there something deeper lurking beneath the norm preps? What do I ignore/silence and what do I pay close attention to? Most often I prefer to ignore or silence the clues I mysteriously receive through my antenna (that I am convinced stem from centuries of lived realities now etched on my DNA, or so it seems). These hints can scream at me to "DO NOT GO THERE!." When I distrust that, I always regret it.

I've only received good vibes from Vermont. So, no matter who is or is not in Vermont, it is a place I feel as whole as one can. In some ways, Vermont reminds me of how I feel whenever I visit Canada. I'm not naive. I know that neither place is perfect. I would be foolish if I didn't prepare along those same multiple dimensions I mentioned for every trip no matter the destination. Still, my trips to Vermont--so far--are journeys where I feel almost home, that place they say folks are supposed to always take you in.

Thus, despite being caged for nearly a week and envying every motorcyclists I spotted, I had a great re-visit to Vermont. Had I the time, I would add a two wheel fall trip to Vermont to see the colors that are already showing evidence of change. Sadly, I'll need to wait until next season.

After being told about the sign, I finally saw it in a store window: "Vermont was Green long before it was cool." It's really true. I swear, I think they invented recycling! Vermont isn't just a haven for artists, flower-children, environmentalists and nature lovers, it is an all-around great place for anyone wanting to inhale and exhale deeply. Sorry if it sounds like too much romanticizing of a place. This is my outsider's experience, admittedly myopic and filtered through the lens of gender, race, age, experience and SES, etc. Still, I love Vermont.

Perspective is everything. When I returned into Illinois, I rode my motorcycle in from the south suburbs. A man seeing my gear said, "You're brave to ride a motorcycle in Chicago." I've heard that before. It doesn't take bravery to ride in Chicago. This is home and for me and as such, it is the most normal thing to do. A while back, another man told me that he got rid of his motorcycle when he moved to Chicago. That made me sad for him. But I understood it from his perspective. He didn't grow up here. That was his outsider's viewpoint. I did grow up here. It's my comfort zone and reference point. It's when I stretch beyond the narrow confines of my universe that I grow. That's where motorcycling enters and that is what motorcycling allows me to experience.

For me to go where I'm not naturally inclined to venture, is probably the only brave thing that I do. Next season on that definite trip to Nova Scotia is now added a definite side trip to Vermont. Or, should I say, on my trip to Vermont, I'm making a side trip to Nova Scotia. Either way. I'm going!