Sojourner Welcomes Guest Blogger!

I've never wanted this to be an entirely Sojourner dog and pony show. On occasion, I will invite special friends to post their tales, pics and reviews. Thus, this morning I'm introducing a friend, his name is Lucas. He rides a BMW F650 (I'll let him tell you about his bike). Lucas is a newbie whose been piling on the miles and preparing for his first trip next weekend.

Enjoy!

The Road to Tobermory: A beginning motorcyclist first moto-trip

Dispatches from Lucas: Saturday September 9, 2006 – First Day of Planning

First real day of planning commences. I’ve looked at the weather forecast for my trip and the weather seems to be looking positive for the 4 days of my trip. The trip dates are September 29th through to October 1st. I’ve allowed one extra day on Tuesday.

I went to the Canadian Automobile Association and upgraded my membership to CAA Plus to cover the motorcycle. I also picked up a map of Ontario.

A visit to the local Radio Shack (now known as The Edge by Future Shop) provided me with some parts to build a battery pack for my XM Satellite Radio. This will be used to provide campsite entertainment. An evening of Vivaldi or Berloitz or just some plain ol’ Hank will provide some relaxation after a day of riding.

Raining today. After doing my errands, came home and built my battery pack for the XM radio. Didn’t take much to build; Radio Shack has a 4 AA battery case with an on/off switch. The case had two leads coming out of it, I added some heat shrink to the wires for protection. Then I soldered the ends into a compatible power jack. It worked. Just not sure how long the batteries will last, I bought extra just in case.

My intinerary is as follows:
· Friday, September 29th
o Leave St. Catharines at approximately 10:00 am. The first leg of the trip should take 4 hours according to mapquest to reach my destination.
o By noon I should be near Cambridge, Ontario (home of Mistress K). I’ll find a resting spot, check fuel, bike and luggage. Bag some lunch.
o Between 3 and 4 pm I should be in Kincardine. This is the largest town near my final destination for the 29th, which is Invehuron Provincial Park.

· Saturday, September 30th
o From Inverhuron Provincial Park take Highway 21 north to Sauble Falls Provincial Park. This should be about 1 hour of ride time.
o Check in and get a spot. Use as base camp.
o Use Saturday to go to Tobermory.

· Sunday, September 31st
o Leave Sauble Falls Provincial Park, head south to Point Farms Provincial Park.
o Arrive Point Farms Provincial Park.
· Monday, October 1st
o Leave Point Farms Provincial Park, head south on Rt. 8 back to Hamilton and St. Catharines.

Things to do:
Get camping gear down from garage loft. Inspect sleeping bag, tent and pad. Find all of my backpack straps.
Get cooking gear out and inspect stove and check for fuel.
Make list of food supplies. I’ll buy minimal – expect to buy more on trip.
Make list of moto parts. Again, minimal. Not much I can do with the bike if it breaks down. I have a tire plug kit and the BMW tool kit. Also, I have spare bulbs and fuses. I’ll bring some duct tape, water, some extra oil.

Local Weather:
St. Catharines - http://www.weather.ca/weather/cities/can/Pages/CAON0638.htm
Kincardine - http://www.weather.ca/weather/cities/can/Pages/CAON0345.htm
Tobermory - http://www.weather.ca/weather/cities/can/Pages/CAON0694.htm

Camping Locations:
Inverhuron (9/29) - http://www.ontarioparks.com/english/inve.html
Sauble Falls (9/30) - http://www.ontarioparks.com/english/saub.html
Point Farms (9/31) - http://www.ontarioparks.com/english/poin.html

Final Destination - http://www.thebrucepeninsula.com/tobermory
Sunday, September 24, 2006 – Revising Route Plans
I looked at the map this morning and looked at some possible route alterations that may make the trip more efficient. The main problem will be getting out of Hamilton. It’s a large older city that sits in between my starting and final destination for Friday’s leg of the trip. One way streets and flying cages will be my biggest peril in this section. There is no alternative other than taking the QEW.

Once past Hamilton, I’ll start reaching country that is lest populated and congested. Although, congested is a relative term. I’ve seen congested after living in Los Angeles for 10 years. When you see a 6 lane highway (that’s on each side) completely gridlocked – then you know congested. I’ll breathe easier once past Guelph. That’s where I’ll be able to settle into a rhythm. The road side will become more rural, fields and farm equipment will replace housing subdivisions and crowded downtowns. As I get closer to Lake Huron the air will change into that open air moist smell of the lakes. It’ hard to describe as the lakes are fresh water and don’t have that sea air smell. It’s similar but without the smell of salt. -- Lucas --

Windy City Ride...

It’s that time of season when Chicago’s weather is nothing short of schizophrenic. The last few early mornings, the temperature hovered around 40 degrees F! By mid-day things had usually improved by as much as 25 degrees. Still, given that I’ve been coming down with some kind of horrific plague, I’ve not felt highly motivated to throw a leg over the bike. But today I have an excuse for getting out there. At 60 degrees F--around 5:00 a.m.--a heat wave is brewing!

I leave before 5:30 a.m. and head into a dark, windy morning. I mean, really windy! Weather report…wind gust up to 30 mph! As I execute a right turn, I feel the bike’s rear tire slide from a sudden blast. The office is not far away but within seconds, I am cold! I use my left hand to pull up my turtle neck. It is clear that, despite wearing a textile/leather jacket, turtleneck, leather pants, helmet and gloves, I should have worn the ever-ready Firstgear jacket. Still, the quiet beauty of the downtown streets, still aglow with lights, brings solace to this zealous urbanite.

I stall at my first major intersection. I NEVER--almost never-- stall. I blame it on being sick. Really, I think it’s the bike’s payback for not riding her in days. I take my snub in stride and move on. I need to go to the office to complete paperwork before the others arrive—no sense infecting them, well…at least not all of them.

Spent enough time there that I had to return to the bike and feed the meter! Twenty-five cents per five minutes—a sin and a shame, IMHO! I can’t apply the parking receipt to the bike’s tiny windshield because I don’t have anything to stick it with. (Note to self: Always carry the duct tape under the seat). Oh, well. The sign says, “Parking laws strictly enforced.” I decide to take my receipt to court should I get a ticket.

When I leave the office, it is raining but not long enough to have scrubbed away the oil and gunk from the road. I make a mental not to be extra careful. I take off and immediately encounter a puddle at the stoplight. I skirt around it only to end up stopping bull’s eye on the fat white line—those slick spots motorcyclists should avoid. I stop right on it but am easy on the brakes and all is well. I decide to take a small detour back home—I mean, I’m already sick and I’m already out there, so it can’t hurt that much more. Within three blocks, the rain picks up. In spite of my yearning to ride, I decide to play it safe and head home.

At stops, I make that sure my feet are firmly planted, flat-footed on the ground as the bike sways vigorously. At one take off, I struggle to push through what feels like a powerful, yet invisible barricade that forces me to apply more throttle than usual. Once through that headwind, I push onward. I can take the cold. Rain, I can take too. But cold + rain + 30 mph wind gusts require you to be fully functioning. I am not. I ride the rest of the way eager to park my gal-pal and return to my sick bed.

Miscellany

Here are some of the things that keep me awake at night. Now they can keep you up too. I've read as much as one can about this woman. When I grow up, I want to be Ardys Kellerman. This 70+ year old great-grandmother still rides many thousands of miles. She's an Iron Butt Rally veteran and frequent winner of her BMW club's high mileage award. Before I draw my last breath, I'd like to do the IRB biggie--10,000 miles in ten days!

Next, this is one of those dream jobs--except it's not a dream to Carla King. I would look forward to work each day if this were my job. I swear, I wouldn't complain if I had my own daily misadventures on a motorcycle. Yes, it would probably become routine. But so what. Even routine would be fun on a bike!

This is the beauty of the Information Age! Before Al Gore discovered the Internet (haha) it would take forever to amass data that is now literally at the press of a button! Here a nice list of motorcycle relevant spots to bookmark.

For motorcycle touring, I repeatedly return to this site. It hasn't be updated in years. Still, IMHO, it is one of the best spots to learn everything you need for getting into touring. The author is humorous, sometimes stern--even grumpy-- but clearly has your best touring experience at heart. You can sense that he wants you to have an excellent adventure. So he's not messing around. You can just hear him yell in that Robert Duvall, "Great Santini" voice: "TOE THE LINE AND LISTEN UP PEOPLE!"

Okay. I'm announcing it here. Next summer, I'm doing AND completing an Iron Butt Rally ride. Planning for this will carry me through the winter doldrums--let's hope. Last year I didn't have a bike and it was tough getting through the winter thinking about riding. Thank goodness the search for a bike kept me sane. The IRB...Don't know how the little SV would do on the 10,000 miles in 10 days ride but she could handle some of the other rides in a blink. Right now, the SaddleSore (1000 miles in under 24 hours) sounds fun. This may sound like a lot or imply the need for excessive speed. Not true! These timed rides demand strategy and consistency more than speed. (sidebar: Read Against the Wind: A Rider's Account of the Incredible Iron Butt Rally--book review soon). I just need to figure out which ride and how to execute it. At minimum, I believe I could do the National Parks Tour, which requires a visit to at least 50 national parks and monuments in at least 25 states in one calendar year. Now that just might be the best one to start with. Hmmm...

Finally, I'm actually going to get into an advanced training class that I thought was closed! Turns out there was a posting glitch and the course isn't until October. Hooray! Ride Chicago (amazing teachers!) is the only school that offers the SRTT (Street Riding Technical Training) course.

You know, I think motorcycle schools could really do a needed service AND make money if they offered courses throughout the winter. For those of us who will face serious withdrawal in a few weeks (I can't be the only one), it would be a great way to keep skills sharp too. With an indoor range, how difficult can this be? The schools already have the bikes. I for one am not looking forward to the ticks, being strapped to a bed, the sweating, the heaves, the heebee-geebees...I don't need a twelve step program...I just need a year 'round riding fix!

More on ear plugs and teeny weeny ear canals

My quest for a pair of comfortable, well-fitting ear plugs continues. That's a picture of my latest attempt to safeguard my hearing. They’re called "SilentEars," small, cute and colorful little buds with a yellow flower-like base. They actually look like they’d be fun to wear. The Ear Plug *Super* Store website claims that the SilentEars are the “highest rated reusable ear plugs currently made anywhere in the world.”

I will never be able to test those claims. Even though I bought the smallest size available, the little blue and yellow plugs do not fit! The blue bulbous tip goes inside my ear only a little bit. I can force them in some more but could never get them in all the way—and trying to makes my ears revolt. I’m at my wit’s end. I had hoped to avoid going to an audiologist for custom plugs. Well, looks like such a visit is in store for next season.

I can make do ‘til the end of this season with the cheap, spongy/foamy things I buy at the drugstore, which come about a dozen per box. Been wondering if plain old cotton balls would work. I can’t imagine cotton balls being that effective but they have to be better than nothing and probably as effective as the spongy ones. At times, the little buggers just work their way out of my ears and land somewhere inside my helmet. I go through these plugs fast because they can also pop out like minature missiles whenever I take off my helmet. And, I don’t believe that the five second rule about food dropped on the ground applies to dropped ear plugs. When they hit the ground, I imagine microscopic germs instantly landing all over them, rendering them too gross to touch. I can replace plugs two or three times before I make it home from a 100 miler.

Persistently sore ears and ear plugs in assorted shapes, colors and sizes is all I now possess to show for my pursuit of the perfect plug. I’m open to other suggestions before I go the doctor route.

A Hairy situation, helmet woes & the Firstgear Kilimanjaro jacket

As you read this, hum the chorus of "Hair" from the musical of the same name.

This is *the* hair, my hair, about which perfect strangers feel free to comment and ask a lot of bizaare questions (e.g., "can you wash it?"; or, "do you have to burn the ends to make it stay?"; or, my favorite, "where is it hooked on?"). I am annoyed by these intrusions at least once a day!

My hair, which has never bothered me before has now become a major part of riding Queenie, my motorcycle. I'm thinking about it way too much!

My mid-butt length hair, which is real, is clean and washable and is not hooked on but sprouted from my very own hair follicles. Lately, I've been asking myself: "Should I cut it or keep it?" To some that might be a simple question with an easy answer. If it gets in the way of riding, chop it off. But that gives in to all those who keep ordering me to cut it. That my hair seems to bother others, give me a sort of perverse pleasure in knowing that I have the power to annoy others just by being myself. Keeping it is my answer to those who feel they have a right to tell me what to do with my hair. Besides, after ten years, I've grown attached to my hair. Over time, the style has taken on a spiritual dimension that is hard to explain.

But do I need to be inconvenienced just to prove a point?

Fitting all my hair under my Sy-Max HJC helmet is impossible. So, I low pony-tail it most of the time. Still, on any ride over 30 mph it becomes a swirling tangle of tentacles that whip around me. Braid it, you say. My hair is so thick that a braid makes fitting on the helmet a tiring tug of war. It creates a huge knot at the nape so the helmet must be forced down to wear. After riding a bit, the helmet can become bothersome. Braiding it lower works some of the time so I aim for that. Most of the time, I go the low pony-tail route but wearing it blowing free in the wind makes the best helmet fit--hair whipping around me notwithstanding.

Wearing my favorite jacket + my hair takes patience. The Firstgear Kilimanjaro jacket is worth every penny. It works in hot and cold weather with a system of removable liners. It is waterproof and a sure bet every time you wear it. One of the best decisions I made was to take it on the LMCT. It served me exceedingly well. Thus, I decided to ignore the daily hair battles as a result of this jacket. The Kilimanjaro is replete with covert and overt pockets, zippers, snaps and velcro flaps that allow excellent ventilation, great padding, and in all the right places, reflective piping. What more can one ask?

Well as much as I love this jacket, now that it's become my all around favorite, I've been fighting with it a lot. I've not been completely honest about the one major design flaw it has--at least for my kind of hair. I have thick, kinky, wooly hair that I have refused to chemically straighten (don't get me started...) since I was 17, which is a lot of years ago. Until ten years ago, I wore a TWA (tiny weeny afro), which, by the way, people bugged me about too, noting my similarity to cancer patients who have undergone chemotherapy! I now wear locks--not "dread" locks--as there is nothing dreadful about it. I wear my hair in beautiful, healthy nubian locks that require the same care you'd give to extra-fine cashmere.

The Kilimanjaro jacket owes much of its versality to Velcro. My hair is the soft fuzzy female side that mates with the wiry plastic male side of Velcro. When my jacket is on, my hair becomes a super magnet for wiry parts, which seek it out and instantly adhere to it. If I'm not careful, getting my jacket on is a chore. I have to remember to gather my hair to one side and slip the jacket on. Still, parts of it often catch on its wiry mate and I have to literally rip them apart, producing that jarring skrunchy sound we're all familiar with. Taking the jacket off can be a real headache too. I can remove it and still have it hanging on me by an open Velcro pocket or the collar because my hair has wrapped itself around these sections. If I'm not watchful, this impromptu mating can prevent me from turning my head at will as grops of locks have joined in group matting along a long Velcro strip. Someone recommended putting my hair inside my jacket. I tried that. Can you say "Quasimodo"? The hump underneath my ever-present knapsack made people whisper--or so I imagined them doing. In any case, it took my mind off the ride, which is never good.

I shouldn't hold my hair issues against helmet or jacket makers. Clearly, neither makes its products with with me in mind. Of my three helmets and four jackets, these are the best. I love this particular helmet and this particular jacket but I might be forced now to look for more lock-friendly gear. Or, YIKES...cut my hair.

If your hair is unlike mine, you can't go wrong with this HJC helmet or Firstgear jacket.

Sojourner Rides Three Presidents!

Disclaimer: I did not vote for any of them! There was no blue dress involved.

Still, I did three Presidents on a recent ride of 218 miles! It all started with a keen desire to follow a popular street in Chicago. It's Rt. 38, better known to Chicagoans as "Roosevelt Road." The eastern most tail of it is steps from my downtown start point. On a map, Rt.38 seems to stretch west forever. I take it, winding my way through diverse neighborhoods on a warm Saturday with the aroma of each ethnic group's cuisine filling the air, tempting my nostrils and brain to stop and eat, eat, eat.

As I leave familiar Chicago streets, the north side of the road is, at one point, lined with graveyard after graveyard. Passing through, I remember calling it "cemetery row." Eventually, the roads elongate, become long and flat and westward with few people out and about--contrary to the congestion back east on Chicago's Roosevelt Road. Early morning riding is simply the best!

After going through some trendy, upscale environs like Geneva, one comes to rural areas such as DeKalb. Continue west and reap the rewards of... cornfields. Miles and miles of cornfields. Nothing spectacular or challenging about the roads, they are just there--flat and occasionally slightly curvy. Crossing railroad tracks breaks the monotony now and again. However, those flat out, straight road have their own merit. They are hushed. Passing through the small towns of Ashton, Rochelle and Franklin Grove engenders a connection with nature. The sound of birds and an occasional "moo" from a cow is a far more welcoming call than a cabbie honking at you or a "traffic cop" blasting a whistle at you just because you're crossing the street while reading!

Heading west, one cannot miss the signs for "Historic Lincoln Highway," which is aka Rt. 30. This is my second nod to a President. I've taken Lincoln Highway many times but never this far west. I hop on and it snakes through some old, tiny villages that look as if they all decided to thumb their collective noses at time. Franklin Grove, IL--my personal favorite--is one town that prides itself with maintaining history. Soon after turning into the town, I see a large red, white and blue painted sign along side the building's front. It announces the Lincoln Highway Association National Headquarters. It is housed in an ancient building. A group of dedicated volunteers continues to do all they can to restore, maintain, and manage this tiny operation.

Inside the headquarters, I meet Lynn, who encourages me to sign the visitors' book and hang around to chat. Lynn is gregarious and doesn't need to hawk the items in the shop, which has tons of Lincoln Highway memorabilia, trinkets and antiques that locals place on consignment. After talking to Lynn, you just want to buy stuff. I am limited by my knapsack--and funds. Lynn knows the history of Lincoln Highway and imparts it with vitality that only a dedicated volunteer can. You'll learn everything about the bricks and mortar of the building, the volunteer efforts to keep it going, the construction of Lincoln Highway, and all the town history that only and insider can reveal. Lynn tells me about a relative, who not only rides a motorcycle but also builds them! On the spot, she calls his mother to find out if he has a website. He does. (I'm still looking for the url she gave me).

If you ever go by Franklin Grove stop in, say “hello” to Lynn, and sign in. You won't be disappointed if she's there and you'll learn a lot of regional history too.

Continuing west, I come to Dixon, IL and the childhood home of the next President: Ronald Reagan. His birthplace, Tampico, IL is still many miles west. The Reagan family rented five houses in Dixon. Two have been destroyed; two are privately occupied and not open to the public. The "museum" house stands on a street now named in honor of RR. The house is manned by enthusiastic volunteers who will tell you more than you will remember about the boyhood of Ronald Reagan and his days in Dixon. I watch a ten-minute film that was way more interesting than I thought possible; I tour the house, learn a lot of regional history, but ultimately I leave the house disappointed. NO JELLY BEANS!

Someone told that there were jellybeans on this tour, in honor of President Reagan's passion. Perhaps I misunderstood. I kept waiting for my treat. NOTHING. It's rude to ask about it. I'm thinking, I'll get my reward at the end. But when the door opens for me to leave, I do so. Nothing! Not even a "thank-you" for coming all this way to visit the house of a president I did not even vote for! Later I learned that they do not just give you the jellies, you must buy them in the gift shop! Tricked! That's how I feel. Oh, well, I only really like the red ones anyway. I won't say I wouldn't have visited had I known about the jelly beans ruse...but getting there was oh so sweet thinking a treat awaited me at the end.

I planned my return trip to follow another familiar road. I take Rt.64 all the way into downtown Chicago. Now I know that North Avenue is congested whether one is in Chicago or in the boonies! The only thing that made this an enjoyable eastward ride was going through towns like Sycamore and St. Charles. However, you must be comfortable in heavy traffic! Many malls --both small and large, line Rt.64. Where malls exist, there are far more chances for a motorcyclist to become road kill by inconsiderate, bad-driving, cell phone yakking shoppers. Construction is robust along parts of Rt.64. The best way through is patience, covering the front brake at all times, and owl-like head rotations to regularly scan for what's near you or bearing down on you! Still, the ride is worth it as there are wonderful, fun moments when one is not needing to avoid impatient drivers and only inching forward in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Doing Presidents...a great way to have spent a recent Saturday.

Pics: Presidential Ride/Rt.38

R.I.P. Ann Richards, EX-TX Governor and motorcyclist

Ann Richards had more class in a hair follicle than some of us have in our entire being! She was one smart and snazzy woman. Her spirit, humor and wit always made me stop to listen to her. I remember the comment she made in defense of women's abilities in a "man's world."

To paraphrase, she said, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, only she did it backwards and in high heels. This morning, I heard another memorable Richards quote: "I don't want my headstone to say, 'She kept a clean house.' I could just hear her releasing that famous laugh.

At 60, Richards bought herself a motorcycle and rode it!

RIP, Ann Richards.

Great American Motorcycle Tours: A Brief Review/Rant

Gary McKechnie’s book, Great American Motorcycle Tours, is a book I really wanted to eat up. I mean, what is there not to relish? It's well-written, over 500 pages of detailed, fun-sounding motorcycle adventures with maps, restaurants and shopping suggestions, and black and white photos--it even includes an opening essay by Peter Fonda, Hollywood’s bad-boy motorcyclist. The book is the winner of the Benjamin Franklin Gold Award and the Lowell Thomas Silver Award. So how could I--or anyone--not love this book?

For the longest, however, I couldn’t put my finger on what was irritating me—a lot—about the book. It hit me after I had been riding a short time. My first “long” ride was around 50 miles—not long by most motorcycle standards. Within days, my ride length had doubled. One sunny Saturday, with little planning, I did 220 easy miles. Now, I still consider myself a re-entry/newbie rider. I rode more than 20 years ago (briefly) . No doubt about it, it has felt like...well…starting over. Yet, accumulating mileage has come naturally and easily. On any given excursion, the miles seem to melt away. Were it not for time and obligations, I feel as if I could ride forever. This, from a relative newbie like me; I am not unique. Experienced riders cover far more terrain than I currently can and do. One motorcyclist I read about went to the store to retrieve items for lunch and took a 200 plus mile "jaunt" home.

Now let's look at some tours McKechnie describes: Amish Country Run, 110 miles. To cover this, McKechnie suggests three days with stops. Blue Ridge Parkway Run, 200 miles, “consider five days with stops.” Mighty Montana Run, 335 miles, “consider four days with stops.” Sawtooth Range Run, 450 miles, “consider six days with stops.” McKechnie appears to have some exceedingly low expectations for motorcyclists. These are looooooong completion times!

Why, someone tell me, would it take anyone three days to cover 110 miles?! Even on challenging roads, one should be able to cover 110 miles in less than three days—even with stops! For the average biker, 110 miles could be covered in a few hours—even with stops. McKechnie's average is approximately 36 miles a day! Come on! I can walk 110 miles in three days! This rant applies to all the distances in McKechnie's book. Even playing tourist to the max, should not turn these trips into the multiple day outings McKechnie recommends.

If you want to squeeze in a weekender or have limited vacation time, following a McKechnie tour will devour--FAST--whatever time you set aside, while not taking you very far. In six days, one would only cover about 450 miles of a McKechnie trip. The times/distances in Great American Motorcycle Tours seemed written for bicyclists rather than for motorcyclists! It’s a shame that such a good book, in terms of its tour descriptions, will annoy many motorcyclists. It will. Trust me!

"AVOID COSTLY TRAFFIC TICKETS!"

Ok, this is what I’m talking about! Motorcyclists encounter some pretty ugly stereotypes, which are not manufactured out of thin air. I mean, there is a grain of truth inherent in any stereotype. Problem is, that grain is then categorically applied to everyone and those who don’t fit it are seen as the exceptions to the rule. Here’s an example of what fuels the stereotypes about motorcyclists being daredevils and law-breakers.

While thumbing through the latest issue of a motorcycle magazine my eyes settle on an ad. The ad is bold, red and captivating. It screams at you to “avoid costly traffic tickets!” The “s” in costly is the dollar sign. It explains how one can render a bike “invisible” to police cameras. There is a photo of a traffic signal with a red slash through it. Moreover, according to the ad, it is “100% legal.” How does this work? Well, buy a can of this stuff, spray it on your license plate and voila, your license plate becomes unreadable in a photo. The chemical creates a plate that is indecipherable when “flashed.” No surprise tickets in the mail.

I’m aware that radar detectors serve a similar purpose, if you really want to get technical. But there is a difference. With a radar detector, if you run a red light, flee the police or are seen by someone else while in the midst of committing a traffic offense, your license plate can be recorded. There is only one reason I can come up with that explains why anyone would want this product and that’s to avoid justice when braking the law. How about riding with good sense and obeying traffic laws as the best way to avoid costly tickets?

Isn’t buying a can of this saying, “I want to and I plan to break the law with impunity.” It’s designed for speed “freaks,” lane-splitters (in non-lane splitting friendly states), and tollbooth free-riders, to skirt the law. This is how many people see motorcyclists in general. The makers of this product surely feel they are providing a needed service. Seems to me that what they’ve done is capitalize on and perpetuate a negative stereotypes about motorcyclists. And, those who buy it, also feed into the outlaw stereotype. Or, am I just not getting it? Somebody, please explain to me what I’m missing here?

Pics of Lake MI, lighthouses, roads, rain and more...

A cloudy day that continued to look like rain any minute provided the inspiration needed to post some of the LMCT photos.

Blogged with Flock

The SV goes grocery shopping!

I detest grocery shopping. In a nutshell, that's why I do it around 3:30 a.m. and definitely before 5:00 a.m. That way, I avoid hordes of people, wailing children, playing bumper carts, express line violators, and pushers--those "cooks" that geniunely want you to eat stuff they've made on the spot in hopes that you'll eat it, take the coupon and buy the "food" they're pushing. NEVER! And, did I say the hordes of people? But the disadvantage of going in the wee hours is that I become an interloper.

The folks whose job is to stock shelves, clean floors, rearranged aisles, typically do not like to see me coming. I am in the way. I've sauntered in around 3:30 a.m. where the floors are in the midst of being shined, aisles are impassable because they are loaded with towering boxes and those mammoth metal monsters that hoist stuff. Navigating a shopping cart is a perilous eye-opener. The workers are listening to a boom-box and chatting among themselves (sometimes using un-customer-friendly language). When they look up and see me, I can tell that I've come upon something I'm not supposed to. But hey, I need food and toilet paper. Believe me, it is safer for humanity that I go at 3:30 a.m. than to go when everyone else and their mother goes.

Well, my wee hour shopping times might be over! Today, I took the SV with me. It's amazing what a cheap plastic crate will carry. Actually, it's a deterrant from buying too much, which is a good thing for someone like moi who tends to throw out more than I consume. Today is Saturday. I bought enough to last me for the next five days easy!

The really great thing about shopping on the SV is that the to and fro turned out to be a most pleasant trip. I didn't even go straight home, which was the high point! I went for a short ride! Never in my previous history of grocery shopping via car or on foot have I taken a spontaneous detour just for the fun of it. This new routine just might make me enjoy grocery shopping--no, that's not gonna happen! But!... at least I can look forward to my post-grocery shopping reward. A five mile jaunt to the store can easily turn into a 50 mile detour on the way home.

Book Review...sorta

My successful Lake Michigan Circle Tour is due in large part to William Murphy's Motorcycling Across Michigan (MAM). By the way, I'm defining success in two ways: first, I never got terribly lost. Whenever I was a little lost, it was my fault; I distrusted the instructions! Second, I returned home unscathed--that's the best kind of success!

Vastly more than a guide to exceptional roads, the book is a conversation with a seasoned motorcyclist whose expertise shows on every page. MAM is many books in one. It is a well-researched blueprint to the best Michigan roads, a geography, history and socio-cultural mini-course to boot. Murphy has done the difficult work for you. Yet, he provides options for those who might want to explore alternate routes.

Murphy has brilliantly anticipated a motorcyclists' needs. In addition to providing detailed, fun maps, Murphy has answered every questions a motorcyclist might ask! Need to find a motorcycle dealer or repair shop? Need to call local and state authorities? Need to report lost or stolen credit cards? Need to know MI motorcycle laws? Need to make hotel reservations on the road? Murphy has even thought to provide blank, lined paper in the back of the book to write down information you might need to refer to later.

It is a motorcyclist's book, however, motorists and bicyclists can join in the fun and pick up a copy of Murphy's book too. It is an excellent tour and resource guide for anyone on wheels.

I'm unusually careful with my books. Even after a second read, they look pristine. But Murphy's book looks like I've used it in battle. It is dog-eared, replete with margin notes, highlighted, with some pages hanging on by threads. This seeming neglect, in this case, is a sign of how much I've loved and used this book.

Murphy will be speaking on September 16th in Lansing, MI. I am tempted to bike there just to tell him how I feel about his wonderful book. If you are within 100 miles of this, go! Do not miss this talk. If Murphy in-person is half as good as he is in print, it will be a very fine evening indeed.

SOME PICS...

An industrial lake view from Sheboygan, WI A historical society and lighthouse doing business together.
This is the river walk where a helpful "senior" told me stories about her courting days along the river with her husband of over 50 years. She recalled the "fun" activities and "ice angels" they made together on the frozen river.


Note the WI state symbol beyond the real logs and fake horses that welcome you to the state.

LMCT--final words...

Don’t know all the reasons why, but writing the final essay on the trip has been more challenging than writing the daily trip blogs combined. I think my block might pertain to my wish that the trip could have been longer, that the Door County part that I had to excise could have been completed. I thought I had accepted that I needed to cut it out to save time and that I could always do Door County as a weekend—even day trip, as it’s relatively close by. I thought I was okay with this. Then I got home and realized I was ticked that I hadn’t made the push to Door County. So I think by not writing the final entry, I avoided having to deal with just how peeved I really was to return without having completed Door County.

But all is well now. I’ve had another nice trip since the Lake Michigan Circle Tour and that has given me a fine sense of closure. Other than the sheer joy of feeling the open air, watching the world whiz by and riding two wheels, nothing extraordinary about the last 220 (approximately) miles home. I forged ahead and only stopped to fill up, eat, or flex my limbs. Given that the sky looked like rain after passing Green Bay, I didn’t mind the single-minded push to get home.

I must say that once in WI, the Lake Michigan Circle Tour takes on a different character. In MI, there are extensive stretches of road that allows one to stay close to the lakeshore. This is not the case in WI. In WI, one has to jog inland and out, which means meandering through towns and dealing with the Interstate more. At times, you can’t help ask youself if it is worth getting off the interstate to get near the lakeshore, particularly if the lakeshore stretch is relatively short. For example, I enjoyed hanging around Sheboygan but really thought there should have been more to make it worth it. Seeing a new town is always an interesting adventure but states have different level of lakefront development and MI is tops in my book. Chicago too, has maximized its lakefront and we are a city that takes full advantage of our lake. If one expects to see similar developments in IN and WI, one might be disappointed.

Therefore, while getting near the lake is the key to the tour for me, it’s not always an easy undertaking. With patience, however, one can take in a lot and come away appreciative of the diversity of environments and landscapes that are out there.

By the time I’d reached IL, I knew that rain was inevitable. On I-43 it rained near Zion, IL. Again, my gear proved its worth. No need to stop, I had prepared for rain and was ready for what was ahead. I-43 gets one to Rt.41 South/I-94 East into Chicago. Somewhere near Lake Forest, the rain was in full form, creating rain-slick roads that were not fun to ride. Most of the sane people slowed accordingly. However, enough did not and it made being out there too dangerous. By this time, the sky had darkened considerably adding to the already diminishing visibility. I had on my trusty yellow rubber cleaning gloves, which by the way, are excellent for wiping off the visor (has anyone successfully invented wipers for helmets, yet?).

I got out of the wet-madness on Tower Line Road and saw a Borders Books, where I hung out for about 3 hours, pouring over the latest motorcycle magazines and scanning Brinkley’s book on Katrina. Had to resist buying it there—not an inch of space to tote another thing. I had to remind myself that there *are* bookstores in Chicago!

When I leave the bookstore, it is after 8:30 p.m., and lightly raining. Had only to slip on my rain pants and put the rain coats on the bike, which had been sitting out in the rain for hours—still, the luggage had kept the contents relatively dry. The slick gunk on the road appears to be washed off. I ride until I reach Sheridan Road and take it southbound. Actually, to save time, I had not planned to take Sheridan Road back, figuring I’d save time by jumping on the interstate. This leg of the LMCT, from Milwaukee to Chicago, I’ve done enough times that I wouldn’t feel badly about cutting it out. But there I was; on Sheridan Road, where I felt traffic would be more manageable. The most interesting thing is that I entered Sheridan Road near a point off Linden Avenue, where The Bahai Temple House of Worship stood luminous against the black, rainy night. I couldn’t help but feel safe in the glow of its brilliance.

Sheridan Road was relatively quiet with few cars heading south. Not until I reached Chicago did I experience any heavy traffic. I decided not to take Lake Shore Drive into the city, because the gentle rain had turned heavy. I remained on Sheridan Road until Halsted Street, at which point I traveled along Halsted until North Avenue and then on to Wells St., which I took the rest of the way downtown. Again, most people slowed down. My position is that if people want me to go faster, they can go around or fly over me. Although there was a car in front of me, some stupid person evidently wanted me to fly over the car in front of me. The driver road my tail! Finally, when the person saw a chance to get to the right lane and fly when the light changed to green, he took it but not before yelling out, “Vespa,” to me. At first, what he yelled didn’t register… then it hit me that he was ordering me to get a scooter. I wanted to race him down and say, “Look crap-head, I’ve just ridden over 1000 miles without incident; I’m not going to come back home and have some jerk make me have an accident!” Instead, I just yelled, “stupid-a&*,” at him in my helmet.

I arrived home after 10pm, exhausted and filled with unbelievable memories I had created for myself. I wanted time to reflect; I’ve had a little so far and I still can’t believe that I did it, had so much fun, and can hardly wait for my next adventure.

Home...Safe and sound & ready to go again!

I am preparing a tale on coming home, which was an interesting way to end the journey. Will post the details of that tonight.

I arrived, however, late last night, around 10:00 p.m.--five hours later than calculated. I was on schedule until I entered IL. To welcome me home, it rained. It was a "hard rain," as Bob Dylan sings. As motorcyclists we should avoid these early rains...But I didn't. Yet, RT 43, taught me a lesson. On it, were some people who evidently didn't notice that it was raining for they drove like maniacs--total disregard for slowing down--not everyone--but it only takes one.

Eventually, I exited, found a Border's Books on Tower Line Road somewhere near Lake Forest. I hung out there for about three hours, clumping around in my gear and feeling like the Michelin woman. I sank into a stack of magazines. Quite by accident, I ran into a friend and his three adorable children. They are tiny book lovers, whose combined age is like, 4! They were in book heaven in the children's section, doing serious work on Peter Pan, Cinderella, and Amelia Bedelia, to mention a few.

Finally had to don my rain pants, put the rain coats on the luggage and head home. By the way, purchasing the bike cover was an EXCELLENT investment. Not only did it protect the luggage from probing eyes and hands, it kept the bike dry--who wants to sit on a wet seat?

Took Sheridan Road, which is part of the LMCT, a section that I've done many times. Interestingly enough, when I finally arrived on Sheridan Road, it put me very near The Bahai Temple and it gave me a full circle feeling as I drove by it and glanced at the building, which I've never seen at night. It stands as a mammoth beacon, all lit up, as if welcoming me home; I took it personally. I was happy to be received so brightly. This was a particularly poignant moment for me as this section of the LMCT was my first "long" trip after buying the bike. My signature photo is my bike in front of The Bahai Temple.

Avoided Lake Shore Drive as the roads were still rather slippery. Took Sheridan Road to Halsted and then weaved my way through the familiar Chicago streets. Ended up taking Wells Street all the way to Lake Street and the headed home from there.

In all, I've put approximately 1,128+ miles on the bike.

Again, I will post the conclusion of this travel tale tonight (and photos)--more like the wee hours for me.

In a couple of weeks, the next trip takes place... (to be continued)

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This is a test post from Photobucket.com

Not home yet...but getting there--sadly...

Dispatches from Green Bay WI: Got lost here but the detour was actually fun as it gave me time to tour the area. They love those Packers, eh?

Monday’s push toward home made me a wee bit sad, as there is much I must leave behind and see on another visit. The one good thing about this decision is that WI roads are not as easy to navigate along the lakeshore. One has to ride the interstate, jump on, and off to take roads that lead to and from the shoreline. This is not the case once I leave Milwaukee and continue south. That’s an area I’m familiar with enough to know the good roads. Still, I miss already the miles and miles of MI lakeshore roads.

Manistique, MI: The morning started quite cloudy and gray but people kept telling me it wasn’t going to rain. Uh? It looked like rain to me! Glad I was wrong. But I heard it rained buckets in Chicago much of the day.

Stopped at a little lighthouse near the hotel, one that allowed you to walk right up to the structure, some are impossible to get near unless you’re on a boat, others are so protected that you’re only able to see them from behind a fence or some other structure, still others are now museums and can be walked through. This structure jutted out in the water, surrounded by mammoth rocks. After parking the bike, I headed for the lighthouse. On the way, I saw two people who looked like they might be together (dressed a little alike) leaving the lighthouse. The woman was in front and passed me on the side; neither of us spoke. The man came directly into my path and said, “Hi”.

He immediately asked me where I was riding to (motorcycle gear is a dead give away that one rides…). I told him and this led to a lengthy conversation about our trips. He is from Detroit and covering the lake tour also. He, however, is doing his own route and had ventured off a lot more in the Upper Peninsula area that I. He mentioned the town of Newberry and a bear farm that allows petting of cubs. To him, the Tahquamenon Falls, near Newberry, which is in the UP near Lake Superior, is a “must-see.” To him, the Tahquamenon is “way” better than Niagara Falls. One website said that the Tahquamenon was the “largest waterfall east of the Mississippi outside of Niagara.” (Add to list of next summer visits!)

We studied my map, with its yellow highlighting and pen notes. He showed me some of the places they had covered. He strongly recommended doing the Lake Superior Circle Tour, which is definitely on my list of future lake tours. He asked me about “the” bridge. He said he and his wife, particularly, were nervous about it and that he was going to avoid the grated side. I told him I hoped that he could but that northbound the right side was closed, I thought for repairs; thus, making it impossible to avoid the grates. He didn’t look happy; he said they would often close a lane if it were too windy. It was windy that day. His comment, “oh, shit, really?” He went on to say, “my lady’s not gonna like that.” Perhaps it was good then, that his lady was not around to hear our conversation. She sat on a stoop smoking during out conversation. We parted and I snapped a few photos before heading west along highway 2.

Next stop, Escanaba. I stopped at a Honda Motorcraft store that also sold motorcycles. My key had become increasingly difficult to insert and remove. A few times, it was so stuck that I thought I’d never get it out. I also wanted someone to look at my chain. Those two days of rain had made the outside of the chain rusty in spots. I also wanted to adjust the throttle play, which I could do myself. I asked if they could take care of the key hold and chain or recommend a shop that could. A guy name Dan said, “Let’s take a look.” This might be dumb of me, but I wasn’t sure if I could put oil down the ignition switch. I think I read somewhere that you definitely could for this very problem—but I dream stuff a lot and must check my views against reality.

The little retractable lid that opens and closes has disappeared, leaving a horizontal space that is always open. I wondered about rain getting in there and rusting things. He sprayed some HP Chain Lube in the hole and we repeatedly inserted the key a few times and voila! It’s in and out is easy now. Dan said my chain looked fine in terms of tension. He lubed the chain, along the teeth and on the outside; he said the rust was “nothing” that the lube couldn’t rid. I paid $3.75 for the lube; Dan refused to take anything for his labor. I offered a lunch on me but he wouldn’t take that either. Instead, we engaged in bike talk and he showed me a Honda Goldwing—those bikes are gigantic! He said, “there’s a 70-something woman who is as small as you and she rides one…” To me, that thing is like sitting a small truck! For two-up comfort, I can definitely see it working…Dan and his crew told me where to go in Escabana for some nice sights, lunch, and how to get to the lighthouse. (Reminder to send thank you note to Dan).

Went to Wendy’s for a salad since it was on the way to the lighthouse. Inside, I met an older woman who came up to me and said, “Is that your bike out there?” She continued, “Be care when you go out, there’s a swarm of wasps near some spilled soda—you don’t want to get stung.” She went on to dramatize how she opened her car door and closed it before she could be bitten—she could make it in acting. She sat down and smiled at me a lot. I smile back and tried to stay focused on my map and salad. A man who looked like he was recovering from a stroke or something sat down at her table. He looked over at me and said, “excuse me, that your bike…?” Before I could ask, his “wife”—I’m assuming—said, “I already told her.” He didn’t listen, and told me again. I thanked him and assured him I’d be careful.

Here’s what I learned from them. Both have connections to IL. He has a brother, whom he doesn’t see much now, who lives in Kankakee, IL—not terribly far from the suburb where I have a house. His brother is ill but recovering “nicely” from a stroke. They don’t get to see each other much, but the wife tells me that they talk on the phone “a lot.” Her parents were born in Chicago and she could recall the street her father lived on. I could tell she was a bit disappointed that I hadn’t heard of the street. They come to Wendy’s a lot for the free soda refills. Sometimes they go just to have a soda together. He told me that they are happy because they just paid their light bill and will have lights for another month. I gave them the run down on my trip. She said, “That’s so nice, be careful, God be with you.”

Visited the Escanaba lakefront. Small, clean and well-maintained. Took the lakeshore road that would lead me back to state RT 35. It’s a picturesque section of town with boats bobbing on the water, and large old homes sitting on a hill that surrounds Ludington Park. But Lake Shore Drive ended abruptly with construction. There was an open lane but it was sand—no can do…had to turn around (I’ve done 400 U-turns since beginning this trip!).

Pushed ahead to Green Bay. state RT35 carries you though small towns such as Fox River and Cedar River. The road is fairly well traveled but cars tend to be spaced far apart. For miles, I traveled without a vehicle behind me. Trucks heading east created some interesting moments. Wind blasts, wind buffeting—not even sure about my terminology here. But when some trucks passed me, they slammed me and the bike with a wind force that truly disturbed me--thank goodness, it was only for a few seconds each time it happened. Interestingly, this didn’t happen with every passing truck—don’t know why. A couple of times it was so bad it seemed as if the bike paused and felt shoved back. It was most weird in a curve and leaned—way too much fun for me. The hardest part of this was not to grip the handlebar but to countersteer when some incredible, powerful force that feels otherworldly is whamming you. My little fairing helped with head winds, but no fairing can help with these side windblasts, I don’t think.

Peshtigo, WI: Wanted to stop and visit the fire museum but needed to push forward. I did drive by the museum and almost stopped for the photo of the historical marker in honor of lost lives during the great fire of 1871, but parking in front of it would have been tricky. Poor Peshtigo, they had a horrible fire on the same day as “The Great Chicago Fire.” And for reasons that still tick off Peshtigo folks, Chicago’s fire received the greatest attention and the event is known the world over—even though the Peshtigo fire was far worse in terms of lives lost and resources destroyed. The Peshtigo fire is considered the “worst forest fire in recorded North American history…” Try dealing with that and having Chicago and its highly suspect story about a cow kicking over a lantern get all the attention—I’d be ticked too. (Next trip, make arrangement to visit Peshtigo Fire Museum)

Marinenette, WI. I guess people here don’t want you to find the visitor’s center. It is in a nutty place that can’t be reached by car. I drove around and around trying to follow the signs and almost gave up. I met four young boys riding their bikes like Evil Knievel, jumping and popping wheelies. I turned down their street and ran into a dead end. They were in hot pursuit of my bike. And when they passed me (I was going very slow) and stopped before the torn apart street, a couple of them jammed on their brakes to force the bike to slide; they skidded for fun, and their back tires spun them around. Within seconds, I was surrounded by four boys whose combined age was probably 29. One of the boys was quite large and muscular, but the face of a pre-teen. Another looked much younger but about the age of the larger boy. Two of the boys were considerably younger, like 7 years old. They all started firing questions at me, “is that your bike,” “what kind of bike is that,” “who showed you how to ride it?” Unanimously, they thought the bike was “really cool.” Finally, the older boy silenced everyone and said, “Can I have a ride?” I said, “Are you serious?” He said, “Yes, I know how to ride-please, let me have a ride, I’ll show you?” I told him,”No, besides you have to have a license.” He said he did, that it was in his house. Then a little, squeakiest voice piped up, “He’s lying, he’s a liar…he tells me lies all the time—don’t let him.” The older boy didn’t get mad, he just smiled and said, “My license is right here, see, it’s invisible. He held up his hand to show me the invisible license. I smiled at my little followers and told the leader that when I returned he could take a ride on my invisible bike. They followed me to the corner.

Rode around some more looking for how to enter the visitors’ center. This is the point in which one side is MI and the other is WI. Turned into the Menominee travel info area (I think) and sat with the bike running. A gold metallic Lexus drove up and parked next to me. The 70-something year old woman inside, opened her car door and said, “Are you looking for something?” I told her. She said, “Well, turn off your bike because you’re not gong to find it on that.” She had the kind of voice that you obeyed. I shut down the bike. She told me to come with her because where I wanted to go is on the way. As we crossed the River Walk Bridge, she stopped. “This is where my husband and I used to come in the winter time and make ice angels. We’d lie on the ice—oh, if my mother ever knew that—“She had a hearty laugh and was all dolled up with make up, blue Capri pants, beige moccasin type shoes, and white top, the kind many older women like—sort of cotton, sort of stretchy that are decorated with flowers along the upper chest area and elasticized band at the waist. She looked out on the river and said, “I wonder where al the smelt is, there used to be so much smelt here, so much that it would be everywhere and we’d slip on them sometimes.” She seemed sad about a long gone past.

According to her, at one time, the river was the hub of life here, the town had activities in the summer and winter-- “we kids had a ball,” she said. She has two “girls” and when they were small, she and her husband brought the girls here too, as they had done when they were courting. We continued to walk; she asked me if I’d had a chance to go to Mackinac Island. I mistakenly told her I’d been there but I was actually thinking of Mackinaw City. She said, “Oh, I love going to Mackinac Island…it’s soooo romantic—of course I’ve been married over 50 years—there’s no more romance there, you know…” I knew what she meant.

The visitors’ center was closed and the woman seemed genuinely sad for me. We found some brochures on a stand outside. We said good-bye and I thanked her for her welcome to WI. What a nice woman. Sometimes I think that kind people we meet along the way are our dead ancestors back in another form to look out for us, which is why it pays to be always kind—at least initially — to people, we met.

A digression on Mackinac/Mackinaw. Mackinac Island, Mackinaw City and Mackinac Bridge, the Old Mackinac Point Light—come on, people, which way do you want us outsiders to say it given your different spellings? On more than one occasion, I said the “-ac” and “-aw” as it is spelled. In reality, the locals get ticked because they disregard the differences in spelling and call everything by the “-aw” ending. This all stems from a difference between how the French and English spelled and truncated the Native American word, “missilimaahkinaank.” The French and British had issues that are still reflected in this commonly mispronounced word.

Pushed ahead to Green Bay where I am now. Even as I write this, I’m lamenting the fact that my trip unfortunately needs to come to a close; my week ends officially Tuesday. Yet, I am debating going to Door County before heading back. In reality, I can make this a separate weekend trip. Ok, I can live with that—don’t like it, but hey…I’m glad I started the trip from Chicago to IN and through MI, because I feel I did what I wanted there and only missed things to which I was not committed to visiting. I’m more familiar with the WI side and it’s closer and easy to get to. Ok, then…I’m on a straight track back home today.

Pics...text to follow...

Still in MI?!...but WI bound!

Sunday's post:

Lessons: Despite the love of riding, I've learned that being on a bike consecutive hours on consecutive days is difficult work. Fun. But work that tires you out at the end of the day.

More lessons: Internet access might be spotty at times...blog may have some missing days.

Here it is, two days shy of a week since I left IL and I'm still in MI! What gives? Well, I keep finding recommended roads that need to be ridden--that's what gives! On one of my future circle tours, I'm going to try this as a ride-through. It would be great to do this in one long three-to-four day weekend

I have mentioned before about the isolation of the roads and expressed some concerns about Highway 2. Well, that was a waste of worry juice! I saw more cars on 2 than I've seen the entire time! Still, somewhat sparse, but at least I saw cars. I must say, I was happy to see "cagers." I enjoyed the company.

Arrived in Mackinaw City on a beautiful, clear early afternoon. Exiting US31 heading north, I could see the famed Mackinac Bridge, with it proud, tall arms/legs extending far into the sky. Golden Gate Bridge has NOTHING on the Mighty Mac, which is in fact, the longest suspension bridge in North American--if not the world (ok, I better check the world fact comment) . When I heard that one had a choice between riding the metal grating or the concrete slab in the right lane, I never gave crossing the bride another thought.

Stopped at the Mackinaw City visitor's center and spoke with a woman at the counter who not only gave me three free MI postcards, she also ordered me to be safe. She liked that I was circling the lake, but like many others, expressed her concern about doing so alone.

What I didn't mention to her and haven't mentioned here, is that my only real concern (not even the riding tops this...) is meeting strange men, particularly strange men that are bigger, stronger than me. And don't let it be two men or a group. Sorry, I'm just not comfortable being around people who can overpower me. And I don't expect other men to understand this because they will think only of themselves, knowing that they would never harm a woman. But other men do. The average man is stronger than I am, giving them a distinct physical advantage and I think about those things. I've heard too much, experienced too much, and at one time watched too much Lifetime TV --the purportedly station for women, you know the one where at least one woman has to be raped, imprisoned, tortured, etc. I said I used to watch it. TV for women--what a joke! How about let's teach woman how to be victims--sorry for the digression. Still, kidnapping and involuntary slavery are two of my personal nightmares.

So I travel with inanimate objects for protection. What I've never said is that every time I meet a male stranger, the first thing I do is size him up to see if I can take him down, which is unlikely or whether I can fight back enough that will make him call for his momma! I just note casually where all his sensitive body parts are in relationship to my feet and fists--how far I'd have to extend them to make perfect contact. I thought this about Norm and realized that all I had to do for him, was run a few blocks and Norm would drop from a massive coronary...Poor guy. Anyhow...

Highlights from Mackinaw City included some brief encounters: Two examples. Met a couple vacationing with their two teenage children. They were a true HD family. The mother rode one child on the back of her bike, the father road the other. They wore their HD loyalty to the hilt! Is there another company with such brand loyalty? I could imagine in a few years, the boys will be riding mom and dad on the backs of their motorcycles--or they'll be a four HD bike family. The husband told me that his wife would "love" to do the circle tour by herself. She only smiled so I don't really know if he'd like her to do it, or she would like to do it.

Next story: I was on the phone, watching my bike at a rest stop. A man came from the rest stop building and stopped near my bike. That's not unusual, I'm learning that my bike is a chuck magnet (male version of a "chick" magnet). But this chuck looked all of 100 years old! He was stooped with signs of osteoporosis or something like it...Another middle age man passed him and the oldest guy said something to him that made him also stand there staring at my gal-pal. I'm thinking perhaps they see something wrong with the bike or perhaps conspiring about how to steal it. I cut my daughter off in mid-sentence and tell her I have to go and foil some probably bike thieves.

I mosey up to the bike and the oldest man, in the kindest Mr. Rogers' voice, warmly asks if I "belong to that bike?" I answer affirmatively. And then what he says next makes my heart melt and I think I'm in love. He says, "well, young lady, that a very fine bike, you got, very nice..." He goes on to tell me that he'd just been "admiring it." He says, "tell me about it." Well, I know I'm rabid. I tell him more than he probably wanted to know. At the end, he looks at the middle age guy and says, "...She could sell these bike, she sure could." The middle age man agreed. He told me that he rides a bike too. A Vulcan. He was pleased to know that I had seem a Vulcan and knew a thimble full about the bike. Eventually he left and the elderly gent and I talked. He said regarding my trip, "why young lady, that's very nice, very adventurous...You must be having a fine time...Good for you..." I will confess. I love old people, always have. No matter their background, race, etc., nice old people remind me of my grandparents, particularly my grandfather, who just happened to be the greatest human being ever to walk the face of this earth. So this man was capturing my heart big time with his Mr. Rogers qualities. We said good bye. He got into his car started it up and then turned the car off. I thought, he probably wants to see me pull away. WRONG.

He got out of the car again and waited by the curb. An elderly woman who looked to be around his age was walking toward the car. He called to her, "Honey, I want you to meet this young lady." She' was a sure stand in for Aunt Bea on the Andy Griffin Show. She had the most welcoming smile. They took hands and he presented her to me. We exchanged greetings. He said, "tell her about your bike." So I gave a truncated retelling of the bike's history. The woman never stopped smiling. She thought the bike was "real pretty." Her husband said, "Now tell her about what you're doing and where you've come from." I told her. Her smiles continued with lots of head shaking and affirming looks. Finally she said, "that is so special, this will be something to remember...and you're doing it alone, you must be so proud." I just wanted to take these people home with me. This is why I'm glad I was practically raised by grandparents for I had four grandparents who were just like this, always saying great stuff to you and making you feel like you could walk on air. I know it is not true for all of us...but was for me. In only a few minutes, I was deeply touched by these two people. We wished each other safe travels. Again, I didn't get a pic, but in this case it's ok as I know I'll not forget them in the place where it counts most, my heart.
***
Well, yesterday's ride was wonderful. Please, please people, whether you ride a motorcycle or not, get in a car for heaven's sake, and do the LMCT. If for no other reason than to ride M119. Let me tell you something about that road. It is better than anything I've written about before. All that flack I said about Deal's Gap--my goodness, pales in comparison to this road. First, it is long. When it was over I stopped clinching my teeth and praying. Second, it is a narrow road with traffic coming and going, all sharing one narrow road--not a lot of traffic, mind you. There is just enough space for two cars to pass side-by-side. Believe me...There is not an inch of extra space. Third, there is no shoulder. The trees come right up to the very freaking edge of the road! Fourth the turns are tighter than spandex on a hootchie momma! And the curves are very squiggly and very sharp and very scary (mostly in a fun way, but I had some moments when I wanted it all to end but there is no turning around once you are on this road). Fifth, it went on and on. Sixth, unlike any other time, I had to watch for a lot all potential hazards at the same time. Oncoming cars and motorcyclists (more about them later), the swiftly changing angles of the road, trying to flick a loaded bike into the turns and all this with little space and time in between to regroup. Make one error and you must forget about it immediately for the next challenge is right ahead of you. When the end finally came (I should have measured the distance but I was in there for at least 30 minutes and the speed ranged from 35 mph to 50).

Here's what Murphy says about M119 in his book, Motorcycling Across Michigan, "Once beyond Harbor Springs M119 gets progressively better, until it turns into the 'Tunnel of Trees', as it is called. M119 is the only state highway where special rules apply. There is no shoulder and the trees are literally right on the edge of the pavement. There is also a sever shortage of any straight sections. Many of the curves are tight, so even though it is very tempting to go fast, try to show some semblance of restraint and keep your speeds reasonable for the road you're on. M119 runs along the crest of a high bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. Unfortunately the land all along it is private, with many drives heading down the bluff to palatial secone homes. M119 is a blast to ride, to put it succinctly." [Emphasis, mine] This man is not lying! (Saw two hot rod crotch-rockets pass a line of cars with tme at the lead. They blasted through like...Well, rockets. They must have had some familiarity with these roads--can't imagine that any sane person would attempt those speeds otherwise. Apparently, they made it alright as we didn't pass any wipe-outs.

Mackinac Bridge: I felt confident crossing it because I'd accepted the fact that I would ride the concrete. Well, guess what?! The freaking concrete side was blocked off almost immediately after getting on the bridge. When I saw the sign to merge to the left lane, the lane of metal grating, I couldn't believe it. It's not that I can't or am afraid of these grating, I ride them in Chicago and it's fine. They are not fun and the wiggling is a bit annoying. Five miles of it on the Mighty Mac wasn't something that inspired me. All I wanted was the view. But I got the view and miles of wiggly too. After the initial freak out, I settled in and kept my throttle steady, head straight ahead and up (No, I didn't look down to see the water--one can have only so much fun before it turns into hedonism, and that just isn't right).

Found a comfortable hotel in Manistique, MI. Wanted to make it to Escabana but it was getting dark. Sunday I rode from 10ish in the morning until 8:30pm --of course lots of stops and touring in between. Can't believe I'm still in MI. The Upper Peninsula is cold! Highway 2 rocks really hard!

I'm way behind schedule and will try to make up some ground on Monday (I've been saying that for the last couple of days...) I want to get into WI and that should be relatively easy. Debating whether I should go to Door County before heading south home. If I don't, I'll miss some great sites that Murphy mentions, places like Sturgeon Bay, Egg Harbor, Sister Bay and Baileys Harbor to mention a few. Perhaps I'll let the weather and my funds determine my next course.

Still having a royal time...