Ride Report: Kankakee, IL: “Ride like a River”

In anticipation of DD (darling daughter) coming home Saturday, I took a short ride on a bright, beautiful, breezy and clear Saturday. Away from Lake Michigan, temps climbed beyond 80 degrees.

Before heading out, I stop by Motorworks to have new foot pegs installed. The racy blue metal pegs are hugely annoying—feeling buzzy through my boots—on rides over 100 miles. While there, I decided to have Queenie washed, which would save me from doing it later. Besides, Queenie would enjoy the ride better if she were clean. With new pegs and a new shine, we headed south for Kankakee, IL, taking some less traveled back roads.

I follow Historic Rt. 66 to Harlem Avenue/IL- 43 south to reach IL -171 south. This is a familiar route to me given my trip last season to Kankakee State River Park. I remain on IL-171 until US-45 S and there I stay for about 40 miles. This is a fast, nice road that the farther south one goes, the more the landscape becomes rural. Lots of farms and open land mixed in with swanky new homes and old country houses up and down yonder. I wanted to pick up CR-8 but took an unexpected turn that led to more backloads. Eight miles or so later, I was in the hinter areas of Kankakee.

I want to photograph two Kankakee Frank Lloyd Wright homes. They are on Harrison Ave. Like many river towns, this one splits streets. What doesn’t go through resumes on the other side of town. But it’s a curvy street-town and the pick up points can be tricky. Harrison is like that. It is one way going north. Indiana Ave is one way going south, where the Lemuel Milk Barn sits and sounded like another photo opportunity. Harrison is one street east of Indiana. I rode around a number of times trying to find my way. Eventually I did, but Harrison isn’t the kind of street on which one can pull over easily. I can’t be certain if I spotted the Frank Lloyd Wright’s homes, both of which now are privately owned. I did see two homes that might have been FLW’s but I didn’t stop to photograph them. In retrospect, I am now certain they were indeed Wright’s style. I did find the historic Court House, the historic public library but no Lemuel Milk Barn or the State Hospital, which according to the town’s website is worth a look-see. I ended up not caring much about the sites and enjoyed riding around more than stopping and shooting. I made a brief visit at the state park again.

By 6:00 p.m., I was tired and hungry. I called the house and learned that DD had missed her flight and would be arriving Sunday, which meant a visit home of less than 24 hours before leaving for the University of Madrid. I caught I-57 north. Although the northbound traffic was light, my presence must have bugged someone because a car passing in the left lane threw a soda can (with soda in it) at me. It was no accident. The can was hurled back just as the car passed me. I watched it flying backwards, hitting the ground after lightly bouncing off my lower leg. I’m good at not panicking. I did not swerve, I did not duck, I did not freak—any of which can be disastrous on two wheels. I did imagine possessing a radioactive laser that could project from my front turn signals that I could activate

and incinerate the car and its occupants.

About 25 miles later, I stopped at a Borders Books to pick up the June issue of Rider (my complaints that my June issue never arrived only resulted in an extension on my subscription—not a June issue replacement). I came across an apt editorial by Mark Tuttle, Jr., called, “Ride like a River.” He reminds us to enjoy the ride, don’t worry about getting lost, or even fret about running out of gas. Tuttle says, “The river ebbs and flows, and in riding like one so should you. ...if you don’t care where you’re going, you’re never lost, but even if you do care the exact route just isn’t that important…And if in taking the impromptu way the only thing that ends up separating you from your goal is a chain-link fence, well…there’s always wire cutters.”

I know we’re supposed to avoid it if we can, but I like night riding. Anonymity has its advantages. At 9:00pm I headed home, fully enjoying the dark pre-summer night, as the beam from my single headlight led the way.

Total distance: 160 miles
Saturday, May 19, 2007

More Rustic Roads--BMW International Rally '07

I do not now and probably won't in the near future own a BMW motorcycle. That doesn't, however, preclude me from looking for the next bike. I love Queenie and think that I shall keep her no matter the next ride, but the desire to travel along unpaved roads grabs me now and again and I find myself looking around--no harm in that, right?

I've sat on the Suzuki V-Strom; I like what I've read about it. Even it's odd looks appeal to me. But it felt top heavy and it's tall. Lowering the bike is possible, but I wouldn't want to monkey around with that set up. Perhaps a new seat or re-sculpturing the seat might do the trick so I can flat foot the bike. I'm tippy-toe on it now and that doesn't inspire confidence. So far, I've found no opportunities to test ride one of these adventure riding fun machines. This bike is relatively inexpensive to own and maintain and aftermarket accessories are robust.

Then I discovered some of the BMW bikes. By comparison to anything Suzuki makes, BMW are expensive to own and maintain. Perhaps if I'm worried about that, that's a sign--these are not the bikes for me. Hmmm? Yet, I like a lot of things about the F650GS. It has a venerable history of adventure riding. "Rabid" is the only way to describe many of its devotees. The F650GS has a very manageable seat height--several inches lower than the 31.5 inches on my gal-pal. What I don't like is the single engine. What I know about engines can fill a thimble and from what I've read, I'm convinced that these engines are excellent. I just know that I like the sound of a twin engine. I cut my teeth on a V-twin and the imprinting remains strong. If I'm going to hear an engine sound while riding, let it be one that sings my tune.

I sat on the BMW F800S and F800ST models at the motorcycle show here in February and neither "Wowed" me. I like them both but neither as separate bikes. I desired a blend of the two. I love the ergonomics of the F800S but would want the looks of the ST. I don't like the ST's seating position at all. And the new 650s (moto, challenge and xcountry) are bikes I'd need a ladder to mount. I like the standard, naked R1200R but frankly, it didn't "Wow" me at the show either. Besides, I'd have to add even more $$$ to get that bike where I need it to be able to tour comfortably. BMWs already cost two arms and two legs. What's more, I don't need a displacement that large--it would be a waste on me. Wouldn't that be like riding a Porche Turbo Carrera just to do grocery shopping at the local market? Is there something I'm missing when I say I don't see myself needing anything (non-cruiser rider, here) beyond the 650cc-800cc range?

I'm planning (if I can find a hotel within 100 miles!) to attend the BMW International Rally in West Bend, WI. It will be my only chance to test ride these bikes. In addition, I will get a chance to do more Rustic Roads to qualify for a State certificate, which is different from the 10 ride motorcycle awards program.

I learned today that the BMW rally is featuring the Rustic Roads tours. Read their recent, interesting write up on the fun that these roads engender. The really neat thing about WI is that the way the Ice Age effected certain regions in the state, shapes the unique terrain and dramatic landscape. While the riding will take you across diverse spaces and places across WI, you can be certain that the roads will be always fun, unique, challenging and interesting.

Now if only I can find a hotel...

Ride Report: WI--Rustic Roads Tour

Left Saturday morning for Wisconsin. I took the Lake Michigan Circle Tour route and because I departed later than I wanted, I immediately encountered heavy traffic, which I could have avoided had I gone to bed earlier the night before. Had I left three hours prior, these roads would have been my own! I traveled up US Hwy 41 north, better known in Chicago as Lake Shore Drive (LSD). Even though the heaviest traffic is always right after you exit LSD on Hollywood, until reaching Evanston, IL, this is one of my favorite routes out of the city. Leave before 10:00 a.m. and it will become your favorite too. Guaranteed.
The weather forecast predicted unseasonably warm weather. The 70s temperature made two wheeling it sheer sweetness. I wore the silver TourMaster Transition jacket to see how it would fare for the weekend. At highway speeds of 65mph, one flaw was the neck area. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get the neck flap tight enough to prevent chilly air from sending occasional shivers down my neck. Too late to dig out the neck scarf I toss into the luggage.

I hugged the lakeshore as much as I could to reach Racine WI. I stayed on Sheridan Road until forced to detour near Highland Park. Back on Sheridan, I rode it to State Highway 137, where the two split somewhere beyond North Chicago. Highway 137, which is closer to the shoreline, carried me across the state line to WI where I met highway 32 (Sheridan Road) again. First WI town is Pleasant Prairie, where I stopped at the WI visitor’s center. Before leaving, I studied the map. One man came up to me and asked, “What kind of bike is that—it’s cute, never seen one look like that.” I love a man who loves my bike. I paused to considering explaining the aftermarket accessories but just said, “Thank you—she is cute.” Before mounting the bike, another man came up. He looked serious and I braced myself for something strange. Without a smile on his face, he said, “Now if you are a real biker chick, you’re supposed to be riding a Harley.” He stretched out the word “Harley.” Then he smiled. In my friendliest, fake voice I said, “Well, I guess I’m not a biker chick since I don’t ride a Harley.” He insisted, however, that I was a biker chick (just riding the wrong bike). I resisted the temptation to get into a conversation about bikes and ride preferences. I needed to get to Racine and he was trying to make a connection.
At 4:30ish, I pulled into the Comfort Inn on Prairie Street, right off Washington Street aka US Highway 20. The ride was exceedingly windy and for the first time, I felt the weight of exhaustion in my arms from rigorous countersteering. What I appreciate about Comfort Inns is that I can usually park my bike outside my window. In addition, it is always a plus to have in-room wireless Internet. I rested a few hours and hunger led me to ask about places to eat. The Main Moon 2 is where the locals consume “excellent” Chinese food. “Excellent,” it was! Even though it was well after 9pm when I arrived, the little storefront was hopping with a robust carryout clientele and a few eat-in customers. The Szechwan Shrimp, fried rice and shrimp egg roll I ordered (which I should have photographed before eating part of it!) are worth another trip to Racine! Best shrimp egg roll I’ve had. Period.

Sunday morning. An overcast, gray sky and temperatures in the upper 50s did not look encouraging. A hint of rain was in the forecast and in spite of an unfriendly chill, I enthusiastically prepared for the Rustic Road Tour (RR). I had re-read the state booklet and had brought with me Barbara Barber’s Sunday Rides on Two Wheels: Motorcycling in Southern Wisconsin, which has detailed maps of many wonderful WI tours, including a 143 miles Rustic Road Tour that will make one easily eligible for the 10 Rustic Roads needed to qualify for a motorcycle patch from the WI motorcycle award program.

Patch or no patch, these are roads a motorcyclist will want to ride for the sheer challenge and charm. The topography is amazing. WI played a huge part in the Ice Age and evidence of remarkable glaciations is ubiquitous, particularly in the southern region. In Racine County, the effects of glacial action are captured most dramatically. The hotel was less than 10 miles from the first Rustic Road. The state has done a great signage job. The brown and yellow signs were easy to spot “up a ways,” giving me plenty of time to change lanes and turn off. The most difficult part was getting a picture of the sign with the bike and/or me in it. For the most part, road shoulders were nonexistent, mostly there was gravel mixed with grassy patches. Natural dips at the edges of the road also made stopping attention-grabbing. One time I stopped at the road's edge and put my right foot down in a deep slope. My foot slipped on the gravel and Queenie began to dip too far to the right. Thank you adrenalin! I caught myself –and Queenie—in time. Still, it was a shaky moment.
RR scenery is amazing. To become a RR, a road needs to be country/rural, possess interesting topography, beautiful scenery, historical significance, wildflowers, and vast farmlands. By definition, the roads are “less traveled.” One can ride and not see another moving vehicle for long stretches of time. Although, isolated, I rarely felt lonely. Lots of farm animals and little critters darting across the road kept me company. I stopped to photograph two horses and they immediately looked up at me. It seemed as if they were talking about the bike or me. The brown horse stood perpendicular to the white horse bobbing its head. They occasionally looked at each other and then back in my direction. Finally, the white horse came near the fence as if to check me out. I think they wanted to know what kind of horse I was riding. Lots of horse power out that Sunday.
RR road speeds tend to be slower than on other roads nearby. On some of the roads, however, the speeds reached tummy-tickling levels, particular when traveling over moraines and drumlins (I think that’s what they were). I loved the many twisty, curvy roads that demanded my full attention. Reduce your speed where indicated. Not only because some of these roads have sand and pebbles at the edges, but also because the banking and angles of the roads can come upon you swiftly. I will admit that on some roads, I was able to take the twisties at faster speeds than posted. However, some of the RR required a second pass through and it was then that I upped my speed but only curves that were gravel and sand-free. All the RR roads I followed were paved; some, however, are unpaved. If only I had a Suzuki V-Strom or a BMW F650GS on this trip.

Barber’s book notes the road challenges and I agreed with her often. However, one section that she said was particularly “challenging,” I didn’t experience that—perhaps my skills are improving? Yes, I had to pay close attention as the twists and turns were consecutive and often tight. A speed fanatic would need to be careful but I did not feel the difficulty, only my own squealing joy and a sweet sensation of floating. Looking up at the trees, the leaves provided a cover that felt like embracing arms. The temperatures reached the mid 70sF and all was well.

I’ve heard many people say the Midwest is flat and boring. Come to WI to see the effects of glaciations. Kettle moraines, drumlins, eskers, lakes—lots of evolutionary miracles that make this an attractive and geographic wonder. I agree with Barber when she warns to be careful of the hilly areas as one can become airborne. Riding these roads, particularly around RR-11 and RR-36 are fun, tricky and potentially problematic if riders do not control their speed. The roads climb high and the descent is dramatic, sometimes abrupt and always fast. The experience reminded me of Riverview, a theme park in Chicago in the 60s.of my childhood. These hilly roads made my stomach get that elevator-drop feeling, which is both good and bad—in a good way!


Did I mention the scenery? The farmlands, animals, wildflowers, old weathered and dilapidated barns and modern day farms glistening in the sun--and the unmistakable wealth of some of the homes I crossed, made the whole area diverse and rich with history and modern change. For the most part, the ride carries you on quiet, remote lands where history and geography celebrate a long marriage. I finished the required roads to apply for the motorcycle patch. As goal-oriented as I am, I now know that I would have done this tour without an award incentive. Definitely worth a long day ride or weekend trip.

The ride home seemed long. I made it longer by avoiding the toll way.

Day total: 254 miles
Weekend total: approx. 357 miles
RusticRoad Tour pics

Rustic Roads Bound

I’m off to spend a weekend riding some of the many Rustic Roads (RR) dotted throughout WI. RRs are state designated roadways, singled out for their scenic beauty, hilly and twisty terrain, landmarks and the breath-taking geological manifestations that sparkle across the Wisconsin landscape.

WI has created an attractive RR motorcycle award program where one rides ten of the paved or unpaved trails to become eligible to receive one of the state’s attractive motorcycle patches. All I need to remember is to photograph each brown and yellow RR sign with Queenie and me in the picture. I’ll submit my proof and voila, a RR motorcycle patch will be mine. When I’m 80 and wearing purple, I’ll have a nice little memento to reflect upon.

Ten rides sound doable. A couple of day or weekend trips to our northern neighbors could make this an amazing adventure. So, this is my weekend! I’ve mapped out a 147-mile trip that commences once I reach WI that will allow me to explore twelve RR. I’ve factored in some wiggle room, as I might want to take a few well-selected detours. All I desire is decent weather, the wind at my back, and my mind and body fully focused on the ride. Sounds like a fabulous, fun way to spend my Mother’s Day weekend!

Ride Report: Rockford, IL--Gardens and the Oldest HD Dealership in the world!

Although the weekends have be great weather-wise, I haven’t become organized enough to do an overnight trip. Saturday was cloudy and cool, but definitely ride-worthy. Yet, I stayed in and did some much-needed domestic chores. Besides, Sunday promised to be better. Turned out to be a repeat of Saturday--mid-60s, cool and breezy, with occasional wind gusts—one of which slide the tail of my little gal pal slightly but enough for me to yell, “Whoa Nellie!”

Headed out Sunday at 9:30am--later than I wanted (again!). I took the expressway for approximately 40 miles of the 100 miles out. I picked up US 20 West to IL-72 West and picked up US 20 west again, all the way to Rockford. Both roads had enough smooth straight-aways, rolling “hills” and long sweeping curves to keep me entertained. The open space gave the wind full reign and forced me to crazy-glue my hands to the handle bar.

On Harrison Avenue in Rockford, one can find Kegel's, the oldest Harley Davidson dealership in the world. They’ve been in business for 97 years! How could I not stop! I expected the place to look its age but its quarters look new, snazzy, and gigantic. In addition to the dealership, you can buy all the HD items imaginable—two levels worth. A 50ish style diner is on the premises, the smells of which wafted through the showroom. From the looks of things, HD riders might do a regular Sunday pilgrimage to Kegel’s place. It’s easy to see why. It must be a great meeting place to see the latest HD brands (if that’s your thing) and grab a bite to eat with friends.

A couple of the sales personnel told me the insider route to get to the Anderson Japanese Gardens – far easier than my map indicated. I was tempted to have lunch at Kegel’s but the sky was getting grayer and more overcast. I decided to wear chaps today because of the hassle last week at Starved Rock (needing to find a bathroom to change into hiking clothes shoes). The chaps were easy to peel off on the spot, eliminating the need to go back and forth to the bike to store and retrieve gear. Within minutes of parking, I was ready to hit the trails.

The gardens are touted as among the best Japanese Gardens anywhere and I believe it. Calm came over me as I strolled along the crunchy-graveled paths. Even though people were out, the gardens conveyed a peace, a quiet occasion and a wonderful break before setting off to return ride home.
I shot a roll of b&w and far too many color pics to count. The grounds were magnificent and I felt transported to Japan. I hope the pics do some justice to the gardens. A goose was one highlight. S/he seemed to want his/her picture taken.

I came close to it and it didn’t seem pestered.

It stood still and turned a couple of times as if to present only its best side. It kept looking at me, being surprisingly cooperative and patient. Garden visitors have probably made the geese there feel comfortable around people—and cameras. I just had the feeling that this bird felt like s/he was the star attraction at the gardens.

The return trip was uneventful. Stopped at a PotBelly’s for a tuna sandwich and strawberry Smoothie and to map check for a different route home. I decided to take the toll way part of the way. That was a strange experience.
I don’t have a transponder that allows me to zip through the booths without stopping. To expedite matters, I strategically placed money in one jacket pocket and in the diagonal pocket along the right leg of my chaps. Still, stopping was tedious. At one booth, a nice toll collector told me to “take your time; I’ll lift the bar when you’re ready.” That was kind of him as I was fumbling to replace my glove while nervously feeling that I was holding up the line of cars behind me. I had to apply brakes and get into neutral so that when I actually stopped, I’d be immediately ready to remove one glove, dig in my pocket, pay, take the change, place it in my pocket, put on my glove, make sure I Velcroed my jacket cuff to ward of the cold rushing up my sleeve at 75 mph, get in first gear, and watch for the slippery-greasy spots on the ground. Whew! By my third tollbooth, I had things well choreographed. Great ride definitely worth taking if you're near.

Made it home safely around 6:30pm.
Sunday's day trip: total distance 214 miles.

Garden pics

HAPPY National Female Ride Day—May 4, 2007

I must admit I hadn't remembered the date. I recalled reading about it long ago but totally forgot about it. So last night when I was dog-tired and wanting only to get on my PJs and snuggle up with a good book, I got up, donned my gear, fired up Queenie and took off for a short ride. It was Friday night, after 8pm. Downtown Chicago. The weather was warm (low 60s) enough to fill the streets with strolling couples, tourists and local residents walking their pint-sized, wanna-be dogs. Traffic was robust. I rode down the Mag Mile—there is no other city as beautiful, particularly at night. Period.

Went to Whole Foods and met a guy who works in the fish department. I asked him about the soup, which he told me was seafood gumbo but really turned out to be fish chowder, which had it not been superb, I would have returned to the store. He asked me what kind of bike I rode and this led to a banter about motorcycles. Turns out, he’s wanted to ride for a long time. He’s now a bicyclist. Increasingly, I’m meeting people who were serious bicyclists before they gravitated to motorcycling. He’s interested in taking a safety course so I was happy to recommend Ride-Chicago. We talked safety and gear for awhile. He sounds like a good one to add to our ranks.

While my support of National Female Ride Day was brief, I did participate in my own small way. The calendar is marked for next year. Perhaps then, I can do something more befitting.

Vinny to the rescue...

A public thanks to Vinny, fellow blogger, for pointing out that I inadvertantly duplicated several paragraphs during the formatting of the Starved Rock ride report. Stuff happens when you're sleep deprived and rushing off to work. I'm long-winded enough, no need to add even more to the blabber. THANKS, Blog Buddy!

Ride Report: Starved Rock (and a man who leans)

Sometimes the best made plans conk out. I deliberately did not take a long ride on a beautiful, weather-perfect Saturday because I had planned to do an overnighter Sunday/Monday. So, I spent Saturday fulfilling many of life’s demands—I even went to bed at a decent time. Yet, I was bright-eyed at 3am. I read, wrote a few things, read some more, made a fruit smoothie and when 8am rolled around I felt myself getting sleepy. Driving tired in a car is bad; operating two-wheels when tired is a death wish IMHO. Tried to get a few hours of sleep but never really reach REM. Thus, I couldn’t get myself together to leave until well after 11am, which to me is about 5 hours later than I like to leave.

Took out the trusty map, looked at all my yellow highlights around IL, and instantly decided to head southwest to Utica, IL, home of Starved Rock State Park. By this time, it was 11:30am. Although I was no longer tired, I was still poking around. Decided to mount the GPS to the bike. That took another 30 minutes. Decided to wear different pants. More time wasted. I packed two cameras, another set of clothes and my hiking boots. I was beginning to think I shouldn’t ride; I ignored my gut and blamed my looniness to a sudden onset of adult attention deficient disorder. I promised myself that if I rode the bike and didn’t immediately come to attention, I would call off the ride. Safety is always my first priority.

The one thing that gets me focused right away and melts away (momentarily--at least) life’s, stressors, pressures and distractions, is mounting my gal-pal. I don’t have a death wish so I know I absolutely must be centered on what I am doing. When I ride Queenie, my attention is zeroed in on the task of riding. I talk to myself during rides so that I’m in continual check with myself, what’s happening around me, how I’m feeling, and the feel of the bike. And, if things don’t feel right, I pack it in.

Getting through Chicago was my first ride challenge. As I eased Queenie southbound along Michigan Avenue, a throng of people and cars filled every inch of space. Way too many drivers were sightseeing and changing lanes randomly; Cabbies forever playing Pac-man ignored my presence; and bicyclists, they treated every vehicle or person as a cone weave opportunity. A mile of stop-and-go didn’t faze me. I felt great! But it was the turn in a curve with an immediate stop (if you’re not paying attention there you can fagittaboutit—you’re going to go down) that told me what I needed to know about this ride’s future. I straightened up the bike and put on brakes. I felt good.
Before leaving, I felt scattered, literally walking from room to room, fiddling with a Sekonic light meter, making journal entries, reading about Ilford film, which, 20 years ago was my film of choice. I ended up with the feeling that I wasn’t ready for my overnighter. I had wanted to do the Rustic Roads (RR) tour in WI. If I do ten of them, (yes, I know I am too goal oriented, but still…). I would get a motorcycle patch—yippee! I had planned to go to WI, ride some back roads, hike some trails, get a good night’s sleep, get up early on Monday and do the 147 miles of RR, and then head back to Chicago. My late start fouled up everything!

The late start meant no back roads to Starved Rock, unlike last year’s trip. I hopped on Lake Shore Drive for a short connection to I-94 west and on to I-55 South. The I-55 traffic was surprisingly light for the next 45 miles. I kept the speedometer within 10 miles of the post speed limits. I loved the spots where the posted speed was 65. I find Interstates potentially zone inducing if I don’t talk to myself, which I did the entire trip. I picked up I-80 near Minooka, IL and it became my track for another 45 miles or so.

I stopped in Minooka to stretch my legs. I’ve not experienced leg cramps the way I did on this trip. I tired moving my knees up, repositioning my foot, flexing it—nothing eased the cramp. This bothered me by forcing me to think of something other than the road. I hate stopping on such roads and feeling like a sitting duck. The cramp soon became a pain and I imagined a blood vessel erupting any minute. I saw myself falling off the bike and being run over repeatedly. Eventually, the leg cramp relaxed some but would happen again before I reached Utica. Hmmm? It also happened twice (once rather badly) on the return trip. "The old gray mare ain’t what she used to be," I guess.

I gassed up and as I stood outside drinking water, I met two men: a Harley Davidson rider and an elderly gent. The Harley rider, dressed in his go-to-meeting clothes, passes me on his way into the store. He says, “I have a motorcycle, a Harley Davidson, and on a nice day like today I should be out riding, instead I’m going to church with my grandson.” He stretches his arms, palms up and looks pleadingly into the sky. He looked perturbed. I told him he‘d probably get some extra points choosing church over riding. He said he hoped so. At the same GasMart, in the same spot, I meet an elderly gent around 5ft 4inches who exits the store and begins walking toward me. His face is hard to read. He wears a snarl. I size him up and feel that I can land some punches and kicks where they would hurt. It is a bright day so I’m thinking he wouldn’t really try anything, right? He comes too close to me and leans in my direction and with a drawl that ignites my “regional-bias,” he says, “You from ‘round here?” Now, by itself it’s an innocent question. He asks, however, in a way that reminds me Carroll O’Connor, the bigoted sheriff in the movie, The Heat of the Night, when he asks Sidney Poitier where he’s from. Then the man leans out again. My muscles tighten and I casually put my water down in case I need to drop it quickly to reach for his throat. I want to say, “Who wants to know.” Instead, I just say, “No…I’m from Chicago.” He leans in again. “Tell me…[leans out] how much [leans in] does the police let you get away with on that thing” [leans out ]. I tell myself not to allow the accent to throw me off. On his last lean out, I noticed a sly smile on his sun-damaged face. I tell him, I think they’ll let you do within ten. He smiles, leans in and turns to walk away, but not before adding: “That’s a nice little rig you got there.” Rig? Wow! I’ve never heard my bike (or any bike) referred to as a rig! I thank him for that.
The rest of the ride was rather monotonous but a few tacky road signs provided a little entertainment. Starved Rock State Park is situated in the town of Utica is a popular motorcycle destination. Literally hundreds of ear-splitting bikes. I passed by groups of riders and by what looked to be club hangouts, where bikes were parked deep and thick with their uniformed riders standing sentry. It all made me really think about the whole “loud bike save lives” perspective. Does it, really? Is there any research on this? As I rolled into the park, which has beautiful twisting roads and curves, the thundering I heard near and far from motorcycles only got on my nerves. Throughout my time at the park, every now and again, I would hear the booming and roaring from bikes. Those who don’t ride probably detest the sound. I ride and I hated it. So do loud pipes “save lives”—maybe so if all people want to do is flee from the racket. Frankly, I thought it all just annoying. All I wanted to do was disassociate myself from that noise. The weather was in the low 80s. I saw many women riders and I was surprised to see so few absent any gear—lots of bar arms, shoulders, midriff, and gloveless hands.

By the time I changed my clothes, donned my hiking boots, loaded up the old SLR, dug out the digital, I had dismissed the noisy bikes and thought only of the trek to the Rock. According to legend, Starved Rock’s name comes from the Illini’s decision to camp out on the top of a huge rock, away from the reach of the Iroquois, whom they were battling. Rather than leave the rock and surrender to their enemy, the Illini starved to death.

I must get some Draggin' Jeans for trips like this. It was a pain to trudge to the Visitors’ Center to change clothes, and then back to the bike to store the clothes, and then do it all over again before leaving. The park was abuzz with activity, which forced me to park in the farthest lot. Given this, it took more than 30 minutes to change in and out of my riding gear. With riding jeans, I can remove the armor and change shoes. Note to self: before the Lake Superior trip, fix this.

Carrying a loaded backpack and a helmet locked to the knapsack up steep climbs, exhausted me far sooner than it should have. I had missed a couple of weeks of power walking and I felt like a sumo wrestler. Dang, I hate when that happens! Some findings: The GPS and bike odometer show interesting discrepancies. At one point, the bike showed 50.4 miles, the GPS showed 51.6. At another time, the bike showed 94.2 miles versus the GPS, 97.2—that’s a significant disparity. Can somebody tell me why? Does it mean that the farther I go the great will be this gap? Alternatively, is there a point at which the mileage difference will converge and be more similar than dissimilar? Curious…

The return trip was super highway all the way, boring but fast.
Total Distance: 203.4 miles -- Sunday, April 29, 2007

SRTT Revisited

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Windy City

When I was young, my father would walk in the door after being out in Chicago's cold, windy weather and declare: "The hawk is out there today!" He had another raptor reference that equally puzzled me and had no connection to the first: "The eagle flies on Friday..," which I learned is borrowed from an old blues tune and means "it's payday." My childhood is dotted with memories of blustery walks to school and feeling as though I'd be lifted by the wind and blown away like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

Yet, the literal reference to the hawk puzzled me until I did some research (another of my father's saying whenever you asked him a question was "look it up--that's what they have libraries for!"). So I looked up hawks. We know that they swoop on their prey, they soar and shoot through the sky and swoop down again. Yesterday, I went for a leisurely ride of about 75 miles. Winds gusts were out of the southeast 44 mil

Sharon, meet Sharon!

My first "trip" of the season and the weather could not have been more perfect. High 70s and enough intermittent wind gusts to keep me on my toes, especially out in the open farmlands, where the gusts felt strongest. My plans for a weekend romp to WI had to be scraped because an advanced skills class was rescheduled for today. A day trip to Sharon, WI and a short trek farther north to Williams Bay was just what I needed to excavate the cobwebs. West of Sharon was a museum, Bartlett Memorial Historical Museum that I didn’t go to because of time. I wanted to reach Williams Bay before the Yerkes Observatory tours closed. I didn’t.

I superslabbed about 28 miles of the trip. Did people just not get the news that using a cell phone while driving is illegal? Last I checked you could purchase an earpiece, which isn’t that safe either or a hands free contraption, fairly cheaply. I saw many folks driving with one hand and a phone cradled between their cocked head and neck. Twice, two cars changed lanes in front of me. Specifically, they ventured into my lane without signaling or looking. This is why a space cushion is critical. Staying out of someone’s blind spot assumes that the driver will be checking that on occasion. These two didn’t bother. One of them, changed lanes in a 45 mph zone at about 10 mph. I tooted my horn at him and he made an angry face and mouthed something that I’m certain wasn’t “I’m sorry for being inattentive and rude. Have a nice day” The woman, didn’t bother to look.


On my first leg, I was supposed to take I-290 west to IL-53. Seems easy enough, right? Wrong. I missed the cutoff for IL-53 and had to take another route. I managed to find IL-173. (This is when the automatic rerouting of a GPS tops a map). I made a few other mistakes too and for every error, I was forced to stop to recollect myself. Even when I think I know a route, road constructions or poor signage on detours can derail me. This time, however, it was my fault. When I found IL-173, I headed for some county back roads. Around Hebron, IL, these roads were in horrendous shape. Huge craters lined the road forcing me to practice the cone weaving skilled learned in safety class. Other than that, I enjoyed numerous sweeping, curvy roads with plenty of rolling “hills.” I had so much fun, I got lost again. Some people have an instinct for direction, I’m not one of them. A curvey road will get me turned around if I’m not paying attention. Eventually, I'll need to stop just to get my bearings. I ended up at some point going in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go. Oh well…it’s about the ride, right?

Finally reached Sharon.
She’s quaint, cute and small. Not much ethnic diversity here, which may explain why I met up with officer friendly so quickly. I seem to have that effect on some towns, which is another story I'll not go into. I pulled into a local school lot to snap a photo and to consult the map on the best way to Williams Bay. Within minutes, a police car pulled in, parked and watched. I studied the map for about five minutes. He waited. He watched. Finally, when I had taken the pics I wanted and oriented myself, I fired up my gal pal. Then I had an idea. Go talk to the officer. I mosied on over and asked for direction. He was nice and actually gave me a better route than I had selected. Glad I spent some time in Sharon, population less than 1600. By the way, Sharon happens to be “Home of the best Swedish Pancakes in WI”—according to one sign.
Williams Bay is home of the Yerkes Observatory of the University of Chicago. It is also the home of George Williams College of Aurora University. The entire area was beautiful, lush and green. Even the distant smell of healthy and abundant livestock didn’t bother me--much.

My return route was simple but laborious. I took IL-67 south to US-14 East much of the way. It’s a long journey that way but one travels through many little towns (and I do like small towns in spite of my experiences in some of them) such as Big Foot (there’s a high school named in its honor), Harvard (where I stopped for a salad), Woodstock, and Crystal Lake and far too many suburbs to mention. We had a little mishap when I thought the kickstand was down but it wasn’t. A kind gentleman with an admiring wife looking on, helped me upright the bike. I thanked him no less than twelve times! I don’t know how I didn’t hurt any flesh or metal.

I started my trip at 9:15 a.m. (very late for me) and returned home safely by 7:45 p.m. The more miles we added, the better Queenie performed. We covered 240.3 miles--not bad for a day trip.