Best State in which to Ride a Motorcycle

Progressive Insurance has ranked the top states in which to ride a motorcycle. And the winner is ... Florida? Here's an excerpt by Bart Madson of Motorcycle-USA.com who comments on this ranking:

"Progressive Insurance came up with the rankings, publishing the top-20 states to ride based off its own research data. Florida topping the list nearly made me choke, but the inclusion of corn-covered, flat-as-a-board Kansas as fifth and Nebraska 14th! But, but, but… How?!" -- Bart Madson, Managing Editor, Motorcycle-USA.com

Read more.

BMW Group History Motorcycles

BMW Group History Motorcycles
Learn about BMW Motorcycles and the history of these powerful bikes.
http://www.articlesbase.com/videos/5min/517059041

http://www.nerdvidz.com/tag/motorcycle/page/4

BMW Group History Motorcycles | Car Review – New and Used Car ...
BMW Motorcycles · BMW Motorcycles · History of tire development · A History of the Rose Parade Presented by Honda · Jeep Moab Safari Group ...
http://www.carreview.tv/cars-testing/automototv-car-tv/2011/05/bmw-group-history-motorcycles/

BMW Group History Motorcycles

BMW Group History Motorcycles
Learn about BMW Motorcycles and the history of these powerful bikes.
http://www.articlesbase.com/videos/5min/517059041

http://www.nerdvidz.com/tag/motorcycle/page/4

BMW Group History Motorcycles | Car Review – New and Used Car ...
BMW Motorcycles · BMW Motorcycles · History of tire development · A History of the Rose Parade Presented by Honda · Jeep Moab Safari Group ...
http://www.carreview.tv/cars-testing/automototv-car-tv/2011/05/bmw-group-history-motorcycles/

Here...let me bore you with my holiday photos!

“She has become a wicked and wild bitch in her old age has Manhattan, but there is still no sensation in the world quite like walking her sidewalks…” Tom Davies (1979)

New York City - It’s a place where my long time friend and neighbor, Barb and I decided to go once again this March Break. We’ve become ‘Urban hikers’ as there is no such thing as a stroll through the streets of Manhattan. Hiking these streets requires as much skill, agility and stamina as the most rugged trail. It was a personal challenge to see if we could log a few more kilometers this time over last but once again we didn’t have enough time, there’s never enough time - even in a city that never sleeps.

This time we were pretty much devoted “To the pursuit of lunch.” From Midtown to the East Village, from Little Italy to Tribeca and back to the Theatre district... we ate. Delis, coffee shops and restaurants...oh the tastes of New York. Of course we stopped to take a few photos along the way.

Motorcyclists have just started to dust off their rides and haul them from their winter hiding spots here in my part of the world but in New York City the season is in full swing. Who can blame them when Central Park has already exploded with crocus and forsythia and the temperatures are hitting double digits under mostly sunny skies. For the most part, and practically so, New Yorkers are riding agile and maneuverable scooters and Vespa like, small displacement bikes. Only down in SoHo and Little Italy did I see larger machines and even some historic rides. They were parked, some covered, I think, waiting for 5 o'clock.
You gotta love the traffic cop who posed for me on his scooter (just after handing out a ticket to the big red truck!) Thanks New York!

(Oh yeah, just couldn't help throwing in the photos of the 'celebs' and guest Billy Ray from abc's "The View")

God Shuffled His Feet, And Looked Around

*** continued from previous post ***


He turns to the man standing beside him, and points to me with a hitch of his thumb. "This guy knows bikes." To which the crowd nods in agreement.

I would like to look at the scenery as we cross the lake, but my adoring fans will have none of that. I am now THE NICE BIKER FROM THE STATES. I sneak a quick glance here, a look over my shoulder at the far shore there. As the ride progresses there are two things that I DO notice however, and they are:

1. Your Mom is a now a celebrity.

2. Suddenly, it's getting dark. Very, very dark. And the water, which a few minutes before was as flat as a North Dakota ski resort, is now white-capped and slapping the sides of the boat.

Well isn't that curious, I think to myself before I'm dragged back into conversation.

"So tell me," one of my new-found friends asks, "after buying a bike like that, you must have ridden a Molokoi B-30. Right?"

You would think so," I say without missing a beat having not a clue as to what a Molokoi B-30 is, "but regrettably, I never had the chance."

"Really?" he asks, somewhat shocked. "They were all over the place in the late 70s and early 80s. Everybody rode one."

"Well, there you go." Hardly noticing, I brush a few raindrops off of my bald pate' with the sweep of a fingerless glove. "That would have been about the time I was with the crew in El Salvado - - -" I feign a look of utter shock, with an exaggerated motion, I bite my lip. I bow my head, and bang on my brow with my fist. "Whoopsie. Let's pretend I didn't say that, shall we?"

They all nod in agreement. I could have gone all Pirate on their asses and taken over the boat had I wanted, they were mine. You dodged one there, Canadian Maritime Fleet! But alas . . . as you have no doubt noticed, my quick wits and the ability to lie on the fly has painted me, yet again, into a bit of a corner.

I smile. All teeth and charm. I can't wait to hear what I'm going to say next.

Luckily, right at this particular moment, God intervenes. And as God is wont to do, takes a righteous whiz over the whole of creation.

And the rains . . . the rains they came a pouring down.

*** the journey continues on 11/17/2011 ***

Chapter 4 - FERRY OF THE DAMNED

* * * after a short mid-winter break, we return to our story with Chapter 4 of the ongoing saga * * *


A few more minutes and we see the sign for the Ferry, and follow the only path available to us - which I now notice is wet - looks like it may have sprinkled a bit in the last hour - and start a rather steep descent towards the lake.

We had been gently climbing for the last mile or two, but I hadn't realized how much we had climbed. We came around a bend in the road, and saw a line of cars parked on the incline, waiting to board the boat. I cruised behind the last car in the queue, turned off the bike and set her gently on the kick-stand. I stayed on the bike while Mom climbed off the back. I didn't want to leave the bike unattended. Did I mention how steep the hill was? Think of one of the hills heading to the waterfront from downtown Seattle. But without the bums. Or the smell of urine. Actually, replace the vagrants with tourists, and the smell of urine with the smell of trees, and the saltwater with fresh water, and the . . . well, this is just getting silly now. It was steep. Let's leave it at that.

Anyway, we are sitting there with nary a boat in sight. Now what?

"I wonder how much this will cost? Not that I really care, and not that we have a choice, but I'm curious."

Mom pulls off her helmet, and attempts to smooth her hair. It is a lost cause. I don't tell her that though, because I like my teeth.

"I don't know," Mom says, "I don't even see any signs listing the charges."
By this time a few other cars have pulled in line behind us. People are getting out of their vehicles, stretching their legs, walking their dogs, and generally doing what people do when they wait for a Ferry. Two teenage girls, carrying a bag of chips, explode from the car behind us and run down the ramp bursting with giggles and squeals to see if they can spot the Ferry. The woman driving the car climbs out, yells after the girls to be careful, then sort of loiters by the driver’s side door. Mom and I give her a quick smile and nod of our heads in a "Look at us, we are friendly American types from THE STATES and will not harm you. Probably. Mostly.", which seems to put her at ease. I hate to generalize like this, but these Canadians are way too trusting. I smell an opportunity. Anyway, she strolls over, gives the bike a good once over and says, "Wow. That is a really nice bike."

I love her immediately. The way to a man's heart may be through his stomach, but the way to a biker's heart starts with "Wow. Nice bike."

All It Takes is Motorcycle Maintenance

I ran across this article in the New York Times. It has to do with the two authors' attempt to find people who have uncovered simple solutions to world problems. In this article they found that medical workers could greatly extend their relief efforts by utilizing motorcycles to get to outlying areas of Africa. In addition, they found a way to keep the bikes maintained on a regular basis. Here's an excerpt from this excellent article by Tina Rosenberg and David Bornstein:

"Until 2008 Kotelo could visit only three villages a week, because he had to reach them on foot, walking for miles and miles. But in February of that year, Kotelo got a motorcycle ─ the best vehicle for reaching rural villages in Africa, most of which are nowhere near a real road. Just as crucial, he was given the tools to keep the bike on the road: he received a helmet and protective clothing, he was taught to ride and trained to start each day with a quick check of the bike. His motorcycle is also tuned up monthly by a technician who comes to him. Now, instead of spending his days walking to his job, he can do his job. Instead of visiting three villages each week, he visits 20. Where else can you find a low-tech investment in health care that increases patient coverage by nearly 600 percent?" -- Tina Rosenberg and David Bornstein

Read the rest of the story.