*** continued from previous post ***
I collected myself enough to take a further assessment of the situation.
The road had leveled out - and thank the Gods for that - but the path that lie ahead looked like . . . well, like we were going to be driving possibly THROUGH or INTO a lake. Seriously.
The tiny voice inside said, "Sure. Why not?"
STFU internal voice or I swear to God that I will lobotomize myself here and now. Where's that screwdriver?
"Let's get going," Mom said, and settled back into her seat. "I really, really, really, really need to be off the bike."
Wuss. We had only been riding for . . . okay, we'd been riding for about 13 hours. Still, that's no reason to get testy. I made a mental note to have a talk with your Mom about her attitude. But not right now. Probably not this week. Sometime after Halloween seemed safe. And then I would put it in a letter and make sure I was out of town when she read it.
With another sigh I pulled back onto the gravel and back onto the track. An old sound clip from MSTK3000 popped into my head, (Yeah, it was getting crowded in there.), and said, "Off to meet my doom Mom. See you after school!"
So we putted along the gravel towards the lake. It was definitely easier going now that the road was not at an insane angle, but it was getting very soft between the washboards. 15 mph was about the max speed. Any faster and I felt like my fillings were going to rattle out of my teeth.
As we approached the water the view grew more and more disconcerting. Ahead was a lake. Big lake. Deep lake. On the right side was a sheer rock cliff that rose, from what appeared to be directly from the water, to a height of maybe 150 feet. Or 7000 grams in hell-measure. Naught but water on the left. The road looked like it simply ended.
I wanted to cry, but no one would have heard me and I don' know about you, but that just seems a waste.
*** the journey continues ***
Rabu, 09 Maret 2011
Selasa, 08 Maret 2011
Passing Out is Always An Option
*** continued from previous post ***
I took a deep breath and sat up, stretching the cramps that had set into my arms and hands.
I surveyed my surroundings. Well, we definitely were at the top. There were some rolling hills in front of us, but nothing to compare to what we had just navigated. Later, I would discover that we had climbed about 1700 feet in 12 Kilometers. Or, in devil-speak Canadian measurements, about 4.5 liters a minute. Not too shabby. After I restored my heart rate to a manageable level, and decided that I hadn't wet myself, (okay, who am I kidding - hadn't wet myself TOO severely), I took stock.
While we were level, the road surface had not improved. The rain had not improved. Your Mother's mood had not improved by any appreciable degree. Our hypothermia situation had not improved - in fact, it was worse. The temperature had plummeted as we climbed into the Rockies. And, like a big, moldering mutant strawberry cradled in the congealed whipped cream of a day-old Belgian Waffle, twilight was descending. - rapidly.
But, on the positive side, we could be hit by lightening any moment, so there was always hope.
"What do we do now?", Mom asked in a dazed voice. "Do we turn around?"
I thought, however briefly, of turning the bike around and riding down the mountain, and my boys - and you know what I mean by 'the boys' - don't feign ignorance - shot straight up into my throat, through my head, and were dancing somewhere above the tree tops trying to escape. The only thing worse than coming UP that road in this weather, was going DOWN that road in this weather. Miles of braking down the side of a gravel mountain didn't appeal to me. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain a tiny voice reminded me that I would, at some point, need to take the bike down this very same road. I hate that voice. It's annoying. All high-pitched and squeaky. And preachy to boot. And usually right.
Damn you internal monologue!
"I think I would rather feed marshmallows to alligators with my lips than try and ride back down that road,” I said and wiped rainwater from my glasses. It was an exercise in futility. "Hopefully the worst is behind us. Let's just push on and get to the Lodge."
"Does the GPS say we are close?"
"I don't know. When we met those jeeps Sweet Alice let out a tiny scream then passed out."
Mom pondered this for a moment. "Was passing out an option? I wish I'd known that. I would have blanked out as soon as we hit the gravel."
Let me say this again: Your mother is a wise, wise woman.
*** the journey continues ***
I took a deep breath and sat up, stretching the cramps that had set into my arms and hands.
I surveyed my surroundings. Well, we definitely were at the top. There were some rolling hills in front of us, but nothing to compare to what we had just navigated. Later, I would discover that we had climbed about 1700 feet in 12 Kilometers. Or, in devil-speak Canadian measurements, about 4.5 liters a minute. Not too shabby. After I restored my heart rate to a manageable level, and decided that I hadn't wet myself, (okay, who am I kidding - hadn't wet myself TOO severely), I took stock.
While we were level, the road surface had not improved. The rain had not improved. Your Mother's mood had not improved by any appreciable degree. Our hypothermia situation had not improved - in fact, it was worse. The temperature had plummeted as we climbed into the Rockies. And, like a big, moldering mutant strawberry cradled in the congealed whipped cream of a day-old Belgian Waffle, twilight was descending. - rapidly.
But, on the positive side, we could be hit by lightening any moment, so there was always hope.
"What do we do now?", Mom asked in a dazed voice. "Do we turn around?"
I thought, however briefly, of turning the bike around and riding down the mountain, and my boys - and you know what I mean by 'the boys' - don't feign ignorance - shot straight up into my throat, through my head, and were dancing somewhere above the tree tops trying to escape. The only thing worse than coming UP that road in this weather, was going DOWN that road in this weather. Miles of braking down the side of a gravel mountain didn't appeal to me. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain a tiny voice reminded me that I would, at some point, need to take the bike down this very same road. I hate that voice. It's annoying. All high-pitched and squeaky. And preachy to boot. And usually right.
Damn you internal monologue!
"I think I would rather feed marshmallows to alligators with my lips than try and ride back down that road,” I said and wiped rainwater from my glasses. It was an exercise in futility. "Hopefully the worst is behind us. Let's just push on and get to the Lodge."
"Does the GPS say we are close?"
"I don't know. When we met those jeeps Sweet Alice let out a tiny scream then passed out."
Mom pondered this for a moment. "Was passing out an option? I wish I'd known that. I would have blanked out as soon as we hit the gravel."
Let me say this again: Your mother is a wise, wise woman.
*** the journey continues ***
Senin, 07 Maret 2011
Was That a #@$%ING Jeep?
*** continued from previous post ***
So there we were with no place to go but up.
Pardon my language, but I worked that bitch. Slipping and sliding, keeping a fast enough speed that I could corner but not so fast as to shake us off the bike. Watching out for the big rocks, the ruts, and whatever else came my way. I completely lost track of time. All that existed for me was the 30 feet in front of the bike, and the bike itself. We had melded into one. I felt every change in balance, every bump, every twist, and growl, and groan from the engine. I fought to keep the bars from being wrenched from my hands.
I worried about your Mom. I worried about wrecking in a place like this. Visions of a helicopter rescue tried to invade my thoughts but then the rear of the bike would slip sideways, and I was brought back to the here and now. And the rain. . . the rain would not let up. At times I couldn't see through the fog. I finally flipped my shield up and let the water hit me full in the face.
Then . . . Joy! For what did I see? Three Jeeps headed DOWN the mountain. I had time for one thought to cross my mind; Well, this was going to get interesting. In a hurry.
To this day I don't know how we made it. Passing those Jeeps with inches to spare, so close I could see the slack-jawed purity of astonishment on each of the driver's faces as their brakes locked and their over-sized tires slid on the gravel. But make it we did. We must have been quite a spectacle to them. A HUGE retro space-bike with two clowns riding tandem in a place where no bike like this should be. Even on the best of days. We must have looked like a crippled UFO. But I knew what those guys were really thinking. They were thinking "Got more balls than me."
Ha! How many times is complete idiocy taken as courage? Probably more times than anyone would care to admit. If you make it - hero. If you don't - wanker.
The road went on and on and on and then finally a PARTICULARLY steep patch that when we broke over the top leveled out. I felt Mom relax. The knots in my stomach untwisted, and I breathed deeply for the first time since we started our ascent however long ago that had been. There was just enough of a wide spot to pull the bike over lest another Jeep came up behind, broke over the ridge, and smacked squarely into our rear.
I put the Vision in neutral, and slumped over the console.
"Wow," Mom said. "Did we really just do that?"
"Yeah," I said, and laughed half-heartedly, "we just did that. Sorry."
"Wow," she said again.
I thought her remark an understatement.
*** the journey continues ***
So there we were with no place to go but up.
Pardon my language, but I worked that bitch. Slipping and sliding, keeping a fast enough speed that I could corner but not so fast as to shake us off the bike. Watching out for the big rocks, the ruts, and whatever else came my way. I completely lost track of time. All that existed for me was the 30 feet in front of the bike, and the bike itself. We had melded into one. I felt every change in balance, every bump, every twist, and growl, and groan from the engine. I fought to keep the bars from being wrenched from my hands.
I worried about your Mom. I worried about wrecking in a place like this. Visions of a helicopter rescue tried to invade my thoughts but then the rear of the bike would slip sideways, and I was brought back to the here and now. And the rain. . . the rain would not let up. At times I couldn't see through the fog. I finally flipped my shield up and let the water hit me full in the face.
Then . . . Joy! For what did I see? Three Jeeps headed DOWN the mountain. I had time for one thought to cross my mind; Well, this was going to get interesting. In a hurry.
To this day I don't know how we made it. Passing those Jeeps with inches to spare, so close I could see the slack-jawed purity of astonishment on each of the driver's faces as their brakes locked and their over-sized tires slid on the gravel. But make it we did. We must have been quite a spectacle to them. A HUGE retro space-bike with two clowns riding tandem in a place where no bike like this should be. Even on the best of days. We must have looked like a crippled UFO. But I knew what those guys were really thinking. They were thinking "Got more balls than me."
Ha! How many times is complete idiocy taken as courage? Probably more times than anyone would care to admit. If you make it - hero. If you don't - wanker.
The road went on and on and on and then finally a PARTICULARLY steep patch that when we broke over the top leveled out. I felt Mom relax. The knots in my stomach untwisted, and I breathed deeply for the first time since we started our ascent however long ago that had been. There was just enough of a wide spot to pull the bike over lest another Jeep came up behind, broke over the ridge, and smacked squarely into our rear.
I put the Vision in neutral, and slumped over the console.
"Wow," Mom said. "Did we really just do that?"
"Yeah," I said, and laughed half-heartedly, "we just did that. Sorry."
"Wow," she said again.
I thought her remark an understatement.
*** the journey continues ***
Sabtu, 05 Maret 2011
Motorcycle Haiku
Motorcycle Haiku are simple 3-line poems that express a beautiful motorcycle thought. Read some Haiku and see what I mean. Anyone can write one and submit it for the collection. Read the Haiku.
Polar Bear Grand Tour to Hooters on 2/27/2011
Check out pictures and videos of the 16th motorcycle run of the Polar Bear Grand Tour season to Hooters in Wayne, NJ on February 27, 2011.
Mighty Plugs review
Revised 16.04.2011 and 25.06.2011. Also see updates below. You know I love ear plugs for riding. Besides saving you from hearing loss they greatly reduce rider fatigue. Like most people I never used to wear ear plugs however I noticed sometimes ringing in my ears after a long days ride and discovered that the wind noise when riding is loud enough to cause hearing damage and so started my quest
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