I haven't abandoned this blog, I've just been busy with other things, like riding the Nun around motorcycle paradise. Also, around the time I turned 57 back in August, I got the synthesizer bug and started making electronic music again. You can listen to the results at aejotz.com
When the snow flies and I can't ride I will be back here blogging wistfully about motorcycling.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Stupid Picture
This looked impressive in person but didn't work as a photo. The camera reduced the dramatic contrast between the shadowed foreground and the glowing hillside. And that hill is dotted with horses. See the horses? No. You need a microscope. Duh.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Happy Cinco de Mayo!!!
I've been too busy to blog lately. The wife and I moved to a house in the woods near High Ridge, Missouri shortly after I started my new job in Fenton, Missouri. We are barely moved in and hardly unpacked. And my job is seasonally busy. Guess which season. Yep. Springtime is pandemonium at the new job. So I have been too busy most of the time and too tired when I'm not busy.
But I have, of course, made time to ride the Nun. These roads out here are the greatest. Even the ride to work is amazing. It's like the western half of Wildhorse Creek Rd. in Chesterfield, Missouri. And some of gthe other roads around here are as twisty and hilly and full of surprises as I could ever ask for. This is truly backroad paradise.
I'll try to take some photos soon but there are few places that I can safely pull over and stop. I see some amazing scenery but I can't stop to shoot. I'll try to take my camera with me this weekend and at least get a couple of shots for the blog and the Triumph Rat forum.
I had a Margarita with dinner, at Olive Garden! It tasted about the way you'd expect a Margarita to taste at an Italian chain restaurant. It made me long for Ruiz's. For those of you who aren't St. Louisans, Ruiz's is the best Mexican restaurant in the Midwest. It's in north St. Louis County on Lindbergh Blvd. It's a magnitude better than Casa Gallardo, Chevy's, Hacienda, you name it. Ruiz's rules!
But I have, of course, made time to ride the Nun. These roads out here are the greatest. Even the ride to work is amazing. It's like the western half of Wildhorse Creek Rd. in Chesterfield, Missouri. And some of gthe other roads around here are as twisty and hilly and full of surprises as I could ever ask for. This is truly backroad paradise.
I'll try to take some photos soon but there are few places that I can safely pull over and stop. I see some amazing scenery but I can't stop to shoot. I'll try to take my camera with me this weekend and at least get a couple of shots for the blog and the Triumph Rat forum.
I had a Margarita with dinner, at Olive Garden! It tasted about the way you'd expect a Margarita to taste at an Italian chain restaurant. It made me long for Ruiz's. For those of you who aren't St. Louisans, Ruiz's is the best Mexican restaurant in the Midwest. It's in north St. Louis County on Lindbergh Blvd. It's a magnitude better than Casa Gallardo, Chevy's, Hacienda, you name it. Ruiz's rules!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Too Busy
I've been too busy to post lately. My new job takes a lot of time and energy and the move to our new "cabin in the woods" is still taking place.
But I manage to grab an hour or two now and then to ride these great roads out here.
Today's ride was terrific. The dogwoods are in bloom and the woods are beautiful. There was a bad storm last night and there was a lot of gravel and organic debris on the roads. Still, the most slippery thing on the road was painted the center lines. When those things are dirty and wet they are dangerously slick.
It's too hilly and rocky around here for row crops so most of the "farms" have horses and one has llamas. I keep scaring owls into flight during dalight hours. Owls won't let me get close to them when I'm on the Bonneville. If I approach a (presumably) sleeping owl, it takes flight to flee from me. The good part is that I get to see owls up close as I pass them.
What's with the birds? First it was the dive-bombing goose and now it's cowardly owls.
Things will settle down in a month or so and I'll start posting photos again.
But I manage to grab an hour or two now and then to ride these great roads out here.
Today's ride was terrific. The dogwoods are in bloom and the woods are beautiful. There was a bad storm last night and there was a lot of gravel and organic debris on the roads. Still, the most slippery thing on the road was painted the center lines. When those things are dirty and wet they are dangerously slick.
It's too hilly and rocky around here for row crops so most of the "farms" have horses and one has llamas. I keep scaring owls into flight during dalight hours. Owls won't let me get close to them when I'm on the Bonneville. If I approach a (presumably) sleeping owl, it takes flight to flee from me. The good part is that I get to see owls up close as I pass them.
What's with the birds? First it was the dive-bombing goose and now it's cowardly owls.
Things will settle down in a month or so and I'll start posting photos again.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Goosed!
I took a ride on the Nun today, to the Harbor Freight in Dellwood, Missouri, in search of a 24mm combination wrench. When I pulled into the parking lot there was a jumble of cars in my way so I headed out to the far end of the parking lot to go around all the cagers. As I headed back toward the main drive in front of the stores I saw a large goose take off from there and head in my direction. Flying nearly the length of a football field this goose bee-lined toward me. I figured he'd veer or climb but he didn't, so I began to swerve to one side. He matched my move!
So I began to slow down and then ducked at the last instant as he struck me on the right shoulder. It was quite a blow. It was like being hit with a frozen turkey. I stopped and checked out the goose. He was a big sonovagun. He had his bill open and his tongue hanging out and he was making menacing faces at me. Bizarre.
I continued on my way and was stopped by a security woman in a patrol car who checked to see if I was OK. We were laughing and talking about the incident when she said "here come two more!" I turned and sure enough, two different enraged geese were threatening and approaching me from the other side. I said "I'd better go" and continued to Harbor Freight.
When I left the store I drove back to the first goose to see if he was alright. He had been holding one wing down after colliding with me. He began threatening me again so I decided to leave him alone. But when I started off he took to the air again and hit me in the left shoulder from behind, repeatedly thumping me with something (wings, feet, bill?). One point stung pretty good, despite my wearing a windbreaker, two sweatshirts and a T-shirt. I wish I'd been wearing my leather jacket.
I never saw geese act so crazy and I did an experiment on the way home. I drove through an office park that is full of geese and approached several groups and pairs of them. None of them wanted to mess with me. I'm sure the mated ganders would have threatened me if I was on foot, but on the bike I looked too big to mess with. Also, none of the dozens of geese in the office park were half the size of the one that attacked me.
Theories: 1. The big guy was a different and more aggressive subpecies (there are seven subspecies of Canada Goose and several related variants). 2. The big guy had a bad history with some motorcyclist. 3. The big guy mistook my black and white T100 for a huge rival goose. 4. You tell me.
I suggested to my wife that we go back and have her videotape another encounter, but she's chicken. Too bad. It would be interesting to see the mode of attack. I was too busy ducking to see it at the time.
I'm a big guy, the T100 is nearly 500 lbs and I'm a veteran rider who isn't easily spooked by animals. Plus, I was wearing a full-coverage helmet, leather gauntlets, high top boots and thermal overalls in addition to the above-mentioned clothes; so I was pretty well armored. I feel sorry for any skinny teenager on a sport bike wearing a T-shirt and sneakers who drives through that parking lot. He might get flattened by a giant goose.
So I began to slow down and then ducked at the last instant as he struck me on the right shoulder. It was quite a blow. It was like being hit with a frozen turkey. I stopped and checked out the goose. He was a big sonovagun. He had his bill open and his tongue hanging out and he was making menacing faces at me. Bizarre.
I continued on my way and was stopped by a security woman in a patrol car who checked to see if I was OK. We were laughing and talking about the incident when she said "here come two more!" I turned and sure enough, two different enraged geese were threatening and approaching me from the other side. I said "I'd better go" and continued to Harbor Freight.
When I left the store I drove back to the first goose to see if he was alright. He had been holding one wing down after colliding with me. He began threatening me again so I decided to leave him alone. But when I started off he took to the air again and hit me in the left shoulder from behind, repeatedly thumping me with something (wings, feet, bill?). One point stung pretty good, despite my wearing a windbreaker, two sweatshirts and a T-shirt. I wish I'd been wearing my leather jacket.
I never saw geese act so crazy and I did an experiment on the way home. I drove through an office park that is full of geese and approached several groups and pairs of them. None of them wanted to mess with me. I'm sure the mated ganders would have threatened me if I was on foot, but on the bike I looked too big to mess with. Also, none of the dozens of geese in the office park were half the size of the one that attacked me.
Theories: 1. The big guy was a different and more aggressive subpecies (there are seven subspecies of Canada Goose and several related variants). 2. The big guy had a bad history with some motorcyclist. 3. The big guy mistook my black and white T100 for a huge rival goose. 4. You tell me.
I suggested to my wife that we go back and have her videotape another encounter, but she's chicken. Too bad. It would be interesting to see the mode of attack. I was too busy ducking to see it at the time.
I'm a big guy, the T100 is nearly 500 lbs and I'm a veteran rider who isn't easily spooked by animals. Plus, I was wearing a full-coverage helmet, leather gauntlets, high top boots and thermal overalls in addition to the above-mentioned clothes; so I was pretty well armored. I feel sorry for any skinny teenager on a sport bike wearing a T-shirt and sneakers who drives through that parking lot. He might get flattened by a giant goose.
Moving to Motorcycle Paradise
In a couple of weeks the Nun and I are moving to a "cabin in the woods" near High Ridge, Missouri. Actually it's a wood-siding modern house on the edge of a subdivision in the woods, but let's not split hairs.
The roads around there are motorcycle paradise; both for the hilly twisty 2-lane roads and for the beautiful scenery. The terrain is too hilly and rocky for most kinds of agriculture, but not for fruit orchards and horse farms.
My new place of employment is about 15 minutes from my new home, by way of hilly twisties. The ride home will take much longer, and will be by a different route every day. I have many miles of new (to me) roads to explore.
And what timing! Spring will be in full swing soon, and every path will be filled with the scent of blossoms. Plus, I now get to pursue a mini-hobby I've wanted to pursue: charting the northward progress of armadillos into the St. Louis area.
Oh, and I'll have a garage again, so when the weather is too crummy to ride the bike, I can work on the bike instead.
This is going to be the best riding season ever!
The roads around there are motorcycle paradise; both for the hilly twisty 2-lane roads and for the beautiful scenery. The terrain is too hilly and rocky for most kinds of agriculture, but not for fruit orchards and horse farms.
My new place of employment is about 15 minutes from my new home, by way of hilly twisties. The ride home will take much longer, and will be by a different route every day. I have many miles of new (to me) roads to explore.
And what timing! Spring will be in full swing soon, and every path will be filled with the scent of blossoms. Plus, I now get to pursue a mini-hobby I've wanted to pursue: charting the northward progress of armadillos into the St. Louis area.
Oh, and I'll have a garage again, so when the weather is too crummy to ride the bike, I can work on the bike instead.
This is going to be the best riding season ever!
Then Came Bronson
In 1969, a year before I turned 16 and bought my first motorcycle, there was a TV series about a guy wandering around the country on a motorcycle. The show was OK. The best part was his "convertible" motorcycle. When he rode it on the highway it was a 886cc Sportster. But whenever he took it off road it turned into a 350cc Sprint. Nice trick.
Oddly, a guy who lived at the end of my street owned a Sprint, so I knew what one was, unlike most people in the world. The Sprint was a single-cylinder "thumper" built by Aermacchi of Italy and marketed by Harley Davidson as one of their own.
When Bronson's Sportster turned into a Sprint, it still had the red Sportster "peanut" fuel tank with the distinctive "all seeing eye" motif. I don't know if that fooled many people.
Our neighborhood had some very uncool motorcycles. One friend's father rode a small Honda scrambler (150cc?) and looked kind of silly on it. Another friend rode a Cushman, a moped and a Sears Allstate. My first bike was a 250 Honda Dream, so who am I to talk?
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Time of the Signs
Last weekend I took a long ride around the neighborhood and shot a few interesting photos. First I saw a sign warning drivers to watch out for acrobatic deer.
Next I saw this sign next to a pretty pond in an upscale neighborhood. It made me think, "Welcome to Funland!"
And then, a day after watching a show about feral hogs in Florida, I turned into a cul-de-sac and saw this:
At first I thought it was real. Then I made note of the familiar color scheme and decided to take this shot.
Next I saw this sign next to a pretty pond in an upscale neighborhood. It made me think, "Welcome to Funland!"
And then, a day after watching a show about feral hogs in Florida, I turned into a cul-de-sac and saw this:
Moto Museum
I recently rode the Nun to Moto Europa in Downtown St. Louis for a minor adjustment.
While I was there I visited the Moto Museum next door. Wow. What a great collection of vintage motorcycles.
Here's my favorite, the Bohmerland three-seater. Click on the pics to enlarge them.
Dig those crazy cast-iron wheels, baby. That is one super-funky motorcycle. Talk about Steam Punk.
"Bohmerland" means "Bohemian." And yes, it's a Czechoslovakian machine. This one is a 1927 model with a 600 cc engine.
Don't you just want to fire this monster up and see if you can get it around the block without crashing? I sure do.
I haven't been to the adjacent "Triumph Cafe" yet. Maybe next time.
While I was there I visited the Moto Museum next door. Wow. What a great collection of vintage motorcycles.
Here's my favorite, the Bohmerland three-seater. Click on the pics to enlarge them.
Dig those crazy cast-iron wheels, baby. That is one super-funky motorcycle. Talk about Steam Punk.
"Bohmerland" means "Bohemian." And yes, it's a Czechoslovakian machine. This one is a 1927 model with a 600 cc engine.
Don't you just want to fire this monster up and see if you can get it around the block without crashing? I sure do.
I haven't been to the adjacent "Triumph Cafe" yet. Maybe next time.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Zen Rider
Sometimes I need to go someplace and I use the Chrome Nun to get there. But usually I don't have a precise destination in mind when I take off. Usually I just start the bike and then do what I want to do next.
I might sit there awhile. I might turn left or I might turn right. I might go fast or I might go slow. I might ride in the grass.
I am in immediate mode. Anything can happen and I'm awake and aware and present in the moment.
When I have a destination I might be thinking about that, or listening to a CD to pass the time, or daydreaming, especially if I'm in the car
But when I'm in immediate mode my attention and my thoughts are in the here and now. I see the road and the sky and everything between them. I see and hear and smell everything around me.
Most people usually have their minds partly on what they are doing, partly on the past and partly on the future. Their attention is diluted. And since we can't really see future or past, those parts are largely imaginary. So most people are usually only about 25% aware most of the time. They are like sleepwalkers.
That's fine, I guess. But we're only alive for a short time. I want to pay attention to this short life and glean as much as I can from it. So I often stop projecting and remembering and imagining and I just pay attention to the ever-changing now.
I probably do this best in a quiet place or in the woods. And I do it pretty well sitting at the Starbucks at the Loop. But it is a blast to do this while riding a good motorcycle.
What I do is a kind of meditation that I started developing when I was 12, back in 1966. I was curious about different religions and I was reading a book about them that introduced me to Zen Buddhism. It clicked the way Thoreau had clicked. I read more and began experimenting with different kinds and methods of meditation. Around this time the Beatles studied under Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, who did not click with me. I saw another Emerson in the Maharishi, and that's not a good thing.
By the time I graduated from high school in 1972 I was an accomplished Zen Rider. Two years later a book appeared called "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." Of course I bought a copy. It wasn't about Zen or motorcycle maintenance. It was the story of a disturbed guy and his disturbed son, written in disturbing prose. It effectively conveyed his screwed-up thinking and I hated it. It was like reading a 19th century German philosopher while having a migraine; useless and painful. The book was a big hit.
Now I'm old and I ride. Thoughts and feelings rise and float by and past and away of their own accord, like the ever-changing scenery. And I perch on the brink of yet-to-come, watching the now unfold.
Ever new. Ever unique. Beautiful.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Wonderful Winter Ride
So far this winter I have never had to wait a full two weeks between motorcycle rides.
It snowed this morning and covered the roads, making them very hard to navigate by car. But by this afternoon the plows and hot sun left the roads mostly just wet and slushy. So I went for a long ride in the slush. It was a blast.
I conclude every winter ride with a stop at the car wash to spray off the road salt. The carwash lot was surrounded by hard-packed snow. I had to ride through it coming and going. The Sport Demon Tires are useless on snow. I wish I'd bought the Tourance tires. I certainly will next time.
The photo is from an apartment or condo complex near Creve Coeur Park. Moments before I parked the bike to take the shot an adult male bald eagle flew over me. I have since seen a pair of eagles at Creve Coeur Lake annoying the waterfowl.
It snowed this morning and covered the roads, making them very hard to navigate by car. But by this afternoon the plows and hot sun left the roads mostly just wet and slushy. So I went for a long ride in the slush. It was a blast.
I conclude every winter ride with a stop at the car wash to spray off the road salt. The carwash lot was surrounded by hard-packed snow. I had to ride through it coming and going. The Sport Demon Tires are useless on snow. I wish I'd bought the Tourance tires. I certainly will next time.
The photo is from an apartment or condo complex near Creve Coeur Park. Moments before I parked the bike to take the shot an adult male bald eagle flew over me. I have since seen a pair of eagles at Creve Coeur Lake annoying the waterfowl.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Good Ear Plugs
I can't stand the scream of wind past my motorcycle helmet so I wear earplugs when I'm riding.
I've tried a dozen kinds of earplugs and the ones I like best are "Western Safety" brand Disposable Earplugs, item 66217 from Harbor Freight. They cost 99 cents for three pairs.
My ear canals are long and narrow so I need long, narrow foam plugs that compress to a very thin diameter. I also need a material that doesn't irritate my ear canals. These long, thin. orange plugs do the trick.
I've tried a dozen kinds of earplugs and the ones I like best are "Western Safety" brand Disposable Earplugs, item 66217 from Harbor Freight. They cost 99 cents for three pairs.
My ear canals are long and narrow so I need long, narrow foam plugs that compress to a very thin diameter. I also need a material that doesn't irritate my ear canals. These long, thin. orange plugs do the trick.
What a ride!
I just took The Nun out for her first cruise after the 12K mile servicing. She did fine.
The odometer really only reads 11700+ but we just had some un-ride-able weather, making it a good time for The Nun to be laid up. And I wanted plenty of time after the 12K to make sure everything's cooking OK before the warranty is up in April. Two months should be enough time.
So far it looks like Moto Europa did a good job. The Nun runs the same as she did before the service.
It sure felt good being back in the saddle after almost two weeks. I was having some serious withdrawal symptoms but I got through it by reading motorcycle magazines and hanging out at the Triumph forum.
Tomorrow I get to ride some more. In January! I love St. Louis.
The odometer really only reads 11700+ but we just had some un-ride-able weather, making it a good time for The Nun to be laid up. And I wanted plenty of time after the 12K to make sure everything's cooking OK before the warranty is up in April. Two months should be enough time.
So far it looks like Moto Europa did a good job. The Nun runs the same as she did before the service.
It sure felt good being back in the saddle after almost two weeks. I was having some serious withdrawal symptoms but I got through it by reading motorcycle magazines and hanging out at the Triumph forum.
Tomorrow I get to ride some more. In January! I love St. Louis.
The end of the story about when my first motorcycle was stolen.
I'm beginning with the end of the story because It's the most interesting part. It includes the one and only time I've ever ridden on a Harley Davidson motorcycle.
I was 20. Thanks to one criminal, two stupid college kids and a substantial dose of bad luck, I found myself standing on a highway interchange clover-leaf on the outskirts of Chicago. It was sunny with temps in the high 90s, F. I was already sunburned and windburned from a long ride off-course in the college kids' convertible. And I had mild battery acid burns all over my lap from the new leaky battery I'd brought for the missing motorcycle. The acid destroyed the fabric of my jeans and they were slowly coming apart as I stood in the hot sun, futilely trying to hitch-hike the hell out of there.
Passersby honked and made faces and threw drink cups and yelled nasty things at me for a couple of hours. When I started seeing stars and feeling lightheaded I decided I needed a break. I walked to a gas station on the service road to enjoy some air conditioning. The attendant said "I thought you were going to die out there. I was about to come out and tell you to come in and get out of the sun for awhile." He got me a chair and tried to give me my cold drink free. I guess I looked as bad as I felt.
"Where's your bike?" he asked, pointing to the beat up white 3/4 helmet I was still carrying for no good reason. I told him the story up to the point where he joined it. I don't remember his name or what he looked like, but I'll never forget his kindness.
Somewhat refreshed, I returned to my spot on the clover-leaf and stuck out my thumb. A very short while later an angel from hell saved me. A big, hairy, bearded, Harley hardtail chopper riding biker pulled his noisy hog over. We had to yell to converse over the din of his machine. He asked me what happened to my bike. Stolen, I said. He asked me what kind it was.
I don't remember what I answered. It occured to me to lie, but I don't remember if I did. The stolen bike was a 250 Honda Dream, one of the least cool motorcycles ever built.
He told me to get on. I hastily buckled on my helmet and hopped onto the tiny passenger pad on his bobbed fender. Only one of my feet was on a passenger peg when he popped the clutch. I had no choice but to hold onto his big belly to keep from flying off. He accelerated as quickly as the old hog could do and soon his long, somewhat greasy hair was slapping me in the face. He reeked of masculinity; not a scent I'm fond of. It was not a comfortable ride. He saved my life.
About an hour later he dropped me off at a road house and then turned around and disappeared back down the way we came. I wonder how far he went out of his way to help me.
I had a pee, a burger and some coffee. When I was ready to leave, a rider asked me what I was riding. I told him my sad tale. He said he was breaking in his new Honda 750 and wouldn't mind taking me a little way in the direction I was going. He took me more than a little way.
I hopped off the Honda many miles later and the rider turned back. I think he was still in sight when a Moto Guzzi Super Sport stopped. This fellow lived a little farther down the road than where I lived. He dropped me off at my door.
I had hitched from St. Louis to Indianapolis without a problem, but then found that my motorcycle had been stolen. I tried hitching back but one thing after another went incredibly wrong during the next 20 hours, culminating in my desperate situation on a Chicagoland clover-leaf.
Then my luck changed, and boy did it change. And now you know why I always smile and wave at chopper-riding bikers, even if they're too cool to wave back. I'm not sure if they're my brothers, but they're at least my cousins.
I was 20. Thanks to one criminal, two stupid college kids and a substantial dose of bad luck, I found myself standing on a highway interchange clover-leaf on the outskirts of Chicago. It was sunny with temps in the high 90s, F. I was already sunburned and windburned from a long ride off-course in the college kids' convertible. And I had mild battery acid burns all over my lap from the new leaky battery I'd brought for the missing motorcycle. The acid destroyed the fabric of my jeans and they were slowly coming apart as I stood in the hot sun, futilely trying to hitch-hike the hell out of there.
Passersby honked and made faces and threw drink cups and yelled nasty things at me for a couple of hours. When I started seeing stars and feeling lightheaded I decided I needed a break. I walked to a gas station on the service road to enjoy some air conditioning. The attendant said "I thought you were going to die out there. I was about to come out and tell you to come in and get out of the sun for awhile." He got me a chair and tried to give me my cold drink free. I guess I looked as bad as I felt.
"Where's your bike?" he asked, pointing to the beat up white 3/4 helmet I was still carrying for no good reason. I told him the story up to the point where he joined it. I don't remember his name or what he looked like, but I'll never forget his kindness.
Somewhat refreshed, I returned to my spot on the clover-leaf and stuck out my thumb. A very short while later an angel from hell saved me. A big, hairy, bearded, Harley hardtail chopper riding biker pulled his noisy hog over. We had to yell to converse over the din of his machine. He asked me what happened to my bike. Stolen, I said. He asked me what kind it was.
I don't remember what I answered. It occured to me to lie, but I don't remember if I did. The stolen bike was a 250 Honda Dream, one of the least cool motorcycles ever built.
He told me to get on. I hastily buckled on my helmet and hopped onto the tiny passenger pad on his bobbed fender. Only one of my feet was on a passenger peg when he popped the clutch. I had no choice but to hold onto his big belly to keep from flying off. He accelerated as quickly as the old hog could do and soon his long, somewhat greasy hair was slapping me in the face. He reeked of masculinity; not a scent I'm fond of. It was not a comfortable ride. He saved my life.
About an hour later he dropped me off at a road house and then turned around and disappeared back down the way we came. I wonder how far he went out of his way to help me.
I had a pee, a burger and some coffee. When I was ready to leave, a rider asked me what I was riding. I told him my sad tale. He said he was breaking in his new Honda 750 and wouldn't mind taking me a little way in the direction I was going. He took me more than a little way.
I hopped off the Honda many miles later and the rider turned back. I think he was still in sight when a Moto Guzzi Super Sport stopped. This fellow lived a little farther down the road than where I lived. He dropped me off at my door.
I had hitched from St. Louis to Indianapolis without a problem, but then found that my motorcycle had been stolen. I tried hitching back but one thing after another went incredibly wrong during the next 20 hours, culminating in my desperate situation on a Chicagoland clover-leaf.
Then my luck changed, and boy did it change. And now you know why I always smile and wave at chopper-riding bikers, even if they're too cool to wave back. I'm not sure if they're my brothers, but they're at least my cousins.
Friday, January 21, 2011
My addiction.
Hello.
My name is Nunrider.
And I'm a motorcycle junkie.
I had a life before I bought my Bonneville. I had a vocation, avocations, hobbies and pastimes. Now all I do is ride my motorcycle or think about riding my motorcycle. Motorcycling has ruined my life.
That's overstating it, but there's some truth in it.
When I bought The Chrome Nun, my 2008 Triumph Bonneville T100, in April of 2009, I had a number of interesting hobbies, including publishing, distributing and writing most of a popular humor newspaper in Central Illinois. Two months later I had one hobby: motorcycling. And things have pretty much stayed that way for nearly two years. I don't have time for anything but my totally necessary job and riding the Nun. I don't even write anymore, except for writing about motorcycling. And that's only when for some reason I can't be riding instead.
I'm not complaining. The reason that riding has taken the place of all my other hobbies is that it satisfies the needs that made them necessary. Riding a motorcycle on the high twisties is like a wonderful fantasy, except that it's really happening. And it's interactive, meaning that I'm writing the script as I'm living it. So why would I want to play a video game or watch a movie or read a book or even write a book when I can live/create an adventure?
I suit-up like a knight or a super-hero, then walk to my beautiful machine. I don't need theme music playing in the background because when I push the starter The Nun makes her own music. Then I turn out of the driveway with or without a destination, knowing that if some new road beckons I'll be ready, willing, able and eager to explore it.
And no matter what happens, it will be a new adventure. When you're on a motorcycle even the same old roads aren't quite the same from one ride to the next. Different lighting, temperatures and traffic patterns make each ride new. Like one stepping into the ever-changing river of Heraclitus, a motorcyclist cannot ride down the same road twice.
I was never a proper hippie, but whatever I am I resonate to some of the hippie philosophy. I enjoy being alive in the moment, awake and aware in the ever-changing now. And for me, that "now" is best during motorcyclng... and that other thing that requires a partner and privacy.
My name is Nunrider.
And I'm a motorcycle junkie.
I had a life before I bought my Bonneville. I had a vocation, avocations, hobbies and pastimes. Now all I do is ride my motorcycle or think about riding my motorcycle. Motorcycling has ruined my life.
That's overstating it, but there's some truth in it.
When I bought The Chrome Nun, my 2008 Triumph Bonneville T100, in April of 2009, I had a number of interesting hobbies, including publishing, distributing and writing most of a popular humor newspaper in Central Illinois. Two months later I had one hobby: motorcycling. And things have pretty much stayed that way for nearly two years. I don't have time for anything but my totally necessary job and riding the Nun. I don't even write anymore, except for writing about motorcycling. And that's only when for some reason I can't be riding instead.
I'm not complaining. The reason that riding has taken the place of all my other hobbies is that it satisfies the needs that made them necessary. Riding a motorcycle on the high twisties is like a wonderful fantasy, except that it's really happening. And it's interactive, meaning that I'm writing the script as I'm living it. So why would I want to play a video game or watch a movie or read a book or even write a book when I can live/create an adventure?
I suit-up like a knight or a super-hero, then walk to my beautiful machine. I don't need theme music playing in the background because when I push the starter The Nun makes her own music. Then I turn out of the driveway with or without a destination, knowing that if some new road beckons I'll be ready, willing, able and eager to explore it.
And no matter what happens, it will be a new adventure. When you're on a motorcycle even the same old roads aren't quite the same from one ride to the next. Different lighting, temperatures and traffic patterns make each ride new. Like one stepping into the ever-changing river of Heraclitus, a motorcyclist cannot ride down the same road twice.
I was never a proper hippie, but whatever I am I resonate to some of the hippie philosophy. I enjoy being alive in the moment, awake and aware in the ever-changing now. And for me, that "now" is best during motorcyclng... and that other thing that requires a partner and privacy.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Please, tread for me!
I disliked the front Lasertech on my T100. It tracked badly and wobbled at 50mph. I also wasn't fond of the road-only rear radial that gave me poor traction on gravel, grass, etc.
Modern motorcycle road-only tires are like wrap-around slicks with a few rain grooves.
I replaced those stock Metzelers at 10K miles with road-only Pirelli Sport Demons and have much improved road performance. These are great road tires.
But I made a mistake. I should have tried Tourance tires.
I love exploring bad back roads, which means I encounter sand, gravel, grass, wet metal (going on and off river ferries) and even snow. The Demons are terrific on clean paved roads but they slide in every direction on slick or loose surfaces.
Tourances put less rubber on the road, so they won't hold pavement quite as well as the Demons and they probably won't wear as well. But they have tread! I miss tread.
And the Tourance rear tread looks kinda like a reptile, which is pretty cool.
If you ride only on relatively clean pavement, I highly endorse the Demons. They are great. But if you ever need to go off pavement, consider one of the dual-sport type tires.
Next tire change I'm buying Tourance. I just have to stay upright until then.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Two-wheel snowmobile
I rode yesterday in a light snow. It didn't stick on the ground but it made my face shield a mess.
I had already discovered that Pirelli Sport Demons are not snow tires, so I go home when things start getting slick.
Around dusk the evening before I was riding around the vicinity of Creve Coeur Park and saw two herds of deer. And they saw me. Deer sure do love motorcycles. They stop and stare, and sometimes approach me.
One time in Chatham, IL a deer walked right up to me, looking me up and down intently. Then he peered into my face shield and saw that I had a face configured like that of a predator. He jumped back and ran away at top speed.
I didn't take any photos during the last two rides because it was too cold to carry the camera. I wish I'd had it when I was stopped, watching the deer watch me. Maybe next time.
I had already discovered that Pirelli Sport Demons are not snow tires, so I go home when things start getting slick.
Around dusk the evening before I was riding around the vicinity of Creve Coeur Park and saw two herds of deer. And they saw me. Deer sure do love motorcycles. They stop and stare, and sometimes approach me.
One time in Chatham, IL a deer walked right up to me, looking me up and down intently. Then he peered into my face shield and saw that I had a face configured like that of a predator. He jumped back and ran away at top speed.
I didn't take any photos during the last two rides because it was too cold to carry the camera. I wish I'd had it when I was stopped, watching the deer watch me. Maybe next time.
Product Review - Echo Quick Release Helmet Buckle
My new helmet is comfortable but fastening and unfastening the strap was a big hassle. The D-rings are flat and harder to use than round stock D-rings. And the strap has a snap to keep the strap end from flailing in the wind, but it's hard to thread the snap through the rings.
I decided to try the Echo Quick Release helmet strap fastener. And I'm so glad I did. I can fasten and unfasten my helmet strap in a snap. I love it. After a few test rides I cut off the excess strap and left one non-flailing inch.
I was worried that continual use might wear out the working surfaces but I've used this gadget for a full year and it still holds solidly. And I see no sign of wear on the latch surfaces. But even if it crapped out now, I WOULD BUY ANOTHER ONE!
That's right. If they only lasted a year I'd just buy a new one every year. I already got my money's worth. And it's still working great! I paid about ten bucks for mine but now I see them priced around seven or eight bucks. I'm going to buy two more; one for my other helmet and one for my wife's helmet.
This gadget is so convenient. Anything that makes it easier to use my riding gear is a good thing. Some of my past gear was so much trouble to put on that I actually decided against riding sometimes just because I didn't want to go through all the hassle of getting ready. Do you ever leave your helmet on at the store just because it's a hassle to remove and put back on? Get an Echo Quick Release!
IMPORTANT NOTE: The Quick Release works with straps up to 1" wide. I don't see a wider version on their website.
New Triumph Service Center in St. Louis Area
In the St. Louis area we have had only Donelson (St. Ann, MO) and RPM (Belleville, IL) as authorized Triumph service centers.
Moto Europa has opened shop on 3410 Locust St. in downtown St. Louis, MO. They are apparently run by the folks who run RPM, and they do have authorized Triumph techs.
I was recently given the following quotes for 12,000 mile service on a 2008 T100:
Donelson: $450.00 - $500.00 parts and labor
RPM: $360.00
Moto Europa: $450.00
And Moto Europa said they'll pick up the bike at no extra charge. Now I'm suddenly not so upset about the inevitable bad weather coming. When It looks like I won't be able to ride for a couple of weeks I'll have Moto Europa pick up my bike and do the 12K service.
(I'll just pretend the $90.00 difference between RPM and M.E. is a $45.00 charge each way for pick up and delivery. It saves my wife having to make two trips to Belleville and saves me waiting for days off work with good enough weather to ride the bike to and from Belleville.)
My warranty is up April 17, 2011 (the bike's a 2008 but I bought it in 2009) and I want to do a good shakedown cruise after the 12K service to check everything out.
I also want the tech to break loose and re-torque the camshaft bolts, even if the valves don't need re-shimming, because I heard the bolts are super hard to loosen the first time but not bad on successive servicings. And I'll probably do most of my own service after the warranty is up.
Moto Europa has opened shop on 3410 Locust St. in downtown St. Louis, MO. They are apparently run by the folks who run RPM, and they do have authorized Triumph techs.
I was recently given the following quotes for 12,000 mile service on a 2008 T100:
Donelson: $450.00 - $500.00 parts and labor
RPM: $360.00
Moto Europa: $450.00
And Moto Europa said they'll pick up the bike at no extra charge. Now I'm suddenly not so upset about the inevitable bad weather coming. When It looks like I won't be able to ride for a couple of weeks I'll have Moto Europa pick up my bike and do the 12K service.
(I'll just pretend the $90.00 difference between RPM and M.E. is a $45.00 charge each way for pick up and delivery. It saves my wife having to make two trips to Belleville and saves me waiting for days off work with good enough weather to ride the bike to and from Belleville.)
My warranty is up April 17, 2011 (the bike's a 2008 but I bought it in 2009) and I want to do a good shakedown cruise after the 12K service to check everything out.
I also want the tech to break loose and re-torque the camshaft bolts, even if the valves don't need re-shimming, because I heard the bolts are super hard to loosen the first time but not bad on successive servicings. And I'll probably do most of my own service after the warranty is up.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Goodbye Grafton Ferry
The photo above is from 2010, the first time I rode the Grafton Ferry. It was the first time I ever rode ANY ferry. The white cliffs in the background are along the GRR (Great River Road). There were lots of eagles out that day but I only saw them when I was riding so I couldn't photograph them.
The flat, gently-curving GRR is a favorite with BHB (big Harley bagger) riders. I prefer the twisties and hills in Calhoun County.
You can still ferry to Grafton, kind of, by taking the Golden Eagle Ferry to Calhoun County, then ride northeast to the free Brussels Ferry across the Illinois River at Pere Marquette park, a short way from Grafton.
It's a bit of a trick getting from the Golden Eagle Ferry to the Brussels Ferry. The Google and MapQuest maps are misleading and street signs are inconsistent over there. But if you zig-zag a path going northeast from the Golden Eagle Ferry you will eventually see signs that lead you to the free Brussels Ferry.
I visited Calhoun County about six times last year and I never took quite the same route twice. You can't get too badly lost because the county is bordered by the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers, creating a long skinny peninsula. The Golden Eagle Ferry is at the southernmost tip of the "peninsula" so it's always easy to find.
But if you're going to explore Calhoun, do it on a full tank of fuel. The only gas station around is in Hardin, 20 miles north of the GE ferry. Hardin hugs the west side of the Illinois River on the east side of Calhoun County.
I love riding in Calhoun County. It reminds me of the Ozarks. It's twisty and hilly and some of the roads are awful, just the way I like them.
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