Nighthawks Lounge

Wrapping It Up

2011-11-23T01:05:00.001-08:00

It's been more than a year since my solo motorcycle trip around the country. For a variety of reasons, the second half of that story (from San Francisco, to Seattle, to Chicago, and back to New York) never got told. While the text is rough (mostly just cutting and pasting from the log I was keeping at the time), there are some nice pictures I'd still like to share. Enjoy.

Bittersweet Homecoming

2010-08-08T23:48:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:
Sun, Aug 8, 2010
- Woke up at 9am, but spent two hours writing out 20+ postcards and mailing them off.
- Was going to see Niagara Falls and Nadia, but decided, since was so close (and out of money), might as well just forego both and make a run for home.
- Balls out ride for NYC. About 370 miles.
- Traffic backed up when the road was reduced to one lane due to construction.
- Took some risks by riding, albeit slowly, on the shoulder whenever traffic would come to a standstill.
- Got off once only to get back on, but some of the drivers I'd passed didnt feel like letting merge back in from the onramp, which was fine, since I just went on the shoulder and merged in further ahead.
- Got flashed and pulled over by a cop a couple of hours from NYC, and he demanded from his car, "What the hell do you think you're doing driving on my shoulder?!" "I'm having engine problems and I'm trying to get off the highway, " was my reply. Which was true, I'd started noticing that whenever I'd start from a stop, there'd be this slipp-chunk sound as the bike got going, like the chain was slipping or the bike wasnt engaging right away. "Then pull over right here!" he screamed, and drove off to tend to the several cars that had stalled out and were making a mess of the already bad traffic further ahead. A close call. After that, no more short cuts along the shoulder.
- Crawled my way light by light down the West Side highway, then fought my way tooth and claw through Chinatown traffic over to the Lower East Side. When I arrived I was sweaty, flushed with adrenalin, and exhausted... but I'd made it.
- Met Michael, Maureen, and Daniel when i asked one of them to take a pic of me on the bike, in the same place I'd started.
- I unloaded the bike and left it where I'd parked it the night before the trip, on the sidewalk behind the back wall of a hospital storage garage.

[Above: End of the line, back in Manhattan, alive and in one piece. Sunday, 8 Aug 2010.]

[Above: Flash back to 18 Jun 2010, at the start of the Great American Roadtrip, 52 days earlier.]

[Above: Michael, Maureen, and Daniel. First folks I encountered upon my return, kind ones at that.]

[Above: Predicted trip route before it actually began, June 2010.]

[Above: Final, actual trip route from my onboard road atlas, Aug 2010. I wound up skipping Memphis, Arkansas, Utah, and Michigan, mainly for financial reasons. After getting down to Atlanta and into the South, I started to realize the immensity of the task I'd set... and how huge the country actually is.]

RAW NOTES:
Monday, 9 Aug 2010
- The next morning, the humidity already making me sweat, as I started uncovering the bike, I got bitched out ("Shame, shame, shame on you" finger wagging and all) by some tight ass pencil pushing bureaucrat supposed director of the hospital for parking my bike there, saying I was blocking the people walking when there was a good 6 or 7 feet of sidewalk to go around the bike. At the end of his heartbreaking tirade (I wasnt even fully awake yet), he said, "Oh, and I called the police and you got a ticket!". This was going to be one of those mornings.

From a building across the street a voice called out, "Sea! ... Sea!" I looked up and it was Michael from the night before. "New York, New York." Yep, welcome home. Here's your kick in the rear. It doesn't matter if you just spent seven weeks and 11,000 miles on an underpowered and overloaded glorified dirt bike. The city doesn't care. Now get over it and get back to work.

* * *

The Great American Roadtrip of 2010 was now over. My thanks again to KS and IL for helping me make modifications to the bike in the weeks and days leading up to the trip. And thanks also to the kind friends, acquaintances, and strangers I met all along my route. This has been a unique experience and I am forever in karma's debt for being allowed to undertake such a journey.

To all I've encountered and all who read this, best wishes and safe journeys.

--aka SeaMonkey, 2011.

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End in Sight

2010-08-07T23:33:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:
Sat, Aug 7, 2010
- Rode from Aurora to Batavia, NY (just past Buffalo) in one day.
- Aside from the winds, which had me fight the bike a lot and kept me on my guard, it was a good day to ride
- Took I-80
- Pulled over in Ohio along the highway to dig out my EZ-Pass and put it on the bike and wound up tipping the bike over.
- Stopped initially in ____, but kept on going, trying hotels all the way to Batavia since most had no vacancy or only one overpriced, smoking only room. Everyone and their mother was up in northwest New York that wknd. Supposedly due to weddings, Niagara Falls, and it being the wknd.
- Paid $109 for a Super8 room. Ridiculous.
- Dinner was all my leftover emergency food... a feast!

[Above: Gas station in Ohio. Only outdoor pic from this leg of the journey.]

[Above: Finally found a room just past Buffalo, NY. Dinner was all my leftover emergency food... a feast!]

612 miles today. That's probably a trip record. Decided to forgo Detroit detour. I didn't want to push my luck any further.

I wonder why I drove so hard. I think I was tired and my spirit was kind of broken. I was worried about going broke with every day that I extended my trip. I'd have to start looking for a job right away, and deal with the aftermath of the (now ex) girlfriend situation. Also, I couldn't think of anything else in particular I wanted to see that was on the way. I wanted to keep going on, forever, but the bank account said no.

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Road to Chicago

2010-08-05T23:06:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

Thu, Aug 5, 2010

- Slow, meandering day... not wanting to arrive in Chicago too early to trouble family
- Off and on Route 66 in IL
- Stayed at Super8 in Bloomington, IL
- Weird lady with cats who complained I got her room and wouldn't tell me where she was coming/going... that's fine, I was just making small talk.
- Worried about finances.

[Above: Old Route 66 started in Chicago and went all the way to Los Angeles. You can see bits of the old road here. I tried to stay parallel to it when I could.]

Fri, Aug 6, 2010
- Rode to Chicago via I-55, hopping on and off of Route 66
- Got there around 2:30p, in the heart of traffic
- Traffic even worse due to Lalapalooza happening right in downtown
- Took pix of the "Bean" from stopped traffic, then kept on going to Naperville, then Aurora.
- Northern Illinois is Middle America's New Jersey... I encountered multiple, distinctive, consecutive smells as I made my way up to Chicago. Then when I hit the toll roads, I knew it to be true.

[Above: Looking at the Chicago skyline.]

[Above: Downtown Chicago and the "bean" (aka the Cloud Gate) sculpture in the background.]

[Above: Stuck in Chicago traffic.]

[Above: Driving through Christopher Nolan's downtown Gotham City.]

[Above: Comparing motorcycles... mine and my cousin's kid's bike.]

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St. Louis Arch

2010-08-04T22:34:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- Kansas City to St Louis
- Saw big screw sticking almost all the way out of frame in KC motel parking lot. Put it back in.
- St Louis Arch
- A little urban exploration
- Sweltering heat, as exhausting as previous day
- 270 miles
- Bought springloaded and non springloaded batons
- Overheard people talking about the 'Black Sturgis' near St Louis... in not exactly polite terms. Come to think of it, didn't see too many African American bikers when I'd passed through there.
- Pepper Spray can was all bent up due to expansion and contraction of contents due to heat
- Stayed in Troy, IL

[Above: St. Louis Arch, gateway to the west...]

[Above: Exploring the urban blight along the St. Louis river, mere blocks from the Arch.]

[Above: Abandoned building on Gratiot & South Second St., St. Louis, MO.]

[Above: Looking up South Second St., the Arch in the distance.]

[Above: Left: the egg-shaped elevator capsule that takes you to the top of the Arch. Right: inside the top of the Arch--you have to walk the last bit to get to the observation windows.]

[Above: Looking East across the St. Louis River from the top of the Arch, this journey's end is now looming on the horizon. If it weren't for lack of finances, I'd keep riding forever...]

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Long Haul to Kansas City

2010-08-03T21:42:00.000-07:00

Tue, Aug 3, 2010
- 550 miles from Valentine, NE to Kansas City, MO
- Sun glasses trick... ride all day until dark... then remove them and have an
extra 30 min of light
- Didn't think I'd make it to KS, thought would have to stop in St. Joe
- Feels like mileage is getting poorer... maybe it's because I was hauling ass the whole time.
- Met Clinton Phifer, who was in KS for RINGSIDE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS boxing tournament, and his dad and bros
- Dinner beer and beef jerky

[Above: Pondering some accessories for my KLR. That chrome cow skull might look pretty sweet over the windscreen. Can't decide on what color truck nuts to get. Get a quart of oil, a redbull and some beef jerky instead.]

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Magical Sunset

2010-08-02T21:10:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:
- From Keystone in the morning, through Custer State Park, then Wall, and onto...

- Bad Lands natl park
- Rode hard from Wall to Valentine, NE
- Caught amazing sunset driving through Nebraska
- Dragonfly massacre (drove through cloud of them... bouncing off my helmet and windscreen)
- Power was out in half the town due to bad storm that had just come through there.
- Apparently winds had overturned a horse trailer
- Dinner beer and powdered donuts
- Signs around motel:
- - "Please do not clean fish in motel"
- - "Absolutely no bird cleaning in motel"
- Discovered Chelada: Bud Light + Clamato in the freezer at the gas station. Did not partake.

[Above: Quick jaunt through the Bad Lands, SD.]

[Above: The Bad Lands don't look so bad... then again, I'm zipping along on a smooth paved road, not trying to cross over by foot, horse, or wagon directly over those hills.]

[Above: Now entering beautiful, amazing sunset territory, i.e. Nebraska.]

[Above: I keep wanting to stop and take pictures every few minutes...]

[Above: It just keep getting better and better.]

[Above: Not many better ways to enjoy such a sunset than while riding a motorcycle... Well, actually, I could think of a few... ]

[Above: The price paid for such an epic day (started this morning with buffalo, remember?) and such a sunset was the wholesale slaughter of these beautiful large green dragonflies. I rode through a cloud of them and they were banging hard against my helmet, windscreen, jacket, etc. I found this guy between the segments of my right kneepad.]

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Buffalo Quest 2

2010-08-02T20:34:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- Custer State Park, South Dakota (continued)

- On to Wall Drug, ate buffalo burger

[Above: Crawl forward 10 feet. Stop. Kill engine. Remove glove. Take pic. Put camera away. Replace glove. Start engine. Repeat.]

[Above: Buffalo everywhere.]

[Above: Roaming with the buffalo in Custer State Park.]

[Above: Thoughts: this is amazing! Don't make eye contact. Please don't ram my motorcycle.]

[Above: After Custer State Park, rode on to the famous Wall Drug in Wall, SD. Thanks, Sherry R. for pointing it out back in California.]

[Above: The next step in truly appreciating these magnificent creatures is to taste them. Buffalo burger at Wall Drug.]

Nice to stop and ponder the amazing experience I just had, roaming among these creatures, close enough to touch... but as long as there's light, I've gotta keep riding. The day's not done yet.

Buffalo Quest 1

2010-08-02T19:56:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- South Dakota

- Rode Needles Highway in the morning, then on to Custer State Park in search of buffalo. I had heard it's one of the last places where buffalo herds roam freely.

[Above: I spot *one* buffalo standing in a spot in the distance near the start of the 17+ mile scenic drive. My cynical self wonders... is it real? Animatronic? Wait, he just moved a little. Perhaps chained to that spot?]

[Above: Further ahead are the "begging burros" I'd heard about from other riders. Not wanting to lose a finger or get knocked over, I keep my distance.]

[Above: Then, miles and miles of scenic nothing. I'm wasting time. I decide to pick up the pace.]

[Above: Suddenly, traffic jam. Why is traffic backed up? Many miles to go. Decide to be obnoxious and go around the backed up line of cars. Clear the next ridge and, HOLY CRAP, BUFFALO! That's why traffic is backed up.]

[Above: Seriously. Buffalo! Holy crap! Now I'm stuck in the middle of a migrating herd that is weaving its way through traffic.]

[Above: The buffalo. Fading remnants of this country's once majestic heritage.]

To be continued...

Rushmore

2010-08-01T13:54:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

Sun, Aug 1, 2010
- Sturgis
- Deadwood
- Mt Rushmore
- Stayed in Keystone, SD for the night.
- Drank dinner outside the Red Garter saloon

[Above: Giant skies and roads that go on forever... travelling through South Dakota.]

[Above: Been there more than once. Usually without a paddle.]

[Above: Five days before the Sturgis rally, riders were already beginning to trickle in. Didn't feel like sticking around until the other 80% arrived and started drinking heavily, so I rode on, passing through Deadwood.]

Lots of Harley folks riding around in groups of 10 to 20 bikes, usually without helmets. Traffic stopped due to accident on two-lane road to Mt. Rushmore. When they finally let us go past, I saw a Harley wedged between the shoulder and guard rail, and what looked like brain matter on the asphalt. I tapped my helmet, gave thanks for my good fortune, and hoped the injuries weren't as bad as the scene implied.

[Above: First glimpse of Mount Rushmore.]

[Above: Pondering the mythicized visages of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln, I had this weird, eerie awareness that I was finally an adult... travelling across the country, doing what I wanted to do. Hopefully someday I can bring my own family here... and bore them with tales of this trip, and maybe others.]

[Above: El Coyote. Self-portrait in a mirrored window, Sturgis, SD. August 1, 2010.]

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Yellow Stone 2

2010-07-31T01:05:00.000-07:00

Day-trip through Yellow Stone continued...

[Above: Buffalo in the distance framed by KLR, Grand Loop Road, Yellow Stone.]

[Above: Seeking shelter from the rain with other cyclists. Not the best weather for riding.]

[Above: Only a fool...]

[Above: Unintentional composite along Beartooth Highway, Yellow Stone, WY.]

Approx. 388 miles today.

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Yellow Stone 1

2010-07-31T00:54:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

Sat, Jul 31, 2010
- Bozeman, MT to Sheridan, WY
- Dropped into Yellowstone NP
- via 89 to 212 and back to 90 ???
- Saw a small bear and some buffalo from far away
- Rode Bear Tooth (Bare Ass) Pass
- Raining, cold

[Above: Yellow Stone National Park, WY.]

[Above: Road to Yellow Stone and river that follows highway 89 (East River?).]

[Above: Baby bear stopping traffic while everyone takes a picture. Bears in Yellow Stone: check.]

[Above: Along the Grand Loop Road. Looks like more rain and almost no other vehicles. Hope I don't get eaten by a bear in the middle of nowhere.]

[Above: In the distance, my first glimpse of real, live buffalo.]

To be continued...

A Dream Dies at the Stardust

2010-07-30T23:46:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

Fri, Jul 30, 2010

- A Dream Dies at the Stardust

- 2:52 AM, EST. broke up with IL.

- Trip statistics:

-- Number of girlfriends at start of trip: 1

-- Number of girlfriends by end of trip: 0

Last night a dream died at the Stardust Motel in Wallace, Idaho, but who's to say it wasn't for the best? It began with a chance meeting and a bit of initiative at a Sunday morning farmers' market, a little over five months ago. It ended when a storm, that had been quietly brewing for weeks (months?) and precipitating for days, broke open across time zones and telephone lines. It wasn't sudden or violent, but the aftereffects resounded late into the night. Maybe I'd tried to shoehorn her into my notion of the ideal relationship, instead of seeing and accepting her for who she was, and that was the problem. Maybe we had moved too quickly, too soon, and that was the problem. Maybe we were just too different, all issues aside, in our needs and expectations, and the distance was making that clearer, instead of making the heart grow fonder, and that was the problem. Maybe, but now all those presumptuous hopes and visions, conversations and promises, were stillborn and left to linger in the darkness. A subtile haze of melancholy permeated the cool mountain air, but there was also a strange sense of calm. Somehow this was the right decision. I've been here before.

[Above: A dream dies at the Stardust Motel in Wallace, ID.]

The next morning I woke up early to the sound of thunder and raindrops outside the motel room window. It was still dark out. I went back to a restless sleep, waking up every half hour or so, to check the time and look for messages on my phone. There was nothing to say anything had changed or that this too had been a dream. I finally dragged myself out of bed around ten, checked out by 10:30a, slowly got the bike rain ready, and was finally on the road just before noon. My humble goal for the day was Bozeman.

[Above: Wallace, ID, the next day: nothing to do but keep moving, I guess.]

- Arrive in Bozeman, stay at Continental lodge (clean, quiet, 43 w/ tax) off exit 309 on the far edge of town.

- Crazy bicyclist ranting and foaming at mouth about wrapping his two poorly designed bicycle pumps around somebody's neck and, sardonically about how America is so great, gesticulating wildly, veins popping out.

- Moose Drool brown ale.

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Wild Horses of Washington

2010-07-29T22:49:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- Heading East for the first time.

- Drove from Kirkland to Seattle in morning to take pic at Space Needle and get sticker
(had already been to top on previous occasion).
- Then drove on I-90 East to Spokane to visit Laynee & family
- Had crappy burger on way, stopped to see metal horses
- Continued on to Coeur D'Allene, but still day light and drove on, past Kellog, finally to Wallace, ID
- Met Roxanne, who was traveling w/ hub. to Sturgis on a goldwing, broke trailer hitch on a dirt and rock logging road
- Had dinner w her while husband was fetching abandoned trailer.
- Also met Gary & Karen, who were on their way back to WA.

[Above: Beneath the Space Needle in Seattle, WA.]

[Above: Wild horses on a ridge spotted from the highway in Vantage, WA. Loop back to investigate.]

[Above: Climb the ridge still wearing gear to discover steel horses galloping under a boundless sky, frozen in time, yet galloping free.]

The scene is actually called "Grandfather Cuts Loose the Ponies". You can read more about it here.

[Above: Steel horses gallop along the Columbia River in Washington.]

[Above: Unlike the horses, I feel like my freedom is fleeting. For the first time I am heading toward, not away, from the place where I started.]

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North Toward Seattle

2010-07-28T23:45:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- After Spruce Goose passed through Portland, OR to check out Powell's Books

- Dinner w/ Todd + fam. and oil change.

- Discover flash mem card ate my california pix when trying to show off California Burrito :(

[Above: The famous Powell's bookstore.]

A piece of my past was floating around somewhere out there in Portland, but I didn't try too hard to look for it. I wandered around Powell's famous giant used bookstore for a bit with a copy of Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, but decided on an updated version of the James Allen classic, As A Man Thinketh, instead. Why stir up the sands of time when it would do more harm than good?

[Above: Stickers from the first half of my trip (NYC to SF via Atlanta, GA).]

Despite the traffic, it was a straightforward drive to Kirkland to see my friend Todd and his family.

[Above: My friend Todd and his sweet ride.]

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The Spruce Goose!

2010-07-28T21:08:00.001-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- Spruce Goose VIP tour at Evergreen aviation museum

- She captured my imagination when I saw her as a child in Long Beach, been fascinated ever since

- Amazed at how thin the hull was. Bullets would have gone through it like it was wet paper.

- Disappointed to find out that, while in place, the engines aren't actually connected... so I can't break in, start it up, and fly it away :(

[Above: Spruce Goose before its first and only flight in 1947.]

[Above: Hughes's awe-inspiring H-4 Hercules, aka the Spruce Goose.]

[Above: Howard Hughes in the pilot's seat in Long Beach Harbor, 1947.]

[Above: Our hero at the same controls, 63 years later.]

[Above: Passenger deck, 1947.]

[Above: Passenger deck, 2010.]

[Above: Cargo bay, facing aft, during construction.]

[Above: Cargo bay, facing aft, 2010.]

[Above: Taxiing for its maiden voyage, 1947.]

[Above: Restored, but not flight-ready, watching the world go by, 2010.]

Links:
- Spruce Goose at the Evergreen Museum
- Spruce Goose construction pictures (Time/Life)
- Move from Hughes hangers to Long Beach Dome

Race to McMinnville

2010-07-27T15:32:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

Tue, Jul 27, 2010

- Regretted not putting in a gallon at crater lake b/c took forever to find next one

- drive fm crater lake to mcminville

- lost sf sticker from back of bike at gas station before salem

- speeding ticket just before southerlin

- nice ride down 138, 100 miles of twisties

- met couple of guys on sports bikes heading back to seattle from seeing motogp at laguna seca in monterey

- got here too late for spruce goose, they let me in for ten min for free

- Discovered rear brake practically useless, 20 mph tests in parking lot show that rear brake only won't slow the bike down in any reasonable length of time... airbubbles in brake line?

- Also noticed 4th gear grinding noise, grr grr grr grr grr, between 3 and 4k rpms

- Rxn not so good

[Above: Busted by an Oregon state trooper for speeding. No wonder everyone goes so slow...]

[Above: Crossed Willamette river via ferry, don't remember where, perhaps near Corvalis?]

[Above: Dinner at some monkey-themed diner in McMinnville.]

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Crater Lake 2

2010-07-26T19:16:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- Encountered "magic hour" during the 2nd half of the crater rim drive... amazing sunset sky and clouds

- Kept stopping along the way to take pictures, so beautiful

- backtrack 7 mi in darkness to camp site because lodge full

- winding slowly through the darkness while my headlamps light up green eyes alongside and sometimes in the middle of the road

- set up tent by light of my bike's headlamp

- met nice canadian family at campsite

[Above: Beautiful Crater Lake at Sunset]

[Above: At Crater Lake camp site, next morning.]

[Above: Crater Lake's azure beauty the next morning.]

Crater Lake 1

2010-07-26T19:08:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- Hauled ass via 62 to crater lake to get there 45 min before sunset

- took rim drive anyway, beautiful sunset

- poured in 2 gal spare gas b/c was at 142 on rim, didnt want to run out

- moquitos everywhere

- beautiful views

[Above: Crater Lake twilight.]

[Above: Crater Lake self-portrait.]

[Above: Crater Lake twilight.]

Road to Crater Lake

2010-07-26T12:46:00.000-07:00

RAW NOTES: Mon, Jul 26, 2010

- Eureka to Crater Lake via hwy 96, i6, hwy 62

- Beautiful 130 mi of road (96) along the Klamath River... twisties... took long time...

- No pictures along second leg (hwy 62) because it was getting late and I was worried about reaching Crater Lake before sunset

- 324 miles according to the map.

- Surprising just how much changes in temperature affect you when riding a motorcycle--whenever dark clouds were overhead or I passed through a bone-chilling fog, I'd have to pull over and zip up my jacket vents. As soon as the sun came out, I'd have to stop and open them up again.

[Above: XXX]

[Above: XXX]

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[Above: Eureka, CA to Crater Lake, OR via Hwy 96 on the map.]

Back on the Road

2010-07-25T00:11:00.001-07:00

RAW NOTES:

- San Francisco to Eureka via Highway 1...

- Absolutely beautiful.

- Eureka smells alternately like fish or like sewage, depending on which way the wind is blowing.

- Cold as fark!

- Beautiful forests and rocky crags and views of the ocean, sometimes both at once.

- Approx. 350 mi of riding.

[Above: Somewhere along Highway 1, North of San Francisco]

[Above: Along Highway 1, south of Point Arena]

[Above: Point Arena lighthouse]

[Above: Legget, CA, inland, where Highway 1 runs back into the 101, and they have a tree you can drive through.]

[Above: ... It's pretty tall.]

Handle With Care

2010-07-24T23:22:00.000-07:00

Day: 28 (24 Jul 2010)

While back in the Bay, I succeeded in assembling the resident members of the H-Team: the inner circle of high school friends I'd kept in touch with most over the years. One of them, LT, was now a proud papa, and we agreed to meet up and admire each other's new babies: my KLR650 and his seven week old daughter. Hence the following picture...

[Above: Class "A" cuteness is a heavily regulated substance and must be handled with proper safety precautions.]

Skyline Blvd: A Ride Through the Clouds

2010-07-21T23:01:00.000-07:00

Day: 27 (21 Jul 2010)

It was Wednesday afternoon and DGC had invited me to ride Skyline Blvd up to Alice's Restaurant: the famous Bay Area biker hangout. How could I say no? We fought our way through rush hour street traffic and picked up the trail southwest of Santa Clara. DGC had asked me if I was comfortable with lane splitting and I grudgingly said no. I'd already come too far and didn't want to risk it just to shave off a few minutes. The panniers I still had mounted to the bike didn't make it any narrower either. I'd flirted with lane splitting in stopped or slow
moving traffic off and on, but had decided long ago that it just wasn't worth the extra level of stress. (This was, of course, immediately after having bent back the right side mirror on some poor couple's minivan on the West Side Highway). Shortly after explaining this to DGC we watched someone do the exact same thing, making all sorts of exaggerated, apologetic gestures to the patiently perplexed mother and toddler inside, even patting the mirror to show that it was okay, after moving it back into place.

[Above: Skyline Blvd is still looking pretty innocuous. Somewhere in the hazy distance is the East Bay and the San Mateo Bridge.]

Skyline Blvd is a mix of beautiful views and blind turns that locals like DGC regularly use to test their riding and driving prowess. It's a mix of dry, grassy fields, meadows and undulating, tree-lined corridors that wind through the hills. It was exhilirating, and would have been quite relaxing, were I not trying to find the balance between my conservative riding style and keeping up with DGC around those bends. Not long after our first pit stop, however, the atmosphere would become progressively more spooky. We'd already seen the fog in the distance, pouring over the treetops and down toward the bay like a slow-motion avalanche. Now we were heading toward it.

[Above: The intangible avalance off in the distance.]

As we got closer, the haze and the afternoon sun gave the road a magical quality. Inside my helmet, I couldn't help grinning with delight at how picturesque, even cinematic, everything was.

[Above: Making our way through the Shire... er, I mean... Skyline Blvd.]

Further ahead, delight turned to awe and genuine concern as the road grew more and more eerie. To DGC's presumed annoyance, I had to keep stopping to take pictures. The space beyond the nearmost trees was a spooky glowing whiteness. Everything else was gone. Who knew what lurked around the next bend...

[Above: The plot thickens...]

Not long after, we found ourselves in the thick of it, keeping it under 30 mph, barely able to see 50 feet ahead of us. This was much worse than the fog we'd encountered along the coast while riding up to the bay, but at least here, as far as we knew, there weren't rocky precipices within mere feet of the roadside. The trees themselves had begun to dissolve as the haze surrounded us. I half expected to see a unicorn come galloping past us in the opposite direction, or perhaps a werewolf. Anything was possible in this kind of fog.

[Above: They don't call it the Skyline for nothing. Here the clouds had come to you.]

We wound our way through more haunted forests, eventually arriving at Alice's Restaurant. There, it was actually pretty clear, if not a bit chilly. Although on weekends the place is apparently overwhelmed by gaggles of chrome, rubber and leather, it was pretty empty on this Wednesday evening. The burger and rootbeer float hit the spot, though a real beer was tempting.

[Above: You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant (not really, but the ride up is worth it).]

After warming up and chilling out, we refueled and hit the road again. By this time, darkness was beginning to set in proper, and the pockets of haze that remained gave a ghostly, ethereal glow to what little light was to be found in the distance. We continued, cautiously crawling along with minimal visibility, over meadowy ridges and around blind curves.

[Above: "I want to believe..."]

Eventually we connected with the 101 and dipped into San Francisco to catch up with another old friend. I didn't stay long, but found out later that DGC would be sabbotaged there by a sinister papaya salad. Aside from that, not a bad day and not a bad ride.

[Above: Back in SF: To old friends and new, and riding through clouds.]

San Francisco Foray

2010-07-20T09:36:00.000-07:00

Day: 26 (20 Jul 2010)

On Tuesday, I decided that just because I was back in the old neighborhood, it didn't mean I wasn't still on a cross-country motorbike trip, so I geared up for quick foray into the city. I'd never been in the Bay on a motorcycle before, my earlier riding life confined to short trips around San Diego. I rode into San Francisco via the 880 and the Oakland Bay Bridge, and took the same route back, stopping for a quick peek around Treasure Island. I'd never been to Treasure Island before. At the top of the Coast Guard lookout hill, I found a few cats and a racoon... but no treasure besides the view.

[Above: The Oakland Bay Bridge as seen from Treasure Island.]

I first stopped in Potrero Hill for a quick reunion with a friend from way back in the day. Afterward I set off for that other great bridge: the Golden Gate. It was on this bit of the ride that I remembered (again) why I was no particular fan of the Bay Area... that miserable, damp cold that creeps into homes and bones, between layers of clothing, and sticks to you doggedly. On this point, I've heard Mark Twain was inclined to agree, having apparently once said, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." By the time I'd crossed the bridge and hopped off to eat the burger I taken to go, I was shivering and my nose was running. A hazy translucent fog had rolled in to the bay and had begun to slowly dissolve the waterfront. I'd already spent a few winters in New York, and some how, despite the layers under my riding gear, this strange chill seemed worse... and this was July... in California!

[Above: The Golden Gate bridge... I wasn't the only tourist shivering.]

Next on my San Francisco checklist was the famous block of Lombard Street that zigzags beautifully down a hill lined with flowerbeds and driveways. There were lots of Harley-types with their cruisers and choppers milling about the top and bottom of it, but I was the only one who actually rode down. The pace was about two miles per hour due to the crawling tourist car traffic, but it still felt like a minor feat. The hills in San Francisco, in general, are one thing it has over New York City, which by and large is and feels generally flat despite the tall buildings. I loved riding the undulating streets here and the unique views they created.

[Above: A cable car gets stuck rounding a corner, eventually requiring a push from pedestrians; Transamerica Pyramid in the background.]

It was a quick ride to Chinatown, but it took a long series of circles down one way streets and guesswork to find the actual Chinatown Gate. It turned out to be on Grant and Bush and was much smaller and more unassuming than I'd remembered. Perhaps I was thinking of the one in Washington, DC.

[Above: The elusive Chinatown Gate on Grant and Bush... much smaller than I'd remembered it.]

A quick stop in San Francisco's version of Union Square, and then I jumped back onto the Bay Bridge and headed southeast, again, looking upon familiar highways and landmarks, for the first time without a cage framing my vision.

[Above: The only other treasure on Treasure Island besides the view.]

Downtime in the East Bay

2010-07-19T08:40:00.000-07:00

Day: N/A (19 Jul 2010: no ride day)

The San Francisco bay area never really sang its song to me in the years that I'd lived there. Maybe it's because I hadn't grown up in the city proper, but on the outskirts, lost in the cookie-cutter malaise of suburbia. As a place, it never tugged at my heart-strings after I left, nor whispered to me in my dreams as I slept, as it did some of my friends, also now scattered around the world. At any rate, it felt good to be back in familiar surroundings, knowing I'd reached the fabled halfway point in my journey. I could look forward to doing a whole lot of nothing for a good few days, besides sitting around, relaxing and catching up with family and old friends.

A couple of times a day, I'd crack open the door that opened into the garage and peek in on my baby, alternately chuckling or gazing in quiet amazement that I'd come so far. This trip that I'd talked so much about (almost too much, to the point of jinxing it) was actually happening. I was hip deep in it, and admiring my KLR650, parked in my parents' garage among the familiar clotheslines and cardboard boxes, put a smile on my face.

[Above: Realities blend in my parents' garage: a horse saddle, ancient Daisy BB rifle and cowboy hat make perfect props.]

After a couple of days' leisure, I got to business, laying into the drudgery of catching up on this journal and, more importantly, giving my riding gear a well-deserved and long overdue bath. I'd had my Coretech riding jacket for over three years now and this would be it's first washing. I filled the bath tub with warm water, woolite and dish soap, and proceeded to remove all the padding from my jacket and pants before tossing everything in. A couple hours of soaking revealed predictable results: the water looked like it'd been drawn from a moat. I drained the water and filled it a couple more times to give everything a proper rinse.

[Above: As you travel, a bit of everywhere you go... goes with you.]

Mad Dash to the Bay

2010-07-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

Day: 25 (16 Jul 2010)

Today was one of those Big Push days and I knew it would be a long one. I was hoping to reach San Francisco by nightfall and wanted to stick to the coast as much as possible. By 9:00am, I was on the road heading north along Highway 1 from Marina Del Rey and feelin' fine. Aside from all the annoying stop lights, it was a beautiful morning ride: the line formed by the beaches and surf undulating before me to the left, sandy cliffs dotted with villas to the right, and the sky waking up from its sleepy morning haze. It was chilly and windy enough, though, to make me wonder about those surfers, despite their wet suits. Zuma beach, Malibu, the Getty Villa, Topanga Canyon... the familiar names from the trips of my youth rolled by.

[Above: Southern California Highway 1.]

In Santa Barbara, I met up with Wyman, another friendly KLR enthusiast whom I'd met on the klr650.net message board. I followed him on a twisty ride through dry dusty hills along Old San Marcos Road and the San Marcos Pass (Highway 154). We stopped off at the famous Cold Springs Tavern where he was kind enough to treat me to a very tasty buffalo burger. The tavern is well over one hundred years old and sits on the old stagecoach road used by banks during the Old West days. Not feeling especially daring after my desert crash, nor keen to gamble around around blind turns, I was always a few seconds behind as we snaked through the winding, cracked and baked backroads. Over food he confided that he takes the route we were just on daily... and usually at twice the speed. "I'm not quite there yet," I said, thinking about the internal monologue that goes on when I'm riding. "How fast do I want to hit the moose/bear/rock/dead cow just around the bend in the middle of the lane? 45? 30? 25? ... Do I really want to slide into that ravine?"

After lunch, I followed him to his garage, where he adjusted my headlights to a position where they would actually be useful, noticed and replaced a missing nut, as well as hooking me up with a pair of replacement stock KLR mirrors. This newly-aligned headlights would come in quite handy as I would be breaking my "no riding after dark" rule at least a few more times. My thanks, again, to Wyman, for his help and hospitality toward this semi-clueless n00b, biting off more of this country than he could probably chew.

From Solvang, I jumped onto the 101, then made my way to Morro Bay, where I was to meet up with DGC and his friend Melissa. They were kind enough to make the trip down from San Francisco and escort me in, to the halfway point of my journey. On the way, I was greeted by the sight of Morro Rock, slowly being enveloped by this slow-moving avalanche of cloud cover coming in off the water, scraping its marbly underbelly along the jagged, rocky, mossy cliffs. Even though there was no real shoulder, I had to stop and take a picture while traffic zoomed by.

[Above: Fog blanketing Morro Rock, Morro Bay, CA.]

DGC had been there when, shortly after getting my license, and inspired by Dr. G's travelogues, I took a six week motorcycle-themed trip through Thailand. Actually, it was his trip, and I convinced him to let me tag along at the last minute, but details, details... Not long after his return from Thailand, DGC also did a one-way solo trip across the country, from San Francisco to Boston, on his mostly trusty CX500. Back on the coast, none of us had bargained for the cold, damp winds that were beginning to chill our bones. At least DGC and his pillion had heated jackets, whereas I had to hastily put on almost all the layers of clothing I'd brought.

[Above: With DGC, Melissa and his BMW in Morro Bay, CA]

After a brief reunion, we were back on the road, headed north on the 1. It was already after three and we still had a long way to go. I let them take the lead. It was the first time in 6,500 miles of traveling that I was actually riding with someone else. At first it felt a little strange, having to constantly be aware of the other bike, making sure not to overtake it or fall behind, but soon I got into the new groove and was back to happily taking in the scenery. Not long after that, the groove became a mad dash as we engaged in the familiar struggle of trying to beat the receding sun.

We flogged the bikes on through the beautiful but dangerous scenery: winding roads hugging steep, rocky hillsides and even rockier beaches far below. As if that and the cold weren't enough, the fog started rolling in... rising up from the water's surface, smashing into the cliffs, and spilling out over the two-lane road in slow-motion. My visor began to fog up and I had to choose between warmth (visor down) and visibility (visor up, nose running, teeth chattering). At some point I had taken the lead, but had to stop outright because I couldn't see more than 50 feet in front of me. We proceeded more cautiously and descended from the cliffs into Big Sur. Again, beautiful riding, winding roads through tall trees and pockets of fog lingering in the filtered twilight.

By the time we reached Monterey, it was already dark. We were so close, though, the gravitational pull was palpable. We had to push on. We stopped at a gas station to fill up and take a momentary break from the windchill, then hopped on the 101 and laid on the throttle. I told myself that it was okay to drive in the dark in this particular case. First off, I wasn't alone. Second, my headlights were actually properly aligned for a change. Third, we would be going on wider highways, which would be better lit and have smoother surfaces. Well, that last one wasn't exactly true as the 101 was as sparsely lit as any highway in New Mexico, and I was constantly, hyperactively scanning for deer waiting to pounce from the edges of the darkness. I switched off the GPS as we merged onto the 880. I was now back on home turf. As once again I buzzed past familiar street names and exit signs, I thought about how relative distances were. San Jose had seemed so far away. Even the malls in Fremont were a whole 20 miles away from where I'd grown up. Those distances seemed laughable now that I'd come all the way across the country.

We finally arrived at my parents' place around 10:30pm. They were kind enough to wait up for us and even had pizza and drinks at the ready. I was happy to have DGC and Melissa with me to show my folks that I wasn't the only crazy one with a penchant for long distances on motorcycles, and that people who did this kind of thing were, for the most part, normal and like everyone else. Sitting there at the table with my riding gear nearby and the bike in the driveway, it was like someone took the country and folded it over like a piece of paper. The realities of my East Coast and West Coast existences were merging. Three weeks and more than 6,000 miles and I'd made it to the halfway point. I didn't even want to think about the other half yet. I was ready for some downtime.

Los Angeles

2010-07-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

Day: 24 (15 Jul 2010)

Downey is just one more flat, sun-bleached stretch of Southern Californian suburbia; one more tile in the seemingly endless man-made mosaic that covers this land. Telephone poles and power lines, clinging to trees and houses like cobwebs, strip malls, fast food joints, palm trees, two-story apartment complexes, bungalows and ranch houses, aging boulevards and freeway overpasses, sunshine, of course, and a hazy smog on the horizon. It's hard to tell where city limits start and end. There are no visible boundaries. The sun was setting and I had arrived in the Los Angeles Sprawl.

As I got off the freeway and made a left onto Lakewood Blvd, I was greeted by that familiar giant, jolly, winking, moon-faced baker, sitting atop the signpost of one of the four original McDonalds restaurants. This was one of the few locations that had been retained by the namesake brothers, when Ray Kroc, fast food's Walt Disney, bought the rights to their name and turned it into an international empire. A few streets over, gaudy, bloated, million dollar McMansions, with their wrought-iron fences, multi-story colonnades and stucco facades, had sprung up and conspicuously dwarfed the few remaining bungalows. Downey? Really? Since when had this become the next Beverly Hills?

[Above: One of the original McDonalds restaurants in Downey, CA.]

The whole of the next day was spent bouncing around The Sprawl among friends. In the morning, I was picked up bright and early at 8:00am by SI. This would be my only chance to see him, so I grudgingly acquiesced to that ungodly timeslot. I was hoping to start my day with an In-n-Out burger, but let myself be talked into going to Denny's instead because it was more "breakfasty." I don't know what the hell I was thinking, maybe I wasn't yet fully awake, but it was another mediocre and miserable example of what barely passes for food there. Unfortunately, there was no desert and firearms conveniently available to dispose of the leftovers.

After the cullinary self-abuse I was dropped off at SD's house in Marina Del Rey, who then drove me back to Downey to pick up my motorcycle. From there, SD, myself and a cousin all caravanned back to SD's, in separate vehicles, so we could hit up Santa Monica beach. My brain registered how ridiculous all this driving was... but it seemed a very California thing to do.

[Above: Santa Monica beach.]

Having now spent three winters in New York, I thought I'd gotten over my sensitivity to the cold, but on the beach it was another story. Maybe it was all that time on the bike, sweating in the sticky heat of the south or evaporating in the scorching dryness of the desert. There was laughter as I sat on the sand, dubiously eying the ocean waves and the frolicking children, clutching my arms and shivering whenever the slightest breeze picked up. Had California always been this cold? Little did I know but there was plenty more in store farther up the coast. I did eventually manage to wince my way into the water, fully submerging myself, and splashing about for a full three minutes, before getting out, thus justifying the cost of the mask and snorkel I'd picked up in San Diego.

[Above: I don't remember it being this cold...]

Afterward, I wandered up the beach toward the boardwalk with my cousin, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze, and thinking of the quirky girl waiting for me back east. She'd never seen sand crabs before, so I dug some out of the retreating waves, and took pictures. Further ahead, I drew a large heart in the wet sand, wrote our names in it, then took a picture and sent it to her. Pretty cheezy, I know. I didn't linger long to admire it, though, as I was hurried along by my self-conscious cousin. "Dude, let's keep moving... before someone thinks that my name is ____." (My cousin is a guy.)

[Above: Sand crabs and "mechanic hands."]

On the way back, I managed to get us both lost, when we somehow overshot SD, who had remained behind with our stuff, by at least a mile. We spent the next hour wandering back and forth around the beach looking for him. Santa Monica doesn't number its lifeguard stations, but it does color code them... which doesn't help since there are only four colors and they keep repeating. It was one of those WTF moments. I didn't have my phone, and though my cousin had his, I didn't know my friend's number. I must have run a good couple of miles before finally spotting SD's car in one of the parking lots, and subsequently SD, still sleeping in the same place we'd left him.

[Above: Look! Sand crabs!]

The rest of the night was spent driving around the UCLA area with SD & KC, yet another friend from my California days of yore. Between drinks, talking smack and catching up there was me pleading with SD to "please, for the love of Vishnu and all things holy, wash your %$&*ing car." It was the same color, model and year as the one I used to drive, and it broke my heart to see the poor thing, caked in layers of dust, looking like it had followed me through the desert or had been left out in a flood... Good times overall and another night over too soon.

[Above: Bye-bye, sand crabs.]

Some days it was the thought of all the miles that yet lay before me, and the timeline I'd set for completing them, that propelled me onward. Other times it was thoughts of the girl back in NYC. Sometimes, even, it was the budget that I was already beginning to overrun. And then there were times like these, when I felt most comfortable, and it was the subtle fear that if I lingered too long... I might get stuck again, not having gotten very far at all. Places you once called home can do that to you.

[Above: I never found out: what the hell is a Pupuseria?]

I'm writing this now, more than a month after I passed through SoCal. SD still hasn't washed his car.

Sandy Eggo - Part 2

2010-07-14T11:46:00.000-07:00

Day: 23 (14 Jul 2010)

The next morning was all business. I got dropped off at Eagle Mike's around 10:30am, where he put the wheels (with new tubes and new Avon Gripster rear tire) back on the bike and installed raising links ("dogbones") that he sells to give me an extra inch of height on the rear wheel. This freed me from having to carry around that annoying scrap of two-by-four that ADV's Trip had called "KLR-Tech".

[Above: On the jack with wheels and raising links on and crank case open.]

Next it was on to the Doohickey mod. Mike asked, "Do you want me to do this for you or do you want to learn something?" Of course I wanted to learn as much as I could, not having much mechanical experience, so moments later I was draining the oil, removing the gear shifter and undoing the screws of the crank case.

[Above: Outer cover of crank case removed exposing idler shaft lever and weak spring.]

For a few seconds I marvelled, just looking at the works, as I had done the first time I'd removed the valve cover on my old '96 CB750.

[Above: Crank case open, doohickey removed, stock spring still in place.]

Then I stepped aside and let Mike do the actual Doohickey replacement.

[Above: Eagle Mike installing the new spring.]

I opted for the torsion spring vs the regular-but-tighter spring.

[Above: Eagle Mike's custom manufactured lever and torsion spring.]

And, voila, after refilling the oil, some air in the tires, and putting all the gear back on, I was ready to go. Oh, also I picked up a mirror from the auto parts store to go on the right hand side. Things were starting to look up...

It was already past two when I finally left Mike's shop, so I had to pass on some other visits I had planned to make. My goal was to be in LA before dark. I did make an exception for two old favorites, since they were on the way: Santana's California burrito and Mt. Soledad, overlooking the beaches of La Jolla and the I-5 / 52 interchange. Like Phil's, the Santana's California burrito was like a dream materializing right before my eyes... The hot carneasada meat melting the grated cheese, the french fries inside soaking up the delicious juices, that soft, flaky tortilla... and each bite drizzled with that smoky brown chipotle salsa. Oh, it was good. Damn good.

[Above: Santana's California Burrito--the best of the french fry-bearing California burritos that, like carneasada fries, are unique to San Diego]

And the view... this is where I would go to show off San Diego to visitors from out of town, or to catch sunsets when I was feeling introspective. Again, that pull, and the sense that you only truly appreciate something after you've left it.

[Above: View of the La Jolla coastline from Mt. Soledad.]

After one more quick stop in Solana Beach to see another old friend from older days, I was finally on my way... and in LA-bound traffic... which actually wasn't too bad once I'd passed Carlsbad. It moved at a decent speed all the way into the aging, straining, gritty guts of the Los Angeles sprawl. I did have one close call, though, when I was in the number one lane and wanted to zip into the adjacent carpool lane. I had bought a stick-on blind-spot mirror and put it over my cracked left mirror, making objects look (much) farther away than they appeared, and I unintentionally started from second. Thus I found myself going much slower than intended and a car coming up behind me much faster than I was expecting. Fortunately all I got was the shriek of tires, an angry horn, and an underwear-defiling vision in my one working mirror. A few miles ahead, I pulled off the road and pried off the blind-spot mirror, exposing once again the cracked glass beneath. After a few minutes of rest and examination of my life's decisions up to that point, I then resumed my ride, more awake, and even more careful.

[Above: Goodbye, San Diego; once again, too short a visit for fear of its gravitational pull.]

As I made the drive to Los Angeles along I-5, familiar sights and exit names zoomed past, stirring up echoes of the past, of the many times I'd made this trip by car, and the conversations that had taken place en route. "What does oso mean again?" "Oso means bear." For some reason, I'd never made this trip by bike when I lived here. Suddenly it didn't seem nearly that far, nor that crazy of a thing to do.

Sandy Eggo - Part 1

2010-07-13T08:11:00.000-07:00

Day: 22 (13 Jul 2010)

My stay in San Diego would be short and swift: a whirlwind of activity, and still, I didn't have time to see everyone. I had rolled into town in pretty sorry shape. Aside from the broken mirrors, and the duct tape holding together the front end of the bike, the rear tire was completely bald down the middle and I was still carrying around that dirty, oily piece of two-by-four that I needed to use every time I wanted to park. Character was practically dripping off my poor KLR, which I'd bought brand new ten months ago, and had still looked new a mere three weeks ago. Given the many miles that lay ahead, taking care of the bike was first priority, and I felt the need to keep moving. No time to dilly-dally in nostalgia land.

But first, I had to make a pilgrimage to that soul-sating mecca of burning animal flesh: San Diego's legendary Phil's BBQ. Once upon a time I'd managed to finagle two going-away lunches here in a span of three months from the place where I'd worked as a contractor. Thus, it was only fitting to have a mini-reunion here with the friends and coworkers from that period.

[Above: Marvelling at the two-wheeled trash barge I had ridden in on.]

The night before, I had revisited another San Diego staple, Roberto's carneasada fries, and found that they just weren't quite the same. It was good, but not great. Maybe it was because this had always been cheap, post surfing, post late night drinking filler food. Or, maybe it was the watered down horchata. The uniqueness of carneasada fries outside of San Diego had made me seek them out, and they did hit the spot in their own way.

[Above: Roberto's Carneasada Fries--good, but not as great as I remembered.]

Phil's BBQ, on the other hand, more than delivered. When I first bit into one of those oversized, cave man-befitting, sweet, tangy, crisp yet tender meat covered bones, my lip quivered and my eyes watered with tears of joy at its carnivorous deliciousness. I hadn't ridden six thousand miles for nothing.

[Above: Phil's BBQ Beef Rib Dinner, capable of inducing tears of joy.]

One of the friends I'd met up with, BK, is a rider, ex-racer and former shop owner. He was there at the very beginning: he came with me and test drove what would become my first bike, and rode it home for me because the insurance paperwork hadn't come through yet. Another friend, SW, bought me a pair of training wheels after my first crash. Ah, the memories. After lunch, however, it was onto business.

[Above: With BK, who helped me get my start when I was the most clueless of riding n00bs.]

Eagle Mike, known in the KLR community for his popular doohickey (the notoriously weak idler shaft lever) mod, as well as other custom manufactured parts for the KLR6540, was nice enough to let me drop by his shop in downtown. We bonded instantly over having the same haircut, and before I knew it, he had the bike up on a jack, had pulled the wheels off, and was handing them to me. The place he recommended where I could get my rear tire replaced and the new tubes put on wouldn't do it for you. You had to just bring in the wheels.

[Above: From right to left, the wonderful Eagle Mike, Geneva and Alfredo.]

I'm in great debt to my cousins for loading their tiny little coupe with all the gear and luggage from my bike, plus the two of them and me with the wheels, and driving me around San Diego to get everything done. It turned into one long day as the first shop didnt't have time to do the tires, and the second shop pointed out that the 18" MonsterTube innertube that DualStar had sold me wasn't going to work, and that they didn't have an 17" tube to sell me... although the first shop did. So it was back to the first shop to get the tube, then back to the second shop to drop it off.

While waiting on the tires, I visited an old riding buddy, DrEvil at another place I used to work. DrEvil had traded in his Honda Shadow 750 for a new wife, so was a little envious about my trip. Oh, well. The grass is always greener on the other side... ;)

That night, I met up with yet another old friend for dinner in Del Mar. What hit me again, as it did the day I arrived at La Jolla cove was the beauty of this place. The near-year-round more-spring-than-summer climate, the beauty of the ocean and nearby hills and hiking trails... and just what an achievement in itself it was to say goodbye.

California or Bust

2010-07-12T00:03:00.000-07:00

Day: 21 (12 Jul 2010)

After living the easy life for four days, bumming around in air conditioned digs by day and stuffing myself to the point of food coma nightly, it was time to get back on the road. Two and half years had passed since I'd last been to this place, stopping to drop off my old car, and a couple of boxes for long term storage, as I closed the chapter of my life in California and embarked upon a new one in New York. So much has happened between then and now, and yet, to this house, it's like the blink of an eye. This morning I was on the road before 8:00am; my destination was my former home town of San Diego. Little did I know that in a matter of hours I would be eating it hard on a dusty dirt road, under the blazing desert sun...

My planned route was I-10 west, to highway 78 west, to 79 south at Julian, to I-8 west to San Diego. I rode hard and made good time to Blythe, California, just across the Arizona border. I stopped, ate fry bread, and bought the first of two dream catchers at a little gift shop on the Laguna Indian reservation. Somewhere in Blythe, I missed the turn off for the 78 and had to double back to go find it. From Mesa Drive, I got onto Blythe Way and followed it east until it turned into a dirt road that cut across a wide field. Finally, I thought, a chance to take my dual purpose bike on a real, actual dirt road.

[Above: Finally, a dirt road!]

I decided to follow the dirt road, hoping to intersect highway 78 somewhere on the other side. I was going along at a pretty good clip and was feeling pretty good about it. I even got up on the rear pegs and did some "flying." The one lane dirt road began to gradually descend and the handling got real squirly, with the handlebars jerking back and forth, as the packed dirt gave way to soft, deep sand, so I quickly sat back down. An instant later I found myself tumbling through that sand, the bike tumbling right along behind me. I hit the ground on my left shoulder and registered a disconcerting 'karrrunch', finally coming to a rest on my ass. Half a second later the bike came up behind me, the rear wheel hitting me in the back, knocking me over and landing partially on top of me. "Holy sh*t! Did that just happen?!" I thought as the cloud of dust and sand swirled around me and began to dissapate.

[Above: (Seconds later...) Okay, no more dirt roads...]

No sharp pains or broken bones were immediately apparent, so I lifted the bike enough to unpin my foot and stood up to survey the damage. Apparently I'd just high-sided and the bike had rolled twice, cracking the front fairing on both sides of the instrument panel, smashing both mirrors and snapping the right one clean off. Surprisingly, aside from that broken mirror, nothing else fell off the bike. I guess I'd packed it pretty well. There was sand everywhere and in everything, including my helmet, gloves, pockets, boots. I was still in a bit of a state of shock.

[Above: Did that just happen?]

It was about noon and the sizzling sun was directly overhead. I couldn't afford to sit and ponder what had just happened. I needed to get the bike up and get out of there before I got heatstroke. I struggled to right the bike in the soft powdery sand. On the far end of the dirt/sand road I'd seen some cars parked earlier, and now one of them, a green minivan, was driving toward me, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. "They must have seen me eat it," I thought, "and they've come to see if I'm okay." By the time it reached me, I'd just gotten the bike upright, but instead of asking, or even slowing down, it just drove on by, mere feet from me,almost running over the tank bag I'd removed. Inside, the three or four people were actually pointing and laughing. "Are you freakin' serious?"

I got less than ten feet from where I first landed when the front wheel twisted sharply in the powdery sand, causing me to lose my balance and drop the bike onto its other side. This time, I was on an incline, so I threw off my jacket and tore apart my soft luggage and cargo as quickly as I could, in order to lighten the load enough to raise the bike before I passed out from the heat. I kept my helmet on and sweat poured out of it, as if from a faucet. As I got the bike back up again, and was reassembling all the gear, a white pickup pulled up from the same direction as the minivan, this time, with a good samaritan asking if I needed help or if he could haul my bike back to solid ground. I politely declined now that I was back up again, but learned from him that, although highway 78 was still further east, I couldn't reach it the way I was going. I'd have to go back the way I came.

[Above: Post crash. Shaken, not stirred in Blythe, CA.]

One cold sports drink, some quick patchwork using gorilla tape, and ten minutes in the shade of a gas station awning later, I was ready to get back on the road, more determined than ever to be swimming at La Jolla Cove before sundown. I was still jittery for the first hundred miles or so, imagining all sorts of wobbles and imbalances in the bike caused by the crash. The desert winds didn't help as I had to fight occasionally to keep the bike upright. I was driving with one, cracked, mirror, and wondering what injuries I'd discover once the adrenaline wore off completely. The route led me through dusty fields and farmland, that gave way to long stretches of desert scrub brush.

As I rounded the southern end of the Salton Sea, I found myself going through the Imperial Sand Dunes.

[Above: Imperial Sand Dunes.]

Not having had enough sand for one day, I stopped to frolick.
I pulled off the highway at a vista point, parked the bike and decided to climb to the top of the nearest dune, which happened to be about a hundred feet tall. On all fours, I climbed until the sand became too hot to touch, even through my gloves.

[Above: Greetings from the Imperial Sand Dunes!]

From the top, I threw my helmet down and filmed it rolling to the bottom, to give the folks at home an idea of just how tall it was. Then I went after it, bouncing down the sand dune like an astronaut on the moon, my legs sinking in to the soft stuff with every step.

[VIDEO CLIP TO BE ADDED LATER]

Afterward it was on through the Anza Borrego desert, where many years ago as an undergrad, I drove my '86 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera to watch the Perseids meteor shower with coworkers.

[Above: Coming through the Anza Borrego desert.]

Out here, as in most of Arizona, I made liberal use of the water bladder in my tank bag, driving with the tube feeding into my helmet for miles at a time, taking sips to stay hydrated.

[Above: Trying to stay hydrated in the Anza Borrego desert.]

From the desert I wound my way into the dry hills that led me to Julian, where I stopped for a slice of their famous apple pie at Apple Alley Bakery. As at Deal's Gap, the adrenaline had given me a fierce appetite.

I'd forgotten just how nice the roads to Julian were and thoroughly enjoyed the scenery and very respectable curves. Despite its natural beauty, the seasonal brush fires are usually not very kind and the lady I spoke with at the bakery had had her home burned down by one a few years back.
[Above: Highway 78 West into Julian has beautiful scenery and respectable curves.]

I didn't dawdle long as I had a date with the Pacific Ocean. I took the 79 south through Cuyamaca Rancho state park, again finding myself going through pleasant, verdant alpiny terrain. "Why hadn't I spent more time here, gone hiking or camping at Lake Cuyamaca?" I asked myself. "Oh, yeah. Because I lived here." It's the same old story: when something's close by, it's easy to forget about it as you get lost in the daily routine.

[Above: Out of Anza Borrego and into Julian.]

As I passed through the hills of Alpine and descended upon San Diego via I-8, a big grin started to take shape upon my face as I began to recognize my surroundings. I was excited. Suddenly I didn't need my GPS anymore. I was back on my old home turf and knew where I was going. I stopped at Wal-Mart to pick up a snorkel and swim trunks first, then raced up I-15, to 52 west, up over the hill and down into La Jolla. It was beautiful... except, what happened to the San Diego sunshine? When I got there, the sky was gray and hazy, the waves were choppy and a cold wind blew. My excitement waned a little, but not my dermination.

[Above: La Jolla Cove--Dude, where's that San Diego sunshine?]

Standing there, snorkel in hand, knee-deep in the seemingly icy cold Pacific at La Jolla cove, it took me a full ten minutes to get fully submerged and though I wimpered, I did not cry out like a little girl. Goddamn, it was cold! I knew from experience, however, that, inch by inch, my body would get used to the water, as it crept higher and higher, until I could finally dive the rest of the way in.

[Above: I came all the way across the desert for this; can't back out now.]

The payoff was instant as, mere feet from the beach, even in turbulent waters, you could see various kinds of fish darting around among the rocks and floating bits of sea weed. Feeling great, I decided to swim out to the far yellow buoy, as I used to do somewhat more regularly when I had lived in San Diego. I didn't have fins, but my lungs were good, and as long as I stayed oriented in the right direction, I knew I'd get there. As the buoy loomed larger and larger in the distance, and the shore farther and farther away, I began to wonder if this was actually a good idea. How long had it been since the last time I'd gone swimming? A year and a half?

My goal was to touch the buoy, and dammit, if I could survive a rollover in the desert, I could do this too. Finally I reached it, as the sun was beginning to drop out of the cloud cover and retreat toward the horizon. I gave the bulbous plastic yellow body a big slap, then started paddling in the direction I had come. As my muscles tired, I alternated between ocean freestyle swimming and a some sort of back stroke. On the way in, I ran into another swimmer who shouted out a greeting. "You a tourist?" he asked. "Yep, just passing through." "Really choppy seas today, I probably shouldn't be swimming in this either, and I usually do this twice a week." "That's good to know." "See ya." "See ya," is more or less how the exchange went.

On the way there, I had started seeing this dark gray oval shape in cloudy gray-blue-green water just in front of me. At first I thought I was nose to nose with a dolphin or a whale. Cold shivers ran through my body and I nearly warmed the water around me by a few degrees. I eventually figured out it was the angle of the lenses of my snorkel mask, that bent the light under water and caused this visual effect. As I swam toward the buoy, and again, back into shore, I had to keep repeating to myself, "It's just a trick, a visual hallucination." Eventually I navigated my way in, through the rocks and choppy waves, and stood there on the beach, feeling pretty darn proud of myself for having survived the day, and more alive than ever.

Phoenix Downtime

2010-07-11T12:22:00.000-07:00

Day: 16-20 (7-11 Jul 2010)

In Phoenix I took a few days off to spend time with family, relax my back and do a whole lot of nothing. I did, however, manage to engage not once but three times in Arizona's national passtime: fishing. We went twice to the range and we celebrated the World Cup by going out to the desert and executing cantelopes, watermelons, a cabbage, Denny's leftovers, and an unruly scanner instead of watching the final match. It was a good day.

[Above: Fishing, Arizona style.]

In Mesa, where I'd gone to visit a couple of old friends, I found a rather deceptively disturbing cardboard box in a bioengineering lab. While the heat wasn't bad at the higher elevation of the Grand Canyon, in the greater Phoenix/Mesa area, it was a bit more challenging. It literally felt like I was driving headlong into a a giant-sized blowdryer. When I was stopped at a light, I had to pop the visor up because it would start fogging up from the condensation. While moving, I had to have the visor down because otherwise I could feel my eyeballs drying out. I was also thankful for the camelbak water bladder in my tankbag.

[Above: Only slightly creepy.]

Under my brother's sink, I found one of the many innumerable reasons why no one should have to live out in this godforsaken place. Well, that and the 110 degree heat at 5:00pm, in which we actually ran 2.5 miles, for fun. Naturally, we only did this once.

[Above: Reason #7,564 why no one should live in Arizona.]

North Rim Wild Goose Chase

2010-07-06T11:36:00.000-07:00

Day: 15 (6 Jul 2010)

Tuesday morning I woke up refreshed by the shower, bed and mountain air. What the hell, I thought, I'm already here, I might as well shoot for the Grand Canyon north rim as well. It's only another... 360 mile round trip... tacked on to my journey south to Phoenix. My mind was stuck on the elusive Grand Canyon Skywalk, the glass, horseshoe-shaped walkway that lets you step out and look down at the mile long drop over the canyon floor. That's got to be at the north rim... right? Again, when you travel shooting from the hip and playing things by ear, every once in a while, you don't get what you expected and you wish you'd done a little more research beforehand.

So the race was on: back through Grand Canyon south rim park via highway 64, up 89, making a U-turn and hard left at Marble Canyon to go around the skinniest northeast bit of the Canyon, then continuing down 67 south, through Kaibab national forest, to find the mysterious Grand Canyon north rim. As I headed west along highway 89's lower branch, I was treated to amazing views and smooth undulating roads, taking advantage of the sparse traffic to do more "flying." What looked to me like desert floor, especially given the ridge of mountains ahead in the distance, was actually a plateau. The area surrounding the Grand Canyon is at least 5,000 feet up.

[Above: "Which way to the Grand Canyon north rim?" "The what?"]

I hadn't looked closely at the map when I decided to "just do it," so at the time I wasn't sure just how far away the north rim was. As the miles ticked away on my trip gauge, I started getting nervous again. It didn't help that there was almost no mention of the north rim (or Grand Canyon at all) in any of the rare signage I happened to pass. I was soon regretting having passed the one gas station I'd seen because I'd only gone 50 miles since my last fill up. On a side note, I dropped my bike while pulled off to the side to let some cars pass. Seconds later, when a car pulled up next to me and asked if I needed help, I instinctively said, "Nope! I got it, thanks!"

[Above: Yeah, I know.]

Only after they left did I notice that the bike had fallen over on an incline and it would take more than the usual effort to get it right again. Noting the blazing sun and how I didn't want to get heat stroke from it, I quickly started taking apart the luggage, hoping to free the tent, soft bags and tail bag to lighten the load and make it easier to right. Fortunately, before I got very far, another car had pulled up asking if I needed help and this time I swallowed my pride and acquiesced. Actually, what I think I said was, "I got it... but it *would* go a lot faster with a little help and it'd be much appreciated," so, thanks to that passing stranger made a U-turn just to help me out.

[Above: Dude, am I in Washington?]

I saw that I was burning daylight and nowhere near the north rim, so I pressed on, hoping I had enough gas to get there, or at least not to run out on the way back. Very soon I found myself mounting a beautiful ascent through winding roads and rocky hills, which gave way to pine trees, lush meadows, and green mountain peaks. Arizona was f'ing with me... specifically by masquerading like the Pacific Northwest. Where were they hiding the Grand Canyon?

[Above: Okay, seriously, you guys. Put the Canyon back.]

At least I found a gas station, so that was one less concern. I'd passed and been passed (mostly the latter) several times by a silver Triumph Sprint, and when I finally arrived at the Grand Canyon north rim lodge, there it was in the parking lot. The rider turned out to be Trip from ADVrider. We chatted a bit and walked around the vista point before parting ways. He'd come from Texas and was also heading to California.

[Above: Trip from ADVrider and his Sprint.]

The view of the north rim itself was... a bit underwhelming, especially next to the spectacular views from the south rim, and all the effort it took just to get here. This jaunt was definitely one of those cases where the journey is its own reward, as the ride out from highway 89 north, across the scrubby desert plateau, up through the mountains via winding roads that gave way to dark green coniferous vistas, was pretty damn nice. The north rim destination is one spot, one parking lot, with a cushy lodge with full bar, restaurant, and large parlour where you can sit in plush leather chairs and watch the clouds through large windows. Might have been nice at another time, another place, to sit and enjoy one drink or many and while the hours away, but it seemed a far cry from dusty, ragged, rough and tumble journey I was on. It was Trip who dubbed it the Clark Griswold style of vacationing, stopping in any one place just long enough to snap a picture. The difference is, there is no dead grandmother strapped to the back of my bike... only leftovers. Oh, and it turns out the horseshoe-shaped Skywalk isn't even at the north rim. It's actually on the west end of the Grand Canyon, somewhere near Lake Mead and costs about $70 for admission. Oh, well. In a lot of ways, this trip is a scouting mission for places I'd like to get back to someday. Next time.

[Above: Grand Canyon north rim.]

Having checked the north rim off my list, it was time to haul ass back toward my original destination: Phoenix.

[Above: For adventure touring, the KLR650 is the poor-man's version of this bike... sort of.]

All sorts of animal crossing signage abounded, from deer to bears to cows; the latter were, fortunately, the only ones I actually happened across.

[Above: Wild cows (?) at Grand Canyon north rim.]

Out of the mountains and back on the desert plateau, the sun was ebbing westward and giant storm clouds were following it across the sky. This made for some beautiful views but rougher riding. It was here I first got the sensation that the bike was moving forward, but angled diagonally, like planes that land in crosswinds (an unsettling sensation). On the way back, I also dropped the bike again... or, rather, low-sided at two miles per hour in the dusty gravel lot of a gas station as I was turning around. The rear wheel lost traction and spun out from under me and I sort of stepped off, landing on my feet, taking a bow before the few spectators. Again the bike was down and someone was walking toward me to offer help. Again, I should have just accepted the help, but, instead scrambled quickly to right it on my own before he got there... thus seriously straining my back and regretting it for days. I guess the bike looks pretty pitifully weighed down with all the junk I've got on it, and I should just take advantage of that and accept the help when offered.

Going back down highway 89 toward Flagstaff, I had to pull over a few times because the riding was just too stressful. Those winds that want to roll the wheels out from under you were in full force and I had to ride with the bike leaning one way, and me, one cheek off, leaning the other to counter balance, half an hour at a time. 5:30p found me back in Flagstaff with little chance of making it to Phoenix before nightfall. I pushed on as usual, getting as far as I could on available daylight and found myself descending from the mountains in darkness. Again, I was thankful for the surrounding traffic to light up the way and, if need be, absorb the blow of any errant moose, deer, or what have you. I wound up staying the night in a little middle of nowhere place called Camp Verde.

ABQ, Route 66 and a Grand Canyon Sunset Run

2010-07-04T16:55:00.000-07:00

Day: 13, 14 (4,5 July 2010)

It was a quick 1.5 hour ride from Socorro to Albuquerque, made stress-free by the light of day. Although my clothes, soft luggage and riding gear was essentially dry, the unfortunate aroma of long distance riding was still very much embedded in them, and wafting off of me. I lucked out when I arrived at my friend's place as she had had a masseuse come over, and they were willing to work on me for an hour as well.

[Above: Map of Route 66, once America's vein, it pumped with the spirit of adventure until it was replaced with the I-40 industrial artery, for better or worse.]

In one swift day, we drove around old Route 66 as it cut through ABQ (now called Central Ave.), with its boarded up and abandoned roadside motels, gas stations and diners; rode the Longest Tramway in the World at Sandia Peak; and watched pitiful Fourth of July fireworks, that were dwarfed by the immense New Mexico sky. I was introduced to green chili everything, and was surprised to find their fortunate absence in the damn good chocolate malt (another recurring theme on this trip) I had at a Route 66 diner.

[Above: Looking down on ABQ from the 2.3 mile Sandia Peak tramway.]

The next morning I performed a long overdue oil change--an emberassing 4,000 miles--and was soon back on my way westward, primarily on I-40, but hopping onto the decrepit and all but forgotten Route 66, with its starts and stops, wherever I could find it alongside the interestate. With regards to oil, I had essentially already replaced the oil in the engine, one quart at a time, as I made my way, as the engine seems to burn about a quart every thousand miles with sustained highspeed highway riding. As someone later on my journey would remark, "Kawasaki improved the oil consumption on the '08 and beyond models..." Nonetheless, it was a pitch black slick that poured out and I was happy to have a completely fresh batch in the bike.

[Above: The picture doesn't lie; the KLR650 is, in fact, ten feet tall.]

Heading west, through the rocky hills, my speed was kept down by more of those perpendicular winds that would rather have seen my bike reclining on its side rather than upright. On the Arizona side, I drove through the Petrified National Forest. Long ago, the forests that teemed in these regions were covered with silt and other mineral deposits, seeping into the very cells of the now dead trees, replacing the organic matter. Thus, petrified wood. You had to drive a good number of miles across the desert scrub brush landscape before you actually saw any of it, though. Then, boom, there it was, one place off the road littered with large petrified bits of tree trunk, and after that, more dunes and scrub brush.

[Above: Petrified National Forest, AZ.]

Afterward, I pushed on, hoping to reach Flagstaff before dark. When I got there, the sun was hanging high enough in the sky that I decided to push on to the south rim of the Grand Canyon that very day. "It's only another 80 miles," I thought, and the sun looked like it had about another two hours left in it. At the gas station, I met two guys from Oklahoma riding a Honda CB750c and a CB650. They'd ridden out to the Grand Canyon, hiked down to the canyon floor and camped there, and were on their way back. It seems I wasn't the only crazy two wheeled traveller on the road. Refuelled, and with visions of a Grand Canyon sunset photo-op, I snapped the reigns and whipped my bike into a frenzy. Again, it was a race against the darkness I knew would come. Flagstaff, to my surprise, is itself situated in the mountains, pine trees, crisp, cool refreshing air, the whole bit. Who knew such terrain even existed in Arizona?

[Above: *Not Flagstaff.* Remnants of an old Route 66 traveller in the petrified "forest."]

Shooting down the from the Flagstaff mountain country, I reached the first vista point in Grand Canyon national park just as the sun began to slide out of the sky. I hopped the bike on the curb for the first photo. There I ran into a few Germans who'd flown to LA, rented Harleys, then driven through Death Valley and Las Vegas, and now ended up here. A few more snaps, five minutes to breathe in the quiet, awe-inspiring expanse, and back onto the bike, rushing to the next vista point.

[Above: Grand Canyon, south rim, sunset.]

On and on I went, dying when I'd get stuck behind a slow moving minivan, on the foresty two lane road that stretches through the south rim park to Grand Canyon village, stealing glances at the canyon and watching the last embers of daylight ebbing from the sky. Once again, I'd found myself in that despicable predicament. Animal crossing signs dotted the tree lined road as it became enveloped in darkness, my headlights still mostly useless, and I had visions of kamikaze deer just waiting to ambush me.

Fortunately there were still one or two cars on the road, and I tailed them as best I could, using their lights for assistance, but what to do about lodging? I found my way to Grand Canyon village, about 20 miles into the park. Helpless as I was with the darkness and headlight situation, I was still too stubborn to pay $200 for a room at their lodge, so I reluctantly got back on the road, and rode ten miles south to Tusayan. Fortunately there was plenty of traffic on the mountain roads, so visibility was mercifully a non-issue. Even in Tusayan, after shopping around, I still wound up paying the most I had for a room on the trip so far. When you're on a trip like this, where you play most things by ear, it's bound to happen once in a while. Still, though, after a long day of riding, the bed and bath were well worth it.

Carlsbad Caverns and White Sands

2010-07-03T12:05:00.000-07:00

Day: 12 (3 Jul 2010) Long haul across New Mexico

The intersections along the main drag of Carlsbad had been flooded to the tune of one to two feet deep when I rolled into town the day before. I discovered a new riding position, with my feet squatting on top of the crash bars, almost at the handle bar level, when I instinctively drew them up while crossing said flooded intersections.

[Above: Flooding from Hurricane Alex in Carlsbad, NM. This wasn't the worst of it.]

Morning found me up and ready to go by 8am, gazing out the open door of my motel room at the steady drizzle of the rain and the flooded street beyond the edge of the parking lot. "Should I just stay here another day, hang out in the hotel room, and wait it out?" I asked myself, as I'd done on several prior occasions. Of course the answer was the same as I eased into still-moist riding boots, pants and gloves, and repacked the bike, the rain jacket's green house effect already beginning to percolate. Half an hour's ride through rain and no-man's land (New Mexico is full of it), I was at the Carlsbad Caverns main entrance, the parking lot surprisingly mostly full.

I had a long day ahead of me so I power-walked my way through the caverns, still in my full rain-level riding gear (minus helmet and gloves, of course) and foregoing the handset audio tour. I did what is typically a 3 to 4 hour tour through the winding corridors and narrow walkways in less than two. What stands out most about Carlsbad Caverns is its sheer immensity... a labyrinth whose chambers undulate and expand in surprising places and you find yourself dwarfed by the hugeness of its vaulted ceilings, cathedral like stalagtites and stalagmites, the wide open spaces underground, and the pitch black abysses that appear on either side of the walk way and make you wonder just how far down they go.

[Above: Secret heart in the darkness.]

Taking pictures with my little point-and-shoot was almost a moot point, but I tried anyway. Apparently there are guided tours that take you to even more chambers and structures that are off the self-guided tour path, places you have to crawl on all fours just to get to, and researchers are still discovering new rooms and features. Whoever first conceptualized the modern western religion's vision of hell must have stumbled into a complex such as this... just add fire. I would have loved to explore these caves in three dimensions, as if scuba diving, so I could lift off the path and "fly" up to the walls and ceilings to examine their many decorations more closely.

[Above: Strangely drawn to this particular formation.]

After rushing through a rare and fascinating natural (and national) treasure, I was justifiably a little pissed off when the place I stopped at for a quick take-out lunch, Happy's Restaurant, back in Carlsbad, turned into the Unhappiest Place on Earth. I just ordered a burger and fries to go. Simple stuff. Half an hour later, getting antsy that I was burning daylight, it turns out they hadn't even started on my order. Turns out that they had just gotten really busy with some phone order, but no one bothered to warn the customers that their orders would go into the Pit of Forever. Almost a full hour after walking into that place, I finally got my food, but I was too angry to eat it. (It was a pay-first place, so they already had my money, but I should have walked out anyway... I might have made it to Albuquerque that night... but I'm getting ahead of myself.) The worst part is, when I finally did get around to eating it... it wasn't even a remotely impressive burger.

After Carlsbad, I pressed on to White Sands national monument, near Alamogordo, where the first American nuclear bombs were tested. I don't know if it was just the much improved weather, but New Mexico just seemed much more beautiful to ride through. Long stretches of road that extended to the horizon: a thin jagged line across my field of vision, overwhelmed by an immense blue sky filled with monolithic clouds the size of cities that just seem to hang in the air. A worrisome trend that started in Texas and continued here too was the lack of signage regarding the next available gas station. On my way to White Sands, I counted a hundred mile stretch on mostly deserted highway between gas stations. Luckily I'd filled up in Artesia and had my 2 gallon gas can.

One of my favorite things to do on these long stretches of gently undulating New Mexican highway, punctuated by arid, rocky formations, when the road is smooth, with nary a car upon it, and you can see ahead for miles ... is to place my feet on the passenger pegs and straighten out my arms and legs, practically hovering above the bike, and watch the scenery unfold before me and zoom past the edges of my vision. It felt like I was flying across the desert, the motorcycle beneath me all but disappeared.

Another unexpected boon was passing through Lincoln national forest. Suddenly the craggy desert landscape gave way to cooler temperatures, pine trees and mountainous ascending terrain. While appreciating the New Mexico's beauty and variation, I kept wondering at what scenic spot I might be running out of gas, until finally, almost out the other side of the forest, I came across the town portion of Lincoln with a gas station, general store, and quaint little strip with shops. At that point I was still hoping to make it to Albuquerque, so I didn't stop to take pictures.

[Above: Note the difference in the color of the sky ahead and behind me. Although the winds were rough, I was able to avoid the actual rain.]

Coming out of the mountains and back to the desert floor toward Alamogordo, I was met with a new kind of wind. This one didn't want to pummel my head or shake the front of the bike but came on like a steady blast from the side and wanted to roll the whole bike over. I slowed down to a more manageable speed but still had to ride with the bike leaning one way and me hanging off it, leaning the other to counterbalance. Finally, though, I made it to White Sands, where I promptly proceeded to drop my bike in the sand. Doh!

[Above: "Oops, I did it again..." at White Sands]

Several folks who had parked at the same vista point passed by and asked if I needed help and, as usual, I refused. "No, that's okay. Thanks. I need to be able to do this myself in case no one's around," and, "Oh, don't worry, it's just resting." After struggling a bit in the hot sun, I got it back on its feet and was able to go sit down in the shade and enjoy the view. The trick to proper lifting is getting a good grip on the front and back of the bike, and I had to dig my arm in between the soft bags, tent, and sleeping bag to get to the stock luggage rack to get a grip on the rear. Once I did that, I was able to walk it up, with my back to the bike. Happy's burger was unhappier still, after sitting on the back of my bike for four hours before finally being eaten. I had no choice. This was breakfast and there was nothing else around.

It was about five o'clock in the afternoon before I finally got on to I-25 at Las Cruces. ABQ before sundown was looking like a slim shot, but I wanted to see just how far I could get. I filled up and drove hard, tucked down over the tank, taking advantage of the dryer weather, still stinking more or less, however. The sky in New Mexico is huge! And the gigantic clouds, lumbering slowly across it only serve to heighten the effect. This effect was made even more beautiful as the sun began to set and the purples, pinks, and oranges came to the surface.

[Above: New Mexico sunset. The camera doesn't do justice to what the eye saw.]

As twilight began to fall I passed through a series of rocky, rolling hills. Seconds after stopping to take a picture of the clouds, I plowed headlong into a massacre, or rather, I was partially responsible for one. A dense cloud of tiny moths hovered unfortunately over the highway for a couple mile stretch and I carved a tunnel right though them. They pelted my fairing and visor. Three times I had to wipe clean my field of vision, wiping the moth guts on my riding pants, and three times they covered it right back up with tiny splatters and fluttering, tattered wings. I felt bad, but what could I do?

[Above: Massacre at dusk. You should have seen the helmet.]

As the last traces of light disappeared, I found myself breaking my one rule about riding in the dark again, and it really was dark as the highway didn't have streetlights. I drove in fear of pot holes, oil slicks, or worse, an errant coyote or godforsaken deer scrambling across my path. This was made worse by the fact that my headlights had been squirly ever since I'd gotten the bike from the dealer... and I'd kept putting off figuring out how to adjust them. It seemed like the low beam illuminated the road just under the front wheel, where it did me no good, and the highbeam was pointed at the night sky, trying to signal extraterrestrials. Although I was starting to develop a system of night riding under these conditions, by slowing down when I was alone and tagging along with a passing car as long as I could keep up, using its lights to help me see the road ahead, I vowed to stop at next place with lodging. At night on dimly lit roads while riding a motorcycle, especially with off-kilter lights, the more traffic on the road the better. That night I slept at a Super-8 in Socorro, an hour and a half south of Albuquerque.

A long hard slog through Texas (and not the good kind)

2010-06-30T16:58:00.000-07:00

Day: 9, 10, 11 (30 Jun, 1-2 Jul 2010)

Day 9 (continued): Texas, Wet and Weird

After driving hard from New Orleans, I arrived in Beaumont, TX, just across the Louisiana border, soaked to the bone. By this time tropical storm Alex had turned into a full fledged hurricane and was geared up to crump all over every part of Texas I was due to pass through. Coming out of Louisiana, I hadn't worn the rain layer on my touring pants and it turned out that my riding jacket wasn't even rain averse, if not resistant. Using Internet on my phone, I found a cheap-enough hotel and proceeded to unload the bike, hoping myself and some of the gear might dry out overnight. The gear was still wet come morning, but it felt like it was the first time I'd seen my bike 'naked' in ages, so it wasn't a total waste of effort.

[Above: KLR in the buff]

The room itself was large, clean, and very comfortable, but the area, near College and 11th Streets, vaguely smelled like backed up sewer. In the mini strip mall on the outskirts of which my hotel was located, there was a gas station, a Taco Bell and a "Romance" store, open 24 hours, boasting videos of "all ratings." That night, crossing the parking lot back to my room from the gas station's convenience store, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. At the other end of the parking lot, on a dimly lit bench, near the "Romance" store, I saw what appeared to be a guy reclining on his back, knees up, pleasuring himself, while being straddled by a giant red stuffed teddy bear. My head instantly snapped back to look straight ahead, and I continued walking, wondering if I'd really seen what I thought I saw, but not curious enough to venture another look. "Hmm. Beaumont," I thought to myself.

[Above: all my gear, mostly soaked]

Day 10: The Wrong Kind of T & A

I like T&A as much as the next guy, maybe more, but Texas and (hurricane) Alex is just not a pretty combination. Although the next morning found Beaumont hot and sunny, the Weather Channel app on my phone portended dark clouds of doom for Houston, Austin and parts beyond. This time I aimed to be prepared, so I slipped the vinyl rain layer under my riding pants and bought a rain jacket to go over my riding jacket from a sporting goods store. Finding the sporting goods store and running the other errands I had to take care of before leaving turned Beaumont into some kind of living hell... something out of the Twilight Zone. Everything and everyone moved so slowly... like zombies... even the stop lights, and there I was, sweating through my rain gear in the now sweltering heat, praying for the rain and to be on the highway going somewhere fast.

It wasn't long after that my prayers were answered in abundance and I was soaked again before I even got to Houston. The rain had begun to steadily pour and those hopeful gaps I'd seen in the doppler radar moisture layer were few and far between. At least the rain had brought the temperature down, but now I was beginning to shiver from the wetness and wind. Needless to say, I was the only motorcycle on the road, amid all the splashing cars and trucks, and I got funny looks as I parked and walked into a Houston McDonalds, ordered a cup of coffee and sat down at a table a soggy wet mess. One of the employees even had to come up behind me with a mop and wipe up the puddles I had left behind. "Hell of a time to be on a bike," said one patron on his way out. "Yep."

Somewhere around Houston I had pulled off onto a frontage road to adjust something and instead of the innocent puddle I thought I was going to zoom over, I found myself splashing through a three foot deep pool of muddy water in the middle of the lane. I think at least a good couple of pints of it went into my boots. Fortunately, since, I believe, the 2009 KLR has the carb venting mod installed by default, the bike didn't stall out in the middle of it.

My goal from Houston was to get to Austin, and maybe stay the night. I'd heard good things about Austin, such as it being one of the few redeeming qualities of Texas, and I was curious and open minded. As I pressed on through the ugly weather, throttle open as much as conditions would allow, I began to realize that Texas was turning into a stink contest, and each day I was outdoing myself in terms of how bad I could smell. I was already getting pretty ripe coming out of Louisiana, and now, with the rain gear, it felt like I was riding wearing garbage bags. Whenever I tucked down over the tank, with my helmet just behind the small stock windscreen, air would vent through the jacket and I would catch whiffs of my own stink. It was... respectably potent.

[Above: walking stick insect on my leg at gas station in TX]

Up until Austin, I'd primarly skirted the brunt of the storms Alex was throwing at me, catching the leading or tail edges, feeling the lateral effects, but as I approached Austin it was clear the heart of the beast lay dead center upon my path of travel. BB-sized hailstones plinked off my helmet and fairing, and the few that managed to hit right in the open, mesh vents in my riding jacket stung my arms even through the rain jacket that I wore over it. Winds pushed and pulled at the front of my bike and the clouds of spray kicked up by the cars on the flooding highway made them all but disappear a hundred yards ahead. Despite my blinking red lights, I was duly concerned.

[Above: Random stretch of Texas highway outside of Austin]

Having passed through downtown Austin and seeing that I had a couple of hours of daylight left despite the dark clouds, I decided to hell with Austin, let's press on through to Fredericksburg. I figured, if I was wet already, I may as well keep going: the faster I can be done with Texas, the better. I knew the light was running out so I pushed hard. As I got out of the vicinity of Austin, I saw a rare and welcome sight: the storm actually looked worse in the rearview than ahead of me. For most of the last few days, it seemed like I was always riding *into* the storm. Taking advantage of the smooth roads and lack of rain, I pushed on hard, trying to beat the impending darkness. As the roads stretched thin and traffic was fewer and fewer, it began to look like a losing battle. I was still driving hard, full open throttle wherever possible (which isn't really that fast given the 40 hp engine and 100+ lbs of gear and accessories). As the last bit of twilight was being sucked out of the darkened sky, I found myself starting to break my only real rule of motorcycle touring: don't ride after dark. Unfortunately this wasn't the last time I would find myself in this situation. As it was, I resolved to stop at the first lodging I saw in Fredericksburg, which I rolled into as night seized the sky completely. It was an extended-stay business suite type place and their prices were out of my preference, but the front desk person was extremely nice, going beyond recommending cheaper, nearby lodgings, but even calling them up to confirm prices and availability. Another night of hard won progress.

[Above: for once, the storm is *behind* me]

Although I'd worn my rain gear, I was still soaked by the time I arrived, my socks in my boots sopping wet. One of the mistakes I'd made was tucking the inner rain layer of my pants into my boots instead of over them. All the water that made it through the outer layer then dripped right to my socks. Although my jacket was dryer than the day before, it was starting to smell like a mix of gym socks and garbage bags, slow cooked on a hot day. There were no laundry facilities and I was too tired besides. The best I could hope for was to air the clothes out in the hotel room. That night a hot bath had never felt better.

Day 11: F-burg to Carlsbad and MPG Talk

The next morning I woke up to the sound of rain, so I slowly prepared myself for another long, hard slog. Though I didn't know it at the time, Fredericksburg is well known for its German cuisine. I registered the quaint shaped shops along the main drag on my way out of town, but only vaguely. New Mexico was in my sights. As far as topology, Texas is basically a nigh-infinite flat plane of scrub brush. That's all there is for miles and miles in any direction. The roads are smooth and go on and on and the rain soon gave way to scattered clouds. I pushed on, full throttle, taking advantage of pockets of good weather wherever I could find them, and learned some interesting things about my mileage.

At 65 mph, I can get about 202 miles on a full tank before having to switch to reserve. At 80 mph, that drops to 160 miles. At 85+, or in oncoming winds or hills, that drops even further to 142 miles. That last one happened to me about halfway between Fredericksburg and Carlsbad. I was going along at a good clip when suddenly the engine cut out and I was coasting. Having done this a couple of times now, I instinctively reached down, turned the petcock lever to RES, and restarted the engine. Suddenly the motor came back to life. The problem was gas. I estimated I had a gallon of gas or less in the reserve tank, and I'd never tested to see the maximum range on that. Since I was in the middle of nowhere, and hadn't seen any signs for gas stations up ahead, I dropped down to 50-55 mph and prayed, as cars and trucks I'd passed earlier whooshed past in the fast lane doing 80+. Although I had two gallons of gas in the red can strapped to the back of the bike, I didn't like the prospect of having to rely on it. After a seemingly interminable 35 miles, I spotted a gas station and pulled off the highway... only to have the engine die out and run out of gas completely at the bottom of the ramp, across the street from the gas station. Man, what timing.

[Above: Out of gas, yards from the station]

I finally crossed into New Mexico without fanfare or welcome signs. The roads got a little worse, but there were good porents all around. All the bad weather seemed to be in the rearview, on the Texas side of the state line, and in addition to an already changing landscape (with some actual variation in it), I kept seeing these weird back things running across the road. After pulling over, I saw that they were fist sized tarantulas, cute, fuzzy little buggers that didn't take too kindly to being harassed with a stick in order to get them to pose for the camera. New Mexico at last. I'd pushed so hard today that I had an unaccustomed several hours of daylight at my disposal when I got there. I shopped around at the various motels along the main strip and finally settled upon one near food and with laundry facilities. After a big meal however, I found I was too tired and sleepy to go and wash clothes, no matter how badly they needed it. One more day, I told myself.

[Above: They make great pets... snacks, too, in a pinch]

New Orleans to Beaumont

2010-06-30T14:16:00.000-07:00

Day: 9 (30 Jun 2010)

Although Hotlanta had been sweltering, it wasn't until deep into the Natchez Trace that the sweat was quick to pour off me whenever I wasn't riding. The next morning in New Orleans the weather was already soggy and getting wetter with a stubborn drizzle that oscillated in intensity. Nonetheless, I packed up the bike and resolved to make a quick pass through the French Quarter before leaving Louisiana. I left the bike on a sidewalk in Jackson Square and made the obligatory beniegh donut run to Cafe Du Monde.

The place was more crowded than usual with tourists taking shelter from the rain and the donuts themselves only adequate in the crummy weather. I ate them quickly, sitting crosslegged on the sidewalk nearby, under an awning, as seats at Du Mond were for table service only and the street benches were exposed to the rain, and washed them down with a cup of iced coffee. New Orleans seemed subdued that morning. No sounds of live jazz spilling out of the bars and restaurants and no time to enjoy any; no sun. Somewhere out west, tropical storm Alex was waiting for me with open arms. Unfortunately Texas was too big to go around.

[Above: slightly soggy French donuts from Cafe du Mond, Jackson Square, French Quarter]

I was originally going to take highway 90 to Lafayette because I'd heard that there would sometimes be gators on the road, but due to the rain, I just wanted to get the hell out of there and to my next destination. Besides, I still wasn't sure what you're supposed to do if you do encounter an alligator sunning himself on your half of a two lane road that cuts through the bayou. What if there was another in the other lane? Do you carry rocks or a BB gun? Or chunks of meat to throw somewhere off to the side of the road so it will follow them and clear the road. What if one snapped at my wheels as I swerved around it. These thoughts and the idea of playing a waiting game with large carnivorous lizards in the rain, plus the long distance that lay ahead convinced me to take the faster, hypo-reptilian route. I did still see a baby alligator roadkill on my way to Lafayette, though.

The drizzle turned into a steady rain as I left New Orleans and I was starting to get worried. I'd only had limited experience riding in the rain. Over the next few days, I was going to get a lot more of it. I finally realized why I kept dropping my bike so many times. The weight of the panniers, rack, and all the gear I was carrying was compressing the rear spring so much that it affected the operation of the kickstand. On level ground, it would hold the bike nearly vertical, not getting enough clearance for a proper lean, so that even the slightest breeze could tip it over the other way. I needed an extra inch or two of clearance, so, I got a ten inch piece of two-by-four from a bike shop in Kenner, which I would proceed to use, every time I parked the bike, laying it flat in front of the rear wheel then climbing onto it, all the way to California. While I was off the highway, looking at the weather and contemplating whether I should even be out in it, I also picked up a helmet attachment with a turbine that spun in the wind and powered flashing red LEDs on the rear of it. I also got some battery powered flashing red bicycle lights, which I put on the panniers and the tail bag. With all the water on the road, clouds of mist would swell around all the traffic potentially obscuring something as small as a motorcycle, so I wanted to be as visible as possible.

[Above: Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day... ]

On my way out of New Orleans, I nearly lost my helmet in the bayou. I'd pulled off the road to adjust my ear plugs and the helmet slid out of my lap, bounced off my foot, and rolled down a grassy embankment toward the swamp. Still straddling the gingerly balanced motorcycle, all I could do was watch. Fortunately it came to rest at the edge of the swamp, without actually going in. More fortunate still, I did not sink up to my waist as I'd imagined and I was not attacked by alligators as I went down to retrieve it.

I drove hard as the rain would allow down the I-10 and made it all the way to Beaumont, TX before the sun went down. The whole day was fortunate maybes. "Maybe I can make it to Baton Rouge... Maybe I can make it to Lafayette... Maybe I can make it to Lake Charles... Maybe I can make it to Beaumont." With all the rain, me getting soaked, and the wind that felt like a bear slapping my helmet with both hands over and over again, I wasn't sure at what point it would be too much or how long the going would take.

As I got into Lake Charles, I pulled off the highway and into the first gas station I saw. Right away I made the mistake of nodding to two shady characters who were loitering around a bicycle. Like the lonesome gas station itself, they were looking a bit ragged, and they proceeded to make a fuss when they saw the New York plate on the bike. I bs'd with them warily for a bit as I sat there at the pump, checking weather conditions ahead on my phone. I was about pull out my wallet and begin pumping gas when three unruly looking teenagers rounded the corner and started up the driveway toward the mini mart just past me. One of them had been playing with a butterfly knife, who then quickly put it away as soon as he saw me. That was enough for me to realize that I didn't need gas that badly, so I fired the bike up and got the heck out of there ASAP. True, it could have been nothing, but I didn't feel like sticking around long enough to take the chance. When you ride alone, you have to be careful. After putting gas at another, more brightly lit gas station in a more populated area, I saw the following billboard as I high-tailed it out of town: "Leaving Lake Charles? Your luck is improving already." It was an ad for some casino up the road, but the timing was perfect. "Ah, so it's not just me," I mused.

Nachez Trace and Waffle House

2010-06-28T08:15:00.000-07:00

Day: 7, 8 ( 28, 29 Jun 2010)

Day 7: 'Bama? What 'Bama? Mmmm, Waffle House

Monday morning I was on the bike and riding by 9:00am. It felt good to be back on the road. My destination: west. Riding along Interstate 20, I sliced through Alabama like a hot knife through butter. I was initially aiming to stay the night in Birmingham, but wound up reaching it before noon. I guess I was used to the pace of those winding mountain roads in estimating how long it would take to ge there. I stopped at a Waffle House, the greasy truckstop bastion chain of the south. It's so bad for you... but tastes so good. While they are cheap, open late and all around, service is mixed. They screwed up my order just a tad and worse, were out of biscuit gravy. I would be having Waffle House again. I needed my perfect Waffle House meal.

After lunch I pressed on and made it as far as Jackson, Mississippi before dark. Of course, Johnny Cash & June Carter's rendition of its namesake song was playing in my mind most of the way there. What can I say about that drive? It's been so many miles... Georgia and Eastern Mississippi are lush and green but flatter, reminded me of driving through Florida. I was smacked around by the wind more and more as I got closer toward the growing tropical storm Alex. The miles unwound before me like a spool of tape. I just had to hold on and keep it steady. That night, I had Waffle House again and this time they got it right, oh, so right. So right it was *wrong*. Cheesesteak omlette, Smothered and Covered hashbrowns and, finally, a butter-soaked biscuit covered in gravy.

[Above: Finally got my gravy]

It was so good to eat, oh, Lord, I saw a little of that white light at the end of the tunnel, but it could have been my arteries constricting. Within an hour I regretted eating as much of it as I did (perhaps a bite of each would have been enough to keep it within healthy limits), and all that grease did a number on my system. The next morning I had the leftovers for breakfast. Thus, Waffle House, three times in a 24 hour period, and that was about enough of that for me.

Day 8: Nachez (Where I Poked a Dead Snake with a Stick) and New Orleans

The next morning I caught the Nachez Trace at mile 100 and followed it down to Nachez (on the Mississippi river, in the southwest corner of the state). The trace was originally a foot path through Native American land, used before the advent of steam power and railroads by boatmen from the north who would ferry their goods down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, then walk back on foot. The journey took up to six months, through swamps, ravines, brush and forests, and was filled with perils. Aside from disease carrying mosquitos, snakes, bugs, and rough terrain, there would be bandits lying in wait to set upon the returning boatmen and their hard-earned cash. Eventually the trail got big enough that little outposts opened up along the route, providing some refuge along the way.

[Above: Sunken Trace portion of original Nachez Trace footpath]

The Nachez Trace as it now stands is indeed scenic, if not a bit sleepy, especially compared to those winding roads and breathtaking views coming through the Great Smokey Mountains. Much of it is fields and farm land and long, lazy, barely noticeable curves in the road.

I kept seeing what looked like a haze that surrounded the lower branches of trees that lined the sides of the road. I guessed it was spiderwebs, so I stopped to take a closer look. Instead, it was some sort of caterpiller, or rather, thousands of them, spinning this silky, translucent mesh and crawling all over it.

Further along, I spotted this beatiful blue/silver shape, like a ribbon, lying in the oncoming lane. I doubled back and pulled off the road to check it out and it turned out to be a (fairly recently) deceased snake. Maybe it's the Eastern European upbringing, but snakes still sort of creep me out. So, when I kicked a pine cone hidden in the grass while approaching the snake, I jumped nearly three feet in the air, thinking I'd accidentally bumped into another snake. Fortunately no passing cars saw this silliness. It was a shame to leave the snake out in the middle of the road, so I grabbed a stick and pulled it over to the side of the road, you know, out of respect for the dead. Then I posed it into different positions and took pictures of it.

I hit historic Nachez and the banks of the muddy Mississippi around 2:00pm and drove around, checking out the old antebellum mansions and enjoying an old fashioned chocolate malt in the moist Mississippi heat, then headed south to Lu'siana.

[Above: On the banks of the muddy Mississippi in Nachez]

My original goal was to stay the night in Baton Rouge, but I got there with enough light that I decided to press on to New Orleans. I wound up staying at the St. Vincent's Guest House hostel, which was originally an orphanage and later a home for unwed mothers. It was about 20 blocks from the French Quarter, but the closer hostels were booked for the night. The place itself had a great, slightly spooky, old Louisiana feel to it.

Long verandas and hallways, spiral staircases, tall ceilings, lots of spooky corners to explore, all in that aging, creaking old Louisiana style. They were very bike friendly and even let me store my moto on their side porch. I think there was a ghost in the room I stayed, but it was a friendly one. I had goosebumps when I first got in and set my stuff down, but after talking to it for a bit, and explaining that I wasn't there to bother it, we made our peace and all was well.

[Above: Note the spooky green ball of light]

Trip on Pause

2010-06-25T09:54:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note for those following along. The trip is on "pause" while I take care of some things back in NYC and will resume on Monday. The bike is waiting for me in Atlanta. I've got two updates that should be ready to go in the next day or two. All the best, SeaMonkey.

Deal's Gap and Cherohala Skyway

2010-06-22T06:40:00.000-07:00

Day: 5, 6 (22, 23 June 2010)

"Hear that? That's the sound of my balls growing... and my heart weakening." Our hero has ridden the legendary Dragon at Deal's Gap, 318 curves in 11 miles, and managed not to end up on the Tree of Shame. Apologies for the vulgarity, but those were the words that were running through my head as I came off my first run through it. Apologies also for the length of this post.

[Above photo copyright killboy.com]

Day 5. Got up early this morning and plotted the route to Deal's Gap, on the Carolina / Tennessee border, amid the Great Smoky Mountains. Was on the road before 10:00 AM: the earliest yet. Took I40 then got onto Hwy 19 to Hwy 28 to get here. Deal's Gap is a restaurant/motel/shop/pit stop situated at the Dragon's tail. The Dragon itself is a portion of Hwy 129, a narrow two lane stretch of road, often with no shoulder or guard rail, that boasts 318 curves, some quite tight, in 11 miles. This is a biker's Mecca and people come from all over the country just to ride it. I rolled up around 3:00pm, took a few pictures, rested a couple of minutes, then got on the Dragon's back for the ride of my life.

The road is blocked off at mile 11 due to an earlier rockslide, so you ride it up, then ride back down. Each direction offers its own views and challenges. I was very cautious on the way up, slowing down plenty before going into the turns. The very first one made me go, "Holy crap, this is serious business." I leaned more than I think I ever have in my life. Man, some of those turns were hair-raising (no pun intended). I had a more than one look-lean-and-pray moment as I saw the pavement loom closer and closer and the turn getting tighter and even let out a little yelp as I felt myself go wide and my wheels draw near the edge of the white shoulder in one instance. That was nothing compared to the return ride. I scraped the pegs twice in these tight, steep turns that seem to go on too long as you ride through them. The first time was jarring. After the second one I let out a scream in my helmet, to break up the tension and acknowledge the insanity.

Once, having picked up too much speed in a downhill turn, I went wide and crossed the double yellow lines and that freaked the heck out of me. Luckily no one was oncoming at the time, but I was shaken. I was only going between 20 and 30 in the turns, sometimes even less, and in second gear the whole time, but the angle and the lean is enough to drive a first-timer crazy. By the time I pulled into the Deal's Gap parking lot again, I must have been pretty pale and my hands were shaking slightly. In a daze, I made my way to the cantina and devoured a bratwurst, fries, and a slice of keylime pie. I guess adrenaline gives you an appetite. Afterward, having calmed down a bit, I walked over to the Tree of Shame, which is covered in motorcycle parts from people who wiped out on the Dragon, and meditated on my experience. After generally resting and securing lodging for the night ($60 a night for a spateous room at the Deal's Gap Inn), I decided to go out for another run before the fear of the Dragon became permanent...

My second time through was a different experience. I was more in control, and more confident. The Blue Ridge Pkwy let me meditate on turns. They were wide enough to let me take them apart piece by piece: outside, inside, outside, inside, outside, on an on, breaking up a continuous curve into a set of straight segments. The Dragon forces you to put all the bits back together into one continuous curve, one continuous lean, there is no time or space to disassemble or approximate; no straights in the turns. The Dragon takes it to another level. The second time through was much better. I realized I was perhaps looking too much through the turns, more than I needed to, and thus leaning more than was necessary to make the bike do what is necessary to navigate the curve, and that's probably why I scraped. I still scraped once on the return ride, due to steepness and sharpness of the incline, but in general, all the turns felt more solid and I kept it between the yellow and white lines, never going over. I also found myself using more engine braking than actual brakes. I think my next farkle will be a deceleration detection light kit... where the brake lights go on whenever you slow down, not just when you apply brakes.

Everything closes up by 7:00p here at Deal's Gap. After run #2, I took off down Hwy 129 to find a restaurant, but 15 miles down the road I decided to turn back and settle for some quick grabs from a tiny general store, so as not to be caught out on the road after dark. Consequently dinner was a cherry soda and powdered donuts. Chatted for a while with some other folks who are staying at the DG motel. I met people here who came from Ohio, Illinois and Florida, just to ride the Dragon. Lots of cruisers, mostly Harleys, a couple of BMWs, KTMs, even scooters. Not too many KLRs, especially those loaded down for a cross country trip.

[Above: Yes, even he rode the Dragon. It's cool, though: he's wearing Doggles]

Day 6.
This morning I met a nice couple from the Christian Motorcycling Association in Nebraska who offered to pray for me and bless my bike. I said, sure, why not. I figured I could use all the blessings I can get on this trip and on the Dragon. That's why I "purified" my bike with incense and was also carrying around my friend's lucky buddha. While talking to them, a father & son pair of Harley riders pulled up near us. We found out the dad had gone down at mile 5 and low-sided. Though he had ridden it back here, he was having chest and ankle pains. He wound up being driven to a hospital.

Taking that all in, I exhaled and let it out, then rode the Dragon one more time. This morning ride was perfect. Beautiful turns, no peg scraping. Just exhiliration. I came back, got breakfast, then went back out to do the Dragon one final time before moving on. I'd actually just missed the end of breakfast, so while they still had biscuits, they'd already thrown out the gravy (an obsession for this trip in the making...). Still, damn good biscuit.

[Above: Mist rising off the water at nearby Fontana dam/lake]

My last ride on the Dragon was good, but not perfect. Despite being cautious, I still scraped pegs once, this time on the left side. Three separate times I duct taped my digital camera (once to the bike, twice to my helmet), to try to capture the ride, but somehow it never came out properly. On the bike, it was just too shaky, on the helmet it kept turning off somehow... almost as if there were ancient spirits along the Dragon, that did not want me to film it. Good enough for me, I'm just happy to have ridden it safely. On this last ride, I got buzzed, again, in a turn, by this crazy guy on a blue Suzuki DR. Afterward, I saw him parked at the overlook point and shook my head as I rode past. That guy almost gave me a heart attack. The road is so windy, you can't see very far ahead of you, so he came like a rabbit out of nowhere, going twice as fast... and passed me, mid turn, mid lean... twice. Dayum!

[I've posted this clip before, but it's still the closest to describing what the Dragon is actually like.]

I think the Dragon is a hell of a teacher when it comes to navigating turns on a motorcycle and I feel stronger for it... but that doesn't mean I shouldn't still be cautious. Next it was on to the Cherohala Skyway, which is portions of Highway 143 (on the Carolina side) and 165 (on the Tennessee side). This all used to be Cherokee land. It's easy to forget its bitter history when you're overwhelmed by its natural beauty and occupied with piloting a motorbike through its winding roads. The Cherohala Skyway is definitely worth taking. In terms of view and technical difficulty, it lies somewhere between Blue Ridge Pkwy and Deal's Gap. It's definitely very picturesque, but don't underestimate the excitement of those turns, especially since there are a lot of up and down hill sections and the road speeds are generally faster. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures because I was too busy riding it... and loving it. I took Highway 68 down to the Georgia border and that was also a nice rustic drive through sleepy farm-type rolling hills country. Then it was on down into the steaming cauldron called Hotlanta.

Shenandoah and Blue Ridge Pkwy

2010-06-20T17:59:00.000-07:00

Days: 0, 1 and 2

And we're off! First two days of the road trip have been a blast! All the stress and frustration and prep work in the lead up were totally worth it.

The last three days before trip start saw me dismantling the bike on a Lower East Side sidewalk, in order to install all the "farkles" I'd purchased (panners, highway pegs, skid plate, headlight modulator, cigarette lighter, etc.). Shady characters walked by gave their opinion as we worked late into the night. It seemed I had to take off more and more pieces just to get each item installed, and then put it all back together each night. I had to remove the gas tank (as well as seat, side panels and radatior covers) just to install the new horn! I couldn't have completed it all without the help and patience of KS & IL. As a result, I'm much more familiar with how the thing is put together and what goes where. After the last of the work was done (a failed attempt to add extra LED brake lights), I used a stick of incense to "purify" the bike, purging it of any evil spirits, in preparation for the journey ahead. I got strange looks for this. What?

Left Manhattan around noon on Friday. A bit later than I intended, but it helped me beat traffic. My goal was to camp in Shenandoah national park in Virginia that evening. Walked up to the bike with two boxes full of stuff and KS looking doubtful. I took it as a good omen when everything fit and seemed to pack pretty well on the first try. Headed straight for Shenandoah national park in Virginia via highways 78 to 81 to 66. On the way I managed to lose my emergency gas can on the highway somewhere (luckily it was empty), and drop my bike twice (once on each side), after parking on an inclined, uneven surface. So much for those shiny new panniers and crash bars. At least they did their job and I got some *ahem* practice picking my bike up. I made it to Shenandoah before sunset and camped at Matthews Arm, 22 miles into the park. I had the tent up and bike unpacked just as it got dark. I'd made it. Except I had no food besides the Big Mac in my stomach from lunch. In my rush to reach camp before dark, I'd neglected to stop and pick some up. Luckily I found the stale granola bar that came with my personal locator beacon and a piece of hard candy in my backpack. I tried making a fire but had mixed success. The leaves and a couple of twigs got burning, too quickly, but the rest never really caught. Oh well. At least I was here. I was on the road! Camping!

Skyline drive is amazing in its lush green curvy beauty and it runs the length of Shenandoah national park. Unfortunately you can't go faster than 35 mph because of the chances of hitting a dear... or a bear (according to a ranger, that had actually happened Friday morning). After Shenandoah, Skyline Drive gives way to the Blue Ridge Parkway... which is the most consistently beautiful ride I have ever ridden. Average posted limit is 45 mph. Miles and miles of scenic verdant beauty, occasionally reaching out from the roadsides to form a canopy. Curvy two lane blacktop that just seems to go on forever. It really is a ridge and you're riding through the mountains, with look out points dotting both sides of the road every few miles with vistas of sleepy green valleys and distant mountains. Finally the sides of my tires are starting to get some wear. At the right speed, these turns are neither stressful nor exhilirating... just joyous, and it goes on for hundreds of miles.

On day two, I rode the Blue Ridge Parkway and camped out at Roanoke Mountain. On the ride down, aside from constantly being amazed and feeling lucky to be alive to experience such beauty (the phrase "happy as a clam" kept going through my head and I had a big smile on my face almost the whole way), I really began to appreciate the upgrades I'd made to the bike and how well they were working. The panniers were spacious and helped me fit all my junk in there. The crash bars took the blunt of my drops (I dropped the bike two more times in the morning before even leaving my camp site due to the nuances of the KLR's extra tall kickstand and sloped gravel driveway... I'm learning, I swear!) A real pleasure are the highway pegs. Now I too can cruise in the laid back style as I unwind the miles and miles of road that lie ahead. The cigarette lighter works great for powering my gps (which I had off most of the way because the route was simple) and cell phone. Also, the camel-back type water blatter I'd bought and put in the tank bag also worked great. I didn't even have to remove my helmet to take a quick drink when I stopped. The little bicycle mirrors aren't doing so much besides making my bike look like an insect. I wanted some lower mirrors so I could see behind me while riding in the tank-hugging/crouched position, which I'd do for aa minute here and there to stretch my back or reduce wind resistance. The best farkle of all, though is the rubber ducky mod. Easy to install, it's been by far the most useful.

Though the sun was starting to go down, I ventured off the Blue Ridge Parkway to pick up some goodies for the camp fire. This time I was going to be prepared. I got to the site and set up the tent well before the sun actually set. I even got a nice fire going... and so, of course, it started to rain. Thunderstorm is more like it. Lightning lighting up the sky every few seconds and peals of thunder. I was, however, able to heat up my can of chili and toast two marshmellows with the fire I'd made before water actually started coming down and I retreated to the tent. The tent, by the way, worked out great as well. Easy to set up, and, with the rainfly (extra layer that clips on over), I was able to stay nice and dry while I enjoyed the sounds of nature outside. Oh, yeah: head-mounted LED flashlight--awesome. $30 to $50 at the Manhattan sporting good stores, $5 at Ace hardware. Invaluable for setting things up on the quick in the dark as storm clouds draw near. One thing that's been a mixed blessing are the new kneepads I got. They're actually hockey pads and have better coverage than the ones that came with the riding pants, but the extra length of velcro I used to lengthen the straps have been chafing my knee-pits a little. Gotta iron that out somehow.

Blue Ridge Pkwy and North Carolina

2010-06-20T05:44:00.000-07:00

Day: 3, 4 (20, 21 June 2010)

Day 3. Rode the Blue Ridge Pkwy to the Carolina border. Man, this road just gets more and more beautiful. Lush corridors and canopy give way to rolling hills and hay fields with plenty of relaxing, wide angle curves. I feel like I'm riding through the set of Little House on the Prairie and it's a lovely, sunny day to be out on a bike. There were a handful of cars and bikes going in the opposite direction, but it seemed like I never had more than one vehicle behind me per hour, which I'd let pass to continue along at my own pace. There were regular periods where I felt like I was the only one on the road and it felt great. The ground hogs here are huge, solid, fat creatures, big as cats with stubby little legs and shimmering through the grass along the side of the road, occasionally darting out across it, not always making it.

I stopped at one of the scenic vista points to enjoy the view and quiet and to rest my eyes. After a while, I thought to myself, "Ok, back to work," then laughed. If only I could get paid to ride across this fair country of ours...

At the border, I hopped onto Interstate 77 and high-tailed it down to Charlotte to visit some kin. North Carolina was nigh-steaming, but I heard it had been much worse the week before, high 90s with near 100% humidity. Supposedly Charlotte is the #2 city for banking after NYC. Despite the busier, wider roads, it's still a beautiful, green country to ride through. The reward was good food, good company, A/C, a bed and a shower. By the next day I was refreshed.

Day 4. Got Bojangles fried chicken and biscuits, a local chain around these parts, but they were out of gravy. Ate said fried chicken and biscuits with a doctor as we discussed the country's obesity epidemic. The irony was noted. Next, drove on to the small town of Hickory, which has doubled in size in the last 20 years.

While riding I came across a stretch of road with big orange signs saying "Highway Cleanup - Inmates Working," and, sure enough, there were folks with neon orange vests with the words "INMATE" picking stuff up or standing along the side of the road. As I rode past them slowly, one of them nodded to me and I nodded back. Afterward it hit me: the night and day difference between being a prisoner, where your time and space is not yours, and ambling across America on a motorcycle and a flexible route and schedule. I guess maybe that's why I'm doing this... freedom.

In Hickory, Purchased wooden beaded seat cover from Walmart ($9) and got a new gas can. The seat cover works great and my butt doesn't fall asleep nearly as much. Laugh now, but it's seriously annoying on long rides. Also took apart front fairing and rewired low-beam headlight. Now it too flickers during day time. Yay! The heat and humidity pour out over you like honey out of a giant invisible squeeze-bottle in the sky and you swim in it. That and all the good food make me too sleepy to think. Luckily not much driving today. Another day of rest, if you consider sweating over the bike until late rest. I actually do. More quality time with kinfolk I haven't seen in a couple of years.

Great American Road Trip 2010

2010-06-17T07:07:00.001-07:00

The Great American Road Trip 2010 is about to kick off here in just about a day. This will be the approximate route and it should take about 4 to 6 weeks.

Things have been crazy busy with all the preparations. Upgrades to the bike include:
- Head light modulator
- Tail light modulator
- LED tail light bulb
- Extra LED brake lights
- Reflective tape stickers
- Happy Trails Teton panniers & rack
- Happy Trails nerf bars, highway pegs and skidplate
- Happy Trails fork brace
- Louder horn
- Cigarette Lighter adapter (to power devices)
- Garmin NUVI 500 GPS with RAM mount

Upgrades to the rider include:
- MSF Experienced Rider Course training
- Tourmaster touring boots
- Joe Rocket touring pants
- Upgraded knee pads

Misc gear includes:
- McMurdo FastFind 210 personal locator beacon
- Spot Satellite Tracker

If you're on a bike and feel like meeting up for a ride along the route or if I'm passing through your area and you want to say "hi," drop me a line.

Chinatown or China?

2010-06-02T13:53:00.000-07:00

Saw this in Manhattan Chinatown today. None were wearing helmets. The lady chased down and cut off a FedEx truck, with her kids in tow on the scooter, just to get her package.

Haven't touched the blog for a while but I have been riding. Will try to post a note or pic from some of the previous rides. Also gearing up for a cross country trip, so stay tuned!

Tag Sale on City Island

2009-11-08T16:07:00.000-08:00

[TODO]

Sunday, November 8, 2009. D. got new tires for his Sportster and was itching to ride so we ventured out toward Pelham Bay Park, east of the Bronx.

- Laid bike down after leaning over to check the oil level
- Bumped somebody's mirror while lane splitting in stopped traffic on the WSH
- Got lost a couple of times and had to pull over to check google maps
- Made it to and drove past Pelham Bay Park
- Decided to explore City Island
- Bought book and slide viewer
- D. ran out of gas on the WSH
- Traffic sucked getting back downtown. Bad on WSH, worse on streets.

Rock Rock, Rockaway Beach!

2009-09-13T19:56:00.000-07:00

Sunday was overcast but they said it wouldn't rain... and I was itching to get out of the house and ride. Over the Manhattan bridge, and straight down Flatbush Avenue, past Floyd Bennet Field (which, I didn't know, you could actually ride out onto...), and onto Rockaway Beach Blvd.
When I got off the bridge and onto the beach side, the sky was filled with 2-3" long dragon flies! There were clouds of them and some of them were bouncing off my helmet! So strange...
From there I took a side street that dead-ends on the beach and left my bike on the sidewalk.

I've got a convenient little system worked out where I can leave everything on the bike (see below). Helmet goes on the helmet lock, gloves in the tail bag, and I've got a rope lock that I can put through my riding jacket arms and attach to the handlebars. It's actually garaged this way, so the only thing I need to bring with me when I go for a ride is the right pair of shoes. Everything else is already there. For anyone who owns a bike in the city and doesn't risk street parking, it can be a real pain to haul all your gear with you, either on a long walk or via subway (or both) every time you go for a ride.

I still wear kneepads whenever I ride outside the city, so those go in the tail bag too.

Walked along the beach for a bit. So nice to be away from the noise of the city. That's why I got a bike again in the first place: to be able to get out every once in a while.

On a side note, I noticed that my clutch lever felt like it had a bit too much play. After I got back I looked in the manual about adjusting it and got rid of the play. The result was too uncomfortable, where the clutch wasn't really engaging until the lever had been let out almost completely. After stalling a few times, I decided to set it back to its original position. At least now I know how to adjust a cable clutch lever :)

[Above: Don't worry, I pulled over to take this pic. No money for a helmet cam.]

The sun was going down and it was time time to go home. I took Cross Bay Blvd back, which cuts through a nice stretch of park/wildlife refuge land. Then I proceeded to get lost--I mean, explore--for a bit around Forest Hills, before making my way back to Williamsburg via Atlantic Ave. to Bedford Ave. One of my favorite sights is that of the Manhattan skyline at night, coming back from Brooklyn across the outer lane of the Williamsburg Bridge.

Baby's Day Out (Atlantic City Labor Day Ride)

2009-09-05T18:22:00.000-07:00

So I got my bike just in time to ride out to Atlantic City for Labor Day weekend. Because there are so many freaking tolls in the NYC/NJ area (or is this all of the East Coast?), I managed to get an EZPASS, which is like FastTrak for you West Coast folks ;)

From Atlantic City, I carpooled with friends to DC, continuing to use my EZPass tag/thingy. Roundtrip from NYC to DC, I wound up hitting 25+ tolls for a total of ~ $40. On the one hand, ouch! On the other, tolls are so easy to pay (especially compared to paying cash when you're on a motorcycle), you almost don't notice the ding to your wallet every 20 or so miles. It came with these industrial strength velcro/adhesive strips and I was able to put it just inside my windscreen. Surprisingly it has yet to fall off or even get loose.

[Above: Atlantic City rendezvous]

I took the Garden State Parkway most of the way down and it was actually quite nice to ride on. Many parts were lined with trees and green grassy hills on both sides. Nicer still was when the road directions were separated by said greenery, so you're on a two lane, one way road, with nature around you. It was very relaxing, though I tried to remain vigilant for any any daredevil deer.

Since the engine is brand spankin' new, I've tried to be kind to it during its break-in period, keeping it right around 60 mph / 4K rpms the whole way. It was a good excuse to have a nice, relaxed ride. Speaking of break-in, I followed the suggestions in this thread (whose link I can't seem to find) and did the first oil change at 25 miles, just before heading out for this trip. I replaced the oil with Shell Rotella-T.

Getting out of the city during rush our took over an hour, even on a bike, was hell: gridlock all through Chinatown to the Holland Tunnel, but once I got out on the open road I was feelin' fine.

[Above: Strangely sexy in Atlantic City.]

Although the Craigslist '84 Nighthawk didn't work out for me, I did get a set of slightly used Nelson-Rigg saddle, tail, and tank bags out of it. The tail bag (shown above, along with my bike cover netted to it) worked out great!

No major incidents on the ride itself. Since I've begun riding again, I've gotten pretty good at memorizing basic directions after having looked at them very briefly, as well as processing highway signs at speed and doing the right thing to get where I need to go. I didn't mind being in the slow lane the whole way, with plenty of time to take everything in. The first time a big bus passed passed me was a bit scary since it felt like my whole bike moved over a couple of inches due to the blast of air, but after that I just knew to brace myself. I did a little lane splitting in stop and go traffic on the way back, but it's still not something I'm completely comfortable with... and which I chastise myself for doing every time I realize I'm doing it...

[Above: Garden State Parkway was much like this, though not as dark.]

That's it for now. Happy riding!

Hello KLR-650!

2009-09-01T21:04:00.000-07:00

It was a Tuesday morning. I'd been up half the night agonizing over whether or not to buy a brand new, 2009 Kawasaki KLR-650. So many doubts and questions--was this the right bike? Did it make sense to have a bike in New York at all? Is it wise in this economy? New or used?--but something had to be done. I was tired of used bikes with questionable pasts. The '84 Nighthawk had turned into an iron albatross around my neck.

This morning I was resolved: if it started, I'd drive it across the bridge to the dealership in Brooklyn and use it as a trade-in toward the new bike. If not, I would drive it off the bridge, hopping off at the last minute, and launch it to a watery grave in the East River.

[Above: Hello, Moto!]

This morning, it started and was able to stay running for ten whole minutes. It was a sign! No turning back now. By hook or by crook, I was gonna have a new KLR by the end of the day. I got across the Manhattan bridge without problems, but a few blocks into Brooklyn the problems began anew. I was in gear, giving it gas, but rear wheel just wasn't getting power. The clutch wasn't fully engaging, or slipping, and I couldn't go faster than 5 or 10 mph.

At first I pulled over and let the engine cool down for a good 10 or 15 minutes while I contemplated calling roadside assistance and having them tow/haul me to the dealership. Quickly realizing I could kiss any trade-in value goodbye that way, I vowed to keep going. Sure enough, though, the problems persisted, and, block by block, I was either crawling along or pushing the damned thing with my feet as cars honked behind me and whizzed by on either side.

[Above: She's an unconventional beauty.]

About a mile from the dealership, I discovered that if I clutched in, and just let go of the lever so it shot back in, it would engage fine and I could get normal speeds. Thus I was able to coast up to the dealership like nothing was wrong. We haggled back and forth and I didn't like their final price... so I reluctantly got back on my dodgy bike and rode to another dealership. Dealership #2 said 1) they couldn't give me a better offer than dealership #1, and 2) they didn't have the '09 KLR in black. I was resolved to be rid of the albatross, so, even more reluctantly, I got back on the bike and went back to dealership #1.

After taking care of the paperwork, it took them another three seemingly interminable hours to assemble the KLR at their warehouse and ride it over. Then, suddenly, at last! Here she was! All shiny and brand spankin' new!

[Above: So crisp and shiny...]

So that's how a KLR-650 got into the Nighthawks' Lounge... Yes, this bike is meant to take some spills and knocks with a little more dignity, but she's still so shiny and new, that I'm ponying up the ridiculous NYC monthly garage parking fee. Honestly, coming back home after long rides, the piece of mind of a dedicated shelter, though not good as having my own garage, actually seems worth it.

Stay tuned for more ride posts... I've a bit of catching up to do.

Long Story Short: Nighthawk #2 goes all lemony

2009-08-06T20:09:00.000-07:00

Long story short: the bike got stuck in first as we were trudging through the Holland Tunnel, seriously freaking me out. Stuck shifter and dangling clutch lever (no resistance when squeezed). I was able to get off the highway and onto the sidewalk somewhere in downtown. After letting it cool down about an hour and a half, I was able to dislodge the shifter and shift through the gears, and it seemed to be engaging. Thus, I was able to gingerly limp home.

[Above: waiting for the roadside assistance that never came]

Needless to say, I didn't ride the bike for a while after that. The symptoms pointed either to air bubbles in the hydraulic clutch line or worn clutch plates. I was still parking on the street, so every two days I'd have to move it from one side of the street to the other. During this time, it also developed a starting problem, so more often than not, I'd be pushing the bike down the street and from one side to the other.

Sometimes it would start fine, but others, it just would not stay running. No matter how much I revved the engine, trying to keep the rpms up, it would drop lower and lower and eventually quit. I began having flashbacks of my Thailand bike troubles. There were several probable causes for this latest ailment, ranging from wiring harness issues, to bad solenoid or voltage regulator to ???, and I just didn't feel like spending more money on what was turning into a rapid disappointment.

At some point during these days of malaise, someone actually hit the bike and broke off the clutch lever while I was at work... I've seen how people (can't) drive here, and even worse how they (can't) park... Bunch of savages in this town. At least that was an easy, $15 ebay fix. I resolved to sell it and cut my losses, but when a buyer came to check it out, it wouldn't even make it to the end of the block before dying! For some reason they weren't impressed.

One night while moving it, and it felt like running fine, I uncapped the drainage tube and idled it for about 10 minutes and this came out:

[Above: stagnant gasoline turns to tofu-looking cottage cheese. If stored for months at a time with gas in the tank and/or no gasoline stabilizer, this might be lurking inside *your* used bike]

Moonlight Ride: Brooklyn, Staten Island, Jersey City

2009-08-06T18:57:00.000-07:00

Because I park on the street, I have to move the bike every couple of days due to street sweeping. Because it had been a couple of weeks since my last ride, I decided, instead of just moving the bike, to take it on an actual ride. It was 10:30pm and I quickly plotted out a circular course that would take me through Brooklyn, across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge to Staten Island, then to Jersey City and finally through the Holland Tunnel back to Manhattan. What was meant to be a 1 hour ride turned into 4.5 hours, but we'll get to that later...

It was a full moon and clear skies when I headed out; that might explain the urge to roam. I crawled my way across the Williamsburg Bridge, over the East River and into Brooklyn, mostly in first, clutching in and out. For some reason, east bound outer lane traffic was reduced to one lane. Then I got on the 278 heading south. Well, actually, I mistakenly got off on the first exit coming off the bridge and found myself wandering the streets, eventually finding my way to the 278 south. Then it was fast moving, open spaces, and smooth riding. Well, actually, riding some of the highways in Manhattan (e.g. parts of the FDR Highway) and Brooklyn (approaching the Verrazano-Narrows merge, if I remember correctly) are like getting a swift kick in the pants every ten seconds. Not the nicest massage.

Got onto the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge to Staten Island. Smooth sailing and glimpses of the lower Manhattan skyline. Toll: $11.00 for cars, $5.50 for motorbikes. Kept going on the Staten Island Expy. I guess I was enjoying the ride a little too much since I missed my exit and wound up going on 440 south (Pearl Harbor Memorial Expy) until it hit the Korean War Veterans Pkwy / Richmond Pkwy. I got my bearings straight at the nearby rest stop (thanks, Crackberry/Google Maps), and headed back north on the 440, crossing the 278 and the Bayonne bridge into New Jersey.

I forget exactly where I got to next, but there was a take-a-ticket toll/pass-through that was out of tickets... so a dozen miles or so later I was forced to pay ~ $11, despite my plea that I was new to the area and wouldn't have enough cash for the Holland tunnel to get back home. It's actually been about a week since this adventure took place (though I'll probably back-date the post to the original date), so the details are starting to get fuzzy. Next I remember seeing a Jersey City exit and taking it, then getting lost in some of the seemingly rougher parts of town. Clinton, Montgomery, Madison, MLK Jr., somewhere thereabouts, I also vaguely recall driving past a cemetery, though I'm not sure if it was Jersey City or Holy Name, trying to find the highway again.

As it was now almost 1:00am, I gave up on my original plan of taking in the sparkling Manhattan skyline from the Jersey City shore (I'd hoped to be there by 11:30p) and headed straight for the Holland tunnel. There I spent a half hour trying to crawl across the 100 meters that stood between the last stop light and the toll booth for the Holland tunnel. The entrance to the tunnel was chaos in slow motion: six or eight lines of cars trying to merge into two tollbooth lanes. I asked the lady if I could mail the payment since I didn't have enough cash but she waved me through. A bit of good karma to make up for the gratuitous toll from earlier, I thought. After getting through that, it took me an additional half an hour to get through the actual tunnel, since that too had been reduced to one lane and all traffic following a water truck that was spraying down the pavement. In first gear the whole time, clutching in and out, crawling forward at less than 5 mph, and periodically stopping completely.

Towards the end of the tunnel is when the adventure ended and the nightmare began. Stay tuned for the next episode: Clutch Problems!

Above: rough diagram of the route I took. It wasn't quite that sloppy... Google Maps' drawing feature was having some issues.

Brake Lock!

2009-08-02T21:54:00.000-07:00

Feeling under the weather this weekend, so no fancy ride out of the city. I did go visit a friend in Murray Hill. That's when this happened... and by writing it up, I'm hoping the shame prevents me from ever doing it again. Long story short: forgot to take off the front disc brake lock, tried to drive it away, got about 10 inches before it stuck, bike stalled then tipped over. Doh! ... Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! Doh! *sigh*

Luckily I didn't panic. I know how to pick up a bike, so I calmly turned the key to off, flipped out the side stand, then proceeded to right the bike. Then I took off the lock, examined the disc, then rode away.

What really happened was, I thought I'd gotten to my friend's building, so I parked the bike, locked it, threw the cover on. The doorman told me I had the wrong address, so in my haste to get back on and drive over the extra few blocks, I'd forgotten about the lock. Luckily my friend didn't see the debacle, so I still managed to look cool in front of her :P

So, yeah, let this be a lesson never forgotten: BRAKE LOCK! Always Check The BRAKE LOCK!

PS DropCount++

First Ride Upstate - Dobbs Ferry, 25 Jul 09

2009-07-26T19:45:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday I took the bike over the bridge to Motogrrl in Williamsburg for the requisite DMV inspection. They wouldn't let me have it until I shelled out another $20 to have the brake pedal straightened out (it was bent a little in and would scrape against the case if you depressed it at an angle). They were nice otherwise, confirming what I'd heard around the block about them being good... but not cheap.

On the way back to Manhattan, I decided to head over to the West Side Highway and check that out for a bit. As I was going along, enjoying the ride, I kept thinking to myself, "Just a little bit further," and, "I wonder what's up ahead." Thirty miles and an hour's drive later, I found myself in Dobbs Ferry, along the Hudson, north of Yonkers. It was a great day for riding and I was really enjoying those East Coast vegetation-lined roads.

After pulling into the Dobbs Ferry park, across from the Metro North station, I threw my jacket down and stretched out on a nearby bench for a well-deserved late afternoon nap. At some point I started hearing children's voices, teasing each other, then the voices of some adults, then more people. I ignored it at first, thinking a wave of people had just gotten off the train. About five minutes later I opened up my eyes and found myself in the midst of a wedding party... bride, groom, bridesmaids and groomsmen in tuxes, suits, photographers, the works. They'd been setting up to take photos with the Hudson river and trees as backdrop. I grabbed my jacket and quickly took a walk. Thirty minutes later they were still there. I came back for my bike and was soon back on the road, feelin' fine.

Things are starting to fall back into place. I'd been really concerned about my stopping distance and was rightfully riding very conservatively. I had one more incident where I had to stop short and found myself sliding on a locked rear wheel and fumbling to downshift. Eventually I remembered that the rear drum brake is largely decorational and 75% of your stopping power is in the front disk brake, so I should favor that one, even though the front forks feel a little divy. Also, instead of downshifting all the way back into first, do it one gear at a time, letting the clutch out in between. After that, my stopping skills were much improved and more consistent.

I took the streets back, trying to stay close to the Hudson, eventually taking Riverdale Ave back through Yonkers before finally connecting up with the 9A. When I got to midtown, I cut across 52nd St and made my way to FDR Drive on the east side. Riding around in the city isn't actually that bad. For the most part, I drive it like a car (no lane splitting), except for the few instances when some fool had blocked up a one-way street by double parking.

Getting better with the center stand as well. The other night I put a piece of cardboard under the pegs to help them grip. When I came back from the ride, I got it up on the center stand on the first try, sans cardboard. My new baby's growing on me more with every ride. Still haven't decided on a name yet, though...

PS Came across this video of an exciting stretch of twisty road called Deal's Gap... a section of US 129 near the North Carolina Tennessee state line and has 318 curves in eleven miles. Check it out:

Listen to the camera bike scrape on some of those turns!

1984 Honda Nighthawk 650SC

2009-07-22T22:32:00.000-07:00

Raise up the rusty rolling shutters, pry off those wooden boards, dust off the counter tops and plug the jukebox back in because the Nighthawks' Lounge is once again open for business...

New coast (East). New bike (1984 Honda Nighthawk 650SC). New adventures!

Test-drove the bike (in the rain) Tuesday morning. Came back and picked it up Tuesday night. Put another 15+ miles on it Wednesday night by getting lost on the streets in Brooklyn. Such a different perspective being among the motorized traffic as opposed to the sea of human bodies on the sidewalks and subways. Love the view of the Manhattan skyline riding back across the Williamsburg bridge. Also rode the Manhattan bridge to Brooklyn. Will hopefully traverse every major bridge and tunnel in the near future. Also filled up the tank.

Getting it onto the center stand is harder than I remember, eventually it clicked with the old bike. This one takes some getting used to (and numerous attempts). Haven't dropped it yet. Only incident was locking the brakes and sliding a bit coming off the Manhattan bridge when the car in front of me stopped for the light. I was able to keep it straight and recover in time. Also got stuck in stop and go traffic on the BQE so that gave me plenty of time to excercise fine clutch/gas control.

Stay tune for more rides and more adventures. Huzzah!

Super Sinski in Egypt!

2009-02-16T22:42:00.000-08:00

I know this doesn't really count, but... when I was backpacking across Egypt, I got to ride a brand new Sinski 200cc thumper in a little resort town just north of Hurghada. It was the first time I'd been on a bike in over a year.

The rental shop had just opened up so they didn't have any motorbikes available. They had to bring a mechanic out to assemble one for me. Had fun tooling around on it and even gave a lift to a friend of a friend. The gearing on it was up shifting for 1, 2, 3, 4 vs. the American convention of down-for-first, then up for 2, 3, 4, etc., but I was able to get used to it fairly quickly.

Maybe it was this experience, along with the good memories of riding XR250s in Thailand that influenced the decision to get a KLR-650 later on...

[Above: I must confess... I rode a camel too.]

Note: this post backdated to the original event date.

That's all she wrote...

2007-09-17T19:58:00.000-07:00

My baby's gone. Hopefully to a better home where she'll see more TLC and sunshine than I could give her. Thank you all for reading. It's been an exciting journey. I hope this blog has been at least a fraction as useful (and even entertaining) to you as it has been for me.

Ride safe,
--Nighthawk Tyro

Last Ride (?)

2007-09-16T22:32:00.000-07:00

Call me weak, call me a hypocrite... but today felt like a good day for a ride. I've taken steps to tie up loose ends, and I'm also set on selling my baby, but today I couldn't resist. It's tricky, when you decide to sell your bike, strange thoughts can run through your head... like if anything were to happen, people would say, "and he was going to sell it, too..." I let those thoughts pass over me, then went out and had a good ride.

My head was in it. It was a good ride. I took a new street route and headed northwest to Highway 101 and the beach. On the way, one little street dead-ended into the start of a (mostly) paved bicycle path... so I wound up riding that for about a mile along the edge of a marsh and under some overpasses. That was a lot of fun and took me back to the days of the Thailand trip. Eventually I made it to the coast and rode it north to the Magic Beach. There I watched the sun go down and the moon and stars come out. Very peaceful; very nice.

I've gotten used to the clicking sound of the engine. Despite the noise, she runs just fine. Also, I noticed there were no drips of oil coming out from around the valve cover seal. On the way home, I passed through Del Mar and Torrey Pines, close to the beach. I did grind the gears a couple of times, by down shifting too far, even though I had the clutch all the way in, so that was a little odd, and I did stall once while practicing stopping at stop signs without setting a foot down. Aside from that, a very nice, enjoyable ride. Top speed never exceeded ~ 60* mph. I was more well-behaved today and caught myself when I'd start raising the rpm needle toward the red-line.

I've got to sell my baby soon, before I'm tempted to ride again. This ride was a lovely little farewell; better not to spoil it.

Morbid night ride

2007-09-06T22:28:00.001-07:00

My baby got some excercise today. DGC is in town and conveniently brought his riding gear so he took her out for the afternoon. Then around 8:00pm I felt like going for a ride and that I had enough energy to do so (been tired of late and don't like riding tired).

I started by going to my favorite vista point. The windy residential streets up the hill are nice to take at a leisurely pace. Watched the city lights and the stars for a bit then hopped back on continued on, down the other side of the hill. I took streets I hadn't taken before and discovered some nice views of the bay.

Unlike my usual route, this time I headed down the coast, taking surface streets that hugged the beach as closely as possible. I stopped in Ocean Beach to fill up, put air in the fron tire, and check the oil level. Then kept on going. I've gotta check out Sunset Cliffs in the day time... or better yet, at sunset someday. Eventually I wound up at the entrace to Cabrillo National Monument, where I had to turn around. I made my way to the freeway and took it North to La Jolla. From there it was streets again.

Stops were kind of sloppy at first. I'm rusty. By the end of the night, I could stop for a stop sign, then go again without ever putting a foot on the ground. I was cautious with those 90-deg left and right turns, afraid to give it too much throttle. La Jolla Scenic Drive isn't very scenic, but it's got a couple of nice bends.

Been thinking about riding and about selling the bike. I've forgotten the reasons why I ride. DGC's got me thinking about riding in a different way, which is nice... Unless you're on a track riding a crotch rocket, there's no sense in going over 55 mph. Riding should be relaxed and relaxing, enjoying everything around you. You'll live longer that way. Riding is fun... and I'd love to start touring on the bike. But commutting in San Diego on the highways at high speeds doesn't make much sense anymore. Many times I've been going 85+ on the freeway thinking, if I went down now, that's it, I'm not coming up. Which, I'm actually kind of okay with, even though I haven't put anything in my life in order (as I thought riding would make me do as I came to terms with the possibility of an early departure). But not dying is worse than dying. The allure of the freedom riding gives you is ironic given the ultimate imprisonment it can also offer. A friend of mine used to take care of a quadraplegic man who got there via motorcycle. I don't think I can handle being that guy.

So I tried to relax and enjoy the ride, no rush, no hurry, focus on riding smoothly and safely... but every once in a while, multiple times tonight, actually, I'd get the sudden urge to just gun it and feel the bike accelerate, push the rpms toward the redline and feel the bike handle, haul ass around slower cars, lean into turns, feel the speed to cut through that lackadazical lull. As soon as I'd realize I was doing it I'd ease off the throttle and go back to slow and safe, but that urge is there. Other times a light would change after a couple of blocks and I'd get to practice my fast braking/downshifting. Maybe I should have been a race car driver or race motorcycles... but it's a bit late, though. Other times I find myself riding with one hand, or taking both hands off and balancing as I slow down to an intersection when there are no cars about. Stupid stuff. That repressed desire to push the limits.

I don't see myself riding 7 days a week as would be required to keep getting better, especially on the highways here. I know the basics of how to ride and have learned (the bare minimum of) bike maintenance. Maybe it's time to hang it up, get off the pot...

PS The front right corner of the valve cover seems indeed to have a small leak. I guess it's negligeable since the oil level was at the upper of the two markers when I checked it.

Welcome to McDonald's, may I help you?

2007-08-29T23:21:00.000-07:00

Finally got to ride again today.

MORNING:
Checked the tire pressure, lights, brakes and horn before heading out.

Good morning ride. Gentle on the turns, nice and smooth.
No lane splitting on the surface streets.

Hard to stay 75 or below on the SD freeways. Windshield would be nice, but if I sell it, is it worth it?

Beautiful day for riding... as long as you keep moving since it got pretty hot and humid.

Something got in my eye while I was on the freeway.
Must have been a dust particle flying in through the helmet vent.
Was in the fast lane... nothing I could do except keep blinking that eye
to flush it out. After a couple of minutes it went away.

WORK TO CLASS:
Lots of traffic but a good ride. Couple of minor incidents. The first was underrevving while trying to change lanes. I was in 2nd but didn't realize I had slowed down so much due to traffic, so when I went to change lanes, I didn't have the power I was expecting. The confusion was only for a split second (then I downshifted) but I didn't want to hesitate while halfway between two lanes. The second was stalling due to too much clutch and not enough gas when a light turned green. That was also only for a second as I pulled the clutch in and clicked the starter and was off again.

CLASS TO HOME:
Rode through the drive-thru for the first time. Had to repeat my order a couple of times even w/ the engine off due to the helmet (yes, visor was up). Stopped the bike and removed a glove to pay and put the cheeseburgers into my backpack. While nothing happened, I was feeling a bit vulnerable as I stood there waiting, glove off, backpack out, engine off.

On the ride home, changed my planned route a couple of times: first due to heavy traffic (so I chose an alternate freeway at the last minute before getting on the onramp), second due to a lack of sensor making me wait forever and a day for the light to change (so I took some new back streets). On the other hand, for the lights w/ sensors, clicking the starter worked like a charm, but I worry about draining the battery by doing it too much/too often.

Also, on the ride home, I took this 270 degree circular connector/onramp that took me from the 52 to the 805. This is one of my favorite little bits of road, but I noticed I was a little apprehensive about leaning the bike so much (now that I know what it feels like to have the bike go out from under you).

Was talking to coworkers and they said there's usually sand and bits of rock/dust/etc. in the center divide area that I had to cross to make the (more recent) infamous left turn. That might also have been a contributing factor (in addition to too much leaning, too sharp a turn, and too much throttle). In particular, my friend said that his back wheel went a little squirly the first time he made that left turn out of the parking lot on his R1. Luckily he raised himself up and off the seat and moved his weight forward to make the bike more neutral, and kept/gradually decreased the throttle, so he was able to recover it.

PS Just noticed a tiny tear drop drip of oil from the front left corner of the valve cover gasket. Maybe it's just a "thing" this bike does. I'm not popping the valve cover off again. Will just monitor it and keep checking the oil level. I guess replacing it last month was more for my education than to accomplish anything functional. Anybody want to buy my baby for $1000?

Good as new: Sunday night ride

2007-08-20T00:26:00.001-07:00

First ride since my second crash. Gotta get right back up on that horse, as they say. I patched up my baby as best I could, then took her for a Sunday evening ride to the beach. Someday I'm gonna miss San Diego and being so close to the ocean.

The fixing:
I pulled apart the headlight assembly and bent the bezel back into shape. Aluminum tape on the scraped portion of the speedometer (to match the aluminum tape on the tachometer :). More aluminum tape to cover the hole in the rubber sheath over the end of the clutch lever. I filed down the rough parts where the headlight case, left mirror, end of the clutch lever and left tailpipe scraped the ground. I also managed to straighten out the left side of the Givi Wingrack 2 so it's almost symmetrical with the right. Also, I fixed the left rear taillight cover using Liquid Nails. Nothing I can do about the dent in the tank. Although the handlebars are a little bit skewed (not quite perpendicular to the front wheel), I left it as is.

In my hands, the bike has developed some real "character" ... unfortunately. Although initially I was told the CB750 was too big for a first bike, that part's proved to work out okay. It actually came in quite handy when I was in Thailand since it was as big or bigger than anything I rode there. I still maintain, however, that the CB750 is too pretty to be a first bike and doesn't deserve the dings, scratches, dents, drops, scrapes, and crashes I've put mine through. I've found myself saying "as long as she still rides" a lot. That should be the new subtitle for this blog.

The ride:
Tonight's ride was a good one. I took streets, then freeways, to get to where I was going and reached speeds of 70 to 80 mph*. No wobble or idiosyncrasies due to the slightly skewed handlebars. I stopped in a shopping center parking lot and adjusted the pitch of the headlight using the under-seat toolkit before hopping on the freeway. I've found myself getting impatient with stop lights at deserted intersections that don't respond to the presence of traffic... and going when the coast is clear (after giving them at least several minutes). This is probably a bad habit. To my surprise, in other cases, I've found clicking the starter a few times as I'm riding over the circle sensors in the road leading up to a light to work fairly well in getting them to notice my presence. The sky was clear at the beach for a change. Lots of stars out.

I've come to the conclusion that my recent crash was due to gunning the throttle as I pulled out to make the turn. It's a busy street that I turned on to and I didn't want to linger in the path of oncoming traffic. I took plenty of left and right turns tonight and can't think of anything I should have done differently except be slower and smoother on the throttle.

Not gonna have time to ride this week, so I'm glad I did it tonight. This second crash has made me think about giving up the bike, and why I ride. I don't see Alaska happening this year. Been thinking about a ride across Mexico, but not seriously. Is riding the refocusing release, the spiritual experience that I make it out to be? Or is it just a distraction taking away from other things in my life. For now, I'm leaning towards continuing to ride.

PS A friend and coworker of mine cracked up at over 100 mph at the track a couple of weeks back. So, naturally, I passed the training wheels on to him. I'll be taking those back now, thanks... :-P

So, I crashed again...

2007-08-17T19:36:00.000-07:00

First off: I am OK. I am fine. Retarded, maybe... but fine.

Once again, our hero demonstrates what NOT to do. Once again, no other vehicles were involved. I low-sided while pulling out of the parking lot at work, making a left turn. No cars were coming in either direction at the time. I think I leaned too much and gave it too much throttle and the back wheel just slid out from under me. This is why I wear kneepads. I don't even think I got a bruise this time.

I'll finish the rest of the text for this post later. Have a good weekend....

Well, it's been two days and the adrenalin has worn off. Not quite unscathed, I got a nice welt just to the side and above my left knee (but no roadrash!), and my left shoulder has a quarter sized bruise on it and feels like I worked out too much. Under the circumstances, still pretty damn lucky.

Last week's rides (5 days out of 7)

2007-08-14T23:09:00.001-07:00

With the bike finally back together, I was finally able to get riding again. Last week I wound up riding my bike 5 out of 7 days. Before I get into the details of that, I'll ramble on a little in my usual hypochondriac/paranoid fashion about the state of my bike. It seems like the clicking noises are getting louder, maybe there are even new ones... can't say for sure since I was off the bike for almost two weeks. My new attitude is, as long as she runs, I'll keep riding her. Most likely this is due to the weakening cam chain tensioner, which shouldn't affect engine functionality. At some point, I'd still like to take the bike in for engine compression tests and carb sync, just to put my mind at ease. Back to the most recent rides...

Monday, August 6, 2007:
Fine ride. Great to be back on the road. Oil leaking out of right front corner of valve cover. Kept it at or below 75*mph, focusing on smooth riding. Clicking noise of the engine seems to be louder.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007:
Good ride. Kept it <= 75*mph. Focusing on smooth riding. Tightening the valve cover bolts another 1/2 turn seemed to solve the gasket oil leak problem. Can still see oil shimmering along the edge of the gasket. Maybe that's the oil that got through before I re-tightened the bolts.

Spent 20 minutes trying to find good street parking in downtown tonight. Finally parked on a downhill between two cars. Was a pain because I had to back the bike up hill on foot to maneuver it at an angle perpendicular to the curb. Then I spent the next couple of hours stressing that it'd get nudged by the car in front of me trying get out its parking space.

Ride home was good. Still need a windshield. Not so bad at 75*mph. When I got off the freeway, the engine sounded really loud (revving high), even with my hand off the throttle. Then I realized I'd driven all the way with the choke half-on. Bike still working. Gotta ride. Good to be riding again. The weather is perfect for it. Loving it.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Rode to work again. Didn't take notes on the ride. Can't remember anything out of the ordinary happening.

Saturday, August 11, 2007
Went for a two hour night ride to give the bike a little workout and scope out good places to see the Perseids meteor shower. I'm pleased to report that the new gasket is (still) no longer leaking (after tightening the bolts some more after that first day). Stops and turns were very good... except at very slow speeds on very steep hills (e.g. stopping at a stop sign, then making a right turn on a 30+ degree hill). There, had to put both feet down and do some maneuvering.

A beautiful night for a ride. Unfortunately coastal areas may be too cloudy to check out the meteor shower. Went to several hilltop vistas. Even used my Thailand sidewalk-driving skills to get around some obstacles. Am debating taking the MSF riding course again to brush up on my low speed ( < 5mph ) riding skills.

Sunday, August 12, 2007
Rode to a friend's house across town to go swimming at the beach. Put my trunks, towel, and sunscreen into a plastic bag and bungied it to the back of the bike. Stayed on fine. Wish I hadn't snapped the top box mount from my Givi Wingrack2. I'm still hoping I could find the "L" shaped connectors that broke somewhere so I don't have to buy a whole new rack.

And, with that, I think we're finally caught up.

Replacing Valve Cover Gasket (part 2)

2007-08-14T23:03:00.001-07:00

That moment, when I first pried the valve cover up and off, when I got my first glimpse of the mysteries that lay underneath, was a holy moment... a sacred experience... a rite of passage... like the first time I ever took off a girl's bra... and marveled at the goodness I beheld.

Um... er... anyway... up until that point, I'd only seen these components on paper, in my Honda service manual. There they were before me... cam lobes, chain, sprockets, guide, defoaming chambers. The only thing out of the ordinary seemed to be the cam holder bolts, whose tops were orange with rust. Aside from that, everything looked in working order to my untrained eye.

Above: cylinder head with valve cover removed (seen from the left.)

Above: cylinder head with valve cover removed (seen from the right)

To avoid dust and debris from getting into the cylinder head, I also covered the exposed parts with clear plastic wrap.

Peeling off the old gasket from the valve cover was no problem, but bits of the old high-temperature silicon sealant remained in the grooves. That's when I realized this operation was going to take quite a bit longer than originally planned. I struggled for over a week to remove the rubbery bits of silicon without damaging the aluminum valve cover, to no avail, and almost gave up on the task. I was warned that using the small screw driver approach was a very bad thing because gouges in the aluminum would lead to oil leaks.

I finally got the bright idea to google for some silicone sealant removers, which led to a call to Home Depot, which led me to Goof Off professional strenght anything-remover. The Goof Off gave me new hope and succeeded where toothbrush, toothpick, and, yes, even eyeglass screwdriver failed. Armed with that, a nylon scrub brush, and one of those disposable plastic palette knives used for oil painting, I eventually got every last bit of the old silicon sealant out of those grooves and the whole valve cover spic and span.

Reassembly was tricky because there is very little clearance to slide the valve cover back into the frame and down onto the cylinder head. I was afraid that the gasket would fall out when I flipped the valve cover over, even with the new high-temp silicon sealant, so I wound up putting the gasket in place on the cylinder head, putting a bead of new sealant in the grooves of the valve cover, then fitting the valve cover onto the gasket/cylinder head. For the actual application of the silicon, I wound up squeezing the silicon into this marinating syringe I had lying around and using that to squeeze out the thin, clean bead of silicon. The plunger made the squeezing out more uniform... plus I'd cut the cone-shaped tip that came with the silicon tube improperly and the bead it was oozing out was too thick.

I wound up screwing and unscrewing the valve cover bolts several times because I noticed that the gasket wasn't in the groove and was getting pinched in a couple of places, and I wanted to make sure the fit was perfect.

I took pictures throughout the disassembly and they came in quite handy to help me figure out what goes where during the reassembly. If you've got a digital camera, I'd highly recommend it when doing any maintenance that requires extensive disassembly.

Since my torque wrench doesn't go below 16 N*m, and the listed torque for the valve cover bolts is 10 N*m, I had to guestimate how much to tighten them.

On my first test ride after getting the bike back together, I was sad and disappointed that I'd succeeded only in moving the valve cover gasket oil leak from the left-rear to the right-front side... as well as making it much worse. I could see oil glistening around the entire perimeter of the newly installed gasket, as well as slobbering all over the front and top of the valve cover. I thought maybe it was because the bead of silicon sealant I'd put into the valve cover grooves was too small.

I was this close to admitting defeat and taking it in to the mechanic, when I decided to try one more thing. Over-tightening the bolds can lead them to snap off, but fortunately, tightening them another 1/2 turn or so did the trick. Now I don't see any oil leaking from the gasket at all. Now I can finally call the operation a success... and get back to riding.

Replacing Valve Cover Gasket (part 1)

2007-08-14T22:58:00.000-07:00

So, a couple of weeks back I finally got around to replacing the valve cover gasket that's been leaking since I first got the bike. To date, this has been the most involved operation I've performed on the bike, though I didn't really disassemble any of the inner engine components.

Getting the valve cover off was not difficult. The first step was removing the gas tank.

Then, removing the front side covers, which are only held in place by the tank cushions (those round rubber "pegs").

Next, the ignition coils were fairly easily removed. Actually, unplugging the the small wire connectors without damaging the terminals was a bit of a pain.

The area underneath was quite dirty, so the next step was a good bit of cleaning. This was especially important so that no dirt or etc. fell into the cylinder head when the valve cover was off.

After cleaning, I disconnected the appropriate hoses and sealed off the ends with plastic wrap and twist ties so no dust or dirt got inside. I also tied back tubing and electric cabling so it was out of the way with more twist ties. Eight unscrewed hex bolts later, the mysterious valve cover was finally up and off the motorcycle. Then I called it a day.

Above: the removed valve cover with original gasket still attached.

Living Vicariously: dgc's cross country ride

2007-08-05T12:38:00.000-07:00

No, I didn't go down in a flaming wreck (knock on wood). The bike's been sitting in the garage in pieces for the past couple of weeks. More on that later. In the mean time...

My friend dgc recently went on a cross-country ride, from San Francisco to Boston, on his 1978 Honda CX500. I'm more than a little envious and would love to do something similar in the future.

DGC had this to say about his "twisted-V", which he had to leave in Boston:

"I think it still has some life left in it. I didn't want to destroy the poor thing though I got into Boston on one cylinder and missing a few bolts out of the frame assembly. Not to mention a broken speedometer and odometer and a lost shockmount from the windsheild and a welded on shifting lever and a couple of holes which did not quite pierce all the way through the rear tire, which is worn down to the nub."

That's some true adventuring grit.

Apparently he met some cool people (riders and otherwise), spent a few nights under the stars, weathered a freak rain storm somewhere in the midwest, and almost got mugged.

If anyone in the Boston area is looking for a good used bike that's seen some adventure, I'm sure dgc can probably give you a good price. :)

I hope you're all as inspired to hit the road as much as I am. If things go well, my bike should be ridable again by Monday night.

The Nighthawk Rides (Monday through Wednesday)

2007-07-18T23:58:00.000-07:00

Monday night:

Rode across town during rush hour taffic to meet some people about a thing. Splitting lanes when traffic is stopped. Don't have the courage yet to split lanes when things are moving. Not sure if I want to. Been pretty good about being aware of other drivers and leaving them plenty of space to do stupid things (such as not knowing how to time a merge properly) or drift in and out of lanes. Parking on a downhill a bit of a challenge, but got it eventually. No problems on the ride home. Put in the other 1/2 can of SeaFoam and filled it up with 91 again.

Wednesday morning:

Hauling ass on the highway. Bike may be slow to take off from a stop, but you can go from 75* to 95* in the blink of an eye. Neck starting to be sore from the wind resistance. Need a windshield and need to slow down. Can't slow down too much, though because San Diego speed of traffic is typically between 75-85.

Ran over a 2-3 foot strip of saran-wrap like plastic while exiting the freeway. I didn't see it come out behind me in my mirrors so I pulled over to see if it'd gotten stuck to my engine or pipes. Good thing I did, it'd gotten stuck on my shifter lever and the back end of it was stretched under the left pipe and over the chain and sprocket. I was able to pull it off without problems (before it'd gotten a chance to melt to the metal or get tangled in the chain/around the wheel. If that'd have happened on the highway, I might have hesitated to stop, but now I know to find an offramp and get off the bike to inspect ASAP. I'm not crazy about the idea of stopping along the side of a fast moving freeway. Aside from that, good morning ride.

On my way to class, the 163 was backed up due to a woman walking alongside the center divide wearing sunglasses, tshirt, shorts... and in her socks. I rode right past her.

Wednesday night:

My first perfect parking job backing into one of those motorcycle spaces perpendicular (almost) to the curb. Good ride home. No significant incidents. I've gotten comfortable with the bike's mirrors and blindspots (and know how to check them). Loving riding, love the bike.

Twilight Ride

2007-07-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

I didn't ride to work today, but after I'd got home and rested, something made me hop on my baby and chase down the remaining twilight. Pretty soon I found myself up the coast, watching the last rays going down over the horizon. I was pushing the bike. Usually when I ride, I hover in the 5k rpm sweet spot (unless I'm speeding up or slowing down). Today I was a gear lower and 1-2k rpms higher than normal just to feel the bike out. Turns were spot on. Got to work on immaculate stops (sometimes I put my left foot down a little too early). Aside from that, loving it. I noticed that valve cover gasket has shed another tear of oil. Soon, my precious... soon.

It might be my imagination but the ticking/rattling sound of (most likely) the cam chain tensioner seems to be getting a little louder. If the bike still runs, I can live with that. She really is a beauty.

PS I installed a visitor counter for the blog. It's free from statcounter.com.

Fifty dollar rubberband

2007-07-12T00:09:00.000-07:00

So, I've been riding. Riding, riding, riding. Rode to work last Thursday and Friday, Monday and tonight... and loving it. All good rides, much better than that weird Tuesday ride, and lately the weather's been great for it. I think I'm really starting to get a better feel for the bike (knock on wood here...), and I've been able to navigate the mundane surprises of driving in traffic pretty well so far. I don't split lanes nearly so much these days, but I still do get the Streethawk theme song stuck in my head when I start hitting highway speeds. :)

Since I'm a novice at mechanics, I wasn't using the right terminology before. What I meant to say was that the valve cover gasket (first identified as leaking here) is what needs to be replaced.

So I ordered it through my favorite local bike shop last week and picked it up today. Essentially, it's a fifty dollar rubberband and I aim to remove the valve cover and replace it in the next couple of weeks. As my friend said, though, "If this was an airplane, it'd be even more expensive."

I recently heard about SeaFoam fuel system cleaner on the Yahoo cb750 mailing list so I bought a can to try it out. I put half the can into the gas tank then filled it up with the highest grade gasoline as usual. I've ridden about 50 miles on it but haven't noticed any differences regarding perceived fuel delivery symptoms when the bike is cold or near cold.

I'll probably put in the other half into the next tank and see how it goes.

Speaking of fuel system, another friend agreed to lend me his carb sync/timing measuring tool to inspect/adjust my carbs. If they're out of sync, that could be contributing to the lower mileage I've been getting. (Speaking of which, apparently I can't do basic math: I've been getting 140 miles per tank which comes out to 35mpg, not 30 as I posted previously.) What I need to see now is if anyone has a pilot screw adjustment wrench (essentially a screwdriver with a 90-deg on the end of it), since those run between $80 and $120, and that's what I'd need to adjust the carb timing.

While I was at the shop today, I had one of the mechanics listen to the fast "clicking" sound coming from around the head of the engine. He said it sounds like a loosening/weakening cam chain tensioner, but it's apparently nothing to worry about. The cam chain tensioner is deep in the engine block, between the cylinders, and it's a real pain to get to. He also said that the current condition shouldn't affect function or performance and the bike could probably go another 30,000 miles before that needed fixing. Works for me--maybe this bike could be my big North American road trip bike after all. According to the mechanic, Nighthawks are "bulletproof" and a ride across Mexico is starting to sound more appealing than Alaska. I've just got to get the fuel economy/mileage up to something decent.

Before taking the bike in today, I'd been hoping to maybe poke around and possibly find out the cause of some of my bike's symptoms and minor ailments. I was even thinking of buying a hydraulic tappet bleeder (they're about $19) and testing each one to see if it was working properly. According to my motorcycling buddies, though, if one of those tappets, springs, or any of the valves were not working properly, I'd notice major performance problems right away. Also, according to the mechanic, just getting the valve cover off, I probably won't be able to see much to tell what's wrong anyway.

I was riding a little fast on the way home from my class tonight, but, aside from my usual gripes, the bike was riding great and looks beautiful. She definately doesn't have any problems getting up to 75*, 85*, and beyond*. I've got to start thinking about a windshield again, though, since my neck is starting to ache a little having to resist the winds at higher speeds. And I should probably drive a little slower.

That's all for now. Rock on and ride safe!

Weird Tuesday ride...

2007-07-03T23:49:00.000-07:00

Rode to work. No problems. On the ride home, things got kind of weird... First I decided to take the HOV lane because a) motorcycles can go in carpool lanes, and b) I'd never been on it and I wanted to see what it was like/where it goes. My first discovery was that it didn't connect back to the mainhighway until about four exits past the one I wanted. Okay, no biggie... However, after getting off the highway, going through a left turn, I heard this weird creaking/squeeking stretching sound, as of rubber being distended... maybe it was coming from a car near me or behind me. Suddenly I started to get all paranoid that something might be wrong with the wheels or tires on my bike and I was hesitant getting back onto the highway in the opposite direction. But I sort of had no choice I found myself on a bypass with traffic going freeway speeds so I had to speed up to avoid being run over or pissing off the drivers behind... all the while searching for the nearest offramp from that. I found it, pulled over, and didn't see anything after examining the bike. Maybe it was the heat (heatwave rolling through), and the wrong turns, missed exits. Maybe I was just stressing out in general, but suddenly I got the feeling that I shouldn't be on the bike... like something bad might happen. I did get back on the highway, in the direction I needed to go, with visions of my front or rear tire going out and how I'd handle it (e.g. if front end goes squirly, use the rear brake only, if the rear starts to slip, a little throttle might help, if the rear locks, keep the bike straight and the rear brake down and try to skid to a stop, tuck and roll if the bike goes down at speed, etc.). On the way back I got off an exit too early and had to get back on. I took the next exit after that and nagivated my way home on streets. It was turning into one of those weird rides where I just didn't want to be on the bike. On the street, I found myself splitting lanes and coming to a stop between two cars at the light. When the light went green, I was slow on the throttle and I started getting passed by the cars, which were a little too close for comfort. Just not quite on my game. I eventually made it home without incident, but it was just a strange ride. Next time I get that feeling, I'll just pull over, off the road somewhere, and take a five minute break or something...

The "clicking" clatter sound of the engine is starting to worry me more and more but I keep putting off taking the head cover off to replace the gasket and use it as a chance to inspect the valves, tappets, etc. Aside from not having the tool to compress and examine the tappets, I wanted to run timing and compression tests before popping the head cover off so I could have an idea of what to look for... So no long trips anytime soon... but I'm still tempted to commute with it tomorrow morning.

Monday sunset: no better remedy

2007-07-02T21:29:00.001-07:00

Rode up to my new secret spot to watch the sunset. Same route I took the other night. Very beautiful. Very relaxing. Winding up hill around turns on residential streets, smelling the flowers in bloom and catching glimpses of the ocean through the trees as the sun and fog took up brushes and painted the sky.... Preceeded and followed by a vigorous (but not reckless) ride across the highways and thoroughfares. A ride and vista that reenergizes and makes one love being alive. Just what I needed. Turns, braking, shifting were all on par and up to form. Loving riding, loving my baby... I may make this a nightly summer ritual.

PS Also noticed that if I wear my full-face helmet tilted a little lower on my head, the wind no longer hits me in the neck. That alleviates the biggest complaint I have about my riding jacket and makes freeway riding more comfortable. Before I was wearing it "straight on" so that you couldn't even see the bottom of my nose. Little things...

PPS I yearn for more international moto-adventuring... My buddy is planning a cross-country ride here in the 'States and I'm envious. Not sure what will happen to Alaska. Maybe a trip south of the border through Mexico... I should probably start small. Day-rides and overnighters on the weekends. Perhaps an auto-repair class (or, more specifically, motorcycle repair if I can find it) at the local community college to better prepare me for long-distance roadtrips... sigh...

PPPS Almost forgot. Rode to work this morning taking the usual highway route. No incidents, no complaints. Occassional lane splitting on surface streets when cars are stopped and traffic is backed up. Following the golden rule of "might makes right" on the highways. Speaking of the highways, I generally ride in the fast lane since you only have to worry about traffic on one side (not counting front and back) as opposed to two... but I'll gladly get out of the way of someone coming up behind me wanting to go faster.

Thank you MSF. So far, so good. Oh, also got to use "counter-balancing" appropriately to make a couple of tight U-turns and it felt more comfortable doing so.

Quick Sunday night ride

2007-07-01T00:21:00.000-07:00

Took a quick ride up to a favorite lookout point tonight. Ran out of gas and had to switch to reserve on an uphill precisely when the trip-meter hit 140... reaffirming again that I'm getting 30 mpg (where are those other 15mpg going???). Beautiful night. Nice ride otherwise.

Had a blast on the 52-to-805N connector... almost a perfect 270-deg circle. On the Nobel Dr. offramp, I turned on my high beam just in time to notice a sprinkler arching a fountain of water into my lane... and had just enough time to drive right through it. Luckily my jacket is waterproof and my visor needed the wash.

Aside from that, another good ride. Loving the feeling of being motorized on two wheels.

Almost been too long

2007-06-30T00:14:00.000-07:00

Been riding about once per week. Saturday night I finally got around to adjusting the clutch lever free play (so it engages a little sooner when I release it) and the headlight (so the high beam no longer points at UFOs). So, of course, I had to go out and road-test the modifications.
Starts are a little smoother due to the clutch cable adjustment (at the lever end). Drove to the gas station and put some air in the tires (front was a little low), then I proceeded to ride her hard to the beach.

Leaned low enough to scrape the right footpeg in a fast, tight right turn (empty intersection). That was a first. Got going a little too fast on a downhill... fortunatley no twisties... had one of those "you have to commit. ok, let's commit" moments on the motorcycle in navigating those curves... was pushing it a little... revving it up on the straightaways and powering through turns.
The engine was quite hot when i brought her back home.

Still wanna pop off the head cover and replace the gasket, as well as inspect
the cam chain, maybe even the valves? as well as do a compression test and carb timing test.
That's all for now.

Short ride to Coronado

2007-06-10T17:43:00.001-07:00

DrEvil invited me out for a short ride to Coronado yesterday. Was a nice day for it, too, since the sun was actually out. I met him at the gas station, I filled up the tank (4.01g+reserve), and we were on our way. I thought it'd be a good way to keep an eye on the engine and see if the new noise was still there. It is. When idling, it's a medium/high frequency sound or clicking, as if something were hitting against something while the cam shafts were spinning. (Maybe the noise is coming from the cam chain?)

[Above: My baby. Ain't she a beaut'? ]

Another thing I noticed is what seems to be fuel delivery problems when the bike is near-cold (i.e. even after idling for a minute or two).... rolling on the throttle doesn't rev up the engine proportionately right away, sometimes it stumbles along, then revs up. I wonder if that's just cold-normal-bike behaviour or indicative of some fuel delivery problems that might be related to my poor mileage. TODO: order new head gasket and pop the top off to investigate as per dgc's comments and etc.

Otherwise, it was a good ~ 50 mi ride. It was my first time riding on the Coronado bridge and the view was quite nice.

[Above: DrEvil and his 'Shadow resisting the Coronado sunshine.]

Chain adjustment, mileage and strange sounds

2007-06-08T21:35:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I adjusted the chain with the help of a friend. First time performing the maintenance. Made easier by the center stand. I need to get a dedicated socket to fit the rear wheel axle bolt as I had to borrow one.

Speaking of which, I'm finally able to not only get the bike on the center stand on my own, but to do it by "lifting up the back end" (as opposed to trying to rock it back). First part's the same: make sure both "feet" on the center stand stay in contact with the ground the whole time. Then just lift slowly on the rear of the frame. With about 20 to 30lbs of lifting, it will slowly come up and back.

Before tonight, I hadn't driven it since last Sunday. I was starting to go into withdrawal :)

With a 4-gallons + reserve full tank of 92 octane, I confirmed that the mileage I'm getting is indeed 30 mpg. That's pretty bad for this bike when people on the cb750 mailing list are boasting between 40 and 60 mpg. Some thing's up and I wonder if I can figure it out and fix it. I still don't have a windshield, and I'm doing both high speed highway riding and street riding, so I should be getting at least 40 mpg. The trip-meter hit 141 miles before the bike started sputtering and I had to switch to reserve.

I rode out to meet a friend for dinner tonight, and afterward, in the parking lot, while idling and putting my gear on, I noticed a new strange sound coming from the top of the engine block. Specifically, this clicking/clacking seemed to be coming from the area around the cams. Could it be the cam chain or lobes? At first I thought it might be the piston heads hitting the top of the cylinders, but the noise seemed to be above the actual cylinders. I still aim to replace the head-gasket (that was leaking oil on the left side of the rear cam)... I wonder if I'll be able to see anything once I get the cam/head cover off.

That's it for the moment. I love my bike, but I hope I can make it better.

Dropped the bike. Agaiiiiin?

2007-05-29T21:58:00.001-07:00

Did more riding these past couple of days. Went for a nite ride last night, visiting a friend who was working late, then taking the long, long way home, getting lost a little in north-east county on the newly paved roads. Intentionally lost, just to rack up some road time and, well, just to ride.

Rode the bike to a couple of different places around the county today. Hauled ass to downtown to make an appointment, then had lunch in Balboa Park. Afterward back to downtown then home.

Oh, yeah, and I dropped my bike again. It stalled as I was about to proceed from a stop and make a right-hand turn. I lost balance and set it down just as the light turned green. On top of that, the seat fell off (apparently I hadn't put it on properly). My friend was stopped at the same light in a car one lane over. While that was pretty emberassing, I am kind of proud of how I handled the situation. I didn't panic. I was able to get the bike up on my first attempt using proper motorcycle lifting technique (although I forgot to put the kickstand down before lifting the bike up... and I almost layed the bike down again after giving my friend the thumbs up sign to let her know I was okay :) So, I got the bike up, put the seat back on, adjusted my mirror and was on my way like nothing had happened. Except, now the brake pedal is once again bent a little. Sigh. We're still learning. Drop Count has been incremented.

I'm thinking it was because I didn't let the bike idle long enough, though it'd only been sitting for an hour and a half. Later that evening, after sitting for almost 5 hours, it was idling kind of low. It was fine on the highway ride home. Again, cold engine, or something with fuel delivery? TBD.

Oh, also, I switched the fuel petcock from "ON" to "RES" without coming to a complete stop for the first time as well. I noticed it start losing power (indicating it wasn't getting fuel) at around 118 miles... indicating ~ 30 mph. Well, I filled up with the 92 and reset the trip meter, so we'll see what we get this tank. I set the bike up on the center stand and put in almost exactly 4 gallons this time.

Maintenance (remove gas tank, replace spark plugs, etc.)

2007-05-28T14:32:00.001-07:00

This Memorial Day weekend, I did a bit of long-overdue motorcycle maintenance. My goals were to replace the spark plugs and clean the air filter. Conceptually, removing the gas tank (necessary to access the spark plugs) seemed like a really big operation. In reality, it was quite quick and easy: unscrew one bolt, and disconnect three rubber tubes.

Note: you do not have to drain the tank to remove it. While removing the tank, I noticed that the vacuum tube (which plugs into the left side of the fuel petcock) was already almost completely disconnected. I wonder if there was actual vacuum loss was affecting engine performance.

On a side note, I successfully got my bike onto its center stand without assistance before beginning this operation. Since I've dropped my bike a couple of times while attempting this maneuver, this was a subtle achievement. The trick is to make sure both center stand "feet" are on the ground and stay on the ground as you rock the bike back. Before, I assumed they were both on the ground, but didn't actually "feel" them maintaining contact. Another helpful item was the bathroom mat with the rubbery foam bottom underneath the center stand to help it get traction on the smooth concrete garage floor. Lastly, I thought it a good idea to keep the side stand extended. That way, if you do lose balance, you can try to angle it toward you and the side stand will help you catch it.

Anyway, underneath the tank, the bike was a bit of a mess, so the first thing I did was set to cleaning it.

Several hours later, the bike looked a little better. It had been long overdue for some TLC. After completing the maintenance, I even did some touch up on the nicks and rust spots in the gloss black paint on the frame.

I replaced the plugs with four brand new NGK DPR8EA-9's, as recommended by the manual. I bought this packet of silver grease that's supposed to help prevent cold welding and applied it to the threads of the new spark plugs before inserting them... Though, afterwards, I realized it was probably a waste of money. The old ones came out without any problems. I used the attachment in my motorcycle toolkit for the actual removal. (Good thing I remembered to check there because I was ready to go out and buy one...)

Aside from the number 3 and 4 spark plugs being a little rusty (shouldn't affect performance, right?), the plugs looked pretty good. There was some blackening on the lower end of the threads, but no real blackening or deposits (or other deformations) on the actual electrodes themselves. I came across the following spark plug info pages: page 1, page 2.

I was reminded again that the previous owner installed a K&N high-performance air filter which apparently should only be serviced every 50,000 miles or so (mine's at 33k).

I also noticed a couple of apparent sources of air flow leakage (?). One was the tube leading out of the air cleaner housing on the left hand side, which had become loose. The other was a small crack in the seam where right-most large tube connects the air cleaner to the carburetor. Both places originally had a black rubbery substance sealing them in place. I patched up both locations using liquid nails. Not pretty, but hopefully should work.

I wonder if these air flow leaks would create a slight richness in the fuel mixture, leading to the darkening on the bottom of the spark plug threads. Does that make sense?

Anywho, below is one more shot of my bike with the tank off. When I first put it back together, it had a hard time idling--but then I remembered to turn the fuel petcock to the "ON" position and it started up and ran fine. On the street, I couldn't really tell if it was performing better, especially since it'd been a couple of day since the previous ride. At least it wasn't running any worse after this maintenance.

On a side note, I got chastised by the CB750 message board for even contemplating wheelies on this bike. Hard to argue with them when they're right :) I should just focus on dodging traffic, being a good rider, and learning to maintain my bike. But someday... some day I am gonna get me a set of leathers and take my baby out to the track. Or maybe I'll save that for when I get a sport bike. :)

That's all for now. Peace out and ride safe!

PS I added a link to Dan's Motorcycle Repair Page which has lots of great basic mechanical info (with a slightly religious overtone).

MPG and wheelies

2007-05-22T22:31:00.000-07:00

Been riding around in, out, and about the city... Lots more highway riding. Been on some freeways I haven't been on before, as well as taking new streets. Also, recently went through the same intersection I laid the bike down on... and it was nothing! Piece of cake turn. I guess it's just about riding and getting to know the bike (and the physics of a motorcycle in general).

I finally remembered to reset the trip-meter when filling up... unfortunately, I was distracted by high gas prices and accidentally filled up with 87 octane. The results? 133 miles on a full tank before running out of gas and switching to reserve. (On a side note, I've got to learn to flip the petcock to reserve while still riding, as opposed to coasting to a shoulder to do it.)

It took 3.5 gallons to fill the tank back up to the bottom of the "neck", which means I was getting 38 mpg. Better than a cage, but pretty shoddy compared to what I've heard on the cb750 yahoo mailing list.

Also, it's interesting that only 3.5 gallons went back into it to fill it up given that the tank is listed as 4 gallons (plus reserve). This was with the bike on its sidestand. Maybe that was it?

Anyway, in the few months I've had the bike, it hasn't really had a proper tune up. Perhaps if I replace the sparkplugs and clean the air filter I'll get better performance? Also, of course a windshield. But what to get? Some huge touring windshield or something more cafe-racer-like? Is the latter good enough for highspeed highway riding?

Oh, I've also been contemplating wheelies lately. After watching lots of motorcycle crash videos on gootube, as well as this video on how to do a wheelie, I've become kind of curious. On a long stretch of straightaway, I tried to get the front wheel to "go light" by putting it in first and revving up the rpms, but I think the clutch was slipping. After a certain point (around 8k rpms?), the bike just wouldn't go any faster and the front wheel never really "went light." I wonder if that's a safety feature of some sort...