Good Ride This Weekend

So my buddy Jack has been harassing me about riding. And he arranged a get-together for us this Saturday. I almost didn't go. My body was aching Friday and my bike still hasn't been repaired from my spill back in APRIL! (Yes, I'm an idiot.) And the brakes are feeling spongy some.

So of course, I said I would go!

I got up around 730, moaned and laid in bed for at least 30 minutes. But I finally threw myself into the shower and headed to Dunkin Donuts for a quick breakfast.

I met up Jack & Deb, Bob & Dixie and some new folks (Dee & Cindy) around nine. The morning was pretty chilly and I had zipped off the sleeves to my armored jacket. I put my sweatshirt on at the meeting place and figured that would be good enough.

We rode down south on Post Road and then to Franklin Road which leads to (strangely enough) Franklin, Indiana. Then on to Nineveh Road to Nineveh to Dan & Jo Lee's home at Prince's Lakes. Too many lame roads though. Long roads in residential areas with far too many stop signs. I prefer the really hick roads with lousy pavement and nearly NO red octagons.

And I was wrong about my sweatshirt being warm enough. By the time we stopped about halfway for the old folks to stretch a bit, I was shivering.

But anyway... we got to Prince's Lakes and let the old folks catch their breath in Dan & Jo's lovely home. I love houses like that. Homey and in the quiet, relative middle of nowhere. Leaving, I put in my windbreaker / rain liner on my jacket for warmth. Just what the doctor ordered.

Dan knows the area very well, and he led us around the same lake I rode around back in 2006, detailed in THIS post. Heading SW after the lake, we quickly hit some great twisties. We rode down to Story, Indiana and ate at the "Famous" Story Inn. We elected to eat on the patio and I paid $7 for a Brat w/ Kraut, chips, slaw & soda. Not bad, actually (though the lack of spicy mustard should be a crime!).

Unfortunately, I started zoning out on the way home. But I held on and made it safe and sound.

Did about 150 miles, lots of it in twisties where even 35MPH was pushing it. A lot shorter than I would have liked, but considering how tired I got I suppose I should be glad we didn't go farther.

We're expecting to do it again soon. Looking forward to it. Too bad no one took any pictures. We need to make one of the females be our shutterbug.

More Idiot Fun with Pigs and Motorcycles

http://www.wthr.com/Global/story.asp?S=13037570
So this moron does something that would probably get any "civilian" a massive fine and... it's okay. He's being "counseled".

(Funny how the video isn't on WTHR's site, ain't it?)

Well first of all, his excuse is bullshit. He's - at the VERY least - standing on his footpegs with no hands on the handlebars.

This is just goofy crap anyway and it's obvious no serious repercussion are to be had.

In fact, I'm only writing about it to post this tidbit, found on another board:

"I think you've all missed the point...

He was riding this way in support of IMPD. He was trying to show you can ride a motorcycle on 56th. street and not get killed. At least once, maybe...

Maybe next week he'll test his vest by shooting himself."

Referring to THIS bullshit.

That's damn fine comedy right there. Damn fine.

Okay...

Better Gear On My Mind...

Very interesting motorcycle helmet video. I've known for a while that mine needs replacing as it's too large. It was never really snug, but now it's a little loose. And at high speeds, the wind pushes it back too much.

Anyway, watch it.
http://superbikeplanet.com/2008/Oct/091016arai.htm

Need New Shoes. And Tires.

I hit Dunkin' Donuts after work this morning. I should have gone home and geared up fully. But being the impatient dolt I is, I just went on out. I did about a 230 mile day all over mid-South Indiana. From work to 67 to 9 to 46 to 135 to 50 to 446 to 46 to 37 to 44 to 135 again and then home from Greenwood. Somewhere on SR135 south of SR46 is where I almost wrecked.

The bike slid out from under me cornering to the right. I almost wiped out but somehow caught my fall with my right foot. It bounced hard off the road and I straightened up enough to catch traction and keep going.

I guess I did the right thing. Who knows if anyone would have found me if I went off the road where I did and couldn't get up on my own.

It didn't scare me much, but it sure hurt. And it sure made me ride like a wuss for the rest of the day.

Destroyed my shoe in the process though. Tore right through the sole, though it was thinning anyway and I was considering re-soling them. I'm praying I didn't do my foot any damage. It doesn't feel like I did.

I checked my rear tire upon getting home and sure enough the wear indicator is gone. I thought I checked that recently. Guess NOT, huh? I think God let me off lightly for far too many foolish decisions committed here.

I just hope I can get my shoe repaired. It's sort of silly how much I really like that pair of shoes.

What Motorcycling Is REALLY All About:

You really have to watch it til the end. There are some developments in there that are MUST SEE.

Why Can't Movies Get Motorcycles Right?

Without reviewing the whole thing, I just got back from the new "Indiana Jones" film.

There's a motorcycle chase scene and I have to say: it's a decently fun scene unless you think about it.

As in: even back in 1957, you cannot tell me that a Harley wouldn't leave sedans in the dust without trying. Especially being able to weave around cars in traffic, there's simply no way any car could keep up. The quicker acceleration, the nimbleness, being able to go through much narrower passages...

Hollywood just will not get it right, will they?

Other than "The World's Fastest Indian" (one of my favorite films ever made), I just cannot think of a movie that gets motorcycles right. I mean, maybe I could if I racked my brain... okay maybe not.

But then again, Hollywood gets guns (the Jamie Lee Curtis / Mac-10 scene in "True Lies", anyone?) and music-related stuff wrong all the time too. If I ever made a movie, I'd give the relevant parts of the script over to someone that can REALLY ride (or knows guns or plays guitar or whatever specialized knowledge that's being bandied about).

I would much rather bust my brain figuring out how to make improbable reality exciting than let my work devolve into a cartoon.

Oh well.

EDIT: How pathetic is THIS? Harrison Ford waxes his chest in solidarity with the anti-Amazon deforestation movement? And sadly: No. I am not joking.

EDIT: EDIT: regarding waxing, if you're a homo and are considering waxing... DON'T DO IT! I was making fun of these two skanks once about how waxing "couldn't hurt that much". I let them wax my ankle. It hurts. A lot. A whole fucking lot, thank you. And it wasn't even kissably smooth either. So that was a lie too.

I REALLY Need Help...

I sat on one of these last Saturday:



I'm surprised I didn't get an erection. I felt its power on the showroom floor. If certain things last year hadn't happened, I'd say I'd had a religious experience just sitting on that bad boy. I'm getting chills right now just thinking about it.

And it just occurred to me that I could go sit on one during lunch tomorrow at work. There's the dealer where I bought my bike literally a one minute drive out of our parking lot.

And the really sad part is, I'm thinking of doing it! Just walking in, sitting on one and walking back out.

And why am I thinking of this crap when I should be going to bed?

Months Away...

"So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast. I would start in Golden Gate Park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head....but in a matter of minutes I'd be out at the beach with the sound of the engine in my ears, the surf booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz...not even a gas station in the whole seventy miles; the only public light along the way is an all-night diner down around Rockaway Beach.

There was no helmet on those nights, no speed limit, and no cooling it down on the curves. The momentary freedom of the park was like the one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon. I would come out of the park near the soccer field and pause for a moment at the stop sign, wondering if I knew anyone parked out there on the midnight humping strip.

Then into first gear, forgetting the cars and letting the beast wind out .... thirty-five, forty-five ... then into second and wailing through the light at Lincoln Way, not worried about green or red signals, but only some other werewolf loony who might be pulling out, too slowly, to start his own run. Not many of these...and with three lanes on a wide curve, a bike coming hard has plenty of room to get around almost anything....then into third, the boomer gear, pushing seventy-five and the beginning of a windscram in the ears, a pressure on the eyeballs like diving into water off a high board.

Bent forward, far back on the seat, and a rigid grip on the handlebars as the bike starts jumping and wavering in the wind. Taillights far up ahead coming closer, faster, and suddenly--zaaappp--going past and leaning down for a curve near the zoo, where the road swings out to sea.

The dunes are flatter here, and on windy days sand blows across the highway, piling up in thick drifts as deadly as any oil-slick...instant loss of control, a crashing, cartwheeling slide and maybe one of those two-inch notices in the paper the next day: "An unidentified motorcyclist was killed last night when he failed to negotiate a turn on Highway 1."

Indeed...but no sand this time, so the lever goes up into fourth, and now there's no sound except wind. Screw it all the way over, reach through the handlebars to raise the headlight beam, the needles leans down on a hundred and wind-burned eyeballs strain to see down the centerline, trying to provide a margin for reflexes.

But with the throttle screwed on there is only the barest margin, and nor room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right....and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You can barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are wind a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it...howling through a turn to the right, then to the left and down the long hill to Pacifica...letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge...The Edge...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are ones who have gone over. The others--the living-- are those who who pushed their control as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later."

....Hell's Angels, Hunter S. Thompson, 1967

A few points stick in my craw... and I don't even know where my craw is.

I doubt he'd hear the surf over his engine whine. If it was bike from that era, I doubt it had anything resembling quiet pipes. And the wind at any speed over 30 does a number on your fine hearing, especially without a helmet.

But still... a fun write up on motorcycling by a writer I woulda thunk I'd dislike.

I have to admit, I have only gone over the edge a few times. At the end of the day, I don't think it would be all that big a deal if I wiped out and died. Though I certainly don't want to. For all its trials, life's pretty amazing - even for me right now. There's lots more I want to do and there's the rest of eternity to be DEAD!

And besides, I haven't had sex with one woman of every skin colour yet.

But if you really go past the edge you're almost certainly plunging into the unknown. And to me, that's putting others at risk. To put it as simply as I know how: I have no right to do that. If I die riding, I die doing something I love. If I kill someone else...

If I can do anything at all to help it, I won't be that guy going over the yellow line at 100 MPH and taking out a family of four on a Sunday ride to Nashville. Much better to just drop off a cliff all by my lonesome and make an unobtrusive crash, unnoticed by human ears or eyes. At least that way, I get to feed some animals instead of having formaldehyde pumped into my corpse (something about that idea really sickens me).

So I guess I'll keep being the pussy and slowing down around blind corners, no matter how much more I know my Ninja will lean (even with the cruddy stock tires - I cannot wait to replace them with some Speed Demons!).

I'll keep my peace of mind, no matter how much that edge calls to me. And keep my one eye out for some more badass roads.

Three Motorcycle Trips To Ponder

Now these would have to be made after I get my next (and more importantly BIGGER) motorcycle.

But it can't hurt to think about the future.

1) The original Route 66. Chicago to LA. 2448 miles. I'd probably want to do a return trip by going up the Pacific coast to Washington and then a northern route to come back.

2) The entire Mississippi River (admittedly inspired by Alton Brown's "Feasting On Asphalt" show on Food Network) Lake Itasca, Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. 2320 miles for the river. That's not the route I'd have to ride, I'd figure closer to 3000 just to be safe.

3) The Appalachian Trail. Georgia to Maine (or Canada, sorta unofficially). Over 2000 miles.

I'm thinking combining the Mississippi River & Appalachian Trail trips would be really cool. Then maybe a return via Canada, eh? A 8000 mile trip or so. With a bigger bike, 700 miles a day wouldn't be out of the question. That's only 10 hours on the bike at 70MPH. Not at all out of the question. Hell, I did almost 500 miles on my 250 Ninja in one day... but then again I do really like to make unexpected stops. Hmmmmm...

I Love My Ninja...

I came home Fall Creek Parkway from Shane's tonight. I got it over 80MPH indicated, so I was doing 75 or so. I love that road. The trees come over the top like a canopy so it feels enclosed at certain parts. It wasn't dark yet... good thing because the deer and other critters love that road. I won't do much over 50 there at night. I've wiped out a few critters myself in my Mustang GT. One raccoon was on the side of the road and there was a car coming in the other lane. No choice... and I saw him look up just before I heard the "Thuwump!". Almost cartoonish-looking when it happened.

But that road has some nice curves, not challenging but fun. And the almost-tunnel feel of that road is too cool. Just a fun trip home, riding too fast.

Thanks for the grub, Shane. You rock. I owe you a six-pack or something.

I did notice (And WHY did it take me OVER a decade to realize???) that I'm more hesitant leaning into left-hand turns at high speeds. I would guess it's because it's my blind side. Very odd and disconcerting. And something I would work on if I knew how.

EDIT: Just thought that's maybe why I freaked back here on THIS entry?:

Funny aside: My nephew asked my mom once: "How does Uncle Mike see out of his blind eye on the motorycle?" I found it funny that he asked her instead of me. Man, I really miss my buddy Drew. I can't wait to go visit my brothers out east again.

"So I Would Like To Thank That Person For Reminding Me...

That in this world there are people who should JUST DIE!" - "This Beautiful World" by Mike Keneally

Some ass(-es??) messed with my Ninja while it was parked in Broad Ripple tonight. They pulled the mirrors all in and turned on my high beams and turn signals. They also put it into gear. I really hope they knew enough to use the clutch to do it.

Assholes.

I hope they wrapped their car around a telephone pole on their way home tonight and live out their little bitchy lives as droolie quads.

Good thing I checked before I took off.

What the hell is wrong with people?

EDIT: The stupid bastards popped my side turn signal off its mount. It looks like a simple thing to fix, just another thing I shouldn't have to deal with.

I wish I could gut-shoot their punk asses and watch them die of sepsis over a month's time.

Little cowardly bastard punks.

PORN, PORN, PORN, PORN..... PORN!!!!!

No, not the great song "Porn" by the band "Solid".

MOTORCYCLE PORN! WHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAA-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

OH YEAH! I was hoping this one would be released here, it's been available in Canada and Europe for at least a year. Very cool looking, though I doubt I'd be able to hang with a real dual-sport on one... dangit. Still, something to consider.

And red is always good.

Or....

This is the one I really want:
The Kawasaki Concours 2008 model. It's my number one fantasy bike right now.

Most likely more "sport" than I'll ever need, a 1352cc engine... ABS... too sweet. I just need it in the same red as my Ninjette! (It's only available in silver & black this year. Even the blue on the 2006 1000cc Concours was nicer looking, IMO.)

From here:

"The drop felt like forever.

But as the motorcycle flew off of the James Island connector and toward the Ashley River below, Ben Fischer hung onto the machine, plunging nearly the height of a nine-story building, his helmet flying off as he fell."

"It was Saturday. They planned a night ride, maybe downtown. It was Fischer's first time on the Kawasaki and his first time on a street bike, although he had ridden dirt bikes.

They had just left the Crosstown Expressway, where at a traffic light a man had leaned out of a pickup truck to gently tell them to be careful. Car drivers don't talk to motorcyclists on the road very often, and sometimes not so kindly.

Fischer came off Lockwood Boulevard onto the connector and sped up. At that sharp final crook to the entrance ramp, he tried to kick down to shift from third to second. He didn't hear the click. Langston was behind him.

"I knew he was in trouble," Langston said. "The bike straightened up. He was trying to pull it back, but the dead weight of a motorcycle in neutral is going to take you wherever it wants to."

Fischer caught the bridge rail with the fat of his front tire, flew up it cleanly, like a jump on a dirt bike, he said. He flew some 15 feet straight up then came straight down, the bike levelling out just like a dirt bike jump.

He said he had an instant to think the bike would just smash into the rail and he'd be scraped off or fly into the traffic on the connector. But he landed face first alongside the bike, his arms and legs sinking in the muddy water of the rising tide.

"My face, my whole body was in the water. I thought I was dead for a minute. I blacked out," Fischer said. Then he heard his buddy yelling. He looked up, stunning Langston, who thought he was dead."

Look at those bold sections. The helmet coming off meant it wasn't secured.

First ride, he's riding like that?

He deserves to be dead, big time. What a fucking retard.

On to more motorcycle fun:

Kind of funny. If you're a sick bastard like me.

No Wonder They Haven't Announced A Price Yet!

http://kawasaki.com/Products/SubCategory.aspx?id=25

This thing is a beast! 1352cc's, sort-of-remote start, wireless tire pressure monitoring, electronically controlled windscreen and an digitally-controlled valve-adjusting system for boosting torque.

Man, I bet I could make Boston in no time on this beast!

Warning! Don't Look On A Full Stomach!

http://home1.gte.net/res0ak9f/bike.htm

I look at this site every once in a while to remind me NOT to ride my Ninja without helmet or sturdy pants.

I'm very guilty of wearing jeans on the Ninja FAR too often. I really need to stop that.

Anyway, the pics get REALLY bad on down the page.

Just warning you.

Is This A Black Motorcycle Thing And I Just Can't Understand?

Why does it seem as though a good number of black motorcyclists have stretched-out bikes? It's usually on crotch rockets, but I just saw a very long and low cruiser, which had obviously been stretched out.

And they are always black guys riding these things. In fact, I think I see more black guys (no black women so far) with that are stretched than black guys on non-stretched bikes.

Is there an advantage to this? Or is it just aesthetics? I'm not getting it.

Anyone have anything to add?

Let's see if this works that easily...

Cool! It worked! I can't stop watching this stupid video.

Or this one:

A Weird Motorcycling perspective

Okay, a NON-angry post by Mikey! What a concept...

After getting back from Boston, I sort of lost my enthusiasm for riding my little Ninja. I noticed it right away and it really annoyed me. I used to love getting on my bike for any reason, be it work or errands or just to get lost putting.

But after that 2000+ trip, I just didn't like getting on it anymore. It seemed drab, boring and didn't grab my balls the way it used to. And I wondered when the drabness would go away.

Well it did. Just today. I went out to return a library book and I was into it again. Completely. I then happily went to the bookstore, then got some groceries so I can make some Italian Stuffed Peppers.

Thank goodness. I really missed that sensation.

And I just got it back...
Just...
in time for...
snow............
this week...
man, luck really bites sometimes.

(Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is SNOW doing showing up in OCTOBER!!! I can usually ride well into NOVEMBER and we're getting DAMN SNOW!!!)

Okay, so it's not a completely anger-free post... give me a break. I'm depressed about life in general lately.

Baahstan trip, Day Three, Friday September 1st - Part Two!!

It seems that I am a bit behind here. I will have been back home for 3 weeks before I finish typing up the report of the whole trip. But that will still be faster than my brother Dave mails my package. So much for having my favorite pair of shoes anytime soon. Anyway... picking up right where I left off...

So I rode into Mystic, down onto the road running parallel to the water's edge. I passed a pretty looking cemetery (which I neglected to photograph) and zipped right on by Kitchen Little. That was Rachael Ray's first stop on her show and I found it without trying. One of the few fortuitous happenstances of the trip.


So I turned around, parked my Ninja out front and went on in. Kitchen Little, as I noted in an earlier post, was on Rachael Ray's "$40 A Day" show. I'd looked online to see at what three places she'd dined. The place is a tiny shack, with hardly any seating inside. The waitress asked if I would like to go outside. I agreed. I'm glad I did. Despite the gloom of the sky, the scenery was nice and eating outside is not something I do too often. Seating being scarce outside as well as in, I was seated with a group of three.

Feeling uncharacteristically freindly, I introduced myself. My brunch companions were Charley, Deb and Alexa. Charley was an older guy and a Hardley rider. Deb was (I'm guessing) his girlfriend and Alexa was Deb's daughter. She was around 13, I would guess. All three were from New York City, which I tried not hold against them. Alexa promptly informed me that laughing consumes three calories. After hearing this factoid the third time, I asked from where she'd gleaned this helpful information. It seems she learned this from Dr. Stephen Urkel of the Family Matters Institute. For some vague reason, I was a tad bit skeptical.

Charley and I talked motorcycles for the most part. They were all surprised I was riding 1000 miles for a trip. He said the Harley lets him ride all day at way over the speed limits in comfort. Personally, I don't want to be too isolated from the road while riding. It seems to this rider that this could easily lead to complacency and, eventually, a really bad wreck.

I mentioned that I was thinking about renting a Harley for a day on Cape Cod and he said "You'll never want to get on that little bike again." I wouldn't mind riding one for a day. But I'd never buy one, at least not a new one. I would much rather get a Victory touring bike than a Harley any day. Less snobbery involved, I'm guessing. Too many Harley riders look down on those that ride anything else. Which is funny since I think just about every Japanese cruiser out there outperforms Harleys with smaller engine sizes.

I ordered a "Portugese Fisherman" breakfast without the cheese and a sideof potatoes. Here's what the recipe looks like: "Portugese Fisherman"

The breakfast was good, but not nearly as spicy as I'd hoped. I decided against drenching the eggs with hot sauce since I was going to be on the road for a few more hours. The Portugese Muffin served with was almost just like an English Muffin, only sans the large craters inside and with a sweet taste. It was a welcome new culinary experience. I am guessing I might have liked the eggs more with the cheese, but I am not usually a cheese person unless it is on pizza.

When they cleared our plates, I had an awful thought. I asked if they took plastic and they don't. Now this might have been helpful to know beforehand since I had zero dollars in my wallet. I mean, you're running a eatery in a tourist trap town and you don't take cards? Too stupid. You would think they would have a BIG sign saying "no cards" on the door!

Luckily, I had just enough toll change in my tail bag for the meal and a decent tip. After counting out twelve or more dollars in small change and paying, I went out to my bike and retrieved my camera for a picture of Charley & Co. We said our goodbyes and I got back on the bike and returned to I-95.

Somewhere along the way after crossing into Rhode Island I stopped at Dunkin Donuts and gave my brother Dave a call. He said he would not be home until about 5. I called my younger brother Jason to see what he was doing. He, Shane and his girlfriend Leetha were planning to go see a movie and I didn't have time to get to there before it started. (I guess cancelling their movie plans to meet me would have been out of the question.) So I continued on my way.

Traffic was pleasantly light until I got into Providence, where it stopped completely a few times and slowed to a crawl for much, much longer. If it sounds as if I whine about traffic too much, I admit I do. I have a two or three mile commute to work every day. I am NOT used to sitting in stopped traffic and I have a short fuse when it happens.

Looking at the map, trying to refresh my memory, I see that I could have had a much nicer ride if I'd gone out of my way. Look at a map of Rhode Island. I could have gone over to Route 138 from I-95, then of the Route 138. I could have spent a good part of the trip on bridges and in the salty breezes, gone through Newport and on north to Plymouth. Instead I got exhausted (by the fumes) and frustration. Hindsight is 20/20, of course.

So I continued up I-96 and over to Route 44, crossing into Massachusetts. 44 starts off in Providence and is really just a big city street until you get out of town. It then is a nice, quiet (albeit boring and way too straight) country road. At least until you get close to Plymouth. There it turns into a modern and even more boring divided highway. I soon got to Dave's new house, without him being there. I took off the bags and went into the center of Plymouth to sightsee a bit. It was nice seeing the water and the harbor again. I stopped at another Dunkin Donuts (are you seeing a theme here?) and watched the rush hour traffic go on by. (I just remembered I never checked my Mass Lotto ticket I bought that day. I could be rich and not even know it!)

Soon Dave was home and my trip out there had come to a blissful end. The ride out there was pretty rough on my neophyte self. More than once I'd seriously considered turning back home and forgetting the whole thing. But I am glad I did it. Next year, I will be trailering the bike out there and back in the pickup I will be acquiring within a few days.

I will continue with some nice (and cute!) vacation pics and posts about the rest of the vacation and my return trip soon. But it's very late and I have work in less than 6 hours. Good night!