It’s my birfday today…

Welp, today is my 34^th birthday… (huh?, wha…??) – Yeah, I know… you don’t get it do you? Well it really is. 34 years ago TODAY, I had my last drink of alcohol. Now that might not seem like too big a deal to you, but to alcoholics, it’s a really big deal; WAY past regular old birthdays. All of us are an accident of birth in one form or other. You didn’t CHOOSE to be born on a particular day or even into your particular family. AA’ers, on the other hand, CHOOSE to make one particular day their time-of-atonement… a time to state, “No more”, a time to say, “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.” – We have all heard reformed alcoholics preach self-serving testimonials about ‘drinking’, ‘why you shouldn’t drink’, ‘the evil of drink’, ‘blah, blah, blah.’ – I’m no Carrie Nation, and I don’t evangelize on ‘the evils of alcohol.’ – I DO evangelize on the point that IF you have an alcohol or drug problem (alcohol’s a drug, by the way), there IS help out there.

In this past 12 months, 4 ‘new’ alcoholics have come into my life. AA’ers don’t make a big deal about it, we start working with these people and politely guide them toward a new path. Imagine if you will that you are on a different planet where every day of your life is miserable, full of doubt, full of fear, health is going rapidly downhill, friends and family are avoiding you, (the list is long) — and then there’s a new planet in your life, one of hope, redemption, sanity, reward, love, kindness, (again, the list is long.) – You would think there would be an automatic response, right?  If you were on the first planet, wouldn’t it be an easy choice to transit to the second? – Not so for alcoholics… every day of an alcoholic’s life is miserable. Every day is one of despair, loathsomeness, misery, and sadness. My point here?? – Well, we ALL have alcoholics in our lives. Most of us aren’t even aware of them. They are your doctor, (the medical profession loses more than 500 docs a year to alcoholism and drug abuse.) They are your airline pilots, (30% of the airline pilots who take off, are impaired by alcohol in some way.) They are the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker… There is NO segment of our society that isn’t constantly affected by some form of alcohol addiction. – I have one friend whose son was killed while he was walking down a sidewalk… run over by a drunk driver. I have another friend who has lost everything, wife, kids, home, job… and still he drinks. I can go on, but I won’t… look around you, you know the score.

Why won’t I go on??  Because today is a day of victory for me… 34 years ago today, I had my last drink. Did I do it on my own?  Sure, (with the help of several policemen, lots of prayers, and… like the song ‘Amazing Grace’ says, a benevolent spirit who reached down and helped a wretch like me.) – So be kind to that alcoholic in your life… you don’t know what a day of misery is like until you become an alcoholic. On the other hand, you don’t know what a day of victory is like until you have your first day of a sober, serene life. ‘Recovering’ (it’s an active verb) alcoholics out there, “I salute you, may the force be with you.” – ‘Active’ alcoholics… hang in there, find an AA meeting, there really is hope, all you have to do is whisper that you need some help, and we AA’ers will be all over you.

So, (now that the preaching I wasn’t going to do is over), what am I going to do on this most glorious day in any alcoholic’s life??  – Well, ‘reflect’ a little, say a prayer for my alcoholic friends who didn’t make it, (most died,) rejoice because I got down so low that ‘someone/something’ saved a wretch like me, – I’m also going to have breakfast, go for a ride on my motorcycle, wash clothes, call some old friends, shake my fist at the crazy drivers on the street…. And above all…. Be thankful that I am a very grateful recovering alcoholic, who happened to put one more day of sobriety into his life… One more day that led to 34 years… Who’d a thunk??

So, Steven Spielberg called…

…and asked me to help him make a movie.  No wait… I was abducted by a UFO and am now on Altair-4…

uh…

The truth is, I just got tired of my ‘adventure’, and decided to come home.  There were several things that went into the decision, (road-conditions, weather-conditions, things like that.) But the real point was that I wasn’t having as much fun as I thought I was going to have. It was more like a ‘chore’, rather than an ‘experience’.  Admittedly, that might be hard to explain, but let me put it another way, – simplistically, I just wasn’t having a very good time;  – so, I bailed.

In my world, I don’t care for ‘false-agendas’, and if something isn’t working out, it’s ‘ok’, to change your mind. That’s the way it was on my trip, it was more tedium, than pleasure. I’m not giving up on motorsickling at all; I just think I’ll do more ‘regional’ rides, rather than national ones. As an example, I’ve always wanted to see Meteor Crater in Arizona; as well as parts of the Pacific Coast Highway; even Carlsbad Caverns. They’re all worthy rides, and I won’t have to plan on as many contingencies.

My point is… whether it was TOO lofty a goal, not enough advanced motorcycle skills, or being lonely for my home and life-style… I just wasn’t enjoying myself, and decided to ‘bag it.’ (It was a relief to get home.)

AND… I’m going to spin-class and boot camp tonight. CAN’T WAIT!

PS – I DID go almost a thousand miles, (I wanted to make sure I gave it a fair shot.)

 

Outta there… (Flagstaff)

Welp, it was good to get outta Flagstaff, – I’m sure Flagstaff is a perfectly lovely town and all that…BUT… I used to scoff when some bad-guy was sent to a minimum security prison to do a little time – not any more. That’s what being cooped up in Flagstaff was like – limited-access, shall we say.

I will say this “fer sure”; the manager of the motel, Michael, was great! He was very courteous and professional; the same for Robin, the manager at the Village Inn restaurant, next door. We actually became friends and seemed to be glad to see each other every morning.

Anywho, I got on the road (reasonably) early yesterday morning. — Before I left, I met this guy named Bob McKendrick, who was having a little trouble on his Can-Am Spyder (three wheeler.) He was actually a fascinating guy… Several of you know I describe myself as a “hobby” scientist, with a pretty serious interest in physics, (not bragging, just telling ya.) Turns out, Bob was a retired physics-researcher, from Berkeley, and we stood in the parking lot of a Super-8 motel discussing the Higgs particle (or, the non-existence of the Higgs particle, it’s discussable either way.)

That’s it, not gonna bore you with that… — you’re welcome.

Anyway, I got out of F’staff and on my way to Prescott, by way of Sedona. I actually like Sedona. It’s kind of a tourist trap, but at least the geography is interesting. I rode up and down the main drag a couple of times, and then split… I took the scenic route to Prescott and intentionally went through a town named, ‘Jerome’. You don’t see a lot of towns named ‘Jerome’. It was definitely a small town, and was treacherously windy, and narrow. The mountains surrounding Jerome were the same. Some (a lot) of the curves were “first-gear” curves that taxed a ‘newish’ rider like me. More than once I pulled off to the side of the road to let some folks go by. (Graciously, none of them gave me the finger.)

I got to Prescott about 3:00 yesterday afternoon. The only adventure I had coming into Prescott was getting myself routed onto a muddy, wet, construction road. It took me about 100 ft. to make an illegal U-turn and bail out of that situation. The guy with the “slow-pole” wasn’t thrilled with my decision, (just short of giving me the finger) — but, what the hey… “Relax, slow-pole guy, don’t be such a control freak.”

I’m leaving this morning, going to Wickenburg, AZ. I’ve been there before, it’s not much more than a ‘way-point’ for me… Then, it’s off to ‘Quartzite’?? population 6, I think. It’s supposed to be a big motorcycle town, we’ll see. — I promise you this is going to get more interesting. So far, it’s a lot like the news from Lake Wobegone.

News from Flagstaff…

…Or, more appropriately… ‘no-news’ from Flagstaff. It has been SNOWING all day long… 6 to 8 inches. - I’m not in a good mood, and when I’m not in a good mood, I get a little grouchy. Admittedly, I COULD have postponed my departure from Las Vegas a week or two… and maybe I shoulda, but the thing is, I was eager to get out the door. I probably should have just ridden around my neighborhood all day long, (with all my gear) and introduced myself to total strangers. “Hi there, I’m Tom Adair and I’m going on this long-assed ride, so I thought I stop to visit with you, and tell you all about it.” As soon as the cops showed up, I could tell them all about it too. – What the heck, I saddled up and began my odyssey. The only problem is, I didn’t think I’d get stranded in Flagstaff; (the north rim of the Grand Canyon, perhaps, but not Flagstaff.)

So what have I been doing since I’ve been here… well, I answered an on-line survey at a restaurant where I had breakfast. – Uh… I’ve done my boot camp exercises. It’s actually kind of hard to do an hour’s worth of exercise in a smallish motel room (get you mind out of the gutter.) I used my spare gallon of gas as my ‘weights’, did pushups, abs, seated squats, fire-hydrants,.. am I boring you here?? – You should be on my side of the street. I feel like I’m in a minimum-security prison and am actively looking for an escape route.

So where am I going when the snow stops and the roads clear, right?  From Flagstaff, I’m going to Prescott, Wickenburg, and then ‘You-ma’, by way of Sedona. I’m gonna buy each and every one of you a souvenir in Sedona. All you will have to do is guess what it is… and you’ll be the proud owner of a genuine imitation of a fake Dior.

I guess I’ll walk over to the convenience store and buy some milk… (to watch it go bad.) You remember that song by Linda Rondstat? You know, the one where she sings, “Pore, pore, pitiful me…. Pore, pore pitiful me.” (I wish I had some baby chicks, I’d step on ‘em to listen to ‘em holler… just joking)

 

Weekly update (at least for this week)

Monday – Ya see, I didn’t actually leave on Monday. I was looking for a place to bungee-cord the microwave oven to my bike, and it occurred to me that, “Maybe I don’t need a microwave.” So, I took everything off my bike; yes, including my panniers and brought it all inside my house and started going through it. Two pair of combat boots (ya never know, ya know?), 25lb of basmati rice, (too much?) How many flashlights does one really need? – I submit 14 are enough, and 28 is overkill.

I wasn’t really taking all that stuff, but I’m sure you get the point. So, AFTER I eliminated a complete duffel bag of stuff I didn’t need, I put it ALL on the bike again, and rode around my neighborhood to see how it ‘felt’… STILL too much. – Back to my garage, everything off… (got rid of the anvil), and re-arranged everything to re-distribute it all in the panniers and the duffel, (think more equal weight distribution.) Then, put it ALL back on the bike for a little test ride. Mmmm… pretty good. But, there really WERE some things I wanted to take-with, so I zipped up to our local camping store and bought one, small, waterproof mini-duffel. I plan to use the mini-duffel as kind of my ‘working-stash’, and once it was on, everything worked well. So… off I went, right? – Wrong. By now, it was mid-afternoon, and too late to go the 120 miles to my first destination, so I just bagged it, and went inside. (At least satisfied I could leave the next day.)

Tuesday – Las Vegas to Hurricane, UT – The ride to St. George (just outside of Hurricane) went well. I got off at the wrong exit and started riding into a middle-class neighborhood, and decided to dismount and figure out where I was, with an actual map, rather than GPS. SO… while I’m ‘cogitating’, this guy pulls up in an older SUV, and tells me he’s ‘out of gas.’ Mind you, I’m on a MOTORCYCLE, and don’t know why he’s telling me he’s out of gas. So then he says, “I’m really in a lot of trouble here.” At which point I think he was trying to assess me as a potential victim, so I quickly got on my bike, cranked up, and eased on outta there. I may have been wrong, but seriously… Why’s this dude even talking to me? – Oh well… CYA-L8r.

About an hour later I was in Hurricane, and stayed at an immaculate Travelodge, that was only $39 a night. I’m serious, that was the cheapest, nicest motel, I have ever stayed in. I had dinner at a Mexican place that was arguably as good as ‘Café Rio’ in Las Vegas.

After dinner, I strolled around the town, and came upon an under-used Mormon Museum; VERY interesting. The grounds had actual pull-carts the early Mormon pioneers used to pull their worldly goods from Iowa City, IA (think Mississippi River, here) to U-T-A-H! – You’ve got to be kidding me, right?? – Think of pulling a kitchen table on wheels. Do you understand that a human being was pulling it, NOT a draft-animal! – Whoa… talk about a little determination, (‘geebus’) They had other farming and community-implements there, but my mind kept going back to the conversation that had to have taken place BEFORE the start of that long, arduous pull, “Honey, do you think we can make it?” – “I don’t know, Babe, but we’ve got to give it a try.” – Can you imagine the apprehension in that decision? The sleepless nights before the actual start? – Just so you know, more than 250 people died on just that one excursion. ‘Hand-Salute’, Mormon Pioneers!! – You’ve got guts!

Wednesday – Hurricane, UT to Cameron, AZ – This was one hellacious ride. This is hard to comprehend, but for most of the 200 miles, it was unbelievably windy – There were frequent gusts to 50mph! – Here’s the thing… I’m on a motorcycle with (roughly) 115 pounds of gear. The bike weighs 377 pounds, (dry), and I’m weighing in at 200+… What do we have here, a little over 700 pounds? Mister WIND is blowing me around like a plastic bag from Wal-Mart. So… I shoulda stopped, right? There was nowhere TO stop. It was like the moon out there. I finally got to a place called “Gap” (appropriately named), and asked the counter-clerk (who was feeling up his girlfriend at the time) “Any motels around here anywhere?” – “You bet,” he said… “About 30 miles on down the road in Cameron.” And then he went back to literally smooching with his girlfriend. (I’m surprised the population in Gap is so small.)

When I got to Cameron, I rode right by it. (NS!) I saw a self-service C-store up ahead and pulled in. I told the counter-clerk that I had been told there was a motel in Cameron. We both had to talk loud to communicate over the wind outside. “There is,” she shouted… “About a mile back down the road, at the Trading Post.” – Back out into the ‘wind-from-Hell’ and onto my quavering bike. When I got to the ‘trading post’, sure enough, there was a pretty nice, – well, reasonably nice motel attached to it. A trading post-grocery-eatery-souvenir shop you might say. I got ONE of the last two rooms. It’s a good thing too… because I was spending the night in the ‘general store’ there, if I didn’t get a room.

On a plus note, I DID meet an interesting pair from Australia, when I stopped and had lunch (somewhere on top of ‘Witch Mountain’.) They were father and son; Dad-Rudi and son-Sean… They were interesting to talk to. I resisted the urge to inject ‘bloody-Roo’ into my side of the conversation. But, I DID tell them I had always wanted to see that big rock they had down there. “Uluru”, the dad corrected me. “Yeah, that’s the one,” I said. – We DID have a great conversation, I wished them well, they did the same to me, and I went out, cranked up my bike and started down a SNOWING mountain. (Brrr… shiver…) – (note to self, remember not to ride nekkid.)

Thursday – Cameron to Flagstaff – The ride to Flagstaff was uneventful, except for the blanking wind. (Have I mentioned the ‘wind’ yet?) I took a long, hard look at the weather map (I’m carrying my netbook computer with) and decided it might be a good time to ‘hunker-down’, and find a cheap motel. Like in Hurricane, the Super-8 in Flagstaff is an unusually good value. The Weather Channel, my wife, the stalled birds in the air, and my ‘gut feel’ said I should relax, cogitate, and contemplate my navel the next several days. I figure I’ll go out and annoy, oops, visit with some of my new neighbors. I’ve already made friends with Robin, the manager of the Village Inn next door. And the counter-help at the local Arby’s got a chuckle out of the wallet I carry. (I’ll have to tell you about that later.)

So, I’m stuck in ‘Lodi’, er… ‘Flagstaff’. Well, I’ve been stuck in worse places. I grew up in Gintown, Alabama, where when a truck ran over a dog, everybody went out to take a look at it. So, I’ll mind my manners, and “act polite” (that’s what my mother always told me.) Not ‘BE’ polite, but ‘act’ polite. There’s a difference, you know.

Oh, one more thing. Here’s a pic of some Harley bikes parked next to mine. The Harley guys had the whole parking lot to park their bikes. But, I guess the wisdom of a BMW rider persuaded them to park close. I considered it a compliment. “Here you are, boys… stay close, I’ll protect you.” (They ARE pretty good looking bikes though — still WAY too loud.)

 

And So It Begins…

Welp… tomorrow’s the day. What can I say, it’s (almost) finally here. I’ll roll outta ‘Vegas around 9:00 o’clock in the morning.

Tons of planning went into this adventure; just getting the bike was progressive and led from one bike to another. I could bore you with the details, but I’m a nice man, and wont. Then came “the Plan”, or… how to do it. I mean if one is going to ride a motorcycle AROUND the perimeter of America, it takes a lot of planning / logistics / equipment, motorcycle support-stuff / blah-blah-blah. Again, I won’t bore ya. The real point here is to ‘get going’, ‘move out’. I’m like a giddy teenager whose mom and dad are encouraging him to “Please, hunny… just leave home.” – So, tomorrow’s it. 9:00 o’clock, oh-900.

As I leave Las Vegas, I’m going NORTH to St. George, UT (yeah, I know, ‘Youma’s the other way.) ‘Patience, grasshoppa’, I know that. The shot to St. George will be kind of a shake-down run, see if I left anything behind that’s worth turning around to get. (AND… to make damn sure I still actually want to do this thing.) – Out of St. George, I’ll head to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. I’ve been to the GC three times previously, but never to the north rim. The Grand Canyon knocks me over; can you imagine what the first person who ever saw it said: “Jesus H. Christ!!” (It was an honorific.) Well… it IS spectacular. I’ve never been there on a motorcycle, I bet it will be even more ‘Christ-like’ on a BMDubya. I may even camp beside it.

Speaking of which, I decided early on to go “self-contained.” What that means is – I have the capability, equipment, and resources to stay several days in the uh… ‘wilderness’. I BELIEVE I will camp about a third of the time on this trip. No ‘KOAs’ or well-traveled rest stops, either. I’m looking for the Walden Ponds of America… Kerouac’s trail… Woody Guthrie’s… “The Trail of the Lonesome Pine.” They say that a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. *I* say that the journey of 10,000 miles begins with getting my butt out of Las Vegas. — Just so you know… I’m REALLY looking forward to it. I’m sure I won’t get much sleep tonight, because of it… May the Lord be with me, (and with you) — AND… I’ll keep you informed. Adios…

How it all started (the details)

I don’t think I’ve shared with you some of the details of how it all started. First, the premise was always that I had the idea in the back of my head that it would be interesting to ride my bike around the perimeter of America. But, it was really sort of a dream till this past summer. While I was on vacation, I met this old-‘er?’ guy who was on his BMW bike. We were both (me, in my car) gassing up at a rural convenience store somewhere in Montana/Wyoming/west-Jesus… so, I wandered over to chat with him. Turns out, he was 75, and had ridden his bike 350,000 miles since he bought it when he was SIXTY!! – (Can you say, “R U blanking me?”)

Well anyway, he was the catalyst that got me to thinking, “Ya know, if that ol far…(oops) gentleman can ride his bike 350K, I ought to be able to practically scoot around the 10,000 miles of America’s perimeter.” I mean, I’m already in pretty good shape, maybe all I need is a ‘worthy’ bike. Soooooooo….. I decided to do it. I did a TON of research and finalized on a BMW, 1150GS. — I was Tha-rilled! – I found it up in Boise, and my wife and I drove up to get it.

Whoa… GAWD… that was a BIG bike. I consider myself kind of a tuff-guy, and when I looked at that bike, it looked back at me, sort of daring me to get on it, much less buy it. So, not to be deterred, I paid the nice man, and PRACTICED a ton in a parking lot before I rode it back to Las Vegas.

 

First day out, I tipped it over. It took me and a team of oxen (actually, a very nice Harley-guy) to get it back up again. I got it back to LV… dropped it… I took that blanker out about a week later… dropped it… A week after that… (you guessed it.) After that last time, I went into the house to get my gun… and my wife asked me what was wrong. I told her the truth, I was gonna shoot that SOB, and have the trash folks haul it away. She said she had a better idea, — why not just sell it. I finally agreed (although I kept my gun close by my side just in case that beast decided to sneak in, in the middle of the night, and fall on me. (shivver.)

I sold it to this old (oops…, I keep forgetting I’m in that category) guy from San Diego, and he actually made it 11 (that’s right, eleven) miles down the road before the rear wheel came off, and he slid sideways down Las Vegas’ perimeter highway. (Just so you know, he didn’t hurt himself.) – I KNEW that bike was trying to kill me.

In the meantime, I moseyed over to our local BMW dealer and tried out several bikes; thinking THIS time, maybe I should actually RIDE one before I bought it. I KNEW within one minute of sitting on an F650GS (twin) that it was the bike for me. They offered me a heckuva deal on a brand-new one (full manufacturers LIST price,) so I decided to get a more appropriately priced used one.

You would not believe how tedious that decision was. I finally (think 3 months here) located one down in Chandler (Phoenix) Arizona. We drove down to get it last December, and it was ‘as described’, — 2009, BMDub, F650, and only? 24,000 miles. Hey, what the heck, it’s a BMW, so 24K miles for a Beemer, ought to be a good ‘break-in’, right? — Driving it back was actually a lot of fun. First, I didn’t drop it a single time, and it was a dream to drive. When I got back to ‘Vegas, I was really pleased with my choice in bikes. Other than the wrong ‘tars’, and the need to make it ‘road-worthy’ for a ride around America, it was the perfect choice, (at least for me.)

 

Preparations, Part Trois…

Welp, that’s it for French numbers for me; — on the other hand, I DID make further preparations for my trip. One of the biggest decisions is… WHEN am I going to leave? I mean if you’re going to actually go on a trip, the departure-date becomes part of the big picture. I’ve been toying with a departure date for quite some time. As a chronic “OCD’r” and over-planner, I’ve considered ALL possibilities. If I leave early, it will be too cold; too late, too hot… (I sound like Goldilocks, don’t I?) – Anyway, it was kinda torturing me… and believe it or not, I was sort of looking for a ‘sign’.

Now, in your world, you may not believe in ‘signs’, but in mine… well, I think they’re substantial. Let me put it another way… if one tries to put a round peg in a square hole, and it WONT go… maybe that’s a ‘sign’ that you’re working (progressing?) in the wrong direction. I’ve used this sign-thing a lot of my life; and it seems to work well for me.

So… what’s this got to do with leaving, I’m sure you’re wondering… Well, recently, I was just getting ready to teach a spin-class, and a spin-student, friend of mine asked me if I was still going to come to her wedding. I had originally kinda planned to leave March 15^th, but when she put the question the way she put it, I thought (you know, I really want to go to that wedding,) so I said, “Sure, you bet… put me on the attendee list.” –

The wedding is going to be on March 31^st, so I used that as a ‘sign’ that I would leave just after the wedding. Now, the next day after March 31^st is April 1^st, and just between you and me (not that I’m superstitious or anything,) I’m not going to leave on April Fool’s Day. (Any more than my spin-friend was going to get married on April Fool’s Day.) So… it kind of defaulted to April 2^nd. I don’t know about you, but that’s a clear sign to me, Right? (Where are my pills?)

Well, with that being a sign, I decided to get my ass in gear and start making some HARD decisions. Like, am I going to get my bike painted or not? It’s actually a big deal to me. My bike’s a very nice (bland) silver (bland) metallic (bland) gray… I, on the other hand, am a very nice ‘not-so-bland’ kind of guy. My favorite color is yeller (you know, ‘yellow’), and since I would like to actually be SEEN by opposing traffic on my trip, I figure yellow is a good choice, (thus, ruling out International Orange.) I thought about doing it myself, but since I’ve never painted anything in my life (except a young lady’s toenails one time), I decided I’d get a pro to paint it.

Where would you go to find a ‘pro’? Huh? Huh? – CraigsList, right? (that noted authority on things-superb.) – So sure enough, I met Kevin via CraigsList, and this week I went over to meet him. I knew that area of town wasn’t exactly Beverly Hills or anything, so… I decided to put my favorite fire-arm in the car. Well, not really my favorite, but one that would suffice. When I got down there, I put my ‘sap’ in my back pocket, just in case… (know what I mean, Gene?) – But, turns out, ol’ Kev was a great guy, with a portfolio full of projects he had painted, and we got along great. (Another sign?) Hmmm… so, I arranged a time to take my bike in and get it painted, (March 12^th.)  – See?? – Ya see how this is all working out? Can you say, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”, or what? (Google it)

Other ‘preps’ this week? – You bet… I got my tars

 

Are these purty, or what? – I showed ‘em to my next door neighbor, (think ‘little ol’ lady’, here)- let me re-phrase that; I stopped her car in the middle of our turn, made her get out of her car, and come take a look at them. She feigned dis-interest, but I knew she was just joking, so I continued, showing her they were Metzler’s, — steel-belted radials, — tubeless, and… well I was going to tell her more, but she seemed to be backing away toward her car… People, go figure, huh…

Training Ride, Death Valley… January 13th, 2012

If one is actually going to go around the United States on a motorcycle, one has to train, right?  I live in Las Vegas, approximately 100 miles from the edge of Death Valley. That “100 miles” is very deceiving. I’ve been to DV numerous times in my car, – no sweat, zip up there, zip around, zip back by nightfall. Let me enlighten all of you, as I have been enlightened, – there’s ‘regular’ time, and there’s ‘motorcycle’ time. Regular time is what we’re all familiar with… MOTORCYCLE time is altogether different.

My wife gave me some 2-way communication devices this past Christmas, and I wear mine on my helmet, and we rigged up the other on a Radio Shack head-set, so she can wear hers while she drives the car. We had a jolly old time getting her car, and my bike ready to go… lots of jibber-jabber on the headsets, making sure we could communicate; then, off we went at 10:00 o’clock in the morning, (there’s a clue right there.) Sometime short of noon, we arrived at Beatty, NV, (just on the east edge of Death Valley), and gassed up before we went into the interior.

I’m still what most folks would call a low-intermediate rider, so the miles don’t come easily for me. I do WAY too much thinking as I go around curves, and starting / stopping is ‘practiced’, not instinctual. It took a while to get from Beatty to the interior of DV, and to my first scheduled stop, Ubehebe Crater (an extinct volcanic crater), in the northern part of DV.

You can kind of tell from the angle of the shadows on Ubehebe that the Sun is getting low…

Here’s another shot…

Check out those lengthening shadows. It was just about this time I thought… ‘Hmm… I might need to start heading back.’ I checked my watch and it was ALREADY past 2:30!!!!! – I bet you think, ‘that’s not too alarming’, – remember this trip was on January 13^th the sun sets at 4:30, and no motorcycle rider anywhere likes to ride at night. — (Think about it, when’s the last time you saw a motorcycle on the road after the sun goes down…. There’s a reason for it, we’re hard to see in the high-glow of noon… at night, we might as well wear a sign that says, “Go ahead and run over me, I’m really not here in the first place,  you’re eyes are playing tricks on you.” — (Marge, I wonder what that bump was I just ran over.)

So I’m thinking… I better get the blank out of here, and head for home. But wait, remember…  I’m still just a recently promoted novice rider, I don’t ride fast, I ride “half-fast” (get it?), there’s NO WAY I’m going to make it home before WELL after dark. On top of that, the temperature is dropping like a free-falling safe. (Ya see… I’m on a motorcycle, think ‘WIND-CHILL’ here…) So, I’m up (what’s the name of that creek?)

With a slight look of panic in my eyes, I said “Uh… Hunny… we better start for home.” She knew immediately what the problem was, and we headed out at break-neck speed, 35 to 40… We’re in a park you know, and there are speed limits to be observed (so say the bored Park Rangers.) – We didn’t get back to Beatty till an hour after the sun went down. We stopped to fill up with gas, and headed back to ‘Vegas. Did I mention it was ca-cold? The actual temp wasn’t that bad, but it WAS in the low-30’s, and therefore the wind-chill at 50mph was about 12 degrees… Brrr…Rabbit.

There was STILL one hundred miles to go before we got back to ‘Vegas, AND… it was dark. Not just ‘dark’, but REALLY DARK… no ambient star light or city-light at all. I’m going under 50mph, to attempt to stay a touch warmer, and every car/truck/semi-trailer is going past me at about 85, and giving me the finger as they passed, (shivvvvver.)

I was so cold I was losing my fine-motor controls in my muscles. I radioed to my wife that we needed to stop and pull-in at the next available place. She was ahead of me in her car and said, “We’re ONLY 30 miles from Indian Springs, there’s a casino-restaurant there. We’ll stop there.” Thirty miles… on a motorcycle, at 12 degrees, for maybe forty more minutes is like being in the Twilight Zone. Think marijuana-time, inside a meat-locker. When we FINALLY got to the left-exit to turn into the restaurant, I was so cold that I had to actually put my feet down, and WALK my bike through the turn. Thank God (literally) that no cars were coming, because I had lost most of my muscular control to steer and stop my bike. I rolled to a raggedy stop in the parking lot, and got shakily off my bike, and stumbled in to the restaurant. I literally drank steaming hot ‘tea-water’ for the next hour to get my core-temperature up. I got my wife to go into the gift shop to buy me a long-sleeved pull-over shirt of ANY kind. You’re not going to believe this, but the only kind they had was a Harley shirt. (I eagerly put it on.)

We got home that night at 9:00pm. I dove into a hot Jacuzzi bath, and it took me another 30 minutes to finally warm up. – Ain’t motorsickle-riding fun…

Preparation, Part Deux…

Several of you have asked me how I’m preparing my bike for the trip. First, let’s start with the bike itself; it’s a 2009 BMW F650GS (twin), with 24,000 miles on it.

I bought it from a pregnant, lesbian nun in Arizona, who only used it on the weekends to make jumps in the desert. Without boring you to death on the specs, it weighs in at about 390 pounds, has about 75 horse power, a six-speed transmission, and is ‘water-cooled’. It has a pretty sophisticated ‘on-board’ computer, and is not ‘snarly’ at all. I don’t care for noisy exhausts; it always seemed like ‘over-compensation’ to me. But, that’s what the Har… oops, that’s what the other guys like, I guess… (What’s with all that leather stuff, anyway?)

Anywho… back to the bike; I decided that since I’m going quite a ways, (best guess, +/- 10,000 miles), I better ‘base-line’ my bike from a maintenance point of view, and bring it up to ‘factory-specs’ before starting out. That means a new (premium) chain, new chain-sprockets (F/R), new wheel-bearings, front and rear, new brake-pads (F/R), – new: spark-plugs/oil filter/air filter/fuel filter… let me pause right here, dear reader and ask – if you have any idea how much a fuel filter for a BMDubya bike costs? – Are you ready for this? – one hundred and twenty three dollars!! (Can you say you’ve got to be sh*ting me?) – Yeah, I know…

Hey, the chain was $147, front brake pads were $77, rears were $92??? (I wonder if BMW ever considered actually giving people a bike, if they could tie them up with a long-term maintenance contract.)   Ah… but I’m not finished, My new ‘tars’ (it’s a southern term) are Metzler ‘Tourence’ and I believe I practically stole them for $166 (front) and $177 (rear)… AND they want $100 to mount and balance them, (I assume ‘virgin-air’ is going into those tars.)  Seriously, in my next life, I’m coming back as a BMW motorcycle dealer… I’m talking world-domination here… “Lex Luthor’s BMW of Las Vegas.”

I’m telling you, if this bike ever even farts, I’m gonna be surprised. The only thing it’s not getting is a Japanese, hot oil massage. I told the guy at the BMW parts counter… “They must be paying you a hundred grand a year.” (He didn’t see the humor.)