Scratch That Itch!

I have read many posts recently from motorcyclists who, due to injury, vacation, work, or other interruption, have to take time off of riding. They frequently lament the fact that riding is a crucial part of their lives -- one that is sorely missed when absent. I wholeheartedly agree! I find that if more than three days go by without riding, I start really missing it. I am a motorcycle addict.

But scratching the riding itch is not the intended subject of today's post. I refer instead to the most horrific condition known to the motorcyclist: the itchy nose. A herd of deer bounding into the road? Bah. Potholes the size of lunar craters? Who cares. The psych ward at Bellevue driving hummers and talking on three cellphones at once? A mere triviality. Going 65 MPH on the freeway and having an itch flare up on ones proboscis? Epic, monumental, tragedy.

I have tried all manner of solutions. The "jam fingers up the chin gap and waggle them around" technique is spotty at best, and impossible if you have a well-sealing helmet. The "throw open the visor, violently poke the itchy spot, and close the visor before angry bees or chunks of road hit you in the eye" approach often leads to temporary loss of eyesight -- and worse, the itch remains. "Letting go of the itch in a zen-like meditative state wherein you accept that suffering is a natural part of life" only seems to anger the itchy gods. And the whole idea of just "pulling over and properly dealing with the situation" is, of course, absurd.

So my helmet's off to those who wear the hard plastic yarmulke! They may be missing the front of their face when they have an unplanned dismount, but their nose will not itch.

Where Angels Tread

Father's Day! My Dad and I met for breakfast at a local eatery and then headed off on our very first excursion on the (in)famous Angeles Crest Highway. The day was absolutely perfect for riding: about 75F and partly cloudy. Our first stop was at the fork that leads to Mount Wilson Observatory -- locally known as "Red Box Road". There were a few other motorcycles with the same pitstop in mind, and we got to talk all things two-wheeled after lightening our load a bit.

Continuing along the Crest for another nine or so miles brings you to Newcomb's Ranch Restaurant and Bar. As can be seen in the picture, Newcomb's is a very popular place with the motorcycle set. We spent fifteen minutes just walking along the front looking at the enormous variety of bikes.

Inside the eatery was to be found cold soda and the Superbike race on big screens! What a terrific way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

The only blemish on an otherwise perfect day was an oncoming 900-pound full dress Harley that apparently thought of the double yellow line as more of a suggestion than rule. Thank goodness for quick reflexes.

Happy Father's Day!

Sunday River Ride

My Dad and I took a leisurely sixty-mile ride up to the East Fork of the San Gabriel River and back today. The weather was overcast and cool, and the traffic was very light for a weekend. In short, perfect riding conditions! We stopped at the campground where the road ends and looked down on the river below for a while. We've gone fly fishing in the river in the past, though only caught planted trout in the 6"-8" range.

A nice ride back down the hill and we stopped for a soda at Williams Camp. Everyone -- from the rangers to the hikers to the store clerks -- were very friendly and welcoming. We waved at many other bikers as we passed.

I recommend the road as an alternative to the ubiquitous (and fast-paced) Angeles Crest.

One Bear, Two Wheels

I have owned numerous two-wheeled vehicles over the years, and my path to riding a motorcycle as my primary vehicle has been quite an unusual one. I thought it would be interesting to take a trip in the way-back machine and follow my two-wheel evolution:

My first experience with two wheels was astride a red banana-seat Huffy. This bike provided quite a taste of freedom to a budding eight-year old. I remember attaching numerous gadgets (farkle?) to it in order to simulate engine noises. I even mounted a water jug in the frame as a faux gas tank, and poked a small hole in the bottom so the 'gas' would run out as I rode! Good times.

The early eighties ushered in the age of the chrome-moly, mag-wheel, BMX. Mine was a surprise gift from my Dad -- a silver and black beauty of a bike. I felt unstoppable astride its thick frame. This bike carried me through the eighth grade before finally being retired.

My entry into high school was accompanied by a brown Schwinn ten-speed bike given to me by my step-father. Sitting perched atop its narrow seat took some getting used to, but the ten gears made it all worthwhile. My mom started sending me to the store for milk and such (a 14-mile round trip).

A long two-wheel hiatus into adulthood and I bought myself the cadillac of mountain bikes: a 2003 Cannondale Jekyll 1000. 21 gears, "Lefty" fork, hydraulic disc brakes, and all the trimmings. I even rode it a few times.

A coworker of mine brought his GoPed to work one day and allowed me a test ride around the parking lot. My initial nervousness melted instantly and I had to have one for myself. I even commuted on it during the summer -- my job was only two miles away. Can't beat 140 MPG, too!

The first GoPed with a true seat and chain drive was the logical upgrade for me. I commuted on this wee death trap for about a year. The GoBike was the cause of my most serious crash to date: I gunned the throttle at a green light, but was leaning back too far. The front wheel pawed the air and I was thrown off the back. Unfortunately, I was still holding on to the throttle and the bike dragged me across the intersection. Shorts did not provide much in the way of protection. Lesson learned.

The same coworker brought his Vespa ET-4 scooter to work and generously allowed me a test ride. The leap from 50cc glorified skateboard to 150cc full-fledged scooter was awesome. I immediately began looking for my very own. I prefer a more modern aesthetic than the traditional "Vespa" style, so ended up buying a Piaggio BV-200. I got my learner's permit and practiced on city streets for about nine months before getting my license. I later ended up selling it to that coworker.

At this point I was completely smitten by scooters and lusted after something bigger. Of all the options at the time, the 500cc Aprilia Scarabeo had the best features and style. I loved the larger wheels, the larger engine, the built-in topcase storage, and the classy look. Unfortunately, a change in my employment situation necessitated that we part ways.

I have always been attracted to innovation, and that is what caused me to purchase a Piaggio MP3 scooter. Riding one is quite an experience -- the two wheels up front provide an amazing degree of stability and traction -- yet it still leans like a traditional two-wheeler. While it was an entertaining reentry back to the world of scooters, my ownership was short-lived. Just a few months later Aprilia released the...

...Mana 850. Holy cow! An 850cc V-Twin mated with Italian style, faux tank storage, and an automatic CVT transmission!!! My dream "scooter". The Mana was an absolute delight in and around the city. I happily commuted the seven miles to work on it. Technically I still own the Mana, though I have loaned it to my Dad who recently got his license.

My job moved from seven miles on surface streets to twelve miles on the freeway. At the same time, the lease on my car ran out. I was faced with a decision. And if you've read this blog at all, you know that I bought the first bike that replaced having a car for me: the Yamaha FJR-1300.

Who knows what the future holds?

On Any Sunday

Last Sunday was a spectacular day for riding! It was about 70F and the sky was blue with fluffy white clouds. My Dad and I started the day with a two hour ride up Azusa to the East Fork of the San Gabriel River. For those who aren't familiar, this is a winding mountain road that offers miles and miles of beautiful views and fun curves. There was a huge highway patrol presence there -- catching many squids who felt that the road was their own personal racetrack.

Returning home, my wife jumped on the back of my FJR and we sped off to a friend's birthday party. My Dad stayed home with the kids, and it was nice having the opportunity to socialize with other adults.

We left the party a bit early in order to ride to our local Ducati dealer who was having a BBQ party of its own to celebrate the Japan leg of the MotoGP tour. There is no finer way to enjoy the MotoGP than to do it surrounded by Ducatis. We were delighted to see Yamaha take first and second place, though we wish that Rossi would have won.

All in all, a terrific motorcycle-centric Sunday!

All In

... borrowing a phrase from America's favorite inactivity, I am "all in" with my FJR. I have committed 100% to it as my primary mode of transportation. For the first time in ten years of riding, the motorcycle is not a second vehicle -- it is the only vehicle. This has caused a significant shift in my own riding psychology.

Poker players take great risks when they go all in. But the potential rewards are equally great. So it is with motorcycling. Every time I put on the gear, shift into first, and roll back on the throttle, I am making a calculated risk against the pot of sheer exuberance that it returns. But also like those gamblers, the risk is not one made lightly or in ignorance. The player scrutinizes his opponents reading the potentially hidden potholes, oil slicks, and oncoming cars in their visage. He takes in the knowns -- the flop, turn, and river of corner radius, velocity, braking, lean angle, and weather conditions. All of these factors are carefully weighed; the potential returns are computed. And then the player commits.

Every decision on every ride is a balance of risk versus reward. And sometimes folding is the better part of valor. Deciding to wait out a rainstorm instead of riding through it. Choosing to pull over and rest instead of pushing on. Holding back in the lane at 65 instead of splitting lanes to gain that small advantage. Only a significant accumulation of seat time can grant that insight. You have to pay to play.

"I'm all in."

Date Night!

My wife and I were granted a date night sans children yesterday thanks to my Dad. She decided that we should take the FJR, so we donned our protective gear and sped off into the night. There is something magical about a motorcycle as choice of date night vehicle: you can't take kids; it isn't even an option.

Parking at the restaurant (despite it being St. Patrick's Day) was a breeze. I had emptied the side bags so we were both able to store our helmets and gloves on the bike. Like most things with motorcycles, planning ahead is everything. It was a rather warm evening -- ~80F -- and we were glad to be given a larger booth so our jackets would have a place to sit too. I wore my Rev'It Cayenne Pro, and she wore her Vanson Cobra III.

After dinner we decided to hit a local bookstore. Again parking was trivial, but the jackets became a hinderance. We didn't feel comfortable leaving them on the bike, they were too cumbersome to carry, and wearing them in the heated store became stifling in very short order. As I am sure that this issue will only increase in frequency as we approach Summer, I would like to figure out a better solution.

Our final stop of the evening was at a local game store. We both like to play games, and are fortunate to have a local store that reserves half of its floorspace for open gaming tables. It was very relaxing to sit in the store, socialize with the other customers, and play.

The ride home was markedly different from the earlier departure. When we left I rode fairly aggressively -- urging the bike away and into the night. The return trip was relaxed and calm. Motorcycles make terrific date night transport.

Commuting & Chantry Flats

I have been really enjoying commuting the past two weeks on my FJR. There have been a few mornings when I didn't feel like putting on the gear, but as soon as I was on the bike I was instantly happy. I think that those difficult mornings are more about where I'm going (work) as opposed to how I am getting there. On the other hand, I always enjoy getting on the bike to come home.

Traffic has been relatively manageable. I love splitting lanes when traffic is at a complete standstill, but prefer staying in my own lane when the cars start moving. The occasional shower has not been much of an issue. I am not sure how I feel about wind -- I don't yet have a sense for how much of a real affect the wind has versus the psychological reaction to the roar and buffeting. Experience should bear that out.

Weekends are another matter entirely! Nearly all my weekend riding is for the pure joy of it. Destinations become a distant second with riding being its own reward. My Dad recently got his motorcycle license and we've been getting together to ride on Sundays. Short jaunts to help him gain experience on the Mana 850 I've loaned him (great learner bike, by the way).

Today's ride took us into the foothills to the Chantry Flats campground. The road leads up from a nice residential neighborhood and becomes about five miles of scenic mountain road. The sky was grey and brooding, with misty clouds squatting on top of the mountains. Needless to say, it was an absolutely wonderful ride. We parked at the top and enjoyed the views; after a while we pulled the gear back on and headed down the mountain.

Riding is a complete joy. Being able to share it with friends and family is a gift.

Why I Ride

This was written about a month ago (pre-FJR)...

I had a fairly stressful day at work and was looking at the likelihood of an equally stressful day ahead as I drove home last night. After kissing my family hello, I went into the bedroom and began systematically putting on my gear. I call it the "Mr. Rogers Effect": any activity that requires changing clothes and/or shoes is one in which it is easier to leave the stresses and minutia of 'regular life' behind. Golf is another example; when you switch to your golf shoes, you are able to leave your work self in the locker and really enjoy the sport.

It was an absolutely beautiful night... somewhat overcast, clear, cool (but not cold)... I could feel my stresses melt away as I engaged the starter and felt the rumble of the engine spring to life. A smooth twist of the throttle and I sped away into the evening.

I had absolutely no goal except to ride. The bike decided that it wanted to cruise through the foothills to the northeast. I obliged.There were moments of speed... a nice 60 MPH sprint up a mountain road, for instance... but I was equally happy going 25 through winding residential streets. The bike and I were one entity seeking the freedom of the road and the quiet solitude of the night.

At some point my internal compass shifted and I automatically gravitated toward home again. I pulled into the driveway, turned off the motor, and sat for a moment in the stillness. Words could not express the joy and peace that riding has brought to me. With a much lighter heart, I backed the bike into the garage and went in to the warmth of my home and family.