After the storm

Sticks.  Little, tiny sticks.  Twigs really.  You don't really notice them when you're driving around in a car, but they sure do have an impact when you're riding.

This week, we had a couple of days when big, nasty storms blew through town.  Luckily, no major damage was done, no loss of life, no substantial damage to property.  That said, it did blow down lots of little twigs, all over the place.

I got my first taste when I backed the FJR out of the garage.  My driveway is steep, so I have to be careful when I'm turning around.  I put my left foot down to hold the bike in place so I could fire the engine and start my day, when my foot slipped, just a little.  Not enough to drop the bike, not even close.  Just enough to make me think really hard about that little twig separating my foot from the driveway, causing an ever-so-slight roll in my ankle.

Off to work, gorgeous morning.  Sunny, crisp, cool, perfect day.  Rolling up to a stoplight, I put my feet down when...my left foot slips again.  Not a big, sliding, jarring movement.  Just a little slip.  I look down, and sure enough, another twig.  Again, no danger of dropping the bike, just a little reminder to be extra careful.

Just remember, after a storm blows through, or when you hit an area where storms have recently passed - watch for the sticks.  Sometimes, it's the little things.

Night Rider

There is just something brilliant about riding at night.  I went for a nice loop this evening, and everything just felt magical.  The tunnel created by headlights is never ending, and one that I crave, especially on a night like tonight.

The temperature was cool, hovering in the high fifties.  Not many bugs.  Nice clean face shield.  That is something Schuberth really improved when developing the C3 as opposed to the C2 - the optics are phenomenal.  No starbursts, no peripheral distortions.  Just a wide, crystal-clear field of view.

Anyway, minimal traffic and a tunnel of light.  The muted roar of the wind, the soft hum of the engine.  It's the kind of thing that makes me want to just keep riding until the sun comes up.

2013 Georgia Guidestone Trip

Catching up on a bit of history, here's a write-up of a trip I took last summer down to see the Georgia Guidestones.

It all started with reading about the Georgia Guidestones while following the IBR over the years.  I made a mental note to go see it some day.  Since the weather had been so uncommonly cool, August 2013 seemed to be as good a time as any.

The route planning was easy.  Lets see, northeast Georgia from Indiana.  I had yet to ride the Dragon yet on the FJR, so that was in, as was the Cherohala Skyway.  Thanks to some good advice and Google Maps, so was GA-60 from Morganton to Dahlonega.  A college buddy in Atlanta I had not seen for years offered a great place to overnight.

I decided to blow out of work at lunch on Friday and boogie down to Alcoa TN, just south of Knoxville, so I could wake up in the mountains with tasty roads surrounding me.  Rain coming down hard, I rode to work.  Finished up some last-minute items, saddled up, and headed south.  True to the radar, I had steady rain from South Bend to Peru, IN:

The sun came out, the road dried up, and I started roasting in my rain gear.  Time to pit for gas, stow the gear, and hit the road.

The rest of the trip to Alcoa went quickly, with me getting more and more amped up as the miles ticked by.  The weather was phenomenal, the roads great, the traffic light and fast, and I was able to get off the road and be done before 9 pm.  I was getting more and more excited – so nice to see mountains again.

Unwinding after the ride, looking at the laptop and doing time estimates, I decided to get going early on Saturday morning.  This would accomplish two major things for me – hitting the Dragon when it was not crowded and maximizing time with my buddy.  I targeted wheels turning by 05:00.  As usual, when filled with anticipation, I slept poorly and beat my target by about 20 minutes.

Let me tell you, there are very, very few folks on the road before 5.  Inky dark.  Aux lights lit up, I made my way to the Dragon.  Got some cool shots of deserted landmarks:

I really liked this shot of Stich the dragon on the TN side:

So I tried to replicate the eyes with a shot of my taillights at the scenic lookout point about halfway up the Dragon:

I could not accurately capture the faint outline of the mountains with my iPhone, so here’s a shot that I could get:

This is a shot from the same spot when I rode through in '08.

It's really, really pretty in the daytime.  And remarkably dark at night - no light pollution, no sound, no people.

So.  The Dragon in the Dark.  It.  Was.  Awesome.  Nobody on the road, at all.  No photographers, at all.  Nothing but the road.  There was only the road, nothing else.  Singularity of focus and purpose.  Bike locked in second gear, riding The Pace.  Aux lighting critical to enjoyment.  Stopped at the scenic lookout point to just drink in the silence.  No sound, no engines, no bikes, no cars, no nothing.  Just peace and quiet.  The only thing visible was the faintest mountain silhouette to the east in the pre-dawn light.  If you have the opportunity, I highly recommend it.

I rolled through the resort on the far side, saw the Tree of Shame without making a contribution, and headed south.

I finally found what I was looking for:

Getting lighter now, still nobody on the road.  Bike locked in third gear, riding The Pace with a little added gusto on long straights, getting my lean on and enjoying the beautiful scenery:

Such wonderful peace and quiet.  Nobody around.  Imagine, the entire Skyway to yourself.  On the descent into Tellico, I did see a Miata coming my way, but that was it.  Wonderful.

About the only downside to early morning riding is the fact that places like this are closed:

TN68 to GA60, wonderful road.  GA60?  Holy cow.  Absolutely incredible.  Great elevation changes, lovely scenery, immaculate roads, no gravel.  Primarily third gear, I focused on getting my head down, my shoulders forward and down, and looking through the curves.  I overtook a bicyclist and caught a guy on an Harley XR1200X.  I followed him for a while, enjoying the sound and smell of his bike.  Nice popping sounds on deceleration.  After he let me by, I resumed my Pace, with respectable lean angles and lots of smiles:

The ride from Dahlonega to the Guidestones was an exercise in frustration and the need for a GPS.  Accidents everywhere.  Roads closed, traffic diverted.  I tried trusting my sense of direction and ended up 5 miles into a gravel track in the middle of nowhere.  Fortunately for me, a power company truck came by and the nice gents pointed me the way to the nearest paved road.  Much obliged, thanks, good to be on pavement again.

I kept having to pull over and fiddle with my phone to try and figure out a decent route.  Need to do a GPS, possibly a ram ball on the left bar in the mirror hole mount?  On the to-do list for the off-season. (note - I solved this issue in early 2014 with a RAM mount using the bolts which hold the gas tank down - stable, secure, and easy to use - the X-Grip holds my phone and the BatteryTender USB power adapter works really well)

The Guidestones were interesting to see.  Nobody was there, just me.  A curiosity for sure.  Big.  Quiet.  I spent ten minutes photographing and thinking about who and why.

My stomach reminded me of its neglect, so I headed west to Atlanta, where I was treated like a king.  It was almost embarrassing.  After a shower and consenting to letting my laundry be done, we drove into Roswell for some Millionaire Mojitos, followed by cappuccino.

Dinner at home: wild Alaskan salmon on the grill, risotto, homemade limoncello.  Yes please!  So good to catch up, the years just melted away.  Almost asleep on the couch, we finally call it a night and pack it in.

I got a bit of a late start the next day, saddling up after breakfast around 10:30.  A little concerned with time (~680 miles), I decide to slab.  I had a quick trip out of Atlanta towards Chattanooga, only to see signs over the interstate saying all lanes closed in 40 miles.  Gah!  When I pulled into a tourist information center for some heat relief, the nice ladies there highlighted alternate routes on Tennessee back roads. I figured all the interstate traffic is going to be clogging the back roads, so I head into Alabama.

Temperature is climbing now and I’m getting a bit fatigued.  Pit for gas, soak my long-sleeved tshirt in cold water.  Ah yes, much better, air conditioning is on as the wind flows through my vents.  It felt so good and perked me right up.  Onward on 72!  Cut through Rocket City before angling northwest and picking up I-65.

Traffic!  The bane of my return trip.  Jammed going into Nashville.  Jammed between Nashville and Louisville.  At least the temperature was falling.  Final gas stop, fire up the aux lights, and the temperature fell to 57 by the time I got home just after midnight.  Ended up being 770 miles, not 680.  Grip heaters kept my hands happy, and closed vents kept the rest of me happy.

Trip stats: 1740 miles, 43.9 mpg.

Slightly longer than planned - every part enjoyable.

My Olympia gear worked great, as did my Schuberth C3.  The FJR, as expected, never missed a beat.  It is simply an incredible motorcycle.  Smooth, powerful, reliable, and relatively rare – only saw two others on my trip.  It does everything I want it to and more, burns regular gas, and is reliable to a fault.

What did I learn on this adventure?  I love to look around.  I like to see things, hang out with friends, and chat with travelers and natives alike.  But fundamentally for me, when I’m riding, it’s all about the road.  I love following the road.  I love looking at side roads and following them.  “Dangerous curves and steep grades next 33 miles” signs make me happy.  Time is the biggest constraint.  I like to wander.  I like feeling alive.

There is something about being constantly in motion that is energizing.  I just feel more alive.  Decisions are made quickly, all the senses are vivid, in higher definition.  Moving along on a motorcycle is just so much more stimulating than physically moving along through the office.

It’s all about the road.  Follow the road.

And be thankful there are great people along the way and at the end of it.

Another day, another 866 miles

This was a vastly different kind of trip.  A cross-country journey with my family.  The five of us loaded up our Honda Odyssey with a dresser, suitcases, boxes, bags, more boxes, computers, and about 18,000 books before a 866 mile, 14.5 hour jaunt.

A couple of thoughts on this trip.  First off, the family was a delight to be with.  I have always loved family road trips, and continue to do so.  The entire world shrinks down to just this little capsule hurtling across the country, filled with the most important people in my world.  It provides an opportunity to talk, laugh, read, sleep, eat, listen to music, sing along, and just generally be together.

The kids were phenomenal.  Fun to be with and insightful, we rotated seats at every stop.  I enjoyed every configuration, with my son or wife up front with me.  I was focused on knocking down the miles, and my wife did a great job keeping everyone fed and in high spirits

It rained for essentially the entire state of Pennsylvania.  At times, it came down so hard and so thick, visibility deteriorated and we could not carry on a conversation at normal volumes due to the sound of the rain hammering on the car.  We just slowed down and laughed - what else can you do?  I do believe I made the comment that at least I wouldn't have to wash the bugs off the car...

Allow me a brief ode to the Odyssey.  It's a phenomenal vehicle.  We put more things into it than we had a right to, and it just happily shuttled us across the country in comfort, returning respectable mileage (mid-20s) and maintaining a decent pace (moving average of 68.9 mph).  I can't imagine life without a van, at least for the next 15-20 years.

Driving at night.  Well, I have to say, after my my most recent motorcycle adventure, I much prefer riding at night to driving.  There's something about being out there on a motorcycle, enjoying the wind and the smells and the clarity of vision.  Of course, the auxiliary lights probably have something to do with that...

As I motored along, I kept thinking about what a different trip it would have been on the FJR.  The rain would have been felt in a much more personal way.  Physically, it would have been a more demanding journey.  Sitting in the Odyssey, with automatic climate control, seat heaters, and all the comforts one could every want in a vehicle of that nature, seemed just so...easy.  The van is so good at isolation it allows you to focus on who you are with, as opposed to pavement irregularities and temperature/humidity variances.

Next road trip will be a journey to Ithaca, New York, next month with one of my colleagues.  Ithaca is about 570 miles away.  Looking forward to a fun drive with a good person in a fine car.

Cinnamon Roll Perfection

There was a fair bit of fog this morning when I woke up.  The sky was looking more optimistic by 9 or so, so my plan to take Mom for a short ride was looking good.  There was a chance of scattered showers, but they were pretty slim.  A short ride indeed, up to Buchanan, Michigan, in search of cinnamon roll perfection.

Now, Mom used to say "over my dead body" when it came to motorcycles and me.  She has evolved, and I've given her short (4 mile) rides before.  Buchanan is about a 20 minute ride.  I planned a route along back roads where we could just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

I buzzed over and picked up Mom.  Being slightly claustrophobic, getting a helmet on is one of those things that sort of freaks her out.  I have to say, I am super proud of her - she didn't faint, not even once!  Here she is, all geared up and looking ready to ride.  Notice the smile.  Nothing brings out that smile in people better than a motorcycle.



After flipping the rear shock to firm, we saddled up and rolled out.  For me, this wasn't about lean angles or acceleration, iron butts or riding in the moonlight.  It was about smooth shifts, low revs, and surfing the torque of that big 1300 cc engine while enjoying the sunshine, tall corn, low beans, and absence of traffic.

A short hop later found us in Buchanan, safe and sound:



My wife told me about a place called the Coward Café, which is supposed to have amazing coffee and cinnamon rolls in the morning, with pizza available in the evening.  It seemed as reasonable a destination as any for a Sunday morning putter.

The place is pretty nondescript from the outside.  Inside, true to its spartan appearance, is a spartan menu:



Mom was surprised - she thought we were going out for breakfast and was all excited to get a waffle.  Instead, we rolled with it, ordered a pour over for her and a cold brew for me, a pair of cinnamon rolls, and sat down at the long communal table:



Oh my goodness, what a treat for the senses!  To call these cinnamon rolls is borderline insulting.  Made with croissant dough, they are flaky, caramelized, triangular points of buttery perfection.  Absolutely incredible.  So good, in fact, that I ordered a second one...



The coffee was top notch as well - my friend Blake would love this place:



After an unhurried hour or so, it was time to get on with our Sunday.  We suited up:



Saddled up:





and were ready to roll out:



We took a different route on the way home, and on the way, saw a turkey vulture wheeling and a VHF Omnidirectional Range Ground Station in a field.  There is so much to explore, even on short rides!

I must be the luckiest man in the world.  Not only do I have an amazing wife and kids, I have an amazing Mom who is willing to just get out there and experience the joys of motorcycling.  We had an absolutely great time together.  I'm so glad I suggested it, and I'm so glad she accepted!

Mom's smile of pure joy, of child-like wonder, of being alive is one I will remember for a long time.  I have to say, I have one cool Mom!

The Inevitable Journey

After an absolutely wonderful weekend, so commenced the journey home.  If you stick to the superslab, it’s a mere 520 miles or so.  That said, I was in no rush.  I know Wisconsin is worth getting lost in, and there is this incredibly important, powerful, and beautiful river that flows down to the Gulf of Mexico.  I decided to follow it.

Buzzing down from Eagan to Hastings, I wound my way along towards Red Wing, where I discovered Lake Pepin:

Which, apparently, is the birthplace of waterskiing:

I puttered along the Great River Road on the Minnesota side until I got to the crossing at La Crosse.  I went over the bridge and pulled into the rest area to recycle fluids, have a snack, and just relax for a bit.  Stopping to smell the roses, I stuck my pin on the map in the visitor’s center:

A man chatted me up in the parking lot, and we had a nice long conversation about travel, children, and life in general.  Turns out the man was Lin Thompson, who runs Affordable Adventures with his wife.  I told him next time I made it out to the Black Hills area, I would be sure to look him up.

We parted ways after at least half an hour, with Lin heading east to Chicago to visit his daughter and me picking up the Wisconsin’s interpretation of the Great River Road.  That lasted until right around Genoa, where I got inspired to leave the river behind and head east through the Wisconsin farmland.  Picking up 56, I settled into the enjoyment of the curves and hills Wisconsin has to offer.  Lightly trafficked on a sunny Monday afternoon, I was rolling along and having a great time.

I made a mental note to swing by New Glarus, specifically the New Glarus Bakery:

Why the bakery when New Glarus is also home to a most excellent brewery?  Why, to pick up an order of nut horns, of course.  What are nut horns?  Pure delight.  You can read about them or order them here, but I recommend going in person - it’s a great excuse to go riding!

My destination for the day was Chicago to have dinner with my brother and sister-in-law, so I continued east/southeast.  No route, per se, just following the smallest roads possible.

My brother was still working when I got to Chicago, so I swung by.  His boss came out and congratulated me on the BBG (the Spot link was a favorite of the entire place on Friday), and said, “Man, your bike is destroyed!  Pull it in and I’ll have one of the guys wash it!”

That was about the kindest thing I’d heard all day.  The Minnesota Bug Storm had encrusted the front of the FJR with about ¼ inch of residue, and the journey east in the sun just baked them on.  I appreciatively pulled in with my disgusting bike:

I relaxed, had some water, and looked at some really cool cars:

I just have a thing for blue:

When my brother was ready to roll out, I went and got my bike.  Little did I know someone had taken away the old one and replaced it with a brand new 2006 FJR, modified just like mine!

The guys did an absolutely amazing job - the old girl still turns heads and cleans up pretty well.

We danced through traffic on the way downtown, where his wife had made an absolutely killer feast - pasta with prosciutto and leeks, cold cuts, and these insane cream cheese brownies.  Amazing.

I originally planned on riding home that night, but the conversation, company, and meal conspired against me.  I gave into temptation, accepted a beer, and just unwound completely.  Just a fantastic evening!

The next morning, I woke up and was rolling by 05:00 CST, beating the Chicago traffic and heading east.  I headed straight home, pulled into the garage I had left about 100 hours and 2700 miles ago.  Darted inside, shaved, showered, and headed to work.

The entire day seemed like it passed in slow motion.  Hard to get back into daily life after an extended weekend behind bars.

What lucky, lucky people we are to live in a time and place where we can enjoy machines like these, which transport us to unknown places, to people both familiar and unfamiliar, and home again.

Here's the trace for the journey home.  Until the next adventure...

Superior National Forest

Superior National Forest

After my ten hours of blissful slumber, I woke up to a breakfast fit for a horde of exhausted, famished Pony Express riders.  It was delicious.  Piles of cheesy scrambled eggs, sausages, and a pot of piping coffee accompanied joyous conversation, punctuated by laughter.  It was one of those blissful Saturday mornings when everyone is just content to linger around the table, chit-chatting.  Another mug of coffee?  Yes please.  I get to see my cousin and his family a couple of times a year, and I really look forward to hang out with them every chance I get.

Eventually, around noon, we decide that if we’re going riding, we might as well get on it.  We initially set a target of halfway between Duluth and Canada as a loose destination.  My cousin rides a carbed Vulcan, and we spent a bit of time wrenching to put his windshield on.

We finally rolled out, later than anticipated, heading north on a gorgeous sunny day.  Not too hot, not too cold.  We stopped for gas and conversation a couple times before rolling into Duluth, where we made lunch at Big Daddy’s Burgers our first priority:

Yes, it was delicious.  Yes, it was exactly what I was hungry for after a day eating out of my top case.  Loads of fries, delicious bacon burger with cheddar, sauteed onions, and BBQ sauce.

We lingered over lunch before heading north.  We stayed as close to the lake as possible, drinking in the aromatic lilacs and realizing how incredibly, remarkably beautiful the coastline is.  And how incredibly, remarkably cold the wind off the lake is.

The air temperature dropped by six degrees, and it felt colder than that!  I zipped up my vents, flicked on my heated grips, and raised the windshield.  We saw enormous cargo ships, ore loading stations, sailboats, and mile and after mile of lovely, curvy coastline.

At Silver Bay, we pulled into a state park with a boat launch to feel the water.  Good gracious it was cold!  So cold that I saw my cousin’s breath, and that the water dripping off boats and trailers was steaming on the asphalt, still warm from the sun.

We talked about route planning, figuring we would turn left into Finland and follow Highway 1 through Superior National Forest to Highway 53, then jog south and home.  Based on our estimates, that put us home around midnight.  Did I mention auxiliary lights are pretty much essential for late night riding?

We motored on up the road and swing west towards Finland, where we stopped for gas.  We noticed a curious thing that appeared to be normal in rural Minnesota - the local gas station (which also sold live bait, most convenience items, etc) combined with the post office.

Even though the store itself was shut tight, the pumps were on.  Where would we be without pay at the pump?

Highway 1 is proof that taxes are worth paying.  The road was simply immaculate.  Imagine a freshly paved ribbon of asphalt, draped across streams, lakes, hills, and an intensely aromatic pine forest.  Now imagine perfect weather conditions and perhaps 6 other cars in two hours of riding.  Road-going heaven, to be sure.

The road was delightfully curvy - I could have easily spent a day going back and forth, working on those pesky chicken strips.  A blissful place with stunning natural beauty.

We gassed up near Ely and started the journey home.  My faith in humanity was restored when I saw this sign:

Of course, there was no hose...

Rolling south, we had to pause for a photo opportunity just as the sun was starting to set:

We stopped for gas at another Post Office:

The cashier confirmed what our GPS had been trying to tell us - we didn’t need to go to Duluth in order to pick up I-35 south.  About six miles across pitch black two-lane roads would get us on a more direct path.

We brought our helmets inside so as to minimize the chance of having mosquitoes fly in as we were putting them on.  Let me tell you, getting a bug sucked in through the scoop vent on top of the helmet is not the most fun you can have, especially when you feel it crawling around on your bald head.  I wonder if hair minimizes the sensation?

Anyway, we saddled up and slowly headed west to pick up 33, which would take us to I-35.  I led the way, aux lights all fired up.

Have you ever driven in a snowstorm and flicked on the bright lights?  It’s really difficult to see, as you can see all the flakes falling.  Well, we mimicked that sensation, except there was no snow - just bugs.  Lots of bugs.  Thousands of bugs.  Enough bugs that I wondered if we would get some type of recognition from the locals for eliminating a quarter of the bug population.  I put my windshield all the way up, just so the bike would take the brunt of it and leave my face shield clear.  Wishful thinking…

That said, the bike did do it’s fair share:

The rest of our ride back to Eagan went very smoothly.  Lots of traffic on I-35, but not as many bugs, thanks to all the traffic?  There were a couple of trailers that had no lights at all - downright dangerous.  I wouldn’t have minded if the police we saw pulled them over and wrote them up.

Arriving home around 1 am, it was a little too late for a fire pit, so we took a raincheck and  just went to bed.

Here is the trace for our actual route - a nice 600+ mile loop.

The next day, we simply hung out, had an amazing salmon steak dinner, and cashed in on that raincheck: