No, I'm not talking about what happens when a middle-aged rider gets going a little too fast on a twisty road. (But when you think about it, BMW-branded "Depends" might open up a whole new rider market). What I had in mind was the inevitable "house christening" that happens when a well-intentioned but misguided animal lover brings home an adopted tom cat, thinking that this critter will make a good pet.
Tom cats mark their territory, "personalizing" it in their own unique and odoriferous way. Motorcyclists do the same thing when they get a new bike, generally in less "fluid" ways. (An exception: Years ago when I sold airplanes we had a repeat customer who, before his first flight in a newly-acquired airplane, would urinate ceremoniously on the nose wheel. He claimed it was a natural way to bond with the plane. It was a cosmically funny ironic moment when he crashed what turned out to be the last of his airplanes into a farmer's field, sliding to a stop in a stand of farm buildings and demolishing the outhouse.)
Back to bikers. I don't think I've ever met a biker who didn't personalize his or her ride. Each rider has their own particular style but the type of bike they ride has a lot to do with the personalization process. Sport bike types like "fender eliminator" kits (after all, what a silly idea, having a fender that keeps road spooge off your back), lots of carbon fiber parts (providing a performance improvement of approximately 1 mph for each $1000 spent), titanium exhaust systems (complete with dynamometer charts of horsepower curves derived from hours of wishful thinking) and, the ultimate admission of a limited ability to handle all that horsepower, a pair of frame sliders.
Dual-sport types are big into aluminum luggage systems, ruggedized GPS displays on machined mounting systems that, when you're not looking, transform into large mechanical movie monsters, and heavy-duty skid plates. The latter are guaranteed to protect the bike's oil pan against otherwise catastrophic impacts with the type of road debris most often encountered on these bikes: carelessly discarded double shot, extra hot, half sweet venti mocha cups in the single-track wilderness of the Starbuck's drive through.
The cruiser crowd has the easiest time of it. Recognizing their target market's desire to define their non-conformist identities through their V-twin alter egos, cruiser manufacturers offer their bikes in a variety of oxymoronic "standard custom" packages: tick the box on the order sheet, fork over several thousand extra dollars and you get the styling department's idea of your roadgoing persona. It's brilliantly simple. In fact, one vendor promotes their "Lemming Yellow" paint and doodad package with the catchy line "No hassles tassles!"
Then there are long distance riders like me. We're members of the Iron Butt Association, with license plate backers proclaiming that we're "The World's Toughest Riders!" We "farkle" our bikes. I'd better clear this up quickly: we're not moto-perverts. "Farkle" is a word we made up because we're tough enough to say it out loud. A "farkle" is an accessory that, in some way or another, helps us ride 1500 miles a day in any weather on any road. Common farkles (see, I'm so tough I use it without quotes) include tiny, powerful, expensive PIAA driving lights that focus on protecting our bikes' paint from rock damage, fuel cells that mount on the seat between our backsides and the cars behind us being driven by people talking on their cel phones, XM weather/traffic radios so we know which route will be the slowest, wettest and coldest and, of course, radar detectors so we know instantly when we've got a ticket.
On this bike, I took a more minimalist approach. I actually "de-farkled" it. First, I removed the radio, speakers, remote controls and antenna, removing twelve pounds of weight way up high on the bike and giving me a useable glove box. I'd never listen to it anyway as I find music distracting when I'm riding.
The bar backs were next. My body is one of the "Monday/Friday" ones, all oddly proportioned, like it was assembled from leftover parts by a worker who either had a bad hangover or wanted to get home and get started on one. My eyes are two different colors, my feet are two very different sizes, I have short legs, a long torso and monkey arms. The last thing I need are bar backs.
The second last thing I need was the last thing to go: the highway pegs. I know that long-legged riders love these things. Everyone's inner Easy Rider loves them. I can't stand them. (Heck, I can't even reach them!) I think they're ugly (particularly on a motorcycle as svelte as the R1150RT) and dangerous: they move your feet from the controls to some tortuous place out near the roadkill on the shoulder.
The rest was just cleaning. It took over thirteen hours to remove all the fairing plastic and clean eight years of baby powder-fine red Oklahoma topsoil from every nook, notch and niche on the bike. I used various stiff bristle brushes to loosen the dirt, an air compressor to blow it away, two different types of soap (heavy duty boat soap, then gentler car wash) and two full hand wash/rinse cycles to get it all out.
Fairing panels were washed inside and out, then hand polished and waxed on the painted sides. All the covered black bits (frame, wiring looms) got a generous spray of low gloss plastic protectant and all the exposed black stuff got two coats of tire gel (I could do a late-night info-mercial on the miracles you can work on sun-damaged black plastic with this stuff). The thirty six little screws that hold all the plastic on were cleaned, etched, sprayed with black appliance epoxy and oven baked. Finally, I removed the entire exhaust system and polished it, inch by baked-on inch, first with 1500 grit wet emery cloth then with metal polish.
At 55,000 miles, my new-to-me RT looks like new. What a farkling lot of work! But that was the easy part. The hard work is still to come: naming my new friend.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
The 3000 Mile Test Ride
I love long distance riding: I'm a member of the Iron Butt Association and have completed a number of their rides, including the Trans Canadian Gold (Vancouver, BC to Halifax, NS in under 72 hours). While you can pretty much ride anything you want as far as you care to, there are only a small number of bikes that truly excel at extended long distance, all weather riding.
A while ago I was sitting on the stoop of a small country store in southern Iowa, drinking a Gatorade as a feeble defence against the midwest heat I'd been riding through all day. A man finished fueling his truck and stopped beside me as he was walking in to pay. "Is that your bike?", he asked, pointing to my '83 BMW R80RT parked in the shade a few yards away. When I said it was, he said "I thought so. You see a lone rider a long way from home, he's probably riding a Beemer."
BMWs have had that reputation for a long time. And, for a long time, they were just about the only choice for most serious long distance riders. Now, we've got an incredible range of bikes that'll do 500 miles before breakfast without flattening your ass or your enthusiasm: the BMW RTs and GTs, Yamaha's FJR 1300, Honda's ST 1300, Kawasaki's fire-breathing Concours 14 and its predecessor, the venerable Concours 1000.
I own an '05 Concours 1000, my fourth Concours. I love these bikes and this '05 in particular. They are one of the most favoured of the long-distance bikes and definitely the best value in the entire class.
I've put in many 1000 mile days on a Concours and once rode a stock one from Chicago to Bellingham, WA non-stop, reaching a real-world top speed of 145 mph on a Montana back road. They'll do the apocryphal 500 miles before breakfast, run 300 mile between fill ups and chew up twisty back roads like pretzels. Ride them below 5000 rpm and they're a great long-distance tourer. Wind the Ninja-based engine up toward the 10,500 rpm redline and it'll bring out your inner hooligan.
So why the R1150RT? Well, partly because although I've owned a bunch of different BMWs over the years, I've never lived with an oilhead. Partly because I'm a BMW guy. And partly because I had surgery last fall that's left me with weakened, injury prone abdominal muscles. The Connie's a wonderful bike and weighs within a few pounds of the 1150 but she carries her weight up high, making it difficult for me to lift her onto the center stand when loaded (the bike, not me) and tiring to ride at low speeds.
The 1150, in contrast, carries her weight lower and feels 100 lbs lighter than the 600 she actually weighs. The fine balance of the BMW means that, even with a load of luggage, I can lift it onto the center stand easily. With the Connie, I have to ask for help.
I cannot keep both of these fine motorcycles. One will have to go. What follows are my riding impressions of the R1150RT and a comparison to the Concours. As I'm writing these lines, I have no idea which one I'll keep, which one I'll sell. By the time the last period of this post is pasted in place, maybe I'll know.
Overall Design
The 1150's "RT" designation indicates BMW's intention that this is a road touring bike, a more sedate design than their "RS" bikes, which are nominally BMW's Sport Touring bikes. The reality is that the sleek 1150RTs are considered by many riders to be sport touring mounts.
This is the second generation of the oilhead RT, an evolution of the R1100RT that debuted in 1995.
A wet weight of 614 lbs is typical for this class of bike. The frame is a modern, 3 section unit, using extensive aluminum castings, with the engine a stressed frame member. The full fairing is a sea of compound curves, presumably optimized in a wind tunnel to provide excellent weather protection.
The Kawasaki Concours (ZG-1000) is a much older design, dating back to 1986. It has always been marketed as a sport touring bike, with much being made of its Ninja 1000-derived engine.
At 640 pounds wet, it's a bit heavier than the R1150RT. The frame is mild steel tubing and uses the transverse 4 cylinder engine as a stressed member. The full fairing is a typical 80's design, very angular but still very effective.
Fit and Finish
I don't think any marque measures up to BMW's level of fit and finish. Castings are smooth, paint is deep and lustrous (and expensive) Glasurit, Everything about this bike looks and feels first rate, as it should, given the price of a new one. The supplied toolkit is simple but stocked with first-rate pieces.
The Connie, by contrast, displays average fit and finish. Castings are rougher, hardware is mild steel instead of stainless, the paint is well applied but not as rich looking as the BMW's. The toolkit is a sadly lacking collection of poorly-made wrenches and a pair of pliers made out of some type of oatmeal alloy.
Engine and Driveline
These are both shaft-drive bikes that employ their engines as stressed frame members. That's where the similarity ends.
The BMW uses a 90 horsepower variant of the flat twin engine that has made BMW famous since 1923. This incarnation uses 8-valve, oil-cooled cylinder heads and Bosch fuel injection. Engines built after December 2002 (unfortunately not my bike) have dual-plug heads for more even combustion.
This very torquey engine is mated to a six speed transmission through an automotive-style dry clutch, a design shared only with Moto Guzzi. The six speed transmission is one of the features that distinguishes the 1150RT from the 1100RT. Unfortunately, instead of designing a true six-speed with evenly spaced gear ratios, BMW apparently just tacked a tall sixth gear onto the existing five speed box. The result is a huge jump from fifth to the overdrive sixth. This produces very low cruising rpm (4000 rpm produces just over 80 mph indicated) which is fine for long stretches of Interstate but forces the rider to ignore sixth on any but the slightest inclines and on any "fun" roads.
The transmission is also typically Getrag/BMW, with clunky, mechanical shifts and a higher lever effort than I like. The combination of the big, torquey twin and this six-speed is definitely biased toward long distance touring. It is not much fun when the road gets twisty.
The Concours, in contrast, is a sport bike at heart. It uses a slightly detuned Ninja 1000 sport bike engine, making a claimed 98 horsepower and driving a close-ratio six speed transmission through a wet clutch. This is also a 4-valve/cylinder engine but it uses carburetors instead of fuel injection. This combination is decidedly Jekyll and Hyde: below 5000 rpm, it's a practical, powerful touring bike. Above 5000 rpm, its hairy-chested sport bike persona takes over. You need to be hanging on and pointed in a straight line when you whack the throttle open above 5000 rpm.
The Connie's transmission shifts quickly and cleanly through six well-spaced gears. Unlike the BMW, it does not have a digital gear indicator. Ironically, the Connie could use one, the BMW could do without.
Mechanical and Electrical Systems, Serviceability
The mechanical systems on these two bikes are several generations apart. The BMW uses Bosch Motronic fuel injection, vs. the Concours' carburetors. The Connie's dual front disk brakes are just that: brakes connected to the handlebar-mounted master cylinder by hydraulic hoses. The same for the single rear disk.
The BMW's brakes are complex servo assisted ("power brakes"), fully linked (either the hand or foot lever actuates both front and rear brakes), antilock brakes. This expensive system works flawlessly, allowing the rider to simply stand the bike up and mash on all the brake he/she wants to produce a minimum-distance stop on almost any surface.
It's a system with quirks: with the key off, there is no servo assist and therefore limited braking power. Try rolling this bike down your driveway or off a trailer with the key off and you may be in for an expensive surprise. The system must also complete its self-test cycle at power-up before servo assist is available. If you hold either brake when you turn the key on, the self-test won't complete and you won't have servo assist. This is also a good way to spontaneously explore the edge of the Motel 6 parking lot.
Bleeding this system is an involved process, too. (On the Concours, it's a 15 minute job.) Systems that fail are typically not repairable and replacement costs run to $3000 or more. (Some riders have simply removed the servo and ABS systems when they fail, with apparently no discernible effect on basic braking power.)
Electrical systems on both bikes are similar in concept, although the BMW's braking system makes tailight and brakelight bulb choice critical (and limits the ability to add auxiliary brake and tail lights). Both bikes have alternators producing approximately 700 watts, charging similarly sized batteries. On the BMW, the alternator is belt driven and belt failure has sidelined more than a few riders. Also, where the Concours' battery is easily accessible under the seat, the BMW's is buried under the fuel tank.
Both bikes are mostly owner-serviceable. Lots of plastic has to come off to get to the innards of both bikes, with the Concours having a slight advantage. Both bikes need to have their valves set and intake systems synchronized on a regular basis (on the BMW, to eliminate surging and on the Concours, to eliminate the "Connie buzz"). In addition, the Concours' counter-balancer shaft needs to be adjusted, a simple procedure that, when done with a valve adjustment and carb sync, keeps the engine smooth.
Ride, Handling and Braking
The R1150RT's combination of BMW's Paralever rear suspension and unique Telelever front suspension produce what in my opinion is the most refined ride in the motorcycle world. The BMW is eerily smooth over the road, without sacrificing any precision in steering or braking. At all legal (and some not-so-legal) cruising speeds, the engine is absolutely smooth. It is simply effortless to cover long miles on this bike. In addition, the Telelever front end minimizes "dive" on braking and deceleration, adding to the refined feeling of the bike.
On twisty back roads, the BMW is very competent but, like any heavy bike, can be a lot of work. You definitely do not flick this bike around corners. Turn in is about average and the bike tracks accurately through the corners. Steering response in a turn is very good for a heavy bike and it doesn't take long to get comfortable enough on this bike to routinely scrape the pegs. The ABS system lets you rush up to a corner at foolish speeds, then brake late and hard going into the corner.
The transmission dampens the fun a bit, with its long-throw, clunky shifts but a good rider will adjust to this. Likewise the engine, which has a broad, flat power curve but does not rev very freely. There is no mistaking that this is a sport TOURING bike and not a SPORT touring one.
The Concours uses a traditional front fork setup, with adjustable spring preload. The rear, like the BMW, uses a single shock with air-adjustable preload and adjustable rebound damping. The Concours turns into corners quicker than the BMW, is about as steerable through the turns and will put the pegs on the pavement with less effort. For long distance riding I run bias-ply Michelin tires on the Connie, which slow the handling somewhat. Fitted with sticky, quick-turning radials, the Connie will out-turn just about anything in its class.
Braking power with the stock brake pads and lines is adequate. My Connie has braided stainless lines front and rear and grippy (but abrasive) "HH" pads up front, a combination that produces more braking power than most riders have skill. Where the BMW's brakes are "point and stop", the Concours' brakes require a high degree of rider skill.
The Concours' engine and transmission are a lot more fun than the BMW's. Shifts are quick and precise, gear ratios are evenly spaced and that lovely Ninja engine sings an angelic tune above 7000 rpm. It's easy to forget you're on a bike with bags and a top case.
Overall Comfort and Weather Protection
Most riders I know hit their limit somewhere between 250 and 300 miles a day. Long distance riders like me think in terms of 500 miles minimum, double that if it's needed. My average road day is 700 miles. To cover those kind of miles requires a comfortable bike with excellent weather protection.
Both of these bikes offer excellent weather protection. The BMW's fairing covers the rider's body from boot heel to helmet top, with the electrically-adjustable windshield allowing for a range of adjustment from sport bike breezy to sit-up-straight still air comfort.
On the Beemer, my knees protrude slightly past the fairing edge so that the very outside edge of my gear gets a bit of breeze (and rain). The mirrors are placed in the airstream so that they keep the rider's hands in a pocket of still air. I find that in heavy rain, the bigger droplets ignore this theory and still find my gloves.
The voluptuous sculpting of the BMW fairing also allows a noticeable amount of low-speed air flow in the rider's area. I thought this would be a problem in near-freezing temperatures but it really didn't make much difference (maybe the heated grips made the difference).
The stock windshield is adequate but was too small for my tall-from-the-waist-up body and wide shoulders. A replacement screen from Aeroflow has produced an aerodynamic miracle.
The BMW's height-adjustable saddle is one of the best stock saddles in the business, allowing pain-free 700 mile days.
The Concours' fairing, while sporting an angular, appealing masculine shape, is more reflective of the "barn door" school of weather protection, blocking the air rather than diplomatically guiding it around the rider. Still, it works well, producing a nearly draft-free pocket of air for the rider and passenger.
The Connie's fairing also leaves the outside edge of my legs in the airflow but, as with the BMW, it's no big deal. I do find my boots get wetter riding the Connie in the rain than the BMW.
The Connie's fixed-position stock windshield is adequate but not protective enough for long distance rides. Most owners replace the windshield; my choice is the wonderful vented Cee Bailey unit in 6" overheight. This produces a completely still, buffet-free zone for rider and passenger with none of the errant zephyrs I feel on the R1150RT.
The Concours's stock seat is good for 300 to 500 miles a day. Beyond that, it's too narrow and too hard. I've had mine rebuilt with multiple-layer memory foam, allowing 1000 mile sits. Done this way, it's about on par with the stock R1150RT seat and produces the same seating height as the BMW's seat on its lowest position (which is where I need it).
One grumble I have about the R1150RT is the mediocre mirrors. They're set low on the bike and work as aerodynamic aids to keep the rider's hands in (mostly) still air. Unfortunately, the top half to one third of the mirrors provide a great view, not of following traffic, but of my elbows. A good view of traffic requires some serious head-bobbing.
The Concours, on the other hand, is blessed with the best mirrors ever fitted to any motorcycle. That's not opinion, that's fact. I'm spoiled by their unobstructed view of the road behind without any need for gymnastics.
The Long Haul
Both of these bikes will go 240 miles on a tankful, with 50 or so miles of reserve fuel. Both will haul two people and their luggage as far and as fast as you want to go. Both will let you play a satisfying game of boy racer on twisty roads.
So which one is better? For the Interstate, the BMW wins. The combination of the smooth engine, wide saddle and refined ride provide unmatched comfort. For twisty roads, the Concours' wonderful engine and transmission make it the better bike. When the weather gets ugly, it's a tie.
But what about for me, for a guy who rides a mix of "get there" and "turn here" roads, a guy who uses his one bike to commute and tour? Sitting here on this dark, rainy, unrideable Friday afternoon, the BMW, with its poised low-speed manners and balance and recently-sampled long distance prowess would be my choice.
My final decision, though, will have to wait for a long, sunny spring day when I can take each bike in turn through town and then out to the mountains, when fresh muscle memory and adrenaline will help me make what today looks like an impossible choice.
A while ago I was sitting on the stoop of a small country store in southern Iowa, drinking a Gatorade as a feeble defence against the midwest heat I'd been riding through all day. A man finished fueling his truck and stopped beside me as he was walking in to pay. "Is that your bike?", he asked, pointing to my '83 BMW R80RT parked in the shade a few yards away. When I said it was, he said "I thought so. You see a lone rider a long way from home, he's probably riding a Beemer."
BMWs have had that reputation for a long time. And, for a long time, they were just about the only choice for most serious long distance riders. Now, we've got an incredible range of bikes that'll do 500 miles before breakfast without flattening your ass or your enthusiasm: the BMW RTs and GTs, Yamaha's FJR 1300, Honda's ST 1300, Kawasaki's fire-breathing Concours 14 and its predecessor, the venerable Concours 1000.
I own an '05 Concours 1000, my fourth Concours. I love these bikes and this '05 in particular. They are one of the most favoured of the long-distance bikes and definitely the best value in the entire class.
I've put in many 1000 mile days on a Concours and once rode a stock one from Chicago to Bellingham, WA non-stop, reaching a real-world top speed of 145 mph on a Montana back road. They'll do the apocryphal 500 miles before breakfast, run 300 mile between fill ups and chew up twisty back roads like pretzels. Ride them below 5000 rpm and they're a great long-distance tourer. Wind the Ninja-based engine up toward the 10,500 rpm redline and it'll bring out your inner hooligan.
So why the R1150RT? Well, partly because although I've owned a bunch of different BMWs over the years, I've never lived with an oilhead. Partly because I'm a BMW guy. And partly because I had surgery last fall that's left me with weakened, injury prone abdominal muscles. The Connie's a wonderful bike and weighs within a few pounds of the 1150 but she carries her weight up high, making it difficult for me to lift her onto the center stand when loaded (the bike, not me) and tiring to ride at low speeds.
The 1150, in contrast, carries her weight lower and feels 100 lbs lighter than the 600 she actually weighs. The fine balance of the BMW means that, even with a load of luggage, I can lift it onto the center stand easily. With the Connie, I have to ask for help.
I cannot keep both of these fine motorcycles. One will have to go. What follows are my riding impressions of the R1150RT and a comparison to the Concours. As I'm writing these lines, I have no idea which one I'll keep, which one I'll sell. By the time the last period of this post is pasted in place, maybe I'll know.
Overall Design
The 1150's "RT" designation indicates BMW's intention that this is a road touring bike, a more sedate design than their "RS" bikes, which are nominally BMW's Sport Touring bikes. The reality is that the sleek 1150RTs are considered by many riders to be sport touring mounts.
This is the second generation of the oilhead RT, an evolution of the R1100RT that debuted in 1995.
A wet weight of 614 lbs is typical for this class of bike. The frame is a modern, 3 section unit, using extensive aluminum castings, with the engine a stressed frame member. The full fairing is a sea of compound curves, presumably optimized in a wind tunnel to provide excellent weather protection.
The Kawasaki Concours (ZG-1000) is a much older design, dating back to 1986. It has always been marketed as a sport touring bike, with much being made of its Ninja 1000-derived engine.
At 640 pounds wet, it's a bit heavier than the R1150RT. The frame is mild steel tubing and uses the transverse 4 cylinder engine as a stressed member. The full fairing is a typical 80's design, very angular but still very effective.
Fit and Finish
I don't think any marque measures up to BMW's level of fit and finish. Castings are smooth, paint is deep and lustrous (and expensive) Glasurit, Everything about this bike looks and feels first rate, as it should, given the price of a new one. The supplied toolkit is simple but stocked with first-rate pieces.
The Connie, by contrast, displays average fit and finish. Castings are rougher, hardware is mild steel instead of stainless, the paint is well applied but not as rich looking as the BMW's. The toolkit is a sadly lacking collection of poorly-made wrenches and a pair of pliers made out of some type of oatmeal alloy.
Engine and Driveline
These are both shaft-drive bikes that employ their engines as stressed frame members. That's where the similarity ends.
The BMW uses a 90 horsepower variant of the flat twin engine that has made BMW famous since 1923. This incarnation uses 8-valve, oil-cooled cylinder heads and Bosch fuel injection. Engines built after December 2002 (unfortunately not my bike) have dual-plug heads for more even combustion.
This very torquey engine is mated to a six speed transmission through an automotive-style dry clutch, a design shared only with Moto Guzzi. The six speed transmission is one of the features that distinguishes the 1150RT from the 1100RT. Unfortunately, instead of designing a true six-speed with evenly spaced gear ratios, BMW apparently just tacked a tall sixth gear onto the existing five speed box. The result is a huge jump from fifth to the overdrive sixth. This produces very low cruising rpm (4000 rpm produces just over 80 mph indicated) which is fine for long stretches of Interstate but forces the rider to ignore sixth on any but the slightest inclines and on any "fun" roads.
The transmission is also typically Getrag/BMW, with clunky, mechanical shifts and a higher lever effort than I like. The combination of the big, torquey twin and this six-speed is definitely biased toward long distance touring. It is not much fun when the road gets twisty.
The Concours, in contrast, is a sport bike at heart. It uses a slightly detuned Ninja 1000 sport bike engine, making a claimed 98 horsepower and driving a close-ratio six speed transmission through a wet clutch. This is also a 4-valve/cylinder engine but it uses carburetors instead of fuel injection. This combination is decidedly Jekyll and Hyde: below 5000 rpm, it's a practical, powerful touring bike. Above 5000 rpm, its hairy-chested sport bike persona takes over. You need to be hanging on and pointed in a straight line when you whack the throttle open above 5000 rpm.
The Connie's transmission shifts quickly and cleanly through six well-spaced gears. Unlike the BMW, it does not have a digital gear indicator. Ironically, the Connie could use one, the BMW could do without.
Mechanical and Electrical Systems, Serviceability
The mechanical systems on these two bikes are several generations apart. The BMW uses Bosch Motronic fuel injection, vs. the Concours' carburetors. The Connie's dual front disk brakes are just that: brakes connected to the handlebar-mounted master cylinder by hydraulic hoses. The same for the single rear disk.
The BMW's brakes are complex servo assisted ("power brakes"), fully linked (either the hand or foot lever actuates both front and rear brakes), antilock brakes. This expensive system works flawlessly, allowing the rider to simply stand the bike up and mash on all the brake he/she wants to produce a minimum-distance stop on almost any surface.
It's a system with quirks: with the key off, there is no servo assist and therefore limited braking power. Try rolling this bike down your driveway or off a trailer with the key off and you may be in for an expensive surprise. The system must also complete its self-test cycle at power-up before servo assist is available. If you hold either brake when you turn the key on, the self-test won't complete and you won't have servo assist. This is also a good way to spontaneously explore the edge of the Motel 6 parking lot.
Bleeding this system is an involved process, too. (On the Concours, it's a 15 minute job.) Systems that fail are typically not repairable and replacement costs run to $3000 or more. (Some riders have simply removed the servo and ABS systems when they fail, with apparently no discernible effect on basic braking power.)
Electrical systems on both bikes are similar in concept, although the BMW's braking system makes tailight and brakelight bulb choice critical (and limits the ability to add auxiliary brake and tail lights). Both bikes have alternators producing approximately 700 watts, charging similarly sized batteries. On the BMW, the alternator is belt driven and belt failure has sidelined more than a few riders. Also, where the Concours' battery is easily accessible under the seat, the BMW's is buried under the fuel tank.
Both bikes are mostly owner-serviceable. Lots of plastic has to come off to get to the innards of both bikes, with the Concours having a slight advantage. Both bikes need to have their valves set and intake systems synchronized on a regular basis (on the BMW, to eliminate surging and on the Concours, to eliminate the "Connie buzz"). In addition, the Concours' counter-balancer shaft needs to be adjusted, a simple procedure that, when done with a valve adjustment and carb sync, keeps the engine smooth.
Ride, Handling and Braking
The R1150RT's combination of BMW's Paralever rear suspension and unique Telelever front suspension produce what in my opinion is the most refined ride in the motorcycle world. The BMW is eerily smooth over the road, without sacrificing any precision in steering or braking. At all legal (and some not-so-legal) cruising speeds, the engine is absolutely smooth. It is simply effortless to cover long miles on this bike. In addition, the Telelever front end minimizes "dive" on braking and deceleration, adding to the refined feeling of the bike.
On twisty back roads, the BMW is very competent but, like any heavy bike, can be a lot of work. You definitely do not flick this bike around corners. Turn in is about average and the bike tracks accurately through the corners. Steering response in a turn is very good for a heavy bike and it doesn't take long to get comfortable enough on this bike to routinely scrape the pegs. The ABS system lets you rush up to a corner at foolish speeds, then brake late and hard going into the corner.
The transmission dampens the fun a bit, with its long-throw, clunky shifts but a good rider will adjust to this. Likewise the engine, which has a broad, flat power curve but does not rev very freely. There is no mistaking that this is a sport TOURING bike and not a SPORT touring one.
The Concours uses a traditional front fork setup, with adjustable spring preload. The rear, like the BMW, uses a single shock with air-adjustable preload and adjustable rebound damping. The Concours turns into corners quicker than the BMW, is about as steerable through the turns and will put the pegs on the pavement with less effort. For long distance riding I run bias-ply Michelin tires on the Connie, which slow the handling somewhat. Fitted with sticky, quick-turning radials, the Connie will out-turn just about anything in its class.
Braking power with the stock brake pads and lines is adequate. My Connie has braided stainless lines front and rear and grippy (but abrasive) "HH" pads up front, a combination that produces more braking power than most riders have skill. Where the BMW's brakes are "point and stop", the Concours' brakes require a high degree of rider skill.
The Concours' engine and transmission are a lot more fun than the BMW's. Shifts are quick and precise, gear ratios are evenly spaced and that lovely Ninja engine sings an angelic tune above 7000 rpm. It's easy to forget you're on a bike with bags and a top case.
Overall Comfort and Weather Protection
Most riders I know hit their limit somewhere between 250 and 300 miles a day. Long distance riders like me think in terms of 500 miles minimum, double that if it's needed. My average road day is 700 miles. To cover those kind of miles requires a comfortable bike with excellent weather protection.
Both of these bikes offer excellent weather protection. The BMW's fairing covers the rider's body from boot heel to helmet top, with the electrically-adjustable windshield allowing for a range of adjustment from sport bike breezy to sit-up-straight still air comfort.
On the Beemer, my knees protrude slightly past the fairing edge so that the very outside edge of my gear gets a bit of breeze (and rain). The mirrors are placed in the airstream so that they keep the rider's hands in a pocket of still air. I find that in heavy rain, the bigger droplets ignore this theory and still find my gloves.
The voluptuous sculpting of the BMW fairing also allows a noticeable amount of low-speed air flow in the rider's area. I thought this would be a problem in near-freezing temperatures but it really didn't make much difference (maybe the heated grips made the difference).
The stock windshield is adequate but was too small for my tall-from-the-waist-up body and wide shoulders. A replacement screen from Aeroflow has produced an aerodynamic miracle.
The BMW's height-adjustable saddle is one of the best stock saddles in the business, allowing pain-free 700 mile days.
The Concours' fairing, while sporting an angular, appealing masculine shape, is more reflective of the "barn door" school of weather protection, blocking the air rather than diplomatically guiding it around the rider. Still, it works well, producing a nearly draft-free pocket of air for the rider and passenger.
The Connie's fairing also leaves the outside edge of my legs in the airflow but, as with the BMW, it's no big deal. I do find my boots get wetter riding the Connie in the rain than the BMW.
The Connie's fixed-position stock windshield is adequate but not protective enough for long distance rides. Most owners replace the windshield; my choice is the wonderful vented Cee Bailey unit in 6" overheight. This produces a completely still, buffet-free zone for rider and passenger with none of the errant zephyrs I feel on the R1150RT.
The Concours's stock seat is good for 300 to 500 miles a day. Beyond that, it's too narrow and too hard. I've had mine rebuilt with multiple-layer memory foam, allowing 1000 mile sits. Done this way, it's about on par with the stock R1150RT seat and produces the same seating height as the BMW's seat on its lowest position (which is where I need it).
One grumble I have about the R1150RT is the mediocre mirrors. They're set low on the bike and work as aerodynamic aids to keep the rider's hands in (mostly) still air. Unfortunately, the top half to one third of the mirrors provide a great view, not of following traffic, but of my elbows. A good view of traffic requires some serious head-bobbing.
The Concours, on the other hand, is blessed with the best mirrors ever fitted to any motorcycle. That's not opinion, that's fact. I'm spoiled by their unobstructed view of the road behind without any need for gymnastics.
The Long Haul
Both of these bikes will go 240 miles on a tankful, with 50 or so miles of reserve fuel. Both will haul two people and their luggage as far and as fast as you want to go. Both will let you play a satisfying game of boy racer on twisty roads.
So which one is better? For the Interstate, the BMW wins. The combination of the smooth engine, wide saddle and refined ride provide unmatched comfort. For twisty roads, the Concours' wonderful engine and transmission make it the better bike. When the weather gets ugly, it's a tie.
But what about for me, for a guy who rides a mix of "get there" and "turn here" roads, a guy who uses his one bike to commute and tour? Sitting here on this dark, rainy, unrideable Friday afternoon, the BMW, with its poised low-speed manners and balance and recently-sampled long distance prowess would be my choice.
My final decision, though, will have to wait for a long, sunny spring day when I can take each bike in turn through town and then out to the mountains, when fresh muscle memory and adrenaline will help me make what today looks like an impossible choice.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Special Thanks To ...
Jenn Tupps and the sales and service crew at BMW of Oklahoma for making this purchase so completely painless. You treated me like an old friend, not a first-time eBay customer. Thanks!
Paige Ortiz and his wife Julie at Aeroflow Screens in L.A. Sure, I stopped in for a windshield. But I didn't expect Paige to dry the rain off my helmet, clean the face shield, install the new windshield and clean, pack and ship my old one back to me. The best windshields I've ever ridden behind, designed, tested and sold by a man I'd ride beside any day. Thanks!
The service department at MotoMarin, San Rafael, California. You got me back on the road in 40 minutes and gave me a deal on the tire, too! The courtesy safety inspection is one of the many things that sets your dealership apart.
And finally, to everyone (whoever you are) who've read this blog. It's nice to have company on the road!
Paige Ortiz and his wife Julie at Aeroflow Screens in L.A. Sure, I stopped in for a windshield. But I didn't expect Paige to dry the rain off my helmet, clean the face shield, install the new windshield and clean, pack and ship my old one back to me. The best windshields I've ever ridden behind, designed, tested and sold by a man I'd ride beside any day. Thanks!
The service department at MotoMarin, San Rafael, California. You got me back on the road in 40 minutes and gave me a deal on the tire, too! The courtesy safety inspection is one of the many things that sets your dealership apart.
And finally, to everyone (whoever you are) who've read this blog. It's nice to have company on the road!
The Chill is Gone
I'm home. 3,202 miles, 7 days, 7 states and 2 major winter storms later I can say that I learned no profound truths, made no stupid riding errors, had only one bad meal ("IHOP" is NOT an acronym for "International House of Pot Roast") and destroyed just one back tire.
I rode some new roads, re-acquainted myself with some old ones, breathed the air of the plains, the desert, the ocean, the giant redwood forests and the mountains.
It was a great ride on a great motorcycle. On a map, it looks something like this:
On me, it looks like this:
Thanks for keeping me company! In a day or so when the laundry's done, the bills are tallied and I've caught up on my sleep, I'll give you my impressions of the 2002 BMW R1150RT that started all this.
I rode some new roads, re-acquainted myself with some old ones, breathed the air of the plains, the desert, the ocean, the giant redwood forests and the mountains.
It was a great ride on a great motorcycle. On a map, it looks something like this:
On me, it looks like this:
Thanks for keeping me company! In a day or so when the laundry's done, the bills are tallied and I've caught up on my sleep, I'll give you my impressions of the 2002 BMW R1150RT that started all this.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Fourth and Goal
Portland, OR
9:00 pm
I'm almost home. Today was the last day of interesting riding. Tomorrow, a half day on I5 and I'll be home.
It was a gorgeous Sunday's ride today. From Crescent City I took US 101 up the Oregon coast as far as Reedsport. If California's Pacific Coast Highway ("PCH") is Pablo Picasso in a Porsche, US 101 is a PBS film crew in a minivan. It's an immensely practical highway, all gentle curves, legible signs, new stripes and, of all things, guard rails. It's also apparently hydrophobic: for most of its length it runs inland from the wild Oregon coastline. There are plenty of places where it forgets itself and creeps up to the edge of the cliffs to peer nervously over the guard rail until, after a few minutes of vertigo-inducing scenery, it stumbles back to the safety of the woods.
But for all its timidity, it's a very relaxing way to see a wild and animated coastline and one of the few highways of its type that allows motorcyclists the chance to ride sweeping curves and sightsee simultaneously without risking immediate and messy death.
One of my favorite features of US 101 in Oregon is the bridges. These are big bridges spanning big rivers. Most were built in the '30s and are as notable for their Art Deco features as for their engineering. The Patterson Bridge over the Rogue River is typical:
It was the first bridge in the US built using the newly-developed "French method" of bridge construction. It's entrance detail is typical of the Oregon river bridges:
Today's real treat was Lower Smith River road, an 85 mile game of Snakes and Ladders connecting Reedsport with Eugene, OR on I5. The first ten miles out of Reedsport and the last twenty seven into Eugene are deceptively neat, well-maintained sections of county road.
The middle section is very different. I've decided to call it the "Hobbit Highway": little more than a single lane of pocked pavement following every twist and turn of the Smith River, bordered by ferns, overhung with mossy trees and blessed with Elfin-esque vistas at every turn.
Hobbit trees:
Rock walls:
And scene after scene like this:
All of this beauty comes at a price. Like all coastal backroads in the winter, Smith River Road is liberally coated with a layer of fine and extremely slippery green moss. In some places it grows only on the shoulder:
Most of the time it grows across the shaded part of the road, which often (and very inconveniently) is the entire width of the road in the second half of a blind corner. Add this to the usual collection of winter "spooge" and the road will quickly claim any rider who does not have a surgeon's touch on the bars and a good set of tires.
There are other hazards:
If you're up to a technically challenging ride, it's definitely worth riding. Allow two full hours minimum, have plenty of daylight and, ideally, ride with a buddy. If you break down or crash out here, you're screwed.
Here's today's ride, a short, stimulating 385 miles:
Not a long day but I'm surprisingly worn out. I feel pretty much like this:
See you tomorrow for the final instalment.
9:00 pm
I'm almost home. Today was the last day of interesting riding. Tomorrow, a half day on I5 and I'll be home.
It was a gorgeous Sunday's ride today. From Crescent City I took US 101 up the Oregon coast as far as Reedsport. If California's Pacific Coast Highway ("PCH") is Pablo Picasso in a Porsche, US 101 is a PBS film crew in a minivan. It's an immensely practical highway, all gentle curves, legible signs, new stripes and, of all things, guard rails. It's also apparently hydrophobic: for most of its length it runs inland from the wild Oregon coastline. There are plenty of places where it forgets itself and creeps up to the edge of the cliffs to peer nervously over the guard rail until, after a few minutes of vertigo-inducing scenery, it stumbles back to the safety of the woods.
But for all its timidity, it's a very relaxing way to see a wild and animated coastline and one of the few highways of its type that allows motorcyclists the chance to ride sweeping curves and sightsee simultaneously without risking immediate and messy death.
One of my favorite features of US 101 in Oregon is the bridges. These are big bridges spanning big rivers. Most were built in the '30s and are as notable for their Art Deco features as for their engineering. The Patterson Bridge over the Rogue River is typical:
It was the first bridge in the US built using the newly-developed "French method" of bridge construction. It's entrance detail is typical of the Oregon river bridges:
Today's real treat was Lower Smith River road, an 85 mile game of Snakes and Ladders connecting Reedsport with Eugene, OR on I5. The first ten miles out of Reedsport and the last twenty seven into Eugene are deceptively neat, well-maintained sections of county road.
The middle section is very different. I've decided to call it the "Hobbit Highway": little more than a single lane of pocked pavement following every twist and turn of the Smith River, bordered by ferns, overhung with mossy trees and blessed with Elfin-esque vistas at every turn.
Hobbit trees:
Elf waterslide:
Rock walls:
And scene after scene like this:
All of this beauty comes at a price. Like all coastal backroads in the winter, Smith River Road is liberally coated with a layer of fine and extremely slippery green moss. In some places it grows only on the shoulder:
Most of the time it grows across the shaded part of the road, which often (and very inconveniently) is the entire width of the road in the second half of a blind corner. Add this to the usual collection of winter "spooge" and the road will quickly claim any rider who does not have a surgeon's touch on the bars and a good set of tires.
There are other hazards:
If you're up to a technically challenging ride, it's definitely worth riding. Allow two full hours minimum, have plenty of daylight and, ideally, ride with a buddy. If you break down or crash out here, you're screwed.
Here's today's ride, a short, stimulating 385 miles:
Not a long day but I'm surprisingly worn out. I feel pretty much like this:
See you tomorrow for the final instalment.
People in Passing
Crescent City
10:00 Super Bowl Sunday
It's sunny everywhere I want to go today and forecast to stay that way. The roads will be dry. I'll be able to wear less gear so I'll more comfortable, more able to move around on the bike, use my whole body to guide it around corners that I'll be better able to read without rain or road spray on my face shield.
But later this after noon it'll get ugly out there on the roads. Statistics sadly show that more people (mostly men) drink and drive on Super Bowl Sunday than any other day of the year, including New Years Eve. When the game starts, I'll be on the Interstate.
I've always been a solo rider, an extension of the fact that I'm a fairly solitary person. I like my own company, which is a good thing when you're locked inside your helmet with yourself for hours and days at a time. If a fight broke out in there, it would be ugly.
Even on long rides where the miles must die I take the time to talk to the people I meet along the way. Sometimes they seek me out (mostly kids, sometimes other road warriors), sometimes we're forced together by necessity: the server at the restaurant, the service writer at the bike dealership, the motel desk clerk. Less often it's me doing the seeking, usually asking directions (I've done this entire trip without any maps.)
No matter how the encounter starts, it's always a joy to rediscover how open and friendly people are no matter their age, their location or - and this has been really evident this past year - their circumstances.
When I stopped yesterday to take a picture of the majestic Golden Gate Bridge a couple in their late twenties walked past me. The man was slightly ahead, leading, his beautiful partner behind slightly. As she walked close by me she lifted her left hand and looked at the diamond ring on the third finger. Ah, just engaged!
She came to her man where he stood leaning against the stone wall of the viewpoint and pressed herself against him as he folded his arms around her. She cradled his face in both her hands and kissed him. When she looked at him, it was a look of the purest, most intense love. They glowed, the air around them glowed and the fog that enveloped the great bridge shrunk back in surrender.
Riding restores my peace of mind, restores my youth and the people I meet along the way restore my faith in humanity.
Time for breakfast and sunshine.
10:00 Super Bowl Sunday
It's sunny everywhere I want to go today and forecast to stay that way. The roads will be dry. I'll be able to wear less gear so I'll more comfortable, more able to move around on the bike, use my whole body to guide it around corners that I'll be better able to read without rain or road spray on my face shield.
But later this after noon it'll get ugly out there on the roads. Statistics sadly show that more people (mostly men) drink and drive on Super Bowl Sunday than any other day of the year, including New Years Eve. When the game starts, I'll be on the Interstate.
I've always been a solo rider, an extension of the fact that I'm a fairly solitary person. I like my own company, which is a good thing when you're locked inside your helmet with yourself for hours and days at a time. If a fight broke out in there, it would be ugly.
Even on long rides where the miles must die I take the time to talk to the people I meet along the way. Sometimes they seek me out (mostly kids, sometimes other road warriors), sometimes we're forced together by necessity: the server at the restaurant, the service writer at the bike dealership, the motel desk clerk. Less often it's me doing the seeking, usually asking directions (I've done this entire trip without any maps.)
No matter how the encounter starts, it's always a joy to rediscover how open and friendly people are no matter their age, their location or - and this has been really evident this past year - their circumstances.
When I stopped yesterday to take a picture of the majestic Golden Gate Bridge a couple in their late twenties walked past me. The man was slightly ahead, leading, his beautiful partner behind slightly. As she walked close by me she lifted her left hand and looked at the diamond ring on the third finger. Ah, just engaged!
She came to her man where he stood leaning against the stone wall of the viewpoint and pressed herself against him as he folded his arms around her. She cradled his face in both her hands and kissed him. When she looked at him, it was a look of the purest, most intense love. They glowed, the air around them glowed and the fog that enveloped the great bridge shrunk back in surrender.
Riding restores my peace of mind, restores my youth and the people I meet along the way restore my faith in humanity.
Time for breakfast and sunshine.
The Coast Was Clear
Crescent City, Ca
10:30 PMYou'll be relieved to know that I found commas! I can't tell you where. Let's just say I now know a guy who knows a guy. If you ever need a punctuation fix, call me and I'll set up a meet.
Today's ride started out poorly. During my morning bike inspection I found a nail in the back tire. (Only the second time in probably half a million miles of riding.) It had gone in at an angle to the tread and I was able to pull it out but I needed to make sure it was safe to ride.
MotoMarin is the new name of Marin BMW in San Rafael, just across the Golden Gate bridge. I arrived unannounced. Within five minutes they had my bike in the shop to triage the tire. The bad news was the nail had cut the cords and the tire was junk. The good news was that they had the right tire in stock. Plus, they're having a massive winter sale and I got the $220 tire for $135. Forty five minutes after I arrived I was back on the road. If you're in the Bay Area, stop and buy something from these guys. They deserve the business.
Healdsburg was my first stop, for coffee and a stroll through the Saturday Farmers' Market. Apparently, the few people in Healdsburg who aren't into Pinot Noir are into fly fishing: what few tables weren't dedicated to the former were to the latter. A local jazz band was playing, local restaurants (and there are some fabulous ones in H'burg) were selling sampler plates and a 4-week old lab pup decided to climb into my helmet when I bent down to pet him.
I wanted to spend some time on the Pacific Coast Highway (CA 1) but the tire change had cost me precious daylight so I compromised by riding up US 101, then taking CA 128 through the Alexander Valley to the coast just south of Mendocino. Highway 128 winds alongside the Navarro River through some of the most rugged and beautiful wine country in California.
It was the first twisty road time I've had with this bike and it was a treat, even though I was tip-toeing a bit with the new rear tire. (The first hundred or so miles on a new tire can be tricky until the mold release used in the tire molding process has worn off. It's slippery stuff and can cause an instant and possibly catastrophic loss of traction.) The road is a perfect mix of technically challenging curves, hills, spectacular vistas of misty vineyards with a few small towns for the requisite latte break.
Eventually, the road and the Navarro River meet the Pacific Ocean between Mendocino and Point Arenas.
There are no words to describe the Mendocino coastline. From the mouth of the Russian River north to where California 1 turns inland toward Leggett is some of the most incredible scenery anywhere. I've ridden this road many times and see it anew each ride. Like looking into the face of your child, you see it a thousand times and a thousand times it takes your breath away.
The road clings to the hillsides above the black volcanic rock outcroppings that characterize this coastline. Here, the ocean never rests, seemingly intent on accomplishing with the next wave the impossible task of destroying the rocks that have destroyed so many ships. There is always salt spray in the air, always the roar of the surf, always a salty bite to the air. And wind, always wind, so relentless that the trees above the road lean inland, their branches flags.
Today I saw this miracle at dusk, the sun filtering rose and gold through a low line of cumulus clouds on the far ocean horizon. I stopped for a few minutes to watch the sun touch the ocean as it set. I swear I heard the hiss as its heat met the cold Pacific.
About twenty miles north of Fort Bragg, CA 1 turns inland to Leggett. This twenty mile stretch of road is one of the most technically challenging rides in the northwest. Today it was tougher because of dense fog patches that obscured 15 mph hairpin turns and a road surface covered with a slippery coating of wet leaves, needles and bark torn and scattered by last night's wind storm.
And here I am now, settled in for the night in Crescent City in the Curly Redwood Lodge. This entire motel was built in 1957 from a single redwood tree! (Don't believe me? http://curlyredwoodlodge.com). It's a seriously retro place with huge rooms, carports and is the neatest, cleanest motel I have ever stayed in. You must stay here when you're in Crescent City.
Today's ride, 400 miles:
Saturday, February 6, 2010
We All Have Baggage
San Francisco
10:45 am
I had to sleep in this morning. Yesterday's ride wore me out. But I have been re-energized by breakfast at Mel's Drive-In, the iconic California drive-in and diner that's been around for over 60 years.
San Franciscans have consistently voted Mel's breakfasts the best in town. I agree. Great classic diner ambience, interesting menu of American comfort food and nary a cardiologist in sight. The best seat in the house is at the counter, right in front of the jukebox:
Back to baggage. There's not a lot of room on a bike, particularly with full winter riding gear, so packing efficiently is critical. I've got it down to an art form after all these years and know just how many socks, how many shirts, how much Advil (lots!) I need for a week on the road.
But being new to blogging, though, I messed up one critical thing: I'm almost out of commas. I was shocked this morning when I looked in my laptop case and found just a few left. Six, seven at the most. On two of them the little pointy thing has broken off, leaving me with two periods and a couple of apostrophes I don't need.
I'm not sure where I'll find more. Maybe an old-fashioned stationers up the coast somewhere. I thought of breaking some semi-colons in two but I really don't want to use my good tweezers for that job.
I'm kicking myself for packing so carelessly. I asked the guy at the Staples up the street and he said that there used to be an old Japanese typesetter up in Haight-Ashbury, long retired, that might fix me up. The "Comma Kazi", he called him. Turns out that he died last year. Of colon cancer.
If I can't find someone to hook me up with some commas tonight's post should be interesting.
The Redwoods are calling. Gotta go!
10:45 am
I had to sleep in this morning. Yesterday's ride wore me out. But I have been re-energized by breakfast at Mel's Drive-In, the iconic California drive-in and diner that's been around for over 60 years.
San Franciscans have consistently voted Mel's breakfasts the best in town. I agree. Great classic diner ambience, interesting menu of American comfort food and nary a cardiologist in sight. The best seat in the house is at the counter, right in front of the jukebox:
Back to baggage. There's not a lot of room on a bike, particularly with full winter riding gear, so packing efficiently is critical. I've got it down to an art form after all these years and know just how many socks, how many shirts, how much Advil (lots!) I need for a week on the road.
But being new to blogging, though, I messed up one critical thing: I'm almost out of commas. I was shocked this morning when I looked in my laptop case and found just a few left. Six, seven at the most. On two of them the little pointy thing has broken off, leaving me with two periods and a couple of apostrophes I don't need.
I'm not sure where I'll find more. Maybe an old-fashioned stationers up the coast somewhere. I thought of breaking some semi-colons in two but I really don't want to use my good tweezers for that job.
I'm kicking myself for packing so carelessly. I asked the guy at the Staples up the street and he said that there used to be an old Japanese typesetter up in Haight-Ashbury, long retired, that might fix me up. The "Comma Kazi", he called him. Turns out that he died last year. Of colon cancer.
If I can't find someone to hook me up with some commas tonight's post should be interesting.
The Redwoods are calling. Gotta go!
The O.C.
Cow Hollow, San Francisco
11:50 pm
I am exhausted. A sixteen hour day today, thirteen on the road to cover 650 miles. Other than the first hundred fifty or so, they were hard miles. It rained yesterday and most of this morning in the L.A. basin and traffic was a mess. I had an appointment at Aeroflow Inc., makers of miracle motorcycle windshields, in Orange County. It wasn't much of a detour and I was only there half an hour but getting out of Los Angeles took nearly three hours. The freeways were foggy, soggy parking lots. Lane splitting was out of the question: I was the only bike on the road (as I have been this whole trip) so drivers wouldn't be expecting me and, in any event, the RT is too wide a bike to comfortably lane split. So I slogged along with everyone else.
Then there was the matter of I5 up and over the San Bernadino mountains. It was cold and raining and foggy and Friday weekend traffic was a madhouse. A truly unpleasant experience.
I5 to San Francisco was uneventful but the air behind the cold front was crisp and the steady 20 mph headwind forced me to make two fuel stops. (If this bike has a weakness, it's lack of range).
But back to the first 150 miles of the day. I like to talk to people in the towns I travel through. I spoke to folks in the desert town of Blythe, the farming town of Indio and the desert oasis of Palm Springs. They all had the same tale to tell: local businesses closed, jobs lost, hope lost.
Interstate 10 in the vicinity of Palm Springs is the Sonny Bono Memorial Freeway. (I have a hard time typing that with a straight face. To be fair, though, I'm sure his prowess as an entertainer and politician made up for his failings as a skier.) Anyway, the freeway through this mecca for the rich and famous is flanked by billboards (no sponsor's name appeared on them) with the theme "Recession 101". Different billboards had different positive aphorisms for surviving the recession. Even on their own, they lacked conviction. When interspersed with billboards advertising pawn shops, cheap payday loans and law firms specializing in foreclosures and bankruptcies, they were as darkly comical as the freeway's name. California, once the Golden State and the land of promise for so many, seems a sad shadow of its former self.
Not so the vibrant, if slightly seedy Cow Hollow neighborhood in San Francisco. I stay here on this motel strip whenever I ride through. Tonight I'm off noisy Lombard Street but still just yards away from the best drive in/diner food in the world. That's for breakfast tomorrow. After that, a visit to Ghiradelli Square for some chocolate and North Beach for a latte and some people watching.
Right now, it's bed time.
Today's ride:
11:50 pm
I am exhausted. A sixteen hour day today, thirteen on the road to cover 650 miles. Other than the first hundred fifty or so, they were hard miles. It rained yesterday and most of this morning in the L.A. basin and traffic was a mess. I had an appointment at Aeroflow Inc., makers of miracle motorcycle windshields, in Orange County. It wasn't much of a detour and I was only there half an hour but getting out of Los Angeles took nearly three hours. The freeways were foggy, soggy parking lots. Lane splitting was out of the question: I was the only bike on the road (as I have been this whole trip) so drivers wouldn't be expecting me and, in any event, the RT is too wide a bike to comfortably lane split. So I slogged along with everyone else.
Then there was the matter of I5 up and over the San Bernadino mountains. It was cold and raining and foggy and Friday weekend traffic was a madhouse. A truly unpleasant experience.
I5 to San Francisco was uneventful but the air behind the cold front was crisp and the steady 20 mph headwind forced me to make two fuel stops. (If this bike has a weakness, it's lack of range).
But back to the first 150 miles of the day. I like to talk to people in the towns I travel through. I spoke to folks in the desert town of Blythe, the farming town of Indio and the desert oasis of Palm Springs. They all had the same tale to tell: local businesses closed, jobs lost, hope lost.
Interstate 10 in the vicinity of Palm Springs is the Sonny Bono Memorial Freeway. (I have a hard time typing that with a straight face. To be fair, though, I'm sure his prowess as an entertainer and politician made up for his failings as a skier.) Anyway, the freeway through this mecca for the rich and famous is flanked by billboards (no sponsor's name appeared on them) with the theme "Recession 101". Different billboards had different positive aphorisms for surviving the recession. Even on their own, they lacked conviction. When interspersed with billboards advertising pawn shops, cheap payday loans and law firms specializing in foreclosures and bankruptcies, they were as darkly comical as the freeway's name. California, once the Golden State and the land of promise for so many, seems a sad shadow of its former self.
Not so the vibrant, if slightly seedy Cow Hollow neighborhood in San Francisco. I stay here on this motel strip whenever I ride through. Tonight I'm off noisy Lombard Street but still just yards away from the best drive in/diner food in the world. That's for breakfast tomorrow. After that, a visit to Ghiradelli Square for some chocolate and North Beach for a latte and some people watching.
Right now, it's bed time.
Today's ride:
Friday, February 5, 2010
Yeast and Shoe Polish
Yeast and shoe polish. Rise and shine! Get it? Lame, lame, lame, a joke from my childhood dredged up by this horrid motel room coffee. If I have to suffer, so do you.
I'm half way home, 1500 miles down and another 1500 to go. I'm going to get wet this afternoon on the way to San Francisco but that's a given this time of year on the coast. Temperatures will be near 60F so it'll be bearable. And I'll have visions of Hunan green beans dancing in my head to motivate me. Westward Ho to Brandy Ho's! (For the epicurious: http://brandyhos.com)
I got an email this morning from a friend who's been following this soggy blog asking how I find the energy to write at the end of a long riding day. It really writes itself. I compose some of it in my head while I ride, the rest just happens. There's so much to tell, it's honestly harder to know what to leave out. (But that's always been the secret to good writing.)
Two firsts for me on this trip: traveling with a laptop (a "netbook") and writing this blog. I brought the netbook so I could service my IT clients remotely while on the road. The idea for this blog popped into my head on the shuttle bus from Vancouver to SeaTac airport and I set it up between mouthfuls of burrito in the SeaTac food court. Took all of five minutes. Like the commercial says, "so simple a caveman could do it!". (Grog make blog?)
I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying the writing. It's the only way I can share the road with you, as everyone reading this is far too smart to be sitting on the back of my bike with me. And, as of this morning, I officially have two "followers"! I know that doesn't sound like much but, hey, even Jesus started small.
Carbohydrate time, kiddies, then back on the road.
I'm half way home, 1500 miles down and another 1500 to go. I'm going to get wet this afternoon on the way to San Francisco but that's a given this time of year on the coast. Temperatures will be near 60F so it'll be bearable. And I'll have visions of Hunan green beans dancing in my head to motivate me. Westward Ho to Brandy Ho's! (For the epicurious: http://brandyhos.com)
I got an email this morning from a friend who's been following this soggy blog asking how I find the energy to write at the end of a long riding day. It really writes itself. I compose some of it in my head while I ride, the rest just happens. There's so much to tell, it's honestly harder to know what to leave out. (But that's always been the secret to good writing.)
Two firsts for me on this trip: traveling with a laptop (a "netbook") and writing this blog. I brought the netbook so I could service my IT clients remotely while on the road. The idea for this blog popped into my head on the shuttle bus from Vancouver to SeaTac airport and I set it up between mouthfuls of burrito in the SeaTac food court. Took all of five minutes. Like the commercial says, "so simple a caveman could do it!". (Grog make blog?)
I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying the writing. It's the only way I can share the road with you, as everyone reading this is far too smart to be sitting on the back of my bike with me. And, as of this morning, I officially have two "followers"! I know that doesn't sound like much but, hey, even Jesus started small.
Carbohydrate time, kiddies, then back on the road.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Dark Desert Highway
Blythe, CA
9:45 pm
What an incredible day's ride! No bugs, no critters, no tickets and NO RAIN! Six hundred and forty miles of sunshine and a constant 60F temperature made yesterday's mess a distant memory.
I spent the morning racing a mile-long Union Pacific freight train across the New Mexico desert. I had to give him a head start because although we were both bucking a gusty 20 mph headwind and he had 5 locomotives to work with, I still kept inching past the lead engine. I wonder what mysteries lurk inside all those freight cars.
Afternoon and evening were for Arizona, first the long and gentle climb into Willcox, then through the short, steep, rocky pass and down into the mountain-rimmed valley leading to Tucson. North of Tucson I was treated to a delicious pastel desert sunset, all too brief at this latitude, but still a watercolor wonder of subtle, shifting shades.
Picacho Peak, midway between Tucson and Phoenix, was backlit for a few minutes by the last of the sunlight, its rocky outcrops forming a perfect silhouette of a coyote, its head back, howling at a moon that was not to rise tonight.
I love riding in the desert. For all its miles of straight roads and seemingly bland scenery, it is beautiful in an austere way. Certainly nothing smells like the desert: even in winter, it has a scent like no other place and I rode for miles with my face shield up, tasting the subtle tones.
In the darkness, half way between Phoenix and the California border, one of my earplugs worked loose. At exit 69 I pulled off Interstate 10 to fix it, stopping on the side road a hundred yards from the roaring freeway. When I took my helmet off I rolled my neck around to work the knots out and, as I tilted my head back, I caught my breath.
Overhead in the moonless black of the desert night were more stars than I have ever seen in my life. I put the errant earplug back in to silence the noise of the trucks on the tarmac and I laid down on the grassy slope of the ramp, just staring up at the sky until I felt dizzy. I was there maybe ten minutes but it felt timeless.
People sometimes ask why I ride or, more recently, why I still ride at my age. The answer to that question, as to so many others, is in the stars.
Today's 640 mile magic show:
Tomorrow, it's the city where Tony Bennett left his heart and dinner (probably late) at my favorite Chinese restaurant, Brandy Ho's in Chinatown!
9:45 pm
What an incredible day's ride! No bugs, no critters, no tickets and NO RAIN! Six hundred and forty miles of sunshine and a constant 60F temperature made yesterday's mess a distant memory.
I spent the morning racing a mile-long Union Pacific freight train across the New Mexico desert. I had to give him a head start because although we were both bucking a gusty 20 mph headwind and he had 5 locomotives to work with, I still kept inching past the lead engine. I wonder what mysteries lurk inside all those freight cars.
Afternoon and evening were for Arizona, first the long and gentle climb into Willcox, then through the short, steep, rocky pass and down into the mountain-rimmed valley leading to Tucson. North of Tucson I was treated to a delicious pastel desert sunset, all too brief at this latitude, but still a watercolor wonder of subtle, shifting shades.
Picacho Peak, midway between Tucson and Phoenix, was backlit for a few minutes by the last of the sunlight, its rocky outcrops forming a perfect silhouette of a coyote, its head back, howling at a moon that was not to rise tonight.
I love riding in the desert. For all its miles of straight roads and seemingly bland scenery, it is beautiful in an austere way. Certainly nothing smells like the desert: even in winter, it has a scent like no other place and I rode for miles with my face shield up, tasting the subtle tones.
In the darkness, half way between Phoenix and the California border, one of my earplugs worked loose. At exit 69 I pulled off Interstate 10 to fix it, stopping on the side road a hundred yards from the roaring freeway. When I took my helmet off I rolled my neck around to work the knots out and, as I tilted my head back, I caught my breath.
Overhead in the moonless black of the desert night were more stars than I have ever seen in my life. I put the errant earplug back in to silence the noise of the trucks on the tarmac and I laid down on the grassy slope of the ramp, just staring up at the sky until I felt dizzy. I was there maybe ten minutes but it felt timeless.
People sometimes ask why I ride or, more recently, why I still ride at my age. The answer to that question, as to so many others, is in the stars.
Today's 640 mile magic show:
Bird Wisdom
09:20 MST and
IT IS SUNNY! There are birds singing in the trees at the edge of the parking lot which means, without a doubt (or a glance at weather.com), that the rain is gone. Birds know these things.
I'll be out of Texas in a few miles, then on to Las Cruces, NM and Tucson where I need to stop for a new speedometer cable. Then on through Phoenix and, if all goes well, Palm Springs for the night. I feel like a kid on the first day of summer vacation! Or the way I felt on my first long ride.
I started riding when I was 13, got my first BMW when I was twenty (lied to the bank to get the loan). First thing I did was head across the Rockies to the coast with just a sleeping bag, some extra clothes in my tank bag and very little money.
I was gone 3 weeks, sleeping where I could - a couple of nights with family, a few nights on the beach, always just my ground sheet and sleeping bag. Made it to San Francisco, then Denver where I stayed with a girl I'd met a few years earlier and worked painting houses to make enough to get home. Got home broke but with a rider's high that has never left me in the 34 years since.
I have a picture I took of myself on that trip somewhere in Wyoming, an arm's length portrait of a grubby, unshaven rider in a sweat-stained plaid shirt, my R75/6 a few yards behind me on a gravel road that runs arrow straight to nowhere and everywhere. My grin is electric.
I still grin like that whenever I ride, still sing in my helmet, still feel like I'm 20 whenever I get on a bike. That's why I ride, that's why I'll ride as long as my body lets me.
It shocks me every time I see a picture of myself these days, helmet off, thinning grey hair, more chins than toes, beginning of a Santa belly. Lots has changed in the way I look, probably not for the better. But every one of those irritating pictures is just another portrait of a grubby, unshaven rider with the electric grin of a 20 year old on his first long ride.
Maybe I'll have a chance to take one of those irritating pictures today so you can see what I mean about the grin.
IT IS SUNNY! There are birds singing in the trees at the edge of the parking lot which means, without a doubt (or a glance at weather.com), that the rain is gone. Birds know these things.
I'll be out of Texas in a few miles, then on to Las Cruces, NM and Tucson where I need to stop for a new speedometer cable. Then on through Phoenix and, if all goes well, Palm Springs for the night. I feel like a kid on the first day of summer vacation! Or the way I felt on my first long ride.
I started riding when I was 13, got my first BMW when I was twenty (lied to the bank to get the loan). First thing I did was head across the Rockies to the coast with just a sleeping bag, some extra clothes in my tank bag and very little money.
I was gone 3 weeks, sleeping where I could - a couple of nights with family, a few nights on the beach, always just my ground sheet and sleeping bag. Made it to San Francisco, then Denver where I stayed with a girl I'd met a few years earlier and worked painting houses to make enough to get home. Got home broke but with a rider's high that has never left me in the 34 years since.
I have a picture I took of myself on that trip somewhere in Wyoming, an arm's length portrait of a grubby, unshaven rider in a sweat-stained plaid shirt, my R75/6 a few yards behind me on a gravel road that runs arrow straight to nowhere and everywhere. My grin is electric.
I still grin like that whenever I ride, still sing in my helmet, still feel like I'm 20 whenever I get on a bike. That's why I ride, that's why I'll ride as long as my body lets me.
It shocks me every time I see a picture of myself these days, helmet off, thinning grey hair, more chins than toes, beginning of a Santa belly. Lots has changed in the way I look, probably not for the better. But every one of those irritating pictures is just another portrait of a grubby, unshaven rider with the electric grin of a 20 year old on his first long ride.
Maybe I'll have a chance to take one of those irritating pictures today so you can see what I mean about the grin.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Donut Day in West Texas
El Paso, Texas
9:15 MST
I can't think of any other reason than a regional donut day to explain why, in the 600 miles between Weatherford and El Paso, I didn't see a single law enforcement vehicle. Some would cheer, and put the pedal to the metal. But really, with 80 mph speed limits and traffic averaging 90 mph, I don't think tickets are much of an issue. I'd sure like to know, though, that there might be someone who'd stop if I had a problem.
Maybe, though, Texas lawmen, unlike west coast bikers, are smart enough to stay home when it rains like it did today. Whooo-wee, it was a wet 'un! My gear did its job, though and I stayed about as dry as could be expected. My leather gloves, in spite of the Australian Leather Waterproofing miracle paste I bought at the bike show for $20, are sodden. They are drying on the cleverly bastardized Motel 6 coat hanger jammed into the ceiling vent:
My SealSkinz gloves and socks worked a treat, keeping my hands and feet completely dry. Full marks to the BMW rainsuit, with its acres of Scotchlite and yards of Velcro. The RT's fariring fared well too, although I needed to hold 80 mph for the wind-tunnel designed fairing to work its magic.
My only grumble is the same one I always have riding in full gear. When Mother Nature calls, I have to deal with 15.5 feet of Velcro, 8.5 feet of zippers, two snaps and a hook. It's like flying: I need to check into the bathroom 45 minutes before takeoff.
It was a satisfying day today in spite of the rain and nearly running out of gas (I put 5.6 gallons into a 5.5 gallon tank). Texas hill country is pretty, even filtered through February rain and I stopped in George W. Bush's home town (Midland) and the site of the world's first rodeo (Pecos). Tonight I'm staying across the street from the world's biggest Harley Davidson dealership. And the Texas state capitol building is 15 feet higher than the one in Washington, DC. And that's Texas.
Today's ride:
The Domino's guy just got here with my pizza. Time for dinner! See you in the morning.
9:15 MST
I can't think of any other reason than a regional donut day to explain why, in the 600 miles between Weatherford and El Paso, I didn't see a single law enforcement vehicle. Some would cheer, and put the pedal to the metal. But really, with 80 mph speed limits and traffic averaging 90 mph, I don't think tickets are much of an issue. I'd sure like to know, though, that there might be someone who'd stop if I had a problem.
Maybe, though, Texas lawmen, unlike west coast bikers, are smart enough to stay home when it rains like it did today. Whooo-wee, it was a wet 'un! My gear did its job, though and I stayed about as dry as could be expected. My leather gloves, in spite of the Australian Leather Waterproofing miracle paste I bought at the bike show for $20, are sodden. They are drying on the cleverly bastardized Motel 6 coat hanger jammed into the ceiling vent:
My only grumble is the same one I always have riding in full gear. When Mother Nature calls, I have to deal with 15.5 feet of Velcro, 8.5 feet of zippers, two snaps and a hook. It's like flying: I need to check into the bathroom 45 minutes before takeoff.
It was a satisfying day today in spite of the rain and nearly running out of gas (I put 5.6 gallons into a 5.5 gallon tank). Texas hill country is pretty, even filtered through February rain and I stopped in George W. Bush's home town (Midland) and the site of the world's first rodeo (Pecos). Tonight I'm staying across the street from the world's biggest Harley Davidson dealership. And the Texas state capitol building is 15 feet higher than the one in Washington, DC. And that's Texas.
Today's ride:
The Domino's guy just got here with my pizza. Time for dinner! See you in the morning.
The Art of Rain Riding
09:30 CST
Today is not going to be pleasant. Other than the first 50 miles or so, it is raining on my entire route. In fact, it's raining or snowing in the entire states of Texas and New Mexico:
Weatherford, TX is near the middle of the green blob. I'm riding straight west to the "L" (for "loser"?). That's 9 hours in what the lying meteorologists are calling "light rain". If you're looking at it out your kitchen window, coffee in hand, cat rubbing against your ankles, it's light rain. Out on the Interstate it's a sea of oily, gritty, grey road spray, ten feet deep and as wide as the highway and you're a two-wheeled bottom-feeder choking your way through it.
Plus, it's cold, 40F everywhere that matters today. Even with a good rain suit (I bought a BMW rain suit yesterday and it's about as waterproof as they get) over waterproof riding gear, some water sneaks in after an hour or two. And there's evaporative cooling: the outside of your gear gets wet, the constant wind evaporates that water and steals a degree or two of heat from your body. Over a 9 hour day, it adds up.
Normally, I'd just plug in my electric vest and warmly grumble my way across the countryside. Unfortunately, there is no way to run the cord out of my new rain suit without cutting a hole in it. I'd rather not do that, for obvious reasons.
So today I'll rely on a carb-heavy breakfast (plus the remnants of the scrumptious Texas BBQ I had last night at the Mesquite Pit- y'all gotta try the Fried Green Tomaters) and lots of coffee/warm up stops.
I've got to ride. You have another coffee and pet the cat.
Today is not going to be pleasant. Other than the first 50 miles or so, it is raining on my entire route. In fact, it's raining or snowing in the entire states of Texas and New Mexico:
Plus, it's cold, 40F everywhere that matters today. Even with a good rain suit (I bought a BMW rain suit yesterday and it's about as waterproof as they get) over waterproof riding gear, some water sneaks in after an hour or two. And there's evaporative cooling: the outside of your gear gets wet, the constant wind evaporates that water and steals a degree or two of heat from your body. Over a 9 hour day, it adds up.
Normally, I'd just plug in my electric vest and warmly grumble my way across the countryside. Unfortunately, there is no way to run the cord out of my new rain suit without cutting a hole in it. I'd rather not do that, for obvious reasons.
So today I'll rely on a carb-heavy breakfast (plus the remnants of the scrumptious Texas BBQ I had last night at the Mesquite Pit- y'all gotta try the Fried Green Tomaters) and lots of coffee/warm up stops.
I've got to ride. You have another coffee and pet the cat.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Online Dating for Bikers
9:00 pm CST
We met online. I read her profile over and over and looked at her pictures, wondering if they were current. Of course, when we arranged to meet, it was someplace convenient for her, with lots of people around. Our first encounter was a bit awkward, her all cool and silent, me asking too many questions, touching her all over, staring at her jugs like a hormone-crazed adolescent. But I settled down, she warmed up, we shook handlebars and I bought her a new front tire as a token of my good intentions. We've spent the day getting to know each other on a short but revealing 250 miles from Oklahoma City to Weatherford, Texas. I do believe this one has potential!
The R1150RT is a great road bike, built to bite off disgustingly big chunks of highway in a mouthful. It's quiet, torquey as hell, smooth to a fault, comfortable and disarmingly willing to run up to 100 mph in silky silence. And, for me, a big plus is that these bikes are the only ones I've ever found that fit me, right off the rack. I had to adjust the brake and clutch levers a couple of notches closer to the handlebars but that's it. Perfect fit.
The linked, power-assisted ABS brakes will take some practice: they're immensely powerful and unfortunately grabby at low speeds. But with a fine touch they're fine brakes. Oh, and the ABS works. I got momentarily blinded by the sun on the horizon, just about missing my exit onto I820. I grabbed too much front brake just as the front wheel (with that still-slick new tire) found some sand. I heard the hiss of the sand but felt nothing amiss: the ABS activated instantly, the bike went where I was pointing it and a nasty mess was averted by nifty technology.
So I'm off the road for the night, tired but satisfied. Tomorrow's rain forecast has been downgraded so I may be able to make up some of the miles I lost today waiting for the ice and snow to melt in Oklahoma City.
Speaking of ice and snow, I actually avoided riding on any of it. The incredible staff at BMW of Oklahoma City went out of their way today, making this the best vehicle buying experience I have ever enjoyed. They were friendly, cordial and courteous. They picked me up at my hotel. The paperwork was all in order, including some customs stuff that they didn't have to do but did anyway, including some research on the 'net to make sure they got it right. When the new tire was on, one of the techs took it for a test ride to make sure the balance was right and, while he was out, he filled the tank. Then, they loaded the bike and me and my gear into their transporter van and drove me 20 miles out of the city so I wouldn't have to risk riding on any snowy or icy streets. Amazing service, and I can't thank them enough for it. Go, buy some bikes from these guys, they deserve the business!
See you tomorrow!
Today's ride:
We met online. I read her profile over and over and looked at her pictures, wondering if they were current. Of course, when we arranged to meet, it was someplace convenient for her, with lots of people around. Our first encounter was a bit awkward, her all cool and silent, me asking too many questions, touching her all over, staring at her jugs like a hormone-crazed adolescent. But I settled down, she warmed up, we shook handlebars and I bought her a new front tire as a token of my good intentions. We've spent the day getting to know each other on a short but revealing 250 miles from Oklahoma City to Weatherford, Texas. I do believe this one has potential!
The R1150RT is a great road bike, built to bite off disgustingly big chunks of highway in a mouthful. It's quiet, torquey as hell, smooth to a fault, comfortable and disarmingly willing to run up to 100 mph in silky silence. And, for me, a big plus is that these bikes are the only ones I've ever found that fit me, right off the rack. I had to adjust the brake and clutch levers a couple of notches closer to the handlebars but that's it. Perfect fit.
The linked, power-assisted ABS brakes will take some practice: they're immensely powerful and unfortunately grabby at low speeds. But with a fine touch they're fine brakes. Oh, and the ABS works. I got momentarily blinded by the sun on the horizon, just about missing my exit onto I820. I grabbed too much front brake just as the front wheel (with that still-slick new tire) found some sand. I heard the hiss of the sand but felt nothing amiss: the ABS activated instantly, the bike went where I was pointing it and a nasty mess was averted by nifty technology.
So I'm off the road for the night, tired but satisfied. Tomorrow's rain forecast has been downgraded so I may be able to make up some of the miles I lost today waiting for the ice and snow to melt in Oklahoma City.
Speaking of ice and snow, I actually avoided riding on any of it. The incredible staff at BMW of Oklahoma City went out of their way today, making this the best vehicle buying experience I have ever enjoyed. They were friendly, cordial and courteous. They picked me up at my hotel. The paperwork was all in order, including some customs stuff that they didn't have to do but did anyway, including some research on the 'net to make sure they got it right. When the new tire was on, one of the techs took it for a test ride to make sure the balance was right and, while he was out, he filled the tank. Then, they loaded the bike and me and my gear into their transporter van and drove me 20 miles out of the city so I wouldn't have to risk riding on any snowy or icy streets. Amazing service, and I can't thank them enough for it. Go, buy some bikes from these guys, they deserve the business!
See you tomorrow!
Today's ride:
Ground Hog Day
09:00 CST Tuesday
Today is Ground Hog Day. I didn't see my shadow this morning but somehow that doesn't cheer me much. The weather isn't co-operating. It's not going to reach 48F here in Oklahoma City today, which means all this stuff isn't going to melt as fast:
Today is Ground Hog Day. I didn't see my shadow this morning but somehow that doesn't cheer me much. The weather isn't co-operating. It's not going to reach 48F here in Oklahoma City today, which means all this stuff isn't going to melt as fast:
The front that was forecast through tomorrow has grown fangs so my trip west on Route 66 isn't happening. (No desire to ride through a snowstorm, however badly I'd like to see the Grand Canyon in the winter.) Instead, I'll head directly south to Dallas (where it's a spring-like 55F), then southwest toward El Paso. Tonight will probably find me in Odessa, TX. Tomorrow I'll likely be slogging through two states worth of rain. But that's tomorrow. Right now, I'm off to Denny's next door, then to the BMW dealer to meet my new silver steed.
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Oakie Ice Ride
08:00 Monday
I forgot my sunglasses. Not a disaster because my new Nolan has a built-in "Top Gun" sun shield but it's still irritating. And no rain suit - I couldn't find it and can't remember where I put it.
I'm on the shuttle bus to SeaTac, flying to Oklahoma City to pick up a motorcycle I more or less bought by accident on eBay. Normally, this kind of trip would be a grand adventure, a chance to spend a week doing what I love most: riding a great motorcycle across thousands of miles of gloriously beautiful new country.
But it's February 1 and Oklahoma City is chipping and sanding its way out of an ice storm that hit last a few days ago and still has the city in a beautiful crystalline deep freeze. By tomorrow when I pick the bike up it's forecast to be sunny and 48. But it may not be and there's a wet frontal system due through New Mexico on Wednesday, all of which which makes this ride less of an adventure and more like a graduate course in practical meteorology.
So, given that I may get snowed on for a thousand miles on a motorcycle, maybe forgetting my sunglasses isn't such a big deal.
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