I said this morning there might be stories. There really is only one. Heat. Broiling, inescapable heat. So darn hot it beat us up and broke up the crew.
We rolled out of Tehachapi at 0800, fairly mild temps and blue skies. Looked like an easy day runnin' the big road into Needles and on to Flag. We just didn't count on what the Mojave had in store for us. And that can be a nasty desert. It gave us some of it's primo stuff today, that's for sure.
We busted into the desert and with every mile the temps just climbed. We peaked at about 115 according to my fancy little magic box on the Geez. At times the bikes were struggling, bit of popping and wheezing now and then -- we all struggled the whole day. It was like riding into the mouth of a blast furnace. As Bassman put it: "At one point I thought I was going to watch the skin on my hands blister and peel away.". Kinda says it all.
Getting into Needles, we pulled off and got to say hi to Scoot. He's the State Captain for Arizona and one of my best friends in the Club. He can't make it this year (first time in 5 years or so), but it was good to see the boy.
Then the miracle occurred.
Maybe not quite on a par with Lourdes, but close.
Seems the only place close to eat was Denny's. It was just too damn hot to go looking about for something else, so despite the fact that Denny's can screw up cornflakes, we decided to eat there. And I had one of the best damn grilled chicken sandwiches I've ever tasted. The meat was thick, juicy, hickory grilled to perfection and topped with caramelized onions worthy of a good French kitchen. The lettuce was crisp and fresh, the tomato ripe, the bun perfect.
I may just have to call the Catholic Church and have them send a priest to investigate. Or an exorcist.
After lunch, Pizan decided to hole up in Needles and run out early tomorrow morning to catch up with us in Flagstaff. The heat had just gotten to him. And it was a good thing he did. After Needles the desert got serious. And any of you that have been in the Mojave know that when that place wants to lay it on you -- it don't play.
So we baked until just past Kingman, where it started to cool down. Hit a little 10 minute thunderstorm; didn't gear up -- we just let the water soak into our thirsty skin and reveled in it. 2 minutes later we were dry.
We kept climbing towards Flag, and topping 7000 feet, we began to feel alive again. On into Flag -- so cool and the air so sweet. Realized later it was over 80 -- but after 115 it felt like a New England fall, crisp and clear.
So here we sit in Flag. Waiting on Pizan, enjoying the morning. Ready to see what the Goddess has in store for us today. Maybe heat. Maybe rain. Maybe stories and lies and magic. We'll find out when the tires are on the pavement, eatin' up the miles.
The great wonder and joy of our lives: the Road is always there.
Waiting.
30 August 2011
29 August 2011
Seasons
Truck drivers say there are only two seasons: Winter and Construction. On California Hwy 99, there's only the latter. What I fail to understand, is that with all the constant "improvement" on that road -- why the heck it's still so screwed up. That is one rotten piece of pavement. Populated with idiots.
Good. I feel better now.
Hit the road about 0730. Damn, the scoot's running fine. Took some advice from Bear, who's ridden these big Geezer Glides more than I, and did some asymmetrical packing. The primary on these things weighs a ton, so packing heavy on the right side really evens things out. Damn thing's tracking straight as a die. It was one of those great mornings: still, quiet, cool but not cold. Didn't even turn the radio on. Too peaceful for that. Just wanted to run the road in silence, thinking about the miles and experiences to come.
Hit Pizan's house by around 0915 and we were on the road again by 10.
Really -- I don't want to bore you with Atwater to Tehachapi. Flat, hot, mostly 99. It was, as I said in an earlier Post, really just a positioning run.
We expected it to cool down once we got some altitude but it's stayed hot even on the mountain. The A/C in the room was a joy to step into.
It's now 0600 on Monday. Pablo got in last night at about 1700, Bassman about 0530 this morning. Gonna grab a bite and start headin' East. Looks like Bassman's got a leak in his primary -- so we'll need to keep an eye on that. I've got tools and Pablo is a pretty good Harley wrench, himself, so if things go south we'll get it fixed -- at least enough to get him to a shop.
Takes me back to the old days when wrenchin' on those things, especially on a long trip, was simply de rigure. We'll get were we're goin', be it by bailin' wire or duct tape.
Time to grab some chow and get rollin'. The boys are down there now, and I can tell they want to hit the Concrete Goddess. Lot of long, hot miles to run today.
Maybe, hopefully, even some stories.
Good. I feel better now.
Hit the road about 0730. Damn, the scoot's running fine. Took some advice from Bear, who's ridden these big Geezer Glides more than I, and did some asymmetrical packing. The primary on these things weighs a ton, so packing heavy on the right side really evens things out. Damn thing's tracking straight as a die. It was one of those great mornings: still, quiet, cool but not cold. Didn't even turn the radio on. Too peaceful for that. Just wanted to run the road in silence, thinking about the miles and experiences to come.
Hit Pizan's house by around 0915 and we were on the road again by 10.
Really -- I don't want to bore you with Atwater to Tehachapi. Flat, hot, mostly 99. It was, as I said in an earlier Post, really just a positioning run.
We expected it to cool down once we got some altitude but it's stayed hot even on the mountain. The A/C in the room was a joy to step into.
It's now 0600 on Monday. Pablo got in last night at about 1700, Bassman about 0530 this morning. Gonna grab a bite and start headin' East. Looks like Bassman's got a leak in his primary -- so we'll need to keep an eye on that. I've got tools and Pablo is a pretty good Harley wrench, himself, so if things go south we'll get it fixed -- at least enough to get him to a shop.
Takes me back to the old days when wrenchin' on those things, especially on a long trip, was simply de rigure. We'll get were we're goin', be it by bailin' wire or duct tape.
Time to grab some chow and get rollin'. The boys are down there now, and I can tell they want to hit the Concrete Goddess. Lot of long, hot miles to run today.
Maybe, hopefully, even some stories.
22 August 2011
Holding Patterns
Time does drag when a run's coming up.
I sent my old bags off to Bassman so he could use 'em on the run. He's riding an old school FX, so they should work as well for him as they did me. Starting to see all the Brothers getting ramped up for National. Putting hookups together; giving each other tons of crap about everything -- a predicate for all the smack talkin' that'll go on in the Ozarks. I can tell everyone is in the same place I am:
Time to get on the road, but; it's still a week away.
And that's for the crew out here in the West. Little over 2,000 miles for us to the Hub, so we're pretty much the first to hit the road.
Back in the day (as the modern expression goes), when I was flying the New York TCA, we used to make a lot of circles in the sky. Holding patterns they're called and every pilot hates 'em. You hit a fix (beacon usually) run for about a minute, make a 180, run back the same amount, make another 180 and do it again. And again. And again. If you're a big boy you can get 10 mile legs. Big deal. Kinda like NASCAR, only you go nowhere faster.
In the military we called it "hurry up and wait".
The Geez is ready. oil's changed, tightened everything up, tires look good. Packing doesn't take long -- my standard daily uniform in multiples: 6 t-shirts, 3 pairs of Levis, extra socks. All the rest is "what if" gear for cold and wet. Tools, rags, assorted junk. Got so much room on this big bagger I ride now that there's no art to it anymore. Easy as pie. Roll everything up, stuff it in the pull out bags, slide them into the hard bags, fire it up and roll.
Old guy's dream.
Now it's Monday and I can start to feel it. Just want to be on the Concrete Goddess headin' somewhere. Need that feel of the wind, that hum of the tires and that rumble of the big V-Twin. Need to see Pablo in the mirror, steady on my 8 or 4, runnin' hard on the big road. Need to have that "weather eye" on the horizon, figuring what's coming and how to get by it.
Need to be gone.
Don't get me wrong, I'll miss everyone here -- but heck, I'm at that point in life where I start every long run knowing it could be my last. Don't know how many miles are left in this old tank and, on this road, there ain't no more gas stations. That's not fatalistic, just a recognition of the fact that I get much more mail from AARP, Medicare and Social Security than from friends these days. Definitely more from AARP. And I'm not even a member. I know -- I've got friends in their eighties who are still runnin' the road and I might be at that age, too -- but there are no guarantees. So I savor each run now as I never did when I was young -- it's been said before: "Youth is wasted on the young".
As it should be.
I sent my old bags off to Bassman so he could use 'em on the run. He's riding an old school FX, so they should work as well for him as they did me. Starting to see all the Brothers getting ramped up for National. Putting hookups together; giving each other tons of crap about everything -- a predicate for all the smack talkin' that'll go on in the Ozarks. I can tell everyone is in the same place I am:
Time to get on the road, but; it's still a week away.
And that's for the crew out here in the West. Little over 2,000 miles for us to the Hub, so we're pretty much the first to hit the road.
Back in the day (as the modern expression goes), when I was flying the New York TCA, we used to make a lot of circles in the sky. Holding patterns they're called and every pilot hates 'em. You hit a fix (beacon usually) run for about a minute, make a 180, run back the same amount, make another 180 and do it again. And again. And again. If you're a big boy you can get 10 mile legs. Big deal. Kinda like NASCAR, only you go nowhere faster.
In the military we called it "hurry up and wait".
The Geez is ready. oil's changed, tightened everything up, tires look good. Packing doesn't take long -- my standard daily uniform in multiples: 6 t-shirts, 3 pairs of Levis, extra socks. All the rest is "what if" gear for cold and wet. Tools, rags, assorted junk. Got so much room on this big bagger I ride now that there's no art to it anymore. Easy as pie. Roll everything up, stuff it in the pull out bags, slide them into the hard bags, fire it up and roll.
Old guy's dream.
Now it's Monday and I can start to feel it. Just want to be on the Concrete Goddess headin' somewhere. Need that feel of the wind, that hum of the tires and that rumble of the big V-Twin. Need to see Pablo in the mirror, steady on my 8 or 4, runnin' hard on the big road. Need to have that "weather eye" on the horizon, figuring what's coming and how to get by it.
Need to be gone.
Don't get me wrong, I'll miss everyone here -- but heck, I'm at that point in life where I start every long run knowing it could be my last. Don't know how many miles are left in this old tank and, on this road, there ain't no more gas stations. That's not fatalistic, just a recognition of the fact that I get much more mail from AARP, Medicare and Social Security than from friends these days. Definitely more from AARP. And I'm not even a member. I know -- I've got friends in their eighties who are still runnin' the road and I might be at that age, too -- but there are no guarantees. So I savor each run now as I never did when I was young -- it's been said before: "Youth is wasted on the young".
As it should be.
15 August 2011
Gettin' Ready
Don't know if anyone is reading this anymore. Hell, I would probably not follow the damn thing the way it starts and stops.
Ah well, if I wrote every day about the mundane that is the normal aspect of my life -- you'd never need sleeping pills again. Think I'd call it Facebook or something. Maybe even open it up so you could write boring stuff too. Hmmm...
Anyway; it's time to start gearing up for the run to Arkansas and the Brothers. Not going all the way to the East Coast this year; after the rally I'm running down to Breaux Bridge to meet our newest family member, Sebastian Lee. Seems my beautiful Sofia now has a little brother.
I'm really excited about getting to see him in a few weeks, as well as spending some time with Steph, Nick and, of course, Sofia. 3,300 miles is a long way to be from your family, but, then again; my family is spread all over the countryside. Schizophrenia may be a hallmark of this crowd. You've got the restless bunch and those with roots so deep they're basically in magma. And, of course, the biggest gypsy of the bunch is me: hence this blog.
SO... I'll start posting here every few days until the run starts. Maybe, possibly, could be... you guys know me.
This run will be different, as well. I'm running the Geez, naturally, and an FL is just not as romantic, old school or cool as an FX. Hellova lot more comfortable, though. I'm runnin' the big roads also and I'll have several of the Brothers with me all the way. Mi amigo, Pablito, as always, and Bassman, President of our LA Charter, at least and a few more may make it. We're hoping to meet up with some of the other western Charters on the way and get a good group running into the Ozarks.
Maybe.
If you followed last year, you know that an FMRC run has no guarantees on hook ups.
So -- no 66, donkeys or side trips on old alignments this year. No Seligman, Oatman or out of the way Lodges. No pokin' my nose onto some cracked old piece of pavement just because it looks like it might go someplace interesting. Nope. This year is I-40, smokin' hard for three days with the Brothers to get to the Hub. But we are talking Pablo and Bassman here. They're both funnier than all get out and we get along really well. Something could come out of that. One can only hope.
'Course there still might be Germans. Ya' never know...
Now the ride home is a different story. I'll run down fro the Ozarks with the Bayou Travelers Chapter and drop off at Breaux Bridge. The run home from there is solo and I've no idea what that may bring. Haven't thought that far in advance.
Got more important things on my mind.
Ah well, if I wrote every day about the mundane that is the normal aspect of my life -- you'd never need sleeping pills again. Think I'd call it Facebook or something. Maybe even open it up so you could write boring stuff too. Hmmm...
Anyway; it's time to start gearing up for the run to Arkansas and the Brothers. Not going all the way to the East Coast this year; after the rally I'm running down to Breaux Bridge to meet our newest family member, Sebastian Lee. Seems my beautiful Sofia now has a little brother.
I'm really excited about getting to see him in a few weeks, as well as spending some time with Steph, Nick and, of course, Sofia. 3,300 miles is a long way to be from your family, but, then again; my family is spread all over the countryside. Schizophrenia may be a hallmark of this crowd. You've got the restless bunch and those with roots so deep they're basically in magma. And, of course, the biggest gypsy of the bunch is me: hence this blog.
SO... I'll start posting here every few days until the run starts. Maybe, possibly, could be... you guys know me.
This run will be different, as well. I'm running the Geez, naturally, and an FL is just not as romantic, old school or cool as an FX. Hellova lot more comfortable, though. I'm runnin' the big roads also and I'll have several of the Brothers with me all the way. Mi amigo, Pablito, as always, and Bassman, President of our LA Charter, at least and a few more may make it. We're hoping to meet up with some of the other western Charters on the way and get a good group running into the Ozarks.
Maybe.
If you followed last year, you know that an FMRC run has no guarantees on hook ups.
So -- no 66, donkeys or side trips on old alignments this year. No Seligman, Oatman or out of the way Lodges. No pokin' my nose onto some cracked old piece of pavement just because it looks like it might go someplace interesting. Nope. This year is I-40, smokin' hard for three days with the Brothers to get to the Hub. But we are talking Pablo and Bassman here. They're both funnier than all get out and we get along really well. Something could come out of that. One can only hope.
'Course there still might be Germans. Ya' never know...
Now the ride home is a different story. I'll run down fro the Ozarks with the Bayou Travelers Chapter and drop off at Breaux Bridge. The run home from there is solo and I've no idea what that may bring. Haven't thought that far in advance.
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