The ONE Picture Ride Report

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quote name="hppants" post="1292390" timestamp="1457030181"

... I'm not much of a reader. If I can finish it in 15 minutes or less, no problem. But to sit down for an hour at a time and pluck away at a book is very challenging for me....
Judging by the quality of your writing, I would have thought that you were an avid reader; the two normally go hand-in-hand.
 
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I realize that most of you visualize moto-rides through spectacular scenery, or a series of tight curves with steep banking; I do, too.

But the reality of my life is urban: I work in midtown Atlanta (12th and Peachtree) and live in a close-in suburb that's a small city unto itself. So I have come to appreciate the riding skills necessary to survive in this urban environment:
- how long can I dance with the bike at a red light before taking my feet off the pegs?
- can I hit this curve at speed, while missing the huge pothole and the scattered gravel beside it?
- is there enough room to squeeze between the curb and waiting cars, and make a right turn before the light changes?
- can I slide across three lanes of freeway and make my exit without horns honking or fingers extending?
- how many minutes can I run on cruise control before some knucklehead makes me touch the clutch or brake?

I also have come to appreciate the little joys that urban motorbikes bring:
- parking is easy and plentiful ... on the sidewalk ... and you can also ease past the gates in a lot of parking decks,
- the smells from sidewalk bistros and flowering trees in the springtime,
- the looks I get from kids in the back seat of the family SUV,
- and the brotherhood 'salute' of city bikers, that seems a bit more meaningful than the waves I exchange on the open highway.

So this ride report is a little generic, and represents dozens of morning and afternoon commutes; the first half-hour of any long distance trip I take; and my favorite hour-long loop: from the house, to the new Falcons Stadium, past two very active homeless shelters, and back through some of the most affluent neighborhoods in Atlanta.

My bike, enjoying a primo spot on the sidewalk:


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August, 2003, on a day trip down Skyline Drive. I guess the apples weren't falling off fast enough for Yogi, so he climbed up and was stuffing them in his face as fast as possible when I rode by.

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That's me in the front, my brother behind me, and probably my cousin Billy at the rear...Tavares, FL 1972. My biological father, watching over us, once did an inadvertent superman through a car's windows back in the '60's and I still think about that sometimes when I approach intersections. Now I'm not a super hardcore rider, but I'm also no slouch either...I think this photo represents definitive proof of where I got the bug. My brother must've picked it up here as well since he later went on to become a motor officer (now a detective). Time changes many things, but there are some things it can't touch.

 
May, 2013

I'm camping in Deals Gap with my buddy Gus. The Spring weather in the Smokey mountains is wonderful. The smoke settles in low during the night, and the temperatures drop 15 degrees to make for a comfortable sleep in the bag. The bull frogs in the camp pond provide a nice white noise for us while we sleep. About 10 ounces of Tequila doesn't hurt things either.

Friday morning, I wake up early as usual. I've always been a morning person. I do my best work between 5 and 10 am, regardless of when I fall asleep the night before. Mo and Bobby have the fridge at the camp outdoor kitchen well stocked, so I grab a pound of thick slice bacon and start some breakfast. Gus makes a mean pot of coffee, so that important chore was tasked to him. I drain off 90% of the bacon fat and use the rest to flavor and scramble up about 18 eggs. While the coffee is brewing, Gus works on a dozen pieces of toast. The smell of the bacon lures peeps out of their tents like a magnet. Soon, about 6 of us are enjoying a beautiful outdoor southern breakfast.

Now about 8 am, and the second cup of coffee is empty. We answer the inevitable call of nature and soon thereafter, the fog is starting to lift. Up there, it does this every morning about the same time. As soon as the air temperature finds the dewpoint, things will improve.

Gus and I decide that it's time to gear up and roll. Today we are going to head Northeast into the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. Although it's not the only way to get there, the infamous Tail of the Dragon (Hwy 129) is an option. I've ridden this road many times before. At times it can be a blast, but at others, it's really not much fun. Between the cops and the squids and the pirates and the cages and the trucks and the ________, I'd just as soon ride some other road. Still today, something feels right so we decide to take the Dragon out of Robbinsville.

What a great decision that was. By the time we warm up on the Hellbender (hwy 28), the fog has completely lifted and the road is drying nicely. At Fontana Lake, we turn left onto Hwy 129 and head north. At the store located on the head of the dragon, I am pleasantly surprised to see hardly no one there. Just a few pirates kicking tires and belching around. I turn around to look at Gus as if to ask him if he wants to stop. He shakes "no" and so off we go. I take about 25 curves to warm up and make sure the road is as dry and clean as I think it is.

And oh my sweet bibby, am I ever right!!!

The road is absolutely perfect. Super clean, dry, and absolutely desolate. My brand new Michelin PR2s are sticking like they are glued to the road. I choose 2nd gear and I'm running the big horse up to about 6K before letting off for the next curve. The engine braking assist my decal and I'm dancing with the blue girl nicely. At each apex, I'm looking through the curve and holding the throttle neutral. The chassis plants nicely and there is no wobble, wiggle, or worse. Just past apex, I give her some heat and the FJR starts to sing. Every 2 or 3 curves, I check a mirror to see what Gus is up to. He's just behind me, and enjoying the ride as much as I am. We ran straight through to the Foothills Parkway and turned right, slowing down to a more civilized pace. What a run - that was spiritual.

Deals Gap, Hwy 129 - me and my beautiful blue girl dancing on the Dragon, with Gus in tow.

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Every once in a while I still get shook up about the bike in the Lake that Auburn FJR posted.

Mr & Mrs Beamer meeting the folks that fished them out of the lake.

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They made a donation to that all the volunteer rescue group. Pretty cool!

I was leading that ride, Mr Beamer called me about three weeks later wanting to assure me that it wasn't my fault. I was in Great Falls Mt. looking at the falls of all things on my way back from a family Reunion on my first ride since the deer strike.

Can you imagine that, my friend with a broken back and two metal rods inserted in it, in a hospital 300 miles from home worried about his opie friend! His wife was in the bed beside him all broken up, and worried about me................

I still tear when I think of that weekend.

 
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Still being young enough to do stupid things, like ride to the top of Hurricane Ridge when its 25 degrees.

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Like Alpes are too common for us, ride of our life is on .... USA... After 20 day in a buick enclave to visit california, and nevada, we go to Flagstaff 4 days. From Flagstaff, we have visited grand canyon, antelope canyon, page (and the horseshoe). And of course we have rent one day a bike... or an agricol motors in on 2 wheels, am not sure... So we rent an US bike, an Electra Glide.
from Flagstaff we take the road 89a to jerome, Prescott , then the 89 to Ash fork, and go back to flagstaff through Williams (were wase take the picture).
a very nice remembrance of USA. I think for the next US trip, we will start at Flagstaff (or phoenix) to continue. But unfortunately it's not for tomorrow.

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Please, don't hit me because I had ride an HD. I juste want to tri it...

 
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While this may not look like a Real Ride, this picture represents the very best spirit of this forum's generosity. A lot of you donated some money, I donated some time and diesel, Fred W donated his organizational skills and other wisdom to getting everything together. This is Patriot's bike "Isabella" with its new engine, new wheel bearings, and custom engraved PAIR block off plates. hppants was good enough to drive an hour and a half to get to my (wife's) house just so he could ride another 2.5 hours there and 2.5 more back with us.

I should apologize for posting this one before but it chokes me up every time I see it.



 
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My first EOM a couple of years back. I had hooked up with TominCA. Confusing to say the least since he lived in PA and I did not know the story yet. He invited me to ride in with him and some other attendees, but I could not make it to where they were staying that night. I found a spot and got ready to meet them in the morning for the ride to Maggie Valley.

As we planned, we met up at a gas station in Beckley if I remember correctly. After a run down through some amazing roads, we wind up on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Past Hungry Mother, some Little Switzerland place. I may not be remembering because this was my first time ever on such amazing roads. I was having a blast. Tom was leading quick, but not too fast.

We wind up heading to Mount Mitchell. The posted limit is something stupid like 35mph. The road is clear, the sun is dappling through the trees, the temps are great, and the smells are a perfect mixture of well spent petroleum products, mountain air, and evergreen trees. The road opens up a little on the way to the top and we let the ponies run some. I am cautious because I have no idea what is around the corner. Good call because a park service ranger hears the rumble of at least 5 other FJRs roar past. He turns his lights on and I am nabbed by him. I stop and he tells me to head up to the top where he will get all of us. I deny knowing those hooligans but he knows better. He follows me up there and Tom and our group is already dismounted and taking in the scenery. Tom tell me to take my coat and jacket off and get away from my bike. It works and the only thing better than the confused look on the Rangers face is this view from the top.

Not only did we not get a ticket, I was able to capture this image. I can still smell the clouds too.
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Alright I am going to show my ignorance here. Where in heaven is this, cause I have to add it to my list.
Thanks
Some where between Meziadin Junction in BC & Watson Lake Yukon on Hwy 37 or Dease Lake Hwy or they also call it the Stewart Cassiar Hwy. About a 400 mile day, all just pretty damm breath taking.

 
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Just a quick ride with a friend. He is a dirt rider mostly that rides in jeans, hoodies, work boots, and no gloves most of the time. He wore a helmet since he knows how I ride geared up. I let him borrow the wife's jacket, my back up gloves, and we had a great time. The old standby roads will have to do and wind up over in Indiana at one of the many covered bridges around there. We must have rode the same 14 corners/curves 5 times before we called it quits for the day.

This guy's mom used to be the principal where I work, so I try to take care of him since she took care of me. Just part of the circle.

Not all rides can be epic or spectacular but hopefully they all mean something in the grand scheme

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October, 2014

I've been married for 28 years. Looking all the way back, things have certainly changed a lot. However, the changes are incremental and on a day by day basis, one doesn't always see the forest for the trees.

My wife taught school for almost 22 years. I'm convinced she was born to do this. She has a knack for teaching children how to think for themselves. But like all matters of life, things change. Over the years, it became more prevalent. She learned quickly how to deal with the improperly prepared kid, the incompetent parent, the leaking roof, the lack of supplies (how many thousands of $$$$ did we spend on school supplies, I will never know), the clueless principle, etc.

In the end, none of that mattered - as long as she was in the classroom doing her thing, all was right in the world. However, about 5 or 7 years ago, the school system started changing the rules. Now, teachers were no longer teachers - they simply are indoctrinated into glorified babysitters where they just vomit the standardized test. The school board leaders lacked any resemblance of leadership.

The next year, they changed the rules again. And again. And again.

It wore her down a little each day. Over a few years, she tried changing things. A new grade level. A new school. A different Parish. Another principle. Eventually, she realized that the source of the problem wasn't just ONE particular thing, but in fact it was EVERYTHING. In November of 2014, after about 3 years of binge eating, drinking, anxiety medicines, and spending what seems like every non-working moment in a state of comatose, she finally decided to give it up.

I did what little I could - mostly try to listen and be supportive. Over the following few weeks, a transformation miraculously appeared before my very eyes. Daily greetings were started with smiles and tenderness. Conversations continued past the formalities. Interest in things other than sleeping and eating junk food surfaced. We were dating again. Not the bullshit dates - drive to the restaurant, choke down the food, and then drive home. No - there's time now. Lets have a drink and an appetizer and discuss the meaning of life before ordering.

I got my wife back and until very recently, I hardly realized she was gone. Things evolved so slowly over the years, I didn't really notice the big picture. Feelings of guilt ran in me, thinking about how inconsiderate I must have been. But those feelings were quickly overshadowed with, well.... fun. We started working out together. Started hitting the tennis ball on Sundays. Take a ride down the river in the boat. Walk the nature trail at the local city park. Pick a television series on Netflix and start watching it 2 or 3 episodes at a time. Long walks with the dog - pooping her out so much I had to carry her home.

And the occasional motorcycle ride. I bought her gear years prior, but could hardly get her to bite. It was always something else - too tired, too much work, too __________. In mid-November, I asked her to join me on a weekend adventure. And she said yes.

Lake Kincaid Reservoir, Kistachie National Forest. Empty nesters having a ball.

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Lake Campbell, Puget Sound, and the Cascade mountain range from Mt. Erie on Fidalgo Island, Washington using my cheap, flip phone camera yesterday. Kind of tricky to work the FJR into that photo but I haven't washed it in a while so it saves me some embarrassment and humiliation.

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