James Burleigh
Well-known member
While caging it around town the day before I was to fly to Phoenix to pick up my new '05 and ride it home to the the SF Bay Area (Concord), the radio weather speculator said it was going to be hot in the Bay Area July 4 weekend, but not as hot as in Palm Spring, where it was going to be 120 in the shade.
"F**k," I thought, shaking my head---Palm Springs was one of the dots I had to connect to get my new bike home. And I was already nervous about my first ride across the desert. Apart from commuting home in 100 temps in my 'stitch while sucking dry a 2-liter camelback in 45 minutes, I didn't have any experience in sustained high-temp riding (well, except when I rode my '05 around the Bay Area in the spring before having done the heat fix
).
Looking at Google's streetview of Highway 10 between Phoenix and Palm Springs, gateway to L.A., it was pretty much 300 miles of this:
I worried I was going to suffer heat exhaustion and get some bonus dirt skills by suddenly careening off the highway and heading into the desert, only to be found years later by Andy and Jill's dogs. Andy and Jill would give a couple of my leather-clad bones to their dogs for a doggie treat, then kick sand over the rest of me and part out what was left of my bike. (BTW, not 'stitch-covered bones, 'cause that thing has about as much ventilation as a Mexico City executive's personal bathroom. So I opted for my zip-together Frank Thomas leathers with the perforated jacket, my coolest ATGATT rig, and I do mean cool.)
JB looking cool in his Frank Thomas leathers at the Reg Pridmore CLASS track school.
And so I got prepared. I read about heat stroke, I posted in the forum for advice (and as usual got some great advice), I went and I got myself an evaporation vest and kerchief like the cowboys used to wear.
Before flying to Phoenix Friday morning of the July 4 weekend, I packed up all the gear I would need, including Sheila, my sexy Australian GPS, who doesn't always get the directions right, and has lousy pronunciation of Spanish street names, but has a wonderfully sassy attitude. Sometimes I take the wrong turn just to hear her thick lips get all pouty and petulant and keep repeating with an increasingly bitchy attitude, "Recalculating...." If only I could get her to say, "JB, don't make me get out my whip and spank your bare buttocks, you naughty boy!"
Um, where was I...? :blink: Oh yes, packing. Well, I brought my laptop, GPS and Sat radio, a small tank bag, my full leathers, helmet, boots, gloves, bungy cords, and some tools. The challenge was to figure out how much to bring that I would actually be able to carry back with me on the bike, having only the two side bags, the small tank bag for the GPS and Sat radio, and a daypack I could strap to the back of the bike. With that in mind, I opted to leave the Sears bench-top air compressor behind. :cray:
I wound up wearing my jacket and boots on the plane, and carrying my helmet. In my carry-on backpack I had the GPS and Sat radio and computer and a baggie full of wires. I checked a suitcase full of everything else, including a 9-inch phillips-head screwdriver for the battery terminals. I was amazed that I was not picked out by TSA for a special rectal scan (darn it) after carrying all that electrical gear and wiring onto the plane. But they are the best and the brightest in the war on terror, so they know what's best.
Fang got me to the airport for my Saturday 10:30 AM flight. Dressed in my fitted blue and white Frank Thomas leather jacket, jeans, and carrying a helmet, I caught a lot of middle-aged women glancing and smiling at me. Yeah, I looked cool. :coolsmiley02: (But not as cool as the local zonies, whom you could spot by their shorts and flip-flops.)
I landed in Phoenix at 12:50 in the afternoon. As soon as I stepped from the plane onto the jetway leading into the terminal, I was hit by a blast of that local---to borrow a phrase from Jesse Winchester---angry oven heat. And immediately I thought, "I'm am so f**ked."
(GTG! I have a shitload of electronic stuff to transfer to my new bike before the big commute tomorrow! Here's a pic of what faces me in the garage
More later! JB
"F**k," I thought, shaking my head---Palm Springs was one of the dots I had to connect to get my new bike home. And I was already nervous about my first ride across the desert. Apart from commuting home in 100 temps in my 'stitch while sucking dry a 2-liter camelback in 45 minutes, I didn't have any experience in sustained high-temp riding (well, except when I rode my '05 around the Bay Area in the spring before having done the heat fix
).Looking at Google's streetview of Highway 10 between Phoenix and Palm Springs, gateway to L.A., it was pretty much 300 miles of this:
I worried I was going to suffer heat exhaustion and get some bonus dirt skills by suddenly careening off the highway and heading into the desert, only to be found years later by Andy and Jill's dogs. Andy and Jill would give a couple of my leather-clad bones to their dogs for a doggie treat, then kick sand over the rest of me and part out what was left of my bike.
(BTW, not 'stitch-covered bones, 'cause that thing has about as much ventilation as a Mexico City executive's personal bathroom. So I opted for my zip-together Frank Thomas leathers with the perforated jacket, my coolest ATGATT rig, and I do mean cool.)JB looking cool in his Frank Thomas leathers at the Reg Pridmore CLASS track school.
And so I got prepared. I read about heat stroke, I posted in the forum for advice (and as usual got some great advice), I went and I got myself an evaporation vest and kerchief like the cowboys used to wear.
Before flying to Phoenix Friday morning of the July 4 weekend, I packed up all the gear I would need, including Sheila, my sexy Australian GPS, who doesn't always get the directions right, and has lousy pronunciation of Spanish street names, but has a wonderfully sassy attitude. Sometimes I take the wrong turn just to hear her thick lips get all pouty and petulant and keep repeating with an increasingly bitchy attitude, "Recalculating...." If only I could get her to say, "JB, don't make me get out my whip and spank your bare buttocks, you naughty boy!"
Um, where was I...? :blink: Oh yes, packing. Well, I brought my laptop, GPS and Sat radio, a small tank bag, my full leathers, helmet, boots, gloves, bungy cords, and some tools. The challenge was to figure out how much to bring that I would actually be able to carry back with me on the bike, having only the two side bags, the small tank bag for the GPS and Sat radio, and a daypack I could strap to the back of the bike. With that in mind, I opted to leave the Sears bench-top air compressor behind. :cray:
I wound up wearing my jacket and boots on the plane, and carrying my helmet. In my carry-on backpack I had the GPS and Sat radio and computer and a baggie full of wires. I checked a suitcase full of everything else, including a 9-inch phillips-head screwdriver for the battery terminals. I was amazed that I was not picked out by TSA for a special rectal scan (darn it) after carrying all that electrical gear and wiring onto the plane. But they are the best and the brightest in the war on terror, so they know what's best.
Fang got me to the airport for my Saturday 10:30 AM flight. Dressed in my fitted blue and white Frank Thomas leather jacket, jeans, and carrying a helmet, I caught a lot of middle-aged women glancing and smiling at me. Yeah, I looked cool. :coolsmiley02: (But not as cool as the local zonies, whom you could spot by their shorts and flip-flops.)
I landed in Phoenix at 12:50 in the afternoon. As soon as I stepped from the plane onto the jetway leading into the terminal, I was hit by a blast of that local---to borrow a phrase from Jesse Winchester---angry oven heat. And immediately I thought, "I'm am so f**ked."
(GTG! I have a shitload of electronic stuff to transfer to my new bike before the big commute tomorrow! Here's a pic of what faces me in the garage
More later! JB
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