camera56
Well-known member
This is an entry from a tip blog I wrote over the past two weeks. The whole of it is posted at www.midliferider.com
Every day on a journey like this has its own story. What's important is that you stay open to it because it's often not the story you had in mind.
Much of the attraction of riding is the opportunity to be alone in your helmet for long stretches of time. When the road tightens and twists all thinking stops and your attention is riveted to the path ahead. Your conscious mind picks lines and your body knowledge and intuition makes a million adjustments per second to make the bike dance that way.
Riding the desert is a completely different experience. The distance from Lakeview to Tubac is nearly all long stretches of highway and byway that barely deviates; long vistas in every direction. Some of the time is spent musing and day dreaming; some of it is spent in conversation with people not present; some of it is spent in the stillness of the moment. But in all ways, it's a solitary contemplation at speed. You're going somewhere, but because of the far horizons your sensation of traveling is diminished to almost nothing. The bike is moving but you're not. You're still on the bike. Sitting.
Today was different from the three previous because of the gift of a nearly worn through rear tire.
Joe
Joe entered my story last night as I rolled up to the Aspen Inn Bed and Breakfast. He stood as a beacon after a hard, hard day of riding. After hours of wrestling with the wind, Joe was there to welcome me home, if only for a night.
Joe was back in the morning to cook breakfast . . . coffee, juice, fresh fruit, and homemade southwestern eggs Benedict.
"Mind if I grab a cup of coffee and sit with you?"
"I'd love it."
Joe moved from Los Angeles to Flagstaff about twenty years ago. The sign for him was picking up the local paper to read the lead article about a pick-up truck rear ending a Mercedes. That was the big news of the day. A big contrast to what was going on in the LA Basin in the early 80s.
"Why a Bed and Breakfast?"
"My wife is from Spain and Germany. Her relatives would come and visit. And then cousins. And then friends. After awhile I figured that we were basically running a B&B already, so why not do it for real?"
I wound up asking Joe one of my favorite questions. "Tell me about your first bicycle."
Joe got that far away look so many people get when they time travel. "That's a good story."
"You remember mini-bikes? The ones with the little wheels and the lawn mower engines? Well when I was 13, my younger brother and I worked a paper route. We would get up at four in the morning and fold papers. We worked and saved our money until we could afford to buy a mini-bike. "
"We had it about two days. Riding it we got stopped by a cop who told us what we were doing was illegal. 'But all the other kids are doing it!' 'And when I catch them I'm going to tell them the same thing."
"Our Dad told us we needed to take it back to where we bought it and trade it for bicycles. So we did. It was a huge disappointment. We wound up with really great Schwins, the kind with the banana seats and the high-rise handle bars. We rode those bikes for ten years. They took us everywhere. You couldn't break them. They were these really great bikes but there was always that feeling of let down. That for a couple of days we had a mini-bike. And then we had to give it back."
As Joe told the story I could feel myself wanting to cry for young Joe and his brother. We both did.
Doug
Joe gave me directions to Northland Motorsports, the local Yamaha dealer. I decided to present myself first thing to see if they could do something about my shagged rear tire.
Northland is a spiffy new dealership that handles all the Japanese bikes plus Can-Am. Doug was juggling a phone that wouldn't stop ringing, customers, and either two or three missing technicians.
"We've got nobody here today but let me see what I can do."
That's what I like about motorcycles. I have no idea what the locals think about Northland Motorsports but Doug was bound and determined to help a complete stranger, someone he probably will never see again, for the simple reason that I was traveling through on a bike.
As it turned out they didn't have a tire for my bike. So Doug got on the phone and called a shop up the road. They didn't either. So he got on the internet and found a place in Tucson (where I was headed). And when that didn't look promising, he got me the phone number of the Yamaha dealer in Tucson.
It turned out that Doug had worked as a commercial fisherman up in the Seattle area and had family up there. We shook hands.
"Good luck. Ride safe."
"Service, you have a call waiting."
Pennsylvania Riders
Out in the parking lot bikes and riders were flocking. Parked opposite my FJR were three Gold Wings.
"That's the trouble with those things," says I. "You park one of them and pretty soon there are a bunch of them just flocking around."
We all laughed.
"Where you from? Where you headed?" It's like one long word.
"We're from Pennsylvania. We flew out and rented these. We were going to ship our bikes bit it was cheaper to rent."
Growing up I used to watch my Grandfather have exactly these sorts of conversations with strangers. I don't recall that he was a particularly warm guy with the people he was related to, but there was something about a taxi driver or someone in a restaurant or a cashier in a store that brought the gabby out in him.
We were like long lost pals, the Pennsylvania riders and me.
"Were you riding yesterday? How about that wind? Where you going today? And after that?"
We shook hands all around.
"Ride safe."
"You too."
Wet Dog
As I was getting ready to load up Wet Dog pulled around to say hello. I had seen is 2007 FJR when I rode in and he had seen mine. Now we were looking at each other.
Wet Dog (his forum handle) is a computer teacher to high school kids and proud of the fact that his little class in his little high school was rated tops in the state. I'd be proud of that too.
"You got risers on that? How are they? Do they take the pressure off your hands?"
"I do. Got them from ********* Larry. It's actually a complete triple clamp. They move the bars up and back. Here, see for yourself."
More bike talk. More bench racing. More pointing and commenting. It never gets boring talking about bikes with other riders. You'd think someone had just discovered a crashed space ship from Mars. People don't ride bikes can't begin to fathom what could possibly be interesting about a hunk of metal or a seat that costs $800, or . . . how can you possibly explain it to the unwashed.
We shook hands.
"Ride safe."
"You too."
I meant it. I think he did too.
Robert
I called down to RideNow Powersports (www.ridenow.com) and spoke to someone in service.
"I have a problem, maybe you can help me out."
"I'll try."
"I've ridden the center out of my rear tire. I'm up in Flagstaff and expect to be in Tucson around 3:00. I need a 180/55 ZR17, preferably a Michelin Power Road, but I'll take anything you got."
"Let me see what we have. Can you hold?"
He came back a minute later. "We have a Michelin."
"Can you put it on for me today?"
"Let me ask my service manager." Another pause. "Yes, but you have to get here before 4:00."
It was 10:30 and I was still in Flagstaff. I had in mind to ride down through Sedona but now the day was about getting to Tucson and getting a tire. So the ride of discovery became a ride with a temporal, prosaic objective. I packed the bike, geared up, and said my good byes to Joe.
"Ride safe."
The descent from Flagstaff is a favorite road that travels from sub alpine, to high desert, to the Saguaro cactus kind of desert in the space of two hours. Oh, and the speed limit is 75. Once in the Phoenix area, the fun and magic of riding drains away replaced by the drone of pounding through urban traffic. The ride down to Tucson isn't much better. Put the hammer down and go straight for another two hours.
"High, I'm Kevin. I called about a rear tire?"
"Hi, I'm Robert Sanchez (the service manager). Let's get you set up.
"How long do you think it will be?"
"My tech is finishing up a job and can start it in 15 minutes. I've got a waiting room you can camp out in and there's food next door."
Does it get any better than that? At the risk of repeating myself, let me repeat myself. I have no idea what the locals think about RideNow Motorsports but Robert was bound and determined to help a complete stranger, someone he probably will never see again, for the simple reason that I was traveling through on a bike. He couldn't have been nicer.
Jim
I loaded all my junk off the bike and into the waiting room and went next store to Arby's (big shout out for their pecan chicken salad sandwich). By the time I got back, Jim had the bike up on the lift with the rear wheel off. As he finished reinstalling the freshly shod rear wheel I went in to talk to him.
"I'm all done. I'm going to take it for a test ride to make sure everything is fine and then we'll wash it and you'll be on your way."
"You're going to wash it?"
"Yup. Part of the service."
While Jim was out riding I attended to my gear, repacking this, adjusting that.
"Did Jim tell you that he adjusted the front end as well?" That was Robert.
"No, what did he do?"
So I went back out to the shop.
"Yeah, I noticed when I was riding it that the front end didn't feel right. So we checked it out and your forks we're out of alignment. So we adjusted that for you too."
"Wow."
"No worries, that's why we test ride them."
I found myself wondering why my dealer at home, the one I had just spent $1200 with, hadn't noticed that. Back on the bike, I could feel the difference.
"Ride safe."
Every day on a journey like this has its own story. What's important is that you stay open to it because it's often not the story you had in mind.
Much of the attraction of riding is the opportunity to be alone in your helmet for long stretches of time. When the road tightens and twists all thinking stops and your attention is riveted to the path ahead. Your conscious mind picks lines and your body knowledge and intuition makes a million adjustments per second to make the bike dance that way.
Riding the desert is a completely different experience. The distance from Lakeview to Tubac is nearly all long stretches of highway and byway that barely deviates; long vistas in every direction. Some of the time is spent musing and day dreaming; some of it is spent in conversation with people not present; some of it is spent in the stillness of the moment. But in all ways, it's a solitary contemplation at speed. You're going somewhere, but because of the far horizons your sensation of traveling is diminished to almost nothing. The bike is moving but you're not. You're still on the bike. Sitting.
Today was different from the three previous because of the gift of a nearly worn through rear tire.
Joe
Joe entered my story last night as I rolled up to the Aspen Inn Bed and Breakfast. He stood as a beacon after a hard, hard day of riding. After hours of wrestling with the wind, Joe was there to welcome me home, if only for a night.
Joe was back in the morning to cook breakfast . . . coffee, juice, fresh fruit, and homemade southwestern eggs Benedict.
"Mind if I grab a cup of coffee and sit with you?"
"I'd love it."
Joe moved from Los Angeles to Flagstaff about twenty years ago. The sign for him was picking up the local paper to read the lead article about a pick-up truck rear ending a Mercedes. That was the big news of the day. A big contrast to what was going on in the LA Basin in the early 80s.
"Why a Bed and Breakfast?"
"My wife is from Spain and Germany. Her relatives would come and visit. And then cousins. And then friends. After awhile I figured that we were basically running a B&B already, so why not do it for real?"
I wound up asking Joe one of my favorite questions. "Tell me about your first bicycle."
Joe got that far away look so many people get when they time travel. "That's a good story."
"You remember mini-bikes? The ones with the little wheels and the lawn mower engines? Well when I was 13, my younger brother and I worked a paper route. We would get up at four in the morning and fold papers. We worked and saved our money until we could afford to buy a mini-bike. "
"We had it about two days. Riding it we got stopped by a cop who told us what we were doing was illegal. 'But all the other kids are doing it!' 'And when I catch them I'm going to tell them the same thing."
"Our Dad told us we needed to take it back to where we bought it and trade it for bicycles. So we did. It was a huge disappointment. We wound up with really great Schwins, the kind with the banana seats and the high-rise handle bars. We rode those bikes for ten years. They took us everywhere. You couldn't break them. They were these really great bikes but there was always that feeling of let down. That for a couple of days we had a mini-bike. And then we had to give it back."
As Joe told the story I could feel myself wanting to cry for young Joe and his brother. We both did.
Doug
Joe gave me directions to Northland Motorsports, the local Yamaha dealer. I decided to present myself first thing to see if they could do something about my shagged rear tire.
Northland is a spiffy new dealership that handles all the Japanese bikes plus Can-Am. Doug was juggling a phone that wouldn't stop ringing, customers, and either two or three missing technicians.
"We've got nobody here today but let me see what I can do."
That's what I like about motorcycles. I have no idea what the locals think about Northland Motorsports but Doug was bound and determined to help a complete stranger, someone he probably will never see again, for the simple reason that I was traveling through on a bike.
As it turned out they didn't have a tire for my bike. So Doug got on the phone and called a shop up the road. They didn't either. So he got on the internet and found a place in Tucson (where I was headed). And when that didn't look promising, he got me the phone number of the Yamaha dealer in Tucson.
It turned out that Doug had worked as a commercial fisherman up in the Seattle area and had family up there. We shook hands.
"Good luck. Ride safe."
"Service, you have a call waiting."
Pennsylvania Riders
Out in the parking lot bikes and riders were flocking. Parked opposite my FJR were three Gold Wings.
"That's the trouble with those things," says I. "You park one of them and pretty soon there are a bunch of them just flocking around."
We all laughed.
"Where you from? Where you headed?" It's like one long word.
"We're from Pennsylvania. We flew out and rented these. We were going to ship our bikes bit it was cheaper to rent."
Growing up I used to watch my Grandfather have exactly these sorts of conversations with strangers. I don't recall that he was a particularly warm guy with the people he was related to, but there was something about a taxi driver or someone in a restaurant or a cashier in a store that brought the gabby out in him.
We were like long lost pals, the Pennsylvania riders and me.
"Were you riding yesterday? How about that wind? Where you going today? And after that?"
We shook hands all around.
"Ride safe."
"You too."
Wet Dog
As I was getting ready to load up Wet Dog pulled around to say hello. I had seen is 2007 FJR when I rode in and he had seen mine. Now we were looking at each other.
Wet Dog (his forum handle) is a computer teacher to high school kids and proud of the fact that his little class in his little high school was rated tops in the state. I'd be proud of that too.
"You got risers on that? How are they? Do they take the pressure off your hands?"
"I do. Got them from ********* Larry. It's actually a complete triple clamp. They move the bars up and back. Here, see for yourself."
More bike talk. More bench racing. More pointing and commenting. It never gets boring talking about bikes with other riders. You'd think someone had just discovered a crashed space ship from Mars. People don't ride bikes can't begin to fathom what could possibly be interesting about a hunk of metal or a seat that costs $800, or . . . how can you possibly explain it to the unwashed.
We shook hands.
"Ride safe."
"You too."
I meant it. I think he did too.
Robert
I called down to RideNow Powersports (www.ridenow.com) and spoke to someone in service.
"I have a problem, maybe you can help me out."
"I'll try."
"I've ridden the center out of my rear tire. I'm up in Flagstaff and expect to be in Tucson around 3:00. I need a 180/55 ZR17, preferably a Michelin Power Road, but I'll take anything you got."
"Let me see what we have. Can you hold?"
He came back a minute later. "We have a Michelin."
"Can you put it on for me today?"
"Let me ask my service manager." Another pause. "Yes, but you have to get here before 4:00."
It was 10:30 and I was still in Flagstaff. I had in mind to ride down through Sedona but now the day was about getting to Tucson and getting a tire. So the ride of discovery became a ride with a temporal, prosaic objective. I packed the bike, geared up, and said my good byes to Joe.
"Ride safe."
The descent from Flagstaff is a favorite road that travels from sub alpine, to high desert, to the Saguaro cactus kind of desert in the space of two hours. Oh, and the speed limit is 75. Once in the Phoenix area, the fun and magic of riding drains away replaced by the drone of pounding through urban traffic. The ride down to Tucson isn't much better. Put the hammer down and go straight for another two hours.
"High, I'm Kevin. I called about a rear tire?"
"Hi, I'm Robert Sanchez (the service manager). Let's get you set up.
"How long do you think it will be?"
"My tech is finishing up a job and can start it in 15 minutes. I've got a waiting room you can camp out in and there's food next door."
Does it get any better than that? At the risk of repeating myself, let me repeat myself. I have no idea what the locals think about RideNow Motorsports but Robert was bound and determined to help a complete stranger, someone he probably will never see again, for the simple reason that I was traveling through on a bike. He couldn't have been nicer.
Jim
I loaded all my junk off the bike and into the waiting room and went next store to Arby's (big shout out for their pecan chicken salad sandwich). By the time I got back, Jim had the bike up on the lift with the rear wheel off. As he finished reinstalling the freshly shod rear wheel I went in to talk to him.
"I'm all done. I'm going to take it for a test ride to make sure everything is fine and then we'll wash it and you'll be on your way."
"You're going to wash it?"
"Yup. Part of the service."
While Jim was out riding I attended to my gear, repacking this, adjusting that.
"Did Jim tell you that he adjusted the front end as well?" That was Robert.
"No, what did he do?"
So I went back out to the shop.
"Yeah, I noticed when I was riding it that the front end didn't feel right. So we checked it out and your forks we're out of alignment. So we adjusted that for you too."
"Wow."
"No worries, that's why we test ride them."
I found myself wondering why my dealer at home, the one I had just spent $1200 with, hadn't noticed that. Back on the bike, I could feel the difference.
"Ride safe."
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