Why We Ride II
#1
05-20-2007, 08:26 PM
Why We Ride II
Sometimes a last minute decision to take a tour turns out better than you could ever have imagined. Friday night I came back from a short ride and as I was putting my ride away, I started to ponder about how nice it would be to take a real ride. Out of the blue, my head decided that I was going to make a 200-mile jaunt downstate to surprise my Mom and take her to dinner for Mothers Day. Although seeing my mom was important, the thought of 200 miles of deserted Interstate and quality mountain twisties had my mouth watering. To be sure that I wasn’t going to run into any ****ty weather I checked TWC and although the forecast was for a cool Saturday morning, it was to be dry. Good enough for me. I grabbed my soft luggage, attached it to the CBR and as soon as I was finished the garage door opened and in pulls the old lady. “Going somewhere???” she barked in that all too bitchy voice of hers. I explained that I haven’t seen good old Mom in a year and thought a surprise visit by her #1 son would give her good cheer. “Your ****ing nuts” she exclaimed as she walked into the house shaking her head. My wife is not into bikes nor does she understand the mindset we sport riders have – any excuse for a ride, especially a “special” ride, is a serious thing – not to be taken lightly. I muttered “What a bitch” under my breath and got back to the business at hand: making sure my mount was tip top and ready to go. After adjusting/lubing the chain and checking the tire pressures it was time to pack for a possible overnighter. Unfortunately this meant facing my wife again as she was in our bedroom folding clothes. “I can’t understand why you are going to ride all that way when you can take your car and listen to music” were the first words out of her mouth. My 20 years of marriage experienced kicked in and I kept MBFMS (my big ****ing mouth shut), quickly grabbed what I needed from the dresser and closet and headed back out to finish packing. Three beers later I was yawning and hit the sack.
I awoke without the aid of the alarm clock promptly at 6:00 am and downed a quick cup of Joe, donned my gear and fired up the CBR. One quick walk around to make sure I didn’t leave anything loose or hanging and I was history.
The trip ahead of me was 190 miles. The first 100 were interstate which at 6:30 in the morning is like having Daytona all to yourself. Without boring you with the details I’ll just say that this part of the journey took 50 minutes. You do the math. With the monotonous interstate behind, the thrilling section lay before me; 90 miles of the most rockin’ and rollin’ mountain roads in the land. I like to think of myself as a safe, courteous and sensible rider who is always trying to give sport riders a good name however after about 2 miles I clicked into racer mode. Corners were cornered, sweepers were swept, and cars were just unlucky backmarkers to be quickly dispatched (doesn’t the double yellow line mean okay to pass, just do it quickly?). This is why we ride.
I arrived at my destination a bit too early for lunch so I thought I’d
ride down to the local Honda shop and get an oil change and kill some time. It happens to be where I wrenched for 4 or 5 years around a decade and a half ago. After the routine
handshakes and how ya been's were exchanged the lead mechanic pointed to a vacant bay and said “There you go, change your own oil”. We had some good laughs while I did the deed and after paying the tab (no labor), I said my goodbyes and headed to Moms.
Upon pulling into my mothers I soon noticed the absence of her pain in the ***, barking Chihuahua. Cool, she’s walking that little son of a bitch. I got out of my gear,
helped myself to a cup of coffee, set up a chair in the garage and proceeded to wait for her to get home. After around 10 minutes, I heard the mutt clamoring up the str
I awoke without the aid of the alarm clock promptly at 6:00 am and downed a quick cup of Joe, donned my gear and fired up the CBR. One quick walk around to make sure I didn’t leave anything loose or hanging and I was history.
The trip ahead of me was 190 miles. The first 100 were interstate which at 6:30 in the morning is like having Daytona all to yourself. Without boring you with the details I’ll just say that this part of the journey took 50 minutes. You do the math. With the monotonous interstate behind, the thrilling section lay before me; 90 miles of the most rockin’ and rollin’ mountain roads in the land. I like to think of myself as a safe, courteous and sensible rider who is always trying to give sport riders a good name however after about 2 miles I clicked into racer mode. Corners were cornered, sweepers were swept, and cars were just unlucky backmarkers to be quickly dispatched (doesn’t the double yellow line mean okay to pass, just do it quickly?). This is why we ride.
I arrived at my destination a bit too early for lunch so I thought I’d
ride down to the local Honda shop and get an oil change and kill some time. It happens to be where I wrenched for 4 or 5 years around a decade and a half ago. After the routine
handshakes and how ya been's were exchanged the lead mechanic pointed to a vacant bay and said “There you go, change your own oil”. We had some good laughs while I did the deed and after paying the tab (no labor), I said my goodbyes and headed to Moms.
Upon pulling into my mothers I soon noticed the absence of her pain in the ***, barking Chihuahua. Cool, she’s walking that little son of a bitch. I got out of my gear,
helped myself to a cup of coffee, set up a chair in the garage and proceeded to wait for her to get home. After around 10 minutes, I heard the mutt clamoring up the str
#3
05-21-2007, 03:32 AM
#6
05-21-2007, 11:39 PM
RE: Why We Ride II
I'm a newbie to this forum but in no way am I a newbie to the art of motorcycling. Here's another essayI wrote.
After yet another pissed off, stressed out week I could feel Mr Jones
talking in my ear... "Chill out with a Sunday ride". Sunday came, clear and warm. Patted mama on the ***, crept out of bed, snuck out into the garage to not wake the kids; "Dad, what are you cooking for breakfast?", pulled on the leathers, boots and gloves and I was gone.
Sunday morning rides in the Northern Adirondack Mountains mean miles of some of the best sport riding in the country. 110 mph sweepers, esses upon esses, hairpins and whatever else man could come up with. With my route plotted in my head I settle down for the 30 mile ride to where the fun starts. My CBR is humming along and I can't help but run it up to 120 a few times. The "little" 600 pulls strong from 80 on up and it's hard to believe that such a small motor can produce so much. Sign ahead - "Route 30 South, 1 mile". Time to psyche, time for business.
By the third or fourth real corner I was finding my rythym. Roll off the throttle, smooth turn in, hit the apex, hammer down - repeat as needed. The **** eating grin beneath my helmet goes from ear to ear.
I think to myself, "Other than a track, there is nothing more fun and exciting than this!". Corner after corner, mountain after moutain flash by and before I know it, the little red blink tells me it's time for fuel. I need a stretch anyway. On the walk back from paying for the gas I couldn't help but look at the tires; "Just how low was I getting"? Come on, you all do it too.
The rest of the ride was more of the same and all too soon it was time to head back. The ride home was around 20 miles and I took the time to drink in the view, smell the campfires and just enjoy the freedom of being on the road.
My kids greet me as I pull into the driveway. "Dad, how was your ride?"
"Great ride" I say as I pull off my gear and put the Honda away. "Hey", I notice; "the stress of the week is gone". They ought to prescribe these things instead of Paxil. It's the only mood stabilizer I need.
After yet another pissed off, stressed out week I could feel Mr Jones
talking in my ear... "Chill out with a Sunday ride". Sunday came, clear and warm. Patted mama on the ***, crept out of bed, snuck out into the garage to not wake the kids; "Dad, what are you cooking for breakfast?", pulled on the leathers, boots and gloves and I was gone.
Sunday morning rides in the Northern Adirondack Mountains mean miles of some of the best sport riding in the country. 110 mph sweepers, esses upon esses, hairpins and whatever else man could come up with. With my route plotted in my head I settle down for the 30 mile ride to where the fun starts. My CBR is humming along and I can't help but run it up to 120 a few times. The "little" 600 pulls strong from 80 on up and it's hard to believe that such a small motor can produce so much. Sign ahead - "Route 30 South, 1 mile". Time to psyche, time for business.
By the third or fourth real corner I was finding my rythym. Roll off the throttle, smooth turn in, hit the apex, hammer down - repeat as needed. The **** eating grin beneath my helmet goes from ear to ear.
I think to myself, "Other than a track, there is nothing more fun and exciting than this!". Corner after corner, mountain after moutain flash by and before I know it, the little red blink tells me it's time for fuel. I need a stretch anyway. On the walk back from paying for the gas I couldn't help but look at the tires; "Just how low was I getting"? Come on, you all do it too.
The rest of the ride was more of the same and all too soon it was time to head back. The ride home was around 20 miles and I took the time to drink in the view, smell the campfires and just enjoy the freedom of being on the road.
My kids greet me as I pull into the driveway. "Dad, how was your ride?"
"Great ride" I say as I pull off my gear and put the Honda away. "Hey", I notice; "the stress of the week is gone". They ought to prescribe these things instead of Paxil. It's the only mood stabilizer I need.
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