My Long Ride.
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09-17-2007 | 09:08 PM
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My Long Ride.
Hi guys and thanks for checking in. I returned just last night from the longest ride I’ve ever taken. I went from my home town of Lincolnton, Georgia, to Lebanon, Ohio.
The total distance was going to be 12 hundred miles plus, so I knew I had to have the bike running right before I left. Not that anything was wrong with it, I just wanted to keep it that way. The oil only had about 15 hundred miles on it, but I changed it and the filter. I also changed the spark plugs. I cleaned my K&N air filter. I cleaned, tightened and lubed my chain. Checked and double checked my tire pressure. Bled both the front and read brakes. I went over pretty much every nut, bolt and screw on the bike and made sure everything was tight. I went to a local bike dealer and bought a Throttle Rocker. Yes, yes; I know they’re for the cruisers but I had one heck of a ride before me and didn’t want to have to stop every 50 miles and nurse blood back into my hand. The thing was a life saver! I didn’t think a little piece of plastic could make such a difference, but boy did it!
I almost didn’t get to leave when I had planned to. The night before I was supposed to head out, the power went out in my whole town. This left me with no internet to get directions(got to love MapQuest.com), no light to pack by, and no hot water to shower in. Luckily, 15 miles up the road, my Grandparents still had power so everything worked out nicely. I got everything ready to go by 11:30pm that night and had to wake up at 5am the next morning to leave.
I got up right at 5am and started loading up the bike. I had the tail packed full of tools and small items, an extra helmet hanging off the side, an over-stuffed tank bag stuck on and an equally bulging back pack to wear. I think I remember telling myself that life was fixing to suck.
I left at 5:45am Friday morning heading to South Carolina. I stopped in town and filled up. It was still dark at the time and there was a light fog. I topped off with gas right before getting on the interstate. No rain yet, but the sun had come out and reveled awful looking clouds as far as the eye could see. Sure enough, about 30 minutes latter, the bottom fell out. It wasn’t too bad, but defiantly slowed my pace. Crossing into North Carolina brought mountains, more rain, and more traffic.
The 18 wheelers were throwing up so much water that visibility was next to none. I pulled off under an overpass at one point to wait some of the storm out and pour the water out of my boots. I saw a few cruisers ride by, some of which had passengers. I was wearing a leather/textile Joe Rocket jacket with the supposed wind/water proof liner, Gortex BDU pants, steel toe combat boots, and gloves. Everything was soaked through. My black gloves had bled die on my palms and stained them purple. My fingers were pruned up and my finger prints were pealing. I went to check my directions in my tank bag, and when I opened it, water poured out. Apparently it’s better at keeping water in apposed to out. Luckily I had everything in plastic bags of sorts. Even my rear view camera screen had a Zip Lock draped over it.
When the rain let up a little, and it sure didn’t let up much; I headed back out. After a few miles a bright yellow Gold Wing passed me at what had to be 80+ mph. I matched his speed and stayed right behind him. As the rain started to lighten and eventually clear, he picked up speed. In and out of traffic through mountain road at around 100mph. We stopped and got gas and I talked with him for a minute. His name was John and he was 63! We got back on the interstate and cruised for another 150 miles together. For one stint, my speedo didn’t drop
The total distance was going to be 12 hundred miles plus, so I knew I had to have the bike running right before I left. Not that anything was wrong with it, I just wanted to keep it that way. The oil only had about 15 hundred miles on it, but I changed it and the filter. I also changed the spark plugs. I cleaned my K&N air filter. I cleaned, tightened and lubed my chain. Checked and double checked my tire pressure. Bled both the front and read brakes. I went over pretty much every nut, bolt and screw on the bike and made sure everything was tight. I went to a local bike dealer and bought a Throttle Rocker. Yes, yes; I know they’re for the cruisers but I had one heck of a ride before me and didn’t want to have to stop every 50 miles and nurse blood back into my hand. The thing was a life saver! I didn’t think a little piece of plastic could make such a difference, but boy did it!
I almost didn’t get to leave when I had planned to. The night before I was supposed to head out, the power went out in my whole town. This left me with no internet to get directions(got to love MapQuest.com), no light to pack by, and no hot water to shower in. Luckily, 15 miles up the road, my Grandparents still had power so everything worked out nicely. I got everything ready to go by 11:30pm that night and had to wake up at 5am the next morning to leave.
I got up right at 5am and started loading up the bike. I had the tail packed full of tools and small items, an extra helmet hanging off the side, an over-stuffed tank bag stuck on and an equally bulging back pack to wear. I think I remember telling myself that life was fixing to suck.
I left at 5:45am Friday morning heading to South Carolina. I stopped in town and filled up. It was still dark at the time and there was a light fog. I topped off with gas right before getting on the interstate. No rain yet, but the sun had come out and reveled awful looking clouds as far as the eye could see. Sure enough, about 30 minutes latter, the bottom fell out. It wasn’t too bad, but defiantly slowed my pace. Crossing into North Carolina brought mountains, more rain, and more traffic.
The 18 wheelers were throwing up so much water that visibility was next to none. I pulled off under an overpass at one point to wait some of the storm out and pour the water out of my boots. I saw a few cruisers ride by, some of which had passengers. I was wearing a leather/textile Joe Rocket jacket with the supposed wind/water proof liner, Gortex BDU pants, steel toe combat boots, and gloves. Everything was soaked through. My black gloves had bled die on my palms and stained them purple. My fingers were pruned up and my finger prints were pealing. I went to check my directions in my tank bag, and when I opened it, water poured out. Apparently it’s better at keeping water in apposed to out. Luckily I had everything in plastic bags of sorts. Even my rear view camera screen had a Zip Lock draped over it.
When the rain let up a little, and it sure didn’t let up much; I headed back out. After a few miles a bright yellow Gold Wing passed me at what had to be 80+ mph. I matched his speed and stayed right behind him. As the rain started to lighten and eventually clear, he picked up speed. In and out of traffic through mountain road at around 100mph. We stopped and got gas and I talked with him for a minute. His name was John and he was 63! We got back on the interstate and cruised for another 150 miles together. For one stint, my speedo didn’t drop
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