I didn't set any records or scrape the pegs (kinda hard to do on knobbies), but I think SwampThing looks right content.
See Here!
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
The Hunter or The Hunted
In all things living there are Predators and there are prey. The distinction between the two is self evident to even the most educated and obtuse among us. Instinctively we categorize the living world in this way. You can tell which should be classified Predator and which should be classified prey. And don't bother me with any reverse psychology psychobabble bullshit. It is what it is. Occams razor.
Call it:
Call it:
Monday, July 03, 2006
Tale of The Dragon – Sunday at Deals Gap
318 curves in 11 miles. Good ridin'. Good company. Good roads. Good weather.
Friday. A spur of the moment trip, Rainman and I put out feelers to all riders (I use the term loosely). Frank can't go this time as he is prepping his bike for sale to trade down for a harley and shopping for golf clubs. Lots of probables, a few definites, and one, “Hell, yes” with a broken bike. I figured Rainman and me. There was a chance for the BrokeBike, but social events were precluding work on it, so I held it in the “doubtful” column. I swapped out SwampThing's countershaft sprocket for a bigger one to better cope with the Super Slab riding, changed the oil, lubed the chain, lubed the cables, kicked the tires, and gathered my gear for ATGATT (All The Gear, All The Time).
Saturday. Call from BrokeBike. The thing won't make 70mph, but he's ridin' it over and we put it in the barn. How much trouble can a spittin' and coughin' 800cc v-twin Suzuki Marauder be? Lots.
I figure on cleanin' the carb real quick and good to go. Sheeit. Two carbs and a fuel pump on this thing. All we left on it was the motor and tires getting' to the damn things and it has more emissions shit than a 1973 Vega. Well, we got it done and fired it up for a test ride. Pretty peppy for a 800cc cruiser. Handles like a barge.
Me and Boots (can't call him BrokeBike anymore) are chewin' the fat about the ride when I notice he has no front tire. It's worn past the wear bars and strangely enough, more worn on the right side. Oh shit. I didn't make much of an issue of it 'cause I didn't want him worried (confidence count's for a lot on motorcycles) and I knew hell nor high water was keepin' him from ridin' Sunday. At least there were no cords showing through.
Sunday. We met at 8:00 for breakfast off I75 at Boonesboro, Ky. Rainman only ate two breakfasts – must be on a diet. The usual wakeup calls were made to slackers and momma's boys. Boots showed. Ed showed.
The Crew:
Rainman – Draws water like a sponge. If he's ridin' it's rainin'.
Boots – I call him this 'cause he wears tennis shoes and high-water pants for gear. I nag to no avail.
Ed – One of the few I have seen get into ridin' with any sense to the way he went about it. Bought a sport-tourer (FJR 1300) and took the MSF course. Rides safe, smooth, and with a clear head. Excellent riding companion as I insist on being the twisted one in any group.
Me – Y'all know me.
We headed down I75 toward Knoxville runnin a steady 70 to 75 mph (I'm worried about Boots' front tire) with only occasional bursts of speed to negotiate traffic. Ed only flexed the FJR once. Remarkable self control.
We followed along Lake Fonrtaine before climbing onto The Dragon and I pulled us off for a quick stop to give Ed some last minute advice and drained my bladder (always a good thing if there's a chance of impact injury). It was Ed's first time on the worlds twistiest road and words simply cannot convey the truth of it. Everyone has to see for themselves. I waited about five minutes to let some harleys that went by get way ahead so they wouldn't hold me up and headed out.
I had been wanting to try a KLR on the Dragon as ease of maneuverability counts for more than power on a road this tight. What a hoot! I quicly settled into about the same corner entrance speed as I had managed on Big Red, but with a larger safety factor due to the light handling of the bike. I cheated and stuck a foot down to catch SwampThing when that last little knobby gave way. Good thing, too.
I stopped at the overlook (about 20 curves in) and waited on the crew. Ed's cherry was broke and we needed to give him (and us) time to settle into this type of ridin' after 150 miles of interstate. Ed overcooked the first really tight corner but had left a large safety factor, per my advice, and owing to skill and a clear head made out fine. How many fellas ya' know actually TAKE advice?
Rolling Road Blocks
The harleys were out in force. Lots of old, fat, blowguts holdin' up the rest of the world runnin' 10 mph with a deathgrip on the bars. I can't think of a good way to describe the feeling of being behind these assholes on The Dragon. They need to go spalsh in the kiddie pool; they got no business in the big water.
I used to think, “live and let live” toward 'em, but I'm thinkin' that The Dragon is as close to hallowed ground as a street rider is gonna roll a tire on and buzzin' and beepin' 'em all the way down the road might discourage a few of the fat fucks from returning. It's for their own good – it keeps me from killin' 'em.
The typical harley rider will roar away from The Overlook or maybe even do a burnout, but once he gets to the first curve he becomes a loud, stinky, annoying, rolling road block. Like a tractor on the highway, folks pile up behind 'em 10 or 15 deep waiting for them to pull over and let 'em around. They don't pull over, and I have a theory about this. They “know” harleys are powerful and fast so they figure if they are ridin' on the edge of their and their bikes abillity everyone behind 'em is struggling just to keep up. Until they get passed by a dirtbike. On knobbies.
After passing one his pride damned near got the best of him and caused him to wreck. I would have been forever proud if it had. That's not as bad as it sounds; Tennessee has a helmet law and he's not gonna get hurt (bad) in a 5mph get-off unless his elephant falls on him. According to Boots and Rainman, after I passed him he gunned it in an attempt to keep pace, but overcooked the very next corner and damned near ran off the road. I guess it hurt his pride to have a dirtbike blow by him. Good. Just hang out at Hooters and leave the chrome pig in the parking lot where it belongs.
The Dragon
The roadway was clean and dry and there were plenty of interesting bikes from all over the country and Canada. A kickstart Bonneville was riding with a new Magic Button Bonneville and there were several Triumph sportbikes and ST's. A sprinkling of Ducati's, a smattering of Aprillia's, and the usual horde of Japanese sportbikes. There were quite a few sidecars evident. “Hacks” to the cognoscenti. There were a lot of BMW's about, but mostly the new 1200's and I didn't see any interesting older models. Bummer. The weather was glorious and the company was grand. There are some harley/cruiser riders who have enough miles under their belts and are such characters that their company almost makes up for their posing brethren. (There's your disclaimer, BrandX.)
Heading Home
We rode The Dragon northward. I ran the fellas through a campground called Pumpkin Center that is oriented to motorcyclists with cabins (bunkhouses) for rent and covered pavilions for the bikes, a huge grill, a smoker, and a Honda GL1000 fountain. Possibilities.
SwampThing and I only took a couple of offroad shortcuts to torment my riding partners, but it had the desired effect.
In all I had 12 hours in the saddle off and on and 500 miles on the clock when I returned home with daylight left to burn. What more can you ask for?
Friday. A spur of the moment trip, Rainman and I put out feelers to all riders (I use the term loosely). Frank can't go this time as he is prepping his bike for sale to trade down for a harley and shopping for golf clubs. Lots of probables, a few definites, and one, “Hell, yes” with a broken bike. I figured Rainman and me. There was a chance for the BrokeBike, but social events were precluding work on it, so I held it in the “doubtful” column. I swapped out SwampThing's countershaft sprocket for a bigger one to better cope with the Super Slab riding, changed the oil, lubed the chain, lubed the cables, kicked the tires, and gathered my gear for ATGATT (All The Gear, All The Time).
Saturday. Call from BrokeBike. The thing won't make 70mph, but he's ridin' it over and we put it in the barn. How much trouble can a spittin' and coughin' 800cc v-twin Suzuki Marauder be? Lots.
I figure on cleanin' the carb real quick and good to go. Sheeit. Two carbs and a fuel pump on this thing. All we left on it was the motor and tires getting' to the damn things and it has more emissions shit than a 1973 Vega. Well, we got it done and fired it up for a test ride. Pretty peppy for a 800cc cruiser. Handles like a barge.
Me and Boots (can't call him BrokeBike anymore) are chewin' the fat about the ride when I notice he has no front tire. It's worn past the wear bars and strangely enough, more worn on the right side. Oh shit. I didn't make much of an issue of it 'cause I didn't want him worried (confidence count's for a lot on motorcycles) and I knew hell nor high water was keepin' him from ridin' Sunday. At least there were no cords showing through.
Sunday. We met at 8:00 for breakfast off I75 at Boonesboro, Ky. Rainman only ate two breakfasts – must be on a diet. The usual wakeup calls were made to slackers and momma's boys. Boots showed. Ed showed.
The Crew:
Rainman – Draws water like a sponge. If he's ridin' it's rainin'.
Boots – I call him this 'cause he wears tennis shoes and high-water pants for gear. I nag to no avail.
Ed – One of the few I have seen get into ridin' with any sense to the way he went about it. Bought a sport-tourer (FJR 1300) and took the MSF course. Rides safe, smooth, and with a clear head. Excellent riding companion as I insist on being the twisted one in any group.
Me – Y'all know me.
We headed down I75 toward Knoxville runnin a steady 70 to 75 mph (I'm worried about Boots' front tire) with only occasional bursts of speed to negotiate traffic. Ed only flexed the FJR once. Remarkable self control.
We followed along Lake Fonrtaine before climbing onto The Dragon and I pulled us off for a quick stop to give Ed some last minute advice and drained my bladder (always a good thing if there's a chance of impact injury). It was Ed's first time on the worlds twistiest road and words simply cannot convey the truth of it. Everyone has to see for themselves. I waited about five minutes to let some harleys that went by get way ahead so they wouldn't hold me up and headed out.
I had been wanting to try a KLR on the Dragon as ease of maneuverability counts for more than power on a road this tight. What a hoot! I quicly settled into about the same corner entrance speed as I had managed on Big Red, but with a larger safety factor due to the light handling of the bike. I cheated and stuck a foot down to catch SwampThing when that last little knobby gave way. Good thing, too.
I stopped at the overlook (about 20 curves in) and waited on the crew. Ed's cherry was broke and we needed to give him (and us) time to settle into this type of ridin' after 150 miles of interstate. Ed overcooked the first really tight corner but had left a large safety factor, per my advice, and owing to skill and a clear head made out fine. How many fellas ya' know actually TAKE advice?
Rolling Road Blocks
The harleys were out in force. Lots of old, fat, blowguts holdin' up the rest of the world runnin' 10 mph with a deathgrip on the bars. I can't think of a good way to describe the feeling of being behind these assholes on The Dragon. They need to go spalsh in the kiddie pool; they got no business in the big water.
I used to think, “live and let live” toward 'em, but I'm thinkin' that The Dragon is as close to hallowed ground as a street rider is gonna roll a tire on and buzzin' and beepin' 'em all the way down the road might discourage a few of the fat fucks from returning. It's for their own good – it keeps me from killin' 'em.
The typical harley rider will roar away from The Overlook or maybe even do a burnout, but once he gets to the first curve he becomes a loud, stinky, annoying, rolling road block. Like a tractor on the highway, folks pile up behind 'em 10 or 15 deep waiting for them to pull over and let 'em around. They don't pull over, and I have a theory about this. They “know” harleys are powerful and fast so they figure if they are ridin' on the edge of their and their bikes abillity everyone behind 'em is struggling just to keep up. Until they get passed by a dirtbike. On knobbies.
After passing one his pride damned near got the best of him and caused him to wreck. I would have been forever proud if it had. That's not as bad as it sounds; Tennessee has a helmet law and he's not gonna get hurt (bad) in a 5mph get-off unless his elephant falls on him. According to Boots and Rainman, after I passed him he gunned it in an attempt to keep pace, but overcooked the very next corner and damned near ran off the road. I guess it hurt his pride to have a dirtbike blow by him. Good. Just hang out at Hooters and leave the chrome pig in the parking lot where it belongs.
The Dragon
The roadway was clean and dry and there were plenty of interesting bikes from all over the country and Canada. A kickstart Bonneville was riding with a new Magic Button Bonneville and there were several Triumph sportbikes and ST's. A sprinkling of Ducati's, a smattering of Aprillia's, and the usual horde of Japanese sportbikes. There were quite a few sidecars evident. “Hacks” to the cognoscenti. There were a lot of BMW's about, but mostly the new 1200's and I didn't see any interesting older models. Bummer. The weather was glorious and the company was grand. There are some harley/cruiser riders who have enough miles under their belts and are such characters that their company almost makes up for their posing brethren. (There's your disclaimer, BrandX.)
Heading Home
We rode The Dragon northward. I ran the fellas through a campground called Pumpkin Center that is oriented to motorcyclists with cabins (bunkhouses) for rent and covered pavilions for the bikes, a huge grill, a smoker, and a Honda GL1000 fountain. Possibilities.
SwampThing and I only took a couple of offroad shortcuts to torment my riding partners, but it had the desired effect.
In all I had 12 hours in the saddle off and on and 500 miles on the clock when I returned home with daylight left to burn. What more can you ask for?
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