The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 2

Part 2: A Romp in the Forest

At a crossroads on Thousand Lake Mountain, we studied the confusing signs, consulted our map and motored off in the wrong direction. It nagged at me that we were climbing higher, but I convinced myself we’d made the right choice…until we reached a campground that was obviously on the wrong path. No problem – what are a few more miles among friends? In the grand scheme, we’d added to our knowledge and experiences. We’d seen where this road goes, and now we’d see it from the other direction. But I could also see the day slipping away and our goal getting farther away instead of closer. Ticked that I’d led us astray, I gunned my bike and set a stupid pace back through the woods. Two miles later, faced down by an enormous logging truck, I thanked the mountain spirits that I’d met the mud-specked Leviathan on a straightaway instead of a turn, and promptly chilled out. As the dust settled around me, I took a few deep breaths to relax and rubbed the tension from my cramping forearm.

With a re-adjusted attitude I set my pace to “tourist,” found the right road and waited for Kail. A blue jay flitted from tree to tree, squawking the whole time, but there was no telling if it was a welcome or a warning. I glanced about the meadow, felt the warm breeze on my cheek, gazed overhead at the blue sky, and felt welcome – whether the jay wanted me around or not. Riding on, the gravelly road soon turned hard-packed and slippery, pocked with sharp-edged potholes the size of wash basins. Egg-sized cobbles and lava rock littered the road, a suitable landscape for the increasingly hot weather. We cut a serpentine path around the potholes, avoiding the largest of the egg rocks and correcting our paths as the bikes bumped and jerked when we hit one. We soldiered on, sweating up our helmets and stripping off jackets for this slow work. Frequent stops for water let us take in the majesty of the orange spires and cliffs of Cathedral Valley below. But with every stop, the sun moved closer to the horizon.

San Mateo International Motorcycle Show

It was a perfect day for the show–sunny, warm, unusually clear sky, with the view right across the San Francisco Bay to Mount Hamilton nigh on perfect. The motorcyclists arrived in force at the San Mateo county event center. Free parking for the bikes, $8 for the silly people who arrived in cars. The IMS is always an occasion, no matter where it takes place. This was the second of 12 three-day events, with the first having been in Texas, the last going to be in Daytona during Bike Week, March 3-5, 2010.

Out in the parking area the demo fleets were set up, with Harley and Kawasaki and Yamaha/Star and Can-Am Spyder filling their rosters early on. The day was gorgeous, and to ride off into the hills on someone else’s motorcycle was a dream; unfortunately, you had to bring the bike back just when you were just getting used to it. The number of OEMs running demos was down a bit, since it is a very expensive operation and some companies were being overly nervous, but we trust that the economy should rectify itself in a few months. Remember, that old car will do for another couple of years, but you will need a new motorcycle soon.

The exhibitors filled the two big halls–and they are big–with a third, smaller arena housing vintage bike displays and a very attractive women-riders section, allowing the distaff side to see what the industry has in the way of genderized information, clothes, motorcycles, et cetera. The single biggest draw was at the Honda display, where the new VFR1200F was sitting on a revolving platform and lust was in the eyes of many viewers. BMW did not have its prototype six-cylinder bike on display, much to the chagrin of many, but the go-extremely-fast S1000RR almost made up for the absence, especially with the equally riveting high-heeled attendants on hand.

Along with big displays put on by nine manufacturers, there were dozens of booths showing the latest in helmets and clothing and luggage and anything you can imagine to enhance the motorcycling life. Lots of Northern California motorcycle businesses were present, from the San Francisco monthly City Bike magazine selling T-shirts to local leather vendors offering great discounts. And food was quite available for those who spent eight or more hours at the event.

One of these shows should come within a hundred miles of your house; check dates and places at www.motorcycleshows.com. However, at Chicago in February there will be no demo rides but those ice-bound mid-westerners will thoroughly appreciate the opportunity to wander the halls and dream of spring.

The Longest Day: A Serialized Journey, Part 1

Part 1: In the Beginning

“It’s three o’clock. If we leave now we can make Hans Flat by nine,” I told Kail as we finished our second Cokes. It was a wild guess, but we needed some motivation to get our sorry butts moving again. A late lunch after six scorching hours in the saddle made the cottonwoods at the Luna Mesa Café look mighty seductive, but we’d never get to the Flint Trail by napping in their shade. Kail drew his sunburned face up from the table and nodded: we had a plan, but a long ride ahead.

The day had started brilliantly, as I’m convinced most days do in Torrey, Utah – bright blue sky, puffy clouds and a warmth to the air that predicted another triple-digit day in the surrounding desert. We’d headed west that morning, upstream along the Fremont River, then turned north onto Utah Highway 72 to inhale the fine green aroma of freshly cut hay fields. The scent snapped me back to the thousands of acres of alfalfa that I’d smelled during summer vacations spent jammed into a station wagon amongst family members and camping gear. Dad drove while Mom charted a course to maximize scenic wonders and national parks. I learned early that the back roads were the best roads. And with that came the lesson that to get anywhere you have to keep moving. So that’s what Kail and I did.

Thumping our way along a peaceful country two-lane on KLR650s that morning, my thoughts half in the past from the incense of the harvest, we scoured the shoulder for a smaller road, a back road once-removed – like that one there on the right. Turning off, we faced the hulk of Thousand Lake Mountain standing like a giant in our path, its broad shoulders draped in a dozen colors of green. Accelerating over a cattle guard, we climbed quickly, holding the bikes in third gear as the surface deteriorated to a gravelly, pitted mess. The slippery road thrust aside my pleasant memories for the immediacy of controlling the bike. I wanted to enjoy the forest laid out before me, but the road became my master.

I laughed at myself for being annoyed at the very experience I’d traveled so far to enjoy. Still, I was miffed that this crummy road made me look at it instead of the scene unfolding ahead – so I stopped. Kail wasn’t surprised to see my brake light; the smaller the roads get, the more often we pull over for confabs and photos. We soaked up the scene, exchanged thumbs up and entered the forest. The contrast was startling – brilliant sun dimmed to deep shade, straight-arrow gravel road contorted to winding dirt, and the vault of blue overhead constricted to a narrow, irregular strand of color above our corridor through the trees. Deeper in the forest I hunkered down subconsciously as the roof of the sky slipped to tree-top level. Enveloped by peace and quiet, I eased up on the throttle and hushed my KLR to a whisper, sneaking like a thief through the first stand of aspen.

To be continued….

Dads, Lads and See-through Motorcycles

My old man is a Doctor (retired now) and never shared any mechanical fascination with me. He treated the family car and the lawnmower with the same sense of utility to get a job done. They didn’t have to be pretty or the hottest thing on the market; in fact, he has never cared about such things. His passion was his work, and he was really good at that. It occurred to me once as he toured me through his hospital that he really is a mechanical guy – but completely through biology as he explained how lungs worked, heart attacks happen and what the liver does. Mind you, this was while he showed me pickled examples in massive jars of formaldehyde, thoroughly dulling any desire to be a Doctor myself. Besides, Dad was a Urologist, jokingly referred to as the family plumber. Due to his busy schedule and the need to impart a sense of responsibility and ownership of chores, I became the delegated lawn-boy. I was thrilled. [Read more]

2009 FirstGear Adventure Ride

September of 2008 marked the start of a new tradition at FirstGear. It was a crisp fall weekend in the mountains around Gunnison, Colorado, and three adventurous fellows—Dave Funk (Tucker Rocky), Greg Drevenstedt (Rider magazine) and myself—explored some of the back country. Gunnison, the cozy Rocky Mountain town that I call home, is the perfect launch site for an adventure ride. It’s close to Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park and innumerable roller-coaster roads with and without pavement. Dave, Greg and I encountered blue skies, cold mornings, wet afternoons and, in Crested Butte, rainbows, llamas, K.G.B. pizza and Vinotok revelers (see Greg’s story from the April 2009 issue of Rider).

Steve Johnson, President of Tucker Rocky, having a blast.

Gunnison once again served as our base of operations for the 2009 FirstGear Adventure Ride, which now qualifies for Second Annual status. What started off with just three guys last year blossomed into a major event, with Tucker Rocky providing support and FirstGear providing apparel. Twenty riders and adventure bikes from all over the country converged on Gunnison, including Steve Johnson, President of Tucker Rocky, and some of the top FirstGear salesmen and business owners. My wife Rose and I served as hosts, and our cozy cabin was headquarters.

Taking a break to check out a waterfall.

Everyone was up bright and early on Day 1, and Rose laid out a calorie-rich spread of fresh-squeezed OJ, homemade hash browns and hot-from-the-oven Real Man Quiche. After a quick riders meeting, kickstands were up at 9:00am. We headed north to Almont and turned east into Taylor Canyon for a bit of twisty two lane, which soon gave way to a well-groomed a dirt road that winds up to Spring Creek Lake. With postcard photo ops of waterfalls in Spring Creek along the way, we soon reached the top where a few guys went off to explore more challenging roads.

Day 1, near Spring Creek.

We regrouped and headed down the back side of the pass toward Taylor Reservoir for a lakeside lunch served up by Rose and Greg Overman. While refueling on home-cooked fare and talking story, the weather shifted from clear to thunder with a little ice storm thrown in. That’s what FirstGear is designed to handle, so no one missed a beat. After lunch, we fired up the bikes and rode up to Cotton Wood Pass, at 12,126 feet, where we savored the view.

Our camp in the aspens near Monarch Pass.

Down the back side of the mountain, we headed to the small town of Buena Vista to fill up, enjoy some ice cream and regroup. From Buena Vista, we headed south on Hwy 285 to Monarch Pass (11,312 feet) on the Continental Divide, our final pass for of the day. Near the top some of the knobby guys went exploring again while others opted for the two-lane route to our camp spot. We were greeted in camp by the FirstGear van, with Rose and Greg already preparing dinner: homemade green chili, grilled buffalo burgers and hot dogs, and Rose’s famous seven-layer bean dip. With the campfire going and tents set up, we settled into chairs for a fireside chat to reflect on the day’s ride. All night, snores competed with thunder echoing off the surrounding canyons and rain pattering on our tents.

At Marshall Pass on Day 2.

The morning of Day 2 greeted us with azure-blue skies and thick fog hanging in the valleys below. We ate, broke camp, then saddled up. The night’s rain made for good traction and no dust as we climbed up to Marshall Pass (10,842 feet). We weren’t in a rush. Some guys fixed a flat, others explored side trails, everyone took breathtaking photos. Down the back side of Marshall Pass we appreciated the tacky dirt on long straights and big sweepers. Of course, some had to get to the bottom quicker than others!

A few of the bikes on Independence Pass.

We regrouped and then took Hwy 285 north again to Buena Vista for fuel and lunch. Next up, Independence Pass (12,095 feet). The ride up was one of the highlights of our trip, with two narrow lanes, no guard rail and drop-offs that take some getting used to. We climbed through several climates within an hour, from 75 degrees at lunch to 34 degrees and ice. Another break with more views and photos at the top, then down the back side toward Aspen, our final destination for the night.

Glenwood Springs Hot Springs Resort is located on top of a natural hot spring located just off of Hwy 70. On the way there, we were caught in a major downpour. Our FirstGear apparel kept us dry, but we were all ready to relax and soak our weary bones. We replayed the day’s events over Mexican food, and then folks either went into town, watched the game or enjoyed the hot springs.

Work provides the means and motivation to get away from it all.

At 9:30am on Day 3, we headed toward Carbondale, taking twisty Hwy 133 up and over McClure Pass (8,755 feet). Another regroup with photos, and then onto Kebler and Ohio passes on one of the most scenic unpaved roads in Colorado. Thick Aspen groves in full color and jagged mountain peaks all around. On our way to Crested Butte, we split into groups and explored back roads for several hours. Erwin Lake, beaver ponds and blue skies made for perfect day. We met at the Secret Stash in Crested Butte for the best pizza you will ever sink your teeth into. I could tell by the look on the riders’ faces that they would have kept riding for the rest of the week if they could. But like all adventures, it was time to head back to the real world of paperwork, travel, meetings and the rat race of business that lets us do these trips to start with. That evening we headed back over to Chez Kincart for one last campfire. Phone numbers were exchanged, friends were made and all were already looking forward to next year’s trip. How about Arizona?

Why I Don’t Fix My Own Tubeless Tires

As the first photo shows, I used to fix my own flat tires. This happened to be on a dirt road in the Himalayas and the only work place was atop this stone version of an Armco barrier. Take the wheel off, take the tire half off, take the tube out, patch the tube, put tube back in, put the tire back on (careful not to pinch the tube), inflate. I still can do that when I have a tubed tire that goes flat, but 90+ percent of my miles are now on tubeless tires.

The man-cave where Chris the tech guy hangs out.

Like on my Honda ST1100. I hadn’t used it for a week, and the rear tire was flat. A close inspection found a nail with the head long since worn away. Apparently it was a slow leak, so I left the nail in place, pumped the tire up and rode the five miles to Chris Sidah’s mountain man-cave. External plugs are handy devices to get a holed tubeless tire back on the road temporarily until you can get to a shop that can fix the tire from the inside. But I never trust the external plugs for the long haul. Since this was a relatively new Avon Storm, I wanted a proper fix.

Just getting the wheel off a modern bike can be a problem, and the work is much easier done on a lift than with me crawling around on the ground. On the ST: remove fender extension, take off axle nut and loosen axle clamp, loosen bolt holding brake caliper and move caliper, find that axle won’t clear muffler unless you remove the muffler bolt and lift the muffler a half inch, pull out axle, do not lose spacer, remove wheel.

Blessed is he who invented the tire-removal machine.

Break the tire bead: no easy task, unless you have a hefty tire-bead breaker. On my DR650’s tube tire I can get the tire off the rim with the heel of my boot, but not on my ST’s tire. Chris’s machine provides a lot of pressure and the bead reluctantly gives way. Then he has a machine that greatly, greatly simplifies the task of removing the tire from the wheel, without having to use all those pesky tire irons.

Tire off, hole is located, and a Stop & Go Inside/Out Patch/Plug is used; this both plugs the hole and puts a patch over the hole. Put the tire back on the wheel, inflate, spray some water on the hole site to see if any air is escaping (nope), remount wheel, put axle back in (don’t forget the spacer), snug, only snug, axle nut, spin wheel to make sure all bearings are happy, tighten clamp, tighten axle nut, tighten caliper, replace muffler bolt, reattach fender bit.

Not a job I would care to do by the side of the road. Unless there was a chase with all the appropriate machinery.

Dueling Dual-sports

My friend Alan has a keen interest in motorcycles. Like many of us, he would own several if his garage would hold them. But – also like many of us – he’s space-limited. For now he’s chosen The Hulk a Kawi ZRX-1200 and Karl, a KTM 690 SuperMoto. What he hasn’t had since selling Jughead, the Honda XR650L that he’s ridden on several adventure tours with me, is a dual-sport. Alan is looking, he’s comparing, he’s trying to make a decision about the choosing the best of the cross-breeds, those bikes that can go most anywhere and do most anything, within the limits set for them by their dirt/street bias.

Alan asks me a lot of questions about bikes, especially when he’s shopping for a new one. He knows I like the BMW F800GS I’ve owned for a year now, and that I recently rode a KTM 690 Enduro R for several hundred miles (see the December issue of Rider for my review). I knew that sooner or later he’d be asking me to compare the two. So Al, this one’s for you.

KTM 690: The lightness of a single cylinder with minimalist features
F800GS: The weight of a twin and all the amenities

KTM 690 Enduro R

KTM 690: Off pavement – swimming in a speedo, running in track shoes
F800GS: Swimming in board shorts, running in cross-trainers

KTM 690: I think I’ll pull a wheelie…NOW!
F800GS: You say the front end comes up?

KTM 690: Drop it, pick it up
F800GS: Drop it, look for help

KTM 690: This bivvy sack sucks
F800GS: No worries, I brought the BIG tent

KTM 690: This ground is hard
F800GS: This Kermit chair is comfy

KTM 690: Where’s the gas station?
F800GS: Who cares? I can go another 80 miles

KTM 690: Ticket wick
F800GS: Let that hooligan on the 690 get the tickets

KTM 690: Where’s the tool kit?
F800GS: Where’s the tool kit?

KTM 690: Trail runner
F800GS: Cross-country runner

F800GS: I could ride this to Alaska!
KTM 690: I suppose I could ride this to Alaska

BMW F800GS

F800GS: Where do I put the kitchen sink?
KTM 690: Where do I put my sleeping bag?

F800GS: Get your motor running, get out on the highway
KTM 690: Get your motor running, stay off of the highway

F800GS: I’m 35 again!
KTM 690: I’m 18 again!

F800GS: Upstanding member of society
KTM 690: Evil twin

F800GS: Single malt whisky
KTM 690: Tequila shooters

F800GS: You’d marry this one
KTM 690: But you’d date this one first

Adventure Cruising

Having access to too many bikes can be a burden. The problem is that no matter what bike you are on, you will see a country road that would be great to explore, a highway that will get you there faster or a dirt track that looks like it heads up that mountain. The problem is you are on the wrong bike. The “right” bike is of course sitting in the garage, impatiently awaiting the next ride. On a recent trip from Houston to Austin I was on a bagger ideal for highways and winding byways. But somehow adventure called, and I delved into the rare subset of riding – Adventure Cruising.

With a handy GPS constantly reminding me of optional routes along my plotted linear path, the “I want to go that way” bug hit me. Setting my dashboard Marco Polo to a shortest-route default helped get me off the big roads – but I wanted more. Tapping a waypoint near a small lake pulled me into more hills and smaller roads. Selecting a couple more rather random points on roads that promised some more curves soon had me cruising past farms and practicing apexes on 90-degree turns edging the fields.

I was in a groove dodging a couple holes and watching for gravel patches pulled from country driveways when the VOX in a box told me to turn right…onto what was clearly a long dirt road. On a new 700-pound bagger. Loaded with my stuff. Did I mention it was new? Pondering my options for a couple minutes I swept the map about the screen wondering what I should do. For an instant I heard my Suzuki DRZ400S mocking me from my garage. Thirty seconds later I was making some serious dust. The dirt road featured some silt sections that had me wobblin’ through – I reminded myself the “stay on the gas to save your ass” mantra I learned at a dirtbike school. A couple of pucker moments later I slowed to a more reasonable pace and started to enjoy the scenery as the gravel plinked under steel fenders and dust dulled the chrome.

Distant barns, fragmented windmills, dappled cattle and horses, old houses with sheds that must surely hide old motorcycles slid past me. Daylight savings brought the sunset early and I witnessed the spread of beautiful rich colors that always trip my photo-synapses come the magic hour. A herd of deer in a field reminded me that they don’t always stay in the fields and I opted to return to paved roads for the last 30 miles home.

It seems that all my bikes start to become adventure bikes after awhile. Dust and rock dings stand witness to my meanderings. While there is really no such thing as the perfect motorcycle (thus the garage full of handlebars), keeping that sense of exploration in mind no matter what you ride keeps the experience fresh every time I throw a leg over the hardware.

A peculiar thing happened as the garage door closed – I swear the cruiser chuffed its accomplishment to the DRZ, and the Ducati commiserated with dusty wheels and a buggy windscreen, all while the GPS started searching out crumbling winding roads that will eventually realize the next excursion.

Extra Fuel Engineering

I bought a Suzuki DR650 the other day. It’s a ’99 model with a little under 7,000 miles on the clock. As soon as I got it back to the shop, it went up on the lift for “personalization.” It needed tires so a pair of Avon Gripsters got ordered and should be here today. Grip heaters from Dual Star, center stand and skid plate from Pro Cycle, and instead of the usual IMS gas tank to get some decent range, I installed a fuel cell from Coyote Gear on the left side. It’s 6 inches in diameter, 20 inches long, holds about 2 1\2 gallons, and fits opposite the muffler quite well. It mounted up easily enough using a piece of aluminum diamond plate left over from another project. The mounting tabs for the now unused tool box and helmet lock made good attachment points. [Read more]