Monday, August 31

“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” - Saint Augustine

Sunday was my second day of sustained riding (i.e., over 50 miles) since arriving in California. It felt  good to watch the miles fly by. I left Santa Ana, CA early to meet up with an old pal who lives in Nevada. Because I was going to arrive early I decided to take my time and treat myself to breakfast—pancakes! DSC00147 I haven't had pancakes in ages and the I-Hop did not fail. It was a nice change from a green smoothie! I didn't know that my friend had been alerted by his sister-in-law (my Santa Ana friend) about my early arrival. Consequently,  he changed his arrival time to prevent me from waiting. In the end, we both did a little waiting for each other. It was well worth it. I'll call him RH. Nevada RH  is hardcore in all the good ways. He  is the only individual I know who has been riding since, well, forever! That is, all the time I've known him. The husband and I met him in the late 70s (Yikes) when he was riding in Chicago. He is still riding. He has never NOT ridden! But he's changed locations many times but the one constant has been riding. RH now makes his home in the Las Vegas area, where he is able to ride year round. He rides a HD Fatboy and he let me swing my legs over it. It's a big bike—over 700lbs, shiny and replete with cool front and back accessory lights that accentuates his presence on the road. HR is ATGATT (all the gear, all the time). DSC00154 We had a great time chatting about bikes, rides and old times. The time was all too brief IMHO.  And, his wife gave him お土産 (omiyage) to give me. Really cool Japanese writing pad, and a beautiful pink patterned cloth. どうもありがとうございました .

RH reminded me that I wanted to ride the Vegas strip. Up one side and down the other, I rode “the Strip.” It's like Chicago's Magnificent Mile and New York's Times Square, but on some DSC00166 serious steroids. The traffic was crazy but I had been warned. Actually, I felt right at home with the traffic. I took pictures when the light turned red as there were no safe places to pull off for a quick shot. DSC00164

I had hoped to ride about 535 miles but called it quits after about 390 miles. That's another great thing about solo riding. You can change your mind on a dime and there's no one with whom to negotiate the matter. I called it quits because my eyes looked like I had been drinking and they felt like they had been massaged with sand. I could not blink away the grating feeling of each blink. My eyes were crimson with alien like veins extending outward from each pupil. I gave up in Mesquite, NV, and got a room. The eye drops started taking effect almost immediately but only after a blinding burning sensation after application.

DSC00160 The ride along I-15 was hot. But I've come to appreciate just how much weather is a matter of perspective, it depends on one's reference point. Ordinarily, the 90s are hot to me, but if one's reference point is 114 degrees, then 97 feels downright cool(ish). The whole way was pleasant. I so appreciated that the temps never climbed above 107 degrees. I guzzled lots of water and when I felt I'd had enough, I guzzled more.DSC00148

Just as I felt called to the road, I'm hearing the call toward home. This has been the best combo vacation/research trip. Family and friends made this special. (More on them later). It may even be the best vacation I've had "alone." Ever. DSC00153

Saturday, August 22

Oh, the risks we take to ride...the need for がまんする (gaman suru) Re: August 18th -19th


Okay. So, the two small burns on my fingers are not unrelated to the bigger story I'm about to tell; but the burns are now minor annoyances from adjusting a bag that consistently slides too near the motorcycle's exhaust, and fries my fingers in the process.  Yet myfingerburnburned fingers are important to this story because the tale is about burns of one kind or another—both literally and figuratively, such as burns from a desert blasting unbearable heat, a burning desire, a burning passion, and, burning mad. And, before anyone responds that what I did was crazy, let me say first and say it loud, I have no regrets. Actually, I'm glad I had  がまん (gaman), which, as a student of the Japanese language, means to me, to persevere and endure, to have patience, to hang in during a tough situation—at least that's my interpretation. During my ordeal I also thought of another of my favorite Japanese phrases: 仕方が無い (shikata ga nai), which means nothing can be done about it, that something is beyond one's control. Many interpretations exist about the positive and negative implications of both terms, I will avoid that discussion. I'll add one more saying that is of English origin: "Be careful what you wish/pray for, you just might get it," which to me is deeply cautionary advice designed, in my view, to insert pause and perhaps to even discourage one from venturing out. It seems to suggest that while wishes may come true, they might not show up in the way one expected—or wanted--so be forewarned. My philosophical problem with this phrase  is beyond the scope of this report; however, I contend that one obvious issue with it is that it  ingrains, intentionally or not, a hesitancy and warning that what you go after, might not turn out the way you want, so think twice about your quest. To that I say,  "nothing ventured, nothing gained."

The ride...


After arranging the DrySpec bags and feeling confident that they were well-positioned on the bike, I left Holbrook, AZ sometime around 8am. Ordinarily, I thoroughly check the GPS route against a paper map and figure out the best path of travel. However, my enthusiasm to get on the road made me skip the check that morning, which would burn me later. The weather started somewhere in the low 80s. I road quite comfortably for approximately 50ish miles and stopped just to do a quick bag check and down a drink of H2O. Good thing I did. The problem bag was at it again!  It was not just near the exhaust, it had slipped and was riding on the exhaust. Fifty miles previous, it was hoisted far above the exhaust to avoid that very situation. My less than two week old bags now sport a nice burn spot. Two burned fingers, one burned bag.  It's getting hot in here!

I repositioned the bags. I must say that this bag problem is perhaps 50% user error. I have now learned how to position the bags so that they are never near the exhaust and the gas tank is now unobstructed. Now they slide forward rather than downward. I will maintain forever that the bags bagburnedset up shouldn't be as challenging as Iburnedbag've found them to be daily—regardless of whether new or old strap positions are used. I'd love to see Twisted Throttle do a YouTube set up of my combo of their bags on the BMW F800GT—and ride it for some miles. Something about the rear sides of this bike and the bar around the  sides, with the prong protruding prong on each side, make positioning and keeping the bags in place, and away from the GT's exhaust, difficult at best! I've become rather obsessed with these bags.  back2

Back to riding...

The farther west I rode, the higher the temps. I had planned to get to Encinitas, CA, an approximate 550 miles ride from Holbrook before dark—I had plenty of time. Of course, I was assuming an uneventful ride. I donned a white mesh jacket, summer gloves, helmet, sun glasses, and summer(ish) riding pants. Physically, I was comfortable. In hindsight, I now know that traveling via I-10 West was not the wisest decision. At all. It's the desert!  desertshieldFirst, there were few places to stop for a break once I was deep in the desert. Second, the temps increased rather dramatically but I remained focused and seemingly fine. At the onset, I was not uncomfortable. Yet. I sang in my helmet, conjugated some Japanese verbs and kept myself entertained. I even stopped the bike on the tiny strip of ground along the side of the road to take a few pictures. I drank water or Gatorade—sometimes both when I stopped. By the way, water and Gatorade taste awful when they--and the drinker are hot. desert1

In an hour it was sweltering. By the time the temps reached 110 degrees I felt it but not in the most debilitating way. Yet. I continued on. I saw zero motorcycles on the road. I saw few cars, After several hours, I realized there was no turning back. Literally, there was 仕方が無い (shikata ga nai), nothing I could do about it (at that point). I distinctly and deliberately thought  がまんする (gaman). Just hang in there, I told myself. This can't go on forever. I thought too of slaves who worked in blazing fields without respite. Did the heat of working in cotton fields feel like the burning furnace this ride was turning out to be? I continued pushing through the windy blasts of smoldering air. The way through seemed endless.  Eventually, my legs felt heavy.  I felt corseted in plastic wrap.  Increasingly, my helmet felt like a vise.  It was impossible to breath in fresh air because there was no fresh air,  just bursts of broiling ether that felt like I could spontaneously ignite at any moment. Still, I persevered.  By the time I had traveled over 300 miles, the temps had fluctuated from 100 to 114 degrees!

desert3 It took me more than five hours and more than 380 miles to travel from Holbrook, AZ to Desert Center, CA., where according to the GPS McGoo's gas station was ahead on the right. Just 14 more miles. I needed to get off bike, which I had been on without a stop for a long time. I did finally see McGoo's sign. I felt exhausted, hot and arid. I slowed to turn into the large, sand and graveled parking lot. After traveling on a flat, smooth surface for hundreds of miles, the abrupt change in terrain was jarring to my sensibilities and I struggled to steer the bike forward.  I cautiously pulled into the lot, slowed the bike and brought it to a dead stop.  I put my left foot down, then the right. I sat for a few moments. I searched for the kickstand but couldn't find it. My left foot felt disconnected from my body. At that point,  the bike and I did a slow motion clockwise descent into gravel. I could not keep the bike upright.

On the ground, I reached for the kill switch. I slipped my leg clear from under the bike and stood up. At least, I thought I was standing up. I felt woozy and discombobulated. Either I was swaying or the world was spinning.  I could not apply the skills I've used before to lift my bike. I couldn't even walk straight, let alone bend my knees. My fuzzy head couldn't remember how to lift the bike. I stared at my bike as if  looks could will it upright. The parking had about three cars in it. But not one single gas pump.

I stumbled--literally--to the McGoo's store. I reached for the door but it kept shifting farther from me. I finally caught the moving door handle and made my way into the store. I was met with a blast of freezing air that slapped my face and stunned my senses. It felt heavenly.

I asked a man at the check out counter if  he would help me lift my bike. He and another man in line immediately followed me outside. One of them asked if I was okay. I said I was but my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. They lifted my bike with ease. I put the kick stand down. I think I thanked them. Because of the deep gravel and the fact that the bike was simply laid down rather than dropped, there was no damage to the bike at all. I wobbled back to the store and bought a bottle of water and Gatorade. I could barely get the funds together to pay the cashier. She asked me if I was okay. I slurred something about being hot. I saw a small wooden stool in the corner of the store and asked if I could sit inside until I consumed the beverages. She thought it was a good idea. I sat down and felt instantly worse. I felt ready to upchuck . I downed the Gatorade in seconds--it seemed; the water, even faster. The cashier, who didn't seem overly busy, kept chatting with me. After 20 minutes my legs still felt like they were borrowed from someone else. I continued to drink water. The cashier recommended that someone there could take me to a nearby fire station to check my vitals. I agreed to go if  I didn't feel better in a few more minutes.

After another 15 minutes my head throbbing started to quiet. The cashier said, "You're sweating! That's a good sign." The store owner told her to give me a bottle of Pedialyte, "on the house." She ordered me to drink it all. I did. Thirty-minutes later ,I felt 100% better. Not yet normal, but 100% better. I continued to sit there, not sure my legs would work. Soon a woman, who had run out of gas entered the store. She had walked from her car to the McGoo store. "I know what the GPS says, but we're not a gas station." She said she would call Triple A, but the owner responded, "Sometimes they come, sometimes they don't." I remained at the store for a long time. I did not get back on the bike until I felt normal. I thanked the owner and cashier who kept me company in between business and entertained me with stories of people with similar and far worse fates in Desert Center, CA.

Feeling “normal” I left. The owner told me where I could stop  if  I needed to. “In about an hour or so, you'll be getting away from the desert. He recommended I check myself at Indio, CA. Indio was less than 50 miles west, Encinitas was still over 200 miles away. Perhaps it was residual delirium, but I felt I could make it to Encinitas long before dark. Mathematically, I could. Gaman suru! I breezed through Indio feeling confident,  strong and less hot. The hot crosswinds were annoying but bearable. I don't recall exactly when things began to get ugly again it just seemed to come out of nowhere. I first noticed the winds. The day had been hot and windy, but these new winds were different, angry even. So strong that I had to wrestle the bike to keep it in my lane. Counter-steering...was key to making it through.

Somewhere along I-10 and west of Indio, I saw a sign warning of sand storms, zero to low visibility, gusty winds—situations that this city woman is unfamiliar. Fortunately, the temps were as much as 20 degrees lower than the desert!  But the winds had picked up considerably. My bike swayed across our lane and sometimes edged into the adjacent lane. The wind was in control. I felt trapped in a brutal wind tunnel! The confidence I had regained from the desert experience was beginning to lag and the exhaustion returned with a vengeance. Then I saw something I'd never seen before—except in the early stages of a Chicago snow storm. The ground began to dance.

Swirling sand, churning and twirling boogied above the ground. The sand was pushed about by a weighty wind that whipped about in unpredictable directions. All of my synapses were on heightened alert. The bike felt light and ready to take flight any minute. My arms, especially my not yet fully healed rotators cuff was taking a lickin'. Then, visibility took a pratfall. The vigorous ground swirling was now way above the ground, circling the air space. Although the warning sign lights were not flashing,  the winds were fierce, the sand was surging and the fact that I had just survived the burning hell fires of the desert  all made me pull off at a North Palm Springs, CA exit.  I had traveled about 85 miles since Desert Center, CA. A gas station was right off I-10. When I stopped the bike, I was solid on my feet—a good sign. After filling up, I called my friend and left a message that I was stopping for the day. I didn't  make sense to push it for another estimated 125 miles. When she retrieved my message she said the wind in the back ground was so strong that she could not hear me.  She left a message to be safe and to check in to confirm. I found a hotel right off I-10 W and checked in. Even the Bates Hotel that evening would have been a welcome relief.

Checked in, unpacked the bike, and cleaned up. I found sand inside my helmet, nose, and my eyes...this trip is blinding me! I reclined on the bed and despite it all, felt pretty dang good to be safe and done for the day. Next time, I will do as I usually do, which is to check the GPS along side a paper map. Remember also to check how the GPS is “enabled,” because it routes based on parameters I set. I had my GPS set for shortest distance, which was via I-10 West, through the desert. The two alternate routes, which would have been far better—and safer—were only 20-25 miles longer than the  desert route. But the GPS is a device that needs human input for best output. Oh and learn.

Now that I successfully have persevered through, it would be foolish to regret any part of this unanticipated adventure. It's all part of the journey, all part of playing the hand you've been dealt. I vow to be wiser next time. When I'm 85 (and riding a trike) this solo two-wheeled experience will make me giggle and tell small children that back in the day, I rode my motorcycle through the searing desert and pushed through blasts of blistering heat to visit close friends in southern California. Was it worth it? Heck, yeah!

After a good night's sleep and confidence restored, the ride the next morning to Encinitas, my first southern CA stop with friends, was a breeze—both figuratively and literally. But once I was clear of I-10's windy nature, the rest was smooth motoring. After a short stay in Encinitas, I'll  head to La Jolla, Santa Ana, and

Los Angeles.  SafeEncinitas

Ride well

Tuesday, August 18

Monday's perfect, worry-free riding...all 530ish easy miles!

One upside to staying at the Bates Hotel (think the movie Psycho!) is that it got me up and out early! I paused at taking a shower because the shower area looked ghastly.  showerwall Lest I'm accused of being dramatic, here are a few pictures that reveal some of the better views of the hotel room. wallpeel

Here's a travel tip for Bates Hotels and even good hotels...Instead of packing shower shoes (those cheap flip flops) you stand in while showering in public facilities, place one of the hotel's hand towels in the shower. Stand on it while showering. showermat Prevents having to stand barefoot on the shower floor and by leaving shower shoes at home, this saves packing space too.

The Bags:

I'm beginning to “feel” the bags.  fueltank Today's set up was the best and fastest to date! I feared the same old slipping and sliding. Monday was different. The bags never budged. The only difference I can think of is that the more I've had to set them up, the better I've become. After Monday's 530ish miles, the bags never shifted!  Now, they were a tad cock-eyed because I can't get the bike on the center stand (shoulder is still healing) to make sure the bags are even. Still, they worked flawlessly today--and it made for absolute worry-free riding. The previous days of riding were greatly influenced by constantly thinking that one bag was resting on the exhaust, which blocks the ride endorphins! But not today.

Only one worry remained: the Denali light patched up with black duct tape. Unsightly to say the least. lightfix Early Monday morning I called one “motorcycle sports” shop. Their decline was immediate,“We don't have anyone available to do that.” Now, even I could see that it probably only needed a few screws. When asked if he had any recommendations for Amarillo shops that might help, he said, “David Brown's Sport Center.”

Brown was only a mile or so from me. Rather than call, I showed up. Perhaps if they saw the desperation in my face, they'd help. A white haired man who looked to be in his seventies (David Brown?) told me to take the bike behind the building to the service area, “Talk to the guys there.” Met a young, blond-haired man, probably in his twenties walking the grounds. He looked at the light, said it was “no problem.” He patiently removed all the tacky duct tape and within ten minutes—including looking for the right size screws, the light was restored to its original position! We chatted while he worked.  allfixed When he finished, I asked for the cost. He said, “No cost, don't worry.” We went back and forth on this and I could tell his refusal to accept money was genuine. No fake modesty. I pushed money toward him and told him to at least permit me to buy him lunch. He said, “You really don't have to do that.” He proceeded to walk back toward the service door. I urged him to allow me to show my appreciation. He smiled faintly, thanked me, and we departed. 

Later while riding, I wondered if I had been too insistent about him taking the money. It made me feel good, but did it make him feel good to take it? Perhaps I should have accepted his gift to me? Turning his kindness into a monetary transaction, in a way, felt like I was devaluing the purity of the gift. I can now see where the exchange of money on the gift was a vain attempt to quantify the gift, when in reality, it couldn't be quantified—not really. Oh well...being on the bike for hours gives me a lot to mull over matters. I simply wanted to show my appreciation for his time and talents.  If you're ever in Amarillo, I highly recommend David Brown's Sports Center for all you motorcycle and sports related needs.

The weather couldn't have been more perfect. It started out in the upper 60s. The cross winds made it feel cooler. But it was a welcome relief compared to Sunday's scorcher, which felt sticky and yucky the whole day's ride. But today remained comfortable throughout. It reached the upper 80s somewhere leaving Amarillo and in New Mexico the temps climbed. However, it never became sweat-popping hot. My mesh jacket was comfortable. In Pine Springs, New Mexico, the elevation rose to over 6000 feet and the roads nicely reflected the ascent. Lots of wide swoops, dips and curves—very conducive to long days in the saddle. Thanks to trucks, I did have some cheek tightening moments. I try to steer clear of trucks; I saw several sway wildly on curves and during grade changes in the road. Many seemed to waddle before finding solid ground.

Still, the ride was 99% worry free, which makes for stress-less motoring IMHO. I don't recall furrowing my brow once! My eyes, however, are bloodshot, dry and itchy. I think I'm a tad dehydrated. Still, Monday was simple joy: ear plugs in, sunglasses released from its internal housing inside the Nolan helmet, DrySpec bags, rock solid, and my mind cleared of worries, taking in all the gorgeous landscape that lined both sides of I-40. I jumped off the interstate for bits and pieces of old historic Rt 66—nothing more could made Monday's ride more perfect. trading66pic

I'm headed to southern CA tomorrow.

Monday, August 17

Update: Delayed start...

Finally sleep won out.  After what felt like an hour--but was more like four--I awoke to lightening and thundering and a very sore neck from sleeping in one small spot in a bed I hope I can one day erase from my memory. Hoping to find someone to fix the Denali light before getting on the road.

Blazing Saddles, the best meal and the worst hotel...

Greetings family and friends,

August 15th: Oklahoma roads have been the worst encountered thus far. So bad in fact that one of my Denali lights was jarred from its housing! I discovered the dangling light on one of my many bag checks! It needed to be fixed and I didn't want silver duck tape drawing attention to the fix. Called around for  motorcycle shops in the area. Every shop was closing within 10 minutes of my call and none would be open on Sunday. That night, I reluctantly gave Walmart my money and bought black duck tape to adhere the light. gooddenali denali1








Night of August 15th: It's official. I detest the DrySpec bags. More problems with keeping the left bag away from the exhaust. Burned my finger on the hot exhaust during one of the adjustments. Big ouch!

August 16: Left Oklahoma City but not before making up with the bags. Still not loving them, but no longer hate them. Today was the best adjustment so far.  My goal was to free the gas tank to allow easy access. Success! tankfree And, the bags seemed to stay in place. It took me about 20 minutes to get them on satisfactorily, which is down from...what? --the nearly two hours on the worst day of fiddling around with them. As of today, the bags are growing on me. Let's see what tomorrow brings. But never having to remove a bag to fill up the tank--huge accomplishment.

Oklahoma City's National Memorial and Museum, dedicated to the innocent lives lost in the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building is a site to behold. It's difficult to say something so tragic resulted in something so beautiful and serene, but the grounds are amazing. Because I thought I lost one of the cameras I brought, I only have phone pictures of the site. IMAG0581_1 The chairs have the names of the innocent. And, the smaller chairs, signaling the lost of a child, yanks at your heart. Of the 168 people killed on that morning of April 19, 1995, 19 were children. Over 650 people were injured. murraybldg







A memorial wall lined the park with heartfelt messages and dedications. So very sad. memorialfence1

After visiting the memorial, I needed something light.  Before leaving OK City, I headed for the Milk Bottle Grocery. This tiny structure is on the National Register of Historic Places. It sits on a triangle and is an old Route 66 attractions. Very cute!Gotmilk

August 16th night. Camera found! Did I mention that the entire day of riding was hot? How hot? Really really hot. I felt fine as long as I was riding at 75mph. The second I stopped, the sweat poured. Literally! One of the great things about solo riding is never having to negotiate when to stop, what to see, where to eat, blah, blah, blah. I decided to cut out all my many Rt 66 stops and just hit the Interstate to get to Amarillo, TX. 

In Amarillo, I accidentally found a neat little diner called Thai Garden. I had hoped for some authentic Tex-Mex food but the place I selected didn't look open although it said it was open and, well, it didn't look appealing at all. But right next door was the Thai Garden. Interesting that every worker in it spoke Spanish. The staff was great and attentive. The owner, who is Thai, was welcoming. We chatted a bit. I ordered vegetable fried rice and it was among the best I've had!  All for a whopping $7.

Accommodations for the night. I've been relying on Priceline and I've not been disappointed. I've stayed at nice places at huge discounts. I took someone's advice and stayed at a "mom and pop" motorcycle friendly place, the kind I've stayed at before. But I find these outfits to be hit or miss. This one was a huge MISS!  First, it's only $20 cheaper than my Priceline deals. But it is by far one of the worst places I've EVER stayed in.  Ever! And, the scariest!  How dare they call themselves "Luxury Inn and Suites." Let me say it makes the Bates Hotel (from the movie Psycho) look like a five start palace!  Were I not utterly exhausted from the heat and blazing saddle (remember that movie?)--my butt actually got hot, I would have motored on to find a better place. After all it's one night, I told myself. One looong scary night...The good thing is, I'm so paranoid about sleeping in the bed, I'm up blogging. Its also dark?! The two lamps must have in them the smallest watt bulbs ever made! And, there's a  whiff of...oh well, nevermind.

New Mexico bound!

Saturday, August 15

Two-wheeling it through history and my love hate for the DrySpec bags!

Hello family and friends!

Sorry. I've already broken my word about updating you every night--wishful thinking. I've been exhausted at the end of each day.  So, this is a very quick , rough draft update. I'll fill in the stories when I return home.

August 11th: Trip to Arkansas was uneventful--mostly.  The last two hundred miles or so forced me to stop more often than I wanted. I had to check on my bags/luggage set up, which isn't why I love/hate the bags. I erred in piling on an extra bag that messed up the original set up. I could feel that one odd bag slipping and resting on my back! All is well now with the set up because I shipped the extra bag home. 

August 12th: The Arkansas delta. I went to Rohwer and Jerome, both were two of  multiple locations around the US where  Japanese and Japanese Americans were unjustly concentrated during WWII. suitcase

I also visited the museum in McGehee, RJsign AR, dedicated to documenting this horrible transgression.  Do not miss this museum if you're ever in the area--actually, it's worth making a trip if you're anywhere in or visiting the USA. I'm working on a fuller story about this, which I'll write about later.

August 13th: Spent the day soaking up Arkansas social history, particularly during the 1950s and throughout the struggle for civil rights. Stories to come on that too. Visited the Little Rock Central High School National History Site.  After spending more than two hours here, my emotions got the best of me.  centralhs




Add the Mosaic Templars Cultural Center to any visit to Little Rock!

Of course, you can't leave AR without visiting the Clinton Library and Museum, regardless of one's politics, this is amazing  US and international history gathered in one place during one president's time in office. clintonlib

Btw, Arkansas has some amazing motorcycle roads! I retrieved a booklet dedicated to riding these trails--there are routes for every kind of two wheel riding! I didn't partake but the tiny bit I did was amazing!  Get the book: Arkansas Motorcycling Guide 2015. I was so excited just reading the many routes, I've decided to make another trip just for riding...

August 14th: Tulsa, OK.  Did research on another dark period in American history: the riots that spread throughout the country during 1919-1924. One of the most horrific occurred in Tulsa, OK. I've taught this period of history but this was my first time visiting the Greenwood Cultural Center, which has done a thorough job documenting "Tulsa's dark secret."

I will pick up Rt. 66 today and head west. Ultimate destination is  southern CA. I will resume the research LA. Now it's time for sitting back and enjoying the ride 'til CA.

Oh...the bags. I love their sleek look, light weight, and I'm amazed at how much I can load in the bags. I absolutely HATE that these bags, at least with the combo I have, are horrible on the BMW F800 GT.  Because fuel is inserted on the right side behind the rider, I must detach the straps from the bag at every fill up!  Doing so is a royal pain in the gluts! Words can't describe how tedious and frustrating this has become. At times, I've had to rearrange the entire set up, which is why I mailed back the extra bag .  While  I've saved some time having mailed back the errant bag,  it is still utterly exasperating to need to remove straps to access the gas tank! Ugh. The job is so awful that I avoided it and waited long pass the need to fill up and had a few cheek tightening moments (if you know what I mean) before I found a gas station.  On a motorcycle with the gas cap elsewhere, these bags would be amazing. I read that there might be a solution for me--of course, it requires buying another bag that would lift the saddle bag part up and away from the gas tank. Oh well...right now, it's all love and all hate! DSCF0295

Monday, August 10

Travel glitches resolved—and hearing the call of the road…


Hello family and friends,

I am Arkansas bound! After visiting friends in Little Rock, I will head to  McGehee, Jerome, and Rohwer, AR, to do some research (more on that later). From Little Rock, I will go west to San Diego, CA. First, I’ll pick up Rt 66 in Oklahoma and take that as much as possible. I have no firm plans and I want to keep it that way. I’ve packed maps for each state I will enter, a gps, and a ton of enthusiasm.


Took Jesse Jr. out for a test ride with the Twisted Throttle Dry Spec waterproof luggage set mounted. I must confess, I wasn’t “feeling” the bags as I prefer my Givi hard shell luggage. But so far, no solution on how to get the Givi V35 on the F800GT. I kept the Givi bags from the sale of the F800ST but now it might be that Givi doesn’t make a rack to fit the V35 bags on the GT. Very frustrating. Forced to make a quick order of the Dry Spec trio. Took some time to figure out a satisfactory mounting approach but with the help of the husband (I can no longer get the bike on the center stand with my damaged shoulder) we were able to get the luggage mounted straight.


Took the fully loaded bike out for a test ride . Smooth motoring. Returned and the bags were tight and secure. I’m now “feeling” the bags. Still love my hard bags but looks like this will do the trick—and being “dry bags,” supposedly waterproof there are no annoying “rain covers” needed. Did that before the hard cases and don’t want a repeat of that. I can hear the call of the road…

The countdown begins…

Wednesday, August 5

Greetings! Back with words about a kind soul, and introducing a new ride buddy…

A message about Bob “Skoot”
It has been too long. I’m back with renewed energy and plans to be around more often. In my absence I’ve learned many things. One is that life will rear its head and alter plans in the time it takes to snap one’s finger.

Above all, I want to use this space to pay my respects to a dear friend whom I knew through our shared love of motorcycling but had never met until he decided to ride east from Vancouver. We selected a place to meet up in Illinois. I arrived at a little café first and waited patiently for him to arrive. When he did, it was like meeting an old friend, like someone I had known beyond emails and reading each other’s blogs.

Bob “Skoot” Leong did something for me that I hope I thanked him for. When my brother was killed, more than five years ago, I dropped out off many things. I had a tough time. I worked everyday, I keep up appearances but frankly I was preoccupied with solving the case. I spent a lot of my non-working time, calling the police, interviewing people whom I thought or had heard knew something about the case. To say I was obsessed is an understatement. I endured a five year court case (that must be a record) because the killer was almost killed, almost a year to the date of killing my brother. It was during this emotional roller coaster that I was diagnosed with an antoimmune disorder. But, I digress…

Throughout those years, Bob would drop me a line just to see how I was fairing or to comment on my photo site. He did what I had little desire to do, that is, keep in touch with others. Other things, like motorcycling, which once represented pure fun, had become insignificant. Yet, in spite of myself,  each time I heard from Bob, my spirits lifted. Bob always made me smile. So, when he said he was riding west and wanted to meet, I was initially excited. My excitement, however,  soon turned to hesitancy. It wasn’t Bob; it wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet him in person. Melancholy’s grip can be difficult to peel off. But Bob was irresistible. I’m glad he was. Meeting him in person was a most favorite afternoon. I enjoyed every minute of our too-short gathering.

After our time together Bob continued on his way. He had other with whom he was meeting. I went back to walking through the motions of  my daily routine. But then something happened. With the court case finally over, the killer sentenced, I finally accepted that I had done all I could to bring my brother’s killer to justice.  Letting go created some new space in my life.

Inside that new space, I started thinking again of serious, long distance motorcycling. Memories of a typical Saturday morning when I’d get up and ride from Chicago to Indianapolis (or some place my head told me to go) for lunch at Shapiro’s Deli. I’d ride around Indianapolis a bit and return home before dark. My thoughts turned to those friends I’d met via the ‘net and all the interesting moto blogs I used to check on. My plan to ride last summer were thwarted by an awful rotator cuff problem. I didn’t swing my leg over my bike the whole summer of 2014. It delayed my coming out party.

Still, at the end of last season, I knew I’d be back. And a new bike to celebrate that was just what the doctor ordered. My thoughts turned to Bob. I wanted to tell him that I was back. and to thank him again for coming near Illinois and making time to visit with me.  I wanted to tell him about my new bike. I wanted to tell him that I was coming back...

I checked Bob’s blog. It didn’t take long to realize that something had happened. I can’t articulate how awful it felt to learn of his passing in 2014. For the longest, I thought there was a mistake. But the truth was written there. I even checked other blogs and read tributes to Bob. My heart felt heavy. Bob’s passing made me realize once again how fleeting life can be, how important it is to tell those who have touched us how we feel. I hope Bob knew how much I enjoyed meeting up with him. He made my day and did so on many days when he inquired about me. Pink crocs will always remind me of Bob. Most of all, I will always remember how we chatted like old friends. Wherever your spirit is Bob, RIP.  Rest assured that you lifted mine each time you reached out.

Bobskoot's take on our meeting...

Sold my 2008 BMW F800ST, which I loved. But I’m loving the GT even more. The low back discomfort is gone! The changes made to the GT results in superb ergonomics IMHO. For me, the ride is more comfortable. I did two Iron Butts on the ST, I’m looking forward to doing one on the GT. BTW, is there a statute of limitation on submitting the paperwork for IBR? I better check that out. My new ride buddy is Jesse Owens, #2.


Solo history tour to Rohwer and Jerome Arkansas. From there, Jesse and I are heading to southern CA.