I can’t explain the lure of the next bike up the food chain. No matter what I’ve ridden, it isn’t long before I hear the siren song of the Next Bike. In this manner did I find myself with a 1999 Honda Blackbird, the third fastest production motorcycle on earth, after only two years of riding. I tried to justify the bike (which was a rebuild project that took me about 6 months) in many different, creative ways….but one long group ride later and I realized that I was on the wrong bike. It was too much for me. It was too fast, handled too well, drank too much fuel, and didn’t pack luggage very well.
So the ST1100 called me to come back home again. It has its faults but it’s clearly one of the finest all-around engineering creations on two wheels. So now I had a renewed purpose to find one, and this time I would make sure that it had that necessary ABS/TCS feature set. A “drop anchor” quick stop on the Chicago Skyway (where I subsequently locked my rear wheel) taught me the value that this feature set could provide.
After much hunting, searching, and negotiating, I found my
next bike in
Off To
Awakening at 0430a, I bolted out of bed and out the door. Within 10 minutes, the trip took on an ominous tone as I followed a hearse that was heading to the scene of what I was to find out later as being a dual fatality, head-on collision that had happened 30 minutes prior to my passing. I was waved onto a detour. Not knowing the back route to the airport well, I mashed down the accelerator. If you’re not early, you’re late.
My second roadblock came at airport security. I usually pack like a Boy Scout, so I bring everything that I think I may need. The bag check station didn’t care for my CO2 canisters (for inflating tires), nor for my roadside flare. Rats. Being prepared like a Boy Scout in this case made me a terrorist suspect. The offending items were confiscated and I was sent on my way, lighter in the bags and my wallet.
Two quick flights later, I pulled into DFW airport and met up with Dan, the current owner. I had talked to him several times during the process and felt like I knew him already. A quick lunch and then I tore into some quick pre-flight farkling. I needed to install a Laminar Lip, a tank bag, a voltmeter/thermometer, and in general get the bike ready for an 1100 mile trip. The riding suit was zipped on and I was ready to go.
Homeward
A narrow path leading out of Dan’s driveway reminded me what a portly lass the ST1100 was. I filled up at the first stop on Belt Line drive and was on my way.
Before long on route 380 near
If you live life on an unfettered, simple level….then what else would you need in life but those three things?
The nifty voltmeter/thermometer/clock that I had hastily installed on the bike was reading a pretty constant 50° F. Just cold enough on an extended ride that you’d really like to have a vest and grip heaters. The vest was working well enough, but no grip heaters meant that I had to wear these thick “oven mitts” that I had purchased before the trip.
I made good time through
Figuring out when to stop for the evening always becomes a mind game of time, distance, pride and fatigue. It’s like those movie scenes where a Devil and an Angel are perched on your shoulders, whispering to you:
Devil: A real man would continue.
Angel: You should always stop at the first sign of fatigue.
Devil: Don’t listen to that homo! Are you a Long Rider or not?
Angel: Think of your aching back, your shoulders….wouldn’t a good sleep feel good?
Me: Uh, yeah….I really wouldn’t mind a short stop.
Devil: What is your major malfunction, numbnuts? You had best un-fuck yourself or I will rip off your head and shit down your neck!
Me: up your butt, Jobu.
Since I was now mentally mixing old movie scenes with fading
consciousness, it was definitely time to stop.
Seeing the cop cuffing a perp right outside the hotel was kind of a bad sign. But them again, an optimist would reason that the bad guys were now in custody. So I checked in, where the night clerk advised me to park my bike right under the hotel canopy out front. Cool.
Waking 4 hours later, faith in humanity was restored as my bike was still intact as I left it. I packed it up, filled ‘er up and off I went again. It was about 0400am.
GPS and maps still can’t compensate for a confused brain as
I took a wrong turn east of
Around
Hopping back on the bike I hit the starter button. Nothing. Shit. I pushed the bike over to a nice streetlight in the parking lot. 30 minutes later, I found the same exact corroded battery connection that had plagued the previous owners’ maiden voyage. Weird coincidence. Scrape scrape torque torque chug chug and I was on the way again.
The rest of the journey was uneventful as I slowed the pace
once I got north of
I could have taken many more scenic routes than this jaunt up the interstate....but this trip proved once again that just the mere act of purchasing a bike can be an adventure. I highly recommend it!