One Picture. One Story.

[xsrider]

It was mid October 2004.  I left home at about 8:40am.  

I was going to ride to see my son at his boarding school for the performing arts near Palm Springs, CA.  He had a ballet performance on the night of the 16th and I had promissed my son I’d come down and watch him dance.  It was mid October, so I didn’t bother to check the weather before I left from San Francisco to ride down to his school – heck, it never rains in Palm Springs in October, so why check!!  For reasons unknown to me, I chose to ride down to southern California on all the ugliest roads I could find.  There was very little freeway riding, instead I looked for roads that parallel the freeways and took the back roads through Bakersfield and the desert near Mojave before getting to his school.  It seemed like every road I took was flat, straight, and devoid of any beauty.  The ride down was uneventful, and I arrived at his school at about 6:00pm.  I saw my son dance and we talked for a while before I left for home at about 11pm.  

After leaving my son’s school, I got on Highway 10 and was planning to take the fastest route home.  Soon after I got on Highway 10 near Palm Springs it started to rain.  From Palm Springs all the way through to Pasadena and on to the bottom of the Grapevine it alternated between heavy rain and just heavy spray coming off the freeway from the cars  ahead of me.  As I started up Grapevine Hill (Highway 5) coming out of Los Angeles, it started raining so hard I could hardly see the road.  My rain gear also started to leak and I was slowly getting wet and cold.  

After I got over Grapevine Hill, the heaviest rain had stopped.  But for the rest of the ride going north up Highway 5, there were many periods of rain.  A couple of times I stopped to rest or get a cup of coffee.  I also stopped to take a nap while sitting on my bike at a rest stop somewhere on Highway 5.  If I leaned back while sitting in the saddle, I could rest my helmet on the top case and be fairly comfortable. The wet clothes under my leaking rain gear, however, made me feel cold all the way to the bone.  

I finally got home at about 8:20am. I got off my bike, walked around to the back of the house, and looked in the kitchen window. My wife was there, reading the Sunday paper. She opened the back door and said, “I’ll go open the garage door and you can come in that way. You’re not coming in through the kitchen looking like that.”  In the garage, my wife helped me pull of my rain gear. It was a good thing, I was having trouble because of being tired and having a lot of wet clothes on underneath. I had ridden 1031 miles and been gone from home for just under 24 hours.  

[Sport-Touring]

[Púca]

Teton National Park was the highlight of a cross-country 6,500 mile trip for me.  The trip had been in the back of my mind for 11 years, and one day I took the plunge.  I'm a firm believer that you'll always regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did.

[919Maniac]

This is an awesome thread.  I don't have an amazing picture like you guys, I do have this one though...

Last summer I needed to get from Philly to Dallas to visit my sister.  I convinced my then fiance that riding a motorcycle there would be a good thing to do - much cheaper than flying!  I took the BRP south to TN before heading west to Dallas.  The BRP can be fickle, sometimes you can't see your hand in front of your face, and other times it looks like this:

[1KPerDay]

Picture not particularly interesting but whadayagonnado?

June 24, 2007, near Ouray, CO. Lowsided in some invisible gravel. I had ridden Red Mountain Pass 5 times over the past 3 days and had seen gravel higher up on the pass, but didn't see anything where I crashed. I was with my dad so I was going quite slow--probably 30 or 35 max. I went down and had no clue why. My dad made it through fine; the rest of the GPz listers made it through fine. I guess I hit the one spot where there was some very fine, road-colored, dusty gravel. I walked back up there and still couldn't see anything until I was standing on it. A very small amount, not what you'd expect when you think of 'gravel in a corner.' 20 years of riding and my first crash. Sigh....

Picked up my bike using the girly method, picked up what I thought was a D-cell battery in the road -- and what I momentarily thought I had hit and what had caused me to crash -- but it was my Throttlemeister which had snapped off. Front brake lever lever was bent down onto the fairing. Tried to bend it up enough for clearance and it snapped off in my hand. Upper fairing rashed, lower rashed, givi rashed, front tursignal broken but bulb okay/functional, motolight snapped off and dangling from the wire. Cut it off, took a Lortab my dad had, tried to start the bike, cranked but no go. Remembered the ZZR forum mentioning a main fuse that sometimes can blow if the key's on but the kill switch is off. Took top inner fairing off and then the side panel, checked every fuse I could see, none were blown. Put it back together, cranked and cranked, no start. Finally said a prayer and told God my wife needed me at home, I had a long way to go and I sure could use some help.

Cranked it and it started up.

Sat on the bike for a couple of minutes; shoulder was very painful in every position except with my hands on the bars. Luckily the throttle worked properly despite the bar being bent and the end snapped off. Decided to try it. Rode for a while, grabbed at air where the front brake lever was 3 or 4 times, but got used to downshifting well before a stop and using only rear brake. Luckily we were almost down to Ouray already and it was pretty flat/straight riding for the rest of the day.

Got to Ridgeway, CO; Dad needed to stop so I bought some ibuprofen and tried not to scream while I removed my stich Darien and put on my armored mesh. 2 cops were standing there watching me so I was afraid if I acted too much like an invalid they'd call an ambulance. Got back on and headed north. Fueled in Fruita, CO, soaked my jacket and took another Lortab. Felt reasonably good as long as I was on the bike. Butt didn't even hurt, LOL.

Fueled in Price, UT and had a late lunch at Grogg's; great burgers. Made it home about 5 p.m. 360 miles in 100+ degree temps after crashing.

Oh. 50-cent piece sized rash and large bruise on right knee (jeans), very small amount of fabric rash on both forearms, minor abrasions on Teknic Violator gloves, haven't really looked at my Oxtar Matrix boots but no injuries to ankles or feet, scrapes all over and small hole in shoulder of Darien, some light rash on helmet. I think the Givi saved my leg. No damage to rear of bike or pipe.


Shoulder not broken... hurts like hell though. 

[Global Rider]

Excellent post BMW-K!

Ever since coming to Europe to ride the Alps in 1995, I've always tried my best to ride the out-of-the-way roads, those thin twisty, usually grey lines on highly detailed maps.

Corsica, June 2006.

Taking the backroads (D82) from where my hotel was located in St. Florent, I bumped into the D5 and continued along its length from San Michele to the N193. The following pics were taken on the D5 near Bigorno and overlook the town of Lento.

MAP
http://www.viamichelin.com/viamichelin/gbr/dyn/controller/mapPerformPage?strCountry=1424&strAddress=&strMerged=St.+Florent&x=0&y=0#locid=31NDJmNTMxMGNOREl1TlRJNU5qVT1jT1M0ek1EQTJNUT09

Talk about narrow and what a treat to drive. It was free of traffic and offered views that were so spectacular, a digi-pic could never do it justice.

Those out-of-the-way backroads...


...offer spectacular views like this...


So when travelling Corsica (or anywhere for that matter), get off the beaten track, explore and experience what the region really has to offer. In the case of Corsica (or anywhere in France), stay off the "N" roads and take the "D" roads. Blowing through only gets you the T-shirt.

[servicerifle]

These guys are my friends.  From left to right, John, me, Rod, and Matt.  I love riding with them.  Unfortunately, our schedules don't coincide much anymore and we can't ride together for now, but we will again I know.

This picture was taken when we were doing route checks for ESTN.  This is at the Shady Valley FD.  We had ridden in decent weather for part of the day, and then it rained at Shady Valley and the road was really slick.  We eventually got down to Hwy 80 and found some dry pavement and had a blast chasing each other through the twisties.  

Perfect day.

[black hills]

This is my Dad, he has been riding since 1950. When I was a child he rode a Honda CL100 to work, and during the summer would take us kids for a ride after supper. With me on the back and my little brother Brad on the tank away we would go. While in reality it was just the trails around the lake, to us it was a big adventure that we looked forward to on a daily basis. I can’t help but think all those rides at a young age had to instill some sort of skill into an otherwise clumsy kid? This disease known as motorcycling began to take hold. It was a hold I would never be able to escape. Like an alcoholic craving a drink motorcycles filled my every thought, I had to have one for myself. So it began, the methodical wearing down of a parent that only a determined kid can execute.
  After a year or so I began to see signs of success. Eventually Dad finally told me “when you can hold the 100 up by yourself, I’ll teach you to ride it” Yes, finally!!!! Now if only I would hurry up and grow. I drank milk, ate my vegetables, exercised, and every couple days gave holding up the bike a try, finally on a spring day in 1976 I did it!! When Dad came home from work I showed him I could do it, reminded him of his promise and told him I was ready to learn. I was 10 years old.
  The lessons went as they do for most people I imagine. Killing the engine again and again, missed shifts, wobbling around the yard like a drunken sailor, the usual stuff. Then finally one night it all came together, I could ride!! Oh, the freedom and pride that came with each and every lap around the backyard. I was getting better and better every time I rode. No doubt I would be on the motocross circuit in no time and eventually move on to fame as a motoGP racer. Yes, this was it, riding motorcycles was what I was born to do!
  Then one evening after being told not to ride in the front of the house, I ripped around the front and around the garage. There much to my surprise I found the sprinkler running and faced a new challenge. Wet grass! It didn’t take more than a second I suppose, but I was unconscious so I can’t say for sure? Next thing I knew I was on the couch in the living room and my Dad was telling me I had to get back on the bike. “If you don’t get back on it now you never will”. Years later he will regret those words on more than one occasion. So, through tear filled eyes I remounted my pride and joy for a slow lap around the yard. My dreams were crushed, I wasn’t the great rider I thought I was, I was…….normal….average…just like everyone else that learned to ride a motorcycle.
   After a few days of sulking I started to ride again, but now I had something to work on. I constantly tried to improve my skills. I rode over or through everything and anything I could find. Wet grass, mud, water, snow, ice, anything. I would become a great rider no matter what it took. I rode it in the spring, the summer, the fall, and the winter. Nothing would stop me. I even rode it on the lake once it froze over. But as those who ride know, you never completely “learn” to ride. It is a lifelong experience with ups and downs along the way. The crash in the wet grass may have been my first, but it wouldn’t be my last. Now, 30 years later I’m still practicing, still learning, and still falling down. Sure the dreams of moto-greatness have faded, but I will always keep trying to learn how to ride. As you all know riding is more than just a mode of transportation or a hobby, it is a part of your life. I have to thank my Dad for introducing me too it.

[Stargzrgrl]

ST.N National, Eureka Springs, AR 2004.

This photo was taken on our way to find a disposable camera Krismark had lost during a group ride earlier that day.  It flew out of her tank bag shortly after she was taking some pictures on the fly.  She was quite determined to find the disposable camera as she had taken many pictures with it and was her only camera.  We back tracked thru Arkansas and into Missouri looking for that damn camera.  Got off our bikes somewhere near the Arkansas/Missouri border and walked up and down one of the roads where she thought she lost it kicking at various road debris such as snake skin, dead armadillos, and splinters of metal and wood.  At a gas station stop we were asked by a local woman if we actually rode our bikes all this way (from Indiana and Illinois respectively.)  

This is my favorite picture from my first ST.N trip to the Nationals.  

[st2sam]

"On Any Sunday"
I'll never know when I'll find a perfect stretch of road, this particular day I had to say, "thank you God I've found the mother load"! My favorite Sunday morning rides start out very early Sunday morning usually solo with a full tank of fuel filled the night before. I don't even know what direction I'm going to go until I leave the driveway but I do have a plan, find new fun roads to enjoy. I like going solo because I can turn quickly at most any time if I see what looks like a good road. In my twisted mind It's kind of like searching for lost treasure and on this particular Sunday morning I did good, yep I found "The Mother Road"!

[Lawn Dart]

So where's the story/pic that goes with your post?

LMAO!  Would you believe I actually did write one and then waited too long for the post to take!

So, here we go:



My first NEW bike!  

I've been through four bikes.  Sorta.  My first real bike was a 1976 Honda CB550 with 56,000 miles on it.  I paid $300 for the bike back in 1990 - I got ripped off.  Still it fed the seed of the insanity which ultimately led to my life today.  That CB didn't last long before it grenaded and it was nearly a decade before I bought my next bike.  And it was the bike that really started me down the sport-touring road:

Enter the 1987 BMW K100RS.  The great white battleship.  I bought it for $2900, put over 30,000 miles on it in 2.5 years, and then parted it out for $6,000.  Yep, I made a $3,100 profit on a bike I put 30k on.  Gotta love that!  Paid for my next bike in cash:  1995 ZX11.  I never did get along with the ZX11 and after 11 months and 14,000 miles I crashed it and sold it to ZX-Andrew who rebuilt it and put another 40,000+ miles on it.  The ZX led to my beloved 1995 R1100RSL.  A bike that I had every intention of keeping for the next 200,000 miles.  

Around 8 months ago I decided that it was time to put a second bike into the garage to compliment the RSL's fantastic all-around capabilities.  I searched high and low, far and wide.  Ducati (Monster, ST3, ST4s), Honda (CBR-RR's, VFR, VTR), Kwak (ZX6r, 9r), Aprilia (Tuono, Falco), Triump (Speed Trip) hell, I was even considering the ultimate insanity of a Bimota!  I wanted sub-500#, track capable, solo bike, 100 horses, and a 150 mile range.  I even tossed the K1200R and R1200S into the mix.  In the end the front runners emerged as the R1200s and the K1200r - seems I just can't shake BMW's as much as I tried.  8 months, a dozen test rides.  Bike swaps and number crunching.  Ideally I wanted a lightweight naked bike that could really rail.

The Fates intervened.  

The RSL blew the mainseal 10 days before my two-week summer vacation and left me no choice and no time:  the RSL would have to go to be used as a downpayment for a new ride simply because there was no time to fix her.  I was going to take a bath on the bike but life does that.  Fate had smiled on me again, blessing me with a wonderful sales year and putting some vitally needed extra funding into the bank at just the right time.

In the end the decision was easy.  It was the only Yellow bike in the shop.  Enter the R1200GS.  Sub 500#, 150+ range, 100hp.  It wasn't a naked and it wasn't the track bike I wanted, but with Alaska on next years calendar and the removal of the RSL from the picture I was right back into the need for a super-do-anything bike.

There's nothing quite like owning a brand new bike with Zero miles on the Odometer.  There's nothing quite like sitting on a bike for the first time and going "Wow.  This really is the one.".  And there's nothing quite like watching a bank account vaporize into a downpayment and the payment books...

I took the keys with a smile and wince.  The Boxer thrumped beneath me as I rode off, making all sorts of wonder "new bike smells" and sounds.  New vibrations, new steering angles.  A new life.

Everyone should experience the thrill of owning something that is 100% new, 100% theirs, 100% right from day One.





OH!  And btw, I didn't mean that the posters here couldn't make a post or comment about someone elses thread.  What I meant was that IF you wanted to comment on someone elses post you FIRST had to Add a new Pic/Story of your own before making a comment (and then, please, keep the comment in your own thread!).  The idea here is that each post should have a sing;e pic/story - with a minimum of chatter.  I'll post an edit to my original rules to reflect the change here.

Thanks!

[MsLusty]

June of 2006 I rode from California to Georgia and back, detouring through Colorado and Utah on the return trip.  On this day, traveling from Grand Junction, CO to Cedar City, UT, I took 24 and then 12 through Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.  I stopped at the junction of 12 and 24 for an early lunch at a Subway sandwich shop inside a convenience store/gas station.  There was a group of Harley riders at the station when I pulled up.  They were in and out as I went in to order my lunch, and on his way out one of them called across the store, "Seeya, MsLusty!"  (MsLusty being the license tag on the Guzzi).

A few miles down the road, I stopped just before crossing the "Hogsback" section of 12, for a photo op.  While I was taking my photo, the same group of Harley riders came up from behind me (I have no idea when or where I passed them).  They slowed as they passed, and asked where I was headed.  I pointed down the Hogsback and they called "See you down the road!" as they rode off.  I wasn't far behind and they were, shall we say, erratic in their riding (it was clearly one or two experienced riders with one or two very new riders), so it wasn't long before I caught up to them again.  The stopped for pictures and I passed by them.

I stopped for gas in Escalante and saw them ride by as I was gearing up again.  I caught up to them again, and stayed back until Henrieville, where the rear guy in their group was riding exceptionally slowly as the speed ramped up on the other side of town.  As I passed, he turned, held up his camera, and snapped a photo of me riding past.  From that point, I rode in the group with them until just before the turnoff for Bryce canyon, where we all pulled off for this photo op.  While I was taking photos of the scenery, they were all busy checking out my bike.

They were apparently Canadian (their tags said British Columbia), and beer seemed to be part of every conversation.  They invited me to join them later at "Ruby's" for a beer, only they never said what town Ruby's was in.  They were off to Bryce Canyon, and I was on a mission to get to Cedar City, so we parted ways shortly thereafter.

[MisterSmooth]

How is it that days spent on motorcycle trips crystallize in my memory like rocks on a streambed?  Daily life streams by; I can't generally tell you what I did on any given workday, but anytime I want I can, for instance, reach in and pull out the Saturday before last year's MotoGP, roll it around in my hand, reflect on it, relive it, and toss it back into the river when I'm done.

Last April I went to Italy and spent two nights in Mandello del Lario as part of a European family vacation.  The visit to Mandello was almost solely made in order to take a day ride on a new Moto Guzzi.  Now I'm always cautious getting too excited about this sort of thing for fear that the experience won't live up to my expectations.  After all, low expectations = higher degree of happiness.

Not to mention the degree of difficulty.  My entire family traveling to Mandello so I can go riding for the day.  Better be a good day, eh?





But amazingly enough, there are few ways my day of riding could have been better.
 
It was just one day.  But I got to ride a quality bike (the new Moto Guzzi 1200 Sport, a bike that's not available here); the weather was perfect; my wife and kids went to Bellagio and had a great time of their own; the people I met were friendly and as curious about me as I was about them; the bike didn't fall over; no performance awards were presented although I deserved a couple.  And after riding we had a truly exceptional meal with one too many glasses of delicious local wine.  I suppose that I could have met Loris or Valentino at Stop Moto Cafe, that would have made it better.  

And that single day is preserved in my memory although I'll be damned if I can tell you what I did last Tuesday.




OK, I posted up so I get to make a couple of comments.

1. black hills, that picture of your dad is special.  You really get a sense of him from one picture.

2. servicerifle, another special picture of you and your buddies.  After BMW-K came back from his last trip, he posted that you can always get a nice picture of the Tetons.  But the pictures you take with people in them, they really tell the story.

3. Great quote of the week:  "Everyone should experience the thrill of owning something that is 100% new, 100% theirs, 100% right from day One."   F*ck yeah.

[lionlady]

Skyline Drive, "Devil's Staircase" overlook. The tree looked really cool.

Last summer, my 16 year old daughter rode pillion with me to Athens, GA from Baltimore. We left when the "Monsoon" was moving up the coast at the end of June. We attended the AMA Women in Motorcycling Conference.

Our plan for that trip was to ride Skyline Drive to the Blue Ridge Parkway as far south as was feasible. But the heavy rains that hit made that plan a no-go. We slabbed it instead. My daughter was a trooper in the rain, and I promised we'd ride Skyline Drive before school started again.

We loaded up our camping gear and rode SD top to bottom. Saw a BEAR. Stupid tourists had stopped their cars, blocking BOTH directions to take pictures, and us 'naked' on a motorcycle with no place to escape to. Fortunately, a Park LEO was behind US...

We camped at Loft Mountain, rode the rest of Skyline Drive and down as far as Buena Vista on the BRP before turning for home.

P

[bluepoof]

Other than hanging out with Mom, the main reason for my visit to Wisconsin in 2005 was to see my dad.  Dad loved to drag us to all the historical markers and sites of interest on trips -- it's most likely his fault that I grew up to be the sort of woman that hops on a motorcycle for three weeks and rides out to Wisconsin via Mt Rushmore and the Corn Palace. Well, OK, to be fair, it's my mom's fault I'm crazy enough to do the motorcycle bit...but the Corn Palace? That's all Dad.

Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimers in 1997, my junior year of college. At the time of this road trip, he lived in a nursing home, about 20 minutes away from my mom's place, where his room was decorated with pictures of his old dog and of me riding my motorcycle. I started riding after the disease left him incapable of understanding what that meant, but he still liked to show off the photos to the nurses. I became a bit of a local celebrity when I'd visit.

While waiting for church on Sunday morning (there's a chapel at the nursing home), I asked Dad if he wanted to see my motorcycle in person. He said yes, not understanding that he'd have to go outside -- he liked his routine, and leaving the Alzheimers wing, much less the building, frightened him. But he was very brave and insisted that he'd like to see my bike.

Dad passed away on December 16, 2005.  He's still the inspiration for many of my road trips and I know that he would be very proud of me and the places I've been.

[MisterEd]

My Ducati as seen through the wall of the Parker Homestead near McAllister, Montana.

I was riding to the National in Montrose, CO back in 2005 and was on the southbound leg out of British Columbia where I'd already spent a week of vacation.  When I saw this little Montana Fish & Wildlife park along the side of the road, at first it just seemed like an interesting place to stop for a stretch and to take some pictures.  As I explored the site and read the historic marker signs there, I began to learn about the Parkers, Nelson and Rosa, who built this little sod-roof house in 1910 out in what was then pretty much the middle of nowhere.  They stayed in this place until the late 1920's, raised kids here, made a life.

in 1939, the house was bought by the Jewetts - Orville and Josephine.  They raised kids and sheep here and live in the house until the early 1950's.  The Jewett family is still in the area, as a matter of fact.

Why the history lesson?  Well, when I first stopped there, as I say, it just seemed like another in many rest stops along the long road.  But after a spell, I began to realize that this had been a home to quite a few people.  Good, solid, American pioneer-type people.  This house had once been filled with laughter and tears, dirty laundry and firewood, prayers and happy tunes whistled while the work was being done.

When I took this picture, I think I was just trying to be "artsy-fartsy".  But when I got to the point of putting in a trip report for ST.N and my website - well, by then, this particular picture had taken on extra meaning somehow.  I was surprised to see that it said so many things.  Like looking through time, my little plastic horse out there was just sitting patiently, waiting for me to come back to the 21st century and take up where I'd left off.  I took quite a few pictures at that site, but this one sticks in my head as an image to remember that trip by.
Posted on: July 18, 2007, 22:11:48

Carolyn ... you just made me cry.   /

[awlittle]

I rode to California to see if those big trees were real.



They were.

[Rigger]

Hey Poof that was really awesome what you wrote about your dad.  I dread the day my dad can no longer ride. Thank God he still has his health.  Whenever I am home (London, Ontario) dad and I take his bike and my brothers bike and we go for quite a ride together. When I read what you wrote it too brought tears to my eyes.  Thanks for reminding me how good I have it being able to ride with my dad.  

[jackpiner57]

My solo ride to Cape Breton Island was the best I've ever done. Day 2 I stopped in Cheticamp for dinner and had Haddock and clams. It was awesome. After dinner I found a gravel road on the coast and got this picture of the 650 V-Strom at sundown. Short story so 2 pics


Next morning after entering Cape Breton Highlands National Park

[Nugroho]

This was back to Dec 2006. We rode from Jakatra to Bali (1400 Km).

Riding in fogy fresh mountain air down from Kintamani to Ubud, Bali:

Complete Story: https://www.sport-touring.net/forums/index.php/topic,3864.0.html

[opus]

Montrose, 2005.  Bcorn and I had left that morning from Pike's Peak, and were now back in Montrose.  After tearing up the pavement all day and enjoying a Butterfinger Blizzard, Bcorn snapped this picture while I was blissfully riding along sans helmet on the way to her friend's place.  That was one of the best days of my life.  =)