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Topic: One Picture. One Story.  (Read 121498 times)

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« on: June 27, 2007, 12:57:59 am »

The Rules:

1.  Pick exactly ONE picture per post.  No more, no less:  just ONE picture.

2.  Tell a story about the picture.  It could be how you got there, something special about the place, perhaps a distant memory.  Tell the story.

3.  And most important: YOU CANNOT POST ANYTHING UNLESS YOU TELL A STORY!  No commenting on a previous story.  No questioning a story.  No commentary at all UNLESS you Post your OWN picture and story!

EDIT 7/16/07:  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.


Let's make this a rolling one-pic story thread.  Keep the chatter to a minimum.  Post a pic, tell a story.  And then wait for someone else to tell a story before telling a new one.

I'll kick it off:



April 2005.

The wife and I were stressed.  Work was tough, house projects were bogging us down.  Simply put, we needed to get out for a weekend and just plain let the stresses of life fall away for a bit.  Solvang - it's a lovely town that my wife had never been to.  We talked about it on Friday afternoon and left for Solvang later that night.  On Saturday morning we let the winds of fate guide us.  

I had no GPS, no maps.  Just a direction:  East, into the Los Padres mountains.  We wandered the roads, turning this way and that and came upon this location.  It was high on the mountains in a small pass of sorts.  The wind was soft and the flowers were in bloom all over the roads.  Yellows and oranges and purples and reds just blossoming all over.  Fragrant scents floated by and a bird of prey hovered on the drafts.  We ate a bit of lunch there and didn't see another soul for 30 minutes.  

Sometimes we are granted just a small slice of serenity in an otherwise insane world.  For me, it's the ride.  Sometimes the ride takes us to places we never knew existed.  Just a matter of letting the places find you.  
« Last Edit: July 17, 2007, 01:10:29 am by BMW-K » Logged

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« Reply #1 on: June 27, 2007, 01:27:55 am »

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v347/IxdbxI/Aprilia/IMG_2448.jpg

Sometimes, when we read such epic tales, and dream such high dreams, we forget what is in our own back yards.  I had spend the entire winter dreaming about a trip out west.... the amazing vistas, the gorgeous weather, the mountain air, and crisp alpine snow.  I had even sold my bike for a more distance oriented one, when it really got to me.  Thats not what riding is about!  I always tell myself why I hate michigan so much, yet I havent even seen the real parts of my own back yard.

That was that, and I couldn't let that continue, so I packed my sleeping back in 1 saddlebag, my toothbrush and a change of clothes in the other (yes I forgot the toothpaste), and I headed west.  No highways, no nothing, but me, the bike, and the best michigan has to offer. As soon as I hit it, I knew it.  I saw the forests, and it all smelled like that thick smell you get when you have an authentic camp fire.  Yes, yes guys, this was what ti was about.  No walls, no AC, not even a real windshield, open your eyes, and see what you've got around you.  RIGHT around you.  Thats what I did, and even though my ride to the "west coast" was only 100 miles, it was just as satisfying as my ride to the real west coast several months later.  Heed my advice, the most precious things are infact just beyond the horizon, and only require time to discover....
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« Reply #2 on: June 27, 2007, 02:37:44 am »

May, 2006.  In a blaze of hubris, I chose to ride my R1 rather than the BMW from Seattle to the WCRM in Fortuna.  The first day on the road, it was 80 degrees and I looked like a genius but for the next four days I was either dodging rain or the gigantic potholes on the Lost Coast road, missing those heated BMW grips and feeling a little bit of a knob.

Sunday, it's time to start the ride home.  After some internal twitching, I throw caution to the wind and decide to ride 36 from Fortuna to Redding.  Damn the rain, and the torpedoes, and the longing for that cozy quiet spot behind the BMW's fairing.  You only live once.

And amazingly enough, it worked out.  Rain is visible in the mountains on either side of 36 but the road is wonderfully dry and about 20 miles from Fortuna, who should I ride up to but Endo and his son Devin.  We chat and then we go riding.  Maybe 50 miles from Fortuna we rip past a late model blue pickup truck, and maybe a quarter mile later pull over to drink some water and socialize.  But damn if that pickup truck doesn't pull up behind us.

Shit.  I can hear it already.  "You boys ride too fast and shouldn't be passing on a double yellow like that,"  or some such.

But no.  The guy in the photo below gets out of his truck and walks up to us.


http://i152.photobucket.com/albums/s177/raincitysmoothie/dopefarmer.jpg


Apparently he just wants to talk.  We talk about our bikes and the almost complete lack of speed enforcement on 36.  We talk a little bit about where we're from.  He's a local, lived in the Eureka area all his life.  I remark that it must be hard to make a living in that area of Northern California.  "So what do you do?"  I ask.

"Well,"  he says, with the same calm, mildly bored tone of voice that one might use to describe one's work in the life insurance business, "I'm a marijuana farmer."

Devin, Endo, and I try to conceal our surprise (in hindsight, probably not all that well).

"Yeah,"  he says, "The federals get some of the crop every year, but I spread it around and they never get all of it."

We talked a little more, bid him goodbye and sped away chuckling in our helmets.  And the ride from there to Interstate 5 was an epic blast, swinging through curve after curve after curve, Devin getting air on the roller coaster part of 36, dry almost the entire way but with rain threatening.  The R1 was the bike of choice after all.

 
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« Reply #3 on: June 27, 2007, 02:38:49 am »

Photo taken at the Gooseneck, 2002 Isle of Man TT

http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j231/Orsono/Copy2ofEuro013.jpg

2002 was the year I purchased my Moto Guzzi in Italy. One of things on my list of things to do before I die, was to attend an Isle of Man TT race. I checked the IOM TT message board and found a guy who had a last minute cancellation. I didn't need any convincing and jumped at the opportunity. I rode the Guzzi from Italy, across the Alps, crossed the English Channel and made my way to the IOM ferry in Northern England. I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore when I boarded the ferry with about 400 motorcycles and maybe a handful of cars  Lol Imagine Daytona speed week but replace all the Harleys with sport bikes.

To me, this photograph embodies the Isle of Man experience. Good racing with race fans right on top of the action. The Gooseneck is the last sharp bend before the road climbs up to the fearsome mountain section. A few times, a racer would grab a handful of throttle, sending the bike into a fishtail. The fans seated on the grass embankment would be falling backwards in an effort to get out of the way. That's close racing  Bigsmile

One race fan seated at the Gooseneck had his own pit board. He would listen to the radio broadcast of the race, then flash the racers their split times. Now, that's fan participation  Bigsmile

A real treat was to watch the Travelling Marshalls circulate the track. The Travelling Marshalls are all former TT racers with a minimum of 1500 racing miles under their belts. They circulate the track with much gusto  Bigsmile

Even better was getting to ride the circuit yourself between practice sessions. To see all the places you've read about is almost magical. Bray Hill, Kirk Michael, Ballaugh Bridge, Creg-ny-ba. One morning, I set out at 5:00 A.M. before the masses had awoken from their drunken reverie of the night before. With a full tank of gas, I set out to lap the TT circuit free of traffic. Just before Kirk Michael, I saw a lone headlight coming up behind me. Great, I thought to myself, the nutters have awoken. Much to my surprise, when he overtook me, I saw that it was an IOM constable on a police Pan-European (Honda ST-1100) out for a quick lap of his own.

To put the races into layman's terms, I managed to do a lap in about 45 minutes. Race winner David Jefferies lapped the circuit in about 17 minutes. That's the difference between gods and mere mortals.  Smile
« Last Edit: June 27, 2007, 06:47:42 am by Orson » Logged

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« Reply #4 on: June 27, 2007, 09:58:41 am »

End of the Road

Last year I journeyed to the national meet by myself. This was my first trip overnight alone and I was a bit concerned and excited all at once. Aside from a ticket and having to attend a funeral, I had a good time. While bumming around the backwoods of WV a day before the meet, I was exploring the area around New River Gorge. My gps had sent me down this road trying to get to the next place on my list. The road was narrow and busted up pretty bad. After riding 3 or 4 miles down the road it simply ended. No warning signs or nothing. My gps told me that it should go on but just a wall of trees and bushes. After turning around I snapped this picture from the saddle. At that moment I was in absolute heaven, doing what I love to do: explore, take the road less traveled, and seeing what most others miss. A smile from ear to ear and I headed back to a road that got me going the right way, I realized that it hadn't been a wrong turn at all.

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« Reply #5 on: June 27, 2007, 11:03:54 am »

http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d1/JimFisher1956/Sheep-1.jpg

Having just completed a ride through SW British Columbia, down through Idaho and up through Glacier National Park, I had had my fair share of twisties, wonderful hot weather and little traffic thanks to it being mid June. The trip took us through Waterton and into Pincher Creek Alberta. The mountains give way, in that wonderful way, and the great wide open on the edge of the Canadian Prairie beckons on one side, while the mighty Rockies sit in silence and taunt one to go west. Splitting the difference and taking Highway 22 North is a rather dull affair, but before you know it you arrive in the small town of Longview Alberta and there is the turn to 541 heading west. The road rolls with the hilly terrain and quickly turns north and becomes Highway 40. This is Kananaskis Country as it is known in Alberta and you ride a beautiful ribbon of pristine asphalt along the very edge of the Rockies. No tight twisties here but a cornucopia of sweet sweepers takes you north almost to Banff. Along the way the views are breathtaking, the air clear and the colours vibrant. The almost serene nature of the road allows plenty of time to rubber neck and take in the non-stop vistas. Keep an eye out though, as mountain sheep litter the road. They do not run across the road in a frightening or confused fashion like the huge forest rats of British Columbia. No, they plant themselves all over the road and seem oblivious to your presence often bowing their heads in what might be interpreted as a sign of respect. Dumb is what they are as can be plainly seen if you peer into their rather languid and empty eyes.

I had a good chat with the sheep pictured above who was kind enough to point out his brothers and sisters who were waiting in the next corner.


Twas a great day on a most memorable trip. The Triumph and I loved that road. It is one of the most relaxing stretches of riding I have ever had.

 Inlove
« Last Edit: June 27, 2007, 11:10:52 am by bubba zanetti » Logged
chornbe

« Reply #6 on: June 27, 2007, 11:34:21 am »




I picked up my new FJR on a Thursday in August of 2006, and had planned a "break in" ride for that weekend. My daughter ('Becca, 10) and I were going to take the FJR for a ride in the mountains around the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania. This trip was to be something of a "first" for us; our first long bike trip together, her first overnight trip on a bike, her first trip in the mountains.

We rode a conventional mix of highway and country roads to the area. I had lived in Galeton, PA for a while, and knew most of the major roads in the area. Going back there was never really something I felt the need to do, but looking back, arriving in town and riding around looking at what was the same and what had changed had, of course, made me somewhat nostalgic.

About an hour out of Wellsboro, we hit rain. Torrential. Large drops of cold, wet messengers of discomfort. Not only was this 'Becca's first long trip on a bike, but it was her first experience riding in the rain. The air was warm, the rain was cool and we soldiered on. We had rain gear with us but, trooper that she is, 'Becca didn't want to stop and put it on.

We found a small cabin rental place on Rt. 6, just midway between Galeton and Gaines, and plunked down our $28 for the night. I had 'Becca hop off the bike and walk up to the cabin, then slogged my way up the muddy, rutted, slippery drive into the cabin grounds on the FJR. Make a note here, the FJR may do well enough on packed gravel roads when dry, but it does not do so well on slippery, muddy paths.

We unpacked into the cabin, and set about hanging our riding gear and clothes to dry, changed and sat and watched tv and warmed up for a bit. The rain slowed to a light but steady drizzle and we both agreed the bagged snacks wouldn't be enough; it was time to find some dinner. We got in to our rain gear and headed back out. We considered going all the way back in to Wellsboro to find a restaurant, but instead decided to eat at the Log Cabin Inn on Rt. 6. We each had Fettucini Alfredo with grilled chicken, and I added a bowl of soup.

After dinner we rode up to the Grand Canyon's East rim. The rain had stopped, but the mist and chill hung in the air. Fog drifted around us and the sky had just begun to darken. The evening felt like a surreal mix of a Stephen King novel and a quiet, secluded mountain paradise. I didn't want to be riding back down the mountain in the dark with all the fog and the animals that were sure to be present, so we drove back to the cabin as the last vestiges of the evening's dusk were just holding on.

While parking the bike where I was able to ensure the kickstand wouldn't sink in the mud, I heard a bird chattering at me incessantly. Apparently it did not like my intruding on its peace. I shut the bike off, and stopped to look at the bird a moment while 'Becca walked back up the path to the cabin. I decided the bird, the night's falling light and the trimmed tree upon which it sat would make a nice picture. I got the camera out and took various pictures, experimenting with different light and exposure settings.

The following morning, we got up early and headed in to Wellsboro to breakfast at the world famous Wellsboro Diner. While enjoying our breakfast, we read up on the colorful history of the original dining car that makes up the core of the Wellsboro Diner.

After breakfast, we headed back out of town to the West and rode up to both rims of the Grand Canyon to snap a few pictures. After enjoying the morning chill in the air, the nice scenery and a walk through the forest along the East Rim, we mounted back onto the bike to begin our trip home. We continued West in to Galeton, then traveled down PA 144 and PA 120, enjoying a spirited ride on twisty mountain roads with almost no traffic to contend with at all until reaching Lock Haven for a break and to grab some lunch.

From there we rode home, talking about the trip and future trips over the Chatterbox radio, promising to do more of these weekend getaways. A great weekend spent on a wonderful machine, providing excellent memories of a nice father & daughter getaway weekend. What could be better?
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« Reply #7 on: June 27, 2007, 02:42:47 pm »



This is a Youth Hostel in a village called Beer (chosen as a destination solely for it's name!) on the South coast of England. This was taken on the 3rd day of owning my Bandit, my first bike. On the journey down from Stalybridge near Manchester I'd driven down the Fosse Way and come to the conclusion that the Romans either knew that motorbikes would be invented one day or they squidded it up on their chariots over those hills through central England. I saw Stonehenge for the first time, saw the white horses on the side of the chalk hills and the regimental badges near Fovant. The scenic town of Bath.

All of this opened my eyes to where this bike could take me, seeing all of these "firsts" for me was only the first step.
Been a little "green behind the ears" so to speak meant that this hostel represented a glowing beacon on the top of a hill that was completely inaccessible. I could see it for miles but for the life of me couldn't find the road up to it. When I found it it was a gravel track with 180 degree switchbacks with no room for manouvering. I nearly dropped my shiny new bike so many times but I was determined not to fail on only my first week of riding!

The satisfaction upon reaching the top was as good as the view of the English Channel and cliffs set out around.

Brilliant  Bigok
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« Reply #8 on: June 29, 2007, 01:23:39 pm »


http://i160.photobucket.com/albums/t163/blackhills_2007/beartooth.jpg

My friend Jeff (roommate from 20 years ago). came out for a long weekend. Stopped by the national in Custer on wed. night. I had to work thurs., but he mowed the yard for me, so it was worth it. Friday we rode out to Cody WY. My girlfriend Shawna was working there for a few weeks. Took in the rodeo (Shawna won the breakaway roping!), and spent the night at the rodeo grounds. The next day with Shawna on the back of the CBR, and her thanks to Jeff for the FJR's ample storage, we rode through the east side of yellowstone. We continued over the beartooth pass, where she snapped this photo. Then into Redlodge for the night, and too many beers. Sun. morning it was back across the pass to drop her off in Cody and home to rapid. Not a big trip, but a great weekend with the woman I love and my best friend. Smile
« Last Edit: June 29, 2007, 04:44:51 pm by black hills » Logged

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« Reply #9 on: July 02, 2007, 04:06:28 pm »

 
Winter dragged on forever in the midwest that year... and I was really hurting for some mileage on the FJR.   Some friends talked me into taking a trip to Big Bend National Park, 1100 miles from home and wifey wanted to go.    Crazy
 
The roads back home were snowy and salty, so we trucked the bike to Terlingua, TX.  
 
Except for a few, the roads were much straighter than I'd hoped.   I was a little let down about that... AND at only having only 2 days on the bike to balance the 2 FULL days in the truck.
 
But then we bumped into a buddy from riding FJRs in Arkansas.   Cool  Petey may be old enough to be my Dad, but he's one of the best sport-touring riders I know.  Cool
 
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The ensuing riding and bench racing made the whole trip worth it!  
 
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« Reply #10 on: July 02, 2007, 04:51:30 pm »

Spring 2004

I work in the type of job that rollercoasters between moments of sheer boredom and high stress.  Most of the stress is unnecessary but caused by self important coworkers.  I have a relationship with my current boss where he can tell when the stress is about to push me over the top.  I had reached the precipice.

Thursday evening I shot off an email to my boss "Won't be in tomorrow...going riding."  His only reply was "OK."

I wasn't sure where I was going, only that I was going.  The day dawned wet and dreary.  I geared up and set out west...towards the isolated Pacific shore along the Olympic Pennisula (WA state).  It rained the entire way, but I didn't care...I wasn't sitting in a #%@(ing cubicle staring at a computer screen and listening to people on the phone droning on endlessly about unimportant aspects of the project in hopes of inflating their own self interest.

After spending the morning dodging logging trucks, the clouds parted right at the coast line.  I pulled into a remote beach access road and spend an hour basking in the sun, snacking on some food, and letting my gear take a breather from the rain.  There were only a few other souls out on the beach, but they kept to themselves.

Having enjoyed my respite, I hopped back on the FJR and plunged back into the rain as I moved back inland to complete my loop of the peninsula.

It's amazing what a day away from everything (work, house, bills, computers, cellphones, people!) can do for your peace of mind.
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« Reply #11 on: July 02, 2007, 05:13:09 pm »

September 12, 2001

I remember this day vividly.  It was the day after.  The nation was hurting, my wife was hurting, I was hurting.  You couldn't get away from it even if you tried.  Everyone was talking about it, every media format was covering it 24/7 (radio, print, TV, internet).  Time to shut it off, if ever so briefly.

Amy's Katana needed a little love, so I left the Hayabusa at home and went exploring.  I found this short road winding through the Capitol Forest.  A ribbon of perfect asphalt cutting through a hall of brilliant green. (I know, the picture is B&w Bigsmile )  It's one of those classic moments that freezes time...and makes for a perfect picture.

At least for a brief moment I was able to escape the tragedy of that day.

It's true...motorcycles are good for the soul.
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« Reply #12 on: July 03, 2007, 06:05:35 pm »

http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j231/Orsono/Picture084.jpg

The edge of the continent.

Cabo Sagres, Portugal is the southwestern-most point in Europe. Traveling by motorcycle is a much more personal means of getting somewhere than most other means of transportation. You are travelling not so much to get somewhere, as you are to enjoy the travel and experiencing the world passing beneath your two wheels.

So, when your travels come to a jarring halt, caused by the fact that you've run out of road and can no longer continue onwards, it can make one become introspective. Looking back on where you've been, how far you've come, and where to go from here. Both in the physical world as well as in your consciousness.

Nothing left to do but turn around and keep on going  Smile
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« Reply #13 on: July 03, 2007, 08:22:39 pm »

http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g202/leafmania/DSC00509copy.jpg

In Greece, in a little port town called Nafplios, where the beer is cold and the sandwiches are best by the ocean.  A little town full of scooters and an odd assortment of bikes.  I don't know if this one ran or not, but it looked as if it was placed there just for me to take a pic.  My wife and I were on the trip of a lifetime, for our 25th.  Sure, I have pictures of sunsets and the two of us looking romantically at wonderful sights.  But this wee bike makes me remember the peace I found there, the easy way of life.  No worries, who cares about bling, or gear or GPS.  Ride what you have and enjoy the day.
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« Reply #14 on: July 03, 2007, 11:14:52 pm »

Temple of Justice, Olympia, WA

http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j232/Tw12eleve/Assortedpicsfromthumbdrive072.jpg

I took this pic while out for a ride searching for photo opps of the PNW fall colors.  

Other than riding motorcycles, two of my other passions are photography and Constitutional law.  

For several years, I used to spend my lunch hours in the law library of the Temple doing research on court rulings.  The temple is rich with historical facts, extremely quiet, and also has these great little private study areas complete with windows overlooking the South Sound inlet.    Inlove

Initially, I thought this picture spoiled with the intrusion of the signage; but upon reflection, I like the symbolism - legislation (small, yet in the forefront) vs. the judiciary.  Lol  
« Last Edit: July 03, 2007, 11:16:51 pm by Zen Rider » Logged
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« Reply #15 on: July 04, 2007, 03:01:10 pm »

Sunday May 7, 2006

Rolling through a small town on the southeast coast of Taiwan I stopped at a roadside store for a quick snack... (Google Maps)



I was getting fairly hungry but was mainly only looking for some bottled water and a quick, easy to purchase w/o knowing the language, wrapped snack. This lady seemed to sense my hunger and put on her "sales cap". She went over to a freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen dumplings. You can see them in the blue bowl. I nodded affirmative and she went digging for the "other" bag. One was green (vegetarian?) and the other brown (beef?). I went for the green label and she took it back to cook it up.

She returned with the bowl of food and added to it some soup she had on the stove - without asking and probably with no charge. While she was cooking it up her son sat and talked with me. He spoke English just a bit. She spoke no English. I speak no Chinese. Mainly we laughed a lot and enjoyed each others company. She looked through the Lonlely Planet guide book and I noted that as she was flipping pages the book was upside down. She turned it right side up when she came to some pictures. Tables be turned, I understand her language about as much and would probably do the same.

The kicker is - people are wired the same no matter where - I pulled out the camera and motioned to taking a picture with her in it - if it would be OK. She immediately became bashful and her hands flew up to make sure her hair was just right.

Two nice people in a small town. I was far from home, arrived hungry, and was provided a nice meal. Well appreciated hospitality. I shall remember her and her son for a long time.

Felipe's yellow Yamaha Majesty scooter, that I was riding, in the background.
« Last Edit: July 04, 2007, 03:15:12 pm by JimWilliamson » Logged
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« Reply #16 on: July 04, 2007, 09:04:27 pm »

Have you ever been attracted to a place just because of its name? In these parts Klickitat holds a certain mistique that finally got my curiousity piqued. We rode Hwy 14 from Portland along the Columbia River Gorge. Once at Lyle we headed North on Hwy 142 along the Klickitat River to downtown metropolitan Klickitat. We found two things interesting about Klickitat itself, the river road that got us there & the cool sign at the outskirts of town. Still, it was a 265 mile big adventure on a beautiful 80 degree sunny day so all was not lost.
http://i187.photobucket.com/albums/x299/bobmielke/Fun%20Places/Klickitat_Bob_2.jpg
« Last Edit: July 18, 2007, 09:34:18 am by bobmielke » Logged

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« Reply #17 on: July 05, 2007, 10:20:02 am »

my favorite road in all of Colorado.  HWY 92
During a wonderful 3 day 800mile tour of the mountain ranges of Colorado, I convinced the riding group that we MUST without a doubt travel this road.
It was a very hot day in the valley, close to 100 degrees, but up at the top of this mountain it was a beautiful 65. This road twists and twists its way on top of the
Black Canyon rim revealing panaramas with almost every curve.

It is probably the most dangerous road for motorcycling, you pay attention to the views so much you lose track of the double radius sweepers.
This road will slow down even the fastest riders...the views are spectacular, the tight curves go on for hundreds of miles.
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« Reply #18 on: July 10, 2007, 02:58:18 pm »






April 2002.  

I'd been dating this gal, Trina, since Sept. 2001.  We decided to do a vacation - four days on the road, we'd travel up the coast, destination unknown.  Quite frankly I was pretty much petrified.  I was much the planner back then.  Everything had to have it's place, everything had to be planned.  I hated the unknown.

And, to be honest, I'd never done any kind of extended vacation like this.  Load the bike up and roll.  Yeah, I was pretty much petrified.  

We packed our stuff up and I picked her up at her place.  I think.  I don't really remember.  She may have come by my place.  Doesn't really matter.  We rolled out through Santa Monica, up the freeways and over to highway 101.  The goal was to take the 101 all the way up to Monterey.  From there, who knows?   Shrug  

About 40 miles from home we fell over.  We had made a quick stop and she got on the bike a little too quickly.  Weight off center and bang, we were down.  No damage thankfully but it was shook me a bit.  Damnit!  Who was this woman screwing up my life???  

We made Cambria that first night.  200 miles I think - hugely long day of riding back then.  The only hotel with room was stupidly expensive ($200 with AAA!) but we were both too tired to realy go on.  So she makes me crash and now my card is going to take a hit.  Screw it.  This was an adventure and it was going to be good.  

We walked outside to forage for a bit of food and caught a sunset.  It was the sunset that changed the whole trip.  An increadible sunset.  No matter how tough this trip might be there was a sign waiting for me.  Sit back, relax, and just enjoy the ride.  One sunset defined the trip.  

And what a great sunset it was!



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« Reply #19 on: July 10, 2007, 03:22:52 pm »

March 2005, I took a trip across the Arabian sea to sunny Goa on the west coast of India and rented a Royal Enfield Bullet. Dealing with a new set of traffic rules was just part of it. The Enfield sports right foot shifting and left foot braking. On top of that, the shifting pattern is one up, three down. Just like the latest GP bikes then  Bigsmile  Now, imagine trying to learn this new shifting and braking system while in a foreign land. I'm not the most prolific writer when describing something, but it was like trying to ride while wearing full scuba gear. It felt that awkward. Many times I would stab at the rear brake only to discover, to my horror, that I had just shifted up two gears rather than slow myself down. Other times, I would be pawing at the shiftlever, trying to find neutral, only to look down and see my foot uselessly trying to toe up the brake lever. A sense of pride & accomplishment overcame me whenever I reached 3rd gear. Selecting 4th gear teleported you into an unchartered dimension...where angels feared to tread.

Riding in India has its own special rules. Where in the states and Europe, ultra powerful sportbikes dice and slice through traffic, here, the roles are reversed. Trucks and buses rule the asphalt with a heavy hand, often times occupying the center of the road leaving cars, bikes and rikshaws to scurry for the shoulders for whatever morsel of road remains. The big rigs aren't shy about taking what they assume to be rightfully theirs. As such, you ride extremely defensively. As soon as you see a lumbering juggernaut bearing down on you, you immediately assume the submissive "paws in the air" posture by diving for the 6 inches of asphalt left for you on the shoulder. As the behemoth roars by you whisper a silent prayer of thanks that you hadn't been impaled on their front bumper...then you continue on your journey.

I was waiting for the ferry to cross the Tiracol river, as the ferry approached the landing. The captain made a stab at the landing but, the river current dragged the boat on by, nescessitating a second attempt  Lol  I don't know why I was laughing. I was about to put my life in his hands  Crazy We boarded and prepared for the journey but, the boat crew walked off to the nearby snack kiosk for a break. So much for a schedule. When they came back on board, I noticed that one crewman took his position down below to resume bailing   Confused  Always comforting to know they have someone assigned to bailing duties. At least they didn't ask the passengers to help bail  Bigsmile Thankfully, it was but a five minute journey to the other side.

http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j231/Orsono/post-29-14337-Goa05_010.jpg
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