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Topic: One Picture. One Story.  (Read 116030 times)

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02Tac
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« Reply #160 on: August 25, 2014, 07:38:34 pm »

First picture of a day trip through 15 covered bridges (2, including this one, were in Delaware) and Valley Forge.

http://i228.photobucket.com/albums/ee34/02TAC/Bandito/Cover%20Bridges%207%20Apr%202012/IMG_4620.jpg
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bubba zanetti
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« Reply #161 on: August 28, 2014, 04:12:40 pm »

http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d1/JimFisher1956/DSC02327_zpsc227fc7d.jpg

Heading into The Palouse country of south west Washington in Sept 2013. Today I was looking for Palouse falls but along the way, I was seeking some isolated roads and the stark but beautiful country that is this part of Washington. After noting many of the signs along the way and repeatedly seeing the word "palouse" I began to read it as appaloosa, like the horse. The pic is one of the many small creek canyons in the area with a great set of corners heading up the other side. Beautiful.

Later, at my motel in Baker City, I looked up Appaloosa and Palouse and low and behold, there is a story of that colorful breed of Mongolian horses originating here. http://www.trueappaloosas.com/palouse_horse.html

Great day of solo riding and a little learning along the way. Gotta love that.  Thumbsup
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« Reply #162 on: August 28, 2014, 04:28:18 pm »

See if we can keep this great thread going  Bigok

http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d1/JimFisher1956/DSC00343-1.jpg

Douglas Lake Ranch near Merritt BC.  Douglas Lake ranch still holds the distinction of Canada's largest working ranch. But notably there is a road open to the public that runs through the ranch and comes out in Falkland BC, just between Vernon and Kamloops or head east to the shores of Okanagan Lake.

Had a great ride through there and stopped to explore some of the abandoned buildings and interesting terrain. Nearby stands the Quilchena Hotel where you can still see bullet holes in the beautiful bar that speaks to the days of outlaw Bill Miner.
« Last Edit: August 28, 2014, 04:46:15 pm by bubba zanetti » Logged
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« Reply #163 on: August 01, 2015, 01:47:42 am »

My older Brother bought his first street Bike in 1966, I got mine in 1971.  We are 4 years apart.  We grew up on a Farm in central Kansas.
He moved to Arkansas in 1978 and I moved to Denver, CO in 1979.
 In 1984, I had 2 motorcycles and convinced him to fly to Denver for a ride (the long way) to Steamboat Springs, CO for the September motorcycle races through town.  He brought all his stuff in a large Tank Bag.  We left Denver in the Fog and drizzle heading west on Interstate 70.  We took the El Rancho exit and drove to Squaw Pass where I took this photo.  We drove to Wolcott thinking we could get a motel there.  I was wrong.  The only building there was a General Store/Post Office. A Gal in the store called to Eagle, CO and found us a motel.  It rained most of the night and the next day.  The Sun finally dried the streets of Steamboat and it was an interesting set of road races.  A rider by the name of Sass won most of the races on a 550 Kawasaki.
I rode the 1982 Seca Turbo and my Brother rode the 750E Kawasaki.
For years my thinking was that 750cc was enough power until I moved to Denver.  You lose an average of 15-20% power above 5000 feet.
The Seca Turbo weighed about 550 lb. and the 750E weighed 500 lb.  No one cared about how much a motorcycle weighed back then.
This was our first motorcycle trip together.
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« Reply #164 on: August 23, 2015, 01:38:56 pm »

Snapped this while waiting for the ferry from Villa San Giovanni to Messina; love the kerchief, and the red bag overhanging the bars

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« Reply #165 on: October 12, 2015, 09:57:30 am »

I made a 9 day, 5500km trip to the eastern side of NCal in the 3rd and 4th week of June where I met up with a bunch of fellow Ducati sport tourers(we try to get together every year).  The route down was 4 fairly leisurely days from Nelson to Lake Topaz through Eastern Washington, central Oregon, Western Nevada and into NCal just south of Reno.  On the way back it was through Nevada and back up on OR205 in Eatern OR before heading a bit East and through Central ID finally into Eatern WA.  The image is from Fields, OR, pretty well the middle of nowhere except that Fields Station has the best milkshake I've had in years.  It also helped that it was about 36C!
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« Reply #166 on: March 25, 2016, 11:13:08 am »

Spring has sprung  Smile

With nice weather in the forecast, I decided it was a good time for a shakedown cruise on my new bike. From Asheville to the Cherohala Skyway via Deals Gap and back again can be done in about 8 or 9 hours but, I decided to make it an overnight trip so that I could take my time. I'd driven the route before in a sports car but, it's a lot better on a bike. Traveled light with just a tank bag stuffed with shaving kit, i-Pad and thermal undershirt in case of cooler temps.

Took NC-19 down to Robbinsville under blue skies and 60 degree temps and got a room at the Microtel. Onwards thru Deals Gap then south on TN-360 to connect with the Cherohala Parkway. A mid-week trip ensures light traffic and I make it thru the Gap without encountering any traffic. As others before me have commented, I find the higher speeds on the Parkway make for a more entertaining ride than the tight twists on Deals Gap although both are enjoyable. Even TN-360 was a nice ride. Only 4 cars and 2 bikes encountered on the Parkway and all dispatched without too much hassle. A bit of sand on the road and a bit of snow on the roadside at the highest elevations. Won't be long before it all melts away.

Wake up the next day to overcast skies and cooler temps. Enjoy a waffle breakfast courtesy of the help yourself waffle griddle in the Microtel lobby. Return to Asheville via the Wayah Road to Franklin then, the Ellijay Road to Tuckasegee although a wrong turn sees me arriving in Glenville (sometimes I got lost and had to check the map). No big worry as it's all excellent two lane twisties and I grab a cheeseburger and onion rings at a gas station but, no jukebox on which to play a hillbilly song. After reaching Tuckasegee, I hang a right on NC-281 then take NC-215 back to Asheville.

New bike, great roads, nice weather. I couldn't ask for more.

Blossoms along Highway TN-360

http://i81.photobucket.com/albums/j231/Orsono/L1000719%20copy_zpscnyho14c.jpg
« Last Edit: March 29, 2016, 04:46:22 pm by Orson » Logged

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« Reply #167 on: July 24, 2016, 09:00:01 am »

Ok, I'll admit it.  I'm a tree hugger.
 
I have always marveled and wondered at trees.  What a wonderful resource for us!  The uses for trees are endless.  I could hardly cover half of them in 1000 words.  I'm not much of a wood worker or a carpenter.  But I'm certainly appreciative of all that is made with wood, especially well made furniture.  I'm also enamored in old wooden structures, and thoroughly enjoy looking at their architecture and construction.  Back in the day, carpentry was quite a skill, done by people with very primitive tools and limited resources.  Things were built to last - and last they most certainly did.
 
However, I think I enjoy live trees far more than dead ones.  There is such a diversity of trees in our land that I can hardly understand how mother nature finds room for all of them.  I have often wondered about what makes a particular tree grow (or not grow) at a particular place.  I know that climate, soil conditions, and other scientific factors must play into this.  But sometimes when I'm in the right state of mind, I think that the statistical odds of all of this just falling into place are astronomical.  Surely to some extent, there must be a divine intervention at work here.
 
I love eating seasonal ripe fruits and picking it from a tree is a blessing beyond my words.  Once my wife and I drove though the Sacramento Valley during harvest season and she got so frustrated from me stopping at EVERY road side fruit stand I could find, just to purchase 1 or 2 individual fruits and eat them right on the spot.  Of course, that was accompanied with 10 minutes of wonderful conversation with the orchard owner, glued to his or her every word like a 5 year old at story time.
 
With respect to riding, trees inevitably play a part in my adventures.  I look forward every Fall to some kind of leaf peeping ride, where I hope to witness the initial drying of leaves within some kind of hardwood forest.  In 2013, some friends and I spent a week in the Appalachians during the peak of color and it was truly amazing.  Every shade on the pyramid between brown and green was represented in an oversized palette that can only be described as spiritual.  I spent 30 minutes sitting on top of Grandfather Mountain on the Blue Ridge Parkway completely immersed in the landscape beneath me.  In early October 2015, I rode through western Colorado during the peak of the Aspen change.  In my 50 years, I'd never seen such a golden landscape.  There is no picture that can do this justice.  No lens possess enough depth of field to capture the beauty of a peaceful forest in season. No, you honestly have to see this to believe it.
 
Trees have a part in my riding bucket list.  For example, to date, I have never seen a Walnut tree.  This is something that I hope to rectify soon.  Also in my future is a ride to north Georgia during the apple harvesting season.  I'm told there are hundreds of varieties there, and I hope to try as many as I can.
 
At home here in Louisiana, we have our own varieties of beautiful trees.  Our swamps support Cypress, Tupelo, and Willow trees.  These species grow and thrive while submerged in water.  In the central part of the State, pecan trees are prevalent.  The produce nuts every other year, as I assume the energy to do this is taxing to the overall health of the tree.  There are many kinds of pecans, but I particularly enjoy eating the short, fat, oily ones.  They kind of taste like butter.  And butter is good, any way you can get it.
 
But by far, my favorite tree is the majestic Live Oak.  A relatively short species, this variety is not good for lumber.  No, the Live Oak was given to us for shade.  It can grow incredibly large, with its leaf canopy spanning well over a hundred feet.  Spanish moss clings to it like a magnet, providing even more shade on a hot summer day.  The live oak sheds its leaves in March, and even so, only sheds a small portion of them.  Thus, it maintains a leafy branch all year round, perhaps giving some credence to its name - it looks "live" all of the time.
 
But for me, the Live Oak tree means so much more.  It can live to be over 300 years old.  Nothing gets that old without adapting to its environment VERY well.  A closer examination of the Live Oak's structure tells volumes about this.  The trunk twist as it grows, lending more leverage and structural support to the heaviest of branches.  The large branches are quite flexible for their massive weight.  They have adapted to survive our strongest hurricanes, with winds of 100 mph or higher.  In storms, these branches bend, lean, and give to avoid snapping and breaking.  I find this fascinating.  In my own life, I try to learn from the Live Oak's example.  When conflict finds me, especially when it's uncompromising, I get through it best when I lean a little.  Bend a little to avoid "snapping".  Looking at these beautiful trees reminds me of this lesson, and I am very grateful for it indeed.
 
Hwy 3000 near Ramah, Louisiana.  Enjoying some shade among a 250 year old Live Oak Tree.
 
http://i1281.photobucket.com/albums/a511/hppants1/One%20Picture%20Report%20Shots/Joey%20Pons%20Swamp%20People%2011_zpsbz1myque.jpg
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« Reply #168 on: July 24, 2016, 09:01:45 am »

July 2016

Every heard somebody say “I’m about to come uncorked”?  I liken that to a champagne bottle.  The contents are under extreme pressure, begging to be let out.  The wrapper is removed, followed by the wire tie.  At this point, something has got to give.  As the cork is wiggled, the contents start the path of least resistance.  Finally, the cork flies and immediately thereafter is the explosion.  As fast as it starts, it’s over and things return to some sense of normalcy.

It’s been one of those kind of weeks.  My Assistant Director and right hand man was on vacation.  Everybody deserves a vacation, but when your stable only has a few horses, everyone counts.  From the word go on Monday and through the end of the week, I was running like a headless chicken, putting out proverbial fires left and right.   At times, it seemed like a blur.  My A/D earns his money, that much I was re-assured this week.

Of course, the usual vocational B.S. doesn’t stop either.  Weekly meetings, deadlines, reports, phone calls, an endless electronic sea of emails, and just about anything else you can think of.  At one relatively large gathering of colleagues, I’m struggling to keep my shit together.  My phone is blowing up, I haven’t had lunch yet, and this guy is foaming at the mouth and for the love of Pete, he simply will not stop his dribbling vomit.  I faked a phone call, excused myself, and by the grace of the all mighty, saved myself from going postal.

Needless to say, when the whistle blew on Friday, there was no rest for the weary.  Down here on the Gulf Coast, at this time of year, the yard work will not relent.  The grass needs cutting and the beds weeding.  In an act of total stupidity, earlier in the week, I told SWMBO that I would help clean the house this weekend.  We did a little horse trading and even a round of “rock, paper, scissors” to divvy up the chores.  I got bathrooms and the floors.  Could be worse, I guess.

I get home Friday and start inside, before moving out to the sauna to cut the grass and clean up the yard.  Two hours later, I’m sweating like a hooker in church.  No joke – I could not be more wet if I jumped in a swimming pool with my clothes on.  I turn the box fan on in my shop and sit down next to the FJR with a cool glass of water.  The fan is blowing against my stinky wet torso and providing a little evaporative cooling in the humid shop.  I look over toward my bike and I’m thinking “Boy, I’d sure like to go for a ride tomorrow”.

About then, the skies unzipped and a heavy summer shower dumps on top of me.  In 5 minutes, the temperature dropped 20 degrees and it felt like Mother Nature turned on the air conditioner.  I took my shirt, socks, and shoes off, and stood in the driveway like a little country boy, cooling off in the cool rain.

Refreshed, I toweled off in the carport and walked into the house with one word clearly on my mind – BEER.  I grabbed a cold one and mosied to the bathroom.  As I reflected back on my week, I remember thinking “well, at least it’s over.  I’ve got the rest of the weekend to play, to do whatever I want!!”

Not so fast, Pants.

Out of the shower, I grabbed another cold brew and moved toward the office to sit down at the computer and relax.  SWMBO comes into the office and politely declares that we are double dating with my sister and her husband.  We are going out to eat and then walk next door to a small bar that has team trivia.  Oh joy, just what I friggin need.  I’m not totally shocked.  She did mention something about this earlier in the week.  I just hadn’t heard much in the last day (or perhaps I wasn’t paying much attention), and I figured it fell through.  I love my sis and BIL, and they are great company on a double date.  
It’s just I was so looking forward to about 3 more brewskies and some snacks, followed by a simple quiet meal and maybe some boob tube.  Besides – I hate trivia games.  I don’t remember any of that crap.

Oh well, no point in sucking my thumb.  What’s done is done.  I put a shirt on and some sandals and of we go.  We had a great time.  Food was delicious, and I tried a couple of new beers at the trivia bar.  Our team (Tequilla Mockingbird) did pretty good, even though it was obvious we were sitting in a crowd of intellectuals.  I even contributed; getting two questions correct for our team the others had no clue about (German word for light beer that also means Grocery Store – Lager, Where is the rock group ABBA from – Sweden).

By the time we got home, I was pretty tired and had mostly written off the ride for tomorrow.  I figured I would wake up whenever I felt rested, and whatever happens after that we will just have to see.

This morning, I’m woken up about 5:30 am rested and hearing a different kind of bird peeping on the back patio in the daybreak light.  The nest of 3 cardinal eggs have hatched during the night and the momma is peeping at her triplets.  I made some coffee and watched them in the low light for a few minutes.  I walked out the front door to get the newspaper and was pleasantly surprised to feel the temperature just a little bit cooler than it normally is.  That frog strangler rain yesterday evening did a nice job of cooling things off.

Inspired, I decided to gear up and go for a ride.  As I taxi out of the neighborhood, Green Onions by B.B. King comes into my ear buds.  The catchy organ rip gets me moving and excited about the ride.  I turn onto the highway and twist the wrist.  I have NO idea where I’m going.  I decide to play a little game of “left/right/left/right”.  I ride the road I’m on until I either get to the end of the road, a stop sign, or a signal light, whichever comes first.  Then I turn left.  At the end of that road, next stop sign, or next signal, whichever comes first, I turn right.  Then left.  Then right, and so on….

The game takes me well out to the west of the city in the sticks.  The summer crops are in full swing now in the deep south.  The milo is headed out on top of the plant, and from what I can tell, no cow is going to go hungry this winter.  Soybeans are set on the plant, and harvesting for these is only a couple weeks away.  The sugar cane is tall, perhaps 6 feet or higher now.  But the stalks are thin and it will be a few months before the sweet juice inside them is ready for processing.  The rice fields are dry, having been drained for a couple of weeks.  The rice is ready to be cut now.  The nutty aroma emitted by the dried rice plants is very nice, coming up through my helmet.

I quit playing my game and started riding more familiar and desirable pavement.  It’s still very early in the morning, and the roads are basically desolate.  The temperature is slowly rising, but so far it’s not too bad under my mesh jacket.  Yesterday’s rain has cleaned up the roads very well – plenty of grip all around today on my worn, but not worn out Michelin PR2s.  I run through several small towns:  Ridge, Rayne, Crowley, Eunice, and Mamou.  Each town is basically quiet, except at the convenience stores where people are buying supplies and fuel for either their work day, or as in my case, play day.

Just outside Mamou, I roll up on the intersection of State Hwy 1161.  What an unbelievable blessing!!!!  This is one of my favorite roads in the entire region.  Basically a freshly paved farm road, Hwy 1161 has some very high speed banked sweepers that are wide open with great visibility.  Just off the intersection, I pull off and stop to drink some water.

http://i1281.photobucket.com/albums/a511/hppants1/IMG_2684_zpsw2drb1dz.jpg

A couple of farm hands are hacking on an old rice combine across the way.  On my side of the road, a dried rice field is swaying in the light breeze.  Down the road in another field, I can see a handful of cows having breakfast on some tall grass.

Refreshed, I gear back up and hit play on my MP3 player:  AC/DC – Thunderstruck.  Oh yeah, that’s the right song and the right road, baby.  I’ve had a hell of a week.  It’s time to uncork this bike right here, right now!!!

I crank the volume up and run the big girl up the gears aggressively, shifting at about 7,000 rpm.  By the time I get to the first curve, posted 40, I’m running 65-ish and my crotch is up against the tank.  I lean the bike over in 3rd gear and the suspension plants beautifully.  The road is clean and wide open.  No cars coming, no dogs, no nothing.  Past the apex, I twist the throttle hard as Brian Johnson starts verse #1.  I get a rush of adrenaline as the bike is pulling hard.  For the next 4 miles, I hit the high speed sweeper with the precision of a Moto GP racer.  My lines are absolutely perfect and it’s like somehow the bike knows what I am thinking.  At times, I add a smidge of counter steer to the bars and she flops over with huge confidence.  For 2 or 3 curves, I’m treated to Angus’ solo and it fuels me like some kind of high octane race gas.  At one point as I’m accelerating out of a very fast left hander, I glance down to the speedo.  I lifted my eyes back up to look through the next curve before I could accurately read my speed.  All I remember is that the first digit was a “1”.  Enough said…..

Too soon, the curves end.  I pull up and back off the throttle.  The bike slows down well below “going to jail” speed and after about 1 mile of straight pavement, Hwy 1161 dead ends at the intersection of Hwy 29.  The boys are wrapping up their song and quite appropriately, I’m feeling pretty electric.  I’ve got a little tingle in my fingers and my heartbeat is elevated.  I turn the music volume down and immediately start to calm.  I turn right on Hwy 29 and set the GPS for home.  Of course I know how to get there, but I like gadgets as much as the next guy.  It was a very nice and easy 50 miles to the house.

The cork is out now.  All pressures are back to normal.

Stay thirsty, my friends……
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« Reply #169 on: August 29, 2016, 11:26:51 am »

The ole Bandit was having starting problems. Seemed like a battery going south. Replaced the battery; nope, not it.  Inspected everything down to the starter. All good. Pulled and disassembled the starter and found this.

http://i228.photobucket.com/albums/ee34/02TAC/Mobile%20Uploads/image_205.jpeg

Cleaned it all up, reinstalled it and all is well.  Bigsmile
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If you could ride 1/2 as good as you think you do, you would be a pro.
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« Reply #170 on: April 05, 2017, 08:50:58 pm »

Last Saturday, I had a nice ride planned on my DR650. A bunch of country roads, one highway, a few trails, then back. Approximately 120 miles - should be hitting reserve just before home. Twenty miles into the ride, I slid out on some slick concrete. I landed on my left shoulder, elbow, and wrist. I hurried and picked up my bike while I still had some adrenalin flowing. I did it one-handed - I wasn't sure if that was even possible as heavy as this pig is. I had to lift my left hand with my right hand and put it on the clutch to get going. I never took it off all the way home because I was afraid it wouldn't go back. I got the hot flash and starting feeling sick and had to unzip my jacket. After about five miles, it went away. Then I got hungry - weird. Even though I was in pain, I actually thought about stopping to get something.  I iced down my shoulder and Lisa made me a grilled cheese. A new shifter arrived today. My wrist and elbow have recovered but it's not going so well for my shoulder. I might have to sit out this weekend - and the weather is forecast to be wonderful.  Sad



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« Reply #171 on: April 06, 2017, 10:47:16 am »

Living in Kansas, our choices of twisty roads are slim to none. I usually tell folks from other areas of the country, that the Kansas curved roads are 90 degrees and usually have a stop sign or red light involved. An easy trip 500 miles to the West or 300 miles Southeast puts me into some of my favorite roads.

This was June of last year just north of Ridgeway, Colorado on Highway 550 (Million Dollar Highway) on my way to Ouray, Colorado. The San Juan Mountains are in the background. I try and get to at least one FJ rally a year. Having to cross the Continental divide to get there is a treat in itself. Highway 50 from Canon City, CO. over Monarch Pass, Elev. 11,312 Ft. The ride past the Blue Mesa Reservoir and through the Black Canyon is one of my favorite rides.






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« Reply #172 on: July 02, 2017, 05:48:52 pm »

January, 1988, Allen Ranch, Bixby, Oklahoma, back in my motocross racing days. The temps were well below freezing in the morning. My friend Earl (a good Okie name) talked me into going. Only seven riders showed up. They delayed the races until it warmed up enough to disc the track which turned it into a mudfest. It was a struggle just to stay upright. I was just happy to finish and did a little sarcastic victory sign over the final jump - which was too muddy to jump.



They gave us all a trophy and a tee shirt. Earl scraped the mud off his bike into a bucket before he washed it. It weighed sixty pounds.
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« Reply #173 on: October 18, 2017, 07:44:31 pm »

So a little quick backstory

17 and a half years ago my great grandfather passed away.  The only thing physically I have left of him is a 1978 Suzuki GS1000E.  At the time I was 15 years old.  I honestly think the only reason I got it was because his second wife (my "step grandmother") figured it wasn't worth anything and wanted to clear space in the basement.  We brought it back home to Texas and proceeded to spend a few weekends working on it and got it running.  I rode it to the ROT (Republic of Texas rally) without registration because we were unable to find ownership info such as title and whatnot after my greatgrand father's death and I didn't know about bonded titles at 15.  

Fast forward to me joining the Marine Corps and the bike stayed in Texas while I went off gallivanting.  It fell into disrepair again.  I got orders to an area back home and got it running again and started the bonded title process.  Things happened with my then marriage at that point and the GS1000 fell to the wayside and fell into disrepair again and the bonded title process left my mind.  I started both processes again and got the bike running.....again.  Shortly thereafter I got orders to California and again both items fell to the wayside.  

Well I left the Marine Corps late last year and early this year got a job with a DFW area Fire Department.  At this point the GS entered my mind again (I've owned motorcycles since I was 16), and I made a special effort to retrieve it from my mom and dad's house and transport it to my new house and my efforts in getting this bike running......yet again, and getting the bonded title done on it picked up a new pace.  I wasn't going anywhere in the near or far future of my life and I felt like I owed it to not only my great grandfather but myself to get this damn thing road legal both mechanically and paperwork wise.  f

I spent far more than I needed to on Partzilla, about 500 dollars on taxes and a bonded title and neglected some other things to focus on at least getting the big stuff done and getting it back on road legally.  This wasn't nearly a full tear down and rebuild as the bike had already been gone though many times.

First time we redid it required a lot of work,  biggest of which was finding a replacement gas tank since the original one had rotted though after spending 13 years in a Tennessee earthen basement and looked like a cartoon with gas coming out of it at various places.  

As "rebuilds" went on it required less and less work to get it back road worthy.   Parts that I can remember replacing right off are, fork seals, spark plugs, gas tank, battery, replaced carbs with rebuilt units, valve adjustment, shock replacement, tires of course, tachometer, blinkers on front, tail light lens, brake pads, brake lines with braided steel, replaced rotted out stock exaust with a Delkievic 4 into 1 system.  I'm sure there's a lot more that I can't remeber but honestly after so many years in a basement I was expecting a lot more work to be done.  These bikes are quite tough.  

The first time it has been road legal with inspection and registration in 30 years.  Last time it was registered was in Tennessee in 1987.

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1978 GS1000,  2004 VSTROM 650, 2008 MazdaSpeed3
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« Reply #174 on: October 18, 2017, 09:07:03 pm »

Yay motorcycles!
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1999 Honda VFR 800 (the Vixen) 2001 Ducati ST4 (Stanley)
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« Reply #175 on: June 07, 2018, 09:41:12 pm »

Well, someone's gotta keep this thread alive.

I went for a dual-sport ride Saturday. The afternoon high was forecast to be 93° so I hauled my bike over to the chosen area - I didn't want to be droning down the highway for endless miles on that bike in the late afternoon heat. I unloaded and started getting my gear on. Doh!



Of course, I was in a small town with no stores that would have anything suitable. I had to go about twenty miles out of my way to get some gloves. Luckily, there was an O'Reilly's there.


Now, I have an extra pair of Mechanix gloves.
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« Reply #176 on: June 11, 2018, 07:24:40 pm »

It's a simple job. . . .

Ever decide to do something that seems simple.  This was me replacing my power windscreen adjuster.  The adjuster itself is only held by 4 bolts.  Getting to it, as you can see from the pic, is a different story.  I saved myself hundreds of dollars in labor, but I can't say the same for my frustration.  Did I mention that this was my first time removing the plastics from my ST 1300?  From start to finish this was a 5 hour job.  I was excited to get it done and went for a ride with my wife for several hours.  Well. After about 2 hours I noticed that the adjuster wasn't working again.  So, after the ride I spent an hour using a short cut and found that I apparently didn't seat one of the four electrical connectors. 100% and it had come loose.  Problem solved and hopefully the new adjuster lasts for a long long time. . . https://uploads.tapatalk-cdn.com/20180611/f20b6d1dcfffe17ef28763f1c2b829ef.jpg

Sent from my SM-G955U using Tapatalk
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« Reply #177 on: June 12, 2018, 12:40:43 am »

2018 Central FJ Rally, Day #2 ride.

A ride into Missouri to the Rainbow Trout & Game Resort. The food is great, (The Amaretto Trout Florentine was amazing) good, and the ride there and back is spectacular. One of the highlights of the ride was crossing Bull Shoals lake on the last remaining ferry in Arkansas. On the way back to Arkansas, it got quite warm and everyone had thoughts that a few rain drops would be welcomed to help cool things a bit. We ended up with buckets of raindrops the size of dimes falling from the sky. My friend Ron and I had flashbacks to the 2015 Black Hills FJ Rally and the flash flood in Hill City. The rain let up a bit and we headed out for the final 60 miles back to the Cliff House. Not far along, we got hit by another round of heavy rain. We were all already soaked, so we just kept going. Nothing like a bit of adversity during a ride.



Fred
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