Good God, Will It Never End?!?!

Yet another Hypermotard review.

Nice test rider, eh? I wonder if she's available to deliver my Hypermotard around Christmas time...?

Still More Tweaking of the 450X...

Check out my new weapon ... weapon of choice (with all due credit to Fat Boy Slim).

Customizing of my CRF450X continues!

To be safe on pavement (note I didn't say "legal"), I need a brake light. The CRF450X has a tail light, but it doesn't function as a brake light. I solved the problem by installing a hydraulic switch from K&S Technologies. It's a trick little bit of technology, replacing the banjo bolt on the rear brake line. Pump the brake pedal and hydraulic pressure throws the switch -- simple! Installation was easy, but I did have to bleed my brake line afterward.

Hydraulic Brake Light Switch.

Of course, the hydraulic switch has to actuate something. I bought a two stage LED light designed as a drop-in replacement for the CRF's petite little tail light (much more aesthetic than cluttering up the rear end with a huge bulb assembly). It's made by a Japanese company, Dirt Freak (like most of these things, though, I ordered it through CRFs Only). Not only is the new light assembly considerably brighter (8 hyper bright LEDs replacing the stock 4), but the LEDs are two stage, meaning they double in intensity for braking. Installation was easy ... after I figured out that the Honda goobers used black wiring for 12 VDC. Yeah, I wired it backwards the first time, 'cause everyone knows black is ground. Dweeee ... With an incandescent bulb, it wouldn't have mattered, but LEDs are forward biased, of course. (Sorry, my electrical engineering degree is showing.)

Anyway, I now have a brake light.

CRF's Only, your one stop for all things CRF. It's hard getting a free decal out of them, though...

I was having trouble muscling the 450 around at a standstill. With the 230 -- and most dirtbikes -- it's pretty easy to grab near the rear fender and hoist the ass end of the bike around, whether it's to put the bike on a stand or shove it against the wall of my overcrowded garage or to get it situated in the back of my pickemup truck. The 450's subframe doesn't extend back beneath the rear fender, though (Honda shaved off a few pounds in order to be more competitive, I'm sure), so every time I would muscle it around, it felt like I was putting too much stress on the plastic fender. Solution? The Tugger! Now I just grab the strap and heave the rear end of the bike wherever I want it. They make a strap for the front, too -- convenient for dragging your bike out of a bog, I bet! -- but I think I'm set with this one for now.

The Tugger.

The Tugger's nothing more than a nylon strap, so you could probably make your own pretty easily, but you'd need to come up with the nifty aluminum mounting hardware.

The high-tech forks on the 450 are supposed to have excess air pressure bled off periodically -- before every race, it says in the competition handbook that came with the bike. (Where this pressure comes from in a closed system is beyond me. Electronics I know, but fluid dynamics...?) Bleeding this fork pressure is kind of a pain, requiring that the front end of the bike be unloaded and a screw at the top of each fork be backed out. System Tech Racing makes these cool little push-button valves that replace the screws, rendering the operation tool-free. They even come in Honda Red.

Stock pain-in-the-butt screw for bleeding off fork pressure.

Fixed!

Needless to say, there's not a whole lot of room to carry things on a dirtbike, but I need a few key items to make tire repairs out in the boonies. I couldn't decide between the fender packs made by MSR Racing or Moose Racing, so I ordered one of each. Some people only carry a 21-inch tube; if they have a rear flat, they cram the 21-incher into their 18-inch rear tire. That's okay, but I always figure if I'm going to the trouble of changing out the tube, I don't want to have to do it all over again later to get the right size tube in there. Crammed into an 18-inch tire, the 21-inch tube's gonna have some folds in it, and I've found that tubes rub and wear along such folds. In other words, if you're smart you're not gonna leave the wrong tube in there forever. I'd rather put the right one in to begin with, which means carrying two spare tubes on the bike.

Moose Racing Fender Pack.

Buying both fender packs actually worked out rather well, as the MSR model was wider and fit the rear fender of the CRF better, whereas the Moose model was perfect for the front fender. I got lucky. Both bags seem equally well made. Only some rough trail riding will answer the question of how well they stay in place. I've seen riders lose such bags; worse, I've seen bags get tossed into wheels and chains, causing accidents. My front bag seems totally secure, but to make sure the rear stays on, I think I'm going to need to do a little Dremel work on my fender.

MSR Fender Pack.

Of course, carrying tubes is useless if you can't break down your tire. I didn't want to carry both tire irons and axle wrenches on the bike, so I opted for Blue Ridge Racing's T-7 Tire Tools in 22 and 32 millimeter sizes to fit the CRF. Wrapped in a rag so they won't rattle and drive me nuts, they fit in the MSR fender pack with the spare tube. Add a couple small wrenches for the CRF's pinch bolts and rim locks, a couple CO2 cartridges, and an inflation gizmo swiped out of my Progressive Suspension tire repair kit, and I'm set. These items also fit (with room to spare) in the MSR fender bag. (Nice thing about the MSR bag is its size. With a 21-inch heavy duty tube, the Moose bag is packed to the gills.) I'll probably toss in a patch kit as well for those truly exasperating rides with multiple flats.

BRR's nifty iron-wrench combos, CO2 cartridges from Moose Racing, and a refilling tool taken from the tire repair kit I carry on my other bikes.

Since the 450X has the magic starter button, I need a pigtail to connect my Battery Tender and keep things nicely charged. This is actually one of the first things I did to the bike, but I'm just now getting around to documenting it.

Pigtail for keeping the battery topped off.

Last item for this blog entry, I wanted to try these filter skins from PC Racing. They come in a 3-pack. Clever idea, works like a condom for your air filter. You oil these up and slip one over your air filter. Carry the backups in the ziplock baggy and when your air filter's dirty, replace the used skin with a clean one. When all three are dirty, just clean them up and prep them for the next ride. They should both extend my range and increase the life of the 450's air filter.

Filter Skins.

I'm almost done prepping the 450 to be my ultimate offroad weapon. I'd like to replace the plastic guards on the front and rear brake disks with something more substantial. And I'd really like to install a Trail Tech Computer. And maybe one of those bags that hangs on the number plate for stashing snacks, rain gear, my camera, etc. And maybe an aftermarket gas tank with a larger capacity. And maybe ... Heh heh.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Make Them Stop!

Yet another review.

Although the Hypermotard may not have been intended as a pure hooligan bike, that doesn't mean it can't tap into a rider's inner thug. I usually try not to ride like a moron, but I just couldn't resist on this bike with the end of summer approaching faster than the entrance to the next sweeper. I was compelled to approach every corner as fast as possible ... with the rear wheel swapping, brakes howling, and my pulse a palpitatin'.

My "inner thug" is growing impatient...

Obviously, They Won't Quit Until I Buy One!

Superbike Planet ran a brief article on the Ducati Hypermotard today. I absolutely love the opening paragraph --

If Ducati's Hypermotard were a teenager, it would sit in the back of the class, make smart-ass comments at inopportune times and then, when the bell rang and the halls filled with kids, it would leap down the stairs, pushing and stuffing past the "good" kids.

-- because, just like the Hypermotard, I am that kid!

Now ... where's my piggybank?

K Should Have Been for "Keep it Zipped!"

File this one under truly bizarre and unbelievable:

Biker's penis hit by lightning

A Croatian motorbiker's penis was zapped by lightning as he stopped beside the road to take a leak.

Ante Djindjic, 29, from Zagreb, said: "I don't remember what happened. One minute I was taking a leak and the next thing I knew I was in hospital.

"Doctors said the lightning went through my body and because I was wearing rubber boots it earthed itself through my penis."

Djindjic, who suffered light burns to his chest and arms, added: "Thankfully, the doctors said that there would be no lasting effects, and my penis will function normally eventually."

I might think twice next time I get off my bike to take a leak at the side of the road!


Source: Ananova News.

I Love a Clean Bike!

The Beemer is back together again, spotlessly clean, lubed, and ready to rock-n-roll. (Well, almost ready; it's still missing that righthand mirror. Grrrrr...) "What's with the bandaid?" you ask. Don't you remember the hail punching a hole in my seat on the way to Mexico this past spring?

There's a story behind the bandaid, though. I walked out of the office one day a week or so ago and noticed that the right side of Garrett's brand new GSX-R750 was road-rashed. Oh my! He'd binned his new bike and never bothered to tell any of us. Probably too embarrassed. Should I say something about it to him? Offer my condolences? How about if I just stick a bunch of bandaids on the scratched up bodywork. Ha! When Garrett came out later and found the bandaids, what did he do? Did he dream up some truly clever way to take his revenge on me? Nah ... he just moved all the bandaids to my Beemer. How original, eh? Like there's any challenge to finding places to stick bandaids on my 3 year old dualsport bike, which has seen the ground more times than I can even remember. Whatever! Lame. Lame. Lame, Garrett!

Anyway, I kinda liked the bandaid covering the tear in my seat cover, so I left it. It even survived the Kansas mudbath and subsequent cleanup!

There's a bit more to the story, though. How did Garrett drop his bike? You're probably wondering that. Seems he went around the toll gate on one of Oklahoma's turnpikes. He figured they wouldn't be able to track him down via the temporary dealer tag that was on his bike at the time. But when he went around the gate and got back on the gas to make his great escape, there was some gravel in the turn and he went down. I can just imagine the turnpike authorities reviewing the tape later and falling out of their chairs laughing.

Toll avoided: 75 cents
Trashed GSX-R bodywork: $1,000
Videotape of bonehead move: Priceless

K is for Kansas Mud Kleanup

Okay, so I've finally gotten all of Kansas scrubbed out of the Beemer. Lemme tell you, it wasn't an easy job! The Dakar says, "You ever take me there again, I'll toss your sorry ass in the ditch and ride home alone."

The wife says I'm obsessive ... that I go to extremes. I don't know where she gets that impression.


Sure, most people just take a hose to their bike and call it good. You already know that I'm not most people!



Had to get everything out from around the rear shock, of course, and I wanted to lube all the swingarm bearings just in case any of that Bentonite crap worked its way past the seals. So the rear end had to come off.


Same for the steering head bearings (which I noticed in this tear down are starting to feel like they've developed a bit of a notch when the bars are centered: brand new bearings next tear down, I guess). So the front end also had to come off.


There was the usual pile of parts spread out on the garage floor.



And, of course, we got everything cleaned up beneath the countershaft sprocket cover.

Now all I have to do is put it all back together again...

CRF450X Tweaking: More Bits and Bobs

Between cleaning up my muddy gear and tearing down the BMW so that I can scour the Kansas muck from every nook and cranny, I sneak across the garage and wrench on the new CRF450X every now and again. Call it attention deficit disorder.

Here are a few more 450X bits and bobs offered up to the gods Protection and Preservation.

Before

If you saw the photo of the mud packed under the countershaft sprocket cover of my Beemer, you understand the problem I'm trying to correct here. The fragile and mostly enclosed plastic bauble above has got to go...

After

This trick bit of red-anodized aluminum ("aluminium" for you Brits) is from Hammerhead Designs. It's really billed as a case guard, more so than a sprocket cover. Its purpose is to protect your engine casing in the unlikely event of your chain letting go and whipping forward with several thousand RPMs worth of case-holing force. There's certainly no space for any crapola from Kansas to pack up here, and as long as I don't ride barefoot, I shouldn't have to worry about my sprocket and chain dicing off one of my toes.

Before

The master cylinder for the CRF's rear brake ... totally exposed.

Problem Solved!

This stout, nicely designed plate is from Works Connection. Perfect fit. Nothing short of a round from my .357 magnum is gonna get through.

Before

This cheesy white plastic thing is intended to protect the rear brake caliper. I've read in the forums at CRFs Only and Thumper Talk where it's been known to crack/break just from normal riding, let alone a get-off. Come on, Honda, you can do better...

Fixed!

Another nice piece from Works Connection to the rescue.

Stay tuned ... there'll probably be more.

J is for "Just Turn Around Now!"

2007 Flint Hills Stampede, Council Grove, KS

Kansas ... whose idea was this anyway?

It rained. I left my rain suit at home. It was cold. We all got bogged down in this horrible stretch of Bentonite clay that our ride leader never should have led us into, 'cause he effing knew from previous years that it was there. Argh! To top it off, he was over the hill and long gone while we were stuck -- never saw him the rest of the day. What the hell kind of ride leader is that?!?!

I'm sure this Bentonite crap is the stuff the ancients used to make bricks for those old adobe structures that are still standing after thousands of years. This nasty shit packed into the wheels of my Dakar like concrete and the bike simply would not move. Took a friggin' hour and a half to fight our way out of it! The whole time there are rocks lodging in my chain and sprockets setting up the most godawful racket you've ever heard. With the help of other riders, we'd move our bikes about ten feet, then have to stop and dig some of the Bentonite out of the wheel wells, using our tire irons like picks and chisels. This went on for nearly a quarter mile!!! I was muddy from head to toe. I burned my arm on my exhaust. I was soaked in sweat from all the exertion fighting the mud, so that the rest of the day I got to be cold. I don't think I was ever truly warm again until about nine o'clock that night when I took a hot shower and then crawled into my sleeping bag to hide.

Took the bike to a car wash and blasted the mud with a high pressure hose afterward. The mud sat there and laughed at me! The worst of it would not budge, even when blasted directly by a high pressure car wash hose! I was afraid of doing more damage to the bike by riding it the 300 miles home, so I loaded it on Chris's trailer and hitched a ride. This turned out to be a smart move, as I later found hardened clay and rocks packed solid under my countershaft sprocket cover. Three hundred more miles of grinding my chain and sprocket through that would have surely destroyed them.

This is about as much of a ride report as you're gonna get out of me, folks. It sucked. All that time and expense to go to Kansas and ride one 100 mile loop on gravel roads. I can ride gravel roads right down the street from my house! I broke off a mirror (same mirror I just recently replaced, dammit!) and my chain is probably toast, maybe my sprockets, too. One guy burned out the clutch on his KLR, and I know my clutch took a beating, shortening its life expectancy by who knows how many thousand miles. On top of all that, I'm looking at a whole lotta hours tearing the bike down to the frame to clean out the mud-now-concrete that's completely packed in around the rear shock and up under the seat -- already put in about 3 hours on it today and didn't even make a dent in the job.

@^#*$&%!!!!!

My Dakar bogged down and going nowhere fast. With that much mud packed around the front wheel, it becomes a sled. (Photo by Daniel Holloway.)

Finally free, I let the cameraman know what I think of this ride. (Photo by Daniel Holloway.)


The entire group gives a big "You're Number One!" to our missing ride leader. (Photo by Daniel Holloway.)


And I take aim at the guy who got me into this mess! (Photo by Daniel Holloway.)


Lunch ... later that day. At least I'm smiling at him again. (Photo by Daniel Holloway.)


A high point of the trip. On the ride up there, Danny and I stopped for breakfast at this diner in Ponca City. The owner came out, sat down with us, and talked about motorcycles while we ate. When it was time to leave, he picked up our tickets and told us breakfast was on him. Great guy! Great establishment! And great food! If you're ever in Ponca City, stop in at the Cornerstone for some vittles.


The absolute coolest way to arrive at a dualsport rally: towing your offroad bike with your street bike!


I thought this was a pretty neat camping option. This belongs to Steve, a friend of Danny's. Steve was kind enough to feed us for the weekend. He did a wonderful job. The food was delicious and Steve thought of everything, even toothpicks. Thank you, Steve!


Whose idea was this anyway?


As ugly as it gets: a look under my Dakar's countershaft sprocket cover after I got home. The block of clay and rock you see there is as solid as concrete...

Not to end on too negative of a note, I should add that the camaraderie experienced at the rally was top notch. Met lots of really great guys and enjoyed getting to talk with them about bikes, wives, and life in general. Got to hang out with my buds. The BBQ was great. The raffle was cool -- I even won two prizes (a bottle of slime and a can of spray polish). Council Grove looked to be a really neat little town, with lots of interesting architecture. The Flint Hills scenery was really pretty nice, much better than expected. There were a lot of times I wanted to stop for a photo, but because of the rain I had left my camera back in my tent where it could stay safe and dry (along with my rain suit, I'd neglected to bring the rain cover for my tank bag). Our ride after the Battle of the Bentonite was really great fun. Hats off to Monty, the guy who stepped in and led our abbreviated group for the remainder of the day. Monty cracked me up by apologizing for not setting a faster pace ... when we were already doing 70 mph on wet gravel roads! What a joker!

You never know ... by the time this rolls around next year, I might even go back. I am, if nothing else, a true glutton for punishment...

Kansas Will Never Be the Same...

Flint Hills, here we come!

Danny, Chris, and I are packed and ready to head out in the morning -- well, okay, so we all know Chris never packs sooner than 5 minutes before the actual departure time (in fact, sometimes he's still packing after the scheduled departure). I'm packed, though. Danny and I will hit the road in the morning. Chris is hauling his bike and will meet us up there. He should arrive before us; the plan is for him to lay claim to a nice spot in the campground.

Say hello to Pierre:


Assuming Pierre can hang on tight enough, he's coming along for the ride. Pierre supervised my packing of the Dakar, though most of his suggestions had to do with what type of cheese I should take along and where I should stow it -- something about it needing to be accessible in transit.

When I get back, I'll probably let Pierre write the ride report, since I'm so far behind on things.


Later, gators...

CRF450X Customizing Continues...

Okay, back to fortifying the CRF450X against the rigors of the trail, my penchant for riding over my head and falling off the bike, and the cruel vendetta Mistress Fate seems to have lobbied against me.

Next order of business is those flimsy plastic things Honda insults our intelligence by calling radiator guards. Biggest problem with the stock guards is not that a rock could easily pummel right through the little plastic fins (although that's highly likely!), but that there is virtually no support against impact. The radiators essentially attach on their inboard side to the bike's downtube and the outboard side just hangs by nothing more than one small bolt attached to the shrouds, which are also plastic and offer no protection against impact. As already mentioned, I fell my very first outing on the 450X. As luck would have it, the left radiator came down on high ground (the ridge between the two deep ruts that had thrown me) such that the shroud and the radiator absorbed the brunt of the impact. The result is that my left radiator isn't exactly square anymore. It looks kinda like Hulk Hogan took it in his hands and gave it a nice twist. A decent set of guards with a third attachment point could have prevented the damage.

Stock radiator guards, if you can call them that ... just flimsy plastic.

I did some research and came to the conclusion that some of the better aftermarket guards were the ones manufactured by Flatland Racing. Also, my buddy Cricket recommended them; he's got them on his KTM 450EXC. I have lots of other friends who ride their DR-Z400's, WR450's, and so on with nothing more than the stock setup, and so far their radiators seem to be doing okay (I'm not going so far as to say their radiators aren't tweaked from get-offs, though), but I think they've just been lucky. All it takes is falling just right and you're in a world of hurt.

Installation only took about an hour, despite some fitting problems caused by my out-of-spec left radiator. I'm quite pleased with them. They seem like what should have been on the bike to begin with. (Are you listening Honda?) I really wish I had installed them before I ever took the bike offroad.

Flatland Racing radiator guards ... you can see how the guard comes back around behind the radiator and mounts to the frame of the bike, providing that all important support against impact.

Not much is getting through these puppies!

Okay, radiator problem addressed. Might have added a few more pounds to the bike, but I swear I'm going to go on a diet soon. Ha!

Next thing on the agenda is protecting the bike's brake and clutch lever ... and my hands. Can't even tell you how many times I've whacked trees in passing on the tighter trails through the woods. Without handguards, I would have surely broken several fingers by now. And the levers are usually the first things to snap in a fall.

I've been pleased with the Emgo handguards on my other bike, but I wanted to try something different on the 450, something with a bit more bling. The Acerbis (say "Ah-cher-bee") Rally II guards you see below seemed to fit the bill. Unfortunately, I didn't read the catalog description closely enough. I thought the primary guard was metal, like other guards I've used. These are 100% plastic, though. Acerbis boasts, "Lighter weight with equivalent strength!" Color me skeptical. I'm too lazy to send them back, so we'll see how well they hold up. I just can't imagine them absorbing the same impact as the aluminum guards, though. Time will tell.

Acerbis Rally II handguards ... stylin'!

Hands are a terrible thing to waste...

Since I plan to sneak around a bit (illegally) on pavement (generally just to get from one trailhead to another) I bought some cheap Acerbis mirrors so I could watch for Johnny Law coming up behind me. We'll see how well these hold up, too. They kinda fold down out of the way for offroad riding, but sometimes if they're angled just right, you can blind your buddies on the trail after you pass them. Send them crashing off into the bushes! Always great fun!

Acerbis mirror.

Last thing for this blog entry (of course there'll be more another day!) is to protect my fork seals. The CRF450X has lower guards (which really need some cool stickers to cover all that blah white plastic!) to protect its inverted forks, but there's still a lot of dirt and dust that accumulates on the fork tubes and eventually eats away at the seals. Best to go ahead and hide those babies from the environment. These are Dirt Skins. They go on easy and come in many colors, including Honda red.

Unprotected fork seals.

Dirt Skins. Kinda like safe sex.

Stay tuned. I'm not done.

If you're wondering ... Yes, I will eventually get out and ride the damn thing! First, however, the Beemer and I are off to the Flint Hills Stampede, a dualsport rally in Kansas. My buddies Danny and Chris will be going with me. Maybe we'll see you there...?

I is for Impenetrable...

Okay, so I'm busy making my new CRF450X mine; that is to say, customizing it to suit my needs. First thing is to protect my investment. Those radiators are vulnerable; in fact, I've already tweaked the left one in my very first fall -- Dammit! We'll address that weakness post haste with some radiator guards.

But first: the most vulnerable part of any offroad motorcycle (offroad vehicle for that matter) is the underbelly. Frankly, I think Honda should be ashamed for selling the damn thing with nothing more than a fragile vinyl sheet and a couple wimpy plastic wings protecting the sump. I mean this is their flagship offroader, not a bargain basement entry-level bike. This isn't protection. It's like a gazelle just rolling over for the Tiger and saying, "Go ahead, rip my stomach open and feast on my giblets, Mister Puddy-tat."

Stock skid plate, such as it is.

See what I mean?

I researched skid plates/sump guards/belly pans -- whatever you want to call them -- and decided the toughest on the market was from Works Connection. It was also the most expensive of the options I looked at, but, hey, were you listening when I said this was the most vulnerable part of an offroad bike? The guard arrived super fast from CRFs Only, a great place for all things CRF, and I installed it in less than 30 minutes. Fit and finish are excellent. Everything lined up great (not always true with aftermarket parts!).

Let me tell you, this is a damn impressive piece of hardware. Godzilla himself couldn't rip through this sucker! Yes, it probably added a few pounds to my bike, but I think it's worth it. Bring on the rocks around Clayton Lake; I'm ready!





As the CRF450X and I continue to prepare for true offroad mayhem, I'll post more. Stay tuned!

(And, yeah, I know I still owe everyone the second half of the "Chicken Run" ride report. It's coming. Promise!)

They're Continuing to Taunt Me...

Ducati's new Hypermotard ... a.k.a. my next bike.

How many motorcycles are revolutionary enough to warrant an article in the New York Times? Probably not many.

I think they just know how bad I'm wanting one...

Labor Day Weekend Ride: Chicken Run! (Part One)

Day One, Saturday, 1 Sep 2007.

Normally, I avoid being on the road during major holiday weekends like Labor Day. There are just too many dumbasses out there looking to run over motorcyclists. These cagers (and, yes, I intend that to be derogatory) aren't attentive on a good day, let alone a weekend where they've been slamming down Budweisers, broiling what few brain cells they have in the hot summer sun, and staying up way past their bedtimes because they've been relieved of the requirement to report to work on Monday morning. On rural roads, these are primarily your lake people on a beer run, your ATV'ers needing ice to put on Uncle Earl's sprained ankle (those ATVs are so difficult to ride!), and your general run-of-the-mill bubba on a convenience store expedition for Spam, BBQ sauce, and Skoal. These are typically not your doctor and lawyer types; those guys have all donned leather and do-rags, loaded up the pectorally-enhanced spouse, and rolled their well-polished and overpriced "wild hogs" out of the garage to assemble and ride as a herd at ludicrously slow speeds, clogging the roads and creating quite an obnoxious racket with their “loud pipes save lives” exhaust strategy. These gregarious poseurs present their own type of road hazard, but at least they're predictable. As long as these Sunday riders don't take me down with them when they crash their chromed behemoths, it's all good.

But Danny wanted to go for a scooter ride and proclaimed that the best fried chicken on the planet is to be found in Springdale, Arkansas -- at the AQ Chicken House to be precise, a place where the menu boasts that their fried chicken tastes just like the chicken grandma used to cook in an old iron skillet.

How could I resist?

Early Saturday morning, I said goodbye to bahwife (still slumbering), hopped on my 2004 Lucifer Orange (honest, that’s what they call the color) Triumph Tiger 955i (packed the night before), and headed on over to Danny's house (stopping on the way to top off the Tiger's gas tank). (“Enough with the damn parentheticals already, Brian!”) Danny and his lovely wife Kim were pretty much ready to go when I arrived, so we hit the road, Danny in the lead on his BMW R1200GS, 'cause everyone knows I don't really like to take point. We'd kinda discussed a route, but mostly just planned to wander up through northeastern Oklahoma and eventually into Arkansas. Danny was joking that this was the first annual "We don't know where we're going" tour. I suggested we swing by the spillway at Dripping Springs State Park first, because they'd never seen it and it's kinda cool, also the road gets a bit scenic and semi-twisty through there, just before you roll into the town of Okmulgee, where I once dropped my ZZR at a stop sign, got disgusted and turned around and rode back home, abandoning a weekend solo road trip (all of which I related to Danny and Kim during one of our morning stops, just so they could pay homage to the stop sign when we rolled through that area and be careful not to succumb to whatever evil forces might still be lurking there).

My Tiger and the spillway at Dripping Springs.

There was a lot of water pouring over the spillway, more than I'd ever seen before, in fact. Made us wonder what it must have been like back when Oklahoma was getting so much rain. We hiked up to the top of the spillway, something I'd never done before. Pretty cool, but Danny said all that running water made him have to pee. On the way down, I got dizzy, stumbled, and nearly fell. Danny reached out and caught me, saving me from a fall that would have surely broken my neck. He put me over his shoulder and carried me down the rest of the way, then went back up for Kim, never breaking a sweat or even getting winded.

Danny's my hero.

Okay, so that part never really happened. But it would have been cool if it had, and I know Danny would have saved me. He’s like Superman, Chuck Norris, and Barney the Dinosaur all rolled into one.

Danny and Kim climbing to the top of the spillway.

About this time, Danny noticed a warning symbol flashing on the dash of his BMW. “Danger, Will Robinson!” We didn’t know what the hell it meant, but Kim looked it up in the owner’s manual: bulb failure. Good thing we had her along to read directions, as we all know men are incapable of such things. It’s kinda obvious that the little symbol is a bulb … after you look it up. Turned out his headlight was kaput. We stopped at an auto parts store in Okmulgee, but they didn’t have the right bulb. Danny still had his high beam, so we weren’t in dire straits. We pressed on to Muskogee, where we tried another auto parts store. When they didn’t have the right bulb either, we asked where we might find the nearest motorcycle dealership. This turned out to be a nice Honda-Kawasaki dealership, Motorsports Muskogee, just off the turnpike. It was a really nice place, the employees were helpful and friendly, and the salesmen weren't pushy. They had the right bulb in stock, so we fixed Danny’s headlight. There was a rack of magazines by the counter and I got to see the August issue of Ride Oklahoma, which features an article by yours truly. Cool! They also had a brand new Kawasaki Concours 1400 and the new Versys, so Danny and I got to sit on both, something we'd been wanting to do (we had, in fact, ridden to the two Kawasaki dealerships in OKC for that very purpose just a weekend or two before).

The Concours definitely felt like an ultimate replacement for my ZZR1200, just not any time soon as I’m still in love with the ZZR and she only has 33,000 miles on her. Plus, the ZZR is long since paid for! I don’t really care for the color of the Concours (I’m sure they’ll offer other colors in upcoming years) and some of the styling leaves me cold -- plus that damn boat anchor of an exhaust pipe would absolutely have to go! (what did I call it once before, a trolling lure for catching sperm whales?) -- but the riding position seemed perfect, the seat was comfy, and I know the motor’s a blast. The only real issues I’ve heard from those who’ve bought the Concours relate to excessive heat on the right side. Hopefully, Kawasaki’s getting that problem fixed up quick.

The Versys was a very interesting machine. Danny fell in love with it. We’d both like to test ride one and see what it’s like. Looks to be the perfect around-town, do-everything rig. With some hard bags, you could even tour on it in reasonable comfort (just not at the kinda speeds I like to run). There was also a lovely blue 650R, first one I’ve seen in that color, and I thought it was a gorgeous machine for the price. Both it and the Versys are excellent bargains. The 650R strikes me as the perfect entry-level sportbike. If my wife was interested in riding, I’d be bringing one home for her.

Eventually, we saddled up and pressed on. We stopped at Fort Gibson's historical site. I'd never been there before. It was, as Danny put it, “really historical.” (Yawn.) I don't really know the background. I'm sure the Calvary was involved, some settlers were protected, some Indians were slaughtered, or maybe some outlaws were hunted down and hanged. Google the place if you're really interested.

Danny and Kim at Fort Gibson, looking very historical on the R1200GS.

We followed Highway 80 north around the Fort Gibson Reservoir. This is a nice twisty stretch of road, one of the best I’ve found in Oklahoma. If there had been any chicken strips on the Tiger’s Tourances, they would have perished on this stretch of road. Great fun! In Hulbert, we hung a right and headed on into Tahlequah, where we caught 82 and turned north. I usually take Highway 10 out of Tahlequah because I like that ride along the banks of the Illinois River, but there was an offroad area near Disney that Danny wanted to check out (and I wanted to ride Space Mountain – imagine my disappointment when I discovered that we weren’t going to visit that Disney!).

Highway 82 gets nice and twisty between Salina and Spavinaw, with even better pavement conditions than the run into Hulbert on Highway 80. I'd ridden this road before, but it had been an early morning ride in dense fog and freezing temps, so I really hadn't been able to appreciate it much. This time was a lot of fun. We were both getting our lean on. Danny said he dragged the toe of his boot through one corner and scared himself. I think I might have seen Kim drag a knee – pretty gnarly riding for a passenger!

We whipped into Spavinaw State Park so Danny and Kim could see the long spillway there. It wasn't flowing as much water as the last time I had seen it (several years ago), except for the draw-down pipe (at least I think that's what it is) which feeds the river that runs through the park. The water looked awful cool and inviting, and I was dearly tempted to strip down and jump in. Of course, the park was crowded with RVs and campers and folks fishing and playing in the water. Danny was quick to remind me that this wasn’t Mexico and my getting nekkid would probably be frowned upon.

While watching the water raging from the bottom of the draw-down pipe, we heard a woman scream, "My baby! Someone save my baby!" and we saw a tiny pale shape bob once at the surface then churn under in the roiling water. Danny immediately dived into the raging river, narrowly missing being crushed against several large boulders against which the water was exploding with remorseless fury. I saw him go under, heard Kim gasp as she too thought that he might never come up, but a second later we spotted him fighting the current ten or twenty yards downstream. In his arms, he was cradling an infant! Handicapped by the inability to use both arms for swimming, he fought the current in a ferocious side-stroke, like Mark Spitz on steroids. When he reached the bank, he laid the tiny lifeless infant out on the ground and began to administer CPR, while the rest of us stood frozen in shock. A moment later, the baby spat up water and began to cry. Danny handed it to the mother, who was beside herself with joy.

Danny's my hero.

Okay, so none of that really happened. But if there had been a baby in the water, Danny would have jumped right in. Danny’s like Arnold before he became Governor of California, back when he was cool and could scare away terrorists by simply flexing his man-muscles. Danny’s like Johnny Weissmuller, John Wayne, and John Denver all rolled into one.

Most exciting thing at Spavinaw was these kids trying to slap each other around with a dead fish.

Next we checked out the offroad riding area near Disney. We wound up taking Danny's GS (two-up no less!) and my Tiger down a gravel road that was a wee bit uncomfortable ... at least it was for me. The gravel was deep and peppered with softball-size rocks. I had no scary moments or anything ... just wasn't comfortable putting the big, heavy, purty-orange and completely unscratched beastie in that position. Danny didn’t appear to be bothered riding the gravel on his GS, but, ya know, Danny’s the man. Danny’s my hero. The offroad area appeared to be suitable for jeeps, rock climbers, and ATVs -- not motorcycles. In fact, there wasn't a single two-wheeler in sight. We got some strange looks taking our big dualsport bikes in there. I didn't see many helmets amongst the bubbas on their ATVs. I hope all those guys have signed their donor cards so they’re at least contributing something to society.

Somewhere along the way I whined about missing breakfast and being hungry. My overactive imagination burns quite a few calories, ya know? I accused Danny and Kim of having eaten a big breakfast before I got to their house and not offering me any. They assured me that they hadn't eaten either. We stopped at a convenience store for gas and I sprang for some mediocre cold meat sandwiches from the deli case. It was better than nothing. My sandwich bread was soggy, which made me think of the old National Lampoon's Vacation bit where the wife screams to Chevy Chase, “The dog peed on the sandwiches!” At one point, I choked on a bite of my sandwich and would have surely died were it not for ... nah, you're not gonna fall for that again, are you? I’m sure Danny does know the Heimlich Maneuver, though. All heroes know it.

We continued on into Arkansas, eventually hitting the AQ Chicken House in time for the dinner crowd. I told our waitress we had ridden 350 miles just for their chicken. She assured me it would be worth it and didn't seem at all surprised or impressed, as if folks arrive from much greater distances on a regular basis. The chicken was delicious. So were the biscuits. And the fried okra. And everything else. I didn't see grandma in the kitchen, but Danny assured me she was back there, chained to her iron skillet, whipped periodically to make sure she kept the fried chicken flowing.

Danny gets friendly with a giant bronze chicken in the foyer of AQ Chicken House.

Was it the best fried chicken I have ever eaten? Hmmmmm … I dunno. It certainly ranks right up there. I bet Bob Golly would give it a 9.5. I’d definitely ride 350 miles again for some. But then, I’d pretty much ride 350 miles for most anything … except maybe a visit to the dentist. Or a colonoscopy.

Danny loves his fried chicken, gnawing all the way down to the bone and then some.

While we ate, I saw Danny watching the other diners, ready to spring into action should anyone get a chicken bone lodged in their throat. He’s always ready for action. Danny’s like Jean Claude van Damme, Marshall Dillon, and Marcus Welby all rolled into one. He’s my hero.

After dinner, we headed for Eureka Springs as the sun was getting ready for its closing act. We didn't have any motel reservations, which was a mistake. It's hard to make reservations when you're on a "We don't know where we're going" ride, though. Every motel in Eureka Springs had the "No Vacancy" light blazing in angry red neon. The nice lady at the Ozark Swiss Inn (where I stayed for the ZZR rally earlier this year) told us that there was exactly one room left at the 1876 Inn down the road. You might remember the place because it’s where the guy is always out front on the north side of Highway 62 waving at you every morning as you ride by, trying to get you to pull in for their breakfast buffet. If you've been to Eureka Springs in the last three years, you've seen this guy (cause I have). It's always the same guy.

Turned out the hotel had two rooms left, but one was the Honeymoon Suite, which featured a big round bed suitable for a night-to-remember. Danny, Kim, and I didn't think we wanted to remember this trip that bad. Sharing one huge round bed (rotating and with mirrors on the ceiling?) would have just been too bizarre. We took the other room, which had a queen and a double bed. Before we'd even finished checking in, someone on the phone wanted a room, and a Harley guy and his woman came in and nabbed the Honeymoon Suite, so it was a good thing we arrived when we did. Two minutes later and we’d have been out of luck.

The 1876 Inn had great covered motorcycle parking (I think our bikes were the only non-Harleys parked there, though), but the rates were high. I’m used to paying about $45 for a room in Eureka Springs. This room -– which wasn’t anything to write home about -- was a hundred bucks.

Some TV channels were flipped, showers were taken, a beer run was made, and before you could say “Danny’s my hero!” we were all snoring away. Oh and Danny finally got his feet rubbed while on a motorcycle trip with me … just not by me. There are definite advantages to hauling your woman with you!

Stay tuned for Day Two in which I’m forced to take point, I rip a hole in my ass, we’re mistaken for guys crazy enough to throw themselves off cliffs, we have a run in with Johnny Law, and Danny no doubt does some more heroic things.

Fried chicken bliss!

---

Part Two of this ride report is here.

The New Soil Sampler: FAQs

So I've had a few questions via email...

First, of course, was "What about your l'il 230? Are you getting rid of it? Didn't you just mount new tires on it?"

My garage door only seems to swing one way. Bikes keep moving in, but none of them seem to be moving out. Much as I'm dreading the day, that's gonna have to change eventually, as I'm running out of garage space. For the moment, though, the CRF230F isn't going anywhere. I still enjoy riding it (it's such a great bike on the tight trails through the woods and so much fun to just wring the absolute snot out of it without having to worry about things getting out of hand) and I'd also like to keep it as a loaner and maybe for my daughter if she ever gets to be tall enough to ride it. And, yeah, I did just put new tires on it ... that was before I ran across the phenomenal deal on the 450. I actually think the Maxxis tires I just put on the 230 are better than the Dunlops that came stock on the 450 ... but, no, I'm not going to all the trouble of switching them around.

"It doesn't really look any bigger than your 230...?

Aw, come on. Check out the photo of the two of them side by side. Big difference!

"Why isn't there a wolf on the number plate?"

Fixed!

"Why didn't you bring it into your living room for the first night?"

I was too anxious to get it out and get it dirty. Once it was dirty ... well, the wife's tolerance only goes so far. Just gonna have to forgo that old tradition with this one, I guess.

"What are your first impressions of the 450?"

Massive power first of all. It comes on fast and strong from the very bottom. And this is in stock form, without me opening up the intake and exhaust, defeating all the emissions crapola, and rejetting the carb. Suspension seems great. I'll know more as I ride it more and start tweaking the settings to suit my riding style and preferences. It definitely soaks up/sails right over rough terrain that had my 230 all out of shape. Brakes are great, but coming from the crappy brakes on the 230, anything would be an improvement. Steering is fantastic, which is one of the things all the professional reviewers have said about the bike. If you can control that throttle, it inspires a lot of confidence right off the bat -- at least on wide open trails. Deep in the trees, I was sweating bullets.

"Are you rich?"

No, just tremendously, hopelessly in debt. It's the American way.

"Are you spoiled rotten?"

Oh yeah. Remember, though, he who dies with the most toys (alternately: scars) wins. I'm not even leading the race yet, but I am working on it!

Breaking it in Right!

So this morning, I made a trip to the new Honda dealership in Shawnee, OK and flat out stole a brand new CRF450X from them. Silly buggers lost money on this deal, lemme tell ya. $5,388! (MSRP is $7,200.) I still can't believe it. It's a brand spanking new 2006 model. Sure, the 2008 model will be "new and improved" when it's revealed later this month, but until the ol' bahwolf hisowndamnself figures out how to become "new and improved," further advancements in lightspeed technology are just wasted on me. Ricky Carmichael might be able to tell the difference, but not me.

The Proud New Owner of a CRF450X.

Naturally, my buddy Danny and I had to take the 450 to the trails straightaway and see just how bad I could scare myself on it. The answer: PLENTY! This thing is a beast! I'm used to wringing the absolute snot outta my little CRF230F ... Do that on the 450 and you are gonna be embedded in a tree or the nearest hillside, with more broken bones than Evil Knievel on a bad day. I've got to learn the meaning of "throttle control" all over again with this sucker.

So we rode the easy trails -- cause that's all I felt I was up for on the new bike, being as how I was having trouble keeping the front tire on the ground. Danny wasn't satisfied with that and wanted me to quit being a puss and get it out on the more difficult trails. I swear I was taking it easy, but I got cross-rutted at one point and the beast spit me off. As I'm sitting there in the dirt, waiting for Danny to figure out I'm not behind him anymore and come back and help me pick up the bike, I realize I had crashed not long ago in the exact same area, cross-rutting the CRF230F. What a dumbass! I mean, who goes out and crashes in the same place in exactly the same manner? You'd think I'd figure it out after the first time?

When Danny finally comes back after me, what does he do? Does he leap from his bike and make sure I'm all right? Pick my bike up for me? Wipe the dirt outta my teeth? No, he pulls out his damn camera and takes my picture! I swear I don't know who he learned that from -- ha! Really sad thing is, he did the exact same thing back when I cross-rutted the 230. Now he has both pictures to show to all our friends! Argh!

Anyway, nothing like breaking in the new bike right, eh?

First day and she's already on the ground! But if you're not crashing, you're not riding hard enough, right? "Danny, you're Number One!"

Look at how deep those damn ruts are!

The CRF230F just a month or so ago ... I swear it's the exact same spot.

We also had a great weekend riding together (on the street, where it's safe -- ha!) in Arkansas this past Labor Day weekend. I'll try to write something up about that in the next day or two. Danny's lovely wife Kim came with us and kept us both in line. We all had a great time.

Getting after it on the new CRF450X.

My camera-happy brutha from a different mutha. Love ya, amigo!