Great Lakes Tour: Prep Work

My next moto adventure is a tour of the Great Lakes -- hope to dip a toe in all five of them! I'll be hitting the road next week. With the research and planning accomplished, this weekend has been all about prepping the bike(s) for the 3,800 mile loop between there and OKC. With Hurricane Ike unloading a steady drizzle on Oklahoma Saturday and me hanging near the TV to watch the MotoGP race from Indy on Sunday (I actually had tickets to attend, but that's another story), there hasn't been much else to do besides wrestle with tire changes.

I'm not 100% certain which bike I'm taking on this trip, so being the glutton for punishment that I am, I prepped two. The ZZR would be mighty nice for blasting up there and back, since my sightseeing plans are focused on my birth town of Altoona, Pennsylvania and the Great Lakes region. Everything between OKC and points north will just be a blur as I cover maximum ground in a minimal amount of time. On the other hand, when it comes to sitting up and enjoying the scenery, as well as pulling off pavement pretty much anywhere I choose, you can't beat the Tiger. I'm pretty sure the Tiger's gonna win the argument, but to leave all my options open until I actually climb in the saddle and ride out of the driveway, I prepped both bikes.

The ZZR didn't need much -- just a new rear tire and a couple quick shots of grease to the swing arm (it's so nice to have grease fittings back there and not have to remove the whole swingarm to get at the bearings!). The new lift sure made things easier on my old achy back. I mounted my favorite sport-touring tire on the Kawasaki, an Avon Storm.



The Tiger also needed a new rear tire, plus an oil change. Tire of choice: Metzler Tourance. Even though the front tire on the Tiger was fairly new, it had been displaying a wobble at around 90 mph, especially when caught in the tail wash of a big truck. The wobble had lessoned as the tire scrubbed in, but was still there. Hoping it's a balance issue, I pulled the tire and rotated it 180 degrees on the wheel. We'll see if that eliminates the wobble.





As always, there's just something drop-dead-sexy about brand new rubber.



I had help on my tire changing: my daughter's new Morky pup, Kai. Lacking in thumbs, he couldn't offer much more than encouragement, but he did keep me company all day long.



Only thing to do now is pack...

Another Reminder to Ride Safe

I spent this past weekend at the second annual Eureka Springs ZZR1200 Rally. Sadly, a ZZR rider from Missouri crashed on Talimena Scenic Byway Friday afternoon. He and his motorcycle left the roadway and struck a tree. Despite him wearing all the right safety gear and aggressive and immediate CPR administered by those riding with him, he died on the scene. (Obituary is here.)

I'd just been through there that morning with my friend Greg Ruffin, both of us mounted on our CBR1000RR's en route to Eureka Springs. (In fact, we passed that southbound group somewhere south of Ozark, recognizing the bikes and our mutual friend Crazytrain in the lead. We turned around, figuring they'd stop to say hello, but they continued on. Because we hadn't had lunch and were heading in the opposite direction, we didn't chase them down.) I'd also been through there two weeks ago with my friends Danny and Kim (ref the video in my last post, filmed on that very road). I'd felt extremely confident on my Triumph Tiger two weeks ago, never out of control at speeds averaging 70 mph. On the CBRs this past weekend at significantly higher speeds, both Greg and I admitted to being a bit sloppy. It'd been some time since we'd "ridden the CBRs in anger" and it took most of that first day to shake out the cobwebs. There'd also been a fair amount of pine debris on the road surface from the storms the night before. For these reasons, Greg and I had both backed off the throttle a bit, but I can't help being reminded that an accident is just a thin margin of error removed. I often contemplate an accident scenario -- an overcooked corner, an imperfect and/or poorly evaluated road surface, an approaching vehicle with no respect for the centerline ... any of the dozens of potential pitfalls -- but I never punctuate my ruminations with death. Road rash. Bumps and bruises. Maybe a broken bone or two. These things I expect. Never death.

It's a sobering reminder that there's great risk in what we do. Group rides often bring out some rather unsavory dynamics. Never ride over your head. There's nothing to prove, nothing to gain, and everything to lose. "Ride your own ride." It's an oft-repeated and simple mantra. Sadly, I think it's very often an empty platitude with group rides. Blame peer pressure. Blame testosterone. Blame the simple courtesy of not wanting to hold up everyone else. It doesn't really matter why it happens. The simple truth is that it happens more often than not. At last year's rally, there were five crashes. Amazingly, there were no serious injuries. This year, there was only the one crash, but it was certainly one too many.

Personally, I think I'll be reevaluating my own participation in such group rides in the future. I honestly can't recall a single one where I haven't seen some seriously dangerous and stupid riding take place. And, yes, I'm honest enough to admit that some of that dangerous and stupid riding was done by yours truly.

My heart goes out to the wife and two daughters who thought Daddy was just going away for a fun weekend of riding the motorcycle he loved so much. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for his wife, having a Missouri State Trooper come to her door with no other information than "Ma'am, you need to contact the Oklahoma State Police." How long did it take to make that call, heart in her throat? How many times was she agonizingly put on hold and transferred from one person to another until she reached someone who gave her the worst of all possible news? And how do you deliver such dreadful news to your children?

Let's all be careful out there. Life is a very fragile thing.

Ride Report: Rocky Mountain High

My ride report -- Canada and back, 5000 miles in ten days! -- is now complete in both the forums and on my website.

4,874 Miles Later...

...and I'm home again, safe and sound, already dreaming about the next adventure. This is my longest ride ever: nearly five thousand miles in ten days. With my friends Elaine and Greg, I went all the way to Lake Louise in Banff National Park, Canada, with so many stops in between (New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas) that it'll take me a month to get the ride report completed. How cool, though, to have ridden in both Mexico and Canada in the same year!

Except for a wiring problem in a turn signal that I deemed too difficult (but not impossible) to bother fixing on the roadside, the ZZR performed flawlessly, arriving home with over 32,000 miles on her odometer. What a great bike this has been for me: fast, comfortable, reliable. Up in Canada, I got my best gas mileage ever: 45.9 miles to the gallon (12.1 miles per liter, if you're Canadian -- ha!). Nearly 46 mpg on a machine making 160-something horsepower? That's just unbelievable.

Full report to follow. Watch this blog or my website...

Canada or Bust!

Sort through your crayon box ... find just the right one ... yeah, that's it ... the one labeled "gone." Color me gone.

This'll be the first time I've ever ridden with a two-way radio piped into my helmet. I can talk to truckers ("Get the hell outta my way, Road Hog!"), ask about important points of interest ("Where did you say that friggin' cop is hiding?!?!"), and keep in touch with my riding partner ("Greg, I gotta stop to pee!"). It's a Midland 40-channel citizen's band and weather radio combined with a J&M headset. I had some reservations about hacking up the interior of my Scorpion helmet to install the headset, so I went back to the old Shoei that I quit wearing a year or so ago. No worries, though; everything went in just fine despite some insane Styrofoam-hazy moments between me and the Exacto knife. Seems to work like a charm, but this'll be its first true road test. I can use the headset to pipe my iPod tunes into my helmet, too, but I suspect at speed I'll need to switch to my earbuds. Pink Floyd and the drone of hundred mph wind just don't mix all that well.

My friends Greg and Elaine will be on their luxurious new Goldwing, relaxing, playing ping-pong in the rec room, watching satellite television on the bigscreen, and so on. Damn thing probably has a trunk monkey that fixes margaritas and nachos en route. When the ZZR and I are shivering in Glacier National Park, Greg and Elaine will be toasting their fannies on heated seats while the trunk monkey passes them hot chocolate -- complete with those little marshmallows bobbing like exclamation marks on the sea of euphoria that follows a truly epic ride. Some people are just spoiled, I tell ya!

Full ride report when the ZZR and I get back, approximately four thousand miles older and wiser.

Cruisin'...

Last thing and the Mighty ZZR is ready to rock-n-roll all the way to Canada and back (with scheduled stops in Rocky Mountain National Park, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Glacier, the Little Bighorn, Mount Rushmore, Devil's Tower, the Black Hills, and anything else interesting I find along the way!): cruise control.

More accurately called "throttle locks," I've never been a real big fan of cruise control on my bikes. I still remember Gary Miller (you out there reading this, Gary?) accidentally engaging the throttle lock on his KLR while off-pavement in Arkansas a few years ago. He wound up taking a wild (albeit brief) ride into a ditch, damaging his knee, and spending the rest of the weekend icing it down instead of riding. Of course, the bar end types that you have to give a real good twist (like the Throttlemeister unit shown above on my ZZR), versus the type where you simply thumb down a lever, aren't easily engaged by accident, so I'm not particularly worried about being a goober like Gary. (Now that I'm calling him names, someone will tell him and he'll come read the blog ... that's my theory anyway.) I mean, that sounds like something ZRod would do. (There, maybe I'll gain another reader. Ha!)

There's something about having the throttle out of my control that unnerves me. It's nice to be able to shake the numbness out of your throttle hand on those long straights. Flex your fingers. Scratch your right leg. But I'm always a bit leery of having the bike hurtling along at my usual speeds without my hand right there ready to shut it down. Things happen fast on a motorcycle. Think about it: at my usual ZZR cruising speed of 100 mph (okay, so maybe I should slow down, eh?) that's almost 147 feet passing under my wheels every second. If it takes me 2 seconds to put my hand back on the throttle and disengage the lock, that's almost the length of a football field that I've covered -- more than enough time to hit a deer or t-bone a careless soccer mom's minivan -- and I haven't even started braking yet!

The other thing that's always bugged me about throttle locks is that they're not a true cruise control. On long, straight, level stretches of road, you cruise along just fine at a steady speed, but how often am I on that type of road? The Interstate is about all I can think of that qualifies (well, okay, so there's also Highway 50 in Nevada and every bit of pavement in Kansas), but I avoid riding the Interstate (and Kansas) at all costs, generally only grabbing the superslab for when I just want to get home lickity-split quick. And at those times, when I'm really hauling ass, I'm generally the least comfortable locking my throttle. All it would take is some bonehead coming over into my lane as I flew past him. Most roads, of course, have grades -- up, down, up down -- and on those roads your bike is either speeding up or slowing down the whole time with the throttle locked. I find that very aggravating. It grates to no end on my anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive, need-to-be-in-control-dammit! mentality.

So, if I'm not a big fan of throttle locks, why did I just put one on my bike for this trip? Well, there are those times, when road and traffic conditions permit, that it's nice to engage it for a minute or two in order to give your hand a break. Especially on a ride like the one I have coming up, one that covers so many miles and will see me on the road for 11 days straight. But, more to the point, it's been 3 or 4 weeks now since I followed Cricket up that nasty hill at CrossTimbers, got thrown off my dirtbike, and landed on my right thumb. The damn thing still won't bend like it should and aches incessantly. Yeah, I should have had it x-rayed, and it ought to be in a splint or a cast or something, I guess. But then I couldn't ride at all! I would, in fact, have to postpone the trip ... and that just ain't gonna happen.

I might be riding all the way to Canada with my throttle lock engaged and my thumb stuffed in a bag of ice. LOL.

Wish me luck.

---

Photo Note: Yeah, I know that's the clutch side (in the photo above), so technically you're not even looking at the actual throttle lock, but that's the bar end that had the Throttlemeister logo on it, so I featured it instead. The throttle side looks exactly the same (you can see it in the photos below). While they're not cheap (for the ZZR, the cost is $125), in my opinion, the Throttlemeisters are the nicest and most functional cruise control on the market. I had them on my original Triumph Tiger and also have them now on the new Tiger.

Poor Man's Cruise Control: Don't want to spend $125 for cruise control? Being a cheap SOB myself, I can relate. Here's an option for you. It worked for me for years. This is a Caterpillar o-ring. I used to have the part number, but I've long since lost it. Probably doesn't matter; if you walk into the Caterpillar place and tell them what you're looking for, they've probably sold more of these to motorcycle owners than anyone else, so they'll know what you need. The o-ring is sized just right to slip over most motorcycle bar ends. If you slip it into the space between the bar end and the lower edge of the grip, friction will lock your throttle in place. To disengage, just use your palm to roll it back down onto the bar end. I've used these on various motorcycles with mixed results. Eventually, it tends to let your throttle slip a bit, so you have to make minor adjustments while riding. Since I never leave my throttle locked for very long anyway, the slipping was never a real big deal for me -- your tolerance/aggravation may vary. Here are a couple photos with the o-ring on the bar (disengaged) and slipped into the groove (engaged). [Addendum: the Caterpillar part number for that o-ring is 8M-4991.]




Another Option: I often use a Throttle Rocker on my bikes. By allowing you to stay on the gas by using the weight of your hand focused through your palm (versus actually gripping the throttle), it greatly reduces hand fatigue. Trust me, this is the best $11 you'll ever spend on your motorcycle. Just remember to remove it when you hit the twisty stuff, as it does tend to get in the way of the really fine throttle adjustments required to be fast and smooth in the curves. Again, here's a photo:


Safety Disclaimer: Use any of these things at your own risk, of course. I ain't responsible if you go out, lock your throttle, plow into a barn or fly off the side of a cliff at 100 miles per hour, and remove yourself from the gene pool. These things probably make riding a motorcycle even more dangerous that your mama already told you it was...

"Sometimes You Get Lucky..."

So I'm prepping the Mighty ZZR (she prefers to be referred to in that manner: the Mighty ZZR) for the 3,500 or so miles I'll be doing soon: cleaning and oiling the air filter, changing the engine oil and filter, mounting new tires, checking over everything for anything not quite right, etc. As I remove the rear tire and give it a hearty bounce prefatory to rolling it over and wrestling off the retiring rubber, I notice it just doesn't feel right. The tire pressure must be off. But that's odd, I think, because I just rode this bike a couple days ago and it was fine. Then something gleaming from the surface of the tire catches my eye. Sumbitch! How fortunate that the tire was minutes away from the trash anyway, huh?

Sometimes you just get lucky...



Incidentally, the ZZR1200's new shoes are Avon Storms, the replacement for the Avon Azaros, which have performed very well for me. I expect the Storms to be even better. My buddy Greg even mounted Storms on his CBR, and I'll be doing the same soon, though I admit I've had reservations about putting an ST tire on a 160hp liter bike. Greg's tires performed great on his CBR in Arkansas, though. You just have to remember that they don't warm up nearly as fast as a sport tire.

With the Azaros on my ZZR, I was able to get 6,000 miles out of the rear ... versus less than 4,000 miles with anything else I tried. Some ZZR owners report higher mileage (they must not be a throttle monkey like yours truly). As they say, your mileage may vary.

Destination: Lake Texoma & Catfish Platter Inc.

People don't normally ride 125+ miles each way just for dinner, but then we've already established that I'm not normal. Lately, I've been starting to think of mine as a "restless existence" (a term borrowed from Neil Peart, to be perfectly honest about it). Give me time, and I'll try to put what I mean by that into words here in a future blog entry. Essentially, though, I think it all boils down to an addiction to motion, an affliction in which my brain, my heart, the very interaction of the molecules that make up my being simply can't sit still. Let's go somewhere, my soul whispers. Why are we sitting here at home when we could be jamming to the wind and the hum of the tires on pavement? I don't even try to fight these feelings. The only question is what motorcycle to take ... though I do worry quite often about how I will afford tires and gas!

Anyway, when my friends Greg and Elaine, who live in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, mentioned a great catfish restaurant near Lake Texoma, what else would you expect me to say except "I'll meet you there for dinner." It's been a while since the ZZR has gone anywhere except back and forth to work, so that's what got rolled out of the garage today. I've yet to find a more comfortable rocketship.

The mighty Kawasaki ZZR1200.

Now I could buzz down I-35, but that's just not me. I worked my way south via backroads, including Highway 102 and the old one lane bridge just north of Byars. I don't know why, but old bridges seem to intrigue adventure riders. It's probably the ephemeral nature of these old structures that resonates with us: the certain knowledge that eventually the ever expanding flow of 4-wheeled traffic will spell the end of the old bridge; the fact that its rusty iron charisma will eventually be replaced with a concrete structure that looks just like every other bridge and overpass they're building these days. A bridge can have a personality, don't you think?

Objects in the rearview mirror...

Highway 177 carried me south through Sulphur and Madill. From Madill, 377 takes you south toward the lake and the smell of catfish fillets fryin' up crispy golden brown. If you cross the bridge over the lake and hit the Texas border, you've gone too far. You want to get to the Catfish Platter early, because the place definitely draws a crowd. As the sign says, they're only open three nights a week.

If you see this sign, you've gone too far.

Greg and Elaine arrive on their new Goldwing.

I only beat my friends by about 20 minutes -- perfect timing, more or less. Just enough time, in fact, to take a quick look at the lake. I was home before dark, avoiding the nightly roadway wanderings of forest rats (i.e., deer) and even escaping detection by the local revenue collectors sitting with their radar guns at both ends of the town of Asher (jeez, guys, get a friggin' life already!) -- thanks in part to all the friendly motorists madly flashing their lights at me.

All in all, a great day's ride, a great dinner, and absolutely great company. Thanks, Greg and Elaine!

Any suggestions for dinner next weekend?

"E is for Eureka Springs..."

No matter how many times I go to northwestern Arkansas to ride, whether on one of my sportbikes or on my dualsport, I always have a great time. The pavement around Eureka Springs is generally well-maintained and twisty as you like, weaving through the verdant Ozarks like a boa constrictor in need of a good chiropractor; there's the infamous Pig Trail (State Highway 23), of course, as well as old favorites like Highways 21, 16, 123, and others. The offroad stuff ranges from sightseer heaven overlooking the Buffalo River to as challenging as you've got the stones to make it single-track. The huge plus, of course, is that all this great riding is just a broken brake lever's throw from Oklahoma City. Not to mention the fact that Eureka Springs is, in and of itself, a really cool little town.

This past weekend, Eureka Springs played host to a ZZR rally, with something like 35 riders in attendance, most mounted on the mighty ZZR1200, but a few on the new ZX-14 (dubbed the ZZR1400 in Europe) and an assortment of other bikes. This rally was organized by my riding buddy Crazytrain and plugged on the ZZR Bikes website for many months. Since I rarely miss an opportunity to ride (a) with Crazytrain and (b) in the Ozarks, I'd really been looking forward to this one.

I chose to leave my ZZR at home in the garage (it needs tires) and take my new CBR1000RR instead (it came with new tires -- ha!). The plan was to meet my buddy Greg in Talihina Thursday night; he would also be riding his brand new CBR. Greg and I would do Talimena Drive and play around in Arkansas, meeting up with the ZZR boys in Eureka Springs Friday evening. There was scattered rain in Oklahoma on Thursday, and wouldn't you know it, a bunch of it scattered in my direction just as I was getting ready to leave the house about 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Thanks again, Mother Nature! I sat on the bike in the garage for about 30 minutes watching it come down, hoping it would pass through pretty quick. I hadn't ridden the CBR in the rain yet, and with nearly 160 ponies at the rear wheel, I was worried it might be a bit squirrelly on wet pavement. Finally, though, I just said screw it and rode. I didn't want to arrive in Talihina after dark -- too many deer in the area! Turns out I only had to ride in the rain for about 30 minutes and the CBR handled it well. Despite the massive amounts of "Get Outta Dodge Fast!" packed under its purty blue 'n yeller plastic, it really has a very manageable throttle.

I blazed out my usual route: Highway 9 to Highways 71, 2, and 1. Somewhere on a desolate stretch of 9, with me running about 90-95 mph and nothing but cows as witnesses to the crime, I crested a hill and found blue and red lights flashing from quite a ways down the road. It was a local sheriff type with someone already pulled over. I backed off the throttle, but didn't worry about it too much. Probably cruised past him doing 70-75 in a 65. Well, he musta been done, because he pulled out behind me, never bothering to switch off his happy lights from one customer to the next. At first I couldn't even believe he was after me. I let him follow me for a bit while I gradually slowed down, looking back over my shoulder with my most incredulous "Who, me?" posture going strong. When I pulled over, he proceeded to tell me that he'd clocked me at 85 (and even showed me the radar gun), but he was going to do me a favor ... yada yada yada, the usual drill. Damn, my second ticket in 5 months!

Now, maybe he did clock me at 85 ... but personally I think that was the reading from his last ticket ... or the ticket he wrote two weeks ago Tuesday ... or whatever. He wrote me up for 75, then told me the ticket would only cost $25. What?!?! $25? Why even bother? Hell, for $25, I'll speed through there every friggin' day of the week, Bubba! $25 isn't even worth the time I'm wasting sitting here jawing with you, Occifer. When I cautiously mentioned that I couldn't believe the ticket was so cheap, he let me in on the honest truth that it's all about revenue. At $125, most people go to court and fight the ticket, lots of people never pay them and cost the police time and money issuing bench warrants, and blah blah blah, it's all a great big money-making scam and the money rolls in just as fast as you please at a measly $25 a pop. The guy's about 350-400 pounds and his patrol car probably needs a new set of shocks and he's from someplace called Hanna, Oklahoma -- that I've never even heard of, nor have the faintest clue if I even passed through the stupid burg* -- where the donuts are probably coming up hot and fresh right now, thank you very much. Sign the dotted line and be on your merry way, Mr Sportbiker (and don't forget to mail in your $25!).

So I did. And pressed on. I'm calling bullshit on the whole incident, though, and would be willing to bet anything that the next person coming over that hill at anything above the speed limit got clocked at ... you guessed it ... 85 mph.

I rolled into Talihina in plenty of time to beat the nightly parade of deer venturing out on the roadways to check out the pretty lights. Greg's bike was already parked at the hotel (Kiamichi Inn, same place we always stay: cheap but clean). As usual, he didn't come to the damn door when he heard me pull up -- probably already gone to bed. I revved the engine a couple times. Honked the CBR's funny little toy horn. Nothing. I finally kicked the door nearest his bike. Some strange guy yanked it open and glared at me. "Sorry, buddy. Wrong room. Where's the guy that owns the red and black bike?" "Beats the hell outta me," he said and slammed his door. I moved on to the next door in line which, fortunately, turned out to be Greg's room. He was watching television, flipping from channel to channel at high speed and grumbling like a gorilla with Attention Deficit Disorder. What, did he think there would actually be something on worth watching?

We had dinner at the little cafe on Talihina's main drag -- parked next to a VTX cruiser and one of those new sportbikes imported from China or Korea or Taiwan or some place. Hyosung? Not a bad looking bike, but I don't think you'll be seeing one in my garage in this lifetime. We didn't even have time to get our helmets off before a 15-year-old kid came running out of the cafe to drool over the CBRs. Turned out that the cheapo sportbike was his -- a little 250. Certainly more stylish than a Ninja 250 (but I'm betting not nearly as reliable) and I'd have killed to own one when I was 15, even if it fell apart in a year or two. (I'm not saying it will, mind you, but I wouldn't bet money against it.) The Honda VTX belongs to his dad, they're having dinner inside, and why don't we come join them. So we did. Nice folks. The kid was wearing race leathers (ebay booty) and a good helmet, so he was starting out right, but he did mention that the red sportbike was Number 2, as he'd already thrown down a black one. Dad was an OB/GYN from Muskogee who was now working at the VA Center in Talihina -- talk about a change in perspective! Anyway, Greg and I enjoyed their company while we waited an inordinately long time for our food.

The CBR1000RR and I above the fog on Talimena Drive.
In the morning, Greg and I woke early to heavy fog. We dried the bikes with hotel towels, then had breakfast at the same cafe (Sorry, I don't recall the name of the place, but you can't miss it), hoping the fog would burn off while we ate. It didn't. We headed up into the mountains anyway, climbing above the fog line in short order, which was nice because I've been through there before when the fog went all the way to the top and I had to tiptoe through at 20 mph because I couldn't see a damn thing. We snapped a few cool pics at one of the overlooks, but generally just blazed up to the lodge at Queen Wilhelmina State Park (I watched for Danny's old tent as I went past, but it was gone), where we stopped for a pee break. Then it was on into Mena. From Mena, we worked our way north on 71 and 23. Once north of I-40, the really good roads began. We had plenty of time and were in no hurry to get to the hotel in Eureka Springs, figuring that most of the ZZR boys would be out riding anyway, so we decided to make a nice big loop incorporating some good twisty roads.

At a gas station somewhere, a pack of sportbikes came howling down the road and I immediately recognized the unique Micky Mouse headlight configuration. A second later, I recognized the lead rider, another riding compadre of mine named Charlie. Charlie rides a ZZR dressed in the pretty blue plastic that the Canadians got one year, but we Americans didn't ... something to do with trashing his original bodywork in a getoff. He was leading about a dozen yahoos, some of whom I knew by screen name from the ZZR website. Howdy-do's were exchanged, the CBRs were drooled on a bit more (to be fair, I was drooling on the ZX-14s), and Greg and I decided to join the pack for the remainder of their ride.

Eventually, late in the afternoon, we turned for Eureka Springs, but not before it decided to rain on us. I think we rode about 30 miles in a downpour. My Gericke jacket proved itself minimally waterproof for the second or third time now. Boots and pants held up fine. I wasn't wearing waterproof gloves, so those got soaked. Fortunately, it was plenty warm. Dinner for me and the Gregmeister was Pizza Hut. We tried to swipe free salads from the salad bar, but the waitress added them to our bill. If I'd known I was gonna get charged for it, I'd have really tanked up on the salad goodies instead of the piddly little helping I actually took! Greg went to bed at his usual 8 pm or so, while I waited up for Crazytrain's scheduled late arrival ... but I finally got tired and went to bed, too. Supposedly Crazytrain arrived about 15 minutes after I went to bed. He had a couple guys on ZX-14s with him, one of whom promptly dropped his bike in the parking lot after making the long haul all the way from Houston. D'oh!


CBRs in the rain, Friday afternoon.

Saturday, Greg and I were up at dawn and spent hours waiting for everyone else to get their act together. We broke into groups and spent the day riding in glorious sunshine. You couldn't have asked for a prettier day! We rode with Crazytrain's fast group, which really should have been labeled the "Stupidly Effing Fast Group." Riding around like that is so much fun it ought to be illegal ... oh, wait, it is illegal. There were a couple guys in the group who were so unbelievably fast that I know I'll never match them, but the CBR and I did fine, keeping up with 90% of the pack when we felt like it and drifting along in the rear and enjoying the scenery when we didn't. The bike itself is a huge part of the equation. It handles about ten times better than my ZZR ever did. Turns via some new-fangled mental telepathy interface or something. Brakes are from some alien technology unheard of in any other bike I've ever owned. Suspension has you so connected to the road, you can actually feel insect turds as you run over them. Certainly more power than I know what to do with. Damn comfy seat for a "crotch rocket." And so on. I only ever had one out-of-control moment when the bike was launched from a bump in the road. The CBR and I were literally airborne for a few seconds in the apex of a 35 mph sweeper that I was taking at about 80 mph. Not a good thing on a sportbike! We came through it unscathed, however, thanks to the incredible handling of the CBR.


Anybody got a towel?

Our group's ride was not without incident, though. A ZZR rider went down in what I know as ZRod's Corner (because this is where ZRod once rode his KLR straight through the curve and off the side of the mountain, just barely missing a huge boulder and several large trees). This is a 10 mph downhill switchback on the Pig Trail. If you've ever ridden there, you probably know the corner. It turns downhill (if you're riding north to south) through more than 180 degrees, doubling back under itself. Might be a 240 degree turn or something ungodly like that ... all downhill so that you're hard on the brakes and stuck to the seat by the proverbial pucker. Anyway, one of the ZZR riders in our fast group lowsided there and went down over the edge, narrowly missing the same trees and Volkswagon-sized boulder that ZRod had missed a couple years ago. Probably not the only two motorcycles that corner has claimed over the years. The bike was rideable -- after it took 4 or 5 of us 10 minutes to muscle it back up the bank and onto the road -- but it's looking at a new set of plastic now. I took a photo of it back at the hotel later ... along with shots of two other ZZRs that went down in the "slow group" that same day.

After getting home on Sunday and checking the ZZR website, I learned that two other bikes went down Sunday (Greg and I left for home early Sunday morning), one of them being my buddy Charlie, the other being a young guy on a ZX-6R, for a total of 5 bikes down out of the 35 or so in attendance. This is a horribly high percentage, and it's a miracle no one was injured. The problem with group rides like this is sometimes testosterone takes over or people get in over their heads following more experienced riders or ... I dunno. To everyone who attends these things, though, please be careful.

Sunday morning, Greg and I were up at dawn again and bugged out while most folks were still sawing logs. We set a nice, leisurely pace down Highway 23 to I-40. Somewhere along the way, a hillbilly in a pickup pulled out into the road and just stopped there, daring us to t-bone him. Less attentive riders might have done just that. Greg and I braked to make sure the dumbass wasn't going to back up, then shot by his rear bumper with about a foot of roadway to spare. He looked right at me, made eye contact and everything, completely unapologetic. What was he thinking?

At I-40, we got off the bikes, cleaned the bugs from our visors and parted with a hug. Greg continued on south for Dallas and I grabbed some interslab for a rocket-propelled ass-hauling to OKC, the speedo on the CBR hovering in the 95-100 range most of the way. I was home in about 4 hours and 15 minutes, the fastest I've ever made it home from Eureka Springs. Tried to listen to my iPod while slabbing, but the damn thing locked up on me three times before I gave up and put it away. I think the little hard drive inside gets shaken around too much when I wear it on my sleeve or maybe it gets too hot out in the sun. It works better stuffed inside my jacket, but then I can't work the controls, and if I get pulled over it's one more thing I'm fumbling for so that I can hear the friendly officer (who might think I'm digging in my jacket for a gun or something).

Ouch!
Again, Ouch! What is about these ZZRs and left hand turns?

My ZZR is glad it's never been loaded into the back of a truck looking like this!

That's my weekend. The Ozark Swiss Hotel in Eureka Springs was excellent, even feeding all of us on BBQ'ed ribs and brats and whatnot Saturday evening ... for FREE. At $45 a room, you can't beat that. The rooms were way above average -- nice fluffy towels (sorry for using them to clean bugs off my helmet and CBR), pillow shams, fancy throw pillows, soft beds, cable TV (so Greg can channel flip), etc. I've never stayed there before, but will be certain to make it my hotel of choice from now on in Eureka Springs (except for the dualsport rally there every March, which is already set up at a different hotel).

What else? Greg and I saw a bear on Friday. We dodged about a dozen squirrels -- what is it with those suicidal little bastards? And the chicken strips are gone from my CBR's tire. What more can you ask for?

If you own a ZZR and missed the rally, cross your fingers that they do it again next year and make plans to attend. Watch the ZZR website for info. Practice riding your bike between now and then, though. The pavement in that part of Arkansas takes no prisoners. You either spank the curves ... or they'll damn sure spank you.

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*So I just checked the map and Hanna is four or five miles south of Highway 9 and at least that many miles back to the west of where this donut jockey stopped me. I was nowhere near the stupid place!

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Addendum: Those who read my motorcycle adventure blatherings on a regular basis know that I often include snippets from my riding buddies. This is from an email from the Gregmeister, talking about the ride home on Sunday:

I slowed down Sunday ... I really don't know how many give silent respects for those killed and fallen along that road [he's referring to Arkansas State Highway 23], but that peaceful Sunday morning I rode for them, the ones there with flowers and crosses and tears and monuments left behind to remind the living to slow down and think ... we all are but moments and a thin thread away from them. I noticed them all, the ones I could see and the ones the sunlight framed and etched into my memory. Each and every one of them told me the same thing as I passed ... THEY ALL WHISPERED SOFLTY FROM THE SIDE OF THE ROAD, "Ride safe today, ride one for us" ... I will never forget slowing down enough to listen to them.

Thanks for riding with me once again, Greg. Hope to share the road with you again real soon, my friend.