This trailer has me awaiting with great interest!! 
Scram Africa advert from Fuel Bespoke Motorcycles on Vimeo.
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Season of the Bike
There is cold, and there is cold on a motorcycle. Cold on a motorcycle is like being beaten with cold hammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind’s big hands squeeze the heat out of my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don’t even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone fallen from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that’s just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.
Despite this, it’s hard to give up my motorcycle in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among motorcyclists. When you let a motorcycle into your life you’re changed forever. The letters “MC” are stamped on your driver’s license right next to your sex and weight as if “motorcycle” was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition. But when warm weather finally does come around all those cold snaps and rainstorms are paid in full because a summer is worth any price.
A motorcycle is not just a two-wheeled car; the difference between driving a car and climbing onto a motorcycle is the difference between watching TV and actually living your life. We spend all our time sealed in boxes and cars are just the rolling boxes that shuffle us from home-box to work-box to store-box and back, the whole time, entombed in stale air, temperature regulated, sound insulated, and smelling of carpets.
On a motorcycle I know I’m alive. When I ride, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air has weight and substance as I push through it and its touch is as intimate as water to a swimmer. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under trees and the warm spokes of light that fall through them. I can see everything in a sweeping 360 degrees, up, down and around, wider than Pana-Vision and than IMAX and unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard. Sometimes I even hear music. It’s like hearing phantom telephones in the shower or false doorbells when vacuuming; the pattern-loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raises acoustic ghosts out of the wind’s roar. But on a motorcycle I hear whole songs: rock ‘n roll, dark orchestras, women’s voices, all hidden in the air and released by speed. At 30 miles per hour and up, smells become uncannily vivid. All the individual tree- smells and flower- smells and grass-smells flit by like chemical notes in a great plant symphony. Sometimes the smells evoke memories so strongly that it’s as though the past hangs invisible in the air around me, wanting only the most casual of rumbling time machines to unlock it. A ride on a summer afternoon can border on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of stimuli is like a bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my soul. It tears smiles out of me: a minute ago I was dour, depressed, apathetic, numb, but now, on two wheels, big, ragged, windy smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane.
Transportation is only a secondary function. A motorcycle is a joy machine. It’s a machine of wonders, a metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It’s light and dark and shiny and dirty and warm and cold lapping over each other; it’s a conduit of grace, it’s a catalyst for bonding the gritty and the holy. I still think of myself as a motorcycle amateur, but by now I’ve had a handful of bikes over half a dozen years and slept under my share of bridges. I wouldn’t trade one second of either the good times or the misery. Learning to ride one of the best things I’ve done.
Cars lie to us and tell us we’re safe, powerful, and in control. The air-conditioning fans murmur empty assurances and whisper, “Sleep, sleep.” Motorcycles tell us a more useful truth: we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that’s no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride.
- Dave Karlotski.
Bajaj Bikes Pulsar 220 ad from India…amazing stunting!!
Now here is some awesome stunt riding! Check it out and then let’s see who is willing to partner up and replicate this performance!
The Commute by KLR
Everyone’s commute should be such an adventure!!
Leaving Cedar City was best described as chilly at 47 degrees but I truly had no idea just how cold I was about to be. Even the GPS seemed confused wanting to take me north to Beaver before heading west and I’m sure it too was too cold to think. I combed over the maps and decided that the best route would be going through Ely and across NV via Hwy 50. By the time I reached Panaca, NV I had changed my mind knowing that Ely is one of the coldest places in the state of NV and I was already vexed from the cold.
The winds were just starting in Panaca with a fairly strong breeze but nothing overwhelming like the day prior. But the cold was another matter. I left Cedar City figuring the temps could only rise, well I was wrong. It was 47 degrees when I left and in Panaca it was a bone chilling 42. Ok, time to head south and maybe go over the ET Hwy 375, surly it couldn’t be as bad! I headed south to Caliente only to have the winds gaining in strength. When I got to the cut off, I decided Vegas would be the warmest decision. So off to Sin City I went.
Beautiful but COLD!
Just west of Caliente.
Now this is truly the beauty of traveling solo. There is never anyone to confer with regarding direction!
In this case my decision was not the best scenario as little did I know that sin city was battening down for a horrid record-breaking wind storm. Yes, it was warmer, but the wind created the such a challenge I became all too aware of the spot on skills needed to keep the bike upright. When I stopped for gas, I was told that they were expecting gusts over 60mph and the current gusts were blowing 40-50. If that was the case, I definitely wanted to be off the road before they became 60mph! I headed into the heart of the city and found a room.
A neon zoo would be the best description of LV.
I believe he and I are thinking the same thoughts.
I spent the better part of the afternoon and evening hanging in Vegas people watching. Truly one of my least favorite cities, Las Vegas is a Disneyland for adults with all the insanity of crazed children standing in a queue. I was really quite ready to be home. The weather report was for gale winds not only that day, but the following. I was disappointed, but knew it was probably for the best to stay put, however after a decent nights sleep, the warnings didn’t stop me from trying to leave.
Sitting outside at the Tropicana, watching the winds blow!
You can see that I am the only one braving the elements. I asked the waiter if anyone had ever died from the sun screens blowing down. He replied, “not this year.”
Now those are some gams…i guess those shoes definitely build some calves! I don’t believe I have ever seen as many platform shoes since the 1960′s.
With a leisurely morning start, the wind just didn’t seem so bad, so much improved over the previous day that I altered my route and thought it would be warm and lovely in Death Valley. Well, that change in route was my nearly swan song. I had filled my bike in Baker, CA and by the time I reached the intersection of Hwy 95 in Amargosa Valley, I was down to one blinking bar’s worth of gas meaning I had 9/10 of a gallon left. I had ridden only 95 miles in extreme headwinds and my mileage had taken the toll.
I stopped in Baker, NV at the Mad Greeks for a quick coffee and Baklava.
Luckily there was gas at the intersection and I didn’t have to cross fingers while making my way to Beatty which was only another 30 miles. Nevertheless the wind made for a dicey ride. Those 30 miles to Beatty were filled with deliberations and I decided I simply couldn’t keep going, as I was tired of fighting the machine and the elements. It was just too cold, too tiring and too dangerous. I had not seen another motorcycle since I had passed through Shoshone, where a group of BMWs where all parked and laying low. There were no other fools out on April Fool’s Day.
When I got to Beatty, NV and the winds were so extreme that I just got a room and hoped for the best the following day. I always stay at the Atomic Inn which is reasonable, comfortable and quirky and as much as I wanted to get home, this felt very inviting!
The room interior
The following morning when I arose it was 37 degrees. I waited until the temps rose to 45 and then braved the lesser winds and headed toward home. This was to be the day fraught with brutal cold temperatures, medium winds, and almost zero focus. I felt lucky to have made it to my friend’s home in Carson City and there I called it a day. It was 4:30 pm and I had ridden my very favorite road Hwy 266 and Hwy 168 like a new rider. I was FREEZING, unfocused and just plain tired of fighting the elements. It was sad to not be able to enjoy one of my favorite roads. I was even passed on this road by a FedEx van. Yep, I was tired.
After nearly 350 cold and windy miles, one night with friends made up for all the nights alone. I had a wonderful home cooked meal, sat outside under heat lamps and looked to the starry sky. It was lovely. We listened to music, drank wine and spent hours talking. At the end of the evening, I slept like a baby.
The final leg was only 130 miles, but the forecast was for cold temperatures and possible snow over the summit. My friend Mike who is also a rider, had a motorcycle trailer and suggested that he take me and my new Versys home. After about a moments deliberation, I said, “let’s do it”. So I trailered my bike the last run home. I was thrilled to be both warm and wind free.
Now hows that for a final leg?? I’ve had my new bike for 10 days and I have 2800 miles on it!
Ahhhh….there’s no place like home.
The route to Carson…
I picked up the new Versys on Friday March 23 after a harrowing trip with Gary to Yucca Valley though the worst of the LA traffic on the 210, but more on that later.
Here are a couple of teaser shots of the bike and us, and in the next couple of days I’ll post a real ride report, but right now I’m having way too much fun riding the bike to the SW where it’s dry and sunny!!
Picking up the bike at Hutchins Motorsports.
Me, thanking my wonderful husband for his glorious support!
In Joshua Tree NP
The beautiful SW…
Wonderful machine, light and flickable, not lacking in power on the highway and simply a lot of fun!
More this evening!!
