“It is a Quonset hut on Petroleum Club Road,” Harley Dude said. “Ok,” I replied, “where is petroleum club road and what is a Quonset hut?” So began the first visit to the Taft Motorcycle Club. Harley Dude and I were supposed to go together to the meeting to check out the club for some content for our podcast and I had just gotten the green light from the editor at Friction Zone magazine to do a spotlight piece on them. Just about the time I was going to head to Taft to meet up with Harley Dude he called from school and said he was tied up. I already had a commitment to go so we spent some time looking at maps while we talked on the phone and I got a general but vague idea where I was headed. Hey, not big deal. It is all part of the adventure. So off goes Beemerman to look for a Quanset hut on Petroleum Club Road.b
Actually it was not hard to find, but I found it intriguing that there were no bikes parked around. I walked in just as the meeting was starting and was greeted warmly as Lewis because he had made the initial contact and that is who they were expecting. After getting that cleared up they had their meeting.The highlight of the meeting was a presentation by Michael Berg who is involved in the California Trail Users Coalitionb or CTUC who works with government agencies to preserve public lands and the rights of those who want to use them for motor-sports.The CTUC produces there own maps and puts on a number of events each year. More information will be provided as it becomes available. And, we got free T-Shirts.After the meeting I got to speak with several of the members.Most of the current members got involved in the club because they had always heard about it and word was getting around that is was about ready to die out. Another reason people became interested in the club again was because Taft is an off-roaders paradise and their trails were getting shut down. The local ranger who they were having trouble with made it clear he would deal with them but only if they were an organized club.I spoke to Darren who has been a club member for about a year and a half and he outlined some additional goals of the club. In particular he stressed the goal of forming two divisions of the club, street and off-road. The belief being that all riders need each other for the purposes of countering anti-motorcycle sentiment among the public, education and mutual understanding.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Responsibilities
What an awful word. What can you make out of that? Fun? Excitement? The makings for either word aren't usually included in the emotional baggage that often accompanies such a hefty group of letters. Especially when "family" is attached to it. Today I briefly weighed "Dad's birthday party" (with all siblings and their families) vs. what promises to be a fun motorcycle event in the coming weekend. Aah...the temptation weighed heavily for a second. I explained the conflict to my usually less level-headed spouse, expecting a sigh of resignation that we really should go to the family event. To my surprise, and without hesitation, he said it was no problem. There will be other rides to go on. There I was, listening to the unwavering voice of responsibility coming from the man who put "fun" back to the front of the line in my life. He sat there smiling and thoughts began racing through my mind-we're talking about "my family". Most of the men in my family, the in-law ones and exes, have a history of avoiding such activities. Could he actually be thinking that this may be an enjoyable event, at least one that would be tolerable? Or is he doing this because it's the "responsible" thing to do? Either way, it says a lot for this guy I married a little over a year ago. He gave me the nudge I needed to do what was right, despite the temptation to do otherwise, and the OK to not feel guilty about it. Cool. Another reminder that I got it right this time.
Target Fixation
Target Fixation
by Lewis Gillham aka "The Harley Dude"
I sleep better at night on a day that I’ve ridden.At one time, I might have attributed that to the afterglow of intense concentration, or to simple exhaustion, I now think it has to do with where I look.As Robert Frost has “been acquainted with the night,” and as J Alfred Prufrock knows the restless, etherized, hotel nights after teacups and coffee spoons and novels, I’m well aware of how the hours pass between midnight and formal morning: the facades of fun at closing time and after-hours clubs – or, less appealingly - the talk-shows on screen and in my head – the shelves of books I’ve searched through looking sometimes for answers and sometimes just for sleep. The existentialist night-owl is one who, according to Camus himself, simply cannot sleep because he’s caught “The Plague” of modern displaced man, whose world-view is caught between the rationality of scientific dialectical materialism and the sub-rational drives of the atavistic unconscious.A motorcycle is nothing if not rational – a product of engineering, powered by geology, governed by the absolute laws of physics. And yet, as far beyond thought as the Zen satori or the yogic trance.After my first few rides, I found I was sleeping better than I had in years. And those first few rides, if you can even call them that, were no paeans to freedom, exhilaration, or fun. Having had no instruction, I barely knew where the controls were, when to shift, and definitely not how to corner – or even, really, to steer. I had what I’m tempted to call terminal “target fixation,” although “terminal” would be hyperbole. And I’d heard about the concept, along with the geometry of balance, and the importance of searching and evaluating. But that kind of knowledge was worse than none at all.“Don’t fixate on what you want to avoid???” OK, fixate on not fixating, then, right? Like notthinking about the things you’re thinking about at 3 AM when you’re trying to get some sleep, because sleep is what you need for then next day, when you have to concentrate on all the things you mustn’t think about tonight. Not to think, perchance to sleep. There’s the rub.In whatever it is we glibly call “daily life,” which is, I suppose, the life in which both feet are more or less literally on the ground – that is to say, on the concrete floors of offices, classrooms, boardrooms – wherever we earn our daily loaf – the habit if fixing on problems is part of the bread itself. At least it has been for me, for many years: the underachieving student, the justly disgruntled colleague, the unbalanced budget. Or, loser to home and heart, the uncompleted project, the distressed companion, the sick or dying loved one. But none of these problems are addressed, let alone solved, or even avoided, by thinking about them – or by looking at them.The magic spell, if there is one, is to look beyond them. Not from absence of feeling, or shallowness of perspective, but because the mind magnifies the things to which its vision attends – for good or for ill.Now, to say that “we create our own reality” is both a New Age cliché and an the most untenable solipsism – as asphalt’s undeniable reality will undeniably attest. But, just as undeniably, we go where we look. Toward the threat, or around and beyond it.As I learned that on a motorcycle, I learned it off one. And, as with the actual practice of Yoga or Zen – or , or that matter, brushing one’s teeth – only through daily application. One long ride on a weekend is illuminating, but it is no substitute for the daily trip around town, with its van-loads of soccer kids and cell-phone daydreamers; blind alleys of the mind, and parked cars of the soul.All of which are just to be looked past, and leaned around.Nothing to lose sleep over.
by Lewis Gillham aka "The Harley Dude"
I sleep better at night on a day that I’ve ridden.At one time, I might have attributed that to the afterglow of intense concentration, or to simple exhaustion, I now think it has to do with where I look.As Robert Frost has “been acquainted with the night,” and as J Alfred Prufrock knows the restless, etherized, hotel nights after teacups and coffee spoons and novels, I’m well aware of how the hours pass between midnight and formal morning: the facades of fun at closing time and after-hours clubs – or, less appealingly - the talk-shows on screen and in my head – the shelves of books I’ve searched through looking sometimes for answers and sometimes just for sleep. The existentialist night-owl is one who, according to Camus himself, simply cannot sleep because he’s caught “The Plague” of modern displaced man, whose world-view is caught between the rationality of scientific dialectical materialism and the sub-rational drives of the atavistic unconscious.A motorcycle is nothing if not rational – a product of engineering, powered by geology, governed by the absolute laws of physics. And yet, as far beyond thought as the Zen satori or the yogic trance.After my first few rides, I found I was sleeping better than I had in years. And those first few rides, if you can even call them that, were no paeans to freedom, exhilaration, or fun. Having had no instruction, I barely knew where the controls were, when to shift, and definitely not how to corner – or even, really, to steer. I had what I’m tempted to call terminal “target fixation,” although “terminal” would be hyperbole. And I’d heard about the concept, along with the geometry of balance, and the importance of searching and evaluating. But that kind of knowledge was worse than none at all.“Don’t fixate on what you want to avoid???” OK, fixate on not fixating, then, right? Like notthinking about the things you’re thinking about at 3 AM when you’re trying to get some sleep, because sleep is what you need for then next day, when you have to concentrate on all the things you mustn’t think about tonight. Not to think, perchance to sleep. There’s the rub.In whatever it is we glibly call “daily life,” which is, I suppose, the life in which both feet are more or less literally on the ground – that is to say, on the concrete floors of offices, classrooms, boardrooms – wherever we earn our daily loaf – the habit if fixing on problems is part of the bread itself. At least it has been for me, for many years: the underachieving student, the justly disgruntled colleague, the unbalanced budget. Or, loser to home and heart, the uncompleted project, the distressed companion, the sick or dying loved one. But none of these problems are addressed, let alone solved, or even avoided, by thinking about them – or by looking at them.The magic spell, if there is one, is to look beyond them. Not from absence of feeling, or shallowness of perspective, but because the mind magnifies the things to which its vision attends – for good or for ill.Now, to say that “we create our own reality” is both a New Age cliché and an the most untenable solipsism – as asphalt’s undeniable reality will undeniably attest. But, just as undeniably, we go where we look. Toward the threat, or around and beyond it.As I learned that on a motorcycle, I learned it off one. And, as with the actual practice of Yoga or Zen – or , or that matter, brushing one’s teeth – only through daily application. One long ride on a weekend is illuminating, but it is no substitute for the daily trip around town, with its van-loads of soccer kids and cell-phone daydreamers; blind alleys of the mind, and parked cars of the soul.All of which are just to be looked past, and leaned around.Nothing to lose sleep over.
Risk--From Podcast #1
Risk
by Lewis Gillham aka "The Harley Dude"
The first chapter in the MSF handbook is about risk – making the point that every human activity involves it, and that awareness of it is the first step in managing it.When I read that, I wasn’t sure if the point was “watch out,” or “don’t worry.” It’s probably somewhere between the two. Calculating risks is what insurance companies do – at the level of high science.That’s the difference, someone once explained to me, between insurance and socialism. The later says, “whatever happens, we’ll take care of you.” Maybe at the cost of some freedom, some choice, some quality – but always and everywhere. The former says, “freedom involves risk; risk is a gamble; gambling involves odds; we know the odds,” and so should you.As I listened to Diane __________ talk about the scenario in which a customer expects a level of coverage he didn’t pay for, this came to mind.Ever notice how seldom people talk about “buying” insurance? Instead we hear people say they “take it out,” like a loan, I guess, or maybe like a date. Or that they “have” insurance, which makes it sound like a vital sign. Or that they’re “covered,” as if by a warm blanket. A security blanket.And there is a sense of security that comes with the policy. But it’s not therapy. It’s a product.When you buy it, you enter the game of chance of weighing the odds you’ll need it against the odds you won’t.And there are, let’s be honest, some people at one extreme who decide that the best way to play these odds is not to ante up at all. It’s the “catch-me-if-you-can” mentality that says, “well, I haven’t had a crash yet.” Not all these people take that stance because of being unlicensed or undocumented.A few years ago, I was rear-ended by a native-born citizen who got out of his car, produced his license, admitted fault, and then said, “But I don’t have any insurance.” I called the police, reported the accident and the statement. The dispatcher asked if anybody was hurt. Not really. So she told me to officers would be out to the scene. So much, I thought, for the threats in the DMV manual about all that can happen if you don’t carry liability insurance.I had, and still have, the insured motorist coverage we talked about earlier in the show. I used it, of course. No deductible. End of story.I don’t know what happened to the guy who clipped me. To be honest, I really don’t care. Is it a major social justice issue that he didn’t pay out that $1200 a year, and I did – including, probably, ten or twenty bucks to cover an incident with a guy like him? Not to me.Having bought the coverage, I made my gamble, and that one paid off. Just like the gamble I take that, sooner or later, a rock will hit my windshield, so comprehensive coverage is worth paying out for.Just like the gamble I take that, sooner or later, a rock will hit my face shield, so I flip it down on when riding on country roads. One did yesterday.We all talk about the inherent sense of freedom that comes with riding. But is it freedom to, or freedom from?For me, it’s freedom to. To feel the wind, the road, the magic/scientific forces of the gyroscope and the centrifuge. Freedom from is a slippery slope. “Freedom from” always seems followed by some word or other that ends up meaning responsibility.And if I wanted freedom from responsibility, I wouldn’t ride at all. Nor would I want insurance; I’d want socialism. If I wanted socialism, I’d be opting out of freedom. As the old saying goes, ya pays yer money, and ya takes yer choice.
by Lewis Gillham aka "The Harley Dude"
The first chapter in the MSF handbook is about risk – making the point that every human activity involves it, and that awareness of it is the first step in managing it.When I read that, I wasn’t sure if the point was “watch out,” or “don’t worry.” It’s probably somewhere between the two. Calculating risks is what insurance companies do – at the level of high science.That’s the difference, someone once explained to me, between insurance and socialism. The later says, “whatever happens, we’ll take care of you.” Maybe at the cost of some freedom, some choice, some quality – but always and everywhere. The former says, “freedom involves risk; risk is a gamble; gambling involves odds; we know the odds,” and so should you.As I listened to Diane __________ talk about the scenario in which a customer expects a level of coverage he didn’t pay for, this came to mind.Ever notice how seldom people talk about “buying” insurance? Instead we hear people say they “take it out,” like a loan, I guess, or maybe like a date. Or that they “have” insurance, which makes it sound like a vital sign. Or that they’re “covered,” as if by a warm blanket. A security blanket.And there is a sense of security that comes with the policy. But it’s not therapy. It’s a product.When you buy it, you enter the game of chance of weighing the odds you’ll need it against the odds you won’t.And there are, let’s be honest, some people at one extreme who decide that the best way to play these odds is not to ante up at all. It’s the “catch-me-if-you-can” mentality that says, “well, I haven’t had a crash yet.” Not all these people take that stance because of being unlicensed or undocumented.A few years ago, I was rear-ended by a native-born citizen who got out of his car, produced his license, admitted fault, and then said, “But I don’t have any insurance.” I called the police, reported the accident and the statement. The dispatcher asked if anybody was hurt. Not really. So she told me to officers would be out to the scene. So much, I thought, for the threats in the DMV manual about all that can happen if you don’t carry liability insurance.I had, and still have, the insured motorist coverage we talked about earlier in the show. I used it, of course. No deductible. End of story.I don’t know what happened to the guy who clipped me. To be honest, I really don’t care. Is it a major social justice issue that he didn’t pay out that $1200 a year, and I did – including, probably, ten or twenty bucks to cover an incident with a guy like him? Not to me.Having bought the coverage, I made my gamble, and that one paid off. Just like the gamble I take that, sooner or later, a rock will hit my windshield, so comprehensive coverage is worth paying out for.Just like the gamble I take that, sooner or later, a rock will hit my face shield, so I flip it down on when riding on country roads. One did yesterday.We all talk about the inherent sense of freedom that comes with riding. But is it freedom to, or freedom from?For me, it’s freedom to. To feel the wind, the road, the magic/scientific forces of the gyroscope and the centrifuge. Freedom from is a slippery slope. “Freedom from” always seems followed by some word or other that ends up meaning responsibility.And if I wanted freedom from responsibility, I wouldn’t ride at all. Nor would I want insurance; I’d want socialism. If I wanted socialism, I’d be opting out of freedom. As the old saying goes, ya pays yer money, and ya takes yer choice.
Gender
Gender
By Lewis Gillham aka The Harley Dude
Looking back over the last hundred years of changing gender roles, we can easily mark the shifts in common perceptions of masculine/feminine identity: from the first response to Freud’s call for the end of sexual repression, through the rumble seat love of the 20’s, the road-ramblers of the Great Depression, Rosie the Riveter, the Brooks Brothers man, to the “liberated women” and “sensitive men” that emerged from some of the countercultural foment in the fabled years of the 1960s and 70s. More recently, men have sought to reassert a deep masculinity in the post feminist climate of the new millennium, blazing and following paths that range from Robert Bly’s mythopoetic, neo-Jungian drumming and howling through the fundamentalist-filled stadiums of Promise Keepers to the syncretistic balance John Eldredge has tried to strike in his best-selling Wild at Heart.So, what does any of this have to do with motorcycles? In a word, everything.In the time when war-weary men of the late 40s and early 50s sought security and found identity through marriage, mortgage, and membership in the growing American Middle Class common culture, a relatively small incident in Hollister, California, made headlines in Life magazine and inspired what many would call the first of a seemingly interminable series of biker flicks – The Wild Ones. Marlon Brando’s film persona moved slightly further out - from that of salt-of-the-earth Stanley Kowalski, whom he had played in Tennessee Williams’ Streetcar Named Desire—to the existentially troubled, but physically and metaphysically free, eponymous antihero Johnny. Johnny’s rebellion – expressed most memorably in the Socratic dialogue “What are you rebelling against?” “What have you got?” is nihilistic only if isolated from the limiting roles to which post-war masculinity itself was confined. Indeed, what did men have? Conformity and responsibility to a very gray world of machines -- industrial, economic, and social -- that enclose us: the factory, of course, but also the office cubicle; the mass-produced business suit; the suburban cul-de-sac; and maybe most to the point, the respectable four-door sedan. Thus, the matrix of the so-called nanny government, sheltering her little boys from harm and from any unneeded risk is really The Mother Machine.The motorcycle, by contrast, is held by is rider – not insignificantly, between the legs, knees on the tank – and is thus a very different kind of woman from mom.When Kathy, Johnny’s love interest in The Wild One, says to him, “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before. It’s fast. It scared me, but it felt good. Is that what you do?” the sexual metaphor is both obvious and laughable, but more enduring five decades later are the other dimensions with which her question reverberates: What is it a man does? What is it, now, after five decades of sexual revolution, liberation, and deconstruction of what postmodernists self-consciously call “gender, as distinct from sex,” that characterizes the masculine? The feminine?In “The Art of the Motorcycle: Outlaws, Animals, and Sex Machines,” Ted Polhemus has argued that the cultural icons of leather, tattoos, scruffy hair and flowing beards, and body piercing which emerged first in the early post-war biker culture extolled in The Wild One are really the last plumage – perhaps the only one enduring through the last half-century – of the ancient and wider-than-human reality of The Peacock Male.Might we also say that Kathy sang the swan-song of the equally repressed “female eunuch,” as Germaine Greer eventually named the post-war wife of the corporate man? A woman whose proper skirt and sweater set could, by analogy, be replaced by the tank top and leather pants of the biker babe, legs wrapped around her driver, as his wrap the machine that moves them both?Moreover, women are no longer confined to the role of pillion – or some less savory term – for non-steering passenger. In the last five years women are purchasing motorcycles and acquiring operator’s licenses in record numbers. How will this change the roles of men and women – both those who ride and, through the influence of popular media – those who don’t – in the next fifty years?In this show, and in some shows to come, we’ll explore the role of women – and, of course, of their male counterparts – in riding.
By Lewis Gillham aka The Harley Dude
Looking back over the last hundred years of changing gender roles, we can easily mark the shifts in common perceptions of masculine/feminine identity: from the first response to Freud’s call for the end of sexual repression, through the rumble seat love of the 20’s, the road-ramblers of the Great Depression, Rosie the Riveter, the Brooks Brothers man, to the “liberated women” and “sensitive men” that emerged from some of the countercultural foment in the fabled years of the 1960s and 70s. More recently, men have sought to reassert a deep masculinity in the post feminist climate of the new millennium, blazing and following paths that range from Robert Bly’s mythopoetic, neo-Jungian drumming and howling through the fundamentalist-filled stadiums of Promise Keepers to the syncretistic balance John Eldredge has tried to strike in his best-selling Wild at Heart.So, what does any of this have to do with motorcycles? In a word, everything.In the time when war-weary men of the late 40s and early 50s sought security and found identity through marriage, mortgage, and membership in the growing American Middle Class common culture, a relatively small incident in Hollister, California, made headlines in Life magazine and inspired what many would call the first of a seemingly interminable series of biker flicks – The Wild Ones. Marlon Brando’s film persona moved slightly further out - from that of salt-of-the-earth Stanley Kowalski, whom he had played in Tennessee Williams’ Streetcar Named Desire—to the existentially troubled, but physically and metaphysically free, eponymous antihero Johnny. Johnny’s rebellion – expressed most memorably in the Socratic dialogue “What are you rebelling against?” “What have you got?” is nihilistic only if isolated from the limiting roles to which post-war masculinity itself was confined. Indeed, what did men have? Conformity and responsibility to a very gray world of machines -- industrial, economic, and social -- that enclose us: the factory, of course, but also the office cubicle; the mass-produced business suit; the suburban cul-de-sac; and maybe most to the point, the respectable four-door sedan. Thus, the matrix of the so-called nanny government, sheltering her little boys from harm and from any unneeded risk is really The Mother Machine.The motorcycle, by contrast, is held by is rider – not insignificantly, between the legs, knees on the tank – and is thus a very different kind of woman from mom.When Kathy, Johnny’s love interest in The Wild One, says to him, “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before. It’s fast. It scared me, but it felt good. Is that what you do?” the sexual metaphor is both obvious and laughable, but more enduring five decades later are the other dimensions with which her question reverberates: What is it a man does? What is it, now, after five decades of sexual revolution, liberation, and deconstruction of what postmodernists self-consciously call “gender, as distinct from sex,” that characterizes the masculine? The feminine?In “The Art of the Motorcycle: Outlaws, Animals, and Sex Machines,” Ted Polhemus has argued that the cultural icons of leather, tattoos, scruffy hair and flowing beards, and body piercing which emerged first in the early post-war biker culture extolled in The Wild One are really the last plumage – perhaps the only one enduring through the last half-century – of the ancient and wider-than-human reality of The Peacock Male.Might we also say that Kathy sang the swan-song of the equally repressed “female eunuch,” as Germaine Greer eventually named the post-war wife of the corporate man? A woman whose proper skirt and sweater set could, by analogy, be replaced by the tank top and leather pants of the biker babe, legs wrapped around her driver, as his wrap the machine that moves them both?Moreover, women are no longer confined to the role of pillion – or some less savory term – for non-steering passenger. In the last five years women are purchasing motorcycles and acquiring operator’s licenses in record numbers. How will this change the roles of men and women – both those who ride and, through the influence of popular media – those who don’t – in the next fifty years?In this show, and in some shows to come, we’ll explore the role of women – and, of course, of their male counterparts – in riding.
Pre-Trip Maitanence - Podcast #7
Change the engine oil being watchful for debris in the old oil, such as metal shavings, which could signal the need for a more thorough inspection of the drive shaft or other engine components.Check all fluids and top off or replace if needed.Check brakes, making sure there is enough pad left for the trip. If in doubt, replace them. Always err on the side of caution.Check tires for wear and replace if unsure they will make the trip. Make sure they are properly inflated, check the owner's manual for proper inflation pressures, especially if riding 2 up.Clean your windshield and visor. We use a cleaner specially made for cleaning Plexiglas, called Plexi. Never use an abrasive cleaner. When cleaning, always wipe up and down. NEVER SIDE TO SIDE. We have learned that there is a sort of "grain" to Plexiglas and going against this grain will lead to a greater possibility for scratching that expensive windshield, as well as hindering your visibility.Check all screws and bolts. Follow guidelines in your repair manual for torque specifications. On several areas of the bike, tightening a screw or bolt too much can cause more damaged than having them a little too loose. Invest in a quality torque wrench, it's worth it. a customizable checklist
Pillions Perspective
Pillions Perspective...
Patti Weckerley
It’s a wonderful place, being on the back of the bike, with the beemerman in front (and between my legs, no less!) He’s a fantastic driver and I can totally relax, knowing that I’m safe and sound with him driving, and stoked up on Monster Energy Drinks. Actually, my only concern is that I might relax too much and fall asleep behind him. There have been moments on long rides that I’ve caught myself drifting off. The Beemerman is an avid reader of the BMW website and someone actually bungees his wife down when they go on long trips. He didn’t say whether he bungees her to the bike or to himself, but it has definitely been a tempting thought now and then.I’ve been riding, as a passenger, since May 2005. I’ve been told, that I’m a great passenger. I credit this to putting my trust in the person I’m riding with. They’re the ones who’ve been driving the bike and have the experience to get where we need to go. I have no business looking over his shoulder and trying to compensate for turns or other terrain we may encounte. So, I look to the sides and enjoy the scenery. When we hit some nice twisties, I use my heels to maintain my balance, loosen up my knees so he can get that hip action going round the turns, and lean back and relax. Of course, if you don’t have a back rest or trunk box, you have a totally different situation going and I suggest you hound your riding partner to get one. It makes being a passenger a much more relaxing experience, especially on long rides.I’ve found being a passenger on a bike to be an excellent metaphor for a personal journey I’ve been taking. On a recent ride to Kernville, CA to spend a quiet, solitary, and spiritual quest weekend, it came to me that while on the back of the bike I am probably “in the present” more than I am at any other given time. Behind the beemerman, I don’t look forward much, I leave that to him-he will control our future. It’s difficult to look behind us-the past is gone. All I have is where I am, right now. Even that is fleeting and I have to take what I can of the precious seconds surrounding me, before they’re whisked away and become part of the past. So, in a sense, on the bike the Beemerman is in the position of my higher power-he controls my destiny, the ultimate outcome. I can make the ride uncomfortable and scary by looking ahead and reacting to what I anticipate might happen-grabbing the driver, trying to shift my weight to compensate for the curves ahead or in fear of falling over, the possibilities are endless, or I can let the driver do his job, the one he’s trained to do, and relax and enjoy the ride. By looking back, nothing is accomplished, except rehashing old feelings which usually include self-destructive ones that do no one any good. By looking to the sides I can enjoy what is immediately around me, as it is at that moment in time. It’s not something that is dreamed of or anticipated, it’s real. Once I took that frame of mind, the ride took on a new feel. We’ve taken this route several times before, but this time I studied the sides and enjoyed the scenery, knowing it would never again be exactly like I was seeing it at that moment on that gorgeous day.
Patti Weckerley
It’s a wonderful place, being on the back of the bike, with the beemerman in front (and between my legs, no less!) He’s a fantastic driver and I can totally relax, knowing that I’m safe and sound with him driving, and stoked up on Monster Energy Drinks. Actually, my only concern is that I might relax too much and fall asleep behind him. There have been moments on long rides that I’ve caught myself drifting off. The Beemerman is an avid reader of the BMW website and someone actually bungees his wife down when they go on long trips. He didn’t say whether he bungees her to the bike or to himself, but it has definitely been a tempting thought now and then.I’ve been riding, as a passenger, since May 2005. I’ve been told, that I’m a great passenger. I credit this to putting my trust in the person I’m riding with. They’re the ones who’ve been driving the bike and have the experience to get where we need to go. I have no business looking over his shoulder and trying to compensate for turns or other terrain we may encounte. So, I look to the sides and enjoy the scenery. When we hit some nice twisties, I use my heels to maintain my balance, loosen up my knees so he can get that hip action going round the turns, and lean back and relax. Of course, if you don’t have a back rest or trunk box, you have a totally different situation going and I suggest you hound your riding partner to get one. It makes being a passenger a much more relaxing experience, especially on long rides.I’ve found being a passenger on a bike to be an excellent metaphor for a personal journey I’ve been taking. On a recent ride to Kernville, CA to spend a quiet, solitary, and spiritual quest weekend, it came to me that while on the back of the bike I am probably “in the present” more than I am at any other given time. Behind the beemerman, I don’t look forward much, I leave that to him-he will control our future. It’s difficult to look behind us-the past is gone. All I have is where I am, right now. Even that is fleeting and I have to take what I can of the precious seconds surrounding me, before they’re whisked away and become part of the past. So, in a sense, on the bike the Beemerman is in the position of my higher power-he controls my destiny, the ultimate outcome. I can make the ride uncomfortable and scary by looking ahead and reacting to what I anticipate might happen-grabbing the driver, trying to shift my weight to compensate for the curves ahead or in fear of falling over, the possibilities are endless, or I can let the driver do his job, the one he’s trained to do, and relax and enjoy the ride. By looking back, nothing is accomplished, except rehashing old feelings which usually include self-destructive ones that do no one any good. By looking to the sides I can enjoy what is immediately around me, as it is at that moment in time. It’s not something that is dreamed of or anticipated, it’s real. Once I took that frame of mind, the ride took on a new feel. We’ve taken this route several times before, but this time I studied the sides and enjoyed the scenery, knowing it would never again be exactly like I was seeing it at that moment on that gorgeous day.
Mammoth Lakes 9.26.06
Mammoth Lakes, CAThis has been a spectacular adventure. I've lived my entire life in California and until now had never visited the Mammoth area, except to pass through towards another destination. I always think of skiing when I hear someone mention the place, since it's so well known for the sport, and since there is a developer that is hellbent on turning it into the winter sport mecca of the world, or at least North America. Upon closer inspection, I've found that there are other activities that draw people to the scenic beauty of the area. Those would be hiking, fishing, and motorcycling. Who could blame them? The surrounding mountains contain a vast assortment of rock formations that one could ponder for hours and air that is so clean and fresh that I wondered how anyone survives in the muck of the central valley. My lungs rejoiced! Wildlife is abundant-squirrels and birds are everywhere and deer became a common sight as we explored the back roads surrounding the numerous lakes and streams. Lucky for us, Beemerman is a skillful driver and managed to avoid hitting a doe that decided to bound out in front of us. Her more timid fawn had, thankfully, waited until we passed to make its way across the road. Bear crossing signs were frequent and I had hoped to catch a glimpse of one of the many black bears that inhabits the region. No such luck, though the locals in Mammoth stated that bears are commonly seen prowling the streets in the evening in search of inadequately secured garbage bins. The beauty made up for the frigid early morning temperatures that hung around the 30 degree mark. Of course, once we were cruising along the highway turned to somewhere in the 20's. Once one is acclimated to the colder temps, it doesn't have quite the same impact. Unfortunately, the climate in the central valley hasn't gotten into winter mode yet, so the cold just seemed to reach into our bodies and settle for a while. After the sun had been up for an hour or so, the days warmed to a comfortable 65 degrees. I'm so glad I layered my clothing.On the podcast we talked about Highway 120. It is worth the drive to Mammoth just to do that road. I was sooooo much fun! We've encountered roads with the, shall I call it "upsy-downsy", sort of humps in them, but none as big and numerous as these. Those of you that remember the individual tickets for rides at Disneyland will understand when I say this was definitely an "E" ticket ride. You've got to check out the video footage I took from the back of the bike while we road them. Hwy 120 Roller coaster RideI found out that Mammoth's road crews are great about clearing the roads of snow, sand/gravel is used instead of salt, so if one dared to brave the much colder temps of winter, riding would be possible. Of course, that sand/gravel mess would probably create some possible road hazards, but the scenery would be awesome. Hmmm...I may have to buy some warmer gear and check that out.
Kernville
A Saturday Ride to Kernville, CAThe air was crisp this morning, there was even some dew on the windshield of our pick up. Autumn is definitely here. Enjoying the laziness of the day, we weren't in a hurry to get to work on the task of pulling everything together for the Sunday recording of this week's podcast. We decided that we must first clear our minds of the litter of the prior week and what better way to do it than to go for a ride. Kernville, CA has always been one of my favorite destinations for a leisurely day's ride or a weekend getaway. Its quiet nature and intimate Kern River access makes it an excellent prescription for body and soul. So it was decided that we would pay the small town a visit for lunch and a breath of fresh mountain air. The route we took is indicated on the map below. Riding pillion has its advantages, and knowing exactly what road we're on at a given time is not always on my mind. Thus, a look at the map is a great mind refresher. We started in Bakersfield, CA and headed north on Granite Road which begins just north east of the Meadows Field Airport. The history, alone, of that area could probably be an article in itself, which I plan to write one of these days. Aside from that, the first leg of the journey gently winds its way through foothills covered in dry grass and littered with granite outcroppings. Oak Trees gradually increase in number as we climb towards the southern part of the Sequoia National Forest. Soon Pine Trees, then Redwoods, outnumber the Oaks and we find ourselves in a forest of tall Sequoias and Pines. The air is cooler and I'm glad I remembered to include the liner in my jacket this morning. I had debated taking it as the day was supposed to turn warm, of course things are different under the cover of the tall conifers. This route is full of twisties and sweepers. Thankfully, the roads are kept clear of most debris so Beemerman can sport ride to his heart's content. As I sit back and enjoy the ride I look up at the incredibly blue sky and the treetops reaching up to touch the sun's rays that are cascading down onto the forest below. (And people ask, "how can you ride those things?!") Ah, to be part of this forest and this moment in time. We continue following our winding path as it shares with us incredible views of the surrounding hills, splashed with the yellow and orange colors of fall.
As we descend from the forested haven of tall trees and pine scented air, the terrain once again changes to the familiar oaks and scrub,of the high desert, with patches of pines mixed in. We round a bend in the road and capture the shimmer of Lake Isabella. It's at its lowest level these days, with little rain to speak of all summer long. Still, it shines like an oasis in this granite and scrub dominated region. The grade increases and the twisties tighten as we weave our way through the little mountain community of Wofford Heights. It's good he got his sport-riding yah-yah's out earlier as these twisties curl through residential neighborhoods with people stopping and making turns, etc. I wanted to include a representative picture of this town, but it was hard to capture it as the housing and businesses are scattered among the peaks and valleys of the hillside. Approaching the intersection of SR155 and Burlando Road we are ever closer to the lake and the view of the neighboring town of Lake Isabella. Burlando Road is a wide open highway that seems quite roomy after spending considerable time on a 2-lane mountain road. I can see the relief in Beemerman's posture as he relaxes from the controlled ride through Wofford Heights. A stretch and roll of his shoulders and we're off again, it's a good thing we're almost to Kernville, my stomach is beginning to growl. We roll around a wide sweeper and suddenly realize the quiet town of Kernville is not so quiet today. Cars and motorcycles abound and a sign indicates the reason for all the commotion. Ahh, yes! This is the weekend they have their car show and rodeo! Well, maybe a quiet afternoon isn't exactly in the cards for us for today after all. No problem. We spot the familiar sign of the popular restaurant, "Cheryl's " and know a good meal is not far away. After backing in and parking next a couple of Harley's, we briefly debate whether to take our helmets in with us. Looking around, it's obvious that everyone is on the honor system here-helmets abound on the sea of bikes parked near the eatery. Grabbing our laptop and notebooks, yes they go everywhere with us, we walk inside. Like an old friend, the place hasn't changed since the last time we visited and the employees are just as friendly. We wait briefly to be seated and then are ushered to a corner booth with lots of room to put down our stuff and relax. MMmmm...eggs and bacon for Beemerman, a hula burger for me, add a couple of diet sodas and we'll be good for a long while. We leave the place with stomachs full and feeling contented. All of a sudden we hear someone calling, "Cam!". Looking behind us in search of the face to go with the voice, we spot several members of the Bakersfield BMW Club dining at one of the outside tables of the establishment we had just left. They came up for the car show and invite us to join them in wandering around admiring the polished classic cars that line the main street of Kernville. We chat while they finish their lunch and then head for the cars. I'm not one for ogling cars, unless I'm in the market to purchase one, so I entertain myself with people watching and a conversation about gear with the one female member of the club who had come, with husband in tow. Beemerman busily takes lots of pictures of the cars, some of which are below, and enjoys hanging with the guys for a little while. Since we hadn't made plans as to what route to take home, we decide to join the Beemer Club in their trek back to Bakersfield via Highway 178, which winds through the Kern River Canyon. Initially, this route is all wide slab and maybe a sweeper or two, but it soon turns into a tight 2 lane ride through a steep canyon with a 90 degree rock face on one side and drop to the river below on the other. Twisties abound here, but occasionally there is debris from the rocky sides that collects in the road so care must be taken. We've ridden this route many times so we know it well, to the point that it has become almost routine. It's a fun jaunt back to town and is made even better by being in the company of friends and fellow BMW enthusiasts. It was a great way to wrap up a very enjoyable riding day.
As we descend from the forested haven of tall trees and pine scented air, the terrain once again changes to the familiar oaks and scrub,of the high desert, with patches of pines mixed in. We round a bend in the road and capture the shimmer of Lake Isabella. It's at its lowest level these days, with little rain to speak of all summer long. Still, it shines like an oasis in this granite and scrub dominated region. The grade increases and the twisties tighten as we weave our way through the little mountain community of Wofford Heights. It's good he got his sport-riding yah-yah's out earlier as these twisties curl through residential neighborhoods with people stopping and making turns, etc. I wanted to include a representative picture of this town, but it was hard to capture it as the housing and businesses are scattered among the peaks and valleys of the hillside. Approaching the intersection of SR155 and Burlando Road we are ever closer to the lake and the view of the neighboring town of Lake Isabella. Burlando Road is a wide open highway that seems quite roomy after spending considerable time on a 2-lane mountain road. I can see the relief in Beemerman's posture as he relaxes from the controlled ride through Wofford Heights. A stretch and roll of his shoulders and we're off again, it's a good thing we're almost to Kernville, my stomach is beginning to growl. We roll around a wide sweeper and suddenly realize the quiet town of Kernville is not so quiet today. Cars and motorcycles abound and a sign indicates the reason for all the commotion. Ahh, yes! This is the weekend they have their car show and rodeo! Well, maybe a quiet afternoon isn't exactly in the cards for us for today after all. No problem. We spot the familiar sign of the popular restaurant, "Cheryl's " and know a good meal is not far away. After backing in and parking next a couple of Harley's, we briefly debate whether to take our helmets in with us. Looking around, it's obvious that everyone is on the honor system here-helmets abound on the sea of bikes parked near the eatery. Grabbing our laptop and notebooks, yes they go everywhere with us, we walk inside. Like an old friend, the place hasn't changed since the last time we visited and the employees are just as friendly. We wait briefly to be seated and then are ushered to a corner booth with lots of room to put down our stuff and relax. MMmmm...eggs and bacon for Beemerman, a hula burger for me, add a couple of diet sodas and we'll be good for a long while. We leave the place with stomachs full and feeling contented. All of a sudden we hear someone calling, "Cam!". Looking behind us in search of the face to go with the voice, we spot several members of the Bakersfield BMW Club dining at one of the outside tables of the establishment we had just left. They came up for the car show and invite us to join them in wandering around admiring the polished classic cars that line the main street of Kernville. We chat while they finish their lunch and then head for the cars. I'm not one for ogling cars, unless I'm in the market to purchase one, so I entertain myself with people watching and a conversation about gear with the one female member of the club who had come, with husband in tow. Beemerman busily takes lots of pictures of the cars, some of which are below, and enjoys hanging with the guys for a little while. Since we hadn't made plans as to what route to take home, we decide to join the Beemer Club in their trek back to Bakersfield via Highway 178, which winds through the Kern River Canyon. Initially, this route is all wide slab and maybe a sweeper or two, but it soon turns into a tight 2 lane ride through a steep canyon with a 90 degree rock face on one side and drop to the river below on the other. Twisties abound here, but occasionally there is debris from the rocky sides that collects in the road so care must be taken. We've ridden this route many times so we know it well, to the point that it has become almost routine. It's a fun jaunt back to town and is made even better by being in the company of friends and fellow BMW enthusiasts. It was a great way to wrap up a very enjoyable riding day.
If Only
In Only...
By Patti Weckerley
If only… What a strong phrase with so many possibilities endlessly streaming after it. Hmm… possibilities or regrets, most likely regrets. It’s the phrase we use when we find ourselves in a place from which there seems no escape. We use our hawk-like retrospective vision to illuminate ourselves as to the way it was “supposed to be” had we not made that one, key decision that brought us to our current precarious situation. If only’s are repeatedly played within our minds like some sort of twisted song that we don’t remember the words to, but still plays over and over again. They can be as simple as “If only I’d remembered to take out the trash last night…”, or “If only I had brushed more often…” but when that familiar “tune” drums on and on after a more serious brush it feels more personal, more painful: “If only I had insisted on driving him home. If only I hadn’t blown my rent money in Vegas.” We took a pretty good spill on our bike about a year ago, and “if only’s” abounded. If only we had seen the sand in the road earlier…, if only I had been wearing some knee protection…, if only we had remembered to put the first aid kit back in the bike after we cleaned it out…, if only the batteries hadn’t fallen out of the camera when it hit the ground…, I was filming video at the time. Wouldn’t that have been great footage?! My most recent “if only…” was Saturday, when we did the on-the-road interview with Tim. As usual, we were dashing out of the house that morning making sure we were on the road in time to catch him as he passed through Taft, CA; which is a short 40 minute drive from our place. We had planned to tag along for awhile as his tour group headed for Ojai, CA. We grabbed the camera and recorder, made sure we were dressed warmly as the ride would take us to around a 5000 foot elevation. We hit the road with high hopes for a great interview and a fantastic ride. Things went well; we met some great people, and saw some gorgeous countryside. My “if only” didn’t hit me until I got home and checked the shots I had taken that day. Not too bad, some were nice enough composition, but what was that blurry haze that seemed to dominate every photo? It was centered and a little to the right in every one of them. A smudge. In my haste I had forgotten to check the camera lens for crud from prior use. I may get another chance to take a ride with one of Tim’s tours, but this was the first one and I really needed some good pics for the website. If only I had taken a couple of minutes to check my equipment before we left, if only we hadn’t been in such a rush, if only I had gotten up earlier, if only I hadn’t stayed up so late the night before……..
By Patti Weckerley
If only… What a strong phrase with so many possibilities endlessly streaming after it. Hmm… possibilities or regrets, most likely regrets. It’s the phrase we use when we find ourselves in a place from which there seems no escape. We use our hawk-like retrospective vision to illuminate ourselves as to the way it was “supposed to be” had we not made that one, key decision that brought us to our current precarious situation. If only’s are repeatedly played within our minds like some sort of twisted song that we don’t remember the words to, but still plays over and over again. They can be as simple as “If only I’d remembered to take out the trash last night…”, or “If only I had brushed more often…” but when that familiar “tune” drums on and on after a more serious brush it feels more personal, more painful: “If only I had insisted on driving him home. If only I hadn’t blown my rent money in Vegas.” We took a pretty good spill on our bike about a year ago, and “if only’s” abounded. If only we had seen the sand in the road earlier…, if only I had been wearing some knee protection…, if only we had remembered to put the first aid kit back in the bike after we cleaned it out…, if only the batteries hadn’t fallen out of the camera when it hit the ground…, I was filming video at the time. Wouldn’t that have been great footage?! My most recent “if only…” was Saturday, when we did the on-the-road interview with Tim. As usual, we were dashing out of the house that morning making sure we were on the road in time to catch him as he passed through Taft, CA; which is a short 40 minute drive from our place. We had planned to tag along for awhile as his tour group headed for Ojai, CA. We grabbed the camera and recorder, made sure we were dressed warmly as the ride would take us to around a 5000 foot elevation. We hit the road with high hopes for a great interview and a fantastic ride. Things went well; we met some great people, and saw some gorgeous countryside. My “if only” didn’t hit me until I got home and checked the shots I had taken that day. Not too bad, some were nice enough composition, but what was that blurry haze that seemed to dominate every photo? It was centered and a little to the right in every one of them. A smudge. In my haste I had forgotten to check the camera lens for crud from prior use. I may get another chance to take a ride with one of Tim’s tours, but this was the first one and I really needed some good pics for the website. If only I had taken a couple of minutes to check my equipment before we left, if only we hadn’t been in such a rush, if only I had gotten up earlier, if only I hadn’t stayed up so late the night before……..
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)