Getting old - or - Not a "real" biker any more?

Took a look out the window this morning. The sun was shining in a deep blue cloudless sky, and across the lake the bright reds and yellows of the maples stood in stark contrast to the dark green evergreen forest.

Took a look at my schedule - clear. “Aha”, I thought, “perfect day for a fall ride”.

Then I actually went outside – and froze my ass off. Temperature was only slightly above freezing. The car windows were covered in frost. And there was a steady, stiff northern wind blowing. No way was I going to add a 60mph wind chill factor to already hypothermic riding conditions, so off came the jacket and the helmet went back on the shelf for another day.

It wasn’t always thus. There was a time when I used to look forward to riding any day there wasn’t ice or snow on the roads, and did, on occasion, manage to get a ride in every month of the year, even in the depths of a Canadian winter. I always figured that if those sonsabitches at the insurance company were going to make me pay 12 months a year like I lived in Florida or something, I’d damn well ride 12 months of the year. Yeah, that’ll show ‘em. And then they can pay to have the frostbite damage fixed too. Now we’re really showing ‘em!

But that was then and this is now – a few decades later. I still like to ride, but not under any conditions. Beating the insurance company doesn’t seem so important any more. I avoid the rain like the plague – and snow, doubly so. I avoid driving as much at night as I used too – I say it’s because of all the deer on the roads out here, which is true, but it’s also because my night-time vision isn’t quite as good as it used to be. And memories of being so cold after one long ride that I, the bike, and the missus would have done Laugh-In's Arte Johnson proud the way we came to a stop and then simply, slowly, toppled over in a parking lot, are no longer just more incentive to get out there and do it again.

Nope. I have now reached the stage of maturity where comfort and safety trump “What the hell. Go for it.” I may not put as many miles (kilometres up here) on a year as I used to, but when I do ride I get home feeling relaxed, happy, and ready to go again – when the conditions are just right.

Two-legged, four-wheeled buffalo

I recently had the experience of being surrounded by a herd of buffalo in Custer State Park in South Dakota. A large number of us were motorcycling through the park when we came across this herd, consisting of perhaps 100 of these very large animals, spread right across the road. No matter what we did, they would not give way until the Griswold family in a grey minivan showed up and slowly inched their way through. We followed like a bunch of ducklings right on momma’s tail feathers

Curious about the behaviour, I checked at the next information centre and was told that, for some reason, buffalo just do not recognize motorcycles as anything to worry about. They will get irritated by the noise, but visually, a motorcycle has no impact on them at all.

I was reminded of this today when a buffalo-minded pickup truck driver just about rearranged my skeletal structure for me.

Fortunately I was doing the speed limit in a 40 kph zone when he pulled out from a strip mall exit, tires squealing, crossed the oncoming lane of traffic, and pulled right into my lane and my space. Emergency braking exercises to the rescue, I avoided hitting him (and he, me) but by no more than a few inches. After a bit of fancy footwork to hold the bike upright, I chased the culprit down to the next traffic light where I pulled up to the driver’s window. The conversation went something like this:

“What the %$#@^ was that about back there?”
“What?”
“You just about ran me off the road!”
“Where?”
“Coming out of the hardware store.”
“I did? Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you.”
“Well that’s *&%^$ obvious. You could have killed me and you wouldn’t even know it. Godammit pay attention before you do kill someone.”
“Sorry man.”

Yeah, right. Sorry man. The driver was maybe 25, a blond-haired surfer type dude (except there is no surf here and the surfer dude look went out in 1970, but never mind, this is Arnprior). And he really didn’t see me.

Which brings me back to buffalo. This guy would most likely have behaved differently if I’d been driving a minivan, but on a motorcycle I was a non-entity. Totally invisible.

But what’s even more worrying is that my normally pretty good sixth sense didn’t give me any tingles at all until I had a windscreen full of white half-ton. Have to watch that – it’s not infallible after all.

Amazing miniatures

A friend sent me some photos of miniature motorcycles made from watch parts. The images were amazing, as you can see from the picture above, but there was no indication who the artist was.

Well it didn't take long (thank you Google!) to discover the artist is a Brazilian sculptor, Jose Geraldo Reis Pfau.

Check out his web site for more of his amazing work.

Boneheaded move of the day

On the way back from the dealer this morning, I was riding along a 2-lane, 80kph highway when I noticed another motorcycle come up behind me. He tucked himself in about 20 meters back in the right-most tire track (I was in the left, hugging the centre line).

We rode along like that for a couple of kilometres when all of a sudden this loaded Gold Wing is passing me on the right!

Totally unexpected, it gave me quite a start. Luckily I hadn’t picked that moment to move over, or make any sudden lane changes else we’d both be in a ditch somewhere on Highway 29.

I can’t imagine what he was thinking (probably not much) because he had no need to pass like that. We were in a passing zone and there was no oncoming traffic, but for some reason this dumb-ass decided he’d just blast up on my inside instead of pulling out to pass properly. I fleetingly considered chasing him down, but I was already doing 20-over and he was disappearing fast into the distance.

I don’t want to wish misfortune on any rider, but I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps just a little crash might knock some sense into this idiot, or better yet, convince him to hang up the chaps for good.

Sometimes you just have to go for a ride

Was feeling kind of grumpy this morning. The weather had turned cold overnight and with grey skies and a brisk north wind blowing it wasn’t shaping up to be a very nice day at all.

Which was pretty depressing. Because of lousy weather and personal commitments, I hadn’t been on the bike since getting back from Sturgis almost two weeks ago. I was getting itchy. So when the weather guy called for today to be sunny and warm, and I had nothing else on the agenda, I was looking forward to a nice, long ride. Perhaps up the back roads to Pembroke. Or over to Westport for lunch.

Then I woke up to this!

So I moped around for a while and did a few odd-jobs around the house. It kept me busy and knocked a couple of items off the honey-do list but my disposition did not improve one iota.

Finally I decided I was going to go for a ride anyway – weather be damned. So I bundled up and headed out just as the clouds broke and the sun came out. Almost immediately the weight fell off and I felt better than I had in days. It was still cool, but traffic was light, roads were clear, and I was riding!

Didn’t go far – just 80 kilometers or so around the block (big blocks when you live in rural Ontario) – but it was just what the doctor ordered.