From Worn and Frayed to Slick and Shiny

 

Pt. Mugu on the PCH Northbound

Always make sure your rubber is up to the task.

How are your tires? Are they good for taking the long way home with the few twisties you like? Always take a peek before you throw your leg over, make it part of your own circle of safety as you walk around your bike to make sure there are no loose ends and everything is shipshape for your ride. Planning a long trip? Do more than peek, inspect everything. Who needs to be halfway between Bass Lake and Yosemite when a tire goes or your battery gives up the ghost?

The last few weeks I’ve been planning a 1500-mile ride that includes, a run up the coast from Santa Monica to Cayucos, over to Walnut Creek to visit my best friend Jim and take in a Giants game with him, then ride through Yosemite to stay in Lee Vining before riding through Death Valley to Pahrump (a scene visit for my book) before heading home.

I made a checklist for myself:

• Q  Check battery and replace as needed
• Q  Ensure tire wear is in line for a 1500-mile ride
• Q  Inspect helmet, replace if it is time (okay, I’ve wanted to make a change anyway)
• Q  Check brakes, belts, electrical cables, and nuts and bolts
• r  Wash the bike, especially the windscreen
• r  Change the oil and filter
• r  Check tire pressure

The battery was a no brainer because I suspected it was at its end. The helmet was easy too simply because I’ve wanted to make a change and upgrade my helmet cam/communications unit anyway. Brakes, belts, and such I do regularly. The tires on my Victory Cross Country? I needed help. I suspected the rear tire needed to be changed because it appeared close to the wear marks. The front tire I thought might be okay for my trip.  The receipt from the last tire change was not to be found and I wanted to go back to the same place. They were/are very good and being a repeat customer is a good thing to be. There is something comforting about having someone you trust work on your bike. My friend Jed gave me a recommendation and bingo, it was the place. Jed was likely the person who sent me to M-C Tire Works in the first place.

My grand plan for the day of the tire change was to arrive promptly when they opened at 9am, kill time while they worked their magic with a little reading and writing, and then ride up to Santa Barbara via the coast route to catch my grandson’s freshman football game. It was a brilliant plan that needed a bit of tweaking with Jeremiah’s game being pushed back a couple of hours. It turned out I would need the extra time and extra tweaking.

I was a few minutes early and was there to watch Tony open up the shop for the day and greet the technician who would work on my bike. Tony and I walked around the bike so he could assess my needs. It turned out that I really needed his practiced eye. My front tire was due, there was no maybe about it. The rear tire had some miles left on it and Tony said I could have the 1500 miles left on it but couldn’t make anything certain as every bike and rider wear tires in their own way. I opted to go with the safe and secure option. Finding a lift and getting a new tire in Death Valley at 120-degrees with a blown tire is dicey thing, we’ve already lost a couple of riders this year to the heat out there.

They were done with the work at just under the estimated time and I was ready to roll out by 11am or so. This is where I found the need for more tweaking for the ride up to Santa Barbara. Tony reminded me that the new tires are slick and need 100 miles of careful riding. I remembered the slick part, just not the 100-mile recommendation. I had to watch for water, tight turns, and be mindful of my throttle. He pointed out a sign on the counter warning about the slickness, the 100-mile recommendation. The sign ended with, “Too much gas and you will be on your ass.”

I am a big fan of M-C Tireworks! 5 of 5 ês!

I took these things seriously and altered my route to use as much surface street mileage as possible from North Hills to Malibu Canyon. Traffic wasn’t bad, thankfully. I left plenty of space between me and the next guy and maintained a good safety bubble. I made the most of the ride up Venture Blvd. When I was a Communications Technician for the phone factory I had offices all throughout the valley and good memories accompanied me along the ride.

Malibu Canyon presented the big challenge and was a cause for some clinching and I’m not talking about my teeth. I thought it would be okay since there would likely be traffic to hold me in check and I was correct. Traffic up PCH was reasonable with only one or two cagers trying to run up my tailpipes. I had enough space on the 101 Highway from Oxnard up to Santa Barbara and simply bided my time until I got off the highway at Cabrillo Blvd. to ride along the coastal part of Santa Barbara. I came to a stop at Milpas and Cabrillo and hit the 100 miles dead on. Now, I didn’t immediately start slaloming through Santa Barbara traffic and hitting the gas on every turn. Not my style. However, I breathed a bit easier.

I made it to the game to watch an improved San Marcos High Royals’ team play with my grandson at center, the prize at the end of the ride. This made it a night ride home which was fine by me, though it had been a while since I’d taken a long one at night.

As an epilog of sorts to this post, I took my wife’s car in for a quick oil change and added on a change of break fluid while we were at it. During the process to change the fluid the tires were removed and I was treated to their technician rolling a tire over to me and pointing out some damage, pictured here. At some point, one of us hit something sharp and we were close to having a blowout at any time. Too close.

Inside edge of an otherwise healthy tire...

My takeaway from this is whether bike, car, truck, with or without a trailer – check the rubber and make sure it is up to the task.

Keep the iron side up my friends!

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

A Tale of Two Rides

 

I am an old-guy biker and so occasionally someone will ask me how much longer I intend to ride. It is a fair question and one I ask myself now and again. I’ve pretty much settled on the idea that I will ride until reverse gear gives out. That is a concern as I have had aging knees for half my lifetime. When I was 35 my orthopedic surgeon told me he would replace my knees by the time I was 55 if I didn’t quit playing basketball. I wept. Then I took steps to fix the problem on my own by ceasing my city league playing and not playing anymore pickup ball. But I kept running with the teams I coached and as many CVHS Alumni games as I was in town for.

The main thing I did was to ride my bike to work three to five days a week at 11 to 14 miles each way depending on the route I chose for the day that added up to 120 miles a week plus recreational rides like taking my birthday off and riding at least as many miles as I was old. I have Cindy to thank for her insightful suggestion. Thanks, love! The company moved our office from Pasadena to Alhambra and that ended my bike commuting but other forms of exercise took over though once my Lauren grew out of youth basketball. Life got busy with other pursuits and regular exercise waned. My knees recently started complaining daily even though, or because of it, I was walking with Ollie between three and five miles three of four days a week.

I dusted off my bicycle, got it going again, had the gears tuned up and started riding a few times a week around the Rose Bowl and have worked up to 15 miles on any given ride, occasionally popping up out of the bowl to add some hill work. Then I added a nice set of knee supports with more a thoughtful design than my old neoprene braces. It has been as close to a miracle as I will claim for myself. I am busy extending the life of reverse gear.

I decided to ride a bike trail I hadn’t ridden since some long-ago birthday ride, the San Gabriel River Bike Trail. My goal was to take a little break from my routine rides to help keep my interest up and extend myself to an 18-mile ride. I thought I would show up at the Sante Fe Dame Recreation area close to their opening, pay for the parking, then peddle around to find the start of the bike trail. My GPS took me to what ended up being the back gate into the park. Shit. I drove around and found the line into the park. I am unfamiliar with this park but was okay with waiting in line until I came around a corner and saw the line heading off into the horizon. I pulled a quick 180 and hunted for a marked entrance to the bike trail.

I ended up driving right by the place the GPS aimed me for and came upon the Whittier Narrows Recreation area, parked and rode around a bit to warm up, and headed back the way I’d come. I found the ‘marked’ entrance at a ‘nature center’, a pocket park of sorts. I rode through, found a sign pointing the way to the bike trail which is loosely packed dirt and not great for my road tires. I found the entry – it was locked. Shit.

I decided to ride by the seat of my pants and using the tried-and-true method of dead-reckoning found a way onto the trail. The marine layer was still in effect and I couldn’t see the mountains for reference and took a guess as to which way would take me back to the Sante Fe Dam. Ten miles later I was proved correct and was looking up at the back side of the dam. By the time I returned to the car I had exceeded my 18-mile goal by two miles and learned a couple of lessons for the day – don’t bother with the Sante Fe Dam until school starts back up and then on a weekday and always verify the GPS.

I haven’t quite gotten to the point where my bicycling is second nature so those rides have not leant themselves too much in the way of introspection. There is a lot going on for me to keep the cycle going without crashing – skinny little wheels that can’t be over corrected, keeping the legs pumping, eyes out for obstructions, worry over speeding cars while sharing the road with them, etc.

It is different for me while riding the motorcycle. Even though vigilant to all the obstructions and cagers on the road, a part of my brain can work through an issue I’m facing or return to that thing I’m thinking about without much effort when the circumstances of the ride allow for it.

I haven’t been riding much lately due in part to several of the people I have enjoyed riding with moving away from riding and on to other pursuits. One of riders from our group decided on a ride for July 4^th. We were to meet for breakfast and then ride the Angeles Crest Highway west to east, ending at Highway 138 around Victorville in the southern end of the Mojave Desert. I’ve done the ride before and it is a twisty-lover’s paradise. But cooler heads prevailed and we decided to avoid the 120 degrees heat we would have ridden into. Greg and the love of his life stayed around the coast for a little ride and I took an early solo run up the Angeles Forest Highway, down the Sierra Highway, and finished up the loop on the 14 freeway to home.

Wind therapy. There was little traffic to worry about and I could take the twisties at my leisure. I let my subconscious work through a couple of nagging issues to the point I that I now have a path forward I am at peace with. The path stretches through the year and likely into 2025 so I am well prepared for course changes as things arise. With my reverse gear improving I should be able to take a ride or two to effect acceptable course corrections without jeopardizing my long-range goal.

Find your center, work to maintain it, and don’t hesitate to invite others to help.

Keep the iron side up,

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White.

Plan It or Fuhgeddaboudit!

 

The left book we got in 1972, probably from my folks. The right book I probably scammed from our rummage sale a couple of years ago.

Want to take a ride? Want to make it epic, something to tell your grandkids about? Plan it, or fuhgeddaboudit.

I’ve been in the doldrums* as a rider and writer for so long I am embarrassed. And yes, riding and writing can certainly be connected though not inevitably. I’ve used riding to prime the pump for my writing, this might be an attempt to reverse things.

*Doldrums, as defined by my friend Webster is a spell of listlessness or despondency or a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or slump.

It seems that if I don’t plan it, it won’t happen, even taking the bike to church. If a ride is going to be epic or otherwise memorable, the plan needs to be well put together but allow for some spontaneity.

Some considerations for a good ride plan might include:

• Destination and/or route. Do you have one or the other, or both? I’ll list some of my ideas below.
• Riding alone or with others?
• The motorcycle.
• Capability of the rider.
• The Calendar, including weather patterns therein.
• Money.

Destination and/or route: It might make a fine ride to simply through your leg over the bike and take off but reaching the epic status will take filling in some of the items in a solid plan on the fly. Pick a place, pick a route, then plan. I’ve had a couple of routes and destinations wafting by at the back of my mind. I suggest writing them down and having a tried and true list:

• Route 66, end-to-end.
• Pacific Coast route, Canada to Mexico
• Reno Street Vibrations
• Ride To The Flags (a charity ride I’ll be taking)
• Make one up to fit all the other plan considerations.
• I would like to hear your dreams…

Riding alone or with others?”: For me, this could be a case of “Plan it and they will come”. Often a group of friends and riding-mates create a synergy and an epic ride emerges. Even so, this is no guarantee you’ll take the epic ride. I was on the verge of taking one and then regrettably dropped out toward the end of the planning phase. It would have been epic and would have completed the ride I did as a kid but which had to be cut short.

Start the planning and talk about it (or write about as I am doing) with your rider community and maybe it will turn into a group ride. Or start talking and see what develops.

Or maybe, a solo ride is one of your primary objectives. Fine then, be that way.

The motorcycle: Speaking from experience, this may be the most critical piece of a well-executed ride plan. My best friend, Jim McClelland, and I planned and executed an epic ride in the summer of 1972, we were 18 and 19, respectively. I think we had the orange book pictured above in hand, probably provided by one of our parents. We violated one of the key components found in the Table of Contents, pictured below – Selecting a Touring Machine. We were indestructible, or at that age, felt like we were. Heck, we took the bikes we had; Jim’s Honda 350 Scrambler and my Honda CB500. The 350 had a sissy bar and I had a passenger backrest and rack. No wind management, no saddle bags, not even a tank mounted map case or gear case.

We left in August following my summer basketball league and practice schedule. We had rain nearly every other day and snow once on the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado. By the time we made our exit out of the Western end of Yellowstone National Park, Jim was burnt toast on his two-cylinder machine and I was nearly done in myself on my four-cylinder, but small, bike.

Our plan had been to ride up into Canada to Banff National Park then across to Washington State and down the coast to home. Canada had not been kind to us in sending all that rain and we had talked about alternatives. Jim opted to go straight home. I was chasing a dream of walking onto the Division II basketball team at Humbolt State College in Arata, California and needed to get there, see the campus, and pick up paperwork to start that phase of my dream. Had we had touring bikes, we could have, and certainly would have, braved the weather, and kept to our plan.

The facing page of “Two Wheel Travel. Motorcycle Camping and Touring” simply says: “retreat gracefully”.

Plan a trip with your bike in mind or get a bike with your trip in mind. Make sure it is a sound machine from the rubber on the road up through and including the mirrors.

Capability of the rider: How’s your health? Plan a ride you are physically, mentally, and emotionally capable of completing. Keep the Dirty Harry quote in mind, “Man’s got to know his limitations.” The lowest common denominator for this will be the most limited rider in your group.

The Calendar: This is likely the most limiting factor for my riding. When I got back onto a motorcycle, I made a personal commitment of my own volition to myself as well as my wife that I would not ride when it precluded doing something that could be done with the family. We now have seven grandchildren, a strain on any calendar.

Pick a ride that fits with your calendar, plan your calendar to fit with your ride. Do it early so that you can plan your other commitments around your ride. Had I done that, I’d be heading to Reno Street Vibrations this year. By the time it did come to my attention, I’d already made a commitment to others on a big event at church. C’est la vie, as I always say.

Money: This will determine how long you can ride, if you need to camp even if you’d rather stay in resorts, how you feed yourself, and what gear you pick up along the way.

Path forward: It is too late in this season to plan and execute my Route 66 ride but not too early to start planning it for next season. So, I’ll start that and see how it goes. I’ll need to get from Chicago back home so a route back across the country to the start of the Pacific Coast Route is a possibility.

However, it is not too late to put together a ride that fits my current calendar. It might not be epic in the bottom-line sense of the word, but it could be something special and inspiring. Now, if I can only get the weather to cooperate. Writing this during the dregs of Hurricane Hilary doesn’t inspire all that much confidence. But no plan – no ride, and plans can be altered to fit changing conditions.

Don’t fuhgeddaboudit, plan it. Keep the iron side up while you do.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Dear Jordan - 2022 RTTF

 

Dear Jordan,

You were prepared to pay the ultimate price in the service of your country - our country. I admire you for that. In many respects, the price you’ve paid, and continue to pay on a daily basis, is steeper still than you were prepared for. Every day you put down a deposit that most of us will never consider making.

However, judging from what I’ve read about you so far and heard you speak of in the Ride to the Flags (RTTF) video, you are squeezing every benefit you can manage from surviving a horrendous Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), the loss of a leg, and the loss of much of the use of your right arm: you have a wife and two kids who are amazing in and of themselves and more so with you at their side; you are waging a continued fight for your wounded comrades and speaking on their behalf; you are a better father, husband, and friend (your words).

It’s funny though – from the perspective on old unpaid writer, your benefits look like a lot of work. I admire you for that.

It will be my honor to ride for you on 9/11 in the RTTF. I’ve been stirred by the 9/11 commemoration at Naval Base Ventura County - Pt. Mugu in the past and getting to know you through the various media sources will make it that much more poignant for me. Thank you.

Speaking of ‘thank you’, I don’t think I can find sufficient ways to say it for the amount of sacrifice you are making. I guess I will just need to keep trying, keep praying, and keep looking – looking for the opportunity to thank you and your comrades.

Keep the iron side up.

Respectfully submitted,

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Iron Side Up Riders fundraising page: 

https://ridetotheflags.funraise.org/team/iron-side-up-riders

EOD2 Jordan Stevenson video: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7DWSo3_1Es

Patina of a Remembered Romance

 

I dressed for church – Kevlar lined riding pants, Sunday ride-shirt, mesh riding jacket for the unseasonably warm day (70s in February?), and my western boots suitable for riding (They saved my ass from a spill on the Mulholland Highway once).

I took my open-face half helmet down because this would be a short ride to church followed by taking the long way home, a twenty-mile putt. The gloss of the black helmet was covered with a patina of dust. As I looked over my bike, I could see that they matched with the same dusty haze dimming the tank, saddlebags, fenders… You get the picture. I hadn’t ridden in a while.

It seems my riding has been reduced to quick solo rides when I’m going somewhere by myself. I don’t want sympathy here, I’ve had plenty of that. Here is a short list of why there is a coating of dust on STICKII, which I love to ride, a romance well remembered: Pandemic and the closures of great destinations, caring for and losing my parents over the last two years, and now the duties of closing out their estate, and a calendar rife with responsibilities that need tending to and I can’t shake the guilt if I take a day off for a ride (my own darned fault there). Those last two pretty much shut down any multi-day rides.

I haven’t had a group ride over these past two years either except for the brief one-way ride when I crashed Jed and Sue’s New Year’s Day lunch at Duke’s. Was it two New Years ago? My memory is dusty as well. Along with all the culprits mentioned above we suffered a momentous loss within the core group of riders I have shared the road with. Mr. Tim Robertson was forced into riding-retirement due to health issues resulting in pain that puts him at risk if he rides.

Tim is a master planner of rides and get-togethers. His destinations are creative, fun, and inclusive. His route planning is meticulous and while challenging, never dangerous. The pace he sets from the front of the formation never stresses me, I can fall back if needed and be assured of catching up. Within the group I have learned comfortable lines on twisties and discovered how to be at ease with my bike and in my own rider’s skin while growing my skills.

I have missed my gregarious friend, his warm smile scarcely hidden beneath his beard, feeling welcome and appreciated, and knowing that at the end of the day I will have had a good ride and get home safe. I am saying special prayers for him as he has sold his bike, The Enterprise, the pride of our little fleet. I know it was a sad day for him and I felt a bit of kinship in that as I considered the same fate for STICKII, my Cross Country. After all, it should never get dusty just sitting there, dirty from a well ridden road, yes, dusty in the garage, no.

Tim’s rides and those of the other planners in the group and riding with this group inspired me to write about them, both rides and riders. My Iron Side Up posts have been appreciated by many of you and earned me a ride-name that Tim bestowed on me. Shakespeare. I’ll keep that one, thank you very much, and work to find ways to keep it dusted off.

So, what’s a rider to do now that he’s confessed to ignoring his bike and taking her for granted? Back her down the driveway, washer her down and shine the beauty up. Make opportunities to go out and get some good old fashioned road dirt on her – bugs on the windshield and roll bars, splash marks from wayward puddles, you know – a down and dirty date, long and luxurious and speeding up at just the right moments.

Dust off the helmet, clean the face shield, and plan a destination ride while writing about the planning. What better thing for a writing rider?

Remember friends, don’t let the dust and rust build up, keep the romance fresh and keep the iron side up.

Shakespeare

Me and my Sunday Ride-shirt

Where's Shakepeare?

 

Where’s Shakespeare? Or shall I say, wherefore art though, Shakespeare? It has been one year, two months, and twelve days since I last posted in Iron Side Up. 439 days of writer’s hibernation. Perhaps it is time to turn in my name patch. Where has Shakespeare been? I could tell you but I do not want to elicit the ‘Ah, poor Shakespeare, we knew him well’ responses. Do not pity me as pitiful as I can be at times. Instead, let us see where I have been today and take joy from that.

I took the long way home from church, first stopping for fuel because I did not want to be forced into gassing up if I was in a great riding zone. On this mild day in the lower seventies, I took Foothill Blvd. out to Oro Vista Avenue and up on to Big Tujunga Canyon Road. That’s right – twisties galore for Shakespeare to lean one way then another and then a little more and I was in heaven. Well except for one thing, the road surface on this road sucks. It is pitted and rutted and pot-holed and still the road was unable to quell my enjoyment of the moment.

I went on to and along the Angeles Forest Highway northbound on a better surface, more twisties, and some competition along the way with sport bikers that I encouraged to pass me and made room for them to do so. It is not about the speed for me, it is about moving along, one with the bike, and working toward excelling at a solid tactical ride. For such an old rusty dude I came close.

The Angeles Forest Highway gave way to the Sierra Highway for a short jog to the Pearblossom Highway and I reached Palmdale where I tooled around and used dead reckoning in search of the All-American Dog. That’s right, I did not use my GPS in my quest for the elusive All-American Dog (note that the dog is capitalized and therefore a title of an actual menu item).

Of course, I failed at locating this dog and retraced my steps to the point that I rejoined the Sierra Highway heading south. Please note, I did not see the Sierra Nevada Mountains from the Sierra Highway. Shucks. When I reached Crown Valley Road I pulled in to settle for a surf and turf lunch and at that, below standard. Still, 65 or so miles of riding can overcome nearly any sort of average meal. And not one mile on the freeway.

I jumped on Highway 14, my first freeway of the day, and skedaddled home to do something I had not done in several weeks, write for fun. One hundred and seven miles can give one a wonderful perspective on the road and oneself.

Keep the Iron Side up and stay in perspective.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

ATGATT

Photo of a photo my Grandma Matt took in their yard at Bass Lake,
near to the campground I took those kids around. STICK1 and me near
the end of a 4-week, 4k+ mile ride and a year before this story took place.

I was 19 and knew nothing while living moment-to-moment believing I wouldn’t live past 22. The Viet Nam War may have played a part in that belief even though by then I’d escaped the draft by luck of the lottery. I was coming out of my dark days and trying to figure what the long play of God’s plan was for me since my dream of playing Division II basketball, possibly at Humboldt State, had crumbled like a sand castle built too close to the surf.

I worked weekends during the school year and full-time over the summer as a pier coolie at Paradise Cove to pay for community college plus gas and upkeep on my Honda CB500. I lived in my friend’s family trailer up in the park from the cove and on any given weekend Doug and I would have breakfast at 5:30 a.m. at the Sandcastle Restaurant before working our 10-hour shift on the pier running personal fishing boats up and down the pier, launching them and the fiberglass rentals via the hoist at the end of the pier opposite the Baywatch hut. The uniform of the day was deck shoes, swimsuit, Hawaiian Coconut Tanning Oil, and maybe a tank-top.

The trailer park, pier, and restaurant were run by a guy everyone called The Commodore. I don’t think he owned the place but you wouldn’t have known it by him. Bob ran the bait and rental shop out on the pier and was our boss. Doug, Rob, and I were the three-man team running the hoist and taking care of the outboards and fiberglass boats during weekends. Chuck was the head of maintenance for the whole shebang and was a known alcoholic, a man of dubious mental stability.

Living moment-to-moment left me vulnerable to swings in my temperament and I was far from what I’ve become – patient and even tempered, even if a bit stern and surely.

During a particular day of the summer of ’73 Chuck had come down from his yard up on the bluff to repair a metal railing on the ramp that led to the loading area and launch dock. Lit as he was on this early afternoon, he pulled his arch-welder out. I was tasked to assist him and held the two railing pieces together that need to be welded. I felt a charge run through me when he flipped the power to ‘on’. I let go and looked at the idiot happy he didn’t try to arch the railing. He pulled over a dry (ish) pier plank and told me to stand on it to insulate myself. Flip – buzz – and I let go again. I told him he’d kill somebody and left him to himself. I was not too happy with the man.

That evening after the pier shut down the younger crowd gathered around one of the picnic tables between the restaurant and the set for The Rockford Files. And by younger I mean little teens I needed to be careful around, me being an adult teen. I had my bike with me in the parking lot which was posted not to allow motorcycles (much different than today). It was after hours, okay? Chuck turned up reeling and stinking drunk with a handgun stuck in his waistband. He ordered me out of the lot all belligerent like and posing for the kids. My recollection is that he chest-bumped me while he kept a hand on the butt of his gun. I probably could have taken him down gun and all but some reason prevailed and I left.

I was in a rage when I got on the bike; no gloves, no helmet, no goggles or jacket. I raced up the entrance road to the PCH and headed north leaving reason behind with my friend. By the time I hit Zuma Beach I was zoned. The last I’d looked at the speedo I was near 90 mph. A second or two later my eyelids flipped up to my brows and reason took over again.

Since then and to this day I’ve not ridden without my helmet and gear with the exception of second-gear rides around a campground with a kid on the back wearing my helmet. How close was I to self-fulfilling a prophecy of dying before 22? Close enough.

The point is this, or rather, points are these:

Œ  All The Gear All The Time (ATGATT)

Œ  Check your mood and emotional well-being before turning over the engine

Œ  Know the roads and your capabilities at the start of the ride, don’t learn them during the ride. You will improve and live and live to improve.

Œ  Be vigilant

Ride and ride safe – let’s keep the iron side up, shall we?

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

---------

PS – just now I am recalling a time that puts a lie to the notion that since that day I hadn’t ridden without a helmet with the one exception. It was during my second life as a rider and I had just checked into McGrath State Beach campground with a day pass to visit friends camping there. I road from the kiosk to their camp space with my helmet on the passenger backrest of my Honda VT1100. My friend reminded me that the helmet law applied to state park roads as well.

When I got home that evening I pulled into the garage to park the bike. I didn’t get the kickstand down all the way and it slid under the bike as I leaned it over and the doggone thing threw me into the workbench where I knocked my helmet against the table leg. You don’t even have to be moving to need a helmet while on a bike. At least I don’t. And, I guess, we all need reminders for important things.

Une Sortie, Déjeuner Pour Trois - New Year's Day 2020

Une Sortie, Déjeuner Pour Trois

New Year’s Day 2020

Tradition held on by its finger tips for New Year’s Day in 2019 and a group ride was held with a destination well south of my usual ride and we lunched at the Coyote Bar and Grill in Carlsbad as opposed to Duke’s in Malibu.

Tradition lost out altogether this year and no group ride was planned that I could see and I didn’t do anything much to help with that. It appears I’m more comfortable riding sweep or in the middle of the pack and writing about it. I hadn’t ridden in a while so I planned a solo (une) ride out (sortie) to Duke’s. I geared up for a chilly ride but not so cold that I had to power up my new electric socks. I decided to head up Highway 5 and over Rte. 126 to Fillmore so I could pick up Rte. 23 and ride south to the Pacific Coast Highway.

It was a fine crisp and sunny day for a ride but I was a bit melancholy for my friends and especially Tim who has been off the bike for so long I can’t remember when last we rode together. His body just has not responded as we’d like to the corrective surgeries. His pain is my pain. Tim has been the ride planner I’ve most relied on and I’m the poorer for his absence. My frequent prayers are for him to return to good health.

Once the technical part of the ride started on the 23 my thoughts were consumed with keeping a good tight line through the canyon roads and along the twisties, and there are plenty of both sandwiched around the brief portion where the Highway 101 and the 23 are merged. I had Pandora playing through my headset and there was a lot of good riding tunes from the CCR radio channel. The Pacific Ocean gleamed like a lover’s eye when he spots his inamorata. (as in Tim for Bev, Jed for Sue, Kevin for Jeannie, Aaron for Lupe, Keith for Karen, Shawn for Danielle…) Funny thing about those parenthesized riding couples I know, the gleams are two-way all the way and here’s a little prayer for them and other readers: May God bring you ever closer, may you find new facets to love in each other, and may you have good health and peace.

The morning ride down to Duke’s was wide open with the majority of people on the road being other enthusiasts; bicyclists, walkers, and motorists of all kinds. We shared the lanes nicely, thank you very much. Heading down the PCH and past former haunts (I worked on the Paradise Cove pier for a year and a half) gave me crystal clear views of waves on beaches backed by cliffs. I was restored and refreshed for my new year.

I have to confess that I had been holding on to some hope that I would find a friend at Duke’s, a fellow rider or two that had the same notion as I did though I had some grave reservations about crashing anyone’s party. The parking lot attendant waved me on by and over to the motorcycle parking area where I saw three bikes already leaning into their stands. The first thing I really saw was Walter’s head, Walter being the grumpy old puppet and curmudgeon supreme created by Jeff Dunham. I was so struck by the humor of this sight that I nearly dropped my Cross Country right there. I believe it goes like this - Tim had won Walter in a raffle during a Ride for Guides charity event and gifted him to Jed and I think there were performance tickets involved and now Walter accompanies Jed.

In any case, I struck gold and parked StickII next to Sue’s nearly identical Cross Country. There is a conduciveness to joy with many of the riders I run with and Jed and Sue exemplify that trait. I found them sitting at a table outside by the glass wall overlooking the waves. Jed was sitting with his back to me and it took a few seconds for him to turn around when he saw the look on Sue’s face when she saw me walking toward them.

There is a moment at times like this when someone first sees you that almost defies description, the pure joy on the other's face at seeing you pierces your heart with a very special arrow from Eros. He has special bolts for each; the lover, the family member, and the good friend. All my reservations about crashing a party were melted away and we moved to a table for two with three chairs whereupon another couple moved to Jed and Sue’s table on the water and we then took their seats at a table for four with three chairs. The poor wait staff handled the confusion with good humor and alacrity.

Our lunch was filled with wide-ranging talks about close calls with fires, blessed holidays, trips we’d like to make, friends we want to see more of (couldn’t think of anyone we want to see less of), and how in retirement both Jed and I thought we would ride more and not less. I turned over 50,000 miles on the way up Highway 1 at Trancas Canyon Road. When I got this beauty 10 years ago I thought I’d have had about half again as many miles by now. Ah well.

So my solo New Year’s Day ride turned into Lunch for Three (Déjeuner Pour Trois) and I couldn’t have been more happy with it. Well okay, maybe if two or three or six or ten of you others could have been there then I would have been happier.

The Irish have one of the best blessings ever and this is my 2020 wish for you all:

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

the rains fall soft upon your fields

and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Postscript notes: of my 200 miles, the sweetest were riding sweep behind Jed and Sue up the Pacific Coast Highway…

STICKII turns 50,000 miles

From Highway 23

The law was out too....

Heading south and solo

Shakespeare on Maui

Lahaina Art - if I could have rented it I would have ridden it

It was ten days ago from this writing (June 29, 2018) that I took a ride that I had every intention of reporting on within days of its completion. I’m still working on the rationale behind the delay as I usually post my write up within a couple of days of the ride, sometimes even the day of. I was on Maui, why rationalize a delay? Why delay reporting or bragging about a ride in such a cool place?

I think one factor is that it was a solo ride that I took while on a family vacation with my wife and my daughter’s family, none of whom ride. My wife was content to spend her birthday reading and crocheting while lounging on a beach overlooking the Pacific with a legion of blue tones woven into a tapestry that makes our hearts ache. The kids took the road to Hana and I grabbed the opportunity to ride. Still it was a guilt-edged ride and I didn’t feel like taking time out from the flow of the rest of our vacation to write it up.

Another factor is that it was a lot of work to ride and difficult to separate the ride from the toil of it. Truth be told, I was just too busy enjoying sunsets and shave ice.

The night before the ride I went online and reserved a Victory Vision at the Kihei EagleRider, aka Aloha Motorsports. I saw in the small print that the bike might not be there and it wasn’t. Had I made my reservation the week before when I was seriously contemplating the ride, or even 24 hours before, they would have moved the Vision from the main store in ‘Lahaina’.

Keoki, aka Ke, was the man in charge of the Kihei location and he was busy checking in returns when I arrived a few minutes before opening time, three Harleys and a street bike from one group, and two Slingshots from other motorsport adventurers. They have a range of vehicles from scooters to sport bikes, Harleys, and the apex of the bunch, the Victory Vision I had reserved. For the folks without motorcycle licenses they have the Slingshots, a wild looking street-legal dune buggy, and a Cobra. While waiting my turn I imagined doing a spin in or on several of the different rides.

Harley Electra Glide - ridden enough to be happy with my
personal choice

Keoki found the Vision at their Lahaina location and made arrangements for me to ride a blue Harley Street Glide up and swap it for the Vision to finish up my ride. I had a route in mind to go around the west node of the island with a side trip up to I’ao State Park. The swap would only add another 25 miles or so. Or so I thought. I was given the key and instructions on the Street Glide and took off having put my long-sleeved shirt in the saddlebag. I went on up to Lahaina. Only problem was, EagleRider is not in Lahaina proper as I had thought, only a Harley dealer on Front Street which I had just cruised. Aloha MotorSports is further up island in Kaanapli but with a Lahaina. Note to self and anyone else who wants to listen – have the route and destination firmly in mind unless the purpose of the ride is to wander around a strange place without a destination in mind or required.

They took care of me at the store; a key swap and go was all I needed. Except that I’d lost the key and faced a $250 charge to change out the lockset on the Harley. Thankfully Keoki had already saved the day when he found the key in the lot where I’d dropped it while getting on the strange bike.

Let me digress for just a moment before taking off on the Vision for my quest for a tropic ride. This is the first time since getting back into riding ten years ago that I wasn’t wearing riding boots and jacket. It was an odd feeling and a little uneasy at times.

The Vision is a full-dress touring bike and outweighs my Cross Country by about 90lbs, dry. Not much difference really and hardly anything at all once the bike was moving and I got used to the configuration. The issue for me was that the kickstand was set up too widely splayed and the bike leaned past the ideal standing angle making it a bit of a stretch to get her standing up. On one photo-op stop I made the mistake of parking with the kickstand downslope and had to get off the bike and push it up to balance it while I swung my leg over. It was dicey and I’d wished I had packed my riding boots after all.

 

Beautiful overlook, bad parking decision

There are several differences between the Electra Glide and the Vision. Riding from Kihei through Lahaina to Kaanapali on the Harley I got the standard biker’s salute/greeting from other riders and glances from drivers and pedestrians alike. When I pulled into the lot at the second store scooter renters glanced over their shoulders to see me as I parked it. When I threw my leg over the Vision and started it up they all turned and watched as I eased out of the lot. I still got the rider’s salutes but the driver/riders in cages gave long looks as we passed each other. When I pulled into a store parking lot in Napili to get water I had two conversations about the bike and its looks and performance, both of which are superior. Nice bike!

I decided to continue on my clockwise direction which put the ocean to my left and over the oncoming lane, not my ideal choice but time was a concern by the time I’d found the store for the swap. Once you get beyond Honokowai the road narrows and gets more twisty and even more so along the way until it gets to be less than two lanes and truly twisty, ‘da bess’ for a rider. But it was work and required vigilance to the road and oncoming traffic which was thankfully pretty light on the 19^th.

The road was like a tropic version of Ireland country lanes with its rock walls right up to the tarmac. At times the tall grasses on Maui grow taller than I stand and lean over the roadway on one side with overhanging volcanic rock on the other. It was awesome and I wish I had a helmet cam video of the whole ride. The vistas as I came around corners to overlook the channel between Maui and Molokai are inspiring. Turquoise waters over white sands and coral beds blend into waters the color of denim with whitecaps whipped up by the trade winds that look like diamonds sparkling off to the distance. Nani (beautiful).

I road through little hamlets that don’t appear on the map and haven’t bothered to stake a town name to the roadside; it’s island living and where you are is where you are. I passed over one-lane bridges with streams running down from the mountainsides carving out channels in the lava. Locals gathered at the bridges and scrambled down for freshwater swimming. The vast Pacific stretched off to the Northeast as Molokai faded off behind me while the rainforest ran up the mountainside.

The more I write this the more I want to write the ride but it has to end just as did the ride, back at Kihei where I found Keoki mapping out a ride that makes me want to turn around and do it again. He has a route that gives you three distinct vistas of the island in a day and puts you in a place for lunch the locals all seek out. Next time Ki’oki…

Aloha Motorsports is ka ‘oi (the best)

Malu ko’u na ho’alohaloha (peace my friend)

Y’all keep the iron side up and ride baby ride.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

It's impossible to find a vista with a bad overlook...

Sad Postscript Note: Last night I learned that my Ride Brother Kekai was found dead in the mountains of his beloved Maui after going missing on May, 20. When I saw the CNN report I was struck in the heart. My prayers go out to Kekai's family and the Maui community for peace. Maha maika'i kakua'ana, malu.

Laughlin, for the Love of the…Ride

Laughlin, for the Love of the…Ride (2018)

The gang at Cool Springs
(photo on Karen's phone with Crazy Ray as photographer)

For the love of…

…good wine. Some of us enjoy the fruit of the vine and we go places with friends to share it in new ways and perhaps to raise the level of appreciation for the really good stuff in one or two others.

…good friends and what each of them adds to the other. We like to celebrate – celebrate life and loss, laughter and grief, while we tell old stories and are busy making new ones.

…new love, because some have found it in unlikely places, or so we think, and others of us like seeing it happen. Dilly dilly.

…old friends, rekindled love, and feeding of the flames for both.

…a spacey friend even if you had to get there in a cage.

…local color and spice in the form of friends at the destination.

Even familiar roads are a joy for us because we remember a good time we had here, a curve we had a fright on there – and aced this run through. Topock, AZ provided our lunch stop while we talked and watched coots and grackles on the water and in the air as they angled for food all while we were perched on seats that gave me the best looking butt I’ve had in some time. (see the photo below) A common feeling was that breakfast last year was better than lunch this year.

We left Topock only roll past another Victory group rolling in. They took a longer ride and basically only in reverse of our direction. We had tinges of regret that we could not hang out with our friends for the meal break. Such are the vagaries of the road.

We passed through Oatman without stopping, parking being a pain there on Saturdays. The donkeys were out in fine form. Very fine form indeed, much to the delight of all who passed by the young one just hanging out in the opposite lane from us while bringing traffic in both directions to a stop. Amazing.

Cool Springs was our official rest and exploration stop. The place is under new management and netted us a new friend in Crazy Ray. They have big plans for Cool Springs as a destination and place for great fun and experiences. Best of luck to them. Our group photo was taken there by Ray and you should note the similarity to ‘Radio Springs’ from Cars. Disney used this location as the model for their movie and theme park section at California Adventure.

We had a sober reminder of the serious nature of riding while at Cool Springs. Within minutes of our arrival first responders arrived from both directions to give emergency aid and transport a sport biker who’d gone down and over his bike. Good Samaritans had brought him to Cool Springs in their car. We reminded ourselves and each other to stay sharp on the road as we left a few minutes after the emergency crews. Amazingly, as we road along in our tight grouping the downed rider’s two buddies zipped past us doing 90+ and over the double yellow lines. It erased any surprise we might have had that one of their party would have gone down.

Now, more of the love of… I asked for a couple of direct quotes from some of the group that I’m in regular contact with and here’s what I got:

For the love of…

…the road and camaraderie. (Shawn Frausto, my roomie)

…the laughs and smiles of good friends. (Kevin Shaw)

…spontaneous actions and revelry. (JSPriders)

…dilly. (Tim Robertson)

…the time we have on this earth with good friends. (Bev Hope)

If I might expound, and I will since it’s my blog, let’s explore ‘dilly, dilly’ if only because I love the exploration or words. If I were any smarter and disciplined I would do amazing things with words and their meanings. Dilly-dilly, as the Urban Dictionary describes it, is: “A word that shows approval of an action.” “The best kind of person or thing.” “an interjection used to declare some a 'true friend of the crown'.” They have others but they’re unsuitable for my post.

Budweiser would have us believe that this phrase originated in the time of and by the original Shakespeare, the more eloquent and handsome Shakespeare, I might add. I am now off to verify the origins of Dilly-dilly and may not return for some time.

And finally, for the love of…the ride. For us, there’s nothing quite like it. We can’t exactly explain it, certainly not in a simple blog post. Even the movie Why We Ride and the Facebook page of the same name leave us wanting further definition. If we could tell others why and adequately define it, we’d probably stop riding. Every time we say “this is why we ride” we find something else that makes us put the kickstand up and roll.

Remember to ride well, so well that others are inspired to a rousing “dilly-dilly!” Keep the iron side up my friends.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

The butt seats at Topock, AZ. Oh, and the very cool view.