Mid-Life Rider

Going There. Those words go together nicely. You get on a motorcycle and you Go There. So why is it that all I think about is the going part?

I can’t speak for everyone who rides long distances, but my sense is that for the true Long Distance Rider, the going is more important than the there. There is the place you turn around and head home from. There is the place you finally turn off the motor and sleep. There is a waypoint on the GPS. There is incidental to the fine art of going. In this case, the going only appears to be the means, and the there only appears to be the end. It’s actually the other way around. Going is the whole point. It’s the means and the end. At least that’s how it works out for me.

Some years ago, when spending five hours chasing a little ball around a golf course still seemed like a good idea, I had the opportunity to play a round at Pebble Beach, the Valhalla of American golf (this is about motorcycle riding, so save your protestations). It’s a stunning track laid out along the headlands near Monterey.

The signature hole is arguably the 8th which plays with the Pacific Ocean along the entire right side. The approach shot is a blind up-hill to a landing area that unfolds one of the most spectacular views you’ll ever care to see. I remember standing next to my ball thinking, “What am I supposed to do? Hit the ball or gawk at the scenery?” Given the price of admission, I did the first, hitting the finest golf shot of my life and just missing the put for birdie. By rights the Gods’ should have struck me down for not lingering over the view. Two-putting for par hardly seemed like penance enough.

I’ve thought about that moment may times since. Hit the ball or notice the view? Later, when inhaling long distances on my motorcycle became my diversion of choice, I revisited the same dilemma. It happened first on a spring ride somewhere on the road between Fallon and Walker Lake in Nevada. I was head down with the big FJR in full gallop. The road was clear, the day was fine, and I was in the mood for speed.

It came to me not with the force of revelation. It was more like an epiphany lightly clearing its throat.  “Ahem. Notice anything? Like the heart-achingly beautiful scenery? No? Think you might want to take a look?”

I remember backing off the throttle and sitting up. “Whoa. Where did this come from?”

For the next hour or so I played this one back and forth like it was a zen koan: “You’re in a place of unlimited beauty and unlimited speeds. What do you do? Go slow for the scenery or go fast for the thrill? Is it about the going, or the there?”

For those of you who are groaning at the obviousness of the answer, I humbly submit you’re either far more evolved than I, or seriously kidding yourself. Perfect road and perfect scenery? You could stop every ten feet and take it in, but in doing so, you would upset the rhythm and flow of exquisitely linked turns and the uninterrupted stillness of arrowing down an endless straight from, through, and to an endless vista.

Perhaps the right answer is there isn’t a right answer. Either is fine and be happy with your choice. The last and dumbest thing is to do the one and kick yourself the entire time for not doing the other. Or kick yourself after or at all.

This self-inflicted tangle came to view yet again last week: When faced with a free day and fine weather, I couldn’t figure out where to ride. The puzzle came down to this: I had to be home (there) by a certain time which put the ride I wanted to do (going) out of reach. Everything else I could come up with seemed deficient for one simple reason: The ride wasn’t hard enough.

The attraction of my first choice ride, a route called the Four Pass ride through the Cascades, is hard in two dimensions: Big stretches of the road are tight and technical; it’s also well over 400 miles which, while not epic, is long enough to get your attention. Other rides I had in mind either didn’t seem long enough or technical enough or both/neither.

The question, and the one I finally put to myself was this: “Why does it have to be hard to be worth doing?” In coming to the answer, recall the context: I’m wired for the going, not the there; I like the feeling of riding (vs. sitting on top of the bike while it goes down the slab). So the idea of taking an easy, or relatively less-hard ride where the there was the point, was not an immediately obvious alternative. But it’s the one I finally took.

The ride from Seattle out to Leavenworth is pleasant and scenic. I’ve done it so many times that I’ve stopped noticing all there is to see, smell, hear and feel along the way. It hasn’t gotten less fetching over the past couple of years. It’s me that changed. So that was to be my new sense of going. Rather than tasking myself to ride with technical precision, I challenged myself to simply notice. Notice everything. Notice myself along the way: my hands, feet, back, arms, legs, neck, and back. What were they saying? How did they feel. Just notice. Notice everything around me: The sounds of the traffic, the slight differences in temperature, the big differences in temperature, the scents and smells, the shades of green, the color of the mountain fed river . . .

What a different ride it was. I remember almost nothing about the road and almost everything about the day. What was even more revealing was the precision of my riding. Crisp turn-ins, perfect apexes, and precise exit points: I never put a wrong foot the entire time. In the process of paying so much attention to the entire constellation of the day, picking good lines became an effortless point to point activity.

Midway through the ride I decided to stop at a local fruit stand for some lunch. Usually when I do this ride I stop long enough for gas and a Cliff bar and I’m off. This time I pulled off my gear, bought some food, and took out my nearly finished copy of Travels with Charlie by John Steinbeck. The priest of going was finally going to linger there for a time, watching the world stop in or go by, and read a book.

I didn’t stay forever. At some point I geared up and made the return ride across the Blewit Pass to Highway 90 and then over the Cascades for home. In the process, I didn’t shrink to three feet tall and turn green like Yoda. It was a small set of connected gestures, not a life changing event (at least not that I can tell), but those small gestures took hold. Today, faced with the same set of choices, I rode to a favorite pub not far from here, parked my bike, and ordered fish and chips. I’ve never understood why anyone would do such a thing given the alternative of apex clipping and back road silliness, but today I got it. 

I’ve got a 2500 mile ride laid on with best riding pal Ron in a couple of weeks and I can assure you, we will be all about the going. But it’s good to know that it can also be about the there.

Tags: BlewitPass, Travels with Charlie, John Steinbeck, Leavenworth WA, Cascades, Four Pass Ride

I may be the last one to this parade, but I finally discovered the joys of underamour heat gear / compression gear. Those are a lot of words: Here’s what they mean.

Compression gear: I’ve been peripherally aware of the idea of compression gear most of my life from closely studying the Sears Catalog as a kid. Back then they were called girdles and women wore them. They were in the section right after the bras. I know this for a fact.

More recently, compressive gear has rocketed to semi-popular attention with the release of the revolutionary new speedo lzr racer swimsuit.

Basically the idea is this. When you start to tire, your muscle tone begins to fail. Muscles have to work harder to fire which makes you even more tired. Bad things happen. In the swimming pool, that idea is enhanced with a related idea which is selective reshaping of the body to improve fluid dynamics. Another discussion.

For the past year or so I’ve been wearing a pair of Andiamo Padded Skins under my riding gear. According to the blurbosity . . .

Actually the last part isn’t true. On a recent epic ride I did wear a pair of cotton briefs one day and I was as miserable as I could be. Never again. The Andiamo shorts perform as advertised: more comfort, no sweating, no monkey butt.

More recently, I was teaching a track day and noticed one of my fellow instructors standing around between sessions in what looked like long underwear . . . in 90 degree weather. What!!!! Well it turns out he was cool as a cucumber under his gear and the rest of us were dying. Which gets to the part about “heat gear.”

It turns out that the Heat Gear Underarmour fabric is both UV resistant and a superior moisture transport system. It’s uncanny stuff. If you can get any sort of airflow at all across the gear, the cooling effect is astounding: Much better than if you’re not wearing it.

So I bought some. Actually I bought a lot: tops and bottoms, short, medium and long. While I have yet to test the short stuff I’m ready to call the ball: Don’t waste your money: go straight for the long leggings and the long-sleeved top.

I tested my new gear recently on a 300 mile ride from Seattle, across the mountains to Leavenworth, and then home. I started the day in the seventies, got down to the low 60s in the mountains, up to the mid 90s on the other side, and then full cycle. It’s the real deal.

Putting the stuff on is a bit of a chore. You want it to fit tight. Once its one, it feels great. Every muscle from ankle to wrist to collarbone is under light compression and completely supported. The feeling doesn’t go away. I often get knotty muscles down the right side of my back when I ride long distances. Not this time.

When the temperatures got cool, I just cut off the airflow through my gear. Under those conditions, the underarmour is just like lightweight polypro. But once it heats up, even a small amount of airflow through my riding gear changed everything. It’s like the breeze enters through a vent and spreads up and down your entire body. Very cool in both senses of the word.

And like the Andiamo gear, there’s no monkey but. Your butt and private parts stay dry, vented, and comfortable.

It’s possible I’ll test the short pants and short sleeved shirt. It’s also possible I’ll give it away. The long stuff is just that good. Highly recommend.

Tags: UnderArmour, Heat Gear, Compression Gear, Speedo Lzr Racer, Andiamo Padded Skins, midlife rider

Call me a shill (okay, “shill”). Some online colleagues sent me a note asking me to notify my vast readership that the most excellent motorcycle film “Faster” is now available. on iTunes. Delighted to help out.

If you’ve never seen the movie “Faster,” let me encourage you to remedy that unfortunate state of affairs. Covering four seasons of Moto GP racing, “Faster” nicely lays bare the really-really of the ultimate two-wheeled circus through interviews with top riders, mechanics, commentators, and fans. And if that’s not enough, the voice over is provided by star motorcycle freak Obi-Wan MacGregor. Needless to way, the race-day action is first rate with lots of footage of Rossi, Biaggi, Hayden, Edwards and more.

Alternatively, you can get a DVD from Amazon if that floats your boat.

Faster

Grant Gee (Cinematographer). NEW VIDEO GROUP 2004, DVD, $19.95

Tags: Faster, Ewen MacGregor, Max Iaggi, Valentino Rossi, Niki Hayden, Colin Edwards, iTunes, Moto GP, midliferider

“Watching you ride is like watching water fall.”

As a technique freak, it might be the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.

I’ll have to ask my shrink why, but forever I’ve been interested in technique, probably past the point of rationality. Perhaps it’s due to being a first born or some genetic trait inherited from my high-achieving parents. Who can say for sure, but my self-selected path forward invariably goes though a little town called “master the skills.”

One of my parents’ favorite stories about little me turns on a precocious three year old finding a screwdriver and reattaching all the plug covers and light switch plates after a family-legendary wallpapering of my room. I think the opportunity presented itself after a “disagreement” between my parents on some aspect of the job left a vacated room available for exploration and experimentation. Modern safety-nuts surely cringe at the idea of anyone, yet alone a little guy like me, poking about hot plugs with a screwdriver, but the story is a telling one. I was and am interested in how and why things work.

Over the years that followed, I took lessons upon lessons: swimming, sailing, judo, recorder, and piano are a few that come to mind. Later it was basketball and I am adult enough to admit, folk dancing. Later still: photography, golf, and most recently, riding motorcycles. I’m sure I’m missing some. When I say lessons, that meant group instruction, individual instruction, reading books, reading more books, going to camps . . . pretty much whatever was available.

Some of it took better, some of it didn’t. Nothing from the first list survives today in the form of any noticeable facility or even interest. I do wish, in an idle sort of way, that I could play cocktail piano . . . you know, where you sit at the keyboard carrying on idle, witty conversation with a half dozen people while effortlessly playing down the Duke Ellington songbook . . . but I’m at no immediate risk of doing anything about it.

Basketball proved an interesting study in the confluence of technique, natural ability, and confidence. Strangely, I had a fair amount of the second, which added to the first should have made me a good if not great high school player or more. It was the complete lack of the third quality that put me squarely on the bench, there to watch the exploits of largely technique-free players who played and competed with the kind of carefree abandon I couldn’t imagine. If I missed a shot, it would ruin my month. They hoisted another one next time down the court. It wasn’t until I was in my early 30s that I really came into my own, long after I stopped caring and long after my body stopped cooperating. But I did have a well of fundamentals to draw on, and as I discovered, experience and treachery beats youth and vigor eight out of ten times.

During my late 30s I took up golf thinking it would help me develop business. Or something like that. I fell in with a woman pro who told me that if I wanted to consistently shoot in the low 90s or high 80s, I would have to spend the first year taking lessons and hitting practice balls. No actual golf until year two. I suppose any rational person would have said “thanks for nothing” and walked on, but not me. The technique-freak in my grabbed the wheel and I spent the next year taking a lesson a week and hitting 500 balls when I wasn’t. At the end of the year I had the most beautiful swing in twenty-seven counties. It was instruction-tape quality. I also couldn’t hit a ball further than 175 yards with any club. I did finally get on a course and played with indifferent results for the next five years and then gave it  up. I did shoot in the low 80s once and managed to cure some of the distance problem towards the end. Along the way, someone forgot to tell me the part about hitting down on the ball, a bit of technique that would have surely helped.

My first adventures in motorcycling were completely devoid of technique, knowledge, or any sort of thoughtful consideration beyond did I want a Suzuki or a Honda (I bought a 1980 CB750F). If the dealer hadn’t thrown in a helmet, I probably would have left the shop without one. I was living in Hawaii at the time and rode the bike for about nine months, often in sandals, shorts, a shirt, and sunglasses and without the first clue what I was doing. How I managed to get around corners much less stay upright the entire time is a nod to the gods who clearly were holding benign thoughts for me.

After two-plus decades on ice, my moto-itch flared up again and I scratched it with a Ducati Multistrada. The basic instruction program I took ticked a box that allowed me to get a proper endorsement on my license and a break on my insurance but didn’t otherwise make a huge impression on me. I sallied forth, thankfully far better geared than before, wandering down highways and byways while wandering across centerlines without any notion as to why.

The next year I took an advanced rider course. Two-points for me for thinking I needed help: That old technique gene was kicking in. Sadly, and I say this with no disrespect, nothing in the curriculum added to my woefully barren cupboard of understanding and skills needed to make a motorcycle perform properly. It’s just not what the courses are designed to do.

Total Control

During my sojourn in the land of ignorance I began to read voraciously. It wasn’t for lack of a theoretical understanding that I was still straying across centerlines, tiptoeing around corners I knew could be taken much faster, and generally acting like the 50th percentile rider I was. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s being average at something I really care about. And I was starting to really care about riding motorcycles well and safely because I really cared about riding. And staying alive.

Lee Parks, the author of Total Control has a healthy ego so I say this cautiously: taking the Total Control class from Puget Sound Safety was like an awakening for me. In a day, it changed everything I knew and thought about controlling a motorcycle. The effect was sufficiently galvanizing that I took the class again and then went the final mile and got certified to teach it. I also starting going to track days, there to take more classes and do more riding under controlled conditions. I read more books. I got certified to teach the absolutely superb SMART method by Bret Tkcas at Puget Sound Safety (Bret is one of the most elegant riders you’ll ever see). I am a man obsessed. I’m also a leagues more proficient rider. I still screw up more than I’d like, but now I know exactly why. I also haven’t taken an unplanned trip across the centerline in two years.

People with natural ability are often dismissive of the pursuit of perfect technique. For them, the moves come naturally and the results flow as if by magic from some hidden inner wellspring. Often these same people make perfectly miserable teachers and coaches. I remember learning how to shoot Olympic Trap, another one for the list. The man who taught me the basics had freakish hand-eye coordination. But once we got past the basics about holding the gun properly, getting set-up, and calling for the target, there was nothing he could offer that helped. All he knew was what I knew: I missed more than I hit.

With all that background I actually have a couple of bits to offer about motorcycle riding and technique.

1. Good technique is the foundation to good and safe riding. I can think of other disciplines where this is true, but only at the highest levels. For example, there are lots of people enjoying themselves out on the golf course while employing bad technique from set-up to follow through. Even on the pro tour knowledgeable eyes spot serious flaws in technique that are overcome by superb skills and natural ability. Those people don’t beat Tiger on Sunday, but they get around and make a good living doing it.

I don’t think the same thing is true about motorcycle riding. Bad technique is a crash waiting to happen. It’s just that simple. This is manifestly true as we get older and slower. It is by the grace of whatever we hold dear that riders of no skill and knowledge make it down the road and back safely.

Out past technique is the promised land where you can do the thing you’ve been practicing with artistry and grace and with no conscious thought. But unless you’re preternaturally blessed, there is no route there except through learning, practice, more practice, and someday mastery.

2. You can’t learn what you need to know from a book. I know, I tried. Despite my abiding interest in technique, I find myself equally suspicious of coaching and training. I can’t really say why as I make my living doing things that sound just like that. Maybe it’s psychological scaring from all those lessons as a youngster. Maybe it’s a deep seated loathing of being seen as less than superbly competent. Whatever. When it comes to something as inherently dangerous as riding a motorcycle on the street, self-taught is a luxury without recommendation. Almost everything about riding a motorcycle is counterintuitive and/or counter to our genetic programming.

We have millions of years of genetics wired to how fast we can walk or run. There’s nothing in there pre-programmed for processing life at 70 mph. In fact, most of our instincts work against what’s needed to anything at that speed.

Genetically we are predators. We have eyes on the front of our heads, just like the big cats. When we see something we want (to eat, to mate with, etc.) we lock onto it to the exclusion of everything else. Our brains do the zillion computations necessary to get us to that target, or to get whatever it is we’re throwing or shooting to the target. If you’ve spent more than an hour on a bike you know how useful that programming can be. You also may know the problems it causes when you become fixated not on where you want to go, but where you don’t want to go.

3. Seemingly little things matter. The more I ride, particularly under controlled conditions, the more I learn how big a difference very small changes make. For example, two days ago at the track, I experimented with relaxing my pectoral muscles while in a turn. I know that sounds weird.

To back up slightly, I was working on getting my body lower and further inside the bike’s centerline by getting my head more down and inside. To do that I had to also move my body back about two inches in the saddle. Once there I found that I could relax my outside arm even further so that it draped on the tank. Literally, just relaxing my outside pec relaxed my arm and the bike would instantly take a tighter line. Wow! What happens if I do the same thing with the inside pec? Same thing?

Vision is another example of this same point. Starting with any book you read or class you take, you’ve been hectored about keeping your eyes up and looking through the turn . . . without any real sense of what that might mean. It turns out there’s a huge difference between looking through the turn and picking out an entry point, apex, and exit point before you initiate your turn. Your brain processes the information in completely different ways. In the first instance, the signal is, “We’re going generally that way.” In the second, the signal is, “We’re going exactly from here, through there, to over there, now make it happen.” And it does.

After one session riding control the other day, a fellow rider came up to me and told me he had been following me the last couple of laps and it had really helped him a lot. I asked him how.

“Watching you, it was like you first got your body completely set to go through the turn and then you took all your awareness and threw it through the turn to where you wanted to go. And then you went there.”

Besides feeling massively complimented I thought it was an interesting way for him to describe what he saw or sensed . . . that idea of moving 100% of your awareness down the road, particularly in technically demanding turns, is the essence of good cornering. In practice, it looks only marginally different to an observer–your helmet is raised up a couple of degrees and turned more and sooner–but the effect on your confidence, stability, and control are like night and day.

Like Water Falling

That same day I was giving some riders some last minute coaching before we went out for the last session of the day. The fear of anyone teaching or riding a track-day is that tired riders will lose their minds, stop concentrating, and wad up their bikes minutes before they pack up for home. It happens like that on the last ski run of the day. So I was counseling people to relax, be smooth, and concentrate on using just one skill from the day.

“Stay focused. Just pick one thing.” Speaking now to someone particular, I said, “For you, just make it about keeping your arms loose and your elbows pointed out. If you do that, that means that your upper body is relaxed, your body will be low and inside the bike’s center line. Your head will have to be turned. It will all happen if you just focus on that one thing . . . soft arms.”

That’s when she said it.

“That’s easy for you to say. Watching you ride is like watching water fall. You’re just so smooth and effortless out there.”

In my mind, I’ve got buckets more learning and honing to do. But for the technique freak in me, there couldn’t be any higher praise. If she only knew.

Tags: motorycleriding, technique, Lee Parks, Total Control, Puget Sound Safety, midlife rider, Bret Tkcas

Jupiters Travels

Ted Simon. Jupitalia Productions 2005, Paperback, 456 pages, $24.95

Ted Simon sits comfortably at the table reserved for motorcycle Gods, “long distance division.” I say “comfortably” in reference to his unassailable adventure credentials and iconic book Jupiter’s Travels. By every account I’ve read he’s actually a bit embarrassed by all the accolades. 78,000 miles over four years through 45 countries on a Triumph no less is one hell of an accomplishment. He has inspired legions of others to head off on their own heroic journeys, perhaps most famously, Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman of Long Way Round and Long Way Down fame.

Long Way Round

Ewan McGregor. Atria 2005, Paperback, 320 pages, $15.00

I’ve been wading through what I previously described as the “canon of motorcycle literature,” a term and list of my own creation, for various reasons, not the least of which is that it feels important to hear the voices and imagine the vistas. These books were written with an eye on an audience and perhaps even a payday, but first and foremost they exist as a necessary part of the author’s journey. The fact that they make it past a publisher and onto a shelf is more a comment on the publisher than anything else. But to my point: They’ve been written, they’ve been published, and I want to honor the whole of it.

To that weighty set-up, let me add more. I say this with no disrespect, but motorcycle-journey books finds their primary audience with aficionados . . . if you’re not keen on bikes, you’d never know about these books much less read them. An obvious exception is Prisig’s break-out book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a book, depending on your point of view, that has very little to do with riding motorcycles.

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Robert M. Pirsig. HarperTorch 2006, Mass Market Paperback, 560 pages, $7.99

Jupiter’s Travels falls into another category of books completely. Yes, the motorcycle figures prominently in the sense that it’s the mode of travel, much as Rocinante is the hero’s vehicle in both Don Quixote and Travels With Charlie, both literally and figuratively. But in all cases, it’s just the vehicle. While this is arguably true of plenty of other motorcycle related books, the sweep and depth of Ted’s story and storytelling move Jupiter’s Travels into a special class of literature that anyone interested in journeying should read.

The short version of the long story follows standard journey fair. Ted feels compelled to load up a motorcycle, in this case a Triumph, the last of the wounded British lions, and use it to travel down Europe, over to Tunisia, across the top of Africa, and from there to South Africa. In an echo of the Shakleford expedition to the South Pole (beginning as WW I commenced), Ted steps off in the lee of the ‘73 Arab/Israeli war. Not the best time to be riding through Arab-Africa.

This first part of the trip occupies a big part of Ted’s story telling as perhaps it should. I’ve never ridden Ted-miles, but I can tell you from experience that the first part of the trip always seems to contain the real emotional, spiritual, and even physical depth for the rest of the journey. Themes are established. Tones are set. Precursor experiences are laid in like new hay.

In the final acts of a long trip, your attention to the richness and detail of the moments and miles flickers and flees. In the first miles, days, or weeks, you notice and catalog everything. Once you turn for home, you focus on finishing . . . which could feel like a good or bad thing just depending. As you head out, your focus is on the wonder of it all. On the way home, you wonder if you really got what you went for. You worry about hanging onto what was special. On the way out, everything has the capacity to be special, to be revealing, to tap some existential root that’s lay dormant.

Ted’s journey continues, after an interregnum at sea, in a Brazilian jail . . . his journey, not his forward progress. If Jupiter’s Travels weren’t a journal and instead was written as a piece of fiction, this would have been a necessary opening to the story’s second act. Heroic literature requires a wrenching test of the traveler’s intentions, fortitude, and commitment. While the trial is often framed in terms of the end goal, it is truly about the hero’s sense of self. “Why are you really on this trip?” “What are you looking for?” “Do you not know that what you seek is already inside you?”

Once again mobile, Ted works his way down through Brazil and ultimately, in another echo, this time of Che Guevara’s adventures, up the western side of South and Central America, to Northern California, there to pass a pleasant season communing and falling in love.

The Motorcycle Diaries

Ernesto Che Guevara. Ocean Press 2003, Paperback, 175 pages, $14.95

Based on how the book opens–with the story of how Ted came to be called Jupiter in a town in India–you would expect that the spiritual and mechanical axis of the book would turn on his time in India, which in my reading it really doesn’t. By this time in the telling, the story has taken on a quicker pace, an urging along that tracks the turmoil and doubts that often accompany the turning towards home. In classic heroic literature, this is the point where the hero faces a test bigger than actually winning the obvious prize . . . going home and facing people who didn’t travel; integrating the new learnings with the old doings. You never get the sense that Ted found the depths he was looking for in the epicenter of new age yearning, which is not to say that he found nothing in India.

Finally, Ted turns home; actually it’s more like a gallop. The miles through the various ‘Stans disappear in a flash of paragraphs where before pages barely did the job. And then, just like that, the roar of the Triumph is quieted for the last time. The years of packing and packaging an entire life into the confines of what could be carried on a bike no sane person would have ridden further than the next town over were finally at an end. We readers have the benefit of experiencing the entire sweep of the enterprise in the few days it takes to read the book. Reading Ted’s closing stanzas, you feel how hard he struggles to remember the opening verses of his epic and what they meant against the wildly conflicting emotions of finally being back. In much smaller ways, any of us who have headed out with the thought of finding something, vs. simply seeing stuff, know the feeling.

Tags: TedSimon, Jupiter’s Travels, Long Way Round, Long Way Down, Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Don Quixote, Travels with Charlie, John Steinbeck, Che Guevara, Motorcycle Diaries

I seem to be on an equipment review roll. If you’ve found this via a search, the context for that remark is that I’ve just recently gotten back from a big ride and have filled pages in the blogosphere with my ramblings and musings about life on the road. I also took some new gear along to test, so that’s what this is about. For those of you interested in the metaphysics of midlife, definitely move along. Probably not much in this post that will light you up.

When I first got my FJR, those lovely factory-spec side cases along with a tank bag seemed like more than enough space to accommodate whatever I might want to take with me on a ride. Coming from a Ducati Multistrada, they looked cavernous.

As the miles rolled by, my tank bag became overstuffed with all manner of flotsam to the point that I decided to add a small Givi trunk. There, surely that should do it. Tank bag for the little stuff I would need during the day (including a water sack with sippy tube). Side cases for clothing. Top case for stashing pant and jacket liners. Maps went either front or back, just sort of depending. Tools invariably went in the trunk (dumb place). Life was, once again, well ordered and nicely arranged.

But like Boyle’s law, stuff expands to fill all available space. The tipping point was my planned epic ride. I’m a notoriously light packer so two weeks on the road shouldn’t make that much of a difference, but the specter of spending time with clients along the way, perfectly nice people who wouldn’t appreciate the smells of the road and further expected me to show up with computer and such, once again rang the “more storage please” bell. So off I went to Seattle Cycle Center in search of something I could perch on the pillion.

Actually, my first stop was the local BMW dealer, there to spy a very spiffy looking waterproof item that looked positively regal, including the logo-induced princely purchase price. Then I went over to SCC where for less than half the pesos, I picked up what seemed like a made-to-order Deluxe Tail Bag by Tourmaster.

No question the BWM item was nicer, but for my pinched pennies, here’s what I got.

The bag attaches with two stout, crossed bungie cords outfitted with right-sized plastic hooks. On the FJR, I hook the back pair to the Givi rack and the front to the passenger foot peg stanchions. On my Aprlia, it’s the same idea up front. In back, I hook the bungees together under the tail section.

One thing I discovered during a rainy portion of the ride is that the wind will find everything. In this case, I didn’t notice at first that there was a synch cord on the rain cover. This oversight was made apparent to me upon glancing in my mirrors to see this wild flapping thing where my tail bag should have been.

I’m off to the track tomorrow, so I’ll find out if the bag does anything weird or wonderful on my Aprilia. I doubt it will.

So to summarize, it’s a stout, usefully-sized and shaped, high-quality piece that’s nicely priced. Although it says tail bag, I found it just dandy as a low profile, non-talking, non-eating, gear swallowing pillion.

Here’s what Tourmaster has to say about their bag . . .

• Built-in bungee cord mounting hooks that hide away when not in use
• E-Z access top-loading two-way zippered main compartment
• Angle-mounted shoulder strap for carrying comfort
• Heavy-duty nylon construction
• Reinforced carry handle
• Four exterior pockets
• Tricot interior lining
• Mesh front pocket
• Reflective Tour Master logos and Jaquard webbing
• TPR zipper pulls
• 21″L x 12″W x 10″H

Tags: DeluxeTail Bag, Tourmaster, FJR 1300, Yamaha, Ducati Multistrada, BWM, GIvi, Motorrad, Seattle Cycle Center

I’ve been wearing cycleport gear for two years now. I bought my first jacket and pants after a low speed get-off wore holes in a fancy set of Dainese textile gear. Maybe I had the concept wrong, but I was expecting more abrasion resistance than I got. Which led me to cycleport.

After wearing all-black for a year I decided that being seen is good so back to Wayne and the crew I went, this time for a 3/4 length jacket in high viz. Over my black air mesh pants I look like a proper British moto-coper.

Besides the eye-popping color, the obvious difference between my new jacket and the all-black is the fabric. The all black is made of an open kevlar mesh that is rougher to the touch and definitely flows more air with the liners out.

The high viz is a blended fabric that has a much softer hand (relative). Beyond that, there are some detail differences in venting and sleeve straps, but the two jackets are otherwise similar.

The big attraction in my book is the fabric. Here’s what the cycleport site has to say . . .

It’s 10 times stronger than leather and less than half the weight. The world’s first all season 3/4 length Ultra II Air Mesh Jacket that will take you from -20F to 85F with optional two part zip in Aero-Tex liner. Remove the liner and have a fully breathable jacket or pant that will take you from 60f to 120F. You don’t need two or three different riding outfits for different weather. The Ultra II Air Mesh Kevlar jacket is great for any weather.

The new Ultra II Kevlar Air Mesh material has the highest tear strength of any motorcycle jacket ever made! 500 Denier Cordura (the best material companies use for overall construction will tear at 22lbs). The Air Mesh Kevlar material tears at 1260lbs!! Take your body weight and multiply that by the speed on a motorcycle. All the other nylon jackets and pants made can tear at a low speed tumble! If the best material of all other synthetic jacket/pants tears at 22lbs. imagine how poor the seam strength is! No other leather suit or synthetic suit has proper seam strength. Cycleport Safety Lock Stitches all of the construction seams that will provide more than 2000lbs. of strength

Those are big numbers and big claims, both of which I took seriously after my sliding adventures. At the present time, I’ll just take Wayne’s word on the performance under stress. I’ve gone sliding in leathers at 40 mph or so and came up with little damage to show for it . . . me or my gear. I like it that the kevlar gear is even stronger.

I speced my Air Mesh with the single layer liner (no insulation), extra reflector strips, and the new optional Quad layer-Armor, all of which adds heft to the tariff. It’s less than Rukka and on par or maybe a bit more than Aerostich gear, the other two obvious choices. I figure gear is lots less expensive than body parts. FWIW, cycleport backs the product with a big time guarantee: IF YOU EVER CRASH IN THE ULTRA II AIR MESH KEVALR JACKET AND CYCLEPORT/MOTOPORT CAN’T REPAIR IT WE WILL REPLACE THE JACKET FOR FREE.

The shakedown cruise for my new kit was a ride to Tubac Arizona and back, a journey that would last two weeks, 3800 miles or so, and see temperatures from the low forties to 106 . . . a pretty fair test. My observations . . .

It’s heavy. The jacket and pants each weigh about 5.5 pounds with liners in. Lifting them is an effort. Walking around in them is done purposefully. None of which bothers me. All that weight is due to all that armor, triple stitching, and heavy duty fabric. It’s serious gear. The good news is that the weight seems to disappear once on the bike. In fact, the mass of the jacket gives the impression, if not the reality, of providing some extra support over a long day in the saddle.

It’s visible. People that I rode with all comment that the jacket is a real retina burner. They joked and poked and smiled and smiled. That’s the idea.

All day comfort. I mentioned that during the trip I saw a temperature swing of 40 degrees. I saw that in one day! With gerbing heated gear I find the jacket comfortable down into the mid 30s. With jacket, liner, and thin and heavy poly pro, I find the jacket comfortable down to the forties. With the liner out and just a tee shirt, I was good into the low 90s, even a bit higher for short periods of time. Above that, I added in a techniche evaporative cooling vest and an aerostich evap-o-dana and was good to 104 four hours. The jacket doesn’t flow as much air as the black version does due to the differences in fabric, but it does a decent job.

Weatherproof: I spend a day in pissing rain and two barely out of it. It works.

Storage. There are more pockets on and in this thing than you can imagine. I was afraid to use them all out of fear that I’d never remember where I put everything. There is a lot of storage!

Fit and Finish. Everything on the jacket just flat works. All the zippers are big and beefy. Everything is ticked and tied . . . no loose ends. It’s a quality piece of gear. There is little more annoying than getting halfway into a big trip and find that some part of your gear has decided to pack it in . . . failed zipper, seam come undone, that sort of thing. Other than picking up the inevitable road grime, the jacket is just as it was when I pulled it out of the box new.

Everyone brings their own decision criteria to a purchase like this. I’ve looked at a lot of gear, and in my book, the cycleport gear maxes the scale on crash protection, usability in a broad range of conditions, and quality. It’s not the snappiest looking kit by a long way, it’s heavy, and it’s expensive . . . all trade-offs I’m happy to make.

Tags: CyclePortUltra II Air Mesh Kevlar Jacket, Rukka, Aerostich, gerbing, techniche evaporative cooling vest, evap-o-dann, midliferider

Here’s the lead on a great read in the Manchester Guardian . . .

Long way down … Mike Carter takes in the spectacular views of the Valley of the Moon in Chile from a precarious vantage point. Photograph: Julia Sanders

I watched them ride along the corniche, headlights blazing through the swirling dust and the fading light. I started counting. I’d been alone in Arica, an out-of-season beach town on the Chile/Peru border, for over two days. Counting motorcycles felt like great excitement, all things considered.

There should have been 10. There were just eight. By the time I’d left the beach and walked back into the hotel lobby, the riders, caked in grime and sweat, were presenting their passports to reception in the careworn manner befitting those who’d been on the road three weeks.

“Where are the other two?” I asked a man.

He looked tired. “Crashed,” replied Brian, for that was his name. “In Bolivia. One hit a police barrier. Almost decapitated. Ducked just in time, but smashed his sternum and two vertebrae. The other one hit a vicuña. Broke his shoulder and his arm. Both repatriated.”

Decapitated. Repatriated. Now there’s a couple of words.

Tags: Chile, Globebusters Tours, Long Distance Riding, Peru

I started wearing Furygan leathers last year. I bought them for several reasons.

* A friend was wearing them and I thought they looked good.
* They fit my shape and build well.
* I had read about them in a British motorcycle magazine.

Later I discovered that the importer, a man named Keith Ellis, lived about three miles from me. We got together over coffee to talk shop and swap stories.

Kevin: How did you decide to get involved with importing motorcycle gear?

Keith: I worked a number of years in construction, excepting about four years that I took off and went back to school, got a Philosophy degree. Not a lot of job opportunities there.

Working construction, where my job had evolved into managing a general contractor, I found that there were a few things that were inherent to job that that I was uncomfortable with. So I began looking for away of making some changes. I got to where I was only working 50 or 60 hours a week doing construction.

Kevin: Only?

Keith: [Laughing]. This is apparently more free time than I can be trusted with. I actually thought at first that I wanted to open a shop: a motorcycle shop. In the process of working out a business plan for that, I realized I was horribly undercapitalized for that type of venture. But I had made contact with some different people, because I wanted to find interesting products that other people didn’t have. For example, I made contact with the folks at Furygan. I made a trip to Germany to the INTERMOT show and met with them. We pretty much just agreed that we’d give it a try and see what happened. So I made a decision to start with apparel.

Kevin: So you had no background?

Keith: No, other than as an enthusiast with friends in the industry. I had some capital and I’m seeing a change in the U.S. Market. There are more people traveling on two wheels and maybe it’s just me, but I also started seeing more people who are really interested in wearing appropriate gear . . . but maybe not as interested in wearing a really flashy piece of protective gear. I thought I saw an opportunity in the market.

So I was looking for something that was high quality and nicely styled; something that crossed the line between protective and causal gear. Furygan is a good fit for me, and I for them, I think. They’re trying to expand, to push their company into new markets. We’re hoping to grow together here.

Kevin: How did you find out about Furygan?

Keith: Actually by reading European magazines.

Kevin: So you sort of settled on Furygan and you e-mailed you cabled and you called them? You said something, “I want come over and talk to you?”

Keith: Actually, what happened is, I contacted them via e-mail and they said, “Yes, we’re interested,” and we did almost no initial e-mail negotiation. I simply went to Germany and sat down with them.

Kevin: That’s just so cool . . .

Keith: There were some other people that I was meeting with as well, but pretty quickly I settled in with Furygan. So I spent at least two days, pretty solidly, talking with them about what it would be like to work together.

About Furygan

Kevin: What’s the story with Furygan? What’s their history?

Keith: It’s actually one of those really interesting European business stories. The founder of Furygan is Jacques Segura. The Segura family was in apparel manufacturing. In 1969, they opened a division that was focused on motor sports.

Jacques’ brother was put in charge of the new division. I don’t know all of the details other than they say that Jacques took exception to that decision, and that resulted in a lot of family turmoil. So, also in 1969, Jacques started Furygan.

He started with gloves, which is G-A-N-T in French. So, the name is a contraction of Fury and glove. The ending “T” was dropped leaving “Furygan”. The logo, with the Panther . . . the Panther was the symbol of Jacques paratrooper unit in World War II. He chose it in a wounded pose to express how he felt about his dealings with the family.

He manufactured high-end gloves and actually sky diving leather helmets to start with. He went pretty quickly into suits and, actually, in the mid 70’s he sponsored a lot of world-class riders, Patrick Pons, Christian Sarron, Agostini when he was on the number 1 plate at Yamaha. In ’77, when Steve Baker became the first American to win a World Championship, he was wearing Furygan Leathers.

Kevin: That is so French.

Going to Market

Kevin: How are you going to market?

Keith: It’s my intention to add some new apparel products. I added Motto Bike Wear, a Kevlar lined jean from Poland, this spring. I do have a couple of hard part manufacturers that I’m talking with as well to diversify a little bit of what I have. And, yeah, and continue to try to offer what I think are fairly unique and high quality products that might fill a different segment of the market.

I think this has been a real change in the way the American motorcyclist looks at protective gear in the last decade, and I do think that some of the larger brand, less expensive products that are out there have a lot of the responsibility and credit for that.

You know, it wasn’t that long ago that you had a choice between wearing just casual gear or really high-end, designated race sort of gear. Manufacturers have become really good at introducing products to the market that fulfill some basic requirements for riding gear that are more affordable and offer people some choices.

The flip side of that is that as we rolled out this gear that offered some protections but was much more affordable, we’ve seen the market go more and more in that direction. But now I think there’s an opening for some more high quality gear. Maybe it’s a consequence of my age. I’ve reached the point where I can afford a fairly nice and relatively quick motorcycle, and also realized that I had that opportunity because my ability to work was my best asset. And so, I also needed to protect myself as a rider.

There are parts of this country that when it gets hot you’ll see a guy with either no helmet, or a novelty helmet, and no shirt, and shorts and flip-flops.

Kevin: Yup. I remember riding like that when I was young and dumb.

Keith: I don’t know. I’ve just kinda reached a point where the first thing I think is “skin graft.” And I think that we have a lot of people now that are taking that attitude about riding and they want to be able to ride and they want to be able to be calculated about their risks. I may not always be the smartest rider but I understand the risks and I’m prepared for it.

Kevin: You go to shows? You’re calling on dealers? What are you doing?

Keith: I’m doing a lot of calling dealers. I don’t do a lot of shows. I have a website that’s badly in need of updating that I get some hits off it. The unfortunate thing is that I have yet to figure out what I feel is a really clean way to handle sizing and fit. Each of the jackets has a slightly different cut. The size is pretty consistent in the shoulders. But I need to get a good chart and a good way to find measurements for people so that they can consistently fit. It’s really my goal to have Furygan available to fit in person for each major metro area.

Kevin: Do you do any direct business at all?

Keith: If I don’t have a retailer close to somebody, I’m happy to sell retail.

Kevin: What kind of dealers are you looking for?

Keith: My initial thought was that the people who would be familiar with the brand would be more likely to be in a Euro dealer. In Europe, obviously Euro bikes are all over the place, and it’s not just the guys riding the expensive bikes that are buying Furygan, in part because they have a different attitude towards gear in the first place. As a British friend of mine says, it’s common to see a guy on a thousand pound ($2,000) motorcycle with 1500 pounds ($3,000) in gear. That’s because he knows it’s really easier to replace that $2000 bike, but, you know, it’s not easy to keep…

Kevin: Yeah. I’m the most expensive part of this thing.

Keith: Yeah. I’m the hardest part to replace.

Waxing Philosophical

Kevin: How old are you?

Keith: 39.

Kevin: So you’re sort of, at the beginning of the middle.

Keith: Yeah. Right about the time I got to be 33, 34, 35, I started to accumulate some assets. I had worked a lot and I had, you know, a grown up sort of life. One of the things that I realized is that regardless of the passion that I still have for some aspects of what I’ve done in construction, that the things that aren’t well suited for me create enough discomfort that it outweighs the things I’m passionate about.

One of the life changing things for me was my son being born. I have a 5-year-old son, which is, you know, usually the time when people cast off their motorcycles. I mean, everybody knows how many bikers you see that are getting married, having a child, buying a house, and selling their bikes. Well, I’d already done the whole marriage and divorce thing, then a committed relationship, and bought a house, and when my son came along, I really started to think about how it was that I was going about my life and recognized some things that had happened in my parents’ lives.

My stepfather, who I pretty much grew up with, had actually been a Motocross and Enduro racer from ’61 ‘till about 1976. He had a fairly bad crash that broke a leg. He told me that every time he started after that he thought about it, and that was why he quit racing.

But the year that he turned 50, he put together one of the old motorcycles and got involved with racing again. That would’ve been after I started to grow up and had moved out of the house. But I was able to watch the change in the entire family dynamic when my stepfather started to resume doing something that he really enjoyed. And I realized that I didn’t want my son to grow up watching me do all of the things that I felt like I was obligated to do without any passion.

Kevin: That’s a pretty big insight.

Keith: That’s actually one of the reasons for doing business with Furygan, a family owned company. I joke that I selected this product that was founded on resentment, but it was also founded on emotional passion. I think that they still carry a lot of that passion for riding into their apparel. And I want to continue to carry products that work to innovate and that work to bring that passion. I mean let’s face it, we can all take public transportation or ride bicycles, and that’s great, economically and ecologically. That’s a great decision to make, but, you know, I’m just not really passionate about it.

I had also reached a point in my life where I had some assets that I was willing to risk . . . that I was more willing to risk in order to build something than I was to, you know, go work as a lot boy in a dealership just to spend my time around motorcycles.

A lot of the market, particularly in apparel here, is very price conscious. But the fact is price has no passion. Price is about counting what’s left over, and so I really wanted to deal with products with passion. And thought there was an opportunity for a small distributor that was more “boutique” oriented.

Kevin: I’ve done a lot of interviews in this project that I’ve been working on, and there are two themes that come screaming out. There’s actually many, but two come to mind. One is, and you’ve mentioned both of them, there are a lot of stories like the one that you told about your step-dad. Connections between men and their fathers over riding. Another story that comes up in a really big way is the story of the first bicycle, often with a powerful connection to the dad, often who brought home some piece of crap, and in the process of transforming this thing…

Keith: Yeah, my first motorcycle was one that my stepfather assembled for me from the bikes that he’d never gotten rid of. I was 13, and it was a ‘69 Maico 125 Motocross bike, in a 250 frame because it was heavier…

Kevin: Yeah.

Keith: … and it was orange. And, to this day, I have a thing for orange.

Kevin: Of course you do. And so, he transmogrified this right in front of your eyes.

Keith: Yeah. I didn’t have the smoothest childhood in general, and my adolescent years were particularly problematic for anybody in very close proximity. In my early 20’s, I realized that I’d had some fairly big life changing experiences. I realized that I had an opportunity to redefine and rediscover my relationships, particularly and specifically with my family, and that as a young adult, I had the opportunity to make the decision to let everything be passed and to start fresh and to meet my entire family on equal terms as adults and to not worry about anything else that had happened.

Part of that ended up being my stepfather, and he and I obviously communicate regularly about motorcycles. That was the beginning. That was the little common thread that we had and that was the point to build a relationship from. And it’s been just a great deal of fun for me. I go ride in the dirt with him periodically.

You know, my son wants to ride. He said that this summer he wants to have his own motorcycle, which of course thrills me. I’ve tried not to put everything on it but he, you know, he watches and he knows.

Tags: FuryganLeathers, Keith Ellis, Furygan USA, Van Ellis, midliferider, best motorcycle leathers

I’m a fan of Suomy helmets. I like how they fit. I like how they’re made. I like it that they’re kinder to your head in a get off than anything carrying a current Snell rating (for more on this, see my essay on helmets).

For the past year or so I’ve been wearing the very high spec and high cost Suomy Extreme, a lid I like for its light weight and “look at me now” graphics. What I don’t like as well is the insanely difficult process of changing out a shield and the noise.

I recently picked up a flat black Suomy Vandal, a lesser but not less helmet than the Extreme. It’s built to the same specs as its big brother and features the same lush interior with easily removed and washed liner and cheek pads. From that standpoint, one of the best designs in the business.

During my ride, I experienced everything from pissing rain and mid 40s, howling winds, and blazing desert heat that topped out at 106. I rode in blinding sun, drab overcast, and total darkness. All in, it was on my head for 3700 miles, so a fair test I think.

What I like . . .