Posted on Wednesday, December 12, 2012 - 06:07 am:

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Posted on Monday, April 25, 2005 - 02:58 pm:

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what a weekend. 0400 launch on Thursday, after not enough sleep, but enough beer. me ‘n D in the truck, the Reactor strapped in the back, Unibear astride his trusty S3T. daybreak a hundred miles later, good to be on the road, on a road trip. got creative at Adelanto, hung a left off 395 to Apple Valley (former home of American Sport Bike) and beyond, to avoid Interstate 10 but to keep us pointed toward Arizona. a brilliant move, made great time, saw cool stuff, and NO traffic except a million Harleys headed to Laughlin. damn hot, at least for the Bear, a comfy 68 degrees in the cab of the truck, about 45 CD’s along to rock to, including the Best of Boston (which is ALL of Boston). just about too far between bushes to squat behind out here, found a PortaPotty for Denise JUST in the nick of time. a cool way to spend the day, making time, but calm and casual, stopping when we wanted and taking as long as we wanted, making sure the Bear stayed alert and hydrated. fast forward to Phoenix, Bart on the cell phone, still harassing me about the V-Strom, which I no longer own, unaware of the Blue Thing in the back. motel, room, beer, Buell friends, motorcycle friends, simply friends, and good people, laughter, lies, more beer, more beer, more beer, bed (for some of us). day one of AZ SpringFast 2005 is in the books.

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Posted on Monday, April 25, 2005 - 03:34 pm:

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day two, Friday morning, seems as though no one is in jail, not the first pleasant surprise of the weekend. to Arrowhead H-D/Buell, muscle the Reactor out of the Tacoma and get the gear strapped on. finally (for me ‘n D, anyway), we’re going riding. cool dealership, supportive, friendly, pro-Buells. big turnout, varied bikes, mostly Buells. rider’s meeting, laughter, seriousness, laughter, let’s roll, off into the chaos that is the Phoenix suburbs. a while to get to the Good Stuff (Yarnell Pass, right Bart?), me ‘n D riding sweep (more likely HAVING to ride in the back...), until we started to climb, then time to see what the FNBago is made of. whoosh and whine and tuck and roll. sumbitch! first time riding the bike in anger, two-up and loaded no less, so aware of the mandatory learning (and leaning) curves. peg feelers hit often but predictable, rear shock cranked up to hard (not hard enough, but acceptable), brand-new Z6’s taking the abuse with no whimpers, Denise invisible on the back, the bike making the coolest nuke turbine noises, 5th most of the time, 4th on occasion, but gotta watch the cornering angles, those pesky peg feelers warning of the hard parts just beyond their reach. no worries, hold the line through the corner, change it at will, and spool up just on the other side of the apex. come back here, boys. gotcha. soon everyone doesn’t exist anymore, save for M1Combat on point, Carey slot two, me ‘n D number three. the rest of the gang may as well be back in Phoenix (ouch, sorry). good road, shoulda listened better at the rider’s meeting, lots o’ cops along here they said (again) later. if so, didn’t see them, had no time to admire any scenery except the road and the tach. later (the Spars?) made Carey disappear and aimed some energy at M1Combat Don, to no avail. could not get lock ( "Dammit, Jim!" ), had to abandon the mission and return to base, had very little to offer him, and decided a 2nd place trophy at the lunch break would suffice just fine. GREAT roads, Bart, very nicely ridden Don and Carey, thanks for showing the way. Denise, you are the best -- I could NOT sit still on the back and take that kind of abuse. lunch in old-town Prescott (say PRESCott, not presCOTT) at a brewery, but water and ice tea all around -- cool beans. effin’ A, what a ride. anybody got a smoke?


Photo by American Sport Bike Al

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our time at the memorial was soothing. we were somber enough, but we laughed and cut jokes, as well. we (the people who were on the Torque Fest, that is) reconstructed the accident that took Daryl’s life. not in morbid detail, but more as a learning tool. everyone was cool, and I was pleased to see the respect shown to Daryl, and his mother. everyone who had met him agreed he was about the nicest guy in the world, about the friendliest, about the most passionate about Erik and his motorcycles and about the ride. he made what appears to be a pretty small error on that corner that day, although one with huge consequences. no one in our group on Saturday had ANYTHING negative to say about the man, and it chokes me up to say that. i hope it’s not too stupid to say that Daryl died doing what he loved, and that his death is probably continuing to help people he didn’t even know be better riders, and better people. if that’s true, then he left behind a pretty major legacy.

as i recall we all left in groups of one or two or so, at our leisure. me ‘n D rode in solitude for the next 20 miles or so, at mostly legal speeds, quiet in thought and emotion, blown away by the beauty of the surrounding country and the quality of the road. smooth, graceful, sweeping, tight, brilliant, and more. if you were there, or have been there, certainly you agree. for the rest of you, maybe next year.

see ya Daryl. thank you.

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Posted on Monday, April 25, 2005 - 07:29 pm:

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we met up with the Italian Stallions in Morenci, pretty much the formal start of 191 for those riding north. not to be outdone, they, too, had whipped the local constabulary into a feeding frenzy, and were asking for volunteers from OUR group to lead the ride out of town. (they seemed to keep coming back to ME for some reason.) it’s a long, painful story, but when it was all said and done Bart and Mitzi and me ‘n D were the very last ones out of town, by a considerable margin. knowing that we had cheated fate on numerous occasions that day i did the only sensible thing and left the Blue Thing in second gear, reasoning that THIS way we’d only get a ticket for 10 or 20 or 40 over, depending on the posted speed. as such, we lost contact with even The Bartimus after awhile, which was okay. we set the autopilot on “Tour”, kicked back, and proceeded to enjoy the floor show. the copper mine in Morenci is HUGE, stretching at least two times zones in any direction. easy to get distracted by the magnificence of the view, and a slip along here could mean a nasty plummet to the mine floor below. I figure the Bago would take at least a minute to get there, and would resemble a Wile E. Coyote mushroom cloud after the inevitable failed coup against the Road Runner. sorry, I digress. Highway 191 is, without exaggeration in the slightest, one of the best roads I’ve ever ridden. there. I said it. think I’m waxing poetic? perhaps. try it yourself and see. if you don’t like it i’ll double your money back, and throw in a Ronco rotisserie to boot. ( "Set it and FORGET it!" ) (which, come to think of it, would make a great tag line for the FJR...) we caught Bart & Co. after a spell, spellbound. also looking for mischief, which came in the form of one of the Stallions, who had stopped, apparently, to take a leak, and was just clicking his Tuono into 1st when we came lasering around the corner. we sniffed each other like two stray dogs, decided we liked the quality and quantity, pushed the button that said “TWO PLAYERS” (three, counting the lovely and talented Denise), and worm-holed immediately and posthaste to another dimension in a parallel universe in a galaxy far, far away (and freakin' fast). (btw, do i have the order right? is it universe and THEN galaxy, or the other way around? sigh. it SUCKS to have gray hair.) looking at the map I’m guessing that we and Tuono Boy (sorry, we were introduced to you in Morenci but I cannot recall your name. Al/Belookin, can you help?) played war games for a good 60 miles. the Reactor was without fault (keeping in mind the semi-frugal cornering clearance), and we ripped 191 a new one, over and over and over, for perhaps 45 minutes. M1Combat Don was a player, too, although this time it seemed like I’d gotten to know the Bago well enough to put him behind us and KEEP him behind us. maybe that was HIS idea, which is cool, too. Tuono Boy was very good, hanging off when necessary, giving us a lot of room and respect at all times, but showing no mercy. we reciprocated in kind, and each took several turns breaking trail. finally, when I felt my attention span could handle no more overload (i DO have gray hair, you know), I eased to the right and motioned TB and M1 to go by. one of my biggest laughs of the day came when BOTH of them pointed to each other and said “YOU go!”, “No, YOU go!!" finally TB took point and we let him get away. me ‘n D and Don dropped out of warp and pretty much idled on into Hannagan Meadows, panting like the dogs we are. TBoy was just getting out of his gear, which is when I recognized him from Morenci. he was, literally, laughing with the utmost childlike glee, as were me ‘n D. we collected up all we’d passed, which made a respectably-sized group, and enjoyed the camaraderie that always seems to accompany one of these deals.

the air was cold, there was snow on the ground, a mountain stream. there were few sounds aside from those made by us, and the smell of wood fires and cooking meat hung gently, enticingly in the air. given the slightest provocation, Denise and I would have grabbed one of the cozy little rental cabins and gladly called it the end of an amazing day. can it get any better???


American Sport Bike Al, photo by Reindog

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Posted on Monday, April 25, 2005 - 08:15 pm:

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yes, actually. I told Denise as we were gearing up, in all sincerity, that we were going to TOUR our way from Hannagan Meadows the 22 miles to Alpine. see the sights and sounds of America and all that. the first five miles of our tour was GORGEOUS, all alone with ourselves, cruising along at about 45, alongside the aforementioned mountain stream, nary a care in the world. until Triple B came roaring by on his CityX, not content to leave well enough (us) alone. later he says, “Hey, you didn’t have to catch up with me!” true enough, although we both know that’s not true. pretty soon we’re up to our usual tricks, bordering on criminal behavior (“bordering”? it is to laugh), and generally flaunting our respective scooters’ ability to lean going around corners. the pavement between HM and Alpine is poifect (think Three Stooges), absolutely poifect. v-room, v-room, said the Little Nash That Could. whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...... said the Reactor. wow, we all said, when we acquired Alpine. fuel, pee, water, tell war stories, laugh, giggle, repeat. maybe not exactly in that order, but you catch my drift. it was now Officially Late, and some of the gang split for Show Low. we soaked up the afterglow as long as possible, cleverly waiting until the rain that had been threatening of late was actually falling on us before suiting up. no worries, none were skeered, and it was an adventure ride getting back to Show Low, into and through nearly every meteorologic condition known to motorcycling. for the last 30 miles into SL i expected to see funnel clouds at any minute. which all made the pretty red and blue lights seem all the more brilliant and intense. he was "just kidding," i guess. Carry On! oh, some of the Stallions were grabbing their rooms in Springerville went we rolled through, and gave us the “Wave.” that was pretty cool! lessee, I mentioned the near-funnel clouds, but it paints a more complete picture to know that the inky black sky was being kept good company by driving rain, and pounding crosswinds. no worries, we weren’t skeered.

now, i ask you: after ALL this, is it any wonder we partied so hard in Show Low Saturday night??? i agree. see earlier pix and posts for all the stuff i can’t for the life of me remember actually happening (providing RFT isn’t right and it wasn’t all a group hallucination). i DO remember drinking. i DO remember telling Denise it is of the UTMOST importance that we DO NOT, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, let the party migrate into our room. (we were largely successful, with the exception of RFT, who could breach our best defenses seemingly at will, but was a nice guy about it, even, at one point, offering to assist Denise in the, um, restroom. Reindog, you are indeed a giver.

i DON’T remember leaving the party, SORT of remember getting into bed (with much help), and fortunately wasn’t party (so to speak) to EITHER visit from the Show Low Police Department. i also, apparently, missed out on the lesbians, and the Great American Breast Augmentation Build-Off. someone MUST have pix???

Kobie, is it true, by the time you and Carey made it back to your room, the sun was peeking through Sunday morning's storm clouds???

Father Glenn, so i’m told by halfway reliable witnesses, at one point admonished everyone that they had had enough to drink. prolly while he was taking a big, long pull on the second bottle of that poison with all the gold flakes floating in it. which is funny coming from a man who struggled so mightily finding his room after the show was over. (up a small flight of stairs, hang a left, and down about five doors – what could be easier?) i will let him describe the near-heroic efforts he undertook, abandoned and alone, to find the missing motorcycles (his and mine) and his missing room. the story is truly inspiring.

i have to stop typing about Saturday now, as it’s making my head hurt. thank you. oh, in case you don’t know, that Goldschlager swill is dangerous stuff. not only will it make you act rather unusual, the gold flakes WILL bond to each other in your system, forming nothing less than an large gold nugget, which then makes going to the bathroom the following morning an exercise in painful futility. thought you needed to know that.

my head hurts.


Photo by Bartimus, hangover by Goldschlager...

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Posted on Monday, April 25, 2005 - 08:48 pm:

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Sunday was as Bart described above. and more. COLD! RAIN! HAIL! WIND! and that was just in the bathroom. great ride, smaller group, equally pleasurable, can’t beat heated, waterproof gear. i’ve been riding 40 years to be so equipped, can’t believe i waited so long. cruised along on the Reactor at 140 for awhile (yes, BOTH hands on the bars), pretty casual for such an intense experience. took a bird hit off my right shoulder at about 80. i did okay, sadly the bird did not. warned of cops ahead by Good Samaritans, but not sure we saw any. oh yeah, i did, but was somehow only going about 75 at the time (how exactly is THAT possible???) and didn’t even get a light show. must be losing my touch. the ride (all nine hundred and some miles and three days of it) was over MUCH too soon. i know you know what i mean.

right on Bartimus, and everyone else involved in any fay, wape, or shorm. (my head hurts, and don’t forget the gray hair thing.) most excellent camaraderie, combined with liberal doses of adrenaline, compassion, speed, alcohol, maturity, immaturity and humanity.

and motorcycles.

speaking of which, Unibear is certifiable. we left Phoenix about 4:45 yesterday afternoon, and arrived here at the ‘Dome about 2:30 this morning. the wind he endured was prolly the worst i’ve ever driven in, plus more wind, and cold enough to see your breath, and, well, a fine mist of “slurry” emanating from an open horse trailer i didn’t realize we were following. sorry, bud, guess that explains why when I cleaned your headlight this morning the paper towel came back golden brown.

a 775-mile day for the Bear yesterday, about 2000 miles for the four-day trip, not bad in anybody’s book, especially “considering”...

i’m running today on exactly 1-3/4 hours sleep, and about the same for Denise and Unibear. i have spent ALL day ‘splainin’ the Weekend According to Ferris to y’all, and now find that i must call it a day.

hope you enjoyed the show. there BETTER be more pix, dammit. and words. and all the rest.

thanks Bart. thanks Unibear. thanks to ALL of you.

thank you, Denise -- you are nothing short of amazing.

ride to lean,
Ferris Bueller-San, 5th-degree Blue Belt FJRitsu Master
President and CEO Ronco Heavy Industries
Lake Isabella, CA USA 9-1300
©2005 -- All Rights Reserved
E. Pluribus Moon ‘Em


Photo by Bartimus

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