Bama Rides

Hickory Hill is my back yard. I grew up here. I spent my youth hiking and playing in it’s woods. It is also the tallest hill in the area. They built the water tower 2/3 of the way up when they found an artisan well.

In the modern age three cell phone towers where built at it’s summit. The first road was a complete and utter failure. It required a well built 4wd drive truck to make it up. They ended up having to make a road that was triple the distance.

Recently I purchased an XR100r just to ride around it. It was so much fun that I named it ‘wee-boy’.

I have cut and re-cut several single track trails. I have two trails that lead to a trail that rides the ridge at the summit. One trail I can only climb on wee-boy. The other I can ride my DR650 up, but the last time I did I bruised two ribs.

This is a story of a three day battle of Hickory Hill.  You can decide who won.

Sorry there will be very few pictures. I was more worried about winning/surviving  than documenting.

DAY-1 ‘THE FALL’

After a month or so getting trails cut, and getting some old trails recut. I decided it was time to go into the steepest section of the woods. I had tried this once and failed miserably, but was able to ride out with out too much trouble.

Mind you I know these woods well, but a few years back the owner of the adjoining property (who lives out of state) had the woods clear cut. This changed the landscape quite a bit. It also makes the underbrush thick and impassable.

What I was looking for was a bluff I used to play on when I was a kid. It was basically a rock ledge some where between 500-600 feet above sea level. I knew the area under it had clear cut and I could not ride up to it. The terrain was treacherous before So I decided to ride across the  steep valleys (wash). This is not easy, but it is possible.

The first wash off the trail was not that bad, and I was able to ride up and down it with out much issue. The second was tough. The sideways angle was steep. The forward angle that I had dropped about 50 feet and rose about the same. It took a couple of tries, drops, and slides down the sideways face of the hill.

I finally made it to the section that I knew the bluff was on. As mentioned before the landscape had been changed. After some time of riding around I found it. That is not quite right. It found me.

The sideways angle that I was riding was a bit too steep,and the back tire started to slide. This had happened quite a few times and did not concern me. What did concern me was the fact that it started to drop strait down. I pinned the throttle, but there was no ground to catch. It takes me a split second to realized that this was not a winnable situation. I jumped off.

Both me and wee-boy drop 10′ down this rock ledge. It was not bad. What was is that the angle of the hill below that was still very steep. We roll down the hill.

After getting up and taking inventory of the damage I found me and the bike where in good shape. I was sore, and the bikes bars where not quite pointing in the right direction, but not bad considering. At this time I did not see the real problem.

This problem was that there was no rideable escape. Up was a rock ledge. Down was impassable due to thick brush that you can not cut though with a machete. To the left and right where dozens of fallen trees. Some the thickness of a truck tire.

I try to find a path to ride though in each of these directions unsuccessfully. It is still about 90 degrees, and I am hot and tired. I check the time, and it getting close to time to go to work (night shift).

I have to make a decision. I leave to bike in the woods. It takes me an hour and a half to find my way out. I did not plan to be out that late so I didn’t bring a flashlight. I used the light from the cell phone towers as a guide to feel my way out of the deep woods.

It was a long night at work.

DAY-2

DESPERATION

I got off work the next morning. I was determined to get wee-boy out of the woods.

I strapped on the machete and tried to reach it from the bottom of the hill. Alas the brush was too thick. I made it about 50′ before I noticed my shirt was starting to get bloody, and I was drenched in sweat. It felt as the briers where growing as fast as I was cutting them. They started to wrap around my arms and drag me in farther.

Dramatic I know, but I just want you understand how thick this is.

I walked out to the highway to see if I could approach from that side. I turned back as I realized I was creating a scene. A fat white guy wearing a bloody white t-shirt carrying a machete.

I made a trip to the other side. Around the brier patch of course. I made it up to the bike after a long and horrible walk. I tried to ride it out a path up the hill . It was fairly steep and I almost made it, but the bike started flooding. Anytime I got on a steep climb angle the float would stick.

Then the cramps started. My legs became useless. After a while I decided to climb out on my hands and knees. Once I got up the hill I was able to limp home.

After a few bananas I tried to get a shower some sleep. This was short lived. Cramps again. I was able to walk them off and found my icy hot cream.

Do not use this stuff when you are tired. You will forget to wash your hands, and you will scratch your uh-hum ‘boys’.

I finally got some sleep.

EXHAUSTION

I woke up after a few hours sleep. I am off on this friday, and I am determined. I run into town and purchase 100′ of rope and three pulleys. I then walked up the hill and across the gullies in the 90+ degree heat.

I reached the rock bluff and found a limb that would support my weight. I should be a little bit heavier than wee-boy so if it holds me I believed it would hold the bike.

If you have never used a block and tackle it works something like this:

One end of the rope is tied to and anchor. You then thread the rope though a pulley tied to the bike. You then thread the rope though a pulley that is tied back at the anchor. This works the same as gear reduction on your bike. You have to pull twice the amount of rope, but you are doing it with twice the pulling strength.

I guess you see where I am going with this. I tied the bike, via a third pulley, to the other end of the rope and pulled it up the rock face. The area I chose was only about 8′ so I didn’t have to raise it up far. Once I raised it up to the top I tied the the pulled end of the rope off and climbed up. I was then able to swing the bike over to a surface where I was able to untie it.

At this point I was exhausted, but felling pretty good. I decided to come back for the rig later. I was riding out!

Well I was wrong.

I rode the bike to the next wash. I was clipping along pretty good till I tried to ride up the other side. I had forgotten about the stuck float. I got about 1/2 and stalled. Slid back down and crashed.

I was fine. i am getting used to landing my butt in the dirt. Wee-boy on the other hand was now down. I had broken the clutch perch.

Normally this is not a real issue on any sort of trail. I can ride a bike with out using the clutch. There is no trail here though. No room to bump start, and no way to get up with out the clutch.

I walk out of the woods defeated again.

DAY 3

WIN LOOSE OR DRAW?

It is Sunday around noon. I slept late because I had work that night. It is 95 degrees and I am hurting. I strapped on the camelbak and walk into the woods. The walk was not near as bad as I was able to cover some ground on Saturday. In my back pocket is the clutch perch off my DR650, a screw driver, and a pair of pliers. I reached wee-boy, and got to work.

With the clutch working I turn the fuel on just enough to fill the carburetor bowl then cut it back off. The bike is line up and I kicked it off. As soon as the engine fires I dropped top first and pinned it.

Now I’d like to tell you that it was a dirt slinging, front wheel in the air moment. It wasn’t. The climb out of the wash wasn’t pretty. What it was was a  success.

As I reach the top I run out of fuel in the carb. Not a problem. I turn it back on and leave it on. The last wash back to the trail is not hard and I can keep the throttle pinned.  I kicked it again and headed into the last wash.

End of the story? Well not exactly.

As I am coming up the the other side the bike is feeling way loose. The handle bars are already flipped all the way forward from the crash so it feels weired any way.

I finally get to the trail. I am hooping and hollering for a minute. All that elation ends quickly. The back tire is flat.

I know the sharp little stump that did it. I know there is probably a good pinch in the tube. The white angel on my shoulder tells me to walk down to the Dr650 to retrieve my tire spoons and patches.

Then the white angel started screaming from getting bitched slapped by the red devil.

I leave the voice of reason in the woods getting assaulted, probably sexually, as I ride down the trail on the flat tire. It is time to go home, and I don’t look back.

DAY 4

LOOKING BACK

I have to walk into the woods one more time to retrieve my rope, pulleys, a few parts, and tools. I did think to take a picture of the bluff and the block and tackle.

When I got home I realized I haven’t checked Bamarides much at all during the ordeal. Then I thought that those masochistic SOBs would probably love to hear this story.

The guys at work are making fun of me for being so scratched up. Great insult to injury. These guys are not know for sympathy.

It is rare that one of my adventures can make it to text due to moral or legal issues.

Thursday 8 /12 /2010 ((DAY 1))

Redman arrives at Mi Casa. I drink Tecate and Lime while we wait on Crash to finish Wal-Marting.
Im pretty sure we finally left around 20:30.

Without Don R’s help this trip would have been a lot more complicated. Thanks man.

We arrived in Cherokee Alabama at 11PM

It was late. So we had to find a place to set up in the dark. I pulled off of the Natchez Trace parkway at the
first “scenic overlook” sign that I saw. It was a Hot and humid night.

There were lots of stars out that night. I took a sleeping pill and was out with a quickness.

((DAY 2 ))

All packed up and ready to roll out

We headed to the first waypoint on the route. which is called “trail 36″ on the map. it is right on the Mississippi / Alabama
line. We passed this sign on our way to the waypoint.

Like I said in the first post. We would be riding on lands that would likely be Gated or restricted. We had to
do this a lot.
Stickers are fun. We must have put up about 10 of them on this ride.

Always .. ALWAYS investigate if you see road-closed /bridge out signs . road-closed = good road

Im still trying to perfect my “over-the-shoulder” camera shooting skills. its tough when you have no mirrors.
I was trying to get a shot of Crash but… nada.

This is on the way to the Sipsey Wilderness.
Someway we followed the GPS to this bridge. on the other side of the bridge was a tiny parking area, a wooden bench, a kiosk with info on it,
a hiking trail…  and a Horse trail with a gate. we decide to go around the gate and rock the horse trail.

Many,  MANY fallen trees here. this is a laughable one. the sides of the trail were steep, rocky and overgrown with saplings which made bypassing them interesting and challenging.
Spiders freak me out man. and boy did this trail have some. every 20 feet another spider web in the face.

I had baby spiders crawling all over my fucking helmet, down my neck, in my goggles and .. well just everywhere.

Cleaning out the spider helmet

We saw a mail box that was at least 20ft in the air. Crash realized that this must be for “air mail”.
we also saw this perfectly good jeep that was … just there.

The going gets Rough and Tough again. It was a scorcher outside. super hot. super humid. Both Crash and I were falling asleep
and riding. we stopped halfway up this hill and had a little siesta. I had munched a fried chicken sandwich from a gas station
in Cullman a couple hours before this. … and my stomach was requesting a divorce.  Lot of thunder and big purple clouds were moving in.
Riders on the Storm rolls in my helmet. Changed the batteries in my Spot unit.

I was wearing my Alpinestars Bio-whatever-protecto-tech thing. I got Mesh sunburn.

We decide to stop for shelter at one of the hundreds of churches we had been seeing.
We thought we were going to get hammered by a thunderstorm any minute. Crash munched Beef Jerky. it smelled
good.
After waiting an excruciating 9 minutes we took off again.
I was wondering: what do people do out here besides go to church? like WHERE do they work ?
I saw beautiful farm land and amazing farms. This is a Tyson Mill. I guess they make chicken feed for their
Tyson Chicken Farms. ??

The weather was iffy after we stopped at the church. It kept drizzling on us. not bad.

Rode through Atalla. old, boarded up , abandoned middle school there.

We were friggin tired from the heat.

We pulled over into this Hay field. I-59 runs right next to it.
My stomach finally evicted that god damn filthy gutter whore of a fried chicken sandwich.
I spewed into the beautiful meadow. After that I felt 100% better.

Crash’s clutch cable was about to break. He had felt two of the strands “pop”. From this point on he would have to baby it.
Mainly shifting without the clutch. If the clutch cable were to break he had devised a way to make a foot-actuated clutch using
zip-ties and a screwdriver.

I played harmonica until we passed out.

((DAY 3))

It rained on us all through the night. We slept like babies. we awoke refreshed a charged for the day.

We rode through Little River Canyon. Awesome place. great sport bike roads.
We find the good stuff again. rocks , bogs, roots, ruts, mehem.
Wildlife management area near Little River Canyon.

Snapped these after Crash smurfed over. keep in mind he is riding with basically no clutch cable.

Jam it where the sun don’t shine

We were seeing these signs all over Dekalb and Fort Payne
We arrived at Desoto State Park with time to kill. We decided that we would set up our camp then go ahead and ride over
Lookout Mountain into Georgia, Pick up some beer (Dekalb Co. is dry) in fort Payne, head back to camp, get fucking wasted and make a
big fire. It was a perfect plan.  Here are pictures of our camp at Desoto

So, camp being set up we head over the mountain into Georgia.
Here is a picture of a Yankee tagging Yankee road !
this was the first road we saw in Georgia.
We road some great dirt in Georgia  then headed to Fort Payne to buy beer. score

There was a gate near our camp site that with a sign that read: DO NOT ENTER. we got on the bikes and entered
and found a mother load of fire wood. loaded the bikes up and headed back to camp.

Later that night we met a guy named Kim who is a fellow dual sporter. He and his son were camping near us.
Crash gave him a Bamarides card. I put my name and # on it. Pretty sure he will be around soon. He lives near you Debandi.
We roasted marshmallows and exchanged stories.

((Day 4))

ON THE WAY HOME

We had an awesome time testing our bodies, minds, skills and motors. Its sad that it all has to end at some point.
Do it while you can. If its in your head to go. just go.

LINK to my SPOT ADVENTURES account:

Coming soon, a step-by-step guide for con-men working with municipalities.

Vulcan Bike Week from dredman on Vimeo.

Great article on DragBike Live while you are waiting

The event known as Dual Sportin’ the Free State started on a Friday, and ran thru Sunday, a fairly large gathering of DS riders from across the state, and outside.  Originating from ADV Rider, most of the guys came from there.  Interesting to meet some new faces, and ride with some guys that I have known of.  We came in Friday afternoon, in the rain and promptly set up a tent to have a dry spot to sleep.  We had a good chance to share some spirits and stories with the Goodwin boys and their families.  Brushy Lake is a nice spot to start from.

Plenty of time to gear up in the morning, as most of the riders only showed up a few minutes before  departure time.  A nice comfortable pace started the ride, gradually gathering speed until we ran across a group of horses with riders enjoying the forest.   Well maintained FS roads allowed us to maintain 45 MPH thru most sections.  Until we took  a section with a ROAD CLOSED sign moved to the side, we kept a good pace.  This road was composed of sticky, slick, OSFH (owl-shit from hell) that dumped at least 2 bikes at very low speeds – as turning your bars had very little effect on which direction your bike went.

After the adventure through 2 miles of the OSFH road, we stopped at the local market to regroup, refuel, and repair a broken brake lever from mud-falls.  Then off we went, back into the woods to find other unique spots.  Most of the moisture on the roads did not cause any real problems, but rather kept the dust to a minimum as a large group as this could make a real mess on a dry day.

Although there were several other “crashes”, the others were low-speed, made in some really slick mud.

The details of our crash (the bad ones) are more a tale of what not to do:

We (me and Jeep8) had just passed another member of the ride (doing a reasonable speed) and turned it up about 6 notches, just before a downhill turn.  The rider in front locked his rear and went sliding off the bluff – about 15 feet down.  I did the same, just to his right, and my bike was stopped by the tree to my right – luckily it did not follow me down the hill.  I remember 3 very loud thuds, and recovered 30 feet from the road, and 15 feet below…….. minus my breath, helmet screen, sunglasses, and tank bag – all were recovered in a few minutes.  Injured both shoulders, left knee, ribs/abdomen, right hip and ankle.  I also discovered a bruise to my forehead after returning home, and it looks like the helmet took a pretty good lick.  4,000 mg. of Ibuprofen, and 24 hours later, and I am walking like and 80 year-old man, but at least I am walking.  Given the circumstances I fell pretty lucky to not have severe and crippling injuries.  I heard Jeep8 had 3 cracked ribs.  I hope he heals up soon.  I hope to be riding next weekend.

Untitled from dredman on Vimeo.

Did ya know it’s officially Spring? Did ya know there’s a chance of rain in the Spring?

Did ya know it’s POSSIBLE to RIDE in the RAIN?

It’s been my experience that here in the Heart of Dixie, springtime is a glorious time to ride a motorbike. Yeah, it *MIGHT* rain, but not always, and it doesn’t always rain all day long, when it does rain. There’s no need to take your car keys just because there’s a chance of showers. Get out and ride, if it gets too bad, find cover / eat lunch / take a break, it will blow over and you can get back in the saddle.

As long as YOU can stay dry and comfortable, there’s no reason to postpone or cancel a chance to ride with your buddies (and buddi-ettes). Make sure your tires are good (not threadbare, no wear bars showing), your chain is lubed (best done while chain is warm, like right after you’re done riding), your lights are working… in other words, do your USUAL pre-ride checklist. Ever heard of T-CLOCKS?

What about you? What will you wear? Inexpensive rain wear is easily found at outdoor stores (Dick’s Sporting Goods, Academy, Wally-World) and can be made to work. Better yet, get something that will last more than one or two rides. This is not motorcycle protective gear we’re talking about – no pads, no armor, not designed for the crash. Just to keep you dry. Buy it large enough to fit over your protective gear. If the top piece has a hood, it’s nice to put the hood up, under your helmet, to save those cold chills from rainwater running down your back. <shiver!> Frogg Toggs is one example, about $60 a set, but is very waterproof and can be found in hi-viz orange if you look. Packs very small, can fit in a fanny pack, a tank bag, or even under your saddle.

Wet hands and feet get cold faster, even in warm weather, so make sure you have some waterproof gloves. This is where you may have to spend a little more. Some m/c gloves are already waterproof, so these would be a good choice, and you won’t have to bring another pair of gloves. Outdoor stores may help you here, too, as there are some Gore-Tex shells that will fit over riding gloves. Aerostich makes those Triple Digit over gloves for wet weather, and they work well. About $40 IIRC. Some riders pack those rubber or latex gloves like some mechanics and doctors use, to wear under their regular gloves. I don’t like this idea personally, because they always make my hands sweat. So my hands get wet anyway. And your outer gloves will still get wet. YRMV. There are many good waterproof work boots or hiking boots if you can’t afford waterproof motorcycle boots. Just be sure they cover your ankles, at minimum. Hands and feet are common collateral damage in a crash.

OK, so now you think you have all you need to survive a day ride, even if it showers in the middle of your ride. Here’s a tip… if the skies over the road ahead are dark and threatening, and the daylight seems to disappear, go ahead and stop. NOW. Put the gear on BEFORE it rains, or BEFORE you ride into it. Pull over at a safe place, with enough room for all your buddies to get off the road. Go ahead and take a couple of minutes to don the rain wear, so you don’t have to pull over in the rain. Putting on a rain suit over damp clothes kinda defeats the purpose, don’t you think?

Bottom line – you won’t be comfortable on a long ride with wet jeans and cotton t-shirt. Ditto for leather chaps / vest. Leather doesn’t do well in a heavy shower.

Get your bike in shape if you haven’t ridden in a while. Need an engine tune? Oil or coolant change? How are those tires? There’s lots of help around here… I can help. Get yourself in shape… remember, we riders have to work harder AND think smarter than the folks in cars and SUVs. Review your street survival skills. Practice your low-speed maneuvers in a safe parking lot, and practice those quick stops!!!

Enjoy the Spring.

All too soon, some of you will be whining about the summer heat!

Coming soon… how DO we ride a motorcycle in the rain?

Much of Alabama’s hidden history still exists in many places.

The goal was to uncover the mysteries that surround this abandoned hospital that has a controversial and somewhat tainted past.

Most people don’t even know this place exists. The few that do often refer to it incorrectly.

I wanted to understand the history of this forgotten location that was built for the purpose of housing society’s misunderstood population of the mentally deranged.

This Neo-Colonial Style building sits on what was originally known as the Cherokee Plantation.

The plantation was owned by a wealthy southern industrialist, Robert Jemison.

The first Alabama Insane Hospital was built in 1861. The name was changed in 1900 after its first superintendent to Bryce Hospital.

With the end of the Civil War and the pressures of segregation looming, the number of African American patients increased dramatically at Bryce Hospital.

In the 1920s, Bryce Hospital became segregated and this building, the Jemison Mental Institution, was built to house the increasing numbers of African American mentally insane.

It is believed that many of the patients were not insane, but resided at this facility due to the impossible conditions brought on after the abolishment of slavery.

Many had nowhere to go. They became residents right along side of the mentally insane.

The souls of many  of them are still here.

Today, the hospital is in terrible shape.

Due to fire damage from years ago, the structure is tremendously deteriorated. With the roof collapsed, access to the third floor is next to impossible.

Back then little was understood about treatment of the mentally ill.

The cruelty of treatments performed here can be really hard to imagine.

Electroshock — “electroconvulsive therapy” or ECT — was used on patients of all ages for every type of disorder including depression, mania, schizophrenia and even homosexuality and truancy.

Frontal and prefrontal lobotomies were common practice here.

While looking around the property and the buildings I get the sense of being watched. I’m alone, but a creepy feeling comes over me.

The old boiler house to heat this tainted institution.

Due to constant underfunding by the state of Alabama, other means became necessary in order for the Hospital to function.

Farming these fields was the primary “therapy” for the residents/patients.
However, critics thought the institution had more of a “plantation” arrangement.

You see, the hospital became self-sufficient by having the patients do all the work in its fields.

The system seemed to benefit the health of the patients despite long, hard hours and little (or no) pay. The Alabama hospital expenses were paid for by the harvests produced.

Some of these poor residents/patients found themselves back in the same plantation environment they had previously tried to escape.

The overall environment continued to deteriorate at Jemison Mental Institution.

This facility became part of the longest running mental health lawsuit in U.S. history.

By 1970 conditions had become intolerable.

The 33-year long battle for the humane treatment of people with mental illness and mental retardation lead to sweeping reforms in the way this country acknowledges and treats mental illness.

Jemison Mental Institution was closed in the early 1970s and completely abandoned.

Reflecting on my visit to Jemison Mental Institution, I have to wonder what or who is actually still there.

That feeling of constantly being watched was always there.

While this old institution may be abandoned, it is by no means empty.

It started as a desire of mine to go to Bike Week.

I soon started making plans for such a desire.  First, I enlisted the help of a “local escort” (LE). The compensation for such duties included but were not limited to food and drinks for the entire time we’re together.  The LE had to know just a bit about the area, so naturally the LE had to be of legal drinking age.  It was also a must that the LE be female.  It was not a requirement or restriction that the LE be nice, intelligent, good looking, economical, or prompt (We will cover these as we go).  The only stipulation was that if the LE drank too much to remain upright while on the motorcycle, the LE was dropped off where we were and had to find an alternate ride home.  Such action also negated and voided any and all previously made or insinuated promises.

The LE contacted me on Thursday night while I was driving south on highway 75 in Georgia.  I was at least 90 miles south of Macon Georgia.  We had small talk and I assured the LE that I was not a goofball or a freak.  She assured me that she knew her way around town, and would be pleased to perform such duties, provided I was who I said I was.  She immediately thanked me for contacting her and I questioned that response.  It was a job offer, not a marriage proposal.

Well, I arrived at the LE’s home at about 10:45 the next day.  We had agreed on 10 to 11, so I picked somewhere in between.  The place where I was staying was 45 minutes from the LE’s house.  I rode up to the house and proceeded to remove protective gear as I knew we’d have some conversation before departing on our adventure.  I had called to warn the LE of my arrival and the LE stated that she was just getting out of the shower and that she needed some time (prompt).  I told the LE that it would take me 10 minutes to get there, and I would certainly wait outside for her to get ready.  As I turned around to greet the LE she went right past my outreached hand and put her arms up around my neck and kissed me.  Hmmm, not what I’m paying for.

She invited me into her home so she could finish getting ready.  As I walked in, she had suggested I follow her into her bedroom.  I assure you that it did not happen.  As the gentlemen that I am, I do not venture into the bedroom of a business associate.

Small talk and grooming took about 20 minutes (prompt).  The time was ticking away as I only had 2 days for the venture.

We were on the road as the LE explained that her previous nights ride was less than thrilling and somewhat dangerous as the operator “asshole”, dropped his motorcycle while she was getting on it.  I don’t doubt the fact that it happened, I doubt the fact the LE wasn’t even close because although she warned me when she was getting on, the thunderous energy and speed to which she “jumped” on almost took me and the bike to the ground.  The LE described herself on the internet as “average” in weight.  I wondered at which height she was average (good looking).  Certainly not her own.

We proceeded downtown to the action.  Main Street.  The place where dreams come true and hearts are broken every March, of every year since the 40′s.

We took the scenic long way that traversed the neighborhoods and actually cut out about 45 minutes of stop and go traffic on our way the the Action.  The LE knew her way around town.  As we got closer to the Action, we talked and she became comfortable and started to relax just a bit.  She draped her arms over my shoulders and leaned up against me.  This made riding through traffic difficult and troublesome (nice/intelligent).  I would have to shift my seat to get her to back away.  I shifted every ten minutes or so (nice/intelligent).

We went up Main Street twice, parked and walked the streets popping in and out of vendor shops and stores along the boulevard.  I took pictures of motorcycles and the crowd.  I just needed to walk up and down the street once to satisfy my needs.  The LE made several references to leather goods and tee shirts she would like “if she only had the money” (economical).

The secondary part of this trip down town was to visit the custom motorcycle displays on Beach Street.  We found the motorcycle and headed back across the bridge to Beach Street.  As we toured the neighborhoods trying to find a parking spot, she would continually try to fix her hair just as we were slowing down at stop lights and stop signs.  This is very distracting as it causes the weight to shift when the motorcycle is hardest to control.  At slow speeds, especially while slowing, it is customary and essential that the passenger maintain some balance to assist the operator (intelligent).

We finally parked and proceeded to the vendor/display area.  We walked around as I took pictures and we talked about the tee shirts and leathers she so desperately needed (economic).  I wanted to see the Tuttles (OCC) and their bikes.  They are world famous builders.  End of story.  We needed to leave this area and go down the street another 10 or so miles to see the OCC display.  We left the custom bike area and went to see the OCC.

We saw the boys and their toys on display.  I took pictures and she explained how she needed tee shirts and leathers to complete her wardrobe.  We left there and went down the road for dinner. We had a great meal at Bob Evans.

We met a guy at the bar at Bob Evans that was eating a chicken salad that looked just right.  The meal I was after wasn’t going to weigh me down.  We both decided to have the chicken salad, with bread and all the fixins.  Soon after our meal arrived, “what’s your favorite food”?, she asked.  Huh oh…

Some friendly banter that included the reference to her obsession with her yearly tribute to tee collectibles.  My god did I hire the tee collector from hell?  So far though, our deal was working real good and I was having a nice time riding around with her.

We left the restaurant and headed towards the Cabbage Patch.  I had been there 5 years ago and wanted to see the action.  We arrived just as the freestyle motocross bikes were flying through the air.  The crowd was smaller than I had anticipated, and the vendors looked overstocked for the last two days of Bike Week.  We got a beer (normally won’t drink more than two while on the bike).  The LE noted on several occasions that I’d rather be with “that one” because of the skinny waste and lack of legal attire.  I noted that I was doing fine and she needed to be nice.  (Much too personal I was to find out).

We stayed there for awhile and took some pictures.  She noted how cheap the tees were.

We headed back to Main Street but on the way I decided to go to where I was staying, take a shower, and change clothes for the evening.  I asked her since she too wanted to add clothing for the evening ride, we would part and join up later.  She agreed and we headed to her house.  It was a nice 30 minute ride that included the hair adjustments and the shoulder weights the entire length of the trip.

Oh, I got two neck kisses.  One for each intersection that I guess was special to her.  I ignored the affront to my independence and business relationship status.  I got a real nice kiss as she departed the bike and she noted how nice a time she was having.  I thanked her for having an equally good time, and that I would be back ASAP.

I went and took a shower, changed clothes, and added layers for the freezing nights.  The ride back was very nice and relaxing.  Joined up with about 40 bikes coming in from Ocala (I think).  I hit her house about 8pm and we headed to Main Street for the Molley Hatchet concert.

It was very crowded downtown.  We walked around and shopped.  She was earnestly looking for a vest this time.  She went into a shop as I waited at the curb scoping the traffic.  She emerged from the leather goodies boutique with a vest.  Hmmm…I stalled enough that she just had to buy.

I had agreed to catch up with some friends of hers down town.  We met them at Dirty Harry’s.  Her and him, not their real names, were obviously in love.  He is married from Michigan and she is a bar tender that needs flesh more than a pit bull.  They groped as we watched the Bliss Band.  The band was OK, and the groping was ok too.

Soon the LE was moving and grinding and I felt somewhat like her boy toy.  A bit of emotional eye batting and the occasional hug and kiss.  LE no longer meant Local Escort, but Loose and Eager.  I danced a little with her and let her hug me and kiss.  This place was so crowded, I was getting groped and I have no idea from who.  I thanked both him and her (not their real names)…they both denied the  advancements.

The two ladies wanted new vest chains so we left Dirty Harry’s and wondered about looking for the chains.  I offered to buy the chains, but she needed to break her 20 she said.  I was totally confused now.  I offered and she refused, relieving me of any obligatory investment in her wardrobe.

At 11 or so, Molley Hatchet was to start and we were going to be there for the festivities.  The Naked Angels (not their real names), opened for MH. They danced around the stage and my LE kept turning me away, planting kisses, and generally trying to catch my attention.  It didn’t work and she got a little bothered.  She was my LE….hmmm.

Molly Hatchet sucked.  We took off for the Iron Horse.  That place was empty for 1am.  We had a steak sandwich, and called it an evening.

I returned her to her place and we kissed goodbye.  I told her 10 to 11 am I would be back.

I froze my arse off on the way to my place.  In Florida, I seems that when you leave the street lights, the temperature drops by 20 degrees.  I got to bed at 3:30 am.

I was somewhere in middle Texas riding a bull.  I was surrounded by cheering crowds, the timer coming close to 8 seconds.  The bull was a fierce beast towering 10′ at the shoulders and full of anger and muscle.  The horns were coming within inches of my cheeks at every jump.  I was being tossed like mouse being attacked by a barn cat.  The noise was deafening and I thought that was strange. I live alone and there shouldn’t be any noises.  What the f**k!  I sat up in bed, total darkness, strange smells, and a bit cold.

Wow.  I wasn’t at home, I was in Crescent City Florida.  Other people live here and they’re up.  I looked at the clock and it’s 7:00am.  Time to get my ass up.  3 1/2 hours sleep, need to start another day.  It’s Bike Week.

I got up and went down stairs.  The lady of the house was sitting in front of her computer.  She had a printout from CompUSA.  “Should I just buy another computer, this ones so messed up”?, she asked.  “Let me see”, said as I poured my coffee and sat at the helm.

90 minutes of deleting files, useless software, and rearranging her virus and spyware settings, she was clean and ready to go.  She hugged me.  The man, who was paying for the new computer, also hugged me, as she no longer was in need of newer more expensive problems.  I packed for a full evening this time.  Overnight goodies such as toothbrush, deodorant, petroleum and rubber goods.  Clean underwear and of course extra layers of clothes.  You never can tell.  I took off at about 10 am and stopped a the local store for an orange juice.  I called the LE and alerted her of my plans.  I also called my 16 year old son and wished him a happy birthday.  I laughed at him because he’s in Indiana, with snow on the ground.  He was not amused.  On the way in on hiway 40, I caught up with about 20 bikes.  We weaved our way in and out of traffic for the next 20 miles or so.  I pulled up to the LE house and honked my horn.  No need, she was walking out as I pulled up.  The smile on her face warned me of the impending kiss. Accurate.

The only plan for this day was a preplanned visit to Smileys.  An internet group of harley owners had planned a gathering.  We took off and stopped for a coffee and packed donuts.  Eatin on the cheap.  You see, the agreement for the food and drink had no minimum or maximum.

The next couple of hours was a blur.  I rarely show up to an occasion  and shake the hands of 30 or so people I don’t know.  I tried to keep track, I really did.  There were a few notables that made their mark, but I’m hesitant to call out those few and then offend the others that will or likely will become friends or acquaintances.  Those that were tall, bald, matching shoes, or able to eat a small chicken in one sitting were remembered.

The rest need to do more.  Wear something outrageous or something.   Oh, there was a newly retired SOB that laughed way too much and told how wonderful it is to be retired.  I hope your next flat is at a Wing Ding Thing.  Not really.  Have a nice time, you probably deserve something for the years you put in.

The food, all you can eat side bar, was excellent.  The Portapotties (I don’t call them port-a-johns) were as clean as could be expected.  The cokes were cold.  The weather was beautiful.  I saw nothing but handshakes and smiles.  The occasional whoop and holler broke the midday sound of bikes continuously roaring by.  I had no idea that the RMH women could whoop like that…LMAO.

We met those two love birds in the afternoon at Smiley’s for a ride up 1A to St. Augustine.  We weren’t on the road for 200 yards before I saw her hand reach around and start petting Mr. Happy.  Penthouse Magazine article here it comes.  And It’ll be in front of me.

But the weather was nice.

We cruised up hiway 1 to Bunnell.  Took 100 over to 1A.  It wasn’t long until we were passing awesome beachhouses and roadside cafes.  What a beautiful road.  Not like Deals Gap.  Not like Market Street in San Francisco, and certainly not like CR13 in Blount County Alabama, but it was nice.  We traveled at 45 MPH for quite a long time without any traffic to bother us.  The sun was at the right spot, and a breeze was coming off the land so it was nothing but nice.  I forgot.  As we traveled, every time I turned my head to talk about a house, tree, bike, cafe, or anything of interest the arms came and flopped on the my shoulders.  She was breast fed.

I got so many ear kisses I know she’s accidentally got my earring and didn’t want to admit it until I was gone.  How do you explain a cheek full of earring. The LE suggested we take this trip and she was right.  I thoroughly enjoyed the trip.  We stopped in old town and went to a bar across from the fort.

The waitress there had a blue tongue knob that caught my attention.  She also thinks the fort is a castle.  Maybe the two are a coincidence?

As the evening progressed and the four of us walked old town and laid card at 2 more stops, the LE began the normal escalation of hugging and rubbing somewhat akin to the previous evening.  We met a very nice couple in front of O’Malleys.  They’re from Michigan, they said.  Funny the Romeo and I are from Michigan also.  We ventured inside and found they had no hard liquor so we decided to keep going.  Of course we alerted the nice couple outside that we were in fact kicked out because we’re from Michigan.  We had a good laugh about it.  We went around the corner and found a little bar right off the bridge.  I’m sorry the name escapes me but it was a nice little joint.  The James Taylor look-alike sang for Georges and did a rather good job.  The light conversation turned to “would I ever consider moving to the area”?

As nightfall came and went we donned the bikes and headed south on 95 back to the Iron Horse.  We exited 95 at the first hiway 1 exit which put us 8 or so miles north of Bunnell.  The ride down 1 could not have been better.  I liked the smooth windy two lane road.  The traffic was just heavy enough to make passing interesting and our take mind off the cold.  This was the first time I actually thought about how much I trusted Romeo and his side-by-side riding style.  The side-by-side is generally reserved for close friends or trusted riding partners.  We did that style of riding when we left Smiley’s but since it was light and the road was nice I felt comfortable enough to choose the outside and straddle the white line.  That style is not so comfortable on an unfamiliar road, sub-zero temperatures, and at night.  As we passed cold spots in the road, the arms came again and plopped down on my shoulders.  By this time I knew when her knees clenched, the hands were coming.  We faired good and made it back just as our  stomachs were screaming for steak plates at one of the roadside side greasy spoons.  The meal was actually OK.

I decided the Tee time had come.  We were close to our bikes, the lines weren’t long, the Tees were the same as all those others we’d seen….so what the hey.  She got her Tee shirt.  The two girls started calling people and before we knew it, there were four other groups in various stages of bonding.  We had newbies, flirts, old hags, secretary types, and just a few tattoos.  The lies started immediately.  I always catch fish that exceed the limit, and always get 1 mile per gallon better than the next guy, and they always saw more skin and nipples than me.  How did my Daytona trip turn to fish lies?

My LE thought it best not to bring me to the tittie expose’s, butt contests, and bar top strip joints.  How  pleasantly ladylike of her.  Shit.  Have thoughts of hiring a two-way next time that’s not affected by, but enjoys the company of, those that generally patronize the tittie shows.  No, don’t think so.  I’ll stick with the fish stories.

We stood atop the skywalk for what seemed hours waiting for the world famous burnouts.  We waited and took pictures and talked about the lousy band while we waited for the world famous burnouts.  We drank beer as we waited for the world famous burnouts.  We peed while….you know the story.  I did have a very funny moment while using the local facilities.  While I was performing the bodily function, the lady in charge of traffic flow was checking for empty units.  She was opening the doors to check.  I heard a man just a few units down scream out, “Hey please, leave me alone, I’m married”!…laughter came from every unit there and most that were waiting.

We finally saw the burnouts.  I took pictures of smoke.

Sorry folks….I took my LE home, sat at her kitchen table, had two cups of coffee…and took off into the frozen tundra like a true gentlemen.  The contract fulfilled, and the experience a truly good one.  I made few new friends, a few good friends, and a new good friend.

The internet connection was from Yahoo Personals.  I searched the Daytona area and sent out a dozen of so emails…that read… “1 in a million shot…I’m in town 2 days…Friday and Saturday…you show me around town and I buy everything we need.  We have a good time and we part friends.
(phone number).

Thanks to all and all have a safe ride.

As we just returned from Mississippi from the MHCT Ride, I had a chance to see the camera in action, and look at the results of this camera upon our return. Although the camera does produce a huge, wide-angle image, and the audio is pretty good, I have found several flaws that I thought some of you budding moto-videographers need to know about.

First, lets talk about the good points:

• Waterproof case
• Nice crisp, clear image
• Stable image (no obvious vibration)
• lots of mounting hardware
• easy to use

Now, the bad stuff:

• Camera does not come with media (SD cards not included)
• Wide angle lens only good for close range images <50 ft.  (preference)
• Large files, that are difficult to render and even view on a computer
• lack of support from GoPro (no response from emails, terrible FAQ section)
• Codec (software to decode video) is not included, and cannot be obtained legally (this is the deal-killer)

Now the SD card issue is not a huge deal, and the wide-angle lens is certainly a preference thing (but it is really not that great of an idea for street riding).  The missing codec is a REALLY BIG DEAL!  Basically, now you only have 2 options: watch the video on your TV, directly from the camera, or “watch” the video on your PC using Apple’s Quicktime player.  Having no codec means you cannot interpet the video, edit the video, or manipulate it in any way.  And that SUX!  With no codec, you really have NO options as  far as editing, and showcasing the best of your videos.  With a price tag of $299, I would expect much more from GoPro.  My advice is to save your money, or go with one of the earlier models using semi-standard codecs, and maybe even a standard lens.  Stay away from this one folks, I think you will be disappointed.

My  day was exceptional.  This morning I put my bike up on stands and cleaned it, lubed the chain, gave it a good going over, dried and polished it.  I showered, changed, geared up and warmed up my tires on the blacktop close to home while at the same time allowing my muscles to greet the machine and find rhythm with a few low-speed zig-zags.  I pulled out onto 411 and rode down the road to find food.  After eating, I eased down old 78 heading west towards downtown.  When I passed Bass Pro, I dropped a gear, opened the throttle and leaned into the first curve up to the speed limit.  I am continuously amazed at how responsive and smooth this machine is and my heart swells when I talk about it.

I got downtown and I road good streets, bad streets, straight-level roads, downtown streets with multiple stoplights, up-hill starts that required right simultaneous brake / throttle… I covered any and every hard situation that I could think of before heading back the way I came.  I stopped at Hill University Center for a pit stop, lit a cigarette and started to gear up again when a young guy approached me, smitten with the bike.  The discussion that took place was a replay of the one I had several months ago with a rider who’s bike I was admiring except this time I was on the rider’s end of the conversation.  He inquired about the cost… is it hard to learn to ride?  What made me want to ride?  I shared with him everything that I knew, which isn’t much – only what I’ve been through and experienced thus far, sharing the truth about my own riding experience and encouraging him as I had been.  When I got back to Leeds on 78, I took a last minute turn right by the Chevron and into Barber Motorsports where sport bike riders were enjoying track-day.  I pulled into a parking lot where I could see people watching a turn in the track.  I joined them for a few minutes and watched these bikes and took in the sight and sound of the various high-powered engines that labored effortlessly down the hill and into the turn, where they accelerated.  I’ve never seen bikes on a track before.  It was exhilarating.

I usually take 78 to and from work because the interstate generally scares the hell out of me.  Semi trucks are my nightmare.  When I approached the light, I found myself turning left, then right heading towards the on-ramp to I-20.  Traffic was moderate for a Saturday and there were a few trucks up there.  I felt a bit empowered by those bikes on the track and decided that I was ready to cautiously approach and encounter another fear, after all – that is precisely what’s enabled me to progress so far in my riding.  As the on-ramp ended and I was head-checking my entry point I realized that there were no cars occupying any of the lanes and that those that had gone by were already disappearing into the curve ahead.  I laid into it and when I did, I crossed a threshold.  This may inspire a few giggles but that’s ok – I saw the shift light for the first time as I stepped through the gears (the former owner of this bike obviously set it at over 10,000 RPM’s and I’ve never pushed the bike that hard before).  The power I felt was absolutely amazing and I understand now why Yoshimura exhaust is so popular because it screamed like a banshee.  The hair stood up on my arms because the bike went rigid and into the curve, I pushed slightly and leaned and it laid down with me… I swear, it almost felt like sex.

I exited at 144-B, and back toward home I drove, cruising the speed limit.  I took one hand off the bar and sat upright as I moved down the highway, all the time exercising what I’ve read and learned – cushion of space, two-second lead-time between vehicles, number one position of the lane for higher visibility, staying out of driver’s blind spots, scanning the road surface, mirrors and side streets.  I passed by my neighborhood and laid back into the gas and cruised towards Odenville, doubled back to Kelly-Creek Road and cruised the moderate twisties on my way back to the house.  I could not bring myself to stop the ride until I decided that my wrists and my right thumb were sore and it was time to shut it down.

I am a ball of stress but I experienced several hours worth of Zen this afternoon.  All of this may be just another rider’s good afternoon but for me, it was the freedom, relaxation and fun that I’ve been working toward since I first climbed on my motorcycle.  I’m truly one of the happiest people on the face of this planet right now and I still have a beautiful, sunny day tomorrow to look forward to.

– FreqnLoDown

Coming this weekend to Barber Motorsports – 5th Annual Barber Vintage Festival and the lineup is powerful:

• AHRMA Racing
• Century Race
• Vintage Swap Meet
• Auction
• Wall of Death
• Aeroshell Aerobatic Team
• Technical Seminars
• Motorcycle Classics Magazine Café Bike Show