The most fun you can have with *all* your clothes on.
I was kind of pissed that there was no simple, accurate resource for good motorcycle roads. I asked around and was told that 22, 202, and 27 all lead to good roads. Without much more than that, we headed to Plainfield, NJ and had a late lunch and with the web browsers on our phones, picked out a general route.
I had the lil’lady with me, 2-up on the back of the Road King Classic. And boy, that bike needs a name. I want to call her Bessie, because she’s like a big black whale. I’ll try that name now.
And Mike was with us on his Sportster, a bike I’ll try calling Hoggo in this entry.
I realize my ‘readership’ is pretty low, and that’s fine, this blog is informational beyond all. But if no one’s really reading, then no one can complain if I say certain crazy things. And that sound good, so I’ll also start that now.
ANYWAY,
We ate at that subshop just before Plainfield Ave meets 27. They had fresh ingredients and everything was very good, but nothing out of the ordinary. Mike pulled up and met us inside, though we didn’t hear Hoggo approach, and he ordered a tuna sub. Then touch the map and go, uh oh, cha-cha-ching. So yeah, we got subs and hit the road. Hotsteppin’. You know..
Took Plainfield across 27 until it broke into a fork, then went right. Stopped for gas. I got premium. First time in my life I bought premium. The 6-gallon tank really rocks. My Volusia’s only a 4.5 gallon, I believe. Normally I find myself putting in about 3 gallons, sometimes 3.5 – now, under 1/4 of a tank, I was putting in almost 5 gallons. Cool! I’m sure that gas will last, too.
At the fork we went right, and ended up on Washington Ave, which we took until we got to 22.
There were cars in the way, and Mike split to pass them all and ended up waiting for us as we followed the cars in front of us. He called me out on it and I pointed at my odometer and said “70, give me a break!” He just liked to tease me. I know he was curious about what the bike could do, being a whole 500cc larger than his (though twice the weight). I’m happy to report that we have yet to settle it.
Bessie was gentle with bumps in those old roads. At speed, there was no loss of confidence on my part taking some tight turns, going around cars and pulling off and back onto the road (we double-checked the maps). These were residential roads, speed limit 35mph, and not that many cars as it was a Sunday afternoon.
When Washington Ave met 22, there was a great incline heading up a mountain in front of us, but we turned left at the lights and followed 22 for a mile or two: it was our chance to open up, even though I definitely was wondering what was up that mountain. Figure Mike was too because later that’s all we did.
So on 22, Mike was putting along nicely at about 40 or so, still accelerating away from the light (and 22 is very straight and was mostly empty in our direction) when I cranked the throttle open and flung by with the annoying and artificial whooping of the engine. It felt good to get that far open, cracking 80 after two seconds, but that was when I noticed that the performance was dampened very much by the presence of my loving and beautiful passenger. She was dead weight, gah!!! I should have been going much faster. I’ll get around to speeding recklessly when alone though, no worries.
Sportster 0, King 1.
We putted along 22, catching some lights, not really seeing the appeal (22 was supposed to lead us to 206 (or 202?), which should be a great twisty road). We came up on a wide open field off to the right, and it was there I spotted maybe 7 or 8 deer, grazing in the tall grass and doing deer things in the low woods. So I took the first turn off on the right and we went through a quarry.
The lower dot is the quarry. Can't really say how we got from one spot to the other, but my GPS says we did.
I should have taken a photo at the quarry. We turned off 22 and were immediately greeted by a “road closed to through traffic” sign that we ignored. We rode slowly over the gravel and gravel-strewn pavement. We saw no deer, but the quarry was a real sight. There were hills torn in half and strips of discoloration all across the big mounds – trailor or backhoe marks or something. Was fun to trespass a little bit.
At the end of the quarry road, we came out before a regular-enough road, making a T with it. There were two other bikers there – one riding an old road king himself, and one riding some kind of chopper. I noticed they were young, like Mike and me, and one was dark skinned and the other looked korean. Very harold and kumar. I asked, “What’s good?” and they told us to head left, not right, and to make a right at the end of that road. Said it was good roads. We thanked them and continued.
We checked both ways for traffic – the T intersection was at a curve in the road, but the woods were cleared for a ways on the side of that road so we could see very well. With no one coming, we struck out onto the road and Mike slowed immediately and I matched his pace. We were doing about 25 in 2nd gear as he counted down… 4, 3, 2… he put his hands back on the bars and cranked hard. I followed but he simply pulled straight ahead faster than I could. Every second he put another few lengths between us until he approached the next big curve ahead and there he slowed.
Sporster 1, King 1.
Does this blog count as a review of the 2010 FLHRC yet?
We took the turns gracefully, splitting up immediately with him in front and me at least 40 feet behind. I trusted my brakes but not my tires – cant’ tell if all the film is off those newly-minted rubbers. I should say I took the turns gracefully, or we referring to the bike and myself (and the lil lady), because Mike was a freakin’ animal. And I can’t blame him, I would be too if I were on my old bike. But I was trying to be respectful of my own unknowable ignorances and, of course, trying to not freak out the lady with any stunts. At least, not until I know what we can do.
We rode those good roads and stopped at the ones that had sharp inclines – no better excuse to rev up and no better way to feel those beasts pulling under your ass. We came on a suggested-10-mph turn, a very sharp hairpin, and because we had been looking ahead we made it without incident, despite the SUV in the oncoming lane falling far over the double yellow. Lucky there we weren’t daydreaming.
We found some really, really big houses up in the sticks. 4-car garages, 3-wing structures, guest house in back type stuff. I wondered what they cost – it’s the boonies, after all, but probably not more than 15 minutes from 78, that awful mountain highway. They need to finish resurfacing that bitch.
The leaves were glorious. I hate that I didn’t stop to take any pictures, even with the elevation and the foliage. Our plan for the day got fouled and we were down to only 2 hrs of light for this ride, so we just kept at it.
My ride was equally glorious. It was this Sunday I discovered that 2nd gear is truly the sweet spot, at least until I get the bike tuned (to stop the pinging – see here for an example). I found the handling to be incredible – so, so much better than anything else I’ve ridden in my 2.5 years. I want a little rumble, a little soul from the exhaust, but I’ll get there soon. I put my feet up on the highway pegs on the way home, riding the Garden State for 20 minutes. I love it, I love the feel of it, I love the way she rides. I like that the auxiliary lamps cast such a bright net riding in the dark, and I like that the blinkers work (My Volusia’s had some troubles…).
I’m not 100% with the fact that the slowspeed handling feels like holding a toddler by the arms rather than by the chest. Let me try that again. Ever pick up a 5-yr old and swing him by the arms? You hold hands, or if you’re smart, you hold his wrists and you spin around, dragging him through the air? When you first start, or when you are slowing to stop, that feeling like the weight is just far away from you – too far to control perfectly – that’s what the Heritage bars feel like on the Road King, that’s what Mike’s drag bars feel like on his Sportster, that’s what the Deluxe and the Wide Glide and the stock Road King feel like too. That’s Harley’s frame/fork design. The Volusia doesn’t feel like that, the V-star doesn’t feel like that, the Ducati doesn’t feel like that, and the BMW doesn’t feel like that. (How is it I’ve never been on a Triumph?) It’s not a complaint, it’s an observation, and I’m going to get used to it.
That plus the stupid exhaust note are on my list.
The rest of it … god, I just melt when I get on this bike.
The Whale, beached on the sidewalk.
I spoke to Mike about the ride, saying it was great to take all those twisties for 2 hours and to tour through the leaves up on the mountain and all. He said I only thought it was “great” rather than “acceptable” because I hadn’t had many good roads. And he’s right, I’m very casual, I’m more about strolling than performing. But I love riding hard, I just always tend to have the choice between that (solo) or the equally wonderful stroll with the lady, drinking and eating and having a lazy time.
He said his work schedule was changing and he’d have Saturdays off in a few weeks for the next few months, until summer. Said we’d do some cold weather riding, taking the day, and go into the Catskills of NY (near where we grew up) as soon as possible. He said then I could properly use the word “great” on a ride.
But this Sunday, short as it was, well, it was a hell of a ride. And then we saw and fought a huge dragon, went back to the house and had steak and shrimp on the grill, and watched an old Simpsons episode. Then we won some money.
Yup, crazy.
124 Miles and going strong.
Can’t close on a ‘technical’ pic…
Bessie in the garage the next morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment