A lot can happen over a 30 year relationship.  Much of it good; but not all.  After a while, one begins to just exist on the memories of the good times.  It’s not worth bringing up the bad stuff.  What’s done is done and nothing can change it. We had both disappointed each other over the years, but I had cheated and she knew it.  You’re probably surprised I’m willing to be open about my indiscretion.  Like a lot of men, I used to deny it somehow believing that if you never admitted to it, it never happened.  But those kinds of secrets will start to eat away at you inside.   It affects both of you and our last outing didn’t end well.  I ended up walking home with a lot of time to think about what went wrong.

Valentine’s Day is this week.  I wasn’t looking forward to the awkwardness of pretending everything was ok.  I felt I had to do something, if for nothing else, out of respect for 30 years together.   I made plans in the hope we could patch things up.

It was awkward at first.   I had purchased some bling to smooth things over.  She pretended not to be interested.   Now, this was familiar territory for us.  I would buy something for her and she would pretend it didn’t matter as if to say, “You’re not going to buy your way out of this”.  I would get frustrated that my gesture wouldn’t fix everything.  Usually I would walk away angry at her stubbornness and the stalemate would start all over again.  However, this time I was prepared to be patient.   She tested me a couple of times.  But every issue she brought up, I dealt with in a calm and loving fashion without assigning blame.

Things were warming up between us and we decided to venture out.  There was hesitation from us both at first.  I was waiting for something from the past to come up and derail our happy reunion.  But nothing did.  She seemed to be enjoying this as much as I was.  Soon, much of the past problems melted away and I let myself forget all the anger and frustration.  We were living in the moment and right now the moment was 1975, the year I graduated from High School.  We had spent two weeks together on a camping trip to Colorado.   We both looked different back then, but today she felt and smelled the same.

When we got back home, I was grinning from ear to ear.   I rolled her into the garage and promised another outing this coming weekend.   For the moment, all is good between us.  But it won’t last long.  Even while we were together I was thinking about the plans I’ve made to go to New Mexico with her red headed younger sister.

Some people can’t change.

A few of us braved the Toys for Tots ride this weekend.   A brisk ride at 27 degrees will certainly wake you up.  However as cold as it was outside, it was very warming to see all of the bikers show up to deliver their toys.  The ride was short.  I think my odometer said 36 miles when we got back, but the procession was long; I'm guessing about 50-60 bikes.  At the front of the procession was the "Leathernecks" riding club.  This group is made up of ex-Marines (if there is such a thing as an ex-Marine) and since the Toys for Tots was run by the Marines, the Leathernecks showed up in force.  Behind the Leathernecks was a Humvee and behind the Humvee was my church group.   We had about thirteen riders.  Behind us was a random gathering of smaller groups and solo riders.  The ride was put on by the Hill Country HOG Chapter who did a great job of organizing the ride complete with intersection blockers.   From my vantage point, the long line of motorcycle headlights that stretched out behind me was an impressive sight.   Especially when you realize that each headlight represented a gift for a kid that might otherwise not receive something for Christmas.  But more than the gifts, each headlight represented someone that cared enough to get up on a cold morning to make sure a kid had a Christmas.  At first, I didn't want to do the ride.  After all, it was 27 f-ing degrees!  Can't I just jump in the car and drop off the gift and then crawl back into bed?  But now I understand the answer to that is, no.  You have to do the ride.   If you just drop off the gift, it has all the empty emotional value of checking something off your To Do list.  No, the ride is part of giving, it's a public demonstration that you care.   And when it's a big ride, then it shows that there are a lot of people, like you, who care.  

We deliver gifts to our Blue Santa family on Wednesday. I hope a lot of you come out to deliver the gifts by motorcycle.  Bring a gift or not.  Decorate your bike or not.  It's up to you.  But do yourself a favor, look at your To Do list and say; "Screw it. It's Christmas.  Let's Ride."

If you don't like riding in the cold, then this ride probably wasn't for you.  If you don't like riding in the rain, then this ride probably wasn't for you.  If you find the thought of racing through the downtown freeway system of Dallas at 10PM un-nerving, then this ride probably wasn't for you.  If you're easily bored by grinding away miles on the interstate in the company of large semi's, then this ride probably wasn't for you.

However, if the words "Crooked and Steep Roads next 10 miles" give you goose bumps.  Or if the thought of riding endless country roads, each painted in fall colors with leaves falling like confetti fill your dreams.  Or if hanging by a warm campfire with a cold brew telling jokes while burgers grill in the background is a memory you'd like to take with you, then the Eureka Springs ride just might have been your ticket.

More than any ride, this one offered a dichotomy of experiences and tested the mettle of our VMR riders.  Things started off slow.  We gathered at Hills and Dales in the hopes to avoid the 3PM exodus from the Valero campus.  Instead, we ran right into the exodus from San Antonio as fans headed to Dallas for the Texas/OU game.  We crawled our way up TX281 until the traffic thinned out at about Blanco.  This route took us past the congestion of I-35 near Austin and let us come in the back door of Dallas.  The group soon settled into a rather quick pace in staggered formation.  Since 281 is two lanes, there were lots of opportunities to test the group's passing capabilities. Having had a bad passing experience in Sturgis last year, I'm not a big fan of group passing unless I have confidence with the others I'm riding with.  The key is to not slow down after you make your pass.  Keep going to open up room for those following you.  Everyone seemed on the same page as we swooped by several slower vehicles in mass and rolled into Dallas.  It was about 9 PM on a Friday night and everyone in Dallas seemed to be going somewhere that night and using the same freeway we were.  Having grown up in Houston, I don't find freeways intimidating, however on this trip, I had no idea where we were going.  It's impossible to keep a dozen bikes together in fast moving freeway traffic.  Moe seemed to know the way so I focused on following his tail lights and tried to keep Charles and Daryl updated via radio on the exits we were taking. All arrived safely at the hotel, we checked in and settled in for the night.  Tomorrow we would cross into Oklahoma and on into Arkansas.

Breakfast at 8AM, KSU at 9, Kerry and Theresa joined us.  We settled into our familiar formation and passed countless small towns as we started the steady climb into the Ozark Mountains.  As we got closer to Eureka Springs, we saw more and more motorcycles.  At some restaurants, there were so many motorcyclists; it looked like a leather convention. The temperature was in the low 50's and seemed to drop as the day went on.  We reached Eureka Springs and the Rider's Rest hotel well after dark.  The owner stayed up for our arrival.  Seeing we were tired and not wanting to delay everyone getting settled in, she passed out the room keys and told us we could check-in in the morning.  It was just the first of many gestures this hotel makes to being "biker friendly".   

It was freezing the next morning.  No, really.  I looked at the thermometer on Daryl's handlebar.  It said 32 degrees.  I had brought every piece of cold weather riding gear that I had. I put most of it on.  As we warmed up the bikes, a low fog from the exhaust settled near the ground.   The scene was a bit surreal as it reflected the morning sun.  We headed out for breakfast and then for the Mark Twain National forest.   The beautiful scenery over the next two days of riding was endless.  The trees were in full fall colors.  It was like riding through a post card.  We rode several state highways and park roads south and east of Eureka Springs.  On Monday, we toured the downtown area of Eureka Springs and then turned our bikes north as we rode up into Branson Mo.  There seemed to be a minimum age of 65 there, but it gave us a chance to get off the bikes and play tourist for a while.  The day before,we had picked up a solo Busa rider from Louisiana named Chris.  As we walked to lunch, he described himself as "a little man with a big metabolism".  As I watched him put away serving after serving of Missouri BBQ, I realized he wasn't bragging, he was just stating the facts. 

We headed back down south to our temporary home which included a short ferry ride.  As we waited for the ferry to arrive, several of us scampered up the hillside to check for bears.  This was to be a common theme on this ride.  Bears inhabit this part of the state and several of us took it upon ourselves to scout the area at any stop in order to ensure the safety of the group.  It would usually start with one of the guys jumping off their bike to scout for bears.  Upon seeing this, several others would head for the woods to join in.  Each of us would spread out and check the area.  I was proud to be part of such a safety consensus group.  The ferry arrived looking like an escaped floating boat dock with a retired tugboat lashed to the side.  It pulled up; we loaded on and enjoyed the short boat ride to the other side.   

All too soon, Tuesday arrived and we started our ride home which included an overnight in Arlington, TX.  There were a few more scenic roads to take in.  Like taking the last few bites of a good steak, I tried to savor the color, exuberance and personality of each mile.   This would also be the last bit of fun for me on the 09' Road Glide on loan from the dealer.  This bike was bigger and more powerful than my 02' Heritage.  At first I was disappointed in the lack of low end torque compared to my smaller displacement Heritage.  But once I found the power band; (right in the middle of where you ride anyway) each pass and straightaway was sheer joy.  But what I really enjoyed was how the bike handled.  One of the things we discovered is that the Arkansas Department of Transportation has a "no BS" policy when it comes to speed recommendations for curves.  If it says 35mph you had better be close to that speed or you'll over cook the corner.  I discovered this the first day as I leaned the big Road Glide into a 35mph sweeper at 60mph.  In Texas this is usually not a problem.  In Arkansas they have lots of decreasing radius turns.   As the corner tightened up, my reflex was to hit the brakes.  This is always a bad idea on my Heritage and usually results in me swinging wide into the oncoming lane.  But the Road Glide seem glued to the corner.  I leaned it farther to hold my line and it tracked without protest through the turn's exit.  Now, this was fun!  I found I really didn't need to think about cornering at all.  I no longer needed to set up, dive for the apex and then swing wide to straighten out the turn.  I just turned the handle bars to stay in my part of the lane and the bike did the rest no matter what speed I was going.

Taking the scenic route put us fairly late into Arlington.  The next morning Charles sent me a text that simply said, "rain has arrived".  I opened the curtains to see the Road Glide soaking in a wet parking lot.  We delayed our departure to San Antonio in the hopes of letting the weather front pass through.  Unfortunately, we caught up to it and stayed with it through most of the day.  At first it was miserable.  It was cold and the mist caused my face shield to fog up.  At times all I could see was tail lights.   Oncoming trucks would add to the enjoyment.  As they passed, you would be hit with a blast of air and water; sometimes pushing you across your lane.  The water seemed to get past most of my rain defenses.    Others were having trouble also.  Russell's bike developed an appetite for rain water through the air intake causing him to ride in 4^th gear to keep up.  Dean and Russell devised a rain shield out of a bleach bottle and he was back on the road.   I think Dean is one of those MacGyver types who can fix anything with what he finds along the side of the road.  Charles had burned a hole through his Frog Togs, Daryl's radio connection was giving him trouble, the zipper on my rain suit was broken and my iPod was starting to repeat songs.  It was time for this ride to be over.  We said our goodbyes in Blanco and we all headed to more familiar roads near home.

This was Moe's last ride as our official Road Captain.  We all owe him our appreciation for his time, patience and leadership to put together rides like this over the past two years.  Daryl has already suggested a great ride up into New Mexico next year which is shaping up to be every bit as fun.

Rides like this create lasting memories.  The good and the bad all mix together to become part of the adventure.  I couldn't capture them all.  If you have a favorite, please share them below.

Saturday 4:30 AM - My alarm is reminding me it's time to get up.  I had been traveling all week and had not had a chance to pull everything together for the first annual Valero 2009 Alamo Ride to the River.  Despite my lack of preparation, I was excited to work this event this year.  A new route took they cyclists southeast and up north to overnight in New Braunfels .  But the big difference was the ride would be coming back to where it started, at the Alamo Dome, instead of ending up in Corpus Christi.  It was always a bit of a haul, after spending two days in the saddle, to end it by riding another two hours back home.  Now we would end up home.  Or so I thought.

I met up with Russell Minor at I-10 and Leon Springs at 5:30 AM for the ride to the event start.  We were anticipating a wet ride that morning but to our surprise we didn't encounter any rain drops.  The ride to the start is always a bit surreal.  That time of the morning there is very little traffic on the freeway but the traffic that ison the road always seems to be in a hurry.  We swept past downtown onto I-35 and took the Walters St. exit where the Motorcycle Marshals were to gather.  We couldn't work the start because Ft. Sam was only going to let the cyclists through their gate.  Obviously, another case of motorcycle discrimination by "the man".  I didn't mind because our meeting location was across the street from a McD's and I hadn't had breakfast yet.  Soon, the first few drops of rain started and we all scrambled for our rain gear.  There isn't a graceful way to put on your rain gear; especially the boot covers.  Some guys try to retain their dignity and put their suit on standing up.  Eventually they have to ask someone to hold them as their shoe gets caught in a pants leg.  I just sit down, roll around like a turtle on its back but eventually get back up fully encased in tyvek or whatever Frog Toggs are made of.  As the rain fell we stood there, waiting for news of the start, getting reacquainted with the veterans and with those doing it for the first time.  The rain started to pick-up just as a scratchy voice came over the radio that the event had begun.  We knew the riders had to make it through downtown and then Ft. Sam so we kept talking motorcycles and made jokes about each other's rain gear.   Ok, we only made jokes about A.D's rain gear.   I've never seen so much yellow in my life.

The first rider who came over the bridge, caught us by surprise.  I couldn't tell if it was a Velo rider or not.  But soon the rest of the Velo pack came sweeping by.  They seemed in good spirits; undeterred by the rain.  The cyclists displayed an interesting choice of gear to ride in the rain.  Some had fancy riding jackets.  Others just wore their regular jerseys and toughed it out.  By far the most popular choice  was a trash bag with three holes cut out of it or a light poncho which seemed to do nothing because it spent most it's time flying up their back. 

I watched them go by and jumped into what I estimated to be the middle of the pack and started down the course as the rain continued to pick up.  I soon came upon a couple of cyclists trying to fix a flat in the middle of an intersection off Walters St.  Fearing motorists wouldn't see them in the dim light and rain I parked my motorcycle in the intersection with all its lights on.   They had already gone through one spare tube and asked if I had an air pump.  I didn't but called Daryl Mai (Valero retiree) on the radio and asked him to bring his.  He soon pulled up and we helped these guys as they went through two more inner tubes.  The fourth one finally worked and off they went. Daryl and I were now at the back of the pack.  I hurried down the route to catch back up with the middle.

Next, I came upon a three car traffic accident.  One of the police officers working the scene asked if I would tell the cyclists to walk their bikes past the accident as there was not enough room for them to ride.   So I spent the next 30 mins. or so warning them of the congestion ahead and they should be prepared to dismount and walk.  By the time I was through, I was at the back of the pack again.  I hurried down the route to catch back up with the middle.  I was soon flagged down by an older female rider.  I say flagged down, she had stopped riding right in the middle of the road.  When I walked up to her she announced that she was 72 years old and had no business out riding in weather like this.  I radioed for a SAG and we waited by the side of the road while she showed me all the plastic flowers she had put on her riding helmet.   My next "customer" really scared me.  She was off her bike sitting on the ground, in a gravel driveway.  I quickly pulled off the road and ran over to her and her two companions.  When I got there, she had stopped complaining of dizziness.   After questioning her for a while, I learned she had skipped breakfast that morning because she was running late and also forgot to carry any water on her bike.  I gave her a bottle of water and tried to convince her to SAG to the next rest stop where they had snacks.  She declined but asked how to call a SAG.  I told her the helmet wave trick.  I also radioed her number to a passing SAG that was on a round trip to keep an eye out for her.   In my haste to get off my bike, I discovered I had parked in mud.  It was just gooey enough that no matter how little throttle I used it spun my back tire.  It would even spin with just the engine idling.  So I spent the next few minutes trying to work my way out of the ditch and back onto the pavement.  I was going kind of sideways when my back tire found an area of broken pavement and jumped toward the road.  I found by self again on the route at the back of the pack.  I hurried down the route to catch back up with the middle.

I spent the rest of the morning stopping to call SAGs for tired riders and answering questions about which way the route went and how far to the next break point.   I met up with Mike Perez and Ben Lewis at lunch.  After lunch, the rain steadily increased.  By 3PM it was raining hard.  Most of the Motorcycle Marshals had gathered at the Valero on Hwy 46 and Commons not wanting to tangle with the congestion near the finish line. Most of the cyclists were in so we started letting the Marshals go home.

Since I was staying at Schlitterbahn, I agreed to keep working.  By 4PM, the rain drops were so big I thought it was hail hitting me.  Then came the lightening.  The over cast made it difficult to see where the lightening was coming down until I saw it hit a telephone pole about 40 yards from me.   We dashed for cover under the canopy of another Valero station.   We heard over the radio the ride had been canceled so we swept the remaining part of the course to let the remaining cyclists know the SAGs would be coming along to pick them up.

By the time I found my room, took a shower and made it to the Valero tent, almost everyone was gone, but the food was still plentiful and hot.   Having met up with my suitemates we retired to watch football and tell jokes.  About 10PM Hal and I both turned in.  Steve stayed up to finish watching the game.  Before turning in, I put a cover over my bike and laid my rain suit out to dry.  I woke several times during the night to the flashes of lightening.  There wasn't a clock in my room but I hoped it would stop before morning.

Sunday 5:30AM - My alarm is reminding me it's time to get up. I can still hear heavy drops on the roof but they are sporadic like the one's falling off of wet trees.  Sure enough, the rain had let up, slightly.  But the weather maps on my Blackberry were telling another story.  Large red rain bands cover the route returning back to San Antonio.  Moe and I are texting back and forth asking if the ride has been canceled.   Steve and Hal are up and in their gear.  We all three sit around the kitchen table working our phones trying to find out if it's on or off.  Moe says the Velo site says it's canceled.   About 15 minutes later Steve gets an official text from MS that the Sunday portion is off.  About an hour later, my notice comes through.   The Starting line, which is usually a bustle of activity, is deserted with the exception of people wandering around asking where they should take their bike.   The Comal river is swollen beyond its' banks.  I've hacked the MS radio frequency so I can hear their plans to move everyone back to San Antonio.   I call Andy who working SAG and he confirms the pickup location.  I call Hal and Steve and suggest they grab their bikes and get on one of the SAGs.   They are packed up and gone before I make it back to the hotel room.

Russell and I met up for the ride back at 10AM.  By now, the sun is out and for the most part, the roads are dry.  I'm riding back on Hwy 46 still in full rain gear and I'm amazed to see how many other motorcycles are out for their Sunday morning ride dressed in their normal t-shirts and jeans.  They appear oblivious to all the rain in the area, but as I look around, I'm the one oddly dressed for the weather.

One day of working the MS ride seems to provide a month's worth of memories.  Trading jokes with the other motor marshals  working the event, talking to the little old lady with the flowers in her helmet, the small town charm of the towns we rode through and the enjoyment of being part of something big.  Even the lightening and the rain couldn't make it miserable.   I find I really enjoy these types of events. I'm ready to do it again, in fact, I attended the Tour deCure kick-off meeting last night.   That event is May 22^nd and 23^rd and they're looking for a full contingent of motorcycle marshals.  We'll post the volunteer info as it becomes available.  If you've got some memorable experiences from the MS Run from the River, post them below.

Ok, admit it.  You've never read the Owner's Manual for your bike.  Maybe you stuffed it into a saddle bag or somewhere in your house where you keep "important papers" for reference later.  But that's only for a quick look to find out tire pressure or the type of oil you should put in it. And a lot of Owner's Manuals don't lend themselves to cover to cover reading but it would be worth it to spend an evening reading it through.  While on the surface, a motorcycle is pretty simple in it's operation, there are some important tips you can pick up to save you from those embarassing side of the road head scratching moments.

This last weekend, I went on a 5 hour ride with a collection of riders with my church.  None were affiliated with this group. One of the guys was a rider returning to the sport on his brand new Yamaha V-Star.  This was his first major ride outside the neighborhood and he brought his 5 year old son along to share in the event. Our route that morning took us to Bandera, out to Garner State Park, to Leakey and back via 337.  A beautiful route on a beautiful day.

We stopped for gas near Garner State Park however, few topped off their tank.  The V-Star rider had been lagging behind the group all day, but we assumed he was getting used to the new bike plus passenger and slowed our group speed so we could see him in our mirrors; at least part of the time. As we turned off of Hwy 83 onto 336, we didn't see him.  The group pulled over and waited.  About 15 mins passed as we baked in the sun on the side of the road.  Finally the ride leader headed back to look for him.  Another 15 minutes passed.  Another rider headed back to see why the leader had not returned.  Another 15 minutes passed so the whole group headed back, now fearing the worst.  We caught up with two of our group at the corner or 336 and Hwy 83.  A few minutes later our lost V-Star rider pulled up red faced because he had run out of gas.  It seems when he filled up that morning, he put the gas nozzel in the tank, just like you do with a car and when it clicked, he assumed the tank was full. What he didn't realize was he only had half a tank.  About 80 miles into the trip, his bike sputtered to a stop.  Not knowing what was wrong, he exhausted the battery trying to restart his motorcycle while his son's anxiety increased by the minute.  Finally, another biker pulled over to assist him.  He showed our V-Star rider how to switch on the reserve and helped push the bike to start it.  Our new V-Star rider proceeded to Leakey and met up with the rest of the group who now had been baking in the sun for an hour.

Soon our ride leader pulled up red faced.  Convinced our V-Star rider had missed a turn, he went looking for the rider at a high rate of speed in the hopes of catching him before he became too lost.  The DPS Trooper, who clocked him at 55 in a 35 zone, wasn't impressed at our leader's valiant effort to catch up to his lost rider and wrote him a fat ticket.

Everyone made nice at lunch.  But the body language told another story. The eight riders who had baked in the sun for an hour were looking at thier watches.  The ride leader was calling his wife to tell her about the ticket (second one this month).  The returning rider was wondering if he really enjoyed this sport.  And a five year old son sat quietly wondering if he wanted to go on anymore rides with Dad.  All could have been avoided by reading the section in the Owner's Manuel called "Fueling Instructions".

I got lost twice this weekend.  Once on purpose the other by accident.   We all ride for different reasons.  Usually to get from point A to point B in a more enjoyable way than a car can provide.   A good portion of my riding is "escape riding".  You know what I'm talking about if you understanding the statement "You don't find a lot of motorcycles parked in front of psychiatrist's office".  I enjoy cruising back roads letting the bike settle into a gentle lope and watching the scenery go by.  It's also a good time to think about nothing.  While I'm thinking about nothing, I rarely pay attention to what road I'm on.  Often times when someone asks me where I rode, I can only recall generalities.   

My Saturday ride was an escape ride.  I headed north from Fair Oaks Ranch, towards Sisterdale.  Instead of heading to Luckenbach, which is what I usually do, I pointed the bike toward Comfort, past the old railroad tunnel and into town.  My road became Hwy 27 as I continued west through town.  Not wanting to ride anything called a highway anymore; I made a left turn onto the first small road I saw which was "Herman Sons Rd".  This road winds through many of the recreational ranches and wineries which dot the area.   Herman Sons Rd eventually dumped me onto "Lindner Branch" which took me to my find of the day; "Skyline Dr".  Skyline is cut into the side of one of the hilltops.  It offers great views of the Texas Hill country.  It also passes by some of the most spectacular ranches I've seen.  It's an area where people have built, "money is no object" kind of ranch houses.   It also offers rider lots of twists, turns; ups and downs that make you think it was built by a retired rollercoaster designer from Six Flags.  But that title has to be reserved for my next find of the weekend.

Sunday evening, Judy and I were going to ride to Welfare.  The easy way is to hop on I-10 for a 10 min ride.  But I wanted to find a back way that would offer more scenery.  I plotted a course on Mapquest and dumped it into my GPS.  The route took us north out of Boerne onto "Spanish Pass Rd" which promised to deliver us just north of Welfare.   My anticipation of Spanish Pass was squandered a bit when it took us past the Kendall County land fill.   But it soon revealed it's self as a narrow tree lined lane offering abundant shade from the afternoon sun.  But all good things must end and that's what Spanish Pass does.  It dead ends into a locked chain link fence.   Even though Mapquest and my Garmin GPS both said it should continue, the reality of the situation meant we had to u-turn.  Rather than head back the way we came, we took a right turn on to "Tower Rd".  It seemed to be heading the general direction we wanted to go.    This is a road truly possessed.  The first clue came when a blue sign revealed it was sponsored by the "Texas Hill Climbers Club".  I assumed this meant some guys in Jeeps but soon realized repelling gear was in order.   There are lots of first gear climbing switchbacks, steep descents and blind curves.  Judy said the view was pretty good, but I never had a chance to look.  This is a very technical road.  It wasn't until the last long descent, did I know where we were.  It dumped us out on to the I-10 feeder road near Welfare.  Whew, time for a dinner break.

I got lost twice and in the process found two roads worth writing about.  I'll visit both of them again.  That is, if I can find my way back.

Last night, I was prepping the bike for this weekend's Tour deCure  Motorcycle Marshal duties.   For me this means I zip tie a bank of three flashing lights to the back of my luggage rack and plug it into the cigarette lighter socket I've installed under my seat.  I also have to mount the antenna and tank bag that holds the HAM radio.  All if this takes about 20 minutes.   As I was looping the antenna wire through one of the saddle bags, I noticed something rattle on the back of the bike.  I gave the turn signal bar a wiggle and the whole thing almost fell off in my hand.  Looking closer, I discovered it was being held on by only one bolt through the fender.  The other bolt had already vibrated out.  I was starting to imagine how it would have been to be riding along Hwy 46 at 6AM and have my rear signal bar fall off in the dark.   I probably wouldn't have noticed it until the next town.

Although I enjoy doing my own wrenching, I'm not one to give the bike a once over before each ride.  Even when I went to Sturgis, I just piled everything on checked the oil and took off.  I also subscribe to the rule of not performing any major maintenance before a long trip.  It's a bad time to find out something was left off the bike when you're 200 miles from home.  So when do I do maintenance?  Well I guess I've figured out that I don't.  Bikes are so reliable these days I've begun to treat them like cars.  Just change the oil, put in gas and go.   The only time I check them over is when I'm adding an accessory etc.

So I'm now an advocate of giving the bike a once over before you ride.   Check the tires, wiggle and touch the different items to see if anything has shaken loose.  Put a wrench to the really vital areas like foot pegs, engine mounts axle nuts.  Losing one of these going down the freeway could not only be catastrophic but your shedding part may hit one of your fellow riders (like me).  For 35,000 miles that blinker bar had been fine.  Who knows what's shaking loose on your bike, just waiting to ruin your ride.

The AMA, the Motorcycle Safety Foundation and local organizations have launched efforts to make May   Motorcycle Safety Awareness Month.

The AMA has distributed a video public service announcement to news outlets across the country. Titled "The Distracted Driver," the 30-second video uses a touch of humor to address the serious issue of inattentive drivers. View "The Distracted Driver" (wmv, 3.4mb).

The MSF, in addition to distributing a video news release to television stations nationwide, is also placing videos on YouTube and Break.com, to try to reach younger audiences. The MSF has also produced a short film, "Intersection," that dramatically presents a car-motorcycle collision from the perspective of each of the persons involved. The film is intended for use in driver education courses.

Several states, from New Hampshire to Oregon, sponsored safety rallies at their capitols to launch Motorcycle Safety Awareness Month.

The focus of all of these efforts is to get everyone on the road to be attentive to motorcyclists, as well as other vulnerable road users, at the time of year when many more riders are taking to the streets.

I've noticed when I have my quieter exhaust on the bike, I get more "lane intrusions", so I got air horns installed on my bike.   So, I thought it would be fun and perhaps beneficial to ask, what are VMR members doing to make themselves more visible on the road?  Comment below.

KSU: Study Butte, Tx - 7:30 AM Sunday 4/5/2009

This morning marked the return ride back to San Antonio.  I generally consider this the end of the trip, since all that is left is to grind away the miles on I-10 back to San Antonio.  The morning started off not so great for me.  After getting ready early, placing my room key in the drop box and making the short ride from Terlingua to Study Butte for breakfast, I discovered I had left my phone charger in the hotel room.  So back I went, dug my key out of the drop box and retrieved my charger.   I hate rushing to get ready.  I always feel I've forgotten something, left a saddle bag open or done something really stupid like forgotten to fasten my helmet, put on my gloves or secure something so it goes flying off the bike, all of which I managed to do during this trip

As we started our slow climb north to Alpine the temperature began to drop quickly.  I was dressed for a ride back in the 70's, the temp was on its way to the high 40's.  To take my mind off how cold I was, I began to reflect on the trip.

A short five days ago, we had left San Antonio with 12 bikes and two chase vehicles.  We had decided ahead of time to split the riders into two groups to make it easier to move through traffic.  As we approached Castroville, I contacted Mike and Darcy on the radio and let them know we were close.  Darcy fell in behind the last rider however, Mike got caught in traffic so we pulled over and let the lead group move ahead as Mike worked his way closer.  They moved to about 5 miles ahead when we got back on the road; easily within radio range.  BTW - those not on the radio, missed a lot of ride coordination throughout the week between Charles, Daryl, Mike and I.  By the end of the trip, we had developed a fairly smooth communication process for keeping the group together.

Our official first stop was at the Pecos River and the Judge Roy Bean compound.  It was our first photo opp and a chance for everyone to associate motorcycle with faces.  We had a few first time VMR riders with us.  Darcy had been on some charity rides with us before but this was her first time out of town on her new bike.  Russell, Dean and Shirley were also making their first long trip with the group and Charles, Keith and Jean had never ridden to Big Bend before.  The rest of us were eager to repeat our trip from last year.

The towns got smaller and seemed to go by quicker as we headed to Ft. Davis for our first of two nights there.  We checked into the Stone Village Tourist Resort.  It's a small and quaint hotel and our 11 room reservation assured that we "owned the place".   The owner was very accommodating to a group our size and even hung around the campfire that night to trade stories.   It was here we also met up with our Dallas riders; Kerry, Theresa, Jeff and Mike.  We also spent the evening with the only other guests at the hotel; a couple of guys who train drug dogs, who joined us by the fire.  They demonstrated how the dogs worked which always seemed to involve Jeff as the "suspect".  Hummmm. 

Thursday morning we spent riding the Ft. Davis loop, visiting the Mc Donald's Observatory, lunching at Alice's Restaurant in Marfa and looking for stuff on the side of the road that fell off Seymour's bike.   The afternoon was free time.  Most of us headed for a tour and a glimpse into the lives of the Buffalo Soldiers at Ft. Davis National Park.  Others went back to the hotel to help make repairs to Seymour's wiring after he and Nichole hit a particularly hard bump.  Later that evening we strolled down to the Wagon Wheel BBQ joint and were surprised to see they had a large table all set up for our group.  We sat down and ordered only to find out the table reservations had been made by a touring Porsche owner's group who now had to sit out on the patio.  Perhaps I was hungry, perhaps it was sampling the three homemade sauces or perhaps it was that we had their tables, but that was some of the best BBQ I've ever had.

Friday, we made our way down to Big Bend and the El Dorado hotel in the Ghost town of Terlingua.   Once again we took over the hotel with the exception of a couple of families. That afternoon we rode into the park and paused by the entrance sign for our second photo opp.  Big Bend is such a unique area to ride.  Its isolation, winding roads and wide open landscape make seeing the park by motorcycle that much more enjoyable.  Each turn greets you with another palette of colors and unique landscapes.  Although it's a desert area, recent rains caused much of the park to be in bloom adding more to the color.   We rode single file through canyons and passes down to the Rio Grande Village.  We took the time to hike some of the trails which lead down to the sandy beaches of the Rio Grande River.   On the way out, we took a side trip up to the Chisos Mountain Lodge.  This road is cut into the side of the mountain and sports many tight switch backs combined with steep uphill climbs.  While entertaining for the driver, some of the passengers found the trip to be more exciting than they would like.   We exited the park under a setting sun which made the colors even more vibrant.

I was up at sunrise on Saturday.  Not that we had an early take off, in fact some of the riders had extended last night into the early hours, but this was the day we ride River Road and is the main reason I make the trip to Big Bend.   I walked outside to see Charles taking pictures of the sunrise and Daryl walking back from breakfast.  We wandered up the road for breakfast at the small diner.  Like many of the businesses in this area, time is relative and in the case of this diner, so were the health codes.  But we're bikers, right?  Who cares if there's a cat wandering around the kitchen and the guy making your breakfast is smoking a pipe overflowing with ashes.  It's part of the local flavor.

River Road follows the Rio Grande from Lajitas to Presidio.  It is 40 miles of twists, turns, ups and downs through landscapes that vary from rugged desert to flat wetlands.   You don't know whether to take it slow to soak in the scenery or enjoy the challenge of a road that refuses sit still.  If you're lucky, you fall in behind another rider going about your speed so you can follow their line as you take the time to see the sights.  Our third photo opp was on a steep uphill pull off in the rugged section of the mountains.  This overlook towers above the Rio Grande and offers a spectacular view in both directions.  Stopping on this severe uphill section was one thing, getting started was another.  Four of us tried to explain to Shirley the combination of throttle, clutch and brake needed to get her motorcycle going uphill.  We all ran beside her, barking orders of what we thought she needed to do next.  On the third try, she was off and running and we all scrambled to our bikes to keep up with her.  By the time we all regrouped in Presidio, it was lunchtime and it was hot.   We took refuge in a Mexican restaurant and downed gallons of iced tea.  The ride back on River Road was just as enjoyable but this time I pushed the bike a bit.  I was following Shirley and was amazed how I was not catching up to her even though I felt I was riding faster.  I guess she had the same idea.   We took a short break at a roadside park to rest in the shade.  This was our fourth day on the bikes and I think everyone needed a little separation from their saddle.  That afternoon, we made our final trip into the park.  We took Boquillas Canyon Road into the eastern part of Big Bend, down to the Canyon trail.  Here we hiked back into the canyon along the Rio Grande for more picture taking.   Daryl, Jeff and I pushed on to the end of the trail.  We looked over to the Mexico side and wondered how much more isolated it was than where we were.   It seemed strange to look across the river and realize how different the culture and economic conditions were on the other side.   We vowed to drown such philosophical thoughts in alcohol that evening. 

Our tradition is to finish the trip at the Starlight Bar and Theatre.  The great food, unique entertainment and opportunity to mix with the locals seemed a fitting end to the week.   Charles and I treated ourselves to steaks as we watched in amazement as Charlie and Jean together tackled the Diablo burger.  This heart stopper starts with a half pound of beef, adds cheese and bacon slices.  As if that's not enough, they put a couple of fried eggs on top.  We were amazed because Charlie wasn't able to finish his half.  This was a first! We had yet to encounter a menu item that was a match for Charlie's high metabolism.

The cold seems to snap my mind back on the road to Alpine.  The mileage marker says 20 more miles.  I convinced myself I can hold back the cold another 20 minutes.   A large mule deer breaks from the side of the road and passes right behind my bike.  I'm too cold to react (a good thing).  Up ahead, I see Keith on the side of the road.  I don't stop because I know he's just getting out another layer of warm clothes to put on (smart guy).   I call Daryl on the radio behind me to confirm that is what Keith is doing.  Charles calls me on the radio up ahead to say they've stopped at a gas station just inside town.  We're all shivering when we get off the bikes and cuddle hot cups of coffee at the station. Daryl tells us the temperature has dropped 20 degrees in the last 50 miles.  Russell's face is as red as an apple.  Dean is trying to wiggle his way into another layer of coveralls.  I dream of the electric vest hanging in my closet at home.  

We point the bikes east toward I-10 and the long ride back to San Antonio.   We say goodbye to Daryl who is extending his trip up through Arizona and New Mexico.    We don't warm up until we reach Junction.  Its 80 miles from San Antonio but this is our last gas stop so we say our goodbyes.   From here we all will take various exits that lead to our families at home.  This trip would be easy in a car, but that's part of why we ride.  Anyone can do this in a car.  But trips like this on a motorcycle create memories that hold you over until next year; when we'll be back to make new ones.

I have to tell you, 24 degrees is cold even when you're not on a motorcycle.  I stepped outside my hotel door and watched my breath curl away from of me.  I'd need to put on more shirts. Breakfast in Ft. Davis is two choices.  A small bakery about a block from the hotel which opens at 7AM or the Ft. Davis Drugstore a bit farther away which opens at 8AM.  We delayed our early morning take off and opted for the latter.  There were several other tables of bikers in the drugstore; grouped by manufacturer.  The BMW guys together in the corner and a Honda ST group near the door.   We were joined by one of the ST riders since their table was full and we had an open chair.  He was from Arizona making his way via Texas to Nebraska for his mother's birthday.  He was retired and spent much of breakfast surfing the ST website. (Note: there is free Wi-Fi all over Ft. Davis including our hotel rooms)  From what I gathered he and other ST riders would communicate via the website to meet up and ride different locations.  And then everyone heads off to other locations and other ST owners to ride with.

We couldn't delay the morning any longer, it was time to ride.   We loaded the bikes, put on every piece of clothing we owned, checked out and headed for the Davis Mountain loop.  This was one of the new roads we came out to scout.   It's a 70 mile loop that makes its way around three mountain peaks.  The numerous cattle guards were not so subtle warnings that wildlife could be around the next corner.  And along the route we encountered cows, Javelina, deer in or near the road.  We took a short side trip up to the Observatory to survey the area.  At over 6,000ft, the view is spectacular.   The Davis Mountain loop is very scenic but demands your attention as some of the turns come up fast.   We think everyone will like the ride.   It was along the last part of the loop that I saw "it" hovering in the sky.  None of us have discussed "it", but "it" was round, white, didn't have wings and didn't seem to move.  As the loop changed my angle to "it", the shape never changed.   Then, as we came around a corner, I looked back at "it" and "it" was gone.  I'm thinking weather balloon but stranger stuff has been reported out here. 

After a quick Subway lunch in Marfa it was time to head back towards I-10 for the ride home.   We usually think of jumping on I-10 as no big deal.  But out here, "jumping" on I-10 is "ride 100 miles to the north and make a right".   It was while we were heading back to I-10 that we met up with officer Foss.   Now Charles and I had already agreed to give up Moe to the DPS if there were any charges against us. However, the officer simply wanted to remind us to use the right hand lane even if there was no other traffic going our direction.  The logic was on-coming traffic might need to use the middle lane in the event an animal (or extraterrestrial) was on the road.  As I put on my helmet, I struggled with how a scenario where Fluffy the bunny, wanders into the on-coming lane causing an 18 wheeler to cross the lane divider into the opposite passing lane coming toward me is intended to assure my protection and safety.   We'll leave it to say that they take their wildlife management seriously out there.

The ride back on I-10 was long and fast.  At first, the 80mph speed limit feels like you're flying, but you and your motorcycle soon become accustomed to the pace and slowing to 70, feels like you're crawling.  We overtook a lone biker who fell into formation behind Charles.  He exhibited perfect group riding form, changing lanes with the group and clearing the RH lane after the group passed another vehicle.  I was impressed how universal these group riding tactics are within the motorcycle community.

There is much to see on the ride back.  There are hills in the distance, the windmill farms near Ft. Stockton and lots of open sky.  On a normal ride the change of scenery would be inspiring.  However after two days of riding across open land, twisty tree lined roads, canyon passes and taking in the view atop one of the highest peaks in Texas, you can't help but feel like you're heading the wrong way.   But we'll be back in 28 days.  And this time, we're bringing friends.

We've got a big group heading for Big Bend in April.   With new hotels, new roads and rumors of road construction etc., we decided it would be a good idea to head out to Ft. Davis to pre-ride part of the route and check out the accommodations and events for the larger group.

If you'll recall last Saturday, it was not the best day to be out riding, much less covering a lot of miles.  Still none of us were smart enough to call it off, so Moe, Charles and I met at 6AM for breakfast tacos to discuss the route and get our last chance at warmth before heading out west on Hwy 90.  Charles had been at the Data Center till 2AM that morning, so he was desperate for caffeine.  The temperature was in the low 40s with wind gusts from 30-40mph.  No matter which way we turned, it seemed the wind was either coming straight on or coming from the side.  As we moved out of the city and into the open country near Uvalde, we encountered a strong cross wind.  Usually I watch for approaching trouble from the front, but as things blew across the road, plastic bags, real estate signs and even birds, unable to control their flight path, became an issue as well.   Following Moe, I watched his bike lean about 10 degrees off center fighting the wind to keep a straight course.  I was unaware that I was doing the same.   I wondered how long the wind would last.  As it turned out the answer was all day.

After our first gas stop in Uvalde, I turned on my electric vest.  We had been on the road for a couple of hours and the temperature didn't seem to be warming up.  The cold had finally worked its way into my core.  Now, I had a new problem.  Even on the lowest setting, my vest felt really hot.  Legs and arms were cool but my shoulders and back felt like they were about to break out in a sweat.   I could turn it off and be cold or leave it on and deal with the heat.  I chose the latter and opened up a few vents in my jacket.  The other thing that didn't work well was using my ski gloves instead of my regular cold weather gloves.  Ski gloves are cut to hold onto ski poles.  They don't allow your hand to fully open to do things like pull in the clutch or grab the front brake; both important functions when riding.   However at this point, I was willing to trade safety for warmth. 

We gased up again in Del Rio, headed across the Amistad reservoir and started the slow climb heading west.  Our cross wind was now more of a headwind.   It starts to get desolate in this area with little or nothing between the small towns.   We encountered many Border Patrol vehicles working the area.  You could see them parked on the top of a hill or towing tires along fence lines to erase the tracks from the night before.  They seemed to be all along this part of the route as it kisses the Mexico border.

We were cruising between 70 and 75 when my bike began to sputter just on the other side of Dryden.   I knew we were going up in altitude but had not expected any problems with the mixture.  Then my engine went dead.  My odometer showed 150 miles since my last gas stop.  I usually get 170 miles out of a tank.  I fumbled for the reserve and the engine came back to life.  I had just passed a sign that said 20 miles to Sanderson; I was still climbing and still bucking a headwind.  I tried to do the math of how many miles I would get on the half gallon reserve.   I slowed down to a more efficient cruise speed and started to fall back.  I looked around.  There was nothing out here if I had to pull over.   Just then, Moe put on his flashers.   Assuming he wanted to pull over and talk about the gas situation, I called Charles on the radio and told him I was going to have to continue.  Stopping would use more gas.  I figured Moe would figure it out when I didn't stop.

The borrowed miles clicked away.  As I came down from the pass, there was still no sign of the town.  I couldn't believe the headwind had cut 20 miles off the range of my tank.   I kept doing the math in my head to try to assure myself that I had enough gas to make it to town.  Moe had not come roaring by me so that meant he had pulled over for something more than a conference.   I finally caught sight of the Shamrock station in Sanderson.  As I pulled up to the pump, I turned the amp up on my radio and tried to reach Charles assuming he had stopped with Moe.  He came back saying his fuel warning light had been on for the last 30 miles and he had not stopped for Moe either.  Perhaps the Border Patrol would help him.  A few minutes later, Moe rolled into the gas station.  It seems he has a 200+ mile bike but only a 150 mile bladder.  I pumped 5.2 gallons into my 5 gallon tank.  Sanderson would be our last gas stop before Ft. Davis.   We pulled into a café for a late lunch.

The next 100 miles between Sanderson and Ft. Davis set the stage for the climb into the Davis Mountains.  Marathon is a wide place in the road and home to the famous Gage Motel.  Alpine, is the last fair sized town of franchised fast food and national chain stores.   As we approached the foot hills outside of Ft. Davis, we were greeted with fresh asphalt and twisty roads.  Worries of running out of gas and being cold melted away with every sweeping turn and canyon pass.   It was now suddenly all worth it.  When we arrived in Ft. Davis, we met with the with the hotel manager and took a quick tour of the hotel.  Pool, laundry, ice machine, fire pit, quaint rooms and comfy beds everything we need.  When we come down in April, we will have every room booked at this hotel.  We unpacked the bikes and walked a few blocks to the Mexican food buffet.  We compared notes over dinner and discussed our route for tomorrow.   Charles pulled up the Ft. Davis weather forecast.  Twenty four degrees was the predicted low.  We agreed to forgo our planned night ride up to the observatory.  I've been there before and can vouch for the immense number of stars that can be seen on a clear night. It's not to be missed.  Day 2 proved to be as challenging and rewarding, but I'll save that for another posting. 

It was a charity kind of weekend for the VMR.  Friday night, 12 of us went to the Bowl-a-Thon to help raise money for Junior Achievement.  The official "theme" of the Bowl-a-thon was "beach party" however we had agreed before hand, that our team theme was going to be "biker chic"(which is wear whatever you ride in).   And in fact, some members did ride to the event including Keith on his "still gleaming from the dealership" new Road Glide (but more on that later).    From the first ball, I knew this was going to be a low scoring team.  Not only could none of us bowl, with the exception of the ringer that Moe recruited, but most of the group was more interested in talking bikes than actually bowling.  It was no surprise when they announced the event was over, that our team still had 4 frames to throw and two pitchers still on the table.   It's becoming increasingly clear that this group doesn't need an event to have a good time.

On Saturday, some of us assisted Velo Valero with their first sponsored training ride for Tour de Cure.  We met for breakfast tacos and then headed over to Valero Headquarters to meet up with the cyclists.   I would guess there were about 50 participating in the training ride.  The riders were split into three courses based on how far they wanted to go.  We split the routes between us. I took the 20 mile group since they were headed in another direction and I felt one motorcycle could cover that distance fairly easily.  The rest of the group followed the cyclist along the 35 and 45 mile courses.  Shortly after catching up with my "short mileage group" I came upon a couple helping a third cyclist on the side of the road.  When I pulled up, the two other cyclists said "help is here" and moved quickly down the road.  This guy had a low front tire but no idea how to put air in it.  As I walked up he just handed his bicycle to me without saying a word.  I hooked up my air pump, gave it a couple of strokes but wasn't able to get any more air into his tire.  He either had a bad tire valve or my arm was still weak from bowling the night before.   Since he was a short distance from the start, I suggested that he take a short cut under the bridge and join up with some of the other riders already heading back to Valero.  As I watched him ride off, I realized he never said anything during my entire stop.   I'm still not certain he spoke English. This was one of the strangest stops I've ever had.

After finishing up with the 20 milers, I headed up the longer route to meet up with the rest of the pack.  Mike and I had been unsuccessful staying in radio contact due to the hilly terrain.  As I headed up Babcock road, I hit what they had been dealing with all morning.  A front was moving through the area.  The temperature dropped, the wind picked up and rain began to fall.  I was dressed for 60 degree weather and now it was in the 40's.   The cyclists had scattered picking their own routes home with only a few pressing on.   I caught up with Henrietta and Keith, along with some of the other Valero cyclists, at the Cornerstore at Cavern's road.  Lots of cyclists were calling personal SAGs to come get them.  I was able to locate Mike on the radio using the repeater in Boerne.  He was on the back of the long course with no cyclists in sight.   I swept the 35 mile course and not seeing any cyclists, headed back to Valero.  Henrietta and Keith were already there.  Keith confessed how he had been hypnotized by a dead porcupine along the side of the road which caused him to drop his new Road Glide.   No damage, except to his ego, when his wife had to help him pick up his bike.   Just goes to prove, porcupines are dangerous, even when dead.

We hung around and told war stories from the morning.  I looked at my watch and it was 1:30.  I had been riding for 5 hours and covered 113 miles.  It was time to go home.

This Saturday many of us have volunteered to ride SAG support for one of the Tour DeCure training rides put on by Velo Valero.   There wasn't anything on the VMR website announcing it because only a small number of us tend to like to do stuff like this.  I thought I would provide a brief description of what it involves.  If you're interested, keep reading.  If not, stop here and go to the Forum and see if Charles has gotten any further with his pipe project.  If not, ask him what is taking him so long.

There doesn't seem to be a definitive role for the Motorcycle Marshall in the events I've participated in.  In fact we're often referred to by different names.  Some call us Motorcycle Escorts, some SAG support and some Motorcycle Marshalls.   Usually in the role of SAG support and the Tour De Cure event, they encourage us to stop and assist the bicyclists along the route by providing water, directions or assisting with minor repairs (flats, chains, etc).  In the MS event we're known as Motorcycle Marshalls and our main role is to facilitate the movement of the cyclists by spotting hazardous road conditions or calling for help if someone is injured.  They discourage us from stopping to help with mechanical problems because they want us circulating the route.  Both organizations give us limited power during the event to report abusive or dangerous cyclists.  However we have absolutely no authority over vehicular traffic, so don't try to emulate any moves you may have seen on CHiPs episodes.  Also, some local police have no problem giving you and the bicyclists a ticket for traffic violations.  This includes rolling through intersections, speeding, blocking traffic and crossing into the oncoming lane.  Every year I follow the bicyclists across the walking bridge during the Tour deCure.  I've never gotten a ticket but then I've never seen an officer when I've done it.  (I've probably just jinxed myself)

In both roles you basically play the part of a moving traffic cone.  You put local traffic on the left side, the bicyclists on the right with you and your motorcycle in the middle.  Strobe lights and four way flashers help you get noticed by the local traffic, but this is not a role for the faint of heart or the inexperienced rider.  You're moving along at about 3X the speed of the bicyclists on one side and traffic is moving at about 3X your speed on the other.  It can make for some hairy moments when you get caught in between.  

Some of us have gone the extra step to equip our bikes with two-way amateur radios so we can participate more in the operation of the event.  In addition to being more informed, it provides a source of entertainment while you ride along.   However, it can become addictive to listen to and your adrenalin can get worked up when you hear one of your fellow Marshalls working an accident.  Most Marshalls are happy with a cell phone and a list of people to call if they happen upon an emergency.

Marshalling is one of my favorite things to do on a motorcycle.  The bicyclists are very appreciative; you get to build comradely with the other motorcyclists, it always seems to turn into some type of adventure and you can earn volunteer hours doing what you love.  Some people have tried it once and decided it's not for them.  Others really enjoy it.  If you're interested in seeing what it's about join us this Saturday for the training ride by contacting one of the VMR officers.  It would be an easy way to see if this is for you.

Dropping your bike; if you haven't done it, you will.   My last time, was on our trip to Sturgis.  It had been a long day of riding and we had just made our way through Denver.  It was hot, muggy and we had been riding since early that morning (insert more excuses here).   At a major intersection we were stopped 2X2.  Moe and I in the font row with Charles and Joel making up the second row.  Placing the bike in neutral, I stood up to rest my butt and pull off my sweaty gloves, balancing the bike between my legs.  I've done this a 100 times before.  What I added to this maneuver was to turn around and try to place my gloves under one of the bungee cords on my luggage to dry.  As I rotated my body, the bike began to lean with me.  Before I knew it, the bike, luggage and all was on its way over and there was no way my leg was going to stop it.  I stepped aside and let it fall over (probably the only smart thing I did during this incident) Joel, who was behind me and to my left had a perfect view of the incident and knew before I did that the bike, was on its way over. (Evidently he's ridden with idiots before).  He got off his bike and ran over about the time my bike hit the ground.  I wanted to stand there and curse for a while but he pointed to the changing traffic light and helped me to pick up my bike and we continued on our way after a few choice comments from Moe.

I've often thought how this might have played out differently had I not been riding with friends.   Would a biker friendly driver have gotten out of his car to give me a hand?  Would adrenaline shoot into my system from the sight of my shiny Harley lying on its side have given me super human strength to lift it upright? I'm thinking there is a good chance the answer is "no" on both counts.  Fully loaded for travel, my Harley probably weights almost 800 lbs so adrenaline or not that's a lot of weight to muscle up.  And let's face it, most car drivers would probably be laughing too hard to be of much assistance.   Plus, people just don't want to get "involved" these days.

We all ride alone at times and idiotcracy (I just made that up) can strike when you least expect it.  I came across this web link: http://ibmwr.org/otech/pickup.html .  It shows women picking up large BMW touring bikes.  And no, they aren't women with arms like your second grade teacher.  In fact they're fairly dainty but demonstrate a technique we all should master because your time will come.  Oh yes, your time will come.

Once, while suffering from an overwhelming need to conform, I went out and bought a set of golf clubs.  Golf is the official sport of business.  My clients played golf.  My colleges played golf and my friends played golf.  Even my family played golf while on vacation.  I once had the good fortune to play a round of golf with the legendary Arnold Palmer (after shooting a commercial for Pennzoil).  But what I hated about golf was that for evermore, for every birthday and Christmas you got golf gifts.  It's easy to find the perfect gift for a golfer and the supply of useless accessories for golf is endless.  But I got tired of getting gifts for a sport I rarely played nor enjoyed just because it was "easy" to pick out.  I finally started telling people I didn't play anymore.

 I can count on one hand the number of people who have ever given me a motorcycle gift.  Perhaps people don't want to encourage your participation in a sport they consider dangerous. After all, not many people die playing golf.  Or perhaps it's harder for people to pick out a motorcycle gift if they don't ride.  Whatever the reason, they seem to avoid it. However, two gifts that I've received really stand out and they both pertain to motorcycling. The first was from my high school girlfriend.  My senior year, she gave me a full coverage Bell helmet.  Full coverage helmets were rare and expensive in those days but her message was clear.  She was concerned about my safety and she used most of the proceeds from her summer job to show it. (Isn't young love great?)  I wore that helmet for about 7 years; which was about three years longer than the relationship lasted.

 The second gift that stands out was from my wife.  She had watched me retire the old Triumph to the back of the garage when our daughter was born.  Twelve years later, on Father's Day, she gave me a book titled "The Biker Code".  It was her way of telling me that I could let up a bit on the Dad thing and go have some fun on my own.  Those of us who have understanding and encouraging spouses know what a wonderful gift that is.

 This Christmas, I got a couple of motorcycle gifts; a Harley sweatshirt from my daughter and a set of lower wind deflectors from my wife.  The sweatshirt promises to make me look cool and the wind deflectors promise to cut down on helmet buffeting at highway speed. (This answers why I sometimes looked a little dazed after a long ride).

 If someone gave you a motorcycle gift this year, let's hear about it below.  And don't forget to look beyond the gift to what they're really telling you.  After all the easiest thing would have been for them to give you a really nifty head cover for your driver.