Mid-Life Rider

Lakeview, Oregon: 503 miles

I’ve been here before. These roads. Seen these trees. Lakeview. Crummy roadside motel. Eating alone. But it’s all fresh and different each time I ride by and through. Even the Interstate 8 , my home away from home tonight, has a kind of seedy charm that would be totally lost on me if I were travelling for business. But after 10 hours in the saddle, it’s a little slice of heaven.

This trip has been a long time coming. My long time riding pal, Ron, is out of the country so this was to be my first really big ride by myself. Knowing how things go, I made this one hard to cancel. I signed up for a retreat down in Tubac, Arizona and vowed that I would ride there. Then a client called and asked if I could do a workshop for her team over in Temecula. Pretty soon I had a two-week hole in my calendar through which I would ride 4000 miles.

Booking the trip , planning the trip, and riding the trip are all different things. When I travel for business, it takes me about five minutes to pack. I always wear the same thing—all black—so there aren’t any decisions to make. My computer bag is always fully kitted out. So nothing to think about there either. The biggest decisions I face are what color socks to wear and what book or books to bring.

Two weeks gone on a bike is something else altogether. The packing part turned into a silly act of obsessive behavior that must hint at some dark unresolved issues. The core bits are easy . . . I always wear black and there aren’t a lot of decisions to make other than some tuning for weather. Poly pro this, poly pro that. Tops, bottoms, socks, ready, set, and go. But the part about being gone for two weeks has me all turned around. Will I do laundry? When? Where? Maybe not.

What will I wear when I get there? It’s going to be 100 degrees. And what about when I see my client? Which computer will I bring? Which camera? How many books? How many pairs of socks? I lay everything out on the floor of my office and add and subtract this and then that until I’m just plain out of time.

My indecisiveness and concern about not looking like a stinky rag picker causes me to go well over the volume my normal set-up will hold so I wind up buying a small bag that bungees onto the pillion seat to accommodate the overflow. After looking at a very pricey unit at the BMW dealer and another in the Aerostich catalog, I settled on a very reasonably priced piece by Tour Master that I wound up really liking.

Extreme packing silliness always arises on two specific items: heated clothes and my monster Canon super duper professional camera.

I really can’t say why I go round and round on the heated gear. I really hate being cold when I ride and so I have a vest, full jacket, pants, socks, and gloves that all plug in. The round and round part is whether to take any of it and if so what. The nutty thing is that I can wear the top under my riding jacket very comfortably up to the high 60s or even low 70s if it’s turned off. I wind up turning it on when the ambient temp dips into the 50s. I’m good with the full set-up down into the 30s. Given the forecast for the first three days of my ride, lows in the 40s highs in the low 70s, it’s a no brainer. But round and round I go until my wife verbally slaps me on the side of my head and I grab the vest and gloves. Dumb. I wear it happily seven out of ten hours today.

The camera thing is equally silly though for different reasons. I’ve carried a camera nearly daily for many years. Back in the film days, it was either a Nikon (F2 or F3) or a Leica. Sometimes even a Hasselblad. If those names mean anything to you, you know that’s serious gear and I was serious about taking pictures. When I went digital, I started out modestly but pretty soon wound up with the same Canon that the professional photo journalists shoot. It’s large, weather sealed, made of metal, weighs a ton, and makes wonderful images. And it weighs a ton.

The first pocket digital camera I bought was marginally useful. But that’s changed and I find that my Panasonic DMC-FX35 is a thoroughly competent picture machine. So much so that I really have to argue with myself to take the Canon. In practical terms that means I get it out, charge it up, set it down with all the other stuff I’m taking, pack it, and then take it out at the last minute. Probably time to sell it as it travels with me less and less.

My credit card takes a series of body blows in the months and weeks running up to step off this morning. The big ticket is the FJR which is due for a 15,000 mile fluffing. Throw on a new front tire while we’re at it and the cash drawer closes on $1200 and change.

Somewhere along the line I began to think differently about my safety gear. It’s a longer story than I care to tell right here, but the net of it was I decided that my all-black sensibility, while fashion forward, was not serving me well on the visibility front. So I ordered up a brand new Kevlar riding jacket from Motoport in proper British Copper High-Viz yellow. It’s a stunning piece of gear in every way. From the Kevlar outer, to the cutting edge next generation armor from GE, to the Goretex liner, it is as high tech as anything I own. Together with the Kevlar bottoms, it’s over 10 pounds of kit. Ring the register again Max.

And for reasons I can’t quite explain, I bought a new helmet. Actually I can explain it. I’m a believer in having multiples of everything related to riding, particularly safety gear. Until recently, my front line helmet has been a Suomy and my back-up an Arai, but I have become rabidly anti-Snell these days and so the Arai has been retired. I was musing about a Fulmer or the new Wiki but as luck or providence would have it, my favorite local outfitter, Seattle Cycle Center, was blowing out their inventory of Suomys. So I bought two.

Off I go

Finally it was time to go. I hate leaving. It doesn’t matter for how long, where I’m going, or why, I hate leaving home. Even to go on a much anticipated motorcycle trip. I’ll have to talk to my shrink about this one.

My wife finally ushered me down to the garage and pointed me towards the road. I hugged her like it was the last time.

Once rolling, I’m fine. It takes about 100 yards and I’m all about the trip. Funny how that goes.

Most of the riding I do is around the area. I have a couple of loops I like to do, one of about 70 miles, another of about 200, and a third of a bit over 400. In all cases, I’m thinking about coming home within a relatively short period of time. So the rhythm is riding out then riding back. Multi-day trips are like that, but not. In this case, it’s four days of nothing but riding by myself, then five days at the retreat, then a day of riding, then two days of working, then two to three days of riding. So that sense of out-then-back won’t show up for quite some time.

A couple of hours in and I am thinking how much I like riding knowing that I’ll get up and do it again tomorrow and the next day . . . it gives the whole endeavor a long loping rhythm that’s not like anything else I do. I concentrate on not concentrating, just riding and noticing everything and nothing. The bike wants to go faster than I want to so I’m constantly monitoring the mirrors, the GPS, my speed, and the chirping radar detector. I’ve gotten too many performance awards from the local constabulary in the last year to want another.

Crossing into Oregon I decide to make a route adjustment on my GPS. Before leaving I installed the latest maps. Unknowingly, I also installed the latest version of the software, the wretched 4.2 build that is Microsoft-grade unstable. Entering an address causes the unit to crash and shut down. How they managed to ship software on a GPS that won’t let you enter an address is a complete mystery. And a pain. It’s not until I get to the motel that I’m able to repair the situation by installing version 3.9 of the software . . . and wipe out my first day trip log. Oh well.

All my new gear performs flawlessly. Walking around in ten pounds of gear is a complete chore, but once in the saddle, the weight disappears replaced by a kind of solidity and support that I really like. It’s too much for track riding by twice, but over the road, I find comfort in the bulk and feeling of substance that all the high tech fabric and armor delivers. Knowing that you can see me from outer space is an added bonus.

Going on a two week trip with a brand new helmet is probably folly, but the Suomy Vandal fits me perfectly . . . unlike my Suomy Extreme which was painfully tight in the same size. I’ve outfitted the all-black (of course) Vandal with spiffy retro-reflective arrows on the back for added visibility. The helmet is averagely noisy, vents well (ask me again after I get to southern Arizona), and is decently aerodynamic. And wonder of wonders, changing the screen is easy as you please . . . also unlike the Extreme which requires four hands and a masters degree.

My route has me hammering interstate down to Salem, and then cutting across to Bend on well traveled secondary roads. As is always the case, just when things get remotely photogenic, they also get seriously ride-worthy. I suppose if someone were paying me to provide photos and words, I’d make an effort to stop and snap, but for the life of me I can’t otherwise manage it. I run a constant dialog in my head where I argue with some faceless being about why I should or shouldn’t stop to take pictures for posterity. The winning argument is that it’s my ride and the whole point, after all, is to ride. So I compromise and grab random snaps while I whisk down the road . . . truly the worst of all worlds.

The road to Bend gains altitude until the woods on either side of the road are deep with snow. Spring is coming slowly. Dropping down the eastern slope of the Cascades the remains of winter are everywhere: water in abundance; birds galore; soft shades of green covering the forest floor. It’s all lovely. Later, as I glide the last few miles to Lakeview, the fields on either side of the road are green dashed with Lupine as far as I can see. The sun has finally muscled through the persistent cloud cover to paint the landscape with yellow-orange light. My body aches but in a good way. I find the Interstate 8 Motel. Finish this blog and it’s bed time.

Tags: FJR1300, Lakeview Oregon, Temecula, Tubac AZ, Seattle Cycle Center, Suomy Extreme, Vandal, Gerbings, Motoport