Jumping in with both feet
Had a hell of a day yesterday. Five of us from the Cycle, Rod & Custom club went on a seven-hour cold-weather motorcycle ride, in formation, wearing our colors. It was my first experience as acting Road Captain. Memorizing maps and using hand signals to maneuver in tandem: it was like piloting a tractor-trailer made out of bikes.
For the first time, I thought my bike was too quiet. I purposely kept the stock mufflers on my bike. You get a bit more power that way, and when going on long rides, the last thing I want is to listen to the engine roar at 90 decibels for hours on end.
But it was odd being the guy at the front of the line, with a politely mild engine thrum, followed by the barking thunder of four sets of shotgun pipes.
It was a cold, long ride, probably too long for our first trip as a group, but there's no better way to get started. Rip off the band-aid and take a real trip. Taking local highways up through Amish country and the state game lands, we not only saw the huge wind turbines on the mountaintops, we rode under them. As quietly freaky as those things are from a distance, they're even more alien when you're right underneath them.
The entire ride could be characterized as me frowning under a bala clava, thinking, "Man, we've been on this road way too long. We must have missed our turn. Shit, we definitely missed our turn, shoulda hit the next road by now. I'm seeing signs for the wrong city. We might not even still be on the correct road, there was that weird jumble at the last town - oh wait, there it is." :)
We hit up Bill's Old Bike Barn, and then shot home on the turnpike. So we got about 3.5 hours of country riding and 2.5 hours of hard highway miles, padded with local roads on either end.
It's a damn good time. We'll pick it up again when things thaw out in March or April. Although so long as it isn't icy, we've proven that you can bundle up for any temperature! Long johns and double socks; thermal shirts, scarves, and hooded sweatshirts under our club jackets; bala clavas or handkerchiefs over our noses. We probably looked like a bulky pack of Michelin-man train robbers.
Edit: Oh, a disturbing thought occurred to me. Let me set the scene.
One situation we often encounter is a need to merge lanes on a busy highway. At the head of the line, I wait for a somewhat clear stretch, then do the karate-chop motion with my left hand that signals, "turn left". The guys behind me "pass it back", each doing the same motion in turn until it gets to the Rearguard. The designated rearguard merges first and keeps pace with the group, letting everyone else in ahead of him.
So here's the issue. Imagine a group of bikers in black jackets with enormous Iron Crosses painted on the back. At least one is wearing a German helmet. And the whole group is thrusting their left hands out into the air, palms down...
XD
For the first time, I thought my bike was too quiet. I purposely kept the stock mufflers on my bike. You get a bit more power that way, and when going on long rides, the last thing I want is to listen to the engine roar at 90 decibels for hours on end.
But it was odd being the guy at the front of the line, with a politely mild engine thrum, followed by the barking thunder of four sets of shotgun pipes.
It was a cold, long ride, probably too long for our first trip as a group, but there's no better way to get started. Rip off the band-aid and take a real trip. Taking local highways up through Amish country and the state game lands, we not only saw the huge wind turbines on the mountaintops, we rode under them. As quietly freaky as those things are from a distance, they're even more alien when you're right underneath them.
The entire ride could be characterized as me frowning under a bala clava, thinking, "Man, we've been on this road way too long. We must have missed our turn. Shit, we definitely missed our turn, shoulda hit the next road by now. I'm seeing signs for the wrong city. We might not even still be on the correct road, there was that weird jumble at the last town - oh wait, there it is." :)
We hit up Bill's Old Bike Barn, and then shot home on the turnpike. So we got about 3.5 hours of country riding and 2.5 hours of hard highway miles, padded with local roads on either end.
It's a damn good time. We'll pick it up again when things thaw out in March or April. Although so long as it isn't icy, we've proven that you can bundle up for any temperature! Long johns and double socks; thermal shirts, scarves, and hooded sweatshirts under our club jackets; bala clavas or handkerchiefs over our noses. We probably looked like a bulky pack of Michelin-man train robbers.
Edit: Oh, a disturbing thought occurred to me. Let me set the scene.
One situation we often encounter is a need to merge lanes on a busy highway. At the head of the line, I wait for a somewhat clear stretch, then do the karate-chop motion with my left hand that signals, "turn left". The guys behind me "pass it back", each doing the same motion in turn until it gets to the Rearguard. The designated rearguard merges first and keeps pace with the group, letting everyone else in ahead of him.
So here's the issue. Imagine a group of bikers in black jackets with enormous Iron Crosses painted on the back. At least one is wearing a German helmet. And the whole group is thrusting their left hands out into the air, palms down...
XD