Rush Hour Rambling

Weather: Is it Summer already? Sunny and 77°F as I type this. (25°C)

Frogwing, on vacation in the Badlands of South Dakota, last year.

Let me introduce you to the best motorbike I have ever owned.

Frogwing, as you must know by now, is a 2003 Kawasaki KLR-650 A17. The A17 designation means that it is the 17th model year manufactured for the American market.

For some twenty years now, Kawasaki Heavy Industries has built this bike with only minor updates and modifications, for use by adventurers the world over.

They also make a version for the U.S. Marine Corps, which uses a diesel engine that runs on the same fuel as the Hum-Vee and the M1 Abrams tank. After the venerable Honda 50 Super Cub, this has got to be one of the most successful motorbike designs ever, and for good reason.

As a commuter bike, it has no equal. With a five gallon tank and an engine that sips fuel at a rate of fifty miles per gallon, I can almost get by on one tank of gas per week. Performance is perfectly in line with legal speeds on public roads. But it is when those public roads become clogged with traffic or other hazards that the KLR really shines.

Our Ride to Work this morning was perfect. We left at the usual time, and took the usual route, but that was where the routine ended.

Frogwing has four times as much power and torque as the Red Baron scooter that I rode through the Winter. He sits much taller than the scooters do, which is an advantage when trying to see over or around that big fat Land Rover SUV in front of us.

But the best part comes when I see no oncoming traffic for the next quarter-mile, and decide to dispose of this ugly box of metal that stands between us and the open road ahead. On the river roads, that is as simple as selecting third gear and twisting the throttle… problem solved.

Frogwing is all about grunty, thumpety torque. There is nothing the poor yuppie bastard can do to stop us. We blow past him like he was standing still, and he honks his horn in frustration.

Awwww…. Too bad, Mr. Suit-and-Tie. The working man wins this round.

It’s so much nicer to have an unobstructed view of the road ahead. Frogwing and I don’t have to dodge potholes like I do on the scooters. We can bound right over them like nothing else on the road. But when I can see them far enough ahead, we can weave our way between them smoothly, and the ride becomes a fluid succession of moves almost resembling a dance. This morning, on my Ride to Work, I felt something approaching bliss. It was good to be back on Frogwing again.

My workday was going to be a short one. I had an appointment with the alchemists and bloodsuckers at the local clinic around lunchtime. As I get older, they seem to want to see me more often. I hate that. But it meant that I would only have to work a half-day, and then I was free to ride after the doc was through with me.

I walked out of that clinic into a sunny, warm afternoon. Frogwing started eagerly, and we roared out of that parking lot, bound for who-knows-where. Attempting to escape the metro area as quickly as possible, we headed for the highway. Bad move. There was road construction at the on-ramp, and a line of cars was waiting in front of a fellow with an orange vest and a STOP sign.

This is one of those situations that Frogwing was made for. It took me about twenty seconds to assess the tactical layout: We couldn’t creep up either side, because that would only result in sharing a lane with a pissed-off trucker, and still waiting for the construction guy to let us pass. I looked up and to my left. There was a steep grass slope between us and the highway, but no fence. Hah!

I toed the shifter into first, turned the handlebars, and gave Frogwing a big twist of throttle. We leapt up that hill like a jackrabbit on crack! I got us stopped at the top, just short of the curbing, and looked to see if any traffic was coming. When it was clear, we accelerated down the shoulder, and smoothly merged onto the highway. Can’t do that on a scooter, I’m afraid.

Heck, you can’t really do that on anything but a dual-sport, adventure bike. That’s why Frogwing is my favorite.

We had a great ride, across the river and back into Wisconsin. We hit some dirt roads that I remembered from last season, and rambled up and down the “Alphabet Roads”, which are so-named because all county roads in Wisconsin are designated by letters.

In Prescott, on the way home, we stopped at Enrique’s Taco House for a wonderful chicken fajita burrito and chips. This little place is built into a corner of the Subway, just to the left of the bridge when you’re headed east. Wisconsin Highway 35, has been crying out for a good Mexican joint for a long time. This is the only one I’m aware of at present. If anyone knows of another, please let me know?

So I’m home now, pounding out another blog entry and trying to convince myself that the scooter is the best way to go tomorrow. This is a tough choice, but I have made a commitment here. The Black Baron has a couple of development issues that I need to work on. He is a wonderful machine, and more than adequate for my daily commute. While he doesn’t have the tactical capability of Frogwing, he does burn less fuel. My testing so far has yielded sixty-five miles per gallon, and that may improve as we sort out the fuel system.

He is also a very pleasant ride in his own right. I believe the term I have used is “magic carpet”. That’s exactly what the Baron PM feels like on smooth asphalt. So yes, I will be riding a scooter again tomorrow, and for most of my commutes to come.

I’m going to save Frogwing for those occasions that need his unique capabilities. Like when I need to go out and whup some SUV ass.

Weather: Partly Cloudy, Fifty degrees F (10°C)

Opossum come-a-cropper on Rustic Road 92. (I didn’t do it… I swear.)

Some of you may remember my old column at MMM, which I called “Backroads Diary”.

In my monthly dispatches, I used to ride my KLR-650 “Frogwing” down the roads less travelled, and report to readers on what I found, usually at the end of a dirt road, somewhere far away from Walmartworld.

Well, I would like to resurrect that column here in my blog, occasionally, to document those weekend rides that I just have to share with my readers. It has nothing to do with my Ride To Work, but it has everything to do with Working To Ride. I hope you don’t mind…

Today, I finally took Frogwing out for a proper ride, to prepare him for our commuting adventures in the weeks to come.

The state of Wisconsin has a program called “Rustic Roads”, in which they designate certain rural roads as historic, and worthy of public funding for conservation and maintenance. The roads all have special brown and yellow signs which clearly mark the beginning, point the way through twists and turns, and announce when you have reached the end. Many of these roads are dirt and gravel, and some of them have water crossings or other challenging features.

Today, since this was just a shake-down cruise, I limited our exploration to Rustic Road 92, between River Falls and Prescott, off of Wisconsin Highway 35.

Here is what the Wisconsin DOT has to say about Rustic Road 92:

R-92 is a lovely, winding and hilly route that takes the traveler though a canopy of basswood, elm, maple, and oak trees for part of the route – giving the traveler a feeling of entering a peaceful tunnel. During spring and summer, the sides of the road are lined with green foliage and wildflowers such as Dutchman’s breeches, bloodroot, chamomile, and hepatica. Rolling farm fields and steep tree-covered hills add to the beauty of the road.

What Frogwing and I found was an old asphalt two-lane, lined with bare trees, dead leaves, and mud. As we passed the driveway of a large farm, we had to dodge clumps of cow manure in order to avoid carrying Eau de Agriculture with us everywhere we went.

I didn’t see or smell the Dutchman’s breeches anywhere, and that was probably a Good Thing.

At one point, we came upon the poor `possum pictured above. At first, I thought he was napping, as `possums are wont to do in the daylight. But on further examination, I realized that he had somehow been killed by a passing motor vehicle. The trauma wasn’t obvious, but his complete lack of liveliness was a sure sign of his deceased status.

We rode on, and my thoughts turned to matters of mortality. Then it hit me: Maybe this opossum was playin’ possum with me! Perhaps the little critter had heard Frogwing’s snortling exhaust and flopped lifeless in the road, falling back on his ancient instincts. That’s what they do, right?

My curiousity aroused, I persuaded Mr. Frogwing to turn around, and we rode the two miles back to the scene of the… incident. It had been seven or eight minutes since I last saw him. If he were faking it, I reasoned, he would surely have crossed the road by now.

But as we rounded the corner and approached the scene, sure enough, the creature was still lying there. I watched him intently. There was no sign of breathing or anything else which would suggest that this organism was still functioning. But there was also no sign of tire tracks or blood or guts… or anything else which would suggest that this animal had met with foul play.

I also noticed that there was no other traffic on this road. So I put Frogwing up on his centerstand, and pulled my camera out of his handy J.C. Whitney trunk. Walking around to the front of the victim, I set up my camera on it’s mini-tripod, about a foot from his nose. Still no reaction. I prodded him with my boot… nothing. If this critter wasn’t dead, he was really, really good at playin’ possum.

After the photographs were taken, I mounted Frogwing again, and we rode around the “dead” opossum to resume our abreviated expedition.

We rode South on 35 for awhile until we got to Prescott, where I had lunch. Since I opened this piece with a photo of a “dead” opossum, I think it would be quite unfair to segue right into a review of the wonderful taco joint where I satisfied my apetite. Watch for that in a future installment.

Satisfied that Frogwing was fully awakened from his Winter hibernation, I turned his handlebars towards home. There I tapped into this wonderful tool which is the Internet, and found out the following, from Indiana University’s “A Moment of Science” website:

Possums are famous for “playing dead” when threatened, but this isn’t quite accurate. They are not “playing” dead at all: the possum goes into shock when particularly stressed. While not dead, it can be found lying on its side with its legs extended and is, in fact, limp and unconscious during this time, like a person who has fainted.

While playing dead discourages predators from chasing the possum, it also makes them vulnerable. When drivers see the limp possum in the road, they don’t bother to swerve, since they assume it’s already dead. There are also accounts of people shooting the comatose possum in order to “put it out of its misery.” There is such a thing as overplaying a part.

Wow. So that little rascal could have been alive, but unconscious, the whole time? Look at those teeth! What if it had suddenly awakened while I was setting up the shot? I wasn’t wearing my gloves at the time, nor my helmet. Do they go straight for the jugular? Do they carry rabies? Yikes!

So many questions…

But these are the little incidents which make up our everyday adventures on a motorbike. Had I been driving a car, truck, or SUV, this wouldn’t have even registered on my consciousness, except as something to steer around. Heck, I wouldn’t have even turned down that road, had I been in a cage. But because I was riding Frogwing, I learned a lot about an animal which isn’t terribly common here in Minnesota. Or is it?

I don’t remember hearing much about them, growing up, except that those slow-talking Southern folk used to mention them all the time. Now I know that they live up here, and occasionally cross the roads just like every other living creature. Just something else to be aware of, while riding the backroads I love so much.

Weather: Lightning, Thunder, Wind and Rain

This all happened on my ride home from work yesterday…

It was a dark and stormy night, when the Andy Goldfine Show rolled into town.

The Rider sat tall and wet in the saddle, dressed in a high-viz yellow Darien jacket, and straddling a highly modified and well-used BMW of the GS variety. Not being a Beemerphile myself, that’s all I can tell you about Andy’s faithful steed, other than the fact that their first ride of the season took them from Duluth to Minneapolis through a heavy downpour.

Underneath his Aerostich armor, Andy was warm and dry. How could it be otherwise? The founder of the famous riding gear company knows what works in this kind of weather, and he came down here to Betty’s Bikes and Buns to share some of that knowledge with a loyal audience of past and future customers.

There were at least a dozen motorbikes getting drenched in the parking lot, many of which belonged to Ironbutt veteran long-distance riders. These people, more than anyone else, appreciate the thought and experience that goes into the design and construction of the world’s finest motorcycling gear. When Andy speaks, these people listen, even when they have to ride through a thunderstorm to hear him.

My good friend Mark Foster made the introduction, and Mr. Goldfine started off with a shortish speech read from notes folded up and stashed in a pocket. This is classic Andy; unpretentious and straightforward.

He got through his prepared statement quickly, and then he took us on a long, extemporaneous (his word) journey through the history and philosophy of the Aerostich company. There were several side trips down interesting rhetorical trails, and the SRO crowd packed into Betty’s hung on his every word.

After awhile, I started looking at the clock hanging on the wall above his head. I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. for my Ride to Work in the morning, so I couldn’t stay too late. I didn’t know it at the time, but soon found out that nobody had reset that particular clock to daylight savings time.

I found this out while looking around the room, and spotting the other clock behind the service counter. That one told me it was nearly nine p.m., and I still had an hour’s ride ahead of me.

That’s one weakness I have: I can’t function at my job with less than six hour’s sleep. It requires too much mental agility, especially on Fridays when everybody else is trying to get stuff off their desk before the weekend. I needed to go home, right now, but the only exit was up front, right past where Andy was speaking.

Andy seemed to be winding down anyway, so I walked up to him, thanked him for coming, and told him I had to Ride to Work in the morning. I knew this was something he would understand. He told folks about this blog, bid me farewell, and I mounted the Black Baron for our long ride through the darkness and rain.

In those conditions, with the kaleidoscope of city lights reflecting off the streets, I couldn’t see the potholes until it was too late. BB’s suspension coped well enough, though we took a quite a beating until we reached the river roads that I know so well. I didn’t have to see the potholes there, they are imprinted on my memory and programmed into my internal navigation synapses.

On East River Road, we found ourselves on the shore of a small pond. It seems one of the storm sewers had clogged, and left the road flooded. The depth appeared to be six-to-eight inches. This would have been a high-speed blast on Frogwing, but the long and low scooter would be easily swamped if the wrong parts got wet. I knew the crown of the road would be shallowest, so we rode very slowly, right down the middle. There was no other traffic anywhere in sight.

We got through without a splash, and the Black Baron never even hiccupped. I arrived home a little after ten, and it took me another hour to wind down. My dreams last night were filled with imagery from Andy’s story-telling, mixed in with some of the roads I hope to revisit this season. It was a wonderful way to spend a rainy night, and I’m so glad Betty’s hosted the event.

Andy indended to ride all the way back to Duluth last night; some 150 miles in the windy, wet darkness. Shouldn’t be a problem for him. He is, above all, a Rider.