Rides, ramblings and rants on a motorcycle.
- We are scientists, too!
10.31.2006,2:35 PM
Father Time and Halloween
I hate delegated time changes. Time changes infinitely. Otherwise nothing would exist. Existence in any aspect is measured by observed changes; time isn’t static and it can’t go back, it can only go forward. Unless someone invents a machine to travel back in time. Thus time is relative. Our perception of time changes more than time itself. If we weren’t able to observe changes and measure time by some unit of comparison, would time exist?
Enough of the circular metaphysics. The ‘Powers That Be’ decided to change our universal measurement of time: the clock. This time, to be redundant, it was setting the clocks backwards. Invariably, this always upsets my internal biological and mental clock (which I rely on more than the change of numbers on my wrist and walls). Although the upset is transient, this time it’s been over three days.
The first day, Sunday, was inconsequential. I rarely wear my watch on weekend days and avoid time-constrained commitments, if I can. I was an hour early to the Pie Run Saturday morning and enjoyed over a half-hour of quiet warm sunshine before others arrived. Sunday I dawdled around the house and rode into town to meet other riders to view the MotoGP. The lack of bikes at the Buffalo Wild Wings indicated I was early, so I had a tasty mocha at the nearby Starbucks until I was ready to go in. I was early again, but I always carry a book to read.
Sunday night before crawling under the covers in the dark, I adjusted my alarm clock to reflect the delegated time change. Or so I thought. I woke the next morning to the alarm beeping an hour later than I normally rise. With a resounding “Oh shit!” I leapt out of bed before I realized the futility of trying to beat the rush hour traffic. So I made a pot of coffee and leisurely prepared for the day at work and checked my email. I was late to work but not frazzled by rushing.
Last night before bed I readjusted the clock and checked the time for the alarm by the light of the lamp. Feeling confidant that all was well, I slept the night through with weird dreams and all, waking slowly with my mind already in gear. Hmmm….. something’s not right. I turned to look at the alarm clock and it was seven minutes before I usually leave the house. With a loud shout of strong profanity, I leapt out of bed, dumped enough ground coffee and water into the coffee maker for my thermal mug, pulled on clothes and brushed my teeth. I had a doctor’s appointment first thing this morning; I could not be late. I was dressed, out of the house and on the bike in full gear in twelve minutes; record time for me.
I kept the face shield up to use the cold air as a wake-up call. Fortunately and carefully, I made up the lost fifteen minutes by rolling the throttle aggressively on the dark FM road and on the three-lanes of I-820 before it dwindled to two lanes of bumper-to-bumper morning traffic. I arrived at the train station only five minutes later than normal but in the morning light rather than darkness as it has been for over a month. This threw me off, too, but not unpleasantly. For once I could remove my belongings out of the side cases in the light rather than fishing in the dark. I covered the bike (yes, I cover my bike) and made it to the station platform shortly before my train pulled in. But this morning I was wearing all my gear; I didn’t have enough time to remove and stash my riding pants in a side case.
On the upper deck of the train car, I pulled off my bulky touring jacket and unzipped one of the two jackets underneath for comfort. Sipping on my still-warm coffee was a delight as I read my book on the way to work. I was finally waking up.
Debarking from the train, I walked through the hospital and into the medical center to the building where my appointment was. Since my former lab was nearby, I knew the route and arrived at my destination in time for a small coffee provided by the staff. Walking up to the counter to check in, the young man looked up, smiled and said:
“Cool; nice Halloween costume!”
I looked at him quizzically and asked: “Excuse me?”
“Nice costume. A ‘biker,’ right?”
Then it dawned on me that I was still in full gear, only minus helmet and gloves.
“Um, no. I *am* a ‘biker’. I ride a motorcycle to work. This is my riding gear.”
A flash of embarrassment crossed his face and his eyes darted about;
“Ohhhh!!! I’m sorry. I see. Um, yes. If you’ll just have a seat and the physician’s assistant will be right with you.”
In a few moments I was in one of the privacy rooms and removed my coat, two jackets underneath and proceeded to pull apart the Velcro, unzip and pull my outer pants off. Phew. It was getting warm in all this gear.
In several minutes I was arguing with the MD that I can’t take antihistamines that make me groggy or drowsy. I ride a motorcycle; I cannot afford any impairment of judgment or reflexes. Okay, so now I have a nasal corticosteroid to try.
No, I don’t care if I am at the age where “folks should be taking statins.” I don’t have high cholesterol, I am aware of the side effects and I’m a biologist; I read the literature. No definitive evidence exists to substantiate efficacy of statins for every middle-aged human regardless of health status. I’m not a mouse. I refuse medication for a condition I don’t have.
I politely smiled at the roll of her eyes. Muting my rant about the medical profession’s universal tendency for blanket prescribing unnecessary medication, I pleasantly wished her a nice day while I donned my riding gear and sunglasses.
I wandered into the lab and yelled a “Happy Halloween, everybody!!” to the lab staff and welcomed a cappuccino from the office espresso machine. Ahhh, that frothy milk-laced elixir of the Goddesses.
Life is good.
Labels: meanderings, rant
10.29.2006,10:51 AM
A bum on two wheels
“When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was upon me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy described was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight maybe senility will do the job. Nothing has worked……I fear the disease is incurable.”
John Steinbeck eloquently describes what some of us experience not once, but through a lifetime. The urge for going. I get the urge for going, and I just have to go. It’s in my blood and runs in my veins. It is in every cell of my body.
One month ago, I was on my return leg of a fourteen-day road trip across five states. I can still taste, smell and see all of it. In essence, I'm still on it.
When I was very young, at the ripe age of six or so, I tied some food and a few tokens in a bandana, tied it to a stick and went off down the street from our house on my first walkabout. My parents thought I ‘ran away’. But that was not it; I was ‘going to.’ Where to I don’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. I got the urge for going, and I just had to go.
Since I was little, I was inspired to travel in exotic places or just out in the backyard. I collected maps and brochures of states and other countries, gazing at the photos, reading about the geography and cultures, with a longing I didn’t understand. I built an elaborate fort made of hay in the woods behind my house and it was often a destination to read of far away places.
It was a visceral drive that captured me and I started to let it steer me as soon as I could walk. Without any real comprehension until much later in my life. It was inherent and I didn’t, and still don’t, understand why others didn’t have the same drive.
“What do you mean you’ve never left your home state? Don’t you feel the need to explore, discover, experience what lays beyond your hometown? Your home state? Your own country? Are you nuts?”, I find myself thinking sometimes.
Years later I learned why people don’t move beyond their own little microcosm where they grew up and lived. Some people have accused my wandering lust as an inability to be happy and always in search of meaning. But they’re mistaken and I have tried to explain that is not the case. I don’t wander because I am running away from something or myself. To the contrary, I wander because it is what lies ahead, and it is what I am. It is the destination and the journey.
Steinbeck referred to the disease and the afflicted as being a ‘bum’. “I don’t improve. Once a bum, always a bum.” I recall as a teen asking my father what I should be when I grew up. When he responded I could be anything I want to be, I asked him if it was all right for me to be a ‘bum.’ He shrugged and responded that as long as I do it well and to always be honest.
So throughout my teen and adult years I’ve been a bum. There were periods of years during which I partook of the “American Dream,” doing what all people do as they mature: going to college, having a family, working long hours, acquiring ‘things’ and staying in one place for many years. But even during those times, I still traveled. Even with a baby and toddler with me, we still went found time and the capacity to move on the road and explore. We even moved from one coast to the other.
Nevertheless, the itchy feet would start and grow until I had to go somewhere, or I was unfit to live with. As a family, we would go for an all-day drive in the van, or a weekend journey along the coast or the mountains. Sometimes, when the urge was upon me, I would jump in my truck and drive with no destination in mind. I was moving; that was all I cared about. Other times I would throw a pillow and blanket in the truck and drive to the coast, finding a rest area or park to sleep in the back seat when night descended. I’ve even been known to wake up at three in the morning before a scheduled trip and depart in the silence of the darkness with the stars as my companions.
How do you explain to someone this urge to go, be moving, this restlessness when you are bound to your current place and time? How do you describe the soaring spirit and grinning when you are on the road? Perhaps it is inexplicable, except to those who share it.
Since I left Oregon and moved to Texas eight years ago, with no job or place to live, and started a new chapter in my life, I have not been on a journey without a destination and planned objective. Like any bum, a destination is usually inevitable. And like most, I can cultivate a reason to travel from the garden of plenty. But that is the only predetermined factor. The rest in between is often unplanned, or at least, the intentions are subject to change.
“A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.”
When we return from the journey we are hardly ever the same. If we truly let the trip take us, we discover new places, new delights, new sensations that we’ve never had before. Or old ones are rejuvenated. We meet new people, strangers; we meet pieces of their lives as they have lived them, where they are and from other places they have been and what they have done in their lives. We learn of things they know that we may never understand. Yet they all become a part of us, too. Although they may be different, in many ways we are similar underneath.
When I return from a journey or a trip, I am a different person.
Still the same person as when I left, but in many ways my world has grown. And become richer and full of life. All the images of the mountains, canyons, prairies, the conversations with strangers met along the way: they are all a part of me, and my life and world are expanded. I bring them all back with me.
The saying “You can never go home” may be more true to us bums than to anyone else. ‘Home’ to most people is where they grew up, where they have set anchor and their roots are firmly planted in the ground. For us, ‘home’ is where we hang our hat, or helmet. I returned from this trip without a ‘home’, because I realized on this trip that home is inside me. It is wherever I am. I returned to the same physical space but as a different person than when I left.
After describing the high prairies that I rode across on my last journey, a close friend commented that seems to be ‘where I belong’. My immediate response was that I know where I don’t belong, but I don’t know where I do belong. Perhaps I don’t necessarily ‘belong’ anywhere, but everywhere is where I belong. I can easily live on the coast, a lake, in the mountains or canyons, on the high plains, or even the desert. As long as I can still be in touch with my environment and don’t become desensitized to what surrounds me. When I do, then it’s time to take a trip or a journey. Sometimes I can come back and feel rejuvenated; other times, I don’t. And that is when it is time to consider moving.
Like Steinbeck on his travels, I also encountered other people having that look in their eyes, often commenting they wish they could go too.
“They spoke quietly of how they wanted to go someday, to move about, free and unanchored, not toward something but away from something. I saw this look and heard this yearning everywhere in every state I visited. Nearly every American hungers to move.”
I suspect it’s a part of our nature, like many other animals. But my experience echoed Steinbecks; most are running away from something. Whereas us bums are traveling to somewhere, or just moving. At times I saw the hunger in their eyes just as it resides in mine: the burning desire to go, to move, anyplace. They had the dream I had, that Steinbeck had, all our lives and there is no cure.
With this realization on my last journey, as I rode through the vivid shades of earth in the canyons and mountain passes bejeweled with golden colors of cottonwood trees, I grinned, looking side to side, and whispering aloud inside my helmet, “I will be back. Wait and see. I will return.”
And so I shall some day. But it won’t take nine years.
Labels: essays, meanderings, Vagabonds
10.23.2006,5:32 AM
Bikes and Sinus Demons
Sinusitis: that's when you hate your sinuses and your sinuses hate you.
It's hard to believe that such small cavities in your head could cause you such misery. But they can; packed full of polyglycosaminoglycans, commonly called 'snot', killing all sense of taste and smell, overfill running out your nose, your eyes bulge out to escape the pressure, and your head pounds in protest, "Get this crap out of my head!!" with a constant banging on the frontal cranium above your eyeball orbs.
I dread putting on the helmet in fear of a sneezing fit (keep the faceshield up); the bottom front bangs your sternum with each forward explosion of air and snot. The already inhibited abilitiy to breathe sends claustophobic signals of suffication to your lizard brain. And you are always questioning "Did I stuff enough tissue in my tank bag?".
Oddly enough, once the bike is rolling the pressure inside the sinus cavities subsides, as if they've been appeased like little screaming children being soothed by a lullaby. One nostril at a time, the little sinus demons withdraw; you can feel their creeping exit down the caverns in your head, sometimes with an audible "Pop!", but to where?
Debark from the bike, remove helmet and they return in full force with 60 seconds of violent sneezing ensuing. It makes me want to get back on the bike and keep going, never stop as if the nasty little sinus demons are chasing me and I must escape.
I bike for ice cream and ride to escape the Sinus Demons in my head.
Now I think I have really lost it.........
It's hard to believe that such small cavities in your head could cause you such misery. But they can; packed full of polyglycosaminoglycans, commonly called 'snot', killing all sense of taste and smell, overfill running out your nose, your eyes bulge out to escape the pressure, and your head pounds in protest, "Get this crap out of my head!!" with a constant banging on the frontal cranium above your eyeball orbs.
I dread putting on the helmet in fear of a sneezing fit (keep the faceshield up); the bottom front bangs your sternum with each forward explosion of air and snot. The already inhibited abilitiy to breathe sends claustophobic signals of suffication to your lizard brain. And you are always questioning "Did I stuff enough tissue in my tank bag?".
Oddly enough, once the bike is rolling the pressure inside the sinus cavities subsides, as if they've been appeased like little screaming children being soothed by a lullaby. One nostril at a time, the little sinus demons withdraw; you can feel their creeping exit down the caverns in your head, sometimes with an audible "Pop!", but to where?
Debark from the bike, remove helmet and they return in full force with 60 seconds of violent sneezing ensuing. It makes me want to get back on the bike and keep going, never stop as if the nasty little sinus demons are chasing me and I must escape.
I bike for ice cream and ride to escape the Sinus Demons in my head.
Now I think I have really lost it.........
10.16.2006,10:06 PM
The Commemorative Journey: In Memory of One I Loved
Losing someone close to you never misses its aim at the heart. The arrow sails straight and true, dead center, piercing your heart and all the memories and emotions come tumbling out like a broken piñata. You’re overwhelmed with the past, the present and future, each pulling strings on your grip of life when confronted by death and loss. Although no one can claim immortality, part of us goes with that person just as part of him or her remains with us. And no matter how many years separate the last time paths crossed, the impact is still the same as if it were yesterday.
Despite his college education, he chose to work with his hands and be close to what gave him solace: the outdoors. We spent many hours, sometimes days at a time, in the forests of Maine and New Hampshire: exploring old logging roads, hiking up mountains, finding mushrooms so large they filled a frying pan, hunting birds in the overgrown meadows along the woods, spending several days at a cabin by ourselves. He would hunt woodcock for me to cook on the cookstove. Memorably, we often sat on the truck tailgate surrounded by stars and let them speak to us.
Just as I found the lake, a bright blue sky and the sun smiled overhead. This was going to be a good day.
I found a spot to park and unload my gear a few hundred feet from the edge of the cliff overlooking the massive lake. As luck would have it, an empty shelter nearby would serve as my reclining area and a place to keep dry should it rain. The tent, dwarfed by the shelter, looked like the cocoon it would be at night.
I received the news last week. Despite the twenty-two years since we had seen each other, his death left me with a heart full of pain. Surrounded by whirling memories and all the associations, I chose to honor him and his passing as he would have liked.
Despite his college education, he chose to work with his hands and be close to what gave him solace: the outdoors. We spent many hours, sometimes days at a time, in the forests of Maine and New Hampshire: exploring old logging roads, hiking up mountains, finding mushrooms so large they filled a frying pan, hunting birds in the overgrown meadows along the woods, spending several days at a cabin by ourselves. He would hunt woodcock for me to cook on the cookstove. Memorably, we often sat on the truck tailgate surrounded by stars and let them speak to us.
I loaded the bike with camping gear by the light of the porch lamps before the sun rose. A gentle light rain seemed appropriate for my leave-taking and we rode out into the early morning darkness. I wanted to watch the sun rise as I rode to herald this journey. As I rode north, the sun rose next to me and behind the clouds to turn the sky a light blue-grey.
Hours later riding east, clouds parted with sunlight filtering through as if someone had airbrushed lines in shades of blue and white from the cloud bottoms to the earth. It hinted a promise of a sunny day ahead.
Just as I found the lake, a bright blue sky and the sun smiled overhead. This was going to be a good day.
I found a spot to park and unload my gear a few hundred feet from the edge of the cliff overlooking the massive lake. As luck would have it, an empty shelter nearby would serve as my reclining area and a place to keep dry should it rain. The tent, dwarfed by the shelter, looked like the cocoon it would be at night.
Shedding the hot insulated gear, I donned the Camelbac knowing I would need the water later. The camera slung criss-crossed over my shoulders, I started out on a hike along the forested rim of the cliffs that ran the perimeter of the lake.
During the five-hour hike, I took him with me and we remembered all the things we used to do together: the many conversations and the comfortable silence we shared. As I hiked I pointed out the beech, oak and maple trees. And, Oh look! A tall Cedar tree; arborvitae, the ‘tree of life.’ The feather-like evergreen branches heavy with glabrous white-blue berries and its exfoliating shaggy brown bark. Remember how you liked to crush a few scaled leaves between your fingers and breath in the scent as if it were a forest rose?
Do you remember when we sat on a ledge like this, you trying to convince me of the musical yet logical Latin language? Marveling at the colors and form of lichen growing on granite, asking me why some stems are round and some square, or how do leaves turn colors: How does the maple tree know to turn red?
Do you remember when we sat on a ledge like this, you trying to convince me of the musical yet logical Latin language? Marveling at the colors and form of lichen growing on granite, asking me why some stems are round and some square, or how do leaves turn colors: How does the maple tree know to turn red?Remember teaching me to identify animal footprints and shapes of their scat, identifying songs of birds, predicting flight patterns of woodland and meadow birds, and the time we were walking in the White Mountain forest and turning the bend to stand in front of a huge bull moose? Remember the hours upon hours sitting outside in the black of the night trying to outline all the constellations in the sky and recite their mythology, and when you woke me at 2am to watch a meteor shower?
I remember watching you play guitar, lost in the music in your head. And you teased me for my mistakes when I built my cabin, and your patience in teaching me how to work with wood by ‘thinking’ like it? Helping me build the dormer in the loft, nailing a new roof and you gently talking me down off the roof when I froze in panic?
I took you with me as we walked through the forest, the deciduous and coniferous woods that we loved. Ever present was the lake next to us. Sometimes the trees would part or a path beckoned to the edge of the cliffs to reveal the vast blue water beneath us, contrasted by the buff-whiteness of the sandstone cliffs. The Tall Tree of the Forest that was you and the Lady of the Lake was I. As we walked along the dark path with patterns of filtered light from above, we shared many memories.
Just before sunset I found an expanse of white ledge that overlooked the large lake. I sat and watched the sun set, smiling. We have to take the bad times with the good, but it’s all the good times that I remember now. You knew why I had to leave and you didn't stop me.
Your body may be gone now, but your spirit remains here with me, and your blood remains a part of our daughter. She’s more like you than you knew; I see you when I watch her walk and move, the dimple in her chin, the restlessness and sometimes-troubled mind. At times it is your eyes that stare back at me.
I hope they cremate your body and spread your ashes out and over Streaked Mountain, the wind catching them and taking you to flight. It was there that I have ingrained images of our commonness.
The sun lit the lake and the clouds in the sky with pink and lavender as it set. I said my goodbye and let you go.
I let them all go.
Labels: Adventures
10.08.2006,5:52 PM
Update: Day Five
I promised I would post updates for belated daily posts. Day Five: The Cliff Dwellers is now in the archives after Day Four (September 20).
Labels: Adventures
10.07.2006,10:09 AM
Journey Review: Luggage
As a youngster I dreamed about riding across the country on a horse, throwing saddlebags and bed roll over horse and saddle. Now, so many decades later, my dream has come to fruition albeit my bike is my horse. Similarly, I have saddlebags, or sidecases, and bags draped over the seat and back of the bike.
Sidecases
For sidecases, I chose semi-soft Yukon II panniers from Moto-sport.com. These panniers have an aluminum backing that protects and supports them on easy-to-install mounts. At 27 liters, they hold quite a bit. The zippered liners with handles are great for easy loading and unloading, but they are not waterproof; neither the outer bags or liners. After riding several hours in rain the first day, everything in the panniers were wet; I hung everything inside them in my motel room to dry that first night. I since enclosed the packed liners in two large plastic bags to keep them dry.
A reason I chose this system is beause aluminum panniers can be mounted to the same brackets. Most Al panniers are waterproof and available in various sizes.
Tankbag
The Wolfman Explorer series of tankbags suit the V-stroms well because of their contoured bottom that nicely fits the bike's gas tank. I'm glad I chose the Lite version; the other would be too large for me. I often ride with my chest supported by the tank bag, enabling a comfortable forward position in which most of my body is relaxed. It helps for those long-distance, many-hours rides. I discovered that the rain cover is not waterproof, much to my dismay since I had to purchase it separately. I will try a coat of Scotchguard on it to see if that resolves the water problem.
The mounting system is a bit awkward, especially the front straps which have to be unclipped when fueling the tank. They usually slip down into the cowl and I have to fish for them with gloved fingers in an already tight space. I commonly refer to them as "those damned straps". I would also like to have had more room in the front zippered pocket; it's quite small.
Case for Laptop
Electriconic devices are expensive and delicate, including laptops. I bought a hard case to carry the laptop on the trip and it served its funtion well. Storm cases are similar if not equal to the popular Pelican cases: impact- and water-proof. They are engineered to enclose and protect sensitive electronic equipment in many challenging environments (including bear proof). I chose a Storm case over a Pelican for two reasons: less expensive and more color options. I added strips of reflective tape to the three sides of the case facing outward.
The inside contains three layers of foam. The inner layer is a cubed foam; you can pull out cubes to create cushioned compartments to fit the contents. The MacBook Pro, in a thin protective sleeve and plastic bag, fit inside perfectly. The test was when the fully loaded bike slipped on icy pea gravel on an incline and fell over on its side. Nothing, including the case and contents, were damaged in any way. In fact, nothing even budged from their place on the bike.
I lashed the case to the bike's luggage rack with tie-downs, bungee cords and a cargo net. Perhaps overdone, but I had peace of mind that nothing was going to move or fly off on this journey. Despite that it took forever to load the bike.........
I'll be investigating a better system to mount the case on the back to facilitate quick-release and mounting. A keyed mount would be ideal.
Packing gear
Considering the length of this trip, the limited carrying capacity, and the unpredictable and varied weather conditions, choosing and packing gear -riding, clothes, and camping- was a challenge. Off-bike clothes were kept to a minimum: jeans, two T-shirts, tank top, shorts, and sandals. A zip-up light fleece jacket with standing collar, a thin windproof nylon/spandex jacket, same cut as the fleeced, were the only outerwear (under gear and off bike). The summer clothes were mailed back when I reached Taos; it was unlikely I would need them and therefore unnecessary baggage.
Aside from three pairs of socks, one pair heavy wicking and warm, the only other clothes were a set of cold weather UnderArmors. These are expensive, but they proved well worth the expense. They are extremely light and thin, warm, and wick away moisture from the skin very successfully. I slept in them the night on Mesa Verde when freezing rain, wind and snow bombarded me in the tent. They were warm and thin underneath my insulated riding gear and excellent for layering. The only days I did not wear them were 'off-the-bike' days and the last day on the road when temperatures were in the 90's. They wash up easily in the sink and dry quickly when hung.
All clothing went into Coleman Space Saver bags, much like Seal-a-Meal bags where the air can be compressed out the bottom by a one-way exhaust. These bags significantly reduced the volume of my clothes into two tightly rolled bags that fit very well into the side cases.
Nearly all the camping gear, including battery-powered portable air pump, went into two dry bags lashed onto the pillion seat. The only items in a side case were the mummy bag (in a compression bag) and the Big Anges inflatable pad. I was also able to store the insulating liners for my riding jacket and pants in the dry bags. My mesh gear, both jacket and pants, were in a horizontally compressed nylon bag also in a dry bag.
One of the dry bags and two sets of webbed straps with D-ring extensions were ordered from Helen2wheels. The cord-close dry bag accommodated all the tent components, including ground cloth, the portable air pump and one of the outer gear liners. The straps were a godsend. I will be ordering more of those and an extra set of the D-ring extenders; in bright yellow!
The dry bag contained the long compression bag of mesh gear, a folded Therma-rest pad, the Big Agnes sleeping bag, sleeping bag liner, and anything else that needed a 'home'. As you can see from the photo, the bright orange increases visibility; I also added a length of reflective tape on the black bottom of the bag.
Both bags were strapped to the bike in front of the Storm case with the webbed straps and one heavy duty bungee cord. A cargo net on top completed the attachment. When I stopped overnight without camping, I left these two bags strapped on to the bike and removed the laptop case and sidecase liners with contents. When camping, everything came off the top of the bike, but most of the contents of the sidecases stayed in.
Labels: Review
10.06.2006,11:35 AM
Full Moon Ride
I walked out the door and there it was: a full moon.
"Good morning," I said smiling. "I see you are still up and shining bright."
"Yes, of course. I was waiting for you."
"Why, thank you! And to what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked.
"I'm going to ride with you."
With a big grin, I beamed, "Wonderful! Let's go!"
Uncovering the bike, I stashed my work togs in the sidecases and started the engine to warm while I donned my gear. The moon lit the ground around me to and from the house as we prepared to ride. Seated comfortably, we slowly rode off the gravel and onto the grass to ride around the house and onto the gravel drive. On we went, around the corner to the tarmaced road, gravel crunching under the tires and the engine singing a morning song.
On the road, the moon rode with me, above in the northwest sky. As we rode into and out of curves, the moon danced around us, sometimes forward, sometimes next to us, and finally it settled in behind us.
As we rode along the farm road, cutting between pastures and forests, over creeks, and up and down hills, the moon shifted side to side behind us. Jumping from one mirror to the next, illuminating our way ahead. Our shadow rode with us, by the light of the large full moon. Dancing from side to side, our shadow in front of us, growing big and then small as if it were a cloud in a storm changing shape in a wild wind.
We rode into town and glimpsed the moon shimmering in the lake, like a light bulb in a black mirage. The moon was everywhere and still there, in the sky above us. And like a wild rollercoaster ride, we rode on..... the moon and I.
Into the light of a new day.
"I'll see you tonight!", I yelled into the air speeding by me.
"Yes, you will. You will see me tonight to guide your way."
Into the light of the moon.
"Good morning," I said smiling. "I see you are still up and shining bright."
"Yes, of course. I was waiting for you."
"Why, thank you! And to what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked.
"I'm going to ride with you."
With a big grin, I beamed, "Wonderful! Let's go!"
Uncovering the bike, I stashed my work togs in the sidecases and started the engine to warm while I donned my gear. The moon lit the ground around me to and from the house as we prepared to ride. Seated comfortably, we slowly rode off the gravel and onto the grass to ride around the house and onto the gravel drive. On we went, around the corner to the tarmaced road, gravel crunching under the tires and the engine singing a morning song.
On the road, the moon rode with me, above in the northwest sky. As we rode into and out of curves, the moon danced around us, sometimes forward, sometimes next to us, and finally it settled in behind us.
As we rode along the farm road, cutting between pastures and forests, over creeks, and up and down hills, the moon shifted side to side behind us. Jumping from one mirror to the next, illuminating our way ahead. Our shadow rode with us, by the light of the large full moon. Dancing from side to side, our shadow in front of us, growing big and then small as if it were a cloud in a storm changing shape in a wild wind.
We rode into town and glimpsed the moon shimmering in the lake, like a light bulb in a black mirage. The moon was everywhere and still there, in the sky above us. And like a wild rollercoaster ride, we rode on..... the moon and I.
Into the light of a new day.
"I'll see you tonight!", I yelled into the air speeding by me.
"Yes, you will. You will see me tonight to guide your way."
Into the light of the moon.
Labels: meanderings
10.05.2006,5:19 AM
Journey Review: Your Bike is Your Friend
An essential part of any journey, often a journey unto itself, is the preparation. Most previous posts describing preparing the bike are titled ‘The Continuing Education of Whee,’ in reference to feeling like an expectant mother and ‘Bringing Home Baby’ before the bike arrived home. Well, it did feel like a new baby to the family.
Thus upgrades or modifications to the bike have been analogous to a youngster going to school and learning about life…….as a bike.
You may wonder about my anthropomorphism of my bike. Sure, it is a machine, but it is one that I have become a part of, and it has become a part of me. In essence, it is an extension of myself; a mechanical one. For some unknown visceral and probably illogical reason, this bike is a ‘he’.
And his name is ‘Whee’.
Now, the name is not to be confused with the colloquial use of ‘Wee-strom’ in reference to the V-strom DL650s. It’s name was conceived after my first ride on it; a planned 1-2 mile around-the-big-block first-trial trip that ended at 78 miles. It was love at first ride and several loud “Wheeeeeeeee!!!!!!”s emitted from my helmet where my face sported a maniacal grin the entire ride.
So now you may understand, if in a rather quizzical way, how Whee came to be and why he is continuously being ‘educated’. Almost anyone who genuinely rides a bike, versus parking it in the garage and bringing it out for a weekend-day 2-mile ride, can empathize with continual modifications, gadgets, changes, additions, and customizing that seem to be never-ending. It’s a process, not just a dress you put on for one night then hang up in your closet to gather dust.
Although I originally intended to minmize modifications to the bike, something was always added to the list. Now I just accept this as a matter of fact, like buying bigger shoes for your kids every school season. A few previous posts relate some of the most important customizations and I won’t belabor them by repeating all here. However, I will mention those that were highly relevant on this past journey.
Seat
Not one seat fits everyone. All humans share the same general anatomical shape of the posterior that we sit on, but nevertheless they come in all variations of shapes, sizes, and softness, or hardness. Since riders spend nearly all their rides with this anatomical area in intimate contact with the bike, the seat is very important.
The stock seat on Whee was not terribly uncomfortable, but I knew from the first few rides that comfort level would plummet after an hour. I intended to have the seat modified anyway, scooping out some of the foam and reshaping it to seat me lower and reach the ground with my feet. The sheepskin pad from the cruiser was put on the seat to increase comfort and moderate temperature. And it is very successful no matter what the temperature: hot or cold.
I also tend to scoot back in the seat when on long straight rides which don’t require frequent braking or shifting. Then I put the balls of my feet on the pegs which puts my entire body in a good position to relax and even flick the bike in corners.
When preparing to stop, I scoot forward so my thighs are straddling the nose of the seat; both feet are nearly flat on the ground in this position. So the rear of my seat was extended into the passenger seat section and the nose was narrowed and lowered, although it could be narrowed a bit more.
Horn
I can’t praise the addition of Stebel horns enough. No longer does Whee sound like a sick bluebird when pressing the horn button. Now he sounds like a flock of geese on steroids.
Handguards
These are worth their weight in gold! I chose Probend guards on the recommendation of a KLR rider; they allow for ample room of hands and levers and have interchangable shields. They deflect the wind and rain, helping to keep the hands warm. They also offer protection of the control levers and handgrips when the bike falls. Since Whee appears to have bouts of narcolepsy and takes 'naps' on his side, this has been a plus.
Future prospects:
Highway Pegs: During the long hours of riding on the road, visions of highway pegs danced in my head. Another option to the two riding positions I normally assume would help reduce fatigue and muscle cramping, especially in my hip flexors. Clamp-on pegs may be my only option for this add-on.
Electronic gadgets: Several of these are on my list: voltimeter, outlet for hand or vest warmers, and cruise control would be super! First order modification is installing a power distribution system before any other electronics are added.
GPS: I don't necessarily mind being lost, but it seems that getting lost at the wrong time was the rule. All four times were when I was pressured to ride to a destination quickly due to inclement weather conditions or encroaching darkness. Being lost at night is not fun.
These useful gadgets can also supply useful travel information such as riding speed, average speed, altitude, total mileage, average daily mileage, and so much more. It's like a miniature cockpit in a box on your handlebar.
Windshield: Again, not one windshield fits all, based on riders' heights and postition. I would like to extend the height of the stock shield with a laminar lip, or one that deflects the wind from my head better.
For now, these are the modifications I have listed thus far. Of course, that list is subject to change at any time.
Thus upgrades or modifications to the bike have been analogous to a youngster going to school and learning about life…….as a bike.
You may wonder about my anthropomorphism of my bike. Sure, it is a machine, but it is one that I have become a part of, and it has become a part of me. In essence, it is an extension of myself; a mechanical one. For some unknown visceral and probably illogical reason, this bike is a ‘he’.
And his name is ‘Whee’.
Now, the name is not to be confused with the colloquial use of ‘Wee-strom’ in reference to the V-strom DL650s. It’s name was conceived after my first ride on it; a planned 1-2 mile around-the-big-block first-trial trip that ended at 78 miles. It was love at first ride and several loud “Wheeeeeeeee!!!!!!”s emitted from my helmet where my face sported a maniacal grin the entire ride.
So now you may understand, if in a rather quizzical way, how Whee came to be and why he is continuously being ‘educated’. Almost anyone who genuinely rides a bike, versus parking it in the garage and bringing it out for a weekend-day 2-mile ride, can empathize with continual modifications, gadgets, changes, additions, and customizing that seem to be never-ending. It’s a process, not just a dress you put on for one night then hang up in your closet to gather dust.
Although I originally intended to minmize modifications to the bike, something was always added to the list. Now I just accept this as a matter of fact, like buying bigger shoes for your kids every school season. A few previous posts relate some of the most important customizations and I won’t belabor them by repeating all here. However, I will mention those that were highly relevant on this past journey.
Seat
Not one seat fits everyone. All humans share the same general anatomical shape of the posterior that we sit on, but nevertheless they come in all variations of shapes, sizes, and softness, or hardness. Since riders spend nearly all their rides with this anatomical area in intimate contact with the bike, the seat is very important.
The stock seat on Whee was not terribly uncomfortable, but I knew from the first few rides that comfort level would plummet after an hour. I intended to have the seat modified anyway, scooping out some of the foam and reshaping it to seat me lower and reach the ground with my feet. The sheepskin pad from the cruiser was put on the seat to increase comfort and moderate temperature. And it is very successful no matter what the temperature: hot or cold.
I also tend to scoot back in the seat when on long straight rides which don’t require frequent braking or shifting. Then I put the balls of my feet on the pegs which puts my entire body in a good position to relax and even flick the bike in corners.
When preparing to stop, I scoot forward so my thighs are straddling the nose of the seat; both feet are nearly flat on the ground in this position. So the rear of my seat was extended into the passenger seat section and the nose was narrowed and lowered, although it could be narrowed a bit more.
Horn
I can’t praise the addition of Stebel horns enough. No longer does Whee sound like a sick bluebird when pressing the horn button. Now he sounds like a flock of geese on steroids.
Handguards
These are worth their weight in gold! I chose Probend guards on the recommendation of a KLR rider; they allow for ample room of hands and levers and have interchangable shields. They deflect the wind and rain, helping to keep the hands warm. They also offer protection of the control levers and handgrips when the bike falls. Since Whee appears to have bouts of narcolepsy and takes 'naps' on his side, this has been a plus.
Future prospects:
Highway Pegs: During the long hours of riding on the road, visions of highway pegs danced in my head. Another option to the two riding positions I normally assume would help reduce fatigue and muscle cramping, especially in my hip flexors. Clamp-on pegs may be my only option for this add-on.
Electronic gadgets: Several of these are on my list: voltimeter, outlet for hand or vest warmers, and cruise control would be super! First order modification is installing a power distribution system before any other electronics are added.
GPS: I don't necessarily mind being lost, but it seems that getting lost at the wrong time was the rule. All four times were when I was pressured to ride to a destination quickly due to inclement weather conditions or encroaching darkness. Being lost at night is not fun.
These useful gadgets can also supply useful travel information such as riding speed, average speed, altitude, total mileage, average daily mileage, and so much more. It's like a miniature cockpit in a box on your handlebar.
Windshield: Again, not one windshield fits all, based on riders' heights and postition. I would like to extend the height of the stock shield with a laminar lip, or one that deflects the wind from my head better.
For now, these are the modifications I have listed thus far. Of course, that list is subject to change at any time.
10.03.2006,4:10 AM
Flying in a blue dream.....
Last night on the way home in the truck, Satriani's "Flying in a Blue Dream" sounded from the stereo. Immediately I was transformed back on Whee riding on the road in the mountains and alpine meadows, feeling the wind, absorbing the colors and smells. The guitar and the bike sounds are so intermeshed, I can no longer discriminate the two. The music evoked such a strong association I could feel myself back on the bike with all the overwhelming sensations as if I was going to burst.
Everything else around me was as if I was in a movie; it was unreal. And the reality was riding those roads again. Alone. Me, Whee and my shadow.
When the music ended, I realized I was grinning broadly and tears were running down my cheeks.
'Home' to me now is on the bike, and the road..........
flying in a blue dream.
I want to go home.
Everything else around me was as if I was in a movie; it was unreal. And the reality was riding those roads again. Alone. Me, Whee and my shadow.
When the music ended, I realized I was grinning broadly and tears were running down my cheeks.
'Home' to me now is on the bike, and the road..........
flying in a blue dream.
I want to go home.
,2:19 PM
The Aftermath
Where’s my pillow? What happened to my sleeping bags?
I slowly crawled out of a dream state and without conscious thought clutched for my makeshift pillow and mummy bag as I prepared to turn over. Then I realized I was in my bed at home, lying diagonally across the covers and my pillow on the floor, the twilight sneaking through my bedroom windows.
As I neared home yesterday the crowded highway instilled a foreboding feeling, like a child reaching out to touch a hot stove and knowing it will hurt. I arrived home, walked into the house and I was overwhelmed with strong melancholy. I didn’t want to stop; I didn’t want to come back here. I wanted to continue what I had begun.
I ascribed it all to weariness and took a long nap, feeling more refreshed upon wakening. But this morning I was still on the road in my head. Reluctantly I readied to make the transition to my routine life I left 14 days ago.
Starting the truck to drive into town for food, I forgot about the seat belt and my left hand reached for the clutch when I used the brake at the corner. The first thing that reminded me I was not on the bike was the strange claustrophobia in the driver’s seat. The urge to get back on the bike for a ride was visceral.
But I stayed off the bike today for two reasons: to give Whee a break. Near home, the engine was protesting with a hearty growl. I pushed it too hard and it was a hot ride. I remember sitting on the seat after pulling in and listening to the now baritone voice of the engine as if it was protesting: “Enough is enough. Give me a break!”
A check-over showed that the tires and oil level were fine, coolant level normal, chain a bit loose and needing another lubrication. I suspect the change in tone was merely reflecting four hours straight of riding in the heat at a fast speed on open road. After unloading everything and removing all the straps and cords, I let the bike sit and cool off and then put the bike cover over it.
The other reason I fought the urge to gear up and get back on is because I feared I might not come back.
I drove down FM 3325, thinking to myself what a wonderful vista this road affords when riding a bike, and smiling when reflecting how this road makes me smile in my helmet. Entering onto I-20 from the ramp, I’m another two-legged robot in my box on four wheels, blending in with the other boxes of various sizes. And wishing I were back on the bike.
Walking through Central Market with jostling people, nothing seemed interesting or attracted me. Except the bulk coffee bins. I ground my obligatory pound and one-half of coffee beans and tried to think of what I wanted or needed. Except for some dairy products, nothing was appealing. I left the store spending much less than three digits.
The rush of traffic, milling of people, heat reflecting off concrete and tarmac instilled a longing to be back in the cool green alpine meadows or on winding mountain roads bordered by bright yellow cottonwood leaves twirling in the wind. Or riding the gray twisting ribbons meandering through red and beige canyons.
There was a little spirit demon sitting on my shoulder whispering in my ear, “Come ride with me. Leave this all behind and feel free. Come ride with me.” And another silent spirit present, waiting to be plucked from the night sky, putting it in my pocket to share the ride with me.
On the drive home, I reminisced on the myriad of environments I rode through and all the others I missed. At the start of the ride I wanted to go everywhere and see it all. That hunger was soon dampened with the realization that I couldn’t experience everything in the short time I had. John Steinbeck aptly describes the same:
This journey had been like a full dinner of many courses, set before a starving man. At first he tries to eat all of everything, but as the meal progresses he finds he must forgo some things to keep his appetite and his taste buds functioning.
Like bribing a child with cake and ice cream, I promised myself I would return and catch the meals I missed the next time on the road.
During conversations with people on the road, I was often asked what it is like to ride a motorcycle miles and days on end. The first time I was asked that question, I was speechless. How do you describe the variety of visceral sensations, or explain the satisfaction derived from being alone on a journey facing the unknown, the thrills of riding winding rolling roads with the wind pushing you this way and that, or the comfort of a singing engine between your legs, and the complete but fulfilling exhaustion at the end of a day on the road? I can’t adequately express what it all encompasses.
Once, caught in a pensive but gregarious mood, I replied that it was like riding a mechanical steed in and through the Milky Way, and ricocheting off the stars in Orion’s belt, his dog Sirius, and on to other stars in the various constellations. The response was a slowly uttered “Wow!” accompanied by raised eyebrows and a sideglance to check if I was real.
Traveling on the road expands your world in so many ways. Pushed out of your microcosm of reality, you move through the macrocosm of that which surrounds you. You feel so alive and insignificant simulaneously.
Your paths cross the lives of others and for a brief period of time bits and pieces of your life are shared and mixed with theirs. You may never see each other again, but the imprint sometimes remains or fades as time passes. It reminds me of what we really are at the core, the foundation of this country, rather than what we are all delivered in the media. You can scratch the surface and meet the layers underneath the superficiality that prevails today. And it restores my faith in humanity.
Reflecting on my summer in Europe so many years ago, the same friendliness and hospitality prevails, knowing no boundaries or prejudice of land or color. We are different all around the world, but at the core, we are also the same.
Traveling has been a bug in my blood since I was young. I recall when I was a teenager asking my father what I should be when I grow up.
“You can be anything you want to be. As long as you are honest,” he replied.
“What if I want to be a bum and travel all the time?”
Shoulders shrugged, “Well, just do a good job at it. Whatever you do, do it well.”
Robert Pirsig wrote: “The only Zen you find on a mountain is that which you take with you.”
So I put on my traveling boots and rolling wheels and tried to do this journey well. As I rode, the Zen inside found its way to the surface again and I wore it around me like a comfortable and worn old cloak. I think I grinned most of the time, on and off the bike.
And I whispered many times to the surrounding wonders: “I’ll be back. Wait and see; I’ll be back.”
Labels: essays
,12:30 AM
Thoughts on the Road: Personal Grooming and Necessities
When you travel on the road, some parts of your normal routine give way to necessity and scarcity. You can’t carry your entire life with you, especially on a motorcycle. You carry only what you need.
It’s a matter of priorities: what is needed the most? If there is remaining space, then you can ponder if you have room for what you want.
A coffee cup is a necessity. Coffee is a necessity. It is a medium of social interaction, civility and an essential nutrient. Being a java junkie, I have to have my coffee. Or like a robot without oil, I cease to function. As a travel gift, I was given a Starbucks insulated mug that also serves as a small French Press. All one needs is coarse grounds and hot tap water. I learned the first try on the road that another vessel is required to pour the coffee into after the plunger is depressed. So far, I’ve been successful at begging for Styrofoam cups. I lieu of half ‘n half, I’ve used milk, powdered whitener and vanilla ice cream. Despite my java addiction, I can’t drink it black. That’s a function of taste (black coffee is bitter) and my stomach (black coffee is very acidic).
A personal grooming routine that was the first sacrifice was shaving my legs. Which was without regret. The time, energy and required implements to maintain smooth shaven legs are not considered a necessity or need. It is a luxury. Most of the men I have met on the road sport beards and mustaches in various stages of growth. Facial hair is visible to the naked eye whereas leg hair is not. Who cares if I don’t shave my legs? I certainly didn’t. No regrets there.
I vacillated packing a towel. I decided not to, but I did pack a washcloth and small hand towel. Which I have used over and over, even washing them in a motel room sink. It’s amazing how human and refreshed one can feel after a day on the road by washing your face and neck with water and a washcloth. And it’s no wonder that it quickly turns gray after a few days of road dirt. To dry them, simply hand on the mirrors or handlebars of the bike.
I discovered the versatility of my Cool Max sleeping bag liner when I used it for a towel after showering in a campground facility. It wasn’t a plush towel like those at home, but it served the purpose and dried almost instantly in the sun.
After careful consideration, I sacrificed a pillow for the trip. Most of my nights in the tent I folded my fleece outer shirt, hand towel, and T-shirt or long-sleeved shirt. I shoved this makeshift pillow into the head area of my mummy bag. Not as comfortable as my special Thermarest pillow at home, but it was better than nothing.
I discovered I needed lots of Chap Stick, and stuck a stick everywhere I could: in my camera case, tank bag, and hygiene bag. I also used a small miniature jar of facial cream, prolifically covering my face morning and night to ward off the drying effects of the sun and wind. Even then, my nose and lips burned and peeled through most of the journey.
I forgot to stick a toothbrush in my bag. A horrible discovery the morning after the first night when I woke with dry cottonmouth. My mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage and probably smelled worse. I walked to a convenience store and bought a new toothbrush, but never had to worry about toothpaste. The inn I stayed at in Taos for four nights bestowed upon me four small tubes of toothpaste, as well as three energy bars. I ate the latter immediately and tossed the former in my hygiene kit. I also added a small tin of mints in my tank bag. Not only does it mask travel mouth, but it also stimulates saliva production reducing dry mouth.
Liquids: one can never have enough of that. The Camelbac is the greatest invention; I can’t imagine a road trip without it. In fact, I’m contemplating wearing it even in the lab to ensure I’m hydrated during the day. It is a necessity and I wore it all the time on the bike. It certainly elicits odd looks from folks in the restaraunts when you remove your jacket. I encouraged it by sticking the blue and yellow end in my mouth. It reminds me of a portable respirator; well, it is a portable hydrator!
No hairbrush. They are too big and bulky and I’m a wash-and-dry kinda gal anyway. That’s what air is for; let it dry my hair and shape it however the wind intended it. And my head is encased in a helmet most of the time anyway, so what difference will a brush make? The one trait of helmet hair is that it stays that way unless you wash it after your helmet is removed. There must be some type of invisible hair spray dispenser in every helmet that cements your hair into odd shapes and stays that way when helmet is removed.
Underwear? What for? A luxury of being small-breasted is a girl doesn’t have to wear a bra. Panties ride up and you spend the rest of the ride rearranging them after you ride a mile, and 30 minutes of rearranging after you get off. They aren’t a necessity or even on the Want List. Besides, I wore my UnderArmors nearly every day of the trip, which I washed in motel sinks. Now, those were highly functional and never needed rearranging.
There is no way to accurately predict the weather, so I packed one item for cold and hot weather for the two halves of my body; jeans and fleece zippered jacket, T-shirt, tank top and shorts. By the time I reached Taos, I realized the tank top and shorts would not be needed, so I sent them back home. I spent most of my time on this trip in riding gear anyway, but I was thankful for the T-shirt and jeans when off the bike. I also packed my lightweight sandals, which I wore anytime off the bike to give my feet some breathing time and boots a chance to dry on the inside. Except for the last two days of this trip when summer reappeared, I wore the UnderArmors and insulated gear. Clothing for off the bike was minimal.
Am I missing anything? Personal grooming or personal tidbits? I don’t think so. My needs are minimal. But if I do remember any thing I missed here of importance, I’ll add it later.
It’s a matter of priorities: what is needed the most? If there is remaining space, then you can ponder if you have room for what you want.
A coffee cup is a necessity. Coffee is a necessity. It is a medium of social interaction, civility and an essential nutrient. Being a java junkie, I have to have my coffee. Or like a robot without oil, I cease to function. As a travel gift, I was given a Starbucks insulated mug that also serves as a small French Press. All one needs is coarse grounds and hot tap water. I learned the first try on the road that another vessel is required to pour the coffee into after the plunger is depressed. So far, I’ve been successful at begging for Styrofoam cups. I lieu of half ‘n half, I’ve used milk, powdered whitener and vanilla ice cream. Despite my java addiction, I can’t drink it black. That’s a function of taste (black coffee is bitter) and my stomach (black coffee is very acidic).
A personal grooming routine that was the first sacrifice was shaving my legs. Which was without regret. The time, energy and required implements to maintain smooth shaven legs are not considered a necessity or need. It is a luxury. Most of the men I have met on the road sport beards and mustaches in various stages of growth. Facial hair is visible to the naked eye whereas leg hair is not. Who cares if I don’t shave my legs? I certainly didn’t. No regrets there.
I vacillated packing a towel. I decided not to, but I did pack a washcloth and small hand towel. Which I have used over and over, even washing them in a motel room sink. It’s amazing how human and refreshed one can feel after a day on the road by washing your face and neck with water and a washcloth. And it’s no wonder that it quickly turns gray after a few days of road dirt. To dry them, simply hand on the mirrors or handlebars of the bike.
I discovered the versatility of my Cool Max sleeping bag liner when I used it for a towel after showering in a campground facility. It wasn’t a plush towel like those at home, but it served the purpose and dried almost instantly in the sun.
After careful consideration, I sacrificed a pillow for the trip. Most of my nights in the tent I folded my fleece outer shirt, hand towel, and T-shirt or long-sleeved shirt. I shoved this makeshift pillow into the head area of my mummy bag. Not as comfortable as my special Thermarest pillow at home, but it was better than nothing.
I discovered I needed lots of Chap Stick, and stuck a stick everywhere I could: in my camera case, tank bag, and hygiene bag. I also used a small miniature jar of facial cream, prolifically covering my face morning and night to ward off the drying effects of the sun and wind. Even then, my nose and lips burned and peeled through most of the journey.
I forgot to stick a toothbrush in my bag. A horrible discovery the morning after the first night when I woke with dry cottonmouth. My mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage and probably smelled worse. I walked to a convenience store and bought a new toothbrush, but never had to worry about toothpaste. The inn I stayed at in Taos for four nights bestowed upon me four small tubes of toothpaste, as well as three energy bars. I ate the latter immediately and tossed the former in my hygiene kit. I also added a small tin of mints in my tank bag. Not only does it mask travel mouth, but it also stimulates saliva production reducing dry mouth.
Liquids: one can never have enough of that. The Camelbac is the greatest invention; I can’t imagine a road trip without it. In fact, I’m contemplating wearing it even in the lab to ensure I’m hydrated during the day. It is a necessity and I wore it all the time on the bike. It certainly elicits odd looks from folks in the restaraunts when you remove your jacket. I encouraged it by sticking the blue and yellow end in my mouth. It reminds me of a portable respirator; well, it is a portable hydrator!
No hairbrush. They are too big and bulky and I’m a wash-and-dry kinda gal anyway. That’s what air is for; let it dry my hair and shape it however the wind intended it. And my head is encased in a helmet most of the time anyway, so what difference will a brush make? The one trait of helmet hair is that it stays that way unless you wash it after your helmet is removed. There must be some type of invisible hair spray dispenser in every helmet that cements your hair into odd shapes and stays that way when helmet is removed.
Underwear? What for? A luxury of being small-breasted is a girl doesn’t have to wear a bra. Panties ride up and you spend the rest of the ride rearranging them after you ride a mile, and 30 minutes of rearranging after you get off. They aren’t a necessity or even on the Want List. Besides, I wore my UnderArmors nearly every day of the trip, which I washed in motel sinks. Now, those were highly functional and never needed rearranging.
There is no way to accurately predict the weather, so I packed one item for cold and hot weather for the two halves of my body; jeans and fleece zippered jacket, T-shirt, tank top and shorts. By the time I reached Taos, I realized the tank top and shorts would not be needed, so I sent them back home. I spent most of my time on this trip in riding gear anyway, but I was thankful for the T-shirt and jeans when off the bike. I also packed my lightweight sandals, which I wore anytime off the bike to give my feet some breathing time and boots a chance to dry on the inside. Except for the last two days of this trip when summer reappeared, I wore the UnderArmors and insulated gear. Clothing for off the bike was minimal.
Am I missing anything? Personal grooming or personal tidbits? I don’t think so. My needs are minimal. But if I do remember any thing I missed here of importance, I’ll add it later.