First, somewhere between Johnstown and Breezewood, I saw a crude hand (spray?) painted sign high in front of an equally crude structure that read "solar system for sale." Jesus. I had just ridden 3,500-some miles to go from Earth to Moon to Mars, and I could have just come here in an afternoon and gotten the whole damn set! I almost had enough time to get the camera whipped out for a funny picture, but I didn't, and it wasn't that funny so I didn't turn around.
Second, I love US Route 30 - the old Lincoln Highway - through the mountains out here. I was kind of disappointed that I had developed such a lack of trust in the handling of this wallowing behemoth, preventing me from doing my normal here. But I think I can fix it with shocks, and it's not bad at all with the trunk at home in the garage, which is most of the time, and it made me reflect on the last 6 days.
Riding long distance, like any other worthwhile hobby, gets into details. The deeper you go, the more there is. In general, though, the overriding principle is to remove the minor discomforts that after 12-16 hours become completely intolerable. For example, this bike has an ear-splitting sound system that you can hear very clearly at 75 mph, which in most cases would be next to impossible. It also can be heard 2 blocks away when stationary. So when you come down off a ramp, and this thing is cranking to the point where people are turning around to look, you realize that in addition to the exhaust and wind and road noise, you've now added 100 decibels of Ozzy's Boneyard, and you wonder why you've got a headache. So for an afternoon, that's great, but for 600 mile days, you put your earbuds in to cut down the road and wind noise, and still get you some tuneage. (I have 3 Shuffle Minis, which last amazingly long, and I rotate them out on the USB charger when they die.) That's one example.
The bike has USB ports. It has 2 cigarette ligher ports. It has locking, watertight luggage compartments, with courtesy lights. It has a windshield with an engineered laminar lip, a fairing with lowers to keep most of the wind and rain from belting you head on, and 3 heat management duct and door systems. It has a sofa for a seat, and an Airhawk pad that I've added on top. By my count, there are 57 different possible ergonomic combinations if you use both seats, all 3 sets of pegs, and cruise control to free your throttle hand. It has glove compartments where I stash roll-on sunscreen, lip balm, munchies, and Aleve. It will run 175 miles at 80 mph before needing fuel, without sneezing. It has satellite radio, USB media, navigation, and fuel locator. So, I sort of realized that me bitching about it not handling like my Sportster and being a pain in a parking lot is kind of ridiculous. You minimize your annoyances to the best of your ability, but this bike does it so well and it is truly amazing how easily the thing just eats miles. Just. Eats. Miles.
The other thing about long distance riding, and rallying in particular, is efficiency. Fuel stop procedures get sequenced to turn minutes into seconds. 90% of riders wear $1,000 suits, which get vented in the heat, zipped up in the cool, and zipped some more in the rain. No pulling over to gear up or down. Most have auxiliary fuel and do not have to stop for 400+ miles. People "farkle" their bikes; they mount sky-ionizing aux lights, hydration systems, dual GPS systems, and weather radar on a tablet. I haven't heard of a coffemaker or microwave yet, but I would not bet against it. Every annoyance you minimize reduces fatigue, and every stop avoided - and every minute saved in a stop - equals more rest time. I'm just a piker in this league and have none of this stuff, nor the burning desire to get to that degree, but it really is a wormhole you can get yourself down into once you peer in.
And here I am at home. 3,838 miles in 7 days, and about 3,300 in 5 of them.
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| Dierks, AR |
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