Birthday Butter-Butt SS1K

Birthday Butter-Butt SS1K: Penance Ride-to-Redemption

March 10th, 2006



Under cold and clear skies I rode my new Yamaha R1 up to Washington state and arrived at Iggy's place in Pasco in time for dinner and farkling. Iggy and I already had the bike torn apart and disheveled, then we retired for the night into several very tasty bottles of local red wine along with a fine steak and salad prepared artfully by Iggy's girlfriend. The plan was to get the bike ready for a Warchild assisted farkle blitz on Saturday, but he surprised us with a late night visit, so with swerve and fear we charged into a tedious and complex job of replacing the stock bars with slightly higher Heli-bars.

In short order, Warchild found that a crucial part connecting the bars to the steering dampener was missing, and I fell into a deep funk. I did NOT want to ride this bike without the dampener. A high-speed tank slapper on this kind of bike never turns out well for the rider. As per his usual generosity, Warchild said he'd take the one off his bike and give it to me on Saturday. A nice gesture, but I hated to put him out like that.

Turns out it was easy to remove, and on saturday, we reconvened in Iggy's plush carpeted garage and set to work. As noon arrived, so did Tobie and Lisa Stevens, who presumably came to watch and provide moral support, but it was immediately clear they came only to heckle and jab.

We had a great time. <G>



Later, up came Doug Chapman and later still, Eric Vaillancourt arrived and the farkle-party was in full swing. Widder connects, accessory tank-bag power, tank protector, Heli-Bars, oil change, etc. Everyone was helping grab tools, crimping wires, and fetching beers. It was really kind of awesome to tell you the truth. LD peeps is the BEST!

Warchild took off after he realized we were on cruise, and he went to work for some last minute project he was working on. Few realize how hard Warchild works and how MUCH he contributes his time to worthy causes and LD scurge like myself. He is tireless, and I myself really appreciate all his efforts.

The whole crew took off at 5 to meet him at a mexican restaurant for my birthday party. Warchild brought his absolutely lovely bride Kathy, and Chapman's splendid wife Linda met us there as well. Later, Mike Ledbetter, Dan Denchel, and his son showed up and soon the margaritas had been served and we all dove deep into those luscious glasses. Bliss on ice, lemme tell you.



The Steven's had brought a gift, so I groped into the nice little bag that held a nice card and a few gifts. Imagine my surprise that one of the gifts was a lighthouse joke. Imagine that.



The white sticker on the cover was a home-made sticker that said: "Bonus feature! How to photograph Lighthouses while touring the Nations Hot Springs". We all laughed, and then Tobie said to look inside the book for another gift. OK, a lottery ticket scratcher card thingie.



I scratch off all the grey goo, and something didn't look right. I take a closer look.



HOLY SHIT!!!!! I won 10,000 dollars!!!!!

No joke, there it was in black and green. I was stunned. We were ALL stunned. I had just won 10 grand and it felt like a miracle. My bike was paid for by the lottery. Unbelievable. I passed the scratcher around and the table was buzzing with quiet disbelief and awe. The energy surrounding the table was palpable.

Doug Chapman then mentioned that he thinks I was only supposed to scratch off three spots instead of all six. My heart started sinking. I might have just fucked myself from 10 grand. I look at the back of the ticket to read the rules. It mentions right off that indeed, to redeem the ticket is the stuff of fantasy. "redeemable only in your wildest dreams". It went on, but I caught the gyst.

It was a prank ticket, and most of the table, and no one more then myself, had been HAD.

DOH!!!!! I HATE you Lisa Stevens! ( but I instantly love you again )

Man that was a great prank. I've never been taken on a ride like that. here I was thinking the stars and planets had aligned and I was the luckiest guy in the world. What a dope, and DUPED!

Oh well, for a few minutes there I knew what it was like to be a winner. Truth be told though, I already felt like a winner, honored that some folks had ridden over 200 miles to party with me on my 38th birthday. Life is so damn good.

We all had a good laugh and ordered more margaritas. The food came, we chowed, and had another margarita. I was getting pretty plastered, and thankful that I didn't have to ride back to Matt's. The entire wait staff came around and sang me a song in spanish, I think it was "happy birthday".

I was so honked, it could have been the National Anthem of Paraguay for all I knew. I got to wear a huge sombrero during the song though, so it was OK.



Life is so damn good.

I'm not sure, but I recall we all ordered another round of margaritas before calling it a night. At least calling it a night at the restaurant. We all went back to Matt's for some deliscioso margaritas Matt whipped up, and we partied into the wee hours. Most of us at Matt's had been in the 2005 Butt, and we reminisced about our rides and experiences. There's a lot that happens out there that the world at large will never know. It's always great to hear other peoples story's about their ride. It was a groovy scene fa sho.

Early on sunday the Chapman's and the Steven's rode off for home and the rest of us all passed out in varying ways and hit the sack. Good times.

Sunday found us all waking late, and grabbing some grease at the local hole. My plan was to ride to Portland and spend the night at Jeff Earl's crib. Eric V. and I suited up and took off.



Eric rode at a brisk but steady pace, and me zooming past and slowing down the whole time, as I was still breaking the R1 in. The weather was forecast for major rain all over the North Wet, and when I found nearly clear skies in Portland, I called Jeff and told him I was regrettably going to pass on dinner and head for the coast and grab a room in Newport while the weather was still good. There was a good chance I could get stuck in snow or ice, so I decided getting to the coast promptly was my best bet. Eric waved goodbye at his exit and I soldiered on to the coast with an already very sore butt.

I had a minor slide going over the mountains on one slick corner but kept the bike upright and promptly pulled over to urinate the gallon or so of adrenaline that had just been dumped into my body. I arrived in Newport around 9pm and found snow melting on the road sides. Yikes, it had snowed on the coast. My ride home seemed dubious at best.

I had some beers and dinner at the Rogue brewery in Newport. It's always a major coup for me to stop there and have some beers on tap that don't get bottled for the masses. As I'm eating, I hear several giggly female voices coming up the stairs, and in walk three cute hotties ready to party. They had already been to a few bars, and Rogue was their last stop. Evelyn, Mary, and Annette were there to celebrate Mary's 21st birthday, so I bought them a round. We chatted and downright cavorted for a spell. It was fun watching Mary go through the 21st birthday ritual. I knew without a doubt she'd be barfing a steady stream in a few hours time. It was great. The bartender took a small polaroid for each of us.



Last call came and went so we all walked out to our rides. The ladies were going ga-ga over my shiny red rocket. It was almost embarrassing. Almost. I received three hugs and one very wet kiss from Annette. Yowza. This was followed by a boozy proposal whispered in my ear, but I had to decline. Her ardour was tittilating, but it bounced off my shining armor. Hard to explain but it felt like the right thing to do. I deflected her words of consternation the best I could and suited up. All in all it was a memorable night, and the subtle magic of the events had me feeling pretty good.

I took off Monday morning for Crescent City and spent the entire ride getting soaked to the bone. The riding position on a sport bike has your arms almost vertical, so rain just rolled right down my Stich and completely filled my waterproof gloves. At stop lights I'd raise my hands up and water would gush out in thick streams from my gloves onto the ground. Many a cager looked at me with horror whenever I did this. It was getting pretty miserable, but I was determined to get to Crescent City. Eventually the wind picked up and would gust my bike side to side. I was sure missing the FJR at this point. A few hundred heart-gulping moments later, I arrived in Crescent City and grabbed a room.

I rolled the bike into the room and took off all my clothes and placed them all into the bath tub to drain. Cranked up the heat and turned the TV on to watch the weather channel. Yikes. Stronger rain was expected for tuesday all over the north and down past the Central Valley almost soaking Los Angeles. This sucked. Wednesday's forecast was for rain only in the north, so I decided to dry out and wait a day for my all Cali SS1K. I watched more bad TV in the next 36 hours then I care to admit, but the time passed and off I went on wednesday morning, The Ides of March.

I topped off the tank and got my start receipt at 0930, then toodled on over to the Battery Point lighthouse that I'd visited during the first leg of the Butt. Unlike when Steve Hobart and I were there, the water was flooded over the low rocks that led to the lighthouse out on a rock escarpment. I laughed remembering how the Sperry's and Rebecca Vaughn caught this bonus at high tide and had to wade out for their picture. Three times. I asked a tourist to snap a polaroid of me and my bike, while I held a local newspaper I bought that morning. I realize that in this polaroid the lighthouse is hard to see. Spare me. It's just behind the trees on the little island.

Whoosh I'm off in light sprinkles down the coast towards Leggett on the 101. I then take the goat trail from Leggett towards Fort Bragg on Hwy 1. When I get to the coast, the bike finally feels good to me. Not my agony-ass, but the ride itself. I'm finally starting to feel in tune with this 180 HP monster. Before taking delivery of the bike I'd been afraid of it. Could I handle such a powerful bike? How many trees had my name on it? Jetting down the coast through twist and sweep I finally felt in control of the R1. No longer afraid, just very respectful. Still feeling the need however for some sort of guardian angel, I decide to name my little red bike Voni. That will help keep me from becoming a moron on this bike. In my head I was singing the tune Red Barchetta by the band Rush. Thats pretty much how it felt. Past the cliffs with breaking ocean spray, under the twisted Monterey pines of imbricate boughs, and up and down the grassy fields scarcely strewn with rotting barns, I was now one with this bike and it's capability. It was for me a defining moment in my riding career, and I'll never forget that stretch of riding. It was beyond awesome. Beyond words.

More than just a convenient way to get home from the Farkle-Birthday party and do my first "One State SS1K", I saw this ride through the eyes of a humble religious penitent. I had sinned, and through this sin had created a demon of my own device. The demon need slaying, and the sin itself required atonement through sheer physical pain and suffering. Mine was the path of self-flagellation and excoriation. Through torture I would punish myself for my sin, and in the process I had hoped to redeem myself and my sinning ways.

A thousand mile day on many slow twisty roads on a stock sport bike seat seemed like the perfect way to ride for redemption.

So it was with great expectation and a little fear that I turned off Hwy 1 and made my way to the Point Cabrillo lightstation. The site of my sin, and hopefully the site of my redemption. I parked the bike in the same space as I had during the Butt, took my helmet off, and started the walk down the hill. About a third of the way down, I saw where I had snapped my pic during the Butt. Just a little further down the hill something started to look funny with the lighthouse. A little further, and a flood of shame washed over me. What a fool I had been. The building with the red roof that I thought was the lighthouse, was merely a school building and the actual lighthouse was 100 YARDS past that. I had thought the fresnal lense was on top of the red roofed building, hence why I fought so hard for the photo.

WHAT A DOPE!

With my head hung low I continued on towards the actual lighthouse. Getting close, my knees started to buckle, and I was down.



Overcome with sorrow and shame, I began convulsing and dry-heaving. I started speaking in tongues and seeing snakes everywhere. Eventually all of that subsided and the entire lighthouse was awash in bright light that was emanating outwards from the building, and I could hear the faint song of angels singing "you're a jack-ass , tamen nos indulgeo vos".

I could feel something growing inside, an amazing feeling of a burden being lifted. It was just gas. I then fell prostrate and was compelled to pray to the forces contained inside the lighthouse.



I remained in prayer for some time, then finally was overcome with a sense of redemption and ease of soul. I had made the 1,321 steps down to the lighthouse door, and I had realized just how incredibly wrong I was before. I learned about perception and just how strong one can defend and hold onto an idea, even if the whole thing is a charade or false image of truth.

Oh what a fool I have been.

Using the newspaper as a surrogate "rally flag", I took the picture I should have taken last August.



Saddled up and back on the bike, I had finally put this all behind me. I realize I'll probably never hear the end of it, but at least now I know the error's of my ways and have done the best I can to move on.

850 miles to go and my ass is already screaming. The tiniest bump or change of road surface feels like a gorilla is kicking me in the ass. The suspension is WAY too stiff for this kind of riding. Getting over to the 101 was fun as 20 was landslide city in many spots. This would become the dominant plague of this northern section. The rain had caused a lot of road damage everywhere, and I had to ride down steep mud-slicked slopes causing all the road workers to bug their eyes as I went past and yell encouragement.

"Watch you ass, this is slippery stuff".

Sho nuff. Several pucker moments as the tires would slide then grip. What a relief to build up speed whenever I saw the dryer stuff coming. This went on all afternoon, but luckily nothing more then irritation and adrenaline were the result. I eventually made it off 101 towards Yountville in the Napa Valley area. My plan was to grab a light meal at the fabulous bistro, Bouchon. French onion soup and pommes frites ( freedom fries ) along with an amazing piece of bread. I was in heaven. I had also entered the place quite cold and the food was really warming me up. This was a decadent stop but well worth it. I like Saddle Sore's for this very reason as they afford ample opportunity to "sight see" or whatever thrills you. I kept my eye on the clock but never fretted the time.

Off south to the 680 and then east over to the I-5, I could finally make some time. Getting to the interstate, my hourly average was 37 mph. Not even close to good enough. I boogied and oogied on down through LA and into San Diego. I was cold most of the time as the rider IS the airstream on the R1, and even with the electrics, I was still getting cold. Going over the Grapevine was almost a deal breaker but I knew it wouldn't last forever. Since I had to stop every 140 miles or so for gas, I'd warm up just by being in still air.

I arrived in Point Loma just a bit before 0500 thursday morning. The concept of this ride was to ride from the northern most lighthouse in California to the southern most. I might have it wrong but I'm close enough if I am. The guard at the gate to the Naval base the lighthouse is on made me wait till 0500 exactly, then he let me in. A short cruise past the cemeterys and research buildings landed me at the entrance of Cabrillo National Monument. I snapped a few pics with the newspaper and had a cigar while I watched the sunrise over San Diego and the Coronado bridge. Stunning. Life is so damn good. I only had about 90 miles to go to finish the ride, so I just hung around and wasted time. In the pic below, the funny thing on top of the sign is actually a spanish ship model.



Eventually I left for home and the end receipt. About 30 miles past the 1K mark, I'm pulled over by a CHP. Not for speeding, but for passing cars. For passing cars, in a passing lane. please feel free to scratch your head at this time. I was cited for riding in opposing traffic even though it was a passing lane completely absent of oncoming traffic. It became even more surreal then that, but I won't go into it here. Definitely the weirdest LEO stop I've ever had, bar none.

I start gettiing near home and can just smell more construction or similar stoppage's. So at 0900 I'm looking fat on the miles and pull into a Yucca Valley gas station for my end receipt. I was 6 miles short of my planned stop, but better safe then sorry. Good thing too, as I was right, 10-15 minute delays due to mudslides on the road from all the rain. Surprise surprise.

1,081 miles indicated in 23.5 hours. Only about 3 hours were spent off the bike, so thats 20.5 hours of sport bike pain. In the ass, arms, wrists, back, knees, calves, feet, and brain. Many times all along the ride I wanted to give up and get a room, the pain and cold were so great. Yet every time the desire to finish exceeded the desire to quit and so I continued on. Whew. Definitely my toughest 1K day ever. No doubt.

Through pain and suffering I played the role of a devout penitente and through my actions have hopefully redeemed myself to those I may have angered or dismayed. Some will view this report with skepticism or doubt as to it's emotional veracity. Was it farce or fact?

It is both. Just like life itself.

George Zelenz 2006

Congrats, George. You're setting the bar pretty high with your ride reports. Let me see if I got this straight....

Good friends wrenching on bikes

Go drink some margaritas

win $10K

lose $10K

enjoy a song that might have been 'happy birthday'

Come home and drink more margaritas

Ride/slide/ride

Potential debauchery at a 21st b-day party

wake up

ride

kick yourself in the ass for what might have been

ride/slide/ride/slide/ride ride ride ride

good stogie overlooking SD and Coronado

pulled over for passing in a passing lane

just enough miles in just enough time.

Congrats on yet another pack of great memories to be forever etched in your mind. Great friends, great bike, great ride. Just can't beat it.

Excellent stuff!

But now you really have me wondering since I have an 06 R1 on the way, due here in April.

As an FJR owner, how do you like the R1? Do you feel it's the perfect compliment to the FJR - good for 400 mile day trips? It was probably hard to tell in the weather but any hot butt problems?

-r

I absolutely love the R1. It compliments the FJR perfectly.

In warmer weather you definitely get a warm ass from the exhaust, but it's not crippling or ride-ending by any means.

Whose to say about 400 mile days? I'm getting used to the seat and 400 now seems short. <G>

You'll love the bike. Beyond awesome.

GZ

Great ride report George. I knew you could do the SS1K, even if that R-1 only has a board with vinyl over it for a seat. And THANK YOU for not posting any pictures of your bruised and blistered butt on the forum! :dribble:

Great report GZ!

I may have to stop over for some AB soon and see the machine with which you punished yourself.

Great report! Umm-Passed up on getting laid?? Your age /wisdom is showing :lol:

GZ you're a sick Puppy! <g> Thanks for the great ride report.

regards

-Marc

PS: Did you ever wash your FJR?

Congrats, I love that Rogue Brewery too... Guess where I stole my handle from?

Hey Plummit, good to see you here.

I hear the "other" board is mostly tumbleweeds and wind. <G>

I haven't washed the FJR yet, but it HAS been raining out here. <G>

GZ

Damn GZ, it would have taked me 23 1/2 hours to write that report !

Well done !!

Great rally report! Thats some cold tactics with the fake scratcher too. The link on the IBA site refers to you riding an R6, which looks like a typo.

Great ride report. Very well written

Not only do you take a new bike, that your body hasn't had enough experience with to get accustomed to and complete a SS1K on it, but you do in in the cold, rain, and slippery road conditions. You are one tough individual.

Great rally report! Thats some cold tactics with the fake scratcher too. The link on the IBA site refers to you riding an R6, which looks like a typo.

Click to expand...

While mooching some fine Stone suds off of GZ the other day I was lucky 'nuff to see the scratcher in question...that fucker looked real!!

Very funny stuff.

GunMD serves witness to just how REAL that fucker looked.

We were ALL duped.

Good to see you Gun, lets take a rain-check on the ride today.

GZ

Howz the handlebar vibration on the R1 compared to the FJR? Better to have the 'ol Ass hunt then the hands numb out.

Was the Cabrillo Light house differrent then Point Furman Light House (near to Cabrillo Beach, CA).

My uncle has a country place, that on-one knows about

he says it used to a farm, before the Motor Law

Sundays I elude the "eyes", and hop the turbine freight

to far outside the wire, where my white haired uncle waits

jump to the ground

as the turbo slows to cross the borderline

run like the wind

as excitement shivers up and down my spine

down in his barn

my uncle preserved for me, an old machine...\

for fifty odd years

to keep it as new has been his dearest dream

I strip away the old debris, that hides the shining car

a brilliant red barchetta, from a better, vanished time

fire up the willing engine, responding with a roar!

Tires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime....

wind in my hair-

shifting and drifting-

mechanical music-

adrenalin surge-

well-weathered leather

hot metal and oil

the scented country air

sunlight on chrome

the blur of the landscape

every nerve aware

suddenly, ahead of me, across the moutainside

A gleaming alloy air-car shoots toward me, two lanes wide

I spin around with shrieking tires, to run the deadly race

go screaming though the valley as another joins the chase

drive like the wind

straining the limits of machine and man

laughing out loud

with fear and hope, I've got a desperate plan

at the one-lane bridge

I leave the giants stranded

at the riverside

race back to the barn

to dream with my uncle

at the fireside....

...

inspired by A nice morning drive, by richard s foster

music by lee and lifeson

lyrics by peart

........enjoy, kids.....my favorite riding song. From a band called RUSH.

Great report -- excellent reading .

Not into LD riding myself but I can certainly appreciate the commitment to it and the rewards from it.