Whitehorse
New member
[SIZE=14pt]Having sold the Honda 996 superhawk then replacing it with a 2006 FJR1300, I needed an excuse to ride it for a few days. If I have a purpose in doing a ride, I find that being goal oriented pushes me onward to rapid completion. I am one of those people who rushes through life like my ass is on fire and drives himself to exhaustion, then sleeps for a bit and heads out again. I remember many 120 hour weeks in training and my sleep schedule has never been quite the same since. Enough for digression, on with the insanity. [/SIZE]
Upon first hiking my leg over the FJR and settling my arse on the board of torture that is called the stock Yamaha saddle, I decided to do the quest for a new seat for my sorry-after-500-mile-aching ass bones. In my opinion, the Yamaha seat is designed to torture any rider that wants to stay on the bike for any distance or time. I found that I could not keep any speed or distance greater than 100 to 150 miles with out wanting to get off the bike and find some place to give my tail bone a rest. On my Harley superglide sport, equipped with a mustang seat, I have done a few 1k days and many relaxing evening rides of 300 or so miles just cruising the country around Kansas. I realized that the Harley with the loud thunderheader pipes would kill me with noise fatigue, but, it is sure is great fun setting off all the car alarms in a parking garage. It is harmless fun but on long rides the noise will get to you. That is why I bought the FJR, Power, Speed, Distance and comfort... The first few days that I had the FJR I was suffering Tail bone Trauma and would be sore for a few days after the 200 mile rides I did after work. That is it...I needed a new seat.
The idea of doing the Iron Butt Rally some time down the road has set me on a path to making the FJR the most comfortable motorcycle that I can make it. Then once that is accomplished, all the farkles that make the motorcycle rally worthy will be added. Why invent the wheel again? Go to the horse and ask him. As luck would have it, the IBR was in St. Louis this year and my current contract job is in Columbia, MO. I went to the mid point check-in in the evening after work. I needed to make my shopping list to make the FJR rally worthy and comfortable and talk to those that have solved my problems or similar problems. The parked motorcycles in the rear of the Doubletree, I used as my consultants. Checking the farkles and the seats and reserve tanks and GPS, Radar detectors and luggage/pelican box attachments on other FJRs, Hondas, and BMW motorcycles gave me an idea where I needed to start. I met Mr. Kneebone himself and watched him and Bob Higgins scoring the riders. That taught me a lot about the rally. I even met this years rally mistress, Lisa Landry. She informed me that I had rather "lofty" aspirations since I had never run in a rally before. I had a few engaging conversations with some of the peripheral staff and some of the entrants and this further reinforced one of my life lessons: Chance favors the prepared mind.
What I learned.
Buy a Russel "Daylong" seat and you will not be disappointed. One rider said that the best money that I could spend would be the Russell seat. Where does one buy such a seat...check the web, they have a page there that explains everything. That I did, and after a nice conversation with them, decided to make the trip to Shasta Lake, CA. It is roughly 2k out and hopefully a shorter 2k back. The very thought of 2k of severe pain and frequent stops getting there was tolerable, if, I focused on the thought of having a wonderful seat for the ride back. In preparation of the ride I went to the local Bed Bath and Beyond store and bought a rubberized shag carpet bath mat and folded it in half ran a bungy cord through the fold and clipped it to the frame. It provided some comfort and needed padding and with the extra riding clothes I felt confident that I could pull this off. So on this last labor day I headed off to Shasta Lake from Columbia, MO.
Awakening at OH-dark30, i headed out. On I70 some where west of Hayes KS, I needed gas and pulled off into a town that had not yet awakened. The card operated farm supply station supplied my needs and I was about to head out when I heard the ever familiar sound of a Harley with pipes heading my way. Humm, it is 6:30am and no body is up, so I waited to greet the rider and was soon to discover that is was a middle aged woman who was coming back from a vacation in Iowa. She had been visiting her daughter and grand children. She was headed to Colorado Springs. It was her home. Both her husband and her took turns taking the 1200 sportster. He used it for a commuter machine and she liked the longer trips. While lending a hand to fix one of her saddlebags that was flopping in the breeze, I noticed that she had a pair of black SHORT shorts on and leather riding chaps. At first notice, but once I did, I was wondering how cold she was in the nether regions due to the ambient temp of 42 degrees with Kansas winds of 40 mph and the sun barely peaking through the clouds in the east. Although, she was attractive and in great shape, at that moment I don't think she would have made a "hot" date. Heading back to I-70, I stopped in Oakley and had a great breakfast and again fueled, changed from cold weather gear to Mesh nylon legs and mesh leather/nylon jacket. By a bit after noon I was heading north on I-25 to Cheyenne, WY. About 30 miles north of Denver, it started to rain and it did not stop till Laramie, WY. Finally, I stopped and took off the rain gear and replaced my gloves, ate a quick late lunch at Subway and headed for Nevada. Some place on Interstate 80 there is a sign for a Covered Wagon Inn. It was rapidly getting dark and I needed some sleep and the usage of a good drier for my wet mesh and gloves. As luck would have it, I pulled in and got a room for the night. By now I am on my third dose of 800 milligrams of Ibuprofen. My tail bone has become my minds focus. I had to stop. Nothing cures pain like a good sit down meal in a nice padded booth. At least the meal took my mind off my aching coccyx. I was able to find a good meal at the local casino and being about 9 pm, I had the eating area pretty much to myself. So far this trip has been pretty good. Even though the rain sucked and I had to throttle back my speed, I still have had great fun and am looking forward to seeing new stuff.
In the mean time while I was eating, another guest arrived at the Covered Wagon and provided quite a view when I pulled into the parking lot. There, sitting in the parking lot was a large battle trap of an SUV packed to the windows and above with camping gear. On the rear window of the black SUV, marked out with stick letters made with torn duct tape were the 8 inch words “BURN ON.” If this was not an odd enough view of a black SUV covered entirely with the white-as-snow grit and grime, there was sitting by it an even more strange looking young woman who was dressed in a pair of loose shorts and an even more loose tee shirt with the sleeves cut off half way down the side seam. She was sitting on a white plastic 5 gallon wall board mud bucket sorting out her camping gear. All of her gear was covered and this white powder. As my headlights illuminated her body on her polyvinyl 5 gallon throne, with the help of a mild breeze, her red hair color was confirmed to be natural from top to bottom. I parked my motorcycle and went to get some ice and some seven up to mix some of those airline bottles of Jack that I got at the casino liquor store. My butt still hurt and I kinda needed to be anesthetized a bit for a fast sound sleep . In passing her I was invited for a chat. She commented on my motorcycle and said it was beautiful. I asked her about her SUV and all the white powder on it and was to learn that it was salt and she and 2 of her girlfriends just returned from the Man on Fire rally where a bunch of iconoclastic peoples go north of Reno or Salt Lake into the middle of some deserted desolate salt bed and set up camp for a week. This is no ordinary party time. This year some 40,000 camped and it was described to me as a pretty much an any thing goes week. She seemed exhausted and some what worn from the experience. I was later to find out that she was an engineer out of Denver on holiday with some friends. I met all the other 2 over the course of the evening. The front of the motel was just a concrete walk way with the roof extending over it and a few lawn chairs here and there. This was a 50s era built motel. The chairs looked too insubstantial to hold my 6'4" 270 pound frame so I sat on the concrete and leaned against one of the support posts. I was being discrete and not facing in any rude manner. After all, I had already determined that she was a true red head when my headlights spotted her as I entered the motel parking. Out walks one of her girl friends who had just finished showering. She had long black below shoulder length hair and was entirely dressed in a bath towel. Apparently, she was either totally immodest or too tired to have concern for herself as she plopped down on one of the chairs that was directly in front of me. I was sitting on the concrete sidewalk with my back against a 4x4 porch post. The respectful thing to do was to stand up. I did. Shortly after, the 3rd girl emerged from the hotel room and the 4 of us visited more about the Burning Man gathering. Maybe some day I will make the pilgrimage on the week before labor day holiday to see what it is all about. I know if I was 30 years younger that I would have had a blast but, being an old fart of 53, and being married for 30 years to the same wonderful wife, it is not high on my list to check out.
Four ounces of Jack and 7 and my body feeling warm and pain free from yet the 4th dose of 800 milligrams of Ibuprofen, I'm feeling fine and left the girls to air them selves out in the evening and headed to bed in my own room for the sleep of the dead. Ah...3:30 AM...dress, wash face, electric aerostitch coat under my over jacket and windproof pants and I'm off to Reno. About 100 miles later through the mountains I'm heading out to find some local 2 lane highway into California. Though the salt flats and desert are most excellent flat slab roads where triple digit speed is easy to make, the gradual climb into the mountains was a welcome change. I was glad to make the last stretch of desert when it was cool because the 108 temp from yesterday and the non moving temp in the towns of 115 was pretty exhausting. I had to soak my inner shirt and wear only underwear under the Joe Rocket mesh pants and coat. When I started getting hot, really hot, I drank a bottle of water and soaked another bottle down my jacket into my tee shirt. Never having had air conditioning until I went away to college, and having worked harvest with no air conditioning in the middle of Kansas when I was a youth, I know about heat and how to work in high heat conditions. Many years in wheat fields on tractors and alfalfa fields bailing hay taught me well. So this mornings cool 40s temp was great. Getting to Reno was awesome. To snake down the mountain passage on I-80 into Reno was a great ride and I was ready for it. On the west side of Reno I stopped for gas before heading toward Redding, California. There was some road construction on the 2 lane asphalt passage way road 2xx something into Redding. I stopped at a shaded Highway patrol headquarters along this road and took an hour nap, got a map and being refreshed headed to Redding for Breakfast. A few times along this road there was smoke from the forest fires that the officer told me had burned for some time. It reminded me of the fall pasture fires that were deliberately set in Kansas pasture land to clear the fields of useless crop stubble or to cleanse the grasslands of weeds.
Somewhere along this route I found The Bear Restaurant. It serves a great breakfast and has good coffee. More Ibuprofen and a gas up and off to Shasta through the mountains. The scenery is great and the twisties tired me out. I was ready to be off this ass busting torturing saddle, twisties or not. Finally, at mid afternoon I arrived in Shasta and turned in the seat to the Russel people for their special blend of magic. They directed me to a motel, which again was another 50s era construct. I learned that the owner-managers were Arabic and lived on site with their 2 children. When ever and where ever I ride my motorcycle, I seem to meet interesting people. Today was no exception. I went to the motel and nobody was home...I mean the office was deserted but it had a sign in the window scrawled in ballpoint that said, "I have to buy my son some shoes and ill be back soon, Call me on my cell to let me know you want a room." I was hot, tired and a feeling a bit out of sorts, but at least I was distracted by the cool breeze that came off of Shasta lake and the wondrous shade of the trees in the circle drive patio that covered the picnic tables. Not every day do you pull up into a motel to be greeted by chickens. These were the family pets. Now I have seen some funny looking chickens in my time at various county fairs but these fell into the strange breed category. They looked like a banty crossed with a guinae. They were tame, really tame. I sat for about 90 minutes feeding them crushed peanuts and petting them. I'm sure I must have seemed a bit strange holding a chicken in my hand petting it while another one was sitting in my lap. The owners drove up in their minivan and looked my direction and waved me in. This was good thing. I was out of crushed peanuts. Once checked in, I showered and then got something to eat. I ventured to the local burrito shop and chowed down then went to the handy store and bought water and some gatoraide to restock and rehydrate myself this evening preparing for the ride home tomorrow.
A good nights sleep and I'm ready for breakfast. I felt like exploring Shasta lake and enjoyed the ride around the town and lake. About a mile off of I-5 into town is a small Log framed cabin restaurant that is on the south side of the street. I pulled into this clean establishment and was greeted by a wonderfully friendly waitress and noted a rather tall greying man working over a grill with an intenseness that conveyed relaxed confidence. I was famished and wanted to eat a big breakfast before going to Russel for the test sit at 10am. I asked her what was the largest breakfast I could get. She said it did not matter because all of the breakfasts served there were large. I looked around at the other patrons's tables and noted that the platters that their food was served on would easily hold a Thanksgiving day turkey. So for less than 10 washingtons I had a breakfast that I could not finish. She came back and laughed, "see what I mean?" I talked with her about the restaurant and who built it and such and got the full story. Needless to say that was the high point of me being in California and hell, I would ride there just to have breakfast again. I don't remember the name but the receptionist at Russels will drive you there for breakfast if you have to drop off your bike while the seat is being made on a drive in fitting. I know this because I met 2 guys that had moto clothes on and introduced myself and we drank coffee until the Russels receptionist came to pick them up for their test sits on their saddles.
One of the best things about going to have your saddle done at Russels is the kind, hospitable service from the receptionist to the seat makers. I got a full tour of the process and watched them making seats through the shop picture window. The front office receptionist-secretary is the wife of one of the seat makers and let me tell you, he is a LUCKY man. She could put many beauty queens to shame, but she has a kind affect and surely knows the business about seats and coverings and such. It was a pleasure picking out the color, fabric and stitch patterns for the seat. Finishing the test sit, I knew that it would not be around 4:30 pm before I could pick up the seat, so I had to kill some time. No time like the present to find a motorcycle accessory store and check it out.
Did I mention that I am riding my FJR with NO SEAT and it feels great. It turns out that a 1 inch piece of foam covered with my blue shag bath mat thrown over the frame and bungied down totally takes the pressure off the tail bone. The hole between the side rails that support the seat on the frame, padded and affixed in such a way supports my thighs and cheeks for a blissful experience as compared to the high tech manufactured stock Yamaha seat. I am laughing that this rig up is more comfortable than the stock seat. And I'm even laughing more as I share this chance discovery with another FJR rider who arrived at Russels this morning. He tried it and was amazed. BTW he was from Oregon and was getting a Daylong made the same day as me.
4:30 and I'm back at Russel getting my Daylong seat on the cycle. It fits and fits well. It feels kinda strange but there is a notable difference over the stock seat. They said it would take 1k miles to break it in and that I would be adjusting the back rest getting it just right until it would be locked tight and would need no further adjusting. I am not sure that I would pay for the back rest if I had to do it over again. Well it is about 5pm now and I don't want to do any twisties getting back to Reno because 3 hours of them starting a trip heading into a long desert ride is not the best plan. I head straight down I-5 to Sacramento and hit I-80 to go east to Reno. I highly recommend this route for speed and ease of travel. Having decided that I did not want to make the desert run during the heat of the day, I wanted to make the night run through Reno and Salt Lake and try to get into Wyoming before stopping for sleep. I made it through Sacramento, fueled up and headed on to Reno. It was dark as I snaked down through the mountains for the best light show of the trip. Reno at night is a refreshing neon painting of every imaginable color framed by the mountains that you pass through as you are coming down into the city. I fueled up. My plan was to triple digit through the desert. I was fine, made it to Reno and when I was fueling up I bought one of those 3 flavor chocolate wafer ice cream bars and one of those 5 hour zero calorie no crash energy drinks. BIG BIG mistake. I had never tried that stuff before and did it on impulse. That stuff drove my head crazy. It got so strange that half way through the Bonneville to Salt Lake run I had to pull off and just lay down in the salt and force myself to relax for 20 minutes. I had to do Yoga stretches of my legs back and stomach to get my self right and back on focus. It is terrible to be so tired and not be able to shut your mind off. It may do a great job of keeping your eyes open but your judgment is not the same and I had to force myself to focus on stuff for anything to make sense. Finally, the morning light was my savior. I had ridden through the night and arrived in Wyoming and was looking for a place to crash. It took me an hour to find a vacancy but at 10:30 I called my wife, had a shower and hit the sack. At 3 pm I was up and running, bike packed, fueled and back on the road. Disaster struck, I could not keep speed up very well because the wind shear along I-80 in Wyoming was 50 mph gusts. Because the road curves through and around into the hills and mountains, I could never quite relax because the wind force was constantly changing its force on the bike. Then to add to this the cut through blasts would move you over or change your lean angle on the curves. Sometimes it was on one side then the other and the finally, I just lowered the windshield and ducked down with my chest on the tank and rode it like I used to ride the crotch rocket. Doing this cut my profile but I had to constantly fight the wind and with the evening temps falling into the high to mid 30s on the bike coupled with the speed, the wind chill was pretty intense. I ended up staying one town west of Cheyenne at about 9:30pm. I was too tired from the cold and the wind to safely go farther.
The lights were on a Motel 6 and when I got off the bike to go in and pay for my room, my body felt like one of those lottery balls in the blower. My cracker box room greeted me with a warm blast of still heat. After my shower, I was asleep almost instantly. 4am...up and running again, through Cheyenne and now on I-25 south into Denver. I swore to my self that I was not going to pay the 6-8 dollar toll to bypass Denver. I rode right into Denver and it was great. North of Denver is Loveland. I saw a new sign along the road and I needed gas. What attracted me to this turn off was a new eating establishment called Mimi's. I had never heard of it before so I wanted to give it a shot. Not knowing that it was a chain, I stopped. I normally don't stop at chains when I'm traveling. I try to seek out local fare. Well, I needed gas any way and so I stopped to eat there. I gotta tell you that was yet another astounding breakfast. I HIGHLY recommend the pot roast and egg breakfast. They serve a muffin with it that will be a meal in itself. A person could slather the muffin with butter put it in a to-go box and into a tank bag and be assured of a noon meal-snack for a fuel stop. The coffee was great. It seems as though I stopped in the lag time after breakfast and before lunch. It gave me time to take off the 3 layers of moto clothes and change into mesh for the warm ride across eastern Colorado and through Kansas. While I was savoring this rich brown gravy coated tinder roast beef and following it with the ketchup laden hash browns, the waitress seated a woman in her early 40s across from me. She was quite easy on the eyes. She ordered then looked up at me enjoying my meal and asked, “did you ride here today.?” Now this is just one more question in the line of the many that is a Mr. Obvious answer because 3 layers of moto clothes are sitting in the opposite seat of my booth. I felt like I needed to give this woman a personal Sign to carry. Instead of saying "here's your sign," I simply said, “yes.” She asked if I was from Denver. No, I told her that I had come from California on my way back to Kansas. I found out that she was a teacher at the university and lived across from a sculpture garden. This perked interest is she told me of the sculpture garden that is about 5 miles from the restaurant. In Loveland, Colorado it seems each year they have a juried sculpture and art fair. From this event they buy more pieces for their out door sculpture garden. I recommend you take the detour to this and enjoy a morning looking it over. It is free to the public. I wish I could have stayed longer. I will go back with my wife when the art fair is being held and take that in with my wife. She hates motorcycles so I try to find things to take her to that I have discovered on my rides and want to fully explore.
Having fueled me and the FJR, it is time to hit the road for the finish dash home. Oh my GOD, how soon do we forget. MY ASS DOES NOT HURT and I'm riding nearly to fumes before stopping. God 1500 miles has passed and it is thursday and only 2 more fuel stops and I'm home. I got home and almost literally jumped off the crotch-rocket-on-growth-hormone and felt GREAT. This seat is great. No back pain, No But pain. No leg cramps thanks to Wild Bills foot pegs. And never lost, thanks to the Iway GPS 200. All in all it was a great trip. It taught me a lot about what stuff I want to change and or acquire before I earnestly begin the rally runs. Since I bought my first motorcycle, the Harley and having only driven 600 miles on a motorcycle in my life when I decided to take it to North Carolina via New Orleans and Gulfport, Mississippi for my first 1k day, well, I became hooked on long distance rides and enjoy the passage through time and weather front after front as one passes from plateau to grassland to mountains into the valleys that harbor the mountain cites and then past the many roads that sweeten the air with the sea sweat of the ocean. What is really great about motorcycle traveling for me, is that having flown over the US and Canada coast to coast many times, seeing it from above, now, I am enjoying the discovery of what I missed while being herded into the ear popping pressurized stale air circulated cramped boredom of air travel. I sure as hell don't miss sitting next to the fat slob of a human that has not bathed in a week and the painted hussy that has more ostentatious jewelry than a carnival midway and thinks 5 types of fragrance clashing from her perfume to her FDS makes her the dream woman of every man with lead in his pencil. Yes, I'm hooked...and someday you may meet this guy called Whitehorse who loves his FJR and most likely will be found solo riding where ever the front wheel is pointing at the time continually looking for yet another place to eat a great breakfast or an extra ordinary supper.
Peace
Whitehorse
Upon first hiking my leg over the FJR and settling my arse on the board of torture that is called the stock Yamaha saddle, I decided to do the quest for a new seat for my sorry-after-500-mile-aching ass bones. In my opinion, the Yamaha seat is designed to torture any rider that wants to stay on the bike for any distance or time. I found that I could not keep any speed or distance greater than 100 to 150 miles with out wanting to get off the bike and find some place to give my tail bone a rest. On my Harley superglide sport, equipped with a mustang seat, I have done a few 1k days and many relaxing evening rides of 300 or so miles just cruising the country around Kansas. I realized that the Harley with the loud thunderheader pipes would kill me with noise fatigue, but, it is sure is great fun setting off all the car alarms in a parking garage. It is harmless fun but on long rides the noise will get to you. That is why I bought the FJR, Power, Speed, Distance and comfort... The first few days that I had the FJR I was suffering Tail bone Trauma and would be sore for a few days after the 200 mile rides I did after work. That is it...I needed a new seat.
The idea of doing the Iron Butt Rally some time down the road has set me on a path to making the FJR the most comfortable motorcycle that I can make it. Then once that is accomplished, all the farkles that make the motorcycle rally worthy will be added. Why invent the wheel again? Go to the horse and ask him. As luck would have it, the IBR was in St. Louis this year and my current contract job is in Columbia, MO. I went to the mid point check-in in the evening after work. I needed to make my shopping list to make the FJR rally worthy and comfortable and talk to those that have solved my problems or similar problems. The parked motorcycles in the rear of the Doubletree, I used as my consultants. Checking the farkles and the seats and reserve tanks and GPS, Radar detectors and luggage/pelican box attachments on other FJRs, Hondas, and BMW motorcycles gave me an idea where I needed to start. I met Mr. Kneebone himself and watched him and Bob Higgins scoring the riders. That taught me a lot about the rally. I even met this years rally mistress, Lisa Landry. She informed me that I had rather "lofty" aspirations since I had never run in a rally before. I had a few engaging conversations with some of the peripheral staff and some of the entrants and this further reinforced one of my life lessons: Chance favors the prepared mind.
What I learned.
Buy a Russel "Daylong" seat and you will not be disappointed. One rider said that the best money that I could spend would be the Russell seat. Where does one buy such a seat...check the web, they have a page there that explains everything. That I did, and after a nice conversation with them, decided to make the trip to Shasta Lake, CA. It is roughly 2k out and hopefully a shorter 2k back. The very thought of 2k of severe pain and frequent stops getting there was tolerable, if, I focused on the thought of having a wonderful seat for the ride back. In preparation of the ride I went to the local Bed Bath and Beyond store and bought a rubberized shag carpet bath mat and folded it in half ran a bungy cord through the fold and clipped it to the frame. It provided some comfort and needed padding and with the extra riding clothes I felt confident that I could pull this off. So on this last labor day I headed off to Shasta Lake from Columbia, MO.
Awakening at OH-dark30, i headed out. On I70 some where west of Hayes KS, I needed gas and pulled off into a town that had not yet awakened. The card operated farm supply station supplied my needs and I was about to head out when I heard the ever familiar sound of a Harley with pipes heading my way. Humm, it is 6:30am and no body is up, so I waited to greet the rider and was soon to discover that is was a middle aged woman who was coming back from a vacation in Iowa. She had been visiting her daughter and grand children. She was headed to Colorado Springs. It was her home. Both her husband and her took turns taking the 1200 sportster. He used it for a commuter machine and she liked the longer trips. While lending a hand to fix one of her saddlebags that was flopping in the breeze, I noticed that she had a pair of black SHORT shorts on and leather riding chaps. At first notice, but once I did, I was wondering how cold she was in the nether regions due to the ambient temp of 42 degrees with Kansas winds of 40 mph and the sun barely peaking through the clouds in the east. Although, she was attractive and in great shape, at that moment I don't think she would have made a "hot" date. Heading back to I-70, I stopped in Oakley and had a great breakfast and again fueled, changed from cold weather gear to Mesh nylon legs and mesh leather/nylon jacket. By a bit after noon I was heading north on I-25 to Cheyenne, WY. About 30 miles north of Denver, it started to rain and it did not stop till Laramie, WY. Finally, I stopped and took off the rain gear and replaced my gloves, ate a quick late lunch at Subway and headed for Nevada. Some place on Interstate 80 there is a sign for a Covered Wagon Inn. It was rapidly getting dark and I needed some sleep and the usage of a good drier for my wet mesh and gloves. As luck would have it, I pulled in and got a room for the night. By now I am on my third dose of 800 milligrams of Ibuprofen. My tail bone has become my minds focus. I had to stop. Nothing cures pain like a good sit down meal in a nice padded booth. At least the meal took my mind off my aching coccyx. I was able to find a good meal at the local casino and being about 9 pm, I had the eating area pretty much to myself. So far this trip has been pretty good. Even though the rain sucked and I had to throttle back my speed, I still have had great fun and am looking forward to seeing new stuff.
In the mean time while I was eating, another guest arrived at the Covered Wagon and provided quite a view when I pulled into the parking lot. There, sitting in the parking lot was a large battle trap of an SUV packed to the windows and above with camping gear. On the rear window of the black SUV, marked out with stick letters made with torn duct tape were the 8 inch words “BURN ON.” If this was not an odd enough view of a black SUV covered entirely with the white-as-snow grit and grime, there was sitting by it an even more strange looking young woman who was dressed in a pair of loose shorts and an even more loose tee shirt with the sleeves cut off half way down the side seam. She was sitting on a white plastic 5 gallon wall board mud bucket sorting out her camping gear. All of her gear was covered and this white powder. As my headlights illuminated her body on her polyvinyl 5 gallon throne, with the help of a mild breeze, her red hair color was confirmed to be natural from top to bottom. I parked my motorcycle and went to get some ice and some seven up to mix some of those airline bottles of Jack that I got at the casino liquor store. My butt still hurt and I kinda needed to be anesthetized a bit for a fast sound sleep . In passing her I was invited for a chat. She commented on my motorcycle and said it was beautiful. I asked her about her SUV and all the white powder on it and was to learn that it was salt and she and 2 of her girlfriends just returned from the Man on Fire rally where a bunch of iconoclastic peoples go north of Reno or Salt Lake into the middle of some deserted desolate salt bed and set up camp for a week. This is no ordinary party time. This year some 40,000 camped and it was described to me as a pretty much an any thing goes week. She seemed exhausted and some what worn from the experience. I was later to find out that she was an engineer out of Denver on holiday with some friends. I met all the other 2 over the course of the evening. The front of the motel was just a concrete walk way with the roof extending over it and a few lawn chairs here and there. This was a 50s era built motel. The chairs looked too insubstantial to hold my 6'4" 270 pound frame so I sat on the concrete and leaned against one of the support posts. I was being discrete and not facing in any rude manner. After all, I had already determined that she was a true red head when my headlights spotted her as I entered the motel parking. Out walks one of her girl friends who had just finished showering. She had long black below shoulder length hair and was entirely dressed in a bath towel. Apparently, she was either totally immodest or too tired to have concern for herself as she plopped down on one of the chairs that was directly in front of me. I was sitting on the concrete sidewalk with my back against a 4x4 porch post. The respectful thing to do was to stand up. I did. Shortly after, the 3rd girl emerged from the hotel room and the 4 of us visited more about the Burning Man gathering. Maybe some day I will make the pilgrimage on the week before labor day holiday to see what it is all about. I know if I was 30 years younger that I would have had a blast but, being an old fart of 53, and being married for 30 years to the same wonderful wife, it is not high on my list to check out.
Four ounces of Jack and 7 and my body feeling warm and pain free from yet the 4th dose of 800 milligrams of Ibuprofen, I'm feeling fine and left the girls to air them selves out in the evening and headed to bed in my own room for the sleep of the dead. Ah...3:30 AM...dress, wash face, electric aerostitch coat under my over jacket and windproof pants and I'm off to Reno. About 100 miles later through the mountains I'm heading out to find some local 2 lane highway into California. Though the salt flats and desert are most excellent flat slab roads where triple digit speed is easy to make, the gradual climb into the mountains was a welcome change. I was glad to make the last stretch of desert when it was cool because the 108 temp from yesterday and the non moving temp in the towns of 115 was pretty exhausting. I had to soak my inner shirt and wear only underwear under the Joe Rocket mesh pants and coat. When I started getting hot, really hot, I drank a bottle of water and soaked another bottle down my jacket into my tee shirt. Never having had air conditioning until I went away to college, and having worked harvest with no air conditioning in the middle of Kansas when I was a youth, I know about heat and how to work in high heat conditions. Many years in wheat fields on tractors and alfalfa fields bailing hay taught me well. So this mornings cool 40s temp was great. Getting to Reno was awesome. To snake down the mountain passage on I-80 into Reno was a great ride and I was ready for it. On the west side of Reno I stopped for gas before heading toward Redding, California. There was some road construction on the 2 lane asphalt passage way road 2xx something into Redding. I stopped at a shaded Highway patrol headquarters along this road and took an hour nap, got a map and being refreshed headed to Redding for Breakfast. A few times along this road there was smoke from the forest fires that the officer told me had burned for some time. It reminded me of the fall pasture fires that were deliberately set in Kansas pasture land to clear the fields of useless crop stubble or to cleanse the grasslands of weeds.
Somewhere along this route I found The Bear Restaurant. It serves a great breakfast and has good coffee. More Ibuprofen and a gas up and off to Shasta through the mountains. The scenery is great and the twisties tired me out. I was ready to be off this ass busting torturing saddle, twisties or not. Finally, at mid afternoon I arrived in Shasta and turned in the seat to the Russel people for their special blend of magic. They directed me to a motel, which again was another 50s era construct. I learned that the owner-managers were Arabic and lived on site with their 2 children. When ever and where ever I ride my motorcycle, I seem to meet interesting people. Today was no exception. I went to the motel and nobody was home...I mean the office was deserted but it had a sign in the window scrawled in ballpoint that said, "I have to buy my son some shoes and ill be back soon, Call me on my cell to let me know you want a room." I was hot, tired and a feeling a bit out of sorts, but at least I was distracted by the cool breeze that came off of Shasta lake and the wondrous shade of the trees in the circle drive patio that covered the picnic tables. Not every day do you pull up into a motel to be greeted by chickens. These were the family pets. Now I have seen some funny looking chickens in my time at various county fairs but these fell into the strange breed category. They looked like a banty crossed with a guinae. They were tame, really tame. I sat for about 90 minutes feeding them crushed peanuts and petting them. I'm sure I must have seemed a bit strange holding a chicken in my hand petting it while another one was sitting in my lap. The owners drove up in their minivan and looked my direction and waved me in. This was good thing. I was out of crushed peanuts. Once checked in, I showered and then got something to eat. I ventured to the local burrito shop and chowed down then went to the handy store and bought water and some gatoraide to restock and rehydrate myself this evening preparing for the ride home tomorrow.
A good nights sleep and I'm ready for breakfast. I felt like exploring Shasta lake and enjoyed the ride around the town and lake. About a mile off of I-5 into town is a small Log framed cabin restaurant that is on the south side of the street. I pulled into this clean establishment and was greeted by a wonderfully friendly waitress and noted a rather tall greying man working over a grill with an intenseness that conveyed relaxed confidence. I was famished and wanted to eat a big breakfast before going to Russel for the test sit at 10am. I asked her what was the largest breakfast I could get. She said it did not matter because all of the breakfasts served there were large. I looked around at the other patrons's tables and noted that the platters that their food was served on would easily hold a Thanksgiving day turkey. So for less than 10 washingtons I had a breakfast that I could not finish. She came back and laughed, "see what I mean?" I talked with her about the restaurant and who built it and such and got the full story. Needless to say that was the high point of me being in California and hell, I would ride there just to have breakfast again. I don't remember the name but the receptionist at Russels will drive you there for breakfast if you have to drop off your bike while the seat is being made on a drive in fitting. I know this because I met 2 guys that had moto clothes on and introduced myself and we drank coffee until the Russels receptionist came to pick them up for their test sits on their saddles.
One of the best things about going to have your saddle done at Russels is the kind, hospitable service from the receptionist to the seat makers. I got a full tour of the process and watched them making seats through the shop picture window. The front office receptionist-secretary is the wife of one of the seat makers and let me tell you, he is a LUCKY man. She could put many beauty queens to shame, but she has a kind affect and surely knows the business about seats and coverings and such. It was a pleasure picking out the color, fabric and stitch patterns for the seat. Finishing the test sit, I knew that it would not be around 4:30 pm before I could pick up the seat, so I had to kill some time. No time like the present to find a motorcycle accessory store and check it out.
Did I mention that I am riding my FJR with NO SEAT and it feels great. It turns out that a 1 inch piece of foam covered with my blue shag bath mat thrown over the frame and bungied down totally takes the pressure off the tail bone. The hole between the side rails that support the seat on the frame, padded and affixed in such a way supports my thighs and cheeks for a blissful experience as compared to the high tech manufactured stock Yamaha seat. I am laughing that this rig up is more comfortable than the stock seat. And I'm even laughing more as I share this chance discovery with another FJR rider who arrived at Russels this morning. He tried it and was amazed. BTW he was from Oregon and was getting a Daylong made the same day as me.
4:30 and I'm back at Russel getting my Daylong seat on the cycle. It fits and fits well. It feels kinda strange but there is a notable difference over the stock seat. They said it would take 1k miles to break it in and that I would be adjusting the back rest getting it just right until it would be locked tight and would need no further adjusting. I am not sure that I would pay for the back rest if I had to do it over again. Well it is about 5pm now and I don't want to do any twisties getting back to Reno because 3 hours of them starting a trip heading into a long desert ride is not the best plan. I head straight down I-5 to Sacramento and hit I-80 to go east to Reno. I highly recommend this route for speed and ease of travel. Having decided that I did not want to make the desert run during the heat of the day, I wanted to make the night run through Reno and Salt Lake and try to get into Wyoming before stopping for sleep. I made it through Sacramento, fueled up and headed on to Reno. It was dark as I snaked down through the mountains for the best light show of the trip. Reno at night is a refreshing neon painting of every imaginable color framed by the mountains that you pass through as you are coming down into the city. I fueled up. My plan was to triple digit through the desert. I was fine, made it to Reno and when I was fueling up I bought one of those 3 flavor chocolate wafer ice cream bars and one of those 5 hour zero calorie no crash energy drinks. BIG BIG mistake. I had never tried that stuff before and did it on impulse. That stuff drove my head crazy. It got so strange that half way through the Bonneville to Salt Lake run I had to pull off and just lay down in the salt and force myself to relax for 20 minutes. I had to do Yoga stretches of my legs back and stomach to get my self right and back on focus. It is terrible to be so tired and not be able to shut your mind off. It may do a great job of keeping your eyes open but your judgment is not the same and I had to force myself to focus on stuff for anything to make sense. Finally, the morning light was my savior. I had ridden through the night and arrived in Wyoming and was looking for a place to crash. It took me an hour to find a vacancy but at 10:30 I called my wife, had a shower and hit the sack. At 3 pm I was up and running, bike packed, fueled and back on the road. Disaster struck, I could not keep speed up very well because the wind shear along I-80 in Wyoming was 50 mph gusts. Because the road curves through and around into the hills and mountains, I could never quite relax because the wind force was constantly changing its force on the bike. Then to add to this the cut through blasts would move you over or change your lean angle on the curves. Sometimes it was on one side then the other and the finally, I just lowered the windshield and ducked down with my chest on the tank and rode it like I used to ride the crotch rocket. Doing this cut my profile but I had to constantly fight the wind and with the evening temps falling into the high to mid 30s on the bike coupled with the speed, the wind chill was pretty intense. I ended up staying one town west of Cheyenne at about 9:30pm. I was too tired from the cold and the wind to safely go farther.
The lights were on a Motel 6 and when I got off the bike to go in and pay for my room, my body felt like one of those lottery balls in the blower. My cracker box room greeted me with a warm blast of still heat. After my shower, I was asleep almost instantly. 4am...up and running again, through Cheyenne and now on I-25 south into Denver. I swore to my self that I was not going to pay the 6-8 dollar toll to bypass Denver. I rode right into Denver and it was great. North of Denver is Loveland. I saw a new sign along the road and I needed gas. What attracted me to this turn off was a new eating establishment called Mimi's. I had never heard of it before so I wanted to give it a shot. Not knowing that it was a chain, I stopped. I normally don't stop at chains when I'm traveling. I try to seek out local fare. Well, I needed gas any way and so I stopped to eat there. I gotta tell you that was yet another astounding breakfast. I HIGHLY recommend the pot roast and egg breakfast. They serve a muffin with it that will be a meal in itself. A person could slather the muffin with butter put it in a to-go box and into a tank bag and be assured of a noon meal-snack for a fuel stop. The coffee was great. It seems as though I stopped in the lag time after breakfast and before lunch. It gave me time to take off the 3 layers of moto clothes and change into mesh for the warm ride across eastern Colorado and through Kansas. While I was savoring this rich brown gravy coated tinder roast beef and following it with the ketchup laden hash browns, the waitress seated a woman in her early 40s across from me. She was quite easy on the eyes. She ordered then looked up at me enjoying my meal and asked, “did you ride here today.?” Now this is just one more question in the line of the many that is a Mr. Obvious answer because 3 layers of moto clothes are sitting in the opposite seat of my booth. I felt like I needed to give this woman a personal Sign to carry. Instead of saying "here's your sign," I simply said, “yes.” She asked if I was from Denver. No, I told her that I had come from California on my way back to Kansas. I found out that she was a teacher at the university and lived across from a sculpture garden. This perked interest is she told me of the sculpture garden that is about 5 miles from the restaurant. In Loveland, Colorado it seems each year they have a juried sculpture and art fair. From this event they buy more pieces for their out door sculpture garden. I recommend you take the detour to this and enjoy a morning looking it over. It is free to the public. I wish I could have stayed longer. I will go back with my wife when the art fair is being held and take that in with my wife. She hates motorcycles so I try to find things to take her to that I have discovered on my rides and want to fully explore.
Having fueled me and the FJR, it is time to hit the road for the finish dash home. Oh my GOD, how soon do we forget. MY ASS DOES NOT HURT and I'm riding nearly to fumes before stopping. God 1500 miles has passed and it is thursday and only 2 more fuel stops and I'm home. I got home and almost literally jumped off the crotch-rocket-on-growth-hormone and felt GREAT. This seat is great. No back pain, No But pain. No leg cramps thanks to Wild Bills foot pegs. And never lost, thanks to the Iway GPS 200. All in all it was a great trip. It taught me a lot about what stuff I want to change and or acquire before I earnestly begin the rally runs. Since I bought my first motorcycle, the Harley and having only driven 600 miles on a motorcycle in my life when I decided to take it to North Carolina via New Orleans and Gulfport, Mississippi for my first 1k day, well, I became hooked on long distance rides and enjoy the passage through time and weather front after front as one passes from plateau to grassland to mountains into the valleys that harbor the mountain cites and then past the many roads that sweeten the air with the sea sweat of the ocean. What is really great about motorcycle traveling for me, is that having flown over the US and Canada coast to coast many times, seeing it from above, now, I am enjoying the discovery of what I missed while being herded into the ear popping pressurized stale air circulated cramped boredom of air travel. I sure as hell don't miss sitting next to the fat slob of a human that has not bathed in a week and the painted hussy that has more ostentatious jewelry than a carnival midway and thinks 5 types of fragrance clashing from her perfume to her FDS makes her the dream woman of every man with lead in his pencil. Yes, I'm hooked...and someday you may meet this guy called Whitehorse who loves his FJR and most likely will be found solo riding where ever the front wheel is pointing at the time continually looking for yet another place to eat a great breakfast or an extra ordinary supper.
Peace
Whitehorse
