Silver Penguin
Silver Penguin
So, it's a beautiful weekend for riding anywhere, even to work. It's time to bring the big girl out of the garage. She has been on temporary loan to Andy while I've been savoring the delights of a smaller bike with a lower seat height. But the little GS is no FJR. It's a wonderful bike but doesn't have that intoxicating roll on, that has all of addicted to the big Yamaha.
The bike is waiting patiently for me in the garage, thoughtfully pointed towards the outside world (by the husband who knows the likelihood of me letting it topple over onto something else, in the tightly packed space). I'm all dressed up, with somewhere to go. Yet the rather fashionable scrub pants that I've chosen, appear to have shrunk in the closet. I need a bottle of that stuff that Aerostich was advertising on April 1st. The pants are OK but definitely snug around the thighs. No matter. They will ride up with wear.
All geared up, for a brisk Spring morning, I hop onto the bike, or rather attempt to. The pants are resisting the leg throwing action. Thankfully the darkness hides the hopping, shuffling, wriggling motion that gets me onto the seat. I try in vain to hitch up the pants but they're glued like a second skin, under the looser riding pants. Time is getting on now, I need to roll, to get to work on time. With supreme effort, I get the stand up and realize that my tenuous reach to the floor is significantly impaired by the pants. Like any dedicated FJR rider, I say a few choice words and ride the bike anyway.
Whoa - I wobble out of the garage onto the driveway, coming to a shaky stop, to close the door. Did I used to like riding this bike? It's pretty darn scary, keeping it balanced. All the way to the main road, I'm dreading the turn, which involves coming to a full stop to be able to see clearly. Even my favorite intersection where the tire grooves are deep, doesn't afford me a solid toe down. This is not good. The anxiety messes with my head to a point where I take the crappiest line ever on the on-ramp, and then let an errant driver get into my head.
I did get to work safely but wasn't able to tippy toe the bike backwards into the parking space. Had to get off and heft it back. With sadness, I'm coming to the conclusion that this is probably going to be Andy's bike from now on.
I did my day's work. Then I took my pants off and rode the bike like it was meant to be ridden. In conclusion, it is much safer to ride the FJR with no pants on. (I'm wearing a better fitting pair of pants to ride to work in, today).
The bike is waiting patiently for me in the garage, thoughtfully pointed towards the outside world (by the husband who knows the likelihood of me letting it topple over onto something else, in the tightly packed space). I'm all dressed up, with somewhere to go. Yet the rather fashionable scrub pants that I've chosen, appear to have shrunk in the closet. I need a bottle of that stuff that Aerostich was advertising on April 1st. The pants are OK but definitely snug around the thighs. No matter. They will ride up with wear.
All geared up, for a brisk Spring morning, I hop onto the bike, or rather attempt to. The pants are resisting the leg throwing action. Thankfully the darkness hides the hopping, shuffling, wriggling motion that gets me onto the seat. I try in vain to hitch up the pants but they're glued like a second skin, under the looser riding pants. Time is getting on now, I need to roll, to get to work on time. With supreme effort, I get the stand up and realize that my tenuous reach to the floor is significantly impaired by the pants. Like any dedicated FJR rider, I say a few choice words and ride the bike anyway.
Whoa - I wobble out of the garage onto the driveway, coming to a shaky stop, to close the door. Did I used to like riding this bike? It's pretty darn scary, keeping it balanced. All the way to the main road, I'm dreading the turn, which involves coming to a full stop to be able to see clearly. Even my favorite intersection where the tire grooves are deep, doesn't afford me a solid toe down. This is not good. The anxiety messes with my head to a point where I take the crappiest line ever on the on-ramp, and then let an errant driver get into my head.
I did get to work safely but wasn't able to tippy toe the bike backwards into the parking space. Had to get off and heft it back. With sadness, I'm coming to the conclusion that this is probably going to be Andy's bike from now on.
I did my day's work. Then I took my pants off and rode the bike like it was meant to be ridden. In conclusion, it is much safer to ride the FJR with no pants on. (I'm wearing a better fitting pair of pants to ride to work in, today).
