Most FJRs don't get many glamor photos taken of that particular location. I bet a lot of them have more spooge there than yours does. Just sayin' :thumbsup:
The ONE Picture Ride Report
- Thread starter hppants
- Start date
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Panman
Well-known member
My 07 always gets the spooge when rode hard and long, not so much when riding easy local rides.
bigjohnsd
2021 BMW R1250GSA
hppants
Well-known member
It would not. Coleslaw and a wonderful corn and bean salad. The slaw is sweet, and the salad is just a bit tangy. I usually choose the same sides at that place.
Ooohh - my mouths watering.
Ooohh - my mouths watering.
hppants
Well-known member
January 2017
What is it that drives us to treat our machines like humans?
I’ve often thought about that illogical question. A self-proclaimed “car guy” for as long as I can remember, I can certainly relate the attraction people have with their vehicles. I’m sure this feeling goes way back for us – perhaps it started when we learned how to control horses. Going from 5 mph travelers to 35 mph must have been a euphoric experience for our ancestors. Adding distance to the equation surely was just as exciting. And I’m sure that using animals stronger than ourselves to perform previously impossible feats of work was icing on the cake for them.
Imagine what the engine pioneers were thinking in the very beginning.
“OK Charlie, here’s what I’ve got in mind. Let’s take a mouthful of this highly explosive liquid, add some air to it, and somehow shove it into this hole. We’ll light it on fire at the perfect time. Then we will use the percussion from the explosion and connect it to a wheel to move us hopefully in the direction we want to go. Hey kid – go tell my wife I won’t be home for dinner.”
It’s fairly easy for me to understand the mechanical attraction to the machine, especially for those with testosterone running through their veins. Fast forward though the age of mechanics and the feeling gets even stronger. I wouldn’t classify myself as a mechanic. More like a parts changer. But I know how the engine works, and to this day, it never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes when I’m riding, I think about the Category 10 hurricane that is happening within the engine cases below me. Honestly, I really don’t know how the thing just doesn’t explode into oblivion after 3 seconds, let alone run beautifully for thousands of hours and hundreds of thousands of miles. Some motor guys enjoy the satisfaction of tinkering with it, making it just a little bit better. But all of them guys appreciate the design and workmanship that goes into the beast.
We’ve seen this relationship manifested, exploited perhaps in movies and TV. Who remembers Herbie the Lovebug or Kitt from Nightrider (that Trans AM was sweeeet!!!). Or perhaps that demonic Christine that formed from a red Plymouth Fury that quite frankly looked the part and wore its badge with pride in my opinion.
But what about the inanimate part of the relationship? What is it that compels us to develop an emotional connection to our vehicles? My mother, who is definitely NOT a car person, still speaks highly about her favorite car. It was a 1967 Mustang, 289, Automatic, baby blue. She loved it because it was ergonomically designed perfectly for her petite statue, and in her words, “That car had zip”. I know all of us remember that favorite car or motorcycle.
My feeling is that our human spirit manifests feelings about the machine in the same manner that we feel pleasantly about other humans. We spend a lot of time with them. They rarely if ever disappoint us. In times of emergency, they work hard to protect us. They will happily tote the load without complaint. And they take us to our favorite places where we develop our fondest memories. Who wouldn’t associate those qualities with the very best of friends?
I’ve had many motorcycles in my life, but without a doubt, my current 2014 FJR is my absolute favorite. This bike shifts better than anything I have ever owned. It is dead nuts reliable. It does everything that I could ever want a motorcycle to do. I can ride it in 20 degrees and 100 degrees, in a 25 mph wind, and in a pouring rain. After 500 miles, I’m just as comfortable as I was when I left the driveway. I can load it down with all of my crap, and take it anywhere in the country. I can set the cruise control, sit back, and make miles. Or I can find the yellow sign that says “steep and crocked next 50 miles”, downshift to 3rd gear, and lean it over.
And when she is polished up, her red color shining in the sun, she is absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes when I’m riding in the zone, flogging curves left and right, it’s almost like she knows what to do. Like she kind of just takes over and I’m more of a passenger enjoying the scenery. It’s surreal.
We’ve been through some things together
With trunks of memories still to come
We’ve found things to do in stormy weather
Long may you run
Long may you run, long may you run
Although these changes have come
With your chrome heart shining in the sun
Long may you run
Neil Young, 1976
Stay thirsty, my friends….
What is it that drives us to treat our machines like humans?
I’ve often thought about that illogical question. A self-proclaimed “car guy” for as long as I can remember, I can certainly relate the attraction people have with their vehicles. I’m sure this feeling goes way back for us – perhaps it started when we learned how to control horses. Going from 5 mph travelers to 35 mph must have been a euphoric experience for our ancestors. Adding distance to the equation surely was just as exciting. And I’m sure that using animals stronger than ourselves to perform previously impossible feats of work was icing on the cake for them.
Imagine what the engine pioneers were thinking in the very beginning.
“OK Charlie, here’s what I’ve got in mind. Let’s take a mouthful of this highly explosive liquid, add some air to it, and somehow shove it into this hole. We’ll light it on fire at the perfect time. Then we will use the percussion from the explosion and connect it to a wheel to move us hopefully in the direction we want to go. Hey kid – go tell my wife I won’t be home for dinner.”
It’s fairly easy for me to understand the mechanical attraction to the machine, especially for those with testosterone running through their veins. Fast forward though the age of mechanics and the feeling gets even stronger. I wouldn’t classify myself as a mechanic. More like a parts changer. But I know how the engine works, and to this day, it never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes when I’m riding, I think about the Category 10 hurricane that is happening within the engine cases below me. Honestly, I really don’t know how the thing just doesn’t explode into oblivion after 3 seconds, let alone run beautifully for thousands of hours and hundreds of thousands of miles. Some motor guys enjoy the satisfaction of tinkering with it, making it just a little bit better. But all of them guys appreciate the design and workmanship that goes into the beast.
We’ve seen this relationship manifested, exploited perhaps in movies and TV. Who remembers Herbie the Lovebug or Kitt from Nightrider (that Trans AM was sweeeet!!!). Or perhaps that demonic Christine that formed from a red Plymouth Fury that quite frankly looked the part and wore its badge with pride in my opinion.
But what about the inanimate part of the relationship? What is it that compels us to develop an emotional connection to our vehicles? My mother, who is definitely NOT a car person, still speaks highly about her favorite car. It was a 1967 Mustang, 289, Automatic, baby blue. She loved it because it was ergonomically designed perfectly for her petite statue, and in her words, “That car had zip”. I know all of us remember that favorite car or motorcycle.
My feeling is that our human spirit manifests feelings about the machine in the same manner that we feel pleasantly about other humans. We spend a lot of time with them. They rarely if ever disappoint us. In times of emergency, they work hard to protect us. They will happily tote the load without complaint. And they take us to our favorite places where we develop our fondest memories. Who wouldn’t associate those qualities with the very best of friends?
I’ve had many motorcycles in my life, but without a doubt, my current 2014 FJR is my absolute favorite. This bike shifts better than anything I have ever owned. It is dead nuts reliable. It does everything that I could ever want a motorcycle to do. I can ride it in 20 degrees and 100 degrees, in a 25 mph wind, and in a pouring rain. After 500 miles, I’m just as comfortable as I was when I left the driveway. I can load it down with all of my crap, and take it anywhere in the country. I can set the cruise control, sit back, and make miles. Or I can find the yellow sign that says “steep and crocked next 50 miles”, downshift to 3rd gear, and lean it over.
And when she is polished up, her red color shining in the sun, she is absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes when I’m riding in the zone, flogging curves left and right, it’s almost like she knows what to do. Like she kind of just takes over and I’m more of a passenger enjoying the scenery. It’s surreal.
We’ve been through some things together
With trunks of memories still to come
We’ve found things to do in stormy weather
Long may you run
Long may you run, long may you run
Although these changes have come
With your chrome heart shining in the sun
Long may you run
Neil Young, 1976
Stay thirsty, my friends….
Last edited by a moderator:
hppants
Well-known member
March 2017, Southern Arkansas Mountains
It's been a great trip but really, they all are. Each one stands on its own merit. Each one is special in its own rite. The more I do this, the better it gets. My expectations and pre-conceived notions are far and away exceeded. There was a time when everything had to be "perfect". The bike, the ride, the scenery... everything. But those days are long over. The truth of the matter is this - it's ALL good. Every single bit of it. It doesn't matter where we are, what we are doing, what we see, when we get there, or how we see it. It's going to be great because it is all good. I'm with my brothers and we are happy and riding. I've spent decades in my youth chasing some kind of Utopia that I felt had to be just outside of my reach. How stupid and ignorant I was. The Paradise I was looking for was right in front of me all along. If it was a snake, it would bite me. It's right here, right now, everywhere. I just need to realize that and accept it.
We've had 4 good days together in this month's version of paradise, but like all matters of life, good things must eventually come to an end. Mike has gone home a couple days ago. Josh is riding north and Craig to the west. I'm taking my time. I could have easily gotten home today, but I've got another day off work and what the heck is the point in rushing? Everything is fine at home. My kids are doing their thing. My wife is enjoying the quiet. The weather is nice. Why rush it?
Mark is in no hurry to get home either, so I'll drag him along south to see whatever we can see. We've had a nice day zig zag-ing around Arkansas. I've got a campground in mind for the evening and we are easing our way in that direction. But the closer we get, the smokier it gets. There must be a forest fire near here. I soon realize that we cannot sleep where we intended, it's about 5 pm, we are in the middle of no where, and I have no "plan B".
I check the map and see another campground about 20 miles in the up wind direction. I think if we ride toward there, the air will be cleaner. But I'm pretty sure it will be primitive. No shower. No electricity. No water. But no worries from me, it's all good and if it gets bad enough, I've got my credit card.
We get there and the entrance driveway is steep and gravel. We decide to give it a shot and the campground is just up on the hillside. As predicted, it's primitive. But we've got cold beer, some simple food, and there is a ton of fire wood just lying near the site. We have the entire forest to ourselves. With all things in place, we grab the beer cooler and walk over to the edge of the site to just sit down and watch the log trucks on the road. Just an hour to chew the fat and listen to the silence of the woods.
Like I said, it doesn't matter. It's ALL good. Every single bit of it.
Stay thirsty, my friends....
It's been a great trip but really, they all are. Each one stands on its own merit. Each one is special in its own rite. The more I do this, the better it gets. My expectations and pre-conceived notions are far and away exceeded. There was a time when everything had to be "perfect". The bike, the ride, the scenery... everything. But those days are long over. The truth of the matter is this - it's ALL good. Every single bit of it. It doesn't matter where we are, what we are doing, what we see, when we get there, or how we see it. It's going to be great because it is all good. I'm with my brothers and we are happy and riding. I've spent decades in my youth chasing some kind of Utopia that I felt had to be just outside of my reach. How stupid and ignorant I was. The Paradise I was looking for was right in front of me all along. If it was a snake, it would bite me. It's right here, right now, everywhere. I just need to realize that and accept it.
We've had 4 good days together in this month's version of paradise, but like all matters of life, good things must eventually come to an end. Mike has gone home a couple days ago. Josh is riding north and Craig to the west. I'm taking my time. I could have easily gotten home today, but I've got another day off work and what the heck is the point in rushing? Everything is fine at home. My kids are doing their thing. My wife is enjoying the quiet. The weather is nice. Why rush it?
Mark is in no hurry to get home either, so I'll drag him along south to see whatever we can see. We've had a nice day zig zag-ing around Arkansas. I've got a campground in mind for the evening and we are easing our way in that direction. But the closer we get, the smokier it gets. There must be a forest fire near here. I soon realize that we cannot sleep where we intended, it's about 5 pm, we are in the middle of no where, and I have no "plan B".
I check the map and see another campground about 20 miles in the up wind direction. I think if we ride toward there, the air will be cleaner. But I'm pretty sure it will be primitive. No shower. No electricity. No water. But no worries from me, it's all good and if it gets bad enough, I've got my credit card.
We get there and the entrance driveway is steep and gravel. We decide to give it a shot and the campground is just up on the hillside. As predicted, it's primitive. But we've got cold beer, some simple food, and there is a ton of fire wood just lying near the site. We have the entire forest to ourselves. With all things in place, we grab the beer cooler and walk over to the edge of the site to just sit down and watch the log trucks on the road. Just an hour to chew the fat and listen to the silence of the woods.
Like I said, it doesn't matter. It's ALL good. Every single bit of it.
Stay thirsty, my friends....
zzzzip
Well-known member
A RIDE to see the USS Lexington (CV-16) in Corpus Christi, Texas-- April 22 - xx(the names and dates have been changes to protect the innocent.)
Backstory: During WWII, my dad, at the tender age of 17, joined the Navy to fight the war. He served on the aircraft carrier USS Lexington. The fourth ship in the US Navy by that name had been sunk in the Battle of the Coral Sea, May 1942. The fifth ship, an Essex class carrier, named the Lexington would be commissioned in February 1943, and carry my father on a deployment from Tarawa to Tokyo. During that time, they were hit by one Kamakazi plane and one torpedo. Men on board were injured and killed.
Fortunately, since I came along several years later, my dad was not one of them. He also got lucky on a destroyer during the Korean war. But cancer got him in his 50's, and I inherited his cruise book "Tarawa to Tokyo". So, I figured before I got too old, I should pay a small tribute to him by going to Corpus to see the "Lady Lex", AKA: "The Blue Ghost" named by the Japanese and which Tokyo Rose claimed was sunk on at least four occasions, and walk where he walked and see what he saw, and get a feel for the ship that carried him away and brought him back safely.
One of my drinking (coffee) buddies had listened to me for the last year talking about how great the FJR was for touring. He had joined me on a Hooterville ride last year on his Triumph Tiger. Most of his time prior to that he'd been on dirt bikes. He rode a friend's FJR and was convinced it was the bike for him. Short story: he found a used 2015 ES in Indiana with 1000 miles on it, and took my trailer and retrieved it. Now he was ready for his first "real" tour. He wanted to join me on this run to Corpus. 2300 miles and seven days round trip.
I will call him "Sparky" (as in "Sparky" the Fire Dog) for now, or at least until the heat is off from the Texas Rangers.
It was a dark and stormy night when we left from "America's Hometown" in N.E. Missouri. Wait---- that's another story......
We left America's Hometown under cloudy skies at noon headed for Branson Missouri for the night. We made a stop in Fulton MO at Mojo's BBQ and I had what might be the best BBQ and baked beans I've ever had. We hit rain and 46 degrees about 30 miles from Branson, and called it a night at a clean, small Mom&Pop motel. So much for a day of adventure, romance and intrigue. But we had had a tail wind all the way.
Next morning was sunny and cold, and we headed south to near Harrison AR where we caught AR 23 --"the Pig Trail"-- down to Ozark on I40. Then we slabbed it to Ft. Smith and got to Heavener OK and caught US 259 for some great riding on curves and grades. Little traffic, good scenery and good road. We popped out at Idabel and cut cross country to McKinney TX to impose ourselves on my sister and husband for the night. Steaks were on the BBQ and a good rest was had. Another day with tail winds.
We left late the next morning to give Dallas traffic a chance to cool it's jets. I was playing with a new GPS and Sparky was old tech with a map and a, well...... map. Oh, and a cell phone. I was glad to have the GPS because we would have been as lost as a thong in Rosie O'Donnell's ass without it. I had noted an electronic sign roadside saying I35 was totally closed due to an accident. Sparky whipped out his phone and figured a route around the problem in the time it took me to fuel, and we headed to Corpus with a short detour. Attaboy, Sparky. Time and effort saved.
We took US 77 from Waco to Corpus thinking it would be great to stay off the interstate, with only a little time added. That was the case, but we found there were a lot of towns and stop lights to be had. I figured a state the size of Texas would have some mostly un-populated areas. It appears most of them live along US 77. But we'd had a tail wind most of the day.
It had been a mostly uneventful ride except for the few occasions where something happened, and he would say, "But don't tell her" or "It might be better if she didn't know....".
Now we had two nights in Corpus. Big winds off the bay, but we could walk to food and the carrier. We had great fish in a somewhat sleezy bar, and a reasonably good night in the motel. Must have been an international motel, as we were about the only Anglos there. All nice folks.
Up the next morning, a walk by the beach with coffee on the way to the Lex, and then a lengthy and informative self guided tour. With my background, I was able to explain some stuff about history and aircraft on board, and military life as well as life concerning my dad. Sparky did a good job acting like he believed I was really knowledgeable. Then more seafood and beer at a nicer place across the causeway, and prepping for the night before the ride home the next day.
Up before dawn with the wind still 15-20 MPH and 78 degrees. At least it's not 46 like we started most mornings. It would get up to 88 degrees during the day, before dropping to 63 degrees when we got back to McKinney. It was Sparky's job to find a route home, and he decided we should just slab it back to McKinney, and talk my sister into another night at their place. She seems to like him for some reason, so she agreed. The wind gods were good to us until Waco, then there were vicious crosswinds. Up until then we had had tailwinds.
Another good night's rest and visit, and Sparky chose to exit Texas at Texarkana via I30. Up to Hot Springs AR, where we found lunch and the start of great Arkansas twisty roads again. Sunny skies and no winds made even the interstate feel good. Sparky wanted to do AR 7-- an excellent choice.
Another day of super riding, because from Hollis north to Harrison AR we had the road mostly to ourselves. Sparky got a case of "happy feet" and started really testing the FJR. He was leading instead of following so I sat back and watched for a while. "I don't think you should mention this to her" was a familiar refrain at most rest stops. What the hell, no tupperware was cracked. What's to mention?
A night in Harrison found rain coming in, so we had a delayed departure to work our way home behind it. We decided a direct route through Springfield and Lake of the Ozarks was in order because wet twisties just weren't that much fun. So light rain, temps in the mid 50s and dirty bikes ended the tour.
At the last meet up where a 2 lane road meets 4 lane US 36, Sparky got a case of happy feet pulling away on the greasy wet pavement. The FJR responded by letting the rear wheel dance out from under him, but he showed his dirt bike chops buy riding her out. Probably showing off.
But we won't tell her about that.....
Sparky and his FJR admiring Lady Lex's stern in Corpus Christi Texas.
Backstory: During WWII, my dad, at the tender age of 17, joined the Navy to fight the war. He served on the aircraft carrier USS Lexington. The fourth ship in the US Navy by that name had been sunk in the Battle of the Coral Sea, May 1942. The fifth ship, an Essex class carrier, named the Lexington would be commissioned in February 1943, and carry my father on a deployment from Tarawa to Tokyo. During that time, they were hit by one Kamakazi plane and one torpedo. Men on board were injured and killed.
Fortunately, since I came along several years later, my dad was not one of them. He also got lucky on a destroyer during the Korean war. But cancer got him in his 50's, and I inherited his cruise book "Tarawa to Tokyo". So, I figured before I got too old, I should pay a small tribute to him by going to Corpus to see the "Lady Lex", AKA: "The Blue Ghost" named by the Japanese and which Tokyo Rose claimed was sunk on at least four occasions, and walk where he walked and see what he saw, and get a feel for the ship that carried him away and brought him back safely.
One of my drinking (coffee) buddies had listened to me for the last year talking about how great the FJR was for touring. He had joined me on a Hooterville ride last year on his Triumph Tiger. Most of his time prior to that he'd been on dirt bikes. He rode a friend's FJR and was convinced it was the bike for him. Short story: he found a used 2015 ES in Indiana with 1000 miles on it, and took my trailer and retrieved it. Now he was ready for his first "real" tour. He wanted to join me on this run to Corpus. 2300 miles and seven days round trip.
I will call him "Sparky" (as in "Sparky" the Fire Dog) for now, or at least until the heat is off from the Texas Rangers.
It was a dark and stormy night when we left from "America's Hometown" in N.E. Missouri. Wait---- that's another story......
We left America's Hometown under cloudy skies at noon headed for Branson Missouri for the night. We made a stop in Fulton MO at Mojo's BBQ and I had what might be the best BBQ and baked beans I've ever had. We hit rain and 46 degrees about 30 miles from Branson, and called it a night at a clean, small Mom&Pop motel. So much for a day of adventure, romance and intrigue. But we had had a tail wind all the way.
Next morning was sunny and cold, and we headed south to near Harrison AR where we caught AR 23 --"the Pig Trail"-- down to Ozark on I40. Then we slabbed it to Ft. Smith and got to Heavener OK and caught US 259 for some great riding on curves and grades. Little traffic, good scenery and good road. We popped out at Idabel and cut cross country to McKinney TX to impose ourselves on my sister and husband for the night. Steaks were on the BBQ and a good rest was had. Another day with tail winds.
We left late the next morning to give Dallas traffic a chance to cool it's jets. I was playing with a new GPS and Sparky was old tech with a map and a, well...... map. Oh, and a cell phone. I was glad to have the GPS because we would have been as lost as a thong in Rosie O'Donnell's ass without it. I had noted an electronic sign roadside saying I35 was totally closed due to an accident. Sparky whipped out his phone and figured a route around the problem in the time it took me to fuel, and we headed to Corpus with a short detour. Attaboy, Sparky. Time and effort saved.
We took US 77 from Waco to Corpus thinking it would be great to stay off the interstate, with only a little time added. That was the case, but we found there were a lot of towns and stop lights to be had. I figured a state the size of Texas would have some mostly un-populated areas. It appears most of them live along US 77. But we'd had a tail wind most of the day.
It had been a mostly uneventful ride except for the few occasions where something happened, and he would say, "But don't tell her" or "It might be better if she didn't know....".
Now we had two nights in Corpus. Big winds off the bay, but we could walk to food and the carrier. We had great fish in a somewhat sleezy bar, and a reasonably good night in the motel. Must have been an international motel, as we were about the only Anglos there. All nice folks.
Up the next morning, a walk by the beach with coffee on the way to the Lex, and then a lengthy and informative self guided tour. With my background, I was able to explain some stuff about history and aircraft on board, and military life as well as life concerning my dad. Sparky did a good job acting like he believed I was really knowledgeable. Then more seafood and beer at a nicer place across the causeway, and prepping for the night before the ride home the next day.
Up before dawn with the wind still 15-20 MPH and 78 degrees. At least it's not 46 like we started most mornings. It would get up to 88 degrees during the day, before dropping to 63 degrees when we got back to McKinney. It was Sparky's job to find a route home, and he decided we should just slab it back to McKinney, and talk my sister into another night at their place. She seems to like him for some reason, so she agreed. The wind gods were good to us until Waco, then there were vicious crosswinds. Up until then we had had tailwinds.
Another good night's rest and visit, and Sparky chose to exit Texas at Texarkana via I30. Up to Hot Springs AR, where we found lunch and the start of great Arkansas twisty roads again. Sunny skies and no winds made even the interstate feel good. Sparky wanted to do AR 7-- an excellent choice.
Another day of super riding, because from Hollis north to Harrison AR we had the road mostly to ourselves. Sparky got a case of "happy feet" and started really testing the FJR. He was leading instead of following so I sat back and watched for a while. "I don't think you should mention this to her" was a familiar refrain at most rest stops. What the hell, no tupperware was cracked. What's to mention?
A night in Harrison found rain coming in, so we had a delayed departure to work our way home behind it. We decided a direct route through Springfield and Lake of the Ozarks was in order because wet twisties just weren't that much fun. So light rain, temps in the mid 50s and dirty bikes ended the tour.
At the last meet up where a 2 lane road meets 4 lane US 36, Sparky got a case of happy feet pulling away on the greasy wet pavement. The FJR responded by letting the rear wheel dance out from under him, but he showed his dirt bike chops buy riding her out. Probably showing off.
But we won't tell her about that.....
Sparky and his FJR admiring Lady Lex's stern in Corpus Christi Texas.
Last edited by a moderator:
NTXFJR
Well-known member
Nice r/r Skip, Thanks for bringing us along!
Last edited by a moderator:
Niehart
Pie Smuggler
Pterodactyl
Well-known member
Spousal Unit at the Four Diamond Ranch about 30 miles north of Livingston, MT.
What a beautiful spot. My mind is reeling. I aim to get back there again, one day. Hopefully spend a little more time there, before I die. I envy you both.
"The Rocky Mountains realize - nay, exceed - the dream of my childhood.
It is magnificent, and the air is life-giving."
- Isabella Bird
"The Rocky Mountains realize - nay, exceed - the dream of my childhood.
It is magnificent, and the air is life-giving."
- Isabella Bird
Last edited by a moderator:
Pterodactyl
Well-known member
Well, hell ..... just ride on out here. We have plenty of space.
Last edited by a moderator:
Only two little things holding me back right now. Time and money. Same old song...
Pterodactyl
Well-known member
West of Simms, Montana near the Sun River crossing.....
Fontanaman
Robin Trower
Hwy 106 along Hood Canal with the Olympic Mountains in the background on May 27, 2017.
escapefjrtist
Searching for Dry Roads
Southern Oregon coast...great day but not a lot of warmth & sun to be found today.
--G
--G
escapefjrtist
Searching for Dry Roads
Lake Almanor looking NW towards Lassen NP.
Great day riding today. Saw an '07 FJR westbound on 44, stopped for construction zone. No time for another pic...the '15 was on full boil getting to the front and open road!
--G
Great day riding today. Saw an '07 FJR westbound on 44, stopped for construction zone. No time for another pic...the '15 was on full boil getting to the front and open road!
--G
bigjohnsd
2021 BMW R1250GSA
Hi, I've shared 1 photo via Photobucket. Please click the link to view photos: https://share.photobucket.com/shareprofile/indexshare.php?id=ODI2NDk=
Uncle Hud
Just another blob of protoplasm using up your oxyg
photo assist for bigjohnsd who's on the road .... but maybe not for much longer!
