No Wheelies Here

The Aerostitch Roadcrafter: 8 years and counting

2012-01-09T14:29:00.000-08:00

Thanks to all who follow my blog and put up with the lack of content updates. I've got a few minutes away from diaper changes and lost sunny riding days to put something down on cyber-paper, so I thought I'd talk about my trademark black and yellow Aerostitch Roadcrafter.

Now there's a TON of on-line reviews and opinions on the 'ol stitch, so I'll spare everyone a breakdown of features and safety research that makes up the suit, but suffice to say that the roadcrafter still sets the bar, almost 30 years later!

Back in 2003, I had a get off that tore right through my jeans and put a nice gash in my knee that left me limping around for a few days. Up to this point in my very early riding career, I was under a common mistaken impression that "full gear" consisted of a helmet, boots, gloves and a riding jacket. It was about 30 seconds after my knee started bleeding that I felt like I should look into some better protection for the other 40% of my body.

Many hours of online shopping and research had netted me over $200 in purchases of various riding pant solutions. The fundamental flaw was that pants required me to make a clothing change at work, or work all day in bulky riding pants. Another bothering issue was the fact that the pants didn't really seem to work that well; the armor would float around my leg during normal use, so I seriously questioned the ability to protect my body in a crash.

So that brought me to the Roadcrafter. The one-piece design had some very nice advantages for my needs. First the suit is designed to fit over your normal clothing and easily comes off in a couple of seconds, so you don't have to change, or look like a astronaut all day. Also, the design incorporates all the armor into the garment, so the fit and function really worked; the crash worthiness has been proven though countless real life encounters.

So, I measured up my body, put in my order, and $1000 (optional hip and back armor) later I gleefully opened the box from Duluth Minnesota.

Fast forward 10 years and around 50,000 miles of use and my only regrets are wasting almost the same amount of money on gear that I never wore after the Aerostich arrived.

For the most part, the suit is just about as sound as new. I had to have the right hip zipper replaced (mostly because of use; its where my wallet is), and the main zipper pulls come off occasionally due to age. Fortunately, the zippers are made of metal and can be bent back into submission. I've replaced the internal armor pads, as they do degrade over time, and my pads were starting to fall apart ($60, i think).

Not to say the suit has been perfect; like many other riders, I wish there was a bit more venting in the summer. I wish that the zipper pulls would stay put and the collar would stay down when open. But overall, I feel like I've come out ahead in the deal; the wear I observed on my cheaper gear showed me that I would had to replace it all 3 times over in the same amount of time that my 'stich has soldiered on.

I honestly think about the eventual replacement of the suit from time to time, but after 8 years of pretty extensive use, I can't find a real reason to do so. I think that a trip back to Minnesota for a refresh of the zippers and Velcro may be in order, but other than that - I'm looking forward to the next 10 years!

Winter - good for bike projects, bad for riding

2011-12-11T15:12:00.001-08:00

Greetings from the Yellow Ranger lair!

A waltz in the clouds, a cha-cha in the butterflies, and krumping in the dirt:

2011-09-06T19:57:00.000-07:00

A 3-day ride with Tim Mayhew of Pashnit Motorcycle tours.

In short: a group of mostly complete-strangers meet up with a Wisconsin transplant and become a motley crew of asphalt avengers.

I pulled up to the café around 7am. After rising at the ungodly 5am hour, I was almost jittery with anticipation. Many moons ago, I was a simple college student who had secret dreams of riding somewhere far away. In my many motorcycle searches online, I fell across the website of a guy named Tim. Tim was a guy with a similar interest and a very good story to tell. And he had something else that no one had really ever done before. Tim had a mission to travel and photograph every road in California for all to share. I really got into his tales of his travels onboard an old Yamaha venture.

Tim kind of became my hero. Any now I was about to ride with him. I could hardly contain myself.

I had previously had met Tim briefly at the annual motorcycle show in San Mateo, though it was a very brief encounter. Tim pulled up last and parked next to our line of bikes. I had forgotten how jovial and friendly Tim was. He greeted all the riders and we went across the street to have a quick coffee and a pre-ride meeting.

Tim handed out a sheet of paper with everyone’s contact information and a safety information sheet. He talked about his experiences with group rides and went over many scenarios that resulted in accidents and how he thought they could have been prevented. In particular, he spoke about the “fourth guy” rule: In his experiences, a lot of accidents seemed to involve the fourth guy in a group of riders. He explained that the first guy was the lead rider (usually him), followed by the next two fast riders, usually guys who knew each other. The so-called fourth guy was the rider that was trying to keep up with the fast guys. Usually, the fourth guy managed to keep up by riding a bit outside his abilities, usually to his determent.

After the meeting, we set out up Mt. Tamalpias and began to climb up through a pretty heavy fog. It was still 8am or so and the marine layer had yet to burn off. An un-cohesive group of bikes slowly winded their way up the mountain and eventually reached above the fog. The hills were tan and showed their mid summer thirst. We took a rest and descended down various side roads to hwy 1.

Note the order: fast guys arriving first on the left

Winding up the coast, we rode up north of Bodega Bay and stopped for lunch. The group had started to gel almost organically; we figured out who were the fast guys, the middle guys and who brought up the rear.

Pictured on left: Mark, Motorcycle sweep extraordinaire!

Stopping just before Hardy Creek Ranch, we had a mental brake before the road tightened up. This was the first time we’d really start hitting the twisties. Immediately, Tim, Joe, Darius, Ross, and Dave took off on their respective bikes (Hayabusa, S1000, Ulysses, Bandit, and FJR) and were a distant thought. Taylor, my fellow V-Strom rider and I grouped with Kevin, a recently made Multistrada owner and we made up the middle group. Dr. Dave, Bruce, and Mark made up the rear (Wide Glide, VTX, Tiger).

Day 1 ended with the group blasting up a freeway stretch of hwy 101 to make it to our hotel. We were all pretty fried when we started to knock back micro-brews. Dinner was a pretty awesome turkey club with salad. Conversation was bike-related and full of laughter.

A funny thing happened around that dinner table; simple names and bike choices for identification became occupations and personalities. Next to me, Joe was on a whirlwind 29-day tour of the west on a BMW S1000R! Certainly a hardy soul, Joe was undertaking a ride that most would shrink away from mounted on the largest luxury-touring barge. Joe had a map, a plan to concur the twistiest roads, and a 4-day laundry cycle. He had been on the road for 9 days already and was great company. I sat across from Taylor, a rather important person in a well-known bay area company. The others also had tales to tell. And I would hear them as time went by.

Tim made his entrance into the restaurant last. Sitting next to Taylor, I was amazed to hear the very human side of an internet-celebrity story. I have to admit, I was still a bit star-struck. My impression of Tim was based on his modest online empire; selling parts, writing, and running his touring company. I almost expected a phony, but a very accessible and modest guy pleasantly surprised me. He had the same problems as most of us: too many things to do and not enough time to do them. I was shocked to hear that almost all of the riding he does is only during his tours. The rest of the year is taken up being the father of 3, and the employer of 1.

We retired and prepared for the next day of riding. The parking lot of the hotel had filled with motorcycles. It appeared as though we weren’t the only ones who knew that this was prime riding country.

Day 2: a cha-cha in the butterflies

After the normal morning groaning after a 500-mile day, we mounted our rides and took off towards Hwy 36. The morning started briskly, save for a stretch blocked by a diesel-fume spewing truck. At one point, the driver sped up so fast that the ATV that he was carrying caught air as the truck slammed back down on the pavement - These back-woods folks were pretty prissy about letting a few bikes pass!

I once read that Tim had started with the freeways, followed by the main by-ways, and once he ran out of those, he began to ride the goat trails. After highway 36, we tried our luck on Forest Road 1. It's a s a REALLY rough 1-lane road. I was amazed that no one had any issues; there were potholes that you could have taken a bath in.

Stopping at the top of a long uphill section, Tim led us up a hill to a welcoming vista. We all burned up some digital film and headed down the trail.

Monarch butterflies migrate between Canada and Mexico annually about 4 times during their lifespan. I wondered which way they were headed as we bumbled through large clouds of the insects. It was an interesting oddity to witness; motorcycles pushing through butterflies whist trying to avoid destroying a wheel.

The next part of 36 was the return of the twisties with a vengeance. The high-speed gentle curves gave way to a very technical mountain decent. The road was marked 25, and we were navigating it at around 40 as we alternated between hard lefts and rights. As I began the section, I drew upon the confidence that I had been acquiring during our first day together.

I have to admit, one of my shortcomings has to do with descending left-hand turns, especially where the turn is more than 90 degrees. For some reason, I can’t form a good line, even when starting from the outside.

Carefully studying Tim & Joe carve the road up ahead, I had an “a-ha” moment. I had realized that I had formed a bad habit out of fear these steep turns. I suddenly realized that I was doing two things incorrectly. First, because of how sharp these turns were, I began staring at the centerline in the turn instead of looking through the turn as you are supposed to do. This caused me to turn in early and cut too close to the centerline, which in turn made me nervously de-lean the bike. This would cause the bike to then turn wide, resulting in braking and a generally poor performance.

Learning from my mistakes, I began to talk to myself “LOOK THROUGH THE TURN” I exclaimed in my helmet. It was right then a funny thing happened. I began to take the line I wanted. Speed was a by-product of technique. “Technique, technique, technique!” Tim had said the night before. My fears relaxed, the bike complied. I had never touched down a peg before in my life. The sudden feeling of metal rubbing asphalt was unmistakable and jarring. Like most, the first time makes you back off the lean of the bike. The next time, you want to lean a bit more. The smiles and the scrapes began to get longer.

We stopped for a break at the bottom of the mountain. Kevin said to me, “Dude, you were hauling ass!” I couldn’t be more pleased. It was almost as good as the first time I rode a twisty road. After a long period of motorcycle-melancholy, I was born again.

Hwy 299 is nothing short of a racetrack. The tarmac was almost perfect, the road was full of high-speed sweepers and we absolutely destroyed that road. Over dinner the previous day, I had told Joe that he had to ride Skaggs spring road, a local favorite. Over lunch today, I told him to forget it and ride hwy 299 again. As we got off the bikes to eat, I was actively thinking of ways that I could move up to this area so I could ride it on a regular basis; the road was that good.

After lunch, we started back towards our lodgings. Everything was going well until I suddenly felt a stabbing pain on my neck. I yanked the bike off the road and threw off my gloves and helmet. Bruce, our trusty sweep and all-around-nice-guy dutifully came to my aid and between the two of us, determined that the bee sting was not life threatening. It also dawned on me that this was a different experience that I was used to as a motorcycle loner; a safety net during a long ride was a welcome change.

Returning via Hwy 36, we pulled into our home base and settled in. The group gelled more and the beer flowed. Bruce graciously accepted my offer to buy him a beer for the bee-sting assist. A busy Saturday night made for a 2-hour wait for food. Finally about at about 10pm, the food arrived, and other than Darius’s twice returned steak, the sudden silence displayed the general approval of the fare.

Day 3: krumping in the dirt

I woke up excited again on Sunday, more great riding, and eventually I’d see my wife and baby. I knew that I’d make time on the slab later, but as with most of this trip, I was content with letting someone else worry about the schedule. For years previously, I’d always ask myself why would I pay someone to lead me around on my bike when Google could do that for free. In this experience I had my answer; sit back, concentrate on riding, and leave the details up to the experts.

Riding south on Hwy 101, we carved through the famed “Avenue of the Giants”. The route is known for its giant redwood forests, many of which have trees hundreds of years old. I had been here once before and wished that I was on a motorcycle so I could better enjoy the view. The trees are so tall, that the view from the ground creates a somewhat “tunnel-vision” effect when you look up at them.

Being from out of state, Joe seemed especially impressed, exclaiming, “We got nothing like this at home!”

As we departed the grove, we whisked past small roadside attractions and campgrounds until the road ended and rejoined hwy 101. We headed south and stopped near the intersection of 1 and 101.

About this time, the word had spread that our intrepid sweeper, Mark had had a run in with the law. We waited for him and eventually he pulled up with a sheepish grin on his face. He mimed the act of getting handcuffed as he exclaimed that he must have passed the “a$%h#$#” test. No ticket today.

During our trip north on Friday, we road the same stretch of hwy 1. It was a very tight and technical road. Taylor had been uncomfortable with the previous pace, so he had decided to hang back a bit and take it easy. I lead out the middle pack, raring to tear it up again.

This time, I had taken my simple little peg scrape and turned it into a full on metal shower. I rubbed down both sides and was incredibly proud of my amazing new abilities.

Then it happened. As we approached the LAST hard left before the road straightened out, we cleared the tree line. The left turn was right in front of an open field with a barn. I remember thinking to myself “look, a field!” My mental break was about to cost me money. Almost as soon as I realized that I was not paying attention, I ran out of time to turn and panicked. I pulled the reigns and felt the ABS kick in. There just wasn’t enough road to stop in time. I managed to haul in the bike enough to go off the tarmac at a low speed, but the shoulder was full of powdery dirt and the bike succumbed to physics.

I was told that the dismount was rather graceful; it wasn’t really a full get-off. More or less, it was a slow slide in the dirt, followed by dropping the bike at about 5mph. I hopped off, threw up my hands and made a shoulder-drooping motion.

Immediately, my comrades ran to my aid. We lifted the bike and surveyed the damage.

“Ready to get some crash-bars for that multi?” I asked Kevin, as we had found that the plastics had all been spared, save the side of my Givi case. The damage to that case was okay; it was immediate Internet credibility on ADVenturerider.com. The damage report included some lightly scraped crash-bars, and end broken off the clutch lever, and a broken turn signal. Later I also discovered that my home-made side-case rack had broken a weld and would need repair. Not too bad, except for the reduction of ego points. I immediately began to analyze my mistake as we rode to catch up with the group.

As we regrouped, I regaled the gang with the tale of my adventure. We all had a good laugh about it, but deep inside I felt awful. I really felt that I had become a better rider during this trip, but what I really did was get too full of myself. My pride in staying somewhat near the lead group led to my mistake. Granted, I was tired and had been putting in a lot of miles the last couple of days, but it was no excuse. Simply put, I had ignored my levelheaded philosophy of riding, drunk with adrenaline and ego and pushed the boundary too far.

I obtained a genuine Pashint turn signal repair with some electrical tape and we broke towards our lunch destination. Sitting at the lunch table, I think Tim could see it on my face and told me that I had to let it go. It really was a cheap lesson. Any tumble so gentle that you could ride away from right away was a very fortunate occurrence.

It was rather sad, parting ways with the gang. I took a moment to thank Darius and Dave for the kind words; they had told me that I was a good rider, and not to let the mistake get me down. I told Joe that he was an amazing rider and wished him well on his trip.

I hit the last section of twisties with Tim, Bruce, and Kevin before we split up for the ride home. It was a more sane level of riding for me, but we still had a bit of fun. One last gas station bull session, and we said our goodbyes and took off for the super slab.

I had a second epiphany on the way home. Tim had talked about his simple rules to avoid crashing and I had forgotten to heed the rule that got me. Reviewing the last section of hwy 1 in my mind, it dawned on me that I was pretty much 4th in line behind time. I was in fact, the “fourth guy”! I finally was able to laugh at myself a bit. Motorcycling is a humbling sport; if you’re lucky, the severity of your tumble can be up to you. I was glad for the cheap lesson in humility.

Tow Truck Fail

2011-09-02T11:26:00.000-07:00

A quick fun pic I took this week. Bikes get no respect:

I swear i'm working on it!

2011-08-15T08:33:00.000-07:00

Obviously I have failed to post daily; and have also failed to post the ride report. I know my legion of fans (Mom & Dad) are disappointed, but the care and feeding of an infant takes precedence! Here's to hoping I find the time to write!

Finally!

2011-08-09T11:54:00.000-07:00

For the first time since 2006 (?) I will be taking a overnight motorcycle ride. 2 nights to be exact. I'll be on the northern California Pashnit tour starting on Friday. I'm hoping to update each night!

http://pashnittours.com/tour_1.html

What's Killing Us? Pt. 4 of 4

2011-08-08T16:38:00.000-07:00

Do our choices of motorcycle have an influence of how and why we crash? Is there any validity to this thought? Often, we hear certain types of bikes being blamed for the accidents. You often hear laments about those “drunken Harley riders”, or those “damn kids on the crotch-rockets”. What studies and ideas have concentrated on the type of motorcycle as the cause of accidents?

In the 80’s a Senator named John C. Danforth, fueled by an IIHS study of motorcycle accidents, proposed a bill to outlaw or horsepower-limit what was deemed a “superbike”. Later discovered to be a fatally flawed and mostly untrue study, both the study and the bill quickly fell to the sword of time.

Let’s take a moment to look at the credibility of the IIHS studies; remember that I mentioned their study that showed that new rider training didn’t seem to prevent accidents? A IIHS study helped fuel the Danforth ban by asserting that so called “superbikes” (now referred to as ‘supersports’ by the IIHS) were 4 times more likely to have a fatal accident than other types of bikes.

A quick checkup on the IIHS site currently shows that they are re-asserting their previous claims that:

“driver death rate per 10,000 registered motorcycles for supersports is about 4 times higher than the rate for motorcyclists who ride cruisers, standards, or touring bikes.”

Open up a copy September 11, 2007 IIHS status report and you’ll find a statistical crucifixion of the “supersport” class of motorcycle. According to the report, the class is over-represented in accidents, fatalities, and thefts. While attempting to remain impartial, the report is pretty alarming, especially the cover which superimposes the image of a sportbike over a Nascar track, asserting that the proper place for both is not on the highway, but on the racetrack.

But we need to read between the lines – this report is written by the same folks who brought you the aborted “Danforth ban”; these are same folks who assert that motorcycle training doesn’t seem to reduce accidents. These people work for the people who write the checks when these bikes are crashed or stolen. Do you think they have an interest in reducing or eliminating the class of motorcycle that costs them the most money?

Let’s be fair about this; the numbers do seem to point to a type of motorcycle that is the obvious glutton at the buffet of bad news. But for a moment, let’s think outside the box again. Is it the machine itself that is the inherent problem? The IIHS asserts that such power should only be on a racetrack, but one can run out and purchase a 500+ hp Mustang cobra if one can afford it. The racecars used at the Talladega racetrack on the Nascar circuit are rated at 470hp – and yet I haven’t found any IIHS calls to ban Mustang Cobras. Is it because the mustangs crash less than their lesser versions? Or are the highly stolen and totaled “supersport” motorcycle a less-than-profitable burden they’d rather get rid of?

Most vehicles are inherently inanimate objects – they don’t do much without human intervention. With that in mind, if you posed an arbitrary ban on a type of motorcycle based on horsepower, or looks, or whatever criteria you choose, you’ll end up with a situation that occurs with many things that are outlawed; people will work around it. Manufacturers will produce sport bikes with slightly less horsepower or a few CCs of displacement less than the imposed limit. Ban sport bikes and people will ride sporty standards and fix them up with full fairings. Ban handgun magazines over 9 rounds and people will just buy the larger magazines out of state.

What’s the thread that ties all these thought together? There’s a human being at the controls. Blaming machines isn’t the answer.

Where does that leave us? Is there a way to find that proverbial “smoking gun” that will show us exactly what causes a motorcycle accident? In the end, a study of the available evidence shows that there isn’t a definitive answer. After all, the study of crash statistics for me has shown that there are so many variables involved that a statistical scapegoat has yet to reveal itself.

So here we are, left with a lot of information and not a lot of conclusions. There’s a actual study that makes some great common sense answers that probably will keep you safe, some somewhat biased studies that may or may not be helpful and some ideas about our culture that may show that most of us simply don’t care about either. I guess in a nutshell, those who pay attention to the reports and numbers probably act responsibly when operating their motorcycles; those caught up in the idea of looking cool and riding fast couldn’t give a crap about statistical analysis. In that case, the answer to “what’s killing us” - might be us.

Recent sales reports show that motorcycle sales between 2008 and 2009 are down a whopping 47%, no doubt a result of our current economic climate. Initial accident statistics for 2009 show a decrease in fatalities in 2009 following an annual increase in the decade from 1998 to 2008. Is this proof that a simple fact of life is that more people riding = more people crashing? Or it is a statistical aberration, a simple reflection our economic times?

In the end it seems that crashing is mystery; an excepted risk of all riders out there. Forces under and beyond your control conspire to separate you from your favorite ride. Be safe out there, but remember - with a grain of salt; cardiovascular disease kills far, far more Americans than all motor vehicle accidents (around 30% vs. 2%).

what's Killing Us? Part 3 of 4

2011-08-01T21:22:00.000-07:00

In contrast to other counties, the American motor vehicle experience is very different. Our rather large nation and high standard of living make for a large percentage of Americans who operate motor vehicles. Gas is relatively cheap and licensing requirements are lax. Generally speaking, most Americans look at driving to be a right and a cheap one at that. The greater democratization of the automobile has lead to an increased number of Americans behind the wheel in the past 30 years. The number of cars vs. motorcycles has increased exponentially. It’s not surprising really, the automobile is easier to operate and generally safer and more convenient. There can be some arguments to be had that the car has generally become cheaper to operate per mile than most motorcycles.

To that end, the motorcycle in America has been relegated to the status of recreational toy or intentional deathtrap to the non-motorcycling public at large. A large percentage of bikes will never see more than 10,000 miles or a few years of ownership before death or resale, or an early garage retirement. What does that say about our attitudes even among the people who ride them?

Is there something in our culture that causes us to place the motorcycle in the same light as the Jet Ski or Canoe? Why has bar hopping in your car fallen out of favor to most people, while doing the same in your motorcycle is a still a repeated past time?

Most would agree that Americans look at motorcycles in a different light than other parts of the world. In South East Asia, motorcycles and bicycles are beasts of burden; simple utilitarian transportation. Not coveted for speed, but for economy and transportation. In Europe, motorcycles, as well as cars are not a right, but a privilege that comes at great expense and responsibility. High fuel costs and expense of licensing and insurance cause motor vehicles in general to be less ubiquitous than here in the U.S. In addition to the high cost of entry, European safety regulations force a higher level of protective equipment requirement onto the rider.

Some would argue that this level of regulation is distinctly un-American and intrusive into personal freedom. The age old debate between personal liberty and government safety regulators rages on. 30 years ago, there wasn’t a national mandatory seat belt law. Most experts are in agreement that the most important safety feature in history still remains the 3-point safety restraint. Would the libertarians argue that the benefit of saved lives outweighs the freedom of choice in one’s own destiny?

A recent visit to a combined Japanese motorcycle dealer in Southern California resulted in an interesting conversation about the attitudes of new riders. I was out to kill some time before a flight when I wandered into a Japanese marquee dealer. I approached a gleaming new VFR1200 and stared at it. As usual, I was approached by a salesman. As we argued the virtues of the new VFR Interceptor, I came to learn that this guy wasn’t your average sales person in ‘big 4’ Japanese motorcycle dealership; he was an old pro. More often than not, I generally get greeted at a dealership with a hearty “hey bro, we go the new Gixxers”, or “what’s a DL650”?

More often than not, new riders in this county purchase the latest sport bike or cruiser; the sales figures support that. What was interesting to learn was that contrary to my opinion; the sales people weren’t necessarily steering them towards those models.

The salesman lamented to me as we perused his very prominently displayed lineup of “beginner” motorcycles - sporty standard bikes with what is considered ‘middleweight’ displacements of around 650cc. It turns out that despite his best efforts to steer new riders to sensible machines that were more forgiving and user friendly, they steadfastly refused purchase them. In his opinion, an almost ‘peer pressure’ culture existed with entry level riders that caused them to disregard the bikes that didn’t include ZX, GSX, YZF, or Ninja in their title.

What's Killing Us? Part 2 of 4

2011-07-31T08:25:00.000-07:00

In order to have any frame of reference of the subject, it’s important to look at as much of the available information as possible. Even though I don’t want to degenerate into a dry statistical analysis, it’s important to look at one of the only credible and thoroughly researched studies performed in our country. When anyone talks about motorcycle studies on accidents in the United States, more than likely they are citing the famous “Hurt Report”, originally published in 1981.

Why are we even talking about a report that’s a shade under 30 years old? Because it’s all we have right now. The Hurt report remains the only motorcycle accident focused study performed in this country. Limited funding has recently been approved for an additional study, but because we’re many years away from any outcome of that study, all we have to work with is the Hurt report:

Actually titled “Motorcycle Accident Cause Factors and Identification of Countermeasures, Volume 1: Technical Report” - it quickly earned the moniker “Hurt report” named for its primary author, Professor Harry Hurt.

Now that we’ve got the fun trivia out of the way, go and read the entire 435 page report.

For those of you who don’t want to spend the time, it’s Wikipedia to the recue. The report was summarized into a 55 point list, which is still too long for me as well. So here’s an abbreviated summary, combing similar information in order to be brief:

1) 3/4 of accidents involved a car, the other 1/4 were a solo-rider accident

2) Of these “multi-vehicle accidents” (car hits bike, etc) the 2/3 majority were the driver’s fault; they either violated the motorcycle’s right of way, or failed to see them until it was too late.

a. The most frequent form of this is the left-hand turn in front of an approaching motorcycle form of an accident, making the front left hand area the most likely area to be hit. This also makes intersections the most likely area for an accident.

3) Most accidents are likely to happen within a short time, close to the origin of the trip (Which throws a monkey-wrench into that age old argument: I’m just going around the block or down the street).

4) There are several mentions on the subject of conspicuity; the use of lights, bright colors, and the rider positioning him/herself in an area where they are not obscured by other objects.

5) The median crash speed was 29.8 mph (At first, I was surprised to read this, but think about how many accidents happen after an operator emergency brakes).

6) Riders 16 – 24 were overrepresented, 30 – 50 years old were underrepresented (This finding now has thought to have reversed, I’ll talk more about this later)

7) Accident riders were mostly from males from lower economic classes, generally without a college degree and from non-professional jobs. They were likely to have recent traffic citations and/or accidents, and they were most likely had less than 5 months of riding experience. Half of them had something to drink before riding.

8) A VAST majority had essentially no formal training; they were either self taught or taught by friends – 92% total. A significant number did not have a license. (This was has been a rallying cry for the MSF for years!)

9) The drivers of cars were a rather random lot, though over 65 drivers were overrepresented (think about how many more of those are around these days vs. 1978.

10) In regards to motorcycle types, touring bikes with a fairing and windshields are underrepresented, while choppers or café racers were overrepresented.

11) In 98% of multi vehicle collisions, some injury occurred, 45% resulted in a severe injury.

12) There were about 12 more points about gear. In a nutshell – gear is good; it significantly reduces injury and helped people survive. Wear your gear!

There you are; the hurt report in 12 points. Now we know everything; wear your gear, grow up, get your license, don’t let your buddy train you, finish college, make sure you have a touring bike, and by all means avoid intersections and we’re golden, right?

Well, not necessarily - though the Hurt report remains the most comprehensive, we need to look at some other information, which tends to reflect the changing nature of our culture. We’ve grown by about 70 million people in the last 30 years, population density has shifted around, and our standard of living has changed. The automobile has become more attainable for all, thus placing more cars of the road, though keep in mind that there are more miles of road as well.

Does that have an effect on the findings of the study? Professor Hurt asserts in some interviews that while we as a county have changed, the fundamental ideas in the report are still applicable today.

On the subject of our culture, with Professor Hurt’s report and the modern interpretation of his work, we should spend some thought on our culture and how our ideas of the motorcycle may have some influence on the way to ride (and crash).

What's Killing Us? Part 1 of 4

2011-07-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

"What’s killing us" is a 3000 word article that I was tasked with by a local publication. After writing the piece it has gone unused for more than a year, so I have decided to release it on my blog in 3(?) parts. I hope you enjoy it.

What's Killing Us?

In a nutshell, I was asked to do some research and find out exactly “what’s killing us”. Or to be more verbose, go beyond the cliché explanations of why motorcycles crash and discover the real reason why it happens.

And if I had some spare time, I’ll also try to figure out where that lost city of gold was located.

In a way, a study of “what’s killing us” is really a study of what can we do to prevent the accidents that kill us. When we look at the issue in a simple fashion; “what’s killing us” is simple physics – the human body isn’t designed to impact against an object going at a high speed. That much cannot be argued.

It’s a daunting task; in our initial conversations, we spoke about the latest mainstream press reports over baby boomers dying wholesale on their gigantic BMW or Harley-Davidson rigs. We spoke about the current conceptions that the media has cast over the general public; the ideas that seem to come through in most crash stories that get some press.

The next time you see a crash reported in the local news, read closer; I bet you that they spend at least a sentence reporting on whether the rider was wearing a helmet, or drinking, but not a word about wearing gloves, or boots, or leathers. Speed is another thing that always gets press. A lot of the time, the type of motorcycle will get a mention. Usually, the story will cite one of the two archetypes that most average non-riders fit all bikes into – A cruiser (Harley) or a sport bike (crotch rocket). But the actual factors in what caused the accident may get no attention at all. Is it simple pandering to the popular option of the public?

We were both interested in figuring out what was pre-conception and what was really going to do some good in helping people avoid accidents. Things like drinking are obvious - but what about the things that we think are also obvious? Speeding? Training? Motorcycle size or type? Engine displacement? What about these things? Is there even a proverbial ‘smoking gun’ to be found?

Most Internet message boards are ablaze with riders preaching the gospel of the experienced. You’ll find a battle raging between these posters; everyone knows how to solve the problem. Experience, tiered licensing structures, gear, sobriety, banning cell phones, etc. are all ideas that are prevalent in these discussions.

Would you be shocked to hear a recent study from the IIHS showed that training did next to nothing to help new riders avoid crashing? And what of that study and others like it; How do we know which ones are credible?

I don’t want to re-hash and analyze statistics for 2500 words; really I don’t. Almost all the information from the various reports discussed here are freely available on the web. What I really want to get down to is two things:

What is truth?

What is really killing us?

Check back for part 2 of this new multi-part series!

The Nemesis Road

2011-07-16T09:31:00.000-07:00

View Larger Map

Alhambra Valley Road and I go way back. When I moved with my parents to El Sobrante, CA (Which literally is Spanish for “the leftovers”) I had to learn new ways of getting to work and school and Alhambra Valley Road (AVR) was one of the more direct ways. The road itself is a two-lane road that is a rural back road that connects Pinole, El Sob ante, and Martinez.

Often bordered by abandoned mattresses and other assorted refuse, the road is very out of the way and pretty twisty.

Back in the day, a young driver and his 65’ Mustang lacked the skills or the desire to test his mettle on such a road. I was just interested in getting to work. One morning I was running late for a meeting and came out of the last left-hand twist a bit too hot and paid the consequences. The rear of that freshly restored Mustang broke loose and slammed against the metal guardrail. I’d never get around to repairing that damage, but the Nemesis road and I began our relationship. We’d tangle at least two more times.

After that incident, you’d think I would have learned my lesson. Once again, mix time crunch and a car, along with a spectator and you have the recipe for another accident.

My car at the time, a Toyota MR2 needed a new starter motor, and as luck would have it a parts store had one in stock. I commandeered my father’s Toyota pickup and headed out with a buddy in tow. In a hurry and showing off for Mikey, I quickly lost control and ran the truck off the road in to a barbed-wire fence. Needless to say, the resulting repair bill and pissed-off father had further sullied my desire to drive on AVR.

Time passed and the Nemesis road and I had a shaky truce. I would drive very carefully and the road would leave me alone. I hated that road and I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

Fast forward some time and history would repeat itself again on two wheels.

View Larger Map

I made a rather foolish “oomph” sound as I braced myself against the oncoming pavement. I had just made the classic rookie mistake.

One of the most important concepts of basic rider training is the idea of looking where you’re going. Riders, especially inexperienced ones tend to be affected by a phenomena “target fixation”. Simply put, your bike will tend to go where you are looking.

I had spent the previous weeks gaining experience on my new bike. “Experience breeds confidence” - but as someone once said; it’s a hard thing to gain, but an easy thing to loose.

So I cursed and picked myself up off of the road. My heart was pounding in my chest. I actually felt high from the adrenaline moving through my system. A quick look around revealed that nothing was about to run me over so I walked a few paces over to my bike, which had proceeded up the road a few yards further than I did. As I squat next to the fallen bike, my mind raced around. I already was playing the blame game with myself.

I had already figured out the basic idea of what I had done wrong. As I entered that left hand turn, I was afraid of the small divider “island” in the middle of the intersection. As I was afraid of hitting it, I spent the turn looking at it and sure enough; I headed right for it. Panic took hold of me and I grabbed a whole lot of front brake, which most riders will tell you that in a middle of a turn isn’t a good idea. The little bike; known as a “girls” bike in many circles, threw my 190lb body off like a professional judo instructor. It was both devastating and painful.

The third time was the charm. I now officially feared that road. I spent the next couple of weeks off the bike while my strained ankle got right again. Determined to learn from my mistake, I went right out to that area again and made that turn over and over again until I felt comfortable again. Time would pass and experience would heal my confidence, but I never forgot that feeling of broken courage. I still have a scar on my knee that reminds me of that tumble.

Time would pass and many more rides on the AVR have healed my relationship with the Nemesis road. It’s a rather nice piece of tarmac to ride; often deserted and nice and twisty. There are some very pretty views and some interesting side roads. I recommend the road to any rider; just take care not to make it your enemy too.

Coming Soon...

2011-07-08T07:23:00.000-07:00

Sorry to tease a post, but I've been very busy with a new job. Yes, the pity party is finally over!

I'm still trying to figure out which story would work next, so please comment and let me know. Also, i've got a special piece for you all that will be posted in late August, so stay tuned!

Here, you drive...

2011-06-19T09:04:00.001-07:00

Greetings and happy Father's Day to all! Today is my first Father's day ever and I couldn't be happier!

I was thinking that we're due for an update, and I decided that I would try something different. I keep a notebook handy to jot down ideas for articles that I can write for the blog, so I thought it would be fun to take a poll and see what article you the reader (both of you) would like to see next:

1) "The nemesis road"; a story about a certain Bay Area road that has bit me more than once.

2) Another multi-part series - "The lonley road of faith"; the story of a several day, 1500+ mile ride I took right after a 4 year long relationship ended.

3) A review and critique of my favorite movie motorcycle chase: Mission Impossible 2

4) A brief roundup of the motorcycles I have owned and what I ride now

5) Some other thoughts about cinematic portrayal of motorcycles (this is pretty vague, but I don't want to give away the farm.

6) OR - you pick a topic and I'll write it.

So, post up in the comments and let's see what we get!

Hydration is your friend

2011-05-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

Given the time of year, I thought it appropriate to take a moment to share my experiences with proper hydration - or lack thereof.

A lot of my early riding career was spent trying to find ways to improve the quality and duration of my rides. A lot of time, I found that I was unable to ride as long as I wanted due to various issues with posterior discomfort or other such ergonomic problems. At 6'1" i'm not the biggest rider in the world, but it became very obvious that most Japanese motorcycles are not made for people my size.

I'll save the history of my motorcycle selection for another post, but the key thing I want to discuss is hydration. Now, most will nod their heads along and agree that it's important to stop and drink some water once in a while - but i'll argue that you need to take it a step further.

Once upon a time, I followed the 'stop and drink' style of hydration. This approach misses one key fact about staying hydrated - If you are thirsty, you are already dehydrated!

I often found that after several hours of riding, and drinking water in 1.5-2 hours spaces, I would have a splitting headache and would feel very tired and generally would not be having fun. This is usually the time where I would pound an entire bottle of water, pop a couple of Advil, and chase it with a red bull.

After that infusion of h20, ibuprofen, and caffeine, I would feel better. Some time later, I discovered from various informational pieces, that the key element to my recovery was really the water.

I purchased a small water bladder from REI - basically the plastic bag the goes into the fancy hydration backpacks you see cyclists wear. This one includes the bag, tubing and bite valve. The whole thing is inexpensive - about $20 and comes in several sizes. I purchased the size that fits in the chest pocket for my Aerostitch suit.

And the testing began. Rather than large water doses every 1-2 hours, I would take little drinks more often.

No more headaches, much more energy and generally a better ride every time. I don't ride without my "water system" anymore.

Bonus tip: After use, simply empty all remaining water and toss the whole thing in your freezer. This prevents odor-causing bacteria from growing and allows you to keep using without having to clean it with those disinfecting tablets. If you use it for more than a day in between freezings, you probably want to clean it. YMMV

Welcome to my pitty party

2011-05-06T18:09:00.001-07:00

The Yellow Ranger’s recipe for reducing riding time to almost nothing.

1) Take 1 part desire for a larger salary
2) Add opportunity from private company for traveling job
3) Mix desire and opportunity together; blend for 1 month
4) Accept traveling job whist trying to conceive offspring – mix thoroughly
5) Bake for 9 months while trying to maintain relationships and renovate bathroom
6) Serve with extra travel, be sure not to sleep

There you have it; the description of my life for the last year and a half. It’s rather pathetic how seldom I partake in the inspiration for my blog. I almost feel a fraud conceding to lecture the blogosphere on the proper methods and philosophies of motorcycle riding.

I think the sum total of my riding for the last year and a half is about 4000 miles. That’s probably being generous, but I don’t have my odometer handy, so that’s just a guess.

Right now, I’m not even sure if this post will actually make it into a real article. I’m 3 hours into a 5.5 hour flight from Charlotte to San Francisco and I’m too caffeinated to sleep. So rather than continue to be a corporate tool by performing more work (that would make about 45+ hours this week – its Thursday) I thought I’d try to fill the time with adding to my online knowledge base.

My blog has been an unexpected pleasure for me to write. My only beef with it at this point is that I hardly hear back from anyone who reads it. Ironically, I know via Google statistics that I’m approaching around 2000 page views over the last 9 months or so. That’s pretty good in my humble opinion – for a self promoted blog with absolutely no advertisements of any kind – except my own efforts to pimp out my blog via message board posts.

So far I started with a cliché attempt at clever humor and then I begged for attention. I must be really tired. I apologize for the off-topic post and promise to deliver something more motorcycle related later.

My "disapproving" family - the barriers we create for ourselves

2011-04-17T10:32:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I heard a familiar expression that I often get from acquaintances when they see my bike or riding gear:

"My (insert relation here) would never let me ride a bike"

That comment really inspired me to talk about my father and what I thought his reaction would be to my interest in riding:

You see, the whole subject of motorcycles was rather non-existent in my childhood home. I never really even spoke to my Dad about his old helmet in the garage, or bikes, or anything related to motorcycles at all for that matter. It wasn’t until motorbikes began to pique my interest that we had any conversations about riding.

As I began considering a life where I might actually have a bike, I began to pick my father’s brain on the subject. My father did ride quite a bit in his youth. In those days, riding was more about economics that anything else for him. When he was a teenager, his first bike was a small displacement Harley-Davidson. After his younger brother needed transportation, he gave the bike to him and went into the service.

He continued riding into the early 80's as a form of cheap transportation. Sometime after my birth, he had given it up - "got tired of being run off the road".

More than anything, I feared my parents disowning me if I bought a motorcycle. And because I was dependent on them for housing at the time, I feared being kicked out if I did so.

I had begun to find myself following a familiar pattern of behavior. I was always a researcher by nature, and I approached riding in the same manner. Retail clerk and student by day; internet motorcycling researcher by night. I scoured Ebay and the like, searching for gear that I swore I had no use for. I should have known then. The internal fight with myself was over. I just needed to get past my conviction that my parents would disapprove.

In reflection, I guess I don’t really know why I didn’t feel comfortable talking with my Dad about my riding aspirations. After all, our relationship had changed from parent and child to adult and adult. I was in college and "all grown up" as it were.

My friend and I began to toss around the idea of signing up for a Motorcycle safety foundation class. The class taught the fundamentals of riding; a course for beginners. Though the class cost about $200 dollars at the time, I figured the worst that would happen is we would pay $200 to find out that motorcycling wasn’t for us. I went about finding out the details of taking the class.

One by one, the UPS truck delivered nondescript brown boxes to my parent’s doorstep. It wasn’t that unusual; I did a lot of online shopping, so there really wasn’t anything to raise my parents’ suspicions.

By the way I was being secretive by hiding things in the closet, you would think that I had a giant pot colony nestled in between my pants. I would mill about, pretending that the contraband wasn’t hung up in between shirts. When the coast was clear, I would take my jacket and gloves out and pull them on.

Finally, one day my Dad and I were talking a walk and I drew up the courage to broach the subject of riding. We spoke about his old bikes and what made him stop. Finally, Dad said: " You know, we won't kick you out if you get a bike".

I had never given my father enough credit for knowing his son, but in fact, he knew me better than anyone. It was the validation that I was looking for and my life would never be the same again.

Its funny how many people have the same perception about someone in their life. Most people's perceptions about motorcycles are based on popular option which dictates that motorcycles are death on two wheels for the unfortunate soul who was foolish enough to pay for his own demise, much like a cigarette smoker. Most have some related story about a (insert relation here) who pretzeled a motorcycle and was gruesomely disfigured or worse.

Motorcycling is a dangerous pursuit, there's no denying that. But for me, it's a soul-replenishing necessity that I can't be without. I'm lucky to have a wife who would rather I didn't ride, but also understands that it's a part of who I am and that is who she fell in love with. She further commented that if she asked me to stop riding, it would be like asking me to not be myself, and she could never do that.

To those who want to ride but are afraid of the reaction of a loved one, I ask you; have you really had a honest discussion about it, or have you simply come to the conclusion of what your parter would think?

After I started riding, my father took it up again and is pictured above. My future wife, who disapproved of the bike at the time is pictured next to him. I never thought I'd see either happen.

The people you love and think you know the best can also be the most surprising if you give them the opportunity.

Lane SHARING Pt. 2: How not to do it

2011-04-04T16:33:00.001-07:00

As a follow-up to my previous entry about lane sharing I thought i'd share a brief story about a time when I didn't follow the rules myself.

It was early one weekday morning and I was outbound on Hwy 37 going towards Sears Point Raceway (now known as Infineon Raceway - yuck).

37 eventually becomes a one lane in each direction, divided road. I'm not sure if this is a regular occurrence but this morning had traffic snarled for miles. As anyone with a manual transmission knows, riding (or driving) stick in stop and go sucks.

Now most 1 lane roads have a pretty generous shoulder, and 37 is no exception. A juicy, tempting lane over to the right beaconed me over with a promise to ease my painful clutch hand. Feeling saucy, I pulled over, lit up my hazard lights and went for it.

I puttered along at about 20, feeling superior all the way. Then I passed 2 highway patrol cards sitting in traffic as well. I wondered what would happen as both vehicles pulled onto the shoulder and started catching up with me.

I went though my options: get back into line (admitting guilt) or proceed and plead ignorance. I opted for option two. The cars got closer.

Suddenly the officer's loudspeaker proclaimed: "RIDER! DO NOT RIDE ON THE SHOULDER! EVER!"

I pulled back into line. The cars took off down the shoulder.

Another close one - do not try this at home!

When "good enough" isn't

2011-03-20T14:51:00.000-07:00

A recent visit to the local hardware store inspired me for today's post. As usual, I browsed the "specials" rack for any good deals on throw away tools and the like. I often get things like yard work gloves in this area.

On this visit, a pair of gloves caught my eye because of the photo shown on the label, pictured here to the right.

Notice that the "Special $2.99" gloves are obviously ECE certified motorcycle race gloves, because of the picture, right?

Well, obviously they aren't. They would probably be great yard work gloves, but that's about it. While they would be unsuitable for street riding, I wanted to point out that many Motorcycle Safety Foundation beginner rider course students might use them to fit the basic gear requirements for students - which is fine for that use.

Though the picture is of a glove, I wanted the take the example and apply it to the most often overlooked piece of protective equipment for street riding. Here in California, a helmet is mandatory; the rest is up to you. More often than not, the helmet is usually the only gear. The majority of the remaining people will only buy a jacket in addition to a helmet; possibly some gloves too. My highly subjective opinion is that boots would come next. So most riders who thought to get "full protection" would have everything except pants.

More often than not, denim is entrusted with protecting the rider's lower half. This is rather unfortunate because denim is totally unsuitable for the task of protection in most cases. Most information that I have read is the pants will only provide about a half second of abrasion resistance before failing completely.

I have some personal experience in the matter. My first get-off put me in the group of non-pants people. I'll save the nitty-gritty for a future post, but the facts were these: The get off was at less than 20mph, I only slid a few feet, and the resulting abrasion injury to my right knee left me with a quarter size scar that I still have to this day.

Denim isn't good enough. Invest in some armored riding pants or a full suit. And wear it. Gear left at home won't help you. And most accidents happen close to home, so the "I was just going around the corner" excuse doesn't count.

The best pro-gear argument I ever heard was this:

1) Put on all your gear.

2) Stand in front of a belt-sander and turn it on.

3) Any part of your body that you are afraid to touch against the sander needs better gear.

Disturbing headlines and wisdom that only Hollywood can teach us

2011-03-09T09:33:00.000-08:00

I was planning to write my follow up to my exciting expose' on lane splitting when I was struck with a bit of inspiration for another post. The other day I found a story in USA Today entitled:

19% admit Web use while driving.

And the sub-title reads:

State Farm says its survey may underestimate the real number

In these days of quieter cabins, loud stereos, giant cars, and phone conversations while driving; the ante has been upped once more.

Any chance of someone paying even remote attention to driving has been eliminated for 1 of 5 cars out there.

Imagine that 1 of 5 people are literally driving with a blindfold on; it's that bad!

You know what my response is to that?

Nothing. Nothing at all. I drive and ride as if 100% of the people on the road drive with blindfolds on. I assume that no one can see me. I ride with a 2 car "bubble" around me. If someone comes into my bubble, I get away as fast as possible to restore my happy bubble zone.

I treat my riding much like a line in the movie "The Karate Kid, pt. 2"

There's a scene in the movie when Mr. Miagi is training Daniel in the "Drum technique".

Mr. Miagi said that from his first Karate lesson, his father said that the best way to avoid a punch, no be there.

Standing on a post near an old fish processing plant. Mr Miagi prepares to toss a hook on a rope towards Daniel.

"Remember, Best block; no be there"

The hook swings like a pendulum, nearly hitting Daniel as he falls into the water.

I had an epiphany; this was an important lesson that could be applied to many parts of your life. The essence of what Mr. Miagi was saying was that the best way to avoid a bad situation was not to put yourself in that situation in the first place.

Don't want to get mugged? Maybe you shouldn't use that ATM in the bad part of town

Don't want to get a DUI? Don't drive yourself to the bar, find another ride.

Don't want to get creamed by a SUV? Don't ride in their blind spot; in fact, don't get anywhere near them.

Readers, what say you?

Lane Splitting Pt 1 - What's the Deal?

2011-02-07T17:05:00.001-08:00

As a motorcyclist from California, I'm often asked in my travels about the legitimacy of the act of "lane splitting". First, I will henceforth refer to it as the more positive term: "Lane SHARING".

There's a lot of mis-information about the practice; thoughts that follow some kind of pattern of certain rules or regulations:

"it's legal to do if you go X speed"
"it's legal if you are no more than Y speed faster than traffic"
"As long as you are in the left most lane you're OK"
"only upon a mounted Yak may you share the lane"
"there is a law that says you can do it so your motor won't overheat"

I'm here to tell you that all the above are false. In reality, the California Vehicle Code (CVC) does not expressly say you CAN NOT share the lane, in fact the CVC makes no reference to the practice at all. It is this grey area that allows motorcyclists to share the lane. It is this same grey area that allows a car to share the lane and make a right hand turn, even if there is another car occupying the same lane.

While there is no specific law to govern the use of the practice, all driving maneuvers are still governed by the so called "general" rules of driving. An example of this would be CVC 22350, the "general speed law" which states:

"No person shall drive a vehicle upon a highway at a speed greater than is reasonable or prudent having due regard for weather, visibility, the traffic on, and the surface and width of, the highway, and in no even at a speed which endangers the safety of persons or property."

You'll notice that this statement has absolutely no numbers in it at all. What is important is that this rule applies during the act of lane sharing.

Now I know you're thinking "Dude, I thought you just said that there were no official rules for lane sharing".

Yes, that is correct, but that doesn't mean that you are free to blow past a SUV at 100 in the rain. The point of the discussion is that you're still under the same rules if you're simpling puttering in a straight line, or wiggling around sharing lanes.

See the following statement from the CHP website:
"Lane splitting (arg) by motorcycles is permissible but it must be done in a safe and prudent manner"

You'll notice the terms "safe and prudent" which are almost quotes of CVC 22350 exactly. In other words, no CVC law, but they are applying the general speed law on the practice of lane sharing.

When it comes down to it, what you can and cannot do on a public road is really between you and the Law Enforcement Officer (LEO) who is watching you. With that in mind, you may be lane sharing at a speed slightly faster than traffic, in a manner that you thought was OK. Suddenly, a LEO may decide pull you over and cite you under CVC 22350 because it was hailing and the road was covered in oil. In other words, you were not performing the maneuver in a safe and prudent manner.

Bottom line: You are free to lane share but please use good judgement - this is a special privilege that CA motorcyclists have. Believe me there have been many tries to take it away - don't give them another excuse.

Stay tuned for part 2: my amusing lane sharing anecdote.

Some great (In my opinion) links for Moto enthusiasts

2011-02-03T08:46:00.000-08:00

I often (once or twice) get asked by the Moto-interested where I go for pertinent information about motorcycles. While obviously I send them to this blog :) first, I'd like to also present a list of some sites that I frequent:

ADVrider

Great general information, Biased towards the "adventure touring" genre of motorcycles, but full of great people.

Asphalt and Rubber

A lot of racing news, but good source of news and rumors for upcoming models.

Motorcycledaily.com

Another good place for reviews and rumors

webbikeworld

Probably the most credible site for unbiased motorcycle product reviews. All products and purchased independently by the site and reviewed.

Thank You Global Warming

2011-01-22T17:12:00.000-08:00

Today was an unusual 70 degree January day in Northern California. That was the good news. The bad news was that I had to work today. Usually the amount of tools prevent the use of the Moto, but today I couldn't resist.

I was rewarded by the almost perfect riding conditions. Finishing my required task in record time, I took the long way home. Summertime is usually the preferred season of riding, but i've always been a spring and fall kinda guy myself. Its far easier to correct a bit chilly than it is to deal with too hot.

As I purred along the backroads of Lafayette and Martinez, I pondered on what to write about. Knowing full well that my blog is really lacking for regular updates, i've resolved to keep up with it more.

Even now as I write, I can't really think of a "hook" for this story; a method for keeping it in touch with the spirit of the blog. After all, this is SUPPOSED to be a safety-conscious writting effort towards motorcycling. I promise that I'll get back to it, but as I glided down Bear Creek road this morning, all I could think about was how much fun this was; the gentle purr of the Suzuki DL twin underneath me, the cool air and lack of traffic, and the feeling of happiness for the opportunity to enjoy it all.

Thanks to all who read my stuff!

Do it for Matty: Part 7 of 7

2010-12-05T15:06:00.000-08:00

*Note that this is the final part of a seven part series. To see the complete story, go to link at the bottom of the page to see the older posts, or to the first part, starting in October of 2010*

I started down the final approach to the area where Matty decided to leave this world. It was a stark contrast to the sopping, foggy place we had visited many months earlier. Spring had come to this place, and ran right into an early summer. I had missed most of the greens and bright colors that I had expected to see. The browns of summer were here already and I began to wonder if I had waited too long to make this journey.

The road began to twist and bend, following the will of the river that ran along it. As I made my way down the road, my thoughts returned to the seeds that were sown those many months ago. Did they grow into a majestic field of color; a dramatic display worthy of a theatrical release? Or would my Wife be correct when she thought that they had little chance to grow, simply scattered around.

My usually sedate riding pace became more urgent as I rounded the bends approaching that far off parking lot. I pulled into the vacant lot and pushed down the side-stand. And what I saw was more fitting than anything we had predicted.

The flowers had come. But not in a vast carpet of bright colors, or a patch of dead browns, but in a modest display of green and pinks and whites, just peeking out of modest little stems. The flowers were a fitting tribute to an old friend, who was a simple and modest guy himself. I sat down in Matty’s last parking space, and remembered something that his old pastor had said before we left to say goodbye here.

“Imagine how much better the world would be if those who were gathered here today went forth and spread love with Matty in mind”, he said.

“If someone is rude to you, turn the other cheek – and think of Matty.”

“If you see someone’s parking meter running low, drop in a quarter – I bet Matty would have.”

“When you go home today, tell someone you love them – and do it for Matty.”

I finally put my kick stand down after pounding out a hard 125 miles to make it home in the early evening. Once again, I had failed to make good on my self-promise to avoid such long freeway rides. I felt as though I had just run a marathon. I was filthy and sticky and exhausted, but satisfied.

Several times since the funeral, I have felt that I fell back to my regular routine too easily. I felt the renewed sense of purpose in my life and the promises that I made to myself have gone mostly unfulfilled. This story represents at least one thing that I vowed to do that day; I promised myself to chase at least one more dream in this life.

I often had wished I had pursued a more creative vocation - instead, I chose a more sensible career that made good money. The more I think about my choice, the more I believe that it contradicts me as a person. So with that in mind, I decided to acknowledge my creative side. I wrote this story, and yes – I did it for Matty.

Do it for Matty: Part 6 of 7

2010-11-28T10:10:00.000-08:00

After the service, several groups of people began a long journey to the area where Matty spent his last hours on earth. Most of the people were just close friends and family. I resolved to join Scott and Marissa as moral support in addition to being Matty’s friend.

We wound our way in a small caravan through the various twists and turns of a truly sad looking, rain-soaked place. Eventually we came upon a small parking area nestled in the valley of a river. The surrounding area was filled with very green hills, fed by an unusually wet winter. I stepped out into the light rain with my wife and best friend. Slowly, everyone who was present gathered and joined hands around Matt’s final parking space. Matty’s sister Courtney had remarked that the area reminded her of Bolivia, and that maybe the similarity influenced her brother’s choice of were to go. Many in attendance nodded their agreement.

Matty’s mother produced a small statue and explained its significance. The statue was of “Pachamama”, the Incan Mother Earth. It was widely believed in Bolivian culture, that Pachamama was both to be feared, and respected. To that end, Matty’s parents invited all of us to drink a toast of Bolivian liquor with them, provided that you “gave” some to Pachamama first. To forget to give Pachamama her share was to invite grave misfortune.

Given that there was a finite supply of liquor, I quietly averted my eyes to avoid being included in the toast, but Matt’s father caught me with his. A total stranger to me until this day, I saw a lot of Matt in his father’s eyes. He looked at me and held out a small cup. “Please”, was all he said. I nodded a silent agreement and accepted his offer. I poured a bit over the small statue and waited for others to share their drinks with the deity.

Finally we all drank. As I felt the funny tickle of the strange liquor, I began to realize that I actually felt better. At the end of this impossibly dreary day, I had found at bit of the closure that I was looking for.

My attention shifted to Matt’s sister in law as she began to speak. As she offered handfuls of wild flower seeds to everyone, she invited us to spread them around in Matty’s memory. Matty’s very young nieces squealed with delight as they slopped around in the mud, pressing their newly-acquired seeds as deep into the mud as they could. Their mother scolded them as they sullied their nice clothes with a youthful abandon that most of us had long since forgotten.

I suddenly realized that I needed to return to this place.

Do it for Matty: Part 5 of 7

2010-11-19T19:24:00.000-08:00

Matty’s service would fall on a Wednesday. It was quite a drive over to his service, as the weather was some of the worst I had seen in years. The rain drilled down onto our cars in sheets; the windshield wipers pounded back and forth in a fruitless effort to clear the view. It made for a very sad and torturously slow journey.

Eventually, we came to the entryway of a hall that was rented by Matt’s family for his memorial service. Standing in a room almost full of strangers, I passed by several displays made to Matty’s memory. There were collages and several photographs that Matty had taken when his family had lived in Bolivia during his High School years. I was struck by the simple beauty of a memorial to Matt. It was a self-portrait photo of himself as a younger man, next to the poem “Where the sidewalk ends”, by the famous children’s author Shell Silverstein.

Inside the guest book, I scribbled down a thought I had of Matty. I recalled the last conversation we had together and wrote:

“Matty was the best listener I ever knew. He wasn’t the type who was waiting to talk - he would just listen. And I will always miss him.”

As we entered the rather large meeting hall, the soft sound of a gently strummed guitar rose above the low murmur of many conversations. As Scott and Marissa took their seats in the front with the family, Mike and I sat with our spouses in the front row of the auditorium’s seats.

The family pastor tactfully danced around the issue of suicide. He remarked that Matt wasn’t the most religious person around, which yielded a quick chuckle from those in attendance. He thanked those who attended that day, and I thought he captured Matty’s personality perfectly when he said that he thought Matty would be troubled that so many people took time out of their busy lives just to attend his service. After a few more pleasantries, he called on Scott to share his eulogy.

To say that my friend Scott Brooks is short-spoken would be the grossest miss-representation of truth since the Enron Corporation last wrote in an accounting ledger. Scott continues to be the most gleeful orator I have ever known. The fact that he is ridiculously intelligent and (of course) a philosophy major, makes him absolutely incapable in expressing a complex thought in any less than 150 words.

To honor his best friend, Scott’s eulogy for Matty was a metaphorical epic, spanning at least 18 pages of notes and lasting an unbroken 30 minutes of continuous speech. The words become harder to remember verbatim, but the spirit of what he said is easy to recall:

Scott believed firmly that Matty was like a river with a dam in it. While the dam created a benefit for those around the river, it restrained it for reaching its ultimate destination and fulfilling its potential. The dam was a metaphor for the things in life that we all go through that keeps us from pursing our true dreams and ambitions. The fact that Matty decided to end it all represented his way of breaking down the dam and letting himself free.

After Scott’s Eulogy, the pastor shared a story about his thoughts on heaven. Though church was a regular event during my early years, I had long sense given up on religion. I felt that the ideas of religion to be fine, but also took exception to the ideas of forcing your beliefs on others. The Pastor seemed to be very moderate, and I found his perspective to be surprisingly refreshing.

He described an event when he was a boy and times were much simpler. Those were the days where boys brought frogs to school, and every adult on the block was your parent. It was also the days when the television per household count was far less than a 2 to 1 ratio.

Our young pastor found himself tempted by the neighborhood “bad kid” to leave his block and seek out the magical television store downtown. Of course, this proved to be too tempting for our impressionable young Pastor to resist. Sure enough, as soon as he found the glowing box, humming away in a downtown storefront, he was hopelessly lost. In this moment of utter despair, he was afraid of two things: That he would never see his parents again, and also; that he would.

It was then when he spotted his father, galloping towards him at a full tilt. His father scooped him up into his arms – the pastor remarked that he could still feel the crisp collar of his father’s starched shirt. And after he was rescued, his father said “Oh my son, I love you. Let’s go home.” “And that, is what heaven must be like: A feeling of total love and security.” He said that is what God said to Matty when he felt his pain. And like his beloved son, he took pity on Matty and he called him home.

Do It For Matty: Part 4 of 7

2010-11-13T12:19:00.001-08:00

Absolutely famished, I stopped for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. This particular establishment was the only game in a 12 mile (GPS confirmed) radius, so I really had no choice but to partake of their fare.

I opened the door and stepped into the room. The air-conditioning hit me like a cool fog. I breathed deeply and experienced the first temperature reprieve in hours. Not really feeling like Mexican food, I decided to take their sign up on the offer of the “best burgers in town”. I put down my gear at my table and was approached by a rather gigantic man, dressed very much the antithesis of the lady rider who just went the other way. Jeans, t-shirt and minimal helmet was his attire, the unfortunate standard of most riders. Standing next to his large Milwaukee-issued chrome festival-on-wheels, we shot the bull. I found that the gentleman was quite friendly and polite. And though we obviously occupied different ends of the motorcycling spectrum, I very much enjoyed his company. We said some parting words and I returned to the restaurant.

After a few bites, I came to realize that the sign’s claim - much like the restaurant itself, the food benefited from being the only game in town.

And while it wasn’t the best burger I had ever experienced, it had the benefit of being served in an air-conditioned room. Taking notes while slowly bringing my core temperature down, I finished my meal.

It was at this bar; masquerading as a restaurant that I came upon the single most disgusting restroom I have ever seen in my entire life. The only thing that separated the hygiene level of this bathroom from an outhouse was the running water. Besides that, the dirt, spiders and smell were all the same.

I paid my bill and loaded up on ice water. Only 10 miles left to go.

Do it for Matty: Part 3 of 7

2010-11-06T13:42:00.001-07:00

I pulled up to highway 505 around noon, leaving the Barryessa area behind. At this juncture, I had lost any and all cooling benefits from riding near a body of water. I drank some more water to stay hydrated and wet my clothing again. It wouldn’t be that far to go, but like most freeway riding, it was rather boring and monotonous. I put in my ear plugs and went into “ipod” mode. A lot of riders will debate the merits of listening music while riding. Some will argue that the loss of hearing is very dangerous and that you shouldn’t do it, but I would argue that keeping you awake and alert outweighs the danger. I’d also argue that you can’t hear a thing on the freeway anyways, so you might as well enjoy yourself a bit. I queued up some tunes and checked my mirrors, and with a sigh I pulled into traffic and made my way onto the on-ramp.

Mercifully, the freeway jaunt went quickly and I was back on side roads headed to my destination. I pulled up to a stop sign behind a lady on a fine looking Concours 14, the latest and greatest sport-touring rocket bike. The engine was more than twice as large as mine, and the bike cast quite an imposing shadow. Given the bike’s awesome power, I had a long time to study the rear of it as we twisted and turned together.

It’s funny what you can discern about people from the choices they make which are visible to you. Outwardly, people get a lot of opinions from my garb and transportation; most people don’t think I’m an outlaw biker, given my bright yellow helmet and matching yellow riding suit. From the way this lady was outfitted, a full textile riding suit, with full helmet, boots and gloves, I determined her to be a kindred spirit. The longer I studied her technique from behind, the more I respected her skills and ability to control the beast beneath her. We unfortunately didn’t have time to exchange conversation, as we parted ways in a small town next to the road. A few minutes after I stopped, I saw her going back the other way. I surmised that there must have been nothing out here for her. I smiled as I also noted to myself that despite the performance disparity between our machines, we still made it to the same place at the same time.

After I had some time to get over the shock of the sad news about Matty, we all gathered at Scott’s house and circled the wagons. It was not a fun night to say the least. All of Scott’s close friends tried to keep him distracted and entertained. I had some very deep conversations with Mike and Scott that I just wasn’t able to have in our very busy recent years. That night, I made a secret pact with myself to make more time for the people whom I cared about.

A few days later, we found out the truth. Matty was gone. The sharpest blow came on Scott’s birthday. Scott would remark later that given the circumstances; he received a great present from Matty that year. He received closure.

I felt awful for Scott. I spoke to him on the phone on my way home from work and tried my best to console him. He had many offers from everyone to take him out to try to get his mind off the matter, but he opted to have a quiet dinner with his Fiancée’ instead.

I was crushed all over again. I cried for Matty for the first time as soon as I saw my wife that night.

Do it for Matty: Part 2 of 7

2010-10-29T08:00:00.001-07:00

Sundays were usually for bowling. My closest friends and I have a long-standing tradition of playing on Sunday nights, due to the discounted games and beer. It was a great excuse to get together, and the discount made it almost recession-proof. Our other long-standing tradition, Poker night had long since ended due to an inability for everyone to get along when money was contested. But bowling was special. Even though we were technically playing against one another, the competition was friendly and the only cursing was directed towards your own ineptness if you failed to topple the pins.

A normal Sunday routine usually had me pretty busy in the early afternoon, mostly yard work or normal house chores. My Wife’s busy graduate school schedule had left me in charge of most of the busy work, so I would often try a brief catnap just before bowling.

I had just laid my head down when the phone rang. My friend Mike was on the caller ID, and it was perfectly normal to get a call to confirm bowling plans. Even when he sounded distant, I had no inclination that something was amiss.

“Hey dude”, he sighed. “Have you talked to Brooks?” referring to our mutual friend, Scott. Ignorant of the true nature of the call, I assumed that he was checking to see if I had spoken with Scott to confirm his bowling attendance.

“Nope”, was all I had to say. I had expected to hear Mike’s indignation next – he often would get impatient with Scott’s perceived inability to commit to plans, but instead he said, “Listen man, Matty killed himself”.

“Shut up!” I exclaimed. Matty was another friend of ours, and despite the very close friendship that Mike, Scott, and I shared, Matty was unquestionably Scott’s best friend in the world. Mike said a few more things, all of which were in vain as my attention began to race. What could I do? Where should we go? Where’s Scott? Is he okay?

I stumbled out of the bedroom and walked towards the living room where my wife was sitting. I remember holding the phone with one hand and placing a hand on top of my head. I just stood there and tried to take it in. I recalled a passage from the book “Beyond the Band of Brothers”, a World War II memoir by Dick Winters. Some of you may remember the name from the popular HBO mini-series. It was a recollection on how a younger Captain Winters knew when a soldier’s mind had enough. He remembered they would often remove their helmets and run their hands through their hair with a far-off stare in their eyes. I promptly removed my hand, scoffing at myself for such displays – even subconscious ones.

My wife knew something was wrong. I gathered as many details as possible before letting Mike go. I then spent the next hour or so in shock over the news, sitting on the couch and being comforted by my wife, my hand constantly drifting back to my head. The whole situation was absolutely horrible, but I almost felt the next part made it even worse.

Mike would call me later after he spoke to Scott again. It turns out that though we thought the worst, the sad affair was far from final. Matty had left a note and sent an Email to Scott detailing his intensions to do himself harm, but was no where to be found.

We all wondered endlessly about the possible outcomes. The person I knew didn’t seem to be capable of such selfishness, and though I was very angry, I still wanted him to be okay. Even though there was some hope after all, I mostly knew Matty to be a genuine person, which seemed to squelch the hope that he was actually alive somewhere.

Do it for Matty: Part 1 of 7

2010-10-22T12:27:00.000-07:00

"Do it for Matty" is a true story I wrote last year. I meant it to be released in the form of a magazine article. After working with a couple of publications on other projects, I decided to release the story on my blog in several parts because I didn't want it changed in any way.

Its a very personal story and I hope you enjoy it.

Part 1:

I pulled on my gloves and looked into an old bathroom cabinet that had traveled out to the garage after a recent remodel. The cabinet was affixed to the wall and had become a storage vessel from my various motorcycle-related brick-a-brack. I often would give myself the once-over in this mirror before heading out; mostly to check for obvious wardrobe malfunctions, but also because I thought the gear made me look cool.

Motorcycles are my passion. Even though some would argue that they are really not that sensible or practical, I love them anyways. After all, you really have to love riding to make a success of the pursuit. Otherwise, you’ll just end up in the large percentage of people with a good used motorcycle for sale (or possibly worse). For me, riding was always fun, tempered by a serious commitment. Even while commuting, the act of piloting a motorcycle shook the mundane from a daily routine and made it something to look forward to.

As I finished my final pre-ride habits, I thought of a ride to my parent’s home a few months ago. My father’s cat, Rosie had suddenly taken ill and died. My Dad’s soft heart and bad back made the burial a task too hard to cope with. As I traveled to my parents’ house, I found the utmost concentration demanded by motorcycling to be a coping mechanism; a way of pushing the sadness to the back of my mind.

I sometimes marveled how I had the fortune of lasting until the ripe old age of 30 before experiencing the death of a friend. Until this point in life, I was lucky to have never lost anyone – as a matter a fact, the only funeral I had ever attended was for the grandfather of a long lost girl friend, a man whom I had no connection to.

I performed my almost daily turning maneuver out of my driveway and headed towards my destination. Unlike most Saturdays where I could find a few hours to enjoy on the bike with no set plan in mind, today I had a destination and a goal.

So this unusually hot spring day, I headed out to seek my quarry. I had expected hot weather, but after a long winter of bundling up and hoping for warmth, I found myself quite un-prepared for the oppressively hot wind. It wasn’t long before I had stripped my gear down to the bear minimum and was taking full advantage of the miracle of evaporative cooling. My route would take me further north, and even more inland. This would insure that the weather would continue to get even hotter. I began to wet my clothes judiciously.

Lake Berryessa was positively aglow with the deepest emerald green water, occasionally broken up into a frothy white by passing boats. I found myself staring too long at the beautiful view and quickly returned my eyes to the road. As my attention turned back to the important business at hand, I took notice of another rider in the oncoming lane patting his helmet; a sure sign of police activity. No sooner than after I gave a thumbs-up acknowledgement did I see the two police cruisers tucked away neatly off the road behind a large boulder. It was a good thing speeding isn’t my forte. Even with the friendly warning, my goose would have been cooked.

A brief comment about comments

2010-09-29T10:32:00.000-07:00

Thanks to all who have read my blog! I never thought i'd get 10 readers, much less over 400!

One thing that concerns me; I hardly get any comments at all. If you agree, or disagree, or think my writing is crap - please let me know! I'd really like to get better!

No-Ride Revisit

2010-09-27T20:05:00.000-07:00

I’ve been pathetically ride-less for the better part of the summer this year. Between family obligations and work commitments, I’ve really been unable to get in any significant amount of riding in the last year.

I’ve been mulling over an update for some time, so I finally decided to bring back an old forum post and look again at my closest call on a motorcycle:

I used to commute daily on Treat Boulevard from Concord to Pleasant Hill. Those of you who know and enjoy this road know it to be something of a small scale NASCAR track. Because it’s the only major artery to a freeway for most people in Concord, most mornings its just another American suburban drag strip.

Treat is a 3-lane road, and like most mornings, I try to stick to the right lane. Every morning, someone’s trying to win the “biggest jerk” award by being in the most obvious hurry, dodging between lanes, tailgating, and generally making themselves a nuisance.

This morning, the person vying for the award was some woman in a red Honda Accord coupe. I remember her distinctly, as she made at least 3 lane changes within the space of a couple seconds. She became almost fixated on me, as she sped up from the left lane, pulled into the center lane, and locked eyes on me – determined to pass me in the right.

Fixated on me, she didn't see that the lane in front of her was already stopped. Fortunately for me, I predicted her impending panic maneuver and had already taken countermeasures before she had noticed the stopped traffic.

I had already rolled off the throttle and covered both brakes. As she finally saw red lights ahead, she stomped on the brakes and chooses a direction to swerve. It was to the right – directly into my path.

I admit I panicked a bit. Thought I was well prepared, I clamped down a bit too hard on the brake and forgot to pull in the clutch and killed my engine. Now without the benefit of engine braking; I began to give it too much rear brake. The rear end of the bike began to come out to the right and I knew that I was in trouble if I reacted poorly. A sudden release of the rear brake would probably result in a high side. I tried to remain calm and eased up on the rear just enough to re-align the wheels without getting thrown off. As I slowed from around 50 to 0, the smoke from the Honda’s tires has fully engulfed me. I struggled to maintain control; the world consisted of just this car and me.

I finally came to a stop just behind her stopped car. I had made it through without a scratch. I never thought that my heart could actually burst; but the beating of mine fully engulfed in the throws of adrenaline made me wonder.

Fully dazed, I restarted the bike and pulled next to the driver. I wouldn’t put my emotional state as angry, more like confused.

The driver turned to me and exclaimed, “OH MY GOD! ARE YOU OKAY!! I’M SO SORRY!”

I didn’t have any words. I just thought about my upcoming wedding date, and the life I nearly lost and yelled back. As I ripped my face shield open I screamed, “DO YOU REALIZE THAT YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!”

She replied, “I’M SO SORRY!”

Her apology shocked me. Was she truly sorry, or just apologizing out of guilt?

All I could say was from the heart. I said, “I HAVE A WIFE! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!”

I left. As I pulled away, I realized that I had limited control of my body. The adrenaline that had kept me going for the few seconds after the incident was leaving my body in waves. I was shaking so bad I had to pull over onto a side street and lay down.

I took me about 15 minutes to gather myself on the side of the road. A basic riding skill – SIPDE had saved my life that morning. The acronym stands for:

Scan

Identify

Predict

Decide

Execute

In a nutshell, you must constantly be scanning your situation, trying to identify potential threats to your person. When a threat is identified, you must try and predict the outcome of your actions (or lack of action). Once you have predicted the outcome of your situation, decide what to do and then do (execute) it.

Its pretty simple, something all motor-vehicle operators should actively practice. I perform SIPDE when I ride or drive in the form of a conversation I have with myself –

“Does that truck see me?”

“I’m in this guy’s blind spot – that’s dumb”

“That Honda over there looks in a hurry, I’d better get out of the way”

I actually say those things out loud to myself. I think it keeps me alert and makes it almost entertaining to scan. If anyone could hear me, they probably think I was crazy, but fortunately the helmet muffles most of it out. Remember that scanning for threats is more than just cars and other obvious dangers; there are other things like deer and pedestrians, shopping carts and car doors too. Stay safe out there; it’s often the most basic riding techniques that will keep you safe!

Karma in the form of a traffic stop

2010-08-10T15:08:00.000-07:00

People often crack jokes about the long California winters, but after months of heavy rain the clouds parted and one chilly Saturday I was able to squeeze in 250 miles of fun.

Putting around in the Sierra foothills is a special treat for me. Normally, humping out a minimum of 1 hour of freeway time just don’t fit into my schedule so most of my riding lately keeps me in the Bay Area.

This particular stretch of highway 49 is a 2-lane buffet of sweeping turns with convenient passing lanes every 2.5 miles or so to keep the traffic moving along. So you can understand why some slow poke in a Mercedes was pissing me off by driving slow in the passing lane, right? In an uncharacteristic move on my part, I was suddenly sized with a loathing hatred of this person who was single-handedly ruining my fun. A right hand pass in sued, and I’m ashamed to admit a gesture was administered.

Right there, I’m guilty of a couple of road-rage hash marks. Despite my sense of ambassadorial duty for all motorcyclists, I had just put myself right square in the ranks of the embarrassments to our sport. In further reflection, I realize that even if the driver wasn’t acting with a lot of courtesy, I had done more than just flip her the bird. I became all motorcyclists to that woman. If she was like a lot of drivers out there, I had just affirmed her dislike of riders. That to me was the big loss of the situation, though I had not thought of it at the time; I was too busy braking for the Police car in the other side of the road.

A quick glance down confirmed that I was flying a bit low. I thought I had gotten away with it until my I saw the cruiser get behind me at the next red light. I knew I was busted, but I wasn’t sure by how much until we spoke. If the cop had seen the right hand pass and the middle finger, there wasn’t much I could do to plead my case.

Gloves and helmet off, I turned to the Policeman and greeted him. I hadn’t been pulled over in at least 10 years.

The officer explained that he had pulled me over for my speed. Not that I’m a hardened criminal or anything, but I know enough about Police to know that honesty is the best policy. God knows everyone tries to come up with some sob story about having to pee or pleading ignorance, but I know from experience that usually the golden rule applies.

I admitted that I had indeed sped up over the limit to pass slower traffic, explaining to the policeman my personal views on speeding, which I almost never do (really!) and that I was a very safe rider, sighting my various gear and motorcycle safety upgrades. I apologized for my poor judgment and assured him that it would not happen again. After pleading my case and presenting my license, registration, and insurance information, I waited for my verdict.

The officer returned and explained that he saw me separate from traffic pretty fast, and though he did not have me on radar, he knew I must have been doing 70 in a 55, a $400 fine. But he appreciated my honesty and the fact that I didn’t waste his time with some elaborate excuse.

No ticket today, though I didn’t really deserve the break. Honestly, as I wrote this story I was almost embarrassed to post it. Given the spirit of my blog, I decided that if it helped someone else make better riding decisions, then it was worth the credibility hit that I would take. So riders out there, keep in mind your responsibility to yourselves, your families and the community in general and keep it safe and legal!

Steven's Crashing

2010-05-25T16:20:00.000-07:00

I’d hate to start by saying “It was a beautiful summer day”. Unfortunately for originality’s sake, it actually was a beautiful summer day. A particularly long hot spell lasting a good week had finally tapered off and allowed a bit of breathing room for all. This warm day with a cool breeze almost demanded a ride and the back roads of the bay area were teeming with all kinds of machinery.

The ride had started rather normally, my Dad and I got together for a leisurely romp around the east bay, down 680 and up through the central valley along back roads. We stopped in Castro Valley for a burrito, where we argued the pros and cons of the newly adopted state “budget”.

Bellies full, we headed up Redwood Road towards my Dad’s house. Because my father’s thrill-seeking days were long past him, the pace was pretty sedate. Nearing Pinehurst road in Moraga, we came upon an accident with a rider down.

It was obvious that the accident had just happened within the last minute or so. A good Samaritan was in the road attempting to right the fallen motorcycle. Asking if they needed assistance, we pulled over and helped get the bike off the road.

One of the immediate issues was the rear brake peddle had punched a hole in the engine case on the right and emptied the motor of its vital fluids. As if someone had magically made help appear, four more riders had joined the rescue effort.

“We need dirt, someone else is going to crash on this” one commented, and began to scoop dirt onto the oil slick. It almost seemed rehearsed as the other three riders began to collect their own handfuls of soil, soaking up the road hazard.

It was quite an endeavor to behold; this unspoken co-ordination between strangers. As they continued to cover the oil in dirt, some others began to direct traffic.

As this was happening, I turned my attention to the gentleman in his 50’s on the side of the road. As he gingerly held his left wrist, he apologized for the trouble and thanked people for their help. My father and I asked if he needed an ambulance. At first, he thought he would be okay. I knew that he was riding the adrenaline pony and would soon come back to earth. A few minutes later, we convinced him to let us call for help. I introduced ourselves; he told me his name was Steven.

As the scene unfolded around us, I made the 911 call. Several people started offering the man over-the-counter pain relievers. My father, drawing on his experience as a combat medic advised against it. The paramedics would undoubtedly want to give him something more powerful and would be unable to if there was something else in his system.

Steven was in pretty good shape. His left shoulder was obviously dislocated and his right butt cheek would probably be a little rashed up. It was around this time that we noticed that his right shoe was missing. Several of us tried to find the wayward sneaker, but were unsuccessful. “Boots”, Steven mentioned. “I meant to buy boots next”.

I took a brief inventory of Steven’s gear. None of it was really motorcycle appropriate. His helmet was a half-coverage lid. It was fortunate for Steven that he wasn’t going very fast, and also that he was wearing 3 layers of clothing.

It was about then when I began to think about Steven’s place in the statistical world of motorcycle crashes. After a few questions, we found that Steven had only a year of recent motorcycle experience; a return rider from 30 years previous-experience.

Return riders over 40 have been given a lot of press recently, representing the one of the two categories of riders who has been experiencing an increasing fatality rate. Most riders in this category are men in their 40’s and 50’s who used to ride smaller Japanese bikes in their youth. After abandoning the sport in favor of family obligations, they have returned to riding after the kids have grown up. Instead of taking it slow, they go out and find the first large-displacement Harley-Davidson or BMW they can lay their hands on. We all know the rest of the story; their chances of riding incident free aren’t very good.

The other category of rider is the sub-30 riders. While not always on the latest and greatest testosterone-machine, by and large, the under 30 rider chooses some form of sport-bike in which to exercise their need for speed.

What bothers me about this recent press is their concentration on displacement as the root cause of the problem for both categories. When Ben Roethlisberger crashed his Hayabusa, the headlines screamed out “largest sport bike in the world” indirectly damming the machine, not the rider. What the headlines failed to mention was that Ben was traveling at around 30 miles per hour when a driver made an left hand turn into his path. Never mind the fact that he had no formal training and had just become victim to the most common car on motorcycle accident in world; it must be the bike’s fault. Besides a mention of a helmet, no article I read mentioned one word about how proper riding gear probably would have spared Ben from major injury.

In contrast to Ben’s incident, what struck me about Steven was that he defied the description of the return rider. He wasn’t on a large displacement bike. His bike was a 1979 Yamaha XS650; the same bike he had rode 30 years go. So what actually was the root cause in both accidents?

Most everyone hung around to make sure that the police and medics found Steven. One the police had arrived and began to take over, several people left. Steven, my father and I exchanged some conversation until the ambulance arrived. We both wished him well and then continued our ride home.

Lounging in my parents’ garage, I glanced over at my father - another return rider. When I took up the sport, it re-kindled his interest in bikes, and he soon took up riding again.

“Don’t tell your mother about this.” My father stated. I knew that my mother was the type to use the knowledge of the incident to back her argument for my Dad’s second retirement from riding.

When my Dad began to borrow my bike on a regular basis, I insisted he take the Motorcycle Safety Foundations’ basic rider course to brush up on his skills. Isn’t it funny how parents and children exchange rolls later in life?

Fortunately so far, the time and effort has paid off; my Dad has stayed out of the statistics. It would seem that in my opinion, the root cause of both Ben and Steven’s crashing was a lack of the same investment.

Why you need ABS

2010-04-15T13:51:00.001-07:00

Why You Need ABS

Look around most any motorcycle-related message board on the internet and you’ll be sure to find a number of threads related to the pros and cons of Anti-Lock- Braking system (ABS). Opinions run the gamut between “vital life-saving device” to “big brother on my bike”.

Most detractors think of ABS as a sloppy alternative to a skilled and practiced rider. Many arguments are made that a computer can never reproduce the exact feel and instinct that a human would have to brake to the maximum; right to the end of the threshold.

The fatal flaw in all of these man vs. machine type arguments are two fold: firstly, the argument assumes that the rider indeed has the skills and preparation needed to correctly apply the brakes in a emergency to the full extent possible. Secondly, the argument assumes the “perfect conditions” scenario, which I’ll get to in a second.

Referring to the first flaw; assuming that the human can out do the computer in the maximum breaking scenario is almost laughable. I remember a cable television special I saw once devoted to the gadgets and skills of James Bond. Sparing you the long explanation of the show, the bottom line was it was physically impossible for one person to find enough time to practice to the level of expert for all the skills that the character displayed. On screen, James Bond displayed the prowl less of an expert marksman / martial artist / freestyle walker / pilot / sex-practitioner / detective / etc. I would argue that most of “us” fail to even practice enough to be considered and “expert” in anything, much less motorcycle braking.

Think of it this way – why do you think that Brad Pit / Angelina Jollie (or insert whatever Hollywood star you think is hot here) is so very attractive? Take Brad Pit, ala “Fight Club”. Completely ripped, from head to toe - with pretty nice hair. Do you think that Brad just fell out of bed when he turned 18, completely cut from head to toe? Probably not. As a matter of fact, most stars regularly change body shapes, depending on their booking schedule. I would argue that Brad probably doesn’t maintain the sculpted physique 24/7. The point of the Brad example is that in order to have that body and look, he probably trained 4-8 hours a day, every day for several months to get in shape for the role. It’s his job to look that good. Conversely, if most of us had all day, every day to work out, and get fed by a personal chef while our kids were attended to by their nanny, as our personal staff paid our bills and attended to our every need, well – then we might all look that good. But then again, maybe looking like that wouldn’t be so coveted then.

I’m making the same argument for braking expertise. Most of us have a hard enough time just finding a few spare hours in which to enjoy our sport we hold so dear. Honestly, ask yourself when was the last time you took your bike to an abandoned parking lot just to practice emergency braking? My guess is your answer is the same as mine: more than 6 months ago. Let’s face it, if you practiced shooting as infrequently you probably couldn’t hit a passed-out elephant.

Even if you did practice early and often, frankly there could be an argument made for the dishwasher. Yes, I just said dishwasher. Listen, I can clean the hell out of a plate. I can scrub it so clean that I get that cool squeaking sound when I run a finger over it. I can do that over and over and over until there’s no time to finish this week’s episode of “Lost”. But obviously, I settle for the adequate job that the dishwasher does. In a way, ABS is just like that. I sure if I practiced over and over again, I could make a veritable ballet out of my braking practice, and probably get divorced in the process. I think I’ll let the computer handle the emergency part.

The second argument flaw is the “perfect conditions” scenario. This flaw assumes that the rider is braking under optimal conditions; let’s say perfect sunny day on a perfectly paved road, maybe in the middle of perfectville, USA. I’d almost think that this would go without saying, but obviously the fates are probably not going to bless you with a perfect emergency braking scenario. Most likely, you’ll be trying to apply the maximum stopping force whist in a mud bog, on a rainy day, in traffic, dodging a outlaw SUV driver, trying to show you what for. Given real life conditions, there are simply too many variables for you to deal with. The unfortunate truth about most emergency situations is that we generally never see them coming. The result of this ignorance of impending doom is that we are generally apt to panic when the truth is revealed to us. Panic induces mistakes. Braking mistakes generally lead to extended stays at your local medical rehabilitation center.

ABS is becoming optional on more and more models in the 2010 model year. If you’re in the market for a new bike, I think the $1000 or less difference in the MSRP is well worth the added safety and security in those many panic situations that you are sure to encounter. If nothing else, you will probably be compensated for the difference in the increased resale value of the bike down the line. In my experience with the Suzuki V-Strom line; the ABS model was a rare find in the wild. Anecdotal evidence gleaned from many a night on V-Strom related message boards supposed a almost 10 to 1 production rate of non-ABS to ABS models. This rarity makes the ABS command a premium over the other versions.

Food for thought...

Chicken Soup for the Motorcycle commuter

2010-03-15T15:41:00.001-07:00

So, here's the story:

The other morning, I hear on the news station that my normal route to work is jammed up all the way to the office due to an accident. Besides having to leave early; it’s not an issue in California due to the ability to lane share.

So there I am, going past car after car. I'm keeping a reasonable pace - lets say under 30 and cars are barely moving.

After a while I notice a police officer behind me, which of course produces the normal reaction that most people get when they see the law behind them. After a few seconds of wondering what I did wrong, I calm down and realize that the officer isn't interested in me. He’s just passing through the same way. In fact, another rider joins our caravan a few minutes later.

When you split lanes long enough, eventually someone is going to try to change lanes on you. My experiences have been few, but I’ve had a couple of close encounters. In this case, a young lady in a SUV decides to break right in a hurried fashion from the far left lane into the center lane, passing in front of our little procession. Now, this person really didn't get that close to me at all, but I did tap the breaks just to be sure.

The great part of the story is, as I gave her the "stank eye" in passing, the LEO got on his loudspeaker and said

"DRIVER! CHECK YOUR LANE!!!"

I laughed and grinned from ear to ear in my helmet. Right then, I wished that I had a police escort every ride!

Welcome - Why do I care to read this?

2010-03-11T13:30:00.001-08:00

This is my quick blurb about what makes this blog interesting. The truth is, a lot of people probably won't. I'm interested in sharing my thoughts about the sport of motorcycling. And hopefully, I convince some of the non-riders (we call you cagers) out there that we're not all a bunch of drunk, loud noise making, wheelie-poping, menaces to society that a lot think we are.

Motorcycling is a sport, but just like most sports, not everyone follows the rules...