Sore Butt, not Iron Butt

Well, here we are post-Love Story and recovering from the knots on my head.

This week I wanted to share a story from a friend of mine, Larry Preston. I had marveled at this story that Larry shared with me -- not so much for the trip, but for what they were riding. In this day of long distance motorcycle touring, we have at our disposal--ST's, Goldwings, BMWs and all sorts of high-performance bikes to choose from to make the long journey quite easy. But 3500 miles on a Seca 400 or XT600 single! My butt started hurting just listening to him tell the story.

Enjoy, and we'll talk next Wednesday about electric gear for your winter comfort.

Here's Larry's story:

My buddy Greg and I left out of Weatherford, Tx on a Friday afternoon in mid-August 1989, our sights set for Yellowstone National Park. Our weapons at hand for this ride, my 1982 Seca 400 twin and Greg’s 1985 Yamaha XT600 dual sport single.

We passed through west Texas on what must be the flattest, straightest (read boring ) roads in the world. Due to our late start, we fell short of leaving Texas day 1, and landed in Muleshoe, Tx.

We got started day 2 and cut across a corner of New Mexico and headed for Colorado, where we stopped for photo ops at Royal Gorge and Great Sand Dunes Monument.

We then began climbing into the Rockies. As you would expect, climbing up and over 10,000ft + passes on our small bikes went something like this, “I think I can, I think I can, whew, made it, WEEEEEEE”. The next couple of days blurred together into chilly mornings, beautiful days with scenic winding roads. We caught a rain shower here and there and the most heinous storms rolled in each evening. These storms left us scurrying for a motel and forgetting the tents and sleeping bags we were hauling. We did camp one night just to prove we could, and I woke up in a rain puddle.

We next passed through Grand Tetons National Park, where we watched the mountains slowly materialize through the clouds. Then headed on to our target of Yellowstone.

Although still recovering from the fires of ’88, Yellowstone park was magnificent. We had a day of seeing incredible hot spring, geysers and ‘moose jams‘. There aren’t that many animals seen from the road so if a moose or other animal pokes its head out, people just stomp the brakes, stop wherever the skid mark ends and reach for the camera. It keeps your skills sharp.

After our day in Yellowstone, we touched the lower edge of Montana and headed East for Mt. Rushmore. We got there on our fifth day, spent a little time with the big heads, then pointed our wheels towards home.

By now we were getting a little saddle sore, averaging about 500 miles per day. Feet on the pegs, feet on buddy pegs, feet on the turn signals front and back, we tried it all. The last couple of days were all about enduring the ride home, since we didn’t find much to look at through Nebraska and Kansas, except someone's reproduction of Stonehenge in junk cars.

We got home 1 week and about 3500 miles later. Or little bikes just ran and ran, asking nothing more than chain lube. Just goes to show that there’s fun and adventure in all sorts of packages.

Larry Preston

A Love Story

Well here it is, just as promised. A love story---now try really hard to keep your mind focused on the fact that this is about the motorcycles.

A Love Story, Part 1

It was like any other summer night for a boy and his BSA, or so I thought. I had just gotten off work pumping gas at Wayne’s full service Esso where I made 75 cents an hour. Doesn’t sound like much, but gas was 31 cents a gallon and a burger and malt were 40 cents. You could get a brand new BSA Lightning at Carlton’s BSA for $1500. The sun had just gone down as I entered the parking lot of Connie’s Uptown Drive-in. This was the spot where all the kids cruise in and out all night, or sit and drink Cherry Cokes served by the carhops under the car canopy. As so many times in the past, I would rev the engine of my Lightning and the sound of the megaphones would echo through the night. This was a siren call to some teenage girl to come running up and ask for a ride – worked every time.

But, just before I revved it up, my eye caught the sight of something different tonight. Sitting under the canopy was a beautiful, totally black 1963 Harley-Davidson Sportster with the neon lights of Connie’s reflecting off the well-polished steed. OH, NO – unexpected competition. As I pulled in next to the Sportster on my candy apple red BSA, I noticed that the rider was a beautiful woman wearing black Bates leather pants and jacket, and her shoulder-length black hair was hanging out the back of her black half-shell Buco helmet. This was a sight – just like an ad out of Cycle Magazine. Trying to be cool, I looked her bike over from front to rear, then looked her in the eyes and said, “Nice bike – what brings you here to Connie’s tonight?” She said, “Just looking for someone to ride with. My name is Raven, what’s yours?” Trying hard to cover up the fact that I couldn’t remember my name, I blurted out, “I’m called The General.” She said, “Alright, are you up for a good ride tonight?"

With all the strength and composure that I could muster and with a shaky voice I said “OK”. Raven said “Good, how about we ride out to Grapevine Lake?” Unlike today, it was way out in the country back then. So, off to the lake we go, leaning in and out of every corner I was captivated by the beauty and ease in which Raven took the corners and accelerated out of each, with the sound of the HD’s pipes exciting every motorcycle sense that I had. As we crossed the dam, I could feel the cool breeze coming off the lake. I motioned for her to pull over as we exited the dam, and asked her if she had ever ridden up to the top of the spillway. “No, but I’m game for anything tonight,” she replied.

Come back tomorrow for...the rest of the story....

Love Story, Part II

I'm sure you've all been waiting with great anticipation *smirk*, so here it is -- Part 2.

As we pulled off next to the spillway, I said to her, “It’s really tall, are you sure?” And before I could finish, Raven had opened the throttle on her Sportster. The pipes were screaming, the rear tire squirting dirt, and it’s headlight bouncing up and down on the side of the spillway as it made it’s way to the top.

I was totally overcome by what I had just seen, and my adrenaline was flowing like never before. I, too, opened up the throttle – with my megs screaming, I had to stand up on the pegs and lean forward to keep the front wheel down as the BSA clawed at the dirt. As I topped the spillway, I locked my brakes and slid up next to the HD with my BSA. With both engines now silent in the cool night, we both looked down at the bottom from whence we had come. “ WOW that was some climb, huh, Raven?”. “Sure was” she replied. Then we looked across the moonlit lake, and back at the bikes. I noticed that I had stopped at just the point where the end of our handlebars was touching. As the moonlight glowed over the curve of the bars, it made a shadow of a heart on the ground – was that a sign? In the quiet of the moment with the moon shining on Raven’s face, she said – “Let’s ride.”

We mounted up and sped into the small town of Grapevine. In town we were stopped by a traffic light, and the sound of our powerful bikes was spoiling the peace of the little town. Just then I saw a red light come on as a local sheriff did a u-turn. Raven turned her head so fast to look behind us that her long black hair flew across her shoulder. One quick look, then she looked at me with those big brown eyes full of excitement, she said, “Let’s show him what we can do.” As the rear tire of the Sportster started to smoke, I took one last look at the quickly-approaching police car and got all caught up in the moment. That’s what will happen when riding with a woman like Raven.

The next thing I knew, the BSA was on its rear wheel. As we both accelerated to the speed of 100, we leaned forward to get out of the wind. We headed down Highway 121 for Hurst. It seemed that the old Plymouth the sheriff was driving could not catch us. We turned off 121 and sped down Glade Road, which was very dark and twisty. It was all this young man could do to keep up with the HD. As we came to a T in the road, and in all the excitement and confusion I went right and Raven went left. Thank goodness the law followed me and not her, and I was able to lose him. From past experience, I did not ride the BSA to my house, but parked it at a friend’s house about a mile from home and walked home. As I walked alone in the night air, I looked at my watch. It was midnight and the start of a new day. I wondered if I would ever see Raven again. To this day, every time I hear the sound of a HD, I spin my head around and hope to see a beautiful 1963 black Sportster. I sure did love that night way back then, and all the memories the BSA carried me through. I sure miss it. Oh, by the way, there were as usual two cop cars sitting in the dark, just waiting for me and the BSA. As I climbed over the backyard fence, and started in the back door, I stopped, looked around, and took in a deep breath of night air. I smiled and said, “Life’s good”.

P.S. My wife of 35 years just shook me and said, “Wake up and go take your meds.”

Robert E. Lee and The Yankee

Whoa ….as your new president says, “Let us come together.” Well, that’s what happened when I had the chance to work on a little project called the Yankee Half-Miler. There are probably very few of you who even remember the short life of the Yankee (1969 – 1972). It originally was sold as what we call today a Dualsport – street legal trail bike. The bike was kind of different from the start since it was a 500cc twin cylinder 2 stroke, and ugly as a newborn.

Now what prompted this little stroll down memory lane was when Bob M. dropped me an email and invited me to go with him just north of town to his friend Ed’s shop. Ed is a very interesting motorcycle enthusiast. Ed has a huge workshop in his back yard which has at least 200 motorcycles from the past. Can you say BSA, CZ, Hodaka, Bultaco, and oh yes, Yankee? As I stumbled around like a blind dog in a meathouse looking at all the neat bikes, I came across the weathered 500cc Yankee. Man, did the stories and BS start to fly.

I remember when the ugly beast arrived back in 1971, and all the measuring, cutting, welding, and fabricating started. This was going to be a labor of love. We worked everyday all day long for about a month before we came up with something looking like a half-miler. The test proved that this would work, much to our surprise. This monster had tons of horsepower and a wide power band. It was winter and the pro half-mile races didn’t start until spring, so we made a fateful decision to convert the half-miler into a TT Scrambler since the Astrodome TT National was just 6 weeks away. We installed front brakes and moved one of the two expansion chambers from the right side to the left and voila – a TT Scrambler. NOT. As it turned out, with all our half-mile mods, the thing just didn’t work as planned on the tight left and right turns inside the Dome. Come spring, the Yankee was loaded up and taken east for the opening of the half-mile season.

I was able to race this bike most of a season before Yankee stopped production and fell victim to slow production and newer designs that were much lighter. Oh well, as Sgt. Joe Friday would say, “Just another story of a million in the big city.” I’ve included some pictures of the only Yankee half-miler ever to run. Note that I’m leading the XR750 HD in one of the pics. And the beautiful red, white and blue Yankee Motor Company leathers. Thanks for listening to my ramblings!

Stay tuned for next Wednesday’s post….A Love Story. I’m not kidding.

The Bridges of Madison County or...A Bridge Too Far?

NOT! Would you believe a few bridges in Johnson County? Last week, I sent out an email to see if there were any brave souls who wanted to help me explore for some additional dirt roads to add to the Dualsport ride that I have put together over the last 4 years. I now have the DS ride up to 275 miles, and it takes about 12 hours to complete, including meals. All of this is just south of the Dallas/Ft. Worth metroplex.

I set out with the help of my GPS, the Roads of Texas Maps Atlas, and two ride buddies (Larry & Jerry). It's hard to gather a crowd of riders when the ride starts in 33 degree weather...can you say "GERBING"? I know I can. :) We met for breakfast, made our plans and struck off for the outback of Texas.

This time of year in Texas is perfect for Dualsport riding, with the cool temps, the falling leaves. The colors and the smells just make you feel so alive as you cruise in and out of the sunlight on our beautiful backroads. We continued our exploring, which also entailed a few turnarounds and back-the-other-ways. On a ride like this, you never know what will be around the next corner: a deer, a pig....a cowboy in his pickup....

It was kind of interesting to have a big buck deer jump out in front of us and start running down the dirt road in front of us rather than just crossing the road. Well, that's just what happened. I followed the deer at a speed of about 30 mph, and he just stayed on the road. I have these brain farts where something shorts out between the ears and I come up with these great ideas. I decided that if the deer was going the same way or place as we were, I should race him to see just how fast he could run. I kicked the KLR down one gear and caught up with the deer. Now, here we are at 50 mph running with a wild deer down a narrow dirt road. Sanity started to creep back into my brain, and I thought, "What if the deer decides to turn right?", which was where I was at. As I backed out of the throttle, the deer made a sharp left, jumped the fence and ran to tell his friends how he strapped it on a KLR, which really isn't saying much. If I had my helmet cam on, this could have turned into an episode of "Motorcycle Jackass".

Oh well, all in all this was a good day. Wait a minute -- any day on a motorcycle is a good day! Take a look at the slide show on the right, then wipe the drool from your mouth.

Tune in next week for a story titled "Robert E. Lee and the Yankee". I'm sure Allen Jackson will appreciate this one.

Ride safe & ride often! (But riding safe does eliminate a lot of options.) Click on the Dualsport slideshow on the right side of this page for more pictures of our adventure.

The Little General

Wow, what a ride!

Oh, how great it is to live in Texas, where the riding goes on forever -- year round. Being the brave soul I am, or not too bright, I'm not sure which one, I decided to send out a call to arms for a Saturday ride. Not able to decide if I wanted to ride with the dualsport riders or the street riders, and not wanting to flip a coin, I just bit the bullet and sent out an invite to both lists. I stated in the email that we would have a ride that would be good for both. You see, in Texas we have a wide variety of roads to choose from. This ride turned out to be a great time for all.

Today we were able to mix 11 different bikes for 197 miles of slow twisty, fast twisty, and fast sweepers. We rode through miles of tight twisty roads that were tree covered with fall leaves coming down and covering the roads for a beautiful fall, or in this case, winter ride. We would break out of the 45 mph tight stuff - which seemed fast -- into 60 and 70 mph sweepers. This was repeated all day, only interrupted by two great meals. We had burgers like you can only get in Texas at the Loco Coyote. As for the mix of bikes, I rode my KLR instead of the ST or Vulcan and can truly say that was the right choice for such a mixture of roads.

Thanks to: Ricky - KLR, Jerry - KLR, Brad - KLR, Phil - BMW, Kim - Harley, Ed - ST1300, Mark - Honda Shadow, Lynn - Yamaha Star, Daniel - Suzuki Bandit, Rene - Honda Valkarie, for a great and interesting day.

Oh how I love scooter trash!

Let's Ride!

The Little General

CT90 - Honda's Original Dualsport 1964-1979

Oh, how we all look back to our youth and wish we could still have that old car or motorcycle we made so many memories with, both good and bad. I have fond memories of the little step-through Hondas of the 60s and 70s. So many of us rode our Honda 50cc and 90cc bikes all over town. What fun we had! Many years ago, I was looking through the motorcycle ads when one particular ad caught my eye:

Moving to Florida

Must sell 3 m/c $250

It was a very cold and rainy night when I called. An older gentleman answered the phone and the first question I asked was "Is that $250 each?" And he said, "No, for the 3." My interest peaked. My next question was, "What are the motorcycles you're selling?" Much to my surprise, he said he didn't know. Can anyone say "pig in a poke"? Now, my mind was racing with anticipation like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to open his gifts. I ask for directions to his house and the older gentleman said - "It's too cold and wet to go out to the old dark barn, so come by tomorrow." Well, I knew in my heart that someone else would get there before me, and I thought, why not roll the dice? I told the man that I would take the bikes, sight unseen, and I would be there in 30 minutes to give him the cash.

My son Austin was 9 years old at the time, and he rode with me into the cold night. When we arrived at our destination, I gave Austin the $250 cash and told him to go to the door and give the man the money and say we will be back first thing in the morning. Gee, I do ramble on...

The next morning, as we pulled into the driveway, we saw a Honda SL175 all covered in dust and dirt. I thought, if this is one of the 3, I'm home free on my $250 investment. Happily, it was! The next bike out of the barn brings us back to our story - a 1978 CT90 with 2500 miles on it. I took the little CT90 and did all the standard things one must do to a motorcycle that has set up for years and, voila, my wife now had a trail bike. Debi never took to the dirt, so a few years later, I sold it to a man who lived out in the country. End of story, or so I thought.

Thirteen years later (August 2008), I was riding in the outback and happened by the house of the man I sold the CT90 to. I stopped and talked for a while, then asked the question, "What did you ever do with that old CT90?" "Oh, it's all apart laying in the barn, do you want to buy it back?" *SMILE* After a lot of love and care, it doesn't look so bad, does it? *MORE SMILES*

9th Annual Assault on Mount Scott

Hi, everybody - welcome to my first ever blog post! Well, we succeeded in our 9th attempt at the summit, so that makes 8 completions out of 9 attempts. It was a small group this year of only six bikes and 7 riders. Three of us departed home at 6:30am so as to be at the IHOP on the North side of town by 7 so we could meet up with the rest of the explorers for breakfast. The ride got underway a little late as we didn’t depart till 8:06 -these people I ride with are so rigid! :) We were able to make up all this lost time by keeping a good steady pace till we reached our first gas stop in Wichita Falls. Apparently some of us have small bladders as well as small tanks. At breakfast each rider gave Dixie the toll money for the ride up and back, which she put into two envelopes. As we approached the toll booth, Kim and Dixie took the lead and paid for all of us, which works out really well since none of us have to take our gloves off and dig around for our money. The weather was wonderful and the riders all had a great time, not to mention the hamburgers at Meers after the summit. We ended up with a total mileage of 467 and were back in Fort Worth by 5:30, just before dark. What a wonderful Saturday it was. I have included pictures; take a look at the beautiful blue sky and the brilliant colors of all the foliage. Thanks again to Dixie for being the expedition photographer. For all of you who wish that you had gone—the 10th annual ASSAULT ON MT SCOTT will be the first Saturday before Thanksgiving 2009. Hmm, 10th annual—sounds like a good time to make up t-shirts for the event. For more pictures, see the slideshow in the bar to the right of the page.

Welcome to My New Blog!

Hi everyone,


I am Robert E. Lee, and from as far back as I can remember, I've been called "The Little General". Go figure. I have started this blog so that you and I can share our motorcycle experiences.


About Me - It all started at a very young age, this love of two wheels. When I was 7, my sister Linda came home with a 78 rpm record that was about a motorcyclist. The song was sung by Vaughn Monroe, called The Terror of Highway 101. As I sat and listened to the song over and over again, I started to develop a mental image of what it would be like to race off down the highway with the wind in my face and the sounds of the pipes. As the image took hold of me, I started to drool over every motorcycle that I saw.

That same year, I was standing in our front yard when I heard the pipes of a motorcycle coming up our country road. I ran to the edge of the road, and started waving at the oncoming rider. As he passed by, he took both hands off the handlebars and made both hands into finger guns and pointed at me. That was way too cool! And 3 years later, I soloed on my first motorcycle, a 125 cc HD Hummer. That was 49 years ago, and I haven't stopped riding since.


I went on to:
Work in a bike shop after school...start racing...turn pro...win a pro national short track...own dealerships...and on and on. From all that, I can truthfully say that motorcycle people are some of the best people I've met in all my travels. "Scooter Trash", as I so fondly call my riding buddies, are generally good people. I hope you enjoy the blog! Please feel free to post comments on any article - I would love to hear your feedback.

The Little General