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