One summer we planned a group vacation ride to Colorado. Starting out, there were seven couples in all. We always looked forward to this type of trip. But, as the saying goes, the best laid plans of mice and men...
First off, two couples cancelled a couple of weeks before the departure date due to work demands. No big deal, we’d miss them but we still had five couples. Oops, did I say five? For a moment there we did, but then, another couple had to cancel for illness in the family. Again, no biggie. A smaller, more manageable group would actually be more efficient. Four couples left. Just the right size for entering restaurants for quick service. We can still do this.
But the damage is not yet done. Another couple backs out because of more family illness. Now we’re down to three couples; Gary and Judy T, along with Wayne and Pat will go with us. Well, they are all superb traveling companions and we’ve ridden lots of miles with them. Good folks to ride the river with.
Monday morning before the departure time on Friday afternoon sees the final cruelty strike. I too, must cancel out because of work issues! This snowballs because Wayne and Pat then dropped out thinking Gary and Judy T were bailing too.
Damnation! What evil is being visited upon our small, round, heads? How can everybody cancel out on a great trip like this? What about all the pre trip publicity we wrote about in the Intercom Newsletter leading up to this trip?
Departure time came. Went. Nobody left. We all felt so sorry for ourselves. This surely would have been a great trip.
After a couple of weeks, Judy and I started putting together “The Intercom” which was the name of our monthly newsletter. What would have been a great trip report left a huge gaping hole in our little publication.
As I sat there suffering from writer’s block, it came to me in a flash that I should go ahead and write up a trip report any way! I would use what is called poetic license and fabricate a fantastic trip! So, what follows is the story that was printed in the monthly newsletter.
Bill and Terry, accompanied by their wives, decided to go to Neosho Honda in Neosho, Missouri on Saturday morning since the trip was cancelled. While there, they traded bikes as they had offers they couldn’t refuse. Also they learned that their reason for cancelling the trip was rescheduled so suddenly they were free to go!
Plus they had brand new bikes to ride on the long awaited trip. They called us and excitedly told us the double dose of good news; brand new bikes and the trip was on again for them!
We had good news of our own. My planning meetings scheduled for the next week had also been rescheduled. I too was suddenly free to go! So now we are three couples and four bikes. We called Gary and Carolyn, Carl and Carol, and Hugh and Carol. Since they had cancelled because most of us had cancelled, they were only too happy to load up and leave out right away. So the only ones missing are Gary and Judy T who we could not reach on the phone.
Bill and Terry said they knew a short cut from Neosho, Missouri to Colorado Springs, Colorado. Great! We’ll all meet up at the Silver Saddle Motel in Manitou Springs tomorrow. (for those who live in Topeka, look at the map. Short cut? Impossible!)
Gary and Carolyn, who owned the Bakery and Deli of Ah’s (pun on Oz, get it?) said they had planned a surprise for us and left a few hours earlier than the rest of the gang. Said they would meet us at the campsite at Dillon Lake. (I just realized how many Gary’s and Carol’s we have in our group)
Blessed with great weather, we high tailed it to WaKeeney, Kansas for our first night. Getting an early start the next morning, we made it to Manitou Springs to find Bill and Terry waiting for us. We looked at the beautiful new bikes and congratulated them on moving up. Early next morning we left for Dillon Lake.
We arrived there in mid afternoon to find Carolyn busy baking bread, pies and twice baked potatoes in rented ovens. So...this was the big surprise she had planned. No, not quite all; Gary had set out long fishing lines in the lake and caught many, many, Rainbow trout. Boy, were we going to eat good tonight!
Next morning there was a heavy frost and ice rimmed the water glasses we had left out. Carol, who is always cold, went into Dillon to buy a warm coat. Hugh went along with Carl and Carol to buy a warm hat to keep his head warm. What bargains they found.
Carol bought a splendid muskrat coat and Hugh picked up a raccoon hat with ear flaps and a tail for his head. Every one was really having a good time on this trip. While there, Carol struck up a conversation with a nice fellow that was in the store. She talked quite a while before she suddenly took a hard look at him He turned out to be; Robert Redford!! His own self!
He was on a new BMW and was accompanied by a really pretty girl named Elise, who was some kind of French film star, whatever that means. Bob and Elise followed them back to our camp and had supper with us. He had brought along several bottles of high dollar white wine to go with our trout and homemade bread supper.
Allowing our supper to settle, we chatted around the camp fire for a while and when Bob and Elise left for Aspen, they invited us up to his place in Aspen. Hey, would we turn down an invitation from the Sundance Kid? Not likely.
But the next morning dawned cool and gray, with light rain falling. We made slow time crossing Independence Pass which was so foggy visibility was reduced to less than 200 feet. We eased on down to Aspen and made our way to Bob’s place where he welcomed us in. We crowded around his huge fireplace trying to dry out and warm up.
A faint smell began to permeate the room. As we began getting warmer, the source was tracked down to Carol’s muskrat coat. After a while, it became unbearable and was taken outside. We had a nice brunch, talked with Elise and Bob for a while and then had to get headed on down to South Pass for the night.
As we crossed Slumgullion Pass, the rain hit us again. This is not a great day, but at least most of the places we stop for gas and snacks have big fireplaces which means that Carol’s coat is getting ranker by the hour.
After being thrown out of a restaurant, Carol is gettin’ more than a little testy about her coat now. No matter; soon enough, we’re on our way crossing South Pass and heading down to Salida for our last night in Colorado. Fortunately, we camp at Texas Creek on this night and Carol’s coat is not mentioned again.
Up early next day and we’re on our way before 0700. We roll into the little town of Trinidad about three hours later and descend upon a Wendy’s that has just set up the noon buffet tables. Have you ever been so fatigued that your hands are like clumsy softballs? Try riding a motorcycle for 5 hours in cool weather on sharp twisted roads and see if they don’t cramp up something bad.
With this impaired fine motor control of fingers, we made a hell of a mess of the salad and hot food bar. It looked like a pack of rats had run through. We felt bad about the mess, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. We also decorated our shirts with food particles and left Wendy’s somewhat embarrassed.
Next stop; Garden City, Kansas. We’ll stay overnight here and make it home tomorrow. We stayed at the Wheatlands Motel and trashed that restaurant as well. Damn, we sure were messy. Tomorrow will be warm and still with mostly straight roads so the fumble fingers should go away.
By 1630, we were home. Bill and Terry rode ahead as some of their accessories for their new bikes should be in and they couldn’t wait to put on all the lights, bells, and whistles. This was a good break in ride for those two bikes.
Carol parted company with her muskrat coat as the smell was really fierce and intense by now; not unlike a wet dog. It was warm enough to where she wasn’t cold any more anyway.
But, Hugh kept his raccoon cap. Seemed he would rather let his gourd get wet than to mess up his new headgear.
Gary and Carolyn headed for their bakery to see if the vacation staff had broken anything.
Judy and I went home to write up the trip report. Thus ended the story of the fast Colorado Trip. Or...did it?
The aftermath of this story had some unforeseen amusing effects. You may recall that Gary and Judy T were among the original group that were going on this ride. We had tried to contact them to see if they wanted to go along with our fictitious ride, but could not reach them.
There was an excellent reason why we couldn’t reach them. They had ridden out to Colorado and crossed the passes we only wrote about!!! They were the only ones who actually went, but sad to say they were not even mentioned in the story! They were somewhat miffed, to say the least!
But the couple that was really offended was Wayne and Pat. Wayne checked his mail that fateful day and brought the newsletter in to read with his supper. As he read about our trip to Colorado, he got real mad, stopped reading, and threw the newsletter away. He really thought we had all left without them.
Next day, Pat retrieved the newsletter and read the whole wacky story, laughing like hell when she realized what we had done and how Wayne had been taken in. Best of all, we didn’t disappoint those folks who fell for this fiction and really thought we had a great trip.
Unintended consequences. Hey, sometimes less is more!!
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
40. Deep Dish Apple Pie
Imagine, if you will, a piece of apple pie in the round, 6 inches in diameter, 4 inches tall, with tart, crispy, crunchy, Granny Smith apples, covered with a delicate buttered cinnamon crust, and topped off with a double scoop of Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. A meal unto itself.
Sitting around the bike shop in Big Spring, Texas, one Friday evening, someone suggested that we ride over to the Triple T Truck stop(actually Omar’s Hiway Chef Restaurant) in the morning and partake of this tasty treat. The more I heard about it, the more I became convinced I had to try this.
So bright and early the next morning, promptly at 6:00 am, a motley crew of six of us, headed west on I-20 bound for the only truck stop that specialized in this rare treat. The day was magnificent for West Texas, very little wind, hence no blowing sand. Mild temperatures, bikes running strong, CB chatter better than an FM radio with all the irritating commercials, we were on a super trip for deep dish apple pie! I couldn’t wait. Our destination was the Triple T truck stop. Yeah, baby, lead me on!
Over the years, on our rides, I have been conditioned to simply follow Miss Judy. As a result, I rarely look at a road map, trusting instead to the lead bike choosing the way. In this fashion, I can zone out and just enjoy the ride. I can now tell you, this was not wise today, but ignorance is bliss as the saying goes.
Everyone should know the final destination so that if the group becomes fragmented, no one will have to ride recklessly fast to catch up. Just a good safety rule, but sometimes...ah, well. That’s what makes for great stories.
After a couple of hours westbound on I 20 as we stopped at the Monahans rest area, I thought it prudent to ask Willie, the ride leader how soon we would enjoying this deep dish apple pie. Just a little while yet, but it’s really worth it. All righty, then. Hammer on down.
Pretty soon we were seeing signs that I 20 would be merging with I 10 west bound. I also noted the trip meter was showing close to 250 miles since we left Big Spring. This was becoming a damn long pie ride if you ask me.
A couple more hours go by and I’m noticing that we’re approaching El Paso on our left . As we enter New Mexico, it begins to dawn on me that there’s more to this pie ride than I am aware of. When we stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico, for gas and a quick hamburger, I grill Willie about where the hell is this truck stop.
At this point I am told it’s the Triple T truck stop that has this fine pie. Yeah, I got that before we left, but what I don’t get is where is the Triple T truck stop. I mean just where in the hell is the Triple T truck stop!!??
It’s in Tucson, Arizona.
Oh. Oh? OH!!!!
Belatedly, I get out the road atlas and discover the distance to Tucson, Arizona, one way, from Big Spring, Texas, is a mere 653 miles! Judy was fit to be tied when I called to report in and mention I would not be home till late Sunday night! Maybe even...Monday morning.
Damnation! Everybody laughs at my reaction as I realize I have been snookered and slowly accept that fact. Oh, what the hell, it’s been a grand ride so far and I am, after all, in the company of evil companions. Seeing as we’re well past the point of no return so I might as well relax and enjoy the rest of the ride.
We continue on past towns with exotic names; Dona, Akela, Deming, Lisbon Siding and as we enter Arizona, we pass Roadforks!
We ride on and on, passing Pomerene, Mountain View, and Vail. Suddenly, there it is! The Triple T truck stop is just ahead. It’s nearly 3:00 in the morning and we’ve been on the road since 7:00 am the previous day. This pie better be good.
The pies come out of the ovens at 3:00 in the morning, and are served piping hot with Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. This then, was the reasoning behind the day long ride. I rode all this way to experience this phenomena, so I ate the whole thing. Was it good? Oh, yeah.
Good enough for a 1,400 mile round trip? Yes, sorta, but if I had known the distance before hand, I would have planned a longer trip to further explore southern Arizona over several days. Regardless, after we finished the pie, we headed for a rest area Willie knew about.
Under a covered pavilion, on picnic tables, we grabbed about two hours sleep, wrapped up in rain gear for warmth. Light was just breaking in the east as we pulled back on the road; hell bound for Big Spring, Texas. Gonna be a long day.
One thing about super slab travel, the miles just fall away, but the quality of the ride is not what the more sedate back roads provide. But in cases like now, we have to get back to Big Spring in time to get a little rest. The work week begins in less than 24 hours and we have 660 miles to go.
So, the speed increases, the rest stops get shorter and further apart, and meals are grab ‘n go. No one is talking on the CB as it just takes too much energy. So the trip home becomes a journey of endurance. Not really unpleasant, just sort of...empty.
But this too has it’s rewards. It’s a good place and time to think serious thoughts or just review upcoming events. This is something that is an unexpected benefit of long distance touring.
So we overcome the distance with efficient riding, limiting the frequency and duration of rest stops and finally around midnight we are approaching the Midland/Odessa exit which means we are about an hour from home.
At last I pull into the garage at home and switch off the engine. Thanks to this trip I will have to change the oil and filter again and do a major clean up before the next ride. Judy wants to know all about the trip, where did we go, was the pie that good. Arrgh! I can’t talk now. I collapse on the couch and am asleep in nano seconds.
A few weeks later, I’m back at the bike shop on a Friday evening. Guys are setting around talking about setting up a schedule of rides when a newcomer, Randall Rocket enters the shop to purchase some items. He’s offered coffee, we introduce ourselves and learn that he’s from back east; New Jersey, for cryin’ out loud. A real pettyfoggin’ Yankee! He even rides a wimpy BMW!!
Then someone casually mentions how nice it would be to ride over in the morning and get some Deep Dish Apple Pie. Randall asks all the right questions about this ride and before you know it, he’s hooked! Yeah, buddy! Randall thinks this sounds like fun.
Ah, yes, Randall, m’ boy. It will be fun. Welcome to Texas!
Sitting around the bike shop in Big Spring, Texas, one Friday evening, someone suggested that we ride over to the Triple T Truck stop(actually Omar’s Hiway Chef Restaurant) in the morning and partake of this tasty treat. The more I heard about it, the more I became convinced I had to try this.
So bright and early the next morning, promptly at 6:00 am, a motley crew of six of us, headed west on I-20 bound for the only truck stop that specialized in this rare treat. The day was magnificent for West Texas, very little wind, hence no blowing sand. Mild temperatures, bikes running strong, CB chatter better than an FM radio with all the irritating commercials, we were on a super trip for deep dish apple pie! I couldn’t wait. Our destination was the Triple T truck stop. Yeah, baby, lead me on!
Over the years, on our rides, I have been conditioned to simply follow Miss Judy. As a result, I rarely look at a road map, trusting instead to the lead bike choosing the way. In this fashion, I can zone out and just enjoy the ride. I can now tell you, this was not wise today, but ignorance is bliss as the saying goes.
Everyone should know the final destination so that if the group becomes fragmented, no one will have to ride recklessly fast to catch up. Just a good safety rule, but sometimes...ah, well. That’s what makes for great stories.
After a couple of hours westbound on I 20 as we stopped at the Monahans rest area, I thought it prudent to ask Willie, the ride leader how soon we would enjoying this deep dish apple pie. Just a little while yet, but it’s really worth it. All righty, then. Hammer on down.
Pretty soon we were seeing signs that I 20 would be merging with I 10 west bound. I also noted the trip meter was showing close to 250 miles since we left Big Spring. This was becoming a damn long pie ride if you ask me.
A couple more hours go by and I’m noticing that we’re approaching El Paso on our left . As we enter New Mexico, it begins to dawn on me that there’s more to this pie ride than I am aware of. When we stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico, for gas and a quick hamburger, I grill Willie about where the hell is this truck stop.
At this point I am told it’s the Triple T truck stop that has this fine pie. Yeah, I got that before we left, but what I don’t get is where is the Triple T truck stop. I mean just where in the hell is the Triple T truck stop!!??
It’s in Tucson, Arizona.
Oh. Oh? OH!!!!
Belatedly, I get out the road atlas and discover the distance to Tucson, Arizona, one way, from Big Spring, Texas, is a mere 653 miles! Judy was fit to be tied when I called to report in and mention I would not be home till late Sunday night! Maybe even...Monday morning.
Damnation! Everybody laughs at my reaction as I realize I have been snookered and slowly accept that fact. Oh, what the hell, it’s been a grand ride so far and I am, after all, in the company of evil companions. Seeing as we’re well past the point of no return so I might as well relax and enjoy the rest of the ride.
We continue on past towns with exotic names; Dona, Akela, Deming, Lisbon Siding and as we enter Arizona, we pass Roadforks!
We ride on and on, passing Pomerene, Mountain View, and Vail. Suddenly, there it is! The Triple T truck stop is just ahead. It’s nearly 3:00 in the morning and we’ve been on the road since 7:00 am the previous day. This pie better be good.
The pies come out of the ovens at 3:00 in the morning, and are served piping hot with Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. This then, was the reasoning behind the day long ride. I rode all this way to experience this phenomena, so I ate the whole thing. Was it good? Oh, yeah.
Good enough for a 1,400 mile round trip? Yes, sorta, but if I had known the distance before hand, I would have planned a longer trip to further explore southern Arizona over several days. Regardless, after we finished the pie, we headed for a rest area Willie knew about.
Under a covered pavilion, on picnic tables, we grabbed about two hours sleep, wrapped up in rain gear for warmth. Light was just breaking in the east as we pulled back on the road; hell bound for Big Spring, Texas. Gonna be a long day.
One thing about super slab travel, the miles just fall away, but the quality of the ride is not what the more sedate back roads provide. But in cases like now, we have to get back to Big Spring in time to get a little rest. The work week begins in less than 24 hours and we have 660 miles to go.
So, the speed increases, the rest stops get shorter and further apart, and meals are grab ‘n go. No one is talking on the CB as it just takes too much energy. So the trip home becomes a journey of endurance. Not really unpleasant, just sort of...empty.
But this too has it’s rewards. It’s a good place and time to think serious thoughts or just review upcoming events. This is something that is an unexpected benefit of long distance touring.
So we overcome the distance with efficient riding, limiting the frequency and duration of rest stops and finally around midnight we are approaching the Midland/Odessa exit which means we are about an hour from home.
At last I pull into the garage at home and switch off the engine. Thanks to this trip I will have to change the oil and filter again and do a major clean up before the next ride. Judy wants to know all about the trip, where did we go, was the pie that good. Arrgh! I can’t talk now. I collapse on the couch and am asleep in nano seconds.
A few weeks later, I’m back at the bike shop on a Friday evening. Guys are setting around talking about setting up a schedule of rides when a newcomer, Randall Rocket enters the shop to purchase some items. He’s offered coffee, we introduce ourselves and learn that he’s from back east; New Jersey, for cryin’ out loud. A real pettyfoggin’ Yankee! He even rides a wimpy BMW!!
Then someone casually mentions how nice it would be to ride over in the morning and get some Deep Dish Apple Pie. Randall asks all the right questions about this ride and before you know it, he’s hooked! Yeah, buddy! Randall thinks this sounds like fun.
Ah, yes, Randall, m’ boy. It will be fun. Welcome to Texas!
39. The XS Eleven - Part Two
As mentioned earlier, this wonderful little bike came to a bad end when I took my eyes off the road for a moment to wave at one of the Administrative secretaries.
The front wheel T-boned a Fire Bird, sending me flying over the hood and inflicting severe damage to the XS Eleven.
The front fork tubes were bent, the framed was tweaked, the fairing was destroyed, and the rider was whacked around by the owner. We sent out the fork tubes to be straightened; and after a period of recovery from my battle wounds, I used a porta power device to push back the angle of the forks from 25 degrees to 27.5 degrees. Factory specs call for 29 degrees.
I picked up a cheap fairing for $50 and slid the rebuilt fork tubes into the triple tree. Hmmm, something seems to be amiss. When installed properly in the recessed grooves and tightened to the specified torque, the bike somehow seemed...taller. That’s a serious deflection for a mere 1.5 degree change.
I raised the tubes up to compensate for the changed angle and took it for a ride. It still had the pavement scorching performance and it tracked true, but the reduced angle made the bike much quicker to handle. Just think about changing lanes and you were there.
Sadly, I knew the bike had come to the end of it’s time with us. Judy would never trust it again, nor could I so we sold it cheap, telling the new owner about the bent frame. He told us he was going to have that straightened on a frame machine over in Odessa and it should be good as new. Sad day for all concerned.
Motorcycles have individual personalities and this one for sure had a fine spirit. Let‘s hope it‘s happy in its’ new home.
The front wheel T-boned a Fire Bird, sending me flying over the hood and inflicting severe damage to the XS Eleven.
The front fork tubes were bent, the framed was tweaked, the fairing was destroyed, and the rider was whacked around by the owner. We sent out the fork tubes to be straightened; and after a period of recovery from my battle wounds, I used a porta power device to push back the angle of the forks from 25 degrees to 27.5 degrees. Factory specs call for 29 degrees.
I picked up a cheap fairing for $50 and slid the rebuilt fork tubes into the triple tree. Hmmm, something seems to be amiss. When installed properly in the recessed grooves and tightened to the specified torque, the bike somehow seemed...taller. That’s a serious deflection for a mere 1.5 degree change.
I raised the tubes up to compensate for the changed angle and took it for a ride. It still had the pavement scorching performance and it tracked true, but the reduced angle made the bike much quicker to handle. Just think about changing lanes and you were there.
Sadly, I knew the bike had come to the end of it’s time with us. Judy would never trust it again, nor could I so we sold it cheap, telling the new owner about the bent frame. He told us he was going to have that straightened on a frame machine over in Odessa and it should be good as new. Sad day for all concerned.
Motorcycles have individual personalities and this one for sure had a fine spirit. Let‘s hope it‘s happy in its’ new home.
Monday, August 30, 2010
38. The XS Eleven
Earlier I mentioned briefly that Judy’s XS Eleven was the fastest bike in West Texas. This begs the question, "Just what was it that made this little bike so special?"
Well, for one thing, it looked just like the little XS 400’s we started out with. Judy was riding a Suzuki 750 at that time and that was not a good fit for her. So we began looking for a bike with shaft drive rather than chain drive. I called the Kawasaki dealer to see what the Kaw’s were selling for and turned ashen at the price! $3,895 for the KZ 1100! Ach, himmel!!
He said if I wasn’t particular, the dealer up the street was selling off left over XS Eleven’s for $2,995. I’m sure he meant this a cheap shot, but I seized upon this nugget and called the Yahama dealer. Yes, he was selling them and had three left; two Indigo Blue ones and a Tobacco Brown one. Price; $2,995.
That afternoon, right after work, Judy and I headed for Shawnee Mission, Kansas on my KZ 1300 as the dealer was open till 9:00 pm on Thursday nights. We got there around 7:30 pm, rolled out the blue XS Eleven and took it for a test ride. Oh boy, was this a responsive bike. Judy liked it too. We went back in and bought it for $2,900 with a set of case guards thrown in.
What a neat bike! On the turnpike ride home, Judy throttled up and this bike nearly popped a wheelie at 60 mph. It was torque personified!
On Saturday, we sold the GS 750 and the pick up truck, so the Yamaha was suddenly free and clear. I bought a frame mounted fairing for it but no one in Topeka had a mounting bracket. I had to make a fast trip to Manhattan for that.
After assembling all the parts, it was a simple job to mount the fairing and the case guards. The bike was Indigo Blue and the fairing matched the colors of the bike perfectly. Judy took it for a ride and loved it! As she rode the bike more and more, she began to accessorize it with a radio, a tape player, a CB, color matched saddle bags and a leftover white tail trunk. This fast little machine just made itself right at home. I liked it too, very much, as it was a real hot rod.
A couple of years later, we moved to Big Spring, Texas, which was not far from Abilene, where I was raised. Judy did not share my enthusiasm for West Texas, but she did love the early morning sunrises and the spectacular sunsets. She did not love cleaning sand out of her refrigerator after one of the frequent sand storms
Excuse me for a moment while I bring you up to date on West Texans and women. Down here, women are considered to be helpful, handy, little servants...as long as they do not interfere in the business of men.
Expectations are that the little darlin’s are happiest when doing something useful for a man. Hmmm. While that would be an alternative to the northern customs, I could not see a strong willed personality like Judy fitting in this restrictive structure.
But, for the first few meetings and rides with the Big Spring Road Riders, she was somewhat laid back until one of the guys, Bubba, I think his name was, remarked about her little motorcycle and asked her if she thought it could keep up with the big bikes like the Gold Wings, Harleys, and Kawasaki machines. Hoo boy, these were fighting words.
Judy said she didn’t know, (she lied) but then asked him if he was familiar with the 55 mph roll on tests. Naturally, being a redneck from West Texas, Bubba had no clue as to what she was talking about.
She explained that in the roll on tests, two bikes run side by side on the Interstate at 55 mph in top gear. At a given signal, both riders would crank the throttle wide open and see which bike was the fastest. It was a test of extreme performance and a measurement of torque.
Hey, sounded good to him. What could Judy’s diminutive little motor scooter do against his big strong KZ-1100? I knew. I had read the same article in Rider magazine about the exhaustive performance tests of the XS Eleven. This particular test had firmly established the XS Eleven as the world champion.
Another of the performance tests was the quarter mile drag race. Where do you think the name, XS Eleven came from? Right, it was the elapsed time in the quarter mile, Maynard! That‘s right, eleven seconds to cover a quarter mile from a dead stop. Bubba was about to get a rude education.
One bright morning we all went out to I-20 west of Big Spring and the test began. Bubba called us on his CB and reported that the bikes were running side by side at 55 mph.
Cubby, the Road Captain, counted off...3, 2, 1, GO!!! It was over in a moment; Judy had beaten the KZ 1100 by 20 bike lengths. Bubba howled that he was not ready and wanted to repeat the race. Judy was more than agreeable. Sure, let’s go.
Again, the two bikes lined up. On the signal, the throttles were cranked wide open. Again, Judy walked off and left him. Bubba came back a changed man. He looked the little bike over and still could not believe it.
Next up, a hot rod in it’s own right, the Suzuki GS 1100 L challenged the XS Eleven. This competition was a bit stiffer as the Suzuki had a high performance rating as well. Close, but not nearly enough. Once again the little Yamaha won easily.
Bubba, with his KZ 1100, came back and wanted to race Judy again, but this time he would run in fourth gear while she stayed in fifth. Again, Cubby set them off and again Judy beat him. Although the race was closer it still was no contest.
Frustrated now, Bubba wanted to try one more time, but this time he would be in third gear while Judy stayed in fifth. This time the KZ 1100 stayed close for about 50 yards, then fell behind as the XS Eleven roared away.
The aftermath of this display of performance was that other riders came forward on our weekend rides and asked Judy if she’d like to ride their big comfortable (read slow) bikes. They wanted to see just what this little fellow could do. Seems everyone enjoyed the unlimited performance of Judy’s bike and it was never beaten in the highway roll on contests.
Over time, this established Judy as an equal which generated some resistance among the other wives, but several of them decided to buy bikes and ride their own! Judy the trendsetter. Look what she started.
Judy’s 1979 Yamaha XS Eleven...the fastest bike in West Texas!
Well, for one thing, it looked just like the little XS 400’s we started out with. Judy was riding a Suzuki 750 at that time and that was not a good fit for her. So we began looking for a bike with shaft drive rather than chain drive. I called the Kawasaki dealer to see what the Kaw’s were selling for and turned ashen at the price! $3,895 for the KZ 1100! Ach, himmel!!
He said if I wasn’t particular, the dealer up the street was selling off left over XS Eleven’s for $2,995. I’m sure he meant this a cheap shot, but I seized upon this nugget and called the Yahama dealer. Yes, he was selling them and had three left; two Indigo Blue ones and a Tobacco Brown one. Price; $2,995.
That afternoon, right after work, Judy and I headed for Shawnee Mission, Kansas on my KZ 1300 as the dealer was open till 9:00 pm on Thursday nights. We got there around 7:30 pm, rolled out the blue XS Eleven and took it for a test ride. Oh boy, was this a responsive bike. Judy liked it too. We went back in and bought it for $2,900 with a set of case guards thrown in.
What a neat bike! On the turnpike ride home, Judy throttled up and this bike nearly popped a wheelie at 60 mph. It was torque personified!
On Saturday, we sold the GS 750 and the pick up truck, so the Yamaha was suddenly free and clear. I bought a frame mounted fairing for it but no one in Topeka had a mounting bracket. I had to make a fast trip to Manhattan for that.
After assembling all the parts, it was a simple job to mount the fairing and the case guards. The bike was Indigo Blue and the fairing matched the colors of the bike perfectly. Judy took it for a ride and loved it! As she rode the bike more and more, she began to accessorize it with a radio, a tape player, a CB, color matched saddle bags and a leftover white tail trunk. This fast little machine just made itself right at home. I liked it too, very much, as it was a real hot rod.
A couple of years later, we moved to Big Spring, Texas, which was not far from Abilene, where I was raised. Judy did not share my enthusiasm for West Texas, but she did love the early morning sunrises and the spectacular sunsets. She did not love cleaning sand out of her refrigerator after one of the frequent sand storms
Excuse me for a moment while I bring you up to date on West Texans and women. Down here, women are considered to be helpful, handy, little servants...as long as they do not interfere in the business of men.
Expectations are that the little darlin’s are happiest when doing something useful for a man. Hmmm. While that would be an alternative to the northern customs, I could not see a strong willed personality like Judy fitting in this restrictive structure.
But, for the first few meetings and rides with the Big Spring Road Riders, she was somewhat laid back until one of the guys, Bubba, I think his name was, remarked about her little motorcycle and asked her if she thought it could keep up with the big bikes like the Gold Wings, Harleys, and Kawasaki machines. Hoo boy, these were fighting words.
Judy said she didn’t know, (she lied) but then asked him if he was familiar with the 55 mph roll on tests. Naturally, being a redneck from West Texas, Bubba had no clue as to what she was talking about.
She explained that in the roll on tests, two bikes run side by side on the Interstate at 55 mph in top gear. At a given signal, both riders would crank the throttle wide open and see which bike was the fastest. It was a test of extreme performance and a measurement of torque.
Hey, sounded good to him. What could Judy’s diminutive little motor scooter do against his big strong KZ-1100? I knew. I had read the same article in Rider magazine about the exhaustive performance tests of the XS Eleven. This particular test had firmly established the XS Eleven as the world champion.
Another of the performance tests was the quarter mile drag race. Where do you think the name, XS Eleven came from? Right, it was the elapsed time in the quarter mile, Maynard! That‘s right, eleven seconds to cover a quarter mile from a dead stop. Bubba was about to get a rude education.
One bright morning we all went out to I-20 west of Big Spring and the test began. Bubba called us on his CB and reported that the bikes were running side by side at 55 mph.
Cubby, the Road Captain, counted off...3, 2, 1, GO!!! It was over in a moment; Judy had beaten the KZ 1100 by 20 bike lengths. Bubba howled that he was not ready and wanted to repeat the race. Judy was more than agreeable. Sure, let’s go.
Again, the two bikes lined up. On the signal, the throttles were cranked wide open. Again, Judy walked off and left him. Bubba came back a changed man. He looked the little bike over and still could not believe it.
Next up, a hot rod in it’s own right, the Suzuki GS 1100 L challenged the XS Eleven. This competition was a bit stiffer as the Suzuki had a high performance rating as well. Close, but not nearly enough. Once again the little Yamaha won easily.
Bubba, with his KZ 1100, came back and wanted to race Judy again, but this time he would run in fourth gear while she stayed in fifth. Again, Cubby set them off and again Judy beat him. Although the race was closer it still was no contest.
Frustrated now, Bubba wanted to try one more time, but this time he would be in third gear while Judy stayed in fifth. This time the KZ 1100 stayed close for about 50 yards, then fell behind as the XS Eleven roared away.
The aftermath of this display of performance was that other riders came forward on our weekend rides and asked Judy if she’d like to ride their big comfortable (read slow) bikes. They wanted to see just what this little fellow could do. Seems everyone enjoyed the unlimited performance of Judy’s bike and it was never beaten in the highway roll on contests.
Over time, this established Judy as an equal which generated some resistance among the other wives, but several of them decided to buy bikes and ride their own! Judy the trendsetter. Look what she started.
Judy’s 1979 Yamaha XS Eleven...the fastest bike in West Texas!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
37. Are You A Taurus?
Following our delightful day in Boston, we departed early the next morning bound for Portland, Maine, where we would board the ferry boat for the night sail to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.
Once on board I took the Dramamine and became horizontally dormant for the entire trip. I can’t relate much about the crossing except I did not get sick which was the main objective. Can’t get used to this Canadian accent. Some lady was talking about ‘troat’ fishing. Finally I realized she meant trout fishing. They thought our accents were different too.
Riding out of Yarmouth, we headed for Bridgewater where we would spend the next couple of days spending time with Gary and Carolyn’s family.
While there, I decided to go to a music store and purchase a Pink Floyd CD. I had recently heard this group on my way home from work early one morning. The cut I heard was from the album “The Wall” and I told Judy about this new group I had just learned about.
She shook her head sadly and informed me that this was not a new group or a new song. This album first hit the stores in the mid 70’s, this was now the mid 90’s! Ah, well; I may be slow but I sure am cute.
I walked up to the counter and asked the young lady there for a CD of “The Wall”. As she was making my change she asked, “Are you a Taurus?”
I said, “No, I’m a Gemini.”
She said, “Where’s that?”
"What? I said.
Hmm, I don’t know where this conversation is going. Judy, who knows all, sees all, stepped forward and said. “It’s the accent, Dude! She’s asking if you’re a tourist!”
Yeah, I’m still slow, and maybe...not so cute any more.
Once on board I took the Dramamine and became horizontally dormant for the entire trip. I can’t relate much about the crossing except I did not get sick which was the main objective. Can’t get used to this Canadian accent. Some lady was talking about ‘troat’ fishing. Finally I realized she meant trout fishing. They thought our accents were different too.
Riding out of Yarmouth, we headed for Bridgewater where we would spend the next couple of days spending time with Gary and Carolyn’s family.
While there, I decided to go to a music store and purchase a Pink Floyd CD. I had recently heard this group on my way home from work early one morning. The cut I heard was from the album “The Wall” and I told Judy about this new group I had just learned about.
She shook her head sadly and informed me that this was not a new group or a new song. This album first hit the stores in the mid 70’s, this was now the mid 90’s! Ah, well; I may be slow but I sure am cute.
I walked up to the counter and asked the young lady there for a CD of “The Wall”. As she was making my change she asked, “Are you a Taurus?”
I said, “No, I’m a Gemini.”
She said, “Where’s that?”
"What? I said.
Hmm, I don’t know where this conversation is going. Judy, who knows all, sees all, stepped forward and said. “It’s the accent, Dude! She’s asking if you’re a tourist!”
Yeah, I’m still slow, and maybe...not so cute any more.
36. The Magic Of Boston
July 1, 1995, found a large group of us bound for Nova Scotia. One of our group had a young son who lived with his family near Bridgewater and we were going to spend a couple of days with him before going on to the Cabot Trail.
We put in a couple of long days on the road trying to reach our motel in Woburn, Massachusetts by July 3 rd. We really wanted to be in Boston for the July fourth celebrations because we had been told it was spectacular.
We were blessed with good weather the whole way and arrived at the Woburn motel in mid afternoon on the third. We rested, chatted with other guests and trying to understand the Boston accent. Simply put, P S D S becomes... pierced ears! Got it?
Early next morning, we gathered at the Amtrak stop on the north end of the parking lot. Judy had picked this motel because of this exact reason; it was for the convenience, you see.
We took over one whole car and everyone we met was very friendly, asking where we came from, what we were doing, what kind of bikes we rode, and commented on our different accents and the slow way we talked.
We were overwhelmed with the gracious good manners of these locals. We had heard many stories of the rude and nasty Bostonians, but we saw none of that. Of course, we did not run into the despicable Ted Kennedy; that would have changed our impressions.
As the train made it’s way toward Boston, some of the ladies struck up a conversation with a young Korean lad name Mike Jung. Mike came to the USA when he was three years old as an adopted child. He answered many questions, about how to get from the train to downtown, where was the Cheer’s Bar, the Commons, the Tall Ships, the Esplanade, Paul Revere’s house, etc. He must have enjoyed our company because he cancelled his work day and agreed to show us around Boston.
So we rode the “T” from the train station to down town Boston. The “T” is actually the subway known as the MTA that was made famous in the Kingston Trio’s hit song, “Charlie and the MTA.” In fact, the song kept running through my head as I saw the familiar names of the various stations; Jamaica Plain, Chelsea Street Station, Roxbury...
Soon we reached our station and disembarked. Mike counted us and took us first to the Boston Common where parades, re-enactments and speeches were underway all around us.
Some of the speeches were delivered by truly gifted actors and I got a chill thinking this is where our struggle for freedom first started. The struggle is still going on today, only we are fighting Liberals traitors from within! But enough already! This is about a great trip we took and a memorable day in Boston on July fourth.
From there we walked to a long row of street vendors with lots of good things to eat. This group has a motto, ride to eat, eat to ride. This turned our to be one of the best dinner rides we ever had!
Next up; the Tall Ships.; absolutely awe inspiring! When one stops to think these great vessels crossed oceans to get here, bearing human cargo, folks who had left everything familiar to come to a strange unknown land to begin a new life and escape tyranny where they lived, it brings home just how important our freedom really is.
From there, we went to the Cheer’s bar which is actually known as the Bull and Finch. I was surprised at how small it really is. Friendly place though, so we had a soft drink, toasted Norm and the gang, bought T shirts and hats, then proceeded to Paul Revere’s home. Of course, then we had to go see the Old North Church and follow some interpretative, self guided walks.
By this time, the girls were in need of some shopping so Mike took us all to a large shopping mall where the women disappeared inside and the men sat outside and rested. When the ladies returned, Mike headed us toward the Esplanade and we heard the Pointer Sisters sing with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. Great music!
Soon Mike gathered us together and herded us to the St. Charles River Bridge, actually taking us to the highest point so we could see the fireworks in the harbor below. This was the highlight of the day; seeing all the people and the fireworks display. Mike really did a good job today.
But there was one more task remaining and that was to get off the bridge and back to the Amtrak Station. Mike solved that by advising we should bypass the “T” and walk the eight blocks to the train. He had us hold hands in a long line like school children and we set off at a brisk pace. We got there with time to spare.
Some of us got together and starting passing the hat for Mike as he had given up a day’s pay to escort us around the city he knew so well. We came up with $100 which I thought was a little light, but hey! I’m generous to a fault. We did enjoy his company and he was an excellent guide.
He rode with us on the train as he still had to get back to his home which was well past our stop at the motel. We all shook his hand, the women hugged him and we waved good bye.
The end of the perfect day; the magic of Boston.
We put in a couple of long days on the road trying to reach our motel in Woburn, Massachusetts by July 3 rd. We really wanted to be in Boston for the July fourth celebrations because we had been told it was spectacular.
We were blessed with good weather the whole way and arrived at the Woburn motel in mid afternoon on the third. We rested, chatted with other guests and trying to understand the Boston accent. Simply put, P S D S becomes... pierced ears! Got it?
Early next morning, we gathered at the Amtrak stop on the north end of the parking lot. Judy had picked this motel because of this exact reason; it was for the convenience, you see.
We took over one whole car and everyone we met was very friendly, asking where we came from, what we were doing, what kind of bikes we rode, and commented on our different accents and the slow way we talked.
We were overwhelmed with the gracious good manners of these locals. We had heard many stories of the rude and nasty Bostonians, but we saw none of that. Of course, we did not run into the despicable Ted Kennedy; that would have changed our impressions.
As the train made it’s way toward Boston, some of the ladies struck up a conversation with a young Korean lad name Mike Jung. Mike came to the USA when he was three years old as an adopted child. He answered many questions, about how to get from the train to downtown, where was the Cheer’s Bar, the Commons, the Tall Ships, the Esplanade, Paul Revere’s house, etc. He must have enjoyed our company because he cancelled his work day and agreed to show us around Boston.
So we rode the “T” from the train station to down town Boston. The “T” is actually the subway known as the MTA that was made famous in the Kingston Trio’s hit song, “Charlie and the MTA.” In fact, the song kept running through my head as I saw the familiar names of the various stations; Jamaica Plain, Chelsea Street Station, Roxbury...
Soon we reached our station and disembarked. Mike counted us and took us first to the Boston Common where parades, re-enactments and speeches were underway all around us.
Some of the speeches were delivered by truly gifted actors and I got a chill thinking this is where our struggle for freedom first started. The struggle is still going on today, only we are fighting Liberals traitors from within! But enough already! This is about a great trip we took and a memorable day in Boston on July fourth.
From there we walked to a long row of street vendors with lots of good things to eat. This group has a motto, ride to eat, eat to ride. This turned our to be one of the best dinner rides we ever had!
Next up; the Tall Ships.; absolutely awe inspiring! When one stops to think these great vessels crossed oceans to get here, bearing human cargo, folks who had left everything familiar to come to a strange unknown land to begin a new life and escape tyranny where they lived, it brings home just how important our freedom really is.
From there, we went to the Cheer’s bar which is actually known as the Bull and Finch. I was surprised at how small it really is. Friendly place though, so we had a soft drink, toasted Norm and the gang, bought T shirts and hats, then proceeded to Paul Revere’s home. Of course, then we had to go see the Old North Church and follow some interpretative, self guided walks.
By this time, the girls were in need of some shopping so Mike took us all to a large shopping mall where the women disappeared inside and the men sat outside and rested. When the ladies returned, Mike headed us toward the Esplanade and we heard the Pointer Sisters sing with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. Great music!
Soon Mike gathered us together and herded us to the St. Charles River Bridge, actually taking us to the highest point so we could see the fireworks in the harbor below. This was the highlight of the day; seeing all the people and the fireworks display. Mike really did a good job today.
But there was one more task remaining and that was to get off the bridge and back to the Amtrak Station. Mike solved that by advising we should bypass the “T” and walk the eight blocks to the train. He had us hold hands in a long line like school children and we set off at a brisk pace. We got there with time to spare.
Some of us got together and starting passing the hat for Mike as he had given up a day’s pay to escort us around the city he knew so well. We came up with $100 which I thought was a little light, but hey! I’m generous to a fault. We did enjoy his company and he was an excellent guide.
He rode with us on the train as he still had to get back to his home which was well past our stop at the motel. We all shook his hand, the women hugged him and we waved good bye.
The end of the perfect day; the magic of Boston.
35. The Raisin Bran Smugglers
Winter time doldrums had set in. Paul and I had endured as many short days as we could stand without benefit of sunshine and dry roads. We were in bad need of a fix as we were really suffering from cabin fever and needed to get ‘in the wind‘. You know what I mean?
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)