Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

But now we were far ahead of schedule.  It was only 10 a.m. and Livermore was a short 150 miles away.  We took off down the mountain with fingers crossed that we'd find an open fire station. The instructions for the fire station were as follows: "Take a picture of the Centennial Light, the oldest continually burning bulb in the world, on since 1901. You will need to go into the Fire Station and ask to see the light.  Go to the door and ring the bell.  You MUST also sign the guest book as we will be monitoring it!  If the fire personnel are out on a call, you must wait for their return."
We arrived to find an empty station.  Not sure what to do or how long to wait, Terry tools a short nap. I studied our maps to see if there were other bonuses we could add if we stayed ahead of the clock.  I called Bob to chat and help keep me alert.  Thirty minutes passed.  I was pacing the parking lot, unsure what to do, when a fire truck pulled into the driveway. I shook Terry out of his slumber and ran over to the crew to say hello.
"Bet you've had quite a few people stopping by today," I said.  A firefighter looked at me oddly as he climbed down from the truck.
"Um, I'm not sure what you're talking about.  This isn't our station.  We're just here for a minute dropping off some supplies and taking off again.”
"Would it be OK if you let us in to get a picture of the light bulb?" I asked as they were unloading boxes.
"What light bulb?"  My heart stopped.  How could it be a famous landmark and a local crew not know about it?  What if they couldn't find it?  What if it required a special key?
"Oh, is this it?" he called as the bay doors opened, revealing a tiny wire attached to the ceiling with a small bulb dangling at the end.  I breathed a sigh of relief.
Had I been sleeping along with Terry the truck would have come and gone, no one the wiser.  We took our photo, with Terry lying on the floor to get me, the flag, and the light in the picture.  We signed the guest book, thanked the crew for letting us in, and waved goodbye as we rode off.
Two-Up  Lynda Lahman p 170-1

[Biggles]

The fleece neck gaiter I was wearing for warmth had gotten twisted inside my jacket and was bothering me.  "Can you tuck this back in for me?" I asked Terry.  "I can't reach the back to do it myself."
"I can't," Terry said.  "My hands are dirty."  He held them out for me to see. I stared at him incredulously.
"Seriously? Do you really think I care?"  Neither of us had showered since the hotel in San Jose, three days ago.  Our stop in Fort Collins had only been for sleep, and we had spent two nights on picnic benches in our gear and our helmets.  Dirt was the least of my worries.  We laughed at the absurdity of what he had just said and what we were doing- standing at a gas pump in the middle of the night, filthy, stinky, and having the time of our lives.
Two-Up  Lynda Lahman p 196

[Biggles]

One rider quoted Helen Keller's description of life as a daring adventure.  The quotation has always been a favourite of mine, and helps explain how these riders justify the risks to which they willingly expose themselves:
"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of humankind as a whole experience it.  Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run  than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or it is nothing at all."
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 46

[Biggles]

Just after midnight, some 130 miles south of Salt Lake City, I became sleepy and checked into the Iron Butt Motel at Fillmore.  This time the Iron Butt Motel was the parking lot of a convenience store.  The Iron Butt Motel is the term endurance riders use for sleeping on one's motorcycle.  Some riders do it by leaning forward, using their tank bags as a pillow.  I was most comfortable leaning back. Anyone who has difficulty believing that it's possible to sleep on a motorcycle just hasn't been that tired.  The Iron Butt Motel has a lot to recommend it.  It's easy to find, the rates are great, there's always a vacancy, and there's no problem about having to park your motorcycle out of your sight while you steep.  And you don't have to awaken a clerk if you want to check in at 4:00 a.m.  There are a few disadvantages, too.  You never seem to be able to find one when it's raining, and there generally isn't a shower nearby unless it's raining.  They are some of the dirtiest places going. There's no service to speak of.  Security isn't great.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 78-9

[Biggles]

Around midnight Charles was north of Los Angeles, dead tired and wanting an opportunity to stop to rest.  But his concern about being able to make it through the traffic in Los Angeles to reach San Diego on time caused him to try to get through Los Angeles before stopping.  Thinking that he had missed a turnoff to stay on 1-5, he tried to cheat the highway by crossing the white demarcation lines, hit an unknown obstacle, and went airborne.  The short flight and abrupt landing awakened him enough to realize that he was heading in the wrong direction on I-5.  When he exited the freeway to examine the damage to the motorcycle, he entered an area that he described as a "war zone," replete with refugees, burned out hulks of automobiles, and abandoned buildings.  He quickly returned to the interstate.  When he stopped at a gasoline station a little farther on, the attendant was sitting in a bulletproof cage.  As he dismounted he heard the voices of several youths running in his direction from a half a block away.  Leaving the refuelling for later, he jumped back on the motorcycle and once again returned to the interstate.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 82-3

[Biggles]

Morris Kruemcke surprised riders when he arrived in Salt Lake City without the black "Stealth Bike" that had been such an attraction at the Iron Butt Pizza Party in Daytona, Florida the previous March.  Morris's Stealth Bike started as a wrecked Gold Wing but no longer had much in common with the production version.  The bullet-shaped vehicle, enveloped in a jet-black carbon-fibre skin, looked as if it belonged either on the salt flats of Bonneville or in a James Bond flick.  Mounted inside, the cockpit surrounded the rider and included such space-age instrumentation as a digital fuel flow readout as well as the more pedestrian tachometer and speedometer.  Some sort of backrest had been modified to support the rider's chest as he leaned forward to stay below the wind stream.  This reduced rider fatigue and increased mileage at the same time.  And yes, this bike was also equipped with the "Morris Kruemcke Pee-Tube".
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 85

[Biggles]

Michael Stockton had a more pleasant experience on U.S. 49 twelve hours earlier.  He was stopped by a Mississippi State Trooper.  Usually, being stopped for speeding isn't pleasant, but when Michael handed over his driver's license, he noticed that the trooper wore a college ring from the University of Mississippi.  A good friend of Michael's, now a doctor in Oklahoma City, had attended the same university.  When Michael mentioned this, the trooper acknowledged with surprise that she and Michael's friend had been best friends in high school and college.
"Did you have a big, black Harley Dresser in the mid '80s?" she asked.
“Yes,” Michael replied.  "Well, your friend told me about you. She suggested that you and I meet some time, because I ride motorcycles too."
After talking for half an hour, Michael explained the Iron Butt.
"Well, let me help you make up some time," she suggested, "I'll escort you out of the State of Mississippi."  So Michael received a high-speed escort to the Alabama state line.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 108-9

[Biggles]

Gary Eagan's experience the previous evening may have i been a unique one.  As he pulled into a gasoline station near Hoxie, Arkansas, lightning was flashing in all directions.  He was surrounded by clouds, could smell the rain in the air, and felt the wind blowing in strong, sustained gusts.  Half an hour later, trucks started blinking their lights as they went by in the opposite direction.  Gary believed the trucks were trying to warn him of a trooper, but he wasn't exceeding the speed limit at the time.
"A massive gust of wind pushed me off the road, across the shoulder, and into a field,"  Gary reported.  "I didn't know what hit me.  The field was muddy, but not yet so bad that I couldn't get back on the road.  As I looked to the northeast, I could see a small funnel cloud.  It scared the hell out of me."
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 110

[Biggles]

So Martin decided to make his first visit to the Iron Butt Motel.  He pulled the motorcycle under an overpass, as far out of the way as he could manage, laid his head on the tank bag, and spread his arms across the fairing.  Despite the pounding rain-storm, he fell asleep immediately.  About three hours later, startled awake by a truck roaring past, he thought he had momentarily fallen asleep while riding and was about to smash into the concrete bridge abutment a short distance before him.  He tried to execute an emergency swerve, nearly toppling himself and the motorcycle to the pavement. "The emergency braking got my adrenaline flowing and I headed off relatively refreshed," Martin related.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 111

[Biggles]

While preparing to grab a few hours of sleep, Suzy Johnson looked on as members of the Christian Motorcycle Association repaired her motorcycle.  She had encountered some rough roads in Louisiana and broken part of the exhaust system.  The Christian volunteers were on hand at the checkpoint to help with the repairs.  Suzy hadn't been in bed since Arizona and wanted to sleep, but the Christian bikers wanted to talk.  So Suzy talked until midnight, when the repairs were complete.
Then she checked into a motel and collapsed for the evening.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 117

[Biggles]

I was in the middle of a giant traffic jam leading through Washington to the horizon.  I decided to do what had worked well for me in other places in the rally and began splitting lanes.  This worked for several miles until I found myself between a semi and a truck that was pulling a mobile home.  I could see the semi driver's face in his rear view mirrors, so I knew that he had seen me. 
The driver began to pull over, smashing me into the mobile home. I was attempting to maintain my speed to keep the motorcycle upright as I was being held against the side of the moving mobile home.  When the semi finally began to fall back, the lug nuts of the truck's front axle sheared the right cover off my motorcycle's engine guard.
When I managed to finally clear the semi, I jumped the motorcycle onto the sidewalk and stopped to examine the damage and to give my knees an opportunity to stop shaking. In addition to the damage caused to the motorcycle, my left leg, which had been pinned against the side of the mobile home, wracked with pain.  I decided that weeping wouldn't help anything. The semi was gone, so I continued on my way to West Virginia.  This was the last time that I practiced lane-splitting in the United States.  (report of Martin Hildebrand)
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 123

[Biggles]

Finally, I spotted a fuel station from the interstate, took the exit, and turned into the parking area. I felt that I had entered some 'end of time' scenario.  The station wasn't very old, but was damaged with signs dangling and people hanging out.  All the pumps except one were occupied.   I parked at this pump and found that two of the three handles were unusable.  One had a hand-printed sign, 'out of orda,' hanging on it, and the other had been cut. Apparently, someone had tried to set it on fire.
I tried to use the remaining handle, but found that I had to enter the station to pay for the purchase before the pump would function.  On entering the station and having an opportunity to inspect my surroundings, I began to understand why prepayment was required.  The cashier was surrounded by bulletproof glass and there were several signs stating that the station would not accept bills over $20. One sign stated, 'In No Case Is There More Than $50 Cash Here.'  As I stepped from the cashier's window, I detected at least 20 pairs of eyes locked on me.  Although all pumps were occupied, I didn't see any vehicle taking fuel while I was there.  All vehicles were at least ten years old, and all had some major body damage.  After quickly taking a gallon of fuel, I departed.  I was careful to not make eye contact with anyone.  I had the impression that the small package that I saw being exchanged with the driver of one of the parked cars was not containing vitamin pills.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 124

[Biggles]

A little after 11:00 p.m., I entered the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel and headed across the dark 17.6 mile expanse of water connecting the Delmarva Peninsula with the Virginia coast.  I knew about this engineering marvel, the world's largest bridge- tunnel complex, but had never had the opportunity to see it.
This structure, acclaimed as one of the "Seven Wonders of the Modern World," begins as a bridge where it leaves the mainland at Virginia Beach.  A restaurant, gift shop, and fishing pier are located on the southernmost of the four man-made islands.  Several miles from shore the highway disappears into a tunnel beneath the ocean.  After about a mile, the highway rises to the surface and continues once again as a bridge.  All I could see was water- the Chesapeake Bay to one side of the highway and the Atlantic Ocean to the other.
After another five miles the highway again descends beneath the ocean and continues through a second tunnel for another mile before rising one final time as a bridge, ending at Cape Charles, Virginia.  I enjoyed the crossing and only wished I had been able to make the trip during daylight.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 129

[Biggles]

Murf could tell us all something about the crappy roads i this part of the country. As he was circling the nation's capital in the fourth lane of the five-lane beltway, a jarring encounter with a pothole caused his motorcycle to suddenly and unexpectedly stop running.  As with my flameout in Jacksonville the previous day, murf’s occurred in the middle of heavy traffic.  A trucker noticed his plight, understood what was going on, and signalled him to head for the shoulder.  The driver used his 18 wheeler to block traffic as murf made his way to the side of the road.  Murf's motorcycle has a sensor to detect if the motorcycle leans too far to the side.  The sensor, a pendulum suspended in oil, closes an electrical circuit if the pendulum touches the inner edge of a retaining ring.  Theoretically, such an occurrence means the motorcycle has fallen.  When the circuit closes, the engine stops running.  In murf's case, the shock of hitting the pothole generated enough motion in the device to trigger the shutdown.  The sensor recycles after the ignition switch is turned off and then back on.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 133

[Biggles]

By this time, I realized that my previous thoughts about a for surviving a fall from the bridge were stupid.  If I was blown off, I was dead.  The impact of hitting the water after such a long fall would surely knock me out, and it was stupid to think about surviving the freezing water.  I had swum in Lake Michigan in August and knew how cold it was at this time of year.  The correct plan was not to be blown off.  As I headed for the bridge and worked my way through the gears, I felt that this was a strange bridge, different from others I had crossed.  The guard rail seemed only knee-high. An optical illusion? I remained in the center.
It was too dark to see the Great Lakes below- Lake Michigan on my left and Lake Huron on my right. Shoals, heavy fog and high seas in the highly navigated waters between the two Great Lakes contributed to the loss of many ships in the area.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 159

[Biggles]

I was a few hours behind Gary Eagan, whose experience in crossing the bridge had been much different from mine.  He ascended the bridge as the sun was setting to his left, over Lake Michigan. The sky was filled with spectacular shades of red.  Half of the sun was visible as it sank slowly below the horizon.  And at that instant, a full moon, appearing half the size of the sun, was rising to his right, shining brightly above Lake Huron.  After the rally, Gary documented his experience while crossing the bridge:
"It was like the sun and moon were perfectly balanced on a teeter-totter.  It was surreal- so incredibly beautiful that I wanted to stop the bike and just watch it.  But not on that bridge.
"I guess that event probably happens one or two times a year there, when the sun is far enough north and the moon is full. It's impossible to describe how wonderful that was.  I yelled and shouted halfway to Manistique on Highway 2.  It was just what I needed to rejuvenate me and ease the disappointment of the problems I believed had cost me a shot at winning the Iron Butt.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 160

[Biggles]

It’s amazing  that riders will continue to ride for hours in great discomfort to avoid stopping.  They'll tolerate an enlarged bladder to minimize nature breaks, put up with a growling stomach or parched throat to postpone a food stop, ride in wet clothing to avoid the interruption of donning a rainsuit, or permit a headache to develop as a result of incessant wind noise rather than stop to insert earplugs. At one time or another I’ve been guilty of all of these quirks.
Mike included advice in his long-distance riding tips about "stopping to go farther".  His advice was offered because the phenomenon described above is so prevalent, even among riders who should know better.  Stopping at appropriate intervals for meal breaks and rest doesn't cost the endurance rider time.  It  actually makes it possible to spend more time in the saddle.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 161

[Biggles]

I fought the "nods" more than at any time since the rally began.  I tried every trick I knew.  I opened the face shield to my helmet and stood upright on the pegs to let fresh air blast directly into my face, unobstructed by the motorcycle's windshield.  I unzipped the front of the Aerostich to let air blow into the suit.  I performed deep knee-bends while standing on the pegs, hoping that increasing my circulation would help me remain alert.  I sat back down and shook my head vigorously from side to side. I changed my position on the motorcycle dramatically, trying to make myself as uncomfortable as possible.  I ate a Snickers and drank a Mountain Dew.  I sat on the passenger seat with my feet on the passenger pegs, my back pressed the duffel bags, and my arms stretched forward on the controls.  I sang, cursed, and shouted commands to myself to stay awake.
"Stay awake until sunrise, damn it! You can last until rise!  Don't surrender now!  Don't be such a damn wimp!  After sunrise, things will be OK!"  I believed things would be OK if I could last until daylight.  No matter how tired I get, I always become re-energized when see sunshine.  When I start a ride before daylight, I'm usually sluggish and drowsy, even after a good night's sleep.  When the sun comes up, things improve.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 168-9

[Biggles]

Chuck walked to me.  Neither of us spoke a word as we embraced and exchanged hugs that were more than only sincere.  We felt the same honest happiness that two brothers feel after a separation of 20 years.  Bystanders appeared puzzled.  I'm 6'-2" and Chuck is as large. We both had full and filthy beards and were in dirty and stinking motorcycle clothes.
Neither of us was bothered by that. In one sense, I and this man didn't know much about each other. I've never seen his home and he hasn't seen mine.  We hadn't spoken more than a few dozen words to each other before we left Salt Lake City.  But now, 11 days later, we know that we share an experience that can't be bought at any shop.  We've seen the same ghosts in the same nights.  We both fought them and beat them.  This isn't something many people can tell about each other.
This poignant scene captures the feeling that many riders were experiencing during the final days of the rally.
Against The Wind  Ron Ayers p 176-7

[Biggles]

Mike and Jo Hannan live on the Gold Coast of Queensland

I'm not sure about this, but I do know that there are those who get bikes and those who don't. Those who don't are usually the folk who ask, what's it worth?'.  When you tell them the retail price, they respond, “You could buy a good car for that,” as though a motorbike could only be a cheap alternative to a car.  Those who get bikes love the way they work and the relationship between the bike and the rider.  They love the way bikes make you feel; the sheer exhilaration of it.  Besides, as we were about to find out, riding a bike can teach you some useful lessons about life, if you care to learn them.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p17

[Biggles]

This became' the first test for our rig at high speed and we had some misgivings about its stability. The manufacturer recommended a top speed of 140km/h with the full luggage-fit and since the freeway speed was 130, we thought this would be fine.  And it would have been, except that no one drove at the speed limit.  We joined the flow and I gradually increased our speed as confidence in the stability of the rig grew.  Soon enough we were belting along with the crowd in the not-so-fast-lane while the fast cars and Honda STl300s blasted past us in the proper fast lane.  We were still making very good time.  It was 250 kilometres to the overnight stop in Brive.  250 divided by 140 equals... a quick trip to town!
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 37

[Biggles]

Needing to make about even- time (averaging 100 km/h) for the trip, we paid our money on the motorway and opened up the throttle.  It wasn't long before Jo was explaining exponential equations as we watched the fuel gauge expire before our eyes.  15 percent more speed was costing us a 40 percent penalty in fuel.  At 140 km/h you could almost see the fuel gauge move as you glanced at it.  Clearly we had the aerodynamics of a barn door.  At home, a day of mixed riding would get an easy 500 kilometres from the 30 litre tank.  With this load on board we got about 400 to a tank on the motorway if we kept the cruise at 120.  Over 140, the little 'feed me now' light came on at about 280 kilometres.  The problem with this was that 95-octane petrol cost about US$2.50 per litre, or better than US$50 every time we filled the tank!  The only saving grace was that at high speed you would run out of country after a couple of days.  We had a tight budget for this trip, however, and we didn't want to miss out on a decent bistro meal for the sake of a quicker trip up the motorway.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 45

[alans1100]

[Biggles]

Interestingly, we didn't see many fast sports bikes motorways but there were a few big, fast super-tourers.  The Honda ST1300s, BMW GTs and Yamaha XJR 1300s generally had a couple on board in matching leathers and helmets with full and very neat luggage fit.  They slid by at about 150 tucked in behind the big fairings.  We watched them go with a wave and told ourselves that the decision to bring the BMW GSA would pay off later when the roads got bad and the distances got longer.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 46

[Biggles]

We were not entirely new to the way things are done in this part of the world so, as soon as the ferry docked, we hustled the Elephant into the melee around the Border Police post.  We paid a generous 'tip' to get to the front of the queue and have the paperwork tor the bike sorted, and rolled out onto the streets of Tangier in about 15 minutes.  A quick stop to get fuel and change some money took only a few minutes more, then we were off up the hill and into the thick of the Tangier traffic.  Just like in other parts of North Africa and the Middle East where we have travelled, it is chaos in slow motion: folks wander across the road without any regulation, cars and trucks drift across “lanes” and no-one ever looks at their rear view mirrors. The unwritten rule is always “if I am in front, I have right of way”.   The bikes here are mostly tiny mopeds and the cars are small and low-powered so it all has a surreal feel for us.  There is nothing of the lethal intensity of our own traffic with many more vehicles and ballistic speeds.  Best of all, it happens with good humour and the traffic manages to flow despite the best efforts of everyone.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 90