When we drive through New York’s Adirondack Mountains in June, heading to Vermont, it seems we always encounter a little light rainshower. This year held to the rule, and I was noting that despite the dampness there were a lot of motorcyclists heading south in large groups. It was the last day of Americade, a big annual gathering of bikers in upstate New York.
Further north the weather was gorgeously clear, fantastic conditions for a ride, and there were even more bikers to be seen. Watching them sweep through the curves of the sinuous roads made me think forward to the ride that we’ve got planned this week, which will also be in the Adirondacks. It has been over two decades since I rode a motorcycle, and frankly I’ve been very thoughtful and a bit nervous about the prospect.
On Saturday after we had parked the Airstream and set up, I finally had a chance to inspect my ride. It’s a BMW F650 GS “Dakar”. It’s categorized as a “dual sport” bike, meaning that it rides tall almost like a dirt bike but is equally comfortable on pavement. The bike was renovated by my brother over the winter, along with his identical ride, supervised by my father the aircraft mechanic, so I had confidence that all of the systems were in good order. I sat on the BMW and manipulated the controls, wondering if I really remembered how it all worked or if I was just kidding myself.
Sunday morning was my first chance to actually take it out. We were joined by Eric, who brought his 1996 Russian-made Ural motorcycle with sidecar. The Ural is no hot rod, but it gets plenty of attention on the road. It has two distinct benefits: (1) it isn’t really geared for highway speeds, so we have a good excuse to go slowly; (2) the sidecar provides a great place for us to store extra gear and the tools & spare parts that a Ural inevitably needs when on a roadtrip. The Ural marks its territory wherever it parks (meaning, it leaks). It also gets poorer fuel economy than our Honda Fit. Eric thinks it gets something like 15 rubles to the hectare, or something like that. It’s hard to say since the speedometer isn’t accurate and all the gauges are in Russian.
(The photo is of me and friend Kathy posing on the Ural. We weren’t going anywhere. My normal riding gear includes an armored high-visibility jacket, helmet, gloves, and steel-toed boots.)
The BMW turned out to be an excellent bike. It fired up smoothly and clunked into first gear exactly like my old Yamaha 550. I cautiously ran it up the driveway about 35 feet just to see if I could. I didn’t fall off and I didn’t stall, but that was probably because of the silky-smooth clutch that made shifting easy, and the comfortable riding position. But the big test was ahead. I wasn’t worried about the motorcycle, I was concerned about myself.
We set off. At first I had to get re-acquainted with the sensations I’d forgotten: the pressure of wind on your chest, the feel of the suspension on the bumps, the thumping of the one-cylinder engine. Then I started thinking about smoothness. Despite the forgiving clutch, I had a few shifts that were embarrassingly clunky, and I had to remind myself, just flick the throttle. Don’t over-analyze it. The less I thought about the shifting, the smoother it became, which is the sign that your muscle memory is ahead of your conscious brain. When that happens, it’s time to relax and put your cerebrum onto another task.
Before we’d gone a few miles down the road I knew my neighbor Frank was right when he told me that you never forget how. I stopped worrying about whether I’d remember which pedal was the brake, and started focusing on situational awareness. My use of the controls needed a few hours of polishing, but I knew that the key to a successful ride was going to be my ability to anticipate what was coming and know what my responses would be. In other words, don’t doze along and then react hurriedly when something “unexpected” happens, be ready. It’s the same thing I do when towing the Airstream.
We took the long way through the towns of Charlotte and Shelburne VT on this absolutely perfect day. Numerous bikers were on the road, along with cyclists participating in a road race. Our goal was simply to explore some varying roads and shake out any problems with the bikes or the drivers. After about 30 minutes we stopped at a friend’s house, then went on to breakfast at the Dutch Mill, and then to the big-box stores to pick up a few last-minute items.
I attached a GoPro Hero2 video camera to the top of my helmet, and shot a little video along the way just to see how it worked. 33 minutes of video have been edited down to two and a half minutes, so if you want to waste a couple of minutes of your day you can watch it here.
We had an interesting episode on the ferry across Lake Champlain, from New York to Vermont, on Saturday. I was directed to pull the Airstream straight on to the ferry, which would put the streetside next to the center wall. As always, I pulled up carefully, eyeing the trailer in the mirror. The crew member who was directing us forward looked confused, then said loudly,”You can’t see that trailer, can you?” Well, of course I can see my own trailer. It’s the big shiny thing in the mirror.
I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up through the windshield to reassure him, but for some reason he really was convinced that the Airstream was invisible to me. Maybe it was because I was inching the Airstream closer to the wall (I figured they’d want me to be tight to it, as ferries are usually short on space for large vehicles). He might have thought I wasn’t aware that the trailer was within 6 inches of the wall by the time I finishing pulling in, and that I was going to hit the wall. Then he yelled, “You need towing mirrors!” Hm. I don’t have anything against towing mirrors, but in the space I had, they would have needed to be folded in anyway, so they’d be useless in this situation.
I get variations on this a lot. It’s a rare stop when somebody doesn’t come up and question our choice of tow vehicle, or “help” us park, or even (and this really happened) suggest that we unhitch on a hill so that he can tow us up instead. I’m all for learning new things, but in most cases the people who are trying to help us with towing issues don’t know what they are talking about. We just smile and then get the job done.
This time we’ve opted to spend the night next to a little lake named Piseco, just a few miles south of the village of Speculator. There are lots of public campgrounds here, perhaps not well recognized by the traveling public but very much appreciated by the locals and those in the know. We’ve chosen Point Comfort campground, found about a mile down a narrow paved road off Rt 8, right on the shore of the lake.
Our new mission was to find the fabled “Forbidden” Amish Donuts that I mentioned in a previous blog. It wasn’t hard. Garminita found the house far out in the countryside of Conewango Valley, a rural town along New York’s “
The real problem here is choosing what not to buy, since everything looks good—and the prices are a bargain. We chose a half-dozen molasses cookies at $1.50, a jar of hot pepper relish, and a dozen donuts. Our total was $14.50. The maple donuts were not stocked, but on request he whistled to a family member and they labored in the kitchen unseen for a few minutes to custom-glaze and fill the dozen donuts for us, while we chatted about our travels and the spectacular spring weather to our Amish host.
That’s probably not going to be the case, however. We both have miles to go and much to do. He’ll get on the road today most likely, and we will be heading out shortly as well. Last night Eleanor and I worked out our routing for next few days, which is pretty straightforward (I-90 thru OH, PA, NY, then Adirondacks and on to VT).
Of course now the heat was nearing peak and the trailer had become completely heat-soaked, so it would take two hours to cool off again. I say “would” because then Eleanor began cooking an elaborate dinner of beef tenderloin, orcchiette pasta with a smoky mushroom tomato cream sauce, white bean & roasted garlic puree for the bread, and sfogliatelle (an Italian stuffed flaky pastry, courtesy of Elsa) for dessert. All of this meant all three burners of the stove and the oven running for two hours, which completely overwhelmed any good the air conditioner could do. We ended up turning it off and running fans despite the 91 degree temperatures outside. It was actually cooler that way.