Alaska Ride 2011: head out on the highway

The fruits of six months planning and organization comes together early Friday morning. Hopefully around 2 AM I’ll point the V-Strom’s front wheel west on I-94.By leaving in the wee hours, I will miss the heavy O’Hare traffic that I blundered into last trip. I will also be in good shape to make the western side of North Dakota. Originally, I wanted to head through the middle of the state. The flooding is requiring a bit of a course correction. My goal is to make the 2100 miles to Dawson Creek BC in  three days, and then cut back to a more leisurely three or four-hundred mile-a-day pace.

The weather at Prudhoe Bay, my ultimate destination has been in the twenties and thirties, with rain and snow this week. The ten day outlook is forties and fifties; about as good as it gets on the shores of the Arctic Ocean.

Knobby tires are waiting in Fairbanks, and my Ruger Redhawk .44 is on its way to Tok Alaska for me to pick up. All I have to do is ride four thousand miles to catch up with them. While on the subject of the handgun, I don’t mind the $129 shipping charge UPS gets; they have the only game in town as far as shipping handguns. But, the gun will arrive Tuesday, so the term “Next Day Air is a bit of a stretch. Next time I think a take-down rifle will be in order; Canada allows the transport of long guns. But for this trip I’m just happy to have a way of getting a gun up there.

My posts from here forward will be as time, and an internet connection allows, with some pictures thrown in.  And I am planning on taking a ton of them!

I had very few issues in bike set-up. The GPS and Nikon performed well on my History class trip to Gettysburg. The satellite radio subscription was a bit disappointing, and won’t be used. I have about 60 hours of music on my laptop that I have yet to figure out how to load on the Garmin’s MP-3 player. Oh well, I guess I’ll be talking to myself a lot again this ride.

It goes without saying, that in an endeavor such as this that things will go wrong and, stuff will be left behind that is vital to the plan. But that is why it is called an adventure.Adapting to whatever comes along is a big part. I hope I’m up to the challenge. We’ll know for certain in a few weeks. Stay tuned.

Never give up.

In my post Train to survive, I spoke on the value of training and how it can save your skin. Last night, on the way to work, not 1000 feet from where my run in with that post’s garbage can occurred, I almost bought it. This time I was headed north on Indiana 49, a four-lane non-divided highway. The situation was as follows: I was riding in the left-hand lane approaching an intersection controlled by a traffic light that was green. In the right-hand lane, some distance ahead was a red Honda two-door coupe. As I closed, the Honda shifted left, and proceeded to make an un-signaled left turn. Or at least that was the appearance it gave. As I shifted to the right-hand lane, the Honda driver made an abrupt move back right. No problem, people change their minds and dart all over the highway all the time. I braked hard, bringing the Bandit down from about 50 mph to maybe 30 with the Honda now straddling the center.

At this point the real fun began. The Honda driver, obviously not happy with the idea of turning at the next exit less than an eighth mile away, swung hard to the right, directly in my path, apparently trying to execute some form of a modified u-turn since she was almost through the intersection at this point. This was also the instant that I surmised the car was a two-door, as I was well on my way to t-boning it dead center on the passenger side. At least I would have been able to prove she cut me off. If I survived that is.

The Bandit is equipped with  powerful  dual-discs on the front wheel; the pavement was clean and dry. These are ideal conditions for emergency braking, we were taught in the ABATE Experienced Rider Course  several years ago. As I clamped the lever harder, I heard the howling of the Dunlop Sportmax front tire as it was pushed with evermore force into the pavement. I also detected a wail from the rear tire, signifying lock-up as that end of the bike got light from the forward weight transfer.

Natural instinct tells us to release the brake on a skidding wheel; exactly the wrong reaction we were taught in the ERC, as it can result in a “high side,” a particularly nasty type of crash, and one I have personally experienced. Instead, they recommend “riding the skid out.” This is also why anti-lock brakes are so effective; they sense impending disaster and make minor corrections before the human brain even knows what is happening. One of the thoughts racing through my head, aside from this is really going to hurt, was maybe I should have searched a little harder for an ABS version of the Bandit. They were only an additional $500, but the dealers I spoke to all said they don’t sell well, so there is no point in stocking them. How can anyone buy them if they’re not stocked is an obvious question. I for one would have gladly coughed up the extra cash.

In the ERC they also teach students to find a clean, dry, empty road and practice the aforementioned emergency braking. This is opposed to panic braking which is not effective, and will get you killed. I make a point to practice this skill regularly. They also teach that if maneuvering around the obstacle is not possible, and impact is imminent, keep on the brakes and scrub off as much speed as possible. You’ll hit relatively more softly, and maybe sustain less injury. But whatever you do, don’t” lay it down” as some old-timers are fond of recommending. Back in the day, the weak brakes most bikes were cursed with might have given this strategy some credence. But, on modern bikes with incredibly capable braking systems such as the Bandit, it is simply not justified.

            And most important, never give up. In the fraction of a second all of this took, a still, small voice, I believe was of God, cut through the fear, confusion and anger and urged me to keep trying; “get on that front harder, don’t release the rear, ride it out.” I obeyed, and that my friend is why I’m typing this from the desktop in my house, rather than my laptop in a hospital bed. Or worse.

A story for Father's Day

                                                Bubblicious Bandits

“Where’d ya get the candy?” This burning question was directed at my older two daughters when I spied their mouths bulging with pink bubble gum. We had been trying to locate a particular medication for my wife who was recovering from surgery, and had drawn a blank at the first two drugstores, Walgreens, and K-Mart. We finally found what we were looking for at Hooks’ Drugs. As the girls were climbing in my old power blue 75 Dodge Club-cab pick-up I also noticed some peculiar bumps in the younger one, Rebecca’s tights. When I questioned her about them, I got a blank look that was typical of her at the time. The girls were around four and five-years old and we had not yet discovered Rebecca’s severe hearing loss, so it is doubtful that she even knew what I said.

Melissa on the other hand, was fully aware of what was going on; it was she who had stuffed the sugary treats in Rebecca’s tights, thus converting her little sister into sort of a candy mule. My reaction, I’m ashamed to admit, was to give them both a sound paddling. This is not to say I disapprove of corporal punishment, to the contrary, I believed then, and still think it has its place. My regret stems from the fact that I acted in the heat of my anger, and this is never acceptable for a parent. A time-out would have been in order; for all three of us, me especially

After my childish display, the girls piled into the back of the truck. Club-cabs of that era had two jump seats which faced each other. For some reason, kids loved to ride back there. There was a problem though. Contrary to current practice, no booster seats, or shoulder harnesses were required, just lap belts. So when pulling away from a stop, many times the back seat passengers heads’ would snap back hitting the rear of the cab with a resounding thump. After a few knocks to the head, both girls became quite adept at predicting the movement of the truck and shifting to compensate. Still, this set-up was far from ideal, but in spite of this engineering shortcoming, they had a great time back there. A popular song around this time was Bruce Springsteen’s I’m Goin Down.  Rebecca in particular, was always excited when it came on the radio, and loved jamming to the E-Street Band’s beat.

 On this ride however, the radio stayed off, and silence was the order of the day. Soon we were home. After conferring with my wife, it was decided that we needed to return to the store where the girls would face the music. I made a call and spoke to the manager, who also happened to be the pharmacist. He assured me that this sort of thing happened frequently, and he as a father himself knew just how to handle it.

We informed the girls of the plan and of how they would have to pay for the stealing, which I explained was known as shoplifting. The ride to the store was just as quiet as the one from, but this time my wife accompanied us in the station wagon.

This drug store, like most others of the era, reserved an elevated area for the pharmacy. I would speculate that this was to give a birds-eye view of potentials crooks. I guess the girls were short enough to just slip under the radar. The pharmacist was a tall, just over six-feet, thin, slightly balding man of about forty.  He possessed a kind face, one that seemed ill-equiped for striking terror in the hearts of wayward children. But at the same time he projected an air of seriousness. From his elevated platform, to a couple of kids just starting school, I’m sure he appeared as a giant.

The pharmacist/manager busied himself with a clipboard as we approached the counter; the clearing of my throat was not immediately acknowledged. The girls stared at the floor. That is until a booming voice from above asked may I help you. Startled, they both craned their necks to view the figure that towered above them. But neither one spoke a word. Then the pharmacist addressed them directly. “You must be the kids that stole some candy. Is that true?” Still no response. Again the voice thundered.” Do you think your dad should pay for the candy? At this the girls managed a weak nod in the affirmative. An instant rebuke however came: “Your dad didn’t steal the candy, you did, and he is not the one that should have to pay for it, you are. Do you have any money?” Another weak head shake, this time to the negative, was the response. “Well then,” was the quick reply “I guess you’ll just have to work it off.” He added, “Do you have any skills?” Again, a wag in unison, no. “Nothing huh, well I think I have just the job for you, I’ll be right back. Stay put,” were his final words as he left the platform.

When he returned some minutes later, he was carrying equipment more suited to the store next door, Tractor Supply: a full-sized shovel and push-broom; for all I know he went there and bought or borrowed the equipment. At any rate, the girls had their task: sweeping and shoveling the parking lot.

By this time a decent sized crowd of onlookers had gathered. Melissa and Rebecca just stared at the gardening tools. The pharmacist seeing their hesitation ordered them to each grab one and follow him outside. Curiously, the crowd moved towards the front of the store as well. As I looked them over, I saw what appeared to be the beginnings of smiles on a couple of women.  When I cast a side glance at the pharmacist, he too appeared to be having a difficult time maintaining his aura of sternness. The girls though were dead serious.

 I wish that I had a camera that day, as this was a Kodak moment if there ever was one. The girls, with their over-sized tools attacked the assigned task with a vengeance. Melissa in particular, in a very animated fashion seemed as though she were trying to grind the bristles right off the broom, and in the process produced the biggest cloud of dust possible. Rebecca was a bit more subdued, using the shovel to gingerly scoop up the copious piles of debris. After a suitable interval, probably about ten minutes, the pharmacist declared the job well done.

As I observed all of this, I was reminded of a similar story from my own youth. When I was about the same age as the girls, I went on my own crime spree, stealing a bit of lumber to build a fort. In that situation, it was also my dad who caught me and marched me back to the scene of the crime to own up to what I did. The man I stole from also took a similar tack as the Hooks manager did with my kids. He also praised my dad for taking the “high road” and forcing me to take resposibilty for my actions. He pointed out that this was a very hard thing for a father to do. Maybe that’s a reason why so much juvenile theft is swept under the rug; at least initially anyway.

After collecting the gardening utensils, with Melissa going in to theatrics about how she was exhausted from the hard labor, the man kneeled down and called them both near. He told them today you have learned a valuable lesson: hard work has its rewards. He further went on, you may think your dad has done something mean to you, but just the opposite is true. Parents who love their children take care of them, and that includes disciplining them when they do wrong, much as what happened here today. With that he handed them each a pack of gum, and told them they had earned it through their labor, the right way. Then without batting an eye, he handed me one of the packs I had confiscated from them earlier. I was a bit bewildered and pointed out I didn’t do any work for it. His reply was “look at the price tag.” Then it jumped out at me; the sticker said WALGREENS, they had struck twice. Man was this going to be a long day, requiring a trip to the other drug store to set things right there as well.

Both girls are now fine adults. On occasion, when we talk about growing up and parenting, our experiences as young criminals becomes the topic of conversation. When I ask what they recall most about their brush as shoplifters, specifically what they remember in the way of discipline; both resoundingly agree the sweeping of the parking lot had the greater long term affect. The paddling was more for my benefit. In any case, I believe parents need to be accountable for the kids’ actions, as well as the kids themselves. It would have been easy to just blow off their bad behavior. But what kind of a message would that had sent?

A wise man pointed out to my dad when he faced a similar situation that being a father is tough. Often times, parenting involves dealing with uncomfortable circumstances. After the bubble gum caper, I think I have a crystal clear understanding of the embarrassment, and even sense of failure my own dad experienced in dealing with my encounter as a “timber thief.”  I’m glad that he chose to take the high road though, as it gave me a pattern to follow in dealing with my own children.

PNC summer history class 2011: biking at the battlefield

 

In one of my recent posts I questioned the wisdom of taking a summer travel study trip, namely Gettysburg, so close to my Alaska ride. But the prospect of earning three credits, while learning about a place that has always fascinated me was a powerful draw, so here I am. And it’s turning out all right. We will be experiencing those three pivotal days in U.S. history up close, and I think as a result will learn, and retain more than we would in an entire semester in the classroom.

One of my main concerns looking to Alaska has been my new Nikon D90 camera. Basically, I want my ability to be up to the potential of the tool, and not waste what are sure to be fantastic photo opportunities. The classes in digital photography I’ve been taking have been a tremendous help. But nothing beats practice in the field, and the battlefield provides almost unlimited subject matter in a wide range of conditions. Bottom line, after just one day, I’m already more comfortable with the Nikon.

This trip was a little different for me also in that I drove here. Those who know me can attest that this is simply unheard of, especially during the prime riding season. As it turned out, one of the guys in class needed a ride, and was willing to share expenses. It’s odd, but on this trip taking the Focus was actually cheaper than riding one of the bikes. Now I love riding more than just about anything, but I’ll be doing plenty of that in July.

Aside from roofs, heaters, and air-conditioners, cars do have another advantage over bikes: carrying capacity. In this case, the back seat of the Focus was not wasted, as my road bike tagged along. So today after class was done I toured the battlefield again, this time on a two-wheeled one-manpower Specialized. The weather was perfect, and the park roads offer a biking paradise.  And there was something else I noticed; that is, guided bike tours were being offered.

On one road, a well-built guide in an official uniform was leading a column of visitors. I did some research and learned that the National Park Service issues a limited number of highly sought after licenses to guides in the park. One must pass a difficult test of Civil War knowledge to qualify. Many take the infrequently given exam, but few pass. So the fit guy in uniform not only has lungs like a race horse, he is also a rolling history book.

PNC is in the process of gaining state approval to offer a History major. At the present, a minor is tops. One of the stumbling blocks I’m told is the state’s insistence that the degree lead to some form of employment.

I have yet to declare a major, but the time will soon be upon me as I’ll attain sophomore status this fall. My interest from the beginning at PNC has been to sharpen my writing skills to move in that direction post-steel mill. I have to admit though, seeing that guy riding and lecturing has a definite appeal. The wheels are turning, and History may win out yet when the time comes to declare.

           But enough fantasizing on future employment opportunities. After the summer history class is Alaska, and it will be consuming my attention for the foreseeable future.

Alaska Ride 2011: gear-up

On an Alaska ride there are a few things necessary for success. Obviously, the choice of machine is important, but the reality is bikes of every size and shape have made the run. More critical is the preparedness of the rider. This brings me to the subject of gear. In my last post I mentioned that this trip I will be largely relying on what I used last time. That is, an Aerostich Darien suit and that companies wind block liners, their Combat Touring boots, an HJC full-face helmet, and various pairs of gloves.

The Darien suit, named after the famous ninety-nine mile gap in the Pan-America Highway in Columbia, is seven years old. It was rebuilt by Aerostich a couple of years ago. The process ran about $200 and basically doubled the suits useful life. As far as I know, Aerostich is one of the few companies offering this service, at least for textile suits, and it goes far in justifying the initial high cost.

The boots are manufactured by Sidi for Aerostich. Last time I wore the lite version, the main difference being shorter height. The original pair was made in Italy, and quite frankly exhibitst better workmanship than the taller Romanian produced versions. Time will tell if these hold up as well as the originals that are still going strong after five years, and untold miles. On nice feature of the CBTBs is while they are not advertised as waterproof, a bit of sealant makes them good enough for light rain. Also riding along is a pair of Tingley over boots for the heavy stuff that will inevitably come along.

Gloves consist of an ancient pair of Technic unlined gauntlets, some no-name summer weights, and a pair of heavy, heated, H-D branded Gerber’s. Also packed will be Aerostich Gortex triple-digit covers, again, for the really nasty days.

The helmet will receive a new face shield. Also packed will be a new set of mounts, or bases in HJC parlance. These weigh but ounces, and are about the size of a silver dollar, but when they fail untold aggravation results. Last trip, when I pulled the shield for cleaning, a helpful passerby at a gas station in Alberta noticed my trouble reattaching the shield and offered assistance. While one of the things I like most about Western Canada is the gregarious, helpful personality of the residents; this guy didn’t quite understand that finesse goes a long way in such activities. Bottom line: a broken base that restricted opening the shield to about half normal, resulting in a tough time putting my glasses on for thousands of miles. The kicker is, the aforementioned dollar-sized package of new mounts was one of the things I pulled from the trunk to conserve space. Not this time!

The last category is underwear. There is a saying up north; synthetics are king and cotton just doesn’t cut it. With this in mind, I wear a lot of Lycra as a base layer under my riding suit, with the nod going to padded bicycle shorts. These truly do extend the time in the saddle. As an added bonus, man-made fabrics can be washed in a sink and air dry quickly. I usually carry three days’ worth of clothing, which works well for a three week adventure.

When I started this piece, I intended on getting into some of my equipment such as my tent sleeping bag and the issue of food . This is a rich subject itself, one that will have to wait until next time. Stay tuned.

Alaska Ride 2011: odds and ends

It’s getting down to the wire, and in less than four weeks I’ll be hitting the road for the great north. But the object of my attention in the immediate future, is the travel study trip to Gettysburg I’m taking for a History class at PNC. The thought that has been foremost in my mind the last couple of weeks is what was I thinking, signing up for summer school? Gettysburg is an unforgettable place to visit, one that all Americans should make a point of trying to take in at least once; this will be my fourth trip. So when the opportunity presented itself to tour the battlefield under the supervision of a professor who is an authority on the Civil War, I jumped at the chance. The prospect of completing a semesters study in what amounts to just over a week time wise also has a definite appeal.  But sometimes I feel as though I have too many irons in the fire.

But now back to Alaska. The Strom’s accessory wiring harness is complete, with the Centec AP-2 fuse block and relay providing the ability to safely run multiple circuits. Another benefit is the option of hot all-the-time or switched control for those items that need continuous power such as the GPS. The Hot-Grips heated grips are installed lacking only final wiring connections. Some might question the need of heated grips in July. Experience on my last ride, particularly in the Yukon where the ride up took place on a long, cold (upper-thirties through mid-fifties) rainy day. Actually, it was very similar to late fall in Northwest Indiana. It’s funny, but the hardest part of the grip installation was taking a utility knife to the originals. One thing that was immediately apparent was the Hot-Grips larger diameter, giving an almost Harley like feel to the controls. Rounding out the right side of the bars is a Kaoko throttle lock. The installation was a snap, very similar to the Throttlemiester pieces I have used in the past. Additionally, the part is well made and allows use of the OEM hand guards.

Three other pieces were installed with the goal of protecting vulnerable components: a Cee- Bailey headlight guard will fend off projectiles on the Dalton, likewise, a radiator guard procured on E-bay will help keep coolant where it should be, and a Maier fender extender will do its best to keep crud off the motor.

            The bike is basically done, the means to get a gun north is set, and a preliminary route to Dawson Creek mapped. As is my habit when on trips, the location of where I eat, gas up and camp will be decided on the fly. The great amount of flexibility provided by travelling alone is why I’m again going solo this trip. The downside, and there is always one, is in the case of trouble, I’ll be alone, a reasonable trade off in my estimation. On July 1^st I point the front wheel west on I-94. The road is calling!

          The actual trip to Gettysburg is next week. When I can steal a bit of time, I’ll do a post on my gear and equipment. Since the Alaska trip has been accelerated by twelve months,(the original plan was for 2012) with a correspondingly shorter amount of time to raise funds, I am sticking with the basically same kit I used last time.Everthing performed well then, and I’m confident it will again. Also, I’ll send greetings from Gettysburg. It’s going to be a busy couple of months!