tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146304122024-03-07T13:02:04.883-05:00Fish or Cut Bait<i>There comes a time in each person's life where he or she must decide to Fish Or Cut Bait...this is mine.</i>FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.comBlogger830125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-42042944924172174712018-12-05T17:18:00.002-05:002018-12-05T17:27:44.865-05:00Yamaha Tracer 900 GT - My Impressions<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv34gGANXzdt6Ixhh8cz-97ZYjc34Kqj9gVax_SzcqVjht9kkTxG57KcDJibPgYlXrdYZlPEFLosbUwU1F2a9vkHcKnkGhBbLxPrdyonrCe15sIIhIDO7Gy4-2yIS2Lj2JEB_O1w/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv34gGANXzdt6Ixhh8cz-97ZYjc34Kqj9gVax_SzcqVjht9kkTxG57KcDJibPgYlXrdYZlPEFLosbUwU1F2a9vkHcKnkGhBbLxPrdyonrCe15sIIhIDO7Gy4-2yIS2Lj2JEB_O1w/s320/image.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
First, I owe some thanks to the folks at YCH in Camp Hill, PA for letting me try out the Yamaha Tracer 900 GT. One of the things that occurs to me is that buying a bike is a lot like getting married. You get the spouse, but you also get the in-laws and the extended family. So, while buying a motorcycle (the spouse) is critical to get right, it's also worth noting you're going to get a dealership to support you (or not), and it would make the whole relationship better if they were knowledgeable, likeable, and even a tad welcoming. The same could be said about the (extended family) people on the boards that represent the bike and the brand. Of the dealerships in my immediate area, the one who meets these criteria the best, in my opinion, is YCH. <br />
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The Tracer GT has a fantastic power plant, and I have to say I LOVED that engine - it pulls from absolute EVERYWHERE! I found it to be lively and spirited, and there is torque from the bottom to the top. It's not the low-down power I feel from the Multi, but it is more immediate, and because the bike I sighted, it feels more pronounced. I also felt that lighter weight in the steering, because the bike goes EXACTLY where you point it, and it gets there in a hurry. With the Tracer GT, there is no wasted movement in the cornering, and it just gliiiiiiiides through corners on a rail. That said, the bike is not twitchy, which it easily could be, so much as it is exacting. If the Multistrada is a Swiss Army knife, the Tracer GT is a scalpel. The bike has one job - carve the road - and it does it with precision. I was thinking, “I want to cut in there” and I found myself magically in the exact place I wanted to be, without shortcoming, waste, our excess. The brakes are spot on, and grab with incredibly strong but smooth stopping power. It is nice to note there is a front AND rear brake on this bike, unlike the Ducati, which has an admittedly lacking back brake. <br />
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Is the Tracer GT perfect. Negative. First, the screen sucks (and is kind of ugly, to boot) and would need to be upgraded or discarded, depending on your needs. But, screen choice seems an almost immediate and invariable upgrade item on every bike, and there seems to be an already growing aftermarket for this bike to meet the riding and touring needs of it's aficionados. Similarly, the seat would probably need to find the trash bin as well. My commuting and touring include longer rides of 3-500+ miles, and I expected the seat to be comfortable, certainly more than it was. I suspect the seat/plank was designed by the same people that brought us the Spanish Inquisition (nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!). If you are thinking about touring, budget for a seat.<br />
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But, if these are the only niggles, they are small ones. This is especially true in consideration of what I would get for an MSRP of $13K (I did not talk out-the-door price at the dealer, that day). In addition to the fantastic 849 triple engine, the GT bike comes standard with a center stand, making tire work, chain maintenance, and the like, so much easier. It has Anti-lock Brakes which, for me, are a minimum-level safety requirement, in the same way ATGATT is (and part of my agreement with Mrs. Fishr). The bike has cruise control, and it is easy to access, use, and turn on and off. The full-color TFT dashboard is big, easy-to read, and offers some customization, which I did not get into, but which would be helpful as riding needs change. The heated heated grips worked great, and it was in the mid-to-high 40s (another reason I appreciated the guys at YCH coming out with me to test the bike). The bike comes standard with side panniers, and they are integrated wonderfully into the bike. Overall, the Yamaha Tracer GT is a FANTASTIC weapon for that price, and nothing else comes close, IMO, when approached from a value perspective.<br />
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However, there were some areas it did not meet my needs. I am coming off the Multistrada, and I am looking for something more substantial and more “planted”. It might sound weird to say I want a bike that is heavier,, but I left the heft of the Multi. It was windy on the test ride, and thee Tracer did get blown around a bit, though the power of the bike carried me through. That does not happen much with the Multistrada, even on I-81 with the notorious truck traffic and cross winds that are part of my everyday riding. This is part of the trade-off nature of what I was thinking about, and I am not certain it is one I would like to make.<br />
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Another thing I noticed was that I felt like I was perched up on the Tracer GT compared to the Multistrada. The position is both higher in the seat, and more forward in the cockpit. This gives the Tracer an overall position that feels more akin to a naked bike. I will say, this is not a bad thing, if this is what you like, but it made me feel a little disconnected from the bike. I have ridden friends' Triumph Triples, Buells, and the like, and this bike felt the same way. The best way I can describe it is like bodysurfing a wave; you know you are a part of something really powerful, but because your face and eyesight are so far out ahead of it, it feels like you are not a part of it. In riding the GT, I realized how much I prefer to sit "in the bike" rather than on it. There is a line, of course, where one can get so low that you feel sunken behind the bike, and it's like riding in a cage. In my experience, I've never ridden a bike that blends "in the bike" connection better than the Multistrada.<br />
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With all of that said, if I was still in my twenties, or if my daily commute involved canyon-strafing and absurdly twisting roads, or if I could have two bikes, I’d have a hard time thinking of a bike I would like to have more. I haven't closed the door completely on this bike, but at this point: close, but not quite a cigar.FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-77999217954717763272018-12-04T23:54:00.002-05:002018-12-04T23:55:56.945-05:00Out with the Old?<br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As I think about my next ride, it probably makes sense to think about my current ride, the 2012 Multistrada S Touring. I bought the Multi with less than 2000 miles on it, from a guy whose wife was beating him up to get rid of it because it was just gathering dust in his garage. I got a GREAT price on it, and it was, at the time, my dream bike. I have enjoyed it immensely since then, and it is, hands-down, in my opinion, the finest single do-it-all motorcycle the world has ever seen. Twisting, turning, speed, handling, distance, comfort, looks (subjective, I know, but I think the Italians can make a paper clip sexy), carrying capacity, on road, off-road (a bit of a trade-off here, but it will get you through it, if slowly), urban, commuting, touring, sport, and even track days. Don't believe me? Check this out. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">With that said, like any sexy Italian supermodel, she is demanding, and those demands come at a price. There are the known issues of brand reliability (and cost of ownership in general), and the Multistrada is not immune to any of it. I have replaced the fuel sensor, which is a known problem for the Multistrada. I got a boot full of fluid when one of the fork seals blew, probably as a result of sitting unloved and underused in the previous owner's garage. I had a leak from the tank, but never the notorious tank bloat which comes from using ethanol in the plastic tank; a solution is the use of a coating, which keeps the tank from swelling but voids warranties. I replaced the kickstand sensor, which decided to go, cutting the engine and turning the bike off, as I was getting ready to dive into a turn, and again as I was in the middle of a busy intersection). I needed a new slave cylinder on a trip to Seattle, which almost stranded me, which brought to light the shortcomings of the dealer network, the dearth of Ducati dealers in Montana and South Dakota, and the inability/unwillingness people have too work on these bikes, in general. I also sorted some wiring problems and replaced a bunch of rear tires. In short, if she doesn't try to leave me, she will likely try to kill me.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">None of these issues was as inexpensive as other bikes (read as: Japanese), and the Ducati is not one to wrench on your own, generally speaking (I have a buddy who has a C14 and he laughs at how difficult it is, even though it takes him a fortnight to take the plastic off to change the oil on his). Another complaint I have with the Multistrada is the wind. Ducati mismanaged the front end design for 2010-12, and at speeds of about 75+ the wind flows up into the helmet creating a racket and a lot of buffeting. I have tried multiple screens, gadgets, helmets, and the like, to no avail - people at my exact height all seem to have the same complaint for the bike. Ear plugs help, and I suspect custom ear plugs would be better. The lights suck. The low beam is “okay” but when you switch to high beam, it throws light out to the distances and inexplicably turns off the low beam, which was previously filling in the 0-20 feet directly in front of you. If Ducati thought about it, they would have both lights on when you get to high beam. There are a couple of people who have made their own wiring harnesses and strung them together in their bikes to do exactly this, but it’s a miss for Ducati. Apparently, the newer models are GREAT at this, and I have a guy that rides a '16 reporting it's the best bike lighting he has ever had. The heated grips on the ‘12 are on the right side. This is still weird to me, but they are fantastic, with three levels, the top of which will cook an egg in a Pennsylvania winter. The dash screen scratches easily; on a bike of his caliber, I would expect better. Some of these are niggles, I admit, but I list them here as points of reference as I move forward, and also perhaps as a reminder to myself, because I have had these thoughts befoore, and every time I get back in the saddle with her, she makes me forget all of these shortcomings.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There are certainly a lot of other pluses, which I am including to point out what what I love about this bike and to showcase what I am seeking in a bike. The Ohlins suspension is remarkable. People have also raved about the Skyhook suspension when it came out. I love the adjustable-on-the-fly suspension AND power settings. Urban is 100HP and relaxes the throttle aggression; Enduro is 100 HP, turns off TC and increases the travel on the suspension; Touring is 150 HP and gives a plush ride for long highway days; Sport unleashes the beast with 150 HP and aggressive throttling, and it has a profound effect on your ability to do anything but smile (In the words oof Buddy the Elf: "I like smiling. Smiling's my favorite."). Keyless fob is nice to have. The range is great, and I CAN get more than 200 miles on a tank. The engine has character, soul, and it's undefinable to someone who does not get it, unneeded for those who do. There is just something about that twin, and, I changed out one of the gears to make low speed handling easier - she purrs like a cat, prowling through parking lots, now. The riding position is 100% neutral to me, and it just feels like home. Even with the stock seat, I just throw a Pat Garrett sheepskin on and go all day long. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">With all of this in mind, I am looking at, most likely, a Japanese bike, I want something with great power, strong handling, solid reliability, a broad dealership network, and a sensible cost of ownership. If we are going to be honest, what I really need is a touring bike, a sport bike, and an off road bike, but Mrs. Fishr, CFO is finally getting comfortable with the idea of me having a motorcycle at all, and the accompanying expenses, and would not be too keen on a stable of bikes...yet. </span></div>
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FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-41612521453919622132018-12-02T17:01:00.001-05:002018-12-02T17:01:27.052-05:00Fish on a Bike: Choosing My New Weapon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have come to the conclusion that it is time to replace my 2012 Ducati Multistrada S Touring. I am going to record my thoughts, ideas, and (internal) questions as I go about making a choice. Think of it as my Kerouacian stream-of-consciousness novella to arriving at my next ride.<br />
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Let's start with a little about me and my riding. I am 6 feet tall with a 32 inch inseam and I'm 51 years-old, but a fairly athletic guy. I log about 6-8,000 miles a year, and this number has been increasing steadily. My riding:<br />
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<li>I commute to offices across Central PA, riding slab for 1-2 hours to get there and then finding fun, twisting roads home. I do this maybe 1-2 times per week, and this is one area I am looking to increase. I wear a suit and tie for client meetings, and will ride to offices, get out of my overgear there, then go to meetings with other folks driving, often, so I can get to my out-of-office appointments in good shape. The rides home are a beautiful tour of some great roads, and because a lot of people are on the highway and I am on the backroads, it's even better. </li>
<li>On weekends, I do 3-400+ miles at a clip, mostly on back country roads, around farm country, and through gorgeous forests, with lots of twists and turns. This is the meat and potatoes of my riding, but commuting is an increasingly larger part, as noted above. The guy I ride with the most is on a C14, and we are somewhat comparable in the twists, though he is a far better rider than I, and when he wants to get into it, he gets that pig up and rolling, then slows and waits for me in the "boring" sections. </li>
<li>Take longer (weekend) trips occasionally, on mixed pavement, mostly twisting or long, sweeping roads. I am planning on taking more of these (2 or 3 or more day) weekend jaunts. </li>
<li>I also log a 6-10 day 1500+ miler once a year. We pick a city or a state, things we want to see along the way, and roll out. I love this type of traveling, and it's where I feel the shortcomings of the Ducati's wind management. </li>
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All of my riding is one-up, as Mrs. Fishr doesn't ride. It's cool. I am primarily a fair-weather rider, but Brad could find a rainstorm in Death Valley, so I try to be prepared. I like to ride year-round, even in Pennsylvania, so with some heated gear, I will get out in Winter if the temps are in the 40s and the roads are clear. I can wrench a bike, and even enjoy it, occasionally; I have a very good friend, Roge, who doesn't ride anymore, but, even when he did, probably liked this side of it as much or more than the riding. He's probably forgotten more about bikes than I will ever know. I like doing projects with him, and it is always time well spent.<br />
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So, I am looking for the "one bike to rule them all." There are inevitably going to be trade offs, I know, and I am going to set about exploring what those trade-offs are, and how they impact my decision.FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-77813911733808052472017-11-09T07:35:00.001-05:002018-12-02T16:22:58.637-05:00Commuting <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love commuting on the bike. Gearing up is a bit of a pain in the butt, but once I get moving, I am quickly reminded of just how great an option it is.<br />
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There are times when I have to get someplace in a hurry, but I almost invariably take the long way home, finding some interesting (read as: twisty, winding and picturesque) roads home.<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-78817341971501767572017-10-29T17:05:00.001-04:002018-12-02T16:23:25.397-05:00October Autumn has come to Pennsylvania, her trees shedding their leaves, hesitantly at first then with renewed enthusiasm. They remember the routine, and the sooner the leaves are gone, the sooner they get to sleep. Still, this has been a longer Fall, the warmer weather encouraging them to to hang in there a little while longer.<br />
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Sudden storms arrive, unexpectedly. I checked the weather report diligently, but nobody is perfect, least among them weather "experts". I put the periscope up and soldiered home, grateful that the road was highway, avoiding those sodden leaves that spell peril for riders.<br />
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You may have noticed the PINK socks, there. October is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and I was asked by the American Cancer Society to participate in their Real Men Wear Pink Campaign. It's a way for men to get into the fight, and, as an eleven-year cancer survivor, I am proud to do it. You can read my story by <a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-j1lah-GD2r8/WfY242NEQbI/AAAAAAAAF7s/YkYHtyJJ45kTyvg6Ntye1V4kIgSxGudWwCHMYBhgL/s2048-no/IMG_2735.JPG" target="_blank">CLICKING HERE</a>.<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-77983906766595786712017-10-29T15:41:00.003-04:002017-10-29T15:41:51.951-04:00Riding "Take the back roads instead of the highways."<br />
-- Minnie Pearl<br />
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Cheesin' at the top of King's Gap Nature Center. </div>
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The road to get there isn't so bad, either. </div>
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Dappled sunlight and no shortage of beauty. </div>
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FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-25331251722855878432017-10-29T15:29:00.000-04:002017-10-29T15:29:11.318-04:00Scenes from a Summer Commute <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Pennsylvania and her back roads are simply unparalleled.<br />
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I love stopping and visiting the local streams. You never know what you're going to see - Hawks, trout, kingfishers, deer, raccoons, snakes, or, in this case, a blue heron...<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-24381351261669035312017-08-06T16:17:00.000-04:002017-08-06T16:17:14.656-04:00Trip West - Day 7 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I woke up the next morning, and got ready to head out. I threw open the curtains in my room, which is funny, because I normally do that as the first thing when I arrive in a new room. I was surprised to find the hotel sat on a fairly large pond, hence the singing of the frogs the night before. I kicked my feet up and watched the sunrise, drinking my coffee and thinking about home. I would be home tonight, but there were miles and miles between us.<br />
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I threw small pieces of my breakfast bar into the pond, and they were hungrily devoured by catfish. There were hundreds of them, writhing in a slimy grunion-like feeding frenzy. A lonely turtle also surfaced, looking for a meal, but found it difficult to compete with the swarming catfish. I was able to toss it a bite, and it brought me a small satisfaction.<br />
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I left and hit the road. It seemed that, at each stop, I was able to make new friends, from bison to elephants, and even the occasional human.<br />
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At one stop, an elderly woman parked next to me and eyed me and the bike, then got out of her car.<br />
"Is that a Ducati," she asked.<br />
"Yes it is," I replied, surprised not for the last time.<br />
"My grandsons think those are the bees knees!"<br />
I smiled, and said, "You tell them they're right!"<br />
We talked for a while, about you her grandsons, my trip, the bike, and the like. In the end, she asked if she could take my picture to send to her grandsons, and I agreed, so she did.<br />
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Much of the rest of a trip is a blur, until I reached Pennsylvania. There is a quickening of the soul, on a trip like this, when one reaches one's home state.<br />
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One thing about Pennsylvania, though - you MUST be careful of the bears!<br />
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I narrowly avoided the attack, and quickly moved on.<br />
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T.S. Eliot once wrote:<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif, serif; font-size: 16px;">We shall not cease from exploration</span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: arial, sans-serif, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif, serif; font-size: 16px;">And the end of all our exploring </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: arial, sans-serif, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif, serif; font-size: 16px;">Will be to arrive where we started </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: arial, sans-serif, serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif, serif; font-size: 16px;">And know the place for the first time.</span></blockquote>
And so it was when I reached the Susquehanna River, seeing it anew yet recognizing it as home, nonetheless.<br />
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I rode along the river at sunset, the steady thrum of the engine bringing me closer and closer to my door, then turned over the bridge and made the short hop to home.<br />
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FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-38651740247874295692017-07-22T14:20:00.000-04:002017-07-22T14:20:00.638-04:00Trip West - Day 6 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I crossed over the Missouri River and stopped at the rest stop, where there was a monument of Sacajawea, who guided Lewis and Clark on their journey to map the Louisiana Purchase. As a teacher, I covered this period of history with my high school students, so it was a warm reminder of that time, and that I was traveling on historic grounds.<br />
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The overlook was beautiful...<br />
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...but not without its perils.<br />
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I also liked the metal relief they had erected.<br />
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As I rode on, the scenery continued to be spectacular.<br />
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Wisconsin: My God, it's full of clouds!<br />
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I stopped into the Third Ward in Milwaukee, and threw on a proper shirt, so as not to frighten the locals.I have been to Milwaukee a couple of times, and I love this town: friendly people, clean city, and good food. I am not a drinker, but a proper beer would have been hitting for the cycle.<br />
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I found a sweet little tapas place, and tucked myself in for a fantastic meal.<br />
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Milwaukee was a nice to be off the bike, so I took a little stroll around the area.<br />
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Then I rode on, through Chicago, which was the worst riding I have ever done. Aggressive drivers, stupid and poorly marked toll roads and toll booths, and just an all out crappy experience. It was even worse because I was coming off so many wide-open spaces, and to enter into this crowded idiocy was just awful.<br />
<br />
I got lost, turned around, and made a point to pull off and find a hotel as soon as I was past Chicago. I was knackered. I took a quick shower, crawled into bed, and fell asleep as a chorus of bullfrogs sang me sweetly to sleep.FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-69867139444529127832017-07-05T12:05:00.000-04:002017-07-05T12:05:13.197-04:00Trip West - Day 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I started heading back home, first by turning toward Fort Collins, Colorado. I thought if I could get the bike repaired there relatively easily, I could still tool around the west for a bit. And, Colorado would most certainly NOT be a bad place to do it. <br />
<br />
Quick - think of the weirdest place you have been. If you didn't say Thermopolis, Wyoming, there's a good chance it's because you have not been to Thermopolis. In a 2 minute span, I saw about half a dozen rock/crystal stores, the crazy cat lady to conquer all cat ladies (I counted 24 cats in her back yard), and this guy, just rolling through town, and happy to be alive. <br />
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I wondered if I stayed in this town, would it get increasingly stranger, or would it seem less so by degrees, over the time I spent there. Stay weird, Thermopolis. Stay. Weird.<br />
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Coming out of Thermopolis, I dove straight into the most beautiful ride of this entire adventure. The Wind River Canyon twists and turns, the road following the cuts made in the gorge by the river. Nature's skyscrapers lifted to the heights on both sides of me, and when I paused, the river roared her lullaby to me. My photos do it no justice.<br />
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Somewhere in this canyon, I hit a pterodactyl. At least, judging from the wingspan, that's what I think it was. The insect was so large, it actually scarred my shield. I am really glad I had it snapped down at the time, because I don't think eating that much protein in one sitting would be good for anyone.<br />
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I reached Casper, Wyoming and pulled over into a gas station to call the Ducati dealer in Fort Collins. After explaining my issue, he came to the conclusion that it was something between the slave and master cylinders, as I suspected. It would take him 4-7 days to get the parts in, and he assured me I was doing no harm riding the bike as it was. He advised me to figure out where I would be in that 4 to 7 days, then call ahead and have them order parts at that dealership.<br />
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I was glad I was going to be home, honestly. I broke east from Casper, my westward progression halted. I could have been angry, or disappointed, but I reflected on all that I had already seen, and began looking forward to all I would see. My trip was not over, it was half over, and I was not going to spend the second half sulking. I went in to pay for my gas and get a cup of coffee.<br />
I brought the coffee to the counter, and the woman behind the register asked me, "Didn't you just fill up?"<br />
"Yes, ma'am," I said. I don't know why, but I have a tendency to use ma'am and sir when I leave the northeast. It's always been that way.<br />
"Well, the coffee's free if you gas up, here. It's Miss Jenny's way of saying thank you."<br />
"Tell Miss Jenny I said, 'Thank you'. It's the nicest thing that's happened to me this morning."<br />
She smiled and wished me well.<br />
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I passed through a lot of small towns, none of them particularly remarkable in any way.<br />
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Wyoming, into Nebraska (where one of the local hobbies seems to be blasting road signs with shotguns. I did notice how Nebraska built their signs to withstand these percussives). <br />
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And the coal kept rolling...<br />
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...and the hay got baled...<br />
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<br />
...until I reached Mitchell, South Dakota. I checked into a cheap hotel, where the Chinese girl, who spoke no English, and I tried to work out room rates and wifi passwords. It was comical conversation, and we got it worked out by pantomiming and pointing until we were both understood. She was a student, and trying to learn English by doing the late shift at the hotel; I hope she does well.FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-49636359326893146712017-07-03T11:16:00.000-04:002017-07-03T18:09:13.847-04:00Trip West - Day 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We started out having breakfast at Helen's in Chadron, Nebraska. Wherever I go, I try to make new friends. Chadron, Nebraska was no exception. <br />
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We were not in Nebraska long before we crossed into South Dakota. I found that I had some trouble shifting gears the day before, and made a mental not of it, but the early riding did not have a hint of trouble. That said, when I downshifted to pull over and take this photo, I noticed it again. It was like the clutch was not fully engaging on the bike.<br />
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One of the things that happens when you are on a longer trip is that you really get to know the feelings and sounds of the bike. She was telling me, "I'm fine" but I knew she wasn't. It was just a minor thing, but I would keep my antennae up for it. <br />
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Shortly after entering South Dakota, I saw the Black Hills It's funny, though - I smelled them before I saw them. In the west, the air is so clean there is a noticeable lack of scent in the air. So, when something did have a scent, I noticed it much sooner. The Black Hills are covered with pine trees, and that evergreen smell surrounds them. It's beautiful. <br />
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We hit the winding hills with alacrity, but not too much, figuring the local constabulary might have an eye and an ear out for squids (those guys on crotch rockets that dodge between your cars on the highways at unreasonable rates of speed).<br />
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And then, rounding a hill, slightly off to the side of the road, I saw them: Bison! Living ones! They lumbered along, roughly the size of a small SUV. They tussled with each other, playfully rubbing their heads together. They stopped and looked at our motorcycles, but kept a distance from they sound of the engines. This was a good thing, because there are warnings to give them distance. Given their size, that seemed prudent.<br />
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When I was a kid, one of the first albums I bought on my own was Kansas Leftoverture. On it was the hauntingly beautiful Cheyenne Anthem, which tells the story of the people who used to roam this part of the world.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
From the mountains to the sun, life has only just begun<br />
We wed this land and pledge our souls to meet its end<br />
Life has only just begun<br />
Here my people roam the earth, in the kingdom of our birth<br />
Where the dust of all our horses hides the sun<br />
We are mighty on the earth, on the earth</blockquote>
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Looking at these rolling hills, it was easy to see the Cheyenne on their horses, looking for the buffalo that would provide clothing, blankets, tipi covers, moccasins, needles and thread, knives, glue, shields, quivers, toys, and everything required for an entire way of life. </div>
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We had the option of visiting Mount Rushmore or the Crazy Horse Memorial. I chose Crazy Horse. It's a huge monument, currently under construction. It is, of course, a pay to get in place, and then you can pay more to get to the bottom of the site. We opted in for the first and out for the second.<br />
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There is a nice viewing area in the (omnipresent) gift shop, and I found this rendering of what it should look like when it is done, with it's current state in the background. You guys better get chiseling!<br />
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My bike continued to act up, so I was pleased when we pulled into Deadwood, South Dakota.<br />
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I was pleased because there was an Indian restoration garage, and I thought, "Surely these people can help me." I had done some quick online research and found that, because my bike has a hydraulic clutch, there was a possibility that air in the hydraulic line was causing the problem, and that a "simple" bleed of the line might alleviate the problem. I put "simple" in quotes because it's simple if you 1) have a the tools and 2) know your way around a motorcycle. Surely, an Indian restorer hit both of those categories!<br />
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But, it turns out the guy couldn't help me. Or, wouldn't help me. I suppose I will never know because he didn't even come out of the shop. The woman at the front desk called back, after explaining to me they "don't work on plastic bikes" and told the mechanic about my issue. Then she hung up the phone and said he wouldn't take a look at yet it. I have heard people talk about how stuck up Harley-Davidson owners can be, and I have heard the same said of BMW owners. I have not met one of either of those brand owners that were. Brad and I decided to vacate the premises, before I went Abe Froman (the Sausage King of Chicago) and decided to get snooty. I shook the dust off my sandals and we moved on.<br />
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We went to a specialty shop, but the guy "only works on Harley's" so he couldn't help me either, but pointed to shop nearby that might. We found <a href="http://www.outdoor-motorsports.com/" target="_blank">Outdoor Motor Sports in Spearfish, North Dakota</a> a Yamaha/Honda (you meet the nicest people on a Honda) shop, and when I explained what was going on, they asked me to pull the bike into the shop. I did, and the guy bled the line right there for me. The difference was dramatic and immediate. The question was whether or not it would be lasting. If there was air in the line, there should be no problem, but if there was a leak in the assembly (master cylinder, slave cylinder, etc.) I would be haunted again, like some westward riding Ebenezer Scrooge, trying to outrun ghosts bent on revisiting him, and with nothing better to do. We rode onward, into Wyoming.<br />
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If you are of a certain age, you cannot think about Devil's Tower and NOT see it in a plate of mashed potatoes. For my money, I always preferred the scaled diorama Richard Dreyfus built in the basement in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Seeing America's first National Monument, which was dedicated by President Theodore Roosevelt, in person was a highlight of the trip. The Cheyenne, Lakota, Crow, and Kiowa all held the mountain as special, and most of the names they had for it center around a variation of "The Bear's Home". In hindsight, I really wish we had driven down closer to the site; it's one of the few regrets I have about his trip. <br />
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We pulled over quite often to stretch our legs and keep our heads on straight. It felt like we stopped in the middle of nowhere, but obviously, we stopped at Dry Creek Road. I was grateful for the stops - my clutch problem had returned, and I had time to look things up online, then ride and consider what they meant, formulate more questions, then, when we stopped the next time, search for those answers.<br />
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Nd, then we had reached the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming. It's the first real mountains I had seen. We could see their snow-capped peaks for miles before we got there. It's a strange thing to be riding in 95 degree heat and looking at snow. </div>
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We began our ascent of the mountains. Fortunately, there were guard rails and pull offs. I have a (I am told) strange affinity for guard rails. To me, they are perfect for two things. The first is pondering. The height of guard rails always seems to be perfect to just sit down and think about things. Think about what? things. It doesn't matter, but the longer I sit, the better I think. </div>
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The second thing is just to get a little perspective. Like the proverbial bear going over the mountain, I like to jump up on the rails and see what's on the other side...<br />
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I am rarely disappointed...<br />
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We went over Powder River Pass in the Bighorn Mountains. It was the best road we had been on so far. Lots of twists and turns, very few cars, and gorgeous scenery. It was the West at her best.<br />
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We came down the other side to streams swollen by mountain snow runoff, entering into nearly deserted towns.<br />
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And finally arrived at Cody, Wyoming, at the foot of the Grand Tetons, just in time for dinner and a sunset.<br />
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My motorcycle was in trouble. The clutch problem was not getting better, and it was difficult to shift gears. Up until now, this had not been a pollen, because I found my way too the highest gear and just drove casually, like Chewbacca in the Millennium Falcon. But, now, we were approaching twisty roads, where constant shifting was going to be the norm. I saw I had several options:<br />
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<ol>
<li>Keep going and hope it got better. I remember the CEO of our company saying, "Hope is not a strategy" so I ruled that one out. </li>
<li>Keep heading west and visit the Ducati shop in Washington state when I got there. But, if they need to order parts, that could take a long time, and I had to get home, eventually. A delay of even several days would be immediately problematic. So, that was a no. </li>
<li>Head home immediately. That was a possibility, but I didn't think I was harming the bike by riding it. </li>
<li>Ride to Fort Collins, Colorado, and visit the Ducati dealership there. It was 6 1/2 hours south and east of my location, so if I could get the bike fixed right away, then that would be great, and if not, I would be that much closer to home. I decided on this as my course of action, and to call them from the road, as soon as the opened. </li>
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I was disappointed to be leaving Brad to the ride, alone. I was even more disappointed that the most technical and beautiful riding still lay ahead of us. But, at a certain point in our lives, we have to acknowledge there is a more prudent path and, occasionally, against all of our baser instincts, take it. </div>
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I went to bed and, for the first time on our journey, slept poorly. </div>
FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-51946272147910295042017-07-02T08:14:00.000-04:002017-07-02T08:18:50.672-04:00Trip West - Day 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am an early riser by nature. It wasn't always that way, certainly not in my teenage years, but somewhere along the line I discovered that I actually enjoy getting up early. I like the quiet of the house, and how the rising of the sun warms it's bones as it does mine, the expanding from the heat creating sounds that remind you a house is a home, living and breathing.<br />
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I woke up early outside Omaha, Nebraska. It was a little disconcerting at first because I could not remember where I was. The scene outside my window, sun rising over a cornfield with the horizon stretched out forever and eternity, made no sense from any frame of reference I had. Then, I remembered where I was, and went outside to greet the day, and see if sunrise in Omaha, Nebraska was different than sunrise in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.<br />
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I walked outside, stepping onto the cold, dry stone of the walkway. I walked toward the back of the house, and stepped into the grass. The dew of early morning kissed my toes, a delicious eye opener. The day before we arrived, there was a terrible storm, the kind of which Nebraska and the Plains states are notorious. One-hundred-twenty mile-per-hour winds had toppled trees, turned over equipment and even destroyed buildings. One building we saw, on the ride into town, looked like a Marvel movie set, and the command had simply been, "Hulk. SMASH!" Half of it was still standing, the rest lay in splinters, a semi-circular hole where the remainder once stood. Yet, on this morning, all was at peace.<br />
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I noticed Ella sitting on the picnic table, enjoying the morning as I was. I made a point of not disturbing her, but it was not necessary; she called me over. Morning people are an interesting group. In my experience, they are just as comfortable being gregarious in the morning as they are with quiet, often playing off the vibrations of the people around them. We talked easily about life in Nebraska and the storm (the likes of which comes every 50 years or so. I thought, "I could live with that, for a little more of this" looking at the beauty around me). <br />
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Still, it was time to go, and after consulting with Dwight about some of the wonders of the Cornhusker state, we altered our planned path a little. I was a little sad to be leaving the Lynch's, but that is part of the gig for which I had signed up - you don't stay anywhere long, but the connections you make in the short time you are with people can last forever. I felt the same way the day before when we left Dan and his wife, the heaviness of donning the motorcycle gear mirroring some of my own.<br />
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There is a cure for any kind of melancholy that occurs on a road trip like this, and that panacea is action. The road drifted below me, the miles opening the distance between any ill feelings I might have harbored and my current location. Those big skies helped, even more. <br />
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The BNSF Railroad crisis-crosses the west, striping her back east-to-west and north-to-south, running right next to the road, her bright orange engines hauling coal, coal, and more coal for the titans of industry to power America. Those engines have a magnificent, elegant brawn about them. I thought of my dad and how much he loves trains, every time I saw one.<br />
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We stopped to eat in Broken Bow, Nebraska and I ordered some cabbage and steak salad, which was unremarkable, at best. The only reason I mention it at all is because I also had a choice of side order, and I chose cornbread, because I thought it might be good in Nebraska. When it came, with whipped butter, I split it with Brad, and took a bite. I always liked cornbread, and somewhere in the dim recesses of childhood memory, there are recollections of my mother, who was a very talented cook and baker, making cornbread for us. But, there is nothing in my memory that could have prepared me for this. If the Gods of Cornbread were in the back of that kitchen baking, it would not have surprised me one iota. It's a rare thing when you can say you have had the best _____ in your life. That day, I had the best <u>cornbread</u> of my life.<br />
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We also visited the town historical society. Brad found the town gun archives, and I discovered an ancient cash register. I wondered about all of those hands, ringing up all of those purchases, and now just dust in the wind or dust in the ground.<br />
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In many ways, Nebraska is exactly what you would picture. Fields. Farm equipment. Big sky. Wide-open spaces. Hard-working people.<br />
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Like John Dunbar in Dances with Wolves, there were certain things I wanted to see when I went to the west. At the top of that list was buffalo/bison. Mission: accomplished!<br />
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I loved Nebraska for her wide-open spaces and her ROADS. I was, if I am being honest, not expecting much from the state in the way of exciting roads. But I was wrong. Nebraska has loooooong sweepers and graceful hills, and they are just FUN to ride. Couple that with seeing a car every 5-7 minutes and huge passing lanes, and it's just about everything this motorcyclist could want.<br />
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I was thinking the only thing that could make this part of the trip better was a bizarre roadside attraction designed to defy explanation and sucker in tourists. Enter: Carhenge, a replica of Stonehenge made entirely of cars. America is weird, for sure. Bonus: we visited it on the Summer Solstice.<br />
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We made our way to Chadron, Nebraska and had our first restaurant dinner, from the Chinese buffet in town. It's a tradition with Brad and I, that we visit at least one Chinese buffet on our trip. This was one of the least spectacular I have ever visited, but I checked it off with joy, because I was so hungry. It was also the first hotel we stayed in, and The Bunkhouse did not disappoint - rustic digs for cheap. FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-12855836832843476582017-07-01T20:11:00.001-04:002017-07-01T20:11:26.847-04:00Trip West - Day 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dan once again showed off his culinary skills, fixing up waffles and fresh fruit for breakfast the next day. It was even better than it looks.<br />
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The roads from Champaign, Illinois to Omaha, Nebraska have a lot of farms, as you can imagine. One of the cooler things was the wind farms of the Midwest.<br />
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You can see for miles and miles on the Plains. Occasionally, the rains fell at great distances, and we could see them, the rain sweeping in gigantic brooming actions, cleaning whatever was beneath them. Sometimes, if the wind blew right, I could smell the ozone from the rain.<br />
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The corn was up and growing, as high as my thigh by the Fourth of July. It's a good sign, but I suspect more rain would not be a bad thing. Sometimes, the little guys struggle.<br />
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The roads in Illinois seem to be cut at right angles, with long distances between crossroads, even longer between the towns. It could be monotonous, but the landscape is so vastly different from home, I was held in rapture.<br />
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The other huge difference is the horizon. In Pennsylvania, you never quite see it; it's hidden behind hills or trees most of the time. Out here, the sky scoops all the way down to kiss the Earth.<br />
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We also found some decently twisty roads. The roads have long sweepers, and it's a blast to just lean in and roll on the throttle. And, with virtually no traffic, throttle rolls were a not-infrequent occurrence. <br />
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This part of the trip was a mixture of the fresh and new...<br />
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And the old and decaying.<br />
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I was fortunate to be able to connect with my best friend from high school and his wife, who set up arrangements to stay with her parents near Omaha, Nebraska. "Ella" and Dwight were excellent hosts, and we had a great stay with them. We talked about farming, and Nebraska, and Kenya, and flying. <br />
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I was extra fortunate, as I needed tools to to create a solution to my turn signal problem. It seems that my exhaust was pointed straight at the turn signal, and the length of the trip had actually melted a connector. Dwight had tools, and we got to work and created a fix.<br />
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Not the most elegant thing ever, but I was hoping it would hold.<br />
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And then it was time to turn in and call it a night as darkness descended upon Nebraska.<br />
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I settled in (again) under a quilt, grabbed some light reading, and sailed off to sleep.<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-58087376034536170672017-07-01T13:19:00.001-04:002017-07-01T13:19:52.496-04:00Brazilian Jiu Jitsu - Confession<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been training in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu for five months and have really enjoyed it. I love the sport, figuring out the puzzle of movement, defending myself. I like the camaraderie, and I am fortunate to have a gym where people really enjoy training and each other.<br />
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But here's my confession. For the first time since I started doing Jiu Jitsu, I honestly didn't want to go this week. I was tired. Tired of getting smashed, getting my guard passed, of having younger guys and girls fly past me, heavier guys sitting on top of me, stronger people overpowering me, and more flexible people shrugging off my feeble attempts at submissions, on the VERY rare chance I even had a window into that arena. I was tired of the nicks and pains, tired of the climb up the stairs, and mostly just plain tired of not getting any better.<br />
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And, that's pretty much how I spent my week of Jiu Jitsu. Tired and reluctant. But, I still went to the gym. And, after more than a week of this, something happened today. I am not sure what the change was, but I really enjoyed it. And, I had FUN again. I am looking forward to going back next time, and here is one tiny lesson I learned: discipline takes over where motivation fails. I wasn't motivated to go, but the discipline of working out carried me through to a place where I could enjoy Jiu Jitsu again.FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-73061180340526715842017-06-30T09:56:00.000-04:002017-06-30T09:56:05.463-04:00Trip West - Day One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My buddy, Brad, and I headed west, with a final destination of Seattle, Washington. We took the PA Turnpike to get started, because the first couple of days driving in the east are crowded and tedious. But, we were making good time, so we hopped off onto some twisties and broke up the monotony. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our first stop was the Flight 93 Memorial in Somerset, PA. It's an appropriately somber place, and it was completely devoid of people. In fact, it was a bright, blue-sky day, probably very close to what it was on September 11, 2001, when the passengers of the fourth plane overpowered the highjackers that were flying to DC, and instead crashed in a previously unknown field in rural PA. Courage is rightly regarded as the highest of virtues, for upon it, all others rely. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kickstands up, we got back on the road. Let me just say, Brad has an uncanny knack for bringing rain. Everywhere. All the time. There could be one cloud in the sky, and if Brad and I are riding together, you can rest assured that our path will go under it, and it will be raining. In buckets. Rob + Brad + Motorcycles = Water. It's so predictable Vegas won't even give odds on it. So, it came as little surprise, that with the U-Boat commander in the lead, we found water. Still, it was not an unpleasant rain, and a quick stop and transition into rain gear and we were quickly on our way again. </span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uqszWM_kg1M/WVZIzm1j5EI/AAAAAAAAFj8/q0UPfkgE2EUnTV3Pvo9nfXBQRAtpYX2IACHMYBhgL/s2048-no/IMG_2510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="960" height="282" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uqszWM_kg1M/WVZIzm1j5EI/AAAAAAAAFj8/q0UPfkgE2EUnTV3Pvo9nfXBQRAtpYX2IACHMYBhgL/s2048-no/IMG_2510.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The road rolled away below us. I was reminded of Robert M. Pirsig's <i>Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance</i>, in which he said: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #181818;">In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #181818;">On a cycle the frame is gone. You're completely in contact with it all. You're</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #181818;"> </span><em style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #181818;">in</em><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #181818;"> the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.”</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And, I forget this, almost every time, until I am on board my bike, and seeing just how real everything is. Bicycling and long-distance hiking are real in the same way. Fly-fishing, too. It just puts me more in touch with what you are doing, makes you part of it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We arrived at our first day destination, Champaign, Illinois, where we were to stay with Brad's brother, Dan. But first, just minutes from his home, we were stopped at a train crossing, which is fantastic, because I love trains. It's a love my father gave me, and it never ceases to make me wonder, seeing those behemoths of commerce cross-crossing the country. Where are they going? What are they carrying? And there is a no small hint of adventure, in seeing them, in hearing that horn and the steady clickity-clack of the wheels on the rails. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Riding a motorcycle is a multisensory experience, when done properly. As we pulled into the street of Brad's brother's home, I smelled barbeque, a sense heightened by the pang in my belly. For a relative simple task, motorcyycling can build an intense hunger. I was overjoyed when I discovered the smell ended at OUR destination, and that ribs were on the grill and on the menu, cooking for some 6 hours before we got there. Dan is a hell of a cook, and this was, quite possibly, the best rack of ribs I have ever eaten. I cannot remember one even comparable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dan is a police officer, and we spent the rest of the evening doing a video police simulator, where you are an officer responding to an emergency call. At each point in the simulation, I had to decide when and if to shoot, then Dan cross-examined us like an attorney. I have always had the utmost of respect for law enforcement officers, and this gave me a deep and new-found respect for just how difficult this job is. I was actually doing okay until I had to decide what to do about a 15 year-old girl in a library, potentially with a gun. Even after I "saw" the gun, I still couldn't decide to shoot her, and I was late in reacting when she killed the teacher who was talking to her. It was an incredibly powerful lesson, one which will stay with me. Sometimes, there just are no right answers. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I spent the night on the couch under some beautiful handmade quilts, and slept like the dead. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-31545670425938929222017-06-11T07:19:00.000-04:002017-06-11T07:19:10.904-04:00Centralia, PA <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1-a4Q34wSIY/WSzLf3vlbpI/AAAAAAAAFhU/dmMiOlFrKbYAPpMtj1DJdCoSxL0j59izACHM/s2048-no/IMG_2481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1-a4Q34wSIY/WSzLf3vlbpI/AAAAAAAAFhU/dmMiOlFrKbYAPpMtj1DJdCoSxL0j59izACHM/s2048-no/IMG_2481.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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In 1962, a mine caught fire in Centralia, PA and it has been burning ever since. The government oredered the evacuation of the town, and, in a form consistent with humanity, a few stalwart citizens refused to move, living there to this day. The mine continues to burn, and upheavals and fissures billowing smoke and steam are not uncommon, though we didn't see any that day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBya3o4gHvYL1lwfvfHF8ocQL5aE-B7V4ipbfGtrZoMI3VR4bjjMAYrGGeaPYhClU45Zw0T9l9iZgGsNeDcHVbFX7NeK-DMNQAMZ2Wzb1dDt-yP7olEXkRN4KIzZWrXXt8-ARHQ/s2048-no/IMG_2484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBya3o4gHvYL1lwfvfHF8ocQL5aE-B7V4ipbfGtrZoMI3VR4bjjMAYrGGeaPYhClU45Zw0T9l9iZgGsNeDcHVbFX7NeK-DMNQAMZ2Wzb1dDt-yP7olEXkRN4KIzZWrXXt8-ARHQ/s2048-no/IMG_2484.JPG" width="256" /></a></div>
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One of the more interesting parts of the town is the Graffiti Highway, a section of road that has now been closed off. People have taken to spray painting messages and images on the roadway, and it continues to change and evolve.<br />
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A walk along the road reveals a thought tableau as diverse as the people who traverse the road. Profane? Beautiful? Vulgar? Thoughtful? Sad? Ironic? It's all here.<br />
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The walk is short, but can be surprisingly introspective. Why did this phrase impact me? What was this person thinking when they spray painted that? I wonder if they're still together? Happy? What does that even mean?<br />
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It's also a good place to sit and cool off, on a hot day. Or, if you're riding with my buddy Brad, whom I only half-jokingly refer to in equal parts as "The Rainmaker" and "The U-Boat Commander", get out of the rain.<br />
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FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-12946819592011958122017-05-29T21:34:00.002-04:002017-05-29T21:42:36.396-04:00Memorial Day <div class="poem" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: 13.515625px; margin-top: 0.4em;">
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<span data-redactor="1">In Flanders fields the poppies blow<br />Between the crosses, row on row,<br />That mark our place; and in the sky<br />The larks, still bravely singing, fly</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Scarce heard amid the guns below.</span></div>
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<span data-redactor="1">We are the Dead. Short days ago<br />We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,<br />Loved and were loved, and now we lie<br />In Flanders fields.</span></div>
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<span data-redactor="1">Take up our quarrel with the foe:<br />To you from failing hands we throw<br />The torch; be yours to hold it high.<br />If ye break faith with us who die<br />We shall not sleep, though poppies grow<br />In Flanders fields.</span></div>
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FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-51917787094409955622017-05-28T22:12:00.002-04:002017-05-28T22:12:53.119-04:00Got Screwed on My Ride TodayI picked up a screw on my ride today. There is no telling when I picked it up, or where, but I discovered it about 50 miles from home.<br />
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I was with my buddy, Brad, and decided I could get it home, and he decided to follow me. I started to ride, and it felt fine, at first. But, as I continued, it just felt a little "squishy" in the back, like the tire wasn't making good contact. It was misting out, but I have ridden in the rain and it felt different, so I decided to stop. Fortunately, Brad had a patch kit, and for the low, low price of a half-gallon of diet iced tea, I was up and running like it never happened.<br />
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Then, we were off and riding, again, trying to beat the worst of the rain. But, if there's one thing I know about riding with Brad, it's that it's going to rain and we're going to get wet. Every. Single. Time.<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-24802460183616614292017-05-27T23:24:00.001-04:002017-05-27T23:24:52.786-04:00Barrick's Oliver Museum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Took a run out to Barrick's Oliver Museum in Newville, PA. It's an interesting museum/graveyard for some pretty cool stuff.<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-17505712271577669372017-05-22T20:41:00.001-04:002017-05-22T20:41:28.075-04:00BullHawg Sammiches & Dirt Roads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Went for a ride with my buddy, Brad, to get a Bullhawg Sammich from the <a href="http://www.frontierbarbq.com/" target="_blank">Frontier Barbeque</a> in Fairfield, PA. It's old-school Barbeque and they start making it early, so that by the time we got there, it's just an all out OM NOM NOM Fest.<br />
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If you go, bring cash (they don't take plastic) and know it's also okay to bring a firearm.<br />
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On the way home, find some dirt!<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-83989400971705337032017-05-21T20:25:00.003-04:002017-05-21T20:25:59.610-04:00Susquehanna Spring <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I took a ride along the Susquehanna River. It's beautiful this time of year, with Spring just beginning. I started by heading up to the Carsonville Hotel. Carsonville is a bit of a misnomer because it's really just the hotel/inn and about ten houses. Still, there are some great roads up that way.<br />
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There's a pretty park in Millersburg, PA. It's always a good place to stop and stretch, and also get a couple of snaps. There is also a ferry to cross the river there, but it will have to wait for next time.<br />
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I got home, let the bike cool off, then gave it a bath and lubed the chain. Good times.<br />
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FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-53400982614096555462017-05-04T20:55:00.000-04:002017-05-04T20:55:21.136-04:00Rener Gracie Seminar <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I went to a Rener Gracie seminar in Baltimore last night at <a href="http://www.baltimoregraciejiujitsu.com/" target="_blank">Baltimore City Gracie Jiu Jitsu</a>. I rode down with my coaches, Dave and Monica from my school, <a href="http://www.baltimoregraciejiujitsu.com/" target="_blank">Harrisburg Brazilian Jiu Jitsu</a> as well as fellow students, Holly and Rick. Not knowing what to expect, it was good to be able to ask them what it might be like, and what to look for as the seminar unfolded.<br />
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Rener taught us moves from the guard, and it was, in a word, incredible. I am only a one-stripe white belt, so I REALLY wish I had a broader range of knowledge to build on what he was teaching. A large part of it focused on transitioning from "obvious" moves to surprising the opponent when they react to defend based on that assumption. I really liked the way he taught the technique, but also explained the theory behind the moves. Rener's passion for Jiu Jitsu clearly shines through, and he took time with every single person in the gym. And, he gave us tools that we can carry forward for the rest of our Jiu Jitsu journey.<br />
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The entire experience, like Jiu Jitsu itself, is its own koan: "I learned so much. I have so much to learn."FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-22536516472091095422017-04-30T10:36:00.001-04:002017-04-30T10:37:18.571-04:00Top 10 Signs You Might Be Getting Better at Jiu Jitsu - A New White Belt's Guide<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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10. There is an area of your house designated for drying your gear. It looks like something out of West Side Story.<br />
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9. You've used the phrase, "This one time, at Jiu Jitsu camp..."<br />
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8. You used to wonder "What the hell just happened" every time someone passed your guard and now you wonder "How the hell did he/she do that" every time. And, you know there is a difference between these two sentences.<br />
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7. Coach knows your name. Kidding. That doesn't happen until blue belt.<br />
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6. You have a move. And, this one time, when you were rolling, it worked!<br />
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5. North-south used to inspire a Luke-and-Leia-in-the-trash-compactor-OHMYGODWEAREGONNADIE-like-panic, and now you find that the tiny pinpoint of light as the darkness closes in is a sign you can still breathe.<br />
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4. You know a kimura is not a Japanese robe. You don't yet know what it is, but you know what it isn't.<br />
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3. Your belt wraps around a little farther, now. And your other belts are one notch smaller, too. Yet, for some reason, that caribou you ate for lunch didn't fill you up.<br />
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2. They call someone with the same name as you to come get your first stripe, then you wonder why everyone in the class is looking at you, then you realize that name IS your name.<br />
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1. Instead of your body being one gigantic bruise, it's now an interconnected network of medium-sized bruises.FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-55953724052423556452017-04-01T14:03:00.002-04:002017-04-01T14:18:38.230-04:00Ready to Ride?Let's just say It's been a rough motorcycling off-season. I broke my hand in jiu jitsu, which, apparently, really hampers the clutch action (probably could have ridden if it was my right hand - who needs brakes, anyway?).<br />
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It used to be they'd put a full cast on, or even think about surgery for a break like this, but now they put you in a relatively simple brace and just let it heal naturally for 4-5 weeks.<br />
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And, while the weather in Pennsylvania has been relatively mild, it did drop off a bit just as I was getting some mobility in my hand.<br />
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Still, as sure as the sun comes up, the weather begins to warm, if ever so slightly, the snow begins to melt, and riding season approaches. Get on your bikes and ride...<br />
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FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14630412.post-14989250516873558102017-01-22T11:55:00.000-05:002017-01-22T11:55:12.214-05:00Uncovered Ride - Look What I FoundI was going through some pictures from last year and found these snaps from a ride I took at the end of Fall. It was a great ride, but then they all are.<br />
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I took an old bicycling route down through Boiling Springs, PA, one of my favorite places in the state of Pennsylvania.<br />
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Boiling Springs is a charming town with a great restaurant, coffee shop, duck pond, and fly fishing shop, set on a naturally spring-fed lake. It holds trout and ducks, and is nice place to just walk around.<br />
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I rode down to Michaux State Forest, outside of Mt. Holly Springs, PA.<br />
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I found some dirt roads and decided to check them out. FUN!<br />
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There is so much beauty in this state.<br />
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I AM smiling!<br />
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<br />FishrCutB8http://www.blogger.com/profile/01796633855881631465noreply@blogger.com0