All the News that Didn't Fit

Race a Factory BuellFor only $39,995, you can buy a race-only 1125RR Buell racer, if you are a licensed professional racer who will be willing to compete in the AMA Pro Racing American Superbike class. The Helicon-powered, v-twin comes with a collection of race-ready parts if you are up for the price tag and the competition.

Boston Silences MotorcyclesThe Boston City Council fast-tracked Docket 0658 (An ordinance regulating the noise levels of motorcycles) in a reaction to community complaints of “excessive motorcycle exhaust sound.” The new ordinance requires OEM or US EPA certified exhaust systems on all street legal motorcycles built after December 31, 1982. Violations will result in a $300 fine.

California Won’t Test MotorcyclesThe sponsor, Senator Fran Pavley, of a California bill that would require emissions testing and exhaust system limits for all 2000-and-newer motorcycles has pulled the bill, thanks to the political clout of thousands of “concerned motorcyclists.”

The Killacycle Strikes AgainCummins Power Generation Inc. is sponsoring the world record, 7.89 second quarter-mile electric motorcycle Killacycle racing team. The Killacycle team uses a Cummins Onan Hybrid Quiet Diesel (HQD) generator system to charge the bike at events. The generator has been modified to operate on B20 Biodiesel.

Motorcycle Death at the Tour de FranceA 61-year-old woman was struck and killed by a police motorcycle at the Tour de France as she was crossing a street about 24 miles into the 123 mile 14th stage of the event. The smotorcycle, ridden by a member of the French Republican Guard, slid into the crowd and struck two other spectators, neither was seriously injured.

Motorcycles and Cambodia Don’t MixMotorcycles are the 2nd leading cause of death in Cambodia, right after AIDS. This statistic is somewhat speculative, although during the last 5 years traffic fatalities have doubled in Cambodia and motorcycles are the overwhelming majority of motorized vehicles in that country.

Motorcycle Exhibits CancelingThe 2009 Paris Mondial show was cancelled after major exhibitors let the show organizers know they wouldn’t be attending. Now, Honda and Yamaha have backed out of the Milan, Italy EICMA show. Last year, 1022 motorcycle-related companies participated in the EICMA show. If the two biggest motorcycle companies in the world aren’t going to be there, will the show still go on? The world economic depression took a while to affect motorcycling, but it’s getting to us now.

Zero Emissions Isle of ManThe first one-lap (37 miles) TTXGP, sponsored by Fédération Internationale de Motocyclisme, was won by Ron Barber riding for Team Agni with an average speed of 87mph (44mph slower than this year’s gas-powered Isle of Man winner) and a top speed of 97.8mph. The Agni X01 was a two-month woodshed project designed by Cedric Lynch and Arvind Rabadia. The Agni was built around the chassis of a 2007 Suzuki GSX-R600 packed with 63 lithium-polymer batteries, for a max capacity of 16 kilowatt-hours (the BTU equivalent of about half a gallon of gasoline). Lynch designed and built the Agni’s two high-efficiency motors.

The all electric motorcycle race winner was built from off-the-shelf parts, as opposed to some of the more well-financed entries. For example, San Francisco’s well-financed Mission Motors hyped their “fastest production electric motorcycle in the world [with] a top speed of 150 mph.” Their Mission One finished 4th with a 74mph average speed and a top speed of 88.3 mph.

Auction-ManiaThe multi-mirrored Lambretta scooter from the Who’s 1979 movie, Quadrophenia, sold for £36,000 ($51,000) at auction. Steve McQueen’s 1929 Scott Super Squirrel was bid up to $276,000 at the New York Antiquorum summer auction. Who says the economy is going bust?

Recent Area Motorcycle CrashesOn July 2, 5 motorcycle tourists were injured in a crash on I90 near Stoughton. 25 members of a Wisconsin motorcycling group (ARM, Association for Recovering Motorcyclists) were westbound and “traveling in excess of the speed limit and they were following way too closely” when traffic ahead of them slowed. Five of the motorcyclists were hospitalized, one was evacuated by Med-Flight. Several of the group ended up “going into the ditch” in their attempt to avoid crashing into the slowed vehicles ahead. According to authorities, “None of the cyclists had helmets on.”

On July 17, Mike Brown, a 66-year-old retired Long Lake fire chief, and four friends were ten minutes into their annual cross-country road trip, when Gary Arens, 51, attempted to pass a pickup and hit Brown head-on. Seconds after the crash, Brown was also struck by a car. Both riders died on site at the crash. The motorcycles struck so hard that one caught fire. Authorities said Arens’ relatives believed that he was probably “aggressively” commuting to work. Arens was reported to have been cited for drunken driving three times since 1999.

Mike Brown was a serious motorcycle enthusiast and an active motorcycle safety advocate. "He was a very cautious driver and he made people he rode with...talked them into wearing their helmets and making sure that everybody rode in a safe manner," said Long Lake fire chief James Van Eyll. The riders were in a well-spaced “staggered formation” at the time of the crash, according to the police report.

On July 19, Brian Elfving, 39, lost control of his Harley and crashed into the side of a Solway, MN house. Elfving was not wearing a helmet and died at the scene of the crash.

While highway fatalities have been dropping for other motor vehicles, motorcycle deaths are rising at an alarming rate (72, last year). These two crashes should make us all think seriously about how we ride and the risks we’re taking on the road.

Getting Clean

My editor recently sent a reply to my volunteering to review anything but another cruiser (after the Hyosung POS debacle, I don't think anyone wants more of my opinions of that sort of machine), "I may have to assign a cruiser, every other review, to all parties as that is 50% of what is sold and 50% of what we get to review. Want to to pay your m/c reviewer debt and be 'clean' for your next non-cruiser assignment?" 

Help me out, folks. What does "getting clean" mean in this context? I suspect it means I have to write something nice about something I really dislike. This is the kind of "clean" that has put me off of practically every technical publication in every industry in which I have worked. The fear of irritating advertisers has made impotent every magazine from Cycle World to Mix Magazine to Physics Today. 

It seems like a lifetime ago, but I can barely remember editors like Rick Seiman with Dirt Bike and the old REP (Recording Engineering and Producer) Magazine from the 70s whose writers often trashed products when those designs didn't live up to expectations. There was a time when reading a product review actually provided some information about the product. Not anymore. A "shoot out" among a wide range of products usually results in four winners and an also-ran.

A friend of mine writes for a live sound magazine, FOH, he's their technical editor. I once complained that I couldn't tell a quality difference between a Midas console and a Peavey console, based on his comments in reviews. His response was, "You have to read between the lines. The truth is in there, you just have to know how to look for it."

My response was, "Between the lines is white space. If that's the truth, why do I need to read your words?"

Success breeds contempt, I guess. Or success breeds fear of failure? When an industry is in the infant stage, competition is fierce, passions are high, and "the truth" is a valuable thing. Once an industry becomes mainstream, there is more to lose, less to gain, and the result is the definition of "conservative."

In my long, meandering life, I've managed to become something of a Jack of Many Trades. The downside to that is, I don't have anything resembling expertise in any area. The upside is I don't have all of my chips invested in any one game. So, I don't have much to gain from any of the many things I do for profit, entertainment, and employment and I don't have much to lose if one of those activities becomes impractical. My habits are modest. My interests are diverse. I get pissed off easily. I'm naturally solitary, so it doesn't bother me much if others are offended by my opinions. In fact, if 99.99...% of the population decided to move to another planet, that would be more reason for me to stay here. Top it all off, I'm old. I'm not "building a business," here. I have a business that I'd be happy to be rid of. I don't want another. The beauty of something as pointless as a blog is that I can say what I want to say without worrying about who I disappoint or offend.

All of that makes me cranky, opinionated, a little distant from the pack, and unlikely to collect a bunch of loyal advertisers on this blog. Weirdly, with all this attitude the blog site has attracted 1,400 visitors this month. I appreciate your interest, whoever you are. I'm going to keep adding product and motorcycle reviews to this site and I won't always be fond of the things I'm reviewing. That means I pay for what I review, or borrow it and return it in sad condition. The high price of being able to say what I think.

I Still Don't Like Cruisers

Holy crap! Yet another reason to dislike Harley's. I stumbled on this picture following a Google chase for something completely different. Once I got side-tracked into this subject, I found a couple of other goofy links.

For example, the creeps from Orange County Cycle donating one of their abortions to McCain and Palin at a rally: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUR4m3xh8zk. Those boys can really define and fabricate "ugly." You have to give them that.

This last April, she was again hanging with the Teutul freakshow. While it's true that "there is no accounting for taste," there must be some sort of retribution due for having no taste at all. No? Damn, that's some ugly motorcycle and the guy who is feeling up Palin is pretty creepy looking, too. I have to admit that I really like Palin's LA hooker shoes, though.

Last, but not least, one of this blog's readers sent me this picture, claiming that it was Palin's personal ride. Say it isn't so, Sarah. No one running for President of these United States should ever, ever be caught dead, alive, or in a zombie state on something as freakin' godawful ugly as a pink Harley. That is a national disgrace. There ought to be a law against subjecting the innocent public to viciously tasteless stuff like that bike.

Now this is a pretty funny story:
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Judge Rules on Boston's EPA Stamp Act "restraining order

Justice Riders who filed suit against the City of Boston's "EPA Stamp Tax"Ordinance received word late Tuesday afternoon the Superior Court denied theirrequest for a temporary restraining order for enforcement of the $300 findOrdinance.

Yet the riders cheered the Court's decision that places the City 'on notice'that it may be held responsible for reimbursing motorcyclists for any finesimposed, and their costs associated with defending the $300 citations, if theirComplaint to strike down the Ordinance is successful.

In her well reasoned five-page decision, Suffolk Superior Court JusticeGeraldine S. Hines, found the five Plaintiffs, Paul W. Cote, William E. Gannon,II, Michael D. Longtin, Vincent A. Silvia, and Lawrence Cahill, although notBoston residents, had "standing" to bring the action that would void theOrdinance. However, the plaintiffs did not meet the standing that "irreparableharm" would be caused to riders if enforcement took place, as none had beencited and fined yet.

Judge Hines, in her ruling, opened the door that the City of Boston, and it'staxpayers, may be responsible to reimburse cited riders for fines imposed and"costs" associated with defending those imposed fines, should the Court laterfind the Ordinance be struck down.

"This is still a partial victory for riders," claimed Plaintiff Cote ofAmesbury. "While we hoped the Judge would temporarily restrain the misguided EPA stampenforcement, this is better than what we hoped for."

The Justice Riders will co-host a EPA (Either Pay or Act) Citizen-Biker RallyMonday night from 7:00 until 9:00 p.m. at the Hard Rock Cafe in Boston tocelebrate their Court Victory, give further legal direction for riders, andraise legal offense funds for the lawsuit by selling stickers reading "Don'tTread on Me - I refuse to be ruled by Boston City Councilors" for $2 each.

"I am glad the Judge gave us legal standing we hoped for in this case," saidPlaintiff Mike Longtin of Easton. "Today is a good day for New England area riders."

"If the City issues 100 repugnant citations that conflict with State Statutesand Regulations, those 100 riders may appeal spending at least $1,000 each inlegal fees contesting those $30,000 worth of citations. Then, should the Courtstrike down Boston's Ordinance, the City and its taxpayers lose that $30,000 andwill have to reimburse the contesting riders $100,000.00 in legal fees."

Plaintiff Vince Silvia of Haverhill was more blunt saying, "The City wants to cite me, I'll contest. I've had my bike sound tested 5 times, I will appeal and they can pay me whatever I spend when they lose."

Plaintiff Bill Gannon explained, "Generally, when you contest a citation, youbear the appeal fees and costs of proving yourself right and not wrong."

Gannon continued, "Judge Hines told the City of Boston in her decision that theyare exposed. If the five Plaintiffs successfully prove that that this Ordinanceis repugnant and in conflict with Federal Codes and State Statutes andRegulations, Boston must reimburse the harm (costs) riders incur."

On July 20, 2009, sets of Interrogatories (questions), admissions of fact, andrequest for documents were served on the 13 City of Councilors and Mayor Meninoto be answered under oath. Copies of those discovery requests can be viewed on www.BostonBiker.com and www.JusticeRider.com.

Stay Tuned to www.massmotorcycle.org for updates and action plans!

Justice Riders encourage riders with EPA stamps on their bike attend Mondaynight's Citizen Biker Rally at the Hard Rock Cafe to get updated information anddirection for further action.

"This matter is not about noise," claimed Cote`, "It is about the City of Boston wrongfully imposing this standard that is improper."
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Cote's statement reminds me of all the southerners who claim that the civil war was fought over states' rights, not slavery. Of course, the only "right" the southern states were protecting was the right to own slaves. The only "standard" these characters are concerned with is their right to subject the general population to their unnecessary and excessive noise.

So, why did they?

Here is an interesting article on an issue that directlyaffects motorcycle safety: Why Did the Feds Bury Data on Cell-Phone Dangers? 3/4 of a year ago, several journalists reported that NHTSA had completed studies that found that "showed that all cell phone use is as hazardous as drinking and driving.” They determined this 6 years ago, but Bush's DOT cronies squashed the study results because their cell phone sponsors didn't want the information to affect sales and phone use. Screw the fact that thousands of lives (as many as 2600 per year since 2003) could have been saved, AT&T's execs needed their million dollar bonuses. It required the death of a 12-year-old boy and the dedication of his father to determine why the government decided to withhold this information and the legislation that the knowledge should have inspired.

As a motorcyclist, I put cell phone use near the top of the driver activites that inspire me to move as far from that vehicle as possible. Personally, I'd like to see a simple system that links a phone's GPS to the activation of the cell phone. If the phone is moving more than 10 mph, a small charge in the phone should ignite blowing the ear off of the phone user. That cosemetic damage could serve as a modern version of the "red 'S.'"

Economics Are Everything

All Rights Reserved © 2009 Thomas W. Day

Before and at the Really Boring Rally II, last summer, I ended up in a trio of conversations that reminded me of how critical it is to have a basic understanding of economics and human conditioning. There is a political tactic that attempts to remove economics from every important and complicated discussion. Without economics as the basis for analysis, every argument is left without substance and its meaning can easily be diluted. This is the equivalent of a grifter pointing at some unimportant activity while slipping his hand into your pocket. Economics is everything; every single human pursuit is economically motivated.

The first recent economic motorcycle moment, for me, was when Kevin Cameron said in our interview last year, "It may be, as some propose, that motorcycling in the US was a one-time, non-recurring phenomenon." His argument is that motorcycling, possessing the two major faults of low utility (in our application) and high risk, saw a brief moment of interest in the 60's and 70's and has been in decline ever since. I don't know how anyone who has been involved in motorcycling can refute that description of US motorcycle history. It remains to be seen if $4-and-up gas revives motorcycles as a means of transportation. The other possibility, which Cameron has also proposed in his Cycle World column, is that motorcycling becomes a hobby of the idle rich while the rest of us ride the bus. Motor vehicles began as toys of the rich, Cameron and others suspect they may end the same way.

The second economic moment came at the US Observed Trials portion of the Very Boring Rally II as I joined (uninvited) in a conversation with Steve Ahlers and others associated with running the trials. First, they attracted my attention discussing a Beta trials bike with a list price of $12,000 and the associated logic that with a "cheap bike" priced at $5,000 and the Beta at the high end, trials was leaving the realm of working class motorcycle hobbies. I don't know about you, but, for me, a $12,000 230cc single-purpose bike is out of the question. What am I saying? $5,000 is more than I spent on my V-Strom road bike and my around-town KL250 Sherpa, combined. If a $12,000 motorcycle was the only biking choice available to me, I'd be through with motorcycles and back to riding a mountain bike for my 2-wheel yah-yahs.

For a while, we talked about the shortage of US professional competitors In past years, nearly 30 competitors were on hand for the US observed trials championship competition. Now, fewer that 10 were fighting for the title and one of those is a South American competitor. He is being subsidized by his home government, another economic fact, which enables him to compete in the US championship. Only a few years ago, the US trials championship consisted of a dozen events. This year, it was one two day event in Colorado and three days in Duluth. Steve pointed out that all local off-road events were "down 60%" from the previous year's participation; all off-road events, not just the obscure ones like observed trials. Two other people pointed out that equestrian events were just as hard hit by the current economy.

A little later, my grandson and I were joined at a trials section by Martin Belair (who I interviewed in 2002 for MMM). Martin used to be the US Montesa-Honda distributor and was a world-class trials rider in the 1970's heyday of the sport, when the US could brag about its one and only world champion, Bernie Schreiber. In 2007, Honda decided to quit bringing the Montesa-Honda motorcycles into the US because they were no longer economically viable, selling less than a half-dozen units a year at the end. That put an end to Martin's distribution business.

Martin commented on the poor exchange rate and increasing fuel costs and said, "it's all about economics." Martin commented that, at worst, it only costs $30-40 more to get to an event with today's fuel costs.

I replied, "$30-40 is a lot, if you aren't sure you'll have a job when you get back."

For economically-motivated reasons and personal reasons, Martin was planning to move back to California (which he has done), which is a big loss for Minnesota motorcycling and for me, personally. We talked about the high cost of keeping up with trial's technology for riders and the even greater cost of self-financing a run at the national championship. Corporate sponsorships have vanished. Transportation and maintenance costs are exponentially higher. Spectator attendance is down. It feels a little like the end of an era. It's all about economics.

All Dressed Up, Need Someplace to Go

When I was in Nova Scotia last summer, a card table full of old men at a campground were telling Hardly jokes (once they figured out I wasn't riding a Harley) to pass the time during a week-long rainstorm. The only one I remember was, "How are a Laborador dog and a Harley Davidson motorcycle alike? They both like to ride in the back of a 3/4 ton pickup truck and drool."

I have my Sherpa up and working again, after the countershaft seal catestrophe, but it now drools like a Hardly. I replaced the seal, twice, and the o-ring, once, and it's not leaking enough to be able to tell if it's the seal or the o-ring, but every morning there is a spot of oil below the countershaft sprocket. I can't see any sign that I'm losing oil at any dangerous rate, after 100 miles post repair, but I'm obviously losing oil, a drop at a time.

Yeah, I know, all the color-uncoordinated parts make the bike look like it just escaped from a salvage yard. More evidence that I will never develop a sense of style. You should be impressed that I even notice the color clashes at all. Two decades ago, I would have ignored any such comments as "gay eye for the straight guy" piffle. Now that I think about it, I don't feel much different today. I like the way the bike looks. It's obviously mine.

That aside, I'm really regretting not having been able to take the Sherpa to North Dakota. My new seat design is painless for at least a couple of hours on the road between breaks. The larger pegs make standing for extended periods much more comfortable. The luggage works and I can easily carry enough gear for a week camping trip. The 15 tooth sprocket makes crusing at two-lane speeds comfortable (freeway speeds are still a little hectic) and I can still get over logs and rocks without too much bar-yanking. The bike cruises comfortably at about 60-65mph, where the stock sprocket made the engine seem more strained at that speed. On the other hand, acceloration in 6th gear is pretty lame. The new Bridgestone DP tires work well on and off-road. The 3.2 gallon tank gets me at least 250 miles between filling stations. Changing the fork oil to a synthetic mixed for around 16 weight instead of 10 (mfg's recommendation) makes the compression damping rate a little stiff, but the rebound feels much better on really rough terrain, especially when I'm loaded with gear.

With all the luggage space, this is the cool way to travel around town. I can haul a pretty decent grocery trip in all three bags, even without expanding the MotoFizz. I never have to worry about finding a parking place. On a brief trip downtown to school last week, I hopped the curb, rode up the school's stairs, and parked next to the bicycles. If I'd have been there longer, someone would have complained, but I wasn't. Saved myself $0.75 and had fun doing it.

I gotta find someplace to go on the little guy to justify all that work this spring. I'll probably carry a seal and o-ring and a quart of oil with me, just in case. Once burned . . .

July: All the News that Didn't Fit

Beware of Germany and France
According to Aviva Insurance, crashing your bike in Germany can be an economic disaster. The average German motorcycle crash bill is about $4880US and the equivalent price tag in the rest of the EU is about $3180US. The data for this claim and some useful tips for traveling in Europe can be found at http://www.aviva.com/media/news/4977/.

Semper Ride
After suffering the most fatalities in 10 years of recording data, the Marine Corps is trying a collection of tactics to try to lower the corps’ motorcycle fatalities and injuries. One tactic is a motorcycle safety video called Semper Ride (http://www.mcieast.usmc.mil/semperride/) that was Marine-financed and heavily promoted on bases across the world. The Marines are also providing one-day Commanding Generals' comprehensive off-duty recreation and motorsports safety fairs at MCB Camp Lejeune, MCAS Cherry Point, MCAS New River, and MCAS Beaufort. Along with requiring full gear, training, and the usual advice, the Marines are strongly pushing dirt biking and road racing experience as the core to becoming an expert rider. This is not your mom’s kind of advice; this is practical advice from James Stewart, Keith Code, Ben Bostrom, and Teach McNeil.

Movie Review: Murderball

All Rights Reserved © 2009 Thomas W. Day

A film by Dana Adam Shapiro, Jeffrey Mandel, and Henry-Alex Rubin

"Whether by car wreck, fist fight, gun shot, or rogue bacteria, these men were forced to live life sitting down. In their own version of the full-contact sport, they smash the hell out of each other in custom-made gladiator-like wheelchairs. And no, they don't wear helmets." After watching this movie, I shipped off a quick note to a friend recommending Murderball. His instant comeback was, "What the hell is Murderball?"

"Quadriplegic rugby."

Seconds later, his second question appeared at my Inbox, "Why the hell would I want to watch that?"

This review is all about my answer. I wish this could be a shorter answer, but the more I thought about my response the longer it became.

First, I couldn't help but feel that a mutual friend of ours had all but starred in Murderball. If Mark Zupan (the guy on the DVD's cover) isn't, our buddy, Tex's clone (or the reverse), I truly am getting better, not older. Mark Zupan is even a Texan. (Don't let that turn you off, Zupan is one of the weirdest inspirational characters ever committed to film or video tape. Our man, Tex, is a little unusual, too.) Zupan is balls-to-the-wall, mostly always pissed off, and afraid of nothing. His message seems to be "I've been through hell and hell is worse for the experience." Zupan and some of his Murderball buddies visited the Jackass boneheads and did some damage there, too. That Jackass episode is on the DVD and it's about as insane and funny as that moronic program has ever been. Both the movie and the Jackass scenes gave me flashbacks to Tex describing how he ground off his finger at the racetrack. Only one guy could make that story funny.

Familiarity aside, there is some motorcycle content, in case you think I forgot what venue I'm writing for. Late in the movie, we are introduced to Keith Cavill, a kid who became quadriplegic after a motocross accident. [You knew that was coming all along, didn't you?] What makes this a motorcyclists' movie is that no more is made of the motorcycle's involvement in the injury that any of the other causes that put these guys into their Mad Max wheelchairs: car crashes, childhood disease, random household accidents, or teenage mayhem. It's what they do after they become "disabled" that makes the film inspiring and compelling.

The story is about the guys playing for the Team USA Quad Rugby in the 2004 season. That's a little odd, since quad rugby was, originally, a Canadian sport. However, the movie's conflict is between ex-US-champion-turned-Team-Canada coach Joe Soares and Zupan (representing Team USA and that organization's political underbelly and passions). Zupan and Soares are such similar personalities that a lot of the comic relief comes from watching them pretend they have significant differences. Zupan thinks Soares is a "traitor" since he took his experience and knowledge to the competition instead of vanishing gracefully into sports history. Soares thinks Zupan is a loudmouth brat who ought to mind his own business.

Soares, first, is not ready to retire and, second, has good reason to believe that he has been treated disrespectfully by the US organization. Soares family moved to the US, from Portugal, when he was 11. Polio took away the use of his legs and a good bit of his upper body functions. After being cut from the US team and being "forcibly" retired as a player, he tried to find a way into the US program without success. His efforts created a lot of bad blood between him, the US players, and the US team management. So, he moved to Canada and took on that team's coaching job. The film describes how that worked out for the Canadians.

Zupan was an all-around Texas teenager, excelling in sports, debauchery, and drunkenness. After drinking himself into a coma and falling asleep in the bed of a friend's pickup, he awoke to find himself clinging to a branch in a Texas marsh after being thrown from the truck when it crashed into a fence. A half-day later, he was rescued. Suffering a broken neck, Zupan found himself in a hospital, quadriplegic and pissed off. Somehow, he focused that energy into Murderball and became the US team leader. Zupan is a seriously scary dude. He was recently in the Cities promoting his new book and he's even scarier in person.

The final game of the film, the 2004 Para-Olympics Quad Rugby quarter finals against Joe Soares' Canadian team, provides some of the best sporting event film editing I've ever seen. This is a complicate game, with strength, stamina, and punishment equal to anything you've ever seen; but it's all performed on wheelchairs. Turning that into a spectator perspective that is compelling, let alone exciting, is a technological achievement equal to anything you've seen on film. In the end, both teams were upset by New Zealand. In the first ever defeat of the US team in Quad Rugby, Canada got the silver medal, the US finished in bronze, and New Zealand, brought home the 2004 gold medal. If you're a nationalist homer, that's probably a letdown, but there are no bad guys in Murderball. Just guys who stopped worrying about what other folks think and tossed themselves into this insane sport as if it would be the last thing they would ever do that mattered.

Bob Lujiano, probably the most physically affected player in the film, sums up the whole message in a short, mid-film conversation with a group of grade school kids, "I'm alright. That's all that matters. I'm alive. I use everything that I have to get through life. That's what we all have to do, use everything we have." He puts every limitation, every self-imposed boundary that we allow ourselves to use as excuses for not doing what we love or what we need to do, into perspective. Use everything you have to get through your life. Ride safe, fast, and long and play a little Murderball when you get the chance.

David Halberstam and Me

In an email conversation with a friend, I was reminded of my limited autograph collection. No, this is not much of a motorcycling topic, but it is something I want to write about while I'm still able to remember the story. Since this blog is now offending a lot more readers than my other outlets, I figured this story best deserved to be a Geezer rant. Your opinion may vary.

My name collection includes the members of the 1964-era Ventures on a Ventures album, Dizzy Gillespie's sign (or something) on an LP, Larry Niven's elegant script on an SF paperback, Kurt Vonnegutt and Elmore Leonard's scrawls on hardbacks, and a short note signed, "your friend" on the inside page of a first edition of The Amateurs by David Halberstam. I once had Bobby Hannah's autograph on a baseball cap, but I wore it so often playing California beach basketball that the signature and the hat faded into obscurity. I had some pretty cool ballplayer autographs on 1950's baseball cards from when my father took my brother and I to see Dad's beloved Yankees crush the local version of the Globetrotter's foil opponent; the Kansas City Athletics. All the cards were trashed as my parents moved to their new home, when I was 20-something and had been long gone from their old home.


Each of my current name collection comes with a story, but when I met David Halberstam he was my ideal of an American writer. He looked very much like the photo at left, including the smile. It was 1997 and he was promoting the only book he wrote that I dislike, Playing for Keeps: Michael Jordan and the World He Made, at a local college/bookstore book-signing promotion. I wanted to hear why he though Michael Jordan was interesting and to tell him how much The Amateurs had meant to my family.

A few years earlier, my youngest daughter had wrapped her Toyota pickup around a Ford F250, head-on, and in the hospital she picked up The Amateurs to help fuel her massive physical rehabilitation effort. Halberstam's scullers inspired her to migrate her doctor's evaluations from "she'll never walk again" to "don't run anything longer than 5k, at least for two years."

My father, more recently, had been felled by a heart attack that destroyed 70% of his cardiac capacity. I gave him a Book on Tape of The Amateurs to consider while he went from bed-ridden to having survived another 30 years, post-infarction.

I loved the book for itself and for what it have provided my family. "Nobody beats us" was a mantra I chanted everytime I hit the basketball court for all those years on the beach in California.

After failing to find the courage to talk to Mr. Halberstam during the Q&A period, I slunk into the line to wait for his autograph. When he accepted the book for signing, he mentioned, "Of all my books, this is my wife's favorite."

I gave him a brief rundown as to why I'd brought it, rather than any of the dozen other Halberstam books I owned. We had a long, friendly discussion as he signed copies of the Jordan book for everyone in the line behind me. He gave me late-term-wannabe-a-writer advice that has put me in print often in the last decade. He asked about my daughter and my father and was particularly interested in the details of my daughter's physical rehab and therapy. We talked about Jordan and Magic, my favorite, and how they were different and similar. He had played enough basketball to know what makes that sport special and left me no insider knowledge with which to defend my position; other than my opinion, which he respected and understood and disagreed with strenuously.

This afternoon, I'm reading Everything They Had, a collection of Halberstam's of sports columns written between 1955 and 2005, and I'm savoring my moment with that spectacularly insightful, rational, sincere man.

The friend who inspired this deviation from my usual topics of motorcycling and burning fuel pointlessly has a lot of Halberstam's style in his own work. I hadn't realized that until I had this most recent collection for comparison. It is obvious as I read David Halberstam's insight on sports and athletes and my friend's insightful comments on some brainless thing I had written.

Some people leave nothing but good memories.

Ride a KTM Day

Every once in a while an extra cool reason to teach MSF classes comes along. June 28th was one of those days. Some time ago, I signed up for a day of riding new KTM bikes at the DTCC police driving range. I'd almost forgotten about it in preparation for my North Dakota trip. Good old Outlook reminded me the day before the event that I was supposed to be riding motorcycles the next day.


I haven't had much exposure to KTM since the KTM logo was practically hidden under the Penton brand. When I was in Bismarck, ND, I stumbled on to the Cycle Hutt, a huge KTM dealer, and saw more KTM bikes than I've seen in 25 years. It wasn't that long ago, that every enduro and motocross would be jammed with Penton/KTM two strokes. Ok, it wasn't that long ago by my timetable. Since KTM yanked the Penton name from their motorcycles, regaining the momentum their motorcycle brand once had has been a long, slow struggle. Obviously, from the 2004 KTM screw-up in The Long Way Round and after alienating their diehard Penton fan base back in the late 70's, KTM's marketing department has demonstrated a serious lack of capability.

With events like the "Ride Orange" promotion, the company may be finding a way to make up for their checkered past. I had a chance to ride a bunch of KTMs: the 990 Adventure, the 990 Super Duke, the 690 Duke, and, my favorite, the 690 SMC Supermoto. It was a lot of fun in a great setting surrounded by really nice people

One State Tour Recapped

Obviously, from the dates on the previous posts, I'm home and have been for a while. Probably the aftermath of being soaked for 6-out-of-8 days, I'm trying to throw off a flu or cold. Actually, I wasn't soaked, but I was damp all of that time. My Aerostich gear held up fine, my Thor boots were worthless as water protection, and my camping gear was flawless. My 25-year-old North Face tent works as well today as it did when it was considered modern gear. However, I'm a 61-year-old asthmatic with a long history of bronchitis and damp is wet when it comes to testing those ailments.

The little bike didn't work out, it's still dead in the garage while I wait for replacement seals and hope nothing major was damaged when the oil dumped past the countershaft seal. The 650 did fine and I'd have to add some bonus points for the ELKA shock review, since all of the stuff that plagued me in Alaska was there in North Dakota but the bike tracked beautifully. Dirt roads were easy work and deep sand didn't send me into tank slapping conniptions.

The single state tour concept was a total success, in my opinion. Obviously, some states wouldn’t be worth the time or effort, but North Dakota has plenty to see and I could have spent at least two or three more days in Bismarck alone. I wish I had. That city has a terrific motorcycle and music community and it would have been fun to explore it more. A week in TR’s spectacular National Park wouldn’t have been excessive. I didn’t really do much in the southwestern corner, so I could have spent a couple more days in that area without feeling stalled out or bored. Doubling back to resolve the rear tire problem sort of tossed a wrench into my trip route and I didn’t have the energy to restart that section. Old people are easily worn down. I have always hated retracing my steps and wish that defect were more easily overcome.

I think, from now on, this may be the way for me to go on tour. I met a lot of people, saw a lot of stuff, had time to think about it all, and left when I felt like I was ready to leave. I could still go back for more.

June in ND is pretty amazing. My first time through the state, in 2007, I was impressed. This time was more of the same. In June, the bugs are barely evident, the desert is wet and beautiful, traffic is light, there is no competition for camping, the campgrounds are still clean and the porta-johns are practically empty, and the place is green and as allergen-free as it is likely to get. Getting out before the kids are out of school is the way to go, if you can go that way. June may be my favorite month.

Homeward Bound, ASAP

Monday, I woke to the sound of rain on the tent. I went back to sleep. At 8AM, I gave up waiting out the rain and struck camp wet. It was a little chilly, about 58F, as I packed up but it warmed up quickly. It didn’t dry out, though. I drove a couple hundred miles before breakfast. It rained all the way.

On my way south, I hit a couple of museums and took pictures of myself next to Minnesota stuff, but I was ready to be home by noon.

My route took me through Hibbing, mostly out of Bob Dylan curiosity. The town is amazingly devoid of anything Dylan-esque. There is one street sign, hidden by a business awning, announcing “Bob Dylan Avenue.” The library has a “collection” of Dylan stuff, but every Dylan fan I know has more stuff than that library. There is a bar called, “Zimmies” that announces some connection to Bobby, but I failed to see anything interesting and their window neon signs are probably the proudest the place gets to showing its association.

Here’s what The R&R Hall of Fame has to say about Bobby, “Bob Dylan is the uncontested poet laureate of the rock and roll era and the pre-eminent singer/songwriter of modern times.” Before they discovered Dylan, the Beatles were singing “Love, Love Me Do.” After Dylan (through the Byrds), they became interesting. Dylan invented the singer/songwriter category and made us all expect songwriting from any pop artist deserving respect. I could go on, but to cut it short I’ll just say Hibbing embarrasses itself.

Minnesota is notoriously ashamed of or jealous of its famous people; especially entertainment people. Dylan, Garrison Keillor., Johnny Lang, the Cohen brothers, Terry Gilliam, Vince Vaughn, and others have described nearly becoming social outcasts because of their success. I don’t think any of those people still live in Minnesota. In fact, the only celebrity I know of in Minnesota is Kevin McHale, the ex-Timberwolves coach, and he’s regularly savaged in the media and by fans. Homer loyalty doesn’t seem to be a big issue in the state.

It’s pretty easy to imagine Dylan’s ex-high school jocks taking over the town and demonstrating the famous Minnesota jealousy at Dylan’s massive success and world-wide influence. A “damn guitar-playin' geek” who became more famous than the state's most famous football or hockey player?

When I dropped into the Duluth/Lake Superior Valley, I could have sworn the temperature fell near freezing. I zipped up everything and considered putting on my liner. It was only 48F, but it felt much colder. I stopped at RiderWearHouse and got a tear in my jacket repaired and bought a fix for the weak link in my riding gear, my leaky “Goretex” lined boots. Aerostich makes an “Emergency Boot Cover” that does for my feet what their Triple Digit Glover Covers did for my hands. Better late than never? We’ll see.

The End of North Dakota

Nothing is open at 6AM in northeastern North Dakota, so I put in a 110 miles before breakfast. The bike was barely warmed up before I passed Rock Lake. That town’s campsite is on the lake, in a pristine location, with a decent john and showers. Freakin’ perfect.

I have a couple of ND roads to hit and a historic site and a scenic highway or two: Pembina Gorge, the Rendezvous Region Scenic Byway, and the Icelandic State Park. I’ll be back in Minnesota before the day is over.

I ripped through the recommended northeastern scenic byways, both of which were nice but required traveling through an awful lot of boring farmed plains to get to. Considering the pain required to see those spots, the phrase “fly-over territory” comes to mind. Stepping disks or teleporting would be a nice alternative to flying.

There is nothing to experience in the in-between territory and way too many opportunities to be dosed by commercial farming chemicals. I ought to repel or kill bugs and be weed-free for a couple of years now. Anyone who doesn’t think farming is industry has not spent time near farms. Between the animal factories (feed lots) and the plant factories (corn fields), there are enough chemicals, pollutants, and environmental hazards to make General Motors and 3M executives to feel good about themselves.

To test my luck and to get a picture, I went right up to the border crossing before turning south and east to go into Minnesota. After hitting the absolute northeastern tip of North Dakota, I crossed the river into Minnesota. My target for the night is the nation’s “ice box,” International Falls, Minnesota. When ever friends in other places hear about Minnesota, it’s almost always during the winter when International Falls sets the nation’s cold temperature records. It’s often colder in International Falls than most of Alaska. -50oF is sunbathing weather in January.

A clue to the area came at Roseau, a small college and tourist town that I hear about occasionally as part of the state’s MSF program. On the western edge of Roseau, I passed a really nice off-road motorcycle park, complete with big jumps, triple whoops, and some water crossings. Now I’m jealous. Roseau appears to be a healthy, middle-class Midwestern town. Much larger and much more urban than I expected.

I’ve wondered what this area would be like since moving to Minnesota. In January, when International Falls is regularly the coldest place in the States, I often get calls and email from friends asking, “How the hell can you live in that place?” International Falls is regularly 40oF colder than where I live. Their summer lasts about 2 fewer months. Their mosquitoes are a couple of pounds larger. They are on the boundary of Canada and the States, which is why their national park is called the Boundary Waters National Park.

I anticipated International Falls being like most of the small towns I know in Nebraska, especially the dying part. International Falls appears to be a prosperous, lively town with a decent middle class, industry (Marvin Windows), and a strong tourist and sporting trade.

It began to rain the moment I entered the city limits, at about 8PM. My butt was sore and I was in no mood for playing tourist. I found a cheap campsite on the edge of town, set up camp, and died for the night at 9PM.

Cruising through Oil Fields and Forests

I did the tourist bit out of Roosevelt park, took some pictures, walked some distance, and had fun owning the park road at 6AM. Heading north. I got up close and personal with a small herd of buffalo who weren't particularly intimidated by me or my motorcycle.

I took in a collection of ND scenic roads and crossed a hell of a lot of boring plains (sorry, if I’ve offended boring plains lovers).

I ended up passing the International Peace Garden without seeing a sign announcing its existence. That put me in Rolla at quitting time. Rolla is one of those “boarder towns” that is on the edge of vanishing or growing. Unlike Bottineau or Langdon or a few other places I’ve passed that seem to be immune to small town entropy. I haven’t made the slightest attempt at keeping score, but it feels like North Dakota is mostly holding its own, rather than dying as some have reported. Some of the northwestern oil towns are booming, which could be good and could be bad since the oil reserves are pretty shaky for a long term bet.

30 years ago, a geophysicist used a bowl of spaghetti noodles to explain oil resources to me. He said, “When the bowl is full, you can stick a fork anywhere in the bowl and you’ll get spaghetti. When it empties out, you have to get creative with the fork to pick up a noodle.” North Dakotans brag that the “new fields” in the northwest are being drained by “drilling down two miles and across another two miles.” First, they aren't new discoveries. Oil geologists have known about the Bakken Formation reserves for a long, long time. We just didn't have the technology or need to drill for anything that complicated. I’d say a 2x2 mile drill routine is about as close to extremes of getting “creative with the fork” as I can imagine. The next tactic must be really close to swabbing down the bowl with a piece of bread to completely sterilize the bowl/planet of that resource.

When we are that desperate, it’s pretty obvious that the end is in sight. I wonder if there is any thought at all of saving some of this material for future generations? I wonder if we even consider our own kids a “future generation?” We seem to be desperate to strip the planet in a single generation. I suppose that's always been true, though. Clearly the Pennslyvania, Texas, Oklahoma, California, and Kansas fields have been worked dry with the same "efficiency."

Rolla was an experience. The only campground in town is the town camp at the fair grounds. It looks pretty desolate, with 8 camper hookups and no provision for tent camping. A sign says, “Pay for the site at the Sinclair station.” I found the station at the edge of town and paid my $15. The kid at the station said there was a “white building with hot showers and bathrooms near the campground. I went back, set up my tent, set out my gear to dry in the twilight and set out to find the showers. I struck out. I was about to explore another corner of the fair grounds when a cop came through the parking lot. I asked him where the showers were and he pointed at a pile of dirt and a backhoe, “It was there until yesterday. I don’t know what they’re planning to do with the campground.”

I’m hot, sweaty, and shower-less. The cop offered to open up the town hall for me to use the sink. He did. I did. Afterwards, I tried to cool down by doing a little camping maintenance and writing and was constantly interrupted by a group of kids who seemed to think I was there to entertain and supply them. I gave up and hid in my tent, reading, until the sun went down and I was comforted to sleep by a halogen light that blasted through my tent walls all night. Now that's fine camping. No wonder my wife always finds something else to do when I want to hit the road with her.

The Arrogance of Blogging.

The whole journaling/blogging thing is really arrogant, isn’t it? It’s a pretty New-Agey-sort-of-idea-gone-mid-tech; which makes all the right wing journals seem funnier than usual. “Journaling” is the kind of crap that English majors substitute for actually writing something that others might want to read. I have first hand experience, trust me. Once a writer turns into an author and mutates even further into a “famous author,” wannabe writers expend a lot of energy reading the famous author’s journals looking for a clue into becoming one themselves. I’ve found that to be pretty fruitless work. With the “advent of the blog,” any damn fool can pretend to have passed Go and moved right into having something worthwhile to say. And here I am.

While I was at the North Dakota Heritage Center (a pretty New Agey title itself), I read a collection of journal entries from a private at one of the remote North Dakota forts (Is there any other kind, “remote” I mean?). When he was first posted to the fort, he wrote quite a bit. He introduced his audience to the other soldiers. He described the fort, the daily tasks, the occasional sightings of Indians, the wild life, and the weather and the bleak scenery. After a couple of months, he was down to “this guy is in the brig, this guy is on watch, it’s cold as hell today.”

One of the reasons I do these sometimes-painful solo trips is for inspiration. As I crossed the great North Dakota plains, an entire story wrapped around that soldier’s journal played out in my head, complete with soundtrack. I’ll let you know how that works out for me. Maybe it will be my route to “famous author.” Hell, I’d settle for author-of-anything at this late date in my life.

I can sympathize with that private. At the two ends of a life, boredom and excitement, it’s hard to talk about what’s going on in your day because it’s either too boring to think about or taking the time to write takes time away from doing that exciting thing you’re on the road to be doing. I write while I’m eating. It slows down my usual digestive habits and there is usually nothing interesting to look at in a restaurant. Usually.

Got Friday on My Mind

I don’t even know how to begin describing this day of the trip. It started nicely--clear sky, light wind, and dry—and went so far uphill I thought I might be dead. Fats Waller supposedly used to say, when he was really rockin’, “Somebody shoot me while I’m feeling good.” Friday, I should have been shot.

I hit the road with a questionable back tire. It was good enough to get me home, for sure, but I hoped to rack up another 1500 miles before going home. It is, maybe, not that good. Probably not.

So, I decided to try for Lee Klapprodt’s favorite shop, the Cycle Hutt the internet home for all things KTM, and see if they had a tire that might work. I’d take almost anything that would fit, if it’s not adventuring touring it will be a perfectly fine road tire and I’ll just stick to the road. I am such a retard, I hooked up on the Interstate and managed to stay on the long worm about 20 miles, I got bored, got off, and aimed for a frontage road that paralleled the freeway. In about a dozen miles, that road degenerated into a knarly, wet clay path that put an exclamation point on my failing tire. It also hurried the failure a bit, I’m afraid.

I arrive at Mandan at about 7:15AM and drive by the Cycle Hutt just to check out their opening time and someone is there, Tami Bohn the co-owner of the shop. Mentioning Lee’s name is like flashing a $100 bill at a New York cop. After describing how much everyone at Cycle Hutt “loves” Lee, Tami tells me the store isn’t open, but it will be at 9AM and she’ll have the mechanic look for a tire for me then. She sends me to a great place for breakfast (another place Lee recommended) and I lose a half-hour zoning out eating, writing, and reading.

My waitress asks the guy at the table in front of me, “Are you looking for a tire?”

He says “no” and I say “yes.”

She tells me, “They have a tire for you.” She doesn’t know what that means, but I do.

Now I’m solidly relaxed and absorbed in my reading. I show “patience” and don’t leave for the shop until 8:30, a half hour before they open. This is obviously one of the places where everyone likes to work because a good bit of the shop is there when I get there.

Tami asks if I got the message, and apologizes, “We don’t have a tire your size.” But she tells me I can look at their stock and see if something might work. They might have a half-dozen tires to choose from. One of them is a 150/70-R17 Metzler Tourance, exactly the tire I need. It’s set aside for me and the mechanic, Chad, will install it when he gets to work.

I’m set, so I screw about in the store looking for stuff to buy that I don’t need. The other owner, Justin Bohn (Tami’s husband), and I get into a conversation about work in Antartica, the dismal economy, motorcycles, and . . . music. When he hears about my other life, he insists I call an occasional customer of his, Denny Delzer. After wasting an hour of Justin’s and a good bit of his employees’ time, I am ready to go.

Almost out of obligation to Justin, I call Denny. He invites me to his shop and that digression was the second really good thing to happen to me that Friday. Denny is a connoisseur of all sorts of collectible objects: hot rods, go-carts, Hammond organs, and motorcycles. He is, in fact, a fairly famous Vincent collector. He is also incredibly generous with his time. He gave me the $1 tour around his shop, let me ogle his motorcycles (you’ll be disgusted to know I particularly lusted after a mid-70’s Yamaha IT200 dirt bike, not the Vincents), and he was exceptionally generous with technical information about his Hammond organs. I have always loved the sound of the Hammond and I’ve wanted to hear more about how they work from an expert for decades.

Denny has four B3’s crated up and ready to ship to Hong Kong. He does a fairly brisk internet business and Billy Joel and Greg Allman are some of his more recent well-known customers.

Denny described the collector’s mindset as an attempt at explanation, “Once you have one, you may as well get another.” This was how he described how an otherwise reasonable person having collected several Vincent’s, a couple of Yamaha IT dirt bikes, a few go-carts, fifty or sixty Hammond organs and even more Leslie speaker cabinets. If you’re going to collect something, you might as well make some money out of it, which inspired Denny’s business: B3Hammond (http://www.b3hammond.com/).

After the shop tour, Denny invited me to his home to see his priced Dick Busby-built Egli-framed Vincent. Denny was between hanging out with his grandkids from Florida and setting up for a gig with his band later that evening, but he blew another hour with me showing me his hot rods, his Vincent, another 70’s Yamaha IT, and . . . sending me off for a short ride on the Egli. Before leaving and after I returned, Denny took pictures; one of which is to the right.

If he knew me better, he’d have asked for a huge security deposit. I’m renowned for my kultziness around expensive things. I managed to struggle through right-side shift and one-up-and-four-down Euro-ness, but I got tricky and tried to swing back to his place through the neighborhood, instead of simply turning around and coming back the way I’d gone, as Denny had advised. I got lost in the zillions of cul de sacs and, finally, gave up and tried to turn around. In a car-jammed deadend street, on a hill, I stalled the Vincent. The bike will absolutely not idle. Luckily, it is electric start. Not so luckily, it took a bit of figuring out to make the electric start do its starting thing. Fortunately, due to the Cheap Bike Challenge, I’d recently dealt with a vintage electric starting routine on the Honda 450 and we got going again. After what must have felt like a decade to Denny, I made it back up his driveway and returned the Vincent to its more capable owner. Now, I can say I’ve ridden a Vincent. And I didn’t crash it. You guess which of those two was more important to me.

The ride out of Bismarck was sort of a letdown. I was going through some terrific territory, but I didn’t do everything I should have done in the city; especially visiting the offices of Vintage Guitar Magazine. Oh well, a reason to return someday soon.

Once I’m out of town, I’m in the plains heading northwest. My target is the north Teddy Roseveldt park, where I’ll camp tonight. My route is too convoluted to describe. I’ll put up a map someday. I had a collection of suggested roads and historic highlights that Denny and Lee had provided and I hit about 2/3 of them. It was a great ride, I’ll have several scenes stuck in my mind for the rest of my life, and after setting up camp and taking a short sundown walk through a tiny section of the park, I was out like a deadman.

Waking Up Pissed

First thing (5:30AM), Thursday morning I wake up to the sound of a small motor. Just my luck, I’m two sites away from a sump pump. I put in my ear plugs and sleep till seven. The day started clear and warm, but cooled off by 7:30AM and clouded up quickly. So much for a second sunny day in North Dakota.

Turns out, it wasn’t a sump pump. It was a pair of douchbags firing up an ancient generator for some brain dead reason; probably wanted to watch old VCR tapes of their favorite Oprah shows. These same geniuses yakked late into the night, jabbering like a pair of old drunken hens. If you know who these trailer trash yokels are, smack 'em in the head just to hear it rattle.

Before leaving, I took in the reconstructed Mandam village and a bit of the old fort, especially the lookout towers at the top of the park. The reconstruction of the Abraham Lincoln Fort is a little sterile, but the Mandam houses are terrific.

Going south on 1806, I was washed in a constant hard rain all the way to the Cannon Ball River. As usual for long trips, I over-estimated the condition of my rear tire and it’s vanishing quickly. Instead of the route I’d planned, I decided to head west to catch the Enchanted Highway back to the Interstate and, if the tire looks really bad, I’ll go back to Bismarck and get a replacement.

At the Enchanted Highway, the sky looks like hell about to drop on earth. There is a dark grey wall moving east fast and pouring rain as hard as I’ve ever seen in the near distance. I found a café in Regent and parked the bike so I could pretend to be hungry and hide out the storm. I got myself inside with about two minutes to spare. The sky did, in fact, fall. Probably because it was holding a few million too many gallons of water.

I'm going to have to look up "enchanted." The highway is pretty interesting, these bird sculptures are 20-30 feet tall. You can see them from a mile away, literally. Somehow, I thought enchanted meant something a little different, though. It's the hillbilly coming out in me.

My back tire is wearing out incredibly fast. I could probably get home fine on it, but I can’t do the other 1500 miles of ND that I’d hoped to see. I’m going back to Bismarck to see if I can snag a replacement.

I’m cold and my freakin’ boots leak like a mosquito net. Why is the only Goretex that works the stuff I get in my Aerostich gear? ND has received more than double the normal rainfall and I suspect I’m lugging a good bit of it in my gear, especially my boots. Tonight, I’m going high tech and I’m going to be spending the night in a motel. I need to warm up and dry off. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have access to a collection of outlets to charge up all my electronic crap.

A Day at the Museum

Pun intended, get over it.

Third day out and I’m up and cruising by 6AM. At first, I thought about going north to Bismarck and hanging in the big city for a day. Some of the “ghost towns” were disappointing and I wasn’t up for more of that. It was drizzling as I got out of the tent and everything was soaked outside of the tent and bike cover. More motivation for city life, but I decided to head south and west, skipping the three ghost towns on that leg of my trip plan and getting as close to the Missouri River as possible. That turned out to be a killer plan.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

Ah, beautiful downtown Linton. A city with one stop sign and a full-time cop watching over it to make sure no motorcycles try “something fancy” and make a stop without putting both feet on the ground. The car in front of me didn’t even slow down for the sign, but the cop whipped around behind me and fired off his lights because I made an “unsafe” stop without touching a foot to the ground. In the end, he seemed satisfied with screwing up my rhythm and let me go with a brilliant, well-informed warning about motorcycle safety.

Every encounter I've ever had with a cop reminds me of Junior and Senior High School. Does every school bully eventually end up with a badge? It's too easy to stereotype these guys, but stereotypes are often easy to believe because they turn up in reality so often.

The river valley was wet and spectacular. My camera seemed to be stuck on blue overtones, but it was probably accurate. There was a lot of blue on the horizon, on the water, and in the air.

At the end of my north-bound route, I came to Bismarck. I spent the afternoon checking out ND history at the ND Heritage Center and the original Govenor’s mansion. At 4:30, I met Lee Klapprodt at the capitol and we went for a 180 mile ride north of Bismarck.

Most of his favorite roads are a little “stressed” by the 14” of rain the Bismarck area had received during the last 3 days, so we stayed on pavement for most of the ride. Lee is on a new KTM Adventure and he cuts a pretty quick pace, which I don’t work hard to maintain. I have to make my back tire and the rest of the bike last another 1,500 miles, so I’m not as excitable as Lee. I keep him in sight, though, and we stop often for him to explain the topography, economy, development, and history of the area. He’s a committed North Dakota booster and gives me some insight as to why people live where winters often drop below -40oF.

North Dakota’s economy is clearly not echoing the rest of the country. The state has a lot of energy; coal, oil, wind power, hydroelectric, and biofuel. At least for the next couple of decades, the rest of the country is going to be depending on those resources and that puts the state in a pretty good position. Oil rich places tend to end up being wastelands when the oil is gone. It would be nice to believe that North Dakota can avoid the mistakes of the past. To do that, they better get serious about teaching history to avoid repeating it. I wonder if any state money is going that direction?

At the end of our ride, we came back to Mandam, a Bismarck suburb. Lee took me by his favorite bike shop, the CycleHutt (http://www.cyclehutt.com/). The shop is a KTM-only dealer with a huge lot surrounding the building. They hold events right at the shop; supermoto races, stunter events, and they are building a super-enduro track behind the shop.

Lee ferried me to the Abraham Lincoln Fort State Park where I camped for the night. My first opportunity to set up camp in the dark. A real thrill. It was hot and muggy and the tent was still wet from the past two nights. I haven’t gone to sleep hot for almost a year and don’t know if I can do it, but it cools off fast and I’m out like a light.

Doing the Sheyenne River Valley

Tuesday, I’m up with the birds and out of camp at 6AM. I don’t go far, though. I stopped in Lisbon for breakfast and to watch the first hour of the day’s long rain. I gave up after doing everything I could think of, reading until I was bored, and taking an accounting course via email.

Later, I was in Valley City where the river probably isn’t as prized, since the town was swamped by the Sheyenne in April. There were still sandbags stacked against houses and businesses.
It took me a while to figure out what was going on in Valley City. I stopped at an information center/museum for a map and learned a little about the area. On advice I got at the museum, I went north to the edge of town to see the giant railroad bridge. It's pretty impressive, don't you think?

I ended up the day in, believe it or not, Napoleon, ND. This is truly Mayberry. The main drag was being dredged for new water mains, so the town wasn’t looking its best, but it’s a cool little town with a city pool, a city campground, a couple of good restaurants, and a park full of doves to sing me to sleep. $6/night for “primitive camping” which includes a shower and a couple of bucks and you’re in the pool, too.

Product Review: Oregon Scientific ATC-2K

My experience with this product goes under the heading of "what you should expect to get for little-to-nothing."

The upside to the ATC-2K is that it is inexpensive (~$80 sans memory). The downside is that it is a flaky, unsupported product that works intermittently. The "works intermittently" bit is the motivation for this review.

My ATC-2K problems haven't been as serious as other users and my review will be slightly different due to my application:

• This guy absolutely hates his camera and the company
• This neutral review is followed by a bunch of users who had nothing but problems with the camera
• Another neutral review

My application is as a helmet-cam on a motorcycle tour. The most important thing about any touring gear is reliability. The ATC-2K gets a 2-out-of-5 score on that count. Lots of other users have had problems with formatting the SDRAM card and outright failures of the camera. I have intermittent loss of the data files. For example, today I was riding a particularly cool North Dakota road and I wanted to document a bit of it for a video I'm hoping to make with a friend's music. At the end of the road, the camera was displaying "ON." I don't know what that means, but I'd initated the record function and waited to see the counter ratcheting up before mounting the camera on the helmet. After several attempts with the power button, the camera turned off. When I got to camp, I tried to download the video and discovered the file was nowhere to be found. The really pitiful users' manual suggests that problem might mean the camera recorded the file on the internal RAM, so I pulled the SDRAM and discovered there were two small files in the internal storage. Not my file, though. Windows Explorer said there was 1.4G of used space in storage, but nothing I tried could uncover the data. So, once again, I reformatted the disk to get back the data space.

So much for reliability.

Ergonomically, the ATC-2K is pretty old guy hostile. The setup icons require a microscope, at least for me. My grandson could read them, though. He just couldn't figure out what they meant. After wasting a good while on initial setup, I got pretty much what I expected. The audio is terrible, but it was easy to turn off, once you figured out the microphone icon. Are these guys from 1940's radio? Since I hope to use the video for television production, I had to use the high res (640-480), 30fps mode, which is a RAM burner. Dumping the audio doesn't seem to save any data space, either.

At least from my perspective, there is no way to find any of the buttons wearing gloves. It's hard enough bare fingered. So, setting up a recording session is a bit cumbersome in motorcycle gear. All of my videos start with the same routine; start the camera, put on the gloves, get on the bike, start it up, get going, start doing something worth filming. Gotta love routines.

The upside is the camera is pretty damn water resistant. The mfg claims 50m, but I'm just testing in the rain; a lot of rain. The tiny lens resists gathering rain drops, but it doesn't take much of a drop to distort the lense. The mounting hardware is well thought out and works perfectly on a motorcycle helmet. An additional mounting kit is only $13.

So, it's cheap, hard to use, marginally reliable, and when it works, it's pretty good. Here's a sample, you decide about the "pretty good part."

Into the Farm

Going into southern North Dakota is nothing like going into the wild. ND is wilder than, say, Kansas, but pretty tame compared to Montana, Wyoming, the Yukon, or Alaska. There are farms everywhere, trucks most places, and little towns in good shape or not all over the southeast corner of North Dakota.


Selfishly, I'm disappointed that ND appears to be doing pretty well. I had a collection of ND "ghost towns" on my route sheet that I'd collected from the web. I don't know where they found their information, but most of the towns appear to be doing ok to pretty well. My first stop, for example, was Dwight; a town that appears to have weathered the worst of its losses and is rebulding. I did, however, find that Garmin's road information (especially the dirt roads) could use a little updating. Trying to get to a couple of these towns via dirt road taught me some useful lessons about turning around in a nasty spot. A lesson I never seem to get enough of.

This mediocre photo is of the third dead end I ran into on my first day. There was a very nice jacuzzi next to the river, but I didn't feel like heating 200 gallons of water with my camp stove, so I didn't take advantage of it.

This was a spot where the 250 would have been really fun, but most of the ride has been better suited for the 650. Even the 100+ miles of dirt roads were mostly better suited to the big bike because of the strong side winds and the generally decent condition of the roads.