Author: Jeff Maddox

Life is truly worth living and this is how I choose to live mine.
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And the weather man said……

Winter in Kansas. By all rights it should be cold and windy. So what makes this day any different? The weather man said “high of 50 and a slight breeze by this afternoon”. As I left the house to go to work, I was dressed in the appropriate gear and mentally prepared for at least a cold ride in. Now keep in mind, I live in a small town and I ride about 25 miles one way. It’s all at highway speeds with a couple of spots where you can slow down for a curve or two. Most folks in my home town know me and fully expect to see me riding to work so it’s nothing new to them. On occasion, I will get a look from a motorist not familiar with me or even small town living for that matter when I wave at them.

Sure I have ridden in colder weather than this, and regretted it. This time of year I do wear the appropriate riding gear-Leather jacket, chaps, gauntlet gloves and my full-face Fulmer helmet. No heated gear for me! When your face shield is fogged, and there’s that little leak of cold air coming in around your neck, your waist, your cuff or all of the above, you have to ask yourself  “am I the only guy who loves riding so much that this would be considered fun?”. Of course not. We’ve all been here to some degree. 16 degrees to be exact, with no windchill figured in. Now I have to admit, the first 5 miles were cold. Real cold. At 8 miles my mental fortitude was breaking down.

Don’t breathe because it fogs the shield. Just passed the neighbor on the road and I waved. That’s what we do in Kansas, we wave. Turn my head and the cold air gets to my neck. Focus. Over half way there so the rest should be easy. Down in another valley at mile 11. Wow, now that was cold. Cold? Of course you idiot you’re on a motorcycle! Focus! Meet another neighbor on the road, and I don’t wave. Didn’t have it in me. Now the whole town will be talking about me! Out of the valley and now the sun is coming into sight over my right shoulder and mentally it helps. Who am I kidding, I can’t feel anything. But at least it is helping on the right side of my face shield. Now I’m riding with what appears to be an eye patch over my left eye. Ugh. Mile 16 and I’m speeding, because as we all know the faster you go in the cold, the warmer you’ll be!

Finally, I slow down and make the final turn to work. As I’m riding along in the 30 mph zone I reflect on my adventure to the Arctic Circle. How is it possible to put yourself out there on purpose, on a bike, in the cold, and look forward to the “high of 50” that the weather man talked so proudly about? Because I ride. Not because I have to, but because I want to. It helps me to appreciate the ride when I know that sometimes the weather man gets it right!

Now excuse me while I find my neighbor to return a wave! Because that is what we do.

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A Great Ride

What is “Fun”?

Is it possible to not have fun riding a motorcycle? Of course it is. Riding in the rain a long way from home can be one of the best rides you ever had. Or not. If you are prepared mentally and physically it can be a memorable ride. On the other hand if you aren’t prepared it can become a REAL memorable ride. Maybe the time spent under a gas station awning talking with another rider waiting out a storm is the memory.

But let’s face it, riding is fun. A short ride down a back road with the sights, sounds and smells is plenty to get you reset. Or the long day-ride to get some unfamiliar road under you to get you thinking. A friend of mine told me the other day that a 30 day round trip to Alaska was an epic adventure, but now 45 miles almost seems not worth it. Are you kidding me? Any time I can get on the bike and ride is great. I can use that time to reflect on those epic trips or think of the next one.

Never let yourself think that this ride is anything less than the last one. They are all different but good in the same way. Getting caught in the rain may seem miserable at the time, but the first chance you get, stop and find the fun in it. It’s there somewhere. Probably under an awning!

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DT 175

I spent most of my younger years sleeping in an old Starcraft pop-up camper in the back yard. Cutting grass with a push mower to make some change to put gas in my Harley-Davidson 90. Saving (?) a little money to go to the pool hall to play snooker and have a cherry 7-up. Not the kind already made, but the kind that was made right in front of you. The old men playing dominos in the background was cool and once  in a while spending a nickel in the pinball machine. But in between I was out in the field by the house riding and dreaming of bigger bikes and just living the life of a small town boy.

In the summer of 1975 we took the long 22 mile drive to nearby Council Grove to buy my first real motorcycle, a Yamaha DT 175. I had already memorized the brochure and there wasn’t much Steve the owner of the dealership couldn’t tell me that I didn’t already know and besides I was too excited to hear a word he said. He gave me some oil and some stickers and all that went into the car with my mother who brought me and from there she followed me the 22 miles home. You know when you’re small town when your mother follows you home in the car as you ride home with no motorcycle license. My best friend Russ already had the DT 250 and he was just as excited to see the bike as I was riding it.

This was it. This is all I need. A 175 with plenty of power, lights and turn signals. Mirrors and a horn and I’m set. At fourteen I was thinking “this will be the last bike I’ll own and that’s it!”  Who was I kidding? This was just the beginning of a life of  confusion and mixed feelings about all things two wheels. Girls are one thing, but the life of motorcycles still haunts me!  So, living my summers in a pop-up camper in the yard with gas money from mowing, and life is good. This was actually the beginning of what has become a long process of riding and learning. Something of which I have yet to finish. I probably won’t anytime soon as this process is still going on to this day.

But at the time I felt that my world was complete. It took my riding skills to another level. Cornering in the dirt and taking on more difficult trails and on occasion catching a little air was the piece I had been missing. We had some trails out behind the grain elevator where some of us rode. Back then it seemed like a big place and it was cut out from the railroad tracks that had been long ago removed. But in reality it was a small spot to keep us occupied. But the DT 175 was capable of climbing and jumping or just plugging along slowly on the trail. Long hours of riding before have now become longer. Wheelies and  power slides are now the norm and I’m looking good in my JT Racing gloves and my Jofa mouth-guard and Carrera goggles. How lucky am I!

I can’t express how important this time in my life was. I wasn’t really into team sports in high school and motorcycles became my way of life. I never got tired of riding. I never complained of the blisters on my hands. Mud, dirt , rocks and rain, I was out there. Smiling the whole time.

We all have started somewhere with our love for two wheels. Some of us have found it’s not for us while some of us can’t live without it. I ride for many reasons and will for as long as I can. I read a long time ago on a t-shirt: “I live, love, breathe, dream, eat and sleep motorcycles” or something like that. But I must admit at fourteen years old I might have also been thinking of girls too!