Tag: motorcycle

Posted on

The Explorer In All Of Us

Growing up “small town White City” isn’t a bad thing. Looking back it was a great time to just be a kid. Riding all the back roads around town gave me a great sense of direction and a good idea how far you could go on a tank of gas before hitting reserve. Practicing wheelies and power slides outside of town where no one could see or hear you was good as to not raise any eyebrows and to keep my mom and dad in good graces within the community. But it didn’t stop me from practicing those wheelies on my way out-of-town! So much for being a kid…

You never knew what you would find. Maybe an old cemetery where I would get off and check out the headstones, and sometimes find one with a familiar name from White City. It all helps put the pieces together on how far out side of town the farmer’s family went. There was always old farm equipment parked from days gone by and left for dead. But no headstone was necessary. Their names were painted right on the hood.

At times I would be parked on a hill miles from town and look off in the distance and see the Mor-Kan grain elevator in the distance calling me home, but I wasn’t quite ready. More power slides and wheelies to be done and who knows what else. You would rarely meet anyone on these back roads but when you did there was usually a friendly wave and once in a while you might stop and talk for a few minutes to a class mate whose family farmed as they were on their way to town. 

At one time I was pretty good at both wheelies and power slides. After all, practice does make perfect. But as all things do, the dirt bike needs gas and I’m hungry, so back to town we go. I often wonder if my parents really knew what I did on those long summer days on my motorcycles. Gone for hours and coming back dusty or skinned up. Not all wheelies were successful! I’m sure they did though, even when they didn’t say anything about it. If any of you know anything about a small town, it’s hard to keep a secret. Or maybe it was the marks in the gravel from my power slides as I left town…

Posted on

The quiet hero

Exactly when did the kickstand come into existence? Obviously early bicycles had some sort of “prop” to hold it up when parked, but let’s think about this for a moment. Over a hundred years ago when motorcycles were first coming into our lives, they had a device to lift up the back-end which allowed it to stand up on its own and also to turn the back wheel. We always think about how amazing motorcycles can be but we never give any thought to the kickstand itself. Henry Ford didn’t have this problem, but the Harley and Davidson boys did. Someone, probably the quiet guy in the back of the room, actually had to say “we need a way to hold this thing up”. And as we have designed and improved the motorcycle over the years, the kickstand remains relatively unchanged. How awkward would it be to ride up in front of the club house, stop and lay your bike on the ground? Filling it up with gas would be a challenge as well. We so take the simple things for granted.

Have you ever seen the tough guy in the movie ride up on his bike, stop in front of the biker bar and put his kickstand down? A few. But now let’s have the same scene with the bad guy laying his bike over on its side as he gets off. Not so much. What kind of background music would be playing for a scene like that? A quick getaway would require help from innocent bystanders and you would for sure know who your friends are. And if you ride with a group it’s obvious that the one with the smallest bike would be the last to get on. After all, he’s helping the rest of you with your bigger bikes.

It is so much of what a motorcycle is, but it doesn’t get any attention. Where would we be without it? A lot stronger as we pick these beasts of burden up off the ground. So as you read this you need to realize that right now, at this very moment, your motorcycle is standing up and leaning on its kickstand ready to ride. Here’s to you my friend!

Posted on

The Road Home

I have been living in this small town in Kansas now for about 45 years. White City hasn’t changed much over time and the same could be said about the people who live there, me included. That isn’t a bad thing, it’s just how it is. From White City you have to travel about twenty miles in any direction to get to another “incorporated” town. Skiddy, (look it up!) which is “unincorporated”, named after Francis Skiddy,  is about seven miles from White City and I’ve seen that town slowly turn into a memory of what it once was. The Pepsi sign on Mann’s Grocery is still there but the roof is not. The Standard station is a house now but for anyone with any history in the area, you know what I’m talking about. A church and a school are still standing but that’s about it. Population hasn’t change as there are maybe 20-25 that are living there.

Riding to work the past few days has been interesting. There is work being done on a pasture to remove a tree line for new fencing. I know some might think I’m a motorcycle vagabond, traveling the two-lane highways, sleeping on picnic tables and writing this stuff on discarded paper bags. The reality is I have a job and have traveled this road from White City for over thirty years. So as this work is being done the landscape around Skiddy is changing. Somewhat of a shock for a small town guy like me. I can only imagine the shock the citizens of Skiddy are experiencing as they are a smaller community than White City! Change just doesn’t happen that often so when it does it almost always makes the newspaper.

But this morning the trees have all been removed and now you can actually see around the curves for any oncoming cars or tractors. And I must mention it’s a nice view of the small valley into this pasture. This tree line has been there as long as I can remember and has defined this section of road. It’s forever gone and I’m a little sad. I know this road like the back of my hand. Now it looks like the back of someone else’s hand! At least this half of mile where the trees are gone!

I like it and as progress goes, so does Skiddy. A new fence will be up in no time and the cattle will have a new view of the passing traffic. I use the term “traffic” loosely as I passed two cars this morning in the first fifteen miles of my commute. And that’s OK, as a small town guy will tell you, “some, or a least most, things never change”!

 

 

 

Posted on

Motorcycles to Anamosa – J&P Cycles Open House

A couple of years ago I rode to Anamosa Iowa for J&P Cycles open house. The end of June was perfect and the weather was good with a slight chance of showers for part of the trip. But no worries, with warm weather a little shower wouldn’t matter. I left after work on my Heritage and planned on making Des Moines Iowa to spend the night. I don’t normally take the interstate but I needed to make a little time so look out big trucks and speeding cars!

A nice night in Des Moines and back on the road to Anamosa. You know at the time I had not ridden through Iowa on a motorcycle, so I was looking forward to it. It was also going to be my first trip to J&P’s and I couldn’t wait. The National Motorcycle Museum was also on my list, so quite frankly I couldn’t get there fast enough.

Now let’s be serious. We’ve all been to things like this, but as I pulled into the parking lot of motorcycles, I was amazed at the turn-out. The people working the event were directing people and it seemed like a well organized group. Very impressed! But wait this was just the beginning. In a box not far from me was a four inch square piece of plywood to put under my kickstand. what a great touch. That says to me that these people understand me and what is important to bikers in general. It’s weird to talk about a piece of wood like this but in that four inch square it might have well said “welcome my friend, we don’t want your bike to fall over”. Nice touch and I haven’t even walked through the split-rail gate to get to the open house.

The day was spent walking and talking to a lot of vendors and folks milling around. It was a beautiful day for watching a stunt show and some synchronized riding. All in all a great time. Fun and professional at the same time. Afterwords, a trip to the National Motorcycle Museum was just amazing. The history within those walls is a lifetime of labor and love for all that maintain it and enjoy it.

The trip was great. The food was good and the host John and Jill Parham, their son Zach and crew were awesome. Thanks for all you guys do and the passion you have for our sport, it’s history and future. You are good people.

If you ever get a chance, go. I mean it. GO! And tell the folks at J&P Cycle’s thanks. See you again this summer!

Posted on

Time Keeps on Tickin’

DSC_0013

Just to the left of center, mounted to the frame of the windshield on my Heritage, is a clock. A nice analog Formotion spot clock that I’ve had for many years. It keeps perfect time and looks good too. I know what you’re thinking, “Jeff, you ride and give the impression that time doesn’t matter. That a clock and ‘the man’ go against all biker culture”. Well, I must say that when riding I usually can’t see my wrist watch as my jacket sleeve or the cuff of my glove covers it up. And as much as I appreciate the “bad boy” image you think I portray, I’m more punctual than pissed off.

In the early part of the movie Easy Rider, Peter Fonda takes off his watch and looks at it for a moment, then throws it down into the dirt, just before he starts his epic journey with Billy. Very dramatic but it probably wasn’t a gift from a family member, or possibly it just didn’t keep good time, unlike my Formotion spot clock! But for the world I live in I might need to be somewhere and it’s nice to see how late I’m going to be.

But that clock also means more to me than just the time itself. It’s a constant reminder that time doesn’t stop. That means for you and me it just keeps going. A twenty-minute ride home, the clock will tell me I made it in the average time it always takes me. But twenty minutes is also the amount of time I just spent doing something I love. Something for me and my sanity. A break from talk and music and the sounds of everyday life. But it also tells me that right now in the garage, my Formotion spot clock is ticking as if to say “Jeff, listen to me. Life is short. Enjoy it as time is running out”. Do the things you love. Make the time to ride. Don’t let a cool day or a slight chance of rain make you stay home. Time is passing us by and if you listen closely you can hear your motorlogical clock ticking.

Now I’m not the kind of guy that normally thinks like this. Really, I’m not. But there are times when you realize that whether you golf, fish, ride motorcycles or whatever, there’s no time like now. I’m not saying that we need to know what time it is all the time, but know that any time you’re not doing what you want is time you can’t get back. Now don’t go quitting your job, and hitting the road to get away from ‘the man’ like Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper. But if you feel like taking your watch off and throwing it down, that’s ok. It would be a symbol that time isn’t going to control you. And that is my point! YOU should control your time!

 

Check them out on the web at: http://www.formotionproducts.com

https://www.facebook.com/FormotionProducts

 

 

Posted on

Lost and Found

Here I am cleaning my motorcycle. It’s been awhile and it needs to be done. I ride all the time and just like your car and all the stuff you carry, it gets to the point where my saddle bags are full. Full to the point that I can’t get the required loaf of bread in it when I am asked to bring it home after work. So as I sort through what is necessary and what isn’t, I find that I’m just a sneeze away from being a hoarder on two wheels.

The very top is easy. A lighter pair of gloves, and a hooded sweatshirt. Check. Tie down bungee cords and rain suit, check. A hat for those horrible helmet hair days, and a pair of sunglasses. Broken of course. And another pair of gloves. And who couldn’t use those? What is this, a multi-tool? Great! More bungee cords and a single glove. The left one  must surely be in the other saddle bag. I mean, why would I keep a single glove? As for the bottom of the bag I find my insurance and registration card in a small zip-lock baggie which has a hole worn in it and some small things like sun screen and lip balm, and receipts for milk, bread, soda, chips and dog food!

One bag down and one to go. A tool roll and bug cleaner. Micro fiber towel and a pair of sunglasses. Not my style and I’m sure they’re not mine. Probably a find on the road somewhere and to good to throw away. Tennis shoes and teryaki beef jerky, and it’s still good. Another rain suit that has a story all to itself and wait, another bag of beef jerky that is not so good! That one was from a trip to Dodge City two years ago as it still had the receipt with it. Has it been that long? Not the trip…the beef jerky. I thought it lasted forever. For a second there I thought I saw the end of time where canned goods and beef jerky both had the same expiration date. Nearing the bottom I find the source of a lot of discussions about memory loss and the onset of aging gracefully. A Blackberry cell phone. You guessed it. The trip to Dodge City where I swore I left it in the Hotel. After many calls to them and all but riding out there to prove them wrong, I have to admit they were right. It’s funny how I knew every detail of the trip, where the phone was sitting in the room plugged into the charger, and the exact moment where the employees were making long phone calls to distant relatives while I was on the return trip home. But alas, phone records showed me otherwise.

So it’s been a couple of years since I’ve sorted through the necessities of the road. Now I have a little more room for this season’s travels, and soon I will mention the back story of the second rain suit. Melted leg and all! If I can remember it…

 

Posted on

The View from the Road

It happened a couple of times every year. The family vacation to Colorado or Nebraska was a good trip and it was always nice to get out of the small town and hit the road. Me being the youngest of three kids, my place was sitting between my brother Danny and sister Jan in the back seat. I don’t need to say anything else to all of you “youngest”, but it was the least comfortable place to be because there was no window and nothing to lean against that didn’t punch you. At times, before I started growing like a weed, I would actually lay on the rear deck in the back window. I can hear it now, “How could they allow their child to be in a car unrestrained and in harm’s way”? It was the late 60’s and early 70’s so what do you expect! Most people didn’t think about that and admit it, you’ve been there.

As my sister grew up and left the house there became more room in the back seat which was good because I was growing as well. Then it became my turn to sit by the window. We didn’t have cell phones, i-pads or dvd players. The only thing we had was an 8-track player in the car with Gordon Lightfoots’ Greatest Hits playing, and our imaginations. So for many hours driving across Kansas, Nebraska and Colorado I used my imagination to keep me occupied. Mostly pretending I was on Roger DeCoster’s motocross bike just inside the fence line along the highway. Jumping the fences as they came up was easy as someone had conveniently placed a mound of dirt there for me to get over it. If the path got to be impossible I would move to the ditch and continue. After all it was MY imagination! Speed wasn’t important, I could keep up with the car no matter what. I was that good.

When my brother finally moved out I had the back seat to myself. It’s funny how lonely it can be even when you didn’t like the cramped conditions to begin with. So as the road trip began, it was my mother and father, me and Gordon Lightfoot. The Fury III was a large car and the vinyl seats were comfortable. For those of you that don’t know, vinyl is a material that was designed to adhere skin to car seats. Lucky for me I was a self conscious preteen at the time and always wore jeans.

 I found that my imagination has remained with me. I still look at the terrain along the road and the tree lined roads with fences. The ups and downs and the deepness of the ditch. I don’t imagine myself riding along the car as every great motocrosser has to retire sometime, but I have to admit that I have watched my shadow rolling along beside me when riding my motorcycle. Wow, I look good! And you would think I would know every word to every song Gordon Lightfoot sang. And maybe I do. Some things you just can’t forget.

Posted on

Sunday Morning Coming Down

1974 Harley-Davidson 90
1974 Harley-Davidson 90

Growing up in a small town is who I am. I know every street, store front, and house around. We used to be a self sufficient community with everything from two grocery stores and two gas stations, and a cafe and clothing store to a community with limited conveniences. But still a great place none the less. At 13 years old and no drivers license it was ok to ride around town on my Harley-Davidson 90. I would ride to the Vicker’s gas station on Main street to get 50 cents worth of gas, a Snickers bar and a Mountain Dew. Herb Funk would require a 3 cent deposit on the bottle if we took it so I would eat my candy bar and drink the Mountain Dew there while hanging out with the regulars. It’s a wonder I didn’t pick up smoking cigars as a few of the old men did, but it was always fun to watch Herb fix a flat or go out to pump your gas. Looking back I have often wondered what he thought of us young guys on our bikes hanging out. As young men we never thought from that perspective. We were more consumed with the moment.

But one advantage to a small town is a local police officer that wasn’t to concerned about us riding around on the streets. And apparently neither were my parents. Frank was the local cop and he was also the city maintenance man so a lot of times he wouldn’t go out on patrol until the evening hours. Long after I had to be home! Both Herb and Frank were good guys. They are like so many people in White City that had a lasting affect either on the community or me personally.

Exploring the streets and country back roads for hours on end was great for a kid. Probably not something parents would allow now but it was the early 70’s and I guess that made it ok. Wearing the appropriate stars and stripes helmet, bell bottoms and a “what, me worry?” t-shirt and I was set. So many times we would ride out behind the grain elevator to what we called the Katy trails where the Katy train tracks used to be. It was a small area but it was all we had. You would think growing up here I would know everything about everything but it took me twenty years to find out who actually owned the property. One more person that really had an impact on us as young riders remained anonymous for most of my formative years. For that I thank him. He allowed us to ride there any time and never once said a word. Again, we didn’t think about that then, we were too caught up in the moment of being the future of our sport!

This was also a time when the summer days lasted forever. The sun hovered above us and time stood still. We went home dirty and tired, strung out on Snickers and Mountain Dew. Blisters on our hands, bell bottoms torn from getting caught on the chain and sprocket and out of gas. Good times.

I still live in this town. Some of the people that have always been “White City” have passed. Herb, Frank, Perry Moore who owned the grocery store and Earl Casterline, just to name a few, are missed. I wish I could tell them now that I’m an adult how much I appreciate them for making this town a great place to grow up. Now that I’m not so much in the moment of being a teenager, I would like to know what they thought of us. If I was a betting man they were thinking “those crazy kids and their damn motorcycles!”.

Posted on

A Lost Art

A week or so ago I met Bubba Blackwell in Grapevine, Texas. It wasn’t the first time meeting him for me, but to him it was probably like the first time meeting me. To phrase that another way, I remember him and he didn’t remember me!

For those who don’t know who Bubba Blackwell is, he jumps Harley-Davidson XR750’s over whatever is in front of him. Most people will remember Evil Knievel and Bubba’s occupation is much the same. Sit at the end of a long stretch of pavement, look at a ramp, pin it, land safely, and repeat next weekend.

Now I don’t know about you but this isn’t something normal people will do for fun let alone compensation. He’s good at it and needs to be rewarded handsomely in the process. That is what makes it a lost art. If you are going to stand out in an occupation, pick one that doesn’t have a long line of potential applicants waiting to get in. Heart surgeons? There’s a few of those. Rocket scientists? Plenty, I’m sure. Guys like me? Dime a dozen. But Bubba? Evil? Robbie? Sure there are more, but in that field of expertise you have to be good. Real good. Or you don’t last long. I know a lot of folks go to see the down side of jumping motorcycles, but everyone there wants to see a successful jump.

Bubba is a great guy. We talked and he is just as down-to-earth as one can get. He truly loves what he does and it shows. Did I mention he’s good at it? He is.

Go to you-tube and watch. Follow him on Facebook and twitter. Better yet, go to one of his shows. He is a true professional.

Posted on

The Beaten Path Less Traveled

So I’ve been thinking about the road less traveled. We motorcyclists seem to search out this road to find the peace and serenity of a curvy or tree-lined way of getting there. Usually it’s a short two-lane between cities or major highways, but beautiful none the less. But how far is the road less traveled? How far is “off the beaten path”?

A road trip to Sturgis in 2007 found me and six of my friends on one of these roads. It was a Sunday and it didn’t take us long to find out that in some remote places of this country there is a world of folks that take Sunday off! Mostly gas station attendants and repair shops. As we rode into the Northwest of Nebraska we soon found out that the more you need gas, the harder it is to find. A great idea of a modern version of the old gas station,open 24 hours, to include beef jerky, hotdogs on heated rollers and pay at the pump gas, more commonly known as a convenience store, had yet to make it to this corner of Nebraska.

As we pulled into a farmer’s co-op this Sunday afternoon with a closed sign in the window and no pay at the pump, it was decided that a restroom was also a pretty important part of the modern conveniences we have come to expect. Well what do seven guys do when nature calls? We answer  the phone! Standing next to a bulk fuel truck and our backs to the highway, we found the one person that does work on a Sunday. He wears a badge and drives a pretty fast car. He pulls in and asked what we were doing in a very nice but firm manner. We explained the situation and expecting the worse, he was quick to get on the one piece of modern technology that did make this far off the beaten path, his cell phone! He called the one guy that could come and open the co-op for us to get gas.

Relieved, in more ways than one, we stayed for a little while and spent some money on Snickers bars and Mountain Dew. The appreciation on our faces was obvious and the officer stayed and hung out as well. It is truly amazing at the helpfulness of those in the small towns. I know as I’m from one myself. But to go out of your way and help is a two way street. Pass it on or pay it forward. Take the road less traveled and relax. Meet the local people face to face, or wave at the young boys on their bicycles as you ride through town. It’s a pretty universal language.

As I said, coming from a small town myself I know how these communities struggle. Next time you stop for gas, buy that candy bar or hotdog on a heated roller and show your support. You never know, that same place may not be open next time you pass through without your support.