When I was a kid, there was a horror movie about this fog that enveloped some town and scared the shit out of everyone. I only recall the bit about the people trapped in the grocery store, wishing they could go home, but The Fog would git them if they tried to leave.
Posts tagged motorcycling
feels soooo good to get out and stretch my baby’s legs! Big Bend, TX is the perfect place to blow out the cobwebs on an R1, that’s for sure. Soft sweepers and big long straights and nobody around for miles. I thought about going into Mexico, even stopped at the border and asked if it was a good idea. The cop couldn’t tell me whether to go or not, but did choose to mention the day’s murder rate as an indicator. It was 1 today and 1 yesterday. Probably a tad higher (per capita) than LA. So I said “Is that due to the drug war we keep hearing about?” and he gave a very professionally noncommittal answer that suggested I was jumping to the right conclusion. So I turned around and headed into Big Bend park, thinking I’d do this fun little loop I saw on the map. Yeah. Like they do anything little in Texas…
That little loop is 231 miles, so instead I went back the way I came which was only 158 miles.
So I got a little ways into the park and realized I’d probably run out of gas long before I came upon a gas station. I pulled out my trusty iphone to consult google maps, to see if perhaps for some strange reason they had a gas station in this national park. When I saw that I had no signal, I knew the prudent thing would be to turn around and get some gas in Presidio, then enjoy the northbound route of the same road I’d taken. I hate to retrace my steps, but my complete lack of planning necessitated it. It was a better idea anyway, as I was able to completely avoid the thunderstorm brewing in the east. It was fun going through the double-check border station just outside of Marfa. I stopped, and the guard asked me “Ma’am, are you a US Citizen?” Since I look about as Mexican as Cameron Diaz, they took my “yeahhhh” at face value. 
Even though I’m rootin’ for the Yank on the Yamaha this year, we all know WSB is really Ducati’s party.
Here we are, with some Spanish chicks who had the good sense to bring along a giant American flag! Well, I brought the Gigsville cowbell at least. Every Texas boy needs a cowbell, no? I hope next year they have even more Ben Spies fans in Spain. Bummer about the crash, but he did a good job in race 2 on his B bike. Still need to inject that boy with some charm for his podium speeches, he’s so dry. But he definitely smiled when we made a big racket for him!
one of the many fine views I enjoyed over the weekend at Valencia. Those long concrete strips leading up to the Ford billboard are actually steps. That’s where they put all the bad MotoGP fans who thought they bought tickets, then had their tickets revoked and didn’t figure this out until 2 days before the race.
As you can see, there are not nearly as many WSB fans in Spain as there are MotoGP fans. Only about 43,000 people turned up, so the cheap seats were totally empty. And I could hobble up the day before the race and buy one of the good seats. Sure felt good being able to do that.
OK, so I made it back to Barcelona and cried like a baby the first night home. No wifi. No internet, in fact, as my crappy Vodafone USB modem was not working as usual. No room service, and no giant fluffy pillows. But it was the no elevator part of being home that did me in. Carrying my gear and crap up 4 flights of stairs help exacerbate the pulled muscle in my chest so it not only felt like someone had ripped my heart out, but now also hurt to breathe. I also faced the first night without opiates, and could tell I was fiending. Drugs suck. Called some people I knew I could count on, and they came through, gave me the words of encouragement I needed in a time when all I could do was beat myself up for making such a stupid mistake (the whole riding to Nice in the rain idea, really).
So the next day I noticed I was constantly holding my left “lil’ buddy” (an homage to Zina) in place, so I put on my sports bra and felt better. Went to see a local multilingual Italian orthopedist because I was starting to get nervous like maybe I was having a heart attack or had a broken rib, despite the lack of bruising. He gave me a rigorous regime for my ankle which could also work for my chest and also recommended just wrapping my chest in wide ace bandages.
Which I did, and it works like a charm! So now instead of being small, I get to be super-flat, but hey, it feels good and I can breathe, so that’s all I care about. So now I’m releived it’s only a very pulled muscle, like I had thought. I’ve been doing my best to rest up, stay in bed, only going out for absolute necessities (like to recharge (money, not power) my stupid USB modem, because of course Vodafone won’t let you do that shit online unless you have a Spanish credit card. Grrrr.
So I finished the epic paper from hell, and should be able to finish the easier small paper tonight, which marks my absolute final deliverable for business school. It’s something I sort of dread letting go of, because that means I really and truly need to find a job now. Which is such an unpleasant process. But to give myself a better reason to finish my homework, and because dammit, I came to Spain to be with my people, I am GOING to Valencia tomorrow for World Superbike!!! Even though I will be chillaxin’ at the hotel on Saturday, only going to the track on Sunday and doing as little walking as possible, dammit, I have to go! Must watch Ben Spies kick some more bootay! And be in a lovely hotel again… I won’t be riding there and then to Bilbao as I had previously planned, but I must go, even if it’s on the train. It is my duty as a race fan to make sure those stands are full!
OK, compared to Butters, this will be amazing. http://www.motorcycle.com/manufacturer/bmw/ride-report-2003-bmw-f650cs-scarver-1641.html
"the F650CS excels in slow twisties. The CS loves being thrown with abandon into hairpins and other mountainous stuff, while the suspension keeps things in check remarkably well considering they were calibrated for quieter action. It’s the kind of bike on which it’s easy to search for your limits."
wootwoot! I was all nervous about renting such a puny bike to go any real distance (the agency insists it’s only good for one rider) but then I read this review and though, hmmm. It can go 110mph, so I won’t get rear-ended on the freeway, and it’s fun in the twisties. what more do I need to cruise along the cote d’azur, and poke around in the mountains near Nice? All that for half the price of a Multistrada.
turned the go-fast screw all the way to the right today, and it was pretty cool how fast it wanted to go! wouldn’t even sit still! Had to hold the brake to keep it from creeping forward at a stop, so I backed it off a tiny bit. but only after getting up the hill, need all the get-up-and-go that thing can get to make it up Tibidabo.
UPDATE!!!! I WAS WRONG!!! Or rather, the hack BMW paid to write those LIES was wrong. WORST bike I ever rode!!! And not just because I crashed it. This bike is so unrideable I think BMW invented it with the sole purpose of making new riders hate motorcycling so much that they run out and buy BMW cars. Or Volvos even. It was horrendous at any speed, wobbly around town, pathetic on the highway, and worthless in what few turns I took it through.
If you are a new rider, DO NOT buy this bike!!! Buy something that’s fun and moves the way a bike is supposed to move. Now I know why so many US riders start out on 600cc race bikes. Because they WORK. Seriously, the GSXR 600 I rented to go from SF to LA last summer did it all for me. It blew my mind with it’s braking technology (completely panic mid-corner proof) and of course its awesome power. When a dumbass slammed on their brakes in front of me then, I instantly chose to lanesplit to avoid hitting them, and continued on my way.
It was my mistake for not thinking of that in Nice, when I was a drowned rat thinking only of how desperately I wanted to be dry, but still. I think if I’d been on a bike I could respect, I probably would’ve been less interested in crashing. A shiny new 848 rode slowly by the cafe where I supped Monday night and I told my new Nice friends- "see, if I’d been on THAT bike, I would not have crashed."
OK, so it’s not mine, but I once had a silver Vespa P200E, just like this one. My first and second scooters, in fact. My very first scooter had probably 5x the horsepower my current rental has. Amazing. But fun. It’s certainly (humbling would be the word, but that’s not how it feels, more like pacifying) being so slow off the line I’m better off just staying behind cars than getting up front with all the other scooters and holding up traffic as I goose the throttle to try and get her up to speed a little quicker. Especially going uphills.
So I bought gas, which was a little overwhelming at first. I didn’t want to do anything inappropriate at the gas station or anything. And it wasn’t really any different than buying gas in the US, except you can’t pay at the pump.
So this box. For those of you who gripe about my sleek 4.6 liter Givi box on the back of my R1, well. Stuff it. My Givi box rocks and dammit. It’s not like it’s some 10 liter diamondplate monolith, got it? ;-P I’m gonna flip that bike over backwards on May 7th, after all this time on Butters. Yeah, my scooter’s name is Butters. As in “I dunno you guys, are you sure this is a good idea?” while Cartman unveils yet another devious scheme involving shaming the boy who knows no shame…
