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I’ve been asked to write about my perspective; a woman’s personal perspective about riding a motorcycle. Hmmmm… there are so many avenues this could take, so many things about riding that I love, that it leaves the door wide open as to what I should put down on paper. But today I’m going to write about what’s in my rearview mirror, or my side mirrors as they are technically called, when I’m riding my motorcycle down the road and the feelings that view evokes in me. I love going on rides with all my girlfriends, whether it’s a short ride to dinner, a day long 300 mile ride or a 10 day bike trip. They are all fun and I’m usually Road Capt., hence the fantastic view of friendship in my mirrors. To my hubby and all my biker buddy boys, I love riding with you too, but there’s a different camaraderie I have with my gal pals, that makes our adventures special. Riding is pure bliss, but for me to ride and see a line of women behind me, all on their motorcycles, enjoying the freedom riding provides, brings joy to my soul. There’s no feeling like it as we soar along on the wings of our private chariots, quietly listening to the thoughts in our own heads, yet somehow sharing them amongst ourselves as we all glide thru the breeze. Occasionally I will point something out and in my mirrors I will see all heads turning to look at a fantastic view. It may be a beautiful sky, an old barn, or a flock of ostrich’s. There are so many interesting things you’ll see when riding along the back roads, through the countryside and sometimes even when in cities, although I prefer those days of quiet serenity, lost in the wonder & beauty of nature. On the days when we are in congested traffic or have to travel through a town to get to those scenic roads we so crave, I’m on high alert, watching for all obstacles, so I can warn all those that are in my rear view, trusting me to guide them. Alerting them of danger, a pothole, road debris or a cager who’s not as attentive as I am. Feeling rather like a mother hen, I’m constantly checking my mirrors to make sure I haven’t lost any of my “chicks.” Biker chicks that is. It’s then that the rear view becomes increasingly important, as I lead them to more peaceful pastures, where that relaxed state can once again take over. That proud sense of empowerment that lies in a group of ladies, conquering...
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Daoud (motorcycle buddy) knows me too well. When I had coffee with him last Saturday, he chuckled and noted that I’d already washed the Harley after getting home from my Missoula trip two days earlier. I love shiny things. But I’m ahead of myself. Let’s back up to 12 July. I left Goldendale, WA and headed into the Columbia River gorge. I was backtracking along Lewis & Clark’s final passage on their way to the Pacific in 1804. In the rising heat of my second day on the road, I stopped in Hat Rock State Park for a break. Lewis & Clark described this odd landscape feature, something like a mini Devil’s Tower. The lovely little park is very well maintained, shady, and has interesting signage about L&C and Native Americans of the area. As you roll along the arid expanse of eastern Washington and Oregon, the roads cut through some of the deepest lava flows on earth. Into that basalt, the mighty Columbia has carved a massive gorge that defines a substantial portion of the border between the two states. A stark and fascinating feature of eastern Washington is the Scablands. This unique landscape was formed by the torrent of water released by the drainage (multiple times) of ice-age Lake Missoula. While researching the route for my trip, I stumbled upon a photo of Palouse Falls, which I’d never heard of. I decided to see it, as it cascades over cliffs that are part of the scablands. Out of Walla Walla, I followed Hwy 12 through the pastoral valleys that lead through the small towns of Waitsburg and Dayton. I then turned onto smaller Hwy 261 for 20 miles (32 km) before getting to the cutoff for the falls. This was a two-mile-long gravel road off of what was already a tiny road out in the middle of nowhere. But the park itself was lovely. Very few people were in the park. The Palouse River drops 200 feet (61 m) over the basalt cliffs before continuing towards a confluence with the Snake River downstream. One can easily see that a much larger falls once thundered across here. This plaque was also in the park. Having done archaeology, I’d love to see the sites this plaque refers to: The heat at the falls was intense but it got hotter as I continued on to my destination for the night. When I reached Clarkston/Lewiston around 5:00 pm, it was over 100 degrees (over 37.7 C) and I was still in leathers. I was also near switching to my reserve gas setting for the second time in the day. But I...
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The sum of any journey must be more than miles or else what’s the point of going? My recent trip on the Harley was taken to see friends, put miles on two wheels and, as I repeatedly said, to “clear my head.” Funny thing. My head came along for the ride. More on that shortly. Motorcycle metrics Vehicle: 2003 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic Route: As shown below Distance: 1493.3 miles (2403.2 km) Fuel burn: 37.432 gallons (141.7 liters) Average MPG: 40 Most expensive fuel: $4.099/gallon in Bellevue The Heritage is an extremely comfortable ride. I’ve ridden it for over six hours in a day with little fatigue. The thing that gets the most tired for me is my throttle wrist. For a 700-lbs (317.5 kg) vehicle, it’s also responsive in all five gears, even if it’s not a crotch rocket. Harley Davidson is my religion, given that I have no religion. Seeking sophos Sophos (or sophia) means “wise” or “wisdom” and originally was used to describe anyone with expertise in a specific domain of knowledge or craft. Even a charioteer could be a sophoi. A charioteer I’m not but a dedicated rider I am, forever trying to describe a better curve. But that’s a joy for me. Not like the search for sophos that goes on in my head, which is eternally more problematic. This was apparent the first day out, when instead of clearing my head, it was full of more chatter than usual. View July 2012 in a larger map Some of the chatter involved my choice of route, as in “This route was a stupid choice.” Goldendale, WA, my first stop, is not a 5-Star destination (or even 2-Star). I’d only expected to spend the first night there but I found its rural-small-town desertion a bit depressing. Still, no choice of route can truly be stupid. That’s absurd. Only thinking makes it so; no less true for Goldendale than Denmark. After dinner I decided to ride. The young woman at the Quality Inn told me that the Columbia River was only ten minutes away and that I could ride down to “Stonehedge.” I didn’t correct her. After all, the one on the Columbia is not a Neolithic earthwork but a concrete war memorial that could as easily be called a “hedge” as a “henge.” The Maryhill Stonehenge is a full-size, astronomically-aligned replica of Stonehenge located in Maryhill, Washington (Wikipedia). It’s impressive, as was Samuel Hill’s motivation for building it. Each day of the trip brought its own gifts and challenges. I’ll post more about that in the coming days along with more pictures. However, I’m...
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It’s kind of weird looking back. I never had any real interest in motorcycles growing up. My only real tie to motorcycles was through my dad. He rode a motorcycle throughout college for its economic value but eventually sold it because winters in Pennsylvania were not conducive to riding a motorcycle, nor safe for that matter. It was probably when I saw the Yamaha VMax Cruiser, pictured on the left, that I really developed the drive to ride. Its design is beautiful and elegant, and I knew as soon as I saw it that I wanted it one day. Once I decided to ride, it was a matter of learning. I knew I needed to take a class, or perhaps a series of classes, to learn to ride. My first step was to take a course that taught me the basics of riding, including what to wear, how to operate the bike, and the safety precautions I needed to understand and utilize. Once I felt comfortable with the basics and general riding, I got my license. I eventually bought a “naked” bike, also known as a standard. I did a lot of research before buying it. Based on my research, I found that a naked bike is best for beginners because they’re: Easier to learn to ride. Maneuvering a standard bike involves less skill than other motorcycles. Generally minimalistic. There are fewer things to damage if the bike falls. Generally less expensive. I also bought all of the protective gear I’d need, i.e. a DOT approved helmet and a riding jacket; I learned in my safety course that I needed to always wear pants, full coverage shoes, and gloves that would protect me if I fell. Once I started riding, I took it slow at first; I didn’t jump on a highway immediately or any other fast paced environments. After my safety course, I really realized how dangerous motorcycles could be; they don’t have the external protection passenger vehicles do and, many times, other motorists don’t see us. The Motorist to Motorcyclist Transformation There was little resistance when I began riding; as I said, my father rode, so my family was generally okay with the idea from a non-safety aspect. In terms of safety, though, they were a bit hesitant when I first told them I wanted to be a motorcyclist. And when I first began riding, I understood why. Learning something new is always challenging, but riding a motorcycle around others as a beginner was certainly eye opening. It’s not that I was ever in immediate danger; it was just the feeling of vulnerability. I didn’t feel experienced...
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