All posts by jasonwd

Too fast too hot

I sneaked around in Sam’s place during the wee hours packing Ginko and stealing ice from his freezer. It couldn’t be a better place to start; the walls are covered with memorabilia from the #TransAmericaTrail.

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So I stuff the banana The Saint gave me into my mouth as I head off for the trail head of Mississippi through the morning mist, not knowing what the day would bring and in the excitement forget my tank is almost empty. I head north into Tennessee and an old skool filling station with Lucretia at the helm.
She has a big Harley and dreams of heading west the long way too but her son thinks she’s crazy. Such a sweet lady. She saw the lock of hair stuck to my windscreen that has been my totem of Anne and offered some of her own.

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I say to Lucretia- take that Harley and go. Go West.

Whilst I was talking to her I noticed some swanky earplugs on a string round the neck of one of Lucretia’s gas station regulars, commented that I keep loosing mine and he just gave me a pair. What lovely people.

Onward to the #TransAmericaTrail with the weird hum of the knobblies adding to Ginko’s growl we turn onto the trail itself and are instantly presented with rough washed out dirt, fallen trees, creek crossings and sand.
BANG! You’re on the #TransAmericaTrail. Through forests, wide dirt, narrow dirt, shale, stones, sand, pebbles. Up and down the Mississippi lands I too soon run out of water because it is so hot.

Bear in mind I’ve lived in Thailand; it’s hot there but nothing on this. Yesterday was the hottest I have ever been in my life. I drank coming on six litres of water and pee’d twice.

I was searching and searching for water but there was not a soul to be seen. They were all cocooned in their air conditioned mansions and trailers. A dirty creek provided some relief as I splashed water over myself and continued until I saw a dude cutting grass. He asked where I was going and I replied ’Oregon, the hard way’. Turns out he was an Oregon native, a musician who just finished recording at Muscle Shoals. He was on his last sip, so I asked for directions and ended up at a sweet little gas station where the owner and her husband fed and entertained me. Her Philly Cheesesteak was excellent and I scored some ice. Her husband recounted stories of bikes and mower dude told me of his Goldwing.

Then a group of younger Mississippians arrived. These are the people your parents warn you to avoid with their thick accents and tattoos. They were the nicest, most friendly and generous people of their age I have come across. Genuinely interested and happy to see someone traveling, they could only offer support and their most sincere best wishes. Billy (in the red shirt) was in the army and traveled to Hungary and Ireland; he collects artefacts and gave me a precious Indian Arrow head which he suggested I could sell but would never dare. These are the totems by which to remember such great people.

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Gary, Stephanie, Billy and the twat in the tinfoil suit.

The all told me to avoid the next road because they were finishing bridges but I told them there was probably adventure there and I set off to find the bridges were, indeed, out but by the power of Ginko we conquered by deftly avoiding bulldozers and ploughing through the fresh soil.

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Motoring down the dry trail full of ice water and cheesesteak I suddenly encountered a bit of damp road. This very quickly turned to the slick slimy sticky mud that I believe Mississippi is famous for and in very slow motion Ginko was in a ditch of slop.

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The stuff is hard to walk in.

Off come the panniers and within 5 minutes appears Honey Waggon Billy. (Please correct me if I’m wrong with the name!)
Another fine specimen of southern friendliness, he muddies himself to help a complete idiot who dropped his poor bike in a mud ditch.
We needed all of his 6 wheels driving to get my two out and towed Ginko by her sturdy steel frame. I push-motored her to a safe spot, loaded up and by-passed what Honey Wagon Billy told me was much worse up the trail. Apparently they had just graded the road and it rained so hard it was all under water. Nasty.

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More very remote trails through the woods ended me at Kathys Kwik Stop and a very bored Becky, who made me a very tasty sandwich. She spends her day looking listfully out the window or surfing the web in her phone, then selling dirty fuel (Ginko hates it) and chewing tobacco.

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More trails and me getting to the point where I needed to stop and pushing on ensued. So I dropped her again.

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Deep deep sand and a very hot and tired Jason resulted in so much sweat it was dripping off all my fingers and I couldn’t see. The panniers and my suit ended up on an ant hill and the extreme effort of getting Ginko out of that sand resulted in me coming off the trail and into a motel.

Knackered.

Location:Highway 6 E,Batesville,United States

To read the next exciting instalment click here – Arkansas to Oklahoma – Saas and Okies

Stuck

I hadn’t thought I’d get stuck quite so quickly but, like an idiot, I tried to ride onto the beach to get Ginko as far East as I could.

The morning was spent attaching all the luggage and basically trying to stay with Anne as long as I could. This involved last minute wardrobe changes, working out where my umbrella goes and my better half stuffing items I deemed unnecessary (but were very much so) into various crevices on Ginko. All this really should have been done the day before, which would have probably worsened my predicament.

The ride down was pretty uneventful, except my bank not thinking that making many $10 fuel purchases and one large cash withdrawal was a legitimate thing to do, so they stopped my card. Bastards. How about calling me first; eh?

Every time I stop people comment; “nice bike, where you headed?”. When I tell them “Oregon, via Tennessee, off-road” I get many reactions, mostly disbelief and teeth sucking. Brave has been said, but at this juncture I’d say stupid, hence getting stuck in quicksand on the first day.

So I finally get to the beach in New Jersey, ask the lovely garbage crew if I can go into their yard, a sneaky beach entrance I found on Google Earth, and merryily piont Ginko toward the dark waves.
Now, earlier I’d met this fascinating camp stoner dude who chatted whilst I donned the Gimp Suit. He didn’t seem to mind the ever increasing downpour, asked quizzically and meandered off. I took this as my cue and happily headed toward sandy doom. It was way too late to even get a photo but I’d co e that far and needed to get to the sea.

AAAAND…stuck. Road tyres are not at all the best thing for riding on sand. This sand was quicksand. Left for more than 10 seconds Ginko would sink, tyre deep.

It took my 150lbs an hour to get her 500lbs out, then another two hours to find somewhere to stay. Everywhere was full. I hung around long enough to nab the room of a woman who’s card didn’t work, but her friend appeared in a very short time so I scored!

Day two was way better. I must have covered 600 miles and came to a lovely, if a bit fauna et traffica noisy campsite.
The roads to get here in Salem, Virginia are the best I have ever driven. Including the Alps. Hopefully the GoPro videos will show the incredible roller coaster cambered 2nd gear corners and dappled sun over cartoon like undulations through countryside that seemed, to me, a mixture of my Zimbabwean childhood and Kentish upbringing.

So many thanks to Andrew for the pep talk and of course Anne who is being so much more than a partner should be.

 

Click here to read the next instalment –  Virginia to Alabama – Alabama Ho?

 

First Days. What’s the plan?

As my leave date is fast approaching the plan gelled. Kind of motivated by tyre changes I have elected to take three days to ride to Corinth, Mississippi via a stop to see the sea in New Jersey and overnight somewhere near Washington DC, then on to Knoxville, Tennessee where I’ll dabble in the dirt on the way to Corinth. The weather will dictate how much dirt I partake in because on mainly street tyres things get bad fast if the weather is not playing nice. So to sum up:

Day 1: Saturday – Montreal > West of Washington DC
Day 2: Sunday – DC > Knoxville, TN
Day 3: Monday – Knoxville, TN > Corinth, MS

The significance of Corinth is that Sam Correro lives there. He’s the dude that fathered the Trans America Trail and I have cajoled him into bringing me some extra maps. It also seems a convenient place to get enough milage from my current tyres and swap them out for knobblies. In ordering the replacement knobs I happened to be exposed to that famous southern hospitality simply by picking up the phone!

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Africa Twin – Opinion

There is a weird process that you go through with a brand new bike which is very similar do you want to go through with a second hand bike but slightly different because it’s an unproven quantity.
Well, a couple of days ago I took Ginko, my Africa Twin, out on what I would consider to be her first real ride and I was mightily impressed. You might be thinking ‘oh, he’s been waiting ages for this bloody thing, of course he’s going to love it’.

No. I was expecting some kind of slightly more refined thumper that does everything kinda okay, but what I got is something that is pretty darn incredible for 95% of people who will throw their leg over it. I know a few people who can ride a sports bike until it’s pegs are ground to dust and a lot of people who can whip a 40ft motorcross double and I’m not talking about them. They’re the very ends of the bell curve who need a precision tool but for pretty much everyone else, this bike will rule every scenario.

On Deck

Uncovering her, turning round, and rolling off the deck into the garden, I wiggle past the gate into the alley and click the key. The dash lights up displays CRF (just in case you forgot you were riding Hondas primo off road tool). At this point I always get a little thrill from the fuel pump making that weeeeezt noise, then something slightly more unusual happens. The bike clunks the gearbox into neutral. Then I pause and press the other end of the engine kill switch and she’s instantly alive and at a slow idle. With a flick of the throttle an aural treat in the form of a deep v-twin growl meets you. Also odd because the engine has no letters in its configuration.
Once aboard, the stand up you press the gear selector twice, to engage sport2, and the gearbox responds with the normal clunk you’d get from a conventional bike and it very gently rocks forward. With a positive throttle input you are quickly away and bumbling along in second gear before you have even noticed the cats ambling with heads cocked to the weird intrusion on their battlefield. At the end of the alley a slight rise meets the road with a blind view to the pavement. Here you don’t even think as the bike senses your trepidation and slightly firmly engages first gear and you slow to an uphill stop. It’s useful, I think, to point out the subtle nuances of the bike’s brain. I suspect the Honda engineers spent months, years even, not on the blindingly quick headline “it shifts like a formula one car” but rather the delicate situations like gently slowing down uphill and pulling out from an alley with nursery school murals enlivening the walls.

I flip my dark visor down and firmly grab some throttle, sweeping confidently into the yellow morning light. This process, I quickly learned, needs to be positive because with such a tall bike you don’t want the gearbox to be at all hesitant and bleed off power.
Montreal, I’ve said before, has some of the worst paved roads of any city I have traveled over. Yeah, I’ve lived in Switzerland but I’m talking more on the third world end of the scale of pavement. This in itself would be the perfect excuse to own a bike with competition level off-road suspension, but for me it’s just a welcome symptom of the situation. In another world I would have bought a Panagali or a VFR and I’m sure glad I didn’t. Like any vehicle here it would just get ruined.
Through the empty 6am streets there is just that blissful smug feeling of being awake to appreciate the quiet as the bike gently moves from light to light. The real thing I miss, to be honest is being able to make vroom vroom noises with the throttle. I tried when I got the bike, by selecting neutral whilst rolling to a stop, but she (the bike) just made me look like a 16 year old trying to wheelie a 50cc scooter. The gearbox really doesn’t want you to be in neutral whilst moving.

When I bore of bumbling from light to light I press the little manual bottom and, instead entertain myself with the deeply satisfying noises of the two 500cc pistons on overrun. To non car nerds that’s when you decelerate whilst in gear, that very low noise trucks make when slowing down. Satisfying.

Accelerate press + button, press – button; irritate everyone.

Highway

Then comes the magic part of owning any bike past 20HP. Onramps! The Africa Twin has a lot of torque, the advantage of having two large pistons, which one can make full use of on the lead up to a highway. Unless you have owned a bike, or a very fast car, you’ll not know the pleasure of passing motorway speed traffic in such a short distance. The great thing is, with the silicone brained gearbox, you just pin the throttle and the bike decides how many gears to drop then you’re away. At quite some speed.

The rest of the highway experience is fairly conventional. Comfortable, fast overtakes and the ability to cruise at an easy 150km/h (or just under a hundred for you metrically challenged out there). There is some buzz through the bars compared to my VFR800 and the ‘screen is juuuust a tad low for my 5’11” (in cubans) frame. This means adopting a cruiser style slouch for long stints to prevent head buffeting from turbulence. I’m yet to see what fuel consumption really is because of random usage (read: Jason using way too much throttle at very inefficient times) and, of course, the tightness of a new engine.

Dirt


DirtyThis, I suppose,  I will have a lot to say about in a month’s time but for now all I can tell you is that the bike feels very light when on the pegs, compared to when hefting it around with the engine off. On her second day I decided to forego the usual preening that happens with a new possession and just give her the dirt. I found a gravel road and gave her the beans, covering the poor thing in a layer of fine dust. The traction control really doesn’t like being on III when on the loose and makes the engine sound like a stuttering oaf trying to say ‘dominos’. The weirdest thing is seeing the ‘Navigation Tower’ (the bit with the instruments and screen on it) yawing back and forth as the rear wheel slews around  and the front wheel points where you’re going. After that I ventured out onto some ATV trails and got very muddy. The stock tyres are really quite scary when in the gloop and you really remember you’re aboard a 220kg 1000cc bike when it lunges to the side and you try and dab it upright. In doing this one also encounters the passenger footrests; with your calf muscle. The things stick out a huge amount and now I have a large bruise on my leg. I would have taken them off, except they provide a very good sticky outtie bit at the back for the foregone topple.

IMG_7922Sand is a similar story to the mud. On Scotch Road, about 30min West of Montreal there is a great sandy playground. I powered into it, got on an off-camber part and stopped. Then tried to continue and the tyres refused to provide any traction so I did what any self respecting nerd would do and got off to take a photo.

Twisties

Now exiting a pretty rough road on to one of the finest pieces of twisty back road around here is a weird experience on this machine. One moment you’re whooping through dirt troughs and sliding around gravel corners and the next you seem to be on some kind of street carving monster with such fantastic power delivery that the grin never ceases. I know a lot of people complain about the suspension on the road, but to me it provides the perfect platform for rough back roads. I’m never scared about bottoming the suspension on a fast corner and being high-sided off. That in combination with the DCT gearbox thrusting you out of corners and downshifting aggressively for thight bends as you brake makes for a special back-roads carver. I doubt if a litre sports bike would gain much ground.

Computer

ComputerOne thing I’m really not used to is having such an advanced computer on the bike. It basically has an odometer and two trip computers. The trips are connected to separate MPG readers that show the MPG over the period of the current trip until you reset it. I am keeping one as a kind of fuel meter at the moment and the other for more specific trip related stuff, when I have a specific destination that is. Both these are re-setable by holding the ‘SET’ button clustered in the myriad buttons on the left. I have found that, on occasion, I have been randomly flashing people with the lights rather than cycling up the computer’s functions because the buttons for the high beam are very closely located.

There is also a curious countdown odometer Honda call ‘subtraction trip’ which is a bit of a pain to set. presumably it is a service countdown?

The ‘SET’ function cycles through the clock, weird countdown odometer, whether you want an immobiliser light flashing, units (km/h, mph etc) and really irritatingly. the brightness of the display. I like it to match the GPS so tend to fiddle with this whilst riding. To do that you have to press the ‘SET’ and ‘DOWN’ buttons simultaneously, which is possible but a chore.

Conclusion (for now)

Returning home to the alley I scrape open the rear gate and ride Ginko up the 10″ step to the deck. Sometimes it feels like I’m going to go right through the window into the kitchen but she settles, I kick the stand down rest her for the night.

It’s a great, great bike. I put her cover on whilst thinking I wish I had the income to treat her as a raucous plaything that I could ride like I stole. But I paid what is, to me, an awful lot of money so it will take a bit of time until the responsibility of that massive purchase tarnishes enough for me to treat her like the beast she really is. We’ll see on the TAT?

 

Garmin Installation

Garmin 696LM
GPS mounted

The problem with motorbikes is you can’t really drink a latte whilst driving with your knees and texting with the other hand. This general problem is exacerbated by the issue of navigation. It’s all very well sticking your phone in some cheap cradle and jabbing at it between glances up at the irritating cyclist chicane in a car but on a motorcycle you have gloves on and, of course, that $10 mount that keeps falling off the windscreen would be fatal to your device on a motorbike.

Of course Touratech make an amazing solution. Think of a motorbike problem and the inventive Germans have already come up with a shining (stainless steel) doodad that does the job perfectly. Fine for the empty nesters with a savings plan and a house load of cash but I’m not really prepared to spend the same amount of cash on a bracket as the actual magic compass.

In steps my great mate Adam. The man who can make art of marshmallow sticks and hew a very convincing Dread Pirate Roberts sword from some scrap aluminium. In the usual ‘men standing around motorcycle drinking beer’ moment Adam figures a solution and the next day a custom Honda Africa Twin Garmin 695LM bracket is on Ginko, after a little light hacksawing of screws. I just

Custom Mounting Bracket
Adam’s Custom Mounting Bracket

hope that sword isn’t a couple of inches shy of some aluminium! The great thing about the solution is the GPS is pretty much on the same plane as the bike instruments, not jutting out like some giant technological carbuncle or, as Garmin would have, attached to my non-existent clutch lever hovering in the air on a RAM mount.

The other great problem was the bloody massive nest of cables that is on the back of the Garmin mount. I reckon the target market must be those massive Harleys with the HUUUUGE fairings because there was literally two meters of wire and connectors for speakers, microphone, power and a USB connection for the XM radio receiver that I intended to keep. All that was neatly entombed in a rubbery casket at the end of this massive cable. Out came the scalpel and hacking away at the block I went, eventually separating all the tiny hand soldered joints contained within. That was quite some job, but I wasn’t in the humour to re-join all those cables and I wanted to keep the USB length because I planned on putting the XM antenna on the back of Ginko, away from the GPS, so really needed that extra cable length. All the other cables I beheaded because I don’t plan on blasting Purple Rain from my Harley’s external speakers for the world to enjoy. Why do they do that?

I wanted to wire the GPS and the USB socket up to the original accessories socket behind the front fairing. This meant buying a special connector from the excellently named Eastern Beaver in Japan and disrobing Ginko of her front plastics. After which I jammed everything in there and hope like hell that none of the fuses blow because getting the fairing back on is some kind of Japanese logic puzzle that I don’t really want to have a go at in the middle of the desert!

It all seems to work well, but in retrospect I wouldn’t get the Oxford USB socket for the Africa Twin because the cap is a pain in the ass to remove and it really is not at all waterproof when the cap is off. In fact it will probably fill up with water and short out the whole proceedings, leaving me to fend off banjo wielding pig fetishists.

 

 

 

Africa Twin – It Came!

You know when you’re just into your work on a Monday morning? You’ve looked at all the crappy email and stupid Facebook posts then work tasks and juuuust started past the procrastination? Yeah, I was there and my phone rings. Well.. last week my friend Pierre pranked me on the phone by trying to make out he was the dealership and the bike was here. But this time it was the dealer.

Bike Start
The goofy look you get when you first start your new bike

The work I needed to do seemed to take a solar cycle, then I got hold of my boots, jacket and helmet and headed to the bank for the giant cheque; walking down the street like a vagrant in flip-flops trying to hold a really awkward, heavy leather jacket over one arm and a backpack, boots in a crappy plastic bag and a helmet in the other.

The bank queue was…  … have you seen the situation in Zimbabwe with lines for US Dollars going from the town to the bush? Then I stumble out the bank clutching all this crap and try to hail a cab. I hate taxis. Nearly as much as waiting to pay at restaurants. For some reason the whole interaction really irritates me. Uber is so much of a better service.

BoxI get to Excel Moto was shown the giant box, introduced to the charming, professional, charismatic and incredibly tolerant of idiot customers who want their toys, Franklyn, the chief wrench. Why do they call them ‘techs’ in the ‘States? They aren’t ‘technicians’ they are mechanics. I have to apologise to poor Frank because I asked him about himself then got totally distracted when we approached the box and started ignoring him!

 

The video serves the story, but the TL:DR is:

Opened box, removed frame, forklifted bike to workshop, lifted bike with winch on ceiling, fitted front fender and wheel, fitted screen, laughed about ridiculously small tool set, fitted stupidly difficult to install battery, filled with fuel and started. With glee.

I handed the cheque over, did the paperwork and Ali l asked me if there was anything I didn’t know about the bike as that was normally the point where he would brief customers about the bike. The man knew by then what a total nerd he was dealing with. A nerd who had already read a scanned version of the manual online. I slung my gear on, pushed Ginko out, fired her up and wobbled off whilst trying to work out what the computer was doing with the clutch.

Next time on Jason’s fascinating world of motorbike adventures; a ride!IMG_7775

Closed Track Test in Quebec

crusing
Photoshop those stripes out and this is me today… cruising to 100%. In a tennis court.

Having passed the, really quite difficult snd stressful, theory test a few weeks ago I got to hang around in a car park of a government facility with a gaggle (what is the collective noun for motorcyclists?) of downy feathered noob ducklings and their instructors. Truth be told, a fair few of these blokes ain’t that green because a few of them have been riding around on their new toys already. Naughty! I felt a bit of a fraud in my fly encrusted Dainese leather jacket and battered Sidi boots whilst they had all this shiny new kit on.

Anyhow, after grabbing the necessary paperwork the first confusion started “Where is your attestation from the riding school that you have taken the course?”; I didn’t need it… paperwork… bureaucracy.. etc.

 

Sooo…  the ‘Closed Track Test’ consists of testing basic motorbike skills with seven tasks and is introduced by a lovely examiner who, after wheeling various sensors around and setting up, the proceed to describe each task at great length with hilarious anecdotes. None of which I understood because of his incredible accent. Oh and because I can’t understand a word of Quebecois.

Closed track test
Boring scene of the SAAQ test area

Despite getting there 20 minutes early, due to the whole missing attestation thing I ended up almost last to hop on the weird belt driven 650cc cruiser that the very lovely Morties Driving School rented me. Actually, thinking of it… $110 is the most I have spent on a ride that lasted less than five minutes. The money, for Morty, is really in having four brand new bikes and an instructor hanging around all morning. You can use your own bike, but you’d have to ride it there and that would be illegal; not that I have a bloody bike yet, nor any idea when it will arrive. How come I can buy a pair of earbuds from China for $4.99 and get notified if the package handler in the Chicago depot farts but no-one at Honda Canada knows where the massive box containing my hugely expensive motorbike is?

Back to the tasks… On the weird cruiser thing, have a go with the clutch; brakes seem nippy and scoot off to your man toting the clipboard and massive control box with the aerial. He could have been a crane operator in another life. Seemingly cool with me not understanding a word, he repeats what seemed like very verbose French instructions in curt friendly English.

Task One – Gears and Stop

“Second gear and stop by the red” – Off we go through the little flappy tabs glued to the asphalt, second gear and stop.

Task Two – Slalom

Scribble scribble “Now slalom! Second gear by the yellow tabs then slalom” says examiner man. Second gear left right left then back to the start down the middle.

Task Three – Slow Race

“Now slow test!” The idea here is you go through these sensors that measure in, out and time in the special zone. I must say; cruisers are weird. Having your feet in front of you really doesn’t do balance any good. Hence why the theory test had so many questions about counterbalancing. So you ride up to the sensors, lower your speed and have to ride between two points in five seconds or longer.

Task Four – Slow Corner

“Go round here and come back” – A mildly tight 90º corner and back to the same spot.

Task Five – Cornering

“So now round in a fast circle.” – Just imagine riding round the perimeter of a tennis court in second gear. That’s what I did.

Task Six – Emergency Manoeuvre

“20km/h look at the arrow… go that way”. He points to a light box at the end that looks like this [<-O->]. When you have reached 20km/h the arrow left or right arrow lights up randomly. You go that way. One of my compatriots went the opposite way and he was still fine.

Task Seven –  Emergency Braking

“Same thing as before; now stop when it’s red!” He nods, I do the strangely alien (as there is nothing for tens of meters around us) check left, right, left drummed into us by Mortie’s instructors and set off to my 20km/h and slam on the anchors.

Mr 80s electronics then cheerfully tells me I aced it and that “You’ll pass the road test no problem” and sends me off with a pink paperclip fastened bundle of papers where I negotiate the multitude of weird foreigners attempting to get Quebec driving legal in the SAAQ hall of red LED hieroglyphics displays.

Two hours later, after waiting ages then chatted to by a lovely teller who was very apologetic, I leave lighter of wallet, mildly confused with another test booked for a week’s time.

I suppose, at least I get to miss all this BS…

 

 

 

Update: here’s a video showing the whole thing

Continue reading Closed Track Test in Quebec