Adaptive Curmudgeon

The events of my last ride were caught on video:

False fear jacks people up! Look around. It’s the sixth month of 2020 and there hasn’t been a single week in which fear wasn’t driving events. Most of the populace has become ridiculously risk averse; the rest throw tantrums. The adults who operate civilization struggle to hold ground. Witch burners march from their strongholds in HR departments, mobs wreck their own cities, and yet very little of the fear is real. It’s all bullshit.

[Whoa! Who left this soapbox here? Hmm… maybe I’ll stand on this thing. Now, where was I?]

The thing about fear is that it’s normal and you ought to have some. You need actual (not false) fear to stay rational. You should also have a little risk. If you’re not taking at least some risks, you’re already dead. If your life is too soft and riskless; you lack true fear and tend to get wound up over pointless bullshit fear. Frothing over CNN’s newest fake news doesn’t help anyone.

Choose a real risk. One that’s personal and relevant. Use the challenge to help yourself level up.

I fear sand.

My little dirtbike stumbles on sand. I didn’t know that about dirt bikes. Until I learn how to handle sand, I can’t ride fat and mellow like I’d prefer. I’m working on it. I’ll get better. I’ll win in the end…

My previous trail ride’s sketchy performance on sand had me unnerved. I ordered up a new front tire. It would take a while to arrive.

Many people would park the bike and wait. It didn’t want to do that. But, in subtle ways, I began finding reasons to stay home instead of taking another ride. If I was being honest with myself, I was wimping out. The sand had spooked me.

I decided to try a different trail system; maybe I would find more favorable conditions? Unexpectedly, I bumped into a second mental block. I intended all along to buy an expensive loading ramp called a “StepRamp-B6”. My logic was that I will always load and unload the motorcycle solo and my truck is pretty tall. (The Internet is awash with videos of motorcycle loading “mishaps”. They’re hilarious and terrifying.) During the COVID insanity I forgot all about ordering the ramp. Now, probably due to the sand, I started shying away from loading my bike onto the Dodge. From time to time I’d glance at the weather and think “I ought to go for a spin on Honey Badger”. Then I’d fret over muscling the little bike into my truck and find something else to do.

This is how fear gets you, the subtle damage is a growing list of opportunities lost and experiences forgone. (Is not 2020 a demonstration of small losses due to events and large ones due to fear?) I threw down the gauntlet (at myself); “two days from now I’m going riding or I will die trying”.

Well intended but not the best timing.

In this world of luxury, most people don’t know there are houses without air conditioning. I have such a house. I usually get by just fine. Every now and then a heat wave kicks my ass. When that happens, I don’t get any sleep for several consecutive days. It was the middle of a heat wave. I’m not saying this to whine but so you know I was probably too tired to be having adventures.

It was a very hot day. About 2:00pm, when the sun was high in the sky I headed to my truck to start loading it. Walking to the truck, my face melted off. (Okay fine, it wasn’t quite as bad as that dude from Indiana Jones but it sure felt like it.) I did an about-face, headed for my cellar which is cold and dank and dungeon like; the coolest location at hand. I flopped into a chair and immediately fell asleep.

Hours later, partially rested but well behind schedule, I tried again. Rather than load the bike into my tall truck I loaded it into my trailer. (I have an adequate ramp if not the elaborate one I really want. Despite my concerns, the load up was easy.) Unfortunately, the trailer lights were kaput. (I can’t blame the trailer. I’ve hauled enough firewood on it to wear out any consumer product. Then I built a boat and started using the utility trailer as if it were a submersible boat trailer. The wiring has been patched and replaced and torn up by stumps and doused on boat ramps etc… I’ve gotten my money out of it.)

I could depart without trailer lights. During the day, no one would notice. Coming back at night was a different issue. I have magnetic trailer lights as a backup but I had no idea where they were. I decided to stop at an auto parts store on the way to the trailhead. I’d buy another set of magnetic lights. Sometimes you have to pay to play.

The air-conditioned cab of my truck was pure luxury! Just as I pulled into the auto parts store, the phone rang. It was an important call so I sat in the idling truck for some time while I on the phone. God bless air conditioning! Just before my phone call was over, the auto parts store closed for the day. Dammit!

Having idled in the heat for quite a while, I rolled out again. I carry a lot of stuff in my truck. Maybe the magnetic lights were in there somewhere? I’d get to the trailhead and search the truck. If I found them I’d go riding. If not, I’d drive home in the daylight and enjoy more wonderful AC.

I got lost on the way to the trailhead. Meanwhile, my Dodge was pissed off about idling in parking lots and driving slowly on country roads. In a heat wave, blasting cool highway air over that radiator is important. Luckily, I found the trailhead before I melted my truck. I found the lights in my toolbox too. The best news of all? I was only half a mile from a bar!

The sign said it had an open grill. I would do my trail ride and reward myself with a “post adventure cheeseburger”! I unloaded the bike, suited up in riding gear, and rolled out.

I felt good. I’d confronted my fears. I was riding instead of waiting for a new tire. I’d loaded the bike and unloaded it. I’d found a new place to explore. I’d found my trailer lights. I’d even found a bar. Win!

It didn’t last long. Almost immediately, the trail turned into deep sand. ATVs had gone by (it’s their trail after all) and they’d piled up the sand. It was heaped like moguls on a ski run. I had my hands full keeping Honey Badger upright.

On a particularly deep patch the front tire went from sketchy to useless. It was plowing a furrow and catching no traction. I leaned back to take weight off the front forks, goosed the throttle to get up on top, and rode right into a tree.

Some days are like that.

I don’t want to oversell the situation. It was not even remotely bad ass.

This wasn’t an impressive, hard core, high speed, rooster tail of dirt flinging into the sky, sponsored by Red Bull, spectacular maneuver. Nope. It was a guy who ought to be old enough to know better careening through the sand like a fuckin’ idiot. It was a stubby little tree with a root ball that was raised up because the sand around had been eroded away. The good news is the little hill took most of my momentum and gently deflected it.

So, “hit a tree” isn’t an apt description. I ramped over a sandy pitcher’s mound that sported a single tree, bounced off it like a tennis ball, rolled ass over teakettle back onto the trail, and came to a stop in a big stupid heap.

I’m glad nobody saw me.

The wreck perfectly matched the hash I’d made of the whole day. Luckily I was uninjured. Honey Badger was fine too. However, no 4 stroke engine likes being at the angles I’d just inflicted (luckily it’d stalled). I see now, why they make 2 stroke bikes.

I staggered to my feet and stood up the bike (how many times will I benefit from the fact that it’s easy to pick up?). I let it sit on the kickstand so the oil could migrated back down where it belonged. I don’t know if it was necessary but that’s what I did. I apologized to the inert machine.

The worst part was the location. I was still within site of my Dodge! I hadn’t made it beyond the trailhead’s field of view. Pathetic!

TW200 motorcycles are reputed to be tough. It wasn’t my intention to need that ruggedness but apparently I do. I didn’t know I’d ride like a bike abusing maniac. It just seems to happen. I’m glad Honey Badger is a brick shithouse. (I’m also glad my old safety gear was adequate! I’ve got to get better gear soon!!!)

The only damage is a smashed rear turn signal. I’d been thinking of upgrading to LEDs but hadn’t budgeted the money. I guess that decision has been made.

It was still blazing hot, there was only an hour left of daylight, and I was within sight of my truck. You might think I’d quit. Not a chance!

I stuffed the broken lens in my luggage and rode on. Why the hell not?

I only covered about 10 miles that trip. Some of the trail was actually very fun. The rest was sandy and I barely stayed upright. I saw some cool little flowers and found a shady spot to rest out of the sun. I may have found a potential fishing spot. Aside from getting baked in the heat and smashing into a tree, it was a fun ride.

I got back to the trailhead as the sun was setting. The bar’s kitchen had closed 15 minutes before my arrival.

Some days are like that.

Honey Badger (my Yamaha) and I were out on a trail ride. I got lost, took a few weird turns and the staid trail I’d been on turned into something um… interesting. It wasn’t “expert level” but it was definitely more than mellow.

Soon I recognized it as the trail where my antique-ish ATV and I had been stopped by fallen trees last fall. I’m still new at off road motorcycles and I’m no spring chicken, so I wisely turned around and…

Ha ha ha… bullshit!

I goosed it and practically flew up the ridge. Honey Badger didn’t so much as blink. I held on and made Dukes of Hazzard sounds.

Sweet! I rolled right past the trees that had blocked my path last year. They’d been cut and moved aside. I inspected the vicinity on the other side of the blockage. Last year I’d tried to ride around the obstacle in the late afternoon waning sun. With the benefit of better views, I can safely say there was no way in hell I’d have made it even if I’d brought a dozer. The blowdown was impenetrable.

I wanted to stop to rest but the ticks were horrible. I rolled on looking for a nice picnic spot. The trail wasn’t hard for an experienced rider but I’m not experienced. I handled it. There was less cheering and whooping, more teeth gritting and whining.

After a few miles I was just dying to take a break. Then I hit a nice flat area but instead of easy riding it was worse. Now I was in the sands of the fucking Sahara. What would be unremarkable on an ATV was absolute chaos on my bike. (Honey Badger don’t like sand!)

Finally, after the fifth near miss I stopped right in the middle of the trail; ticks and mosquitoes swarming… and just stood beside my bike. This is work!

I’m a rookie on a dirtbike but not in the forest. The ticks and mosquitoes cried out for blood. Even before I had my helmet off, I was reaching for repellent. I sprayed my boots and you could almost hear the disappointment of ticks crawling toward my pantleg in hopes of biting my junk. Then I ditched my jacket and put on a “bug shirt”. I have a peremethrin impregnated shirt and it saved my ass. If you don’t have one… buy one.

I’d have liked to sit down but in that creepy crawly zoo I just stood. Finally, after a bottle of water and some cookies I rolled out. Soon I was on a Forest Service system road. Still dirt, but compared to where I was previously, it’s practically a highway. Whew.

[Note: The following was written when the nation was still in the waning but desperately preserved hysteria over COVID (which had the seed of real risk but went too far) and hadn’t yet stampeded into synchronized anarchical riots (which perhaps have the seed of real concerns but are also going too far). As always, people who panic baffle me.]

I rolled past a closed campground. At that time (I’ve no idea what’s happening now) a lot of campsites were closed. COVID madness and all.

That bothers me; not that the campsite was closed but that it was managed under risk scenarios that made sense in March and don’t now. We are smart monkeys. We should be able to adapt to new information.

Overreaction this spring was understandable, a dangerous contagion arises and nobody knows what it’ll do. Under those conditions, big reactions make sense. I took big actions myself. Not because I was ordered to, but because it seemed prudent. I voluntarily reacted to a threat of unknown dimensions. No regrets. That’s what adults do. You place your bets and you take your chances.

Now, months later, we can see some of the dimensions of the threat. Certainly, many people have died, but it’s nowhere near the darkest projections of the winter. It’s a nothing burger in places I frequent and “much worse than bad flu but not Black Death” in others. In America it hit a few big cities and missed most of the continent. Bullet dodged. I’m very happy about that. It seems that nobody else accepts or enjoys good news.

Nor is the forest a vector of spread. The contagion appears to have spread in subways and mass transit; so much for those glorious Utopian joys. Maybe shutting down… everything… helped. Maybe it didn’t. But people with degrees and models were about as wrong as Paul Krugman’s economic predictions.

I was wrong too. I expected it to nuke left coast, warm climate, cities based on homeless people. It spared them (mostly) even though it appeared fast in Seattle. Instead it headed for old people in NYC, Chicago, and Detroit. I expected it to hit the homeless but it ran amok in nursing homes. These are things to learn. Being smart monkeys, we should use our knowledge.

It seems clear now that COVID isn’t going to kill you for fishing in the hinterlands and indeed UV light and fresh air is probably beneficial. So, I’ve been playing in the forest. Alas, the campsites were closed; folks in a sparse rural world got boxed in with regulations that might suit a dense urban one. Equating outdoorsmen sitting by a campfire and nursing homes a thousand miles away seems weird… I suspect homo sapiens can’t really understand “risk”. Yes, we know what a virus exists but do we act like sickness is caused by a virus? We wear cotton bandannas as if nanometer sized particles will notice. I think the masks serve a purpose like amulets or talismans. They signal your position on the spectrum of belief and compliance. (Ask a Prius owner about signaling.)

Pondering life from the seat of a motorcycle, masks seem not unlike painting hexes on a hat. Then again, there are people who’ll freak out and shriek “I’m triggered by hate” over political slogans on hats. Who knows? They need the symbol of the mask and fear the words on a hat… is it a magic spell to them?

I’m glad I live far from it. But I was sad that people weren’t camping. What’s this? People actually were camping all about. I found them on the Forest Service road!

The main road was easily traveled. It was a place easily reached in an SUV or base level truck.

Dotted here and there, spread wide across the land, was a small contingent of “dispersed campers”. (According to Forest Service lingo “dispersed camping” is when you camp somewhere that’s not a designated campsite. Or as I call it… camping.)

At intervals I’d smell smoke. I’d see a smattering of a tent or two. Not far off the road there would be a car or two. Adults kicked back by little campfires; feet up on coolers and chatting while kids chased around in the grass (no doubt, to the delight of the ticks).

God damn that was good to see! While CNN breathlessly told everyone to sit home and mope while their betters would arrange an impossible risk-free world, here were people enjoying the shade of pines and glorious nature. There’s hope for us yet!

Despite the road being fine for a basic SUV it was still treacherous to me. Sand is my nemesis! I barely managed 30MPH on a road so flat I’d be doing 45 MPH in my Dodge. I decided I’d had enough fun and took the first paved crossroad. There’s something magic about rolling a dual sport bike onto pavement and instantly converting from “trail rider” to “road rider”. It’s pretty slick. (One caveat, Honey Badger ‘aint fast. I keep her around 55MPH or less. I can mod it to run faster on the road but seeing as how it’s mostly for trails, I don’t want to push it.)

I was a little sad that it’s still COVID madness. Most of the bars were closed and none were selling hamburgers. I love a “post adventure burger”. It’s apparently a bigger deal to me than I thought. I really missed it.

When I got home, I started a fire in my backyard, and roasted a few brats. No, I didn’t check with my HOA about the fire… because I still live in a free world. There is no HOA. Nor did I check for WHO/CDC opinions on roasted brats with a cold beer. Fuck them.

The next day I ordered a new front tire for Honey Badger. A new tire is cheaper than a visit to the ER.

My new motorcycle (Honey Badger) is more skittish than an alley cat on meth whenever the sand is deep. I turned to the internet to suss out this mystery. It went like this.

“My TW doesn’t do sand well. What’s up?”

“Are you using the stock tire. A Bridgestone Trailwing?”

“Yes, brand new, lots of tread.”

“We call the Trailwing a ‘Deathwing’. It’s terrible off road. Replace it.”

“I can second that. I got a Shinko 241. Massive improvement.”

“My tire’s new. I should replace it anyway?”

“I replaced mine the day I bought my bike. It’s cheaper than a trip to the ER.”

“I got a Shinko 244. That’s even better.”

A thirty-seven-post discussion about the chemistry of rubber compounds ensues. Apparently, it is rocket science.

“So, all two dozen of us agree. The Shinko 241 and 244 are both much better than the ‘Deathwing’ and so is almost anything else that’s round. This stranger on the internet should heed our advice and replace his ‘Deathwing’ by noon tomorrow.”

This seems pretty reasonable to me. I’ve learned something. It seems clear. Then the internet effect kicks in.

“Shinko’s for sissies. I installed this.”

Someone posts a TW sporting a tire that would strike fear in the guys from Mad Max. It’s huge! There are massive meaty cleats. It has the skull of a crushed antelope stuck in one of the lugs. The front fork has been modified to fit this mechanical menace; the re-welded fork has metal spikes and a chaingun. The whole thing is wrapped in razor wire. The rest of the bike is equally rugged. The owner explains his bike has been used to invade Bulgaria, hunt Sasquatch, and cross the Amazon rainforest. He includes a second picture from a Yak hunting trip to Mongolia. There’s a half ton of Yak meat strapped to the 300-pound bike. In another photo he’s on his bike using it to pull start a stalled Russian freight train. There’s a photo of the bike in Greenland, on a glacier, chasing a polar bear; the rider is dressed in sealskins and carrying a harpoon. You need to sign a liability waiver just to look at that bike and every Prius in Seattle begins to weep when you upload the images. The huge rear tire is just as aggressive. It looks like it came from a tractor and the owner explains he had to modify the rear wheel to accept it. He needed a blow torch, a hydraulic press, and Thor’s hammer to mount it. He’s added a rifle scabbard, ammo can panniers, and shielding against Claymore Mines. Every inch of the bike is covered with camo, battle scars, spikes, and blood. Someone has turned a tiny little TW200 into a beast that would scare a tank. I’m impressed. Everyone loves it.

“Is that front tire a ‘Skullcrusher 2000’?”

“No, it’s the upgraded model; ‘Drive My Enemies Before Me X1192’.”

“Sweet!”

“I hit a moose with it. Rode right up and over. You can’t go wrong with this tire.”

“Is it DOT approved?”

“No. Fuck the DOT.”

“How is it on pavement?”

“It shakes my balls like castanets and made my teeth fillings pop out. Pavement is for wimps. I ride only on the skulls of my enemies.”

For every reaction there is a response.

“I ride exclusively on pavement. I installed a ‘Top Fuel Carbon Fiber’ racing tire.”

“On a bike that can barely go 60MPH?”

“I modded the engine. It has six turbos ramming air into a bored-out cylinder with titanium alloy race pistons.”

“The stock bike has 200cc. Have you considered a sportbike?”

“I made it into a sportbike. I changed the rear sprocket, upgraded to a chain that’s made of angel hair, and run only high-test plutonium fuel.”

“How is it on the trail?”

“What kind of idiot rides on a trail? I only ride on airport runways that have been licked clean by virgins.”

Then comes one more piece of ‘advice’.

“You’re all pussies. The ‘Deathwing’ is fine.”

“It barely holds a line in sand.”

“It’s fine! You just don’t know how to ride. Stand on the pegs, lean back, rip on the throttle, and steer with your mind.”

“It sounds like you’re underestimating the influence of front tire compounds.”

“No, I’m not. You all suck. I’ve ridden ten million miles on the stock tire, all of it on sand, while coated with grease, during a hailstorm. The ‘Deathwing’ is perfect if you know how to ride.”

Uh huh. That’s the internet for you.

Y’all know I’ve been scooting around the forest on Honey Badger (my new Yamaha TW200 motorcycle). I’m getting one of my favorite experiences. No, not blasting through nature… that’s just icing on the cake. My joy is learning new things. I’m learning that a bazillion miles on a street cruiser taught me jack shit about keeping upright on a trail. Good to know!

The season has changed. It’s my time baby! After a long miserable late winter and spring, I can finally trail ride without freezing my ass off. Also, most of the spring water hazards have reverted to “interesting” from their earlier incarnation of “don’t ride into a pond dumbass”. You’d expect things to get easier. They are but they aren’t. It’s more like I’m leveling up in different varieties of trail conditions. I started with “ice”, rode around “mud” but sank in “water”, and now I’m flummoxed by “sand”. Trails that I traversed fairly easily in early spring are drying out and turning into shifting treacherous sand. They used to be relaxing but now that they’re bone dry, they’re terrors.

This I know: sand sucks!

It’s my fault for being a cheapskate / masochist. I chose a bike over things with more wheels. An ATV has four tires, if it spins on sand it’s just fun. Within reason, I’ve never had issues with an ATV on sand. It’ll still stay upright and steer a bit flaky but good enough. The biggest hazard (I’d guess) is the maintenance hassles of sand getting into CV joints and such.

A motorcycle is a different animal. It has two wheels and requires traction on the tiny contact patch to stay upright. (Admittedly, Honey Badger has about the fattest contact patch I can get. I even aired down a bit to increase stability and traction.)

Lost traction comes in two flavors; ‘not a big deal’ and ‘heart attack now’. If the rear tire loses traction you spin but don’t immediately lose control. So far that almost never happens and when it does it’s not a big deal. If the front tire loses traction (which happens on sand far too often!) shit gets real. The microsecond the front tire washes out, your steering is haywire. The bike goes neither left nor right but just plows a furrow straight ahead. The front tire is now a ski. No, that’s not right; skis are great for steering. It becomes a squealing greased pig. Yeah, that’s the right analogy. Then, and this happens fast, the bike tilts out of plane and starts to go down. Lacking sufficient traction on the fluffy moving surface, you must correct and fast. Otherwise, it’s going down and you are too. On sand, this happens whenever it happens. For no reason. With minimal warning. Fast!

Over and over the bike will come within molecules of going down with a half second’s warning. I correct with lightning speed and we continue merrily down the track. I hate it! It is not conducive to my goal of stress free, mellow, chilled out sputtering around and exploring. The only thing that would make me focus harder would be a cobra glaring at me from the handlebars.

How can I enjoy the chickadees when I’m a split second from doom? It’s damaging my calm!

I was changing the oil on my Yamaha TW200 when it all started.

I was trying to undo the mess I’d made of my brand new, not even three payments made(!), motorcycle. I’d driven the poor thing into a pond and somehow limped it back home. It was important that I drain the oil (which was massively contaminated with water). I’d left it sitting overnight and even that made me nervous. (I’d had evil dreams the night before about Ray Nagin. The dude had a time machine and kept breaking into my garage. He wanted to steal my bike. I’d chase him away but he kept coming back until he got it and dropped it from a helicopter into the floodwaters of Katrina. It was a bad night! I had endless frustrating images of snorkeling around a bunch of rusted school buses looking for my stolen bike. I guess I was really wound up.)

But every day is a new beginning and I was going to fix everything. This would earn my redemption. I had a bag of stuff I’d bought at the dealer. It included fresh oil and filters and whatnot.

I popped the drain plug and sure enough, there was plenty of water in the oil. Yikes! Then I pulled the airbox and more water came out. Sheesh.

I had done this… I’d inflicted this atrocity! What. A. Dumbass!

Soon, I’d replaced the oil and completely cleared the airbox. I’d washed and re-oiled the air filter. I stuck in a new spark plug for no particular reason. I crawled all over that bike looking for damage.

The headlight housing still had water in it. Every nook and cranny was filthy. Beyond that, the bike was fine.

Given what I’d done, it was a miracle the bike got me home. It’s a stupid simple bike and I’d bought it in part for that very reason. I hadn’t nuked the engine. It had started and gotten me home. For $13 in consumables I’d completely undone the mayhem. It was as good as new.

The plucky little bike had earned a nickname. “I shall call you… Honey Badger.”

That’s when I heard it. The Female Sniff of Disapproval.

All men have heard the FSOD.

Most of men would rather have a rabid badger shoved down their pants than deal with the FSOD. Those who disagree just haven’t encountered the right woman to provide the right FSOD to properly train them.

I looked around for Mrs. Curmudgeon. She avoids my workshop like the plague and was nowhere to be found.

No sane man will actively seek the source of a FSOD. They’re that dangerous! If I’d done something to piss off Mrs. Curmudgeon such that she’d peeked into my shop, FSOD’d, and left… I might as well just fake my death, change identities, and move to Mongolia.

So I didn’t investigate.

Puzzled, I went back to cleaning the motorcycle.

Another FSOD! And this time it was even angrier.

I looked around. “Is anyone there?”

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!” Came the response.

“What woah, hey.” I stammered.

“You’re too old for her!” The voice hissed.

It was furious.

Rather than open my mouth, I waited.

“You look ridiculous riding that thing. Have some damn dignity!”

“Shadow? Is that you?” I glanced at my 1999 Honda Shadow cruiser motorcycle. It was parked in the corner, covered with dust. I hadn’t brought it out of mothballs yet. In January I’d tried to start it to move it out of the way so I could park my tractor in that garage stall. Shadows have smallish and oddly shaped batteries. The brutal winter had nuked the battery. So I’d pushed it back against the wall and ignored it for several months. Now it was early summer but with the lockdown and all, I’d been distracted. Plus…

I glanced at the 2020 Yamaha TW200. I had to admit…

“That’s a child’s toy!” Fumed my Shadow. “I’ve got five times the displacement.”

“Yes, of course.” I stammered. “Different designs for different environments…”

“I don’t want to hear it!” The Shadow was having none of my excuses. “Haven’t I been good to you? Haven’t we had great times together?”

“Of course, we’ve ridden…”

“We’ve been everywhere!” Shrieked the Shadow. “Death Valley, over the Rockies, from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Crossing the whole nation.”

“Yes, but..”

“And now you’re riding that blocky little child’s toy in a goddamn farmer’s field!?! What kind of adult rides on dirt?”

“Well the good news is I didn’t ride you into a pond…”

“I don’t want to hear what disgusting things you two get up to in the forest!” Hissed the Shadow.

“Don’t be that way…”

“What happened to you? You had it all. You had chrome and curves… leather saddles and huge handlebars.”

“But Shadow, there’s room in the garage for us all…”

“Look at that thing. It’s not even grown up yet. The headlight is square, it’s got one anemic little cylinder, it has a chain. I’ve got a v-twin that knows how to rumble. Shaft drive, disk brakes, liquid cooled! We pinned the rev limiter all the way across Nevada. Remember that?” I did remember. We passed Area 51 on a day when the weather was perfect. Traveling just slow enough to touch the ground we didn’t see another car for hours. One of my life’s best moments. “And now you ignore me for that lawnmower with wheels? You disgust me!”

I glanced at Honey Badger. I had to admit, compared to a proper cruiser, it’s butt ugly and small.

“You had Jessica Rabbit!” Shadow continued.

“You went out and got Dee Dee from Dexter’s Laboratory.” She finished.

“I may have to work on my similes. I seem a bit outdated…”

“Nothing is outdated if it’s timeless!” Shadow insisted. Then she launched into the kind of speech only riders understand. “You love the open road. Blast through wind until you become the wind. Lean into curves; playing physics like an instrument. The road is your adventure. When everyone got stupid and scared; it affected you too. You’ve pussied out!” I wanted to argue there’s adventure in crashing through nature but I got the point. It’s a matter of scale. I kept quiet. “We crossed the continent a dozen times like a king surveying his domain. Now you’ve scaled down to riding a lunchbox? You should ride proud, spend the night in hotels, eat steak, and drink whiskey. You’re scrabbling through the underbrush, coming home at night, eating MREs, and sipping from a water bottle. You’re weak!”

Indeed I’d been neglecting the proper world of a rider. Or at least part of it.

I glanced at the bag with the oil filters and spark plugs. I had an ace up my sleeve.

“Don’t be that way baby. I can make it all better.”

I reached into the bag and brought out a brand new battery. Honda Shadows need weird batteries and they’re a total bitch to acquire. I’d bought a new one just that morning.

“For me???”

“Of course, you know you’re my first true love.”

I installed the new battery. After a few cranks the garage echoed with the glorious rumble of v-twin thunder. The little TW sounds like a blender by comparison.

Hurriedly, I wiped down the dusty bike. I did a quick check of the air pressure (the tires hadn’t lost a pound over the winter!). I did a safety walk around. Beneath a patina of road dust the Shadow is still gorgeous. It’s 21 years old and is one wash and wax from looking like brand new. (I’ll never wash or wax it but don’t tell her!)

I put on my battered riding jacket. It was dry, if a bit muddy. All of my bike gear is hopelessly worn… but it’s safe enough for now.

In the riding jacket pocket I found my SpotX. I keep it with me when I do solo outdoor adventures.

“Leave it.” Shadow purred. “We’re not going on a hunting trip you know.”

I agreed. I clipped the SpotX to the tool boxes bolted to Honey Badger. I used my cell phone to text Mrs. Curmudgeon. “Taking Shadow for shakeout cruise. Back by sunset unless…” I glanced around me. It was Saturday morning. It was warm out. I’d been cooped up for weeks. “…unless I stay at a hotel somewhere.”

Mrs. Curmudgeon texted back. “I thought you were going to mow the lawn?”

Nope. The Shadow was warmed up now and purring like a kitten. “Lawn can wait. Bike needs a ride.”

I could almost hear Mrs. Curmudgeon giggling through the text. She knows me well. She knows I sometimes just take off on a long haul. “Have fun Easy Rider. :-)” Mrs. Curmudgeon is a keeper!

I started to stuff the cell in my pocket.

“Leave it behind.” Shadow suggested. And I did.