Ride Preamble

An important event is taking place in the Zen community in Seattle, I've decide to ride up. Mapquest says the trip is 850 miles one way. I'm going to try to do it in one day as a baseline exercise for an Iron Butt (1,000 in one day). Living one's life means addressing one's fears, right? This ride is solo. And to help the economy, I bought the Garmin Zumo 550 and the Scala headset. At least I have the comforting delusion that technology will help where a lack of sense of direction is a fear-filled void.

I decided to ask CalMoto to wire the GPS into the bike's CanBus system because I didn't want to screw it up. When I picked up the bike, the service manager, Devin, showed me that the GPS turns on automagically when the bike starts up. Okay, good. That part of the puzzle is done.

Now I have get the headset to "hear" the GPS. First I have to fit the headset to the helmet. That takes an hour because you have to find just the right place for the bracket and just the right place for the speaker that sits next to your ear - you don't want that disc jabbing you every time you pull the helmet on. But why can't I hear the GPS with the headset? After another hour the GPS is smolderingly silent while my tummy growls because I can't eat until I get it to work. I calm my tummy with bread and cheese but go to bed annoyed and frustrated (most likely due to lack of a proper dinner).

The next morning I have an appointment with the optometrist to get new computer glasses. It doesn't matter that I can't get the headset to "hear" the GPS, I just want to ride the bike. The bike makes its standard beeping noises when I turn the key, but is silent when I press the start button. One look at the head lamp tells me all I need to know - the battery is almost dead. I strip off the bike gear and throw on street shoes and drive the car to the optometrist, leaving a message on Devin's voice mail as I drive. What did he tell me about the GPS that I didn't remember? What did I do to drain the battery?

After the optometrist, yoga. I don't get back home until 2pm. I play with the headset and the GPS some more. The instructions for the headset are terrible, and the ones for the GPS aren't much better. Then I find what I'm looking for, you have to "pair" the headset to the GPS as if the headset were a Bluetooth phone. Right. Of course. I'm an idiot. When the two devices finally find each other, I'm so relieved that my brain starts working again and I remember that I turned the phone off for yoga and maybe there's a message. Sure enough, Devin asks if I can bring the battery in for a load test.

CalMoto closes at 3pm on Saturdays. It's 2:30 p.m.. The locking strap on the battery, and a mounting bracket above the battery both require a torx wrench which takes me a while to find. (It was in the tool box, exactly where it was the last time I used it. Time pressure clouds the mind.) The screw holding the strap gives way easily. I'm not so lucky with the bracket. Finally, the battery can be removed if you have strong hands and long fingers. I have to shim up the battery from the bottom of its holder until I can get a grip on it to fully remove it. I put the battery on the floor of the car, drive it to CalMoto with filthy hands. I park the car at a rakish angle and rudely hand the battery over the shoulder of a customer to Devin. Well, not quite that bad, but the customer gave me a dirty look. Sigh. I sit outside on the bench and let the sun warm my face and wait.

The battery was flat-lined due to age. I scurry home with a new battery, install it on the bike (this time with a strap around it to facilitate pulling it out the next time), and the bike fires up like a champ. Hurrah!

But wait, the GPS isn't turning on. I release it from its mount and Shit! Shit! I drop it! Shit! There's a crack on the housing! Shit! But this is a motorcycle GPS - it has to survive more than one drop on a garage floor. I get on the Garmin website and use the service data base of questions to find an answer. Now I need a 2mm hex to open the back of the GPS, take out the battery for 5 seconds then put it back together. Re-seating the battery works! Now it is time to test the headset/GPS en moto.

I remount the GPS on the bike and fire up the bike, the GPS starts up just like it should. I fire up the headset, and heaven love me the I hear the GPS talking to me. I give the GPS an address and off we go. The setup works like a champ on my test run. There's still a lot to figuring out to do with the mapping software and the GPS unit's features, but I've done the proof of concept.

For all my frustration, the gods were kind. The battery failed at home, not half way to Seattle. I have added the torx and 2mm hex wrenches to the bike's tool kit. I get annoyed and cranky when I can't figure out how to make things work. It was a good thing my other half was away because I could barely stand being around myself while I was frustrated with these devices.

Of course, now that I have the headset, do I really want to listen to the same few songs that I loaded onto the GPS over and over again? Should I get the XM radio transmitter? What is it with us humans? Are we never happy? Right now I'm so relieved that I didn't drop and break the GPS and I'm delighted that the GPS and headset work together so well.

This list of best practices for distance riders just came in from reader Dave Gill. Thanks, Dave!

Wish me well on my ride! I'll report back on my experience in contrast/alignment with best practices.

* * *

Reality Check: proof that you don't need a big machine to ride cross country. Check out Shreve Stockton's Vespa Vagabond blog. She rode from San Francisco to New York on a Vespa in 2006. Here's her her June 19th, entry, "Gassing Up".

" I pull into a gas station and a giant RV is parked at the adjacent pump. A condescending and pointless remark from the man as he pumps gas: "there you are girl - we passed you ages ago." Well, here we both are, Dick. The woman looks at me wistfully from the passenger seat and tells me how brave she thinks I am, that she could never be that brave. I believe she could.

I pull into a gas station, fill my tank, clean the face shield of my helmet with the window squeegee, down some water. An older couple approaches me from the other side of the station. They're carrying a green disposable camera and ask if they can take my photo. I laugh and blush and say sure. We chat, they snap; after a few hollow clicks of their plastic camera they thank me and walk back to their car arm in arm.

I pull in to top off my gas in the middle of nowhere Nevada. It's not even a town; it's a place with a sign. I'm about ready to go and the tallest, thinnest cowboy pulls in. I smile, he looks at me and says with a slow, lyrical drawl, "You drivin' that thing across the country?" I say yes. His drawl is almost slow motion. "If it weren't impolite, I'd say that takes baaalllls."

I pull into a gas station that is swarming with Harleys. I'm fairly intimidated, riding into the mix on my sparkly little white pony. The moment I stop I am surrounded with bikers, full of smiles and questions and stories. They invite me to Sturgis. The women who ride on the backs of these Harleys fall completely in love with the Vespa. They righteously declare that if their men don't want them driving motorcycles, then damn! They are going to get Vespas!

I pull into a gas station across the street from a Senior Center. There's a carload of elders - three very old ladies in the backseat and two old men up front. I smile and wave as they drive out in front of me, staring. One of the women gives me such a smile back, it seems as if she is concentrating all her energy and willing herself into my skin, into my body, even into one of the snaps on my jacket, just to be along for the ride. " - Shreve Stockton, 2006

Shreve's current blog is Daily Coyote, the story of how she is raising a coyote pup in Wyoming. "Charlie came into my life when he was just ten days old, orphaned after both his parents were killed. He lives with me and a tomcat (Eli) in a one-room log cabin in Wyoming." She posts pictures of Charlie on weekdays. I'm addicted - she writes well and her photographs are a great way to start the day.

* * *

More Motorcycle-related Videos

Yamaha Advertising - Reaching out to Everyone (without showing a bike!)

Moto GP on foot - now this is really thinking on your feet.

Solo Ride to Seattle, 1700 miles (roundtrip), 3 days

The event I rode to in Seattle was the Dharma Transmission ceremony for Genjo Osho, abbot of a  Zen temple in Seattle. Eido Shimano Roshi, abbot of Dai Bosatsu in New York, Genjo’s new Dharma father is known for giving good ceremony and this event was no exception. Lightning and thunder koan exchanges, presentations from the heart, and the presence of various Buddhist clergy and Aikido teachers - a memorable occasion and one I felt privileged to attend.  

I was torn about leaving work for this trip. Even though the date was set a year ago and was planned for at work, the project that has been taking up so much of my life recently changed its schedule to “go live” (move from development into production) while I was away. Balancing work and life is a koan itself. I chose to leave one community that needed all hands on deck to celebrate with another and I did not make the decision lightly. I could have taken a plane instead of riding and been gone for one day instead of three. One of the topics in Genjo’s discourse was “Do or Die”. The more frustrated I get at work, the more I need to prove my worthiness to myself outside of work. Work has been draining; this solo ride was  “do or die” for me.

There was a lot at risk. What if I couldn’t ride long enough to cover the distance needed to arrive at the event on time? What if something happened to me or the bike along the way, would there be time to recover? I decided to mitigate some of the risk by leaving Monday night after work to ride out of Silicon Valley and get as far north as I could that would allow me a good night’s sleep. I put in a full day Monday and still felt guilty when I shut my computer down at 4pm. Although the bike was packed and ready to go, doubts lingered so I lit a stick of incense and sat. If I didn’t feel good about riding at the end of the sit I could still move all my stuff to the four-wheeled temperature controlled wind-barrier. Heck, I could even make last minute plane reservations. It all came down to a ten-minute sit on the cushion.

Some decisions you can make with cost-benefit analysis. Some decisions you throw out to the universe and see what comes back. Years ago, when my grandmother was given less than six months to live, I asked a Druid friend to assist me with determining whether to move my grandmother from southern California to northern California to a nursing facility where I could visit her on a daily basis and the staff was trained to handle her dementia. I was concerned that moving would be too much for her, but because of her dementia the assisted living facility could no longer care for her so a move was in the cards. The question was, across town or across the state? The reading was done on bright sunny day. The answer came back with a clap of thunder and a crackle of electricity in the room. My sister Blithe and I brought our grandmother to Our Lady of Fatima, a skilled nursing facility in Saratoga.

In her life my grandmother had been a musician, an artist, and a world traveler. In Egypt she bought a necklace, a gold-plated “hand of Fatima” set with a turquoise stone. A good Jewish woman, she wore this symbol of Fatimah bint Muhammad, the daughter of the Islamic prophet, for over thirty years. She said she wore it for luck. During the time that I was caring for her, she  told me that she knew that she would die alone, and that what she had enjoyed most in life was traveling and meeting people of different cultures. In the Los Angeles airport, she had a moment of clarity and asked me who I was, and where we were going. I told her that I was her granddaughter, and that we were going to San Francisco. She stared at me, then asked me how old I was. Another long stare followed my response, then the last words I would hear her say, “It is nice to be traveling.” Three days later she died peacefully.

“Should I ride?” The question thickened the smoke from the pine incense while I sat on my cushion. Although  there was no thunder, the clarity of the silence was deafening. Ride. Do or Die. I kissed the cats goodbye, tossed my cell phone and wallet into my tank bag, zipped myself into my cordura-GoreTex-Velcro spacesuit, pulled on the electrolyte infusion filled Camelbak, and took off. 

Slogging my way through rush hour traffic, I was only able to get just south of Redding, CA, but that was 200 miles less than I would have to travel the next day. The Camelbak made it easier to ride in the heat that is part of life on Highway 505. A good night’s sleep, then on the road at 6:30am. The first sign that it was time to put on the heated vest was Castle Crags, part of the Castle Crags Wilderness (Shasta Trinity National Forest). Having traveled this route before, this time I didn’t wait until I got cold. Heated vests are heaven sent.

Seeing the crags was the first reminder that for the next two days I would have the luxury of no computers, no interruptive phone calls, no problems whose solutions meant bouncing the monkey to someone else’s already overloaded back. The tension in the muscles in my eyes from staring at a computer screen began to ease because of the long distance focus on Mount Shasta. My eyes would feel the healing of the sight of the mountains of Grants Pass, the greens of Alder, Ash, Aspen, Birch, Cypress, Douglas Fir, Hemlock, Madrone, Oak, Spruce, True Cedar, Willow and Yew. In Washington I scanned the horizon for a sighting of the elusive Mt. Ranier.  

The first rain squall hit in southern Oregon. First a few drops of rain on the visor, then sheets of water poured down my legs, but not into my boots because if I’ve learned nothing else from long rides, I’ve learned that in the Pacific Northwest if you want dry feet, you wear pants that go over your boots no matter how much you love your leather pants (that tuck into your boots).

The second rain storm was so thick that I had to pull off the road and change from the dark visor to the clear visor because the skies were so dark with rain and fog that I couldn’t see.

The third rain storm hit just south of Tacoma, WA, but I was dry by the time the GPS navigated me over a maze of Seattle streets to my hotel room. I arrived at 6:30pm, in time to have dinner with Charlie, who expressed his amazement that I had arrived in time for dinner. “I didn’t think you could do it. I figured you would call at 6:30 and tell me you were in Portland.” I didn’t think I could do it either.

On the Summer Solstice, 2008 another linkage was created in the Rinzai Zen lineage, and another root deepened for Zen Buddhism in America. After a delicious lunch I left the celebration that would continue into the evening and headed to Portland at 4:30pm hoping to repeat the pattern, 200 miles in three hours, sleep, finish the remaining 650 miles the next day.

What I had forgotten was rush hour traffic streaming out of Seattle. Lane sharing is not legal in Washington or Oregon so there was nothing to do but take advantage of the low road speed and listen to the few songs I had loaded on the Zumo GPS. Take note, audio fidelity does not come easily on a motorcycle. After a while I opted for good quality road noise rather than bad music quality. Be where you are.

Highway 5 going through Portland has some freeway interchanges that should have reduced me to tears – elevated, trucks roaring on either side, aggressive lane changing happening at high speeds, all the things that rattle me. I do not know how I stayed focused – it must have been the GPS – I knew that no matter if I missed a turn, the GPS could get me back on track, and that was enough for me not to lose focus or waste energy worrying about “what if I miss my exit”.

By 8pm I was wearing my friend Suzane’s green velvet lounging pants, nibbling crackers, olives, hummus and goat cheese, watching her cook a delicious dinner. Although Suzane offered it, the prospect of another 650 miles the next day soured any thought of wine, I sipped ginger tea. Suzane is a night owl, she’s just getting started at midnight but I was conked out by 11pm. Twittering birds and the smell of coffee woke me at 7am; the vibrations of the road transferred through the cold hard seat of the bike into my bum by 8:30am.

The ride home was much harder that the ride to Seattle. The same route I had ridden at a nice steady 80 mph (76 mph according the GPS) I could barely ride hold steady at 70 mph due to strong winds. Of course it rained – that is what it does in Olympia, and they don’t call Oregon the Grass Seed  Capital of the World for nothing. (Years ago that meant both sod and pot) Add to the wind and rain accumulated exhaustion. Add to that increasing stubborn get-home-it is. Cat naps at two rest stops. Well, one rest stop. The other was the far end of a parking lot. I was so tired I lay down next to the bike and despite being worried I’d get cited for loitering. I was asleep in seconds.

Heading south meant less cold but the success of this trip was due in large part to the heated vest.  I had to take it off briefly around Yreka at the top of California, but as the sun set, so did the air temperature. Why is it so damn hard to stop and just put the damn vest on? “You can hang on until the next gas stop.” I told myself. I also told myself, “For god’s sake, put on the vest.” Well the truth is that I was afraid to stop. The bike is stable when it is moving. The bike is less stable when I’m going slowly. The bike got heavier the more tired I got. I was tired enough to worry about stopping. Stops at gas stations took more and more time because I had to be more and more careful dismounting the bike. I felt like I had done a thousand push-ups battling to keep the bike in its lane while the wind puffed from behind hills, or gusted up the pillars of a bridge like a hungry troll.

As the sun set it reminded me that my night vision is poor and suggested that I call a friend who lives in Berkeley who would be happy to let me crash on her living room floor. “But I know the way home.” I whined to myself. The GPS said I could be home by 9:30pm. I turned off the GPS; I didn’t need a machine adding to the performance pressure.

The last gas and pit stop was just before the Dumbarton Bridge. With 12 hours of helmet pressure on my very short hair and my bloodshot eyes I looked so bad that the gas station attendant averted his gaze as he passed me the women’s bathroom key.  Somehow my brain was still working well enough to remember to attach the FastTrack (bridge toll payment device) to the front of the bike.

I’d been fighting high winds the entire day but I was not prepared for the intensity of the gusts on the Dumbarton, worse than the Mohave Desert.  It was night. The bridge is elevated. I had to drop my speed to 40 mph and ride in third gear to have enough torque to keep the bike in one lane. I did get home by 9:30pm.

Okay. Enough recap. Let’s see how I did against the Iron Butt Association's Archive of Our Wisdom, the collected best practices for distance riders by professional distance riders.

I give myself a "B-" grade for this ride; 3 points for each Pass, 1 point for the conditional Pass, and 0 points for each Fail. The score came out to 80%. All the changes I need to make have to do with my own judgment.

If I were to add the 30th best practice to the list, I would say, "Wave to your fellow riders when it is safe to do so." Each wave I received felt like a boost to my adrenal glands - a rush of oxygen to my brain - a wave of calm. "We are all in this together" as Mark Gardiner says. In addition to waving to fellow bikers, I have my own waving practice. I wave to cars that signal and move over into the lane to the right and allow me to pass. I remember the first time a rider gave me a short wave as he passed by; I had just moved over for him. I was surprised and pleased with the acknowledgment. Now I try to spread the good energy.

I have so much more respect for Iron Butt riders. I look forward to the day when I can ride a thousand miles in one day. For one thing, it will mean riding on the longest day of the year to minimize the time riding at night, my night vision is not as good as it used to be (more evidence that youth is wasted on the young). I am really glad that I did this experiment – it is good to discover your limits, it is good to push your limits.

The bike was wonderful, no problems. I can’t take that for granted. I can’t take ordinary life for granted. Just five days ago all I cared about was getting on the road. Now I am home and so content, so content with the prospect of just washing the bike and not riding for a few days. We don’t appreciate the ordinary until we don’t have it, then it seems precious.