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Let's go out to dinner for our anniversary."
"Sure."
"Where would you like to go?"
"How about lobster in Maine?"
"Now you're talking!"
"Sure."
"Where would you like to go?"
"How about lobster in Maine?"
"Now you're talking!"
I've heard of romantic getaways where the guy whisks his gal away on a Learjet to Paris for the weekend. For me the excitement is in the unplanned, spur of the moment, just you and me, lets leave it all far, far behind, motorcycle adventure. So, for our 17th anniversary, we decided to ride to Maine for Lobster dinner. 3 days out, dinner served on the Maine coast, fresh out of the Atlantic, then 3 days back to Michigan. No planned stopping points, just head east.
Day 1:
Ohno will ride his trusty KTM 950 Adventure, and me on Molly, my temperamental '97 BMW f650.Well, I dropped Molly before we even got off the sidewalk onto the street as we were taking off for our trip. Ran her toward the curb while I was turning to look for traffic. Freaked myself out and locker her up. Down she went in the neighbor's drive. "Well you got that over with early," says Ohno.
Actually it was a good thing I dropped her. We picked her up and made it the half block to the first stop sign and WOAH! No front brake. We figure she was low on brake fluid and by dumping her I got air in the line. We bled the line, filled the cylinder and 45 minutes later we were on our way, again.
We headed for the Blue Water Bridge between Port Huron and Sarnia. I hoped to make it to Niagara Falls for the evening so we could start out our morning heading through scenic upstate New York.
We cut across the Thumb of Michigan. Yes, we really call everything the Thumb out here. A friend of ours always gets a chuckle from the business names they come up with; Thumb Welding, Thumb Refrigeration, Thumb Landscaping, ... you get the picture.
There was no line at the Canadian border. Ohno had packed a few of the extra things in my tail bag. He told me what they were but I obviously wasn't listening because when the border patrol officer asked what I was carrying all I could come up with was "Umm, snacks?" He rolled his eyes and let me go through. :) Them Canadians are always so nice, eh?
The trip across Ontario is straight, flat and nondescript, which is why I was hoping to put that part behind us quickly. There are also signs posting 50 kph over gets you a $10,000 fine and immediate vehicle impoundment. And the speed limit is a mere 100 kph (apx. 60 mph). We could easily get into serious trouble. Fortunately, no one in Canada seemed to pay attention to those signs.
We got as far as Hamilton, about 60 miles from Niagara, and pulled in for the night.
Unfortunately, any more pics from this day have been lost due to, um, unforeseen circumstances as the adventure unfolds.
No worries, there are many pics to follow...
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Back in the day, when men were men and nearly all leather jackets sported mandarin collars, road warriors roamed the countryside on bare-naked 550s and 650s.They traveled far and wide on those used machines. Occasionally, said bikes would go treads up because of engine-room disasters.
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Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig — The Ulysses is back in the Man Cave after a four week hiatus at Great Lakes Harley-Davidson!
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On an evening run to Sylvania to pick up a Ninja 250 (more on that in another post), I stopped to fill up my unnamed relative's Chrysler 300. Leaving the gas station, biker instinct kicked in and I punched the tripmeter button.It said the exact same number as the odometer. It had never been reset.
So I asked. Some people are funny about that. Bikers reset their tripmeters, because often it's the only "gas gauge" they have. Some car drivers never do, as some kind of hinky badge of honor.
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Here's a scene you wouldn't want to roll up on during a dark night — a sinkhole in the middle or the road, marked by deadfall.Apparently, a citizen stuck in the sticks, either as commentary, warning, or both. (No, it wasn't me.)
This is on Morseville Road, just north of Courtney Road, in southern Saginaw County. This gnarly piece of pavement connects some of the best (only?) curves between Flushing and Frankenmuth.
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Tue, Apr 21 2009 07:48 AM
More from our man JJ in Fort Myers: This 1958 BMW, with sidehack.
He picked it up from a gent who drove it as a daily driver down in Naples. The paint is beat to death from the hot Florida sun, but everything is there.
JJ walked over to it cold, turned the key, tickled the choke, folded out the kick starter — and one kick brought forth that loverly pocketa-pocketa-pocketa BMW Boxer sound.
For sale? Nope.
JJ's gonna tear her down and completely restore her.
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Here's one that makes TeamMoto.us sit up and take notice: A Toyota minivan, with a stick shift, diesel — and a snorkel intake for water crossings.There's a wet season in Guatemala, and the roads aren't the greatest. And fuel can be few and far between.
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Down to Fort Myers to pick up a friend's Ford Lighting (see post below), and I proffered exotic iron dealer JJ my personal.The card touts this site, and has a pic of me in my faded Aerostich.
JJ nodded, said "A 'stich man? Me too." And promptly offered me a spin on this unique little bobber jobber.
That's a 2004 Triumph modern motor shoehorned into a hardtail frame, with straight, taped pipes. The seat is a slab of beveled-edge aluminum with a little flip to it, and styling springs.
Padding? Stickers with lots of rude and 'tude.
How's she run? Just dandy. Low to the ground, but very flickable.
How's she sound? As my momma once said about a certain Donzi on a river in Saginaw: "She's a throaty b----." :)
JJ recently took it out for a couple of hundred miles. Safety wire and blue Loctite are wonderful things, he said.
Long rider? Nope. Track carver? Fuggetaboutit. Sport tourer? Hardly.
Tight little town tooter?
You betcha.
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If you ever get a chance to ride the Lightning, take it.A friend recently bought a pristine 2004 Ford F-150 Lightning SVT from a guy in Florida. Since I was already there on spring break, I offered to inspect it with my dad and drive it home.
Oh my.
If you didn't know, you'd think you were looking at an F-150, standard-cab stepside. But pop the hood, and there's a supercharged 5.4 liter Triton V-8 under there, pumping out 380 ponies. (SVT stands for Special Vehicle Team, Ford's internal hop-up shop.)
This is a serious grin-and-sin machine.
Supercharger kicks in anywhere, any speed, if you goose it. A vacuum gauge on the dash and a turbine-like noise tell you it's on the job.
At 120, the supercharger is at full howl ... and still pulling seamlessly. Speedo only goes to 140. She is rock-steady at all speeds. 93 octane only, please. Motivating right along, she returned 14.5 mpg. About 300 miles per tank of gas.
Rides very well — sport suspension is awesome in the corners, very smooth on the straights. Not like a truck at all; no crow-hopping or other nasty surprises.
Leather-wrapped steering wheel, cruise, all the amenities.
Exhaust sound is very deep, very rumbly. Dual side pipes, both sides. Makes the seats literally hum at high speed. Lighting badging gives the secret away, to those in the know.
Seriously, nothing street-legal can touch this thing. On a 15-hour, 70 mph average, overnight express run from Fort Myers Beach, Florida to Convington, Kentucky, Corvettes, Porsches, 5.0 Mustangs, other hotted-up trucks tried.
Tried.
In fact, the only thing that did catch me was a county-mounty in a skin-top Tahoe. He swooped up from behind as the SVT was doing 90, powered down the window and sternly mouthed the words "SLOW DOWN."
Sir, yes sir.
It's actually hard to break the super-wide tires loose on dry pavement, so everything turns into forward momentum.
This thing walks away from stuff like nothing else I've ever driven. It was apparently driven by an older gentleman, who kept it in a climate-controlled area. The undercarriage looks the same as the day it was rolled off the factory floor.
She is mint. She is fast. She is lovely.
Mmm-mmm-mmm.
For more details, a good review is here.
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