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sitting there in my “waterproof” textile jacket and think, “Self. We are going to be here a while and you are going to get soaked. Why take a chance? Jump off this bike, open that side case and put on that rain jacket….” So I did. And as soon as I got off the bike and had


one arm in the rain jacket struggling to get it on the other, the doggone line starts to move. I know I’m toast if Clyde to my left moves as then all the traffic is going to roll next to me, bumper to bumper, and move in front of me, effectively blocking my way. Now DD is no fool. I try to have situa-


tional awareness at all times, and for sure, right then I was on task and knew in a panic instant what was about to happen. I’m going to be lonely and wet and in the back of the pack. If Clyde to my left moves, all the traf- fic we’ve passed is going to move around me and start on down the line. I yell at Clyde, “Don’t move.” If you are


Clyde, what do you do? [This is where you want to inject some


blank space in the text to simulate that cre- scendo of music before on TV they yell out the winner’s name.] You’re right. He took off. By the time I got that jacket on and got


back on the bike I’ve got a fifth wheel, six Harley riders, an RV and assorted others in front of me, and they are inching along this “road.” Once I got moving I could see that the fifth wheel in particular was in a panic because his trailer wheels are just about over the edge of this “roadway” so he is creeping along. Ahead I see Peter and Clyde about to reach a real road surface. As soon


as their wheels hit concrete, I literally see Peter’s FJ go into hyper drive, or so it seems. We are 35 miles out of Montrose, and


they are in a hurry. Oh well. I have the route in my GPS. I know where they are going. And when I got there, Clyde just smiled. Before he could even say “Hi,” I remarked that payback is …well, you know. We laughed and high-fived. Another Raider story. So I learned this summer that men at any


age can still be boys who like to play with their toys. And it sure is fun. But I also re- learned (yep, about to change the story). I also re-learned not to mess with the Devine Ms. Cindy, especially when she has you in her sights via the tracker on your bike tell- ing her where you are at all times. Recall my planned 1,500-mile roll back to


Indianapolis from Salt Lake City? It seems I forgot to share that plan with her. And it occurred to me on the way back that I bet- ter do so once I calculated in my head my arrival time. So, at 5:30 a.m. Mountain Time I was off.


I wanted to accomplish two


things: test out a new route to and from the west and set a personal record, possible because of the speed limits in the west. That nuanced route was designed to keep


me out of Kansas City and away from St. Louis, even if it meant slightly slower speeds once I got to Missouri. If your travels take you to I-90 and you are coming from the east, look real hard at US 36 between St. Joseph and Hannibal. Four lane. Pleasant. Well patrolled, so watch your speed. You can come out of Indianapolis and connect easily, totally avoiding I-70 out of Indy


going west. You know what I discovered? Siri on my


iPhone cannot make a call and get an inter- net connection while on US 36. So I’m not able to call home and warn Cindy that I’m going to arrive the next day before dawn. But that’s okay. I can receive calls, and soon enough I did. “Don’t even think about it. You are not


coming home at four in the morning and waking me up. Park that bike.” Yes, Dear. Oh well. Truth be told, I was edgy about


completing that ride anyway. Once you get past 1,200 miles, you spend too much time focusing on staying sharp, but as you age that seems tougher or maybe it just seems that way. So, truth be told, I was happy to park it for the night in Hannibal. There’s always something to learn from


these rides if you approach them that way. Winter’s coming. And for lots of us that leaves time for sorting out lessons learned. I look forward to learning from you when I next see you down the road. Don’t hate me BMW, but new fangled


faux old bikes so the millennials can look cool? I guess they sell and that’s why your in business. But it’s not my fault that these “sport touring” posers don’t like to work up a sweat and get dehydrated on a long day but just want to show off on a day ride. Again, I digress. Well, not really. Use your smartphone for a GPS? Are you nuts? UMMMM. Breath in through the mouth out through the nose. Or is it the other way around? Anyway feeling better after that brief rant as I watch my old-school hard core rider world collapse around me.


www.machineartmoto.com October 2017 BMW OWNERS NEWS 79


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