From: phil@eos.arc.nasa.gov (Phil Stone)
Subject: Ride to the Divide
Summary: Part 3 of an account of my trip to the Ride 'n Feed and back
Organization: NASA Ames Res. Ctr, Calif.
Date: Tue, 28 Jul 1992 21:58:11 GMT

[The last episode had us arriving at the Bradley Ranch, site of the annual
DoD Ride 'n Feed.]

Modulated rumbling; an unearthly roar; bone-shaking, mind-numbing primal
thunder:  you might expect to hear these sounds at a gathering of
motorcyclists, and the Ride 'n Feed was no exception.  Yes, the basement
of Mark Bradley's home, the impromptu dormitory for the dozen or so
Denizens of Distance, shook with a cacophony of snoring that would have
drowned out a dual-engined, straight-piped Harley.

Luckily, the smart biker is prepared for this sort of situation.  I rolled
a pair of foam plugs into my ears, and soon was sawing wood with my own
unmuffled chainsaw.

The fourth of July dawned clear and warm.  We were treated to muffins,
coffee and juice by Janice Bradley and her mom.  After enjoying this fine
hospitality, I decided to see if I could fix my throttle.

A half hour and several hundred curse words later, I came to the conclusion
that the throttle assembly was completely stripped.  If I was going to
make the ride, I had to scavenge a replacement somewhere.  Rememebering
that Laszlo had a no-longer-rideable boxer, I called (and woke) him up
to see if I could borrow his throttle assembly; he said sure, come on
by.  Hesh took me into downtown Boulder to the Nemeth mansion, and before
Laz had gotten out of the shower, we had dismantled his twistgrip and
were gone.  This act of near-larceny was not rewarded with success, however.
The two throttles turned out to be incompatible.  I had held everybody up
long enough - it was time to explore the new world of pillion.

As much as I would have auctioned off small body parts to have been at the
handlebars of my own bike in this day's exploration of the Front Range, I
had a great time on the back seat.  I'll bet there's more than one reader
of this account (assuming there *is* more than one reader of this account)
that has never been the passenger on a motorcycle; all I can say is, give
it a try sometime.  You don't have to sweat the details - you can forget
the tiresome game of "Watch the Cagers."  All you have to do - and this is
a very fun challenge - is become one with the motion of the bike, and try
not to exert any of your own will on it.  I'll guess that the longer you've
held handlebars in your hands, the tougher it will be for you to really
catch on to this.  Jerry Wills, my first chauffeur, said that he could tell
I had different ideas about cornering than he did.  I think I got better at
letting him pick the line eventually, and really began to enjoy the more
extreme lean angles.  What an 'E' ticket ride!

I switched to riding with Ed Walsh for a while (FJ's seemed to be the back
seat of choice for someone my size).  I pulled a disposable panoramic camera
out of my jacket, and squeezed off some dramatic shots of the group formation
framed by some of the finest mountain scenery in the world.

I was having a great time, and missing my own bike only when I stopped to
think about it.  I wasn't worried about fixing it, either.  Though the bike
shops were closed until Tuesday, I knew something was going to work out.
Hell, I was surrounded by smart bikers!  My faith in the good karma of
motorcycling was well-founded; we stopped at the top of Left Hand Canyon
on Peak to Peak Rd. for a final regrouping when an unusual duo of BMW's
pulled up.

One was a beautiful sidecar rig, piloted by a fellow that had a nasty-looking
brace on his left leg that kept it extended completely straight.  He rested
it on a special padded support he had fabricated for the left-side crashbar.
Elaborate linkage connected to a right-side hand shifter.  Obviously, a bum
leg wasn't going to put this guy in a cage!  His companion, who later confided
to being a forty-year veteran of the two-wheeled life, was riding an R80GS.
We got to talking.

I had met the right people.  The woman, named Helen Kafka, offered to sell
me the throttle off the GS.  She had another boxer at home, which she would
ride to the Feed later in the day, bringing the GS throttle with her.  My
mechanical problems were solved!

At this point, Hesh, Nat Wyatt and Jerry Wills decided to continue up to
the Left Hand Reservoir.  Jerry, despite the incredulity of Mark Bradley,
("You're going two-up, on an FJ, up *that* road?") offered to ferry me.
What followed is an experience I'll never forget - Jerry just plowed up
the gnarly road, dodging boulders and ruts, keeping a whole pile of
locomotive weight headed uphill.  I began to stand on the rear pegs and
tried to use my legs to help absorb landing splats - Jerry said "Don't
worry about that sound, it's just the centerstand...or maybe the muffler."
At one point, we were cresting one of the many large drainage berms, when
I looked to my left and noticed Hesh passing us...in midair.  Some serious
bike abuse was going on here, folks.

Against all odds, we made it to the reservoir in one piece, and enjoyed the
idyllic setting for a while, before heading back down the canyon to the Feed.

[to be continued]


 Phil Stone         (phil@eos.arc.nasa.gov | ...ames!eos!phil)
 '83 R80ST               DoD #95              "Motorcycles OK"
Organization: University Libraries - Library Automatio, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA