It took me almost a month to slowly work my way through this complex piece of media. I originally came across an excerpt from it in Bike Magazine and it was so moving that I immediately purchased it. I’m generally not a fan of coffee table books. I’ve always thought of them as flash over substance and a decoration for yuppies to strategically place in their perfect living rooms to impress guests. It took some powerful writing in that excerpt to overpower my prejudice about this format, and I’m glad it did.
Writing is only a small part of this ‘book’, and calling it a book isn’t really fair to it. This is a piece of art; it feels more like you’re walking through an emotionally powerful art exhibit. The author, Todd Blubaugh, was a photographer by trade, so this all starts to make sense as you fall into his aesthetic. Between the pages of powerful and technically complex photography you find short pieces of narrative text that pin down the corners of Todd’s six month quest for meaning after his parent’s unexpected death in a car accident.
If you’ve lost a parent in unexpected circumstances with things left unsaid, Todd’s meditative ride around the continental U.S. will raise a lot of your own ghosts. This was one of the reasons I savoured it so slowly. After reading each emotional upper cut, you’re immersed in several pages of photography of life on the road. Working in black and white on a film camera, Todd’s images tend toward startlingly frank personal portraits of the people that he meets on his travels. Todd must be a particularly disarming fellow as he’s able to catch people with almost animal like honesty – were I able to do this, I’d be much more interested in human portraiture. As it is, it’s a joy to see a master like this at work.
As you travel with Todd further into his trajectory away from the things that anchor most people to their lives (job, family), he surprises you with artifacts from his parent’s lives. At moments like this the book feels more like a scrapbook or family album, with news articles about his Dad’s tour in Vietnam and his mother’s paintings offering you further insight into the scope of his loss. The letter from his Dad at the end of the book had me in tears.
Todd tells two entwined and complex stories in Too Far Gone. His disassociation from the habitual, stationary life that most people live reaches a climax in a conversation with an old sailor that will leave you, along with Todd himself, staring into the abyss. Free from the responsibilities most of us labour under, Todd is able to focus on his loss with such a startling clarity that it will shake you.
This book pressed a lot of buttons for me. As a photographer I greatly enjoyed Todd’s eye, even (and especially because?) it is so different from my own. Todd’s relationship with motorcycling (old Harleys and biker culture) is also about as different from mine as can be, yet the sense of brotherhood still felt strong because Todd is never once preachy or superior about his infatuation. Instead, his honest love of motorbikes comes across loudly, and that is something we share.
As someone who lost a parent and experienced that same phone call out of the blue, Todd’s experience is something that cuts me deep. In coming to understand Todd’s relationship with his dad I can’t help but reflect on my own difficult and distant relationship with my father. I lost the parent that I most identified with and have a challenging relationship with the other one, but Todd’s parent’s were still together and he lost both at once. It’s the things left unsaid that gnaw at you afterwards, and losing both parents together while they are still paragons in your life is something I can only imagine.
We all lose our parents eventually. If you haven’t yet, this book will give you an emotionally powerful idea of how it feels, and how someone has worked through the scars of that experience. If they’re already gone, your sympathy will create powerful echoes.
There are a few motorcycling themed books that plumb philosophical depths. Zen And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Shop Class As Soulcraft in particular have spoken intelligently and deeply about the meditative nature of motorcycling. Too Far Gone is a multi-media, large format book that takes you to the same place through different mediums, but it does it while also offering an emotional intelligence that is hard to find anywhere else. Immerse yourself in this book, you won’t be disappointed.
What you need and nothing else. After six months on the road Todd looks as homeless as he is, and has to make a decision…
Once again I’m thinking about a Morgan3. I found out that Ontario is offering a ten year pilot program for three wheeled vehicles, meaning you can drive one here now. The federal requirements for three wheeled vehicles are just borrowed from other jurisdictions where they are already allowed, so the Morgan should be good to go.
It’s probably the Polaris Slingshot and the like that have forced this to finally happen, but what I really want is that Morgan3. With a big air cooled twin out front and a super wide stance, the Morgan3 is a silly amount of fun to drive and looks like an instant classic rather than the offspring of the USS Enterprise and a TIE fighter. If you want to go fast, get an even number of wheels, but if you want something with character, go odd, and the Morgan3 is nothing if not full of character.
Of course Ontario can’t do anything without making it pointlessly political and difficult, so anyone driving a three wheeled vehicle has to act like it’s a motorcycle and is required to wear a helmet. Like I said, pointlessly officious, it’s the Ontario way.
At least there are some stylish (though probably illegal) options for piloting the Morgan3. A couple of World War 2 inspired fighter helmets along with aviator jackets and we’d be ready to roll.
As it happens, the Morgan factory is but one hundred miles north of us when we’re on holiday in the UK and offers rentals. That might warrant a day trip! There is another option even closer to where we’re staying. Berrybrook is in Exeter, just down the road from the cottage we’re at.
I’m a big fan of Roof Helmets. It’s the best lid I’ve ever owned, and one of the only ones that offers me full face protection when I want it and the freedom to easily go open. I’ll often start a ride open faced, flip it down to handle the wind when I’m out on the road at speed and then flip it open again when I slow down, even if it’s just riding through a town. I saw my first Roof Helmet when Jo Sinnott wore one on her Wild Camping series through Europe. It took some maneuvering to get one to Canada, but it’s been my go-to helmet since I landed one a couple of seasons ago. I keep a close eye on Roof these days. Their newly redesigned Desmo hemlets are on my wish list, and the new Carbon Boxxer is a work of industrial art. Roof is selling that new Carbon hard, but if you think it’s your typical helmet commercial you’ve forgotten how French they are. See if you can keep up with the cultural dissonance, make sure to hang in to the end:
I’m wincing at the hooliganism at the beginning, but you start to have faith in the rider and end up letting them ride well outside of sensible because of your increasing faith in their skill. Then they suddenly get into tiff with a couple at a cafe, and things go from there. The reveal at the end? Brilliant!
I don’t think many Bikers for Trump alt-right Harley types will enjoy it, but I suspect that doesn’t bother Roof too much. It worked on me.
On Friday, July 13th, while thousands of people lined up to get into Port Dover, I left the cottage early (just before 7am) and headed out on my planned circumnavigation of the Kawartha Highlands Park. It was already well into the twenties Celsius and humid when I left. The fire roads into the cottage are a roller coaster rally stage of gravel over muskeg and Canadian Shield with tough, weedy firs and birch trees growing in the cracks. It’s fun in a car but a bit nerve wracking on a bike. It’s tourist season in the Haliburton Highlands and on the weekends the roads actually have some traffic (like, a few vehicles: Canadian country traffic), but on this Friday morning it was quiet. I was lucky to see another vehicle pass me in any five minute span when I set out and the cottage road was just me and the bears.
I was out to Lovesick Lake Restaurant just before 8am for breakfast, only to discover it doesn’t open until 9am… for breakfast… in the middle of the summer. Having not eaten and already on the road for an hour, I was disinclined to hang around for seventy odd minutes. Fortunately, a couple of years ago we did a family Thanksgiving at the Viamede Resort just across Upper Stony Lake so I figured I’d give them a try. I pulled in just as the breakfast buffet was underway. It was twenty bucks for breakfast all in, but it was all you can drink quality coffee and real juices along with a buffet all you can eat hot breakfast with fruit and all the other odds and ends you’d expect from a high end resort. If you’ve got the time and you’re up that way, Viamede is a nice way to start a day of riding, and you’re looked after by a fantastic staff while eating a great breakfast in a beautiful environment. It’s probably cheaper than a lousy hot dog at Port Dover and no line up.
When I came back outside it was heating up but I was full of beans (literally and figuratively) and percolating on that freshly pressed coffee. Northeys Bay Road east out of Viamede was a roller coaster, weaving through outcroppings of rocky Shield as it worked its way around the end of Upper Stoney Lake. At one point I came down into a valley only to discover a rafter of wild turkeys the size of sheep standing on a rock outcropping eying me as I went by; it was like riding through a herd of dinosaurs. Northeys Bay turned onto County Road Six, which took a less sinuous and more severe route through the woods. From Six I was onto Forty-Four and the twists were back on again until I got to 46, but even the bigger roads were still constantly weaving, just with fewer gear changes.
With the slower, technical roads around Stoney Lake behind me, I struck north, deeper into the Shield. 46 and the 504 were both full of fast sweepers that seldom had me on the crown of my tires. I pulled into Coe Hill Cafe about 10:30am. After three hours on the bike my knees needed a rest, so it was coffee time. It was me and four tables of retirees all talking politics and telling ‘in my day’ stories (they’d all owned bikes at some point).
A couple of cups of coffee and I was ready to tackle Lower Faraday Road. This little road out of Coe Hill is twisty, turny thing. Last time on it two years ago I was disappointed at just how rough it was, but sections of it have been resurfaced since my last attempt and this time I could exercise the sides of the tires a bit. The top end of it was still rough, but that’s one of the many benefits of riding a ‘big trailee’ adventure bike: they can handle Ontario’s terrible pavement when it gets rough.
Out the top of Faraday I pushed on up to the 648 ‘Loop” road through Highland Grove, Pusey and Wilberforce. I was initially thinking about extending the loop through Bird’s Creek and Maynooth, but it was touching forty degrees with the humidity and a swim in the lake that afternoon held more appeal.
I wasn’t on the 118 for long, but once again I was reminded what a lovely thing it is. If you like fast, sweeping corners through beautiful scenery on well finished roads, the 118 won’t disappoint. I think I prefer that kind of road to the super tight, technical, twisty roads that get all the attention and usually have lousy surfaces.
From Tory Hill I was dropping south along the western side of The Kawartha Highlands Provincial Park, once again on near empty roads. The Tiger had burned off most of a tank of gas and was light and eager, and after six hot hours in the saddle, I was looking forward to a swim in the lake. Like that post breakfast section around the end of Upper Stoney Lake, this road felt weightless and easy. I get to the end of sections of road like that and realize I’d forgotten where I end and the bike begins.
I was back at Nogie’s Creek before I knew it and riding the seventeen odd kilometres down increasingly small and twisty gravel fire roads into the lake…
I did the SMART off road training course a couple of weeks ago and was looking forward to seeing how my usually white knuckle approach to riding on gravel had changed. I was in and out of the cottage a total of six times over the four days there and never once got a hand cramp. In most cases I was resting my open hands on the bars and letting the throttle sort out any wobbles. If you’re anxious about riding on loose surfaces something like the SMART program is a great way to acclimate yourself to it and lose your fear of it. I was back at the cottage by 2pm and in the lake shortly thereafter. Once again the Haliburton Highlands had impressed, offering an assortment of interesting roads that are vanishingly rare in the table-top flat South West where I live. The Tiger was once again a rock star, prompting discussions wherever we went and starting at the touch of a button. It carried me and two panniers full of tools and rain gear around the Kawartha Highlands while soaking up bumps on some truly awful pavement and feeling like an eager sports bike when the going got smooth and twisty. Best of all, we managed it on near empty roads with no delays and some spectacular scenery. Best Friday the thirteenth ride yet! About three hundred kilometres on near empty roads through picture postcard scenery and not a crowd or line up in sight. That’s what riding is about for me. Here are some full 360° images from the ride:
The on-bike 360 footage was captured by a Ricoh Theta set to auto shoot every 30 seconds, so you can set and forget it. The images are screen grabs from out of the 360 panoramas. You can lean how to do this yourself (it’s easy!) here.
What got me on the Ninja as a first bike was listening to the engine. I was very rational about bike decisions prior to hearing that parallel twin purr. That it looked the way it did didn’t hurt either. I keep finding myself looking for reasons to take photos of it…
The Toronto Bike Show at the Direct Energy Centre at the CNE was once again a nice day out. What made it even better was that somehow managed to convince my highly educated, non-biking wife to join us, and she too had a great time. I’m glad she picked this show as her first. The TMS is a manufactures’ show case, so far fewer pirates and half naked girls and a much more professional presentation. Here are some pictures from the show…
The Honda NM4: a bizarre styling exercise that I could get into because it’s supposedly based on the bike from Akira… the seating position was so weird and cruisery that I shrugged and walked away. Would I like to see more anime themed bikes? You bet, but not if they are ergonomically set up like American cruisers. The more bikes I sit on, the more I prefer the good ‘ol standard riding position (every tall adventure bike I sat on was awesome) for long distance riding and the sport position for hard riding. Anything else isn’t for riding, it’s for preening.
Way to go Toronto Motorcycle Show! You got my wife out to a motorbike show! Why would you want her there? Well, she makes six figures, has two undergrad degrees and a Masters, has a huge social media presence and teaches other teachers how literacy and technology work. That Indian Motorcycles produced the beautifully modern and yet classical Scout and it caught her attention says good things for the future of the TMS and the Scout!
There are some bikes that just make you go all wobbly. The Suzuki Hayabusa is one of those for me. It also happens to be one of the few bikes out there that will get me to one of my bucket list items. That something this powerful also happens to fit me better than smaller bikes while looking so fantastic makes me think I’d rather be on a Hayabusa rocketing into the future than on the Honda NM4 pretending to.
The Ducati Scrambler. This bike is supposed to be designed for ‘hipsters‘. I’m not sure why preening pretty boys should get dibs on this lovely machine. The Scrambler is a light, Swiss-army knife of a bike that does what bikes used to do before marketing types decided what you should be doing with them and engineers started designing them only for niches. The Scrambler feels like a throwback to a time before marketing dictated riding, and I, a forty something bald guy, want to be considered for the ride!
The nearly weightless and astonishingly powerful Ducati Panigale 1299! It’s like putting on fantastic Italian shoes (I guess). Wow, what a machine!
Ducati Diavel… Ducati’s idea of a cruiser also appears to be my idea of a cruiser. This bike fit like a glove, and was stunning as well! I was surprised at how impactful Ducati was on me this time around. The Scrambler was magnetic, the Diavel was stunning and the Panigale was otherworldly! These jewel like machines deserve more attention from me.
The Triumph Speed Triple. What a beautiful machine! With Triumph dealers so far away, I’m not feeling able to make the leap to a manufacturer that represents my homeland so well, but I hope to one day!
Like the other big adventure bikes, The BMW GS fits a tall guy nicely. I’m hard pressed to find other bikes that feel as comfortable and capable as this kind of motorbike. The Suzuki V-Strom was also a mighty comfortable fit, as was the Kawasaki Versys.
We’re two hours in and the little guy is about done… the last bike I sat on, the BMW R9T. A beautifully put together bike that didn’t give me the same charge the Ducati Scrambler did. I also bumped into Glenn Roberts from Motorcycle Mojo and James Nixon from Cycle Canada. Glenn has a photographic memory of the hundreds of people he must talk to at these events, remembering the bike I rode from our last chat a year ago! The talk with James got into how photography isn’t the only way to graphically support a story in a magazine. It was nice to have a few minutes to chat with representatives from my two favourite Canadian motorcycle magazines. Once again, the Toronto Motorcycle Show was worth the 3 hour round trip down to Toronto. That it managed to be the focus of a great family day out and also managed to impress my new-to-bike-shows wife puts it in a special category of awesomeness. We’ll be back next year!
My favorite helmet company has come out with a new evolution of their unique helmet. Lots of companies make a lifting visor helmet but what they don’t tell you is that your swinging chin guard doesn’t pass any safety standards; most of those modular motorcycle helmets only pass open face testing (as though there were no chin guard at all). The Roof passes stringent safety tests as both an open AND closed face helmet making it a rarity in convertible lids.
I’ve been the happy owner of a Desmo for over a year now and it has surpassed expectations. It’s much better than any other helmet I’ve tried at handling turbulence in a straight-line and especially when you turn your head (it barely registers side winds at all). It’s as quiet as most closed faced helmets but can also be opened up when not travelling at high speed. The visor lets you go from open face to jet to fully closed a second, one handed. Roof has updated the Desmo to the RO32 Desmo with a variety of updates and improvements. If I can find a retailer I’m in for the upgrade.
With the ongoing frustrations with trying to run a 22 year old bike as my daily rider I’m thinking of rearranging things so that I have a more functional motorbike stable. At the moment I’ve got a KLX250 that I don’t throw a leg over very much and isn’t a popular choice with my pillion. I’ve also got the big old Yamaha project bike that isn’t getting any attention because I’m spending all my garage time working on the Concours. Rejigging things to have a more functional stable is on my mind. I miss having I.T. on at least one bike – having an onboard computer means the bike will self regulate and run more consistently. Being a computer teacher means I’m not really scared of digital tech either, so I’d welcome it back. The process might look like this: sell the KLX, get the XS1100 operational and sell it too, and sell the little Yamaha my son has never ridden. In a perfect world I’d bring in about $4000 with those bikes. What I’d be looking for is a second bike that could do basic commuting duties including two-up, would run all the time, and could ride a wider range of roads than the Concours is comfortable on. As a road tool the Concours takes some beating (when it works). It’ll tour two up comfortably with lots of room for luggage, cover highway miles with ease and makes for a surprisingly agile back road weapon when riding alone. What it needs is a break from the demands of being an always on motorcycle (it’s twenty-two years old!). That always on motorcycle should be light with a fuel injected/modern engine. Of course the Ninja was those things, though it was a very road focused machine as well. Kawasaki makes the Versys, based on the same ER6 chassis as the Ninja but with an enduro riding position. With a few tweaks that bike could become the light-weight all-rounder I’m looking for. At only 180kg, the Versys 650 is a mighty light, very dependable bike. Where would I find a Versys? They’re about. There is a well cared for ’07, albeit with pretty high kilometres, for under three thousand over in Kitchener.Starting there I could build out an adventure Versys. There are a lot of people doing something similar…
We are bouncing over some astonishingly bad interstate in Northern Michigan on our way to Flint. Retread carcasses litter the side of the road, the only thing missing are clouds of flies above the rubber corpses.
The Super10, Concours and three riders ready for an adventure.
We crossed the border (my first border crossing on a bike!) in Sarnia at lunch time on a Wednesday. It amounted to less than five minutes of waiting in line and thirty seconds with the US border guard, who looked like he was working out when he got off shift so he could join us. “So, where are you guys headed?” “To Indianapolis for the MotoGP!” After running our passports he asks, “you guys excited?”
“It’s Indy!” “Have a great time guys.” … and then we were off onto the broken interstates of Michigan. I’ll never complain about Ontario roads again.
Just when we think the roads can’t get worse, the interstate drops down to one lane each way because they are beginning to pull it apart and resurface. It doesn’t matter though, we were in America, heading to Indy! My ten year old son, Max, is on the back of our loaded ’94 Kawasaki Concours which is chewing up the miles with ease. That bike is the best eight hundred bucks I’ve ever spent. We’re making the trip with my friend and colleague Jeff, who is a motorcycle-Jedi. He’s been riding for decades, has owned dozens of bikes, and has ridden all over North America. If you’re going on your first long trip, he’s the guy you want with you. We pull in for our first gas stop just outside of Flint and fill up for fourteen bucks (93¢ Canadian for 93 octane super unleaded). The Connie is getting 48 miles per gallon. Back on the road we turn south on 23 to miss Detroit and head toward Ann Arbor. Twenty-three looked like a county road on the map, but in real life it’s a multi-lane, limited access highway. We are making epic time as we ride past a mountain of garbage covered in sea gulls and military convoys of Humvees. We get to Ann Arbor, where we’d originally planned to stop for the day, at 2pm.
Concordia U’s beautiful trees
Sitting on the beautiful lawn at Concordia University we look further down the map, reconsidering where we might stop. It only takes a us a few minutes to get around Ann Arbor and onto 12, which will take as all the way across southern Michigan to Interstate 69.
Best Philly steak ever!
We stop for a late lunch and stumble across Smoke BBQ and the best Philly steak sandwich I’ve ever had. Topped up and ready to roll, we head out on 12 and are treated to a crop duster doing hammerhead turns and giving us a wave as he flies past us next to the road. We’re in the mid-west now! Out of population we find ourselves on winding roads through the Irish Hills. We thought the ride to Indy would be flat and straight but these are some nice riding roads. We emerge from the woods to an astonishing sight, the Michigan International Speedway is right on the side of the road! A security guard tells us you can sign in at the main office and they’ll let you have a look around. This place is enormous, a real cathedral of speed deep in the Irish Hills. We spend half an hour wandering around a tiny corner of the massive complex. That we stumbled across it and were happily invited in to have a look around has us all grinning like fools. It’s a good sign of things to come.
It’s like that dream you have of being at
work and suddenly realizing you’re naked
Back on the road time is ticking past 6pm and Max is getting tired on the back. We’ve been on the road since 8am, but we’ve pushed way further down the map than we intended to. We finally reach Coldwater on I69 and stop at a Comfort Inn with a warm pool and soft beds. Every biker we see is riding around in shorts, flip flops and no helmet, and it’s giving us culture shock. We go to the end of the street to get take out and try naked biking, but it gives us both the willies. Riding around without a helmet just seems crazy.
DAY 2
After a good breakfast at the hotel we’re bombing south on Interstate 69 and quickly find the Indiana border. Before Fort Wayne we strike off west into the country on Six and quickly discover that unless a town is on a truck route it has dried up and blown away. The scale of the fields of corn beggar belief and stretch to the horizon, but there are no people. Roads are closed and we find ourselves on gravel stretches looking for ways south. The Concours has no trouble with this, but Jeff’s Super Ténéré looks the part as he takes off down narrow dirt roads. We try stopping in several towns but they are all derelict; beautiful nineteenth century buildings with boards on the windows and no-one in sight. Corporate farms run remotely from headquarters thousands of miles away don’t need local people.
We finally stagger into North Manchester mid-afternoon. This is a university town and it’s still vibrant. A local directs us to Main View restaurant and we sit down for another excellent, non-conglomerate lunch. Zigzagging south and west we soon find ourselves on bigger roads feeding in to Indianapolis. We get into town at the beginning of rush hour, but this isn’t Toronto. Everything is moving even though the road is still patchy from recent rain (it missed us), and there is construction everywhere. Other than having to cut into a line to get on the ring road (made easy by Jeff dicing traffic like a pro), we have an easy time navigating and we’re feet up at the Hampton Inn by 4:30pm. A short walk away is Chef Mike’s Charcoal Grill which has the best grilled fish and steak imaginable, and a healthy list of craft beers; America isn’t all Bud Light and hamburgers. It was so good we went back again the next night.
DAY 3
It’s been pretty good so far, but it’s about to get spectacular. We’re off to the Indy Speedway (15 minutes away) early the next morning. We pull into line and are told to ride around to the back and park in lot 10. After working our way around the city-sized Indy complex we start looking for parking and keep getting waved through gates by security. We go down a ramp under ground and surface only to be directed onto the back straight of the Indy oval.
Ever ridden on the Indy oval on your bike? I have!
Jeff and I are both thinking we’ve been accidentally put in with the VIPs and are expecting to be caught at any second and kicked out, but I make the most of it and give it the beans. Nothing sounds better than the sound of your own engine howling off the retaining wall of a straight at Indianapolis! We’re directed to park and stand there in awe. A guy gives us a kick stand puck saying he doesn’t want us punching holes in his race track. Damn skippy. We walk over to another guy scanning tickets, expecting to get kicked out. He scans our general admission tickets (twenty bucks each – kids under 12 are free) and tells us to have a great time. Did that just happen? Yes, yes it did! We walk through the infield, which is a golf course, and discover a circus of motorcycle going on inside. The Moto3 bikes haven’t even started practice yet but all the manufacturers have set up pavilions and there is an Indy kids play area that has Max hopping up and down. Our general admission, twenty buck tickets give us access to the entire complex, from the front straight stands to hundreds of viewing areas around the infield. The only place we couldn’t go was the paddock area. We wander around in a daze. One moment we’re watching Moto3s buzz down the straight, amazed that their little 250cc single cylinders can take them over 160 mph before they hit the big corner at the end. The big, 1000cc MotoGP bikes come out next. Where the Moto3 bikes sound like (big) angry bees, the MotoGP bikes sound like 140 decibel tearing silk (the Hondas) or the most frantic, staccato v-twin imaginable (the Ducatis). Lastly the Moto2 bikes come out, their 650cc twins sound fantastic to my ringing ears with a turbine like howl. Lunch is an Indy dog and some fries, sitting in the near-empty stands in the shade. The place isn’t empty, there are people everywhere, but Indy is so huge that it swallows the crowds with ease. We spend the afternoon watching the bikes bend through the esses, standing on the grassy knoll on the edge of the golf course.
You can get within fifty feet of the bikes pretty much anywhere on the track and unobstructed views are easy to come by; photography is easy at Indy. We head back out to the bikes at about 3:30pm as the practice sessions are winding down. We’ve been here since 8:30am and we’re sun-baked, overwhelmed and ready for a rest. On the back straight are hundreds and hundreds of bikes, as far as the eye can see. We slowly motor past row after row of every imaginable motorcycle before ducking out through the underpass. We’re back at the hotel in minutes. Jeff and I end up passing out for an hour before having another great meal at Chef Mike’s. We’re not done yet with Indy motorcycle culture though.
Motorcycles on Meridian shows the breadth of motorcycle
culture in America – it isn’t all Harleys and leather.
Motorcycles on Meridian is a satellite event to MotoGP that brings in thousands of riders. We saddled up and rode into town about 8pm and were stunned to see so many bikes. From guys who look like pilots riding on Goldwings to lost souls who look like they are just back from rehab, to lean sportsbike riders and everything in between, I was once again reminded that American motorcycling isn’t mono-cultural. Sure, the Motor Company pirate was well represented, but so was every other kind of motorcyclist. We did a slow pass through the middle of the chaos and then went for a walk. It was hot, humid and all the hotter for all the revving and showboating. I’ve never cottoned on to the look-at-me loud pipes and chrome thing that many bikers get excited about, and some of the stretched drag-strip like bikes looked virtually unrideable, but it takes all kinds. After a brief tour through the circus of LED lit v-twins and custom madness we had a cold drink and slipped out south to the highway. Tomorrow was the beginning of the long ride home.
DAY 4
The ride down had highlighted the agony that is the Concours’ stock seat. We stopped at Cycle Gear on the way out of town the next morning for a solution. They had gel seat pads on sale for forty bucks so I gave one a whirl. Max got himself a nice helmet with a tinted screen for sunny, highway riding. The service was great (as it generally was throughout our trip) and we practically tripped over the location on our way out of Indianapolis. The prices were also astonishing, especially when you aren’t paying 13% tax on everything, basically half what we would have paid for the same thing in Canada with less tax. Helmets seem to be especially cheap in a place where they aren’t a requirement. We made quick work of I69 north to Fort Wayne and were on the 24 heading toward Ohio before mid-day. Jeff wanted to try and make it home that day so we parted ways in Toledo. He took the I75 north to Detroit and was home by 7pm. Max and I headed north on 23 to Ann Arbor thinking to spend the night there before finishing on Sunday, but Ann Arbor was booked solid with a pipe-fitters convention (?) and the rooms left were over three hundred bucks a night. We pushed on and then got lost in the suburbs of Detroit (which are still surprisingly well kept) before finally stumbling into the Wyndham Garden hotel by the airport.
Like so much else in Detroit, the Wyndam Garden has the look of something that must have been super chic in sixties (it has an indoor forest!). It’s the kind of place James Bond might have stayed when he was Sean Connery, but now it’s run down and tired. People who went to Rome after the Empire fell must have seen something similar. I left Max in the room and ducked out for take out. Every store I went to had bullet proof glass and turnstiles between the customer and the clerk.
Day 5
The next morning we hit the road early. Max wanted to try the tunnel but we got there only to be told motorcycles weren’t allowed in. A sign would have been nice, but at least we got to see downtown Detroit on a quiet Sunday morning. My magic power kicked in at the Canadian border. Everyone else crossed in about ten minutes, but we waited twice that because we got the guard who wanted to chat with everyone. Soon enough we were bombing down the 401 toward home making excellent time. A couple of stops at ONroutes (which felt like time travel after a night in Detroit) later we were in Kitchener and winding our way down familiar country roads. We were home by 2pm. The Concours was faultless, returning mid-fifties miles per gallon on the highway and high forties everywhere else. It started at the touch of a button every time and showed me it could do the ton with two people in gear and all their luggage. The gel seat eased the pain but got incredibly hot, leaving me with heat rash and a scowl. A seat solution will happen before the next long ride, but there is little else I could do to make this wonderful machine any better.
The Concours has ridden on hallowed
ground. She wears it with pride.
If you don’t like crowds, the Indy GP is the one to go to. Indianapolis is enormous and easily swallows crowds of even one hundred and thirty two thousand. There is talk of cancelling the Indy round next year, but if it’s on I’m going to attend all three days. I think we can get within striking distance in one day, ride straight to the track on Friday, hotel in Indy Friday and Saturday and begin heading back after the race on Sunday, finishing the trip on Monday. After doing it once I know I can do it even better next time. After bombing down the Indy back straight once, I want to do it again! It only costs forty bucks to do a lap of the MotoGP circuit! That’ll be on the short list for next year along with a paddock pass so I can get Sam Lowes autograph. If you love bikes and live anywhere north-east in North America, you should give the IndyGP weekend in August a go, I promise you won’t be disappointed. The long ride through the mid-west is anything but boring and the hospitality is second to none. And when you get there you get to ride on the iconic Indianapolis Motor Speedway and experience the MotoGP circus in full swing, it really is unforgettable. NOTE: The Indy MotoGP is no more – glad we went when we did! I’m going to have to get more committed to riding to a MotoGP race if I want to do it again!
The Weather Network suggested that we might get a break in the never ending snow and ice, and on the weekend of all times!
After a couple of days of near zero sun, Sunday hit the target with a 6°C high and lots of blue sky. The last time on two wheels was November 26, 2019, so that’s 89 days of misery. That should be the longest break as I’m likely to steal some more rides in the coming weeks.
Back home again I washed the salt and sand off and hibernated the Tiger again. The new LED indicators work a treat. The old Triumph fired up at the first touch of the button after a nearly three month hiatus. The new front brakes were a little vague until they bedded in, then they felt as sharp as ever. The chance to ride has me dreaming about making miles again soon.
