Passes & Canyons Blog

The EagleRider tour does a group shot in Yosemite.

I’ve seen a number of online articles lately about a subject I strongly identify with. Here’s one headline that sums it up: Teenager fined by airline after attempting luggage ‘hack’ of wearing six layers of clothes.

What’s the deal and why do I care? I did the same thing back in 2010. But I didn’t get fined. That’s kind of extreme, in my opinion.

As the story explains, this Australian teenager put on 13 pounds of clothing in order to avoid paying extra for overweight baggage. They made her pay 62 Australian dollars ($40.54 US), which I presume is about what the charge would have been for another bag. OK, fine. If you follow that link and look at the photo it does appear she pushed the whole concept a bit too far.

In my case it had nothing to do with weight; it was totally a matter of lack of room in my bag.

As the National Motorcycle Examiner for Examiner.com, a now extinct crowd-sourced website, I had been among a group of international motojournalists invited by Eagle Rider to do a one-week tour in California. I tend to travel light so I only took a nylon bag with the stuff I needed for the week, as a carry-on.

What I had not planned on was that as we toured around southern California for a week, we made a lot of visits to cool places. And every place wanted to promote itself with this group of writers from all over the world, so they loaded us up with swag. In addition to probably more than a dozen T-shirts, I was bringing home about 10 jump drives (very small, no problem), a leather motorcycle jacket, 8 large bags of beef jerky, several hats, and I can’t remember what else.

As I packed to go to the airport I found that I could not get it all into my one medium-sized bag. It seemed to me the only option was to take as much clothing out of the bag as necessary in order to get everything else in, and then put that clothing on my body. Kind of like the Australian teen. Sure, I’d be a little warm for a while but I could tolerate that.

Well, airport security did not ignore the obvious. But I thought the way they handled it was a bit ridiculous.

They never once asked me why I had so many clothes on. If they had I would have explained and then told them if they want to search me go ahead and do so to your heart’s content, but at least now you have heard my explanation.

No, they didn’t say a word, but they patted me down, X-rayed me, pulled everything out of my bag–just went to great lengths to see if I had something dangerous on me. At one point I tried to offer an explanation but the security agent very harshly told me to keep my mouth shut or things could get much worse. OK, I was just trying to be helpful.

Ultimately they didn’t find anything and I was allowed to board the plane. And I’m sure they were all pleased that by the time their shifts were over my plane had completed its flight uneventfully and all was well. But if it had been me, I would have been very interested to hear the explanation for this passenger’s peculiar behavior. Maybe, just maybe, one of them still remembers it and still wonders what the heck was going on with me that day. Sorry sucker, you’ll wonder till your dying day.

Biker Quote for Today

“If you brake, you don’t win.” – Mario Cipollini

No, that bag doesn’t hang down like that usually. I just didn’t have it set up properly when I shot this picture.

I’m probably like most long-time motorcycle riders in that starting out my means of carrying things with me on the bike was kludgy at best. As soon as I bought the CB750 I bought a sissy bar with a rack behind and a pouch to stash stuff in. For years I just bunged stuff on.

Then I discovered cargo nets and thought that was beyond great. I soon learned differently. I lost a good atlas one day down by Taos when I stuffed it between the net and the rest of the stuff. I almost lost a sleeping bag, too. And I found that cargo nets, much more so than bungee cords, quickly stretch out and then never stretch back.

For a few of the early OFMC trips I just bungeed my sleeping bag to the seat behind me and strapped my tent and a gym bag of clothes on the rack behind the sissy bar. That worked and it gave me something to lean my back against. It didn’t do anything to block rain, however, so I took to putting these things in plastic bags before strapping them on. Of course then there was the constant flapping of the loose bits of bag it was impossible to completely prevent.

Eventually I found the ultimate, a set of soft sidebags that I could just throw over the bike behind me. But I didn’t feel totally secure with those. Although I could put one velcro strap under the seat to make it harder, nothing would have really stopped anyone either from taking the whole shebang or just opening them and helping themselves. I didn’t worry too much about that, and I never had any reason to as nothing has ever been stolen, but there was still always that feeling of unease in the back of my mind.

Then I got my Concours. This bike had it all. Hard bags standard, and large. And it really did do the job wonderfully. But man, unloading was not wonderful. Unlock both bags from the bike and carry them into the motel, then the helmet, jacket, tank bag, everything else. I became a big fan of those luggage carts hotels have. But it’s OK.

Until it wasn’t quite OK. We were pulling out of a parking lot in Jackson one day, backing out, and I wasn’t watching closely enough. Randy stopped and I rolled back into him. All that hit was my right side bag against his tire, so nothing at all with his bike, but this shoved my bag and the clasp that holds it to the bike all askew and it has never been the same again. More than once I have discovered that the bag is off the rail entirely, floating out over the road held on by only the clasp. That thing must be strong.

So now I wrap a strap around it and through the passenger grab handle. But that makes it a lot more inconvenient for getting into the bag. Plus I lost my first strap coming out of Canada four years ago when we stopped just past customs to get everything arranged properly. And I forgot to reconnect the strap. It occurs to me that, as it worked its way off, if it had gotten wrapped around the axle or through the wheel things might have gone badly.

OK, this has run long and I’m only about half way through so I’m going to stop here and finish this piece in my next post. Sometimes you get started and you just keep going.

Biker Quote for Today

Sorry, out to live. Be back “soon.”

John and Bill and our original bikes on one of our very early trips.

Riding hasn’t been much of an option lately, which sets me to reminiscing. Like back to when first John, then I, then Bill got our first motorcycles.

Mind you, Bill and John had had scooters when they were in junior high, which gave way to cars in high school. I would have had a scooter, too, but my Mom wouldn’t let me. I’ve told that story more than once. But these were the first real motorcycles any of us ever had.

It happened largely by chance. It’s been so many years that my memory is weak on the particulars but one way or another, John knew some guy who had a 750 Virago he needed to get rid of and he offered it to John at a price that was too good to pass up.

So one day John shows up at my door on this motorcycle. Hop on, let’s go for a ride. What a revelation! One of the first things I noticed was the smells. You weren’t closed up in some box, you were out in the open and if you went past some place with odors you smelled them. This is new.

And then there were the microclimates you are normally totally unaware of. What sticks in my memory was riding at night up north on Lowell and we went down into the dip of a small stream. Quickly down and back up but it had to be nearly 10 degrees cooler down in the dip. Who knew?

And then there was the whole concept of riding. When John and I went riding we didn’t generally have anywhere we actually wanted to go. We’d just pick a destination because that was an excuse to go ride.

So it wasn’t long and I was thinking really hard about getting my own bike. Of course John was all in favor of that. And back then there was a little shop just a few blocks from my house where they sold mostly used bikes and did repairs. John and I went over there and there were three bikes I found interesting. One was a Honda CB750 C, another was a Honda CB750 K, and I can’t remember the third. I was concerned that these were all a bit big for inexperienced me but John assured me that if I bought a small bike now, in just a few months I would be dissatisfied with it and want a bigger one. Better to get the bigger one now. Of course he was right.

So I bought the CB750 C, but John had to ride it to my house because I didn’t have a license or learner’s permit and I had never had any lessons on riding. Every other motorcycle I had ridden previously–many years earlier–had been no bigger than 305cc.

I got my learner’s permit and John and I went riding. No training, just go do it. Apparently I did so successfully. I have little memory of my learning period. Then I had to get my regular license. John had the advantage that he had kept his motorcycle accreditation current on his driver’s license all these years but I had to take the test. And the only bike I had to take the test on was my 750. I’ve told that story before, too, but suffice it to say that, on the second try, I passed the riding test on my big bike. I don’t think many people do that.

Now we were really cooking. But there was one thing missing. Bill watched wistfully as his two buddies went out having fun. It didn’t take long and Bill announced to us that he had bought a brand new Honda Shadow. He was joining the club. Now we were set. The OFMC was coming into being.

Biker Quote for Today

Life is too short to let dreams sit idle. Make every day count.