Archive for the ‘motorcycle memories’ Category

When I Led My Buddies To Not Wear Helmets

Thursday, October 22nd, 2026
earplugs


My Big Ear earplugs are one pair of many that I have . . . and never use.

Way back in our early days riding motorcycles John and Bill and I often rode without helmets. That changed as years went by but initially we mostly took them with us in case we found ourselves in states with helmet laws.

I was the one who rode without a helmet the most, and I was also the one who continued to do so the longest. It was only a good bit later when, now married, I made the decision that I would do my best not to curse my wife with a husband who was mentally gone due to a bad head injury in a crash. I have never ridden without my helmet since, and that’s a good thing considering my crash on the Honda last year. If I hadn’t had my helmet on that day I’d probably be dead.

But there was a time, back in the early days of the OFMC when I inadvertently led John and Bill to wear their helmets less.

I had ridden my bike out to Lincoln, Nebraska, for my high school reunion. Around this time I had been reading about ear plugs and how they help protect your hearing. On my way home I decided to give them a try. I picked up some inexpensive ones from a drug store and put them in.

Riding with ear plugs was a revelation. Things were so much quieter. It was really pleasant.

The potential downside of using them was that I frequently found myself racing along on US 36 through northern Kansas at more than a little above the speed limit. Without the familiar sound of the engine to tell me roughly how fast I was going it was all too easy to go really fast. Fortunately for me I did not run into a radar trap along the way.

But I was very impressed. And of course I had to tell Bill and John about this.

Their interest was piqued and drug store ear plugs are cheap so they each got some. The thing was, their experience was different from mine. One of the biggest reasons they each wore their helmet much of the time was that the wind noise was uncomfortable for them. That was because neither of them had windshields on their bikes. Now me, I had a windshield right from the start. I never liked that blast of wind and the very first modification I made to my bike was to add a windshield.

Without windshields, they just weren’t comfortable without helmets, at least at high speeds. But now, with the earplugs, that discomfort was gone. And both of them started riding without their helmets a lot more. Unintended–and unexpected–consequences.

Both of them eventually went back to wearing their helmets most of the time long before I ever did. But what was funny was that while they both totally adopted ear plug use I never really did. I still carry them with me all the time but I almost never think to put them in. I know it would be good if I did but it just never seems to cross my mind when I’m gearing up.

But hey–I never ride without the helmet. And I never expect to again.

Biker Quote for Today

Motorcycles are almost as good as guitars for meeting girls.

OFMC As Trend-Setters? Oh, Sure

Monday, October 19th, 2026


Real bikers were into tattoos long before they became fashionable.

We did tattoos before they were everywhere. For a few days.

Younger people may be surprised to learn that there was a time not that long ago when tattoos were looked down upon as something only sailors and lowlifes got into. I’m really not sure how that outlook changed. I was going to suggest (facetiously) that the OFMC had something to do with it but in reality we were probably just riding on the cusp of a wave that was building before we got on it.

Back in 1994 when the OFMC was preparing for our annual summer ride one of us had an idea. Let’s all get tattoos. But just the temporary kind, the kind that you wet your skin and stick this thing on and the image transfers. Then they wash off in a week or so, maybe longer if you’re careful with it.

The idea of course was for us to sort of masquerade as real hard-core bikers. That was always an ongoing joke between us, knowing full well we were nothing of the sort. But we enjoyed referring to ourselves as “stud bikers.” So what stud biker is complete without tattoos?

At the time the popular idea of tattoos was just starting to change. If you went to the People’s Fair, a long-time Denver event, you were seeing more and more booths where you could look through different images and then pick one to have for yourself. “Proper” society was still leery of actual tattoos but temporary tattoos were definitely in vogue. So Bill and John and I each got a temporary tattoo.

Then we headed out on our one-week ride looking forward to seeing the reaction our skin art would elicit.

And that response was non-existent. It didn’t help that Bill’s washed off quickly, and that John had his put on in a spot where it was usually concealed by his clothing. But mine was right out there for the world to see and nobody said one word about it and I never so much as caught a single person looking furtively at it. Yes sir, we were really the stud bikers.

And then the world changed. Now real tattoos are everywhere. And most of these people have never been on a motorcycle in their lives.

Don’t ask me to explain it. I’m just an observer here.

Biker Quote for Today

You might be a Yuppie biker if your tattoos all wash off.

Impressing Babes With Your Bike–Or Not

Friday, April 24th, 2026


I don’t have to try to impress Judy. And no, she does not ride her own.

I’m digging back in my memory now because Judy and I have been married for 30 years. Before that, however, one tool in my kit that I used to try to win the attentions of a fair young lass was my motorcycle. You never did that, did you? Or course not.

Yeah, how cool to suggest you take a ride on the motorcycle. Only, sometimes it doesn’t work out the way you planned.

Early on I had designs on Donna, a friend I had wanted to be more than friends with for a long time. I thought I might finally get my chance. She was going to be at some camp for a few days up in the Red Feather Lakes area, northwest from Fort Collins. We arranged that rather than coming back with whoever she rode up there with, I would come up on my bike–the CB750 Custom being my only bike at that time–and we would go for a ride and just generally have a nice time. And hopefully more.

I figured how long I thought it should take to get there and headed up her way. It took longer than I expected, though. By the time I reached the camp there was not a soul around. Certainly no Donna. Rats! So I headed on back ended up at the intersection where the road up the Poudre Canyon meets US 287, Ted’s Place. I paused for a minute before turning south on 287.

If I had looked in my mirror–I learned later–I might have seen Donna running toward me. She had gotten a ride to there but now was waiting for someone she called to pick her up. With me being late to the camp she had feared being stuck there alone and me not showing up, so she had not taken the chance of assuming I was just late, but definitely coming. And now there I was but I didn’t see her and I went on alone. Rats.

Then there was the time I was riding with Shelley. It was our first–and only–time on the bike. We were just out cruising around when the bike sputtered to a stop. I reached to flip the petcock to go to Reserve only to find it was already in that position. Oops. We ended up walking a mile and a half to a station and then that same mile and a half back. Shelley was not all bent out of shape about it but suffice it to say we never rode again and nothing ever happened between us.

And then there was that time when I was riding with a different Donna down by Deckers. Also our first time riding–and also our last.

I didn’t know the roads up there as well as I do now so it was unexpected when we found ourselves on gravel. No problem, I’ll just take it slow.

Good thing. We were passing a couple parked cars on the left side of the road, going maybe 5 miles an hour, when a big dog walked out from between them right into our path. I hit the brakes hard and instantly we went down. (This is the only time I have ever gone down while in motion; I have dropped the bike in parking lots and such numerous times.)

The dog was unhurt, we never touched him. And fortunately, other than some small bruises, neither were we. But we were both shaken and the fact that we had no recourse but to run several more miles on gravel didn’t give either of us a lot of confidence. And Donna never rode with me again, though we did connect romantically for a period. At least there was that.

Oh, and by the way, the owner of the dog, who was totally apologetic, promised to pay for any damage and proceeded to give me completely fake contact information. Nice guy.

Later on there have been a couple times I ran out of gas with Judy riding with me but we were married by then so it was OK. Besides, by then I wasn’t trying to impress her, we were just out having a good time. She tolerates me making mistakes now and then.

Biker Quote for Today

“It’s the ride of life the journey from here to there living and loving every moment like we have none to spare.” — Jess “Chief” Brynjulson

Personal Best Moments On Motorcycles

Thursday, February 27th, 2025

At the Grand Canyon on a different OFMC trip.

Sure any day on a motorcycle is better than just about anything else, but still, we all have had especially good days. So I got to thinking about what I would list as my best days riding.

The first one comes instantly and requires no consideration. This was the day Kevin and I rode a couple of his V-Stroms over Cinnamon Pass. This was a September day and if you have spent time in Colorado in the fall you know that there are some days in the fall when the sun, the air, and everything is so perfect it’s a true Rocky Mountain high. It was being here for a few of these days when I traveled for a year after college that persuaded me to come here when I decided it was time to put my roots down somewhere.

This day with Kevin on the V-Stroms on Cinnamon Pass was one of those incredible days. On top of that, Cinnamon Pass itself was beautiful. The fall colors were in full profusion and it’s a beautiful mountain location. The pass runs from Lake City over to the Silverton area, on US 550, the Million Dollar Highway. How could it not be an incredible ride? It was. I’ve never had a day on a bike I enjoyed more.

Another best day was really nothing special but circumstances made it special. This was in 1996 and the OFMC was heading out with Deadwood, SD, our destination for the first day.

The circumstances were this: I was married just a year at this point and, about six months in, my wife’s three kids became ungodly terrors. They hated me and made that utterly clear. And for the next seven years they made our lives a living hell, day after day after day. They finally all moved out, they’ve grown up now, and they are adults I actually like and even care about. But back then I was in shock.

John and Bill and I took off this day and as we rode north and I knew I would be away from it all for a week the anger and frustration melted away. I found myself riding along throwing my head back and screaming into the wind, “I love my motorcycle!!!” I will never forget that day. There haven’t been many days in my life when I felt that good. But for the next six years the situation with the kids made my one week on the bike trip something I longed for like crazy, and I was overjoyed each year when it finally came.

After that it gets harder to identify best days. I actually have to think about it.

I guess another best day was also one of the worst. It was at the end of the day when all the woes of the day were overcome that I felt absolutely wonderful.

This was on another OFMC trip, and I’ve told this story before. I had taken my bike in for some work and the shop promised me a dozen times it would be ready by the time we were set to leave. And it wasn’t. John and Bill left without me and we agreed to meet at the campground at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I finally got my bike and blasted off in that direction. After two days of very hard riding I got to the campground, found the campsite but no buddies, so I went looking for them.

Not finding them in any of the obvious places I considered the non-obvious. Perhaps they had ridden out to Sunset Point to watch the sunset. This point is about 25 miles out a narrow, winding road, max speed about 25 mph. I rode out there and they weren’t there so I turned around and headed back. Then my bike died. I was miles from nowhere and there was not another soul on the road. With all the other stress I’d been through up to this point this was where I broke.

Standing there next to my bike in the darkness on this deserted road I pounded on the seat of my bike screaming “God damn it!! God damn it!! God damn it!!”

Then it dawned on me that maybe I’d just run out of gas and I needed to go to Reserve. I flipped the lever down, hit the start button, it sputtered, and then fired up. Talk about exultation! I hurried on back to camp, John and Bill were there, I grabbed the last beer they had out of John’s hand and drank it down, and I felt great. I was with my buddies, all was well, and oh my god the horror was over. You don’t ever feel much better than I felt right then.

OK, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I started writing this but that’s where I ended up. Maybe I’ll come back to this topic if some good rides come to mind. Meanwhile, there surely must be some quote I could use that is appropriate to this piece.

Biker Quote for Today

The best moments are always unplanned.

How Far Is Too Far?

Monday, May 29th, 2023

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

Carrying Stuff On The Bike, Part 1

Thursday, May 12th, 2022

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.”