Fairing update.... I found one!

Lost out on the last Rabid Transit, but luck was with me this time. I have a "never used" Rabid Transit fairing coming to me from the south. This one is in better shape (nothing has ever been mounted in the dashboard, so no holes to fill) and it has the proper low windscreen. I got it for about half of what I bid on the last one.

Now the bad part.. no mounting bracket or mirrors come with this one, so I hope my memory is working when it is time to fabricate the mounting bracketry...










If not I know of a guy who may have some photos of the bracket.. Anyway, I'm excited.. I'll be again watching e-bay and other sources for a set of clubman handlebars, or perhaps a set of BMW RS bars to work with this fairing.

Anyway, I will be mounting it to the bike one way or another.. I'll figure it out all these little details..


This replacement will allow me to e-bay the stock R100RT fairing "(which are seldom seen in a complete configuration). The parts for RT fairings are going for crazy money, so perhaps the profit for it will be used to get some Lester wheels, which are the next item needed to get to the bike I envision.

Below is a pic of a very nice BMW R90S with a stock RS fairing and Lester wheels. I really like the aggressive look. The advantage of Lesters wheels is they allow the use of tubeless tires, which are a lot less trouble to fix in the event of a flat tire. They also have a better wheel bearing set than the stock wheel. If I find them, (Lesters are rare) I will powdercoat the spokes in a color to enhance the appearance of the bike.


The whole process of finding correct components is fun..

Twin baby moose in lawn sprinkler

The front fell off...

Great Italian Motorbike Display - For more amazing video clips, click here

Subject: Now you know

Many of you will recall that on July 8, 1947, a little
over 60 years ago, witnesses claim that an unidentified
flying object (UFO) with five aliens aboard, crashed
onto a sheep and cattle ranch just outside  Roswell,
New Mexico.
This is a well known incident that many say has  long
been covered up by the U.S. Air Force and other
federal agencies and organizations.

However, what you may NOT know is that in the month
of April 1948, nine months after that historic day,
the following people were born:

Albert A. Gore, Jr.
Hillary Rodham
John F. Kerry  
William J. Clinton    
Howard Dean   
Nancy Pelosi   
Dianne Feinstein    
Charles E. Schumer    
Barbara Boxer

See what happens when aliens breed with sheep?

I certainly hope this bit of information clears
up a lot of things for  you. It did for me.

No wonder They support the bill to help illegal aliens!

Now You Know.
Making the world a better place one message at a time. 

Far away is far away only if you don't go there. - Part 3 (Part 1 & 2 are posted below)

It was about 9:30 when I left my camp headed towards the Cape Breton Highlands National Park .

Along the way from Trurro, the road construction crews were out and repaving sections of highway. They would shut down half of the road and allow traffic to pass in one direction, and then reverse the traffic flow for some time. The sun was hot when I was sitting still, and it seemed that I was always going in the direction that had to wait. It was not enjoyable at all. I certainly would not cover the distance to the Canso Causeway in anything near a normal travel time.

Going in this direction on the highway sucks even if you can do it in normal time. It is relatively flat here, and there is nothing of interest to see. There is nothing to stop for. It is just simply boring. When you have to stop and sit still in the heat with the aroma of hot tar and diesel fuel for ten minutes at a time every 20 minutes or so, it adds up to wishing there was another way to get to where you were going.

Finally made it to the Canso Causeway, paid a toll and was again rolling north-east. It was time to think about how to do the trail. It is essentially a loop. Both ends of the loop cross the road I was now on. Should I do the loop in a clockwise direction, which would keep me on the side of the road closest to the hills, or go in a counter-clockwise direction which would keep me on the side closer to the water? I chose to do it CCW, as it would mean not having to make a left turn across an oncoming lane of traffic when I wanted to stop at any of the overlooks which look out over the Northumberland Straits.

I was very surprised at the altitude of the road. It was not really high, but in comparison to the rest of N.S. It is unexpectedly high. As you can see in the photo on the right, it is a superb motorcycle road! It winds through an (at the time) "unimproved" National Park. While it was free then, I understand that there is now a fee to travel over this road.

Upon crossing the causeway, I began to see signs advertising a Alexander G. Bell museum located in Baddeck . I had never realized that Bell had ties to the area. Seems like after making money on the telephone invention, he spent many years here working on a many projects, including some for the army.

He built some large kites and tested them here. The kites were set up to strap a passenger to. The idea was to fly a person high enough to serve as a observer on battlefields. It was Lieutenant Thomas. E. Selfridge , who actually volunteered to fly on this kite.. brave guy. who made the first controlled man-flight, in one of Bell's kites in 1907. The same man died seven months later while flying as a passenger of Orville Wright. He became the first person to die in the history of powered flight.

An incident happened this day that remains vivid in my memory. I had found a turn-off observation area with a stunning view over the Northumberland Strait.. There was a weather bent tree that offered a shady spot to sit and watch the whales which were doing their thing a half mile from where I sat and watched. The birds were singing in the trees and hopping from limb to limb. Thistle and dandilions was blooming the section of a guard rail that was in place to prevent people from falling over the edge and onto the rocky shoreline several hundred feet below. It was a very tranquil place, and the cooling breeze off the sea felt refreshing on your skin.

I had been sitting there for perhaps 20 minutes when I heard another bike downshifting and turning off the road to where I was. It was another BMW. Seeing me sitting there the solitary rider stopped beside my BMW and sat on his idling machine for a minute,, and then killed his engine. Without a word he removed his helmet, took off his leather jacket, and reached into his trunk. With two cans of cold apple juice he walked in my direction and handed me one. In return I offered him some potato chips from a large bag. We talked quietly for a few minutes, exchanging info on where we had come from, where we were headed, and about stuff we had seen along the way. He was doing the trail in the opposite direction, and tipped me off to watch the road for falling rock along a section of "Trunk 19" (Route 19) which had been loosened by the rainstorm a few days before.

Soon, the conversation lulled, and we just sat and looked out over the sea. About ten or fifteen minutes past, and suddenly a Winnabago style camper rolled to a stop beside our bikes. Alberta license plate. This rig had a huge sliding, screened window (probably 3 X 5 foot) pushed back wide open on the drivers side, and was piloted by a guy who looked like he was resigned to the fact that his vacation was sucking life from him. We could hear his wife bitching at him about something, and his teen-age daughter whining about how she wanted to go back to “the place with the pool”.

The back door on the passenger side of the motorhome slams open and out jumps a fifteen year old boy with a big friggen boom box. This thing is huge and has four speakers, two about 8” and two more about 6”.

Now remember, this was the 80s, and Michael Jackson was the hot thing with his just released “Thriller” album. The kid cranks the volume up to the threshold of pain. The birds fly off, and the rythimic crash of the surf below is no longer heard. The kid starts to practice his “moon walk”.

My new rider aquaintance puts down his juice can and is on his feet in less than two minutes walking in the kids direction. I'm sitting leaning back against the tree, watching the reaction of the driver. He shifts in his seat sitting up straighter, and leans forward resting his forearms on the wheel, and is watching a situation develop. He looks a little nervious.

Rider says “hi” to the kid in a friendly manner.

Kid says “hi” and turns down the music a touch.

Rider says “nice boom box”

Kid: “yeah”.

Driver and his now quiet wife watch intently through the windshield.

Rider to kid - “how much a radio like that cost?”

Kid says “$105.-”

Rider says “Canadian money?”

Kid: “yeah”

Rider: “may I see it?”

Kid hands rider the boom box..

I hear Drivers wife saying “Harry.......” as they both are starting to look real uncomfortable.

Rider says to kid in a friendly tone: “wow... this is heavy, got a lot of batteries in it.”

Kid: “yeah, holds like eight.”

Rider lifts boom box over his head, turns to the cliff and tosses it over with a grunt..

I'm sitting there stunned alternately watching this thing sailing through the air and the reaction of the driver, his wife, and the kid.

The boom box made a graceful arc and fell about half way to the sea when it struck the first rock outcropping, with a sharp crack, it unleashed an explosion of D cell batteries, cassett tape, and flyying plastic parts, before continuing its plumet to the water below. Silence returns.

About 30 seconds pass, and no one has moved or uttered a sound.

Rider calmly reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a wad of cash, counts out $125., and hands it to the stunned kid whose jaw is slack.

I look at the driver, who is now breaking out in a large grin. His wife looking in stunned disbelief.

The rider turns and walks back in my direction looking very amused.. He returns to where he was sitting minutes before, and picks up apple juice can.

Kid runs back to motorhome.

Driver who looks absolutly gleeful starts engine as wife starts yelling at kid to “get in here”

Driver trying not to laugh, begins backing out of parking area while looking at us and giving a thumbs-up.

For months, no, make that years later, whenever I heard Thriller I just broke up in laughter.

Another Part to follow soon...

Obama: 'Make Sure Your Child Can Speak Spanish'

Far away is far away only if you don't go there. - Part 2 (Part 1 posted below)

Making good time I continued to ride north.

A stop for fuel and a cold drink of Gatorade brought an interesting conversation with a young teen age group. They were curious about my destination, and eager to talk about my bike. I don't think they quite grasped the concept of riding long distances on bikes as they kept talking about rice rocket bikes. One thing that amused me, is their referring to a friends GP zed. I couldn't figure out what it was until I realized that the letter Z is called ZED in that neck of the woods..

I continued on my way past Peggy's Cove (very unusual rocks in that area) and reached the lights of Halifax. As it was a weekend, traffic was light across the MacDonald Bridge. About 40 miles up the road is Shubenacadie, and Trurro maybe another 15. Between the two is a motel made of stone. It was late now, and I was happy to be able to check in and stay at the Stone house. After checking in I continued into Trurro for dinner.

Update:

Back then, the Stonehouse was well run and clean. Sadly, things have changed, and this motel has expanded, and now gets horrible reviews. It's too bad that this is the case, as the location is very central, and was a nice place to call home base when in Nova Scotia.

I know some of you are aware of this, but for those who have never been there I'll say it now. There is no such thing as good food in Nova Scotia. If you want good food be prepared to cook it for yourself. If your thinking of throwing a slab of beef on a charcoal grill, your gonna find that Canadian beef is different than what you hope for. I don't know why this is, but it is just the way it is.

Dinner was interesting.. Most places were already closed by the time I got there... Very limited choice of food, but I figured it is gonna be not so good anyway, so why not try something different. I went to perhaps the only Chinese restaurant in Nova Scotia. I'll just leave that to your imagination.

On the return trip to the motel, half way around the entrance ramp onto Rt. 2, a large owl in flight, and I on the bike almost collided. I ducked behind the fairing and somehow we missed one another. I don't know which of us was more startled.

I slept very well that night.. unusual for me, as I never seem to sleep well in a strange place on the first night of a trip such as this. Down the road a bit was a Tim Horton which is the Canadian equivalent of Dunkin Donuts. Started by a famous hockey player from the 70s, they continue to expand and now can be found in Maine as well.

With good coffee and a restful sleep I was ready to get back on the bike and explore. I put off the Cabot trail for a day and opted to just ride to places I had never been. It was a good decision. Rain had passed through the night before and I had slept through it. As I met people throughout the day they would speak of how violent the weather had been. I guess I had been more tired than I thought!

The humidity of the previous day was gone, and the temperature was in the low 80s. Perfect riding weather. As I rode along I stopped frequently when I saw things of interest. I watched a fisherman land a salmon, watched a man making jewelry from rocks he had collected and polished, watched another drying Dulce, and tasted some of that seaweed.

I stopped mid day at a beach and went for a swim in the warm sea. Because of the course of the Gulf Stream, the ocean beaches are much warmer there than here.

That evening, I rode over to the river. Shubenacadie N.S. is the head of what is known as the tidal bore. It's an interesting thing to see and worth the effort if you are in the area and the timing is right for you.

Because of the high tides in the Bay of Fundy, and due to the shape of the coast, when the tide rises the water flows into the river from the bay. As the river continues to narrow, the inrush of water creates a wave. This wave builds and continues to travel for miles upstream. At Shubenacadie, the river begins to shallow quickly, and the wave builds in hight. You can indeed hear it coming. In seconds what was a river twenty feet wide becomes a body of water half a mile wide. It happens so quickly that horses have been known to be caught by the wave and drown. If you go to see this, ask the locals for directions to the best vantage point, and they can also tell you when to be there. Don't be late, as mother nature will not wait for you.

Back at the stone house for a second night, I parked the bike and went to the bar for a few hours. I met a two couples on Gold Wings who had just arrived for their first trip to N.S. One couple was from Toronto, the other from West Virginia, and somehow they knew each other. They had driven around the Bay of Fundy and were headed south to Yarmouth to get the ferry to Maine. They were interested in what I had to tell them about my trip so far, and what I thought they would like to see on their way south. Nice people.. if they stayed on their schedule, we determined they hit the ferry at low tide and would not be dealing with the steep slippery ramp.

I decided to push back the Cabot trail yet another day and spend a day in Halifax. Do the tour on Citadel Hill (pic on right) and to visit the then new Titanic museum. That way the weekend would be over and that would mean less traffic on the Cabot. The two couples on the Honda s and I rode to Halifax where we parted company.. they were on their way to Peggy's Cove and then onward to Yarmouth.

In Halifax after the tours I found a air conditioned billiard room where a game I didn't really understand is played on huge (probably 8' x 16') tables with multiple sized balls. Back then I was playing a hell of a lot of eight ball as their was a table in my house, so I played a respectable game although I really didn't understand the strategy of the game.

With the heat of the day gone and a lot of daylight left, I rode to Gays River where I would camp that night. I had been here many times...I owned this piece of property. I bought it because it had belonged to my Grandfather Douglas (who I never met) years before. Earl, the dairy farmer who I bought it from knew the story of how it was lost to my family, when my Grandmother sold off land after my Grandfather Doug died.

Earl knew I loved to trout fish in the stream which bisected it. At that time the water in the stream was pure and I had many times just scooped it up in my hands and drank it with no ill effect. Something I would not dare to try today.

Shortly after I acquired this stream I had the good fortune of a large and very tall, old pine tree on the stream edge blowing over, or perhaps falling over under the weight of winter ice. I'm not sure how it happened, but the result was now a shallow pool caused by the lifting of the tree root system in the now much wider stream. The tall old tree was lying in the meadow and would be a problem come hay making time for my friend. We worked out a deal at his request. He removed the tree and used it for fire wood. I had him cut the trunk and leave the root system standing, and when he did, the roots fell back a little to shade the stream. While he was in there with a backhoe i had him dig the stream deeper (about six feet) and he used the dirt to fill and level the "bridge" which is really just a corrugated pipe that the stream flows through. On my next trip there I visited some of the local farmers and managed to get several old tractor tires at no cost. Those tires were sunk into the deepened pool. Any time I camped on that spot from then on there was no shortage of trout to be had, as they were always to be found resting in the walls of the tires. Drop a worm in the center and you had instant breakfast.

I had no problem with him making hay from the field on it and for years after the sale he continued to do so. In return he kept a small bridge over the stream in good repair so as to allow his tractor towing his hay wagon access to the field. The spread of thick alder growth was held in check, and all continued as it had for years. I always had a place to camp.

I set up my tent on the edge of the field under my old tree, and gathered wood for a small fire. Those tasks out of the way, and with a now empty saddlebag, I headed for the general store down the road for some necessary food items and some bug repellent which I knew I would need along about sundown. There was another reason for stopping there.. I knew word would spread quickly that I was in the area, so smoke from my campfire would not be alarming.

The store had been there as long as I could remember.. I remember when the road was dirt, and there were kerosene lamps for lighting. Now the road was paved, but other than the addition of electric power the store had changed little. Chicken feed in 50 lb. burlap sacks could still be bought, as could be fishing line, hooks, and ammo for a hunters rifle or shotgun. Often you could find pies baked by some local housewife, and now with refrigeration, ice cream was to be had if you wanted.

Back then the owner of the store knew me from the time I was an infant. Catching up on the local gossip was fun. I remember his store well.. It was attached to his house and a bell on the door would announce you arrival. The screen door had a yellow push bar on it with an advertisement for Sussex beverages. Just inside was a curved glass display case where the candy was kept, my favorite was a candy bar called "5 star".. Although even to this day, I look for them every time I am in a general store, I never saw them anywhere else but in this little Canadian general store. There were other items in the place also thrilled the kid from Boston...on on the back shelf, high up was fireworks! I remember when I was a kid a package of "Black Cats" was a nickel.

With a can Dinty Moore beef stew, a pound of bacon, three eggs, a stick of butter, and a loaf of fresh baked bread loaded in a cardboard box bungee corded to the luggage carrier, and a six pack of Coke in the saddlebag, I headed back to my tent.

The beef stew heated with a backpackers stove tasted wonderful, and after dinner I put the items which needed to be cool in a plastic zip lock bag along with a rock for weight and set in in the stream. I hoped it would be fine, but I had lost food before to raccoons of porcupines this way.. I selected a straight alder and striped it to serve as a fishing pole, attached a line and hook, and set it aside.. An old WWII trench shovel with a shortened handle to allow a fit in a saddlebag, bought at a yard sale years ago, was used to dig a few worms. This hole in the ground would also serve another purpose and then be filled over when camp was broken. Breakfast would be bacon, eggs, and a trout, or maybe just the trout if the critters got into my stuff...

It was warm and a fire was not really necessary but I lit one anyway. Just seemed like the thing to do, and I figured it would help keep the bugs away.

I felt decompression setting in. The rush was over.. I had days to do whatever felt right and no place I had to be or anything I needed to get done. Tomorrow I would make the easy ride to the Cabot trail, or maybe not.. Maybe I would just ride the road to Sheet Harbor, get on the road that runs along the coast and turn north. This was a part of N.S. I had never seen. I elected to decide in the morning, and fell asleep looking up at the stars.

Part 3 to follow...

Far away is far away only if you don't go there. - Part one....

The following is what I remember of a totally spur of the moment motorcycle trip I made to the Cabot Trail, Nova Scotia and beyond, back in the 80s. I had nine days off and had not made any plan.. The weather was perfect so on Saturday morning the idea to camp out a few days just hit me.

The saddlebags were already mostly packed with camping gear as I had never unpacked them since a trip down to Virgina some weeks before. I threw some clothing and a camera in a one gallon zip-lock bag into my tank bag, A stop at the bank where I bought some travelers checks, a fuel stop where I checked the oil and tire pressures, and started north. Boston traffic was light and I crossed the Mystic River bridge and ran the gauntlet of Rt 1 through Sagus in no time. Moving north along 95 towards Portsmouth, I weigh the options of driving around the Bay of Fundy or to take the ferry across to Nova Scotia.

The weather was hot and humid and I figured there would be thunder showers later in the day.. Through Portsmouth, over the middle bridge and aiming in the general direction of Bangor, I passed a group of six Harley riders on bikes which made so much noise I wondered how they could stand riding them.

As the hours passed the sky filled with thunder head clouds.. I opted to head for Bar Harbor to meet the ferry.. My thought was I might reduce my chance of riding in the rain that way. Time was a factor... I needed to make some time to get to the boat so I picked up my pace.. I got to the ferry 20 minutes past its scheduled departure time, but caught a break as it was 30 minutes late.. That worked out well.

That evening the change of the boats engines from their steady drone awoke me.. Through a light fog the southern most point of Nova Scotia materialized. My arrival in Yarmouth found me somewhat more rested than when I left Bar Harbor. Rather than drop money into the slot machines, I opted to settle into a deck chair and doze for a "power-nap". I knew that I would need to ride a few hours north from Yarmouth to find a motel which would not have a "no vacancy" sign displayed. There are no "biker friendly" motels in Yarmouth, and if you were to find one, you can count on paying a high fee..

There are two main routes north from there, The "Lighthouse Trail" on the Atlantic side, and the "Evangeline Trail" on the Bay of Fundy side. There is little chance of finding anywhere to stay on ether route between Yarmouth and Halifax, which is a couple of hours away. My plan was to ride the shorter lighthouse trail through and past Halifax and continue past Shubenacadie to Stewieack or maybe as far as Trurro to find a spot to stay the night. Both routes are two lane and I was to be well ahead of the crowd of car tourists who would be in competition for places to stay the night.

Announcement was made over the intercom that the stairways to below deck were now open, and those of us who were on motorcycles should go below and prepare to off load. (Bikes are first on and first off).

I undid the lashings I had used to secure my bike to the green painted pipe rail, unlocked my saddlebags to speed my trip through customs, and observed a truly bizarre spectacle, It is really something one must see first hand to appreciate. To understand you need to be in the cargo bay of the ferry on a night when approximately 150 motorcycles are being cranked over or kick started all at once, packed together in a steel room about the size of a small gymnasium and lighted by a dim row of 40 watt light bulbs.

The ear splitting confusion of shrieking Japanese import high-revving unmuffled twin, four, and six cylinder rice-rockets, the general chest-pounding thunder of Ducati 900s, Norton 850s and 750s, Harleys, Triumphs, BSAs, BMWs, and piston slapping British 500 singles... all the sound of it bouncing off the painted steel walls in an incredible rising and falling wail.

The sight of several hundred leather-clad people flipping down face shields and punching starter buttons, with others in the mob of bikes heaving up and down on kick starters like erratic pistons in some kind of insane noisy smoke machine, headlights flaring on to make a blanket of brilliance and flashing chrome at the bottom layer of the smoke cloud. Red tail and flashing brake lights add color to all in sight, making for the look of vehicles at a disaster scene.

Eager riders on bikes launching themselves row by row up to the ramp into the dark night, people spinning their tires on the oil slick steel deck or catching traction in half-controlled wheelies. What no film could capture is the mixed smell of Castrol R, several dozen brands of two-stroke oil and all the other choking thick exhaust fumes, or the instant, furnace-like heat given off by hundreds of motorcycles lighting their engines in a confined space.

I recall thinking that if one wanted to capture this all on film, you would have to film it through the distorted star-burst pattern of a really scratched yellow face shield, just to get the last effect of profound unreality...

My turn came and the dragonfly (the name of my BMW R75/5 - see previous post for explanation) slithered up to the ramp with a wave of other bikes. The Bay of Fundy tides are the highest in the world, and as luck would have it we arrived at high tide. This meant the ramp was steep and scary.. Riding a loaded touring bike down a wet, oily, perforated, 100 foot steel ramp, observed by half the residents of Yarmouth who probably wager on how many bikes will be dropped to slide in disgrace down the ramp sideways into Canada, is not something that is for the faint of heart.. There are riders who take a look at the ramp and just stay on board.. they buy a return ticket and forget Canada.. Less confident riders who plan to do this ride will do well to check the tide schedule and plan their trip accordingly...

The trick to the ramp is to stop at the top, be sure the rider in front of you makes the end and is out of your way (some crew member is sure to be yelling at you to move at this point.. screw that, just ignore him) Shift to Second gear early, and ride the brakes lightly and early in the descent being careful to not allow ether wheel to lock, and about half way down ease up on both to pick up speed.. When you land on Canada don't grab the brakes too quickly as the pavement at the foot of the ramp is sure to be oil slick.. While you are doing this decent, you hope that the rider behind you is waiting for you to hit the bottom before he starts, as there is little chance of him stopping on the ramp and not hitting you should you drop your bike.

I landed on the docks upright and in control at about thirty mph, and the white gloves of a row of otherwise nearly invisible policemen directed us over to Customs. Tonight I lucked out.. the customs crew just waved me through, and in five minutes I was heading north from Yarmouth on the two lane Lighthouse route. Five minutes later I heard what sounded like a pair of chain saws in the distance, and in seconds three neon colored rice rockets blasted by me... I caught a look at the license plates as the flew by.. New Hampshire. This was perfect.. I wanted to make time and these guys would tie up any mounties in my way, so now it was just watch for deer and ride at a good pace.

Part two to follow...

Gravity Hill - Greenfield, Massachusetts

This is an odd place...

Travel westerly from Colrain Rd. up Shelburne Rd. in Greenfield. Stop at the Route 2 underpass and turn your car around so it is facing easterly. Move forward approximately 200 feet and shut off the car and put it in neutral. The car will roll uphill.

Address:
Shelburne Road, Greenfield, MA
Directions:
Go to Rt 2 West, then right on Colrain Rd and then immediately take a left on Shelburne Road. As you go under the Rt. 2 bridge, do a U-turn and park across from the white road marker on the left side of the road (approx 150 ft east of the bridge).
Hours:
Public road. Hazard flashers recommended. Use at your own risk.

Jumping into a 7,964 mile deep hole - 42 min.