2017 Spring Winnipesaukee Ride

When a good day suddenly appears, I’m apt to find myself on a ride around the big lake. Like today, for example. Snow in the woods, bare roads, a high near 70 degrees and sunny.

I recently acquired a new Sedici three-season armored jacket for a closeout price of $138 and I wanted to try it out.

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It has zip-out wind and thermal layers. I had them both in. I was too warm when stopped, but it was okay moving. In several pockets of snow and shade, the jacket was just right.

I should have removed the thermal layer when I got overheated but I was too preoccupied (lazy).

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Cottage on Alton Bay with a red roof

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Tuftonburo Town Beach

The bob houses have retreated off the spring ice after curing several fishermen of their post Christmas blues. See December photo.

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Mount Washington cruise ship resting up before the summer season begins.

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Bad BMW man peering in the window at Meredith Harley Davidson

The bike ran well as always, traffic was sparse, things to see, spring in the air. And I like the jacket a lot. It was a good ride.

 

 

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Running Lean: Part One

A motorcycle can be a pretty minimalist approach to transportation and I like that. Buy a good used 50 mpg bike for relatively little money, maintain it yourself, register and insure it for $150. Travel light.

Not really the North American way these days, but there was a time when that general approach to living was mostly what I knew.

In 1949 I was 5 years old and we lived just behind Elliott’s coal yard in a small cottage on a dirt road that led to the town beach on Pentucket Pond. My mother loved the beach.

But for my younger brother and I, a short walk through the back garden and into the the woods brought us to Mr. Bateman’s place, a 10′ x 14′ tar-paper shack. We called him Charlie. He was an old, slow-moving, WWI veteran who kept to himself, took care of himself and said little.

He had no car, no phone, no power, and no plumbing. Everything was dark. Kerosene lighting, coal stove, dark boards, black tar-paper walls and roof, old army blankets, and Charlie himself all in black with one of those heavy fabric vests that old men wore. One small window above a tiny makeshift table attached to the wall.

I was a bit afraid, not understanding Charlie and how he came to be there and what it meant, but there he was and there I was. My brother loved him easily and spent a lot of time shooting Charlie’s air gun, drawing cartoons at his table, and just hanging out.

The absolute best adventure was going hunting. Squirrel hunting. We’d hike down the abandoned railroad bed to a place in the woods Charlie liked. He had a shotgun and a big canvas bag with crossed rifles on it. The squirrels would go in the bigger part of the bag in the back. Our sandwiches and the shotgun shells would go in the smaller outer part. There were rules and only one of us could go with him at a time.

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A bag like Charlie’s, but his was darker.

One morning my mother found Charlie slumped down on the back stairs, unconscious. He had tried to come up to the house for help. That had never happened before.

It was my first funeral. I was surprised how good he looked in the casket, considering he was dead. At the grave site an honor guard of veterans fired their rifles in the air in a three volley salute. It was so loud! Again, and again, and I realized Charlie must have been young once and there was a whole world of stuff I didn’t know about him, and now shots were being fired out of respect for him and I could hear a distant bugle, beautiful and clear.

He’s one of the very few people I remember from way back then, before I went off to first grade.

In the years after Charlie died, the shack came down and the Elliotts built a large new home overlooking the pond on the wooded knoll behind the cabin site.

Trivia: People per Bike by State

How many residents are there per registered motorcycle in the various states? I have wondered. I found enough data on the internet to calculate it, but then I found a site that already has a nice article.

You can check it out on Motley Fool.

The national average is 36 people per motorcycle.

Iowa is third with 18 people per motorcycle.

New Hampshire is second with 17.

South Dakota is first with only 12  inhabitants per bike. By the way, the Stugis, SD motorcycle rally draws about 1/2 million riders annually from all over the country. Bonafide bike country.

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2015 Sturgis, SD Bike Rally Riders

 

It’s interesting that the warmer states have the least motorcycles per capita. I have no idea why. It should be the other way around but it isn’t. People with cold winters have more bikes.

But I think New Hampshire is too far out of first place for me to help much by buying a second motorcycle. It was a pretty good thought, though.

Down the Road

The old, hardwired part of my brain arrived genetically, a product of millions of years of evolution. It existed before agriculture and was used hunting and gathering. It knows how to carry all my possessions with me, to live light and free. It’s still there, operating in the background. There hasn’t been enough time to change it much.

That’s why a motorcycle feels natural. A minimal machine, carrying my gear down the road to the next good spot.

I can do civilization pretty well, but part of me objects to it and gets angry.

That’s why a regular dose of “the bike” is necessary. Even a photo does wonders.

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Ted Simon, Jupiter’s Travels.

 

 

 

Cold Weather Riding: Part 6

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Some people drive up from Boston to go skiing at Gunstock. They look over as an old BMW pulls in with a pair of snow shoes strapped on the back. “Whaaaaa?”

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It’s alarming. No one rides a motorcycle to a ski area in February.

“What does that guy know that I don’t know?”

For one thing, it’s only 1/4 mile from my house to the ski area. I don’t get cold on a three minute ride.

I disappear into the woods.

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Steep Part

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Half way up Cobble Mountain, I notice some critters have been sharing this section of the trail. But their tracks veer off towards this shelter:

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A warm south facing rock overhang, dry pine needle floor, no mortgage.

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Snow-coated Alton Bay in the distance.

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Gunstock Downhill Ski Runs

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Panorama High Speed Quad running full capacity in the distance.

Back home an hour and a half later. Hot tea. Then, more hot tea.

Cold Weather Riding: Part 5

The F650 has been accumulating that white powdery, road salt, metal-eating,  winter worn look. It’s 33 degrees, sun is shining, roads are dry. That’s right! Time to head for the local car wash.

But why not do it with a bit more comfort?

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Check these out. Got them for Christmas.  They come in a foil pouch and as soon as the air hits them they start producing heat. How? It’s a blend of iron powder, water, salt, activated charcoal and vermiculite. Sort of a very slow-acting, self-igniting gunpowder, I imagine.

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I have been using an LLBean wool mitten liner inside an old pair of down ski mittens. I put the Yaktrax pouch just on the outside of the wool mitten above my fingertips.  With the wool mitten already inside the down one, it’s easy to slip the pouch in-between and get it where you want it.

Sure enough, I could feel the heat as I set off down the road. My face was feeling cold until I realized my face shield wasn’t down all the way. After that it was all cozy.

At the car wash do-it-yourself bay, I took the mittens and helmet off and put on a lighter pair of gloves to handle the wash equipment.

A nice thing about having the heat in your mittens is you can afford to get your hands cold performing a task that requires your fingers out in the open, like putting 12 quarters into the wash machine. You get relief as soon as the mittens go back on.

I use up my 3 minutes with prewash, soap, wax and rinse. I try not to blast away near the wheel and suspension bearings. Some places you want the grease to stay. I wipe down the bike. I’m on my way on a clean machine.

Do the hand warmers work? I’m riding back into the driveway thinking I’d like to stay out longer. Why not. My hands are fine.

Let’s see now, how far south do I need to ride in the cold before I find 50-degree weather? It’s been on my mind.

 

 

Last Ride

It’s  just after Christmas, sunny and in the mid forties. That’s right. Time for a motorcycle circumnavigation of Lake Winnipesaukee. Quite likely the last such ride in 2016, by anyone.

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Alton Bay, already frozen over.

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The F650 loves cool weather.

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Route 28 north to Wolfeboro. White Mountain National Forest in the distance.

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Big lake house under construction. Just the top of it visible.

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A bay on the big lake, north of Wolfeboro

There are actually some guys in those bob houses. Recovering from Christmas.