Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1990's

with the 1-405, it's as if I was headed to World War III. "Be caref ul," they moan with saddened fa ces that leave a lasting impression as I merge betw een a trash truck and a Chevy Impala . Th ey wer e worried about cars, 1 was more concerned about the figure in the rearview 'mirror Scott "Crazy" Rousseau." PaulCarruthers We decid ed to ge t ou t of th e chilly morning air and eat rather than w ait for Donn to s how u p . H al fw a y throu gh bre akfast we heard that unmistakable rumble of a Harley pulling up ou tside . Pictu re this, if yo u will : Donn, of Jap an ese descent, comes rid ing up on a bright yellow, H er itage Softail Classic HarleyDavidson, w earing a Je remy McGrathrepli ca, Bell Mot a 6 MX helmet, Oakley goggles, an H-D letterman 's jacket an d Doc M arten s hoes. Tru st me, it w as quite a sig h t. And than kfully one w e don't see eve ry day. The look on my wife's fac e said it all: she was worried. Sure , she's been with me to countless motocross races, several mountain bike downhill events, and even to the emergency room a few times , but this was different . A 160h' of concern f ell over her face as she spotted me trying to sneak out of the driveway aboard the' big Harl ey . "You're going to ride that thing...on the streel? " she asked, with a look of fear in her eyes. After assuring her that my life insurance policy payments were up to date, I roll ed out of the driv eway and onto th e open road. But wait ... som ething felt odd. This was a big bike - the biggest I'd ever ridden - and in addition to being a bit nervous about my wife's sk etchy send -off (thanks, honey), I felt incredibly claustrophobic inside the unfamiliar street riding helmet. After a quick U-turn and dash through the garage, I was finally on my way , now wearing my trusty MX helm et! Oh sure , I strapped th e street helmet to the se a t behind me, but until I felt comfortable battling for position with one-ton automobiles, . my more familiar lid would do just fin e. Upon arrival at our meeting point, my fiv e peers glared at with looks of disgust. I tried to explain myself, but instead was lectured at great lengths that wearing a motocross helme t on the street was like racing with no visor,. riding a dirt bike with no front f ender, or showing up at the track already dressed in riding gear. Luckily , Chris had driven to the restaurant , and as well as sha ring t he others' ridicule, he said that I could leave my helmet in his truck. Donn Maeda m e Our w ell -thought-out pl an pretty much ended at th e res tauran t. Ju st ge tting s ix g u ys to m eet at o ne pl ace is tough enough, after that, it was pretty much, "Okay, where ya wanna go?" "How about south?" Mark sa id . South. Hmm. South has th at warm, sunny ring to it, So sou th it was. . We lucked out. The sun w as shinning ' and the air was crystalclear. Yeah, it w as a' little chilly, but, hey, at lea st we were riding. "I wonder how cold it is in Minnesota is right now?" I thought as we w ere rolling d own th e highway. " I guess Chris will tell me when he ge ts ba ck from coveri ng th e M inneapoli s Supercross next week." Freeway riding .. .well , it s u ck s . I probably feel that w ay because I'm on freeways pretty much ev ery single day of the year, while riding back and forth to work. They're usually packed with cars, and it 's simply no fun humming along in a straight lin e mile after mile. Plus, you have way too much tim e for thinking how cold your fingertips are. Despite his f ear of taking to the interstat e, Chris gets my vote for the Fearless Riding Maneuver of the Day Award fo r his display of composure and huge cajones while pulling in front of full y loaded Peter bilt bellydump truck on th e 1-15 South. Chris slid th e 'BMW right in fron t of th e guy, only briefly hooking one of the Beemer's saddlebags underneath the Pete's front bumper befor e pulling away. It was that close. It made me pucker, and I was in the other lane. Scott Rousseau Getting .o ff the freewa y wa s of utmost importance. So we so on pulled off the freeway and found ourselves on a nice twisty can yon road. "Ahh, much better," I thought. "This is more like it." Chris was even m ore glad to get off the freeway than I w as. Littl e did I suspect that a f reeway section would pro vide th e day 's ex perience most reminiscent of off-road riding. I was moun ted on the Beemer at the time, wh ich fo rtunately f elt the most like a dirt bik e of any of th e s ix mot orcycles we br ought along. CrUising at th e speed lim it in th e slow lane was a fairl y safe proposition - or so I thought until a cav ernous pothol e appeared from beneath the car in f ront of me ; that's when my dirt-riding instincts kicked in. I stood on the pegs, prepared for the impending impact with my best "attack" position, and nailed the throttle '- braking would have been useless at that point. Judg ing from the fact that Mark's jaw fell on his tank, I must have done okay . He 'witnessed the entire incident , and later said I caught close to a foot of air. Unlike dirt riding , 1 guess the optimum time for a road ride is not just aft er the heaviest rains in 50 years. Chris Jonnum One of ou r plans on the ride w as to stop about every 20 mile s or so to swap bikes . Th is is w ha t intere sted me most abou t our ride. I ha ve been o n m a ny o rga n ized, work-related road r ides bef ore, but u sually everyone is rid in g the sa me kind, or same category of motorcycle. So jumping from the Suzuki RF600, to th e Kawasaki ZX-ll, to th e BMW RllOOR, to 'the Yamaha Seca 11, to the big Harley, to the Honda American Classic was an e xperience I enjoyed immen sel y. Each bike had something to o ffer, but, for me, none had more to offer than the ZX-ll, an old favorite. Big sp o rt-touring bik es, such as the ZX-ll, strike the right ch ord with m e, as d o g iganti c full-on touring bikes, but the H arl e y didn 't impress m e one bit. Though I did like th e attention I got while riding the bike - they were looking at th e bike, not me. As far as the oth er bikes go, I enjo yed th e Seca's plush suspension, the Su zu ki' s man eu verability, th e Shad ow's com fort, a n d I es pe ci a lly enjoy ed the Beemer's overall pleasant feel, especially at th e end of the da y when I wa s feeling a littl e fatigued. 1 spent th e first leg of th e trip on th e Harley, and aside from scraping the floo rboards on the ground a few times, I'd say that my stint aboard th e Hog was prett y uneventful. Paul was mount ed aboard th e other "cruiser" - the Honda Am erican Classic - so 1 thought it would be preuy appropriate to stay close to him. W rong. . J ust as I closed in on my Editor, a loud bang shot throu gh the air and almost sent me diVing off th e bik e and heading for cover. A gun shot? Mayb e. But who would be shoo ti ng at us ? Bangl Th er e it wa s again . Bang , ban g bang! Each tim e th e sound filt ered through my helmet, it continued to scare me... A few miles down the road, the six of us pulled over to swap machines. Paul slapped me on the back and laugh ed, "W atch out wh en y ou rid e th e Honda , som etimes it backfires when you downshift." Donn Maeda At this point we still weren't su re where JNe would w ind up. Early morning plans for a ride that inclu ded more two-lane blacktop than freeway were qu ickly falling by the wa yside. Beginning the ride on the BMW, I was happy; at the first stop to swap, I was not happy. Cruiser s have never been my bag, but the re 1 was , [eeling. lik e the kid that gets left out playing musical chairs, having the Honda Am erican Classic foisted upon me. 1 mounted. reaching to the high handlebars, 1 thumbed the starter button and the bik e "t hunde red" to life. The laid-back seating posilion made me feel a little out of control. And 1 wasn 't moving y et. The real problem though , was when 1 went to place my feet on the pegs - becaus e th ey didn't end up there , but right back on the ground. 1 looked down to where "proper " pegs should be: no pegs. 1 looked forward, way forward , and thought , "those ain't be... Oh, this should be fun . If y ou like riding a birthing chair." Mark Hoyer I was riding th e RF600 somewhere in the middl e of the pack when 1 noticed that Paul had spent an awful long time out front On the Harl ey. 5 0 1 checked my m Irrors , pulled into the next lane and sped up alongside him. "Hmm," I thought . "T his bike has preuy good power for a 600. " Anyway , the Heritage Softail must be a comfortable fr eeway rig. 1 think Paul was asleep. . Scott Rousseau We soo n d ecid ed to head d own to San Diego afte r Paul suggested we tak e back roads to his' p arents house in EI Ca jon . During our si de-of-the-freeway meeting, Donn whipped ou t hi s cellular phone from the Harley's leather sa d d lebag and Paul called ahe ad, warning Kel and Jan of our p ending arrival. "We'll be getting in about noon or so ," sai d Pa u l over th e pho ne . "And order so me pizzas for us, w ill ya ? Pepperoni w ill be fine. Thanks, bye." I Ihink I've been ta ken advantage of. Each and every time we arrived at a rwisty road, I was removed from Ihe sportbike I was riding and tossed on eilher Ihe Honda Class ic or Ihe Harley. Softail. T hank God the handlebars are big. Paul Carruthers With belli es full of pi zza , w e rolled out of EI Cajon about 2:00 p .m . and our new destination was a popular canyon road for weekend spo rtbike riders. But, littl e did we kn ow, a huge traffic jam on Inte rstate 5 s tood between us and our destination - Ortega Highway. 9.

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