Riding a motorcycle is kind of like flying an airplane. While the machines themselves are obviously different, the mindset to operate them, surprisingly isn’t.  In the late eighties, I determined to earn a pilot’s license. I remember climbing into the cockpit of a Cessna Sky Hawk for the first time. I sat there rolling the yoke from side to side, pushing it in and out. I thought back to those grainy black and white WWII films I had seen as a kid—Heinkels and Messerschmitts versus Spitfires and Hurricanes dog -fighting over those White Cliffs of Dover. I was sort of hoping that flying Cessnas could be like that. It didn’t take long for my green stomach to tell me otherwise. There never was and there never is an occasion to manhandle flight controls when flying an airplane. Instead, my flight instructor shared the concept of “pressuring the controls.” I’ve been operating motorcycles and airplanes this way ever since.

Just before any takeoff, there is a pre-flight inspection to complete. I walk around the airplane checking the elevators and ailerons, tire pressure, landing and navigation lights. I open the cowling to check the quality and amount of oil.

The same is true with the motorcycle. It’s rare that I don’t walk around the bike again checking tire pressure and lights, making sure the luggage is firmly attached and mirror stalks are tight.

Once the pre-flight inspection is complete, I climb aboard the plane, don a headset and buckle myself in. There are further checks to be made. Verifying the flight controls is one of them. I carefully roll the yoke from side to side, push it forward and pull it back. I press on the rudder pedals. I want to get a feel for these primary controls before rapid acceleration brings the airplane to life and lifts off from those “surly bonds of earth.” Then, as airspeed builds, gaining altitude all the while, these controls become extremely sensitive to movement — any movement.  Now, the word “pressure” replaces “movement” as the operative word, and feeling smooth—being smooth—largely determines how well I am flying.

This is when the motorcycling and flying mindset become one.

The primary controls of the motorcycle are the handlebars, the throttle, the brake, the clutch and the shifter. When riding try thinking in terms of pressuring these controls. For example, instead of rolling on, cracking, whacking or twisting the throttle, think of pressuring the throttle open or closed. Then pay attention and feel the performance as you apply different amounts of pressure. Be smooth.

Once I have established the airplane at my assigned altitude, the idea is to precisely maintain that altitude. When Air TrafficControl says 11,000 feet, they don’t mean 11,180 feet.  This is precision flying or  “flying the needles” since my tolerance in smooth air is the width of the altitude indicator needle itself. It’s delicate stuff at 130 knots, requiring concentration and the subtlest of pressure on the controls.

Likewise, as you motorcycle along the Interstate, try “riding the needle” by concentrating on keeping your speedometer pegged at a given speed. As necessary, make subtle throttle corrections. Pick a challenging needle tolerance and “ride the needle.” Have fun with it and soon you’ll have exacting speed control.

Throttle control is everything.  Here’s another exercise: Eliminate the jerk. Often, when rolling on or off the throttle, no matter how slight, you will feel a slight jerk of acceleration or deceleration. Now imagine that your throttle cable is a singular, slender, silken, thread. Anything other than gentle pressures snaps the thread! Eliminate the throttle jerk. The goal is to pressure the “thread” back and forth and to feel – nothing.

Whenever braking, don’t apply, slam, jam, or even squeeze the brake – pressure the brake. As you apply pressure on the calipers, pay attention and feel the brake pads as they grip the rotors. For a certain pressure on the brake, there is a certain amount of stopping power.  I usually ride with my index and middle finger covering the brake especially in curves. This way, I have instant stopping power with nary a second wasted in having to grab the brake.

Here’s another exercise: when you’re rolling to a complete stop, ensure there is absolutely no jerk arriving at zero mph. It takes a delicate touch. Again, your intention is to feel nothing.

When shifting gears, be smooth. Try “pressuring the shifter.” Whenever you shift gears, apply slight pressure to the shifter first. Then shift gears. The entire shift happens simultaneously. Gently release the clutch.  Pay attention to how it all feels. The goal, once again, is to feel nothing. If there is any jerk, make subtle throttle adjustments. You’ll start earning smiles of self-satisfaction as your shifting becomes seamlessly smooth.

Pressure implies a studied application and is the essence of smoothness. A studied application is also fundamental to expertise.

Fly your motorcycle more by the seat of your pants. Pressuring the controls is the key.

Miles of smiles will multiply. Guaranteed!

See you in third gear.

Jim Ford

There were six of us recently riding to Wellsboro, Pennsylvania including a husband and wife couple. Dennis rode a R1200GS and Becky was on her F650CS. Everybody knows what a great bike the 12GS is. To my mind though the sleeper is the F650CS. What makes the bike so great is its low seat height and easy handling. With a small radius front wheel coupled with tubeless street tires, it’s my choice of second-generation F series motorcycles if what you like doing is riding paved curvy roads. We had two F650CSs on this Workshop that were ridden by women. Becky rode hers well. Liz improved her CS riding once she embraced a particular skill I’d like to explain.

Over the course of a Workshop, I like to ride behind each rider. I become their “wingman.” This way I can add easy, relaxed suggestions as we ride along that will give riders immediate awareness of what they are doing. (I use a powerful transceiver; each rider is furnished with Etymotic ER-6 radio ear buds.)   I am communicating in real time. That’s what makes the instruction so useful. Riders get immediate feedback on the quality of their riding. I give riders ideas on what they can improve and what they are already doing well while they’re riding. I speak easy like. No badgering. I understand that it’s not easy trying on new skills so everything I say is low key and relaxed.

So we’re riding along and I’m being Liz’s wingman. As we take curve after mountain curve, I notice that Liz’s line is subtly weaving in and out of the curve. Her line is neither confident, nor flowing nor smooth. An unsteady line is often the result of poor situational awareness and tension. What happens is that the rider looks only ten or twenty feet directly in from of them as he/she travels through a curve.  This is a problem because as they move through the curve, they have to quickly move their eyes through each individual segment of the curve.  With each segment, they make a small turning correction hence the zigzag line.  Plus the “speed” of each segment comes fast!  It rushes the rider and creates tension.

I suggest turning your head in the direction you want your motorcycle to go when taking a curve. That’s right! When you are taking any curve but especially tight curves like a mountain switchback, literally swivel your head as far as it will go in the direction of the curve. Now your head is pointing where you want your motorcycle to go. With you head turned, a person naturally, almost intuitively summons the various skills necessary to accomplish the turn. Because you’re turning your head, you are looking more toward the Vanishing Point giving yourself maximum distance and especially time. The extra time will dramatically reduce any tension you’re feeling. And because you’re better seeing the entire curve (instead of each segment) you’re carving the entire curve instead of each segment of curve. The execution of the curve just happens. It happens in one fell swoop and it happens smoothly!

I made this suggestion to Liz. Over the course of many, many curves, she slowly begins to turn her head.  (I’m reminded of the Tin Man slowing moving his funnel-topped head, side to side.)  The skill doesn’t come naturally. But through her experience she determines that my suggestion works. I literally see Liz’s helmet turn easier and faster into each curve. She points her helmet toward where she wants her motorcycle to go. Very soon, her line is smoother and I can sense a big boost in confidence.

With a big grin, she confirms it.

So I am motorcycling up into Pennsylvania to an orchard I know on a mission of acquisition – a goodly size stash of tree-ripened apples. It’s a lengthy, straight-line run, roughly 180 miles port to port, but routine.  I make the trek during harvest season taking advantage of this orchard’s produce. Peters Orchard has won Best in Show at the Pennsylvania State Fair several times which tells me a lot of how well they grow things out of the ground.

Often when I am riding I plug into an iPod and today is no different. A song comes on that rips me up. The tune is “John’s Other” by a group calling themselves Hot Tuna. Folks who came up in the late sixties/early seventies may remember Hot Tuna as a spin off from early Jefferson Airplane. Two of that band’s early players, guitarist Jorma Kaukonen and bassist Jack Casady formed Hot Tuna when the Airplane flew off in a different direction. The Tuna is still hot, playing locally this past summer. Anyway the tune bowled me over for its’ locked in, rhythmic groove, so precise is their musicianship.

“What’s this got to do with soft hands, much less motorcycling?” You ask.

First, I say it takes soft hands to play music well. I say Jorma and Jack have got the touch (their decades of success proves it,) as do other artists and craftspeople that have mastered their skill. The irony, of course, is that having soft hands has nothing to do with literally having soft hands. Often, it’s quite the opposite: hard, sinewy hands honed by years of practice. Soft hands are the result of study and handling anything requiring manual dexterity. It results in a certain light touch. The touch allows you to communicate through whatever medium you’re working with and it’s not just with musicians either. Think of a sculptor with clay, or a painter with canvas. Think of Franco Harris’ Immaculate Reception or a certain boxer who stung like a bee. Mastery is communicated in the finished result by someone with soft hands.

Riding a motorcycle well is no different. It takes soft hands. Nothing replaces the time and many miles it takes to develop soft motorcycling hands – brother, you’ve just got to ride! But let me suggest several ways to facilitate those hands.

It begins with a certain attitude. Conjure in your mind a “lightness of being” as you straddle your ride.  It doesn’t matter how much you literally weigh. Instead, make believe! Conceive it, believe it, and achieve it. I’m here to tell you it works. Pretend you’re feather-light as you ride down the road. By believing this, you will guide your motorcycle more into doing your bidding rather than more forceful means of control.  Instead of ever dumping the clutch, or cracking, twisting, or getting on the throttle, instead of (God forbid) “hammering” the brake, think in terms of pressuring these controls. Your motorcycle will respond immediately, almost willingly, when coaxed with subtle pressure inputs.

So as you make believe and conjure a feather-light touch, take a deep breath and relax.  Sit on your bike. Rest your hands lightly on the handlebar grips. (Hand rests are not hand grips!) Develop good posture. (My grandmother always said that good posture and good manners would get you through!) I suggest sitting slightly forward off your spine with slight tension in your stomach muscles, your thighs gripping the tank. As momentum and centrifugal force pushes you back and forth, and side to side, use those stomach and thigh muscles to maintain posture and ensure continuously that your arms are loose and your hands are light on the controls.  Also, ride with the balls of your feet on the foot pegs.  Often I see riders with their boot heels hung off the pegs with their feet pointing down at the pavement. To my eye this doesn’t look put together. By riding with the balls of your feet back on the pegs, good things happen. Not only does it look better, you engage your legs resulting in better comfort and control.  Your legs become real shock absorbers keeping you light in the saddle while soaking up road bumps as you motor along.

Maintaining this light touch isn’t particularly easy, however. Tense riding circumstances often arise which cause you to clench the hand rests and, like clenching your teeth unawares, keep them clenched in the aftermath. This tension radiates from your hands through the rest of your body. Your forearms and elbows lock up. Your shoulder muscles get tight. Your neck hurts, your back hurts, your butt groans, and riding just isn’t as much fun anymore.

It is no cinch to continuously stay feather-light and relaxed on the controls – discipline is the key. When there is cause to tense up, determine right then stay focused. Discipline yourself to maintain a state of continuously calm, lightness of being.

Over the course of a ride, I often shake out my wrists and elbows. As Reg Pridmore would say. “Stay loose as a goose.”  Flapping your wrists and elbows helps you stay this way as long as you ride.

I imagine Jorma and Jack use a guitar pick now and then. One tool I use to help me keep light and relaxed in my throttle hand and much less apt to clench is a Throttle Rocker. This less-than-ten dollar devise helps me open my right hand using only my palm pushing down on the throttle to accelerate.  To back off, I simply lift up and the throttle spring rolls back the throttle automatically.

Like most kids, I wanted to play like recorded rock ‘n rollers. I couldn’t then, and I still can’t now. I’ve resigned myself to listening on my iPod. Now, as an accompanist, seriously into make believe, my motorcycle morphs a Stratocaster, and when I’m really humming, feeling light, loose, and smooth on the controls, I too can rock on – locked in a rhythmic groove.  With a little practice you’ll be rocking along too.

See you in 3^rd gear,

Jim Ford

www.ridersworkshop.com

866-767-6900

I have observed over the years that I have been in the motorcycle biz, that there are as many reasons to purchase a motorcycle as people buying them. Some folks just love to look at them, all shiny and new. Others buy them in anticipation of sunny Sunday afternoon spins saddled up with their sweeties. Some want to mosey on down to the nearest watering hole and admire their chrome wonders from a barstool. And there are those who buy motorcycles to capture a memory—there are so many reasons…
Buying a BMW motorcycle is different. I like to think the folks who purchase them want to ride!

These customers have done their homework and understand the BMW motorcycle’s potential. Remember, most BMW’s are made for the European market and as such, are built for a demanding rider. The bikes are built in such a way their owners can saddle up in Berlin in the AM and be in Rome in the PM. They travel at autobahn speed and, twist through alpine passes.
BMW motorcycles do this safely, comfortably and, with proper maintenance, reliably.

Over the years, my good riding buddies have enjoyed the adventures of our Sunday rides so much that I would like to open the good times to all of Bob’s BMW’s customers and friends.

We’ll call it the Saturday Ride—for intermediate and advanced motorcyclists who are interested in riding safely over longer distances. We’ll plan on leaving our general vicinity in early morning, and by our return in mid-afternoon, we’ll have ridden 350 to 500 miles.

Let me describe the origin of this kind of riding as a fun way of cluing in riders on what to expect when they ride with me. Some of it has to do with my own riding experience. Perhaps my experience will mirror some of your own.

Like many folks getting into (or back into) motorcycling, I was initially puzzled as to where to go riding. When I did find a morning here or an afternoon there, I pretty much stuck to familiar roads. Since I live in Kensington, Maryland, a ride along the Potomac River and back was enough. It didn’t take long though before I ventured out on my first “long ride”—from the Washington Beltway to Virginia’s Great Falls, then west into Leesburg and outbound to Point of Rocks. I had lived in the DC area nearly twenty years and had never been to the Point of Rocks Bridge before, so it was special to cross the Potomac River on other than a metropolitan DC bridge. With the ride back to the DC area, my round trip was roughly 85 miles.

Nearly all of this early riding I did alone.

One of the best things I did was ride up to Jessup, to hang around Bob’s BMW on Saturday mornings. Conversations over coffee donuts would ensue and before long I began hooking up with riders who had what I wanted: motorcycling experience. When I started riding with these folks, my radius began to stretch. It was no longer enough to ride Route 7 to Leesburg. Instead, it became routine to ride from Leesburg to points beyond —it didn’t mattered where. We’d have lunch, and then I’d gun it home to Kensington in time for afternoon chores or a four o’clock Redskins game.

One guy I hooked up with was Jim Wilkerson. Jimbo had been riding for 20 years and sported the best decked-out R100PD I have ever seen before or since. The man could also r-i-d-e. Since Jim’s skills were much greater than mine, I figured I’d tuck in behind him, observe, try to copy and maybe learn something. For mile after mile, I stuck on him like green on beans, and I will never forget those early days riding together. We’d stop and eat somewhere far away, comment on the wilderness scenery and talk about motorcycling. In the process we became compadres.

Upon coming to work at Bob’s BMW to share the sales duties with Paul Mihalka, my tutorial was stepped up a notch. Paul is recognized as a high-miler. I remember casually asking him where he’d typically ride on a Sunday morning. I guessed maybe he’d say Gettysburg or Harper’s Ferry. He told me he rode to Deep Creek Lake for breakfast—that’s 175 miles away—then afterward began his “ride,” I thought EUREKA—experience personified!

Now, I am not going to wax inspired here (nor do I want to swell a particular head) but the fact is, Paul is a master motorcyclist and in those days I was…

“Grasshopper.”

Let me describe our first riding experience together and then I’ll get back to the Second Sunday ride.

Paul and I met one Sunday morning for brunch at a favorite restaurant of mine south of Front Royal, Virginia. To share brunch with me took some selling on my part, because normally Paul is on the back half of his Sunday ride by this time of morning. After brunch he suggested we go for a “little ride.” I said, “no problem.” I thought for sure we’d angle back towards Baltimore/DC area, and maybe he’d show me a new road or two.

Instead we swung westward, accelerated up and over the Blue Ridge and straight across the Shenandoah Valley. From the Shenandoah, we headed even further west into the Appalachians. As we swept northbound along a winding, deserted, valley road, it became crystal-clear I was on a ride like none ever before. This was virgin territory for me with new roads, new scenery, and brand-spanking new skill level just to keep up!

Paul gradually rolled on the throttle and laid down a spirited groove for a very satisfying amount of miles. Never overly fast, his style was effortless and very, very smooth. We had a brief stop to gas up, knock back a hot chocolate, and share a laugh, then more mountain roads further north. Man, the next thing I knew I was seeing “City Limit” signs for Berkeley Springs, West Virginia!

In all, Bethesda to Front Royal, then a back road express to Berkeley Springs, then more back road riding south into the DC area. My trip odometer read 350+ miles, just like that.

My motorcycling life changed that day. My riding radius had been stretched and my motorcycling ability stretched even further. My ride with Paul also introduced me to “Riding Smooth.” Up, down, and along all those miles of backroads, neither Paul’s speed nor line wavered much. Before a curve, his brake light might flicker as he’d duck a shoulder, hike his big K-bike over only to straighten up and pull away in a blue puff of smoke.

His line wasn’t a line; it was a rail! I asked Mr. Paul how he did this. He laughed and said simply, “I love to ride.”
“Sheesh, how do you find so much time?” I queried.
“I make the time,” he said.

Ah—“Make the Time.” I must do that, I promised myself.
My riding has never been the same…

And so this is what our Saturday Ride is all about. It’s about making time to ride our BMW motorcycles on distant backroads.
I would like to share with you some of what Paul and other high-milers have so generously shown me. Each monthly ride will feature super motorcycling roads and wilderness landscapes in faraway places.

Our ride will be more of an event than merely a ride!
It’s also about riding safe and practicing “Riding Smooth.” Miles and miles of massaging your gears and setting up line after line of mountain curves will do this to you. Soon you will feel the polish. We’ll all get stretched…we’re all grasshoppers!

So if this is what you might like to do call me!

You’ll want to show up on time, which means: make the time to ride to the ride. And show up with a full tank of gas. No one primed to ride wants to wait around for someone who’s got to tank up. Make sure you’ve got warm duds (electrics, fleece) and a rain suit.

One last point and that is I own the responsibility for organizing the Saturday Ride. Those who choose to come along do so at their own risk…not that they’re risky, gonzo-go-fast rides, because they’re not. I just want to be clear. So make sure you’re bright-eyed and your bike is up to the task of having a full, fun day on the long road.

Hope to see you Zen.

Over the past several months, I have (for once) gotten into the good habit of waking each morning, stumbling to the basement and mounting my treadmill. I’ve been consistent too. What’s helped is being plugged into my iPod. I’m getting in shape for the 2006 riding season.

Recently, I have been listening to the Frank Sinatra Songbook. Whether you like his music or not is not my point. Personally, I came up listening to 1960’s and ‘70’s pop/rock from the Beatles, Bruce, to Bon Jovi. Then Sinatra, a vocalist from my parent’s generation (b. 1915), blasts on my scene. What a discovery! Early in his career he was nicknamed “The Voice” and clearly, what distinguishes Sinatra was how tightly he controlled a song. In this, he was a master—the Chairman of the Board.

Sinatra’s mastery is showcased through his vocal phrasing. Whether it be on a drumbeat, a bass beat, or an abrupt note change, his voice, as they say, turns on a dime.

Anyway, as the sweat started pouring, I came up with this analogy: Let’s ride our motorcycles like Sinatra sang a song.

First, choose a road like Sinatra chose a song. Choose quality roads. Frank Sinatra didn’t sing just any song. He sang The Great American Songbook. Songs written by Johnny Mercer, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, and the Gershwin brothers have stood the test of time

The top big bands of the day put these songs to music as well. Frank fronted the likes of the Tommy Dorsey, Count Basie, Billy May, and Nelson Riddle orchestras. Sinatra admired and respected these guys (no synthesizers here.) Their music has power and inspiration. So develop your own “road book.” Read maps or fire up your GPS and choose roads of equivalent power and inspiration for you.

Frank sang a wide variety of music. Most of it swung. Seek out the same. Seek out roads with speed changes and concentrated curves, both sweeping and tight. Seek out roads with elevation change. They’re out there.

Then set about learning a road like Frank Sinatra learned a song. Often the song would become his own. Who else sings “Strangers in the Night”?

He came to own a song by learning its musical score cold. As such, learn to see a road cold. Ride it repeatedly, focusing deeply on its details. Figure out what makes a road distinctive. Know what’s beyond the next curve—and the next—before you get there. Soon you’ll be seeing roads like never before.

Once Sinatra perfectly understood where a song was going, he’d drive his voice down it like never before. Here’s a key: by first timing his breath, he could then control his voice to precisely match or play off the music as the song swung and swerved along.

Once we’ve seen a road to perfection, let’s ride our motorcycles down it like never before. After all, we know where we’re going too.

Here’s another key: learn to control your speed like Sinatra controlled his voice. The secret is in watching your tachometer and by controlling your engine. Control your engine by selecting the right gear to continuously keep your motorcycle in the middle to top half of the powerband. (High RPMs are better than low RPMs.) Develop the habit of shifting gears often. You can then precisely control speed with the slight twists of your throttle wrist. (Throttle movement of a eighth of an inch is common.) Learn this skill.

Now, as Chairman of Your Road, your motorcycle will sing beautifully from hill to valley and around every curve. Soon you’ll be, as they say, turning on a dime.

Dan Rodriguez

By Jim Ford
Published in BMWMOA Owner’s News
Downloadable PDF

Whenever I conduct The Rider’s Workshop, I stress the importance of creating memorable riding experiences for oneself. You decide what’s memorable. By doing so, you will always have motorcycle memories to recall and share with your friends. Decide to ride this way and make it a habit. Otherwise, if what you normally do is mostly “ride around,” then riding around becomes your habit, and, like the saying goes: “Habits are too light to be felt until they are too strong to be broken.” Since riding around is mostly what you do, and since this usually means riding around to the same places, before long you’ll get bored with motorcycling and (pardon the pun) cycle off toward something else. I’ve seen this happen many times.

So get in the habit of pulling out your maps and/or firing up the GPS and create some interesting motorcycling for yourself. That‘s how you’ll keep in the game, and that’s how you’ll continue riding.

I have always admired the Iron Butt types. It takes a tough guy (or gal) to muscle a motorcycle through one of their sanctioned endurance tests. Imagine compressing a coast-to-coaster into 50 hours or less! I know I am not that tough. But I have always thought that riding 1000 miles in less than 24 hours would be a memorable motorcycling experience to undertake.

At the Wisconsin BMW National Rally, I gave my seminar called “The Art of Riding Smooth.” Among the many faces looking back at me was John Zurawski from Long Island, NY. His buddies call him “Z.” Both Z and I shared a friendship with a wonderful fellow, Dan Rodriguez. Z grew up with Dan. They went to grade school together. After the seminar, we chatted and he told me of a recent and quite awesome 1000/ 24 Iron Butt type ride he finished. While Z didn’t say it outright, I think his ride was partially to pay tribute to our friend Dan. You see, Danny Boy is no longer with us. Sadly and tragically, he was killed in a motorcycle accident on Father’s Day 2003.

The seeds of my friendship with Dan were planted one January morning in 1999 at Bob’s BMW where I had worked in sales. It was typically cold and wet outside, and sales were correspondingly slow inside. I saw this nice looking fellow browsing around the showroom. Dan was six feet tall, handsome with dark wavy hair, blue eyes, and an engaging face. I walked up, introduced myself and naturally started talking motorcycles. He responded in kind by introducing himself as Dan, disclosing that his bike was in for service. Before too long it was clear that Dan was an enthusiastic high-miler. There was a certain something in those blue eyes that spoke of many curves, and this big grin saying he’d like to see more. And, like many high-milers, he knew it’s all about curves. Warming up to him, I knew I’d met a junkie like myself — a fellow curve junkie. Our conversation ramped up animated and lengthy.

Not long after, his bike was rolled out. It’s a clean enough ’78 R100S. I saw it had some 8000 miles on the meter so I gave Dan the benefit by saying, “Wow, you’ve got 108,000 on the bike?” He smiled and said, “Naw, that’s 208,000.” Big Grin.

I query, “So you’ve had the bike since new?” “Right out of the crate” said he. Again, Big Grin. At the time, I had about 130,000 on my bike. After this very nice conversation, we shook hands in implicit appreciation of high-mileage motorcycles, curvy roads and easy motorcycling fellowship. We promised to hook up.

Over the years, Dan and I would hook-up along the fabulous Blue Ridge Parkway at a crossroad named Meadows of Dan. That’s where he lived. We’d rendezvous at one of two places: either at a motorcycle friendly mountainside store, The Poor Farmer’s Market, where Dan shared a cosmic connection with the owner, a graceful filly named Felecia, or at Willville, a T.W.O. (Two Wheels Only) campground. The owner, Will, hand-built it for us motorcycle types to enjoy. Will’s a very cool guy, a Connecticut Yankee sort, who gave up the Eastern “fast lane” to settle in the mountains. Anyway, we’d meet and greet and share a cup of Joe. Two Big Grins. Then we’d wheel our ponies around and in a blue puff of smoke be gone. Dan’s style was smooth. Never overly fast, he’d pick a line and hold it rail-like through hundreds of crooked Appalachian curves. He had a unique look too. As he’d lean that R-bike over, his helmet would remain ramrod along the longitudinal length of his body. His head wouldn’t tilt. His entire being would lean clean.

Maybe you’ve heard the saying that “it’s more fun to ride a slow bike fast.” It’s true. Dan’s 100S had a 65 hp engine. Yet through the curves, the confluence of skill and experience trumps raw horsepower, and I’ve seen many pilots on much newer, bigger-bore bikes flag, unable to keep up.

Like a couple of mountain sprites, we rode miles together…

… But God does in fact work in mysterious ways, and now our friend is gone. Only memories remain to be shared by the friends who knew him.
That gets me to John Zurowski’s “Dedication to Dan” iron butt, which was inspiration indeed.

See, I had a small problem with a 1000 in 24. It seems most Iron Butt routes favor the Interstate, and like I say, I’m a curve junkie. I compare motorcycling to riding a two-wheeled snow ski, so riding the Interstate is like schussing a bunny slope, a long bunny slope! It’s not my style. John’s inspiration solved my routing dilemma, and I determined to complete exactly the same ride.
After some important pre-ride planning, I arrived at my point of embarkation at 5:30 one recent afternoon and pressed the stopwatch. I had 1000 miles to ride in less than 24 hours. The math was a cinch: Maintain 50 mph for 20 hours, and I’d cover my distance. In daylight I would have no problem; after dark would be a different story.

Motorcycling on the street is never about speed of the excessive kind. Riders often get that confused. Motorcycling on public roads is about being smooth. As I’ve written before, a motorcyclist riding a road is like a musician playing a song. The good ones play smooth, not fast. Do you think Stevie Ray, God rest his soul, played “Cold Shot” or “Pride and Joy” fast? No. Or how about “Crossroads?” Do you think Clapton ever speeds through such a fine piece of song? I don’t think so. A song has a groove to it. So does a road. The musician feels the groove and lays it down smooth. Together, the musician and song mesh and real music is made. It’s the same thing with riding a great piece of road.

My piece, 469 miles one way, demands meshing, no questions asked. So as I start to motor, I do my best to set down a smooth groove. It’s not a mental thing as much as a kinesthetic thing. I feel the groove with my whole body. I’m feeling the engine reverberate; I’m feeling the quality of my shifts; I’m feeling how smoothly I roll on and off the throttle; I’m feeling the tires’ traction; I’m feeling my lean angles. I’m determining whether I’m smooth in all phases of motorcycling, all the time. Sometimes I’m pretty good, other times I’m not. I can always be better.

For maximum safety given the risks, I read the road continually. All the time, I am thinking ahead of the motorcycle, absorbing all the visual cues, anticipating what is likely ahead. I place my focus on that point before me where the road literally disappears from view. This makes perfect sense. By focusing on this Vanishing Point, I have the maximum time and the maximum distance to react to hazards or surprises.

Through the curves, I position the bike for the clearest view of the road ahead. Approaching left curves, I am to the right of my lane; approaching right curves, I am to the left of my lane. On the straight-a-ways, I place the motorcycle barely to the right of the centerline too. Now I have cushioned myself with the most pavement on either side of me and where oncoming traffic is also most likely to see me. Both my eye and motorcycle placements are important conditioned, disciplined habits. By developing these habits, I don’t need to think about it. After being distracted, my eyes and motorcycle fall back into place naturally. I become naturally safer.

Dusk descends and I see the first of many deer. A lone standing deer is both a sentinel and a warning. Beware there are others. My eyes are pinned to the Vanishing Point as the ghost of Larry Grodsky flickers red across in my mind. Three times over the course of this night ride, deer bolt directly across my path.
I’m alone in my own Rider’s Workshop, and I practice what I preach.

By staying in my head, by keeping focused, arms relaxed and hands light on the controls, my fore and middle fingers covering the front brake lever, I was ready all three times as these deer and others broke and ran. Other critters — a black bear, a bobcat, turkey and weasel — were spotted in my line of sight as well. It’s amazing what you see at night. And, come to think of it, I don’t think I ever rode beyond my headlight beam.

Into the night I continue, ready for anything, including fog masquerading as clouds.
In pre-ride planning, I determined that a broken cloud layer would stretch across my route at 4500 to 6500 feet. Since my route is entirely mountainous, I knew I would encounter clouds all along the way.

As the night wore on, these clouds would envelop me in their white murk requiring so much laser focus my mind hurt. Then in an instant, it would clear before being absorbed yet again.

It’d never been so black. There is no light to be seen anywhere. The miles slip by. I’m grooving smooth. Insects wobble toward me like night flak. They splatter my windshield. Other times I’m uncertain what’s in front of me. When in doubt, downshift. That’s my motto. Remember – the key to precision control of your motorcycle is high RPM’s. So downshift! Train yourself to downshift so well that you can do it whenever, and wherever you want. Do it. Do it until you’re satisfied. Now you’re in precise control!

Suddenly, from around a curve, and from out of nowhere – hard rain is falling. This is a Suck Monster. I am taken utterly unawares and am startled by the splashing, cold, water. I downshift. I had done my pre-ride planning. I was thorough. The very end of July was calling for a full moon and broken clouds. Rain?? Say it ain’t so, Joe!
Confused and, angry in the sopping, gloomy darkness, I pull over to an unsteady stop, lean the bike over on its side-stand. Unfortunately, the roadbed is on-camber and slanted away from the bike. I almost tip over.

I clean-and-jerk the bike up and roll it slightly forward, all the while getting wetter and wetter. Of course to reach my rain gear I need the ignition key. I’m left with no headlight. The darkness is black like my mood. I feel waves of discouragement. “It’s late, it’s scary dark, and I’m tired. What in the fa-fa-fa am I DOING??”

Luckily I stowed my rain gear so that with touch alone, I can tell what garment I have, and where I have it in my hands. Quickly I slip into my rain suit then cover my tank bag telling myself, “Man! I’m having the most awesome motorcycle adventure in my life, THAT’S what I am doing.” In short order I am battened down and rev off into the dark gloom.

Yawning, and after midnight my low fuel light shines its amber warning. I‘ve planned easily enough and find fuel where I expected it. As a prophylactic, I swallow a No-Doz. I like caffeine pills. I use them in lieu of coffee. (Fewer bio-breaks, if you know what I mean.) Just half a tablet taken with water, and the cobwebs blow gently out of my mind. And that’s not all—a No-Doz chased with a couple, three or four of your favorite analgesics, and pointy joints and muscle aches soften and melt away.

Definitely night smells are more pungent. They are both quite sweet and rather rotten. My nostrils keep very entertained.

It’s into deep night and I arrive at an overlook called Craggy Gardens, a rhododendron field some 4000 feet atop of a rocky bald.

Craggy Gardens is contrarian. The weather being often opposite of what’s back down or up the road. Sure enough since I’ve been experiencing fog since nightfall, it’s crystal clear now. The full moon is a celestial coin in the starry firmament above.

I glide to a stop in the empty parking lot, lean the bike over and stiffly slide off the seat. I’ve ridden this entire road before but never on a nighttime non-stopper like this. Pensive with remembrance and longings for Danny Boy, I munch a sandwich and pull from a lukewarm bottle of water.

At 4 AM I complete the last of 469 miles. My amber fuel light greets me again. After two attempts at fuel and frustrated to learn the pumps have been turned off, I finally gas up, and at a quarter to 5, pop another No-Doz, and return up the road from whence I came.

Back in the high country, I pass a certain highest point and notice a pale violet in the once black sky. With daylight low on the horizon, I now feel sure I am going to accomplish my 1000 in less than 24-hour challenge. Confident in my endgame and since I often ride with an Ipod plugged in, I pull over and take a moment to scroll down to select a certain track. Now I’m basically a rock ‘n roller. This track obviously isn’t but like this adventure, it’s exciting and singular. It’s from the “Immortal Beloved” soundtrack, a film about Ludwig Von Beethoven. The last track is Symphony Number 9 in D Minor. Opus 125 (whatever that means.)

The piece includes a section known as “Ode to Joy” and soon the Hallelujah Chorus arrives in all its triumph. There is majesty to this music, there’s majesty to this road and quite honestly, I am feeling triumphant, so I’m glad to be experiencing them both simultaneously.

An hour goes by, then another. The fog and deer have disappeared. With full sunup and the Ipod cranked, I spin 4th gear up high in the power band. I’m feeling unstoppable now locked in the propeller-propulsion tempo of Stones’ maestro, Charlie Watts. There’s an excellent breakfast place two hours up the trail, and I beeline for the barn! I stop in and have myself a Big Old Country Breakfast. Yum-yum and most excellent!

More miles and memories slip by. I have ridden this fabulous road every year by myself, and have headed up groups of twos, threes, fours, and more since my first year in motorcycling. Like the back of my hand, I recognize its distinctive characteristics and eagerly welcome what I know to be coming next.

Knowing your road really well is a good thing too when you’re riding a motorcycle. I knew I’d encounter neither a spec of gravel nor a nasty decreasing radius curve. Instead, I experienced a masterwork of road engineering and continuous Appalachian beauty. It’s my great joy!

I complete my 938-mile roundtrip at 3:35PM the following afternoon. Again the math is easy. I’m 62 miles short of accomplishing my goal. I have nearly 2 hours so it’s practically a lock. 
Danny Boy, one time I called you the Prince of the Parkway. You rolled your eyes and you laughed – - but this one is for you. Once more I swing my ’02 R1150GS around and ride back 31 miles. The miles are easy to count off since each is marked with a cement milepost. At Milepost 31, I carve a sweet U-turn and savor the return to the beginning from where my adventure began the afternoon before.

Later on, you know it! I call my friend Z to say, “Guess what Brother… I’ve got something to share.”

I don’t necessarily recommend compressing the fabulous Blue Ridge Parkway (follow this link ) into 1000 miles in 24 hours for everybody. On the other hand, if you’re a bit of an iron butthead like Z and me and want to own a sense of motorcycling accomplishment, then ride smooth and go for it! You too are certain to have motorcycling memories to share for a long, long time.