Days like this where I can get out on a little 120 mile loop and I’m in no hurry whatsoever are incredibly relaxing.  It took me about 3 hours (stops included), and I went by my dad’s old farm in Dellrose where nothing ever changes it seems, rolling through some tight 45 degree turns, and enjoying myself the whole way.

Tunes on the radio, 50 to 55 mph, and 42 miles-per-gallon.  Well worth the $8.00 worth of gas, and one more ride that I’ll probably do again in reverse, just for the heck of it.

This Columbus Day weekend, I ended up with a 3-day with no immediate plans.  Friday, 2pm, hours were finished, tasks for the day were finished, and I was on the bike, on the move.  No plans, no reservations, no idea except “beach” in my head.

Mobile, AL — 6pm Friday night.

I was eating sitting at a bar in Mobile by 6pm, which is a rarity for me on so many levels.  Not only the 300 mile ride for to a bar, but the fact that *I* was in a bar to begin with.

It was dark out, and there wasn’t much else to do, so I grabbed dinner and a hotel room.  Next morning, got up to beautiful weather and clear skies, so I headed east.

Battleship USS Alabama

Stopped to see the USS Alabama Battleship Museum, which I hadn’t seen since I was about, umm, I dunno, 8 years old.  Got a couple of pics, but honestly, I’m discovering that I’d rather remember enjoying something than walking around with a camera photo-documenting it for future generations.

Gulf Shores, AL — Lulu’s and Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding!

Got to Gulf Shores about lunchtime.  Amazingly, they had a Shrimp Festival going on, but there were about 50 gazillion cars and people trying to crowd into a one-block area.   Got tired of waiting in dead-stop traffic on a hot bike, so I doubled back to Lulu’s (Jimmy Buffet’s Sister’s restaurant/bar) and discovered the delight of “Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding with Butter Rum Sauce” (see recipe under the appropriate blog heading).

Still on the move, I decided to continue east, fighting my way through the throng of seafood-chowing pedestrians.

Orange Beach, coast-hugging, and Pensacola, FL

Followed the Gulf Coast through Orange Beach, then onto Pensacola, FL.  Perfect weather.  Perfect ride.  Just what I needed.

On to Panama City Beach, FL

About dinner time, I rolled into Panama City Beach, for their own Seafood Festival (it was apparently theme weekend along the coast).  More Shrimp.

Did the tourist thing, which — for me — consisted of riding around the big beach circle looking at beautiful women.

Grabbed another hotel room, and the next morning, I decided that both time, and money were stretched enough, and headed home up HWY 231.

A near perfect weekend.

When I was just a kid, seemingly eons ago, I fell in love with motorcycles.  The kid down the street had mini-bikes, and my cousins even had a rickety old Honda CB360, which was the first motorcycle I actually got to ride while my parents weren’t looking..

See?  When I was a kid, any time I even looked at a motorcycle, I was immediately reminded by the parents of impending maiming, death, and destruction in a very real “you’ll shoot your eye out kid” kinda way.  Not that my dad cherished prized fishnet hooker leg lamps like in the movie “The Christmas Story”, but their concern was pretty much the same.

To make things even worse, when I was 9 years old, I was playing in the street outside my parents house when I was physically run over in the street by another neighbor on his Kawasaki (and me on my Huffy bicycle).  One broken collar bone.  One bent bicycle frame.  No damage to the desire to own a motorcycle.

Alas. my burgeoning passion would have to wait until I was out of my parent’s house and had no one else to blame but myself…

My first mainline “hit” at motorcycling.

Somewhere, about 1990 or so (I was 24), a group of friends and I were all sitting around Steve’s house when I announced “I want a motorcycle!” and off we went to the local (and pretty much only) Bike shop.  Sitting in the back room was a lightly used 1981 Suzuki GS 550T with 2487 miles on it.  This was a four-cylinder in-line machine which had more power than I knew what to do with.  Literally.

Having never had any instruction in either riding or safety, I plunked my $1500 worth of plastic on the table, bought a helmet, and began the long ride back to the friend’s house, some 30 miles away..  Later reports say that I traveled it at about 30 miles per hour, scared as hell, but I got there nonetheless.

Such began my life as a “biker”.

During this time, I began a relationship with a woman who would eventually become my wife.  Six months into my relationship, and having constantly heard chiding reminiscent of my parents from both her, and my best friend at the time, I was forced to make a choice.  Them (and my sanity) or my motorcycle.

Alas.  I chose poorly, and the motorcycle was sold to some random guy who knocked on the door of my apartment one Saturday afternoon, cash in hand.

Intermission.

Between 1991, and 2008 is what I refer to in biker lingo as “the dark time”.  I was a motorcyclist stranded on the desert island of no motorcycles.

Finally, enough was enough, so I traded the wife in to the now ex-best-friend and — when the mood struck me — walked into another shop (same owners) and walked out with a used Orange 2006 Honda VTX 1300.  Man, what a beautiful bike.  A V-twin, 1300cc cruiser with exactly the right attitude for in-town riding, and the power to back it up.  The VTX was, in fact, one of the first of a line of what’s now known as “muscle cruisers”.  I was in heaven.

Like all great things though, life was about to change.

What brought me back from the darkness to the ride was the fact that my dad and I were now pretty much spending every single weekend riding here and there.  He on his Suzuki 800, (later V-star 1100, then Roadliner 1700 followed by an extensive list) and me on my VTX 1300.

Pretty soon, it became apparent that neither my buttocks, nor the ride of the 1300 were in agreement on how best to handle 400-mile jaunts around the countryside.

One week, lots of great pics, and an eBay transaction later, and I was back on the prowl for the next big thing.  Little did I truly know how big that would be.

Growing up is hard to do.

Having pretty much consigned myself to cruisers or what they now call “standards” (sport bikes are not my friend), I was in the original bike shop that sold me my Suzuki one Saturday.  On a whim, I threw my leg over the saddle of a 2008 Honda Goldwing 1800.  The 1800 is a six-cylinder, 1800cc full touring bike with enough power and storage for you to either tour the Americas, or make a Saturday Wal-Mart grocery run.

Needless to say, I was sold.  Three days later on a frosty January afternoon, after cross-referencing the prices at dealers all around the country, I walked in, made a suitable deal, and walked out, keys and paperwork in hand.  If there’s a funny side to this story, it’s simply that the sheer size and power of this motorcycle intimidated me SO much that I asked the dealer to ride it home for me (I was in the truck anyway) that night.

Oh, I got used to it VERY quickly, and I took the pre-requisite training courses on how to ride safely, but somewhere along the line, I had gone from a $6000 used cruiser to a full-on, $17000 touring bike which is still the bike by which all others will forever be measured.  Even stranger is that I did so without even batting an eyelid.

For over a year, the Goldwing and I were inseperable.  Indeed, that first year, I rode a documented 308 days, on trips ranging from the local pizza shop, to spontaneous unplanned trips to North Carolina to ride “The Tail of the Dragon” (US 129 between TN and NC — 318 curves in 11 miles and a hell of a lot of fun).

Life is what happens while you are making other plans.

18,000+ miles into my year-long love affair, the unthinkable happened.  For the first time since I was 16 years old, I found myself a victim of the economy and the inevitable end contracting cycles.

Ironically, while I found myself unemployed with the absolute most time ever available to ride, I simply could not afford to.  The motorcycle love of my life had to be sacrificed to the Gods of Craigslist.  Wayne was one incredibly sad puppy.

Four months later, come February of 2010, I had found temp work 200 miles away from home and I was damned glad to have it.

May 2010. — The Sport Bike experiment

In May of 2010, after what I guess was months of whining about buying a new bike while looking at every ad out there, my Dad — whom I truly love dearly — calls me up and says “I found you a bike.”  That weekend, I made the 200-mile trek to feel the kitties and check the mail to find a 2002 Silver Kawasaki Concours 1000 sitting in my garage.

Happy Birthday to me!

I was literally “back in the saddle” and the happiest I’ve been since that fateful October day.  Around town and back and forth to work every day, this motorcycle had everything I could possibly want or need.  It could carry luggage, it could get me 42mpg, it could go from 0-60 faster than anyone truly wants to (which is saying something for hauling my ample frame).

… I almost wish I hadn’t ever ridden a Goldwing.

I did mention that I TRULY love my Dad, right?  I never, ever wanted to look this particular gift horse in the mouth at all.  After about two  months of riding the Concours back and forth from Montgomery to Huntsville, it became readily apparent that this — for me — was NOT a long-distance motorcycle.  About an hour in the seat, and I was ready to go visit a local chiropractor.  It seems that my ample frame just isn’t meant to lean forward on vibrating handlebars for extended periods of time.

I approached my dad about the problem, and his response was “sell it and buy something else”.  Wow.  I would have felt uber-guilty for gift-swapping like that..  As it turns out however, through my Dad’s normal mode of getting bored with things and swapping them out for new and exciting toys, he somehow managed to end up with not only a 2009 Kawasaki Voyager (touring bike) but a 2010 Harley Davidson Ultra Classic (the penultimate in beauty and chrome polished extravagance).

The “Something Else”.

About a month ago now, after going on several rides (after the 200-mile trek home) with my dad, he calls me up and makes me an offer I can’t refuse.  “Sell the Concours and take the Voyager”.  Wow.  Seriously?  How could I possibly refuse such a magnanimous gesture???

So now, I’m back on a bike which can easily do 800-mile, three-day weekend trips (as performed on the Columbus Day weekend) with little if any trouble.  In all fairness though, it’s a little cold-natured (most Kawasakis are) and there’s a bit more vibration than I’m used to (not used to V-Twins with floorboards  — as opposed to pegs) but it rides SWEET and I don’t feel like crying when I get there.

I did however have to buy a fancy backrest for it. (see right)

In the end, I’m back to being extremely happy.  The temp job I’m working is about to end, so I’ll be looking for opportunities, but in the meantime, I’m stocking up for the cold riding season.

Stay Tuned.  More to come (I hope)

Thanks for reading.

– Wayne Hunt
– SegWayne.com

First things first, riding requires both respect, fear, confidence, and a little bit of talent and sheer blind luck.

Rule #1, Unless you have been blessed by St. Christopher himself, everyone goes down at some point.

Before you ever get on a bike, you need to fully understand and accept that. Because of many factors, the worst of which are other drivers, motorcycling is by far a more dangerous mode of travel than a car, or even a convertible. Riding is FAR more liberating and fun, but never forget the simple fact that you COULD die. You could also die in the shower, or fetching the mail, or wolfing a cheeseburger.

Accept rule #1, and you can move towards riding. If you can’t, forget about riding. Please.

In short: Motorcycling is not about taking risks, it’s about constantly weighing, and accepting the associated risks while working to minimize them at every single moment.

Rule #2, you are NEVER a master of a motorcycle

Evil Knievel taught us that 35% of the time he jumped. If he can’t be perfect, who can?

Rule #3, a little bit of fear is a good thing. Be respectful of what you’re doing.

When you’re climbing on a motorcycle, whether a 75cc moped, a GSXR1100, or an 1800cc GoldWing touring motorcycle, you are putting your faith in yourself that you have the ability — if not the training — to handle everything the road can throw at you.

That sometimes includes “flying” turkeys trying to get across the road quickly.

Motorcycles are not the place for you if your mind is on where you want to go rather than watching where you are (and everyone else is) going.

Too much fear on the other hand doubles your risks at any given moment. Everyone has scary moments on bikes. If you have a quick scare, pull over, figure out what happened, ask yourself if you could have done anything better, calm down and breathe, then start again.

Rule #4, confidence.

Bikes are psychic to their riders. If you look / think left, you’ll go left. If you look / think right, you’ll go right. If you think you’re going to crash, guess what? YOU will find some way to do it.

While you need to pay attention to what you’re doing, it’s not you that you need to worry about, it’s all the other idiots around you who are literally driving blind and deaf to motorcycles.

I always tell people it’s not my job to ride the bike, it’s my job to make sure all the other idiots out there see me.

Rule #5, if you’re in a hurry, don’t ride.

When you leave the house 15 minutes late for work, you’re never going to make up that 15 minutes in the 15 miles to work.

“Hurry” kills.

Either accept that you’re late, then take your time getting to work (even if that makes you 30 minutes late) or take another vehicle.

Anyway, these are my top 5 rules. I’d love to hear yours.

About three weeks ago, I attended one of those management luncheons — you know the type — where one of the speakers addressing the crowd talked about the Battle of Shiloh and more importantly, how the leadership there can be directly correlated to the present and business management principles. I’m not very much into the whole pro networking really, but I found this speech fascinating.

To that end, last Sunday afternoon I ended up at lunch with a friend, who asked “what are you going to do with the rest of your day?”. After a bit of thought, I said “50/50 shot. If the camera is on the Goldwing, I’m going to ride to Shiloh. If not, I’ll go home and go back to sleep.”

2.5 hours later (4pm), I pulled in to the Shiloh National Battleground Park lot, camera loaded and ready to stretch my legs.

Now at 4pm, with another 2.5 hour ride ahead of me, I’m battling the clock for daylight. I’m also — for some incomprehensible reason — battling the park’s trinket shop which doesn’t fathom the need to carry AA batteries for when tourist’s cameras run dry.

As such, I was only able to spend time walking the National Cemetary at Shiloh (which is impressive) and taking about 50 or so pics before the camera died. I didn’t get to tour the battleground itself, but plan to go back with multiple sets of batteries and a full day to walk around.

I did however get to tour the museum on the grounds with all the civil war artifacts. While that’s always neat stuff to see, I walked away thinking only two things:

1) Every piece of clothing I saw leads me to believe that I — at 6’4″ and 320# would have been an absolute giant to these people.

2) Based on the photos on the wall, Kevin Kline did a FANTASTIC job impersonating Grant in that Wild Wild West “reimagining”. Looks EXACTLY like Grant in the movie…

So. Another 2.5 hours later, and I’m at the house, ready, or I should say “ok with” the concept of Monday. Weird thing is, and as a rider, I don’t object, the Garmin GPS took me in 100% completely different directions coming and going, meaning I saw 2x as much on the ride as I would have normally.

All this has to do me, because it’s been raining ever since, and will probably continue to do so until this upcoming Friday (the 8th)

In the last 6 months, I’ve done a lot of traveling, mostly to big cities such as Orlando, DC, and NYC. This week however, I find myself in Nashville, TN for training on Microsoft SharePoint, and — outside of the class — bored to ever-lovin’ death.

Twice this week so far, I’ve ended up at the converted Opry Mills Mall (formerly known as Opryland Amusement Park) watching movies. “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” and “Bride Wars” respectively, but outside of that, I’ve religiously checked the events calendars such as eventful.com and found that there’s absolutely NOTHING to do in Nashville on the average week night.

Might as well be Huntsville for all that matters.

If you’re reading this and can lead me out of this conundrum sometime this week, please let me know.. I mean, for Jiminy Cricket’s sake, my entertainment for last night consisted of driving to the local Wal-mart in the midst of January in the vain hope of finding swim trunks so I could enjoy the hotel’s indoor pool / sauna.

Save me!

After checking in, I had about 30 minutes to get there and drove like a bat outta hell across town. Parked the truck — which, if you’ve ever been there, is no easy feat — walked in, and was told that “sorry, both shows are now sold out..”

Talk about a whirling vortex of disappointing suckage… That, and by the time I got back to the truck, it was completely blocked in, meaning I had to pretend it was a four wheel drive vehicle.

With all the recent travel going on (and more to come) and the weather pitching in to help, I haven’t had a chance to ride much in the last month or so.

Yesterday, checking the weather channel and my iPhone apps about 7:30 am, all seemed to agree that it was 36 degrees, and the rain was clearing off by the 48 degree afternoon. To that end, and having ridden in colder climates (work is only 6 miles), I bundled up in my US Military thermals and headed off to work…

Little did I know how much the Weather Channel sucks…

Got to work, all is toasty, even at 36 degrees. Parked the bike, and resumed my day. Three hours later, lunch time, I head out for a bite, only to realize that North Alabama was in the midst of what we would consider a major sleet storm and that the predicted 48 degrees was NEVER going to happen.

To that end, I don my gear and head — carefully — back to the house. Windshield down, visor up, being pelted in the face with sleet every inch of the way. Hands frozen, legs soaking wet, and I’m sure there’s a cold or flu bug in there somewhere.

That being said, the resulting adrenaline rush from that 6 mile ride was actually really, really cool. Not something I’d want to reproduce every day, but exciting. This morning of course, as temps had dipped overnight, I drove the truck into work, sliding on ice at pretty much every intersection. Not nearly as much fun as riding.

That Sunday, I met up with a friend for lunch and whined at him about my indecision. His response was simply “you should have gone…”. So…. with implicit permission in hand, I found myself leaving Huntsville at 2pm on a Sunday afternoon and riding all the way to Robbinsville, NC to visit the trails up there. Got there at 7:30pm, got the last room at the local Microtel, and rested.

The next day (Monday), got up and rode the “Tail of the Dragon” which, if you have no idea what I’m talking about, is an 11 mile stretch of US 129 which goes between Tennessee and North Carolina. What’s so frickin special about that? Well… hmmm.. in that 11 miles, there are 318 curves. Some of them so tight that you feel as though you could literally kiss your own butt going around them.

In short, motorcyclist paradise.