As it happens, I was enjoying a leisurely ride home today. The sun is shining, it's a comfortable 80 degrees, and the freeway is not yet congested with cages jockeying for position in rush hour traffic.
I'm breaking in my new jacket and my new to me 78 GS1000 having strategically removed several layers of skin from my knuckles after a lengthy wrenching endeavor to finally get the bitch back on the long and straights.
It's handling great. Progressive fork springs laugh at the numerous pot holes and obstacles littering Kansas City's highways and byways. Hard to believe that a highway can be reduced to 1 or 2 lanes for maintenance almost year round and still offer the fun and excitement one would expect riding on a Supercross track... I digress.....
The shiny black wall Shinko's need a little less pressure and a little more wear to grip the treacherous terrain but are doing a mighty job for only $100 for the pair.
The Carb Tutorial and Valve Adjustment Spreadsheet have proved invaluable as I twist the throttle in 3th and scream into 7k rpms. Holy ****, did I just lose my baffle!?
I stroke the old girl and she responds with a growl and I effortlessly merge onto the North/South smog pumping artery of Kansas City. The mighty I-35! Constantly vigilant, always leery of the hulking beasts to my left and right, I slide, dancing around the distracted wheel turners attending more to the cellphone in hand than the actual road in front of them.
Hallelujah! I've spotted another two wheel brother ahead. Ummm wtf? NOT BROTHER but a distant cousin perhaps!?
I've armored myself fitting a road warrior of the times. My full faced helmet protects my melon from the numerous wayward projectiles of the battlefield. My new body armor is thick leather, and is fully padded in the event of a fall from my stead. My cow hide gloves shrug off the debre from the seasonal "maintenance." Finally, my calf high boots and thick leggings protect my soft tissue from the gravel packed roadway and the fiery heat emanating from the heart of my stallion.
This cousin, fellow warrior, is outfitted in bizarre garb. A black bandana, dark eye wear, cut off T-shirt, ripped jeans, and tennis shoes complete the unsightly attire. This one must be of the berzerker clan, unafraid of wounds taken in combat, able to shrug off the most brutal of road rashes and Gallegheresk crushing blows to the watermelon!
I inch the throttle back and surge forward, hoping to join my fearless comrade in his flight. Gradually, I close the distance but observe his overdressed and painfully sparkling ride ailing in what must be the most painful or embarrassing displays of neglect.
She has thrown her left leg out in what seems to be a defiant gesture of all mistreated and poorly ridden steads. I pour more fuel into my war horse's lungs which flows flawlessly through her recently dipped and o-ringed bodies in hopes of alerting my friend to his eminent danger.
As I pull along side, allowing the both of us the full use of the opposite lanes, I gesture frantically attempting to indicate the problem.
My full faced helmet inhibits communication, but I continue to flail like a newborn looney bird,that the side stand on his ride is still down.
As I gain his attention, I get not the response I expecting. No sign of gratitude or show of understanding was exhibited. Instead, I received a strange hand gesture with a middle finger raised and what I must have mistakenly misinterpreted as "**** You" mouthed from the lips of my hairy companion.
I begin to fall back in utter disbelief, and as I do, my lost brother swerves left into another lane and with a shower of sparks, nearly looses his seat!
Strange...
Are we not of the same flock!? I can only offer a prayer for my lost brothers and ask the great lord to protect my confused brethren.
Nic
I'm breaking in my new jacket and my new to me 78 GS1000 having strategically removed several layers of skin from my knuckles after a lengthy wrenching endeavor to finally get the bitch back on the long and straights.
It's handling great. Progressive fork springs laugh at the numerous pot holes and obstacles littering Kansas City's highways and byways. Hard to believe that a highway can be reduced to 1 or 2 lanes for maintenance almost year round and still offer the fun and excitement one would expect riding on a Supercross track... I digress.....
The shiny black wall Shinko's need a little less pressure and a little more wear to grip the treacherous terrain but are doing a mighty job for only $100 for the pair.
The Carb Tutorial and Valve Adjustment Spreadsheet have proved invaluable as I twist the throttle in 3th and scream into 7k rpms. Holy ****, did I just lose my baffle!?
I stroke the old girl and she responds with a growl and I effortlessly merge onto the North/South smog pumping artery of Kansas City. The mighty I-35! Constantly vigilant, always leery of the hulking beasts to my left and right, I slide, dancing around the distracted wheel turners attending more to the cellphone in hand than the actual road in front of them.
Hallelujah! I've spotted another two wheel brother ahead. Ummm wtf? NOT BROTHER but a distant cousin perhaps!?
I've armored myself fitting a road warrior of the times. My full faced helmet protects my melon from the numerous wayward projectiles of the battlefield. My new body armor is thick leather, and is fully padded in the event of a fall from my stead. My cow hide gloves shrug off the debre from the seasonal "maintenance." Finally, my calf high boots and thick leggings protect my soft tissue from the gravel packed roadway and the fiery heat emanating from the heart of my stallion.
This cousin, fellow warrior, is outfitted in bizarre garb. A black bandana, dark eye wear, cut off T-shirt, ripped jeans, and tennis shoes complete the unsightly attire. This one must be of the berzerker clan, unafraid of wounds taken in combat, able to shrug off the most brutal of road rashes and Gallegheresk crushing blows to the watermelon!
I inch the throttle back and surge forward, hoping to join my fearless comrade in his flight. Gradually, I close the distance but observe his overdressed and painfully sparkling ride ailing in what must be the most painful or embarrassing displays of neglect.
She has thrown her left leg out in what seems to be a defiant gesture of all mistreated and poorly ridden steads. I pour more fuel into my war horse's lungs which flows flawlessly through her recently dipped and o-ringed bodies in hopes of alerting my friend to his eminent danger.
As I pull along side, allowing the both of us the full use of the opposite lanes, I gesture frantically attempting to indicate the problem.
My full faced helmet inhibits communication, but I continue to flail like a newborn looney bird,that the side stand on his ride is still down.
As I gain his attention, I get not the response I expecting. No sign of gratitude or show of understanding was exhibited. Instead, I received a strange hand gesture with a middle finger raised and what I must have mistakenly misinterpreted as "**** You" mouthed from the lips of my hairy companion.
I begin to fall back in utter disbelief, and as I do, my lost brother swerves left into another lane and with a shower of sparks, nearly looses his seat!
Strange...
Are we not of the same flock!? I can only offer a prayer for my lost brothers and ask the great lord to protect my confused brethren.
Nic
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