The Blog Where I Fix Stuff

I really thought I had published this blog but I hound it languishing in my Draft folder waiting for me to put in links.  This weekend happen late last summer before my September trip to Alpine.

This past weekend was a bike working on weekend. Frankly, it was not what I wanted to be doing on a hot Sunday out in our garage but it had to be done and it was really interesting work and a fairly easy job.

A few weeks ago I had plans to go riding and craft shopping with my dear friend Zippo. I don’t tend to ride much in the heat of the summer but I had been off the bike for a while and needed to air out my brain. The night before, like a good responsible rider, I was getting ready to air up my tires. Mr Man often helps me with this. I can air up my own tires but I’m not a small person and I’m not bendy. Getting up and down is hard on me and easy for him so he often helps because he’s cool like that. Fortunately, his eagle eye saw oil on my tire. Now as a point of fact here, tires should not have oil on them. There is no oil in tires to leak out and oil makes tires dangerously unstable. At this point I pretty much saw my chance of riding the next day diminish to nothing.

My very first thought when I saw the dark liquid on my tire was that it was brake fluid. Wrong color though, and it smelled like oil. So something with oil was leaking down the forks and onto the tire. Mr Man started tracing the oil back up my forks. Our first answer was the steering damper. Mr Man pulled it off the bike and looked it over. There was oil on it and we didn’t see any oil above it. I started researching the cost of replacing it while Mr Man looked it over. Neither of us felt comfortable rebuilding it but my heart sank as I started to see the cost of replacing it. We could do it…but we also needed to pay for roof repairs. After the oil got cleaned off the damper Mr Man thought that the problem might still be further up the line because we weren’t seeing a lot of new oil showing up.. So, rag in hand, he returned to the bike to start the search again. This time he found a definite culprit. It was my fork seals. Thank God. We can fix those and even better, parts were cheap. Inside we went to do some research. In about half an hour I had ordered parts and had found a few good tutorials on how to change the seals.

The parts came in in just under a week (thank you Max BMW) and Sunday dawned hot and humid. Coffee was made and Kolaches were eaten and out to the garage we went. I watched one more video showing me how to do the job and we got down to it. I had some concerns going in. My bike is tall and we had to jack the wheel off the ground making it even taller. I wasn’t sure I could reach the fork seals to pull them out. However, it’s bone simple from a conceptual point and I actually had a clearer picture of what I was going to do that I have ever had of any repair ever. Bone simple. You basically pop out the fork tube, pry off the dust seal, Pry out the fork seal (after figuring out how to reach it with your short arms), replace the seals and them put everything back together. For someone tall with a bit of experience it probably is the 15 minute job all the tutorials say it is. For us from start to finish was two hours. Of course, thirty minutes of that was me running to Auto Zone to pick up a socket big enough to use as a driver to get the seal set. We thought we had one but we didn’t. I also took a water and A/C break in between sides. So it was maybe an hour to an hour and a half of actual hot sweaty work. A good three quarters of that was spent on the first side. The second side when much faster. By the way…we wondered why no one suggested removing both forks at the same time. It seemed so much easier to us. Don’t do it. It moves your forks out of alignment with the handle bars and induces a small freak out when you think you have somehow managed to bend your forks. Also, keep a file handy in case you scrape the inside of your forks while prying out the old seal to copious amounts of cursing about your short height and short arms.

While we had the bike up we took care of some things that needed to be done. My front tire has got about 2000 miles left on it but I have a trip coming up at the end of August that should be about 1000 miles. Some of that trip will be off road riding and some of it will be solo road riding. The last thing I want is to have tire problems in Alpine, TX while traveling alone so I’d rather change out the tire a little early. Because of the sidecar, the tire wears unevenly so it’s easy for problems to sneak up on you. Since the tire was gone I looked the brakes over but the pads look to be in great shape so I left them alone for the time being. Now the bike is up on jack stands and my front tire is in my trunk. Hopefully I’ll be able to get that changed out after work today and we can get it back on the bike Tuesday or so. Although it’s hot, hot, hot here, I may try to get in some riding to work later on this week. Maybe on Wednesday….maybe Friday when I don’t have to worry about changing out of jeans. At the least I’ll take it down to get gas once the tire is on to make sure the forks shook out ok.

At any rate, it felt good to be covered in oil. Good to understand the job I was doing even if I needed some help. Good to make sure my bike was ready for a trip. It will feel even better to take her out for a ride.

So absolute virtual Kudos to a couple of internet sites that got me thought this. First off, Max BMW was super speedy and they included M&Ms with my parts so that kinda made my day. Also, I found two great tutorials, one at Every Day Riding right here and the other one was a YouTube video I found here.  Pardon the camera shakes and the NSFW language and the less than winning personality of the guy doing the work. The first person shooter POV was super helpful when I was actually doing the work.

The Road No One Wants to Travel

This has been one of the most challenging blogs for me to write.  I've been back from my trip out to Alpine, TX for a few months now.  I had planned to blog during the trip, but things happened and I just couldn't write about it while I was living it.  This trip was actually three trips in one and two of them were just about as perfect as a day on the bike can be.  That middle trip though....Maybe that's the one I should start with.

After a great weekend of off road riding with Mr Man, I got up super early, loaded the bike, fed myself, and hit the road just as the sun was coming up.  I didn't have a real long day to Alpine,TX but I really wanted to beat the heat.  The trip started great.  I hit I-10 for the first time in my life and was really enjoying the 80 miles an hour through some pretty lovely scenery (at least it was still lovely until I hit about Ozona).  I made sure to get gas at Ozona knowing that Ft. Stockton was about 90 miles away.  By the time I came close to Ft. Stockton, I was so over I-10.  The novelty of 80 miles an hour on a highway had worn off about 20 miles ago and I needed gas, a bathroom, and food in that order.  My gas light came on about 14 miles out of Ft. Stockton.  I contained my panic because that light should mean I have about two gallons left.   Plenty of gas tot get me there.  As the first exit for Ft. Stockton Cam into view, the bike started sputtering and surging.  Well shit, I thought, my gas mileage must be awful right now.  I pulled off the highway as the bike continued to surge and sputter and I continued to downshift to give myself some more torque (it doesn't have to make sense, I was panicking).  The bike died on me at the last intersection but fortunately I was facing downhill.  The weight of my bike coasted me into the gas station and up to a pump.  I was still a little panicky and suddenly realizing that my skin felt like it was going to vibrated off me so please excuse me for not realizing that the bike was not acting quite like it was running out of gas.  I also noted that I put in 4.25 gallons of gas into my six gallon tank but the significance of that fact escaped me until later.

Facebook was my friend during this whole trip

After I gassed up and watered myself, I decided I was still to frazzled to get back on the road and should have some lunch first.  I found something that passed as a restaurant and ate something that resembled a burger then got back on the road for my last leg.  At this point the bike was running normal and she started fine.

I turned on to HWY 67 for my final leg.  I had about 79 miles on the long, straight road of desolation and broken dreams and then I would be in the gorgeous Holland hotel debating dinner and drinks and thinking about a pretty ride tomorrow.

I looked down and saw a dash light on.

My first thought was that it was my oil light so I started to IMMEDIATELY pull over to save my engine.  Before I got stopped I looked closer and saw that no, it wasn't my oil light but my battery light.  So I got back up to speed and kept going.  I figured if I stopped I might not start again so I should get as close to civilization as I could.  The first gas stations of Alpine were in sight when the bike starts to sputter and surge again.  This time, I knew it wasn't lack of fuel, it was my battery...or something related to it.

I didn't make it.  She died about half football field from the nearest parking lot in Alpine.  I started to push the pike down the shoulder.  After a while a Sheriff stopped and helped me get her into the parking lot of a taxidermy office.  They proceeded to call the one bike shop in town,  Alpine Motorsports and Alpine Motorsports agreed to come out with a trailer.

The most important thing to know is that from the moment the Sheriff pulled up I was safe.  I was in no danger from anything except my own anxiety and stress.  Of course, any the folks I interacted with could have been dangerous to me including the Sheriff.  But they weren't.  I was lucky.  And I know it.

So the guys from Alpine Motorsports got the bike to their shop and got to the battery.  They really thought the connectors were the problem.  They were terribly corroded.  They started to charge up my battery and replaced the connectors.  They drove me to my hotel and were going to pick me up in a few hours to give the battery a chance to charge back up.  I showered and caught up with Mr. Man then went back to the bike shop.  Per Mr. Man's advice, I asked them to be sure and check my alternator. Well, check it they did...and the alternator was not charging the battery.  I called Mr. Man to discuss our options.  We would have to get the alternator to the shop but they were happy and capable of installing it once that happened.  This was certainly going to delay my trip.  Mr Man suggested that they check the alternator belt.  I instructed them to take the front cover off the bike.  When they did, the belt fell on the ground in pieces.  We all rejoiced.  We would still have to get the belt to Alpine but once it was there, replacing it was going to be a much quicker job that replacing the alternator.  Not to mention cheaper.  They drove me back to the hotel with plans for me to start calling around the next morning to see about getting a part over-nighted to me.

Let me pause here to talk about the hotel I chose.  Alpine has a couple of hotels but The Holland Hotel is the only one walking distance to food.  So of course that's where I stayed.  My room was gorgeous. 

My home while stranded in Alpine

 The lobby had many places for sitting and relaxing and even had a few private side rooms with chairs and couches in them. They served breakfast every day and had a decent but expensive

One of the small private rooms where I curled up with a book for a while

restaurant attached.  They were also across the street from an excellent pizza place and a block away from a great little Tex-Mex place.  But it was the people who really made the place stand out.  I often find that traveling alone on a motorcycle as a woman brings out the best in hotel staff.  They get to know me and they watch out for me and for my bike.  Once the staff realized I was having bike problems, they offered to extend my stay.  I let them know that I may not need to that since I would hopefully get my part in time. They suggested that I go ahead and extend my stay one more day just in case and if I didn't need that extra day, no problem.  I was going to be there three nights already.  One more night would put there the day before the labor Day Weekend.  They did warn met that getting any room in Alpine over Labor Day weekend would be almost impossible so I knew I had three days to sort things.  In three days someone could come and get me in a truck if I had to do that so I wasn't worried. 

I got into Alpine on Monday night.  After a meal and a drink, I fell into bed too exhausted to be worried about anything.  I got up early on Tuesday and went down for breakfast.  After a really good breakfast and just about the best coffee I'd had in a while, I went up to the room and started calling Motorcycle dealers.

The couch in my room where I spent a lot of time on the phone getting my part.

I had a few options.  Lonestar BMW in Austin was my first choice.  I know the guys, they know me and I was pretty sure they had the belt.  My next choice was El Paso because it was closest to Alpine.  Both of those shops opened at 9:00 and my third choice, San Antonio opened at 10:00.  

I’ll just get to the outcome and bypass several hours of frustration at people who didn’t seem to understand that I was STUCK IN ALPINE and I needed an answer ASAP about overnighting a part. I really like Lonestar BMW and I really admire several people who work there but they have recently merged with a new management company into a new location and it hasn’t been smooth or trouble free. They lost some employees over the move and the ones they gained don’t quite yet understand BMW riders and our rather high expectations of service from our dealers. I’m choosing to believe they will understand this as some point. Let me just say that Lonestar had the part and I decided that the most trustworthy way to get it to me was to have Mr Man leave his super busy and important job and take it to FedEx himself. He did this of course because he knew I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to and I know who his first priority is (hint: her name is Sidecar Adventures). So my part was shipped and would be to me Wednesday by 4:30. I checked with the local shop and found out that yes, if they had the part by 4:30 they could get it in that day and I could be on my way on time. I spent the next two days resting and poking around Alpine. It would have been great if I wasn’t wound up and stressed about my bike the whole time. With no one else with me to share any of the burden, I couldn’t let go of the stress. I’m grateful to Mr Man who provided me much support via texts and phone calls and also to my dear Zippo who provided me dinnertime conversation about our mutual bike woes via Facebook.

Sure enough on Wednesday afternoon my parts came in. They were quickly installed and I went to get the bike. When I got there she was running wide open with the throttle lock on.   I had never even had the throttle lock on although I knew in theory I had one. I didn’t really like the sound of her but the alternator belt was clearly fixed. I also felt like I had reached the end of the shop’s knowledge about my bike. They did a great job but they aren’t BMW mechanics and they aren’t real familiar with modern bikes.  I payed them an obscenely low amount of money got on the bike and took off. She ran horribly. I had a hard time keeping her going at stops and she still kept sputtering and surging slightly. But not like there was a charging problem. It felt like riding a very, very badly tuned bike. This made no sense because they didn’t touch anything like that while changing out the belt. I took her to get gas and rode her around town a little to see if things would settle out. Nothing settled. I parked her in front of the hotel and began plan Z. I went to the front desk and got the number for the nearest U-Haul place. I had one more step to take and if that didn’t find any solutions, I was riding her into the back of a U-Haul and taking her home. I sat in the lobby and called Mr. Man. After a few moments of trying to tell him what she was doing I finally said, “If it were the R90 I know several things that could be wrong but they don’t make sense on this bike.” 
    
“Tell me” he says. 

So I did. I told him if felt like the bike was de-tuned very badly. Like the idle was set wrong or the fuel mixture was off….way off. Or even like the throttle cable had become off-set to the carburetor. Especially that last one…that is exactly what it sounded/felt like. 

Well, he asks did you check that? 

 Silly man I think, I don’t have carburetors. What I say is that I didn’t think you could check that. I mean, where does the cable even go? The answer? The throttle cables go into my throttle bodies.

Things seem to happen in themes with bikes. Mr. Man had just finished rebuilding his throttle bodies. So we had both gotten pretty familiar with them. He talked me through finding them on the bike (difficult to do when I was so full of tears and anxiety but we managed) then talked me through checking the cables. When I went around to the sidecar side I could see that the cable was sitting offset of the little cup it lives in. The bike was very hot still so I used my key to push it back into place. The bike started up easily after that but I still thought it ran like crap. Mr Man thought maybe it was the higher altitude. I was willing to accept that although I didn’t remember it running as rough in Colorado where I was much higher.

After a very un-restful night I got up, packed, loaded, fed and hit the road….sort of. First I discover that the headphone jack that lives under my seat and pokes up between the seat and the tank was fully under the seat and I couldn’t get to it so no music for me. Next, the bike was hard to start and it wouldn’t stay running. I finally got it running enough to get on the bike and I decide to risk it. I’m close enough to Ozona that if I have to, I can be towed to my hotel and there I will sit and wait for Mr Man to come and get me in a truck. Because if I break down again, I am done with this trip.

The lack of music was hard. I couldn’t relax at all with nothing to get my brain off of my bike. At speed the bike ran fine but every single bump and rough patch in the road sent my nerves skittering away. I started singing. I stumbled into Steven Schwartz’s “Meadowlark” because it’s long and I know every word and it’s an old favorite of mine. It turned into a love song to my bike as I found myself actually singing to her to encourage her to stay strong. There were many tears and many prayers. Every time I felt overcome with fear and stress I found myself shouting Psalm 23 at the top of my lungs right at my tank. We made it to Ft Stockton again and as I rode through town I was getting the horrible rough idling I had that morning. My baby sounded almost like a Harley and that’s not right. I pinged Mr Man and then went inside for a bio break.

 While I was in the AC I googled “Rough idle on BMW GS 1150”. Everything was pointing me to the throttle bodies. I knew I was nowhere near due to have them serviced so that wasn’t it. But since the concept of throttle bodies kept coming up and since the bike had cooled down by this point, I went back out to look at the cable again.   A real close inspection showed me that while the cable was no longer off-set, it wasn’t firmly seated in it’s cup. I managed to get my fingers on it and pushed it firmly into the cup. All the way this time. I went to the other side turned on the key and the electrics, put it in neutral and hit the ignition button and….she roared to life easily and sat there in the parking lot humming along at her normal even idle. I may have hugged the tank. As she hummed along I could hear her, “Jesus Christ Mom! What took you so long to figure that out. That has been bugging me ALL day! I’ve been telling you very loudly since this morning. Sheesh!” I let Mr Man know all was right with the world and we hit the road.

The rest of the day was event free and I even had some pretty riding. I still couldn’t shake loose of my anxiety. Apparently dealing with the bike and then a rough morning of riding had used up all my nerves for a week. There was nothing to be done but accept my anxiety level and keep riding. We stopped at every small town with a gas station for me to check my idle speed and everything was normal like nothing had ever been wrong with the bike. My anxiety stayed with me like a burning knife in my belly until I reached my hotel. Thankfully, the bland sameness of the Holiday Inn was just the right amount of familiarity to calm my nerves. I had a wonderful night of binge TV watching and a fantastic night’s sleep.

 My next day would be a glorious ride almost completely off the highway into Kerrville where there would be husband, friends, and some emotional support. But that’s a post for another day.  Let me just end with this Facebook post.

This is My Favorite Way to Travel

There is something very special about riding with your life partner.  I enjoy riding with other people as well but riding with him is extra special.  We work well as a team in our day to day life and those skills are heavily used and strengthened every time we go on the road together.   The fact that we are on rather compatible bikes now makes it even sweeter.  In fact, my big bike has done wonders for my road confidence so our riding ability is that much closer also.  OK I’m on a sidecar and he isn’t and that always brings the spiked punch to the church social but we are used to working around that.  There is also all that time we get to spend together.  Right now with my work and his work and my lymphedema and, and, and…that time together is even more precious to us.  Beyond all that though (well maybe not beyond the glory of uninterrupted time together but close) is the reassurance that comes from being with someone who absolutely has my back and absolutely having his.  It makes me willing to ride farther and harder because he will be there for me.  I don’t even have to ask, it’s just a reality of my life.  If I push myself past my endurance he will be there at the end of the day to help carry my stuff into the hotel room and help me off with my gear when I don’t have spoons left to even untie my boots.   If a sudden storm causes us to change routes I will be there to get things packed up and loaded while he consults the radar and the maps.  He doesn’t have to worry about it.  If he’s with me, I’ll go anywhere.  If I ever go around the world, I want to do it with him.

Having said that, there is something equally special about riding solo.   The freedom is absolute and I do mean absolute.  You make plans for six months.  You route, you research roads and hotels and gas stops.  You highlight maps.  You get three days in and find out that there is a folk music festival in town.  No one else you know has much tolerance for lap dulcimer music but you love it.  Guess what?  You can change your mind and stay in town for three days for the festival if you want.  The only person you have to consult is your own self and no one is there to judge you no matter how many banjo CDs you buy.  Are you riding down the road and see a turn off that leads to a much more exciting road?  You can take that road at the last minute, no one cares.  Beyond the freedom there is also the thrill of accomplishing something on your own.  The confidence I’ve gained from solo travel is pretty amazing.  It also helps me understand my traveling style so I can express my needs when traveling with others.  Sometimes it’s nice to ride with no competition or comparison.  Even when I’m riding with Mr. Man who I know supports me and everything I do, when I’m tired sometimes I feel inadequate.  I feel like less, not good enough to ride with him.  It’s not true but that’s hard to see when you’re exhausted.  When I’m alone, I don’t get that as much.  It’s easier to concentrate on what I did accomplish rather than what I didn’t.  One of the neatest things about solo travel is the excitement I get when I think about coming back with Mr. Man or with our riding group.  I get this “I saw something awesome and I can’t wait to show it to you!” mentality that is exciting.

And having said both of those things, there is something really special about riding with a close group of friends that you trust absolutely.  You see each other’s beauty and each other’s ugliness and you still like them.  It helps you realize that you also are lovable when you are at your most unlovable.  Riding in groups creates energy unlike anything else and that shared energy can be intoxicating.  The shared memories and laughter you have around a dinner table after a great day of riding is just about the perfect way to finish a day.  I love seeing someone in my group succeed at something they’ve been working on like tackling a difficult road or increasing their mileage or understanding how their bike is geared.  There is also an awful lot of security in riding with a larger group of people.  The very first big group trip I ever took was with Mr Man and Zippo and Spyderman.  My transmission blew up on day four outside of Roswell, New Mexico.  We turned and were limping the bike back towards Ft Worth where my mechanic was at the time when it really gave up the ghost in Anton, TX just outside of Lubbock.  As I sat at an abandoned gas station waiting for AAA to come, I remember thinking that should the need arise; we had the collective credit to just buy me a new bike if we had to.  Of course, we would never do that but it was nice to know that I wasn’t alone trying to deal with a dead transmission and no working toilets.  Everyone brings a different strength to the group.  Everyone contributes.  Spyderman is one of my favorite folks to beta a plan with.  That man will find holes and problems you didn’t know existed.  The Billy Goat Gruff is my first choice to help manage a scene should an accident occur.  As a former Mr. Man has at work prevented that from happening.  OK, I thought, I’ll just take a solo trip instead.  I started working on that project when one night we had an idea.  What if, we said, the weekend before Labor Day we went out into the Hill Country together with me on my bike and Mr. Man in his truck with my off-road tires?  What if we spent some time on dirt roads?  We love riding like that together and we don’t get the chance to do it often.  He has to go back to work so he would head home to Austin and I would head out to get some solo riding done.  I decided to head to Alpine, TX for a few days.  I won’t do any dirt riding since I won’t have Mr. Man with me but I’ll do some road riding and spend some time exploring the small town of Alpine on my own.  Then I’ll head back to the Hill Country where Mr Man and my riding group will meet me for two days of group riding around Labor Day.  We should have everyone:  Sidecar Adventures (me), Mr. Man, Zippo, Spyderman, Union Jack, The Billy Goat Gruff, and our two new riders who at this moment are called Valkyrie, and the Curvy Bavarian (names subject to change).  That’s going to be a lot of bikes on twisty Hill Country Roads.  Hijinks will ensue!

So stay tuned readers.  Road Reports from that trip should start happening soon.  Oh and 2016 looks to be a Big Group Ride year.  Apparently, I’ve finally forgotten how stressful Colorado is.  We are looking at touring parts of the Deep South in what we are calling The Hotter, Deeper, Stupider Tour.  Highlights might include the Barber Motorcycle Museum, The Blue Ridge Parkway, the Cherohala Skyway, and Dollywood.

On Being Myself (or Let's Talk About Self Identification)

Can we talk about something?  Let’s put down the maps and the spanner and stop the packing and talk about assumptions and identity?  I know, it’s kinda heavy and I’m sorry about that but it can’t all be oil changes and carving up miles around here.

I don’t get something that seems to be intrinsic to how everyone else understands of the world.  I don’t know that I understand how our identities can be completely and absolutely defined by our activities.  Let me try to explain.

I sometimes run into Femmes who don’t ride motorcycles.  I’m ok with that because I understand it’s not for everyone.  However, some of these women base their entire reason for not riding on the fact that they are a girly girl and they just couldn’t.  Like they just can’t imagine a world where their hair wasn’t perfect or their makeup wasn’t on.  I’m not judging them as shallow people.  I’m judging them as constrained by their own identity.  The reverse can also be said.  I’ve met women who feel like because they ride, they can’t be girly girls.  I think in both cases these people are being true to themselves….I just don’t get it.  For me, who I am and what I do are not always related.  I’m first and foremost a Femme.  I love makeup, so I shop for it a lot and I practice putting it on and I think about how I’m going to wear it.  But if I didn’t love makeup like I do, I would still be a Femme.  It’s who I am; it’s not what I do.  I work on bikes, I get dirty when getting dirty is called for and I clean up when it’s time to be clean.  If I’m on a two week road trip, I don’t haul a ton of make up with me and I wouldn’t expect anyone else to make room for it if I did bring a train case of cosmetics.  I do sometimes bring a little bit a makeup; maybe an eye shadow duo, mascara, and a light balmy lipstick.  I know that often deep in a trip I will want to dress up a little bit.  But if I didn’t bring any makeup no one gets to pull my Femme Card.

I have the same frustrations with the concept of pulling someone’s Man Card because of an activity someone deems to be un-manly.  What does that even mean?  A Man is who you are, not what you do.  Identity is something that I believe rests deep inside us.  Something that is not dependent on what we are doing at any given time.  Sometimes, it’s not dependent on how we look to the outside world.  I am who I am and nothing can change that.  Certain things aren’t out of bounds to me because I identify as a Femme Woman.

This was driven home to me just a few days ago.  Mr. Man and I were in Fry’s electronics and there was a really fantastic Hot Wheels track that I was exclaiming over.  I turned to Mr. Man and told him I had almost the exact thing set when I was a kid.  I loved Hot Wheels.  I also loved Barbie.  I had both and I played with both indiscriminately.  There was not concern in my house that there was something wrong with me playing with cars; that I somehow wasn’t a girl because of it.  I knew I was a girl and I seemed to absorb the belief that since I was a girl, if I was doing something then it was, by default, appropriate for me to be doing.  I’ve carried this belief into adulthood.  Because I’m a Femme then I am a Femme while I’m doing whatever it is that I’m doing.  And while I’m a little ranty, this also applies to my clothes.  I love pretty clothes but for goodness sake just because I wear riding pants and a T-Shirt on a road trip doesn’t mean I don’t know my Stuart Weitzman from my Louboutin.  I’m a Femme but that doesn’t mean I don’t live in the real world.  I’m going to dress for the occasion because I’m also Appropriate.  And  my $200.00 IGIGI Red Polka-Dot Dress is not Appropriate for a road trip.   But my easy to pack $70.00 Elomi babydoll nightie might make it into my saddlebags….just in case.  Because I do have my priorities….and stuff.

So I’ll give you that what we do can give others clues as to who we are and I will admit that I like being a girly-girl.  I like my makeup and my expensive hair and my beautiful femme clothes but when I step out of those stereotypical Femme activities;  when I wander around a hardware store, or an electronics store, when I browse Comic books, or when I throw on BDUs and a grungy T-shirt….I am still a girl, still a Femme, still me.  Nothing I can possibly do will ever change that.

Riding for my Life (Can't Stop, Zombies are After Me)

I love to ride, I really do but I do like other things as well.  I like going to Renaissance Faires and I don’t always like doing it on a bike.  Ren faires require so much costume and then you have to dress off the back of your bike in a parking lot.  When you leave out it’s hot and you are sweating and you really just want flip flops and AC and to GET OUT OF ALL OF THESE SKIRTS WHY AM I WEARING 10 YARDS OF RUFFLES?!?!?  We typically try to take to bikes to the opening weekend of the local Ren Faire and I typically spend a lot of effort talking us out of it.  I mean, if the weather isn’t perfect (and when is it in April in Texas) we might as well take the car.  No sense on getting dressed in the wet in a parking lot right?  And we don’t want to get caught in those unpredictable North Texas Storms that I grew up with.  Who knows when you might get a Tornado!  And I’m the only one who grew up in Tornado country so trust me….we should just take the car.  And if it’s not raining its’ going to 100 degrees and oh my Dear Zippo you know how much you hate riding in the heat.  After being out all day, I don’t want you to get ill with heat, let’s just take the car.  And of course if we are thinking of doing a wine tasting then we should defiantly take the car because….Safety.

This year for some reason was very different for me.  We had the date to go to Faire picked out and we had the conversations about packing light done and we had plans to leave early on Friday so we could take our time and ride the back roads.  Then it started to look like we were going to have storms…and I didn’t care.  I didn’t care, I wanted to ride.  I wanted to ride come high water or lightening or crankiness.  I checked the weather and checked the weather.  Mr Man and I poured over dewpoints and humidity and I finally decided that we could take the bikes.  We would probably get wet about 40 miles from the hotel but we would beat the worst weather.  Then Saturday would be beautiful and Sunday would be good as long as we left in the morning.  I checked in with Spyderman and Zippo about the rain (ok I bullied them until they agreed to ride wet) and we were all set.

I could not home from work fast enough on Friday afternoon.  I got into my riding clothes and threw myself on my bike like the Zombies were behind me looking for my brains.  I flew to Zippo and Spyderman’s house to get them and away we went.  Once we shook ourselves free of the Interstate in Belton and hit HWY 317 I felt the stress crumbling off me.  Flying out of my life with the speed of the wind.  Burning away from me and I emerged free and without care from the cocoon of my daily life.  I was just the three of us.  Mr Man is not a Ren Faire type of person and Union Jack and the Billy Goat Gruff couldn’t make it.  The three of us made for very stress free riding.  Easy to make choices.  Easy to decide when to stop, when to go.  Easy to know that  our bikes were very compatible as far as power and speed.  Stress about medical bills, about my health, about my house, about my job all gone and gone and gone.

Mr. Man calls this brain draino.  I had never before really experienced the need for it like I did on that Friday afternoon where I ran away from my life, from my responsible thinking and rode straight into possible storms without a care about it.  But that afternoon I had a need that would not be thwarted by such things as reality.  I was riding and that was final.  And ride I did.

Luck was with us all weekend.  We missed all the rain on our way to Waxahachie, TX except for about five drops in Hillsboro but we did have a tornado warning that evening that caused us to spend some time in an inner room at the hotel.  Saturday was sunny and moderate just as promised and on Sunday we once again avoided all the rain except for 15 minutes of being spat upon by the heavens.  I can’t remember another time when the fates smiled so hard on me during a ride.  I deserved it.  After everything this year has given me, I was due some luck and some brain draino.

Next on the riding docket is a week spent in the Hill Country both with Mr Man and some friends.  I feel fortified for it now.  Let the planning begin.

In Just Spring

IN Just-

spring when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame baloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old baloonman whistles

far and wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

the

goat-footed

baloonMan whistles

far

and

wee

-e e cummings

Ah Spring!   Warm weather, then muggy weather, then rain, and then a few glorious days of sunshine when it’s not as hot as the surface of the sun.  The time for all good motorcyclists to be riding, riding, riding!...When it’s not a torrential downpour.  In my house it’s also time to plan next year’s trip.  We aren’t getting a big trip this year.  It looks like we’ll have about a week in September that we are going to use to ride like crazy people out in the Hill Country.  Next year though we are going to try for another group ride.   I’ve recovered enough from our Colorado Trip to think about doing this again.  Right now, it’s pretty nebulous.  Not so much a plan as an idea.  I know we want to try to get to the Motorcycle Museum in Leeds, Alabama and I think there has been some mention of Dollywood.  Mr Man has mentioned the Blue Ridge Parkway and that sounds pretty awesome too.  We’ve invited everyone to put in opinions and requests so that we can start forming a plan but otherwise, all we know is we want to do another group ride the summer of 2016 and we are inviting two more riders than before.  So that’s eight bikes and a possible support vehicle.  Yep, we are crazy.  I can’t wait though.  I can’t wait to see what form this trip takes and what new adventures we have.  

At least that’s what I tell myself.  Because there is always that chance isn’t it?  Always that chance that this trip will be the trip your friendship can’t come back from.  The trip that ends with tears and screaming or icy silence that never ends.  Motorcycling is risky but most people think about risk to life and limb.  They don’t think about the interpersonal risks that comes from group travel.  I do.  I think about it all the time when I plan trips.  I think about it before I start the very first email asking “Who wants to go?”  Then I send the email, risking personal conflict and tears and fury 2500 miles from home. 

Because it’s Spring, the time for foolish ideas and even more foolish actions.  And believe you me, we are fools but I have faith in us.  I have faith that we value our friendship enough to work out conflicts and will be forgiving of each other’s folly.  Not that there haven’t been tears and yelling and me hiding in the shower at 3 in the morning while I break out in hives from stress.  Not that I haven’t had my doubts that my friendships or my marriage would survive the argument over what to order on the pizza (this is a bit of a fabrication, there hasn’t been any actual conflict over pizza I just won’t share how silly some of the arguments have been with people who weren’t there.)  Despite all that we’ve always come through for each other. So  I have faith,  I take risks.  After all, motorcycling is the fine art of risk taking.  Besides, it’s Spring and the world is  puddle-wonderful.

There's a First Time for Everything...Again

There is nothing quite like your first ride on a motorcycle.  Unless, of course, you get to have that first ride all over again.

 

I went for a ride last weekend.  A real ride, not just running errands.  Mr. Man and I woke up on Saturday and realized we had no plans.  So we promptly made some that involved getting on our bikes and riding together.

 

We went down an old familiar route that took us to a great lunch spot.  It was a curvy back road that we had been down many, many times in the past but for me this time was special.  This time, was the first time.  This was the first time I had taken Nightingale down this road and she ate up the miles and curves and wanted more.  It was the first time I really kept up with Mr. Man in the curves and didn’t think twice about it, it wasn’t even exciting.  I just did it and realized when we stopped that he didn’t leave me behind once.  I realized once again that despite my heavier weight and the sidecar, our bikes are really well paired for touring.  If he really gets stupid with the speed and peg grinding cornering then yeah, he’ll lose me but riding about the speed limit and taking the curves at the speed limit instead the posted speed for the curves?  I can keep up with that pretty well.  This was also the first time I’ve done a lot of riding since I lost a lot of fluid out of my legs and it was like learning to ride all over again.  I felt much lighter on the pegs.  Mounting and dismounting the rig was much less difficult (sadly for Mr. Man it was much less humorous as well) and shifting my weight from side to side in a curve was super easy-peasy.  Mr. Man said I was getting more of my body over the curve than before and it certainly benefited my riding.  I had the usual amount of pain in my legs after being on the bike for about 70 miles but now I know that’s the lymphedema talking, not me just being out  of shape and I should just work out harder to make the pain go away (hint: the pain may never go away and that’s going to be OK).  If I get off the bike and get my legs up then they feel better and I can ride some more.  I did about 140 miles all in all and I felt about the same physically as I did before the diagnosis, maybe even a little better.  For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful that things will be ok.  That riding won’t really be that different, I’ll just be aware of things in a different way.  Nothing has really changed except that I feel better and have the tools to manage my swelling.  Maybe I’ll even see that 500 mile day that I thought I would have to give up on.  Maybe not.  And that is actually ok.  For the first time, I’m not comparing myself to anyone else and coming up short.  I was riding for myself and  taking the time to do the self-care I needed so I could ride some more.  Thoughts of being able to keep up with anyone or being good enough to ride with other people didn’t enter my head at all.  Because now, with the lymphedema, I don’t have time for that nonsense.  I don’t have time for made up worries or insecurities.  I have real worries and real insecurities now that have nothing to do with anyone outside of myself.  Now, if it doesn’t serve me or my well-being, I have no time for it in my life.  And that is one of the most freeing things that has come out of my journey this year.  I suddenly don’t feel that I have to prove myself to anyone and I don’t feel  guilty about it.  And the icing on the yummy yummy cake that was my ride on Saturday?  I got to have my first ride all over again and it was every bit as life changing as I remember.

Winning at Life Sometimes Looks Like Not Losing

I have been epically remiss in keeping this blog updated.  My life has hit several snags in the last year that made it difficult for me to keep the blog a priority but it has occurred to me that blogging may be the best way for me to work through things.  Let me share a story that has little to do with motorcycles on the surface but everything to do with my riding life.

Recently I did a review of the Sidi Doha boot and posted pictures of my foot in the boot.  I also shared pictures of my foot in this post. Did you look at those pictures and say  “Geez Sidecar Adventures you have a hideous amount of edema.  That can’t be normal and that can’t feel comfortable.”  I would have told you yes, I have edema because I’m fat.  My doctor has seen it and assures me it’s water from my weight.  It’s not painful, don’t worry about it.  Well, you would have right and I (and my doctor) would have been wrong.  The back story of this is a story for another post another day.  Through a series of fortunate events I became convinced finally that the edema in my legs was Not Normal and I should get that looked at.  I had tentatively come to the conclusion that I might have a condition called Lipedema.  I’ll let you Google that if you want but its a little known and difficult to treat condition that many doctors don’t believe in.  I found a clinic that I thought could treat it but I needed a referral from my Doctor to go.  So right after the first of the year I found myself in my Doctors office.  The visit did not go well.  She was dismissive sticking with her opinion that I needed to lose weight and the swelling was from being fat and putting stress on my blood vessels.  She had never heard of Lipedema and was very dismissive of my explanation.   I bullied her until I got the referral for the clinic.  Her last words to me were that even if they do all the bandaging to get my legs down, the swelling would just come back unless I lost weight.  Those will be that last words I hear from her because I’m not going back.  I got a call that day from the clinic and found myself sitting in the Specialist’s office the next week.

After speaking with me at length, the specialist touched my feet and legs gently and then softly pinched the skin above one of my toes.  “You have Lymphedema”.  He went on to talk about getting me into therapy with the physical therapist and to very gently, professionally and appropriately talk about the importance of losing weight in order to manage this condition.  I heard maybe one word in ten.  All I heard was Lymphedema.  That was not the diagnosis I was expecting.  Not what I was prepared for.  I knew what that was.  A good friend of mine has that and I’ve watched her manage the condition.  It’s a commitment.  It’s like suddenly becoming poly and your third partner’s name is Lymphedema.  I numbly made my physical therapy appointment then sat in my car and cried for about an hour.  I have no idea why I couldn’t stop except that I had been crying since the event that made me realize something was wrong.  I cried because the Specialist mentioned my weight (very appropriately and gently).  I cried because a diagnosis of Lipedema would have meant no effective treatment but it wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t lose weight.  Lymphedema was in many ways a more positive diagnosis.  It had a course of treatment that was effective but that meant that my inability to lose weight was again all my fault (it’s not but that’s where my head was).  I cried with relief because I was right and my Primary Doctor was wrong.  I cried because I knew it meant the end of the 20 year relationship I had with my Primary Doctor.  I cried because I was afraid of the unknown.  Afraid the therapy wouldn’t work.  Afraid it would and I would have to face the fact that I had let my legs degrade when I could have fixed this years ago.  I just cried.

I was in Complete Decongestive Therapy for about a month.  A month of having both legs bandaged to the knee and being in post-operative shoes because they were the only things that would fit my big bandaged feet.  A month off the bike because I lost all range of motion in my ankle and my feet wouldn’t fit in boots.  A month of missing a lot of work.  A month of learning and talking things over with Mr Man.  How would this impact our riding life?  My mileage?  My ability to off road?  Lots of questions and no answers.  I still have no answers except that we’ll find out when we get there.  I’ve been able to draw up a couple of game plans.  My life has changed in some ways and some ways not at all.  I no longer have to wear bandages every day but I’ve still got them in case of a flare up.  I wear compression garments to my knees every day now.  I have two pair, one off the rack and one custom made.  I have to wash them every night so I alternate.  I wear night garments when I sleep that look like oven mitts with stretchy covers.  They are comfortable but bulky.  Every night I use a compression pump on my legs.  During the week we do my lower legs only for 30 minutes each leg.  They must be done one at a time so that’s an hour.  On the weekends when we can we do one entire leg and my core in the morning and one entire leg and my core in the evening.  That is a little over an hour each leg.  I also perform Manual Lymphatic Drainage on myself every evening and in the morning when I remember.  I take every opportunity to sit down and get my feet up that I can.  I now have to make sure I keep my skin moisturized and healthy BUT I can’t put lotion on right before my stockings, my night garments, or the wraps for the pump.  So I have to work that in as well.  Lymphedema is my new life partner and we have a love hate relationship.  

So how will this impact my riding?  I only know a few things right now.  I know that I will continue to ride just as far and fast as I can.  I will keep going off road because to stop would be to admit defeat.  I do understand that because I have a whole bunch of new things I’m doing to manage the swelling in my legs, I’ll need to factor that time into my day on the road because managing my legs on the road will be paramount.  So I may not be able to ride as long in order to get in and care for my legs.  I’ll need to watch the heat and I’ll need to make sure I’m hydrated.  But I’m still going to ride.  In fact I took my first ride just a few weeks ago.  It was heaven.  Here’s what I found: 1.  Because the lymph is flowing better through my body, my stomach has lost all of its hardness and my jacket suddenly fits me again.  2.  My boots fit me better and help keep the swelling down.  So riding is a little easier.  I’ve lost about 4 or so inches off my lower legs so a lot of bulk is gone and that equals easier movement.  Also, I’ve lost 10 pounds of fluid in one month.  I feel so much better overall and that will help my riding.  The random shooting pains in my legs are less and the pain in my hips is gone, again, that will help my riding.

In the end, I think this is a tradeoff.  As my trainer has pointed out to me, the lymphedema is nothing new.  I’ve had it.  Now I’m learning how to manage it.  I may have to shave off some miles so I make sure I have time to care for my legs in the evening but the tradeoff of feeling better on the bike and in my gear is worth a lot more than the price of a few hours on the road.

It's Been a Long, Long Time

As the song goes, "So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again/ It's been a long, long time."
This was the love song I sang to Nightngale the morning as she and I followed Mr. Man out of the driveway and down the road at long last.  We are blessed with a three day weekend so we gathered some friends and headed to Kerrville for some motorcycle fun.  I was a sad panda a bit because Zippo and Spyderman weren't able to join us but we did have Union Jack and The Billy Goat Gruff.  We also took the opportunity to invite a few friends out who are newer riders.  Ender joined us on her Vulcan and we had two others join us on BMW Airheads who I haven't blog named yet.  I'm still working on that.  Union Jack actually had trouble with his battery this morning so he and The Billy Goat Gruff met us out here once that all got sorted.

I've chosen the delightful Inn of the Hills as our home base for this trip.  It's clean and not too expensive and there is food and drinks attatched to the hotel.  We had a great ride out and just got back from a lovely dinner.  I've got just enough time for a short blog before I go to bed.  And that's been the thing with my life lately (by lately I mean the last year).  I've only got a very limited amout of time and too many things to do.  I took on a board position in the social club I belong to so I have real obligations I have to meet.  I'm still the Librarian of the Women's Chorus I sing in and I was recently moved to join a church.  Also, I do work.  So real obligations are happening and I don't have any time to ride.  This weekend has become so very important to me.  It's the first riding I've done since last summer and the first time I've been able to get my brain to unspool since June.  Just me and my girl and some like minded friends on a long winding road into the hills.  Then time in the pool to cool down and time around a table to share food and stories.  Now time in the quiet of the room with no sound except the keyboard and the sight of Mr. Man lounging on the bed playing a game on his tablet.  Life stripped of all complications, all obligations, all responsibilites.  Tomorrow holds the promise of warm weather and sweet twisty roads.  It's about damn time.

Review: Sidi Doha Boot

This is my review of the Sidi Doha boot.

Size: 38.  I am technically a 37 but often wear a 38 because of my high instep and edema.  The 38 fit me great length wise.  They don’t feel too long at all.  This boot comes in an amazing array of sizes.  They run from size 36 to a 48 so you are almost guaranteed to find your size.

Width:  These are boxy shoes so I have no problem with the width.  I found that I really don’t want a liner and a riding sock with these boots.  The sock liner is really all I need so if you need a thick winter sock, the boot might not work for you if you have wide feet.

Comfort on  bike:  I found this to be very comfortable on the bike.  It is excellent at cutting out vibration and the sole is rigid so it has great support on the pegs.

Comfort off bike:  Ouch!  The stiffness that makes this boot so great on the pegs makes it hard on my delicate feet off the bike.  It also makes me feel a bit like Frankenstein’s monster because the sole is so stiff.  I finally discovered that a pair of super cushy inserts from the Dr Scholl’s kiosk made these boots wearable off the bike but I still felt like Frankenstein’s monster and I wouldn’t want to do just a whole lot of standing in them.   They were also a little tight across the ball of my foot. 

Durability:  My first pair lasted about a year.  They aren’t meant to be long distance touring boots and that’s how I wore them so YMMV.  The bulk of the shoe is suede but the vamp where the eyelets and laces were are made of mesh like a tennis shoe.  I got a tear in the mesh next to one of the eyelets.  Otherwise, my original boot is still fine.  I tug pretty hard on my laces because I need the compression so if you lace like a normal person I bet the shoes last you a good long time.

 

Protective features:  I would like the boot to go a little higher on my ankle although the lowness of the boot does give me excellent flexibility.  For long distance touring, I would rather have the support.  The toe bed is reinforced and there is a shift protector The heel is reinforced with a protective panel for the ankle ball.  The sole is wonderfully reinforced and stiff.  It is fantastic for standing on the peg.  The boot also has double stitching in high stress areas for added protection from having your seams rip open in case of a get off.

On my foot (the lace retainer was removed later)

Best used for:  I now use it for dual-sporting since I’ve found another boot I use for touring.  Of course, if  you can fit into a standard dual sport or dirt boot you will have far superior protection that what the Doha can give you.  The foot bed is all dirt but there is not enough armor for off-roading. But if you are like me and can’t fit into a normal dirt boot, then this boot is a great option.

Bottom line: Great durable little boot for short distance and light off-roading.  Heavy touring is probably asking a little too much of these boots.  There are other lace up options that work better for touring.

View from the side

This is How a Team Works

Basic HTML vie 

I recently had a bike working on weekend.  I’ve been having some mushy brake issues with the Big Girl since I got her.   We’ve bled the brakes numerous times but the problem never completely went away so we decided to overhaul the front brakes by installing some new spiffy stainless steel cables.  This would also allow us to bypass the ABS system.  Disabling the ABS has been on our list of things to do since we bought the bike.  I understand that ABS can save your life but I only have ABS on two of my three wheels.  There is no real way to put ABS on the sidecar wheel.  I don’t think having two out of three tires with ABS is safe.  On top of that, the ABS system has been malfunctioning for a while.  It’s a stuck piston according to the code.  I’ve had it repaired once only to have it go out again so it’s coming off the bike.  However, pulling the system is lengthy and not something we are up to right now so bypassing it was the right answer.  This was the first big work I’ve ever done on brakes so it was a good time to learn about brake fluid.  I learned that you always want to use a new bottle of brake fluid for every job because brake fluid, once opened, pulls moisture out of the air into itself.  Using opened brake fluid opens you up to getting water into the brake line.  Looking at the dark brown fluid in my master cylinder, I almost wonder if that was part of the problem I was having.  Apparently, your brake fluid should be straw colored .  To translate, my fluid should have looked like Sauvignon Blanc but it looked like Tawny Port.  Time and then some to settle this brake issue.

I did do some of the hands on

Old Cables

I had wanted/ expected to be doing most of the work myself.  Mr. Man wound up doing a lot of it while I watched and asked a bajillion questions.  I was ok with this at the end because I learned a whole lot even if I didn’t get as dirty as I wanted.  The whole process started me thinking a bit about the concept of teamwork and how it works between Mr. Man and myself.  A  lot of the reaching up into the bike and unfastening things was done by him while I held the light and asked about a billion questions.  His arms are longer and he’s more bendy than I am so that made sense.  Also, he’s the main mechanic for the bike when we off road so it makes sense that he works on Nightingale more than he does on Skylark.  Some things are easier with two people, like bleeding the brakes and he had my full help and cooperation there.  Some things, I need to do myself so I know how to make basic adjustments if I’m traveling by myself.  My biggest job often does seem to be asking about a billion questions. This time I also helped by going  inside and getting dinner in the oven so we could eat when we were finished.   Sometimes Mr. Man’s job is looking up schematics on the computer.  Sometimes he’s handing me tools, sometimes I hand him tools.  Early in our relationship we had to establish that teamwork does not mean equal.  That fair is not always 50/50.  He has always made more money than I have so to establish an equal power dynamic in the relationship we set up roles and duties.  He puts in a higher percentage of his income into our joint account than I do but I take care of paying bills and most of the grocery shopping.  When we travel, we are responsible for different things.  When we work on the bike, especially Nightingale, we are responsible for different things.  I like it.  I like the fact that in our relationship we are allowed to bring our strengths to the table, not an arbitrary 50/50.  We don’t keep a ledger.  I don’t think, well, I picked up all that oil and filters for his bike so he has to pick up the groceries for me.   At least, I don’t think that too often.  I am, after all, still human.

New cables

In the end, I had shiny new brake cables and my goodness, my brakes work well now!  I also had a better understanding of my braking system and that’s maybe the most important thing for me to take away.  I know why we moved to stainless steel lines from rubber.  I know why we went with two lines instead of one line and a splitter and I understand how we bypassed my ABS system.  Also, I have a much better comprehension of the mechanics behind a braking system and what brake fluid does.  So even if I didn’t turn every wrench and run every line, I educated myself making myself a better partner for off-roading.  My better familiarity with the brakes will help me troubleshoot on the road.  Mr. Man helped me learn and isn’t that what a team should do?  Shouldn’t it make you better?

Always remember, safety third!

 I totally want to  give a shout out to the great guys over at Boxer Metal for the speedy delivery of the parts.  Feel free to check them out here.