I came home early today, and as I merged onto the toll road portion of my commute, I noticed a strange motorcyclist/motorcycle combination.

I was still pretty far off, but from his riding posture, attire, and motorcycle I got the impression he was a motorcycle law enforcement officer. The tan, short-sleeve shirt, the upright riding position forced by a bullet-resistant vest, and the low-slung but voluminous saddlebags on the cruiser-style bike all fit the profile of a mounted cop.

As I approached, however, things didn’t add up. The saddlebags were leather and not metal or plastic as seen on other police bikes. As I approached, I noted his helmet was a “skid lid” style and not the three-quarter helmet commonly worn by officers. The motorcycle was out of spec, too — it was a metallic red Harley with chrome pipes. He was, however, wearing a county police officer’s uniform, complete with duty belt and service pistol.

What followed was the most amusing and interesting riding companion I’ve had to date. A motorcycling police officer who wasn’t a motorcycle police officer; someone who was to obey the rules of the road yet motored by the motorcyclist’s rules of survival.

I rode behind him and offset to one side, as is the recommendation by the Motorcycle Safety Foundation and other organizations. This allowed us to present the biggest profile to other traffic, and at least six headlights — as I run four forward lights on my bike. I kept a medium distance from him, close enough to discourage cars from getting in between us, but not so close as to crowd him.

It happened that he followed me almost all the way home, and lives somewhere in my (rather large) subdivision. I could tell that he was new, or recently returned, to motorcycling by the way he navigated the sweeping turns on the way home. He kept high in the turn and was reluctant to establish a tight line that you would expect from a sportbike rider. I kept a respectful distance, but leaned the bike over a lot more and did a more traditional outer-inner-outer line. He was nervous when he merged with traffic, and I did my best to get into a lane before him and communicate with him via arm signals. In essence, I ran blocker on the majority of the highway part of the commute home.

Anyway, I wasn’t sure where he was headed, so when we exited the highway I gave him a crisp (albeit left-handed) salute. I really enjoyed following him, and he made a good unusual companion on an otherwise mundane ride home.

I sold my first motorcycle, a 2005 Yamaha FZ6, to my friend and co-worker Rocky almost a month ago. He has ridden it to work a fair amount, and it is nice to see Cylon in the parking lot. On Saturday, Rocky asked if I wanted to accompany him to Charlottesville. He needed to get a minor part replaced. Any reason to get out and ride is a good one, and following my first bike was an even better reason.

The weather was beautiful: sunny, just a little crisp, and clear. We set out at nine in the morning.
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The first half of my ride home from Georgia was great. I was moving along at a good clip, and the sun was bright and shining.

That is, until I got to Fayetteville, North Carolina.

Fayetteville seems to be the tipping point for bad motorcycle weather. On my trip down, my route south of Fayetteville was completely covered by rain. I guess the northern part of my return trip got jealous and wanted to get in on the “fun.”

It rained non-stop, and hard, all the way home. It wasn’t as bad as my trip down, but it was a soaking rain. Paranoid (and hopefully wiser) from my gear problems on the way down, I adjusted my waterproofing strategy slightly.
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As mentioned earlier, I spent four days on a motorcycle trip to see two of my friends outside of Savannah, Georgia. It’s almost five hundred highway miles, which winds up being between eight to nine hours depending on traffic, weather conditions, and the bike I’m on. My best time was on my first trip on my FZ6 because I had great weather and a very comfortable saddle.

This time I took Raider, my BMW R1150R. In theory, it should have been the best of both of my trips: the comfort of my old K1200LTE touring bike, and the mobility of Cylon. Thanks to the weather and an extremely hard seat, it was really the worst of both worlds.

But I still had a kick ass time. ;)
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The first half of my trip down to Georgia was fantastic. It was cool enough that I wasn’t hot in my Rev’It Cayenne Pro jacket, but not so cold my hands were freezing. It was overcast enough that I didn’t have to squint behind my Native sunglasses, but not so overcast that I had to worry about rain.

That is, until I got to Fayetteville, North Carolina. Then the sky opened up. It didn’t stop until I reached Savannah, some 280 miles later.

What followed was a near total failure of every piece of waterproof motorcycling gear that I owned. Am I being too harsh?
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Yesterday I rode Raider, my BMW R1150R down to Savannah, Georgia to hang out with some friends of mine. I took I-95 for most of the way. Eventually I will take a less-traveled route and enjoy myself, but I like making this trip all in one day.

I have been pleasantly surprised at how courteous cars are on the highway. I think it’s because the majority of drivers this time of year are elderly snowbirds, driving south for the winter. They tend to stick to the right hand lane, and I pass them with ease. Every once in awhile, though, you get an asshole behind the wheel.
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I was headed into work on my 2004 BMW R1150R this morning and noticed that there was a HUGE traffic jam on the highway. I skittered off the highway, conveniently near the comic book shop where I play games from time to time. I filled Raider’s gas tank up, and went into a nearby Starbucks. I let my manager know I was going to be late due to the traffic jam, and enjoyed a tall Americano.

Twenty minutes later I was caffeinated and ready to brave the highway again. I mounted Raider, he started right up, and I motored to the intersection. My foot slipped a little as I came to a stop, which was kind of odd considering the road was bone dry a second before and the sky was clear. Then I smelled gas.
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My friend Ghost Rider passed away on July 4th, 2007. The following fall his mother and family put together a benefit ride to Yorktown, Virginia. We did it again this year, this time heading up to the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The weather called for rain for most of the day. I was not deterred for a moment — I’ve ridden in the rain plenty of times and have specialized gear that goes on top of my protective clothing — but I was afraid the event would be postponed until the next day. I already had plans for Sunday, and didn’t want to miss out. I put on wicking bottoms and top, my Motoport mesh kevlar pants and my Teknic perforated leather jacket. I stuffed my waterproof gear in the side case and motored off to the rallying point: the Starbucks where Ghost Rider used to work, and where we met for the first time.
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I never thought I would be this disappointed to drive my Mazdaspeed3, but it’s true. I have to break my motorcycling streak in order to take Kaylee in for a 12,000 mile service. The streak was 39 work days in a row, almost two months of working! I don’t know what’s more impressive: riding to work that many days in a row, or the fact I haven’t been fired yet ;).

Yeah, I know it’s Wednesday, but I didn’t get around to doing this write-up until yesterday evening.

What started out as a quick, two motorcycle get-together for coffee turned into five bikes, six hours of riding and jabberjawing, and about two hundred miles of riding.
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