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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Around. On my trip, that is. After waffling on whether or not to take my motorcycle, and if I should wear my textile or leather gear, I wound up jumping on my bike in the rain and heading down to Savannah, Georgia for the weekend.

I’ve said this before: good gear, and the right gear, will make or break a motorcycle trip.

I had such a bad mismatch between gear and weather it’s made me rethink my cross-country trip in June of this year.
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Just got back from riding around a bit and visiting my friends Bond and Donut. I was zipped up in my lined textile jacket, lined textile pants, Sidi waterproof boots, and my trusty Held Ninja gloves. I cruised the twenty-some miles up the highway to see them.

It was a little chilly on the way up, even with my wicking base layer and SmartWool socks. Bond’s girlfriend asked me if I was cold. “My thumbs are, ” I replied. “I have sensitive thumbs, apparently.” I kissed the tops of my thumbs, feeling sorry for them.

I left about two hours later or so. I put my balaclava on, mostly because cold air was rushing under my helmet. The wind stung my face where my beard used to be. I shifted my paws around my heated grips, trying to warm up my thumbs and pinky fingers. Boy, was it this cold when I left?

I felt the all-too familiar numb-burning sensation from my bout of exposure in 2005. My heated grips were set to high, but my pinky and thumb on each hand weren’t getting warm fast enough. I flexed my fingers to try to get them to warm up, but eventually just thought, “fuck it,” and sped up. What a sweet sound the wind makes roaring around a bike at triple-digit speeds.

I computed the windchill after I got home: 8°F. Hopefully I won’t have the same sandpaper-on-sunburnt-skin feeling from last time. :)