Whethefakawe
Race Dog
- Joined
- Jun 21, 2006
- Messages
- 621
- Reaction score
- 2
- Bike
- KTM 950 Adventure S
Blatant rip off maybe, but I'm sure You-won and Charles won't mind. My long journey returning home to Africa is two weeks old, and is proceeding as expected with highs and lows alternating like Eskom's 220 AC.
I resigned from my job, formerly my CAREER, ie the one where I was supposed to collapse over the oars and be heaved overboard, on the first of July 2008. I'd been with this company for ten years and seven moths to the day. The only thing I'd done longer than t hat was going to school as a kid.
My marriage lasted one third of that, thank that witch doctor in Bukavu. The one with the one yellow eye and the dent in the forehead. Bastard was expensive, but worth it.
But I digress.
My last trip was to Newark, aka "Sewerk", which is right across the river to the West from Noo Yaahk Faaken City. It's a toxic waste dump with robots, as a colleague once described it. Ever seen that TV show "The Sopranos"? Well, that's the place. You even see planes taking off from Sewerk in the opening credits. They don't show the festering chemical lakes and rusting, decaying infrastructure though. Think old, worked out mines on the Reef, times twenty.
Yebo gogo, it's that bad. A real shitehole.
My cohort this time was my KTM riding buddy Greg, so we had a good time.
This shot was taken over Chicago at 39 000 feet at 9pm. you can see the city and the lakeshore, but what's anazing about the shot (thanks to the wide angle lens on my new little Nikon) is the onset of night. There is a scientific name for it, someone told me the other day but I don't remember what it is. When the sun dips behind the earth at sunset, it casts a crescent-shaped shadow that stretches from horizon to horizon at high altitudes like this. It's an amazing sight, I'm very chuffed that I was able to capture it with this new little camera. Amazing little toy - this was one of the first dozen shots I took with it.
It's a Nikon S 600 if anybody cares.
Another cool shot allowed by the wide angle lens, taxiing out at Sewerk for the last time.
Anyways, I left the desert city of Phoenix, Arizona very early on the 4th of July. For the americans that's "independence day", for the first time I could relate to the concept. I rode out of Fountain Hills, the neighbourhood I had lived in the past five years, at 0442. It was 94 degrees F, or 35C. A cool morning. I had woken up at 0400 on my OTHER riding buddy Larry's couch. A quick getaway, by any standard. I even lubed my chain.
40 k's later, the first fuckup.
Allow me to elaborate. I've been riding dirtbikes since 1981 but anything with a licence plate on it only since late 2005 when I got my KTM 950. I'm nervous as a whore in church in traffic.
So, barely keeping up with traffic in the fast lane at 140 through the middle of Phoenix, I felt a flutter on my back, where an OGIO KTM baclpack I bought on sale resided.
I'm a cheapskate, did I mention that? Anyways, my traffic-phobic eyes darting from road ahead to speedo to left mirror to right mirror to rev counter just caught something receding behind me and cars swerving keft and right.
It took me half a minute to catch on. I felt behind me with my left hand (my right was twisitng the throttle, trying to keep up with the blerrie maniacs doing 90 miles an hour at 5 in the morning on a public holiday) and touched THE VOID.
Long story short, I hadn't zipped the backpack up very well and the wind blowing into the gap unzipped it halfway. A pair of heavy duty shorts I had just bought ( I wear holes in the arse of pants in record time for some reason), my toilet kit including nose hair trimmer, my only towel and my cell phone charger went skidding across the fast lane of a six lane freeway.
I stopped on the side of the next offramp and thought about going back for about two seconds. It wasn't really an option.
At 0619 a friendly oke from somewhere in Africa (to my regret I didn't ask him where) offered to take my photo in a rest area about 50 k's from the California border.
I was out of the state of Arizona shortly after 0700, for the last time I thought. Ha. What an optimist I am. I keep forgetting I'm not iALWAYS in control.
I entered the Peoples' Republic of California. Kak infrastructure like the potholed freeway, numerous police cars and shifty-eyed lowlifes prowling for unlocked cars and loose kit on KTM 950's at the petrol station in Blythe where I filled up reminded me why I moved out of there in 2003.
Don't believe what you see on "Bitchwatch" or "KITT the wondercar that won't start". California is in a serious state of decay, old Aahnold does what he can but it's exactly where the Soviet Union was in the late 80's. Collapsing under a bankrupt socialist system.
I stopped at a spot on the map called Chiriaco Summit, where the "General George S. Patton Museum" was still closed. The surrounding desert had been a huge training area during WW2, and Patton's division had been trained in tank warfare there. Supposedly you can still see tank tracks in some areas. From my two semesters of Geology I know that deserts heal very slowly - damage to the surface lasts for a long time. 65 years, in this case. A split second in geological time, but the environmental nazi's in California used that as an excuse to shut down millions of square miles of desert to dirt bikes and everything else on wheels. Only people on foot are allowed in huge areas of the desert. "On Any Sunday" is pure nostalgia for what was and will never be again.
General Patton's best side. Very imposing figure he was.
Some tanks at the museum. It's bogus, not one WW2 tank, all M48's from the 50's and 60's. But the inside is not bad, I went through it on a previous occasion.
Not surprisingly, there aren't too many hikers in this moonscape with bushes that makes up much of the California interior. Land of Freedom indeed.
I wasn't too concerned about it though. I reached Palm Springs around 0930 and spent the day naked in a pool with a Scottish friend.
You know, the type that wears a skirt. No photos though. At least not for posting here. :evil6:
The fun riding started the next day. I rode Highway 74 from Palm Desert to the coast, it was mostly twisties and I only got off it for a short distance to avoid bad traffic. I was having fun, and thought "....so this is what road riding is all about...." Ha. It was nothing compared to what followed. Pure inexperience talking :ricky:
Leaving Palm Desert
It was hot, traffic was heavy at times and I was glad to get to my buddy from Cape Town's house in San Clemente, on the SoCal coast halfway between LA and San Diego. Jody is the parts manager at one of the biggest shops in California and by extention, the world as California is the single biggest motorcycle market on the planet, bigger than most countiries. Combined. The numbers are staggering.
This is what the place looks like inside. On any given summer day they have over 600 bikes on the floor, and they fly out the door like prunes through grandma.
Jody has scored me lots of stuff äs "buddy deals"" and it wasn't about to end. A frantic last minute shopping spree cost me about a 1000 dollars but saved me twice that much. The most pressing need was higher rise bars and triple clamps. He knows the owner of BRP Racing well and he set me up with athe necessary at cost. Nice man. This is what it looks like now. It's a big boy's bike, but I have never had problems with that. Au contraire.
A set of Windham bend ProTaper bars helped a lot too. They are high, wide and straight - very little sweep back. Makes a world of difference.
"Shipping a motorcycle from the US" saga next. For age 18 and up only.
Cheers
I resigned from my job, formerly my CAREER, ie the one where I was supposed to collapse over the oars and be heaved overboard, on the first of July 2008. I'd been with this company for ten years and seven moths to the day. The only thing I'd done longer than t hat was going to school as a kid.
My marriage lasted one third of that, thank that witch doctor in Bukavu. The one with the one yellow eye and the dent in the forehead. Bastard was expensive, but worth it.
But I digress.
My last trip was to Newark, aka "Sewerk", which is right across the river to the West from Noo Yaahk Faaken City. It's a toxic waste dump with robots, as a colleague once described it. Ever seen that TV show "The Sopranos"? Well, that's the place. You even see planes taking off from Sewerk in the opening credits. They don't show the festering chemical lakes and rusting, decaying infrastructure though. Think old, worked out mines on the Reef, times twenty.
Yebo gogo, it's that bad. A real shitehole.
My cohort this time was my KTM riding buddy Greg, so we had a good time.
This shot was taken over Chicago at 39 000 feet at 9pm. you can see the city and the lakeshore, but what's anazing about the shot (thanks to the wide angle lens on my new little Nikon) is the onset of night. There is a scientific name for it, someone told me the other day but I don't remember what it is. When the sun dips behind the earth at sunset, it casts a crescent-shaped shadow that stretches from horizon to horizon at high altitudes like this. It's an amazing sight, I'm very chuffed that I was able to capture it with this new little camera. Amazing little toy - this was one of the first dozen shots I took with it.
It's a Nikon S 600 if anybody cares.
Another cool shot allowed by the wide angle lens, taxiing out at Sewerk for the last time.
Anyways, I left the desert city of Phoenix, Arizona very early on the 4th of July. For the americans that's "independence day", for the first time I could relate to the concept. I rode out of Fountain Hills, the neighbourhood I had lived in the past five years, at 0442. It was 94 degrees F, or 35C. A cool morning. I had woken up at 0400 on my OTHER riding buddy Larry's couch. A quick getaway, by any standard. I even lubed my chain.
40 k's later, the first fuckup.
Allow me to elaborate. I've been riding dirtbikes since 1981 but anything with a licence plate on it only since late 2005 when I got my KTM 950. I'm nervous as a whore in church in traffic.
So, barely keeping up with traffic in the fast lane at 140 through the middle of Phoenix, I felt a flutter on my back, where an OGIO KTM baclpack I bought on sale resided.
I'm a cheapskate, did I mention that? Anyways, my traffic-phobic eyes darting from road ahead to speedo to left mirror to right mirror to rev counter just caught something receding behind me and cars swerving keft and right.
It took me half a minute to catch on. I felt behind me with my left hand (my right was twisitng the throttle, trying to keep up with the blerrie maniacs doing 90 miles an hour at 5 in the morning on a public holiday) and touched THE VOID.
Long story short, I hadn't zipped the backpack up very well and the wind blowing into the gap unzipped it halfway. A pair of heavy duty shorts I had just bought ( I wear holes in the arse of pants in record time for some reason), my toilet kit including nose hair trimmer, my only towel and my cell phone charger went skidding across the fast lane of a six lane freeway.
I stopped on the side of the next offramp and thought about going back for about two seconds. It wasn't really an option.
At 0619 a friendly oke from somewhere in Africa (to my regret I didn't ask him where) offered to take my photo in a rest area about 50 k's from the California border.
I was out of the state of Arizona shortly after 0700, for the last time I thought. Ha. What an optimist I am. I keep forgetting I'm not iALWAYS in control.
I entered the Peoples' Republic of California. Kak infrastructure like the potholed freeway, numerous police cars and shifty-eyed lowlifes prowling for unlocked cars and loose kit on KTM 950's at the petrol station in Blythe where I filled up reminded me why I moved out of there in 2003.
Don't believe what you see on "Bitchwatch" or "KITT the wondercar that won't start". California is in a serious state of decay, old Aahnold does what he can but it's exactly where the Soviet Union was in the late 80's. Collapsing under a bankrupt socialist system.
I stopped at a spot on the map called Chiriaco Summit, where the "General George S. Patton Museum" was still closed. The surrounding desert had been a huge training area during WW2, and Patton's division had been trained in tank warfare there. Supposedly you can still see tank tracks in some areas. From my two semesters of Geology I know that deserts heal very slowly - damage to the surface lasts for a long time. 65 years, in this case. A split second in geological time, but the environmental nazi's in California used that as an excuse to shut down millions of square miles of desert to dirt bikes and everything else on wheels. Only people on foot are allowed in huge areas of the desert. "On Any Sunday" is pure nostalgia for what was and will never be again.
General Patton's best side. Very imposing figure he was.
Some tanks at the museum. It's bogus, not one WW2 tank, all M48's from the 50's and 60's. But the inside is not bad, I went through it on a previous occasion.
Not surprisingly, there aren't too many hikers in this moonscape with bushes that makes up much of the California interior. Land of Freedom indeed.
I wasn't too concerned about it though. I reached Palm Springs around 0930 and spent the day naked in a pool with a Scottish friend.
You know, the type that wears a skirt. No photos though. At least not for posting here. :evil6:
The fun riding started the next day. I rode Highway 74 from Palm Desert to the coast, it was mostly twisties and I only got off it for a short distance to avoid bad traffic. I was having fun, and thought "....so this is what road riding is all about...." Ha. It was nothing compared to what followed. Pure inexperience talking :ricky:
Leaving Palm Desert
It was hot, traffic was heavy at times and I was glad to get to my buddy from Cape Town's house in San Clemente, on the SoCal coast halfway between LA and San Diego. Jody is the parts manager at one of the biggest shops in California and by extention, the world as California is the single biggest motorcycle market on the planet, bigger than most countiries. Combined. The numbers are staggering.
This is what the place looks like inside. On any given summer day they have over 600 bikes on the floor, and they fly out the door like prunes through grandma.
Jody has scored me lots of stuff äs "buddy deals"" and it wasn't about to end. A frantic last minute shopping spree cost me about a 1000 dollars but saved me twice that much. The most pressing need was higher rise bars and triple clamps. He knows the owner of BRP Racing well and he set me up with athe necessary at cost. Nice man. This is what it looks like now. It's a big boy's bike, but I have never had problems with that. Au contraire.
A set of Windham bend ProTaper bars helped a lot too. They are high, wide and straight - very little sweep back. Makes a world of difference.
"Shipping a motorcycle from the US" saga next. For age 18 and up only.
Cheers
