|07-12-2010, 10:24 AM||#1|
742 Evergreen Terrace
Joined: Apr 2005
Location: 742 Evergreen Terrace
Homerj and terry.mc rollin with Dad on Father's Day Weekend.
“So how is it that you two have managed to stay out of jail so far?” Terry.mc and I turn and look at each other, turn back, and answer in unison. “Why, our wholesome good looks, of course.” Dad just shook his head. “You ride like drunk monkeys. How can you enjoy the scenery riding like that?”
“We like scenery just fine. We just prefer it to be blurry.” If Dad’s going to pitch them right down the middle, terry.mc will wallop them right over the left field bleachers.
This whole adventure started about a month before. I was napping after work when Dad called. “Mphrg….hello?”
“Were you sleeping?” The word “sleeping” was said in the tone he usually reserved for adults who had just peed on the couch. My father is one of the most ferocious sloth warriors to ever walk the planet. Knowing he would disapprove of my not utilizing the entire day, I tried to make up a good cover story. “Yea…no…I was, um, er…I was doing my nails, errr hair, errr washing lingerie…,” this wasn’t going well. I needed to think of something manly, quick! “…cleaning a carburetor. Yeah, yeah, I was cleaning a carburetor.”
“I’m coming out to Santa Fe in a few weeks. Ride down and meet me. Then we’ll ride up to Denver.”
“Wow. That’d be great! You. Me. The open road…” My gaze shifted to the middle distance and I started imagining all of the rowdy adventures Dad and I would have; helping stranded damsels, stopping an international motorcycle theft ring, maybe a bar brawl or two.
“Are you nuts? I’m not going to be stuck with you, alone, for three days. I’m calling your brother too.”
“Ummm, are you sure that’s a good idea after last time?”
“ You’re still crying about that? Fer chrissakes, you gotta quit whining and let that go.”
“But, but, the wedgie scars are just starting to fade…”
And so a plan was formed. Dad was leaving Atlanta and would ride to Santa Fe. Thursday terry.mc and I would leave Denver after work and meet him at the hotel. Friday we’d depart Santa Fe and head up to Montrose via Pagosa Springs and Durango. Saturday we’d run from Montrose to Denver and be in Denver for Father’s Day.
By the time Thursday had arrived I was wrung out. I’d spent a great deal of time in the garage swearing and throwing tools while trying to diagnose an electrical problem. After three days of tracing wires, swearing, kicking the dog, more swearing, contemplating motorcyclecide, sacrificing a live chicken, more swearing, give the dog another kick, tracing more wires, some tail of newt, begging for help on the intarwebbes, kick the neighbor’s cat, and swearing some more I finally found the culprit. The new battery I’d installed, which had worked fine 4 or 5 times, had suddenly and catastrophically failed. The battery would hold voltage, but would only tolerate a 2 amps load. I’d never before seen a battery fail so thoroughly and completely in such a short time span. With battery replaced Tuesday night, I was good to go.
Terry.mc and I left his house at about 3:10 and ran straight to Taos, only stopping for fuel. In Taos we stopped for burgers and shakes and checked in with Dad. “We’re in Taos… No, Taos… Yeah, New Mexico… Oh, you were up here earlier today? Well, we’re just finished eating… Hour and a half? No way, we’ll be there in an hour… Drinks? How about some beer and diet cokes?...He wants Fat Tire or Pacifico…Well technically Mexican beer isn’t exotic in New Mexico. Tickets? Well, HomerJ has a sure fire way to get out of a ticket… He only starts with starts with crying. If that doesn’t work he starts picking his nose and then gets out his license…Oh, no argument here…He says it works every time…Well, some people just have no pride…Well would you touch it after he’s had his finger jammed up his nose?... I didn't think so. Ok, see you soon.”
Fifty five minutes later we rolled into the parking lot of the hotel. “Sorry it took so long. There was construction.” We then sat on the balcony and shot the breeze for a few hours before turning in at about midnight.
Friday dawned clear, bright and early. Dad, of course, was up with the sun. “Wake up! Wake up so we can enjoy the entire day.” Dad's excitement for the entire day was the sickening variety that makes non-morning even less enthusiastic about getting out of bed.
“Get up. Get out of bed. Drag a comb across your head.”
Twenty minutes later we were up and in the parking lot changing the rear brake light on my bike. This was the first time I'd seen Dad's new bike. It was made by a new company I'd never heard of, Halley Davisson. But this was no ordinary Halley, this was a fully decked out Caterwauling Chicken Electric Slide. I couldn't believe the amenities on this bike. Built in GPS, heated grips, gas tank, heated seat, stereo, wheels, cruise control, handle bars, a smoothie machine, and an Easy Bake oven on the back. There's nothing like fresh cookies after a long ride. But it wasn't just some luxury barge, the engine had been bored out to an amazing 120,000 CCs, and fitted with Duncan Hines pipes. terry.mc and I looked on with awe. Who knew such a machine existed? Here we were on our 950 Adventures, with it's itty bitty windscreen, mere iPods for tunes, and not a smoothie nor cookies to be had.
Dad's Halley Davisson Electric Slide. If you have the means, I highly recommend getting the Easy Bake Oven option.
We were appropriately jealous until we asked the crucial question. “Take it off any sweet jumps?” Dad smacked his palm to his face and pulled downward, as if he were trying to sand his face off in one stroke. “How does it wheelie?”
“Your mother and I never let you two eat paint, so how is it that you've both turned out to be such maroons?”
In unison we answered “Whack-A-Mole.”
“Care to elaborate on that?”
“Well one of us would hide behind a table and the other would stand on the other side with your ball peen hammer...”
“Stop. Stop. Stop! I don't want to know the rest.”
We looked at each other, shrugged and started suiting up.
terry.mc calibrating his Sweet-jump-o-meter before departing Santa Fe.
From Santa Fe we headed up to Espanola, then on to Pagosa Springs and a stop for fuel and a milk shake. Dad had never ridden in the Rockies before this and he was suitably impressed. “This is great. If you don’t like the scenery you just ride for 45 minutes and you get into something else. Of course, you two wouldn’t know since you seem to think this is some sort of land speed race—but the scenery is pretty amazing.”
Nobody here but us chickens.
Much of the first day was spent with terry.mc and I running out ahead, looking for sweet jumps, and generally making sure all of the other drivers on the road knew just how cool we were. It was while we were in Pagosa that Dad made his drunk monkeys comment.
After Pagosa we started up through Durango and up and over Red Mountain Pass, and down into Silverton.
“Does he always take this long just to get a picture?”
“Would you like some cookies from the Easy Bake?”
Best Father's Day ever
From Silverton we headed up and over to Ouray.
Dad showing some other Halley riders some class.
The car holding up the show in this picture was run off the road shortly after this pic was taken. I think one person crawled to safety.
We pulled into Ouray and stopped to rest a bit. We didn't know until we pulled into town, but there was some sort of Victory Motorcycles rally taking place. As we sat inside we had a front row seat for some of the best people watching this side of the local boat launch. There was one guy in particular, I'll call him Spike, who caught our attention. Spike looked like someone mistook him for a Christmas tree. I've never seen someone with so many dangly bits on his attire. He had a Ka-Bar type knife on his right leg, gloves attached to a caribiner on his leather vest, a large leather wrist band, some sort of utility belt with two more knives, little pieces of chain across the toe of his boots which flopped when he walked, some jingle bells tied to the fringe of his leather vest, seven or so spare conchos hung conveniently from the left breast pocket of his vest, some sort of tactical cell phone holster on his left leg, studded belt, bottle opener belt buckle, Zippo holster, and tinsel. Lots and lots of tinsel. People who over accessorize, like our friend Spike, creep me out. I was pondering this as I removed my gloves, glove liners, inner glove liners, helmet, helmet liner, bandana, scarf, ascot, Ogio flight vest, Aerostich jacket, intermediate layer, sub-intermediate layer, when the waitress abruptly interrupted me. “Excuse me sir. You need to stop disrobing in the restaurant.”
“What's the problem? Is this not a perfectly acceptable place to disrobe?”
“You're making our customers nauseous...” I'm still not sure why she made such a big deal about a man simply choosing to shed layers. And if they didn't want me undressing in the dining room, why did they keep it at a sweltering 65 degrees? I'll say this, that's the last $1.50 they'll ever get from me.
After being run out….errr leaving Ouray we headed to the hotel in Montrose. We’d requested a three bed room. When we got to the room we realized our error. Displaying a quickness that he usually reserves for pouncing on a loose Twinkie, terry.mc called “bed,” leaving me with a clapped out cot. I took comfort in the fact that the cot could only be set up blocking the bathroom and room door. At about 3 AM terry.mc was tapping my shoulder. “Hey, hey, wake up. I gotta pee.”
“Who’s the smart one?”
“Who’s the smart one?”
“Ok, well who’s the handsome one?”
“Will you two jahoopies be quiet?”
Saturday ended up dawning not quite as early as Friday. “Get up, get out of bed, drag a comb across your head…” Today we were heading through Black Canyon of the Gunnison, up through Buena Vista, and then across South Park and into Denver.
Once through Gunnison we headed up and over Monarch pass:
We had a special parking section for “runners” as I prefer to call my 950. terry.mc’s borrowed 950 and Dad’s Halley Davisson had approximately .000125 inches of scratched paint between them. While I have been quite happy with the Ace Hardware house brand of rattle can paint.
As we worked our way east and north I wondered why we hadn’t done more of this. I haven’t had a chance to ride with Dad in over a decade and I’m a fool for having let that much time elapse. We pulled into Denver in the early afternoon. Sharing Father’s Day weekend on two wheels was perhaps the best way to spend it.
09 570 Rallye Beast
"Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba…"-Hunter S. Thompson
homerj screwed with this post 07-12-2010 at 11:17 AM
|07-12-2010, 10:50 AM||#3|
hiding in the tallgrass
Joined: May 2005
Location: out past the west forty
If worms had daggers, birds wouldn't fuck with them.
|07-12-2010, 06:10 PM||#11|
Joined: Jul 2003
Location: Colorado Springs, CO
Ahh, the .Mc family, bringing that wholesome family experience in a way that only HomerJ can fully relate.
|07-12-2010, 06:37 PM||#12|
Joined: Jun 2004
Location: Salida, coloRADo
Great report, Jack!
|07-12-2010, 07:07 PM||#14|
Joined: Aug 2006
Location: Maricrapa AZ
Wow...just wow, your style just caught me by surprise and your pics are fantastic!
'07 990ADV '08 530EXCR '04 XR650L
Bonsai Elephant - "Life without a 990 is no life at all!"
|07-12-2010, 07:18 PM||#15|
Joined: Jul 2001
Location: Nicetown, USA
The only thing missing is the campfire.
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