Posted By Bill Wiegand, 180564,
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Updated: Thursday, March 5, 2015
“Ride, Write, Win.” I still have the brochure advertising BMW’s 2001 “Great rides Contest.” When I first picked up that little pamphlet my junior year of college, I had just started looking at getting my first motorcycle for the sole purpose of taking a cross-country trip, This half-baked idea jelled somewhere between Easy Rider, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and having absolutely no idea what I wanted to do after college.
Read the full story of MOA member Chris Lesser in the February issue of the BMW Owners News or view the full size slideshow to to see the story in pictures.
Posted By David Olson,
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Most journeys begin with some end, a destination, in mind. Unless you are a motorcyclist. Then it is the journey, the small stops on the road, and the eventual let down: I have arrived. It is Tuesday, and I am almost on the way to Barcelona and the Pyrenees. I will meet my brother, John, and his wife Brenda, who will ride two up. Our roads, our lodgings are known thanks to my brother's planning. Yet remaining is the uncertainty of the next corner, the next village.
...
Early morning departure. In bed at 9 the night before, then sleep in fits and starts. Perhaps a tree has fallen on a power line in the northwest disrupting power in the southwest. I wake, check my watch...still six hours before I leave for the airport. Relieved? Somewhat, but even more tired. Finally, finally it is up and off. I actually arrive before TSA opens the security line. No photographs, no lasting memories yet, but my journey hasn't really started. I am in the aluminum sausage at 35,000 feet winging my way eastward into the Atlantic night.
There is only the troubled sleep of a six foot body crammed into a small space. I read somewhere that one should sleep when the sun is down, sort of a circadian rhythm thing. I am a bat flying at night...not much rest. I arrive in Barcelona on schedule and the rendezvous with my brother and his wife at the Cafe di Fiore goes without a hitch. We even have all of our checked luggage. Life is good, but I am tired. Not so sure I can trick my body; it has been over 24 hours since I lay in a real bed.
The Rambla: this is a bucket list item. The first time I walked the Rambla was in 1970 as a very fresh Navy lieutenant (JG). Now, these many years later, it is still the same. Thousands of people of all age and description. Ice cream vendors, sidewalk hawkers, the milieu making up the Rambla. Rediscover Los Caracoles, not quite right for us. Find a good restaurant and order Paella...wow.
Off to see Gaudi's masterpiece cathedral. Still under construction! Then to the beach. Lunch on the beach, this is really nice. We pick up our motorcycles, and we are armed and ready to go.
It is Friday morning. Rested, fed, and ready to ride, I feel human. First, stop for gas, an amazing quest in the city, but we finally find one after doing a bunch of "izquierda y derecho." We navigate out of the city. The GPS is a piece of work to be sure. Totally fearless, it leads to some unnecessary directions, but eventually we escape. Many miles, now in the foot hills of the Pyrenees. We are on the green and yellow roads, that is to say the ones built before the surveyor's transit. It is kilometer upon kilometer of unending turns. Intense rhythm reminiscent of slalom skiing. We arrive in Campdevanol, a really nice hotel with an accommodating staff.
Campdevonal is in the Pyrenees foothills. It is a small village tangential to the N152. It is early afternoon, and we encounter a group of hale and hearty Swiss motorcyclists. It is tempting to knock back some of the local cerveza. My brother and I elect to take an afternoon excursion. We pull out the Michelin Zoom map, not the book store map, and look for a devious, serpentine, green road. Our search rewarded, we remount the BMW GS motorcycles and sally forth. An hour later, we return. Holy smoley, there are no straightaways, only varying degrees of turn radius. And this is only a preview of the remaining ten days. We drink our beer, well, beers. The Swiss are still there.
Morning, the Catalonian sun has melted away into a gray sky. We are learning the basic rule of the Pyrenees: if you can't see the top of the mountain, it is raining; if you can see the top, it will rain. Not to worry, we have our all-weather riding gear and button up. North, then at Ribes de Freser we turn northwest toward Ax les Thermes, our next haven. Warm and sunny Spain is behind us now, yet, we can still see the tops of the mountains. Growing in height, we climb and descend on increasingly higher passes. Puigcerda: we enter France and join the N20. We climb on sweeping turns that tighten as we move upward until apexing at the Col de Puymorens on the N320. We are in the high alpine region so typical of European mountains. Only the traffic mars this ride and reminds us the "N" (national) routes marked in red mean traffic.
Ax les Thermes is a popular tourist spot and part of the Tour de France route. It is also nestled in a narrow, pretty Alpine valley and has hot springs. Dropping our gear off at our lodging, we again elect to take the afternoon excursion. The leaden skies open into a steady drizzle. We find a small cafe and stop for lunch. The rain starts. Mount up, and off again. My mid-layer is getting moist. As it turns out, I have not fully secured my jacket. A good lesson. The ride is wet and twists through the deciduous forest. Fun, but we are glad to get back to Ax les Thermes and somewhere dry. We later go to the village and discover the local street market. It is another good day.
New morning, same gray skies. We lope westward along the north side of the Pyrenees, stopping briefly in Massat. I love these small villages. We are the aliens observing the earth people living their lives. They don't mind, actually they are indifferent to us. We continue past St. Girons and on toward Bagneres de Luchon. We are in lands similar to the Appalachians. Time for a break, we stop for lunch in a nondescript village. Pulling into a gravel parking lot, we carefully align our 600 pound bikes on the slight grade. We discover Chez Jo.
Chez Jo is the epitome of the village restaurant inn. An elegant middle-aged woman is stacking chairs on the outer deck. No need, it will rain today. She beckons us into the old house salon. It is lush in its warmth. Regional artifacts adorn the walls, a guitar in its rack awaits the virtuoso. I offer to play “House of the Rising Sun,” but John and Brenda discourage my art with a look of constrained horror. In a form of French, we communicate our desire, and our host leaves for the kitchen. An entree of country ham and cantaloupe slices arrives, then the main plate heaped with mutton and au gratin potatoes. Could this get better? Well, the fresh blueberry pie removes any doubt. We are warm, fed, and dry. And it is raining again.
Did I mention the wet? My riding gear stubbornly refuses to seal. Fortunately, my companions are doing better. It is only a couple of more hours to Bagneres de Luchon, and we arrive. The rain has let up, we have a dry room, and the sun comes out. It is beautiful. The town is the nexus of bicycling. From the valley floor we look up into the high meadows and peaks. Those are ski runs!
Today is a big day. We are doing the five classic cols of the Tour de France. The sun is shining, our machines are ready and packed. First one then the other, the low throb of the R1200GS "wasser boxer" disrupts the morning quiet. Brenda assumes her position on the rear pillion, and after the soft thunk as we drop into first gear, we ease the clutches and move out. Mild turns and slight climbs give way to the stair stepping turns and grades. It is a synchrony of clutch, shift, throttle, brake and on and on. The sweepers are behind us, and I must perfect synchrony. Too tall a gear, a missed shift, a sloppy throttle, and I stall. The road is narrow, single lane. Close margins. I approach a tight hair pin that climbs up and right, swing a little wide, and my head turns uphill--can't stare ahead. I am in the turn, second gear, RPM at 2200, rolling on throttle, a car coming downhill slows. I straighten from the turn, a little wide on the exit but ok. Roll on throttle, prepare for next hair pin left. The road is straightening. I note the encouraging phrases painted on the pavement. I like to think they are for me, but accept this is the aerie of bicycles and montaneros. Motorcycles allowed, barely tolerated. We approach the Col de Peyresourde, and I pass bicyclists climbing an incredible grade. Descend and climb again. I summit next to the sculpture of bicyclists at the Col de Aspin. John and Brenda arrive.
Some photos, then the comfortable throaty rumble of our engines returns. I descend, but it is a little easier. We don't lose speed in turns on descents, but this poses a new hazard of swinging wide and exiting into oncoming traffic. And then there is the manure on the road. I am in a pastoral area. Sheep, horses and cows are common on the roadway, and they mark their passage. Today is dry but still a little spooky, and I have felt the lurch as tires lose traction. Oh, this is too funny: someone has painted an image of multiple spermatozoa swimming up the mountain. Anything to encourage the bicyclists. We stop for lunch at a small cafe in the alpine valley. Start engines, climb up, go down, turn, turn...we arrive in Arette, France.
We ride to St. Jean de Luz in the morning. It is raining. The road is slick. In the turn, a sweeper, the tires lose traction, it is so fast. I am fighting to suppress my Survival Reactions described by Keith Code. I am still up and thankful of BMW engineering. I am driving even slower, with laser focus on all road signs cautioning "slippery road." We reach St. Jean de Luz. We are halfway through our journey.
My brother's friends, Catherine and Truman, greet us as we arrive at their apartment. They make room for us: warm hearth, bed, and company, followed by soome great food and conversation at a nearby restaurant. Encore, one more night following a day of local riding along the Atlantic coast. It is time to return to Barcelona. We drive southeast from St. Jean de Luz, then turn east at Olague. Rolling country and forests. It is the Basque country.
It is time to leave the valley and begin our traverse across the southern Pyrenees foot hills. We roll out of a climbing sweeper at the top of a ridge. At the crest, a parking lot with a food cart. Odd, there are people hiking across the road. We slow, stop, and park the bikes. We are in the midst of modern day pilgrims trekking El Camino de Santiago. This is an ancient road whose origins lay in the Roman times. In the ninth century it was the path home for Santiago's body, returning from Jerusalem. An amicable Australian strikes up a conversation.
Perhaps this is a good time to reflect on our journey. It is secular, there is no spiritual basis. Yet, those who ride understand, at some point on a long ride, one finds a center. The road, the machine, the soul merge in a symphony of peaceful solitude. When we stop, we share this harmony not so much in words but in a joie de vie. We are not trekkers or pilgrims on the ancient road, but I feel we share the same inner peace.
Isaba. A small village in the Spanish Pyrenees and a center of hiking, kayaking, and randonee in the winter. The national road bisects the town and cobbled paths lead away to secret alleys. Our lodging is deep within the ancient streets, and it is improbably modern. It is quiet. A modern complex of resort condominiums is at the eastern periphery. We convince the owner to open his bar and settle outside for our cervezas. Soon we are joined by a group of presumably German motorcyclists. It seems when we open a bottle, motorcyclists gather. I must explore this mystery.
We continue to twist our way eastward across the supine ridges leading to faraway peaks. The country is changing and reminds me of the New Mexican Gila wilderness. An incredible formation of reddish cliffs marks our gateway into Jaca. We have a great lunch and a stroll on the local rambla, resplendent with shops, people, and music, then move on to our night's lodging in Villanua. The day is still young, the sun is shining, and we need some more turns before calling it a day. So off to the summit at Candanchu, which is also a large ski area.
A new day, we are blessed with sun. The Aragon sky is azure and pleasantly cool. Heading south on the N330, we intercept the N260. It is an incredible road of changing conditions, canyons, and, yes, more twisties. To the west of Ainsa, we enter a narrow valley enclosing a ghost town. We stop and look at Janovas, empty structures, a single lane bridge leading into it. Seems like something from a Hemingway novel. We continue.
Beyond Ainsa, a return to twisting single lane roads. My brother cuts in on a switch back only to encounter a tour bus, which obligingly slows to let him pass. It is close, and the driver honks. Earlier, I have had my moment by not fully slowing for a 30 kmh limit only to swing wide on a blind curve. Memo to self: You can only push these things so far. We arrive in Forcat.
Forcat is not a village, it is more like a group of farm houses alongside the main highway. A dog barks as we drive up the access road and park. A middle-aged woman, Alicia, greets us. My high school Spanish falters, but we introduce our selves. Her daughter, Lydia, saves me...she is fluent in English. It is a rural, like a bed and breakfast. Incredible find, how my brother found it remains a mystery. Dinner at 8:30, and the day is young. We explore the Parc de Pyrenees and discover a huge dam in the high Alpine valley. Only one more stop, La Seu D'Urgell awaits us with one way streets and street dancing. Food choices are limited, and we end up eating a gyro. It is the worst food of the trip.
Off to Barcelona via the Caldi tunnel. Normally we would avoid long tunnels, but it is clearly the best route. We emerge at the south portal, and voila, a beautiful descent through a high valley. We near Barcelona, and before us are the saw tooth spires of Montserrat. Brenda takes over navigation, and we enter the park. It is a worthwhile excursion. After a short visit, we continue to Barcelona. We find the rental agency without a hitch. Our journey complete, we prepare for an early morning departure.
I am back on the plane with the sun at my back. The unending day. It feels as if this journey has yet to begin, but it is past. I am left with memories, photos, and an insatiable desire for the next journey. It is why I ride.
Posted By Ian Schmeisser,
Monday, January 26, 2015
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Anyone who’s seen the movie On Any Sunday remembers the scene with a starting line in the California desert that’s hundreds of bikes wide, where everyone starts simultaneously to race madcap toward the “smoke bomb,” a pile of burning tires that indicates the start of the Barstow-to-Vegas race course, the grandaddy of American desert racing.
...
Fast forward 40 years, past the formation of the Environmental Protection Agency, the Desert Tortoise decision and wilderness designation on much of the desert itself, and you wind up with today’s “race,” the AMA District 37 LA-Barstow-to-Vegas. It’s the “most famous and longest two-day Dual Sport ride in the world.” The ride is now in its 30th year, and is a huge success for both desert racers and environmentalists.
Starting in Palmdale, California, located in the high desert north of Los Angeles, riders start out in a controlled fashion, each choosing to follow their choice of “easy” (for large adventure bikes) or “hard” routes, for experienced riders only. The promoter said that on the hard route it was possible that the jugs could get ripped right off your “adventure” bike. Ha! There were a number of BMWs in the event, and most chose the sane option for this class of bike. But not Brian Englund, James Valentine and Landon Norman. Oh, no… they’re going to do the hard course on an R1200GS, an F800GS and a darned-near-new R1200 ADV LC. Nuts.
Art of the Possible
Brian said it best: “Difficulty is a relative measurement, and I don’t need easy. I just need possible. For the ride itself, words cannot adequately describe the terrain for someone who hasn’t been there. Some of the horror stories are overblown, and some are true. It’s hard —sometimes almost insanely so — but the true challenge is the marathon aspect of the ride. Terrain that was simple at the outset is increasingly difficult eight plus hours later. The variety spans the spectrum from deep, soft sand on giant whoops, packed dirt, dirt with large rocks, loose large rocks, and rock and sand crap in Last Chance Canyon that is probably at the outer limits of the R1200GS’s capability.”
One interesting development is a blend of Social Media, GPS, cellular data and satellite maps that made it possible for many other interested riders to follow the riders on the course. The event ran during the Thanksgiving weekend, giving MOA and GS Giant member Jeff Kurtz the ideal opportunity to follow and report on the ride from his warm bedroom in Indiana. Hundreds of others followed along online as they digested their turkey and stuffing leftovers, enjoying over a thousand posts by Jeff and others containing GPS locations on satellite imagery and even posts from the riders themselves, many showing their motorcycles in rather interesting positions. It was a tremendously entertaining show.
Oh-Dark-Thirty
Tech inspection for the ride started at 6 a.m. sharp, so this clearly called for waking up at 2:03 am. Race day jitters… what are those? Brian posted, “Damn James and I with our military issue requirement to be early! We both fell victim to years of military conditioning, demanding that we show up early for first formation. Neither of us can turn it off. We’re hard-wired that way now.” The tech guys took one look at the BMWs and gave them only a cursory glance. OK, now *three* hours until the start… what are we going to do? Plenty of socializing, meeting and greeting ensued, calming the nerves and defining the strategy. Knowing each team members’ location during a ride is essential, so James, Landon and Brian installed “Real Time GPS Tracker” apps on their smartphones. They shared their usernames with Jeff so that he could capture images and post to the GS Giants Facebook group.
An epic online thread ensued, with hundreds of posts and a whole bunch of friends discussing the action. The GPS images made it clear to see the hard sections… as the app (and their SPOT receivers) regularly uploaded location data. The closer together the data points, the slower the going for the riders. Red Rock Pass generated a huge blob of data points.
Between images of location, terrain, and bikes on their side, shot and posted by the riders themselves, as well as all the messaging going on between them and all of the comments from the peanut gallery, everyone had a great time!
This Could Go On Forever
It was truly an adventure. Falling. Fuel injection problems. Bent nerf bars. Fuel consumption rates. iTunes breakdowns. Flat tires. Broken windscreens. Lost. Dark. By 8 p.m.-ish the riders (except for Brian, who ran out of fuel) were in Barstow for the night, chowing down on the hotel buffet. As he waited for the sweeper who came four hours later, Brian sat in the cold, dark desert, sucking on his hydration bladder and munching on the half-Subway sandwich he saved from lunch. Grasping at any wisp of a cell phone signal, a quick text to James and Landon resulted in a reply containing a photo of their beer. Racing can be so cruel.
Well, it really isn’t racing, but the open-desert hard course lived up to its reputation, and the pace was quite brisk. James and Brian struggled mightily with their 1200s and Landon did admirably with his F8. There were a number of other BMWs in the ride. MOA members Roger and Carla Norman (Landon’s mom and dad) rode the easy course. There was a sweet R80G/SPD, and a bevy of other beemers taking in the fun.
The pictures really do tell the story here (especially the Vegas dancers at the finish line). This event is legendary adventure riding fun, but it really isn’t for beginners. However, there are opt-out sections to avoid the harder parts of the easy route, so it’s not all that bad. This was the first time the three had ridden together, and it was great fun seeing them become friends.
Word is there’s a competition team forming within the GS Giants, and there are opportunities for racers as well as us old whitebeard adventurers to serve as their pit crew and other support services. Interested? Check out the latest news at www.gsgiants.com
Posted By John M. Flores,
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Outbound
"Let's go!" exclaims nineT.
"I can't."
"Come on!"
"Gotta work."
"Lame."
"I know."
"Tomorrow?"
"Maybe."
I never thought that I'd say this, but the New York City skyline looks great...in my mirror. The Gotham of my childhood dreams, the city that never lets me sleep is at once invigorating and exhausting. It doesn't help that work is crazy intense. "Work hard. Play hard," they say. It's a common refrain among my friends. Some unwind in the late nightclubs and bars of the city, others with meditation or a spa day. Me, I ride.
...
After a delayed start, we take the standard escape route through New Jersey and are soon in the wilds of Sussex County among rolling hills, winding roads, and pristine reservoirs. We are still so close to New York yet already so far away. Greenwood Lake's shore is crowded with cottages but it's nothing like the Apple.
Soon we're in Harriman State Park, a popular destination for day-trippers. Many head up to Bear Mountain for the scenic view, but we head east.
"Hey, watch it!" nineT exclaims.
"Woah!"
"You OK?"
"Yeah, sorry. I'm just distracted."
"That's not a good thing to be while you're riding."
"Yeah, you're right."
"What's going on with you?"
"Work."
"Of course."
"Actually, it's good news...I'm in line for a promotion."
"Cool!"
[flatly] "Thanks."
"You don't sound so happy."
"I...I...I am."
"Really?"
"....Yes. The promotion includes an office, more money, and more responsibility, but..."
"But what?"
"...but less time to ride."
Do you even like what you do?
"..."
"There's your answer right there."
We ride past West Point to the scenic overlook at Storm King where we watch the mighty Hudson River wind its way down to the city. Somewhere downriver is the source of my existential crisis. We head upriver, farther and farther away.
After lunch outdoors in Cornwall-On-Hudson at the Hudson Street Cafe, we wind our way up to Poughkeepsie to the Walkway Over the Hudson State Historic Park.
Over a mile long and over 200 feet above the Hudson River, the Poughkeepsie-Highland Railroad Bridge was built in 1888 to carry trains. But times change, and other bridges and the interstates were built, and manufacturing began to leave the region, reducing the need for the bridge. Eventually, the bridge was abandoned. Then something funny happened–where others saw scrap metal, some locals saw beauty and a connection to the region's industrial past. They saved the bridge and turned it into the pedestrian walkway that it is today.
"The view up here is spectacular. "
"Yeah isn't it? I feel like I'm flying," says nineT.
"It's a long way down though."
"There's a metaphor in there somewhere, Icarus."
"How'd I end up with such a philosophical motorcycle?"
We head to New Paltz and points beyond. Somewhere west of town we stumble upon a little-known gem. Years ago, a man cleared a small field in the woods and began collecting the massive root systems of giant redwood trees. He'd have them transported from California to this field where they are displayed like abstract organic wood sculpture. They are at once beautiful and exotic.
"Look at these roots! These trees must have been huge!"
"Have you seen the Redwoods?" asks nineT.
"No."
"What are you waiting for? They won't be around forever."
"Actually, they've been around for thousands of years..."
"...more to the point, you won't be around forever..."
We continue west, up over the ridge to a panoramic view of the Catskills, rolling hills stretching to the horizon and dotted with quirky towns, picturesque reservoirs, and quiet backroads zigging and zagging through a blanket of thick woods. We dive in headfirst and dance, hand working clutch, throttle and front brake, feet working shifter and rear brake in a fluid, mechanical choreography.
The thick woods give way to a broad expanse of water resting beneath a big sky. The Ashokan Reservoir is one of the largest reservoirs in the New York City water supply system, the water eventually making its way into the taps and fountains and bagels and pizzas of my adopted home. It seems like I can't escape the Big Apple.
With temperatures dropping as quickly as the sun, we make our way north and end up in the small town of Roxbury and our evening oasis, The Roxbury Motel, where each room is designed with a unique theme. The Shagadelic Room is inspired by Austin Powers, Tony's Dancefloor has a working disco ball over the bed, the Genie's Bottle makes you feel like you’re in a bottle, and more. It's like an adult funhouse motel. We celebrate a great day's riding with a martini and a fine dinner before retiring for the night.
"You asleep yet?" asks nineT.
"No."
"What's keeping you up?"
"My friends. They just don't get it."
"What?"
"This. Riding a motorcycle. Seeing the world."
"I wouldn't exactly call Roxbury, NY, the world."
"Yeah, but you know. I think I got the bug. My friends, on the other hand, they're going to do just what's expected of them; they're going to party in New York in their 20s, climb the career ladder, then get married in their 30s, have a kid or two, and then move out to the 'safety' of the suburbs and live the same life that they tried to escape."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I guess...for them. But the closer I get to that path the more I think that it's not for me."
"And the more you feel like an alien in the big metropolis."
"Exactly."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Right now I'm going to try to sleep."
Rebound
We ride into a new morning, bracing against the overnight chill still hiding in valleys and basking on stretches already kissed by the sun. We stop at Bread & Breakfast and have coffee in an old caboose.
"Crazy to think that this was once an old caboose."
"This trip's been filled with stories of reinvention and renewal," notes nineT.
"It has?"
"Yup. They've been staring you right in the face...the Walkway Over the Hudson State Historic Park, the Redwood roots, and The Roxbury last night. Those two guys left behind their jobs in New York City, found an old building in a quiet Catskills town, and have followed their own drummer to create a unique motel and something uniquely theirs. Sound familiar?"
"But I'm too young to be reinvented, to young to be renewed!"
"That's what you think. You're no spring chicken anymore."
Refilled, we make a beeline for Pepacton Reservoir. NY30 shadows the reservoir like a contour line on a topographic map, sketching long, sweeping arcs into the earth. The road crosses a long, flat bridge over to the other side of the Reservoir about halfway down. We stop to admire the view.
"What are you doing?" asks nineT.
"I'm holding out my arms and looking towards the heaven for divine inspiration."
"You look like an idiot."
"It's not cinematic?"
"Not in the least."
We run the final length of NY30, following the southern shore of Pepacton. The road climbs, dips, and soars in a series of fast, third gear bends cut through the thick trees. We push the pace to the edge of what is safe and socially responsible, nineT roaring with delight at every corner exit, howling with glee at every redline. We barely see the reservoir but we know it's there. At this pace, nothing but our velocity and trajectory matter–not the city, not the job, not the stress, not the past, not the future. All that exists is the next apex and I feel alive. I feel free.
We stop for gas south of Downsville and afterwards take the pace down considerably as we explore the New York side of the Upper Delaware River along one-lane bridges and gravel, chip-sealed, and frost-heaved roads. I'm lost in my thoughts again as nineT patiently putters along.
We detour to the Roebling Bridge, crossing the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. It's a bridge today but was originally an aqueduct carrying coal barges from Pennsylvania across the river and destined for the Hudson River Valley. Twenty years after designing this bridge, John A. Roebling went on to design the Brooklyn Bridge.
We make our way down NY97 to the famous Hawk's Nest, known as much these days for the way that the road clings precariously to the side of a mountain as it is for the fact that hawks nest here. It's a funky stretch of pavement that flicks left and right in rapid succession along the edge of the precipice. Speed is restricted, and that's just as well; it's a long way down to the Delaware River if you make a mistake.
"You would think that if you've seen one scenic overlook you've seen them all. But I never tire of these views."
"Me neither."
"What is it about them?"
"I don't know. Maybe they remind us how wondrous the world is?"
"Maybe they give us perspective?”
"Where next?" asks nineT.
"We'll make our way down 97 to Port Jervis, and then hit some of the sweet county roads in New Jersey before heading back to the city."
"That's not what I meant."
"Huh?"
"Where next for you? You going to take the job?"
"I don't know. I've got some more thinking to do."
We cross back into New Jersey and savor the final miles of Sussex County along county roads that follow the contours of the land. We eventually join 80 for the final, boring, stressful stretch. The interstates plunge headlong over/across/up whatever is in front of them but there's something missing in all of that startling efficiency. Something's disconnected. Something's not right. But they are symbols of our modern times and most stick to their straight and soulless paths.
Posted By Thomas Bunn,
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
As told by Mark Twain, Annie Lu Jarvis, and Suzan Chaffin
"WANTED. YOUNG, SKINNY, WIRY FELLOWS. NOT OVER 18. MUST BE EXPERT RIDERS. WILLING TO RISK DEATH DAILY. ORPHANS PREFERRED" -supposed California newspaper help wanted ad
The Pony Express delivered U.S. mail 1,900 miles from St. Joseph, Missouri, to Sacramento, Californa, and, even though the Pony Express only ran for 19 months from 1860 to 1861, it is a fascinating piece of American folklore and still invokes the pioneering spirit and ingenuity of American culture. From April 3, 1860, to October 24, 1861, it was America's fastest and most direct means of coast-to-coast communication. It ended with the first transcontinental tap of the Morse code key for express dispatches, but it was not until November that the last Pony Express letters in transit completed their journey. The Overland Stage continued to carry the paper “snail mail” and parcels.
...
The original route ran through Salt Lake City, then across the western desert, entering Nevada near Ibapah. Today, the Pony Express trail looks very much as it did 154 years ago (or even 1500 years ago): vast expanses of open terrain, jagged peaks, remote springs, and desert wildlife. Thousands of square miles of primal landscape.
Concurrently, and for years after the demise of the Pony Express, the Overland Stage followed the trail for cross-country passenger travel. It was this route that 25 year old Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) took via the Overland Stage in August of 1861. He chronicled his adventures in Roughing It, his second novel. The novel was a romantic, humorous, and often too matter-of-fact recollection of his stagecoach trip from St. Joseph, Mo., to Carson City, Nev., in the blistering summer of '61 with his brother Orion Clemens, the newly appointed Secretary for the Governor of the Nevada Territory.
Our modern day intrepid group of riders followed the trail, as best they could, from Salt Lake City to Ibapah in the August of 2014. The trip was not made in the sweltering, blazingly hot weather Twain experienced, but in dramatic, lightning-fisted, monsoon storms where floodwater was the antagonist.
The team was Matt on his 800GS, Suzan on her F650, Tom on his R1200GSA, and Annie in the gear-laden FJ Cruiser support vehicle. Although they had all travelled this route before, the weather made this trip an entirely different experience.
Mark Twain:
I left Great Salt Lake a good deal confused as to what state of things existed there—and sometimes even questioning in my own mind whether a state of things existed there at all or not...we had learned that we were at last in a pioneer land, in absolute and tangible reality.
And now we entered upon one of that species of deserts whose concentrated hideousness shames the diffused and diluted horrors of Sahara—an "alkali" desert. For sixty-eight miles there was but one break in it.
Mark Twain:
—but now we were to cross a desert in daylight. This was fine—novel—romantic—dramatically adventurous—this, indeed, was worth living for, worth traveling for! We would write home all about it.
Mark Twain:
This enthusiasm, this stern thirst for adventure, wilted under the sultry August sun and did not last above one hour. One poor little hour—and then we were ashamed that we had "gushed" so. The poetry was all in the anticipation—there is none in the reality. Imagine a vast, waveless ocean stricken dead and turned to ashes; imagine this solemn waste tufted with ash-dusted sage-bushes; imagine the lifeless silence and solitude that belong to such a place …
At the peak, there were some 184 stations on the route. The distance between each was how far a good pony could gallop, depending on terrain, that being between 5 and 25 miles (8-40 km). Each rider put in about 75 miles (121 km) a day.
One of the owners of the Pony Express company, the Central Overland California and Pikes Peak Express Company (the Mayflower movers of the day), was devoutly religious man. He made sure that each rider was issued a Bible to fortify courage and nerves to endure the ride through dangerous country of often frustrated aboriginals, armed bandits, deadly blizzards, relentless rain and mud, and lethal heat.
Mark Twain:
... there is not a living creature visible in any direction whither one searches the blank level that stretches its monotonous miles on every hand; there is not a sound—not a sigh—not a whisper—not a buzz, or a whir of wings, or distant pipe of bird—not even a sob from the lost souls that doubtless people that dead air.
Mark Twain:
Two miles and a quarter an hour for ten hours—that was what we accomplished. It was hard to bring the comprehension away down to such a snail-pace as that, when we had been used to making eight and ten miles an hour. When we reached the station on the farther verge of the desert [Callao/Willow Springs], we were glad, for the first time, that the dictionary was along, because we never could have found language to tell how glad we were, in any sort of dictionary but an unabridged one with pictures in it.
As appreciative as Mark Twain was for the end of the day's adventure, the team feels worn and in need of food and rest. They head into the Deep Creek Range west of Callao and find a lovely plateau overlooking the immense breadth of the western desert. The team poles up tents, collect firewood, concoct evening refreshments, fire up the stove and begin cooking.
Day 1
Annie
I loved how we hung in there with plans for doing the trip, in spite of huge storms in the area. Intent on pulling it off, we NOAA'd, watched radar tracks, and heard the massive downpour from the comfort of our beds Friday night ‘til the wee hours of Saturday morning. I was grateful to be inside, aware of how brutal that deluge would be in a tent. Little did we realize how Nature's forces would affect our journey, where flash floods raged and blasted through areas of the route. We would be so thankful for the timing and kindness of the weather-gods.
Saturday morning, with the clearing confirmed, the committed crew gathered up at 10 a.m at Suzan and Matt's in Salt Lake City. We cut due west over to Faust with the first photo op on that dirt road. Then we were off onto the Pony Express route. We stopped where the pavement ended and the fun began.
Crossing over Lookout Pass, we got our first taste of the road and land being affected by the volume of water it had seen in last 24+ hours. Since there had been a recent fire there, charcoaled rivlets carved into the gullies, making the already stark and naked landscape more sensual, even more contrasted: black on red on white and gray. Nostrils filled with the intense smells of forest fire. It was strangely delicious. Evoked by the wetness, scents were emboldened.
I was following the three bikes and began to dare to shoot pics while driving. I felt my view was too good to let awesome opportunities pass. This was fun.
Suzan
The road has changed over the years and you never know what to expect. This year was mud, washed out roads, water pools, green plains, beautiful flowers. The last time I was on the road, it was 100 plus degrees and traditional desert. My experience level the first time I ventured out was beginner. If I had tried to ride the road this year with that level, I would not have made it. I was blown away by the washouts and pleased that I made it 19 miles without crashing, although there were a few narrow escapes. I was a much stronger rider after this ride.
Annie
We stopped in Simpson Springs for lunch and all the historic photo ops. The day was rare for August, with cool temperatures and rolling clouds. Shadows crept over and hugged the ranges and little buttes. I was following, and pictures were begging to be made: the vast and great wide open, freeing the heart and mind and matter. Out there is beyond words. Only rhythm. Boundless current.
The three had stopped ahead, and it took a moment for me to see the magnificent wild mustangs getting some real estate between them and us as they funneled away into the distance. Luckily, the long camera lens could still bring them in. Tom took time to capture them, but only how he ever would...a respectful beholding. Through the camera were sacred moments, strong and wild herd of horses, roaming as they have for centuries, though not native here. Long may they endure.
Suzan
Wild horses – It always feels like the Wild West on this road, and I always see the horses. The herds tend to hang around Simpson Springs and like to run as you get close. I like the painted horses the best.
The long straight stretches of road made me think of an old western, riding off into the sunset. It made me smile.
Annie
Leaving there, I went ahead for a photo shoot. Tom wanted photos of the riders with the long and open road fading to the horizon. No problem, plenty of that available.
The next pass, I went ahead, where there were some nice “S” turns down the west side. I pulled over, climbed up, sat on a rock and steadied myself, waiting. Heard the motors coming and blasted off some shots. I had to shoot fast as they moved into and out of the frame quickly.
Annie
We came up to the geode beds and the big lonely “alien” rock that Suzan needed to climb. We found skulls, a molting lizard, and cool rocks.
Annie
Back on the trail and to Fish Springs, where the oasis did not disappoint. Flowing steppes of grasses, solid, but appearing like a river of greens, alternating darks to light, to dark. Sunflowers, birds and crickets. Glorious. Exotic. Precious.
The motorcyclists stop near the wreckage of what appears to be a blown-apart and bullet-riddled school bus. Any chance for a photo-op and they are on it. There appears a young woman nearby, walking towards the west, alone, carrying only a small backpack. Matt asks if she is "OK," she gives a thumbs-up.
Annie
Fish Springs’ Hitchhiker Girl: Julie. She was on a "walkabout," if you ask me. A more primal, trusting way of moving in the world. She might have made her destination afoot by next morning, but her hitchhiked ride with me in the truck may have gotten her to her friends by midnight. She was a beauty, light poured from her eyes. She is touched and has become the essence of the land out here, has her sense of place in this world, and it is that place. Surely, one of the most remote locations a young biologist could sign onto; she could not love it more.
I offered her my sweatshirt as she had only a tank top, shorts, and backpack on. She said she'd be fine. Somehow, I had to agree. She surely was. I reflected on if I had followed my heart at that time in my life.
She was on her way to the "peacock palace," out there south of Boyd Station. Her friends have peacocks, guinea hens, gardens, and Home; out there beyond ideas of urban sprawl. Julie plans to find land there too, once she pays off her $15,000 in student debt.
Suzan
The hitchhiker that Annie picked up is worth discussing. Annie agrees to take her to Boyd’s Crossing. The three of us on the motorbikes are uneasy about this odd girl and Tom proceeds to follow Annie closely. He must have been going 70 mph; who knows what is in the backpack? At Boyd’s Crossing around 5 o’clock, the hitchhiker is dropped off. It is miles to the Peacock Palace. I wonder if she will walk through the night. Does she have matches to light a fire? She says she does this often. I picture this girl being my daughter, and I am anxious for her. Relying on strangers in the desert to transport her, the elements, the animals, and the night cold. I can’t imagine doing this.
Annie
Then to camp in the Yosemite-like Deep Creeks. Remote, wild, quiet, so very special.
Suzan
The Deep Creek Range mountains are a hidden gem. I had passed by them before, but had never taken a moment to get close to them and look around. Hiking along the ridge of our campsite, I found pools of water that looked like birdbaths. I thought it was amazing that two days after a rainstorm, in the desert, there were still pools of water sitting atop rocks. The mountain profile looks like a national park with impossibly tall peaks, rounded granite faces, and deep green valleys. The variety of plant life was impressive, and the numerous groups of plantings appeared to be arranged by a professional gardener.
Camping in the desert – Motorcycle camping is for the young, the poor, and the extremely adventurous, I am the latter. After collecting firewood out of a small ravine, we had enough to build an impressive fire for many hours. We set up camp, Annie made a fabulous dinner of guacamole and turkey burritos (but we forgot the tortillas), and we drank margaritas as the sun went down. The stars were brighter than I had ever seen and with the fire, it felt like we should be dancing around it like wild natives. After a long day, my tent and sleeping bag felt like a four star hotel.
Annie
The Galaxi tent by Nemo. Perfectly named, a bedded window to the world...where far, far beyond what my eyes can see this universe continues to unfold. But I did wake often and welcomed the magnificent clear night into my sweet and modest slumber place. Oh to live this way? How tenderly could my heart feel, how aware could I become, when every breath nearly forgets to exhale, in witness to this sacred night.
I want to live like this: adventure, love, margaritas, sacred night, and mystical blessed morning. Then...more adventure.
Day 2
All peaceful, quiet, holy, in this place. Waking often through the night, opening the shutters of my pupils to take it in. Always checking the eastern horizon, then, a scarlet glow begins to break the surface of the day. Still, serene silence pounds on the inner ear.
First sounds from any of the locals is precisely, directly and unmistakably, the very instant when sunlight pours through an opening in the long cloud hugging the distant eastern range. From my spot on the rock, the morning chant of pinyon jays encircle our camp as they fly back and forth singing, "Hooray, another day to play!" Exactly.
Camp was quickly disassembled and onto our steeds and wagons were loaded. I went ahead and looked back to confirm my crew. My new learned practice immediately took effect; I can now quickly stop, turn off engine, set gear and brake, grab camera, and position myself to capture the splendid moments of three friends, three easy riders, descending from on high, or out across the landscape.
Kissing the morning breeze, and with smiles and good feelings, we coasted down to the aptly named Tom's Creek to play for a moment. Before taking to the road home, Suzan and Matt took turns blasting through the stream. -Annie
The streams that run from the valleys were cold and clear. I had some fun and drove my motorcycle through and gave the bike a needed wash. -Suzan
Venturing home, we pointed ourselves northward, back past Callao, leaving the lovely and grand Deep Creeks in the rear view. After a left onto the Old Lincoln Hwy, following the Pony Express trail, we quickly came upon the evidence of Nature's movie that had played out two nights prior. I was leading the team and drove up to a great swath of mud and rock that had flowed like a river, much beyond the bounds of the desert wash. Since it wasn't clear whether it was safe to proceed, I stopped to walk the newly deposited rocky 'road'.
Annie
We decided we were fine to pass on through. That was only the first of many, many challenging passages on this day's journey where the flash flood had rearranged an otherwise graded scenic byway through Overland Canyon. Repeatedly, Nature reclaimed her path, her choice of waterway. It was satisfying to know that man's carved road could so easily be disrupted, back to what is natural. However hard on those riders, I could tell were having a blast dancing through the rocks, ruts, mud, and crevices. They probably gained some new found skills and surely should have all gotten their BMW backroad byway badges.
The Canyon Station, built in 1861, was located northwest of this site in Overland Canyon. It was the simplest constructed log house, stable, and a dugout kitchen. In July, 1863, aboriginals killed the Overland agent and four soldiers and burned the station. The 1863 Overland Station was a more defensible location, being a stone fortress. It did not have a roof so defenders could leap or climb over the wall and fire through the rifle ports.
Annie
Coming out to the welcomed blacktop, then north on Ibapah road through gorgeously pleasurable rolling hills and softened buttes. We stopped to set up for a "photo op." This stretch of road could easily fill a day taking profoundly beautiful photographs. Subtle, remote, empty, full, rich, and encapsulatingly exquisite.
Annie
No ride here would ever be complete without a stop to the Hat Tree. Now morphing into hats-and-other-objects tree, but happily standing out in on otherwise lonely road. This was the official end of our pilgrimage, save the Salt Flats.
Suzan
The Hat Tree - a monument to silliness. A lone pine on the side of the road that now holds hundreds of hats, jackets, gloves, boots, underwear, beads and bracelets. Tom gave me a hat to throw and we played Frisbee with the wind trying to get it to stay. Tom was smart and brought a piece of rope and tied it and a rock to his hat. It is now nestled in a top branch. Annie gave the tree a beautiful purple beaded bracelet, while Matt brought a Canyons' ski resort visor.
I wonder who started the tree? Do people see the tree and come back again to donate? Does the tree ever get cleaned up? Would the hitchhiker Annie picked up wish she would pass that tree and grab a jacket?
Suzan
Salt Flats – It was an ocean. I had never seen the salt flats that close up and was shocked there was a foot of water covering the area in my view. There was no way to see the groomed track due to the water. Another day.
Annie
Salt flats and ride home. We made it through. Happily satisfied, grateful for our safe return, deeper in awe of the western desert and her secrets, tired, but overall so much more rich in heart and spirit, history and respect; we embraced goodbye, looking forward to the next ride.
The privilege we open ourselves to, when a part of the flow.
Suzan
The tarmac –10 minutes into the ride back to Salt Lake City on I-80, I decided I would rather have gone home by retracing my steps. After having a great ride on dirt road, taking our time, stopping to smell the roses, it was a harsh reality to deal with semi-trucks! The speed limit increased to 80, and with the side winds, I had a hard time at 70. Just as I got comfortable, the wind would give me a nice slap on the face and remind me that it was in charge.
At the first rest stop I could find, I went and laid on the grass and tried to catch my breath. Matt took the lead after that so I could watch him be blown over first and then I could brace myself for impact. I love the dirt even more now.
Box Score
Total distance of route (MO to CA)
1900 miles (3100 km)
Number of days for delivery, coast to coast
10
Cost to mail 1/2 oz letter
$5, eventually to $1 at end ($26 in today's $)
·Number of stations (swing and home)
·Existing station ruins
·184
·50
Number of miles between stations and fresh horses
5 - 25 (8 - 40 km)
Number of miles riders rode in a day (distance between "home stations")
75 (121 km)
Longest single rides
· "Pony Bob" Haslam rode 380 miles (610 km)
· Jack Keetley rode non-stop 340 miles (550 km) in 31 hours (arrived at his final stop asleep in the saddle)
· William C. “Buffalo Bill” Cody rode 322 miles in 21 hours and 40 minutes using 21 horses(Cody was prone to exaggeration)
Number of Express riders employed
120
Number of support personnel
400
Number of Express riders in the saddle at any time
80
Number of horses
400
Maximum weight of pouch (mochila)
20 pounds (9.1 kg)
Posted By Roger Wiles, 32797,
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Nestled in the rolling foothills and appealing curly roads of north Georgia is a BMW motorcycle mecca, an oasis of both fresh and old BMWs and other interesting Euro-bikes. This delightful and picturesque moto-retreat is operated by two young enthusiasts and BMW MOA members, Rachel and Wes Burden, who are proprietors of Apex Cycles, Ellijay, GA. Rachel and Wes have a fetching story, and a first-class vintage BMW establishment.
...
Rachel, a vivacious and ever-cheerful woman, grew up around motorcycles; her father, mother, grandparents and assorted uncles rode regularly, and it was only natural that Rachel began riding dirt bikes at an early age. Since her father ran a motorcycle shop, coming by a properly-sized starter bike was easy for Rachel. When Rachael began her studies at the University of Georgia, she obtained her motorcycle endorsement and commuted to classes on her first street bike, a BMW F650. Later, her regular ride was a ’92 BMW R100 with the seat replaced by a wooden, towel-wrapped board, an effective if not particularly comfortable way to reduce seat height. Her rides today are a work-in-progress 1954 R51/3, and a nice Ducati Monster.
In years past, Rachael became acquainted with Dennis Kanderis, a local BMW legend wh,o has since passed away. Hanging around his Cumming, Georgia shop, Rachel found within herself a desire to become a mechanic, or as we say today, a technician. Dennis was most helpful, and not only mentored her as an apprentice technician in his shop but suggested she attend American Motorcycle Institute in Daytona (now WyoTech) and obtain a certification for one or more makes.
Wes’ parents were firmly set against motorcycles; various family members had suffered motorcycle crashes in the past and, therefore, Wes was forbidden to own a motorcycle. So, of course, he secretly bought a Yamaha YZ80 and stored it at a cooperative neighbor’s house. Wes would regularly sneak off from home and ride the YZ in the dirt, and return home dirty, battered and bruised. He would tell his parents he’d been riding his bicycle. An XR250 Honda replaced the Yamaha; later, his first BMW, a ’77 R100, cemented Wes’ relationship with the German marque.
As a younger man, Wes attended Auburn University, majoring in mechanical engineering. However, Wes left school before completing his degree. He moved to Atlanta and worked at various punk rock bars as ‘security’ – Wes is of a size, and I suspect he had little trouble keeping order at punk bars – as well as occasionally tending bar himself. Wes is an adventurous and universally competent fellow; he has taught rock climbing to inner-city youths and toured down to the south end of Mexico via motorcycle. In addition, he is a volunteer firefighter and paramedic. He traveled in the former Soviet Union as a teenager and has worked on concert festivals for the Harley-Davidson Motor Company.
During a stint at one particular such punk-rock nightclub, Wes met Rachel, who was keeping bar. Rachael and Wes discovered their mutual love of motorcycles and a relationship was born. Remembering Dennis Kanderis’ advice, they enrolled at AMI together and finished with certifications in BMW and Ducati.
“It could have gone either way,” both Rachel and Wes agreed, when asked why they decided to open an independent repair shop, instead of taking a steady job at a BMW retailer’s service department. Most dealers are always looking for competent and trained technicians, and it would have likely been possible for both Rachel and Wes to hire on with a dealer that handles both BMW and Ducati.
We really backed into the business; it grew organically, all by itself,” Rachel commented, “We had no business plan and no real idea what we were going to be doing.” But, using a two-bay garage donated by Rachel’s father, Tim Hill, Apex Cycles came to life of necessity and customer demand.
“As soon as we opened, we were busy from the first job we took in, and it’s never let up. We started in 2003, and 11 years later, we’re still backlogged and booked well in advance.” Several years later, they bought a beautifully sited home near Tim Hill’s place, and built a three-story workshop a stone’s throw from their new home. For over a decade, their business has kept both of them spinning wrenches, sometimes until the wee hours. Customers come to Apex Cycles strictly by word of mouth, and so far, it’s kept the work-lifts full, with a motley moto-collection awaiting for a project to begin, or for repairs and restorations, all languishing in the basement storage area. Since the house and business are adjacent, the business seems to demand attention nearly 24 hours a day; “We get customers and freight trucks at all hours of the day and often at night. The trucks bring projects from as far away as California and New York as well as all of the Southeast, and the trucks take someone’s new dream back to an excited owner.”
Apex Cycles inherited many special tools from Dennis Kanderis when he closed his shop, and has added a full range of tools needed for fabrication as well as normal BMW and Ducati repairs. Wes is an accomplished welder and is competent with all types of welding machines and the different metals. The shop sports an ultrasonic parts cleaner, useful for breaking up rock-hard varnish deposits in neglected, unloved carburetors, an old but precise lathe, a complex milling machine, a plasma cutter and much more. Wes has made a variety of special tools and jigs, can deal with any Airhead component, and can even rebuild final drive units up to and including the 1150cc Oilhead Boxers.
Wes says; “I love metal working, machining, anything creative that can be done in some kind of metal.” Wes used to do all his own head work. Recently, Wes established a relationship with a new mentor, NASCAR’s Bill Elliott’s legendary former intake specialist. This fellow, who wishes anonymity, now does all of the head work for Apex, and adds a higher level of expertise to the critical cylinder-head modifications for various engine builds, including complex five-angle valve-cutting, valve-seat and guide installations, and custom porting and polishing. In addition, repairs such as restored exhaust-spigot threads and new sparkplug threads can be accomplished. It’s likely that no finer head work can be found in North America.
The basement storage area is also the machine shop, and room is being made for a roller-drum dynamometer. A fully ventilated and filtered professional paint booth is under construction; Apex also deals with a powder-coating specialist to match stock or custom colors. Wes is building his pin striping skills, and may someday add that service to Apex’ repertoire.
Asked which build was their proudest accomplishment, Wes spoke fondly of a recently completed 1979 R100RS, which was given the full resto treatment, including extensive head work, a fully balanced engine and much custom engine and frame work. Apex frequently gets barn leaners and basket cases, like a recent 1968 R60US that arrived in pieces, filthy, disorganized, water-soaked and generally disgusting. Motorcycles like this leave Apex as functional, pretty and desirable Airheads that have been given a second – or third, who knows – lease on life.
In addition to dealing with customers’ commissions, Apex Cycles buys and sells Airheads, and as the business grows, they hope to do more of this. Wes has found that used BMW RT Airhead models are the least expensive used motorcycles on the marketplace, and he is able to obtain these at prices that allow Rachel and Wes to rebuild, customize or otherwise make a solid and reliable – and attractive – custom Airhead for some happy future customer. Another steady source of work and/or used bikes available at fire-sale prices comes from the archetypical rider-of-the-past, who found that mid-life has suddenly added children, mortgages, soccer tournaments and PTA meetings to life; the erstwhile rider parks the bike “for a short time” that often becomes five or 20 years. Then, kids gone and life less complicated, the fellow or gal either wants the bike restored so they once again begin riding, or are now willing to sell it. These are usually found in pretty good shape.
Readers perhaps now see that the focus of Apex Cycles is to continue to build a solid word-of-mouth clientele. “We find that people who come to us as referrals are a special breed of customer who often become dedicated enthusiasts of both motorcycling and Apex Cycles.” To earn this kind of support, Wes and Rachel cultivate contacts in Germany and elsewhere around the world that can provide new old stock parts (NOS), No longer available (NLA) parts, custom bits and technical support when needed. Airhead parts are becoming a little bit more difficult to obtain, although BMW still does an excellent job of providing parts support for their vintage machines. Sadly, prices for vintage and even modern-era (1970–95) Airhead parts have skyrocketed in recent years. Aftermarket sources in Germany and elsewhere are offering some relief with slightly more reasonable prices.
Any preferences? Rachel loves working on her R51/3, and anyone else’s Slash 3, and Wes is happy working on just about any Airhead; he tries to avoid K-bike work. Rachel was adamant in her aversion for working on Dellorto carburetors.
Why BMWs? “We like the design and are both dedicated to the old stuff. We both prefer the Slash 3 and Slash 2 eras, as well as the modern-era Airheads.” Wes explained.
What does the future hold for Apex Cycles, for Wes, Rachel and five-year-old son Race?
"We really want to finish our own custom projects!” both said spontaneously and simultaneously when the question was presented. “But the bikes keep coming and going, and we’re still out here after dark often, trying to keep up. We’ll get to them someday.” Rachel’s work in progress is her R51/3; Wes has visions of stuffing a big-pipe, big-valve 70HP 1978 R100S motor into an R80ST frame. The big motor in a light frame, with a lower final drive ratio, would make an interesting sleeper street-fighter!
Apex works mainly on BMW and Ducati machines, but will consider taking in nearly any European brand for repairs and custom work. If it can be said that Apex is a specialty boutique motorcycle works, then the hallmark would be custom retro-conversions – making newer stuff look old, and make everything run and work like it should. “We are about attention to detail, and doing it right the first time. We stand by our work and satisfaction is guaranteed.” Wes added. “I love to get a commission that requires balancing and blueprinting an engine, doing custom frame work, bracing and removing unneeded frame parts; I like the bare-bones look of a BMW – an engine, wheels, a seat and handlebars – because less is more, and lines are all important.
Both Rachel and Wes spoke of the challenge of translating a customer’s wants and needs, and the customer’s vision of how they want the finished project to look and run – translating those words, emotions and visions into steel, aluminum and rubber. “It’s very rewarding.”
The Burdens’ property is over 13 acres and adjoins the Cartecay River; they have turned several acres by the river into a campground, and plan to build an overnighters’ bunkhouse in the upper story of the workshop, along with a boutique shop of apparel and other moto-bits that show the work of local artisans. The shop will also feature Wes’ custom-made components, such as reverse-pivot brake and clutch levers, trick clip-on bar-and-lever sets, custom triple clamps that will work with the oversize fuel tanks like Hoske and others, and more. Rachel is working of getting a local artisan to build and modify seats.
If you’re considering jumping into the vintage BMW world, if you are jonesing for the familiar valve clatter, torque effect and the smooth forward progress that is the hallmark of these venerable and lovely machines, Rachel and Wes can help you get started, or can help you get the bike finished, finally.
“We live it; it’s not just work, it’s not just a job. It’s who we are and what we do as a family. We hope all our customers come to trust Apex Cycles, and will pass the word on to others.”
Apex Cycles is located at: 210 Fox Fire Trail, Ellijay GA 30536. Call 404-702.4394. www.apexcycleshop.com GPS: N34 38.283 W84 27.150
Posted By Neale Bayly, 196896,
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Having often been reminded by my mother as a kid that comparisons are odious, when I climbed on board the new 2014 BMW R1200GS Adventure in Sedona, AZ, it was hard to erase the memories from thousands of miles riding the standard water-Boxer R1200GS. I was there for 200 miles of varying terrain to put BMW’s latest Adventure to the test. The Adventure immediately feels so much heavier, which it is, an additional 48 pounds, but the biggest initial difference was the slower steering due in part to the Continental TKC 80 tires, and a different feel from the engine. As we rolled out of town, though, all of these first thoughts quickly began to melt as I settled in to enjoy the ride.
...
During our press brief about the new model, BMW had called the new Adventure a “Swiss Army Knife,” but out here alone on the challenging dirt roads leading to Jerome, AZ, some 28 miles away, I marveled at the balance between the engine, throttle, clutch and other controls. I think the BMW team is wrong. It’s more like a Swiss watch
The clutch action is so light and precise, and the throttle more connected to the rear wheel than the standard GS (with its heavier crankshaft), that every input feels completely seamless. The power brakes are the most intuitive system I have used. They have to be, as they repeatedly slow over 700 pounds of man and machine into tight, gravel-strewn corners at speed. Add in the ability to set the bike in Enduro mode – to control the electronics to best serve you in the dirt – and the sophistication of the experience is without equal.
The larger-than-life styling of the new BMW R1200GS Adventure works for me. It’s pure BMW as soon as you see it for the first time, and just looks so much more aggressive and modern than any previous generation Adventure. There is a new beak, a tapered windshield, and two aerodynamic air flaps on the sides to add to the exciting graphics package. The windshield is quickly adjusted on the fly with a simple turn of a wheel; wind protection on the road is everything you’ll need for those long days making miles.
I’ll never forget my first ride on the new 1150 version back in 2002; it felt as if BMW had created the largest, wildest motorcycle anyone would ever make, let alone take off road. Yet here we are some 12 years later, and they have simply eclipsed this first model in size, power and technicality, while making it easier to ride.
I am used to standing all day on adventure bikes and have gotten very comfortable in this position, but know that is not the case for some riders. With this in mind I wanted to see how the bike behaved, so for the first 20 miles of off-road riding I sat, except if I had to raise my butt off the seat for a pothole, rut or similar impediment. I came away very impressed. Sitting will certainly not restrict your ability to explore some fairly challenging terrain, and while your speeds will need to be lower, during adventure tours it might be an advantage as you have more time to enjoy the scenery. When standing, though, you will notice the thoughtful design of a tapered seat meeting a slender gas tank. This intersection is a big part of making the rider feel at ease in the dirt and it’s a marked improvement over previous models.
Reach to the bars is comfortable standing or sitting, and having my back straight with my rear in the saddle and my knees not bent at an extreme angle was certainly similar to existing BMW GS machines. This position is also sufficiently aggressive for working on sections of twisting asphalt for the more spirited moments that arise on a long journey. Nice touches to add to this comfort are multi-adjustable levers and the ability to adjust the rear brake and gear levers to suit your needs. With wider-than-stock foot pegs allowing for a more comfortable platform, it’s clear the Adventure is meant to be ridden all day, and more.
The view forward is clean and functional, with the Navigator GPS located above the compact instrument cluster. With an analog readout for both road and engine speed, it has a highly sophisticated command center beneath the round gauges. Digesting all that this super computer analyzes takes a fair bit of reading, so I’ll leave it out for now; but trust me, if there’s any information you want – from temperature to distance traveled, fuel consumption to tire pressure – BMW has you covered.
You will also find the same multi-controller for adjusting your NAV system as found on the K1600 lineup and the standard GS1200 models on the left hand side handlebar, and this is intuitive and easy to use on the go. Usual BMW pleasantries exist in the form of cruise control, quick-change buttons for the suspension and one to turn the ABS and traction control off, as well as all the normal switchgear.
Visually, the engine is identical to the standard R1200GS, and produces 125 hp at 7,750 rpm and a healthy 92 lb-ft of torque at 6,500 rpm. Compared to the previous generation engine, this is 15 extra horsepower and three more lb-ft of torque. The result is a noticeably stronger and more linear power curve across the range. Where the Adventure engine differs from the standard GS, though, is with an additional two pounds of crankshaft mass that produces 20 percent more inertia. Acting like a heavier flywheel, this one change is the key to the Adventure’s superior power delivery.
Sorry, Mum, but here’s another comparison to the standard GS: I’ve never quite gotten used to the slightly sensitive power delivery from the ride-by-wire throttle system, whether riding two up around the UK, crossing South Africa, or riding at home as my personal transportation. On an open throttle it’s a beast, fast and with incredible power; but there’s something about the system when cold or at low speeds I can’t quite adjust to. Weaned on a diet of throttle cables opening butterflies in carburetors, I yearn for a mapping program that emulates heavier throttle return springs, as it’s a little hard for my well-worn grey matter to adjust. Not so with the Adventure. The relationship between the throttle and the rear wheel is absolutely perfect, and when navigating tighter, technical sections of the rough terrain around Sedona at slow speeds, this was highly appreciated. With virtually no traffic on these Jeep trails, and spectacular views at every turn, they are the personification of adventure riding.
Now, when I’m in complete alignment with the standard GS and the Adventure’s electronics, is when it’s time to pick a Ride Mode. Both bikes comes standard with the option of “Road,” or for inclement weather “Rain” modes, and if you order with the Premium package, the Ride Modes Pro feature adds on Dynamic, Enduro, and Enduro Pro. The last mode requires you to activate a coding plug located under the seat. Here it all gets complicated, with these last three modes working in various ways with the traction control or Automatic Stability Control (ASC) in BMW speak, the anti lock brakes (ABS) and the electronic suspension adjustment (ESA) if Dynamic ESA is selected.
For a short period of time I switched into Enduro Pro mode, which allows you to lock up the rear brake if needed. This mode retains the ABS up front, but allows more latitude before lock up occurs, which is certainly confidence inspiring. The traction control is less invasive, as I found out in the dry, dusty conditions, with an ambitious twist of the throttle exiting a corner. This broke the Continental TKC 80 loose, yanking me straight out of my comfort zone. With the sight of the rear wheel coming round to meet me, and my heart in my mouth, once back in a straight line I pulled over and switched back to regular Enduro mode.
Here the traction control will allow you to hang the rear end out enough to turn the bike, but won’t let the bike get out of control to the extent I described. In this mode the Dynamic ESA will soften the suspension settings for you automatically, so I left my bike on this setting while on the dirt for the rest of the day. More aggressive riders on these knobby tires will prefer the Pro mode I’m sure, but the standard Enduro setting was designed to work with street tires so is a good bit more invasive. The ABS is certainly not invasive; the new Adventure throws out the old wisdom of turning the ABS off in the dirt. Yes, it works that well.
As delivered, the new Adventure will have a more street-focused tire wrapped around the wider, cross-spoke wheels; the Continental TKC 80s were added specially for our aggressive day in the dirt. BMW loves to show how capable their new bikes are by taking us on long, challenging rides during press intros.
Frame and suspension are also virtually unchanged from the donor platform, although the there is 0.8 inches of additional spring travel at the front and rear. To offset this taller suspension, the rake has been steepened by a full degree and the trail tightened 0.3 inches. The net result is just a 0.1 inch increase in the wheelbase from the standard GS to 59.4 inches There is also an additional 0.4 inches of ground clearance, and while the bike will still ground out in the rough stuff if you get too aggressive, it’s a marked improvement compared to earlier generation models I’ve ridden.
In the saddle, stability is without fault at high or low speeds, standing or sitting, and I’m sure a part of this is the additional steering damper. This is true on the road also, and hustling up to Jerome on the last few miles of smooth, serpentine tarmac, we would have surprised all but the most committed sport bike riders with the pace.
You still have to be aware that as tested, with a full 7.9 gallons of fuel and luggage in place, you are in control of a motorcycle weighing well over 600 pounds. BMW is claiming a road-ready weight of 573 pounds. This means you need to make sure to “file a flight plan” if turning on the dirt, or in off-camber parking lots and when in small, mountain towns like Jerome, as you don’t want to be man handling this beast around. With a standard seat height of between 35–35.8”, depending where you set it, you can see how this is going to be a challenge if you don’t plan ahead. People with shorter inseams are going to want to opt for a low seat option, and it’s worth noting you can also adjust the tilt of the standard seat.
You are ready to vote for the new Adventure with your checkbook. For the as-tested Premium package, you will need $21,550 in ready funds. Technically, you could order the bike without all the bells and whistles for $18,200, but only two percent of all new purchasers go this route, according to BMW.
For your Premium package you get a list of all new items: Dynamic ESA, on board computer pro, GPS preparation, cruise control, LED headlight and Ride modes pro, with LED auxiliary lights, saddle bag mounts, heated grips and tire pressure monitor (TPM) as in the previous years. These are all on top of the standard ASC, integral ABS, steering damper, stepless windshield, on board computer and a host of other features that come standard. Engine protection bars, hand protection, the adjustable seat to mention a few. Color choices range from racing blue metallic matte, alpine white or olive matte, so you have an interesting choice here, too.
Acknowledging the GS as the flagship of the GS line, BMW has done it again, improving, refining and sharpening their Adventure without losing any of the character and personality that has attracted people to these large enduros since 1980. Round-the-world travelers choose it as their mount of choice for decades, for good reasons, but you don’t have to be heading across the Taklimakan desert to enjoy the new R1200GS Adventure. It’s equally at home in your own state, but with a fuel range of over 400 miles, and the ability to carry six months’ of gear, it’s ready to take that round-the-world-expedition whenever you turn the key.
Posted By Bill Wiegand,
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
There are always several reasons why we do the things we do: why #1 - for those of us who are not professional motorcycle mechanics or professional restoration specialists, we learn a mechanical/restoration technique unique to a particular model, and then, likely, never get to use that skill again. A serial restoration project affords the opportunity to immediately employ that newly-acquired skill again and again, while the information is fresh in the porous regions of the brain; why #2 – along the way, we acquired four R27s, and it was time to clean out the basement.
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The whole adventure requires a little more back-story. Back in 1991, my partner, Janet, announced to me that she wanted to get off the back of our 1959 R69 and start riding solo. Janet, not a teenager at the time, thought that if she didn’t start riding before she turned 50 she probably wouldn’t make the leap to solo riding. We all need benchmarks to establish goals…I guess.
Janet fixated on an R27 as her first ride. Of course, a light-weight, dependable, Japanese bike with an electric starter might have been a more prudent choice, but Janet will not own any vehicle that does not win her heart by its visual appeal (a love-at-first-sight-from-across-the-room kind of thing). An un-restored 1961 R27 it was.
It was not a smooth courtship, but Janet was committed (to the relationship). After completing the Pennsylvania Motorcycle Safety Course, a year of riding exercises for Janet, and bike tuning trial-and-error for me, we tore down the R27 in the off-season, and started our first soup-to-nuts restoration. Once the R27 restoration was complete, we tore down my R69 for the same show-quality treatment. These two bikes seen together on the street always drew a crowd.
We had quite a few R27 mechanical catastrophes over the first two years. During that time I would put out feelers for on hand backup parts anticipating the next mechanical emergency. As most vintage bike owners are aware many times it’s less expensive to buy the whole bike rather than just the engine or transmission (alone). So co-incidental to my search for spare parts, we ended up with three parts bikes – consisting of one complete bike and two basket cases - all of which had matching frames and engines.
The (Serial) Restoration Begins
In 1996, I decided to make something of the parts bikes we had accumulated and started the three-bike serial restoration project by consigning the three engines and transmissions over to Lou Stellar, of Bucks County, PA, to be rebuilt. Lou does excellent work and had managed to bring around Janet’s R27 to be a dependable good running bike. However, all the other restoration tasks were mine to execute. It was then that several things happened that put the entire project on hold. In July of 1996, while traveling on I-95, Janet had an accident causing her R27 to temporarily join the ranks of the other three project bikes.
Now there were four project bikes staring at me each time I went down to the basement. When Janet recovered from her accident and wanted to get back in the saddle, we agreed that she consider a more contemporary bike (ultimately, a Honda Shadow), and I shifted over to a K75, an equally contemporary ride.
Fast Forward – The Serial Restarted
(Editor’s note: As things would have it the next few years found Joe and Janet working together on another business project and the four bikes remained untouched. With that project now ended successfully it was time to renew their quest to rebuild the four 1960’s classics.)
In early 2013, Bill Becker, a retired architect/engineer neighbor who had seriously taken up the hobby of building café racers (see the cover of Café Racer – Oct/Nov 2012), approached me and offered to partner (work two full days a week until completion) with me on my R27 project. Bill’s stated objective was “the demystification of BMWs”, and please note: Bill really enjoys building bikes. I thought this would be a great impetus to re-start the project. Our “shop” would be a 600 sq.ft. vacant commercial space on the ground floor of a four-story 1860s building that Janet and I call home. We started in earnest in mid-March.
My strengths lie in the area of surface finishes of all sorts, and I am comfortable dismantling and reassembling immediately intelligible components, but Bill is fearless in the tearing down and re-assembling of anything. When we were all younger, most of us could dismantle the family toaster or lawnmower, but Bill is the kid who could put it back together and get it to work again.
The Serial Process At Work
Initially, and without a set of BMW shop tools on hand, it would take us hours to figure out a process like extracting a bearing race from the bottom of the final drive assembly The second assembly would yield faster, and the third would slip out like we knew what we were doing. Drive shaft assemblies, front and rear swing arms, wheel bearings, steering head bearings, shocks, etc., all provided tech clinic opportunities that informed the following procedures among the group of four R27s. The serial restoration concept was paying off.
As all components were stripped of seals, bearings, shafts and gears, each was cleaned, prepped and grouped with all the salvageable sheet metal parts to be delivered to the abrasive blaster (Plastic Media Blasting, Furlong, PA) to be taken down to bare metal. The idea of blasting with plastic media, to reduce the risk of abrasive contamination in critical mechanisms, was very appealing and it worked like a top. The smaller parts were kept in house for me to clean and blast using a friend’s shop just a block from my home.
Experience is the best teacher
If I had it to do again I would follow Bill’s preferred method of first pre-building the entire bike from unfinished, raw components, carefully adjusting and modifying each part to assure that all the mechanisms are functioning in harmony and all clearances are adequately close. Then, and only then, was it time to send the parts out to the painter and chrome plater, followed by pushing all parts, large and small, toward a finished state awaiting the final re-assembly.
However, since all the bikes had been dismantled prior to 1996, we had long lost the opportunity to check out the fit of parts as they came off the bikes. Consequently, we had to backtrack a bit and test the condition and fit of four center stands, swing arms, steering heads, etc. to ensure that those parts were true and could still work in the frames. Of course there were some surprises: all of the center stands needed adjustment; one fork center stem was compromised beyond salvage and needed to be replaced; sheet metal parts were fitted into fork and frame and adjusted; tanks had to be pushed back into form; headlight buckets needed to be pressed back into shape; frames needed welded-on-post-production ‘modifications’ removed; and after everything seemed to have an acceptable fit, we spent weeks fussing over the surfaces of each part in preparation for final finishes.
Mark Cavanaugh of CR Cars in Philadelphia, would be doing the paintwork, but we were responsible for all repairs and prep work.
The Rims
The Weinmann alloy rims were a unique project unto themselves. We knew that we wanted to lace the wheels in house. The spokes and nipples would be new, but the condition of the rims would determine the quality of the final outcome. We had six out-of-round, dented, gouged, and badly pitted alloy rims, all challenging us to walk away and buy new replacements. (Janet’s two wheels had been restored previously, and survived the accident.) Since this was a “restoration project”, not a new bike build, our decision was to salvage the rims.
We made hardwood molds of the inner and outer rim forms and began clamping, squeezing, pressing, and pounding (there was a lot of pounding). Once all the rims were within spec, a glass bead blasting gave us a fresh surface to work with, and exposed all the areas that needed TIG infill to repair the dings and gouges. All welded repairs were milled, filed, and sanded until each disappeared into the original surface contours of the rim. Then each rim was carefully wet sanded – 320, 400, 600, & 1000 grit – using WD-40 as a lubricant, followed by many hours of polishing with consecutive abrasive grits. Then, as we did with all the other polished aluminum parts of the four R27s, the rims were turned over to Janet for detailing and final buffing. It’s amazing how a beautifully lustrous surface can emerge from such a grimy polishing process.
Bill is proficient in wheel rebuilding and made a clinic of the process for my edification. Again, the serial nature of the project provided an unusual forum, and I had six wheels on which to practice. If there is a down-side to the serial process, it’s that as you finish the last part in the series, your newly acquired skills tell you that you probably could have done the first, or second, in the series better; so you go back and re-do the first and second pancakes.
While waiting for parts to trickle back to us from the painter and chrome plater, we started to rebuild the non-painted sub-assemblies: carburetor rebuilds, re-shoeing brakes, laceing wheels, rebuilding final drives, attaching dogs and grip assemblies to handlebars, wiring switch assemblies, etc. We also bagged and labeled stainless steel hardware kits for each section of each bike. Any fastener that was not originally chromed, and could not or should not be stainless, we plated in house with a zinc/tin alloy to mimic the appearance of the original, BMW hardware finish.
Once the painted frame and swing arm parts were returned, we started replacing every bearing and seal on all mating frame parts. When all the painted sheet metal parts were back in house, we arranged to have the tank and fenders pin-striped on site by DeWayne Connot of DOA Flatliners. In vintage BMW restoration projects, pin-striping day is special: it marks an over-the-hump point in the process, and we really enjoyed watching DeWayne display his craft. Also, seeing the finish-painted and freshly pin striped parts – 4 tanks, 4 front fenders, 3 two-section rear fenders - lined up like soldiers on our work table - looked for a moment like a vintage photo from the Munich factory circa 1960.
The Build
Finally, we could now begin the full re-assembly process and build rolling frames, installing engines and transmissions, routing and connecting wire harnesses and cables, mounting fenders, tanks and seats, keeping each bike on the lift until it was complete. After all those months of pushing parts through the various steps of the process, this was the fun part: the build.
Epilogue
Janet had been keeping a tally of the parts and various service costs since we started in March of 2013. In late November I asked her for the current total and was informed that we were pushing up against $27,000.00 (so far). This startling subtotal did not include the original purchase price of the bikes, or Lou Stellar’s engine and transmission work back in 1996. It also didn’t include the investment we had made in the many parts that had accumulated over the years anticipating the start of this four-bike project. It’s difficult to get back what you put into any motorcycle restoration; but that’s a given.
This was basically a protracted basement clean-out project, with a bonus: we had a good time learning a lot while applying our collective skill sets, and brought three classic BMW R27s back into service for their future owners to ride, show, and enjoy. The fourth bike? Janet isn’t quite ready to let her beloved, and now fully re-restored, R27 go. That bike will be retired to the third floor of our home to be seen and appreciated every day.
Posted By Bill Wiegand,
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
I met raised eyebrows and puzzled expressions whenever I said I’d be riding an R nineT from Los Angeles to St. Louis following the July press launch. “Wearing a full-face helmet I hope,” some said. “Gonna strap a pillow on that seat?” said another. I questioned my decision.
It would have to be a quick trip. With the press event ending Friday and setup for the MOA National Rally beginning the following Monday, there wouldn’t be any time to deviate from my route to photograph any of the sites I’d be passing. I’d be covering nearly 1,900 miles in three days on a bike not built for long distance travel.
Still, it was an adventure, and I was all in.
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The press launch gave me two days to get used to the naked R nineT, and after mounting my Zumo and figuring out how to mount my tail and tank bags in the lights of the hotel parking lot Friday night, I was ready. Only the fuel gauge made me nervous. Lacking a visual fuel gauge, the R nineT uses a low fuel light and counter that adds miles once the reserve was being tapped to tell the rider that he’d better find gas fast. Web forums told me that 50 miles was about all you could expect once the light came on. More than that and you’d be walking.
Traffic was nonexistent as I pulled onto the 101 at 4:30 Saturday morning. The chilly morning air and coffee combined to wake me up, and I soon realized I should have gotten gas the night before as the reserve icon came on just a few miles into the ride. Luckily, the bright lights of a Shell station stood out like a beacon in the darkness.
As I reset the trip odometer, I calculated the 4.8 gallon tank at 40 miles a gallon should give me a range of about 190 miles. I was quickly back on, working my way east.
Growing up a Midwesterner surrounded by corn and soybean fields, it was hard to keep my eyes on the road as I rode through the California desert with the sun beginning to rise over the distant mountains. Thoughts of the movie On Any Sunday ran through my head, and I pulled off the road to take my first photographs. I could almost hear Steve McQueen and Malcolm Smith racing through the sand. This was going to be an awesome ride.
Passing Barstow, California, it was good to see the world’s tallest thermometer working again and only reading 90 degrees. It was a good choice to bring vented gear and ship the heavier Streetguard jacket back home.
As I droned on, I passed a couple on a packed RT and soon realized I should have fueled up when I passed Barstow, as the low fuel indicator had come on. Miles accumulated and I remembered the warning about not riding more than fifty miles with the light on. In the distance I saw a towering GAS sign and relief poured over me. But like a desert mirage, the sign was for a station closed long ago; plywood covered the windows and doors. I said a quick prayer and pushed on with nothing but empty interstate ahead of me.
With the counter reading 32 miles, a road sign told me I had eight miles to go to Baker. It was going to be close, and after pumping 4.5 gallons into the 4.8 gallon tank, I realized just how close I had come to walking. I reset the trip odometer to 0 and my fuel number to 100. Lesson learned, that’s when I’d begin looking for gas. Again on the road, I soon saw another mirage. But this time it was the Las Vegas kind.
I had forgotten just how bland Las Vegas is in the light of day. Without the fountains of the Bellagio, crowded sidewalks and neon lights, the glitz and glamour of Sin City appeared tame. After 20 minutes and a few photographs, again it was back on Interstate 15. I had a long way to go and a short time to get there.
As I pumped gas in Mesquite, Nevada, I knew I was hot, but I didn’t know how hot until a brainiac in a Lexus yelled “You gotta be hot with all that stuff on! It’s 106 degrees out there!” I realized the futility of trying to explain the reasons for wearing protective gear when riding and yelled back that I was trying to lose some weight and that wearing all this stuff melted the fat away. “I read it on the internet,” I continued. “Really,” he said, “I never knew that.” I quickly slipped on my helmet to avoid any further questions from this MENSA member and got back on the road.
I’d grown accustomed to the beauty of the desert, but the Virgin River Valley in northwestern Arizona offered such an entirely new level of awesomeness that I couldn’t get off the highway fast enough. Then, while stepping backwards to set up a shot, I was brought to my knees by the excruciating pain that could only be the result of being bit in the back end by a rattlesnake, scorpion or other large-fanged and angry predator. I instinctively ran like a school girl, only to turn around to see a cactus protecting it’s territory. I spent the next 30 minutes pulling Buckhorn Cholla thorns from my rear end, and after struggling to capture a few images, I gingerly mounted the bike and moved onward. Damn, I wished I had more time to photograph that area.
After fuel and food in Cedar City, Utah, a road sign indicated a National Scenic Byway was just ahead. Perfect! Great images right along the road, and after winding through Parowan, Utah, another sign pointed left toward Second Left Hand Canyon. Intrigued, I turn left. I thought to myself, this is going to be great!
Soon the asphalt road turned to packed gravel. Riding through a shallow stream crossing the road, I soon found myself on a road better suited to a GS with knobby tires. But my need to see what was around the next corner got the best of me, and my GPS indicated an intersection ahead. Dirt bike riders coming down the mountain waved and shook their heads, and I wondered what the boys at the Motorrad would think if they knew where I was riding their bike. Alas, the intersection I had hoped would bring a paved road was actually only the intersection of another dirt trail. Do I continue to travel the unknown? Thinking my luck was all used up at the gas station, I retraced my route back to the highway and got the hell out of Dodge. Though it isn’t the bike’s strongest attribute, I can personally attest to the off-road capabilities of the nineT.
Back on the interstate and with the sun low on the horizon, the neon light in Beaver, Utah, flashed VACANCY. I was too tired to argue.
Sunrise in the mountains is a magical time as the sun breaks the horizon and reveals the topography of the terrain. Again, I wished I had more time there but pushed on, knowing I’d be back in September. I promised myself I’d allow time to explore. With that in mind, passing roads leading to Capital Reef, Canyonlands and Arches National Parks was a little easier.
As the midday sun played hide and seek behind fluffy clouds, I felt the cold of elevation as I moved across the Rockies. Snow still remained on some of the runs around Beaver Creek and Vail, and a saloon sign in Minturn, Colorado, provided a photo op. After another fuel stop, I was back on Interstate 70 when suddenly traffic came to a halt 30 miles from Denver. Taking an hour to travel less than five miles, the heat coming from the engine worried me. After repeatedly stopping and starting the engine, the open shoulder of the road beckoned me. Should I?
A mile of idling down the shoulder in first gear a Colorado State Patrol Hazardous Waste officer blocked my path. After screaming at me for what seemed like five minutes, he pointed at the ignition switch, and I turned the bike off. He began yelling again. What he didn’t know was that I was wearing earplugs and couldn’t hear a single word he was saying; I could only see the animation in his face. When I opened my helmet and explained I couldn’t hear him, his anger escalated. I removed my helmet and ear plugs as he screamed “Don’t let me see you again” and got back into his truck. I got back in line. Two hours later, traffic loosened to reveal construction a few miles outside Denver as the reason for the backup. A long day two in the nineT saddle came to an end as I neared the Kansas border, and, now behind schedule, I knew an even longer day three awaited.
Again on the road at 4:30 a.m., I realized I’d left the mountains behind and was greeted by Kansas prairie. The sunrise provided a final photo opportunity as I had to make it to St. Louis to hand the bike off to Ken Engleman who’d ride it to St. Paul, then back to BMW NA in New Jersey after the rally.
The smell of freshly cut grass filled my helmet only to be replaced by the pungent odor of road kill then with something worse, and the road stretched out in front of me for miles, uninterrupted by hills or curves. I passed Topeka, then Kansas City and entered Missouri.
Finally, five hours later I was in St. Louis at the MOA office. I felt like I’d never be able to walk again after sitting on that 2x4 of a seat, but I made it. All that remained was a trip home and a ride to the rally the next day aboard my GS. What a great ride!
Posted By Bill Wiegand,
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Updated: Wednesday, January 28, 2015
James Vann, of Boxerworks Customs, sits comfortably in an office chair and leans in over a shop lift sourcing from a parts catalog. His worn, blue tee shirt proudly proclaims Boxerworks’ second annual tenth annual rally. Don’t ask. My back is against a KLR 650 awaiting attention from Murray Frizzelle.
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In this shop, Vann focuses on only one thing – customs. On an adjacent lift are the beginnings of Boxerworks Creations’ second custom – the Beach Bobber, www.beemerglide.com. The third lift in the work area is dedicated to an Airhead café racer, very near completion. Frames, short blocks, suspension pieces and forks, fenders and tanks complete the room.
“This program will showcase all that Boxerworks has been doing for the last 20 years,” Vann suggests. “In these customs, we are setting a new bar for the build of custom BMWs. No one else is doing what we’re doing with these bikes because of our frame.”
What they’re currently showcasing is the first of their custom line of Beemerglide by Boxerworks motorcycles – The War Glide. With the bike sitting just off to our right, and almost lost in sight against a full shop of motorcycles awaiting work, the War Glide is 99 percent complete and running, needing only minor tweaks to be complete. “Oh god yes we’re proud,” exclaims Vann. “For a first effort, yes, we’re all very proud.
“I would not have started with something so ‘hard-edged’ and Harley influenced,” he continues. “But I am over the moon with the final result!”
Boxerworks, owned by Watkinsville, Ga., resident Nathan Mende, is a 20-year-old BMW repair shop located in northeast Ga., and most accurately reflects a life time devotion by Mende to BMW motorcycles. The shop is first and foremost dedicated to the repair and restoration of Airhead BMWs. During the early years of the business’ history, Mende was a one-man operation, handling all the wrenching, ordering, receiving and cataloging of parts, billing and bill paying, telephone answering and, most importantly – the public relations and marketing of the small business. But with the addition nine years ago of mechanic Dean Graham, the recent addition of Frizzelle, and now Vann, Boxerworks has grown into a full-fledged motorcycle repair shop. I witness a pale blue Vespa brought into the shop. Everything gets attention.
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Because Mende is still the one needing to answer the phone – according to Graham every phone conversation starts with “where’s Nathan?” – and he is very much involved with motorcycle repair issues, getting and keeping his attention requires a degree of patience. Really, the patience of an oyster! But it’s this level of involvement in the day-to-day business that has kept Boxerworks at the forefront of BMW motorcycle repair in the Southeast for most of the last two decades. Part of the shop’s reputation has been developed around Mende’s and Graham’s attention to detail in the restoration of vintage BMWs, both mechanical and cosmetically. It was this reputation that initially led Vann to Boxerworks and partnership with the shop. “I was building a café racer for a customer, an R90 that Boxerworks had completed all the mechanicals on. I just came to the source,” suggested Vann. “They were making them fast. I was making them look pretty.”
So, is it a conflict for a business so dedicated to the careful mechanical and cosmetic restoration of original motorcycles to now offer custom bikes with an approach from opposite direction? Vann absolutely thinks not!
Thus far, all these customs are sourced mostly from “rescued bikes,” he suggests. “For the most part, these bikes could have gone the traditional route of being parted out, but we saved them. In doing so, perhaps we’re opening the BMW brand to whole new customer.”
Although Vann was developing a reputation for café racer customs in his Aiken, S.C., shop Speed and Soul, the War Glide is the first joint collaboration between himself and Boxerworks. The bike didn’t start with Mende and Boxerworks, but instead with Todd Rasmussen in Oklahoma City.
In his version of “so what happened was,” Mende explains he and Rasmussen connected at a southeastern rally over 10 years ago when Rasmussen rode by on his version of the Beemerglide, that attracted Mende’s attention – and by his admission put a “s&*t-eating grin on his face. It was not too far removed from the version Boxerworks Creations was introducing, at that time featuring a solo “tractor-style” seat, “fat-bob” tanks with center console-mounted speedometer, pull back bars, heavily skirted front fender, leather saddlebags, and dual fishtail exhaust. “I was immediately interested,” remembers Mende. “I purchased the bike and brought it here to the shop just over seven years ago.” But as Mende explains, shop business took precedence over the development of the Beemerglide, and the bike sat undisturbed for almost six years. During this apparent lull in activity, we were busy working on jigs to ensure each frame was exactly the same as the last, as well as stiffen and improve the chassis.
“One of the primary aspects of these bikes is how custom this frame is,” claims Vann. The Beemerglide started with an R100 series motor built by Graham, and transmission refurbished by Mende. Forty millimeter carbs feed fuel from steel five gallon “fat-bob” style gas tanks, and the gases are routed from the cylinders through a set of wrapped header pipes out through a pair of exhausts. giving the Airhead an exhaust note that, rather than obnoxious, provides a rumble that Vann suggests “completely grabs the attention of anyone around.”
“There’s nothing ‘backyard’ about these builds,” explains Vann. “The bike’s wiring begins with a completely stock /5 wiring harness, and any wiring added remains true to the factory color coding. This bike could be taken to any BMW dealership and worked on following a stock wiring diagram. “Graham has over 40 hours in the wiring of this bike,” claims Vann. “You want to see some real art, pull the tanks and look closely at the electrical work. Although it remains true to factory, it is art none the less!”
“Anyone happy working on their vintage BMW could work on these bikes,” he continues. “The vintage Harley tanks remove with three bolts and you’re right back to basic BMW.”
The flat military green paint, white pinstripes and white star on each tank, without doubt, render the bike a military replica. The blacked-out motor and wheels only add to the purpose-built properties of the custom. “The ‘50s and ‘60s-era Harley Davidsons were huge influences on the beginnings of the Beemerglides, but in this particular build, we looked to the 1963 movie The Great Escape for military inspiration,” claims Vann. In that vein, the bike does not disappoint. It was during WWII the U.S. Army requested Harley build a military-purpose bike based on the features of the R75 BMW the Germans were using: primarily a shaft drive, boxer-motor driven motorcycle. Harley manufactured the XA model military motorcycle, but only produced 1000 before the government canceled the order for that particular vehicle. It would take close inspection that determine this is not the 1001st XA produced!
From the early ‘80s to the late ‘90s, my go-to travel motorcycle was a 1972 FLH shovelhead, the very example of the Harley influence guiding the development of the Beemerglide. Settling into the leather solo saddle, the handlebars sweep wide and back, allowing for a perfectly relaxed, sit-up riding position. But don’t take “settling into” to mean you’re sitting down in the motorcycle. As is very much the fashion with the antique Harleys, you sit “on” the motorcycle. My natural inclination was to place my feet forward on floorboards. It’s here you’re quickly reminded you’re riding a BMW; the design of the engine, with carburetors and cylinders sitting horizontally, puts you in a classic BMW upright riding position. Thumbing the electric start momentarily shakes the cruiser to the right, but built and tuned by Boxerworks, the engine quickly settles into the familiar BMW idle. Clutch pull is typical, meaning it would be easy to ride this bike through many miles of stop and go traffic. Down for first, up for second and beyond and you’re easily on your way. My experience: as I left the shop for the first time on the bike, I was whistling the theme song to the ‘70s hit TV show MASH. I was BJ Honeycutt leaving the unit for the last time!
While I had the bike out for only a short time, and stayed in the country during the ride, both Mende and Vann report their test rides throughout downtown Watkinsville routinely generate stares and questions regarding the vintage of the motorcycle and its military history. “We can’t stop on this bike without someone questioning its age or military use,” claims Mende.
As much as the War Glide speaks to the military history of this country, the Beachbobber custom will speak directly to the California car culture of the ‘60s. Both bikes feature frames built exclusively by Boxerworks. Other than Airhead BMW motors, the similarities end there. Featuring 4.50/18 inch whitewall tires – the biggest whitewall that can be shoed on stock rims – the Beachbobber custom is an aggressive, cut down custom. “We’ve got to modify the swing arm to make the rear tire fit,” explains Vann.
While both bikes can be spec'd with any variation of an Airhead motor, this particular “bobber” will be fitted with a completely rebuilt R100 motor with Mukuni flat side carbs, K&N airsocks and a single side exhaust. Wide, ‘70s-era flat track bars and Progressive suspension will be included in the build. The Beachbobber, as it lives on the shop lift now, is outfitted with drum brakes front and rear, further adding to the vintage appearance of the bike. However, according to Vann, if specified, disc brakes can be optioned.“We’re purposefully doing the opposite with the Beachbobber,” says Vann. “With this bike, I can easily see the owner dropping into the burnout pit at The Ironhorse and shredding the rear tire!” He exaggerates this statement by loosely holding a set of mock handlebars, dumping the clutch and pegging the throttle wide open! “This bike is going to be so hot. Just blow that tire!”
Focusing on the remaining bike in the shop, Vann gestures and suggests the café racer will be the another direction for Boxerworks. “Cafés are comfortable to be around, and I’ve been around them a long time,” he says. “Cafés and scramblers will spread out our line of customs.” With just the tiniest bit of massaging, BMWs make beautiful cafés. In all these builds, it’s easy to see we’re not always about shiny. We’re only about what makes them work. Form is definitely going to follow function.”
As excited as Vann is about the prospect of the custom line and the immediate future for Boxerworks Customs, Mende clearly sees the addition of customs as an extension of what he has strived to create in Boxerworks.
“Mechanical and cosmetic restos are not an end-all goal or focus for the shop,” he suggests. “Restorations are just a facet. Beemerglide will be another direction for us.”
In the years I’ve had the opportunity to know Mende and be around the shop, I’ve witnessed, and participated in, its relocation from his two-car garage, to his farm, to the current location. Each and every move brought with it improvement and expansion in services offered. “Our goal is to become a “one-stop” shop for everything Airhead. I want to simplify the parts purchasing process for these motorcycles; we are already deeply involved in fabricating parts that are unavailable or need improving.”
Moving back into the shop from his office area – which is still very much a part of the shop – Mende suggests what he sees for the shop’s future. “Like everyone else, we like to do different things,” he says. “At the spot we’re at now, I’d like to see Boxerworks build some interesting motorcycles to just show folks what’s possible”
However, Mende expands his vision for the shop by adding, “we would love to build a dozen or so Beemerglide-related bikes a year. From there, we could build the bike you can imagine.” Additionally, Mende and crew suggest the future for Boxerworks will allow them to sell kits based around the Boxerworks frame, letting the customer build as little or as much of the bike as they prefer.
Gesturing toward the War Glide, he concludes, “It would be great to have Boxerworks associated with a certain type of custom. In the Beemerglide, we have that custom.”
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