Skid Plates and Dirt Bike Trails

It’s funny how often I find my road bike doing an impression (and rugged duty) of a dirt bike.

It’s scary how often I find myself on a sketchy trail over a pass, at best worthy of the name single-track Jeep trail.

It’s even more scary how often I hear that sickening grinding sound as my lower frame tubes (crankcase?) crunches over rocks my route-finding skills could not avoid.

Why I end up in these places is irrelevant; I just do. While I am in those scary places (and situations), often near or at timberline, I know that too hard a grind could leave me stranded far from help, with the sunset coming fast.

It is then I think of skid plates.

Skid plates equal confidence.

They equal safety and longevity.

It is then I vow to order one, the next time I get home. Yet I never do (or haven’t, so far). Instead, I buy more critical parts. Yet what is more critical than the safety and physical security of my crankcase? What is more essential than my confidence, my ability to take my bike over rough mountain roads without fear of being stranded?

What is the difference between those fancy ‘adventure bikes’ and mine? A skid plate, that’s what.

So, as payday approaches and I consider the long list of parts I want and need for my bike, I remember last fall’s ride over Schofield Pass, with one track washed out, and the other half covered with rockfall. The drop below to the lake was…what? A few hundred feet? Five hundred? Whatever the number, it was enough.

The only path open was a tire-wide route between rocks, and eventually over an unavoidable slab, on the up-slope. I remember that scratching sound, the knowledge of what would happen if I high-sided and tipped over, my bike at the edge of the brink, the abyss, and I…

Check part numbers, and vow this time to order one. Tomorrow.

Speed Merchant skid plate for FXR’s. $242.40 in black finish at RevZilla.

Trask Assault Skid Plate ($389.95 at Deadbeat Customs) provides even more protection, for an even more tank-like armor. They only weigh ….am I really worried about a few extra ounces? I could pack a pound or two less of BS on my bike and easily make up the weight. And that extra weight won’t mess up my quarter mile time, since I’m not gonna run my bike at the Sturgis drags this year, and I don’t care about quarter-mile times anyhow. That’s weinie-wagger stuff, and I ain’t even gonna try until I get a S&S 144″ inside ole baby (and that may be a long while, until my ancient and still kickin’ EVO finally dies).

So, $250 for adequate to good protection, or $400 for excellent protection. Life is a balancing act, and I am tempted to get the cheaper one, and use the extra $150 for a DynoJet Thunderslide kit for my carb.

I just hope I don’t find myself atop some other pass, wishing I’d spent the extra buck fifty on better protection.

Only time will tell. Baby has made it over many a 4WD road and ATV trail already, but I want to keep her going over more, and able to go over even tougher trails, if need be. Who knows what type roads might beckon to one off the Cordillera?

So, here’s to skid plates and all they provide. While not as flashy a part as pipes or impressive as cams, they are still essential to anyone wanting to use his FXRS as what it is…the Great American Adventure Bike.

Ride on, with confidence.

I’m all about that.

Yeah.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is My Bike…

When I was a young warrior, I learned a creed about the one thing that could get me home alive…

 This is my rifle.  There are many like it, but this one is mine.  It is my life.  I must master it as I must master my life.  Without me my rifle is useless.  Without my rifle, I am useless.        I must fire my rifle true.  I must shoot straighter than the enemy who is trying to kill me.  I must shoot him before he shoots me.  I will.  My rifle and I know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, or the smoke we make.  We know that it is the hits that count.  We will hit.

      My rifle is human, even as I am human, because it is my life.  Thus, I will learn it as a brother.  I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel.  I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.  We will become part of each other.

      Before God I swear this creed.  My rifle and I are the defenders of my country.  We are the masters of our enemy.  We are the saviors of my life.

      So be it, until victory is America’s and there is no enemy.

Now, as I am an older (and hopefully wiser) Road Warrior, I have a similar creed, to the one thing that can get me home alive now…my bike. Here it is, adapted from the old Rifleman’s Creed above…

This is my bike.

There are many others like it, but this one is mine, all mine.

It is my life, and I must master it as I master my life.

Without me, it is useless, and without it, I am stranded, useless as a biker.

I must ride my bike true. I must ride better than the cars who would kill me.

My bike and I know that in peace, it is not the sound and noise made, but the actions taken. We will act, together.

My bike is alive, because it is my vehicle to life. Thus, I will learn it like a brother, like a friend, like a lover. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts and its accessories.

I will keep my bike clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.

We will become part of each other.

Before all that is Good, I swear this creed.

My bike and I are seekers of the Good. We are Masters of our Fate. We are One. We are the saviors of my life.

So be it, until all are my brothers and there is peace.

Now, that’s a pretty good creed to have, ain’t it?

 

No enemies, no one gets shot. No one has to shoot. Just ride. Ride. Ride!

 

 

Of Kith and Kin

Nomads and vagabonds wax poetic about the Road. Transients and travelers proclaim the glories of the Great Wide Open. We seem to stay suspended aloft, riding on possibilities, pushing further on a wing and a prayer. To the sedentary, we may seem fixated on Out There.

But the wide open spaces only have meaning, only retain perspective when experienced in context with the return to safe and familiar spaces. Along the spectrum, both the Road and the Hearth have their honored places.

Nothing completes a trip like returning to old familiar faces and places. Nothing can begin a trip other than the firm base from which to take off. The wanderer finds respite in the welcoming warm light of a Fixed Point, a destination, even if temporary (as all destinations ultimately are).

My spirit soars when I spend a day in the mountains, gliding down snow-covered slopes, or riding up pine-trimmed canyons. Aloft in the glorious present, my spirit also alights on return to a warm fire, good conversation, the soft glow of a welcoming place and a smiling, friendly face. No journey is complete without a place to return to. Homer’s Iliad would never end without a return to distant, familiar shores.

For while we revel in the possibilities the Road may bring, we must also acknowledge those that come with return and rest, those that can only arise in such a safe and nurturing environment.

Often, we delude ourselves into thinking that we must choose one or the other: the freedom of the Road or the security of the Hearth. Yet life is not binary. The seed of the Yin is contained within the Yang, and vice versa. The Tao cannot be found in one place only; it is everywhere. The Infinite Radiant IS does not reside only on the slopes of Shambala, but also in the comfort of the Last Friendly House, and in all points between.

Life culminates in death, in a return of the Self to nothingness, to the Self. Journeys culminate in a return. While we may never cross the same river twice, and while (as some say) we may never be able to truly go Back Home, we all eventually will.

Like bikers returning from a long ride, some day our spirits will return to the Endless, and rest there, perhaps unaware of self, but shining nevertheless with Self.

Even the lifelong wanderer in the end comes home, as Longfellow (?) reminds us. ‘So glad did I live and gladly I die, and I lay me down with a will. Home is sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill.

In the end, we all come home. Even the most shiftless vagabond eventually returns. For without the return to home and hearth, to kith and kin, the most epic journey is incomplete.

Note: All paintings (c) by Thomas Kincaide, ‘Painter of Light’

 

The Great Unknown

The future rises before us, revealing itself with each breath, with each mile traveled. Whether we rise up to greet it, give it room for possibilities or not, still it approaches. We choose the future, create it with every step taken, every turn taken. At each crossroads, we find a cusp, a world of possibilities.

Unfold, future. Rise up, reveal yourself.

Do we cringe from the future, fearing what it brings, or do we ride eagerly, expectantly towards it, into it?

Our bodies are the vehicles of consciousness. Our bikes are the vehicles of possibility. Each choice along the Road opens and closes new possibilities to us. Each moment is precious, not only because each is unique and never to be repeated again, but also because within each lies the seed of countless potential futures.

With our definitive actions and choices, this waveform of possibilities collapses into a single path. Like Schrodinger’s cat, the answer or outcome is unknown until the box is opened, the choice made. Before the box is opened, two equally potential futures exist – the cat is there (or not there) and alive (or dead). After action, all the potentialities collapse into one single reality.

Perhaps those other possibilities exist in other alternate universes, but our choice landed us firmly in this current universe. We choose left, and end up dead or deadbeat. We choose right and end up rich and successful. Who is to know? The only way we can possibly know is to choose, and to act on that choice.

Thus, each turn in the road is miraculous, for we create the universes we inhabit with these choices. We banish all the other potential universes into alternate realities Each intersection matters, for at each we choose between a number of possible outcomes, the obvious geographical choice being the least important of the permutations.

As we range further and further from our normal stomping grounds, we open the range of possibilities available for us to choose between. The closer we stay to home and hearth, the more limited is the range (and quality) of choices that present themselves, that are possible.

It’s all about possibility. With each twist of the throttle, we expand our possibilities. With each turn of the handlebars, we craft the universes we ride so joyously into.

So bring it on. Each rider who shows up has chosen the manner in which they will arrive, has chosen from their possible pasts to bring them to that particular moment. As more riders meet, they rise on a wave of possibilities and pasts chosen, surf the waveform of possibilities until it collapses into the unique and individual/collective NOW.

As we ride together, we create together a shared future, ride ensemble into a new, common future…at least for the moment.

It’s a dance, a play, and ongoing sort of creative art form. The art of creating the NOW through choices, through turns taken and throttles twisted.

That’s what is so great about riding into the Great Unknown. Even though we think we know the way, we do not know what will happen along the way, or where our path may diverge from the route we expected. That’s what makes it so precious,l so sacred, so exciting.

That’s why we ride, maybe. We just think we’re putting down to the store, but for all we know our path could end up in the Monument Valley, or along the Cordillera. We just think we’re turning left, but in reality we may be heading for Malibu and the Big Wave. What looks like Easy Street may hide a hellish future, while the most daunting looking route may end up in Shangri-La.

We ride, sculpting the future as we do. We surf the wave of possibilities, choosing a route, like a snowboarder riding the wave of an avalanche, a surfer riding the Big Kahuna. We ride, smiles plastered over our faces, hair blowing free in the wind. We are Masters of Reality. We are reality itself.

So don’t ever let yourself think you’re just riding your bike. Even though it may seem like you just went the same ole place, it is part of your sacred journey, your pilgrimage into a new future, one made with your own choices, crafted with the results of your own actions.

It is our chance to be creators. Like little tin gods, we craft whatever we want with the 86,400 seconds that are allotted to us each day. We choose, we create, we ride.

Under those circumstances, no moment is negligible, no choice minor. Each day we reach a series of cusps. The most quotidian choice may in fact be the most earth-changing, life-changing.

We cannot leave our choices only in our heads, in our intentions. To become a choice, the thought and intention must culminate in raw action, nerves firing and muscles twitching, contracting. We exert force, create change.

Thus, in our hands lie our destinies. Our futures (or possible futures) may begin in our hearts and minds, but they achieve existence through the actions of our hands, our legs, our bodies.

There we are again with our bodies…not only the vehicles of consciousness, we now see they are also the vehicles of creation, of the futures we create, of the world and universe we cumulatively create through our combined choices.

As I choose the world I ride into, others choose how that world will be when I arrive. Choices standing upon choices, in an interwoven bloom of interdependence. It’s like the hippies say, and the bikers do.

The future. Bring it on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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