From the Library

[Biggles]

In 1963, the huge U.S. firm Grey Advertising came up with what is now the most famous slogan in the history of the U.S. motorcycle industry: "You meet the nicest people on a Honda".  Not Hells Angels.  Not someone wearing grease-soaked jeans and poking at his motorcycle's points along the side of the road, hoping to get it running again.  Instead, magazine ads depicted housewives and families and a young couple dressed as if they were on their way to the country club on their fun little Honda 50.  Although most people in the United States were probably as far from the country club lifestyle as they were from the outlaw biker stereotype, it was easier to buy into the Honda image than the Hells Angels image. For one thing, it required less money and fewer tools. 
Along with thousands of inexpensive and reliable Japanese motorcycles that followed in the 1960s and 1970s, the Honda 50, with its quiet four-stroke engine, step-through scooter-like styling, centrifugal clutch (you could ride it even if you didn't know how to operate a clutch) and unimposing presence offered an entirely new way to get into motorcycling.  The biggest generation of U.S. motorcyclists was born.
The Ride So Far  Lance Oliver p 165

[Biggles]

Lots of women might have argued that my money would have been better spent on a first car than a second motorcycle, something a bit more appropriate for classier dates.  Or maybe better spent on those classier dates at better restaurants than the ones we frequented.  Or maybe better spent upgrading my minimalist wardrobe.   
I'm sure, in fact, that those thoughts crossed her mind, but when I surprised her by picking her up on the Sportster for a short ride to a favoured but definitely un-fancy neighbourhood pizzeria, she shared my excitement about the new bike rather than questioning my good sense.  That's when my motorcycle helped me learn another lesson about her: that she accepted me for who I was and shared my joy, rather than trying to change me and my joys to match hers.
Now anyone who has spent any time on a Sportster knows that it's not the ideal two-up motorcycle.  So I repaid her trust and acceptance by fitting the Sportster with a more comfortable seat and a low backrest to make her feel more secure.  Later, she would admit that she knew I was serious about the relationship when I modified my motorcycle to make her happier.
The Ride So Far  Lance Oliver p 173-4

[Biggles]

Of course, lust and style are no deeper than a shiny paint job.  To get beyond that initial attraction, you have to get to know someone.  Or something.  In this case, a two-wheeled something.  You learn to appreciate its positive attributes and live with its drawbacks.  Over the years, after you've come to know the motorcycle thoroughly and have relied on it thousands of times, it may come to feel like an old friend, one you're willing to forgive when it does let you down because so many times before it didn't.
The ideal lifelong relationship, with a human partner or a motorcycle, involves a little of all of that.  It starts with a spark of lust that soon deepens into love and then ages finely over the years into the best and most lasting friendship you've ever had.  At which point there's no longer any question of calling it off.   
You're in it for the long haul, for better or worse.  Congratulations, you've bonded.  You may now kiss your ride.
The Ride So Far  Lance Oliver p 200

[Biggles]

To someone reading this book ten years from now, this chapter may be the only part that isn't viewed as a quaint relic of a simpler past, a time when we rode motorcycles for fun with a naive confidence in an unending supply of cheap fuel to drive us.  Whether they're powered by gasoline, electricity, or something else, I'm optimistic enough to believe we can continue to have fun on motorcycles that are faster and more exhilarating than cars and still contribute to the solution, not the problem.  We can help influence public perceptions, so that motorcycles are seen as a sensible way to stretch out what oil is left, rather than noisy relics of a more primitive era that should be killed off as quickly as possible.
The future ride won't resemble the ride so far, but that doesn't mean it can't be a good one.
The Ride So Far  Lance Oliver p 218-9

[Biggles]

When the rhythm sets in, I don't feel like I'm sitting on top of a motorcycle. Instead, I feel that the machine is an extension of my body, endowing me with superhuman powers. The machine is an extension of my limbs, vesting my feet and hands with unimagined abilities.  Yehudi Menuhin once said that playing the violin is like singing through your limbs.  I often think about that as I'm riding, and feel that I'm playing Beethoven's Fifth Symphony through the motorcycle.
With the help of earplugs and a good helmet, I fly quietly along just a few feet above the solid surface of the highway.  With a flick of my wrist I accelerate quickly around other vehicles.  I shift my weight imperceptibly and glide gracefully from one lane to another.  I negotiate curves nimbly and confidently, as if the motorcycle were attached to a rail.  I'm as agile as a hummingbird, negotiating my way around 18-wheelers, automobiles, and campers, noting the location and relative speed of every vehicle within my field of vision.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 15

[Biggles]

Earlier in the year, Manny Sameiro had published an account on the Internet of the mistakes that resulted in his last place finish in the 1997 Iron Butt Rally.   
Manny had whimsically titled his account "Against the Pavement", a title apparently inspired by my book "Against the Wind".
After travelling from Chicago to Madawaska, Maine, during the first leg of the rally, Manny had mistakenly filled his motorcycle with diesel fuel.  He discovered the mistake, but replacing the fuel with gasoline, and cleaning the carburettors and fuel lines caused him to fall behind schedule.  In an effort to regain the hours lost, Manny pushed his motorcycle beyond its capabilities, lost control, and wrecked his bike.  He then purchased the only used motorcycle he could find in the small town of Houlton, Maine, a 1983 Honda VT500 Shadow.  Because of the delays he experienced, along with the 10,000 point penalty that was invoked for his having switched motorcycles, Manny finished the rally in last place.  I thought Manny deserved a lot of credit for overcoming such difficult obstacles to finish.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 61

[Biggles]

Like Scott Ward, Jeffery Foster also wanted to perform an Iron Butt certification ride within my 7/49 ride.  Jeff had attempted a Bun Burner Gold ride the previous October, but fell short of his goal, taking 27 hours to complete the 1,500-mile ride.  Jeff admitted he hadn't been properly prepared for the cold weather he'd encountered, and he'd tarried too long warming up at rest stops.  Jeff had established two riding goals for 1998.  The first was to complete a Bun Burner Gold ride, and the second was to complete the IBA National Parks Tour, which required visiting 50 or more National Parks in at least 25 different states in one year.  A "passport" would have to be stamped at the visitor centre in each park.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 137

[Biggles]

Before I announced plans for the 7/49, Pablo Garcia sent me an email complimenting me on "Against the Wind".  He was interested in pursuing endurance riding because of the amount of riding that he could accomplish in a limited time. This will allow me to put a lot of effort into something I really love into a limited schedule.  In other words, I once suggested to my wife that I wanted to take about a year off and break the world record for the number of countries visited by motorcycle.  She promised that she would be nowhere in sight when I got back.  So as you can see, endurance riding can work for me.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 142

[Biggles]

Norm had written:
I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel like I was on that bike with him.  It may be personal to him, but I have made it personal to me.  I have followed his progress on his web pages in my waking hours at work and at home.  I rode to Texarkana to meet him at midnight on Tuesday, getting back home at 3:30 a.m. and at work for an 8:00 a.m. meeting, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Those of us fortunate to have shared a few brief moments with him as he is hopefully making history, will no doubt feel like we played a small, small part in helping and encouraging him.
In his response, Ira wrote:
It never ceases to amaze me, this Internet.  The line between cyber-reality and physical reality really gets cloudy sometimes.  It's having very-long-range scanners, knowing almost minute-by-minute where Ron is and how he's doing.  At the checkpoint, Ron mentioned the repair Paul Glaves made to the turn signal.  Yup, heard about it.  The big lightning storm that had him sidelined for a while?  That, too.  Indeed, it is riding along in the most vicarious way, and once in a while weaving between the cyber and the physical.  And to dream the ride Ron is taking.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 155-6

[Biggles]

I knew the script.  But late this rainy night in Nevada, I was disregarding my own dictum about stopping when too tired to ride safely.  I was pushing the edge of the envelope and it was bulging at the seams, threatening to tear.  I didn't like doing this, but I didn't know what else to do.
Route 93 between Ely and Wendover has always been one of my favourite roads.  Every time I've ridden it, I've felt there is something mystical about it.  Riding the road has always made me think how fortunate I am to have discovered motorcycling and especially to have discovered endurance riding.  I once told Barbara that if the sport killed me, I'd like to be cremated and have my ashes cast to the wind by a motorcyclist riding 100 mph on that route, from a spot overlooking the Great Salt Lake Desert in neighbouring Utah.  How ironic that I was pushing my limits on the one highway, of all the highways in the world, where I had talked of having my ashes spread.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 161

[Biggles]

Despite my fears, I fell asleep immediately and was awakened 90 minutes later by the Screaming Meanie.  I felt very stiff as I attempted to rise from the bench, chalked it up to age, and limped toward my motorcycle.  As tired as I was, when I approached the motorcycle, I was struck by the sheer beauty of the vehicle.  It reminded me of the excitement I often feel when I walk into the garage after not having ridden for a while.  At such times I wonder how I can love the sight of a machine so much.  And then I remember that it's not just the machine, but the notion of adventure and excitement the vehicle invokes.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 194-5

[Biggles]

When we were about 45 miles from Edmonton, a deer suddenly appeared directly in front of the motorcycle.  We didn't see it until it was directly in front of us, as it was running at full speed across the road from heavy brush.  There was no time to brake or to swerve to avoid hitting it.  We were travelling about 60 mph when the impact occurred. 
We expected the motorcycle to go down.  My first thought after the impact was, "Is Barbara still on the bike?"
As the bike wobbled and began to lose stability, a conversation that I had with Steve Losofsky a few months before flashed through my mind.
The original owner of Reno BMW, Steve was an experienced flat-track racer and an expert rider.  While on his way back to Nevada from a trip to Daytona Bike Week, Steve was our house guest.  He told us that while riding to Texas in a construction zone in heavy rain, his motorcycle slipped into a rut caused by two adjacent uneven lanes.  His motorcycle began to shimmy and he worried about losing control.  "Reverting to my old racing days, I gave the bike full throttle," Steve related.   
"I remembered that in a lot of situations, blasting through with maximum acceleration is better than slowing down."
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 215-6

[Biggles]

When I hit the deer, the conversation flashed into my mind immediately.  I remembered Steve standing at our kitchen counter, laughing and motioning with an exaggerated twist of his wrist and upper torso to emphasize how he managed to regain control of his motorcycle.
I cranked the accelerator fully open.  After a moment, the bike stabilized and I slowed down and pulled to the side of the road.  "Thank you, Steve Losofsky," I thought.  "Thank you very much."
I brought the motorcycle to a stop about a tenth of a mile from the point of impact.  "Oh the poor deer," Barbara lamented.  "Do you think we killed it? What if it's just injured and suffering?" 
I couldn't help but ask, "Do you have any idea just how lucky we are?"
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 216

[Biggles]

I've never been convinced one way or the other about the effectiveness of deer whistles.  But the only time I've struck a deer is also the only time I've ridden without them.  I had intended to place a set of whistles of the type Jan Cutler at Reno BMW advocates, but hadn't gotten around to it before the ride. I don't intend to ride without them again.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 217

[Biggles]

There was a shallow trench running parallel to each side of the highway.  Recalling that it's safer to be in a depression in the event of a tornado, I headed for the trench.  The wind at my back, I fought against it to resist being blown into the trench.
The storm raged as I sat in the gully in full riding gear.  I got down as low as I could without entering the rising water.  At least I knew I would be able to survive anything short of a tornado.  I jumped, startled once again at the sound of a close thunderclap and brightness all around.  I could smell ozone in the air.   
A shudder of fear enveloped my body, from head to toe.
"What is there to be afraid of?" I thought.  "The chances of being struck by lightning are probably infinitesimal now that I'm safely away from the motorcycle.  And I'm not going to get any wetter by sitting here."
I tried to find humour in the situation.  Sometimes I amaze myself when forced to acknowledge that in some bizarre way, I enjoy circumstances such as this.  I enjoy every phenomenon nature proffers, including the fury and severity of her storms.  They're an important part of a totality that I don't like to avoid. I'd have missed something important if I'd remained in Augusta while the storm passed.  I'd have missed the excitement. I'd have missed the purity and genuineness of this magnificent event.
Against The Clock  Ron Ayers p 221