Moto Broad

Blue-sky day with cottony white clouds, so of course I rode the bike to run my errands. Stopped at Wendy’s to try the new Asian chicken thingies (let me save you a trip. Bleah.) Walking back to the bike, I was nearly knocked over in the parking lot by a woman who was driving, texting, and smoking a cigarette, with two screaming kids in the back seat. I squawked at her, but she was oblivious. After a quick glance, she pulled out into the street, driving up over the curb — ka-LUNK.

People sometimes ask if I’m scared, riding a motorcycle. It’s not the motorcycle that scares me. It’s the idiots behind the wheel.

A friend and I rode our bikes through the oven of Atlanta today (mid–to-high 90s) because, well, we thought that if we moved fast enough we wouldn’t be miserable (we were wrong). As a couple of old farts, we thought it might make us feel young again to go listen to some indie bands (we were wrong about that, too).

We went to funky East Atlanta to participate in the Corndogorama Music Festival. Cute area; despite living in the adjacent Inman Park area for several years in the 70s-80s, I’d never been to East Atlanta. I’d go back just for the Blue Frog Cantina alone.

The theme for this year’s Corndogorama was “Yes, We Corn.” We declined the opportunity to have our photos taken with the official Corndogorama placards, despite strong temptation (below).

(Photos aren’t the greatest, but not bad for a cellphone, eh? Courtesy of my BlackBerry 8330 Curve. Love it.)

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So much for spring. It’s in the mid- to high-nineties now in Jawja. While my bright yellow Olympia jacket has open mesh sections, it’s still stifling unless I’m moving. And while my HJC helmet seems overly well-ventilated in winter, it doesn’t feel that way in the summer. But I refuse to ride without gear.

As long as I’m going 60+mph, it’s bearable, but the heat is miserable when I’m stuck in traffic. So I’m trying out a “Cool Off” neckerchief my cousin Julie sent me. She and her husband have a Harley, and she claims the Cool Off really helps. They live in Florida, so I figure it’s worth a try. The Cool Offs are made by Allegro, and they’re available from a variety of suppliers, including Safety Company (how’s that for a unique name? What — was “Brand X” taken?).

At first, the Cool Off looks like a thin, flat tie (left, below). Hold it up to the light, and you’ll see a few translucent grains (about the size of small aquarium rocks) in three of the sections. Soak it in water for 10 minutes or so, and — foomp! — it puffs up like a wet marshmallow (right, below). Fasten it around your neck using the pull-through buttonholes, and it’s secure. Evaporation cools your neck; I found I needed to turn it over periodically at stops to get a fresh cool surface, but it was a nice relief.

Not as refreshing as a cold blast up your pantleg (still looking for freon-powered riding boots with ducting), but it does help. And it stays puffed up for days! (Of course, that may be because moisture has no place to go in our humidity.)

I teach software classes for the continuing education arm of a local university, and occasionally have to teach a class on Saturday. The dress code is business casual, which I’m fairly sure doesn’t include grungy t-shirts and motorcycle boots. It’s a 60 mile round trip, gas prices are going up, and yesterday the lure of dry, sunny weather was too much. So I shoved dress shoes and a wrinkle-resistant shirt (yay TravelSmith) in one saddlebag, and my lunch in the other. I figured my black jeans would pass muster.

Traffic was light, and the cool morning air was invigorating. The ride put me in a good mood for class. I wondered if I had scandalized the lady working the front desk, but it turned out that she is interested in learning to ride. I changed my clothes and subdued my helmet hair, and the students no doubt thought I was a perfectly nice lady-type person. No hint of the hooligan.

Usually the ride home from school is tiring, with stop-&-go traffic on the 4-lane highway, and it seems longer going home than going in for some reason. But yesterday it was enjoyable, and over too quickly. Funny, that.

One of the joys of motorcycling is the closeness to your surroundings: you have a full sky overhead, the landscape is a complete panorama, uninterrupted by metal pillars — and you can smell so much. It’s not always good, of course (do I detect the piquant bouquet of freshly flattened polecat?) You catch quick samples of a driver’s cigarette, a passing diesel’s too-rich mix, a woman’s overpowering perfume, stale burger-joint stench.

But when it’s good, it’s wonderful, at least here in the South.

There’s freshly-turned earth and new-mown lawn this morning. There’s delicate wisteria in late March/early April: it’s not strong, and if you really want to wallow in it, you have to park the bike and stick your face in one of the lavendar bunches. Soon there will be magnolia (also a park-and-smell experience). But right now, in early May, might be the best. On my morning ride, I drank in the rich drafts of honeysuckle, blooming in huge stands beside the country roads. Wave after wave; I never get tired of it. No dismounting necessary — it hangs in the air, heavy and sweet, almost visible.

A large insect on the outside of your visor will be gone the instant you take off from the stop light. Not to worry; just ignore it.

A large insect that splats on your visor while you’re moving irks you, but you can factor it out and look around it (tip: don’t try to wipe it off. A splat is less distracting than a long yellow smear.)

However, a small insect inside your visor will speed around endlessly, like that stupid kid Billy in “Family Circus.” Don’t bother to lift the visor in the hopes of blowing it out; it doesn’t work. It will make you cross-eyed and drive you crazy until you pull over, flip up your visor, and mash it.

I’d never make it as a Buddhist.

At last! Blue skies, 70s and 80s, with big white fluffy clouds. Good news: great for riding! Bad news: hard to stay inside and write when the country roads beckon.

So I try to justify rides, like going to the bank and post office, but taking the lo-o-ng way home. This morning I rode to get my nails done (yes, really), and get a haircut. It seems sort of a shame to get all fluffed up, and then pull on the helmet. But it’s worth it for the grin as I sail home (the long way, natch). It almost makes up for the 3 pounds of pollen I think I inhaled; I’ll bet my lungs look as if they’re lined in yellow velvet.

Now that I’ve had my fun, it’s back to the keyboard for me.

1. Take all the armor out of riding jacket and give the jacket a spin in the washer.
2. Put the  jacket in the dryer on the recommended cool setting.
3. Be driven mad by the loud clunking noise coming from the dryer.
4. Hang the jacket in the shower and hope it will dry out over the next four humid, rainy days.
5. Knuckle down and work on those book chapters that are due Friday.
6. Clean house.
7. Check www.weather.com every 30 minutes to see when the sun will shine again.

After snow last Sunday, the temperatures in the 70s were too much to resist today. I ran all my Saturday errands on the bike, tucking things here and there in the saddlebags and tank bag. My left hand was off the handlebar quite a bit, waving at fellow riders coming the other way, from bundled-up tourers this morning to guys in tank-tops and shorts this afternoon.

There are a few variations on The Wave;

• One finger pointing down (usually cruisers)
• Slightly downward two-finger peace sign (usually sportbike pilots)
• Short sideways wave (usually tourers covered with bags)
• Full standard wave (usually scooters)

I’m not hip enough to know if there’s any significance to the angle or duration of The Wave. And then there’s The Nod, used when both hands are occupied shifting, turning, or taking off. There are those who don’t wave or nod, of course, but they are few.

Whatever the particulars, it’s a nice brotherly gesture toward a stranger who shares a fondness for two wheels, and it makes for a bright little moment on the road.

Scientist Ryuta Kawashima (developer of the “Brain Training” software titles) and Yamaha Motor Company have teamed up to test the effects of motorcycling on the brains of middle-aged men. The results? Daily motorcycling sharpened their memories and reduced their errors at work.

See the full story here.

Guys, if you’re looking for more ammunition to convince your wife to let you have a bike, this can’t hurt. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to go out and spend a few miles improving my brain.