This will probably end in tears

Last week, Jason Fogelson published an article on RideApart about the infamous Iron Butt Association, the worldwide motorcycle "club" where membership is earned by riding a stupidly long distance in a short period of time.

Jason finished his article by stating: "I'd love to be counted among the world's toughest riders. Wouldn't you?"

Yes, I would. And coincidentally, just before I read that article I had signed up to take part in an event that will see me tackling my first-ever Iron Butt ride. If I pull it off, I'll get to claim membership in the Iron Butt Association and, presumably, get a spiffy patch that I can have sewn into an Aerostich Roadcrafter or some such thing.

If I don't pull it off, though, that'll be OK because this will be an Iron Butt attempt with a difference. Unlike most attempts this won't be a lonely affair. I'll be on the road with more than 200 other riders, all helping to raise money for British military personnel as part of the Royal British Legion Riders' 1000 ride.

The Royal British Legion is an organization that helps provide support to current and former military personnel, as well as their families. It's an incredibly active organization and one of its most famous fundraising initiatives is the Poppy Appeal. Folks from the UK will know what that is, but if you're unfamiliar with British culture it's an integral part of life here.

Almost all performers on Strictly Come Dancing incorporate a poppy into their costume in November.

The initiative reaches its peak in the month leading up to Remembrance Sunday (the Sunday closest to Armistice Day). In those weeks, paper representations of poppies are sold in every shop, train station, and main street in the country. And just about everyone pins one to his or her lapel. Turn on the television during that time of year and poppies are omnipresent, worn by everyone from politicians and newscasters to reality show contestants.

Although most visible in the autumn, the Poppy Appeal raises money year round. And it's in support of that initiative that the RBLR 1000 ride has taken place each June since 2009. When I first heard about the event I knew I wanted to take part, if not simply because it's partly organized by the Royal British Legion Riders Branch, a group of motorcyclists — the vast majority of them veterans — helping to support the work of the Legion. And those dudes are awesome.

One of my favorite motorcycling experiences happened when I was amid a throng of Branch riders. Like a lot of people in riding organizations, many Branch riders wear leather cuts bedecked with patches that, if you didn't know better, might make them look somewhat nefarious. I was riding amid a pack of about 10 of these guys when we pulled up at a stoplight and one of them decided to crank up the stereo on the Indian Chieftain he was piloting.

On the stereo: Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off."

It took approximately half a second before the entire group was dancing along to Taytay's sick beat. Within another half second we had managed to coordinate our moves, a few of the particularly celebratory riders dismounting their bikes and beckoning to people to get out of their cars and join us.

So, yeah, this June I'll be riding with those guys.

As well as members of the UK's Iron Butt Association, who are equally nuts.

Earning an Iron Butt badge in the UK isn't easy—if not simply because the country is less than 1,000 miles from top to bottom. And there are close to 70 million people crammed into it at any given time. Which means you can't just point yourself down a lonely highway and click on cruise control. There are no lonely highways; you have to navigate congested roads through heavily populated cities.

And more often than not you have to do it in the face of British weather. It never gets hot in Blighty and the odds of your riding 1,000 miles without hitting rain are extremely low. Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to it. Which is to say that ever since I sent in my entry fee I've been jittery with fear.

I worry I've made a terrible mistake and this whole thing will only end in tears. Or, perhaps snores. I mean, 1,000 miles in 24 hours; I'm the sort of fella who likes his sleep. Still, I feel I'm capable of accomplishing the feat. In part because of a marathon ride I managed last year on a Victory Vision, speeding 685 miles from Milan, Italy, to Rotterdam, Netherlands, in just shy of 15 hours.

The weather on that ride was horrendous — nonstop rain for about 6 hours — but apart from wet boots and gloves I came out of it OK. Admittedly, the Vision is a more comfortable bike than my own Suzuki V-Strom 1000, equipped with heated seats, cruise control and a radio to help fight boredom. 

So, perhaps one of the main things I'll be doing between now and June 11th is working to increase my Strom's levels of comfort. The seat is famously large, but maybe I should do that sheepskin thing. Anyone know if that actually works? Any other tips you want to throw at me, feel free.

I think my main fear in all this is that I'll hit the physical wall in the middle of nowhere. That I'll be riding along in Scotland at 2 a.m. and suddenly realize, "Nope. No more of this. Gotta sleep," and end up trying to grab some shuteye in a rest area that turns out to be a popular spot for dogging.

(If you don't know what dogging is, look it up. Do not look it up if you are at work. Hint: it has nothing to do with dogs.)

As I say, though, it's OK if I don't finish because either way I'll be raising money for a good cause. I've had the pleasure of meeting a number of veterans and current military men and women in my 10 years of living in the UK, and I'm always struck by how friendly and good humored they are. Perhaps, too, I feel a fondness for them because the UK has been such a staunch ally of the United States for more than a century.

And this is the part where I transition into an awkward pitch for donations. As part of my participation in the RBLR 1000, I'm being asked to raise at least £50 (US $70) for the Poppy Appeal. My plan is to simply contribute that amount myself, but I have set up a GoFundMe page to collect additional funds.

Yeah, I know. GoFundMe. It's the site used by Gixxer brahs when they crash wearing no gear and need money to pay medical bills. But, of the crowdfunding sites I'm aware of, it's also the one with the lowest fees. And I want the most money possible going to the Poppy Appeal. Additionally, the site allows donations in different currencies. 

So, if you're reading this in the United States, or Australia or Spain, you can still help out. That is, if you want to. If you don't want to, that's OK. I'm hoping though that the reach of the interwebs can be used to help out some very cool people. All of the money collected will go to the Poppy Appeal. To donate, visit: www.gofundme.com/ironbuttchris

(Originally published on RideApart)

ADSENSE HERE

This bike is a pain in the caboose

One of the things I didn't really mention in my review of the Suzuki V-Strom 1000 is that it is, in fact, a large piece of machinery. It is not so huge as a Triumph Tiger Explorer, nor a BMW R1200GS, but is still pretty damned big. Tall and wide, the thing has a lot of presence.

This is a truth that I didn't fully consider until I first got the bike home, discovering it didn't actually fit through the gate into the courtyard where I store the bike. Before even buying the thing I had done several guesstimating experiments to ensure I wouldn't encounter exactly this problem, but I had used my bicycle with a metre stick strapped to the handlebars. With this method, I had determined the V-Strom would definitely fit with some wiggling. I had failed to consider, however, that: a) a bicycle has no steering lock; b) a bicycle doesn't weigh 228 kg; c) a bicycle is not nearly as wide as a crash-bar-laden adventure-styled motorcycle. 

So, when it came time to bring said motorcycle into its new courtyard home, it simply would not fit. It almost, almost, almost fit, but the crash bars were too snug against the gate door's frame. Needless to say, this instigated a certain level of panic within me, exacerbated by my neighbour's friendly but not-really-appreciated attempts to "help."

Ultimately, I decided to use the bike's muscle, angling it to the point of almost making it through, then gassing it. The crash bars ripped a small chunk of wood from the door frame and the bike leapt in. Of course, this wasn't a viable solution to the problem, but I had at least managed to get the bike in and off the street.

A week later, my wife, her brother and I spent our Easter Monday ripping out the old door and frame, then installing a new, wider gate. Doing so afforded an additional 20 cm of width. With hand guards, the handlebars on a V-Strom are still so wide that you have to turn them a bit to get them through a 90-cm opening, but overall there are no more problems.

Well, no more problems getting the bike through the opening. But there were still problems.

The entrance to my courtyard is via a (thankfully) wide pavement -- also known as a sidewalk in the United States -- and immediately next to that pavement is the street (in other words, there is no little patch of grass between the two, as is often the case in the United States). For some silly reason I feel averse to showing you a picture of my house, so here's a Google Street View picture of a house that's nearby, where the situation is the same as my own.

See that brown gate door? Imagine having to navigate a motorcycle through that. Look at the situation closely: How would you do it? 

Well, of course, in ideal conditions, you'd come at the door straight, riding up the curb (bafflingly spelled "kerb" in the UK) and through the doorway. OK, fine. Let's go with that.

If you look closely, you will see that, as with my own situation, there is a step up into the courtyard from the pavement. In my case, that step is 6 inches high. Meanwhile, the curb is 4 inches high. 

The the bikes I've owned have had no issues surmounting the 4-inch curb, but the additional two inches of height on the 6-inch step create too great a challenge. With the Honda I used a folding aluminium ramp to get my bikes into the courtyard. That ramp is 2 feet long. The width of my pavement is just over 7 feet, which is, very conveniently, about the same length as both my former Honda and my V-Strom.

So, anyway, to get the bike into the courtyard, you simply ride (gently) up the curb, onto the pavement, up the ramp and through the doorway. But, looking at the picture above, can you identify a potential issue?

Yes: What happens if there's a car parked in front of the courtyard gate?  

In that scenario, you're not able to come at the gate from head on. Instead, you have to find somewhere else to bring the bike onto the pavement, then walk it to just outside the gate, enduring the incriminating stares of mothers with pushchairs (aka "strollers") who can't stand the idea of your taking up space on the pavement when they so clearly need ALL THE SPACE for their ginormous baby movers. Then you need to pivot the bike 90 degrees, most likely by using the magical side-stand turn technique (here's video of me spinning my old Honda).

But, dude, remember that the bike is 7 feet long. And the space between the gate and the street is about 7 feet. And the ramp is 2 feet long. Which means it extends into the 7-foot space in which you are working. With the Honda, I was able to precariously balance the bike entirely on the side stand and lift the wheels high enough off the ground that I was able to place the front on the ramp. Unfortunately, the nature of the V-Strom's girth and the style of its side stand mean I'm not able to do that anymore. The bike's long-footed side stand would almost certainly snap if I were to try to balance the whole of the bike's weight on it. My side-stand turn is more of a side-stand drag and I am not able to lift the wheels.

What I'm getting at is that I was forced to buy a new ramp. Lower and shorter (and uglier) than my aluminium ramp, this one allows me to line my bike up within the limited space available.

So, getting my bike in and out of the courtyard is a major hassle. But, I've managed to sort everything out. But, hey, Chris, why not add some difficulty once it's in the courtyard?

OK. Yeah, why not?! That'll be fun!

Last weekend, Jenn and I constructed a shed in which to store the bike. Admittedly, this storage solution is infinitely better-looking, more secure and more effective weather protection than the tent-like motorcycle shelter I had been using with the Honda (the V-Strom is too tall for such a shelter).

The shed is 8 feet long and 5 feet wide. It cost me a stupid amount of money to buy, and took Jenn and I roughly two days to build. In part, that was because there were no pictures with the instructions, and said instructions were poorly written. Ultimately, though, it was worth the trouble. The shed is high-quality, has a locking door and affords enough room within that I'll be able to work on my bike even when the weather is poor.

I am already looking forward to that aspect of next winter. I'll run a space heater into there and spend dreary afternoons happily doing maintenance on my bike just because I can.

But what's the theme of this post? That's right: this bike is a pain in the caboose. So, constructing the V-Strom's new shedly home has eaten up a great deal of space. So much so that I am not really able to turn the bike around in the courtyard as I used to. I performed a test run of getting the bike in and out of its new space the other day, and although it was not impossible it was incredibly challenging. So much so that it sapped my desire to take the bike out that day.

So, I am now trying to come up with a new solution. Unfortunately, I fear that will involve spending more money -- something I'm pretty tired of doing as far as this bike's concerned. But, if anyone has any experience with a bike dolly like this one I'd definitely appreciate hearing about your experiences. Is it worth it? Do these things work? Or do they create even more problems to be remedied by spending even more money?

One day, I will get to actually ride my bike, rather than spending all my time making sure I have a place to park it.

Jenn made some curtains for the shed. They are ridiculously cheerful and I like to imagine that when I'm not around, the V-Strom is playing children's board games and singing happy little songs to itself. I  would not be surprised to come home one day to find it having a tea party with teddy bears.

ADSENSE HERE

The Super Bowl commercial I'd like to see

On the way into work this morning, I found myself coming up with an idea for an advert for Zero Motorcycles, or whatever the hell it is that will come out of Polaris' recent acquisition of Brammo. I ride my bicycle to work. By the time I got into work, I had cemented the advert in my mind. I think it would have made a good Super Bowl ad:

Open with a CCTV-on-a-pole overhead view of an empty American city intersection. A motorcycle whirs through the intersection and you see the double flash of a speed camera/red-light camera taking a photo. A new angle, this from a security camera in a shop, shows the motorcycle coming to a rapid stop, engaging the bike's ABS. 

The rider dismounts and begins to strut down the empty street back toward the red-light camera. The rider is wearing jeans, a hoodie and Shark Vancore helmet (or similar). The camera angle is now from the perspective of the red-light camera. The rider walks close up to it, looking up, and takes off the helmet to reveal a woman who is, or looks a whole lot like, Olympic boxer Nicola Adams. She squints in exasperation and says:

"Do you ever feel we've lost something?"

Jump to another security camera angle, behind her, showing how the city dwarfs her.

"Maybe it was stolen."

Back to close-up.

"Maybe we gave it away without thinking."

Overhead view

"We're safer now; there's no denying it. Statistics show. We're safer, healthier, wealthier. Better off than we've ever been."

One or two onlookers step cautiously into view. They are filming her on their phones.

"Our great-grandparents, our grandparents, our parents -- they gave this to us. They laid down these roads, they built these cities, these grids, this structure. Then, they fought to protect it. Some of them died, so we could have this."

Close-up

"But do you ever feel we've let go of what they were protecting? Lost that thing that drove them to do all this in the first place?"

Different store security camera angle, with a shining over-chromed cruiser conspicuously in the shot.

"Some of us still make plenty of noise."

Onlooker's camera footage.

"We bang the drum. But we don't really know what the drum means."

Tight close-up

"Maybe it's not about how loud we are. How fast. How strong. How much we can consume."

Camera pulls out to reveal close-up is via a phone's camera, the rider gently pushes away the phone and is now talking to a fellow human being.

"Maybe it's about something more. Something deep. Something our ancestors understood... And maybe -- maybe -- we haven't lost it."

Store security footage, showing the woman walking back toward her electric motorcycle.

"Maybe it's still there within us, all of us."

She gets on the bike, you see its dash panel light up. Close up on her face.

"Maybe we just need to get out, get away, and remember what it's like to be free."

Camera angle shows back of her head as she slips on the helmet, revealing a large, stylised Guy Fawkes sticker on the back. She rides away and the focus blurs. You hear the whir of an electric motor.

ADSENSE HERE