ÜberDoober
04-08-2008, 10:06 AM
Originally posted at kawasakimotorcycle.org. Reposted here with permission of the author, Curt Patterson
The Art of Getting Lost
Getting lost is getting more difficult to do everyday. The new GPS units are small and affordable these days and some cellphones are now GPS capable. There is no shortage of people willing to tell me where to go without my even asking directions. There was a time when I knew the country well. The roads of North Idaho were as familiar as the the pathways of my mind. Alas, this is no longer true. I have no idea where my mind has go...oh, wait, I mean I am now living in Missouri and the country is new to me.
Shortly after moving to Missouri I purchased a Missouri county atlas.It is pretty cool, shows most of the roads but often it is difficult to tell if they are paved or not. Sometimes I forget to take it with me as well. My wife,Barb, no, not the Barb from the Ketchup Board commercials on A Prairie Home Companion, the Barb that married me twice, the first time out of lust, the second time out of pity. Where was I?
Barb was tired of trying to buff out the rock chips and gouges in the paint of my C50, so she bought me a GPS. Wait, I think I spelled "prairie" wrong. Maybe not. Wish I had spellchecker...anyway, she bought me the cutest little GPS unit. With some scrap steel, a torch and welder, I made a mount for it for the bike. I was amazed that chroming that 27 pounds of steel cost more than the GPS, which actually weighs 4.32 ounces. After 14 weeks waiting for chrome, it was ready to mount, so I talked the neighbor's 12 year old son into showing me how to use it. The freaking thing talks to me!!!!!!!!!!!
That afternoon, I began programming my route for a two hour ride. Three days later I was done and geared up in earplugs, full face helmet, chaps, jacket, gloves and my Birkenstocks. I rolled down the driveway,to the mailbox and stopped, shut the bike off, took the helmet off, removed the earplugs and listened to the sweet voice tell me, "turn left". Earplugs back in, helmet on,I started the bike and roared off. 100 yards later at the stop sign for Hwy E, I stopped, shut the bike off, took the helmet off, removed the earplugs, and heard the voice say, "turn right". This was freakin cool!!!!! Earplugs back in, helmet on, bike running, I zoomed away.
Fifteen turns later, the earplugs were in my pocket, the helmet was on the sissybar, and the bike was coasting at the next intersection and that annoying, whiney, sugar drunk voice said "turn left". No kidding Sherlock, there ain't no road ahead or to the right!!!!
An hour or so later I found myself sitting at an old fashioned barb wire gate, arguing with the lady in the box. "straight ahead", she insisted. "Are you sure?" I asked. "straight ahead." was her reply. Who am I to argue with the jeanyuses who make these things, so I opened the gate. Now, as some of you know, neither I nor my bike are unfamiliar with gravel, and yes, even a few dirt roads, but this is ridiculous. Bouncing through a cow pasture on a 550 pound cruizer in tractor ruts is not a good idea. The cows seemed to be enjoying it though, chewing their cuds with grins as I putted along. Most of the cows anyway. One seemed a bit restless as I went past muttering to the GPS, "SueSue, I think we're lost".
Several of the calves decided that this creature amongst them was a playtoy and began making false charges and then dashing away. One young feller decided that running in front of me in the tractor ruts wasgreat fun. Apparently his mom decided he was being chased by the boogyman.
The cow bellowed, the calf bawled, I screamed, TomTom, the cross dressing GPS giggled, "turn left". The rest of the herd spit out their cuds and the chase was on. The c50 jinked and twitched beneath me asI flashed back to my cowboy days and socked the spurs to her. That didn't work so I cranked the throttleto the limit, grabbed second gear and headed for the nearest exit, which happened to be a pile of logs laying near the fence. Hell, if it was good enough for Steve McQueen, it was good enough for me!!!
The bike and I both cleared the fence though I can't say I actually witnessed the event, I closed my eyes.I do know that we landed in two different ditches. After I awakened, I crawled to the bike to look her over.Nothing broken that was really needed for the ride home, a couple of hours pounding with a rock and the front wheel was turning again, so I was good to go. At least the sissybar was ok, thanks to the helmet.
The ride home was anti-climatic, but I did stop for coffee. I have a really nifty 27 pound, chrome platedcupholder. I don't remember exactly where TomTom decided to stop riding with me, but I do know the last thing I said to him/her was, "bye,bye".
Curt
The Art of Getting Lost
Getting lost is getting more difficult to do everyday. The new GPS units are small and affordable these days and some cellphones are now GPS capable. There is no shortage of people willing to tell me where to go without my even asking directions. There was a time when I knew the country well. The roads of North Idaho were as familiar as the the pathways of my mind. Alas, this is no longer true. I have no idea where my mind has go...oh, wait, I mean I am now living in Missouri and the country is new to me.
Shortly after moving to Missouri I purchased a Missouri county atlas.It is pretty cool, shows most of the roads but often it is difficult to tell if they are paved or not. Sometimes I forget to take it with me as well. My wife,Barb, no, not the Barb from the Ketchup Board commercials on A Prairie Home Companion, the Barb that married me twice, the first time out of lust, the second time out of pity. Where was I?
Barb was tired of trying to buff out the rock chips and gouges in the paint of my C50, so she bought me a GPS. Wait, I think I spelled "prairie" wrong. Maybe not. Wish I had spellchecker...anyway, she bought me the cutest little GPS unit. With some scrap steel, a torch and welder, I made a mount for it for the bike. I was amazed that chroming that 27 pounds of steel cost more than the GPS, which actually weighs 4.32 ounces. After 14 weeks waiting for chrome, it was ready to mount, so I talked the neighbor's 12 year old son into showing me how to use it. The freaking thing talks to me!!!!!!!!!!!
That afternoon, I began programming my route for a two hour ride. Three days later I was done and geared up in earplugs, full face helmet, chaps, jacket, gloves and my Birkenstocks. I rolled down the driveway,to the mailbox and stopped, shut the bike off, took the helmet off, removed the earplugs and listened to the sweet voice tell me, "turn left". Earplugs back in, helmet on,I started the bike and roared off. 100 yards later at the stop sign for Hwy E, I stopped, shut the bike off, took the helmet off, removed the earplugs, and heard the voice say, "turn right". This was freakin cool!!!!! Earplugs back in, helmet on, bike running, I zoomed away.
Fifteen turns later, the earplugs were in my pocket, the helmet was on the sissybar, and the bike was coasting at the next intersection and that annoying, whiney, sugar drunk voice said "turn left". No kidding Sherlock, there ain't no road ahead or to the right!!!!
An hour or so later I found myself sitting at an old fashioned barb wire gate, arguing with the lady in the box. "straight ahead", she insisted. "Are you sure?" I asked. "straight ahead." was her reply. Who am I to argue with the jeanyuses who make these things, so I opened the gate. Now, as some of you know, neither I nor my bike are unfamiliar with gravel, and yes, even a few dirt roads, but this is ridiculous. Bouncing through a cow pasture on a 550 pound cruizer in tractor ruts is not a good idea. The cows seemed to be enjoying it though, chewing their cuds with grins as I putted along. Most of the cows anyway. One seemed a bit restless as I went past muttering to the GPS, "SueSue, I think we're lost".
Several of the calves decided that this creature amongst them was a playtoy and began making false charges and then dashing away. One young feller decided that running in front of me in the tractor ruts wasgreat fun. Apparently his mom decided he was being chased by the boogyman.
The cow bellowed, the calf bawled, I screamed, TomTom, the cross dressing GPS giggled, "turn left". The rest of the herd spit out their cuds and the chase was on. The c50 jinked and twitched beneath me asI flashed back to my cowboy days and socked the spurs to her. That didn't work so I cranked the throttleto the limit, grabbed second gear and headed for the nearest exit, which happened to be a pile of logs laying near the fence. Hell, if it was good enough for Steve McQueen, it was good enough for me!!!
The bike and I both cleared the fence though I can't say I actually witnessed the event, I closed my eyes.I do know that we landed in two different ditches. After I awakened, I crawled to the bike to look her over.Nothing broken that was really needed for the ride home, a couple of hours pounding with a rock and the front wheel was turning again, so I was good to go. At least the sissybar was ok, thanks to the helmet.
The ride home was anti-climatic, but I did stop for coffee. I have a really nifty 27 pound, chrome platedcupholder. I don't remember exactly where TomTom decided to stop riding with me, but I do know the last thing I said to him/her was, "bye,bye".
Curt