Road Gypsy.com

TIDBITS

On Bees...

Riding through Smugglers Notch, Vermont will never be the same again for some travellers - including me. Years ago, one fine summer as I was riding through the mountains of Vermont, through hairpin turns I stood firm in my conviction that wearing a leather jacket is good for you - no matter how swealtering hot the air might be. Begrudgingly against my own beliefs I was talked into removing my leather jacket because, as I was informed "You look ridiculous in that heavy jacket when all the other bikers are in tank tops in this heat." Well, I was never one to give a shit what anyone else but my own parents thought.

Enjoying the freedom that goes along with riding leather-less quickly came to an agonizing end as I was nearing the top of "the Notch".

CLOTHING DESCRIPTION (minus the leather jacket):

riding boots

jeans & leather pants

white snap-down tank top - braless

scream-proof full face helmet

Rounding a corner of one of the hairpin turns brought me face to face with - you guessed it - A BEE. Many things frighten many people, but never have I seen any one thing get to the toughest of the tough like a bee. A friend very accurately once told me that no matter how tough a guy is on his bike, it all goes out the window when he gets a bee down his shirt. Well, one gentle tap on my chest later left the other drivers and passengers alike behind us wondering where the roadside strip bar came from.

Looking down my top, I discovered the most enormous bumble bee, with all of his furry little legs clinging to the fibers of my shirt. Panic set in immediately, and I frantically tried to shake him out from underneath my shirt. Darn those furry legs! He was hangin' on for dear life whether he wanted to or not, and gettin' pissed off by the second. By now, I had slowed to about third gear (while still in fourth), hand still on the throttle, and still rolling, but left hand desperately trying to unsnap the dome buttons on my shirt. They weren't going to budge. Still in fourth gear, and startin' to chug, I resorted to desperate measures - kill him before he nails ME. With my left hand "crushing" the poor creature against my body, and my bike chugging dangerously close to stalling, I rubbed my shirt against my skin. (Now remember - we're in a panic, we're dealing with hairpin turns, other vehicles close behind and a HUGE bumble bee in my shirt - which called for desperate measures)

Whew - a sigh of momentary relief - then - ZAP!! Right on the left you-know-what.

All handlebars were abandoned , revolutions halted, foot pegs bent and a removal of clothing started. Boy, she dropped fast (the shirt as well) and the vehicles behind me were treated to a complimentary strip show. My then-husband had been watching me weave all over the road the entire time, wondering what the heck was going on. Upon ripping the shirt open, the culprit responsible for the whole affair plopped out onto the ground at my feet and I proceded to entertain the onlookers with my topless, rage-filled stomping tantrum, grinding the bee into the asphalt.

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I have a bee-in-the-helmet paranoia. For years I've worn a bandana over my hair when I ride. It not only protects my hair from breakage caused by the rubbing of the inside of my helmet on my hair, but it keeps the wind out of my ears. And BEES.

OK - here's one I'm sure you can relate to. I'm approaching a set of lights at a major intersection. I'm heading where else? To the nearest safe-to-pull-over spot I can find. I felt the nasty little vermin wedge himself between my helmet and hair about 1/2 km before the set of lights I was sitting at. I wasn't wearing my bandana on this particular day (God'll get ya every time),why I can't recall.

With no where to go but a Tim Horton's parking lot, I pulled in only to find the lot was full. Being unfamiliar with that particular Tim Horton's location, I was dangerously unaware of the oncoming drive-thru vehicles heading around the corner.

Totally preoccupied with the intense buzzing going on inside my ear I came face to face with a pick up which had just came out of the drive-thru. Hammering on my brakes (of course this was all taking place directly in front of the largest picture window ever manufactured) I barely escaped without head-onning the truck. If that's not enough, as I put my brakes on and stuck out my left foot I happened to put it into a drain. Well, the bike, she started to go into the drop zone, but miraculously I was somehow able to bring her back from the beyond help zone and regain my composure. While all of this is happening, my bee friend is still buzzing away in my ear, and I'm expecting any moment to have my ear chomped on.

As the gentleman in the pick up truck was mouthing his thoughts clearly to me, an empty parking spot became available. I grabbed it, swung myself lightening-speed out of the saddle and removed my lid. Out flew the yellow-jacket. I glanced up to a very clearly amused audience and smiled while I shook my head.

**********

To bee or not to bee...that familiar tap on the chest - back again, only this time a tap on my right shoulder, as my T-shirt is flapping in the wind. (No jacket, several years after the Smuggler's Notch episode) Heading into Wisconsin, and long after the tap on my right shoulder, I feel an insanely painful, sharp but familiar sensation. The buzzer ended up travelling for about fifty miles inside my shirt and worked his little shithead self into the waistband of my pants.

Hitting the dirt shoulder at morph speed and with amazing control, I jumped off my bike and again, treated the crew sharing the same highway as myself to an impromptu strip show, only this time I took off my shirt AND pulled my pants down mid-thigh, revealing my softer side.

...On Dropping Your Bike

Riding a motorcycle inevitably means dropping it at some point in time - and usually in front of a lot of people. Size definitely matters, where grunting is concerned. The smaller the bike, the less grunting when one has to pick it up.

One time I went to the corner store to pick up something I had forgotten to pick up earlier at the larger grocery store. Not only did I pay the way-over-inflated price the convenience store charged me for the item, but that was just the insult to injury. Prior to even entering the store, when I went to put out the sidestand on my Twinstar, I didn't take into consideration that the "side-stand side" of the bike was on quite a decline. It continued onto it's side...

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My brand new 450 Rebel hadn't arrived yet. My then-husband's 500 Shadow was already in his possession. A long snowy winter had left me itchin' to ride. First week home, the new bike had wormed it's way into my heart, and I just had to ride it. So my husband climbed onto the back, and away we went for breakfast one fine Sunday morning.

On fully stocked stomachs in front of the entire restaurant I proceeded to back the bike out with hubby on board. With wheel turned sharply, and not quite enough throttle, I popped the clutch. Not good, on a brand new bike with hubby on the back...

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I'm ready to ride, loaded down, on the Hog, headin' for Algonquin Park. Thinking I'd save time by going ahead and fueling up before my partner, I was talked out of it, BY my partner. He was going to the gas station also, so I was asked to wait for him.

Turning the ignition off, I got quite involved in a conversation while he rearranged packs on his bike. What happened next caught me quite by surprise. I went to climb off, and mid leg-swing a flash of "I don't think I put out my side stand!" went through my head in time for me to get my left foot out of the way of my falling bike.

Rolling off ever so smoothly (I don't think I could have done it any smoother if I tried) I landed spread-eagled with my bike, on its side, between my legs. My ass was sore the next day...

**********

Now here's a good one - this is a little backwards. It's me TRYING to push the bike over.

Up in Alaska, tired and hungry, we ran out of gas. An elderly couple in a motorhome stopped and gave us gas, and also filled up our gerry-can. On the Top of the World Highway, there is literally NOTHING for miles. After my side stand slowly sank a small amount into the pea gravel covering the pullover, I couldn't swing that sucker up off it's stand. Fully loaded, and weighing about 800 pounds, my lack of height (a forever problem) combined with the weight and pea gravel would not permit me to lift the bike. I snapped!!

"You mother f---er you're goin' over!" I then proceeded to attempt to push the bike over onto it's opposite side. There I was, all five feet of me having a tantrum on my bike. Of course being unsuccessful at this just added fuel to the fire, never mind the gerry can.

My partner said,"For God's sake woman don't be doin' that! It's the only horse we'll find up here to carry us out!"...

...On Losing Items Off The Back

Underwear (drying out from riding in the rain), coats, helmets, shoes, parts to a tripod, bandanas. Then there's watching OTHERS lose items off the back - gloves, towels, tool bags, coats and actual parts coming off the bike - like gear shifts, belt guards and various bolts bouncing by.