Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650

Do I Really Need a Garmin InReach Mini 2?

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Steve Williams with a Garmin InReach Mini 2 device attached to the sleeve of his riding jacket.
Satisfied with a decision for safety and peace of mind.

Puzzling over Risk, Safety, and Economics

After several years of thinking about the wisdom of having a reliable way to reach out in case of emergency I made a purchase. The question turned over in my head for a couple years is do I really need a Garmin InReach Mini 2? While I don’t normally ride alone in places without cell coverage it happens often enough that I kept thinking about the risk I was taking should something bad happen. A crash that left me unable to ride, another heart attack, running off the road and down an embankment where it might be a long time before anyone found me.

There are plenty of reasons why I should have one. Those reasons are piled against the cost of the unit and the ongoing monthly subscription expense. Not long ago I talked with my motorcycle riding cardiologist about the risks and he felt it was a good idea. Not so much for heart attacks but for an unfortunate incident that would take me off the trail and into a place no one would find me.

Still, the cost seemed excessive. And some lingering butch attitude made me seem weak if I bought one. After some honest reflection I determined two things. First, the cost isn’t something that I have to factor into my decision. All I had to think about is whether I wished I had one if I found myself somewhere without cell coverage, alone, injured, or with the bike broken down.

The answer was yes.

Immediately after making the purchase and subscribing to the $8 a month ENABLE plan it felt right.

Now on to the next safety item — a Helite Turtle 2 Airbag…

Learning Via Boneheaded Moves

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A 2001 Kawasaki W650 on a motorcycle trailer.
Evidence of a boneheaded move.

A Chain of Unfortunate Coincidence

My poor Kawasaki W650, tied down to the ambulance on its way to Bestline Powersports for surgery. Many thanks to my friend Dave for driving the bus.

How awful it is to be saddled with an aging man as a riding partner. A guy who can strike a blow to the motorcycle twice in a week. The first a careless drop onto the driveway. And now something worse and more expensive to fix. It’s obvious that there are a few lessons to be learned.

The day started at 6 AM so there was time to ready myself and the motorcycle for a long ride to breakfast. I was trying to speed things up before departure by multitasking. I was never good at it, worse now, but still I forge ahead and start all the plates spinning. It’s never good to feel rushed by the clock. Decision making becomes muddy and choices questionable.

I push the bike out to the driveway and then get the dogs breakfast. Everything is beginning to hum. I attach the battery operated air pump to the front tire and then move it to the back while I rush inside to put on my riding boots. I pull the choke on the bike and start it up, letting it warm while I put on my Merlin jacket. Back inside to make sure the dogs have water and the windows and doors are closed and locked. Back to the bike, push the choke in and listen to the engine purr. Pull the front door shut, put on my helmet and gloves and am ready to go. I’ll be on time. Barely. But I have beaten the clock.

I’m thrilled at the ride to come as I back the bike towards the street. And suddenly I feel a pressure. “Is the chain jammed?” I think. And suddenly it’s free. Strange but I’m late as I continue backing up. I’m not sure what came first, the recognition in my brain of what I did or the lump in the pit of my stomach.

Do you know what I did???

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Call Me Mr. Bonehead

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A 2001 Kawasaki W650 motorcycle parked in a driveway.
It still looks pretty despite being owned by a bonehead.

An Unfortunate Incident

The 2001 Kawasaki W650 still looks pretty despite an unfortunate fall in the driveway. Clearly a result of a misstep on my part though I am still a little perplexed at the chain of events. The bike was idling on the side stand, choke out for the initial start, and I was putting earplugs in, zipping up my KLIM jacket, and was pulling on my helmet when I saw the bike fall over, still running, and in a surreal pose that was a little shocking.

I had parked the bike at a place in the driveway that had a slight slope. I remember checking the stability because it seemed a little more upright than its normal lean on the kick stand. Probably because I had been rolling it around so the valve stems were in a position where I could check the tire pressure. With the tire pressures ok, I pulled the choke, started the bike, adjusted the RPMs, and started putting on my gear. Another morning in paradise as I got ready to ride to breakfast to meet a friend.

And then it happened.

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Fog, Fuel, and a Long Ride to Breakfast

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Two motorcycles at a convenience store for fuel.
The fog was beginning to clear by the time we stopped for gas.

Morning Fog

A few things were different on this ride. It was the first foggy morning in a long time. I love riding in fog. Mostly because photographs appear more dramatic and ethereal. I wasn’t sure how Dave felt about it but since he was waiting on his motorcycle when I arrived at his house I figured everything was ok.

Thinking about fog I was reminded of a ride on a Kawasaki KLR in the fog and took a look at an old post that highlights some of the ethereal moments in that kind of light. If you don’t ride in fog you may want to have a look at what you’re missing.

And for once I didn’t need to stop for fuel. My plan was a relaxed sixty mile ride to breakfast but outdated information from Google Maps upended it and we ended up having to ride almost twice as far before sitting down to eat and having to choose between bacon and eggs or a bacon cheeseburger.

Bacon and eggs is aways the clear winner.

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Riding in the Shimmering Heat

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A hot tea and big chocolate chip cookie sitting on a counter with a motorcycle parked outside the window.
Elements of a reprieve from the heat.

Don’t Tell Me I Can’t Ride

It was already pushing 90 degrees when I rolled the W650 out of the garage this morning. The National Weather Service has been in full panic mode, warning everyone to stay inside like the world is ending. I almost took the car.

I had every excuse ready: It’s too hot. I’m getting older. I should be more careful. Then I caught myself. I spent summers welding inside steel barges in heat like this. Now I’m supposed to be too delicate to ride a motorcycle because it’s 90 degrees? Please. So I geared up, hit the starter, and rode anyway.

The heat was real, but so was the smile on my face the entire time.

I ran my errands, stopped for tea and a cookie, and sat there watching the heat shimmer off the pavement, feeling more alive than I have in weeks.

I’m 72 years old. I still know my limits. And I’m nowhere near ready for the rocking chair. If that makes me stubborn, so be it.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.