The last time I was this excited/anxious about a motorcycle ride was in 1987. My mother had recently given me my first motorcycle, a gold metal-flake 1974 CB200T, and while I'd ridden around town a bit I had never taken it on a freeway. I was only going a couple of exits, but anyone who remembers that bike may also remember that while it was technically freeway legal it really had no business being in traffic going that fast. The speedometer had 55mph highlighted in bright red/orange. I'd always figured it was to remind the rider that the national speed limit was that same 55mph. Of course, my hormone addled teenage mind somehow failed to note that the bike was built in 1973--years before Jimmy Carter instituted the gas saving speed limit. At any rate, I was very nervous pulling up the on-ramp and it didn't help when I got to 55 and discovered the reason Honda saw fit to put a particular speed in DANGER colors was because the bike was dangerously unstable at that particular speed. It wasn't quite a tank slapper, but it was the closest I had come, and it scared me off the interstate until I moved on to a Yamaha RZ350 (which was quite capable of achieving well in excess of freeway speeds).
Oh, the ride? Tomorrow morning I'm catching a plane from Mobile to LaGuardia, where I will be collected by the motorcycle's previous owner who has graciously offered to not only get me to the bike at his place in Andover New Jersey, but to feed me and let me spend the night before I start my journey.
As for the packing issue on the bed, can you believe I managed to reduce it to this?
Nice pack job!
ReplyDelete