Dick Fredericksen's Website 55th Class Reunion on a Two-Wheeled SUV

 
Home Page
 
55th Class Reunion on a Two-Wheeled SUV:
 
A Two-Wheeled What?
 
Laying On the Utility
 
Thinking Small for a Big Trip
 
Day 1: Tucson to Las Cruces
 
Day 2: The Road to Santa Rosa
 
Day 3: Kittycorner to Kansas
 
Days 4 and 5: Wet Wichita, Sunny St. Joseph
 
Day 6: This Way to Humboldt
 
Enjoying Humboldt (Iowa)
 
Gas Tank Blackjack
 
The Real Kansas in Technicolor
 
A Liberal Dose of Memories
 
Holbrook? How Did We Wind Up In Holbrook?
 
Painted, Petrified, and Perfect
 
The Home Home Stretch
 
Thinking Small for a Big Trip

Well, we were talking about a class reunion. I live in Tucson, Arizona. The reunion was in Humboldt, Iowa. That's not the longest tour I've taken with a two-wheeled SUV, but being the latest, it has the most experience behind it. I already knew that touring with this type of vehicle takes a lot of planning -- not so much because it's a two-wheeler, but because it's a small one.

Take packing, for example. Here are some hard-won tips.

  1. Eliminate, eliminate, elimintate. The first time I pulled this stunt, I spent half my departure day reluctantly removing stuff from the load, until the remainder fit.
  2. Reserve the most accessible compartment -- in this instance, the tool box -- for whatever will need to be retrieved most frequently. Unpacking bags at the roadside is uncouth.
  3. Take two of any clothing item that you might want to wear while its alternate is in the wash.
  4. Arrange things so that the load is balanced. This is important enough to warrant a dress rehearsal. On a long trip, it may have to be repeated from day to day, because clothing migrates from where it was packed, first to your person and later to a laundry bag.
  5. Plastic "food saver" cartons make excellent organizers for small items. Moreover, they're as waterproof as anything gets. They protect what's inside from any rain that penetrates a bag, and what's outside from any goo that the contents may ooze. Then, too, with the aid of handkerchiefs, a "food saver" can be turned into a padded cell for anything fragile. (Use small ones, though, and use them sparingly. They tend to create awkward, unyielding bumps in the load. In the travel bag, which sits sideways on the seat, they can shift around.)

"All right, already! We're three pages into the story,and all we've talked about is equipment and packing. When do we get to the fabulous twisties, the cliffside roads without guard rails, and the extra horses in the 95- to 110-mph range?" To tell the truth, we don't. Those delights are not my idea of a ride to a 55th class reunion, if you take my meaning. I was eighteen when I graduated from high school.

Besides, personal idiosyncrasies plus the nature of the vehicle compel attention to still further mundane details.

Speed. The first thing other motorcyclists tend to ask me is "How fast will it go?". Well, I wouldn't know. I think the fastest I've tried it is about 65 mph, and I usually stay at or below the speed limit. If I regarded the country between Tucson and Humboldt as "flyover" country, I'd take a plane. To me, riding is for savoring the air and the scenery.

Range. Even at 70 miles per gallon, a tank holding 2.6 gallons sets a theoretical limit of 182 miles between refills. A the end of 2 gallons (theoretically 140 miles), the engine stops and you have to twiddle the "reserve" valve. (Be it noted for the Honda Shadow that it shuts down and restarts gracefully in this circumstance.) But results vary. You can run into construction, or a strong headwind, or heavy traffic. In the city I've experienced balks at 100 miles. So I generally choose routes where I can spot a likely place for a service station every 100 miles or so. We'll see anon what happened one day when I ignored a 100-mile opportunity which my planning had provided.

Weather. Has anyone noticed that my bare-bones SUV has no fairing or windshield? My chest must serve as fairing, my face plate as windshield, and one hand as windshield wiper. This is uncomfortable, to say the least. To avoid storms altogether would be unSpartan, if it were even possible, but I do travel with first-class rain gear, and I take the weather into account when planning an itinerary. Out west, where monsoon-style thunderstorms dominate the summer forecast, this means getting up early and making a dash to the next night's shelter before mid-afternoon.

Riding alone. If I fall asleep on the motorcycle, there'll be nobody to wake me up. So I limit the day's travel to about 6 or 8 hours -- say 250 miles, at the leisurely pace I prefer, with unhurried stops for food, fuel, and picture taking. This complicates the choice of routes; there are some wide gaps between attractive destinations in the West.

Interstate versus lesser highways. As every motorcyclist knows, Interstate highways and other limited access roads have murderous traffic, at least in the vicinity of big cities, to which they invariably lead. Getting into an exit lane at just the right time, at high speed, with lots of grim competitors to block your way, and in unfamiliar territory, can be great fun -- for a masochist. Out in the country, an Interstate highway may or may not offer some scenery, but pausing to look is officially discouraged. ("No stopping except for emergencies.") Still, if you're concerned to find gas stations at regular intervals, you may have to put up with all this. The same goes for rest areas, restaurants, and places to overnight. Never mind about quality, at least it's uniform. For my trip, I'll use ordinary U.S. or state highways when they're reasonably direct, but Interstates when nothing else makes sense.

   Day 1: Tucson to Las Cruces.

Laying On the Utility.