Danger Zone - Or is a Motorcycle the Tow Vehicle for You?

When I was a child, I remember watching Top Gun from the comfort of my parents’ bed. Their bedroom housed the only VHS player in our actually pretty spacious apartment in Suburban Connecticut. Tom Cruise is a man who still commands my respect for his dedication to filmcraft and his love of stunts, even if I disagree with some pretty big fundamentals. I can’t help it. And the Kawasaki Ninja GPz900R that he rode with his bomber jacket and aviators still remains burned into my mind as the portrait of quintessential cool. My father would warn me off of motorcycles, saying I’d never have one under his roof. Moving to Minnesota had pretty much guaranteed that motorcycles would be a 4 or 5 month a year hobby, and not a way of life, and I would quickly give up my ambitions of owning one.

Before embarking on our journey, the expectations of travel were pretty simple. I owned a much more Minnesota-Sensible™ Red 2002 Subaru WRX Wagon lovingly named “Phoebe” and we were going to install towbars and flat tow her across the country. She was almost 270,000 miles on and everything was happy until about 6 months before we left. Phoebe encountered a massive brake failure in the rear right brake that locked it down and destroyed the pad, rotor, and caliper.

Fearing Phoebe’s continuing demise, we decided it would be time to change our plans. Unfortunately, we’d turned Jakki’s leased Honda Fit back in to the dealer already and I floated the idea that we could get a smaller motorcycle, that I would learn to drive it and we would tow it to travel.

In retrospect, this was an insane idea. For most people, the pursuit of a motorcycle education starts with a class and continuing to ride at that level for the rest of their lives. It could have ended with a quick accident and I might have just dropped my ambition to learn how to ride. It would have been a catastrophic waste of thousands of dollars on the bike, the gear, and time. At this point, fixing Phoebe would have been a better idea.

We purchased our new motorcycle, “Ganges.” A 2008 Suzuki Boulevard C50 that I miss dearly. She was reliable, if not a bit shaky from its V-twin design. Under-powered on every level except the learner level. A perfect bike for someone who wants to trade up to a larger-bore Harley or equivalent eventually. Weighing in near the 550 pound mark, Ganges had the equivalent of an 800cc engine to offset the weight, a sluggish 0-60 of 5.4 seconds (Phoebe, a full wagon with rust for a weight modification, was capable of 5.2 before the engine mounts began to wear down), and a top speed around 90 mph. More on that in a bit.

As a bike, it’s the single most barebones vehicle you could buy. A single disc brake adorns the front wheel, not enough for its substantial curb weight. The rear brake was functional and identical to the first, but ABS? That’s not included. Turn signals? There’s a single light to notify the rider that the signal is on. What gear are you in? Better gear all the way up or all the way down and reorient yourself, because there’s no indicator other than a neutral lamp. The bike being used came with engine guards, which were a fantastic addition. We invested in new seats, a new LED headlamp, bright and quick LED turn signals, a brighter LED taillamp with integrated turn signals, and couple of cheaper universal side cases and a universal top case. More on that in a bit as well.

My first attempt to ride without any training was a massive failure. I’d tried to watch many YouTube videos about how to ride and while I was comfortable learning how to find the friction point with the clutch, I was not confident in how to turn that monstrosity or really even how to accelerate safely. I planted my feet, found the friction zone and cracked open the throttle cautiously… just before the bike slid completely out from under me. It was the end of March, you see, so sand and gravel were plentiful in Minnesota. The 542 pounds of Ganges landed on my left leg, bruising me for the length of my inseam. I’d learned my first lesson: Always be aware of what is and what will be under your wheels.

I was wearing gloves, a riding jacket, riding jeans, a helmet, and regular boots. The next day, as I limped my way through the work day, I’d started to learn my second lesson: Dress for your mistakes, not for your comfort. I’m sure there’s a more concise and catchy way of saying that. Rather than allow myself to be ruled by the fear that should normally accompany a bad experience like that, I began riding to work. I used the parking lot to learn how to estimate braking distances and turning. I became more confident as the YouTube videos began to make sense. And the moment the courses were available with the local Motorcycle Safety Foundation chapter, I signed up immediately.

I’m so glad that I learned with the MSF. If you have a motorcycle and no official training, stop what you’re doing right now and sign up for a class. It’s a weekend. It’s important. You may have an idea of how to ride a bike, you may even have a license; but if you haven’t taken the MSF course, stop what you’re doing right now and sign up for the class. Have you been riding dirt bikes all your life and now you’re taking the time to rediscover your love of two-wheeled motor vehicles?

STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING. RIGHT NOW. SIGN UP FOR A CLASS.

The MSF class is boring. It’s painful for me, an ADD afflicted idiot, to have to sit and be taught the things that I already know. Like physically painful. It doesn’t matter. They also teach you how to change your mental preconceptions of what your responsibilities are as the rider, how to constantly be engaged, and how to be prepared. With 15,000 miles a year on a bike, I ride more than most people drive. I can safely say that riding on the road is 40% analyzing the road, 50% analyzing what other drivers are going to do, 5% of putting yourself in the position to react to someone doing something unexpected or dangerous, and 5% actually driving the bike. Even better, the MSF course teaches you that from the safety of a tiny motorcycle that isn’t yours.

The MSF had made my childhood dream a reality. A much less cool reality externally because:

1) I’m not Tom Cruise

2) I always wear a helmet

3) I’m not a fighter pilot, so I don’t have a bomber jacket with giant patches

4) I ALWAYS WEAR A HELMET

Don’t stop there, either. Continuing education, formal or informal is the best gear you can invest in. Definitely pick up a copy of A Twist of the Wrist II.

After we obtained a trailer for our motorcycle, we were set for the road. We took off and immediately found ourselves in Sioux Falls, people inquiring if we were heading to The Rally. We weren’t, we assured people. We had no idea what rally they were referring to. By the way, if you’re ever in Sioux Falls, please stop at a Jacky’s Restaurant and have some ceviche. It’s the best ceviche I’ve ever had.

As we shuffled on westward to have our first dry camping experience on BLM land in the absolutely stunning Badlands of South Dakota, we’d noticed that a lot of motorcycles were passing and waving. We were astonished by how friendly people were being. The road was wide open and winds were a bit treacherous and we had nothing to fear. Until we arrived. We found a precarious cliff to park Sunbadges (our RV) on and disembarked the bike. The path was all dirt. “Path” as a descriptor is also possibly generous. My first time riding on dirt on this motorcycle was with a passenger but we managed. Shopping was difficult because our cases were maybe just a little small for this mission. “That’s fine,” I’d reason, “we’ll just have to shop a little more often.”

We could only run our generator for a few hours a day, so we were eating a lot of junk food. And then we realized that our water pump wasn’t working, so the potable water that we’d charged up with in Sioux Falls was useless. Suddenly, I was making nearly daily trips through dirt to the grocery for three-quarter gallons of water. Jakki was despondent that we wouldn’t be able to survive this way. I’m an idiot, so I mostly just trudge my way through those things. In retrospect, she was definitely right to feel that way. It’s probably only my usually-frustrating bull-headed nature that kept us from turning tail and taking our ball home. I’m not extolling that as a virtue, it’s just how it was.

As we floated over to Rapid City, our dreams wounded but not dead, we took stock of our situation and replaced our water pump only to find that our water heater had blown a huge hole in its tank at some point (something that should have been checked by the morons we paid to ensure Sunbadges was roadworthy) and we noticed how many more motorcycles were suddenly showing up. It turns out that The Rally that everyone spoke of was Sturgis and we were pretty much in the middle of the build up to it.

Strugis, as shot from the Pillion Position

Motorcyclists are an interesting family. We all know the dangers of being on two wheels in a world dominated by “Cagers.” And we all have someone to have disdain for. There are people who just won’t give you “the signal” when you pass them. Either because they don’t believe in it or because they don’t think you count as one of them. One thing is clear, though, if any motorcycle goes down for any reason, every other motorcyclist on the road is going to stop, make sure you’re not dying, pick up your bike, call 911 if you’re not getting up, and hold your hand if you do happen to be dying.

In Sturgis, that family is never more harmonious. It does no matter what bike you’re driving. It does not matter how you ride. Well, you might get needled about wearing a helmet. I did. You’re on a bike so you’re family. At least during the day, I didn’t stay for any night time shenanigans. And as much as I’d have enjoyed participating in a group ride, I don’t think it’s a good idea for any reason other than charity anymore.

We rode to Mount Rushmore, which had a dedicated motorcycle-only parking garage for the week. We saw Buffalo in Custer State Park. We learned to work as a team to navigate tight turns on a bike that wouldn’t see a 40 degree lean.

Our family reunion of motorcycles has become a trickle as we’d departed the Sturgis vicinity. When we turned the corner into Casper, Wyoming, that’s when things got complicated.

On the return from a trip to the shooting range at the Wyoming Gun Company (which, by the way, has the most beautiful shooting range I’ve ever been to), I lost our top case. I must not have secured it correctly. I’m still kicking myself about it to this day. I left the range, made it to the next stop light, looked back and it was gone. Returned to where I’d started within 5 minutes of having left and my case was nowhere in sight.

I lost a GoPro Silver, Jakki’s pair of riding sunglasses, amongst other smaller things. Worst of all, I’d lost our ability to carry 50% of our groceries. Shopping trips became even more frequent but thankfully we had a running water pump.

We limped poor Ganges up the mountains of Colorado and something you definitely take for granted is the ability to breathe. I’m definitely a person who sees more than their fair share of altitude sickness, but it gives me the opportunity to appreciate the mountains. And I love the mountains.

It was Steamboat Springs, Colorado where we had yet another dry camping experience on some State Park land at the top of the mountain. It was gorgeous and cold, even in August. We saw 80s and 90s at the bottom of the hill and temperatures as low as 27 degrees at the top. We still saw some packed snow on the side of the road. We’d regularly drive down to the city and enjoy the amenities during our two week stay, where it became increasingly obvious that poor Ganges wasn’t really up to the task of climbing mountains.

We gifted Ganges to a good friend of ours. May she live a long and uncomplicated life.

As we’d choke our beloved Boulevard up the mountain doing a maximum of 35 miles per hour at a completely pinned throttle, packs of big-bore Harley Davidsons would roar past us at 60 miles per hour (or more) and plant the seed of an idea that was become harder and harder to ignore: Ganges was no longer enough for us on our adventure. Just two months into our journey, we’d outgrown a good friend.

When we landed in Denver, the race was on to find something to replace Ganges. I have short legs and we have specific needs, so there was never going to be an easy solution to our troubles. I looked at all of the online resources to ensure we’d be covered. No big-bore cruiser was going to come with the kind of storage we needed to keep grocery trips down to weekly events. Nor would any sport bikes, not that Jakki would ever be willing to ride pillion on one. We settled on an Adventure bike. As there would be two of us climbing up mountains, we knew we’d be looking for at least a liter in engine size.

We saw a few bikes. The Yamaha Ténéré was a too tall for me. Even on my tip toes, I couldn’t keep the bike up. The saddle of the Honda Africa Twin was too wide for my legs to reach the ground comfortably, but as I’ve learned more about riding it’s definitely the bike I would have taken a second look at. KTM’s offerings were much like Yamaha’s in that they were simply too tall for me, and I wasn’t particularly hurt. In the end, for where I was in riding experience, there was really only one answer. We lucked into a 2015 BMW R1200GS, now named “Defiant” and already built with the factory low modifications, engine guards, and including two aftermarket side cases.

We bought it and I immediately dropped it. This time with Jakki on board.

You see, the sum of my experiences thus far with motorcycles involved a 28” high seat and such a low center of gravity. Here, at 32” and a bike balanced to keep the weight up higher, I’m now at the limit of my 29” inseam. Yes, I know I’m short. Yes. Pants are difficult to find.

But I dropped it. I still do, when I make mistakes; like that time I was tired and complacent and didn’t pay attention to the gravel in the wide turns at the Albuquerque KOA. I’m extremely happy that the bike has engine guards.

Here now, more than a year on, we’ve ridden up mountains and down mountains, on dirt and gravel, gotten stuck in sand and put more than 20,000 miles on this bike. We changed the anemic horn and replaced the seats. We added a top case. I now have a daily driver vehicle with the acceleration curve of a high-end Ferrari. I get followed out of grocery stores by people curious about how the guy in the nylon riding jacket and helmet can fit a cart full of foodstuffs onto a motorcycle.

No joke, someone followed me out of this Walmart because he wasn’t sure that I was going to fit everything I bought on this bike.

I love to ride. It has gone from a necessity, to a hobby, to a passion, to a full-on defining character trait. While my skill level isn’t yet expert and I’ve only ridden for nearly two years now, I know that it is something I will never give up.

Logistically, the motorcycle is a toss-up. Does it make sense for your only tow vehicle to be a motorcycle? We average about 47 miles per gallon. We have the carrying capacity of the trunk of the late Toyota Yaris. We can park in places no one would expect. It upsets people sometimes — I genuinely can’t understand why. Our tow weight sits just under 1000 pounds and it’s easy to move the setup by hand in case you get stuck in a hard place. As we had to once, when we got stuck doing a three-point turn on a one-way road while we were lost in Kaibab National Forest.

The downsides? Well, there are a lot of them. Inclement weather is tough, but where were you going in bad weather anyway? Sometimes, you can’t stop somewhere because you don’t want to get stuck on sand. Driving on dirt or gravel can get pretty dicey with a pillion. If road conditions aren’t optimal, it’s easy to imagine an accident. You definitely lose some cargo space. And I spend a lot of time worrying that the Defiant won’t be there when we get back; bikes are easy to steal. And let’s be frank, it’s infinitely more dangerous to ride in traffic. As I had mentioned earlier, we upgraded the horn. It wasn’t just for entertainment; it’s a necessity in populated areas. Cagers don’t watch where they’re going. Do you have pets? You’re renting a car if you need to see a vet.

Oh, and drive-thrus aren’t a sure thing on a bike. Maintenance is probably the biggest expense. You’re really saving no money there. Motorcycle tires last 10 and 20 thousand miles for the rear and front wheels respectively. If you own a BMW bike, you’re buying premium fuel, premium oil, and premium coolant. If you’re going to dealerships for your oil changes, that’s a $200 oil change. Do it yourself.

I can say with confidence that if it wasn’t for this motorcycle, a lot of what we do would be a chore for me. I’m thankful that Jakki is willing to allow me this mid-life crisis as our mode of transportation. It’s not for everyone, and I have no doubt that if we had a car, that would be the way we’d do most of our traveling.

Still, every time I suit up to ride, I feel like I’m gonna fly a jet. And every time I hit the road, I carry that feeling of flight. It’s a childhood dream realized. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.