Rides Two and Three

We're a little crazy up here in Northeastern Ohio. As soon as the weather breaks, we think it's summer. Teenagers hit the streets in shorts and tee shirts. Soccer moms drive around with the windows rolled down. And we, the motorcycle enthusiasts, gear up and get back in the saddle.

One week after the first ride of the season, on Friday the 19th, my boyfriend and I picked up a new V-Strom and tore down to the valley with a fresh temp tag tacked to the tail. What fun! With two dual sports for the two of us to ride, we'll really be putting down the miles this year!

The matte black Suzuki even looks like it could be the big brother to my silver BMW. Yes, they're both 650s, but the BMW has one cylinder and is factory lowered for my 5' 0" frame. At 6' 0", my boyfriend fits the 34" seat height on the two-cylinder V-Strom, which for him, makes longer road trips possible, with less discomfort on the bumps and more versatility.

On Sunday the 21st, he and I took to the highway, or as it's known with some disdain, the super slab, for this season's ride three. It was pretty chilly, and I had to crank the heated grips. In addition to multi-layered gear, he wore his balaclava and I wore my neck warmer. It may have been the first official day of spring, but between the two of us, we had twenty numb fingertips in thirty minutes. When we got back home, we built a fire in the fireplace. I'm aching for April!

Spring Fever

Sun shining. Snow melting. Riding season is just around the bend. We're barely out of the first week in March in Northeast Ohio, but spring fever ignites my soul. The lawns are still covered with plenty of snow, but the blue in the sky, the road is so dry -- I feel the need to roll.

It was good to hear the familiar sound of my bike's engine running in the garage. Comforting, that she started right up out of dormancy. After giving the bike a full circle inspection -- Tires. Controls. Lights. Oil. Chasis. Stands. -- I apply some chain lube and gear up for a short trip to the gas station.

The first ride of the season is always a little awkward. Maybe it's the big, bulky winter gloves. Maybe it's the double layer leather and Thinsulate. Most likely, it's because I haven't ridden in a few months, and my reflexes feel rusty. As I ease out the clutch and the wheels start to roll, I let my legs dangle a little longer than I normally would before putting them on the pegs.

The first turn, from my driveway to the street, is a tentative one. The curbs are still loaded with snow. There is still salt on the road. When I reach the stop sign, my left foot comes down first on instinct. Good. Like riding a bicycle. Out in traffic, I'm extremely cautious. Even watchful motorists aren't looking for motorcycles in March.

At the Shell station, I fill her up with premium. The engine's hot and I've shaken the dust and threatening rust from forming on her chain. Mission accomplished. But it's nearly fifty degrees. Only a few miles from here is Chagrin River Road, the valley run where I cut my teeth on every vehicle I've ever owned. By the time I pull out of the gas station, my bike and I are one, and we're taking the long way home.