emptysea
Road warrior
Thread starter
Day 2: St. Charles, MO to Springfield, MO
"Long as I remember the rain been comin' down
Clouds of mystery pourin' confusion on the ground.
Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun.
And I wonder still I wonder who'll stop the rain." - From Creedence Clearwater Revival's song "Who'll Stop The Rain"
Sunday, 14 June 2015
08:00
Bikes loaded. Pre-ride checks checked. Complimentary breakfast brecked.
It was supposed to get into the mid-80s this day and as we rolled out onto East I-70 and backtracked a few miles to pick up MO94, it was warm and humid, but not raining.
I am putting fingers to keyboard about these adventures some ten months after the events occurred and some of the facts have become faded by the erosion of time. With that in mind, I vaguely recall deciding not to wear my Rev'it rain gear over my Olympia jacket and pants because the rain gear does not vent well and sometimes the jacket blows up like a Macy's balloon if air leaks in through the wrist or waist openings. Instead, I am pretty sure that I zipped in in the waterproof liners for both my jacket and pants, although I may not eschewed the zipping-in part and just tossed my armored gear on over the liner. The forecast was for rain in the morning, but we were heading in the direction of a dry afternoon.
Our goal was to have lunch in Jefferson City, MO which was essentially due west of us, then turn south to Springfield. We could have taken the "44" degree angle on the interstate to save time, but taking the square route of 94+54 would give us a better result.
An overview of the morning route:
So here's a gear tip for you: Rain gear worn on the outside of your regular gear works better than zip-in rain gear. Not so much because the outer gear is more waterproof, although it sometimes is, but because it keeps your jacket and pants from becoming something akin to a sponge or, better described, a giant wash rag. I swear I absorbed 10-15 pounds of water before we finally found shelter. Is that what is referred to as "water weight gain"?
It started raining in earnest just about the time we crossed I-64. That's some 30 miles northeast of Dutzow. Not far. I was in the sweep position and could almost hear Glen thinking about where we could pull off as the rain intensified.
Here's the one and only time you will ever hear me lament about not having a windscreen. All the other riders in our group were relatively cozy behind their stock or aftermarket Plexiglas guards. Meanwhile, I was taking the brunt of the water right on my chest; not just the rain coming down, but the spray kicked up by the 5 bikes leading me through this hell.
It was pouring down but good, and because the road was curvy, unfamiliar, and wet, we were moving at a fairly slow and prudent pace. I had no issue with the speed, but I was frustrated that we didn't pull off. Well, we couldn't pull off, really. There was almost no shoulder, few crossroads, and no parking lots or stores that we could see. Glen did the right thing by soldiering on, but once my visor then my glasses began to fog up, I began a quiet mantra to myself. "I gotta get off this F**king bike. I gotta get off this F**king bike." Every so often Glen would slow us down as he looked for a place to turn, but every time he decided to keep on rolling and every time I repeated "I gotta get off this F**king bike." This seemed to go on for hours, but it was only about 30 miles. Dutzow, MO is where we stopped and finally found shelter.
We stopped in "downtown" Dutzow which reminded me the town described in Jimmy Buffett's song "Ringling Ringling",
Church windows broken
That place ain’t been used in years
Jail don’t have a sheriff or a cell
And electric trains they run by maybe once or twice a month
Easin’ it on down to Mussellshell
Ringling, Ringling
Slippin’ away
Only forty people livin’ there today
'cause the streets are dusty and the bank has been torn down
It’s a dyin’ little town
(Great song, by the way, give it a listen sometime.)
So, we stopped and walked into a junk store. I think it may have said "Antiques" on the sign, but the goods on sale were under-qualified for such a grand designation as that. At least it was dry inside, except for the trail of water draining off the cuff of my sponge-pants. My waterproof boots performed exactly as advertised, though--not one drop of water leaked out of them after my pant liner, acting as a sort of funnel, filled them from the top. "Squish sqaush" was the sound I made as I dripped my way from one bin of crap to the next. Very nice folks inside. A little scary at first, but nice. They were kind enough to direct us down the road a piece (pretty sure that's exactly how they said it, too) to the Dutzow Deli. Squish Squash as I walked out to the bikes to get a few pictures of this dyin' little town and the soaked bikes parked on its streets.
So, here's a gear tip for you: If it's raining hard, put your lanyard-cam (AKA Ferret Cam or Mickey Cam) in some sort of waterproof bag and do not trust your liner or other rain gear to keep it dry. All remaining pictures for this log were taken with my iPhone and none while in motion.
All of us were soaked, but I think everyone in our group would agree that I was the most soaked and the least happy of us at that moment in time. I was frutrated, wet, and angry, and frustrated...and wet. I know it showed, too, because everyone kept their distance from me for a bit when we arrived at Dutzow Deli, but then quickly brought me out of my funk.
There has been a moment in every big trip I have taken with these people where it became clear why I so enjoy riding with them. The way they let me relish in my frustration for just long enough to get it out of my system and then to bring a smile to my face and a renewed enthusiasm for getting back on the bike for our next leg was that moment on this trip. And you know what? They may not even know that they did any of that.
The Dutzow Deli. We had eaten only about an hour before, but we had a second breakfast here as we let our stuff dry out for a bit. Nice porch. Good food. Nice people. Dirty DIRTY bikes.
[url=http://s1318.photobucket.com/user/emptysea43/media/Ozark%20Mountain%20Daredevils/7809DE48-B6B5-4A9A-AF18-D987C196D1F6_zps8eis9iw4.jpg.html]
If you have a chance sometime, go look at another picture of me where you can see my gloves. When they're dry, they're light tan, almost yellow.
[url=http://s1318.photobucket.com/user/emptysea43/media/Ozark%20Mountain%20Daredevils/6E9B7EF4-61DE-4D27-8668-0F33599174CB_zps9yciy78k.jpg.html]
The truly wet portion of our ride along the Missouri River on MO94 was over. We made decent time the rest of the way to Jeff City, where we gassed up, snacked up, and figured out where to go next. It was plenty hot by this point, but heat is infinitely better than wet. I loved this entire stretch of road, from St. Charles to Jefferson City. Nothing too technical, but plenty of sweeping turns and some elevation changes as well. There is one fairly straight stretch where we were riding along what I think is part of the Missouri River flood plain with small, tree-covered mounds to our right and flat farm fields and, eventually, the river to our left. I recall looking over the plain and seeing the Missouri State House poking its domed head above the horizon from the other side of the river. If you're in the area, ride MO94. Just choose a dry day and maybe do it early enough to avoid heat and traffic. Glen was dead on right when he picked this road.
A note on tires, rain, and the CB1100: My 2013 CB1100 was fitted with new Michelin Road Pilot 3 tires about 8500 miles before this trip. As uncomfortable as I was with my rain-filled boots, my foggy visor, and my water-weighted riding garb, I was never unsure of what my bike was going to do. The bike and tires did their job admirably and I always felt secure, even at the height of my angst over the situation.
[Author's note: My apologies for the delays between updates. Work and a few technology issues (Photobucket locks up my browser sometimes) have kept me from posting more quickly.]
"Long as I remember the rain been comin' down
Clouds of mystery pourin' confusion on the ground.
Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun.
And I wonder still I wonder who'll stop the rain." - From Creedence Clearwater Revival's song "Who'll Stop The Rain"
Sunday, 14 June 2015
08:00
Bikes loaded. Pre-ride checks checked. Complimentary breakfast brecked.
It was supposed to get into the mid-80s this day and as we rolled out onto East I-70 and backtracked a few miles to pick up MO94, it was warm and humid, but not raining.
I am putting fingers to keyboard about these adventures some ten months after the events occurred and some of the facts have become faded by the erosion of time. With that in mind, I vaguely recall deciding not to wear my Rev'it rain gear over my Olympia jacket and pants because the rain gear does not vent well and sometimes the jacket blows up like a Macy's balloon if air leaks in through the wrist or waist openings. Instead, I am pretty sure that I zipped in in the waterproof liners for both my jacket and pants, although I may not eschewed the zipping-in part and just tossed my armored gear on over the liner. The forecast was for rain in the morning, but we were heading in the direction of a dry afternoon.
Our goal was to have lunch in Jefferson City, MO which was essentially due west of us, then turn south to Springfield. We could have taken the "44" degree angle on the interstate to save time, but taking the square route of 94+54 would give us a better result.
An overview of the morning route:
So here's a gear tip for you: Rain gear worn on the outside of your regular gear works better than zip-in rain gear. Not so much because the outer gear is more waterproof, although it sometimes is, but because it keeps your jacket and pants from becoming something akin to a sponge or, better described, a giant wash rag. I swear I absorbed 10-15 pounds of water before we finally found shelter. Is that what is referred to as "water weight gain"?
It started raining in earnest just about the time we crossed I-64. That's some 30 miles northeast of Dutzow. Not far. I was in the sweep position and could almost hear Glen thinking about where we could pull off as the rain intensified.
Here's the one and only time you will ever hear me lament about not having a windscreen. All the other riders in our group were relatively cozy behind their stock or aftermarket Plexiglas guards. Meanwhile, I was taking the brunt of the water right on my chest; not just the rain coming down, but the spray kicked up by the 5 bikes leading me through this hell.
It was pouring down but good, and because the road was curvy, unfamiliar, and wet, we were moving at a fairly slow and prudent pace. I had no issue with the speed, but I was frustrated that we didn't pull off. Well, we couldn't pull off, really. There was almost no shoulder, few crossroads, and no parking lots or stores that we could see. Glen did the right thing by soldiering on, but once my visor then my glasses began to fog up, I began a quiet mantra to myself. "I gotta get off this F**king bike. I gotta get off this F**king bike." Every so often Glen would slow us down as he looked for a place to turn, but every time he decided to keep on rolling and every time I repeated "I gotta get off this F**king bike." This seemed to go on for hours, but it was only about 30 miles. Dutzow, MO is where we stopped and finally found shelter.
We stopped in "downtown" Dutzow which reminded me the town described in Jimmy Buffett's song "Ringling Ringling",
Church windows broken
That place ain’t been used in years
Jail don’t have a sheriff or a cell
And electric trains they run by maybe once or twice a month
Easin’ it on down to Mussellshell
Ringling, Ringling
Slippin’ away
Only forty people livin’ there today
'cause the streets are dusty and the bank has been torn down
It’s a dyin’ little town
(Great song, by the way, give it a listen sometime.)
So, we stopped and walked into a junk store. I think it may have said "Antiques" on the sign, but the goods on sale were under-qualified for such a grand designation as that. At least it was dry inside, except for the trail of water draining off the cuff of my sponge-pants. My waterproof boots performed exactly as advertised, though--not one drop of water leaked out of them after my pant liner, acting as a sort of funnel, filled them from the top. "Squish sqaush" was the sound I made as I dripped my way from one bin of crap to the next. Very nice folks inside. A little scary at first, but nice. They were kind enough to direct us down the road a piece (pretty sure that's exactly how they said it, too) to the Dutzow Deli. Squish Squash as I walked out to the bikes to get a few pictures of this dyin' little town and the soaked bikes parked on its streets.
So, here's a gear tip for you: If it's raining hard, put your lanyard-cam (AKA Ferret Cam or Mickey Cam) in some sort of waterproof bag and do not trust your liner or other rain gear to keep it dry. All remaining pictures for this log were taken with my iPhone and none while in motion.
All of us were soaked, but I think everyone in our group would agree that I was the most soaked and the least happy of us at that moment in time. I was frutrated, wet, and angry, and frustrated...and wet. I know it showed, too, because everyone kept their distance from me for a bit when we arrived at Dutzow Deli, but then quickly brought me out of my funk.
There has been a moment in every big trip I have taken with these people where it became clear why I so enjoy riding with them. The way they let me relish in my frustration for just long enough to get it out of my system and then to bring a smile to my face and a renewed enthusiasm for getting back on the bike for our next leg was that moment on this trip. And you know what? They may not even know that they did any of that.
The Dutzow Deli. We had eaten only about an hour before, but we had a second breakfast here as we let our stuff dry out for a bit. Nice porch. Good food. Nice people. Dirty DIRTY bikes.
[url=http://s1318.photobucket.com/user/emptysea43/media/Ozark%20Mountain%20Daredevils/7809DE48-B6B5-4A9A-AF18-D987C196D1F6_zps8eis9iw4.jpg.html]
If you have a chance sometime, go look at another picture of me where you can see my gloves. When they're dry, they're light tan, almost yellow.
[url=http://s1318.photobucket.com/user/emptysea43/media/Ozark%20Mountain%20Daredevils/6E9B7EF4-61DE-4D27-8668-0F33599174CB_zps9yciy78k.jpg.html]
The truly wet portion of our ride along the Missouri River on MO94 was over. We made decent time the rest of the way to Jeff City, where we gassed up, snacked up, and figured out where to go next. It was plenty hot by this point, but heat is infinitely better than wet. I loved this entire stretch of road, from St. Charles to Jefferson City. Nothing too technical, but plenty of sweeping turns and some elevation changes as well. There is one fairly straight stretch where we were riding along what I think is part of the Missouri River flood plain with small, tree-covered mounds to our right and flat farm fields and, eventually, the river to our left. I recall looking over the plain and seeing the Missouri State House poking its domed head above the horizon from the other side of the river. If you're in the area, ride MO94. Just choose a dry day and maybe do it early enough to avoid heat and traffic. Glen was dead on right when he picked this road.
A note on tires, rain, and the CB1100: My 2013 CB1100 was fitted with new Michelin Road Pilot 3 tires about 8500 miles before this trip. As uncomfortable as I was with my rain-filled boots, my foggy visor, and my water-weighted riding garb, I was never unsure of what my bike was going to do. The bike and tires did their job admirably and I always felt secure, even at the height of my angst over the situation.
[Author's note: My apologies for the delays between updates. Work and a few technology issues (Photobucket locks up my browser sometimes) have kept me from posting more quickly.]
