Tag Archives: Rider Magazine Blog

Perceptions | Being a Good Samaritan Motorcyclist

Perceptions Being a Good Samaritan Motorcyclist
Would you accept an offer of help from this man? Are you sure? (Photos by the author)

Each of us has likely been advised not to judge a book by its cover, but my experience as a motorcyclist confirms that those of us who ride are routinely judged in that manner. It doesn’t help that media and pop culture frequently portray motorcycle riders as noisy bad-ass bikers or reckless crotch-rocket squids.

But that’s not who I am. Friendly, slight of build, and respectful, I am the definition of non-threatening. Have a question? I’m all ears. Need a hand? I’ll help.

When I’m riding, I make a concerted effort to be an ambassador for everyone who rides. I stop for people crossing the road, let other vehicles pull out, and give extra space to those with dogs or horses. Off the bike, I hold open doors, especially for old folks and families with kids. I leave generous tips for waitstaff. I say hi to people in uniform. Honestly, it doesn’t take that much effort, and if non-riders get a good feeling about someone they meet who is riding a motorcycle, the next time they think about a motorcycle they’ll be able to associate it with something positive.

Check out more of Rider‘s features

Consider a couple of cases in point. Rides in my home region of Massachusetts often find me at Quabbin Reservoir. One particular day in March, the sky was cold blue crystal as I motored through the reservation. Water cascaded over the 400-foot-long stone spillway, indicating that the reservoir was at capacity. I continued up Quabbin Hill Road and, at the rotary, curved right toward the Summit Tower. From there I could enjoy splendid views of the valley and the mountains beyond. The unpaved parking area was a muddy mess, so I parked at the paved road’s edge behind the lone car there.

As I walked up toward the tower, a little girl, probably five years old, turned sharply at the sound of her name, looked back at me, then scampered to hide behind her parents. I offered a friendly hello, but my presence was clearly met with suspicion.

Though I gave them space, I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation: The girl was asking her mother for a quarter so she could look through the coin-operated binoculars. “Sorry,” her mom said, “I didn’t bring any quarters.” A hopeful look at her dad was also answered with “Sorry.” The girl’s expression switched from anticipation to disappointment.

Perceptions
Can a quarter change one person’s perception of another?

I had a quarter. I fished it out of my pocket and held it up for the mom’s approval. Looking a bit surprised, she nodded her consent, so I offered the coin to the girl. The youngster flashed a grin and thanked me.

“My daughter is a few years older than yours,” I told her parents. “She always liked looking through those binoculars.” They smiled. Twenty-five cents had changed me from someone best avoided to someone with a daughter.

Stopping to be a good Samaritan has long been my practice, although it has not always been met with appreciation. Several summers ago, while riding in Vermont’s remote Northeast Kingdom, I came upon a minivan parked on the shoulder. A tire was flat, so I pulled over to see how I could help. A young woman and her kids were in the van. I parked my bike ahead, removed my helmet and, keeping back what I considered a respectful distance, offered to help. The driver held up her hands: No! She didn’t know me or whether my intentions were honorable, so I couldn’t blame her.

My family was expecting me back home in a few hours, and I could have just left, but my fatherly instincts were telling me this young family was vulnerable. Another dad who rides once shared with me his story of simply staying on-site until proper help showed up, so even though this driver didn’t trust me to help, I decided to wait until help she did trust arrived.

Perceptions
Sometimes the good Samaritan arrives on a motorcycle.

“I’ve got a family and I’d hate to think of them stranded,” I told the driver, keeping back at that respectful distance. “I’ll just stay here by my bike until a cop arrives.” She was looking right at me but didn’t respond. I went back to my bike and reached into the tankbag for a snack.

It was sometime later when a Vermont state police cruiser, with its distinctive green livery, came into view. I waved my arms and the lights flashed on. The trooper pulled over next to me and got out immediately.

“What’s happening here?” he demanded.

“I saw the van had a flat and stopped to help,” I explained. “The lady said no, but it’s just her and the kids, so I decided to stay until help she trusts arrived. My family is expecting me home in Massachusetts, so I really need to go now.”

The trooper pointed an authoritative finger at me. “Wait here.” He walked to the van, spoke briefly with the driver, then came back. “Thank you for staying,” he said. “Ride safely.” The lady waved at me from the van. I waved back and she smiled. The motorcycle guy had changed from an untrustworthy character to that thoughtful dad who stayed until help arrived.

It rarely hurts to be friendly, especially when we’re out riding motorcycles. That way, people who do not ride might appreciate that those of us who do aren’t outlaws or hooligans by default. They just might realize that motorcyclists aren’t all that different from them. We just prefer to ride.

The post Perceptions | Being a Good Samaritan Motorcyclist first appeared on Rider Magazine.
Source: RiderMagazine.com

To Ride, or Not to Ride? That is the Question….

Africa Twin desert
The decision to ride or not ride a motorcycle in these troubled times is a highly personal one. Photo by Kevin Wing.

As I write this in early April 2020, the effect of the novel coronavirus on the planet is evolving daily. Currently entire countries are on lockdown and shelter-in-place orders are in effect in more than 40 U.S. states in an effort to control the spread of COVID-19 and “flatten the curve.” The toll on human life and the global economy has been heartbreaking, shocking and downright scary, and unlike anything most of us have experienced.

The concept of “social distancing” is strangely new and difficult to fathom by a species for which socializing is so vital to our health and well-being. Yet physically distancing ourselves from one another or just staying home has become the second most important weapon in our defense, after our brave, selfless and heroic first responders and healthcare workers, who soldier on despite a lack of basic supplies and the risk of infection. God bless every last one. Being an optimistic type, I believe we will get past this eventually, and that life will return to something like normal — perhaps even better than normal having learned a lot about ourselves from the experience (hoarding toilet paper, really?). 

One topic of discussion that’s come up regularly, both within and beyond the friendly confines of the Rider office, is whether or not we should still be getting on our bikes and riding. Like any difficult question, the answer lies in a gray area; it’s not as clear-cut as many believe or would like it to be. I will say that here at Rider, we are still swinging legs over saddles and hitting the road, but only in the name of photo shoots and actual bike testing (perhaps at a slower pace than normal), so that we can continue to bring you the content we hope will help see us all through the coming weeks (months?). Touring is pretty much off the table, but fortunately we’ve got plenty of stories in the bank from our contributors around the country to see us through. 

But to answer your question: to ride, or not to ride…I won’t tell you outright that you should defy an order to stay home — we’re all in this race against the virus together and can’t afford to let our guard down. We certainly can’t get together to kick tires or bench race at rallies or races right now, or even just hang out at the usual gathering spots, a major sacrifice for those of us for whom the group social experience is the ride. But riding a motorcycle can be the very definition of social distancing, and the soul-cleansing joy of a ride is needed by all of us now more than ever. It’s certainly much more rewarding than binge-watching Netflix!

While there are a lot fewer vehicles on the road, it’s important that if you choose to ride, you do so with extra caution to avoid placing an additional burden on the healthcare system. Weigh the risks and make an informed, careful, personal decision about where, how and with whom. In areas where it’s still permissible to visit public parks and go walking, running and bicycling, it seems to me that motorcycle riding adheres to the spirit if not the letter of a stay-at-home order and provides an equally and adequately social-distant venue for recreation, provided that extra caution is observed. Consider your skill level and the local healthcare situation, and do or don’t accordingly.

Curious about how you, our readers, are handling the riding question, we sent out a survey to our eNews subscribers (you may have seen it, and hopefully you participated). While nearly 85% of you are currently under a “safer at home” order, 58% of you are still riding — but you’re doing it alone. Only 10% still meet up with their friends for a ride.

If you decide a motorcycle ride is out of the question for now, fortunately there is still plenty you can do to stay involved in our favorite activity/lifestyle/passion. At this writing the industry is just beginning to generate some special promotions and contests to give us something to do while we shelter in place. Roland Sands Design has kicked off a bike build-off contest open to anyone, for example, with some very cool prizes for the winner — a deadline for entry has not been set so check out rolandsands.com.

Although some dealers are closed and only doing business online, it’s vitally important that we support local motorcycle businesses any way we can, even if it’s just ordering up some parts and doing those basic maintenance chores you’ve been putting off. My 1982 Yamaha Seca is finally going to get the carburetor rebuild it needs, and maybe I’ll pull the exhaust system off and polish it up as well (the wife is taking bets).

Of course one of the most hopeful things you can do at home that will help keep your two-wheel dreams alive is to start planning some rides! Order up a highlighter and some maps and paper the walls of your living room with them — no one’s coming over anyway, right? Search the touring features and Favorite Rides on this website by region or keyword to research the best roads in the area, the things you should see along the way and great places to eat. In the meantime we’ll keep finding and writing about new places for you to ride when we are released from this nightmare. 

Speaking for the entire team at Rider and our contributors around the country, we hope that you and yours are safe and well and that you stay that way. For ourselves, the staff is taking the necessary precautions recommended or mandated by local government, but will continue to bring you Motorcycling at its Best somehow, some way. Motorcycling isn’t unique in that its enthusiasts have always nurtured and been part of a tight-knit community, but I like to think that we are exceptional in the strength of that bond, and in the universal understanding by our community’s members that for many of us motorcycle riding isn’t just a sport or a pastime — it’s a necessity, like breathing or eating. Stay safe and thanks for reading Rider.

Source: RiderMagazine.com

Spring Training: A Good Reason to Dust Off the Bike

BMW R 1200 GS desert
A ride south of Phoenix to the border warms the cold blood of winter. Photos by the author.

Spring (training) has sprung in both Florida and Arizona. As big leaguers work out the kinks of the offseason, motorcyclists can do the same in a migration to the lower left and lower right corners of the nation. There may be no better reason than spring training to unplug the battery tender, fill up with fresh fuel and check the air cleaner for nesting rats. 

Last week, I made my way to Arizona’s Valley of the Sun on my BMW GS to experience some of what Cactus League Spring Training has to offer, while also riding several fun loops outside of the Phoenix metro area. I planned my trip to include the two-day Innings Festival in Tempe, that serves as the mega kickoff to the Cactus League. The festival brings a long list of national musical acts and Major League legends to the Tempe Beach Park, to the delight of tens of thousands of baseball and music fans. 

 Innings Festival kicks off the Cactus League
The Innings Festival kicks off the Cactus League season with music and baseball legends.

In my case, between attending the festival and catching Chicago Cubs practices, I enjoyed a couple of great rides emanating from the metro area. One ride traced though the towering desert saguaro cacti south of Phoenix to the international border. The wide open spaces and warming desert air made for a fantastic reintroduction to the riding season.

The next day, after listening to the crack of the bat as Chicago first baseman Anthony Rizzo took batting practice, I cracked the throttle, making a loop east of the Valley that included Lake Roosevelt and some of the winding roads in Arizona’s mine country. I capped off the day listening to Jason Isbell and Dave Matthews at the fun and well-organized Innings Festival. 

There is still a month of spring training in both Arizona and Florida, so air up the tires, dust off the tank and head south. Motorcyclists need spring training too!

Arizona motorcycle ride
The winding roads in Arizona’s mine country are an effective rider “spring training.”

Source: RiderMagazine.com

Dirt Roads: An Appreciation

pavement ends sign
When the pavement ends, a new kind of fun begins. Photos by the author.

Andy follows me across the border from Massachusetts into Vermont. We’re riding along a dirt road that cuts through dark, deep woods overlooking the Green River. As my Kawasaki hums below, the final stanza of Robert Frost’s poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” repeats in my head:

These woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep

It’s a warm August morning, not a snowy evening, but Frost’s silken words apply. For two days we are riding through the very landscapes that inspired Frost’s extraordinary descriptions of ordinary things. As the crow flies, Vermont is about 160 miles long north to south, but we’ll cover 321 miles before reaching our destination of North Troy. We’re on the Vermont Puppy Dog Route, which links unpaved roads from the southern border we just crossed all the way to the northern border with Québec, Canada. 

Stowe, Vermont
Your humble scribe stops to take in an early morning view near Stowe, Vermont.

This isn’t off-roading. It’s dirt-roading. Especially in Vermont, roads like these came about because someone had a destination in mind. They follow rivers along a path of least resistance, or hug the edges of pastures and fields, or take the shorter, steeper route up and over the mountains. They have names like Church Hill Road, Rabbit Hollow Road and Elmore Mountain Road. We’re not blazing new trails or attempting to conquer untamed hilltops, we’re just choosing roads no one felt the need to pave. And since they are often the only roads to certain locales, they take us through areas we’d otherwise miss.

Vermont motorcycle ride
Early morning sun begins to burn off the fog over this beaver pond somewhere in southern Vermont.

What my “Vermont Atlas & Gazetteer” depicts as dirt roads can vary in width, surface and state of repair, but these roads are maintained for public use. Some are graded hard pack wide enough for two pickups hauling horse trailers to pass with room to spare. Others are so narrow that one vehicle must give way for another to pass. A few are bumpy, graveled but navigable two-tracks. You might not want to ride your pristine Harley Ultra on these roads, but you don’t need a dedicated dirt bike either. Any scrambler or adventure bike is up to the task.

As we discover, sticking to dirt roads can present snags. In southern Vermont, the route comes to a locked gate, so we find another dirt road that returns us to the route a few miles on. Farther north, a farm road abruptly ends at a single-track trail of deep mud and big rocks. We backtrack and look for another gray line on the map. As Andy likes to say, it’s all part of the adventure.

covered bridge Vermont
Nothing says Vermont like a dirt road and a covered bridge.

On a motorcycle you already feel more involved in your transportation. When you ride long distances on dirt roads your connection runs deeper. There’s a different kind of mental focus than riding on tarmac. Our pace is slower, with posted limits typically just 35, and limited sight distances are the norm. Inclines and declines can be steep. Steering is more labor intensive, traction varies continuously and braking distances are longer. It’s actually a good way to practice braking control at the limit of lockup on my ’08 Kawasaki Versys, which lacks anti-lock brakes.

dirt road underpass
Dirt roads often go under railroads. The underpasses can get mucky.

We also encounter all manner of critters at close range. A bobcat scrutinizes us from its perch atop a stack of firewood. A fisher cat ambles purposefully across our path with its distinctive four-wristed gait. A docile, ungainly porcupine takes one look at us and promptly turns back. A barred owl perches high in a tree that is rooted low in a roadside ravine, making it head-high with me as it suddenly swoops into flight. 

Mid-state we find ourselves riding through horse country with stately manor homes and white-fenced pastures that remind me of Kentucky. Here we share the road with horse-drawn sulkies driven by nattily dressed people enjoying a trail ride event. (Ride slowly past horses…they often get spooked by motorcycles.) 

Vermont Puppy Dog Rout
Mission accomplished: Andy arrives at the northern terminus of the Vermont Puppy Dog Route.

As we near North Troy, Andy points out a gorge and we stop for a look. There are no signs, but the map describes this beautiful place as Big Falls State Park. In a few miles we reach the Canadian border. When we stop to reflect on our ride, Robert Frost again springs to mind. This time it’s the concluding lines of “The Road Not Taken”:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Go enjoy a nice long ride on dirt roads.

Lovejoy Brook Road
Lovejoy Brook Road follows Lovejoy Brook (imagine that) near Andover, Vermont.

Source: RiderMagazine.com

Backing Up Science With a ‘Sanity Escape Loop’

Horsetooth Reservoir BMW motorcycle dog carrier
This overlook of Horsetooth Reservoir near the tiny town of Stout (population 47 1/2) is a convenient place to pause about three miles into the trip if I have to adjust my gear or if George needs a nature break. The “dogtote” shown was my original design, since updated. Photos by the author.

When winter comes and your motorcycle is parked in the garage with the cover on, and you have not been on a ride for some time, do you get restless? I know I do. I find myself dreaming of spring and planning long summer rides. I start reviewing packing lists, pouring over maps and reorganizing my gear. This helps, but it is not the same as riding. So, I also obsessively watch the weather for the chance to layer up and get in a quick ride. Where I live, I can get out once or twice per week during most of the winter months – ice in the canyon corners permitting. 

When time and weather are limiting factors but I still need to get out and ride, I have a short 40-minute loop I like to do. I call this my Sanity Escape Loop since it allows me to escape to the foothills west of town when I feel winter (or life) closing in. My escape route is only 30 miles or so, but that is often enough for me to relax. The ride takes me into the foothills west of Fort Collins, past Horsetooth Reservoir, through Masonville, and along Bobcat Ridge to the outskirts of Loveland, and back along Glade Road. Along the route, there is a roughly 10-mile loop allowing me to circle Bobcat Ridge and Glade Road if 40 minutes is not enough to relax. 

Masonville Colorado
Turning from Larimer County Road 38 to County Road 27, I pass antique farm machinery in Masonville as I head south along Bobcat Ridge.

A recent study funded by Harley-Davidson demonstrates motorcyclists are happier, their brains are more focused and their stress levels are lower after a 20-minute ride. I guess this makes my 40-minute Sanity Escape Loop twice as good! But seriously, this research backs up my belief that riding helps me maintain some semblance of sanity. And, it’s not the only study that’s been done that supports my experience. 

Research published in the International Journal of Motorcycle Studies explored why motorcyclists choose to ride, despite the dangers associated with it. Ten experienced motorcyclists ranging in age from mid-thirties to mid-seventies, with an average riding experience of 18.6 years, participated in this university-approved study. Responses collected in semi-structured interviews were analyzed for common themes.

All participants stated they ride primarily for leisure, because they enjoy it and it makes them feel better. Study participants shared that riding allows them to relax and escape their worries, with many stating that riding lifts their spirits and makes them happy. The participants also shared they are much more focused and aware of their surroundings when motorcycling compared to driving. The study participants credited their experiences riding in complex, dangerous situations, such as heavy commuter traffic, with helping them develop increased focus, situational awareness and road survival skills. These motorcyclists are keenly aware of the dangers posed by motorcycling and yet they choose to do it anyway because they believe the benefits outweigh the risks. Most riders also preferred to ride on less crowded, rural or country roads than in crowded, urban and commuter settings.

Stout, Colorado
Stout, Colorado, has a claimed population of 47…and a half?

Though, if you do commute by motorcycle, you can take solace in the fact that it is helping keep your brain young. Research funded by Yamaha shows riding a motorcycle daily for two months improves several cognitive functions, including processing speed and visuo-spatial attention. These improved cognitive functions are utilized for rapid hazard detection and avoidance, skills that are essential to safe motorcycling. The improvements from daily motorcycle riding were similar to cognitive gains observed with the playing of daily brain training games. Such brain games are often used to help keep the brain young and delay the onset of dementia. 

Exercise science shows riding a motorcycle counts as healthy exercise too. Research shows off-road motorcyclists are more fit than the general public. Riding 2-4 times a week for six weeks increased participants’ aerobic capacity and muscle mass and lowered their blood pressure, blood sugar and body fat. The demonstrated health gains were greater than those usually obtained from walking 2-4 times a week. Wow – motorcycling can help keep your brain young and is healthier for you than walking! Who knew?

Horsetooth Colorado
A nice straight stretch between Horsetooth Mountain Park and Masonville, where I can open up the throttle and relax a little. Though, I need to keep my head on a swivel for wildlife. I have encountered free range cows, deer and turkeys along this stretch.

So, what does this mean? That you need to get out there and ride! You already knew that, but now you have science to back you up! Motorcycling is good for you – both physically and mentally. The physical benefits of motorcycling include increased endurance, increased lung capacity and increased core strength. Mental benefits include decreased stress, decreased anxiety and a younger brain. Overall, motorcycling can make you smarter, stronger, more relaxed and – best of all – happier. Motorcycling can even help you keep dementia at bay. But you cannot be complacent. You need to stay alert so you can continue to improve. You also need to practice and train to refresh your skills and then train and practice some more. 

So, the next time someone worries about you riding a motorcycle, you can tell them not to worry, science proves riding a motorcycling is good for you. Then hand them this article and invite them to take a motorcycle training course with you.

On a lighter note, when I want to further enhance the benefits of motorcycling, I bring along my Australian Cattle Dog, George. He has fun, I have fun and we make lots of people smile. I already know motorcycling is good for me, and I also know that having a dog is good for me – and riding with George proves it! Now go do your sanity ride. I just did mine twice. First on my own, and then with George.

You can find more information about George’s motorcycle travels, the author’s training of George, Opal and Ollie to ride, as well as hints, tips and tricks on training your dog to safely ride your motorcycle at: https://DogOnMotorcycle.com

Source: RiderMagazine.com

Inside Arai Helmets

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
Michio Arai, son of company founder Hirotake, and Michio’s son Akihito (on bike), two of the three generations of Arais that have been making premium motorcycle and auto-racing helmets for nearly 70 years.

After spending a few years behind bars and a desk at Rider magazine, I like to think I have some important things figured out. “Nonplussed” doesn’t mean unimpressed. Lean and believe. Bread plate on the left, drink on the right. And wear ATGATT (All of The Gear All of The Time), especially an approved helmet, preferably full-face. What about Snell vs. DOT vs. ECE 22.05 helmet certification standards? Yes, there are significant differences among them, but those differences really only come into play if you can predict what type of accident you’re going to have. The important thing is to find an approved lid that is comfortable and fits well, has good optics and doesn’t contribute to fatigue with excess noise or weight. A helmet that you like. A helmet that you want to wear, and always do.

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
Arai Americas Managing Director Brian Weston holds a “preforma,” or bird’s nest layer of chopped Super Fiber ready for the mold.

Arai has been making helmets motorcycle riders and countless successful racers want to wear for a very long time, since its first fiberglass-shelled model sold in Japan in 1952. Company founder Hirotake Arai, the son of a hat maker, was an enthusiastic motorcycle rider who established a headgear and textile factory in Saitama, Japan, near Tokyo, in the late 1930s, and after World War II made helmets for construction workers. When his buddies at the local racetrack asked him to make helmets for them, Arai created the first Japanese motorcycle helmets from fiberglass, resin and expanded polystyrene foam (EPS), effectively launching the Japanese motorcycle helmet industry. Despite focusing on head protection for fellow riders first and business concerns a distant second, the company flourished producing “HA” (Hirotake Arai) branded helmets, especially after establishing the “bag molding” technique with 2-piece metal molds that is still in use for most composite helmets today.

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
After the preforma or “bird’s nest” is inserted into the mold, one of Arai’s shell experts carefully places the reinforcing layers inside it, then a second preforma is put in to hold everything together, creating in effect a bird’s nest sandwich.

Soon after Hirotake’s son Michio (a rider since age 7) returned to Japan from college in the U.S. to help with the family business, Arai produced its first Snell-certified HA helmet in 1963. Exports began and the U.S. distributor who would eventually start and become President of Arai Helmet USA in 1977, Roger Weston, helped convince Hirotake to change the brand name from HA to simply “Arai” for obvious reasons.

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
An amazing number of preforma and reinforcing layers of fiberglass are used in each lid, some Super Fiber, some AR Mat and others Zylon or even carbon fiber.

Today Arai Helmet Ltd. has factories in Saitama and Shinto, Japan, and is still a privately owned family business, now in the capable hands of Michio “Mitch” Arai, 81, and his son Akihito. Production has ranged from a pre-recessionary high of more than 450,000 helmets annually to about 280,000 today, all by hand with the exception of six robotic lasers used to cut and trim the shells. Mitch and “Aki” Arai, along with Roger Weston’s son Brian — now Managing Director of Arai Americas — recently decided it was high time to pull back the veil on Arai’s skunk works in Japan with a press tour and ride that would showcase its new Regent-X full-face helmet (review coming soon) and two overriding aspects of Arai helmets: an unfailing attention to tradition, details and quality from its factory workers and helmet experts, many of whom have been with the company for decades; and Arai’s strong belief that in addition to absorbing impacts, a helmet’s shape must allow it to slide smoothly and deflect, or “glance off” impacts in order to prevent rotational energy from entering and affecting the wearer, hence the use of roughly the same smooth, egg-like shell shape since the 1970s.

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
EPS pellets of four or more different densities are used to create the EPS liner that crushes to absorb impacts.

So far no one has found a better material for a motorcycle helmet’s protective liner than EPS, and like most premium helmet companies, Arai forms its liners from EPS pellets of different densities — lighter for the thicker areas like the crown and forehead, heavier for thinner spots. Where technology and cost collide with tradition and safety is in the helmet shell, the designs for which vary greatly among manufacturers. Although the days of polycarbonate, injection-molded shells not holding up to more rigorous standards are long past, Arai believes that composite shells made of laminated fiberglass layers and resin can be stronger, lighter and safer, since the shell absorbs some of the impact by crushing or delaminating and better resists penetration (both a polycarbonate and composite helmet must be replaced after a serious impact, since the EPS liner will have been compressed).

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
The only robots in Arai’s four factories are the laser cutters used to trim the newly formed shells, one at its R&D center in Saitama and five more at the molding facility in Shinto.

Rather than throwing out a shell design and starting over each time, Arai’s current Peripheral Belt-Structural Net Composite 2, or PB-SNC2 (used in high-end models) and PB-Complex Laminate Construction, or PBcLc, shell designs have evolved from numerous CLC designs since the first in 1977. Both start with Super Fiber, fine strands that have 30-percent more tensile strength than ordinary fiberglass. These are chopped, sprayed with resin and blown onto a perforated, rotating vacuum dome, creating a strong “bird’s nest” of sorts that is heated to retain its shape. This bird’s nest is placed into a two-piece mold, and then up to 18 reinforcing pieces such as Arai’s peripheral belt of Zylon (also used in bulletproof vests) around the top of the eyeport and the Structural Net Composite, or SNC, that helps hold the layers together, are carefully placed inside the bird’s nest. Another bird’s nest is placed on top, sandwiching the whole thing together before the resin is poured in and the hot mold is closed up with a thick airbag inside to squeeze the layers together. After 13 minutes what began as a complicated sandwich of Super Fiber, fiberglass mat and Zylon layers that can take years to learn how to assemble has formed into a light, thin but ultra-strong integral shell.

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
Each and every shell produced 200 kilometers away in Shinto or nearby in Saitama must pass final inspection at this facility in Amanuma, where shells are checked for thickness, weight and visible irregularities.

After the virgin shells are trimmed around the bottom and their vents and eye ports cut by the laser, what follows is flurry of handwork and quality control by dozens of skilled workers, and with the exception of some paintwork and plastic part production it’s all done in-house. From sanding, priming, painting, water-decal application, strap riveting, and inserting the EPS liner to gluing in the eyebrow vents and comfort liners and numerous QC inspections, each worker doesn’t just do his or her job — each inspects and insures the quality level of each lid and genuinely cares about the result. What struck me most about Arai was not the modernity of the factories or quantity of helmets being produced, but rather that it doesn’t modify the design or what it feels is the safety level of its helmets in order to lower cost or make production more efficient or more automated. Just as it did in the 1950s, Arai genuinely cares about protecting fellow riders first and business concerns second. As Michio Arai said before we left, “Doing what we believes in gives us pride. We are not good businessmen, but we are determined to provide protection for the heads of fellow riders.”

Keep scrolling for more photos….

Arai Helmet Factory Tour
Michio Arai, 81, talks about Arai Helmet’s history in Saitama. The iconic photo in the background is of his father and company founder Hirotake standing on the saddle of his Harley in the late 1930s.
Arai Helmet Factory Tour
Punching out reinforcing layers en masse at the Shinto factory.
Arai Helmet Factory Tour
A machine weaves strands of Super Fiber for reinforcing layers like the peripheral belt that goes around the eyeport.
Arai Helmet Factory Tour
This is how a shell looks right after it’s removed from the mold. Now it’s off to the laser cutter. Note the staples used to hold some of the fiberglass layers together are all located in the eyeport, which gets cut out.
Arai Helmet Factory Tour
Since resin is relatively heavy, as little as possible is used to form a shell, leaving a rough finish that requires an incredible amount of handwork to get it ready for primer and paint.
Arai Helmet Factory Tour
Graphics that aren’t painted are typically water decals painstakingly applied before the helmet is clear coated. Interestingly decal application is all done by women, who Arai has found have much more patience than men for the intricate work.
Arai Helmet Factory Tour
We were treated to an exceptional preview of the new Arai Regent-X Helmet’s performance with a lengthy ride from Saitama to the famously twisty roads of Gunma Prefecture near the Shinto factory. Many thanks to Honda Motorcycle Japan for providing the bikes.

Source: RiderMagazine.com

Where the Road Ends: Alaska to Argentina Via the Darien Gap

How four military veterans made history with the motorcycle trip of a lifetime.

Alaska to Argentina via Darien Gap

There’s no wind in your hair or sun on your face when riding your motorcycle through a whiteout snowstorm, especially in November when it’s -16 F on Alaska’s Dalton Highway. No, the only warmth you feel is the electric heat of your Arctic riding suit running off your bike’s battery, especially if it catches fire and melts the inside of its weatherproof fabric, which happened to Wayne Mitchell on the sixth day of his 6-month journey last year. Too bad it wasn’t the worst of his team’s problems that week.

Five days later, near Burns Lake, British Columbia, Rich Doering was steering clear of deep roadside snow banks, leery of catching one with the wheel of his sidecar, when a white Chevy Impala tried to pass him, spun out of control and crashed into Doering’s left side, pinning his leg against the bike. The 59-year-old Alaskan was shaken and in pain. Not even two weeks into a journey two years in the making, Doering’s trip was in jeopardy of ending before barely getting off the ground. Fortunately, his X-rays were negative and the crew of veterans rode on, not wont to leaving a fallen man behind.

Alaska’s Dalton Highway is the first major obstacle in a north-to-south Pan-American motorcycle journey.
Alaska’s Dalton Highway is the first major obstacle in a north-to-south Pan-American motorcycle journey. Photo by Alex Manne.
Deadhorse Alaska
The industrial oil production town of Deadhorse is the jumping-off point. Photo by Alex Manne.
Ocular frostbite is a real threat. Photo by Alex Manne.
Ocular frostbite is a real threat. Photo by Alex Manne.
Emergency roadside shelters were deployed in a hellacious snowstorm.
Emergency roadside shelters were deployed in a hellacious snowstorm. Photo by Alex Manne.

With a few other roadside spinouts and mechanical failures, it was a dicey start to the Where The Road Ends team’s 19,000-mile continuous motorcycle journey from the origin of the northernmost road in America to the southernmost tip of Argentina. The four riders, plus one photographer and one videographer, had all served in the U.S. military and jumped on this opportunity to offset the boredom and void that so often come with reintegration to civilian life.

Retired army combat engineer Wayne Mitchell, the leader of the band, was a National Park Service employee in Colorado and the only rider with a wife and kids back home. Administrative office life was making the 43-year-old stir crazy, “like a Border Collie in an apartment,” and the prospect of another high-risk, seemingly impossible mission was all too tempting.

Simon Edwards, 54, had spent 20 years in the Special Forces as a medic before working as a physician’s assistant, though his own heart was on the mend from a bad breakup before the trip. Having raced in the Mexican 1000 Rally and set speed records at the Bonneville Salt Flats, he was the strongest rider in the group.

Gruff and bearded was Mike Eastham, 50, who served with Mitchell in Mongolia and now worked construction jobs in rugged Alaskan environments. He’d often talk about rekindling his youthful “cowboy and Indian days” of wild military exploits.

And then there was Rich Doering, the former satellite systems engineer who longed for the military’s camaraderie. At 59, Doering may have been the most intellectual of the group, but was definitely the slowest rider.

The team attached sidecars to their Kawasaki KLR650s for the beginning of the trip.
The team attached sidecars to their Kawasaki KLR650s for the beginning of the trip. Photo by Alex Manne.
KLR650s with sidecars
Once past the frigid weather and icy roads of Alaska and Northern Canada, the stabilizing sidecar rigs were removed. Photo by Alex Manne.

After the accident, the team cruised south along the west coast of the United States without any major hiccups. Once they hit the Baja peninsula in Mexico, the sense of freedom and adventure ramped back up as they sped down the empty coastline, making good time and taking in the warm glow of western sunsets. Mitchell’s father used to regale his son with tales of riding motorcycles through Baja and now here was Wayne Jr., feeling the hum of his own engine, with waves of salty air crashing down onto hot asphalt. Ironically, the end of the Mexican leg coincided with the end of Mitchell’s father’s life. Mitchell got the call from his family and ultimately decided that his dad, who suffered years of dementia, would have wanted him to complete the mission in lieu of the funeral.

Navigating sporadic roadblocks and long lines at border crossings are par for the course in long-distance adventure riding. But the team was preparing for a rather atypical speed bump. Instead of taking the usual ferry from Panama to Colombia around the roadless, lawless, 80-mile break in the Pan-American Highway system–known as the notorious Darien Gap–they planned to ride their 450-pound Kawasaki KLR650s right through the heart of the beast, though “riding” would soon take on a new meaning.

No one had ever done a continuous north-south motorcycle journey from Deadhorse, Alaska, to Ushuaia, Argentina, through the Darien Gap in one uninterrupted trip. The absence of any road going through the thick, overgrown jungle is enough of a deterrent, as are the deadly snakes and insects, paramilitaries and guerillas, drug and human traffickers, and desperate migrants.

Yet the crux of the whole operation hinged on getting permission to even attempt the crossing of the gap from Senafront, Panama’s border police force. At a fortified compound in Panama City, with armed cadets lining the perimeter in camouflage and toucans squawking from the treetops, a giant, menacing eagle statue glared down on the team as they shuffled inside to plead their case. One ornery official in an off mood could stymie the entire venture, derailing the premise of their film and letting down their sponsors and the fan base they’d amassed along the journey.

Senafront, Panama’s border security forces, kept a watchful eye on the riders until they crossed into Colombia.
Senafront, Panama’s border security forces, kept a watchful eye on the riders until they crossed into Colombia. Photo by Alex Manne.
The crew hoped this soldier was the only one around with a 5.56mm M-16. P
The crew hoped this soldier was the only one around with a 5.56mm M-16. Photo by Alex Manne.

Fortunately, they and their gifted bottle of a fine liqueur were greeted with a smile by Subdirector General Oriel Oscar Ortega, a decorated, stocky man who had surprisingly little reservation about giving the team permission to cross into the Darien Gap, despite the potential for political fallout if anyone were to get killed.

“There is peace with the Colombian FARC,” he said, referring to the armed revolutionary guerilla movement in conflict with the Colombian government since 1964. “All is quiet, so you can go. But [once you get to] Colombia, it’s your problem….Welcome to Panama.”

As soon as the Pan-American Highway literally ended in the seedy town of Yaviza, Panama, the gap began smacking the team with setbacks left and right. Isaac Pizarro, their Guna Indian guide, wanted more money for his services than originally agreed. The Senafront soldiers stationed in the river town of Paya did not get the memo to let the men pass and would have turned them back were it not for a satellite phone call from their superiors. “Muy peligroso,” one said. “Bien viaje. Muchos mosquitos.” The dry season that the riders had aimed to hit by leaving Alaska in November never came and the jungle was one giant mud pit under a lush canopy of treetops.

Doering was the first rider to burn out his clutch trying to ride up a hill while sinking his tires straight into the mud. His spokes, sprockets, chain and brakes repeatedly caked with thick sludge, dirt and vegetation, completely locking up the rear wheel. He made the tough decision to abandon his bike in the jungle and retreat back to Panama City before rejoining the others later with the support van.

The troubles continued. Food and tools went missing as the young local porters–hired to cut a path with machetes and carry camping supplies–slowly disappeared into the bush. By the afternoon of day two, the other riders had burned out their clutches and drained their batteries trying to navigate the steep ravines with slick roots and unstable ground. They ended up having to push, drag and cable-hoist their bikes the rest of the way through the jungle with the help of enthusiastic-yet-disorganized porters while torrential downpours made regular appearances. “Getting one bike up this hill could take 16 people, let alone four,” Mitchell said at one point.

“Just a few more hours,” Pizarro kept assuring them. “Then Colombia is all downhill.” Neither statement was true. The men spent three more days trudging alongside their lifeless bikes, the most physically intense thing any of them have done in at least 10 years. Bugs devoured them through the undersides of their hammocks at night. Mitchell’s blistered trench foot was so bad that he could barely walk. After countless Africanized bees’ (a.k.a. “killer bees”) nests, paralyzing bug bites and pricks from long black thorns, they managed to find even more bees, bugs and black thorns. Each day was stickier, sweatier and itchier than the last. 

KLR650 mud
Edwards guns it up a mucky slope with the help of some porters and a jury-rigged pulley system. Photo by Alex Manne.
muddy trench KLR650
Some steep, muddy trenches were impossible to ride out of. Photo by Alex Manne.
Guna Indian porters making camp for the night.
Guna Indian porters making camp for the night. Photo by Alex Manne.
A dugout canoe called a “piragua” was used to ferry the four motorcycles deep into the jungle.
A dugout canoe called a “piragua” was used to ferry the four motorcycles deep into the jungle. Photo by Alex Manne.

Once they made it to the other side of the gap in Colombia, where a network of rivers would carry them out via dugout canoes called piraguas, there was trouble looming with a local paramilitary group not keen on surprise gringo visitors. Fortunately nothing escalated.

The Cacarica River and Atrato Swamp were so low that they had to spend a day pushing bikes through shallow water while shoveling mud out from under the heavy piraguas. After eight days and 80 miles of grueling jungle slog, they found themselves recovering in the port town of Turbo with three mangled bikes awaiting new parts from Kawasaki.

Having conquered the greatest objective of the ride, they still had an entire continent to cross on rowdy South American roads. While triumph reigned, frustration and broken down communication among the team chipped away at the stability of their mission’s leadership. Spending six to eight hours on a motorcycle staring at the horizon brings a lot of time to ruminate on personal quips. A few group separations and mechanical issues occurred, causing delays.

They cruised through the scenic roads to Machu Picchu, and ripped across sand dunes under the wide-open skies of the Atacama Desert before climbing up in elevation to mountainous landscapes where they once again encountered snow. In Chile, they took the famously scenic Carretera Austral coastal road with three large ferry crossings. They lucked out with pleasant weather for a few weeks until it switched to incessant rain in March.

Riding across Peru, where open plains gave way to high altitude mountains with sudden snowstorms.
Riding across Peru, where open plains gave way to high altitude mountains with sudden snowstorms. Photo by Alex Manne.
Riding a motorcycle through a whole spectrum of landscapes and ecosystems is what it’s all about.
Riding a motorcycle through a whole spectrum of landscapes and ecosystems is what it’s all about. Photo by Alex Manne.
Closing the last of the gaps to Ushuaia, Argentina.
Closing the last of the gaps to Ushuaia, Argentina. Photo by Alex Manne.

Then time became a factor. Mitchell’s request to extend his leave of absence at Rocky Mountain National Park was denied. If not back in time he’d lose his job, which he needed to support his family, including his mother, whom he’d just found out was diagnosed with cancer. He’d be cutting it very close to get to Ushuaia in time to make it back to Buenos Aires to catch a flight home hours before work started. The others were running out of money and needed to get back to work themselves. As real life came knocking, they were all reminded of just how much we sacrifice for the feeling of freedom that riding motorcycles around the world gives us.

Along with the relief and accomplishment of finishing the ride came a mounting fear of the inevitable comedown–the empty purposelessness of not having a complex expedition to coordinate every hour of every day. Edwards considered turning around and driving back just to have something to do.

While no one left the trip claiming to have uncovered the meaning of life on two wheels, the ride instilled in them a realization that it all might just be about making it over the next hill, taking things one turn at a time, no matter what the destination.

When they finally reached the anticlimactic parking lot at the southern tip of South America in Tierra del Fuego on March 27, they gazed farther south across the Drake Passage, wondering what was next to come. After some silence, Mitchell pointed out, “Nobody has ever ridden motorcycles across Antarctica before.”

Edwards, Eastham and Mitchell finally found where the road ends.
Edwards, Eastham and Mitchell finally found where the road ends. Photo by Alex Manne.

Source: RiderMagazine.com

(Mis)Adventures on the Utah BDR

Our plan was a no-brainer: ride the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (UTBDR) from Mexican Hat, Utah, to the Idaho border, starting in Santa Barbara, California. Packing along both the official map and GPS tracks, and having already nixed a couple of “expert” sections from our route, we set off.

My buddy Roger rode his new BMW R 1200 GS Adventure, while I saddled my 2009 F 800 GS. In my enduring quest for the ideal adventure rubber, I took a tip from Senior Editor Greg Drevenstedt and shod my GS with a set of Mitas E-07 tires (an E-07+ at the rear) from Motorace for my own evaluation. (Read Greg’s review here.)

Utah BDRSix hundred miles brought us from coastal California, through hellish desert heat to a cool, green oasis of dispersed camping outside Flagstaff, Arizona, for the night.

Navajo roadside artworkMuch of the next 200 miles to Mexican Hat, Utah, crossed the Navajo Indian Reservation, where the roadside artwork almost comes alive.

Monument ValleyOur northward ride included Monument Valley, the backdrop for many western movies. Hey, is that a stagecoach up ahead?

Valley of the GodsThe official UTBDR route starts with an easy ride on graded dirt and gravel through Valley of the Gods. We would later refer to this as “getting sucked in.”

Valley of the GodsThe desert can surprise you: from blue skies to brown in four minutes.

Utah BDRThe Moki Dugway–several short, steep switchbacks built for uranium ore transport–was a piece of cake. Following that, Snow Flat Road was more like a tough steak cooked well-done then dropped in the sand. The red menace met us within yards of the turnoff and harassed us all day. Airing down the E-07s, I prepared for the worst. We hit a welcome stretch of bedrock, lumpy but solid, then more sand–deeper sand, miles of it.

Utah BDRMitas rubber earned my respect here, the tractor-like tread of the rear E-07+ grabbing sand by the bucketful to keep me afloat. There were a thousand thrills and no spills–a miraculous ride for this card-carrying sand hater. The GSA wasn’t as fortunate, requiring a few naps along the way.

TCX bootsAdding insult to exhaustion, the sand turned my new TCX adventure boots pink.

Sand Island CampgroundOur home for the night was–you can’t make this stuff up–Sand Island Campground on the San Juan River, near Bluff. It rained as we ate a cold dinner.

Newspaper rockWell-fed at the Twin Rocks restaurant in Bluff–and sand-averse–we skipped Butler Wash the next morning. Mud-averse, we also skipped the Abajo Mountains section due to pouring rain. The paved Hart’s Draw loop out of Monticello was more our speed, and rain didn’t spoil the scenery. Struggling to comprehend the meaning of “2,000 years ago,” we studied the hundreds of petroglyphs decorating Newspaper Rock on Utah Route 211.

Utah BDRWhen the signs among a spider web of natural gas pipes say “Beware of Hydrogen Sulfide,” you can be pretty sure you’ve made a wrong turn–or two. Once oriented, rotting asphalt then dirt delivered us to the east side of the La Sal Mountains. The forest road through pines and aspen to La Sal Pass (more than 10,000 feet), is a 9.5 out of 10.

Utah BDRAnother ominous sign, “Four-wheel Drive Only,” marked the way down. But it was the route (*see note at bottom), so down we went. It should have said, “We hope your life insurance is paid up.” Within a few turns the steep, rocky road got steeper and rockier. There was no going back–our beloved GSs had become ten-ton monsters that crashed and banged down the chutes like rodeo bulls. Roger tipped over, we righted him. The next time, a couple in a side-by-side helped. Their parting message: “Go back, the road gets worse below.” On its third rock nap, the GSA started drooling oil. We were gudenstuck. On cue, saviors from Moab rolled up: two guys, one girl, two trucks. True fact: a GSA fits into a beat-up Tacoma with the tailgate shut, with room for my luggage.

F 800 GS Utah BDRTaking the lead on my lightened motorcycle, I would scout a path through the rocks ahead, do my best to follow it and stop where possible. Then I’d catch my breath and repeat. I had it down, until I went down. The bike stalled atop a high berm when I failed pay attention to the throttle–chugga, chugga, click! Then whump as we landed on a fortuitous pile of rocks above a deep ravine. Several choice words later I climbed up and waited for the trucks.

Utah BDRFour of us wrestled the GS back on the road in short order. Next up in the fun parade: rain, slick rocks and a fogging faceshield. The Mitas treads stuck to wet rocks almost like they were dry, but each chute took more energy from my flagging reserves until, near the bottom, I faced the Widowmaker. A left-handed switchback strewn with loose rock and several large set pieces dropped away in front of me. The outside wheel track was high-banked and loose, a small mistake there would spell disaster. The steeper path to the inside offered solid rock with good braking. A steering correction would take me through a small gap between rocks and onto a smoother way down. Not ideal, but a mistake here wouldn’t dump me off the side again. I the let the brakes off slowly, adjusted course and nailed the gap. From there it was just one more rocky section to the bottom.

R 1200 GS repairsIt was dark when the trucks showed up. We caravanned into Moab, found a motel, thanked our saviors and collapsed. Roger tore into the GSA the next morning, finding no damage to the valve cover. A small oil seep from the gasket was making a mess, but he was in no danger of running dry. We headed to Salt Lake City via pavement for repairs.

La Sal Loop UtahBut first, scenery. The La Sal Loop outside of Moab skirts the foothills on fresh new pavement, leading to Castle Valley. Light traffic and red rock panoramas were a perfect fit for our slow, tired pace. Utah Route 128 guided us north along the Colorado River, where in-your-face geology lined both sides of the road. At I-70 we struck west for Green River; a few miles later Roger’s clutch started failing and my motor began cutting out. Now we couldn’t get to Salt Lake fast enough. Or could we even get there at all?

motorcycle ride UtahI limped into Salt Lake City with a bike that would run for miles, then stall, then run. Luckily, not on the final stretch of interstate to Harrison Eurosports, staffed by nice folks who keep time in their schedule for travelers. They told us that Roger’s clutch was toast and overnighted a new one (unfortunately not a BMW warranty item). My bike passed all the computer tests and their visual inspection. The next day, with time to kill waiting for the clutch install, I looked closer. The head of the kickstand bolt was gone, giving the stand enough side movement to activate the cutout switch. No bolt in stock, but Internet help in my pocket: cut the wires, attach red to white, leave brown alone. Bingo!

motorcycle ride UtahBack on the BDR, we camped in the forest off of Utah Route 150 and enjoyed an easy morning’s ride.

Utah Wyoming cornerstoneBack on dirt, we detoured to the 1873 cornerstone of Utah and Wyoming, before arriving in Evanston, Wyoming, for lunch. Shunning the off-ramp fast food, we found the Main Street Deli in town (recommended) for a last meal together. It was time for me to head home while Roger continued on the route, then up to Yellowstone. With pledges to try again next year, we said our good-byes and headed in opposite directions.

Nevada motorcycle rideWith more than 1,000 miles to mull over the trip and look for where we might have gone wrong, about all I could come up with is that our loads should have been lighter. Not that weight killed the GSA or my kickstand, but it didn’t help the handling in the sand or coming down La Sal Pass one bit. What I did right was select a good tire–the Mitas E-07s performed like a champ on twisties, sand, dirt and rocks, and after 2,500 miles they had enough tread remaining to do the whole ride again. Another thumb up for Mitas–thanks for the tip, Greg!

*Once home, I checked the BDR web site, ridebdr.com, and found a notice posted shortly we left Santa Barbara: “The west side of La Sal Pass has become difficult to travel due to past flooding and OHV travel. It should be considered Expert Only and travel by Adventure Bike is not recommended at this time.”

Source: RiderMagazine.com

Have Your Dog and Ride With Her Too

Riding motorcycles with your dog
The author with her German Shepherd co-pilot, Moxie.

At the end of a 10-day motorcycle trip south from New Orleans, my husband Greg and I arrived at Lake Atitlan, Guatemala, where we planned to spend a couple of years working remotely, supporting a non-profit and enjoying the wonderful riding. However, a few months in we made a fateful decision that imperiled the latter. We adopted a nine-week-old German Shepherd puppy that we named Moxie.

After those first nerve-racking weeks as new dog owners, the New Year’s holiday presented the opportunity for a riding trip to Mexico. As we packed our panniers and secured the tank bags and duffels, it nearly broke our hearts to read the abandonment in those sad puppy dog eyes!

Eventually, we made it out the gate and down the road and all the way to Mexico for a few days on the coast. However, all along the way we lamented leaving Moxie behind. So, although it seems quite obvious in retrospect, it honestly struck us as inspired when, during the ride, Greg mused over the intercom, “You know, we should figure out how to bring her with us on a motorcycle!”

Riding motorcycles with your dog
The author and her husband Greg enjoy their two-wheeled adventures along with Moxie.

I was skeptical. It felt like having your cake and eating it too. But for Greg, the metaphorical gauntlet was thrown and so our bold endeavor began as do all those of the modern era: we “Googled” it!

We discovered trailers and sidecars but dismissed them, preferring to maintain as much of the original form and physics of my BMW G 650 GS as possible. Now, when you search “motorcycle travel carrier,” you find a variety of clever do-it-yourself creations and even a few commercial products. Parenthetically, the cutest are those that involve carrying a small pup in a tank bag or backpack. Unfortunately, our Moxie was on course to grow into a large beastie and few commercial carriers contemplate such large dogs. The few that do are bike model-agnostic and tend to look the part.

So, Greg set to work sketching, measuring, cutting and welding. His first try fell flat. Inspired by the motorcycle pizza delivery boxes that are ubiquitous in Guatemala, the carrier was ugly and heavy. It threw the GS’s handling out of whack and strained the chassis.

A little dispirited, he put Frankenstein’s failed dog carrier aside and hit pause on the project. Then, a couple months later Greg’s self-described moment of inspiration struck. He shook me awake and exclaimed, “The carrier doesn’t need to carry her!”

The next day he left for the workshop and a few days later he brought home the K9 Moto Cockpit. It’s a semi-enclosure of metal tubes that look like crash bars suspended along either side behind the rider. The cushioned bars secure to Moxie’s harness at several anchor points to prevent her from leaping out to chase cats or from being launched in a sudden stop or crash.

Riding motorcycles with your dog
The trick to the carrier is that it doesn’t have to actually carry her!

The exciting part is this, and I’ll repeat the pun because it really is a giggle, the carrier does not “carry her.” It has no bottom. Instead Moxie lays on a cushion, which itself lays directly on the seat and luggage platform. This means her 65-plus pounds rest entirely on the motorcycle like a cross between passenger and luggage.

Now, of course, Moxie is neither exactly passenger nor luggage, but she is certainly a member of the family. That means her safety is most important. All of the best commercial carriers provide for harnessing the dog rather than allowing for an easy get-off. Our initial tests indicated harnessing as the better option and our subsequent riding experience has definitely confirmed it. For more about the build and safety, check out this video and to see how we secure her before a ride watch the beginning of this one.

Riding motorcycles with your dog
Moxie travels everywhere with her family.

OK great, you’re thinking, but how does a slender woman lift a 65-pound German Shepherd onto a motorbike? Initially, Greg constructed a small platform that unfolds to be used as a step. However, when we began teaching Moxie to “saddle up,” we found that the promise of Guatemalan blood sausage sent her leaping directly onto the motorcycle seat and into the cockpit. From there, the training process went: sausage, “turn around,” sausage, “sit,” sausage, “lay down,” sausage and strap her in.

Finally, it came time for trial runs. At first Greg ran alongside while I foot-paddled the bike and feathered the clutch. After a couple of laps on the dirt road along the river beside our house, the clutch slipped out, my feet came up and we were riding!

Riding motorcycles with your dog
The author and Moxie.

It feels a little like carrying a duffle bag–only different–and also a little like carrying a passenger–only different. About the best I can do to describe riding with your big dog is to say it’s like love, sex and chocolate: it can’t be described, only experienced.

So, I guess on one level this story is another among many that celebrate the proverbial “can-do spirit.” On another level, however, I suppose there is a lesson–dare I say moral–and it is this: sometimes with a bit of cleverness and some hard work, you can actually have your dog and ride with her too!

Riding motorcycles with your dog

Jessica Stone is a former international aid worker who, with her husband, Greg, started Ruff on the Road handmade dog apparel to beautifully and ruggedly equip dogs for adventure while creating dignified work-to-empower indigenous Guatemalan artisans. Jess’s German Shepherd co-pilot Moxie shares their motorcycle travels and outdoor adventures around Mexico and Central America in a video series called “On 2 Wheels + 4 Paws”–think Motorcycle Diaries meets A Dog’s Purpose. Come visit ruffontheroad.com to experience motorcycle adventures through Moxie’s eyes and the lessons she learns along the way!

Source: RiderMagazine.com