Carol & David's Excellent Adventures Part XIX - Bag Paris, Almost Italy for New Years by David A. Braun Copyright January 99 A business trip to Asia in early December pursued by a three-day family trip to Cologne ate into the old energy reserves. Then, preparation for the decension of my whole fam damnly to Grenoble from the USA for Xmas (popularly referred to in the family as "Larry's Birthday" because my brother-in-law was born that day) dipped further into those reserves. Of course, family visits are fraught with activity, dipping yet further into the reserves. The eleven of us ate some GREAT meals out and had a few very fine snacks in. But still, those events were tiring. Carol's and my original plan had been for the four of us in the nuclear family to take the TGV to Paris and ring in l'Annee Nouvelle there. We had TGV tickets in hand and the hotel reservations made. But after my family left to return to the USA, we decided that we just didn't have any energy left and a trip to Paris looked to be more of a chore than a joy. After finding that the TGV tickets were fully refundable and the hotel reservations fully cancelable, we bailed. I supposed we became les patates de sofa[1]. (Of course, I might have just said something really rude and have no clue. But, so what.) Anyway, Satan Claws brought me, amongst the other booty, a tank bag and hot grips for Xmas that I found time to install the last day of the year 1998. The following day, I went for my traditional New Year's Day ride (which I have missed on some occasions due to various reasons, like last year when I had no motorcycle). The day before was CRYSTAL clear and a fine day to make the installations. But, had I taken the ride that day, it wouldn't have been a New Years Day Ride, now would it. Installation day found me missing my old bike and cussing my new one. To remove the gas tank on my former bike, an '81 R80G/S, required no tools other than the key. Use the key to unlock the seat, lift it off, lift out the tool tray, flip a clip at the rear of the tank, remove the fuel line and remove the tank. Install in reverse order. To remove the tank on a '96 F650 requires two different allen wrenches for no less than 16 screws, and a pair of 17mm wrenches for the big bolt. This is, of course, after unlocking and removing the seat. But the REAL cussing comes when you try to reinstall the infernal thing. The tank has slots and tabs and the fairing has a complementary arrangement. The tabs on one have to match the slots on the other and vice versa. Just when you think it's safe to put the screws in, you discover some errant tab on the other side. Finally, when it is all lined up, you screw in the screws. Trouble is, there are not REAL nuts. They are those little clip-on nuts that clip into slots in the plastic pieces. If you don't have it all lined up just right, the HOLE can be there, but the THREADS have disappeared. Muphy being the son of a bitch that he is, the errant nut is never one that you can reach with your hand. It will always be one that requires re-removal of the tank to adjust. In the end, after five tries, I got it. Having to put ten of the screws through the NEW tank cover (requiring some stretching) made a normally PITA[2] task truly nasty. The grips were easy by comparison. I had hacked about a centimeter off of the length of the the after-market grips in order to get them to fit. (Too bad I hacked into the heater wire on one, requiring a little judicious soldering.) The after-market grips cost about $60 and came with a wiring harness and all. The BMW ones run about four times that price. My Moto Magazine (free with my insurance) had a "Consumer Reports" type of article on "hot handles" and these were the best pick. I had been intending to make my own using the instructions you can find on my web site provided from some guy on the other side of the world. (THANKS SANTA!) So there I was on New Year's Day (a bit hazy, though featuring generally bluish skies with some mild occlusion in the east) feeling just like a kid with a new toy. (OK, ok, I WAS a kid with a new toy, TWO new toys, I admit.) I had been up tooling around in the Vercors in a rental car with my mom a few days earlier. So, I decided to try to take my New Year's Ride to Italy (to the east of France). I was HOT in my Aerostich riding suit wearing long handles and sweats, and a polar-fleece long-sleeved top over a t-shirt, putting through downtown Grenoble on my way to fill up with some of l'essence. It was about 16C (~61F) downtown, according to some time and temperature clock (horloge du temp et temps). My electric vest was in my brand new RED tank bag, along with some heavy winter gloves and a couple of other items. I was wearing my metal-stud-palmed summer roadrace gloves. With a full tank, I hit the autoroute, for all of about 10km, exiting onto the two-lane that was soon winding upward. The road shoelaced through tunnels and tunnelets along a sheer drop of a hundred feet or so above a lake that didn't look at all inviting at this time of year. I prefer water that doesn't have to BREAK before letting you sink below the surface. Another clue about the sort of neighborhood through which I was riding was that there were a few traffic lights on the two-lane in the middle of nowhere, not at intersections. They featured signs that said (approximately) "If the light is lit, STOP. Avalanche." SEEING an avalanche in-person is on my list of things to do, as is seeing an active volcano. But BEING in either of them is something to which I am certain I am allergic. I decided to try for the top of the first pass instead of opting to attempt to reach Briancon (check an atlas, if you find it worthwhile). No dice. I was about 8 km short of the summit on a particularly tasty and twisty bit when the wind nearly blew me over. As the snowmelt running across the road was congealing slushily and most of the cars coming down wore chains, I pulled off to add clothing. I added my fat gloves and my electric vest. The hot grips had been great, but had become inefficient with only light gloves in the face of fact that the temp had dropped a lot faster than the altitude to which we had risen. East was gray sky sporting the unfriendly look of old man winter. West, toward home was still bluish. The Weather was stuck atop the pass. "Discretion is the better part of valor," someone once said. And being discrete, I wasn't going to complete the climb of this particular pass this particular day. I wanted to get back down before what had been merely damp on the way up turned solid in the waning afternoon light. Especially if that nasty weather hung at the top broke free and headed my way. Funny how what looks to be a scary road surface on the way up doesn't look nearly as scary on the way down. Might be the BTDT [3] syndrome. What looked to be a slippery tentative-grip surface on the way up was full-tilt boogie on the way down. I like my old 'lectric vest (which the Fat Man had brought me one previous Larry's Birthday) and my new 'lectric grips work just as good as my old ones (which, incidentally, have since visited Tierra del Fuego wrapped by Story Leavesley's paws[4]). I like my new tank bag. And my new bike and I are better and better dancing partners all the time. Of course, my old Aerostich and boots and gloves round out the retinue required for winter riding, particularly in the mountains. The ride was a mere 172-km from gas to home. Took about 2.5 hours. None too swooft. But my 1999 ride makes all the other New Years ride's I've ever taken pale by comparison, except mebbe a few of the Poudre Canyon[5] ones. It stands out in memory as one of the most beauteous and sensual. Sensual in the sense that I used all of my senses, more-so than any other ride. One REALLY savory part of the ride was at the very start... the door to where my bike lives was locked. But... I FINALLY HAVE THE KEY! [1] patate de sofa: (a febrile attempt to translate) couch potato [2] PITA: Pain In The Ass [3] BTDT: Been There Done That [4] Story's communique is elsewhere on my web site. [5] Colorado Highway 14 west of Fort Collins is a (USA) National Scenic Highway, for good reason. =========================================================================== For MORE Tales of Motorcycles and Adventure visit: http://www.deathstar.org/~flash/ David A. Braun - Flash@DeathStar.org - DoD # 412 ===========================================================================