DL1000 MPG, can you beat this?

[Hubert Few]

I wrote this earlier today for the v-strom list....dunno if it bears copy
here but I forward it anyway.


>Date: Sun, 02 Oct 2005 11:42:50 -0400
>To: VStrom2@yahoogroups.com
>From: Hubert Few <hfc687@comcast.net>
>Subject: DL1000 MPG, can you beat this?

>This may be a long offering....if you want the "bottom line" go to the
bottom line, or somewhere close to it.
>
>One day, early morning actually, I'm thinking it was a week ago Tuesday, I
forget....I felt like going for a ride.
>
>A number of factors seemed to suggest it wasn't the best time to go. 1)
didn't have enough money for gas if I ran completely out 2) a lot of gas
stations were out of gas 3) approaching front from the west promised
rain....if I headed east I figured I could count on riding back home in the
rain....no biggie, put my rainsuit in the tank bag.
>
>Bottom line, when you really NEED to go for a ride, that is what you do.
>
>Eyed the two 5-gallon cans of gas I had filled up for use in the lawn
maintenance biz. Put the bike on the centerstand, grabbed one of the cans
and filled the tank to the brim, about 3 gallons worth. Checked and
adjusted tire pressure, 42 rear, 38 front (yeah I know, save if for someone
who cares) chain tension good and freshly lubed.
>
>at around 4am I pulled out of the driveway.
>
>"East" I thought, that will be different, but what the hey.
>
>It was not yet a conviction that this would be a "mileage run"...good
thing because I managed to catch every light RED in the first ten miles, no
problem, stop, look around, proceed....I would have loved for some dipshit
road cop to try and write me a ticket for doing something that makes
perfect sense....fortunately I don't have to. Anyway, each start and stop
was transacted with very conservative braking, application of throttle and
I never revved it past 4K rpm the whole trip....My first confession as to
how this isn't the typical outing on the DL.
>
>20 miles into the trip I start to see glimpses of stuff other than the
typical urban sprawl around here...."anywhere USA" I call it, car
dealerships, burger joints, blah blah blah, the "best" modern civilization
has to offer, about as inspiring as someone else's farts.
>
>But what of that.
>
>Athens GA is about 45 miles from where I live. In a rare moment of
"planning" I decide it would be best to make SURE I make the turn for the
by-pass as there is nothing in Athens which appeals to me even if it were
my destination, which it isn't.
>
>In typical moment of cynicism I remark to myself "go dogs", my personal
tribute to "UGA" as I make the turn for the by-pass....like I give a shit.
>
>Now I'm 60 or so miles into the trip, clipping along at a blistering 56mph
(corrected) in 6th gear. A well tuned DL1000 will do this all day long with
no sweat or complaint, in fact (some may wish to cover their ears) with a
185 lb. rider (I have weighed as much as 230 lbs. in the past 12 months) on
fairly level terrain, she'll bee-bop along nicely in 6th at 45mph...believe
it, or don't! I've know this for quite some time but this is probably the
first ride where it became a mantra and mission statement.
>
>Mostly this ride was about escape...escape from the demons in my own head.
Soon the therapy begins to work. I begin to take notice of the fact that
not everyone lives in the same contemptable surroundings that I
do.....there is a sort of "openness" about rural life that is soothing.
People's shit is laying around with seemingly little regard for theives and
the harsh judgements inflicted by other's whose lives lack meaning. (my
assessment of sub-urban life, suits my particular needs) The whole place
positively reeks of humans doing stuff more or less in harmony with their
surroundings.
>
>With this rural openness comes other realizations and experience. You can
actually tell that someone LIVES in the scattered houses and what interests
them. You can freely absorb the various clues as to what their daily lives
must be like because the clues are not hidden the way they are around here.
the threat of approaching darkness seems to bring an especially high level
of secrecy in suburbia, or at least my little corner of it. I can go for a
ride around here at times and there is absolutely no indication the houses
are occupied, save for the eerie blue glow escaping from around the tightly
drawn window shades. I imagine that would be something of a mystery to
visitors from another planet....what IS that blue glow coming from? They
might try to understand the POWER it must hold over people's lives, some
sort of "religion" they might rightly conclude.
>
>But what of that....
>
>I become absorbed in this marvelous "here and now" experience. The
experience tempts one with the need to somehow "record" it for posterity.
The folly of that notion surfaces as quickly as the need exits. 
>
>At some point I decide to turn south on a paved two-lane state
road....naturally I don't remember the road number or location...doesn't
matter. For the past two hours or so about the only "threat" of substance I
felt being the possibility of a chance encounter with deer. I had already
passed one fresh roadkill...a four point buck. I briefly consider the
possibility of dragging it off into the bushes and returning with my pickup
truck. I decide not to, mostly because I am not a big fan of deer meat or
the way the insides of mammals smell when gutted. Like most people I'd just
as soon leave that task to someone else....although given the prices these
days of even the toughest cuts of cow meat, it's something of a moot point.
I decide to start packing a sharp serrated knife,  small bone saw and a
garbage bag for future early morning rides. I figure if an animal is killed
needlessly, at least someone ought to take a portion of it and eat it,
wouldn't even have to go through the dread "gutting" thing....just take a
hindquarter.
>
>I digress....again.
>
>Soon I begin to see this unfamiliar red glow on the horizon off to my
left. I briefly wonder if the occasional long-distance commuter who passes
me in great haste notices it as well....the "sub" mindset apparently is
far-reaching....I see the occasional roadside sign pointing to this or that
"gated community". One such presumed occupant pulls out in front of me from
a side road scarcely missing a beat for the stop sign in his late model
Saab. Not in the least suprising, just an unwelcome reminder. I briefly
ponder the complexity of a  society which allows people such "luxury", his
obvious need to get somewhere quickly answers the question, and I am sure
his home is very "secure". I wish him well as he disappears quickly over
the horizon. I am briefly depressed and feel drained.
>
>Soon I am absorbed by the red glow. Silhouettes of large oak trees on
rolling hills pass before it along with numerous "authentic" rural
buildings with a purposeful design of function and need. I ride through one
of those small rural communities best described as "sleepy"....I could be
home now I think for a moment. 
> Maybe I could be the guy walking along the roadside for no obvious
reason, or the fellow sitting on his front porch in overalls tying his
boots, looking up briefly to wave at the oddball motorcyclist.
>
>This community apparently has little to offer for outsiders as I don't see
a single sign for an antique shop. The faded paintings for commercial farm
products on the side of the feed store are distinctly  "authentic"....no
need for carbon-dating. If I remembered the name of the town I would likely
not share it, it will be replaced by something less inspiring soon enough
I'm sure. This township needs nothing from me as I take and leave nothing
beyond brief homage and a profound sense of melancholy. In fact I hope I
never see it again.
>
>I glance at the trip odometer and realize I am now 140 miles from home and
traveling west on another two lane road. I suppose this means I am heading
back home, it is now full daylight with strong overtones of gray...solid
cloud cover, not particularly threatening as relates to rain. A lot of
ground covered now with not much sign of human habitation. I see a sign off
to the side which tells me I have entered a national forest. Farther on I
approach a lake. I notice there are remnants of an older concrete bridge
beside the newer oneleft for folks to fish off of....my kind of place and
bears inspection. Pull down to the where the old bridge begins. In the
thick underbrush I spot what looks like a granite grave marker, turns out
to be an identifier for the "John Doe Highway" I call it John Doe because I
don't remember the name. I find the date inscription on the concrete for
the new bridge....1984....I start looking around in the dense brush
covering the beginning of the old bridge for a date identifier....I can
find only two holes where I surmise once was a brass plate with a date on
it. I guess someone needed the brass plate more than I needed the
information. I can tell by the etched concrete though that it is quite old
indeed. I wonder at the time how I might go about finding out the date. 
>
>I walk down to the water's edge, find a discarded package for an "early
pregnancy test". I briefly ponder the circumstances leading up to someone
driving to this remote spot and pissing on a test strip...strkes me as
funny, I laugh...."Fuck" I exclaim. 
>
>I think about what a great place this would be to take my son fishing...I
think he would enjoy it....a handline with a bobber and a can of worms from
our backyard....keep this thought I tell myself. I see some sort of pump
station a short distance away....there's a metal walkway going out to it
with a high fence, a lock hanging from the gate, unhitched....curious I
think. More interesting however is a trail leading to some large boulders
on the edge of the lake....I figure what I am most likely to discover is
various piles of degraded toilet paper and human excrement....to my
surprise I come across what is obviously a popular fishing area. obvious
because there are literally HUNDREDS of empty blue plastic containers which
once held earthworms for fishing. It is at this point I have my first real
moment of regret over not having brought my camera. I recognize the scene
for the obvious artform that it is, doesn't even bother me, you know, that
sense of "bother" one may find in judging others for various forms of human
endeaver....."How DARE a person be so thoughtless as to litter this place
with plastic cans?" I recognize that narrow-minded "outrage" for having
felt it so many times in a past life. Any such outrage I feel now over life
in general is something more difficult to put my finger on except to say it
is heavily laced with a profound sense of futility over feeling *anthing*
whatsoever. I am a tourist on this water's edge, if anything the obviously
high number of tourists that came before me were exactly as entitled as I am.
>
>My interest in the pump house increases. I see a hole cut in the fence on
the backside and a large plank serving as a walkway from the boulders over
to the pump house. I reckon someone was either sleeping/living there for a
time or someone imagined they had a better chance of catching fish if they
moved 10 feet in that direction. I picture myself as a homeless person or
traveler who could be very content there. Poverty is less of a disgrace
outside of cities.
>
>All of these thoughts did I think.....and others....many others. Thusly
stimulated I returned home. I *could* probably write much more about that
single ride of a couple of hundred miles, but I don't feel like it now.
This has taken longer than I care to admit to, with some level of editing
as I go to try and minimize the usual typos, missed words, etc. Now I have
to stop and do other things. Now I have a routine to consider.
>
>67mpg. corrected for the 17/43 gearing by a factor of 7%...that should be
close.
>
>It was higher than I expected it to be. The experiences along the way were
rich and fulfilling. I can do it again some time, it's affordable,
relatively speaking...although I wished I had realized my checking account
was overdrawn and when I filled the tank using my atm card that the
transaction would incur a $30 charge.
>
>I don't really give a shit what anyone thinks of that kind of information,
or whether they think I have an "agenda" in the telling. My life is my
life, it is rich and full of experience and challenges, rewards and
disappointments. As it seems to draw and pass more quickly with each and
every day I have fewer regrets about it. My only hope is there is a
"rewind" function on the recorder and I can view certain frames in greater
detail for as long as I choose to. I do think every breath is measured,
every second collected and stored. I do think we go through this grand
experience with far too little recognition of it's greatness. I do think we
would all be better off if that were not the case. As motorcyclists we have
a better chance than some of spending more time in the "being" part of it
and less in the "anticipation" part of it. That is what I think and I think
enough of you collectively to share it. I hope it was worth the bother, I
know it was for me.
>
>:Later
>
>Hubert
>03 DL1000