Motorhead Coffee

vagabond blog: thoughts from the saddle

Ominous Beginnings

Between my poor memory and one-track mind, I’m sure I have gone down this road with you before.  You know how, on some days, you just don’t seem to be on your game? Well, today is starting out all wrong. Once I’m up and dressed, the first thing I do is head for the coffee pot. I felt like I needed a little extra boost today, so instead of the usual, one cup pourover or Aeropress, I went for the big guns, the Chemex. I measured up the coffee and dumped it in the grinder. My home grinder is a Baratza. It is a popular home grinder, small, compact, not too imposing compared to the Rancilio Rocky that was on the counter. It has one of those plastic inserts that catches the ground coffee. I don’t like those. They are messy and the static electricity just makes a coffee fly everywhere. I have a stainless steel cup that I place under mine instead.

So here I am, barely out of bed, trying to get my eyes pried open with a nice fresh cup of Kenya Tatu that I just roasted. I dump the beans in the grinder and hit the switch. Then I walk off to prep the Chemex. I turn around a few seconds later and , lo and behold, there is a pile of ground coffee on the counter! What the hell? Oh, wait! Where is the steel cup? Not under the grinder, that’s for sure! I forgot that I had washed it yesterday. My wife, being a studious housekeeper, put it up in a cabinet for me. Out of sight, out of mind. So I cleaned up the mess and started over.

A rather ominous beginning to a very adventurous day. Today I’m heading up to Indiana on the Street Triple to take my first ride in a sidecar rig. I’ve not asked to pilot it; I thought that might be pushing it. However, if the offer is granted, it will be accepted! On the other hand, if I can’t even make a cup of coffee properly without creating a mess, maybe this is not the day I should be trying to steer a three-wheeled vehicle for the first time!

I will report back later today with photos, my experience and maybe even some video. Hopefully it will be coming from the comforts of my home…not a hospital bed!Batcycle



The Most Important Thing

Are you sitting down? Well, you better do so before you read any further. There, that’s better. Comfortable? Good. Nothing worse than an uncomfortable seat. Especially when it comes to motorcycles. You can live without a big windscreen (yes, you really can) or hard luggage. You can live without aftermarket exhaust systems, chrome chain guards and ape hanger handlebars. But an uncomfortable seat is the Devil’s curse.

I’ve owned about a gazillion motorcycles, ranging from narrow-perched dirt bikes to wide load touring bikes and I’ve yet to buy a bike with a decent seat. My current ride, the Street Triple, is no exception. I have done several 500 mile days on this little hooligan and, trust me, the fun begins to fade at about the 250 mark. The edges of the pan dig into my inner thighs and after a couple hours of that I’m ready to call a cab. What makes it worse is that I’m a guy who likes to ride long distance. I like to leave early and stop late. Or, as my wife says, “stop never.” Hey, not true. I stop for gas. And food. Well, usually I do both at the same time, making a meal out of protein bars and bottled water at gas stations. But I’ve got a confession to make; there have been many rides that I could not wait to end because my seat had become a real pain in the ass…literally. You pull up to a gas station, a rest park or your destination, put down the kickstand, raise your body off the seat and, WHAM! the burn sets in! I remember getting up early one day, riding a touring bike from the Ozarks, through Memphis, all the way across Kentucky then back up through Indiana. I stopped in Southern Indiana about 11:00 at night. I had been riding so long that when I pulled up to the pumps at a gas station, I almost fell over when I put my feet down…I was numb! Blood flow was not happening; I think it was working in reverse.monkey butt

I rode a Yamaha FJR on an Iron Butt Saddle Sore ride once. Stock seat. 17 hours. 1157 miles. Southern Florida to Central Indiana. Not great, but I eventually came to terms with it. I would call it a peaceful coexistence…and I really needed to get home.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI purchased an expensive custom seat for a bike one time. Well, way more than one time! Shh! Don’t tell everybody. Took the photos and the measurements, all that jazz. The only way I could tolerate it was to put a $30 Sheepskin on top of the $600 seat. I’m not too bright, but I see a problem with that logic.

I’ve tried all kinds of seats. I had a Sargent for the Triumph. Hated it. The pain it caused was severe, to say the least. Which is odd, considering the fact that the Sargent seat on my BMW GS was the most comfortable seat I ever had. I have tried almost all of the major aftermarket seats and custom seat makers. None have ever made me happy. Which brings me to one of my philosophical beliefs about relationships: if you have been married 4 times or more, you might be the problem. Same for the marriage of seat and sitter; if I can’t find comfort after trying a half dozen different seat manufacturers, then maybe the real problem here is me. My wife has, on occasion, told me I didn’t have an ass. Or maybe she told me I “was an ass!” Either way, I don’t think it was a complement. And I’m pretty sure both are true! Like my search for a 500 mile seat for my Street Triple, changing who I am at this point is probably futile. On the other hand, if I ever find a good seat that allows me to ride all day without feeling like I’ve been stabbed with a thousand needles and one big pitchfork, I just might be a nicer guy!nasty 2



What’s The Point?

My bike needs washed. Every time we have a decent day and I take it out for a ride, I park it outside thinking I will wash it before returning it to the garage. And every day I end up rolling it back inside without giving it the bath it so desperately needs.
IMG_2838See what I mean? I have what I think is a very good looking bike in the Street Triple R. But it has been filthy for a long time. In fact, I don’t even remember the last time I washed it. I haven’t always been this way. I used to wash and polish my bikes all the time. I mean, I have had some very nice looking machines and I always wanted them to look good. Now, before you think I totally neglect my bikes I want to assure you that is not the case. They get careful maintenance: fluids changed regularly, chain lubed, regular valve adjustments, etc. And I do wash them…eventually. Just not very often.

It’s not because I’m lazy or don’t care how they look, I think it has more to do with why I buy bikes. I buy bikes to ride. I buy them for the fun factor. That’s why I have taken a shine to the very impractical KTM 690 Duke. Sensible machine? Hell no! Crazy fun? You bet.duke

I believe I can take you to the exact point in time when I quit polishing bikes. It was when I bought my first BMW GS. I put Jesse panniers on it, an Aeroflow windscreen and nicknamed her, “The Big Ugly.”DSCF0005The bike was not a looker. It had no chrome. Nothing really to polish besides the tank. But man, I loved to ride that thing. I rode it summer, winter, spring and fall. I rode it in the warm weather and the cold. I rode it in the sun and the rain. And it got dirty. And I didn’t care. In fact, I think it looked better the dirtier it got! To be fair, I have had a couple Ducatis since the GS and I probably put a little more effort into their glossy red coat, but still, I’m more of a rider than a polisher.

This begs the question, how do we make purchase decisions when we buy motorcycles? Well, some of us buy bikes based on looks. Nothing wrong with that. I like a good looking machine too. Sometimes we buy to be part of something bigger. And I’m not throwing stones at the Black and Orange crowd here either. The forums poke a lot of fun at the ADV “world traveler” bikes that mostly park in front of the local Starbucks. I’ve been a part of the Beemer club, the Ducati red elite and the Triumph Rat Pack. Nothing wrong with any of that. When I was young, I may have lusted after a few bikes because they were “cool,” or I hoped they would make me “cool.” A long shot at best. But I have not done that in a long time. I buy bikes because of what they can do…and what they can do for me, the hopeless, restless romantic. And yes, I do look for that ever elusive vibe or “soul” that certain bikes seem to possess. I don’t buy bikes to polish and preen over. I buy them to escape, both figuratively and literally.

And that brings me to the point of the nonsense floating through my head today. More specifically, why do we do the things we do? Not just taking bikes now. Why do we chose the path we take in life? Why are we where we are at this or any given point in time? Is it where we want to be? If so, great. Lucky you. If not, then why not? And what are you going to do about it? I could easily get lost in a never ending discourse of purpose and choice…but I think I will stop right here and say that sometimes its good to step back, look at the things you are doing or the way you are doing them and say, “What’s the point here? Why am I doing this? Is it going to take me where I want to go?” If not, then maybe its time to consider trading models. And yes, like most people who put their thoughts in print for all to read and critique, my material comes from a very personal place.

Oh, rode the bike today. Did not wash it!




The Battle Is On

I have waged war. It’s an ugly war. One that no one will enjoy, especially not me. I’m waging a war against myself. Well, more specifically, the fat that I have accumulated around my midsection lately. When I first moved to Louisville I actually lost weight. The job I took kept me hopping and I dropped 10 pounds right away. I was working second shift, walking many miles a night, going home to pizza and a beer…and I still lost weight! I thought I had discovered the million dollar secret to weight loss! Move to Louisville! Maybe it was something in the air, or the water, or maybe the food in Kentucky was just especially healthy. Well, um, no, that’s not it.

As time went on and my body got used the schedule, I began to pack the pounds back on. And I didn’t make any adjustments. I just kept on enjoying all the good food I was discovering in this town. Then I noticed most of my pants were getting too tight. My riding pants were really too tight. And then I paid a visit to the Dr. I had to have a check up to renew my blood pressure medicine and they subjected me to that awful test. Yep, the Lie Detector Test. You know, the one where they make you stand on a platform while they balance some weights and then, publicly and out loud, in front of God and everyone in the office, pronounce your weight; “167 pounds Mr. Shepherd.” Really?  “That can’t be right?” Why not just proclaim my credit score while you are at it. And the fact that I am nearly bald. And getting old and wrinkled. And my skin is sagging. And nobody really loves and aging, bald, overweight short guy! Traumatic.

Now, 167 pounds may not sound like a lot to you, but remember, I’m only 5’5″. The heaviest I have ever been till now was 163. I was miserable. I went on a serious diet and exercise program, I mean serious…no cheating…not even once. I got down to, are you ready? 139. And I stayed there for a long time. I kept going to the gym, kept lifting weights, kept eating right and kept losing fat. My pant size went from 34 to 28. I was in the best shape of my life. I was never going to be mistaken for a jock or model figure, but I actually had a guy ask me once if I was a body builder…ha! Pint sized. He must have just returned from the eye doctor where he had had his eyes dilated! My niece, on the other hand, just said, “Man, you look old!” All this happened at age 40…ancient history. Now I’m 53 and stiff, and heavy and, once again, miserable.

So, I have declared war…on Nord’s Bakery, and Plehns and the Pie Kitchen. I have sworn off of the wonderful pretzels and beer cheese at the Mellow Mushroom. And the calzone. Ah, the calzone! And Thursday’s Steal the Pint Night. And Angio’s supreme pizza. And Wild Eggs Kalamity Katie. And Toast on Market…anything from Toast. And the Garage Bar…oh, the ham and the pizza and the beer! And Doc Crow’s raw bar. Mammy’s in Bardstown? I’m not even going to Bardstown. Just driving past Mammy’s will cost you 5 pounds. Wick’s Strom is a distant memory, as is their baked spaghetti.  Bluegrass Burgers burger & fries, washed down with a cheap Texas Shiner Bock. None of my wife’s chicken gumbo. No bacon. Nooo! Not the bacon! Please and Thank You? No thank you. And the Holy Grale…no craft beer. No Country Boy. No West Sixth IPA. Aghhh! Just shoot me now; I’ve lost my reason for living!IMG_1303


I’m back in the gym most days, often at 3:50 in the am before work. I just got off one of our bikes that I put up on the trainer. I’m drinking lots of water, eating cottage cheese, chicken, eggs, veggies, cottage cheese, chicken, eggs, veggies…you get the idea. Yummy.

I would like to tell you that I’m doing this strictly for health reasons. That is partly true because I need to get better control of my blood pressure, plus I like to be active and take motorcycle trips, so I need to be in decent shape to enjoy those things. But vanity plays a part, even at my age. When I refused a Rice Krispie treat from a co-worker today, saying I was going to Florida soon and had to lose weight, he responded, “You can be fat in Florida.” True enough, but I don’t want to be! When Lori and I go to Florida, we spend the entire time on the beach…in bathing suits…that means no shoes, no shirt. I don’t want to disgust the entire state of Florida! And there is an economic issue at hand here also. I need to be able to fit into my riding pants soon or I will have to buy new ones.

So, my declaration is done, the challenge is on. I need to lose 17 pounds by May 10, the day I head for Naples. Wish me luck. And when I return? Look out Nords! and Wild Eggs and….



No Choice

One of the most powerful traits we humans have is the ability to choose. While we are often caught saying, “I have to do it. I don’t have a choice,” we really do. Have to get up Monday morning for work? No, not really. Have to go to school? No you don’t. Have to stay in a job or a life you are not happy with? Not true. Change is only a decision away. Sure, the consequences of your choice might not be desirable, but you still have that ability to make up your own mind. Except in one case…motorcycles!

What? Preposterous? Hear me out. I was at a work gathering a few weeks ago. One of my coworkers is a dedicated rider. He probably rides to work 95% of the year. I’ve seen his bike in the lot when snow was on the road. We started chatting about bikes. Another manager stopped by and joined the conversation. He said, “I have thought about buying a bike, but I just don’t trust myself or other drivers.” Fair statement. One that I fully understand. To be a rider, you have to not only be vigilant about other vehicles on the road and the decisions they make, you have to also keep your emotions in check, as the ride can become intoxicating.

So, here we have two guys who ride and one guy who has considered riding. The two riders don’t “consider” riding. They ride. They always have, they always will, statistics be damned. Danger be cursed. If they are not riding every day, they are thinking about riding every day. When they think of vacations, they think of bikes. When they are asked, “What are you doing this weekend?”, the answer usually consists of a bike ride somewhere. I don’t really know what to compare it to. It’s like being born into your particular household. It is who you are. There is no decision to make. You don’t even think about it. It just is.

Well, I was born a motorcycle rider. No decision. No thought. Once I threw a leg over that first mini bike back in 1966, the decision was made: this is who you are. It is not just a part of my life, it is my life. I’m stir crazy enough as it is. In bad weather I pace the house like a lion in a cage. If I ever decided not to ride, my wife would have to throw me out or I would drive her insane! See? No choice.redminibike



As I grow older, I plan to ride more, not less. I plan to ride until the day I am no longer physically able

“If This Van’s a Rockin’ Don’t Come Knockin’”

My oldest daughter just bought a minivan. I’m sure neither she nor her husband had ever planned on that. He is a car guy, loves the Subaru sport and rally cars, Audis, etc. He loves cars so much, my grandson is named “Aston,” and my newest grandson, who will be entering the world in the next couple weeks will have initials that reference the Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano HGTE. And now they drive a minivan. I love it! It is today’s version of the Griswold Wagon Queen Family Truckster. griswold-mobile

It is amazing how having children can change your life. I’m sure my wife, Lori, never thought she would own a minivan either, but she did. When we got together, we instantly became a smaller version of the “Brady Bunch.” I had two girls, Lori had a boy and a girl. We needed a bigger car, so Lori bought a minivan. Green. Ugly. Boring. When I think back on it, it is hard to believe Lori was ever caught dead in that car. I mean, there is nothing that Lori does in which she does not first consider the “fashion” aspect. She fell on the ice the other day at our condo. Banged her up pretty good. Yeah, sorry kids, I didn’t tell you. I’m sure if she had whipped out a band-aid, it would have said “Coach” or “Betsy Johnson” on it.

When my daughter told me they bought a van, it got me thinking about the vans people drove when I was a teenager. They were actually very popular in the 70s…and they were nothing like the minivans we have today. They were “cool,” customized, beds on wheels. The paint schemes were elaborate, and inside, well, they looked like a discotheque mated with a roll of shag carpet! Just think, “A Night At The Roxbury” and you’ve got the idea.

I remember two particular individuals who drove these vans around town. One was a guy who was much older than everyone else. I don’t remember his name or much about him, other than the fact that he was old enough to buy beer and that he would often buy a keg and haul us around in his van…sliding doors wide open…keg exposed to the world…blue lights glimmering off the shag carpet…”calling all chicks!” Ha!0dd501d09049b3698f949cfad62527ee1011360_10153062421785173_382745523_nThe other was a girl named Jody. I only remember two things about her. The first was that she talked too much. Especially when she drank, which she was doing every time I ever hung out with her. The other thing I remember, well, I can’t really share here…my kids read this stuff!439501098a5fecf699689d0ba893d761

So, as you can see, vans and children go hand in hand…one way or another! “If this van’s a rockin’….forplay2



What Matters Now

Call it a wish list. Here is what I hope to do or see in 2014:

1. More riding. A lot more riding. My number 1 goal is to return to the “old days” when I used to ride 10-15 k a year on my bike. I plan to pick up a second bike this year, a bit more travel friendly, and “go!”

2. Go West Young Man. I have ridden all over the Midwest, the East Coast and the South. I have not had the opportunity to ride West. Let’s change that.

3. Become a better roaster and produce some “mind blowing” coffees, so good you can’t wait to get up and have them.

4. Spend time on the beach in Naples. I do this every year, but, hey, I have a busy year. Have to fit it in…maybe twice!

5. Spend more time with my Grandson Aston. And spend time with my 2 new Grandchildren to be born in 2014. See, I need a traveling bike (that’s my justification!), because neither live in Louisville. By the way, which one of my grandchildren is going to become a motorcycle rider like grandpa? “Bueller? Bueller? Bueller? Anyone? Anyone?”

6. Quit talking about being or acting like an old man. For 53, I’m in good health. I feel 18. I ride sport bikes. My business attire is Lucky Jeans and Johnson Motors Ts. I’m still stuck in 1978…still a Stones fan, A Zeppelin fan, so why not act like it?

7. Buy a 1911. Hey, I love handguns. I know it is a political/emotional issue, so I don’t talk about it much. I was raised with guns. My son-in-law, Dustin, a true gun “nut,” has reignited my love for guns. By the way, Dustin, Lori sends her “love!” Ha! Do you know how many new shoes she could buy for the price of one 1911?

8. Make at least one of 3 things happen with Motorhead Coffee: 1. Get a truck on the road, 2. Set up a permanent shop in a neighboring community, 3. This one is a secret for now!

9. Discover the best fish sandwich & the best fish tacos in Louisville. Hey, I love fish.

10. Write more. Yeah, sorry. Hey, you don’t have to read it! I was given what I would consider a lifetime “dream” opportunity when I was invited to submit some material to a group for consideration…and I have yet to do so. Do not squander the opportunity you idiot!

11. Do more of what I want to do and less of what I have to do.DCIM111GOPRO



Lessons From The Ride

Took a little ride on the Triumph yesterday. First time I’ve had the bike out in several weeks. Here is what I learned:

1. I need to lose weight! I already knew that, but zipping up my size 40 “Stich” with a heated jacket under it was a bit of an eye opener. The Aerostich Roadcrafter is my go to suit when I don’t want to be reminded that my riding pants are too tight and that I need to lose weight. Well, the one-piece suit apparently has joined forces with my other gear to convince me it is “gym and diet” time. It is cheaper to lose weight than to buy more riding gear. Of course, I’ve been telling myself that for years, and I now have boxes full of gear of various sizes that I can no longer wear!

2. I need to sign up for a yoga class! Swinging my leg over the bike with all my gear on is not as easy a task as it used to be. I am stiff. I used to enjoy watching my father-in-law and his buddies try to swing their legs over my bikes and nearly fall down in the process. “Ha ha! What’s the matter old man?” Well, you know what they say about last laughs…I take it all back Crum!

3. My bikes need to lose weight too. I do not want to own another large, heavy, tall motorcycle. Well, hell, that rules out half the bikes I’ve been looking at. After getting on the Street Triple in all my gear, I realized how much more uncomfortable I would have been if I had been riding a large machine. I”m not asking for much; I just want some wind protection, hard luggage, an exciting motor, a 32″ seat height or less and a wet weight under 500lbs…nope, not much at all!

4. Some days you are in the groove…and some days you are not. I have owned the Street Triple for about 3.5 years. I have always appreciated the front brake on this machine. Powerful, yet very easy to modulate. The more I ride it, the more comfortable I am with it. And then you get too comfortable…or just out of the groove. I hadn’t been riding more than 15 minutes, turned down a twisty backroad, cracked the whip…and encountered a Buzzard or Turkey Vulture or whatever you prefer to call them. He was happily enjoying a mid-day snack of the dead deer alongside the road and I interrupted his feast. I’ve danced with them before and I know they are slow to fly. So what does dear Mr. Buzzard do? Raises up and flies right into my path! This bird looks like he’s got the same problem I do…he’s been eating too good! Huge! I really don’t want to hit him and it looks like he is going to run headfirst into my helmet…not my first choice. So, I grab the brakes. I manage the front just fine; predictable as always. No real panic here; just trying to scrub off enough speed so as not to have Buzzard breath and deer guts all over my helmet. Apparently, however, I grabbed the rear just a little too aggressively. The wheel locked. The back end stepped out to the right about a foot or so. It was never out of control. It was just a little dirt bike slide. Done it a thousand times before…on dirt bikes in the dirt. The problem with making a dumb mistake like that on the road is, if there had been a slick spot, my riding day would have been over…and Mr. Buzzard might have been pecking on my carcass!

5. Learning to ride is one of the best things that ever happened to me. After 46 years, riding motorcycles is still the most enjoyable experience I have ever been introduced to. I thank God for the day my parents had a momentary lapse in good judgement and bought me my first bike. It stuck. Not a hobby; much more than that. At this stage in my life, I only plan to ride more, ride farther and wring all the pleasure out of it that I can.DCIM111GOPRO



Holiday Memories

Christmas was a little out of the ordinary for us this year. It turned into a whirlwind road trip of sorts. Two of my three daughters are pregnant right now and one of them is getting close to her due date and did not need to travel, so we took Christmas to her. We caught everyone else on our way back to Louisville and actually spent Christmas day “home alone,” doing nothing. I was reminded that I don’t “do nothing” very well. However, it did give me a chance to reminisce. 

That's me with the Apollo spacecraft

That’s me with the Apollo spacecraft

My wife enjoyed reminiscing this year too. It came about because of the gift she purchased her brother Chuck.  He and I grew up in the era where music formats were rapidly changing. We both had our introduction to music in the form of LPs with great cover art. Unlike me, he still has his old album collection, so Lori decided to buy him a record player, allowing him to take his own trip into the past. Chuck is the oldest of the children. Lori and her other brother, Brad ( she lost Brad to an accident many years ago), were several years younger, a lot smaller and much more innocent at the time. Chuck desperately wanted an album for Christmas from the “new” band, KISS. The presents were wrapped and under the tree, one of them addressed to Chuck looking very much like an album. Like most kids, when their parents were away, Chuck began nosing in the presents, shaking, peeking, pulling and trying to figure out what it was. Convinced it was the album he had asked for and not willing to wait another minute to enjoy it, he took a razor blade and carefully cut the paper, slipping out the album. It was a perfect and nearly undetectable crime… until he queued it up and “Strutter” filled the room. 

That is when my wife, Lori, and Brad came into the room. Now, you know how brothers and sisters are, right? Always loving and supporting and…uh, no! Not at that age. It was more like, “I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell! Wait till mom and dad get home!” It was then and there that dear brother Chuck learned how the “family” works. It’s all about intimidation…and complicity. He not only threatened to beat them up, he forced them to open a present as well, so they couldn’t tell. Brilliant! A real criminal in the making.

My wife thoroughly enjoyed telling that story when she gave Chuck his record player this year. Right in the middle of it, their mother looked up and said, “You really opened your present and played it while we were gone? You little shit!” Best moment of the night. Sort of reminds me of my oldest daughter, the one we went to visit. It sounds exactly like something she would have done! She has admitted that she was a bit of a snoop and, being the oldest, I’m pretty sure she would have had no problem threatening the little kids if they told. With any luck my grandsons will pay her back. IMG_2429Got a good Christmas story or memory? I’d love to hear it.






I have encountered a serious shortage. No, its not coffee, however, I am having trouble finding a killer Central American coffee to my liking. This shortage is closer to home…and it’s not exactly a new problem. I have a shortage of legs! No, no, I have two legs (thankfully). Problem is, they aren’t long enough.

My mom used to promise me that I would grow up to be 6 feet tall like my grandfather. She lied. Didn’t happen. I made it to 5’5″ and my body said, “That’s it for you!” I have never really minded being short. Sure, it always prevented me from being known as, “tall, dark and handsome,” but I can live with that. In fact, I have “lived with” and worked around the limitations all my life without any real issue…until now. Why now? One word: orange. Yep, the color orange is causing me problems.

Here is the deal; I have never let my height prevent me from riding any motorcycle I wanted to own. I have had motocross bikes I had to tiptoe on, GS, Multistradas and other adventure bikes that were not only tall, but heavy. I always managed to do the one foot dance and continue to enjoy my bike of choice. And I rarely ever dropped one. I dumped my Multistrada once in a parking lot while it was fully loaded for a trip. As I pulled forward in the lot and into a dip in the pavement, I was cut off by a passing car. I was forced to stop and my feet reached for….nothing. Crash. I dropped a GS one time, also in a parking lot, as it shrugged and died right when I was turning sharply to the right. I tried to get footing, but couldn’t hold it up. Other than that, I have always managed to get by.

Lately, I have gotten used to smaller, lighter bikes and my aging body is appreciative. However, my dreams have taken on a new color the past few months…KTM orange. I’ve been fortunate enough to own a lot of bikes in my lifetime, including several different brands. I have never owned a KTM. And I want one. I’m thinking everyone should own orange at least once in their life. I am seriously considering my next bike purchase, hoping to buy something that will serve me well, over a variety of riding opportunities, and keep me content for the next several years. I have already mentioned the SMT in this thread. I can tiptoe one foot on the SMT. Well, I can flatfoot pretty much any bike, as long as its only one foot and the other one is on the peg! I am also lusting over the Adventure. Here are the devils that are making me curse my design:

990KTM-1190-Adventure-2013-2Anyone know where I can buy a couple inches of “inseam?”



Post Navigation


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 292 other followers