More Bonnie Updates

Coming this March, I will have had my Bonneville for six years.  Since the day I brought it home, I've scoured the Internet and have stared at parts.  There have been a ton of mods I've wanted to do but time and money has always gone elsewhere.

Since I'm down to one bike, well, one-and-half bikes, I can finally focus some of my hard-earned on the mods I've been drooling over for six years.

Two months on (has it been that long?) and the rectifier is working beautifully.  The clutch dress-up parts haven't fallen off, either, so that's a good sign.

Earlier in the month I bought a Procom igniter and that didn't work so well.  The bike became very hard to start in the cold and since I live in Denver, it does get cold here.  So that went back.

I also bought the remaining parts to finally jettison my airbox, another mod I've wanted for a long time.  They should be here by the end of the week, so watch this space.  I'll have updates on that.

In the meantime, let's talk about handlebars. 

Yes, we could discuss this to death.  And lets not forget the myriad of choices out there: buckhorns, apes, trackers, ace, superbars, etc.  One could go mad looking for bars.  Since I'm already mad, I had an idea of what I wanted.

I like the stock bars on the Bonnie but I wanted something a little lower and sporty.  I looked at stock Sportster 48 bars and they have a good feel.  They are similar in height to the stock Bonnie bars but don't have as much pullback.  They felt good but I couldn't find a used set and there wasn't much of a difference to shell out $80-plus for a set.  So, on to something else.

Next, I picked up a set of stock Thruxton handlebars that had been powder coated black.  I like the Thrux bar.  It's very low and aggressive and gives the bike a planted feel.  When I put them on, I found they were too low and aggressive.  They also hit the gas tank on full lock.  I bought the Thrux clutch cable to fit the bars but I would also need Thrux throttle cables and front brake line to make the bars fit properly.  In the end, they were too stubby and weren't worth the hassle.

Keeping with the low and aggressive approach, I picked up a used set of Norman Hyde m-bars.  They are similar to the Thrux bar but not as stubby or as low.  Plus they were chrome and I like chrome. 

Installing them was much easier as I could keep the stock throttle and clutch cables and front brake line.  They are also wider, giving much better leverage at low and high speed.  The only issue with the bars I ran into during installation was rusty threads for the bar end weights.  The rust wasn't bad enough to break a bolt but it did require careful progress, some patience and lots of lube.  Stop snickering, perverts.

I finally got to take the bike for a ride today and I can say I'm pleased with the change.  The position is much more aggressive but not so much so that it's become uncomfortable.  I was worried that the stock footrests would be too far forward but that's proven to be a non-issue.  In fact, they feel better with the lower bar.  I wouldn't do a 1,000-mile tour with these bars in place but for the blasts through the mountains I do on the weekends, they are perfectly comfortable.  

The bike also felt better and more planted in the corners.  Maybe it's my imagination but cornering required minimal effort and the front felt so much more confidence-inspiring.  I think the bike also got faster, but that, too, could be my imagination.

And I should add that they flat-out look the biz.  I'm quite happy with them, though I am going to try some superbars just for fun.

Now where did I put that 59 Club patch?

New Parts

It's been a while since I've done a tech post, so I thought I'd share some updates on my Bonnie.  I recently installed some parts to dress up the clutch lifter and a new rectifier/regulator.  I know that's not as sexy as installing FCR39s, cams and a turbo but all that will come later.

... Except the turbo...

... Maybe...

Anyway, let's break out the tools and get dirty.  First we'll have a look at the clutch lifter area as it comes from Triumph:

Yuck!  That looks terrible.  The only way to fix that is to add some chrome.  As they say, if it don't go, chrome it!

The first step is to remove the bracket holding the clutch cable to the clutch cover.  Loosen up the nuts on the cable with a pair of 12mm wrenches and then remove the two 8mm bolts.  With that loose, you can now wiggle the clutch cable out of the lifter arm.  When you do this, the arm will slacken and move backward.  Don't worry because it will very easily go back into position.

With the cable in your hand, spin off the nut facing the rear of the bike and remove the bracket.  Slide the new awesome chrome bracket on, install the nut and then the rubber boot, slip the cable back into the lifter arm and bolt up the bracket.  The new bracket is thicker than the old one but there are plenty of threads on the bolts. 

For the lifter arm cover, remove the two hex screws on the cover and apply thread locker to the threads.  This will prevent the little screws from vibrating out.  I used hi-temp thread locker because it does get hot down there.  Slip the cover over the arm and install the screws one at a time.  Tighten until they're snug.

Once completed, it should look like this:

Oh, hang on.  It should look like this:

Yes, that looks more better.  The chrome adds a bit of bling to an otherwise dull area of the bike.  Readjust the clutch cable and that job is finished.

Next up is the rectifier.

The standard rectifier on the Bonnie runs hot and does an alright job.  This is an area that could be better and a MOSFET rectifier is a big improvement.  This will strengthen the charging system while running much cooler than stock, meaning increased life for the unit.  I chose a Hotshot rectifier from Rick's Motorsport Electrics. 

When I took it out of the box, it looked huge and I didn't think it would fit in the stock location.  Comparing it the stock unit, however, shows it's actually smaller:

To begin, remove the headlamp and gaze into the mess of wiring behind it.  Somewhere in there is the connecter for the rectifier.

Once you've found it, wiggle it out of the bucket and remove the two 8mm bolts holding the stock unit in place.  To install the new unit, first wiggle the connecter into the bucket.  Next, install and tighten the two 8mm bolts.  As you can see in the pic with the two units, the new one is narrower than stock.  There is enough room, thankfully, to bolt the new unit in place.  once the rectifier is secure, apply some dielectric grease to the terminals and plug it in.  Install the headlamp and let's fire up the engine.



At normal idle with the standard rectifier, here is the charging voltage:

 With the new rectifier, here is the charging voltage at the same idle speed:

That's quite an improvement.  The battery likes it, too, because it's holding voltage a lot better than it did with the stock rectifier. 

And that's that.  Go grab yourself a celebratory beer, coffee or whatever and stand back and admire your work.  

Small Errors in the Big Picture

When posting about my trip to San Diego, I mused that I would be looking for a touring-oriented motorcycle to take long trips.  My Bonneville did wonderfully, apart from getting noisy in the desert heat, but I was cramped and sore.  So, off I went to look at some bikes.

My main requirements were comfort, fuel injection and liquid-cooling.  Comfort explains itself but I wanted fuel injection for elevation changes and liquid-cooling for the temperature changes.  I wanted to climb every mountain and cross every desert.  FI and liquid-cooling makes this easier.

I had my eyes on an older Triumph Sprint ST.  I like the styling and I like how it fits in between a sports bike and touring barcalounger.  I like the idea of being able to attack the twisty bits while also being able to pound out the miles.

The trouble was the riding position.  My Guzzi was fun to ride but the position was too much for me after a few miles.  The Sprint was only marginally more comfortable and I could see long distance comfort issues on the horizon.  That was out.

I also liked the Triumph Tiger 1050.  It has sportiness like the Sprint but you sit more upright.  Hmm, I thought, this could be my answer.

Not so on the Tiger 1050 because it's a pseudo-adventure bike, which means it's tall and I'm not.  I could barely touch the ground with both feet and, thus, the Tiger 1050 was out.

Other bikes came and went.  I looked at Ducati Monsters (fun but not practical for touring and air-cooled), Ducati Multistrada (ugly, too tall and air-cooled), KTM Duke 690 (fun but so not a touring bike), etc.

One bike that kept coming up was the Triumph Tiger 800.  It ticked all the boxes and I could fit on it.  The Tiger seemed like the logical choice.

It wasn't without faults, though.  I wasn't keen on having ABS, first off.  I don't really find it necessary and it adds weight and complexity.  It's just one more thing to go wrong.  Unfortunately, all 2013 Tigers come with ABS.  Another was cost.  A new Tiger would be significant;y more expensive than any of the other bikes because they were used.  I planned to trade my Guzzi in but I would still have a payment. 

But I kept going back to the Tiger.  Finally, I caved in and bought it.  For the first time in my life, I listened to my head and made the logical choice.

All seemed well at first.  I took it on a few rides, mostly to my local haunts and to work but something kept nagging at me.  I couldn't put my finger on it but something was there, something odd.

It wasn't until I took a ride up to Fort Collins that it finally hit me.

The Tiger is incredibly smooth.  The ride is supple and it absorbs every bump.   I'm used to the harsh ride of my Bonneville and my Guzzi.  This was like riding a Cadillac compared to those two.  The 800 triple also has power everywhere.  License-revoking speeds are just a twist of the wrist away.

The problem and the bike's biggest fault is that it's too smooth.  It's actually quite dull.

At no point during any of my rides on it did I feel engaged with the bike.  It seemed to me like a very blustery Toyota Camry.  The same roads that have me gurning like an idiot on my Bonnie or Guzzi are dispatched lifelessly on the Tiger.  It's a bike you ride with a serious face as you pile away the miles.

In short, I cocked up.

And I also miss my Guzzi.  That bike had loads of warts: the gearbox was noisy, it was uncomfortable, it vibrated right at highway speed, the gas mileage was poor and so on.  Twist the throttle, though, and all goes away as you ride this wave of power and noise.  It was a glorious experience and because the roads that allowed such behavior are few, one to be cherished.

I got none of that fun riding the Tiger.  If I wanted dullness and good gas mileage, I would have bought one of those new Honda 500s. 

To sum it up, I made the logical choice.  The Tiger 800 clicked every single box and met all the criteria.  It is, without a doubt, a fantastic motorcycle.  It's just missing that most important element, one that I didn't know was important to me: fun.

I made the logical choice but not the right one.

On The Road, Pt. VII

This is the end... Beautiful friend, the end.

Yes, this is it.  The final day of my journey has arrived and I would soon be spending the night in my own bed, using my own toilet and parking indoors.  First I had to get there, though.

When I went to bed, it was still raining in Farmington and i figured on another rainy day of riding.  To my surprise, the sun was out in the morning and it was cloudless.  I gobbled down some more breakfast, packed up the bike and headed for home.

I was excited to get back into Colorado because that meant some twisty mountain roads.  Bits of Cali and Arizona were nice but most of the areas were flat, straight and dull.  At points I was actually wishing I was in a car.  I could lean the seat back, put the cruise on and jam to some tunes.  On the bike I couldn't do any of that.  All I could really do is stare at the odometer and glance at the occasional pile of rocks on the side of the road that passed for scenery.

This was of course the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, so everyone and their dad was out on the road and driving at around four mph.  Honestly, it was a bit frustrating because I was used to going 70 everywhere and now I'm feel like I'm at walking pace. 

I also saw a lot of bikes.  I think I saw more bikes this one day than I saw in the entire preceding days combined.  Nearing the Wolf Creek Pass, I was passed by a group of Harleys complete with get back whips and do-rag-wearing riders.  Excited by the corners, I jumped into the passing lane and blew by them as the road got twisty and then did the same to a couple of BMW riders.  I waved to them all as I passed but none of them even looked at me.  Bastards.

Wolf Creek is a delightfully twisty road that goes up well above 10,000 feet and it has a tunnel.  I love tunnels.  This tunnel even has a curve in it, making it a million times better.  Another good thing for Wolf Creek is that its four lanes wide, so you can always pass the geezers in front and you can push it a bit because the edge of the world isn't inches away.  I had a grand time scratching around the bends before the straight stuff returned.

I made a pit stop for a snack in Del Norte and got ready to head for the arrow straight section of 285 that headed toward Saguache.  Breaking up the monotony are the two ridges that were cut through when the road was made.  This was fantastic when I was heading this way before and its fantastic now.  I bet its just as fantastic to be reading about it again, too.

As I was snacking on a protein bar I brought and an apple and banana I grabbed from the hotel, I noticed the sky getting cloudier.  I didn't even check the weather because I knew it meant rain.  By this point, I could predict the weather better than 100 Weather Channels.  I just got on with the job at hand.

It got darker as I neared Saguache, darker still as I neared Buena Vista and then it finally rained when I got to Fairplay.  I'm glad I got to see the scenery last week when it was sunny because it was miserable now.  All I wanted at this point was to go home.  I had had enough rain to last me for the rest of my life.

I wish I had more to say about this part of the trip but it was a blur.  I was focused on home and really didn't look at the scenery and really didn't care about the roads.  I went my speed, passed a bunch of cars and reminded myself how much fun it is to tour on a motorcycle.  This is fun, they said.  Riding is fun, they said.

I skipped a pee break in Fairplay to outrun the storm and that was a mistake.  I thought I could hold it but I couldn't.  Every bump was murder until I finally gave in.  I pulled over, scampered down a hill and released the Nile.  After what seemed like 20 minutes of continuous peeing, I walked back to bike and continued on my way a much lighter rider.

The rain came and went and came again during this time but I wasn't very bothered by it.  It was pouring rain when I made my final stop in Bailey and my crotch was cold and wet.  I think my penis ran away somewhere around there.

As I got closer to Denver, the sun came out and it finally got warmer.  I was still focused on home and was passing cars like crazy.  I was never so excited to see Denver as I got closer and closer.  I slowed down at this point because I didn't want to make it this far only to have a crash on my doorstep.  Turning down Colorado Blvd., then on to my street and finally up the drive was a wonderful feeling.  I had done it.  I rode my motorcycle to San Diego and back and lived to tell the tale.

Including going the wrong way and doubling back, the bike and I did just under 2,400 miles in six days.  That doesn't include riding around while in San Diego.  The bike never missed a beat the entire time, though it was quite dirty and sad-looking when we got home.  The air-cooled engine did get quite noisy going through the hot desert and the chain's a bit looser now but otherwise, you can never tell it went that far.  It never even used any oil.  Let's have a round of applause for modern motorcycles, everyone.

Would I do it again?  Well, yes and no.

My Bonneville may not have missed a beat but I sure did.  As the days went on, fatigue set in quicker and quicker.  The Thruxton gel seat I fitted to bike years ago helped some with comfort but the bike felt cramped, even for my short ass.  Add in the stuff strapped to the back and there wasn't much room for me.  I was constantly fighting for space with my luggage. 

As for the riding, well, pockets of it were very good but most of it was quite boring.  It was a bit like a 90 minute movie that had 12 minutes of action.  I felt like I was always waiting for the good part to come along.  A trip from Denver to San Diego will happen again (San Diego is too nice to not go back) but it will happen either on a more touring-oriented bike or in a car.  My Bonnie loved the twisty bits but hated the slab.  We share the same opinion, the bike and I.

So that's it.  It's back to work and planning more trips, most of which I won't go on.  At least it gives me something to do at work while I not do my job.  In the meantime, I can also look at the Triumph Sprint STs that pop up used quite often.  The 1050s, I think, look best in blue while I like 955i models best in green

Hmm...

On The Road, Pt VI

When we last left our hero (me), I was getting wet yet again in Arizona.  You know, I thought this was the desert southwest.  Why is it raining so much?

Anyway, this morning was the beginning of the second-to-last day of my trip.  Soon it would be back to the drudgery of everyday life.  That wouldn't happen until blasted through the rest of Arizona, though.

After a trip to the bathroom, the first thing I did was check the weather.  I had a choice of two routes (insert Joe Pesci voice here) that would take me to Farmington, NM.  I could go through northern Arizona, the way I took on the trip out.  I could also take 89A to Flagstaff, jump on I-40 to Gallup and then take 491 north.  The difference between the two was 10 minutes but most importantly, it was raining in the north and not on I-40.  I chose to take the slab.

After faffing about in Prescott trying to find gas, I got back on the brilliance that was 89A.  In the valley before the descent into Cottonwood, the road reminded me of the veranda on the Isle of Man TT course.  It was a long sweeping road that would be heaven on a fast motorcycle.  I can believe that because it was fun on my Bonneville. 

The descent is even better as you ride this ribbon draped across the mountain.  The sheer drops on the right are blocked by a comically small guardrail while asperous rocks stick out on the left.  You don't notice any of that, though, because the road commands your attention.  Its myriad of curves are a long series of downshifting, upshifting, turning in, rolling off the throttle, powering down the straights and the occasional touch of brake.  The oscillation of touching the white line and then heading for the double yellow becomes a dance; horse and rider as one.

Moments of extreme concentration such as this can only be broken by an equally extreme disturbance.  Coming around a bend and finding a large boulder in your way is an example of that.  Funnily enough, that's exactly what happened to me.  Lucky for me no one was coming in the other direction, so I didn't have to break stride too much.  The next boulder was even bigger and was surrounded by police, so I had to slow down for that one.

Snaking through Jerome, I finally caught up to civilization.  This being a Friday before Labor Day, I was now in a long line of SUVs, minivans and RVs.  The slowing of pace allowed me to take stock of the scenery and, wow, what scenery it is.  Jagged rocks, majestic trees and beautiful houses are all fighting for the same space.  Also, there's an oddly satisfying feeling to looking to the side or back and seeing the road you were just riding.

I stayed behind the long, slow train through Sedona and the wonderful canyon that followed.  I so badly wanted to break away and pass everyone but I thought better of it since the passing zones were short and it gave me the opportunity to look around a bit more.

When I got to Flagstaff, I pulled over and busted out the GPS.  I had a vague idea of where the entrance to I-40 was but wasn't quite sure.  The GPS didn't know, either, as it took me all over town and a through a college campus before introducing me to the interstate. 

It was gray and rainy in Flagstaff, which I was used to at this point.  I spent my snack break and fuel stop under an awning to keep dry.  I hopped on the interstate and was greeted by sunshine and clear skies.  This was going to be a long haul but I was glad to be on the slab, to be honest.  There isn't much out here, the northern route showed me that, and the interstate had more people on it. 

As I was riding through the pouring rain a few days ago, I was thinking that if I had a crash or a breakdown, there wasn't much civilization around for help.  At least on the interstate, there were more people and towns in case the worst happened.

After a couple fuel stops, a lunch break and some chatting with an outlaw motorcycle gang, I was nearing Gallup.  The sky got blacker and blacker as I neared Gallup.  Not again; not more rain.

I pulled into a gas station and ripped off the fastest refuel this side of Formula One.  The massive storm was on my right moving west but I was moving north.  The speed limit in Gallup was 40 mph but as you got away from town, it went up to 70.  If I kept my speed up, I could out run it.  The problem was I needed a stop in Tohatchi to make it all the way to Shiprock.  Would that allow the storm to catch me?

I pulled into the station in Tohatchi ready to rip off another blazing stop.  I stared at the ominous black cloud while the tank filled up way too slowly.  Of course the fuel cap, bloated by years of ethanol gas, decided now it wouldn't go on.  I whipped out the WD-40 I brought for just this instance and a quick shot of it allowed the cap to tighten.  As I was getting ready to depart, an old guy wandered over and wanted to talk about my bike.  This is a scene so common to Hinckley Bonneville owners.  I quickly apologized, pointed at the storm and high-tailed it out of there.

Out on the road, I could feel the storm getting closer.  The temperature dropped significantly and the wind picked up.  Soon the wind really started to move.  Dust and debris were flying across the road and it was all I could do to keep control of the bike.  I hunkered down as much as I could and fought the wind.  The passing minutes were agonizing.

As I rounded a bend, the wind began to die down and the temperature started to rise.  I had done it, I cleared the storm!  The view in my mirrors was a menacing black but the view ahead was blue and cloudless.  This same area I had mistakenly gone through earlier was much more scenic drenched in sunshine.

As if on cue, the construction zone I turned around in last time appeared and I knew then that Shiprock wasn't too far off.  I got some gas in Shiprock while it was miserably hot and pushed on to Farmington.  Once in Farmington, I grabbed a hotel room for the night and finally relaxed.

It was dinner time and as I stepped outside, I was greeted with a familiar sight: rain.  The rain had also brought along its buddies thunder and lightning, too.  The walk to the Mexican restaurant wasn't much fun but at least the food was good.  Afterward, I squished back to the room and collapsed.

Tomorrow was it, the final day.  The trip I had been planning for months would soon be over.  The final day wouldn't be without its moments, though.

Stay tuned for Part VII, the final chapter...

On The Road, Pt. V

After a few days of sand, surf and sun, it was time to head back inland.  By this time, I had my morning routine and bike packing down to the point where I could do it in my sleep.  I fueled myself up, then the bike and headed off a bit later than I wanted.  I really wanted sleep in but the road beckoned.

Before I began my day properly, I went down to the beach one last time to take a picture of my bike with the ocean.  It was to be my proof that I actually made it and didn't make the whole thing up.  Picture over with, it was time to go home.  I went to put my ear plugs in only to find one was missing.  Great.  This necessitated a stop at Lowe's and of course, the guy behind the counter asked if I was on a bike.  That's why this genius is working at Lowe's.

This trip's trend of weather variances continued as I was chilly by the ocean and got hotter as I moved farther inland.  Something else weird was that I stopped admiring the scenery and got on with the business of riding.  Maybe it was because I was going the same way and had seen this stuff before but I had my eyes set on Prescott, AZ and not on the ride.

Coming down the Pines to Palms Highway, which is just as brilliant going this way, I again had to put on some extra clothing.  Then I had to take it off again when I got to the desert.  It's just amazing that in two hours, I went from ocean to mountain to desert.  Didn't I say that last time?

Anyway, I blew through Palm Desert and Indio, hopping back on I-10 to begin the drudgery of the slab.  I made my next gas stop at a service station that was also home to the George Patton museum and some other small stores.  It's an odd place to have this since there's nothing around for miles except this.

Gas tank full and bladder empty, it was back on the road for some more slab.  The hot gusts of wind were mercifully absent this time.  The miles clicked off ever so slowly until it was time to pull off in Blythe for gas and lunch.  My choice for lunch was a Subway, which had been the choice for lunch on the road every other day, too.  You're welcome, Jared.

I dismounted my bike and went to put my ear plugs in my right jacket pocket when I noticed something odd.  The pocket was unzipped and there was no camera in it.  Frantic, I searched everywhere for it until the realization set in: it fell out of my pocket.  Some point during the day, I forgot to zip up the pocket and my camera was somewhere along the road in California.  There went all my pics, including the one from the morning in front of the ocean.  Now you know why there aren't any pics in these posts.

Pissed off, I ate quickly, got gas and hit the road.  After hours of straight line drudgery and sweltering heat, I made it to Congress, AZ.  I would be heading up the mountains and beginning the final push to Prescott.  After a long day of sweating, I was looking forward to the cooler temps and more exciting roads.

As I left Congress, an Audi A7 followed and looked like it wanted to play.  I'm fine with that, I thought, and carried on at a swift pace.  The road leading up to Prescott is a joyous collection of tight bends, fast sweepers and short straights.  My Bonneville, even with all that weight on the back and my fists of ham, handled the road brilliantly.  It makes the case for a pure sports bike difficult when such a normal machine can perform so well. 

The Audi became a smaller and smaller speck in my mirrors until I got cold and pulled over to put my flannel back on.  Using my motorcyclist spider sense, I could see the clouds getting darker and more abundant.  Smiling at the thought of more rain (why not?), I put on the wind breaker, too. 

Sure enough, I was greeted with rain in Prescott.  I rode through a slight drizzle but I could hear booms of thunder and see the lightning.  Either I had just missed the storm or was on the front edge of it.  I set my GPS for the hotel and rode through town.  It's a nice place, Prescott, with loads of small town charm.  Also there was the Audi.

I eyed a few restaurants I'd like to try but my route kept taking me further away from town.  The further I got, the less I wanted to ride back and I wasn't walking that far.  Finally, I reached the hotel, quite a distance from Prescott, and got a room.  The manager even let me park my bike under the awning, which was great because it started to rain as soon as I got there.  Pickings were slim for dinner, so I grabbed a few things from a grocery store and ate that.  Whatever; it was dinner and I was hungry.

Aside from the rain in Prescott, the day had been fantastic.  I had clear skies and great weather all day and the bike never missed a beat again.  I was starting to break down, though.  Really, I just wanted to go home to my bed.  Losing my camera was the real black eye on the day.  I'm still pissed about it and I have no one to blame but me.

Stay tuned for Part VI.

On The Road, Pt. IV

It was now Monday, the day I'd be getting into San Diego.  I spent most of the previous evening drying out my clothes using a combo of the iron and hair dryer.  It worked... Sort of.  What really worked best was putting my socks in the microwave.

Anyway, I pulled the blinds open in the morning and was greeted with more rain.  How could it rain this much?  It has to stop some time, right?

Well, this morning wasn't that time.  It rained all through breakfast and all the while I packed up my bike.  The highlight of the morning wasn't the omelet I had (it was good, though), it was a chance meeting in an elevator.  I walked in the elevator carrying all my stuff and the guy in there told me he once rode a motorcycle from Hollywood back to Pittsburgh.  Pittsburgh?!  That's the second person from my old turf I met on this trip.  Weird and wild stuff, that.

I made my way through the rain to a nearby gas station, fueled up for the ride to Prescott and prepared to get wet.  I wasn't 45 minutes into the day and everything was already soaked.  Lovely.

Mercifully, the rain ended when I got on Arizona 89A, the winding road that would take me to Prescott.  The road was still very wet, though, which meant I couldn't fully exploit the twisty bits or the empty road in front of me.  At least it was warming up.

Like a ghost in the night, a great number of switchbacks appeared on the road.  The scenery and the tight road tore at my concentration, delighting and denying me at the same time.  The road snakes, dips and climbs through an amazing canyon.  It's an absolute delight, almost to the point of wanting to turn around and ride it a few more times.  The Bonneville's handling also continued to impress; this section was a blast in the wet on a packed-up bike.

As quickly as it appeared, the canyon was gone.  The road  flattened out and gently wove through the forest.  Every so often a small motel or cabin would appear on the side, showing some semblance of civilization.  Aside from this, it was you and the trees.

As I broke through the trees into Sedona, AZ, I was greeted with a panoramic view of biblical proportions.  There were sunken canyons, high, spiraling mountains; trees, rocks and buildings sharing the same space.  The architects built Sedona around the geological features; instead of dominating the land, the builders incorporated it and created something beautiful.

Above this wondrous scene was the best sight of all: dissipating clouds and blue sky.  The sun even made an appearance.  I had come through 300 miles of rain and misery to be greeted by a sight of extreme beauty.  It was totally worth it.

I fueled up in Sedona and headed toward the mountains.  As I got closer, the road dried and the sun took command over the sky.  One of the highlights was Jerome, AZ, an old mining town built into the mountain.  Suddenly, I was in the Apennines, snaking through the town's narrow streets, tight corners and stucco buildings.  It was like being transported to another country, if only for a brief moment.

Dancing the curves of the mountain brought me to Prescott, AZ, finally.  I fueled up, got lost and then finally found my way down the mountain.  Further increasing my reward were more mountain roads and more gorgeous scenery.  Coming down the mountain brought incredible views of the desert floor.  The desert spread out like an enormous blanket, covering everything up to the horizon.

At the bottom was a little place called Congress, AZ.  This place consisted of a gas station and a Family Dollar.  That was it.  As I was getting gas, I suddenly realized something: I was very hot.  I was so busy concentrating on the road and the scenery, I didn't notice the temperature went from the low 60s to the mid 80s.  The windbreaker that had saved me yesterday was now clinging to me like a frightened child.

Free of bondage, I set off across the flat and straight desert.  It's here that one can truly grasp the vastness of the U.S.  There was nothing, I mean nothing, but scrub and dirt for miles and miles.  The road was so straight I could have set the throttle and taken a nap.  The desert was not without excitement as a number of vultures took flight directly in front of me.  I had to lay flat on the tank to miss them and if I was in a car, they would have splattered across my windshield.

The flat desert gave way to I-10, the road that would take me to California.  I-10 was more of the same except with more trucks.  A stop for gas and an awful lunch got me ready for the final push.  The trip down I-10 was a boring exercise in dealing with hot wind blast and boring scenery.  I was thankful when it ended.

A stop for fuel in Palm Desert, CA meant the end of the desert.  San Diego was just on the other side of the mountain.  While filling up in Palm Desert, I again realized I was very hot.  I was sweating not even doing anything.  Unfortunately, I had no more removable clothes.

The final leg would take me up the Pines to Palms Highway and around Palomar Mountain.  Any corners would be exciting after the dullness of the desert and this did not disappoint.  Every corner you could imagine, from tight twisties to fast sweepers, were here and it was all bathed in bright sunlight.  Again, the scenery was just as fantastic as the road.  The Bonnie and its rider enjoyed every minute of this place, as it was similar to roads in Colorado except they were only at around 3,000 feet.  That meant the bike actually had power to go down the straights.  It also got cold up here, requiring me to stop and put my flannel back on.

The downward side of the mountain put me on the fast-track to the ocean.  By this time I was pretty tired and just wanted to get to my hotel.  After what seemed like 40 years wandering the desert, I pulled into the hotel, got in my room and collapsed on the bed.  Another realization hit me: I was hungry.  It was getting too dark to walk all the way to the ocean, so I just milled around the area.  All that was around were hot rod shops and a doughnut place.  Giving in, I ordered pizza from Domino's and then crashed.  It had been a very long day.

I made it, though.  I was in California.  As I tried to calm down and relax after the day, I thought about the ride I had just put in.  It's easy to think about California and wonder why anyone would want to live there.  Then you visit and realize why.

In a two hour period, I went from the desert to the mountains and finally to the ocean.  I did this while on amazing roads surrounded by some of the Earth's best scenery.

What an amazing place.

Part V will cover the beginning of the ride home.