“DADDY, I WANT TO DANCE WITH YOU when you get back,” my six-year-old daugh- ter calls to me as I put on my helmet. “Daddy, I love you!” “We’ll dance when I get back, honey . I
love you, too,” I said. A bit of trepidation jumps into my head
as I squeeze it into my Shoei helmet. The brand-new white 2015 BMW GS Adventure looks husky, able and seductive before me. She weighs a little less than 600 pounds, and I a little less than 160. She competes vertically with my 5-foot-5-inch height. My feet reach desperately for enough contact to balance on level ground. I’ve been on only one ride with this big bike, two days ago. I dropped the motorcycle that day on a slight incline, fortunately nearly at a stand- still. I’m scheduled to go to RawHyde’s BMW Academy in three weeks. It’s a round trip of over 2,000 miles from home, so I have to get 600 miles quickly to get that initial break-in service behind me.I stand alongside, lean the GSA into me and back her out of the garage and down the driveway to the street. I’m careful to stop where the cam- ber is toward the kickstand, but is not too steep. I wanted to buy a GSA in 2014, but there was no way that I could reach the ground well enough. Instead, I bought a Harley Davidson Fat Boy, which I could flat-foot easily. Shortly afterwards, BMW answered the pleas of vertically challenged riders and for 2015 offered a lowered suspension along with a low seat that put the ground near enough to reach the wallet for this interme- diate rider. I sold the Harley. What a dream it is to ride the GSA! Peo-
ple always told me that I had to ride a BMW to know what they admired so much. I took it a couple hundred miles on the Alsea Highway to the Oregon coast and looped down to Florence and back to Eugene via Highway 36 by Triangle Lake. I couldn’t believe how good this bike felt. There wasn’t a hint of heaviness when rolling. She wound through the corners like I was a bet- ter rider than I am. I felt some confidence build – until I fell at a stop sign. I think I hit the front brake too hard when nearly stopped, and the incline that I had not per- ceived eluded my left foot when I looked for traffic to the right. Splat! I picked myself up and hit the kill switch.
80 BMW OWNERS NEWS February 2016
Two attempts to lift her with my back to
the bike and doing leg thrusts accompa- nied by imagined (perhaps vocalized) karate yells righted the bike. Barely a scratch on the engine guard. It was good to know that I could raise her if I had to, but I didn’t want to learn this way or this soon. Now it’s the day before Easter, and I’m
headed for a 300-mile, mostly curvy break- in ride. I put my daughter’s desire to dance to the side of my mind and feel the GSA come alive. I adjust the temperature setting on my heated jacket liner to thwart the morning chill and aim toward the 15-min- ute freeway ride to Creswell. I exit and join the back roads toward another small town, Drain. A sign guides me onto the Upper Smith River Highway. I’ve never been on it, having only ridden a section of its sister,
my First Gear electric liner. I go and go and go. I put the city of Reedsport into my GPS for my destination. It tells me to go back the way I’ve come. I press on, sure that this road will come back to the main highway before I reach the coast. I glance at the scroll of bars indicating my ample level. I’m comfortable knowing that
fuel the
GSA carries 7.9 gallons of fuel. No problem reaching a point of no return – at least, not due to a lack of fuel. I could perhaps find trouble if I goof up again and don’t keep the bike upright or if I hit a deer. There doesn’t appear to be any traffic at all to assist if necessary. I choose the fork in the road that says “Smith River.” The
road narrows, and
winds, and seems to get more and more remote. I fight off the thoughts that maybe I’m wrong about where this all leads. I even worry that I might get myself where I can’t get the heavy bike turned around without drop- ping it. I note my newly-purchased SPOT tracker and take some relief that despite no cell service being available, I at least have a way to let people know where I’ve been and, if necessary, that I’m in trouble. Potholes occasionally occur, but readily
are
the Lower Smith River Highway. Well- maintained highway leads into an uphill climb, into curves with vistas of cloud- shrouded evergreens carpeting the moun- tains. No hint of houses or people. I stop for a picture and feel isolated enough to relieve myself along the road. Climb back aboard, reattach the heated liner, push the ignition, carefully lean just enough to raise the side stand, check for traffic and acceler- ate toward the hairpin turn that reverses and continues the climb. Perfect break-in road. Burned stumps clothe a nearby moun-
tainside. I wonder if a black bear might be camouflaged among them. I’m beginning to sense adventure. I reach the summit and stop to check in
with my wife and daughter while there’s still cell signal. My daughter is excited to hear my voice, as I keep my promise to not call her as often as she wants, but “enough.” The temperature drops to 39 degrees Fahrenheit at the summit, but I’m toasty in
identifiable. Road
workers have cut clear the trees that fell and obstructed the route.
Moss grows on either side of the single- lane road and down its center. A waterfall gently cascades near the road’s edge. The road further narrows and there are tempt- ing Creek Road signs to the south, back toward the main highway. They are likely gravel roads, and I’m not ready for that yet – not yet. I keep an active scan for deer and finally I’m on the Lower Smith River Road. Eventually, the GPS shows a connection to a paved road I recognize that aims south toward the Smith River Falls area. On my way, I find a little café in the mid-
dle of nowhere. It’s much preferable to waiting until Reedsport to eat amidst civili- zation again. I pull in, relieved that I’m get- ting where I’m going, slowly gathering miles for my 600-mile service. I want to get to the southwest coast of Bandon with enough time and energy to get back to Eugene. Right now a hamburger sounds good. A bar sits to the right of the café. I glance in, only a lone man waiting for business.
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