For Father’s Day, Studly Doright received a gift card from our daughter for one of his favorite motorcycle accessory retailers and wasted no time in placing an order. He selected some cool looking touring gloves. Today the gloves arrived.
They came with an instruction pamphlet.
That amused me. Of course, Studly refused to read the pamphlet even though I urged him to do so. If things go awry, he can’t blame me.
Studly Doright grew up riding dirt bikes along the banks of the Canadian River north of Amarillo, Texas. In his youth, most weekends were either spent there or at a local motocross track. He was quite the dashing racer in his day. This past week he, along with a few family members and friends, returned to the Canadian River for a couple of days of adventure riding.
But it’s been a few years since Studly plied his skills riding at the river, and the bike he’d intended to ride, the lightweight Kawasaki KDX, wouldn’t idle correctly, so instead he rode his backup bike, a much heavier Suzuki DR 650. By the second day of riding, the weight of the 650 became a liability, and he crashed a few times. Studly isn’t accustomed to crashing.
To add insult to injury, one of those crashes landed him in a cactus. In the photo below, he’s engaged in removing cactus needles from his glove. Ah! Good times.
Studly Doright and I were in the Texas panhandle this past week. On our way to his mom’s place in Hereford, Texas, we stopped for the night in Wichita Falls where we picked up our son and his son, and loaded up their motorcycles.
The three of them, along with a carefully selected group of friends and family members, embarked on two days of motorcycling along the Canadian River just north of Amarillo.
It was our grandson, Jackson’s, first real riding experience. Outside of riding a little motorcycle around our yard at Doright Manor, Jackson had never really gotten to experience what motorcycling is all about—the hills and gullies, deep sand and water crossings. This week he encountered all of the above while learning to use a clutch and shift gears. By all accounts he acquitted himself admirably.
His Poppa, aka Studly Doright, had a blast riding with him and with our son, Jason. They’re already saying, “Next year….”
My 64th birthday was wonderful! Studly Doright surprised me by taking a day off of work, and we enjoyed a late breakfast at a local restaurant. Afterwards we dressed in our riding gear and took a motorcycle ride to Seminole State Park.
It was supposed to be a short ride—no more than sixty miles round trip, but a section of the road was closed due to a bridge being under repair. Did we give up? Hell, no. Studly programmed a different route into his gps and off we went.
Many, many miles later we reached the state park. There, we found a shady spot to park our bikes and hiked for a bit. The weather was perfect—temperatures in the mid-70’s and an almost cloudless blue sky. Studly posed for me in the “chapel.” See the steeple?
Afterwards we stopped at Spring Creek Resort somewhere near Donalson, Georgia, for a terrific lunch. I ate way too much, but hey, calories do not count on one’s birthday. That’s a fact.
The ride home was easy and uneventful. That is, until we turned into our housing development. The road to Doright Manor is filled with curves and hills, and for some reason, going around one curve I rolled on the throttle and came mere inches from becoming an off-road rider. Fortunately, I corrected my path and stayed on the pavement. The alternative wouldn’t have been pretty, and I likely wouldn’t be writing this blog post right now. 😳
Still congratulating myself for avoiding a major disaster I rolled into the driveway and up to the ramp into Studly’s garage. The bike was at an awkward angle, so I killed the engine and asked Studly if he’d ride the bike into the garage for me. Of course he said he would. That’s why I call him Studly Doright!
But guess who tried to get off the bike without putting her kickstand down? Yes, that would be me. In the blink of an eye I was hitting the driveway, my helmet bouncing off the asphalt and the bike laying on top of me.
Miraculously, only the windshield was damaged in the fall, and we’d already decided the aftermarket shield was too tall for my liking, so we will just replace it sooner rather than later.
My helmet saved my noggin from serious injury. My head literally bounced when I landed. And I landed on my right side. That’s the same side I injured when I fell into/out of bed a few weeks ago, so at least I still have one operational side.
So maybe it’s time I got a stunt double. Contact me if you’re interested. I can’t pay much, but you’ll never be bored.
Thursday evening Studly Doright and I rode to dinner on our respective motorcycles. We’d bought mine secondhand from a man in Panama City and spent Wednesday cleaning it up, checking it over, and airing up the tires. The bike isn’t pristine, but it’ll do nicely.
So, tonight was my maiden voyage on my 400 Yamaha Majesty. I got all ready to ride: helmet, gloves, long pants, and boots. It was so hot outside Studly said we could dispense with our riding jackets since we weren’t riding very far.
Off we went, Studly in the lead and me following at the prescribed distance. The first few miles of riding was on a gentle, two-lane backroad where I got to know the bike, noting where the mirrors needed to be adjusted, and the handlebars raised, and just generally remembering how to ride. All was good.
Until, that is, we merged onto a four-lane road where the speeds were considerably faster and my shirt, which I’d forgotten to tuck in began rising to expose my 63.75-year-old, lily white belly. At one point my bra, in all its grandmotherly glory, was in danger of being exposed.
I held my arms as close to my sides as possible, but not so much as to impede my ability to ride safely. People were passing us in cars, slowing down, it seemed to see how much higher my shirt might climb. I could almost sense their phones being set to camera mode so that my less than flat stomach could be captured for posterity.
So, in the next couple of days if you see a photo on the internet of an almost elderly woman riding on a white mega scooter with her even whiter belly reflecting the sun in all its glory, it might be me. I’m hoping it isn’t, but it just might be.
In the evenings during our quarantine, Studly Doright and I have been watching a series of YouTube videos shot by a 31-year-old solo female adventure motorcyclist from The Netherlands. Her name is Noraly, and she is fearless.
I’ve subscribed to her blog and am enjoying every minute of it. Many of the videos are quite recent. On her planned trip from Patagonia to Alaska, she had a harrowing experience while trying to get out of Peru to keep from being quarantined there due to COVID-19. Her bike had to stay in Peru while she made it home to The Netherlands, and she’s unsure when, or if, she’ll be reunited with it.
She makes me want to be brave, but I have trouble being brave riding a motorcycle on smooth American roads. Noraly rides on all terrain—gravel, sand, rocks. She stops at checkpoints and speaks whatever language is necessary to get through. I can only speak English and a smattering of Spanish. What have I done with my life?
Motorcycle enthusiasts will enjoy Noraly’s adventures, but even non-motorcyclists will find something to enjoy in her videos. She meets so many lovely people who welcome her with open arms. These videos have restored much of my faith in humanity. And, they’re kind of addictive.