Tag Archives: Jim Kennemore

QUARANTINE SPEED

I keep my Ultra Classic in the garage on a trickle charger. For non-bikers, that is a slow charge that keeps the battery alive during winters parked on cement.

Not long after the Shelter in Place (SIP) started, I decided to take a ride. Low and behold, a dead battery, couldn’t even charge it. I checked and found the extension cord was plugged in. Next stop the bike, yup, charger connected. Last stop, the charger. Oh, Oh, not connected to the extension cord.

With my years of investigative experience, I make a deduction: someone in the family used the cord and tossed it back in the general direction of the charger. Hoping, I guess, for immaculate connection. Asking the usual suspects, I received what I expected, a litany of not guilty pleas.

Out to the local Harley-Davidson dealer and $200+ later, I have a new battery.
After working on my soon (hopefully) to be released novel, writing with my on-line writer’s group, and a fantastic grilled SPAM and cheese sandwich, it was time to change out the old dead battery. I’ve done this too many times over the years.
Well, removing the backrest wasn’t too bad, even with a touch of arthritis. I could not for the life of me get the seat off. Swallowing what little dignity remains in this beat-up body, I turned to my wife. “Honey, please help me.”

Between the two of us, mostly Cathy, we got the seat out. I was happy; she dropped the mounting screw, something I never fail to do. She’s human. Then for the battery, my hands would not grip. We constructed a makeshift battery strap and got it.
Putting it all back together was a snap.

Warmed up all 88 inches and went for a ride. On the ride out of town, the traffic was as heavy as a normal commute. What gives? Who are these people? In my neighborhood, it seems most people are staying at home.

Anyway, it was great to be out on the road. When I came back, the traffic was light. I was on a five-lane highway in the number two lane, second from the center. I was rolling along with the flow of traffic when I noticed a car coming up fast in the number three lane. Thinking I might be impeding traffic, I checked the speedometer. Wow! I was clocking along at 85 MPH. The car passed me doing at least 100. A minute or two, another IMG_6900speedster passed me in the fast lane going about as fast. Dang. It was a short but exhilarating ride, and yes, I was wearing Shorts.

If the hotels are open, my buddy and I will be heading out for a fortnight in about five weeks.

 

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Under the scarf is a happy rider.

 

 

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Filed under A Great Ride - 2012, Investigations, Odds and Ends

Thanks, Gig Harbor SJP

It’s been several years since my wife and I took a road trip to Gig Harbor, Washington.
We took a couple of weeks up and back. Other than Gig Harbor, the trip was in some ways like a motorcycle trip, except we were in a cage. We went hither and yon with no other plans. When we arrived, we were pleased, not that we would move there.

One morning while on a walk, I saw one of those newspaper boxes advertising free local IMG_6885papers. I opened it and there on top of the papers was a shiny rock. Painted on it was a rainbow with happy faces at each end. Smiling, I picked it up and felt a sense of wellbeing. I took a paper and put the rock back and walked on, thinking about that rock and the feeling it gave me. Back I went. Picking it up, I thought: I’d like to take you home. But I couldn’t bring myself to take something that wasn’t mine. Back a third time, like a thief in the night, I looked in all directions. No one in sight, I slipped the booty into my pocket and fled.

I didn’t know about rock painters leaving a friendly face to be found by people like me. The finder is supposed to take the gift or leave it for someone else to find. Not happening!
Back at home, I put the rock on the window shelf over the kitchen sink. Many times since then, I stop and look at MY rock. I always smile and perk up.

I’ve been suffering writer’s block. I needed something to get me going, so I brought the IMG_6886rock into my office. Holding it helps. I turned it over and found a note from SJP, allowing me to keep it. At the top was a request to post on FaceBook.

Today on the blog and FaceBook, I’m sending my thanks to SJP.

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12th Annual Brown Water Run

Day 3 – 7/7/2013

Where are we? Are we in Egypt? I am the victim of a military style coup.

The evening before, while the brigands ate the KFC that I had so generously provided, Paul Wallace led a conspiracy to oust the legitimate leader of the Brown Water Run.

Before breakfast, I was presented with the fait accompli. My comrade of forty years made this proclamation, “George you’re out!”

Said I, “Like President Morsi in Egypt?”

They tried to clean it up, but I was out. Hip, Hip, Hurray!

The junta’s new route took the group north on US 395 to CA 89. The portion of US 395 from Bishop to CA 89 is probably the best 120 miles of the highway. It goes through Bridgeport. Years ago Bridgeport hosted a great destination ride. Because of an overabundance of nudity, the highway was at times blocked. The California Department of Transportation prohibited the continuation of the event. It was a fun time.

There is one thing about this part of US 395 that often causes consternation, the unstable weather. This was only the second time I’ve ridden this route that I wasn’t drenched in a cloud burst, or banged about by a hail storm. It was a great day with bearable temperatures.

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Jim Kennemore demonstrates the modified OPD Leather God riding style near Mammoth Mountain.

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Jack Young cruising along on his DynaWideGlide. My first Harley was a Dyna. I loved that bike until I had my first ride on an Ultra Classic.

John S. Bridgeport

A fuel stop at Bridgeport was an early rest halt. John Sensiba took this picture. It embodies the essence of the Brown Water Run. We ride through some of the most beautiful country in the United States while celebrating Old Glory and the independence of the greatest nation in the world.

GOD BLESS AMERICA!

When we reached CA 89 we headed up into the mountains and over Monitor Pass for a lunch stop in Markleeville.

Larry Eade - Wolf Creek Bar

Lunch was at Wolf Creek Bar and Restaurant. Here we have Larry Eade beside his Road King. In the background Jeff Zolfarelli checks his luggage.

The ride from Markleeville continued on to Lake Tahoe. The traffic was heavy, but Pioneer Trail allowed us to by-pass the worst of it. The ride around the south end of the lake took us through Cave Rock Tunnel and over the Carson Range down to Carson City.

Sunday was the shortest ride of the Brown Water Run, 208 miles. It was a pleasure. The weather was not too hot and no one suffered like we had the day before. I wish I could say everyone had a good time. It wasn’t so. Keith Wallace was still riding in the Train Mobile. Fred Sicard from Los Angeles had a flat tire. Once Lauren dropped Keith off at Carson City Harley-Davidson he had to return and pick up Fred. The service department told Keith they couldn’t work on his Ultra until Tuesday. That was unusual in that most Harley Dealers put travelers at the head of the line.

Lauren got Fred’s bike to the dealership too late for them to work on it. He had to return on Monday along with his L.A. riding buddies. Fred, Ron Ricci, Dan Larson, and Jim Griffith rode up from Southern California. While I was riding south to Las Vegas, they headed home. I don’t know who had it worse Monday night. They stopped in Fresno while I spent the night in Beatty, Nevada. Neither town is a favorite of mine. I’m told they had a great ride over the mountains on CA-4. CA-4 is one of those mountain pass rides that I never tire of making.

Sgt. JAK

Jim Kennemore is delivering an important point about some insignificant subject to anyone within hearing range.

Fire from Carson City 2

This is of the Bison Fire east of Carson City. This was taken from the Carson City Motel 6. Fires are being fought in north and south Nevada. It appears that at least some were started by lightning strikes.

Las Vegas Fire P.C.

Later in the evening, my son Paul sent me this picture of the Carpenter 1 Fire near Las Vegas. He took it from a parking lot at his apartment.

Once again the day was topped off with BW Runners sitting around the swimming pool solving all the problems of the realm.

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12th Annual Brown Water Run

Day 1 – 7/5/2013

Twelve years ago we began a motorcycle riding tradition, the Brown Water Run. That first year we had about seven or eight riders. This year we had twenty-four riders and one chase vehicle.

Ken Green came the furthest, Scottsdale, Arizona. I’d say it was a tie with Keith Wallace, but one has to ride a motorcycle to complete the BWR. Keith’s Ultra Classic broke down before the ride even began. Our chase car driver/mechanic, Lauren Camera, managed to get it running Friday morning. But Saturday, the 6th it gave up the ghost (twice). Keith finished the ride in the chase vehicle. Before the BWR, he spent something like $1,600 getting the electrical system repaired. Can you guess what failed? Yes, you’re right the electrical system.

Zacs

We began the 5th with seventeen of us having breakfast at Zac’s Restaurant in Dublin, California. About halfway through breakfast, a very attractive lady came into the restaurant. She looked about somewhat confused. After a moment or two she approached the group. “Are you all going on a motorcycle trip?”

A chorus of “yeses” echoed throughout the room.

To which the young lady responded, “Where’s Keith?”

Told that Keith had broken down, her shoulders drooped, she seemed to collapse within herself. She said, “I’m his daughter. He called me. He told me to be here.” She did not appear to be a happy camper.

Ultimately Keith arrived on his questionable steed.

At the appointed hour, seventeen motorcycles and the Train Mobile departed on the first leg of our adventure. The ride over the Santa Cruz Mountains and down State Route 1 to Carmel was picture perfect. I was leading when a strange thing occurred. Jim Kennemore passed me up and took over lead. My first thought, “Was I going too slow?” It soon became apparent that was not the case as Jim did not increase the speed, if anything he slowed somewhat. I was confused.

That evening when we were alone, I asked him, “Why did you pull in front of me on seventeen? You didn’t speed up.”

Much to my surprise his answer was, “To slow you down, you were going too fast.” That was a shocker. The last few times over this roadway, I was criticized for going much too slow.

At Carmel we picked up three more riders. Getting out of the gas station and back on the road was a fiasco. Instead of one cohesive group we had at least four clusters. We did not get back together until we reached Morro Bay.

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We stopped near San Simeon and visited the sea elephants. If you ever get the chance, stop and watch these behemoths.

One group of riders stopped to eat at a large tourist trap. I’m told it took upwards of an hour to get their meals.

We picked up another four riders in Morro Bay. These folks came up from Los Angeles.

I wish I had the room to list all the great people who joined us on this ride. I will point out a pair of wounded warriors, Paul Wallace and Byron Atwater. Less than a month ago Paul fell off of his bicycle. Yes, bicycle. He suffered a punctured lung and several broken ribs. When his daughters learned that he rode the BWR, they had a hissy fit. Dad Wallace was placed on probation by the girls and his grandson. For Shame!

Byron had a double hernia operation three weeks before the ride. However, he had permission to ride. His lovely wife, who always sends chocolate chip cookies, gave him permission to ride. She assigned their son-in-law, Brad Bell to keep a close eye on Byron. To make his ride a better experience, Byron purchased an Ultra Classic.

GDC 24 MCs 1 Truck

The white Dodge truck is Lauren Camera’s Train Mobile. He has a real train whistle that he plays from time to time. Once in Burney Falls he sounded off and created pandemonium. There are no train tracks near this small mountain town. Everyone except us BW Runners stopped cold and looked in all directions for the train. Lauren has a habit of picking the perfect time and place to sound off. If the horn doesn’t get you, the authentic train bell mounted under the truck certainly will.

I’m leaning on Keith “Axiom” Wallace’s Ultra Classic. My touch gave it enough strength to run for a few more hours.

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