After I reviewed the weather forecast for the hundredth time this morning, my Dad and I rolled
out of Nashville heading south for D&H Cycle in Cullman, AL. No, the “A” part of this
F-A-R Journey does not stand for Alabama... actually F-A-R stands for “Fly And
Ride”. Yippee!!
We left at 6am in 30 degrees heading south on I-65 to pick up my latest stable addition, a 2007
Yamaha FJR1300 (see why the Yamaha sign seemed ironic?!). Cullman is located just off I-65
about 140 miles south of Nashville. The drive was very easy, no traffic, and included a quick
stop at the Waffle House for breakfast. Even though I'm originally from the South and spend
a few months of the year here, whenever I return to the area I seem to always have the same first
thought: Do I sound like these people?!!
Wow, if
someone wanted to hear a real Southern accent then I'd highly recommend stopping at a Waffle House
in rural TN. I have an accent myself (hey, you can take the girl out of the South but not the
South out of the girl!) but it seems people who work and patron the Waffle House are, well, shall
we say, the most fluent in Southern speak! I could hardly understand if I was being asked if
I wanted more water or if I was finished with my waffle.
After crossing the TN-AL state line and about a half hour before Cullman it started to rain and I
started to laugh. My Dad says, “We're in rural Alabama, it's 33 degrees, it's raining, we
just need some wicked wind gusts to top this extravaganza off.”
I
couldn't do anything else but laugh and offer that I think I may have outdone myself this time:
Thankfully, by the time we arrived D&H Cycle the rain did stop. I was quickly met at the door
and given a welcoming hug by “Ron” (who I had coordinated details with over the phone) and then the
owner Jerald and his wife. D&H Cycle is a very small, family owned and operated dealership
and is anything but your typical dealership. Heck, they're even next door to the Funky Chicken:
Let me say that you'd never meet a person who is more anti-dealership (aka “stealership”) than me;
I have avoided dealerships at all costs since I decided many years ago I wasn't going to
participate in the whole ridiculous process... dealing with inexperienced, incompetent, and
unprofessional employees, negotiating a final price, walking in and being ignored or not taken
seriously because of my gender, generally wasting my time, etc. One or two experiences and
that was enough of that crap and I started acquiring my bikes through private party sales only. Once
I decide the model bike I want I then wait until I find someone who has just purchased the bike brand new
and has either buyer's remorse or a life circumstance that forces the sale. Since I'm not limited
geographically it really isn't that difficult but does require a bit of patience. I almost always
get a good deal and have a memorable experience to go along with the acquisition... much like this one!
Anywho, I'll probably expound later about how I made a complete 180 on my dealership stance but for now
I'll just say that the folks at D&H Cycle are the antithesis of a dealership. If you want to
see how customer service is done... go to D&H. If you want a simple smooth process, go to
D&H. If you want to be treated like a member of their family from the moment they answer
your initial phone call, go to D&H. There is a reason they are entering their 35th year of
business and sell more Yamaha FJR's than anyone else in the country (primarily to out of state
buyers like me)... flat price out the door to everyone combined with phenomenal customer
service. I never expected to have a positive, warm, fuzzy feeling experience at a
dealership! In a later report I'll likely include the reasons behind my selection of the FJR.
After greeting everyone I was led to the back Service building where my new bike was
located. At first I thought there was a mistake, so I said “I only wanted one”:
Actually the bike on the right is mine and the one on the left belongs to a gentleman
who arrived minutes after my I did and had driven his truck cross country to pick up
his new motorcycle. Since I have a high regard for other people's privacy (much
like my own) I'll not add anything about him or his situation. However, I will
say he was early 70's and was like a new papa with his new FJR! Positive energy
is simply infectious I tell ya!
The head mechanic, “Nick”, methodically went over the bike with me and proud papa simultaneously:
I was very impressed with Nick's thoroughness and deliberate briefing. He fielded
our myriad of questions without a hint of bother or otherwise rushing us through the
process. I had him install my frame sliders after the debriefing and prior to
his D&H standard 10 mile test ride:
Just before he left to test the bike I looked across the room and saw what has become
my favorite photo of the entire day:
Awesome or what?!! That's “Virginia” the Parts Department Manager and the person
I'm told “really is the one who runs the whole place” ... she has over 36 years
experience in Parts (is your local Parts Dept guy even older than 36?!) and as you can
see from homeboy's expression, she can run circles around people when it comes to
knowledge about motorcycles.
Wow! Here she is in her Parts Dept domain:
Virginia, YOU GO GIRL!!!
I had asked Ron to order a Service Manual for me so that when I picked up the bike
I could have the manual available for when a friend and I work on the bike this
weekend. My manual did indeed arrive D&H but there was a miscommunication
and the manual was sold several days before. This so upset Virginia that
she promptly went out to the back Service Dept building and returned with their
shop manual, handed it to me and added she would have a new manual for me by next
week when I planned to return to for the first service (more on that later
too). Nope, this ain't your regular dealership, huh?
Nick returned from the test ride with two thumbs up and a green light for me to go.
I had anticipated the cold weather and had shipped D&H a connector to wire to the bike
for my heated gear, so I was ready. I said my good-byes, geared up, and took off.
Now, if you've spent any time with me as a virtual co-rider then you'll not be the least
surprised to know exactly where I headed: to the nearest National Park Passport stamp!
Before I continue, if you're just joining me as a virtual co-rider then you'll probably
figure out soon enough that I ride (er, live) with a different perspective than most. If
you'd like a jump start to understanding that perspective and a bit of my philosophy, then
perhaps read the last page / paragraph of the final day of my USA Four Corners Tour:
HERE.
So, with the new bike in hand (literally), I headed for a stamp to put in my National Parks Passport
Book! (For further details on my “Stamping” quest click:
THIS!) There are
certain National Wildlife Refuges (NWR) that have a Passport stamp called the “Dated
Blue Goose.” My clandestine stamp sources told me there was such a stamp at Wheeler
Wildlife Refuge near Decatur, AL, so that is the direction the FJR was pointed.
What better place to take a casual stroll than near a Wildlife Refuge!
GPS coordinates for the Wheeler National Wildlife Refuge: N34 33.367, W86 57.053
(simply copy and paste into Google Maps)
I walked inside the Visitor Center fully geared and with my flip-up helmet still
on since it was a bit chilly. While the Ranger was handing me the stamp and
inquiring about my decision to ride a motorcycle today in near freezing temperatures,
I overheard a young male voice directly behind me say in a rather reading and soft
tone of voice “Girls Rule.” While stamping my book I heard a young girl say
in a rather exclaiming tone “That's right, Matt!”. Since I have a small “Girls
Rule” sticker on the back of my helmet (received as a gift from a pre-teen girl) I
knew what was going on but I wasn't sure once I turned around if I was going to be
involved in a sibling dispute or something else. I handed the stamp back to
the confused looking Ranger and turned around to see a rather large school aged
group of young children filing out of a room.
I was asked everything from “Are you the police or a Ranger?”
to “Do you know ninja karate?”
to “Does your motorcycle go faster than an eagle?”
(I'm guessing the presentation they had just seen involved an eagle). I'm
sure the teacher would loved to have had the kid's attention that was focused on
me. Actually, I was starting to feel like I was a distraction so I didn't
really peruse the different displays of various stuffed creatures and information
with my newfound entourage, and so I decided to make an early exit. As I was
leaving the building I was thinking about how impressionable young kids are and how
there must be a way to utilize this attention that I seem to gather from young people
in a positive way. I mean, you can't teach a child (or anyone else for that
matter) a damn thing if you don't have their attention first. Perhaps I get the
boys attention simply because I'm riding a motorcycle, and I get the girl's attention
because I've got the boy's attention. Maybe a grand idea will come to me
regarding kids; it's certainly something I think about after situations like those
inside the Wildlife Refuge. Anyway, as I'm walking back outside thinking of
all this and noticing the various foliage surrounding me, I look over and see the
new motorcycle I just purchased. As odd as it may sound, for a split second
I was surprised to see it and thought “oh, yeah, the FJR.” I had been in my
own world and had totally forgotten about the new bike... proof positive it's all
about the journey for me and really has nothing to do with an actual
motorcycle. I stopped and took this pic, much like I do many others, for the
sole reason that one day I'll look back on it and recall all that made that exact
moment for me... my thoughts, the surroundings, and the kids.
In the parking lot of the Wheeler Wildlife Refuge I activated a preset route in my
GPS to return me to my home in Music City; it promptly responded by freaking out
and directing me to Senegal some 7,766 miles away (I'm not kidding).
Though I'm always up for a challenge, I thought Senegal was a bit of a
stretch today so I decided to just run the “AGirl route”, which means spontaneously
taking every road that sparks my interest and going in whatever direction said road
leads. I stopped at the entrance to Wheeler and consulted a map of the area
before taking off:
The map said “You Are Here” and the AGirl route said “Go There” which translated
to heading towards the Tennessee River since nice roads can usually be found near
flowing water. I did find some really nice backcountry roads that weaved and
snaked near the river though I convinced myself that it was probably more prudent
to focus on the new bike beneath me than on the journey itself. Geez, what a
challenge I'll say. Those who do know me are likely thinking “That's no
surprise” and those who don't are thinking “huh?”. This
might be one of those times where the different perspective thing comes in that I
mentioned previously. When you live knowing you only have a limited amount of
time left to live, something like a pieces of plastic and metal (ahem, a motorcycle)
– and definitely characteristics of the pieces (like color, shape) have insignificant
meaning or value. If you were given less than a year to live how much energy
would you have about a particular piece of metal or machine? How about the color
of the plastic? Seems pretty insignificant in the context of life, huh? Speaking
of the color of a motorcycle, about a week after I mailed a check to buy the FJR someone
asked me about the color of the bike. I had no idea. None. I simply
can't relate to inconsequential details since they are meaningless to my journey... on
a motorcycle or in my life. C'mon, how often have you heard someone say something
like “it was a great ride but it could have been better if only I was riding an (X)
colored bike.” It might be easy to say I'm a sheer function over form person
but it really goes beyond that.
After deciding I should probably focus on the the new bike, my plan was to stop at the
next big parking lot I came across. Being it was a business day as well as during
school hours it was difficult to find an open lot, much less a big one,
and especially given I was in a rural area. Once I found an open lot I went
through several drills as if I were attending a MSF class. I thought about my
good friends on the Arizona Precision Motorcycle
Drill Team (Gold Wings) and the class I take with them in the early winter
late spring in Phoenix.
You can bet I'll be there this spring with the
FJR. Whenever I get a new bike I always take a class with it; I've found it to
be a great way to “bond” with the bike and become more familiar with it's
handling. Most riders don't make a regular habit of practicing the basics of
motorcycling. I'm always shocked at the folks in these classes who are daily
commuters, have decades of “experience”, etc., but have great difficulty performing
basic, slow speed drills. 
While running though an imaginary “Iron Cross” in the practice lot, a car pulled in
and started driving towards me. The elderly driver was lost and asked me if I
knew how she could get to the Natchez Trace Parkway. I thought what a fantastic
idea...I'll run that road back to Nashville!
I programed my GPS (thankfully it was apparently over it's earlier insanity)
and told granny to follow me.
I pulled over at our entrance to the
Natchez Trace Parkway (NTP), made sure granny
was on the right track and then took this photo...
... and on down the road this one at the Alabama/Tennessee state line:
I have ridden the NTP, or simply “the Trace” countless times, the last time being
almost 2 months ago when I sauntered the entire length of the NTP from Nashville
to Mississippi while en route back to my winter house near Phoenix (That particular
journey report can be found:
HERE
Regardless of the time of year, solace can be had on this National Scenic
Byway. Today, I rode over 130 miles on the Trace and might have seen a half
dozen vehicles. It gave me an opportunity to familiarize myself with the bike
in a known and somewhat controlled environment (no commercial vehicles, few
entry/exits, no stoplights or traffic controls, etc) and to do so while allowing my
mind to roam as well. The Trace, like most byways, isn't a peg draggin' ride;
it's a ride for the mind and soul... and a place I now think is a dandy location to
take a new motorcycle, especially one that is not yet outfitted with a radar
detector (luckily, none of the 6 cars I saw belonged to a radar-wielding Park Ranger).
I stopped several times to take photos and each time I was reminded how thankful I am for heated gear!
Being a desert rat during the winter months I forget how the humidity makes the
cold air feel like it just bites through your clothes. Yes, that's ice
(in case you questioned the chilly part):
One thing about riding the Trace is that services are not readily available. You
must detour off the Parkway to a podunk town for gas or food. My stomach said the
morning waffles were no longer sufficient and the FJR's tank said it could use a refuel
too. The dash showed one fuel bar flashing but I couldn't remember exactly what
Nick at D&H had told me about the range after the flashing started. I find it
difficult to make a logical deduction about remaining range when there is a light or
bar flashing constantly in front of me. Since I didn't really have many options
I just hoped that whatever number Nick said was higher than 22, the distance to the
closest gas station according to my recently healed GPS. The last fifteen minutes
of the Trace (northern entrance) is by far the best section of road, with linked, lazy
sweepers. It also happened to be near dusk when I approached this section and let
me just say that Bambi and all her cousins were out partying.
I must have passed 25 deer off to the side of the road during that stretch of
the Trace. So, the fuel bar is flashing in my face, deer are everywhere, I'm
starving... and I'm having a blast!
I made it to the gas station and filled up the FJR for the first of what I'm sure will be many, many times to come:
While at the station a man asked me about the bike, how I liked it, if I was
freezing... the questions you'd expect to hear. He also asked me what
“FJR” stood for. My reply was: Fits Just Right. ...which accurately
sums up the bike for me. I'll probably expound on that at some point,
perhaps when I write more about how I came to choose the FJR and D&H Cycles.
After refueling (a snack for me and petrol for the bike) I took the FJR over
to a friend's garage where we plan to do some electrical work this weekend. Once
the bike was parked I looked down to see that I'd ridden 245 miles out of the
starting gate (ok, crate)...
... and I felt a sense of accomplishment if not relief. It took a lot of
coordinating with the bike, with flights, with schedules, etc., and a bit of
plain 'ole luck with the weather (and maybe even with airport security and my
Givi bag!) - to pull this little adventure off.
More to come....
AGirl
