Day 11 : Lubbock, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico

322 Miles

The next morning, Amanda and I enjoyed a couple of cups of coffee at Lubbock’s version of coffee shop, and then stopped by Lubbock Christian University for a tour of the campus. It was my first time ever being there, and I have to say that it was not what I expected, though it was very nice as I had expected. After some parting prayer and hugs, Albuquerque beckoned, and the riding continued with the sun on my back.

The road led through Littlefield, Melrose, Clovis, and on. The motorcycle overheated once on the edge of Fort Sumner, but started right up about 20 minutes later. I rode with one eye on the sky; watching thunder clouds gather and spread. Finally, they began to pour with resolve on the east end of the Cibola National Forest. I pulled over at a road side gas station and food mart in the hopes that the storm would not last long, and it passed in about an hour’s time.

It was not too late in the afternoon when I broke the city limits of Albuquerque.

The driving directions I had received to Tim and Cheryl Russell’s house were just a bit less than dead on, and the motorcycle ran out of gas heading the wrong direction. Luckily, I was able to guide the motorcycle across the road and push start it down the hill. Tim and Cheryl had lived for a short time in Portland, and have since moved back to work with PUMP. Tim met me at the gas station at the bottom of the hill and we made our way to their home.

After unpacking the motorcycle, settling in, and taking a much needed shower, we made our way to dinner. Kerry and Karla Lowery met us at El Pinto for some fantastic Mexican food, and blessed fellowship. Kerry and Karla were PUMP members that had recently moved to Albuquerque, and it was great to get to see them and catch up on current events.

When we got back to the house, Tim and Cheryl introduced me to the video game Rock Band. Who knew that pretending to play music could be so much fun? You just haven’t lived until you have seen the Russell’s kids wailing the lyrics to Say It Ain’t So by Weazer into a plastic microphone. We eventually gave in the need for sleep, and retired to bed.

Day 10 : Arlington, Texas to Lubbock, Texas

328 Miles

What a blessing to spend the Lord’s Day with the Maxwells and the family at the Park Row church of Christ! I was honored to serve by singing on the praise team and by offering thoughts before communion. The members of Park Row were interested in PUMP; they were gracious and generous, and they sent me on encouraged. Lunch was a tempting offer, but I was hoping to visit other friends that day, and to get into Lubbock somewhat early in the evening for a longer night’s sleep.

At this point pulling back onto the road began to feel like reconnecting with a familiar partner. After a quick stop for gas, I settled in for a comfortable ride in some very pleasant weather. There was a gas station with a roadside diner along the lateral stretch of Interstate 20, so I filled the motorcycle with fuel and ordered myself a beef brisket sandwich. The place seemed like exactly what one might expect: vinyl booths, an old re-run of Quincy playing on the television in the corner. The food was not cheap, but it was good, and there was plenty of it. 30 minutes later, I was on my way again. Traffic was lively on the way from Arlington to Abilene; there were no construction hang ups, and drivers seemed intent on maintaining a maximum speed, so the miles rolled along with no incident.

I stopped at Abilene Christian University to hug the neck of Kenli Edwards. Kenli is a former PUMP Summer Program director whose friendly nothing-is-really-that-hard-let-alone-impossible attitude grew on our family like an aggressive fungus. It was fun to see her ruling the domain of her dorm at ACU. I’m sure there is no better dorm parent in the world than Kenli. Seriously Edwards, would a visit to the Rose City kill you? :)

More fuel, and a northwest turn onto Interstate 84 led me on to Lubbock. I pulled into town and couldn’t resist a brief stop at Church’s Chicken to get directions and enjoy a greasy chicken leg. Less than an hour later I pulled into the home of the Petersons. Amanda had also been an intern and director in PUMP’s Summer Program; she was home for just a short spell before she began her tour with the Peace Corps in Africa. It reminds me that God, in his mercy, regularly sends remarkable people to PUMP to serve for a period of time. Over the years, we have been blessed to minister alongside gifted people that go forward to bless every corner of God’s kingdom with love.

Amanda and I spent some time catching up on life and looking forward into ministry. We caught each other up on lapsed friendships and missing details from blog stories. I should have known that there would be no early rest. Time with friends is too precious!

Day 9 : Nashville, Tennessee to Arlington, Texas

685 Miles

Saturday morning we shared a brief breakfast, snapped a few pictures (sorry McCools, for the life of me, I cannot locate those pictures), and by mid-morning I was on the road to Arlington, Texas. My plan was to bunk at Steve and Alasha Maxwell’s house Saturday night, and attend church with them the next morning.

The weather was pleasantly warm, so I had decided to forgo wearing riding pants. There was a moderate amount of traffic on Interstate 40, but everyone seemed to be committed to the flow of traffic, so the morning melted into the afternoon without much interest. The motorcycle was running just over 100 miles per tank, which was a great interval to check oil levels and fill up as necessary which was just about every other stop.

If a motorcyclist traveling at 70 miles per hour is hit just under the knee by a golf-ball-sized rock (kicked back by an semi-truck) traveling in the opposite direction at approximately 5 miles per hour, the resulting impact carries the force of approximately 75 miles per hour, it evokes a sizable, verbal response, heavily-saturated with inappropriate language, and is a great reminder of why it is always good to wear protective gear when one rides. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.

Arkansas is some beautiful scenery. I have to tell you, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting anything that green, especially from the freeway. I was impressed. Now the roads themselves: zebra striped with tar; I felt like I was driving on a Jackson Pollock painting. Cracker Barrel welcomed me once again for a late lunch, and then I found a Honda dealer to renew the oil supply. The remains of the day were spent watching the road go by and wearing out my seat. By the time night fell and I could see the distant lights of Dallas, my posterior was tired of negotiating and ready stage a full-scale walk out. One last stop for gas, a phone call to the Maxwell’s and a look at the map, and it was the beginning of the end of the trail.

It was late when I finally pulled into the Maxwell’s garage. Steve had a cardboard pad waiting for the motorcycle, and a tall glass of ice water for me. We spent some time catching up on life: family, ministry and music, and eventually resigned to the night hour.

Sleep never came so easy.

Day 8 : Nashville Tennessee

0 Miles

Friday morning there was sunshine, and I enjoyed some time on the campus of Lipscomb University, and then headed back to the McCool’s house in the afternoon to do some maintenance on the motorcycle: oil change and a gasket replaced. The work went fairly smoothly. I was feeling a little too proud of myself as I was tightening the oil pan bolt and heading back to Lipscomb in my mind when...

Snap.

I over-tightened and stripped the oil pan bolt. One look under the motorcycle revealed the pan dripping freshly changed oil onto the ground like a Mr. Coffee maker. After throwing the pan back under the bike I rushed inside and found the nearest auto parts store on Google maps. Autozone was just a short ride away; they had disposable oil pans stacked just inside the door, and a very friendly staff, happy to help me face this challenge: I don’t remember the manager’s name, but he looked like Jack from Lost. The other worker was named Brett, and he looked like a shorter, more muscular version of my college roommate Andy Williams. These were true good-ol’ boys at their best. In between helping other customers they came out, crawled under the motorcycle, tried a number of solutions to stop the bleeding; and it was the manager (on his back, on the ground in the parking lot) who first discovered it. “Look here,” says Jack, “I think you may have cracked your oil pan.”

My stomach disappeared; this realization was deeply disappointing. It did open up the possibility of other temporary (though less efficient) fixes. The new oil was already drained from the pan, so Brett and I worked some miracle weld to a putty and applied it to the inside of the oil pan threads. After it had set we gently threaded the oil pan bolt back into the hole and then waited for it to harden. Finally we poured the oil back in and started the engine to see the effect of our work. The drip was slowed considerably. It would be an oily trip home, but the pan was holding admirably in spite of my careless abuse.

I arrived back at McCool Manor in time to change my clothes and enjoy an insider’s tour of Nashville and dinner with Raleigh and his parents. The McCools are very generous hosts, and candid tour guides. They showed me a lot of popular, beautiful, and cool Nashville points of interest, and the editorial and family interaction was the best kind. We enjoyed excellent conversation and amazing dinner thanks to Baja Burrito.

Day 7 : Mt. Vernon, Illinois to Nashville, Tennessee

235 Miles

I woke up with a start in Mt. Vernon; it was Conference Day One! Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann started his first lecture at 4:15, and I did not want to miss a word. A look out the window confirmed that the motorcycle was still there. None of my tweets had made it to Twitter the day before. A call to T-Mobile and hard reset of the phone fixed the issue, and before long I was ready to go. The map and fluid levels were checked one more time; after a quick stop for gas, the last ride east began.

Traffic on Interstate 57 started slowly. The speed picked up around Marion, and then I had been moving right along for about 5 miles when a guy in a pick up truck pulled up next to me waving wildly. We both pulled over and he let me know that I had lost my spare gas tank off of the back of the motorcycle. Thankfully no one had hit it, but it was not salvageable. Truck man was a rider as well, and we stood on the side of the road and talked about motorcycles for almost a half an hour.

I pulled off the highway in Paducah, Kentucky for gas and the front brake seized up at a red light. I was not ready for mechanical delays this close to Nashville. Pumping the brake lever furiously seemed to work the caliper loose, and I was able to pull into the service station. After getting gas, everything seemed to be fine, so I said a prayer and pulled back onto the highway.

Just outside of Clarksville, Tennessee, the rain started to fall again. I pulled off at the first exit and begged for garbage bags, but they really didn’t help. The last 50 miles to Nashville was a baptism. Thankfully it was not too cold. The freeway traffic in Nashville was bumper to bumper so by the time I pulled into Lipscomb’s campus, Dr. Fleer was giving his welcome speech and introducing Dr. Brueggemann. I dripped my way to registration, changed clothes, and took a seat in the back.

Dr. Brueggemann was amazing. His presentation was manuscripted so it sounded understandably like his books read. But to hear the good Dr. present the material in person was a treat. His work is a vacuum of fluff. The man can preach.

Chris Goldman and Walter Surdaki found me drying off in the back, and took me by a Laundromat on our way to dinner. It was great to catch up with those guys. We stopped into Starbuck’s on the way to the next session, and who should amble in and sit down next to us but Brian McLaren! We introduced ourselves and made a little small talk, but McLaren was checking email so we didn’t bother him too much.

Jerry Taylor preached Thursday night, and inspired as usual. Taylor has to be one of the most solid preachers in our movement at this time. He thoroughly understands himself, his craft and his audience, and most importantly his relationship with God is evident both in the act of preaching and in his personal life.

It was late when I finally pulled down the driveway at the McCool’s house. Raleigh McCool interned at PUMP last summer, and was an excellent example of a thoughtful servant leader. The McCools graciously agreed to host me while I was in Nashville. When I walked in the house I met the family, was handed a nice warm cup of good coffee, and immediately felt at home. We talked for awhile; I got a tour of the house which ended at the bed in which I was going to sleep, and soon after that I got busy sleeping.

Day 6 : Wakeeney, Kansas to Mt. Vernon, Illinois

623 Miles

I woke up refreshed. Having ended the previous day early, I knew I had many a mile to recover, so I packed quickly, checked fluids, loaded the motorcycle, and launched again east. The storm had passed over and the sky was solid blue all along the lanky Kansas horizon.

With a resolution to stay dry I walked into the Wal-Mart in Hays, Kansas, looking to buy a pvc rain suit. I was late to the dance; there was only one left and it wasn’t my size, I happened to see a Goodwill store on the way to the interstate, but unfortunately there was nothing sufficient to be found among their racks. Back on the road and determined to make time, I rode the motorcycle hard and only stopped when the gas tank was dry. I saw three states on Day 6:

Kansas: the only state kind enough to recognize me for my nimble driving. The officer patrolling between Topeka and Kansas City was surprised that I would try to make this kind of trip in October. I would have thought he might have been a little more understanding about my haste. I hope Kansas did something constructive with my financial contribution to their justice system.

Missouri: looked a lot like Kansas until I drove into St. Louis just after sunset. Downtown was stunning, and I was mesmerized by the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial. So much so, that when Interstate 70 abruptly ended in a tangled-spaghetti explosion of smaller freeways, I had no idea where to go. 

Illinois: I was in Illinois? According to Google Maps, I spent the evening in Mt. Vernon, Illinois. By the time I reached Illinois, the sky was black, and my countenance coordinated. I had cast my eye toward Nashville despite my complaining fundament. But when I saw that sign for the Cracker Barrel Country Store at exit 7b, I caved like a house of cards.

I limped into the restaurant and was shown a seat. I ordered food and then noticed that the other patrons were staring at me. When I went to find the restroom, a look in the mirror revealed the reason I had earned the attention: oil and dirt on my face, messed up hair; I looked like I had been run over. I just didn’t care; I tore through the chicken fried steak and cleaned the plate. There was not a crumb of food left on my table. There was a Motel 6 just down the road from the restaurant, but that quarter of a mile might have been the most difficult to ride. I quickly covered the motorcycle, walked in my room, fell directly on the bed and lay dead still asleep all night. I woke up the next morning in my clothes with my boots still on. It was an awesome day!

Day 5 : Westminster, Colorado to WaKeeney, Kansas

325 Miles

I woke up Tuesday morning to the smell of a pancake breakfast. This was a special day in the Hill house: it was Adam's third birthday!

Griffin and Adam kept me sufficiently entertained by rehearsing the results of previous birthday activities. I was shown duplicate sets of Star Wars figures although and I should say that we were all in agreement that a person can never have too many Star Wars toys. In this situation, “more” undeniably equals “better.” We played as mom and dad prepared the special birthday breakfast which included a pancake shaped like the number 3. Breakfast conversation with the boys bounced randomly from subject to subject including but certainly not limited to superhero costumes, bike riding, my kids in Oregon, Star Wars, Lego construction, and Chuck E. Cheese.

Pictures were taken of the birthday boy and the special pancake, and then it was time to pack up and get ready to go. The night before, Blake had graciously provided a large piece of cardboard so that the motorcycle could be parked in the garage without leaving an oily mess on the floor. Kim packed me a great lunch, and before long I was on the road. I stopped at a nearby motor sports shop to pick up extra oil, and then it was east on Interstate 70 toward Kansas.

I was not alone in surviving the Rocky Mountains. It turns out the seasonal record snow storm in the western states turned into a severe rain storm east of the Continental Divide. Just before for the state line, water began to fall from the sky. When you are riding down the interstate at 75 miles per hour with no windows or roof, there is no such thing as a light rain. My water resistant motorcycle jacket (designed in the precipitous Portland, Oregon) resisted water like a sponge. In no time I was soaked to the bone. I pulled off the highway at a small gas station in Burlington, tanked up, borrowed a couple of garbage bags (for creating a poor man’s rain suit), and returned to the road.

Interstate 70 is essentially a straight line across the Midwest, so it seems to be a favorite of long-haul trucks. When the road is soaked, 18 wheels can brew their own brand of storm under and around those trailers, which makes it impossible to ride behind or beside a truck. In the time it takes to pass, there’s about 1 full second when the water stands in the air like a solid wall. Truth be told, it’s thrilling moment to ride but with the sheer number of trucks on the road, it takes a toll.

I took one more break at a service station in Colby, and I finally gave up early in WaKeeney, Kansas at the first hotel with a clothes dryer. 4 hours and $6.00 in quarters later, I crashed.

Day 4 : West Jordan, Utah to Westminster, Colorado

521 miles

I woke up a bit late Monday and ate breakfast with Jill and Anna. Carlos had already gone to work. Jill kindly packed me a lunch the night before, so I checked the oil levels, packed up the motorcycle, said farewell, and hit the road.

The day was sunny and brisk, the snow had melted; I stopped for gas on the edge of town, and tentatively planned my fuel stops for the rest of the day. The road from West Jordan to Grand Junction was full of twisties, and but for some road work and semi-trucks, riding was a lot of fun. There were a few abandon straight stretches for testing the brawn of the engine, which was a thrill. Somewhere in the middle I pulled over, stretched my back, ate my sandwich and admired the golden hills near the border of Colorado.

I stopped for gas in Grand Junction, and pushed on for Denver. The palisades along Interstate 70 stood handsome in the failing sun. As night fell and the road began to wind and ascend, the temperature dove steadily. I was going to cross the Rocky Mountains in the dark.

I was disappointed to miss the views along the highway, but more distracted by the cold. Every stop for gas included pulling more clothes from the saddlebags for unreasonable but necessary layering. One picks his discomforts. The road was wet, and it brought concerns of black ice. As I passed through various towns and ski resorts, I thought of the following seen in Dumb and Dumber.

Eventually the summit was conquered. Traffic creeped on the eastern side of the mountains awaiting entrance to the Eisenhower Memorial Tunnel. Crews were performing maintenance and repairs all along it’s length. In the tunnel the cars were packed and noisy, the smell of exhaust was overwhelming, but who cared? By that time, riding “inside” felt like the biggest treat of the day.

I got a little turned around in Denver, but eventually found myself off the freeway in Westminster, on the correct exit, and pulling into the home of the Hills. I was reminded again what a blessing is to walk into the hospitality of good friends at the weary end of a day of traveling. The boys, Griffin and Adam, had already gone to sleep, but Blake and Kim and I spent the rest of the evening remembering college and catching up on the time in between.

Day 3 : Weiser, Idaho to West Jordan, Utah

422 Miles

I checked the weather on Sunday morning, and it looked the storm was mostly moving northeast. I really didn't have another day to sit, so I rode over to the Burris' house for breakfast and we said our goodbyes. They went off to church, and I hit the interstate. The weather was cold, but the sun was out, and I enjoyed riding through southern Idaho. When I was a kid, our family traveled I-84 between Mountain Home and Twin Falls often to visit family, and it was cool to see several familiar stretches of road along the way.

I stopped for gas and temporary warmth just east of Rupert, Idaho, and as I walked into the truck stop coffee shop, sat down next to three friendly truckers who were checking the national weather service on a laptop. They asked what the hell I was doing riding a motorcycle in this weather, and when they found out I was headed to a minister's conference, they all let me know where they stood with God. I kid you not: one agnostic, one catholic, and one southern baptist.

We enjoyed some humorous, spiritual conversation, and commiserated road conditions over coffee. Interstate 84 was closed between Rupert and Snowville. It was possible to take alternate roots, but probably just as dangerous. The truckers encouraged me to find a hotel a couple of exits down the highway, and wait it out one more day. I finally gave up and went in search of lodging, but as I headed down the road, the temporary road signs were announcing that I-84 had been reopened! I took off down the road praying that "open" meant dry, and sure enough the road was dry the entire way! There were a few patches of snow on the road, but they looked like they had been dropped by truck undercarriages rather than the sky. The interstate was virtually empty for obvious reasons, and I enjoyed an uneventful trip over the state border and into Utah.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten to reset the fuel valve in Rupert, and I ran out of gas two miles north of Tremonton, Utah. Thankfully, a family of angels (parented by Scott and Beverly, and driving a VW Eurovan) armed with an old steel gasoline can came to my rescue. Before long I had a handful of trail mix, a bottle of water, a couple of gallons of petrol in the tank, and Beverly stuffed a pack of fruit snacks in my pocket before I could protest. In no time I was buzzing back down the road.

I got into West Jordan late, and it actually began to snow on me in the last miles to the Zuniga's house, but I arrived safely by the stubborn grace of God. It was awesome to catch up a little with Carlos and Jill and to get to meet Anna for the first time. She is a very beautiful and happy baby! After talking for awhile, we all surrendered to the thought of the busy tomorrow and went to bed.

Day 2 : Weiser, Idaho to Weiser, Idaho?

0 Miles

There was a point to the plan: ride the northern states (Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, etc.) first so that the weather will still be good, then nearer to the end of the month ride the lower states (Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, etc.)

I don't know if you have been looking at national weather, but there is an unusual winter storm that hit the Rockies. When you ask? You guessed it. Friday night and all day Saturday. In other words, right on my schedule. I-84 got between two and five inches of snow around Twin Falls, which is on my route to Salt Lake City, and there was not an alternative route that was not hundreds of miles out of the way.

So I decided to wait another day in Weiser with the Burris family. We went to one of Alexa's volleyball games, did a little Costco shopping, I picked up a winter Baclava (hood one wears under one's motorcycle helmet), and definitely got a nap. Joe and Pam are both on the worship team at church, so I got to hang out at their rehearsal on Saturday night, and catch up on some computer work as well. It was great to spend some extra time with the Burris family and to enjoy a second night at Joe's parents' place.

Day 1 : Portland, Oregon to Weiser, ID

412 Miles

Friday morning, I said goodbye to the family and took off on the long road to Nashville, Tennessee; the first stop being Weiser, Idaho. At the advice of my Weiser friend, Joe Burris (who has been riding motorcycles for about five years), I decided to abandon I-84 and headed across Hwy 26: over Mt. Hood, through Madras, Prineville, John Day, and so on.

I noticed as I was pulling into Sandy that my hands were freezing; my midweight thinsulate gloves were already failing me. I found a wintersports shop and picked up a pair of snowmobile gloves, and man am I glad I did. It was cold on Friday. Bitter, biting, brutally cold. I left wearing thermals, a short-sleeved t-shirt, a long-sleeve t-shirt, a polar fleece, and my motorcycle jacket, and I did not remove a single layer the entire day. Even with the newer gloves, my fingers started to ache. However, it was worth it.

The ride over Mt. Hood was amazing! If I hadn't been so cold I would have stopped to take pictures. The sun broke the clouds, and they bled bright blue. The tops of the pine trees were dusted with snow. And the further I rode the more I rose to meet the snow line. This did make me a bit nervous. I never really saw a snow-covered road, but it was wet, and I was wondering if any of the water had turned to ice. In any case, I made it to Madras with no trouble at all, and stopped at a gas station to fill up and warm up. There was a mexican restaurant in the back, and an angel working the pumps sent me down the road to a small shop that sold disposable hand warmers. This made all of the difference in the world.

The rest of the day was spent twisting through central oregon from town to town, and sundry precipitation. I stopped several times to make sure I would have gas to the next station. At one point I put my midweight gloves on inside my snowmobile gloves to fight off the chill. Hard to bend your fingers around the throttle, but one does what one can.

I made it to the Joe and Pam Burris' house cold but unharmed, we had chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, and boy oh boy, did it ever taste good. Joe's parents live nearby and are currently out of town, so they put me up in their beautiful home. Needless to say by the time dinner, games with the kids, and conversation for the evening was over, I crashed hard!

The Redding Test

On the Monday after Basic Rider Training, I rode the motorcycle to Redding, California. This was the longest trip I have ever taken, and it was a test for the motorcycle and for me. The weather was just gorgeous. The mountains were an easy ride, and the view through the Mt. Shasta area was breathtaking.

The first time I put my foot down to break in California (getting gas in Yreka) my left foot slipped out from under me, and I almost dropped the bike. My foot was covered with oil! I overheated one time as well, but I'm pretty sure that was an operator error (wrong gear for mountains.)

I chose the ride to Redding for one reason: In-N-Out Burger. The California weather was really warm for this Oregon rider. However, In-N-Out was air-conditioned, and the smell of freshly prepared hamburgers and french fries was all I had hoped it would be. The taste did not disappoint. If I hadn't been so concerned to diagnose the oil leak I might have ordered seconds. I checked into a cheap motel down the street and spent the evening in a hot bath and on the internet trying looking for clues to the spill on my shoe. What I finally decided was that I had over-filled the oil reserve, and the pressure created by the high rpms over the mountain passes had increased the leak out from under the stator cover. The excess oil leaked onto my shoe.

(Note to self: take it easy going up the mountains.) The next morning I found a Honda shop near the Hotel and bought extra oil for the trip home. Another customer stopped me and offered to buy my bike. I have to admit, given the trouble I had on the way down, I was tempted to take his offer and ride the bus home. But it promised to be another beautiful, sunny day, so I tied everything down and hit the road.

For the way home, I decided to head up I-5 to Weed, and then cut across HWY 97 to Klamath Falls, up through Bend, and then over Mt. Hood to Portland. The road south of Bend has a couple of long, straight, flat, empty lengths for testing the motorcycle's (ahem) fortitude. I broke my glasses in Klamath Falls, but luckily the helmet pads held them in place the entire way home. (Note to blind self: take spare glasses everywhere!) I caught light rain and heavy traffic around Bend. The ride over Mt. Hood was spectacular, although on the way down I experienced some suspension play which I've decided was the rear shocks. By the time I hit Sandy, my hands were very cold, and my rear end had a definite ache; I was standing at every stoplight, and  I could not wait to go home.

Total mileage on the trip was 932 miles. I felt pretty good as I climbed on the motorcycle Wednesday morning, though I did pause for a moment of thanks that my destination was a local coffee shop and not another state. This will definitely be a challenging trip, but I am very much looking forward to it!

Basic Rider Training

Last weekend I took the Basic Rider Training course offered by Team Oregon through Portland Community College. This is a very popular class at PCC, and the entire semester filled less than a month before registration started. I think there are a couple of reasons for this unusual popularity.

1. If one successfully passes this course, one can walk into the DMV with a certificate which waves the need to take the state tests. A motorcycle endorsement is automatically issued.

2. You may not know this but the price of gasoline has increased a bit, and a motorcycle is a very cool way to better gas mileage.

Basic Rider Training is a one weekend course: one evening and two full days. The written curriculum is designed in such a way that it can be effectively taught by volunteers. It emphasizes a handful of key safety points, and is guaranteed to impart helpful information to even the most seasoned rider.

And now the fun part. The class is split into two groups of 12, and on the two full days,  one half of the class rides while the other half is in class. All of the motorcycles are 200cc or less which means they are very maneuverable, but still have the get up and go to get up and go. The instructors use a step-by-step process of skill building that includes clutch exercises, "walking" the bike, learning to turn, stop suddenly, etc. By the end of the second day, they had set up a track with 5 different intersections, and we were all riding around in close "motorcycle" traffic.

I think I was the only person in the class who had already gotten their endorsement, but I was definitely not the only person who had practiced riding. I recommend the class to anyone who is considering getting a motorcycle. The classroom work was a little tedious at times, but the time in the parking lot was well worth the wait.