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Kawasaki ER-6C, that's C as in Custom

583K views 2K replies 117 participants last post by  jdrocks 
#1 · (Edited)
:yeahsmile:THE BIKE BUILDS

DON'T YOU JUST LOVE IT WHEN A (FORMER) SUPER MODERATOR EDITS, RELOCATES, SCRAMBLES, AND DELETES YOUR POSTS. R.I.P. YA FREAKIN' DUMMY.
 
#1,327 ·
Bike parked, no tie downs necessary for this relatively short ride over flat water, although I had been on ferry rides in North Carolina when the seas were so rough that I thought the whole freakin’ ferry was going to sink. Not today, and besides a DOT truck carrying spare parts for the ferry, I was the only non working passenger.





I was about to wander around with the camera when one of the DOT deck hands rushed up, “What kind of bike is this?...wait a minute, gotta work, don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back”.

Huh, did he just say “Don’t go anywhere”, I’m on the freakin’ ferry, the only place to go would be overboard, and that option held no appeal. I did get a better look at the dredge, and there was a mechanic doing some heavy work on the push boat motor. Working in a cramped engine room is never fun, so that must be why the dredge itself wasn’t operating.



The ferry itself had even more warning signs, Lordy, we hadn’t left them behind.



Luckily, I hadn’t broken out my skateboard, or perched in the wrong spot between tricks.



In the distance along the edge of the saltmarsh were a series of recently brushed up duck blinds, with the area from Back Bay through the Sounds south being a traditional hunting area, although with the warmer weather recently, fewer fowl get this far south than in centuries past.



My deckhand buddy came back, we might have been close to the same age, and coincidentally, he had been up to Alaska in 2009 on an R80, although later in the season than I had been in the same year. We compared our stories of bike travel, and it turned out he was old school in comparison…no GPS, no cell phone, no SPOT, no computer, no route planning, no itinerary, no MC forums, no nuthin’ besides a paper map and a destination, man, how refreshing.

I couldn’t recall meeting anyone lately who could afford at least some of the usual gizmos, yet chose not to own any. Our conversation went non stop for the entire crossing as we swapped stories, but then he said “Oops, gotta get back ta work again, nice talkin’ with y’all, ride safe” and he was gone, and so was I, back on dry land in North Carolina. Lest I forget, my buddy that didn’t own a cell phone just happened to have a mint 441 Victor in the garage, a country boy, Mr. Cool.

I had expected a fair amount of traffic for an Outer Banks Friday, even if it was off season, but there was very little. The Sandy storm had brushed this area, and there was still a washed out main road farther south that was restricted to 4X4 vehicles. I had been visiting the area for 30 years, and now there are many businesses that close the doors in the winter. Between the storm and the closures, the place was dead.

I was going to briefly follow a track provided by inmate Patrick from the Hampton Roads area, and ride a little muddy gravel for a starter, but first I needed something to eat, sorry no fried pie. So many places were closed that I finally said the heck with it, and pulled into a McDump near Kitty Hawk, I was way late and needed quick grease. Yeah, I know, once ya eat there you can’t keep your socks up for the rest of the day, but the choices were slim, clock ticking, and the sun heading the wrong way. I always park the bike where I can see it from the inside, and that turned out to be a real good choice.

(to be continued…)
 
#1,328 ·
I got my tray, sat down, glanced at my watch, contemplated what was likely going to be a freakin’ hair-on-fire civil aviation speed ride home in the dark, oh boy, and it occurred to me that I was one of only four people in this McDump. Two women were glued to the TV screen over in the corner, while a third young gal was shoveling in what looked like a little 5000 calorie snack.

Now, if the normal range of a pregnant manatee included eastern Carolina, that would be her, and if she regularly chose to dress like that, please take eternal pity on the rest of us, and at least shave your butt. Lordy, was she a mess, rolls of fat on top of other rolls of fat, an unlikely layered look. It would take a two ton come-along to pull those knees together, unfortunate, the gene pool of the human race is likely to further degrade.

(I did find out later why the two women were so intent on watching the TV, seems there had been a school shooting…)

I had ordered one of them McRib sandwiches, good thing I was so hungry I didn’t mind swallowing soggy gray cardboard smeared with off brand ketchup, and when I looked up after two bites, there was a kid standing next to the bike with one hand on the bars, oh boy, here we go. All my junk was still out there, the kid was looking at the bike, then looking around, and I could read his little feral mind. He was gauging the chances of getting caught after doing some impromptu shopping, but when he got around to looking back at the McDump windows, he found me looking right at him, and let go of the bars like he had been holding the barrel of a soldering iron.

Ms. Manatee waddled over, splayed leg fashion, to the beat ricer parked next to the bike, and my feral buddy hopped into the passenger seat, damn, who could have guessed these two were a couple, a match made in…ya can fill in the blank. The car backed out, a severe list to Port, shock and strut collapsed on that side, maybe sheared body mounts too, and it presented a peculiar sight driving away, half low rider low on the left, half mud bogger high on the right. Mr. Feral was smoking a cig, arm half out the window, trying to look cool, good freakin’ luck, weasel boy.

Exciting as was my brief McDump visit, I had to run, my fried pie hopes falling with the sun. I was headed to the mud…at the beach, no less.

(to be continued…)
 
#1,329 ·
Kill Devil Hills, Kitty Hawk, then Nags Head, and I was looking for my turn on the route I had converted from Patrick’s tracks, the desolation continued with nobody around this usually very busy location. It was like the place had been struck with the bubonic plague…except for the Brew Thru with five vehicles in line. A hurricane could flatten the rest of the OBX, but if the treasured Brew Thrus survived, life for many would still be good.

For the OBX noobs, the Brew Thru is a drive through beer emporium, mainly for those already so drunk they can’t be trusted to walk into a normal convenience store, that’s right, they’re too drunk to walk, still fit to drive. The whole business plan was built around the long standing tradition in Carolina of drinking while driving, heck, every convenience store sells iced down single cans of beer right next to the cash register.

Of course, if ya had a long way to drive you’d want a 6pack of Coke or Dr. Pepper with a jumbo cup of ice, ya know, to mix with whatever’s in that bottle under the seat. Before vehicles came equipped with a dozen cup holders, it was easy to come down with a bad case of frozen nut syndrome from riding around with a cup of ice…never mind, I wouldn’t know the details.

The turnoff I was looking for took me through an established residential neighborhood on the sound side, and I swear you would never know that there could be anything of interest in back of these paved streets unless someone like Patrick had done some homework. The investigation would have to be through a combination of Google Maps sat view and GPS mapping software, then you’d have to go there and determine whether there was an actual road. I was taking advantage of this effort, and found a pretty cool sandy gravel road with occasional mud pits running south parallel to the sound.



The road traversed some old property that had been slated for development before the Nature Conservancy stepped in and bought it. There were incongruous hydrants along the road, so development of the property had progressed to the point of some utility work.



The Nature Conservancy isn’t all that well known outside certain circles, but they’re big and exceptionally well funded to the tune of numbers partially described with the letter “B”, and are not universally well liked, to say the least.

The property was mostly ground with good elevation, highly desirable on the OBX, where storm surges from both ocean and sound do most of the damage.



There were recent tracks on the road, but I didn’t pass another vehicle.



Despite the elevation, the road was holding water in several locations, just greasy enough to get your attention, no real problem, although that Full Bore rear is almost useless in any goop.



Patrick had warned that the road was gated on the south end, but also that he was able to squeeze his WR250R around the gate somehow, although he wasn’t specific. I did find a gate, but not where his track indicated, a puzzle, and when I dismounted to scout a way around the locked gate, here’s a well dressed guy standing there watching me, the owner of the adjacent house…hmmmm, this could be trouble ‘cause I wasn’t going to backtrack, forget that option. He looked like he was in the midst of an IRS audit, or else was halfway through a jar of very sour pickles.

He must have decided that it was going to take more than an ugly frown to turn me around and wandered off to collect a loose dog. When he got back, bingo, I was on his side of the gate, although it took some wrasslin’. The guy was close enough to hear me “I would have turned around, but I didn’t want to get my bike stuck in all that mud, sorry about the gate”. He just shrugged, the proverbial horse was already out of the proverbial barn, and I idled away with a cheery wave. Lucky he was dog chasing without his cell phone, but heck, I’m hard to catch when in transitional escape mode, and that shouty exhaust was knocking the leaves clean off the trees. The subtleties of escape are short lived.

Me, I was southbound, had jumped the highway, running along with the ocean beach, a kaleidoscope of image and color. Master of the universe, if for a moment anyway, but all I could smell was salt spray air, no pie.

(to be continued…)
 
#1,333 ·
I was pointed south on the beach road, that is, the street between the first and second rows of homes, I think it used to be the old main drag. Not a single vehicle in sight, no people either, until I passed a pair of old bearded hippies, gray Edwardian locks, leaning on their bicycles, sharing a doobie the size of a Ball Park Frank, man, I hadn’t seen one of those things since the Cheech and Chong movies. Talk about marijuannnna smoke in the air, those old stoners probably thought they had traveled the cosmic freeway and landed somewhere in Colorado, assuming the THC grapevine had spread the word. Not a care in the world beyond a bicycle ride, any remaining ambition in life died right along with Jerry and the Dead, probably seems lightyears ago in ganja time.

The OBX had a brush with Sandy, not much hurricane wise for these folks, but I could see numerous places where this road had been overwashed by surge. Not far from here, the first row houses had already been lost to previous storms, so the incomprehensible course of action in this neighborhood was to infill available lots with new construction. Not my property, certainly not my construction money, but it is collectively our tax dollars that subsidize the insurance coverage on these structures, and it’s not even a question of “if” there will be a loss, it’s just a question of “when”. Mother Nature will not be dissuaded.

I wanted to stick with my plan to ride south on NC12, the one and only road connecting the lower OBX, to the BonnerBridge at Oregon Inlet. I couldn’t go any farther, the road beyond the bridge had been washed out, travel was restricted to 4X4 vehicles only on a sandy track, and then only on a certain schedule. The bridge itself was only 50 years old, but had been repeatedly damaged by hurricanes, including Sandy, and was now scheduled to be replaced. It was a fast ride down to the bridge, no traffic, no enforcement, a deadend for most, and I was on the gas.

The other truly remarkable thing I hadn’t seen, was a single 4X4 vehicle with the combo cooler and rod rack mounted on the front, surf poles in the rack, bait bucket hanging on the side, a common off season sight in years past, the guys down for traditional fall fishing. I’d done the same myself, but with the ramps and beaches closed, it must be over and done. It might also signal the gentrification of the OBX, a decline in sporting pursuits, where the new type of OBX visitor thinks an over-under is a peculiar event found in kinky porn.

There is a wind warning sign at the approach, no kidding, I’ve seen winds on that bridge deck that could easily knock a moto down, but not today.



Some preliminary bridge work was underway, a tug standing by for the crane barge stationed out at the inlet.



The bridge approach on the south side of the inlet had been overwashed too, now largely cleaned up, and the space used for heavy equipment staged for the road repairs farther south. The old Bonner is an impressive piece of engineering over a treacherous inlet, with the new bridge even bigger and designed to better handle hurricanes and shifting sands at the inlet.



The NCDOT has made a big commitment to keeping NC12 open into the future, but the road gets cut, repaired, relocated with increasing frequency, eventually they’re going to run out of room, and I was thinking this over as I made the backtrack north to the NC64 intersection where I would pick up another piece of Patrick’s track.

Now running almost due west, I jogged onto the Manteo loop to see the sights, hadn’t been there for years, but immediately found it a poor choice. For all the lack of people and activity on the islands, the opposite was found in Manteo, the place was hopping, traffic a slow crawl. Good for them, bad for me, I was in big trouble time wise.

Manteo in the mirrors, no pie sleuthing, plus I was feeling like some kind of fish sandwich pretty bad and almost turned around before I got a good look west. Damn, the sun was only a few fingers above the horizon, and if I only saw one more thing on the list it was going to be the Alligator River NWR. Besides being a refuge, there is an active bombing range inside the boundaries, which I assumed would be clearly marked with more wordy government signs instead of plain basic English like…

BEYOND THIS GATE, YOU WILL DIE​

DON’T BE STUPID
Simplify, just like those NC ferry signs…never happen.

Patrick had run around in here on a maze of roads, recorded a bunch of tracks, and lived to tell about it, reckon I could too. Helps to have a paper map, but the map box at little entrance visitor board was empty, no matter, I still had a GPS route loaded, let’s go…huzzah, crank up the buzz, watch for them signs.



(to be continued…)
 
#1,334 ·
I had Patrick’s tracks through the Alligator, but when I put together my route, I must have anticipated that I might be short of time on this long day ride, so my route was an abbreviated semi circle that would catch the high points and drop me farther south on NC264 instead of coming around full circle back north to NC64. I had a few things on the list accessed from NC264, nice thought, but I should have changed up…and didn’t.

The Alligator is comprised of low coastal woodland, small lakes and canals, and cropped fields with water control structures so that they can be flooded post harvest. I was hustling along the gravel while taking this all in, thousands of waterfowl everywhere in the flooded fields, when I caught a flash of white from my left and flattened myself over the top of the tank. I had run through the landing pattern of a flock of Tundra swans coming in from my left while I had been looking at the birds in the flooded fields on my right.

Huge birds, 7’ wingspan, and they seemed low enough to reach up and touch if I had the inclination to touch a cruise missile, which I didn’t. These birds must had been well acclimated to human activity, they never changed course, never flared. These birds are so numerous that they are legally hunted, and being an old waterfowler, I was thinking I could have put a dent in the population with my well worn 10ga. The Tundra swan is the bird that has traditionally wintered in this area, including Lake Mattamuskeet, as opposed to the Mute swan, considered an invasive specie, found in the Chesapeake and farther north.



I was racing along on the roads, all well maintained if not well used, nobody in here today, although I did run up on an old hunt camp near a boat landing that had a pickup parked in front. Sun low, shadows on the gravel, and I missed a turn on this maze of roads, not so good, and I had to stop to key up a “GOTO” that would take me down to a waypoint I had marked on the NC264 intersection.



I needed to get my butt outta there before full dark, but I realized that the new GPS routing was going to take me through the bombing range, whoops, and I let the damn thing recalculate about a hundred times as I made some turns, then some more turns, eventually finding NC264, the sun on the horizon, my sight seeing plans down the tubes. I took stock of exactly where I was, damn, a long ways from home, the temperature in free fall. One last photo across a big burn, and it was dark, just that quick.



Eastern Carolina, on the roads along the sounds, woodland and saltmarsh, peat bogs and swamps, not much human activity that would show a light or two, ain’t nuthin’ to speak of, my thoughts went back to Manteo, and that sandwich I didn’t eat…and that fuel I didn’t pump.

I had a vague recollection of a fuel stop ahead, but it had been years ago, the exact number of miles left in the tank unknown. Roll the dice, cinch up tight, hit the switch for them flamethrowers, mash the gas, and with a big roost of shoulder gravel I was gone west towards LakeMattamuskeet through the blackest of freakin’ black, truly shocking in it’s intensity. Only one born for the trail would be foolish enough to be out there, and my thoughts had made a sea change…from fried pie served in Carolina to whiskey served in Virginia.

(to be continued…)
 
#1,335 ·
As I started the ride this morning, man, it was cold, but I knew I’d be looking at warmer temperatures throughout the day. Now I was facing the opposite side of the curve, and when I shifted into 6th at 75, running west as hard as I dared, the air felt like one of those Gatoraid baths on the sidelines after the big game. I was chilled already, five hours to go, wishing on that fleece left behind…and even more lights pointing down the road. No yard lights, no headlights, no backlit glow on the horizon that would announce the next town, an eerie sensation, and not easily found in the Mid-Atlantic.

When I did finally see a set of tail lights ahead, I was running 80 and came up on an old pickup right quick, the lone occupant was only rolling along at a sedate 40-50mph, a much more sensible speed for the occasion. My thumb stretched over and pressed the switch to kill the LED light relay, but the WP cover on the switch was frozen, the switch wouldn’t disengage, and those LED lights just flashed. Tried again, flash, a third time, flash, and by this time I was on his bumper. I don’t know what he thought was coming at him with diesel locomotive lights flashing, but he swerved off the road, narrowly avoiding the water filled ditch. I zoomed past, and saw his headlights pop back on the road in the mirrors, moving even slower, likely a good UFO story forming.

There were some things I wanted to look at off NC264, couldn’t in the dark, and after a long run west along Pamlico Sound, still no fuel stops open, I made the defining turn north on NC94, the dike road that divides Lake Mattamuskeet, at least I was pointed in the right compass direction. I had hoped to cross the lake in daylight, have to be next time, and after looking at the displays, I figured I had enough fuel to reach Columbia at the top of the road, north of the lake, the intersection with NC64, maybe 40 miles or more. I probably should have used a calculator, and adjusted the average MPG for some illegal speed, I guess y’all can see where this is headed, my freakin’ brain was frozen.

Anyway, that was my excuse when I rolled into Columbia with the fuel light on. There happened to be a quick mart directly to the east, but when I pulled in there, every pump had a ragged “NO GAS” sign taped over the display, heck, there hadn’t been fuel here for months, although the store was still open, 12packs exiting through the front door like a beer avalanche. There were three generations of career ne’er-do-wells hanging there, might have been discussing commodity futures, that is, the commodities important to their market. They had the look, and this was their place of business, except for detours through the county lockup or big house, checking in and out, like those places were some sort of weird time-shares. That fuel light was like a freakin’ railroad spike through my skull, but it wasn’t the place to make inquiries, the projected menace just average, but still beyond my quota.

I rode around for a few blocks, found nothing, checked the GPS numbers again, not good, but set sail for Edenton anyway, over 25 miles away, and guaranteed fuel. This would be the ultimate test of fuel light range, might make it if I stayed with the speed limit, and I made a slow run west on NC64, before turning north on NC32/94 towards the Albemarle Sound bridge.

Looking north on this straight stretch of road, I could see cop cars on both sides of the road with all the blue lights flashing, and my first thought was big accident, but when I got closer, I realized it was a Friday night check point, common practice around the area, including Virginia. It’s not a successful night without issuing a bunch of citations, making a handful of arrests, and it always surprises me at the number of criminals that blunder into these stops, gets your name in the local newspaper every time.

Light traffic, only three cars in my lane when I stopped, so I was in front of the young North Carolina State Trooper pretty quick, you won’t find veterans manning a Friday night stop. This was one big dude, 6’4” with body armor, NFL defensive end size, and he said “Drivers license and registration”, while holding out his hand. His voice had a raspy rumble, like a grader blade pushing #3 stone, and I doubt he got much of an argument when he made a request.

“Officer, my license is in my shirt pocket, I’ll have to pull over to get it out”.

He paused, looked me over, looked the bike over, and said…

“Where you from, Son?”

“Eastern Virginia, Officer, I’m headed home”.

“Well, Son, y’all have a safe trip”, and I was riding again, he never realized he was talking to someone three times his age. With all the years under my belt, I was supposed to be at home on the couch watching Jeopardy, not on a hypothermic moto adventure at a traffic check point in BF east Carolina.

As for that fuel light, they make them things extra bright to grab your attention, and the damn thing sure had mine.

(to be continued…)
 
#1,336 ·
That bit of blue light excitement behind me, and I was across the bridge into Chowan County, still a ways from Edenton, couldn’t be but a few drops of fuel left, and I was running the speed limit, or less, my lot for all those earlier miles of 25 over. Worse, my impromptu navigating failed me, missed a turn, but not too long a backtrack, and I wasted a few more ounces of fuel. I didn’t even want to think about how many fuel light miles I’d traveled, the bright side was that I was somehow still rolling.

I’d been through Edenton previously, thought I remembered a gas station on the way up to NC17, so I turned right at the T intersection in town, whew, made it, except that my right turn decision took me out of town, no fuel stop to be seen, damn. I made a U turn in the middle of the road, back through town, saw a quick mart sign on my right, and at that exact instant the motor hiccupped. I grabbed the clutch, hit the kill switch, and coasted the last 100yds to the pumps, completely out of fuel, engine dead.

There were two cars on the opposite side of the pumps, the first a beat ricer, the driver a twenty something with a big black ink B2TB neck tat, yeah, look it up, that skinny weak chinned dude was about as bad as a freakin’ jelly donut. He was proud of that tat though, it could have been -50 and he wouldn’t have been wearing anything to cover it up. Tat or no tat, his street cred would never rise above zero, and his description would always contain the words “loopy” and “needy”.

The other driver was older, fueling a new Civic, buzz cut, I’d have been safe betting he was retired military, plenty in the area, and he had a quizzical look when I arrived whisper quiet, no motor. I pumped 5.46 gallons into my 5 gallon tank, and some day when I want to waste some time, I’ll try to get a handle on how far I had ridden with the fuel light on, a good long ways, for sure.

The Civic guy was curious, and said “Broke down?”

I went on to explain what had happened, and when I mentioned where I was headed, he had a damn good approximation of that location too. The guy had genuine concern for my well being, can’t be faked, and bottom line, that’s retired military, and that’s also Carolina…some fine people found thereabouts. He wished me well before driving off, and I tugged the cinches, checked the snaps and Velcro one last time.

I was inbound, fueled back up, no reason for slow any longer, and as quick as I could run through the gears, I was past the NC17 intersection, nerves jangled after a close call with a left turning SUV, a mystery how a driver can’t immediately see all those bright lights on the bike. Blind or impaired, one way or another, the new lights likely saved me.

A shot north now, in a deepening cold, and I could see frost forming on the grass. The speed limit was 70 on this much constructed and reconstructed road, and I didn’t feel bad about 80 again as I ran for the Virginia state line. I could see the prison lights on the horizon near ElizabethCity, then I was back in the Commonwealth, a step closer. I took the cutoff at Deep Creek, the same way I had come down, except now I used I664, crossing the James River again, and up to I64, the cold ride a blur as I clicked off the milestones.

The first real stop since fuel was the toll booth at the York River bridge, where I shut down to take my gloves off and fumble around in the tank bag for some toll money. The toll booth lady was patient, but finally said “You look a little cold”, y’all wouldn’t be funnin’ me now would ya? Every puddle and ditch was frozen over, the grass and roofs white with frost. My hands were cold and I dropped my change under the bike, forget it, and I was buttoned back up, gone outta there.

I found all the yard lights on, a welcome home sign, hot food, a scalding hot toddy, light on the tea, heavy on the whiskey, and a roaring oak fire going on the hearth. When my wife said “You’re home late, any problems?”, I just relied “No Darlin’, pretty routine”.

Now, before anyone says I just told a big fat fib, it was a routine day…for me, the time passing in a high velocity dream, if those dreams were all wired, filled with craziness, the soundtrack a soaring redlined motor.


THE END.​



(THAT DOES IT FOR 2012.)
 
#1,344 ·
man, what a time warp photo. excellent runner, but that moto got deconstructed under 35 tons of grain truck just west of Havre, Montana. all in all, there was more than the usual excitement that day.

the photo is from the Dempster, YT, and i was headed back up that road in 2011 when i was turned around by a blizzard west of Watson Lake, YT.

in truth, the new bike runs much better overall.
 
#1,345 ·
that old photo of the first Versys suspended ER6 rat bike got me thinking about that time frame and May/09 trip. looking back, it seems like a very long time ago.

Versys forum veterans will remember the raging discussion about the Versys from back in 2008 when it became available in the States...not a DS bike, can't tour, don't you dare take that thing off pavement, it's a sport bike with different "ergos"...on and on, post after post. look it up, kinda humorous reading in 2013.

in 2008, i bought a huge cardboard box of Versys parts cheap, had to come from one of the first wrecked Versys motos, and mated those parts to a wrecked ER6. nobody believed me when i said the Versys shared so much with the ER6, Kawasaki had been advertizing the Versys bike as all new, while the ER6 was introduced back in 2006. i put together the first Versys suspended ER6 rat over the winter, and left for Canuckistan in May/09, running a 130/80 front, 150/70 rear on the 17" OEM wheels.

although the bike was on gravel in Wyoming and Montana, the real tests came on the "big gravel" of the northern roads, and that's when i started saying "all roads, all conditions" when talking about that moto. it was a freakin' beast.

the Campbell, YT...very rough road construction on the east end, good center, then driving rain until pavement near Carmacks.



the Signpost road, Kino, YT...very rough, wet, and washed out from snowmelt. once i got up there, i didn't think i would be able to get back down, it was bad.



the Dempster, YT...the Versys suspended ER6 at 66North, the Arctic Circle, maybe the first Versys like moto to be above the Arctic Circle in both Canada and Alaska. i had mounted TKCs in Watson Lake, glad i did. the road was in much better shape than when i had crossed in 2007.





the Brooks Range on the Dalton, AK...rain, sleet, snow, zero visibility crossing Atigun pass with road conditions very good to very poor. hell of a ride.



the Denali, AK...this east/west road is only 200km, but great riding when dry. had deep freshly graded gravel for 40km across the center.



the "Hill", Bella Coola, BC...rain, sleet, snow, and ice on the east side of this pass, plus, a road crew was working. 12-18% grades on a pig poop road surface, no guard rails, and i have to say that crossing in those conditions scared the heck out of me. dry on the other side, except where the water truck was applying chloride, the steepest main highway grades i've ever encountered.



so, pack up that Versys, hit the road, the bike will do the job.
 
#1,347 · (Edited)
My first pic is the Dalton (LOTS of forest fires!), the other two are the "Hill", one goin' down, and # two lookin' back from near the top. (First time on the Hill in '06 I didn't get ANY pics, as I thought I'd get them goin' up....)

GREAT idea, but HARD to get good pics in 1/4 mile vis!!!

(IF we passed, Dave, I probably missed you 'cause the Rat was SO dirty.... :stickpoke: ) Sittin' here listenin' to "Pancho and Lefty"....:yeahsmile:
 
#1,348 ·
(IF we passed, Dave, I probably missed you 'cause the Rat was SO dirty.... :stickpoke: ) Sittin' here listenin' to "Pancho and Lefty"....:yeahsmile:
lordy, willie and merle, "living on the road my friend..."

now there's a song, made van zandt famous.

we have similar photos from those places, but i've had wilder weather from earlier in the season, and then a completely different set of photos from the 2011 trip which was late. fun to go through the photos, i wish i had taken 2 or 3 times as many, and i took a bunch.

that bike was dirty the whole trip due to wet roads. the chain was so worn out by the time i got down into BC that ya could have tied it in a square knot, no problem. missing a bunch of rollers too. man, the things kids do to their poor old bikes.
 
#1,353 ·
I DO have to admit that it looks pretty good, and I definitely recognize the side-stand from 'another' Kawasaki.
:clap:

Old and feeble...? Helped the wife with some 'yard-work' yesterday (moved a couple yards of dirt), and today my left pinkie does NOT want to 'respond' to orders from the helm like it USED to....
:thumbdown:

Guess you're right....

:rolleyes:
 
#1,354 ·
I DO have to admit that it looks pretty good, and I definitely recognize the side-stand from 'another' Kawasaki.
:clap:
yeah, that extended KLR sidestand is straight from the recipe in the V649 cookbook. no problem, glad to help out.

inquiries on design, parts sourcing, fitment, fabrication, and performance have come in from several dozen countries. guys modifying and/or building bikes all over the place.
 
#1,355 ·
a wet spring around the West Virginia border area, and it's been raining since, so all the little creeks are still running pretty full. some of the little used mountain roads in very rough shape. i had the WR on this trip, although i think the V649 could have made it too, but it would have been a challenge. a good set of knobby tires required.

lots of water crossings, and i'll be the first to admit that these things spook me a little when i can't get a look at the bottom. the bow wave was over the bars and the motor running under water on several.

 
#1,356 ·
The Versystole Versys Transport Service

I've been extremely busy this season, and haven't been out on the motos as much as in previous years. The rides i have run, i didn't bother to write up, man, there just ain't enough time to make everything happen.

When an opportunity arose to do a fly-ride-fly trip, hey, this manic adventure suits my travel style perfectly, let's do this thing. This ride entails ferrying an inmate's moto, complete with all normal travel gear, from Denver to Anchorage, an unusual assignment for sure. I fly into Denver from the Mid-Atlantic with my riding gear and a handful of personal items, pick up the bike at the airport, ride north. The bike owner will fly into Anchorage in July, then ride the same bike on a scheduled trip back down to Colorado.

The bike is fully prepped and waitin' on me...except that the bike owner dude has all his own gear already strapped on the back of that thing, ain't no room for my Nespresso and Funk Chubbie. That's cool, I'm a Zen dude anyway, and Zen is number 7 on the Top Ten list of conversational subjects in Colorado. Elk hunting is number 6. 420 has been numero uno for around a hundred years.


Coming soon, here we go again...

RIDING TO THE MOON
JUNE 2013
(to be continued...)
 
#1,359 ·
hey Mr. FEC,

the good thing about SPOT is that the tracking is in real time, which gives you more than ample time to limp that green bug out of the freakin' way, i'll be in a hurry.

you guys are riding so slow, i should catch ya at whitehorse, then splaaaat, green bug on the windshield.

speaking of windshield, this is the first in 100k miles. think i'll have any "buffeting"?
 
#1,362 · (Edited)
Dave, be sure to stop at Braeburn Lodge (an hour north of Whitehorse, left side of the road) for the BEST cinnamon bun ANYWHERE! Pretty much takes TWO people to eat one. (And I'll help you scrape the "bug-splatter" off that ride you'll be on.) The "buffeting" shouldn't be TOO bad for you, riding OUR slipstream.... :rolleyes:

I'm riding with a bigger 'shield because of the "gully-washers" I've had on this trip, previous rides.

:D
 
#1,369 ·
Versystole, ya done blown my cover, now FEC can track me down, make me pony up for a six of LaBatts, he's got the jones for that stuff.

on second thought, i know this guy in Helena, just painted his house blue, he's got half a gallon left over...i should stop by and get this story back on track.
 
#1,375 ·
Boy
I just read the first page and page 86 and can't figure in my wildest dream how one subject lead to another ...
well, this is a Versys forum and, trust me, there are actually a few Versys parts on these motos. if you're going to sorta follow along here, it would help if you're somewhat partial to strong drink, or like like FEC, large quantities of Blue.

you're right, this thread does cover some ground, and that's also why it's confined to the basement.

stay tuned, should be some pitchers coming along soon.
 
#1,381 ·
time for a moto report. here's the moto i picked up at the airport in Denver at noon Wednesday...



i crossed the Montana border yesterday after riding a largely mountain/foothills route where available, about 850 miles of riding.

this is the first Versys i've ridden in the original faired/windscreen configuration, and i have to say that Versystole has done a fine job of setting up the bike. nothing elaborate or expensive, just well thought out mods to make it the fine touring machine that it is.

the bike handles beautifully even fully loaded, and i haven't needed to make the first adjustment, not even the mirrors.

contact Versystole for the details.

more roads north today.
 
#1,382 ·
2 min ago you were in Brownings, 72km away from Canada, I'm not sure you'll cross tonight, but when you do, Welcome! ;)

From time to time I check your location and take a look on street view to see what you see.... ENJOY!!! (and be safe!)

oh... you stopped for gas at Exxon, in Canada it's more expensive :D
 
#1,384 ·
The bike was the Happy Trails "Mule" for their Versys accessories. I bought it from "Wadeventure" on ADVrider in July of 2010, with 11K miles on it- he bought it from Happy Trails for his wife, Jeanne, who rode it down Baja!

Happy Trails mods include Owyhee panniers/mounts, engine guards, skid plate, heated grips (not working very well), hand guards, and dash Powerlet, and seat sae and heated clothing leads. Bike came with the Givi windscreen and I added a Laminar Lip with two position capability. Not sure who put the Leo Vince pipe on it, but I like the way it sounds. The HT stuff is effective, but not necessarily pretty.

I've also added shorty levers (not crazy about the clutch lever, but actuation is pretty crisp), highway pegs, some new wiring/fuses under the seat, Tuono mirrors (still one of the best mods from stock for the V), fender extender, and a very custom Corbin seat (Dave isn't crazy about it, but it's perfect for me for 400 mile days). Also, a Motech rear rack w/tail box and a custom mount for a Kolpin 1.5 gallon fuel pack. Steel brake lines (except for the crossover... I'm eventually going to raise the fender). Black wheels are not stock- they're from a wrecked Ninja that Dave picked up, and I bought them from him a while back.
No engine mods as far as I know.
 
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