Motorcycles, Travel & Adventure

Motorcycle TourMagazine

Backroads’ fairer half, Shira Kamil, has an interesting perspective on the day-to-day things riders run into which, is both extremely well written and informative. She adds a new polish to the editorial team here at Backroads - we think you’ll agree.

Name: Shira Kamil

Current Rides: Honda 919, BMW F650GS (it's an 800, dammit!)

Favorite quote:

If it all falls down, falls down, falls down; If they solve my life, if they find me out; Never thought to keep all I have found; I have had my fun, if it all falls down.

- Jimmy Buffett • If It All Falls Down - Floridays

Routines and Regiments and Bad Karma

Everyone has them. A pattern that’s followed when things are done, a certain order to a task. I know that when I’m getting ready to mount my motorcycle, items must be put on in a certain order and way or else things just don’t feel right. Jacket on, camelpak on, earplugs in, helmet donned, communications plugged in, gloves fitted…key in pocket, everything off. You know the drill.

So when routines and regiments are put askew, I feel like the universe has thrown me a curve ball and there may be iminent danger afoot. Sort of like walking under a ladder or having that black cat cross your path. There’s just a bad karma floating around, and until things are put in their place, who knows what will happen.

Case in point – this Americade. For the past 19 years, Brian and I have pointed our rides north to Lake George. As a matter of fact, the first year we went was sort of our honeymoon. We were married in May and, unlike today with our hidden fortress and underground testing facility at Backroads Central, we didn’t have two nickels to rub together. We did, however, have a motorcycle. We had heard of this gathering and figured we better check it out (this was before the magazine that you are holding in your hands came into being). Two up on a Kawasaki 600 Ninja, packed to the gills, we made our way, together, and were wide-eyed at the findings. So many bikes, vendors, demo rides, etc. A veritable candystore for the motorcyclist. From that year on, we have not missed one Americade, and, in fact, have brought many of our friends into the fold.

I remember ten years ago, we were on our first trip to South Africa. We were not due back until after Americade that year, and we were pretty bummed about having to miss it. Sort of like a baseball player breaking a hitting streak. We decided to head home a day early, stealing my folks’ car to get home so we could pack up the bike, meet our other friends on the Thruway who were with us in South Africa and made the same decision to beat it home early, and make it up to Canada Street for the last Saturday of Americade. You have to understand that the flight from South Africa to JFK, door to door, is about 24 hours. Add to that the ride up to Lake George, jetlag, the adrenaline rush of actually making it, and you have one cocktail of IGottaGetToSleepNOW. We were sitting at Lucille’s, watching the usual mayhem of Saturday night, and the four of us looked at each other and knew if we didn’t leave right there and then, we’d never make it the two miles to our hotel. We made it, and the streak continued.

Okay, back to this year. I had been invited to attend a dirt riding school in California the weekend before Americade – the weekend Brian and I usually head to Lake George. I couldn’t pass up the offer and figured I’d just meet Brian on Tuesday – no big deal. Well, the Karma Gods didn’t think the same way. It was both at the same time or…well, you’ll see. It started with Brian’s visit from Clement Salvadori the day I left. They had a great meal, visited the famed Monkey with a Gun and were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the ride north the next day. Yes, we have two black cats who reside at Backroads Central, so we thought we were immune to the crossing of such. Think again – after one escaped while readying to leave, it took almost an hour to get back on track.

Strike one.

Finally reunited on Tuesday afternoon, we headed to Roaring Brook to heckle, um, I mean attend Clement’s evening seminar. We doubled up on Brian’s GS and, on the way, heard some sort of loud noise and felt a shudder. Next day the bike was ridden to Max’s BMW in Troy, NY for a diagnosis of said bang and shudder. Turned out to be catastrophic engine damage.

Strike two.

So there we were, down one bike, a very bummed Brian and a soon-to-be overpacked Honda 919. We distributed our luggage to friends who had driven up and packed as much as the 919 would take into the Givi bag mounted on the rear. Heading home on Sunday with our friends Ken and Karen Hilley, deciding to speed things up a bit and just travel the highways, we stopped at the first rest stop on the NYS Thruway. This, in an attempt to return to routine and regiment, is something that we do every year. Not only because we usually need gas by that time, but it’s just our way of closure to Americade. Bellies and tanks filled, we started off, only to hear a knocking coming from the Honda. We all thought it was the stress of the extra weight and that the shock needed adjusting. Comes to be that the rear wheel bearing was going, going, gone. Plans were made, riding seats were changed and, long story short, we made it back to Backroads Central, certainly not as planned but safe nonetheless.

Strike three – you’re out.

Lesson learned – some things should not be changed lest you release the wrath of the Routine Gods. I’ve been accused of acting like the detective character Monk, but I see now that there is a reason to my madness and I will continue to have my orderly process. I can only hope that the rule of three has taken the curse away and we will be back on track. Now if the Mets can only start winning and stop leaving men on base, my life would be good. See you on the road.