home: https://starling.us/royal_star
by Ĝan Ŭesli Starling
copyright 2000
Background Info:
The Star Touring and Riding Association is a group of bikers who ride (mostly) Yamaha’s Star Line of cruisers: Royal Star, Road Star, V-Star...you get the idea.
August 19th & 20th, 2000
Riding out from Kalamazoo, MI my intended destination is to be the Star Days 2000 motorcycle meet, held this year in Cheyenne, WY. My furthest motorcycle trip yet, and the only one of any real length since way back when I was twenty-two and just freshly discharged after four years in the navy. Then I had owned a 1970 Honda 750-Four chopper, a hard-tail, and bounced my butt back on home all the way from South Carolina. No such lack of confort now. Two bikes later, now float along somewhat more regally, the ’97 Royal Star Tourdeluxe sporting an engine very nearly twice its displacement and massing more than twice its weight.Cory Fowler
Not so sporty, admittedly. No danger flipping this one over on an accidental wheelie shifting into second gear. But then I recall how my back felt after only just two days and me then twenty-two years of age. Kept that bike a long time, I did, then finally traded up (so I thought then) for a Sportster. A deluded error in judgement that, and a lesson well lerned. Hence my current four-cylinder steed.
At any rate I get a late start, eightish in the A.M., kiss my wife goodbye and take US-131 north...not exactly toward Wyoming, past Grand Rapids and beyond. Hardly any other bikes on the road, I notice. Strange for Michigan, which is frankly, motorcycle-crazy (symptom of being cooped up all winter, I suppose). At Petoskey I switch to US-31, jaunt around Little Traverse Bay and cross the bridge at Mackinaw. Finally now do I see some bikes, more than enough to overcompensate for the dearth of them till now. Turns out that Honda is sponsoring some big meet in St. Ignace, 4000 bikes someone tells me. I’d trailed, a scant hour behind, one great enormous army of bikes which had started out in Grand Rapids and only swelled as the hoard pressed north. Just as well, however interesting that might have been.
The magnitude of this event are descirbed to me by a scant spliter faction whom I chance to meet just after crossing the bridge. One is even from Kalamazoo. My plans to spend the night in St. Ignace are shot down in flames as all the motels were booked for this weekend some months in advance. Having not thought this far ahead, on a whim, I head away west on US-2. Past miles and miles of No Vacancy signs.
For much of the way, moonlight glints from off the lake and this alone is worth staying up for. Not until just past Gould City do I catch a Vancancy sign just in time to snag the very last little log shack at McGuire’s cabin-motel.
August 20th & 20th, 2000
Come morning of the second day and I’m off again, sometimes along the lake, some times through scrub forrest. And in due course I make it to Escanaba, of Escanaba Girls fame (a spoof on the Beach Boys tune). I could cut across here, but the lake is too addicting, so I cruise south as far as Menominee, then jacknife back to catch US-2 again via US-41. Then west to Iron Mountain, where US-2 crosses briefly into Wisconsin and back again. From here the map shows green dots again, a scenic route...more forrest, shallow marshes and occasionally a burnt-out area. Even those are rather pretty, in a bleak kind of way. At Ironwood I cross into Wisconsin proper. No hemet law in this state. I keep mine on anyway.
On the shores of Lake Superior at Ashland, WY I stop to phone home, as it is getting along toward dinner time. Then I grab a bite and press on. The green dots abandon me now, or I them, and Duluth comes upon me almost suddenly. I view it somewhat from above. It looks very industrial with all the shipping facilities stretched out along the shore. I am guessing those towers can only be trully gigantic grain silos. The evening is getting kind of gray, which hardly lightens the somber aspect. It doubless would’ve looked more cheerful had I chanced upon it at sunrise.
Time to make another decision...south to Minneapolis? or due west? or where? In Minneapolis there is a very, very fine Thai restaraunt. But I fear to arrive past closing. So it is west again, back on US-2 again. I ride on well past dark again, not stopping until, well... It was fun calling home to tell the wife I’d only gotten as far as Grand Rapids. And somehow I totally missed having crossed over the mighty Mississippi River...not hardly mighty at all this far north. It had been raining, but still there must have been a sign...even if it was just a creek. And also I seem to be missing my spare set of keys to the Royal. Am hoping that I left them behind in that tiny cabin...rather than, say, left them dangling from one of the saddle bag latches to fall out anywhere along 500-plus miles of US-2.
August 21st, 2000
The third day, I get breakfast and head out west again. More woods, more marshes, and mostly flat, but still lots of variety. Quite nice as far as Grass Lake (there’s a Grass Lake in Michigan, too) where US-2 matures into a divided higheway. I cross into North Dakota at Grand Forks. Pretty flat and open out here. Take a picture anywhere and it could serve for most of the rest. I turn south onto ND-8 at Stanley, stopping for a photo of the highway signs just so as to prove what a stupid route I chose on my way to Cheyenne WY...in case anyone should ask. At Sanish I cross the Missouri, still mighty, via a truly ancient bridge. The only traffic on it is me. I double back and cross again. Wierd. On the other side is an Indian casino and not much else. Beyond this point there is nothing to see. In fact, it is the most nothing I have ever seen in my life...except for once, when as a kid I had crossed Lake Michigan on a ferry. It verys shortly dawns on me that I really should have gassed up. My half a tank sloshing around is starting to sound more half empty than half full. On and on and still more nothing. The tank grows steadily more empty.
I very nearly coast into Watford City, ND on vapors to book a sparse, but confortable and oh-so-affordable room at in the Four Eyes Motel (ref. Teddy Rooseveldt).
Come morning it is on to Custer, WY. And here too there are some lonely stretches, during long parts of which I let the Royal have her way. She prefers to cruise along at the full throttle rev limit in 2nd overdrive, there being nothing by way of traffic.
That Barron’s BAK and the Bubs exhaust here prove a most worthy investment. My last bike (the Harley) blew its engine first time I took her, sloggily, up to just barely 100 mph. Repairs took three months, and a fortune to fix; and she was never right again (assuming she ever truly had been). Stock, the Royal was a tad sloggy up in 2nd overdrive — where Hoglodites (my ex-brethren) insist upon comparing their steeds against the Royal (roll-on from 30 to 50 mph, in top gear).
Interesting, no? I seldom if ever shift out of 1st overdrive much sooner than fifty. Tell me, do Hogs even have a 2nd overdrive? No, of course not. There is a reason why they don’t. I remember it well, myself. It’s called limping along on just two cylinders sharing a measly single-pin crankshaft.
The Royal’s 1st overdrive (4th gear) has a 0.9 ratio, 2nd overdrive (5th gear) is 0.7. So about that roll-on test... If and when any size Harley’s ever ships stock with a 2nd overdrive, then let’s compare, way up there, and see who rolls on the smoothest. Or, if you want (as some folks do) swap out the Royal’s ring gear with a V-Max. That puts them almost even, and the Royal wins hands down.
Best, I think, is to keep the 0.7 top gear and redress the Royal’s under-size jets and exhaust. You’ll be happier by far, I assure you. Although, if that still ain’t enough beast for you, Barron’s has even more radically power mad kits for the Royal. For me, though, zero to 112 mph, almost as fast as I can shift, up hill yet, is thrill a plenty. I can’t imagine, ever again, making do with just a V-2.
August 22nd, 2000
I had intended, as observed on the map, to visit the geographic center of these United States just off US85. I did that. It wasn’t much, but interesting if only for coversation’s sake.
Along the way, however, a far more enticing prospect offers. I spy signs for Devil’s Tower! Only a tifling detour, considering my chosen route to Cheyenne. I ride up to the park, but don’t pay my way into it. That thing is huge! Get too close and one really just can’t take it in.
So I snap some pics, and buy my 10-year-old son Skajler (say "SKY-ler") a stuffed toy bison, and ride back into South Dakota, just in time to catch Crazyhorse Moutain in almost perfect light. I park the bike and wander about the fancy tourist center, then head into the city of Custer.
I get myself a room at Allen’s Rocket Motel, which has a pretty steep parking lot. The attendent raises an eyebrow at me struggling the Royal around on the slope, commenting that many another biker hadn’t any such problems. I ignore him. Fact is, I’m none too very tall, 5 ft. 8 in. is all. And I’ve decided against having the Royal lowered merely for the sake of coolness. I bought her for how she moves, not for how she sits at red lights. I like ground clearance, and the fact that I’ve never yet scraped either pipes or floorboards on a turn. My dad would frown at that. He and his two brothers owned Indians and Harleys in Appalachia, said it didn’t count unless you scuffed sparks from the floorboards on every turn. He also broke his back once in a bobsledding accident, and recovered totally. Me, I don’t feel that lucky.
I’m fairly conservative going ’round turns, just because too many times I rounded a blind one to find an imposing obsticle where I need to go. That said, on the visibility un-impaired turns, I enjoy a good lean, provided that it be without the ear grating sound of my oh-so-expenssive chrome being dragged on the pavement. And, of course, sometimes it’s handy to be able, when need be, to ride up and over a curb without dragging bottom. So, it’s a trade off. Doubtless I look none too cool on my tippy toes at a red light. Buddha says that’s a good therapy for my inflated ego. Mostly I just like knowing the bike will perform as she ought to in the corners. No surprises in the turns. I really, really hate surprises in a turn.
Then again, backing up in soft turf ain’t no picnic. I have to grab the left rear crash bar and pull up to dig my toes in. So I might change my tune as I get older and feebler. But for this year, and doubtless the next, my Royal will keep on riding tall, coolness notwithstanding. Bike number five was for me was a Honda 750-Four hard-tail chopper with Springer front end, four Firestack straight pipes running all the way back past the rear axle, rear brake only...all that jazz. That thing was too low, too long, too light, too powerful (for it’s diminshed weight), just plain too cool. It scraped pegs on the corners. The front end would not stay down. And my Harley-riding pals complained that the Firestacks drowned them out.
I was only twenty-two and it killed my back on only just a two day ride. So now that I’m forty-six, and growing just a bit decrepit, there’s a limit to how I’ll suffer just to look cool. I like the suspension how it is, especially now that I’ve had Race Tech GVE’s installed and cranked up the rear shock two extra turns. I can ride my Royal for days, no sore back. And with my ongoing investment, the Royal has almost caught up to the chopper in chrome. I’m ever so much more satisfied now. It’s plenty cool enough for me.
Anyway, back to the story... I find that I am almost out of floopy discs for the Mavica. (I’d taken a few more pics that I’ve bothered posting here. And all of these are reduced in size.) You’d think that 2HD floppies could be had anywhere. Think again. Here I am at Mount Rushmore, and no disk space for the camera. Nobody, but nobody, sells floppy discs in Custer, WY. Not even Radio Shack! In desparation I go to a camera store. The camera shop owner has never even seen a Sony Mavica, hardly believes me when I insist it takes everyday floppies, till I show him. Then, most kindly, he goes back into the office and sells me blank floppies out of his own personal desk drawer. Another vacation disaster averted. He also gives me artistic advice. Mount Rushmore is best photographed in the very early morning.
August 23rd, 2000
The next potential disaster hits come morning. I rise early and zoom out in the cold morning fog hoping to catch Mount Rushmore in its finest sunrise glory. A bit overcast, today, but what to do? I get there and snap my pics, no problem. But rummaging around for the tripod and stuff, I set my spare keys on the rear seat. Set them there, and forgot them. Now, if you’ve read my and my wife’s two-up adventure from June of this year, you know of the little ignition circuit defect that Yamaha fixed under warrantee. Alas, the local dealer, M&M Motor Sports of Kalamazoo, MI, out of sheer lazyness, failed to transfer the tumblers from my original ignition switch to the new one. So now I have two separate keys: one for the iginiton, and another for the gas.
Absent minded professor type that I sometimes tend to be, I’d already left one gas key behind back in the cabin at Gould City, MI. (The proprietor later mailed it to me at home.) So this was my one and only gas key. It must have slid down off the seat to fall on the ground under a saddle bag next to the wheel. Out of sight is quite out of mind with me, so I drive off and leave it. Fortunately, knowing the infrequency of service stations in this part of the world, I head for a gas station right away...and discover the tragic loss.
Back to Mount Rushmore I rocket, scanning the pavement all the way...more than a few mile’s worth of it, and offering up prayers to Tara. No key ring do I spy. Two places had I parked at the monument. Both of these are barren of keys. In total desperation I seek out a ranger. “Anybody turn in some keys?” Yes they did. I go to the office and get my keys. Happy, happy! Joy, joy! Praise to Tara. Now I can gas up and go.
Back to old habits now. Years ago, I worked at the local State Hospital. There, I (and everyone else) shared one thing in common with our charges. We were slightly paranoid...about loosing our keys. Now I’ve gotten that way again, all the time patting my zippered down Brooks jacket pocket for the spare set of keys. It’s a healthy paranoia. Isn’t it? Yes, I’m right. It is. Just as long as I don’t start talking to myself. I won’t do that. Will I? No, of course not. Good. That’s settled.
Fueled up, the next major item of interest between here and Cheyenne is Wind Cave National Park. Here I see wild bison, and prarrie dogs. In Michigan we have penned in bison. But we haven’t got anything at all like prarie dogs. I buy a stuffed toy prarrie dog for Skajler.
Down from the high plain, it gets pretty flat again, and hot. There are still some cool things to see, but I don’t bother stopping for pictures.
I got into Chyenne with still plenty daylight left. Cruised the Star Days meet area first and then headed to my cheaper, Motel 6 shortly thereafter. Ran into a fellow on his own RSTD from, if memory serves, Delaware or Maryland who was staying not far away at the Super-8. After unloading the saddle bags I cruise on back again to the Holiday Inn where most of Star Days is being headquartered. Quite a few Yamahas about...six hundred more than usual, in fact. Royal Stars, Road Stars, V-Stars...hence Star Days. I get dinner somewhere that I won’ remember later and wind up back at the Motel 6 to call it an evening. Not much of a party animal any more. So unlike many another biker, I do not go and hit the bars. Did quite a lot of that in the navy and very little of it do I now remember as very much fun. I have come here to drool over other peoples bikes. And tomorrow I’ll have all day for that.
August 24th, 2000
There is quite a lot going on at Star Days today. Folks are heading out for group rids. I decline that for myself...too regimented, too well ordered, not how I like to ride a bike. I just mostly wander around to find out what others have done to their rides...maybe to steal an idea or two. I also enjoy to meet with some of those who have posted articles on the Star Touring website. A few bikes here I recognize immediately, from the custom bikes web page. Some mostly just show, others tricked out also for maximum performance. One Royal Star in particular, the Franken-Star, gets everybodys rapt attention every time Ozzie the owner fires it up. Bored and stroked, ported and polished, one-off custom fuel injected...orange fire jets out a foot from each of four tailpipes as simultaneously every pair of hands for a fifty foot radius snap to cover protectively over tortured ears. Remembering my fears for running out of gas on my own only mildly upgraded Royal I wonder aloud how he managed to get from one refuel to the next. Oz had sent his luggage ahead, so as to leave room for spare cans of gas in each of the saddle bags. Hm... Just maybe he went a bit too far?
August 25th, 2000
On the next-to-last Star Day it rained a bit, as you can see. But we sure got a fine rainbow, don’t you think? I take it as a sign of approval from the gods. To post so many I had to obtain extra space from my ISP. So please enjoy them. They’re so pretty, every one. And pardon me while I launch into my standard rant. I place it as a public service. It’s educational, but disturbing at the same time. I just want to encourage people to use their brains, instead of their ears, the next time they go to shop for a bike. Like I warned, it’s my standard rant.
OHC’s and Multi-Pin Cranks
If you’re a die-hard Harley buff, better skip down to End of Rant lest you be mortally offended. But should you ignore this warning, and suffer any mental anguish from the comments which are to follow, please lay blame at the feet of whichever gods you believe in. He, she or they are the one or ones to hold to account for laws of physics. To berate this author merely for upholding the truth is childish behavior in the extreme.
First please know that I have zero brand name loyalty. As in absolutely none whatever. Not anymore I don’t. I used to once, but it was misplaced. And as a result I have wholly renounced brand loyalty as a deluded concept. Why is that?
I grew up, you see, on stories of Harleys and Indians, the bikes my dad had used to own. The Chiefs and Scouts were, of course, out of production long before I could ever own one. So my youthful aspirations had always centered on the Hogs. And also, of course, back in the sixties and seventies, the Hog’s only major competition came to us from Bavaria. Know also that my dad had nothing but admiration for smooth running flat-2’s with shaft drive.
Alas, and alak, for my dad, the bikes he’d owned were all in his youth. He never owned one all the while that I knew him. I do remember him riding home demo Electroglides a couple/three times. But mom always talked him out of it, mostly ’cause they cost so much.
But when our neighbors, the Dahlquists, bought their 14 year old son Tom (my best friend) a used Honda 65cc to ride paths of the back fields on, my dad made sure that I and my sister too both had something with two wheels and a motor to ride. We both got bikes for Christmas that year: a Yamaha 50cc for Patti, and a Yamaha 60cc for me. And later, when Tom traded up for a Honda 175cc, dad got me a brand new Yamaha 100cc. The Yamaha dealer happened to be a friend of his, and he got some kind of deal.
But that’s not why I like Yamahas now, by no means. In fact, the Yamaha name, by itself, means nothing to me. As I say, I have wholly renounced the concept as some kind of mass delusion from which I now stand aloof. In point of fact, the first bike that I bought for myself was a Honda, and likewise the next two bikes after that. They were used, but in good condition, such that I was well able to afford them. These three measured up as follows: a CB350 Twin, a CB450 Twin and a CB750-Four (the chopper).
Then finally the bike of my dreams: number six, a Sportster 1000, the aspiration of so many years. Alas it was a disappointment. Rather than rant on at length, let me just leave it at that, along with a point or two that I learned about some V-Twins. Not all V-Twins, only certain ones among them. Basically, V-Twins are okay, but only that. They quite lack for the lofty excellence which urban myth has ascribed to them. They’re okay, and I like them well enough, but only that. I even chipped in a thousand bucks to help my wife to buy one. She chose a V-Star 650, only partly so that our two bikes would match. Mostly she liked the balance. When Karen first got it, she asked me to ride it around some and help break it in. I rode it with much pleasure and no smallest tinge of embarrassment. It was worth all that she paid for it. A very fine bike indeed., but still not something I’d be likely to buy for myself. I would, however, rather own it than a Harley, on account of what I’ve experienced, and on account of what I have learned.
Why, you ask, did my Sportster so utterly fail to satisfy? I had to wonder that myself. And so I studied up a bit. It turns out the answer is really quite simple. Just two things: overhead cams and a multi-pin crank. These are very important features. The most dependable bikes of my past all had them, every one. And the Harley didn’t. No Harley does. No Harley ever will. That pair of tubes you see on the side of each cylinder on a Harley are containment for the push rods. Push rod design is antiquated. Most cars abandoned it long ago. Yet those tubes mark the distinctive profile of a Harley. So they will never improve upon it.
Overhead cams are very much better. If I could only afford nothing better than a V-Twin, I’d have to go for that new Honda Shadow 1800. It, at least, has single OHC and water cooling. Dual overhead cams (DOHC) are better yet. The Royal Star has DOHC, part of the reason why I chose her.
The second very important thing is a multi-pin crank. The Honda CB750-Four was ultra smooth running because it had a four-pin crank. The Honda Valkyrie Flat-6 engine, also quite smooth, has a three-pin crank. The minimum is a two-pin crank. And this is what my Royal has. It’s still plenty smooth. Not like the Valkyrie, but smooth enough. Remember the old Chrysler Slant-6? That was a most reliable engine, running as it did, on a six-pin crank. If every cylinder has its own pin on the crank, the firing pattern can be totally even. If two cylinders share a pin, then it can only be smooth if the cylinders are opposed, as in the Honda Valkyrie. In a V-Twin with a single pin crank, the more sharp the Vee, the more uneven the firing pattern has to be, and the more it is going to vibrate. Of all V-2’s, Harleys are the most sharply vee’d. That’s why they vibrate. It is a basic law of physics. The Honda Valkyrie is very fine. The main reason I didn’t buy one is because my shins banged into the cylinders when I tried to back it up in the showroom. In soft grass that might verge on impossible for me...because I’m just a tad too short.
The Royal Star’s V-4 engine is second smoothest, next to the Valkyrie. It is also plenty powerful. And it is narrower for not-so-tall folks like me to have to sit astride without compromising ground clearance. On top of this, the Royal also boasts water cooling and shaft drive. Those are my objective reasons. Here I admit to a subjective one too. The Royal Star is just plain prettier than a Valkyrie, at least to me.
One last comment... Indian originally gained their high quality reputation with in-line-four engines: four in-line cylinders on a four-pin crank. They down-graded their design to a V-Twin on a single-pin crank mainly as a last ditch cost reduction measure. Economics forced them to it. Indian had to reduce prices in response to deadly competition from Triumph. The V-2 switch was a lowering of Indian’s prior engineering standards. History records it so. Feel free to look that up for yourself.
I’ll close this rant with the admission that even V-Twins are still good engines. My problem with them is simply that they are nowhere near superior. V-Twin superiority is an urban myth. And every such myth, especially one so popular, calls for serious debunking. If V-Twins were all that I could afford, I could manage to still be happy riding one. But to pay as much as Harley charges, and still only have a cost-cut design V-Twin, and only an air cooled one at that... Well, it just doesn’t figure.
To be fair, the Royal Star isn’t perfect either. Cruising range is none too high. After my power modifications, 150 miles is all. So I’m stopping for gas every two hours or so. That V-Four engine I love so much has four carburetors wedged between. Those four K&N air filters are nested up under the tank, which only leaves room for 4.8 gallons of gas, which never bothered me at all ’till I rode way out West, where filling stations space out at fifty miles in between. Yamaha ought to come out with fuel injection on the Royal, especially the Tourdeluxe. Unlike the Royal Star Venture, my bike, the Tourdeluxe has a sturdy, dual tube frame. I like it better, for all of that, even though it cost me in fuel capacity. Even more reason, I think, to chuck the carburetors in favor of fuel injection.
And one more, very small, discontent. I’d like the Royal Star Tourdeluxe to enjoy a balanced crankshaft like the V-Max. Then it would run even smoother yet. I have this guilty suspicion that the designers deliberately gave it a hint of unnecessary vibration just to make it feel a tiny bit more like a Harley. Bad idea. If ever my engine should need rebuilding, or if I should come into an extra load of cash, I’ll give mine a V-Max crankshaft.
So... If any Yamaha engineers should happen to read this, do take note! The Royal Star Tourdeluxe, in her heart of hearts, dreams of launching as a rocket straight out of the crate. So do fuel inject her, and balance her crank. Stop making us Royal consorts pine away for that little extra which ought to have been. Stop making us retrofit her ourselves. It’s an artistic crime. The Royal is nearly perfect. Any of us can make her perfect, ex-post-facto. But why should we have to? Let us have her so from day one!
End Whine — Begin Fit of Drooling Envy
Do oggle the eighteen bikes posted as thumbnails above. So pretty! Yes, even the V-2 Road Stars. I’m not a Road Star fan myself, it being a V-Twin and all. But still I’ve got to admit they’re pretty. And that Barron’s supercharger kit for the Road Star! Way cool. There’s a supercharger kit for the Royal, but alas, it is belt- not gear-driven. I don’t really want mine supercharged, but it’s fun to imagine sometimes.
All that chrome, and the paint jobs! Very, very fine indeed. I still like mine better, just as any bike owner should. I’m proud of the fact that my custom paint is brush work (versus air-brush) done by professional portrait and mural artist Dave DeRyke, who just happens to also do no few custom bikes, sports helmets, etc. Such small distinction makes mine just a tad more individual, I think, or hope. Whatever... Anyway, hereabouts folks will recognize Dave’s distinctive touches, saying, “Isn’t that a Dave DeRyke paint job?” Gives us something to talk about, overcome my socially awkward inhibitions. Worth every penny. And it wasn’t cheap, let me tell you. Ouch!
So once in Cheyenne, I and my Royal made our debut to the Star Line family practically naked of chrome, much like parading her out in public half undressed. The Royal is brazen and didn’t mind in the least. I was still proud for all of that. (It’s a guy thing.) The bike and I hadn’t quite made up our minds what she’d look best in. So together we oggled the other gorgeous bikes, me drooling here, she nit-picking there, until we both came up with a plan. I’ll have to get some new pics up soon, because the plan is about half complete. Another year, if my work (and pay) hold out, should see her complete.
I deliberately chose not to chrome her everywhere. My bike, I think, prefers to be showing off her paint. The side covers we certainly prefer to be painted, with Dave DeRyke’s flourishes, of course, rather than chromed. We did chrome the plate between, the one which you can’t even see except really close. And we chromed her front suspension. Saved that for when the Race Tech GVE’s came in ready to install. Alas, the wheels yet remain to be done. The Royal and I just can’t seem to find any we really like. Too many for the Royal are overly flashy of design, clashing with her retro styling. So this year at Star Days in Bowling Green my bike and I will be checking out everyone’s wheels. Yes, quite literally, their wheels.
August 26th, 2000
I woke up early, around 4 a.m. Not sleepy, and having had my fill of seeing nicer motorcycles than my own, I decide it is time to head back. That is properly a separate story all its own. But I have no pictures for it. Suffice it to say that I made it home flat out on the Interstates with only a two-hour nap in Nebraska. About half way I hooked up with three similarly minded guys likewise headed home from Star Days all riding Royals just like me. Playing hop-scotch with them on the highway, passing every Harley in sight, accounted for more than half of the fun of this whole adventure. The last of the three peeled off in Chicago at around three-ish in the morning. That makes 1,123 miles in just 23 hours. Good enough to call it an iron butt, I should think.
Ĝan Ŭesli Starling
Kalamazoo MI