Road King Blog

When I bought the Road King, it had a Harley Davidson Badlander seat on it.  The badlander was sleek, and it looked nice, but it was a bit on the firm side.  The passenger pillion on the Badlander is part seat, part medieval torture device.  Narrow, hard, and curved the wrong way for a person to sit on.

We’d compensated with an Airawk pad for me, and a Butty Buddy for Lisa, but I was still pretty sore after an hour and a half or so in the saddle.

The other day, I was at the dealership and saw a nice looking Mustang seat hanging on the rack.  After some research, I talked it over with Lisa and bought the seat.

Other than managing to drop and temporarily lose the seat bolt, installation was a snap, and the seat looks very nice on the bike.  More to the point, it is very comfortable for both of us.

This morning, we headed out for a ride to see how it felt on a ride.  We headed out from the house for a lap of Lake Monroe, orbiting the lake in a counter-clockwise direction starting from Route 46 and Route 415 in Sanford.  About a mile north of Route 46 on Route 415, you cross a small bridge over the St. Johns river and enter Volusia county.  The view from the bridge and route 415 is spectacular, with sweeping vistas of the St. Johns river and the marshy surrounding environs.

About a mile north of the bridge, Route 415 meets Reed Ellis Road.  Turning left onto Reed Ellis, the trip passes several horse farms, and the road becomes tree-lined with a dense overhead canopy.  Reed Ellis Road meet up with Enterprise - Osteen road.  Traveling in toward Enterprise, the road continues through a tunnel of palm trees, and eventually becomes Lakeshore Drive.  Suddenly, the trees on the south side of the road give way to views of the lake.

Caution is needed here, though.  Sandy patches in the road make the riding interesting, particularly as you near the boat ramp on Lakeshore Drive.  After a storm, you may also encounter detrial palm fronds in the road.  When moist, these can be quite slick.

Lakeshore eventually turns north and meets up with Debary Avenue in Enterprise proper.  Traveling west along Debary Avenue, you pass under I-4 and encounter Route 17-92.  A turn to the south on 17-92 quickly returns you to Seminole County, crossing over a much wider, more robust St. Johns and then turning along the southern shore of Lake Monroe for another very pretty shoreline ride.  As we traveled along the shore line, we noted a lone large storm cloud over the opposite shore (back where we started the loop) pouring down rain.  Timing, as they say, is everything.

All told, the ride was a bit over 1 1/2 hours, and both of us got off the bike well rested and comfortable.  The new seat makes a world of difference, and we’re both looking forward to the additional comfort on future rides.

Sgt Lewis “Doug” Bishop

United States Marine / LEO Ret.

Vietnam Veteran

Sanford, Florida

Bushnell, Florida

Friday, 07 Aug 09

Doug’s wife Janet has asked the Patriot Guard Riders to stand in honor of Sgt. Lewis “Doug” Bishop.  Doug served in Vietnam as a Marine and was the recipient of the Purple Heart, Combat Action Ribbon, Vietnam Service Medal, Vietnam Campaign Medal, National Defense National Defense Service Medal, and Good Conduct Medal.  Doug was retired Commander from the Sanford Police Department.  He was also was a member of Masonic Lodge 62, Scottish Rite of Free Masonry, SJ, USA, Bahia Shrine, American Legion Post 53, Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 8093, Disabled American Veterans Chapter 30, Honorable Order of Kentucky Colonels,  and Elks USA.

This has been a busy week for the PGR in Florida, and although I could not make all the missions, I did manage to get away for the morning to make this one.

It was an honor to stand for Sgt. Bishop.

A group of 5 of us linked up in Sanford to ride over to Bushnell for the PGR Honor mission for Specialist Coleman.  Our group consisted of the Rids Captain, Lee, riding his BMW R1100, myself and another rider on Harley touring bikes, and Carl and MaeLynn riding their triumph sidecar rig.  It was a warm but clear morning for a ride as we set off across the state along the back roads.  Our route took us through some scenic Florida terrain along Route 46, Route 19 and Route 48 through Howey-in-the-Hills and Okahumpka.  The bridge across Little Lake Harris is particularly picturesque.

With the APRS setup on the bike, I was able to reach the network most of the way, and produced a nice track.

Apart from one or two impatient idiots in cages, one of whom cut into the middle of our group in an unsafe manner after running out of room trying to pass, the ride over was relaxed and easy.  I was much more comfortable riding in the group after my riding time in Maryland with Sean, and the relaxed formation we were riding was a help as well.

The actual mission at Bushnell has been covered in a previous post, so I will not recount it here.  Following the completion of our mission at Bushnell, we headed out for some food and the long ride back home.  A gathering cloud mass in the West promised rain in the near future, but we figured we had enough time to grab some chow before we headed back.  The original five of us joined with another group of 5 PGR riders and we headed for Sonny’s barbecue for a little food and some fellowship.

A short while later, having been well fed and having swapped riding stories, we broke into our separate groups and headed out for home.  The storms to the West had gained ground as we ate, and a light drizzle began to fall as we mounted up in the parking lot.  To the West were dark skies laden with moisture and pierced with all too frequent strokes of lightning.  To the East, blue skies and scattered clouds.  Made one glad to be headed East….

We played hide and seek from the rain all the way home, receiving a good steady soaking on Route 19, followed by intermittent showers the rest of the way.  You have to love Florida summertime weather, where it is not uncommon to be under bright blue skies and pouring rain.  At least it kept us relatively cool on the way home.

Along the route, our group shrank down to just Lee and I as the others split off the route to go home.  We rolled into Sanford just ahead of the rain, moving out from under it between traffic lights, and then having it catch up when we got caught at lights.  Lee and I parted ways in Sanford, and as I headed South from Sanford toward home, the skies in front of my path began to look as dark and foreboding as the black skies in the rear view mirrors.  I cautiously made my way through on and off showers through the final few miles to home.  Soon, I was safely parked in the garage, and the Road King shut down for a well-earned rest.

Shortly after I arrived home, the heavens erupted with very heavy rain and intense, frequent lightning.  I was most glad I had beaten that mess home.

On July 29, 2009, a statewide email went out to the Patriot Guard Riders in Florida:

Friday July 24th SPC Justin D. Coleman from Spring Hill, FL and members of his unit were conducting security checks in a remote, mountainous region of Afghanistan where military officials believed the Taliban held captive Army PFC Bowe R. Bergdahl. PFC Bergdahl disappeared from his outpost a month ago and appeared in a Taliban hostage video last week.

Our soldiers were ambushed. Justin and three other members of his unit were killed in the attack. A week before Coleman’s death, he traded Internet messages with his father telling him he was leaving for a mission. The e-mail ended, “Alrighty dad, talk to you when I get back.”

One of Justin’s concerns was that if anything ever happened to him that he would be forgotten. His family wants to be sure that their Hero lives on in the hearts of many. They have invited the Patriot Guard Riders to stand in silent respect for their Hero at services for him Sunday and Monday in Spring Hill, Florida.

A TRUE SOLDIER
A little boy was born one day and grew to be a man.
His career was uncertain; but he had no concrete plan.
He wanted to go to college; but the money wasn’t there,
And to be a loafer, Justin wouldn’t dare.
He chose to join the Army to be all that he could be.
To show his love of country, and to help keep her free.
He went through basic training enduring the drill and the grind,
And furthered his education with a special goal in mind.
Holding steadfast to his faith, allowing God to lead the way,
He became and ordained minister and often stopped to pray.
When orders cam for Justin to fight in foreign lands,
He asked, God safe;y keep me in your loving hands.
He bravely faced his duty in Afghanistan,
Where life is so uncertain and you dare not trust any man.
Soldiers group together in this world so far from home,
Where things are so very different from the life that they have known.
Strangers become brothers; they watch each others back.
They give no though or whining to the comforts that they lack.
They cross unknown territory, enormous weight upon their back,
Where the enemy lay hid just waiting to attack.
While on a special mission Justin’s spirit quickly soared,
When an angel came to guide him through the gates at Heaven’s door.
God welcomed Justin home with a gentle warm embrace.
His soul was filled with peace; danger never again to face.
And though this Solder’s laid to rest, he still has things to do;
He’ll join the choir in Amazing Grace and walk each step with you.
He’ll stand guard as you are sleeping and watch over you each day,
And pray that you find comfort until you pass his way.
The meaning of a hero has gotten lost along the way;
A her9 is not an athlete that makes a living while at play.
A hero is a SOLDIER looking out for you and me,
Fighting for our country to preserve our liberty.
Our freedom is a gift forged by bravery and pride.
Many soldiers fought for it and many soldiers died.
As you enjoy your freedom, let Justin’s memory live on;
Pray for those still fighting and those already gone.

Leaving on a mission, can’t say more.
If you want more details, I’ll tell you at heaven’s door.

Written by Annie Brown Bonnett

The response from the PGR and other organizations was just outstanding.  All told, there were nearly 100 bikes involved in the escort from the funeral home to Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell and waiting in the flagline at Bushnell. As the processional rolled along from Spring Hill to Bushnell, the roads were lined with members of the community holding up flags and signs and paying their respects as the procession passed.

Got some moderate rain, and no lightning, so I put on the rain suit and headed out to put my unease at riding in the wet away.  We live in Florida, for Pete’s sake, and it’s going to rain on us at some point.  There’s no avoiding it.

I spent an hour and some change riding the neighborhood, doing some PLP, and practicing hard stops on the wet pavement.  Riding in the rain isn’t particularly fun, and I doubt it will ever be a favorite riding activity, but I’m over the fear of it.

We set out this morning for Eustis, Florida for a short-notice honor mission with the Patriot Guard.

We arrived at the staging area at the funeral home, and joined about a dozen other bikes from the PGR.  This mission was remarkable because the announcement of the mission went out about 12 hours before hand.  As the email arrived, members across the state changed / abandoned their plans for the day and got set to roll out the next morning to stand for an American Hero.

The spirit of the PGR never ceases to AMAZE me.  It is an absolute honor to stand the flag line with these fine Americans.

As we were milling about the staging area before the service, we were keeping a weather eye out.  Although it was pretty when we arrived, storms were moving ashore from the Gulf, and the radar images on the iPhone looked impressive.

Sure enough, as we stood down from the flag line at the end of the mission, the skies opened up with an intense downpour.  Perfect.  I hate riding in the rain, it makes me quite nervous, and I’ve got Lisa on the back….

We donned our raingear, and headed out.  Fortunately, about 1/2 a mile down the road we rode out from under the storm and onto dry pavement.  With the sun shining on us again, the rain gear was miserably hot, so after we gained some separation from the storm, we puled off and stowed the gear.

We kept just ahead of the storm all the way home, rolling into the garage about 5 minutes before an absolute downpour began.

I had the bike in for it’s 5,000 mile service today, and in the course of doing the service, the dealer noticed that the clutch pack was due for replacement. Unfortunately for me, this is a wear item, and not covered under warranty. It’s also quite expensive. I was a bit off-put because I’ve only had the bike 6 months and put 4,000 miles on it, and I felt this was a bit early for the clutch to be done.

Because it is a wear item, and not covered under warranty, the service department couldn’t do a lot to help.  Which is perfectly understandable to me.  I contacted the sales manager, Ken, and explained my situation to him.  He said he understood my concern, and he would talk to the service folks and see what he could arrange.  Within a couple of hours, they had worked out a solution.  I’m not going to specify exactly what they came up with, but I was a happy customer at the end of the day.  The 5,000 mile service was completed and the clutch pack replaced, and the bike was still ready to roll at the end of the business day.  I rolled off the lot and scooted down 417 for home, noticing the reduced clutch effort on the bike and a touch more refinement in all the controls.

I see a lot of folks getting upset and going off on various bike boards when they have a problem.  It seems to me that 90% of them would have had a different outcome altogether if they approached their dealer in a reasonable manner, and talked to the staff rather than ranting at them.

Of course, it helps to have a dealer like Seminole Harley-Davidson.  They’ve always been helpful and customer-driven, and they’ve certainly won a customer for life in this rider.

Well, all good things must eventually come to an end, and this trip was no exception.  We got up, and rode out for some breakfast, and to FedEx for Sean to repeat my shipping evolution of the previous day.  Darn those Harley shops - they always manage to separate one from one’s money.

The skies looked threatening, but so far had refrained from releasing any of the moisture they were threatening to unleash.  We checked out of the hotel, packed up the bikes and headed over to Starbucks to feed Sean’s Espresso jones and plan out our trips.  I was headed down to Lorton, to meet up with the Auto Train for the trip home, and Sean was headed out to Annapolis for another series of business meetings before riding back into DC for the night.  Our routes would run together down I-270 (part-time freeway, part-time parking lot depending on the time of day) to Route 495, where he would take the Inner Loop to the east, headed for Route 50, and I would take the Outer Loop to the south, headed for I-95 south.  The intersection of 270 and 495 is known to the locals as “the split”, which was apropos for our travel plans, as we would be parting company there.  On other words, we would split at the split.
And with that, we were off onto I-270, to mix with the lovely morning commute traffic - replete with drivers in cages talking on their phones, reading and even sending text messages on their phones while performing what they call driving. It’s always an amusing experience sharing the road with these folks. The skies overhead were laden with water, and threatened to unload on us at any moment. A distant rumble of thunder punctuated the threat. With time, we made our way down the road to the split where, with the traditional biker two-finger down salute, Sean went his way and I went mine. A unit of two no more, we returned to solo riding mode, traveling down the road avoiding hazards of the fixed and mobile varieties.
The skies could hold out no more as I rode south on the beltway past Fairfax, and began to spit a fine rain down. Hoping that the light rain would satisfy the sky’s need for relief, I pressed on down the beltway to the I-95 interchange, and south on I-95 to Lorton.
The fine rain dissipated as I arrived at the train station, and I parked in the lot and waited for the opportunity to load the Road King for the trip south and home. One plus for the trip home, I had managed to score a reasonably priced upgrade from the coach seat I had booked to a “roomette” accommodation. This was not without it’s trials, though, as Amtrak had massively over-charged me for the new ticket, and I would have to wait until I checked in for them to process the refund of the ~$250 they had over-charged. Happily, everyone was on the same page there, and the refund was processed without any further aggravation.
I was the only rider headed south, so the load process looked to be fairly smooth. I sat by the loading deck and waited for the incoming train (which was 2 hours late) to arrive and off-load. In time, a sled containing two bikes was pushed up to the loading ramp. Proving the axiom that it is a small world after all, one of the two arriving riders lives less than 2 miles from my house. He was headed north on his GoldWing for a family function. In short order, the two arriving bikes were off, and the Road King was securely strapped down in it’s spot on the sled. I headed into the terminal for the wait until boarding time. Luckily, I scored one of the few seats with access to electrical power and got my phone re-charged as I waited.
The roomette was a very nice upgrade from the coach seat, with two seats that fold down into a full-sized bed (and an upper bunk bed for another passenger in the same roomette. I was able to stretch out, relax and read comfortably as we rolled the rails south toward home…

Sean spent part of the day down in Virginia attending a couple meetings related to work.

I spent the day getting ready (unfortunately) to head home on Thursday.  In the midst of laundry and packing, I discovered that I had acquired more goodies on the trip than I had space to pack them.  Not really much of a surprise there.  So I was off to FedEx to ship back some of the treasure.

All in all, a pretty unremarkable day.  Once Sean came back up from Virginia, we did a bit of local riding and headed out for some dinner.  The primary focus of the evening was planning our respective departures the next day - and looking at the increasingly unfavorable weather forecast…..

Up in the morning to another nice day, and headed out for breakfast and some general riding in the greater Gaithersburg / Germantown area.

Our travels brought us through an intersection where, in 2003, I performed what was essentially the last direct patient care of my EMS career.  The return of the memories of that day was very intense.  I was off-duty, driving in my own car, when a call went out for a serious automobile collision a very short ways away from where I was.  When I arrived on the scene, there were two police officers performing rescue breathing on a patient in the middle of the road.  That has the makings of a bad day.  She was four.  That makes for a really bad day.  I walked up and identified myself as a medic, which made for two very happy law enforcement officers, who were more than happy to have this particular problem in professional hands other than their own.  I had them continue what they were doing as I began to cut clothing and assess her injuries.  Her heart was still beating, but far too slowly.  I began chest compressions, in the hope of supporting her failing vitals until the fire/rescue units arrived.

The engine company and ambulance from my station arrived a short while (and also an eternity) later.  The Captain on the engine was doing his overall scene assessment and walked around the side of the scene where the three of us were working on the little girl in the middle of the road.  I told him I needed some equipment brought to me immediately, but it didn’t seem to register on him what was going on.  He continued to survey the scene, and I interrupted his routine with a stout “Hey, Captain, forget the <expletive> circle check - I need an airway bag over here right <expletive> now!”.  Annoyed, he looked over - and registered what was happening.  He ran back and practically dragged the paramedic off the engine over to where we were working.  Suffice it to say I now had his full attention.

Despite our best efforts, she never regained spontaneous breathing, and she passed away after being flown to the pediatric trauma center.

Not the highlight of my career.  It was a valiant effort from everyone involved, but her injuries were just not compatible with life.

Two days later, I found that the “flu” I had was actually a series of blood clots in my lungs.  I was hospitalized a couple days later, and never really returned to the street.

After riding through the intersection, we stopped a short ways away at a 7-11.  I needed to get off the bike, and get back into the proper head-space for riding.  I was actually quite surprised that riding through there put me off my game as much as it did.

After a short break, and some mental re-adjustment, we headed out along the back roads towards Rockville, and a lunch appointment with a good friend of mine from the old days at Station 8, Chris.

Chris has been a career firefighter for several years now, after being hired by Montgomery County from the department where we both volunteered at the time.  Chris is a damn fine medic, and and even better friend, and it was very good to see him again.  Unfortunately, he’s been off the street for several months with a back injury, and things are not looking good.   At least the county is taking pretty good care of him, and he’s in good spirits.

After lunch, Sean and I rode around a bit and then headed to the theater to catch a movie.  We both needed a bit of down-time.