The Quest to Get the ST1100, part 1

The journey begins . . .

What journey? I accidentally started riding a motorcycle in the summer of 2000. The motivation was to make for an easier commute to work and more importantly, more convenient (and plentiful) parking.  The accident part was that I never dreamed that my passion towards riding a motorcycle would be so brightly lit.

A 1979 Honda GoldWing, courtesy of my step-father was my ride and I enjoyed riding it . I began to look forward to longer rides and while the Wing did pretty well, I knew there were better options. I wanted something designed for longer distances and made to go a little faster through the twisty, winding roads that I dearly loved.

I did some research and found that Honda makes a bike called an ST1100 that is designed for the very things I was looking for. I began to search and to dream. In the spring of 2004, I felt like I could financially justify a newer motorcycle. I had passed through many stages of riding in that I had become a safety instructor, I had learned to handle a bigger, heavy bike and was tipping the Wing over in the parking lots less often and the motorcycle had become my preferred mode of transportation. Added to that was the idea that the Wing was in dire need of a cosmetic make-over but I couldn't get it done because I wouldn't stop riding it.

I found a very active email list specifically for ST1100's and began to monitor the list. The list regularly generated 50 or more emails per day and it became clear that the members had formed a burgeoning community and were deeply passionate about their rides. After lurking for awhile, I threw out an email saying I was looking for an older (pre 1995) ST1100 for around $4000. In my heart of hearts, I wanted a red (candy glory red to be exact) ST1100 and I wanted a few extra's. In particular, I was looking for a bike with a beefed up alternator that had proven to be less prone to failure. These bikes are fairly highly sought after and I figured I was going to have to take what I could get.

One person immediately responded with a '91, pretty much stock, black motorcycle. The price was in my range but it wasn't exactly what I wanted. A few hours later, I got another email. Unbelievably, this bike had exactly what I wanted, beefed up alternator, heated grips, modulating headlight and other cool things. The best part, it was indeed candy, glory red. Price? $4000. Within about twelve hours, I had my wife on board with the idea and had committed to the bike. There was only one little problem. It was mid-March the bike was in Fitzwilliam, NH and I was 1400 miles away in LaCrescent, MN. It needed to be fetched, and after that long intro, this is the story of its fetching.

I looked at a calendar and determined that because of many obligations and weather considerations, the only weekend for me to go and get it was the weekend of May 1. I considered having it shipped for about ten seconds, but the allure of the ride home was simply too strong.  I purchased the bike from a man named Curt Hamilton and he agreed to pick me up at the airport in Manchester, NH on April 30 and I began to plot a way to get there.

Here is what I figured out.  Ride the Greyhound from Tomah, WI to Chicago ($39), once in Chicago, hop the "EL" and ride to Midway Airport ($1.75), once at Midway, hop on a Southwest Airlines jet to Manchester ($99).  So I did the trip to New Hampshire for around $150.  Not bad.

I obsessed over the trip for a long seven weeks and unfortunately, the it started with a feeling of wanting, quite simply, to vomit. I was thinking about every possible thing that could go wrong . . . Never ridden an ST1100, new tires, never ridden in anything like mountains, what if I get on the thing and crash, wife was alone with the kids for the weekend (and the kids weren't behaving). Then I started contemplating all of the potential travel issues . . . Could miss the Greyhound, Greyhound could crash, Greyhound could be late, Greyhound could be full, could blow it and goof up the L in Chicago, plane could be late, and on, and on, and on. I sat for a minute after work and finally managed to calm myself down and began to look forward to it.  What the heck?  Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen because there was no turning back now.

My wife and I reached the Greyhound terminal later than I wanted to and after finding the driver, he loaded my luggage. He then looked at me and said, "I just wanna' warn ya', it's crowded in there." Crowded I can deal with, full would be a disaster. I found a seat next to a young lady and after awhile we started to chat. She is an English major at U of M and we spent three hours talking about everything from Shakespeare to Keats to J.K Rowling. Sleep probably would have been better, but the nice conversation made quick work of the three hours from Tomah to Milwaukee.

She, I never even found out her name, got off in Milwaukee and was replaced by a very large woman with a sleeping three-year-old. We squished in and I promptly fell asleep. The next thing I knew we were in Chicago. I asked the luggage guy how to find the "EL" - he pointed, I went and after a simple transfer, I found myself walking into Midway airport. The plane was packed as well.  Packed and crowded was turning in to a theme for the day.

As usual, all of my worry over the first leg of the trip was for naught and all in all, the trip to Manchester was completely uneventful. In fact, I wouldn't think twice about doing it (Greyhound, EL, Midway) again to travel somewhere.

The plane was packed and I was one of the last ones off. Curt was starting to even get a little worried. I found him and his wife easily. It took about an hour to get from the airport to Curt's house. A little ways, but more than anything, a lot of traffic.  We got there and he opened the garage and the first thing I saw was his beautiful new blue GoldWing. The ST was behind and covered. Curt got the GoldWing out and uncovered the ST. At that point, an amazing thing happened, I stopped coveting the GoldWing and instantly became completely enamored with the wonderful candy glory red ST that I had been dreaming about for three years. Curt and I started walking around the bike and he showed me how everything worked. I learned how to remove the saddle bags, the seat and he showed me all of the little secrets about the bike.

There was still one more test to pass. In the summer of 2003, I had decided that a Kawasaki Concours would be the ride for me.  It was a sport touring bike and generally cheaper than an ST1100.  I dreamed about it, looked around, almost bought one, and then I went to a dealer and talked him into letting me ride one.  Within ten seconds of riding it, I knew it wasn't right. I was terribly afraid that I would hop on the ST and hate it. Fortunately, I loved it, it fit, it was perfect.  The mirrors didn't even need to be adjusted.  Even better, I didn't dump it on Curt's gravel driveway.

We had a really nice ride from Fitzwilliam through Searsburg, VT and then into Massachusetts.  Brattleboro, VT sorely tested my riding skills.  Traffic was very heavy and Curt elected an alternate route through the city.  The alternate was fine, but I was left to start on several hills pointing straight up.  I made it, but I really don't know how.  I have never ridden in a place where there were so many straight up starts at intersections.  Finally we crossed into New York.  Like all GoldWings, Curt's was no different in that it (Curt had no control whatsoever) drove straight to an ice-cream parlor.  Curt and Sheila had agreed to ride me to New York and then turn around.  They sent me on my way alone at the junction of Highways 43 and 22 in Stephentown. Curt suggested Hwy 22, a straight shot down the border.  I looked at a map and discovered I could accomplish the same thing by taking hwy 43 to 66.  43 was a very nice twisty, low traffic ride. I turned south on Highway 66. What a lovely road and ride. The road was sufficiently twisty and very enjoyable.

Hwy 66 took me into Hudson, NY and it was there that the trouble started.  I stupidly had neglected to stop and purchase a good map of NY and I got lost.  I figure this cost me at least an hour.  This was really too bad because I wound up riding through what is likely some very beautiful country in the dark.  I will never again do a ride like that without a GOOD map in my hand (I did have a bad one).  Finally, I ended up in Kingston, NY where I crossed the Hudson River, by some miracle (ok, and some help from the guy at the gas station where I bought a GOOD map) found Hwy 28 and headed toward Pine Hill, NY - deep in the heart of the Catskills.  On a normal day, I would have been quite frustrated by getting lost and losing the time.  On this day, my cheeks hurt.  Not the lowers, but the uppers from grinning so wide.  I was in beautiful country riding my dream bike, on great roads in perfect weather.  What was there to really complain about?

I finally got to Pine Hill, found the place where I was staying, a simple room in a hostel bunk house ($20) and went to find something to eat.  Personally, I love Indian food, but no one in my family will touch it.  As luck would have it, there was an Indian restaurant in Pine Hill, NY (one of four restaurants in the community), they were open and they had a buffet.  I ate way too much, had a good beer (Kingfisher) and headed back to my room.  At Curt's house, I had just sort of thrown things into the bike - I wanted to get going.  I spent two glorious hours in the dark of the night organizing the saddle bags, mounting the tank bag and putting the bike to bed.  I even covered it up - a luxury I never afforded the Wing.

I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow and in the morning spent about 1/2 hour cleaning (hostel tradition, leave the place better than you found it).  I also found the weather channel and saw that New York was going to have pretty good weather, but Ohio (and at that point, the rest of the way home), was covered in rain.  Oh well, no turning back now.

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