From The Seat Of My Pants: Lessons From the Saddle: A Motorcycle Touring Guide

By Ty Kiisel

From the Seat of My Pants is a look at motorcycle touring from the perspective of someone who’s spent countless hours and tens of thousands of miles in the saddle. “It’s the book I was looking for when I started touring fourteen or fifteen years ago,” says the author.
Many people, even those who have been riding for years, have never experienced what it’s like to tour the country from the saddle of a motorcycle. Maybe they are intimidated and anxious about going on an organized tour. Maybe they aren’t confident in their riding skills. They might even be worried about the average daily miles that could be required on a tour. Or they are new to riding and, because of their inexperience on the road, just don’t feel like they are ready to strike out on a tour.
Filled with great advice on what you need to know about the road, the right motorcycle for touring, and how to find like-minded souls to ride with (if you don’t want to strike out on your own), this book details everything you need to know, everything you need to have, and what you need to do to get ready for your first or your fiftieth motorcycle tour. Personal stories and experiences bring the author’s advice to life as Ty shares his successes and the challenges of exploring the country from the seat of his pants.
One thousand miles away from home, Ty is often approached by someone who invariably says, “I used to ride.” He’s started asking them, “Why did you stop?”
After reading Ty’s book, you might find yourself looking at the map and getting ready to set out on a motorcycle adventure yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887510958

Book preview

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From The Seat Of My Pants

Lessons From the Saddle: A Motorcycle Touring Guide

Ty Kiisel

ISBN 979-8-88751-094-1 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88832-639-8 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88751-095-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Ty Kiisel

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Section 1

What You Need to Know

What You Need to Know about Touring by Motorcycle

What You Need to Know about the Road

Section 2

The Stuff You Need to Have

The Bike You Need to Have

Outfitting Your Bike for the Open Road

Outfitting Yourself for a Bike Tour

Section 3

What You Need to Do

What You Need to Do before You Head Out

Epilogue

That's about It

Appendix

About the Author

For all the like-minded souls who long to traipse around the country to discover what's over the next hill. Thanks, Kelly, for spending countless hours and tens of thousands of miles with me discovering the west from the seat of our pants. And to my friends who have spent time riding with me over the years and those who read early drafts and made incredibly helpful suggestions—you know who you are.

Introduction

Adventure is worthwhile.

—Aesop

There's something about exploring what's over the next hill, through the next canyon, or a few miles down the road. I just can't get enough. It doesn't matter if I'm alone or in a group, there's nothing better than a good motorcycle adventure. I like touring with friends—there are two or three of us who have regularly struck out together, but I'm just as content to head out alone—in fact these days, most of the time, I ride alone.

I also enjoy showing off new places to friends who have never been there before. I have a son who just started riding; and introducing him to out-of-the-way places he's never been and to the things he needs to know, the things he needs to have, and the things he needs to do is particularly fun. At least it's fun for me. In fact, when we were waiting for his bike to be delivered, I think I may have even been more excited than he was.

I've also discovered that on a motorcycle tour, you stand out. People seem to notice you. I don't think it matters if you're in a group or riding solo, people seem to notice the difference between someone traveling on a motorcycle or someone simply going for a ride—even if going for a ride means several hours or a couple hundred or so miles away from home on a Saturday afternoon. At least, I've noticed when I'm on a tour, people seem more interested in what I'm doing, where I'm from, and where I'm going.

I used to ride

One thousand miles away from home, I'm often approached by someone who invariably says, I used to ride.

They seem to take notice of my license plate to see where I'm from, comment about how far from home I am, and usually want to know where I'm headed. I think they secretly harbor the same sense of adventure we all had as a kid and really want to join in. I think they miss riding, which is one of the reasons they approach me. At some level, I'm convinced we all still have the sense of adventure we had as children. For me, one of the ways I scratch that itch is from the saddle of my motorcycle.

If you're reading this book, you probably feel the same pull to the road and sense of adventure I do even if you're a brand-new rider.

A lone motorcycle, miles from home, seems to be pretty approachable—by non-motorcyclists as well as other bikers. For some reason, people just don't seem to be intimidated by a guy, or a gal, on a touring motorcycle—or it could be that I just look harmless.

Not too long ago, I decided to ride from my home in Utah to visit my daughter in Connecticut. She was expecting her second child and my seventh grandchild. I asked a couple of friends to join me, but there wasn't anybody who could go with me. Admittedly, I was using the birth as an excuse to put some miles under my feet and ride across the country, so I decided to make the journey alone. To be honest, I was looking forward to the time alone. I rode south out of the Salt Lake Valley and crossed New Mexico, the Texas Panhandle, and Oklahoma before going north near St. Louis to I-80. The goal for the trip was four days there and three days back, giving me a couple of days to get acquainted with my new grandson. It also meant I'd be riding seven hundred– to eight hundred–mile days, which might be why nobody could go with me.

At the trip's first fuel stop, I was approached by a very earnest and sincere woman who was part of the Christian Motorcycle Association,¹ a group I was only vaguely aware of. She, her husband, and a few friends were meeting for a ride. It was probably obvious to them that I was on a trip, and alone, so they approached and offered to have a prayer with me to ask the Lord for a safe trip. They were such friendly and genuine people. I told them what I was doing and agreed to have a word of prayer. As eight or ten people I had never met before gathered around me and my bike, they offered a sweet prayer asking that I be safe, that my machine would work as it was intended, and that others on the road would be aware of my presence as I made my journey to see family on the other side of the country.

As I mounted up and left them behind, I admit the group prayer at pump 7 wasn't something I would normally do, but I felt pretty good about it. I appreciated their kindness. In addition to the prayer, they gave me an aluminum coin with an 800 number on it, and they said, If you ever have any problems on the road, call this number and someone will come to help you.

Fortunately, I didn't have any troubles that trip and am happy I never needed to call for help, but I've kept the coin in my tank bag since then. It's probably like putting on rain gear before it starts raining; I superstitiously believe it reduces the odds of rain—maybe keeping the coin will mean I never need to use it.

I admit, approaching me like she did kind of surprised me. But I'm convinced most people are good, and she and her friends are good examples of good people.

I met someone from Arkansas racing on the Bonneville Salt Flats a couple of years ago who wound up talking to my son for some reason a week or so before I was heading out. Steve had been working in the pits with me on the Salt, and they had exchanged phone numbers. I don't know why they called him, but because it was just before I was leaving for my cross-country trip, it came up in their conversation. They gave him their phone number and wanted me to call if I got in a bind. We live about six or seven hours away from everyplace back there, they said. If your dad needs help, we'll go get him.

These were people we'd only spent a couple days with racing motorcycles on the Salt Flats. It's hard to be overly cynical about people when you have experiences like that. Another example of the goodness in people.

Because I want to believe that most people are generally good, I try to be friendly to friendly people. At least I choose to assume that most people I meet on the road are good. They may not go about things the same way I do, but they seem to appreciate the vulnerability of a lone touring motorcyclist. And I appreciate that. What's more, if I see someone on the road who needs help, I try to give them a hand if I can.

I follow a couple of guys on YouTube who travel big miles all over the country; they consider what they do shaking hands with America, which is a sentiment I like. They share videos of their encounters with the people and places they visit and feel that most people you meet on the road are good people too. I like the way they approach a tour and feel like it's similar to the way I like to see the country.

Check out the 2LaneLife podcast,² and you'll see why I like them.

Can we take a picture?

A few years ago, a group of friends and our wives were on a long weekend tour down in Southern Utah. At a fuel stop in Torrey, not far from Capitol Reef National Park, a couple from Europe visiting the nearby national parks (Bryce, Capital Reef, and Zion National Parks are all within rock-throwing distance down there) approached us to see if they could take our picture. They said they had never seen real American bikers before.

I don't know how photogenic we all are and almost laughed as we gathered around the bikes for the photograph. My guess is that the picture would likely be added to their keepsakes from this trip to the United States.

Real bikers? I thought. There are probably those out there who would say we weren't real bikers, despite the thousands of miles we'd put on our bikes over the years. Nevertheless, seven or eight couples on a motorcycle tour probably aren't as intimidating as a dozen leather-clad, sleeveless members of a motorcycle club.

What are real bikers anyway?

I'd love to do a motorcycle tour, but I'm not sure how to do it

Over the years, I can't count the number of times someone has expressed how they would like to do a tour but don't know how to go about it. They may have even been riding for a long time, but a tour felt out of reach. Maybe they aren't confident enough to strike out on their own. Maybe they are intimidated and anxious about going on an organized tour. Maybe they aren't confident in their riding skills. They might even be worried about the average daily miles that could be required on a tour. Or they are new to riding and, because of their inexperience on the road, just don't feel like they are ready to strike out on a tour. Needless to say, it's not just new riders who are nervous about motorcycle touring. I've also met people who have had a motorcycle for years but have never been on a tour.

A tour can potentially be anything from a weekend overnight that's only a few miles away from home to a five-thousand-three-hundred–mile cross-country tour—or anything in between. I've done just about any kind of tour you can think of and considered anything with at least one night on the road real touring. It could also include overnights in a tent or the shower and comfy bed found inside a hotel room. A motorcycle tour is as different as the people who take them. The type of tour you take is up to you.

My wife, Sue, for example, rides her own bike and doesn't like daily mileage much over three hundred miles—fewer miles is even better. One of her favorite tours is a weekend ride to a little B&B we know of that's less than one hundred miles away. We will normally take the long way home because I like to feel we got a good ride in, but what a tour means to you could be very different from what a tour means to me.

Sometimes I'll pick a place that's a hundred or so miles away, and we'll ride to the motel, stay the night, and ride home the next day. It's fun to be on the bike and take what feels like a minivacation over a weekend.

When my friend Kelly and I go out (or when I'm touring alone), we're usually pushing more miles a day—sometimes six hundred, seven hundred, or more. The point of the adventure is to ride. We will sometimes stop to see the sights, but because the point is to ride and enjoy the view from the road, we seldom stop for long. Some of our friends, however, like to stop in the little towns we go through and wander around the shops or stop to have something to eat. Consequentially, I've been on trips where we push big miles and cover a lot of territory for those of us who like to tour like that, as well as shorter trips for those in our circle who don't want to rack up big miles or spend hours in the saddle but simply want to visit new places.

One trip down the Oregon Coast found us in the little town of Bandon, where we stayed for a couple of days. We road up and down the coast from our base camp there but spent most of our time wandering around the town and visiting the tourist shops and restaurants. We often wound up in one of our motel rooms at the end of the day to play games or just visit. It was a fun trip. Because that was the type of tour we were on, I wasn't chomping at the bit to just ride. I think Sue enjoyed just hanging out and spending time with friends in Bandon that trip.

One evening on that trip, one of the couples we were with was walking on the beach and stumbled upon a local fisherman pulling out his crab traps. He invited them to help him and his son with their supper. The point of that trip wasn't to rack up a lot of miles but rather to enjoy some time on the Oregon Coast. Helping harvest the crabs was something they wouldn't have experienced if all we had done was ride through town (although that would also be fun if that had been the type of tour we were on).

We had a great time and enjoyed every minute wandering around Bandon.

I've tried to think of all the things I've picked up over the years that you need to know,