Cool mileage

Riding a motorcycle in Northern Michigan during the month of November is neither for the ill-prepared nor the faint of heart. A body must be prepared both for an initial shock and, depending on circumstances, an endurance challenge.

A blast of 60-mile-an-hour cold wind, its chilly tendrils reaching into any part of a rider’s outfit that isn’t airtight, testing the layers underneath, tends to cause one’s face, neck and shoulders to tense up. Full-face helmets are the best remedy but I haven’t yet replaced one I left in the Pacific Northwest in 2008.

On a solo mission in early October this year, the cold crept up and took me by surprise. Attending a meeting in the southeast of our coverage area led to a return ride to home base after dark on one of the first nights the temperature sank below 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius). Consistent, unseasonably warm temperatures in the days and nights just prior had lulled me into overconfidence and I was without gloves.

Between pockets of colder air and the persistent engine vibration of the 1987 Sportster XL883, communicated through the bike’s handles without any textile damping, by the time the city lights shone ahead, my hands had lost all sensation and most motor functionality, making shifting and braking challenging.

One benefit of a V-twin engine is that it is sufficiently loud to drown out sounds of moaning and wailing.

But the real pain began after the engine was cut and feeling began to return. For over 20 minutes I restlessly paced the house while blood and warmth gradually awakened formerly deadened nerves, which then screamed a pain that echoed returning indoors after childhood sledding outings.

On another outing later in October, wearing work gloves, long underwear and a helmet with ear flaps, I used a bandana as a face covering for much of the ride. And as temperatures continue sinking into November, my use of snow pants this year will likely precede the snow itself. I never have owned riding chaps.

Keeping a motorcycle in the mix this late into the season helps with flexibility as our family juggles professional and domestic obligations. Plus the fuel economy is fantastic.

Deer are a major concern and as the season deepens, rogue patches of black ice. Perhaps more troublesome is my assistant becoming less and less eager to join me on my journalistic adventures — no matter how many people at fueling stations tell her she’s got a “cool dad.”