Sunday mornin’ finds me sittin, drinkin coffee with mild apprehension about the longest ride to date on my ‘05 Shovelhead. There is a serious electrical issue that needs to be dealt with before I even consider this ride. Slowly a plan starts to materialize after runnin’ the electrical schematics through my head. I have already purchased a new coil, after experiencing a phantom ignition failure while riding last Monday. I was riding a large loop around the area, which took several hours. The bike died, then after sitting for ten or so minutes fired right up?

I walked out the house an sized my bike up, walked back inside an started grabbing tools. This was going to be a major once over for my skimpy assed aftermarket electrical system. Off with the gas tanks, battery and solenoid. I dug up three different solenoids the night before and came up with, what I believed was a good one, after looking the old unit over I came to the conclusion that it was fine.

The cap was solid an the plunger seemed to work fine. I took a deep breath and reinstalled it after cleaning the lugs. While I was in the neighborhood I swapped out my coil and shifted my attention to what I perceived as the scariest part of my sled, the circuit board. I purchased this set up, and I’m running it because I ain’t safe around anything electrical. I personally have watched many different wiring harnesses go up in smoke after I laid my greasy little fingers on them.

Well shit, it’s either me riding down the road or this thing shipped to the shop for the third time. This gaggle of wires has fended-off some of the best attempts, from semi-trained professionals. After pickin’ around at things for an hour or so the whole thing looked good, except for some very cheesy terminal disconnects made outta melted down beer cans. Off to my local Ace hardware store for two packs of 22-18 AWG disconnects, a very good set of adjustable wire strippers and a solid crimp tool. I know all you solder freaks are cleanin your coke bottle glasses an shakin your peanut heads at Mr. Crimp Man, but soldering has still eluded me even with Bandit’s double roach clip soldering tool that now sits with both roach clips soldered together.

After sorting out all my wires, crimpin’ new ends on them an hopefully putting them back in the correct terminals, it was time to throw the tanks an dash panel back on my ride. I reinstalled the battery, after I put new isolators on the battery box and last but not least, the seat. Everything went as smoothly as a stock 1980 FX could go. Wednesday night, it was make-or- break time.

I filled the tanks and primed the carb, held my breath and hit the button. Ah the sweet sound of an out-dated starter pushin’ all 88 inches over. I checked my watch and figured I had time for a test ride before catchin an AA meeting at the National Cathedral.

The ride ran well an the button was working fine. Got to the meeting and was getting some hairy looks from some of the upper crust, but what the hell. I just got paid, wasn’t drunk and was headed to the Smoke Out. A friend walked up and told me his Road King would shut of after it got hot. We walked over to my bike, and I showed him what I did recently. The last thing I did was grabbed the circuit breaker the attach it to my battery. I told him how they worked. After the meeting I walked over to my bike, Mr. Button start, hit the button an nadda? WTF? Back to the kicker dim-whit.

I lay in bed that night for a while running everything through my head when it hit me. The hot wire to the solenoid comes off of that breaker. Bingo, Crimp Man to the Rescue.

Thursday morning broke clean an clear. Packed what little shit I was bringin’. Strange thing about ownin’ an older obsolete motorcycle, you have the tendency to empty your whole toolbox into the soft bags? The funny thing is, you ain’t goin to find a shop around with the parts you need to make use of the tools. More on that topic later. After figurin out I needed more bungy straps and a last stop at the local Ace, I loaded up. Almost 10:30, rush hour in the city was over and I had double-checked everything four times. I was eager to head out, so it was time to roll. Hit the button, and the Shovel fired into a steady idle. Nice, looked up and down the street, all clear, clunked into first, eased out the clutch an I was gone.

Motorin through the city felt good, bike packed an gassed up, three quarts of 70wt. in the soft bags. As I eased through town I was getting the looks from the sorry assed stiffs in their imports, as they went about what the fuck ever they had to do. Yep, later assholes just don’t run me over today. I made my way down 35th St. to M St. an got the hell outta town via the Francis Scott Key bridge which will take me to Interstate 66 an straight to Front Royal Va.

Once on 66 I tried to just take it easy in the slow lane but the folks in their cages were shuffling all around me. I know the answer to this situation, and I pulled it off often, without the law hammering me, 85 in a 65. Out in the fast lane, blowin’ ‘em off. The bike seemed well balanced. No hi-speed wobbles just smooth Shovel power in the fast lane, where it needed to be. The added weight of my toolbox seemed to help sittin’ low. Just another long boring concrete slab ahead of me.

Front Royal was on me in no time, as I carved through around 75 miles, might as well gas up, due to the fact that this is were I picked up Skyline Drive. I pull into an Exxon an stopped away from the pumps. I’m in no hurry to get any where, so I figured I would knock off a soda and a smoke. I walked around my bike and notice that it’s leaving a very large puddle of some type of oil? Fuck me, 75 miles an this shit, down on all fours I try to determine if it’s trans fluid or motor oil? I look up at the “dip” stick and pull it. Sure enough down two quarts. Fuck now what? I push my sled over to the pumps and walked into the station, ask for a fill up and a paper funnel.

The lady at the counter tells me how nice my bike is and ask me where I’m goin? I tell here N.C. she gives me that look, and I walk out. I filled up the gas tanks an say fuck it as I pull two quarts of liquid gold outta the saddle bags. I figure that I ran 75 miles at 85 mph, so I’ll just ease up on the Ol’boy the rest of the way. I walk in to the station for my change and grabbed a soda, push the bike outta the way of the pumps an took five, while looking over the beast.

I purchased a Harley- Davidson Ride Atlas of North America. This guide has the best riding roads highlighted, and the route I planned to take happened to be one. It is listed by state alphabetically, so if you are riding through several states like myself, it was a little tricky at first. I found a rural route rolling me to the entrance of Sky Line Drive in Shenandoah National Park. The ride winds through the smallish town of Front Royal is easy an punctuated by traffic lights. I saw no lawmen as I rode through town. Three miles out of town I found my first destination, the entrance to Skyline Drive. I paid ten bucks to enter which is a seven-day pass, so it covered my return trip.

As soon as I entered the Park I ran into another world. I noticed the speed limit was 35mph, which started my brain calculating miles. After a while I just said fuck it, I was overwhelmed by the view. Fuck, who cares was my new out look.

The sights were simply mind blowin’ an after awhile you could care less, if all you had to do was ride along this road the rest of your life. I just settle into one turn after another, up hill, down hill, banked, off camber, it don’t matter any more. All that matters is settin’ up for the next curve an seein’ what was waitin’ around it.

I found myself tryin’ to look around and ride at 50 mph in a 35. I pushed the Super Glide to the edge, and I loved every second of it. As I motored along, I realized that I was spotting about ten bikes to every cage?

I believed I have found the motorcycle interstate of the east. This road was truly a biker’s playground, to think that it was built in the ‘30s under the guidance of President Roosevelt, freaks me out. The surface was well maintained an safe. There were plenty of places for cages to pull over an get outta the way, which is just what they do, to my amazement.

After awhile I just got into the ride and motor. The pics I have really don’t do this ride any justice. If you ever do anything on two wheels in your life do this stretch of roadway.

After two gas stops an payin 2.79 a gallon for Hi-Test, I rolled outta the Shenandoah just past Rockfish Gap elev. 1,900 ft. The elevation changes throughout this ride and will keep your ears poppin.

I gassed up again before enterin’ the George Washington National Forest an the Blue Ridge Parkway. I’m just pushin to Roanoke today so I pull out the map an figure that I am about half way there.

Shit I got time to burn. As I’m sittin’ looking at the map in the grass by a guard rail two dressers pull up and two road weary riders pile off of their bikes. We shot the shit, as I burn one; they sure have some strange accents? I ask ’em where their from and they said Ontario. “Far-out,” I replied. “Where ya’all headed?” The Dragon’s Tail was the response. I smiled, fire my bike up and they kinda look at me funny?

“What year is that? One asked me. I tell ’em it’s an ‘05 Shovelhead an pull off.

We play cat an mouse down the road. I was sleepin on the shoulder in the grass when they caught me again. Just eased up on me and kicked me in the foot. They had killed their motors and coasted down hill on me. Guess they figured I was broke down or dead.

I caught them at an overlook and buzzed ’em at about 60 mph. Good laugh for all, and that was the last I saw of ’em.

The elevations on this stretch ran from 649feet, at the James River, to 3950 feet at Terrapin Mt. The run to Roanoke was about 120 miles and was kickass. The speed limits on the BRP were 45mph, so the miles clicked-off somewhat slow. I rolled into town around 6 p.m. and snagged a room that sucked, but what the hell I’m on the road. I checked the oil and it was fine. A steak dinner at Applebee’s and I was done. Day one was sweet. Skyline Dr. was about 106-112 miles and the run down the Blue Ridge Parkway to Roanoke was another 120. Put on about 300 easy miles.

Friday arrived the same as Thursday, clean an clear. I ain’t big on eatin’ in the morning, but as bad as my room was, I cleaned out the Frosted Flakes at the continental breakfast. I drank about a gallon of coffee while waitin’ out the local rush hour. I headed back to my room and packed up, after checkin’ out various nuts an bolts on the sled. I was on the road by 10 a.m. I was headed to the Smoke Out-- Fuckin-A, some times life is good.

I was going to ride to highway 321 an get off at Blowing Rock, but I cut the planned route short, due to the fact that I had never ridden this route before. I ended up getting of at RT. 77, which is a trip to ride comin’ outta the mountains

The sights on the Parkway were spectacular as always an the day’s ride was a sad 90 miles to Rt. 77, which resembles Rt. 66. It is just another super slab that runs down hill with a posted 75 mph speed limit. I wasn’t happy to see the limit, with my case pressure acting up, an pushin’ oil outta the breather. After tryin to run 60-65 and getting passed by everything in sight, I said fuck to the wind, and let the big dog eat. The Shovel strolled at 90 and nobody slipped up behind me, ‘cause my breather dumped directly onto my final drive chain. This has a way of creating a 70 wt. rooster tail.

I rode to the magic 100 mile number and looked for a fuel stop. I found one and pulled off at the ramp. I eased up to the pumps an two folks were messin’ with an Ol’ ‘76 FLH. One of them was on a dual plugged 1200 Sportster that looked like a bad piece of equipment. No time for photo opps.. here. I had one hot motor that was down on oil. First thing I said was hey ya’all must be goin to the Smoke Out. It was happening; the closer I got to the event the more I ran into folks on the road to it. I offered help, and my traveling toolbox but was declined, so back to my own situation, gas an oil. I had one qt. of 70 wt. left an poured it in along with a fill-up of Hi-Test. I wiped the oil off the back of my bike and helmet, made a remark about sunscreen, hit the road.

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