Osoyoos, BC

— This is the third day of a multi-day loop trip to British Columbia and northern California. —

I woke up just as the valley was getting light, but chose to go back to sleep. I kept my window open all night since my room had no air conditioning. The sound of the stiff breeze (wind?) and occasional rain outside didn't bother me at all. I awoke again at 6:00 am but chose to stay in bed; I never fell back asleep.

I was the only diner in The Local -- as the restaurant downstairs was called -- as I ate breakfast. My waitress had a British accent and was very curious about my travels. She was jealous when I mentioned my eventual destination of California.

The sky was slate gray and spit occasional rain drops while I loaded up my bike. I fueled up at the gas station behind the hotel and then set off, following Dick's directions. 15 miles outside of town it spontaneously changed its mind and told me to make a U-turn and head back to Pemberton. Once in town, 30 miles later, I decided to ignore the GPS for the time being and work my way back to the main highway the old fashioned way. Once I saw signs for Lillooet I knew I was on the right track. Dick agreed with me.

The rain began to come down fairly hard at this point. The road surface was broken and uneven, further slowing my pace. Eventually the road became a series of bumpy, narrow, tight switchbacks up into the rainy mist. The clouds and rain enveloped and concealed the mountains which I knew surrounded me. The road continued to climb, eventually cresting a pass at over 4,400 feet elevation. The rain never let up.

[caption id="attachment_828" align="alignright" width="300" caption="The road from Pemberton to Lillooet, BC"][/caption]

The scenery was rugged and remote, and other traffic was almost non-existent. I rode cautiously. Despite the foul weather, I was truly enjoying the experience. My impression of British Columbia so far was very favorable, comparing it to some of what Oregon and Washington have to offer, yet in a significantly more dramatic way.

The rough road and nasty, wet weather slowed my pace but the skies began to brighten just as the views became even more awe inspiring. The river gorges deepened and the mountains that surrounded them got taller and steeper. I stopped for a self-portrait, then continued onward. Soon I was descending into the dry and warm oasis of Lillooet.

Lillooet is a meteorological anomaly, getting sparse amounts of annual precipitation and unusually high temperatures compared to surrounding areas. The sun was shining and I quickly dried out by the time I rolled to a stop at an Esso station in town to fuel up. I used their facilities and wolfed down a candy bar, then answered the clerk's question, "Are you from this country?" It was an odd query considering she appeared to be from India or perhaps even Pakistan, based upon her appearance and accent.

I got back on the road and as I was leaving town I could see dark clouds ahead and the beginnings of rain on my face shield. I pulled over and put on my waterproof glove covers. Within thirty-seconds it began to rain. Lillooet said, "See you later!" with a wet send-off.

After reaching the northernmost part of my trip in Lillooet, I began to ride south through even more dramatic scenery and topography. It became immediately obvious why that route has green dots next to it on the map ("scenic route"). The road rose and fell along the eastern shore of the surging and roaring Fraser River. "Mighty" was the word that came to mind as I caught glimpses of it's seething torrent, roiling and the color of coffee with cream. I could see whole trees flowing with the swift current. Local news reports confirmed the Fraser was in an unusually high water event, the highest that late in the season since the 1920's.

I eventually reached the small town of Hope, where the Sylvester Stallone film, First Blood, was filmed, one of my favorite movies. I recognized a few parts of town but the rest was unfamiliar. I pulled into a busy gas station to fill up, then noticed a homey looking diner sharing the same lot. I parked my bike in front and went inside The River Cafe. Seating was scarce so I had to sit at a dirty table. My lunch of halibut fish and chips, along with a delicious mocha, was well worth the wait. I managed to get geared up and back on the road just in time before the rain returned.

I left Hope and caught Highway 3 eastbound. The road was four lanes as it took me past the Hope Slide, a massive land slide that killed four people. Now a view point marks the location. After cresting the pass the rain let up and I had a lot of riding under mostly sunny skies to dry me out. Passing through Manning Park, the road remained at fairly high elevation almost the entire route eastward. Bouts of showers still pestered me from time to time just to keep things interesting.

The road was wide and has fast sweepers but something odd happened every time I came upon some tight twisties. Whenever tight curves came up, I always got stuck behind a slow RV, car, or tractor trailer crawling along. As soon as things got straight again, I would have the road to myself. It was if some power in the universe was conspiring to keep me from getting sideways. Without ever being able to really carve it up, I found myself in Osoyoos and the end of the day's ride.

The sun was shining when I arrived and the temperature was the warmest of the entire trip so far. I fueled up, then crossed the street and checked into the Super 8 hotel. Cindy, the front desk clerk, was very welcoming and friendly. She had a very thick Canadian accent too, which I thought was odd considering the close proximity to the U.S. border.

I unloaded my gear and took a much needed shower. Upon Cindy's recommendation, I walked the five blocks down the main drag to Smitty's Family Restaurant for a dinner of veal parmesan, side salad, and Pellar Estates merlot, a local wine. I wore shorts and sandals and still felt a little warm. The walk back to the hotel was pleasant and it was good to get off of my ass and onto my feet.

Once back at my room I got some Loonies from the front desk and went to the guest laundry downstairs to wash a load of clothes. The rest of the trip should be dry, and will likely involve much warmer temperatures, so I wanted to make sure I had plenty of clean clothes for the duration. Riding in hot weather really stinks up your gear much faster than cold-weather riding.

North to British Columbia

— This is the second day of a multi-day loop trip to British Columbia and northern California. —

It was a very tiring day. It started by sleeping in, getting up at 7:10 am, which is unusual for me. I dressed, then went to Charlie's Diner next door for breakfast. If you’ve been to Enumclaw, Washington you know there aren’t a lot of dining options. The place smelled funny, like someone's basement, but the service was friendly and the food wasn't bad. When I walked back to my room I saw a guy wearing a BMW t-shirt, smoking a cigarette, standing near his red K1300GT with New York plates. Enumclaw is an odd location for him.

Back at my room, I packed up my stuff and was rolling out under cloudy skies and occasional rain drops at my usual 8:20 am. I decided to take secondary roads north to skirt around the morning commute on I-5 through the Seattle metro area. It probably took me the same amount of time either way as I was faced with slow speed limits, slow locals, and quite a few small towns with red lights. However, I got to see several small towns that I probably would never see otherwise so it was okay in the end.

Eventually I had to hit the freeway and I made good time as a result. With nearly 150 miles in the saddle, I needed a break. I pulled off into Bellingham and fueled up the bike and its pilot before making the last leg north to the border at Blaine. I waited about 15 minutes before taking my turn at the border. After a few cursory questions I was through and headed up to the Vancouver metro area. Then my GPS started to dick with me.

There really are no quick and direct ways to cross Vancouver going south to north. My GPS routed me on several surface streets and some major thoroughfares and they all seemed to be under construction. At one point I missed the onramp to Highway 1 so I decided to take a break and top off my gas tank. The temperature was warm enough to be uncomfortable but at least it wasn't raining and it was mid-day rather than rush hour. Several twists and turns later I eventually got onto the correct route and began to make my way north out of the city.

I still needed to find an ATM to get some Canadian currency, however. I pulled off the highway into the small village of Horseshoe Bay figuring an ATM would be easy to find. It was crawling with pedestrian traffic off the ferries and had construction mucking every outbound junction. I eventually found my way back onto the Sea-to-Sky Highway, although it required the use of an illegal turn. Don’t tell anyone.

The mountains provided occasional "Oh, wow!" views but the slower speed limits didn't impress me much. Fortunately Canadian drivers are fairly polite and tend to move over when passing lanes come up. The town of Squamish came my way and I took the opportunity to pull over, find a bank, and get a snack and warm beverage at a hopping Starbucks of all places. I drank my mocha outside while a Scandinavian family of five enjoyed theirs at the table next to me (I didn't understand a single word that came out of their blonde heads). When paying for my goodies, I automatically put my coin change in the tip jar, failing to realize two of them were Loonies. That meant a $3 tip for a $7 snack! I need to remember that in the future.

I got back onto the highway without any more hijinks from my GPS and soon rolled through the resort ski town of Whistler, home of the 2010 Winter Olympics. It has seen a lot of high end development and looked like a very spendy town to visit. The scenery was spectacular, and I wondered if a return visit during winter would be in the cards.

I had originally intended to spend the night at Nairn Falls Provincial Park in Pemberton, but as I passed by the entrance I quickly realized it was a few miles outside of town. I wanted to be able to walk to a restaurant for my evening and morning meals (I left my stove and mess kit at home) so I decided to ride into town and see what lodging options existed. I stopped on a side street and asked my GPS to show me what was available, and I picked the first place listed, the Pemberton Hotel.

[caption id="attachment_826" align="alignright" width="300" caption="This is the view out of my hotel window in Pemberton."][/caption]

The room was tiny, barely 9' x 9', but the price was right so I checked in. It took me several trips but I eventually managed to get everything off of my bike and into my tiny upstairs room. The restaurant downstairs had a bar in the back so I consumed a local Russell lager, then ate two tacos ("Taco Tuesday!") plus a green salad for dinner. I took a short walk around the block before finding a gift shop where I purchased some locally made jewelry as a gift for my wife.

Tomorrow will be the longest ride of the trip but the route is straightforward and doesn't involve any major urban areas. I have hope that my GPS -- now affectionately nicknamed "Dick" -- won't lead me astray as I pass through Hope, BC or my destination, Osoyoos, BC, but I'm not betting my life on it.

Enumclaw, where?

— This is the first post of a series, documenting a recent 11-day, 3,400 mile loop trip I took to British Columbia and northern California. —

I left the house at 8:28 am under mostly sunny skies and 58 degrees. The bike looked like it was loaded for bear, with a tall tank bag, 41 liter side cases, 46 liter top case, and my waterproof duffel bag and tent stacked on the pillion seat behind me. I had already filled up the gas tank the day before so I had my earphones in and my iPod set to play my "jazzed" playlist and off I went, up the mountain to Government Camp and around to Highway 35.

I had to stop at three different construction zones, the first governed by a carbon-based flagger and the other two by silicon-based automated traffic lights. I stopped in Hood River to top off my gas tank and grab a nutrition bar for a snack before paying a fifty-cent toll to cross a very squirrely metal-grated bridge over the Columbia River. The wind was blowing strongly from the west and wind surfers were taking advantage of it in increasing numbers. Fifteen miles later I left the windy SR-14 and turned northward to the small hamlet of Carson, Washington. The wind calmed and the trees got taller as I travelled north into the Gifford Pinchot National Forest, named after the first director of the U.S. Forest Service.

The goal was to ride Forest Service roads north between Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams to the small town of Randle, Washington. I checked the Washington Dept. of Transportation web site before I left to make sure the roads were all open. Unfortunately, I was stopped by a locked gate with the claim that the road beyond was blocked by snow. In the middle of July. I turned around and backtracked a few miles before heading west on NF-25 through the small community of Cougar and onward to Woodland, where I stopped at a Dairy Queen for a chicken sandwich.

The freeway had a posted speed of 70 mph so I made good time, but as I've mentioned before, my butt never hurts unless I'm riding in a straight line and this slab run north was no exception. I pulled off into a small town a mile east of the freeway to fuel up. As I was putting my tank bag back on a man walked up and asked me several questions about my V-Strom, specifically wanting to know about it's dual-sport capabilities.

After another 20 miles of increasingly crowded freeway traffic northbound, I took exit 127 and headed east another 20+ miles to the nondescript town of Enumclaw. I checked into my motel and unloaded my gear, called my wife to let her know I had arrived safely despite the detour, then took a nap. The motel was probably built in the late 60's and still used brass keys instead of the more common swipe card. The furnishings were adequate although the free Wi-Fi was non-existent.

Dinner was at the Crystal Bistro next door. It was half local-dive-bar and half sushi-joint. I sat on the sushi side as the five locals sitting at the bar reminded me of banjo music. I ordered vegetable tempura but the Japanese waiter (accent and everything) told me, "So sorry, no tempura today." I ordered gyozo (pot stickers) and a Sapporo instead, along with chicken parmesan from the regular menu.

He brought a bland and mediocre salad and my beer shortly after, followed by dry and probably previously-frozen pot stickers. The chicken parmesan was supposed to be served with marinara sauce but came on top of fettucini Alfredo instead. It was cooked perfectly but was far too filling.

Emerging from the restaurant and hoping tomorrow's breakfast at nearby Charlie's Diner was a better experience, I noticed rain drops on the parked car's windshields. The forecasts were inconsistent on the timing but they all agreed that there was a chance of showers within the next day or two. I guess they started early.

24-hour Bike Camping Trip

I had a 24-hour window of opportunity this past weekend to go for a quick bike camping trip. I loaded my gear on the V-Strom and set off by noon. The sun was shining and it was in the upper 60's, quickly climbing into the lower 70's. I fueled up in Estacada, then headed up the Clackamas River highway to Ripplebrook, where I continued east on NF58 past Harriett Lake. The road turned to gravel for about 10 miles before crossing the earthen dam at Timothy Lake's outlet.

I followed the road around the southern shore of Timothy Lake before hitting Skyline Road (NF42). It was a quick 8-mile jaunt to a brief run south on Highway 26 before continuing east onto NF43. This road connected to NF48, and soon was I zooming past Rock Creek Reservoir and hitting the long straight into the tiny community of Wamic.

I grabbed two snacks, ate one and saved the other for later that evening, then chatted with two guys from Hood River riding tall off-road bikes with large home-made sidecars as they stopped to fuel up. Soon I was backtracking to Rock Creek Reservoir where I followed some narrow forest service roads to a particular campsite within the Mt. Hood National Forest.

There was another group set up about 75 yards away, but despite smoke still coming out of the campfire, no one was home. I wanted to ask permission first before I made camp, just as a courtesy, but in their absence I made the decision to go ahead and set up anyway.

I soon had my tent erected and my gear stowed inside. I propped my bike up on its center stand, sat aboard, leaned back against my top case, and pondered the sky while listening to several different species of birds arguing about the various disposition of seeds in light of recent changes in the world economy.

Weary from the ride and mentally relaxed from contemplating the heavens, I retired into my nylon and aluminum structure, struck a face-down horizontal pose, and remained inert for over an hour. My slumber was disturbed by the return of my neighbors. I decided it was dinner time anyway so I emerged and began making dinner.

The freeze-dried beef stew was unappetizing but wasn't foul, either; it served its purpose. Once I got my mess kit cleaned up, I returned again to the comfort of my tent and pulled out my iPad to watch a movie. iPads are fantastic for travelers and I highly recommend them. You can watch a movie, read a book, play a game, compose a blog, etc. When you have Wi-Fi or 3G access you can plan a trip's route or check the weather forecast.

By this time it was getting dark so I brushed my teeth and prepared for bed. Just as the last hint of light was fading, I heard "Huff! Huff!" outside my tent. Thirty seconds later I heard it again. I figured it was a cow, although I had never seen any cow pies in that area. I wondered if it was an elk, as the noise was fairly loud and actually seemed pretty close by. I heard the creature stomp the ground twice, then walk around. It sounded as if it was close to my bike, parked about 20 feet away from the entrance to my tent.

I grabbed my small flashlight, unzipped my tent, and peered outside. I saw nothing. No bodies, no glowing eyes. I knew I had heard a large animal of some kind but couldn't find any physical evidence of it, so I zipped the tent back up and crawled back onto my sleeping bag for some iPad solitaire. Less than 5 minutes had gone by before I heard another "Huff!" accompanied by a large animal walking around close by. I grabbed a different flashlight, with a broader, brighter beam, unzipped the tent, and looked outside. Standing 20' away was a female deer. She was grazing on some grass on the edge of the creek and seemed completely unfazed by my sudden emergence from my tent.

I was getting annoyed by the interruption at this point so I began to make my own huffing noises back at the creature. She gave me a look bordering on contempt, then returned to her grazing. I grabbed a pine cone and threw it at her, but it wasn't very heavy and fell short. The deer remained unimpressed. I put my sandals on, stepped out of the tent completely, and began looking for a rock. The doe adopted more of a "Bring it, homeboy!" expression. The rock I found was at least as big as a grapefruit. I heaved it underhanded toward the doe. It struck the ground a few feet short, bounced up and smacked her in the rear flank. She leaped at least three feet straight up, then bounded a quarter of the way around my camp before heading into the woods up the hill and out of sight. That will teach her to mess with a top predator!

I brushed the dust off my hands, took off my sandals, and crawled back inside my tent. I put my iPad away, undressed, and crawled into my sleeping bag. Another five minutes went by before I heard two different deer walking around outside my tent. One even pawed at the corner of my tent fly, as if to say, "Oh, no you di'nt!" I decided to ignore them, treating them like I would a semi-crazy person trying to engage me in conversation about UFOs on a crowded subway train. Eventually they wandered off and I fell asleep.

The next morning I awoke at 5 AM, daylight beginning to filter through the trees. Although I normally get up around that time, I had no reason to this particular day and didn't want to disturb my neighbors (who had stayed awake quite late into the night playing music and even shooting guns). I allowed sleep to return and awoke again two hours later. The sun was hitting my tent broadsided and lit it up so bright I had to squint.

Once up, I made coffee and ate a granola bar as I took my time packing up. I refilled my water bottle with my Katadyn filter down at the creek, checked that everything was tied down on my bike, then mounted up. I rode back up the same gnarly, rocky, dirt road that brought me there, fortunately without any mishaps. Back on the pavement, I boogied back into Wamic where I had a more substantial breakfast at the Sportsman's Pub-n-Grub. The decor was nasty and the waitresses were friendly but slow. The food wasn't half bad, however. Fed, I mounted up again and headed west along NF48. I passed the spot where my wife and I had gotten stuck in a snow drift just a few weeks earlier, this time the pavement was dry and clear. At the junction with Highway 35 I was flagged down by one of six riders parked nearby. He spoke with an Australian accent and wanted to know if the road to Wamic was clear. I assured him he and his BMW-riding buddies could make the route just fine as I had just come from there. He thanked me with a smile, I wished him a "Shiny side up!", and I merged onto 35 and headed back over the mountain to home.

Take Him To Detroit!

On the third try in a month, the NF46 road from Ripplebrook to Breitenbush / Detroit is finally clear of snow. They even swept the tree debris! On Sunday I had a fantastic ride to Detroit and back, scraping my left peg on a hard hairpin just below the pass. My new Shinko 705 radial tires are fantastic, providing excellent grip on wet pavement and confidence-inspiring cornering with increased lean angles.

They posted speed limit signs from the pass south to Detroit varying between 40 and 45 mph, which is ridiculous. Those twisties are excellent and the road surface is in great shape.

Snow in June?

We left the house Friday afternoon and rode back into town before crossing the swollen Columbia River via the I-205 bridge and catching SR14 eastbound. My wife, Corina, hadn't been on my bike since last summer and our planned overnight trip to my sister's house outside Goldendale, Washington was a great way to get back into it.

The sun was shining and it was forecasted to be the warmest day of the year so far after what has been an unusually wet and cold Spring. We stopped at a gas station/market in North Bonneville for a snack break, then continued to Lyle where we turned north onto highway 142. Riding through the small community of Klickitat, we continued up out of the river valley and onto the breezy plain west of Goldendale.

We stopped at the 76 station in Goldendale for fuel and were joined by 10 guys on BMW and KTM adventure bikes. Fueled, we continued east on Bickelton Highway another 30 minutes before arriving at my sister's house.

The next morning, after a relaxing but far too short visit, we backtracked to Goldendale before heading south on 97 for ten miles, then SR14 west to Dallesport where we crossed back over the mighty Columbia. The water was roiling and turbulent in the spillway under The Dallesport Dam, letting out a massive volume of water every second.

We rode south on 197 into the tiny town of Tygh Valley before heading west toward another tiny town, Wamic. The only store and gas station in town was abuzz with locals celebrating the store's 25th anniversary as well as a large group of off-road motorcyclists. They were fueling up during a large rally organized out of Hood River.

Rolling through town, we cut off into the woods at Rock Creek Reservoir. Our destination was an unmarked campsight used during deer hunting. The rough gravel road was rutted and washed out in several places and interspersed with many large mud puddles. After a little slipping and sliding, we made it to the campsite. Off the bike, we explored the trees surrounding the camp, looking for a cross we mounted to memorialize Corina's father who had passed away two years prior. We were pleased to see the cross was still there, no worse off despite the passage of both time and weather.

We mounted up and headed back up the gnarly road and made our way back to the highway westbound. Our intention was to ride NF48 to where it linked up with Highway 35 next to White River. About a mile shy of the junction we came to a large patch of snow across the road.

There were tire tracks and ruts crossing it and the snow didn't look overly deep, so Corina dismounted and let me ride forward. Within 30 feet into the snow the bike stopped. The snow was nearly 2 feet deep and the bike high-centered on the skid plate, reducing weight and therefore traction on the rear tire.

We rocked the bike side to side to create more space, then dug at the snow with sticks and our hands. The temperature was easily into the 70's and combined with the elevation we were both sweating and breathing hard, seemingly without progress despite the intense effort.

Corina got behind the bike and pushed while I worked the throttle and pushed with both my legs. After a great amount of effort and straining, the bike inched forward about 4 feet before getting stuck again. We had at least another fifty feet of snow drift to cross and we began to wonder of it would be possible. We could see another snow drift just like this one waiting for us 100 yards ahead.

With more digging, pushing, heaving, grunting, and groaning, the bike moved slowly forward. We made it through and parked the bike on bare pavement, then took a break to catch our breath. After a brief respite, we rode on to the next drift. Approaching it, our hearts sank. We could see that this drift was even deeper and had no tire tracks through it. Whoever had driven their four-wheel drive vehicle through the first drift had turned around and gone back before attempting to cross the next. Within a mile of a snow-free highway 35, we knew we had to go back across the snow drift that took us an hour to cross the first time.

Corina got off and walked while I slowly rolled ahead to the snow drift. I hoped that the rut we worked so hard to cross would be easier to traverse. With a lump in my throat, I gave the bike some gas and entered the snow drift. Halfway across the bike stopped. I killed the engine, then began rocking the bike side to side. The rut was deep enough that the bike was being pinched on the sides, effectively reducing the weight on the back tire and therefore reducing traction. I wondered if attempting to ride across a section without ruts would have been more effective, but the bike probably would have just sunk into the deep snow and stopped.

As Corina approached the back of the drift, my effort to clear lateral space around the bike and my pushing forward with my legs while working the throttle was just effective enough to help me inch forward. With a loud "Whoo hoo!" I got purchase on the widened rut we dug out on our way through the first time and emerged triumphantly onto bare pavement.

Stopping, I put the bike on it's side stand and located a small stick to scrape off the snow embedded into every cavity on the bike's underside. Corina caught up to me and we smiled, still out of breath. We chugged some water, then noticed three off-road bikes from the rally group riding up the road toward us. We waved them to a stop and warned them of the struggle we had just gone through. Even though their tall bikes with aggressive knobby tires would have no doubt had better luck crossing the snow, they decided caution was the better approach and turned around and headed back the way they came.

The guys said they would try to ride NF43 and connect with Highway 26. Corina and I discussed that route, but I had run into snow on that route in previous years so we decided we would ride all the way back to Wamic, gas up the bike and grab a snack, then backtrack to Tygh Valley where we would continue south on 197 to highway 216. It was a longer way home but we knew that the entire route would be plowed and snow free.

I had just switched from a set of Bridgestone Battle Wing 90/10 tires over to a more 75/25 oriented tire, the Shinko 705. Considering the depth of the snow and the mud and gravel I had ridden so far, the Shinko's had done a decent job. They also perform great on the pavement, cornering very capably.

Back in Wamic, the gas station/store was hopping with off-road rally riders and anniversary celebrants. We struck up a conversation with Sam Cobb, the owner of a small tavern in Tygh Valley, who was present to celebrate the store's anniversary. Fed and fueled, we said our goodbyes, then worked our way back home.

The original route should have been about 160 miles and lasted only four hours. Instead, we rode well over 250 miles and got home four hours later than intended. It was an adventure and we pulled through it together, no worse for the experience. Having a folding shovel on board would have been helpful, but using the most important tool of all - our brains - would have been far more effective. Even if you can see the other side of a snow drift, it can easily be too deep for a motorcycle to cross. Mud puddles are the same way; you can't tell how deep they are just by looking at them.

The funny thing is, when I woke up the next morning, I felt like getting back on the bike and heading right back up into the mountains for another go.

Fixing flats and Shinko 705's

Back in September of 2010 when I was in Frenchglen, Oregon I picked up a fencing nail in my rear tire. I was able to fix the flat using a plugged tool and my DC powered air compressor. The tire -- a Bridgestone Battle Wing -- held air until today.

When I went into the garage to ride to work, the tire was flat. I fired up my air compressor, added some air, and headed into work. The day before I had dropped off a new set of Shinko 705 tires at Yamaha Sports Plaza in Fairview -- my go-to service shop. All I had to do was ride there after work to get the new tires mounted. Except my rear tire had no air in it, again.

I pulled out my 12v DC air compressor and began filling the tire up. It took a while, mostly because the leak was still active. Hsssssss. I acted quick, suiting up and jetting over to the shop. I made it safely and an hour later my bike had new shoes.

The Shinko 705's are more of a 75/25 tire whereas up to now I have been running tires biased more toward street riding -- 90/10's. My first impression was dramatic. The Shinko's feel slippery and squirrely on pavement and I notice a distinct tread vibration at slower speeds. Everything I read about them says I'll get used to their behavior, but initially there will no doubt be an adjustment period. I'll post a formal review after I've got some miles clocked on them.

[Update 6/7/2011] I've put several hundred miles on the Shinko 705's and really like them. They provide better grip on non-paved surfaces and corner very well in both wet and dry conditions. They are a great value.