Guest post by Mrs. Subjective I saw husband tracksIn the snow the other day,Leading down a pathFor his own getaway. Those tracks of hisThey show me his grit;Being willing to ride in snowIs a whole other kind of lit. Preparing his bikeTakes work (and I’m sure some fun too),From siping tiresTo finding his groove. He said to me once,“The snow has to be just right.Better to have snow on the groundThan none in my sight.” He’s true to his motto —Ride to Work or work to ride,These words to whichHe will forever abide. The Suzuki Van Van,It’s his favorite winter bikeWith big, wide tiresThat’s what he likes. All bundled up,Facing the winter wind,His helmet secureAnd, I’m sure, quite a grin. Do I worry? Do I fear?Oh yes, but just a little bit,For I know he is clothed withThe best gear one can get. American-made —A Roadcrafter Aerostich!Equipment for ridersStraight from their pitch. His one-piece zip-in suitWith padding galoreGuarantees him the chance to rideMore and more… and more. Now you might think this is an ad,But no — I’m just a little savvyTo include a renditionOf my husband’s Duluth company. Although I must sayTheir products are quite stellar;Many a hideThey’ve saved from the gutter. But now back to the storyOf seeing husband tracks —I knew that since he left,He must also come back. It was nearing dinner timeWhen my belly cried out,So I texted him these words:“How about some takeout?” Pizza? Sure thing.So I put the order in.Away on his Van VanHe rode with a grin. It wasn’t the first timeHe managed a pizza on his bike,But this time aroundIt was quite a different sight. Opening the boxWas quite the surprise —Our perfect pepperoni pieSlid in that two-point-four-mile ride. Cheese off the slice,Pepperonis scattered about,I gave a little gaspAnd then laughed out loud. The way I look at it is this:If riding makes him smile,He should keep on keeping onmile after mile. If the only casualtyIs cheese off the slice,Well, I think that’s a win —’Cause it still tastes pretty nice. So get out and ride!Leave your tracks wherever you go,Whether you decide to rideIn rain, sleet, sun… or God forbid, snow.

An essay by Mrs. Subjective… Last week was the first time I rode on the back of a motorcycle in more than ten years. It was the first time I rode with my husband, Aerostich’s “Mr. Subjective”, whose life revolves around the activity, or what he would call ‘a social good’. In my years of knowing him, he has talked more about motorcycling and the benefits of motorcycling than anything else. The first time he launched into a monologue about it, I thought he was a bit off, even a little weird. Who was this guy, so passionate about motorcycling? I already knew he was a philosopher. That is one of the main attributes that drew me to him. But I didn’t understand his drive (pun intended). I was intrigued. Throughout the years, I have heard him talk about these beneficial factors to countless people; friends and family, strangers, and more. And he’ll talk about it anywhere. At a dinner party. On the airplane. Even at our wedding. So when we headed up HWY 61 in Duluth the other day, I knew that I was in good hands. But I was still a little scared. It had been so long since I had been on a bike and even though I have my motorcycle license, and owned my own motorcycle once, I hadn’t ridden in ten years. And I forgot. During our ride, I was surprised how quickly I went from feeling scared to feeling alive, calm, and more in tune with the present moment. It dawned on me that I had forgotten so many things about motorcycling that I liked, the ones that drew me to get my own license eleven years ago. I forgot what it felt like to see the world from a new perspective, one without windows intercepting my vision. I forgot what it felt like to notice things on the streets I have driven down countless of times. Mouldings on buildings. A lady sitting on her front porch step smoking a cigarette. The child learning how to ride a bicycle. I forgot what it felt like to feel the wind push against my body. I forgot what it felt like to fly. I smelled the fresh spring flowers and the fresh spring rain which had just come down earlier that day. So much freshness is not something you encounter when sealed in your car. I connected. I smiled at people. The elderly couple at the stop light next to us. I waved. She waved. And gave me a little grin. And the younger couple at the stop light on the way home. They smiled and looked at us a little quizzically. I even stuck my hand down to wave at another biker as we passed in opposite directions. I also connected with my husband. Feeling my body press against his. His left hand patting my left leg, letting me know he was thinking of me. I tasted.I tasted freedom. And the fresh Lake Superior windblown air. I heard.I heard the sound of the bike rumbling against the pavement. I heard the birds chirping in the trees. I heard the wind as it brushed against my helmet. At one point he said, “We’re whimsical”.I liked that. I forgot all of these things. And that short ride up HWY 61 reminded me and solidified everything he’s been telling me about riding since I met him; motorcycling is a human and a social good. It brings us closer to others. It gives us better awareness of our surroundings. It helps one to see more details and to be aware at all times. It makes us better all-around citizens and car drivers. How one can connect with others, and oneself, easier. And how motorcycling can bring one to the present moment, experiencing all of the senses at once, in a new, and transformative way. All of these attributes make me a better car driver. I am now even more aware of those around me, looking out for others who are not in cars; motorcyclists, bikers, walkers, etc. Motorcycling is a solo activity, one which connects one to others in a profound way. I don’t love motorcycling the way Mr. Subjective does. I probably never will. But I have tasted a new sense of freedom within and I want more of it. It’s been five days since we first took that ride together. And three of those days, I’ve asked him to take me again. I have drunk the Kool-Aid. There’s no going back and I’m a better person for it.

(Wish You Were Here) By Guest Blogger Rand Rasmussen It is perfectly okay to not love the prairie. But anyone who thinks there is nothing to see there, simply does not know how (or where) to look. This is a minute-by-minute recounting of an evening’s ride I took in 2015 on my 250,000-mile, 1983 R-65. I ride west on I-94 into a blinding late-summer evening sun. Even with my sun visor down the sun bores mercilessly into my eyes--dimming the road ahead. I ride along, shading my eyes with my left hand as my right hand manages the throttle. It is cool for August in North Dakota–perhaps 65 or so degrees. But then, there are always one or two of these early, cool days each August as though autumn feels compelled to remind me that its time is soon coming. I have on my electric jacket liner and my gloves. Neither are heating at this point, but both will be before I get home. Only minutes ago, I was in the Fargo/Moorhead/Dilworth/West Fargo 'metroplex'. With a population of 250,000, it is the biggest metro area in or near North Dakota, but the FM area, as it is commonly known, is too small to have the seemingly endless suburbs which ring larger cities. Thus, getting out of town–in any direction–takes minutes alone. I hop off the freeway at the first rural exit which is fewer than 10 miles out from downtown Fargo then take the bridge back over the freeway and turn right onto the paved frontage road which parallels the south side of eastbound I-94, poking along at 55 to 60. Frontage roads are made for slower speeds, not for blazing along like fighter jet. Just an hour ago I was in a psychologist's office taking a psychological exam required by a position to which I was applying. Now, out here, the toughest decision I have to make is whether or not to turn on my heated jacket-liner and gloves. I come to an intersection and turn south toward Durbin; now a literal ghost town, but years ago it was the hometown of my next-door neighbor Lee. South is a welcome direction to be riding at 7:30 on a sunny evening. This is an old, rough, county road with patched pavement and deep grooves worn into the lanes–and I love it for exactly those things. My shadow is projected on the front rows of a very healthy-looking cornfield. Except for some severe weather, this has been an ideal growing season in North Dakota with virtually every crop projected to bump. I can see Durbin, or what's left of it anyway, from more than five miles out. Distance on the prairie is a different commodity than it is elsewhere. (I remember once driving a visitor, who was from Upstate New York, from Fargo to Crookston, Minnesota. On one stretch I pointed out a small white church in the distance ahead. I asked how far away he thought it was. "Oh, man," he said, studying the distance. "That's gotta be two or three miles." "Six," I told him. He just shook his head and chuckled. "I can't get used to these distances.") I turn left and swing through Durbin and do not see another person nor anything to suggest that a single soul remains here, save for a homemade sign in a yard that reads, "No Trespassing: If you can read this you are in range!" I briefly contemplate whether they would ever find my body out here. Of the four directions out of Durbin, three are gravel. The only exception is north–the direction from which I came. I am not inclined to retrace my steps just to avoid a little gravel, so I head west on an unidentified gravel road. In dry weather, most gravel roads in North Dakota are a rider's dream, even on a road bike. There are almost always two hard-packed tracks which allow a rider to travel at pretty much whatever speed he or she chooses. Good thing, too, because riding into the blinding sun again would be a risky thing indeed in deep gravel or sand. Right at a nice, neat farmstead with a traditional white farmhouse and a barn with a new red metal roof, and the road eases to the south then back to the west again. On a small wood-plank bridge, I cross over an unmarked creek about eight feet wide and maybe two feet deep. Along its banks are thick stands of cattails and rushes. In a wet year, like this one, the prairie is veined with little creeks just like this one. I approach State Highway 18 with mixed emotions. The pavement will be easier on which to ride, certainly, and I will again be riding perpendicular to the sun which is a relief of sorts. Unfortunately, the likelihood of making a new discovery, of seeing something I have never seen before drops significantly on more traveled roads. I turn south on 18 and wind my way back up through the gears. I raise the internal sun visor in my helmet and relish the optical sensation of looking through one less layer of plastic. The fields alternate between cropland and pastureland covered with herds of healthy-looking cattle of all colors and breeds, grazing contentedly. Lots of corn and lots of alfalfa. Many of the farms still have traditional windmills, some still working and some not. I love the way they look against the evening sky. Out here, the world has a scent of its own. It smells of earth and newly mown green things and of nothing human-made. It looks different too. The sky dominates the entire view. In his classic work Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig compares the prairie sky to a giant, inverted bowl; it is a commonly used simile. I understand the comparison, but personally it has never worked for me. Something about the bowl analogy suggests limits to me, while the deep blue sky out here is beyond limitation. Put any kind of a frame around it, metaphoric or actual, and it disappears completely. The sun has begun its slow, diagonal fall toward the western horizon. Riding south, it is hitting me from the right rear. The deep, deep blue color of the day is changing to the blue-green sky of the coming dusk. Wispy clouds are lighted orange to complete the sky. When I ride on North Dakota prairie evenings I know why the Miami Dolphins chose the colors they did for their uniforms. My motor hums quietly between my feet. The ever-cooling breeze seeps into my helmet. The dashed yellow centerline flickers rhythmically beneath my left elbow. All of my senses seem to be heightened and relaxation is complete. I feel as though I want this ride to go on forever. At Highway 46, 18 jags east for five miles before returning to its southern trajectory. A small, white country church sits at this corner. Ahead, I can see hills and lots of green breaking-up the vanishing-point horizon. On the prairie that means water. I slow down to read a road sign indicating that the Barrie Congregational Church lies just a half-mile down a gravel road to my left. A 100-year-old church is plenty reason for a detour, so I turn left toward a thick copse of trees. The gravel is in good shape–dry and hard-packed. The road hooks sharply right past a little secluded farmstead replete with horses grazing peaceably on a small, tree-enclosed pasture. In only another second or two, I come across the smallish white church on the right side of the road. I can't tell if it is still active or not. On the one hand, there is no sign out front indicating a pastor's name or scheduled events. On the other hand, the building does not look abandoned; it is in far too good shape for that. Just across the gravel road, on my immediate left, I can see the Sheyenne River down through the trees; altogether a quite pleasant setting. I continue south on the remote gravel road for a hundred meters or so as the sky ahead appears to lighten. The road turns sharply left again…and suddenly, unexpectedly, there is open sky. I find myself at a rusty girder bridge, perhaps 15 meters long and maybe 5 meters wide, over the Sheyenne River. I stop for a moment and sit there on the quietly idling machine and take it all in. Given the style and the materials used, the bridge is clearly decades and decades old; maybe a WPA (Works Progress Administration) project from the 30s--perhaps even older than that. Maybe it was constructed at the same time as was the church--a hundred or more years ago. I ease out the clutch and move quietly out onto the bridge deck, feeling the ancient, gnarled and split 3 x 12s moving and creaking beneath me. I shut off my engine and am immediately rewarded by the symphony of tings and ticks and dings a BMW air-cooled motor makes when it is shut off in cool air. There are no other sounds save for the barely audible lapping sound of the north-flowing Sheyenne moving past the bridge pilings which I can see through the spaces between the deck boards. I dismount and walk the bike in a left-bearing half-circle so it will be correctly oriented for when I leave, and I deploy the sidestand. I walk over to the rail. The river is maybe ten meters down, plodding northward on its ponderous journey at three or four mph. The Sheyenne River in eastern North Dakota, is not one of your "Coors, clear flowing mountain streams." Like most rivers in this part of the state, it is a silty brown color; but at least the color derives from suspended solids and not from industrial pollution. Still, there is a certain beauty in any river or creek wandering peacefully alone through the woods, the color of the water notwithstanding. I can see in the mud banks near the water the tracks of many different animals from birds to raccoon to deer. Just off to my right I can see what is clearly a beaver, muskrat, or otter slide, going down the steep bank and ending in the water. As I lean on the rusted, dented angle-iron rail, I begin to study the bridge itself. I love girder bridges in general and this one is especially interesting. It is constructed mainly of angle-iron, held together with hot-hammered rivets and square-head bolts and nuts. I suppose those features would allow a bridge historian to narrow down its date of construction. It does no more for me than to confirm its obviously advanced age; indeed, it need do no more. I imagine its builders, decades ago, suspended over this very river in harnesses and bosun's slings driving and flattening those rivets–the very same rivets which I now touch with my fingers–and tightening those old square-head bolts. Touching the bridge connects me viscerally to the past in the pleasantest way. The folk singer, John McCutcheon, calls it "Water from Another Time." I look back at my beloved R-65, leaning over slightly, its side-stand braced against the uneven wood of the bridge deck. It looks particularly at home on this old bridge in this natural setting, as though it were intended by its design engineers to take me to places just like this. Maybe it was. The dark is slowly engulfing the land. It is darker here in these woods than it will be back out on the prairie, but it is still time to move on. Reluctantly, I reapply my ear plugs and helmet. The last thing I do before I fire the motor is to plug back into my heat. I have a feeling I will need it soon. I throw a leg over the saddle, take one final look around, and regretfully turn the key and hit the starter. I trail slowly off the bridge using only the idle of the motor for power. I hang a hard right then a hard left and I leave behind the trees attending the Sheyenne. As I get back to 18, I stop for a moment to memorize the setting. This is a place to which I will want to return–perhaps with my banjo–and I want to make sure I do not lose it. I judge from the remaining light that I will have enough time to turn southward once more until the next east-west blacktop road appears. At that point I will turn left and make for I-29 and the fast burn home. I turn left into Highway 18 south. The trees last for another couple of miles before I climb out of the shallow river valley and back up onto the plains. It feels good to once again be in the open country. Some of the fields are crowded with large, golden, round straw bales made from bailing wheat and oat stems, while others are crowded with large, light-green, round bales of alfalfa for winter cattle feed. I stop at the juncture of County Road 4 and turn on my jacket and gloves for the first time. I turn left on 4 toward Colfax. My attention is immediately drawn to a beautiful giant cottonwood tree in the middle of a field, dark green against the wheat stubble and the skyline. In woodier country, such a tree would probably go unnoticed against a background of other trees, but out here single trees draw one's attention like a beacon. On familiar rides, there are individual trees which have become like friends to me, so familiar have they become. I once asked a family farmer why farmers would leave a tree, which must be plowed around and which takes up valuable crop space, in the middle of a field. "Oh," he said, "I've heard a lot of reasons offered from 'It's a good place to pile rocks' to 'It helps break the wind.' But I think most of us leave the trees just because we like trees and don't want to cut down a healthy one." I sure liked that answer. I get to Colfax and continue-on through town for two more miles to the entrance ramp of I-29. I burn down the acceleration ramp at full throttle, taking each gear almost up to soft redline before I shift and begin my race with the night to see which of us will get to Fargo first. The sun is down now, but there is still light lingering in the western sky. The wispy clouds of earlier have gone from a soft, back-lit orange to blurred watercolor brush strokes of dark grey as I bear due north at 85mph. I turn my electrics up a little bit. In deep dusk, I come to 52nd Avenue, which sort of demarks the southern end of the FM metro. I drop my speed to 60. A couple of miles later, I pass 32nd Avenue which used to demark the southern end of the metro. Next up is the I-94/I-29 interchange known as "the tri-level." In another three miles, I exit right on 19th Avenue. As I pass Hector International Airport, I am rewarded with a jet passing a few dozen meters directly over my head on its final landing approach. Ten seconds later I see the puff of smoke as the tires spool up to speed on the runway. A couple of traffic lights and stop signs later I pull into my own yard. I have traveled 112 miles tonight. It has been an evening of peacemaking with myself; of releasing tensions, discovering new places, and wringing one more bit of pleasure out of my riding season. How was your evening?

By Guest Blogger Margie Siegal It's blazingly hot on the road. I pull into a rest stop, enter the ladies room, strip down to my sport bra and rinse my cotton T shirt out in the sink. The other women in the room either smile at me or are involved in their own pursuits. The T shirt goes back on over the sport bra and the Aerostich goes over the T shirt, with all the vents opened. One woman starts asking me how I stay cool on such a hot day with all the protective gear on. I explain that air goes through the vents and evaporates the water in the T-shirt producing a form of air conditioning. She comments, “I knew you were an OK person because you were so into safety.” Girls have pounded into them very early on that it is vitally important to look good, no matter what the occasion. When the girl grows up and decides to ride a motorcycle, this training can get in the way of picking appropriate gear. “Looking good” has very little to do with comfort or safety. Designers of women-specific motorcycle gear go through contortions trying to make bike wear both fashion forwards and appropriate for the rigors of motorcycle riding. Most of the time, the perceived requirement to have the gear be fashionable trumps waterproofness, appropriate padding, storage capacity and abrasion resistance. Then there is the Aerostich – which doesn't even try to be fashionable or trendy. The sheer utilitarian -ness of the garment bothers some people. You might even call it anti-fashion. Once I let go of the need to look good in the fashion of the moment, I found an Aerostich to be very useful in many different ways. I do a lot of traveling by myself and the Aerostich serves multiple roles. On the bike, it keeps me warm, dry, and protected from the wind. The reflective tape and bright colors help me be seen by distracted car drivers. Off the bike, it keeps me warm on cold nights. It also serves as an ambassador to non-riders. Suited up, I look like an alien- silver full face helmet, sunglasses, Aerostich, boots. I often play this up. “Take me to your leader.” Non-riders see the alien act as either as cute or amusing. I feel that both reactions are positive: the last thing I need is being seen as a threat. The locals tend to react badly to threats, and there are more of them than me. Like many women, I am concerned about personal safety. Unlike many women, I go out on the road anyway. However, I feel safer looking androgynous and somewhat nerdy in my Aerostich. Other non-riders – like the woman at the rest stop – see the Aerostich as a sign that I am into safety and therefore a person that she can relate to – maybe eccentric, but a human like herself. Many non-riders do not feel that a motorcyclist is someone “normal” people can relate to. To many of these folks, “motorcyclist” equals “Hells Angel.” This is not a good perception if you want to get along, even if only for an evening, in a small town. If you don't think that a significant minority of non-riders think this way, I respectfully disagree with you. A while back, I walked into a small town motel and asked for a room for the night. The clerk (female) asked several times if I was by myself. I thought this was odd, but I was tired and this was the only decent motel in several miles. About a half hour later, I was outside my room checking the oil level and lubing the chain when the clerk turned up, very apologetic. She had thought I was the advance guard for a thundering herd of greasy outlaws!

Is there a Perfect Combo for the TAT? DarienLight Jacket & AD1 Light Pant Review By Luke Boldman, Founder / President of Wild Road Early in fall 2017, my wife (she’s a keeper) suggested we both ride the TAT (Trans-America Trail) on our small displacement dual sports during August & September 2018, and, twist my arm, it was time to start wrenchin’ on bikes and planning our gear purchases!  As an ATGATT (All The Gear All The Time) kind of rider, picking out the right protective gear for our TAT trip was crucial, but it presented a Goldilocks syndrome of sorts due in large part to the varied climate, trail, and geographic conditions we’d face along the way.  Riding/commuting on ADV and sport bikes in Colorado where we live, I naturally had a sexy black ballistic adventure jacket (built by some great folks who also make snowmobile gear), various leather jackets both purchased and handed down to me over the years, and a couple ballistic mesh jackets from when I used to live and ride year round in Hades-like environs of AZ…but in my mind they were either too hot, too heavy, not protective enough, not breathable enough, too flimsy or too bulky for our “nimble” dual sport ride on overloaded 350s in search of TAT nirvana.  I just felt like I didn’t have that Goldilocks combo…. Enter Aerostich, which in my mind has always been the moto enthusiast’s benchmark for riding gear, yet I never had any of their big-ticket items. Bingo! Time to buy. I reached out to the Aerostich team for their input and sizing suggestions and soon found myself a proud new owner of the DarienLight Jacket and AD1 Light pants.  I purchased in lighter colors to keep the heat off, Tan for the jacket and Grey for the pants…and good thing too, the MS, AR, OK, NM, and southern CO portion of the TAT were brutal under the hot sun and excessive UV; Black colors from any brand would have killed me. I’m 5’8”, 155lbs and the sz 40 jacket and 32/Reg pants worked great out of the box, and as a side note, I did not take advantage of any of Aerostich’s custom sizing options. First thing noticed on the gear was the fabric weight and drape; by not utilizing heavy ballistic nylons, the “feel and wear” of the 200d HT Nylon that Aerostich uses was just right, not too heavy and not too light.  As a product designer by profession in the outdoor industry (think camping gear, backpacking gear, travel luggage, etc.), I use 200d high tenacity (HT) nylon all the time for lightweight yet durable backpacks, so I was quite familiar with its material properties, but I must say that Aerostich’s version seemed more robust and thought out for motorcycle applications, perhaps a higher thread count and the Gore-Tex laminate provided that extra oompf factor.  Bottom line, it felt every bit comparable in quality and perceived protection factor as any of my heavier weight Cordura and ballistic gear. Maybe not for track day or running from the law, but suitable for commuting, touring, and ADV travel. Also, I went in for the TF5 Armor upgrade for both jacket and pants and there were no issues there (“used” the armor many times on the trail), although I did opt for a Revit backpanel for a little bit more “implied” airflow and lower cost savings vs the TF5 backpanel (Sorry Mr. Goldfine, but the TAT can get expensive!). As expected, the new gear was stiff out of the box, but daily commuting seemed to make quick work of the break-in process of around 2-3 weeks. And what fun the commute was… despite riding for 25 years, I finally felt like part of the team in my new ‘Stich gear; like I knew something others didn’t.  For better or for worse, materialism, clique-ishness and a healthy interest in the supremely functional will do that to you, and that’s just what the Aerostich gear is: supremely functional, enjoyably cultish, and due to the made in USA quality, proudly materialistic.  This gear is built to last and I think something needs to be said about the timelessness of Aerostich gear, it just looks right on the bike which is a good thing because these are heirloom pieces, you’ll have them for a while. Trends come and go, Aerostich keeps on rolling. But back to the ‘Stich gear… Living in Colorado at 8k feet, even in the summer there’s really no need to worry about temperature control up in the mountains, unless of course that means avoiding the cold!  Some version of winter up here seems to last 7-8 months, so actually for cold weather riding, I’d say the DarienLight jacket is great provided you layer up…I have an old Kanetsu vest and TLTec Soft Shell and they both make for great combos with the Darien jacket.  Perhaps most importantly, it can be 25F during the twenty-mile morning commute and 75F+ in the afternoon, and the Darien has not failed me in those conditions, it’s very versatile for colder weather riding. But relative to TAT riding, I was more concerned about hot/humid conditions which is why I chose the Darien/AD1 combo to begin with…and let me tell you, nothing prepared me for what we encountered weather wise. We started in WV and rode thru the Appalachians for the first 10 days or so. Prior to the trip, my wife asked me what to pack and I scoffed at cold weather gear; we would be riding in the South during August…t-shirts and shorts underneath and our motorcycle gear on top would be fine.  Boy was I wrong….8 straight days of rain, 45F-55F in the Blue Ridge mountains, and then intense 95F+ heat and humidity out in the valleys and rice paddies of Mississippi. Being on 350s and not having a whole lot of room or horsepower to overload the bike, I did not pack a rain suit or bring along my TLTec/Kanetsu accessory wear.  Due to Aerostich’s superb Gore-Tex laminate application, rain was no issue for the jacket and pants and I never once got soaked inside, despite snorkel like conditions in the Smoky Mountains and plains of Tennessee. I was beyond pleased at my choice for not bringing along additional rain gear...more room for camp chairs and tequila (I guess I overloaded the bike after all).  I would, however, in the future bring along more long sleeve layer options for underneath, but that’s no fault of the DarienLight or AD1, just the fault of my own ignorance, arrogance and Charlie Brown lifestyle…always a perfect combo for long range motorcycle trips. Which leads me back to the Goldilocks decision in purchasing the AD1 Light pants and the DarienLight Jacket.  I was critical about comfort in 100F / 90%+ humidity in the deep south coupled with volatile, colder weather in the Rocky Mountains of which I’m all too familiar.  My early spring commutes up at 8k ft already proved that the Darien/AD1 combo would be great in the colder, more quickly changing weather we have here in CO, but I hadn’t any faith in a one suit-fits-all mentality for when it’s a 105F and high humidity at barely sea level altitudes in the Mississippi Delta or hellishly sunny in the deserts of Utah.  Aerostich proved me wrong. The genius of the lighter weight DarienLight jacket is the weather protection offered by the single layer Gore-Tex laminate which on its own already has some texture to keep air flowing at the microclimate level during hot weather, and, inversely, likely retains some heat at that microclimate level during colder temps. Couple that with its large volume zippered airflow vents and greatly adjustable wrist, sleeve and neck collars and the system made for a highly manageable experience. We were averaging 150-180 miles of semi-technical riding on a typical 10-12 hr day, so it’s not like we had the benefit of riding fast to cool us down.  In this case, wetted down t-shirts and water breaks were key and of course I was never shy to shed layers as soon as we stopped under the hot sun (think tube change in MS red dirt at high noon!). We rode like this for days and weeks through the eastern mountains, southern deltas, Ozark Mtns, and south-central plains (Oklahoma was no joke!) back to our home in the Rockies for a TAT re-supply before heading on to Oregon.  But as I mentioned the Charlie Brown lifestyle earlier, alas, we did not finish our TAT trip.  While we were away, we had two corroded water pipes burst in our home and flood three floors. Mr. Murphy has a way of changing one’s goals/plans, but we did complete 3900k miles of day-in and day-out riding, and I threw the Aerostich gear under any and all conditions a motorcyclist could hope or rather not wish for.  Considering that I rebuilt my engine, suspension, and added ridiculous farkles to my bike in preparation for the TAT trip, let’s just say that my Aerostich gear is about the only thing that didn’t fail while out on the long road. There’s a lot to be said about that. So, here’s my pro/con take-away on the DarienLight Jacket and AD1 Light pants for part 1 of our 2018 TAT trip: PROS: Versatile for all weather conditions provided you layer appropriately. I’ve now ridden the DL jacket/AD1 pant combo in temperatures ranging from 25F-105F in light snow, hail, rain, intense humidity, and drought-like, desert conditions. The only discomfort has been while off the bike in 90F+ temps, take the jacket off and be done with it, no worries there. Gear is lighter weight compared to other ADV/Touring options I’ve used or seen and I didn’t feel bogged down like an armored knight. Aerostich’s sizing options feel spot on. As a smaller guy, this was a huge plus as most ADV gear seems built for 6’5” Teutonic overlords and most sport touring gear seems to be built for elf-like Moto GP racers.  I’m somewhere lower in the middle and Aerostich gets it. Tough and abrasion resistant (several 15-25mph get-offs and tank slappers on wet rocks seemed to do nothing to the gear). Great airflow within the jacket, while also allowing for great wind-blocking in colder temps…almost magic. Superb water resistance and body coverage.  You can leave the rain gear at home. Pockets galore (I’m still finding trinkets in my jacket 6 months later).  Pockets on AD1 Pants are best I’ve ever used. Great movement and articulation on both jacket and pants even with robust armor inside. Felt protected, but not hindered unlike my heavier weight Michelin man ballistic gear. Having lighter colors available in Aerostich’s line-up is a huge plus.  Making the choice to avoid the power ranger look in all black was a great decision under the sweltering summer sun. Oddly enough, the Aerostich gear is comparable in price to other high-end options manufactured overseas.  As a product designer whose made his living manufacturing/sourcing gear offshore (and always a bit sick of that fact), I applaud Aerostich’s ability to get this done in the USA, as I know from experience, it’s no easy feat.  Direct to consumer is key here and you’re getting what you pay for. CONS: Gore-Tex laminate started to peel away and abrade inside the AD1 pants around my ankles due to the ratchet clips of my ADV boots constantly moving against it.  I’d suggest double layering the “boot” section of the pants and face a second layer of 200d HT Nylon towards the rider’s boot. I caught it early and used Gear-Aid tape to reinforce the area, so no real harm done, but would have preferred to have avoided that issue altogether. The magnets on the DarienLight jacket collar kept falling out of their sleeve pockets despite the velcro closure.  Luckily, they’re strong as heck, so they just ended up reattaching to their magnetic mate and I didn’t lose any. I think they’re so strong that when they attach to their mate they end up pulling out of their velcro’ed sleeve when you adjust the collar while riding...something you don’t notice until after the ride. Pockets galore (I’m still finding trinkets in my jacket 6 months later).  Maybe there are a few too many pockets, nooks and crannies on the DarienLight jacket.  The catch is, if you give me places to store stuff, I’ll use it, but maybe I shouldn’t be carrying so much! Thanks, Luke, for sharing your review of our gear with us! What's your "goldilocks" combination of gear?

Guest post by Kyle Allen Motorcycles ridden for everyday transportation was a normal part of my life growing up in the 70’s and 80’s. With high gas prices playing a factor, I have fond memories of both of my parents riding. Dad had a 500 Yamaha with an aftermarket fairing that he’d ride rain or shine to work everyday, and on weekends would let me swing a leg over the passenger seat for a scenic afternoon cruise on the backroads. Mom rode a Honda 125 that was formerly used by the Shriner’s to put on riding agility displays at local parades. She would use it to ride back and forth to her part-time job while us kids were in school, or to pick up a few groceries or run some errands. As a kid, I viewed riding a motorcycle as just a normal part of everyday life. By the time I was old enough to drive, my parents had sold both bikes (I suppose the logistics of shuttling 3 kids around played a part in that decision, but my Mom also said she felt like drivers were not paying attention to riders), and I ended up learning to drive on 4-wheels, but always with a thought about wanting to ride a motorcycle...someday. Someday came when I started working as part of the marketing team here at Aerostich. After some training and practice, I got my motorcycle endorsement in the Spring of 2009. Donning a new Hi-Viz Roadcrafter Classic one piece, I threw my leg over a borrowed 1971 Honda CB350 and never looked back as I established my roots as a dedicated daily rider. In the early Spring of 2010, I was offered a great deal on a lightly used, ’08 Kawasaki Versys, (that fit into the ‘bike budget’ I had been saving for) and logged the first ride of the season on March 11th, continuing to commute nearly every day that year through the end of November. Out of about 165 workdays during that timeframe, commuting on the new bike accounted for 145 of those days (with a few longer day trips and vacation riding days mixed in too). A quick run of the math proved that after the investment in the bike and riding gear, I was saving a fairly significant (to me anyway) amount of money by choosing to ride over driving a car too! With my Aerostich gear and a determined mind-set, 2012 allowed me to ride (at least a few days) every month this year – not always easily, but enjoyable every time – from below zero Duluth, MN temps in January and February to sweltering heat and humidity in July and August. Riding (anywhere), for me, is always the most versatile, practical and economical (not to mention fun), way to get from point A to B. Gas prices were jacked-up most of that year too, creating an even bigger savings. Flash forward another 5 years and I’m still riding the same Kawasaki (have changed the oil annually and put 2 sets of new tires and brake pads on it over the years) and wearing the same (road grimed) Hi-Viz one piece Roadcrafter Classic. The bike and gear have gotten very comfortable after over 7 years of use, not to mention that every mile and every day that I ride further adds to the long-term value of the investment in the motorcycle and riding gear. Every ride continues to save money over driving the car too. Looking at just the gas savings over the last several years, the economic benefits of riding become pretty easily apparent. The fact that riding gets me from A to B more efficiently, allows easier and more readily available parking options and is better on the environment is nice too. But the personal benefits from riding are where the real reward is. Anytime I ride somewhere, I arrive more alert, aware and ready to take on tasks at hand. If you choose to ride more I’m pretty sure that you would find similar results. Save money, feel energized and healthy and have way more fun! Download this post as PDF

Rand Rassumusen, SEDALIA: A Primer Focused Mostly, but not Exclusively, on Riding and Camping in the Heat One-Hundred-and-ten degrees. Fahrenheit! That’s what the thermometer affixed to my windshield says. Of course, that’s in the direct sunlight; but then, so am I. I mean, really, why would a motorcycle rider care what the temperature is in the shade? Late on this Missouri July afternoon the heat bears down on me with an almost physical weight. Even so, I can still tell when a blast of air has first made its way past a cylinder, and collected it’s extra heat before swooping up my leg and under my helmet carrying an extra furnace blast. I haven’t ridden in this kind of heat for a while—if ever. But it’s okay; I came prepared for exactly this. I had made my decision that I was going to attend the BMW MOA National this year, in Sedalia, MO heat be damned and, anyway, I know how to ride in heat. TIPS for Beating the Heat: Andy Goldfine, proprietor at Aerostich, is fond of saying that, when riding in heat (or cold for that matter) a rider must strive to create a “micro-climate.” That is, a smaller, more hospitable personal ecology in which to ride. People who live in desert nations have understood this for millennia, and it is the reason that we always see desert-dwellers in heavy clothing—which seems counter-intuitive, but is backed-up by much objective science and many years of experience. So, I revert to my own experience riding in heat. I drink lots—actually forcing water, juice and Gatorade; I re-wet my long-sleeved cotton T-shirt at every stop, and I wear a jacket to control the evaporation of my shirt. Controlled evaporation is the key to staying cooler longer. If you wet your t-shirt and wear nothing over it, it will feel really good…for about 10 minutes. But if you mute the evaporative effect with an over-jacket, and venting, you will feel quite-a-bit cooler for an hour or more. That is one of the reasons Aerostich suits are built the way they are, with so many venting options. I have also resorted, at times, to filling the pockets of my Aerostich with ice (a tip learned from my wife, Susan) and sucking on the remaining cubes for as long as they last. But, despite the forge-like heat, I seem to be okay with more basic measures today. As important as the physical adjustments a rider must make when the riding conditions are uncomfortable, is a positive mental attitude. Pirsig was right when he contended that focusing on the discomfort, or worse, complaining, helps no one, and just makes it worse for everyone. I knew what I was getting into before I ever decided to attend this rally, and I chose to come anyway; so I have no one to blame but myself. Anyway, I am very much enjoying the ride—heat and all. My bike seems always to have a positive attitude, no matter the conditions. Right now, for instance. I am running up-hill at 75MPH, pulling my trailer in 110 degree heat, with nary a burp or stutter from the motor, and with speed and power to spare. It makes me wonder how this little 650cc motor can withstand this kind of heat and use. And not just to withstand it, but to handle it. I take a gas break/rest stop at the north end of St. Joseph, MO, and go through my routine: fill the tank, use the rest room, re-soak my shirt and buy lots to drink. If not almost to the rally site, I am at least close. It has been a good ride so far… Tip #2 for Beating the Heat: What you eat significantly affects how much heat you produce. If it is hot, avoid high fat foods like meats and cheeses and go for foods with higher water content, like fruits and salads. I have to admit that I violate this rule all of the time and just order whatever I am in the mood for, but it’s worth bearing in mind if heat is a real problem for you. Also, as good as a cold beer might taste with your lunch on a hot day, it’s not really a good choice. Even setting aside the drinking and driving aspect, alcohol is a diuretic and dries you out more quickly. Tea too (although, again, I often have it for lunch despite my own sage advice.). If you get bored with plain water, fruit juices or club soda gives you a little variety and still gives you needed water. Club soda cuts cotton-mouth better than anything else I know of. I like Gatorade and its ilk occasionally, but the regular stuff has a lot of sugar. At St. Joseph, MO I turn eastward toward Chillicothe. This allows me to circumvent the entire Kansas City metro, and do some other-than-freeway riding for a while. Heading east in the late afternoon, feels no cooler, so I employ another mental technique for beating discomfort; I simply force my mind to concentrate on things other than how uncomfortably hot I am. It can be done. I sing, compose, or think of my grandchildren or other pleasantries to distract myself. Thirty-six, while not exactly a rural road, is nice and rolling, and passes through several small Missouri towns. At Chillicothe I stop for fresh ice for the cooler, several gallon jugs of water, and some groceries. Another reason I like to tow my trailer to rallies: lots of room for groceries. Tip #3 for Beating the Heat: In the original insulated plastic cooler I had bolted onto the tongue of my trailer, the ice would be gone in just a few hours in hot weather. So, I replaced my original cooler with a larger insulated plastic cooler so I would have room to add an inner, collapsible nylon cooler. With the nylon cooler inside of the larger one, my ice now lasts from 12-24 hours depending on how hot it is. You can also increase your cold factor by freezing all your bottles of drinking water on the night before you leave home. If you save empties you can fill them at your home faucet and save a lot of money. Trust me: if you take one out and put it in your bottle holder it will quickly melt enough to drink—too quickly, as far as I am concerned. Arriving a day early to a rally has several advantages. The registration process is a breeze, with no lines whatever. Choice camping sites are also easier to come by. After registering, I talk to Dan about where he is camped. I follow him, but just until I come to a large, shady tree. By scoping out the directions, I calculate that a correctly placed tent will be out of the sun from mid-morning through the entire rest of the day. For the next 20 minutes I talk with Dan and busy myself with the dozens of small details of making camp. Here again, experience pays off when dealing with heat: my tent has 100% mesh uppers. And that means with the rain fly rolled up and tied off I am sleeping in a screen tent which, I guaran-damn-tee is a lot cooler than a regular tent with breathable nylon uppers.. Tip #4 for Beating the Heat: If you are in the market for a new tent, I would strongly suggest buying one with mesh uppers. If you are devoted to your old tent, but are good with a sewing machine, or if you know someone who is, some tents can be fairly easily converted to mesh uppers, without in any way compromising their weather resistance. After my complaints about the heat and humidity at last year’s rally at Chippewa Falls, Susan bought me a small “tent fan.” These attach to the tent using a magnet on the outside to hold the fan on the inside. Tonight is my first use of the fan. What a small miracle! This is not a wind tunnel; but it does provide just enough moving air to keep me comfortable. Its performance is greatly improved by the fact that because of the mesh uppers it is pulling in cooler air in rather than just re-circulating the hot, humid air present inside a normal tent. We’ll see how long the single “D” battery lasts. I brought spare batteries just in case. Sometime about two in the morning I awaken to thunder, and I can see flashes of lightening in the western sky, but I decide that I am not deploying the rain fly unless it starts actually raining, as to do so would obviate the advantages of this tent. I thus go back to sleep and remain so until morning. When I wake up, the fan is still running. Although I never had to cover up during the night, I was comfortable enough to sleep. That alone was an improvement on last year. Tip #5 for Beating the Heat: If you attach your rain fly on one side, and roll it up, you can sleep cooler, and it still only takes a minute to deploy if rain threatens. Tip #6 for Beating the Heat: As obvious as it sounds, the colder the drink and the less you move, the cooler you will stay. Therefore, when I get back to my tent I set-up my sunshade. I take my umbrella and mount it to my fairing with mini bunjis. This gives me 4’ of nice shade in which to sit. And as Colin Fletcher (in his book The Complete Walker) describes it, that little patch of shade makes the difference between hell and, well, something a comfortable half-hitch short of hell. Then I break out cans of cold club soda and start reading my books. Tip #7 for Beating the Heat: If, like me, you enjoy (or at least can hack) getting up in the pre-dawn hours, you can sometimes beat much of the day’s heat. If the trip is short enough, you can be home and napping before the real heat starts coming on at noon. I know some riders who break the day into to riding halves, with a long afternoon hiatus in between. Just before crossing the Mojave, my friends Matt and Joanne Butler rented a hotel room at noon, and napped, read, watched TV, and swam until 10:00p.m. before checking out and starting their ride. Matt told me it was worth the money! I awaken Sunday morning at 2:15. It takes about 20 minutes to pack all of my junk into the trailer. As promised I would make sure Andy knew when I was leaving, so I drive as close to his tent as I can without actually running over his head. I smile into my helmet as I think of him good-naturedly cursing me in his tent. As I connect with north 65 I am surprised at the amount of traffic still on the road in Sedalia, including another rally-goer leaving north on 65. About five miles out of town I pass him/her, and we ride in tandem the 15 miles up to I-70, where she/he goes east and I go west. It feels good cruising along in the pre-dawn hours. Watching the day come on is one of my favorite things to do as a rider. The air, while not exactly cool, is some 30 degrees better than it will be this afternoon, and I am determined to get as far as I can, as early as I can. This is as much psychological as it is physical; if I don’t make some real miles early in the day, I feel like I am behind all day. I take the 435 around KC and connect with I-29 N., with dawn coming on. By 11:30, when I reach Sioux Falls, my thermometer shows 101 degrees, and it feels like it! I buy gas and then drop into an Erberts & Gerberts for a cold sandwich and an air-conditioned rest. As I eat and read, I am also subconsciously preparing for four more hours in 100-plus degree heat. And with that in mind, I go willingly—rather than reluctantly--back out into the heat where my ever-faithful R-65 waits. Across the lot, in the shade of a bank, there is a sinister looking dude eyeing my bike. It occurs to be that he might be casing the banjo strapped to the top of my trailer. I don’t know if that is right, but I do notice that he moseys off as soon as I come out. Tip #8 for Beating the Heat: Sunburned lips are no joke so keep your high SPF lip balm where you can frequently apply it both on and off the bike. The high SPF lip stuff can be hard to find at C-stores, so we always lay in an ample supply whenever we find it in stock, until we have so much of it that I can always find a tube around the house. Always wear a brimmed or visored cap in the sun. I keep mine right in my tank bag and don it as soon as I stop if I am going to spend any time in the sun.