A three-week bout with pneumonia has left me pretty much off my feet and off my bike. The Sporty sits in the garage, wondering why it is not getting its usual 500-1,000 miles a week workout and I sleep most of the day as my body tries to rebound from the energy-sapping illness.

Which gives me time to read and catch up on some motorcycle-related news:

New River Valley Harley-Davidson in nearby Christiansburg has a grand opening celebration scheduled for Saturday, November 22. Temperatures are expected to be in the teens tonight and still below freezing when the dealership opens its doors at 9 a.m.  It will be interesting to see how many ride their bikes over for the event.

Bluetooth vs. hard wired: I've sung the praises of the Cardo System Scala Rider Bluetooth headsets for motorcycle helments. I currently use a Rider FM set on one of my 3/4 helmets to tie into my Garman Zumo 550 GPS. By routing my cellphone through the Garmin's Bluetooth, I have hand-free capability for the phone and can, if necessary answer the phone while riding. The headset also provides decent FM radio reception through a receiver that is part of the unit.  However, the Garmin does not transmit the XM radion signal via Bluetooth and I have to use a hardwired connection. I currently use the ear buds from my IPhone, which provides great stereo sound, even at speed.  But the earbuds block out some of my ability to her the headset speakers.  Cardo has a new "Q2" model headset that includes a hardwired cable (for use with MP3 players and other such devices) that should work on the Garmin and eliminate the need for an extra set of ear speakers. Initial reviews say the sound is not all that great. I may stick to my current setup...at least for the time being.

Beware of them bikers: The Roanoke Valley Harley Owners Group (HOG) hosts "breakfast rides" that start each Sunday morning from an eatery in or around Roanoke. This month the group meets at The Roanoker Restaurant, a popular restaurant that usually hosts a more genteel-looking clientel.  Since the group has table reserved in advance, they bypass the long lines that are part of having breakfast at The Roanoker on Sundays. On a recent Sunday, we were filing by and heading for the table when I overheard this conversation from an older couple:

Her: "What's going on here. How come they don't have to wait in line like the rest of us?"

Him: "Look at them. Would you try to stop them?"

Put on motorcycle leathers and the world thinks you're bad. Too bad that couple didn't know that the group that they viewed with such terror included a couple of accountants, a top exec at MemberOne Credit Union, several police officers and firemen and two bank senior vice presidents.

Yeah, I know. The whole idea of riding is to just head out in one direction or another with no particular place to go (with apologies to Chuck Berry).

But sometimes I like to know where I'm going and reading a map while riding is high on the list of "don't try this on a bike," so I took the plunge recently and added the Garmin Zumo 550 GPS unit to my '08 1200 Low.

The Zumo is designed for motorcycles (they also make the Road Tech unit for Harley-Davidson). It features a bright screen, soft controls that work well with gloves and both a sturdy handlebar mount for the bike and a windshield mount for your car.  You can also add XM radio, weather and traffic alerts with an optional antenna.

 With the Zumo I can route my cell phone to my Scalia Rider wireless headset via Bluetooth and answer calls while riding. The call, complete with caller ID, comes up on the screen of the Zumo and I touch one button to answer. I can also answer the phone's directory for one-touch dailing although I prefer to be stopped to do that.

I added the XM radio antenna but can't listen to XM via Bluetooth. I solved the problem by using the ear buds from my I-Phone and plugging them directly into the Zumo. The sound is extremely clear inside my 3/4 helmet at highway speeds.

Motorcycle riders often swap stories about stupid stunts pulled by drivers of "cagers" (cars), ranging from pulling out in front of oncoming traffic without looking to coming around a curve in the wrong lane to venturing into a lane occupied by a motorcycle and then acting pissed when you blast them with a horn.

Bike riders can be stupid too. A recent post about adding performance to my Sportster 1200 Low with Screaming Eagle upgrades brought a rash of commentary from street racers who claim they have "put down" bikes like mine in races from stoplight to stoplight or in speed chases on the open road.

I have nothing against racing -- on the race track. I've competed in SCCA racing, winning a national class championship. I've driven ARCA stock cars at 190 plus at Daytona and competed in both the 24 Hours of Daytona and the 12 Hours of Sebring.

But I don't race on the streets. Anyone who does is, in my opinion, an idiot. I've lost count of the times that I've been cruising the Blue Ridge Parkway at the posted speed limit of 45 miles per hour and had a Ninja or similar bike blast by me in a no-passing zone.  The other day, I was running at 55 miles per hour on U.S. 221 near Bent Mountain the other day when a nutcase on a BMW bike flew by running at least 90.

I served as chief steward of the Drivers' Education Program for the Potomac Region Porsche Club for a number of years and oversaw the drivers who honed their high-speed driving skills at Summit Point Raceway in West Virginia. On the way back from the track one Sunday afternoon, I saw one of our club members driving at high speed and in a reckless manner on the Dulles Toll Road in Northern Virginia. I picked up my cell phone and called the State Police. They nailed him for running 115 miles per hour on Interstate 66 a few minutes later. He lost his license. He deserved to. Anyone who drives like a manac on a public road puts not only themselves but others at risk.

I'm not impressed by speed demons who brag about running 100 mph plus on the Blue Ridge Parkway or even an empty Interstate at 4 in the morning. Stupidity is not limited to those who driver cagers.

I've always been a power junkie when it came to motorized transportation: A souped-up '57 Ford in high school, a Shelby Mustang and then a hopped up Torino before marriage. For a while it was Porsches and too many performance enhancements to drain my bank account.

So it was just a matter of time before the '08 XL 1200L went into the shop for some, shall we say, modifications: More compression, stiffer valve springs, a heavy breather, Screaming Eagle mufflers and new software for the electronic fuel injection.

Took my first ride on the "enhanced" Sporty recently and all I can say is "wow!"  The Sportster is already a quick bike. Now it's a lot quicker.

What's the old axiom about boys and toys?

Rode down to Roanoke on a recent Sunday for breakfast with friends and, hopefully, a nice ride somewhere.  But only three rode their bikes and one was headed South for a trip to Spartanburg.

So after breakfast, I headed over the the Valley View area to pick up a new power supply for one of my computers and then contemplated the rest of the day.

I rode around Roanoke for a while, visiting a couple of haunts from my time in the city in the 60s, then headed out Brandon Road towards Salem, veering right on Route 311 towards Catawba.

Rode through Catawba and over the mountain to New Castle. The weather continued to warm so I went over Topps Mountain to Paint Bank, stopping at the General Store for some coffee. Struck up a conversation with a couple who recently moved from New England to Troutville. They planned to head towards Blacksburg on Route 18.  I opted to stay on 311 and head over another mountain, this time to Crows, Virginia. With an empty road beckoning, traversed one more mountain to White Sulpher Springs, West Virginia.

After stretching my legs, I headed East on U.S. 60 to Covington and on to Clifton Forge, veering off on U.S. 220 to follow the river towards Fincastle.  My reserve light kicked off just short of Fincastle but I have at least 100 miles left when it lights up so I turned on U.S. 11 at Troutville and headed through Cloverdale and Hollins and into Roanoke. Picked up I-581 at Hershberger Road and headed south, staying on 220.  Stopped for gas at an Exxon Station where 220 turns from a limited access highway into just another four-lane road and looked across the road at the I-Hop on top of the hill. That's where we had breakfast earlier in the day. I had ridden 189 miles since breakfast.

With a full tank of 93-octane premium, I headed south on 220 to the Blue Ridge Parkway. As I headed up Bent Mountain, I realized it had crossed a half-dozen mountains during a day's ride.  I turned off on Franklin Pike, then hit Poor Farm Road and Sandy Flats Road for the short ride home. When I checked the trip odometer in the garage, it read 287 miles since leaving the house 11 hours earlier.

No wonder my butt was sore.

Depending on how you interpret it, last weekend was (1) blind luck, (2) someone watching over me or (3) a warning that my luck is running out.

It began Saturday when I followed another biker out of the driveway of Roanoke Valley Harley-Davidson en route to a rally and fundraiser for the American Cancer Society at a nearby Texas Steakhouse. The biker ahead of me upshifted and both of his mufflers dropped off his Dyna. The pipes cascaded back towards me on Peters Creek Road. I swerved left and missed the tumbling mufflers.

The single bolt that held the mufflers in place came loose and allowed the pipes to drop off.  While we examined his bike for any damage, at least a dozen bikers came by but not one stopped to see if we needed any help. Times have changed on the road.

Sunday morning. 8:30 a.m.  I headed down Bent Mountain on U.S. 221, on my way to a breakfast in Roanoke. As I straightened the bike out between curves, a young deer darted out of the bushes and sprinted across the road, right in front my Sportster. With no time to brake or swerve, I hit the deer's right hindquarter with the front fire of the bike. The deer fell to the pavement, its right rear leg broken. The bike wobbled but I regained control and stopped just in time to see the deer run off on three legs, dragging its broken leg.

Surprisingly, the impact at about 45 miles per hour did not damage the Harley. I found deer fur in the treads of the front tire but nothing on the bike was bent or damaged.  I proceeded on to Roanoke and put a couple of hundred miles on the bike in an afternoon ride.

I was lucky to hit a deer with a motorcycle and walk away from the incident. I can't attribute the escape to any skill on my part, just blind luck...and possibly the intervention of a higher power.

Thanks.

I like riding in the fading light of a cool autumn day, especially on the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The brisk air chills your face and an air-cooled V-Twin responds well to the cool, dense air.

Some call the approach of winter the end of the riding season. Not me. I'll ride as long as there isn't snow or ice on the road. Riding brings one closer to nature and the chill of fall and winter are part of that nature.

I'll let the wimps and wannabes hook up their trickle chargers and put their bikes away for the winter. Just means more room on the road for serious riders.

Cool, crisp night air stung my face as I left the parking lot of Roanoke Valley Harley Davidson Tuesday night after the regular monthly meeting of the local Harley Owners Group (HOG).  Moderate traffic greeted me on Peters Creek Road as I headed towards Salem and Virginia Rte. 419 for the jog over to U.S. 221 and the ride home.

Some riders avoid night time, especially in Southwestern Virginia where a heavy deer population but I enjoy riding after dark. Traffic on 221 runs lighter and the cool, crisp air of approaching fall slaps me awake as I approach the winding road up Bent Mountain.

The car that had closed on the rear fell back as I leaned the Sportster into the turns up the mountain.  The ultra-bright driving lights on the Harley slice into the night as I snap the bike right and left through the twisties.

The last tight turn at the top of the mountain often brings a scraping sound as the lower exhaust pipe finds the pavement. Yep, there it is. I straighten out the bike and shitt up to 4th and 5th for the final run up the hill and the flat straightaway.

Some traffic coming north on 221 but I have the road mostly to myself as the 1200 V-Twin easily handles the turns and hills between Bent Mountain and Poor Farm Road, where I turn for the final mile-and-a-half to the house.

I pull into the garage refeshed by the cool air and smiling from yet another fun ride.

Life is good.

Woody Crenshaw, owner of the Floyd County Store -- home of the Friday Night Jamboree -- and a friend from England rode their bikes down to Maggie Valley, North Carolina, this week. I didn't have time to make the full trip with them but rode along on the Blue Ridge Parkway from Tuggles Gap on Virginia Rte. 8 into North Carolina for breakfast at Bluffs Lodge in Doughton Park, a ridge of about 75 miles.

After loading up on cholesterol and coffee, they headed south and I went back north to U.S. 21 and crossed over to Sparta, NC, to pick up U.S. 221 for a ride back to Floyd via Independence, Galex and Hillsville.

The four lanes of 221 were virtually empty from Independence to Galax but I went through some beautiful country along the way. The reserve light on my Sporty came on just north of Independence but I've learned from past experience that I have at least two gallons left in the tank when the light pops up so I stayed on the road to Floyd, arriving just in time for lunch with local blogger Fred First.

Did notice the leaves are starting to turn on parts of the Parkway. Colors should be out in full in about a week or so.

Haven't had as much time for riding as I'd like. Schedule is picking up with fall sports to shoot and pesky clients who expect a little work.

Still, have had some time to ride some of the great roads in and around Southwestern Virginia, including:

U.S. 11: This is a good ride and you can head North or South out of Roanoke and have a good day in the saddle. North takes you through Buchanan, by Natural Bridge, Lexington, Staunton and up through the Shenandoah Valley. A good ride is to go all the way to Salsburg and then cut over to Front Royal and take the ridge throug Shenandoah National Park (Skyline Drive), hooking up with the Blue Ridge Parkway at Waynesboro.

South takes you up Christiansburg Mountain, on to Radford, Dublin and Pulaski where Draper Mountain awaits. Once over the mountain, U.S. 11 joins I-81 but you can follow "old 11" on Lee Highway that sometimes acts as a frontage road to the Interstate and then branches off from time to time through some of the hills and valleys of Southwestern Virginia. It can take you all the way to Bristol and through Wytheville, Marion and Abingdon.

U.S. 460. Head West from Christiansburg towards New Castle, Pearisburg and West Virginia, where you will find a lot of winding roads through the mountains.

Took my wife's Suzuki GZ 250 down to Roanoke for service Monday. Thick fog blanketed the area at 7:45 a.m., delaying my departure until shortly after 8. Even with the sun in the sky, fog remained a problem until I hit the bottom of Bent Mountain on 221.

Amy's bike is sized right for her (5-foot-2, 105 pounds) which means I look like a Shriner on a miniture bike in a parade when I ride it. The 250-cc single cylinder engine has problems pulling a hill in fifth when I'm aboard so I spend a lot of time downshifting an upshifting on the hills and valleys of 221 between Floyd and Bent Mountain.

Still, it's a fun bike that's easy to dial into a turn and lean as far as you need to make the tightest of curves. Turning off Virginia 419 into the clovereleaf turn for U.S. 220 North I was able to maintain 55 through the sweeping curve and quickly zoom up to 65 on I-581 to Peters Creek Road.

On the return trip, I had to drop it into third for the climb up Bent Mountain but still managed to maintain a steady 45 through the turns. My Sportster 1200 Low will pull Bent Mountain easily in fourth and I handles the dips and hills of Floyd County in fifth without any problems. My left ankle hurt from the constant shifting of the Suzuki by the time I pulled into the garage of home late Monday afternoon but it was still an enjoyable ride.

A friend who doesn't ride motorcycles told me this week he was surprised I climbed back on the bike and went on a 200-mile ride the day after a close encounter with a deer caused me to put the bike down -- a minor accident that left me with a scraped and burned leg.

Why shouldn't I?  When a horse throws you, you either get back on or quit riding. I'm not about to quit riding.

I went to a breakfast ride the morning after my spill and told the story to others. Each had a story of their own about laying their bikes down as one time or another (or often more than once).

It happens. When it does, you shrug it off and ride on.

I meet a lot of nice, interesting people while on a motorcycle but one part of the biker culture that has always bothers me is the overt racism practiced by some who ride bikes.

At a Roanoke Valley Harley-Davidson open house this past Saturday, I saw too many openly racist themes, with patches proclaiming "white power" to helmet decals that read "I pay taxes and speak English."

We live in a nation of diverse interests and opinions but advocating the superiority of one race over another should be an concept that disappeared from our culture a long time ago. The Roanoke Valley Harley Owners Group (HOG) has black members. Harley-Davidson tried to ban use of the Confederate flag from its branded products in 1994 but pressure from Southern dealers caused the company to reverse its decision.

But symbols of prejudice still adorn too many bikes and bikers. I've seen headlights shaped like Nazi Germany's Iron Cross and swastika pins on vests.

Riding should be about fraternity and brother (and sister) hood, not hate and prejudice.

Headed to Roanoke early Sunday for a breakfast ride. Fog encountered on Bent Mountain Saturday morning led me to choose an alternate route -- Virginia 8 to Christiansburg, then U.S. 11 to Salem where we gathered at Chip & Joe's Restaurant for artery-hardening fare before deciding on a ride into Southwestern Virginia that began -- you guessed it -- back up U.S. 11 to Christiansburg.

I have mixed emotions about group rides. I like the camaraderie but riding in a group where riding skills vary can lead to ebbs and flows that can destroy the rhythm of riding. I'm still getting up to speed after too many years off bikes and I'm sure that some find my skills lacking as well. Virginia requires staggered riding on public roads but you often have long lines that break into groups as some ride at a faster pace than others.

Some rides ignore speed limits and that bothers me. One member of a recent group I rode with bragged about running more than 100 miles per hour on the Blue Ridge Parkway, where the speed limit is 45. I find that neither amusing or smart.

Which is why I enjoy riding alone or with one or two others that I know. Larger groups can -- and do -- scare the hell out of me.

Deer pose a constant threat to motorcycle riders here in Southwestern Virginia (and to cars as well). Robert Pauley, a veteran biker, was killed last year when he hit a deer near Riner. I know others who have had close encounters with the four-footed road blocks and I've had to break or swerve more than once in recent weeks.

But Saturday night brought my closest call yet. Heading home after listening to music at the Floyd County Store, I had just passed over the bridge near Ray's Restaurant on U.S. 221 north of Floyd when I saw a doe standing on the side of the road right across from the entrance to Great Oaks Country Club. I braked and slowed from 50 miles per hour to about 20.  As I neared the intersection, the doe darted into the road. I swerved to the right and into the entrance road to the golf club.

Everything went fine until I hit the grass that surrounds the planter in the center of the entrance road. The wheels lost traction on the wet grass and the bike went down, trapping me between the bike and the planter. At the time, I had slowed to maybe five miles per hour but my left leg was pinned beneath the bike with my ankle caught between the left side foot peg and the shifter.

Several cars passed as I tried to free myself from the downed bike but I was mostly hidden behind the planter on the entrance road. I was reaching for my cell phone to call for help when a couple in a pickup truck stopped. They had spotted me while driving northbound on U.S. 221 and turned around and also called the State Police for help. They managed to lift the bike off my leg and I crawled free.

We righted the bike on the kickstand as Trooper Keith Gregory arrived. My ankle and knee throbbed from being pinned but I was able to walk it off. Gregory and I inspected the bike and nothing appeared bent or broken. He followed me the short distance to Ray's and I used their rest room to clean up before climbing back on the bike and heading home. Once in the garage, I checked the bike over and found nothing bent, scratched or broken. My only injury was a scrape on my left leg, caused either by a rock in the grass or the edge of the planter. My leg may brushed it when the bike went down.

Unfotunately, I did not get the name of the couple who stopped. I wish I had.

I was lucky. Others who have encountered deer or other animals on the highway have not been so.

Let's be careful out there.

Heavy fog on U.S. 221 at Bent Mountain Thursday as I headed towards Roanoke for a dinner ride with the Roanoke Valley Harley Owners Group. Kept the Sporty in second all the way down the mountain and emerged from the fog bank with the windshield smeared with water.

This was my first dinner ride with RVHOG. We were headed for The Homeplace family style restaurant in Catawba. I turned left onto Virginia 419 and headed for Virginia 311 on the other side of Salem for the seven mile run up Catawba Mountain.  Hit a little fog near the top of that 2,000 foot hill but the road stayed drive and I was able to maintain a steady 55 through the twisties.

I had wondered how many would choose to ride in the iffy weather and who would leave their bikes in the garage and drive cagers (cars or trucks). Got my answer when I pulled into the parking lot: Just me. Everybody else rode on four wheels.

The Homeplace serves family style, all-you-can eat, with friend chicken, roast beef, barbecue (on Thursdays) and country ham. We pigged out, topped it off with cherry cobler, and retired to the front porch to talk motorcycles.

Decided to avoid Bent Mountain and the fog on the way home so I turned right off 419 on the way home and took U.S. 11 through Salem, then through Elliston and Shawsville before heading up Christiansburg mountain. Clear all the way.

Stayed dry on Virginia 8 out of Christiansburg until I hit the Floyd County line. Then mist and fog. The bike was soaked by the time I pulled into the garage shortly before 10 p.m.

Several people saw my Harley parked outside the Floyd County Administration Tuesday, dripping with moisture from the rain that moved in to the area for most of the day.

"My God," one said. "Do you ride in the rain?"

Of course I do. I bought the bike to ride, not sit in the garage and use only on nice, sunny days. I've got gators (rain wear) and use them when it's wet. No big deal. You always ride with care and caution and rain is no different.

The only time you won't find me on a bike is when it's snowing, if there is ice on the ground and ground or during a thunderstorm with lightning. Then I crawl into a car.

Talk about great roads to ride on a motorcycle and the Blue Ridge Parkway always ranks right up near the top of the list. When you include the Shenandoah Drive at the north end and the Great Smoky Mountains National Park at the south, you can ride from Front Royal, Virginia to the the Smokies in Tennessee, passing through areas of great natural scenery and beauty.

We live, as the locals like to say, "just a hop, skip and a jump" from the Parkway. I leave my garage and be on the Parkway in just a few minutes from Franklin Pike, Shooting Creek Road or Virginia Route 8 south of Floyd. From there, the only question is "North of South?"

On any given day, you will find dozens of bikes cruising the winding two lane road or stopped at one of the many overlooks or popular roadside attractions like Mabry Mill.

I'll sometime take a run down the Parkway at the beginning or end of the day just to clear my head.

But the Parkway has its hazards for both experienced and novice riders. Deer can jump out from behind the many rhododendrons that line the road and many decreasing radius turns are not indicated by sinage. New riders in the area often head for the Parkway as soon as they pass their Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) course and that's a mistake. I've seen too many newbies dump their bikes because they misjudged a turn or dropped a wheel off a road with no shoulders.

We also have a problem with kids on Ninjas and other crotch rockets who ignore the 45-miles-per-hour speed limit and no passing lanes.  Now that school is back in session, we find more adults cruising the lanes for the fun of riding and fewer children trying to show off.

My father rode motorcycles. So did my mother (left, pictured on their Harley-Davidson just after the end of World War II). They were bikers. I was born into a biker family in 1947.

Three's a lot of debate these days on what does or does not constitute a "biker." To some, bikers are the one-percenters, those who belong to "outlaw" motorcycle gangs like Hell's Angels or the Pagans. To others, bikers are middle-aged accountants and retired senior citizens who dress up on leathers and ride mostly on weekends. And to others, bikes are a daily form of transportation that provide fun and save gas.

Does it really matter? To some, it does. To others, like myself, it doesn't. I got back into riding because I realized how much fun I was missing. Riding is fun, it's therapy and it clears my head of the issues of the day...both important and mundane. No radio, no conversation, not cell phones, no distractions...just be, the bike and the open road.

Does that make me a biker? Yeah, it does. I came by it naturally. It's part of my family heritage.