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When there's nothing to do but keep going
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Every so often, when Jim and I are talking about some hairy moments that we laugh about in retrospect (because you wonder how you ever got into that situation), the one that comes up is the time we rode the spiral ramp at Bush Intercontinental Airport, in the parking lot at Terminal C if I recall correctly.
We had been “playing” with one of our murder mysteries in an early version of a chat room – some fifteen years ago, so really early chat room. Over three days, our regulars who were cast as characters in the story came in under that identity and tried to detect the clues we left. Since the participants were from all around the world, it was hugely entertaining to go in to the computer in the middle of the night and see what Inspector Cloisonne’ from Brussels, for instance, had left as his ramblings and his attempts to solve the crime.
In time, one of the participants we got to know afterwards announced that she was coming through Houston and had a long layover between flights. She had also expressed a keen interest in getting a ride on a Gold Wing, so we agreed that we would pick her up at the airport provided she came with a change of clothes into appropriate passenger gear. Jim would bring an extra helmet. She was very excited about this plan, and said yes.
A week or so later, we rode out to the “Big Airport”, as Houstonians say, and found ourselves looking for a place to park. I generally ride lead, and unless it’s dangerous or really stupid, Jim generally follows me.
I turned into the car park area, just as a car would do, but after I took the ticket that raised the entry gate, I found that the main level was blocked off. Our lane was channeled so that we had to go up to another floor. So I entered the “Dreaded Spiral Ramp.”
Jim followed.
It was hairy. The concrete was roughed up to provide some traction, but the lane was banked laterally as it rose, steeply banked – surprisingly steeply banked! And the surface was wet from an earlier thunderstorm. It was impossible to stop. Dangerous even to slow down too much. Or do anything else but continue to apply a lot of throttle and use a lot of left hand. The last thing I wanted to do was stall out.
About the time we got to the second level, I heard Jim say on the C.B., “Keep going. Don’t stop!”
A neon arrow pointed us up to the next level. This one too was blocked off, and there was no way to enter it that I could glimpse as I rode past the turn-off. (I didn’t want to take my eyes off my path through the next curve). Even if we'd wanted to park somewhere illegally for 15 minutes while we met our friend, the chance was gone.
I could tell from the tone of Jim’s voice that he knew “keep going” was not a happy thought. But we did.
It was two more floors before the level entrance was open for us to get off that thing. It was hairy.
We were moving counterclock-wise, which meant that if I had stopped, I would have had to hold the bike vertical on a highly-banked, slick, rough surface with my “upper” leg only - my right leg. That means I couldn't use my rear brake. I would have had to hold the front brake with everything I had, and how to get going again without sliding backwards?
If I had tried to use the “lower” leg, which was instinctive because the slope was so steep both ways (vertically and laterally), I would have short-legged it and gone down.
That instinct would have been to try to ‘catch’ the bike on that side, but the slope would not have allowed it. The bike would have been sliding away down the ramp ahead of me (hopefully not dragging me along), and -- right into Jim.
Here’s a drawing from Jim of a spiral ramp in a three-level parking lot. It shows you how the slope can change in two ways as you proceed.
Example of a parking lot's spiral ramp
If you’re architecturally inclined or just want to see some neat drawings and photos of spiral ramps (and some other beautiful spiral structures), take a look at these. You’ll have to scroll down to see them, but midway on that site is a drawing of a Round Tower that also shows very well how some spiral ramps turn in toward the center as they descend.
Well, to continue the story, we did finally reach a level where we could park. I was shaking with adrenaline, and it was summer, so I was really steamed when I got off the bike. “Why on earth didn’t they put a sign on that ramp saying, ‘no motorcycles’?” I asked Jim.
“Why on earth did you decide you could ride it?” No, he didn’t say that, but I have to suppose that there was some out that would have allowed us to avoid that entry and park somewhere else.
Why didn’t I see it? I didn’t think to look for it. It was the first (and probably only) time I had ridden my bike to that airport, and it didn’t occur to me that it would be any problem. I had driven that ramp several times in my car, so it seemed quite natural to go up when the first level was blocked off.
We met our party, who remained excited about the ride. She had never been on a motorcycle before, so we had to give her the passenger briefing, naturally. She went off to change into her riding gear, and then Jim said to me, “You know… I don’t think I’m too crazy about riding down that ramp with a passenger on the Wing. Because it’s going to be harder going down.”
This from the guy whose advice, when I used to get nervous about some of the high coastal bridges down here, was “just close your eyes.”
If ever I wanted to close my eyes and have myself and bike magically transported to somewhere else, it was then. We arranged that Jim would pick up his passenger on the ground level, and she went off to find the escalators down while we managed the second part of this ordeal.
I don’t remember too much about the trip down. I’m sure my mind has protected itself by blocking it out.
Anyway, we did get to the ground, and she mounted Jim’s bike, and we took a short ride. It was a pleasant time, though when we stopped for iced tea she wanted to talk mostly about her cyber-boyfriend that she was going to meet. Perhaps meeting us in the flesh first (“They really are bikers!”) was a little much, not to mention a ride on Houston freeways. I heard later that she was a bit disappointed with him, which isn’t the first time that story’s been told.
So if you’re picking up a favorite niece or nephew or grand-kid who’s coming to see you this summer, and who really, really wants to ride home on your bike -- don’t get caught on a trajectory toward a spiral ramp at the airport, or any other large parking building. Downtown Minneapolis has a spiral ramp for this parking building that I would avoid, for example.
Stunt riders, dirt bike riders, lots of riders with more nerve than me might have found that particular encounter a lark. A “goof” is what Jim and I call it, and we laugh about it now.
But for this ordinary tour rider on a Magna, it was hairy. When we got back we said to each other, as we always do, “Made it again!”
For more tips on riding in unusual situations, visit Motorcycle Tips and Techniques, at www.msgroup.org. Send email to Cash@msgroup.org.
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