Musings from one who writes, and rides…
My bikes display a lack of cleanliness that has the singular advantage of serving as a theft deterrent. “Hey Bob, this one is unlocked, but honestly, who would want it? If we’re going to risk arrest we might as well go for something clean. Let’s move on….”
In the spring of 1966, it seemed almost anything was possible. They could have no way of knowing what the next few months would bring….
I’ve noticed that the more articles I have on a certain destination, the more likely I’ll actually go there. So here I am, a madman with scissors.
This week marked a new, low watermark for my already abysmally bad judgment in the buying and selling of old motorcycles. In an unusual spasm of practicality and good judgment, I sold my Honda CRF250L. Before the cash settled in my linty pocket, I handed it to a buddy selling a 1986 Honda TLR200 Reflex trials bike. One old crock sold, another purchased, in less than 24 hours.
Just over the Santa Cruz mountains from my home on the Northern California coast, in the trendy little town of Los Gatos, there is a store that sells cupcakes. But twisty roads, it turns out, are not kind to cupcakes.
Confined to the house for much of the winter, I did what any reasonable person of a certain age would do: I bought another motorcycle.
Originally Published in On the Level, the magazine of the BMW Riders Association. If I were a normal person, I would only want a modern motorcycle. They stop, accelerate, shift, and most importantly, start with robotic precision. And yet, here I am, perusing eBay for Suzuki Titans, Kawasaki Mach IIIs, Hodaka Super Rats, and other leaky…
Originally published in On the Level, the magazine of the BMW Riders Association. They say if you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. I’ve had a bunch of jobs that I liked well enough, but I only loved them if I rode a motorcycle to get there. I spent…
Over the years I’ve done hundreds of oil changes, valve adjustments, brake bleeds, and tire swaps. I’ve hunted down and exterminated electrical gremlins, changed fork seals, built and trued spoke wheels, replaced bearings, flushed radiators, and even done nut-and-bolt restorations of vintage bikes. Sadly, along the way I’ve also rounded off a hardware store worth of bolt heads, dropped the errant washer down a spark plug hole, and smashed enough knuckles that my wife doesn’t even comment on the bloodbath anymore. This long and messy apprenticeship has elevated my stature from “incompetent” to merely “hamfisted.”
Originally published in On the Level, the magazine of the BMW Riders Association. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing it!” The refrain rings out through the intercom as my wife, Meredith, and I get underway, echoing the famous words of Charley and Ewan as they begin their 18,000-mile odyssey in “Long Way Round”. The difference,…