Musings from one who writes, and rides…
Carburetors, like clutches and cables, have become the earmarks of antiquity. There will soon come a time when exactly no one will know how to adjust or service these devices. Carbs and clutches will seem as weird as a wall jack….
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….”
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.
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…
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 official magazine of the BMW Riders Association. The common perception is that when it’s time to die, motorcyclists go in great, dramatic bursts of fire and smoldering metal. In my experience, the truth is far more mundane, and involves CT scans, insidious cell reproduction, and shelves of prescription drugs.…
This Could be the Most Fun-per-Dollar Motorcycle I’ve Ever Owned This article was originally published in the November/December issue of “On the Level,” the magazine of the BMW Riders Association. Not long ago, having decided that my motorcycling life is entirely too sanitary, I bought a Honda CRF250L dirt bike on Craigslist, for $2,000. A…
Originally published in RoadRUNNER magazine. Halfway between the Northern California coastal towns of Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay, at the nexus of some of the best motorcycle roads on the planet, lies the somnolent town of Pescadero. It just might be the coolest coastal burg that no one has heard of. So please, don’t go…