One of the great joys of being all 24/7 about motorcycles is getting to offer my opinion to friends and acquaintances about what bike to buy. In fact, that was the original motivation behind writing up this comparo of sport touring bikes.
The other day someone found this blog and sent me a note asking me about my experiences with my FJR. Here is what I wrote back . . .
The FJR is something of a cult bike. If you check out the FJR Forum, you’ll find tons of information and a bunch of geeked out FJR fans. For a compromise bike, it’s a hell of a beast. I have toured it, run it on the track, taught the Lee Parks program on it (lots of round and round on a 40 foot circle) and ridden it all around the town. People on the forum commute on it, rack serious miles, and go apex clipping on weekends. There are plenty of people who put well over 10,000 miles on it a year. Some of them are very large, some aren’t. There are several women on the forum who ride an FJR daily.
Other than off roading and racing, there isn’t a lot that it doesn’t do very well (though not as well as a bike built specifically for that purpose). So it’s not as comfortable as a Gold Wing, but it will run away from it in the twisties. It will keep up with a poorly ridden sport bike on public roads up to about 7/10s; but have fun touring that Gixxer. I couldn’t say if it’s better or worse in this way than the new Kawi or a BWM . . . that’s all a matter of taste, and anyone who says that the one of those bikes is better than the other is wrong. Not wrong to have an opinion, but wrong to assert something as a universal truth. All three are enormously capable bikes.
The FJR is not small and at walking speeds is a pig: tippy and a bit top heavy. Nearly everyone I know with one has dropped theirs at walking or standing speeds. But once you’re rolling, it’s completely different: Freight train-like stability at speed. Fabulous power throughout the rev range. No vibration. Decent mileage (I got 40 mpg unless I’m flogging it). Runs on regular. Goes like hell. Stops well.
Depending on the brand of tire, the bike can be either quick or slow steering. For example, you can put on Avon Storms and it will definitely tip in quicker than it does on the stock Metzlers. It holds a line extremely well. The cornering limits are defined mostly by lowish pegs. Some of that you can deal with through good body position (by that I mean hanging off the bike), but at some point, you will drag hard parts. If you find yourself doing that often on an FJR, I would humbly submit you should slow down.
Most people change out the windshield to get it just right. I went a bit taller and a bit wider. It’s a $150 thing to do . . . not a big thing. But make no mistake, the bike offers a very high level of wind protection. To the point where the real hot weather guys do things to create more airflow. It is a very easy bike to ride 10 - 14 hour days: combination of low vibration, tremendous stability, and low wind buffeting. Again, it’s not like a Gold Wing, but the difference between a standard bike and the FJR is considerable. At normal touring speeds, it’s a walk in the park.
Common mods to the bike are a wind screen, change out the throttle tube, and depending on your size, bar risers. After that, there are endless things you can do to the bike. I’m one of those guys, so I have a Rich’s custom seat, Hyperpro front and rear suspension, Power Commander, fork brace, Motorcycle Larry triple clamp . . . you get the idea. The only parts that were really necessary were the bar risers.
Not everyone that owns the bike loves it. I would say there are one or two people a year on the forum that buy it and just can’t make it work for them. That’s probably pretty low. Generally the people who buy them love them and keep them for a long time. So that tells you something.
If you can’t tell by now, I’m a huge fan of the bike. I’ve got a bunch of long trips cooked up to take it on this year. I never get bored riding it. The euro crowd who claim that bikes like the FJR have no character have never ridden one. If character means lots of fiddly things to fix all the time, they’re right. If character means a distinctive sounding motor, again, guilty as charged. But if character means a bike you can talk to and a bike that will talk back in a useful way, then I bet to differ. I don’t fall into the “you can have it when you pry it from my cold dead hands” level of affection, but I can tell you that I smile every time I think about riding it, and I smile again every time I get off, whether it’s after ten minutes or ten hours.
Summary: Excellent beginner bike / street rat. Some scuffs and scrapes, but solid throughout. 12,625 miles. Clean Title. KBB retail is $3635. Wholesale is $2480. It’s yours, including the extra screen, givi hard bags and rack for $2500 obo.
I bought this bike in late 2006 from a lovely Canadian couple . . . yes, it’s a Canadian bike but registered and fully legal here in the Big PX . . . for my son to learn to ride on. If you’re not familiar with it, and few people are, it’s a carbureted, four cylinder, two-valve per cylinder, 70 hp, 750cc bike with digital ignition. It runs on any sort of gas you’ve got handy and goes forever on a tank. It goes, stops, and handles nicely. It’s a great starter bike, re-entry bike, or something just for bombing around town.
Right after I bought it, I had a mechanic go through it. It has new plugs, air filter, oil (about 8 months ago), and everything was set to spec. Better still, I replaced the springs with nifty aftermarket units from Hyperpro and put on a fresh set of Michelin Pilot Roads (they have less than 1000 miles on them and are still sporting lots of tread). The front fork has new, heavier oil and slightly taller shims in it. I also added Renntec engine bars which gets me to the next part of the story.
Last summer I took my son to the track with the idea of helping him work on his bike handling skills. That didn’t work out exactly as I or he had planned and he wound up in a gravel trap, twice, each time going about 5 mph. If you remember your physics, you can picture what happened next. The bike slowed down faster than he did and he went off. The bike fell over, once in each direction, banging up the front fairing, scuffing up the engine guard, a bar end, a mirror, and the muffler. In a separate garage incident, my wife’s car got cozy with the bike and it fell over, catching the top of the gas tank. Don’t ask, I still can’t figure out how that happened.
I bought a used fairing for the bike but couldn’t get it in the original blue. I don’t really know what came over me, but I decided to turn the bike into a proper looking street fighter so I rattled canned it black, added stomp grip panels, and put on a Zero Gravity Double Bubble screen. I have another touring screen for it and a set of Givi hard bags and rack. The pictures don’t show it, but I also added mirror extenders, replaced the missing left mirror, and painted the engine guards.
Here’s what the bike used to look like.
Here are some more pictures of what it looks like now.
Arai and Shoei are the titans of motorcycle helmets here in the big PX. They invest tons of money in research, materials, and manufacturing and it shows in every way. The quality is outstanding, the finish equally so. Everything fits and works just like it should.
Probably more so than Shoei, Arai helmet owners love their lids beyond reason. One obvious reason is the fit. The company makes different shapes for different heads and if you can’t find a perfect fit in an Arai, you have a very strange skull indeed. This contrasts dramatically to brands like Suomy which run small and tight. If you don’t have a Suomy head, you will not like their gear.
I bought an Arai Vector last year, mostly for my son, who banged up my trusty Shoei RF 1000 in a series of low speed track spills. He wore the Arai twice and then went back to school leaving it sitting alone on the shelf until I decided to see what all the fuss was about (I am currently favoring a Suomy Extreme).
I go either way when it comes to helmet graphics. In the case of the Arai, we went with something called Frost Black which is a stunning flat black . . . but not really flat. It is the last choice if you care about making your noggin visible, but it maxes the batman needle. Put on a smoke screen and your all black leathers and you’ll be ready for a roll-on part as the bad guy motorcycle rider in the next Uma Thurman movie.
One of the big difference makers between top shelf helmets and the pretenders are the parts inside. I’ve worn Shoei, Arai, ZR-1, and Suomy, and in my mind, the most luxurious feeling materials find a home in the Suomy. But the Arai is not far behind. Cheek pads are removable. The inside collar is especially comfy.
Arais flow a decent amount of air. In my experience, the Vector is about mid pack. One unusual bit are the little vents on the screen that open into ducts that move air through the top of the helmet. I never did wear it in scorching weather, but I can tell you that the venting works well.
Anti-fogging is handled primarily with a small nose mask that blocks respiration from swirling up the inside of the screen. As long as you’re riding in an upright position (think sit up and beg), it works acceptably well. I didn’t find it worked at all well on my sport bike as the mask is actually quite small. Within almost no distance at all, my nose would find its way above the mask at which point, let the fogging begin.
Every manufacturer has a different theory of the proper way to attach face masks. Arai and Suomy are two companies that believe in shrouding the attachment points with color matched shields: Shoei and HJC, just to pick two, do not. Removing a Suomy screen is an epic pain in the butt as it requires removal of the shrouds. Arai’s engineers are much more clever as the same maneuver can be completed with the flip of a lever and a minor amount of jimmying around. Having used both, the Arai is easier, but both generate noise at speed as the shrouds allow for a fair amount of turbulence.
To that last point, I find the Arai to be a bit quieter than my Suomy but not to the point that I don’t wear ear plugs. Around town, the Suomy is just hopeless; the Arai is tolerable.
Recently there has been a lot written, including by me, about helmet safety standards. In the US, Arai sells Snell certified helmets. The Arai loyalists I talk to look past this as do the retailers who do good business with the brand. As I said at the beginning, these are comfortable, durable, high quality lids manufactured by a company that is completely committed to making the best product it can. If you like the fit, and you should, and you don’t mind the Snell, by all means buy one.
“You may never be able to ride your sport bike again.”
You mean my brand new Aprilia RSV 1000 Factory? The one I just bought? The one with 600 miles on it? The bike of my dreams? Never again? It felt like a death sentence.
Maybe six months ago I began noticing pain in my right hand. I spoke to my doctor about it but he didn’t have much to say. He suggested that I change my office ergonomics to take some of the pressure off. I heard what he said, I watched his lips move, but in the back of my head I kept hearing the word “carpal tunnel syndrome.” Kind of scary.
So I bought a new mouse and a couple of spongy things to rest my wrists on and hoped for the best. For the past 50+ years ignoring these sorts of body signals had always worked well for me. Why should this be any different?
50+ years is a pretty long time to spend with someone or something and not know much about him, her, or it. But that’s the unvarnished truth about my relationship with my body. It sounds “woo woo” just typing those words. But it frames the issue accurately. I was in a relationship except we we’re using different bedrooms. Now I was beginning to think we should do lunch.
Growing up I remember going through the normal range of illnesses associated with the time: Measles, mumps, bumps, scrapes, colds, and the occasional sprain or broken bone. I hardly ever saw the inside of a doctor’s office and apparently suffered little for it. I played sports (a lot) including college basketball, ate (a lot), didn’t get much sleep, and generally went about the business of being a boy and then a young man with little thought and less attention to the various signals my body sent up along the way. My mantra was: clean it, rub it, wrap it, sleep on it, or ignore it. That pretty much took care of things for the better part of four decades.
As the years advanced I did begrudgingly take note of the fact that I could no longer run as fast, jump as high, or fall as hard without damage. My knees yelped and then screamed after a Saturday afternoon hooping it up on the blacktop. I learned the finer points of stretching before exertion. I discovered I didn’t digest milk all that well. I decided to cut some of the obvious baddies out of my diet.
But nowhere in there can I honestly say that I was truly paying attention to what my body was telling me unless the signals were so loud that even a guy would notice: Like spasing my lower back so badly I couldn’t stand up. I can proudly say that I noticed that. I can also say that long before the Chiropractor said I could, I was back doing the same back-unfriendly things just like before.
Hello, anybody home?
By the first of the year, about three months after I first started complaining about my mousing/throttle/writing/teeth brushing hand, I was in serious pain. The good news is that my hand no longer bothered me. The bad news was it was overwhelmed by the pain in my neck, shoulder, and arm. I would probably still be toughing it out except that I could no longer ride my sport bike. Now it was serious.
Just to refresh the visual here, the classic sport bike riding position is weight forward and feet tucked up. The proper way to execute this is to support your upper body with your core muscles. The wrong way to do it is to support your weight on your hands and wrists until the airflow takes over. In either case, your arms wind up extended and so does your neck. To get a sense of this, put your arms straight in the air and then look up. More. Then balance a dictionary on your forehead.
Therein lay the problem. By this time, I could barely extend my arm to grab a fork without pain. Tipping my head back generated waves of pain. Riding out to my favorite twisty one day, I thought I was going to faint. I kid you not when I say I turned back and rode straight to the Aprilia dealer to see about a Tuono. The only thing that held me back was that riding it wasn’t much better. Nobody said anything to me, but I thought later, “Typical, you’re in excruciating pain and your first impulse is to buy a different motorcycle.”
Getting After It
The first indications that I needed to change my “relationship” actually showed up from a different direction about the time my throttle hand started waving for help. After too many years of neglect, my wife talked me into going to a dentist. There’s a theme here. As I expected, my teeth were a bit the worse for it and would need two fillings and two crowns. Groan.
More alarming was my blood pressure. I have no idea why they took it but they took it three times to be sure. If the combined numbers were delegates, I’d be a legitimate vice presidential candidate. They were scary high. So I scurried on down to see a doctor—I’ve already covered off my aversion in that direction—where I was informed that it would be a capital idea if I would immediately start a regimen of both blood pressure and cholesterol drugs. Part of me thought it a badge of my growing maturity that I now required these talismans; part of me was truly alarmed that this contraption that had been spiriting me around so faithfully might no longer be fully fit for duty.
Rather than selling my bike I decided to look into an overhaul of my malfunctioning body. I started with massage therapy, which normally felt great but now left me sore and sorer. It was beginning to dawn on me that there might be something actually wrong. That I might actually have to take this seriously. That I might have to change something. In retrospect, it was right at this time that the journey really began.
One of the characteristics of great journeys is how the pieces show up and magically fit together as you go. Sometimes you can see it happening right in front of you. Sometimes you see it only from the perspective you gain as you go. Although the massage therapy wasn’t helping, the recommendation to a Chiropractor did.
Dr. Steve is younger than me, but tall and rangy like me. Better still, he used to ride sport bikes. Excellent. He is a proponent of something called the Koren Specific Technique. You can read about it yourself: it wasn’t what I thought I needed. But I was pretty desperate and willing to try anything. And you know what? Things began to change. I got worse. I got worse and I started to get scared. The pain was now a constant companion, and not a good one. I would stagger in to see Dr. Steve and beg him to give me a good rack-and-crack just to take some of the pressure off.
Steve recommended that I also begin nutritional therapy. So I did that too. Every time I saw him I went home with another bottle or two of things I couldn’t pronounce. In the space of a couple of weeks, I went from someone who viewed his body as something to hang clothes on so I could go do all the cool things I like to do, to a man obsessed with trying to get to know this companion of 51 years to whom I barely spoke.
Little by little I could feel things changing, but not fast enough for my tastes. I was thinking a week, maybe two and me and my body could go back to the way things were, starting with getting back on that sexy Italian parked under the cover in my garage. But you know how it is with a new relationship. Body had other ideas and was now far less shy about mentioning them.
Somewhere in here I decided it was time to get x-rays. It’s not necessarily the case any more that a Chiropractor uses old technology to get a view on what parts of your system are under stress. But there’s nothing like film to tell the story. So off I went to get radiated. It was not a pretty picture. I have degenerative arthritis in C 4, 5, and 6. The openings where the nerves exit and head to points south were closing up. I have spurring. I was now truly afraid.
I was also fully in the “I’ll try anything mode” so I relented and called my doctor. I nearly cried while laughing when the nice lady on the other end of the line said he was on maternity leave for six weeks. Six weeks felt like 600 years at that point. It was all I could do to blurt, “Gee, I didn’t realize he was pregnant.” It was insult upon injury. I remember feeling like I wanted to cry.
Finally, after half a dozen calls and ten days of trying I managed to get in to see a doctor who was covering for my on-leave MD. A lovely guy. He looked at my x-rays, prodded and poked, and then told me that there wasn’t much he could do and that I should keep doing what I was doing. He also suggested physical therapy. He also gave me some anti-inflammatory drugs. I took them for one day and had a massive reaction. Did I say I felt like crying?
With the addition of Physical Therapy, which is what came next, I was now seeing a shrink, a dentist (remember those caps?), a Chiro, a Nutritional Therapist, an MD, a Physical Therapist, and later an Acupuncturist. In some cases I was seeing these people twice a week. Do the math. I was with someone every day, or with all of them all day. Or all of the above.
And then something happened. It started with the PT. He looked me over and as kindly as possible told me what my mother had first started telling me 40 years ago. “Your posture sucks.” He didn’t use those words. He used much bigger, much more technical sounding words. But that’s the net of it.
“Your posture sucks and it has sucked for years. That’s why you’re having all these problems. So we’re going to have to rebuild your posture. It could take a very long time. And you may never be able to ride your sport bike again.”
And then magic happened. He gave me something I could do to help myself. It was like a lifeline. He gave me exercises. He explained muscles, bones, and nerves. He told me what was wrong, why it was hurting me, and what I needed to do. And suddenly it was all clear. All that hurting was my body trying to get my attention and I had been ignoring the signals. The feedback loop was broken and I broke it.
We’re all different in this way, but I’m a sled dog when it comes to a task. During the previous two months I had been an unwilling and unhappy passenger on a journey I was being forced to take. I did everything I could, but there was nothing I could really do. But now this. Stretching. Strengthening. Changing how I moved. Changing how I sat. Changing how I stood. I got “As” all through school and here was my chance to get and A in realigning my body. So I did about 400% more than the PT suggested.
And you know what? It worked. Within a week, my posture had begun to improve. No, it radically changed. All the people I was working with were stunned. Somewhere in there I think I finally made friends with my traveling companion. We began to have a dialog. My body had been talking all along but now I was listening.
By now the pain had now taken up residence in new places. As I continued to rebuild my posture and re-stack my spine, muscles that had been hanging around the street corner suddenly got back into the game. Hello there! Haven’t heard from you in awhile!
Each of the people I went to along the way had been suggested by the previous person. “You know, maybe you should go see . . .” The last piece of the puzzle was mine to find and fit. One day working with the PT, I blurted out, “What do you think about acupuncture?” My brother had told me that he was working with one and something about it seemed to call to me. The PT gave me some names but none of them seemed right. So I fired up Yahoo and searched until I found one. My lead criterion was as close to home as I could find. I just didn’t want to have to drive yet another place.
Katia was able to see me that day. I can’t say that I like needles even a little but as I’ve said, I was all in on this. Yet another set of questions. Yet another recitation of my story. She looked at my tongue, felt my pulse, made some strange looking notes, and then told me to strip. Alrighty then.
Half an hour later, I was doing my best porcupine imitation and fast asleep on the table. Walking out I felt strangely light, almost floating. The next day, I was pain free.
“So how was your weekend?”
“I rode my sport bike.”
“And???????”
“Friggin awesome.”
I’m not all the way there yet. I can still get the lateral nerve to light up if I try. The pain no longer bothers me. It is still there, but it isn’t screaming all the time. It doesn’t need to. I am paying attention.
The people I’m working with are stunned at the change in my body. My head now sits on top of my spine, or mostly it does, instead of leading the parade like it used to. I’m back doing yoga again. I’m working on the balance ball to build up my core muscles—great for any type of motorcycle riding. I’ve strengthened muscles that had just been along for the ride. I’ve lengthened my neck. I’ve increased my range of motion and my flexibility.
I mentioned the idea of journey and pieces fitting together. By now I really feel like I am on a journey. It’s clear the healing wasn’t the result of any one thing. It was all of them, each addressing a different need. I didn’t like it at the time, but I’m not surprised that things got worse to get better. Each of the people I worked and work with have been just great: loving, understanding, supportive, and professional. I really believe that each piece was important to the whole.
Most importantly, I am no longer afraid. I feel like I had been given a gift, a gift of understanding my traveling companion, a “welcome to the neighborhood” party for me and my body before it got too late in the game.
To bring it full circle, I’m back riding, both my FJR in the classic “sit up and beg” riding position, and my Aprilia, knee down and all the way hung off.
Whether you choose eastern or western, let me encourage you to meet and greet your number one traveling companion if you haven’t already done so. If you’re at all like me, clean it, rub it, wrap it, sleep on it, or ignore it just doesn’t get it done any more.
Today two motorcycle magazines arrived in my mail box. Doesn’t really matter which ones, it seems like I get all of them. And all the catalogs. And the ones that don’t show up themselves I go buy.
I’ve been buying and reading “buff books” my entire life. When I was a kid, my fascination was cars, and in those days I bought and read Motor Trend, Car and Driver, Road and Track, Car Craft and Hot Rod magazines. I by reading, I mean every word, every picture, every ad . . . everything.
Later my passions moved to photography with the same predilections in tow.
At other times it was outdoor gear, motorcycles, electronics, and on and on. Yes I’m in therapy and no I don’t chose to modify my behavior when it comes to reading everything there is to read.
All of this leads me to an observation. The very best moment for magazine readers surely has to be turning that first page. At that moment, the magazine is virgin territory. Headlines and the cover photo tease and flatter with promises of great rides, cool gear, and heroic bikes. Like any journey, it’s all expectations. You think you know what’s in there, but you won’t know until you look.
I treasure that moment. I love that feeling. So I never read the articles the first time through. I just turn the pages and take it all in. It will never be like this again. I look at the pictures, take in the headlines, and generally enjoy just basking in what it is the editors have put together.
In the main, the magazines are actually very similar. They all go to the same press launches, they all do the same comparisons, they all get sent the same press releases. The difference of course are in the writing, the point of view, and the articles that don’t rely on the march of the seasons, the vendors, and the advertisers. But at that moment, just before you open the cover, none of it matters. It’s just you and the mag.
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
Robert Pirsig famously opined, or perhaps it was whined, in his landmark “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” about the importance/beauty/honor/rightness of deep involvement with the mechanics of the motorcycle. I remember nodding along in righteous agreement. I was 23 at the time and then made my living (sort of) as a carpenter/plumber/electrician/dry wall monkey. I didn’t own a motorcycle then, but I wanted one. I did however own a clapped out Volvo 144 that constantly called for my attention. Just to pick one grim memory, I can remember lying under the car in the snow by the side of the road changing out a fragged clutch cable. More than once.
Robert M. Pirsig. HarperTorch 2006, Mass Market Paperback, 560 pages, $7.99
This was also a time when motorcycles sported carburetors, freely leaked fluids, completed combustion in two-strokes (well, a lot of them did), and were comprised of slightly more than 73 moving parts. Metallurgy had barely advanced past the high standards set by the cookware industry. Fifty percent of the riding public knew the Prince of Darkness personally. Ultimate bragging rights were swapped between the Norton Commando, Kawi Z1 and the strangely colored BMW R90S. The idea that you didn’t know your way around a set of wrenches . . . well, there really was no choice B.
Yes, those were the days all right. Real men used tools. And there was a special place in the manly firmament reserved for men who used power tools. Riders didn’t expect their bikes to run longer than 500 miles without some roadside excitement, and were seldom disappointed. They knew about gaps, and rings, and things.
Three decades on, it’s all different. Any prole can wander down to Home Depot and come home with a trunk load of “contractor grade” tools. Front line bikes are more complex than last year’s top class race winner. Yes, there are still true moto-men amongst us. I see pictures of their work on forums from time to time: Their garages, or better still their living rooms, are taken over by an explosion of bike parts in service of the perfect HID light installation, the ultimate farkle, or a year-long project in powder coating 487 unseen parts. These few, proud, moto-men stand as beacons for the rest of us, our psychic links through Pirsig to the sword benders and armor makers of ancient times.
The rest of us are pleased when we can switch the trip computer from average fuel consumption to ambient temperature. A big day is actually finding the oil level window and note there’s something “kind of brown” in there. Checking tire pressure is cause for a shot and a beer. NASA takes hopeful notice every time another GPS unit is successfully programmed for the destination the rider actually had in mind.
Men, we’ve lost our mojo.
The Siren Calls
When I returned to motorcycles after the “valley of the shadow of ‘responsibility’” I did so with an unflagging conviction that the journey ahead would not involve tools. At least not any that I owned. As one half of my brain thrilled to the immense capability and complexity of a modern bike, the other half just went tilt at the idea of doing anything more complicated than washing it. I mean really, even Harley Davidson has gone fuelie, ABS, and fly-by-wire. The days of fixing these things with a hammer and a stick found by the roadside are gone.
After a brief fling with a Temptress from Bologna, I jumped into the arms of mama-yama, lulled by the promise of vast horizons to conquer, 130 ponies at my beck and call, and a reasonable expectation that my bike wouldn’t see the inside of a dealer more than once a year unless I rode the wheels off the thing.
In the words of Erica Jong, I was looking for the single-track equivalent of the “zipless fuck.”
Ahhh, but motorcycles are truly a gift from the gods. From the first one to now, they seduce with a potent promise of freedom and ultimate responsibility, danger and release, awe and terror, zen-like peace and PAY ATTENTION RIGHT NOW sphincter-clenching. While the practical need to be one part mechanic has faded with time, the call for total immersion and involvement has not. You simply can’t own and ride bikes for very long without feeling the stirrings of your latent moto-man/ancient warrior coming to life.
Unless your moto-mojo is already in full flower, the first noticeable urge is usually to farkle. To modify. Looking at bikes at shows and at dealers doesn’t trigger it. Then, they’re just bikes. Glorious to be sure, but just bikes. Once home in your shed, they become something different. A Muse, or maybe a Siren. I’ve already used the word Temptress.
At first you think the call is simply to ride. And at first, it is. But then the tone changes. Something is no longer right in your two-wheeled world. You don’t know it at first but what you’re now hearing is the call to get involved. To get physical. To mark this bike as your own. To have your way.
So you buy your first doodad. Just a little thing like a Cramp Buster or maybe a throttle lock.
If you’re already well bitten, that first doodad is on its way before the bike rolls through the garage door. For the novitiate, you don’t yet know about, much less suspect the damage that will be visited on your wallet by the likes of Touratech, Aerostich, and Parts Unlimited.
With luck, that first doodad doesn’t require tools beyond the screwdriver you found buried in the top drawer in the kitchen . . . the one your wife borrowed three years ago and you’ve been looking for since. But if not this doodad, then the next one will require tools. And that’s how it begins. The affair has moved to another phase. The minute you buy tools to work on your bike, you’re officially involved.
For me, the climb began slowly. I didn’t dare do anything to my Ducati but ride it. If I wanted something modified, I took it to the dealer. There would be a tribal gathering at the catalog next to the cash register, the parts guy would incant secret phrases, and my bank balance would plummet. Ted Bishop describes this phase well in his book, Riding with Rilke . . .
Ted Bishop. W. W. Norton 2007, Paperback, 272 pages, $14.95
When I tighten the chain, I feel like a real mechanic. After all, I’m using two wrenches. Clearly, Ted and the Art of motorcycle maintenance would be a short book. I don’t tune the carburetors. For a Ducati, you need a two-year training course and proficiency in Italian even to find the carburetors. And to set the valves, you need special tools and special shims that come handcrafted from Bologna and cost twice as much as those for any other motorcycle. (Shims are the bits of metal that go under the valve stems to change how far they open and close; I’ve never seen one, but I’m assured they exist and when they appear on my work order, they are extravagantly expensive.)
The Yamaha presented itself as a more complete work. Everything about it seemed just perfect. Until I got it home.
I am a huge fan of Gerbing’s heated clothing. I had the Ducati dealer install the wire the last time around. With 20 miles on the FJR, I decided that I was man enough to hook two wires to a battery, so down to the garage I went. It was Friday night. I was going for a 400-mile ride the next day.
Within minutes, disaster struck. Fumbling about, I managed to drop one of the infernally small and evilly placed battery terminal screws into the bowels of the bike. It was irretrievably lost somewhere inside the fairing. The bits might as well have fallen through a wormhole. I think I actually cried.
I will admit this now as it’s been two years and lots of therapy since. I went upstairs and asked my wife for help. In therapy they call it an intervention. The bike had cast its spell on me but she was completely immune. It was she that suggested that we just take the fairing off the beast in order to find the part that had gone missing.
TAKE THE FAIRING OFF? My new bike? But that would require tools! Something might go wrong! If God wanted me to see the bike naked, he wouldn’t have granted it clothes! But she was right. Having ruled out taking the bike back to the dealer and asking for another, there was no other obvious course of action.
I actually think the bike conjured this episode for my behalf. You have to pop your cherry at some point and the bike, in its infinite inanimate wisdom, decided that the best time and place to reintroduce me to my tools was in a decently lit garage for small stakes poker.
Bit by bit the panels came away from the side of the bike, revealing Thor’s own workroom beneath. The bike didn’t blush and neither did I at the sight of all that alloy and wires and tubes and things. I tried not to gasp.
The stupid little prick of a nut kept chasing deeper and deeper into the fairing until I had Tupperware all over the garage. But we finally drove it to earth. My bloodlust up by now, I danced and pounded my chest at this act of unvarnished manliness. No two cent part is going to get the best of me! I am moto-man. My wife kept her opinion to herself.
Miraculously, all the parts went back the way they came off with nothing left over. My wife, she with the prehensile paws, graciously aided in completing the task that had previously defeated me: attaching the red lead to the screw under the red rubber boot. Victory was truly mine. Cigars and single malt all around. Bike and wife just smiled.
Over the months that followed my quest to reclaim my moto-mojo knew no bounds. What a crock. It knew lots of bounds, but I was not so easily defeated when it came to fooling the small stuff. I successfully installed a raft of critical parts like a new windscreen, grips, hand guards, sliders, throttle tube, throttle lock, and fork brace. Soon a Givi rear rack followed. And then, in an act of supreme confidence, I undertook the diabolically difficult installation of a Power Commander, which required tipping up the tank and actually disconnecting electrical things! And the bike still ran when I was done!
And then one day a new disaster struck. Some piece of excrement cretin pig broke into our building. Our very secure, fully alarmed, multi-tenant fortress of a building. And of all the things that motherfucker might have taken, all he grabbed were MY TOOLS! And not very good ones at that. Nothing but a mismatched set of sockets, handles, and open-ends. But they were my tools!
It cranked me no end that he also took my radar detector, but I wanted a new one anyway. And he took the cheek pads out of my Shoei in order to get at a $20 pair of helmet speakers. Whatever. But my tools! My beloved, had-them-for-30-years tools! What a bastard!
Climbing the Ladder of Moto-Mojo
Over the years I’ve been on the bad side of a break-in four times. One time it was my hi-fi. The other three times it was my tools that got lifted. It always feels like a huge violation, but particularly when it comes to tools. A man’s work is wrapped up in those things. His identity. His ability to respond to his muse. There is a special place in the depths of hell reserved for people who steal another man’s tools.
Beyond the normal hurt and anger came the extra aggravation that I was now without some specialized tools I had acquired to do specialized things like setting the sag on the whippy cool HyperPro shock I had installed. Double-damn. You see, I had now moved beyond the initiate to moto-man, fourth degree, only six more levels to climb!
Level 1: Use of tools
Level 2: Buy tools to use
Level 3: Own more than one shop manual
Level 4: Buy specialized tools; power tools go here
Level 5: Undertake a job that requires the use of multiple tools at the same time
Level 6: Undertake a job that requires multiple types of tools
Level 7: Complete disassembly and reassembly of something with more than 50 parts.
Level 8: Custom fabrication / extensive modification of existing structures
Level 9: Diagnosis and repair or rebuild of mission critical assembly (like a motor rebuild)
Level 10: Diagnosis and repair or rebuild or anything anywhere without tools.
So the tool-taking wasn’t just a casual violation as it might have been for a struggling Level 1. This was tugging on Super Man’s cape. This was taking a run at the USS Nimitz in a speed boat. This was trifling with Thor’s Hammer!
Patrimony Restored
Into the soup of worst parts was added my thousand dollar insurance deductible. But it is just these challenges that make a man. It is just these sorts of calls that bring out a man’s true moto-mojo. Before the sun set that day I was the proud new owner of a full set of new tools. NEW TOOLS. New tools from the forges of the Fatherland, hammered into existence by the wizened hands of master craftsmen. New sockets, new wrenches, a new torque wrench scribed in Newton meters for God’s sake!
Patrimony restored, I was now tooled-up and free to farkle and adjust with new confidence. As I write this, my FJR is at the dealer getting all the greasy and grimy stuff done in anticipation of a big riding season. So truth be told, I completely fail the Pirsig purity test. But one of the joys of advanced years and perspective is the possibility of some security in your own skin. I’m involved. I heard the Muse. I bought the tools. I answered the call. It’s totally okay with me to let the dealer do the 16,000 mile service. I’m a fully capable, though oft reluctant Level 6!
Now if I could only transfer my deep insights into the truth about motorcycles to the arthritis in my neck . . .
I met Carl (virtually) on a motorcycle forum. Think of him as your average, every day, mid-life motorcycle crazy. He agreed to answer my various questions. Lots of great thoughts about riding. He also has assembled one of the most impressive personal motorcycle sites you’ll ever find: loads of ride reports, maps, pictures, and more. Enjoy.
Tell me a little about yourself. What do you do, do you have family, that sort of thing.
Hmm, first off I’m a gamer. I’ve been playing War games, Role playing games, Board games, Computer games and such since I was a kid. I got in to Dungeons and Dragons in 1976, about the same time I started riding motorcycles.
I’m an official computer geek. I’ve been doing stuff with computers since 1979 or so when I was plunked in front of a computerized typesetter while in The Army. Within 6 months I was teaching the guy who had originally manned it for 2 years how to do neat stuff and eventually streamlined the process, saving money and increasing productivity.
Combining D&D and computers is what got me in to the field. I wrote a few programs to help me with gaming. Not the graphic stuff you see nowadays but more gaming aids. Character generation, monitoring, and stuff like that.
(It’s important, bear with me )
When I left The Army, I rambled through a couple of jobs. Selling cars and working as a security guard. In both cases, I was also working on computer programs to help make the jobs easier. I created a salesman’s tutorial. You’d enter in data from brochures and it’d “flashcard” you to help you memorize facts. I created a security program so you could quickly look up vehicle information on folks approaching your post.
From there I started getting jobs as a programmer. First assisting a surveyor with their programs, then working on funeral home software, and even a small program for a local political party (don’t recall who but it was a simple survey type program).
From programming I got to PC installation and LAN configuration. Then I administered LANs. Then started Unix administration.
Now I’m a Team Lead and Senior Unix Administrator for Intrado. The servers I manage are part of the country’s emergency 911 infrastructure including the Amber Alert system. I only worked here for 4 months and was given a raise because of my valuable contributions to the servers.
I have two daughters from my first marriage. The older one is a computer geek just like dad and lives in Portland Or. The younger one stepped away from computers and lives with her husband in Fredericksburg Va.
I met Rita online. She was living in Denver and I was in Virginia. We chatted, exchanged e-mails, and then got together. I flew out to Denver to visit, we met again in Florida, and then she moved in with me. We got married on Halloween, 2000. She has a daughter, also in Virginia.
Do you remember your first bicycle? Is there a good story about it?
Oh yea. We were living in Chula Vista Ca. My first bicycle ride was short. I started going parallel with the curb, then swerved right to the opposite side of the street, wobbled around back to the other curb and ran straight into it going over the bars. My first highside
When did you first ride a motorcycle?
My uncle raced Bultaco’s and I lived with him and his family for a year. I was too chicken to get on the back of the bike because he was nuts, but was fascinated with it. He “gave” me a junker with “blown seals” (I had no idea what a blown seal was though). I sat on it but we never actually worked on the bike. When I rejoined my parents, I asked about a bike but they said “not in my house”.
After I got out of high school in 1976, I joined The Army. At my first post I wanted a bike. A friend of mine rode a Honda CB450/4 and offered to teach me how to ride. I don’t recall how we got my first bike to the abandoned barracks where Maurie was going to show me how to ride. He gave me some quick lessons on how to stay up and be safe.
After I got my license, I waved at him once and he gave me a piece of his mind on keeping both hands on the handlebars. I also attended the required post Defensive Driving Course taught by a Maryland State Motorcycle Police Officer. He did his best to scare the life out of all us riders with horrible pictures and stories.
What was the first bike you owned?
A Yamaha 250. After a couple of months, I was ready to buy my first brand new bike. I rode the Yamaha (which needed a tune up and was throwing a bunch of smoke) down to the dealer in Maryland and traded it for a Honda CB360T.
Wife has a 2007 Kawasaki Ninja 650 (I list it because I also ride it from time to time).
How many miles do you expect to ride this year?
Including commuting and all my bikes, maybe 20,000 miles.
How would you describe your involvement with motorcycling now?
Learning and trying to help newer folks with the answers I’ve received and learned over the past few years. Planning long rides to great areas in the country (ours and Canada). Learning how engines and motorcycles in particular work (I’m doing my own wrenching for most everything).
What attracted you to motorcycling? Why do you ride?
Initially it was my Uncle Rod. He raced Bultaco’s, lived in a big Addams Family type house and had a hippy type lifestyle. Initially it was just because it was fun and inexpensive. My friends were riding and I liked being part of a group.
Now I ride because it’s a lot of fun and challenging. I ride year round in all sorts of weather. I tour all over the US and Canada including places people think a sport bike shouldn’t be riding.
There are times when I’m a little wiped out at work or home and get on the bike and the cares of the world are whisked away with the breeze.
Did you have to make any sort of deal with your wife?
Not really. We did have some discussion but I think she thought I wasn’t going to actually do it. She said she was afraid that I’d turn into one of the stereotypical Harley riders she sees riding around. I told my first wife and this one that I’d been riding before I met them and I was going to ride. She responded by getting a largish sized life insurance policy on me
The funny part is that she says I’m surprisingly safe on the motorcycle.
Does she ride with you?
She does ride on her own bike. She’s somewhat short and doesn’t like sitting on the back of the bike. She also has a back condition so her feet have to be at a precise angle with her pelvis and bouncing around on the back of the bike doesn’t really help. That’s the reason she started riding her own bike.
What do you think about when you ride?
When commuting, I’m generally either enjoying the view; the sun rising behind me and highlighting the Rockies can be awesome on some mornings, or trying to keep some yahoo from running me over while they’re yakking on their cell phone. Sometimes I’m thinking about work or an upcoming event or ride.
When touring, my mind generally swirls in work and home related stuff for a day or two, then it settles down in to looking around, checking the gas tank, enjoying the road and music, and all the stuff that goes along with touring.
This is perhaps an indelicate question, but how do you think about the ‘dangerous’ part about riding?
I’m very conscious of how risky it is to ride. I wear an Aerostich one piece textile suit or Alpinestars one piece leather suit (when on the track), full face helmet, gloves, and ankle high Harley Storm boots. I have a 132db air horn on the Hayabusa and use a headlight modulator. I read forums and dissect accident reports to see how I would have reacted in those situations. In general, my riding doesn’t fall into the majority of motorcycle accidents I’ve read about. I’m aware that one of the biggest problems is the inattentiveness of cagers and the inability of them to see bike riders. I have the headlight modulator and air horn to help with that. I pay particular attention when approaching danger zones such as where folks will turn left in front of you. I adjust lane position to be the most visible. Most of the time I make an effort to get out of traffic clumps so I’m not in a position of danger. In riding, I’m always scanning; looking at drivers, making sure I don’t sit in their blind spots if possible and being extra aware when I’m forced to. I always look around to see where the next problem might come from.
It sounds like I’m spending all my time alert for the slightest danger. But really all that takes a very small part of my riding thoughts. I’ve been surprised a few times, for example recently I was surprised when a driver who was slowing down in the left turn lane decided he didn’t want to be at that light and pulled back in to traffic. I was able to slow down without incident in part because I was paying attention. Even though it was a surprise, my constant scanning for trouble had me reacting quickly and out of danger before it was a problem.
I guess in general I’m just very aware and try not to worry about the risks involved. My wife says I’m very optimistic and act like it’ll all work out in the end
What one piece of advice would you give to someone coming to motorcycles for the first time? I’m thinking about the “mid-life” rider now?
TRAINING! Training training training training training.
Even if you’ve ridden a lot before, things change. When I started riding again (Harley Softail), I was surprised by the number of close calls just in the first 6 weeks and there were 2 or 3 incidents where if I wasn’t paying attention, I might not be here now. A friend who was riding pulled me aside and said that I was riding wrong, even though it was right when I stopped riding.
The Defensive Driving Class (required for riding on the Army Post) back in 1976 stressed staying to the left of the lane and away from the cars so you had time to react. But nowadays, cagers are even more distracted than they used to be and you need to be a little less defensive and a little more offensive. My friend pointed out that I should be riding in the right side of the lane, closest to the cage in the lane to the right. Because as long as you’re watching, the guy in front of you isn’t going to affect you. Same with the guy behind. I can’t tell you the number of times in riding that I’ve seen cars move over to the shoulder because of suddenly stopped traffic. If you’re on the left, that leaves you open to being hit. But the biggest danger is the inattentive cager to your right. Stay behind his rear bumper so he has a chance of seeing your headlight in his mirror and when you pass, pass aggressively.
Take the Basic Riders Course. Then the Experienced Riders Course. Then look in to some of the schools that are probably in your area. Here in Denver there’s a school that for $250 or so will take you to the next level in riding.
What bike would you recommend (and why)?
For a first bike, something small and light, so you can be confident and think about other things. And used. Even folks getting back in to riding should get a smaller used bike to start. There’s always someone behind you waiting for you to get familiar and when you’re comfortable, you can move up to a larger bike.
My wife decided to go with a Honda Shadow VLC when she started riding because of the seat height. It was her second bike. After wobbling around and even crashing it once, she moved to one of the larger scooters (Aprilia Atlantic) and eventually a Honda Metro. We attended a Sport-Touring.Net national meet in Colorado and one of the lady riders came down from Seattle on a Honda Interceptor (250cc). Rita started checking out the sport bike side of the house and found a Kawasaki Ninja on Craigslist. Even though the Ninja has a taller seat, it’s narrower so she could still flat foot and it’s light so she could concentrate on riding and not on trying to keep it up. In just one season on the 250cc Ninja, her confidence raised up significantly and now she’s on a Ninja 650 and sometimes I have to zip up to catch her
After that, it’s whatever fits your style of riding. I’ve ridden the Harley around the country and found my back didn’t like the seating position. I had the Goldwing and again, my back hated it. I rode around quite a bit on a GSXR750 and ride my SV650 and neither are really meant for any sort of distance. The best one for me has been the Hayabusa with Heli-bar risers. It’s been the most comfortable of the bikes I’ve ridden over the years. My back isn’t jarred by road bumps and with the risers, I’m not leaning on my wrists.
I’m not saying folks just getting back in to the game should get a Hayabusa or Ninja ZX14 but something that’s comfortable for you. For me it took a few bikes before I found it.
What’s the coolest thing you’ve done on/with a motorcycle?
Last year my wife talked me out of taking the Hayabusa up to Alaska by letting me get the SV650. I bought it with the intention of doing some track riding. I’ve been learning how to ride better on the Hayabusa and getting more speed out of corners with more stability and control (I’d read the Total Control book). I tried taking it to the track but for the smaller track that’s available to me here in Denver (a go cart track really), the Hayabusa was a tad heavy. The first time I took the SV650 on the track, I got my knee down all the way around the track. Not only was I excited about it, a friend from the local group was there taking pictures and he got several so I have nice memories as well.
If you could pick one place you’d recommend as a riding destination / experience, what/where would that be?
There are just so many great places to ride, it’s hard to really pick a good single destination. And experience would depend on what you are excited about. Some places I’ve been since I got back on two wheels:
Jasper/Banff National Park in Canada
Labrador Canada
Apache Highway in Arizona
Rt 44 in West Virginia
Mt. Washington and Mt. St Helens in Washington
Coast Highway, north of San Francisco
Rt 149 in Western Colorado
Peak to Peak Highway in Colorado
Glacier National Park in Montana
Basically just explore. Break out your map book and go ride.
If someone handed you a blank check and said “go buy a motorcycle you’d enjoy riding (not just collecting), what would you pick?
I like my Hayabusa. At the moment, I’d just get another one. When I told my wife I was approaching 68,000 miles on the ‘busa, she said “well, it’s about time for another bike then.” I told her that instead, I’d rather refurbish the Hayabusa and maybe put in a “stage one kit”. Something to soup it up just a little.
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