Dreams, Perspective and...Maybe Growing Up a Little?

It was the summer of 1986, or so, and I had a part-time job delivering a weekly newspaper in my neighborhood in Maryland. I already knew that, sooner or later, I'd be a motorcyclist, but at this point in time, I was relegated to a BMX bicycle, which was where pretty much all of my meager earnings from the paper route went. While out delivering papers on my route, I started to notice a particular line of Honda motorcycles showing up pretty much everywhere. Some were 500cc bikes, some were 700 or 750cc bikes, and every once in a while, I'd even see a mighty 1000cc version of the bike. Whatever size, I was immediately drawn to the bike any time I saw one. White, with red and/or blue trim, a modestly sized fairing surrounding the single square headlight, and the beautiful V-4 engine on display for the world to see, I thought it was the most beautiful bike I'd ever seen. The bike was, of course, the first generation of Honda's legendary Interceptor, and I was so taken by the bike that, to this day, I still think that the only suitable color for a proper sportbike is white.

When Honda introduced the Interceptor, the press and public alike raved over it. As one of the first generation of true sportbikes, the Interceptor was one of the quickest, best handling bikes around. It truly was revolutionary. As a testament to the job Honda did on the design of that bike, the modern version of the bike lives on in Honda's current lineup as the VFR800, albeit as a sport-tourer rather than a pure sport bike. Nevertheless, it has a devoted fan base, holding its own against such rivals as the Triumph Sprint and Suzuki Bandit.

When I recently saw a 1985 VF700 Interceptor on Craigslist, I packed up my riding gear, drove an hour out of town to the current owner's house, and looked over the bike, thrilled to possibly bring a childhood dream to life. Seeing the bike in person, I was all but sold.

You see, after seven years and roughly 40,000 miles on my V-Strom, I've started to become a little bored with it. I had hoped that either my XS750 Cafe Racer or the '78 Goldwing might deliver a little more performance than the "slow" V-Strom, but the V-Strom has proven to be quicker off the line than either of my other bikes, and absolutely eats up the vintage bikes in the handling department. Something a little sportier, a little sexier, a little more exciting was what I was hoping to find with the Interceptor, and so far, things were looking good. I was about ready to hand over the cash for the bike, but first, a quick test ride to make sure it really was working as advertised. I fired up the engine, and my-oh-my, what a glorious sound that emanated from that beautiful V-4 engine! I put the bike in gear, feathered the clutch and rode down the block onto the highway, and...

Meh.

When I rode the Interceptor, I felt like I was on my familiar, somewhat stodgy V-Strom. Sure, the riding position was a little sportier, but I was profoundly disappointed by the performance. This bike was a legend, groundbreaking. It was the stuff of some thirty-odd years of dreams. And it felt almost exactly like my old, faithful standby. There was no rush of adrenaline when I spun the throttle. It tracked around corners well enough, but didn't exactly carve them the way I expected a sportbike -- even an older sportbike -- to do. It was good, solid...but not terribly exciting.

I walked away from the sale, feeling rather depressed.

A few days later, I had a bit of an epiphany. The problem was that I had essentially started my motorcycle life on what truly is an amazingly good motorcycle, but since that was all I had ever known, I was taking it for granted. Before I bought the V-Strom, I spent hours studying the bike on-line, reading every review and magazine article I could find. While a lot of owners were somewhat self-deprecating about the bike (I'd heard the term, "old fart's bike" thrown around quite a bit on the Stromtrooper forum), most of the actual reviews I'd read were overwhelmingly positive. Having owned mine for so long, I'd have to agree with the reviews. My V-Strom has handled every combination of poor roads, ham-fisted rider technique, crappy weather and bad judgment that I've thrown at it, and despite all of that, it has never, not even once, stranded me anywhere. With its somewhat bulbous front fairing, it is perhaps not the sexiest bike ever made, but it has been nothing less than an excellent motorcycle, and after riding the Interceptor, I began to realize just how little credit I had given my bike, and to some degree, how much I had built up the Interceptor in my mind.

I once read that sometimes fantasies are best left unrealized. The Interceptor, my two-wheeled fantasy since before I was old enough to even have a license, will remain just that, I think. It's a beautiful motorcycle, with an amazing exhaust note, but I wouldn't trade my V-Strom for one.

As for something a little sportier...well, a few weeks later, my wife pointed out another ad that she found on Craigslist, and now, I'm the proud owner of a low-mileage, 2006 Triumph Speed Triple:

...but that's another story for another day. For now, I have two brand new tires and freshly-installed braided steel brake lines on my V-Strom. It's time for a post-maintenance shake-down ride :)

Loud Pipes?

I've never been a "loud pipes save lives" guy. I believe paying attention and playing the "what-if" game ("what's the stupidest @#$&!!! thing another motorist around me can do, and what will I do when -- not if -- they do it?") are the best ways for a motorcyclist to keep him/her -self safe. I've also always held the opinion that being courteous when sharing the road was a good idea. I've often cringed when another motorcyclist with straight pipes rode by, worrying that non-motorcyclists would lump us all in the same group. To me, the "loud pipes save lives" crew has always seemed like they were trying to rationalize their unbaffled exhausts with a thin veneer of justification. However, I'm starting to think that I was wrong. Loud pipes might not be such a bad idea, after all.

So I'm on my way to work on my V-Strom the other day, cruising down a 45MPH, secondary road (two northbound lanes, two southbound lanes, and a suicide lane down the middle). I'm in the right-hand northbound lane when a dually work truck pulls out ahead of me. No problem; he's far enough ahead that I can slow down or change lanes to avoid him. There's a four door Jeep Wrangler in the left-hand lane, but I've got room to change lanes, so I do. About the time that I turn off my turn signal and get stabilized after changing lanes, some complete tool in the suicide lane pulls into my lane so effing close that there's no time for me to brake, and the work truck is still just slightly ahead of me in the right-hand lane, and not yet up to the speed of traffic. I do a quick assessment of my options (not many), and think to myself, "I'm not gonna avoid this one. This is gonna hurt."

Fortunately, my guardian angel (who has got to be mainlining Valium at this point in my life, and who is well past due for a promotion, lol) points out the one escape route I have available. Maybe. It's marginal, but the only other option I have is to go over the hood of the Escape or CR-V or whatever little SUV it was that pulled in front of me (identifying make and model was honestly not at the top of my priority list at this point), so I grab a fist-full of throttle, and go for it.

As it turns out, there was *just* enough room for me to lane split between the SUV and the work truck, even on my wide-butt Suzuki, and I managed to successfully slip between them before I rocketed down the road ahead of them, wanting to get as far as possible from the distracted driver in the SUV as fast as possible.

As readers of this blog will know, I've been trying to figure out how to repair the broken, obnoxiously loud exhaust on my Yammie for a while, but ya know...after this incident, I don't think I will, after all. I'll probably do enough work to clean up the cosmetics on the XS' exhaust, but no one has *EVER* been unaware of me on the (103+ dB) Triple, whereas on my (83dB) V-Strom, I've had more than enough close calls. In fact, I think I'm even going to retrofit my Strom to a louder can, as well.

I originally posted a slightly shorter version of this rant on one of the forums I frequent, and several people chimed in with various observations about the pros and cons of this plan, including some interesting things I hadn't thought of, like an anecdote about revving the engine on a louder bike to make sure that an obviously distracted driver knows you are there. Since, in our society, honking the horn is often used to express displeasure with other motorists rather than to politely get someone else's attention, revving an engine once or twice on a sufficiently loud motorcycle can draw others' attention to you without the baggage associated with honking your horn.

Others, of course, took issue with my decision to make sure my bikes were loud enough to draw attention to them, mostly due to the fact that being loud can be offensive to others. I get it. That's why I've ridden my Strom for six years already with the stock exhaust. That's why repairing the broken exhaust on my Yammie was such a priority for me. But here's the rub: I can't count the number of times I've had to take evasive action to avoid another motorist who obviously didn't see me. Some of them were merely annoying; I had options and was able to avoid the conflict by adjusting speed and/or position without much drama. Others were a little more memorable, like the teenager in the bright orange H2 Hummer who looked me in the eye, then pulled out Right...Freaking...In front of me (and then tailgated me after I swerved past him in the oncoming lane of traffic!!!) or the twenty-something punk that had a near-death-experience (although he didn't know it) after he cut me off with so little room to spare that I locked up my rear brake TWICE to avoid crashing into the rear quarter panel of his car. This year, however, I've had two instances where I really didn't think I was going to be able to avoid the accident. Fortunately, I was wrong both times, but these two incidents have shaken me up enough that I'm seriously re-thinking my stand on loud exhaust systems on motorcycles. As a good friend of mine recently said in a Facebook post, "An aftermarket exhaust is cheaper than your deductible." Hmmmm...that's actually a really good point!

If cagers are so self-absorbed and self-centered that they can't put down the cell phone for the twenty minutes it takes to get to work, can't be bothered to put on a turn signal before changing lanes, and can't be bothered to perform a head-check or even look in their rear-view mirrors before pulling into traffic, then I no longer care if my exhaust disturbs their Zen moment with Enya on their 1200 Watts of Dolby Surround Sound during their morning commute. My right to have a reasonable chance of arriving alive at my destination is just a little more important than your right to peace and solitude inside your insulated cocoon. Sorry.

So here's the deal: I'm going to try to find a louder-than-stock exhaust for my Strom that (hopefully) will drop the weight a bit (OEM exhausts are notoriously heavy), that (hopefully) will improve performance and/or gas mileage a bit, and that (hopefully) will garner a little more attention from other motorists when I ride. I'm shooting for something that won't be obnoxiously loud, but I definitely am looking for something louder than stock. From the evidence I've seen, motorcycles are all but invisible to other drivers; I'm tired of being silent (or close enough, anyway) as well.

[end rant]

XS750 Project Part 25: On Rat Bikes, Abandoned Projects and Moving the Soul

I took an English class in college that was easily one of the biggest wastes of time in my entire college career. However, there was at least one grain of wisdom that the English professor teaching (ahem...) that class left with me: "A work of art is never completed," she said. "It is merely abandoned." Her point, of course, was that you can spend an entire lifetime rewriting, editing, altering, adjusting and perfecting your writing -- or any other art form, for that matter -- and there will still be something else in that work that you feel you can make better. Eventually, however, most artists (writers, painters, sculptors, whatever) grow tired with a particular piece of work, and move on to a new project.

Likewise, I have reached a point in my cafe racer project where, even though I know full well that the project is not complete, it is at least at a point where I can pull it out of the workshop and start enjoying it.

Don't be misled; it's still a rat bike in every sense of the word. The seat is a 1/2 inch thick sheet of foam rubber crudely carved (more or less) into shape and held on to the metal seat pan with bungie cords. The exhaust is shot and falling apart. The bike still idles at 4000 RPM once it has reached operating temperature, although I've got a lead on what needs to be done to fix that (thanks, Gatlyn!). The instrument cluster is dented, the triple trees are faded and rusting, and the idiot light panel is cracked and off-kilter. Nevertheless, it is at least ridable now, and I've been commuting around town on it every chance I get.

As I've said before, the V-Strom has been a great bike, and I am really glad that I bought it. It's rock solid, bulletproof, and as reliable as a bike can be. I've put just shy of 30,000 miles on it in the five summers I've owned it, and I fully intend to ride it into the ground; I don't expect that I will ever sell it.

However...have you ever had an itch where it doesn't matter where you scratch, you can't quite seem to reach it? You scratch here, but it's a little too low. You scratch a little higher, but that's not quite it either. You scratch to either side, but still miss the itch. Desperate now, you scratch all over, but every time, you get close...but not quite there. That's what the Strom has been like. It's a great bike, and I really enjoy riding it, but there's still something inexplicable that's missing when I ride it.

Then there's the Yamaha. Now that I've got it running, I think I've finally found what the V-Strom was missing: Character. Soul. That invisible, unquantifiable, visceral feeling of rightness that you can't explain to anyone else, but that you know and recognize the second it's there. The V-Strom is fast enough; in fact, I've ridden it about 10-20 MPH faster than I've (yet) gone on the Yamaha. It's a lot more comfortable than the Yam. I rode the Strom from Anchorage to Seattle and back, a round trip of 5,000 miles, at least according to the odometer (which, admittedly, includes commuting while in Seattle); the longest round-trip I've made on the bike I've named "Miami" ("My Yammy," lol) is 60 miles...and then I was a little stiff for two days afterwards! The Strom has never, ever stranded me anywhere (although I did trailer it back from Valdez this summer after what turned out to be a non-event -- the chain guard had loosened and was rubbing on the chain, but I thought it was bearing problems again), but I've had to call for a ride home once already while out on the Yammy, and I had to stop and troubleshoot on the side of the road once after the engine abruptly died on me. The Strom is more nimble, turns quicker and is more responsive to body language than the Yam. It also is lighter, has more range, carries more cargo, is more versatile, and starts with the push of a button every...single...time whereas the Yamaha is a cranky, cantankerous, kick-start-only machine, etc., etc., etc.

Yet somehow, despite all of the logical, rational, practical reasons why the Strom is a better bike -- and it is, no doubt about it -- the Yamaha still elicits more smiles per gallon than the V-Strom. When I want to unwind, it's the bike I gravitate towards, even in its present, unfinished state. When I close my eyes and picture myself shedding the stress of the day, the vision in my mind's eye is me astride the Yammy. The Strom transports the body, but the Yamaha transports the soul.

And in the end, that's why I ride. There's nothing logical or rational or practical about it. It's about feeding the soul and feeling alive. Both bikes fill needs that I have, so both bikes will continue to be ridden. Sometimes the mission will be practical, and I'll take the Strom. Sometimes the mission will be emotional, and I'll take the Yam. And if one or the other bike is down for maintenance, at least I won't be caging it during Alaska's all-too-short riding season ;)

Fricken' Awesome!

My wife recently found a video (sorry, I don't have the link or I'd paste it here) that I found really intriguing, and then today, I ran across the same story from a link at Yamaha Triples.

This is SO many levels of awesome!

Out of curiosity, I followed a link to B.A.C.A.'s web page, where they have a list of local chapters, and...

Crap. No Alaska chapter >:(

Could a scrawny (6-foot-0, 180 pounds) ADV-type start a chapter up here, I wonder??? Anyone else here in AK interested in signing up?

Edit: I contacted the national organization, and they put me in touch with a guy here in my local area who used to be a member in the Lower-48. Everything is still in the planning stages now -- nothing is for certain, yet -- but it looks like we might have enough interested folks to get a chapter started up here! I'll keep the blog updated if (and "as") things start happening.

First-World Problems

I was talking to a friend of mine a while ago about the problems he was having with his fleet of motor vehicles. He needed to charge the battery and change the oil on his motorcycle. He would need to get his RV ready for summer soon. The canopy on his boat had been crushed by the weight of snow over the winter, and would need to be replaced. His SUV was having some mechanical difficulties, and his wife's car was in the shop, too.

I'm in a very similar situation myself. I own two motorcycles, a '77 Yamaha XS750 that I'm rebuilding into a cafe racer, and a '09 Suzuki V-Strom 650 that is my "let's go exploring" bike. Spring is almost here, but neither bike is rideable at the moment. The Yamaha has been significantly disassembled during the rebuild process, and it will need a lot of work before it's ready to hit the streets again. The V-Strom is in much better shape, but it needs a new front sprocket, new wheel bearings, a new chain, and some work on the front tire (I can't get the bead to seat to save my life). Likewise, my Nissan Frontier is having some drive-line problems. It's running, but it's making some noises and is occasionally snatching when I'm in stop-and-go traffic. My wife's Ford F-150 is also acting up; she'll be taking it to the shop later today.

After my friend finished his litany of mechanical gremlins, he kind of gave me a wry smile and made a comment about "First-world problems."

Yeah, we've got it tough, don't we? I currently own five motor vehicles, only one of which -- my wife's '77 CB750A -- is running properly right now. The repair bills to get the vehicles working again sure are adding up. Man, it totally sucks to be me...

Unless you're the child in Honduras with Pepsi bottles tied to your feet for shoes...

Or the mom in Somalia who has no idea how she is going to feed her five children today...

Or one of the children in Uganda who has been forced into either prostitution or the army by the LRA...

Or one of the babies in Mozambique who was left to die at the dump because his mom already has more children than she can support...

As I was griping about having to spend $200 on a new chain and sprockets for my V-Strom last night, it occurred to me just how lucky I am to have such problems. For those of you living in a modern, Western culture -- and if you're reading this blog, I can just about guarantee that that includes you by virtue of the fact that you are sitting at a computer in the first place -- congratulations! You are one of the wealthiest people in the world. If you are starting to feel frustrated by your circumstances, consider that your problems would probably be considered blessings by much of the rest of the world. After all, you won't need $200 worth of parts to get your motorcycle back on the road this spring, if you weren't wealthy enough to own a motorcycle in the first place.

Amirite? ;)

XS750 Restoration, part 4 -- Odds and Ends

I didn't get much work done on the Yamaha last night. It was kind of a busy evening, and I'm mostly at a stopping point until parts arrive. However, I still need to order replacement clutch and throttle cables. Motion Pro sells custom cables, but they need detailed specs, including length, cable free play, size, location and shape of all fittings, etc. According to their web site, drawings showing this information, in addition to a textual description, are requested.

Consequently, I spent most of the time measuring and drawing out representations of the clutch and throttle cables on graph paper. I'll post drawings here as soon as I have converted them to an electronic format.

Edit:

This is the drawing and the dimensions of the clutch cable I need to fit the bike with the Clubman handlebars.

...and this is the drawing and dimension of the throttle cable for the bike with Clubmans.

After completing the drawings, I removed functional-but-...well...unaesthetic? :) ...rack from the rear of the bike, which kind of brought home a point that was obvious in hindsight, but that I hadn't really realized before: a motorcycle isn't just a collection of parts bolted together. It's a system of interworking, inter-related parts that work together to produce a functional whole. Well, yeah. Duh! However, when I started this project, I had a rather naive project plan that involved ripping and replacing parts as required to create the vision of the final product that I had in mind.

But it's not that simple.

Consider the rear rack, for example. In my mind, all I had to do was loosen the acorn nuts that hold the rack to the bolt that goes through the rear shocks, remove the mounting arms for the rack, then put the nuts back on the bolts so that the shocks don't fall off while riding. What I didn't consider is that the mounting flange on the arms of the rack is about an eight of an inch thick, and acorn nuts have a maximum depth to which they can be tightened on a bolt. After removing the rack, I had about a sixteenth of an inch between the acorn nut and the shock, meaning I either need to replace the acorn nuts with regular nuts that I can snug up against the shocks (maybe keeping the acorn nuts to lock the regular nuts in place?) or I need to buy some washers that I can use as spacers between the shocks and the acorn nuts.

Another example is replacing the handlebars. In my mind, all I had to do was remove the components from the old handlebars, remove the old handlebars themselves, install the Clubman handlebars, and reinstall the components on the new handlebars. However, the real world being far more complex than the simplistic model I had in my head, I found that the new, lower handlebars caused me to have too much loose clutch and throttle cable, so not only do I need to replace the handlebars as I originally intended, but I have to replace the clutch and throttle cables, too.

In my reading, I have also discovered that the pod air filters that I want to install will necessitate re-jetting the carburetors, since they flow more air. And so on, and so on. Every change to a component on the bike has implications for other components as well, because every component is related to every other component. Like I said, it's obvious in hindsight, but isn't something that had even occurred to me beforehand.

<shrug>

I knew this would be a learning process before I got started, and school is now in session :) That's a good thing. As I commented to a friend once, there is no point in embarking upon some process that is supposed to change you if you intend to come out of the process exactly the same as you went in. I imagine the process of rebuilding this neglected -- but seriously cool -- motorcycle into the vision I have is going to result in some changes us both. I can't wait to see how we both turn out!