Tidbits

I have concluded that the ultimate measure of manhood is miles-per-gallon, and that the lower the figure, the more macho the possessor. —Which explains why the Governator drives a Hummer.

Last Saturday (October 7), walking our dogs at the so-called elitist country-club, we heard a small parallel-twin motorbike being started in the Boughton Road parking-lot. (Our path passes that parking-lot, yet doesn’t go through it.)
A low, muted “pukka-pukka-pukka” emanated through the trees.
I saw the motorbike pull out onto the road; a 250 Ninja.
“What was that sound?” Linda asked.
“A motorcycle,” I said.
“Can’t be a Harley,” she said; “not loud enough.”

Our garden-tomatoes have run out. Linda pulled out all the tomato-plants weeks ago.
Garden-tomatoes have been sliced into our sandwiches, but all that are left have rotten-spots.
Which means they are ready for Jack.

The monthly column by Peter Egan in my November, 2006 Cycle World trumpets the shining significance of one’s first motorcycle; in his case a 1964 50cc Bridgestone two-stroke.
(Jack noisily poo-poos Cycle-World; heavily into the macho Harley schtick. He claimed they did no write-up of the death of Indian Larry, but they did: a gigantic 4-6 page spread.)
Egan says first motorcycles were “priceless;” but I feel my first was my worst motorbike ever.
It was a 1975 Norton 850 Commando roadster. (This has the “Interstate” tank — more capacity. Also the lowered seat.)
I remember the battery was nearly impossible to remove, wedged in as it was.
Plus it liked to oil ignition-points, the cure for which was a Boyer electronic ignition kit, which I installed myself in my garage at 323 North Winton.
I had it so advanced/retarded at first it made the headers glow red; but finally I dialed it back and made it right.
It had electric-start; but that never worked. Thank ya, Lucas (the prince of darkness).
The Norton-club also suggested changing the ignition-coils. What it had was a separate coil for each plug (two), 1-inch diameter by 3 inches long.
Their suggestion was gigantic car-coils, but where do you put that? I would have had to fabricate brackets, and how do you insulate such a thing against vibration (which an un-balance-shafted 360 parallel-twin had in spades)?
Those coils were never installed.
They also were suggesting replacing the leaky twin Amal carbs with a single Mikuni. Nice idea, but that’s a farmout; or else you had to be a machinist. It means a new manifold.
The motorbike probably weighed 500 pounds, but I learned how to ride on it. (Like trying to learn how drive a 14-foot speedboat using an aircraft-carrier.) Imagine doing figure-eights on something so big.
It sat too much like a GeezerGlide; bolt upright — needed a barn-door faring to not feel like the wind was going to blow you off.
I tried everything: different bars (including reverse); a lowered seat; foot-peg set-backs.
The solution was motorbike #2: a 1980 Ducati 900SS.