Motorcycling redux

The final issue of my “Cycle World” subscription arrived the other day.
Replete with a screaming declaration Armageddon would begin if I didn’t renew immediately.
Tire-smoking burnouts, chesty tarts displaying acres of cleavage, scantily-clad vixens, heavy with mascara, beg to be “driven-wild.”
So ends 30+ years of subscribing to motorcycle magazines. My motorcycling was over last year when I gave my motorcycle, a 2003 Honda 600cc Double-R, to the classical-music radio-station out of Rochester I listen to.
I hadn’t ridden it in years. I preferred writing. To be a motorcyclist one has to enjoy riding. Just dressing to ride takes 10 minutes. That’s 10 minutes I don’t need to hop into my car.
Riding motorcycle is pleasant, but writing more pleasant. Ten years ago I was down to riding once per year: up the street for inspection, then maybe 10-15 miles to warm it up. My Double-R was at about 2,200 miles when I gave it away.
A friend wanted to buy it, but I didn’t wanna sell to someone I knew.
I could bore everyone with my motorcycling history, which began when I started driving bus in 1977. I befriended another rookie about to sell his Triumph, but I ended up buying a used 850 Norton.
I had read Robert Pirsig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” much earlier. Pirsig took his son cross-country on motorcycle from Minnesota to northern California. It sounded interesting.
I’ve had six motorcycles since, none of which I toured on. They reflected my changing tastes. I became obsessed with weight. My Norton was insanely heavy, and having ridden bicycle, which I can carry, I wanted a motorcycle that was light.
My Double-R weighed about 400 pounds, my Norton maybe 600. My lightest motorcycle, a two-stroke, weighed maybe 360, but that’s still way more than a bicycle.
Adventures occurred along the way. I could recount my “motorbike trip from Hell,” where I went off the road near Harrisburg, then nearly dropped it after skimming an unseen curb in the dark in Gap, PA.
I also did an earlier trip by motorcycle returning to my youth in south Jersey. It was so depressing I cried in a diner. I recently returned to my south Jersey youth by car. Never again! Again too depressing.
I also think the reign of the internal-combustion piston engine is over. We piston-slappers are dying off. Soon electric motors will replace the internal-combustion piston engine. This computer is more fun than laying rubber. Plus overcooking a corner can put yer lights out.
That friend who wanted to buy my Honda is about 60. He claims he’ll never give up motorcycling. I used to say that. “Cycle World” recedes into my filmy past.

• RE: “up the street for inspection......” —A motorcycle-shop is about 1,000 yards north of my house.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My heart-defect caused stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability, and that defect was repaired. I recovered well enough to return to work at a newspaper; I retired from that over 13 years ago.

Ducatisti

Sigh! (Long ago photo by BobbaLew.)

During the ‘80s Yr Fthfl Srvnt went along to the Syracuse Nationals at the behest of local “Ducatisti.”
The “Ducatisti” were Rochester residents that owned Ducati motorcycles. They were elitists who felt Ducatis were superior to all others.
They all worked in a foreign-car repair shop, and one guy, Peter, was more-or-less their leader. He owned a Ducati Super-Sport much like what’s pictured, except his was silver with a blue stripe.
I don’t know that any of his fellow-workers had a Super-Sport — I remember one having a much modified springer Ducati. Most Ducatis had desmodromic valve actuation = their valves were closed mechanically by cams instead of by springs.
Mine was desmo, but had only 32 mm carbs. Ultimate was 40 mm toilet-mouths, and Peter’s Super-Sport had that. The starting circuit (additional fuel) was plugged on one of my carburetors, so that carb needed to be replaced. Each cylinder had its own carb — it was a 90° V-twin.
There was one other area motorcycle like mine, but it also had 32 mm carbs. Mine was the Strohmier bike, purchased used from Peter Strohmier. It had Campagnolo magnesium wheels. That second bike didn’t have the Campy wheels, but like mine it was black.
The 32 mm Super-Sports weren’t that serious; they just looked gorgeous. Peter suggested I switch to 40s like his SS. So I ordered 40s, not knowing you also had to swap manifolds to properly take advantage of a 40.
Beyond that, cylinder-head porting and smoothing was needed. Even then a 40-mm carb was a bit much. At lower speeds common to the street-riding I did, 40-mm was too much. They were so big they didn’t accelerate air-flow and turbulence.
The only time a 40-mm carburetor made sense was at top-end. Peter bragged about the 140+ mph his SS could do. Out where he lived, in the country where I am now, there was a road where one could safely crank 140, assuming you didn’t attract the gendarmerie.
But ya don’t do 140 in Rochester. Yer lucky if ya get over 60.
The Syracuse Nationals were one of a series of nationwide races on mile or half-mile dirt ovals. Syracuse was a mile, and also a horse-racing track. The venue was part of the State-Fair complex. But the race wasn’t part of the State Fair. Schoolbus demolition derbies were also held there.
The Nationals were more a celebration of all things motorcycling. Bikers of all stripes attended: Hells Angels, Mohawked street-racers on 200-mph crotch-rockets, and Ducatisti like us — but only a few.

Harley’s 2018 dirt-track racer.

Nearly all of the motorcycles being raced were Harley-Davidson dirt-track racers. There was one Honda, based on a heavily-modified V-twin Honda tourer sold back then. It looked like an air-compressor, but was reconfigured to mimic a Harley-Davidson dirt-track racer. It was fairly strong, a team effort, but a Harley won. Harley also had a team. Many racers were private. Harley sold its dirt-track racer to privateers.
My attendance got in the way. I was invited because of my Ducati. But I wasn’t a speed-demon. We gathered at the repair-shop, then rode as a group out to Peter’s.
From there we rode to the Thruway, Exit-45, the Victor exit. Once on the Thruway, the others opened up, 90-100 mph. I couldn’t do that; as a bus-driver I had to protect my license. Clearly I was slowing things.
Once in Syracuse, Peter paid our entry in full as a group, which we would later reimburse.
Next was parking our motorcycles, always a challenge for me, since that involved slow-speed balance of a heavy motorcycle. Ducatis are light, but still almost 400 pounds.
We found a tiny place to park, amidst the 89 bazilyun motorbikes. Next was getting my Super-Sport up on its center-stand. At least I didn’t drop it, and that included the slow-speed pre-park maneuvering.
We watched the race from the grandstand, then returned to our motorcycles to ride home.
Back on the Thruway the others put the hammer down! That second black Ducati had also come, and was riding two-up. He accelerated away from me, so I opened up my 40s.
Proof yet again my 40s were too much . Even two-up that 32-mm Ducati was leaving me behind.
Most got way ahead of me, but suddenly I was catching up. No idea they were slowing for Exit-43. I overshot as the others all got off. They waited patiently as I returned wrong-way on the Exit-43 entry-ramp. Were it not that Peter had our Thruway ticket I coulda kept going.
I also didn’t know we were headed for a dive near Peter’s house. When we pulled in I split.
No dive for this kid, and it was my first and final foray with the vaunted Ducatisti. Also my final contact. Even the racing was boring.
Since then the Japanese have marketed crotch-rockets that make my Super-Sport antiquarian. I’ve had four Japanese crotch-rockets myself, and they were much more pleasing.
That Ducati was a pain, but it sure was gorgeous. I used to park it in front of my house, and stare at it.

• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered well enough to return to work at a newspaper; I retired from that over 12 years ago.

“Lord-have-mercy!”

My neighbor with his crotch-rocket. (Old Glory [“FlagOut”] and my zero-turn lawnmower are also visible.) (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

Motorbike number-seven has taken residence in my garage.
Before nattering nabobs of negativism poo-poo motorcycles as evil and dangerous....
It’s not mine. It’s my neighbor’s, a 1995 Kawasaki ZX-9R, what would prompt my deceased sister to utter “Lord-have-mercy!”
I gave up motorcycling at least six months ago, when I gave my 2003 Honda CB600-RR to Dubya-Hex-Hex-Hi, the classical-music radio-station out of Rochester I listen to. It’s publicly supported.
I didn’t wanna sell to someone I knew.
I suppose you could say I gave up motorcycling when my wife died. That was five years ago. I no longer was interested.
You could even say I gave up motorcycling 11 years ago when I retired from the Messenger newspaper. By then I was down to just commuting.
I can’t say I want my garage to become storage for my neighbor’s motorcycles. But I also don’t want him to have to store that motorbike out in the weather.
His ZX-9R had apparently been stored outside, but under a roof. It still looked pretty good.
Shortly after we brought it inside it rained torrents.
Years ago a fellow bus-driver asked to borrow $100. I refused. “That’s the best way I know to ruin a good friendship,” I commented.
“I never get that $100 back, and it becomes a bone of contention.”
He disappeared after that.
I’m my father’s son. My father borrowed from my paternal grandfather to help purchase a car, then yada-yada-yada-yada.
My father cosigned an installment loan for $600 to help me buy a used Corvair after college. I couldn’t make the payments, so despite many later $500 gifts to help my younger siblings attend college, I kept hearing about that $600 until my father died 28 years later.
My friend lives nearby, but in an apartment without a garage. That’s not forever, so some day number-seven will be gone.
Yrs Trly did sit on it.

• My wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her immensely. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one. She actually liked me.
• When I was teenager I had a mentally-retarded (Down Syndrome) younger brother who daily insisted the flag be flown. “Sun comes up, flag goes up; sun goes down, flag comes down.” He’d grab someone and say “FlagOut!”

So be it

“This is the end, beautiful friend.”

(That link is The Doors, dear readers)


The end. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

So concludes almost 40 years of motorcycle ownership; 35-36 of those years ridden without major incident.
I essentially stopped riding when my wife died almost five years ago.
I lost interest in motorcycling after I retired from the newspaper. That was almost 12 years ago. No more riding to work.
It could be said I was no longer into motorcycling even before that. By then all I was doing was riding to work.
There were a couple inconsequential incidents. I remember two.
—1) My first was with motorbike #3, my Yamaha RZ350 two-stroke. I was coming to a stop and my front tire washed out on gravel.
I was hardly moving, but I dumped the bike. No damage or injuries, but I tore my pants.
A lady in a following car helped me get it back up.
—2) My second was with motorbike #5, a Kawasaki ZX6R.
Everything that could go wrong did.
I was riding to my brother in northern DE, and ran into parking-lot traffic-jams on U.S. Route 15 out in the middle of nowhere in central PA.
It was getting past 4 p.m. when I finally got clear. Four more hours to go.
North of Harrisburg one crosses the Susquehanna River on PA Route 22.
To do that you have to get from 15 to 22. I was thinking it was a ramp, but it was a cloverleaf. I was coming in too hot.
Off into the weeds I went, sure I was gonna drop.
I didn’t, but it scared me to death!
What if I’d encountered a drainage-ditch?
All I did was start back up and ride back to the cloverleaf.
It was the motorbike trip from Hell; I missed my turn and rode into deepest, darkest Harrisburg.
I used my sense of direction to get back on route, and by then it was getting dark.
As I approached DE it started raining — but I was dressed for it.
Before DE I turned onto Newport Pike in Gap, PA, and sideswiped a curb in the dark. A motorbike headlight only illuminates directly in front.
When I finally arrived, my wife had already called numerous times. She was worried sick — a tumultuous thunderstorm had passed up home, but I never saw it.
There were other dramas; mainly dropping my ZX6R, since it was after my stroke.
I developed an interest in motorcycling in 1977, shortly after I started driving transit bus.
I befriended a fellow rookie who was selling his Triumph Bonneville.
I had also just finished reading Robert Pirsig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” which I consider the most important book I’ve read.
Pirsig, the protagonist, Phaedrus, like me, was apparently unsure of himself.
He and his son were riding motorbike out to northern CA.
The infatuation of motorcycling beckoned: freedom, wind-in-the-face, wanderlust, etc.
I purchased motorcycle #1, a used 850-Commando Norton. After 1975 Norton tanked.


Snortin’ Norton. (Modified: cut down seat, larger Interstate tank, touring [lower] handlebars, and trunk on rear-rack.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I began learning how to ride with it. Tiny figure-eights on narrow streets with a gigantic 600-pound motorcycle.
I failed my first test, but passed the second.
For a while I followed the Norton jones, but it seemed my Norton was always fighting me.
Even simple maintenance was a struggle. Just reinstalling the battery was a squeeze.
It was electric-start, but that never worked. It also had a kicker. (Earlier Commandos were kick-start.)
I happened to patronize a junk foreign-car parts emporium. Inside was a Ducati 900SS (“dew-KAH-dee;” as in “ah”).
I was smitten!
Later I saw a used 1980 Ducati 900SS in the want-ads.
“I should at least look at it,” I told my wife.
I rode there on my Norton to be objective.


“Sweetheart.” (Photo by BobbaLew.)

The young dude fired it up, and I was smitten again.
Every exhaust-pulse shook the ground, even at idle.
Suddenly my Norton was for sale.
That Ducati would be bike #2.
But a 900SS was too much for this kid.
Too much trouble to ride to work — it was kick-start, and liked to smash you in the calf if it backfired.
Tuning it was also near impossible. It had “desmodromic” valve-gear, best shimmed by the owner.
Doing it right is supposedly a religious experience unworthy of the average mechanic. It also might take days.
I wasn’t that interested.
Its ignition also went fluffy, which Ducatis liked to do.
It was electronic, and had to be properly grounded while tuning each cylinder. (It was a 90° V-twin, tuned as two singles.)
The Ducati was fairly heavy, probably about 400 pounds.
But it sat right, like a 10-speed racing bicycle, which I was used to.
It also was gorgeous. I’d park it out front just to stare at it.
My next goal was a 300-pound motorbike that sat like the Ducati.
That would be motorbike #3, a 1983 RZ350 Yamaha two stroke.
But I’d hafta modify it. It didn’t sit like my Ducati.


The RZ350. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I modified it extensively = handlebars and rearset footpegs that had my arms and legs akimbo.
My biggest mistake was race-pipes I got for it. They were a light-switch.
Below 6,000 rpm, a douche-bag.
Above 6,000, it came on the pipe = hang on for dear life. My brother rode his Honda 700 out to ride with me, and the RZ could at least keep up, if not beat him. —Half the displacement.
I rode that Yamahopper a while, even decarboned it once.
But I happened inside the store where I bought it, and they had a 1989 Yamaha FZR400 for sale.
I asked what they wanted for it.
That FZR400 became motorbike #4.


The stroke-bike.

By now my infatuation with motorcycling was fading. No camping, no touring, no wind-in-the-face or wanderlust.
All I was doing was ride-to-work.
But the FZR was so much more rideable I decided to try touring.
Off I rode to visit my brother in northern DE, plus my old digs in south Jersey.
65 mph in a torrential downpour = terrifying!
Stop-and-go traffic in Williamsport (PA) due to the Little League World Series.
I also visited my old Boys Camp in northeastern MD near Chesapeake Bay.
Going in it smelled just like it did when I was a camper in the late ‘50s.
On a motorbike you smell everything — yer out in the open air.
I still had my FZR when I had my stroke; October 26th, 1993.
I refused to sell, thinking I’d ride again some day.
I remember my brother’s surprise when I moved the FZR for storage.
After my stroke I did inpatient rehabilitation at a hospital. They wanted me to set goals.
I suggested my primary goal was to ride motorcycle again.
“Your motorcycle days are over,” they guffawed.
Made me mad. No one tells me I can’t ride motorcycle.
Not long ago I asked a lady instrumental in my post-stroke recovery why I recovered, when a friend just put her stroke-victim husband in a nursing-home.
“Quite often the ornery-streak of a stroke-victim gets vaporized,” she said.
“In your case it didn’t.”
I was unable to drive at least two years after my stroke. When I began driver-rehab a second time, I told my instructor to not clear me unless she thought I could ride motorcycle.
I was finally cleared to drive, so after a week I thought I’d try the FZR.
Slightly different, but not much. It seemed I had to concentrate more, but that could be done.
I had already started at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper (“cannan-DAY-gwuh”) as an unpaid intern.
People on the staff wondered about my showing up on my motorbike.
“Didn’t he have a stroke?” they asked.


Over 7,000 miles. (That tiny ex-Christmas tree is now well over 50 feet tall, visible in the background of my lede pik.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Motorbike #5 is my 1996 Kawasaki ZX6R, the bike I rode most on, over 7,000 miles.
The motorbike magazines were trumpeting motorcycling’s fabulous advances.
I also felt like my FZR needed another gear. 60 mph on a 400-cc motorcycle is about 9,000 rpm.
It felt like 6,000 would do.
At 600-cc, a ZX6R would cruise at about 6,000 rpm at 60-65 mph.
“Should I really be considering another motorbike?” I thought. “I had a stroke.”
Numerous trips on the ZX6R, once to Vermont, Massachusetts, and through New York City, again to south Jersey and DE, and many times to Horseshoe Curve in Altoona, PA. (I’m a railfan, and the railroad crosses Allegheny mountain via Horseshoe Curve.)
Technical advances continued, so now I considered replacing the ZX6R with motorbike #6, a 2003 Honda 600cc CBR-RR.
A fellow car-guy at the newspaper counseled against it.


LHMB. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Both #5 and #6 could be perceived as “crotch-rockets.”
But I didn’t ride ‘em like crotch-rockets.
I doubt I ever exceeded ten-grand on my Double-R, and it’s good for 14.
I always rode like a bus-driver: slow, deliberate, and 100% concentration. No distraction! (I can’t even play a car-radio.)
With my wife’s death I totally lost interest.
My neighbor, who also lost his wife to cancer, described it perfectly:
“A punch in the gut. Takes the wind outta yer sails.”
The auction-guy, who picked up my Double-R, noted his uncle, nearing 80, said if he gave up motorcycling, they might as well bury him.
The difference is I lost interest. Wind-in-the-face and wanderlust aren’t as much fun as slinging words, and drivin’ this here laptop.

• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.
• I called my Ducati “Sweetheart,” because it was gorgeous.
• RE: “desmodromic” valve-gear....... —In simple terms, a cam opens the valve, and another cam closes it. This dispenses with springs to close the valves, so can be more abrupt.
• “Shimmed” equals “adjusted” = just enough play to forego tightness. Usually done with feeler-gauges and adjusting screws, or in the case of the Ducati,  metal shims instead of adjusting screws.
• “Two stroke” internal combustion engines use two strokes to operate, instead of four. Up-and-down once instead of twice — a power stroke for every single down instead of every other down. Many internal combustion engines are four-stroke, since that allows valve-operation, charge-compression, etc. Two-strokes hafta fit everything into that single up-and-down. plus they run dirty, polluting the atmosphere. Two-stroke engines more readily build up internal carbon deposits. Only my RZ350 was two-stroke — everything else was four-stroke.
• I lived in the south Jersey suburbs of Philadelphia until age-13.
• I retired from the  the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper over 11 years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern). (“Canandaigua” is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
• “LHMB” = “Lord-Have-Mercy-Banana.” On seeing my crotch-rocket Double-R, my sister, since deceased, a tub-thumping Christian, cried “Lord-Have-Mercy.” My brother Jack from Boston, a macho Harley-dude, called it “the banana,” since it’s yellow.

It’s about time

The new Harley.

Harley-Davidson is bringing a new motorcycle to market?
A V-twin of only 500 or 750 cc s?
My Cycle-World Magazine seemed to gloss over it, but as Stevie Circh (“Kurch”) used to say at the Mighty Mezz: “Big-biggity-big!”
(Circh also said the only time the Messenger would “STOP THE PRESSES” was when Bob Hope died. Thankfully, Hope died overnight, not during a press-run.)
How will this play with the Harley-crowd, the noisy bluster-kings that claim only Harley makes a proper motorcycle?
The new Harley is 60 degrees between cylinders, not 45 degrees as Harleys have been since days-of-yore.
It’s also water-cooled (Gasp!), not air-cooled like most Harley motorcycles.
This new Harley motorcycle is aimed at foreign beginners, not the vocal Harley-crowd.
No doubt it will be labelled a pansy-bike, not a “man’s” motorcycle.
This new motorcycle is based on Harley’s V-Rod, so they say.
It also looks pretty good.
Various Japanese motorcycle manufacturers have tried to make Harley clones.
They don’t get it!
The Harleys always look better.
The Harley is a big heavy motorcycle, but the imitators always look HUGE. Some have gigantic sweeping chrome tailpipes.
Harley doesn’t make that mistake.
Just about every imitator, as does Harley, has a large barn-door fairing. But on a Harley it doesn’t look like a barn-door.
The criticism of Harley is its technology is antediluvian.
What Harley does is generate gobs of torque, torque that enhances ride-ability.
Japanese sport-bikes make much more horsepower.
Although I only had one Japanese sport-bike that wouldn’t scoot at low revs.
And that was a small two-stroke on which I foolishly installed a special exhaust-pipe that turned the bike into a light-switch.
Crank it below 6,000 rpm, and not much happened.
Get above 6,000, and hang-on-for-dear-life!
Supposedly the big Harleys are douche-bags. Not much power at high-speed, at least not that of a Japanese bike. Just sheer racket, though often with little muffling.
One night I listened to a Harley and a Jap bike doing burnouts.
The bikes were comparable; both could smoke their rear-tires.
But I doubt that Harley could get over 120.
The Jap bike was good for 180 or so.
During the ‘50s and ‘60s Harley’s competition was British, but then Honda came along about 1970.
The British motorcycle manufacturers tried to respond with Honda clones, but all failed. The Hondas were a better bike. The Brits were unreliable and difficult.
So will Harley succeed with its new motorcycle? It’s the direction to take, but will it succeed?
Harley has been around over 110 years, but for me the past 40 or so has been stuck in-a-rut.
The Brits were in a rut too, and had to leave the business.
It seems like the past 40 years Harley was stuck in the rut of catering to the Harley-crowd.
And like-it-or-not the Harley-crowd is aging.
So now I sit back and eagerly await a noisy fusillade from my all-knowing brother-in-Boston, a macho Harley-dude. He’s 56.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over seven years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). Steve Circh was an editor. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
• RE: “He’s 56........” —At age 69 I’m the oldest.

CBR900-RR

Honda CBR900-RR.

The March 2012 issue of my Cycle World magazine has a feature about the watershed importance of the 1993 Honda CBR900-RR (above), allegedly the first crotch-rocket motorcycle.
Light and small, despite incredible power, about the size of a 600 cubic-centimeter motorcycle, yet 900 cubic-centimeters of engine displacement.
The engine was only slightly larger than a 600, yet it had 900 cubic-centimeters of displacement.
I don’t remember the 900-RR; I’m not even sure it was sold here in the states.

CBR929-RR.

An FZR400 similar to mine, an ’89.

But I do remember the CBR929 that succeeded it (at left), even lighter, and it was sold here.
The magazines said the 929 was wonderful, so I considered buying one myself.
At that time I was riding a Yamaha FZR400 (also at left), which I really liked, because it was so much easier to ride than what I had previously.
The FZR400 was a crotch-rocket, but it had one minor problem.
With its tiny motor, only 400 cubic-centimeters of engine displacement, you had to rev it to the moon.
For example, 8,000 rpm at 60 mph. —I kept feeling I needed to upshift.
So I tried a 929, just sat on it at a Honda dealer.
Despite the magazines all crowing how wonderfully light and small a 929 was, it felt big.
Like it was sized for a six-footer, which I’m not.
I’m only five-feet 8&1/2 inches.
No sale! —Anyway, what am I gonna do with all that power?
My FZR could be a rocket. I dared not goose it in any gear, especially first. (I think it was six speeds.)
The smaller the better. My FZR was the right size, and when I traded it, it was for a 1996 Kawasaki ZX6R (600 cubic-centimeters displacement).

Photo by BobbaLew.

This is MY motorcycle, the ZX6R.

Photo by BobbaLew.

My last motorcycle, a 2003 Honda CBR600-RR.

Except the ZX6R felt a little bit big, like it was sized for someone five-foot 10.
When I finally traded it, after over 7,000 trouble-free miles, the most I had ever ridden a motorcycle, it was for a 2003 Honda CBR600-RR, high in the seat, but otherwise the right size.
And big enough in engine-displacement to not be 8,000 rpm at 60. (About 6,000, same as the ZX6R.)
It too is red-lined at 14,000 rpm, which I’ll never see.
Motorcycles have gotten lighter and smaller yet, but I decided this 2003 CBR600-RR is my last motorcycle.
I have little incentive to ride it; I’m 68 and retired.
About all I did with motorcycles before retirement was ride to work (although the ZX6R had some cross-country trips, as did the FZR).
Just getting it on-the-road takes 5-10 minutes: helmet, gloves, roll-out, startup, etc.
A car is about 30 seconds.
Cycle World is the only remaining general-interest motorcycle magazine; that is, not biased toward Harley-Davidsons or choppers.
My niece’s husband has a chop. On-and-on he regals me about pistons the size of paint-buckets, and 152 thundering horsepower.
(Same guy who carved a Thanksgiving turkey with a chain-saw.)
Well okay, but that chop set him back over 50,000 smackaroos.
Plus it’s so long you can’t U-turn it on a highway.
And I can’t see revving such a large motor over 6,000 rpm, lest it hurl itself apart.
Years ago there were three general-interest motorcycle magazines: Cycle Guide, Cycle, and Cycle World.
I originally subscribed to Cycle-Guide, since it seemed most akin to my interests.
But it went defunct, so my subscription was extended to Cycle.
But then that folded too, so my subscription was rolled into Cycle World.
As a general-interest motorcycle magazine, Cycle World has to cover well beyond my interests; for example, dirt motorcycles, and Harley-Davidsons and H-D wannabees.
But apparently the CBR900-RR was a landmark motorcycle, developed out of the efforts of a racing engineer.
But I didn’t buy one (its successor, the 929), no matter how good the authorities thought it was.
It was too large.

Harley-Davidson Switchback

Switchback.

My November issue of Cycle World magazine reports that Harley-Davidson is bringing a new motorcycle to market, the “Switchback.”
Sadly, it isn’t really new. It’s more a mix-and-match rehash of various components applied to an ancient design that has been around for decades.
Harley debuted a new motorcycle a few years ago, the V-Rod.

V-Rod.

Its engine was developed by Porsche (“POOR-sha”), and contrary to previous Harley practice was water-cooled, not air-cooled,
Harley styling had a very difficult time integrating a radiator with “the look.”
In my humble opinion, they failed.
It was the first new Harley in years, but didn’t sell well.
It bombed with the macho Harley-crowd, who prefer the infernal racket made by the old Harley Big Twin.
The magazine calls the Switchback a bagger-lite, although as a big Harley I doubt it’s light.
I bet it weighs over 600 pounds. There’s no weight in the road-test, which is actually a “first ride,” more an impression than a test.
My Honda weighs 380 pounds, which I consider somewhat heavy.
I don’t look forward to lifting it if it falls over.
And I’m sure with a good rider (not me) it would utterly cream a Big Harley.
Tilt a Harley into a corner and it scrapes the pavement; e.g. the footboards.
Plus the Big Harley has nowhere near the specific horsepower output of my Honda.
My Honda, at only 600 cubic-centimeters of engine displacement, cranks out about 100 horsepower at 13-14,000 rpm.
A Harley would hurl itself apart at that speed, and might be good for 80 horsepower tops.
And that’s with 1,300 cubic-centimeters of engine displacement.
“Bagger” means it has saddlebags, although smaller and specially made.
Suddenly baggers are the in thing.
No doubt the marketing mavens at Harley think “Switchback” is a groovy name, little knowing that switchbacks were abhorred by railroads.
Switchbacks were used when a railroad encountered a mountain-range requiring a climb or long tunnel.
When railroading began 1830-1850s, grading was not what it is now, and tunneling was in its infancy.
Long tunnels were impossible, and easy gradients were nearly impossible.
You couldn’t just carve a manageable grade with the rudimentary equipment available back then.
So railroads resorted to switchbacks, although operation thereof has a dreadful time-penalty.
Drive the train head-first into the first switchback-tail, where it stops at the stub-end.
Then reverse up to the next switchback-tail, to stop and go forward again.
(Switchbacks usually came in twos, to get the train headed engine first.)
It’s not through.
The train has to stop in each switchback, and then someone has to throw the switch to the next switchback.
Compared to a through railroad, switchbacks are bog-slow.
Railroads tried to avoid switchbacks, but sometimes couldn’t.
Logging railroads, which weren’t that dependent on through operation, often employed them to get up steep mountainsides.
Cass Scenic Railway (“Kass”), in West Virginia, an old logging railroad restored as a state park, has them.
So Harley called their new offering the “Switchback.”
If they had any idea......

Harley insurance

An ad (illustrated at left) in the August 2011 issue of my Cycle World Magazine finally attracted my attention.
It first appeared in last month’s issue.
Harley-Davidson doing motorcycle insurance?
Harley manufactures motorcycles. Usually when a company branches into something unrelated to what they do, it signifies trouble.
I doubt Harley is in trouble.
People are buying Harleys left and right.
$16,000+ to wait for antediluvian technology.
Other manufacturers make motorcycles more civilized, and much more state-of-the-art.
What Harley is selling is the bad-boy image. Their motorcycles are heavy and vibrate, and can make torrents of noise.
Although usually that is their owners switching to unmuffled exhaust-pipes.
The ad is obviously aimed at the bad-boy image.
The rider is an evil monster, totally unrelated to reality.
A cartoon caricature, of course.
Behind him is an attractive cutie.
How anyone could be drawn to such a monster is beyond me......
I ride motorcycle myself, which is an adventure in self-sufficiency and independence. But I don’t feel I’m trying to be a bad-boy.
A few months ago we happened to be in north Florida the same time as Bike Week in Daytona.
I was surrounded by blatting Harleys — their riders trying to affect the bad-boy image.
Which I guess means pigging out, among other things.
I happened to patronize a restaurant offering a “Biker Breakfast Special.”
It included steak, sausage, bacon and eggs.
We renamed it “The Cholesterol Special.”

I’m not Mario Andretti

Prettiest crotch-rocket ever. (Photo by BobbaLew)

The other day (last Thursday, October 21, 2010) we had a man from a local HVAC contractor come out to service our tankless water-heater.
A tankless water-heater is just that; it’s not trying to keep 40 gallons of water hot in a holding-tank.
It heats the water as it passes through, thereby saving the cost of trying to constantly keep 40 gallons of water hot.
I.e. it’s only heating the hot-water you use.
It’s an appealing idea; supposedly to save on your gas-bill.
But I don’t think it has.
The average 40-gallon tank-type water-heater will run out of hot-water before you finish your shower.
So you slow the flow-rate to a trickle, and/or shorten your shower.
A tankless water-heater will supply hot-water at a higher flow-rate constantly — it won’t run out.
I end up using about the same amount of gas per month with the tankless.
This was despite incentives to switch to tankless.
Reminds of our lo-flow toilet, which supposedly saves water by using less per flush.
Except I flush it a lot.
Some uses require two flushes — either that or plug.
So I’m using way more water with that lo-flow toilet.
Seems every service-man that’s ever visited notes my motorcycle (above) in the garage.
Our plumber, our furnace service-man, landscapers, fence installers, electricians, that water-heater guy.
It’s a yellow 2003 Honda CBR600-RR.
“That your Honda out there?
I’m surprised to see....”
“....Someone my age riding a motorcycle like that,” I interjected (I’m 66).
“Isn’t that uncomfortable, riding in a racing-crouch?”
“That’s what I prefer,” I said. “Same as a 10-speed racing bicycle.
That’s what I’m familiar with.
My first motorcycle, a Norton, was sit-up-and-beg.
About the most I could do was 55 mph. Beyond that it was hang-on-for-dear-life. I felt like I was gonna get blown off the seat.”
“I have an old Yamaha 650, and am considering getting another motorcycle. I doubt I could do a racing-crouch.”
“I’m 66 years old,” I said. “This is my last motorcycle.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “How about that one-liter BMW; you’d be the fastest guy around.”
“Don’t need it,” I said. “This thing is way faster than me. It’s red-lined at 15-grand, but I doubt I ever had it higher than nine. All I do is putt.
I’m not Mario Andretti.”

• “Mario Andretti” is a retired car-racing driver, still alive. He won the Indianapolis 500 in 1969, and also the Formula-One driver’s championship in 1978. He also won the Daytona 500 in 1967.
I consider him to be the greatest racing-driver of all time.
• “HVAC” is heating/ventilation/air-conditioning.
• A “one-liter BMW” is a new crotch-rocket motorcycle by BMW with one liter of engine-displacement — 1,000 cubic centimeters. It’s extremely fast, 180 horsepower.
• RE: “It’s red-lined at 15-grand, but I doubt I ever had it higher than nine.....” —15,000 revolutions-per-minute, 9,000 revolutions-per-minute. Red-line is what RPM the engine is limited to; often the engine has a rev-limiter that cuts out the ignition at red-line. 15,000 is extremely high speed; most car-engines are red-lined at 6-7,000 rpm. —The reason crotch-rockets are so powerful is because their engines are capable of such high RPM.

200 Horsepower

2011 ZX-10R. (Photo by Jeff Allen.)

“200 Horsepower,” my November 2010 issue of Cycle World screamed on its cover.
It’s the 2011 Kawasaki ZX-10R (above), a liter-bike (one liter engine displacement, 1,000 cubic centimeters).
My first reaction was “sheesh!”
A friend bewails 400 horsepower in automobiles.
He has a point.
Traffic is so bad you’re often stopped in traffic-jams just idling.
This is not true of Rochester, but in Los Angeles it is.
I remember 1-2 mph in Hollywood.
Dodging giant black Hummers with glittering chrome-alloy spider-wheels.
400 horsepower in a car seems pointless.
Where do you stretch it out?
And how do you pay for all the speeding tickets?
But 200 horsepower in a motorcycle is insane.
A car might weigh 3,000 pounds or more.
A liter-bike crotch-rocket might weigh 400 pounds or less.
And 200 horsepower comes at 14,000 rpm (revolutions-per-minute) or more.
You gotta be pumpin’ that kind of revs to wick the torque output up to 200 horsepower.
A few months ago a young kid crested a hill on a nearby country road at 89 bazilyun miles-per-hour, revved to the moon on his liter-bike.
He smashed head-on into a pickup truck turning left.
Snuffed him.
They couldn’t blame the four-wheeler.
If the bike had not been going so fast, he mighta been able to stop; or the pickup might have seen him.
He was probably putting 130 or more horsepower to pavement.
200 horsepower is even sillier.
About 200 yards north of our house is a sharp 90-degree left turn toward the west.
It’s posted at 15 mph.
It used to be a four-way intersection, but the state highway we live on turns west at that point, so the intersection was regraded.
Motorcycles do that curve at 50 mph or more — maximum lean.
And then accelerate past our house.
Often wound to the moon.
Other way too.
Revved to the moon approaching that intersection.
The speed-limit in front of our house is 40 mph.
The crotch-rockets blast by at 100+.
And it’s always crotch-rockets.
The Harleys might get about 80.

Photo by BobbaLew.

My 2003 Honda CBR-RR.

I have a so-called “crotch-rocket” myself (pictured at left in my garage).
Prettiest crotch-rocket of all, I think.
It’s 600 cubic centimeters, not a liter-bike, but fast enough.
In fact, it’s way faster than me.
Fast enough to put the kibosh on any car.
One time I was stopped at a traffic-light, and a ratty Honda car pulled up on my right.
His obvious intent was to put the kibosh on me.
When the light changed I put the kibosh on him.
Left him in my dust.
Probably putting 35 or more horsepower to pavement; I doubt I exceeded 8,000 rpm.
No drama, no theatrics, just left him behind.
Unleash 200 horsepower in first gear and I bet you pop a wheelie the whole time you’re in that gear.
You’d probably wheelie in every gear.
What price drama?
My motorcycle is red-lined at 15,000 rpm, but 8,000 was plenty.
15,000 rpm with a 600 cc CBR-RR is around 100 horsepower. I don’t need or even want it.

• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield on State Route 65, southeast of Rochester, NY. (“We” is me and my wife of almost 43 years, “Linda.”)

The motorbike trip from Hell

1996 Kawasaki ZX6R. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

11-13 years ago, at about this time, I set out on what turned into the worst motorcycle trip I have ever taken.
Seems everything that could go wrong did, except I didn’t break down.
I ran out of gas, but before reserve, which meant I could find a gas-station.
And that was coming back, which meant it wasn’t the motorbike trip from Hell.
My trip was to northern Delaware, my brother, a trip I had made before on motorbike.
It was also since my stroke, but not my first.
I remember my stroke rehab people telling me my motorbike days were over, but I would hear none of that.
I told my driving instructor to not clear me unless she thought I could ride motorcycle.
When I finally tried it, it was slightly different, but not much.
I set out in my rainsuit. It was dry, but cloudy, and looked like it might rain.
Apparently a vicious thunderstorm blew through at home after I left, but I never saw it.
My first drama was about 2-3 hours into the trip, a monstrous parking-lot traffic-jam south of Blossburg, PA.
The road was four-lane Interstate expressway, but it was blocked solid, even out in the middle of nowhere.
I finally had to shut off.
We’d advance maybe 15 feet, and then sit for five minutes.
Finally after about an hour, the way cleared.
I stopped south of Williamsport to eat a sandwich I had packed.
Then into another lock-solid traffic-jam south of Selinsgrove.
Some of Route 15 west of the Susquehanna River was still three-lane, so the jam appeared to be where four lanes merged into three.
It appeared to be Labor Day traffic.
I’ve been over that road hundreds of times, and it never was that bad. (I lived as a teenager in northern Delaware.)
I continued south toward a bridge over the Susquehanna at Duncannon north of Harrisburg.
I expected the ramp to this bridge to be just that, a ramp; but instead it was a cloverleaf.
I was quickly off the road, into the weeds.
I was sure I was gonna drop my motorbike, but didn’t.
I came to a stop in the weeds, still erect.
I rode back to the cloverleaf.
In 30+ years of riding motorbike, that’s the only time I’ve gone off the road.
Thankfully there were no culverts, drainage-ditches, or Armco guardrail.
I crossed the bridge and continued south toward Harrisburg, but missed my turn east onto the Harrisburg Bypass.
I was headed directly into Harrisburg.
My street narrowed, and I was on streets I didn’t know.
I was also running out of gas.
I turned east (left) onto a main cross-street, hoping it would eventually intersect with the Bypass.
I pulled into a gas-station and tanked up. The owner was incensed I wanted to pay by credit-card. It was only a $12 purchase.
The street did indeed intersect with the Bypass, so I got on and continued on.
It’s somewhat challenging.
I almost got sideswiped by a front-wheel-drive Pontiac.
I don’t think the guy ever saw me. He just merged without looking.
But having driven bus I expect such things.
It was beginning to get dark; it was pushing 7:30.
By the time I got to Strasburg Railroad it was dusk.
Strasburg is a rural bypass around busy U.S. 30 through Amish country.
I’m also a railfan, so I always hit Strasburg.
Strasburg is also a rest-stop.
I continued into the gathering gloom.
By the time I got to Gap, PA, it was pitch-dark.
Night comes quicker in September.
Gap is where I turn toward Delaware on Route 41. It’s also where the old Pennsylvania Railroad surmounted a gap in hills; Philadelphia to Harrisburg.
I crossed Pennsy headed for Route 41.
I’d have to turn right (south).
The intersection was unlighted, and my headlight only got what was in front.
I turned right and sideswiped a curb, which I never saw in the gloom.
I managed to keep standing, so I stopped and put my sidestand down.
That killed the motor, and it wouldn’t keep running if I put it in gear.
I of course couldn’t see anything.
An enraged Chevy pickup went around me, honking its horn.
I also was atop a drainage-grate that could swallow my sidestand.
I paddled past that, blind as a bat, and restarted.
I continued down 41 toward Delaware, but it started raining.
I decided it was better to get on a main highway, U.S. Route 1, instead of continue on 41.
When I finally got to my brother’s house in northern Delaware, I just parked on his porch — which was the same level as his driveway.
It was 9:30.
I called my wife, who was worried sick.
My motorbike stayed on his porch until I had to ride back home; at least three days.
The motorcycle pictured is the one I rode.

• I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs. My stroke ended that.
• I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child.

Hogs fly

Harley Davidson Sportster SuperLow 883.

Harley-Davidson, according to my September 2010 Cycle World Magazine, is finally bringing its vaunted Sportster motorcycle kicking and screaming into the new century.
Primary is its use of radial motorcycle tires.
Um, guys, the radial motorcycle tire goes back to 1984.
My last motorcycle with bias-ply motorcycle tires was my 1984 Yamaha RZ350 two-stroke, motorbike number three.
Every motorbike since — I’m now on number-six — has been on radial motorcycle tires.
Radial motorcycle tire construction puts more contact-patch on the road, and runs cooler.
But the Sportster is an icon, so Harley kept making the old design.
In 2004 they rubber-mounted the engine, solving one of its major problems, that it was a chronic vibrator.
The rubber-mount was essentially Norton’s Isolastic system. The Norton engine was another chronic vibrator.
60 mph would rattle your teeth.
My first motorcycle was a Norton 850.
It had the Isolastic rubber-mount.
Rubber-mounting was first used on the Harley Big Twins, but found its way onto the Sportster.
Radial tires were first used on the XR1200, which if I’m correct was Europe only.
Cycle World got one, and sang its praises; that it still looked the part, but was much more pleasant to ride.
So now Harley is trying radials on other of its motorcycles, in this case the Sportster SuperLow 883.
That’s 883 cubic centimeters of engine displacement; 1200 is 1,200 ccs.
It’s still a pig, still flaccid and overweight.
The Japanese are making much better motorcycles.
But it has “The Look;” what Harley has used as a cash-cow.
“The Look” cashes in on the image of Hells Angel motorcycling; bombast and noise.
The local manifestation of this out front is “Loud Pipes Save Lives.” Every Harley passing our house has loud exhausts that loudly serenade the countryside; a cascade of noisy racket.
Personally, I ride motorcycle myself, and couldn’t stand such racket.
Racket like that would be a distraction; irksome.
Even the metric Harleys have this; often unmuffled.
Our house is atop a small hill not far from a sharp curve.
The Harley guys slow for this corner, then loudly accelerate past our house.
A guy up the street has a metric Harley, a Yamaha I think.
It has unmuffled exhausts.
He putts out his driveway, and then wicks it up as he blasts out on the highway.
There he goes; BRRRRAAAP-uh!
Well, I too have liked “The Look,” but to me function is more important than “The Look.”
I remember what a revelation it was, when I got my first motorcycle with radial tires; a Yamaha FZR400.
(That’s 400 ccs of engine displacement; rather small.)
It was much easier to ride.
So Harley advances the Sportster into the new century, but it’s still not interesting to me.
The guys at Cycle World were so impressed, they took it out on a ride.
What a joy, but it was so low it often grounded things.
You couldn’t tilt it even a little for curves without grounding things.
The feelers broke off.
After that were exhaust-pipes, and the retractible prop-stand. Grounded they could send you wobbling into oncoming traffic.
Sorry Harley, I don’t want surprises.
Number Six could get tilted much farther than I’d ever do, without grounding things.
The Harley Sportster SuperLow 883 has “The Look,” and is much easier to ride, but to me would be unsafe.

• “Bias-ply” is tire construction whereby the plies under the tread are at 45 degrees from the tire-rotation. with “radial plies” the tire construction under the tread is 90 degrees from tire rotation. “Radials” were first applied to automobiles. —Bias-ply was the way tires were made at first.
* “Two-stroke” is a power-stroke for every engine revolution. Most internal combustion engines are “four-stroke,” a single power-stroke for every two engine revolutions. “Two-strokes” throw out a lot of unburnt gasoline, so can’t meet engine emission requirements.
• “Norton” was an English motorcycle manufacturer, now defunct.
• A “metric Harley” is a cruiser-bike much like a Harley Davidson Big Twin, but made by the Japanese. As such they have metric fittings and nuts. “Metric Harley” is a put-down by the Harley crowd.

Sweethearts

1980 Ducati 900SS. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

My first “Sweetheart” was my 1980 Ducati (“dew-KAH-dee”) 900SS pictured above.
I always say it was the motorcycle I never should have parted with.
I bought it used from Peter Strohmier (“stroh-MY-er”), replacing the motorcycle I learned to ride on, a 1975 850 Norton Commando, my first motorcycle.
The Norton was irksome and unsatisfactory; nice to look at, but a bear to work on.
Just installing the battery was a struggle; guaranteed skinned knuckles.
I happened to peruse an inside junkyard in Rochester; foreign car parts inside an old factory building.
Parked inside was the owner’s 900SS, silver.
It was gorgeous. Here at last was the motorcycle I was trying to make my Norton be — mainly its seating-position, a racing-crouch, much like the 10-speed bicycle I also had.
I had tried to do that with my Norton; rear-set footpegs, and clubman bars.
Such an arrangement on the Norton was silly; the Norton was too standard.
The owner’s Ducati SuperSport looked fabulous; despite the motorcycle being silver with a light-blue fairing.
But it wasn’t the full fairing you now see on crotchrockets.
It was just a bulbous fiberglass fairing that shrouded the headlight and dashboard.
The engine was still exposed.
The SuperSport Ducati was very basic; little more than what was required to go fast.
It was a racing-based variation of the Ducati 750cc V-twins, introduced in the early ‘70s.
Ducati was a postwar Italian motorcycle manufacturer.
Previously Ducati had made single-cylinder four-stroke motorcycles. That 750 was its first V-twin.
Many of the single-cylinder motorcycles had desmodromic (“dez-mo-DROME-ik”) valve actuation; a cam to close the valves as well as one to open them.
A 900SS was Desmo.
Ducatis were single overhead cam driven by a gearset; a vertical tower-shaft driving bevel gears.
It looked elaborate, and was.
The single camshaft had cams for opening and closing each valve — there were only two; it was hemispherical head.
Since the cams didn’t close the valves airtight, a small hairpin spring was employed to help close the valves.
But they weren’t the heavy valve-springs ya usually see — which could float if worked quickly enough.
Desmodromic valve actuation was employed on Mercedes-Benz racing cars, and could be much more abrupt. Ya didn’t hafta ease it to offset valve float.
Strohmier had his 900SS in the want-ads.
I rode my Norton over to see it.
We wheeled it outside and fired it up with its kick-starter.
No electric-start; the 900SS didn’t have that.
WHOA! Had to have it. What a sound! Each exhaust-pulse was a cannon-shot that shook the ground.
Strohmier wasn’t sure he wanted to sell, but was committed to riding competition bicycle. He was afraid he might crash the Ducati and injure himself.
I forget what I paid for it.
The Strohmier bike was one of two Ducati 900SSs purchased from the motorcycle store right up the street from where we live; Cycle Enterprises II, but at that time something else.
But it was the better motorcycle. It had cast magnesium Campagnolo (“Komp-en-YELL-oh”) wheels, same manufacturer that made fancy-dan Campagnolo bicycle equipment.
Cast magnesium wheels were lighter than cast aluminum; what ya usually see.
It came with two smallish Dell’Orto (“del-OR-tow”) carburetors, 32 mm.
Each carburetor had a separate enriching choke circuit for starting, but one was plugged solid.
Full of goop, I guess. It wasn’t working at all.
But the carburetors were pumpers — they had accelerator pumps, that sprayed additional gasoline when ya goosed it.
Most Detroit automobiles also had accelerator pumps. Quite often motorcycles didn’t.
So you could enrich the gas for starting with the accelerator pumps.
So I had to replace one carburetor, or so it seemed. (Maybe I shoulda soaked it.)
A bunch of Ducati zealots suggested I install giant 40 mm toilet-mouths; better to do 140 mph.
A mistake; not amenable to my kind of riding, which was mainly in the city.
Smallish carburetors get the intake-charge speed up. Open a toilet-mouth, and it takes a while to move the intake-charge.
I was on the Thruway once, and got passed by another guy riding two-up on another 900SS. He still had the stock 32s.
I wicked it up, and fell farther behind — single rider too.
It was them toilet-mouths. They weren’t suited for 60-70 mph.
I started calling it “Sweetheart;” it was gorgeous to look at.
I used to park it on the sidewalk in front of our house in Rochester so I could stare at it.
I even started talking to it. “Hiya, Sweetheart. How-ya doin’?” I’d say as I entered my garage.
But riding it was near impossible.
First was starting it, which was with the kicker — it wasn’t electric.
Sometimes it fired on the first kick, but sometimes it didn’t. I deduced from experience the best place to kick from was on the seat.
But then the kicker would rebound and slap you in the calf.
Just starting it was a guaranteed bruise; plus an additional 5-10 minutes.
Compare that with getting into a car and just driving off; about a minute.
I learned from those Ducatisti the way to work that kickstarter was off the bike to the side. —That way it didn’t punish you.
The Ducati also had electronic ignition — a secret; I never knew how it worked.
But the drill was a removed sparkplug had to be adequately grounded — which it was when installed — lest the electronic ignition to that plug fade.
The tuning drill was to do one cylinder at a time — plug removed from the inactive cylinder.
I had it running great for a while, but then a sparkplug blew out — the cylinder-heads were just aluminum castings.
Every time ya torqued a sparkplug, ya chewed out more of the threads; so eventually they were all gone, and the plug blew out.
I had it fixed with helicoil — a steel thread-insert in the cylinder-head; which is what it shoulda been originally.
So here I am about 40 miles from home with a plug blown out.
It ran on just one cylinder, so I rode it home on that, probably with the blown-out sparkplug not properly grounded — it was dangling.
It ran messy after that; probably the electronic ignition to that plug had faded.
Try to get replacement parts.
Impossible.
My final mistake was to replace the rear shock-absorbers, which had become spaghetti.
I ordered new shocks, but they were for a touring version of the Ducati V-twin that had a higher ride-height. The shocks pushed the rear wheel down into the pavement when it was elevated on the centerstand.
The motorcycle needed its valves adjusted, which was a so-called religious experience requiring shims.
Most valve-rockers adjust with adjustment screws, but not a Ducati Desmo.
Recent motorcycles also use shims, but usually don’t need adjustment.
Adjusting with shims ain’t easy. It requires taking the entire valve-gear apart. This was supposed to be karma for a Ducati owner, but I didn’t have time.
I farmed out the valve adjustment — I had dropped the engine out of the motorcycle after the sparkplug blew. Took the whole kibosh to a motorcycle mechanic I knew.
The motorcycle still ran sloppy after all he did; probably a result of the faded ignition.
The motorcycle also felt funny.
It was designed to have a low center-of-gravity, so I always felt like it was carrying a heavy load way down low.
It also had a lot of steering rake in it so it would track well at speed.
Made it steer like a truck.
It also had limited steering. I dumped it once in a corner. I had it banked for a sharper turn than it could do.
Finally I put it up for sale, but only after purchasing a replacement motorcycle; a water-cooled Yamaha RZ350 two-stroke. (The Ducati was air-cooled.)
My obsession was with light weight, which the RZ was.
My mistake was trying to make it a Ducati. I went with clip-ons and rear-sets; and thereby made it gangly and almost unrideable.
It would have been better left alone; essentially a road-bike.
By then the Ducati was burning oil on startup; probably oil was puddling in the cylinders.
The first guy interested bought it anyway, oil-smoke and all.
(The oil-smoke wasn’t constant; just startup.)
His intent was to rebuild it; which was what it needed, but I didn’t have time.
So-long “Sweetheart.”
Interesting to me was about six years later I bought a new Yamaha FZR400, which was everything the Ducati wasn’t.
Except not as gorgeous, and didn’t sound like a Corvette when wound out.
I.e. Not a “Sweetheart.”


Scarlett. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

“Sweetheart” number-two is our current dog, Scarlett.
Scarlett is Irish-Setter number six — a rescue dog.
A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. a puppy-mill. By getting a rescue-dog, we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up.
Scarlett is over four — we got her at age three.
She had been kept in a puppy-mill, and produced two litters of pups.
But the owner gave up producing Irish-Setters, and turned the dog over to rescue in Ohio.
We had her spayed — no more puppies.
Scarlett is an extremely high-energy dog.
But I had just put a similar dog to sleep, so I thought we old geezers could handle her.
So far, so good.
But she’s bigger, and slightly stronger.
In a puppy-mill she never knew the joy of hunting.
Now she does; see any critter of any kind at all, and it’s hang on for dear life.
She nearly has dragged me into a pond a few times, but hasn’t succeeded yet. Long-underwear and dungarees have holes to show.
It’s my wife that calls her “Sweetheart;” a bit strange to me, but she’s entitled.
Beside being high-energy, she’s a really nice dog.
Our keeping her is a bit unfair, since us old geezers have a hard time keeping her entertained.
But on the other hand she probably wouldn’t be as entertained with working stiffs.
The fact we’re both retired, makes it more likely we can take her somewhere — hunting.
So “Sweetheart” it is.

• “Clubman bars” are handlebars bent in a shape that approximates “clip-ons.” (See below.) Clubman bars attach in the same clamps regular handlebars attach to (atop the steering-head), but swoop forward and down toward welded elbows. Short handlebar stubs are welded on there. The location and bend of them puts you in a racing-crouch.
• The “Thruway” is the New York State Thruway, Interstate-90.
• “Steering rake” is the angle at which the front wheel attacks the ground — usually determined by the angle of the front-fork tubes. Severe rake increases front-end stability at high speed, because doing so makes it harder to steer. —An example of severe front rake is a chopper with an extended front-fork, and laid-down fork tubes, which can hardly turn into a driveway. Works great on arrow-straight open highways.
• RE: “Clip-ons and rear-sets......” —“Clip-ons” are short handlebar stubs that clamp to the front downtubes. So installed they make the rider sit in a racing crouch. (The Ducati had clip-ons.) “Rear-sets” are rear-set foot-controls — behind where they usually are next to the motorcycle engine. They are the gearshift and rear foot-brake. (The front-brake usually works off the right handlebar lever.) Rear-sets also include the footpeg your foot rests on, and locate your feet rearward.
• My wife of 42 years is “Linda.”

old Cycle World

A couple days ago, I stumbled across an old Cycle World magazine, January 2009.
That is ancient; well before Mark Hoyer became the new Editor-in-Chief (my most recent issue, January 2010), and well before the redesign and upgrades in magazine production (December 2009).
The magazine went to perfect binding, and increased paper weights.
Cycle World is the last of the general motorcycle magazines — the survivor.
There were others before.
I started with “Cycle Guide” long ago, and as I recall, was transferred to “Cycle” when Cycle Guide folded.
Cycle then folded, and I was transferred to Cycle World.
I’m sure motorcycle magazine publication is a difficult balancing act.
Objectivity can be near impossible.
Publish a review perceived as negative, and the manufacturer pulls its ads.
The previous head-honcho was David Edwards; interesting, but fairly old.
His tastes reflected that.
Always biased towards old-style motorcycling, and older motorcycles.
E.g. the fervent dream that someday hoary old Norton would get back into production.
I continue to get Cycle World, despite my motorcycling being more-or-less over.
Before retirement, I had reason to ride — get to work.
Now I don’t; naught but the pleasure of riding, which is nice, but not that strong.
I still have my motorcycle; a 2003 Honda 600 cc CBR-RR.
It’s adequate; way faster than me.
A while ago I took it for inspection to the place I bought it: Canandaigua Motorsports.
They shook their heads in amazement; an undamaged crotchrocket.
Usually the crotchrockets were delivered in the back of a pickup for repair.
The rider lost it in a curve, and dumped it into the weeds.
“I just putt,” I said. “Too old for racin’.”
I’ve waved off would-be racers.
What I do is cut off the address labels and take my spent magazines to the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym for deposit in their racks.
What happens after that I don’t know — perhaps the dumpster out back.
Most of what’s in the racks are “Fortune” and Sports-Illustrated, “People” and Cosmo.
The magazines get used as reading material as people work out on the cardiovascular trainers.
E.g. some flaccid bimbo reading Cosmo about how to improve her sex-life.
Um honey; first ya might wanna take a shower!
Some guy works out with my Car & Driver magazines.
Usually my magazines aren’t around for long, although a fairly recent Cycle World is still on display.
I was about to take this old Cycle World to the YMCA, but paged through it.
WOOPS! Maybe not.
The three columns I read are still dog-eared, and I don’t recognize anything.
There also is a giant treatment about a new Buell (“Bule;” as in “mule”) motorcycle, the first in years without a Harley Davidson engine.
Buell is now bust. It was affiliated with Harley Davidson, and used Harley Sportster engines for a long time.
This new motorcycle was the first Buell since 1983 with an other-than-Harley engine.
It won the Pro Daytona Sportbike national championship in 2009, but Buell went bust shortly thereafter.
It’s a V-twin, so it doesn’t put out the kind of power the Japanese inline fours generate.
It excels because of its engine size; 1,125 ccs. That’s 125 ccs over a liter. Maximum size for the Japanese inline four crotchrockets is a liter, or perhaps slightly more.
The Japanese liter crotchrockets are generating 150 horsepower or more.
Buell’s 1,125 cc V-twin, made by Helicon, might get about the same.
By comparison, Harley Davidson’s V-twin is ancient, an old design.
Ya might get a hundred horsepower out of an enlarged and hot-rodded Harley engine.
40 years ago that was state-of-the-art, but no longer.
And the Harley V-twins are still air-cooled. Buell’s new motor was water-cooled; which is easier to work with.
The rear cylinder on a Harley V-twin ran hot, because it wasn’t in the air-stream.
So it looks like I shouldn’t part with this Cycle World yet.
Looks like it disappeared into my vast pile of unread magazines.

• “Perfect binding” is to glue the pages along the spine, instead of stapling everything together.
• “Norton” was a longtime British motorcycle manufacturer. It tanked in 1978. —My first motorcycle was a Norton; 1975, 850 cc Commando.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• “Cosmo” is of course Cosmopolitan Magazine.

“BRAAPAH......”

I pull up to pump #3 at the gas-station up the street to fill the gas-can for my lawnmowers.
Suddenly behind me: “BRAAPAH; BRAP! BRAP! BRAP! BAP-BAP-BAP-BAP-BAP........”
“Uh-ohhhhh,” I think. “Sounds like one a’ that ‘loud-pipes-save-lives’ gang, arriving on his noisy Harley.”
Suddenly, deafening silence. Bap-bap has shut off so he can gas up at pump #2.
I glance over.
Surprise! It ain’t a Harley.
The cylinder-spread on that V-twin looks like 72 degrees; not the 45 degrees of a Harley.
Probably a Yamahopper.
Sure sounded like a Harley.
Harleys pass our house full throttle with no muffling at all! What a statement! “BRAAPAH......”
The speed-limit in front of our house is 40 mph. They’re probably doing 100!
Wide-open State Route 65 does a big turn southward just north of our house. Motorbikers have to slow for that turn, and then loudly assault the heavens.
Once a year the American Legion up the street holds a poker run, or is a stop on one.
89 bazilyun blatting GeezerGlides roar by, most at full song.
A chance to terrorize the cows.
“BRAP! BRAP! BRAP! BAP-BAP-BAP-BAP!” Bap-bap idles outta the gas-station.
“BRAAPAH........ BRAAPAH........ BRAAPAH........ BRAP!”
Out on 5&20 towards town, and up through the gears.

• RE: “Cylinder-spread on that V-twin looks like 72 degrees; not the 45 degrees of a Harley......” —The two cylinders of a V-twin engine are separated by 45 degrees on a Harley-Davidson, 72 degrees on a Yamaha, and 90 degrees on a Ducati (“dew-KAH-tee”).
• “Yamahopper” equals Yamaha.
• We live on NY “State Route 65” in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western N.Y.
• A “poker run” is a run of about 100 miles, with stops where each participant picks up a card to add to a poker hand. The participant with the winning hand at the final stop wins. —“Poker runs” are usually done with motorcycles, and usually benefit some charity.
• “GeezerGlide” is what I call all Harley Davidson ElectraGlide cruiser-bikes. My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston, who badmouths everything I do or say, has a very laid back Harley Davidson cruiser-bike, and, like many Harley Davidson riders, is over 50 (52). So I call it his GeezerGlide.
• “5&20” is the main east-west road (a two-lane highway) through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where we live.

“Brraaaaaaaaaapp-aaa.....”

Last Friday afternoon (July 18, 2008), as I exited the mighty Canandaigua Tops supermarket, suddenly “Brraaaaaaaaaapp-aaa.....” from far, far away; the sound of an enraged unmuffled Harley being wound through the gears.
So I started looking toward State Route 332, the main north-south four-lane through Canandaigua, which at this point is about 200 yards from Tops.
He’s probably leaving the next traffic-light north, which is Airport Road.
Tops is in the northwest corner of 332 and North Road, also a traffic-light.
The raging Harley sounds like it’s approaching that intersection.
Sure enough, the light is red, so raging Harley is being downshifted through every gear: “Blam! Bda-bda-bda;” “Blam! Bda-bda-bda;” “Blam! Bda-bda-bda;” “Blam! Bda-bda-bda.”
Raging Harley rumbles quietly to a stop.
I notice it has ape-hangers, at least three feet above the steering-stem.
How can you goose such a thing and hang on?
I ride motorbike myself, and wouldn’t want any such thing.
A typical sport-bike (like mine) sits you in such a way steering inputs are natural and work.
Ape-hangers may look cool, but where is the leverage?
My first bike, the Norton, had a sit-up-and-beg seat, which had me hanging on for dear life on expressways.
I seemed to be witnessing a presentation of sorts; a noisy expression against all social constraints.
—Like the way to rebel is make incredible racket with a giant motorized fart.
Too bad he couldn’t do that at the North Road light. He must have had traffic in front of him.
When the light changed he idled quietly into the city.

My first motorcycle was a 1975 850 Norton.

UGH!

UGH!

Photo by Brian Blades.

The March 2008 issue of my Cycle World magazine has a comparison of two GeezerGlides, and one looks abominable (see above).
It ain’t a Harley; it’s a Victory Vision Street.
It’s dreadfully UGLY. Whoever styled this thing seems to have forgotten that a motorcycle is supposed to be spare and rather narrow.
Even Jack’s bloated GeezerGlide looks better — it ain’t trying to look like the Queen Mary.
Motorcycles have gotten wider and wider over the years. The transverse inline four-cylinder engine contributes. It’s like putting a wall behind the front tire. At least parallel twins could be narrow. Better yet is the V-twin: one cylinder behind the other.
Worse yet is an opposed motor, like that in the Gold Wing or the BMW. Oppose the cylinders and the motor becomes wide.
At first the Wing at four cylinders wasn’t too bad, but now at six it’s become a ship. It even has reverse!
But the current Wing ain’t as atrocious as this Vision.
The second picture (below) was the most noticeable. I swear it’s about four feet horizontally across the mirrors, which were included in the bodywork. It doesn’t look like a motorcycle — it looks like a styling exercise done by people that don’t even ride motorcycles.

Photo by Brian Blades.

And that elongated tail is unnatural (see top pik). If I ever saw anything like that, I’d laugh. A Fourth-of-July parade float. This is a motorcycle?
Tilted into a corner, it looks kind of unwieldy. Try to not hit anything! Ride with another, and that person better look out — they’re liable to get scythed.
The picture has the right idea: the Harley is behind. (And you can’t lean a GeezerGlide much. I had to rotate that picture almost 15° clockwise to get the road level.)
Incredible width seems to be the driving paradigm here.
The engine faring looks wide enough to accommodate a transverse Big-Block Chevy.
Just looking you’d never know a V-twin is in there. Since when does one cylinder behind the other need that much encasement?

SWEETHEART

The dreaded Spotmatic.

Prettiest motorbike ever made (as purchased; I got a single-seat for it).

Thankfully the magazine also featured the prettiest motorbike ever made, the Ducati 900SS.
I had one (pictured) and spent more time looking at it than riding it.
It was spare and narrow in the extreme: the exact opposite of the Vision Street.
The Ducati was probably the narrowest motorbike I ever had.
My FZR 400 looked wider (I noticed), and the mighty Kow was even wider still.
My RZ350 was probably lighter, but it sat wider.
My 600RR (the LHMB) is headed in the right direction; smaller and lighter than the mighty Kow (which always seemed too big), about the size of the FZR (the right size, but not the Ducati). —The newest Double-R is smaller still.
The Ducati was frustrating, of course.
It steered like a truck.
I dropped it once trying to turn into our street in Rochester — I was up against the steering-lock.
It also had a kick-starter that kicked me in the calf.
But no way would I ever throw a leg over a Vision.
It looks like it should be encasing a Small-Block Chevy — and even then the styling is overdone.
All I have to do is look at picture number-two: who would ever know it’s a one-track vehicle; put your foot down, or it falls over?
Even Jack’s gigantical GeezerGlide looks better — I humblee predict the Victory Vision Street will never sell.

“GeezerGlide” is what I call all Harley Davidson ElectraGlide cruiser-bikes. My loudmouthed macho brother-in-Boston (“Jack”) has a very laid back Harley Davidson cruiser-bike, and, like most Harley Davidson riders, is 50 years old. So I call it his GeezerGlide.

The Chevrolet “Big-Block” was introduced in the 1965 model-year at 396 cubic-inches. It was made in various displacements: 402, 427 and 454 cubic inches. It’s still made as a truck-motor, but not installed in cars any more; although you can get it as a crate-motor, for self-installation. The Chevrolet “Small-Block” V8 was introduced at 265 cubic-inches displacement in the 1955 model-year. It continued production for years, first at 283 cubic inches, then 327, then 350. Other displacements were also manufactured.

Motorbike #1 was a 1975 850 Norton Commando that drove me crazy; #2 was the Ducati; #3 the RZ350; #4 the Yamaha FZR400, #5 a 1996 600cc Kawasaki ZX6R (“the mighty Kow”), and #6 (my current motorcycle) is my 2003 600cc Honda CBR/RR (the LHMB). —I put over 7,000 miles on the mighty Kow.

“LHMB” is my 2003 Honda 600cc CBR/RR crotch-rocket motorcycle. Seeing a picture of it, my sister-in-Floridy declared “Lord-Have-Mercy;” and my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston, a macho Harley-guy, seeing it was yellow, pronounced it a “Banana.” So LHMB equals Lord-Have-Mercy-Banana.