Code of the Road

 

                                                            

 April 2010                                                                   

Kindred Spirits? Hawk with a Hack? (Part II)

      Fortunately, my desires to keep my word to my daughter and buy that infernal sidecar were met by my successful arrival in Butler, Wisconsin! If you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, click on Archived Codes on the left and read the March 2010 Code of the Road.

     However, there’s much to do before buying the sidecar rig and getting it back to Atlanta. For starters, I needed rest. I had arrived in Milwaukee at 1:00 am and was welcomed by my brother’s brother in-law. He was kind enough to wait up for me and give me the beer that is required of a man after a trip of that endurance. He and his wife live in a charming house in the historic district. After carefully confirming that I was indeed parked on the side of the street that wasn’t going to be swept too early the next morning, off to bed I went.           

      In the morning, the sun came up too early and my bones creaked with age and anger for being moved too soon. Looking outside, I could see a couple feet of snow on the ground and thought it was splendid. Once downstairs, my hosts thought less of the snow, remarking, “It’s so ugly, I hope you get to see it when it first falls.” After a few cups of coffee and confirming the directions to Butler, we were off to breakfast.

    Since they had been such gracious hosts, I told them to pick the spot and I would be glad to buy the breakfast. After a brief, albeit polite debate, they settled on “McBob’s”. They assured me that it was within walking distance and a good local watering hole.  McBob’s might actually be McRobert’s, but I can’t say for sure, but it’s a genuine Irish bar in Milwaukee and soon I would discover vast differences between Atlanta watering holes and those in Milwaukee. We ordered Bloody Marys. They arrived at the table with the standard tomato juice vodka base with ice, but the most unusual garnishes. Perhaps I’m sheltered, or maybe naïve to the world, but before McBob’s, I’d not seen a Bloody Mary with a grilled hot dog and pickle wedge as a garnish.  To widen the gap between my world and that of southern Wisconsin, I gave the waitress my best RCA dog impression when she asked if I wanted a beer chaser with my breakfast. “Beer chaser? What, like do that make beer here or something?” Just kidding, I know that Milwaukee is famous for making two things- Beer and Bikes.

     After breakfast, I bid my hosts adieu and took the 15 minute drive to Butler. Along the way, I passed the Harley-Davidson factory and considered taking time out of my travel day for a tour, but reconsidered. After all, I reasoned, “Milwaukee is only a half day’s drive; I can come back next weekend!”

     Following the directions from my brother’s brother in-law, the trusty Google maps and to be triple sure, Mapquest as well, I found Competition Cycle. I was greeted by several bike mechanics that were curious what nut would drive all the way from Atlanta to buy that sidecar. A few asked what it was going on and seemed pleased with my reply, “I’ll get her pinned to a ’93 Goldwing.” I was relieved to hear one reply, “Good choice, man, that’ll be cool.” The shop is somewhat of a history lesson in motorcycles as well. If ever you get the chance to wander around in there, they have a Police Servi-Car from a local jurisdiction that still has the old radio and ticket book mounted to the handlebar. There were old Indians (not talking about the cigar store kind either) everywhere. I spent 10 minutes there before I felt the road calling. Given an opportunity, I could spend a day or two just kicking around the shop, tinkering with all they had on display, in the process of refurbishment or helping with simple repairs. Just to say that I’ve tuned a ’48 Indian, it’d be worth the labor to get the bragging rights.         

             

    Well, the hack rig looked just as good as advertised and I was pleased. The shop owner and another couple of guys helped lift it into the back of my weakling truck, got it all tied down, shook hands and parted ways.

     Snow was everywhere from Wisconsin, through Illinois and into Indiana. A strange thing happened to the scenery in Indiana. With low clouds slowly pouting snow, visibility was reduced to about ½ mile. I’m accustomed to reduced visibility, but seeing the ghostly wind farms “materialize” from the dark snow clouds was unusual and striking. “The things you see when you drive instead of fly!” I thought to myself, or maybe I said it out loud, who knew if I was actually talking or thinking to myself? I was pretty road weary and ready to be home. The trip was going well and I checked the sidecar often, just to make sure my baby was still there. It was and it even maintained its rightful place, square in the center of the truck bed, through a windstorm that came up as I made it from Kentucky and into Tennessee. I was sure at one point that my light truck was going to be carried away by the breeze, but the sidecar proved to be too much weight to lift, so I was spared.

     I arrived home on Saturday night, a little after supper, with my beautiful wife and appreciative child keeping my dinner warm. My wife remarked; “You’re never doing that again, I worried about you from start to finish.” I was secretly pleased that someone cared enough to think like that, but my motorcycle spirit is too flighty to be held down by worrisome thought.

     Today, the sidecar and my ancient Goldwing are being married in a quiet ceremony in Watkinsville, Georgia. The service being presided over by Nathan Mende, minister of motorcycles. Nathan is the only man in Georgia whom has the absolute trust of every hack rider I’ve spoken to in the state (and if you own a hack rig and live in Georgia, I’ve probably spoken to you about Nathan).

    I’m looking forward to seeing and feeling what the sidecar will be like on the Wing, but rest assured, it’ll be the start of a new chapter of family motorcycle adventures. 

 

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

March 2010

Kindred Spirits? Hawk with a Hack?

     At some point last year, my 10- year old daughter told me that she wasn’t a big fan of my new BMW motorcycle, preferring instead the old ’93 Honda Goldwing because it was bigger. She added that “Mommy and I can’t ride with you on any motorcycle, you have to pick one or the other and I think Mommy gets jealous when I go riding.” I replied, “Well, what should I do, buy a sidecar or something?” She nodded and crossed her arms. “I’ll get one before Christmas.”  And just like that, I was had!

      I began my search for a hack rig by reading all I could about cost and features. I was careful in considering what kind I would buy because I’d be getting the sidecar bolted onto an ancient mariner of a motorcycle, a ’93 Goldwing with over 150k miles on the odometer (yes, I bought it new, yes, they are all my miles and, no, it’s not a “Canadian metric” odometer).  My Old Wing is probably worth something along the line of $2,000 (to a crazy person willing to buy a high mileage bike!). So, the thought of attaching a “dream” sidecar priced at $5,000 made me dizzy and sick. For cost, handling and aesthetics, I had decided on a Velorex or a Vetter Terraplane. I would not be buying new; I’ll be looking on Ebay, thank you.

    Craig’s List, Ebay, motorcycle magazines and Cycle Trader became my constant companions. Like a frustrated young man compelled to find internet porn, I was burning up my bandwidth in search of a sidecar.  Night and day, on the lap top and mobile app and into every shop I could find, the search of a sidecar was on.  I made dozens of bids. One night, up until 1:00 a.m. to bid on a Velorex that was in Texas only to lose the bid in the final second of the auction. Another time, I found a great sidecar in Tennessee and, not wanting to show my hand to soon, planned to hold off on bidding for a few days until the auction neared a close. Damn the luck, the guy took the Hack off the auction because no one had bid on it with just 3 days left in the auction! I vowed never to let that happen again! If I saw something I might like, I’d throw a bid on it to make sure I didn’t lose it.

    Time had not been my friend in this endeavor. My self-imposed “before Christmas” deadline was fast approaching, and I had no sidecar in the garage. The daughter of any good Daddy will tell you that if her Daddy says he’s going to do something, by golly, it’s done! I explained the predicament to her and although she understood, she was surprised that I hadn’t been able to accomplish what I had set out to do. My real saving grace was an uncharacteristically brutal winter in Georgia, so she wasn’t to keen on riding anyway. My search continued into the new year.

     One late night, almost asleep, I found a new listing for a shiny black Vetter Terraplane with an extended windscreen and rain cover, seatbelt, tubular construction, all in excellent condition. I blew up the photographs and saw that the seat inside was in great shape, still had both keys for the trunk, the thing appeared to be brand spanking new, despite it’s 20+ years of being around. I figured someone bought it, used it sparingly and then got rid of it. Yep, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I had the bug to buy this sidecar. It was being listed by Competition Cycles in Butler! Well, I was quick to throw down my usual “starting bid”. It was the perfect item, not far away, after all, Butler is in East Tennessee, near Watauga Lake, just a couple of hours from the house! This is perfect!

    In a ritual that had been repeated many times before; the next morning, over breakfast, I logged into Ebay to show my wife a daughter “our new sidecar”. That’s when I discovered that I had bid on the perfect sidecar, at the perfect price in not the perfect location.

 

    Now, those of you who knew about Butler, TN should be rewarded for your geographical insight. If you’ve ridden all my routes, you’re sure to have passed through Butler on the Watauga Loop Ride (p 140, Book 2). If you are familiar with Butler, WISCONSIN, I can only assume that you are a Cheese-head like me! Butler, WISCONSIN? What was I going to do if I won the damn thing? Well, not to worry, I was the first to bid, and mine was a low, low, low, opening bid; surely someone would outbid me. There were literally hundreds of people “watching the item” and I felt that I’d lose the auction in the coming days or at least in the final seconds. I had already prepared my “Dang the luck” speech to my wife and daughter and continued my search.

     Days passed and I was still the lone bidder. The final day of bidding came and still, no one was bidding. My bid was awfully low, surely someone will outbid me. At 8:42 pm on January 12th, I was confirmed as the “Winning Bidder” of the sidecar that was NOT IN Butler, TENNESSEE, but in BUTLER, WISCONSIN!! I called the shop on the 13th and explained that I would come get it, but would have to wait for a break in the weather. The gravelly voice on the other end told me he didn’t mind storing it for a few weeks, as long as my check cleared.

     I always prefer to ride motorcycles instead of driving a car or truck, but with the need for utilitarian transportation, I do actually own a little truck. A January jaunt from Atlanta, Georgia to Butler (just outside Milwaukee), Wisconsin was not a good mission for a motorcycle, cold, snow threatening and I’d have to learn how to ride a sidecar rig on the 842 mile return trip. No, thanks! My little Nissan truck has four little cylinders and gets pretty good mileage, but it’s anemic power band has problems with molehills, much less mountains (like Monteagle in Tennessee).  I checked the weather and rechecked the weather. There was a small window of opportunity on the weekend of January 23rd.

    On Thursday, January 21st, I downloaded directions to my sister-in-law’s brother’s house in Milwaukee (a gent I had met only once, but a stellar person on all counts), packed my truck with some food and drink, a bag of clothes and went to bed. Friday morning came, I kissed my wife and child goodbye at the breakfast table and all was set for my journey. You’d think that driving the 13 hours to Milwaukee and back would take a few days, right? Well, that’s just not my style. I worked on Friday, January 22nd and didn’t leave for Milwaukee until 1:00 in the afternoon.   

 

Come back next month to see if I made it!

 

      Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

 

December 2009

I love pop wheelies, but I think they might be bad for us

 

Every so often, I recall a piece of my history that I’m fortunate to have survived. Learning to “trail ride” on a police motorcycle seems innocent enough, but my teacher insisted on riding up and down the rocky and steep slopes of the Chattahoochee River. Then there were the lessons on riding up and down stairs. I can tell you without hesitation that riding down stairs is much easier than riding up, but easy is cheating. The lesson that got me was the pop wheelie. “When would I deed that skill?” I wondered to myself. Sure, riding the trails an maybe even the stairs would MAYBE prove useful one day, but pop wheelie? Nope, not in the loosest form of logic could I come up with a time I might use it. The skill of riding a motorcycle down some stairs did prove useful and the trail riding was just cool and harmless to the joggers that were quick enough to get out of my way.

My dear police motorcycle instructor is no longer a police officer and I have no idea into what he is dong now, but teaching young men and women how to perform a perfect pop wheelie on a KZ100P is no longer his occupation. While what follows is not why he is no longer a police officer, it did signal a beginning to his end. You see, Presidents (yes, like of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA) fly into the local Air Force Reserve Base here in Marietta, Georgia. It’s up to the local motorcycle squad and the Secret Service to provide an escort to get the President to his appointments and appearances. Most of these are practiced, rehearsed and are conducted with military precision. So, there we were, escorting the President of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA down the road, a dozen or so cars behind the motorcade, my instructor and I riding tandem up front, leading the way. Our speed was perfect, we were hitting all the intersections at the right time and place, things were going swimmingly until I heard a voice to my right say, “Hey  man, watch this!” and what to my wondering eyes should appear than a man with a dwindling police career! Sure enough, pulling away from the formation, my instructor and mentor executed a perfect pop wheelie for about 1/4 mile as we escorted the President. How many people can you name that have been involved in a Presidential motorcade? If you are reading this, you at least know one. How many do you know that have done a pop wheelie in one? Well, I do, and it served no function other than to see how fast a black suburban can approach a motorcycle and tame the wild rider into compliance,

The pop wheelie serves everyone notice that you are and overly confident rider… and that’s about it. I remember my first pop wheelie, well, some of it. I was on a minibike with a with a Briggs and Stratton engine and huge fat tires. I was about 11 years old and knew about as much about a clutch as I knew about how to launch a rocket into space. I could understand some of the concepts, but in the end it was “GO, GO, GO, GO…” right into the fence at a breakneck speed and with one wheel lofting toward the sky like a pony fighting to get too much weight off the saddle. Not a useful skill, but impressive, all the way to the crash.

 I’ve seen a video of a French stuntman doing a wheelie for dozens of miles (set the world record) and then he did some wheelies on a full dresser bike. Impressive, but not too useful.

What purpose does the wheelie hold? Maybe I’m missing something? I can tell you what it does for those that do not ride motorcycles; it makes them wasn't to run from the sport! How many sweet little old ladies have you met that have missed the opportunity to be part of our great sport and hate motorcycles (and some motorcyclists)  because “cousin Randy” was hurt/killed on one? 

Maybe we should leave the wheelies for the shows in parking lots and not on the road? Want to impress me? Show me how you can turn your bike around in just two parking spaces without kicking out your out-riggers. I’ll bet that most riders can’t, but I know that all need to know how to. Instead of impressing everyone with your pop wheelie that only highlights your marginal riding skills and lack-luster “Ambassadorship to Motorcycling”, try waving at the kids at the red light next to you and be in total control of your bike in the parking lot. Keep those feet up and ankles safe. Ride with skill to impress those who would fight to keep us off the streets.

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 June 2009

Code of the Road and Murphy's Laws

    In motorcycling there are unwritten standards of behavior for motorcyclists that keep our sport the coolest in the world. People who aren't motorcyclists know that we're cool as all get out, but they can't seem to put their finger on it (and for that matter, motorcyclists don't know for sure either, but we do know that we're the coolest things on the street!). Here are a few ideas of this Code and an overview of Murphy's Laws of Motorcycling.

    Perhaps the most visible unwritten standard of motorcycling is the wave. Whether you wave or not, waving from the saddle of a motorcycle is as popular as waving from the helm of a pleasure boat.  Now before you go off all half-cocked, you should know how to wave. This may sound simple, but before you throw a hand up in the air for a warm "Howdy Do!" you need to consider several factors.  The first factor is; what kind of bike are you on? If you are on a touring bike, sport bike, American Iron Cruiser, standard bike or Vespa, the type and style of waves sent by riders of the same ilk are internationally accepted. For example:                                                                

"I'm #1" wave is sent by raising the left hand high into the sky and holding up the first digit. This wave is exclusively used by riders of American made motorcycle (and by that I mean, the bikes that have an "American sounding name", regardless of where the parts were made or where it was assembled).

"Right Handed Wave" is sent by a rider holding up the right hand, fingers all extended and separated and waving wildly as if drowning. This wave is the exclusive purview of the Touring Bike Riders who wish to demonstrate the importance and usefulness of cruise control. 

"Clutch Side Palm Lift Wave" is seen most often by sportbikers who are too busy to left go of the handlebar, so they send this one by raising the fingers of the left hand as high as they can without actually letting the palm leave the handlebar.

"Quick Wave" is seen most often by Vespa pilots or by those new to motorcycling. It is sent by keeping the time the left hand is away from the handlebar down to a scientifically immeasurable amount of time, generally about the same amount of time it takes a hummingbird to flap its wings once.

    Here are some waves we all share from time:

"Point and Shoot" is shot toward an approaching rider by holding the fingers up, palm facing forward and then dropping to forefinger extended, thumb up and the rest of the fingers wrapped toward the palm in a gun shape and then recoiling as the riders meet.

"Goddess Durga"-if you're not up on your Hinduism you might not get this one, but the Goddess Durga is the golden, multi-armed goddess that destroys monsters. This wave is sent accidentally daily by riders that are lucky enough to have a passenger. When riding two-up, the passenger is naturally compelled to wave at passing motorcycles and when the passenger's wave and the rider's wave occur simultaneously, it appears to the approaching rider that the rider doing this wave has multiple arms!

"Long Wave" this happens when you approach a rider and wave, only to discover that there is a long column of riders behind the lead rider, so you keep your hand out there as if "high fiving" the entire group.

"Low Down Wave"-So, your approaching another motorcyclist who is in traffic, you don't want to appear to be waving at the cars around him, so you hold your left hand down and give it a shake as you pass. This prevents the poor saps who are stuck in the car near the other cool biker to think that you actually waved at them. 

 

    Murphy's Laws of Motorcycling follow Murphy's Laws pretty closely-what can go wrong will.

Rain Law- rain will fall only when there is a motorcycle rally, event, race or charity run scheduled. Farmers have made calls to local motorcycle clubs to arrange for the end of droughts by scheduling a ride of more than 50 motorcycles.

Rain Gear Law is actually two fold  1- If you check the weather before a short ride and discover that the only rain falling in the world is currently in Asia and would never reach you before your four-hour ride so you decide to forgo taking your raingear along. This decision will generate a monsoon for a 50-mile radius around your ride.  2-Say you brought your rain gear- good for you, but the moment you stop to put it on, the rain will immediately stop. However, if you push on for even one minute further to "see if it clears up" this will bring hail from the skies like water rushing over a waterfall.

Gravity Law- This law dictates that your bike is able to remain upright in the garage while you change oil without putting down the kickstand. With no witnesses, your bike just CANNOT fall over. However, once in a parking lot in front of other riders and/or multitudes of the opposite sex, your bike will succumb to a gravitational anomaly that will be studied by NASA for decades to come.

Reliability Law- This little gem will hit you right after you brag on your bike for being super reliable and will hit doubly hard if you question the reliability of someone else's engine. I have fallen victim to this one while being the lone Honda on a Harley Riders Road Trip. Crow doesn't taste good, keep your trap shut.

Flat Tire Law- this will strike while you are out-of-town on Saturday at seven minutes after five o'clock; which happens to be just seven minutes after the local motorcycle shop has closed until ten o'clock Tuesday morning. Bring a patch kit and your tire will never have a puncture.

   The best way to beat Murphy? There are two ways- 1-pack the world with you when you leave for a ride of any length, or 2-pack a sense of humor and laugh it off!! I have found that the sense of humor is not as heavy, making the necessity for fuel stops less frequent.

    This month, I'm headed back to ride in Maui (again, UGGGH!!! Life is sooo unfair.  

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

 

April 2009

Addicted?     

Addicted-ad-dict-ed (adjective)

1- dependent-

        Physiologically or psychologically dependent on a potentially harmful drug

2- very enthusiastic-

        Very interested in a particular thing and devoting a lot of time to it

                   Addicted to football

     The first piece of artwork visitor's see when they enter my modest home is a print of the painting Road Less Traveled by Markus Pierson, hanging in the front hall. In my office, there are a dozen or so model and toy motorcycles and a signed photo of Reg & Jason Pridmore. On the stairs leading to the garage hangs a relief of an early Indian motorcycle. In the dining room are photos of my wife Lisa and I astride a motorcycle or two in front of the spectacular  scenery we've viewed from the saddle. My t-shirt drawer is full of motorcycle shirts from shops, rallies, rides, and fund raisers. My garage has a couple of motorcycles parked inside while my poor ol' truck is relegated to whatever hazards and weather might befall it in the driveway. I have prominently displayed on the garage wall "Motorcycle Parking Only". I write about motorcycles, motorcycling, where to go, how to repair, how to ride; I read about motorcycling, receiving a 1/2 dozen motorcycle magazines monthly and have made personal studies of dozens of motorcycling books from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance to Investment Biker. The only time I am away from riding is when I am asleep and I'm pretty sure that I dream of motorcycles, riding or  tinkering.

    So what's the harm in a little addiction? Ask any pop-star who has fallen from grace if addiction is a bad thing. Of course, I'll argue that addiction to drugs or alcohol is far worse than an addiction to motorcycles, but for the sake of argument, let's compare and contrast the two:

Drugs/Alcohol-

Causes skin to age prematurely, giving one a "leather-like" appearance

Hoards, Hides and Spends money on addiction

Associates with others that are also addicted

Will continue to submit to addiction despite physical pain

In search of "perfect high" or "escape" from personal stressors

May take the addictive person away from friends and family

Motorcycling

Causes skin to age prematurely, giving one a "leather-like" appearance

Hoards, Hides and Spends money on addiction

Associates with others that are also addicted

Will continue to submit to addiction despite physical pain

In search of "perfect ride" or "escape" from personal stressors

May take the addictive person away from friends and family

Attempts to involve others in addiction

    O.K., so the compare/contrast thing didn't work as well as I thought it would, it sounds like motorcycling is as bad a drug habit, but HOLD ON THERE! Most illegal drugs have a hazard of shortening your lifespan and reducing your quality of life. While it is true that fatal collisions occur on motorcycles, the chances of dieing of an addiction to illicit drugs is far greater (either by the drug itself, at the hands of a drug dealer, or from the periphery environment). Aside from being legal (so far), motorcycling is a great way to see the country, a state, your city or even just your neighborhood. If you were going to drive anyway, you'll save gas if you take a motorcycle and unfortunately, most Americans still don't carpool, so ride that bike, see the country, save that gas and save the country along the way. 

     Motorcycles are going to turn things around in this nation of ours. As a cartoon character would say, "Drugs are bad, mmmmmk?" and motorcycles are good. Motorcycles are good for you, your neighbors, our roads and may just be what we need to save America from this economic slump. Part of the new economic stimulus package that was passed recently included a Motorcycle Buyer Tax Deduction- to stave off the negative effects of the economic downturn on the motorcycle industry, and to create a more fuel efficient "commuter fleet", Congress recently passed this deduction which allows the buyer of a motorcycle to write off 100% of the sales tax on their 2009 tax return (regardless if you itemize or not) . To qualify, you need to buy a motorcycle between February 17th and December 31st, 2009 and make less than $125,000 or $250,000 if filing jointly. You NEED to buy a motorcycle anyway, right?

Lets' go back to compare and contrast again and see how we're stacking up-

Drugs/Alcohol

Causes you to lose interest in others

Isolation leads to feelings of despair/paranoia

No interest in philanthropic pursuits

May lose teeth, so smiles become rare

Causes a "brain drain" by killing cells through constant numbing  

Motorcycling

Interest grows in others, i.e.; club memberships, waving to perfect strangers

Feelings of euphoria commonplace with long lasting happiness

Often referred to as the "most giving sport" -motorcyclists pursue charities

Riding leads to bugs in the teeth that are displayed in large smiles as bragging rights

Brain calculation increases through constant "hyper-vigilance" needed to ride well

    It seems that motorcycling is really good for you, it's also good for the country. Do the right thing this month and meet with some other addicts and go ride for America! Now that Spring has sprung, I'm more than ready to rejoin my fellow addicts for a little immersion treatment and this year, I'm taking my lovely wife along for the ride! 

                 

                

 

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

 

March 2009

Manifestly Unsafe Voyage?

 

    There's a fine line between adventure and disaster. It's been said (by me) that a good ride is fine, but it becomes a great adventure when riders have to overcome a challenge or obstacle but can teeter dangerously close to a disaster when that challenge is too great to overcome. Back when I had all my hair and was a friendly Coastguardsman, I would occasionally meet some crazy nut who left a port in a 8-foot dingy, bound for lands unknown with only a gallon of water, five power bars and a couple of beers. So ill-prepared, he posed a risk to himself and would likely become the focus of a huge search and rescue operation within hours of leaving port. The Coast Guard would have to step-in to be the adults and let the young man know that although we appreciated his self-confidence, his voyage was doomed for disaster and would therefore not be allowed to continue. The term for such a reckless and ill-prepared undertaking was "Manifestly Unsafe Voyage". 

     Most of us learn from mistakes, the smarter riders learn from the mistakes of others and avoid the actions that created the painful lesson. Who says stupid isn't painful? Well, it takes just one ride on a cold, windy day without raingear to discover that Murphy's Laws of Motorcycling dictate a chilly rain. Aside from discomfort, there's little risk of loss of life from cold rain, but being better prepared would have made you a safer rider, able to focus on the road. However, if you happen to get caught out in the rain, sans raingear, an adventuresome stop in the local saloon might lead you into the path of friends unknown, or introduce you to someone who knows about a "great little road that nobody ever rides". That's the adventure side of being unready. Then there's the rider that, I swear, if I'm making this up you can kill me, realizes that the front tire on his motorcycle is slick and beginning to show cord through the rubber, but decides to leave on a 100-mile trip anyway. To give his tire a fair chance to make the trip, he added more tread to the front tire by using rubber tape all the way around it. Perhaps desperate, with few funds to buy a new tire, our happy adventurer journeyed forth onto the highways and byways of Metro Atlanta. His was a manifestly unsafe voyage and you can imagine the result.

      So, how to balance the edge between adventure and unsafe? Keep you bucket full. Think of a lifetime of  riding motorcycles in this way; when we begin riding we're given a bucket. As we ride, we must keep our bucket full. New buckets are filled with luck, and little else. As we fall down in the driveway and break off turn signals, some of our luck swishes out. To replace the luck, we usually begin by getting some riding gear that will withstand the rigors of asphalt surfing. We might even take a course or two, the Basic Rider Edge , MSF or attend a school like the Atlanta Motorcycle School (www.jkminc.com). Pretty soon, we feel as if our bucket is running over and getting the garage dirty. That's usually when something happens like a piece of gravel jumps out in front of you as you late-apex a turn at a speed Captain Kirk would be proud of. As you and your bike slide off the road, your bucket overturns and goes empty. Now you begin to fill your bucket with experience. Experience is the stuff that sticks to the bottom of the bucket. Luck sloshes out like water, training and safety equipment is like sand, it can come out, but you have to really tip the bucket over, but experience sticks like soft mud to the bottom of your bucket and there are few things that will cause it to come out. If you're really good, you can fill your bucket with experience and not slosh out too much of the other stuff.

     Before your next ride, rethink your pre-ride checklist- and actually do it! If you've received any formal training, you're fighting right now to remember TCLOCS and you might be getting it confused with SIPDE or any of the dozen or so other acronyms that help us remember that we can't remember acronyms. Back to TCLOCS- Tires, Controls, Lights, Oil, Chassis, Stands. Fairly self explanatory, but actually do it before a ride. You might even have to lay on the ground to check the rear tire pressure. Believe me, it's easier to get up off the ground from checking the tire pressure than to get off the ground after the tire has folded in a curve due to low tire pressure. Then check you, and your personal gear. Of course, start the ride sober and alert. Wear gloves, boots, long pants and a jacket. Helmet? I'll wear mine, thanks.  I'll also check out my helmet for dings and scrapes that I hadn't seen before. I'll do the same with my jacket and my other gear. If I think I might use it, I want to know that it's working right. Sure, I don't expect to use my helmet (who does?), but I want to know it'll work if it's needed. I take cash when I ride and a credit card. Cards are convenient in many places, but cash is king everywhere. If you think of your own checklist and run through it before a ride, the chances of sloshing anything out of your bucket goes down.

     Back to the kid with the rubber taped front tire. As you have correctly predicted by now, he did lose control, he did a little sliding and then did have to buy a new tire anyway. However, his disaster became an adventure from which he loaded his bucket with experience and equipment (mud and sand). I met him after he had gotten his damaged 250 to the shoulder of I 285 near I-75 in mid-morning traffic. He found a log on the shoulder to use as a motorcycle stand and then operated on his front tire with the only tool he had, pliers. Once wrestling the front tire from the bike, I gave him a ride to and from a local motorcycle shop where he bought a new tire and paid to have it mounted on the rim. I believe that shop still has his old "tire" on display.

     This month, take a ride or two (I hear Daytona is beautiful this time of year), keep your bucket full and if you happen upon someone whose bucket has overturned, offer some help and leave them something to fill their bucket, they may need it on their voyage.

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

January 2008, er  I mean 2009

Time is Passing, but I'm still in the lead!

    Funny thing about time; we always seem to be running out of it, or running late, or it just passes you by. If you're like me, a good old fashioned New Years Eve Celebration is hardly a sufficient memory aid to prevent my pen from writing 2008 on each check and document for 2009. Hopefully, this will end before spring.

    As I look back on the year that I'm trying to stop writing on my checks, I'm forced to recall some of the highs and lows of this event filled year.

Fuel Cost- We will all continue to hear the grumblings of the summer of 2008 when gas prices peaked over $4 a gallon and held there for the entirety of the travel season. Many riders cancelled trips and opted instead to add miles to their bikes by becoming moto-commuters, pitting their skills against other commuters.

Rise in Ridership- The aforementioned $4 a gallon gas led to a wild uptick in new motorcycle and scooter purchases. However, while registrations for these vehicles were way up, the number of motorcycle permit endorsements was up only slightly. What this is likely to mean is that among us, there are some unlicensed riders and that should frighten all of us. I took the rider's exam here in Georgia and I gotta say, it was shockingly easy. Proving to the state that you have sufficient skill to ride a motorcycle does not translate into "you're a good motorcyclist", but choosing to ride without getting a permit may be just an invitation to disaster for you and for your fellow riders. Crashing a motorcycle is bad for the rider, the passenger, the insurance rates and every other motorcyclist who has to face down the argument that "Motorcycles are dangerous." 

Office Riders- This is the odd creation of riding groups that started quite by chance when motocommuting became all the rage. Riders parked their gas guzzlers and rode their uber-efficient bikes and scooters to the office only to discover that the gal in the next cubicle is a Harley owner and likes guys on Vespas. Most of us weren't that lucky, but you get the idea.  It seems not to matter about the weather, motocommuters ride for fun and profit. At the end of the workweek, these motocommuters would plan a get together on Saturday morning and make a local touring ride of one or two gas tanks.  Ah, the smell of office politics and high octane gasoline; what could be better for a good working team?

New Friends-I was lucky enough to be invited to the BMW Owners Georgia Mountain Rally (AKA the Georgia Mountain Regatta- due to the high probability of rain at the event). I didn't own a BMW at the time and was curious how the group would accept an interloper in their midst. I spoke to the crowd about motorcycle touring and some of the attractions in the mountains of North Georgia and then led a two-hour long ride. From that ride and rally, I met dozens of folks who share a passion for riding, seeing, tinkering, eating and living the dolce vida. About a month later, I had my own BMW and had ridden with some more new friends.

Kept Connected with My Past- As one grows older, the temptation to turn away from all things you did in your youth and focus your energy on success in business or keeping the lawn mowed. If you let the things that made you a great person fade away, you too will fade into the ordinary. To fight the fade, my wife and I enjoyed a 10-year wedding anniversary trip to New England aboard the new bike. You see, our honeymoon was a trip to Port Townsend, Washington from our home here in Atlanta, Georgia. There are few places you could travel further and remain in the continental United States.  Part of our past has always been motorcycling and rest assured it will always be part of our future.

    I'd like to hear how the events and trials of 2008 effected you and your enjoyment of 2009. Drop me a line at hawk@motohawk.com and let me know what you think was a boom or a bust for 2008.  Oh, and if your club has an event, I'd surely enjoy speaking and riding with your crew; I'm always looking for more riding buddies.

    Time does keep passing, but as long as we keep to the right and on a twisty, double-yellow lined road, time will not be able to get around us!

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

October 2008

Frightening Indeed! 

    In thinking of the month of October and all that it it brings to the motorcycle community, great autumn colors on cooler rides, fun club parties, and trick-or-treaters visiting the house; there's much to write about that's frightening and I have two tales this month. So, sit back, prop your feet up on the engine guards and prepare yourself to be frightened!

      "Fedora Man"

       A few years back, I had worked all  day and into the night on the police motorcycle squad here in metro Atlanta and was planning to leave as soon as I got home for a quick weekender vacation to the panhandle of Florida. Before work that day, I had packed the bike and gotten her all set for the trip; topped off the gas, checked the tires, oil, you get the idea. The day was not particularly tough or fatiguing, just a normal day at the office on my KZ1000P CHiPS bike.

      There's a big difference between riding like a civilian and professional police riding. I had no less than 10 hours in the saddle by the time I got off work and my workday included weaving through traffic at speed Captain Kirk would have bragged about.  I wrote a few tickets, worked a traffic accident or two and probably changed a tire for a stranded old lady (yes, we still do that). In addition to the strain of all day riding, I was doing it in a police uniform. The rumors are true that police work is stressful and draining, so what was I thinking by starting the weekender to Panama City at midnight on Friday?

     Once home, I made a quick change, slung my leg over the soft saddle of my personal bike and quietly eased out of the apartment parking lot with no fanfare. Once at the entrance ramp to the interstate, I met up a friend and his wife who were joining with me on this little adventure. They were good people to travel with. They both enjoyed scuba diving and who hates the beach? Nobody! Ahead, only darkness with two cones of light splitting the night roadway.

     The trip from Atlanta to Panama City takes something in the range of 6 hours. We remained on the interstate until entering Alabama where we merged onto a large US route southward. Absent of traffic, we were making spectacular time. The road rolled over hills in rural east Alabama, occasionally interrupted by sleeping towns. It was between Eufaula and Dothan that I first caught a glimpse of the man.

     When I first saw him, he was standing on the white fog line that ran the length of the roadside. He made not a move, just stood by, motionless as our bikes approached, headlights illuminated his dark figure and as soon as I had seen him, I had passed him. Gone. I yelled to my buddy, "That's weird, I wonder what he's doing out here tonight?" My buddy replied, "Who?" I dismissed the comment as "Hey Hawk, I didn't see anyone", besides, the guy was standing on the right side of the road and I happened to be riding on the right of our tandem.

      After making a couple of turns through Dothan, we were again making good time toward the Florida State Line and I-10.  Like the miles before, easy curves, low rolling hills and pitch black darkness. The dark, quiet night was only briefly interrupted by the roar of our engines and cones of our headlights. AND SUDDENLY, HE WAS BACK!

     At 70 miles and hour, my friend and I rode in tandem, comfortable with each other's skill (he was also a motorcycle officer), occasionally speaking back and forth about our plans at the beach. I had just finished asking what we should do first upon arrival at the Redneck Riviera, hit the beach or grab a waffle? As I refocused my attention forward, my eyes clearly saw the same man I had seen before! Standing just 50 feet in front of me, wearing black boots, black slacks, a black trench coat, topped with a Fedora style hat, carrying a salmon wrapped in a San Francisco Chronicle. Nothing but maximum braking and swerving onto the shoulder would prevent this collision! I grabbed a handful of front brake, counter steered and swerved onto the rocky right shoulder, wrestling the bike straight again just inches from the grass along the roadside. Heart pounding and adrenaline coursing though my veins, I came to a stop.

    My friend circled back on the dark and abandoned roadway. "What's up?" he asked. I quipped; "What's up? Are you blind? Didn't you see that guy? The guy with the Fedora and the salmon wrapped in the San Francisco Chronicle!" He replied, "Sounds like you're seeing things. How do you know it was a salmon and why the San Francisco Chronicle? You need some rest." I looked back up the empty highway and saw only darkness. Realizing that my young eyes were still pretty good, but my fatigued brain was trying to entertain itself to occupy the time it would normally be resting and dreaming of unicorns and buffalo wings. I gathered my thoughts, collected my courage and finished the last 1  1/2 hour ride without seeing anything that wasn't quickly confirmed by my riding buddy.

     Lesson learned? Stop and rest BEFORE you hit someone that isn't really there! SCARY!

    $956 Front Yard Aeration Project

     Aside from motorcycling, I tout myself as a bit of a family handyman. My daughter Annabelle will gladly tell anyone who listens that her daddy can fix anything he breaks! With a three year drought in Georgia, my lawn is suffering and starting to attract angry glares from neighbors as they walk by. The grass is all but dead and the shrubs are pitifully weak.

     In late August it rained here in Atlanta. Yep, nearly an inch (that was only the 9th inch we had this YEAR). Considering the recent deluge, I had the bright idea to spruce up my front yard by getting some lime and some 10-10-10 fertilizer to cover the soil and give my grass a fighting chance to get some nutrients. I made the trip to the local hardware store and made my purchases. The little girl at the check out counter reminded me that for it to work really well, I would need to aerate. "Right you are there, Peggy. My neighbor  has a core aerator and I'll use his." With visions of the "Yard on the Month" being erected in my yard, I rushed home with my secret formula for a better lawn and popped over next door to ask about the aerator.

     My neighbor is a good one. We have been bringing our kids to each other's houses on Halloween for what we have come to know as "Trick or Beer". Tools and lawn implements frequently make the tip over the fence and back between our homes. It was nothing for him to loan me his core aerator, "Just one thing though, my riding mower is in the shop. Do you have anything with a 1 7/8 inch ball to tow it with?"

     Now, you can see where this is going. I don't know if it's from Police work that I get the view that motorcycles are tools instead of collector's items, but that's my guess. Yearning to have a green lawn and impatient to aerate while the soil is soft and get my secret formula on the lawn before the next rain, I dragged the aerator to my house.

     Seeing a Goldwing being used as a farm implement was more than most passers-by could take. My neighbor snapped a couple of photos of me pulling his aerator while wrestling the bike along the bumpy lawn.

     There are scents that you'll never forget; grandma's house, burning hair, a good steak on the barbie, a burning clutch. With over 150,000 miles on her odometer, my old Goldwing got the lawn completely done and the aerator returned, but had lost her giddy up.  Weird, the clutch was fried, who could have predicted that?  After aerating the yard, I grabbed my lawn spreader and got the white powdery mix that is my secret formula on the grass. It hasn't rained since.......

    It cost me $956 to aerate the front yard, now that's scary! Lesson learned? I could have bought a lawn tractor for $956 and kept my bike running just fine!!! 

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

September 2008

Changes are a coming! 

    In late August, I joined with some other riders and made a mid week work escape ride. We found the back roads and rode from Atlanta up to Highlands, NC.  Cruising past creeks, rivers, lakes and ponds over hills and eventually mountains, it was a great ride. The best part? We could all tell that change was in the air.

   Not "change" in the as defined in the art of political punditry, but change as in season. The hot weather of Atlanta had began its inevitable turn toward the cooler climes of autumn. Each and every rider along the way felt it and moreover, felt the call of the outdoors too great to be ignored further. Yes, changes in the season does evoke some kind of quest for adventure, or wanderlust you might say.

    The seasons hold their own special place for us all. Many riders have their own favorite season. For some riders, Spring is a favorite with the fragrances and sights of fresh blossoms. Others prefer Summer, with long days and warm nights, the ride can be stretched for days. What's better than catching a break with a warm front in Winter to explore the scenery? For most though, Fall brings us out of the garage. We knock the dust from the shoulders of our leather jackets and prepare for the first of many crisp rides. The wind chilling our faces and the cool air biting at our knuckles. Where to go? What to do? What to see?

   Like animals in the wild, motorcyclists sense this change and get a great many rides in before it gets too cold. Winter is not far away. For our brothers in the north, Fall may be the precursor to the chore of "winterizing" a motorcycle, making the long fall ride a tradition among friends. Whatever the reason you like a particular season, now is a great time to ride (but really, when isn't it a good time to ride?).

   However, Fall riding is not without it pitfalls (no pun intended). Things to keep in mind for during Autumn Rides:

Gear up! Get your cool weather gear out days before you need it and try it on (it shrinks in the summer months and the Neighborhood Labor Day Cookout didn't help either).

 

Your motorcycle. Now's a great time to reacquaint yourself with your motorcycle.  Check the tire pressure, tire age, fluid levels, tire condition, lights, and general overall condition (this is the time of year I make my "Motorcycle Christmas Gift Wish List")

 

Leaves. In Autumn, things fall from the trees, hence the name Fall. So, be mindful of leaves and other debris on the road surface. Riding though a patch of leaves is like riding through a huge patch of water (maybe worse). The coefficient of friction your tires use to grip the road dwindles to nil when in contact with leaves.

 

The other guy. Autumn also brings "lookeyloos" to the road. Lots of people who have never traveled the great motorcycle roads in your area will give them a shot n the family Cutlass, laden with pumpkins, lunch, children, cell phones and cameras. Expect the normally nutty drivers to be particularly blind to motorcycles during the distraction that is peak leaf viewing season. 

 

Accommodations. If you're making an overnight trip, it's better make a reservation than to explain why you're going to spend the night outdoors. Sure, with gas prices high, long driving trips in cars have siphoned off (man, am I ever punny!), but there is no alternative way to drivers to enjoy the fall foliage expect to drive their SUV in front of you all day and play spend the night in a motel near that great motorcycle road you've been enjoying all year.

 

 

   One other thing about fall riding; we can change lives. Autumn begins the motorcycle charity ride season. In just about any American city, you can sign up for a Ride For Kids, a local poker run to raise money for the local volunteer firehouse, feed the homeless, just about anything under the sun. In Atlanta, we're having the Hosea's Feed the Hungry Ride on September 13 to raise money to feed thousands of homeless in Atlanta. It doesn't matter the benefactor; now's a great time to remind the world that us mean looking biker types hate cell phone gabbing road hogs but love people in need. As a young motorcop, I was pleased to lead dozens of charity rides. At the end of each, I'd usually have a couple of curious car drivers approach and ask what all the bikes were doing. I'd tell them, "Raising money for people in need. What are you doing today?" Upon seeing the bikes and all the money raised, it's hard to hate a biker.

     This Autumn, answer the call for a ride, raise the bar, ride for fun, ride for a cause, and be safe doing it!

 

 

Until next month,

 Kickstands UP!

       ~Hawk

 

July 2008

Let Freedom Ring!

     So what can a patriotic citizen do to help us defeat the crushing world economy? Buy a motorcycle! That way, we can claim our independence from high gas prices, foreign oil and crazy taxes! On a recent trip to New England, I averaged 44.6 MPG! Now, that's pretty good by motorcycle standards, and really good compared to a car or SUV. There are other bikes out there that offer better mileage. The more cars off the road, the more parking spaces will be available (parking spaces made of oil based asphalt, by-the-way) and the traffic snarls we sit in today (burning gas while we idle our cars) will go the way of the Do Do Bird. Will we rid ourselves of cars and trucks altogether? Probably not, but if we begin to live like the Europeans have lived for decades, we'll pull through this just fine!

        I'm not advocating socialism or communism or even armpit hair for women. No, I mean to travel like the Europeans have for decades. For Europeans, mass transit has been all the rage for over a century. Before cars became popular, trains took citizens all over the place. In the U.S., because of the expanse and relative youth of our country, a comparative system of transportation was not practical. Instead we relied on our own form of transportation and decided on our own schedule and route. People got used to that and it became the American Way! I love the American Way! Imagine a country without spontaneous travel. Where would the College Road Trip be? What about the ride to Sturgis with your buddies? Preposterous! If we tried to catch up on the rail system, we would lose our cool freedom to travel whenever we want, we'd spend billions upon billions and decades and decades to lay track and build engines only to be obsolete once it was completed. No, the other European answer is coming into focus.

      If you've ever been to Europe, the first thing you noticed was a lack of large cars. I recall seeing a '76 Chevy Camero in Paris and the thing was HUGE compared to other vehicles. A friend of mine exported to Europe a Buick LeSabre, it was so massive he had to be careful which roads he drove! Cars like the Mini and the VW Bug have always been popular in countries that pay an exorbitant amount for fuel. Also popular are names like Vespa, Lambretta, Moto Guzzi, BMW, Triumph, Ducati and even the venerable Harley Davidson. Motorcycles are popular because gas prices have been high for decades. We complain about $4.20 for a gallon of gas. In Europe they've been paying that and more! In Paris, gas is selling for $5.54 a gallon (sure, they use liters instead of gallons, but when you do the math for one gallon containing 3.78 liters, the cost per gallon is $5.54).  Now, that's a lot of dough! As gas prices get high in the U.S., our desire to travel will not diminish, but the size of our vehicles might.

      Stepping up to the plate to save the country, his own money and look hip while doing so, is my big brother Beaumont. Beaumont lives out in Texas, where everything is BIG! His truck is big, his house is big, his gas bills have been getting bigger. Finally, he decided to join the rest of the family and become a full fledged motorcyclist. Well, almost. My brother bought an Aprillia 250 scooter that would be perfecly at home in Rome, Munich, Paris or Milan. For now, he's drawing some stares and jeers from his fellow Texans, but he's able to save $20 a day in commuting fuel costs. What used to take 4 gallons of gas now takes one and he can park on the sidewalk (saving who knows what in downtown parking fees).

     This month, go out and see America from the saddle of your motorcycle. If you need to save money and gas, great! I know a guy who wrote a couple of books that will let you know exactly how to get around (so you won't waste gas getting lost). I did my part, the wife and I just got back from Bristol, RI, where we saw the longest running 4th of just parade (223 years). Don't let the oil companies keep you in your house, enjoy a slice of Americana and get out and ride!!

Until next month,

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk

 

June 2008

Polygamy among motorcyclists?

     A few weeks ago, I was asked by a potential convert to motorcycling, "What's the best bike for me?" With gas prices so high, I'm sure he was ready to hear about MPG of various machines, but I spoke first of the "attractiveness" of the motorcycle. I explained that each make and model has it's own style, form, shape and feel. Just like with people, there are many different kinds and not one is "right" for everyone. If you're looking for a sprightly waif of a motorcycle, try a Vespa or Honda Metropolitan. If you enjoy the look and feel of an East European heavy lifter, try the BMW Adventure R1200GS with metal saddlebags. I described the general choices inbetween (cruiser, sport bikes, touring, sport touring, etc). Once he was locked into that philosophy, he asked, "So, motorcycles are like women?" I replied that in many ways they are. That's not to say that women are like motorcycles! I'm glad for that. A motorcycle has never shared a glass of wine with me nor refreshed my spirit like time well-spent with my wife, daughters or mother. To me, motorcycles are like women, but to be perfectly clear, women are not like motorcycles, ok?

       I still remember the day I met my first bike. "Suzi" was a maroon, 1979 Suzuki GS550L with a silver Vetter fairing and throttle lock. If "Suzi" were a human, she'd have been the slightly awkward,  freckled, girl next door growing into a woman type. She wasn't much to look at, oh sure, she was cute, but my attraction to her was her ability to have fun at the drop of a hat. What a ride. We spent lots of time together and went everywhere the road could take us. I loved that bike so much that I sold my old Jeep and became a full time motorcyclist, no four wheeler in my garage (well, apartment parking space at the time). "Suzi" and I enjoyed many years together. Then she changed. Instead of being reliable and trustworthy, she became tired and disinterested. On more than one occasion in the rain, she left me standing on the side of the road trying to coax her back to the road. We could see that a break-up was inevitable. One of "Suzi's" last trips with me was a ride to the local Honda dealership where I looked at the latest models. I had settled on buying a new, 1993 Honda Goldwing, but "Suzi" had to go first. The last thing I bought for "Suzi" was a FOR SALE sign. On a warm Friday evening, she unceremoniously left me for a younger man in exchange for $550 dollars. I would see "Suzi" from time to time and I would wave, not at the rider (who would eagerly wave back) but to "Suzi". She looked good, and something in my soul ached to have her back. But what would "Raven" think?

     "Raven" was the name given to my black, 1993 Honda Goldwing. She came with all the bells and whistles, a AM/FM stereo cassette, cruise control, adjustable windshield, she even had cup holders! Like "Suzi" before her, I associated "Raven" with the female form as well. "Raven" was the Aunt Bea of motorcycling. She was and is efficient, reliable and can accept any assignment without complaint.  However, apart from a couple of curves, she is not physically attractive, but one had an undeniable connection to her once you met. She was good for the long haul.  Yes sir, "Raven" saw me through more human relationships than I care to admit and over the years we danced the asphalt tango for more than 150,000 miles. Raven has been in all lower 48 states with me. She's a stout beauty, no sporty looks, but could be counted on for anything at anytime. "Raven" rests in my garage between book and magazine assignments. Sometimes we'll ride just to see what has changed in the road. "Raven" is a workhorse and loyal to the core. Until that other bike moved in....

       A few months ago, my friend Pete was sent to Iraq and asked me for help in maintaining his Suzuki GSXR 750. "Sure, no problem," I replied. I mean, it's the least I can do, selflessly dedicating my time and energy to ride a 2007 Suzuki sportbike for a brave young soldier. I parked the adolescent and sporty machine near the matronly "Raven" without a thought of jealousy. I mean really, why would "Raven" care, it's just like having a visiting niece. Surely "Raven" knows that I'm not interested in the little sportbike? I mean really, she's not even my type! Something inside my psyche told me that "Raven" is not threatened at all by the little sportbike. Sure she's cute, but clearly to all who know me, not my kind of bike.

      Lisa (my wife, not a motorcycle) has been asking me for two years to go buy another motorcycle. What a great problem to have. I'm sure there are a lot of riders out there that would love to have a spouse (wife or husband) that insisted that you buy a new motorcycle. We've been able to afford it for awhile, everything is paid off and the last of our older daughters is about to finish college, leaving weddings as our only major expense on the horizon. Lisa and I have talked for several years about what kind of motorcycle we would like to have, if we could pick any in the world.  In each discussion, we focus on sport touring bikes. Aunt Bea be damned, we've grown tired of having only one kind of bike in the garage. But which make and model; Honda ST1300, Kawasaki Concourse (aka Connie), Yamaha FJR, BMW R1200 RT, others??  The choices seemed endless. I remember looking at the new BMW R1200 RT a couple of years ago at the Honda Hoot in Knoxville. My first impression was "Man, this is one ugly bike!" Contrasted against the soft, flowing curves of the R1150 RT, the R 1200RT had sharp points and violent angles. To be sure, our friends in Munich have built a more powerful engine, and increased performance a bit, but I just didn't like the look of the new one. So, when the time came, I went to the local BMW dealership and bought a blue, 2002 BMW R1150RT. The previous owner had lots of motorcycles and had only logged 3,600 miles on the bike, and took great pains to keep the bike immaculate. The bike is perfect, not a scratch, ding, speck of rust, not a single fault. I got her for a song, too. Lisa was thrilled, we had our new girl and the night I brought her home from the dealership, Lisa and I took a short ride.

      "Heidi" has gotten lots of attention and is parked just inside the garage, in case I need to make a quick leap on and ride. "Raven" remains parked deep in the garage, I'd have to move "Heidi" just to get her out. "Raven" once shared garage space with "Brenda" my co-worker, a Harley-Davidson FLHTP police edition Road King. I never felt a pang of concern for "Raven" when I would ride off with  "Brenda" because, "Hey babe, it's just work." I don't feel so magnanimous when I abandon loyal old "Raven" for yet another ride on "Heidi".   Maybe I need to more associate them like daughters? I sincerely tell my four daughters, "I love you all the same amount, for different reasons and in different ways." Maybe I need to take the soul out of the machine. Could I think of my motorcycles as just a blend of metal, plastic, chrome, oil, gas and other fluids? Logically, I'm there, I have no real delusions that my motorcycles think or have emotions, but I think that I'm not alone in thinking of motorcycles as beings. Have you ever talked to your bike? I bet you have.

How do polygamists do it? I don't know how I'm going to cope with the emotions pulling from this bike to that, but I sure hope they don't argue and try to push each other down! One thing is for sure, it's a nice problem to have.

 

Until next month,

Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk

 

May 2008

Do you want Hamsters with that?

 

    Back in the early 1990s when I was young and still had hair, I wore 3/4 helmets. These were the style that had an open face, but the ears and lower part of the back of the head was covered with protective fiberglass, foam, glue, felt and whatever else the safety gurus put in them at the time. I hated those helmets. I thought they didn't look very "cool." Then came the day that I bought my first 1/2 dome helmet. Because it's less material covering your noggin, it's hard to defend your helmet to Mom or anyone else who wants you protected to the 9th degree.

    At work, we switched from the 3/4 to the 1/2 dome helmets at about the same time. We were the last metro Atlanta department not wearing 1/2 domes and we looked like a squad of "MaGoos" instead of the lean, mean crime fighting machines we were. The 1/2 domes bought a flashy new color scheme and helped us fit in with the other police departments as we joined in parades and motorcades. Yes sir, the new helmets sure were nice. Cool in the summer and warm in the winter (you could snap in some ear muffs in the winter-truly high speed low drag!). We all loved the 1/2 domes. Then a question came from the young woman at the supply depot; "Won't these helmets, that don't cover your ears, cause some hearing loss?" One by one we gave the same answer; "Hearing loss?   We're in our twenties! Who cares about hearing loss! Besides, apart from looking cool, we can hear better with the 1/2 domes than with the 3/4 helmets. It's safer to have them than stick with what we've had." Seeing that she was outmanned and literally outgunned, we got the 1/2 domes. 

    I rode for years and years with a 1/2 dome helmet. On duty and off, I wore a 1/2 dome. The concerns about the noise rarely surfaced. On cool days with lots of high speed driving, my ears would ring for hours at the end of the day. The Harleys at work made plenty of noise too. I usually rode up front, so I didn't have much cause for concern about having my ears too near the loud pipes. Siren? Oh yeah, my work bike had a siren that was supposedly audible for over 100 yards. I'm sure it was, but I was too young to let it bother me. My personal motorcycle, at the time a Honda Goldwing, was notoriously quiet, except for the stereo that I had to crank to hear over the road noise. Things were going great, I looked cool and I could still hear, but the question of the Supply girl haunted me.

    Growing older, and feeling the need to stay fit and trim, I have frequently turned away from what many consider lunch to take in a fruit smoothie. Standing in line at the local Smoothie Center, I looked at the wall and tried to interpret the neon colors of the menu to make a decision as to what to drink for lunch. I settled on a Mango Tango or some such concoction. The high school aged girl behind the counter asked; "Do you want any hamsters blended into that?" I flipped out, "Hamsters? A Hamster in my drink? What kind of place are you running here? Are we in some South American country where Hamsters and Guinea Pigs are on the menu?! No thanks on the Hamsters there sweetie and I bet you don't get too many takes on that offer!" Laughing hysterically and texting her "fav 5" as fast as she could to retell the story, the young girl pointed to the bright but bewildering neon menu at the word "ENHANCERS" from which "normal" people can order  fat burning dust, muscle building powder or energy boosts to be blended into the smoothie.

    Unfortunately, medical science has taught me that I'll never be able to hear the difference between the words  "Hamster" and "Enhancer". What's gone is gone. However, I do now take good care of my ears. Like money and relationships, advice on hearing loss is frequently ignored (as in- it falls on deaf ears- man I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself).  So I won't tell you to take care of your ears, to invest in some good ear plugs, I'll write it instead and it'll be your mental voice that tells you to do it. Maybe you'll listen to yourself and get the earplugs. You can buy the el cheapo foam kind or spring for the custom made earplugs like I have now, but you really should consider getting some.

Repeat after me-

"I will go out and buy some earplugs today so I won't be deaf later."

"I will wear my cool earplugs ever time I ride." 

"I'm not too young to protect myself from asphalt, sun or noise."

"I'm off to the store to get my earplugs now."

 

 

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk

 

April 2008

 

April Showers bring, wet roads? 

A bikers guide to handling wet weather riding-

    Standing in the relative comfort of my garage doorway, looking outward to my rain soaked driveway, my mood was somber. I grudgingly reached for my rain suit and began to wrestle it on over my boots and jacket as I looked forward to the day's big adventure. The rain was coming down in sheets that seemed to run up my hilly driveway and spill into the garage. The countrified meteorologists would proclaim the rain was "like a cow pissing on a flat rock." Indeed, unabated and heavy, the rain poured down. It mattered not, I had places to go and my bike was, is and ever shall be the best way to get there. For the trip, I would use certain items I've collected over the years, like rain gear, face shield and a towel, but more than these items, I'd need to put to use the training and experience I've collected over the years. Some of it painful experience, but all of it useful. Maybe my pain can be your gain? Like it or not, from your garage or from a roadside Taco Stand, if you ride a motorcycle for any length of time, you will be rained on. Chance of rain 100%.

    As a young motorcycle officer (about a ga-billion years ago), it was common to find me riding in all weather. There's a funny story somewhere about me writing a parking ticket from astride my motorcycle, in the snow, to a lady that just had to park in the handicapped parking space because she didn't want to be cold. I digress, this is about rain. One afternoon, in heavy rain, I was just riding down the road, careful and slow when "WHAM!"; ol' Rosebud, my Kawasaki 1000P, was sliding on her side. Being a good little jockey, I was still firmly mounted to the saddle. I had no sensation of; "Whoa, I'm about to crash!" No; "Man, this is gonna be close!". For me it went like this, I was thinking to myself, "Golly, my face sure is getting wet. I wonder if that sandwich place WHAM!. This road hurts!" Too much front brake and a "tar snake" had worked together to teach me that painful lesson. After that bit of asphalt surfing, I was shy on the front brake in the rain. To a fault, I avoided the front brake. Today, I'm more gentle with the front brake in the rain, but gone is my phobia of using it.

    I collected a nice piece of experience one evening by watching my buddy Bob make his way back to the precinct with his rain-soaked paperwork. I had made it in from my assignment and like a nervous son, I was standing in the shelter of the awning of the stoop of the precinct, looking out for Bob, worried that he'd gotten lost and I'd have to call "Elder Care" to go search for him. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the motor of Bob's Harley FXRP and laid eyes on his ancient form piloting that bike around the corner.  WHAM! Bob slid gracefully across the parking lot toward empty parking spaces at the rain soaked mall. Who knew that reflective road paint would be that slick when at a steep lean angle in the rain? Well, after that night, Bob and I were well aware of the threat those cool directional arrows pose to motorcycles.

      Stopped, facing up hill at a red traffic light, I was proudly riding next to my partner Robert (he was more like Ponch, I guess that made me John). Robert liked to play games with my rookie mind. The rain had just began as he revved the engine of his crime fighting steed. Instinctively, I revved back. The light turned green and like hundreds of times before, I dumped the clutch and grabbed a big handful of throttle that would have normally gotten my bike thundering down the road like a rocket, but this time it didn't go like a rocket. The bike started off the line like a cartoon character beginning to run. The rear wheel began to spin wildly and once coming in contact with the oil slick left by cars dripping oil for years, the bike changed form "rocket ship" to "bucking, spinning bronco". Yee Ha! The amazement and wonder (maybe terror) in faces of the drivers of the surrounding cars was not to be missed. For good measure, my bucking bronco allowed me to traverse all four corners of the intersection so I was sure to get a close look at all of them. Traffic stopped, waiting for the eventual carnage that would be the crash of the young motorcycle officer careening into the terrified crowd. As fate would have it, I rode her the full seven seconds, regained control and got to wear a new Motorcycle Rodeo belt buckle. Once back on an even keel and traffic returning to normal, I turned the bike in the direction Robert and I were headed. As he pulled alongside he said, "If you meant to do that, it was cool. If you didn't mean to do it, you are one lucky S.O.B." So, from that experience, other than learning that I can ride a bike with one hand waiving wildly in the air, I learned to be mindful of and avoid oil trails left by cars. I'm particularly vigilant when rain first starts, because that is when the oil that is stuck to the road begins to break loose making the road most slick.

     As far as equipment goes, I've learned that cheap brings "discomfort distraction" which in itself is a hazard. "Go cheap and go home". Now, there are some inexpensive but well made motorcycle gear out there, that's not what I mean by cheap. I mean cheap in the sense of  poorly made. You'll want to avoid the poorly made stuff and some of it can be pretty darned expensive.  If you've ridden a motorcycle in the rain, no doubt you've felt that stream of water made it down your back and chilled you from the inside out. Worse still was the experience of the saddle full of water finally soaking through that poorly placed seam in the crotch of your rain pants. Wet face, wet feet or hands? Why would anyone want to ride a motorcycle in the rain? Well, to be frank, if you buy cheap rain gear and boots, you'll hate the rain.  Make the investment and buy some good stuff. When I started riding in earnest a few years back, I had the cheap stuff. It was horrible. Rain soaked through the cheap stuff and held it in. I was more wet, hot and miserable than if I had just been riding "buck- nekked". Today, I spend the extra on the good stuff. Along with the bib style rain gear, dry gloves and waterproofed boots (I waterproofed them with some boot dry waterproofer that goes on like shoe polish, added despite the advertising claims of waterproof boots), I have a face shield that snaps onto my half dome helmet. Granted, a full face helmet makes the most sense in the rain, but usually I ride with a half-dome, I had to fin another answer. I found a good snap-on face shield with a visor and other than looking like an Olympic Luge participant, it's a sensible rig.  I've learned to cut old towels (that my wife has cycled through the natural towel evolution process of "guest towels" to "family towels" to "dry-off-the-dog towels" to "Hawk-can-use-these-for-whatever-he-wants Towels") and make them into rain scarves. This prevents the rain from running through the neck of your rain gear and regardless of the design, let it rain hard enough and long enough, raingear without the rain scarf will let the rain in.

In the end, make sure you pack everything you'll need for the rain, good experience and training as well as gear that fits and is comfortable. Finally, for Pete's sake, if you have to ride a bucking motorcycle around an intersection, have the decency to waive "howdy" to everyone that is stopped!

 

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk

 

March 2008

Et Tu, Brute?

   Julius Caesar was warned by a psychic that he would be murdered in the Ides of March. The Roman calendar referred to the middle of the month as the Ides. On March 15, 44 B.C., Julius Caesar joked to the psychic that the Ides of March were upon them. The psychic reminded Caesar that the Ides were not yet over. In the waning hours of the day, Julius Caesar was preparing to speak to the Roman Senate when a group of Senators rushed Caesar and stabbed him. His closest advisor and friend, Marcus Junius Brutis, or simply Brutus, literally stabbed Caesar in the back, mortally wounding him. As the blood rushed into Caesar's lungs, he uttered, "Et Tu Brute?"; translated : "You too, Brutus?" With the shame of knowing that his own friends had turned on him, Caesar died.

    Whether or not Caesar deserved to die is still a point of contentious debate. He was a power hungry evil ruler who wanted to strip the Senate of power and become the self-appointed ruler of the Roman Empire as part of an absolute Monarchy or Dictatorship. This made the Senator's really mad, mad enough to kill. I'm sure you're thinking to yourself, "Great history lesson there, Hawk. What's your point and what on God's green earth does a murder in 44 BC have to do with riding a motorcycle?" Follow along and I'll try to explain.

    The phrase, "Et Tu, Brute?", is used today to express surprise and dismay at the treachery of a supposed friend, or someone with which a common goal is shared. Such is often the case with motorcyclists. I find myself doing it, albeit in jest, like a brother giving a "nuggie" to his younger sibling.

    In a recent conversation with a coworker and fellow biker, we had this exchange; pointing to my motorcycle, Brian said, "Man, nice hunk of plastic you got there, Hawk!" "Thanks bud. I really like your bike too. Do you own the entire clothing line that goes along with it?" Taking pot shots at each other is commonplace. In another "incident", I snuck into the garage of a good friend who had just bought a new Harley and was really proud of it. I poured 1/2 quart of oil on the floor under the new motorcycle. He spent hours trying to find the source of the leak. I spent hours laughing until my sides hurt. The next week, a pile of dry rice was in my garage, apparently having leaked from my bike's engine. Is this kind of fun ribbing bad for the motorcycle industry? I don't think so, but I do think that sometimes brand loyalty or motorcycle style loyalty (i.e.; cruiser vs. crotch rocket) goes a little far, maybe to the point of detracting from the sport and turning interested converts away from the Church of the Two-Wheeled Vehicle.

    The universality of the experience of riding a motorcycle is what's really important. I have no prejudices for the motorcycle. If a bike is broke down on the side of the road, I'll stop to check on it. I don't care that it's an American bike and I only have metric tools. It might not be a matter of needing a 14mm wrench versus a 1/2 box end wrench, it might just be out-of-gas. The gas in my tank will fit just fine in an American, German, Chinese, Italian or even a Swedish made motorcycle.  That's not to say that I don't judge the rider. To be sure, just as a porcupine has quills that warn other animals to stay away, we all try to read other riders for commonality. Are they in my club? Do they run in the same kind of packs I do? I usually break it down to how much trouble they look like to me. Sometimes the trouble is a good thing. A few years ago, John and I rode to Daytona Bike Week. I was stupid enough not to listen to him and brought my girlfriend with us. After hearing her refer to us as "animals" for several days, it was time to give her one last ride- TO THE AIRPORT! John was right, when acting like an animal, don't bring your girlfriend along. She judged us more by appearance than action. She complained that we were thugs. In actuality, we were a bunch of tea-totaling cops at a motorcycle rally to see what was new, smoke some cheap cigars and let our unbelievably short hair down. She never got it, but I got a new girlfriend! We had a great time after she left.

    Riding a motorcycle is all pretty similar; the controls are relatively uniform these days, clutch on the left, brakes on the right, etc. The risks are exactly the same too; cars and trucks still think we are invisible and we risk life and limb just to run down to the corner market for a bite to eat. Don't you think we share too much for such a small percentage of the population to have class warfare? They say you shouldn't judge a book by the cover. The next time you see a "squid" (sportbiker who rides like a banshee), take the book of the shelf, open it and read a few pages, you might find an interesting chapter or two you can add to your book. But whatever you do, don't shiv the guy in the back, you might be turning someone away from riding.    

 

 

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk

February 2008

Motorcycles create strange bedfellows

     I couldn't make up these two examples if I tried. After last call at a honky tonk in Smyrna, Georgia, I had an octogenarian who has never ridden a motorcycle, climb aboard a Harley with me for her very first ride. Once a burly firefighter wearing a pink tank top, smoking a cigarette, rode on the back of my motorcycle on the back roads of Florida. Considering my humorous opinion of firefighters as "paid sleepers", who only work one day out of three and are not worth paying, the latter story is the more curious.  Yes sir, Shawn the fireman and I took the back roads from Panama City Beach to Destin, FL in search of the coldest beer in the panhandle of Florida. We happened to find mighty cold beer at the Hooters, if you needed to know. How this came to pass is a yarn that will take a few minutes to explain, but it was the motorcycle that made it happen.

    Considering that February is synonymous with all things love, you might assume from the title that this piece has something to do with an actual bed, thankfully, it does not. Bedfellows, metaphorically, not literally means an associate, somebody or something paired or allied with another person or thing. One usually hears the phrase "strange bedfellows" and can conjure up an image of two politicians on opposite sides of the political fence getting together for one particular cause. The merging of former Presidents Bush and Clinton in their effort to raise money for tsunami relief is one of the most glaring examples of "politics create strange bedfellows". I would argue that the universal appeal of the motorcycle mixes things up far more than mere politics. Follow along and you'll see what I mean.

      As a military veteran and police officer, I have attended more funerals than a man of my age should. One such funeral was held in New York for a good friend who had been killed as part of a SWAT operation to free a woman who had been taken hostage by her deranged son. Steve Gilner had moved his wife from their families in Long Island, NY, down to Metro Atlanta, because he felt this was where he should be. He was a great man, friend, father and husband; but this not really about him, rather it's about the friendships that were born out of his untimely death.

     If you've never seen one, Police Officer funerals are filled with pomp and circumstance. To start, there is usually a long motorcade of police motorcycles escorting the fallen officer's family and another of the hearse and perhaps another for dignitaries. Of course, the service is huge, hundreds usually attend, with buglers, bagpipers, singers, politicians, and all sorts. Considering that Long Island is a long way from Metro Atlanta, it was going to be difficult for many of the Steve's fellow officers to attend, but then an airline in Atlanta gave seats to officers "as many as you guys need". The jet full of mourning officer (myself included) was escorted by police cars and ramp workers to the end of the runway. Crisp salutes could be seen from the tiny, plastic windows. Not a soul spoke as the metal bird lifted into the sky, bound for New York. Once in New York, mourning officers were greeted by our northern brothers and despite a small language barrier (I mean to say that New York cops really sound like they are from New York, ya know?).  We were loaded onto city busses that had been "commandeered" by local officers and driven, with police escort, to a small town, with an unpronounceable native American name, near the tip of Long Island. About seventy of us were unloaded from the busses and treated to great Northern Hospitality at a local firehouse. Citizens and off-duty firemen came to bring us food and well wishes. We were stunned at their generosity. All too soon, it was time to get back on the busses and head to the church for for funeral service.

     After about a five minute bus ride, we arrived at a large church that had not a single car in the parking lot. A sea of blue uniforms filled the empty parking spaces. They stood tall and proud, unyielding to the heavy breeze. There was room saved for those of us who had traveled from Atlanta. We lined up and tried to match their unwavering stance. The busses left. The smoke from their engines quickly dissipated in the breeze, leaving behind the surreal scene of hundreds of officers standing silent and motionless in a parking lot. Even the birds were quiet. Off in the distance, there was a gentle roar. It sounded like an approaching storm. Louder and louder it came. It was a steady sound, unyielding and unwavering. People who claim to have died and come back to life tell of hearing the sound of angels wings flapping, and that sound becoming increasing loud as they near the bright light that awaited them in the after life. Perhaps for Steve, he was hearing what we heard. Because I had served on the motorcycle squad for years, I knew the sound well.  Just before Steve was killed, I was moved into an undercover position, which I loved, but it took me from my friends of the motorcycle squad; and as I could hear the approaching sounds of their motorcycles, I yearned to be one of them, but that chapter of my life had been written, published and not open for editing.  

     As the sound drew near, heads that had been held motionless for an undeterminable amount of time began to snap to the side to see the approach of the motorcade. The thunder of their engines reverberated in our chests like artillery. The motorcycles leading the procession were from Steve's own police department in metro Atlanta. How could that be? I beamed with pride as my friends on the motor squad rode past, just feet from me.  Motorcycles from other police departments followed. The funeral and burial service followed.

     After the service, we were escorted back to our waiting jet liner and flown back to Atlanta. It was then I heard the story of the generosity of the firefighter. Shawn and a close friend owned a controlling interest in a small trucking company (like a one truck, two dudes trucking company). When Shawn and his buddy heard of Steve's tragic death, they offered to help in the only way they could. They would take no money for it, but wanted to load the police bikes into the back of his big rig and drive from Atlanta to New York. The motor squad and all officers in attendance had a debt of gratitude to these firefighters.

    Later that year, a group of police officers went down to Panama City Beach for our annual quest for debauchery. In appreciation for what they had done for Steve and the motor squad, we invited the firefighters along for the fun. Despite being firefighters, we actually got along pretty well. One afternoon, a group of us were getting ready to head out for a ride in search for cold beer. Firefighter Shawn wanted to ride along, but had no bike. Onto mine he climbed. That's the only explanation I can give for being ok with a guy wearing a pink tank top, smoking a cigarette, riding "bitch" on the seat of my motorcycle that is normally reserved for my lovely (and not at all bitchy) wife Lisa.

    This month, offer a ride to an unlikely passenger. Who knows, you might convert them from cage driver to two wheeled commuter!  

 

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk

January 2008

Annual Predictions for Motorcyclists

 

It's about this time every year some talking head thrills us with the predictions for what the New Year will bring. The result of most of these predictions is a humorous commentary of the inaccuracy of the the talking heads. That said, I'll wade into the cool clean waters of the future of motorcycling and make some predictions for 2008. I only hope that most of you will still be laughing on the morning that will greet 2009!

Predictions for 2008:

Gas prices will soar to a national average of $4.25.

 

The motorcycling community will grow by 19%. Many metropolitan "bikers" are attracted to the sport due to the great gas mileage of scooters and small motorcycles; they get caught up in the fun and buy more, larger motorcycles to travel and see the country. 

 

1/4 to 1/3 of you will buy another motorcycle.   You won't necessarily be a new one, just new to you.

 

Annual rallies like Sturgis, Americade, and Daytona Bike Week get overrun with Vespa riding 25-year old girls.

 

Motorcycle companies will become motorcycle companies again and focus their efforts on producing high quality motorcycles, not just cool leather gear with plenty of trademarked symbols stamped on them. On the flipside, boot companies will make boots, glove companies will make gloves...  oh, you get the idea.

 

We will see new power sources for motorcycles. Hybrid and Hydrogen powered bikes will appear with some frequency, but they will still be in the prototype phase. You'll be able to pick up your hydrogen powered bike in 2010.

 

  GPS systems will burp due to solar disturbances, causing many riders to venture out the way their daddy's once did; with cash, a map and some tools.

 

Membership in motorcycle clubs like HSTA, HOG will peak in June as more riders meet the sport and seek camaraderie of others who have ridden longer.

 

You will see nine states this year from the saddle of you motorcycle (and wish you have seen 41 more and some of Canada and Mexico).

 

Motorcycle laws relating to helmets and other safety equipment will begin to find new prominence in State Legislatures as more motorcycle vs. automobile crashes occur. The battle between the motorcycle safety geeks and the helmetless free spirits hits such a fever pitch that it nearly causes lawmakers to outlaw motorcycles all together, but the attempt is diverted by the astronomically high price of fuel and superb fuel economy of our cruisers.

 

I will run over an alligator and live to tell the tale (no pun intended).

 

We all have hopes and aspirations for 2008. It's my hope that brand loyalty will give way to motorcycle loyalty and riders of all stripes and abilities welcome each other onto the asphalt ribbon.  If you see me trying to curl the ribbon, be sure to drop me a hand and wave. Have a great 2008!

 

Until next month,

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk  

 

December 2007

Giving and The Art of Riding the Desk

     Tis the season, TO GO RIDE YOUR BIKE FOR CHARITY! Unless there's snow on the ground, it is a statistical probability that you will join hundreds of thousands of lucky motorcyclists that get to ride through the chilly December spread Christmas Cheer. Motorcyclists give more to charity (in time, money, and gifts) than any other type of sportsman or social group. It seems that at every meeting I have attended, there is a raffle of some kind. Favorite fund raisers are 50/50 drawing and the door prize drawing for which you buy a ticket to win a trinket that has been donated. The money is given to local shelters, orphanages, feed the hungry programs, neighbors in distress, cancer research groups, all kinds of places. More often than not, I've seen the winner of the 50/50 drawing (who won 1/2 of the total take of the money raised) roll the winnings back to the charity. There's no question, we bikers are givers. We live to ride and we love to ride for a reason. As an example, the Patriot Guard are a group of riders who ride to show their support and respect for the families of fallen soldiers. Given a mission and a reason to ride, they are saddled up and ready to go. Another well known ride with a purpose is held in the spring and summer of each year. Rides are scheduled all over the country in support of the Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation- the Ride for Kids (www.rideforkids.org).  It seems though, that in December, the charity ride of choice is Toys for Tots(www.toysfortots.org ). This charity strums the heartstrings of bikers everywhere. It hits our Patriotic chord because it's operated by the brave men and women of the US Marine Corps and strums the string of that opens our wallets for needy local children.

     I wonder why motorcyclists lead in giving? I think it's because we are a lucky bunch and know it. The freedom of riding with friends or alone is a thrill. Maybe it has something to do with the inherent danger of the road that sets us apart by thinking beyond ourselves. I don't know for sure, but I'm damn proud of our huge fraternity.

    This holiday season, head down to the local motorcycle shop and see what is to be seen on a Toys for Tots ride or fundraiser. Give. Be generous; as my Grandma Gertie used to say, "Money's money and all we get is older!"

     So what if you fall into the category of, "There's snow on the ground and I'm not moving my bike for anyone"?  You can give online and "Ride the Desk" like I have had to do on occasion. As everyone knows, if you're not riding your bike for some time, it's important to start her up every so often to keep the carbs from gumming up. The same can be said of the blood of the biker. You have to get into riding at least once a week, if only in your mind. Now, before you think that old Hawk has slipped off to "existential philosophy land", don't bet on it. What I mean by "get into riding" can be as simple as browsing one of the hundreds of motorcycle parts and accessory catalogues, to the complexity of taking a motorcycle maintenance course at the local community college. If you can't physically ride, ride in spirit.

    Last year, I rode around the world with Jim Rogers and his girlfriend Tabitha by rereading his book, Investment Biker. You might need to study the classic, Zen ad the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Persig, or follow Christopher Baker through Cuba in Mi Moto Fidel. Grab a motorcycle magazine from the local grocery store. The choices of what to read are as vast as what brand or bike to ride.  Just like the bike, it matters more that you ride versus what you ride. If you are snowed in, keep riding, and if you can't get your bike over the snow bank, ride that desk!

 

 

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk

November 2007

 

    Before WW II -the war to end all wars- there were hundreds of motorcycle shops in the U.S. creating their own brand of motorcycles. Sure, they all looked similar, two wheels, engine in the middle, a seat and some lights; but each bike had the unique touches of the shop proprietor. Something as simple to how the gas tank was attached to the frame changed from shop to shop. Because the throttle, brake and shifter locations and operation were not standard on any bike, you would never ride a "buddy's bike". Because of the lack of standardization of control placement and operation, it would take weeks to acclimate a rider to a new bike. Sometimes, in an effort to reduce this acclimation time, shop owners would place the controls to the customer's demands or preferences. Then that big war broke out on the other side of the pond.

    Generals leading the fight overseas knew that they needed equipment for their soldiers and it all had to be high quality and simple to use. Standardization was born. From the C 17s that dropped the first soldiers behind enemy lines on D Day to the boots on their feet, everything was made to one specification. That way, any soldier who was trained to use a particular piece of equipment could use it from any source. This led to soldiers to frequently "commandeer" equipment from one another. A good example of this were the pool cars and early jeeps, if they used a key in the door or the ignition (many did not) ANY KEY for that model would work. To prevent "commandeering" of the General's cars, their drivers attached pad locks to the outside of the doors.

  Motorcycle standardization was born during this era as well. Back home, stateside, the small shops gave way to the big manufacturers who could produce hundreds of the same bike in a single day. Same color, same equipment, with interchangeable parts. For the most part, throttles were put on the right, shifters on the left foot or left side  of the tank and brakes on the right foot. Only two companies made motorcycles for U.S. soldiers, Harley and Indian. They were faster than horses, didn't need to be fed as often and  were highly maneuverable. That's not to say that everything was the same, different missions made some modifications necessary.

    One of the more interesting modifications was the introduction of a shaft drive, sideways mounted engine on the Harley for the North African Desert campaigns. The "Rat Patrols" would frequently capture German equipment after battles. Two motorcycles that particularly interested them were the BMW and Moto Guzzi. For the Nazis, their bikes had side mounted engines and shaft drives. To this day, Moto Guzzi is known for it's side mounted engine. In the desert of North Africa, chains would quickly get fouled by sand and dust, whereas the shaft drive remained sealed and operational. A side mounted, air cooled engine would stay cool in the desert because both cylinders would benefit from the air passing over them, whereas the standard mounted engine put one cylinder in front of the other. This caused the second cylinder to suffer from excessive and early wear due to heat. Harley and Indian answered the call from the Rat Patrols and made bikes with shaft drives and side mounted engines, but I think it was Harley that put it into production.

    After freeing Europe from the yoke of oppression and death that was the Nazis; soldiers and airmen came home from seeing unbearable things in battle to peaceful white picket fences and suburban living. Gone was the excitement of battle and camaraderie that is made in the face of adversity. Jobs were scarce and for the first time, men were competing with women in the work place. Some of our soldiers and airmen didn't "blend" with what many saw as the new picture of the American Dream. They craved excitement and adventure. Motorcycles were then as they are now generally less expensive than cars and hey, they already had leather jackets. The leather coats worn by airmen in the unpressurized C 17s and other cold bombers and aircraft protected riders from wind, rain and even the occasional scrape of asphalt. The bomber jacket became the biker jacket. Groups of doughboys would gather to ride to see the sights. Some would boast of their exploits in the war, measuring the fighting prowess of one military unit over another. This would frequently lead to disagreement and often not polite disagreement. The biker fight was born, which led to the biker club (so everyone would know on whose side you stood) and that led to brand specific clubs that exist today.

    Things began to change and evolve. Not all soldiers came home and joined a biker gang, some rode with friends and never fought again. Today, the same mix of clubs and gangs can be seen everywhere. Gone are the reasons most gangs and clubs started, but new feelings and directions have boiled to the surface. We've seen the return of the custom motorcycle shop. You can have a bike built to your own specifications (within the constraints of safety), gone is the near monopoly held by the two U.S. motorcycle manufacturers. And that American Dream? It's changed too. White picket fence, a dog and 2.3 kids, "No thanks." most say. Today's American Dream is synonymous with  adventure, the need to explore, get some excitement.

      For the uninformed, motorcyclists are a dangerous lot. We look mean in our black jackets or brightly colored racing leathers. To the white picket fence crowd, we're odd. We crave the road and the adventure of what lies around the next bend. We have a debt of thanks to pay to those who have gone before us, who helped shape the motorcycles we ride and the clothes on our backs. To repay them, we ride.  To repay those who died for the freedom of the world, go ride, pay your debt, show the non riding world what riding free is really like. Ladies and Gentlemen, start your engines and start your adventure!

 

 Until next month,

 Ride with Pride!

       ~Hawk  

   Post Script- After I wrote this, two things struck me. I am a veteran. My adventure was in the Coast Guard, swimming in turbulent waters to cheat the sea of those she wished to claim and wrestling drug smugglers for their illegal cargo. When I returned home, I bought a motorcycle. The other observation is that in my garage, there is a Suzuki 750 belonging to my daughter's boyfriend. He's entrusted me to start it and ride it while he's gone. Like the doughboys in the past, he's a soldier, fighting for us over in Iraq. I guess the more things change, the more they remain the same.                                                          Good Luck Pete and keep a weather eye out.

 

October 2007