Code of the Road
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