Youth and motorcycles

I just felt like posting this photo of me, some of my family and friends - and my 1982 GS650. I'm the one holding the Corona.

This bike went with  me to college, carried me on more than one weekend trip from the California Bay Area to SoCal for a quick visit with my girlfriend and got plenty of compliments back in the day.

I still remember blazing through freeway traffic in Orange County, flying between the cars and the trucks, weaving in and around, barely checking my mirrors because I was confident nothing worth looking at was behind me. Once, squeezing through, I clipped my helmet on the mirror of a delivery van, probably cracking the glass, at least, it felt like it!

When my daughter was born, the bike was put away. I stuck it in a dark corner of my garage, even deflating the tires so I could stuff it below some cabinets. There was no time for pleasure riding and I just didn't think a  new dad should keep taking the kind of risks I took riding a motorcycle in LA traffic.

Eventually, I my Suzuki for a fraction of its worth.

It was many years before I re-discovered my love of street bikes and motorcycling in general and now I can't imagine putting the kickstand down for good.

I'm not splitting lanes these days. I've nothing to prove any more. There are no more drag races when the light turns green.

But, still, I'll probably ride to my last days.

Lots of love for my bike on the road

My friends and I had camped overnight in a small town near the border with Canada called Oroville. The next morning, after breakfast in a nice little diner, we were filling up the tanks on our bikes when a kid comes walking out of the station with his dad. He points to my bike and says, "Wow. I've never seen a motorcycle that looks like that before!"

Well, it's true. Out on the highway, there aren't many of the older bikes. But I only have one motorcycle and I like to ride so old or not, where I go, it goes. And damn if that bike didn't run like a dream the whole 700 miles, just humming along. 

Here's my bike with friends. 

On several stops, other riders just had to stop and talk to me about the bike. I'm not sure why that is. It's not a real pretty bike. I mean, I love it, but alot of that is because there's a lot of my sweat in that bike of mine. I know nearly every inch of it and sometimes doodle my bike from memory when I'm in boring meetings at work. 

For some, the bike reminded them of bikes they rode years ago. And it made them smile.

I think a couple of guys I talked to were just happy to see the old bike still hanging with its beefier, crisper, and technologically superior comrades. 

A few of them had technical questions 'cause at least two had old bikes of their own. 

My bike has never garnered that much attention before on any of my previous rides and these reactions were a really cool surprise. 

It was a great ride. And I have a pretty great bike. 

Molson, Wash. - a ghost town near the Canadian border. 

New pipes

Just wanted to show off my new exhaust pipes on this old dinosaur bike.

The big black dog has a modest bit of bling now.

Installing this new 4-in-1 exhaust pipe was surprisingly easy, although it took me a couple of weeks and some fiddling with the carbs before the bike was running right. Now, I'm pretty happy with how it's running.

If I had a second bike that I could ride, I'd tear this bike apart and really perfect it, but it's my main ride, my commuter, my weekend toy - it's my only bike, basically.
One day he'll have a friend in the garage, and then I can give him the TLC he's earned from all his loyal service to me.

GXR dreams

I saw this in a used motorcycle shop and couldn't resist hopping on.

I swear, hopping on bikes is like a hobby. I hope I'm still riding motorcycles when even electric motorcycles are old.

Favorite moment

I was riding along Highway 97 amid the rolling brown hills of Eastern Washington, the air hot and dry.

High on a ridge off to my left I could see a massive brown horse with a black mane. He didn't move, just stood there as I roared past along the blacktop below.

I watched him as long as I dared, savoring the moment even as he grew distant and small, and I had to put my eyes back on the road.

A balanced life

This little doodad is supposed to help me have a perfectly running motorcycle. I think I balanced my carbs pretty well - at least the four little metal tubes ended at all about the same spot. 

And it does seem to be running better. But it never matters what the job is with my bike, I always run into complications. On this little job, I snapped my fuel line. Replacing it meant I had to remove the airbox so I could reach the fuel connector on the carburetors. 

Of course, that involved removing the gas tank, the seat, the side panels. I began the job on a Friday evening, then spent all day Saturday working on balancing my carbs.

I guess that's how life is -- every seemingly simple job will deliver a multitude of complications. Overcoming those complications is how people grow and how they learn.

Something Pops would make

When I was a kid, my dad, Pops, was a master of making tools out of almost nothing - usually involving a 2x4 somewhere in the mix.

Here's my version of a Pops tool. I needed something that could clean out the metal shavings from my crankcase when I retapped the spark plug hole. I couldn't figure out a way to use a 2x4, but I did use some duct tape! Well, and a funnel and an old piece of fuel line.

And my shop vac. Does that count as a new tool? 

Cool bike

This is what I wish my bike looked like. I hope I get there someday. 

Sometimes, riding is real work

When I was a young guy riding my 650 all over LA, it seemed so easy. I'd grab my helmet, grab my key, hop on my bike and ride away.

Like this guy I saw in Pasadena in December!
But I don't live in LA anymore. I'm in the soggy Pacific Northwest. That means just riding to work means gearing up in my bulky rain pants, boots, sweatshirt under my riding coat, helmet, sometimes wiping some anti-fog cream on the inside of the windshield -- all before I even hop on my bike.

So, yeah. It can be real work.

Still worth it, though.