Back to work

Children grow up, parents pass on, jobs change -- but the guts of my torn apart motor from my 1980 Suzuki sit immobile in boxes, plastic baggies, and at least one egg carton. No surer sign of a procrastinator ever presented itself.

I had promised myself that I would rebuild my motor and repair the oil leak. I even told people that once I was done, I'd celebrate with a new tattoo. Well, my arm remains free of any motorcycle-themed tat.

Nearly two summers ago I managed to remove the motor, by myself, and tear it apart. I bought all the new gaskets and seals and rings and bolts I needed to put it all back together. Heck, I even cleaned and painted parts of the motor.

And then I stalled. But this summer, I said aloud in front of witnesses, would be the summer when I finally piece together this jigsaw of gears and shafts and metal casings.  Now if only there were some King's Horses and King's Men to help. Oh wait. They're useless, aren't they?

At the moment, I've managed to wriggle the cylinder body over the cylinders with the new rings installed. The rings were actually what stalled me almost two years ago, trying to get them to stay put and compressed with my fingers while slowly lowering the cylinder body over them. I broke one ring in my first attempt.

But new ones are in place and I'm hoping (and praying and lighting candles) that nothing shifted in the process.

Next step - re-installing the cam followers and valves in the cylinder head.

As I said to my friend who visited today, "It's OK, I'm not in a hurry."

"No kidding!" was his reply.

Fortunately, I have this baby to ride!

Some MC jonesing

This has nothing to do with my old 80's bike, which, sadly, remains in parts in my garage waiting until the weather warms up and it's not quite so miserable out.
So instead, here are some photos from a motorcycle show I attended in Seattle with a couple of buddies.

Iron Man themed motorcycle 

I loved this Harley Davidson (something you won't often hear me say) 'cause it combined two of my favorite things on Earth - motorcycles and comics! It's an Iron Man-themed motorcycle, with a matching helmet.

 Over in the vintage motorcycle area, there was this bike, the Brough Superior. I snapped a pic because it was the motorcycle favored by T.E. Lawrence, and I guess I just always thought it was kind of cool that he was this famous, historic figure who loved motorcycling, just like me. I always have an easy time making a connection with guys who ride so, I know it's ridiculous, but I could imagine having a beer with T. E. Lawrence and talking motorcycles. I would have told him to take it easy on those narrow country roads and maybe he'd have lived longer than 46 years. It's the same thing my friends tell me about the way I ride! Guess I should take my own advice then.

Well, and just so my post includes at least one 80s motorcycle, here's a 1980 Suzuki GS1100, that was on display in the vintage bike area. Kinda funky and not sure I'd ride it, but looks like it took a lot of work to get it looking this clean.

My third year to the show. I'm sure I'll go again. 

Cold days, colder nights

It was dark by the time I left work last night. And cold, near freezing.
But I was well bundled.

I had a scarf 'round my neck and tucked down my jacket, wore a lined cowl under my helmet, wore my thickest gloves, and did I mention the heated jacket I wore beneath my leather motorcycle jacket?
Instead of jeans, I wore waterproof, windproof overpants lined inside with warm quilt material. My boots were thick soled Doc Martins.
I likely looked like a black Michelin man.

The young woman was also bundled. She wore a tan, thigh length wool coat, a colorful scarf wrapped round her neck, stylish calf-high boots.

As I rode out of the parking lot, there she was. I should have stopped for her, but I was so covered in gear it felt like a strain. So she had to stop to let me ride out of the driveway.

At that hour, we were the only two people in that whole area.

I felt bad for a moment that I hadn't stopped to let her pass.

Miles later I wondered, what the hell was she doing there anyway?

Riding and writing again

Been a long while since I've written here. Not that it matters since, obviously, I'm writing for myself.
A lot has happened since my last post. My beloved 80s bike is in my garage in parts. An oil leak this past spring prompted me, perhaps unwisely, to pull the entire engine and tear it apart.

I worked at the project diligently - nights and weekends - for about three months. Then, the lack of any motorcycle really began to eat at me. I began haunting the Craigslist postings for motorcycles.

My budget was a single paycheck - with maybe a bit more. But at the time, it took me about one whole paycheck to cover the mortgage. I figured, everything else I could juggle. Hence, my single paycheck budget for a new bike.  Here's what I came up with after a couple of weeks of hunting:

It's a 2002 1200S Suzuki Bandit. It looks good in this photo, I think, but if you look closely you can see the chain is bad. I knew that when I bought it. The tires were also shot. The guy selling it to me suggested I could ride it through the summer but, in my head, I thought he was crazy. They were nearly bald.
I have since replaced the sprockets and chain, the tires, the front brakes, the spark plugs and the windshield.

I've also ridden the bike nearly every day since I bought it, so, nearly every day for the past five months.

My longest ride so far on the Bandit has been from Tacoma to Los Angeles - and I took I-5 nearly the whole way. You know, lots of people will tell you that I-5 is a dull highway, but I don't think that's true at all.

Sure, I know Washington too well to get excited about it, but even there, the ride begins through the lovely Nisqually delta. You ride over the slow Nisqually River and can smell the briny air from the delta as you ride through.

You pass the state Capitol and then hit a fast 70 mph stretch that takes you all the way to the Oregon border. And then you're crossing the wide, dark Columbia River on a bridge that makes you jump from this lane to that as you negotiate your way across the river and through Portland.

The freeway does a slow climb after that, or at least it feels like it, and you ride along grassy foothills and along sheer cuts through mountainous land, with black, wet rock rising along the road.

I don't remember what Northern California looks like on I-5 because by the time I got there on this last ride it was pretty dark and I spent the night with family north of the Bay Area.

My next stretch was I-5 between the Bay Area and LA and, boy, what a ride! Flying along at 90 mph and no worries about getting pulled over because everyone is flying! It was like the autobahn. I have never ridden so fast for so long before and it was both fun and exhausting.

On the way home, I took a different route and wound up on Highway 101. Here's my bike along the highway just south of Crescent City.

It's December now. Cold and often wet and sometimes windy. I'm trying to ride in to work regularly, but tomorrow we may get snow so I will likely take my boring car.

I hate days when I can't ride my bike. And I don't mind when colleagues who stop by my office and see my helmet on my book shelves look at me like I'm bonkers.

Usually saying, "Did you ride in this weather!?"

They just don't understand. I don't, actually, either. I just know that when I ride to work, the day is always better, even if the brief time on my bike is cold, or wet or, frankly, even a little miserable.

I keep waiting for that to change for me. It hasn't yet.

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.