"I never met a stranger..."

Since taking a philosophy class some semesters ago I began looking at knowledge from a different point of view. Not that I got anything out of the material, but this is likely the desired result of taking this class. That class was followed by a class on metaphor - no, not that metaphor we all talked about in English class back in the pre-digital age - but a deep look at how our brains are wired - Philosophy in the Flesh. This material pressed my shift key, or maybe it was my alt key.

I began to think about what the meaning of phrases like "I never met a stranger" mean both for "I" and for the non-stranger. What does this have to do with motorbikes you ask? Well, it is all about DIY: Do It Yourself.

I like to Do It myself. Not only as in fixing broken stuff without professional help, but I really like moving through the world myself. But why? Why is it that I like to spend hours myself in the garage figuring out stuff and breaking and then fixing it? Why do I like to enter a strange town myself and get off my bike and meet yet another non-stranger?

I get to know lots of people in a very short time and find them to be of great interest. From every person I learn something. I find varied little towns, with varied businesses and stuff. If I were on the tour bus, I would have met the high schoolers working at Shoneys. That, my friends, is scary.

So the motorbike is a vehicle that carries me not only along the surface of the earth, but into and around the lives of others. It is open (physically and metaphorically) and brings people out of some sealed box by allowing them to wave, smile, offer help and re-count stories of the significant people in their lives. I can't count how many "When I was a kid, my [dad, mother, brother, parole officer, best friend] had a bike just like [yours, that Harley, well it was black] and (s)he ran off and down the road to [Frisco, Alaska, New York, the Bayou, wherever] and whatever. This usually commences as I am trying to get to the mens room and undo three layers of riding gear in order to pee. I never tell them it is not a Harley....

This entry is spurred by a missed lunch appointment with some riding buddies at the Swinging Bridge Restaurant for lunch at 1PM today, except they arrived a little before noon. Anyway, since we drove slowly through the back roads of what is likely at least runner-up for nicest place on earth to get to the place, Ann put our name on the list and waited with an electronic thing in her hand. It never buzzed. Finally after 45 minutes a nice lady asked if we were waiting for a table and seated us and the couple who had just arrived a few minutes earlier at adjacent tables. Before we had even ordered we were in conversation and I actually knew the name of some obscure song named after a motorbike: "1952 Vincent Black Lightning" by Del McCrory. Now I have never HEARD the song but I have heard people talk about it and I have a strong desire to have the use of one of these legendary machines.

I have started one and driven it (a side car rig) around a fairgrounds in Indiana as a result of getting to know another non-stranger. I knew Doc for three days total. I even got to take him for a ride in his sidecar. It was very cool. The sound, the smell, the vibration, the feel of the rotating parts of the engine changing speed as I move the throttle one way or the other. The fact that after not riding a Brit bike with a right side shifter that is one up and three down for decades, it came naturally. There was a lot of adrenalin flowing in my veins. It was great.

So if I ever do find one in my driveway, I will enjoy it. I'm not holding my breath, but I buy a raffle ticket for one every year and so far, they haven't called out my number. Look at the photo and see if you see the Aura.

So the name of the song stuck in my mind. The guy asks his wife, who is sitting to the right of Ann, "What was the name of that song about a motorcycle?" and I say "1952 Vincent Black Lightning" (by Richard Thompson). Yeah. That was it. Now if we arrived at noon and ate with my old friends I would have not met these new friends. I bet our paths cross again. And he told me he'd send me something to do with that 1952 Vincent song. I think he might. Googled his name when we got home - he owns the record company. He is a person that was a founder of the bluegrass music business back in the day. Yeah, he does know Del McCrory.

My metaphorical motorbike opens doors into peoples lives for mutual benefit - people actually talking to one another. Others use different stuff. How much cooler than text messaging and my space. I won't even go into the story of his wife's Pontiac Solstice GPX parked outside. Pretty day for a rag-top ride....

And I find that I don't need to be by myself to DIY, a new lesson learned.

Vintage in the Vineyard 2008

Due to some bad virus bug I was unable to attend the Vintage in the Vineyard BMW car and motorbike gathering near Winston-Salem, N.C. yesterday. I was recovering but had no strength and had no business on a bike. Ironically, as I write this on Sunday morning, I got up at 5AM full of energy.

I'll have to see how the day unfolds, but if I felt like this yesterday I would have at least jumped in the car and driven there to enjoy looking at the cars and bikes. Bummer!




I am not sure how I got involved, but Scott, the organizer and graphic artist, sent me an email before last year's event asking if I'd like to ride my 1968 R60/2 bike down there. He was trying to get more bikes involved. I like Winston-Salem and it is only two hours away, so I went. Ann came as well and visited family members while I played with BMW car owners. Great bunch of people and very accepting of people like me who only have to buy two tires at a time.


This gathering held more for me than the bike aspect. From 1966 to about 1970 I owned what I think was the first BMW 1600 2 door imported to the U.S. and owe my life to it. It was bought more-or-less from Max Hoffman (the importer) who had used this car to try and sign up dealers. It is my understanding that this car also was the one used for tests by Road and Track as well as Car and Driver magazine. I found it at Aircooled Motors, the local Porche dealer. As a high school kid I had gone to try and buy a 356c in ratty shape for $1200. Classic line for BMW bike riders is "I didn't know BMW made cars" which is just what I uttered when seeing it there. They let me take it for a ride (fools) and when I returned I told them I had to have it. They were being courted by Max to become a BMW dealer. I remember my first impressions: Stops faster than it goes (and it goes pretty fast) and that it was so neutral handling: aim it where you want to end up and wait 'til you get there. No drama. That whole episode is worthy of another entry one day.

While many kids in that area were risking their lives and consuming grat quantities of adrenalin in GTOs, Cameros and 442s with 300 plus HP and no brakes or steering, I was pushing 96 HP to the ground with very neutral handling that allowed me to outrun the aforementioned heavy iron as long as there was a left turn involved. Actually, right turns were also effective, but the psychological complexity of the right-hander gave the V8 driver reason to slow while the apparent ease of the left hand turn permitted bad judgment to prevail and loss of traction resulted. If you were around in that era or have driven an American car of that time you know what under-steer means. These guys did not drift, but got off the loud petal resulting in a tangential path to what usually was a ditch or road shoulder on the way to the woods as we were playing in rural areas of New Jersey. Do not do this at home.

Anyway, I loved my BMW 1600. It had it's deficiencies to be sure. Some were design faults, like the 6 volt electrical system. Only reason I can figure for that, in light of the fact that even VW went 12 volt years before, was that they found some 6 volt generators and starters cheap in a warehouse. Another issue on my car was that the door latches were prone to sudden failure which resulted in the interior arm rest/door closers being torn out of the door panels by scared passengers or the driver madly grabbing the door to pull it back in when they should just be bracing themselves in a high G turn. Worse yet was when the passenger seat was unoccupied and about 2/3rds the way through a left hand drift the right door (which is HUGH on this car) opens up. I never hit anything, but this happened about 3 or 4 times. I got the latches replaced under warranty several times. Eventually they replaced them with the later model latches that seemed to hold up.

Some faults were clearly my fault. Like the blown shift from third to second instead of forth that resulted in bent valves. Although it was clearly my fault Max Hoffman was nice enough to eat the repair bill and redo the engine under warranty. Other faults were lack of coeffient of friction on ice. Go figure, the laws of physics applied me and my German car just like mere mortals. My mother insisted I come home for dinner one icy night and I slowly carined into a telephone pole a few blocks from home. The police car that responded to the accident nearly ran into me rounding the same corner. The cute little grill that BMWs of all years have in one form or another is the centerpiece of a now-common-technology called a crumple zone. Thus, having a head-on collision, even at 10 MPH results in all new front metal, along, in my case, with a new tin foil like bumper. Of course, there were no parts immediately available. I did get the car back on Valentine's day, in time to take my girlfriend someplace romantic. I repeated the damage that summer in stop and go traffic on our way to the beach when my bare left foot slipped off the clutch and I impressed the front end with the profile of a Buick station wagon rear bumper. This time I was far from home. I don't remember how I got how, but I suspect that I was in convoy with Peter, Chuck or Pat. Somehow the second time doesn't stick in my mind as vividly as the first.

Anyway, it was a great car and I'd buy another in good shape for the $2500 I bought that one new for in 1966.

Visit Vintage in the Vineyard's webpage to see all the cool stuff I missed. Hey, you missed it too! You should go next year! They allow non-BMW drivers/riders to enter the premises. Here are photos of the 2008 event taken by various folks that were there.

Heck, just buy a T shirt and no one will know you are Beemer/bimmer-less!
I think everyone should learn something each day, so here is your lesson for today:

Bimmer (BMW Car)
Beemer (BMW Motorbike)

Why a B string is needed to fix motorcycles

After many years of working on motorcycles and cars, I find that the B string from a guitar is a necessary tool. Luckily, they are available everywhere musical instruments are sold and they are cheap.

And you might ask "Why do you need a guitar string to fix a bike, dude?" Or maybe not, but I'll tell you anyway. So far, I have discovered two major and one minor use. First use is to clear the tiny port in brake master cylinders that allows brake fluid to return to the reservoir when the lever is released. If this tiny port is blocked the brake pads do not move away from the rotor when the lever is released and the resulting friction causes heat, which causes the fluid to expand, which results in more friction, causing more heat... Well, you get it, a feedback loop that ends in the brake in question locking up and smoking. A bike with a locked up front wheel is not ridable, just ask Ted Speed! It was fixing his bike that lead me to the B string. Thanks to the Ascot Yahoo group, I learned this trick. I can use it on other master cylinders as well.

Today, I solved a long time mysterious problem on my BMW R100. It left oil spots on the garage floor. BMWs are not supposed to do this. I tried everything, but always had oil in the air filter area, which eventually worked its way to the floor.
Thanks to the Airhead List gurus I learned that the string had another use.

It turns out that there is a tiny hole that allows the oil caught in the breather system to return to the crankcase. If this tiny hole is clogged, the oil is sucked into the air filter area which explains the source. One hour disassembling and looking and 5 seconds of poking that B string through the tiny hole solved the problem. At least I hope so. I took it for a ride and so far no spots on the floor.

Of course, as always happens, while I had it apart I painted the starter cover (now the rest of the engine looks even uglier) and changed the voltage regulator, cleaned connectors and checked a lot of wiring, cables, and the like. I didn't break anything, which is common on the BMWs. On the Honda's it seems that any time a wrench is needed, a broken bolt may result.

I mentioned a minor use in addition to these two major purposes. That other use is threading carb jets on the wire while soaking or spraying them with bad solvents to clean them without getting said bad stuff on my hands. Lots of people tell me that one should never run a wire through a carb jet, but I have never followed all the instructions!

I make the assumption that a motorcycle is not needed to fix a guitar even if a guitar part is needed to fix a bike. I love learning something every day.

Book cover photo

Vintage Motorcycle days background

I first went to VMD at Mid-Ohio Racetrack in 2004 when BMW was the Marque of the year and the Vintage BMW club had a special in-field camping area that I enjoyed. I rode my 1968 R60/2 and it and I enjoyed being with many other such bikes and kindred spirits that rode the bikes. The evenings around the fire were pretty special. I met the 'Bump Brothers' who represented the best of a family that wrenched and rode together. I was camped next to them and they made me feel like a part of the family for that three days. I hope to run into them again one day. The camping in the in-field area was so much better than the mud pit that was the regular camping area.

In fact, I enjoyed it so much that the next year when Ducati was the Marque of the year and had again gained use of the in-field camping area, I leveraged the fact that my first bike was a Ducati in order to get a place on the hill with them.

I even told them I'd be riding my BMW sidecar rig, and they were OK with that. The Ducati people were wonderful. Wine, great food, olive oil and crisp bread, fresh herbs growing in pots. Lovely new and old RED bikes. Great hospitality and again a community that formed and dissolved in three days.

In 2006 MV Agusta was the Marque of the year and the Hodaka Club was a new featured "club of owners of bikes no longer in production." I contacted them and assuming they had use of the in-field camping area, offered to help 'manage' it for them in return for driving my stakes in the same place as the previous two years. They were OK with that as many of them were coming from the NorthWet where Hodaka's were made, or actually distributed. A passionate bunch, the Hodaka folks put on a display that rivaled the factory financed displays, had technical talks, demonstrations, raced in moto-cross and observed trials, and generally treated us great.

This was the year of Anilia and Ron's Excellent Vintage Adventure. A co-worker designed us T shirts and we were a team: The campground managers and just plain fun travelers. I picked her up at home a few days after she finished her MSF class, we stopped at the DMV so she could get her license endorsement and blasted on out to Ohio. We stopped at the AMA Museum in Pickerington on the way to Newark OH for a haircut and lunch. We arrived at the racetrack Thursday evening and got in to set up in the special camping area. We were the only one's there. It turns out that none of the Hodaka folks camped there as most of them flew in. For sure no-one was riding a Hodaka any long distance to Ohio! So My daughter and I had the hill pretty much to ourselves. We were joined by a great guy from Germany who pulled in with an older BMW sidecar rig and proceeded to set up a 1850's era tent (canvas and 3" diameter wooden poles) by the light of our led flashlight. Old tech meets new tech. He told us he uses this tent for winter camping and runs a woodstove inside it. As I recall he is from Wisconsin or Michigan. I think he could have parked his sidecar rig inside the tent had he wanted it in there. He also brought a big cast iron pan and cooked a big steak for dinner. Real fun!

My daughter got to see and sit on a lot of bikes to create a short list of short bikes that she felt might work for her. In the end, a couple of bikes that she liked became the target of my hunting expeditions. One of her choices was the Honda Ascot VT500FT. It was a bike that I liked because it was simple, had shaft drive, had a 'first' technology (Honda's first V twin, water cooled engine). More about that in another entry.

So, like every year, the VMD weekend includes all kinds of racing at the ractrack and at nearby Ashland County Fairgrounds (flatrack on Friday night). Friday morning starts out with observed trials in the woods and includes moto-cross seemingly all day, every day. Trials is one of my favorite styles of racing and after a few years I even recognize a few of the competitors, like Beano. He races (using the word loosely) the most interesting late 1940's Matchless girder-fork 500cc single. This thing has to weigh 400 pounds, which is a lot of iron to climb around in the woods. But he loves it - you just know he is having a good time! And I am having a good time watching folks like him have fun.

Then there is the road racing, most people would say this is the main stage of the showplace. To see bikes as old as the 1920's racing on a track is really something: sounds and sights and smells (yeah, Castrol, just like in the old days). And then there are the people. These are all amateur racers, and most are willing, even anxious, to talk and show off the hardware in the pit area which is open to the fans. Great time to take photos. Singles, twins, multicylinder bikes all blasting down the straight full throttle and braking into the turns makes one wonder if I could ever do that one an old bike worth a small fortune. Well, I'd rather sit on the grass and watch and take photos!

Oh, then there is my favorite part: The Flea Market. This is not like anything I had ever seen. About 30 acres of small booths with every kind of bike imaginable and some that aren't. Whole trailers full of "Anything for $5" parts and by Sunday, "Anything for $1" for what is left. Some people sell nothing but manuals, or decals, or dented tanks for $5 (yeah, I did buy one...) so whatever you need you are likely to find or at least talk about it....

In 2007 during my planning I found a hostel in nearby Lucas, so I decided to try this for a change. It was a fine experience and I am going back again, this time with my wife and son-in-law. The hostel deserves a blog of its own, so I devote one to that soon. 2007 celebrated the 50th anniversary of the Harley Davidson Sportster. Many of these older sporty's showed up as did the Motor Company with celebs Willie G and Jay Springsteen. OSSA, a Spanish made bike, was the club of the year. Since I didn't camp on the hill I had no contact with those guys.

And another tradition is the worlds strangest breakfast place (24 hours a day) that is also a general and ABC store. And the Saturday morning pancake breakfast at the church on the way into the track should not be missed. Mid-day meals and break-of-dawn coffee is supplied by friendly food truck vendors in the infield. No lack of animal fat at this locale. Last year I did note that the vendors were offering caesar salads instead of fries, right next to the pump where one can buy racing fuel. Is this fun or what?

Enjoy the photos I will add soon!

The trip: not quite

We planned the road trip for the summer of 2000. We would ride to Colorado and Kansas, maybe four corners and Taos. We were to leave on a Saturday. Everything was packed. But on Wednesday morning we got an awful call from our vet saying that our dog was injured in the highway a mile from our house. A lady that dragged him out of the highway recognized our names on the tags, called our vet and a friend who happened to be passing by took him to another nearby Vet who worked magic on him.

So our vacation was shortened. Since it would be several days of surgery and resting we did the first four days of the trip to visit my sister in Atlanta and returned home. It was a good ride, but we were happy to be home with our healing dog. We spent the next two weeks at home with Hero instead of on the road.

Today he is fine, but stays away from traffic.

But now we knew we could do it. Another time to be determined is coming up in 2008.

Can't have just one bike ...

I began riding the R65 everyplace if I could. I knew it was too small for two-up touring, so I started looking for something bigger. I saw a post on the airheads list that a guy in nearby North Carolina had a high mileage bike set up for touring (I have this thing for high mileage vehicles) and it was right on the way to a training I was attending in Greenville, South Carolina. Well, it was not right on the way, but it was south of my house and so was South Carolina.

So I went and test rode it. It felt great. I told the guy I'd let him know the next week. I got back on the R65 and not 10 miles from his house, at a light in the middle of a small town, the standard BMW airhead transmission failure happened. I clicked it down into first and began moving, but it never went into second. A small spring inside the tranny failed. I guess the R65 knew I was interested in trading up. Critical Stress Detector. Anyway, I bought that old R100 and still have it. It had 104K miles on it when I bought it and I have put another 50K on it. I fit the bike just perfect and it is the only thing that fixes my back when it aches. I think it is a keeper.

I got to the training in a rental car. Bummer!

After selling the R65 to a friend, it is once again in my garage.

So now we have that comfortable two-up touring bike. We need a rode trip!

Re-learning to ride

I really did come back to me. About 15 miles into the 200 mile ride home I felt as if I'd been riding the week before instead of a decade ago. Gloves would have been nice. I stopped in at a country store and bought some work gloves which were better than nothing. I rode every chance I got and after some weeks decided I was brave enough to take a passenger. So me and the wife go for our first ride to look at leathers that were sold by a strange guy at a house on a Christmas tree farm. There were a lot of people there and mostly cruiser type leather. The only thing I bought was a pair of Vietnam era tropical combat boots. They were the best thing I remember form my time in the Air Force.

Ann wanted to ride as well and I was not interested in talking her to the leaf littered road and having her stall the bike a thousand times, so I sought out one the rider training programs. I figured that I might as well take the class too. It took a while to get into a class (it would have been shorter if we hadn't gone to the wrong community college the first time!) but our weekend was fun and I learned a lot. My wife learned a lot too. One thing she learned was that she was interested in not falling over. This means more than 2 wheels. What has more than 2 wheels? A sidecar rig!

So we sign up for the sidecar class. More fun than anything I'd ever done in the name of learning. Problem is, then you want a sidecar rig ...

We though it would be good for the dog - not the cow!

Find the bike ...

Living in a rural area pretty far from motorcycle dealers presents a challenge.

The internet levels the playing field to some degree. This was 1999, and winter. I started looking for older BMWs. I learned about the modern airheads, evolution of the old R50 earles-forked bikes. Those I asked told me that those old bikes were only good to restore and put on a pedestal in the living room.

Since I rode my old bike a lot of miles I felt sure that I could still ride one a lot of miles. But they were not easy to find in the price range I had in mind. So searching local BMWs for sale I ran into Morton BMW and a nice old R90/6. I called and talked to them several times through January and February. I felt sure this was to be my machine. Then, I had the problem of needing a ride up there in case I decided to buy the bike and ride it home. So now the moment comes when I must tell my wife that I want to do this thing. It was scary, but in the end she was excited to be doing this as she had ridden on back of my bike in Denver before we were married. I was surprised....

As weather turned warmer (that is relative) in March I saw a Saturday with temps above 50 degrees and asked my wife to drive up to Mortons. She agreed and I called the sales person to make sure he'd be there. The good news was he would be there and the bad news is that someone from Texas bought the R90/6 sight un-seen. I asked if they had another bike in that price range that would serve my purpose. He said he was sure they could find one for me. So we went up on Saturday and ended up buying the wrong bike, but I was riding. I rode it home and froze. It was dark and in the upper 30s when I finally got home after a five hour ride. But I loved it. I was the proud owner of a low mileage 1980 R65 with a fairing and bags.

We are getting closer to the trip, but first another bike enters the picture...

In wicked need of a haircut

So all things work together - you know that, right? It started one cold winter night when I was picking up some dry cleaning (if can imagine me having dry cleaning) and while walking to my car, I saw a barber standing in the dark outside the shop smoking. It was about 6pm, but I asked if he was up for 'one more haircut' and he said yes. Here-in begins another relationship. It turns out this is the black barber shop in our fair city, and I got a great haircut. I appreciate a haircut in which no permanently attached parts are injured or removed. No ears twisted, not necks cut or poked - nothing like that. I got a painless haircut. Good deal, and I went back.

Now this will get back to motorcycles, I promise.

When I returned for another haircut a few weeks later, I had to wait. I took a look at the magazine rack and saw Rider magazine. It had been at least 12 years since I rode a bike in Haiti. I picked it up and read an article about some guy who took a trip with his 16 year old son and went fly-fishing at Yellowstone or some such thing. He talked about the feeling swishing through sweepers and attacking up-hill banked turns on two-lane back roads. I was hooked.

I had to experience that again before my body refused to participate.

The haircut once again was good. Mr. Johnson, the owner, is a reminder that good people are good to be with.

The hunt for a bike like the old R50 now begins.

In the beginning ....

Way back when, I started riding with my good friend Peter while we were classmates in high school physics class. Somehow, Peter had a very classy looking Gilera 125 bike that was made even more cool because it had an overlay sprocket and knobby tires that in only several hours would convert it to a 'dirt bike.' Peter was willing to teach me to ride down in the town leaf dump. It was immediately behind his house, down a steep walking path. Being way back when, this thing had a kick starter, and being that I had no idea of a friction zone, I stalled it several thousand times while learning to launch the bike in that soggy leaf covered road. But unlike most things I started, this motorcycle thing was to become a life-long passion. This is not Peter's Gilera, but it is beautiful! We always let the passangers ride on the back and maintained complete control at speeds over 20 mph. We even wore helmets - Buco white brain buckets.


Soon, I too had a 125cc Italian bike, a Ducati Bronco. We rode a lot of miles in rural New Jersey and enjoyed all the privileges of free-wheeling in hot, cold, rain, snow or whatever. While the other high school kids were buying Honda 50s, 90s and a big 160, we stood alone with Euro bikes. In the winter we took the bikes apart for no reason other than to see what was inside and they actually ran again when we put them back together.

Peter got a BMW R50 during college, but lucky for me his college did not allow him to keep it on campus so I got to ride it often. It was great. He switched colleges and then was able to keep the bike there, but it soon was stolen in NYC. I never forgot that bike even after riding a lot of other stuff. This is not Peter's bike, but it is beautiful!



I was able to find a similar bike in Oklahoma while stationed at Altus AFB and after spending some time in the "get-out-of-the-pickle-suit" jail, returned to Altus and bought it from the guy at the bar, and rode it home to Denver via New Mexico. Peter and I lived together in Denver and rode the bike a lot as a commuter and as a trip bike. An R50 two-up with camping gear is a mighty underpowered vehicle. Heck, even one-up it was a dog, but it was a loyal dog.


So, the seed was planted, and grew to a life-style. Riding in Denver winters make one a solid rider, fearless for better or worst. The bike was sold (never sell a favorite bike!) when I left Denver to be a circus promoter. Really. Bad mistake.