August: The News . . . My Way

Sorry about the long pause. The news has been oddly less interesting to me since it stopped being a job function. I’ll try to do better.

Valentino’s Ranch
Three years ago, Valentino Rossi bought a big chunk of land near Tavullia, Italy, developed a good bit of the property into a dirt track he calls, “Rossi’s Ranch.” There is a fun video going around the web where he shows off his great track with some friends; Supermoto world champ, Thomas Chareyre, and Isle of Man TT movie star, Guy Martin. Of course, we’re all invited anytime we’re in the area. Just be ready to eat a lot of dirt because Mr. Rossi does not like being passed on his own track.

Wired Getting Wired for Six Months
Wired Magazine is doing a long-term electric motorcycle test on a Zero DS, dual-sport. You can read about the first installment at :http://www.wired.com/autopia/2013/07/zero-ds/ and the follow-up will be interesting. Even more interestingly, the San Jose State University has put two 2012 Zero DS bikes into full-time service on the campus. The Hong Kong government has purchased 59 MY 2012 Zero S motorcycles
as part of Zero’s single largest fleet sale to date. Most of the units will be used by the Hong Kong city police, but a few will be designated for the airport security forces.

Congress Does Nothing for Motorcyclists, Too
“U.S. Reps. Michael Burgess (R-Texas) and Tim Griffin (R-Ark.) are serving as co-chairmen of the Congressional Motorcycle Caucus for the new 113th Congress, the American Motorcyclist Association reports. The bi-partisan caucus, which has existed for many years, was formally recognized by the House for the new Congress. Official caucuses must register and be recognized at the start of every two-year Congress.
The caucus is made up of members of Congress who are passionate about motorcycling and who work to promote the interests of motorcyclists.“ This is the same congress that passed fewer bills than any group of lazy assholes in recorded US history. I can’t wait to see what they don’t do for us next.

The EPA Oversells Ethanol
“The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency said that demand for ethanol-related fuel probably isn't enough to meet the requirements of federal law and changes may need to be made next year, the American Motorcyclist Association reports.” The agency admitted that “"the ability of the market to consume ethanol in higher blends such as E85 is highly constrained as a result of infrastructure- and market-related factors. EPA does not currently foresee a scenario in which the market could consume enough ethanol sold in blends greater than E10, and/or produce sufficient volumes of non-ethanol biofuels to meet the volumes of total renewable fuel and advanced biofuel as required by statute for 2014. Therefore, EPA anticipates that in the 2014 proposed rule we will propose adjustments to the 2014 volume requirements, including the advanced biofuel and total renewable fuel categories."

In other words, there are more reasons that the damage done to motorcycles and pre-2004 vehicles (and, possibly, all vehicles) that adding more ethanol will result in a consumer revolt. Even with the Monsanto congressional connections pushing ethanol on us as if we desperately needed faster rusting gas tanks, damaged engine parts, and dissolving hoses, the EPA got the message and that is nothing but good for the rest of us. Fuck Monsanto and their corporate farm constituents. Now we need a few more stations selling E0 “blends” so we can keep the machines we own running longer. Now that would be an energy savings.

Elkhart, IN, Shuts Up Motorcycles and other Disturbers of the Peace and Discovers . . . We Really Are Hooligans
In 2008, Elkhart Mayor Dick Moore told the Common Council: “We are determined to eradicate noise pollution in our city, from boom boxes, broken mufflers, train whistles, loud motorcycles, and other sources by initiating a zero tolerance noise ordinance.”

The fines not only deter noise and punish noisemakers; they also fund the anti-noise program. Noise fine revenues have been used to purchase and equip three unmarked police vehicles, as well as to purchase dozens of black and white units with the latest computers, video, and recording equipment. Noise fine revenues are also used for anti-noise billboards and public service announcements.

Fines for noise violators in Elkhart are stiff:

• $ 250: first offense
• $ 500: second offense
• $1000: third offense
• $2500: fourth offense

Last year, Elkhart’s noise control officer did more drug busts than any other Elkhart police officer—and he was looking for noise violators, not drugs. Elkhart’s experience demonstrates the strong link between noise, guns, drugs, gangs, and crime.

Elkhart officials are enthusiastic about the anti-noise program. According to Police Chief Dale Pflibsen, “Elkhart’s nose ordinance has had a positive impact on the city’s quality of life.” Tim Balyeat, Elkhart’s assistant police chief, commented that “since the inception of the anti-noise program, Elkhart has become a quieter place to live.”

Bradley Vite, an Elkhart resident who led the campaign to institute the policy, said that “Elkhart’s anti-noise program is a great tool to reduce crime. Elkhart’s anti-noise officers have found meth labs, marijuana, cocaine, weapons, and individuals with outstanding warrants. Noise is a quality of life issue.” In addition, Vite noted that "noise has economic implications for a city, as it drives down property values.  Noise is a very serious health issue.  Noise is a growing concern throughout our country in the 21st century."

Vite concluded, "The actions of city government and the police have dramatically reduced noise. However, it is an ongoing, daily effort to maintain civility on our streets."

NHTSA Recalls:

Triumph 2012-2013 Speed Triple: Due to the incorrect engagement of the neutral switch and gear selector drum, the neutral light may remain illuminated despite the motorcycle actually being in gear. The operator may think the motorcycle is in neutral while the motorcycle is in gear. This could lead to unintended movement of the motorcycle and a possible crash. Triumph will notify owners, and dealers will correct the engagement of the neutral switch and gear selector drum, free of charge. The recall began on June 3, 2013. Owners may contact Triumph at 1-678-854-2010 for more information. (In other words, the idiot light will make you look like an idiot.)

Triumph 2012 Speed Triple & Daytona 675: The motorcycles may have been assembled without a guide for the throttle cables. Without the guide, the cables may move freely and become trapped in the steering stop, impeding the steering operation and affecting the driver's ability to control the motorcycle, increasing the risk of a crash.

Triumph 2012-2013 Speed Triple ABS: The transmission on some motorcycles may have been built with an incorrect detent spring. As a result of the incorrect spring, the transmission may inadvertently shift out of gear while the motorcycle is moving, increasing the risk of a crash. Triumph will notify owners, and dealers will install a revised detent spring, free of charge.

Triumph 2012-2013 2012-2013 Explorer and Explorer XC: The Gross Vehicle Weight Rating data on the certification Label is incorrect. Thus, the motorcycles fail to comply with the requirements of Part 567, "Certification." The incorrect label could cause the operator to overload the motorcycle which may result in handling issues and/or tire failure, increasing the risk of a crash. Triumph will notify owners and replace the labels with corrected GVWR data.

Morgan 2012-2013 3 Wheeler Limited Motorcycles: The brake fluid reservoir does not have a brake fluid reservoir filling warning statement. Thus, these vehicles fail to conform to the requirement of Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standard (FMVSS) No. 122, "Motorcycle Brake Systems." The operator may not be warned of the brake fluid reservoir filling requirements, which may result in a reduction of brake performance, increasing the risk of a crash. Morgan will notify owners and dealers will apply a brake fluid reservoir filling warning label, free of charge. [This qualifies as the lamest “recall” in NHTSA history.]

Zero 2013 FX motorcycles: A manufacturing defect with the sealant material in the battery may allow water to penetrate the battery and contact the cells. Water penetration into the battery may lead to corrosion of the cells, possibly resulting in a rapid temperature increase and off-gassing of the cells' electrolyte which may cause a burn to the rider. Zero will notify owners and dealers will replace the battery modules, free of charge.

Honda 2014 CTX700: Due to a manufacturing error, the Anti-Lock Brake System (ABS) may malfunction and lose anti-lock functionality. The anti-lock function may not perform properly allowing for wheel lock up and skidding, increasing the risk of a crash. Honda will notify owners and dealers will replace the ABS modulator, free of charge.

Brammo 2013 Empulse motorcycles: The rear tail assembly bracket can fatigue and may allow the rear tail assembly to break off while riding. If the rear tail assembly breaks off, it could contact the rear wheel, increasing the risk of a crash. No solution has yet been offered.

Yamaha 2014 XVS950CU (Bolt) motorcycles: Slack or sag in the wiring harness may allow it to contact the exhaust manifold causing the wires to melt, and possibly short circuit. If the wires short circuit, the fuses will blow which may cause the engine to stall. An engine stall while riding, increases the risk of a crash. Yamaha will notify owners, and dealers will inspect the wiring harness and secure it away from the exhaust. If the wiring harness is damaged, it will first be replaced.

BMW 2013 F700 GS and F800 GS motorcycles: The side-stand switch that prevents the engine from running while the side-stand is down may become damaged allowing the engine to run with the side-stand down. The rider may start riding with the side-stand down, increasing the risk of a crash. BMW will notify owners and dealers will secure the side-stand switch, free of charge.

The Vandals Took the Handlebars

[This was an article I wrote for MMM that didn't make the cut, due to a lack of available space. It also appeared as part of the narration for the first Motorcycling Minnesota television program. Roy's Repair Motorcycle Service does an annual bash that is a Minnesota institution. motorcycling institution.  Here's the story for the year 2000 biker bash.]

The tenth annual Roy's Repair Motorcycle Service Open House/Crash Fest/Motorcycle Hooligan Party survived yet another year without a single ecological protest. Exxon and Kerr McGee ought to check these folks out and see if Roy's publicist is available for off-season work. During this annual event, every aspect of public safety, clean air management, and noise abatement gets the single digit salute the first Sunday of every October, right here in Minneapolis City. Trombones need not apply, we already have megaphones.

If you ever wanted to get a feel for who and what real bikers are, this is the place to visit. Parents, here's your opportunity to scope out all the guys you don't want your daughters getting near. Mothers, quit worrying about cowboys and catch up to the Twenty First Century. Fathers, if your heart pressure, bad cholesterol numbers, or stress level isn't completely under control, stay home and watch football. Kids, if you want to see examples of all the stunts that will get you sent to the military school of your choice, here's your chance. Bikers, if you aren't hanging out on south Snelling on the first October Sunday afternoon, you'd better be racing or riding somewhere or hang up your heated grips 'cause you're a poorly informed poser.

Roy's is located in what has to be the most tolerant neighborhood on the planet. Imagine, if you weren't there, the noise these folks are ignoring when a V-8 powered, straight pipe exhausted BossHoss burns a 1/12th mile strip with it's fat (and flat) 230/160x15" rear tire. Or the smoke and noise generated by a collection of unmuffled Harleys, Harley-wanna-bes, and sport bikes doing burnouts and wheelies. Add to all this racket, the kind of crowd that cheers more enthusiastically for a paint grinding crash than a stand-on-the-seat wheelie and you're starting to grasp that Sunday's general atmosphere.

Add to all the mechanical racket the fact that this has gotta be one of the largest gatherings of general purpose bikers in the Cities. The party started at noon. At 1:00PM, I made a lap around the territory and counted 783 bikes. People were still arriving and my rural-founded, cow-counting habit died a peaceful death. By 2:30PM, there appeared to be twice as many bikes packed in along Snelling and across 32nd.

Unlike a lot of "major biking events" (the most famous of which will go unnamed), you don't find a lot of fifteen year old bikes with 5,000 miles on their odometers at the Roy's bash. Instead, you'll see some of the coolest, most collectible, beat-to-snot and still-being-ridden-to-work-everyday bikes on earth. It's a mobile motorcycling museum of folks whose "other car" is an oil burning, rusted hulk that gets fresh oil only when the OEM stuff is gone.

Side Note: How do you tell when you're looking at a true squid's bike? First, every light on the bike has been modified to be smaller and less useful. Second, the rear tire is only worn in the center, where it's practically showing threads. And, finally, the bike is sporting frame sliders and number plates and it looks like the sliders have seen use.

Fortunately, even squids brought cool bikes to Roy's party. I gaped at custom painted Harleys (ever notice the substitution that Microsoft Word offers for "Harleys"?) and many of the recent batch of American-made Harley clones, all the European brands, all the Pacific Rim brands, and enough ancient stuff to keep a fanatic collector entertained. I'm not a collector, but I was incredibly entertained. I was able to drool with lust, and for as long as I wanted, at several bikes that I've wanted to own, ride, or borrow.

After inhaling all the burnt tire smoke and unburned motor oil that my dying lungs could process, I went for a ride in the country. I even tried out some of the hooligan tricks I saw at Roy's. The bandages come off in three weeks and I should be back on two feet and a cane by December.

My Brand New Harley Davidson

#14 A Different Breed

http://www.amazon.com/Geezer-with-A-Grudge/dp/B007RPQJ24

All Rights Reserved © 2001 Thomas W. Day

A company called Mesa Engineering has recently marketed a really expensive power amplifier, called "The Baron," aimed at folks who don’t blink when they’re asked to cough up $75,000 for a home stereo rig or $150,000 for a home theater system. In The Audio Adventure's hilarious review of this big bucks toy , the reviewer wrote "The word that came to mind as I listened [to the Baron] was ‘attitude.’ This characteristic gives the Baron an attitude comparable to the attitude you’d expect from a person who rides a Harley--especially a woman. Tough but extremely attractive in a slightly dangerous way." If that doesn’t make you want to regurgitate, you’re slightly dangerous in an extremely unattractive way.

In the motorcycle world, Harley riders seem to be taking all kinds of diverging paths. A lot of the new Harley owners are really upset that many non-Harley owning motorcyclists don't cough up instant respect for their vehicle and lifestyle choice. You see this on the Internet, but that crowd of geek bikers would probably rather talk to you about Unix and stock option tax tips than Sonny Barger's trials and tribulations.

Based Harley's advertising, and the usual riding costumes, the big part of the "Harley mystique" is still about being an outlaw. An outlaw, according to Danny Webster is someone who is "a person excluded from the benefit or protection of the law." Or, if you're a mild-mannered outlaw, "one that is unconventional or rebellious." A bunch of us, who have been on motorcycles for a long time, have learned to avoid that first group because they're dangerous and unpredictable. At best, you'll get your bike messed up. At worst, you'll get yourself messed up. The second group is mostly humorous and will often buy beer if your listen to their two-wheeling and stock-brokering stories. Here's where the mud meets the crystal ball, though. A good number of the first group's old members appear to be merging into the second group.

The Angels and their offspring, being the primary importers of various illegal substances back in the free love years, were dangerous to be around even when they weren't trying to be dangerous. In Omaha in the 1970's, talking to a Harley biker at a stoplight could get you pulled over and searched, just out general police principles. In LA in the 1980's, nodding at a bandit Harley owner, while stopped at a similar traffic light, could get you shot. From 1963 until the last few years, I made it an act of self-preservation to stay on the other side of town from guys on Harleys. That was as close as I could find to being on their "good side."

Now, it seems, a lot of the new breed of Harley owners wants to dress like outlaws (or a member of the Village People) but be treated like a respectable member of the society of road-loving, bug-toothed motorcyclists. They want the rest of us to respect their choice in vehicles, simply because it happens to have two wheels. When we see them stranded along the roadside (as often happens with overweight, marginally engineered, air-cooled motorcycles), they want us to stop and offer assistance. They want us to wave at them, even knowing that, at best, one in two dozen of them will wave back.

Even more weirdly, some of the old breed are blending into the new breed. It's really confusing when a strongly held stereotype turns out to be useless information. Seeing a pack of leather-clad, Harley mounted 300 pounders getting teary-eyed over Make A Wish kids is that kind of experience. It’s impossible to calculate the label-busting that these bikers do when they spend half a year fundraising for an organization that grants the wishes of terminally ill children.

Since I like to think of motorcyclists as members of a universal good-fellowship club, I'd like to accommodate the new breed Harley owners while, still, maintaining a safe distance from the nasty guys. Like I've said, at least once, it's getting so that you can meet some of the "nicest (and richest) people" on a Harley. But I can't tell one from the other because they buy their costumes at the same store. From those safety-beanies to the shirtless vest to the black cowboy chaps, I can't make the good guys from the scary guys. Until there is some clear label for me to read, I'm marginally willing to stick out my hand because I still need all of my fingers. I'm old and can't afford any more broken bones, especially ribs.

My opinion about hate and distrust is that it is all based on fear. Humans want to ridicule, avoid, beat up, or kill the folks who scare us the most. The intensity of the reaction depends on your level of intelligence and how much fear you hold.

Supposedly, the more you know, the less you fear. The more you fear, the more violent your reaction. I believe that as much as I believe anything about the human animal. Or any animal. And it's still just my opinion. Pretty early in my motorcycling career, I learned to be tense around Harleys. Ok, I learned to fear being around Harleys.

In my dirt racing days, a couple of times, a half-dozen Harley heavyweights unexpectedly appeared at the track and, uninvited, rolled into the pits. Twenty scrawny--still wasted from their last 30-minute moto--bikers would interrupt whatever they were doing and start looking for the longest, heaviest wrench in the tool box.

At the same time, our wives would begin to shepherd the kids together and as far away from the scene as possible. If the odds were fairly even, we'd circle the wagons, help each other load up the bikes, and get the hell out of there before the world came to an end. Guys who ride 125cc two-strokes just don't fare well in all-out street fights with 280 pound gangsters, pumped up on coke or PCP, and wielding well-chosen and often used weapons. The valor part of discretion was in sticking around long enough to make sure all the good guys (and their families) got out alive. Otherwise, we just wrote off the escape to good sense and found another place to meet for the next race.

Those were tense times when bad things often happened. I still get a mild urge to keep a big pipe wrench under the bed when a Harley blubbers past my house at night. Just describing this ancient history has reminded me that I really need to own a big pipe wrench, in case a big plumbing job comes along. I'd love to keep writing about my 40 year love affair with Harleys, but I need to go to Sears. Ride safe and see ya on the road. Wave, if you're a good guy.

August 2001

It’s All the Same

On my way to pick up a friend at the airport last night, I was passed by two motorcyclists who, I imagine, imagine themselves to be polar opposite sorts of riders. One guy was the traditional fat guy on a loud Hardly, barreling along completely out-of-control, about 15mph above the speed limit and general traffic speed, just a crash looking for a place to happen. Of course, ape-hangers, full gynecology exam riding position, black leather jacket, jeans, no helmet, sun glasses, poor lighting, no turn signals, and enough noise to break windows. (BTW: I didn’t hear him until he was past me. Our Taurus is no luxury vehicle, but like all modern cars it’s pretty sealed up with the AC running.)

On the way back, I saw a dim bulb (both on the bike and riding the bike) blasting through traffic, coming up behind us fast. When he passed, I kicked myself again for driving without the camera on board. Twenty-something kid, overweight with his belly smothering the FZR’s tank, t-shirt blown up practically over his head which was covered with a backwards baseball cap. Like his brother in organ donations, no real gear, jeans, low-top tennis shoes, an unzipped windbreaker nylon jacket, unused micro-turn signals, sunglasses, etc.

It was dark for both riders, so their sunglasses were pure style and totally idiotic. Neither rider could maneuver worth squat and both desperately depended on noise and the kindness (and skill) of strangers for their survival. More than a few of the general public hates all motorcyclists. These guys are high on the list of why (read the comments in this article for a taste).

I mentioned yesterday that MMM is doing a “dual sport” article that includes everything with two wheels and serrated footpegs in the category. The reason is, of course, money. The industry wants to spread as many categories across as few bikes as possible to snag customers in a failing market. Like SUVs, big bikes are easier to make, provide more profit for the manufacturers and dealers, and cost a whole lot more to maintain (at the dealerships). What’s not to love in all of those 1000-1500cc “dual purpose” hippos? Nothing, as long as your two purposes are street riding and stopping at a lot of bars on the way.

Since I’m now the overworked owner of a motorhome, I’m on a whole new set of mail lists. Motorhome Magazine, for example. I got my first subscription offer to the rag and a taste of how much that industry is like ours. I own a 13 year old, 22’ VW-powered Winnebago. It seats three, is a tight but comfortable fit for two travelers, and has the bare necessity of accommodations. Like my daily ride, the WR250X, there isn’t a lot I can or want to do to this little vehicle. With a gross carrying capacity of 880 pounds, I’m not buying a lot of shit to stuff into my rolling house. So, when I see the front cover of this month’s magazine, a review of Winnebago’s 34’ 13-ton, 9mpg, $270,000 Itasca Meridian luxury-liner, and I know, immediately, this magazine is not written for me. I also know that the reason MMM’s editor wants to include the giant adventure touring bikes in a “dual purpose” article is because that’s what the manufacturers want us to write about. I am, however, exactly as likely to own an $18,000 motorcycle as I am a $270,000 motorhome.

What is "Dual Sport?"

The next issue of MMM is going to be focused on "dual sport" motorcycles. Turns out, I have no idea what that designation means any more. Among the bikes the editor considers "dual sport" are:

• BMW F 800 GS/Adventure
• BMW R 1200 GS/Adventure
• KTM 990 SM-T Supermoto
• KTM 990 Adventure Baja
• KTM 1190 Adventure
• Moto Guzzi’s Stelvio 1200 NTX
• Suzuki DL V-Strom 650 Adventure
• Suzuki DL V-Strom 1000 Adventure
• Triumph Tiger 800
• Triumph Tiger 800 XC
• Triumph Tiger Explorer
• Yamaha’s XTZ12 Super Tenere

I admit that I'm confused. For one, why isn't the Honda NC700X in this group? It's at least as off-road worthy as everything up there except, maybe, the KTMs. I don't think I've seen a single picture of Scott Jarrett's Honda on New Mexico pavement, so I know it is gravel-capable.  As far as I can see, this whole group of motorcycles is as off-road worthy as modern SUVs. In other words, it's possible but generally a bad idea.

I'm fine with the "adventure touring" genre. Just as SUV is another word for "station wagon," adventure touring means "standard motorcycle with tough looking bags, a plain paint job, and a buttload of farkles." But if the above list is dual purpose, what is the second purpose? Obviously, the main purpose is highway touring with some off-pavement roads. That's only one purpose. Just being able to ride the same roads everyone else can take on their family sedan is not a second purpose. I’m here to tell you that the V-Strom is not a capable single-track motorcycle and it is all but worthless in a hill climb. It is at least as capable as the rest of this list, though.

These guys discovered that four of these hippos were less than nimble off-road:




So, if these bikes are dual sport, what is a Yamaha XT250, WR250R, the Honda CRF250L or XL650L, anything Husky makes, Kawasaki's KLR and KLX bikes, KTM's 690 Enduro, or Suzuki's DRs? Seriously, I'm confused (as usual). I think we may have lost something important in the chase for marketing bullshit.

Duluth on the Rocks

[Originally published as "Trials Action" in Minnesota Motorcycle Monthly, October/November 2000 about the AMA/NATC Observed Trials Championship rounds (9 & #10) held in Duluth, MN.]

Once again, Minnesota hosted two rounds of the AMA/NATC National Observed Trials Series at the Spirit Mountain Ski Area. This year, the Duluth event turned out to be the climatic moment in the championship. The Duluth organization managed to snag the last two rounds of the 2000 national series and the title was down to the wire. Geoff Aaron, on a Gas Gas this year and attempting to win a sixth US National Championship, needed one third place or better finish in this event to hold off Ryon Bell (Montesa).

Aaron had won both rounds (7 & 8) in Sequatchie, Tennessee and seemed to have it wrapped up. However, in the kind of move that makes spectators love watching Aaron and must drive the factory guys crazy, Aaron was not riding his factory bike for the Minnesota event. He was riding a new, bone-stock Gas Gas that was probably no better prepared than the bikes ridden 90% in the Support classes. On Saturday morning, one of the factory reps just shook his head as he told me, "He didn't even move his shock or his motor over to the new bike. It takes at least two months to break in a shock and he's only had the bike a couple of days."  Obviously, some folks thought Aaron was tossing his 6th championship into the wind.

Add to all this motorcycle stuff, we have Duluth in the summer.

I get the feeling that Twin City'ers think of Duluth as a "little sister city." Sort of the attitude that LA has toward San Francisco. That's, actually, a fair comparison. Without knocking the Cities, because I love this place, Duluth has The Lake and The Hills and all the incredible vistas that come with those two assets. The same weekend as the trials, Duluth had the Bay Front Blues Festival going. What to do and where to go? So many choices and so little time. On August 12, 2000, there was no place on earth I'd have rather been than Duluth, Minnesota.

"The Incredible Invisible Sport," that's what they ought to call it. Observed Trials (OT) is just not descriptive enough. Maybe paying slight attention to my griping about the lack of visibility from the 1998 Duluth event, this year, the Duluth event's promoters advertised in MMM. I saw at least one event poster at a Twin Cities motorcycle shop. Still, when I rode into the Spirit Mountain Ski Area, it was impossible to tell something significant was going on. I rode well into the park before I spotted a single sign. Since I was operating on my usual level of preparation and forethought, I had almost made the assumption that I was here on the wrong weekend or that the event was happening somewhere else. For some odd reason, I hadn't seen a single trailered trials bike in a motel parking lot, so it looked like I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That's incredible for a whole collection of reasons. First, in a state where there appear to be as many motorcycles as snowmobiles and jet skis, you'd think anyone who loves motorcycling would be in Duluth for the final rounds of the National Observed Trials Championship. Second, lots of us can argue that trials is the best motorcycling spectator sport. Third, you can't believe what these guys do on motorcycles until you've seen it in person. Fourth, where else will you see huge numbers of $6,000, 150 lb., 250cc motorcycles?

Somewhere I read that Minnesota motorcyclists put on more miles per capita per year than any other state's riders. If you look at the warm weather event schedule, there's something on two wheels going on all the time here. If you take a Saturday afternoon cruise into Minnesota or Wisconsin's back roads, it's a two-wheeled world out there. In March, we fill the Convention Center to look at any damn two-wheeled-associated thing the manufacturers want to sell us. A week later, we packed the Dome to go deaf watching Supercrossers. We're a biking kind of place.

OT is made for spectating. Look at the pictures and notice where the spectators are, relative to the riders. We're practically part of the sections. You can line up, inches from where a world class rider will pass or fail. You can even make smartass comments about how they cheated on a section and get a reaction. How can you beat that?

We all know that Tom Cruise can't do a stoppie or spin a bike on its front wheel or launch himself into a fight from a moving crotch rocket, but we all saw it a zillion times when MI2 was being previewed on the tube. Some of us don't believe that Cruise can ride a Harley through an empty parking lot, let alone do stunts on a Triumph. With that cynical background, you won't believe what Geoff Aaron or Ryon Bell or any of these top riders can do on a motorcycle, even after you've seen it with your own eyes. If Aaron was taking bets on his being able to leap a tall building with a couple of suspension bounces and a brick for a launch pad, I'd put my money on him.

OT is not only a well kept secret, but also the bikes appear to be vanishing. My old 1974 RL250cc Suzuki weighed about 300 lbs. My 1986 TY350 sports about 225 lbs of pork. A 2000 Bultaco weighs 154 lbs! At this rate, in another decade riders will be strapping trials "bikes" to their feet, like rollerblades.

Ah, the motorcycles. My how much difference two years makes. Last time I was here, I spotted one proto-Montesa-Honda (labeled Montesa everywhere but in Honda's homeland, where Honda calls a Honda "a Honda") in the crowd of Gas Gas, Beta, Fantic, and ancient Yamaha's. This year, they're back! Practically everyone is back.

Montesa, a Spanish motorcycle company that died in 1978, has "partnered" with Honda (Honda bought Montesa's body and casket in the 1980's) to produce frames and motors. Since motorcycle frames and motors are pretty much the heart and guts of a motorcycle, I think it's pretty safe to assume Honda designed the bike. The Montesa Cota 315R is assembled and boxed for shipment in Spain. Whoever made the bikes, there were Cota 315R's everywhere. Some of the 1998 bikes even looked old. If this event was any kind of indication of their success, Honda must be pretty satisfied with its backdoor adventure into OT. Especially after the financial mess that trials turned out to be for Japan in the 1970's.

Two years ago, the Montesa-Honda was barely out of prototyping. This year, Dougie Lampkin won his 4th World Championship in a row on a Montesa-Honda and everybody seems to have jumped on that bandwagon. Next year, Montesa will field a Dougie Lampkin Signature Model. Buy one and I will guarantee that you'll have the coolest, weirdest bike in your block. It will be a $6,000, 150 lb. 250cc motorcycle with a 45mph top speed and more first gears than you can handle (at least 4 of 'em). The Montesa 315R is a 249cc bike. Go figure.

Bultaco, has become yet another reincarnated Spanish motorcycle logo that died near the end of  1979. The dead shell of the company was propped up by the Spanish government until the mid-80's, when the logo was about all that was left of that great company. The thumb's up (Bultaco logo) appears to be live and well in Y2K.

This time, two years ago, the Bultaco Sherco looked like fantastic vaporware. If you were a diligent Yahoo hacker, you could find pictures of the proposed bike on the web. The manufacturer's story seemed so vague that only a true believer would have expected a real motorcycle to come out of that fantasy. This year, if the bike that just dusted you along the spectator trail wasn't a Montesa it was a Bultaco. While the first year bike was a success and a decent bike, the 2000 model is the lightest trialer on the market and the importer is making a serious dent in the established trials manufacturer's sales. Ryan Young, the pre-Aaron five-times National Champion, is behind Bultaco's PR and marketing success and the company has serious financial backing. A couple of manufacturer's reps complained that Bultaco had absorbed almost all of the available advertisement space in the trials press.

This year, Scorpa-Yamaha had a new trialer at Duluth, but no Champ rider. Yamaha appears to be replicating the act that Honda has staked out. That tactic seems to be to do the engineering and let someone else deal with the distribution. Honda, for example, did all of the engineering for the Montesa, but is letting the Montesa brand name take the risk and the credit for the bike. Yamaha is doing the same thing with the French "assembled" Y2K Scorpa. The Scorpa has a Yamaha motor and frame. The price is $5780. The bike has an actual tank, which is properly artistically sculpted. Since the Big Four grossly overestimated the trials market, back in the 1970's, this may be how they are protecting their faces from another of OT's vanishing acts. At any rate, I saw a couple of the Yamaha-Scorpa Y2K's and it's a very flashy looking bike.

Two years ago, when it seemed that everyone was riding for Gas Gas, the National Champion, Geoff Aaron, was on a Beta. In Y2K, the majority of pros and experts are on Montesas and Bultacos and Aaron has moved over to a Gas Gas. (The Beta booth was still showing Aaron posters and the reps looked pretty lonely and dejected. In a "leading user" sport like OT, when you're out, you're out.)

In a number of ways, Geoff Aaron is smoothly contrary. He don't find him riding the "bike of the year" and he's known for taking hard lines through sections, just to show that he doesn’t have to follow the pack. Or because he is seeing something nobody else can see. Knowledgeable spectators keep an eye out for when Aaron is going to be at a section because you can always count on something specially cool happening when he rides.

While trudging around the 15-mile course, I heard a half-dozen mildly masked criticisms about Aaron's ability to "market himself." He's also reputed to be the only guy on the circuit who's actually making a "good living" riding trials. Could some of the sour grapes be jealousy? Somebody has to break that ground for everyone else to follow. I suppose that guy always has to live with the nitpicking from his contemporaries, though.

I'm not going to argue that I might have a bias, though. I do. My favorite sort of athlete has always been the guys who make really hard stuff seem simple and impossible stuff look just a bit harder. After watching a gaggle of Champs struggle with a section, Aaron can sometimes make it look like someone applied an invisible layer of pavement over the section. Sometimes, he can glide through a pile of rubble so effortlessly that you'd think anyone could do it. Then, someone follows his route through the same section and goes wheels up for his trouble. I love to watch Geoff Aaron ride a motorcycle.

Two years ago, spectators were treated with a world class riding performance from Tommi Ahvala, in exhibition (not in competition) with the US National tour. This year, Ahvala is touring with the "Team Extreme Trials Showcase" and his overpowering presence probably wasn't missed by the American competitors. (Aaron, Kempkes, and Bell also ride the Showcase circuit, when it doesn't compete with the National series.) Two years ago at this same event, he put on a world class show of riding that had to have been humbling to the rest of that year's American riders. I expect jumping Volkswagens and climbing over-sized stairs pays a lot better than getting dirty with the peasants. It looks like the closest Ahvala's going to get to Minnesota is at the Septemberfest in Omaha this . . . September.

Saturday morning started off with a short burst of rain that cut the dust, disturbed the bugs, and made walking the loop so muggy that I had to stop and defog my glasses every 100 yards. But, until about 2:00PM, the rain and cloud cover kept the hiking tolerable and the intermittent showers provided a bit of entertainment and air conditioning. The down side was that walking to the sections was the hardest, slickest hiking I've done in years. By the time I finished my 1st loop, I'd fallen a half dozen times, lost two very nice pens, and protected my camera with my head, twice.

The first seven sections made for decent spectating and I wandered along with the Support and Expert riders, waiting for the Champs to get started. Saturday's #8 section must have been the designated "I'll pass for five points, Monty" bail-out. I watched a train of Support riders line up to get their tickets punched, without attempting the rocks, after one rider did a 3/4 reverse gainer back down the first ten feet of this section. I heard the phrase, "I got one question for you. How you getting' back down that rock?" so many times that I decided Paul Newman's character in Hombre must be the OT rider's movie hero. Bike after bike ended up with its wheels pointed to the sky and its rider scrambling, sliding, or falling back down this rock. Then, one guy cleaned it and the trail was staked for almost everyone who followed; almost everyone.

Checker joke: "How do you tell a Champ from an Expert from a Support rider? The Champs' number plate has a 'champ' decal and the Champs have a real serious look on their faces." There were nine Champs at the Duluth rounds. Most of them looked like they were having a lot of fun, since the championship series was going to be determined more by a complete Geoff Aaron breakdown, rather than a magical great ride from Ryon Bell.

But at least one of the Champs had something different on his face. Native Midwesterner (Nebraska), Jess Kempkes, often looked pained and disappointed. It might be that he was wincing from all the earrings. He's probably working on his Trials des Nations look for Spain, later this year. Jess is one of the most adventurous and entertaining riders on the trials circuit and his look is probably just part of the persona he's building. Whatever, Kempkes rode for a 3rd and a 4th this weekend and picked some spectacular routes through the rocks.

On Saturday, I was despairing for the sport. At 9:30AM, there were only a couple bikes in the parking lot and just a few more at the end of the day. Saturday, the parking lot wasn't even close to full and it wasn't hard to find a spot, on most of the sections, to spectate alone. Sunday, however, was a different deal. There were, easily, as many bikes as cars in the lot and every section had a good turnout of spectators. I guess "On Any Sunday" applies to spectators, too. Some of the Champs-only sections were impossible to get near, if you didn't stake out a spot before the riders got to the section.

Maybe the crowd was a perception thing. The organizers, Upper Midwest Trials Association (UMTA), said they had about 300 paid spectators, both days. They suspected at least 100 more snuck in each day. I must have been following the crowd on Sunday. UMTA was satisfied with the turnout and they may try to turn the Duluth round into an annual event. They're petitioning for a World Round in 2003. If those of you who didn't go to the Nationals miss out on the World competition, I think you should be condemned to a life on four wheels.

Like racing everywhere, the pits were swarming with little rich kids on expensive bikes. I mean "little" kids, like 6-8 year olds. If that doesn't chap your shorts in jealousy, you're a better man than me. At the previous event, in Kentucky, a 6-year old boy was killed, when he collided head-on with another rider. I saw a good number of kids pressing their luck on the practice grounds and in the pits, during this event. Trials isn't any worse at managing marginal parents and their kids than any other sport, but I sure wish it was.

If you still think that OT just isn't a Minnesota sort of motorcycling thing, US Montesa is the national distributor and they're located right here in Glen Prairie. Write 'em at usmontesa@cs.com or call 612-937-8720. Don't forget to tell them that I sent you and they should drop off my 315R Cota sample/payola in Little Canada.

Minnesota Results

^{Round 9, Aug. 12th Champ class.
Round 10, Aug. 13th Champ class.}

^{1. Raymond Peters (Bultaco)}

^{2. Ryon Bell (Montesa)}

^{3. Jess Kempkes (Gas Gas)}

^{4. Geoff Aaron (Gas Gas)}

^{5. Travis J.Fox (Bultaco)}

^{6. Wilson Craig (Montesa)}

^{7. Dan Johnson (Bultaco)}

^{8. Andy Johnson (Montesa)}

1. Ryon Bell (Montesa)

^{2. Geoff Aaron (Gas Gas)}

^{3. Ray Peters (Bultaco)}

^{4. Jess Kempkes (Gas Gas)}

^{5. Travis J. Fox (Bultaco)}

^{6. Wilson Craig (Montesa)}

^{7. Dan Johnson (Bultaco)}

^{8. Andy Johnson (Montesa)}

Along with the Champ class, there were 11 other classes for trialers from Expert to kids to over-60 riders. I heard the oldest rider was around 70 and the youngest was 8.

So, Geoff Aaron finished 4th on Saturday and 2nd on Sunday and he's is the 2000 US National Champion, for the 6th time in that many years. The Trials des Nations competition in Spain is his next big event. I hope he and the other US riders (Kempkes, Raymond Peters, and Cory Pincock are also on the team) kick some butt this year. Don't count on it, though. It's a big time sport in the rest of the world, especially Europe, and their guys have been doing this at a world-class level for a long, long time.

Makin' Enemies Where Ever They Go

Goodie. More reasons for everyone to hate motorcyclists. Thanks guys.

Explain, Again?

I suppose this could be considered "socialist," "anti-corporate," or "anti-business," and I'm good with being labeled all of that. What I do not understand is with overwhelming evidence demonstrating that cell phones and transportation do not mix, why are cell phone providers not required to disable their toys when operated from a moving vehicle? Cell phone drivers are no more competent than drunks and should be regulated as such (drunks, I mean).

#13 When Dealers Were Interesting

All Rights Reserved © 2001 Thomas W. Day

Have you ever seen that Monty Python routine where the three old geezers are telling each other about how hard they had it when they were kids? It ends, after the three old liars have topped each other with stories that are so outrageous even dirt bikers wouldn’t believe them, when one of the geezers says, “. . . you try telling young people of today that, and they won't believe you."

This is one of those stories. But it's true. At least, it's mostly true. It's as true as my fading memories can make it.

When I was a kid, we had three motorcycle dealers in my hometown. The upscale shop was a combination farm supply store, John Deere dealer, and a Honda/Harley Davidson dealership. Later in my motorcycling "career," I wore out my welcome at that place by buying at cost, begging, and stealing parts for my Harley 250 Sprint scrambles bike. But before that, I never even considered that dealer as a possible target for my attention because everyone who worked there was reasonably intelligent and they immediately recognized me as a non-customer.

The second option was a shop that sold Suzuki's and televisions. This guy was also semi-intelligent and I couldn't fool them into letting me touch their bikes, let alone ride one.

Mac is the guy on the right, the picture was taken 

10 years before I met him.

The third guy was the kind of dealer who made motorcycling . . . accessible. Without "the Captain,"1 I suspect that my hometown would have never had reason to worry about kids on motorcycles. He got his nickname from his costume; leather flight jacket and leather pants, tee-shirt, Marlon Brando riding cap, and lineman's boots. I don't mean that he had a wardrobe of this stuff, I mean he wore the same leather gear, hat, and boots every day of his life. It's possible that he changed his tee-shirt and socks, occasionally. He probably found the inspiration for his gear from "The Wild Ones." Or the movie got the look from him. He was the only one of the three motorcycle dealers who actually rode a motorcycle.

The Captain must have been independently wealthy, too. I can't think of any other way he could have financed his business. His business "plan" was something like, "Buy one of every cool motorcycle made in Europe, cram sixty of them into an abandoned gas station, packed bar-to-fender, and get drunk by noon seven days a week." By the time I was fourteen, this strategy must have been near to exhausting his resources. He hadn't bought a new motorcycle for at least a couple of years and I doubt he'd sold more than one or two in that period.

In fact, in my first nineteen years of life I only knew a couple of riders who'd bought a bike from the Captain. However, almost every kid I knew had obtained a test ride on one of the Captain's bikes. I learned the drill when I was twelve, but didn't make the necessary connections to pull it off until I was fourteen, when I met some of the town drunks at the local cowboy museum. A bottle of cheap whiskey was the ticket for a test ride on one of the Captain's three accessible bikes. Like most things in life, you had to know someone to get anywhere and I, finally, knew a drunk who would buy me a bottle of whiskey if I gave him enough money to buy two. On a Saturday afternoon, after spending $6 on booze, I bicycled to the Captain's shop and negotiated a ride. It was much easier than I'd imagined, even with my pitiful small town haggling skills, because the Captain was already half-soused when I arrived. He waved at the bikes he'd set on the sidewalk and staggered to the back of the shop with my gratuity. After I fumbled around for a really long time, trying to figure out how to start one of the bikes, he came back and fired up a black, twin-cylinder bike, on a couple of kicks, and pointed out the brakes, shifter, and clutch. I'm sure this was significantly short of official MSF training, but it was enough to get me on the road. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure that I got my first bike ride on a late-1950s BMW or Guzzi. At the time, I had absolutely no idea how incredibly cool that was. In my mind's eye I remember the bike as an bucket-seat boxer, so, I'm going to refer to it as a BMW. The truth is, it could have been anything, because I couldn't tell a Harley from a moped.

Heading south from his shop took me straight out of town, without a stoplight or sign or a single turn to negotiate. That was a good thing, in some ways, because it got me through minimal traffic without incident. On the other hand, I managed to ride the bike about fifteen miles before I tried to turn around; and discovered that I didn't have the slightest idea how to maneuver, shift, or stop the bike. I tried to make a twenty-five foot U-turn on an eighteen foot two-lane highway; and received a two second lesson on the difficulty of off-camber turns. I drove the bike into the ditch and fell over.

After a few minutes of intense struggling, unskilled cursing, and several second-degree burns, I got the bike back on two wheels. No matter how hard I kicked the starter, it wouldn't start. I'd started my tour a little before dusk and it was beginning to get dark. I started worrying about what the Captain would say when I walked into his shop and told him where the bike was. I was really worried about the possibility that he'd call my parents and tell them what I'd done to his merchandise. Even at my most creative, I couldn't even begin to design a story that would hold up to my father's interrogation.

I got lucky. A ranch hand stopped, backed up, and parked his pickup on the edge of the highway. He helped me haul the bike back to the road. He grumbled about having to mess with "European junk," but he got the bike straightened out and aimed towards town. When he saw that I didn't have the slightest idea what I was doing, he started it and held it steady while I mounted up, fumbled with the shifter till I found a low gear, and got it rolling toward town. I suspect that we repeated parts of the starting sequence, with him doing the starting, until I found the right gear. I probably stuck with the starting gear for a good bit of the trip back, too.

My luck held all the way back to town. No cars, no turns, enough fuel, and no reason to test my non-existent motorcycling skills until I pulled into the Captain's shop. I stopped the bike by rolling it into the side of his building. I picked it back up and pushed it into position beside the other bikes. The Captain didn't bother to observe my mishandling of his inventory, so I pedaled for home without saying a word to him. He was probably in a booze coma, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

You'd think this debacle would have dampened my interest in motorcycles. It didn't. A year or two later, my brother and I became co-owners of a Harley Sprint 250 and I scrambled on that bike until it was completely useless for any purpose. Twenty-eight years later, I still get almost the same kick out of riding my bike to work in the morning as I got on the open road south of my home town. "You try telling young people of today that, and they won't believe you."

July 2001

Postscript: when I submitted this article to Fast Biker Magazine for the August 2020 issue, I found a couple of pictures and an article about Mac's shop and added them to this page. I was still in Dodge when this flood happened, but I don't remember Mac's shop being "swept away" or the bikes being washed away either. Could be, though. It was a long time ago. My grandparents had a flooring shop on the other side of the tracks and we sandbagged the heck out of that place.


Footnotes:
  1 Mac (or Max) Stauffer (the Captain), as remembered by my father.

Start Seeing Corners and Road Signs

The Star Trib ran an article, sort of parallel to Joe Soucheray's pitiful "goodbye motorcycling" plaintive cry of the wimpy conservative, Rash of Motorcycle Deaths Worries Minnesota Riders, Officials (gotta love the lack of editorial literacy in the Trib's headlines). The gist is "Total fatalities, so far, are up 60 percent over the Department of Public Safety’s tally at this time last year. (The 2012 number later grew once more reports were compiled.)" More to their point, "Since January, more than half of those killed in motorcycle crashes statewide were over the age of 45." Why that surprises anyone is beyond my comprehension.

The one thing I liked about this article was the early sum-up of the season's most typical crashes, "One man, with his wife on board, lost control of his motorcycle on July 4th, killing them both. Another veered off the road on a sharp curve and struck a road sign, dying. A Coon Rapids couple was killed when they crossed the centerline and collided with a pickup." Again, this proves that my intense dislike for the "Start Seeing Motorcycles' campaign is justified. Until we are a small percentage of what is killing motorcyclists, motorcyclists need to quit pointing at other motorists and start learning how to ride or, like Joe, get the hell off of the road.

This is mystifying, "Meanwhile, fewer riders are getting trained. Despite a record number of licensed riders, sign-ups for state safety courses have fallen from their peak in 2008. This season, the Minnesota Motorcycle Safety Center canceled some classes because of low registration." About 1/4 of my teaching season has been cancelled due to low turnout. It's not unusual for August classes to cancel, but early July?

A newbie rider, Harley-shopping guy, Roger Holmes, 59, said it all with his Trib article quote, “It makes you feel good. It makes you feel younger.” Holy crap. One more sucker buying into the marketing bullshit. Dude, you need to have someone take a picture of you and your wife on your hippobike. Put it on your mirror and stare at it every day until you wise up and realize that you not only don't look younger, you look downright silly wallowing around the road on that porker. Exercise will make you feel younger. Eating smart, giving up smoking, drinking less (way less, for you cruiser characters), and reducing the stress in your lives by avoiding stupid impulse buying and idiotic debt will all make you feel younger (and look younger than your dumber Boomer friends).

So-called "motorcycle advocacy groups" are doing everything they can to keep motorcycle deaths high and to kill public roadway access for future motorcyclists in their usual way. This article keeps that trend in place with all sorts of stupid statements. NHTSA has been trying to force some consciousness into state laws by continually chanting the FACT that "helmets cut the risk of a motorcycle fatality by 37 percent. " The let's-kill-motorcycling groups, waste time and energy on fighting helmet laws with all sorts of inconsistent arguments. In this article, I was incredibly disappointed to hear Rider Academy owner/coach, Jed Duncan, say that he opposes helmet laws with the tired and lame argument, “Everybody should be able to choose. At the same time, I wear a helmet every single time I’m on a motorcycle.” If drivers can't "choose" to drive without seatbelts while protected by well-designed vehicles and front/side airbags, what makes motorcyclists special? If you have an answer for that, don't waste it on me. Keep chanting it to your "loud pipes saves anti-social assholes" buddies.

The author of the Trib article actually watched a BRC. One of her comments caught my least favorite part of our classroom song-and-dance, when she described how the MSF program has students watching "short videos of attractive people checking their bikes before a ride." Talk about hyping the motorcycle marketing bullshit about feeling "young" on a bike. About 3 of the people in the entire video series look like our typical calls, but even the least-fit-to-ride old lady imagines herself looking like the Angela-clone on her Harley. This is clearly the influence on the MSF from the organization's sponsors, the manufacturers. If a real safety organization had anything to do with motorcycle training, there would be a section on the aftereffects of crashing. Our version of the old "Highway of Death" programs the pre-political correctness drivers' training programs always ran.

Nothing about this trend is good for motorcycling.

The World's Fastest Indian

I'd read a review, in a local news rag that I'll leave unnamed (bullshit, it was City Pages), that really panned this film and had almost convinced me to take a pass on it.  The reviewer said that Sir Anthony Hopkins made an "unconvincing" Indian.  I hadn't read anything else about the story, so I assumed that Hopkins made as unconvincing an Indian as he had a serial murderer in "Hannibal." A few days later, at a theater preview, I discovered what the movie was really about.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the "Indian" in The World's Fastest Indian was a motorcycle.  As terrific an actor as Hopkins can be, I'm pretty sure he couldn't believably impersonate a motorcycle, so I have to assume the reviewer was motorcycle-impaired.

Like most things that aren't right in front of me, I promptly forgot about watching for the film to appear locally.  One evening a friend called to rave about The World's Fastest Indian, a few days after the film opened here. My wife and I saw it a few days later and we both loved the film.  My friend, apparently, thinks that I doubt his judgment, because when I told him that we appreciated his recommendation he was really surprised.  I did, though.  I think this was as good a film as I've seen in many years. Even if a Harley biker, half-deaf drummer, turned me on to the movie. 

I have a habit of chasing down historical sources, when a book or a movie introduces me to a new subject.  Indian caused that kind of activity in the following weeks.  Movies tend to believe that viewers are incapable of accepting the incredible stories of real life and this film is another example of that bet-hedging.  The real story of Burt Munro is probably too amazing to be believed.  That doesn't stop me from wishing the movie had been a little closer to reality, though. 

Burt Munro was born in 1899, just in time to see the beginning of the internal combustion age.  Burt was a mechanical wizard, self-taught and intuitively brilliant.  He started a love affair with an Indian Scout that began in the early 1920s and kept that flame burning until he died in 1978.  The movie pictures him as being a poor hobbyist with a Bonneville dream, which is only a little true.  Munro was setting New Zealand speed records as early as 1957 (131.38 mph at Oreti Beach¹).  The movie has Munro busting 200mph on his first try at Bonneville.  His 1962 850cc world record of 178.971 mph was pretty incredible but not quite as incredible or simple as the movie would have you believe. 

What the movie does incredibly well is portray this man's spirit, ingenuity, and resourcefulness.  Munro did build his own cylinders out of scrap iron and he fabricated his own cooling fins for the cylinders.  He designed, from intuition and experiments, his bike's aerodynamic bodywork.  He rode that cobbled-together piece of backyard engineering past 200 mph multiple times, including at least one 200+ mph Bonneville crash that was incredibly portrayed in the movie. 

This is not just an Anthony Hopkins movie, either.  Every character in the film, from the New Zealand bikers Munro blasts past on the beach to his New Zealand friends and supporters to the so-far-from-today's U.S. port authority officials to the wild 1960's L.A. and desert folks who help and hinder his quest, adds something approaching the best in humanity to the story.  The community of go-faster folks at Bonneville will make you wish you could go back 40 years in time, just to be there when it all happens. 

The worst documentary "sins" of the The World's Fastest Indian are sins of passion.  The film maker and Hopkins busted their asses to make a movie that would put you inside of Munro's head.  Vicariously, we experience a little of the adventure he took on when he boxed up his beloved Indian and shipped it to America to take on the world's fastest terrain.  It's practically unimaginable, completely inspiring, and terrific fun.  You will love this film, I guarantee it.

¹ Check out http://www.indianmotorbikes.com/features/munro/munro.htm for a terrific history of this incredible homespun motorcycle engineer and rider.

All Rights Reserved © 2006 Thomas W. Day

 

From: Charles Hannah
Sent: Wednesday, September 27, 2006 7:33 PM

Dear Thomas

Many thanks for sending us your review. While Roger took some poetic licence in telling the story of Burt Munro, for more than 30 years (he first wrote the script in the early 70's having made a documentary with Burt) he resisted pressure from numerous film companies to make Burt younger and dramatically change the facts. Let me comment on some of the things you say in your review:

I have a habit of chasing down historical sources when a book or a movie introduces me to a new subject. Indian caused that kind of activity in the following weeks. Movies tend to believe that viewers are incapable of accepting the incredible stories of real life and this film is another example of that bet-hedging. The real story of Burt Munro is probably too amazing to be believed. That doesn’t stop me from wishing the movie had been a little closer to reality, though. THAT'S A LITTLE TOUGH.

Burt Munro was born in 1899, just in time to see the beginning of the internal combustion age. Burt was a mechanical wizard, self-taught and intuitively brilliant. TRUE - DOESN'T THE FILM SHOW THIS? He started a love affair with an Indian Scout that began in the early 1920s and kept that flame burning until he died in 1978. ALSO TRUE. The movie pictures him as being a poor hobbyist with a Bonneville dream, which is only a little true. WHY DON'T YOU GET HOLD OF ROGER'S 30-YEAR OLD DOCUMENTARY ABOUT BURT - I BELIEVE MAGNOLIA WILL BE INCLUDING IT IN THEIR DVD - AND YOU WILL SEE THAT WHEN HE WENT TO BONNEVILLE HE WAS LIVING IN A CINDER BLOCK HOUSE EXACTLY LIKE THE ONE IN THE FILM. IN FACT, ROGER INSISTED THAT IT WAS IDENTICAL - MUCH TO THE CONCERN OF OUR WONDERFUL CAMERAMAN WHO WOULD HAVE LOVED AN ADDITIONAL LIGHT SOURCE. BY THIS TIME, BURT'S PASSION FOR HIS BIKE HAD MEANT THAT HIS WIFE HAD THROWN HIM OUT AND HE REALLY WAS LIVING ON VERY LITTLE.  Munro was setting New Zealand speed records as early as 1957 (131.38 mph at Oreti Beach*). TRUE BUT DOES THE FILM SUGGEST OTHERWISE? The movie has Munro busting 200mph on his first try at Bonneville. OK, THIS WAS FOR DRAMATIC PURPOSES - THE FILM IS ALREADY 2 HOURS LONG AND ANY LONGER WOULD HAVE PUT AUDIENCES OFF. His 1962 850cc world record of 178.971 mph was pretty incredible but not quite as incredible or simple as the movie would have you believe.

But overall, your review was positive and we're happy about that.

With thanks

Charles

Charles Hannah, Executive Producer

I Can See the Future

I had this kid in a BRC this weekend (the picture is a link to the video). A big fan of being gearless, wallowing in his self-prescribed-and-never-a-wish-denied ADD, unable to stop, start, or perform any maneuver consistently, and proud of it all. He was a loose cannon all day long and failed the final test, miserably (30 points). However, the slightly nutty rules of under-18 means that he will get the same paperwork as if he had passed the BRC, take that paper to the DMV, pass or fail their test, and if he passes he'll be on the road scaring the crap out of everyone in his path. Until he video records his own crash, like the goofball above.

Everything I have seen in the last 12 years of teaching motorcycle safety classes tells me we need massively more difficult-to-obtain licensing testing and draconian enforcement of laws prohibiting riding without a license; first offense, confiscation of the vehicle, second office, confiscation of the vehicle, and so on. "Ride it, you lose it."

Joe Gives It Up

Right wing blogger, Joe Soucheray, has decided to join the ranks of the four-wheeled and disabled. He was the epitome of the late-life-biker when he bought his first motorcycle and has been some sort of totem for that crowd ever since. As he said, "I didn't have anything in my experience that would have protected me from that. I didn't have anything in my bag of tricks that could have saved me from an oncoming vehicle not seeing me and making a left turn in front of me." Obviously, there are lots of things every experienced rider uses for evaluating and planning for those regular occurances. Joe just didn't have either the experience, judgement, or skills to be a regular motorcyclist and, finally, he realized that being an occasional, recreational garage-candy owner is fuckin' dangerous.

For Joe, motorcycling was always about propping up his aging self-image. A motorcycle was a tool to make himself feel cool. He could wallow in "the potato-potato-potato thwap of a Harley, or the silky smooth revs of a Japanese bike, or the Spitfire flying across the English Channel vibe of a British ride. I rode to ride, not to get anywhere quickly. I didn't need the bike for my daily commute and never used a bike to commute." If we kept statistics on that kind of rider, I'm certain they would be grossly overrepresented in crash data.

Good move, Joe. Now, keep your cell phone in your pocket and try to concentrate on driving your car without killing the rest of us.

#12 Never Do That Again

http://www.amazon.com/Geezer-with-A-Grudge/dp/B007RPQJ24

All Rights Reserved © 2001 Thomas W. Day

I admit that I'm unusually repelled by the idea of buying a new . . . anything. The fact that the act of driving a new bike off of the dealer's lot is economically identical to gathering a hard-earned pile of cash and throwing 10-50% of that pile into the wind may forever keep me from owning another new motorcycle. My last experience with this form of "investment" came in 1974, so I've been suffering this trauma for a long time. That's all I'm admitting and you'll have to live with any other remorse you think I should suffer.

All that said, buying used bikes is another form of self-mutilation. Over my 35 years of buying used vehicles, I've formed a collection of rules that, if I followed them, could prevent a lot of the usual used-bike/car misery. The first of those rules is "never buy a motorcycle from a kid."

If you force me to define "kid" in chronological terms, I'd have to arbitrarily say anyone under 40 is, more than likely, a kid. However, I've known 15-year-old adults and 65-year-old kids. So numbers don't do this psychological defect much justice.

Kids are destructive little monsters who think their motorcycles (and cars) are educational toys. There's nothing wrong with that logic, until the little motorcycle mangler decides to sell his fuckin' Erector set with all the missing, stripped, bent, and broken bits "as is." It's only when a real person gets stuck with a vehicle that was previously owned by the Kid that a capital crime has been committed. Unfortunately, the capital or corporal punishment usually gets played out on the buyer, not the mind-fuckingly-stupid Kid.

The most fatal flaw in buying a bike from the Kid is that the little dweeb thinks he's a better engineer than the folks who designed and built the bike. If it were true, this would be a more than typically pointless Geezer rant. But it's not. The kinds of things most often "re-engineered" by the Kid are exhaust systems, handlebars, lighting, threaded holes (especially sparkplug holes), brakes, suspension parts, fuel systems, and critical bits of the power train. Not a one of these areas were easy design tasks for the skilled engineers who built the bike. Without exception, the Kid will whack away at any one of these areas without a clue in his head or a skill in his hands.

When I'm shopping for a used bike, comments made by the current owner about shade tree work done in any critical area of the motorcycle's mechanics becomes a deduction in my valuation of the bike. In my best moments, I'm ruthless about taking those deductions from the price of the bike. In my usual moments, I'm not nearly vicious enough. Most Kids won't consider messing with a motorcycle unless they have 1) already crashed it or 2) have found an easy way to really mess up the bike's operation or 3) Daddy gave them a pile of money for Xmas and they want to "decorate" the motorcycle with useless crap that suddenly became affordable. Knowing this, you can be realistic about the damage done and the resulting price deduction. However, it's hard to keep all that in mind when you just want to buy a bike for cheap and go for a ride.

Even if the seller is 95 years old and only rides the Goldwing at Shriner parades, you should probably make the paranoid, or conservative, assumption that he's the Kid. With that thought in mind, start from the front of the bike and work your way back, looking for mangled bolt heads, loose stuff, non-stock stuff, and beer cans hammered into clutch plate shims. When you finally do get to ride the bike, be critical. Don't assume that any odd quirk in the bike's performance is something you need to get used to, assume it's an introduced design flaw, courtesy of the Kid. Don't even consider hoping the quirk will go away after you ride it a while. Fix it before it fixes you. From here, I'm tempted to go into a marginally rational rant about aftermarket pipe, carb tuning kits, and suspension modifications that turn the bike into a self-destructing, back-breaking vehicle that will cripple you in any number of ways.

But I won't because I've already been there and it makes me crazy. I will suggest that every fastener between the top of the tank to the manifold clamps is probably cross-threaded. Buy stock in Emhart Fastening Technologies (the folks who make Heli-Coils) before you get started.

Even better, do what I hope I will do the next time I come upon a Kid's bike being offered for a great price; walk away and don't look back. It's not worth the hassle or hazard. Repeat after me, "I've been here before and I will never do anything that dumb again." Or do like me, forget that mantra and spend most of the riding season returning your bike to the condition real engineers intended.

June 2001

This Isn’t A Question of “Be Careful of What You Wish For”

Barry Strang wanted to be a Harley owner his whole life. After 38 years of wishing, he bought one and killed himself on it within a few minutes of riding it off of the dealer’s lot. The local newspaper reported his crash and death, “He was riding his long-awaited Harley Davidson northbound on Highway 789 when he negotiated a right-hand curve and, for unknown reasons, collided with the drive axles of a truck tractor, according to Wyoming Highway Patrol report. Strang was ejected from the motorcycle and went under the tractor-trailer. His helmet flew 30 feet away.”

I suspect everyone who reads this blog knows that Mr. Strang was not killed by his 38 years of wishing, but by his lack of motorcycle training and experience. Nothing in the article says he was in any way a trained or skilled motorcyclist. In fact, the article implies that he might not have been legally licensed. “Officials said the collision may have been because of Strang's unfamiliarity with his new motorcycle.”

He was following a semi pulling two tanker trailers and plowed into the back of the second trailer in a curve. It’s an easy-to-visualize crash, especially given the low state of rider awareness and skill exhibited by an overwhelming number of bikers. It was avoidable in multiple ways. Strang’s son imagines that “Dad died with a smile on his face.” Those of us who have had jelly-side-down moments know that is a happy fantasy. Barry Strang’s last moments were filled with panic. All of his reactions to that panic were wrong and that builds momentum to the stress and fear. Supposedly, he died instantly and that is probably the best we can hope for him.

It’s a sad, too often repeated story. I wish motorcycle ownership had worked out better for Mr. Strang. No one deserves the pain and disappointment his family and friends are feeling now. There should be some accountability from the dealer for sending this man into traffic with minimal safety gear (His helmet “flew” off?) and, possibly, no license, from the state for having such lax vehicle sales and dealer licensing laws, and, even, from the manufacturer for promoting a lifestyle instead of being responsible about including the risk and injury statistics in their advertisements. Automobiles and motorcycles and bicycles are dangerous devices and they require skill, concentration, training, and they should only be for sale to those meeting appropriate standards.

I’ve said it before, a motorcycle is not a fuckin’ wheelchair. You can get into more trouble faster on a motorcycle than any vehicle I know of. That ought to be the message so-called motorcycle safety organizations are shouting to the rooftops. Screw “Start Seeing Motorcycles." Fuck “Loud Pipes Save Lives.” And everyone who is wasting air arguing against helmet laws ought to have to scrape up one of these catastrophes for every time that stupidity is uttered. Our ads ought to say “get trained or get killed,” “AGAT or DOA, your choice,” and a battery of nasty crash pictures should follow to emphasize the point. Stuff like this is bullshit and anyone who minimizes the risk and responsibility deserves a world of hurt and misery.

Yeah, I’m pissed off. Deal with it. I suspect I would have liked Barry Strang and I’m pretty sure I would have liked his family. He deserved better treatment from motorcycling, but he didn’t get it.

The Lawson Blue Ridge Camping Hammock

All Rights Reserved © 2005 Thomas W. Day

I admit that I'm a camping wimp in my old age.  I used to enjoy sleeping on the ground after a long day's hike or ride, but I have too many marginally healed bones, worn out joints, and a fragile back.  The basic camping adventure is outweighed by the pain and lack of sleep.  So, a couple of decades ago, I started carrying a small nylon hammock in my gear and a nylon tarp in case it rained.  I sleep like a baby in a hammock and am about as happy swinging from a tree as I am in a Motel 6 (except for the lack of hot showers) .

A few years ago, on a business trip to Florida, I found myself with a few spare days to burn in the Keys.  After renting a kayak and setting paddle for some small islands, I bumped into a camper comfortably holed-up in a really cool looking hammock/tent.  He was hanging from a clump of Mangrove trees, suspended over the water, reading a book, and ignoring the cloud of bugs that were attached to the hammock's mosquito netting.  Back home, I searched for the kayaker's gear on the Net.  I found several tent/hammock manufacturers and Backpacker Magazine had done a "shootout" a couple of years earlier.  That article pointed me toward the Lawson Blue Ridge Camping Hammock. 

During last year’s 4th of July holiday, I did a two day trip to the Apostle Islands where the camping conditions were varied enough to constitute a motorcycling "test" of my hammock.  Day one, the temperature was in the mid-90s most of the day and the Minnesota state bug/bird was in full attack mode.  The only way I could get any rest outdoors was to quickly put up my hammock and dive into the protective netting.  The fact that I could find a site, put the unit together (in a way that provided comfort and a view), and load it and seal it up with myself and my reading material in less than five minutes made rest stops practical. 

Friday night, my island was hit with a rain storm that left the ground soaked and littered a few leaves on the rain fly, but I slept through it and can not report on the storm's severity.  In the morning, I was dry and comfortable and that's about all I can tell you about the night's weather activity. 

Saturday night, I thought I’d found the perfect isolated campsite until about 4AM when some drunken brats showed up in their shiny new brat-trucks.  I gave up on sleep and fired up a reading headlamp and finished the book I'd started earlier that day.  About 20 minutes after the brat-pack got their mini-forest fire started, a monsoon blew in to our corner of the island.  The weather flipped from calm and mostly warm to gusty, pouring rain, and downright cold in about ten minutes.  The brats ran for their club cabs and watched their campsite and most of their food blow into Lake Superior.  Screaming obscenities, they drove back to mommies' hotel room or wherever morons go for shelter. 

I buttoned up the rain fly and swung in the wind for the next hour or so.  Lightning was so intense (and close) that I could read by it through the netting and rain fly. Other than being a bit nervous that the trees I'd tied myself to might end up blowing out to sea, I was comfortable through the part of the storm through which I stayed awake.  I drifted off and the sun woke me up about the time my stomach began its usual demands for food. 

I'd parked my bike on a large flat rock, so it was where I'd left it and the buttoned-down rain cover had kept my gear dry and in place.  There were several trails of moisture from the sides of the hammock to the low point of the hammock, about where the middle of my back had been during the night.  My bag and back were slightly damp and I was a little chilled.  The temperature had dropped to the low 50s during the night and I'd have been chilled without being a little wet.

The hammock, poles, and rain fly fit, without the stuff sack, in one side of my Eclipse P-38 saddlebags.  There is room for a light blanket, a sleeping bag liner, or a small amount of gear in the same bag.  The hammock weights about 5 lbs and (if you can't find trees to hang it from) can be used, with a couple of tie lines and four tent stakes, as a one-person tent.  For one-up adventure touring, I'm convinced that this is the way to go.  Now that my hammock has proven its weather resistant capabilities, I'm planning on a lot more weekend bike camping trips.