Moments later

Steve is one of those in that circle.  I’ve known Steve since I was in high school.  I met him because he dated my younger sister.  She met him because he knew my mom from her work as a campus counselor at the college in Brockport, NY. At least for me it wasn’t love at first sight.  He was just this guy.  And then he became a friend.

Over the years Steve and I had some good adventures together.  We did some carpentry together, drove across the country, went to Hawaii and renovated a building, and started a coffee company.  He was at my wedding.  Over the years, we emailed each other not weekly but nearly.  We talked on the phone a couple of times a year and we got together when I was back in Rochester or nearby there.  There are lots of people that I spent more time with, and the same is true for him, but it misses the point to think that accumulated time is the measure of a friendship.

Every time we talked it was like we had paused for five minutes instead of five months.  It was all one big dialog.  We talked and messaged about politics, cars, motorbikes, and the random goofiness of life—just the other day he sent me an Internet sightem of a motorbike some guy had made out of a Citroen.  We also talked about religion, philosophy, metaphysics, love, sex, life, Jung, God, Gnosticism, Agnosticism, and isms I can no longer recall.  He knew the substance of my heart and I like to think I knew what made him tick.

Yes, past tense has arrived.  I learned today that Steve was killed in a freak accident.  He was riding his bike, swerved to miss a dog, fell and never got back up.  One of the people closest to my heart is dead and I’m shattered.

Steve believed in God.  He was a Christian Scientist and took strength and comfort in a life informed by study and prayer.  I was raised in the same religion but no longer believe in God.  I say this because in the midst of the pain and emptiness I feel, I at least don’t have to labor with pointless questions about “why?”

Why does a dog pick that moment to run into the road?  Why ride that road vs. another?  Why does a man so full of life and love die before his time?  Why must a woman so filled with life and love for this man, now have to live without him?  How is it right that a mother and father have to bury their son?  What makes it okay that a brother can no longer pick up the phone to shoot the breeze or ask a question?  What plan is served here?

There are no useful answers to these questions.  It just happened and now we have to deal with it.

Fortunately there are wonderful memories.  My wife told me today that Steve is one of the few people we know that lived his life just how he wanted.  If that’s not a true statement, he sure did a fine imitation.  There was always something broken to fix, some odd part to be sourced, some project his wife needed doing, some new demand from Church or family and at least to my eyes and ears, Steve was always amused, bemused, and entertained to be doing it (yes, I did hear him swear at a particularly dumb piece of auto engineering from under some car or other but that doesn’t count).

His laugh came from his toes and took his entire body with it.  His smile made his large head ten times larger.  He walked like a fullback and skied like a drunk.  Everything he did, he did with purpose and determination.  I struggled to keep up.

In my mind, Steve was a wizard with a wrench.  If it was mechanical and it wasn’t working, he was the guy you wanted nearby.  If it was a British car (and later and Alfa Romeo) that went double.

Some years ago I bought a 1966 Austin Healy 3000, the famous “Big Healy.”  It had belonged to a guy I vaguely knew and had been sitting in a garage for years going on decades.  The interior had become a mouse hotel and the boot looked like an elephant had sat on it, but everything else was straight and true.

The car sat in my garage while I tried to sort it out.  Not being a wizard with a wrench I quickly got to the point where I was out of tricks and the car still wouldn’t start.  So I called Steve.

Steve always answered the phone the same way.  “Hea-low.”  I can’t write it the way he said it but if you know him, you know what I mean.  Steve had a Healy some years ago and had taken me for a ride so memorable, I wrote a story about the experience that won me a sparkling grade in a 400 level writing class at University.

He asked me a couple of questions and then diagnosed the problem.  He was of course right.  The car was positive ground and I had put the distributor back together the wrong way.  Not a big story or even an interesting story . . . but those are the kind of things you remember and smile about.

In 1980 Steve and I drove a ten-year-old Mercedes Benz from Rochester to Hawaii.  Actually we only drove it as far as Los Angeles via Canada, Michigan, Chicago, Wisconsin, Rochester Minnesota, Wyoming, South Dakota, Missoula Montana, Seattle, and San Francisco (there’s a reason for remembering it like that).  The car had belonged to my Grandfather and had grown down at its heels with rust.  Steve and I did a brake job (alright, I helped) and tune-up.  I had a guy put on a new front fender and paint it.  Another friend (who oddly also died much too young) helped me install a monster hi-fi.  We loaded the trunk with stuff, the back seat with snacks and cassette tapes, and off we went.

Back then we both believed, so we’d start the day reading scripture and chatting privately with God.  Prayed up, fooded and fueled we’d pop a tape in the deck and keep the car pointed west.  By the mid-west, we hadn’t run out of things to talk about but I can say for certain we were tired of the tapes.

Late the second night we pulled off US 90 at Rochester, MN thinking we’d sleep there.  The signs for the Clinic View Hotel seemed inviting.  For those not following the libretto, Rochester is home to the Mayo Clinic, and that was the Clinic in view of the Hotel.  But we didn’t make that connection until we were walking down the hall to check-in, wondering why there were stainless steel railings down both hall walls and why the floors were all tiled.  We literally ran the other way, got in the car and sped out of town . . .

. . . until there was this terrible noise and we lost our headlights.  The wizard with the wrench was driving, got us to the side of the road, and soon puzzled out that the hood support—and you have to know cars of this type and vintage to know that we’re talking about an articulated armature with a big garage door type of spring on it—had finally gotten the best of the cancerous inner fender, punching through and taking out the fuse box with it.  We spent the night in some Motel 6 in the middle of nowhere.  Steve fixed things up the next day and on we went.

Later that same trip we started to notice a growing swarm of Harley Davidsons heading west.  First one, then some, then it was like a bad dream.  It wasn’t until later we found out they were all heading to Sturgis, Mecca for 50,000 Harley drivers every summer.  We just thought we were going to die.

Somewhere in South Dakota we pulled into a rest stop.  We were both in khaki shorts, tennis shoes, and polo shirts (at least I was).  Steve ran on to the head, but I for some reason stopped to quiz a group of obvious reprobates as to why they were watching a leather clad monkey jump up and down on a kick-start of an obviously unimpressed Harley Davidson.  What possessed me I don’t know but the story that unfolded was they were on their way to Sturgis (what?) and the owner of the big two-wheeled paperweight had just the day before installed an SU carburetor (as HD drivers did back then) and now the fucker wouldn’t start yet alone run right.  You can see where this is going.

Back in the head, I told Steve about my great discovery.  He being Steve wandered up to the sweaty and crabby mob and said something like, “What seems to be the problem?”  Those weren’t the words exactly but it was like that: like of course a guy in shorts and a polo shirt would not only ask the killer throng but would have the answer as well. Which he did.

Somehow Steve persuaded the bike owner that he knew what the problem was and that he could fix it with a screwdriver or even a beer can pull-tab.  It was a measure of the man’s frustration and anger that he agreed.  With that, Steve rebuilt the carb (common problem aligning the jet and needle it turns out) and then said, “Let me show you how to start it.”  Well that was too much for macho man, so Steve settled for telling him the secret incantation and order of services.

The bike started on the second kick and much merriment followed during which we learned that the death dealers were really laid off GM assembly line workers and were hale and agreeable gals and guys.  Oh.

Which leads me to the only possible lesson I can at this time take from this.  It’s simply this.  All the clichés are true.  In this case, it’s “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”  The Harley drivers were good folks.  So was Steve. But for the way we all looked to each other, we might never have met and they might still be at that rest stop.

Another that comes to mind is “live each day like it’s your last.”  Steve died on September 10, but it wasn’t something anyone saw coming.  I have my own story about cancelling an appointment on September 11, 2001 to be in the World Trade Center at 9:00 AM.  We don’t get to know.  What I do know is that to my eyes and in my heart, I know that Steve lived every day he was alive.  He lived his days well.  He loved and laughed and cried and did it all like nobody else before or ever will.  He was his own person and we loved him for that.

Finally, I’m reminded of all the different versions of “Don’t go to bed mad at anyone.”  Our friendships are too dear and too precious:  Our family members even more so. I have thought about Steve all day and I can say with complete love and certainty that there is nothing I want back.  There are no words I wish I didn’t say, no thoughts I wish I hadn’t thought, and no memories I wish would go away.  They’re all nothing but good.  I wish there were more of them, I really, really do, but I am treasuring and holding tight to the ones I have.

I loved Steve.  I knew that before he died.  I never told him but I know he knew.  Today I made sure that the people close to me know that I love them.  Please do the same.

Good-bye Steve.  I miss you.

Now motorcycle companies are following the auto industry’s lead, sprinkling the market with midsize, beginner-friendly models that evoke the 1970s.

Harley-Davidson, Triumph and Moto Guzzi are among the makers pushing retro bikes. Moto Guzzi’s V7 Classic has clean, delicate styling typical of bikes from 35 years ago. Matte-black paint and an aggressive rumble give Harley’s Iron 883 an old-school outlaw feel. Triumph’s Scrambler has the wheel spokes and off-road styling of a ‘70s trail bike.

The bikes all have two-cylinder engines between 700 and 900 cubic centimeters in size–midsize by modern standards. Indeed, some riders would consider them small. But each looks and sounds faster than it is and has enough style and attitude to mask the fact that they are mildly powered machines meant for green riders.

They all cost less than $9,000. Yes, it is a lot of money for two wheels, and yes, you could buy at least three nice used motorcycles for the same amount. But in today’s market, bikes under $10,000 get stamped with the “affordable” label.

Here’s the slide show.

Tags: HarleyDavidson, Triumph, MotoGuzziV7Classic

Tags: ScottJones, Motogpmatters, Rossi, Stoner, Pedrosa, Lorenzo, Sachsenring

Tags: TheMotorCompany, HarleyDavidsonRideFreeGuarantee

One of the popular misconceptions about the big K bikes (courtesy of testers who ride them for a day or two) is that they somehow don’t handle, or don’t handle as well as their obvious competitors.  Having put 24,000 miles on what many think is the best handling bike in the class, the mighty FJR, and over 6000 miles on my K1200 GT including time on the track, I can say without equivocation that those arguments don’t wash.

The truth is the K bikes fly, including the GT.  You just have to know what you’re doing.  The GT has more ground clearance than any bike in the class and provides fabulous stability at the front.  To that point, I am now convinced that the BMW Duolever front end is the safest choice bar none for the average rider.

So how to make that big dog hunt?  The pictures you see here come from the Advanced Street Skills program I teach through Puget Sound Safety (I am also a Lee Parks instructor). The focus on this program is good street lines (vs. race lines), road awareness, and body position (particularly in the most advanced group).

For those who notice the details, we teach more of a “pointing” body position vs. a “butt dragging” style.  The basic concept is . . .

• Reposition your body (including your foot). Get your center line inside the center line of the bike.  Depending on the bike you ride, get your body lower and your head in the general vicinity of the inside mirror.
• Locate your turn point.  Pick the place you’re going to tip the bike in.  Now stop looking at it.
• Locate your exit point.  This means turn your head (you can see that in every picture of me on the bike).  A very strong thought is to point your chin where you want to exit like you’re about to start a fight.  Get predatory and aggressive with where you want the bike to be.  This motion of pointing your chin will also get your head up which is good.
• Push on the outside grip to hold the bike up (now that your body is to the inside).  I think of this as “cocking the bike”.  If you saw me from behind before the tip in, the bike would actually be leaned OUTWARDS while my body was leaned inwards.
• At the turn point, release the outside grip and push on the inside grip.  Be light as you can on the outside grip (look at my left hand on the picture below of me going right).
• Roll on the throttle no later than the apex.
• Push the bike back up using the outside grip when as soon as you can.
• Return to neutral.

Look at the picture that follows.  From the back you can see that my trunk and hips have come out equally and my body is “down and in”.  The objective IS NOT to drag a knee as we think that’s a bad idea on the street, and most of the people taking this class aren’t turning those speeds or physically that limber.

For the line freaks, yes I could be lots closer to what looks like the apex (it’s actually further around to the left given my turn in point which was all the way over to the right side and back a bit).  But again, we’re not teaching people to use 100% of the road or even 100% of the lane they’re in.  Just more of it.  Notice again how hard I’m turning my head. And no, I’m not looking down.

For those really paying attention, you can see that my rear brake light is on.  Why is that?  In this case, I am on the throttle and the front brake at the same time.  On a non-BMW, this kind of trail braking would compress the front end making for quicker turn in.  That doesn’t happen on a beemer because of the Duolever.  So why do it?  If you’ve ridden a K bike you know that they’re very lean off a dead or light throttle.  To combat that, I’ve got throttle on but am holding the bike back on the brakes.  My fingers have much finer control than my wrist so in about 1/4 of a second I’ll come out of the brakes and add throttle WITHOUT THAT LEAN SURGE that would otherwise show up.

Just so you know that I can take a tight line . . .

Also note how light my left hand is and how relaxed my left arm is on the outside control. You can see here the point of being “down and in” as it puts my hands directly BEHIND the controls, not pushing down.  To do this, most riders will also want to move back in the saddle to create clearance between the groin and the tank.

Ride well!

Tags: K1200GT, PugetSoundSafety, AdvancedStreetSkillsProgram, LeeParks

My good riding pal Hal just got a Shark RSR2. Here are his initial impressions. More to come . . .

Got my new Shark RSR2 helmet the other day and have been wearing it around the house a bit. Here are my impressions so far, though I have yet to take a ride with it.

• The build quality is as good or better than I have ever seen in a helmet. Outstanding finish quality.
• The visors are 3mm thick. From now on everything else will seem flimsy.
• The mirrored visor on the Shark is noticeably more tinted than the Shoei.
• Removal and installation of the visor is simple enough. Not quite as easy as a Shoei, but almost.
• There are no detents that hold the visor open. Instead, you adjust the tension on a little lever device on each side of the helmet. This means that you can open the visor just a tiny crack if you want. I hope this turns out to work well.
• The visors have a small round hole on the bottom right side that fits over a rounded metal post attached to the helmet. This ensures that the visor stays down. When you want to lift the visor there is an indentation in the helmet below the metal post where you can work a gloved finger in to pull out slightly on the visor to lift it. Seems like it will work pretty well.
• There are two vents in the front. The top vent has a big opening. Looks like it will let in a lot of air. Maybe lots of bugs too. The chin vent looks like it will work well. There is an exhaust vent at the top of the helmet that is integrated into the rear spoiler. All the vents can be operated with a gloved hand. The Shoei X11 has two top vents in the front. One just above the visor, and one on the crown. I’ve liked this arrangement. It will be interesting to see if I am happy with the Shark’s vents.
• The RSR2 is noticeably lighter than the Shoei X11 when you are holding them in your hands. When they are on your head it is tough to tell the difference. However, it may be a difference that shows up after a long day of riding.
• The helmet is slightly taller and wider than the Shoei. It simply looks bigger, though not necessarily in a bad way.
• The fit: Feels a lot like my X11 except around the ears. Shoei has a nice cupped area for the ears. Frenchmen must have really small ears, because the Shark is very shallow in the ear pocket. I’ll either have to modify the padding, get another set of cheek pads, or hope like hell it breaks in without a lot of discomfort. Right now I have no idea how I am going to get my Scala Rider ear pocket speakers into the helmet.
• All of the padding snaps out for easy cleaning. And the quality of the padding is first rate.
• It looks like it will be easier to keep the Shark clean of bugs on the front of the helmet. The X11 has a bunch of places where bug guts seem to collect around the vents.
• Underneath the inside padding the foam liner has ridges that are designed to crush and/or deform on impact. The Shoei has no such ridges, just a relatively smooth foam liner. This is probably one of the reasons the helmet is slightly larger than the Shoei. Does it work to lessen the impact to the head? Seems like it should.
• The helmet came with tearoffs, and the visors come with the mounting posts for the tearoffs. I’m sure I’ll never use them, but the feature has a kind of coolness factor.

Tags: SharkRSR2, Shoei X11, Motorcycle Helmet Review, Midliferider