How A Bike Motor Should Be

I keep thinking about my bike and her engine. Super reliable - five years, fifty thousand miles, and only routine maintenance so far. I put her on a dyno a couple years ago, and granted, she’s got a Yoshimura aftermarket exhaust, but that’s the only performance mod. 101 hp at the wheel. 71 ft lb peak torque. Just over 400 pounds. Kick ass high revving V twin growl. Nice neutral, comfortable riding position. Regular fucking gas, not premium. 42 miles for every gallon. Fifty mpg if I keep it at 55 mph (I only know that because I got caught in construction traffic on a holiday weekend for an hour or so once).

Reliable. Economical. Powerful. Cool sound. Everything a motorcycle engine should be. Why aren’t they all like this?

Ride 'em Don't Hide 'em!

Two pieces in two separate motorcycle magazines, related only because they both referenced Vincent motorcycles got me thinking today.

One was all about the history of this one particular specimen. (Apparently, there are some avid Vincent enthusiasts out there who archive every detail they can about every bike the company made). It goes on about an American and his quest to own a Vincent, then the current owner's quest to obtain it. It was a pretty interesting article, but I won't go into details, mainly because I haven't bothered to get any authorization from the author or the magazine. Anyway, decades after the original owner parked the bike for his last time and covered it with a tarp, it was bought, and brought back to life. The decision was made to leave it as is, with the original tires and everything. Now, I respect not wanting to tart it up and try to make it look like it just rolled off the dealership floor. But the sad thing, which really upsets me, is that there is NO intention of riding it. Blah, blah, blah... need to preserve blah blah blah ... future generations ... yada yada yada...

Come on, by my estimate (which is based on absolutely no real information), approximately one quarter of all Vincents ever made are being "preserved for future generations to appreciate". Fuck that. It's a motorcycle! Ride the damn thing or sell it to someone who will. It wasn't designed and manufactured to be preserved. It's a machine, and taken out of its context, it loses its identity. It becomes statuary. If you want a sculpture of a motorcycle, hire a sculptor; it's probably cheaper than buying and restoring a Vincent anyway.


The other was a letter in another magazine, referring to a previous issue. This other magazine had run an article on Falcon Motorcycles, who created a sweet custom bike based on a Vincent. The letter writer was offended that the builders would desecrate what he considered to be some holy grail of motorcycle perfection by modifying it. Guess what, dude? People have been modifying motorcycles since the dawn of motorcycle time. Hell, the existence of motorcycles is owed to people modifying bicycles!

Again - a bike is not a relic, it's not a museum piece - there are plenty of those already. If you have an antique, ride the damn thing or sell or give it to someone who will. I can understand not making it a daily rider due to reliability, comfort or parts availability issues, but don't turn your garage or living room into a shrine.

I understand some folks want to hold things like antique motorcycles sacred, but let's be honest: sacred cows make the best burgers. Anyone hungry?

n + 1

What is the ideal number of motorcycles to own? I believe it can be stated as a mathematical equation: n + 1, where n = (current number of bikes I already own).

Seriously, though. The “Perfect Garage”. We've all thought about it. Sure, most of Us Who Ride would love to have any number of motorcycles, of various makes, styles and vintages. There's a little bit of Jay Leno style hoarder in each of us.

I've definitely given it a lot of thought over my two decades of riding. When I daydream about winning the lottery, I don't think about mansions, yachts and jetsetting to Europe. Yawn. I think about roads and what bikes I'll use to ride them. Bear in mind that this list is in a constant state of flux, both in quantity and content.

Currently, I'm thinking my perfect bike stable would contain one for performance, one for style, one for long range comfort, and maybe even a sidecar rig – what I like to call a “biker's station wagon”.

Right now, I have a naked sport bike: a 2003 Suzuki SV1000 named “Suzi”. I love this bike so much it's the only one I've named. I've tried to name other bikes, but it never stuck. I don't know if that's significant or not; I'm just rambling. Of the ten I've owned, she's the one who's traveled the second most miles with me. Barring some horrible misadventure, she'll pass up the other one (a 1985 Honda Shadow 700) fairly soon. She's got great performance, but is easily held in check, too. Reasonably comfortable; though I really need an aftermarket seat for trips.

The cruiser. Ahhh, the quintessential American motorcycle experience. Barhopping, cruising the boulevard, looking for a date or showing off the one you have. Stepped seat, big front wheel, teardrop gas tank. The style I like best has a low seat, high-ish neck, drag bars on risers, mid controls with highway pegs. I'm not brand loyal, but imagine the bike Mickey Rourke rode in Harley Davidson and The Marlboro Man. Suzuki and Yamaha are both making some bikes with the right profile. See the Boulevard series and the Star Stryker and Star Raider. Of course, I wouldn't be averse to an old 70s or 80s 4 cylinder riceburner being modified to have that same profile.

I've never really been into touring bikes. Too much windshield and fairing between me and the wind. Too much bodywork. I prefer a bike to look like a bike. In recent years, however, I've warmed up to the idea of a bagger. Maybe I'm getting old? It's not a full dress tourer, more like “half-dressed”. Hard saddlebags, a small fairing, minimal bodywork and a cut-down windshield. It's the perfect compromise between a relaxed cruiser and a gaudy, overloaded dresser. You get a little wind protection to help your back survive 800 mile days, secure, locking, waterproof saddlebags to keep your stuff safe and dry, but no annoying bodywork covering up the focal points of its “motorcycleness”. I'm really liking the looks of the Kawasaki Vaquero, the Yamaha Star Stratoliner Deluxe, and the Harley Davidson Road Glide and Street Glide.

Of course, with a twelve year old son, an ol' lady and a baby girl, that sidecar combo is kind of appealing, too. Older BMWs just look right with a sidecar attached, don't they? Fun for the whole family, with lots of room to stash camping gear and stuff for a week on the road. You know, assuming I could convince the family to spend a week on the road with me...

I seriously doubt I'll ever have all these bikes – it's a daydream. But, it's fun to dream, ain't it? Sometimes maybe it's even more fun to dream about having it all than it would be to actually have it all. Besides, none of us will ever have the perfect garage, because as soon as that last bike gets put in its stall, the algebra kicks in again.

n + 1

It's Not Junk

There's a cut up piece of sheet metal that would look like trash to anybody in the world, but I keep it in my toolbox. To me and my father, it's not garbage at all. No, it represents a memory of a shared experience. How two non mechanics put a motorcycle back on the road with improvisation and stubbornness. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Back in 2003, I was riding an '81 or '82 Yamaha XJ650 Maxim. Great bike. Small, but comfortable and powerful enough to power me and camping gear down the road to a rally at 85 mph or so. It wouldn't go any faster than that, though. I know, because the speedometer stopped at 85.

I'd had a little trouble here and there with the taillight going out on me. I messed with it a little, but I'm no mechanic, and definitely no electrician. Our brother, Gypsy Trippple Nippple once told me about automotive electrical systems: they have one “lever” - “Leave 'er alone”. I tried to stick to that philosophy when I could, but I also didn't like the idea of being rear ended because of a nonworking taillight. So I fiddled, I checked fuses and wires, and found nothing. Couldn't trace a broken wire, a short, nothing.

I was going to the Aardvark rally, hosted by the San Antonio chapter of Gypsy MC, and had an independent motorcyclist pull up next to me at a red light to tell me my “red light” wasn't working. Thanks, dude. Figures. Well, he rode next to me to the rally so I wouldn't be invisible from behind, since the sun was already down. I parked the bike at the gate, registered and paid my way in. Got back on the bike. Turned the key. Got curious. Looked back. Whaddaya know? I had a taillight. Huh. Well, problem solved. For now.

Next afternoon, the problem was back. I'd noticed while I was on the poker run that if I put pressure on the key while it was in the ignition, it would affect the taillight. So, I broke out the tools, pulled off the lens, pulled the bulb, checked the wires. Again. Thinking about the key situation, I started messing around the ignition switch area. Various people stopped to help, and/or to give helpful advice. Oh, wait, I meant “helpful” advice. The quotation marks are necessary, because free unrequested advice is usually worth every single penny. Anyway, Gypsy Mr. P.M. stopped and offered some actual helpful advice, but being a Harley man, wasn't familiar with the Yammie. Wizard and Aquaman, of the Knight Riders MC, both long time friends and brothers, stopped and helped for a while. The only thing we figured out was that there was some play between the ignition switch and the dash housing around it. The switch moving around was what was causing the problem, as far as we could tell.

Well, the problem actually got a bit worse, and once in a while I'd lose both taillight and headlight function. Not a huge deal. Well, during the day, anyway. Problem is that I ride day and night. Having figured out that if the ignition is pushed all the way forward, things tend to work okay, I started looking for a way to keep my headlight on. I tore up a business card, folded it and wedged it into the gap. Perfect. I went days with no problem. Eventually, the paper would compress and stop working. I started picking up matchbooks wherever they were offered free just so I'd have some cardstock to “fix” my problem.

I'd been planning a bike trip from San Antonio to Atlanta to visit Mom and Dad. Now a sensible person might have postponed the trip or even gone in a car instead. A person with a better budget might have put the bike in the shop to get it fixed first. Had I paid for the repair, I couldn't have afforded the trip. I'd already canceled trips home on the bike in the past, so I didn't want to do that again. Besides, I figured I'd just check the taillight at gas stops and I knew how to metaphorically Band-Aid it to keep me going.

It all went great, until I got alllllmost to the Louisiana state line. The day had been sunny, hot-but-not-too-hot, light traffic. Great day for motorcycle travel. Then, BAM!! Suddenly, all traffic came to a screeching halt. The “not-too-hot” became “too hot” as it took nearly an hour to go one mile. Finally, I saw an exit. I needed gas soon anyway, and I saw there was also a Waffle House restaurant at this exit. I grew up eating at Waffle House, but at the time there were none in Texas west of Houston, so I thought I'd fuel up, get something to eat and maybe wait out some traffic. Sitting at the counter, talking to a couple of locals, I found out the traffic was due to a lot of road construction. I was in for at least ten miles of this crap. Ten hours for ten miles? Hell, I could walk faster. One of the guys suggested an alternative route that, as luck would have it, started on the state highway that the exit we were sitting at was for. He said it would take me way out of the way, but at least I'd be moving and would probably make better time anyway. He also said it would be a better ride than the interstate. He was right on all counts. Interstate highway riding can numb the mind with boredom, and this was a fairly scenic route. I looked at the route on a map days later and it probably added close to a hundred miles before putting me back onto I-10, but I bet it was still hours quicker than staying on 10 would have been.

It was also starting to get more interesting in other ways. I was hitting rain here and there. Nothing bad, but I did get wet. As did the cardstock holding my ignition in place. Good thing I'd stocked up before leaving San Antonio, eh? Picture me packing for my trip: Clothes, check. Tools, check. Helmet, check. Spare helmet, check. Book, check. Rain gear, check.

Two dozen matchbooks and assorted business cards, check.

Then things got interesting. Not only were the lights doing their little trick, now, once in a while when I'd hit a bump in the road, the ignition would cut out and the engine would die. I'd reach up and slap the key and it would come back on. Odd, eh?

After dark, the rain got bad. Then it got worse. Then it got “oh my god” bad. I wasn't making much progress, only going about 45 mph due to limited visibility. It was after sundown, and it was really, truly. Raining. That. Bad. I was stopped for gas and a cup of coffee to wake up and warm up. A Sheriff’s deputy happened to stop by and told me it was really getting bad on the interstate: wind was picking up, rain ruined visibility, and there were wrecks all over. He told me there was a motel at the next exit, about 10 or 15 miles east. I decided to take his advice.

The next morning, I turned on the Weather Channel to see what I should expect out of my ride for the day. Wow. Turns out the night before, several tornadoes had touched down in the area. Guess my decision to stop for the night was the right choice. I also had a mixed bag for the ride to Atlanta. 400 miles of rain, sun, rain, sun, rain, sun. Oh well, at least it wasn't all rain, right?

Well, I spent that Sunday of Labor Day weekend, 2003 riding to Georgia. Pull over to put on the rainsuit. Pull over an hour later to take off the rainsuit. Pull over and shove fresh cardstock into the ignition gap so I can keep riding. Yup, interesting day, it was.

I got to Mom & Dad's house. It had been years since I'd been there, but I grew up in that house, never moving. Every single time I walk in that back door, it takes me back to childhood and the sense that I'm Home. With the capital H. I can't see myself moving back to Georgia, but there's just something about the house you grew up in, isn't there?

So, once I'm settled in and rested and all, Dad and I talk about the ignition issue. The next day, we decide to tackle it head-on. Like I said in the beginning, neither of us is a mechanic, but he grew up in the Depression. Suffice to say he's practical minded and knows how to improvise. We took the ignition out of the bike entirely and found the problem. I guess it had been too faint to see before, but had gotten bad enough to be visible. There was a hairline crack running along the side of the switch housing, almost the entire length. Hmmm....there could be the location of an intermittent short, eh? I bet that just might even be worse in the rain.....

We called the only motorcycle salvage yard around. I'd already had experience in the past paying for new ignitions from dealers, and that just wasn't an option. Not to mention the bike was only a couple years from being an antique, so most dealers wouldn't even have the part, anyway. It turned out they didn't have an ignition to fit my bike. Not exactly, anyway. They did have Yamaha ignitions, which meant the wire connections would match up. The catch was that the only one they had was from a dirt bike, and was physically quite a bit smaller than mine. Well, it wasn't going to let rain water in, or vibrate and short out, so I took it.

Dad and I got to work. There was no way this pencil thin ignition switch was NOT going to rattle around the hole where it went in the dash. The dash was smooth, so I couldn't zip tie it, either. Dad took a look at the whole arrangement, told me to hang on a minute and walked away. He came back with a piece of sheet metal left over from some home improvement project or other. We held it over the dash of the bike, made some measurements, and went to the workbench, aka the picnic table on the deck in the back yard. We drew a pattern onto the metal, and drilled out mounting holes where we'd measured the mounting screws needed to go. When the tin snips turned out to be too dull, Dad was not to be defeated. He went and got a flat head screwdriver and a heavy hammer and chiseled out the piece we needed. He even chiseled out the hole for the ignition switch with that screwdriver/hammer combo. The edges and the edge of the hole were left a little jagged. Only so much smoothing out you can do with a hammer and improvised chisel.

We took it over to the bike, connected all the leads to the ignition, and put the sheet metal in place. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than pretty: it worked. Damn near perfectly. It took me around Morrow (the Atlanta suburb I'm from), took me to my grandparents' house in northeast Alabama, and took me from their house all the way to Austin (just over 800 miles) in one day. Our improvised repair lasted longer than the rest of the bike, even. I wound up selling the bike a few years later, but I kept our sheet metal dash. I consider it an heirloom now. It's the time my non-motorcycle riding, non-mechanic Dad and I put a near-antique bike back on the road.

Don't Judge My Book By Its Cover

Don't Judge My Book By Its Cover

by Worth Cadenhead on Monday, December 20, 2010 at 9:20am

I saw the way you looked over at me, you snug in your minivan with your wife and kids, me on my motorcycle, face exposed to the elements. You had that look that mixes fear with revulsion. I'm sure you've seen too many movies and bad TV shows and you have no idea who I am or what I do. You probably think of me as somebody who travels through life unencumbered with the trappings of "normal" life: steady job, family, children, and morals - somebody who doesn't bother with the concerns of others.You may see me as some drifter, wandering place to place, leaving wanton destruction in my wake. Again: Hollywood.
You don't know me, and all you see is what you consider a reckless and incomprehensible vehicle to be using in December.What you DON'T know is everything. See, all those entrapments of "normal life"? I have them, too. I've worked at the same job for thirteen years, and yes, I've been married twice, but it doesn't mean I love my son any less, or the daughter who's on her way to this world. You also don't know that my girlfriend and my son were in the car behind me.
Some assumptions you probably made are true. It's winter, so you couldn't know for sure because of my jacket, but yes, my arms are covered in tattoos. And yes, to be honest, there was a pistol in my pocket.
There was a specific reason I was exercising my Second Amendment right that day, and a specific reason my other half and my son were in the car behind me. Even a very specific reason I was riding, and not in a car with the heater on. See, we, along with my motorcycle club, delivered toys and food and a gift certificate for a grocery store to a family who otherwise would've spent Christmas with nothing to distinguish it from any other day, and maybe even not knowing if they'd have enough to eat the rest of the week. All the motorcycle clubs in Austin did the same thing for at least one family that day. I carried a weapon because the neighborhood wasn't exactly the safest and I wanted to make sure the gifts made it to those they were intended for. We rode, because the kids get excited when they hear the bikes from blocks away, then see us park in front of their house or apartment. My girlfriend and son were in the car partly because she's pregnant, but mainly because we needed the car to act as a stand-in for Santa's sleigh.
I helped share the true holiday spirit with complete strangers in true need this year. Like every year. What did you do? Buy your kid a new expensive updated version of the electronic toy you gave him last year?
Don't judge the book of my life by your opinion of its cover.

Mid-day Stress Relief April 15, 2010

Mid-day Stress Relief

If you ride, you'll understand this. If you don't, chances are you're just not going to get it.

So, anyway, I was all stressed, frustrated and frazzled at work today. I didn't even bother with my break, because I couldn't relax. Then, I got to where I couldn't focus on my work, either. So I went outside to walk around for a 15 minute break. As I was walking through the parking lot, there was my "other woman" - my bike. Out of instinct, out came the key, and I got on and fired 'er up. No helmet, no gear, nothing - just impulse. Just took off. Went around the parking lot of the shopping center for a minute or two, then said "Fuck it" and rode off into the street.

As I was thinking about turning around, on a sudden impulse I took a turn onto an almost invisible residential street. Within fifty yards, the busy street was out of sight and out of earshot. This was a residential street, but the houses were set way back from the road, with lots of trees and shrubs in the yards, so it was almost like a deserted country road right in town. It's been rainy recently, and there was this neat "swishy" sound coming from the wet road surface under my tires. I just rode this windy, tree lined, wet, peaceful street till it hit another busy street a couple miles away, then made a U turn and re-rode it.

Funny thing is, by the time I got back to work, all the stress was gone, and I was relaxed. I don't know why I've never done this before, but I can tell you I'll definitely be doing it again.

Instant gratification? Hell, yes!

(Originally written by Worth Cadenhead on Sunday, August 8, 2010)

So, yesterday as we were about to head out on our ride, a brother commented on the price of his bike. Not bragging; he just called it a $20,000 vibrator. I got to thinking about that later, and about all the crap bikes I've had over the years. I also thought about how I've never had a really good paying job; never finished a college education.
I started wondering if I'd done it all right. Maybe I should've buckled down and focused on that degree after I got out of the Navy. Maybe I should have deferred all the little enjoyments until later and I'd have been able to do them "bigger and better". Instead, I joined a motorcycle club not long after I got out of the Navy, and didn't pay much attention to studies. With no education, and no real marketable job skills (I was in intelligence in the military, which doesn't translate to much as a civilian), I wasn't exactly able to be choosy in my job choices, but I tried to be anyway - I only worked at jobs that had me at work day shifts Monday to Friday, leaving my nights and weekends free. Again, that lack of education left me with little pay if I wanted to limit the jobs I was wiling to accept. Little pay translated into eating cheaper food, drinking cheaper booze, smoking cheaper cigarettes (shouldn't have smoked at all, of course), and owning cheaper bikes and cars (when I've even had cars).
I look at people who really focused on their education, and on "getting their lives on track". Sure, they're able to have nicer things. Sometimes. But, sometimes, "the right time" just never comes along, does it? A lot of folks put that kind of thing off until "the right time" (whatever that is), only to never do it.
Even if the time comes, in their late 30s or so, and they buy that nice, high dollar bike (or boat, or RV, or whatever), here's the thing that finally occurred to me: While they were looking forward to their top of the line Gold Wing, Winnebago, yacht, etc.....I was RIDING my crappy bikes. I was doing what they were looking forward to. Sure, it wasn't in luxury, and sure, I had some lemons, but I also had brothers from other mothers and sisters from other misters who understood and helped and got helped along the way. So, does the yuppie who buys his $25,000 Harley Davidson have any more fun on it than I do on my $6000 Suzuki? No, I don't think so. Matter of fact, knowing where I stand, and where I've been, I may even enjoy it more. And I started it a long time ago, so I get to enjoy it longer.

So, I no longer have any regrets about "not doing the right thing" and deferring my enjoyment of life. I've had rough spots, but hell - that's where stories come from! I've spent a lot of time thinking that I was missing something, but the truth is, I've had a great Ride. And I'm gonna keep on riding. Come on and join me. If you've been putting off, stop waiting and start living.


So......we gonna Ride? Or are we gonna dick around all day?