Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

Mike Hailwood established himself as the greatest I motorcycle racer of all time in the 1960s. With nothing left to prove on two wheels, he set out to become the Formula One car champ.
He won the European Formula Two championship in '72, driving for John Surtees' team. The next year he switched to McLaren and again showed good speed but crashed heavily at the Nurburgring, ending a promising car-racing career.
In 1978, Hail wood announced a return to the Isle of Man TT races, where he'd won his greatest victories. Between the late '60s and the late '70s, road racing had changed dramatically. Thanks to improvements in tires and suspension, cornering speeds were much higher. Racers now all hung off and put their knees down - a technique that was faster but far more physically tiring than the classic, tucked in style from Hailwood's championship years. Mike the Bike proved his doubters wrong when he won 1978 TT on a Ducati. Ironically the class he won was, also, called Formula One.
Bathroom Book Of Motorcycle Trivia  Mark Gardiner  Day 150

[Biggles]

The most-watched jump in the movies was a stunt in the 1963 film The Great Escape. Although the film's star, Steve McQueen, was a skilled and aggressive motorcycle rider, the producers wouldn't allow him to perform his own stunts, so that jump was made by McQueen 's friend and racing mentor Bud Ekins.
Ekins was a veteran Hollywood stunt man and one of the top desert racers in southern California. Although in the story, McQueen's character has stolen a German military-issue motorcycle, the stunt was performed on one of Ekins' Triumph desert racing I bikes, repainted in drab military colours.
Bathroom Book Of Motorcycle Trivia  Mark Gardiner  Day 155

[Bill Held]

Triumph invented the oil leak & Harley perfected it.

Told to me by my father around 50 years ago.
 

[Bill Held]

Only one thing better than a good ride and that is Two.
 

[Bill Held]

Never walk when you can ride.
 

[Kev Murphy]

Local supermarket here is opposite my mailbox, less than 100 metres.
I never walk to the supermarket.
I have two rides... one there, the other, back. 

[Biggles]

The aptly named Rollie Free was a motorcycle racer as a young man but is remembered mainly as the subject of the most famous motorcycle photo ever. The picture shows Free, laying flat on a Vincent Black Shadow, wearing nothing but a bathing suit, on the Bonneville Salt Flats.
 Free had set several speed records at Daytona Beach before going to the Salt Flats in 1948. That year, he set a record at 148 miles per hour but wanted to reach 150. Thinking that his leather suit was causing drag, Free stripped and put on a skimpy bathing suit. Lying horizontally on the Vincent's fuel tank, stretched out like Superman, he did in fact go 150. Although Free was the guy who earned eternal fame for the stunt, he later admitted that he got the idea after watching Ed Kretz do the same thing at a speed trial on a California dry lake.
In 1950, Free returned to the salt and pushed his record to 156. He survived a high-speed crash that Speed Week - thankfully while wearing full leathers!
Bathroom Book Of Motorcycle Trivia  Mark Gardiner  Day 160

[STeveo]

Brave/stupid man!  The salt surface is rough and course like highway bitumen, but the crystals have sharp edges unlike the rounded edges of the tar embedded stones.

[Biggles]

In 1979, Honda made an abortive attempt to build a four-stroke 500GP motorcycle that could compete with the two-strokes. The NR500 was one of the company's rare failures although it proved that the unique "oval piston" technology was viable. It was not until 1992 that oval pistons briefly appeared in a production motorcycle - the NR750.
The NR750 was Honda's "ultimate motorcycle" and the incredible motor (nominally a V- four but with 8 con rods, 8 spark plugs, and 32 valves) was only part of its over-the-top specification. It also had electronic fuel injection, a single-sided swingarm, carbon-fibre bodywork, magnesium wheels - and a $60,000 price tag. About 200 were made.
Bathroom Book Of Motorcycle Trivia  Mark Gardiner  Day 184.

[Biggles]

"Mike the Bike" Hailwood was widely recognized as the greatest motorcycle racer of all time, based on his Grand Prix racing exploits and many TT victories in the 1960s. With nothing left to prove on two wheels, he became a car racer. Although he won the world Formula 2 championship, his car career ended when he crashed a McLaren Formula One car at Nurburgring. That crash severely injured his legs.
Mike retired to New Zealand. Years later, he announced he would return to the Isle of Man. In the interim, motorcycles had changed a lot. There were many who feared the worst. In practice, Mike was not the youthful hero people remembered; he was bald, he limped, he looked older than his years. But come the TT Formula 1 race, he gave Ducati one of its most famous victories. He proved the adage, "old age and treachery will always defeat youthful enthusiasm" when he returned again in '79, winning a fourteenth TT before retiring once and for all.
Bathroom Book Of Motorcycle Trivia  Mark Gardiner  Day 257

[Biggles]

When I looked at the map, Route 80 would be a good choice to get to Chicago. Straight East and West travel. It was the fastest and most efficient way to get a lot of miles in before I broke off and toured the country. The first day of travel was rather nice. It did have a shower or two and I found out that a poncho was not the best rain gear. It flapped in the breeze and it didn't cover my legs. Oh well. I decided that I wouldn't travel in a downpour. When you're travelling on a motorcycle for 8+ hours a day you find that you must change positions quite a few times. Sometimes you crouch over like a café racer, sometimes legs are fully extended to the pegs, sometimes you stand tor a few seconds, just because. The Norton also had vibrations through the handlebars. After a while my hand became numb. It took my body about a week to adjust without becoming numb; the Norton wasn't the best touring bike.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p21

[Biggles]

I must take pause here to take note about riding a motorcycle. On my adventure I will encounter many problems, (I mean challenges). There is a real thrill to riding a motorcycle and facing the elements head on. The elements give you a feeling of acceleration. You feel the wind rushing and the movement of the ground surging beneath you. There is no enclosure; you are part of whatever is around you. You are exploring the earth in its natural form. There is risk and adventure capturing its mystique. It's not getting from one place to another... it's the ride. I felt euphoric many times during this trip: riding through the canyons and valleys in New Mexico, sheer cliffs on one side of me and deep ravines on the other, accelerating over the hill coming down into a canyon with the setting sun giving the coloured cliffs an orange tint.
Hell! I was the Lone Ranger.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p22

[Biggles]

Somewhere in Ohio I found a hotel after asking around. It was dark and I was in a town and I didn't feel like sleeping on the ground that night. I was directed to a hotel that had a lobby with seating, and a young guy sitting at the front desk.
He was dressed with a collared shirt but no tie and looked semi-businesslike. I asked for a room and he asked how long I was staying. I told him overnight and I would be leaving in the morning and I gave him a briefing about my trip. He said that overnight guests could stay for free.
He only charged people who wanted to stay for weeks at a time. He had inherited the hotel from his father and that's how he ran the business. He gave me fresh sheets and a pillowcase and gave keys to my room. Sometimes you just get lucky.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p23

[Biggles]

I was putting a lot of miles on the motorcycle. The territory I was driving through had a lack of facilities and service stations. It was mile after mile of farmland. That's when my throttle cable broke. It severed at the handlebar and left the stem of the cable sticking up through the wire cable shield. I pulled over to the side of the road and tried to figure out how to keep feeding gas to the engine. I lifted the seat off the bike and took out my toolkit. It wasn't much of an assortment of tools but I did have a vice grips. I thought if I attached the vice grips to the stem of the broken cable I could pull the cable and activate the throttle. I squeezed the vice grips on the cable and kicked over the engine and bingo, it worked. I got on the bike, readjusted the vice grips so that I could drive the bike to accommodate the variable pull on the throttle and away I went. It was very clumsy but I thought I could make it to a service station that I hoped to reach soon. I drove about five miles and the clutch cable broke. I pulled over to the side of the crossroad, sat down and pondered the situation. I was somewhere in the middle of Nebraska with no one around and not in a heavily travelled area. Here's another fine mess I got myself into sat there I wondered why I didn't bring extra cables with me. It would naturally be one of the first things to break on a long trip. Oh yes, hindsight.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p26

[Biggles]

I was at a remote crossroads in the middle of Nebraska. It was a wooded area and I planned wait until a vehicle appeared to see if I could get help. It wasn't too long before a truck with a flatbed and several motorcycles on the bed halted at the stop sign. I quickly ran over to the truck to ask it he could help out with my dire situation. One of the bikes on the truck was a Triumph. Norton and Triumph, both English bikes, have interchangeable parts. I asked if he had a spare clutch and throttle cable, and he did. Now I wonder if reading this, you think I am making this up. What are the probabilities of spare parts for an unusual motorcycle finding their way to the middle of Nebraska at this exact time? Very, very, very remote. I like the word dubious. We fixed the bike. I gave him a few bucks for the parts and away I went. Sometimes you get very, very, very lucky.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p27

[Biggles]

While heading back from San Francisco I was pulled over police in Oakland. After a show of the twirling lights on the roof of the police car, I pulled over. I don't remember the reason they pulled me over except it had something to do with my license plate. I had a bad feeling about this because I never went for my motorcycle license test in Pennsylvania. I had a permit but it had expired a while ago. They exited the car and came over to meet me and asked for my license and registration and insurance card. The blinking lights drew a small crowd of black kids who were playing on the sidewalk.
The police looked over my cards and examined them carefully. I tried to look casual while they circled around my motorcycle a few times. Evidently they don't require a motorcycle stamp on the driver license as they do in Pennsylvania. They found no fault with the paperwork. One cop walked back to the police car, about 30 feet behind me, and told me to get back on the motorcycle. He then told me to look in my rearview mirror and asked me what his badge number was. If that wasn't entrapment I don't know what would be. I don't have eagle eyes. Fortunately by that time the kids were sensing a vehicle stop with the beginning of harassment. They got a little louder and I heard them remark with some phrases like, "He didn't do nothing," "leave him go," "wadda you doin?" I heard the word pig mentioned a few times. The police must have thought better of continuing the vehicle stop and got into the car after handing back my paperwork, and left the escalating scene. I got on my bike, gave the kids a thank you nod, and off I went.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p71-2

[Biggles]

I was having fun. As I approached one of the curves, which was a blind curve, all of a sudden a tractor-trailer cab coming the other way passed me on my left. Following behind it was a large flatbed filled with redwood logs piled high. I was already into the blind curve and the cab passed me. I was looking at a very large flatbed and large trees charging at me with no place to go. This all happened in less than a second.
Perhaps you've had a   similar experience when time slowed your mind speeded up the factors that were about   to happen. figured that if I went forward any further I would be run over the  attacking flatbed. The    same would happen if I dumped the bike to the left. To my right was a sheer vertical hillside of dirt that would not allow me to dump the bike. All these options lead to death. I was about to die. Actually, I was okay with that.
What really happened without thinking was just instinctive. I leaned to the right and because the dirt was soft enough and I was going at the right speed, the hillside stopped the motorcycle without going another inch.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p90

[Biggles]

Another event worth mentioning was the ticket I was issued in Washington State for not wearing a helmet while driving motorcycle. Every state has different laws about wearing helmets. I dropped my bike often enough to always wear a helmet while driving a motorcycle unless it was 110° in the desert. The officer caught me in a state of unawareness and issued me a ticket. After I made it home and had been in college for a few months, I got a letter in the mail from Washington State informing me that I hadn't paid the ticket. They were right, I had not. I had good intentions but at the time I was in college without any income besides the G.I. bill. I received a few mote letters without a threat to my license. Evidently there is no reciprocity between Pennsylvania and Washington. Finally they sent me a letter stating that my driving privileges in the state of Washington were revoked. I guess I'll always have to avoid driving through Washington State.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p94-5

[Biggles]

Somewhere around Moose Jaw I caught up with a motorcycle pack going east along what I call Maple Leaf 1. I never rode with more than three or four other bikes. At the end of the pack was a single motorcycle and I drove alongside him and nodded my head and shrugged my shoulders and with my face gesturing, presenting the question: Is it okay to ride with the group? He shrugged his shoulders and gave me the yes gesture. Just like that I was part of the pack. There were a dozen or so motorcycles claiming authority over a half-mile stretch of the highway. A pack like this creates enough thunder to turn heads as you pass by or stop for a red light. You have the feeling of being part of a powerhouse that is questionably legal. I was allowed into this group without initiation. Like robbing a bank or letting my girlfriend, if I had one, ride with the leadership for a few months. Actually, the group started with a half a dozen bikes and picked up more stragglers like me as they continued their journey.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p105

[Biggles]

There was a park on the right side of the road and a car pulling out of the park exit. It looked like a white, long, old Ford. It was filled with people and lumbering its way onto the road. There wasn't any traffic on the road except for us. He started his left hand turn to get on the other side of the road and continued his short but slow turn. I was pretty close to him but he still had plenty of time to make his turn. That's when he stopped.
His big old car was covering the whole right side of the road and came to a complete halt. Once again time slowed down to make a decision. I didn't have enough time or distance to go around in front of him. Nor did I know if he would step on the gas and I would windup T-boning the car. The only choice I had was trying to get round the back of his car without  hitting   the dirt shoulder and dumping the bike doing 50 mph. I was closing in fast and I went to the right and hoped that I wouldn't hit him or the shoulder. Well, I hit him and the shoulder.
It was a glancing blow off the bike and to his rear bumper. That part of the bike had a foot peg with my foot on it. The hit threw the rear end sideways onto stones on the shoulder. I kept the bike from falling somehow but kept going from one side of the shoulder to the other until I managed to get it back on the road and stabilize the ride. I was almost to the top of the hill when I could finally stop. I looked up and I was about 20 feet away from a hitchhiker. He must’ve witnessed my entire daredevil, Evil Knievel ride.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p109-10

[Biggles]

It was time to see if I could drive the bike with a cast on my leg. The cast had a small heel built into it so I could use that for pushing on the pedal for the rear brake. My toes stuck out the front so I put a sock over the cast. I had to make a slit up my blue jeans to get them over the cast. With the aid of crutches I got to the motorcycle. I attached the crutches to the sissy bar with all the other stuff using bungee cords. I got on the bike, kicked over the engine and away I went. It worked really well for a while. I must've looked like a wounded refugee on motorcycle, cast, crutches, and floppy jeans but I was putting some miles on the bike. Probably about 10 miles. I heard some clanking noises from the housing below the engine. Then I heard a snap. The secondary chain broke. I had enough momentum to pull into a gas station. The gas station was more of a repair garage. It had a couple of bays with cars on the lift and people working on them.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p115-6

[Biggles]

I changed buses in Buffalo, New York and the next stop was Reading, Pennsylvania. I slept all the way through the ride and was still groggy when I got off the bus at Reading. There was a bus loading to go to Allentown and me and my crutches with the bag went over to the Allentown bus. Unbeknownst to me it was Sunday morning. The bus was packed with passengers. They were all silver haired church ladies. As I shuffled down the aisle after awkwardly getting up the steps with crutches and bag, all eyes looked down to the floor or out the window. They were as afraid of me as I as of them. Fortunately there was a mafia looking guy down the right side of the aisle who gave me eye contact and motioned that I was acceptable and I could sit next to him.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p117

[Biggles]

We finally reached the garage. The owner was there and so was the motorcycle. I paid him storage fees and rolled the bike out to put on the rack. The motorcycle weighs 450 pounds. It was not an easy thing to lift and fit in the back but we did it. It fit very snugly against the rear of the Corvair. The Corvair's engine is in the rear and so was the motorcycle. Standing beside the car and looking at it was a sight to behold. It looked like it was ready for lift off. The front end of the Corvair barely touched the ground.
We piled in the car and drove it about a quarter of a mile. There was very little front tire contact with the ground. The car seemed to seesaw between touching the ground and being air-borne. This would not do. We turned around and went back to the garage. We took the motorcycle off and put the rack in the front of the car along with the motorcycle. I sat in the front seat and stared at the motorcycle which was eye level with me. I couldn't see over it. This would not work!
This was surely a comedy of errors.
Those Were The Days  Edward Walls p122

[Biggles]

Driving a motorcycle is a sensual, visceral, and immediate experience. It's the blast of air parting in an almost physical way around your body. It's the feel of heavy steel machinery between your thighs and knees as you move through turns, running a good road on a clear warm morning. It's the taste of wet grass, deep woods, damp riverbanks, and freshly cut hay that finds its way to the back your throat. You know and experience what is around you and feel the very sensation of motion itself, in a way that you never can behind the wheel of a car.
In a car you drive a road, on a motorcycle you feel it. On a motorcycle every rise and dip, every change in surface or cant, every turn and straightway, is a temporal and physical experience. In a car you are enclosed, removed from what is without by the machinery that moves you. The windshield, the air-conditioning, the heater, the radio, the upholstered cradle of your seat, the locked doors, the surrounding frame, they all separate you from the reality of the road and weather. On a motorcycle the machine and the environment are an integral part of the experience. As you come home in the afternoon, the sun touches your shoulders with great warm hands. Somewhere in the middle of a long day of riding - especially on curves, where lean and torque, body and bike angle, gravity and speed, determine the physics and the line of movement - the machine becomes an extension of the body, a melding of what is human and what is mechanical.
Breaking The Limit   Karen Larsen  p xii

[STeveo]

So true!