Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

In the Opposition parties the Liberal's Dr Brendan Neison, the now retired Member for Bradfield, a former Government Minister and Opposition Leader and rides a Triumph Speedmaster. In 2006 he rode to the National Motorcycle Awareness Ride in Canberra and often attended the Silverwater Street and Custom Motorcycle Show in Sydney. Alby Schultz the Member for Hume (NSW) rides a Goldwing to support his son who suffers from depression. Also blind in one eye Alby claims this has surprisingly made him look to the left (a joke for the media at the media conference - he really is conservative). David Hawker, the Member for Wannon (Vic) is a former Speaker of House of Representatives and rides farm bikes. He has a long history of championing motorcycle causes in Parliament including the overturning of compulsory motorcycle daytime light-on laws, support for the 2006 Bikers Australia National Motorcycle Awareness Ride and was responsible for helping track down many of the riders and supporters in Parliament for Shaun and I, including Senator Cory Bernardi (SA) who rides a Hyosung Cruiser and has a ball riding through the windy Adelaide Hills. They were joined by the Nationals Luke Hartsuyker, the Member for Cowper (NSW) who rides a Ducati and will often ride to rounds of the Australian Superbikes and any other race meeting he can get to. Lastly John Forrest, the Member for Mallee (Vic) who rides a Softail Heritage Harley-Davidson.
My Motorcycling Life Part 2  Greg Hirst p59-60

[Biggles]

Coffs was a challenging ride, mainly because of the heavy rain that I encountered. This meant visibility was limited and the roads dangerous. At one point the Pacific Highway was closed because of a fatal car accident. All the traffic was sent inland on the closest available back roads. Rather than an inconvenience this was a brilliant diversion. Most riders would feel the same. Its a great adventure to go down roads untravelled and I had a ball. When I told ABC radio of this great adventure on my way to Coffs they were inspired to ask local bikers to call in and nominate the best motorcycle roads in the region.
My Motorcycling Life Part 2  Greg Hirst p65-6

[Biggles]

The next morning we rode into the heart of Melbourne for the book signing. Elizabeth Street is the central road leading down to Flinders Street Station from the north. If you travel down this famous stretch of road then you will notice an amazing spread of motorcycle shops on both sides. About half way down is the central Peter Stevens store incorporating Harley Heaven. Now Melbourne is famous for many things, the least of which is the television series 'Underbelly'. It is also famous around Australia as the city that allows footpath motorcycle parking. While this is a great advantage when you're going shopping on your bike, it makes for a tight fit for an outside book signing.
My Motorcycling Life Part 2  Greg Hirst p67

[Biggles]

So with the help of Fraser Motorcycles and others with similar vision I started filming a pilot that I hope to offer to 'free to air' and cable' television in late 2009. The pilot includes a story on the Pacific Highway to Gosford, affectionately known to motorcycle riders as the 'Old Road' and where I talked to riders as they travelled this famous Australian motorcycle attraction about the fun and adventure they have found on two wheels. It also reveals their opinions on the controversial '60 kph' speed limit recently imposed on their fabulous road. Another story will allow viewers to witness the closing of the 'Road Warrior Cafe' at Mt. White and the 'Farewell Ride' from the Old Berowra Tollgates where over 1,000 riders gathered in December 2008 to bid goodbye to motorcycling institution and to Max its mercurial proprietor.
My Motorcycling Life Part 2  Greg Hirst p74

[Biggles]

The Darrell Eastlake inspired Celebration Rides in 1996 and 2001 raised enough money to produce several acclaimed motorcycle awareness 30 second television commercials, also Darrell's idea. Launched in 1997 on Channel Nine's Midday Show with Kerrie-Anne Kennerley, the campaign ran for months initially around the country on all the commercial channels as a paid advertisement, thanks to sponsorship from motorcycle distributors and as a community service announcement. Channel 10 gave it an exceptional run on its network and when it mistakenly aired the commercial at the wrong time during the Australian Motorcycle Grand Prix, the network ran it prominently during the coverage of the Bathurst V8 Races at no charge. Interestingly the motorcycle accident statistics nosedived directly after this campaign began, a clear indication that the road behaviour and attitudes of car drivers could be modified by good motorcycle television.
My Motorcycling Life Part 2  Greg Hirst p75-6

[Biggles]

1%ers, politicians, journalists and the Police often get a lot of bad press but I have met many who have shown decent human qualities, not the least of which is an impressive sense of humour. One that immediately comes to mind is Federal Liberal MP Alby Schultz. As I mentioned, last December when supporting the campaign to raise the profile of the positives of motorcycling, Alby made a crack that made everyone smile. Alby is famously known for his conservative political views. When addressing the press conference he revealed that he took up motorcycling to support his seriously depressed son who was a biker. This very personal revelation revealed a human side to Alby that many of us had not seen before. It also revealed an impressive sense of humour as he also explained that he was blind in one eye and therefore even he was surprised that motorcycling had made him look to the left.
My Motorcycling Life Part 2  Greg Hirst p81

[Biggles]

But off I go for a day of riding, more often than not, in my trusty blue jeans. Why? Well, there's heat to consider. On a hot summer day, jeans are cooler. And then there's "appropriateness" of dress; I always feel a little odd sitting in the dentist's chair in a full set of leathers. Also, the creaking of body armour can be distracting at movies and dinner parties.
But mostly I wear jeans on days when I don't plan to crash. If I do think there's a high likelihood of a get-off, going on a fast sportbike ride with friends, for instance, I wear my full street leathers or Aerostich suit.
Same with helmet selection. Open or full-face? Do I feel lucky today? On "Safe" rides, I often take the open one, despite full-face helmets having saved
my chin and teeth from the tarmac grindstone in two roadracing crashes.
All of this is total lunacy, of course. Most of us aren't very good at predicting when or if a bike will go down. Accidents happen randomly, despite our best efforts to choreograph fate. We can't see the future; if we could, we'd stay home that day.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p14-5

[Biggles]

We'd ride over the mountains, stop at The Lookout to warm our hands on coffee, then descend the serpentine road into Lake Elsinore for breakfast at a Main Street cafe. We'd tank up on coffee to the point of nerve damage, jitter out of the place, and streak back home. On one return ride, John and I had a little speed contest on a long downhill straight, and we both hit a dead-even 135 mph (indicated) on the Ducati and BMW. As we crouched behind our windscreens, all glassy-eyed with speed euphoria, two cars emerged out of the distance, coming toward us. At closer focus, they turned out to be police cars. Lights and sirens came on. John and I sat upright and pulled over.
The cops kept going and didn't turn around. They must have had larger fish to fry. John and I looked at each other and shrugged, then quickly rode down to the freeway and split for home, before they had time to set up a roadblock. It was one of those rare lucky moments in life, like being hanged and having the rope break. Over a fast-moving river.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p26

[Biggles]

On a recent road trip I found myself thinking about our late and much-missed Editor-at-Large, Henry Manney III. Henry was what you might call a cheerful curmudgeon. He had a darkly humorous view of the human condition, and often prefaced his corrective anecdotes with the words, "If I were King of the World ..."
For instance, he'd walk into your office, ease himself into a chair, toss tweed cap onto his knee, and say: "If I were King of the World, motorists who block the fast lane on the freeway would be instantly vaporized with large ray guns mounted on overpasses." Or: "If I were King of the World, people who write checks in the Cash Only line at the supermarket would be turned over to the Barbary pirates and sold as palace eunuchs at the slave market in Al Qatrun."
His imaginary punishments for bad behaviour were always hilariously specific and harsh, yet apparently well-deserved.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p34

[Biggles]

About 12 years ago, I'd felt almost exactly the same mixture of regret and relief in selling an old airplane— a 1945 Piper Cub that Barb and I had owned for many years. A fine old aircraft, but, like the boat, it needed winter storage, professional maintenance, licensing, a time-consuming drive to the airport, careful preflight examination, and good weather.
And it also required you to spend a perfectly good sunny summer weekend doing something other than riding your motorcycle. And there was the rub.
Many times I'd walk out of our house into a perfect summer morning on my way to the airport and think to myself, What a great day for a motorcycle ride.
Not that I didn't want to go flying, but riding was more... accessible. Less hassle. More immediately inviting. Less regulated and more free.
Exactly the same thing happened when we owned the sailboat. We'd be loading the car with food and supplies for a weekend of boating and I'd glance at my bikes sitting there in the garage. I'd look up at the sun, feel the warm breeze through the trees, and shake my head. What a great day for a motorcycle ride.
And, as we sat around in my workshop the other night, I leaned back in my festive plaid lawn chair, gazed fondly at my nearby DR650, and said, simply, "It's hard to beat a motorcycle."
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p44

[Biggles]

So, as we sat discussing these things, our little gang of vehicle addicts gradually came up with an informal list of advantages the motorcycle has over other equipment-intensive pastimes—such as flying or boating—which enumerate as follows:
Motorcycles have no wingspan, draft, or mast height, so you can keep them at your own house, and you never have to rent a hangar, slip, or warehouse.
When the engine stops, you can pull over and put your foot down, instead of doing a dead-stick landing in a cornfield. Or getting towed to port.
When the weather turns really violent, you can retire to a place called "Nibble-Nook" and order a cheeseburger instead of sinking or crashing.
There are no mandatory and costly annual inspections.
You don't need permission from a control tower or harbourmaster to visit the men's room, refuel, or eat lunch.
During a big storm, you don't have to lie awake at night and picture your motorcycle bashing itself to pieces on some rocks.
Your selection of motels, restaurants, and acquaintances is not limited by shorelines or airports.
You can leave right from your garage and return to it without filing a flightplan. No one needs to be notified of your intentions.
Your "navigation system" fits in a back pocket or under the clear plastic of your tankbag. A compass is optional.
Your passengers generally don't require Dramamine.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p44-5

[Biggles]

Some years ago, I was on a group ride with my friend Bruce Finlayson who was one of the best natural riders I ever knew. He made speed look easy. When the two of us rode together, he calmed himself down to my level, just out of politeness, but in a large group of fast guys he liked to run at the front.
Why? Because he could, and most of us hate to follow riders who are markedly slower than we are. It's almost painful. We are most comfortable dropping into our natural spot in the Great Mandala, and, in Bruce's case, that spot was generally in the lead.
Anyway, at a rest stop on this fast-moving ride, one of the guys (who I will call Bob) walked up to Bruce and said, "You've gotta slow down, man. You're gonna get someone killed."
Bruce looked at the guy thoughtfully for a long moment, then put his hand on his shoulder and said, "Bob, ride your own bike."
That phrase has stuck in my mind ever since. Even now, when I get pushing too hard to stay with another rider and things get a little loose, I calm the
situation down by saying to myself, "Egan, ride your own bike." 
Naturally, no one really likes to admit being slower than someone else, at least not in a group of friends off for a sportsbike ride through the countryside. But, as age and enlightened self-preservation (i.e. mortal fear) set in, I've developed a psychological defence for that problem, too.
When someone pulls away from me these days, I just shrug and say "So what? He's still slower than Rossi."
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p50-1

[Biggles]

You don't talk to Surtees Jong before you realize you're dealing with a racer who has the soul of a mechanic and craftsman, with a deep, abiding love for
machinery and its place in history. He's one of us.
Or, with luck, we are one of him, inasmuch as we are able. And this past cold winter weekend, I sat down and read John Surtees' Motor-Cycling Book cover to cover. A well-written, fascinating look at riding and racing in the late 1950s.
When I finished the book, I set it down and went out to the workshop, turned up the heat, and spent some time dusting off my three hibernating bikes, Suddenly, all my riding synapses were firing again, and spring didn't seem so far away. Funny how energy and enthusiasm can travel across decades, like an echo whose resonance doesn't diminish with distance or time.
This old green book was like something I'd been waiting for without knowing, and it provided that rarest of all things, a good day in winter, when the driveway is frozen and snowflakes fall silently out of a dark sky.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p74-5

[Biggles]

We were winding down a cliff-hanging road above the town of Urique, motoring through a canyon of huge rock spires, falling streams, and green foliage, when the road opened up on a spectacular view of the chasm below and the distant mountains. On a spur of land in the foreground was a small farm with burros roaming and apple blossoms blooming. The beauty of the spot was surreal. We shut off our bikes and just sat for a while.
Then I had one of those odd shifts of focus and looked down at my bike, and my dusty, worn gloves on the handlebars. We were in the greatest place in the world, but what had it taken to get here?
Quite a bit.
Learning to ride, getting a driver's license in high school. Acquiring tools, learning to change flat tires and clutch cables. Gaining dirt experience and going to dealerships to shop for the right bike. Installing knobbies and handguards and a skidplate. After years of youthful indigence, moving through a series of jobs that finally allowed you to afford a truck or a bike trailer. Learning to read maps and cross rivers in deep water. Finding helmets and enduro jackets and motocross boots that fit. Getting a passport, paying your bike registration, learning a smattering of useful Spanish...   
And living long enough to have friends who were crazy enough to do all these things, as well. People you could count on who'd gone through the same lifetime of motorcycle connections that had brought us to this perfect spot in time.
As I put my helmet back on, it occurred to me that you are never more completely the sum of everything you've ever been than when you take a slightly difficult motorcycle trip into a strange land. And make it back out again.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p77-8

[Biggles]

A few weeks ago, I put two new Metzelers on my vintage Ducati 900SS and had both wheels off the bike while I ran them over to my friend Al Gothard's shop for a session on his tire machine. So here's this beautiful old black Ducati with no wheels, teetering on a floor jack, nearly two feet off the ground. I attached tie-down straps from the bike to an overhead beam in my garage, just to help reduce the level of paranoia, but it was still an iffy deal.
The wheels and new tires went back on the bike the moment I returned from Al's shop. I couldn't have slept that night with the bike on a jack. But then I can't leave a car engine dangling on a chain, either. It causes nightmares in which I'm visited by the ghost of Sir Isaac Newton, who shakes his head sadly and leaves me a printed copy of his universal law of gravitation, only it's in Latin and I can't read it.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p102

[Biggles]

But there may be a new market emerging, a demand for adult-sized bikes that specifically get mileage worth bragging about, while also keeping up with modern commuter traffic. Honda produced a whole range of bikes like this— with stunning mileage— in the 1960s. So did the Europeans, for that matter, and the Brits. We know how to do this stuff. Have forever.
So if I were designing a new bike for myself right now, it might turn out surprisingly like a modern version of the old Velocette I'm riding, a bike originally designed as real transportation in post-war England, when fuel was costly and money hard to come by.
It would be an adult-sized 500cc Single with handsome engine architecture and a dry weight of no more than 375 pounds. It would have a flat, comfortable dual-seat, quality chrome, exquisite finish, a great exhaust note and owner-adjustable valves, and handle well enough to do track days— if anyone felt like it. It would be an object of pride, rather than just dismal utility.
Best of all, it would get better mileage than a 2,890-pound Toyota Prius. Which, of the six bikes I have in my garage, only the Velocette now does. The only thing it wouldn't do is leak a large puddle of oil when parked. Good mileage is nice, but I hate leaving carbon footprints all over my workshop.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p111-2

[Biggles]

I recalled that my dad once said all my actions when I was a kid followed a predictable pattern. "You'd go to the Elroy's Theatre," he said, "watch a movie about paratroopers, and then go straight down to the Elroy Library and bring home every book they had on the subject. Then you'd make a parachute out of an old bed sheet and jump off our roof and sprain your ankle."
My dad was exaggerating, of course. I didn't jump off the roof— I jumped out of my second-story bedroom window— and I didn't sprain my ankle. I hurt my back, and it still hurts today.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p128

[Biggles]

We made it home the next day, all on backroads again, riding just a little farther than our avowed 300-mile-per-day laid-back limit.
A minor failure' but the evening light was so good with the sun behind us we didn't want to stop riding. And we got home without seeing a drop of rain or a dark cloud for three days.
Blue skies, no wind, unlimited visibility.
I unpacked and washed my bike yesterday. Today it's raining like crazy, and this morning I threw my back out again for the first time in months. Meanwhile, in the Southeast, heavy rains and floods are washing away entire trailer parks. Mike called and said it's 53 degrees and raining in Fort Collins today. Terror suspects were arrested in Denver. Suddenly it feels like National Back-to-Reality Week.
But, once or twice in a lifetime, you get lucky. The weather gods forget where you've gone, your bike runs perfectly, your helmet fits fine, and time stands still, mysteriously stuck in neutral on the best week of the year.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p148

[Biggles]

Motorcycling is basically a happy business. No one has to own a motorcycle in this country— cars are often cheaper and more practical- but we buy them because they make us happy. And we ride and hang out with other riders for the same reason. Bikes and motorcycle trips add colour and texture to life, in the same way that rock-n-roll brought new life to grey old Liverpool when the Beatles came along. Like that music, they stand out in sharp contrast against everything predictable and ordinary. Those of us who know this have stick together.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p151

[Biggles]

Now the Norton is on the workstand in my garage, snowed in for the duration. I spent yesterday polishing the cases with Simichrome (the most rewarding job, per minute, in all motorcycling) but haven't taken anything apart yet. I need to look at the thing for a few days in its complete form, just to soak it in.
It's a strange thing to say, but when I have a Norton in my garage, I actually feel more relaxed and content with the world, almost as if some part of my soul
is fully at rest.
There are a few select things, I believe, that every individual is intended to have in this life, almost as a matter of course. Objects that seem to have been designed for someone with your exact genetic wiring, and you know it instinctively when you see them. For me, there are a few guitars like this and a small handful of motorcycles. Besides the Norton, a black Les Paul Custom comes to mind ... with three pickups...
Crass materialism?
Perhaps, but I like to think of it in more spiritual terms, as a classic example of Predestination. But with more chrome and no funeral.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p157

[Biggles]

The only drawback to Road King ownership, really, is you have to put up with droll comments from some of your riding buddies who wouldn't own a Harley at gunpoint, put off as they are by all the lifestyle nonsense that goes around the marque.
I get to hear a constant litany of "Don't you need more conchos?" or "Where's your do-rag with skulls on it?" I often play along with the joke and attack these people with my brass knuckles.
Just kidding. All this harmless flak never fazes a person of my low sensitivity and awareness, nor does it affect the quality of the bike. I ride for my own pleasure so the motivations of others are moot. They have their fun; I have mine. In any case, this reaction to Harley ownership is interesting for its reflection on technical progress, if nothing else.
In the bad old days (a.k.a. the 1970s), in order to cough up the money for a Big Twin, you had to really want one, ignoring the slow acceleration, bad brakes, clunky transmissions, destructive vibration, vague handling, etc.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p163

[Biggles]

Norton owners have been installing fatter rubber on Commandos for decades now, apparently in search of more traction for stoplight drag racing or just a wider selection of modern tire compounds for better grip in corners. Admittedly, the stock 19-inch rear wheel looks almost like a bicycle rim by modern standards— and the typical 4.10-size Dunlop K81 has the same basic tread footprint as a large ring of Polish sausage.
Nevertheless, this stock, narrow combination looks "right" to me and gives the Commando a proper tall and rangy look, like an MG-TC with its "four harps supporting a coffin" 19-inch wire wheels. In other words, I'm willing to give up some grip for good looks— which reminds me of an unfortunate date I had in high school, but that's another story.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p165

[Biggles]

That evening, Ren and Marilyn had everyone over to their cabin and opened a few bottles of the eye-wateringly excellent cabernet from their own vineyard (Paradigm), and I accidentally magnetically wandered, glass-in-hand, out to the garage to look at the black R100S.
A lovely bike to ride, and quite an impressive piece of motorcycle sculpture I think.
Barb and I'd had some good times on these bikes. We rode that yellow testbike from Colorado to Wisconsin and back to California across Texas and the Southwest. Took a silver one through the Alps for a week, and Ren's black beauty through northern California a few years ago. And now this trip. All with the same group of people. But three of them are no longer with us.
This black one was special, of course. We'd ridden with Ren Jr. when he first got the bike, and it was a nice reminder of those times and the thing that had
brought and held us together all these years, which was riding. Sometimes it's hard to separate the symbolism and personal meaning of a bike from your attraction to it.
I guess that's because you can't, and shouldn't even try.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p202

[Biggles]

When you absolutely have to be somewhere, the slow progress on a two-lane road—stuck behind slow drivers, with a few detours thrown in—can almost reduce you to tears of frustration. When you finally hit the interstate and twist that throttle open, you feel like Superman bursting out of a phone booth. Free at last.
Conversely, when you have time to spare and can take that exit onto Farm Road 233, you feel like someone who's rocketed in from the coldness of outer space and landed on a new green planet. Everything slows down, colour intensifies, noise is muted, and the world takes on a serene, life-in-a-fish-tank quality. brain occupied, and you stop calculating distance and looking at that digital clock on the instrument panel. Progress slows, but time flies.
I had a nice dose of both kinds of road on this trip and enjoyed the contrast. But I must say that if the day ever comes when I have all the time I need— and enough travel money for all those inviting small-town cafes and rustic cabins and motels— my tires will seldom touch the interstate.
The exits still have the on-ramps beat.
Leanings 3  Peter Egan p205

[STeveo]

This is good reading Biggles, please continue.