Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

(On the Nullarbor)
The fuel consumption is over seven litres per 100 kilometres today and that just isn't right, even with a strong head wind. I put the bike on the centre stand and spin the back wheel. It should run freely and it isn't. It's sluggish, like the brake is on. I think we're in real trouble. I'm hoping it's just the constantly weeping rear drive seal and I'll be able to nurse the bike home by topping up the oil every day or so. The only way to find out is take the rear wheel off.
It's doesn't take much to unbolt the wheel and what it reveals is reality bad. The metal in the rear drive is scarred. It looks as though it's been white hot. That's not good. I drain the oil and can't find any metal shavings in it, which is a good sign. It means nothing's been grinding away inside the drive.
Shirl’s hovering around, trying to be positive. About the only thing to be positive about is she reactivated our RACV roadside assist membership when we were still in South Africa. I give them a call and explain the predicament. The operator says she'll get the local mechanic, who we didn't know existed out here in the middle of nowhere to come to the motel and check out the bike.
He pulls up outside our room about half an hour later. He's very laid back and has no hesitation offering his opinion. The bearing or universal joint is gone.
Circle To Circle  Shirley & Brian Rix  p339

[Biggles]

Brian: I can't believe it. We're home and everything's pretty much as when we left. Have we really travelled around the world over the last 16 months? I sit back and let all the chatter turn into white noise. I'm lost in my own thoughts of a fantastic journey with my wonderful wife who enthusiastically embraced my passion and dreams.
Life on the road on a motorcycle isn't always easy, but to me, the adversities are far outweighed by the sights, sounds and smells. Your senses are alive. The people you meet, the camaraderie of fellow motorcyclists, are the icing on the cake. Before I get too old, where to next?
Shirley: This has been the most incredible journey. While I've suffered homesickness that, at times, actually caused me a physical pain, I've had the time of my life. I've missed family, friends and the comforts of home, but I've visited Antarctica, Galapagos, seen the bottom of the world and the top. I've seen bears, penguins, whales, seals, iguana, giant tortoise, elk, moose, lions, elephants, buffalo, monkeys, zebra, giraffe and much, much more. We've made lifelong friends and now we're home to catch up with old friends and family. Bring it on.
Circle To Circle  Shirley & Brian Rix  p343

[Biggles]

"Does the ignition light come on?"
I looked. "No."
"Take out the bulb. It's probably blown." On the Guzzi, a blown ignition warning bulb will mean an infinite resistance across the charging circuit. In layman's terms, this means the wire (as it were) from the alternator to the battery runs through ignition warning light. Blown bulb means the charge can't reach the battery. This had been explained to me by a knowledgeable sparky some years ago. In 12 years the V50 had never blown a warning bulb. It had, however, fried both a stator and a rotor, as I reminded myself and him.
"Can you get the bulb out?" he asked.
"It's a hassle. It's difficult to get out, hard to put back. Can you just quickly check the front?" He sighed and got on his knees to run the multimeter over the stator and rotor. I sighed and stood up to undo the front of the instrument binnacle.
This is all okay," he said after a minute.
"This bulb is blown," I said a half-second later. He carefully extracted the blown bulb, put another one in, charged me $10, and I was off.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p17

[Biggles]

So now the bike is in Jack's shed. I'm taking a day off work tomorrow and I'll start the engine-out process. Meanwhile, I've got wheels. My mate Phil has a V50 Monza, but, because of a minor administrative matter, has allowed his licence to lapse until the heat cools off. Also his registration. Which meant there was an unused V50 in Phil's garage.
I was going to take my number plate and rego sticker off my V50 and put it on Phil's, but Jack said, "Oh, are you sure that's legal?" So I decided against it. I certainly wouldn't want to do anything of dubious legality. Instead, I put Phil's engine in my bike, also his frame and indicators and speedo and electrical cables and footpegs and gearbox and wheels and tyres and brakes and seat. And headlight and starter motor and swingarm.
 The only thing, in fact, I left on my bike was the number plate and registration sticker. So now I'm riding around on my bike again, although with all those changes, it looks a lot like Phil's.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p57

[Biggles]

I would have asked her, but such conversations are difficult on a bike. When you travel with someone special as your pillion you often think of things you'd like to say, and then the scenery changes or the moment passes, and it's unsaid eventually forgotten. Certainly it's possible to slow down, lift the visors, and shout a sentence or two, but usually communication consists of a point with a gloved finger and a nodded acknowledgment. Yet there is something quite intimate about having someone you love on the back of your bike, and there's a level of communication that transcends speech, or even signals. There is a bond established, a bond of experiences shared, of sights enjoyed, of the senses in harmony. You even feel when your pillion's arse gets sore as they squirm around on the seat. And there's the joy of responsibility, of knowing the trust someone puts in you, knowing that you'll look after them and carry them safely.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p76

[Biggles]

The track, of course, was dirt. Then we found it getting rougher and rougher, well rough. Then we saw a sign which said "Four Wheel Drives Only" in big red letters. We rode on past.
 And then the track got steep. Ahead of us was the steepest incline I've ever seen on a vehicular track. This was so steep you'd have trouble walking up it. I snicked it into first gear, gently held the throttle evenly open and the Guzzi began to climb ... and climb ... and climb.
 "Don't lean backwards," I said to Juliette. The bike was at an angle greater than 45 degrees. "I won't," came the voice from the back.
On and on and on the slope continued. Finally at last there was a cattle grid and the road flattened out for a dozen metres.
I stopped the bike.
Shit," I said.
"Yeah," Juliette said.
I sat on a rock and looked around. I couldn't remember having gone up such a precipice on my previous trip, but was still too convinced that I was on the right track to realise I was on the wrong track. In fact, I hadn't even gone down the track of thinking I was on the wrong track.
The mountains here were steep. One ravine dropped away out of sight. Eventually we got back on the Guzz and continued on. And on. And the track kept getting rougher. Then we saw a parked four wheel drive, its owners obviously off bushwalking. Then there was a barbed wire fence and a locked gate.
"Shit," I said to Juliette.
"Yeah," she said.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p108-9

[Biggles]

Clearly something was amiss.
Almost certainly it was the uni joint in the driveshaft.
Now when these things let go, they let go in a big way. They fly apart at the same sort of revs, generally speaking, that the output shaft of the gearbox  does, and that's a lot. The disintegration of the uni joint is usually followed within microseconds by the pulverisation of the rear of the gearbox and collapse of the swingarm. This often results in the rear of the bike no longer being connected with the front of the bike except by the shock absorbers, and band aids are often required to be worn while ordering and then waiting for many expensive Monza parts.
So I wasn't taking any chances. I rode home slowly. I tried not to change gear often because of the snapped clutch cable. This meant I had to split the traffic, it being peak hour, and go at walking pace approaching red lights in the hope they'd change to green when I go to the intersections. I tried to keep the revs constant and the load on the back wheel even and unstressed all the way from the city to the Toll Gate at the foot of the freeway, then up the steepest longest climb on the entire national highway network, all the way to Aldgate. I stayed in the slow lane and hardly passed any trucks. I got to my little cabin in the forest and brought the bike to a stall (couldn't get it into neutral because of the absence of a clutch cable) to stop it at my back door.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p150

[Biggles]

Then I had a stout, which I enjoyed.
 I took out the axle and removed the back wheel. I undid the shock absorber mounting bolts and the nuts holding the front of the swingarm to gearbox.
I pulled out the driveshaft.
As I did, the universal joint fell apart in my hands. Into many bits. I rang Thunderbikes and ordered a new driveshaft. Mario said I was very lucky. He said it was a miracle that the uni joint hadn't exploded and taken out half the gearbox.
But it wasn't a miracle. It was thrift. I like to get as much mileage out of my components as possible, down to the last centimetre.
But not a millimetre further.
No use taking risks, you know.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p151

[Biggles]

Two in the morning, and I still couldn't sleep. Simon the Wonderful Cat was already curled up, chasing pigeons in his REM, but I was mulling over too many decisions.
So I took an easy one. I decided to go for a ride. It's almost a full moon. I rode to West Beach, on the Gulf St. Vincent, and then north along the esplanade, turned east at Grand Junction Road, and then the bike decided it wanted to show me it could still do a reasonable lick along a sweepy road. It took me to Mannum on the banks on the Mighty Murray, where the ferryman woke long enough to take me halfway across. I think he fell asleep mid-river because his head drooped and he hit the wharf-thingy on the other side with a clang which rocked the bike. South following the silver river, a hipflask of weak tea under a ghostly gum on a hugely high cliff overlooking a long bend on the Murray, hit the highway at Murray Bridge, and home again at a steady 120 kilometres an hour.
Where Simon the Wonderful Cat was still curled up. They lead good lives, cats. And welcoming as his purrs were, I had in this three hour moonlight ride seen something that might even have made him jealous and which gave me smiles – lots of corners, and ten thousand cat’s eyes.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p164

[Biggles]

Hendrik's handy tips for your motorcycling enjoyment
Don't spray silicone on tyres to make them shiny.
Don't put grease on tyres to protect them.
Don't spray silicone on the seat just before a ride up your favourite scratching road.
Don't leave home without several licences.
Don't leave your PIN number with your motorcycle - it will know how to go to the bank and draw out money for new tyres, fix the indicators, etc. Don't forget to check the level in your hip flask before a trip
Don't drink and ride - pull over to take a sip.
Don't cross double lines, unless it's safe.
Remember, roads are a dangerous place to be. Always go as quick as possible so that you spend the minimum time in a dangerous place. That's logic. That's safety.
When riding in a group in inclement weather, always get one person to put on their waterproofs. That way it won't rain.
Always leave your helmet on in a service station - your face could be a security risk.
Take your gloves off in the toilet.
 Never say "Do you mind if I kick your bike over?" to a Hells Angel.
Never rev the engine hard and make a loud noise to wake a residential area at night, unless your motor is warm.
Remember that roads are slippery in the rain. Don't try to brake for an orange light.
Speed guns are dangerous. Get really angry if someone points one at you. Tell them it might be loaded.
Don't tow a motorcycle by the handlebar.
Don't worry when your motorbike won't start. It's probably just something.
If you have a nervous pillion, paint the inside of their visor black.
Objects in your mirror should always get smaller.
If you're freezing and shivering on a long trip, never say to yourself that this is the coldest you've ever been. In another five minutes you'll know you were wrong.
Never, ever go on a bike, and hop off before you've smiled.
Once Upon A Distant Journey  Hendrik Gout  p238

[STeveo]

I like that last one. Should be compulsory.

[Biggles]

The traffic in eastern China is insane. There are literally millions of cars on the roads at any one time, and the frustration generated by the inevitable chaos is at least partly responsible for some crazy driving. As Colin and I rode out of Shanghai, our lungs were instantly filled with the smoke and diesel fumes that spewed out of the trucks crowding the road like the carriages of a colossal, slow-moving, and filthy train. The temperature  was rising steadily  and the humidity was high, which is fine when you're riding at speeds of 80 kph or more and the air is rushing in through the vents in your protective gear to keep you cool. It isn't so great at 30-40 kph. At whatever speed you're riding and on whatever road surface, you still have to wear all the gear, because you never know when you might take a fall. So, before long, I felt as if I was slowly boiling to death inside an increasingly damp, uncomfortable, sealed plastic bag, at the same time being suffocated by hot exhaust fumes and all the crap that was blowing up into our faces off the road.   
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p25-6

[Biggles]

One of my main impressions at the end of day one was that the driving in China is wild.  At one point, we were riding on a four-lane highway that had dividing barriers at intervals down the middle. It sounds like a normal road, right?  Except that they have crosswalks for s small motorcycles, scooters, and   pretty much any type of farming vehicle.  When you're driving along the highway, you don't stop at these crosswalks: the people who want: to cross  from one side of the expressway to the other are supposed to pick the right moment. That's great in theory; in practice, however, they go when they want to go. I guess they just hope that you manage to stop before you hit them. It's unbelievably dangerous. And then there are the drivers who decide that they like your side of the road better than theirs, for some reason I haven't managed to work out.  So they cross over and drive on the wrong side.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p36

[Biggles]

When we stopped for the first time on day 3 and were told by an agitated, arm-waving gas-station attendant to park off the forecourt, I didn't know what was going on. Handing us an oversized teapot, complete with handle and spout, the attendant explained that we had to take it to the pump, fill it up with gas, carry it back to our bikes, and then empty its contents into our tanks. Despite it sounding like something dreamed up by bored TV executive for a reality game show, there is a practical reason behind what he was telling us to do. The nozzles on gas pumps in China don't have automatic shut-off, so if you stick one in the small gas tank of a 150cc bike and it overflows, you end up with gas all over your hot motorcycle engine - which would constitute a fire hazard at the best of time, and particularly in a gas station. A car’s tank is bigger and the opening to it isn't near the engine. And it's different with an 800cc motorcycle, which has a 16-liter gas tank. But rules are rules in China, and no amount of arguing, explaining, or reasoning could change the guy's mind: If we wanted gas, we had to use the teapot.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p46-7

[Biggles]

The riding was exciting but intensely nerve-wracking. Neither Colin nor I had ever ridden in conditions like that before, and I could feel the adrenalin pumping as we manoeuvred our bikes through an obstacle course of constantly shifting piles of sludge and rubble that formed on the road for a few seconds before being swept away by the surging water.
The only way to take corners on our bikes was very slowly, which was fortunate, because when we rounded one of them, we came face to face with what at first sight appeared to be the immediate aftermath of some devastating natural disaster. A few cars and trucks had stopped at random angles on the road and alongside it, and at first I couldn't work out what had happened. Then I realized that a huge chunk of the mountain had been dislodged by the cascading water and had come crashing down onto the road, forming a massive mudslide.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p72

[Biggles]

He was probably riding at a fairly reasonable speed, but, in my role as big brother, I thought he was going a bit too fast. Colin's more reckless than I am - I don't know if he’d agree with that statement. I'd say that he's a risk-taker, whereas I'm more conservative. It's all relative, I know, and some people might be of the opinion that the fact that it had been my idea to ride motorcycles around China in the first place rather negates any claim I might make to being a conservative man!
Colin does like to move faster; not because he's impatient, he just enjoys pushing the limits more than I do. Or maybe my sense of caution is simply due to the fact that I know China, and I know that even if the road you're travelling on is great, around the next corner there might be no road at all.
Colin had just rounded a corner ahead of me when he hit some loose gravel and then a patch of mud. When I reached the same spot a few seconds later, it was like trying to ride on an ice rink. I only just managed to keep my bike upright, but Colin lost control of his and he went down. You can't use your brakes when you're riding a motorcycle in conditions like that. So I put both my feet down and slid with my bike through the mud. I did use my brakes when I'd stopped sliding, and then I turned the bike around and went back to where Colin was lying on the ground.
'It's okay,’ Colin called, lifting a gloved hand above his head. 'It's okay. I'm fine.’
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p79-80

[Biggles]

'No foreigners allowed.’ The man at the desk raised his hand, palm outwards, as he spoke. 'The town is closed to foreigners.’
'What does that mean?' I asked him.
'It means that foreigners are not allowed to stay in this town,’ he told me. 'Only Chinese.’
I was usually the one who argued to get us what we wanted when things weren't going our way, but I was exhausted, and as Ted - who speaks flawless Chinese and was our translator as well as our driver - took up the case on our behalf, Colin and I sank onto the floor of the lobby.
A few minutes later, when it had become clear that Ted wasn't getting anywhere and I could feel the last remnants of my energy dripping onto the floor with the rain from my clothes, I suddenly lost it and snapped at the man behind the desk, 'Well, we're not leaving. It's dark, we're freezing cold, and it's pouring with rain. We've been riding for 3 hours in horrible conditions. I'm not getting back on my bike and riding another 100 kilometres to the next town. You don't want to be responsible for my death, do you?'
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p92

[Biggles]

The police chief wasn't there to answer other people's questions. 'National security!’ she snapped at Ted. Then, glancing down at Colin and me, she added, in a voice that was slightly less unsympathetic, 'I can see that you're struggling. But you have to move on.’
When we refused again, there followed another heated discussion, and then the police chief phoned the mayor, who gave us permission to stay - for one night only and on the conditions that we ate at the hotel, didn't talk to anyone, didn't attempt to venture outside, and left, with a police escort, by 8 o'clock the next morning.
All I wanted was to be dry and warm again, and by that time I’d have agreed to almost anything. So we signed all the documents the police chief gave us, I handed my credit card to the hotel manager, and a few minutes later a shower of warm water was driving the numbness out of my body. It was probably 10° Celsius outside. That isn't too bad if you're just walking around, but it's very cold if you've been wet all day and riding a motorcycle, when even a cool wind can have a strong chilling effect.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p94

[Biggles]

The security guards who pulled us over were clearly annoyed. 'Not allowed!’ one of them told us angrily. 'No motorcycles on the expressway.'
'I didn't see a sign at the toll booth,’ I answered. ‘I’m not aware of any law that says that.’
But the security guard was adamant. 'Follow us to the next exit,’ he demanded. 'And then get off the road.’
I tried to explain my point of view: that although the rule was sensible when applied to motorcycles with small engines, which can't go fast enough to keep up with the rest of the traffic on the expressway, 800-cc motorcycles can cruise along at high speeds quite safely. The men weren't interested, so Colin and I had no choice other than to follow their car as it pulled out into the traffic.
The speed limit on the expressways in China is 120 kph, but, for some reason, the guy was doing only 40 kph, which meant that we were being overtaken by huge speeding trucks whose drivers didn't notice us until it was almost too late and they had to pull out abruptly to avoid hitting us.
'This is too dangerous,’ I told Colin over our helmet sets. 'Damn it!' As I spoke, I pulled out, went round the security guards' car and took off, with Colin right behind me. I hadn't even thought about how - or whether - we were going to get away with it. Fortunately, they didn't follow us, and there were no more road blocks on the expressway.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p100-101

[Biggles]

There were highlights to the day, the main one for me being the sense of peace I had when we stopped for lunch and watched a Uyghur man rolling out the dough to make naan bread in an oven. Another was talking about motorcycles to some Uyghur men in a small village. And another was riding up towards the clouds until we reached a high pass through the mountains, 3300 meters above sea level, where I looked around me at the incredible view with an almost poetic sense of accomplishment.
On the downside, we had a lot of problems with dogs that day. We'd be riding through an apparently completely deserted landscape when they'd suddenly come running at us, snapping and snarling at our heels and chasing our motorcycles as they tried to bite our legs. Once when it happened, Colin almost got caught: I don't even want to imagine what those dogs would have done if he'd fallen. I knew it was a problem that would get worse as we headed into Tibet, because I'd seen it there before, and that really bothered me.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p150-151

[Biggles]

There's a vast world beyond the tiny fragment that each of us inhabits, and going out into it is the only way to understand other people, their cultures and religions: you can't travel and have the sorts of experiences were having without learning something from the interactions involved. We'd travelled 8000 km from Shanghai on a journey that was exhausting, exhilarating, frustrating, rewarding, scary, fascinating, and, most of all, a privilege to be taking part in.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p158-159

[Biggles]

At the military checkpoint just outside Tashkurgan, one of the soldiers said, with a wry smile, ‘In the rain, on motorcycles: it isn't wise.’ But he handed us our permits and waved us through anyway, and we set off on what was to be a 260 km round trip. It was still raining and just 10° Celsius. Half an hour later, it was 3°, the rain had become frozen pellets of hail, and the temperature gauges on our bikes had started to flash a warning potential for ice on the road. After another half an hour, it was -2° Celsius and the hail stones were the colour - although not the consistency - of snow.
I can't even begin to describe what it's like riding in a hailstorm at -2° Celsius, 5000 meters above sea level. Colin and I are Canadians and we do a lot of skiing - quite often in the sun and always below about 2000 metres. There was no sun that day; just a bitterly cold wind and frozen hail. Riding a motorcycle in those sorts of conditions is a supremely miserable, uncomfortable experience.
 The visors on our helmets kept fogging up so that we couldn't see the road ahead of us, and our hands were so cold they were burning - the hand warmers on the handgrips on our bikes were only good to about 10° Celsius. Stupidly, we hadn't bought any of the really good waterproof clothing we'd seen in July at the shop in Germany, and as the wet seeped through our jackets and pants and turned to ice, we slowly lost the feeling in every part of our bodies.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p179-179

[Biggles]

They taught us how to fall during the training course in Germany and told us, 'Aim to bit the ground with your shoulders, because that's where all the padding is. Never put your hands down as you fall: if you do, you'll bust both your wrists. Just hit the ground and roll.’ If you told ten people the same thing, maybe five of them would react correctly when the occasion arose; the other five would probably follow their instinct and reach for the ground with their hands. It all happens so quickly you don't really have time to think. Luckily, I did manage to hit and roll, so I avoided any really serious injuries: my shoulders and ribs were badly bruised, but I hadn't broken my collarbone.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p181-182

[Biggles]

When you're riding off-road on uneven terrain, the back wheel of the bike slews and bounces all the time, and if you sit down, your spine takes every hit. So, to avoid the risk of breaking your back, you stand up and let your knees, hips, arms, and elbows act as suspension. After doing that for 10 hours, every muscle in your body is screaming, and when you get up the next morning and do the same thing all over again, a pain develops in your back and neck that's like no pain you've ever
experienced before.
On day 35 - our third day of riding on Highway G219 - we did 354 km, which is a serious haul over that sort of ground, and Colin and I began to feel more confident about our off-road skills. It felt as if we'd been battling the road and were finally beating it. All the riding we'd done since we left Shanghai had required little more than an ability to navigate; whereas what we'd been doing for the last 3 days had involved a different level of competence. We thought we were ready to tackle the Dakar!
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p196

[Biggles]

The first clutch that reached us - after we'd been waiting in Lhasa for 3 days - was the one that had been sent from Toronto via Hong Kong. Now all we had to do was fit it! Neither Colin nor I had ever done any major bike repairs before and the work took us two days. We wouldn't have managed it at all without the help of the guys in Toronto who sent us pictures and told us what to do, and without the support and assistance we received online from the motorcycle community.
The Middle Kingdom Ride  Colin& Ryan Pyle  p211