Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

I am a man, in a time when it has become anachronistic to be masculine, I am a man.
It's my fifty-seventh birthday and I have heart disease.
It had not and has not yet killed me and to my great surprise I am somehow two years older than Columbus was when he died. Twenty-two years older than Mozart.
I have accomplished more than I ever thought I would.  Certainly more - considering the rough edges of my life - than I deserve to have accomplished.  My children are through college and launched, my wife is set for life, and yet.

And yet.  Just that.  An unsettling thought, like a burr under a saddle, rubbing incessantly until at last it galls and still it was and is there...
There had been a time when I was content.  Not completely, and only briefly, but at least enough to settle, to accept, to live - shudder - within an accepted parameter.  Then it changed and in the change I learned a fundamental truth about myself; I saw a weakness that was a strength at the same time.

It is very strange what saves a man.
I had a friend caught in the blind throes of bottom-drinking alcoholism who was going to kill himself, had the barrel of the .357 in his mouth and the hammer back and pressure on the trigger, ready to go out when he saw a spider weaving a web and became interested in it and forgot why he wanted to kill himself.  Another friend, a soldier, was saved on a night patrol in Korea because Chinese soldiers ate raw garlic and he smelled them coming and hid.  As I drove into Mankato, there was a Harley dealer, and that dealer saved me as sure as if it had been a spider or garlic.
Gary Paulsen in She's A Bad Motorcycle p181-2

[Biggles]

"I'll buy it." It was out before I thought.  I couldn't stop it.  Years of waiting were in back of it, a frustration-powered blurt.  "Now."
"I don't know how much the boss is asking for it."
"Go find out."  He left but I stayed with the bike until he came back.  "Nineteen" he said.  "Nineteen thousand plus tax and license.
I nodded.  "Done."  And then I thought of the first place we'd bought when we went north to live in the bush and run dogs; the whole farm, eighty acres and buildings, cost less than this bike.  We lived then on two thousand dollars a year and all the beaver and venison we could eat.  We could have lived for nearly ten years on what this Harley was costing. 
"Half an hour," the mechanic said, smiling like a drunk who has met somebody to drink with.  "Just have to check her out."
Gary Paulsen in She's A Bad Motorcycle p187

[Biggles]

I felt strange but in some way whole.  It was like an extension of my body, and I cradled down in blue steel and leather and chrome and sat that way for a time, perhaps a full minute, and let the bike become part of me.  I know how that sounds but it was true.  I would meet hundreds of men and tour women who owned Harleys and they all said the same - that the bike became an extension, took them, held them.  This is one hell of a long way, I thought, from clothes pegging playing cards on the fork of a bicycle to get the sound of a motor when the spokes clipped them, but it had all started then.  The track from that first rattling-slap noise in the spokes led inevitably to here, to me sitting on Harley, sure and straight as any law in physics.
I turned the key, reached down and pulled the choke out to half a click, made sure the bike was in neutral, took a breath and let it half out, like shooting an M1 on the range.  Then I touched the starter button with my thumb.
Gary Paulsen in She's A Bad Motorcycle p189

[Biggles]

If you have a Harley, there ain't a damn thing wrong with you unless you're a blatant asshole.  But even if you are an asshole, a Harley can personality spackle in that it will cover over any deficiencies.  That's why balding midlife crisis boys get them.
Sadly enough, Harleys are usually the bikes you see broken down on the side of the road.  I think they're better for riding around your block and showing off like a mating bird, but I don't know how far I'd wanna go.  A whole lotta myth, and not known for being reliable.  But you won't have to tap on people's shoulders and tell them how cool you are, because a Harley will do it for you.  Once you get a Harley you don't even need a relationship.
Erica Lopez in She's A Bad Motorcycle p235

[Biggles]

Later that afternoon I had my first riding scare of the trip.  The extremely high temperatures all day had softened the road tar in Holbrook, Arizona to a consistency where my front tire began to pick up wet tar and sling it up under the fender.  The road surface actually got slippery and I a/most lost control of the bike a few times right in town.  The sticky tire would pick up gravel and sand that gradually built up on the wheel like a snowball rolling downhill.  It built up to where the front wheel began to scrape and bind against the inside of the fender.  I managed to get through town without mishap, but the tar stayed under the fender for several days and the clearance was reduced to almost nothing.  For days every time the tire picked up even the smallest stone it would rip loudly through the close clearance and the wheel would bind a little.  That night I had tar on the engine, the windshield, the tank, my shoes, and even on my face.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p12

[Biggles]

In that next 161 miles I didn't see a house, a car, or even a sign that anyone had ever been there, except that someone must have built the narrow dirt road and the small single-lane wooden bridges across the many brooks and white-water streams.  Several hours I enjoyed total solitude.   I was able to maintain between 50 and 55 MPH most of the way.  I stopped at some the most beautiful spots, shut off the engine, put the bike on the center stand in the middle of the road, and I proceeded to oil the chain.  There were no sounds at all.  I would look around for several minutes admiring the incredible beauty and serenity 0f it all.   The dark-blue lakes reflected a mirror image of the evergreen trees and snowcapped mountains in the background.  The lakes were so clear I could see pebbles very clearly through several feet of water.   I took many photos and regretted not having brought a better camera.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p26

[Biggles]

Now who's repeating themselves??? 

Sorry folks, my system broke down.

When I stopped for gas at Jake's Corner, I saw a sign at the pump, "Do not operate pump yourself."  Another sign said, "Free ice cream with fill-up."  Jake didn't come out right away but I figured if I ignored the first sign and pumped my own gas he'd probably get mad and I wouldn't get the free ice cream.  He looked annoyed when he finally did come out and he said gruffly, "Whadda you want?"  He was a big, burly guy with long red hair and a big red handlebar mustache.  When I said I wanted a fill-up he jerked the nozzle from the pump and jammed it hard into my already open tank with a single sweeping motion.  He put only about three gallons in the tank, which didn't quite fill it.  As he was hanging the nozz/e back on the pump I asked if he would please top off my tank.  He answered gruffly, "You're full!" and he put his hand out for the money.  He scowled when I handed him a credit card because he had to walk back to the office to get the imprint and it was uphill all the way, with some steps included.  After signing the receipt I asked politely if I could have my free ice cream now.  He stood for a few moments glaring at me but finally he walked back up into the office a second time for the tiny cone.  He returned and handed it over very begrudgingly.  I smiled and said, "Thank you."
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p30

[Biggles]

That night I adjusted the spokes for the first time and the chain for the third time.  About ten spokes on the rear wheel and four on the front were quite loose.  The rear tire was totally bald and almost showing its casing.  I noticed several deep rock cuts that did reach the casing.  Whitehorse was now my only hope for a fresh tire since none were available in Dawson City.
Day 19 - The weather was perfect when I left Dawson at 9 AM.  I definitely had to forego earlier plans of a ride up the Dempster Highway due to the condition of the tire.  I learned that the Dempster was completed to just beyond the Arctic Circle at Mile 245.  Gas was available at two maintenance camps - at Miles 129 and 231.  My problem now was getting to Whitehorse 355 miles of rough dirt road away.  I spent a nerve-wracking day dodging millions of sharp stones on the Klondike Highway.  I tried not to think about how much I might get torn up if the tire blew and I came into contact with some of the sharp stones in the road at that speed.  I kept pushing between 60 and 65 MPH though, because I was worried that the cycle shop, if there was one, might close before I got there.  That evening I found a sports shop and bought the only 400X18 motorcycle tire they had which was a soft-composition Yokohama sport tire.  I changed it that night outside my hotel.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p40-1

[Biggles]

I stopped at a McDonald's for a midmorning snack although I also snacked on peanuts while I was moving.  I would put both feet up on the highway pegs and hold the jar between my knees to remove the cap.  I could then drink the peanuts from the jar as I rode along.  I couldn't possibly take both hands off the handlebars at the same time because the front end of the bike would immediately start to wobble and shimmy no matter what speed I was travelling, which was due in large part to the poor weight distribution.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p53

[Biggles]

At around Mile 200 I was surprised to see headlights in my rear view mirror through the snow and dense fog.  I was struggling with both feet down at the time and travelling less than 10 MPH.  He didn't close the gap very fast but eventually he came up alongside and we both stopped.  It was the maintenance superintendent from Eagle Plains in a VW bug.  He said he had been trying to figure out what was making those strange tracks.  He said he would see three tracks, then sometimes two, occasionally only one.  He laughed and said, "Mostly three."  He asked if I was OK.  I responded by asking how far it was to Eagle Plains.  He said, "Maybe another 30 miles."  I answered, "Oh hell.  I guess if I've come this far, I can make another 30 miles, as long as it doesn't get much worse."  He said if I were not in within an hour or so from the time he gets in, he'd send help.  He wished me good luck and slowly moved away with his wheels churning in the mud.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p65

[Biggles]

I was totally dispirited and somewhat depressed that morning as I climbed into the Canadian Rockies in heavy rain and very dark overcast.  I was actually wondering if God was still with me.  It seemed as though I was having such a terrible time of it with the foul weather and horrible road conditions on this trip.  Suddenly a perfectly round opening appeared directly overhead in the otherwise dark overcast and rain.  The opening was the size of a football field, exposing a bright blue sky.  It was still raining and dark everywhere else, except directly over my head.  The hole seemed to get larger as it followed me for almost a mile up the road, drenching me with warm sunshine I was awestruck, as I took it as a reply from God.  Then just as suddenly the huge gap closed, it got dark again, and the rain and darkness returned.  I was alone on the road at the time and no one saw it but me.  I was really shaken and I broke down and cried.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p80

[Biggles]

I also learned early on the trip when not to use my cruise control, which I had been experimenting with on my new machine.  Sometimes while travelling on straight roads I would set the cruise control at a comfortable speed; and later after having ridden several miles with it on, I would forget about it.  Once in West Virginia as I approached a fairly tight turn I got well into the turn to the crucial point where the side almost touches the road and suddenly the cruise control decided that I needed a healthy application of throttle.  It was pretty scary.  That's when I stopped messing with it.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p104

[Biggles]

Just before pulling up to a traffic light near Carrnel our four-lane detour, I noticed a young guy in a car behind us hanging out of the driver's window screaming obscenities. jumped out at the light and ran toward me, yelling and using the foulest language imaginable at the top of his lungs.  He kept getting angrier and louder as he screamed something about my cutting him off.  It was a real bad scene at the crowded intersection.  I couldn't remember what I had done to bring on his tirade.  I figured the best thing to do was to calmly say I was sorry; but that only seemed to enrage him even more, and I thought at any moment he was going to take a swing.  I was wearing an open-face helmet with both hands on the controls and Lilli was on the back.  I felt if I were alone at the time and 40 or even 20 years younger, to quote the famous mayor of Carmel, he would have "made my day."
After we got out of there, I asked Bud what I had done.  He said, "Nothing.  Didn't you see his eyes? He was strung out on something."  I was watching his hands more than his eyes.  I recalled reading about California motorists who had been shot in similar confrontations.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p116

[Biggles]

From Atascadero we headed east on a road that I thought was our route; but about a mile out of town the road I took a sudden left turn without warning, and we charged straight ahead onto some soft dirt.  It took almost two hundred feet to stop.  Realizing that a road without signs couldn't possibly be the state highway, we went back into town to find the right road.
It led us through several miles of tight curves and some of the strangest terrain I had ever seen.  It twisted and turned through miles of high grassy mounds and ridges.  There was a sign at the end saying that late movie idol James Dean, who loved to manoeuvre his Porche along that road, was killed in a high-speed car crash near there.  Later we saw another mile-wide strip of the same odd terrain extending north and south for many miles, and we learned that it was the San Andreas Fault line.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p117

[Biggles]

I think the "turnout law" in California is a great idea, but all drivers don't observe it.  The law apparently says it's unlawful to delay five or more vehicles on two-lane roads.  Several times we were crawling along in a string of more than a dozen cars, campers and trailers for miles, led by someone moving at a snail's pace.  Turnout areas are provided for slow vehicles to pull over so others can pass, but it doesn't always happen.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p118

[Biggles]

The Morenci mine near Clifton is one largest open-pit copper mines in the world.  Billions of tons of ore have been extracted from Morenci, which is still an active mine.  Trains that haul copper ore from the mine look so small you have to look carefully to spot them, even through binoculars, as they move around in the tremendous pit.  US Route 666 from Morenci to Alpine has more turns and tight switchback curves than any road I have ever travelled.  We noticed one S-curve sign in the mountains that said "10 MPH - Next 6 Miles."
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p123

[Biggles]

Near the top I met a four-wheel-drive pickup coming toward me on a very narrow section of the road.  It was the only vehicle I met going in either direction.   I figured I could probably back down a little easier than he could back up the hill, due to poor traction on the loose stones.  Holding my front brake as it occasionally skidded, I backed down very slowly for about 50 feet to a shoulder on the cliff-side of the road.  I had to lean the bike toward the edge so his side mirror wouldn't hit my arm the way by.  I could see down the scary edge of the cliff again between my forearm and my leg.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p138

[Biggles]

I almost lost the bike [a GL1200 Goldwing] when I stopped on a steep incline at the cemetery gate and the front brake wouldn't hold on the loose gravel.  We were on the bike together as it slid backwards down the hill faster and faster with the front wheel locked and dragging all the way.  I managed to hold it upright with both feet also skidding backwards.  The bike finally stopped without falling over, which seemed like a small miracle on the rutted, washed out terrain.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p155

[Biggles]

The sun came out after lunchtime and it was nice enough except for a strong head wind that cut my gas mileage considerably.  I came up behind an older 1100 cc Gold Wing travelling in the same direction.  I was doing about 10 miles over the speed limit and was about to pass him when I noticed it was a cop on a motorcycle.  I followed him for several miles until he turned off.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p204

[Biggles]

That afternoon I came upon the largest Tramo Peligroso sign of my trip.  It was before the first of three ominous-looking temporary pipe bridges I had to cross. The bridge was made up of several long, eight-inch-diameter steel pipes, laid across the span.  Several pipes were used for each wheel track.  When heavy trucks or buses crossed very slowly, the pipes would bend under their weight.  I chose two pipes that were butted fairly close together to ride between and I kept both feet down for security.  It was tricky and I wondered what it would be like in the rain when the pipes are covered with slick mud.  I looked down between the pipes and saw water running several feet below the bridge.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p210

[Biggles]

Sometimes I could see for only about 200 feet.  Another accident held up traffic for about 15 minutes on the Houston beltway.  Later a guy in a pickup truck spun out directly in front of me.  First I was following his taillights and a moment later I was looking at his headlights.
Besides the pouring rain, there was a fierce crosswind.  I got into some heavy truck traffic and got thrown around quite a bit.  The random wind currents around the trucks were so strong that my tires kept breaking loose sideways and the bike was doing a ballet as the tires would break traction one way and then the other. The deep furrows in the road and the rumble knobs between the lanes didn't help.
After I got out on I-10 I tried three times to pass a truck, but every time I got even with his front bumper, I was struck by a heavy blast of wind from his front end that would hit the bike so hard the front wheel would break traction.  I was finally able to get by when we went behind some trees, which  temporarily blocked the strong crosswind.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p225

[Biggles]

We learned at dinner that his name was Mario Francisco del Castro Filho.  He was an entrepreneur in his home country, a dealer in boats.  He was a very interesting guy.  He told us about a motorcycle accident he had a few years earlier, after which he was in a coma for three days.  Before the accident he was able to speak fluent French and English; but as a result of the accident he got total amnesia and completely forgot both languages.  Although he was relearning English on this trip, he struggled with it.  He was headed for the Summer Olympic Games in Atlanta where he was entered in the competition with the Brazilian rowing team.  He said he had been sleeping on the ground in his bag, and he was travelling a lot at night because of the heavy RV traffic and road construction during the day.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p233

[Biggles]

It was raining and 48 degrees when we rode into Jasper for breakfast at a fancy restaurant there.  A group of Swiss people from a tour bus came out of the restaurant about the same time we did.  We talked with a few of them as we prepared to leave.  One guy kept smiling and saying to me in poor English, "You're goving?" I answered twice, "Yes, we're going." He kept saying it like I didn't hear him the first time and each time I answered the same way.  I thought he might be a little simple, or maybe hard of hearing, but finally his wife, who spoke English clearly, enunciated, "He asked if this is your Gold Wing."  Meanwhile he was smiling and nodding.  As we were pulling out he said "Goot fahrt!" which Jake told me later was German for "Have a good trip."
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p236-7

[Biggles]

The thought processes involved in deciding to take a 3300 mile trip on a 225cc dirt bike get a bit complicated.  It involves a lot of "been there, done that", and wanting to do something different while staying within the general definition of adventure touring.  Having been to Alaska six times on big bikes I once said that if I ever go again it would probably be on a 200cc motorcycle just to be different.  But then I may never get the desire to go to Alaska again and I may never own a 200cc motorcycle.  Besides, it would probably take me at least two weeks just to get there on that size bike.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p239

[Biggles]

I soon learned that it was necessary to shift down on many of the hills.  The little engine sang soprano as it whirred loudly in the lower gears over Storm King Mountain behind West Point.  Coming down the north side it let out a high-pitched whine as my speed edged up over 65 MPH.  I swore I could hear it saying, "Hold on old man, we're going to Labrador."  I stopped briefly at Jim Moroney's shop in Newburgh before heading into the Catskills.  I got a few chuckles and a few expressions of skepticism about the little bike, but I think no one doubted my resolve - my sanity maybe but not my resolve.
Motorcycling Stories  Piet Boonstra p240