Handlebars

This winter has sucked; there’s really no way around it. Even Mr. Ride-Every-Day Geoffrey Greene would agree. I check the Accuweather.com five-day forecast hoping for a dry 44-degree weekend day, so I can get a ride in. That’s pitiful for East Tennessee, a region I personally have touted to friends in the far North as offering “year-round riding.” This year, electric gear has been my friend, but more than the cold and snow, TDOT’s road salt has kept me off the bikes. Full story »

Most “mature” readers surely have heard the old saw about newlyweds, the first year of marriage, and a jar of nickels. I’ll spare you the details, but basically the jar never empties. A motorcycle restoration is similar, in that the first step involves putting parts into containers, and the last step involves taking them back out. And unless the bike was so nice that it really didn’t need to be restored in the first place, the containers never get completely emptied. But the enjoyment timeline is inverted for restorations; the most fun is in emptying the containers, not filling them. Full story »

Lately I have been scoping out potential bike purchases for my brother. He’s no fan of wrenching, so new and simple are my primary criteria. I sent him photos of a Ninja 250 with a “for sale” sign parked on the sidewalk one Tuesday evening in front of the Tea Room. It was a 2006 model with less than 2,000 miles on the clock. Full story »

Those of you who aren’t tool-users might want to skip this column, but it might just prove to be a cautionary tale for those contemplating a project purchase, even if it is a really great deal. Full story »

What will happen to our beautiful vintage bikes when the current crop of owners dies or decides to sell them to fund their retirements? I was contemplating this question last Sunday afternoon over a cold beverage on my front porch as a septuagenarian rolled up the street aboard a Jazzy Power Chair. (I refuse to call these devices “scooters,” slighting my beautiful 1961 Vespa and all “real” scooters.) Likely he was on his way home to Guy B. Love Towers from the Fellini Kroger, and I saw a flash of mortality in his Medicare-subsidized ride. Full story »

“Do you have a Harley?” The question inevitably comes up, usually the second or third after “Do you have a motorcycle?” when a non-rider sees me carrying a helmet or discovers I ride. And it’s usually followed by some horror story about Uncle Ted getting killed or maimed on his Indian back in ’56. The whole Harley-Davidson “lifestyle” thing escapes me, but some of the Motor Company’s machinery definitely gets my attention, like the early K models, the XLCH, and the XR1000. Full story »

The lady I passed on the one-lane bridge on Indian Ridge Road in Grainger County thinks I am a maniac, scofflaw, or, if she’s familiar with the term, squid. She couldn’t see through my face-shield and sunglasses that my eyes were wide as saucers with terror as I squeezed by. She couldn’t see the pucker marks on the seat vinyl, either. Full story »

The “Spring Fling” was Internet-spawned, a gathering for members of the Adventure Riders (www.advrider.com) “Old Skool” sub-forum. The core of Adventure Riders is mostly world travelers and regional BMW riders, with heaping helpings of everything else, with extra portions of dual sporters and dirt riders. The Old Skool contingent are primarily fans of airhead BMW models, the more elderly the better, but anything remotely old and cool is appreciated. Their events are laid-back and fun, once you get past the silly “So what’s your (Delta Tau Chi) name on the forum again?” introductions. Full story »

Some motorcycles evoke a certain thought at first sight. When I first saw this small, Yamaha-powered dragster in the window of the Tea Room, all I could think of was how up to date my health insurance coverage was. The fact that someone was crazy enough to even want to build this recumbent-bicycle-looking thing based on a Yamaha two-stroke says a lot about the mindset among aficionados of these cam-less wonders. Full story »

And now for something just a little more masculine. Around 1996 a guy called me out of the blue and asked me if I could help him fix his Moto Guzzi. The bottom end of his ex-race 850 Le Mans had gone clankity clank on the interstate. Dave Vendola had hauled the bike to our mutual friend, John Hoffman, owner of Cycle Specialties of Athens. Ga., a seriously old-school Euro-bike shop. John gave Dave a big fat estimate, and then my phone number and his motor in a box. I happened to have a good 850 crank and rods, and Dave had a set of goldline Brembo calipers in a box, and I needed a set for a project. We’ve been friends ever since. Full story »

Go ahead and snicker. This column is about a moped, lower on the two-wheeled food chain than anything short of a motorized bicycle, a slow buzzy ride to Nerdsville. I know what you’re thinking: “Two columns in and he’s hit rock-bottom, with a freaking moped.” But ride this particular moped, a Honda PS50, around the pits at Mid-Ohio or Barber, and watch 60-year-old men become children. Full story »

Patina: it’s the new 100-point restoration. You can’t fake it, manufacture it, or go to school to learn how to apply it. Originality only exists once for a motorcycle, and once it’s disturbed it’s gone forever. And in 2009 it will likely be more valuable than ever. Full story »