Bikers

The other week I posted a discussion on the Concours Owners Group asking how to pass a large group of bikers on the road.  That discussion sparked an angry rebuttal condemning me for mocking the happy pirate look that a large portion of the (especially) North American motorcycle community identifies with.  Personally, I'd say people can dress however they want and ride whatever they want, but I get the sense that the pirate types don't feel that way.

On COG I was trying to be funny, but with an edge.  On the Georgian Bay circumnavigation I ran into some corporately attired Harley riders who wanted to point out how much unlike them I looked.  It felt like hazing with the intent of getting me to look like a proper biker.  Nothing will get my back up faster than someone telling me I have conform to their standard.  The irony wasn't lost on me that these rebels without a clue whose look is predicated on nonconformity were uncomfortable with a motorcyclist not in proper uniform.

One of the reasons I make a point of reading British biking magazines is because they are free of (and willing to make fun of) this dominant North American biking culture.  They don't worship Harley Davidson as the one and only motor company, and they try to look at the breadth of motorbiking rather than forcing a single version of it down everyone's throats.  Had I the boat load of money that they cost I would happily buy an HD V-Rod (not considered a 'real' Harley by purists because it's liquid cooled).  It's a fine machine and I'd get one for that reason, but I don't think I'd ever buy a motorcycle because of the manufacturer alone, I'm not that politically driven.

When I first started riding I was shiny and new about it and told one of my colleagues who rode that I was just starting out.  He asked me what I got and when I told him a Ninja he put his nose in the air and said, "hmm, isn't that like riding tupperware?"  Just recently I told him I was thinking about getting a dual sport.  He said, "why would you want that?  It'd be like riding a toolbox!"  In the biker ethos there is only one kind of bike with a single aesthetic.  If you don't conform, expect criticism.

In talking to other motorcyclists the non-mainstream/biker crowd sometimes find biker types to be holier-than-thou, not returning a wave or giving you the gears at a stop for not conforming to the dress code.

Motorcyclists tend to be iconoclasts, they have to be or they'd be doing what everyone else does riding around in the biggest cage they could afford.  Yet the act of riding isn't enough for some, there are also social expectations that these rebellious non-conformists expect all riders to conform to.

At the end of the day I'm a fan of two wheeling.  I'd call myself a motorcyclist.  I get as excited about looking at historical Harleys as I do at racing tupperware or riding toolboxes.  I only wish more bikers would be less critical of anything other than their singular view of the sport.

I refuse to conform to their nonconformity.

Passing Etiquette

I came upon a group of riders after exiting the ferry and getting most of the way across Manitoulin; first off the ferry gives you wide open roads!

I'd been moving along at a nice clip alone but had to slow down to follow them.  Had they been a car or truck I'd have used my power to weight ratio to good advantage and made a quick, safe pass.  This clump of bikers were much longer than your typical truck, so passing them would be tricky.  In addition to the physics there was suddenly a lot of motorcycle psychology to consider.  Would these riders take offence at being passed?  I'm not safely ensconced in a box if they got aggressive.

In wondering about this I sparked a rather heated debate on COG.  The sensible (and rather Zen) solution seems to be to find a nice place to have a stop, a stretch and a drink, then get back on the road when they're well down it.  Strangely enough, the only thing that seems to be able to clip the wings of a motorcycle are a bunch of motorcycles in front of it.

I had a moment when I first started riding where I suddenly realized I'm on a machine that has Lamborghini like power to weight ratio.  Since then I've made a point of exploring what this means.  When you ride you're missing the steel cage, but what you lack in mass you make up for in agility and power, and learning to harness that power is vital to your well being.   Following that logic I prefer to have things coming at me and don't like being passed or boxed in, but for twenty frustrating minutes that's exactly where I was as a line of campers and SUVs formed up behind me.

The general feeling on COG was to either pull over or take your chances passing a bunch of leather clad bikers not knowing if these are wannabes or one percenters.  The later are much more likely to do something about it if they perceive disrespect.  In any case, it's not like you're in a big box so antagonizing them seems like a potentially dangerous course of action from both a physics and a psychology point of view.

I was out on a ride with a group the other week for the first time, but these guys didn't hang about and were making a point of using side roads rather than main through fairs so we weren't holding anyone up, and there were only half a dozen of us.  We were also riding a wide variety of machines designed to exploit the natural agility of the motorbike from GSX-Rs to forty year old Kawasakis in genres from adventure to standard to sport and sport touring.  I'd also say we were pretty approachable based on the number of people who approached us.  Eclectic would be a good way to describe us, we certainly weren't wearing anything approaching a uniform.

On COG someone suggested that when they ride in a group they intentionally get out of the way if they feel they are holding up traffic because everyone has the right to enjoy the road how they want to, but not everyone feels that way:

A clip from Henry Cole's World's Greatest Motorcycle Rides:

Riding the American Deserts

I'd say physics and some rather negative stereotypes (along with a lot of bikers adopting those stereotypes) held up that traffic.  I don't think respect had anything to do with it.

So there you have it:  the best advice when you come upon a large group of floorboard grinders is to pull over and take a break, it's not worth the hassle of trying to make a pass, even though you're on the machine best able to do it.

Google motorcycle films and this is what you get, the odd intelligent attempt amidst the bikespoitation flicks.  And
we wonder why the general public still has doubts about motorcycling...

The Damn It Moment

It was a good week of riding.  On Saturday, Sunday and Thursday I covered over six hundred kilometres around Southern Ontario.  

Saturday had us dancing around in front of the coming storm.  The horizon south of us was ominous to say the least.  We dodged and weaved but eventually rode into the curtain of rain only to have one of the old Kawasakis in the group (and I mean old, it was almost as old as I am) run rough when it got wet.  Fortunately we had already been to three local microbreweries and had loaded up on craft beers, so we were all set for a rainy evening indoors in Owen Sound.

Neustadt Brewery, where you find a variety of craft beers not available for general distribution.  The bikes ranged from a
modern GSX-R to forty year old Kawasakis, a modern Super Tenere, my Connie and a Triumph Scrambler.

Maclean's in Hanover, with impending doom on the horizon.

We rode into the rain and then away from it as quickly as possible - but it was coming again in 30 minutes!  In the
meantime the cranky old Kawi worked enough to get us home.

Not so happy in the rain (though the other 40 year old Kawi was flawless and my Connie ran like a Swiss watch).

Scrambler pipes in the rain.

After watching Canada's girls' team get kicked out of the world cup (but England won so I was still happy), we watched some Isle of Man TT, talked bikes and drank local brews.  The next morning the torrential rain continued.  After some hot coffee I hit the road to test my rain gear like never before, and get to the family cottage in Bobcaygeon where my wife and son were worrying about me.

I was the warm and dry centre of the universe making a Tim-on-a-Concours sized hole in the rain.  Since Jeff had told me to move the petcock from "Pri" to "On" (Pri doesn't mean the primary tank, it means prime, as in giving the engine lots of extra gas to start after being off for a long while), the Concours had developed a new smoothness with no more lumpy low RPM or gas burning backfires when I came off throttle.  With the Connie running better than ever I was ready for a challenge.

The south shore of Georgian Bay in Midland.

I tried to stop at Blue Mountain for breakfast where my son and I had gone ten weeks earlier on our first ride of the year, but it was a zoo.  I eventually found a Tim Hortons and had some hot tea and breakfast.  Pushing on from Collingwood I kept hoping I'd ride out of it, but it only came on heavier.

Riding in the rain is nice, everything smells fantastic and the colours are super saturated.  It gets less magical when you're doing it in heavy traffic.  Drivers see you even less than they normally do and you're dealing with spray and slick pavement as well.  Many moons ago a friend of mine (an ER nurse) invented the Trotter Precipitation Index, which theorized that driver IQ is inversely proportional to the amount of precipitation falling (drivers get dumber the more it rains).  I've generally observed this to be true, but it takes on terrifying new dimensions on a motorbike.

The slog in traffic from Collingwood to Orillia was tense and the rain had finally found a way into my rain gear, soaking my crotch.  Nothing makes you crankier than a wet crotch.

I'd been on the road about three hours when I got to Orillia.  I was on my way (still in heavy traffic) across the causeway on the north end of Lake Simcoe when everything stopped due to an accident.  The road was closed, it was pelting down with rain and so dark street lights were kicking on.  I pulled off into The Point restaurant and was saved with excellent service, hot coffee and home made soup.  I looked so bedraggled that the waitress didn't even charge me, but I left a big tip.

An hour later my core temperature was back up and I was uncramped and ready to take another run at this underwater ride.  The traffic had finally cleared and the road was reopened so I crossed the causeway and headed south around the east side of Simcoe.  No sooner had I saddled up than it began pelting down again.  My warmed up dampness became cold and rain soaked in short order, but I was closing in on my goal.

I pulled out of the stop-start traffic on the local through road and headed toward Beaverton and some dirt bike boots I saw on Kijiji, but missed a turn in the torrential rain and ended up 10 miles down the road I needed to take to the cottage before I realized I'd missed it.  I couldn't bring myself to turn around so I pushed on toward the finish line.

The air temperature was only about 15°C and I was soaked again.  Just when it looked like I had this thing in hand, and with no warning, the road was suddenly gone, replaced with deeply rutted mud and gravel.  The old guy ahead of me in his new SUV was worried about getting it dirty and kept stopping (!) in the mud while he tried to figure out where to drive next.  Ever tried riding a loaded Concours in ankle deep mud and ruts?  It isn't easy to keep upright, especially when you have to keep stopping and starting.

My Zen beginning to this trip was ebbing away.  I was cold, sore, and tired, and I'd missed my turn and a chance to pick up some lovely Alpinestars dirtbike boots for a song.  Now I was hanging on for dear life, trying to keep the big bike upright in this strange, slippery, grey mud.  To top it off I was stuck in traffic that had been inflicted with the TP Index.

I might have stopped but there was nowhere to do it.  Cars (but mostly SUVs) were splashing around in both directions, and I was covered in mud.  There were no shoulders to speak of.  At this point I started to get angry.  Alright, fuck this, I'm getting where I'm going instead of doubting myself.  Standing on the pegs I aimed the Concours around the deepest ruts (courtesy of yahoos in cars spinning out in the start-stop traffic) and picked my way through. When you take doubt out of your riding the bike responds to your determination with a sure footedness that I found encouraging.  Ten agonizing, slow and muddy kilometres later I emerged onto tarmac once again.

As I rolled into Fenelon Falls I grabbed the brakes for a stop sign and nothing happened.  The gravel they'd laid down in the construction was full of limestone dust and that grey paste had gotten into everything, especially my front brakes.  I got it stopped and pulled over for a pee in the rain.  By this point I was ready to pick up the bike on my back and carry it the rest of the way, some squishy brakes weren't going to slow me down (literally or figuratively).

I saddled up again and rode through Fenelon Falls which was backed up with cottage traffic.  Passing the mall some yahoo in a Mercedes SUV thought he'd suddenly pull out to get into the line of traffic inching along the other way.  I hit the brakes, skidding the back tire in the never-ending rain, he saw me at the last moment and stopped.  Had he hit me I'd have jumped through his windshield and beaten the shit out of him, I was pretty wound up at this point.  He got a fine what-the-hell-dude gesture but didn't want to make eye contact with the guy he almost hit so he could sit in a line of traffic.

I was finally out of Fenelon and on my way to Bobcaygeon.  The bike was running on empty, but I was ok with that, I still had miles of gravel fire roads before I got into the cottage and lighter would be more manageable.  I ignored the gas station in Bobcaygeon and pushed on to the cottage road with the odometer showing 236 miles since the last fill up.

The cottage road was slippery, but not like that damned construction, and it was graded properly.  I was making my way down this roller coaster of a road when the bike started to chug.  I was monkeying with the choke to keep it going when I remembered how low I was on gas.  A quick twist of the petcock to Reserve (which got me all the way back out four days later to fill up at 248 miles on the odo) made everything happy again and I road the final couple of miles without incident.

The cottage road - sort of like a rally stage.  The Concours was sure footed on the wet gravel.

It was still hosing down when I pulled into the cottage garage and took off my helmet with shaking hands.  Should I have stopped?  Hells no!  I was looking for a challenge and the weather, traffic and horrible roads had provided one.  Doing a difficult thing well is its own reward, and this epic submarine riding trek becomes another unforgettable experience that I can add to my riding résumé.

Still the most comfortable (and cheapest) helmet I own.  Hours in the rain it kept me dry, was virtually fog free (I waxed
the visor before leaving - water beaded off), and comfortable.

Jeff's heated gloves, waterproof for
the first couple of hours, then
soaked, but warm!

Parked in Fenelon Falls with dodgy brakes and a
'screw-it I'm getting there' attitude

Mud covered but parked in the cottage garage.

The next day (sure, whatever) the sun came out and everything was steaming.
It took the jacket and gloves two days to dry out.

Reading The Trails

We loaded up our wee mini-van and spent 48 hours out in the woods near Bobcaygeon.  Into the back I packed some helmets and the tiny Yamaha.

The cottage we were at is an ideal base for off-roading.  It's at the end of a long gravel fire road deep in the woods, and it's surrounded by off road snowmobile trails.  You couldn't ask for a better place to practice the art of riding off road on two wheels.

I really need to get my mits on an off road bike so I can go on those trails with my boy on his bike.

While I was lamenting my lack of a dual sport I went out on one of the ATVs and rode some trails with an eye for how a bike might make its way through three foot deep puddles and up rocky washed out trails.  The ATV is like a tank, bashing its way through with brute force and massive wheels.  You've got no chance of falling off and you pretty much knock your way through on a hugely over-square, balanced machine.  A bike would be like a scalpel after using a butcher's cleaver.


The inherent lack of balance on a bike means pounding through those massive puddles would be a tricky proposition.  I can't wait to try it.  Since I started riding I've realized how many different ways there are to learn motorcycle dynamics, and off-roading will push those boundaries far more cheaply than track racing might.

I'm hoping to nail down an off road focused dual sport and some kit in the next couple of weeks and then I intend to spend a lot of time up on the trails around the cottage, falling off a lot and learning things I'd never get to learn on the road.

A lovely little Yamaha came up in Orangeville for sale.  I'm hoping it's still available.  It's a light weight, air cooled XT350, the grandchild of the venerable XT500.  It'd also look good with with my son's PW80.  Just two guys out on their Yamahas.

Here's hoping it's still waiting for me.

Open Face Lid Dreams

My most comfortable helmet is the cheapest one I've bought.  That Hawk open faced helmet from Leatherup.ca is a simple device with barely any padding in it, yet I can wear it for hours without any pressure points.  It's a flip down, open faced lid with a built in sun visor, but it solidified for me my preferred helmet type - the open faced, modern helmet.  You can get out of the wind with the full face visor, or just use the sun visor and enjoy an unencumbered view of the road.

With the open faced thing in mind, here are my latest helmet dreams, but they ain't cheap (or easy to find in some cases):

ROOF HELMETS: Desmo

I've still got a huge crush on these French helmets that you can't get here.  I'm going to have to take a trip to the south of France just to pick one up.  The orange Desmo on the left has an A7 Corsair vibe to it that I dig.  It still looks like the perfect helmet: an open faced helmet that can transform into a fully safetied full face helmet when needed without having to carry around bits and pieces with you.

Price?  No idea, you can't buy them in North America and the former distributor hasn't been forthcoming with where to get the last ones in-country.  These guys have it for €469 ($649CA), but then there will be shipping and customs fees.  I'd be the only one I see on the road though.

SCHUBERTH:  M1

Schuberth just came out with a new version of their open faced helmet.  Once again, these aren't everywhere, but they are a heck of a lot easier to find than the Roof.

Compared to the French jeux de vivre in the Roof, you get some pretty German meh when it comes to style, though I bet its engineered to within an inch of its life. 

Price?  $680 from a trusted source, canadasmotorcycle.ca

NEXX HELMETS: X40 Vultron (!)

Wired did an article on these many moons ago.  Also a modular helmet, but rather than the Roof's elegant hinge, you end up with a handful of bits when you want to go open face.

It still has a neo-tech look to it that I like, though their webpage is a bit of a pig (my laptop is in overdrive trying to make sense of it).

Price?  Good question, NEXX Canada doesn't appear to offer the X40 for sale.  You can find them for sale in the UK for £249.99 ($484CA), but you also facing those shipping and customs costs.

SHARK: Soyouz

An open faced helmet that comes with all the bits and pieces to make a closed lid if you so wish. It also lets you live your Clint Eastwood Firefox dream.

The Soyouz is also made by a much better known and distributed manufacturer than some of the dodgier off-shore helmets I seem drawn to.

Price?  $299 in Canadian dollars with free shipping and no customs surprises from motorcyclesuperstore, a trusted source who go over the top to make sure you're happy with your order.  If they go on sale, I might not be able to help myself.

Thoughts on Bump Starting a Motorcycle

It's been one of those days.  I have a 21 year old motorbike but the 10 week old battery in it failed and almost stranded me on my way to an exam.

I'm still not sure how the Concours found a way to start with next to no electricity but I'm mighty glad she's looking after me.  I ended up making it to work in plenty of time.

The other day the Connie wouldn't start, plunging me into despair.  Had I wrecked the electrics with my wash last week?  Had I wired something wrong?  It turns out no, I hadn't.  On the upside, it wouldn't start in my own driveway, which makes for cheaper towing costs.

Thanks to some quality engineering by Motormaster I was the proud owner of a 10 week old Eliminator battery that had a bad cell.  Want to hear the sound of frustration (and Concours magic?), here it is:

I'm still not sure how the Connie got going again with almost no electricity, but she pulled it off and got me to work.  I had the auto-tech teacher handy in case my bump start failed, so here's how it went:  I duck walked the Concours to the slight downhill out of the parking lot and got it going down the hill as quickly as I could.  I had it in second gear with the clutch in.  Dumping the clutch I got a couple of big chugs and then the bike stopped.

I've had a lot of experience bump starting cars.  I was the proud owner of a series of Chrysler and Ford products in the 1980s, many of which seemed determined not to start.  I've bump started everything from Chrysler Lasers to Ford Escorts and Mercury Capris (all manual shift, I've never owned an automatic).  If it's got four wheels, I can probably get it going.

Made in Vietnam this year or made in Japan 21 years ago?
I'll take the 21 year old Japanese bits, thanks.

There is something you need to know about bump starting a bike if you've only ever done it in a car.  When you get a car rolling you don't need a lot of speed because you've got so much momentum thanks to the weight of the vehicle.  With the bike you need to get more speed going because you've got much less weight.  My first motorbike bump start didn't because I didn't recognize the difference in mass.  Get your bike going faster than you do with a car before you drop the clutch.

Of course, no one bump starts anything any more because it would damage the on-board computers, so this is an academic discussion.

After a jump from the auto-shop at school I was rolling again.  I got home, took out the battery and brought it over to my local Canadian Tire where it failed the tester in less than thirty seconds with a bad cell.  Twenty minutes later (there was a lot of paperwork) I walked out with a new replacement.  It's since been filled and charged.  Hopefully the new battery can keep up with the 21 year old parts around it this time.

What does a new battery do?  Well, the bike starts the moment you touch the starter.  It feels more awake.  I imagine the plugs were putting out some pretty weak spark at idle on a dying battery.  While riding the bike seems to lug less at low rpms and feels sharper.  The lights glow brighter too.

The parts desk at Canadian Tire said they've never had an Eliminator fail like this before.  If it's a one off I'll shrug and take it as bad luck.  If I'm swapping it out again under warranty then I won't be buying another one.  There was no real cost because it died in my driveway, but had it died on the far side of Georgian Bay it would have been much more expensive.

Perfect Moments

Lexus has this ad about being in the perfect moment:

Other than the narrative (I find that I'm lost in moments like this, not narrating them in my head), I like the idea. I was editing footage from riding last week and had trouble finding a frame where I didn't have a perfect moment look on my face:

Even pausing during the high speed sections of that video shows a series of very content micro-expressions.  You might find a perfect moment once in every blue moon in your Lexus, but I find them almost constantly when out on the bike.  I'm starting to get the idea behind the 'you never see a bike in a therapist's parking lot' saying.

The real question is: what is it about riding a motorcycle that causes this kind of continuous immersion in the perfect moment? (redundant perhaps, every moment is perfect isn't it?)

When I ride well I find myself immersed in what I'm doing I lose myself in it.  It's only when conscious thought arises that my corners aren't carved perfectly and my gears are wrong.  Some of this has to do with the fact that I'm still relatively new to motorbiking and very conscious of improving my process, but the majority has to do with the immersive nature of riding a motorcycle.

I even look happy parking the bike at work!

Being in the wind means you are enveloped by the world you're passing through.  Your senses are alive to sounds, smells and the panorama around you.  You aren't seeing the world through a letterbox wind shield and smelling recirculated A/C.  The sensual nature of riding, the wind tugging at your clothes, the sun on your back, goes a long way to making you the ride rather than you doing a ride.

If the sensual side of it isn't enough (and it's often overwhelming, ask any biker who has felt the temperature drop and smelt the ozone as they've ridden into a thunderstorm), there is always the mechanical intimacy of riding a motorcycle to make you forget concious thought and become one with the moment.

Unlike the hand on the wheel, one foot on the gas approach to driving, the motorcyclist is changing gears with their left toe, rear braking with their right, operating the clutch and indicators (and sometimes horn, lights and choke) with their left hand and twisting the throttle and applying the front brakes with the right.  On top of that they are using both arms to counter-steer into corners and their whole bodies to manage those turns.  Motorcycling is a viable and complex form of exercise for both the mind and body.

So what we have here is a mode of transport that is physically taxing, mentally demanding and sensual.  On top of all that, if you do it badly it can very quickly become fatal.  You very quickly want to be able to fall into the zone when riding.  Peak performance and awareness it fosters isn't nice to have but a necessity when operating a motorbike.  Fortunately, getting to that state is fantastically rewarding.  There are a lot of ways to get there but seat time seems to be the magic ingredient.

In a cruel twist, this morning I got the bike out for the short commute to work.  The rain had stopped and the smell of water soaked plants filled the humid air, but my up-until-now bullet proof old Concours wouldn't start, it had a dead battery!  Maybe I left the ignition on?  Maybe some water got into things?  Maybe something broke?  Suddenly that string of contented moments I was looking forward to became a morose push back into the garage after changing out of my gear.  My commute turned from fifteen minutes of bliss to the tedium of driving.  The bike is a wonderful form of therapy, except for when it doesn't work.