Category: Tim’s Motorcycle Diaries

cob-webs and rust…

  The Kawasaki Concours was a rough looking old thing, but very mechanically sound.  It only has 56k on it and was tight, dry and sounded strong.  The owner was a long time rider who is being sidelined by arthritis, he knows how to look after a bike.  Mechanically this Connie is well cared for, it’s just a cosmetic mess.  I’m good at cosmetic messes.  I offered him $800 and he says OK.  Hopefully I’ll have it home next time I post.

I’m going to be spending some time stripping this old girl down and cleaning her up.

In the meantime I think I’m going to take a friend’s advice, get both bikes!  My current plan is to transition to the Connie from the Ninja at the end of this season, sell the Ninja and go looking for that Interceptor of my dreams.  Since the Ninja was a much newer bike, I think I’ll be able to diversify my two wheel portfolio without putting any more money into it.

Last weekend I was in Stratford to see Mother’s Daughters – a modern feminist take on Mary and Elizabeth’s battle to become queen after their father (Henry VIII) kicked the bucket way back in 1550s England – it was brilliant!


Before the play we were about town having dinner when I stumbled upon Perth County Moto.  Jeff O’Neill, the co-owner, was in there and we had a nice chat about vintage German police leathers and my Triumph Tiger.


Looking over PCM’s website, Jeff and his wife Lindsay seem to be focused on a side of motorcycling that you don’t often see:  vintage and DIY.  Everything motorcycle related near me is pretty much a box store or dealer (which is like a box store but with higher prices).  Looking into PCM’s approach makes me wish I lived closer to Stratford.  The Englander in me finds himself a stranger in a strange land when it comes to DIY; it’s not generally a North American mindset.


There is a younger side to motorcycling culture that embraces DIY and gets excited about customizing older machines.  Some turn their noses up at this new approach and call it hipster, but I dig it.  Perth County Moto seems to be all in on the custom DIY scene.  They even have a custom build going on on their blog and look like they support spannering nights.


PCM has a variety of Biltwell new gear, Bell Helmets and some other less common manufacturers for sale.  I tried on Biltwell gloves but wasn’t thrilled with the feel, but they’re a pretty budget item and I’m getting pickier with gloves (Speed & Strength aren’t cheap, but that’s the new standard).  I wish I’d had more time to look around, but I was on a dinner and show schedule.


One thing that did stand out was the used leathers on a rack at the back.  The green German Police leathers immediately jumped out at me, but alas, they were designed for a very small German police officer.


If you’re looking for out of the ordinary gear, Perth County Moto is worth a stop.  In my brief time in there I managed to find a nice Triumph patch (they have a big selection of classic badges along with a pile of sticker options).  I’m sure I’d have bought something else had I the time.  Fortunately, we’re back in Stratford for shows several more times this summer.


How best to get out to Perth County Moto?  Well, load up for a lovely ride through Southern Ontario countryside, get into Stratford early and have a look around PCM, then go out for dinner at one of the many nice pubs or eateries within walking distance.  Once you park up downtown, it’s all easily walkable.  I’d also suggest having a look at the Black Swan Brewery (they make a wonderful English Pale Ale) before you catch a show and then ride back home under the Milky Way while working in some funky new gear.  Perth County Moto gives any motorcyclist a reason to ride out to Stratford this summer.

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I’m sitting in England thinking about our 9 days in Iceland.  We covered over two thousand kilometres in the land of fire and ice, alas, none of it on two wheels, but I was always on the lookout for motorcycle culture and there is no shortage of it on Iceland.  In a future post I’m going to hammer out all the advice I’ve garnered from our Icelandic reconnaissance.

You see a lot of BMW GSes on Iceland.  Viking Biking rents them out of Reykjavik and a ferry delivers them from mainland Europe on the east coast.  The adventure bike is the perfect motorcycle genre for Iceland as the roads vary from smooth tarmac to potholed hard dirt, and everything in between.





On our second day I discovered another side of Icelandic motorcycling culture.  The big-twin cruiser rider can also be found here, albeit in much reduced numbers.  The Norse Riders Iceland Chapter are a mashup of your North American patch club with viking imagery.  Like every other biker I’ve talked to, they look rough but are the nicest people when you chat with them.

Later that day we were making tracks back to Keflavik Airport to return the rental car when we came across some massive lava fields in the south west of the island.  We’d been driving 20 minutes at a time without seeing traffic either way, and this was during the height of tourist season when a number of people had asked me if we should be going there then.  If you like empty roads, you’ll love Iceland.  Through the lava fields eventually came two GSes making time on the empty, winding roads.  I can only imagine the smiles on those riders’ faces.

Even in the capital of Reykjavik you’re looking at something the size of a small North American town.  Traffic moves all the time and there are seldom any backups.  Out in the country you’re making tracks all the time with sporadic traffic at worst.

You’re driving on the right, so you’ve got none of the headaches involved in riding in the UK or Australia/NZ, and the drivers themselves are polite and efficient.  If you pull up behind a slower moving vehicle they’ll turn on their right indicator when it’s safe for you to pass.  We made good time in a hatchback and then a mini-van with six people and luggage; on a bike it’d be heaven.

This left me wondering what I’d most enjoy riding in Iceland.  The Tiger I’ve got sitting in a garage back home would be the ideal weapon – able to make good use of tarmac but able to manage gravel and packed dirt/potholes.  Iceland is adventure bike nirvana.

A couple of days later we were out near Lake Myvatn and came across a couple of Germans on KTMs.  With their light weight soft panniers and nimble bikes capable of handing any rough stuff, these enduros would be another good choice for riding Iceland.

Those KTMs slice down the valley of the Krefla Geo-thermal power plant (Iceland’s main source of electricity and heating is green/geo-thermal energy).

On our first day with two families, 3 kids and a minivan, we did what all Canadians do and covered a lot of miles, all while repeatedly ignoring the satnav.

The vast majority of this drive was on tarmac, but the satnav kept telling us to turn back on the north shore of the peninsula and we soon found out why.  There were over 100kms of gravel roads that soon devolved into hard parked pot-holed earth roads.  While battling those roads you’re also wrapping around fjords and experiencing blind corners at fifteen degree inclines.  It’s beautiful, but it’s a tough road, especially if you’re still hundreds of kilometres from where you’re going to lay your head that night.  We saw a number of campers just pull up in a fjiord for the night to enjoy the quiet and the view.

It’d be a challenging ride on an adventure bike, but you’d never forget the scenery.  Based on how exhausting the car ride was, I’d suggest 2 full riding days to do this on a bike, and be ready for some technically challenging roads on day two.

 

Snaesfellsyokel: a stratovolcano in a land of rift built shield volcanoes.  There is a road across the back of it, if you dare. Rental cars are restricted from using F roads, and considering how rough some of the ‘main’ roads where, F roads must be quite technical.

 

Your typical busy Icelandic summer road – if you like the view you’ll get a new one like this every ten minutes.

 

Lava fields

 

1st day in Iceland: driving Canadian style (huge distances, various road surfaces)…

 

Taken five minutes past midnight – that’s pretty much as dark as it gets – dusky.

Riding in Iceland isn’t an oddity.  You’ll meet people from all across Europe exploring the continent’s last real frontier.  Whether you’re a cruiser, a sport or an adventure rider, you’ll find your people here on two wheels enjoying some Jurassic Park quality landscapes and empty, sinuous roads.


If you’re into exploration of any kind, Iceland delivers.

A 4×4 off-road ready camper van?  Yep, saw that (parked on black lava sand at the base of a cinder volcano!)

 

This couple were pros.  Their packing was exceptionally organized and the next morning they were up in a light rain in full waterproofs and gone before 8am.

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It’s the bike on my bedroom wall when I was a kid.

As near as I can tell the ’84 Interceptor is still for sale, though the owner isn’t responsive to emails.  I’ll end up phoning and see if I can get up there next week to look at it.

In the meantime, a Concours appeared nearby that looks like a good buy.  Mechanically good but a bit rough looking, it’s priced to sell.

So here I am again at the intersection of fantasy and reality, wondering which way to turn.  The Interceptor isn’t running, will need a complete rebuild (it’s been sitting for a decade), and costs $700.  It’s also a good couple of hours away and would need me to find/rent a vehicle to bring it home.  The Concours is twenty minutes away, roadworthy and is $1000 or best offer.  Price wise there is little between them.

Owning a bike at all is a dream come true, so the dream versus reality distinction is finer here.  The question now is which direction do I want to go next?  Last year I did a lot of miles on the Ninja.  This year I’ve been riding a lot of different bikes and the Ninja hasn’t seen me as much.  I want to continue to expand my riding repertoire.  Both bikes offer bigger engines and variations on the sport touring theme.  The Interceptor would be my first Honda, the Kawi would introduce me to shaft drive.

The purpose of buying a fixer-upper is to have something to spanner in the winter months, so the idea of repairing the Honda isn’t fearsome, it’s something I’d look forward to, and parts seem to be available for it.  There are also a lot of information sites on the web about it.  I’d always assumed I’d buy a Honda bike, but I’ve been waylayed by Kawasaki’s awesomeness.  I’m trying not to be brand specific but rather honour the engineering.  Having said that, I’ve always had a crush on Hondas and Triumphs.

She doesn’t look like much, but she’s got it where it counts… If it worked for Han Solo, it’ll work for me. Is this my diamond in the rough?

That Concours needs some TLC too though.  The Concours is ten years newer with lower kilometres.  This seems like a no-brainer, but this is where emotion clouds the decision.  The Interceptor has been my dream machine forever, I’ve always wanted to own one.  The Concours is a much more usable machine.  My son and I could tour on it comfortably and do a lot of miles.

The Concours is also a gentler machine, and while I’m still an adolescent when it comes to riding a motorcycle, I’m 45 years old otherwise.  That the Concours is a big guy who can move with surprising speed is a much better fit for this balding, middle age guy than an ’80s superbike.  There comes a time when you don’t want to look absurd on a bike, or maybe that just doesn’t matter.

In a more perfect world I’d have a big enough garage to get both.  The Interceptor would get stripped down and prepped as a vintage race bike.  I could then live out my dreams of riding it on the safety of a track.  The Concours would get fixed up and cover some huge miles, occasionally finding some twisties to show off its athletic prowess.

Buying a bike has been such a visceral experience that I think I’ll have to see both in the flesh before I make a decision.  I’m hoping that the Kawi strikes an emotional nerve with me because if she can get under my skin I know she’d be a better fit than a feverish teenager’s dream.

As I sit here I’m in the middle of a twelve hour odyssey to get back to Canada from the UK. From this cramped seat where I’m constantly being jostled by people, babies burst into full throated song and planes sit on tarmac for forty minutes waiting to unload luggage from two people who checked in then didn’t board, I’m reminded of how much I fucking hate flying. My sinuses are in a vice and I spent ten of the short 90 minutes we had on the ground in Reykjavik trying to clear them of blood and mucus.

At 6’3” and 17 stone, I’m not built for air travel. These seats were designed for people half my size and the leg room varies from barely sufficient to chronically painful. The only reason I’d subject myself to this hell is to visit somewhere spectacular like Iceland or go home to England for a few short weeks to make any kind of connection with my family and memories from childhood.

It has been over a month since I’ve ridden the Tiger with its infinite headroom, divine wind and singular sense of freedom. The freedom of riding a motorcycle has never felt so far away as it does when you’re human cattle on an airliner.

As a younger man I studied flight and once dreamed of doing it myself, but and older post sinus surgery me finds the pressure changes painful and the increasingly OCD/socially anxious me would rather be walking across the Sahara than sitting on this aeroplane right now. There is no kind of tired like the kind of tired you get from the pressure changes and dehydration of flying. The resting 150 heart rate from the social anxiety is a nice bonus.

I love to travel. Going to new places and seeing all the different ways the world can be beautiful is one of my favourite things, but the emotional cost of doing it this way is extreme. The difference between going somewhere on a motorbike and going somewhere in a plane is like the difference between creating a piece of art and looking at a picture online.  One is Travel with a capital T, the other is utilitarian transportation.

We did nine days and covered over two thousand kilometres in some truly beaten up rental cars in Iceland, and the country begs for another go. It’s a beautiful, expensive, unique place that makes you feel like you’re on the edge of the world. Iceland wasn’t born yet when the Canadian Shield I live on was already ancient. That newness comes through around every corner, and it’s blessedly free of people. The ones you do meet are happy to see you (because seeing you is a rarity) and their sense of humour is so honest and piercing that it’s practically glacial in its purity. If you can afford it, there isn’t much to dislike about Iceland though more than a night in Reykjavik is enough though – head out of the capital for the real thing.  If you want a less touristy city, Akureyri on the north coast is a lovely alternative.

We wandered Iceland in a rental hatchback that looked like it had fought a ground battle

in Afghanistan and then a diesel minivan with no springs left and almost a hundred thousand kilometres on the clock. They did the job, but they did it with no joy. When I returned the black and blue Vauxhall Corsa to the impossible to find rental agency (they are called Flizzr, but you have to go to SixT to get it and they don’t say they’re Flizzr anywhere), it was with minutes to spare. I came screaming in from miles of lava fields in a never ending dusk with whisps of smoke streaming off the car, drove it into the side of the building where it burst into flames, mic-dropped the keys at the feet of the stunned attendant and skipped off into the never-to-happen darkness – at least that’s how I remember it. The car had over 80 known dents and scratches on it (life is tough in the land of fire and ice), yet the attendant still went over it with a floor mirror on a stick and took ten minutes to OK it so I could go. Whatever.  

The best car I’ve ever driven was a 9/10.  The worst car I’ve ever driven was a 1/10.  It got a 1 because it actually moved.  I’ve sat in zeroes.  This Corsa was a 3/10 car because it didn’t strand us anywhere, but the car pulled constantly and sounded like an asthmatic runner.  I’ve seldom driven a car so beaten and tired and so minimally engineered in the first place as to make driving it so tiresome… and don’t rent with Flizzr, it’s a headache.


The worst bike I’ve ever ridden was a 9/10 (bikes go up to 15/10, though I suspect an H2 is a 17/10).

The next day we picked up the diesel Citroen C4 Picasso – a six passenger minivan that was supposed to carry 3 adults, 3 teens and all their luggage for a week. Somehow it managed it, which says great things about Citroen’s ability to package a people carrier. It had three times the mileage of the poor, old, beaten Corsa but looked five years newer which says great things about Citroen’s ability to produce a tough vehicle. Other than the shock-less suspension that wallowed over bumps, the C4 was useful, but never enjoyable. It pulled well enough with all that weight, and got impressive gas mileage; it was the best vehicle on this trip, 7 out of 10.   Who rents vans with blown suspension, a broken windshield and almost 100k on them?  Icelandic car rental agencies, that’s who.

We drifted out of Iceland on a bus, which was easy enough, only to get stranded at the airport for five hours because Air Canada can’t be bothered to change the tires on their planes often enough. An Air Canada Jazz flight out of Gatwick, where we were headed, blew a tire on take off. A close scan of the runway showed nothing.  Even when we don’t take Air Canada they manage to delay us.

We touched down near London at about 1am only to walk into a massive line at customs. The five hour closure had created a huge backlog, but rather than prepare for the backlog the UK had its customs agents sit there all day doing nothing and then left the night time skeleton crew unsupported. We got a bit lucky and only had a 45 minute wait in line, but the planes coming in behind us filled the massive waiting room with snaking lines. It must have been hours before the backlog was cleared by that exhausted night shift.

We were car-less for nearly a week and made do with commuter trains and the tube in and around London. We finally made our way up to Norfolk on British Rail First Class. It only cost a few pounds more to upgrade and it was the nicest single public transport experience of the trip. Comfortable seats, a quiet, modern train, complimentary tea and big windows were a joy. That the drooling masses weren’t on that car was also nice. Our seatmate was a transport engineer on his way back from interviewing a job prospect in London. We arrived in Norwich feeling ready for the next leg.  I still love trains, I’m not sure why.

My cousin’s car (another ancient Corsa in similar shape to the one in Iceland, but 100%

A week living in my home town? Priceless.

less expensive) got us all over Norfolk. It took a few days for us to acclimatize to no shoulders (ever), roads that often disappeared into a driveway sized single lane and drivers who seemed almost psychotically intent on over driving every blind corner. We were told later that as we drove away from Norfolk things would get more sane, and they did. You have to treat driving in Norfolk like lion taming – show no weakness, never break eye contact and establish dominance immediately. Any sign of weakness is seen as an opportunity to try and kill you. We learned the term ‘normal for Norfolk’ and in fifteen days of living there came to appreciate the intensity of their driving culture. Doing it in an old teal Corsa with Norwich City Football Club stickers on it made us look a bit less touristy. By the end of two weeks we could blend.

We cabbed it over to Enterprise Rental Car in Norwich for the next leg. We were getting a Skoda something or other mid-sized (compact in Canada), but it turned into a diesel Toyota Avensis station wagon (estate in the UK). This car was relatively new (12k miles on the odo), with massive, fancy alloy rims and a powerband about an inch wide. It pulled like a V6 from idle, but if you went over two thousand RPM it would start to wheeze, and by 2500rpm it was like accelerating in reverse.

It had a six speed manual transmission and I couldn’t imagine a car that needed that less.

One of the most perverse things about UK driving is that for a people doomed to sit in traffic most of the time, they are all determined to drive a manual transmission. I love manuals, but there is a time and a place, and a big diesel station wagon isn’t that time or place. The Toyota felt under-powered and guzzled diesel. Conservatively I’d guess that the Citroen with six people and their luggage got at least 40% better mileage than the newer Toyota that would turn off if left in neutral and stopped at a light – which caused quite a panic the first time it happened. That the Citroen managed to feel more lively with an automatic transmission, twice as many people and over four times the miles on it doesn’t say great things about Toyota’s state of the art when it comes to diesel motoring, but that wasn’t the worst part of the car.

I’m a sceptic of integrated sat-nav/GPS systems in cars. I understand how Google Maps and apps like Wazer crowdsource information and generate their map data, but the corporate systems built into cars have always seemed like half-assed, cheaper attempts at doing the same thing. They steer me wrong often enough that I usually take their directions as a suggestion at best. Toyota’s 2017 model GPS/sat-nav was the most half assed I’ve ever seen. A number of times in Dartmoor park we were led onto roads that were more an idea of a road than a passable thing, but it really let us down on our way to one of the biggest tourist attractions in the UK.
 

The Eden Project is a massive greenhouse science experiment in an abandoned quarry in Cornwall. As one of the largest tourist attractions in the country you’d think Toyota’s sat-nav could get us there. Instead of walking us in the front gate it turned us away into a town nearby and then directed us up a single lane track that almost had us damaging the rental car (with £1000 detectable) while we tried to avoid other lost new Toyotas and eventually do a 15 point turn to get back around and follow the phone instead. This kind of psychotic behaviour came up so often that I started questioning everything it suggested (“what are you talking about you psychotic bitch?”) We eventually retired the Toyota sat-nav (all we’d need according to the kid at Enterprise in Norwich) and used Wazer, which worked a treat on the heavily travelled roads of the UK.

Our last day with the car had us driving from Dartmoor in Devon to Epsom near London…

during the summer holidays. We spent nearly as much time sitting in traffic as we did trying to get the car back in time. That the on-board GPS kept wanting to drive us through the middle of towns during rush hour (it’s always rush hour in England) didn’t help.

After lining up to get in, lining up to park, lining up to pay, lining up to get into the castle and then lining up to leave again, we ended up with about 20 minutes at Corfe Castle. That’s what driving in the UK is like. You start on a trip and the GPS tells you you’ll get there at 5:00pm and you watch that slip away over the day until you’re frantically trying to navigate roundabout on top of roundabout in London suburb rush hour traffic ten minutes before they close and charge you for another day with the car. Our saving grace was my cousin leading us over there after we dropped off the luggage at his house – you’ll never get lost with a native guide.  I’d give the Avensis station wagon a 4/10 – it’s more like a six or seven as it’s a big car that carries a lot and is smooth and modern, but that guzzling diesel and murderous GPS mean I wouldn’t even give it a pass.

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Last week a pair of Alpinestar boots popped up on Kijiji that happened to be just my size.  The Alpinestars I have are totally next level, so the chance to own a second pair for the price of tax on a new pair was impossible to ignore.

A ride over to Kitchener on an idyllic Sunday morning and I’m the proud owner of my second pair of Alpinestars, this time for twenty five bucks.  Only used for a season, and in fantastic shape, they’re waterproof and much better for wet/cold weather than the summer boots I currently have.

***  Kijiji Part 2

I love riding with a purpose.  Today I went to Guelph and then Orangeville to check out two dual sport bikes.  I’m looking for something as different as possible from the Concours, so a light-weight off-road focused enduro machine fits the bill.

The first bike is a 2007 Kawasaki KLX-250.  250ccs is on the small side, but this is a very light bike.  At 298lbs, it’s 374(!)lbs lighter than the Concours.  It barely makes any noise, felt spritely and has a radically different riding position.  No windscreens, very open and a tall riding stance.  It’s been immaculately cared for by the original owner and comes with all the right farkles.  You couldn’t ask for a nicer machine and it’s much newer than I thought I could afford.  If I’m worried about the power, there are always options to buff up the bike.

It’s a bonus when you hit it off with the owner and end up having a good chat.  He is an experienced trails rider who offered up all sorts of good advice about where and how to do it.  As he said, this is the ideal bike to learn on.  I may eventually want a more powerful bike, but as a starter this one is as good as it gets.

After a ride over to the Forks of the Credit, and a quality coffee at Higher Ground, I rode the Forks for the first time on the Concours (which always feels lighter than it is in a Millennium Falcon kind of way), and then headed up to Orangeville.


The XT350 looked like the ideal bike.  Air cooled, super light weight, with a medium displacement, but this one was a poor example.  It looked like it had led a life that alternated between abuse and neglect.  Not only was it filthy, but it looked like it was going to rust through in some expensive places.  It didn’t start and after a dozen or so kicks, when it finally did fire up it sounded like a tractor.  It couldn’t have been more different to the only marginally more expensive, lower kilometer, six year newer, much loved, whisper quiet KLX.  I’ll trade a few cc’s for a bike that won’t strand me deep in the woods any day.

I emailed the owner of the KLX standing on the street as the XT owner tried to get it started again and told him I’m all in.  It’s nice when the right thing falls into your lap just when you need it, and in my case that always seems to be a Kawasaki.  The KLX will be my third Kawi (though my first green one).  I can’t wait to get to know it.

Brand loyalty seems to affect motorcyclists more than most.  Even when they don’t work, motorcycle riders are partial to their rides in a way that owners of other modes of transport aren’t.  With that in mind I just completely ignored my Kawasaki only motorcycle history to this point and just picked up a bike for my son: a Yamaha PW80.  I guess we’re now officially bilingual.

It needs a cleanup and some TLC, but the bike is straight and solid.  Once I’ve got it sorted we’ll be practising circles on the dead end road out front of our place.

They were asking $800, but rather than start there I asked what they were asking.  Since the Mom had put it up for sale and she wasn’t talking to me, it was suddenly $700.  I suggested $600, they went with $675.  For a seldom used, nicely stored 2004 Yamaha PW80, I think I came out ahead.  I could sell it tomorrow for a couple of hundred more than I got it.

I’m still looking for something off-road for me to head out on with Max.  If I had a mint to throw at it I’d go pick up a late model DRZ-400 or a KLX-250, but I don’t.  I’m hoping for a an older enduro bike, but sub 500cc; they don’t come up often.  This is going to be a primarily off-road machine, so lugging a 600+cc ‘adventure’ bike on the trails isn’t a thrilling prospect.  A big enough for me but light off-road machine is the goal.

I’m going to take Max out to the Junior Red Riders course early this summer, then I’m going to make as many trips to Bobcageon as I can manage to get us some time on two wheels together.

Getting into the PW80 was an easy prospect.  The seat pops off with a couple of nuts under the fender and the tank with a couple of bolts.  I’m not sure if two stroke oil can go off so I left it as is, but I emptied the gas tank and put in new gas (the former owner guessed the gas was at least a couple of years old).

I got it started and running smoothly and took it for a run around the circle we live on.  It took off like a scalded rabbit!  I could barely hang on.  The only issue is a broken exhaust.  I’m hoping our metal shop genius at school can sort it out tomorrow.  With a tight exhaust we’ll be off to the trails!

Brand loyalty did play a part in this.  Another bike we went to go see was a Baja 90cc dirt bike.  It looked pretty cobbled together and the fact that it was a Chinese bike gave me the willies.  I might not be a Kawasaki or nothing guy, but I know better than to buy a dodgy, Chinese knockoff.