26.1.09

The Beginning

I think the only reason my wife wanted to marry me is because I had a bike and was willing to ride it. When we met in 2004, my 1996 Suzuki Bandit 600 showed signs of use, and often enough got me back and forth to work. A couple of times riding bitch and my occasional hint that I’d teach her to ride had her hooked. When a bad mechanic and hurricane Rita all but ruined my bike, she was undeterred. I was her best chance to ride that included side benefits, so she dug her hooks deep. On Superbowl Sunday in 2006 she said yes and that June I was hitched forever.

We purchased a Suzuki TL 185 shortly thereafter and I made good on my promise to teach her to ride. Not that I was really the best instructor. I learned in college from a roommate with a Honda XL 185 in 1988. Greg was offended when I referred to bikes as “murdercycles.” He opened my mind, and before I’d ever slipped the Honda into 3rd gear I found and purchased ½ interest in an abused $50 1980 YZ 80. Best $25 I’ve ever spent. Roger and I heaped more abuse on the poor Yamaha than any bike should ever have to endure. When the motor finally succumbed, I bought Greg’s Honda. This was my first street legal bike, and I rode it until 1993 when I sold it back to him. I look back on those days fondly. I was always broke, but managed to find ways to keep gas in the tank. I remember getting the guy at the local motorcycle shop to give me clutch parts for the YZ by eating a live fly I caught with my fingers. Good times, and I learned a lot. I firmly believe there is no better way to learn than pushing your limits and surviving the wrecks. The YZ was perfect for that, it has probably saved my life numerous times.

That’s the reason for the TS. At our age pushing the limits and surviving the wrecks probably isn’t prudent or advisable, but having a bike that could take some mistakes and abuse without overly punishing the rider or wallet seemed wise. I really wish Ceci had ridden the bike more and a little harder, but she isn’t the patient type. It wasn’t long before she bought a very low mileage 2001 Vulcan 750 from a friend. That was followed by a motorcycle safety foundation class with instructors more capable than I am. In no time she had her license and was riding regularly. I, on the other hand, was riding nowhere.

In 1996 my interest in riding was rekindled by Navy buddies that rode. I purchased the Bandit while on leave in Missouri and rode it back to California where I was stationed. This was my first real street bike, and I’ve yet to find its replacement. Unfortunately, the roads where I live now in Texas aren’t all that interesting and I didn’t ride like I should. Eventually it started running so poorly I had to take it to a mechanic for long overdue work. Between his ineptitude and the Hurricane that destroyed his shop, my bike was left unrideable. I couldn’t find another mechanic willing to work on it. It just didn’t seem to be worth fixing, so I had to watch my wife ride and enjoy the fact that she was happy.

She wasn’t happy enough. She kept bugging me to start riding again. After all, that was the reason she married me, wasn’t it? Things had not been going great at home. The honeymoon was over and problems were creeping in (looming large?). There was the miscarriage. I stopped working in 2007 and my retirement money was running out. Her teenage daughter was out of control and driving me nuts. We were getting by, but things weren’t exactly joyous. Summer vacation was approaching and we had no plans. The conditions were all there, and there I made quite the error in judgement.

“Honey, we could just cash in Sami’s college fund and take a motorcycle trip across the country.” It was a lark really. There was no way she’d say yes to that. It made no sense. I didn’t even have a bike to ride on. There was less than $2,000 in the college savings anyway. Ceci had never taken a real trip anywhere on the bike. She didn’t even have her own gear, she was riding with mine. It was just a dream to hope for. Like the Ferrari I keep lusting for.

There was no hesitation. No questions. Her mind instantly made up. “You need to get a bike.” I was wrong. I had greatly underestimated my wife. Her father had talked of one day riding across the country, but passed away without accomplishing it. Her older brother has talked of it also, but as yet hadn’t done so. The dream was now hers, and I had become part of it. Any problems we were having went away. We now had new problems. I needed a bike. She needed gear. We had to plan the trip. We had something to look forward to.

Tourist information and maps started coming in from every state except Hawaii. I spent hours calculating routes that would have us back in time for her to go back to work. How much can you see in two months? What do we want to see most? How can we get there without trudging along the interstate? I had to figure that out.

We don’t buy anything from China, so gear can be a problem. We found Frank Thomas brand jacket and pants made in England(most aren’t, we got lucky), and an AlpineStars back protector(Indonesia) at Cycle Gear. I found an online store with an HJC-90 communicator compatible with my own(Korea). It had been on the shelf for a decade. It seems someone above was looking out and providing for us. I spent weeks shopping the internet. Metzeler Marathon tires (Brazil, Germany), Fieldsheer summer gloves(Pakistan), Garmin GPS(Taiwan), helmet Halo(USA!), Chase Harper tank bag(USA!), new face shield for her HJC helmet(Korea). She would use the Bates boots, Alpine Design hydration backpack(Indonesia), and River Road winter gloves(Pakistan) she already had. Ditto the River Road saddle bags that came with her bike. Any other luggage she would have would be bunjee corded down.

My bike was a bigger problem. I started shopping for something used, but couldn’t find much worthwhile out there. Maybe a new Ninja 250? If only I could find a dealer anywhere that had one. Could I really justify buying myself a new bike without having any income? Wasn’t there anyone out there that could resurrect my old Bandit? As it turned out, yes there was. Bubba to the rescue. No kidding. His shop (backyard) is about an hour away, and he seems confident he can fix it for a lot less than the cost of a new (or gently used) bike. I deliver it with a long list of needed repairs. The carbs desperately need to be rebuilt and synched, the tank is rusted and gummed up inside. The fuel petcock is broken. The back brake doesn’t function, and the fluid needs to be replaced. The valves need to be adjusted. I need a new chain and front sprocket. The forks need new fluid and seals. The oil and filter need to be changed. Everything needs to be inspected, adjusted, and lubed. Bubba loses the list. He works at his own speed with his own ideas and priorities. He rebuilds the carbs, but won’t synchronize them. He cleans out the tank, which turns out to not have all the rust I thought it did. He rigs the petcock where it is somewhat functional. He just happens to have a good front sprocket lying around. The new X-ring chain comes from Parts Unlimited. A little clean up work and flushing the brakes gets them working again. The old fork seals are retained. The valves go unadjusted. The engine gets Mobil 1 15W-50 synthetic oil and a Fram filter. He paints my seat with a vinyl paint that makes it look much better. He also spray paints the front fender that had faded to an ugly pink. I do the same to the equally faded side plastic. The Avon tyres are aged, but have zero miles on them. The dryrot in the sidewall appears minimal. The bike looks a lot better. More importantly, it runs again – back from the dead. I am concerned about the work I asked for that didn’t get done, but Bubba is not. He is concerned about my 3 year old Wal-Mart battery that somehow still works after years of neglect, but I am not. For just under $1,000 I am riding again. I don’t know how long it will last. I expect I’ll probably have to use the credit card to buy a new bike somewhere in route.

Fortunately, I need no new gear. I already have matching Chase Harper saddlebags, tail trunk, and tank bag(USA!). My Joe Rocket pants, jacket, and gloves(Canada) are still serviceable, as are my Bieffe boots(Italy) and helmet Halo(USA!) . The Chatterbox (Korea) needs a new battery but still works. The helmet bag has kept my HJC helmet(Korea) clean and shiny. I do buy some new Teknic sport gloves(Pakistan) that are heavier than the perforated summer gloves I already have. I also have a hydration backpack identical to my wife’s, and enough bunjee nets to strap down most of everything we own. I just need to pack and I’m ready to go.

I change the oil and filter on Ceci’s bike, and put in a new battery. I also rebuild her fragile wooden luggage rack so we can carry an extra gas can. It seems her tank will only hold 2 gallons of gas. That might be a big problem when we’re in the middle of the western deserts. I take her bike to Bubba’s to mount the new tires and try and figure out what is wrong with the fuel tank that claims to hold over 3 gallons. He disassembles the petcock and inspects the tank but finds nothing. He gets the tires mounted and we pick up the bike one day before our trip.

At this point, the omens are not looking good. Ceci’s bike now runs terribly. It won’t idle, and sounds sick. It smells like gas whenever she stops. Bubba won’t answer his phone. Damn you Bubba! I don’t know that I have enough room on the credit card to purchase two new bikes on the trip. I only have about half of our trip planned out. I am not done packing yet. Time waits for no one. Hell or high water we will leave tomorrow.