Customarily Minded: August 2004

Seven Years Of Scratching

Welcome to August's edition of Customarily Minded. August is a special month for me here at Beginner Bikes, back in 2002 BB was reborn with a new look and forum, maturing from the old style tree-branch bulletin board format. Shortly after registering in the new forum, the administrator of BB asked me to join the BB Team, so this is my second anniversary as an associate editor for this fantastic forum and web site. I'm dazzled by how things have evolved here, how the forum continues to grow in leaps and bounds as each of us grows in our riding abilities. So as a special tribute to two fun-filled years as an associate editor, I am doing a follow up to one of my first editorials, "Bit By The Bug: Coping With The Seven Year Itch" (http://www.beginnerbikes.com/editorials/sevenyearitch.htm).

As of this writing, I have been legally licensed (and you can read into that however you see fit!) with my class M endorsement for seven years and have owned my first street bike for just a little longer. Yep, I still have my beginner bike. So, as a follow up to the Seven Year Itch, I decided the only plausible article would have to be the Seven Year Scratch. It took me seven years to decide on my first bike, and now I have completed seven years of riding it. What follows is my "motorcycling biography". Some of you might like it, some could care less. But just like seven and seven leads to either a bad hangover or fourteen, I'm putting these words down. Looking back, it's been quite the ride. So like it or not, here it goes.

Year One: June 1997 - May 1998

Hands down the most memorable of them all. Brand new bike purchase in May of 1997, nearly wet behind the ears when it comes to street riding. Up to this point my only riding experience was on a 100cc Enduro in high school along with a 49cc Puch Moped I'd owned since age eleven, followed by an ever so brief spin in February preceding that "year" on a friend's CBR1000 that ended with me shelling out a few semolians for replacement parts with a dislocated shoulder. One might think that would end a riding career before it began, but just like Jim Morrison and Elvis, it takes more than conventional weapons to put me down. Nay, instead three months later said friend rides my new bike home for me. A quick trip back to the dealership for his bike and we are soon off and riding around the neighborhood and nearby parking lots. Two weeks later and 450 miles, and I brave the city streets for the first time to schedule my 600 mile break in service. Alas they're pretty booked up so I get an appointment in two more weeks, at which point I return with 1300 miles on the clock for my 600 mile service. Soon after said service, I begin learning the lessons of foolishness. A few cocky maneuvers along the way and some near misses wakes me up to the lessons of stupidity and two wheels, the most memorable being a trip through some twisties with little more than shorts, shoes, and a helmet ... I took a negative camber curve too fast and drifted off the road and onto the gravel shoulder. A calm head and cool thinking kept me upright without locking the brakes, and I decelerated in the gravel and maintained my curve all the while avoiding that ditch three feet to my right. Needless to say, after I came to a stop the first thing I did was put my shirt back on...

Bike #1: "The Stocker" 1997 Shadow VLX

Summer passes into Autumn for the rest of the country, but October in Southern Nevada is still pretty warm so I knock off early from work one day and hit the road. Not literally of course. Full face helmet and a sleeveless shirt, 78º never felt so good. Leaving work I'm heading down Las Vegas Boulevard when the unthinkable happens: a construction truck pulls out of a driveway into my path. I hit the brakes and skid, colliding into his driver side door with a sickening thunk and then my handlebars jerk towards the opposing vehicle. My right hand releases the front brake to avoid getting pinched between the lever and door, and viola the front wheel begins spinning again and I swerve away, still upright. Shaken but not stirred. Once again proving that it takes more than mere mortal means to put me down. The next few months are filled with road trips and freeway rides across neighboring borders, a messy divorce and a drunken foray that led to a suicide attempt, which like prior methods of vanquish proved once again to be unsuccessful.

[return to the top]

Year Two: June 1998 - May 1999

Year Two begins with another month of riding, although they were brief forays into that world as I was still mending from the bullet that passed through my abdomen. Next month yields a birthday, and my final drink as well. I'm feeling pretty good about myself after this point, so the next couple of months are spent on two wheels as the mending continues. Soon I begin to wonder where all this extra money I have is coming from, after each month I pay all my bills and still have hundreds left over, not counting the entertainment funds. Then it dawned on me just how expensive my vice was, so I figured what better way to reinvest that money than to sink it into something I really love: another bike. No, not trading up, but adding another to the garage. I bring home a used 95 1500A Vulcan, so now I have two bikes: one for the daily commute and one for highway hauling.

"The Vulcanator" 1995 1500A Vulcan

But just like any other new toy, the bigger Vulcan gets more attention. I ride it everywhere, to work, to California, to Utah, to the mountains, to the lake, and through the winter. Okay so winter in Las Vegas isn't exactly like winter in the rest of the real world, but we do get a few weeks of 30's temps and every once in a while it drops below freezing. Like it did one morning in early February. Before I continue, let me enlighten you in residential habits here: we water our lawns year-round, since it rarely freezes things still grow. And all that run-off goes into the streets, since we have no sewer systems here it goes into what we call drainage washes, which channels all the rain run-off towards Lake Mead via sly streets and gutters. Okay back to the story, and you can probably guess what happens next. Here I am on my shiny new (new to me anyway) bike, one that I'm not as accustomed to as my other ride, rolling up to a stop sign in the wee hours of a winter morning. Everything is going fine, the bike is slowing down like it's supposed to, when all of a sudden the front wheel locks up for no reason and the forks whip over to the left. Let's see now, forks locked, wheel locked, time to capsize. Ouch. I crawl out from under the big bike and as I get up, my legs slip out from under me and down I go again. What the #!&% is this? ICE?! The bike took the bigger brunt than I did, leather really does work well against asphalt. Two strawberries: one on my elbow and one more on my knee, but I get the bike up and make it to work with a scraped clutch reservoir, scraped clutch lever, and a dangling rear directional.

Next month is where things go south again. Anyone reading this that has quit drinking knows what the "shakes period" is all about. For those that never started or haven't gotten that far, your body reacts to being sober after a while and isn't used to it, and your limbs quiver on occasion. Add to that I was a nervous wreck, just ending another failed relationship and carrying a heavy burden of thought. Needless to say it's not the best condition to be in when riding, but I did it anyway. It's late March and spring is over, we're getting some nice balmy 80º days now. You know, T-shirt weather. I'm heading west into a dipping sunset that glares directly into my eyes. Traveling at the posted 45mph speed limit, at ease in my thoughts and just enjoying the ride. Too much, my thoughts and attention begin to wander, and before I know it there's this big line of stopped cars waiting for that red light to change, looming right before me. Time to find out how the emergency maneuvers go on this big bike. First I squeeze the lever and it slows down like it's supposed to, but without warning it suddenly locks up. Too bad I neglected to change the front brake pads 2000 miles ago, because now it's time to repeat the ice incident on dry road but this time we (we meaning bike and I) go over on the other side. I figure I hit the ground at around 30mph or so, I wasn't watching the speedo as that looming rear bumper was staring me down the entire time. But I hang onto the bike and ride it all the way in, forks turned toward the ground and my hip and shoulder skidding along with the metal, neck cricked up so I can see it all. This is gonna hurt, here comes that bumper...and we suddenly stop sliding. Once again the bike takes more damage than myself, but unlike prior incidents I now begin to realize that I'm not as immortal as I had led myself to believe. This time, instead of leather I was wearing denim, both pants and jacket. Denim works okay, but not as well as leather. The strawberries are in season now, unlike last month. Add to that a dislocated hip and shoulder (the other one this time, gotta get 'em both done for proper balance). The bike sports a sheared off mirror, curled brake lever, scraped master cylinder and cap, a front fender that curls into the tire, an engine guard that folded in, resulting in a wrinkled radiator cover and inaccessible brake pedal, rear directional came off (wires and all this time), and a broken muffler frame bracket. But I peel the fender back and ride it back home anyway, despite the flip-flopping handlebar resulting from the riser clamp bolts coming loose.

The Matrix opened the next day and my friends and I decide we should go see it after work the day after, and by the way let's take the bikes. Shaken and stirred this time, but I figure what the heck. Besides, I still have a bike that I haven't ridden in a while, and unlike the other one it's still intact. And you know something, it actually felt pretty good getting back in the saddle, especially on something I was already pretty comfortable with. Getting reacquainted didn't take long at all, but 45+mph made me a little leary...the rest of Year Two culminates in acquiring replacement parts to get the Vulcanator back on the road in ship-shape. The year ends with Star Wars: Episode 1 and I water-paint the big nearly-complete Vulcan in a Darth Maul motif for opening night.

[return to the top]

Year Three: June 1999 - May 2000

My third year begins with taking the big Vulcan out for its maiden back-on-the-road-again voyage. To Zion National Park in Utah. I begin to miss the engine guard, I opted not to replace it after the crash as I was trying to keep the cost down. It was nice having the extra foot position on the longer rides, but the ride was still great. One nice thing about those big Vulcans is they purr at any speed on the freeway, 55mph is just as cozy as 90 with a big inch V-twin under the tank, and you still have room to go after that. I begin to become more proficient with the big bike, spending more time in parking lots and back roads exploring how it works. With new front brake pads, it stops on a dime now. I also begin exploring hot-rodding with it...in its day the 1500A had the most torque and displacement available in a V2 cruiser. 92 foot pounds at 2800RPM means you can tow cars...and rolling burnouts become second nature too, both in straight lines and fishtailing through turns. My first wheelie comes with my new girlfriend riding pillion (she's just as wild as I'm becoming at this point), rolling down my street along the way to my house I decide to impress her with a rolling burnout. But it doesn't happen, and when I realize my headlight isn't on I wonder what the heck is going on, until the front wheel slams back down. No way did I just do that. The beginning of a nasty habit...now I have another reason to hit the parking lots.

Fortunately(?) the reliability of the big Vulcan compromises my ownership, and as I look back at the way I've been riding it I decide it would be better off getting rid of it and buying something I really wanted now: a sportbike. I start test riding a few bikes, including a Magna, VTR1000 SuperHawk, and even rented a Buell S3 for a day. But then something weird happens, another friend of mine that owns a bike I hadn't seen yet has his bike all fixed up and back on the road after a lengthy hiatus. And then the unthinkable happens, he offers me a ride on it. After gawking at it long enough, I ask a few questions about how it handles, as it's a totally foreign bike to me. First off, it's a Harley; and secondly, it's a chopper; and finally, it's based on one of the earlier Sportsters with the "European controls". Meaning the shifter is on the right side and the rear brake is on the left. But he gives me a few pointers and I kick start it. That's something else I haven't done before, well not on a street bike anyway. Big difference kicking over a Harley compared to a smaller displacement import. It takes some effort and a few tries, and now I can hop on and go. It was different, it was weird, and I was totally loving it! Here I am, tooling around on an old weathered and worn nearing-rat-bike status chopper, and everybody's checking me out. I can't get this silly grin off my face, I'm really eating this thing up. To say I was hooked was an understatement, a plastic surgeon couldn't remove that stupid grin!

My bud's '73 Sportster Chopper "The Mule"

I was burning up with chopper fever, and now that sportbike just didn't seem too appealing anymore. Which turned out to be a blessing in disguise, seeing as I'd been ignoring the laws of stupidity and two wheels lately. I went from craving something fast and nimble to wanting something large and unwieldy. Not only that, I wanted to replicate it on something that wouldn't break the bank, yet on something more modern than the "metric choppers of yesteryear" I'd been seeing. I went back to my first love, the Shadow VLX, and began to imagine how it would look with extended forks and some sexy rake, and I knew where I wanted to go as I realized my dream.

My Dream: a VLX chopper!

After a few fruitless months of being turned down for frame mods by local shops, and nearly giving up, I came upon a means to make the conversion happen. Not wanting to sacrifice my first love to the cause (just in case it didn't work out, and I wanted to get rid of the other bike badly anyway), I put the Vulcan up for sale on consignment at a dealership. But the timing was off, as the newer Classic style was gaining all the attention despite far less performance (one less carb and at least another 100 pounds of mass), so there wasn't much interest in my bike. After a few stagnant months, I saw a nice low mileage and nicely accessorized '95 VLX parked next to my consigned Vulcan one day, so I hit the sales manager up for a title-for-title trade. He looks up the Kelley Blue Book prices on both and agrees, so now I have what I need to get going.

Low mileage used 95 VLX Deluxe, pre-chopped

All the parts are ordered, and the winter months are spent in the conversion process. Alas, I'm paying for this one as I've not yet learned how to turn a wrench, but the end results are well worth it. I get the bike back in February, just as things are warming up. No ice this time. The weather is right and the bike is right, well almost ... I'm still awaiting a speedo and brake line but it's rideable. First the folks thought I was crazy trading a 1500 in for a 600, then they thought I was stoned when I announced a chopper conversion. I don't know what they (or myself) were thinking when I took the maiden voyage on a bike with no front brakes. But that damnable ear to ear grin came back, and no conventional weapons or tools could remove it this time.

Maiden Voyage for the Dream, sans front brake and speedo lines...

With my dream finally realized, I had only one thing lacking in motorcycling: I still didn't know how to work on one. Despite all the extra "booze bucks" being amassed, paying for shop labor was still adding up. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to afford parts and more parts instead of parts and labor? During the chopper conversion, one of the sales guys I frequent turned me onto a guy that was selling a beater Shadow VLX, they turned him down on a trade in as the bike just needed too much work, but he said I could probably pick it up dirt cheap and the guy had a title to it too. $200 later I was hauling home a heap, one beat but complete clunker of a 88 Shadow VLX that would turn over but wouldn't fire up. Funny thing, wrenching is so much easier on something you could care less about, after all I couldn't possibly futz this thing up any further than it already was. The next few months are spent with a service manual and a bunch of bike parts strewn across the garage, stripping it down to the bare bones and back again and again. And taking a random ride on one of two nifty bikes as well, and I complete a year of road rash free riding.

Basket Case! One stripped down 1988 VT-600 Shadow.

[return to the top]

Year Four: June 2000 - May 2001

Year Four begins with an embarrassing moment. New girlfriend, same original bike I'd been riding all this time. She's watching me depart, and I'm high as a kite with glee. So high I forget to check my fork lock before departure. Why won't these $%!& forks straighten out?! Capsizing time again, first time for this bike too. Fortunately I saved it, mostly. Bent the rear brake pedal but it was easily reshaped back home, but the new girlfriend doesn't want to ride with me anymore for some silly reason. Which is okay, since we weren't serious yet anyway and I hooked up with another gal that I'd known for quite a while at the time. She later moved in with me and became my wife over time. And she totally dug motorcycles.

Meanwhile, it's October now and I went to look at another bike for sale, it was a pretty good deal for a 92 model Shadow VLX. A friend of mine at work was looking into getting a bike ("wanted one like mine"), but didn't have much cash to spend. He was looking more for something of a "fixer upper" project that could be had inexpensively. At this point I was fooling around with the clunker and had hartailed it and added a 4" over front end to it, and a set of drag bars...but it still didn't run and I was ager to ride it. Opportunity came knocking when my friend said he couldn't cough up he $2000 for this new bike I had come across, so I had an idea. I asked how much he could give me for the clunker project I had, and he said $200. Just what I paid. But I had already invested some cash into it, $400 in the front end alone...so I counter offered with "I'll buy this $2000 bike I saw for sale, swap the front ends and keep the hardtail strut and let you have the clunker with the new bike's front end for $200." He agreed, and $1800 later I had my first "did it all by myself" custom bike.

Now I had three different variations of the same model motorcycle, and to the untrained eye nobody would ever know they all started out looking the same. I get a new computer later on and go online for the first time, and what do I start looking for other than motorcycle forums. After discussing ideas and gathering loads of information on the topic of customizing (as if I didn't already do enough of that), I spring for some more goodies for my "all by myself" custom and give it face lift number two of three (so far), this time adding some new pipes and a ram air intake.

Bike #5: VLX-Max, every wrench on it turned by yours truly.

After a while some of the guys at one of the Shadow forums suggest I start one up exclusively for the VLX, after all I owned three of them...so I did. What the heck, if I can't ride 'em I can yap about 'em. But we have year round riding here, so I get to do both at a whim. My friend gets the rebuild project I sold him disassembled and has the frame painted, and asks me to help him slap it back together. Five hours and one pizza later it looks like a bike again (not bad for someone that was terrified to turn a wrench not so long before), and he begins looking for replacement parts to finish the job. He decides to have it stored at my garage, as he doesn't have enclosed storage and I can work on it in my spare time with parts he provides as he acquires them. So It returns "home" again. And another strawberry-free year of riding concludes.

[return to the top]

Year Five: June 2001 - May 2002

This year starts out with another bang, my wife (girlfriend at the time) decides she's had enough pillion duty and would really like to learn how to ride for a change. So we go bike sitting, something I've always been fond of anyway. I get to test ride a 250 Virago, I dig it but she doesn't so it stays behind. She sits on a new Rebel and falls in love with it, so now we know what to look for in the used market. Bang, I soon come across a cherry deal in the form of a 02 model with 60 miles for $1500. I mean brand butt-spanking new at half the price and no dealership fees. I call for directions, head out the door with cash in hand, load my ramp into the back of my truck and get there fifteen minutes too late. Someone beat me to the punch and was writing a check as I got out of the cab. I still kick myself for missing that one, fifteen minutes...how could I possibly top that deal? Well it happened soon enough. Nobody has to be reminded as to what happened in September of this year. Las Vegas was no exception, a lot of folks lost their jobs and those that didn't began liquidating their toys in favor of preparing for the hard times ahead. I was fortunate enough to hold a #1 seniority position in a union house, so I wasn't in danger of being laid off or out of work. But I too was stuffing the mattress as they say, just in case.

A month later folks decided to brave the airways again, as well as the roads which turned out to be just as fast from certain areas (Phoenix and L.A. for example), thanks to new airport regulations and wait times. The weekday business here was still stagnant, but the weekends were hopping, true to Vegas. It's always been a weekend town, but we just lost the luxury of always being busy as it was prior to 9-11. The money stated rolling back in, some of the folks were returning to work albeit on part time/on call status but returning nonetheless, and the economy here slowly began to recover. So I took a chance on this buyer's market, and came across another used bike deal. This time it was for yet another Shadow VLX, an 88 model. It had lingered in the newspaper for a few weeks now at $2000, and when I finally worked up the courage to spend the coin I called the next day after I brought the ad home. Turns out the seller had just pulled the ad, tired of spending $40/week on something nobody had even called on, so he was willing to negotiate. The bike was practically in showroom mint condition, save for needing a new chain and a bent rear foot peg mount. Obviously it had seen the ground once or twice, but everything save for the mount had been replaced. And I do mean everything, even the oil and brake fluid was new. I loaded it into my truck for $1800 and my girlfriend had a bike to learn on.

Wife's first bike: 1988 VT-600 "Shadolita"

Unfortunately for her, she didn't enter the sport with the same background I did so she found the bike to be heavy and awkward, despite various lessons that never ended with the bike on the ground. But she wasn't comfortable with it, and that made me uncomfortable too, so I decided it was time to start looking for Rebels again. And then I inherit VLX #4, or at least temporarily until she can learn on something else and graduate to it later. Thanksgiving rolls around, and my bud that I sold the rebuild project to calls. He asks if I'm interested in buying the bike back from him. So I head over to his place and he pulls out the title, spare key, and a few parts he had acquired. The major negotiating point here is the frame with fresh paint. So we arrive at a fair middle ground and it's officially mine again, bringing the VLX count up to five. February comes through and the girlfriend and I tie the knot, with the VLX as an engagement ring. I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that the tenth anniversary is "motorcycle"...meanwhile the hunt for a used Rebel continues. I also rent an Electra Glide for a day, and slap over 300 miles on it in the 24 hours I own it. Decide that it will be my next big bike, or at least everything else must stack up to or surpass it. Time not spent on the net or tinkering on one of five bikes is spent in the saddle, although newlywed duties puts a damper on that too. Year Five ends asphalt free too.

Someday, an Electra Glide Classic. It will be mine, oh yes...it shall be mine!

[return to the top]

Year Six: June 2002 - May 2003

Year Six also starts out on a high note. The quest for a Rebel culminates, I find several used models at dealerships and the choices end up between a red and white 96 model with 15K miles on it for $2400, a 99 model with an electrical problem for $1500 and an '02 model that just returned from MSF duty with a huge gash in the tank, reducing fuel capacity by at least half a gallon, also at the same dealership as the red 96 model, also for $2400. I opt for the 96 model, it's practically in showroom shape, completely stock, and the 15K miles suggests it was ridden regularly enough. Being the second bike purchased from this dealer (I bought the Vulcan here as well from the same salesperson), I got them down to under $2400 out the door, financed with zero down. Hey, I was just looking and didn't come prepared to buy...that makes six bikes now.

Meanwhile, my friend that I sold the rebuild to and bought back from calls me, lets me know he knows a guy selling an 86 Rebel. I go to check it out, although with no title it runs and the VIN is clean, so I get it for $300 and let the wife get her first falls out of the way on something that cost less than a replacement Rebel gas tank. And anyone that's dropped a Rebel knows that this is the first thing that gets dinged in a fall. Needless to say, she takes to the Rebel much quicker than she did the VLX, like a fish to water. And dang it if I don't find it fun to ride too, after all I wanted one back in high school and college.

The Rebels: one 96 model and a 86 vintage for me to tinker with.

So I'm up to seven bikes in the garage now, and it's pretty full. One truck and seven bikes, and I can still close the door. But the wife says I can't buy another bike until she has transportation, and not just a bike either. Fair enough. In the meantime I continue the lessons with her at the local parking lots, and ride to work daily. I manage to launch my hardtail through an intersection one day going to work, going airborne is fun but landings with no rear suspension aren't. Funny thing, with all these modes of transportation at my disposal now, I can never use the "car wouldn't start/flat tire" excuse for being late to work. Year Six culminates with my first out of state motorcycle rally, we haul a bike 1500 miles to Branson Missouri and have a blast despite four out of five days of rain and wet roads. Upon returning home, I am shocked to discover how thin the "chicken strips" are on my new tires when I unload the bike. Riding on the twistiest roads I've ever been on, in the rain, and with a passenger I managed to leave about an inch of virgin tread near the sidewalls, down from the two inches on my old tires that saw nothing but dry southern Nevada asphalt. I think I must have learned something about cornering on that "ultimate beginner's bike" I acquired. Thus ends another year of unrashed riding.

[return to the top]

Year Seven: June 2003 - May 2004

This year starts out on a sour note, I get fired from my job. Four days later I land another one, but it isn't a steady job. Just enough to pay some bills, and now my wife goes to work too. Just for grins I'm still keeping an eye peeled in the classifieds, namely the bike section. The wife reminds me of our financial situation, along with no more bikes until she has a car. So we start shopping, and land a sweet deal on a new '04 Tacoma SR-5 extra cab. The next day she catches me looking at the ads again, and says "You can't buy a bike, there's no room for it." The natural retort comes: "No, no, no; you said no more bikes until you have transportation. You got it, now it's my turn ... besides I can store two bikes in the back of my truck and that opens up all kinds of space in the garage!"

But alas, nothing interesting comes up, so I start working on what I got. Plenty of room there anyway. I start reducing the untitled Rebel to parts, learning it inside and out just as I did with the VLX clunker. I add a fuel filter to the gravity feed fuel line on the 96 Rebel. Meanwhile I continue to ride to work daily, work permitting. Days off are spent by the phone, at least until 5:00 as I am on call. But 5:01 is riding time, although I've returned from evening rides on occasion to meet the answering machine's message that I'm needed for graveyard tonight. I get some Maltese Cross mirrors for both choppers. I start fabricating my own pipes for the Rebel, upswept fishtails based on the OEM headers. I even start tinkering around on the ol' clunker again, with the idea that perhaps one day I'll get it running. I give the hardtail a face lift again, this time replacing the solid rear strut with a modified OEM shock that allows a similar near-hardtail stance, along with raked triple trees for a more balanced look. And a long year of struggling at work ends with a promotion to a full time shift supervisor slot, as well as another year of rubber that doesn't leave the road.

Full House: How many motorcycles can you count in this picture?

Which brings me to present day status. I still own that first bike, and a slew of others alongside it too. And there's a small growing list of other bikes I'd like to own one day, top of the heap being that luxury liner I rented from Harley. But in the meantime, I'm more than content with what I have, and knowing what I know now I would have never changed a thing. I haven't been looking back since day one, and if I did I doubt there would be any regrets. Thus ends the seven year itch and seven subsequent years of scratching. Here's to the next seven years and a lifetime of pursuing a strawberry free diet.

Keep it upright, and enjoy the ride.

E-mail Beginning Bikes Associate Editor Richard Rose at rich@beginnerbikes.com and let him know how much you hate strawberries.

[return to the top]