Beginner Bikes

The Eclectic Biker: May 2003

by John Inama
Associate Editor
Beginner Bikes Magazine

Denied

In my March column, I lamented over the lingering crappy weather and vowed that I would get into the MSF class before summer.

Now, it's springtime, the weather (for the most part) is holding up pretty well, and by rights I should be gearing up for the MSF.

Well...not quite.

Trying to find a class that would fit into my work schedule was a tough process. I work at night, and have rotating days off, so to make it work without using up the only two vacation days I have this year was an arduous process. In the end, I found two times that would work -- two simultaneous classes at the end of May, and one class in September. I was sure I'd get into one of the May classes. Heck, how long would it take to fill two classes, anyway?

As it turns out, about two and a half hours, give or take a few minutes.

The opening day of registration was on a Monday. Before heading off to school, I made sure my cell phone was charged and I had the class list and phone number. After fighting sleep through my first class, I took a brisk walk to my wife's class to say "Hi" and headed outside to call.

It was a glorious day, oddly warm for early spring. The sun warmed my shoulders as I sat on a concrete bench. "This is probably how it will be when I take the class," I said to myself as I took out my cell phone and class list. It was 10 a.m., just two and a half hours since the DOT opened. I confidently dialed the number and waited.

After a brief recorded message, ("Hello, welcome to the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation motorcycle safety program. Your call may be monitored for quality assurance") I braced for what was sure to be a nice afternoon of Muzak while waiting for the elusive "next operator." To my surprise, the phone clicked over immediately.

"Thank you for calling PENNDOT. How can I help you?" a lady said in a polite, I-know-I-may-be-monitored voice.

Shocked at the speed of answer, I stammered, "Uh, I'd, uh, like to, uh, sign up for, uh, the motorcycle safety course?"

Here it was -- the culmination of three years of waiting. I got my driver's license handy and waited for the good news.

"The class is full, but I can put you down as fourth alternate."

What? I was shocked, even more so than before. Something was wrong -- she had to be thinking of an earlier class.

"Uh, are you sure? Sections 11 and 12?" I asked.

"Yes sir, the classes are filled. I can make you fourth alternate, or second alternate in the April 2 class."

I know what I wanted to say. Are you kidding? Two classes filled up in just two and a half hours? Don't you know how hard it was to fit this into my schedule? I can't just show up to a class and hope three people don't show up. I can't waste the vacation day on a "maybe."

What I did say was more sobering.

"Sorry, I guess I'll have to wait for a later class."

To her, I could have been talking about the next class in June. But I knew better. I knew I'd have to wait until September. I knew my summer riding plans had been seriously crippled. I hung my head low as I hung up the phone. Suddenly, the day didn't seem as glorious as it once did. I shivered in the chilly air, closing my coat against the wind. I slowly got up, slung my backpack on my shoulder and trudged into the building. I walked down the hall to where my wife's class was held, and slumped down onto the thinly-padded bench.

My wife, Aimee, came out of class, fresh from her own fight against fatigue, the same battle I fought just one hour earlier. She immediately saw the look on my face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I didn't get in."

"You're kidding me."

"No, I'm serious. I didn't get in. The best I could get was a fourth alternate."

"I don't believe it," she said. "I'm so sorry. Next time, we're getting right up at 8:30. You will get in, even if we both have to get on the phone and call."

I looked at her and smiled. Despite the grim disappointment (two days before my birthday, no less), at that moment I was so happy to have such a wonderful, caring, understanding wife. She said the perfect thing to cheer me up.

"Thank you," I said. It was probably the most understated thing I've ever said in my life.

Now What?

Now that my summer riding plans have been thwarted, what do I do now? Good question. I was banking on this May class. I had visions of an endless stream of test bikes that I could ride all season long.

All right, so maybe that was a pipe dream even if I got in, but the fact of the matter is this totally sucks. I feel like I'm banging my head against a brick wall, that there's some covert conspiracy aimed at stopping me from attaining my goal.

It's also getting more difficult to be a motorcycle journalist without a motorcycle. Sort of like showing up at a tennis match with a hockey stick. Sure, in theory it may work, but try to make an overhead with out smacking yourself in the knee on the follow-through. (Don't laugh -- I've done that. With a tennis racquet.)

I do have a few options. I can follow through on the scooter wishes I talked about last month. I should be able to find one on the cheap, I don't need a motorcycle endorsement on my license, and I could probably even store it in my basement -- no need to bug my Dad and ask him for some precious garage space next to his Low Rider.

I'd also get used to angry drivers, as I'd make enough of them mad trying to climb the mountain into town. I like where I live, but being in the country means I'd have to ride on at least one 45mph road, plus climb an ungodly steep hill to get into town (they don't call my area "the Valley" for nothing).

I could always get a bike now, have my Dad or my sister (she took the MSF) teach me, and just wait until I can take the class in the fall. But then I'd be a Beginner Bikes heathen, going against the very advice we give on a daily (if not hourly) basis.

I guess there's always the dirt bike option, but that just won't work. I have nowhere to put it, no truck to haul it in, and I don't know anyone else who has one, so I have no one to go riding with.

It's a no-win situation.

Eclectic Bike Of The Month

Many riders like the look and feel of a classic bike, but don't have the time/resources/talent/money to put into a ground-up restoration. Thank God for third-world countries.

Despite its status as an ex-superpower, Russia's economy is still struggling to recover from years of communist mucking-about. So it comes as no surprise that a WWII-era BMW clone is still churned out of the Irbit Motorcycle Works (IMZ, translated from Cyrillic) factory in the Ural mountains.

Some may have heard of the Ural. The sidecar hack is somewhat of a cult bike in the states. It's a faithful recreation of a 1939 BMW boxer twin, the same kind used by the Nazi military during the Great War. The industrious Russians got a hold of 5 of them, stripped them down, and learned how to make them. They've been cranking them out ever since.

The company also sells a bike sans-sidecar under the IMZ name. Known as the Bavarian Solo, the bike houses the 750cc boxer twin in a classic standard body that looks great. It's like a concours-winning restoration, without the headache.

Although 750cc may be a bit large for a beginner bike, this one acts like a much smaller bike, mostly because it's a 64-year-old design. The motor pumps out 41 horsepower, and propels the bike to a claimed top speed of 82mph. One thing the bike has against it is weight -- it's rated at 460 pounds dry, and with a full 5-gallon tank it'll probably push 500.

I know what a lot of you are thinking -- the bikes are probably built like crap, with sub-standard Russian parts. Well, Ural America must agree, as all bikes imported are disassembled and rebuilt with higher-quality parts. They also come with a one-year warranty, which should help the feint of heart.

The best thing about the IMZ? The price. Ural America is selling the Bavarian Solo for $5,445 MSRP. Of course, just like the Royal Enfield Bullet, another 50-plus-year-old design built in a third-world county (India), there's probably more maintenance than your average UJM. But to own something this unique, it may be worth it.