Memorial Day And Summer
I have been getting ready for summer this past week - more classes coming up on how to best shoot the bad guys, work around the house and setting the dog kennels up for hot weather. Suddenly it's already Memorial Day. Please take a moment to remember, and give thanks to, those brave men and women who have fought and died so that we can enjoy life in what I still believe is the greatest country in the world. Memorial Day holds with it enough serious thoughts, so I don't want to add any more today. Instead, here's an annual event that I do, and I get to do it because of those who fought so that I can - even if some of the event involves my own stupidity.
There is always some random day when the weather becomes warm enough to get motorcycles awakened from their winter slumber and ready to once again cruise down highways and country lanes. This year will be especially important as very little riding was possible last year due to situations not solved and opportunities not used. Those errors won't be repeated this year. Some spectacular events of the past few months means that riding motorcycles this year is not only possible but likely every weekend.
I bought my first Harley-Davidson brand new in 1981. It was an FXB "Sturgis," had an 80 cubic inch Shovelhead engine (the top of each cylinder of the V-twin engine resembled an inverted shovel blade). I picked it up from the dealership a bit before Halloween of that year and rode it virtually all of that winter and most of the next five years. The bike spent a few more years stored in a barn and was sold in 1990. While I received the original purchase price for it and had convinced myself to give up riding, I have come to realize that selling that Harley will be something always regretted.
Often, changes in life originate from moments of strife and the corresponding decisions made from them. A few years had passed and in 1992 after a particularly difficult day where one just wants to ride off for the hills, I decided I would buy another Harley. The big, loud machines had been such a part of my identity for so long that I was not going to live without one any longer, and that meant getting one the very next day. But, after two years, I had no idea that Harleys had become popular and hard to get (in '81, only us lowlife trash rode Harleys). Proving that ignorance is bliss and sometimes stupidity prevails, I just called the local dealer and asked whether they had a particular model in stock. No, I was told, because that model was no longer in production. The replacement? Yes, oddly enough, the dealer had one - new - with custom paint from the factory. It had been delivered unexpectedly that very morning. Two hours later, it was my unexpected 1992 Softail Custom with an 80 inch Evolution engine (the engine that replaced the Shovelhead). This one had square chrome tops on each of its twin cylinders. Turquoise and silver paint gave it a unique appearance. This bike would end up with an entire winter's worth of engine work for more power, some accessories for long-distance riding and a lot of use in rain, cold, dirt and mud. It is my favorite bike to ride though admittedly not the most comfortable.
Since comfort is important for long travels and additional luggage capacity is always appreciated, in 2002 a new black Road King was added to the garage. It had yet another of Harley's engine changes, an 88 inch V-twin with two camshafts. With a huge seat, windshield, saddlebags and floorboards, it made traveling 600 miles a day possible without being worn out for the following week. The Road King became the pickup truck of motorcycles. From miles and miles on dirt logging roads to hauling cases and cases of beer, it is the workhorse. It has also run through 70 mile an hour crosswinds, inches of hail in August and charged by a Bison, not an event I would wish to experience again. Since the Road King was the long-distance bike, the Softail got a new leather seat. If there is padding in the seat, I haven't found it and the bike's steel tubes holding the seat are not exactly flexible. But, the new seat looks good which, in the Harley world, can often override actual usefulness.
Both bikes have been sitting side by side all winter, small cables run from batteries to chargers, occasionally having the dust wiped off but otherwise ignored. Waiting to come to life again. The Road King will be easy, it is well-mannered and had its battery replaced last year. Some cleaning, checks of fluids, pushing a few buttons (one, of course, labeled "start") and its 88 inches of engine should fire to life. The older Harley tends to be a bit more cantankerous. While the starting ritual itself is actually easier - turn on the gas, pull the choke out, push the button - the aftermath of those actions create a new world reminiscent of Harleys from years past. As soon as the engine starts, a cloud of black smoke erupts from the twin chrome exhaust pipes, followed by a thunderous roar making any kind of communication impossible. Squirrels run and cats scatter. As the choke is pushed back in and the engine begins its familiar loping idle, the engine's crankcase (which should not contain oil as most Harleys use a "dry sump" oiling system, but with a usually leaking oil pump check valve, the crankcase is happily brimming with oil), with help from a breather tube connecting the crankcase to the air cleaner, that now-pressurized crankcase decides to evacuate that oil by blowing it out the air cleaner housing. Coincidentally, that housing resides just even with a rider's right knee. That placement helps to ensure thorough coverage of the rider's leg with oil. Additional oil that has not hit denim is free to drip onto the lower, chrome portion of the engine where it can begin to smoke. Of course, I have performed this ritual enough that I've developed reflexes so fast that I can lean the bike over and let most of the oil run onto the ground with only lesser amounts hitting my cowboy boot.
Despite these peculiarities, once started the first time, the bike usually won't repeat the performance until the following year's festivities. And, if I have remembered to check the air pressure in the front tire, I can thunder away into the distance leaving traces of oil and unburned hydrocarbons in my wake. Several oversights come to mind as I shift up through the bike's five gears (which I've never liked - my first Harley had four gears and that seemed to be enough, the newest Harleys have six gears, leading me to understand why a rider would need a gear counter so as to know which gear one would happen to be using). My first obvious error is that this older bike makes a whole lot more power than the Road King, the second error is my lack of expectation of that display of horsepower. It then becomes critical to convince the old Harley to slow down to some manageable velocity before traveling back in time (something I would loathe to do as I would not particularly want to be covered in oil a second time in the same day). Convincing the bike to slow down means I had better have some really strong grip strength, since I will be squeezing the front brake lever while listening to the brake howl and noticing that the bike isn't really slowing down. So, after some comments about the bike's brakes and heritage, I downshift and stand on the rear brake, also asking God that if he's not busy at the moment, some assistance would be rather nice. And the bike slows down. With all 80 inches of engine back to a sane speed and distances to travel ahead, winter will finally have been abandoned to the past. For a few moments, both life and the future look just fine.
There is always some random day when the weather becomes warm enough to get motorcycles awakened from their winter slumber and ready to once again cruise down highways and country lanes. This year will be especially important as very little riding was possible last year due to situations not solved and opportunities not used. Those errors won't be repeated this year. Some spectacular events of the past few months means that riding motorcycles this year is not only possible but likely every weekend.
I bought my first Harley-Davidson brand new in 1981. It was an FXB "Sturgis," had an 80 cubic inch Shovelhead engine (the top of each cylinder of the V-twin engine resembled an inverted shovel blade). I picked it up from the dealership a bit before Halloween of that year and rode it virtually all of that winter and most of the next five years. The bike spent a few more years stored in a barn and was sold in 1990. While I received the original purchase price for it and had convinced myself to give up riding, I have come to realize that selling that Harley will be something always regretted.
Often, changes in life originate from moments of strife and the corresponding decisions made from them. A few years had passed and in 1992 after a particularly difficult day where one just wants to ride off for the hills, I decided I would buy another Harley. The big, loud machines had been such a part of my identity for so long that I was not going to live without one any longer, and that meant getting one the very next day. But, after two years, I had no idea that Harleys had become popular and hard to get (in '81, only us lowlife trash rode Harleys). Proving that ignorance is bliss and sometimes stupidity prevails, I just called the local dealer and asked whether they had a particular model in stock. No, I was told, because that model was no longer in production. The replacement? Yes, oddly enough, the dealer had one - new - with custom paint from the factory. It had been delivered unexpectedly that very morning. Two hours later, it was my unexpected 1992 Softail Custom with an 80 inch Evolution engine (the engine that replaced the Shovelhead). This one had square chrome tops on each of its twin cylinders. Turquoise and silver paint gave it a unique appearance. This bike would end up with an entire winter's worth of engine work for more power, some accessories for long-distance riding and a lot of use in rain, cold, dirt and mud. It is my favorite bike to ride though admittedly not the most comfortable.
Since comfort is important for long travels and additional luggage capacity is always appreciated, in 2002 a new black Road King was added to the garage. It had yet another of Harley's engine changes, an 88 inch V-twin with two camshafts. With a huge seat, windshield, saddlebags and floorboards, it made traveling 600 miles a day possible without being worn out for the following week. The Road King became the pickup truck of motorcycles. From miles and miles on dirt logging roads to hauling cases and cases of beer, it is the workhorse. It has also run through 70 mile an hour crosswinds, inches of hail in August and charged by a Bison, not an event I would wish to experience again. Since the Road King was the long-distance bike, the Softail got a new leather seat. If there is padding in the seat, I haven't found it and the bike's steel tubes holding the seat are not exactly flexible. But, the new seat looks good which, in the Harley world, can often override actual usefulness.
Both bikes have been sitting side by side all winter, small cables run from batteries to chargers, occasionally having the dust wiped off but otherwise ignored. Waiting to come to life again. The Road King will be easy, it is well-mannered and had its battery replaced last year. Some cleaning, checks of fluids, pushing a few buttons (one, of course, labeled "start") and its 88 inches of engine should fire to life. The older Harley tends to be a bit more cantankerous. While the starting ritual itself is actually easier - turn on the gas, pull the choke out, push the button - the aftermath of those actions create a new world reminiscent of Harleys from years past. As soon as the engine starts, a cloud of black smoke erupts from the twin chrome exhaust pipes, followed by a thunderous roar making any kind of communication impossible. Squirrels run and cats scatter. As the choke is pushed back in and the engine begins its familiar loping idle, the engine's crankcase (which should not contain oil as most Harleys use a "dry sump" oiling system, but with a usually leaking oil pump check valve, the crankcase is happily brimming with oil), with help from a breather tube connecting the crankcase to the air cleaner, that now-pressurized crankcase decides to evacuate that oil by blowing it out the air cleaner housing. Coincidentally, that housing resides just even with a rider's right knee. That placement helps to ensure thorough coverage of the rider's leg with oil. Additional oil that has not hit denim is free to drip onto the lower, chrome portion of the engine where it can begin to smoke. Of course, I have performed this ritual enough that I've developed reflexes so fast that I can lean the bike over and let most of the oil run onto the ground with only lesser amounts hitting my cowboy boot.
Despite these peculiarities, once started the first time, the bike usually won't repeat the performance until the following year's festivities. And, if I have remembered to check the air pressure in the front tire, I can thunder away into the distance leaving traces of oil and unburned hydrocarbons in my wake. Several oversights come to mind as I shift up through the bike's five gears (which I've never liked - my first Harley had four gears and that seemed to be enough, the newest Harleys have six gears, leading me to understand why a rider would need a gear counter so as to know which gear one would happen to be using). My first obvious error is that this older bike makes a whole lot more power than the Road King, the second error is my lack of expectation of that display of horsepower. It then becomes critical to convince the old Harley to slow down to some manageable velocity before traveling back in time (something I would loathe to do as I would not particularly want to be covered in oil a second time in the same day). Convincing the bike to slow down means I had better have some really strong grip strength, since I will be squeezing the front brake lever while listening to the brake howl and noticing that the bike isn't really slowing down. So, after some comments about the bike's brakes and heritage, I downshift and stand on the rear brake, also asking God that if he's not busy at the moment, some assistance would be rather nice. And the bike slows down. With all 80 inches of engine back to a sane speed and distances to travel ahead, winter will finally have been abandoned to the past. For a few moments, both life and the future look just fine.
Just a good as told in person. I could hear the roar and smell the oil. Happy Summer rolling down the road on the Bike. Just as things should be.
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