Posted on 06/09/2002 4:32:52 AM PDT by 2Trievers
| 06-02-02 BECOMING A BIKER: Buying the motorcycle is just step one for this beginner |
This thing might kill me. That thought is on my mind as I learn how to ride my shiny new purchase, an 883 Harley-Davidson Sportster.
Experienced riders advised me to never lose this respect for my bike. Riding is risky, no matter how good you are.
Nearly everyone recommended the three-day motorcycle rider safety training program put on by the state division of motor vehicles for $85. Anxious to increase my odds of survival, I signed up. Plus, if you pass the class, you get your license. That means avoiding the stand-alone test at the DMV.
But the earliest state safety class available was June 3. Who could wait that long?
For $50, the state will give anyone a motorcycle learner’s permit. That lets you ride in the state from dawn to dusk. No experience or knowledge required. Get on and go.
Not that I was in any hurry to do that. Just sitting on the bike and starting it up was thrilling enough. And that’s all I did for a few weeks. Then it was moving the bike a big 15 inches. What a thrill, shifting into in first gear, slowly releasing the clutch, inching forward, and rolling backward.
Next, to the end of the driveway and back. Then to end of the short dead-end street and back. Back and forth, back and forth. As boring — and perhaps silly — as this sounds, it wasn’t. Learning how to throttle, clutch, shift, turn and brake takes a lot of practice.
Finally, the big day. My outing with cars. An experienced Harley-riding friend assured me I was ready to ride a mile to the parking lot at Jenness State Beach in Rye. The big open pavement. She followed behind in an SUV.
For several weeks, she coached me on how to do figure-8s, turns, stops, and shifting at various speeds. Going straight was easy. Accelerating exhilarating. Turning frightening. But still fun.
After becoming comfortable with all this, I took to the open road. Well, almost. A slow 30-mph trip along Route 1A through Rye and Hampton. It was ideal because it’s slow, has a lot of curves to practice on and few intersections. Invariably, a line of impatient motorists would collect behind me.
I find few things natural about riding a bike. It’s not like a car. It involves your entire body. Your hands and feet control different functions, braking, shifting, accelerating. And your body controls things like the bike’s balance.
The open road
On April 17, the mercury hit a record 90 degrees. No one with a motorcycle left it at home. I suited up in full leather armor and full face helmet, and attached the windshield. My first highway ride, a 48-mile commute from Portsmouth to Manchester on routes 95 and 101.
What a drag! Noisy, vibrating and way too dangerous. Cars whizzed by way too fast and close. I found myself envying people in their cars.
Holding the throttle open for the 45-minute ride was painful. Not much different than gripping a vibrating jackhammer. By the time I arrived at work, my right hand ached and my arm was numb up to my elbow. No leisurely ride to work sipping your coffee and listening to the radio. Plus, I missed my morning stop at Dunkin’ Donuts to get a coffee for the office. Bummer.
By the afternoon, the National Weather Service had issued thunderstorm warnings. The rain never came, but the wind did. Ungodly blasts of wind pounded me. My bike blew all over the highway. I gripped the handle bars and hung on for dear life.
I tried to calm myself with words like, “Of course, motorcycles are designed to drive at highway speeds in high winds.” But this one sure didn’t act like it. Who in their right mind rides a bike on the highway?
So what’s next? It seemed like I had done it all: back roads, highway, parking lots. I even began feel pretty cocky about having logged 760 miles on my bike. I half suspected the state’s three-day safety course would be a bore, although experienced bikers assured there was plenty left to learn.
They were right.
Bike school
The course was taught by a stout man named Chico, who rode an awesome Harley. He looked the biker part with a shaved head, giant mustache, black leather jacket, black boots and black jeans. In his other life, he is a successful bass player who travels around the world playing with well-known artists such as blues singer Koko Taylor.
Chico, and an assistant instructor named Doug, imparted all sorts of valuable and potentially life-saving information to the eight women and three men in attendance. Some had never sat on a motorcycle or even driven a standard transmission car. Others, like myself, owned bikes and had put a number of miles on them with learner’s permits.
The state supplied the motorcycles: lightweight 150cc and 250cc Hondas and Suzukis. Some were brand new. Others were battle-scarred. Mine was an abused Honda CB125. Most of the red paint was scraped away from the dented gas tank. One rear view mirror was missing. The gear shifter was bent, and a parking light had a missing lens. But it ran great and was perfect for learning.
Real-world knowledge
Chico taught us about the official and unofficial rules of the road. Every day we learned more about how to ride safely. Stuff like where in the lane to ride, how to be seen in traffic, how to minimize the risks such as a car turning in front of you, and lots more. We went over numerous potentially dangerous situations (from oil on the road to a dog giving chase) and how to ride through them. It was all good stuff.
To my amazement, even the people who had never ridden before did great. They stayed upright and balanced. They even rode pretty well for their first day of ever sitting on a bike. In hindsight, I can see it would have been a lot easier and if I had taken this course before I ever got on my bike. Even bikers who have years of experience say this. Many take this course because it has a lot to teach even veteran riders. The state offers advanced riding classes, too, which I intend to investigate.
Everyone in the class had a blast. Occasionally we dumped the bikes, but by the end of the three days, we were all weaving through tightly-spaced orange cones, swerving around an imaginary school bus, accelerating through sharp turns and skidding to a short stop.
The third day of our class was the big evaluation day. Each of us had to successfully maneuver the bike through four exercises: weaving and sharp turns, quick braking, hard accelerating through a tight turn and swerving — all stuff we had been practicing for two days.
We were all ridiculously nervous and jittery. Many of us rode like we never had before, which is to say terribly. We hit cones, overshot turns and such. But we all did well enough to pass by a decent margin.
By the day’s end, Chico handed us all little graduation cards. All 11 of us became bikers right then and there. The real thing. And more.
As Chico said, we didn’t just get our license. We had joined the universal brotherhood of bikers. Very cool.
Give her a break. She obviously didn't know it was a dirt bike.
Maybe,maybe not. Either way,it doesn't matter. At the end of the day you will still have a Jap bike,and I'll have a Harley.
None of them were enjoyable unless I was riding at 7/10ths - 8/10ths of my abilities; the rest of the time they were miserable rides, IMHO. Nervous, twitchy steering, overly sensitive front brakes, cramped seating position, toggle switch powerbands, annoying tingling & buzzing through everything I touched. King of the Hill one year, a has-been the next . . .
If being able to turn sub 11 second quarter mile times is a person's main criteria for purchasing a motorcycle, then I do not have a problem with that. More power to them, I say. Enjoy the stoplight drags, if that's what floats yer boat . . .
What tires me is reading the posts chanting the motorcycle magazines' mantra of performance specifications being the absolute God's own measure of worth; it is not. The streets and highways of America are not divided into quarter-mile segments. Sooner or later, the limitations posed upon the owner's "Rocket", by said rocket, will leave them frustrated and wanting; wanting something more enjoyable, more satisfying . . .
I used to have that trouble too,but it went away when I quit drinking and doing drugs. I found that cutting away all the wires going to the electric starter was a BIG help in the winter. With a radical cam and a big S&S carb,it was easy to get it flooded. By the time you kicked it over enough to clear it,you were sober. Not to mention naked and sweating. A incident in a blizzard in Denver while trying to get to the liquor store before it closed at midnight is what caused me to do this. I needed a new fifth,and all I could find to wear were sunglasses. The snow and ice frozen to them and hindered my vision enough I ran into the wall of the liquor store. Good thing I wasn't going very fast. I cut the starter wires the very next day.
Thanks!
Wrong. Hard-core scooter trash almost NEVER bought new bikes. They built their bikes out of basket cases from wrecks. They did buy a HELL of a lot of new parts,though. My first Harley was a 52 Pan,my second a 40 Knuckle basket case,then a FLH that the motor and tranny were bought new at Boulder HD,and the rest was swap meet or home made,and finally a FLH theft repo that was pretty much complete. BTW,I bought the 52 Pan from the original owner in late 69 for $250,and rode it back the 40 miles to Ft.Bragg!
But the thanks they got later was to have the machines priced so outrageously that these folks couldn't afford them, or at least complete with RUB's whose pockets fairly bulged with cash.
Everybody I talked to was thrilled that all these wannabes were buying bikes. It meant parts would be more plentiful and cheaper,and so would good used bikes. You can find used HD's now that are 10 years old and only have 10,000 miles on them. No way could you do that 30 years ago. People that bought them rode the hell out of them back then.
BTW,all these "reliability issues" came along with all the new riders. Too many of these guys thought that if they ripped the sleeves and collars off their Levi jackets and bougth the "right" jewelry and tatoos,they were instant MC mechanics.Most couldn't gap a spark plug. I had over 80,000 on my old Denver bike when I took it down to stroke and put a big bore cylinder kit on it.
People that ride Jap bikes didn't seem to have this problem. When they started having problems or needed maintenence work done,they took their bikes to a dealer.Most HD riders would have been money ahead if they had done the same.
WELLL..the downside to being 69 and retired is digital technology eludes me.
For long rides the hawgs have longer frames and more power and weight. They handle a little more sluggishly than the lighter bike. They haul a passenger comfortably.
Not always. I've had all kinds of bikes and always done my own wrenching. I've got a Yamaha XS-1100 that's been in almost as many pieces as it gets in and back. IMHO, nobody else is going to pay attention to the details like the guy whose butt is going to be stranded, or worse, if something gets put back together wrong or bolts aren't tightened properly.
HD riders seem to compain about Jap bikes because "You can't work on 'em." You'd think they'd have a little more respect for those who can, but it doesn't seem to work that way.
My 95FLHTC is presently in the Harley Hospital for it's 70,000 mile service and I've got most of the chrome on a card table in my garage.
So all my riding partners showed up yesterday in my gated community driveway to help me mourn. 46 full dress Harleys and a bunch of high class, nasty lookin' retired guys and one Yamaha. :-) (we ordered out - 2 pizzas and a Budweiser truck.) They all pitched in and helped me look at the carpet my bike "Usually" is parked on as we all held hands and sang Kum-ba-ya. And then we beat-up the guy on the Yamaha.
Right about that. Most of the trouble I have seen is from home done electrical work. That and poorly done carb swaps.
I had to order a new rear caliper for my old FLH, so I am down until Wed or so (the old kidney shaped thing)
I don't know if I described it to you but it has STD cases and S&S Super, '75 motor in '72 frame, black with chrome everything, acorns and allens, leather bags and clear windshield. If you ever saw the 5 ft long poster of an FLH from years ago you know exactly what it looks like. New Evos are nice but I love this old Shovelhead.
Did you bring yourself to let yours go?
It's a matter of life imitating art. I don't imagine that I have a bad bike. I have a beautiful machine that I can control precisely from my toes and the tips of my fingers.
Wrong. People in cars and truck kill you everywhere. If you lose sight of that, you will soon be under their wheels.
One of the best lessons for riding a bike is to go down on it once or twice and survive. Generally it's a valuable lesson not soon forgotten.
Another good safety lesson is to see a motor cycle fatality scene close up. One has a tendency to remember that too.
When you ride, ALWAYS pretend you are invisible, and no one can see you. Then, you may have a chance.
LOL A makeup brush, I'm sure :)
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