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Early Teenage Years

Entered the adolescence, still in Switzerland. As allowed by law, at age 14 I was qualified to ride a limited-speed (30 km/h) limited-displacement (less than 50 cc) moped; basically, it had to be a motorized bicycle. After long negotiations with the Treasury Department and Chief Financial Officer, I signed an agreement to trade away three years of allowance for the new moped.

1964 Cilo “Vampire” - the first 1,000 miles?

This machine was a real beauty; made by Cilo in Italy, it was bright red in keeping with its Italian heritage. If you’re Italian and named “Vampire” you just have to be red. Its two-stroke engine displaced 47 cc. Because of regulations, there was a requirement for functional pedals, which doubled as footpegs. The pedal/footpegs were an exaggerated version of the offset footpegs of the air-cooled BMW I would later buy, but that’s getting ahead of the story.

Starting was just like riding a bicycle; pull in the left-hand clutch lever, pedal up to speed, drop the clutch (first tractor experience paid off) and, with a little twist of the right-hand throttle, the engine would light off. Ride away smugly, then chug to a complete stop a short distance down the road. Turn on the fuel petcock and repeat the whole procedure, not as smugly as before.

Two levers handled the braking chores; the right lever was for the front brake and the left lever was for the rear brake. Yes, you counted right, that’s TWO levers for the left hand. I soon learned the proper braking technique. “Ignore the clutch, grab both the left-hand rear brake and right-hand front brake and squeeze hard” because these were single leading-shoe drum brakes and not quite adequate on a good day. Then just before stopping, when the engine was about to stall, let go of the rear brake and squeeze the clutch.

One experience with these brakes resulted in my front wheel crushed under the wheels of a farm tractor that was rounding a blind curve. We both lost a few years growth when the dust settled.

Did I mention that it was power-limited by law? I soon discovered that the manufacturer had placed a restriction in the intake to comply with this law, and its removal was accomplished only minutes after this discovery. This quick modification didn’t result in the thundering power increase I had envisioned, and I was puzzled and disappointed. Thinking longer and harder, I reasoned that there must be additional restriction in the intake, so I rotated the intake to point the opening directly forward, figuring to add power due to ram air effect. I removed the air cleaner to further cut down intake resistance.

The first test showed impressive power to a breakthrough 31-32 km/h, whereupon the carburetor, how hyperventilating, leaned out severely, the engine backfired and jettisoned the newly-modified ram-air tube across the street at high speed.

That impressed me almost as much as the time when a friend’s modified machine ejected its spark plug through the open window of a third-story apartment during a similar quest for speed.

One of the features of this machine was that had a functional front suspension. Well, true, it didn’t have any intentional dampening, but just having spring-loaded telescoping front suspension was a radical improvement. Other mopeds had rigid front forks left over from their bicycle heritage. My machine thus shared a significant feature that put it one step closer to being a real motorcycle, like the Norton, BSA and AJS machines the police rode.

I decided that the post mounted bicycle-type single seat was also too close to being a bicycle, so I removed the seat, cut down the post, and strapped some foam rubber and an old rug held on the luggage rack with bungee cords to make a motorcycle bench seat. I removed the pedals, crank and chain, substituting clip-on footpegs, to complete the illusion of a real motorcycle. Now I had a real man’s machine.

Did I mention that the law required that all bicycles and mopeds had to have a bell? Did I mention that a horn was not considered an acceptable substitute? Need I describe the humiliation of having a stupid, sissy bicycle bell strapped onto this otherwise manly machine?

Did mention that there was a fine for not having a bell?

Night riding presented its own special challenges, and back then before halogen light sources, when Lucas was considered a respectable light source, the challenges were monumental.

One night, after an exercise in tree-papering skills, my friends and I were retreating across an open field, all lights off, under full throttle and the cover of darkness like the daring raiders in the movies. One minute I was ripping along with the breeze pushing my hair back, the next moment I was flat on my back. After attending a remedial breathing class I discovered that I had run full-tilt into a soccer goal! My friends couldn’t keep a straight face for days.

I was once offered a backseat ride on a Lambretta scooter. The Lambretta was the squared-off imitator of the Vespa. Its square lines made it more of a Man’s ride, because Girls rode Vespas. I learned a few things on this wild ride. First, all of my modification skills were in vain, for here was a scooter that could easily do three times the speed of my moped without modifications. Second, higher speeds needed much greater lean angles. Third, the small diameter tires and soft suspension contributed to my resolution not to be a passenger!

I had to have a bigger machine, of my own, all to myself.

Another one of our group somehow obtained a new Honda 50, a real motorcycle. He wasn’t yet 18 and so didn’t qualify for a real motorcycle endorsement, but undeterred, he hand-drew and then painted a fake license plate. He was good, but it only took him one short ride to impress the local police. I don’t know if he ever got the bike back.

Ed bought a used BMW 250 cc single at a police auction. When we went to their house for a visit, he showed off its exposed shaft drive. I marveled at it for a while, and then he and I tried to start it. The kick-starter didn’t achieve the desired results, so we ran down the street trying for a push start. I don’t remember being that exhausted after playing soccer!

I think we got it to backfire once . . .

1966 - 1971

The Dark Ages

Beginning with Early Teenage years I wanted to explore uncharted territory, females, but not there weren’t any who showed any interest in joining the expedition, so I just hung out with the guys, and we raced and lied about our machines.

Just about the time I was getting a bit more comfortable with around girls (well, one particular girl at least) and was beginning to see the possibilities, Dad decided it was time that my brother and I were repatriated. Bidding farewell to my first real girlfriend (who either thought my moto-antics were cute or saw through them completely) we moved from idyllic Switzerland to a rural small town in southern Illinois, where my parents had been born and raised.

As I acclimated, I noticed a Honda 160 scrambler, complete with the upswept, open pipes. I had to have one! I lobbied Mom as never before, but that was a battle lost.

Then I really admired a friend’s Triumph 650 Bonneville! Another battle lost.

In 1967 I graduated, in the middle of my high school class, and was pleased when I found that I had been accepted at University of Missouri, Rolla.

That summer Cathye announced that she was pregnant, and after several short, but intense, discussions with respective parents, I found myself playing the role of father and husband. Christopher was born January 28, 1968, during my second freshman semester. Cathye and Chris joined me at school as soon as I found housing for all of us.

Jim, a college classmate rode his Honda 450 everywhere, in all kinds of weather. This rekindled memories of riding, and created a ream of travel. I would have a “big” 450 or a 500.

In reality, we didn’t even have a car. I walked to all of my classes, we walked to the grocery store and relatives and friends would come get us for various outings and holidays.

Our marriage weakened. She reluctantly admitted that she had wanted to get pregnant to have a way to get away from her mother and stepfather, and I was as much “available” as “desirable.” We both agreed that it would be better to end it, and we divorced in the fall of 1970.

Following this loss, I dropped out of school briefly for a few weeks. A good friend jolted me back to reality. He informed me of how absolutely stupid, silly and futile and worthless it would be to stop just one semester short of completing my degree. I thought it over for a short while, then returned to finish my toughest semester, and graduated in December.

My situation was slow to improve from that point. My father had returned from Europe, and my mother and brother had moved to Detroit. I joined them briefly after graduation, found employment almost immediately, and moved out again into my own apartment.

I met my best friend John at work. His parents had property up in northern Michigan, which was next to a State Forest, and meant unlimited trail riding. I was immediately addicted.

I gave in to my John’s suggestion that I get something to ride in the dirt. Almost without thought or negotiation, I found myself the owner of a new 1972 Suzuki TS-125 “Duster.”

I reasoned that a dual-purpose bike was the “Hot setup” and that a 125-cc motor would make all the power that I ever needed. I rode it to work, braving downtown traffic. It had enough power and was easy to handle, so I managed to hold my own in traffic.

This was in early 1971, and the Vietnam conflict was still going strong. I had been awarded a draft lottery number of 115 and the St. Louis Draft Board was calling numbers up at 135 when I graduated and my student deferment expired. My new employer tried to get a deferment on my behalf, citing the valuable public service I was rendering, but with the Illinois Board was not impressed with Michigan service. When I found that the U.S. Navy could not accept me due to below-standard vision, I enlisted with the Michigan Air National Guard, who promised to use my electrical engineering degree by training me as a flight simulator technician.

So there I was in the fall of 1971, not out of school one year and sitting in a drab room with several others, waiting for the airplane to take us to the great state of Texas and a new adventure, Basic Training. The memory of cool, crisp, mornings riding trails in the north woods was a small comfort.

In Basic Training the closest I came to a motorcycle was to exhibit the poor judgement of taunting the Drill Instructor. I informed him that he had a really neat motorcycle (a Honda 350 Scrambler), but that it shouldn’t take him more than one kick to start it.

I never saw a smile fade so quickly, nor have I ever since seen such a cold, malicious look.

From Basic Training I went to Technical School, in the middle of Illinois in the dead of winter. It seemed like spring was years away, and the dreams were quickly fading.

1972 - 1976

Renaissance

1971 Suzuki TS-125 Duster - 4,000 miles

I bought this bike in the spring of 1971, and rode it a few times “up north,” but had put it away for the duration of my military training.

In early 1972, with Technical School behind me and with spring in the air, I returned home, found a rental home and gathered all of my toys around me. I bought a “muscle car,” coincidentally named “Duster,” with a 340 cubic inch motor, four-barrel carburetor, “E-70" tires, and so on.

My dirt-riding partner John fired the first salvo in what was to become “Dirt Wars.” He bought a Kawasaki 175, with rotary valve induction. He added a Hooker expansion chamber. It was on the heavy side, but made lots of noise and plenty of power.

I made several attempts to coax more power out of the Duster. A Bassani expansion pipe would do the trick nicely. It was a simple bolt-on job, wouldn’t require much more than a simple re-jetting, and sounded awesome. Well, at least I though it was awesome.

John’s parents later said that motor sounded more like a large chicken on steroids with its “braaaak-buck-buck-buck-buck-braaaak!” two-stroke popping noises.

I raised the compression, but that only made it harder to start and it rattled when it got hot.

It had those squared-off “Trials Universal” tires. They were meant as a compromise between street and dirt riding; they didn’t seem much good for either.

1974 Suzuki T-500 Titan - 22,000 miles

I realized that the Duster wasn’t going to cut it on the street, so I bought my first “real” street motorcycle, a 1974 Suzuki T-500 Titan. None of that sissy 350 stuff for me. I was sold on Suzuki’s and two-stroke power!

I had bought the blue model, but the only one the dealer had prepped the Saturday I showed up was a reddish-purple model. He said that I could have it at the same price, right then and ride away, or wait until the blue model was prepped, which might take a few days. Well, I came to the dealership ready to ride, and ride I was going to! I motored away happily an hour later, the proud owner of a brand-new reddish-purple T-500 Titan.

That motorcycle taught me a lot about riding:

Speeding ticket - on the freeway enroute to a Guard meeting, in full uniform. (“Well, Sarge, you’ll just be later for roll call. Next time leave earlier and go slower.”)

Stuck enrichener - the usual 30 mile per gallon became 3 miles per gallon, but with a 2-stroke motor the extra smoke in the exhaust isn’t noticeable. Ran out of fuel on expressway and had to hop the fence to get a can. Good thing that this model was an oil-injector, because if I had to find gas/oil pre-mix the bike I would still be there.

Close encounters of the bird kind when a low-flying bird didn’t gain altitude fast enough and made sudden impact with the top of my helmet.

Tried the cutoffs and sneakers dress code. A full day of riding resulted in sunburn and windburn of legendary proportions. I’ve never seen that much skin peel off in one piece!

Had my second close encounter with Mother Nature when a hailstorm sprang up out of nowhere. OK, there were warning signs, but remember I was new at riding. The pain from the hail itself was almost bearable, but the noise inside the helmet was deafening.

Experimented with more noise by removing the muffler baffles. Learned that a 4-cycle without baffles sounds cool, a 2-cycle without baffles sounds like an outboard.

Learned that drum-type double-leading-shoe front brakes are good for stopping in the dry, but are not good in the wet. Well, that is they aren’t good until they dry out, and then they’re very good again.

Learned to relax in a front wheel skid on wet pavement.

1970 Montessa 247 Cota - 500 miles; 250 up, 250 down.

John raised the dirt riding stakes when he bought a Bultaco Alpina. 250 cc, made in Spain, with Akront rims and real knobby tires. This was war!

I countered with a used Montessa Cota 247, another Spanish trials bike, sure-footed in the trails, similar power, and that interesting trials gearbox. Trials bikes have effectively three speeds: first-second-third, depending on how much noise you wanted to make at a walking pace, fourth when it began to move, and fifth which was only to be used on wide stretches of trail or dirt road.

The swing arm bearings had a habit of loosening periodically, which would allow the swing arm to wag back and forth a few inches, which produced an interesting effect when viewed from the rear. I didn’t notice it while riding; I thought that it was just the normal mode of the bike moving around in the dirt the way most bikes do.

It also had a cracked front fork slide. After one particularly good jump the front forks compressed down to the full extent of front travel, all 5 inches, and stayed there! I remember a brief glimpse of the headlight, upside-down, and a feeling that I had eaten one or two pancakes too many for breakfast.

Somehow I didn’t fall off, and continued at a more subdued pace back to the cabin. What a sight it must have been, severe nose-down attitude, a wobble (those swing arm bearings that had loosened up again) and me grinning all the way.

1973 Suzuki T-350 - 150 miles, ridden only when she let me ride it

This bike was purchased for my second ex-wife, who rode it about four times.

It was as quick as my 500 (that isn’t saying much for either) Suzuki’s advertising and marketing added 35 cc to the actual displacement and called it a 350; after all, who would buy a 315?

Flashback: On one of the few rides we took together, she had a chance to demonstrate braking technique. I actually slowed at a yellow light instead of running through.

I vividly remember those first few milliseconds as she

1) Realized that I was stopping

2) Stomped mightily on the brake pedal, and

3) Did a perfect 50-foot locked-rear-wheel skid.

When the noise died away, she had stopped in the middle of the intersection. As she paddled back to where I stopped, I rehearsed the lecture I was going to deliver on the practical aspects of proper braking technique. When she drew alongside, I decided to postpone the lecture until she composed herself, which I saw might not be in my lifetime.

1974 Suzuki TS-400 - 250 miles

Now I was ready for some serious dirt throwing. I figured “At last I can get the best of John in the woods.” Well, it made enough power, but was difficult to control at full power and no fun at anything less. It was faster than the old Duster. It vibrated a lot at full power, parts fell off at the wrong time, and it was really too heavy.

That bike cost me $1,000, four toes and one ankle.

1977 - 1990

Approaching the Middle Ages.

1978 Yamaha XS-750 - 17,000 miles.

A part-time street rider blooms into a touring rider with the addition of this touring machine and , joined the BMW Touring Club of Detroit. I added a Vetter fairing and saddlebags to complete the package. Remember when touring bikes were a plain bike with the addition of accessories to customize it to individual liking?

This was a good bike, a bit heavy, but with shaft drive and decent reliability. The saddlebags also made dandy coolers. Empty the bag, add your favorite beverages and ice, and park somewhere the melting ice wouldn’t drip on anything important.

Sold this machine for the down payment on a R100RT. The last time I saw it I swear it gave me a forlorn look. I heard later that its new owner promptly drilled out the muffler baffles to “make it sound more like a bike.” Why do I feel guilty?

1979 Suzuki PE-175 - 750 miles?

The last hurrah in the dirt, as creeping old age and impending off-road legislation combined to close out this chapter. This bike replaced the TS-400, and not a moment too soon! With this upgrade in technology I discovered an immediate increase in riding skill. I was resting (panting) at the truck after a spirited, full-bore ride when two fellow riders who had dusted me off handily came over to share a beverage. “We were going to ride along with you, but then we realized that you were just out cruising and we wanted to go faster.” Hell, I thought I was riding faster! Welcome to the thirty-something crowd!

1982 BMW R100RT - 30,000 miles

The epitome of touring, it was a 1,000 cc, full-faired machine complete with saddlebags, tank bag, and legendary motorcycles of Germany reliability and performance. Close encounter of the freeway kind cost me five ribs, one collarbone, one shoulder blade, and a concussion. The R100RT became an R100CS. Riding semi-prone, face-in-the-wind was fun. I put the most miles on the bike, and bug stains on the riding apparel, in its CS version.

1974 Norton 850 Commando - 3,000 miles.

I always liked the sound of the British vertical twins, defined by the Triumph, and decided that the Norton would be a terrific way to satisfy this urge.

Having decided that I was betting the wrong way, I cashed in a life insurance policy, and with the proceeds in hand I answered an advertisement and lived the British dream of high school years.

I remember the torque this bike produced, and the non-existent grip of the seat. It was a blast! If the BMW was a workhorse, the Norton was a quarter horse.

Motorcycles and Me