Now and then

Once upon a ride.

A return to motorcycle touring, enjoying two 3,000 km motorcycle road trips in the past three years causes me to reflect on how this kind of adventure has changed over the years.

Even though the modern bike I used most recently was hardly the ideal road bike (a KTM 950 Adventure), and the trips were not without incident, travelling today is worlds away from my journeys 30 plus years ago.

In 1982, a buddy and I decided that a bike trip might be a good way to enjoy a holiday on a tight budget.

Considering our old world transport (both Triumphs — a 1969 Trident and a 1971 Bonneville) and that I was the most experienced biker, it was, perhaps, foolhardy of me to suggest — “Let’s do Houston!”

Biker buddy replies “Ok!” not fully grasping the significance of tackling 3,000 miles in one week, on technology that is rooted in the 1930s.

Preparations were minimal — set of good tools, extra ‘Whitworth’ nuts and bolts (any old-timers out there remember ‘vibration’?), bailing wire, duct tape, extra spark plugs, done. Bikes were both in (apparently) good condition — no windshields or bags though; we bungeed our luggage onto the back of the seats. Good to go.

An early morning departure out of Cambridge, Ontario put us in Detroit about 9:00 am. My bike didn’t like the US and the engine began stalling and missing badly in a very downbeat area of motor-city. Had to stop and investigate. It isn’t long before a dangerous looking Harley biker dude (sorry about the stereotyping — soon to be regretted*) pulled over to ask how he could help? I had no idea what was wrong but he suggested that if I could make it, he knew a bike shop “… just a mile away off the freeway- I will lead you there”.

“Will we get out of this alive?” I was thinking as we followed through a scary neighbourhood, stopping in front of a seriously rundown garage. The two fellows at the place couldn’t have been nicer, stopped what they were doing to help me unload the bike so we could gain access to the electrics (*so much for stereotyping). Everything checked out and we couldn’t get the bike to miss at all. I don’t remember who noticed it but there was paint burned off a portion of the metal tray on the underside of the seat. That was the deductive reasoning, eureka moment — weight of rider plus luggage was crushing the seat down just enough to intermittently short-out against several important electrical connectors. That’s an easy fix when you are equipped with most treasured tool for British bikes — a pair of pliers — to bend the electrical contacts out of the way. That was it, problem solved. The guys in the garage were happy to have helped, wouldn’t take any cash … but they loved the toque gifts we brought along for just such occasions.

Dayton Ohio was next and after a much anticipated visit to the extensive air museum there, my next memory is coming out of Cincinnati. My buddy suddenly stopped on the highway shoulder with a red light glaring up from his instrument panel. The cause was as obvious as a dry dipstick — no oil.

Now, this was troubling because we checked fluid levels before we left on our journey just 500 miles ago! No significant leaks so what was happening? After much head scratching and interrogation I learned that my friend, who had owned his bike for over 6 years, and rode it regularly around town, never travelled more than 300 miles a season before changing lubricants and putting the beast away for the winter each fall. So, who knows how long this excessive consumption had been going on unnoticed? And how long could a bike continue like this without something going boom?

As I went to fetch 4 slippery quarts, I worried that, with 2,500 miles yet to travel, we would see. In retrospect, earlier in the day, I had noticed blue smoke coming out of the Bonneville’s right exhaust but I wouldn’t have thought enough to burn through a tank full of oil. From here on, every fuel stop included adding oil into the Bonneville. Which was the end of those troubles except…

… In Nashville, we puttered around the city to find the ‘Grand Ole Opry’. Not too memorable actually but we could go back home to say we were there. What ‘was’ memorable was mechanical issue #3 and the drama that unfolded as we were trouble-shooting the problem road side. The issue was a fouled plug (not unexpected given the oil consumption and around town riding — easily remedied and the only time it happened on the trip). The drama was a nail-biter — beside us on the highway, a passing car swerved, spun and rolled over in the ditch not 50 feet away from us. First on the accident scene we helped a woman and her two children out of the car that was flipped over on its roof. Miraculously, no-one was hurt. The police were on the scene within minutes. We bid our farewells and moved on — a bit more west and a lot more south.

We remember Dallas for, what else, oil. Suddenly, just as we’re coming into the city, oil started leaking out through the exhaust rocker cover gasket of my Trident. A lot! There was oil everywhere and getting on the tire. What to do? Well, first a bath and a steak dinner. There, that’s better. Now, with a clearer head I started thinking ‘Dallas, what do I remember … ah yes, Dallas, home of Big D Cycle.’ Back then, Big D was THE Triumph dealer in North America! First thing next morning we rode (I slithered) to the dealership. First enquiry “Can you fix my bike?” does not get a promising response …

“Not anytime soon.”

Time for me to beg using the “… long way from home, … desperate for time”, etc, etc.

“Stop right there fella” the counter guy continued “Didn’t say we won’t help, just too busy to do it ourselves. If you’re good with wrenches, bring the bike into the shop and go crazy, we got all the tools and gaskets you need.”

Imagine that today? Had the bike fixed, oil changed and ready to go in under 2 hours with a mechanic looking over my shoulder and advising all the way. Also learned here that I was using the wrong weight oil — “straight 50 weight is the way to go on these bikes, not multi-grade.”

Bike ran markedly better with the right lubricant and the Bonneville was doing well too (and burning less oil), in spite of 90 degree heat and 100 percent humidity. Destination Houston and fond memories remain of that visit. Then, off to Galveston and New Orleans bound. As I recall, we’d been out 5 days at this point.

Baton Rouge brought on the next magical mechanical moment. After fuel and a now mandatory oil top-up, the Bonneville wouldn’t start. Completely dead. No spark. Nothing. An hour later, fussing and scolding the bike with the strongest possible language, we blundered onto the problem — faulty ignition key/switch. Hot wiring is a doodle on these bikes; once the problem was identified, we were on our way within 5 minutes; but we were starting to run out of time (even considered scratching our next destination) …

… But we just couldn’t pass on New Orleans. We continued to cruise the causeway across Louisiana swampland, playing dodge the numerous dragon flies — that felt like eagles when you hit one.

New Orleans is such a special place but unfortunately we only had a few hours to enjoy the ambiance before heading north. Three bars later (total of one beer, a coffee and glasses of water between two of us) and we were on our way by 7:00 pm, stopping at about 1:00 am, not sure where — maybe Kentucky?

Next day was a straight shot back to Canada. It was exhausting, took forever but both bikes running like trains. To recap, about 3,500 miles with five breakdowns in eight days.

And 17 quarts of oil.