So, what to make of this…
I doctored the member number so as to not tempt anyone to lose themselves on the BMWMOA website.
Look What Came in the Mail
Chick Magnet
Paul Ruby with his self-described chick magnet — a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon, a cream puff car he purchased last year at the Carlisle Car Show. He owns a number of chick magnets by his reckoning, including a big, black Harley-Davidson, a red Ducati 1198, a ’70s vintage red Ferrari, and a ’60s vintage Vespa. He describes them in various ways, from pure mojo, chick magnet, or other “pure” terms I would rather not put in writing. All are part of a unique Rubiesque lexicon. Under intense questioning he’ll eventually admit that none, save the vintage Vespa, have ever attracted a female. He may go further in saying that the women he’s encountered, in fact, seem completely disinterested in any of these machines.
Maybe the special power resides in the white socks and black slippers.
This past Saturday, something happened to possibly alter my perception of the idea of a chick magnet. The Oldsmobile Cutlass wagon may just have those fabled powers.
Dan Leri and I stood outside Saint’s Cafe, discussing Dan’s recent mishap with his BMW RT1150. I’ll be posting that story sometime soon. As we talked, Paul trotted up with a cup of his favorite Duncan Donuts coffee in hand, smiling and thankful to be walking on the good earth. He is generally that happy.
Before Dan could continue with his story, which included how the throttle froze on the way to work, Paul suddenly interjects: “You can’t talk to me. I have a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon. It’s a creampuff, pure mojo, a major chick magnet!” Bam. Or so he could have added. Bam is a common way Paul punctuates his deliveries.
Just as the words pass his lips, the crash of metal meeting metal stops the conversation. Paul’s head rotates toward the sound as if mounted on some fine, German, geared system. Eyes wide, his body is already in motion towards the parking lot across the street. It takes a moment for Dan and I to comprehend the situation. A gray minivan has just plowed into Paul’s creampuff. Like many guys, well, maybe most guys, we grin, chuckle and return to the frozen throttle conversation.
Only a few minutes pass until I notice Paul, standing behind the minivan, his arms wrapped around a woman. Another few minutes pass. Dan and I part ways. I head across the street towards my Vespa and see Paul still talking with the woman. The side of the wagon is clearly wrecked, and I’ll later learn that the minivan was in far worse shape. I stifle a strong, very strong, urge to chirp “chick magnet” as I walk by.
A few hours later, Paul is on the phone asking me if I think God is trying to tell him something. He’s wondering if he’s making light of women, by thinking his possessions have some magical power over them. Does this mean he believes– they’re one-dimensional creatures drawn merely to the sparkling of worldly goods. I listen quietly as he expresses deep, spiritual concern for his actions and speech–as he questions the foundations on which his beliefs are based. His angst flows through the phone in a heavy wave of emotion. I listen until he’s drained of speech, awaiting my response.
In our front yard, a Carolina wren sings loudly for a mate. Junior stretches on the floor as my foot rubs his soft belly. Finally, I respond.
“No, none of that. It’s a chick magnet.”
What are friends for if not to rubber-stamp each others’ shit.
Consumption Therapy and Moto-Porn
A couple days ago good old Charlie6 (Dom) of Redleg’s Rides forwarded an email about the above bike. Overconfidence no doubt at having reversed my opinion about sidecars he probably thought I’d be vulnerable to suggestions about a vintage BMW. Here’s his message:
Steve,
Just in case you're undergoing Beemer withdrawals.....this one seems nice.
dom
Date: Thu, 31 Mar 2011
From: "Charles xxx"
Subject: 1988 R100GS For Sale
To: "Airheads"
We are getting ready to move so I am putting my Airhead up for sale and I thought I would give the list first crack.
It is a 1988 R100GS, Black and Yellow, and is in great cosmetic andmechanical condition. It comes with Caribou luggage system and a Marsee magnetic tank bag. The GS has about 38,800 miles. I just changed all fluids, checked the valves and will check the carb sync prior to delivery.
The GS has had the circ clip issue addressed by Tom Cutter. Some modifications include Nippon starter, Moto and Hyper lites, Ohlin Adj. rear shock (came from factory with WP rear and progressive springs in forks), EnduraLast 450 watt alternator, and Acerbis handguards.
With the GS comes many, many spare parts (including a new-in-box BMW brand drive shaft, two rebuilt bing carbs(missing floats as I borrowed them last year and didn't replace), original working Valeo starter, a set of Cont. TKC tires (currently has Avon Gripsters mounted). Also, the GS is wired for handlebar mounted GPS and Gerbing heat. The BMW tool pouch is complete. I will also include a Clymer manual in addition to the Owner's manual.
I am asking $5500 for all.
The bike is located in Pottstown, PA (about 35-miles west of Philly)
I had been looking at used motorcycles on eBaby, Kissell Motorsports, and anywhere I could think of when I opened Dom’s message. Seeing that yellow and black motorcycle, reviewing the specs and price, I knew, absolutely knew, I wanted that motorcycle. I needed that motorcycle. The world would not be right, I wouldn’t be right, until it was sitting in our garage.
Kim, my loving partner, wife, and knowing soulmate was sitting a few feet away in the window, writing in her journal. I let the words, “Wow, that’s a nice motorcycle” ease past my teeth and into the room. Her pen kept pace across the page of her notebook as I added, “I’ve always loved the 1988 BMW R100 GS” and feeling a lot like Ralphie in A Christmas Story scheming to get a Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle with a compass in the stock.
The R100 GS is that cool.
Being wise and knowing how to decode my meta-messages Kim asked if I wanted a motorcycle. I really became Ralphie as I quickly thought how to respond — not too excited, not too relaxed. I did not say I wanted a football. (Apologies to anyone who hasn’t seen a Christmas Story)
Cutting to the chase Kim asked me a few simple questions. (My recollection of the exchange)
KIM: Do you like the motorcycle?
STEVE: Yes, I do, I have always loved the way these vintage BMWs look, especially the R100 GS.
K: Do you need a motorcycle?
S: (long pause) Hmmm, well, I don’t really need a motorcycle. It would be nice to ride though.
K: What are you going to do with the Vespa?
S: I’ll keep the Vespa. Never know when you might need a second machine to ride. (Suddenly I’m feeling sort of stupid)
K: If you want a motorcycle you should get one.
S: (silence)
K: What will the BMW do differently than the Vespa?
S: (I almost blurt out “it will go a lot faster”) Well, it will feel different on the road. And it might open up more riding opportunities. (I am beginning to realize how little I have thought about this subject at all)
K: When will you have time to do this? You seem pretty busy right now with work, photography, writing, the house, friends, the dog. Are you really going to be able to use it? And you’re getting all those motorcycles from Kissell Motorsports to ride. How’s another motorcycle going to fit in?
S: (Kim’s doing the thinking that I should have been doing. A light flickers in my head, dimly at first, then brighter when she asks the next question.)
K: Do you really need this motorcycle or are you just in your buying mode?
S: Hmmmm….. Well…. I… I just… (silence)
No need to go on here. I began to see what Kim saw in an instant. Things were pretty hectic after returning from Colorado. Lots of work to catch up on with lots of new things to do. When my head begins to spin at a certain speed I seek consumption therapy. Buy something and I’ll feel better. Buy a motorcycle and I’ll feel a lot better. Or so the irrational thoughts suggest. I have a really nice Bell Kevlar canoe hanging in the garage with about 4 hours of use on it. A Wisner 4×5 view camera, bamboo flute, assorted tools and toys, all purchases a direct result of consumption therapy.
Kim just saved us $5500. While I eventually come to appreciate her insight, at the moment it’s being delivered I can pout at not getting what I want. I wonder at times how she puts up with me. I’m the only man who’s like this.
I emailed the owner of the motorcycle on the phone to seek permission to use the picture on this post. He granted it with the statement “feel free to use my moto-porn”. He knew.
The next day I went for a ride on the Vespa and honestly wondered why I thought I needed anything else. The thing is perfect for me.
Couldn’t smile a bigger smile.
Riding in Colorado with the Master
This is Charlie6, author of Redleg’s Rides, my host for a couple days of unexpected riding in Colorado. Anyone who’s followed his blog knows a few things about him:
1. As much as he can he rides all year through all kinds of weather.
2. Riding takes him far afield and into the Rocky Mountains.
3. He racks up miles — over 60 thousand in the last three years.
4. There’s little boasting in his writing.
5. Unless you search carefully you can’t quite tell who’s behind the helmet. I’ve taken care of that.
I’ll share a few things learned from observation. And a few other things can remain secret — like the significance of certain street signs and the jungle in Panama.
The casual Redleg’s Ride reader may have missed the author’s name is Domingo Chang. Or that he’s published an article in the BMW Motorcycle Owner’s Association’s Owner News magazine.
The article is titled Monument Valley via the Million Dollar Highway. It’s a good read.
He’s a serious rider. A look at his machines, gear, and attention to them give the strong impression that Mr. Chang is not a casual, fair weather rider.
I could go on but I don’t want to embarrass him or screw up any chance of further riding should I return to Colorado.
Last Saturday morning Dom gave me the choice between Vikki, the V-Strom I had ridden the day before, or his beloved Brigitta, a beautiful 1987 BMW R80 airhead. With the thermometer reading 29F at departure time I chose the BMW because it had heated grips.
Our destination was about an hour away — Red Rocks Park — a little taste of the mountains before I had to fly back east. Once we arrived Dom told me to take the lead, go where I wanted, stop whenever I wanted to shoot pictures, we had plenty of time.
The bad feeling I get of having people waiting for me is one of the reasons I ride alone. I can stop a lot. The day quickly can become about photography and not riding.
As I scrambled up the red clay towards the rocks Dom probably was wondering what the hell I was doing. By the time I returned he said he would ride on ahead and I could catch up. He shot a video of me when I finally caught up. The startling slowness should serve as ample warning for anyone who thinks of riding with me.
The place was beautiful. The sky, the landscape, the feeling unlike anything I experience in Pennsylvania.
Charlie6 is all about the motorcycles. Whenever I turned the camera towards him he commented that the pictures should be about the motorcycles. So I had to switch to stealth mode, useful for reluctant or nervous subjects.
While Dom composed his artistic motorcycle arrangements I grabbed a shot of an R1200 GS (?) putting by.
Dom does look like a police officer. You would think people would steer clear. While we were here an SUV drove up and a woman leaped out and came running over and asked us if we wanted her to shoot our picture. First thought in my head was of Jack Riepe and the stories this encounter could generate. Then I wondered if she thought we looked like the Village People.
We politely declined the offer and I noted a scooter decal in her back window as she drove away. Obviously just a fine, friendly human.
It kind of bothers me that Jack Riepe pops into my head when I’m out riding. What the hell is that about?
Dom shoots as many, perhaps more, pictures as I do. He was curious how our pictures would compare. I’m always interested in how different people see the same places.
Nothing like big, red rocks for subject matter.
I learned something else about Dom when making this picture. He likes his motorcycles just so. When I set up the bike I had turned the front wheel to the left. Opposite of how one learns to leave it when you dismount in an MSF class. But I like the way the bike looks when the wheel is askew.
Dom likes the wheel straight and trotted over to fix things.
We rode to the top of Lookout Mountain and walked up to Buffalo Bill’s grave. Only a foothill of the Rockies I still felt the 7500 foot elevation. At this point I wasn’t shooting many pictures because the clock was starting to tick in my head and visions of security checkpoints at the airport were dancing in my head.
Going down the other side of the mountain towards Golden, Colorado placed us in clusters of bicyclists making their way up and down the mountain. I was glad to have a motor. At least for a few more moments.
After shooting this picture I couldn’t get the BMW started. Dom came over and swore there should be gas in the tank. A quick dismantling of the fuel bowl of one of the carbs confirmed there was gas. Turned out I put the fuel shutoff valves in the wrong position. How would I know? I ride a Vespa.
After another Panama jungle experience we gassed up and hit the freeway to get back home and to the airport before I would have to buy another ticket. Brigitta followed Vikki and at times I saw the speedometer needle pegged at the maximum. Smooth and stable despite a nice crosswind.
Bikes safely back in the garage Dom checks to make sure I’ve not left anything behind before we go the the airport. Unfortunately we both forget the long underwear I borrowed. (They’re in the wash now and I’ll mail them back soon.)
At the airport I say my goodbye and head through security to meet motorcycle blogger Richard Machida as he heads back to Alaska. Dom must be a puppet master to pull off all this interaction so smoothly.
By the time my ass sinks into the seat of the Boeing 757 I am really tired. Five hours of riding is a nice sedative before flying. And a great way to end a great week in Colorado. I hope I can return the favor should Dom and his family visit Pennsylvania.
Dom — thank you for your kind hospitality and trust with your motorcycles. The keys to the Vespa are yours whenever you want.
A Used BMW Motorcycle — Happy New Year
Time slips by quickly and I have to pile on best wishes for the New Year on top of this story about a used BMW motorcycle.
Happy New Year! My resolutions (yes, I make resolutions) are under construction.
So, the used motorcycle, where to begin…
On Thursday afternoon I strapped a pair of Heidenau K66 LT Snowtex tires to the back of the Vespa and headed off to Kissell Motorsports to have them mounted. For non-winter riders these are snow tires with aggressive, slush clearing pattern, silica in the rubber for added traction, and special rubber designed to stay soft and sticky in the cold.
The plan was to drop the scooter off and have my wife pick me up for a ride home. What happened was I rode one of the used (pre-owned for the politically correct) motorcycles home.
The view out the breezeway door was pretty nice. Let me say I love the BMW R1200 GS. Love it. Smiled when I got on it. Was completely comfortable from the moment I pressed the starter. Loved the heated grips on the ride home. Nice bike. Really nice bike. A bike to lust after. And this was a used one with 19000 miles on it.
Nice.
A lot of dreams start with the selection of used motorcycles at a dealership. Not everyone is ready to plunk down the cash for a bike. I took the BMW as an example of the kind of used bikes one might find at Kissell’s.
Standing in the kitchen the next day with a bowl of soup in my hands Kim calls out, “Craig Kissell is on the phone.” After I finished the soup I was going to go for a ride. Turns out that was true because Craig told me he just sold the bike and wondered if I could bring it back.
Sometimes life kicks you in the shins.
Pushing it out of the garage I gave it one last loving look. Kim walks over and says, “You really like that motorcycle don’t you?” I nod as I admire the machine standing in my driveway.
“Do you want to buy it?”
A felt a tear forming.
I met the new owner and expressed my feelings about what a fine machine he had purchased. I tried to console myself with the thought that there will be other motorcycles.
The BMW R1200 GS was just so nice though.
And life has a way of reminding you of the serendipity of things.
I’m going to ride a 50cc Honda Ruckus home. I made the choice. An act of flagellation to atone for coveting the BMW? I will say I have a new respect for those riders who make their way in the world on a 50cc machine. Anyone can ride a BMW. It takes a special rider to deal with the Ruckus.
Throttle wide open, I manage 35 mph on the flat. Twenty mph going up a hill. And compared to my Vespa GTS 250 the 50cc Ruckus is tiny. I smile when I think about what I must look like. I take a bit of pleasure leading a large, jacked up, big wheeled, overly loud, Dodge RAM truck down a stretch of road before pulling over and waving him on. The Harley decal in the back window meant he knew how to be patient with a fellow rider.
About halfway home I came to appreciate how quiet the scooter is. The sheep owned by Penn State barely moved when I rode up.
While a 50cc scooter isn’t fast its speed is a bit deceptive. More than once I found myself going a bit too fast for a maneuver. Luckily I am experienced enough to deal with these little over estimations. But I can see why new riders run these things into curbs, walls, or off the road. There’s no profit in underestimating anything with two wheels. And protective gear is a must in my opinion lest you come to woe.
I’ve always liked the looks of the Ruckus. They seem like the jeeps of the scooter world. If only Honda would drop a slightly larger motor into one. And call it a Big Ruckus.
Oh. Right. I forgot.
So I go from a BMW R1200 GS to a 50cc Honda Ruckus. That’s the kind of riding diversity I have come to appreciate.