Since my first ride on my new Triumph resembled a scene from Ice Station Zebra, I don't consider that my real first ride. The real first ride occurred three days later.
The freezing temps from the week gave way to a weekend of gorgeous weather. My ability to ride was stifled on Saturday by work but Sunday was all mine. I got up, made quick work of breakfast and grabbed my gear. It was time for me to officially begin the relationship with my new bike. The sun was out and the temps were hovering around the low 40s. In other words: perfect riding weather.
I opened the garage door and wheeled the bike into position. It was hard not to get distracted by the bike's wonderful looks. There's so much to look at: the chrome caps on the carbs, the shape of the gas tank, the machined handle bar clamp complete with Triumph logo. The ride was already enjoyable and I didn't even leave the garage yet.
With the ogling over with, I hit the starter, threw my gear on and headed out on my first proper ride.
It's a short ride to a stop sign and then onto a sweet set of curves. I set off gently at first, getting used to my new machine. The twin gave off a nice mechanical noise as it revved. I'd love to know how the exhaust sounded but they're too quiet. That's something to address in the future. As I rolled into the first few corners, I got a sense of what the bike was really like.
My old Suzuki had a bit of a top-heavy feel. It really didn't go through the corners at all. It sort of fell gracefully into them. You tipped it in, let it fall and then caught it. It made for awkward riding, to say the least.
The Bonneville was completely different, though. With a little nudge of countersteer, the bike would just track through the corners beautifully. The wide handlebars and classic standard riding position allowed easy placement through the bends. No hip persuasion and no knee-down histrionics are needed to take a quick line. You just pick your line, dial up a bit of countersteer and through you go. This was all new stuff to me.
The mechanical noise from the engine sounded good, too. As I revved the engine, the noise got better and better. I'd love to know where in the rev range the noise sounded best but alas, my new Triumph had no tach.
The exhausts...well, I'm sure they made a great noise, too. I couldn't hear them over the sound of a butterfly fluttering away nearby. In fact, I don't think the bike came with any exhausts. I mean, there are these two shiny chrome cans near the back but it's hard to tell if they do anything.
I also remember being blown away by having a bike with actual low-end torque. On my old Suzuki, everything happened toward the northern end of the tach. It had a six-speed 'box because you had to keep shifting up and down to make sure the engine was in its narrow powerband. It was annoying, frankly.
Anyway, on with the ride. With the corners dispatched, it was on to the most American of roads: the straights. Now, my bike at this point had less than 20 miles on it. You're not supposed to get on the throttle heavily until after the first 500 miles. Well, I said stuff it to the engineers and gave it some right hand action (oh, that sounds dirty). In response, the Bonneville barreled forward in a symphony of mechanical noise. It was like an excited dog; it just wanted more, more, more. Each upshift brought more joy to this bike's new owner. It was becoming clearer to me that I made a good purchase.
With the straight bit finished, it was time for some higher-speed sweepers. As with the slower corners and the straights, the Bonneville showed stoic aplomb in the sweepers. There was no wobbling and really, the bike felt like it was encouraging me to go faster.
About this time a few flaws were starting to develop. The sweepers are on a typical pock-marked Pennsylvania road and the Bonneville's poor rear shocks had me flying off the seat on numerous occasions. It's okay, though, because my butt went numb a few miles before from the rock-hard stock seat and I couldn't feel the bumps anymore. Clearly, cost-cutting measure were becoming apparent. No worries from me, however, because the Bonneville's aftermarket is quite large and those niggles would be fixed in the future.
A few hours later I pulled back in my garage with a sizable grin on my face. My new bike was quite a machine. It's not really fair to compare the Bonneville to my old Suzuki as they are separated by 31 years of evolution but that's my only frame of reference. And it really shows how far the motorcycle has come in that span of time. The Bonneville is a normal, everyday motorcycle. There's nothing really special about it yet it handled every situation on that first ride with confidence.
Four years later and I still get amazed by this bike. It now has saucy pipes, hopped-up suspension and a comfy seat but it still displays the same confident, playful attitude it showed on that first ride. It still likes to attack the bends, it still like to have the nuts revved out of it and still wants to run all day.
Sure it lacks the flash and speed of a Ducati 1198R, an MV Agusta F4 or even my Guzzi but those are "sometimes" bikes, best suited for taking you around the track than around the block. The Bonneville is an "all-the-time" bike. It does everything so well it makes you wonder why the good ol' fashioned standard ever went away. With the Ducati, the MV or the Guzzi, you have to own another bike because they're so specialized. With the Bonneville, you don't. It's the perfect motorcycle for riding in the real world.
I think you can sum up the new Triumph Bonneville in one word: perfect.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Four Years Gone
As I was walking past my bikes to get to my car this morning, I realized that I've owned my Bonneville for nearly four years. In fact, it will be four years this March 20.
During the past four years, my Bonneville and I have had some interesting adventures together. They were not globe-trotting adventures on par with Ted Simon's but they were still fun. I thought I'd highlight a few adventures to celebrate our four year anniversary. So what if it's early, I've got nothing better to write about!
I picked up the bike on a Thursday after work. I got home as quickly as possible, threw some gear on and hopped on my '77 Suzuki GS550B, the bike I was trading in. It was a bit chilly, around 40 degrees F, when I left so I didn't really go crazy with my gear. I figured that since it's Spring, it won't get much colder than it is. I got to the dealer, signed my life away and then waited while they prepped it. While they were prepping it, the temperature dropped. It actually dropped a lot. There's a bank near the dealer and its outside thermometer read 22 degrees F. The temperature had dropped over 20 degrees in the span of an hour.
Clearly, the ride home would be cold.
I just didn't know how cold. I had minimal experience with cold weather riding and had never ridden in temps lower than 40 F for an extended period of time. Combine that with being under dressed and you have a recipe for a very chilly ride.
I hopped on my new bike and went off, carefully getting acclimated with my new purchase. In addition to having more power, the Bonneville had a lot more torque than the Suzuki and both peaked lower in the rev range. Needless to say this made the bike feel very fast at first. As I got to the redlight about one mile from the dealer, I ceased to feel anything else.
The feeling had already left the tips of my fingers by this time. I had my "cold weather" gloves on, which are regular motorcycle gloves with another pair of cotton gloves underneath, and they weren't working. There are frequent stops in this particular area and the heat radiating from the engine helped keep me warm a little. At one redlight, I heard the bike's idle speed raise a bit and looked down to see the AIR injection had kicked on. I stared helplessly as my gorgeous chrome pipes with all of five miles on them turned blue before my eyes. Four years later, the pipes are a rainbow of chrome, blue and gold.
I quickly got out of town and onto the backroads. They're miles and miles of gentle curves taken at 50-60 mph. Not this time, though. Not only did I have slippery new tires to watch out for but this set of backroads are heavily tree-lined. That means shade and shade means cold temps. I distinctly felt the drop in temperature as I got on the road. After a few miles my teeth were chattering. A few miles after that my whole body was shaking. My eyes were starting to water and I was losing concentration. Cold air was starting to seep past the air vent zippers in my leather jacket, penetrating the sweatshirt I was wearing underneath the jacket.
The backroads ended and deposited me onto a four-lane highway. I had to travel down the highway a bit, go through a town, cross a bridge and then travel down more four-lane highway. The bridge crossing was interesting because I really felt the cold coming off the river. After crossing the river, I had exactly six miles of highway to cover. Six miles doesn't seem like much at all. In fact, it isn't much. The New York Marathon is over 26 miles long and people (crazy people) run that.
Six miles, however, is a long distance when it's well below freezing, you're on a motorcycle and you aren't dressed properly. I ducked down on my shiny new gas tank as much as I could and went for it. The miles passed with a near-constant stream of salty snot running from my nose into my mouth. This was not one of those romantic motorcycle moments you see in Hollywood films.
I pulled off the highway, into the last town and made my way toward my house. The final bit to my house passed in a instant; I don't remember it at all. I remember pulling in the garage, shutting the bike off and going inside. I plopped down on the couch in all my gear and just stayed there. Once I could recognize that there was a body attached to end of my neck, I walked out to the garage and admired my new bike.
Man, did it look good.
It was awash in shiny chrome, shiny paint and shiny plastic. Everything is only new once and this was my moment to relish with my perfect bike. There were no scratches nor were there imperfections of any kind. My Bonneville will never be as perfect as it was at that moment. I remember spending an inordinate amount of time just looking at the bike; crouching down to look underneath, touching the seat and the controls, gazing over the perfect paint.
What's funny is that four years later, I still do the same things. Even though the bike is far from the perfection of when it was new, I still stop and look at it. And when I look at it, I don't see the scratches on the fork legs, the wear on the side covers or dirt clinging to the back wheel. I see the bike the same way as I did the day I brought it home: awash in shiny chrome, shiny paint, and shiny plastic.
It was awash in perfection then and it still is now.
During the past four years, my Bonneville and I have had some interesting adventures together. They were not globe-trotting adventures on par with Ted Simon's but they were still fun. I thought I'd highlight a few adventures to celebrate our four year anniversary. So what if it's early, I've got nothing better to write about!
I picked up the bike on a Thursday after work. I got home as quickly as possible, threw some gear on and hopped on my '77 Suzuki GS550B, the bike I was trading in. It was a bit chilly, around 40 degrees F, when I left so I didn't really go crazy with my gear. I figured that since it's Spring, it won't get much colder than it is. I got to the dealer, signed my life away and then waited while they prepped it. While they were prepping it, the temperature dropped. It actually dropped a lot. There's a bank near the dealer and its outside thermometer read 22 degrees F. The temperature had dropped over 20 degrees in the span of an hour.
Clearly, the ride home would be cold.
I just didn't know how cold. I had minimal experience with cold weather riding and had never ridden in temps lower than 40 F for an extended period of time. Combine that with being under dressed and you have a recipe for a very chilly ride.
I hopped on my new bike and went off, carefully getting acclimated with my new purchase. In addition to having more power, the Bonneville had a lot more torque than the Suzuki and both peaked lower in the rev range. Needless to say this made the bike feel very fast at first. As I got to the redlight about one mile from the dealer, I ceased to feel anything else.
The feeling had already left the tips of my fingers by this time. I had my "cold weather" gloves on, which are regular motorcycle gloves with another pair of cotton gloves underneath, and they weren't working. There are frequent stops in this particular area and the heat radiating from the engine helped keep me warm a little. At one redlight, I heard the bike's idle speed raise a bit and looked down to see the AIR injection had kicked on. I stared helplessly as my gorgeous chrome pipes with all of five miles on them turned blue before my eyes. Four years later, the pipes are a rainbow of chrome, blue and gold.
I quickly got out of town and onto the backroads. They're miles and miles of gentle curves taken at 50-60 mph. Not this time, though. Not only did I have slippery new tires to watch out for but this set of backroads are heavily tree-lined. That means shade and shade means cold temps. I distinctly felt the drop in temperature as I got on the road. After a few miles my teeth were chattering. A few miles after that my whole body was shaking. My eyes were starting to water and I was losing concentration. Cold air was starting to seep past the air vent zippers in my leather jacket, penetrating the sweatshirt I was wearing underneath the jacket.
The backroads ended and deposited me onto a four-lane highway. I had to travel down the highway a bit, go through a town, cross a bridge and then travel down more four-lane highway. The bridge crossing was interesting because I really felt the cold coming off the river. After crossing the river, I had exactly six miles of highway to cover. Six miles doesn't seem like much at all. In fact, it isn't much. The New York Marathon is over 26 miles long and people (crazy people) run that.
Six miles, however, is a long distance when it's well below freezing, you're on a motorcycle and you aren't dressed properly. I ducked down on my shiny new gas tank as much as I could and went for it. The miles passed with a near-constant stream of salty snot running from my nose into my mouth. This was not one of those romantic motorcycle moments you see in Hollywood films.
I pulled off the highway, into the last town and made my way toward my house. The final bit to my house passed in a instant; I don't remember it at all. I remember pulling in the garage, shutting the bike off and going inside. I plopped down on the couch in all my gear and just stayed there. Once I could recognize that there was a body attached to end of my neck, I walked out to the garage and admired my new bike.
Man, did it look good.
It was awash in shiny chrome, shiny paint and shiny plastic. Everything is only new once and this was my moment to relish with my perfect bike. There were no scratches nor were there imperfections of any kind. My Bonneville will never be as perfect as it was at that moment. I remember spending an inordinate amount of time just looking at the bike; crouching down to look underneath, touching the seat and the controls, gazing over the perfect paint.
What's funny is that four years later, I still do the same things. Even though the bike is far from the perfection of when it was new, I still stop and look at it. And when I look at it, I don't see the scratches on the fork legs, the wear on the side covers or dirt clinging to the back wheel. I see the bike the same way as I did the day I brought it home: awash in shiny chrome, shiny paint, and shiny plastic.
It was awash in perfection then and it still is now.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
My List
I was flipping through the latest issue of Cycle World with my usual apathy toward its content when I stumbled upon Kevin Cameron's list of the Five Greatest Motorcycles. It's an interesting list of influential and great motorcycles. Unfortunately, it's wrong.
You see, Cameron might be a big, fancy pro writer with an office and a few books under his belt but my opinion is more correct. Since my opinion is more correct, here are the Five Greatest Motorcycles:
1. Moto Guzzi V8 - It was extremely fast, extremely light, extremely complex and extremely dangerous. It even tried to kill Bill Lomas. In other words, it was totally awesome.
2. Laverda Jota 180 - It vibrated like mad but delivered sonorous noise and tight handling. It also went 140 mph when nothing else did and came in orange, which is a great color.
3. Triumph 6T Thunderbird - Marlon Brando rode one and was the coolest thing to happen to the '50s since the Appalachian Blizzard of 1950. He later sold it and became fat, old and weird. Coincidence?
4. Ducati 916 - This gorgeous machine brought Ducati four Superbike World Championships and made Carl Fogarty a household name. If Monet's Water Lilies were a motorcycle, they would be the 916.
5. BMW R90S - BMW set out to build a superbike and promptly won the inaugural AMA Superbike Championship championship. It also proved that giant Dell'ortos and poor charging systems weren't the sole property of Italian bikes.
And since Cameron included a sixth bike, I will, too. Here it is:
6. Bimota Tesi 1D, 2D & 3D - The Tesi was the future here now. It was to be the end of the spindly front fork the motorcycle has been stuck with since the dawn of time. Unfortunately, like most things that are cutting edge, the Tesi was expensive, complex and a poor seller. The traditional hydraulic front fork looks like it's here to stay in all its terrible glory.
You see, Cameron might be a big, fancy pro writer with an office and a few books under his belt but my opinion is more correct. Since my opinion is more correct, here are the Five Greatest Motorcycles:
1. Moto Guzzi V8 - It was extremely fast, extremely light, extremely complex and extremely dangerous. It even tried to kill Bill Lomas. In other words, it was totally awesome.
2. Laverda Jota 180 - It vibrated like mad but delivered sonorous noise and tight handling. It also went 140 mph when nothing else did and came in orange, which is a great color.
3. Triumph 6T Thunderbird - Marlon Brando rode one and was the coolest thing to happen to the '50s since the Appalachian Blizzard of 1950. He later sold it and became fat, old and weird. Coincidence?
4. Ducati 916 - This gorgeous machine brought Ducati four Superbike World Championships and made Carl Fogarty a household name. If Monet's Water Lilies were a motorcycle, they would be the 916.
5. BMW R90S - BMW set out to build a superbike and promptly won the inaugural AMA Superbike Championship championship. It also proved that giant Dell'ortos and poor charging systems weren't the sole property of Italian bikes.
And since Cameron included a sixth bike, I will, too. Here it is:
6. Bimota Tesi 1D, 2D & 3D - The Tesi was the future here now. It was to be the end of the spindly front fork the motorcycle has been stuck with since the dawn of time. Unfortunately, like most things that are cutting edge, the Tesi was expensive, complex and a poor seller. The traditional hydraulic front fork looks like it's here to stay in all its terrible glory.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
American by Name, Italian by Soul
If I asked you to guess the 70's four-cylinder bike I'm thinking of with 750 in its name, I can guarantee you'd say Honda CB750.
And you'd be wrong.
I'm thinking of something much more exotic. In fact, I'm thinking of something that cost almost twice as much when new than a CB750. It was an aristocrat's four-cylinder superbike, one dripping with racetrack engineering, pedigree and hardware.
I'm thinking of the MV Agusta 750S America.
The 750S America was an evolution of the stunning 750S, Count Agusta's race bike for the street. Except that it wasn't a race bike. Agusta was terrified of privateers buying the 750S, entering races and then losing, thus tarnishing the mighty MV Agusta name. To prevent this from happening, Agusta ordered the 787cc four to be neutered.
The cylinder head was filled with tiny valves, the engine was fed by tiny carbs, and the final drive was done via a shaft. Cheap rear shocks and a poor front drum brake were also added. What resulted was an overly expensive bike that would get beaten by the much-cheaper CB750 and absolutely slaughtered by the Kawasaki Z1.
To remedy this, MV went back to the shed and set out to give the 750S the performance it demanded.
First, the heavy front drum was replaced by twin discs. Next the engine was given a refresh. The tiny Dell'orto UB24 carbs were replaced by larger Dell'orto VHBs. Finally, the valves grew and so did the compression. What resulted was a bump in power from 66 hp to 75 hp and a 9,000 rpm redline. These changes allowed the 750 to finally reach its advertised 130 mph top speed. The shaft final drive and heavy weight remained but the bike had an overall more visceral feel to it.
Performance wasn't the only thing that was updated. To accentuate the new found power, MV gave the bike's styling a refresh. The rounded tank was replaced by a longer unit with more squared-off styling and large cutouts for the rider's knees. The classic bum-stop seat of the 750S was replaced with a square stop seat covered in brown suede. Nothing says 1970's chic like brown suede.
Over the next few years, the 750S America was treated to a number of changes. The spoked wheels were replaced by cast wheels and the silencers were redesigned. The four was eventually bored out to 837cc, which meant more power and more speed.
The MV 750 really came into its own at the hands of tuner Arturo Magni. Magni replaced the suspension with top-quality units and put the bike on a massive diet. The shaft drive was also tossed in favor of a chain. Magni's hands also found their way into the engine, which saw displacement rise to 861cc and power rise to 92 hp.
The plummeting weight and increasing power meant the 750 was getting closer to the street-legal race bike it should have been. Through continued evolution at the hands of the factory and tuning shops, the 750 was displacing 1,066cc and belting out 118 hp by the end of production in 1980.
So, then, it's hard to sum up the 750 and what makes it so special. It definitely was a uniquely Italian answer to the superbike question. At first glance, it seems to be a beautiful piece of Italian sculpture bolted to an industrial lump of sand cast aluminum. On paper, it was heavy, expensive and complex. In reality, it was heavy, expensive and complex. It was also a bit slow at first but that was quickly remedied.
So what is it? What is the MV 750?
I can tell you in one word: timeless.
The MV 750 is timeless in that it was totally exotic, totally different from every other motorcycle out there. It was very expensive and sold in minuscule numbers, quite in contrast to the cheap and hugely popular fours from Japan. And while the fours from Japan were raced, destroyed, ruined, chopped and thrown away, the MVs were kept and appreciated. These days, the fours that could run over the MV 750 are practically given away while the MV silently increases in value.
To sum it up, the MV 750 is as all great art is: a curious oddity when new and then a cherished piece when its time has passed.
And you'd be wrong.
I'm thinking of something much more exotic. In fact, I'm thinking of something that cost almost twice as much when new than a CB750. It was an aristocrat's four-cylinder superbike, one dripping with racetrack engineering, pedigree and hardware.
I'm thinking of the MV Agusta 750S America.
The 750S America was an evolution of the stunning 750S, Count Agusta's race bike for the street. Except that it wasn't a race bike. Agusta was terrified of privateers buying the 750S, entering races and then losing, thus tarnishing the mighty MV Agusta name. To prevent this from happening, Agusta ordered the 787cc four to be neutered.
The cylinder head was filled with tiny valves, the engine was fed by tiny carbs, and the final drive was done via a shaft. Cheap rear shocks and a poor front drum brake were also added. What resulted was an overly expensive bike that would get beaten by the much-cheaper CB750 and absolutely slaughtered by the Kawasaki Z1.
To remedy this, MV went back to the shed and set out to give the 750S the performance it demanded.
First, the heavy front drum was replaced by twin discs. Next the engine was given a refresh. The tiny Dell'orto UB24 carbs were replaced by larger Dell'orto VHBs. Finally, the valves grew and so did the compression. What resulted was a bump in power from 66 hp to 75 hp and a 9,000 rpm redline. These changes allowed the 750 to finally reach its advertised 130 mph top speed. The shaft final drive and heavy weight remained but the bike had an overall more visceral feel to it.
Performance wasn't the only thing that was updated. To accentuate the new found power, MV gave the bike's styling a refresh. The rounded tank was replaced by a longer unit with more squared-off styling and large cutouts for the rider's knees. The classic bum-stop seat of the 750S was replaced with a square stop seat covered in brown suede. Nothing says 1970's chic like brown suede.
Over the next few years, the 750S America was treated to a number of changes. The spoked wheels were replaced by cast wheels and the silencers were redesigned. The four was eventually bored out to 837cc, which meant more power and more speed.
The MV 750 really came into its own at the hands of tuner Arturo Magni. Magni replaced the suspension with top-quality units and put the bike on a massive diet. The shaft drive was also tossed in favor of a chain. Magni's hands also found their way into the engine, which saw displacement rise to 861cc and power rise to 92 hp.
The plummeting weight and increasing power meant the 750 was getting closer to the street-legal race bike it should have been. Through continued evolution at the hands of the factory and tuning shops, the 750 was displacing 1,066cc and belting out 118 hp by the end of production in 1980.
So, then, it's hard to sum up the 750 and what makes it so special. It definitely was a uniquely Italian answer to the superbike question. At first glance, it seems to be a beautiful piece of Italian sculpture bolted to an industrial lump of sand cast aluminum. On paper, it was heavy, expensive and complex. In reality, it was heavy, expensive and complex. It was also a bit slow at first but that was quickly remedied.
So what is it? What is the MV 750?
I can tell you in one word: timeless.
The MV 750 is timeless in that it was totally exotic, totally different from every other motorcycle out there. It was very expensive and sold in minuscule numbers, quite in contrast to the cheap and hugely popular fours from Japan. And while the fours from Japan were raced, destroyed, ruined, chopped and thrown away, the MVs were kept and appreciated. These days, the fours that could run over the MV 750 are practically given away while the MV silently increases in value.
To sum it up, the MV 750 is as all great art is: a curious oddity when new and then a cherished piece when its time has passed.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Ducati Updates - Part Deux
Since I picked up my Ducati's cylinder head this weekend, I thought I'd share some pics of it with my non-existent readers.
Right; let's start the show:
As you can see, the head was cleaned and sandblasted. New guides, valves and seats were also fitted to the head. The spark plug hole was cleaned and Heli-coiled because only half of the old threads remained.
Here's the new guide on the exhaust side...
...And here is the new guide on the intake side.
Here you can see the other ends of the new guides and the new valve seats. They look fantastic.
Here's the newly-repaired spark plug hole.
Here are the new valves. The one on the left is the intake and it's 36mm while the one on the right is the exhaust and it's 33mm.
Here are the old valves and the old guides. The rockers were hitting the old valves on an angle, wiping out the guides.
The old valves were quite a bit longer than the new valves, as evidenced here:
And here:
The height differences were remedied with lash caps, which are little hardened caps that fit over the tops of the valves, making up the differences in height.
I think the head turned out wonderfully. I'm happy with the work and I'd like to give a big thank you to Dave at Dutchman Racing who did the work.
Right; let's start the show:
The old valves were quite a bit longer than the new valves, as evidenced here:
And here:
I think the head turned out wonderfully. I'm happy with the work and I'd like to give a big thank you to Dave at Dutchman Racing who did the work.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Ducati Updates
In the past few months, work on my old rusty Ducati has been few and far between. It's not that I've lost interest in it, I've just been riding my bikes that actually work.
But all has not been lost in that time. I've decided to make the bike look like a proper 1965 Ducati 350 should look. I have the complete bodywork for a 1966, with its squared-off tank, fenders and headlamp but it just wasn't right. The '65 350 Sebring shared its bodywork with the 160 Monza Junior and that was the only year the Sebring had the rounded tank. Being that it was a one-year-only deal, I think it would only be right to make it look correct. Besides, the 1966 bodywork is really ugly and the proper 1965 bodywork is much better-looking.
So that meant finding this bodywork. Scouring Ebay for weeks turned up nothing. Scouring other parts of the Internet also turned up nothing. Clearly, this was not going to be easy.
But then, by chance, the right tank popped up on Ebay. After an intense bidding war that resulted in me overpaying by quite a lot, the tank I needed was mine. It's not an actual Sebring tank but an older Monza Junior tank that has black painted over chrome. The chrome stripes were not only incorrectly lined up (famous Italian build quality) but were quite rusty. Thankfully, the rust was only on the surface and was gone after an hour or so of rubbing with aluminum foil and steel wool.
The rest of the tank is in good shape, too. The inside is very clean and there only minor imperfections on the outside. The gas cap is also in good condition, thereby saving me money.
I think it was a good purchase but it leaves with a decision to make. See, I like the chrome, even if it's dull and slightly pitted. Since the bike will never be a concourse restoration, I'd like to leave the tank as it sits, making the bike look like a survivor instead of a 100-point resto. But the other half of me wants to paint it and make it look new. Fortunately, I have a million other decisions to make regarding the bike so paint choice isn't pressing at the moment.
Also new in the past few months is a bunch of stuff for the cylinder head. After I took it apart, I got a good look at the valve seats and they were knackered, to borrow a phrase. It seems years of sitting while being exposed to the elements caused the seats to corrode. Who knew?
Anyway, I don't have the knowledge nor equipment to deal with installing new valve seats, so the head went off to a machine shop. From the machine shop, more bad news rolled in. It seems the valves were cracked and the guides were severely worn. The rocker arms were hitting the valves off-center and causing the valves to open on an angle, wiping out the guides. Lovely. I ordered new valves, guides and seats and they, too, went to the machine shop.
After a few weeks of work, I should be picking the head up this weekend. With the cylinder head sorted, I can finish boring the cylinder liner to fit the new 76.6mm piston and then bolt the engine back together. All I need now for the powertrain are steel and fiber plates for the clutch, a point and condenser and a spark plug. Once the engine is finished, I can move on to the wheels, tires, brakes, suspension and bodywork.
In all, my rusty Ducati is coming along and my goal of it being roadworthy before the December 21, 2012 apocalypse is within sight.
But all has not been lost in that time. I've decided to make the bike look like a proper 1965 Ducati 350 should look. I have the complete bodywork for a 1966, with its squared-off tank, fenders and headlamp but it just wasn't right. The '65 350 Sebring shared its bodywork with the 160 Monza Junior and that was the only year the Sebring had the rounded tank. Being that it was a one-year-only deal, I think it would only be right to make it look correct. Besides, the 1966 bodywork is really ugly and the proper 1965 bodywork is much better-looking.
So that meant finding this bodywork. Scouring Ebay for weeks turned up nothing. Scouring other parts of the Internet also turned up nothing. Clearly, this was not going to be easy.
But then, by chance, the right tank popped up on Ebay. After an intense bidding war that resulted in me overpaying by quite a lot, the tank I needed was mine. It's not an actual Sebring tank but an older Monza Junior tank that has black painted over chrome. The chrome stripes were not only incorrectly lined up (famous Italian build quality) but were quite rusty. Thankfully, the rust was only on the surface and was gone after an hour or so of rubbing with aluminum foil and steel wool.
The rest of the tank is in good shape, too. The inside is very clean and there only minor imperfections on the outside. The gas cap is also in good condition, thereby saving me money.
I think it was a good purchase but it leaves with a decision to make. See, I like the chrome, even if it's dull and slightly pitted. Since the bike will never be a concourse restoration, I'd like to leave the tank as it sits, making the bike look like a survivor instead of a 100-point resto. But the other half of me wants to paint it and make it look new. Fortunately, I have a million other decisions to make regarding the bike so paint choice isn't pressing at the moment.
Also new in the past few months is a bunch of stuff for the cylinder head. After I took it apart, I got a good look at the valve seats and they were knackered, to borrow a phrase. It seems years of sitting while being exposed to the elements caused the seats to corrode. Who knew?
Anyway, I don't have the knowledge nor equipment to deal with installing new valve seats, so the head went off to a machine shop. From the machine shop, more bad news rolled in. It seems the valves were cracked and the guides were severely worn. The rocker arms were hitting the valves off-center and causing the valves to open on an angle, wiping out the guides. Lovely. I ordered new valves, guides and seats and they, too, went to the machine shop.
After a few weeks of work, I should be picking the head up this weekend. With the cylinder head sorted, I can finish boring the cylinder liner to fit the new 76.6mm piston and then bolt the engine back together. All I need now for the powertrain are steel and fiber plates for the clutch, a point and condenser and a spark plug. Once the engine is finished, I can move on to the wheels, tires, brakes, suspension and bodywork.
In all, my rusty Ducati is coming along and my goal of it being roadworthy before the December 21, 2012 apocalypse is within sight.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Difference
With cloudy skies overhead and a temperature hovering around 60, I threw a leg over my Bonneville for a little bit of Fall riding. This Fall has been uncharacteristically warm, which means I can put off the end of the riding season. No complaints from me, I assure you.
As I was riding along admiring the thinning fall foliage, I began to think about the differences between one motorcycle and the next. You see, I've been riding my Guzzi a lot for the past few weeks, mostly because its battery is easier to install. During that time, I became used to its awkward riding position, heavy weight and prodigious power. While going along on my Bonneville today, everything was different.
For starters, the Bonneville feels like a lithe top-line center compared to the gruff defenseman feel of the Guzzi. It does this despite only being 30 lbs lighter. The Bonneville tracks along wonderfully, requiring only the slightest nudge of the handlebars to change direction. It's an easy bike to ride at any speed. On the Guzzi, you get the feeling that it's bored riding at normal speeds. I can hear the Guzzi saying to me: "faster, faster, faster."
Then there's the riding position. On the Guzzi, you're in that racy, torturous Italian riding position. The Bonneville's position is the classic standard position. With the addition of the Thruxton gel seat, this bike is a comfortable long-distance mount. The Guzzi is better on the highway, though. I get the feeling the Guzzi wants to cruise all day at 100 mph. I get the feeling that I'm pushing the Bonneville a bit at speeds over 70.
What I'm getting at is that there are more differences going from bike to bike than from car to car. I drive a lot of cars at my job and I can say that a lot of them feel the same. A lot of the steering, braking and handling has the same feel regardless of brand.
That's not to say you won't feel a bit of difference going from a Volkswagen Golf to a Ferrari 599; of course you will. If you drive multiple mid-size cars or multiple pickup trucks, though, you'll get the feeling that they were all built from some sort of mold. It's like there's a template that says a compact car should feel like this, or that a full-size luxury car should feel like this. It kind of takes the fun out of driving. I think cars are starting to look the same, too.
I've owned and ridden numerous bikes and I can say they've all felt different. A Harley feels different than a BMW, which feels different from a Yamaha. Each bike manufacturer does things their own way and that is evidenced in their products. It makes for interesting products and gives each bike its own character. Each new bike you ride is a new experience. It's not like going from car to car, where you adjust the seat and the mirrors and drive off.
Going from bike to bike, you have to learn the nuances of the new bike. You have to learn what it likes and what it doesn't like. Cars have been engineered to adapt to you. Many cars have memory seats to adapt to your size and have transmissions that adapt to your driving style. You don't get that on a bike. It's up to you to adapt to the bike. It's like going to bed with someone new. It's a bit rocky at first while you each figure out what the other person likes and doesn't like. Once you find it, the magic happens. Sometimes the magic happens too quickly but never mind that.
The differences between each bike is yet another reason why motorcycling is so interesting and so much fun. It's just a shame there isn't more time to sample the differences between bikes. Such is life.
As I was riding along admiring the thinning fall foliage, I began to think about the differences between one motorcycle and the next. You see, I've been riding my Guzzi a lot for the past few weeks, mostly because its battery is easier to install. During that time, I became used to its awkward riding position, heavy weight and prodigious power. While going along on my Bonneville today, everything was different.
For starters, the Bonneville feels like a lithe top-line center compared to the gruff defenseman feel of the Guzzi. It does this despite only being 30 lbs lighter. The Bonneville tracks along wonderfully, requiring only the slightest nudge of the handlebars to change direction. It's an easy bike to ride at any speed. On the Guzzi, you get the feeling that it's bored riding at normal speeds. I can hear the Guzzi saying to me: "faster, faster, faster."
Then there's the riding position. On the Guzzi, you're in that racy, torturous Italian riding position. The Bonneville's position is the classic standard position. With the addition of the Thruxton gel seat, this bike is a comfortable long-distance mount. The Guzzi is better on the highway, though. I get the feeling the Guzzi wants to cruise all day at 100 mph. I get the feeling that I'm pushing the Bonneville a bit at speeds over 70.
What I'm getting at is that there are more differences going from bike to bike than from car to car. I drive a lot of cars at my job and I can say that a lot of them feel the same. A lot of the steering, braking and handling has the same feel regardless of brand.
That's not to say you won't feel a bit of difference going from a Volkswagen Golf to a Ferrari 599; of course you will. If you drive multiple mid-size cars or multiple pickup trucks, though, you'll get the feeling that they were all built from some sort of mold. It's like there's a template that says a compact car should feel like this, or that a full-size luxury car should feel like this. It kind of takes the fun out of driving. I think cars are starting to look the same, too.
I've owned and ridden numerous bikes and I can say they've all felt different. A Harley feels different than a BMW, which feels different from a Yamaha. Each bike manufacturer does things their own way and that is evidenced in their products. It makes for interesting products and gives each bike its own character. Each new bike you ride is a new experience. It's not like going from car to car, where you adjust the seat and the mirrors and drive off.
Going from bike to bike, you have to learn the nuances of the new bike. You have to learn what it likes and what it doesn't like. Cars have been engineered to adapt to you. Many cars have memory seats to adapt to your size and have transmissions that adapt to your driving style. You don't get that on a bike. It's up to you to adapt to the bike. It's like going to bed with someone new. It's a bit rocky at first while you each figure out what the other person likes and doesn't like. Once you find it, the magic happens. Sometimes the magic happens too quickly but never mind that.
The differences between each bike is yet another reason why motorcycling is so interesting and so much fun. It's just a shame there isn't more time to sample the differences between bikes. Such is life.
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