I'm not going to lie. I've been a long time gear head (ever since my first shitty car) and have loved anything with an engine since. Growing up I was always interested in how things worked and figuring them out on my own. Once in High School, I signed up for every auto shop class I possibly could while working at a local grocery store trying to save enough money for my first car. Once I had that first car at seventeen (and a Haynes manual in hand) I had to keep it on the road and was working on my $700 heap of crap every weekend. I learned alot in a hurry and my interest in motorized things was going from a bubble to a roaring boil.
A car just wasn't enough to keep me satisfied and after some time spent with ATV's and dirtbikes, I decided to get my motorcycle license on a whim one day. I woke up, drove to the drive-test center and wrote my M1 license test. I passed with flying colours. I got home an told my parents the good news, both of them looking at me very surprised as they didn't know I was going for my license (and in all honesty neither did I until that morning). My mom and dad were supportive, being motorcyclists themselves, and my mom offered up her bike for my maiden voyage. I quickly tossed on some jeans, a hoodie, and an old snowmobile helmet and roared out of the laneway on her 1986 Suzuki GR 650 Tempter. I muddled about the back roads near Delhi getting comfortable with the handling of the bike, the little parallel twin sewing machine humming away underneath me.
It was my first taste of motorized two wheel freedom (on pavement) and I knew I needed more. I returned mom's bike home with a full tank of fuel, smiling ear to ear. I pulled a copy of "Boat Bike & RV Trader" from the saddlebag that I picked up at the gas station and began studying each page. In the days before Kijiji we had to wait a week for each new issue, hoping to score that deal of a lifetime. My dad and I looked it over, lots of me pointing to a bike excitedly and him doing his best humm and haw. Finally we came to agreement on a good looking Yamaha in Woodstock. A phone call later and we were on the road.
It was a 1982 Yamaha Seca 550. The bike was mint and I put down my $1400 and loaded it on my trailer. This bike was so clean you could eat off it. My first motorcycle might have been plain Jane to everyone else, but to me it became an icon of freedom and speed. I still get starry eyed whenever I see one out in the wild. My vintage rocket, 550cc's of engine spread out over four cylinders, front disc brake and rear drum, chain drive, and pure fucking black with a red stripe that said "I'm sexy".
In all honesty the bike was a little slow, but it didn't matter to me. It would reach 140 km/h on a long flat stretch and the brakes were weak to say the least. In two years I put over 60,000km on it, commuting to work, pleasure cruising, and even some iron butt 500km+ days. That bike took me places, from lake shore vistas to the stop and go of city traffic, onto roads and places I didn't even know existed. We had some close calls too, nearly being run into a few times by distracted drivers. I had to learn quickly to ride like no one could see me and always assume that the guy at the stop sign is going to pull out in front of you.
One of my favourite rides was to head south out of Delhi to Turkey Point and head east along the lake shore passing through Port Dover, Nanticoke, Peacock Point, and eventually way down the lake shore to Fort Erie. I'd head north and grab some lunch at a retro looking diner in Niagara Falls (I don't even think the diner is open anymore, I can't remember the name) and either head home via Dunnville and Highway #3 or West on the QEW and over the Burlington skyway, around the north side of Hamilton and eventually south from Brantford on Cockshutt Road. I also did quite a few late night runs to Brantford to eat the huge hamburgers at Admiral Submarine and watch the drunks walk the streets after being kicked out of the bars.
I ended up selling that bike, which I still regret to this day. I did own another Seca 550 a few years later but it was a heap of shit to be honest and having a toddler and a baby made the insurance hard to pay for. I'm bike-less now but I know that my motorcycle days are far from over. I can feel the itch every now and again. I keep teasing myself by dropping in at the local toy store and drooling over machines like the FZ-09, the V-Strom, even the Harley Davidson Iron 883. I dream of bikes I will never afford from the likes of Triumph and Ducati. I spend time looking at 2-3 day routes around Ontario or the Great Lakes, imagining putting on big miles over a few long days. A new bike might not happen today, or tomorrow, but I can see one far off in the future. Besides, my midlife crisis is only 8 years away and I'm guaranteed a new motorcycle then..... or a sports car...... nope, fuck that, it will be a motorcycle.
Another year, another Global Fat Bike Day. This one was special for me as it was my first ride back on the mountain bike (expect for a couple of very painful rides I gave up on in the summer) since my accident. It was also the first ride out on my resurrected fat bike.
The bike was everything that I hoped it would be when done. Fully rigid on 4" rubber, 1 x 10 driveline, loaded with simple and reliable components. It doesn't get much simpler than this when it comes to mountain biking, and its just what I needed. A reliable machine to get me back on the trails. Full spec below...
Feast your eyes.....
My good riding partner, Wide Open Willie, and I set out to do our own little ride at Turkey Point. We kept to the trails within the Provincial Park and did a nice loop that reversed back on a few trails. A great day to get out there. The resurrected fat bike did well, very well. It took everything in stride and kept me grinning ear to ear. I think its safe to say that I'm back in the saddle again and I can't wait to put more miles on.
Its been far too long and I've missed the sound of my huge tires humming along in the dirt, with the occasional click of the shifter or squeak from the brakes. Carving up the winding trails and attacking the short climbs put me back into my Happy Place that I've missed for months.
See you on the trails...
The Bric...._ mountain biker, road rider, heavyweight gear abuser. Built like a brick sh*thouse. No bike is safe.