New Bike!

A month ago I mused with you about how the Hornet 600 just wasn't doing it for me. A fine, admirable bike, but one that evokes no passion. Well, I decided I would sell it and buy another bike for the same value - one which I could love, and one which I could more easily and economically maintain. I decided to buy the next bike first, and then sell the Hornet, as I use my bike for daily transport.

I figured I could get $3k for the Hornet. Which didn't leave me with too many options for a reliable and passion-arousing bike. I was temporarily drawn to a Royal Enfield 350, but they are not reliable enough for my needs. So I narrowed my options to two: a '90s Yamaha XT or TT 600, or a '90s Yamaha XV535 Virago. The latter won, as it is a better highway bike and because Fee can ride it too. And so today I took my first ride on my new 1992 Virago 535!



I've always like Viragos, especially as my friend Rosy who appears at times in this blog rides one - I helped her buy it some years ago - and it's very reliable and good-looking. Hers is a 250 and is very similar in design and look to my 535. The 535 has all the qualities I love in a bike: middle-weight (500cc), air-cooled, reliable, simple, classic-looking, and a Yamaha. As you can see, it also has a lot of chrome.



The bike's engine reminds me of the Suzuki GR650, from this blog, which I regret selling: it is torquey and pulls from nothing, and yet at the other end it is very peppy and enjoys revving. It has a clipped staccato drum-roll as I run up the rev range in second gear.

I rode for 450km today. I was very nervous, as I know little about the history of the bike and feared some bad surprises. The bike ran perfectly for the first 200km. Then something happened after a short stint up the Hume. As I slowed into Euroa it seemed to bog down or surge, as though running out of fuel. It continued to do this for the rest of the trip when at 1/4 throttle, though it ran fine from 2/4 to 4/4 throttle. Even above 1/4 throttle, however, it felt a little...something...as though running a little lean? When it first manifested I became quite worried, as I've gone and spent our hard earned money and I need this bike to be our reliable vehicle.



Later I reflected that, whatever the problem is, it can be fixed. All parts for this bike are cheaply and readily available on eBay. Indeed, the bike came with a box of extras which includes carb rebuild kits, and these include a multitude of jets and needles. This presents an excuse to visit Craig, the wonder cutomiser of Mishief Makers (again, on this blog - he pulled up out of nowhere when James blew the clutch in his CZ175), to make an exhaust so that this bike will sound like a bike and not an industrial sewing machine. At that point we can rebuild and rejet the carbs.

I am going to do some work to this bike. First of all, the riding position is uncomfortable. It is cramped and the cruiser riding position is hard on my lower back and neck. I will begin by rebuilding the seat to make it 10cm higher. Then, if need be, I will have Craig mount the pegs back in a more standard road-bike position. Another thing is the rear shocks, which are stuffed. They allow the bike to be jarring, and yet bottom out very easily.

Aesthetically, I have always like the XV535 for the classic road bike it could become. My inspiration will be T.E.Lawrence's Brough Superior. I will go for a flat long-seat look. I will get another tank fitted, as this bike has two tanks - a larger one under the seat and a fuel pump to take the petrol to the carbs. This is against the principle of simplicity, so I will get a bigger tank and gravity feed it to the carbs. As said, I will modify the complex and strangled exhaust system so that it is freer, and more present and musical without being too loud. I will also fit a windscreen and saddle bags. Below is what the bike will look like with a raised seat. Further below are more shots from today.









A lot of people think of the XV535 as a beginner's bike, due to its size regarding both the chassis and the displacement/power. I've been riding for a decade and plan to keep this bike for some time. It's power is adequate, it's engine is fun, and it will in the end fit me nicely. What more do I need? Life's easier when you don't have the competitive 'bigger is better' attitude.

Requiem Ride

I was busy this last three days with travelling to Swan Hill and attending a funeral. I did not take many photos on the way - it was not that sort of ride - but I did stop for breaks - it was a long ride - and photographed the scene.

Boort-Kerang Road, where remnants of the floods remain:




Further on...




In the beauty and mystery of this landscape, I privately dedicated the act of the ride: in Memory of Phillip Brown, 1950-2011. A good man, a man of substance. A life well-lived is better than a life long-lived. But it is sad nonetheless.

It is strange to be standing on the other side of somebody's death, across that line which divides their being here and their being the past.

Longwood for coffee

Yesterday, as Marlon and I rumbled along on our big singles through single-lane sweepers in a place where, for an hour, we met no other traffic, I reflected on my odd passion. People have their particular passions within the motorcycling spectrum. In my case I love to ride older, cheap, and reliable bikes, and to slowly modify them so that, as I sit in fourth gear rolling on and off the throttle through the turns, looking out over fields, I imagine it is the middle of the twentieth century - the 1950s; or that I am rolling through some green English lane, a 1920s Lawrence.   An SR500 is a good motorcycle for this. I was struck, last week, by how soul-less my four cylinder Honda is. I admire it very much, it's so very competent. But I could never love it.  No matter how ratty, rattly, and frustating my SR can be, I love it.

Riding two bikes on one day

As Marlon and I hurtled down the freeway today I looked in my rear mirror to check he was behind me, and saw nothing but white clouds of smoke coming from my bike. The engine still felt strong. I pulled into the emergency lane and left the engine running to gauge the fault. A blown head? Holed piston? Everything was wet. The liquid was clear but we quickly determined it was oil. No serious problem. I hope. Excess oil had blown out the crank case breather. It should not happen again. But in the process it covered the rear part of the bike, including the rear tyre, and also the exhaust. The smoke was the oil burning on there.

I decided I would park the bike at home for the day, and check my theory of the problem later in the week. And so, the beauty of having two bikes: Five minutes later and the Honda Hornet was ready to go.

After leaving late and limping back home on the SR, Marlon and I could not do the big ride we had planned. So we chose the default piece of pleasure: King Lake to Yea, and thereabouts.

Beyond Yea we rode to Highlands then west to Seymour, through rock and bush land. We stopped.













We spent the whole afternoon riding, and into the evening. At dusk on the outskirts of Melbourne we watched planes coming in low.

Wintry Ride on a Summer's Day

Again, only a short ride today, along dirt roads where a century ago now-important artists took day trips.

Time to Ride

I only had four hours to ride today, but made the most of my time. I rode a common route, through Kinglake to Yea, then up toward Seymour and down to Strath Creek, on to Broadford, Whittlesea and Hurstbridge. I had to be back early to watch a movie at a friend’s house: the 1990 film I Bought a Vampire Motorcycle.

Making the most of my time meant riding most of the time and loving it. I stopped beyond Strath Creek for photos.



It seems that time was a theme today. Riding along the fast winding road from Yea to Seymour I thought how a ride is like life. Soon the ride will be over and I will be looking back on it, just as I might do when I've reached the Autumn of my life. In the moment, in the events, there is no structure or narrative, but looking back I will see it as a meaningful whole. Realising this fact while in motion, mid-ride, creates an opportunity to become present with the now, rather than being lost in some distraction. But then something else happens: I also feel a certain angst, a desire to grasp at the now,  so that I can hold and treasure it. Which of course I can’t do – every moment slips through my fingers. Some part of me longs to grasp and hold this current riding experience. It is as though that part assumes that this experience and the time it is in are separate, such that I can stop time from coming and taking the experience away. But of course the moment is made of time. Time is internal to what it is, it's very substance is time. And this is true of life also: we are beings in and through time. What we are is time-made, and to stop the time is to stop us. So here is a paradox: that there is something legitimate in my desire to hold this moment and stop it slipping away, just as there is regarding my life and the people that I love, and yet what is there in front of me, whether it be this ride, my life, or my friends, is timely, beings-in-time, made of time. Get rid of the time that steals them and you get rid of them.

Hidden in the Storm

As I prepared to ride yesterday the rain came down. I knew thunderstorms were forecast but didn't care - I needed to spend a day lost in 'the zone' on my motorcycle. The need was not due to some difficulty in coping with anything; rather, it was like the body's need to drink water. A healthy need of the soul.

I went up the Tullamarine Freeway out to Lancefield, then to Lake Eppalock. The road from Redesdale to the lake is constant sweepers, beautifully matched to my single cylinder motorcycle, and I overtook the one truck with ease, leaning down on the tank as the engine continued it's low rumble like a 1950s machine.

Lake Eppalock was almost empty a year ago. You could not see the water from the picnic tables. Now it is filled to capacity.



I rode into Bendigo where my Mum is staying. Fifteen minutes into the visit a great storm came: very heavy winds and lightning and thunder that were low and loud, crashing above the house. I was forced to stay for an hour before it eased enough for me to head off into the rain.

I rode toward Maldon over flooded and storm-damaged roads, and detoured to Cairn Curran, another body of water that was almost dead a year ago and which is now at capacity.





From Maldon I made to Castlemaine, again meeting only one other vehicle, which I easily overtook in the 50's racing style. Then at the Freeway entrance I turned off early into Elphington, on to the old abandoned Calder Highway. There are few things I love so much as an abandoned freeway, especially one that sweeps and rises through mountains.

Eventually the old freeway rejoined the new one, and I jumped off again just before, on to back roads outside Kyneton. Bushland and mountains gave way to civilised sheep country and pines. By now it was dusk.









It was dark by the time I hit the Freeway. The closer I got to Melbourne the more it stormed and the worse visibility became for all of us. I wondered as I rode, at why people stared at me with strange looks, or why when I overtook and moved in front of somebody, they made a point of overtaking me again. Such behaviour is not too unusual, and has different causes usually, or so I speculate, from fanscination with motorcyclists braving a storm, to contempt for difference and for being over-taken. However, as I discovered when finally at home, my rear tail-light had blown! I was completely invisible from behind in a pitch black night of blinding rainfall, and had ridden all the way home in real danger without knowing! The sad thing is that nobody made the effort to shout out a warning to me as they passed, as I certainly would have done for another, something which is particularly easy to do on a freeway.   I had, however, enjoyed the feeling of being lost in the night as I rode down that road.