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January 26, 2008
Madrid and Back
The weather looked as nice as forecast (mid-50's) this morning, so I thought I would go for a short ride up to Madrid. The twisties up there some of my favorites and I like the coffee at the Mad Hatter. Another reason Madrid appealed was that it offered an easy exit strategy. If it got too snowy or cold, I could turn tail and quickly return to Albuquerque. I reckoned on the way back I could stop by PJ's and take a second glance at an 888 that PJ scored at a recent auction.
I checked the air in the 851's tires and was glad I did, because the pressures were a little low. I fueled her up and was once more amazed by how that bike can still make the hair on the back of my neck stand up, even sitting still. I wheeled her out of the garage and took a quick picture with the bike; the last one I took of the bike and me together was while she was still wearing the modified Ducati cans. The Conti's look oh-so-much more sweet, even if they have that fine print stamped on them that they are for closed course use only.
The ride to Madrid was cold but pretty uneventful. And I was reminded of how much more the 851 has that I do not take advantage of when I wound her up to about 120 mph and wasn't even in top gear. Once in Madrid I parked on the old freight scale and had an Earl Grey at the Mad Hatter, where a surprisingly-good-sounding bluegrass band was performing. Despite the music, I wanted to drink my tea in the sunlight outside. And of course the best sunlight was on the scale next to the Ducati.
The ride back down the hill was just as lovely. I noticed distinctly more motorcycles out and about as the day warmed up. Below Cedar Crest, I observed that a Sheriff's patrol car was several cars ahead of me, another motorcycle in front of him. In an abundance of caution, I slowed up and pulled into the right hand lane. Several more motorcycles approached coming up the hill. Just as I rounded the corner, one of the motorcycles flipped right over, end over end. Cartwheeling up NM 14.
I pulled over, as did the po-po and the three other motorcycles. The young rider wore a leather jacket that had "ARMY" embroidered across the back. He appeared to be OK; I am sure adrenaline was coursing through his veins in prodigious proportion. One of the trailing riders said that "there was no reason why he should have crashed: the road was clear, there was no sharp lean angle, he wasn't out of control." The rider who tossed his ride offered only that a car ahead appeared to be slowing suddenly and he grabbed a hand full of brake. We all walked over to the bike; it was totaled. It appears to have been a Suzuki Boulevard, a "muscle-cruiser" in blue. One of the other riders picked the guy's cell phone, which seemed to have survived intact.
Back at PJ's, we discussed what likely happened. Mike offered that he probably locked up the front wheel, which in turn pushed the forks sideways. Once that happened, the rear of the bike effectively launched itself over the front. While I am not about to give up riding (and the three motorcyclists seemed content to go on with their ride), bearing witness to such action hammers home the commandment to stay within one's limits with these machines.
Posted by Underblog at 3:42 PM | TrackBack
January 13, 2008
Kiwis in Italy, 1989
It is not just I who thinks that Italy is motorcycling nirvana. On my 1989 trip, I spent a fair bit of time with a couple from New Zealand who were in the process of exporting several Italian bikes Down Under. I always thought this would make a nice sideline business, though I have never had either the capital or the ganas to pull off such a trip. Malcolm and Sue rode with us to Breganze to visit Oro Ricardo, and the next day joined us on a sightseeing visit to Venice.
That spring, this couple shipped back home in a small container two Morini's (a 500 and a 3½); a Guzzi V7 Sport; a Laverda RGS 1000; and a Guzzi Ercole three-wheel truck. Ducati's must have been too expensive at the time, because I knew Malcolm had them in Wellington. At least he had the t-shirt collection to represent. Now that I own a Ducati or two and have thought about doing what they did nearly 20 years ago, I wonder how the business worked out for them and what they are up to now.
Posted by Underblog at 8:21 AM | TrackBack
January 4, 2008
Why I Love New Mexico
My goal for the day was to get the 750 Sport registered. Before I went over there, I figured I had better remove the license plate (which had most recently adorned the Maicoletta 275) before the inspection. I quickly thought of bringing the plate along, since I was hoping to assign it to the 750. I ended up leaving the plate in the garage.
I rode the 750 over to the MVD, stood in line for five minutes and waited about 20 more for my number to be called. The woman at the window said it would be no trouble to transfer the plate, but that she needed the corpus delecti in order to complete the task. So back I went home. I like the DMV here because they will offer a "pass" so you can bypass the line once you've waited so long for your number to be called.
When I returned, I walked up to the next available clerk. Once we were outside standing next to the bike, he told me that the lack of a visible engine number was not a problem since he had two locations for the VIN on the frame. While the plate was being assigned to the 750, I said hi to Jane of the North Valley who scored me three sequential license plates and tried the dickens to get me a fourth (I cleaned her out that day). Regardless, I now have a sequence of license plates (P84419 through P84421) on my Italian "Red Fleet." Perfect for photographing. And now I have a Desmo and a spare, all legit and ready for a motorcycle-licensed friend to come riding.