West Coast Winter

As I write this, it is 50 degrees with light rain and gusty winds. And I don't want to ride. Too cold. Too rainy. Too windy. And, as I write this most of the rest of the country is slowly warming from a mid-winter blast of frigid air and snow. Large parts of the East Coast have slush-filled streets, snow drifts on driveways and conditions that make riding absolutely impossible. Give the majority of the motorcycle riders in that area a day like this one in Oregon, and they would be on their bikes in a second.

I remember the odd warm January day in Montana when as a teen. I would immediately head to the garage and try to kick my slumbering motorcycle back to life. It seldom worked. I had neglected the battery, tires, oil and everything else one should have done for winter prep. And most of my motorcycles had responded by barely turning over, yet alone firing. Drenched in sweat I would head back into the house, grumbling and frustrated.

Yet, here I stand in my garage surveying the light rain. With a motorcycle that has a fresh battery, an electric starter, lots of oil and freshly aired tires. And, to make my position even weaker, there are a waterproof winter riding jacket and waterproof pants hanging in the garage. But, it isn't really my fault. Really. It is living in suburban Beaverton, Oregon, with its heavy traffic, distracted drivers, and lack of interesting, inviting, close destinations. Perhaps its a weak excuse but it is true: Suburban Washington County is an unpleasant place to ride a motorcycle. Once out of the suburban area the roads are great. But here in town? Blah!

I have always imagined how great it would be to live just outside of the metro area. Maybe a house about five miles from one of the surrounding small towns. I imagine myself riding down narrow country roads to the town to get the occasional item at the grocery store and maybe stop at the local cafe for a cup of coffee and a slice of homemade pie. I could ride almost every day on scenic roads without much traffic. Now that would be nice. A pleasant dream to ease my winter non-riding guilt.

Kelly's Olympian

Since cold Autumn rains make motorcycle riding a little less enjoyable, my riding buddy Jeff and I decided to drive the Jeep downtown to try a new place for lunch: Kelly's Olympian. Downtown Portland hasn't changed: it is still filled with construction, pigeon-like pedestrians who frequently walk anywhere in the street at anytime, and new train and bus transit lanes to keep drivers confused. Parking is hard to find, and an aggressive style of driving is frequently required to zoom across several lanes in order to nab any just-opened parking spaces.

Kelly's Olympian is an old-time Portland bar that was remodeled several years ago into a modern, trendy bar/restaurant. It was featured at the time in the Oregonian and several local 'lifestyle' magazines. I have wanted to get down to see it for some time. It's theme is motorcycles and auto racers. When it reopened, the Harley bad boy craze was at it's height, and this place was an instant hit. It even has a large area of the curb in front divided into motorcycle-size parking spots. The bar's website has several photos showing it during those early days. It has lots of atmosphere, with many motorcycles, mostly old British bikes and an old Indian, on display in the entry and suspended from the ceiling over the bar area. The entryway and the wall behind the bar have huge auto-theme neon signs providing a good deal of the lighting and giving the place an overall red hue.

It was obvious when we got there that, at least during the day, it is more bar than restaurant. The only other patrons were eight or nine guys sitting at the bar drinking. Several were wearing chef's outfits; probably employees from the nearby hotels. By the time we finished eating, that bar lineup was down to just one guy.

The barmaid came to our table and asked if we wanted to order drinks. Nope, just menus. She headed back to the kitchen to get them. She really was a bit of a surprise as we had expected the typical downtown restaurant server. She was a barmaid; friendly, blond, somewhere under 35, with a short skirt, a somewhat skimpy top, large tattoos and lots of cleavage. No, this was not a McMenamin's. This was a bar.

We had burgers and cokes. The burgers were okay. They came with fries and were typical of what you would find in most good non-fast-food cafes, except that they arrive with 8-10 tablespoons of mayo burying the top half of the open bun. Easy to scrape off, but who eats that much mayo? The prices were average, perhaps slightly cheaper than McMenamin's. McMenamin's, a local chain of restaurants, bars, boutique hotels and entertainment venues, sets the standard for good cafe food.

The place seemed a bit off it's prime: furniture and chairs a bit worn, the motorcycles coated in dust and cobwebs. It just seemed like the whole place could use the attention of dusting, mops, brooms and elbow grease.

Will we go back. Nah, probably not. It really is too much of a hassle trying to get through downtown Portland traffic for just an average meal in a bar; and Kelly's really is a bar, not a restaurant. I'm glad we went because I wanted to see it. But, as good as the atmosphere was, I probably won't go back any time soon.

Time In the Mirror

Driving Interstate 5 through the Willamette Valley is never a thrill. I was trying to calculate how many times I have made the trip from Portland to Corvallis or Eugene and back. 250? Maybe 300? I lived two years in Eugene in the '70s and did a 48 hours-on/48 hours-off shift as a paramedic in Portland. Lots of trips back and forth. Now there are the trips back and forth visiting or retrieving my daughters who live in Eugene and Corvallis, at least during the school year.

Sunday was another trip down the super-slab. At an especially numbing part of the ride I was startled to see a toy car in my mirror. A double take showed that it was not a toy, but a full-sized car. But this car was exactly as I had built a plastic model of a hot rod in my middle school years. I spent many after-school hours holding the finished model, imagining what it would be like to drive down the road in it. And here it was, come alive from my past and about to pass me. I don't remember the exact specs of that plastic model, nor do I remember hot rods well enough to identify the year and make of the body of this car, but the details of this shape, down to the wide whitewalls was burned into my brain 50 years ago.

As an 11 year old I had sworn to myself that someday I would have a driver's license, a job and enough money to own a car just like that model. Some day I would really drive it. But time passes, interests change, and I forgot all about the little hot rod. Until Sunday. For a moment I was 11 years old again. For a moment I wanted nothing in the world as much as to be the guy driving that car. And then it was gone. A dot up ahead blending into a group of other dots. Time in the mirror, fading into an autumn horizon.

Motorcycle Books

I was at Powell's Books in Beaverton, last weekend. Even though the economy has me a a tight budget, I still consider books one of my life essentials; right after coffee. Powells is a pirate's treasure cave of books. The constant influx of used books means I often find rare gems through some sort of serendipitous vortex that puts me in the correct isle at the perfect moment.

But, I have been dismayed of late to find that the Motorcycle section of this store has fallen into a sorry state.

Only a year ago, this section was ten shelves crammed with books on a wide variety of makes and models. It is now three disheveled shelves of nearly worthless reading. And it isn't just Powells. Borders Books has reduced their Motorcycle section to about a dozen books. Checking Amazon.com isn't that much of a help either; most publishers seem to be abandoning the motorcycle genre as they try to publish only top-sellers in their lemming-leap into bankruptcy.

The other interesting thing about this is Powell's book-buyers. They are almost always busy these days as the economy forces people to sell their collections of books. The counter in the back of the store frequently has books stacked in piles twenty-high. I keep waiting to read a morning headline: "Local book store employee crushed in book avalanche". In spite of all of these used books pouring into the store, no one is selling their motorcycle books. I don't blame them, but I really expected to find tons of early books on British bikes. A used book on an early Triumph is indeed a rare thing these days.

This doesn't stop me from hoping. Or from checking that meager Motorcycle section, just in case. Nor does it stop me from being waylaid in the mystery section before I ever get to motorcycles.

All British Field Meet

The 2009 All British Field Meet was a hoot. It is a celebration of all kinds of British vehicles, most of them old and all of them interesting. There were around 300 cars this year on the grass at Portland International Raceway. Vintage racing was going on all weekend as well. Well, sort of racing. These racers are very concerned about protecting their vehicles, so many heats were more parade than race. Still, there are lots of great sights and sounds.

I took the '66 Triumph TR6C out to this year's event. Motorcycles are a very minor part of the ABFM, and most participants are car people with little interest in old motorcycles. The Triumph stood absolutely no chance of winning any of the three 'Peoples Choice' prizes for the Vintage British Motorcycle class. The ABFM participants vote, and they are a concours-type group who value fully (over?) restored vehicles above all else. The Triumph, as you can see in the photo, is a mongrel flat track style bike with many original racing parts from back in the day. The only bike that stood less of a chance of winning was the pre-unit Triumph done up as a '70-style chopper, but with modern parts. Did I care? Not at all. I wasn't there to win, I was there to participate and have fun.

The event itself really was fun. Rain had been forecast in biblical terms, and it came as promised. I wrapped the foam pad under the cloth seat cover in plastic so my post-event ride would be dry and not done sitting on a large water-soaked sponge. I initially planned to ride it out to the venue, but with the rain and brand new dirt-track tires on the bike I opted to trailer it to the outer parking lot and ride it the short distance in. Even at that, the ride in was interesting. The paved lane leading to the grass display areas was soaked with oil from all of the idling old British crocks. With the heavy rain it was one giant sheen of oil on water. Very slippery! Even though it was the first hour of the event, the heavy rain also caused the main grass pathways to quickly morph into shallow mud troughs. I opted to ride the display area grass and took a shortcut through the Rolls Royce section, much to the dismay of several participants. A little open exhaust was just what that staid crowd needed to get their juices going on a cold, wet morning.

The racing was minimal, with most cars staying in the pits. The bleachers are grooved aluminum and hold water very nicely. Not wanting a wet rear the rest of the day I watched a bit from the fence and headed over for lunch. Food is usually great at this event, but this year's featured fish-n-chips tasted as bad as it smelled. The fish was so bad it could have been refrozen from last year. Many of my favorite vendors were also absent. I'm sure the economy and the rain were at fault. The couple selling brimmed hats were doing well. Too bad no one thought to sell umbrellas. There were very few spectators this year. I would gather less than 50 given the lack of cars in the outer parking lot and the few people wandering through the display area. The participants themselves remained cheery for the most part, and being Northwestern folk with British inclinations, they stood up well to the rain.

I went to the All British Field Meet expecting rain and adventure, and that's just what I got. I had a great time, stayed reasonably dry in my freshly-oiled leather jacket, and I met some really nice people. Rain or shine, I'll be there again next year.

1983 Harley-Davidson XLX Bobber

1983 Harley-Davidson Sportster XLX
14, 945 miles

These are photos of my Harley Sportster XLX.
The XLX was the bare-bones Sportster of the early '80s, and it's 1000cc Ironhead engine is one of the loudest and meanest of all Harley V twin engines and is a thing of beauty. This compact power pack is the weapon of choice for many creative minds who like to get their hands dirty building and modifying their OWN Harley Davidson motorcycle. This motorcycle is one such modification.

The top photo above shows how the stance has been modified using the slightly longer forks from an early Superglide -- notice the twin front disks. Twin front disks allow for potentially greater braking. I say 'potentially' because that second brake is one of the parts of the project that neither I nor the previous owner got around to hooking up. As it is, only one rotor has a caliper. It stops just like the original, but there is the 'potential' for even better braking.

The rear fender adds to the custom look. It is primer gray with a clear coat. The oil tank has a splatter-effect over the black, and also has a clear coat.

The headlight is a classy Bates-style chrome unit.

The spedometer is in the classic top-center position

The engine is a thing of beauty. It was recently repainted black while at the Baisley Hi-Performance shop where it received a complete overhaul. (Receipts are available for all work)

The previous owner did most of the hard work on this bike, including an upgrade to slightly wider, stonger sprockets and a heavy-duty chain. The extra width of this setup meant the side cover was modified allowing this essential mechanical element to be visible. As it should be.

Here is the front sprocket and heavy chain

A new carb means easy starts and smooth running.
The slim-profile chrome aircleaner matches the bikes custom style.

Here is a close-up of the mid-control for the shifter. Solid and Smooth!
As a custom feature, the starter switch and relay were moved to the space behind the left side panel. Very cool.

Side starter button