Wednesday, March 5, 2014
In Honda we trust. The saga continues.
My first motorbike memory was holding on to the cross bar of my Dad's 1982 XL250. That thing seemed so high off the ground. After graduating to the back seat I can remember him crossing a river that I would question crossing myself currently. Once his hat flew off and trying to catch it he crashed us in some grass. I thought that crashing business was rather fun! when I was three my parents split and it seemed like motorbikes were out of my future plans. However bicycles and urban bmx was the center of my life. When I was in 3rd grade I bought a 1979 z50 from my teacher for 20$. That was the beginning of a lesson that goes on and on and on... A clean carb is a happy carb. After so many attempts at cleaning the carb I stripped the screws out and never got more than a few passes of the driveway before the rust in the tank blocked the carb up again My mom decided I needed an upgrade. She spent a couple hundred on a 1986 cr80 that was a bit beyond half way clapped out. It was the middle of winter and it took me a few days before I could figure out how to get the premix soaked spark plug fouling peppy little spit fuck started. Then I had to learn how the hell a clutch lever worked. Despite the driveway being covered in packed snow I had so much fun that winter. I rode and rode and rode until all the teeth were rounded off the rear sprocket. little fucker would not go. took a while before I figured that one out. I was not born a natural mechanic. I had to learn the hard way. More like my mom had to learn. The bike ended up in the shop once a year for a rebuild after the kickstarter would stop working. It just would not move. After a few expensive repair bills my mom introduced me to the neighbor who rode bikes. He informed me of a thing called an air filter and described how it needs to be cleaned and oiled. He also took me to my first enduro. Being high (above 10,000 feet) and knowing of my throttle happy nature He let me borrow an old xr80 four stroke so I could learn the rocky and tree roots tech trails with a smoothness that my cr would have just brought tears on. After riding around on the ranch I would lean my bike up against a 55 gal drum we would burn our trash in. My Mom one day decided to burn the trash but never thought about moving the bike or telling me to move it. That resulted in another upgrade; A hot pink 93 CR80. Fuck, that thing was hot! I can remember it had purple anodized renthal bars and the first ditch i tried to jump resulted a blip of whiskey thottle endoed landing to face plant. Mom would haul me to the moto cross races were I got my first trophy. I grew. a 1983 husqvarna 250 that left many a scar on me. next, 89 rm250, 99yz250, 01 ktm250, and then the thumper revolution put me back on red. My first year working in a dealership and that 2004 crf450 was my first brand new bike. I was renting a small house with no garage but the old out house out back was just big enough for one shiny new red steed. Dropping bolts in the hole in the floor meant the bolt was gone and there was no need to look for it. Since then I have gone through six more CRF450s and two XR650s. a few air cooled xls and even a goldwing 1500. The old z50 sits front and center in my new shop. I wonder what the next red winger will be. On my work lift now is a 78 GL1000 and after rebuilding the carbs I can say Honda has a lot of peaches and cream and some of it is rancid ass fucktarded shit.