Broken Backs and Sad Goodbyes.

The past few weeks have been tough, but there's finally some light filtering through the clouds. About a month ago I woke up with a sore back - not really a big deal. But as the day progressed things got a little weird. It started with a tingling in my left hand which eventually turned into complete numbness, then partial paralysis. As I said: Weird.

Anyhow, I went to see my family doctor, he checked a few things then pronounced the verdict: a herniated disk. WTF! I'm 35 for crissakes, only "old guys" get herniated disks, right? Wrong. So the doc sent me over to get an MRI to make sure, and sure enough he was right. So it was bedrest, anti-inflammatory meds and physiotherapy for me. Great. And of course, no motorcycling. Shit.

So I've been a good boy, following my regiment, doing physio 2 or 3 times per week. Truth be told, my physiotherapist is the best. Our first session consisted of a half-hour chat as she tried to get a good idea of where the ouch was. Then she got to work! We used electrodes to stimulate and relax tense back muscles, then ultrasonic therapy, deep body massages, traction, and on and on. But it works! Still have to keep doing physio, but I've recovered most mobility in my left hand. Only the index finger is still numb and dumb... but we're working on it.

Finally last Saturday I was able to go out for a ride. Still had to be careful though, as I only had three fingers for clutching duties rather than the full-fisted approach I usually use - but it wasn't too bad. The clutch action on a V-Strom is fairly light, so it made things easier. Wandered around town for a bit, but quickly decided to stop for a visit at a local MC shop to look for a mesh jacket as the temps outside were hitting the low thirties and the long black touring jacket was making quick work of cooking me to a crisp (30 degrees Celsius, of course, for the non-metrics out there, that would be in the mid-eighties). Found exactly what I wanted in a Teknic Supervent Jacket (grey) which some guy had purchased, worn once, then returned. Got it for $75, which ain't bad at all considering it retails for about $280.

With that taken care of, I headed back out on the road and decided to ride the Fundy Trail down to Alma. Conditions were perfect and although I did get a little discomfort in my upper vertabrae (C5 to C7 for you geeks out there), my mind hadn't been this much at ease for quite some time. So although my doctor and physiotherapist wouldn't have approved, I'm sure any reputable psychologist out there would've given me a thumbs-up. Unfortunately, the feeling was going to be shortlived.

On Sunday morning, I was enjoying my coffee when the phone rang. It was my mother. Granddad had passed away earlier that day. He'd been sick for some time now, spending the past 7 months in a hospital room, but the moment you hear the news it still hits pretty hard. I'd driven up to Bathurst three weeks earlier to visit him, and although he was weak, he still sat up strait and proud in his chair. And he still had a firm handshake.

Grandad and Grandma would've celebrated their 69th wedding anniversary later this summer, and although this may sound corny, they were still very much in love. I always admired how perfectly they matched each other, they had a kinship that could be felt by all who met them. He was ninety and he will be dearly missed by his eight kids, 20 grandkids, and 14 great-grandkids. We laid him to rest yesterday afternoon, a beautiful summer's day.

This morning I'm feeling a little introspective, and melancholy weighs heavy on my mind. We had thunderstorms for most of the night, but as is always the case after a storm, the sun is now filtering through the clouds. It's a new day.

Panic! at the Handlebars...

So media outlets across the US and Canada are abuzz with Gannett News Service's new series of reports on the inherent dangers of motorcycling. At the same time, many motorcyclists' organizations have come out swinging in a bid to discredit the claims being made in the reports. Truth be told, most of the claims are simple common sense that would be hard to contradict.

I'm just wondering if this is a small sign of things to come.

It was municipal election time this week in my neck of the woods, and one of the subjects being raised for debate with the local wannabe politicians was excessive noise. Now usually, the finger always points towards motorcyclists since we're often a victim of our own persona... You may be a middle-aged orthodontist with a nice house in the suburbs who coaches minor league hockey, but once you put on your leathers and beanie helmet, you're just an outlaw biker like all the rest of them! Cruisers with straight-pipes or crotch-rockets with racing exhausts are often grouped together, as the general public can hardly differenciate between a Ninja and a Sportster.

I was somewhat relieved to notice that in this case it wasn't directed at any specific group of noisemakers, as one member of the electorate who wrote to the local newspaper stated: "Whether be it from motorcycles, sportscars or powerful sound systems makes no difference: noise is noise, and when excessive it disturbs the public peace. Someone has to stand up for the majority."

A few politicians have taken a stance for new bylaws that would limit motorcycle use, but most seem to be against it by simply stating that if existing noise laws were enforced, then no new bylaws are necessary. Time will tell.

Harley Owner with a Sense of Humour

Was riding around town last week when saw something that had me laughing so hard I had to pull over. In front of me at a red light was a beautiful, fully decked out Ultra Classic Electra Glide. The owner was obviously very fond of it, as his personal licence plate was FLHTCU (for non-HD enthusiasts out there, it's the model code for the Ultra Classic Electra Glide. And no, I'm not that smart, I had to look it up). That's not what got me laughing though.

On the topcase, right underneath the shiny chrome Harley Davidson lettering, was a simple, black on white bumper sticker that read: "My other ride is a trailer."

Since most motorcyclists will often answer the question "What's the best bike out there?" with "The one I'm riding right now", it's refreshing to find people who can laugh at themselves (and their bike) and not take things so seriously. So now, I'm thinking of having my own bumper sticker made up. Since I ride a Suzuki V-Strom, whose looks are obviously questionable, I was thinking of something like: "Hey, with looks like this nobody's gonna steal it!"

Any suggestions?

Clueless Wannabe Banter

They'll creep up on you just about anytime, and anywhere. You may be at work, or fueling-up, or maybe even in line at the cashier at the grocery store. The simplest thing will trigger them, like the helmet you're carrying or your riding jacket. All motorcyclists fear them like the plague. By now, you should know what I'm talking about: clueless wannabe bikers.

We've all been there. I remember one time last year when I went for an early morning ride and decided to stop for coffee and a doughnut along the way (hey, I'm Canadian - coffee and doughnuts are major food groups, right?). I walk into the Tim Horton's and already as I'm ordering I can tell that they're watching me, just waiting for the right moment to strike (for you Yanks and Euros, Tim Horton is a demi-god here in Canada, who ensures we get our daily fix of caffeine and Boston cream). The first one I have to fend off is a baby-boomer with a beer gut and a goatee. Looks to me like a recently retired career desk jockey who probably spends all his mornings chugging coffee here 'cause he's got nothing better to do. He fires off his first shot: "You ride?" Well, there's the pitch, and it's a weak one considering I'm decked-out in full riding gear and carrying my helmet in my left hand. My first reflex was to ask him if he'd spent too much time sniffing glue during his career, but that would have simply encouraged him. Instead, I kept it short and simple: "Yep".

I was hoping that my succint, but polite answer would've been indication enough for him that I wasn't here to make conversation... It didn't work. Soon he was telling me how he used to ride but then sold his Sears Allstate motorcycle when he got married, and then with kids it just didn't make sense to ride anymore until they'd moved out but now that he's retired he's been thinking about getting back into riding except he's got a bad back and he's also scheduled for hip replacement surgery so he's not sure if he could handle a bike for at least a few months after the operation but besides that he's had to renovate the house this year because his wife had been asking for new kitchen cabinets so he doesn't have the money to get a new bike just yet but he's hoping that next year he might be able to get one except he's not sure if he's going to buy new or used and he figures he'll get a Harley Davidson because they're supposed to be the best, right?

Damnit. Another Saturday morning gone to shit.

Honestly, I always try to be an ambassador for motorcyclists. Small things, like smiling to kids staring at you from the backseat of the SUV at a traffic stop, or politely educating non-motorcyclists about motorcycling in general (ex. No, we're not all in gangs and we don't all wear chaps and leather with fringe). I figure I should do my share to promote the positive side of motorcycling to non-motorcyclists, as we aren't exactly climbing in the public opinion polls thanks to bad attitudes and loud pipes. But I digress...

There are some days, however, when I just don't want to listen to some old fart go on about how his poor ole pappy used to ride an Indian-4 - or even worse - some pencil pushing yuppie driving a Lexus with an OCC sticker on the bumper telling me how much better a chopper is compared to my bike when the arrogant prick has never even lifted a bike off the sidestand.


Nevertheless, I finish listening to beergut-goatee guy, then I smile, nod and tell him to get a Sportster 883L as he obviously lusts for a Harley, and the low seat height and featherweight of the XL will probably make it easier on his back and hip. He thanks me and wishes me well, while I take my double-cream and doughnut and make a beeline outside for the deserted picnic tables. That's where I had my encounter with the second one. This time, it was an elderly gentleman - probably in his mid to late seventies. He was inside the doughnut stop when I walked in, and I had noticed him checking out my bike. As he walked out and past me on the way to his car, he just had to stop and make a brief comment. "That a Jap bike you're riding?"

Shit.

Lesson learned: When the first thing a cager wants to know is if you're riding a Nippon motorcycle, it's never going to be pleasant. They somehow believe that they have the right... no, make that the responsability to tell you what you should and shouldn't ride.

"Yes sir, its a Suzuki." Even as I was muttering my response, I already knew the gist of what his reply was going to be. "I rode a Norton for a while, then I had me an Indian for almost twenty years. Never, ever, would you have seen me riding a damn Japanese bike." And with that he turned around, got into his Toyota Camry, and drove off. Guess that argument was settled!

So I'm now in need of advice, dear fellow cyber-bikers. Does anybody out there have any brush-offs that have been proven effective with cagers who just have to talk about bikes whenever they see somebody pull-up next to them on two wheels? I'm open (and appreciative) to all suggestions.

Still 'Ridin.

Brief blurb in this morning's Times & Transcript that put a smile on my face. Local resident Elmer Hansen on his shiny new Piaggio MP3 scooter. He says he plans on riding the scoot on a roadtrip to Ontario later this summer with his wife.

Oh, and did I mention that Mr. Hansen is 86 years young (and still going strong, obviously).

I remember when I first heard of Piaggio's 3-wheeled scoot a few years ago. At first I thought it would be little more than a novelty; something that trendy Italians could ride without having to put their feet down at intersections. Turns out that Piaggio may have found a niche market that nobody expected. The latest generation is available with a 500cc thumper putting out enough power for easy highway riding, and the fact that you can still lean in the corners without having to worry of a tip-over. The MP3 just might be the answer for aging motorcyclists who don't want a traditional trike-converted full-bagger.

Tip 'o the visor to ya, Elmer. Biker for life.

"Elmer Hansen, 86, of Moncton picked up the 25th motorcycle that he has ever owned last night at Atlantic Motor Plex in Dieppe. Elmer and his wife are planning a four-day trip to Ontario later this year. He bought the Piaggio MP3 Scooter, which has three wheels and is designed not to tip over."

Telling It Like It Is.

Just finished reading a most excellent editorial by Thomas Day, Minnesota Motorcycle Monthly's Geezer with a Grudge. Day's topic in this issue was freedom of choice for motorcyclists as it's being touted by the various motorcyclists' rights groups out there. I agree 100% with his conclusion: in the end, the general public (i.e. non-motorcyclists) are the ones who will decide our fate, and their decision will be based largely on perception.

So keep it up with the loud pipes and bad attitudes, and it won't be the EPA or helmet laws you'll have to worry about, but an outright ban on motorcycles. Sound too far fetched? Many cities and towns across Canada and the USA have already passed by-laws that prohibit motorcycles from certain neighbourhoods or from dusk 'til dawn. It's already started and with each new by-law its gaining momentum.

At least some organizations are speaking out against the problems that we may have to face one day due to public opinion. The AMA and MRF have a "Loud Pipes Risk Rights" campaign, and even motorcycle rallies like Americade have taken position against loud pipes. But will it be too little, too late?

Oh, What A Feeling!

"What is it about motorcycling, anyway?"

So was the question that my mother-in-law asked me last weekend as she was staying with us for a brief visit. The question didn't really catch me by surprise, as she's never been too fond of my interest in motorcycles. She's also not too keen to the fact that my passion has somehow rubbed-off on her daughter! What did catch me off guard was how direct she was with the question. It wasn't confrontational in any way, but seemed like genuine curiosity on her behalf.

I can't help but wonder how many motorists (i.e. cagers) are left bewildered when listening to motorcyclists wax eloquently on the inherent advantages of desmodromic valve actuation. Then again, many motorcyclists would be confused by that subject. But to us, the chosen few, the attraction to motorcycling seems so simple yet difficult to communicate. Kinda like sex... wait, forget that. Almost everybody has some idea about sex, while two-wheeled travel remains an enigma to most.

So put yourself in their shoes for a minute, the majority. Why would you chose a method of transportation that seems downright primitive over a nice, comfy, quiet, air-conditioned bubble? I can only speak for myself, but when I'm riding on two wheels I feel alive. I can connect with the heat and the cold, the sounds around me, the smells wafting into my helmet. The feedback from the bike is physical. I shift my weight and it responds. It doesn't get much more real than that. The act of driving in a car is in itself an isolation. Car manufacturers boast how quiet and peaceful their vehicles are; its what most people want. Not me.

I've had some biker friends mock me for adding large sidecases and a topcase to my bike ("looks like Silver has hemorrhoids" said one particularly humourous biker - funny, eh?). Truth is, the big cases allow me to pack groceries, laptop, equipment for work... in a nutshell, it allows me to live without having to drive a car. And for six to eight months out of the year, that suits me just fine.

So although I still don't have an answer for my mother-in-law, I did offer this one up : "Hop on and you'll understand." Luckily for me, she has yet to take me up on the offer.

Reserve Not Met: Death of the Chopper

Looking to find out how much your beloved two-wheeled steed is worth? Forget about the Kelley Blue Book or the classifieds, they'll only give you a static image of a motorcycle's worth. Rather, surf on over to eBay and check out what the going rate is.

That's exactly what I was doing last week, as a sudden onset of spring fever following a trip to the local dealer to get a new battery (innocent enough, eh?) got me thinking of selling Silver to buy myself the latest and greatest. But alas, after a few minutes on eBay it was all too obvious that Silver's worth much more to me as a daily driver than on a trade-in.

I did notice one thing, though. Choppers don't sell. Forget about all the hype and the reality TV soap operas starring the Teutuls, Jesse James, and others with a clear lack of chlorine in the gene pool. These rolling chrome altars just aren't selling. Out of the twenty or so listings I checked out on eBay whose auctions were going to wrap-up in the next 24 hours, fourteen had not yet met the reserve price and eight hadn't even gotten a single bid! Seems a few years ago, these bikes were selling like hotcakes... so what happened?

The simple answer is: it got old. As with all that is fashion, people get tired of something when it goes from being exclusive to mainstream. And yes, I do consider choppers as being little more than a fashion accessory. They aren't really meant to be ridden, only flaunted. This was most evident in recent reviews of OCC's "production" choppers by Motorcyclist and Cycle Canada. Besides, Japanese production bikes are getting closer and closer aesthetically to these one-off creations, and the Nippon production bikes have better handling and reliability without breaking the bank. You want custom? Order some bling from the catalog and get a paint job!

To me, the great irony has always been how these neo-choppers are the furthest thing from what a true chopper is supposed to be. At least, in the historical sense. GI's returning home from World War II were disappointed with what Harley and Indian had to offer, as they found these bikes too heavy when compared to the bikes they had seen in Europe during their service. As a compromise, they started chopping off bits and pieces to make the bikes lighter and handle better. Some of the first things to go were the prominent fenders, then smaller tanks were installed, and on it went. But they weren't doing this uniquely for looks. They were trying to squeeze every last bit of performance out of them.

Anyhow, as the baby boomers move on to convertibles, power boats and motorhomes and move away from motorcycles we should be seeing a considerable drop in the used bike market. Which is a good thing if you're looking to buy!

MBI 2008 - The results are in!

The votes have been meticulously counted and the results are in. Care to see what was the best and worst in motorcycling last year? Check out MBI's 2008 Rider's Choice Awards selected by none other than... YOU!

Equinox

It's a time of celestial alignment, when the Sun is positioned directly over the Earth's equator, when the day is as long as the night. In the case of the Spring equinox, that's a good thing... as it means that the days are getting longer. I should be happy, overjoyed even. Yet, I am not.

The friendly weatherman hiding in my alarm clock let me know with a cheerful voice this morning that all schools are closed today due to the snow, hail and freezing rain we're going to be getting all day. I hit the snooze button hoping that when he'd wake me up again nine minutes later he'd have a more optimistic forecast. He didn't.

I always get a bit of the winter blues every year around late January to February, but I'm usually done with it by the time March rolls around and the snow banks start to melt away and the temps climb oh so slowly but surely. Problem is, that hasn't been the case this year. Nope, Ole' Man Winter has been popping Viagra and he's friskier than ever before! So far this season, he's dumped 381 cm (150 inches) of the white stuff (snow, that is) on us; with no signs of stopping.

I need a vacation.