Feature Story
1st Feature
SIZE DOESN’T MATTER
Story by Tom Van Beveren
Photos by Kevin Wing
“So, this is what it feels like to slide down a race track” was racing through my mind as I was doing exactly that--sliding along Willow Springs’ infamous street course like a giant hockey puck.
I was sliding at a fair clip, too, although I wasn’t actually looking at the speedometer  when all things went horizontal, so I’m not sure how fast I was going at the time of impact. I slid a long way, though, so it must have been a pretty decent speed.
I had done the ultimate bad deed at a press intro--dropped a pretty new motorcycle and in front of many of my peers. On the resultant mess that lay next to me, I had removed just about all the cool new graphics on the right side, and I had left a lengthy stripe of blue coloring behind on the tarmac. This gave me a pretty good idea of where my body actually touched down after I low-sided the bike between turns one and two.
 I still don’t know exactly what happened, but I was able to walk away from all of that with little more than a bruised ego and two scraped knees. I was very lucky that I faired as well as I did, much better than the new 2006 Yamaha R6 I was riding, until the time things went awry.
Yes, accidents do happen, and a long, self-imposed walk back to the pit area allowed me to decompress a little after the hub-bub. It was late in the day. Had the tires gone away after a day of heavy strafing? Had I hit a rock that caused the front end to wash out? I doubt I’ll ever know what really happened, but it didn’t sway my positive impression one bit about the new middleweight sport-bike from Yamaha I had …
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2nd Feature :
DOES YOUR MOTORCYCLE HAVE WABI-SABI?
A FEW WORDS IN PRAISE OF SIMPLE MOTORCYCLES
Observations by Nick Voge
It is the morning of September 19, 2005. In celebration of Loris Capirossi’s epic victory at the Japanese GP, I’m riding to the beach on my 1967 Ducati 350 Sebring. Named after the Ducati’s win in the 1965 Sebring race, the 350 was, like Loris’ Desmosedici, the biggest and most powerful Ducati of its time. Dr. T would later graft two of the Sebring’s top ends onto a single crankcase to create Ducati’s first 750 V-Twin.
These days, the Sebring spends most of its time “in storage” under the house with the spiders and rats. But with fresh gas in the tank, the battery from my Honda 305 Dream and a ‘generic’ license plate, the bevel gears are soon humming their familiar tune.
Like the moss growers in Kyoto’s Zen temples, it has taken me many years to cultivate the fine patina of rust that decorates the bike’s every chromed surface. And the faded silver paint–unintentionally camouflaged by random black dollops of ER15 antirust coating—perfectly complements the stealth nature of this unassuming machine. Like the deadly alien Predator, which could make itself unseen to its prey (but not to the Governor of California), the Ducati is the “invisible motorcycle”—the anti-Poseur.
Like a woman wearing a mumu, the Ducati passes by unobserved by all, including the police. On it I can run red lights, make illegal U-turns, speed (well, sort of) and pull all sorts of out-rageous two-wheeled shenanigans, all of which go completely unnoticed.
And this is merely one of the reasons I am so fond of the Sebring. Another is its mechanical attractiveness. Though I no longer bore listeners with litanies on what is in reality a highly sophisticated ’50’s era GP engine—the crankshaft isolated from engine oil to prevent power-sapping windage, the five-speed transmission with an overdrive top gear, the mechanically brilliant bevel-gear OHC cam drive, the way the exhaust header is isolated from the cylinder head to reduce head temperatures, the fine quality of the all-aluminum engine’s castings, the extra three horsepower I got by bolting on a 26 mm Mikuni carb (with lengthened intake tract)... oops, sorry—I still brag about …
For more on this story, pick up a current issue of FREE 2 WHEEL at your local dealer, or use the handy order form page found on our web site.
Ask the Sergeant:
In the 12 years that I have been writing for Free 2 Wheel, my articles have always been responses to questions submitted by our readers. My focus has always been to present the legal aspects of the topic in question and then to offer my thoughts relating to rider safety in that given situation. If you have followed my column for any time, you will know that on numerous occasions I have told readers that the riding maneuver they are asking about may not be illegal but it is dangerous as all hell.
I am going to alter my format somewhat this month and generalize a topic that I have responded to on several occasions. The subject is the kind of safety training that we give motorcycle officers to help them survive on the streets. The change in format this month is prompted by something I saw several weeks ago on a Sunday morning ride near the Rock Store.
I have often told people that the two-week-long California Highway Patrol police motorcycle operators course I attended in 1980 was the toughest police training class that I have been subjected to in my 30-year law enforcement career, and that includes the L.A. County Sheriff’s SWAT school! When I arrived at the CHP Academy at the ripe old age of 26, I had already put 100,000 miles on two Goldwings and had years of both road racing and off-road racing experience. By lunch on the first day, I was beginning to realize that this course was not going to be a cakewalk. On the second day, my partner from my agency, who had as much riding experience as I did, was cut and sent home. On the third day, I was thinking that my outcome might also be in doubt.
The riding exercises and cone patterns bordered on the impossible. It would take an entire column to describe all of the exercises, but try to imagine taking a Kawasaki KZ1000 street bike with street tires on a motocross track, across streams that were two feet deep, across the side of a slick, grassy hillside and across plowed fields. The point of all this madness was to enhance and evaluate the student’s skill in balance, throttle-clutch co-ordination, surface appraisal, loss of traction situations, mental focus and (capital letters here) …
…
For more on this story, pick up a current issue of FREE 2 WHEEL at your local dealer, or use the handy order form page found on our web site.
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Scuttle Putt:
Remember how the American Motorcyclist Association (AMA) recently announced that it was restructuring around its core mission of promoting “rights, riding and racing?” Well, it has moved ahead by announcing the members of two important committees that will shape policy for the AMA’s 270,000 members.
The Racing Committee will consist of Carl Reynolds (chairman), Don Emde, Art More, Jeff Nash and John Ulrich. Emde is president of Don Emde Productions and a member of the Motorcycle Hall of Fame, and Nash is owner and founder of Advanced Motorsports. More, Reynolds, and Ulrich also serve on the AMA Board of Directors.
The new Rights Committee will consist of Stan Simpson (chairman), Jon-Erik Burleson, Russ Ehnes, Andy Goldfine, Rick Gray and Charles Umbenhauer. Ehnes is Executive Director of the National Off-Highway Vehicle Conservation
Council, and Umbenhauer is founder of ABATE of
Pennsylvania
’s BIKEPAC. Burleson, Goldfine, Gray and Simpson serve on the AMA Board of Directors.
”This is an exciting step in creating a more effective and responsive Association,” said Patricia DiPietro, AMA Chief Executive Officer. ”We’re confident in these individuals’ expertise and experience, and we’re grateful for their commitment to the AMA, its members, and the American motorcycling community.”…
Project Motorcycle:
GOING COMMANDO
TURNING OLD BRIT IRON INTO A MODERN MARVEL!
Story and Photos by Reid Libby
Admit it. Somewhere in your dark and distant past you made a decision that, while seemingly sound at the time, would have repercussions that would haunt you forever. Selling your four-speed, Tri-Power Pontiac GTO is a good example. Not popping the question to that perky, well-packaged brunette that had the crush on you in your senior year is another. 
Yes, these are the type of egregious errors for which you would gladly forfeit your soul if only you could evoke some sort of cosmic “do over” clause that would set things straight.
Of course, as time passes, the window of opportunity to put things in order narrows precipitously. Procrastinate for 25 years and you find that the GTO sold for one hundred gees to a collector in
Nagoya
, and your high-school sweetie married your best friend, gained 40 pounds and three kids, and moved to
Kenosha
. So much for best-laid plans and happy endings.
But that’s not to say that you can’t turn a bad situation around. It took Bill Kerylow a mere quarter of a century to do just that with his current project, a rather tasty 1970 Norton Commando. This veteran twin, suitably primped and pumped, combines the class of the past with the tech of today in stunning fashion.
In 1974, during his junior year in high school, Kerylow got his introduction to twindom when he purchased an 850 Commando. It was the Norton’s heyday and the big twins were top contenders at the stoplight Gran Prix. The cold, hard stats said the smart money was on Kawasaki’s killer two-stroke triples, all things being equal, but in street racing things never are, so when the trigger was pulled, if the Kawasaki pilot didn’t finesse things just so, the Norton’s impeccable off-the-line manners would get them every time, horsepower deficit …
Way2go
GOING TO THE DOGS
By the Free 2 Wheel Staff
Springtime is almost upon us and soon, along with increasing daylight hours, will come some of our warm-weather favorites--spring flowers, bare midriffs and quick road trips meant not only to make us feel better about ourselves but to make us feel fuller in our tummies, too. Ride to  eat may not be a politically correct philosophy, but let’s face it; we’re all guilty from time to time.
Which brings us to the topic of this month’s Way 2 Go. To the avid baseball fans in our office, springtime equates to the crack of the bat and a new ration of Dodger Dogs to be consumed at the stadium. As we salivated over thoughts of mustard melding with relish and onions over a tasty grilled foot-long, we started to wonder: where could we ride to find the best hot dog in the Los Angeles area? There has to be a best in show, doesn’t there, and prudent limits of nitrates and governmentally accepted levels of rodent remnants weren’t going to stand in our way, doggone it. So we went to the dogs. Literally.
For two entire weekends, we located, rode to, and consumed more than our fair share of, meat-encased tubes from some of the most famous doggy denizens the Los Angeles area has to offer. And when the pain of fullness wrapped its angry tendrils around our stomachs and sent some of us searching for the Pepto Bismol, did we call off the dogs? No; we dug in our heels, loosened our belts and pushed on, possibilities of barf in the full-face notwithstanding!
A word of caution here. Our testers are professionals and all testing was performed as a public service. Consult your personal physician before embarking on any eat-a-thon, especially one that howls in the face of sodium, rodent hair parts per million, and fat grams good sense. Without years of training, your waistline (and gastrointestinal tract) will punish you for sure. Rather than going to the dogs for an entire weekend, we recommend hot dogging around Los Angeles one dog at a time. Pick one, ride to one, eat one. Save the stomach pump for …
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