My Buddy Dano Was Right
Posted by R.B. Quinn on February 7, 2010
He was. These guys kick ass. On every level.
nice pete.
two dudes living the dream
Purple Power
Posted by R.B. Quinn on January 20, 2010
Spray it on and let it work. Easy with the brush.
Aging light colored convertible tops. Environmental litmus paper. A musty Rhode Island garage put the hurt on this one. The pine sap is my fault.
Mark Lambert told me to cut some Purple Power with water and get at it with a small brush, super gently. He did a test spot at his shop. Found it at Advance Auto on Charlotte.
Might be overdoing it with the brush right then.
Half the roof one time took about four beers. But that includes the tight spots around the rear window.
On to the second half and then start it all again. I’ll report back.
Vintage Gerry–Made in America
Posted by Mindy Merrell on January 13, 2010
I’m Min, R.B.’s consort and co-author of Cheater BBQ. I’m guest blogging today to vouch for one of the Balding Eagle Scout’s handy qualities. He takes really good care of his stuff.
Here I am on the Great Wall modeling R.B.'s well-cared for vintage Gerry. I washed it right before the trip and the 30-year old feathers puffed right back up.
Here’s my story about the Gerry.
I’ve just returned from a big J. T. Moore Middle School trip with my daughter Elsa and her classmates on a trek through China. It’s cold in China in January and I needed long underwear and a really warm coat for all the outdoor sightseeing.
I window shopped online and shlepped through all the outdoor gear stores in Nashville. We even went for a winter weekend trip to Chicago where I dragged BES down the Magnificent Mile. Never found my coat. I was worried. I’m always cold and fret about keeping warm often.
Meanwhile, the Gerry was back at home waiting for me. Are you old enough to remember Gerry down coats? They were the North Face of the day. Every outdoorsy kid wanted one. I had one, a red one that I took to Virginia Tech my freshman year the fall of 1979. I loved that coat. Wore it everywhere. It lost its charm sometime during my early big shoulder pad career days. I think I gave it away in the late 1980’s.
Not BES. He, too, got a Gerry back in 1979, before his freshman year at Hamilton College in blustery cold upstate New York. He loved that coat. Wore it everywhere. His never lost its charm and it’s been in the closet ever since. My son Louis has worn it around.
Now I do. I took it to China. The vintage Gerry was probably the only clothing item to go with the group that was actually made in America. And it’s still going strong. I stayed toasty warm and happy. See for yourself.
Min, Gerry, Elsa, and Mao. Elsa looked like Mao when she was a baby. January 2010 is off to a great start!
Our guide Xin (Shin), Min, and Arnie, the local guide--all the Chinese folks seemed to give themselves English names. Arnie happens to be a fan of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Must be fun to pick your own name. What would you pick? We're in front of the famous Museum of Qin Terra Cotta Warriors in Xian. I was so nice and warm.
Where will the Gerry go next?
Note to BES: Find us a college photo of you in your new Gerry and post it!
The Under-Prepared Triumph Toolkit
Posted by R.B. Quinn on November 30, 2009
Clearly not evidence of over-preparedness here. But, hey, we made it home under our own power! Nice!
I’m 50 miles from Nashville on Saturday with about two hours of daylight and my 1973 Triumph Trident suddenly goes dead hauling up the big hill coming out of Centerville. The bike had been running sweet and strong all day. Up ahead my buddy Professor Bob on his Cagiva with heated grips happily motored away. Shit.
I knew the tank was full and it didn’t sound like fuel. More like someone turned the key off. The lights wouldn’t light so I popped the side cover off (a breeze on a 70s model) and checked the fuse. All good. Now what?
I heard the Cagiva so Bob’s figured out I’m down and that’s good. I know he’s got a trailer in the driveway so already I’m thinking worst case. After a few uncharacteristically cool moments of roadside diagnostics I noticed that a tired old ground wire from the battery had broken off the female connector. My pal Tom Sharp must have installed that back in 1991. There’s longevity for ya.
“Got any tools, Bob?” His Cagiva had a nice little Italian pouch of metrics, but what saved us was his little nail clipper on an Easter Island head key chain. The clipper nicely stripped off some insulation, the wire slid into the hole on the male ground tab and some 1991 electrical tape robbed from the harness held things together. Lights, ignition, action.
I’ve already bought my own portable nail clipper for the tank bag (which won’t be left behind again) if only for good luck. And with winter about here, it’s time for some freshening up of the electrical system anyway. All’s well that end’s well.
Lo-anne’s Sugar Maple
Posted by R.B. Quinn on October 26, 2009
Carolina, RI, October 25, 2009
My sister Lo-anne and her husband Charles had to split town the other day and sadly leave this tree behind and I couldn’t have them miss it all. Perhaps they’ll hit the BES link on their toolbar in the next couple days.
This tree has actually been in the newspaper. Imagine that.
Some really great people have lived next to this tree, in addition to my sis and her family. Iris Brown was here all my young life and her dad’s store (that my dad remembers, but not us) was just next to where this tree is now.
For years Iris rented the back of the house to Woodrow and Mildred Baril. Woody and Millie watched this tree grow from their porch and were my favorite adult friends as a kid.
The view from Woody and Millie's.
What a beauty.
Hauling Vintage Hondas
Posted by R.B. Quinn on October 15, 2009
From left, 70 CL450, 73 XR75, 79 XR185. Nice!
I have a hard time with stuff that doesn’t work but could. And I don’t like quitting on things that, with a little effort, still have useful life. It’s why I still have my 1970s Hondas.
A yellow 1970 Honda QA50 stuffed into a giant red stocking on Christmas morning started things off. My little brother and I were speechless that day, and that’s saying alot for him. As soon as we figured out the choke in Rochester, NY, winter weather, we were hook, line and sinker into that bike. The two speed “automatic” transmission made pre-teen shifting a cinch. Back then, before coolness had gone mad, our bulbous, Kazoo-like yellow helmet was never a struggle to strap on. The fuzzy liner that could cover your ears was incentive enough.
My gateway bike.
The QA still runs well and it looks healthier with new tires. The web makes the parts hunt fun and yeah I spent $45 on an OEM kill switch but hey, it was still in the Honda parts bag! Tires and a couple cables and it lights right up with a few kicks. Next item to address is the steering head bearing that somehow disappeared over the years.
As we grew we talked our way into a run-hard 1973 XR75. With a manual transmission and a 4-speed gearbox, this was a real motorcycle. It’s been tired since we brought it home from Perault’s, but now it’s getting some long overdue TLC.
When it comes to motorcycle tie downs, there is no such thing as over-doing.
Dave Bolognese is the motorcycle TLC master. A Rhode Island pal now living in East Tennessee, right near the Dragon at Deal’s Gap, Dave is a top-notch wrench. My 1995 Triumph Daytona never ran so well after he got his hands on it and now the vintage Hondas are in line for the same treatment.
My man Louis Dunn was a big motivator to get these bikes into the truck and driven to Tennessee last week. Like my brother and me, Louis learned to ride on these same bikes. First the QA and then the XR75. Last month he flew through the Motorcycle Safety Foundation course with flying colors and is now riding his own 2008 Suzuki DR200. “Dude, we gotta bring those bikes down to Dave.” Knowing they would end up in Nashville, all fixed up, and not dying slow deaths in a barn in Rhode Island may have been a factor. That and realizing the CL450 was within the 650cc limit imposed by his permit.
Louis is especially easy to get along with when he's asleep. He's figuring out that sitting still for 1,200 miles can really wear you out, even with Dane Cook downloads to the iPhone and a laptop loaded with episodes of Rob & Big.
Louis likes to drive and can be seen here practicing his cool guy, one-arm style of steering. That Sierra doesn't handle like Mom's Accord, does it Louis? Those East Tennessee curves in I-40 sure got his attention.
Nearly all packed and ready to go. What could possibly go wrong?
A Long Overdue Ride into East Tennessee
Posted by R.B. Quinn on October 12, 2009
No fire on the mountain this day, but it rained sideways the day before.
It’s been about ten years since my last ride on the Cherohala Skyway and the Tail of the Dragon at Deals Gap, NC. No excuse when you live as close as Nashville. Bikers come from everywhere for these gorgeous roads.
My pal Professor Bob and I set off on my Triumph Daytona 900 and his Yamaha FZ-1. The Daytona is big, too big for the Dragon’s twists (at least with me on it) but perfect for the Cherohala’s fatter sweeps. Bob’s FZ-1 seems matched for anything. But, given downpour on the Dragon, we’d have been better off in a used Civic.
The seven deadly cylinders smartly parked on a Cherohala scenic pullover.
A view like this only suffers from the absence of the wine and the cheese. And maybe the Ducati.
Our Friday departure from Nashville was designed for a full Saturday ass-kicking followed by an Evening with George Dickel and revisionist re-tellings of the day’s epic moments back at the cabins. What we pretended not to notice as we rode east was the massive front chasing in our rear views. Even after it opened up on us around Pikeville we remained upbeat.
I have lousy rain gear so the Irish realist in me translated rain into the chance to shop. Bob loves to shop and in matters motorcycle is an excellent shopper. Bob’s supportive wife Tamra comments on it frequently.
With ominous clouds and rising Tellico River intentionally cropped out and the George disguised as Jack, the men delude themselves further by strategizing over tomorrow's many route options. Even the nuts weren't from Whole Foods. What could possibly go wrong?
Here’s what. Not long into the Cherohala the rain started. Above 4,000′ or so we were covered in fog, clouds actually, so we switched on the blinkers mostly to help keep us from running into each other as we were about the only nuts up there. Us and that guy who’d just scored a sweet, slightly used KLR-650 over in Madisonville, TN, that he hadn’t told The Wife about yet. That guy could talk the ears off a billy goat. Somehow we didn’t think The Wife would lose much sleep over the new dirt bike if it kept him out from under foot. The folks you meet on the road.
I’d love to show you a picture of Bob patiently listening to that dude yammer away, but I knew if I’d broken out the camera we’d all soon be exchanging emails and promises to friend each other on Facebook by day’s end.
We pressed on toward the Dragon and just when I figured it was time to really grin and bear it through 300 turns in 11 soaking miles, Bob pulls into the bike resort. I’m thinking, we’re soaked, let’s keep moving. It can’t get much worse. Then, it did.
Couple a Dragon Slayers there, lemme tell ya.
I knew we should have had some custom rain covers stitched up!
Not the only nut cases in town after all.
A beerless afternoon waiting out the storm, eye-balling The Weather Channel and wishing Jim Cantore and his huge wristwatch were there to ask us just exactly how wet we were. The Harley dude at the food counter sounded so much like Boomhower we thought he was for real. That seemed to lighten the mood some and bought us 20 more minutes of patience.
When we couldn’t wait any longer, off we went. Knowing Tellico Plains was a dry town I suggested a beer stop on the way back to the scenic Mountainview Cabins. Bob concurred. We needed something in a box for the cargo net, but we didn’t want any crappy 12-pack of cans, not to chase down the last of the Dickel. A Sam Adams variety pack was just the thing.
It's all good, Bob, and the funny part is that as we pulled into our cabins 30 minutes later the cardboard was a limp mess and the beers moments from shattering into disaster. Big Jake, another Friend of the Road, had just cornered us at the checkout, but failed to notice our bone-soaked situation so we got another earful. Nice guy, grew up on the Dragon, totally oblivious, though. Swears he was clocked at 205 by the "poh-poh." We had to pop in the earplugs and don the helmets to escape.
Good thing everything back at the cabin was safe and sound.
Oops. Bob reported the situation and was informed that the owner had already stopped by, jumped vigorously up and down on the deck and declared it safe. Fine with me. The ice maker was still working and what with the Sam Variety Pack intact, what could possibly go wrong?
Aaah, not a thing.
Things were still wet Sunday but the skies were clearing so up the Cherohala we went for a partial spin. At Kat’s Deli on the way down Kat suggested we turn around to run up into Bald Creek Falls. After all that rain, you don’t want to miss it. Good tip.
Well, Bob, I guess there are a few things just as interesting as motorcycles.
Not even home or dried out and already we're planning the next ride.
I’m Too Old for This
Posted by R.B. Quinn on September 1, 2009
It’s time for a bike lift. I’m not talking about nips and tucks. The bikes are fine. I’ve got to get off the floor.
Taking pilates and piloga helps some, but it still sucks down there. Like wearing short pants, it's getting harder to concentrate.
This one available through Harbor Freight works well and runs $500.
My riding buddy Professor Bob just bought the $400 version and he’s smiling more than usual. The extra $100 gets you a far superior tire vise to hold things steady. Bob got tired of the simple vise and robbed the $160 one from his bike trailer. This gave another him opportunity to shop–this time for these new matching wheel chocks from Harbor Freight.
Here’s the lift I’ve long coveted. The Handy Air Lift is a dream come true. And it lives in the thousand dollar plus club. Cost aside, I need to be able to park a car on top of the thing in bad weather. That concerns me. Bob’s wife Tamra has mastered that skill with the Harbor Freight model which ended up on her side of the garage.
Nice!
My brother-in-law up in Rhode Island has the Handy and man did we knock out the overdue service on a slew of bikes. Set up in an old horse barn updated with concrete floors the air lift let us work on our feet, at least on our knees, but not on our bellies.
New oils in an old Bonnie.
Just cleaning her up is a cinch on the lift! And what's better than the stereotypical girlie calendar on the shop wall. Talk about living the dream.
A sweet 70s era metric 500 single, serviced, well preserved, and ready to ride.
Cruise In Thursday at Hemmings
Posted by R.B. Quinn on August 17, 2009
When I was a kid our cool old house in snowy Rochester, NY, no longer had a garage. Apparently the previous owners couldn’t open the doors to their matching Continentials once parked inside. The pool table and metal fireplace was cool, but I wanted a garage.
Despite our lack of space to take on an old car project, my dad subscribed to Hemmings Motor News and acted like we were, any day now, going to get busy on a car. Gullible me I took the bait and buried my nose in that magazine, book really, filling my head with dreams of restoring ancient buggies and the hottest muscle cars and enjoying the lure of the open highway. Years later, I find myself unexpectedly at Hemmings in Bennington, VT.
Striking cool guy at a car show pose. No idea Hemmings was in nearby Vermont all this time.
My cousin Tom the Porsche guy is the incoming president of the Typ356ne club and his gang had waited most of the summer for decent enough weather to meet up at a Thursday night Hemmings show.
The Typ356ne gang celebrating Bob's Speedster's 1st place win for best foreign imported car. Apparently, Bob's speedster wins often.
These guys are a hoot. They climb into these mid-century things and off they go. Hundreds of miles, more sometimes. I’d be a wreak even if I didn’t break down. Especially if I didn’t. They fall in line with their walkie-talkies on the same channel and head out for the dotted line roads.
Our sudden stop to “race” up Mt. Equinox provided great views and a massive temperature drop. Out came the foul weather gear. These Yanks are prepared.
I believe a solid knowledge of stylish parking etiquette is a prerequisite for club membership.
Bill and Fran pick up their conversation once on top of the mountain.
Here's what a Porsche club ride looks like from the inside. Tom and I follow Jim in his '61 B coupe up the mountain.
Again with the stylish parking!
For the Porsche, it is not considered bad form to show off your ass, as it were.
Sid's '68 Double Cab is damn near perfect. A California vehicle, Sid bought it on a lark and drove it home with his brother. Nothing went wrong all the way to new Hampshire more than an ignition switch.
I believe the trunk sticker is quite original. Not enough bumper? Just slap it on the hood and get behind your president! I met Richard Nixon once, but that's for another time.
Soon-to-be club prez Tom getting a jump in his new officers' duties.
This Gia was so original, it came with the original people.
Car buffs come in all stripes.
Just milling around.
Maybe some day, dude. Keep dreaming. Keep flipping the pages of Hemmings Motor News.
Making Progress with the 63 Lincoln
Posted by R.B. Quinn on August 13, 2009
She cleans up pretty well for an old driver. Miles of chrome for hours of finger-numbing fun.
A 5,000 pound car with a tankful of gas but barely a drop in the carburetor leaves you with plenty of time to think while waiting on the flatbed. You see yourself re-routing the fuel line to pass just inside the driver’s door on the floor, equipped with one of those squeezable rubber primer bubbles they have on boat gas lines. If I’d had that set up, I’d have been home in five minutes.
The short version goes like this — I have an “early ‘63″ Continental, meaning that when my car came off the line, Ford had not yet wisely upgraded the brass-tipped push rod that actuates the fuel pump to the more durable steel rod. As the brass wears down, the closer the car gets to an unscheduled stop.
Thankfully, Bakers Auto in Putnam, CT, has the upgrade kit when you feel like investing in a few hours of shop time to get access to install it. The end of the cam gets a steel cap so the new steel pushrod has something to wear against. Problem solved.
Hell, it only took Ford a couple years to sort that one out. Seems a far easier job then designing that convertible top disappears into the trunk affair that always draws a crowd.
The good news is that all that roadside fiddling with the carb I performed with my cousin Tom (a non-balding Eagle Scout in his own right) must have loosened up all that carb linkage, including that stubborn choke. After a few pumps the thing lights right up when it’s cold and when you step on it, it takes off like a cannon. A really heavy boat-like cannon.
They call it Spanish Red. Too bad the guy who painted it last used a brush. Hey, it's a driver!
Finally, a relative who gets in on something with ya! Tom tries to revive some color and lay down some badly needed wax. Thanks, buddy.
Not everything is easy on an old machine. The rubber pads (and rusted out steel backing plate) below are fastened with 8 screws. We only broke the heads off two. Then, we busted off a drill bit tip into one hole. Tom had to resort to the grinder to get us down deep enough to grab the drill bit and old screw, then it was JB Weld to the repair rescue.
When things look grim, stay positive. And keep telling yourself: there’s always a way. It is infinitely rebuildable. Do not give up.
Sorry I don’t have the image of how nasty this was last week. But, when the fuel pump isn’t pumping, it’s hard to focus on things lower down the Irritation List.
Nice new rubber pads for the top where it sits on rear deck.
Now, to keep things moving forward. That little front end rumble is getting my attention. And the seats could use another dose of leather cleaner. Then, she might be ready for a road trip to Nashville. Maybe under her own power. Hey Tom, how’s your October calendar looking?
