P
pedrocasper
Guest
My "New" Bike
by: Pete "Pedro" Casper
Not too long ago, in the weaning months of 2005, I found the bike of my dreams while surfing the internet. With a calculated impulse, I purchased the bike, which was some 1,500 miles from my place of residence. You see, I live in Schenectady, New York, the home of General Electric and therefore appropriately referred to as ÔÇ£the Electric CityÔÇØ, and my ÔÇ£newÔÇØ 1984 R100RT resided in Lakeville, MN. A place I never visited, but I assume, given its name, that one of the ÔÇ£10,000ÔÇØ lakes of Minnesota must be close by.
A new job and family responsibilities prevented me from flying to Lakeville and riding the R100 home; as such, I had the bike delivered. Like a kid before Christmas, I daily checked the internet tracking of the truck hauling my ÔÇ£newÔÇØ R100. The cities ticked off one-by-one....Lakeville, Minneapolis, Chicago (must have driven through the state of my youth ÔÇô Wisconsin ÔÇ£Go Badgers!ÔÇØ), Cleveland, OH (it is getting closer), Erie, PA, Newark, NJ (wait it passed Schenectady), Syracuse, NY (wait it passed Schenectady again!). Finally, a call from the local delivery company informed me that the bike arrived and they will be delivering it to my door step the next morning. I honestly could not sleep that night!
Unfortunately, the keys, title and bill of sale were stuck somewhere else in transit and would not arrive until 5 days after the bike. It is important to note that the fall days of ÔÇ£Northern New YorkÔÇØ were progressing fast towards winter days, and the riding opportunities on the "new" R100 were diminishing by the hour. Various thoughts ran through my head as I inspected my new bike form front fender to tail light. Should I hotwire the bike and take my chances with the cops if pulled over? I wonÔÇÖt ride it; IÔÇÖll just start it up and listen to the engine! I wonder if the key to my, now jealous, K75 would fit in the ignition of the R100? Clearer motorcycling instincts prevailed and I awaited the arrival of the key and other crucial documents. Key in hand, and after a quick call to my insurance carrier, I was ready to rip!
The motorcycling gods must love BMW riders, because they delivered an unprecedented beautiful late November day. My wife, who only parked her bike away for the winter because she is carrying our soon to be second child, gave me a smile as I said, I want to give the new bike a shake down(dramatic pause with eyes averted)so I will see you in a few hours. She knows me too well, and knew I would be gone for the entire day. She is an awesome lady and riding buddy.
As I pulled out of the drive way, I looked at the K75 sitting in the garage and felt a tinge of guilt. The K75 gave me some great riding memories and I felt like I was being unfaithful.
A few miles later, the ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike and I were on a twisty heading deep into the Catskill Mountains of New York, which is the perfect place to shake down a ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike. After the first 50 miles, I figured out the winter projects on the bike. I created my mental list: new rear shocks, rebuild front forks, tune carbs, new rear turn signals, and rear brake pads. I thought to myself, ÔÇ£small list, I think the ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike and I are going to get along.ÔÇØ Regardless of the suspension, the bike handled well. I started to enjoy the twisties the Catskills have to offer. I told myself after the first two hours that I need to turn back, but my throttle hand kept pouring on the gas. Completely unintentional, I scraped my first cylinder, the right one to be exact, and a smile crept across my face. Fearful that the plummeting temperature would freeze my teeth, I shed the external smile. As most of you know, scrapping a cylinder on a 1984 R100 means you are having a blast, while on most other non-boxer bikes it means you are going to the hospital.
The retreating fall sun prompted me to turn directions and head home, albeit, in good Supertramp fashion, I took "the long way home.ÔÇØ As I pulled into the driveway, I realized that the ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike was now ÔÇ£myÔÇØ bike and I prayed to the motorcycle gods to give me a few more 45 plus degree winter days ÔÇô a rarity at best in the climates of the great Electric City. As I parked the bike in my garage, I inquired to no one imparticular... "is global warming all that bad?"
Finally, I am happy to report that the K75 and R100 are happily getting along in the warm garage. I have a feeling, just like us riders; the two bikes have lots of great stories to tell each other.
by: Pete "Pedro" Casper
Not too long ago, in the weaning months of 2005, I found the bike of my dreams while surfing the internet. With a calculated impulse, I purchased the bike, which was some 1,500 miles from my place of residence. You see, I live in Schenectady, New York, the home of General Electric and therefore appropriately referred to as ÔÇ£the Electric CityÔÇØ, and my ÔÇ£newÔÇØ 1984 R100RT resided in Lakeville, MN. A place I never visited, but I assume, given its name, that one of the ÔÇ£10,000ÔÇØ lakes of Minnesota must be close by.
A new job and family responsibilities prevented me from flying to Lakeville and riding the R100 home; as such, I had the bike delivered. Like a kid before Christmas, I daily checked the internet tracking of the truck hauling my ÔÇ£newÔÇØ R100. The cities ticked off one-by-one....Lakeville, Minneapolis, Chicago (must have driven through the state of my youth ÔÇô Wisconsin ÔÇ£Go Badgers!ÔÇØ), Cleveland, OH (it is getting closer), Erie, PA, Newark, NJ (wait it passed Schenectady), Syracuse, NY (wait it passed Schenectady again!). Finally, a call from the local delivery company informed me that the bike arrived and they will be delivering it to my door step the next morning. I honestly could not sleep that night!
Unfortunately, the keys, title and bill of sale were stuck somewhere else in transit and would not arrive until 5 days after the bike. It is important to note that the fall days of ÔÇ£Northern New YorkÔÇØ were progressing fast towards winter days, and the riding opportunities on the "new" R100 were diminishing by the hour. Various thoughts ran through my head as I inspected my new bike form front fender to tail light. Should I hotwire the bike and take my chances with the cops if pulled over? I wonÔÇÖt ride it; IÔÇÖll just start it up and listen to the engine! I wonder if the key to my, now jealous, K75 would fit in the ignition of the R100? Clearer motorcycling instincts prevailed and I awaited the arrival of the key and other crucial documents. Key in hand, and after a quick call to my insurance carrier, I was ready to rip!
The motorcycling gods must love BMW riders, because they delivered an unprecedented beautiful late November day. My wife, who only parked her bike away for the winter because she is carrying our soon to be second child, gave me a smile as I said, I want to give the new bike a shake down(dramatic pause with eyes averted)so I will see you in a few hours. She knows me too well, and knew I would be gone for the entire day. She is an awesome lady and riding buddy.
As I pulled out of the drive way, I looked at the K75 sitting in the garage and felt a tinge of guilt. The K75 gave me some great riding memories and I felt like I was being unfaithful.
A few miles later, the ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike and I were on a twisty heading deep into the Catskill Mountains of New York, which is the perfect place to shake down a ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike. After the first 50 miles, I figured out the winter projects on the bike. I created my mental list: new rear shocks, rebuild front forks, tune carbs, new rear turn signals, and rear brake pads. I thought to myself, ÔÇ£small list, I think the ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike and I are going to get along.ÔÇØ Regardless of the suspension, the bike handled well. I started to enjoy the twisties the Catskills have to offer. I told myself after the first two hours that I need to turn back, but my throttle hand kept pouring on the gas. Completely unintentional, I scraped my first cylinder, the right one to be exact, and a smile crept across my face. Fearful that the plummeting temperature would freeze my teeth, I shed the external smile. As most of you know, scrapping a cylinder on a 1984 R100 means you are having a blast, while on most other non-boxer bikes it means you are going to the hospital.
The retreating fall sun prompted me to turn directions and head home, albeit, in good Supertramp fashion, I took "the long way home.ÔÇØ As I pulled into the driveway, I realized that the ÔÇ£newÔÇØ bike was now ÔÇ£myÔÇØ bike and I prayed to the motorcycle gods to give me a few more 45 plus degree winter days ÔÇô a rarity at best in the climates of the great Electric City. As I parked the bike in my garage, I inquired to no one imparticular... "is global warming all that bad?"
Finally, I am happy to report that the K75 and R100 are happily getting along in the warm garage. I have a feeling, just like us riders; the two bikes have lots of great stories to tell each other.
