The men got on their motorcycles. Started the stuff. Look around again. And popped on the back wheel away from the parking lot, onto the road. I myself have done a wheelie twice in 50 years of motorcycling. Accidentally. Once because the clutch cable of my T150V broke. The other time purely by accident and on power on a 1200 cc Bandit. My kneedown actually led to a bandaged knee. What surprised me with all that rear wheel drive is how the oil suction pump can continue to operate when the engine in question has turned about a quarter turn compared to its normal position. I remember the comment from my former teacher of calorific tools that oil is used for cooling, as sound dampening and as a lubricant. Then you can say 'two out of three ain't bad', but with the price of a block revision in mind... Technology should be treated with respect and love, just like your partner. However?
But that knowledge does not come to you. You have to learn from your mistakes. That is also the reason why 'in the past', when we were still young and rash, things often went wrong in the relationship world between man and man M/F and waddannook or man and machine. Because who would dare to blow up and down the Afsluitdijk on a Kawasaki 500 three-cylinder from which, of course to make it even faster, the air filters have been removed. And how would we feel about welcoming the new day in Renesse at sunrise by revving a CB750 K2 standing on the side stand so much that the valves started to float? How festive would we find it to beat up a Honda, Suzuki or Kawasaki with hammers and set it on fire at a meeting of British classics?
What used to be very different, was the 'après motorcycle rides' time (think of the famous 'après ski event'). A while ago I was asked to be a co-driver on a few days trip. That was a nice route and the participants were – just like me – over fifty. There was a high percentage of recent all-road and adventure bikes. All fresh, heavy stuff. Not the biotope where you impress with a 640 Guzzi NTX. But everyone was having fun. Before dinner, a large proportion of the people turned out to be alcohol and tobacco-free. At ten o'clock almost everyone was in his basket.
After childhood we sat with some fossils talking about the old days: 'Kratje (from Old Noble attunement with associated name with 'ae's and 'ck's) that only started to steer smoothly after half a crate. The rest was for after setting up the tent. Then he drank whiskey. The famous fault driver C' who, after a ride of 180 kilometers, arrived at half past nine with over 400 km on the clock. About Wil, who had focused it in night and fog (and fog) on the rear lights of the car in front of him. That driver went home. When he pulled up there, he was accosted on the garage driveway by an angry Wil: "Who the hell are you and where are we?" Little Koos who had just become single again and who felt wet at a meeting as a result of all kinds of snide remarks. His companions had placed an inflatable doll in his tent.
But Kleine Kos was a bit paranoid. And decided there must be something very wrong with his tent. So he went to sleep next to his tent while late that night or early in the morning a huge rain shower passed over the Schellingwouder campsite. About Marten who woke up in the morning with a hangover and a tattoo on his face. About Crazy Fredje whose feet were eaten by rats during his intoxication. (They wouldn't have gotten sick, would they?)
About the many-year student who put his Norton in his bedroom and started it there because he fell asleep so well to the sound. About the treasurer of the club who time and time again made a grab in the cash. About Tim who was stabbed by his girlfriend when she found him kissing with another. About Voske dealing in stolen HD stuff. About Leddy and his fight with the maternity lady. About Ruurd with his Shovel, his Camaro and his benefit. About the unsurpassed Gert Dijkshoorn and his customers who were not yet tame at the time. About winter rides in the days when winters were still winters. Then you had a liter bottle of gin in your pocket. Plus a tube between the bottle and the frozen corner of your mouth. Groningen was very far away at that time. A liter away. We toasted the past when motorcyclists didn't drink Spa red.
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Nice story again, but besides Partners you also have to treat Berlingos with respect and love 😉 so don't let them spend the night outside and change the oil on time!
In the early 70s, we had a key room in our clubhouse containing a barrel in which all the waste oil went. No one outside the club knew that there was a hole in the bottom of that barrel, just like in the floor. And if the Binnendieze had high water again, the basement automatically flushed a lot cleaner.
I enjoy all the beautiful stories here, I'm only 75 years old myself and I recognize the good old days.
Wheelies get you hot, especially on an R1 Rossi with 205 hp. Accidentally or not, especially on a cold 1st, motorcycle ride on April 2, (not the 1st 🤪)
I ride from my 17th (first “heavy” a Ducati 250 Silver Shotgun) and am now 63.
My only wheelie ever was also by accident and purely on power on a Bandit 1200. Great bike but actually (already) way too powerful (for me anyway, 25 years ago now).
Yes Dolph. Am 70 now and have been driving since I was 16 (bit illegal). Went racing, crosse, speedways ((not all at the same time) and ran out of money. Then started driving cheaper and that resulted (years later) in great stories but when it happened only big curses. Our memory fools us and stories become more beautiful and more beautiful and the youth of today, who shakes their head and listens in disbelief, will do the same later. I coach my motorcycle past and the juicy stories. I believe them and what someone else thinks ……
50 bonus points!
Yes, when motorcyclists were still tough and without 'the ideal platform for your smart phone' or navigation and at most with a map, but certainly with a mouth to ask. Braving the cold, with a newspaper tucked under the biker jacket and, like myself, with long johns and overalls on the road over it. Not afraid to park the motorcycle on the side stand or even against the wall on arrival after an hour or more of driving because the hypothermic landing gear was no longer physically able to get the trestle under it. It was also not surprising that the face and mouth were so hypothermic that speaking was hardly possible even before the required warming up time. Tools often filled more trunk space than luggage and an old but still working set of contact points and spark plugs always went along. A flashlight on board was high tech.
Drained oil went to the garage around the corner anyway. He had a heater in front of it that did something useful with the oil and thus heated the entire workshop with it. Finding that garage in the winter was no problem without navigation. Looking for the thick smoke from the chimney which marked the location perfectly and conveniently.
Yes, I too come from that time of 'das war mal'. In fact, I really want to go back to that. Although we were certainly often faster on the road than now with all those money-grabbing bullies along the way, life was still a lot slower than with all that information flood now, sigh 🙄
I sigh with you.
Just drive through! 🙂
That's it! RECOVERY: That's right!
Oh, back in the day, when drained engine oil simply disappeared into the garden or the street well, when hail/rain/snow was just liquid sunshine and the motorcyclist shrugged his shoulders.
When setting contact points and boiling out your chain was your weekly activity, and gasoline was still leaded.
That was bad..
Oh yes, before…
In the old days the wheels were made of wood and the men of steel.
And in the past, sex was safe and motorcycling was dangerous…
Fortunately, we have forgotten how we saw off then. We didn't know any better. But what a pile of memories we have!