Brotherly Love and Loss

I lost a brother last night. We shared no blood, we weren’t stepbrothers, not related by marriage. But if any man could truly be called a “brother from another mother”, it was him. He was the kind of person who was always there for you, whether it was to have fun, or to listen to your troubles or to help you out. His last name was Jones, and we called him Big Jones. Physically, he was a huge SOB, it’s true. He got tagged with the name for obvious reasons. However, if you were ever around him, you knew that his presence far exceeded his physical size. He walked into a room, or hell – into a bike rally, and you just KNEW he was there, even if you didn’t hear him speak with that naturally loud, booming voice he had. But he was THERE.

He was a Sergeant At Arms for his chapter of our club, and I know good and well he was capable of carrying out the less pleasant functions of that office, but he always projected a happy, smiling face. The funny thing is that with his size, he could have easily been intimidating if he wanted to, but I never saw him try to be. Matter of fact, once you got to know him, which didn’t take long, you stopped noticing that he was so big. You just saw the smile. Big smile – you never stopped noticing that. He was a happy man who wanted everyone around him to be happy, too.

If you were lucky enough to get to know him, you loved him. Period. End of story. He became part of your family. His family was your family. His door was open to you simply for the asking. He and his wife Stephanie once handed over their house to me, my infant daughter and her mother when my wee one got overheated and sick while camping at a bike rally. They stayed at the rally, but they lived a half hour away, and they just took us to the house and trusted us with their home; no questions asked. Big heart – you always knew that about Big Jones, too.

I’ve spent the day in pain, hurting, crying with the loss of a beloved brother taken from this world far too soon. But I’ve also smiled, remembering good times, fun times, and always that big fucking smile, and his voice saying “How YOU doin’!?” or “What ha’ happent wuz……” Or the times that his work related travels brought him to Austin, and he’d text a lot of us to invite us to meet him at Twin Peaks for happy hour. Which he’d usually end up paying for. I really hate it that he did that a couple weeks ago and I couldn't make it because I was at work. Funny the things you don't think about at the time that you regret later.

The one solace I take is that he went out doing something he loved doing: riding.  At least he got that. I only hope that when my time comes, I can go in a similar way.

This should remind us, and of course it does, like all unexpected deaths do, not to take life for granted. Not to take those we care about for granted. Take the time to really appreciate what you have. Appreciate the people in your life – don’t just say you love them, take the time to feel that love, and to tell them what you feel. I don’t mean to sound all mushy and touchy-feely, but seriously – what’s wrong with telling someone that? If you love someone, then they’re your family in some way, and since when is it wrong to tell your family you love them?

Jeff “Big Jones” Jones. Devoted husband, loving father, dedicated Gypsy, beloved brother-from-another-mother to so many. My brother, I raise my glass to you and wish you well on your transfer to the Forever Chapter of Gypsy MC. I’m honored to have known you and to have been your brother.

I love you and will miss you.

GBNF (Gone  But Never Forgotten)

GFFG (Gypsy Forever Forever Gypsy)

LL&R (Love, Loyalty & Respect)

(November 25, 2013)

Plans, parts, and finally: Coffee

If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.

I had such a good plan, too. Get up, get dressed, ride some back roads, then head back in to have breakfast and coffee at Waffle House. Nope. Suzi, my Suzuki SV1000, took a dump on those plans.

Six hours later, I'm finally having my first cup of coffee of the day.

Bad news: The stator's shot.

Good news: I got a good deal on the part, and it should be here in a week.


Better news: Brotherhood. I called a brother, waking him up, and he and his lady came out and gave me a jump start, followed me home, and he spent hours with me, checking the charging system. It only cost me a trip to Jack In The Box, and he didn't even want me to pay for that. Actually, he did all the work, since I don't know anything about electrical systems, other than they have one lever: Leave 'er alone.*

It sucks when things fall apart, but knowing you're never alone, well... that's brotherhood. 

And it makes the coffee taste even better.



It wound up raining, anyway.


*Credit for the "leave 'er alone" comment goes to my brother, Dennis "Trippple Nippple" Cole, who went on the Forever Chapter in 2005. R.I.P. my brother. GBNF, GFFG

Limey Motorcycle Rebirth

Triumph came back twenty years ago. Indian has come back twice now. Royal Enfield, as it turns out, was just in hibernation in India for a few decades, and they made a big international splash a few years back.

What about BSA? When does the Gold Star make its rebirth? A 500cc single with modern technology could far outdo bikes twice its size from its glory days.

A modern bike with BSA style and modern tech would be an awesome blank slate for creators of all kinds of custom bikes, from cafe racers to choppers.

It's time, even if just to stir the waters.

WTF?

Why is it that when the temperature is in the 30s and I’m on my motorcycle, I shiver at red lights, but I’m actually warmer/more comfortable when I’m moving? I'm no geophysicist or anything, but shouldn’t the wind make me colder?



Inquiring minds want to know…

Moto Love

So, on my way home from work today, I was thinking about how lucky I've been with this bike, reliability-wise (I've had some real lemons in the past), and how much I really like it, love it even. Without even thinking, I reached down and patted the tank like you would a horse's neck. Is that weird?

MC member stickers

Motorcycle Boots For Sale

I'm trying to sell a pair of boots, slightly worn. I've had them about a year and a half, but they're barely broken in.

These boots are the Combat Lite Touring boots sold by Aerostitch/Rider Wearhouse. Here's a link to the catalog entry on their website: http://www.aerostich.com/clothing/footwear/combat-touring-boots/aerostich-combat-lite-boots.html

Check them out, and read the user/customer reviews.

You can see from the site that these boots are priced at $297.00. They're made of very thick, sturdy leather, using as few pieces as possible to limit the amount of stitching required. This results in a sturdier boot, since the stitching would be the structural weak point. The few seams and thick leather combine to make these boots very water resistant. Aerostitch makes no claims that they're water proof, but if you read through the customer reviews, you'll see that with a little oil or other leather treatment, they become waterproof. In my limited experience, I'll agree that they are very sturdy, and definitely water resistant. I haven't had occasion to wear them in anything more than a light shower, but my feet stayed completely dry.

I'm selling these boots because they're just too much boot for my needs. They're fairly heavy, they're stiff, and they chafe my heel. Part of the reason for this is that I have issues with finding footwear that fits me properly in the first place – heel slippage is common. So I wouldn't hold it against the boot. Also, my riding is done on streets, highways, and back roads. I commute by motorcycle, so I also need to stand on a concrete floor for 8 – 10 hours a day. I was attracted to the boots because of the water resistance. I used to have “daily wear” boots, and a pair of waterproof touring boots (that just weren't comfortable for daily wear), but I wore out the waterproof ones, so I thought with these I'd get two in one. But they're really designed for the adventure touring rider. Someone who'll ride until the pavement stops, then ride cross country.

These boots are excellent for the adventure rider. The thick leather will protect from underbrush and rocks thrown up by the front tire. They have speed laces (I had to replace the laces, because I trimmed them too short, but this doesn't affect the "speed"), and a buckle on the outside at the ankle to keep them securely on your feet. The water resistance part is nice, too. They also have a nice wedge sole for traction.

There is a little wear. You can see where folds/creases have formed from being worn, which is of course perfectly normal for leather boots. There are some scuffs on the toes, especially the shifter toe. There's minimal wear on the soles.

The boots are made by Sidi exclusively for Aerostitch, so you can't get them anywhere else. They should last you years, maybe the rest of your life. Aerostitch sells replacement laces, buckles and soles.

These are labeled European size 43, but I've looked at more than one conversion chart online, and there doesn't seem to be a lot consistency in the conversions. Looking in the print catalog, I probably ordered a size 9. I just bought a pair of Red Wings work boots that are size 8 ½, though, so there may be a problem with the conversion. My problem is that I tend to fall between sizes, especially with shoes made in Europe or the UK. I had a pair of Dr Martin's that never fit me exactly right, either.

I'm asking $200.00, because really, these should last a lifetime. The price includes shipping UPS. If you have a Post Office Box, we'll negotiate from there. I'd rather not ship internationally, but if you're willing to negotiate shipping costs, we can discuss it.

If you're interested in the boots, contact me through this blog, and we'll exchange email addresses and go from there.

Green & Gold CB Classic

 A nice green and gold Honda CB at the East Side Classic.

Oily Hands, Soapy Hands

Here's a tip for those who do their own maintenance, but need to have clean hands for work. (For example, I spend all day unpacking and sorting books - no one wants to pay $28.99 for the latest Stephen King if it's got 10W40 smudges on it). Sometimes it seems like no matter how much and how hard you scrub your hands, there's still grease left on your finger tips and in the creases of your knuckles. I read something somewhere a while back, and now I'm sharing it with you after years of field testing. Before you go out to the garage or driveway, or wherever you're going to change your oil or strip down your carburetor, dump a couple of drops of liquid dish detergent in your hand, and rub it all over your hands and fingers, coating everywhere that's about to get dirty. Give it a few minutes to dry, and it's like a liquid glove.

When you're done with the work, use Go-Jo, Fast Orange, or whatever your preferred hand cleaner is, and you should be left with completely clean hands.

You can thank me later when you're waiting tables and don't gross out your customers.

East Side Classic XS650

Another photo set from the East Side Classic bike show.  If I'm wrong about this being an XS650, please message me so I can fix it.

Just about the coolest mirror placement I've ever seen.

Heavily Customized Metric V Twins

I recently went to the East Side Classic bike show in Austin, TX. Unfortunately, it was way too hot for my kids and my lady, so we couldn't stay as long as I would've liked. Fortunately, I was busy with the camera the whole time. I'll be posting some bike pix I took there. I think both of these kick-ass customs are Honda Shadows. If I'm wrong, feel free to correct me in the comments section.

Cool-As-Shit fender struts.

Evidence that I do indeed drag my kids out in the heat so I can ogle purdy bikes

RUB Rallly

Well, it's 9:30 Friday evening, which means the party is in full swing in downtown Austin. They have 6th Street blocked off to any traffic other than foot or motorcycle. Yup, R.U.B. Rally R.O.T. Rally has begun.

Now, don't get me wrong - I have nothing against the R.O.T. A lot of my brothers and sisters do, because the smaller rallies/runs we go to tend to support a charity, where the R.O.T. is purely for profit. I don't mind that - hell, bike shops, bars and liquor stores are all operated for profit, too, and we spend enough money there.

No, my problem with what many Austinites have come to refer to simply as "The Rally" is something different. It's the element it attracts. You know; the wrong crowd. Yes - R.U.B.s - Rich Urban Bikers.

They're not the only ones who show up, of course. There are a few who actually ride motorcycles more than to go to Bike Night or to official dealership sanctioned events. It's just that so many RUBs are here.

My problem isn't with their money and success. It's not with the "urban" part, either. My problem is the fact that so many people think they can spend $30,000 on a bike, add a bunch of chrome, buy some Harley Davidson "apparel", and suddenly, they're "bikers". As if you can buy a lifestyle. They typically spend more time polishing their bike than riding it.

And what's with calling everybody "Bro"? Because they heard  bikers say it in some movie? We do that for a reason. Bro is short for brother, and if I call a man Brother or a woman Sister, that's my way of saying "Whatever you need, if it's in my power, I'll provide it, and I know I can count on you the same". In other words, I'm calling him family. Real bikers don't take the word so lightly.

I know not everybody can be "hard core", and believe me - I know many would say I'm not. But I don't pretend to be anything more than what I am, and that's all I ask of others. If you own a bike, and you just like to ride it when the weather's nice on a weekend afternoon, there's not a damn thing wrong with that. But it doesn't make you a biker. Just be yourself. You'll be accepted and respected a whole lot more for it.

So, two lessons:
1) Don't bro me if you don't know me.
2) 20,000 dollars and 20 miles don't make you a biker.

Anticipation

I just finished packing my clothes and camping gear. Tomorrow, I'll work half a day, come home and have lunch with my Other Half and Baby Girl and load up my bike. Then some brothers and a sister will show up at my place, and we'll hit the road - off to our club's annual members-only, mandatory attendance, club birthday run, fondly referred to as "Mandatory".


I'm pretty excited: This is our annual Gypsy MC Family Reunion. We're spread out pretty far and wide, so this is the only chance some of us get to see each other all year. Plus, I'm trying to get all my debt paid off, so this is the only out of town event I'm going to this year, so you could say I'm pretty fucking excited.

I'll come back with some pictures, and hopefully inspiration to write more, and maybe even stories to share.

Protection or Fashion?

Full face helmet: check

Full finger gloves: check

Textile, armored mesh jacket: check

Good for you, Ricky Rocketrider. You've prudently chosen to make sure your vital organs and skin are protected in case some jackass, blind, cell phone talking, text messaging soccer mom in an SUV knocks you off your bike.

Wait. What the fuck? Shorts? On a motorcycle? You're kidding, right? Okay, guys who wear no protective clothing, and just hop on in shorts and a tank top to ride to the gym or whatever I can sort of understand. I don't agree with it, but at least they're consistent. But you....I don't get it. You're all encased in safety, but only above the waist. You make it look like you're concerned about road rash, because you wear the jacket even when it's blazing hot.

Dude, if you're worried about the skin on your arms, you definitely need to worry about your leg skin. If you go down sliding and stay on the bike, your arms may get lucky and avoid the asphalt altogether. Even if you come off the bike, you may only get minor scrapes on your arms. You can argue about whether or not to wear a helmet – your head may or may not even touch the ground. I've only gone down twice in 22 years of riding – once with, once without a helmet. I was lucky - neither my head nor my helmet hit the pavement. But the one guarantee about dropping a bike is that. Your. Leg. Will. Scrape. Along. The. Asphalt. Possibly with the weight of the bike on it. Wanna get an idea of what that would feel like? Have the biggest guy you know put all his weight on a cheese grater and rub it on your bare thigh. Then do the same thing over a pair of Levi's.

If you're smart enough to pilot a motorcycle in Austin traffic without dying, you have to be smart enough to realize all this. Which brings me to the conclusion that your flashy jacket and helmet aren't really for protection.

They're a god damned fashion statement.

Put some pants on, you fucking poser.

(reblogged from http://handgrenadesandhorseshoes.blogspot.com/)

"It's What We Do"

I was starting to think all the old customs were fading away. One in particular.

I try to never pass a motorcyclist stopped on the roadside unless they see me slowing down and wave me on. Even though I'm no mechanic, sometimes all that's needed is a third hand. Or even a quick trip to the next gas station for a gas can and some gas. However, more than once, I've been broken down on the side of the road, and had jackasses ride right past me, grinning and waving, like I had just decided the side of a busy highway was the perfect place for a spontaneous picnic. Alone. With no food.

Well, I'm proud to say the tradition lives on. This morning, on the way to work, I saw a bike stopped on the shoulder of the median. I pulled over and started talking to the guy, and it seemed to me like his bike wasn't charging, because it just died on him, and when he'd hit the starter button, all the lights would die. About the time I figured that out, a second rider had pulled over to check on us. There was a barbecue restaurant/gas station a few dozen yards ahead on the right. The problem was that Highway 360, two lanes each way, was bumper to bumper and almost at a standstill. There was the occasional gap, when the traffic got a green light and the cars from the last light hadn't caught up yet. As we were making our plans, I noticed a city work truck pull up behind us. It was being driven by none other than one of my club brothers! So, not just one, but three riders stopped to help a total stranger. I went back and told him the situation, and that we were just waiting for a break in the traffic. He said "Oh, I can get you a break in traffic." He blocked both lanes, and we pushed the bike to the station, which had a steep enough driveway to get the bike push started and send him on his way.

I thanked my brother for stopping, and his response said it all:

"No problem. It's what we do."

Yup. It is.

Factory Custom

...is a contradiction in terms. No factory has ever produced anything "custom".

Thank you. That is all. You may carry on now.

No, wait. I'm editing. That's not all. Here's my inspiration: the term "custom chopper". By its very definition, a chopper is "custom". Saying "custom chopper" is redundant - it can't be anything else. It's a bike that's been modified from the way the factory produced it. The same goes for bobbers and café racers. A bike that was churned out from an assembly line is a production vehicle.  I don't care how many people call the Honda Fury a chopper, they will be wrong. What was chopped from it? The same with Harley Davidson's Street Bob. Nothing got "bobbed" off of it - it came from the factory that way. I would also include the Triumph Thruxton "café racer". They are all production vehicles (quite fine quality, I'm sure) which took styling cues from motorcycle customizers. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this; my own motorcycle is sort of based on a street fighter, but it's really close to stock. Thus, I don't refer to it as a street fighter or as any kind of  "custom".

Look at the following photo:

The bike on the left is a chopper, built from an older Triumph. (Pre-1973, because the shifter is on the right). The bike on the right is a late model Triumph Thruxton - a factory version of a café racer. It has a lot of items on it that are required by law to be included by manufacturers that a bike builder would remove in the customizing process.







Okay, I got pushed up onto the soapbox by hearing the term "custom chopper". I'm done. Stepping down from the soapbox now.

Now you may carry on with your day...

Running With The Pack

Rolling in a pack. Man, it's such a cool feeling. It could just be you and a brother or sister, or it could be dozens riding to a run or a funeral. You get a real feeling of connection with your riding partners. It's hard to describe that to people who don't ride. It may just be impossible to understand until you experience it.

Hell, it can even translate into driving cars and trucks. I remember one time my ex and I were moving. A bunch of the brothers came over in their pickup trucks to help. I was leading the way to the new place in my car, and since we were all driving cages instead of riding, we got separated. However, when I signaled to exit the interstate, I looked in my mirror to make sure everybody saw me, and I'll be damned if every single one of those vehicles, separated by multiple cars, even, didn't move into the exit lane at the. Exact. Same. Time.

Every group, whether a club or just a bunch of friends who ride together a lot, develops a style, and the members of the group learn to almost read each others' thoughts. Gestures and a certain sign language develop that may not mean anything to anyone else, but can convey all kinds of things to the group.

I recently had a couple of experiences riding with brothers that brought home that telepathy that has developed within my own club. I was leaving a gathering and there was one brother who lived in the same direction as me, so of course we rode together. Now, I've never ridden one on one with this man before. We've both been in the same large pack, but never even in a small group together. Yet, when we pulled out onto the street, we fell into a certain rhythm. Hell, I think we were even shifting gears at the same time. You know you're synchronized when you can ride handlebar to handlebar with somebody for the first time and never feel nervous about it. He was riding on the left and I was on his right, and even when he needed to exit the interstate first, it was like we'd rehearsed the shift.

A couple weeks later, four of us had gone out of town and while we were on the highway on the way home, I realized that without even thinking about it, we'd fallen into riding positions that enabled those who needed to exit first to do so without disrupting the pack. The guy in the right rear had his exit first, then the guy in the left rear, etc. We never talked about it or planned it, or hell – even thought about it. We just subconsciously knew where to position ourselves.

Connection.

It's such a good feeling; and those who refuse to ride in a group will just never know what they're missing.

Riding Matters

One of the really attractive things about riding, and what makes it matter so much to me, is that it makes me matter.

At times, we all start to feel like we don't matter much, like we aren't respected, or wanted, or listened to. I'm no different.

A lot of times at work, I feel ignored and disregarded. I want to give up, throw in the towel. But I can't, I have a job to do, and more important than the job, and how I feel about it, is the two kids I support and insure through that job. So, I put up with the bullshit, even though I often don't feel like my input matters to anyone but me.

Any parent can understand when I say that sometimes, when the kids don't listen, you feel like you don't matter to them, either. Of course, deep down, you know you do (unless you're a real shit parent). But the feeling can bring you down.

My Other Half is an independent, very intelligent woman, with thoughts and strong opinions of her own. As is perfectly normal, we often have differences of opinion, and again - I can start to feel disregarded, like my input or opinion is inconsequential. Yes, I know it's not true, but go with me here - it's that gut feeling, that initial reaction I'm talking about.

That all goes away on the bike. I get out on the street or the road on two wheels, and everything changes. My input is the only thing that matters then. I lean left, the bike goes left. I hit the brakes or let off the throttle, I slow down. Shift gears and twist the throttle, I accelerate. My life is literally in my own hands. More so than in a car, because of the lack of a safety cage around my body. My input not only matters - it's crucial.

So, while it's far from the only reason I ride, feeling in control is a big part of the attraction for me.

I Like Bikes Like I Like Women

(Originally posted June 22, 2011 on my other blog)


I like bikes like I like women:

Naked, fast, no baggage, and low maintenance.

Seriously, though. Bikes, in my opinion, should be about simplicity. I don’t mind complexity if it’s something that makes the ownership more simple; fuel injection instead of carburetor, for example. As long as it works and doesn’t leave me stranded on the side of the highway at night holding a pair of vise grips in one hand, a poorly adjusted crescent wrench in the other and a flashlight in my teeth, cussing loud enough to hear myself over the not-stopping-to-help-me traffic.

I admire the guys who can build choppers. Cutting and welding the frame, building an engine from swap meet treasure hunts. Laying on custom paint. Making the bike that exists in their own mind.

I respect the guys keeping the cafe racer thing going. Taking an old bike and tearing off anything that’s not needed to make it go (fast), stop (hopefully), or be legal (ish). Tearing down the motor and rebuilding it to make it faster.

I have to give a nod to the restoration guys, too. It takes a lot of dedication, time and work to track down period correct pieces and parts to make those antiques look, sound and run like they did when they came off the showroom floor.

I’m talking mainly about the guys who pull this off in the garage or shed or backyard picnic table at home. I admire the skills of the pros, but they have big budgets, all the equipment, and space. Plus, it’s their job. The real respect goes to the guy who builds his dream after working all day, and does it with whatever tools he has at hand.

But I digress. Back to the topic. Choppers are cool, but usually high maintenance and they don’t handle well in corners; cafe racers handle corners just fine, but again – the high maintenance issue. Plus the point of the cafe, “doing the ton”, or hitting 100 mph, is easily achieved by almost any stock bike now, so it’s mainly a matter of style. Don’t misunderstand me – nothing wrong there, and choppers and cafes are both really cool styles in my opinion. If I could have multiple bikes, I’d take one of each. Full restos really aren’t my thing, honestly. I truly don’t care if the seat bolts I use were made in 1952 or 2011. Plus, most of the totally “correct” restorations are trailer queens. I just want to ride.

Which returns me to simplicity.

The right bike for me is naked – no windshield, no luggage, no fairing. I could see making allowance for a small flyscreen, but definitely no fairing. Also, it needs to be strong; powerful. I don’t necessarily mean racetrack fast. Just enough to show off a little when my inner hooligan wants to take the throttle. Again, simple: got to be low maintenance. I hate having a bike that breaks down all the time. I don’t mind routine maintenance, and even the occasional repair, but dammit, let me spend more time turning the throttle than a wrench!

I’ve looked at some of the baggers and dressers being manufactured and sold under the guise of “motorcycle” in the last few years. Jeeeeesus! You damn near need a pilot’s license to make sense of all the switches, buttons, and knobs on these things. Not to mention the monitors…. Not simple. If I wanted to be in a bubble where no wind hit me, and have controls to adjust everything from the suspension to the windshield height to the radio to mission control in Houston, I’d drive a car.

I’m not knocking any kind of bike. You ride whatever you like. My opinion doesn’t count when it comes to your bike. But then again, this is my blog and this entry is about what I like.

I’ll take a bike with no baggage, no “wind protection” (defeats the purpose, eh?), and no frills. Make it simple. Make it go fast, turn fast, eat up miles and not break down. It could be a standard, or a naked sport bike, or a stripped down cruiser. It’s most likely made in Japan. Bonus points in my opinion if the Yuppie “bikers” turn their noses up at it.

Naked, fast, no baggage, and low maintenance. The way the motorcycle gods intended bikes to be.


Of course, at 42, with a second, brand new baby here, a Kawasaki Vaquero or a Yamaha Star Stratoliner Deluxe with a sidecar containing a baby car seat attached is starting to look acceptable…..
Well, maybe as a fourth bike.