Passes & Canyons Blog

I’ve written any number of times about the smoking that my 1980 Honda CB750 Custom does when I fire it up. So I decided it was time once again to take it in and pay what I knew would be a large price to get it worked on and actually fixed. Aside from everything else, it embarrasses me enormously to think one of my neighbors might be looking out their window when I’m generating this huge cloud of blue smoke. This is serious air pollution.

I had taken it in a year ago to get the work done but for some mysterious reason the bike would never smoke for the guys at the shop. And they said they couldn’t work on it in good faith if they couldn’t see what the problem actually was.

So they did a thorough tune-up and gave me the bike back in really good running order and it didn’t smoke. How weird. It has smoked for years. And it didn’t smoke for me, either, so somehow the problem had gone away and I didn’t have to pay for it. But then about six months later it started smoking again and I started thinking about taking it somewhere else and telling them just do the work. You have my direction to do so. But I also shot a video. That’s what you’ll see up above.

It shows me firing it up and there is no mistaking the clouds of blue smoke that come pumping out. I showed this video to Jerry at One Down Four Up, where I took it this time. He might not see it with his own eyes but he saw it on the video.

So they looked it over. They also found that there was only about half as much oil in it as they should be so they did an oil change, and in the process found that a spring and a ring that is part of the oil filter housing was missing, presumably forgotten by the last place when they put it back together. Once they had done that they fired it up and guess what: It didn’t smoke.

Jerry suggested I just keep a better eye on the oil and keep it topped up. I asked nevertheless for a quote so I would know how much actually fixing it would cost me. I was ready to spend the money.

It turned out the price he quoted me was a lot higher than the already absurdly high figure I had in mind. OK, maybe I won’t go that route after all. But I did have them put a new front tire on. Heck, why not? I just saved a couple thousand dollars.

But this got me wondering. Is there some connection between being low on oil and burning oil? I asked Google that question. The answer I got back was “Yes.” Ooooh, really? What it said was that if there is not a proper amount of oil the motor is not cooled as effectively as it is intended to be, and so it gets hotter and ends up burning oil it would not have burned otherwise.

That didn’t totally make sense to me. Where is it going to get this oil it’s going to burn? Of course I knew the head gaskets leak–that’s what I was going to pay to have fixed.

I told Jerry about this and he suggested that perhaps as the engine gets hot the metal expands and that creates the opening for the oil to seep into the cylinders, where it gets burned. This is speculation.

The bottom line, however, seems to be that my chronic neglect is at fault here. I have said many times that I’m a bad bike owner. I don’t give my bikes the kind of care they should have and because they’re so well built they just keep running anyway. But apparently I’ve been running chronically low on oil for years. When I took it in the first place they put in enough oil and it didn’t smoke. It didn’t smoke for me until six months later when I had let it run low again. Then the next place filled it with oil and it didn’t smoke.

Does this make it through your thick skull, Ken? Check the oil regularly and top it off whenever it’s low. Better yet, change the oil regularly. This is not rocket science. And if I grow neglectful again, at least when I start noticing smoke again take that as a serious clue to deal with the oil. I think I’ve learned my lesson. I think. I hope so.

Biker Quote for Today

To my motorcycle: Thank you for putting up with me, being there for me, and loving me in your own special way.

Sure any day on a motorcycle is better than just about anything else, but still, we all have had especially good days. So I got to thinking about what I would list as my best days riding.

The first one comes instantly and requires no consideration. This was the day Kevin and I rode a couple of his V-Stroms over Cinnamon Pass. This was a September day and if you have spent time in Colorado in the fall you know that there are some days in the fall when the sun, the air, and everything is so perfect it’s a true Rocky Mountain high. It was being here for a few of these days when I traveled for a year after college that persuaded me to come here when I decided it was time to put my roots down somewhere.

This day with Kevin on the V-Stroms on Cinnamon Pass was one of those incredible days. On top of that, Cinnamon Pass itself was beautiful. The fall colors were in full profusion and it’s a beautiful mountain location. The pass runs from Lake City over to the Silverton area, on US 550, the Million Dollar Highway. How could it not be an incredible ride? It was. I’ve never had a day on a bike I enjoyed more.

Another best day was really nothing special but circumstances made it special. This was in 1996 and the OFMC was heading out with Deadwood, SD, our destination for the first day.

The circumstances were this: I was married just a year at this point and, about six months in, my wife’s three kids became ungodly terrors. They hated me and made that utterly clear. And for the next seven years they made our lives a living hell, day after day after day. They finally all moved out, they’ve grown up now, and they are adults I actually like and even care about. But back then I was in shock.

John and Bill and I took off this day and as we rode north and I knew I would be away from it all for a week the anger and frustration melted away. I found myself riding along throwing my head back and screaming into the wind, “I love my motorcycle!!!” I will never forget that day. There haven’t been many days in my life when I felt that good. But for the next six years the situation with the kids made my one week on the bike trip something I longed for like crazy, and I was overjoyed each year when it finally came.

After that it gets harder to identify best days. I actually have to think about it.

I guess another best day was also one of the worst. It was at the end of the day when all the woes of the day were overcome that I felt absolutely wonderful.

This was on another OFMC trip, and I’ve told this story before. I had taken my bike in for some work and the shop promised me a dozen times it would be ready by the time we were set to leave. And it wasn’t. John and Bill left without me and we agreed to meet at the campground at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I finally got my bike and blasted off in that direction. After two days of very hard riding I got to the campground, found the campsite but no buddies, so I went looking for them.

Not finding them in any of the obvious places I considered the non-obvious. Perhaps they had ridden out to Sunset Point to watch the sunset. This point is about 25 miles out a narrow, winding road, max speed about 25 mph. I rode out there and they weren’t there so I turned around and headed back. Then my bike died. I was miles from nowhere and there was not another soul on the road. With all the other stress I’d been through up to this point this was where I broke.

Standing there next to my bike in the darkness on this deserted road I pounded on the seat of my bike screaming “God damn it!! God damn it!! God damn it!!”

Then it dawned on me that maybe I’d just run out of gas and I needed to go to Reserve. I flipped the lever down, hit the start button, it sputtered, and then fired up. Talk about exultation! I hurried on back to camp, John and Bill were there, I grabbed the last beer they had out of John’s hand and drank it down, and I felt great. I was with my buddies, all was well, and oh my god the horror was over. You don’t ever feel much better than I felt right then.

OK, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I started writing this but that’s where I ended up. Maybe I’ll come back to this topic if some good rides come to mind. Meanwhile, there surely must be some quote I could use that is appropriate to this piece.

Biker Quote for Today

The best moments are always unplanned.

Dennis has a saying we all like: The only time you can have too much gas is when you’re on fire.

Yeah, we’ve all run out of gas a time or two, right? I certainly have. Little things like forgetting to reset your trip meter after getting gas. That sort of thing. Too much optimism about how far what you have will take you.

Well, there’s thread for that. Over on the AdventureRiders site. I like to check in on it now and then. Especially at times like now when riding is out of the question and I’ve got a blog post to write. So here are a few people’s stories.

• I had the tank off to check the valves and change the air filter. Put the bike back together and rode it like I usually do. I used the trip counter as a fuel gauge. I noticed that I had gone well over my usual range before the light normally came on. I congratulated myself on improving my fuel mileage by looking after my bike…. and it sputtered and died. Apparently the idiot light needs the idiot who took the tank off to remember to plug the wires back in on reinstall. Girlfriend at the time brought me fuel and had a great time telling everyone about it for weeks afterwards.
• The Triumph Daytona, on the first ride home from the dealership. $h…s must have filled the tank with a cup of gas and told me to “have a nice ride.” Had to knock on a strangers door for “lawnmower gas” to get home.
• Most adventurous fuel flame-out was in Moab with a rental dirt bike. Coming out of the White Rim Trail, I was trying to make a gas stop in Moab. The bike had no fuel gauge and I was trying to make this happen using memories of the odometer. Ran out a mile from the station and had to bum lawnmower fuel.
• 1984, I switched my Seca 650 to reserve ten miles from home at the end of a two week tour. It had been a long, wet, 800 mile day (and night) and I just wanted to see my own bed. Had to work the next day, made a mental note to get gas in the morning. (Yeah, that did not happen.) After work, in rush hour traffic on the freeway, bike starts to stutter. Oh, now I remember!
  Between Ft Morgan and Julesberg CO I ended up chilling on the side of the road for entirely too long not realizing what the problem actually was. It wasn’t a stretch where I ever had an issue before, but apparently had enough headwind and weight to drop my range a good 15-20 miles. I was also caught off guard not realizing that I’d forgotten to flip it off reserve from the last stretch, and the Shadow doesn’t die quite the same. Normally low on fuel is a quick loss of power but plenty of time to go to reserve, if you’re already on reserve it’ll cough a couple times and then just die. So I call my brother in NP, he comes out with a trailer, and the next day I fart around with it trying to figure out what I broke or wore out for at least an hour before I notice that the plugs have solid spark but are bone dry. D’oh.
• I was 16. My friend was taking me as pillion on my 1984 Yamaha 400 Maxim to do my driver license test. I filled the tank the day before. Little did I know that my sister had conveniently drained most of the gas from my tank that night to fill her car and left me only just enough to ride about 10 miles. We ran out of gas, at the bottom of the hill, had to push the bike nearly 2 miles to the next gas station. I missed my scheduled appointment for my drivers test and had to reschedule for two weeks later. Guess who I don’t call for Christmas every year.
• The last time I ran out of gas was in 1973 when I overestimated how far I could go on a tank of gas with my RD350. I was close to home so my dad (who just happened to go by) picked me up. I didn’t have tie downs so I sat on the bike in the back of his truck. I had rather long hair at the time and wasn’t wearing a helmet. My Dad was laughing at me the whole way home because I looked like an Indian Chief with a headdress on.
• Our day started out great, we were on an ADV ride from Northern CA in late May headed to Oregon and had tracks we were following around the backside of Mt. Shasta on a Forest Service dirt road when after 30 miles of riding we were blocked by snow. Unfortunately, the blockage occurred 10 miles from our intended gas stop, but turning around meant gas was almost 45 miles the other direction routing us on roads, with the gas gauges all having come on simultaneously on our BMW R1200GS’ with a “low fuel” warning flashing 40 miles of range left on the gauge. The funny thing is we hit ZERO miles remaining 5 miles from the gas station and decided to chance it (nothing to lose at this point and our fortune favors the bold attitude). When we arrived (yes we did not run out of gas) the gauge on the bike showed negative (-) 5 miles of range left which we all laughed about as we had never seen a negative number on the gas gauge before and thanked the BMW engineer who had designed it with the “Pushing Your Luck Attitude” in mind.

Here’s a story of my own. Sometime, many years ago, Judy and I were out on the CB750 and ran out of gas. Don’t remember where. As we wondered what to do a guy in a car pulled up and asked if he could help. You bet! So he drove us to get gas, and he even had a gas can with him. Along the way he explained that he was kind of a professional good Samaritan. That is to say, he would very much appreciate us paying him for his assistance. Man, at times like that you are so glad to have assistance. We readily gave him a large “tip.”

Biker Quote for Today

The road to hell is very grippy, with fabulous camber and some wicked left-handers.

I saw an article the other day that talked about something I had not heard before and I wondered if this is well known and I’m just out of the loop.

The signal is setting your helmet behind your bike when you’re pulled over along the road.

This is usually just to signal that they are having mechanical trouble, but it could also be a signal for medical trouble, injury, or other problems. It’s an unofficial rule, but a widely acknowledged one.

That’s a quote from the article, which also says the Canadian Ministry of Transportation has a motorcycle handbook that tells you to do this.

I’ve been riding for about 35 years and had never heard this before. It sounds like a good idea, but that would be providing that other bikers know what it means. Until now, I would not have known.

Now, theoretically bikers stop for each other in trouble just automatically. That’s not really the case, though, as I think we all know. I have certainly had riders stop to ask if I need assistance, sometimes when I was just stopped to take a break. You bet I appreciated their thoughtfulness. But I’ve also been stopped along the road actually in need of assistance and watched as bike after bike just blew on by. So I like the idea of something concrete like this to really say “Hey! I need help!”

I would think you would do best to put the helmet maybe 10 to 15 feet behind the bike–maybe more–for two reasons. First, if it’s right next to the rear wheel it may just look like you took it off and set it down. But also, the further away from the bike the more time that gives passing riders to react and hit their brakes.

I had a flat on I-70 out by Rifle one time and I waved frantically at every bike that passed but they were all going so fast that by the time they had a chance to react they were already 100 feet beyond me. One couple did finally stop–about 200 feet past me–and came running back to help.

And who knows. Maybe someone in a car who read this same article will recognize the issue and stop to help.

Biker Quote for Today

A guy letting a girl ride his motorcycle is like saying “I love you.”

I’ve kept a journal off and on all my life, and consistently for the last 40 years. While, for me, the simple act of putting things down on paper is beneficial, it’s also a very interesting thing to go back later and read what you wrote. Here’s something I just ran across, from October of 1992. This was on my Honda CB750, the only bike I had back then.

I stayed a while longer, then got on the bike and headed home. Turning off Federal onto 67th my chain jumped off the sprocket and I had no power but could roll, and did, till the rear wheel locked up right out front. Jack (my neighbor across the street) helped me get it to the garage and this morning he helped me get it back to where I can at least ride it to Legends (a motorcycle shop just up on Federal a couple blocks from me) tomorrow. I’ll need a new chain and who knows what else.

OK, several things here. I had just come across town and this could have happened anywhere but it did happen just about 200 feet from home. How lucky is that!

Also, the chain jumped off the sprocket? How loose must it have been, and how negligent of me not to have noticed. I had been on I-70 much of the way home and what would have happened to me if the chain had come off at 70 mph? I mean, the rear wheel locked up. I might not be here writing this today.

Then there was this a few days later.

Got my bike from the shop. $55 for a new chain and installation but now the foot brake is sticking and causing a problem.

Yeah, you read that right. Just $55 for the chain and installation. Of course back then that was actually a big hit to my wallet. That’s inflation. But inflation is also the reason you can buy a house and have a payment that is a real stretch, but some years later it’s not a stretch at all. I’ve been a beneficiary of that and I’m sure many of you have as well.

I haven’t yet reached the next chapter in this story in my reading but I’ll reconstruct it here from memory.

As I noted, the brake was sticking. I had no idea why. I soon found out.

I was out at about Colfax and Monaco a few days later and the brake seized completely. And it wasn’t the rear brake it was the front brake. I must have gotten things confused previously–I was still pretty new to riding motorcycles at this time.

I pulled off the street and got down to check on the problem and in doing so I touched the brake disc with my finger. Yow! That sucker was so blazing hot it scorched my fingertip and left me with a second-degree burn. This is not good.

I was way across town but I figured this had to have been a result of something the shop did, something they did not set up properly. So I called them and told them where I was stranded and why. And here’s another thing I don’t think you’re likely to see any more: They sent a guy over with a truck and picked me up and hauled me back to the shop–no charge.

It turned out they had adjusted the cable on the brake a little too snugly and apparently the pads were in constant contact with the disc, gradually building up heat and expanding, until things seized. They readjusted it and that was that.

OK, so here’s one caveat. I know both of these events occurred. I’m going from memory saying one led to the other. I may read on in my journal and find that they were separate events. I’m simply not sure at this point. But they both did happen. And they both hark back to my title up above: Things Change. They certainly do. For one thing, that shop is long gone, as motorcycle repair shops seem to have a penchant for doing. And you’re not very likely to get that kind of service these days either. Heck, you go to an Italian restaurant these days and the bread sticks they used to give you are now available for a price.

The only constant is change.

Biker Quote for Today

“My dreams for the future are simple: work, a happy, healthy family, a lovely long motorcycle ride, and continuing the struggle to awaken people to the need for serious human rights reform.” — Mike Farrell

OK, watch this video. Then come back.

Who are these jerks? What the hell do they think they’re doing? I mean, they planned this. They got together, removed their license plates, and then went on this spree. What kind of dips–t does something like that? And this is right here in Denver. That intersection is Colfax and York.

I guess I have nothing more to say.

Biker Quote for Today

What do you call a Harley Davidson with no tires? A groundhog.

I knew leaving on the OFMC trip this summer that as soon as I got back I would need to get a new rear tire on the V-Strom. We got back from that trip on August 1. I finally got the tire on yesterday. Yep, right away.

Of course that means I got more miles out of the old one. Really getting my money’s worth. Really running on no tread at all. You get busy, you know, and things get put off.

I’ve still been trying to work out this issue of where to take my bikes now that Joel is no longer running his own shop and this time I figured I’d take it to One Down Four Up, a place out on West Colfax where I’ve had some work done before. They’re pretty far and not particularly convenient but what the heck. I’ve been happy with their work.

So I called a few weeks ago to see about getting it in and I asked the woman I spoke with what they suggest now that the parts store that used to be right next to them had closed. It was really convenient because you could go in and buy the tire and carry it next door and hand it to them. But not any more.

She said they suggest you get the tire at Performance Cycle and bring it in. That seemed pretty odd to me because Performance Cycle is pretty far away. Why not point me to a place on Colfax? I know there are some out there.

It was good that I wondered about that. That ticked off an idea in my head. Have they perhaps moved? Well, score one for me. They have moved, and now Performance Cycle is still not exactly close but it’s a heck of a lot closer than it was before. Also, more importantly, this makes One Down Four Up a lot closer to me, too. I may just have finally solved my problem of where to take my bikes for service.

However, that did not address the issue of how to get the tire from the store to the shop. I have never, ever had to face that issue before. I’ve always just taken the bike to the mechanic and he ordered the tire and put it on. I wasn’t crazy about picking up the tire in my car and then driving it over to the shop and leaving it there, then bringing the bike later. But then I figured it depended on whether they would be able to put the tire on while I waited. If they wouldn’t then I would need to have Judy pick me up there and bring me back later, and she could just bring the tire with her when she picked me up.

Well, they could put it on while I waited so that was out. I thought about putting the tire around my waist and riding over like that but that seemed silly. Here’s a daring thought: how about if I just tie the tire on the bike behind me?

I know that, for a lot of you who probably have done this yourselves, this is the obvious and simple approach. But remember, I’ve never had to do this before. Well it was simple, as you can see in the photo. And yeah, I didn’t get it tied on as stably as I thought, so it shifted a little in transit, but it worked fine. OK, now I know.

So when I called the shop to make an appointment they said, well, we can get you in later today or first thing tomorrow. Really? That quickly? Sounds good to me, let’s do today. And they did the job promptly, for a very reasonable price. And they were nice folks. I think I know where to take my bikes from now on.

Then just a side note. On my way home I was coming across on Belleview and saw this pick-up in the right lane with a sheet of plywood hanging out of the back of its bed bent almost to the road surface. I thought that was odd but assumed it just didn’t fit in the bed any better than that. I also noticed that the car behind this truck was giving them a lot of room.

As I pulled up alongside I could see that in fact the plywood had shifted back from the cab several feet and looked like it might slide out at any moment. I waved to get the driver’s attention and motioned urgently toward his rear. He pulled right over to see what I was telling him. I just wonder if he started out with more than one sheet of plywood, because that was all he had when I saw him.

Biker Quote for Today

We mature with damages, not with age.

I was headed home from doing Guanella Pass and after I turned down Kerr Gulch Road I stopped to take off the sweatshirt I had put on before going up that pass. No big deal, right?

I pulled off at a driveway, put the kickstand down, and got off. And the bike just rolled forward, off the kickstand, and fell. What the hey? This was very much like a time years ago when I was crossing Idaho with Kevin and we stopped so I could clean my visor. I parked and got off and Kevin pulled in behind me and got off . . . and his bike rolled forward, bumped into mine, and they both went down.

OK, fine. I know how to pick a bike up. Crouch, backed into the seat, grab the handlebar with one hand and something on the body with the other and stand up, using your legs, not your back. But a funny thing happened.

I really don’t know what it was, but each time I tried to lift the bike, instead of coming up, it pivoted in a clockwise direction. Was it turning on the kickstand? On the case guard? On the highway peg? On the regular peg?

I don’t know, but after three attempts to lift it the bike had rotated about 90 degrees. What the hey?

Oh, and another thing. Apparently the seal on the gas tank is not particularly snug because gas was dribbling out of the tank at a pretty fast pace. If this thing lay there very long I’d lose half my gas at least.

I really didn’t know what I was going to do but just then I saw two guys coming from the house next door to the one whose driveway I was in. they climbed through and over a fence and hurried to me, calling out asking if I was OK. Yeah, I’m fine, I said, I didn’t go down. I parked the bike and it went down by itself.

So they helped me get it back up, with at least half a cup of gas spilling out of the brush guard on the handlebar which had been catching it as it ran out of the tank. OK, let’s get the heck out of here.

The bike fired right up and I put it in gear and was off, no problem. After thanking these guys profusely. And after assuring them for about the fifth time that I was not injured. Nice guys. Thank you so much!

Biker Quote for Today

Me and my bike, we’re like two best friends on a journey together.