kreinke
11-23-2007, 03:51 PM
This past summer I wrote a short essay about the very subject in this thread (http://www.bmwmoa.org/forum/showthread.php?t=21885).
It didn't make in in to ON as I had hoped but here it is for you all to enjoy.
What is a Real Motorcycle?
Karl F. Reinke BMWMOA #121830
Every Wednesday I attend (read: crash) a coffee clutch at the local McDonald’s consisting of anywhere from two to six members of the local Christian Motorcyclists Association.
Note: Anyone offended by anything related to Christianity skip the next paragraph because it contains a bible quote.
By definition the Bible states that a church is “the assembly of called men who believe the divine truth in the heart, confess it from the mouth, and promise to have communion with the saints (Acts 2:41-42)”
Note that the definition of Church doesn’t mention anything about buildings, hymns, or bishops.
Mind you, I’m no Bible thumper. I find myself using the “F” word way too much and my temper sometimes gets the best of me. If anything, I’m more one of the people they’re probably trying to save.
Since my work does not allow me to go on Sundays I figure that attending these little gatherings and talking about the things that are really important (God, family, and of course motorcycles) is just the thing a heathen like myself needs.
The pastor in the group owns both a Harley Ultra-thingamabob and a big Yamaha XS 1100. One of the other guys, Jim, rides a big Suzuki Boulevard tourer but used to own a Beemer and before that, cut his teeth on BSA’s. One of the other older guys rides a Venture Royale and a couple others ride Goldwings.
I’ve found these guys to be hard-core riders...not posers by any sense of the word. Rain doesn’t deter them. Most are retired but the guy with the Boulevard commutes to work rain-or-shine and well into the sub-freezing temperatures.
One recent Wednesday while we were discussing family values and the whole Anne-Nicole-Britney world we live in. The injustice of how a court battle over a dead celebrity’s corpse had more news coverage than a single insurgent attack that left twenty of our finest dead.
Unable to solve the world’s problems with a budget less than the U.N.’s, the talk invariably wandered to bikes.
“You know, you unless you have a Harley you don’t have a real motorcycle,” said the Pastor while winking at me.
He was obviously baiting me. (Am I going to hell for not buying a Harley? More on how I answered him in a minute.)
This got me thinking. What is the definition of a “real” motorcycle. Is it a Harley or a Brough Superior? Ducati or Honda? Cruiser or Tupperware torpedo?
I currently have two motorcycles. My main horse is my ‘04 BMW R1150R. My secondary ride is my ‘78 Honda CB550K clubman.
My first bike was a BMW F650. A great bike. Light handling, plenty of power, fantastic gas mileage. My second was a vintage Yamaha Vision, then my wife’s V-star (rest in pieces), my Beemer (traded the F650 in on it) then my CB (which I pulled from a barn and lovingly returned to service).
The V-star was hard on my back and was so lacking in power it couldn’t get out of its own way, the Vision had a frame that was so flexible that even the most minor mid-corner bumps would upset the chassis, the F650 had soft front forks and sounded like a sewing machine. The CB? It handles OK but the brakes are kind of wooden and I sometimes forget to downshift and end up lugging out of corners.
The interesting thing is that while I can find some “character flaws” in most every bike, none really come to mind when I think of my big, heavy, burly BMW Roadster. It’s pretty much felt like a broken in slipper from the time I left the dealership to take it home.
Every motorcyclist has that one bike they wish they’d never gotten rid of or the one they have they can’t stay off. That latter describes the Beemer.
It rides great, looks really tough, has plenty of power, corners like it’s on rails, and has a quiet exhaust which lets you hear an absolutely intoxicating growl from the airbox.
But there’s something more.
Time seems to stand still when I’m on the Boxer. It instinctively seems to go where I want it seemingly without any conscious input. It doesn’t seem to make any unnecessary demands on its rider and if it does, I don’t know about it.
There seems to be, if I can use an overused corporate term, a synergy there. Whereas I do have fun on the Honda and it’s a pleasure to ride, it lacks that connection; the part where you forget that you and the motorcycle are two separate entities; man and machine.
The motorcycle either becomes a sort of extension of your body or it’s actually alive and you are it’s ride-along guest on a special adventure.
So how did I answer Pastor?
“You’re right. It isn’t a motorcycle. Anything with two wheels and a motor can be considered a motorcycle. My BMW is much more.”
“How so?” he asked.
“It’s lots of things. It’s a time machine because I lose sense of time when riding it. It’s my therapy couch because problems seem to work themselves out in my head after a long ride. But most of all, it’s a sort of my own personal magic carpet.”
He nodded in a manner that communicated to me he knew exactly what I was talking about. The others at the table did the same.
It’s not what makes a real motorcycle but rather what makes the motorcycle real that’s important.
It’s that relationship, cyborgian and anthropomorphic at the same time, that makes certain bikes different from all the others. It’s that something that transcends displacement, cylinder arrangements, top speeds, metric or American.
You can take guys from opposite ends of the two-wheeled world that love their bikes and listen to them and think they were describing the same machine.
I guess I’m pretty happy to have that “one bike” sitting in my garage and to have been able to resist the temptation to try others.
.
It didn't make in in to ON as I had hoped but here it is for you all to enjoy.
What is a Real Motorcycle?
Karl F. Reinke BMWMOA #121830
Every Wednesday I attend (read: crash) a coffee clutch at the local McDonald’s consisting of anywhere from two to six members of the local Christian Motorcyclists Association.
Note: Anyone offended by anything related to Christianity skip the next paragraph because it contains a bible quote.
By definition the Bible states that a church is “the assembly of called men who believe the divine truth in the heart, confess it from the mouth, and promise to have communion with the saints (Acts 2:41-42)”
Note that the definition of Church doesn’t mention anything about buildings, hymns, or bishops.
Mind you, I’m no Bible thumper. I find myself using the “F” word way too much and my temper sometimes gets the best of me. If anything, I’m more one of the people they’re probably trying to save.
Since my work does not allow me to go on Sundays I figure that attending these little gatherings and talking about the things that are really important (God, family, and of course motorcycles) is just the thing a heathen like myself needs.
The pastor in the group owns both a Harley Ultra-thingamabob and a big Yamaha XS 1100. One of the other guys, Jim, rides a big Suzuki Boulevard tourer but used to own a Beemer and before that, cut his teeth on BSA’s. One of the other older guys rides a Venture Royale and a couple others ride Goldwings.
I’ve found these guys to be hard-core riders...not posers by any sense of the word. Rain doesn’t deter them. Most are retired but the guy with the Boulevard commutes to work rain-or-shine and well into the sub-freezing temperatures.
One recent Wednesday while we were discussing family values and the whole Anne-Nicole-Britney world we live in. The injustice of how a court battle over a dead celebrity’s corpse had more news coverage than a single insurgent attack that left twenty of our finest dead.
Unable to solve the world’s problems with a budget less than the U.N.’s, the talk invariably wandered to bikes.
“You know, you unless you have a Harley you don’t have a real motorcycle,” said the Pastor while winking at me.
He was obviously baiting me. (Am I going to hell for not buying a Harley? More on how I answered him in a minute.)
This got me thinking. What is the definition of a “real” motorcycle. Is it a Harley or a Brough Superior? Ducati or Honda? Cruiser or Tupperware torpedo?
I currently have two motorcycles. My main horse is my ‘04 BMW R1150R. My secondary ride is my ‘78 Honda CB550K clubman.
My first bike was a BMW F650. A great bike. Light handling, plenty of power, fantastic gas mileage. My second was a vintage Yamaha Vision, then my wife’s V-star (rest in pieces), my Beemer (traded the F650 in on it) then my CB (which I pulled from a barn and lovingly returned to service).
The V-star was hard on my back and was so lacking in power it couldn’t get out of its own way, the Vision had a frame that was so flexible that even the most minor mid-corner bumps would upset the chassis, the F650 had soft front forks and sounded like a sewing machine. The CB? It handles OK but the brakes are kind of wooden and I sometimes forget to downshift and end up lugging out of corners.
The interesting thing is that while I can find some “character flaws” in most every bike, none really come to mind when I think of my big, heavy, burly BMW Roadster. It’s pretty much felt like a broken in slipper from the time I left the dealership to take it home.
Every motorcyclist has that one bike they wish they’d never gotten rid of or the one they have they can’t stay off. That latter describes the Beemer.
It rides great, looks really tough, has plenty of power, corners like it’s on rails, and has a quiet exhaust which lets you hear an absolutely intoxicating growl from the airbox.
But there’s something more.
Time seems to stand still when I’m on the Boxer. It instinctively seems to go where I want it seemingly without any conscious input. It doesn’t seem to make any unnecessary demands on its rider and if it does, I don’t know about it.
There seems to be, if I can use an overused corporate term, a synergy there. Whereas I do have fun on the Honda and it’s a pleasure to ride, it lacks that connection; the part where you forget that you and the motorcycle are two separate entities; man and machine.
The motorcycle either becomes a sort of extension of your body or it’s actually alive and you are it’s ride-along guest on a special adventure.
So how did I answer Pastor?
“You’re right. It isn’t a motorcycle. Anything with two wheels and a motor can be considered a motorcycle. My BMW is much more.”
“How so?” he asked.
“It’s lots of things. It’s a time machine because I lose sense of time when riding it. It’s my therapy couch because problems seem to work themselves out in my head after a long ride. But most of all, it’s a sort of my own personal magic carpet.”
He nodded in a manner that communicated to me he knew exactly what I was talking about. The others at the table did the same.
It’s not what makes a real motorcycle but rather what makes the motorcycle real that’s important.
It’s that relationship, cyborgian and anthropomorphic at the same time, that makes certain bikes different from all the others. It’s that something that transcends displacement, cylinder arrangements, top speeds, metric or American.
You can take guys from opposite ends of the two-wheeled world that love their bikes and listen to them and think they were describing the same machine.
I guess I’m pretty happy to have that “one bike” sitting in my garage and to have been able to resist the temptation to try others.
.