The Royal Enfield Bullet Blog
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Highside Dumbass
The first time I rode a motorcycle I highsided it.
The crash should have killed me. At the time I had no idea that I had survived one of the most deadly types of motorcycle accidents with hardly a scratch to attest for it.
Long ago my dad owned a Kawasaki 400. That's a pretty small displacement engine, but this bike was fully dressed with fiberglass faring and matching fiberglass saddlebags. It was looking like it was made for cruising thousands of miles on the interstate, but it was severly underpowered for anything like that. I was eighteen years old.
"Sure you can borrow it," my dad said. "Just don't take it on the beach."
We lived on the Texas Gulf Coast. It was hot down there, probably 340 days of the year the temperature was above 80, and most of the time it was above 95. Me and some friends wanted to go riding. I'd been hanging out at a place called "Boxcar Billy's", which was the local biker bar. Billy was a biker, a big man, and he rode a hog. Any number of hogs were parked there on a given night. Me and my buddies would hear them roar up the street and then come to a stop outside the saloon. They were bar hopping.
That gave us ideas about what was cool.
Anyway the day I borrowed my dad's dressed-out Kawasaki 400 I had never ridden a bike with more than just pedal power. He gave me some quick lessons in the circular drive of the motel we owned. "This is the clutch. This is the brake. This is the shifter."
That was about it. My riding gear for the day: surf baggies (I surfed) and slaps. That was it. No shirt at all, no gloves -- let alone leathers or armor or even a helmet.
I called my friends, they organized themselves a bike, and we were off.
The first thing we did was ride twenty miles down the county road to a convenience store on South Padre Island drive. There I bought a six pack and some cheap ass cigars. We lit up, and headed down to the beach.
I cruised up and down on that Kawasaki, puffing a fat cigar and holding a can of Budweiser between my legs like a wannabe Hell's Angel. I had no motorcycle license, I had no experience riding -- but I thought I was damned cool. Actually I was a complete and total fool. And I looked like it too. I thank the gods that none of the hog riders I envied saw me.
Ater downing a few beers and scoping out girls, we decided to head back to Port Aransas. We rode off the beach, which was pretty hard sand because we'd had lots of offshore wind recently, and onto the access road, which was asphalt. It wound like a snake through the barrier dunes. Coming out of the last curve, I got cocky and hit the gas a little. Just a little.
But the loose sand on the road made the bike quiver. I totally panicked.
Suddenly the bike was in the soft sandy grass. I had no clue. My foot went to the back brake pedal, my had eased off the throttle. I was going maybe 25 - 30 mph.
Number one, I shouldn't have gone off the road. There was no reason as the sand trap on the asphalt was minor indeed. But I didn't know about pressing hand grips, only about leaning, and so I had let the bike edge slowly off the ashpalt when just lightly pressing the left grip would have put me back on the right track.
Number two, I eased off the throttle which led to heavier plowing of the front wheel into the clumpy sand. I should have kept up throttle or even accelerated back onto the ashpalt. Any dirt rider would have known that. But I was not a dirt rider.
Number three, I was on the back brake.
The rear end started to jump from side to side. It jumped to the right, to the left, to the right, I said to myself "Oh Shit!" and then, magically, I was standing above the bike looking down on it. One of my sandals was missing. My buddies pulled up next to me with their eyes as wide as saucers.
"Gawddamn how did you do that?!"
I saw that blood was oozing down from my knee, a triangular skinning that left a scar I still have. I don't know why, because it wasn't deep, just the first few peels of skin.
A car pulled up and asked if I was okay, I waved them off.
All I could think about was the cops, the cops, the cops and so I picked up the bike, pushed it onto the road, and got going again. On the way home I edged toward the shoulder a couple of times and it freaked me out -- I still only knew to lean, not press. The crosswinds were pretty heavy, they'd catch the fairing and push the bike.
What a dumbass; what an introduction to motorcycling.
I should have died. People have died in far less serious crashes than a highside. My buddies told me that the bike had turned completely sideways. Then it had rolled three times -- three -- twice with me still sitting in the saddle and holding onto the grips. The last time I was tossed and I landed on my feet. The bike was right next to me lying on its side. After I got home I put the bike away, and with my beer breath had to tell my dad that I'd crashed his bike. He was pretty forgiving, really, but insisted I pay for the repair of the fairing and the saddlebags, which had cracked and bruised. I learned a lot from that $300 bucks, or whatever it cost.
It was a big warning and I didn't really ride a bike again for 15 years, and only AFTER I'd taken the MSF beginner's course.
Highsiding is something you don't ever want to do, and if you have no training then your initial riding instincts will probably lead you straight to its particular doom. Check out the following site for some cool instruction about what a highside is and how you can keep yourself from having one. It's really worth your time, especially if you've never heard of a highside or if you have but don't know how it comes to happen.
A ride is no good if you don't get there alive.
Highside Dynamics
The crash should have killed me. At the time I had no idea that I had survived one of the most deadly types of motorcycle accidents with hardly a scratch to attest for it.
Long ago my dad owned a Kawasaki 400. That's a pretty small displacement engine, but this bike was fully dressed with fiberglass faring and matching fiberglass saddlebags. It was looking like it was made for cruising thousands of miles on the interstate, but it was severly underpowered for anything like that. I was eighteen years old.
"Sure you can borrow it," my dad said. "Just don't take it on the beach."
We lived on the Texas Gulf Coast. It was hot down there, probably 340 days of the year the temperature was above 80, and most of the time it was above 95. Me and some friends wanted to go riding. I'd been hanging out at a place called "Boxcar Billy's", which was the local biker bar. Billy was a biker, a big man, and he rode a hog. Any number of hogs were parked there on a given night. Me and my buddies would hear them roar up the street and then come to a stop outside the saloon. They were bar hopping.
That gave us ideas about what was cool.
Anyway the day I borrowed my dad's dressed-out Kawasaki 400 I had never ridden a bike with more than just pedal power. He gave me some quick lessons in the circular drive of the motel we owned. "This is the clutch. This is the brake. This is the shifter."
That was about it. My riding gear for the day: surf baggies (I surfed) and slaps. That was it. No shirt at all, no gloves -- let alone leathers or armor or even a helmet.
I called my friends, they organized themselves a bike, and we were off.
The first thing we did was ride twenty miles down the county road to a convenience store on South Padre Island drive. There I bought a six pack and some cheap ass cigars. We lit up, and headed down to the beach.
I cruised up and down on that Kawasaki, puffing a fat cigar and holding a can of Budweiser between my legs like a wannabe Hell's Angel. I had no motorcycle license, I had no experience riding -- but I thought I was damned cool. Actually I was a complete and total fool. And I looked like it too. I thank the gods that none of the hog riders I envied saw me.
Ater downing a few beers and scoping out girls, we decided to head back to Port Aransas. We rode off the beach, which was pretty hard sand because we'd had lots of offshore wind recently, and onto the access road, which was asphalt. It wound like a snake through the barrier dunes. Coming out of the last curve, I got cocky and hit the gas a little. Just a little.
But the loose sand on the road made the bike quiver. I totally panicked.
Suddenly the bike was in the soft sandy grass. I had no clue. My foot went to the back brake pedal, my had eased off the throttle. I was going maybe 25 - 30 mph.
Number one, I shouldn't have gone off the road. There was no reason as the sand trap on the asphalt was minor indeed. But I didn't know about pressing hand grips, only about leaning, and so I had let the bike edge slowly off the ashpalt when just lightly pressing the left grip would have put me back on the right track.
Number two, I eased off the throttle which led to heavier plowing of the front wheel into the clumpy sand. I should have kept up throttle or even accelerated back onto the ashpalt. Any dirt rider would have known that. But I was not a dirt rider.
Number three, I was on the back brake.
The rear end started to jump from side to side. It jumped to the right, to the left, to the right, I said to myself "Oh Shit!" and then, magically, I was standing above the bike looking down on it. One of my sandals was missing. My buddies pulled up next to me with their eyes as wide as saucers.
"Gawddamn how did you do that?!"
I saw that blood was oozing down from my knee, a triangular skinning that left a scar I still have. I don't know why, because it wasn't deep, just the first few peels of skin.
A car pulled up and asked if I was okay, I waved them off.
All I could think about was the cops, the cops, the cops and so I picked up the bike, pushed it onto the road, and got going again. On the way home I edged toward the shoulder a couple of times and it freaked me out -- I still only knew to lean, not press. The crosswinds were pretty heavy, they'd catch the fairing and push the bike.
What a dumbass; what an introduction to motorcycling.
I should have died. People have died in far less serious crashes than a highside. My buddies told me that the bike had turned completely sideways. Then it had rolled three times -- three -- twice with me still sitting in the saddle and holding onto the grips. The last time I was tossed and I landed on my feet. The bike was right next to me lying on its side. After I got home I put the bike away, and with my beer breath had to tell my dad that I'd crashed his bike. He was pretty forgiving, really, but insisted I pay for the repair of the fairing and the saddlebags, which had cracked and bruised. I learned a lot from that $300 bucks, or whatever it cost.
It was a big warning and I didn't really ride a bike again for 15 years, and only AFTER I'd taken the MSF beginner's course.
Highsiding is something you don't ever want to do, and if you have no training then your initial riding instincts will probably lead you straight to its particular doom. Check out the following site for some cool instruction about what a highside is and how you can keep yourself from having one. It's really worth your time, especially if you've never heard of a highside or if you have but don't know how it comes to happen.
A ride is no good if you don't get there alive.
Highside Dynamics
Sunday, October 26, 2003
Why the Royal Enfield Bullet?
I like vintage motorcycles, in particular cruiser-style motorcycles. I like the way bikes designed and built in the middle of the twentieth century look. I've come to really groove on Harley-Davidson bikes, I like the "dresser" types, the further they get towards the hardtail look the less keen I am, but I even like choppers with big fat tires and "ape hanger" handle bars. It cracks me up when I see some dude cranking down the highway with his arms and legs splayed to the wind and his t-shirt flapping up around his shoulders and neck.
But there are so many of them now. The motor company's PR department is simply beyond the pale. The work they did jacking the 100th anniversary to the public was stunning, and the sales must have been astronomical. I'm interested in building Harley-based motorcycles, repairing them, riding them, and so on. Along with the 10,000,000,000 other hog buyers.
I will do that, surely. But I am always on the lookout for something a little different, too.
So when I ran across a picture of the Royal Enfield Bullet decked out in its vintage accessories, I thought -- wow, now that's a unique looking machine.
The more I read about them the more interested I became. I liked that there was only a single cylinder and two valves. I liked that it had contact point ignition. I liked that it was designed in the late forties and early fifties, was tooled for production fully by 1955 or so, and has not changed much since.
The Bullet is the only "vintage" motorcycle still in production, and it exemplifies the challenge I think motorcycling is all about.
Currently I'm hunting for a Royal Enfield Bullet to own. They require lots of work, which is what I'm after. Maybe that makes no sense to most people in a time of appliance-like motorcycles which are expected to work without fail like we expect a microwave oven or a television to work without fail. It's true that I don't want to perform maintainence work on my microwave before I heat up a leftover piece of pizza. But I have a completely different feeling about motorcycles. A motorcyle is not an appliance. It takes far more skill to operate a motorcycle than it does to operate a car or truck. It is also riskier and more exciting -- which are the feelings many riders are after. But I'm after something a little different. I'm after a sense of self-reliance and simplicity that the Royal Enfield requires and presents. I think the most satisfactory motorcycling is when, at the end of a long ride, you know that not only did your riding skills keep the bike safely on the road -- but that it was your knowledge and ability as a mechanic that kept the bike moving forward at all.
But there are so many of them now. The motor company's PR department is simply beyond the pale. The work they did jacking the 100th anniversary to the public was stunning, and the sales must have been astronomical. I'm interested in building Harley-based motorcycles, repairing them, riding them, and so on. Along with the 10,000,000,000 other hog buyers.
I will do that, surely. But I am always on the lookout for something a little different, too.
So when I ran across a picture of the Royal Enfield Bullet decked out in its vintage accessories, I thought -- wow, now that's a unique looking machine.
The more I read about them the more interested I became. I liked that there was only a single cylinder and two valves. I liked that it had contact point ignition. I liked that it was designed in the late forties and early fifties, was tooled for production fully by 1955 or so, and has not changed much since.
The Bullet is the only "vintage" motorcycle still in production, and it exemplifies the challenge I think motorcycling is all about.
Currently I'm hunting for a Royal Enfield Bullet to own. They require lots of work, which is what I'm after. Maybe that makes no sense to most people in a time of appliance-like motorcycles which are expected to work without fail like we expect a microwave oven or a television to work without fail. It's true that I don't want to perform maintainence work on my microwave before I heat up a leftover piece of pizza. But I have a completely different feeling about motorcycles. A motorcyle is not an appliance. It takes far more skill to operate a motorcycle than it does to operate a car or truck. It is also riskier and more exciting -- which are the feelings many riders are after. But I'm after something a little different. I'm after a sense of self-reliance and simplicity that the Royal Enfield requires and presents. I think the most satisfactory motorcycling is when, at the end of a long ride, you know that not only did your riding skills keep the bike safely on the road -- but that it was your knowledge and ability as a mechanic that kept the bike moving forward at all.
Saturday, October 25, 2003
Oopps. On my previous post I mistakenly referred to a timing chain cover. There is no chain in the timing assembly. It's gears only. Most bikes do not use gears, they use either chains or, increasingly, belts. Whatever. Here's another Enfield. This one I'm interested in buying.
It's a kickstart. Looks pretty cool I must say but it is listing fairly high for a used bike of this type, well above blue book trade-in and just under blue book retail. It's a 2001. Has some extra stuff on it, pipes, which aren't visible, some other things which I don't remember right now. I have to email and find out what they are. I'll probably see the bike next weekend, if the seller hasn't found a buyer already.
I plan on adding a lot of perma-links in here, eventually, when I feel like fooling with it. Mostly for maintainence and motorcycle specs. Don't feel like it right now. I need a beer instead.
It's a kickstart. Looks pretty cool I must say but it is listing fairly high for a used bike of this type, well above blue book trade-in and just under blue book retail. It's a 2001. Has some extra stuff on it, pipes, which aren't visible, some other things which I don't remember right now. I have to email and find out what they are. I'll probably see the bike next weekend, if the seller hasn't found a buyer already.
I plan on adding a lot of perma-links in here, eventually, when I feel like fooling with it. Mostly for maintainence and motorcycle specs. Don't feel like it right now. I need a beer instead.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
At last I have some pictures. There is one here that I've taken and one that I swiped from the website of the US importer of Royal Enfield (www.enfieldmotorcycles.com). Furthermore I swiped another one from an Owner's group website.
The bike above is not stock. It has some add-ons: a tan solo seat, a "pedestrian slicer" number plate on the front fender, and some chrome here and there. The next picture I took of a bike presently at Perry's Motorcycles and Sidecars in Fort Worth, Tx. The seat is the first thing I notice that plainly distinguishes it from the first picture; I'm not too fond of the looks of the stock seat, but it does offer a ride for two. I believe it's a 2003 model, electric start, stock everything. Note that the weird looking arm shaped thing on the crankcase is not as shiny as in the picture above. This is the stock timing chain cover; the polished cover costs extra.
The next picture is of a 1998 Classic 350, the owner lives in Mexico. He writes about this bike a little bit on the owners group website. This bike shows that the styling of the Royal Enfield very much comes from the mid-fifties era of motorcycle design. In fact very little has changed on the bike at all. Electric start, which this bike doesn't have, wasn't even introduced until 2000. All previous models start the old fashioned way, with leg power.
Currently I'm hunting for a Royal Enfield Bullet to own. They require lots of work, which is what I'm after. Maybe that makes no sense to most people in a time of appliance-like motorcycles which are expected to work without fail like we expect a microwave oven or a television to work without fail. It's true that I don't want to perform maintainence work on my microwave before I heat up a leftover piece of pizza. But I have a completely different feeling about motorcycles. A motorcyle is not an appliance. It takes far more skill to operate a motorcycle than it does to operate a car or truck. It is also riskier and more exciting -- which are the feelings many riders are after. But I'm after something a little different. I'm after a sense of self-reliance and simplicity that the Royal Enfield requires and presents. I think the most satisfactory motorcycling is when, at the end of a long ride, you know that not only did your riding skills keep the bike safely on the road -- but that it was your knowledge and ability as a mechanic that kept the bike moving forward at all.
The bike above is not stock. It has some add-ons: a tan solo seat, a "pedestrian slicer" number plate on the front fender, and some chrome here and there. The next picture I took of a bike presently at Perry's Motorcycles and Sidecars in Fort Worth, Tx. The seat is the first thing I notice that plainly distinguishes it from the first picture; I'm not too fond of the looks of the stock seat, but it does offer a ride for two. I believe it's a 2003 model, electric start, stock everything. Note that the weird looking arm shaped thing on the crankcase is not as shiny as in the picture above. This is the stock timing chain cover; the polished cover costs extra.
The next picture is of a 1998 Classic 350, the owner lives in Mexico. He writes about this bike a little bit on the owners group website. This bike shows that the styling of the Royal Enfield very much comes from the mid-fifties era of motorcycle design. In fact very little has changed on the bike at all. Electric start, which this bike doesn't have, wasn't even introduced until 2000. All previous models start the old fashioned way, with leg power.
Currently I'm hunting for a Royal Enfield Bullet to own. They require lots of work, which is what I'm after. Maybe that makes no sense to most people in a time of appliance-like motorcycles which are expected to work without fail like we expect a microwave oven or a television to work without fail. It's true that I don't want to perform maintainence work on my microwave before I heat up a leftover piece of pizza. But I have a completely different feeling about motorcycles. A motorcyle is not an appliance. It takes far more skill to operate a motorcycle than it does to operate a car or truck. It is also riskier and more exciting -- which are the feelings many riders are after. But I'm after something a little different. I'm after a sense of self-reliance and simplicity that the Royal Enfield requires and presents. I think the most satisfactory motorcycling is when, at the end of a long ride, you know that not only did your riding skills keep the bike safely on the road -- but that it was your knowledge and ability as a mechanic that kept the bike moving forward at all.
Saturday, October 18, 2003
This Blog will be all about Royal Enfield Bullets and modifications to Bullets and riding them on short and long trips. I want to have some pics up here ... we'll see about that.
