The first couple of weeks were a real dud as far as car spotting. It wasn’t until I spotted a Honda Beat in its JDM zebra upholstered glory in the HEB parking lot that things started to pick up.
HEBeat.
Blue BMW 2002 – I think it was a later one, with square taillamps. It sounded like it might need a valve adjustment, but the paint looked good.
White First Gen Firebird – nice looking and sounding, with blue trim. Better looking than it’s Camaro brother? Yes, it is.
Pale yellow 2nd Generation Ford Ranchero – Looked like it had been clobbered multiple times, leaving no body panel unscathed. The bed was cocked at an odd angle at the back. Yet there it was, hauling its owner to the post office.
Purple 4th Gen Cadillac Couple de Ville with saddle brown top – Sparkling fresh looking paint job on a debadged exterior. Top up and windows rolled up, so the a/c was sure to be blowing cold as it schoonered up Lamar in the August heat.
2021 Ford Bronco – Boss yelled “New Bronco!” and pointed out the window. Looks like a new Bronco pulled in the sparsely filled lot. Pulled to a stop and folks popped out and started fiddling with the roof. It was black, and five stories below, so that’s about it.
Dodge Attitude – Chihauhuan plates made plain this stranger, which is just a Hyundai Accent with Dodge plates built for Mexico. Not a Hellcat.
2 Smart ForTwos (an ForFour?) within 5 minutes. And not the same one. The first was bronze with a black “blade.” The second, white with a blue icon of an electric plug on the side.
Audit R8 in Configurator Default Grey with Black blade. Kind of a snooze, to be honest.
C63 AMG – Best sounding car, and I think it was on a stock exhaust.
Big ol’ hawk. While on a walk, a big ol’ hawk came crashing just yards overhead into a live oak. Some flaff and scuffle, then took off across an open green space. Circle of life to me, lunchtime for the hawk.
Back in 2012 I bought another Triumph Tiger. I took it on the only really long motorcycle trip with a friend, an experienced motorcycle traveller, circumnavigating New Mexico.
My buddy’s approach to motorcycle touring is founded on the principle that rolling down long stretches of boring road is for suckers. He also had a wife who didn’t mind driving the Toyota as a chase vehicle, and was also a terrific travel coordinator, carefully making notes of lodging and points of interest. He hooked up a two bike trailer to his 4Runner and we travelled the long stretch from central Texas to New Mexico in comfort. As we left the concentrated animal feeding operations behind and approached Ruidoso we pulled over and saddled up. Although it was early summer, the drive up the beautiful roads to the air conditioned elevations was liberating, and I could wind blow the anxious chaff off my mind.
We took some long rides out of Silver City, looping past the copper mine and Hatch, another headed toward on the cliff dwellings on NM 15. NM 15 was a beautiful road, but nerve racking in its narrow twistiness combined with the deep shadows of the trees. Combined with deer and yellow-line crossing BMWs, I started to loose confidence in my ability to maneuver my new Tiger. We headed north, battling slick tar snakes that bisected the carrot orchards up to Farmington (which came out as Framingham in my mind, residual phonetic collision from my brief time in Massachusetts). The next targeted road was US 64 to Chama through Abiquiu then to our lodging in Española. We were both a little disappointed starting out, as the guides hyped this road as a 4 star can’t-miss top-notch road, but we were riding a four lane dived highway with construction and big box retail. Within an hour or so, I was riding on a road that was everything that was promised. My riding had improved by this time, and I was able to talk to the Tiger, and understand what the Tiger was saying to me. I had reached a motorcycle state of peace and joy, rolling up over a rise near the reservoir, following the road that followed the hills, in harmony with the machine that connected me to the land, in the land of enchantment, followed by a partial eclipse.
On the road from Chama to Española. My new bike and my friend’s trusty ST1100 with many more miles than any motorcycle I’ve ever had.
We road up the high road to Taos, circled the ring of fire, then back down the low road that traces the rapid path of water down from the mountain in the shade of pines. Cutting a corner through a valley I noticed silence. No wind noise – I felt like I could light a match while cruising along at 60 mph. This likely would mean trouble at the next corner. Sure enough, the road straightened out and hit the plain headed to Las Vegas, NM. It was all I could do to keep from being blown into oncoming traffic. We trailered up and headed back to Texas.
The Tiger was a good bike: predictable in handling, rheostatic power delivery from the throttle, and well put together. It also carried me to the first MotoGP race at the brand new Circuit of the Americas. I did feel like an imposter at time. The bike was intended for adventures and dirt roads. I never got a feel for the dirt, and didn’t ride on many adventures. I’m sure it found a happy home, and is ripping up a dirt road somewhere.
6th Gen Camaro V6 with missing catalytic converter. The noise was not bitchin’. Good luck, buddy. Everyone for about 5 blocks knows you got the base model.
Some sort of Harley Davidson with the special S&S Fartblaster Megaphone exhaust. Ape hangers. Loud but not good.
The new Land Rover Defender in Maytag White. Not maybe as cool as I hoped. The back end is ok, but the front just looks like generic Land Rover. They aren’t targeting me, so good luck, Landy.
3 Crown Vics. One white with steelies, likely former fleet, but Not a Police Interceptor (NPI). Another in bookkeeper beige. The third was a still working taxi. The Panther body refuses to die.
2 Ford Explorers – Well, likely many, many more, but I observed the ubiquitous Explorer in full state trooper dress, and a law enforcement plain clothes Explorer. The plain clothes Explored was notable primarily for the steelies, just like on the old Crown Vics. A couple of weeks ago the new Walker TV show was filming near my office. They had lined up the Chargers that were all made up like Texas Ranger Highway Enforcement cars and some of the genuine article (I even think they were maybe some of the remaining Crown Vics – I don’t think Texas DPS ever went to the Taurus.)
70s era Air Cool VW Beetle. Looked kinda like this, only no balloon, and fewer occupants.
A Dyna Bro – Had only discovered what a Dyna Bro was earlier that day, and spotted one just hours later. The power of taxonomy – things only become visible when they have a name, then it’s too late. You are surrounded.
Mid Seventies International Harvester Scout II – Dressed in oxidized white with distressed denim panels. When I was old enough to drive, but still young enough to be a Boy Scout, I was waiting for some camping event when a fellow Scout’s father rolled up in a newish Scout II. I made some disparaging remark about how my Jeep Commando was a more capable vehicle, to which the father inquired as to where this Commando was. I sheepishly admitted that it was in the shop. Stings to this day. Boasting lesson received, but probably not learned.
Mid 70s BMW 5-Series (E12) – Color unremarkable (which means I don’t remember, but was probably grey or silver), but it had those c-pillar vents that were the fashion at the time.
W123 Mercedes sedans – Two! One spotted in real life (in silver) another at the movies (Black Widow). The W123 Mercedes role as “Moroccan Taxi” was a small but pivotal role, played with subtlety.
Second Generation Pontiac Phoenix – Spotted in Season 1 Episode 13 of “Superman and Lois.” The Smallville girl lures young Jonathan Kent into skipping school and taking a ride in her aging Pontiac. She’s confident about her ride, and defends it against some snark from Kent. I really did think it was a Chevy Citation, like what my dad drove, but the grill was different, and the hood clearly said “Pontiac.” Kudos to the car casting. It would have been easy to put her in a square body Chevy pick-up (or a Chevette). I mean, how many X-body GMs could be in Smallville? I would imagine that they’d all have fully oxidized and returned to the soil, or been cash-for-clunkered out of this mortal plane. Could the X-Body have significance to the plot? Is it tied to X-Kryptonite? No. That’s just stupid.
While slurping my healing lunchtime pho in February 2017, I figured I’d buy my self a gift for surviving chemotherapy. Six months of nausea deserves at least a hot hatch, maybe a muscle car, and researching cars was a solid distraction from both my mortality and my masters program.
A rainy day in March, I test drove a Camaro. Beautiful car, some sort of anniversary edition in bright blue with a brown leather interior. First car I drove with a rev matching manual, which was fun, even though it felt like cheating. It was as hard to see out of as I had been led to believe, which may be due to my odd shape. I’m just over 6′ but have short legs. Combined with a low pressure salesman it was on the list.
Bitchin’
I later test drove a Volkswagen GTI. I intended to test drive a Golf R, but the VW dealer wasn’t going to let that happen. The GTI was fun, nimble, useful, but I hesitated due to the fact it was freshly criminal organization. The dealer even reminded me of that when I entered, as my initial greeting was “You here to get rid of your criminally polluting diesel?” or words to that effect.
Another chemo treatment later and Focus RSs were showing up on lots after the initial pre-order rush. I visited the nearest dealer with my wife and son. Salesman happily tossed me the keys and we went for a test drive. It was the same test route that they had used when I test drove the SVT Contour, only it was much more fun. The RS reminded me of my old GSXR, a built for purpose weapon with a smirk of arrogance. It knew it was a better car than I was a driver. I went back later to negotiate in the most traditional and painful way of waiting that discussing than waiting. During one waiting period, the anti-nausea drugs started to wear off. I got some water, and informed the salesman that I was going to have to go. I must have looked as bad as I felt, as he and the sales manager seemed genuinely concerned. I motored home, and bought the car the next day.
In the Texas Oncology parking garage
I really enjoyed that RS. Every drive was an adventure, the Nitrous Blue sparkled in the sun, and the thing snorted and gripped and snarled on demand. I signed up for the performance driving school day in Tooele, Utah that was offered as a free option with the car. The following July, we flew out to visit my wife’s family in northern New Mexico, then rented a car and took a few days driving to Mesa Verde, Moab, and Salt Lake City. Despite my slowness, the driving school was top notch, professionally run, and made me realize that even a few hours with a driving coach could make me faster than any bolt on performance part. Any manufacturer that sells a performance vehicle should offer an opportunity like the program offered by Ford.
Tooele. A great day.
The same level of professionalism was not top of mind for the head gasket team at the Ford Assembly plant in the Alsace Lorraine. The Focus’ coolant level was dropping, and it started to run a little hot. Then I got the dreaded headgasket notice, and took it to the dealer. Four weeks of hating life behind a loaner Focus SE (with the cursed DCT transmission) later and I finally got the blue car back. It ran ok. I’m not sure if it was just an internal bias, but it wasn’t the same. The start/stop stopped working (no big deal, but it worked before). A few months later, I took a short trip to the corner store and the coolant temperature needle pegged into the H zone and it shut down. I let it cool down, then limped it the block home. I filled it with more distilled water than I thought necessary, and scheduled an appointment with the dealer (it was oil change time anyway). The service writer said, yeah, nothing to worry about. All good. And here’s a “how start/stop works for total idiots” cheat sheet.
I was not satisfied with the level of service. And, when I popped the hood when I got home, I didn’t even look like they used a funnel when they changed the oil.
So what to do. I really enjoyed that car, and my son really enjoyed riding in it. I planned on it being his car when he got older. What was up with the car? Why don’t I trust the dealer? I really didn’t want to get into an eternal battle with the Ford dealership.
Star v. Oval. Star won.
Cancer again guided the response. About a year before, my wife had been laid off her job, and collected a severance payout sufficient that she could take a year off, be active in my son’s final year in elementary school. Her return to the workforce was delayed due to her cancer diagnosis. I figured it was time to exercise some fiscal responsibility. The inherited Mercedes became a daily driver and I sold the RS through Carvana in a reasonably painless process.
At 195,300 miles, I replaced the two fuel filters, the air filter, and the air cleaner mounts on the 1982 Mercedes 300D.
The clear, inline filter was showing some crud and was turning an unsavory color, so I replaced it with a new one, and replaced the cartridge filter at the same time. I think the last tank or so of diesel I got had been sitting around at the pump for a while, so I probably grab some more additive to pour in with the next tank.
The air cleaner mounts are pretty simple, but two of the three had sheared. In this state the air cleaner did a wakka wakka hula with rattle-knock on the side. With luck, these new mounts will last, but since I got them from FCP Euro, they came with a lifetime warranty!
Also adjusted the steering box in effort to isolate the pull to the right. Maybe helped?
I’ve started to go back into the office a couple of times a week. It’s helped with my daily step count as I take a couple of walks up and down an adjacent reasonably active, but slow moving street. Good spot for car spotting, some samples below.
198? Honda CRX – Metalhead spec, with visible body damage, steel wheels finished in rattle can black, and elbow out an open window on very muggy 95 degree afternoon. Rock on.
20?? Mercedes Benz E63 AMG Wagon- Black with yellow brake calipers and likely some enhancements exhaust-wise. Best sounding vehicle all month.
2008? Dodge Caliber SRT4 – Man, I forget this was even a thing. I do remember the Neon SRT4. Looked in top shape, too. As the etymologist in Silence of the Lambs says when examining the cocoon Starling brings him “somebody loved it.”
202? BMW M7 – It has been so long since I’ve seen a recent model BMW 7 series in the wild, I almost forgot they existed. I bet I’ve seen a couple of dozen S-Class AMGs before I spotted this M7. It was equipped in the Storm Trooper Helmet Appearance Package (white with black accents).
Bonus:
Spotted in the lot when parking to see the latest Furious film, an Aston Martin DB11.
I made some changes to my T100, but holy smokes, they took longer than I thought they would.
At the Carousel. Do not look at my sagging fork gaiters.
Suspension: This was the easy part- the suspension on this era Bonneville is a widely acknowledged weak spot, remedied by the aftermarket. I ordered new rear shocks and progressive fork springs from Hagon. When ordering the shocks and springs, I had to share my weight. I cheated and gave a pre-pandemic estimate. I’m going to slim down, I promise. (I remember when I dropped 20 pounds a few years ago and remember “hey, my bike is faster” and a friend commenting “because you aren’t carrying the equivalent of a big sack of dog food on the back.” Motorcycles are really sensitive to weight, but I’m sensitive about my weight. Regardless, the shocks look good and the fork springs were a direct replacement, so no mucking about with spacers and cutting PVC pipe.
Brakes: When I ordered the suspension, I also ordered some brake pads. The front brakes were soft, and the rear barely there. There rear brakes aren’t much to begin with, but I could use a little more help in an emergency stop, and something to hold me on a hill at a stop light. The fluid was probably from G. W. Bush’s second term, so it was due for a flush.
Rear brakes went according to the Factory Service Manual. Front brakes resisted. When replacing the pads, the caliper pistons wouldn’t push back far enough in to the caliper to allow enough space between the new pads to grip the disc. The pistons were coated with a substantial layer of crud. I figured I have to pull the pistons and clean them off, so I ordered some new piston seals from a UK seller on eBay. After a couple of weeks, they post office said the package was “in or near the mailbox.” But they weren’t. Had someone snaked them from my mailbox? I waited a day to see if they finally showed up, and they didn’t so ordered another set from a seller in Arizona. They arrived a couple of days later. I pulled the pistons, replaced the seals, which involved more finesse in pushing around a slick rubber donut in a thimble sized container than my fat digits were accustomed. But seal them I did. Of course, the day after I got them installed, the package of the UK seals arrived. Now I have a spare.
I flushed the brake fluid with some fresh DOT4, and took a couple of laps around the block to bed them it, and checked the front caliper for leaks incase I messed up the seals. The change of pads and fluid made a real improvement, with nice firm progressive stops, and the seals are doing their jobs.
Instead, look at my hot bass playing wife!
Results: Friday I took it for a test ride to see a band at the Carousel Lounge. Everything seems to work ok. The suspension makes for a different ride, and I’ll have to double check everything to make sure that all the actions are as designed. But it stopped and ran and went around corners. And looked good doing it.
That may be end of messing with the Triumph for while. Time to put some miles on it, and maybe fine tune the suspension. It needs sprockets and a chain, but I may get a professional to handle that.
Well, I went to bike dealership to get an air filter for my old bike. I asked a salesman about the SR/F, and he said, “Go ahead, take it on a test ride.” That was enough. I had some cash set aside for fun time money spend, and this opportunity presented itself.
Alternatives?
Yeah, I had been daydreaming about a new motorcycle since the pandemic started. The Indian FTR was a consideration, but I figured it may be too much like my Bonneville. I was leaning electric, and the only other options are the Harley LiveWire (which sound like a terrific bike, with DC fast charging, but way too much money at $30,000) and the Energica line. The new Energicas have more range, but also are liquid cooled and chain driven, cancelling out some of my low maintenance targets. Zero has been around for 15 years, and AF1 (where I bought the Zero) has been carrying them for at least 7 or 8 of those, and is big Zero dealer.
Electric? So it’s different?
Yeah, it is different. No clutch, just a rheostat of speed at your right hand. No vibrations, no chugging noisy drama when you start it up, no thunder when ripping away from a stop sign. Just smooth speed, and the ability to focus on the road and the hazards. It’s not that I don’t like the smell, vibes, and noisy drama of a piston engine – I’m not giving up my Bonneville. The Zero is a different beast. It’s a big electric cat.
Any memorable rides yet?
I’ve taken a couples of rides around my selection of “after work twisty roads.” The electric motor helped me focus on the corner with out worrying about where I was in the gear/rpm/torque spectrum. I took a ride out to the “most photographed Lutheran church in Central Texas” and tried to take some pictures with my wife’s fancy camera, but forgot how to focus. The roads to the east have dips and wallows and lots of 90 degree corners, but also peaceful fields filled with sleepy cows.
May have to go back and get a better shop.
Anxious about range? Charging?
Not really. I looked at my motorcycle usage over the past few years, and I figured that the 100 miles or so of range is probably plenty. It’s got a Level 2 charger, so a lunch time plug-in may be necessary for a longer trip.
When I first got it home, I plugged the charging cable into the outlet in the car port. Red light. Tried the outlet in the kitchen. Red light. Finally, the garage which we had build about 10 years ago. Green light. I was panicked for a little while, but also added “find reliable electrician before going shopping for another electrical vehicle.”
Maintenance
Although it may seem hi-tech, the SR/F is way simpler than a piston bike for maintenance. No fluids (except brake fluid), no gears, and a belt drive cut down the need for fiddling. My concern is the software that manages the battery and motor. So far, though, so good.
Money back?
There’s a $2,500 tax credit for electric motorcycles purchased in 2021, and I already got the $300 credit from the City of Austin.
What’s next?
My only current beef with the SR/F is the seat. I feel like I’m pivoting into the “tank” and want to slide back. I’m not sure if a taller seat or lower pegs (or an alternative seat) may solve this problems, or if I’ll just adapt to it.
I want to plan a day long trip with a charging lunch. I just a matter of sitting down with the Butler maps and Plugshare to map it out.
As a fully vaccinated citizen of Texas, I went to a honky tonk last Tuesday to see perennial Best Country Band Fingerpistol. I’ve known the bass player for a long time, and I wanted to show him my new bike. It would be the first time to see live music in a live music venue in a year and first time to visit Ginny’s Little Longhorn since the passing of Ginny.
Wait a second, there didn’t used to be all those condos right across the street.
I’ve been reasonably lucky that I don’t have a job that requires face to face contact with the public. When I have gone into the office, I’ve been unmasked and distanced at my cubicle, but masked when prowling the sparsely travelled hallways. When a business asks me to wear a mask, I wear a mask. It’s not hard, and the right thing to do. As of last Tuesday, what with the CDC, and Governor Abbott, and Mayor Adler, the mask thing was more ephemeral than ever, although it may be breathing easier.
Stage Two means Fun and Games
Rode my new mint electric stallion down Burnet, and carried my burnt orange mask in my pocket, figuring I’d roll with the local custom. And the custom was pretty much maskless dancing in a crowded bar. There were some wearing them, most notably my friend the bass player (does not sing), and the bartender’s rode on her chin. (But, to be sure, I was masked when gathering provisions at the HEB the next day, because everyone else was.)
I didn’t mind. I kept the mask in my pocket, ordered a draft Lone Star, and enjoyed the show. I chatted with my friend the bass player at a break, about my bike, about his flying, and it seemed like maybe things are getting back to normal again.
Portrait of Ginny
Somethings will never be the same. Ginny is remembered, but forever gone.
Some things will never change. The recent transplant asking for an IPA that’s not too hoppy on my right, a native asking for two Miller Lites on my left. From my perspective, Ginny’s hasn’t been the same since they took the pickled eggs off the bar, but that’s just me.
The One In Five 