Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater
Sun, 23 Dec 2007
Yep, definitely too much free time
That's right, some mad coincidence of fate and vacation time (and the fact that there's really nothing else to do) has allowed me to labor over my longest and most intensive CL175 video to date:
I kinda wish I'd had more time, but the 10 minute YouTube limit reigned me in. At the same time, it wasn't quite two episodes' worth of material. Still, I think it's neat to see film of building up a new wheel.
Posted at 17:14 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Sat, 22 Dec 2007
I must have had some free time...
Improbably, I have the fifth video in the CL175 series posted:
Ah, the many joys of knowing you don't have to go back to work for a week or two... 1:30 in the morning? Who cares! At this rate, I'll have two more installments up before I get back to the daily grind.
Posted at 01:27 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Tue, 18 Dec 2007
So, if you've been paying any attention at all, you'll be aware that I'm getting ready to race next year. Rather than leave it all to the last minute, I registered this week. It'd be really unfortunate to leave it and find that I was too late to get into the various classes necessary to get a race license.
I cruised over to the WMRRA New Racer page, and read through the whole thing. Ok, that all makes sense, I thought to myself. I was raring and ready to go, so I downloaded the application form, and started reading over it.
That's when things got a little unhappy. On the web page, it's plainly spelled out that there's a $50 fee, which covers the class and your membership in WMRRA. That's cool. But on the form I downloaded, there was no mention of $50. Instead, there was a $110 choice, and a $60 choice. If you're quick with your subtraction, you'll see that there's a $50 difference between those numbers, so fifty dollars was somehow involved, but not explicitly.
This got me grumpy. I don't like to be told one thing in one place, and a completely different thing in another place. If they'd just said right up front, "Send us $110, and we'll get started," I would have been perfectly happy. Instead, the website says:
NRS Classroom SessionThe cost of the NRS classroom session is $50. This also includes your WMRRA membership fee. NRS On-Track SegmentThe costs of the NRS on-track segment can be found by visiting the websites for the WMRRA approved NRS on-track providers; 2-Fast or Sullivan Race School |
Then, once all the apparently-pertinent information has been divulged, you get:
| After passing both the classroom & on-track segments, you may purchase your Novice Race License for $60. An added benefit of WMRRA membership is that many local motorcycle shops offer discounts to WMRRA racers. |
Naturally, my mind skipped right past this paragraph. Ok, that's my fault, but the wording is pretty clear: send us $50 and this application to take the class.
The application, then, details two possible fees: $110 for the class and your race license, or $60 for the license only. Ok, so there's no option for membership only? No option for "just the class please?" It's just sloppiness, but it's the kind of sloppiness that immediately raises my ire.
I got over that, although it still bugs me.
Then, I went on to the track sessions, once they were announced. This year, WMRRA is doing a new thing, and has outsourced their track school sessions, to 2-Fast, and Sullivan Racing School. I'd worked with 2-Fast before, and although I wasn't charmed with their organizational abilities, they were good enough, and once I'd cut through the crap, they were good at what they were doing. I looked up their offering.
Ah, good, I thought, March 19th. Excellent timing, just 10 days after the classroom time. Then I saw the price. $289. Ok, that's more than I paid for my track day with instruction last year, and, much more importantly, when Jesse did his track class for the race license, it was either $100 or $150. I'm not here to help you out with profiteering!
I looked up the Sullivan prices: look, I get two choices! $300, or $325! Fantastic. This whole thing is totally shaping up to be a ton cheaper than just doing track days. Sure is.
So, I'm signed up with 2-Fast, because I'm too far down the path to be deterred by an extra hundred bucks I wasn't expecting. I do, however, reserve the right to be supremely annoyed, and gripe on at least a solid handful of occasions. And if the 2-Fast school is less than stellar, turn on your naughty-word filters before you read the journal entry following that event...
Posted at 11:37 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Mon, 17 Dec 2007
Posted at 08:43 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Sun, 16 Dec 2007
If you like motorcycles and/or video games and haven't yet tried Tourist Trophy, you owe it to yourself to give it a try.
I was randomly playing around with the "Grand Valley Speedway" track, which is a relatively curvy track, with a straightaway. Just out of curiosty, I tried out a few different bikes, to see what kind of time I could turn in with one lap.
Yamaha MT01 (88 HP, 240 kg, .366 hp/kg): 2' 25"
Suzuki Hayabusa (172 HP, 217 kg, .793 hp/kg): 2' 22"
Yamaha TZ125 (43 HP, 72 kg, .597 hp/kg): 2' 18"
I love that my fastest time was on the tiniest bike in the whole game. To be fair, it also has a fabulous power to weight ratio, but it's still funny.
All these people all worked up about getting the biggest bike they can. Of course, this isn't real life, they're not real bikes, and track riding is vastly different from riding on the street. Still. Funny.
(And as a PS, I just turned in a 2' 25" lap on the CB400SS, which is probably my favorite bike in the whole game; it's only 31 HP and 127 kg, for .244 hp/kg, but it's most like what I'll actually be riding around a real track next year.)
Posted at 00:48 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Sat, 15 Dec 2007
Oh. Huh. Yeah, that might be a problem.
I've been trying to track down this lack of power problem with my new/old motorcycle. It feels exactly like it's running out of fuel -- it just kind of runs out of steam, like it's an old man who's done a sprint, but that's all he's got in him.
So I've been tracking down the path of carburetion. It feels like a carburetion problem, like it's running out of gas. Obviously, if you run out of gas, you can't make power. Duh.
To that end, I rebuilt and replaced everything in the carburetion path that I could get my hands on. It's all shiny and new. So I went out last night to check it out, and... yeah, it's exactly the same. What's weird is that it's exactly the same problem. I made all these changes to the carburetion system, and it's still exactly the same?
So I sent a quietly desperate message to the F-160 mailing list last night, detailing my problem. I got some good suggestions back, and started going through them one by one.
The two big ones that I hadn't already tried were to test compression, and check the spark plug caps/wires. Since the compression test would be easier to do, I started with that one.
Test one, on the left cylinder: 110ish PSI. Hmm. Seemed a bit low, but I moved to the other side, since the real test is whether there's a big difference between the cylinders. Hmm. 90ish PSI. That's... well, it's not the 25% danger limit, but 90 PSI seems really low. So I checked the book.
I was just glancing over the Compression Test procedure as outlined. I spied a number, and started reading:
...For example, on the first kick the gauge might indicate 90 psi; teh second kick, 140 psi; the third kick, 160 psi, etc.
Woah. Back up there. 90 PSI on the first kick? Whaaa? Something is clearly wrong here. So I skipped a little, and read:
Normal compression pressure at sea level will be about 140-170 psi, decreasing with altitude.
Oh, hmm. That doesn't sound good. And I'm basically at sea level, so... I guess... Yep, I guess the engine's coming apart.
So, it looks like the CL project is on hold until January. I'm not about to launch into dismantling an engine with the holidays looming as they do.
Ultimately, I can't be too upset about this (and I'm not, just a little disappointed). I knew what I was doing when I bought a 36 year old motorcycle. There was a pretty reasonable chance that I'd need to rebuild the engine, even with low mileage. Fortunately, this engine is pretty simple to rebuild. Good thing I'm not trying to do this with a modern 4 cylinder engine, they're so complex I probably wouldn't try.
Posted at 12:22 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Sat, 08 Dec 2007
If you've ever worked on an old vehicle (or really anything complex that's been out of production for a long time), you've doubtless encountered that point where you really just need a new part, and you have no idea how you're going to get that part.
I hit that point yesterday -- I managed to partially crush one of the floats in my carburetor. This is a sort of brass bauble which is shaped like a pair of round, lenticular pills scaled up until they're bigger than a quarter, connected together by an ornate bar. Each float in the pair is made out of very thin brass sheet, soldered together. It didn't take much pressure to crush the one.
As I yanked my fingers away from the damaged part, several thoughts cross my mind, none of which are suitable for a family-friendly journal such as this. After I calmed down a little, the thought crossed my mind, "Where am I going to get a replacement float?"
I could probably repair it. It comes in two pieces, and could at least in theory be popped apart by the application of a bunch of heat and the removal of a bunch of solder. Popping it back into shape then would be a simple matter, but the act of desoldering and resoldering the float doesn't actually sound that simple, and things usually turn out to be much more difficult than I think they will be.
There's a local 160 racing guy, Tim, who has a couple sheds packed to the ceilings with 160 and 175 parts. He'd probably have a float for me. There's a local motorcycle junkyard that might have something for cheap, and there's another which might have something for far too much money.
I joined Jesse today for a ride up to Cycle Barn. The expensive junkyard, Bent Bike, is on the way, so we stopped in. The guy behind the counter thought he might have a CL175 carburetor he could sell me, but not just a float. The carb, he said, would be about $60. Ouch. I passed, deciding I'd call Tim later.
We got to Cycle Barn, which is a huge multi-brand dealership with extremely sketchy salesmen, but usually friendly and helpful parts and accessories folks. One of their brands is Honda, so while Jesse went over to check out helmets, I drifted towards the parts counter.
One of the parts guys said, "How can I help you?"
"Well," said I, "I'm wondering if you can still get parts for a 1972 Honda."
He looked at me not quite like I'd just asked for a day-old dead fish. Instead of saying what was doubtless running through his mind, he said, "Let's see," and started typing on his computer. After a moment, he asked which model, and I told him what I was looking for. The dead fish look came back, but was quickly squelched.
While Guy #1 was typing away, Guy #2 looked over at me, and said, "Oh yeah, is that one of those Scramblers? I had one, a '68 or a '69. I loved that bike." Guys #3 and #4 looked on as if we were speaking Martian. Did they really make motorcycles in 1972? their faces seemed to say. That's so much older than me that it doesn't even make sense, their faces eloquently continued. Undeterred, I looked back at Guy #1, who had apparently located something.
With a look of surprise on his face, he said, "Um, yeah. Actually, there are 5 of them in California. I can have them here by Thursday."
I boggled. Was he seriously suggesting that Honda is still making (or at least stocking) weird incidental parts for a 36 year old motorcycle? "Um," I said eloquently. "Um. How much do they cost?" I was expecting the worst. Honda (literally) charges $1200 for the exhaust system of a 1982 Goldwing, although they no longer sell major chunks of it. But if they did, they'd charge you $1200 for it. I expected to hear, "Oh, it says here they're $150 each, but I can sell them to you for $100 each." 'Cause we're all pals, right?
He glanced down at his screen, and said, "$23.65 each." Our eyes met across the top of his stylishly out of date LCD flat panel monitor. "Huh," I said, wondering when he was going to add the one onto the front of the number.
With no extra digits forthcoming, I dithered for a moment, then said, "I'll take two." After all, you never know: those 5 floats might be the last five Honda will ever ship to North America. Who would have guessed I could actually get these things brand new, from a dealer?
Posted at 20:52 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Fri, 07 Dec 2007
The old fashioned, down-home jettin' blues
Jetting a carburetor, for all intents and purposes, sucks.
That's where the CL175 is now. I've tackled the big, gross problems, and I'm starting to move onto the smaller, subtler problems. In this case, jetting.
When I rode the bike into work a few weeks ago, it was fine, but I noticed it seemed to lack power going up a hill. Other than that, it was ok, and I figured maybe I was just getting used to it. Then I started riding it with a more critical eye toward the problem, and discovered that it was losing power at full throttle. Not just "You're riding a wimpy bike" losing power, but obviously "This bike should be making more power, but something's holding it back."
So, with a bit more research, I decided that it must have a fuel flow problem. It felt exactly as if it could sustain full throttle for a moment, but then it would run out of power, as if gas just wasn't arriving at the carburetor fast enough. If I let the throttle go, so that it was using practically no fuel, I could get another momentary burst of full throttle before it went all feeble again.
I pulled off the tank, and rattled around a length of chain inside it, trying to knock all the rust off. I flushed it with gasoline, through a series of coffee filters until there was nothing else showing up (and got a goodly collection of rust flakes and crud in the process). I pulled the petcock and carefully cleaned it out and blew compressed air through every passageway, although it was already pretty much spotless. I pulled off the carburetors, and checked the float height, which seemed to be spot on.
After all that, I went and rode it. It was, if anything, worse than before. I don't know if my expectations changed, or if the carburetion got even worse, but it was just terrible now. It'd run at a cruising speed and with mild acceleration, but anything close to full acceleration sapped its strength something fierce.
So, tonight, I pulled off the carbs and cleaned them thoroughly, getting off all the crud and making everything as beautiful as possible. I unclogged jets, and set float levels properly, and did everything. I even fixed a pinhole leak in one of the floats (although I also dented it, so that was definitely a "one step forward, two steps back" kind of operation). After all that, I went out and rode it up and down the block, and.... The exact same problem.
So now, I'm kind of stumped. It's acting exactly as if it's running out of fuel, but I've done everything I can to make sure it's not (even including filling up the tank). If I run it much more like this, I'm going to damage the engine from running too lean.
I've got a couple of carb rebuild kits on the way, but I don't think they'll solve anything -- the wear and damage in the current parts should be making it run too rich, if anything. The adjustments I've made should also be aiming it much more at the "too rich" side of things, yet it persists in running too lean.
When it has fuel, it runs really well (so I think the jetting is actually about right), but all too quickly, it seems to run out of fuel in the float bowls, and the game's all over. Very, very frustrating.
Posted at 09:14 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Thu, 06 Dec 2007
The Great Flood of Aught-Seven!
You may have been aware that this last weekend, there was record rainfall in the Pacific Northwest. In fact, we got just over 5 inches of rain in a 24 hour period on Monday. It was gushing.
In my house, where I've lived since mid-2000, the most dampness I've ever seen in the basement was a thimble's worth of water after a ridiculously heavy rainstorm. The garage occasionally gets a little water across the floor, but it's never very bad. So, I really wasn't that worried, since at the time, it was just heavy rain, not "record rainfall."
On Monday, I was scheduled to fly to San Jose for business. I would fly out in the afternoon, so I packed up my bags the night before, and headed out Monday morning to load up the Xtracycle. It was raining hard, which I was glad of, since it had cleared up any chance of the snow from Saturday being an issue on the bike.
I opened the door to the garage, and was greeted by the sight of 75% of the floor sitting under a half inch of water. Not a big deal, really, since there's very little in the garage that can be damaged by water. I kind of giggled about it, just because it was so unusual. I picked up a few things I'd rather not soak in water (because they might rust), and loaded the bike. The bags got wrapped in plastic bags, and I was fully kitted out in my rain cape and spats.
It was a wet ride in to work, but amazingly, I arrived with only the faintest dampness about me, and my bags totally dry. I was pretty pleased about that.
However, as the day wore on, I found myself worrying more and more about the basement of my house, which I'd neglected to check before I left in the morning -- I had just installed new carpet earlier this year to "help sell the house," and there were a bunch of boxes stacked up waiting to be unpacked. Finally, at lunch time, I couldn't bear the uncertainty: could I really fly to San Jose for half a week when my house might be knee-deep in water? Answer: no. So I borrowed Kristin's car, and drove up to the house.
I walked in, and thought, "Well, the upstairs doesn't look particularly damp," figuring I'd at least see some condensation on the windows if there were really water in the basement. Of course, by my clever, bludgeon-like foreshadowing, you know what I found.
The basement was indeed wet. Far wetter than I had ever expected, but not particularly "flooded." The carpet was sopping wet, but there was only about a square foot of carpet where I could see actual standing water. With far more under-the-breath swearing than was strictly necessary, I set about getting all the boxes up off the ground. I had one of those wire baker's racks sitting disassembled nearby, so the shelves became spacers to keep boxes off the wet carpet. Other boxes were moved to drier parts of the basement -- the water seemed to be coming in at one corner, and spreading from there.
My new storage room (full up with shelves) was fortunately dry, so at least I didn't have to move stuff in there. So was the to-be music room, although I still picked up the various instruments and put them on tables and chairs. The only thing worse than a German plywood cello would be a sopping wet German plywood cello (in my cello's defense, I really like the tone of it, it's just made with the wrong glue).
Having run out of wire shelves, I clumsily unfolded the clever folding ladder I have, and laid it out on the ground so I could stack boxes on it. This was actually much harder than I make it sound, since I foolishly first tried to unfold it in a room which was too small, and had to (after numerous grunting, swearing false starts) fold it back up and move it out to the big central room of the basement. I finally got it folded out, and boxes set up on it.
I now had all the boxes off the wet carpet, but the carpet was still soaking wet. I ran out to the garage, and grabbed the shop vac (a 10-gallon model -- this will be important later), which can safely vacuum up water. I even managed to locate the "squeegee attachment" to the shop vac, which I'd decided long ago I'd never use. Hah!
Then it was down to the squishy carpet. Earmuffs on. Vacuum power, and suck! I probably spent an hour energetically squeegee-ing the carpet with the vacuum running, and managed to make a visible difference in the carpet -- I got it several shades lighter, and by the time I was done, it was much better. Still wet to the touch, but no longer making squish-squish noises as I walked on it. I was sweating up a storm between the squeegee action and the warm, humid environment, but I'd made good progress. I emptied out the 2-3 gallons I'd sucked up, and mentally prepared a journal post about the huge, anticlimactic Great Flood of Aught-Seven. Time to go back to work!
Back to work I went. Finally finishing up around 7, I headed back home. I'd cancelled the trip to San Jose, even though it looked like I'd solved the immediate problem. I figured I still needed to unpack the dampened boxes to prevent mold, and although I had a bunch of fans running over the carpet at home, I really wanted to get a heater to put down there to help accelerate the drying.
I checked on the basement once I got home, and it looked much as I'd left it. I hopped in the awful minivan and headed to the store to get an electric heater. I wanted one for the garage anyway, so I didn't mind spending the twenty bucks.
I got home from my shopping trip, heater in hand, and unpacked the little metal appliance. I traipsed down the stairs, ready to plug it in and start unpacking boxes. Imagine my surprise when I turned on the light downstairs to discover a huge patch of standing water!
More cursing. Earmuffs. Squish-squish over to the vacuum, plug it back in. Power. Suck! I will say this: sucking up standing water is much more gratifying -- you can see the results immediately. Every 10 or 20 minutes, I'd lug the half-full body of the vacuum out to the back yard and dump it out toward the drainage ditch beyond the fence.
From 8:30 that night until midnight, I spent 15 of every 30 minutes sucking up water in the basement. Well, I took a break, but not a good one...
I decided to look outside, and see what kind of awful puddle must be leaning against the foundation to produce such a copious flow of water. I got out there, and found... nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but no visible water. I found a bizarre 3" concrete pipe poking up out of the ground, broken off many years ago at an angle. I shone a flashlight into the pipe, and saw water. Hmm... I looked again. In fact, that water was moving... Hmmm!
I trudged back inside, threw an extension cord out a nearby window, and lugged the shop-vac down to the little pipe. Earmuffs. Power. Suck! With a little jiggling, I was able to get all of the vacuum hose, some light, and some vision down the pipe, and I could see that I was making progress, removing some of the water from whatever it was (I later determined with the help of my dad that it was probably a perimeter drain). At this point, the vacuum seemed to get less effective. It occurred to me that it might be full, so I turned it off, and checked. Sure enough.
Now, allow me to paint a picture for you. It's about 10 pm, dark, with rain that changes between persistent drizzle and torrential downpour about as fast as a kid with ADD switches video games. I'm standing in the five-foot-wide strip of land that separates my house from the next house to the north. The ground is uneven, with some clever previous owner of my house having stacked up low piles of paving stones near the house, which have since become covered over with grass and weeds. There is a 5" tall, 1" diameter stump where my neighbor cut off some aspiring tree, right in the middle of the obvious path down the middle of the strip. My exit from this strip of ankle-twisters is a narrow passageway between my deck and a prickly holly tree, perhaps three feet wide.
I'm standing there, probably steaming slightly in the rain, looking down at the body of a 10 gallon shop-vac, which is full of drecky water I just sucked out of a mysterious hole in the ground next to my house. Water weighs about 8 pounds per gallon. And it sloshes. Yes, I now have to carry an 80 pound, sloshing vat of disgusting water through this dark minefield. I could dump it right there, oh yes, but it would just soak into my basement, or the basement of the next house (which is much deeper than mine). The only choice seemed to be to lug this awful, heavy thing out to the street and dump it there, far from houses.
So, I did. It was about as awful as you can imagine. I only sloshed evil on myself once, and managed to not break any bones in the process, but there were a couple of iffy moments. I did the same thing several more times, but at least I was clever enough to not fill the vacuum completely full, afterwards. 40 pounds of water is much easier to carry. I found that my stopping point was pointed out when the vacuum started blowing a billowing jet of steam. That seemed like a bad thing, so I'd switch it off and go empty the bucket.
I did a few more rounds of this before it became clear that I was attempting to vacuum up all groundwater, 5 gallons at a time. It wasn't a winning proposition, so I went back inside to deal with the stuff that got past my foundation wall. Some time around 10:45, I took a break to eat a quick dinner.
By the time midnight rolled around, the incoming water seemed to have dropped off, and by 12:30 I was feeling confident enough that I could go to bed without awaking to find a foot of water in the basement.
Tuesday was better. I spent an hour in the morning, slowly running the vacuum over sections of carpet. There's a magic angle, at which the vacuum head is really effective (I assume this is the angle where the opening is flat on the ground, so the only way to get air in is via the carpet). Using the magic angle, I was again able to get the carpet shades lighter, but it was slow, uncomfortable work, since it also required that I put weight on the end of the vacuum, which had me bending over in an awkward posture.
I'd have to stop after 5-7 minutes of vacuuming, as the air outlet would start spitting droplets of water that were making it past the filter, although it didn't start steaming again. Tuesday night saw an encore performance with the vacuum, but I knocked off after a couple minutes, since I wasn't really collecting any water to speak of.
That is, so far, the end of the story. Between the fans and the heater, the carpet is now dry to the touch, and I was confident enough this morning that I switched off the heater, although I left the fans running. I unpacked a couple of boxes last night, but apparently I acted fast enough, and everything inside was dry. If we get more record-breaking rain, I'll see more water in the basement, but it's apparent that I don't have to worry about lots of water. I am going to be contacting a contractor about the perimeter drain and waterproofing the foundation.
Considering the awful damage that these storms wrought elsewhere around the state, I got off very lightly. I-5 is still closed, with 6-7 feet of water over the road surface at Chehalis. Countless thousands of basements are under many feet of water. There are no sump pumps to be found in any retail outlet or rental agency anywhere in Seattle, or presumably most other places in the state. So my carpet got damp, big deal!
At least, in the end, it makes for an interesting story....
Posted at 11:19 permanent link category: /misc
Mon, 03 Dec 2007
News flash: Ian uploads third boring video!
It's true. I finished another video on the CL175:
And there's more to come! So, for all 2 of my 10 readers who might enjoy hearing about the repair of an ancient motorcycle, stay tuned!
Posted at 08:27 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Sun, 02 Dec 2007
Milos, Kristin's kitty, was fascinated by the weird white stuff falling outside:
Posted at 10:02 permanent link category: /misc
Sat, 01 Dec 2007
I just got back from the Seattle Motorcycle Show, and figured I'd write up the interesting stuff.
 It's huge! |
 I don't know what he's looking at |
 2008 Ninja 250 instrument panel |
Jesse and I rode down together. There was a forecast for snow, but it didn't look like it'd really happen, and we got down to the exhibition center without incident. We went in, and almost immediately met some of Jesse's friends near the front door. I went to drop off my riding gear at the gear check, and caught up with them a few minutes later.
 My old (2001) Ninja 250 |
 Me on the new (2008) Ninja 250 |
My primary goal for this show was to see the new Ninja 250. If you're not familiar with it, the Ninja 250 is a bike that was originally designed in the late eighties, and had literally not been touched since then, except for paint. That changed this year, when they finally announced a newer version for 2008. It was a really big deal in the Ninja 250 community, since some people figured they'd never change it, just removing it from the lineup if they made any change, and others excitedly whispered rumors every year, "I hear they're going to change the 250 this year! Should I hold off for the new model year?"
So, they finally did it. The bike now looks like any other modern sport bike, although if you look closely, it's got little differences. There's only one front brake (most bigger bikes have two); the rear tire's awfully skinny; the forks look kind of spindly. Little stuff like that. But the overall effect of the new styling is that it's very modern looking.
I had brought my camera, to take pictures of it, only I couldn't really get a clear shot. There was always a little crowd around the bike -- it was surprisingly popular. Lots of people were sitting on it, and making comments like, "Oh, it's actually comfortable, my hands aren't down by my knees!" or "Hey, you can flat-foot it!" With the new styling (and it's really only styling, with the frame and most major components remaining very nearly the same as the older model), it's newly attractive, but hasn't lost a lot of the good stuff from the older version.
 Crowd |
 Crowd |
 Crowd |
I did eventually get some pictures. I focused on the "Kawasaki Green" model because I figured it was the only one they brought. I found Jesse a moment later, and asked him to take a picture of me with my new bike (although I won't be getting one -- I like the 2006 model I already have too much). Then I realized he was standing in front of a red Ninja 250. And hey, there was a black one over there! When I finally moved on, I even saw that they'd put a blue Ninja 250 in their elevated podium, an honor only shared by their ZX-6R, one of the 600cc supersport bikes that's redesigned every two years. Kawasaki are taking this Ninja 250 thing much more seriously than I had expected them to.
I wandered on, but I wasn't much interested in any of the other big displays. Happening idly past the Honda display, my eye was caught by a strangely familiar bike. After a moment, I realized it was a Nighthawk 250, and went over to take some pictures. The Nighthawk 250 is, at least in theory, a contender with the Ninja 250, but you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who's actually ridden both who'd agree with that sentiment. They're vastly different bikes, with the Nighthawk losing on almost every important point.
 2008 Nighthawk 250 |
 1972 CL175 |
So, why was it strangely familiar? It looked a lot like the CL175 I've been working on. That is to say, the 1972 Honda CL175 I have, and the 2008 Honda Nighthawk 250 (aka CB250) share a striking resemblance in some important details. Put another way, Honda is still hawking the same technology in 2008 that they were in 1972. That's 36 years, and none too flattering on Honda. Drum brakes: the 72 bike has better drum brakes in front than the 08 bike does, with a larger drum and double leading shoes vs. what appears to be a single leading shoe. Frame: I actually suspect I could pull the engine out of the CL175 and it would fit into the CB250 frame. They're that similar. The engine looked nearly identical. The major improvement I spotted was that the clutch engagement lever on the engine is now mounted out where it's easy to get to. To be fair, the CL175 has an excellent engine, pulling strongly even in a 35 year old example, so that wasn't necessarily a bad choice on Honda's part.
 2008 front brake |
 1972 front brake |
 2008 rear brake |
 1972 rear brake |
Still, there was an air of surreality as I took close-up pictures of this new-production bike that shared so many elements with a motorcycle that's older than I am.
I wandered away, shaking my head at Honda's insistence on selling this bike, still for more money than the refreshed and newly more expensive Ninja 250.
I wandered the aisles of glitz and glamor for a while, and was considering leaving when I noticed the "Extra exhibits" banner hanging near the back. I headed back, and discovered what I'd been looking for: all the small booths. I wanted to check in with Seattle Cycle Center to see if they had any swingarm spools, since I want to add them to the CL175 for racing.
I got to the SCC booth, and looked around. Didn't look likely, they really only had bigger stuff there, clothing and luggage and helmets. I was about to wander on when my eye was caught by a stand supporting a variety of leather racing suits. Hmm! I'd be needing a racing suit, and had already determined that they carried one I'd like. I examined their selection.
 Racing suits! |
 $100 off racing suits! |
One of the sales vultures swooped down on me as soon as I'd rested my eyes on the suits for more than 5 seconds. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Yes," I said, my eye still on the Power Rangers looking thing in front of me, "I'd like to try on one of these suits."
"No problem, just give me your license, and I'll hold that while you try it on."
"Even though I have to get down to my skivvies?"
"Yep, there's a bathroom just over there. Don't forget to collect your license when you get back, I've had more than one person accidentally leave theirs with me."
So I grabbed the suit in the most likely size, and headed for the bathroom. I ended up having to wait about 10 minutes before the one large stall was free. I ducked in, and was quickly kitted out in the finest superhero suit money can buy, but it was too tight. A problem I never thought I'd have cropped up: I'm too muscular. The thighs of that particular size suit were too small for my bikey legs. Weird. It happened that it was also too short in the arms, and a little too small in the torso, so I peeled it off, and went back.
I was able to get the special deal ($100 off) on an ordered suit as well as what they had in stock, so I ordered the next size up (having already tried on the size beyond that and finding it too large) in silver, which looks like the color scheme least likely to absolutely bake me in the summer sun. It was expensive, but nowhere near what I'd feared: I figured a quality suit would run me $800-1200 dollars, but this was only $460 after tax. What a deal.
I tried to think if there was anything else I had to have, and decided there wasn't, so I kept up my circuit of the small booths. Lots of cruiser stuff, lots of "custom bike" stuff, with showy paint jobs and massively wide rear tires, but nothing that particularly appealed to me.
I made my way upstairs, past the rows of show bikes. There were some interesting ones, but one of the most interesting was a 125cc city bike with an ornate sidecar attached, apparently a common sight in the Phillipenes. I also spotted a motorcycle simulator that actually looked pretty cool at a Motorcycle Safety Foundation booth. I didn't stop long enough to try it out, though, since my feet were getting tired, and I was thinking about leaving.
 Suzuki 125cc with hand-built stainless steel sidecar |
 Sidecar view |
 MSF motorcycle simulator |
I went back downstairs, on my way to retrieve my riding gear, when my phone rang. It was Jesse, who'd found some exciting news about a helmet he mentioned a while ago: it used to be a Japan-only model, but they're actually going to start importing them next year. He'd been considering buying one from a Japanese Ebay seller, but hadn't quite made the decision a while ago. We agreed to meet up, and I found him a few minutes later.
I showed him the suit I'll be getting, and he was suitably (ahem) impressed. He wanted to find a jacket they'd had previously, to see if it was on sale. Following him, I spotted the back protectors (basically a fancy pad and system of interlocking plates to protect your spine in a fall -- also required by racing rules), and ended up getting the fanciest one they had.
My downfall, if it can be called that, when buying safety gear is that I only have to imagine the moment after I spring up from a fall, saying to myself, "Man, I'm glad I didn't get the el-cheapo [whatever]" and I find myself buying the best I can find. I guess, for the difference of $40, I'd rather get the best one. I'm sure the one I got (a Knox) isn't the best there is, but I also won't be riding at 180 MPH, so I don't need the super-duper racing version.
Business essentially concluded, I found Jesse, and we walked back to the gear check. I commented that I'd certainly spent my money -- I'd expected to maybe blow $20 on some swingarm spools, and ended up walking out with my wallet nearly $600 lighter between the suit, back protector, and subscription to the one motorcycle magazine I actually like (Motorcycle Consumer News). Still, it's all stuff I knew I was going to buy sooner or later, and it's usually cheaper at the show, so I ended up saving money on all of it. He was disappointed he hadn't spent any money -- all of the things he'd been looking for were either not there, or so close to the normal price as to be worth buying elsewhere.
We got to the gear check, and I retrieved my helmet and suit. Jesse tapped my shoulder, and pointed outside. It was snowing, hard.
 Snow! |
 Lots of snow! |
I'm sure you can imagine that on a motorcycle (or a bicycle, or even on two feet), any lack of traction can put you on the ground in a hurry. We'd both been concerned about the snow forecast, and it certainly came to pass. I bid Jesse farewell, and we headed to our bikes. Although it was snowing pretty hard, it wasn't sticking to the ground, so that was at least positive.
I clambered aboard my little mount (having ridden the Ninja 250 in to the show), and made my way out into the wide, white world.
The ride home was thankfully uneventful, but I spent a lot of time wiping the snow off my visor. As I passed the Seattle Cycle Center building on Aurora, I heard my name. I looked over, and spotted Ryan, one of the people who works there, and who must have been manning the store while most of its contents were down in South Seattle. I waved at him, and he held his arms out at me in a, "Whatta you doin'?!" gesture. I shrugged, then shouted back, "I had to go to the show!" He replied, "Be careful!" and I waved as I pulled away with traffic.
 That's the bike slipping sideways |
 Poor, snow-covered Ninja 250 |
 Poor, snow-covered Ian, making a weird face |
The final half block to my house was the only part of the road where I actually saw any snow sticking, so I clicked on my hazard blinkers (I'm really glad I made that modification) and rode very slowly down the darker tire track through the snow. I pulled in front of my garage very carefully, as the bike slid an inch sideways coming down off the asphalt and onto the gravel at the side of the road. When I got into the garage, I realized that there was snow caked onto my riding suit, and spent a minute or two shaking, jumping around, and generally spazzing, trying to get it all off. I ended up leaving the suit in the tub, as the only place in the house that was sufficiently waterproof to let it dry off.
As I write this, there's a good solid two inches of snow on the deck, and my tracks from coming in are almost gone. The weather's supposed to warm up by 20 degrees or something tomorrow, so as usual, the Seattle Snow will be gone within 24 hours. At least it's very pretty right now.
If you'd like to see the other pictures I took, hit up the gallery.
Posted at 16:21 permanent link category: /motorcycle
Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater