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Frost was on the truck this morning at 7:30 when
I rolled the '68 TR6 outta the garage. Some folks say that Southern California
doesn't get cold...well, it doesn't get Canadian cold, I'll grant ya that.
But we have our chilly stuff, too. I snapped the liner into my Fieldsheer
jacket and zipped the bulky jacket to the pants. I added an Aerostitch neck
scarf that gets worn only a few times a year and the lined Thurlow deerskin gloves. The Arai helmet fits snug over the cotton balaclava...check the helmet vents and the jacket breathers to make sure all of them are closed. |
The bike starts on the first "key-on" kick and the lumpy idle wakens the
neighbors dog. Good, the damn dog craps on my driveway. I hope he's barking REAL close to
the owners head. I rev it a few time to both clear the motors' throat and to irk the dog.
Hehehehe. Mean stuff on Christmas, this is Grinchey stuff! It might make up for the
mega-woofers in the dog owners' boom-car that thumps out that White-Boy Rap late at night.
One click down into first and the bike burbles down the hill towards the stop sign. No
traffic today. One kid on a new bicycle and his rapt, attentive parent who breaths clouds
of warm coffee-breath into the bright sun, watch as I idle by. Left up the hill towards
Aero Drive and freedom from the neighborhood cars.
The road that I ride The Ton on is relatively unused except by commuters heading for the
Marine Corps Air Station and they are not using it today. Visibility is great up here on
the mesa plus the view of the San Diego plateau is spectacular in this crisp, clear,
winter air. The only real threat here (besides a speeding ticket) might be a deer
encounter. I've seen deer here and they can be dangerous since the road is bounded on both
sides by chain link fence and a frightened uncertain deer will bound from side to side
like a crazed 250 pound cruise missile.
Doing the Ton is "no great shakes" for modern machines. Most new bikes will pull
100mph and still willingly power wheelie in third, with two or three gears to go, so Doing
The Ton is a bit anachronistic, I guess. But, I'm a bit anachronistic, too. Who else would
have the money/time/energy tied up in these old motorsickles? Just us weirdos who do it
for the love of the old beasts. I could buy a new machine that would take SWMBO and I
anywhere, yet, whenever I have a few bucks put aside, another "orphan" bike
joins the stable. Who can judge the reasons why we do what we do, if we cant
understand it ourselves?
I wonder how many new riders of modern plastic-shrouded sport-bikes will understand the
joy of finding the correct "bit" or sourcing the odd part when they try to
relive their own mis-spent youth? Hopefully, some cottage industry will rise up to provide
the plasticware. Save your bits now, boys...shelve that original fairing, windshield and
lowers...buy cheap-ass replacement parts and use them on your day-to-day rider because
that New Old Stock is gonna be rarer than a "not guilty" Republican vote
someday.
I roll past Mr G's...no BMW riders are here this AM. It's onna those good days...the
sensors in the road read the bikes' metallic mass and all the traffic lights are green. I
roll past the CHP office on a trailing throttle...no folks are around here, either. I get
a green light at the last intersection before The Road and hit the Ess-turn in third gear,
fat on the little bikes torque-curve at 4000RPM. The Triumph pipes begin to play that
'60's music and the bike thrums under me like a REAL machine. No gentle, modern, 4-holer
business on this bike. You know you're riding a machine here. Both pistons rising and
falling together make no gentle buzz. Vibration Lives Here.
Hard on the gas through the gears...6000 in each of the first three gears. I make a pass
down the 3 mile road at 80 per looking for the new speedbumps that I fear have been added
to restrict the "drag racers" that frequent this road late at night. Hmmmmm,
there are none.
I U-turn through the median Armco and head back into the rising sun. Hard through the
first three gears and let 4th pull strong for a minute or so....90 plus mph. I prefer to
have the sun behind me for the Ton.
Another U-turn and back up the road. 6000 through the gears, stooped low into the cold
air, we--the bike and I--feel the coldness and I bring the carb onto the stop. My chin is
quite close to the frictional fork damper and I can see the cheap digital watch siliconed
to the instrument binnacle click off the full throttle seconds. The speedo
wavers between 90-95MPH while the tach needle is "all over the gauge" with
vibration. Damn. I can't quite get her over 100. The chattery pavement confuses the old
tech suspension and, in the sharp shadow of the sun, I can clearly see both wheels leave
the ground. I'm grinning like a fool and, if stopped now for a speeding violation, I'm not
sure that cops would judge this smiling face quite sane.
I ride to the end, turn and head back with a vengeance. There is a slight downhill section
with a good quarter mile of downgrade. I pull the twistgrip to the stop and mark the
seconds. An older Camaro and its pony-tailed driver occupies the fast lane and I pass him
on the right at 95...he's loafing that big Detroit V8 at close to 80 and he fails to take
the bait offered by a middle-aged man on a middle-aged bike pretending that he's a Giacomo
or a Freddy.
The little Triumph, its Amal carb WFO for 62 seconds pulls the needle to 100 MPH. The wind
is sharp like glass finding every seam and zipper in my old leathers. The Arai is pushed
back until the rubber breath-guard touches my nose and the wind buffets my head
side-to-side. This is waaay cool.
I make 4 runs each way but never really see the needle cross the Ton mark but it's still a
good ride. I gotta count this years ride as a ".98 Ton-up Ride!"
I'm home in time for waffles and sausage.
Cheers to you all. It's been a good year with lotsa great riding. I wish every one a safe
new year. Ride well. Live well. Wrench well.
Ride safe, Joe
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