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. |
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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 can’t 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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