WetLeather Motorcycle Rider Information

She who Must Be Obeyed has declared Britt surplus, for much the same reason (though without the dramatic detail) as the leather chair (which, BTW, is a Really Nice chair, needing only a calm, philosophical pipe smoker with a tack hammer and an empty space in their den to begin building those quiet, contemplative memories that are the reason men can NEVER throw away a lounger). So I've sold him, as ordered, and as long as there's wetLeather to annoy, why should I be miserable alone?

Anybody who sneers at sloppy emotional stuff, go read something else.

It was past time for service, new tires were needed front and rear. The carburetors were old and worn, and with the ethanol lobby victorious in congress, the carburetors needed rebuilding. Shifting into second (up or down) was getting stickier, another 10 or 20 thousand miles and it'd be time to rebuild the transmission.

Nothing unreasonable for a motorcycle with nearly 100,000 miles, particularly given the quality of the (thumbfingered home mechanic) maintenance for the last 48,000. But a fair amount of money to put into an old motorcycle, even with the promise that we'd get another 80 or 100 thousand miles out of him, with a little care. Carol decided it was TOO much money to spend on an old motorcycle. Tempus fugit. Sic semper tyranosaur.

I'm not going to miss him the way one misses people or pets; Britt was a machine, there are no direct emotional ties. More the way you miss a favorite romantic restaurant or your old house when you move, I'll miss him as a great place.to.be, a place of romance and dreams and fond memories.

I was planning on a quiet celebration when we hit 50,000 together, now I'll just raise an occasional dram of single malt to the empty space in the garage. The Longrow, I think; Britt was a fine old motorcycle. I met the DoD on him, watched the founding of wetleather from his saddle, and finally learned to ride at the MSF ERC on the fat old beast.

We got Britt three years and two months ago. I'd been thinking about Harleys and reading rec.moto's raves about FJ's and GS's, and while I'm FJ immune the old GS sounded like a remote possibility. So one day on the way home I turned to Carol and said "Talk me out of an R100GS." and she said "What's a GS?" and I said "Kind of a BMW scrambler." and to my shock and amazement she replied "I've always wanted a BMW." Go figure. Like you were getting ready for church, and your wife says "I've always been a Satanist."

So we visited BMW dealers and test sat bikes, and a month or so later Aloha had a fine looking R100/7 in proud brown and gold with vast amounts of luggage and a subtle sense of history, and suddently _we_ had it. It was a _nice_ motorcycle, not the kind to roll your eyeballs back and kick your adrenal glands into high gear, but solid and dependable.

I wrote a poem about it:

---- Fat Old Touring Beamer ----

I prefer a bike, by far
to any kind of car
(though I think I'd trade for Mary Shafer's ride)
and if I had my druthers
I'd be sitting on the wuthers
of an old obnoxious Harley 'lectraglide.

But until I can afford it
(to buy it AND to board it)
I'd rather ride a boxer twin than none,
and I'd rather ride than not,
so I'm happy that I've got
an ancient R100, and it runs.

It's not exactly pretty
(maybe even gritty)
but even through the mud it has its charm
it never gives me trouble
and it's comfy riding double
on a fat old touring beamer that goes 'hummmm'.


I'd like to take a spin
on a classic British twin
(a Triumph at full throttle gives me chills)
But they're all getting old
and the parts are made of gold,
and my wife expects poor me to pay the bills.

I love the throaty howl
of a Ducati on the prowl
(so where's my damned GT, eh Chris, old chum?)
But until I get upgraded
there's a lot of miles I've slated
for that fat old touring Beemer that goes 'hummmm'.


It isn't quite exciting
(no breakdowns or failed lighting)
it always runs, and it never fails to start,
Does everything politely,
smoothly, if not sprightly,
slow and steady wins the race, if not the heart.

But there's something to be said
when it's getting time for bed
for a bike that will always get you home,
and it's definitely solid
not to say a bit, well, stolid
my fat old touring Beemer that goes 'hummmm'.


So if business or fun
bring you to Oregon
(try to come between wet Spring and drizzly Fall)
Bring along your gear
(leathers, helmet, plugs for ear)
and give the local Denizens a call,

we'll all take a ride
through the lovely countryside
(use my Virago if you left your bike at home)
Just cut a little slack
for the slow guy in the back
on the fat old touring beamer that goes 'hummmm'.

--------------------------------

When Diana and wassisname came through, we led them and the local DoD up past Mt. St. Helens on Britt. When Gary Wasserman came to town, the FOTB was there with the sport bikes to escort him to Cornelius Pass Roadhouse. We rode to our first Joust on that bike, and the first Gather, and this year took him 10,000 miles over the rockies to Louisiana and back, on a foody vacation that became a second honeymoon. There'll always be a little BMW-with-Vetter-fairing-and-Luftmeister-trunk shaped slot in my heart, mechanical device or no.

Gone, now. The Tower of Luggage won't be haunting the campouts any more, some other beast will have to raise the doughnuts for the Gather, and laProbe won't be accompanying me to the bay area.

Well. Enough whimpering. Time to pack for Toronto, see you all next week.

An era has ended. There's a hole in my .sig,

Martin