Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1980's

• Before proceeding further·the cr · ···aJsci:With ;'i~ ~il;;ge v"erifi';;;tio~ ~ the" 15 tooth countershaft sprocket was changed to a 14T. The former worked acceptably well up till now, but everincreasing upgrades required lower and closer gearing (stock gearing ineludes a I~T countershaft sprocket). Our first "public" rest -stop , above June Lake, - found us downing vegeburgers, fruit, and carob bars. The mid-afternoon sun was still bright and warm. Stopping. at Mono Lake, I first realized that Kathy had never seen the fantastic formations native to this hostile body of water. Because the surface appeared crusty and firm , I gave the MB5 a good second gear squirt, just in case . Instead of going 40 feet, the bike went about 10, and not all forward. The "Mono Lake Goo" belched once, and swallowed the Honda up to its axles . Fortunately , there was trash around, enough to build footing in the bottomless slime. As it continued to slip deeper into the "quick-slime," we worked feverishly to get more old tires , rocks, and chips of wood to stand on. Worse yet , was the terrible, indescribably sickening stink, coming from the "Goo." A skunk could be a perfumey "six" by comparison. Somehow, we managed ,to tug , pry, and pull the bike out . There was no gas station or water hose for miles, and the balance wheel weights were useless. I was just glad the wheels would go around. Perhaps a day's work had been done in an hour. With about 500 miles on the clock, the engine was running better than ever . The rest of the afternoon and evening was, fortunately, less eventful. Unlike a month previous, the hot afternoon weather was now in the cooler 70s, as we crossed into Nevada. Despite being midweek, it was amazing to see the casinos and streets of Reno packed to the gills. Getting pretty desperate for sleep , and the clock pushing Cinderilla, we headed for the outskirst of Lovelock , NV . Monday's ~23 miles had been beaten with a 370 mile recording, and we were well ahead of our eight-day scheduled 'allowance. We had to drive for a half hour and several miles to find a peaceful place. It was worth it. Wednesday 24 We awoke to confirm last night's ' find: A nice field in real Hopalong Cassidy country. Large rounded rocks everywhere, deserted and private. For the first time, the weather was cold . ' With early morning temperatures down from the 70s to the 40s, maintenance was difficult and gloved. But with 743 miles elapsed, it was time for some ser vice. We topped off the oil tank. The ND plug was checked and found to be a bit rich . The engine had been running quite rich on the needle and the main. Having no smaller main jet than the stock lOS, the three-notch needle was lowered to the leanest position. •The chain was given its daily lube and re ceived its first adjustment. To my dis belief, a general check found the 12volt battery almost out of water. It was decided to run the lights on most of the time , to minimize the apparent overcharge. Like many towns of the West and Northwest, Lovelock has a certain honest small- town nostalgia about it tha t SoCal (and other places) try to unsuccessfully duplicate. Much of the old days, little of the new, friendly townsfolk , and very real. On the way through town, we stopped at the Pershing County Sheriffs station for daily certification, then headed north for Winnemucca, Highway 95, and the McDermitt border town entrance to Oregon. It was here that the speedometer first went blink. The needle would suddenly drop from 5~ mph to ~5-40, even though road speed stayed the same. We became very concerned that the odometer might go south, trip would be a shambles. And we had no spare instruments. The miles ticked away into the southeast corner of Oregon and the starkly beautiful Jordan Valley . As suddenly as it had departed, 85 miles earlier, the cranky speedo needle returned to normal. Perhaps it was coincidental that the odometer had just recorded the first 1000 successful miles. They were nothing less than ruthless to a ' 50cc engine, as revs had gradually escalated to a steady-state 9200-9400 rpm , with about one million total engine revolutions elapsed. Nearing Council, ID, the clock was nearing late . A hiding police car watch ed a funny big guy, on a heavily loaded little bike , inventively searching for a close-to-town camp spot. As the chase van waited on a dimly lit corner, he must have been ready for obtuse action . Without in -town success, we headed for the hills _in the north outskirts. After attempting to delineate private farms and property from public, a spot high above Council, with a panoramic view, became occupied..We had completed the most successful and trouble -free day yet, with a total of 427 miles. It was not to continue. Black Thursday As we arose, the morning air and sky already were cold and sinister. For the first time on the trip, I asked myself what I was doing here, Everywhere below us were cozy-looking homes with chimneys billowing smoke in unison. While the locals were inside their warm houses by the fireplace, I was trying to cajole bike and body into action in high ~Os temps. Fighting bonechilling, mind-numbing cold was to be a rider concern for three more states. Starting the MB5 for exercise didn't warm one up at all. Rolling its off the stand starts it almost before the rear tire is off the ground. Honda could delete the kickstarter, and it could hardly be missed . As we navi gated back into the right-tum town of Council , the chase vehicle's power steering spit a seal and dumped its fluid out. After paying an outrageous price for ATF, and emergency repair, we were again heading north. The chase Dodge picked a fine time to leave us at Lucille, only 70 miles to the north . First, with the van leading, the right muffler partially let go. Then the left one blew its guts all over the road, and myself. We had no choice but to continue. . Worse than mechanical jeopardy was soon to follow. As we descended 4400 foot Summit Peak into Grangeville, the relatively windless day some how delivered a piece of grit under the Bell Star into my left eye. Despite re peated water flushing, I was experiencing relatively large pain for the rest of the day . As if hit by a similar copy -cat omen, Kathy developed a strangely severe and persistent stomach ache , accompanied by dizziness, achiness and headache. . Since there was no place to rest on the highway at that point, we decided to force ourselves another ~O minutes ahead, or the next town , whichever came first . For some unexplainable reason, Kathy's physical condition quickly improved . Because of our many problems so far this day , we had delayed "location certification" at' a post office (or cop shop) and hoped to find one in the later p .m. There needn't have been concern. In a nondescript town, north of Moscow, ID, the city officer was glad to oblige. Amazingly, it wasn't for the rowdy van exhaust note. Following too close was the claim . The interesting thing is that the police car was closer to the Honda than the latter was to the leading chase vanl Since we were "stopped," and it was now dark, the day was celebrated by • .. .. . _- - - 1 our usual roadside dinner. Despite the day's occurrences and bad start, we were able to make up enough time to log in ~07 miles . Though down from Wednesday's 427 miles, at least progress was still northward. Twenty miles shy of Couer d' Alene, a rest stop offered an amazingly contradictory sign. "No overnite camping, no stay longer than 16 hours ... ." Friday The morning dawned clear and frosty. Despite being public, the camp spot was beautiful. Pine trees, tables, fire rings , and running water all around. Best yet, the rest stop restrooms even had hot water, electrical outlets, and two friendly female attendants who encouraged us to bathe therel They must have felt sorry for my condition , too dirty, or too cold ... _ lobliged by getting a good top end job, including shampoo and shave. I shared the men's room with an ex-Californian, who was mad about the current "ex orbitant" Montana land price of S1.000 an acre. Westerners should be so fortunate. Being less than 200 miles from the Canadian border now, our spirits really picked up, from yesterday'S low. But there was a lot of maintenance to do. The local Dumpster became our emergency auto repair center and offered enough bits and pieces to fix the van's mufllers. The elapsed miles were 14~0. The MB5 received a final briefing, including chain lube and adjustment, washed and reoiled air filter, and battery water (again). Since "break-in" (or more realistically "wear-out") could now be considered well-completed. a new "Two-Stroke Engine Treatment" from Slick-50 was applied. With the sun out so nice, it didn't seem possible that the coming fight would be against severe weather, Fortyfive minutes away, just north of Couer d'Alene, it hit. The rain soon turned to hail. rand the hail to % marbles. " Even riding behind the chase vehicle in a bit ofa vacuum, the Record Special lost 18-20 mph at full throttle on straight road. All those ball bearings building up on the road surface made even slight curves rather exciting. Pretty soon, the road surface was gone. I've always thought trail riding, snow riding, or a good tough enduro offer more thrills-per,mile than any other kind of motorcycle sport. Wrong! With wide-open country ahead, Ma Nature hadn't even provided us a tree to take refuge under. How can it hail so big, for so long? Why are hail stones round? Despite the 'Cadillac padding in the Bell Star, the constant richocheting hailstones became mindnumbing. Tankslapping through the marbles, the hail stopped as suddenly as stepping out from under the shower. Looking back only a short distance, it was amazing to see the road disappear into whiteness. It was a lot more comforting ahead. Never knew how dearly I loved asphalt , after all . Light rain soon diminished into brilliant rainbowed sunshine. At Sandpoint a stop was made to recover body heat, reaction time , and sanity. Despite nature's heavy shrapnel, it was almost surprising to find the van dentless . · Though audible metallic melodies clinked a tune on the Honda, through the storm peak, the tank had no "hail dents." Even the headlight kept its glassy face about it intact. Some of the local gentry advised that we had just sliced through the most heavy duty hail (piles) in recent years. Bill's Honda shop was typical of many in the "small-towned Pacific Northwest. Motorcycles, snowmobiles, chainsaws, tools, and clothing. Even a gas station. One-stop-shopping. Listening to the local lore, interest was up, building down, mining down, milk : p;';-~ "d~,: :ait~ une;,;pl~~~t at !2~%. Despite the bad news, "streetlegalized" XR200Rs were being ridden around town, and more 650 Yamaha twins than I had ever seen in CaIiforniaI At Bonner's F:erry, several muffler wires broke. With the record less than 25 mi1es away, they were hastily rewired. The goal of four long 12-15 hour days in the saddle was too close now, for US to contain our excitemenr, The throttle hand backed off a bit, from 9500 rpm, to 9200 rpm, to preserve the engine. If it blows up, let it go after the border. Twelve miles away from it, on Highway I, it was as if mechanical gremlines were to strike their last blow. The Tachometer went crazy , as the Speedo had done before it. It suddenly went from 9200 rpm, to a steady-state 8100 indicated. Would the odometer quit this time? World Record The "Record Special" had earned its name. World's first (successful) 50cc solo United States continental crossing achieved and certified. Our arrivial at the Canadian border of Rykerts (Creston on many maps) was actually anticlimactic. The weather cleared momentarily, and kindly, for a few pictures. Mexico's throngs of people, and wellwishers were nowhere in sight. Only a simple border-crossing station, with one customs official present, But it didn't take any more than that for Vern Karr to show us real Canadian hospitality. Besides fighting normal fatigue, I had been cold for so long, it seemed a permanent part of life, even as we ate inside the van. As the skies opened up again, Vern invited us inside his office for coffee for the third time (my strongest drink is tisually Squirt). As the biggest goal had just been realized, it was now easy to relax. After record certification, we did. Besides becoming disgustingly comfortable in his warm office, we learned a lot of the problems Canadian Customs offi cials must deal with. One of the biggest now is whether or not they should be allowed to add firearms. It was good to hear about .American / Canad ian rela tions from a Canadian view. Because of the generally severe winters in Canada , they use a lot of salt on the roads. Consequently, there are very few old cars on their roads. And it is a very popular Canadian pastime to scout for good used cars , as are so plentiful in much of the United States. Anyone have a good '66 Dodge Charger for Vern? After three hours of intriguing conversation, Kathy finally succeeded in dragging me out the door, if kicking. The original plan was to proceed westward through close-to-theborder Canadian Highway ~ , then drop down 97 into Washington. But time had also run out on getting the dogs' vaccination/rabies papers back at pre-start Los Angeles . Extraordinary hospitality or not, nothing now could be done to guarantee our woofers would get back into the U.S. After wading through two arriving bus loads of kids , we were finally able to wrest control of the overpopular little Honda, Reluctance found us backtracking down the road to the junction of Idaho 2 and 1 at historic Bonner's Ferry. Success achieved, it was time to celebrate with Kathy's lOng sought after motel and shower. Not too likely. Inquiring at the local bar, we were directed to our hotel for the night, a local landfill. Bill and Kathy returned to California via the coastal route. The mileage totalled JJ91.4, the gasoline consumed for the tn'p by the MB' amounted to 36.83 gallons and the round trip gas mileage figure was 92.634 mpg. Amazingly, there were no flat tires and only two spark plugs were used by the MB' .. . Editor. •

• Cover