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Simon’s Yamaha FJ1200 Enduro Experience

This summer, more than one dual-sport motorcycle owner has looked at me and my bike with extreme pity and said, “Too bad you can’t ride that bike off the paved road . . . ” They then proceed to tell me about some beautiful alpine meadow or remote hot springs that can only be reached by traveling down a rough gravel road. I have to sigh and admit that there is no way I am going to muscle my huge, delicate road burner over that terrain. I have ridden in these areas and long to return to the scenes of my youth, down the abandoned logging roads that criss-cross the B.C. back-country. I miss my moto-cross bike, but I had to have a truck and crew of fellow off-road riders to achieve a successful trip, and to quote the Allman Brothers “There’s nobody left to run with anymore . . . ” So, I have turned to street bikes as being a more practical ride and I am looking forward to long distance riding as a new experience.

I have many stories to tell of those days of off-road adventures; discovering abandoned mines, riding to the snow in August and the breathtaking mountain vistas that inspire a connection with the spirit of beauty. This story is not one of mine, but a guest post by my friend and mechanic, Simon. This story is the tale of an actual ride that Simon and Mark experienced, told in Simon’s own words. Please be warned that he uses words as part of his regular vernacular that are not usually found on these pages, but that are familiar to most speakers of the English language. Due to the general nature of the internet audience, I have used some discretion, while still preserving the form.

I know it seems hard to believe, but this is what happened . . .

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Respect For the Big Bike

It all comes down to respect for the bike. I am realizing that the wonders of the big-bike are only now beginning to unfold to me. Although I am an experienced rider, I have not yet fully understood how different this bike is from any other that I have owned. Riding a large street-bike is an inspirational experience, but I realize that I have not been recognizing the extent of the difference in riding style and the maintenance required to minimize danger to the rider. I have been riding it like an overweight dirt bike; bouncing over the bumps and flying with very little patches of tire on the road.

After falling down, I took the FJ 1200 to Simon to check the brakes and to try to help me understand what happened. We returned to the scene of the first left-hand slider on the third day after the accident. The pavement at 16th and Cambie is very uneven due to Skytrain construction. The place I fell has a split pavement with each side of the lane a different height. The scraped ridge followed a manhole cover pavement mound, bulging from the road right after the bumpy intersection. The deep scratch, where I bent the foot of my centre stand on the pavement and the patch of gas where I had landed, were mute evidence to how much ground I covered on my side while I fell. I was going slowly and braking lightly, not stressed and hauling in the brake.

It felt like the bike had bounced up in the air, then lay down, and originally, I had thought that the bike had rebounded off of a neglected side-stand. Simon and I agreed that I had come too far from where I last parked to have left the side-stand down unscraped. So what could cause this effect? It was succinctly explained to me that if the front wheel locks up the rider can no longer steer the bike as the front wheel is not turning. The bike will slide in the direction it chooses based on tilt of pavement, direction of travel and other factors. Suddenly, I was really scared.

For some reason, I had never really pictured sliding on my FJ with the front wheel locked and not being able to steer. Continue reading Respect For the Big Bike

Night of Broken Bikes

This is an unusual tale of mechanical mystery, charming chivalry and late-night suspense. Friday night was my last shift as Crew Chief at The Ironworks, a beautiful venue that has been my home at the Jazz Fest for 4 years. Although the Ironworks studio, an artistic space in an actual converted metal-working shop previously known as Burrard Ironworks, is sophisticated and beautiful inside, it is located in the worst part of Vancouver. The neighbourhood is one of the poorest postal codes in Canada and many homeless people wander the streets in company with drug addicts and mentally ill individuals. The area is starting to gentrify, behind security barracades, but the streets are still mean and inhabitants are unpredictable — it is the Downtown Eastside.

I went down to The Ironworks early, as the venue manager had requested that I be there at 6:30pm. I complied and helped organize the other volunteers by orienting and assisting the hospitality volunteer and making sure everyone else knew what they were supposed to be doing. My job as Crew Chief is to keep the volunteers happy, make sure they have water or soft drinks and get a break when they need it. I also keep an eye on the venue and support the venue manager.

While I was changing my boots for shoes, I left a message with Simon that my red+white loaner FJ motorcycle was developing the same clutch problem that my blue+black FJ had last year. I had noticed him leaning it over at angles I cannot achieve without becoming completely horizontal, and pumping the clutch to remove the air from the lines. Somewhere in the clutch system, which is supposed to be full of a pressurized oil, there were air bubbles getting in.

Continue reading Night of Broken Bikes