It's warming up a little now, just last week we were treated to wonderful, yet brief, 80 degree weather before everything went back to that wet, bone chilling cold we get at the end of winter every year. I believe thats Mama Nature's way of saying, "Roll that two wheeler out the garage, biker-scum! It's almost time to ride!"

Hence begins the ritual of rebuilding the carburetor.

To rebuild your carburetor it is important to note that you should not, in any way, winterize your motorcycle. Don't drain the bowls, don't turn the gas off and run it dry, and no fuel stabilizer. Period. Failure to do any of these things could result in your not getting to rebuild the carburetors, which we all know is the reason for the season, no? It is also important to point out that you should NOT attach any sort of battery maintainer to your bike. There's just no sport in it.

Ok, first, you need to wake up on a warm spring day that has caught you by surprise. It is to your advantage to be hungover. While laying in the bed, listening to the sound of your head and songbirds harmonizing, you should realize that now is a perfectly acceptable time to get your Kawahondukimaha ZGRFSX 10000 ready for a ride.

"Should start right up, I mean the last time I rode it was a couple of months ago."

A couple of months ago usually equals at least three real months to every one imagined month. More than enough time for the Mazola you paid 3.29 a gallon for last year to have gelled into something resembling Giraffe snot.

So you pour yourself a cuppa joe and head out into the garage before realizing you don't know where your key is. Then you go back in and rummage through drawers, old shoes, and nightstand hubris until you give up and use the original you have that you found after making a copy of your spare when you lost your key last spring.

"Cooper had a flat tire coming home from work last night.  He pulled over and attempted to fix it.....it was raining, things were wet and slippery......

At some point the truck fell off the jack and landed on Cooper.  He was able to get out from underneath the truck and call 911. 

As a result of this mishap, he has broken the T-12 vertebrate.  The doctors say surgery won't be necessary, but he will be in a back brace for 3-6 months while it heals.  Currently he is in stable condition at Summit.  He is young, and extremely tough, and should heal nicely but, we won't know for sure until they fit his brace and x-ray him to see that the alignment is correct. Prayers are needed.

If anything changes, I will let you know."

The above was the email I sent to friends and family last Tuesday.  Scary times, I tell you.  No one wants to get that call from 862-8600 telling you your son is in the back of an ambulance on the way to Summit.  I watched, helpless, as he was writhing in pain on a gurney in the emergency room.  What can you do?  Nothing.  Hold his hand, try to joke a little.  Pray that he's just bruised up and not going to shit in a bag for the rest of his life.

Late yesterday afternoon I finally got an opportunity to ride what is arguably THE fastest stock production motorcycle in the world right now, the venerable BMW S1000RR.  It is truly an unbelievable machine, but user friendly too, since it didn't dump my no talented, ham fist-ed self on the pavement.  More on that later.

I also got to flog the BMW 450X out here on the property.  I have to tell you, that bike is extremely capable off-road.  I always considered it a street bike with knobbies, but I was wrong.  It powers up hills with reckless abandon, and I chased deer through a low tree stand and only hit my head once. 

So there we are, me, my son Cooper, and my friend, Doc.  Coop's riding a TTR-250.  This thing has been around the block a few times.  It's the "loaner bike".  Beat up, missing some plastic, chain maybe a little loose, it always starts, eventually, and does everything you want it to do.  It's a little underpowered and a little overweight, but it does everything well and I like it.  One very reliable four stroke.

Today I am riding the BMW G450X.  I am a little intimidated when I swing a leg over it, because there's no key, kickstart, or choke lever.  It basically beats all reason to me when I try to figure out how to start it,  so I look around to make sure no one is watching, grab the clutch and thumb the starter button.  It starts immediately, freaking  magic I tell you!  It's ready to go, no revving, no killing it and restarting, just ready to rip, thanks to it's fuel injection.

Over the years, I've done a great many things.  I've also done a lot of things that weren't so great, but I digress.  The point is, I think I've got some pretty good stories.

My First Motorcycle.

At the tender age of eleven, I lived in Tampa, Florida.  My mother worked at a produce market and was married to a barber. 

The barber's name was Eric, and he was a very feisty Italian that played guitar and rode motorcycles.  You could have called him a biker since he didn't own a car and rode his bike everywhere, everyday, but he didn't really fit the description, at the time, of a biker.  This was around 82', and Eric was a clean freak.  He also rode a KZ1000, which was, and still is, extremely cool.  It was all flamed out, and had a most righteous Shoei fairing on it.  Eric was pretty cool for a barber, and fun, too. He took me for my first triple digit ride one day, and I was hooked. 

Times were kind of tough, so I worked for my own spending money.  We weren't broke, just poor.  If I wanted something, I had to figure out how to get it.  This secret talent of mine has stayed with me and pisses my wife off to no end.  I worked at the produce stand where my mother worked, sorting potatoes, wrapping lettuce, and carrying groceries out to the car for little old ladies.  The owner paid me well, I think it amounted to about ten dollars a day, which was decent, and all the fresh fruit I could eat, so when I saw the old scooter propped up against the back wall of the bar behind the market, I knew it would be mine.