A Memorable Project

This past weekend, I completed the work I'd been doing on the 1969 Triumph T100 for a customer. An old friend named Steve, himself the owner of a 1970 Bonneville, helped me fine-tune the carburetor, make a few more adjustments, and suddenly it was finished. We took turns running it up and down the long, winding road Lisa and I live on, to insure everything was set. It most certainly was.
As much of a headache as it was at times working on such an old bike, the thrill of blasting down the road on it was visceral. Kick-starting it to life, getting on that throttle, hearing those straight pipes howl, and the hard shifting up and down through the gears, on the left side no less, brought out feelings I'd never experienced on a bike before. Honestly, prior to this bike, I had never ridden a motorcycle as old as this one. My dad had a '72 Triumph TR6 when I was a kid, and that's the oldest bike I'd ever been on, prior to this. So I felt my inner "hooligan" welling up as I roared up and down the road on her.
Don't get me wrong- I love the feeling of raw acceleration on my Triumph Sprint, and the powerful torque of my big Yamaha Royal Star. But this bike made me feel like James Dean or Marlon Brando, a "Wild One" on two old classic wheels. I was grinning ear-to-ear with every run.
I used to think the old bikes were cool to look at, to hear, to see on the road, but I never wanted one for myself. Too much work to keep them road-worthy. Now, after getting this one back on the road, I'm not so sure I'd turn one down if the opportunity arose. To be sure, you need to carry a tool kit along if you ride one of these for any time or distance. But for fun around town, and down winding, country roads, I could definitely channel my inner hooligan for another chance to ride, or even own, one of these old classics.

Fresh Meat

This past week I met a guy named Kurt, a friend of Tanya, an old student of mine from back in my First Baptist Snellville days. Kurt owns the above 1969 Triumph T100 motorcycle. He asked my help in getting it running again, having heard I've done a few motorcycles over the past few years. Intrigued, I agreed to ride up to his house and have a look at the bike, and see if it was something I could help with. Not exactly a master mechanic, I asked my father to join me, who along with my mother was coming up last week to celebrate my last (and hopefully final) chemo treatment. Now, I had an old Triumph "master" to give me his assessment as well. Dad's owned various old Triumphs since the days of his youth, and knows these old bikes very well.
We arrived at Kurt's home, and were ushered to this gem sitting in his garage. He also owns a 1966 Mustang fastback, which he's owned since his youth- it was his first car, and he kept it. Very cool! Kurt said the bike kicks over (literally, it is a full kick-start), runs for about 40 secs, then quits. Immediately we suspected either debris blocking fuel flow to or even through the two petcocks, or a carburetor gummed up. The old British Amal carbs were notorious for having issues, yet Dad had worked on plenty over the years. He's helped me with several carb jobs, a few tank reseal jobs, and we've tackled petcock rebuilds, so knowing I had his experience to help me, I agreed to take it on.
I came back Friday and picked up the bike in the rain (we've had a bit of that lately), and got it back to my little "shop" at home. Looks pretty good, down in my man-cave, I must say!
Getting into the old Amal carb, I was able to take it completely out and apart, gave it a thorough piece-by-piece cleaning, then reassembled it.

Pretty cool, doing an old carb off a vintage Triumph that's almost as old as I am- almost! Next, I'll need to tackle the tank, give it a cleaning, then go through the twin petcocks. Hopefully within a week or so, I can wheel it back out, give it a kick-start, and she'll not only start, but run. And run, and run.
I have learned a lot over the past few years of finding/fixing/flipping motorcycles. And it's helped having an old veteran motorcycle rider and mechanic as a father too.
Looking forward to breathing life back into this baby!

A Day in Ellijay

Saturday I rode up into the north Georgia mountains with my CMA Kneebenders friends, for a day at the annual Ellijay Apple Festival. The day started at dawn, as I layered upand rode into town to meet my friends Monte and Lynn. The am temp was 41, and we froze as we rode up to Oakwood to meet the rest of the group. After some hot coffee and warm waffles, we all rode north to Dawsonville, then northeast toward Ellijay. Our northern trajectory and increase in elevation was offset by a brilliant ever-rising sun, resulting in a gradual thawing of our extremities. We took in some great roads, like GA53 and GA136, with thrilling mountainside sweepers and some breathtaking overlooks.
Arriving in Ellijay, the sun fully overhead, we encountered the dreaded but expected traffic jam to find parking at the fairgrounds. Inching along, the multiple thermal layers covering me were now retaining heat too well. By the time we turned in at a designated motorcycle parking area, I quite literally was drenched in sweat. Disregarding modesty, I stood behind my bike and stripped down to my boxers, tearingoff my soaked thermals as quickly as possible.
Finally cool, we all set off through the crowds and made our way to the state CMA tent, where we found members from about five other regional chapters gathered. We enjoyed meeting and hanging out with these fellow "bikers for Jesus", greeting passersby, giving out free coffee and water. For lunch, we each wandered off to sample the typical Southern fare- fried chicken, fried ribs, fried potato wedges, fried hot dogs, fried Oreos, fried pickles, fried Twinkies,...you get the idea. A delicious, artery-clogging smorgasbord.
As the afternoon wore on, some of us decided to start the long trek back home. Taking the same roads, we enjoyed the twists and turns again, this time from the opposite direction. I love doing this, seeing some sights missed on the way north, as well as the familiar waypoints. I arrived home about 6pm, ears ringing, fingers getting frosty again, a little neck and back sore, but having thoroughly loved it (except for the traffic part). I always relish a day in the saddle with my Christian brothers and sisters.

The Seca Finds a New Home

After a good 10 months of on/off working and tinkering to get it running again, I finally sold the old 1980 Yamaha Seca XJ550 today. A young classic Yamaha collector saw it on Craigslist, had to have it, and came over from Woodstock to buy it from me. He was thrilled with it, and rode it home, while his friend followed behind.
Its hard to believe the bike is gone. I've sunk so much time, money, and energy into bringing it back to life (with a colossal amount of help from my father and several friends) over the past year, I was a little sad to watch the new owner ride off with it.

I first discovered the bike from my UPS guy, Ronney. He had bought it as a true "barn-find", languishing in an old barn. He bought it and began work on it, hoping to give it to his son. That never materialized, and so the bike sat in Ronney's garage for the next several years, collecting more dust and rust. He mentioned it to me one day a couple of years ago, when he made a delivery one afternoon. I pursued him over it for the better part of 2014, until he relented and sold it to me last December. I then wrenched on it off and on over this year, until we finally got it running and on the road, for probably the first time in possibly decades. I've had several motorcycle shop owners tell me it is a rare bike, a collectors item, so I'm glad it has ended up in the hands of a collector.
Now, off to look for the next project bike...

A Weekend Running the Track

I spent this past weekend in Munford, Alabama, riding the Talladega Grand Prix racing track with N2 Track Days. I've been a member with them for the 2-3 years, and they put on excellent track day events across the east. This weekend would be no different.
I had not done a track day since July 2013, and had never done an entire weekend. I was both excited and a little anxious. I knew I would learn a lot from the N2 people, and the riding would be thrilling, but I also knew the dangers involved in this sport. I didn't want to "go down", didn't want to damage man nor machine. Still, the anticipation of riding my cycle on a race track at speed outweighed the fears.
Several of our CMA (Christian Motorcyclists Assn.) KneeBenders chapter came over Friday night for the event. Jonathan, our president, actually an N2 regional director, was here, as was Monte, his wife Lynn, and Test, who had not registered to ride, but spent the weekend with us in the paddock. We set up our camping sites, got the bikes and CMA tents situated, then prepared for a fun, fast weekend on two wheels.
Saturday morning began with registration, tech inspection, then a preliminary, mandatory rider's meeting. The event director, John Cook, went over track rules, meanings of the different flags, and hand signals of the corner monitors and control riders. Introducing the control riders, he explained their roles on the track during sessions. They served as coaches, referees, and guides. Riders are divided into three categories- Advanced, Intermediate, and Novice (my group). The novice riders attended another meeting, while the other two groups prepared to ride.
My friend Jonathan was the assistant event director, and he led us in the novice meetings and on the track. Another friend of mine, Brian Morris, is now a control rider as well, and took me and a couple others on to coach during the event. I learned so much from him over the weekend, his one-on-one coaching and mentoring was invaluable.

Our first sessions on the track were slower and well-supervised Saturday morning. As the day progressed, the control riders gave more tips on our riding techniques, by leading us around the track, pointing out race lines, braking/downshifting zones, and often following behind us, observing our ever-improving riding abilities. I could write a separate blog post on the techniques I learned from Brian, over both days. N2 control riders have to be among the best coaches I've ever had in rider training schools.
We rode seven 20-minute sessions Saturday, and I was spent that night. A nice shower, some late night fellowship and ministry (see my other blog), and I was off to bed. Sunday brought new riders for the day, another round of tech inspection and riders' meetings, then back on the track. We had two a.m. sessions, followed by an 11am "quiet time" in which CMA held a Bible study for anyone who wanted to attend.
Bikes and riders were back on the track by noon for another set of five afternoon sessions. Under Brian's coaching, as well as a couple other CRs (Quentin & Samir), my speeds kept coming up, my body positions improved across the bike, and my lean angles in the corners got deeper. I never "dragged a knee" as they like to call it, but judging from some photos (not this one), I got close!

Rain set in mid-afternoon, so after three post-lunch sessions, I called it quits, and began to pack up. Some stayed, and rode their final sessions in the rain for the experience. I was exhausted, yet satisfied, so Test, Monte & Lynn, and myself decided to head east for home. Jonathan had to stay to help break down N2's equipment. Lynn had ridden all the way over on her Ninja 250, but we convinced her to let me tow her bike home with mine. We all hit the road, with worn-out bodies, grit-covered bikes, and smiles on our faces. Many new skills, improved others, deepened confidence- a weekend well worth the expense and time. I'll definitely "pinch pennies" and try to do another weekend with N2 in the near future.
I believe every rider should.

2 Days with 2 Friends

I spent a Friday and Saturday riding the mountains of North Georgia and North Carolina with two old friends from my youth, Lyle Branton and Jimmy Jimmerson. We live in three of the four corners of Atlanta- Lyle lives on the southside in the hometown of us all, Fayetteville, while Jimmy lives on the top end, in Alpharetta, and we live out east, in Dacula. We met up toward Jimmy, at a little Mexican eatery, then rode north.
Our travels first took us up to the Georgia/North Carolina border town of Hiawassee, where Jimmy's family owns a mountain cottage we would spend the night at. We took the long way around, to and through Helen, on up mountain roads into town and up the mountain (literally) to the cabin. After dropping our gear, we took off for a ride over to Dillard, where an annual Barbeque cook-off and Bluegrass festival was kicking off for the weekend. We wandered around, sampled a little of the local fare in BBQ and "pickin' & grinnin'" before hopping back on the bikes and making our way back to Hiawassee by dark.
We stayed up into the night, talking, laughing, reminiscing together. Anytime I can get with these guys is time well-spent. Lyle and I have been best friends since we were both 12 years old, and I befriended Jimmy at church in my 10th grade year. After high school, I introduced them to each other, and they in turn became fast friends over the years as well. We've been there for each other's life events over the decades, be it marriages, childbirths, adoptions, family crises, career changes, child graduations. I've heard it said that if you go through life with a couple of close friends, you've done well. That is certainly true of the three of us. Many friends have come and gone in each of our lives, but the bonds we share have stood the test of time. "A cord of three strands is not easily broken." Ecclesiastes 4:12

We were up early Saturday, cleaned up the place and hit the road, tackling the fantastic twisties and sweepers found throughout the hills of North Georgia and North Carolina. The guys had to stop in for some more BBQ at the festival in Dillard, and we found ourselves judging in the cook-off for the "People's Choice Awards"! That made for a fun, rather filling, afternoon, with more foot-stomping Bluegrass ringing in our ears. We took to the roads again, into North Carolina toward Otto, Scaly Mountain, and back into Georgia through Rabun, Mountain City, and Clayton, before making our way south to our homes again. A few hundred miles, many memories made with good friends.
Proverbs 17:17

Almost Complete

I've been working on a little project bike in my basement off and on for several months, and it's getting close to completion. It's a 1981 Yamaha Seca 550, and I'm told it's a rather rare bike with the factory headlight fairing. It seems that all the manufacturers are copying this look on their "retro" models (see Yamaha Bolt R-Spec, H-D Street, Ducati Scrambler, etc.). This is an original!
I acquired it from my UPS guy, who had it in his garage for several years. It's been a BIG labor of love (i.e. many issues), but for the first time in possibly 5-6 years or more, it is running, and as soon as I sort out some minor issues, I hope to sell it- unless I fall in love with it and decide to keep it!
I've been riding it up and down the street, letting everything seat, seal, and settle. It's the smallest street bike I've ever had and worked on, as well as the oldest. I was graduating high school in 1981. If I sell it, I'm thinking one of two kinds of riders will want it- the guy my age who remembers those bikes from our youth, or a young "hipster" who likes the old retro look and ride. Either way, I think it will draw some attention.
I'm having some issues with the turn signals, but other than that, she's on the road again.
More to come,

The Magic Moment

As I write, dusk has begun to turn to dark, and the remains of the day are fading over the horizon. I am on the front porch, drinking in the mystical transition from day to night. I love this moment in summer evenings, this laying to rest of one world, and the awakening of another. I'm captivated by it, year after year, here in the heart of the old South.
In late June to early July, the fading light of day can still be observed as late as 9:30-45pm. The transition is palpable. The birds begin to quiet down, the squirrels and chipmunks have turned in for the night, and a subtle yet amazing transition occurs. The songs of birds are quietly replaced with the songs of crickets and cicadas, the bees in the trees are replaced with sparkling, dancing fireflies, and the frenzied activities of various diminutive, bushy-tailed mammalia are replaced with the croaks and peeps of frogs and toads. In fact, a little green tree frog just hopped onto our front door glass and has begun to scale it upward, under the watchful eye of the cats from behind the door.
Sitting in silence here, my ears filled with the night sounds, my eyes filled with the sight of our front property awash in fireflies, I am speechless in the experience. A phrase I've used before is "hints of Heaven, glimpses of glory." It certainly is.
Life is so hurried so often, I've lost focus on trying to immerse myself in these fleeting moments. It's time to recapture the wonder again, the peace of just being in it, and the reverent intimacy of worshiping the Creator of it all. The King of Kings and Lord of Lords. The God of summer storms and fireflies, the Giver of gentle evening breezes and green tree frogs.

Perilous Speeds

Last weekend, my CMA group rode to north Georgia and did a little "Ministry on the Mountain" as we called it. We had packed water bottles, a collapsible cooler, plenty of Gospel tracts and "bike blessing" stickers, and rode up to the Richard B Russell Scenic Highway, above Cleveland. It was the near-perfect day- not too hot, enough cloud cover and breeze to keep cool, and plenty of riders out on the roads. We set up atop the parkway at a scenic overlook and soon, riders were turning in and out, while riding up and down the road. We had plenty of opportunities to strike up conversations, to offer water, and to pray for riders as they pulled in. Several of our guys shared their stories of salvation with folks, and it really turned into a great day.
At times, different groups of us took turns making runs up and down the parkway, while others stayed at the overlook. Three of our guys took off to ride it, followed by me and a newer member. We rode pretty brisk, but rode safe, and had a great time. As we got near the bottom, I noticed a group of bikes off the right side of a left-turning curve. Slowing down, we recognized a couple of our guys, but one was missing. Pulling over, we discovered our missing member was in fact, down the embankment about 10 feet. We rushed over and down to help, fearing the worst.
He had come out of the last curve, accelerated hard (well over 100mph), but over cooked this curve, and went wide into a small patch of roadside gravel. The path of the bike was clear- right off the road, down the embankment, into a creek. Amazingly, he was completely unhurt. The bike was fairly mangled, but he was not. Amen. He had wisely armored himself head-to-toe, so that definitely helped. Also amazing was the path he took sliding out. He narrowly missed a large, iron-rebar mailbox, and both bike and rider stopped just short of a telephone pole in the ditch. He had an angel on his shoulder, no doubt.
Serveral other riders stopped to help, and we collectively wrestled the bike back up the steep embankment. The bike was unrideable, so we stayed with him until some help could come carry him and his disabled bike back home. We prayed over him, thanking God he was (miraculously) unhurt, and he openly confessed he was going far too fast. A lesson learned, albeit the hard way.
As each of us rode for home, we took it noticeably slower, more cautious. I had also made note of another factor that contributed to our guy's "off"- he had been running on nearly bald tires, front and rear. Never good. It reminded me to always armor-up, insure the bike is in top shape, and ride wisely. Accidents on a motorcycle can happen in the blink of an eye, and can be catastrophic.
Have fun, but use your cranium for more than a helmet hanger.

Exploring New Roads

After I'd finished teaching my classes today, I dropped my gear at the house and decided to take advantage of the beautiful afternoon. I suited up and threw a leg over the Truimph, heading south through the countryside. I found some roads I had never ridden before, and turned off to explore. Getting lost in a "cage" is irritating; getting lost on a motorcycle is enjoyable. I wandered down country slivers of asphalt, by horse ranches, cattle fields, and farm land. I found some fun, twisty roads, over hills and through wooded stretches.

As a blanket of clouds pulled over above me, and the sun sank and faded behind the cover, I turned back toward home, meandering my way north back toward Dacula. I reflected how exploring new roads is much like new directions in life. "New" can be a little scary, but also thrilling. Never really knowing what to expect around the next corner can create caution and fear in our hearts. But if we move forward and "lean into the curves" of life, not recklessly but with calm and confidence, the unknown can bring unexpected wonders and exciting experiences.

God has not called us to lives of fear and isolation, afraid to take risks to avoid potential consequences. He has "given us everything we need for life and godliness", and He "has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind." I want to live life like I ride- exploring and enjoying the ride, scenery, and experiences.

A Personal Loss

This morning I awoke to a shocking and saddening (to me) discovery- Molly, my pet ball python, had died overnight. I had spent a couple of hours Sunday afternoon with her wrapped around my arms or neck, carrying her around while I went about the day, as I often do. She enjoyed time out of the aquarium, and I had her out nearly every day. She was about to shed soon, so I had prepared a warm solution to soak her in overnight, with a warm heating pad underneath, as I have regularly done as well. This has always helped her shed old skin more readily. I'm still not completely sure what happened, but when I went to check on her this morning, I found her dead in the container I use. It shocked and saddened me. I buried her out by the back of our property, grieving over her death, and blaming myself for whatever may have gone wrong.

We've had Molly for about 9 years. I first purchased her at a reptile show, my daughter Ansley with me. She was small, about 10 inches long, and brilliantly colorful. When the breeder handed her to me, she curled up in my palm and relaxed. Ansley instantly said, "Dad, let's buy her! She's perfect!" And we did. Ansley held her on the way home, and she and Kelsey, my younger daughter, both decided on her name, Molly.

Over the years, I've shown her to friends, helped people overcome their fear of snakes by holding her, brought her to churches and classrooms as an example of God's amazing design in creation, or to illustrate various Bible stories. Molly has always been a very gentle, comfortable, compliant participant. Most often, she was simply content to wrap around my neck, flitting her tongue on my ears or crawling up through my hair while around the house.

I know snakes don't have the emotional responses to their owners that dogs or cats have. But I'm convinced they develop a familiarity with their owners/handlers, and I saw that evident every time I took her out for handling. I certainly was attached to her.

So I know Molly was "just a snake", but she was a family pet, and I'm grieving over her tonight. I'm also thankful for the years God allowed me and my family to enjoy her, as well as the countless children and students over the years who have enjoyed her as well.