Beanz - now with meatballs

The title of this post is a quote from Dave at Bruce's Motorcycle Repairs. He calls me Miss Beanz (coz Beanz Meanz Heinz, remember?) And those meatballs he's talking about? They're not just meatballs - they're red hot Cajun meatballs.

The boys at Bruce's gave the Crow his 1000km service today - and installed a Yoshimura muffler. Here's a before & after shot:

Before, with stock muffler

After, with carbon-fibre oval Yoshi slip-on

How hot does this look? (Hint: the correct answer is 'red hot Cajun hot').

And if you think it looks hot, you ought to hear it! It's not that it's loud, as such, because it isn't - it has its baffle securely bolted in. But the note of the exhaust has changed completely. The Yoshi grabs that lovely natural V-twin double-throb by the goolies and gives it a giant hit of testosterone. The Crow's voice dropped an octave today and turned into a deep, throaty growl. My new bike is now the two-wheeled equivalent of a full-on hairy-chested alpha male.

I'm in love.

Meet the Crow

Last time I bought a new bike, back in April 2008, I picked it up from Dahlitz Motorcycles on the Friday and booked it in for its 1000km service – for the following Monday.

It hasn't been so easy this time. Getting the all-important 1000km service next week is essential, before Bruce's Motorcycle Repairs closes down for a well-earned Christmas holiday.

I've been wanting to write about my NEW new bike, but it's been shut in the shed for the last three weeks, and has hardly come out. Record-breaking rain in the wettest December I've ever seen in Canberra, and the presence of the Yak (my car), have turned me into (I can hardly bring myself to say it) a fairweather rider! Nooooooooooo!

In more than three weeks I've only managed to put 700kms on it (and 200 of those were today). Last week I went from home (Marked A on the map) to the Kippax shops (marked E) via Gungahlin and Watson, turning an 8km round trip into a desperate 40km one, just to warm up the tyres and blow some cobwebs out of my head!


View Larger Map

It's no wonder my mood's been somewhere between “a bit down” and “subterranean”.

But – today – the Crow got a proper airing. Here he is.

He's a 2010 SV650S (the Bomber was the 2008 model). He's called the Crow, or Crowie, because of his glossy blackness. Also because when he goes fast, I will make one of the famous crow-calls that got Graham Kennedy taken off TV back in the 70s (remember those?)

F a a a a a a a a a a r k !

Handsome beastie, isn't he?

Today we (the Crow and I) went to Yass to get fuel, and continued to Boorowa before coming home – a little over 200kms altogether. I was very tempted to keep going to Wyangala Dam, to see what it looks like at 89% of capacity (wow! In the drought it got down to about 6%!) Note to self: that might be a nice ride between Christmas and New Year...

The Crow handles better than the poor old Bomber did. Maybe the Bomber had had too many mishaps. Maybe, after 68,000kms, his steering head bearings were tired. Who knows? The Crow, though, tips neatly and effortlessly into turns, and the front end seems to hug the road better. From the very beginning with the Bomber I thought he felt a bit strange, and put it down to the change in bikes from the trusty, solid GS500F to the nimbler, more waspish SV. After the Unaugural splat back in May of this year, though, I never felt particularly safe when cornering – but I put that down to me being a chickenshit, and having lost confidence... I'm starting to think it was the bike, because there's none of that feeling on the Crow. It's a nice bike!

I see adventures ahead! And now that the school holidays are here, what am I waiting for? Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Three Things Not to Take Chances On

OK, pardon my grammar – the three big things on which you cannot take chances...I have come to believe there are three things in life that aren't worth taking chances on: a doctor, a hairdresser and a motorcycle mechanic.

Sure, when you're new in town you have to shop around a little, but seriously, these are three essentials that you must find quickly – and once you've found them, never let them go!

I'm still searching on the doctor front. I found a good GP several years ago, but you have to make an appointment with him about a week before you know you're going to be sick. I was inherited by my current “close to work” GP when her predecessor moved interstate, and I don't care how close this one is to work, I'm not going back to her – talk about hopeless! Then of course, there's a GP I would trust with my life – but he's a bike friend, and there are some things you simply cannot ask of someone you go on rides with or have coffee with.... There are Some Conversations you Should Never Have:

“So, great ride last weekend, hey? Um.... I have this boil on my arse/haemorrhoid/nasty rash...”

or

“You know, I think I'm due for a pap smear. So, you doing the Snowy Ride this year?”

And then there's the hairdresser thing. When I lived in Sydney I moved to a different area and had to start the awful shopping-around-for-a-hairdresser process. One bloke I went to was so determined to “bring out my feminine side” that he cut, bouffed and blow-dried my short hair well beyond reason, and I left the salon looking like I had a goldfish bowl on my head. I headed straight for the ladies' loos and stuck my head in the basin before I could drum up the courage to be seen in public.

If my current barber (it took me so long to find him!) ever tries to leave Canberra there will be Big Trouble!

More important than all these things, though, especially if you're a motorcyclist (and one who doesn't know a lot about the workings of a motorcycle) – is a good mechanic.

I do a lot of miles, and I do a lot of them on my own and a long way from home. I need to be able to trust my bike. I need to know it's been well looked after and in the best possible condition to do what I will ask of it. As I am mechanically inept, I would never trust myself to work on my own bike. One of these days I will do a proper “basic bike maintenance” course, but until then...

I hit the jackpot with my mechanic. When I got my first bike I asked around the Canberra bike community, and I kept hearing the name “Bruce.” I heard a couple of other names as well, but they were on the other side of town, so I thought I would give this Bruce a go. I'm so glad I did.

That was three and a half years ago. Three bikes ago. About 100,000kms ago. That's about 8 minor services and 8 major services ago. That's maybe 2 chains and sets of sprockets, a couple of sets of brake pads, and 10 rear and 6 or 7 front tyres ago.

I can't calculate the amount of good advice and important knowledge I've picked up by hanging around at Bruce's, talking bikes. Sure, they pick on me and put my helmet up high when I leave it there – and I've copped my fair share of good-natured ribbing whenever I've needed some minor repairs after a stupid low speed drop... My favourite was after a drop on wet grass at Wandiligong, in Victoria. I hunted around on the grass for the small triangular piece of fairing that had broken off, and handed this precious little jigsaw puzzle piece to Bruce on my return.

“Yep,” he said laconically, “no worries. I'm used to gluing this bike together now.”

When I drove a car I always thought of a mechanic as a technician, but I've come to think of Bruce as a friend. I phoned him from a public phone booth hundreds of kilometres away to ask for his advice once when the bike seemed to be running rough. When I see something called “Bruce” on my trips I take photos of it for Bruce to stick up in the workshop. Whenever I call by on the way home from work to have some minor tweakage done, or to ask for bike advice, Bruce will always have a chat and offer lollies, or biscuits that his mum or his daughter have baked.

Tonight I got a phone call from Bruce. He'd heard I'd had a bit of a setback with the healing of my stupid broken foot, and he rang to see how I was. See – that's priceless!