Hits and Misses

Using JJ’s last column for inspiration (‘My First Motorcycle’), I’ve decided to recount some of my past too. Although the story of my first motorcycle (a modified 1969 Moto Guzzi V700) is nothing exceptional in and of itself, the events that followed reveal a passion and direction that probably has a lot in common with yours. If so, feel free to share your story here on VMOL.

Looking back, it's probably a miracle that I didn’t seriously injure myself. Not due to any wild riding antics, but because just shortly after I learned to point the big Guzzi in a straight line, I hit the road. Barely two-weeks into it, I struck out from Phoenix for the beaches of San Diego, freeways and all. A jaunt to the Midwest followed shortly thereafter, then a run up to San Jose to see my brother.
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Obviously, I survived. Call it Trial-By-Fire

When the V7 ate its clutch and started spewing oil from its cracked engine block, I began searching for another bike to ride during the long repair process. I said that then and repeat it now out of habit. The truth is, I wanted something sportier and found it in a 1972 R 75 / 5, purchased from Motorcycle City in Scottsdale for $1500. Once the Guzzi was fixed, I had two bikes and a neophyte collector was born. Shift left, shift right. Chug-chug verses bip-bip. Fun.

The twist really begins here. Before buying the Beemer I had called on a private ad for (what I now know was) a 1972 Suzuki GT 750 J. Repainted yellow, the fellow wouldn’t let me ride it, instead offering to take me around on the back. I was fairly astonished at the amount of smoke that billowed from the GT’s exhaust when he pinned it, but the sound and sensation of the big Suzuki at full tilt was intoxicating. I choose the R75, but I never forgot that wailing GT 750...

After selling the V7 to a neighborhood friend, the itch for a really fast, attention getting motorcycle was too strong to ignore. I traded the Beemer in for a brand new1980 CB 750F; black with red stripes and Comstar wheels. Due to its period lean-burn jetting the bike didn't cover 20K before burning the majority of its 16 valves; helped along by the service tech who left half of the sync-screws loose, which then fell out en route to Indiana. I began doing my own service after that.

Faced with the choice of socking a grand into the engine or buying something else, I visited my old pals at Motorcycle City. There, perched on a carpeted, plywood pedestal it sat; illuminated by floor lights. Shipped together with my brother’s 1980 SP 1000, the racy red and black CX100 was now three years old, left behind for any number of reasons but in my Guzzi soaked brain, it was destiny. I had to have it. I thought I did too, trading the sick CB 750 and a reasonable sum for the right to call the CX my own. Only an 11th hour veto by the shop owner’s wife kept the deal from going down and I rode the sputtering Honda home, eventually replacing it with a red over white CB 1100F. But like the Suzuki, the Le Mans had left an indelible impression.

It’s been said life is too short to drink bad wine, and the same can be said for riding motorcycles too, I suppose. Not that there was anything wrong with the bikes I had; but the 1100F, R100RS, and some forgettable others just weren’t supplying the mechanical romance I was looking for. Occasionally, the bikes I longed for, an early Guzzi Le Mans’, MVs, and other exotica, were met with bad timing. With a family to support, the money flow came in spurts. A classic case of wrong place, wrong time, when I had the money, the motorcycles I wanted were unavailable. When it was gone, spent on something else, they appeared again. This frustrating cycle continued. Hit and miss. A new Guzzi Le Mans in 1985 quenched the fire for a while, but the old longings persisted. The wish list grew to include Guzzi’s 1100 Sport, the K100 and various British icons like Velos, Vincents and Broughs. Ever ridden a Munch? I have. Wow.

Patience has never been one of my virtues, but good fortune can eventually reach anyone; even a clumsy bloke like me. By chance, I spotted an ad in an BMW owners magazine and swapped the RS for a low mileage 1981 CX100. I traveled endlessly on it for eleven years; coast to coast while launching my journalism career. The long- awaited K-bike came next, delivering on its promise of providing an almost unbelievable amount of reliability, and the Sport 1100 too, just last April.

There remain a few holes to fill, as always. Looking back, it all worked out. And while life's highway is often filled with potholes and ruts, I find myself deeply appreciative of the journey. The unexpected discovery is the people I’ve met, grown to admire and love along the way. That turned out to be the real prize. Like life, the pattern of hit and miss is something that can’t be managed. Once that is realized, one can sit back and enjoy the ride. Nolan Woodbury