RAD … the dream incubator
In the mid 80’s, after watching the multi-award winning movie, RAD, I wanted to be rad. I carefully reasoned within myself about my future … it was silly to want to be the white Michael Jackson or the new Rocky. I wanted to devote my life to all things BMX and delivering newspapers.
I came home from the theater, pulled my old Schwinn bike out of the garage and began trying to do cherrypickers in the driveway that night. I quickly realized I had to get new equipment. I couldn’t do what the RAD guy did with what I had (no footpegs, no number plate, no hand brakes, no name-brand stickers, no bmx t-shirts, no helmet, no pads, no ramps, no paper route).
I couldn’t do what I wanted to do with what I had. Looking back, I suppose I could race and be a freestyler with what I had, but it was easier on the front end to blame it on the lack of proper equipment. Also looking back, I think this is the dilemma of all males. We just want more gear, for whatever venture we may be into. Our closets and garages are not full of enough gear yet. We always want to be prepared to go pro at something if we ever find that we are actually good at it.
So after laying out my reasoning before my dad, he told me he would buy me a new bike. My newest dream could come true. He took me into the big city of Shreveport to pick out the bike I liked, But when he saw the price tags, and that they were not much better than the bike I had already, he decided to do something different.
Every detail in place, except for the yellow Skyway mags.
When we got home, we had work to do. First, we cleaned the garage. the work we were going to do required room. We set up a “BMX magic area” that was designated to transforming junk into BMX magic.
Dad told me this might take some time, and once we started taking it apart, I wouldn’t have anything to ride. So I was going to have to be committed to this process. I thought about it for 2 seconds, and told him I could walk for the next year if I could have that blue GT with the yellow skyway mags and blue tires.
We brought the Schwinn into the BMX magic area. Dad showed me how to remove the handlebars, the tires, the seat, everything. Together, we stripped the old Schwinn down to its bare, ugly frame and then we began abusing it. We sanded and sanded until we had removed every bit of the old color. Then we went to the paint store and picked out a beautiful GT blue, came home and painted it.
I scrubbed my dirty yellow mags until they looked new again. I cleaned every part that we removed from the old bike. Some old things we had to replace. We bought a new blue tires, grips, a new seat, new crank, a number plate for the handlebars, a new helmet that matched the new blue bike. We bought bearing grease and chain oil. We tweaked the handlebars a bit so they were more freesyle-like, and then the day finally came. We started the process of putting it all back together.
Part by part and piece by piece, the old Schwinn became that GT I had wanted. The transformation was complete. The last thing we put on it was the number plate. Though I had never raced a day in my life, it looked like I was a pro … number 47 (I think). I rode it around the neighborhood in complete victory, though I had won nothing. Friends were jealous, and began asking their dads to make their bikes into GTs. It was a glorious day.
But the next day was not so glorious. I had supposed that having the right gear, and the right bike I could be like the guy in RAD. But my skills had not improved when the bike changed.
After trying cherry-pickers, front foot endos, bar hops, bar spins, and other tricks that seemed so easy on the movie … I limped home with busted elbows and bleeding knees. I hated that bike. After one afternoon of tying the tricks myself …. I was done.
Soon, the GT became just a mode of transportation again. It was not a BMX racer, it was not a freestyle magic machine. I couldn’t do anything on it. The dream had died.
Until I went to the local bike store’s free BMX show. Pro and corporate riders showed up to teach us tricks and show us what bikes are really meant for. Their excellence and grace and pure guts re-ignited a spark in me. I could do this after all! I could be the champion of all things BMX.
I went home and tried the tricks again … and then got into skateboarding.
$11 Seat Mod: Stock KLR to Caressing My Rear Perfectly
Instead of forking out the money for something more comfy than my stock KLR seat, I decided to rebuild what I had. I’ve got champagne taste, but a beer budget. Bottom line: I wanted a dished saddle and good foam, but didn’t want to fund Corbin’s kids’ college. I also wanted it shorter and wider … kinda like myself.
After redoing this seat, I think it would be easy to do on 4 wheelers or other bikes too.
This seat was made especially to caress my rear. I sat and made markings enough during the process that my pants now have black marker all over the rear.
Cost of Materials used $11.
~spray adhesive
~laminate underlayment (waterproof)
~8# carpet padding (it’s more firm than stock KLR seat foam)
~Bandaids (for the inevitable … this does involve sharp objects)
Step 1: Take cover off seat by removing the staples underneath. Cut down old foam. The KLR was more of a motocross seat (tall and narrow) so I brought it down from 4.75 inches to 1.5 inches with a sawzall and a long blade. Some guys on www.KLR650.net used an electric knife. But since it is unfashionable to clean salmon in ALaksa with an electric knife, alas, I used what I had. Clean up the cuts and make them as even as you can. Measure the amount of foam on each side so you aren’t going to be riding on a constant lean.
Step 2: Spray adhesive on remaining seat foam and the 2 layers of carpet padding. Set 2 layers of 8# carpet padding on seat. Let it dry. Then cut the carpet padding to the shape of the seat. I sprouted a few extra fingers at this point and they appeared and disappeared several times behind the padding as I tried to trim it around the seat. I think I managed to nick them all with the razor. Apply Bandaid to each individual finger.
I cut the 4.75 inch seat down to 1.5 inches. The line on the side is where I wanted the rear of the saddle to be.
Step 3: Shape the seat with whatever you have. I used a grinder and it made a mess. It will take me longer to clean up that mess than it took me to do this whole project. I shaped a fairly deep saddle into the seat and then sat on it a little after each bit of cutting. I wanted it to fit my butt perfectly. My seat is now dished in the front where I sit, and raised in the back where Ellen will sit … or where I will strap down my gear.
Step 4: I used waterproof underlayment that goes under laminate flooring to wrap over the foam/carpet padding. I did 2 layers to cover up my not so perfect job of grinding the 8# carpet padding. It smoothed out the lumps, and adds a waterproofing.
I added 2 layers of 8# carpet padding, then trimmed and grinded it into a saddle to fit my rear.
Step 5: Lay the old seat cover on. Begin with the saddle area. Use your spray adhesive to make sure it holds to the curvature of the saddle. Let the glue really dry before you pull and stretch it into place. Pull it tight and staple it underneath. As it was drying, I used a little weight to hold the inside curvature of the saddle down … a 7 year old 72 lb little girl who can’t get enough of sitting on the bike.
Ladybug was superb at holding the seat in place while the glue dried.
Step 6: Last part. Pull the edges tight around the bottom of the seat and staple the seat cover underneath.
All said and done, I basically dropped 2 inches from the height of the seat … and it helps
Final Product. 2 inches shorter. 1.5 inches wider.
me a bit to plant my whole foot on the ground now at stops, or while pushing through the snow. Argh!
This worked well (especially for uner $15) and looks like a custom seat … except for the Kawasaki logo down the side of it.
If any guys in Anchorage area want to do this with their seat, I still have materials left over. Shoot me an email and I’ll open up the garage and help.
Inspiration!
Just when I thought it was safe…
Friday: I rode around the neighborhood a little. Some ice was still on the road, but most of it gone. The highways were mostly dry and clean.
Maybe God is calling me to warmer locations?
Saturday: We drove to Willow to see Miles and Deb and the girls at the cabin. The skies were clear, the air was a warm 25 degrees, the roads were almost ready.
Sunday: 8 inches of snow. I went down town to The Spring Motorcycle Show at the Eagen Center. It had a funny vibe to it. Everyone was mopey and really put-off by the snow. I was too, except all the stickers I got from the booths sort of pumped me up a little. I’m AMAZED at how easily I am pacified.
Today: I had planned on riding the Post-Winter Celebration Ride down the Turnagain Arm; complete with flags, banners and fireworks. But instead, I’ll go to the grocery store.
Smells like something’s different
There are times when something old takes a new form, and it almost becomes something new altogether. I’ve had friends, who after having long hair for years become different after getting a haircut and a “respectable job” … his words, not mine. A old truck after getting the nasty old pee-stained seat recovered is like a almost brand new 1993 truck … it was dog pee, not mine. And a song, when it is revisited, especially after many years, can become even better.
Everything’s amazing; nobody’s happy
I miss the unsolicited input from old people I know. Sometimes it’s that rough advice you weren’t looking for that helps you bolster your framework, through which you can really deal with your life.
Being fairly new in Alaska, I’ve not had the opportunity … or taken the opportunity to get to know people outside my age group (+/- 10 years). And I crave input from people my parents would call “sir” or “ma’am”. On the outside, the elderly may just seem like cranky, crochety geezers who smell funny. But slow down and really listen. Some of them have gone kooky from dealing with life; but even that’s a lesson. The sane ones, when they give their input, have wisdom to pour out. It’s not likely you’re going through anything they didn’t go through. Life isn’t so bad. Like Garrison Keillor says, “It could be worse.”
When I saw this clip, it made me think of how one-dimensional I/we have become. He was my old geezer today. His words reminded me that all the things we have and want that are supposed to help us … well … sometimes they ends up making us … punks.
Dingalingaling
In the garage today, working on the bike and listening to odd radio stations, I heard a song that made me stop wrenching and just stare at the radio with wide eyes and giggle.
Okay … some background:
Chuck Berry is rock and roll. According to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, no one individual invented rock and roll, but they hold that “Chuck Berry comes the closest of any single figure to being the one who put all the essential pieces together.” John Lennon said: “If you tried to give rock and roll another name, you might call it ‘Chuck Berry’.”
One of Chuck Berry’s most popular songs (even young people know it because of Michael J. Fox in Back To The Future) is “Johnny B. Good”. A Rolling Stone article quoted Joe Perry of Aerosmith as saying about this song in particular, “If you want to play rock & roll, you have to start here.”
But “Johnny B Good” never made it to number 1. A funny thing happened. In and out of jail, on and off the charts, Chuck Berry didn’t have a number 1 hit until 1972 … 24 years after his first album. And in a wierd twist of irony, one of the greatest songwriters of the rock and roll era achieved his only number 1 hit with a sophomoric schoolyard sing-a-long called “My Ding-A-Ling.” It became Berry’s best-selling single ever.
If I were Chuck Berry, I would lie awake at night thinking, “I worked my butt off all my life to change the face of music, and I’m most known for this? “
Motorcycle repair = Zen?
I started with a simple project … heated grips. How hard could it be, right? I stripped the old grips, bought the warmers and some electrical doo dads to complete the afternoon job. Then, well, since I’m working on it, I might as well add a 12 volt power outlet for GPS, air compressor, hair dryer, laptop, etc. And if I was going to run the wiring for that, I might as well rig up aux lights on the front too, and maybe an espresso maker.
I’m afraid curb feelers will be next and my Dad will have a go at me for jabbing him all these years about one little afternoon project leading into rebuilding the whole thing.
On the positive side, there’s nothing like working on something with no pressing time limit. I can’t ride until mid April, so I enjoy it as it is right now. Isn’t that the Zen of the thing?
What began as installing hotgrips ... now this.
WHEN DAD DOESN’T LIKE YOUR BIKE!!!
Safety is a huge concern for me. I have 34 years of being the son of an insurance salesman under my belt … which means I’ve heard more horrific stories than I care to tell. The fear of motorcycle is in me … but it is just barely overridden by the love of motorcycle. So when I found a bike that suited my wife’s price range, my next hurdle was safe gear: helmet, armored coat and pants, forcefield, etc.
Jim Blackshear, the guy who is likely responsible for this new hobby, told me I needed to get Barb at Alaska Leather to suit me up. I went and told her m
Dad loves 4 wheels touching the ground.
y dilemma, “My dad doesn’t like the fact that I’m old enough to be out of his house … and he really doesn’t like the fact I have bought and will ride a motorcycle on the street. Considering that, what do you have for me?”
I ended up with a doozy. She called it HIGH-VIZ GREEN. Yeah, it had all the bells and waterproof whistles and shoulder pads, pockets, vents and armor. But it was excruciatingly bright and boxy. I considered one of the more subtle jackets next to it. They were cool. They were like real motorcycle jackets: black, hunky, not violently loud. Dad’s voice was in the back of my head, “DO WANT TO BE SEEN? IT DOESN”T MATTER IF YOU LOOK LIKE SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS! IT WILL SAVE YOUR LIFE, MAYBE!”
In my head, my dad regularly gives insurance/safety/common sense lectures to me, and they are always in bold with exclamation points at the end. I can’t remember one time growing up when he left a note for me on the counter when it wasn’t in ALL CAPS and with ! at the end of each sentence. MOW THE YARD! CLEAN MY TRUCK AFTER YOU USE IT! WHERE IS MY JIGSAW?!!!
Dad’s not a yeller by any means. And he wouldn’t even raise his voice if he came home and found that I had burned down the house. But his eyes spoke simple and clear, like James Earl Jones. All the time growing up, I got the look that said, “I am disappointed, Bud … and that is enough to straighten you up.” He’s always called me Bud. And I always straightened up. I suddenly remember wanting to be spanked as a child, but I was lectured instead. It was slow death.
I suppose this venture into motorcycling is an un-doing of me straightening up, in one category at least. There were 2 other motorcycles in my past; those lovely demons. One I stole and later returned (with a full tank of gas). The other I bought while away at college. I only rode once before being forced to sell it. Dad’s eyes spoke over the phone very loudly that day. I could even sense the CAPS and !!!
That is what I love about my dad. He’s sensible, and he loves me and my family and even my friends enough to sit you down and tell you why what you’ve done or about to do is not so smart. His eyes convey that love too.
Even though his eyes were in Louisiana, his words were in my mind when I bought the Spongebob jacket.
Ride in Ethiopia
Ellen and I are going to Ethiopia hopefully in May to adopt our twin boys. The bonus is this … a KTM with my name on it for a day ride! Any advice on riding in foreign/semi-dangerous lands? Any tips on dealing with the pain of inserting a large disk into my lip, so I could blend in?
Here’s the link for the adv group: www.africaridingadventures.com
