[url=https://www.superbikeplanet.com/cycle-world-goes-four-issues-year/]Cycle World Goes to Four Issues a Year

Apparently Rider has gained ground, still monthly, with an increase in subscribers.

Regrettably, this comes as no surprise.

Dean Adams says:

"Clearly the writing has been on the wall for some time; print is dead.

Oh, wait, what if a publishing house didn’t buy every ailing American motorcycle magazine and then have to prop them up for years by blowing a fortune, didn’t try to become a one stop shop for magazines, events, sanctioning bodies and ad agencies?

RIDER magazine, published by EPG Media in Minnesota, didn’t waste a fortune by trying to be every thing to seemingly no one."

There's a man what speaks his mind.

It does occur to me that some members may be taking my wordy posts far too literally (pun absolutely intended). Yep, I'm stirring the pot a bit to see what floats up, that's all. A sense of humor is helpful, but there is always the ignore list.

Here are some thoughts on the CB1100:

It has been said that to become a cultured person one should study the Japanese tea ceremony. Nothing is allowed to be rushed, and there are no shortcuts. The tea ceremony creates a sense of tranquility and peace, and is best described by the Japanese idiom, Ichi-go ichi-e, literally “one time, one meeting”. The term has several meanings. “One chance in a lifetime” is one.

Ichi-go ichi-e applies not just to people that one will never meet again, but to those we see regularly. No encounter can ever be repeated. Each moment in our lives is unique and special.

I have never been to Japan, and yet the country has always held my fascination. Ichi-go ichi-e and the country’s passion for precision captures the essence of its culture and carries over into many of its products.

My 2014 Honda CB1100 DLX motorcycle is one. It is an extraordinary piece of Japanese technology. No other motorcycle has roused in me so consistently that most alluring and ephemeral of experiences, the sheer joy one feels of simply riding a motorcycle. I think all committed riders know this feeling.

I have owned ten motorcycles since I was a teenager and ridden countless others. I loved them all, but none instilled that sense of joy more consistently and more often than the CB1100.

I wanted to make modifications when I bought it, but after reading several interviews with the design and engineering teams, I changed my mind. The bike was built around a single concept: to generate a feeling of peace and enjoyment at 3,000 rpm while travelling at 100 km/h, the speed limit in Japan.

Normally, a motorcycle is designed for maximum performance. The CB1100 was built to other standards: reliability, ease of use, functionality, comfort, and the creation of a sense of calmness in the rider. The engine was deliberately detuned to produce power at lower engine revolutions, giving a better ride overall.

In addition, the Honda engineers had spent countless hours dialing in the performance that they felt was optimum. I, on the other hand, had wanted to make changes with minimal experience. I decided to wait and see. Over time, I found that Honda had got it right. Although I replaced the stock seat with a Corbin, added LED braking flashers, and Beemer Buddy grips, I kept it stock.

Performance is always an issue in the motorcycle world. I have had several policemen roll up beside me and ask if the bike is underpowered. I usually shrug because the CB is, and it isn’t. It depends on one’s riding style. Normally, I like to ride with the rpms at or below 3,000. The bike is more comfortable there, but if I have to split lanes on the freeway, or travel quickly through LA traffic, I go into what I call mode 2. I keep the revs above 3,500 where there is more than enough power available. The machine then has two personalities, with the default being the more relaxed version, the one I enjoy the most.

The CB1100 has surprised me. I love to ride it. I will do errands at any time of the day, but the most telling sign of the joy I feel riding it is that I always want to take the long way home.

Ichi-go ichi-e is a concept I embrace. “Treasure every encounter, for it will never recur.” It is wonderfully appropriate, not just in riding motorcycles, but as a way of living.

I’ve been contacted by a forum member who has asked to remain anonymous. He has received a communication from Photobucket as follows:

Quote:Hello ,

We would like to offer a tailored plan for users just like you - our Premium plan for $99.99 / year.

The Premium plan will provide 3rd party hosting for non-commercial use on your forums, blogs, and personal websites*. Additionally, you will be able to store up to 300,000 photos.

We are working on some exciting changes for 2018. This is our exclusive introductory price and this offer will expire in 7 days.

Thank you very much for your continued support.

-Sebastian
I didn’t get this email and I’ve posted lots more photos on that wretched site. What’s going on?

I can’t find the whoopy-do emoticon.

Well friends, some of you know the 2018 Bonneville Speedmaster has been calling my name, and I've officially run out of reasons why I shouldn't get it. Therefore, my trusty (and rare!) 2014 DLX is up for sale ([url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=12105]link to classified)
I know a lot of folks on this forum have expressed an interest in finding a DLX, so here's your chance
I'd like to take this opportunity to again thank everyone on the forum and the fine chaps who run it for all the excellent information, encouragement and fellowship. This is easily the best forum I've participated in, and regardless of this change I plan to continue checking in with y'all.
With much respect and regard, Karl / Seattle

Alphabetically:
BMW R100GS
Honda CB1100
Moto Guzzi 1200 Sport

The Beemer has 155,000 miles on it. I've owned it (her!) since March, 1991, and we've had lots of great rides.

CB1100 has slightly over 3000 miles on the odometer. Longest one day ride to date was bringing her home from the W Va dealership to NE Ohio. No great rides yet, but hopefully, if I can get the suspension set up to my liking, there should be some nice rides this season.

Moto Guzzi 1200 Sport turned 65,000 miles this past (2016) riding season. She's top-heavy, but I love this machine. The 1151cc V twin feels and sound wonderful, and the 6 speed tranny is sweet. Moto Guzzi has not been known for 'sweet' transmissions.

So, where am I headed with this menagerie?

Dunno! The old Beemer needs something to eliminate some vibes. Probably due for major carb rebuild, including rebushing the butterfly bushings. I love this old bike (obviously) after being the only owner since 1991. But I hate to throw yet more $$ at it, at this stage of my life (turned 75 on Jan 23rd.)

CB1100. I am not happy that the CB suspension hasn't worked for me. I find it way too stiff and non-compliant. I didn't buy it to be a track day bike. But I will take one more pass at making this bike work for me. Already installed Ikon shocks, and have taken pass #1 at the front forks ...... but they're still too stiff for me. The CB is a well built machine, but I haven't yet adapted to the feel of the in line 4. I'm willing to give it a go again this year.

The Guzzi. Well, this 2008 1200 Sport was only brought into the USA for one year. However, it has been for me one of the machines that keeps me in motorcycling. The suspension was good out of the box, and the Guzzi v twin (last of the two valve per cylinder big block machines) is a real pleasure to ride ..... assuming you like big twins that make nice sounds and produce sweet vibes.

So, once the temps get into the 60s, I'll sort it out ....... what stays and what goes.

Bob

Hello. My name is Monica Bellucci. According to the press, I'm an "Italian actress/model." Mio Dio, I loathe that description. Yes, I'm Italian, and also an actress, but I am not a model, capice?

Oh, whatever.

Anyway, Van invited me here to talk a bit about myself, as he put it. He's a nice enough guy and all, but I have to say, he's a bit loopy. See, apparently there's this Honda motorcycle called a CB1100 EX, and Van says it reminds him of me. A lot. A whole lot. As in, it's rather disturbing, just how much this motorcycle reminds him of me. I try to tell him, "Van, how can that motorcycle be me, and I, it? That beautiful lady is certainly dressed in red, but she is not Italian. When you caress her just so, she does not respond with the seductive purr of bella Tuscany; rather, she has a certain Asiatic allure, which is wonderful in its own right, but it's more saki than chianti, don't you see?"

Always, he dismisses my gentle remonstrations with a knowing grin. "It's not about birth certificates, or colors on a flag," he tells me. "It's about who you are...what you are. In any language, born of any nation, this bike is you."

He is convinced. He is immovable.

He is also so sweet about it, so flattering, that I'm willing to play along. What he's asked me to do is to describe the 2017 CB1100 EX to you, from a first-person perspective.

Interesting. If I come across as vain, please forgive me, for such is not my intent.

I came into Van's possession by happenstance, as it were. Apparently Van tried to purchase me months ago from his local dealer, only to prove unable to come to agreeable terms with said local dealer. Now that it is the dead of winter, and I continued to sit languishing on that dealer's showroom floor, unloved, barely noticed—the notion of which Van simply cannot abide, where I am concerned—he attempted yet again yesterday to come to terms with his local dealer, and was again rebuffed.

Undaunted, and dogged in his determination to bring me home, he went on the internet and looked up every 'Monica' within driving distance from his home in northern California.

Here, I should add that his faithfulness was sorely tested, as a certain winsome geisha by the name of 'Ninja 1000" nearly lured him away from me yesterday. Following his second unsuccessful attempt at purchasing me from his local Honda dealer, he promptly struck a deal with his local Kawasaki dealership, pending the successful outcome of a test ride. There was something about a windshield, and noisy turbulence, he said. He wouldn't purchase that bike without a test ride; true heart that he is, however, he decided to forego the test ride and walk away from the comely Asian temptress, back into my arms.

Upon arriving home from the Kawasaki dealership, he called a Honda dealership located an hour and a half away, and was able to complete the very same deal that his local dealership would not accept.

Today, he came to Concord and picked me up.

Fair disclosure: In my former life I was, unfortunately, a fashion model. Yes, I know, I know. There is no need to remind me, nor to disparage me. I am not proud of that period of my life, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do, no?

Well, one thing I still carry within me from those days is the desire to appear fashionably chic and properly haute couture when I'm out and about in public. As such, I loathe getting my hair wet, after spending countless hours doing my hair, makeup, and clothes in an effort to have everything look just right. One never knows when the paparazzi may be lurking, cameras at the ready.

So, imagine my chagrin upon learning that Van chose a day of frogs and locusts rains to come rescue me from bondage. All my primping for him, for all of you, a certainty to go to waste! Soaked to the bone, I was sure to look like a common ragamuffin!

Van didn't seem to mind. Oh, sure, he cursed the foul weather, grousing just a bit about "not even getting one day with me" before he'd have to to clean me right up again, but that was the extent of his displeasure.

I must say, he does seem extremely happy with me, following our first tryst together.

I'm blushing now. Forgive me.

As soon as he thumbed my starter button and I began to purr for him, he grinned with satisfaction. "Yessss," he said. "You sound so much better than the '14 Standard. You feel so much sexier."

I was inclined to take offense at such a forward remark, especially since it was an admission of some fling or another he had obviously enjoyed with another woman, until he explained to me that those days were over for him, and he was merely stating the differences between myself and this other woman.

I'm sure she's a wonderful lady. (She's probably a shameless tart.)

But I digress...

So, he loves my sultry voice, and my warm pulse...my soothing heartbeat.

I'm glad.

As soon as he pulled in my clutch, dropped me into gear and headed out, he told me, "Ohhhh, yes, you handle exactly as I knew you would, wearing your new heels. Fabulous, babe!"

Apparently the '14 Standard version of me that he dated had very heavy steering, which he felt was almost certainly the result of squared-off tires that may have also been under-inflated. I steer and turn quite easily, he says, and dead neutrally as well, which, believe it or not, he deems a compliment!

"Dead neutral and easy," a compliment?

My sainted mother would be aghast over such talk. What has the world come to?

Similarly, after shifting me up and down many times, he said, "You're as slick as moose snot!"

Now how am I supposed to take that as anything but the most mortifying of degradations?

Nonetheless, he again assured me that he was paying me the most ardent, sincere compliment imaginable, explaining, "mickey will be thrilled, because your transmission is every bit as slick and and snick-snick-snick easy perfection as he says his is, and you shift a million times better than Eric's '14. His bike made audible 'clunks' when shifting. You? You're just like my XSR."

Again, with the comparisons to other women. How very gauche.

Oh well, American men never were particularly housebroken.

The hits keep coming, too. A bit further into our lovely ride together, he mentioned that I have none of the drive lash of Eric's bike, which, again, is a good thing?

I think it is. He seemed very happy about it, which must be a positive sign.

I do admit, men have often complimented me on my legs. In this regard, Van is no exception. On at least a few occasions, usually when taking me over sharp expansion joints, he was quick to note how smoothly my supple legs eased over those nasty bumps in the road. "Much plusher than the '14. Very nice," he cooed, with another knowing smirk. "Ulvetanna will love you," he added, which didn't sound very gentlemanly of him at all, I must say.

In fact, it sounded rather caddish. A gentleman should never kiss and tell, yet here he is, already planning on sharing me with his friends?

My mother must never hear of this. You must promise me this. These lurid tales must be kept safe within our little group here.

"You know what I love best about you," he said to me, when we were stopped at a red light. "It's all the little details...the things that don't show up on a spec sheet."

"Like what, baby?" I purred, as he gratuitously blipped my throttle. Yes, I know, I seem to purr all my answers. What can I say? I'm built to please.

"Just so you know, I would never do that on the '14 model. With you, though, you just sound so good, and feel so awesome, I have to do it. Anyway, it's a million little things, like your switchgear. Eric was right, the turnsignals on my Yamaha are too small, and kinda flimsy. Your switchgear seems like it was built by Cartier, or Rolex. Everything is large, elegant, purposeful, and so very well engineered. Everything about you is built to last, even as it's all so effortless to use. Your mirrors are amazing. The only way they could be any better is if they somehow reflected the image of your gorgeous dash, or your sculpted perfection of a gas tank. Everywhere I look, I see another beautiful contour, another artisan's touch. The person who built you cared deeply about you. I can feel it in every surface, every smooth utterance. You sing and breathe with the warmth of the neck pickup of a really good ES-335."

I told him right then and there that he's a crackhead, and all he did was laugh.

"I'm just a girl, like any other," I added teasingly, and he blipped my throttle again in response.

"Sure you are, and a perfect sunset at Lahaina is just another ray of sunshine," he said, smacking my bottom and goosing me into action, as we jumped ahead of traffic.

Yes, I think he's a more than a bit smitten with me.

I pride myself on being a rather demure, respectable, classy woman, so imagine my surprise when he positively revved me up and made me race down the road like a wild banshee, yet that's what he did with me, all the while sniggering to me, "Sundials, my patootie. You accelerate like a champ, pretty lady."

Yes, I am aware that I'm known for being a rather smooth charmer, with precious little vibration to speak of under normal circumstances, but I was pleasantly surprised to see him notice and acknowledge my more passionate nature. Yes, I dearly love donning a formal gown and tripping the light fantastic at a swanky ballroom affair, but I am far from averse to throwing on a pair of yoga tights and a sports bra and getting after it during a hot and sweaty Crossfit session. In fact, don't kid yourself, people. Beneath these elegant curves and enchanting colors and textures, I remain a hot-blooded minx, through and through.

If you want to dance, just cue the band, and I'll boogie your pants off. Even the classiest girl still wants a bit of excitement, you know.

Make no mistake, however, and I'm under no illusions to the contrary; it's my looks that have brought me this far, and it's those same looks that have captured Van's heart. "You are the most beautiful thing out there," he tells me, with no reservations or qualifiers. "Even if you didn't work so amazingly well, I would still love you, but I sure am glad your beauty isn't merely skin deep."

At the conclusion of our first date, as he climbed off of me with a satisfied sigh, he let me know that this will not be a fleeting affair. He informed me he was so sure of his long-term devotion to me that he took the "absolutely unheard of, totally drastic" measure of signing me up for his first-ever extended warranty.

He told me, "Sometimes you just know, and this is one of those times. You're the one."

And you know what? I believe him.

Is anyone else having trouble logging in with an iPhone.
I enter screen name and password and it appears to work but then takes me back to screen showing guest login blanks

He just texted me a picture of a certain bike he's been talking about.

9 of 2017

Introduction

One of the many reasons I hung around on this forum was because some people seemed to appreciate what started out as modest little ride reports. Of course, they became larger and larger and larger, although I hope they retained their essential modesty. Of course it was purely selfish on my part: there was some need in me to write. But, with something to write about, fuelled by positive feedback, there was no stopping me.

Time goes by, though, and, while the enjoyment both of riding and writing continues, life's circumstances have conspired to leave me with less time for both activities. More than that, though, I've found it a bit hard to get motivated to write about roads traversed and described before. And how many lanyard-cam photos of bits of road does a person want to see?

That's why this report's been a-while coming. It's also why it will be abbreviated as I'm not going to spend too much time talking about roads already ridden a number of times.

The other reason for abbreviation is that the dastardly Pterodactyl [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=11837]scooped many of the interesting bits of the ride.

Which brings me to the title of the report.

Australia, some say, is blessed by the gift of an immigrant reporter, employed by the global empire of the former Australian, now US citizen, Rupert Murdoch. The reporter's name is Andrew Bolt and he hosts a television program called [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bolt_Report]The Bolt Report. Not being a Foxtel subscriber, I have no access to cable TV, can't watch The Bolt Report and make no comment on it. I will say only that Bolt is a darling of the political left, curiously not because they agree with a word he says, but more because they'd lose another whipping boy if he were silenced. As with all successful agents provocateur, Bolt's opponents have failed to realise the wisdom of ignoring him.

Anyway, as Pterodactyl was kind enough to refer to me as a 'dolt' in his essay, the Dolt Report this shall be.

Day 1: 16 October 2017, Brisbane to Walcha (598 kms)



[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1oWwJ_vrf_RSeq9H1ibsmebQZiJqaHs67&usp=sharing]Link to Day 1 map

The forecast was for rain until late in the day. It was overcast as I left home and I was ready for a quick stop to put on the wets. After the [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=10537]Ride Down Under, when I spent days with boots full of water, I'd bought some new over-boots. I was faced with one of the motorcyclist's dilemmas: do I want it to rain so I can see if my new kit works, or would I rather never know? I now don't remember how long it was before I stopped and put on all my waterproof gear; I do know I was over the border into New South Wales before I got showered on.

That was to be the pattern for the rest of the day: dry patches then showers. I kept my wets on all the way to Walcha where I checked into the local pub for the night.

The waterproof over-boots worked well.

My route for the day took me along the Mt Lindsay Highway over the border; down the Summerland Way to Grafton and then up the glorious Grafton-Armidale Road to the top of the Great Dividing Range. There's a description in [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=10076]this ride report.

Other blokes on their way to the GP and staying at Walcha invited me to join them and we made a reasonable evening of it.

The CB outside Fusspots Tea House at Ebor, a welcome oasis in an otherwise rather bleak and chilly spot


A milestone passed somewhere between Ebor and Armidale

There are no other photos. It was too miserable.
Day 2: 17 October 2017, Walcha to Sydney (649 kms)


[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1K9wlMiWsHqEDAKKQmCp7mv3tcm04MGBO&usp=sharing]Link to Day 2 Map

Although perhaps not in showroom condition, I was up early and on the way. The forecast was better, but it was overcast and I wondered how long it would be before the wets came out again. I recall the mist closing in as I rode down Thunderbolts Way, but I didn't put them on and from Gloucester on the weather got better and better.

I've written often about Thunderbolts Way. There's one report [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=4414&pid=66273#pid66273]here.


Just outside Walcha at the start of Day 2


The flat, quick northern part of Thunderbolts Way with slightly ominous weather to the south


Heading into the mist

At Gloucester I stopped for fuel and then found a quiet spot where I could haul the bike on to the centre stand and give the chain a good lube. It had been making an occasional clunking noise during the morning and I hoped it was pretty dry from the rain day before. I say 'hoped' because it had actually started clunking on the Ride Down Under-where it got seriously wet and pretty muddy as well-but I'd kept it well lubed and it had been OK in the succeeding months.

I also took the luggage off the bike and put the AirHawk cushion on under my newly acquired sheepskin seat cover which, while a great improvement on the stock seat, was not quite enough for my apparently over-sensitive backside.

After a cup of coffee, it was off to Singleton via Dungog along a road I enjoy more every time I ride it. It's covered briefly in the report linked to above, including telling of an uncomfortable period following a cattle truck.


Climbing onto the ridge between Gloucester and Singleton

From Singleton, I headed for the Putty Road, a favourite of Sydney motorcyclists. Boring as bat guano when you first join it, it is not too long before you leave the plain and make your way into a long valley. This section-the '10 Mile'-towards the northern end is famed for its twisties. The surface is excellent; so too the scenery. Pterodactyl, Tezza and I rode it on the way South to the Ride Down Under-see [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=10537]here.

I stopped for Lunch at the Grey Gum International Café somewhere south of the 10 Mile.


A Grey Gum burger for lunch

A bleat: Australians like their bread and in recent decades more and more speciality bakers have appeared offering tasty and interesting bread. So, why do fast food shops continue to install otherwise excellent burgers with equally excellent trimmings in tasteless rolls (buns) made of unhealthy white flour?

Fortified by the burger, I decided it was such a glorious day that I had time to ride the 10 Mile the other way and then make my way down the Wollombi Road to the Old Pacific Highway. The remaining stretch of the Putty Road is a good ride, but the 10 Mile is better and the stretch of the Wollombi Road from Wollombi to Central Mangrove is quick and really enjoyable.




On the 10 Mile

Leaving the hamlet of Wollombi, the road takes one through a valley and gradually uphill until you come to Lemming Corner, famous as a decreasing-radius corner on which motorcyclists come to grief. Its approaches are set about with dire warnings to slow down. Apparently they're not very effective as people keep falling off there.




Warnings on the approach to Lemming Corner. It's a relief to get through it without coming off!

The Old Pacific Highway would be a glorious ride if it were not ridiculously speed limited; even so, it's much more enjoyable than the slab and there's a couple of OK cafés where it's good to stop for a late afternoon cup of tea. This time I stopped at the Old Road Café where I made one of those gender-based assumptions of which modern man should be ashamed. There was a middle-aged bloke in a well-worn leather jacket and an attractive young woman in smart black leathers sitting at a table chatting and drinking tea. A beautiful red Firebird and an older smaller bike were clearly theirs and I made the assumption that the older bloke was taking the younger woman out for some practice. When the woman got on the Firebird, I realised the error of my assumption.

From there I rode a little further before joining the slab for the run into Sydney where I spent an agreeable evening with my son and his fiancée.
Day 3: 18 October 2017, Sydney to Moss Vale (234 kms)


[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1jcUyUrnU3iv3B3cIsPRnJOu1Jq8loJm0&usp=sharing]Link to Day 3 Map

After breakfast with my son, I set off across Sydney for a cup of coffee with Pterodactyl. We hatched a plan for the following day and tightened and lubed my chain in the hope that it would cure the noise it was making.

I then set out for the very pretty Royal National Park. For all that it's heavily speed limited and over trafficked, it's a great ride and, on a good day, deposits you pretty much on Stanwell Tops.





Views of the Royal National Park. I followed the bloke on the cruiser all the way through as there are very few places to pass and, anyway, there's little point. I had occasion to reflect, not for the first time, that, from the rear, the riders of that style of bike look more than a little odd.

I stopped at Stanwell Tops for lunch. Last time I was there-on the Ride Down Under with Pterodactyl and Inhouse Bob-it was a hideous day- [url=http://cb1100forum.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=11837](see Pterodactyl's report).

This is part of the view Inhouse Bob would have seen if the weather hadn't been quite so vile on the day we passed through

I then followed the route Pterodactyl was to take the next day, although my ascent of the Macquarie Pass was completely the opposite of his as there'd been accident.

The approach to Macquarie Pass


But it was a slow ascent


I had time to kill so I treated myself to a sneak preview of Kangaroo Valley


The bridge at Kangaroo Valley


The Great Dividing Range from Kangaroo Valley

I had a hilarious night with my relatives in Moss Vale during which I uncovered this remarkable piece of research.

Day 4: 19 October 2017, Moss Vale to Braidwood (356 kms)

[url=https://drive.google.com/open?id=1UKUc7KUVt2qXJ5gfCMEr4Bxg039wZ6ZA&usp=sharing]Link to Day 4 map

Feeling slightly second hand, I left the relatives early-ish in the morning and treated myself to another ride down Kangaroo Valley and then via a beautiful road to Berry. It was not in spectacular condition, but, hey, it was lovely.

After a healthy romp back up the escarpment via the beautiful Jamberoo road, I met Pterodactyl at the Robertson Pie Shop.


On the road between Kangaroo Valley and Berry


it was a glorious day! On the slab heading north to meet Pterodactyl

Heading up the Jamberoo road to the Robertson Pie Shop

From this point, things get a bit complicated from a narrative point of view as the Pterodactyl scoop covers the ensuing events.