My friend said ...

One of the easiest ways to annoy me at work is to bring a car in and say "my friend said (whatever) is wrong with my car". I know I've bitched about this before but I'm too lazy to dig it up.

Case in point today, guy comes into the shop, says he needs an inspection but the 'check engine' light is on. His friend tells him it's the oxygen sensor. I asked him if his friend was a mechanic. He said no, but his friend has a 'code reader' and that's what it said the car needed. He "wasn't gonna pay for extra stuff he didn't need in order to get a sticker."

Now, it's my first instinct to tell a guy like this to get the fuck out and bother some other shop, but NY state law says I can't refuse to inspect a car. As regular readers know, I've had enough problems with the state in the last few months to push the issue.

I tell him "nothing personal, but being that I've been in the business for 35 years, maybe I should pull the codes and see for myself."

His reply: "I'm not paying extra for that."

"Fine," I say. I don't charge for scanning a computer but most shops do, at least $40, some $75. I go to the phone and call my parts guy and ask him what an oxygen sensor costs for the car. $110 each. I tell him to hold on and turn to the customer. "It's $110 for the part and $85 to install. You'll need 2 of 'em."

"So much? Why two?"

"Because the car has 2 of them and you don't want me to scan the computer. How do I know which one is bad?"

He looks at me and gets it that he's wasting my time. I tell the parts guy I'll call him back.

"How much to scan it?" He asks me.

"Nothing," and I plug the scanner in. Gives me back a 'system lean' code. "It's not either of the oxygen sensors," I tell him. I pop the hood, take out a can of brake kleen (alcohol based), and start the engine.

"How do you know? What are you doing?" He gets worried when I start spraying the shit all over the engine. Let's just say that, using this method, if a car has bad spark plug wires, you'll know it quick enough.

"I'm saving you $400," I say as the engine rpm goes up. I spray again and get the light to get a better look at what I'm spraying. As I thought, he had a shitty vacuum hose. I cut a piece from the roll, replace it, clear the code and tell him to drive the car for 2 hours and come back. He comes back, no 'check engine' light on, and he gets his inspection sticker. Cost: $10 for the hose, $37 for the inspection. I probably have a regular customer now.

Look, I realize a lot of people think mechanics are crooks. There are a lot of 'em out there, a lot of guys who don't know what they're doing, and there are a lot of guys who'll sell you what you insist on, even though you don't need it. I realize auto repairs are expensive and you don't want to spend more than you have to.

That said, walking into a shop and telling the mechanic what your buddy says is wrong with the car is not gonna get you on the mechanic's good side. You see, the good ones, like me, have as much schooling as a masters degree candidate and equating what your idiot friend knows with my expertise is downright insulting. Assuming I'm gonna rip you off, and making it known, is too. And, regardless of what your friend knows, if I wanted to rip you off, you wouldn't know it.

By all means, ask questions. Any mechanic worth a damn will answer any questions you want until you have a full understanding of what is wrong, what you'll need to fix it, and how much it will cost. There should be no surprises when you come to pick up your car. If you can say that about your mechanic, stick with him and don't break his balls. There's enough legitimate work out there to pay the bills without my having to rip anyone off.

Old sleds ain't just fer lookin' at...

Modern trials bikes weigh about forty pounds, you can't sit down on them, and they can turn around in a phone booth. See this if you don't believe me. Ride one of these old bikes into a phone booth, it's good-bye phone booth! This is fun to watch and also to listen to.

It's good to see some Early Iron gettin' all dirty and being used as originally intended instead of housed in a collection where all the owner worries about is concours points and value appreciation. Ridin' 'em's a lot more fun.

Mixed footage over two sections of the Manx classic weekend trial in 2006. Various old motorcycles (and riders, with some younger ones too), from 1940s bikes through to the 70s taking on the elements.

Thanks to The Manxman. Keep 'em comin'!

You are what you drive...

Good article in Newsweek:

From their Beetles to their boxy SUVs, Americans who grew up in the '60s and '70s defined themselves by what they drove.

Long article. Go read. Take the 30-question quiz, too. I got 63%, which was in the largest percentile.

More Station Wagons

Sometimes, Fixer inspires my ass with a very few words. See previous post.

The coolest station wagon ever built:



I picked a customized '57 to show, but all the Tri-Chevy Nomads were, like, way bitchin' dude! Many more at Chevy Nomad Association.

The coolest station wagon never built:



The '54/'56 Corvette Nomad. More at (Where else? Yeesh!) Barrett-Jackson and Corvette World.

And of course, the one they shoulda built but din't.:

The 2004 Chevy Nomad Concept Wagon. This appears to be from the same page that Mustang Bobby got the Edsel Bermuda.

I think they woulda sold like hotcakes if they'da put a honkin' little V6 in it, but they went with the retro HHR instead. The HHR's OK for an underpowered little sneezer on an existing econobox platform, but I think perhaps old panel truck styling might not have the same cachet as early 'Vettes do. I think they erred slightly by trying to counter the popularity of the PT Cruiser, which got there fustest with the mostest, so to speak. It's getting easier to understand why Toyota is breathin' down their neck.

Let the engineers build 'em, not the bean counters!

Station wagons?

I'm not a big fan of station wagons, though I know a couple guys who built some cool hotrods out of 'em. Mustang Bobby on the other hand ... I agree with him when he says the new 'crossovers' suck.

"A bike that could turn an abstinent Catholic schoolgirl into a nymphomaniac!"

LATimes. Video.

THE Ducati 1098 S is so slick, so fast, so Elite Model beautiful that saints with sinner inclinations should beware.

Ducati's new red-hot superbike is trouble.

For the single month the 1098 S has been available to media, about half of the press fleet has been dented or crashed. [...]

During the two days I had the bike, I didn't find much occasion to go slow, aside from the time I was stuck behind a beat-up pickup truck on my first run through Azusa Canyon. Being forced to go slow behind that pickup was probably a good intro to the 1098 S. One twist of the grip in a straightaway and I was practically teleported into the upcoming turn. It's that fast and flawless on the accel. As I rode up and down Azusa Canyon, then up and down it again, and again and again until my gas light flickered on and a fleet of cops sped by with what appeared to be dollar signs reflecting in their sunglasses, I was alternately shocked and euphoric at the bike's power and grace.

"Objects in mirror are closer than they appear" has never seemed less relevant. [...]

Probably the least practical bike on the planet, but this sled ain't about practical, folks. It's all about state-of-the-art blinding red Italian sex!

Mamma Mia!

Seriously ...

Since I had fun at their expense yesterday, I figured I'd introduce ya.

Click to embiggen

l to r: Indian, Sam, PDB, Fixer, Harry

That's wrecked, that's ruined ...

Well, it seems the annoying blanket ass Indian found this blog. I hadn't told the idiots my esteemed colleagues about F & G so I could say any fucking thing I please nice things about the people I work with and they wouldn't know what I really think about them I wouldn't embarrass them. I said nice things about the little tramp Samantha, and the old dinosaur Harry over the years and I hope they don't think I'm getting maudlin. I even said nice things about that batshit crazy nitwit PDB, something I certainly wouldn't want him to know. Now that's all out the window. Now I'll never hear the end of it from those assholes my cohorts, all happy to know that I don't really give a fuck how close I feel to them.

Heh ...

The Perfect Car

Super Duke

Throttle Jockette Susan Carpenter of the LATimes with a review and video of the KTM 990 Super Duke:

THINK KTM, and a couple of words spring to mind:

Dirt.

Orange.

Not only has the renowned Austrian manufacturer of navel-orange dirt bikes dominated the prestigious Dakar Rally for seven straight years, it's giving the Japanese a run for their money in motocross, supercross, super-moto and every other two-wheeled off-road sport.

The Super Duke is KTM's first stab at a pure street bike. Knowing them, they'll pull it off just fine. Austrians, you know.

Go read and watch. The bike is kinda pricey, but F & G brings you nothing but the finest. I sorta have a lust on for KTMs. The Super Duke is a nice bike, but if I had my choice it would be the 990 Adventure because it's more back-road capable and the styling's more to my taste. What I'd really like is for 'em to hang some lights on the 950 Super Enduro R...

Note to Ms. Carpenter: shitcan the music in the video and let us hear the engine, and what the hell are you doing putting Shell gas in a nice bike like that? Ya tryin' ta melt it? I wouldn't put Shell in my leaf-blower!

Yes, BadTux, we know you love that old KLR. :)

A Well-Rounded Motorbike

I may have found a sled for Fixer! The term 'arrested landing' comes to mind!

The engine is a new 7 cylinder, 110HP radial aircraft engine out of Australia by Rotec. Good site for round motor freaks like me - sights and sounds. I bookmarked it under 'motorcycles'. Heh.

More at The Kneeslider.

What got me going on this was I got my new copy of Cycle World yesterday, and there was a radial-engined bike on the cover by West Coast Choppers. Not the one in the picture above. CW doesn't have a picture of it on line, but there appears to be more than one of these crazy things.

One thing that struck me kind of funny is that WCC had to take the power off the rear of the engine instead of the front and then turn it sideways to turn the gearbox. They thought they knew which direction the engine turned, but when they got all done they fired it up, put it in gear, and went backwards. Oops. Back to the ol' drawing board! From the magazine article, it apparently runs just fine, is easy to ride, and real fast.

I think I'd be real careful about splittin' lanes, though!

NYC Fire Hydrant - 1 Mrs. F - 0

Ouch! She got crowded by a city bus from the left, avoided him but snagged a fireplug on the other side. Thankfully she wasn't hurt. It's going into the body shop tomorrow. $4100 by the way.

Click to embiggen.

Let's see how that little Toyota pickemup (see post below) takes one of these. Heh ...

A little good-natured brand rivalry

An '06 Toyota at Pismo Beach:



To be fair, I also found a video of a Toyota being pulled out of a ditch at Pismo after its idiot driver leaped before he looked, but I didn't wanta post that one!

New Triumph Tiger

I've got a '69 Triumph Tiger that I bought new. The new one has some subtle changes (cough!).

LA Times. Article with video.

With 114 horsepower, the Tiger's liquid-cooled, triple-cylinder 1050 engine doesn't pack as much punch as Triumph's Speed Triple and Sprint 1050 motors, with peak horsepower rated at 131 and 125 respectively. As its name suggests, the Tiger isn't about flat-out speed. It isn't king of the jungle but second in charge, which makes it fun and ferocious without all the pressure of being the biggest and baddest prowler around town.

My old Tiger has a 40HP air-cooled twin-cylinder carbureted OHV 40ci (650cc) engine. It's good for a little over 100mph, which is fine given the drum slower-downers and the tires of that era. It also has some of the best styling ever, and the best sound bar none. It is just plain fun to ride.

The last five words of that sentence may be the only thing besides the brand name the new Tiger has in common with the old one. Subtle changes over 38 years, you know.

It's taken me some time to get used to modern motorcycle styling, but now I like it. This is a nice bike.

There's nothing new under the Sun...

The EssEffChron has a nice write-up about the new Can-Am trike.

But oh my freaking God, what the hell is this sexyugly machoweird three-wheeled motorcycle/car thing called the Spyder Roadster that costs 15 grand and goes about 110 mph and looks like a BMW motorcycle got it on with a nasty go-cart during a lost weekend at a mutant underground design studio in Testosteroneland? I mean, please.

I have no idea if the Spyder will sell, if it's just silly and ridiculous and overblown and who the hell wants an expensive flat-cornering faux-motorcycle when the same 15 grand can get you a Ducati Multistrada and personal riding lessons and an entire suit of badass leathers with enough left over for a delicious hooker-filled weekend at the MGM Grand in Vegas?

Doesn't matter. One look at the Spyder and your brain snaps a few boundaries. Definitions loosen. Possibilities widen. Yes, it's just another crappy oil-sucking vehicle. Just another drain on the planet, another expensive toy for wealthy middle-age Boomers with too little extant testosterone and too much disposable income. I know.

But then again, it might be more. It might actually be just as wickedly hot and fun and deliciously unique as it appears. After all, anything that stretches your brain and makes you consider new possibilities, that breaks old definitions of what the world is supposed to be all about, these things are precious and good. These things are all too rare. This has not been, in the age of Bush and Rove and the sustained, systematic, intentional crushing of independent creative thought, the way of the culture.

Plus, don't you sort of miss riding your tricycle?

Well, kinda. When I was about seventeen, me'n Tommy and Ed ponied up $25 each (a lot of money for teenagers to have all at once back then) and bought a '47 H-D Servi-Car from a gas station that used it for transpo after delivering customers' cars. The thing used more oil than gas. It had a 45ci (750cc) sidevalve mill and would go about 50mph flat out, which was scary fast. At that speed, it wobbled and shook and clanked and mightily protested such a caning. It also overheated, spewed oil, and stunk. It was red. It was the cat's ass, and we were the only guys in town with such a cool beast. Or maybe we were the only bozos who'd be caught dead on it. Don't know, damn sure didn't care.

We took turns bombin' around on it all one summer. It had a tow hitch, so we would tow it to parties, the beach, etc. behind my '48 Plymouth and take girls for rides. Sometimes three or four of 'em at once. We figured out how to get the thing sideways. The bald tires helped.

We actually got chased through town one Saturday night by a local cop on his much newer Servi-Car. We didn't want to get caught because we had just scored three or four quarts of beer and didn't want to lose it. We outran him for a little while, then pulled into the gas station we had bought it from, shut 'er down, and dove under a car to hide. Yeah, like that worked! We looked out from under the car and saw the officer's polished riding boots about two feet away, one toe a-tappin'. He said this: "I'm off Sunday and Monday night. If you guys don't have passenger grab handles on that thing by Tuesday, I'm writin' ya up". And he left. Talk about yer sigh of relief! We thought we were gonna go to jail. We had taken the grab handles off because it looked cooler. We put 'em back on.

If he had written us up he would have discovered that the license plate we were using was off my my little H-D Model 125. Hey, same make and almost the same year, whass the prob?

One of the big deals was the time we parked it in the same gas station, which was right next door to the local hangout, and when we came back, the station personnel had scraped the name of the station off the back. I don't blame 'em. We had acquired a little local notoriety with the machine by then and they understandably didn't want their name associated with our shenanigans. It didn't look very good, so we put our own logo on it:



Sort of a bust, I guess, but we were young and foolish. The little white thing above 'Olympia' was the offishul sticker of the "National Association for the Advancement of Flatheads", Politically Incorrect as all get-out, but hey, it was 1963. I went in the service that fall and have no idea what ever happened to Sweet Betsy the Trike.

Sorry about the wasted space, but I copied it from a very small photo and don't know how to fix it. For you sharp-eyed ol' H-D buffs, no, the photo isn't flipped. All the shit is on the opposite side because the thing was an old police mount, from way before parking meters, and the no-meter maid needed his right hand free to mark tires. Throttle was on the left, gearshift on the right.

I hadn't really planned to tell that story, but it brought back memories, so I'm glad I did. That was the most fun I ever had for $25.

What I was gonna do was counterpoint the space-age Can-Am trike with this Morgan, about which marque can be found everything you would ever want to know at the link:



There really isn't anything new, just modern.

Don't get me started on four-valve cylinder heads...

Where I work ...*

Me: Good morning, ma'am, dropping your car off for that brake job?

Her: Yes, F-man, here's the keys. (She notices Sam putting oil in a motor) Who's that?

Me: That's Samantha.

Her: What a pretty girl. Is she your granddaughter?

Me: You want your brakes to work when you leave here? Jesus H. Christ, I'm 44 years old.

Her: I thought you were Harry's age.

Me: Get out.

*Part of a semi-regular, ongoing series.

We are the machine ...

The machine is us ...

Video courtesy of Dave Johnson.

Cross-posted at the Brain.

Douchebaggery

I was gonna bitch and moan about the idiots on the Long Island Expressway this morning but I was over at our pal 42's place and he had the same deal with the Massachusetts drivers:

...

If the roads haven’t been plowed and are about as grippy as buttery mashed potatoes, and you can’t stop/steer/whatever because you’re going too fast and you sit there gawping and acting all surprised when you do slide to a stop, you are a douchebag.

...

I hate NY 4

Just an update on my tribulations. Harry got his letter yesterday and the same fine I got. As the facility owner, he's culpable in my 'crimes'. So, in one little place, the State of NY made $800. Calling around to others who've been hit (seems all the letters went out Friday), Harry and I got off the easiest. Other fines in the area range from $600 - $3500.

We figure we're safe for 6 months to a year until they decide to fuck with us again.

Arte y Estilo

LATimes

Julio Ochoa Ruelas, a co-founder and first president of Dukes So. Cal, the oldest lowrider car club in continuous existence in the world, died of heart failure Jan. 21 at Los Angeles County-USC Medical Center. He was 62.

The history of the lowrider has been written by men like the Ruelas brothers, who lived the lowrider life and promoted the best of it, even when time seemed to have passed it by. From their base in South Los Angeles, the brothers spent 40 years heading a car club that now has 29 chapters, including one in Japan, and restoring cars in the lowrider style that turn heads even in L.A., a city with more than its share of car connoisseurs.

"Every discipline, no matter what it is, needs some icon to be the one everyone turns to," said Dick Messer, director of the Petersen Automotive Museum. "In hot rodding it's Wally Parks. In NASCAR it's Tony Stewart, and in lowriding it's the Ruelas brothers…. They were the godfathers of lowriding."

The rest of the obit is inspiring. I like this next part:

By the early 1970s, the brothers had returned (from Vietnam - G.) and Fernando had opened Ruelas Custom, which specialized in building lowriders and a variety of other customized work. Julio ran the grocery store and on the side began searching out hard-to-find parts for old cars and supplying them to owners, a task he continued until his death.

"Used to be those guys who worked on the telephone lines or inspectors could see into backyards, they'd let me know what people had stashed … in their backyards or garages," Julio Ruelas once told a Times reporter. "Then I'd go pay them a visit."

By the front door in broad daylight, I am sure.

I'd like to be able to see into barns and garages for old motorbikes as well.

I'm not a lowered-car person, but I appreciate the time, effort, and expense that goes into lowriders. It is said that the "height gauge" used to tell if the car is low enough is a pack of Marlboros, fresh out of someone's T-shirt sleeve: if the car doesn't knock it over, it needs to be lowered until it does.

It's always gives pause when pioneers pass, especially when they're my own age.

I hate NY 3

Remember a couple months back when I got nailed by an undercover NYS Inspector for doing a 'fradulent inspection'?

As most of you know, I'm a New York State Vehicle Inspector. That means I'm licensed to inspect your car for safety and do emissions testing and issue you a new sticker. Every once in a while, the state slides an undercover test car though. Now, I realize there is a lot of fraud going on when it comes to the issuance of inspection stickers and the need for them to do this. For $150 (as opposed to $37 for a legit inspection), you can go into Brooklyn or Queens and get somebody to put a sticker on your car, no questions asked. But, on the day before Thanksgiving, didja have to set me up?

...

Well yesterday afternoon I got my hearing date and description of charges against me in the mail.

I forgot to blow the fucking horn.

So, they gave me the option. The state will be happy to take a check from me for $400 now, or I can go to trial on the two counts (one, not checking the horn; two, stipulating that I did check the horn) and face a judge to try to convince him of ... what, that I actually did check the horn (I probably didn't). If he doesn't believe the line of bullshit I think up, it'll cost me $700. What do ya think I'm gonna do? Motherfuckers. This is easy money for NYS and as I said at the time, I know of 8 or 9 shops who got snagged in this sweep in our area alone. Hope you choke on it, assholes.

Tomorrow morning, I'll learn how much it'll cost Harry.

Update:

Come to think of it, Samantha's probably gonna learn some new words this week. Heh ...

Where I work*

Our intern Samantha's dad dropped his car off for inspection the other day. He pulls me aside and says, "F-man, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd watch my sweet little girl get in somebody's face and say 'fuck you, suck my ass'."

"You're welcome," I said.

*Part of an ongoing, semi-regular series.

NASCAR Nation Overheats

Newsweek

Toyota's entry into stock-car racing has some good ole boys revved up. Will the Japanese automaker take over Daytona like it's overtaking Detroit?

Who knew a Toyota Camry could cause such controversy? America's favorite family car (my em) has the NASCAR Nation all revved up in a heady debate over globalization. When the green flag drops on the Daytona 500 on Feb. 18, a radically souped-up version of Toyota's humble sedan will become the first foreign car to roll into stock-car racing's marquee circuit since Jaguar gave it a spin in the 1950s. And that doesn't sit too well with some of the good ole boys who drive Fords, Chevys and Dodges. They see Toyota as a deep-pocketed predator out to overrun an American institution. "They will use their money and their technology to make the rest of us play catch-up," racing team owner Jack Roush griped recently, adding for good measure: "Americans shouldn't buy Japanese cars."

Yeah, real Americans should stick to outdated junk built in Canada and Mexico. Or the newer, better models designed in Germany and Japan.

It's an excellent article. Please read the rest.

And then there's Toyota's track record to consider. Before NASCAR, Toyota spent 12 years in Indy car racing, winning the Indianapolis 500 in 2003. In 2004, it entered NASCAR's Craftsman Truck series, racing its Tundra pickup. After a slow start, Toyota quickly gained traction and last year won nearly half the races on the circuit and captured the series championship. That sounds a lot like Toyota's relentless rise in the America car market. Maybe those good ole boys of stock-car racing ought to be worried.

"When the green flag drops, the bullshit stops."

Let's see what happens at Daytona.

I get phone calls ...

I get this phone call about 7:15 Friday morning:

Me: Good morning!

Caller: F-man, this is Mr. V. You see I dropped my car off this morning?

Me: Yup.

Mr. V: You gotta look at it. It's shaking so bad I can't drive it. The whole car, the engine, everything is shaking as soon as I take off. Can you figure out what it is?

Me: You mean, aside from the totally flat left rear tire?

Mr. V: No shit?

Me: No shit. You didn't notice it? (needless to say, the car is listing to the left like the Andrea Doria about to give up the ghost)

Mr. V: Can you fix it?

Me: Did you drive it here from your house on the flat?

Mr. V: Yes.

Me: You need a new tire. I'll have it for ya this afternoon.

Mr. V: You're a miracle worker. Bye.

Me: What an idiot.

A word of advice. If your car is doing shit it's never done before, it might be a good idea to stop and look it over before pressing on. Take a walk around your car before you get in it too, maybe?

Ford Escape Hybrid

LATimes

The revamped Escape hybrid gives Ford a much-needed victory. Perfect? No. Revitalizing? Definitely.

Plucky, over-achieving if under-funded, better than it ought to be but not quite as good as it might have been, the Escape Hybrid runs on gas, electricity and no small amount of charisma. Considering how up against it Ford is these days, it's hard to see this SUV as anything short of a triumph. The irony is that this is just the sort of vehicle that can ultimately save Ford.

2008 Ford Escape Hybrid AWD

Base price: $25,740

Price, as tested: $32,000 (est.)

Powertrain: 2.3-liter, inline four-cylinder, Atkinson-cycle engine; continuously variable transmission; 70-kW permanent-magnet AC synchronous electric motor; 330-volt nickel-metal-hydride battery; all-wheel drive.

Horsepower: 155 hp at 6,000 rpm (net)

Curb weight: 3,794 pounds

0-60 mph: under 10 seconds

Wheelbase: 103.1 inches

Overall length: 174.7 inches

EPA fuel economy: 29 miles per gallon city; 27 mpg highway

Final thoughts: Ford puts on its rally cap

My own thoughts: Except for the '57 Ranchero and a coupla other models from way back, I wouldn't have a Ford up my ass if I had room for a boxcar, except for this one.

Those of you who are considering one of these, and you know who you are, go read.

Monster fine for 'Monster Garage'

LATimes

With creations like the "Undertaker" and "666 El Diablo," Jesse James and his West Coast Choppers team have become TV stars and automotive icons by turning average motorcycles into pimped-up machines.

But California air regulators announced Friday a $271,250 fine against James, the co-producer and host of "Monster Garage" and "Motorcycle Mania," saying that 50 of his custom-built choppers ran afoul of California's clean-air rules.

California Air Resources Board officials said their inspectors found that the monster bikes sold between 1998 and 2005 did not have state certified emissions equipment on their exhaust and fuel systems.

The last I heard, the only emissions equipment actually required on a motorcycle in California is a charcoal canister. I think Jesse's sleds are all 'special construction', as opposed to being actually manufactured, so I don't know if compliance falls on him, or on his customers, who seem to get license and registration OK out of DMV. Perhaps we'll find out.

Note to Jesse: use old bikes that don't need any of that emissions shit. Use their titles and 'recycle' their ID numbers to the new bikes. You know how...

By the way, there's nothing 'average' about his bikes. He's a fine metalsmith, and builds 'em from scratch out of flat metal and tubing. I don't particularly care for the 'stretch' style that's all the rage these days, but I do like his minimalist approach. Choppers used to be made by taking stuff off to lose weight and gain speed. A lot of so-called 'choppers' these days are just a different kind of 'dresser'. Jesse stays with the original concept of not having any more than you need to get down the road.

Just as an aside, most bike riders get enough time on 'stretchers' that they don't have to go buy 'em...heh.

I like Jesse. He's probably not what most folks would consider a 'typical' California guy, but speaking with 48 years of experience in the bike world out here, he is.

He has a tattoo on his palm: "Pay up, sucker!". I like that.

To sum Jesse up in one sentence: "Long Beach bad boy makes good, marries movie star." Just livin' the California dream...

Good article. Go read.

Injustice

So, it being the coldest day in 18 months here on Long Island, I had 6 customers call me before 7:30 needing a jump (most of whom I told to replace their batteries months ago). So I'm making the rounds, stopping at everybody's house and getting them started. On my 3rd stop (an old Russian lady who drives this worn out old Toyota) I jump her car and slide in the driver's seat to back it out the way of her husband's car. As I slide into the worn out, threadbare seat, I feel one of the exposed hog rings grab the back of my pants, under the left cheek, and before I could stop myself, it tore all the way up to my belt. Did I mention it was 8 degrees with a wind chill of -5? So here I got three more stops before I can get back to the shop. Let's just say I had one cold ass (I don't wear long johns) by the time I got back. One good thing, we have 200 mph NASCAR tape at the shop. Taped it up and was good to go. Heh ...

Reality

Over at the Brain we talk about reality a lot. Usually when it pertains to people in Washington's grasp, or lack thereof, of the subject. In the car business, you get a lot of folks who don't want to get a grip on it either. Today fer instance.

I'm alone in the shop this afternoon, Indian and PDB called in sick and Harry was at lunch, and a woman in a BMW X3 pulls up. Never seen her before and she has that look in her eye the Moonies and Amway reps have.

Me: Good afternoon, what can I do for you.

Lady: I'm buying a 1941 GMC pickup.

Me: Good for you. Good luck with it.

Lady: I want you to look at it and get it started.

Me: It doesn't run?

Lady: No, but the people who own it say the engine was overhauled.

Me: When was it last started and running?

Lady: 1979.

Me: 28 years ago? [Jaw drops open and I begin to think of her as 'Crazy Lady']

Crazy Lady: Yes. [nod, straight face] And once you get it running and lube everything, I'm gonna drive it out to California. [If you didn't know, this conversation is happening on Long Island ... New York.]

Me: Wouldn't you rather drive the Bimmer?

Crazy Lady: I'm getting rid of that. [Did ya hear the door open and close? That was reality leaving the building.]

Me: So you want to have this '41 GMC towed up here, hasn't run in 28 years, and expect me to get it started, top off the fluids, and you're gonna drive it out to LA?

Crazy Lady: Pasadena, yes that's right, I'm willing to pay.

Me: Do you realize what having an old truck like that means? Parts are hard to come by. The electrical system isn't compatible with most modern accessories. And it's 65 years old. Are you prepared to do repairs on the road if you have to?

Crazy Lady: I have a '69 Triumph Bonneville that I work on myself.

Me: Tell ya what. I'm not working on the truck, but I can hook ya up with a good motorcycle mechanic if you ever get out there ... Heh ...

Benny Parsons

LATimes

Benny Parsons, a former NASCAR champion and Daytona 500 winner who gained an even wider following as a cheerful stock car racing broadcaster, died Tuesday of complications from lung cancer. He was 65.

Please go read.

My favorite BP moment was while he was announcing a road race at Sonoma several years back. There was an Australian driver they had rigged up with an in-car camera and microphone. The guy was chatting away when he rolled the car at speed, and said, understandably enough, "Oh, FUUUUCK!", which went out over the air. Benny's co-announcer asked, "What'd he say?" and Benny replied, "I don't know. I don't speak Australian."

He was a big favorite of mine. So long, BP.

You can buy his stuff, but you can't buy his cool...

Juvenile delinquent, Marine, oil-field roughneck, lumberjack, actor, producer, motorcycle racer, sports car driver, pilot, Steve McQueen was the undisputed King of Cool.

Recently, Steve McQueen's estate held an auction of his stuff. It went for absolutely amazing prices. From Cycle World magazine:

Too rich for ya? Then how about a T-shirt "heavily worn and faded with holes and rips throughout" for $3250? Or maybe one of the man's baseball caps, old and crumbling, for $2500? If McQueen sweat in it, it was worth money (my em).

Good article, different than in the dead tree edition that led me here. Go see pictures of him in action, his stuff, and the price list.

You know, I met Steve when I worked at Bud Ekins' Triumph shop. I guess some of my cool rubbed off on him...

Where I work ...

Our intern Samantha's boyfriend on life since she started working at the shop:

"It's like she inherited four bad-attitude uncles."

Heh, keep it on the straight and narrow, boy.

Metropolitan

I always wanted one of these. Still do. Here's a guy with thirty of 'em.

The Metropolitan was a diminutive car that epitomized so much that is romantic and quirky about America's infatuation with the automobile. A "clown car," by Metz's own description, the zany, even precocious Metropolitan had a run of eight model years, 1954 through 1961, with nearly 95,000 of them sold.

It was a car that was way ahead of its time. It was small, especially compared with the wallowing Cadillacs and Buicks of the postwar years. It was economical -- it cost $1,445 in 1954, four years after Buick was asking more than $2,100 for its Super -- and it got up to 40 miles per gallon. Above all, in the words of contemporary collectors like Metz and others, it was cute.

If you didn't have to go very far very fast and didn't have to haul many people, these things made a lot of sense. And they're cuter than a bug's ear. The only thing cuter was Urkel's "Bimmer", the Isetta.

Metrosexual? Have a chiropractor on call if you try it!

The photo, and everything else you could possibly want to know about these little sneezers, is from NashMet.com.

Old Friends

That photo was sent from Steve, on the left, to Larry, on the right, who forwarded it to me. I'll probably hear from both of them about the "old" in the title. Heh. Sue me.

Those guys are the best of friends, and they're both friends of mine for about 35 years. The photo warmed my heart so much I wanted to share. I asked their permission to post this, and since neither of 'em looks like their wanted posters any more, they OKed it.

The common denominator that brought us all together lo those many years ago is, you guessed it, motorcycles. Specifically, English racing motorcycles of the Flattrack and TT Scrambles persuasion, back when Motocross hadn't quite screwed everything up yet. Smooth tracks and high speed weren't good enough, I guess. Go figure.

I cannot begin to describe how much fun it is when a buncha young guys with a buncha fast bikes get together to go handlebar to handlebar on Saturday night or Sunday morning on a racetrack, of which there were plenty in Southern California in those days. Thrills, maybe a few spills, braggin' rights and maybe a beer or two. Good times.

Larry had quit racing when I met these guys, but Steve and I were in the same motorcycle club and raced with each other quite a bit. He could always beat me on the half-mile, and I could occasionally beat him on the TT.

Larry first threw a leg over a 500 Matchless single in 1950, when he was ten years old. That's a big bike for a 10-year-old, but when you tell a kid "if you can start it, you can ride it", the kid'll figure it out! He raced for several years, and went on to become a race mechanic, building and tuning Triumphs for professional racers Lloyd Houchins and "Little John" Hateley. At some point, I think when he started raising a family, sanity overtook him and he pursued other interests, but he has always been, and still is, involved in the motorcycle industry.

He and I talk on the phone quite a bit, but I think we put the government eavesdroppers to sleep. Just the other day we had an exciting chat about late-model Triumph timing gears and various ways of timing cams such as 'splitting the overlap' or the '10 to 2 method'.

There's two things we agree on: One is that each of us has forgotten half of everything we ever knew about motorcycles, but as long as we don't forget the same half, we're in business. The other is that retirement is designed so you can start lots more projects in the hope of completing a couple.

I didn't use Larry's last name because he's a regular citizen and I don't need to out his identity here any further than I already have.

Steve Storz, on the other hand, is already out, an internationally known figure in the motorcycle industry.

He started out welding chopper frames and went on to being a professional tuner for John Hateley at Triumph, and then to the Harley-Davidson factory race team, tuning for 'Rocket' Rex Staten, Ted Boody, Corky Keener and Steve Morehead.

He has a real technical frame of mind. He built a flow bench in his apartment at one time. It went where the washer and dryer would normally go. He was a bachelor motorcycle racer and mechanic. What the Hell did he need clean skivvies for anyway? More power!

In the late '70s, Steve returned to California to start a business. He actually flew me back to Milwaukee to help him move back out here. We towed all his extensive shit machine shop gear behind a van. The van and trailer weighed 13,500 pounds, and I'm not all the way over the experience yet. PTSD, I think. That's a whole 'nother story, but they have real good German food in Milwaukee. And, oh yeah, you can blow all the tires you want to without harm if the rig is heavy enough...

Steve's business is Storz Performance. He manufactures and sells quality parts, primarily for Sportsters and Big Twins. He also manufactures Ceriani forks and has connections in Italy and Sicily. Don't fuck with him. Heh. Click on the link to see some first-class parts and accessories, as opposed to the run-of-the-mill bolt-on Chinese chrome crap you can see on H-Ds outside any tavern in the land.

The motorcycle in the photo is a 1970 Triumph TR6C that I sold to Steve about sixteen years ago. The best you could say about it then was that it was rough but ridable. I think you'll agree that he did a fine job restoring it and converting it to TR6R specs. He did the project pretty quick, as he had his first son on the way, and knew if he didn't do it quick it'd never get done! Said almost-grown-now son, Neil, is 3 times National Youth Motorcycle Trials Champion. Different kinda 'trials' than I'm used to...

Steve sold stuff that would fit Triumphs, so he used the completed bike in his catalog so he could deduct the expense. Cagey devil!

Between Steve and Larry and me, we know everything there is to know about motorcycles. Larry knows half, Steve knows half, and I know the rest. Compared to those guys, I'm chopped liver, but they let me hang out with 'em anyway.

The photo was taken last month at the British Bike Rally at Hansen Dam in the San Fernando Valley, sponsored by the Norton Owners Club. Go see some cool old Limey Iron, along with some German, Italian, and Japanese bikes.

As you scroll down, look for Pat Owens' 'gazillion mile Triumph'. Pat is also a friend, and was my instructor at the L.A. Trade-Tech College of Motersickle Knowledge. He's pretty well known in the bike industry, and as Service Manager for Johnson Motors, the early Triumph distributor for the Western U.S., built quite a few winning race bikes.

Check out the bike. It has a blue gas tank with the names of all the places he and his bride, Donna, have been. The old sled has about half a million miles on it. I think they've been from Circle, Alaska, to Tierra del Fuego on the damn thing, and everywhere in between. He'da rode it to China if he coulda got it to float! Every time he managed to coax 99,999.9 miles onto a succession of Smiths speedos (no mean feat in itself, but they can be rebuilt with any mileage showing that you want), he'd mount it on a bracket.

Pat's a practical mechanic. He had an oil leak once that he couldn't fix without a teardown, so he ducted it to lube his chain. He taught me all I know.

I hope you enjoyed my ramble back through time, folks. There's so much more. I just can't remember it all right now....

Very cool

As I mentioned over at the Brain this morning, I had to pick up the Mrs. from a late flight last night. A lot of you know, she's an executive for a big Japanese insurance company who has some big clients. Well, Honda's one of them and they're unveiling a new product. The Mrs. got the first-hand experience while she was away. Lucky woman.

Hey Gord ...

What can ya do with these?

I hate NY 2

So today I have to go to Mercedes to pick up parts (for some reason, the uppity Krauts are the only dealership in the area who doesn't deliver). It's about 5 miles and on the way back, I stopped in several other inspection stations (I know everybody within 10 miles of the shop) to share my misery. Seems the state has been around. Out of 10 places within the 5 mile radius, 9 got the same letter I did. Looks like New York State is trying to keep us all honest and raise a little revenue in the process. Bastids.

I got a laugh in this guy Timmy's place. He's singing tales of woe because not only did he get nailed, he got nailed cheating on it to get the guy a sticker. They jerked his shit on the spot. At least I can still do inspections until the hearing. What would posess him to cheat for somebody he never met, somebody who doesn't spend any money in his place is beyond me. Moron. I don't cheat for long-time customers. In addition, he got a letter the same day from the IRS telling him to prepare for an audit. Merry-fucking-Christmas. I was laughing all the way back to the shop.

I just hope the state ain't dumb enough to schedule all our hearings on the same day. Lotta badasses to have in one place, all pissed off. Heh ...

Winter Driving 101

This article is geared to conditions in my town, but is more entertaining than most. From the Sierra Sun.

Tricky winter driving is just one of the facts of life for locals in the Tahoe-Truckee area.

Whether it's dealing with slippery roads after a storm, dodging chunks of ice flying off a car's roof as the driver motors blissfully unaware down the road, or watching car after car slowly spin out into a snow bank - everybody has had an experience.

That is, everybody but people like me.

Going into my first winter in the mountains after a snow-free life in the lower elevations of California, I thought it may be wise - and slightly entertaining - to seek out the experiences of others to prepare for the coming season.

After speaking to people whose jobs put them out in the elements all winter long - cops, tow-truck drivers and other locals - I found driving in the winter is more than a "winter driving tips" list in a Caltrans pamphlet (even though I read mine with absorption from cover to cover).

After talking to those people, sitting in on a winter-driving class and riding along with the CHP, I got the best winter driving tips and techniques, where to drive and where to avoid, and what one does and doesn't do to keep from irritating local cops.

One thing came through loud and clear, however: Winter driving is serious business.
"Our officers are going from crash to crash - constantly moving," says California Highway Patrol Officer Steve Skeen. "In a good snow storm we could get 20 to 70 crashes in a shift."

Hounded by students in the winter driving class for hands-on experience, Bousquet says an empty parking lot could be used as a place to practice, but as a liability-minded police officer he hesitates to suggest any place in particular. And, of course, he stresses being careful.

Once, after taking a squad car up to the parking lot at Boreal to train for winter driving - spinning out and regaining control - Bousquet says he came across a car full of snowboarders that had slid-out on eastbound Interstate 80.

"A passenger told me they had seen a police car doing it up in the parking lot," Bousquet says with a laugh.

Snowboarders are kinda spun out anyway...

Talking to locals about the traffic that comes with heavy snow and big ski weekends, I watch suppressed frustration come to a boil. But when I ask about secret backroads to avoid the mess, a few have a mischievous glimmer in their eyes.

"I'm not telling my secret back roads, that would ruin them wouldn't it?" jokes Tal Fletcher, owner of Mountain Cab and Squaw Valley Taxi.

That guy lives about a block from me. Most of his taxis are Ford F350 4WD crew cab pickups.

"One of the more annoying things I deal with is people not cleaning their windshield" of snow, says Truckee police Sgt. Jason Litchie. "That will get you a big ticket."

Nonetheless, we've all seen the snow-on-the-windshield, head-out-the-window driver and the four foot pile of snow on the mini-van roof. Some of us may even be guilty of such acts.

"I don't know why people do it. They may not have the tools to remove the snow or they may think it looks cool," says Placer County sheriff's Lt. Jeff Granum. "But the snow comes flying off and either blocks the view through the windshield, or can go off the back and hit another car or even a pedestrian."

A foot or so of snow will lay chilly (heh) and be forgotten until the car heater has warmed the roof a little and broken the bond between the snow and the roof. The first time the driver hits the brakes, the roof-size chunk of snow will slde off and come down right in front of him. This is wonderful in traffic.

Looking for the right gizmos for my car, I find different tools and technologies can help drivers get through the winter; some are under-utilized and others can make drivers over-confident.

Fletcher says besides having an all four-wheel-drive fleet, using studs is the most important thing he does to prepare for winter.

"It's one thing for people coming up for the weekends, but it blows me away when locals don't have studded tires in the winter," Fletcher says.

Studs are fine. They work good. I've run 'em, but they're a real pain in the ass if you leave town for warmer climes during the winter. Like your daily commute to or from Reno. They're louder'n shit on clear pavement and the pavement tends to shove the studs into the tire. It's called a 'stud puncture'. Carry a plug kit and a pair of pliers to pull the offending stud out with. Also a spray bottle of soapy water to find which of the hundred or so studs did it this time and an air pump. This is a real fun deal on the shoulder of I-80 at 8 in the morning in freezing weather. It's not worth the hassle to me, but maybe I'm just lazy.

During Sgt. Bousquet's winter driving course, nearly every-other slide in his Powerpoint presentation says "slow down, stay off the brakes, slow down, stay off the brakes, slow down, stay off the brakes."

That's it in a nutshell.

The CHP's Skeen says it is important to stay aware and not get too over-confident.

"More of the accidents are people who are unfamiliar - locals do a pretty good job because they have better experience and are better equipped," Skeen says. "But sometimes locals' confidence level can be too high and they will speed. But that goes for anybody really."

Fletcher, meanwhile, simply says, "Watch out for crowds. Watch out for Northwoods."

I'm glad he mentioned Northwoods. Northwoods Boulevard is the main thoroughfare out of the large Tahoe-Donner subdivision. The top of Tahoe-Donner is the same elevation as Donner Summit and right on the same storm track. They get a lot of snow in big storms, measured in feet, not inches. The plows do their best to keep up with it, but you know how that goes. The road is very steep, dropping 1000 feet in just under a mile. Heavy weekend traffic compacts the snow and turns it into ice. The locals will go ten miles out the back roads to avoid that one mile stretch, which tees at the bottom directly across the street from the High School.

Tahoe-Donner has a high percentage of second-home owners who just come up to ski and may not be all that road-wise under heavy snow conditions. City drivers, they tend to follow too close and drive too fast.

Here's why you always want to carry your skis bottom-up on the roof rack of the Bimmer X5 that you don't really need in the Bay Area, but feel justified in lugging around four wheel drive components the rest of the time because you go to the mountains three times a year and it really impresses the neighbors.

You're heading out for the slopes of a fine winter's morn, and you're in a hurry to beat the crowds so the lift lines won't be so long. Maybe you're on the phone telling the folks you left three minutes ago how you're doing. You're maybe just a little too close behind that slowpoke local who doesn't understand how important it is that you save thirty seconds. His brake lights go on just for a second. You hit your brakes just like you would at home. Funny thing, instead of slowing, your car speeds up! You push 'em harder. Still won't slow down. Won't steer either. Must be something wrong with the car...

There's a little jog in the road here. Your car slides off the road up onto a snowbank. Then it turns over, and it's a straight shot to the traffic light at the bottom of the hill, a quarter of a mile away.

The skis are now flat on the ground. Should you avoid hitting any cars (locals coming down that hill watch their mirrors for this very reason) you'll be going as fast as you possibly can when you schuss upside-down through a main intersection into the High School.

Locals may applaud and hold up numbered signs for style points.

That scenario has happened more than once. I may have made up the part about the style points.

Drive safe, folks. Common sense is the key.

Drivers who are learning winter driving techniques the hard way are very entertaining if they don't include you in the learning process.

I hate NY

Well, not really. I love my home state but the folks running it piss me off. Let me explain.

As most of you know, I'm a New York State Vehicle Inspector. That means I'm licensed to inspect your car for safety and do emissions testing and issue you a new sticker. Every once in a while, the state slides an undercover test car though. Now, I realize there is a lot of fraud going on when it comes to the issuance of inspection stickers and the need for them to do this. For $150 (as opposed to $37 for a legit inspection), you can go into Brooklyn or Queens and get somebody to put a sticker on your car, no questions asked. But, on the day before Thanksgiving, didja have to set me up?

It was 2:30 in the afternoon, Indian was gone, Harry was at lunch, and it was just PDB and me there, scrambling to get everything done so we could get out on time. This idiot in a '97 Taurus asks me if I had time to inspect his car. In the holiday spirit, I told him to leave it for a while and get a cup of coffee. Usually, I would have made him an appointment for later in the week but we were going to be closed Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving and I didn't want the guy to get jammed up over the holiday.

So, I inspect the car, fail it because the 'check engine' light didn't come on with the key turned to the 'run' position, charge him the $37, and send him on his way.

Day before yesterday, Harry gets a letter at the shop that somehow, while inspecting this car, I broke a motor vehicle law (even though I failed the car and it didn't get a new sticker). He and I now have to go to a hearing where we'll probably both be fined and have our licenses suspended for a period of time. I need this.

So, here goes. All you people who need an inspection at the last minute and I tell you I can't do it today, you can thank the state of New York. I don't give a fuck if you have to drive through a police roadblock on the way home and your sticker is expired. If you're depending on me to save your ass from a ticket, think again. Like they say, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and I ain't taking another fine for you. Sorry, but being a good guy will cost me a couple hundred bucks at the least. You, and your little problems, ain't worth it.

Eye Candy

If you think of motorcycle engines as art in metal like I do, go see The Up-N-Smoke Engine Project by Daniel Peirce. There's 30 of 'em to look at.

Even yet still more Tesla

A road test review, with video, in the LATimes.

But I can tell you, even from my brief spin in this dog-eared prototype, the Tesla Roadster delivers on its promise, which might be summarized as "stupid fun for smart people." I think the Latin translation of same should appear on the company crest.

Once the transmission is warmed up a bit (by the way, Tesla will use a dual-clutch gearbox instead of the Xtrac-supplied unit, which has proved balky), I nail the throttle. It's not the violent, near-breakaway acceleration of a Porsche 911 or Ferrari F430. It is, instead, an instant, fluid, irresistible surge that doesn't hesitate for mechanical housekeeping like gear changes. The oft-quoted number of 0-60 in 4 seconds is impressive but unfairly limited, since the real heart-flutters begin after that. The motor torque (about 205 pound-feet) stays constant until about 6,000 rpm then gradually falls off until about 13,500 rpm, which is dentist-drill territory.

I only dared a few short bursts up to 85 mph before having to choke off the electrons, but clearly, this car will sling itself up to three-digit territory like a ride at Six Flags Over Hell.

It's over too soon.

Sounds like good sex!

Where I work

A continuing series:

So, I'm bent over the hood of a car, changing a vehicle speed sensor, basically lying on the engine. PDB, sensing my vulnerability, comes up behind me, grabs my hips, and starts making like he's sodomizing my nether regions. Sam, our 17 year old intern, walks into the shop with some papers Harry has to sign for school. She looks at us and, without missing a beat, says "you know, we have a Gay/Straight Alliance at the high school. Maybe you guys would like to lecture there one day?" Yup, she's working out well.

***

So, we have a cusomer's old (25 years) Ford E-150 van. It's shot and we finally talk him into junking it instead of sinking more money into it. Fine, someone listens. So it has dual gas tanks and he just filled them up before the piece of shit gets drug in on the hook and he wants the gas out of it. PDB, in his infinite wisdom, lets him use our electric fuel pump and a battery to run it.

5 or 10 minutes go by and the customer runs in the shop, goes into the bathroom, gets a towel soaking wet and runs back outside. PDB and I had 2 sets of tires to mount and balance, one of the reasons we let him get the gas out himself. We look at each other and yell, "what's going on" at him but he doesn't answer. Harry comes running in a second later yelling "dipshit set the lot on fire". He was trying to put out burning leaves and gasoline with a wet towel. Dope. I run out with a fire extinguisher as Harry and PDB frantically start moving customers' cars.

Seems the moron was done filling one gas can and was too lazy to disconnect power to the electric fuel pump before taking the hose from the full can and sticking it in the empty can. As soon as he pulled it out of the first can, gas sprayed everywhere (over all the dead leaves that have fallen) and it startled him. He drops the pump and a wire disconnects from the battery, creating a spark ...

Needless to say, I got the fire out before the fire department showed up and no customers cars were damaged, but it was hot enough to melt the aluminum running boards on the van. Never a dull moment ...

Advice

If your business depends on having a vehicle in good running condition, buy one. I had an argument with a customer yesterday and I told him to take his crap to somebody else.

This guy is a carpenter and he works out of a 20 (180,000 miles) year old Chevy Cavalier station wagon that we've been keeping together for the past 10 years. The car is 1000 pounds overweight, we've already put 3 sets of rear springs in it, and underpowered. The transmission is failing and he can't keep motor mounts in it thanks to the extra weight.

I've been telling him for the last 3 years to get rid of the thing before it falls apart like the Blues Brothers' car at the end of the movie. His reply: It's still a good car.

So I tell him fine, you need a new transmission. He doesn't want to go for that ($2500 when the car ain't worth scrap value). I'm supposed to pour some shit in it to make it shift like an Indy Car. Ladies and germs, miracles do not come in cans.

The car also has an intermittent 'runs like shit' condition (correction, runs shittier than normal). Personally, I think it's the torque converter going to full lockup at low speed (again the transmission has to come out) but he doesn't believe me. He thinks I can turn a few wrenches, make some adjustments, and the thing will be ready to race at Talladega. I tell him it gets to a point where I can't adjust out the effects of wear and abuse from doing a job the engineers at Chevrolet never intended it to do.

And all this time I hear the car, like a dying old dog, begging me to put it out of its misery.

So I tell him I can't work on the damn thing anymore. The car is dying and the only right thing is to let it go peacefully. Either that or dump five grand into it, and that's not including the body work it needs. Did I tell you the thing is rusting away?

So suddenly I'm an asshole and I'm trying to rip him off by pointing a metaphorical gun to his head. Fine, take your piece of shit and get out of my shop.

Look, if your livelihood depends on having a vehicle in good running condition, get one that's up to the job. It's a cost of doing business, just the way the equipment in our place (tire machines, wheel balancer, lifts) is. I can't do my job with shitty equipment and when it breaks it gets fixed the right way. I don't ask it to do things it can't do because if it doesn't work, I'm out of business. If I can't afford to maintain my shit, I gotta start thinking I'm doing something wrong, or maybe I'm in the wrong line of work.

V-A Lot!

I'm a big Mopar fan, but this proves the old adage that "wretched excess is barely enough". I'll bet them Krauts had a hand in this!

V-10 Motorcycle Tomahawk


With a cruiser set-up, this might even keep Fixer calm for a while.

More Taurus

Here's the Wes' Coas' take on the demise of the Taurus. LATimes:

The Ford Taurus, which entered the world as a revolutionary new take on the American automobile, will exit Friday as a forlorn reminder of things gone wrong with the American auto industry.

Good article. Go read.

"Red hair and black leather, my favourite color scheme..."

As a socially responsible gearhead blog, we present a cautionary musical tale of what youth, raging hormones, a fast motorcycle, and a no doubt somewhat speedy redhead can do for you:

Richard Thompson - 1952 Vincent Black Lightning


If you understand this Englishman singing in English as well as I do, here's the lyrics:

Oh says Red Molly to James "That's a fine motorbike.
A girl could feel special on any such like"
Says James to Red Molly "My hat's off to you
It's a Vincent Black Lightning, 1952.
And I've seen you at the corners and cafes it seems
Red hair and black leather, my favourite colour scheme"
And he pulled her on behind and down to Boxhill they did ride

Oh says James to Red Molly "Here's a ring for your right hand
But I'll tell you in earnest I'm a dangerous man.
For I've fought with the law since I was seventeen,
I robbed many a man to get my Vincent machine.
Now I'm 21 years, I might make 22
And I don't mind dying, but for the love of you.
And if fate should break my stride
Then I'll give you my Vincent to ride"

"Come down, come down, Red Molly" called Sergeant McRae
"For they've taken young James Adie for armed robbery.
Shotgun blast hit his chest, left nothing inside.
Oh come down, Red Molly to his dying bedside"
When she came to the hospital, there wasn't much left
He was running out of road, he was running out of breath
But he smiled to see her cry
He said "I'll give you my Vincent to ride"

Says James "In my opinion, there's nothing in this world
Beats a 52 Vincent and a red headed girl.
Now Nortons and Indians and Greeves* won't do,
Ah, they don't have a soul like a Vincent 52"
Oh he reached for her hand and he slipped her the keys
Said "I've got no further use for these.
I see angels on Ariels in leather and chrome,
Swooping down from heaven to carry me home"
And he gave her one last kiss and died
And he gave her his Vincent to ride.

*"Douglases and Rudges and Nortons" in this version. He wrote it, he can change it.

More on the motorbike that led our hero astray. You're on your own for the redhead and the raging hormones, dammit.

Goodbye, old pal ...

In my book it was the best all-around automobile ever built (this coming from a man who made his money building winning race engines). I worked for Ford when every 3rd car they sold was a Taurus. I enjoyed working on them and I'll miss them. One of Ford's biggest mistakes was letting the brand stagnate and wither. Browsing the net, I found a kindred spirit:

It's twisted and a bit pathetic, but I will be shedding a tear next week in honor of the Ford Taurus officially and finally going out of production. It had a 21-year run that in retrospect is the longest fall from grace in history. During that time Ford sold 7 million Tauruses and another 2 million Mercury Sables. Since January 1st of this year, however, Ford had halted sales of the Taurus to the public, accepting orders only from fleet and rental companies. Despite that, the Taurus remained Ford's best selling passenger car almost every month this year, selling more units than the Focus and even the red hot Mustang. The Taurus saved Ford when it was introduced in 1985 and immediately sold 263,000 units during that first year. That number would rise to 410,000 units in 1992 when the Taurus overtook the Honda Accord to become the best selling passenger car in the U.S., a title it held for five straight years.

...

The last Taurus rolled off the line this afternoon.

Classics at Castletown

This YouTube deal's got me feelin' like a super-annuated kid with a new toy. Here's a 5-minute video of a Vintage Motor Cycle Club (VMCC) Rally at Castletown, Isle of Man, during the '06 Manx Grand Prix. All the photog had to do was stand in one place and push the button!

Lotsa neat old primarily English bikes, with single-cylinder machines well represented. I like one-lungers. The longer-stroke models fire at about every telephone pole.

From about 42 to 47 seconds in is a very unusual motorcycle with a very distinctive sound: A Scott Flying Squirrel 500cc or 600cc twin. I've seen 'em, but I never heard one run before. Now I know why they call 'em "the yowling two-stroke"! More at the Scott Owners' Club or Wikipedia.

Please enjoy this. I did.

Tires

We harp on tires every year at this time. A little tip. If your right side tires have a whitewall from scraping up against the curb, spring for a new set before the really bad weather gets here.

And just a little rant:

I used to love working on Volvos. Ugly cars but easy to work on. I did an alternator on an XC70 this week. What a fucking clusterfuck getting the thing out. I don't like working on Volvos anymore.

Motorcycle Mayhem

So, how do ya like standin' on the seat of yer sled waving to the throng, on the sidestand, in a cloud of smoke from your own melting rear tire? Oh, yeah, do it all the time!

From the EssEffChron. Where else?

The moment Darius Khashabi felt his motorcycle wobble at 80 mph, he knew he was headed toward pavement. He was speeding along Highway 242 near Concord, and it didn't help that he was doing a wheelie in the fast lane while attempting to stand up on his gas tank -- an acrobatic move that required Khashabi's videographer to follow him in a car. On the video -- which is part of Khashabi's popular line of "Servin' It Up" DVDs, a 5-year-old genre of illicit street racing and extreme motorcycle stunts filmed mostly on Bay Area streets -- his feet slip off the gas tank and his front wheel slams down to the asphalt. At the high speed, the bike pitches like an angry bull, throwing Khashabi's body into the next lane of traffic.

"I was so amped on adrenaline, I barely felt it," Khashabi says at his Walnut Creek home as he prepares to leave for a stunt bike contest in Fresno. "I just got up, started running to the edge, and that's when I felt my foot start to burn."

Khashabi had shattered his right wrist, broke bones in his right foot and lost a few layers of skin from his back, thighs, palms, knuckles and kneecaps.

But those were the old days, Khashabi says with a hint of nostalgia. Three years later, the nationally known stunt rider credited with helping to launch the trend of "stunting" is trying to go legit. Khashabi, 32, aims to transform stunt riding from an illegal hobby that has long frustrated police and angered drivers into an internationally sanctioned extreme sport with an eye toward the 2008 X Games. To do so, he has tirelessly promoted his DVDs, which have sold an estimated 100,000 copies at $25 a pop, and over the past year he has appeared in 35 demos and contests, from Sweden to Sydney. His sport has yet to catch the attention of X-Game producers, but Khashabi believes that with the right organizing body and an image makeover, stunting will soon gain acceptance.

I'm glad the bikes I came up on weren't powerful enough to do shit like that. We were nuts enough to try it, but the thought never crossed our minds because the sleds just wouldn't do anything like that. We did wheelies, jumped 'em, powerslid 'em, and rode 'em balls-out in the desert. Sometimes we unloaded hard, too. It was all part of the fun.

"Faster, faster, until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death!" is one thing, but gettin' trunked on the sidestand, or doin' a high-speed wheelie in traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge, ain't on my program. Kids these days!

Young people

I've written before about how we used to have local kids working for us up until a couple years ago. They got to learn about cars (and a lot more) and make a few bucks and we got slave labor. We stopped hiring kids when we hired Dead Ed to work in the office. Well, now that Dead Ed is really dead a year, we were talking the other day about how none of the neighborhood kids have come around looking for a job. We've been really busy the last couple months and can use the hand.

Well, wouldn't you know it, one of our customers, her kid, and the high school guidance counselor show up at the shop today. The kid wants to get into the automotive field and wanted to intern at our shop. After laughing our asses off for a couple minutes, Harry just shrugs his shoulders and walks away, his look telling me it's up to me.

Fine.

I look at mother, kid, and guidance counselor and ask. "Do you realize the language and subject matter gets discussed around here?" Nod 'yes' and a grin from the mother (she's been a customer for 25 years), a shake of the head 'no' from kid and guidance counselor.

I say to the kid. "If I said I was going to sodomize you with a telephone pole, would you look at that as sexual harrassment?" The kid turns red, the guidance counselor turns plaid.

"I can deal with it," the kid says.

"No whining?" I ask. I get a shake of the head 'no'. "Do you mind using that bathroom?"

Kid looks in, makes a face. "No."

I turn to the guidance counselor. "This is the real world," I said. "This is the way it is in every shop I've ever worked in. The kid will learn how to swear like a sailor but will learn a lot about cars and being a good person. Is the school all right with that?"

Guidance counselor turns to mother and I get a nod 'yes' from both of them.

"Fine," I say. "Welcome aboard, kid." And we shake hands. The kid is 17, starts in a couple weeks working 2 hours a day after school, three days a week, and her name is Samantha.

After they leave, Harry walks up to me and says. "If she fucks up, it's coming out of your ass."

So now I'm a mentor. Oy gevult!

Picky, picky, picky...

To its credit, the LATimes is one of very few newspapers that actually does stories on motorcycles. To its discredit, it's too cheap to hire a motorcycle writer and uses automotive writers. I'm sure these folks know all about cars (What's to know? Gas goes in, wheels go 'round! [Just kiddin', Fixer!]), but they don't really seem to know much about motorcycles. I guess ya take what ya can get, since bikes are in the "Car Culture" section, but the car guys need a proofreader, a fact checker, and a 'sickle-speak translator.

I volunteer.

I read this article about a bike I am positively in lust with, the new Triumph retro-scrambler. Since I actually know a little bit about '60s-vintage English bikes, and even some newer ones (they make motorcycles in Japan now. Imagine that!) I was sorta taken aback by Mr. Neil's lack of knowledge about stuff. Little things, but the Devil is in the details. So here's the Triumph portion of the article, with footnotes from moi.

Let's keep it real. In terms of engineering, handling and performance, mid-century motorcycles were kind of awful, crude and wobbly protomorphs of the ultra-fast, super-stable, ever-starting wonder machines of the modern era. I rode an old BSA a few months ago and felt like I was going to fall off as soon as I heeled the kickstand. (1)

(1) Don't pick yer feet up 'til it starts ta move, ya idjit! Mr. Neil must be very young. Those sleds were fast and stable back in the day, and we didn't know any better anyway.

The fundamental changes in moto-tech - fuel-injection, monoshock/swingarm (2) rear suspension, disc brakes, emissions controls(3), you name it - make riding vintage-era bikes feel like trying to log onto the Internet with a rotary phone (4). And yet bikes were cooler back then(5) - raw and elemental, with a stark, stripped functionalism. So it's no surprise that "modern classic" design should appeal to the growing population of older, first-time riders(6) looking to buy the kinds of bikes they imprinted on in their youth. Here are three(7) that reprise a classic, emotional design from the grand era of two-wheel rebellion, in the context of current technology.

(2) "Monoshock" is a registered trademark of Honda. Most bike writers use the term "single shock", although it's kinda like using "Kleenex" for "tissue" or "snot rag".

(3) It's a legal requirement, not a "fundamental change".

(4) I like that!

(5) Fuckin' A! The Fonz rode a Triumph.

(6) I think he just plain missed the mark here. A lot of us old not-first-time riders like these too for the same reason.

(7) Retro-lookin' Ducati and Harley-Davidson. Go see.

Triumph: McQueen for a day

No footnote, but the image that conjures up is awful, like yer gonna get a new washing machine and a spa day. Probably inevitable, though.

First question: What, if anything, has Triumph Motorcycles - reconstituted after a devastating factory fire in 2002 - paid the estate of Steve McQueen? The iconic leverage of the new Triumph Scrambler pivots almost entirely on McQueen, who rode a Triumph Enduro(8) in the 1971 documentary "On Any Sunday"(9) and a Triumph in the WWII thriller "The Great Escape" (racer and stunt rider Bud Ekins doubled for McQueen in the famous jump scene, and the Triumph doubled for a BMW, lore has it). For guys who really want to channel the Steve, the Triumph Scrambler obliges. You can even order an optional "278" number board(10), McQueen's entry when he raced in the 1964 International Six-Day Trials(11) in East Germany. How bad do you have to have McQueen Fever to know that?

(8) There has never, ever been a Triumph model called an "Enduro"

(9) McQueen rode a Husqvarna in On Any Sunday.

(10) That term is never used. It's a number plate.

(11) He's got the 's' in the wrong place and there's no hyphen. It was the International Six Days Trial.

The Scrambler is the latest of four Modern Classics bikes from Triumph, and it might as well conjure '60s California with a Ouija board: the two-tone paint, chrome escutcheons(12) and rubber knee grips on the tank, bench seat with white piping, exhaust pipes intertwined like crossed fingers (though back in the day, the pipes were on the left side). Much like the echt Bonneville Scramblers(13), it has gaitered front shocks(14), wire wheels, wide flat handlebars and relatively knobby tires (Bridgestone Trail Wings).

(12) Elitist! Just call 'em "tank badges".

(13) Triumph never had a model called a "Scrambler" until now. The model that did very well in scrambles was called the "TT Special", and the street bikes with high pipes weren't officially called that until Honda did it.

(14) They are called "front forks". Period. Some kinds of forks such as leading- or trailing-link or Earles forks do have shock absorbers.

Which in no way should lead you to believe this is a true dual-sport bike, a la Ducati Multistrada(15). As soon as the tires touch gravel, form and function part company. The Scrambler - based largely on the Bonneville T100 streeter - has a wet weight of about 500 pounds and tires that are not much more trail-able than your average street tire. Also, the historically faithful rear coil-overs(16) don't surrender much suspension travel, so the Scrambler rear starts to jackhammer at moderate speeds on chuck-holed fire roads.(17)

(15) Just plain wrong. The Multistrada is, like the Scrambler, a little bit dirt-road capable, more properly called an "Adventure Tourer". A "true dual-sport" bike is a dirt bike with minimally legal street equipment, like these.

(16) This is an automotive term not used by bike riders.

(17) Try to miss the chuckholes, fool! Don't look right at 'em. Look just to the side of them. "Look where ya wanna go". An off-road novice mistake.

This is essentially a road-purposed bike - more specifically, an urban commuter. Between the gloss-black frame rails is Triumph's 865-cc, dual-overhead cam parallel twin - the same mill(18) as in the nostalgia-themed Thruxston(19) and Bonnie T100. However, the engine has been slightly detuned for more low-end torque (51 foot-pounds at 5,000 rpm) at the expense of horsepower (54 hp at 7,000). The bike steps off the line nicely and can clear four-wheeled traffic without much trouble. But the bike strains a bit at higher rpm and quasi-legal interstate speeds. The rider strains a bit too. The lack of a windscreen, combined with the very upright riding position, makes for a face-first buffeting that would shame a North Sea gale.(20)

(18) "Mill" is a car word, not often used by motorcyclists.

(19) Misspelled. It's "Thruxton".

(20) Wussie! Motorcycling is called "gettin' in the wind" for a reason. Real buffeting is a product of a poorly designed windshield or a poorly adjusted one.

What this bike truly is, is easy. Make that effortless. The seat height and relaxed riding position is a huge relief from the Nigel-the-human-cannonball posture required on sport bikes(21). The handlebars are easy to reach. The seat is soft, the engine note well-tempered. This bike is two-wheeled Paxil. It is also - though I'm sure this isn't the sales pitch Triumph would trumpet(22) - a perfect beginner's bike(23).

(21) No shit, Sherlock!

(22) A probably-unintended pun. Triumphs have been called "Trumpets" for years. Detractors, usually Panhead riders, also call 'em "Turnips".

(23) Just a matter of opinion, but I still think beginners should start with a smaller, lighter bike.

If you push the Scrambler, it does have some reserves of street performance. It drops into a corner with finesse - all that extra leverage from the big handlebars(24) - and holds a line well. It has good lean angles and makes side-to-side transitions with less drama than Sunday morning C-SPAN(25). The handling is seamless and reliable, with low-speed agility(26) and parking-deck maneuverability. Like I said: easy.

(24) The width of the handlebars has nothing to do with how well a bike corners. It's a function of rake, trail, wheelbase, and center of gravity.

(25) That's maybe a little too easy! Borr-ring!

(26) Wide handlebars help a little here.

The bike is carbureted, not fuel-injected, so riders will have to pull the choke and let the engine warm up a bit before it falls into a shuffling chuff. With a fuel economy in the neighborhood of 50 miles per gallon, the dead-simple Scrambler makes an excellent commuting bike, while offering a hugely romantic presence on the street. Expensive? Rather(27). Nobody said being Steve was going to be cheap.

(27) MSRP $7,999. Pretty cheap these days. My '69 Triumph TR6 was $1350 out the door with a Bell helmet thrown in.

To be fair, Mr. Neil didn't do any worse than most journalists do. Scary.

By the way, my first job in the 'sickle biz was at Bud Ekins' shop in Sherman Oaks CA. A real character and a true icon of the sport. He also gave me my first (and only!) shot as a movie star in The Thing With Two Heads wherein he set a new record for the number of cars wrecked in a movie! Go read about The Great Escape jump at his name link, or his Motorcycle Hall of Fame bio.

Well, I had fun tearing the poor guy apart. ! guess I'll just sit back and wait for someone to do it to me. Probably Badtux. Later.

Bentley

LATimes

THERE are just not that many cars in the world that blow up my finely tailored skirt, but the Bentley Continental GT is one. I like to think of myself as a man of environmental principle, so it would be ethically inconsistent for me to own Bentley's 12-cylinder, 552-hp, 2 3/4-ton siege engine of class warfare, a car that vaporizes premium petrochemicals to the tune of 15 miles per gallon and wafts its own muggy microclimate of greenhouse gases behind. Never mind the fuel economy - the monster tires alone probably represent a barrel of oil each.

And yet, even along Wilshire Boulevard - where the cars now are as common as taxis - every sighting of the long, prow-intensive fastback is a cardiac event, an aching reminder of the Bentley-shaped hole in my heart. The silent thunder of its approach, the shimmering grille of mithril, the perfect rhythms and symmetry of the body contours streaming back like the folded wings of Valkyries. The Bentley's presence seems to funnel the cosmos until all you see is that car.

In the face of this suffused wonderfulness, all I can think is: Now, where did I put my knickers?

After that, mine are down around my ankles!

Stashed discreetly behind the rear headrests are hydraulically actuated roll hoops that will, if the car senses an incipient rollover, burst through their composite covers to help protect occupants from a drastic hair-restyling event.

Acceleration is still, well, obscene: 0-60 mph in 4.8 seconds. The car is then merely gaining its feet. It's a surreally smooth ride up to triple digits and it's fair to say if this car isn't fast enough for you, you should definitely join the Royal Air Force. Speaking of obscene, get a load of those ventilated front brake discs: 16 inches in diameter, the biggest in any production car.

How fast is it with the top down? According to Ulrich Eichhorn, Bentley board member in charge of engineering, the top-down top speed is 190 mph, and he even volunteered to sit in the back seat while the car made its top-speed test run. "It wasn't as tempestuous as you might think," the charming Eichhorn reports. "The wind wasn't that bad."

And yet, when the car is released this fall, I'm sure it will blow a few skirts up.

OK, I'm sold. Do they make it in a pickup?