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Quasi-Moto Rides
by Gary Charpentier |
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It
was the Golden Hour in old St. Paul as Quasi-Moto and I
snortled across the High Bridge. (Snortle is my own
contraction of snort and burble, and describes Quasi's
exhaust note perfectly.) Thirty-six degrees, sun not yet
over the horizon, and no traffic... Golden indeed. It had
rained every day since I finished building this bike I call
a Cafe Scrambler, and both of my earlier shake-down rides
had been cursed by precipitation. But this morning was
magic, and I savored every moment of it. Grand Avenue is
your typical High Street, by which I mean there are upscale
shops and cafes, a liberal arts college campus, and a lot of
pedestrian traffic. The variety of aromas which emanate from
these buildings is incredible! The rich melange of strong
coffee, a hint of cinnamon from fresh pastries, sometimes
the tang of garlic makes my mouth water as I pass the
classier restaurants. Stoplights abound, but there is so
much to see and, though I am loathe to admit it, they
provide ample opportunity to admire your bike's reflection
in the many plate-glass storefronts. I guess we are all
poseurs to some degree... There are some
nice sweeping curves along the Mississippi on West River
Road, and these can be taken somewhat briskly if you go
early enough. After about 6:30 though, the lycra-clad
trotters come out, along with the Park Police, and the 25
mph speed limit is strictly enforced. Then too, there are
the speed-humps to deal with. These taper to nothing at the
edges, and it is a fine test of steering precision to
quickly swoop over and clip the curbing, missing the hump
altogether. Quasi-Moto performed this with panache, and I
found myself grinning like an ape inside my helmet by the
time I reached the stop sign at Plymouth Avenue. Keep in mind that
these are all in the space of half-a-block and follow
immediately after one another. So, it's left U-turn followed
by 90-degree right turn into 90-degree left turn with
crumbling pavement everywhere off-line, followed by a
90-degree right sweeper that widens at the exit so you can
really pick up some speed at the end. I think that's why
they put the stupid stop sign at the little-used 'T'
intersection about a block from that last turn. At any rate,
it's a most challenging bit of urban chicanery, and I found
myself thankful that I left the centerstand off of my Cafe
Scrambler design. With the high-mount scrambler exhaust and
Tarrozzi rearsets, there is nothing to drag in the corners,
and I find myself amazed at the lean-angles I am getting.
Why, I could have dragged a knee coming into that last right
sweeper, but then I realized that I would look pretty silly
at work with holes in my Dockers and road rash showing
through. Quasi-Moto passed
the handling test with flying colors. I arrived at work
flushed with adrenaline, snot running from my nose, and an
ear-to-ear grin plastered on my face. That hasn't happened
in a long time. He's out there
right now, leaning casually on his sidestand, waiting for me
to flee my cubicle and join him on another adventure. I park
him in the unmarked space at the end of the lot, in full
view of the cafeteria windows. Every time I take a break, to
get a drink of water or a snack, I pause a moment to gaze
out and daydream of our next ride. Maybe another Lunchtime
TT around the serpentine roads of the industrial park, or a
quick blast out to one of the many cafes in the area. Life
is good… Attack of the
Niggles Of course, anyone
who has built a custom or café special is well
acquainted with "The Niggles". For those who don't know, The
Niggles are those last remaining gremlins which survived the
build process by lying dormant, only to make their presence
felt once the bike is on the road. Niggles are either
mechanisms which have settled comfortably into the static
state during long years of storage, or strange new parts
that have been attached to the old chassis, but have yet to
become 'one with the machine'. The Niggles can really wreak
havoc on your shake-down rides, and in fact are the primary
reason for doing them. They hide in many
places, but tend to prefer the fuel and electrical systems.
I believe this is because that's where they can do the most
mischief while still eluding your efforts to track down and
eradicate them. Why, if they partied down in the crankcase,
you would have to tear down the engine and kill them before
you could even ride. What fun would that be? No, the name of
the Niggles' game is frustration. They want to get you out
on the road, away from your trusty tools, before they begin
capering about. This is precisely why a shake-down ride
should always be planned within a pushing-distance-radius of
your home. Failing that, you should at least take a cell
phone along and have a friend standing by with a pickup
truck and ramp. I know this because I didn't do the first,
and couldn't do the second because I don't even own a cell
phone. But I am a sneaky bastid… before the ride I
surreptitiously filled the pockets of my jacket with a few
strategically selected tools. The Niggles hadn't counted on
that, and I vanquished them right there on the side of the
road. The Trial of
Ton-Up Hill As many of you
know, I have a sort of unofficial speed-testing venue near
my home which I have dubbed "Ton-Up Hill". Climbing the
steep grade coming up from the Mississippi River, the run
commences after passing an entrance ramp on the right, and
checking it for lurking lawmen. If the coast is clear, you
twist the throttle to the stop and try to crack the ton
before taking the next exit only a half-mile away at the
top. Modern sportbikes
do this with ease, and I score them based on terminal
velocity… so braking comes into play as well. However,
Quasi-Moto is a vintage, air-cooled, half-liter twin, and I
had to grab a gear and work him hard to achieve a best of
about 85 mph, as indicated by the dancing analog speedometer
needle. Still impressive though, when you consider that a
Norton, Triumph, or Harley of the same era would have
trouble beating it, despite the significant displacement
advantage they enjoy. But the Quest for the Ton continues,
and you can bet I will be tuning and tweaking to try to
squeeze that last bit of horsepower out of this basically
stock motor. That large sack of meat on the back could stand
to lose a few pounds as well… First Call to
Grid… It's almost
quitting time. I'm in the cafeteria again, looking out the
window. The angle of the sun has changed so I can now see
the deep green of the paint and the glint of chrome and
polished alloy. All of the Niggles have been sorted, and I
know that when I go out there and push that button, he is
going to fire up eagerly and immediately. Ya gotta love that
vintage Japanese technology. With that delightful snortle
sounding from the scrambler exhaust, we will roll on out of
here and take the long way home. Past pubs and parks, cafes
and garages, we will probably stop anywhere that has bikes
parked outside. The green flag has dropped on a beautiful
evening, and there's no hurry to get to the finish
line. M.M.M.
My
commute to work takes in some wonderfully twisty sections of
urban pavement. First, there is the strangely Manx-sounding
"Ramsey Hill", at the top of which lies a right-hand sweeper
followed by a decreasing radius left, bordered by old stone
walls. These reflect the exhaust note back to the rider and
encourage one to explore the rev range a bit. But you have
to temper that enthusiasm, as there is a stoplight at Dale
and Grand immediately afterward. 
The
real handling test came at an unlikely spot. There is a
shopping center along my route with a nice, twisty road
running along the edge of it. Most people enter this road
from the left turn lane at a stoplight, but when that arrow
is red I bypass it and catch the next left turn lane which
is not metered by a light. Here I crank it over to the left
in a quick U-turn,scraping the pegs or at least grounding
something on most bikes. Quasi-Moto reeled right over and I
just felt the edge of my boot sole grazing the pavement
before we set up for the immediate ninety degree right turn
and the beginning of the "Byerly's Chicane". Still with me?
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