c's motohistory:
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The psyche-formative years...

Flash back: 1970's; regular leaded fuel, and people getting excited about it costing close to a buck a gallon, a presidency in shambles. The ABC Sunday night movie of the week: The Evel Kinevil (sp?) Story. Event of the decade: Evel crashes in the Snake River. Sales of Ronco Sky Cycle Toys stagnate.

Need I say more?

Flash forward a few years: silly kid riding around on a old standard 20" street bicycle wearing a helmet, white, with blue stars painted on it.

Flash forward a few more years: same kid, now empowered with a auto drivers license has all but forgotten two wheeled travel, except for the part where the rear brake on a 10-speed is activated with the right hand. Kid takes buddies new honda dual sport out for a quick blast around the local park. Focuses more on getting up to 40mph than on where that 40mph was taking him. Finally remembers that there's a small stream crossing coming up. Visions of the Snake River Canyon dance through riders head. "Hit the brake" thinks he, and instinctively squeezes right hand on lever.

Splat. Thud. Divot.

That's how I leared about the trick where you loosen the triple to straighten out a front end...

The college years...

Flash forward a few more years. T'pau & Bon Jovi are big on the radio (even on the same station - boy do i hate the present fragmentation of niche marketing). Honda is advertising that "Even the NInja is afraid of the Hurricane", and I'm pedaling around campus on a 10-speed again, and getting tired of it, especially since the new Frat house is on the other side of campus. Big man on campus is running around on a Interceptor 750 and he parks it next to my dorm. Two guys in my house have bikes - Canterbury on a GS850, complete with a cows skull attached across the bars and Stubner with a nice shiny Interceptor 500.

In the imortal words of Popeye, "That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more." Regardless of the fact that I was thin on funding, and typing papers for money for school books, I still managed to slush out (that's an accounting term...) $550 for a battered 81 Suzuki GS550L. Decent shape, missing the battery/side cover, stepped seat, ape-hangers, highway pegs on the case protectors, book rack w/ back rest, and a nasty problem with the clutch: it would stick, more later. Bought her from Steve-o (a dope smoking jar head who haddn't managed to transfer the title on the bike, but had managed to sign the title on the back) after Canterbury stuck his ear to a screwdriver against the head (to see if the piston was slapping against the head...)

First ride: took the bike around the small parking area next to our dorm, reveled in the ease at which the bike climbed the steep hill in front of the building, then coasted back down, paying close attention to leave that front brake alone (scary, isnt it...) came to a perfect smooth stop next to Steve-o, then promptly fell over since I haddn't taken my feet off the pegs. Hello.

Second ride was a slow backroad crawl following Canterbury and Stubner (aka Kocinski and Gobert) to the local Wal-mart in hopes of buying a helmet. No such luck. Canterbury, ever the frat bro, let me borrow on an indefinite basis his extra lid, complete with white gaffers tape across the forehead and the greek letters Nu Sigma Chi stenciled for all to see. Ah, the foibles of a mere pledge.

I rode the shit out of that bike. Usually with a layer or two of sweats, then a pair of double denim work jeans, a leather bomber jacket (see the images of jeff on the original starved rock ride - that's the actual jacket...), Nikes, rawhide farmer's task gloves, and that helmet, complete with a snap in screen. Now, keep in mind, this original purchase was in late October. My formative riding was done during the _winter_ of 1987-88. Rain, snow, sleet, you name it, I rode in it. Weather so cold, I'd bring the battery into the dorm at night and hook it back up in the morning.

Interesting points along the way. Remeber Steve-o and that signed title? Couldn't get plates w/o a title. Didn't have the $ to do 2 title transfers. Didnt have a horn nor plates, so I couldnt take the M class license test.

Remember that sticky clutch? It was like this: pull the lever to disengage the motor and start the bike. Now, feather the lever out to get moving, but, what's this? The lever isnt moving. Squeeze the lever real hard, release: still sticks. Try again, but release the lever faster. Snap, stall. Try again. Compensate with more gas (hell, why not?) Zoom! So, this bike would pretty much require you to jackrabbit each start.

So, time to mail a letter off to mommy & daddy, to check in and let them know that I havent managed to dismember myself with the new motorcycle. Sitting at the stop sign in front of the University Union, location of the mail box. What's this, pulling up behind me? A university rent a cop. Play it cool, man. Maybe he wont notice the missing license plate. Oop, can't sit here forever; gotta get moving. Feather, pop, stall. Restart. Feather, pop, stall. Restart. Pop, zoom into the parking lot - Flash go the gumballs. Officer dickcheese has the courtesy to let me sit in the back of the car since it was starting to snow (week before Thanksgiving break 1987) while he writes up: No title, No plates, and no M class. D'oh! Was it my hamfisted actions that caused him to nab me? Nope; turns out he had busted some guy (not Steve-o) for riding my exact bike, back at the beginning of the school year, up and down the steps of the bleachers in the football stadium. Hello.

Other '87 highlights included my first roadtrip from Macomb to Jacksonville, a story in itself down route 67. Parked the bike in the frat house garage for winter break.

'88 started off with my first lowside. Just got back from home, pulled the bike out of the garage and was riding it back to the dorm. Cold tires low on pressure, colder pavement, and an inexperienced rider rusty from three weeks on the parent's couch with nothing to scoot on but an old Chevy S-10. 30 mph, lean right, thud, slide. Hey, I fell!, Hey, I'm still sliding. Hey, are there any cars coming? Nope. Am I done sliding yet? Jump up, hit the kill on the bike, pick up the turn signal lenses that popped off, stand her up, and continue on my way.

Did other silly things that season. Got stuck in snow so deep that the cases were touching standing up, moving the bike from the dorm to the frat house in a blizzard, right in front of the girls's dorm. Snow so deep that the only way back to the cycle parking area was to ride right back up my track in the snow. Learned about how to wag the rear end and power slide. Learned not to down shift mid turn. Got a ticket for 61 in a 55 after leading a state cop on a low speed hide and seek chase for a half hour the first weekend of February. Velcro'd a radar detector atop the shift indicator lights.

1988 was the big ticket year; back in the day before they had a system to keep you from getting supervision more than once a year. By May 88 I was on supervision in 3 counties at the same time, and I had managed to get a couple of tickets thrown out while i was at it. But I digress, those tickets were all auto related...

Discovered the fun of the twisties (and the flamability of Glenfiddich, on separate occasions, of course) at a place called Lake Argyle. Last time i was there, Nhut & I video'd a lap through the park. Ive since tried to count and name all the corners, but got tired of it after counting 40 and still not being anywhere near the finish. Makes me wonder who counted all those corners at the Dragon....Did alot of riding by myself back then, usually in cut-offs, sleeveless t shirts and tennis shoes. Canterbury and Stubner didnt wear helmets, although John (Stubner) could usually be found zooming around campus with and old pair of aviators goggles or shop glasses on. I think he used to wear fingerless gloves, too.

The beginning of May came to with finals, and mid week instead of studying I packed up the GS and a buddies something or other (very scary...) chopper (yeesh) and hauled 'em up to Chicago in the middle of the night. My then girlfriend's dad wasn't happy when I showed up at about 11pm looking for a place to stow my bike, but since he had done something or other with what look to be Triumphs in the early 70s, I figured he was more apt to turn a sympathetic ear than my parents, especially when I was supposed to be studying or resting up for tomorrows finals. Then end of that week brought to a close my formal education at Western, but not my time with bikes there.

it's hard not to just type my whole life's history at this point, since from the summer of 88 forward ive always had something with 2 wheels going on. in short, i brought the GS home, threw some straight bars on it and cafe'd around all summer, even delivering domino's pizza on the bike in a pinch. by fall parents told me it was the bike leaving or i could just go with it. so i sold her to a buddy on payments, but he reniged half way through the deal. by spring of 89 i still had her, so i ran her back to western in hopes of finding a student to sell her to. wound up hanging around western (chasing sue, whom i had known since my earliest days in the fraternity) for a while, but in the end i had to head back to chicago for a job. when i left, the bike stayed behind at western in a storage shed.

june of 89 i went back to western and got the bike, and brought her up to chicago, where i rode her around for a week, then sold her to a guy i was working with. as chance would have it, the guy i sold it to was the son of my boss, who already had it in for me.

when all was said and done, i put about 9,000 miles on the GS in a year and a half, paid $550 for it, and sold her for $400. later that summer, sue and i got together and shacked up. being out of the house, the first thing i found myself wanting was a bike, so i started reading the reviews trying to pick something.

in may of 90 i maxed out a new credit card and indebted myself to american honda finance for 3 and half years and got the bike that would become the Fu. if it was dry, i was on the bike. at the time, i worked on 5th avenue in naperville, right behind the apartment complex jeff lives in now. as a matter of fact, i lived in that complex at the time. if i wasnt at work, i was on the bike, or it was parked in the middle of the living room of are apartment. i rode the wheels off the bike, every chance i got. did a report on the marketing of the CBR for a class at north central college and brought, as an exhibit, the bike, which i parked inside the academic building, garnering myself a nice little ticket and a talking to by the campus security. sheesh - give a janitor a badge and he thinks he's god.

i had been into car audio since highschool, and did alot of installation work on the side all through the late 80s and early 90s. I gave up on car audio in 92, when on my way to class, i ignited a subwoofer in the hatch of the colt turbo. considering the sub box was mounted right over the gas tank of the car, things could have been worse, but all i walked away with was a burned out woofer box. my love for car audio readily carried itself over to the bike. i put an alarm on the bike, and then installed a 50 watt RMS amp coupled to a sony sports walkman that i mounted on the faring, right in reach of my left fingers - i could change radio stations, play a tape, or adjust the volume without taking my hand off the bar. and there was volume. that 50 watts was feeding two infiniti 4" coaxial dash speakers.

this setup took the bike all the way to a first in class at a local schaumburg sound off. my little group of buddies were all into the squid scene at that point. no helmets, riding sport bikes around slowly, and thinking we knew our shit just in the fact that we werent crashing. we'd ride downtown to watch the drag racing, or cruise the burbs, squidding along in t-shirts and shorts. and, of course, we did our fair share of top speed testing on the local highways. by the end of this era, i had all that stereo equipment on the bike, plus the neon license plate frame and 4 neon tubes stuffed under the tail and center cowl.

then, in march of 94 i decided i was tired of the all show no go theme, and had the bike hopped up. the plan was to make a sleeper out of the bike, and take it to the drag races. so all the go fast mods that are on her now got added, and she was _pristine_ until may of that year. then i let the buddy who had kept my GS at his parents house take her out for a ride. around the block. this wasn't the first time he had ridden her, but he made it the last.

when he brought her back, he parked her with the right side facing away and got off as if nothing had happened. then i went over and got on her and noticed the center faring on the right looked funny. then i realized what had happened. he must have come to a stop and set her down against something. he had busted the center faring, the right cowl, and had scratched the shit out of the new yosh pipe. and he said he didnt do it. and left the party in a huff. and refused repeated phone calls to pay up.

i was disgusted. probably didnt put more than a thousand miles on her that year. i also picked up the CB450 for $10 in may. then, in june i picked up the CL350 from a client for free...

in 95 i got on the net, and found the motolist, which led me to nhut & geo. nhut & i did alot of riding together that year. geo pretty much took me under his wing and drove the major squidly demons from me. i started focusing on the mechanics and skill of riding. i stopped being afraid of working on the bike and dug in. i went to gohr power and got a taste of the security of the track, and came to the realization that there was a whole world of riding out there that i had yet to experience, when george for the umpteenth time handed me my ass on his ST1100.

in nov of 95, i had my first real street crash, chasing geo & mark to starved rock. i didnt see the gravel, and planted her on her right side just outside of ottowa. d'oh. but, she was just scratched up a little. i was freaked, and basically got my tilt meter reset, but that was ok - it was the end of the season.

oh, and most importantly, drew was born, thereby cementing my resolve to get serious about riding, instead of dicking around like a teenager on a ten speed.

in 96 i got more active on motolist, and started making preparations to start racing. with my tax season bonus, i built the trailer, but shortly after had to decide wether i wanted to spend that year's bike budget on street or track; i couldnt have both, so i picked street. hooked up with john maher and nhut for twistar, went out to star in west virginia, and did road america with the folks that became COMPoST. About that time, several events intertwined to set the tone for the rest of that season and the next. Thong got his F2 and Nhut basically started riding with him. So I hooked up and did alot of riding with John Maher, but that was short lived, as the inaugural COMPoST Lynn the Grrrl ride pointed to John's short midwestern future. On that ride, however, there was this new punky kid, who seemed to have his shit together behind the bars (little did i know.) he was riding a rat trap little mouse powered GS500, but was stuck right to my tail through sections of that ride where i expected to pull away from everyone.

and so, COMPoST began, and Jeff and I started riding together. I cant think of a point after that where i was out for a ride and it wasnt with jeff. for my 1996 crash, i planted the CBR down again in gravel, at the season ending SCMG fall ride.

the last moto related item of 96 was jeff coming back from the TMGP 12 hour YSR race with his old race YSR and his new/used RS125.

the 97 season was, one might say (over)publicized.

so there it is. my motopast/present.

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Scott Lambert
#c

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