The Thrills Although every time I rode this bike was a thrill, one event that particularly comes to mind occurred during a transit strike in Toronto. As in any large city, when the buses and subways come to a halt, commuting to work will become quite difficult. The choices for most that travel significant distances is to either use their cars and pray that a parking spot can be found, or to car pool with someone who already has parking. I worked in an office on Yonge St. and normally traveled each day by streetcar. My choice was either to walk for two or three hours each way, or to use my bike and squeeze into any vacant real estate near my work. Duh! Of course I took the bike. As it so happened, my father also worked for the same company as I that year, so he willingly came along for the ride. Actually, I was rather surprised as he was always trying to get me to give up my motorcycles. Or maybe he was just desperate? On the first day of the strike we headed out to work along with the gazillions of others. The roadways were clogged almost immediately, and travel was predictably slow. At first I tried to respect my passenger's well being by riding responsibly. I would accelerate, or brake as gently as if I was carrying cartons of eggs. I avoided rapid lane changes. I was a model citizen. But the intensity of the traffic and the resultant heat and smog that surrounded me slowly chipped away at my good intentions until I finally gave in to the biker within. I was after all on a bike, and a chopper at that. I was a rebel and rules were made to be broken. On the second day of the strike I picked up the pace, and unsurprisingly I started to have fun. I'd shoot like a bullet between idling cars with inches to spare, my father's knees cleaning patches of automotive sheet metal. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, I'd take it, pipes announcing my presence to startled motorists as I flashed by. I was in my element. But as the strike dragged on, the commute increasingly became a daily hell. It was becoming more difficult to get around the congested streets, even for a two-wheeler. Tempers were starting to fray everywhere. My clutch hand was taking a real beating, so much so that I was barely able to pull it in each of the many, many times I was forced to slow to a crawl or stop. On top of this, the balancing act of keeping a chopper upright at slow speeds always requires concentration, but with a passenger it was even more so. All of this was taking its toll on me. I was physically getting very tired at the end of each commute. It was shortly before the strike was settled, and I was heading home once again with my father perched as usual on the back. I had been fighting the traffic for what had seemed like eternity, when the strength in my left hand just gave out. Moments before, an opening in the congested vehicular mess in front of me had appeared and without thinking I had gone for it. I twisted the throttle grip to the stops while shifting up to the next gear. The problem was that my hand had refused to pull the clutch lever to modulate the sudden input of torque, and the front end flew almost straight up. Although the 650 motor doesn't produce that much power, with all the weight bias going to the rear it was an easy thing to do. I remember everything happening in slow motion. There I was, roaring between the slow moving cars on one wheel with my father in his suit, his tie whipping over his shoulder. I imagined if he wasn't hanging on for his life, he should have been. I clearly remember wondering to myself why I hadn't looped the bike, and what would happen if I let off the throttle. Would the bike come crashing back to terra firma. So while I pondered this and other life's mysteries, I continued lane splitting down the road as if on a unicycle. I did arrive home in one piece, the strike ended two days later, and my father never went on that or any other of my bikes again. But I must add that I am still extremely proud of that wheelie as I have never again come close to achieving such a magnificent display of insane daredevil riding as I did that day. But with the thrills also come the spills.
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