Just another project...

Faded

Decided I would get back on for a quick Blog update this evening, kind of give you guys an idea of what I do in my spare time, when it's raining cats and dogs and I get tired of all the B.S.

Bits and pieces

 What you see is a 1970 Yamaha DS6B 250cc motorcycle.

Getting to work polishing with Autosol

This was one of the bikes I coveted back in the day, when I was a youngin'.  I remember sitting on the school bus, going to Queen Elizabeth Composite in Edmonton... when a guy came by on one, pulling a wheelie as he passed the bus!

Shocks and forks, polished and painted

Imagine a 15 year old, drool hanging from my lips at the sight.  Could have been Rachel Welch in a bikini, or  Barbara Eden as Genie... couldn't have made a bigger impression on me.

Roll out day!

I had already been riding then for a couple of years, all on small used bikes.  I would soon have my own 250, a Suzuki X6- Hustler, that I cherished, but it wouldn't be until another used bike, this time a 305 Big Bear Scrambler by Yamaha had come and gone, that I would have my first "new" bike.

She's still got great lines

In 1972 I bought... with my own money, a brand spanking new Suzuki T 350 (actually 315cc) Rebel. 

Hard to believe this was corroded and rusted

  Loved that bike too.

Look at that shine!

Back in the day, a 250 cc (15 cubic inches) motorcycle was considered a pretty big bike.  It was nothing to set off to Jasper or beyond on a bike like this, packed with gear, tent and cooking pots.

Left side kicker

The "really big bikes" were untouchable as a teenager.  Harley had two Sportster 900's, a stripper and a tourer (can you imagine touring on a Harley Sportster?!)  The big twins from BSA, Triumph and Norton, Royal Enfield, exotic bikes like those from Italy, were rare.

Lots of world titles with this bike

Alberta Cycle told me in 73, when I bought my BMW 600, they sold about a dozen Beemer's a year in those days, and certainly not to 18 year old 'kids'.

I can almost see myself

This particular Yamaha 250, I bought over 15 years ago. It sat stripped in my garage on the work bench all those years.  Only recently did I devote the time and effort to cleaning it, painting it, and getting things back together. 

Striped

It's not running yet, but has good compression and I suspect, wouldn't take much to get her breathing once again.

Classic lines, they don't make em like this anymore

Not bad looking eh... for a 42 year old motorcycle.

Enjoy...

Life...

Hey Gang... I haven't forgotten about you all.  This month of June, 2012... has been somewhat of a blitz.  Seems my life and all that's in it, has been very busy.

Between the dizzying process of house build on the Island, my house in Calgary being on the market and getting to motorcycles that have been parked away in corners and on workbenches for, in some cases, nearly two decades... I simply have little free time.

Suffice to say, things are slowly taking shape, the dream continues.

I will have more to say eventually!

In the meanwhile, go out and create some dreams of your own.  Take a hike (I mean really) explore some historical site, find a great burger bar, or Italian place.  Visit a museum, go to the movies, ride your bike to some place you've never been or want to re-visit.  Take your sweetie for a drive even...

Back shortly...

Time

A Magazine was named after it.

It is fleeting, yet infinite.  We tap fingers, looking at a watch, sitting in the Doctor's waiting room, willing it to go faster.  We gaze at the clock on the wall, hoping it will slow down when we're sitting in the principals outer office.

We either have too much of it on our hands... or not enough at all.

It can be our enemy, or it can be our friend. 

Then there is the subject of "timing".  Related but different.  You are gazing at your watch, when you should be 'watching', and you step off the curb.  Today the 10:15 bus is right on time, and whammo!  You're done for.

right place... right time

No matter how you look at it, time is our friend or it is not.

Take for example, this whole thing about 'till death do us part', a popular marriage vow.  Where did that come from anyway?  It's been around since the days we were hiding in caves I'm sure, but in those days, death may have been the next buffalo, woolly mammoth, rampaging Celt or earthquake.  Certainly it wasn't the 10:15 smashing you into oblivion.

Makes me wonder (yes I do think of such things) how it even applies in our married life today.  Back when a reasonable life span was measured in 2 decades, and hazards to simply surviving the day were numerous, there may have been relevance to such a promise.  I know what you're thinking... your aunt Mary and uncle Bill have been married for 99 years, but aren't they the exception?  Then of course there is the question of; were/are they actually happily married or just putting in time?!

I myself have had several relationships that have lasted for years.  In some cases, it was like a prison cell in Iran.  Infinite, dark and torturous.  Yes of course, it would have been better off to split, get outa Dodge, hit the road...

right place... right time

Then of course there is the timing thing.  This week already, I have been reminded completely of how incredibly sensitive our timing is to matters that are of import in our lives.  This week I was out riding.  Not to any particular place, just here and there.  At one point I crossed from the 1A at Morley and was going to take the Trans Canada east back to Calgary.  For whatever reason I changed my mind and went the other way.

As I approached the Kananaski's highway 40, to my right, off the road in a slight meadow, very difficult to see if you were making time in your Bimmer at 140 kph, stood a large black bear.  No more than 200 yards/199 meters from the road.  Being on a bike, I pulled over and U turned, riding the shoulder back a quarter mile.  From here I got several decent pics.

Luck?  or timing?

right place... right time

In another instance, we got word from the school that Anna had walked off the school grounds at lunch.  A frantic search by the principal, Brenda, the police department and even the chopper had come up empty after several hours.  When I went looking, Mom stayed back manning the phone,s and the house in case she turned up, my hour search retracing her steps as best I thought, going to this mall, or that park, following slowly along the path I thought she may have taken, yielded nothing.  Nada.  I will say that in a city as large as this one, with well over a million people, this was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack.

definitely right place... right time

As I approached home, for some reason I detoured and headed out highway 1.  Just as people are accelerating for their weekend adventure... there she was!  A diminutive 11 year old, back pack on her shoulder, feet clad in flip flops, sweater stuffed in her bag, sun shining... I pulled off, parked the car and went to fetch her.  She was not happy to have her 'adventure' interrupted by moi!

She did not understand why anyone would be worried.  After all, she knew where she was, where she was going (Bragg Creek 50 km distant) and she had in fact walked nearly 10 km by my reckoning already.  She had stopped and eaten her lunch, had water to drink and in her own words, "I know my way around the city!"  

There you have it.

So... if you are looking for you're 'lost' child, time and timing, is both your friend and enemy.  If you have just lost a partner/husband or a friend or relative... likewise.

Pew!

Derricks dotted the countryside

ONE of my lasting memories traveling through Albania, was the smell.  The cities had an odor that crossed between salt air, garbage, humans and cars.

The countryside smelled of animal musk, decaying vegetation and old oil.

Dotting the rural landscape were numerous rusting derricks and pumps.  There was an unmistakeable smell of oil that had penetrated not only the ground, but the air and buildings and the plants themselves.

NO matter where I was, I could almost taste the rank odor of oil as if the very molecules that were entering my nose, were the size of rain drops.

I have to admit, my sense of smell is rather poor.

Often my companions have asked me to smell the roses, others the coffee.

Hard to see, but that ledge drops about 12"

OCCASIONALLY I can, but 90% of the time, I honestly can't tell the difference between doggy doo, and dippity doo!

But here, it was unmistakeable wherever I went.

In the middle of nowhere, a condo next to an oilfield

I have no idea if the locals can smell it too.  I guess if you were born there and grew up with it, maybe it's just like a wheat field to them.

Twice I was stopped by a uniformed officer or two, unmarked decrepit car parked crossways on some little back road around a corner or at the bottom of the hill.

BOTH times I was not able to understand anything and just gestured and waved my hand and pointed to my Maple Leaf on the windscreen.

I remembered clearly Manfred's warning from two days before.

"Do not stop for anyone..."

Roadside cafe

THESE officers were not armed, but seemed rather aggressive.  After a few minutes when other cars approached, they left me and I accelerated out of there without a backward glance!

The road in places was super highway, in others, virtually non existant.  Huge drop offs, deep gravel, boulders, inexplicable detours, all more suitable to an XT 600 rather than a Diversion.

Drop dead gorgeous.

THE countryside was beautiful if stinky.  There was evidence of villages that had been shelled into rubble during the 90's, when warfare erupted yet again in the Balkins.

Mountains, ruins, blue skies, clear rivers, dry riverbeds...

For a small country, Albania was certainly diverse.  











AFTER what seemed like an eternity, bouncing along among huge potholes and over and around rocks and boulders on my street bike, I finally entered a small mountain village and soon after, the road opened up into a virtual freeway!  This... in the middle of nowhere!

Welcome to Greece!

HOURS of travel many times in first gear, many times slipping the clutch in first gear, I was now finally able to make some time.  My speedo leapt to 100-120 kph.  I was glad to be back up to speed.

It wasn't long before the road carried me back to the Adriatic.  Here the air cooled and the sea breezes were fresh, a pleasant change from the oil drenched air of the interior.


After a brief stop at a small cafe, I bid the sea and shortly afterwards, the country, 'goodbye' as I came to the border crossing leading me to one of the most ancient civilizations on earth... Greece.


The temperature climbed, the highway likewise, Little Red and her pilot, adjusting to the excellent quality pavement, the wider roads, sweeping bends that could now be taken with confidence at speed...

Gate guardian Lockheed F 104 Starfighter

We were back in the "modern" world.   

I have said it many times... this would be one of the most memorable places I've visited in my lifetime.

Next stop... the Parthenon.

Thought I would give a quickie sneak peek at the new digs.  Since leaving the Island 6 weeks ago, I have been relying on friends to keep me up to speed on the construction process.

Here's a few pics...

She's a comin'...