VITAL STATISTICS:
Bike: 1975 Honda CB550 metal flake green, turn signals relocated to accommodate saddle bags, fork bag, otherwise stock
Sidecar: 1972-ish Eagle Spirit with removable seat on hinges for easy trunk access
MY SWEETIE, MY IMPETUS
About five months after Molly first entered her invalidity, I was wistfully perusing the bikes for sale at an online classifieds site (which, sadly, has since disappeared) and came across a bike of the same make, model and year as Molly, but with a sidecar attached!
You may or may not know that Scot was not a big motorcycle fan when we first met, and I think I have gotten him to ride bitch behind me a grand total of three times... all of which were under extenuating circumstances and the rides were for very short distances (one ride was only six blocks). I once asked him if he would be more comfortable riding with me in a sidecar, and he thought about it and said that, yes, that sounded much nicer. The search was on.
THE SEARCH
Though I had always thought sidecars were neat, I'd never given much thought toward owning one. When I began to get serious about finding one for myself, I was alarmed to learn the following things:
1.) Most sidecars are ugly.
2.) New sidecars are expensive.
3.) Most sidecars are too heavy for a 550cc bike.
4.) Most sidecar manufacturers do not offer a mount to accommodate my bike.
I was very discouraged.
SCORE!
Then this bike and sidecar turned up in the classifieds. It was at a bike repair shop down in Newport, Oregon, which is on the coast, about a third of the way down the state. The price for this complete rig was about what I'd been finding was average for a used sidecar with no bike! To use the vernacular: I was stoked!
I sat Scot down in front of the computer and pointed to the ad.
"This," I said to him, "is the bike. We must have it."
TO OREGON!
In a matter of a day or so, after several conversations with the extremely nice proprietor at Shinn's Motorcycles, the matter was decided. We grabbed our helmets and leathers and a change of clothes and took the train from Seattle to Portland, a taxi from the train station to the airport, a rental car from the airport to Newport. Slept in the car at a rest area and at about nine the next morning - rumpled and groggy - we went to see The Rig.
It was even more fantastic than I'd imagined! Beetle-green bike (I know she looks brown in the photo at the top of the page, but it's just the reflection of the black sidecar making it look that way), black sidecar - not a speck of rust anywhere and shiny shiny shiny! I was in LUV. Took it for a spin, but that was just the honeymoon - a formality. My decision had already been made. We were an Item.
So we wrote the check and headed up the coast - me on the rig and Scot in the rental car. It was a gorgeously hot and sunny day. Lots of other bikes on the road (the Pacific Coast Highway is a very popular route for bikes to take), 90% of whom waved at me!
AN ASIDE: WAVING
There is a controversy surrounding the habit of bikers to wave to one another. A waving-related question is one of the Great Three Questions of Motorcycling, as follows:
1.) Oil: Natural or Synthetic?
2.) Can a shaftie wheelie?
3.) Why don't people on Harleys wave?
I won't get into the Great Three Questions (I haven't the bandwidth), but I will tell you this: in general, people on bikes wave to other people on bikes. See descriptive photos below.
"You have bike. I have bike." "Hiya!" "I bought this bike TODAY!" "Tea party?"
Okay, I made up the last one.
However, there is a "Like-to-Like" or "Birds-Of-A-Feather-Wave-At-Each-Other" corollary to the general waving rule. This corollary states that if you see another bike like your own, you must wave at it. Two up on a Goldwing MUST wave at two other riders on a Goldwing. A subset of that corollary is that when you are carrying a passenger behind you, the driver does not wave. A passenger is automatically the designated waver. An old BSA MUST wave at another old BSA. In this neck of the woods, with so many full-of-themselves suddenly-wealthy Microsoft and Boeing racebikeboys, it seems that racebikes are becoming an exception to the waving rule. The average racebike boy you see on the road around here has had his bike for approximately three to four weeks and will have it for an additional month before he either wrecks it, drops it and sells it, or gets tired of it and gives it to his buddy. With only a two-month lifespan as a racebike boy, he has no time for waving, and is usually doing 90mph and doesn't see you anyhow.
The other exception to the waving rule is Harley riders, except no one has really figured out just why they are an exception. Some say that it is because, having spent so much money on a bike, he and his tremendously expensive ride are holier than other bikes on the road and therefore do not have to wave. Some say it is because they are enjoying the ride so immensely that they are blinded by joyful tears. Still others say that the thousands of dollars in additional bolt-ons and chrome and gizmos have thrown the bike so far out of its natural balance that if the rider takes even a finger off the bars, the Hog will throw its rider into the ditch and wrap itself around the nearest tree.
Whatever the reason, over here in my neck of the woods, Harley riders very seldom wave... even to other Harley riders.
My rig, however, breaks all the rules and bridges the make/model gap. 90% of all bike riders on the road wave at me when I'm piloting the rig, as opposed to approximately 50% on Mollybike. Back to my narrative:
HOMEWARD
The ride up the 101 through Oregon was a beautiful one, punctuated by frequent (reciprocated) waving. Whee!
In Portland, we went back to the airport and returned the rental car, whereupon I received unto my hands my first ever sidecar passenger. Scot, tucked behind the windshield (which I don't have any photos of just now), alternately enjoyed the scenery and read his book. Read his book! Isn't that incredible? He could have crocheted a doily if he'd wanted, such was the space and comfort and protection from the wind.
FIRST BREAKDOWN
Fifteen miles out of Portland, I'm afraid we broke down. Just slowly lost power and came to a gentle halt on the side of the road. Checked all the usual suspects: fuel, battery connections, fuses. Hitting the starter, the bike turned over with very little vigor. The battery was nearly drained. A young good ol' boy (who was quite drunk) pulled over and helped us charge the bike up enough to get it to a boat launch parking lot "up the road a spell". He then gave us another lift to the nearest motel. We learned a lot about his life in our half-hour together. Enough to be quite grateful that we weren't him. I forced twenty bucks on him for his hospitality and time and kindness. He protested, but he and I both knew he needed it and since it was me that gave it to him and not Scot (whom he would have had to refuse out of manly honor), he finally tucked it into his pocket with red cheeks and a shy grin and drove off into the night. By this time it was quite late. We stayed the night at Cheap Hotel and in the morning got another rental car and drove around to assorted parts shops and motorcycle dealers/repairers. Finally found a shop that would work on the bike. There was still the problem of getting the bike to the shop. I didn't want to pay for a wrecker, so I sat in the cruel afternoon sun by the banks of the Columbia River and fiddled with the bike with a pair of Vise-Grips, a crescent wrench and a screwdriver.
Although I couldn't figure out *why*, I did find that the spark plugs were severely carbon fouled. Replaced them with stock plugs and the bike fired right up. Rode for a short while only to have the bike die again. An inspection of the new plugs proved them to also be fouled. So fouled that it wouldn't spark! That would be why the battery was drained last night... So I stocked up on spark plugs and we began making our laborious way to the shop over in Longview. Or maybe it was Kelso. Same difference. Anyhow, I had to pull over periodically and switch out the spark plugs. There was a particularly tense stretch where we had to go over the long, steep suspension bridge over the river that divides Washington and Oregon, during the afternoon rush hour. I was terrified that the rig would crap out in the middle and hold up traffic while I replaced the plugs. So Scot and I arranged a sort of plan whereby he'd drive the rental car in front of me and keep a close eye on my progress. If the plugs fouled and I had to stop, I'd give him "the signal" and he'd stop and back up to the bike and I'd grab the rope I'd already attached to the car and stuffed in the trunk, tie it to the sidecar mount with a quick-release knot and he'd slowly tow me the rest of the way across the bridge with a minimal stoppage of traffic. Fortunately, we didn't have to do that. Made it across the bridge with spark to spare.
Well, to make an already long story at least a little bit shorter, we took the bike to the shop and they said they'd need to keep it a couple of days, since they were all full up with bike repairs. Left the rig at the shop, took the rental car home to Seattle (it was Monday by that time and I'd already missed a day of work). Two days later, the shop called and said that the bike was fixed - had needed some carburation adjustments. We drove the rental car back and returned it, got the rig and drove home with it. After a week or so, I noticed that something was wrong... it was fouling plugs again. Messed around and decided that it was a combination of two problems: 1.) the stock plugs were too cold and 2.) the stator was wearing out. I took Molly's stator off and put it on The Rig and switched to NGK D8EA (rather than D7EA) spark plugs and that seemed to take care of things.
SIDECOVER WOES
At some point, I lost the right-side plastic cover that hides the battery. The bike has its original green paint, with both original side covers (pretty rare for an older Honda). I was so pissed at having lost it... I don't even know how or where I lost it. For all I know, someone may have popped it off and taken it home to their beetle-green '75 Honda 550. I had a pair of orange ones I'd intended to paint black to replace Molly's cracked and chipped sidecovers, but she broke down before I got around to it. Thinking I'd find the sidecover "any day now" (I originally thought I'd left it at work, back when I was having the charging system problem and having to charge my battery frequently), I put one of the orange ones on as a temporary measure so I didn't accidentally bridge the battery terminals and do Something Bad. I ended up riding around with that one Sunset Flake Orange sidecover for several months. Finally, in embarassment and desperation, I painted both orange sidecovers black and took the one remaining green sidecover and carefully wrapped it up and tucked it away. Took my endorsement test (after riding unlicensed for years) with my orange sidecovers and green gas tank. Finally found a pair of only-slightly-faded matching green sidecovers at a used bike parts yard up in Everett and now I'm back in (as they say) bidness.
PHOTOS
Now, some photos. First up is a photo of me tugging on my gauntlet, wearing my rig-riding habit. This is what I wear when I go for nice back-road, off-highway rides on sunny days. Half-helmet, long wool coat, kevlar-padded gauntlets, goggles. Scarf optional. Viva la revolucion!
Next, is a photo of me and Max, the Dog Wonder. Max LOVES to ride in the sidecar. The goggles were people goggles, worn for the photo only. Later, we bought him some actual dog goggles (Doggles) that he wears with aplomb, much to the amusement of everyone else on the road.
The photo wherein the photographer prompted: "Okay... now think about the fact that you have a SIDECAR! A really NICE sidecar!" A small, strangled, unsuppressable giggle escaped me, causing the dog to look up in consternation.
Yup. I shore do love that thing. The dog's okay, too.
Oh! Hey - don't forget to check out the other Rig photos on the Lopez Sidecar Trip page and the 2nd Lopez Rig Trip page. We're hillariously loaded down with crap. Bike did fine, though! (Nyah, nyah to those who scoff at my little 550. What she lacks in power she makes up in determination!)
Some people think a sidecar is - at best - a useless curiosity. Well, try carrying a 125lb bale of hay on your two-wheeler and then come back and talk to me about useless.
For me, a sidecar is no replacement for a two-wheeler. I love them both, for different reasons. Some days I want to ride Molly, some days it's the rig. I wouldn't want to give up either one. It's a real bonus for me that they take the same parts. I'm just a lucky S.O.B.
TOPICS THAT STILL NEED TO BE WRITTEN ABOUT:
1.) shriners
2.) custom-badly-welded-mounts
3.) breaking mounts
4.) VME meetings
5.) firemen
6.) Max, the Canine Sidecar Ambassador and his Doggles
7.) the nice foks at Dauntless Motors and my new sturdy mounts
8.) Yakima un-Rally