Once my CB450 came on the scene, I was spoiled for riding choices. Between my Elite 250 and the 450, I didn’t have to rely on the GL any longer for having something to ride. This opened up the opportunity to start making one of the changes I have in mind for my own naked Goldwing project: the seat.

I’ve had a lot of different ideas about what to do with the GL’s seat. The typical non-stock seat you see on GLs is the Korbin gunfighter seat. From time to time, I’ll see a cafe-style bump stop seat now and then, and others have taken the super low-profile “brat” route. None of those styles were really resonating with me. I wanted my seat to be solo, comfortable and above all, unique. The solo seat criteria kept pulling me back toward a cafe seat, but the GL isn’t a very good candidate for a traditional bump stop. Those cafe racer seats really require a flat top frame. On the GLs I’ve seen them on, they seem out of place. They seem at odds with the bike. The challenge is the GL’s rear frame rails:

Part of me wants to be able to look back on this process and think I had it all planned out. Truth is, I didn’t. I improvised most of it as I went. I didn’t quite know what I wanted to do, and I didn’t quite know how to do it, but that was fine. I’ve adopted Adam Savage’s mantra: “Failure is always an option.” I realized that there really wasn’t anything I could irrevocably screw up. So I started by tearing the vinyl and foam off of my spare GL seat (a seat I’d bought off eBay for exactly this purpose), and then playing around with photos. A cohesive idea emerged:

It’s not really a cafe seat, but it’s more of solo seat with a rear fender delete. The real appeal for me in this approach was how much it works with the bike’s frame. I felt like I only landed on a good concept after I quit fighting the frame — quit trying to make the bike be something it wasn’t.

I had a euro-style tail light, and all along I’d wanted to do some sort of tail hood that I could tuck it into. I also had two more chrome bullet lights to match my frame-mounted front turn indicators. With a basic idea in mind, I started modifying the stock seat pan. The problem with the stock pan is that it doesn’t follow the frame very closely. If I wanted a nice, low-profile seat, I’d have to fill in the space then enclose the bottom in fiberglass. Because I didn’t have any better idea of how to fill in that space, I simply laid plastic wrap down on the frame and pumped the gap full of expanding foam.

The results were pretty good. That much expanding foam takes a good 24 hours to really cure hard enough to work with, but it definitely fills in the space. Glassing it in was remarkably easy. The key technique I learned in these early explorations was just how well kitchen plastic wrap keeps very sticky things off the motorcycle, but lets them form very closely to the frame.

Before I could really put together the final shape of the upper seat and fender. I had to sort out the hood for the tail light. Going back to eBay, I found a GL fender for about $25, shipped. This meant I could play around with chopping a fender, but without sacrificing my stock components. I wanted to be able to put the bike back together and ride it as stock if I needed to. Not because I would ever want to un-costomize the bike, but so that I can still ride it as needed while I work on it. With essentially a disposable fender, it didn’t really matter if I screwed it up. Optional failure.

I also found that this kind of “try it and see what happens” attitude was completely liberating. I was able to grab my side grinder and just tear into that fender. Chop chop.

While I was there, I had an idea for an alternative tail light assembly. I bolted in my two bullet lights, knowing that I could always wire them up as both brake lights and turn indicators. I didn’t hate it, but it was just too clever. It was trying too hard to be a quirky detail — asking for too much visual attention. That’s fine though. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Putting my euro-style tail light in that same spot presented a problem. The light was too tall for that spot. I’d easily nail it with the tire on a good bump. So I used the bobbed fender as a positioning aid. The height was good, and it let me also try mounting the turn signals in the OEM seat bolt holes. The height also gave me the idea that I could suspend the license plate under the euro light and take advantage of its down-shining light.

With a basic layout established, it was time to do some real fabrication. The first item was working out longer mounting bolts for turn indicators. The bolts it came with aren’t long enough to pass through the frame as is, and while 5/16″ carriage bolts are easy enough to come by, drilling a hole down the exact center of a bolt (for the wires to pass through) is not as easy as it sounds. I ruined six bolts before I got two I could use. It was a lot of learning and quality time with my drill press.

My next challenge was to figure out some way to mount the tail light to the frame. For some reason, there are two holes in the cross member that supports the passenger seat. There’s nothing that actually bolts into them, yet there they are. So I decided to tie into them using some 22-gauge steel. This would be my first real experience fabricating with steel, an I have to say, it’s fantastic. It was just a couple of bends and a few holes, but the precision that the steel affords is terrific. I’d gotten really comfortable with fiberglass by this point, but steel is even better.

I built the bracket in two parts so that I could independently adjust both depth and height. While I wasn’t thinking of this bracket as a prototype at the time, it turned out so good, I didn’t see any reason to remake it.

An integrated license plate holder set the plate at what is hopefully just enough of an angle to keep any police from hassling me about it. With no rear fender intended for this bike, the plate has to go somewhere. I’m not really a fan of the axle or shock mounts that place the plate vertically off to the side of the bike, simply because it’s asymmetrical. I’m obsessive that way.

With the light’s location set, the real question now was what the final shape of the rear section of the seat: the cowl. The exact seat shape and how it would play into the cowl were still up in the air. Instead of more photoshop explorations, I decided to get in touch with some old skills. I have an art degree, after all, but it’s been a really long time since I sketched regularly.

I saw a video once about guys in Portland making weird bicycles. One of the builders was sketching out a stretched frame for a bike he was building, and he said something that’s stuck in my head ever since. “If you can draw it, you can build it.”

As I did more and more sketches, the shape and style of the cowl became more and more clear. The trick now was figuring out how to build it.

A clearer vision and lots of experimentation with my modified stock seat pan had me on a new path. The stock pan wasn’t fitting the way I wanted it to, and I realized that it would be a shorter path to something good to just craft my own pan than to continue to modify the stock one. So with plastic wrap laid over the frame, I layered up three layers of fiberglass, then followed up with reinforcement layers in key areas.

With the new lower pan trimmed out, I new I was onto something. I’d used poster board to support the fiberglass tunnel over the tail light. This seemed like a good idea at the time. What also seemed like a good idea was the use of two extra large rare earth magnets to hold the pan to the frame. The frame was so tightly fit to the frame, that the down force from the magnets seemed as good as a pair of bolts. So I glassed them right into the lower pan.

Now it was time to create the actual cowl. I used styrofoam held together with 3M Super 77 spray and expanding foam. It started ugly to say the least. This was another case of simply forging forward with my best guess, knowing that I could always redo it if it didn’t turn out the way I wanted.

A bit of rough shaping with my pull saw and some sandpaper had the shape starting to come together. I learned yet another key piece of technique here: don’t mix your foam densities in the area you’re actually carving. Going back and forth between the soft styrofoam and the more rigid expanding foam meant that getting a smooth, continuous surface was pretty difficult.

Up to this point, I’d just been eyeballing the layout of the tail cowl. Using a laser and a t-square, I drew up a simple grid on the face of it and measured out consistent distances from center. This let me start to actually dial in not just the front shape of the cowl, but confirm the symmetry relative to the frame. The basic shape was there, but this let me finally dial it most of the way in.

Before going any further, I paused to sort out the electrics for the new rear turn indicators and tail light. I snagged a replacement wiring harness on eBay so that I wouldn’t have to cannibalize the wiring built into stock fender and tail light assembly. This has been a priority all along this project: to be able to take specific components back to stock if needed. So throughout this seat and tail cowl fabrication I wanted to be able to put the stock seat and fender back on and be able to still ride the bike. Not tearing up the stock wiring was one way to maintain that.

I grabbed my multi-meter and traced what wires went where, and that let me mock up the indicators, the tail light and the running light. Everything worked on the first try. Love it when that happens.

With the wiring sorted out, it was time to start working with the weirdest material of this whole process: Bondo. It’s really strange stuff, Bondo. It goes on like peanut butter and cures into something that feels like limestone in about 15 minutes. The plan was to use a thin layer of Bondo to create a solid surface into which I could carve a finer shape. Over that would go several layers of fiberglass. At least that was the plan.

A quick rasping had the basic shape of the cowl started. I’d read that bondo dust is poisonous. In fact, most of the materials I’d been using for this project were hazardous. The fiberglass cloth fibers will dig into skin. Resin fumes are toxic, plus it’s very easy to develop an allergy to the stuff if you get it on your skin. I’d already been using gloves and keeping things well ventilated, but with bondo in the mix now, I upped my game to include a respirator. It’s hard to enjoy a motorcycle while one is dying of lung cancer or some damn thing.

I tore into the bondo and roughed in the shape. Unfortunately though, I’d bondo’d over my grid. A quick exchange with the hack saw had me back to a flat surface where I could draw a new grid. This way I could judge the final shape more accurately.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Let the saw do the work. Back an forth.

Bingo. Using lasers and sharpie once again, I had a grid I could use to judge the shape of my cowl. Of further interest was just how thick the bondo layer had turned out. Working back from this new front plane, I quickly roughed in the cowl’s shape back to the hooded tail light.

As the curves and angles took shape, I encountered my second real failure of this project. The poster board tunnel I’d used to bear up the fiberglass wasn’t anywhere near as symmetrical as it needed to be, let alone as symmetrical as I wanted it to be. I thought that I’d be able to more or less “cheat it” using the relative thickness of the bondo layer.

I was wrong.

The back third of the underside of the cowl was useless, and with it, everything above it. Everything from the passenger hoop back would have to be redone. I’d have to cut off the rear end of the cowl like a rotten limb to keep it from ruining the whole thing. This was disappointing, but wasn’t this the process? I’d have to push forward and keep making progress. Thing is, it was fun. All of it, including the setbacks. I was making my own way in this project on the way to making this big, goofy old motorcycle truly my own. Just like riding this bike, when it comes to creating a custom seat and tail, to travel is to arrive.

“It sounds like you should have married better.”

When I bought my first powered two-wheeled machine, The Mrs bought her own a few months later. When I started thinking about motorcycles, she bought herself an ’81 Honda CM400 a week before I got my first moto.

Now her general awesomeness is too extensive to go into here, but when it comes to her comfort and interest in motorcycles, that relates to the other aspect of my marrying well: her parents. Her dad has owned something like 37 motorcycles since he was a kid. While I don’t share his love of Harleys, he’s also a Honda man going way back. He’s even still got a couple.

Out behind his cabinet shop, there lay a forgotten old Honda Trail 70 — a parts bike for his own Trail 70. Last time we were down at their place, he said I could have it if I wanted it as a project. And as anyone at BlueCat can tell you, I’m always looking for another project.

This particular Trail 70 is the H version — which featured a manual clutch and a 4-speed transmission (as opposed to the 3-speed semi-auto transmission in the standard Trail 70). It’s in super rough shape, and it’s not complete, but there doesn’t appear to be any significant rust rot on it. Parts are plentiful both vintage and new and thankfully, they’re pretty cheap. There’s even significant upgrade hardware out there like disk brakes and upside-down fork front ends.

I’ll be going over the bike from top to bottom, and really, that’s the appeal. I wanted a basket case — a bike that would force me to touch every aspect of it. The Trail 70 is a great, simple bike and rebuilding it is about as simple as it gets. I’ll take the bike all the way down to bare and bring it back as something special. I’m not intending to do a museum restoration here. I’m going to do something custom. One, because I can; and two, because I sort of have to. At 6’3″, I don’t really fit on a Trail 70. I have a plan though, so stay tuned.

In the end, I’m looking forward to this bike becoming a groovy little motorcycle I can toss in the back of The Mrs’ car and take anywhere.

Though we weren’t really riding together, we chatted at the stop lights and cut paths for each other through the evening traffic. I’d say we frolicked if that didn’t sound so silly. We traded the lead as the flow of traffic evolved until finally, he split off down Hiawatha Ave.

Approaching the Lake St./Lagoon Ave split, I remembered how much I used to hate this street. Although Lake is one of the most direct east/west streets in the Twin Cities, it can be crowded with inattentive traffic and the stretch between Uptown and the Mississippi River seems to have about a thousand intersections. Truth be told, it’s a stretch of road that intimidated me as a green scooter rider in the TC. I’d find elaborate routes to avoid it when I could. Yet that evening, aboard my CB450, I realized just what a different rider I’ve become. Lake was nothing. I’d been riding my scooter and motorcycles in Chicago all season — a place profoundly more aggressive and crowded than anything MSP had ever thrown at me. Sure, I had to keep my eyes open on Lake, but realizing just how tame this once intimidating route really was in the grand scheme of things, a contented feeling of accomplishment washed over me.

At the intersection of Lagoon and Hennepin, I saw the now boarded-up Uptown Theater. The Mrs and I had seen In Bruges there when it had first come out. I remember thinking it was kind of a shit hole, but it was still sad to see it shuddered. They used to do midnight showings of Back to the Future and other cult classics. Not often enough, I guess. What it drove home was a profound sense of absence. I didn’t live here anymore. I was no longer privy to the Twin Cities and its changes over time. Funny how not being there for a change somehow lends it that much more gravity. I’d never really cared about the Uptown Theater before, yet I was sad to see it go — sad to remember that this place I used to call home really would continue on without me. With the 450 pumping beneath me, the light finally changed and the two of us shot down the sweeping roadway to rejoin a two-way Lake St.

With Lake Calhoun on my left, it was time to make a choice. I was headed to Plymouth, basically due west of the Minneapolis city center, and I had a couple of good motorcycle ways to go. I opted for Hwy 7, because this was yet another road in the Twin Cities where I felt a sense of history. Hwy 7 was where I learned to ride my scooter on a freeway. It’s a relatively uninterrupted stretch of mostly 45 mph four lane and it was the fastest way east/west that wasn’t a properly big, busy road. I’d cut what felt like my high speed teeth on this road — learning to read that kind of traffic and learning how to settle in and cruise for a few miles. The 450 made easy work of the little road and delivered me to Hopkins in what seemed like a blink.

This little crosstown ride was at that point the furthest I’d actually ridden my CB450. We weren’t strangers anymore, and it was fantastic. We were learning to trust each other. The howl of the engine was being etched into my ears. My hands were conformed to the grips and my boots never had to hunt for the brake or the shifter. My body position was utterly perfect, which at 6′ 3″, doesn’t happen on many motorcycles. All of Robb’s little touches had really added up. This bike had been made for me — tailored like a good shirt — and the fit was just right. That fit went deeper than just ergonomics though. The bike’s character fit me, and it had been created in a spirit of gratitude and fraternity that I could hear in the exhaust note. I could feel it in the rebound of the suspension. I could sense it pumping in the motor oil with every beat of the engine’s twin heart.

I barrelled up to Hopkins Crossroad and swept the bike into the turn lane, ready to turn north into Plymouth. I’d have to wait on the light, but I didn’t mind. The heat had subsided a bit, even if the humidity hadn’t. I sat there conspicuously on my brown and gold vintage sport bike with my bulging backpack on, gold helmet sparkling in the last rays of the setting sun, proud as punch that this enviable little machine was mine. All mine, and for those few days I’d be in MSP, all I had to get around on. We were stuck with each other, but it was alright. The bond had been made.

To be continued…

With lots of help from Don Burnside, ScooterFile got a new responsive theme and lots of behind-the-scenes optimizations. Part of that process included going through all of the site’s content and reformatting certain elements. What surprised me was just how much content was actually there. More than 160 stories in nine months. That averages out to a new story every couple of days. I had no idea that much content had been created! Thankfully, I haven’t done it alone. With help from contributing editor Eric Almendral and contributor Karryll Nason, ScooterFile continues to grow and deliver what I think is some of the most relevant scooter-related content on the web right now. I’m extremely proud of what the site has become content-wise, and now I can be equally proud of the site’s presentation.

So if you haven’t poked around on ScooterFile yet, I recommend doing so now. You can also “Like” us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.

In addition to all the goings on at ScooterFile, I continue to handle the day-to-day content curation over at MotoringFile as Senior Editor. Yet as though that weren’t enough, I’ve also spun up comprehensive BMW Motorrad coverage over at BimmerFile. With BMW bringing two new commuter scooters to market, the synergy between ScooterFile and BimmerFile was obvious. Bottom line though, it means I’m furiously creating content in a number of areas I find very, very interesting. I’ll be attending my first official BMW Motorrad event in the coming weeks and I’m really, really looking forward to it.

Thanks for reading, wherever you happen to find my work.

I had about an hour to kill before my first big event of the weekend: Third Thursday at BlueCat Motors. Every month of riding season, BCM opens their doors to the whole two-wheel community. They invite a food truck out and make themselves available to hang out and answer questions about vintage bikes. Thing is, the event really takes on a life of its own. It’s not about BCM; they’re simply the host for it. The people who turn out for it are what make the event so special. Rather than just a single, common kind of motorcycle or scooter, Third Thursday tends to attract a certain kind of riding enthusiast. It’s people who love to ride and love what they ride. It’s mostly older machines, but the sheer variety of machines is amazing. At any given month’s event, you’re likely to see everything from highly modified racing mopeds, to Japanese cafe racers, to museum quality restored airhead BMWs. The occasional modern scooter and bumbling Harley will show up as well. The common thread is a common kind of person — a laid back rider who loves their machine, but appreciates others as well. As people started to arrive that Thursday, it was familiar faces and familiar bikes and BCM felt more like home than ever.

Last year, because my own machines were all in various stages of repair, I’d attended most of the season’s Third Thursdays on The Mrs’ ’81 Honda CM400. Not that I really minded, because the CM400 is a blast to ride and is itself a BlueCat bike. It was never quite right though, as it wasn’t my motorcycle. Even attending the final Third Thursday of 2011 on a freshly resurrected ’81 CB750 wasn’t quite what I was after. That wasn’t a bike I meant to keep. That hot Thursday, however, all was made right as my CB450 sat shining in the setting sunlight just outside the main garage door. People would ask me, “What are you riding?” and I could point out my brown beast like the proud papa I was.

There were two bikes and riders in particular who I had a lot of fun connecting with. One was an old-timer on an orange Honda CL450, complete with luggage. The other was a guy about my age on a bright gold Honda CB350. The CL450 was as weathered and worn as its owner — a kindly old gentlemen who looked just as likely to sell me a jar of moonshine as shake my hand. He regaled me with tales of cross-country rides and improvised maintenance. His machine looked solid, and it gave me hope that my CB450 (which is basically the same machine) would also enjoy a long, colorful life.

The CB350 was a terrific “rolling patina” machine not too unlike my own CB450. The paint was bright, if imperfect. The engine ran strong and loud through a pair of big Dunstall-style pipes. We talked briefly about the machine, which turned out to belong to his father. I have to admit, I was a little jealous. I’d love to have the old Cushman scooter my dad used to run around on when he was a kid. Not because I’m that into Cushmans, just because of the association. This bike’s rider and I parted ways then for the taco truck, but I’d see him again later on.

Each month, I make an update on the BCM blog letting everybody know the event is on, and what to expect in terms of food and other fun stuff. Before coming into town, I had a text message exchange with Ryan, the owner at BlueCat Motors, to make sure the event was still on this month.

Taco truck? Check. Fifteen piece brass band? I thought for sure he was kidding. I figured he was just excited for the event. I sure was.

Turns out he wasn’t kidding at all. As more and more motorcycles, mopeds and scooters filtered into the BCM parking lot, the occasional person would roll up on a bicycle wearing what looked like Mr. McFeeley’s hat from Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. They kept trickling in one by one. I’d forgotten all about Ryan’s text message and didn’t put two and two together until the instruments started coming out and the band began assembling. Soon they were pumping out the happiest little oom-pah songs you can imagine. What was even more surprising was just what a great fit it was. The band was playing these quaint little songs, melancholy and happy all at the same time — not at all the kind of music one would expect at a motorcycle gathering. They played with enthusiasm and without an ounce of irony, and somehow, it just worked. The charm of the whole scene was as infectious as it was uncanny.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, I needed to head out. I was staying across town with my dear friends Susan and Sam. I said my goodbyes, donned my ad hoc armor, and grabbed my weekend backpack. The lot was still full of fun bikes and fun people. The CB450 fired right up and snarled for the group. Per procedure, I let her run on her own for about 60 seconds — long enough to let the timing chain noise quiet down and then disappear. All loaded up, I threaded my way through the crowd and headed out onto Prior Avenue. I opened the throttle wide and let the engine howl loud and proud. Another Third Thursday in the books, but my weekend of motorcycle adventures was far from over. The heat of the day had broken, and I was riding into a cool sunset. Just me and my little brown bike.

To be continued…

And while recommending a movie is an easy, timeless thing to do, if you’re even remotely interested in seeing Cloud Atlas, do yourself a favor and see it on the big screen. I saw it on an AMC IMAX screen and it was one of those experiences that I’ll never be able to have again. I’ll never again get to see this movie for the first time on the big screen. I’m planning to see it again, but the first time will be tough to beat.

It was 6:15 AM when my iPhone alarm chimed its familiar wake up tone. Today was the day — the start of a four day adventure on a motorcycle I’d only just met. Cab to the airport, through security and I was soon on a plane bound for Minneapolis. Barely an hour in the air safely delivered us to the Twin Cities. Not much longer than my daily commute, actually. Seeing familiar roads on the final approach had me feeling freshly nostalgic for my old stomping grounds. I’ve missed this place and frankly, it still feels like home. Stepping out of the airport I took a deep breath. For all of Chicago’s virtues, air quality isn’t one of them. That gray Minnesota morning smelled like I’d found Earth again. It was fresh, cool, dry and full of possibility.

A chatty cab ride delivered me to BlueCat Motors. As usual, a row of motorcycles sat out front serving as advertising for the shop. On the near end of that row: my very own rootbeer-colored 1974 Honda CB450 Supersport. We’d met before, about a month previous, at Road America. My preview of the 450 had been brief. Just enough to get an initial feel for the chassis and fall in love with the sound of the engine. I hadn’t done more than 30 mph meandering around the National Park of Speed. Today this new machine of mine would not only become an official part of my fleet, it would serve as my sole transportation for the following four days. Rain or shine, the 450 would have to haul me and my gear to and from several bike events, plus back and forth to BlueCat over the course of my long weekend. That’s why I’d packed light.

My arrival was met with a warm volley of handshakes and man hugs. It was good to be home away from home again. I was happy to find BlueCat Motors more or less as I’d left it. There were bikes everywhere, every lift was occupied and everybody was busy. Jeff has moved on to other things, and old shop apprentices have been replaced by new ones, but in all the ways that matter most, BlueCat pushes on and continues to grow its business and reputation. Behind the scenes and two states away, I’d reprised my old role as documentarian and site manager for a comprehensive refresh of BlueCat’s website. Yet there I stood, in the middle of the shop, my Nikon in hand. In as much as it could be, the team was back together.

I dumped my bag up in Lance’s parts office and came downstairs in search of a helmet. At my request, Lance ordered a handful of things for my arrival. Among them, two new tires for the CB450 and a gold metal flake Bell 500 Classic helmet. Its ’70s style matched my ’70s motorcycle perfectly. We paired it with a yellow bubble visor, which doesn’t quite replace sunglasses, but it does wash the landscape in a wonderful yellow hue that, in my mind anyway, makes the whole world look like it’s 1975. With a proper DOT lid, I could actually ride the 450 around in good conscience. Good thing too. For a guy on vacation, I had a lot of appointments. Places to go. People to see.

Later that afternoon I would be a guest on David Harrington’s Just Gotta Scoot podcast to talk about ScooterFile.com. That night was Third Thursday back at BlueCat. Then staying across town with my dear friends Susan and Sam I’d have to get out to their place with all my gear after Third Thursday. Friday morning I’d be back at BlueCat for a tire change and business discussions with Ryan. Saturday was The Bearded Lady Motorcycle Freak Show and whatever other adventures presented themselves. Events aside, my soul itched to ride some of my favorite Twin Cities roads on this new motorcycle. Among all of that, somewhere along the way I had to line up a box truck so I haul the CB450 back to Chicago. Let the games begin.

Back upstairs at BlueCat, I exchanged my frequent flyer’s flip flops for my motorcycle boots (a terrific brown pair of Icon 1000 Elsinores). Robb needed me to actually sit on the 450 so he could dial in the rear shocks. It all felt like pre-flight. Titles were exchanged and Robb gave me a preliminary checklist of things to keep in mind while riding for the weekend. “Let the bike warm up enough to get oil into the head. Don’t let it idle on the side stand for very long. You’re still breaking in the motor, so no long, high-speed runs. Vary the load.” With that sorted, it was time to really experience my CB450 for the first time.

Petcock lever down, headlight off, a smidge of choke, key to “on” position and I hit the starter button. The bike immediately fired to life, snarling like a sleeping lion that’d been roused from a very good dream. I closed the choke lever on the left carburetor, stroking the big cat’s ear. “Easy girl.” True to Robb’s description, the cam chain was an audible clatter for 20-30 seconds. Then the engine got quiet, calm and happy.

“You hear that? That’s what I’m talking about. Let the oil get all the way up into the head. Watch for the tach to really come alive. That’s a good indicator.” Robb projected into my left ear over the growl of the exhaust. “Now get out of here.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. With my new Bell on my brain, I headed for Minneapolis to meet David Harrington. Pulling out of BlueCat and onto Prior Ave, I opened up the throttle and let the machine roar. It didn’t take much. One-third throttle had me and the bike moving along well. Unlike the buzzy, chipper little twin in The Mrs’s CM400, this CB450 motor was brutal. It’ll rev, but it doesn’t really need to. Even though the stock CB450 made 45 hp (and my modified one likely makes a couple more), it’s torque that sets this parallel twin apart. The noise trumpeting out of that two-into-one exhaust was pure racing, but without the unrefined pop and drone of your typical back yard, straight pipe, hack job and re-jet. Speaking of jetting, the stock CV carburetors on my 450 are mated to foam uni-filters on one side, and that terrific, free-flowing exhaust on the other. That’s a lot more air. So obviously, it’s running brass with bigger holes. Robb warned me I’d likely only get 35 mpg or so, but the result is worth it. The bike pulls as hard as any 450 has business pulling, but it’s not just sound and fury. My CB450 was unlike any bike I’ve ever ridden and there was a lot to get used to.

Firstly, the throttle response. The simple, re-jetted carbs on my 450 require smooth throttle operation. I couldn’t just screw it on and wait for the motor to catch up like I can on my newer Hondas. The 450 would buck and choke if I rode the throttle that way. Roll it on smoothly though, and the engine would pull with a furious output of torque and growl. I was going to need some earplugs.

Getting used to the CB450′s brand new clutch would prove my second lesson in learning this new machine. Robb had rebuilt the clutch “the right way” in that he faced the curve of each clutch plate in the same direction. This makes the clutch engagement much more positive and according to him, causes less slipping and longer clutch life. That all sounded great, but adjusting to the new clutch took a few miles. The engagement range is much narrower than most motorcycles, and this gives the clutch a bit of an on/off character. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s very different from what I’m used to.

The rest of the CB450 was an effortless transition. The suspension setup was taught, responsive and comfortable. Robb had matched the components and settings perfectly to my weight. I had been concerned about the 450′s shaved seat, wondering if it’d be comfortable for any period of time. What the seat lacked in inches of padding, the suspension made up for in soaking up road irregularities. Yet, the bike was absolutely planted through the turns. I could push the bike as deep into the turns as I liked — holding back only for the sake of its ancient tires.

As the bike and I got to know each other more, we roared down Larpenteur Ave toward Dave’s office. My yellow bubble visor colored the gray day with a retro tint appropriate to my time travel. The humidity had me sweating under my Dickies work shirt — my traveling man’s stand in for my usual armored jacket. Movement helped, but by then I’d simply consigned myself to hot summer riding. Comfort wasn’t really on my mind, though. The CB450 was so much fun, weather be damned. It was unlike anything I’d ever ridden — so tight and new and fresh, yet so old fashioned. Simultaneously, the CB450 felt gentlemanly and defiant — like an old man in a sharp suit, giving the finger to the mayor. It’s worlds away from a modern sport bike’s rarified performance envelope, yet my 450 was still extremely capable. Comfortable too. Between the grunty, picky character of the engine and the pitch perfect setup of the suspension, I imagine there’s many a road in the world where my CB450 would eat would-be, boy racer squids on their GSX-Rs for breakfast.

But that’s not the point.

The point was that this snarly old machine was capable and overflowing with character. It’s not about perfection, or even measurable proficiency. My CB450 was simply a brilliant old motorcycle, and so much more than the sum of its parts. Like any great old machine, it had its aches and pains, but just because a horse is old doesn’t mean it can’t gallop. And boy, did that bike gallop. Through all of my motorcycle travels on the CB450 that weekend, the persistent thought in my head was about the past — the time when this bike was new. This. This is what motorcycles were like in the ’70s. No wonder there were so many passionate Honda owners back in the day.

I arrived at Dave’s office all too quickly. Hot though it was, I was liking this whole motorcycle-as-trasport arrangement. I had nothing with me but the clothes on my back and the content of my pockets. No laptop, just my iPhone. No extra clothes. People would just have to take me as I came. I really enjoyed the simplicity of it all. All I had was myself and my trusty ride.

Recording the show was a blast, and you can hear the edited version of our conversation here or on iTunes.

Back toward BlueCat, I took a detour up to Bob’s Cycle Supply where I snagged a pair of Icon Field Armor sleeves for my elbows and a stand-alone Field Armor back protector. This turned my Dickies work shirt into an armored Dickies work shirt. Though the extra gear didn’t help with the heat, it certainly helped with my confidence as a two-wheel traveler — my gear climbing the scale higher and higher up from “better than nothing” to moderately safe. While an unwelcome expense, staying safe was critical to traveling entirely by motorcycle that weekend.

Back out into the heat, I arrived at BlueCat with enough time to quiz Robb for CB450 tech spec’s and maintenance intervals before Third Thursday that night. Basically, I’m going to have to give the bike a full tune up every 1,000 miles. Oil change, plugs, ignition timing (points), valve clearance check, and a handful of other things will have to happen very regularly if I want to keep this new old bike healthy. While some might see this as a hassle, I’m really looking forward to it — to showing this amazing little machine the reverence it deserves. After my first day of motorcycle-only travel aboard the CB450, I was more than happy to give the bike whatever it needed. It’d already taken great care of me.

To be continued…

As many of you know, I write regularly as an automotive journalist for MotoringFile.com, BimmerFile.com, and ScooterFile.com. I also spent a year as BlueCat Motors’ official documentarian, writing a weekly story about what was going on at the shop and some of my own thoughts about riding old motorcycles. Then there’s my own stories of wrenching and riding here on my blog. I’ve had a tremendous amount of fun writing in all of these recreational and semi-professional venues and I’d like to take it to the next level.

My plan is to submit my work to various motorcycle publications to see if any would have me as a freelance writer. This is not a career change, simply an expansion of something I’m already doing. I don’t see myself quitting my day job any time soon. What I would like to do, however, is find more interesting ways to use some of my vacation time.

My question for you, faithful reader, is what would you recommend I send as a submission? There are several venues to choose from:

• MotoringFile
• ScooterFile
• BlueCat Motors Blog
• Wrench Log
• Ride Log

Obviously, I will probably submit work from all of these areas, but where I’d appreciate some help is in narrowing the field. What stories have really stood out for you? If put on the spot and asked to recount one of the stories I’ve told in these venues, what comes to mind? What stuck in your head? Have there been any stories you’ve come back to and re-read? Help me choose some winners. I think I’m definitely too close to these to have a good sense of which stories are the most impacting.

Secondly, are there any publications you’d recommend? I have my thoughts, but what are you folks reading?

Share your thoughts in the comments, and thanks in advance.