By: Tony Morgan

A few weeks ago, right around the time I was going through the CB350 fiasco, a casual acquaintance from a local meeting spot asked me if I am “into” touring by motorcycle.  Him and a few of his buddies do a Blue Ridge Parkway trip every May, but they had a last-minute cancellation, and wondered if I would consider joining them to even out the costs.  This acquaintance, Austin, had been talking to me on and off at this restaurant every Sunday for a few years now, so there was some familiarity, and Austin shares some of my obsession about collecting bikes.  He has had five or six, at least, in the short time I’ve known him, with wildly varied choices.  The first time I met him, I believe he was riding a 1992 FJ1200 with well over 100000 kilometres on it.  Since then, he has had a VTR1000 Firestorm, a neon yellow V-Strom, a Vulcan 2000 (?!?!), and currently an RC51 and a Kawasaki Voyager.  He does this trip, or a version of it, nearly every year, and goes with a couple of guys from the Ottawa area.  The last minute cancellation was in no way going to put the trip in jeopardy, but an even number of riders certainly makes things easier for motel rooms, etc.  Knowing I have a lot of experience under my (relatively youthful) belt, Austin thought I might make a good candidate for a substitution.

The first problem appeared immediately, as I do not have a passport.  This was remedied easily, through the Passport Canada online form, but there is, of course, a waiting period.  My passport is due to arrive May 14th, with the trip starting May 15th, but this is how nearly everything in my life goes, so it is not a particular concern.  I am planning as if I already have the passport, and everything else can be dealt with, in time.  This is also the first trip I will be attempting to video, and my first trip not knowing any of my travelling mates.  Most of the guys I ride with, I have ridden with since high school, so I often lose sight of how anxious it can be to ride with new accompaniment.  Iam however, by a fair margin, the youngest guy on the trip, with the smallest bike (I’m taking my Concours), and the route will be the most relaxing route, as far as mileage, that I have enjoyed for many years.  For some reason, a lot of the recent trips I have taken, especially to the East Coast, have become exercises in Iron-Buttism.  My personal record for distance in one day was set on the return portion of one of these trips, where I had lost contact with the group after a heatstroke episode.  Antigonish, Nova Scotia, to Guelph, in 19 hours and 45 minutes on a ZX-9R (with a Corbin seat).  This entire Blue Ridge trip is only about 1300 kilometres, one way, so I am very excited to go on a trip where I may actually be able to look around at my surroundings.  This will also be the first trip since the accident, so I’m not sure how my leg is going to hold up after multiple days in the saddle.  We are spending three nights in the middle of the trip in one spot, Bryson City, North Carolina, to use as a home base, so if the leg is giving me trouble, I can take a day off while we’re there.

This is also going to masquerade as an actual “vacation”, with time set aside for seeing sights, doing touristy things, and just generally relaxing.  The route and itinerary are also completely liquid, with everyone involved more than happy to accomodate everyone’s wishes.  We’re hoping to see the Wheels Through Time exhibit, hit the Tail of the Dragon store, and maybe even drink a little American beer!  On a van trip a few years ago, with two bikes in the back and a wife in the passenger seat, we decided that Virginia, Vermont, and the two Carolinas were the most desolate, beautiful forest-centered states we had encountered, and wanted to do a later (this van trip was in February) extended tour, focusing on these states.  However, between job demands, and then me being off of two wheels for one season learning how to walk again, the opportunity had not presented itself – until now, that is.  Plus, these type of impromptu trips have always been my favourites.

I am taking my digital SLR, as well as the video camera, so with the time afforded by a relaxed pace and reasonable daily riding distances, I hope to shoot a lot of pictures and video.  I will probably post the video (after I learn all about editing and sound overlay) on YouTube, and set up an account on one of those photo-hosting websites if any readers have any interest in what I thought was worthwhile taking a picture of!  Wish me luck with the passport, and if there is any down time ( for leg recovery, or whatever), and I can find an Internet cafe in North Carolina, I may try to post a mid-trip report about what it’s like to go on a ten day trip with riders I don’t even know!  What better way to learn about each other, though, eh?

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By: Tony Morgan

Well, the story of the little Honda 350 isn’t over.  The trip to Ottawa to retrieve the bikes went flawlessly, and allowed my Dad and I to bond a bit on the road trip.  Picking up the bikes was a piece of cake, and both were in better condition than anticipated.  I couldn’t wait to get back to Guelph to show Roger, the fellow for whom I had been looking for one of these bikes.  I arrived back in Guelph at about 6:00 p.m. on a Monday night, and promptly called Roger to come look at the bikes.  He was very excited, and only took about fifteen minutes to make it to my house.  He couldn’t believe the condition of either the main bike, or the parts bike, and got a little misty-eyed when recounting some stories from his youth involving CB350s.  Not being plated, all he could do was ride the bike up and down my driveway (which is pretty long, mind you) for about half an hour.  He was fascinated by the fuel gauge incorporated into the filler cap.  He had never seen this particular option on any CB350 over a forty year period!  After grinning, laughing, and crying a little bit, he went home a very, very happy man.  Life was about to change for Roger, however. 

I called him a few days later to let him know I had arranged for a safety, and to set up a time to deliver the bike to him.  I left three messages that day, without a response, which is very rare for Roger or his wife.  I got a call the following evening from Roger’s wife, informing me that he had had a minor stroke, and was still in the hospital.  Upon visiting him, he was pretty crestfallen, as he had significant numbness in one hand and leg, and it was looking like he may have to give up his driver’s licence.  He couldn’t get over the timing, having just found his bike a few weeks prior, but life is always full of surprises, both good and bad.  He was thankful for being able to ride the bike as little as he did in my driveway, but sheepishly asked me if I would consider selling it for him.  He couldn’t face restoring it, not knowing if he would ever be able to ride it again, but I was optimistic.  I told him I would have no trouble selling it, but I didn’t need the cash right away, so I told him I would probably hang on to it for this season, to see if the situation changed, or I might even just keep it myself.  Now he feels reponsible for my being “stuck” with this bike, and nothing I could say would convince him that it wasn’t a problem to just keep the bike for a while.

He’s out of the hospital now, of course, but his driver’s licence is temporarily suspended, until test results come back on the damage, if any, to his heart.  I still think he may wind up taking the bike, even just to tinker on, but I’m certainly not going to push him.  I also have a plan pleading with him to store the bike at his place, as I am out of storage room, and if the bike is actually just sitting in his garage, it may be an inspiration for him to keep it, but we’ll see.

I had planned on this being a kind of series of articles on the restoration of this old girl, with a very enthusiastic ex-owner as the protagonist, and it could still work out that way.  Regardless of what happens, Roger was very excited to get a chance to ride one again, even if it was just in a driveway, and while he was on it, my wife noticed that the CB350 is pretty much her prime example of what a 70’s bike should look like.  She found herself quite attracted to it (she has always had a thing for what she calls “flat bikes”, where the seat and the gas tank are very level) and asked if I thought it would be reliable enough for her to ride to work.  So rather than the end of one story, this might just be the beginning of another…

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By: Tony Morgan

So I’m in the process right now of finalizing a deal on a 1973 Honda Cb350 Twin.  I have been looking for one for a friend of mine for a couple of years.  He had been looking for an orange or green one, but I had not been able to locate any original ones for less than $2500!!  I didn’t understand why the top-end price, but in the Toronto area, these bikes are very sought after.  I have spent a considerable amount of time the last couple of years, every day, checking various local classifieds sites, not just for CB350s, but everything that was for sale.  There seemed to be, a few years ago, a large influx of, if not quite new, riders; at least ones that hadn’t ridden for many years.  After talking to a few of them who were ecstatic/disappointed/enraged by their own model selection, I discovered that the motorcycling world had changed so significantly over the last fifteen years, that someone who hadn’t ridden for at least that length of time was at a bit of a disadvantage when trying to choose a new model.  They found themselves at the mercy of (sometimes) unscrupulous salesmen, or choosing an inappropriate bike based on looks alone.  More than one person in this position found themselves disgruntled with motorcycling by the end of the season, and chose not to continue with it, when the real problem was the bike itself.

It should be as illegal as it is irresponsible to sell an eight hundred pound chromed behemoth to a fifty or sixty year old individual whose last bike was a Virago 750 in the early eighties.  Sure, they might be smitten with all the pretty colors and chrome, but the last bike they rode (twenty years ago!) weighed three hundred pounds less than cruisers today, but also came with centerstands, tachometers, an easily located ignition switch, and in most cases, more power.  My Dad was one of these “returning bikers” about six years ago, and found himself in this same position.  We looked at all the current crop of cruisers, and his comments were always the same – “Where’s the centerstand?  Where does the key even go?”  I had no answers for him, having not kept up on the cruiser world, and was somewhat disappointed to find that items that had been disappearing off of sport bikes for years in the name of weight savings were also disappearing off of cruisers, where weight is no issue.  Nope, no issue at all.  There were several 1500cc+ bikes that my Dad (who is by no means a weakling, but is a man of average build) could barely lift off the sidestand.  Having resigned himself to looking for a mint, 80’s era “standard” bike, I unexpectedly discovered a 2000 Kawasaki W650, which fit the bill for him, perfectly.  So, I had discovered an advantage to simply being “up” on what was currently for sale around the area, and I have employed that knowledge numerous times over the last little while.  A customer at my framing shop wanted to get back into bikes, but had been balking at a V-Star 900.  He loved the look of the bike, but thought it too heavy, and a little slow.  I inform him I had seen a two year old Vulcan 500 for sale privately in Fergus, which he promptly purchased, and set about loading up the kilometers on it.  He absolutely loves the bike, and has no interest in “upgrading” any time in the near future.

This brings us back to our little 350.   The fellow who wants the bike has faced several rounds of questions from me over time, as I would get frustrated looking for this particular model.   Why this bike?  Why won’t a CB500T do?  What about an older GS400, they were six-speeds with locknut and adjuster valve adjustments?  Nope, had to be a CB350.  Now that I’ve found one for him, I’ve arranged for a buddy of mine who lives in Stittsville to drop off a deposit, and we’ll be going to Ottawa next weekend (March 27) to pick it up.  Embarassingly, I had gotten so excited at actually finding a metallic green 1973, that I don’t even think I read through the entire ad to the end.  If I had, I would have discovered that the purchase price includes a complete, but not running, identical CB350 without an ownership as a parts bike.  Hmmm, maybe next weekend’s trip will include me getting a new project, as well.  Then maybe I can find out what is so damn special about these little CBs.  Stay tuned for pics of the roadtrip, as well as the look of indescribable gratitude on my friend’s face when he is reunited with one of these CB350 twins…

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By: Tony Morgan

My mother asked me, very quietly, if I would consider not riding on March 17, St Patrick’s Day.  It seemed like one of those requests you agree to automatically, to make the asker happy, never really considering whether you intend to keep the “promise” or not.  Last year, on St. Patrick’s Day, by 2:30 in the afternoon, I was laying on the pavement, having just suffered my first serious motorcycle accident in twenty five years of riding, resulting  in the phone call my mother had been dreading ever since she came home from work to find her eight year old son sitting on her husband’s Honda  CM400.

What I didn’t find out until I was in my twenties was that that sight had prompted Mom to ask Dad to sell his bike, hopefully nipping her son’s suicidal interest in the bud.  That was a futile effort, however, as we were all to discover that riding a motorcycle was what I had been put here to do.  After owning more than one hundred and fifty motorcycles, logging more than 800000 total kilometres of riding mileage, I finally found myself lying on the pavement, unable to move, and wondering, somewhat legitimately, if this is what death was like.  I suspect all those who talk of “life passing before your eyes” business weren’t really all that seriously hurt, because I didn’t see any details of my life, I only saw what I may be going to miss – the future.

I had already done my “self checks” before anyone had even reached where I was laying, and discovered that I could move my head, arms, and left leg (with some difficulty), but there were serious issues with the right leg.  Passersby were reacting appropriately, encouraging me to lie still, and wait for assistance, but I was fairly calm, and had removed my helmet and jacket, and was proceeding to call my wife to give her the news.  The driver of the minivan that had T-boned me was absolutely hysterical, and I had the dubious honour of calming HER down at the scene, and politely asking her to please move away from me.   EMS were on the scene very quickly, and there was very little pain at this point, merely a bit of resistance to movement.  Your body not doing what is asked of it is a very peculiar sensation, but I had already looked at my right leg, over protestations from the EMS techs, and thought I had some understanding of what my injuries were.

After waiting in Emergency for nine hours for an operating room to open up, having gone for several X-rays and MRIs, the list was long and varied.  I had a cracked, and two chipped vertebrae, broken bones in both feet, numerous broken toes (which were to prove amongst the most painful!!!) , two separate breaks of the right femur, and the biggie – both my fibula and tibia were smashed into about five pieces each where the van’s bumper had crushed my leg against the engine of the bike.  My right foot had been rotated 180 degrees, and was bent back up my leg, so my toes were kind of touching the back of my knee.  I had been sedated after being in Emergency for a while to reposition the foot, as there was very little blood circulation past the break site, and the prognosis for the foot itself was grim, at best.  I didn’t tell my wife at the time, but the X-ray tech only gave me a fifty-fifty chance of keeping my leg past the knee.  As little as ten years ago, they wouldn’t have even tried to save the leg, the breaks were so bad.

The good news was that I had avoided any compound fractures, so no blood, and all the joints of the leg had escaped injury, giving a reduced recovery time, or so the thoughts went…  I went in for nearly six hours of surgery at 12:30 in the morning, and that was my last clear memory for nearly 48 hours.  Waking up in intensive care was the beginning of a crash course in the condition of health care in this province.  You see, I had reached my forty-first year of life without ever having to spend time in a hospital, and my first visit was becoming complex.  When my wife had shown up in Emergency the previous afternoon, the nurses were eager to get my insulin, as my blood sugar was over 25 mgs/l at the time of admission.  Problem was, I don’t have any insulin, as I was unaware that I was diabetic.  Now, all of a sudden, I was dealing with two major health issues at the same time.  The diabetes thing turned out to be my silver lining – rather than lie in bed (cause that’s all I could do) and slip into a depression about what had happened, I could see the accident as adding as much as ten years onto the end of my life, having the diabetes discovered before showing symptoms.  This optimistic outlook was to become rarer and rarer as time passed, but I could cling to it in the beginning, at least.

I managed to escape infection, which is definitely the single biggest concern of the post-operative patient, and was fairly successfully balancing the conflicting demands of two doctors, a diabetic one, and my surgeon.  The surgeon couldn’t care less about the diabetes, ordering me to eat carbs, sugars, proteins, and calcium, with the diabetic doctor poo-pooing all that, and telling me I have to start the process of choosing my foods for the rest of my life, from the standpoint of a diabetic.  The long story of the recovery would easily take chapters, so suffice it to say that bone growth amongst pieces with up to 25 millimeters of displacement in a 41 year old isn’t a quick process.  I was completely non weight-bearing for a full seven months after the accident, which had me in a wheelchair at home, eventually graduating to crutches.  The good news was that the worst injuries took so long to heal, that all the minor ones were allowed to heal fully, without having too much strain put on them too early, which is the most common problem in recovery.

Ten weeks after the accident, having gained a significant improvement in my crutch handling abilities, my wife purchased a Ural Patrol 2wd with sidecar as part of my “therapy”.  We had considered a bone-regeneration machine available to professional athletes with similar injuries to mine, but it was very expensive, and although the machine could be used indefinitely, at least until there was some sort of electronic problem, the machine is programmed to work only as much as you purchase.  Therefore, after the pre-determined (pre-paid) 600 exposures, the five thousand dollar machine simply stops working (although it is still perfectly functional), and there is no way to turn the machine back in for any kind of credit, or re-programming – it is simply garbage.  Having both a practical and moral objection to this particular kind of thievery, I opted for the therapy that would have a residual value – the Ural.

The Ural will easily take up another complete article by itself, but as I find myself exactly one year to the day since the accident, I am surprised how difficult it has been to put some of these things into words, in many cases, for the first time since the accident.  I could easily have gone on a long political rampage about health care in this province, because I was one of the ignorant masses who had no idea what was happening to our health care.  Suffice it to say that anyone who has spent any time in a hospital in the last five years who still thinks the auto manufacturers deserved the money they got is simply 100% wrong.  Everyone who works in the health care profession in this province who has not been pounded down by decades of mismanagement , overspending and incompetence absolutely deserves to wear a red cape to work because you are all heroes.

I truly hope this has not been a negative introduction to me, but this incident has certainly occupied most of my life for the last twelve months, and I felt I needed to put some words on (virtual) paper to see how I felt about things.  I harbour no ill will towards the driver of the minivan who hit me (who turned out to be a neighbour!!), I thank my gear for saving me (my Canadian military surplus boots almost certainly kept my leg on during the impact), and I now have seen target fixation at it’s absolute worst, as well as give more credence to the thought that car drivers really do not know what to do when the motorcycles first start to come out in the spring.  Be extra careful for the first couple of dozen rides in the spring, or wait a little longer to get that first ride in, because regardless of who is at fault, the minivan ALWAYS wins.

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