Buell Bother

for http://umgweb.com

Buell Bother

I would never be much of a Harley guy. This fact conceded after my
first brush with a Road King, a big nasty pig of a motorcycle that, as
far as I was concerned, succeeded only in the audio-visual department.

But some years later, after a large van totaled my nearly new CBR and
I'd taken a few months to ditch the crutches and doc's advice, I
was singing the motorcycle blues. Relief came my way, somewhat, in the
form of a 2000 X1 Lightning.

I was a bit skeptical about the machine's over-lauded performance but
the dealer offered a test ride. "Tank's full, don't crash her"
was his warning and I was off, thinking the dealer was either overly
trusting or a complete chump.

Christ the bike shook like an epileptic on amphetamines, clattered and
sputtered at idle, but, well, it ran. The thing campaigned pretty damn
nicely above 3000 rpm, actually - the engine smoothed out enough to
make the ride enjoyable.

After a couple blasts around the block, leaving women and the elderly
diving for hedges, I was hooked. I offered a thousand bucks under
asking price and to my amazement the deal was done. Hmmmm, the dealer
must be a chump after all.

During the ride home, the reality of what I had done set in. Cruisers
and sporties waved and women motioned me to blip the throttle. I felt
as popular as a cucumber in a convent. With a Harley sized ego I
flipped the beast into a parking lot, trying to impress some hussy.

Attempting some stunts that defied the laws of physics on a 400 plus
pound motorcycle on a gravel coated surface had me on my ass and the
bike crashing to the ground. After jerking up off the tarmac, I sulked
to my machine and, hernia's aside, managed to get the thing righted.

I quickly fired her up to drown out the peals of laughter and tenderly
edged toward the safety of home. Aside from a bent clutch lever and
broken brake pedal, nothing else on the bike was wrecked.

Imagine my horror when a few yards down the street everything went to
hell! The bike lurched horribly, sputtering and backfiring, throttle
response took forever, and the engine's idiot light kept time with the
bouncing tach.

Despite the bullish handling, I managed to maintain some sort of
forward motion for the mile or so home. From the comfort of my driveway
I pulled off the hangar sized airbox and found the air intake sensor
loose - damn electronics! Not a problem though. My engineering skills
with duct tape and zip-ties had the problem licked.

Another issue remained however - the air intake was covered in oil from
the head breathers. Luckily for me, there are several good web sites
devoted to the plight of Buell owners but all proclaim complicated and
expensive sounding fixes to the puking.

Once again, backyard engineering saved the day. Using some extra long
hose I routed both crankcase and head-breathers under the seat, capped
them with a pair of filters, and wrapped the whole mess in a towel. Of
the efficiency of this low-tech fix, 6000 miles of oil free riding
speaks for itself.

Back in operation, the bike ran trouble free but a couple things still
needed attention. The exhaust pipes put out a scorching heat that
easily reduces pants, leg hair, and skin to ash. I've wrapped both
pipes with some overpriced insulator, so now sitting in traffic is
somewhat tolerable.

On the vanity side I've junked the standard touring bars in favor of
some flat clip-on style items. The Mickey Mouse mirrors also went and
some teardrop bar ends do the business now.

The road handling's excellent due to the short wheelbase and steering
geometry. However, the wheelbase doesn't do much for inspiring
confidence at high speeds. On one such run up to 120mph I had a
death-grip on the twitching bars while the wind's buffeting did its
best to tear me from the seat.

Keeping my speed down to a reasonable 80 mph appeals to my
self-preservation instinct and still leaves plenty of reserve throttle
to burn off any murderous cages.

The Achilles heel of the bike is the rear shock, slung under the engine
and carrying its load in tension. On bumpy roads and under heavy
acceleration, the Buell feels like mashed potatoes. When cocked to
extreme lean angles, judicious use of the throttle is absolutely
necessary to hold her through the curve.

I laugh at all the poser power mods available for the X1 that fail to
address the inadequate rear suspension. When I win the lottery or sell
a kidney I'll go the route of a Penske rear. More recently, my
factory shock developed a leak so the organ trade may take on a new
sense of urgency...

Right around 20,000 miles I started noticing a puddle of oil behind the
rear cylinder that appeared to come from the rocker box. Sure enough,
the factory saved a few pennies by installing two-piece paper gaskets
that conveniently cooked themselves to the heads. After ripping
everything apart it was an amazing pain in the ass separating paper
from aluminum. A new set of one-piece metal rocker gaskets went on with
no trouble and minimal expense. There have been several other minor
annoyances, mostly electrical, but so far I've needed no roadside
rescue.

During the monsoon season the Buell becomes a capable amphibious
motorcycle. Splashing my way through town in axle deep water I hit the
mother of all pot-holes. The front suspension had a screaming fit and
the bike threatened to pitch me over the bars. Only by a supreme
being's intervention did my ride stay upright.

Due to a poorly sealed air-filter the bike sucks up road mist by the
gallon causing all sorts of engine malaise. Ironically, heavy rain
provokes no trouble! Typical commuting gets me about 40 mpg, which
isn't particularly impressive given the power output.

But the bike really is fun to ride. I haven't decided whether I'm
going to sell her but a friend of mine with a dismal marriage is in
need of some excitement. And he offered the Bluebook price, which is
well over what I paid. Until I see a fistful of cash, my motivation to
sell is pretty low.

The Buell is the type of motorcycle that gets your blood pumping by
looks alone. Newish Buells are much better motorcycles but lack some of
the rugged nature of the tube-framers. After a quick stint on the
latest incarnation of Buell technology, it would be hard for me to
desert the X1 and go back to trouble free, well behaved biking.
J.E.D.

from http://www.umgweb.com

 

Great!!!!!!!! Any more?

 

Just killfile and move on?

 

I didn't read all the way through. So did the vicar turn out to be the
murderer after all?

 

In

<snip>

Oh please just **** off with this shite!

killfile

*plonk*

bye

--
Steve Parry

http://www.gwynfryn.co.uk

http://www.arrivedeprived.org.uk/

K100RS SE
F650
(not forgetting the SK90PY)

 

nope, it was the butler

 

It was somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the

Just **** right off with your cutnpaste shit from the umg.

Have you no talent of your own?

--

Dave

GS 850 x2 / SE 6a
SbS#6 DIAABTCOD#16 APOSTLE#6 FUB#3
FUB KotL OSOS#12? UKRMMA#19 COSOC#10

 

Contrary to what others may have posted in response to this, I enjoyed
it.

So, "Nyaah!" to the nay-sayers.
;-p
--
| Wik -UKRMHRC#10- 2003 R1150GSA -DC#1 -'FOT#0 'FOF #39 - BOD#12 BOB#12
|# You don't believe me | "Experience is the worst teacher.
|That the scenery | It always gives the test first
|Could be a cold-blooded killer. | and the instruction afterward."
***** human response from wik at blueyonder dot co dot uk *****