Thoughts – 30 years on the motorbike

Thoughts of good times: For over 30 years now I’ve been living the one ritual – putting on my leathers, staggering to the motorbike in heavy boots, inserting the key, starting the engine. A thousand times exactly like this and yet different every time. I take off my helmet and look back.

Before you read, please note: this post was translated with the help of Deepl.
If you find any errors – please have fun first and then give me a hint.

One of the first thoughts in the years when my motorbike had to share the parking space with my parents’ car was always „I hope it goes well“. Not the driving, no – but in the narrow garage manoeuvring required centimetre work, an overturn would have been costly. An important tool back then: a piece of wood that matched the length of the side stand to keep the motorbike upright.

What could possibly go wrong? Tugging on a motorbike, reversing through a gap only one metre wide? With the side stand folded in?

Just
 don’t fall over

The Suzuki RGV 250 Gamma, slim and light, found its way out the easiest of all. The fat Yamaha FZR 1000 Exup, however, scraped its exhaust over the frame of the garage door several times, and of course: the always unhappy Triumph Daytona T595 slipped away from me, pressing the perfect dent into the red car paint. Two days before its sale.

Finally outdoors, the next thoughts: Where to go now? On fast tracks, with high revs, or rather into short, crisp bends that require work on the handlebars, rewarding with deep lean angles? Do I want to go into the cold of an alpine pass or into the burning heat of a city?

The answer was almost always „yes“. A thousand times I flew through the hairpin bends of the local mountain passes. I laid down on one knee after hard braking manoeuvres, took a deep breath on the straights. Rewarded myself after dozens of serpentines up to the Flüela, the Ofen, the Umbrail and of course the Stelvio with Cappuccino and later, in the hot cities, with ice cream.

Good days full of emotions and thoughts: Could it have been faster? Where could I have laid in deeper? How much later could I have braked? And how much earlier could I have accelerated again? And what is actually the magic of a curve that captivates me so much on every ride?

There were also days of intense experiences – and questions to match: Was that a groove in the tarmac or did I slip? Is this the right playground with this amount of traffic? Do I really need to know what the tyres can do on this dirty road? Who else but me is enjoying the high revs at the moment? Do I think I’m Rossi? Or why am I riding beyond my capabilities?

Strange side effects of coffee and ice cream.

Thoughts
 on the home track

There is no route I have driven more often than the Stelvio Pass. It may not be the most beautiful pass in terms of driving, and the amount of traffic and its side effects are undeniable. When cars, caravans, motorbikes and bicycles all want to climb the pass together, it can easily become a challenge. But the Stilfserjoch is and remains „mine“. This serpentine paradise offers me compressed motorcycling – 15 kilometres from home.

The swing which never fails to captivate me also gives me time for thoughts: Of the lives that have ended here, commemorated in niches decorated with flowers in the retaining walls. Of the mighty forces of nature that cause the mountain slopes to fall into the waters of the Trafoi river and the once proud bridges to collapse like toys. The constant kneading of the subsoil on the asphalt, which is different every week.

Dancing through the tornanti, I think of the insane effort it must have taken to cut a path into the Valtellina in the shadow of the Ortles. How difficult it must have been to find the flattest possible course in the forest and later in the rock. I think of the years of toil our ancestors must have endured to finally complete a masterpiece that few of them will have used. Today, we ride up the 2000 metres of altitude in just under half an hour, effortlessly and very well entertained.

Just thinking about the stop and go between 48 bends will never do the Stelvio justice. It can cover just about any riding situation, and for me it is much more than that.

Just
 don’t show any weakness!

On the Stelvio, even dark thoughts came over me. One particular hairpin bend is marked for me forever. For a long time I didn’t think it was possible, but even with the favourite hobby, even on the favourite route and under the most glorious sunshine, there is something that cannot be surpassed in darkness.

Motorcyclists were heroes to me in my youth: they were tamers of noisy and fire-breathing machines, masters of heavy apparatus with levers and switches whose function I didn’t know. Leather-wearing, cool-looking guys who were somewhere outside society. With the helmet visor closed, the baker, the carpenter or the farmer became outlaws with power over a heavy bike. I wanted to be like that, too, „someday when I grow up“. Also because the coolest women always flocked around them.

Alone?
 Or as a couple?

Cool women, yes. I met some of them – and invited them to ride with me. More than the possible eroticism of braking I was fascinated by the necessary smooth, jerk-free and „correct“ riding without changing load, to avoid the collision of two helmets. A satisfied smile from my companion at the end of a ride – a gift for me.

I always liked riding with a passenger: even on the Suzuki RGV 250, which then had to work hard. Also on the weak LS 650, which was already overtaxed when stationary – but due to the lack of a car, I never had a choice. With it I took my partner to Liguria, snowstorm and torrential rain included. I conquered the steep walls at Lake Garda with company – an adventure on the fall-addicted, unmanoeuvrable Yamaha FZR. I crossed the whole of Germany on a Ducati 748 with a passenger, and rode my first wheelie on the Triumph Daytona thanks to a weighty passenger. Involuntarily, of course.

I was also a passenger myself, of course. For example, on the KTM LC4 Supermoto. I then learned that certain pains remain forever, burn into the bones. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my passengers for their courage, trust and perseverance!

Only for me?
 Or also for others?

Riding a motorbike is great fun. Even the smallest machines offer great dynamics, but „big“ motorbikes open up new worlds, not only in terms of acceleration and speed. Anyone who has ever turned the throttle on a litre bike can tell you about emotions that other road users can’t even dream of.

Get on your bike, ride your favourite route – you may not feel better afterwards, but you will definitely feel different.

Since the first few metres, I have tried to put the fascination of motorbikes into words. In the beginning, I kept a simple logbook with notes. With my first own PC, I then did this digitally, and when I eventually found my way onto the Internet, I told people about it in forums. As a newly trained media designer, I set up my first website in 2000: theiner.net. Because I wanted to use my own pictures for it, I got a digital camera.

In the meantime, this has resulted in thousands of posts in forums and social media channels, over 30,000 motorbike photos and a handful of website relaunches. I published my book with memories of 25 weird years on the motorbike. MotorProsa.com generates six-figure hits a year and my dream road portraits are printed in Europe’s biggest motorbike magazine.

So even though I’m usually alone on one of my bikes, I’m always riding for others too. I like that.

Dramas,
 Bad Luck & Mishaps

When the desire for a motorbike burned hottest and the dream machine was up for sale, I didn’t have the money for it. Surely my bank, where I had been a customer since birth, would help me without complications? Spoiler: No, it wouldn’t.

I learned to exercise a lot of patience. For the basically ridiculous purchase price, I had to take an oath of disclosure in front of two drunken dignitaries in the credit department and declare my death wish (?). Although I had a permanent employment contract and two more than well-paid part-time jobs, the guys also demanded a guarantee – because I would immediately drive myself to death. In the end, I spent more time obtaining financing than repaying the loan.

Well, I could have waited two months and paid for the bike in cash. But I wanted to buy it immediately and, above all, ride it. Consequence: After transferring the last payment, I changed banks and only greeted the lending village greeks with my middle finger.

Not surprisingly, this beautiful bike did me no good financially: I crashed after half a year, destroying a lot of expensive plastic and cracking my ego. Two engine failures made deep inroads into the account. Apart from that – the petrol station attendant became my best friend: 12 litres of petrol per 100 kilometres were quite normal. In addition, the bike burned two litres of two-stroke oil per 1000 kilometres. It was always a bit more expensive – but in retrospect worth every cent.

Technology
 once and today

When I rode the Suzuki RGV home almost 30 years ago, it was a small (sic!) sensation: Made with the Grand Prix spirit. An aluminium frame like something out of a showcase, a brake like a concrete wall, aerodynamics at its best. Reduced to the essentials, with wonderful details like the clutch lever clearance adjustment screw milled from the solid.

It didn’t have an electric starter, but could be started by hand. Driving modes? Electronics? Fuel injection? None of that had been thought up at the time – only automatically controlled exhaust slides ensured some driveability. It was these slides that caused the two expensive engine failures.

Its successor – the Yamaha FZR 1000 Exup – was very similar, but two sizes bigger and much more powerful. And it was the same: it still had real dials and lights in the cockpit, my right hand controlled the traction control and ABS. Accordingly, it too went down at some point.

The Daytona T595 ventured a step too far into the future with its multisensory fuel injection system. In 1998 I rode one of these sound machines – unfortunately more bad than good, but that wasn’t down to me. The British couldn’t get the programming of the injection software right: Smooth driving without constant jerking was never possible. My T595 was so screwed up in terms of engine running that Triumph Italy finally changed it.

The replacement 955i then ran much better. But when, at 15,000 kilometres, it threw off the timing chain tensioner at full speed and soaked me in engine oil, I finally decided to buy the original: appearance Ducati 748s.

Now, with over 90,000 kilometres on the clock, without any troubles, it stands next to the new generation of motorbikes in my garage. No, not next to a V4 Panigale with over 200 hp and MotoGP software that plays all the parts with and without a rider. But next to Alessandro Volta, the all-electric roadster from California: Zero SR/F.

He does everything differently: Alessandro no longer has a clutch and does not need expensive two-stroke oil. It no longer needs any oil at all. It never has to be checked for emissions and does not even require periodic maintenance. All you have to do is put the “ignition” key in the lock and let it boot up (in fact, the software has to boot up first), then the power of 190 incredibly powerful Newton metres of torque is available.

Where
 is the journey going?

There is another motorbike in my garage: the mighty Road King from Harley-Davidson. It’s no sensation in terms of chassis, already overtaxed with the little power of its V2. So it will get a new chassis in winter 2023 and then find its way to the south of France. The plan is to rumble through the gorges of the Tarn, the Ardeche and the Verdon.

The maximum contrast to the Ducati dynamic or the quiet Zero motorbike wandering.

Pictures of a single-cylinder Ducati – a supermoto – are circulating in the motorbike press. That will be very dangerous for my money. From Canada, the Damon HyperSport is entering the market: an electric supersport with unique features. If this machine finds its way to Italy, an appointment at my bank will definitely be necessary again. Will there be enough space in the garage?

We will see – because

Thirty years
 are not enough

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