Royal Enfield cured his mid-life crisis

Here's a portrait of a very happy me, with my daughters, in 2001.

 People often ask me about my old Royal Enfield Bullet. One question though, isn't asked as often now as it used to be. 

That question is: "Did you restore it yourself?" 

The answer was always "no, I bought it new. It's an old design, still made in India." 

Probably the reason no one asks anymore if I restored the motorcycle is the fact that I now look as old as it does! 

Sure, they don't necessarily assume I'd bought it new in 1955 (when I was five years old). But they'd be justified in thinking, "Hey, this guy is old enough to have bought it in 1970." 

In 1970, at age 20, I would very much have liked to have had a motorcycle. But a car seemed more practical and, soon, I had a wife and children and buying a motorcycle seemed irresponsible. 

Then, at 50, came my mid-life crisis. I realized that if I didn't get a motorcycle soon, I wouldn't have a motorcycle, ever. I decided to get one. 

Still, I didn't have much hope I would find the motorcycle of my childhood dreams. In 2001  motorcycles popular in the U.S. were big, powerful and flashy.

But I still wanted the sort of motorcycle that had existed in 1955 — or 1945, for that matter. It would be simple, naked and probably slow. These vintage machines were available used, but I was no mechanic.

I had tried to restore vintage cars, and it didn't work out well. I didn't want a motorcycle I would have to restore.

Then I found out about the Royal Enfield Bullet. It seemed like a miracle. The motorcycle of my dreams still existed, and there was a dealer right in my home town!

Buying a motorcycle remained a selfish, and, I suppose, irresponsible, action.

But confronting midlife answered that concern: it was now or never. This was my last chance. The only question was how to quiet family concerns.

I don't claim to be an expert at subterfuge. But my campaign of small steps gradually made it happen.

My mid-life crisis is now a quarter-century back in my rearview mirror.

I don't necessarily recommend buying a motorcycle. It's a personal decision, worth serious thought.

I'll just say that, for me, at mid-life, it was the right medicine.

Will California finally tame e-bikes?

An e-biker reports what California is considering doing about them.

 Bear with me for a moment. I want to applaud California for regulating so-called electric "bicycles," the fast ones that we call "bicycles," even if they don't have pedals! 

I'm reacting to an informative video by an e-bike rider that explains what is under consideration. 

But, first, a little background. 

I've just returned from a family reunion, held in California, my first visit to the Golden State in years. California has changed a lot in the decades since I lived there, but there was one thing I was sure to keep in mind, something I remembered from my days there as a young driver: 

California actually enforces pedestrians' right of way in crosswalks.

Driving our rental car, I paused when pedestrians stepped off the curb and, when I was a pedestrian myself, I had the unusual experience of cars stopping to let me get safely across the street. It was nice. It seemed civilized.

This is not generally the case in any other U.S. state I've visited. Drivers routinely —maybe even intentionally — intimidate people in crosswalks into letting the cars barrel through first, regardless of the "Walk" signal.

If the traffic light changes to "Don't Walk" before the pedestrians make it across, well, that's just too bad.

This is the law of the urban jungle. Pedestrians have a lot more to lose in case of collision with a car, so they must beware.

Unfortunately, now, with the advent of electric (so-called) bicycles, the same intimidating danger of collision extends to sidewalks and pathways almost everywhere. Not all riders of electrics use the walkways, of course, but enough do, in cities, to create a whole new dynamic.

Parents pushing strollers, children walking to school, seniors moving slowly and people walking dogs on leashes are forced, by the fast-moving (and silent!) danger, to give way to what are in fact, whether legally defined as such or not, motor vehicles on the sidewalks.

Ironically, these riders use the sidewalk ramps at intersections that were originally intended to ease the way for the handicapped — not for motorized traffic. Well, that certainly didn't work out as planned!

Finding a way under law to enhance safety is complicated, and California may or may not get it right.

The e-bike riders fear and oppose having to register, pay taxes, display license plates, wear safety gear, carry required lighting, and endure speed limits far below their speed capabilities. These are all things most motorcyclists accept without complaint.

Most basic to motorcycling law are age limits on when a young adult can ride.

Increasingly, these fast-moving electric machines, purchased by adults, are being ridden by their children. Age limits? My home state doesn't seem to have them.

Obviously, no one expects to ride a motorcycle on a sidewalk. Yet, understandably, e-bike riders want to ride on sidewalks and pathways. It's safer for them than riding in the street and, besides, the practice is that, on the sidewalk, you can ride "against traffic." 

It seems pretty clear that the future is electric. There will be more electric motorcycles that will obey all  the standards set for motorcycles. Good.

Increasingly, there also will be forms of electric mobility that may require lesser standards.

Although, if  you think about it: why?

If you're going that fast, don't you need to be on the street, obeying the laws that apply on the street?

Posing my Royal Enfield with a tank

My Royal Enfield motorcycle with M60 tank.

 Royal Enfield's long connection to military service naturally inspires owners to pose their motorcycles in front of military hardware. These opportunities usually involve war memorials. 

So, yes, that's my Royal Enfield Bullet, posed next to a tank. It's not the first time I've managed to photograph my motorcycle close to a war memorial. 

It is, however, the closest I've ever gotten to one. 

In 2021 the Royal Enfield Owners Club (UK) created a calendar for 2022, with the months illustrated with photos submitted by members. Several of the months showed Royal Enfields in front of military objects, including a superb shot with a Spitfire airplane! 

I'm jealous. Not many Spitfires or Sopwith Camels are on display near my home in Florida.

I did manage to get a photo of my Bullet with a Korean War era Sabre jet; but the jet was mounted on a pylon, so it wasn't easy.

Other times I got a photo with a cannon.

Then, recently, I became aware of a tank on display in a nearby park, as a memorial to Purple Heart (wounded-in-action) veterans. Photos of it suggested it might be close enough to the street for me to get a photo with my Royal Enfield.

The tank is described as an M60A3TTS. It's the kind of tank usually referred to as a Patton tank, although the M60 was not officially named that. The name sticks because it shares a general appearance with U.S. tanks since the M46 Patton, which fought in the Korean War.

A prominent feature of the M60 (and the M48 before it) is the cupola atop the turret, giving the tank commander a miniature turret of his own, armed with a machine gun.

It's a distinctive look, making the tank popular with model builders, although in practice it was often criticized for making the tank taller and thus harder to hide on the battlefield.

In 1989 the US Army had a total of 5,400 model M60A3TTS tanks. The last of these left service with the National Guard in 1997, leaving plenty available for displays. (Some ended up in the ocean, as artificial reefs.)

The Military Order of the Purple Heart Chapter 674 received Oakland Park city permission to place a surplus M60 on display in Veterans Park, 3805 NW 21st Ave., in 1996.

Interestingly, it was expected to be not only a solemn memorial, but an active playground for children. And why not? It's impervious to damage. There are no "Keep Off" signs here.

But this meant that it eventually was positioned on a (safer) sand pad, not concrete.

In practice, the scale of the tank makes it uninviting to children — it's hard to get up onto it. But the loose sand makes the tank almost impervious to anyone trying to maneuver a motorcycle into position for a photo!

So, after riding the motorcycle to the tank on the sidewalk (no one was looking) I had to huff and puff to get the ideal picture. 

There was no good way to get the long barrel of the big gun entirely in the photo. Also the size of the tank reduced my motorcycle to insignificance in comparison.

So compromise was necessary. How did I do?

(By the way, the tank appears white. It actually is a very faded desert sand in color. The machine gun originally in the cupola is not fitted.)

Adults could learn from a child rider

When is a riding lesson not a riding lesson?

 I watched my granddaughter learn to ride a bicycle the other day. 

I didn't teach her to ride; the bicycle itself taught her. 

Watching this happen was a lesson. How much more could I learn about motorcycling, if I approached riding on two wheels the way she did: letting the machine show me how it works, instead of imposing my own mental textbook on it? 

My granddaughter is late in life to be learning to ride; a bit more than eight years old. I'd bought the bike for her more than four years ago, but it languished on the porch. The tires were generally flat. 

Her parents were wary of it, for good reason. They live in a neighborhood with no sidewalks, but plenty of cars parked on both sides of the street. It's very hilly. A young rider could build up a lot of speed going downhill to a busy intersection.

Riding on the street is a lot for a child to tackle, especially on the bare bones bicycle I'd purchased used. Cheaply made, in China, it has only a coaster brake on the rear wheel, and the ergonomics are poor.

It's a kiddie bike, but the pedal crank appears to be made for a larger bicycle. The young rider reaches for the bottom pedal, while the top pedal forces her other leg unnaturally high.

Worst of all, the bicycle has always had training wheels. These were necessary at first just to get the kid on the bike: they look like safety devices, but they function unsafely. They cause the bike to lean out of a turn, the exact wrong thing to do.

This visit, granddaughter had agreed to try out the bike in a safe park near her home. It wasn't an ideal excursion: she was in a skirt, when pants would have been safer. Her helmet was too loose on her, but no adjustment was welcome. And it was raining!

Yet, somehow, it seemed like the time to do this. So we went to the park.

She wobbled around an unused tennis court for awhile. When the bike leaned to the outside of a turn, that side's training wheel would actually "jack" the rear wheel off the ground, threatening a crash.

I pointed out that her problem was the training wheels, and she herself asked to have them removed.

Bingo!

I'd brought a pliers just in case this opportunity arose. Freed of the risk of being tipped over by the training wheels, the kid quickly realized that a little speed made the bicycle more stable.

This experience quickly extended to realization that sweeping turns, with a little speed, are more comfortable than slowing to a wobble and making a tight turn.

I struggled to keep my mouth shut for fear of spoiling this. She was learning at her own speed, faster than with any "tips" I could have offered.

It was marvelous to see. She eventually called for her parents to be summoned, to witness her proud accomplishment.

I had one regret: I really felt her father should have been the one to give her the initial push that would propel her into motion. I remembered my own dad giving me that fateful shove, and I remember doing it for my two daughters.

But this time there was no trotting alongside until I was out of breath, no worrying about what would happen if the kid went down, no heart-in-the-mouth final push on the bicycle seat.

None of that.

She and the bicycle just rode.