Final Drive: The Botway Factor

In my Father's Day piece, I left out one person that deserves as much credit as any of the rest in fomenting motorcycling to me. It wasn't a purposeful oversight, the truth is, I forgot. Stanley or Dr. Botway as I used to call him, was a chiropractor in North Merrick, NY. My mom had gone to him for years and I when I started having my own back issues in my late teens, I started going to him too. Stan is a gregarious sort of chap with a fantastic sense of humor and he resembled Benny Hill a little too, which adds to the flavor. As you know, I was exposed to motorcycles and people that rode them from a young age. What made Stan different is that he rode a BMW. Once you got to know Stan, it was understandable: He liked the very best in any hobby or interest he pursued. Stan also collected firearms and knives, which were other areas of interest we shared. His tastes in those also showed a tendency to favor what would be considered best in class.

Still, when I was young, I never understood the draw towards BMW as a motorcycle. They were stodgy, parochial and to be honest, seemed to be odd to me. They were a bike for old fuddy duddies. Stan would regale me with stories and opinions of how balanced they were in terms of performance and functionality. Stan certainly had the riding chops to back it up, with riding around half a million miles lifetime in a sport where some people wouldn't do that in five lifetimes. He would often take off for as long as six weeks in the summer and tour the country going as far as Alaska. In spite of these stories, I went a different route, starting off with a 1978 Kawasaki KZ1000 in 1987. While the KZ would run circles around any boxer of that day, in time I would find out the limitations. The KZ could go well enough, but stopping and handling were another story. From there I went to a GPz750 that was my brothers. I kind of got it back in shape, but gave it back to him when I moved to Iowa, as I already had a Vulcan 800 Classic at the time that was going with me. Since then I have owned a Vulcan Nomad 1600 and now a 2009 R1200RT, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Over the years I had kept in touch with Stan and used his services when I had to. He was the only chiropractor I had ever used prior to moving to Iowa. Since then, he retired from practice and moved to North Carolina. Some years ago I had gotten in contact with him and we converse through email. About a year ago, I felt that the Nomad wasn't the motorcycle for me. It's a lovely bike ridden within it's limitation or even mine, but it's not complete or well balanced. It doesn't have ABS, cruise control, or heated seats and grips. Speaking of seats, Kawasaki must have hired CIA interrogation operatives to design the stock seat. I couldn't ride that bike without wanting to jump off it after an hour. I tried a Mustang seat, and it was the biggest waste of money I had spent on a motorcycle. I still wanted to jump off after an hour and half. Anyway, I felt I needed something more balanced, more complete. As luck would have it, Stan had a 1998 R1100RT, complete with Russell Day Long seat and a trailer. The price was very good, but I decided against buying it. I felt bad about it, as it would have been nice to "inherit" a bike owned by Stan, but I wanted something newer, more modern, something complete and balanced.  I could afford to do it, so I did. Last October, I found a leftover 2009 R1200RT at a local dealer. I think I may had momentarily disappointed Stan, but I heard he sold it to a neighbor.

I could write a tome about Stan or at least my impressions and interactions with him, but in a nutshell, he was a great factor, an immeasurable one in my starting out and continuing to ride motorcycles. My mom was scared to death that something bad would happen to me. She had a very negative view of motorcycles and Stan understood that. One, he told her he would talk to me about riding safely, and two, he reassured her that I would be ok. Mom trusted Stan and it went a long way in keeping her peace of mind. Stan's advice to me was to always have the attitude that everyone on the road is trying to kill you, where on purpose or otherwise and have eye on all sides of your head.  His advice works as far as I am concerned. He was my chiropractor, friend, set a good example as a fellow human being and on this past Father's Day, I wish him the best and thank him for being there for me. With him, I would not be riding today and it's as simple as that. My only other wish is that we lived closer. God bless you Stan and thank you.

Thank you for reading this blog.

Father's Day

It's that time of the year when on one day, the third Sunday in June that we are supposed to pay homage to our fathers. On this day, I want to honor fathers in a different way. Instead of just paying homage to just my biological father, I'd like to also give thanks to those men who inspired me to ride.

I will start out with my Dad. Dad was born in 1925 to Italian immigrants and grew up in Westbury Long Island. Dad served in WWII in the Army Air Corps as a tail gunner on a B-17 and after coming home, like a lot of guys looking for excitement after the war, he got into riding motorcycles. Dad's first foray into two wheeled transportation was a Vespa, after which he graduated to a Zundapp 250. After that it was a Triumph Tiger, a 500 cc parallel twin. Dad rode with his cousins Tommy and Lou, who rode a triumph and BSA respectively, if I recall correctly. Dad would regale us about their trips to Laconia and other places, when during one such trip cousin Lou fell asleep while riding his bike. They saw him nodding off and got on either side, revving their engines, trying to get his attention and wake him up. Luckily for Lou, it worked. Because of dad's stories, from an early age, I wanted a motorcycle. This of course was tempered by mom's dislike for two wheeled transportation, but you can probably guess who won.

My first foray into two-wheeled motorbike nirvana was a Rupp Mini Bike. I was in the 8th or 9th grade at the time and I remember Mom bought it at a garage sale for a song. My brother Tony and I painted the frame Chevrolet Hugger Orange (I still love that color), and the gas tank Argent Silver. It had a tired three and a half horsepower Tecumseh flat head engine and under dad's supervision, we honed the cylinder, re-ringed the piston, rebuilt the carburetor and did a valve job. It ran very well after that. Before, it could barely go faster than 15 mph. Afterward, we were clocked at 35mph. It could go faster if the governor rod was held in. Eventually the engine threw a rod through the crankcase, probably from exceeding the governor once too often.

My Dad's cousin Lou was an influence. Lou continued to ride well into middle age. He used to stop by our house on the way home from work sometimes and I would always get excited to see what he was riding at any given time. I remember he had a Norton 850 Commando, black of course, and that was a neat bike to be sure. I also remember he bought a new Honda CX-500. I remember he had windscreen on it and it was a very quiet bike. The one bike I really liked to see was a Harley Davidson XR-1000 cafe racer. It belonged to his son Mark, but he would ride it from time to time. As a kid, I loved Harleys and Triumphs. Between Easy Rider and the custom bike shop down the corner, Custom Cycle, I developed a liking for choppers. I remember this one chopper. It was a triumph with a 500 cc Engine, single carb, what seemed like at least 12 inch extended forks. It was painted a metal flake plum crazy purple. With the drag pipes and the 360 degree firing order, I could recognize that bike's sound anywhere. I remember a MC type rode it, a real gruff chap that frequented a local biker bar. Those were the days.

Another guy that figures into all was a guy named Bill Biesecker. Bill lived down the street and rode a Honda 350/4. Bill rode rain, shine, all the time except in snow. My friends and I would go down the block just to shoot the breeze with Mr. Biesecker or have him diagnose problems with our Minibikes. I remember when my friend Manny bent the rim on his dad's orange Honda CT90. He wasn't supposed to be out riding it and took it up to the high school with his little brother on the back. He went over a metal edge on the track, which bent the rear rim. We took it over to Mr. Biesecker who took the kink out of it. Still, Manny's dad found out and took it out of his hide. Mr Bieseker was great guy and we lost him to cancer before he was 40 years old.

Sometimes an influence is not so much a direct hands on influence as much as an example of what's possible.  One such influence was Dad. Not my dad, but a guy we called Dad. His name is Frank Donelan, who was at the time, 55 years old and a corporate lawyer. Frank raced with a bunch of guys who called themselves DC Racing, which stood for Discount Cycle Racing, supported by a local independent motorcycle shop owned by Lenny Mastro. Dad raced a KZ1000 drag bike in the Pro Street class. It would get well into the 9's at something around 140 mph. Not bad for a middle aged dad. If that wasn't enough, Dad went out and bought a Kawasaki ZX-11D. I remember he took it on the Sagtakos Parkway and did 175 mph with it. For an old guy (55 was old to us guys that weren't even 30 yet), Frank could still kick ass. He was a very talented rider and very smart man whose advice went beyond motorcycles. I often wonder if Frank still rides in retirement. I bet he does.

So, on this third Sunday in June of the year 2011, I want to give thanks to not only my real Dad, who was a guiding influence on me in my life, motorcycle and otherwise, but also to those men who guided me, influenced me and helped me along the way, particularly with motorcycles. Without them, I wouldn't be riding today one way or another and I wish all of them a happy Father's Day and give a hearty thank you to all of them. Have you thanked the motorcycle dads in your life?

Thank you for reading this blog.