Back in the day, when men were men and nearly all leather jackets sported mandarin collars, road warriors roamed the countryside on bare-naked 550s and 650s.

They traveled far and wide on those used machines. Occasionally, said bikes would go treads up because of engine-room disasters.

You're looking at one. This pristine, lime-green Suzuki GT550 died on M-50, just short of Monroe after a trip to Road America in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin. The left wrist-pin bearing gave up its life.

That's a Yamaha 650 rider eyeballing the soon-to-be trailer queen in disgust.

That bike started life new as an old man's mount. It wound up under young man's butt for the princely sum of $725.

Before the Internet and online motorcycle junkyards, you had to physically travel to junk yards and hope your year bike, with the right part, was somewhere out there in the dirt.

Several different junkyards had GT550s. Those were two-stroke, Ram-air-cooled triples.

All had their left jugs missing — indicating that wrist-pin failure in the left jug must have been common.

Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig — The Ulysses is back in the Man Cave after a four week hiatus at Great Lakes Harley-Davidson!

On an evening run to Sylvania to pick up a Ninja 250 (more on that in another post), I stopped to fill up my unnamed relative's Chrysler 300. Leaving the gas station, biker instinct kicked in and I punched the tripmeter button.

It said the exact same number as the odometer. It had never been reset.

So I asked. Some people are funny about that. Bikers reset their tripmeters, because often it's the only "gas gauge" they have. Some car drivers never do, as some kind of hinky badge of honor.

Oh, go ahead, my unnamed relative said. I punched it to zero, then punched it again. The temperature popped up in the digital readout window.

"How did you do that!" my passenger nearly squealed.
"I pushed this button."
"We've been trying to find a way to display the temperature since we got this car!"

It pays to know your vehicle. I had run into a similar issue on the way to Sylvania. In this particular 300, all the cruise controls are on a stalk on the low right side of the steering column. On another 300 I just drove, they are all on a stalk on the high left side of the column.

No matter the vehicle, two- or four-wheeled, it pays to spend a few moments, in the driveway — before launch — getting familiar with the controls.

That was reinforced as I drove the Ninja home. I had eyeballed the tires. Bolted on a plate. Checked the oil. Listened to the engine. But the clutch lever was cocked too high. I hadn't checked the chain tension. (I did check for lube.) And the rear shock preload could have used another twist or two.

Strange vehicles have their strange ways. This spring, many of us are on strange, new bikes.

Get to know them, before they get a chance to rear up and bite ya.

Here's a scene you wouldn't want to roll up on during a dark night — a sinkhole in the middle or the road, marked by deadfall.

Apparently, a citizen stuck in the sticks, either as commentary, warning, or both. (No, it wasn't me.)

This is on Morseville Road, just north of Courtney Road, in southern Saginaw County. This gnarly piece of pavement connects some of the best (only?) curves between Flushing and Frankenmuth.

Typically, you have to take it easy through here, sometimes standing on your pegs. The water has been right up to the shoulders in this swale, so a washout is understandable.

But the sticks are pointed reminders that road conditions, especially in the spring, can go quickly from bad to worse. Especially for motorcyclists.

So, as the grizzled roll call sergeant Phil Esterhaus on Hill Street Blues used to say: "Let's be careful out there."

More from our man JJ in Fort Myers: This 1958 BMW, with sidehack.

He picked it up from a gent who drove it as a daily driver down in Naples. The paint is beat to death from the hot Florida sun, but everything is there.

JJ walked over to it cold, turned the key, tickled the choke, folded out the kick starter — and one kick brought forth that loverly pocketa-pocketa-pocketa BMW Boxer sound.

For sale? Nope.

JJ's gonna tear her down and completely restore her.

Here's one that makes TeamMoto.us sit up and take notice: A Toyota minivan, with a stick shift, diesel — and a snorkel intake for water crossings.

There's a wet season in Guatemala, and the roads aren't the greatest. And fuel can be few and far between.

What better than the reliability of a Toyota, the payload of a minivan, the durability of a diesel, and the assurance that the water (or dust) could be over the windows, and the engine could still draw big gulps of fresh air?

This vehicle, parked in Monjas, Guatemala, is apparently sold globally as the Hiace, with a variety of small-displacement diesel options.

(Totally obscure movie reference: Do you suppose it was shipped through the Bungo Straight?)

Down to Fort Myers to pick up a friend's Ford Lighting (see post below), and I proffered exotic iron dealer JJ my personal.

The card touts this site, and has a pic of me in my faded Aerostich.

JJ nodded, said "A 'stich man? Me too." And promptly offered me a spin on this unique little bobber jobber.

That's a 2004 Triumph modern motor shoehorned into a hardtail frame, with straight, taped pipes. The seat is a slab of beveled-edge aluminum with a little flip to it, and styling springs.

Padding? Stickers with lots of rude and 'tude.

How's she run? Just dandy. Low to the ground, but very flickable.

How's she sound? As my momma once said about a certain Donzi on a river in Saginaw: "She's a throaty b----." :)

JJ recently took it out for a couple of hundred miles. Safety wire and blue Loctite are wonderful things, he said.

Long rider? Nope. Track carver? Fuggetaboutit. Sport tourer? Hardly.

Tight little town tooter?

You betcha.

If you ever get a chance to ride the Lightning, take it.

A friend recently bought a pristine 2004 Ford F-150 Lightning SVT from a guy in Florida. Since I was already there on spring break, I offered to inspect it with my dad and drive it home.

Oh my.

If you didn't know, you'd think you were looking at an F-150, standard-cab stepside. But pop the hood, and there's a supercharged 5.4 liter Triton V-8 under there, pumping out 380 ponies. (SVT stands for Special Vehicle Team, Ford's internal hop-up shop.)

This is a serious grin-and-sin machine.

Supercharger kicks in anywhere, any speed, if you goose it. A vacuum gauge on the dash and a turbine-like noise tell you it's on the job.

At 120, the supercharger is at full howl ... and still pulling seamlessly. Speedo only goes to 140. She is rock-steady at all speeds. 93 octane only, please. Motivating right along, she returned 14.5 mpg. About 300 miles per tank of gas.

Rides very well — sport suspension is awesome in the corners, very smooth on the straights. Not like a truck at all; no crow-hopping or other nasty surprises.

Leather-wrapped steering wheel, cruise, all the amenities.

Exhaust sound is very deep, very rumbly. Dual side pipes, both sides. Makes the seats literally hum at high speed. Lighting badging gives the secret away, to those in the know.

Seriously, nothing street-legal can touch this thing. On a 15-hour, 70 mph average, overnight express run from Fort Myers Beach, Florida to Convington, Kentucky, Corvettes, Porsches, 5.0 Mustangs, other hotted-up trucks tried.

Tried.

In fact, the only thing that did catch me was a county-mounty in a skin-top Tahoe. He swooped up from behind as the SVT was doing 90, powered down the window and sternly mouthed the words "SLOW DOWN."

Sir, yes sir.

It's actually hard to break the super-wide tires loose on dry pavement, so everything turns into forward momentum.

This thing walks away from stuff like nothing else I've ever driven. It was apparently driven by an older gentleman, who kept it in a climate-controlled area. The undercarriage looks the same as the day it was rolled off the factory floor.

She is mint. She is fast. She is lovely.

Mmm-mmm-mmm.

For more details, a good review is here.

During a recent spring break mission trip to Guatemala with a team of U.S. Air Force Academy cadets (a tale unto itself) one of TeamMoto's members had a chance to see how motorcycles are used and abused in GUA.

Much more so than the U.S., motorcycles in Guatemala tend to be all-around workhorses, and primary modes of transport.

But, there are many ironies, subtleties and paradoxes involved. Harold, interpreter for the team, and a biker himself, wryly encompassed all of that dichotomy with the phrase "Welcome to Guatemala."

For example, what we think of as a middleweight here in the States — a 500 or 650cc mount — is a heavyweight in Central America. A lightweight — typically, a 125cc single — rules the roost.

In fact, if you see a GSXR600 or CBR600, you are likely looking at a drug-dealer's saddle. Bigger, say a Honda Fireblade? Usually, a come-on in the city for a dealership. Very, very few are spotted in the wild.

Why? Well, the average speed on most Guatemalan roads is never much above 50, and usually around 30-40. Fuel is expensive. Road surfaces vary from boulevard/freeway to sloppy macadam to dirt with tennis-ball-sized rocks. (Emphasis on sloppy macadam.)

And if you see what you would assume to be a perfect middling mount in a country with cobbled roads— a DR650, for example — it's probably from a government stable. As in Policia, etc.

What really flips your lid are the cruisers. They look like big, American cruisers, with their fenders and wide handlebars, etc. But look under the fat tank ... and there's an itty bitty motor, at least by American standards.

More? Sure. In Guatemala, there are a plethora of laws. But law enforcement tends be, uh, shall we say, sporadic? Moody? Personalized? ("Welcome to Guatemala.")

For example, helmet laws. They tend to be written by municipalities, and they are on the books. But a casual gringo passing-through cyclist survey indicated about 50 percent of male riders don't have a brain bucket shading their ears.

Blame the macho culture. Technically, the police cannot stop a moving vehicle. ("Welcome to Guatemala.") But they do if they want to, or set up road blocks. ("Welcome to ..." you get the picture.)

While nearly all female passengers had helmets on, many did not when they were piloting scooters themselves. (It looked like it was a style issue.)

Speed limits? Hmmmm. A mix. In situations where this gringo would have been flying by, motorcycles were happy to ride second or third banana in a row of cars.

That may be self-preservation kicking in. Riding in that traffic position keeps you from being the initial point of impact in the casual, but established, passing techniques used in the country. On blind curves and elsewhere.

And that piddler engine doesn't give you the passing power of a 800cc or 1,200cc rig to turbo-boost yourself out of trouble.

One interesting thing? Even the smallest thumper — dressed as a cafe racer, dual purpose or standard — was typically polished within an inch of its life. Think of the typical Harley rider's fetish for polish, and you've got an idea.

Ironically, most bikes didn't seem to have large rear racks, tank bags, etc. Frequently, however, the seats were exotically decorated.

And there were delivery bikes — mostly old Yams with the ram air heads — with huge boxes on the back. Even McDonald's delivers, in Guatemala.

Bottom line? America's over-infatuation with horsepower, size and freeway flying probably gets in the way of cultural immersion, out there in the good old US of A.

But that doesn't mean our erstwhile correspondent is ready to give up his Buell Ulysses.

In fact, on the road from Guatemala City to Monjas, the old Buell would be the perfect high-speed mule.

Whatcha gonna do when your wife runs her fingers through your hair, looks into your eyes and says, "Please honey... won't you take me for a ride." But instead of running upstairs, she points me to the garage.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe which motorcycle gets to go. No batteries in any of them. So the "easiest" option was kick starting the the Honda XR 250.

Right.

After what seemed like the 100th kick I gave up.

It's not easy being a motorcyclist in Michigan but ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

We've been trying to get out at least once every month. Last winter we didn't miss a single month. But this year it's been a little bit harder. We managed to get out in November and December, but January has been a little cold. Plus all the white stuff sure makes it hard to ride vehicles with only two wheels.

So today it was supposed to be a balmy 34° out.

Next victim on the list was the KTM. So I yanked the 950 Adventure out from underneath it's cover. I pulled the battery off of the trickle charger and slapped it into the bike. Tammie was already suited up.

You could almost hear the big bike groan, "You gotta be kidding me. I ain't going nowhere in 27°." But a couple of seconds on the starter and she reluctantly came to life.

I suited up while Tammie paced back and forth like a caged tiger.

The bike was purring almost as loud as Tammie. She plugged in her heated vest and off we went, heading south on M-15. Dark clouds drifted overhead. Temps were only in the upper 20s. The brisk wind was blowing snow across the wet highway. Ahhh, not good. Wet roads + winds + cold = ice.

I opted to get away from the open fields and head down M-13 along the Saginaw River. That was a little bit better. If we could get to the Zilwaukee Bridge, I figured that should qualify for a decent January ride.



I'm not sure what is more dangerous, riding a motorcycle in January or taking pictures underneath the crumbling Z-Bridge. So a couple of quick shots and back aboard the 950.

We blasted back up to Bay City. The 950 just begged to be opened up. Cracking the throttle lightened up the front end as we roared along the river. A quick photo at James Clements Airport and then off to warm up.



We headed to the nearest diner for lunch. Walking into Rudy Js, the waitress demanded, "Are you die hards or aren't you from around here?"

Our helmets, glasses, and camera fogged up like we were in a Swedish sauna. The moisture on the front of the camera made for some "cool" shots of Tammie drinking her coffee/hot chocolate.



After splitting a gut bomb burrito we stumbled back out to the bike for the short jaunt home.



It never did get above 30°.



Here's hoping to a warmer February.

By Michael Robb • Teammoto.us

When it's the middle of winter and you're a motorcyclist there are very few options to occupy your two-wheel fix. The exception is when the International Motorcycle Show comes to town. So each year we sojourn south to the outskirts of Detroit to help ease some of our pain.

During the ride down to Novi we tried to think what new bikes had captured our attention this year.

On the top of my list was the new XR1200 from Harley Davidson. I had read a few reviews for this European only bike. Words like "best handling Harley" and "I would buy one if they sold it in America" really piqued my interest.



H-D changed its position on selling the bike in the states. For 2009 they decided to release 700 bikes here. I wondered if this would this be the one bike from H-D that I would consider buying.

I had ridden a slew of Buells this year. Everything from the new 1125CR to Firebolts and even the Ulysses. I really like the concepts and styling that Eric Buell brings to H-D's two cylinder power plants. So in the back of my mind I was expecting to see some of that Buell finesse applied to the XR1200.

But, truly, "the devil is in the details." The XR1200 looks great in pictures. Coming around a curve and shot with a long lens this bike just screams "buy me." Up close is when some of the luster fades. First, the pipes on this bike just look massive. The nickel plating seems out of place and they are not tucked in nice and neat to the bike. They just seem to hang out there.

The pegs are quite a ways back, sport-bike fashion. But the bike feels much more like a standard, which would dictate moving the pegs forward. Then there's the fender on the back of the bike. It is just huge. It seems oversized.

Last but not least: the tank. If you are a motorcycle designer and you really want to capture the essence of a classic motorcycle, get the tank right. The tank on the XR1200 seems out of proportion. H-D is not alone in this problem. The 50th Anniversary Triumph Bonneville tank is just an abomination, capturing none of the original tank's features and flavor.

......

A lot of this is nitpicking. But with so many options in the market, everything should be just right. Of course, a lot of a bike's visual problems might go away once you fire up the engine. Here's hoping.

What surprised a few of us was how much we really like H-D's Nightster. This is one bike that just works.

....

Overall, the show was a lot smaller this year. BMW, Aprilla and Moto Guzzi were missing. That's too bad because I believe that anytime you have people paying money to see your bikes you shouldn't be absent.

Kawasaki was there in full force. They had mpg stickers on most of their bikes. The Versys was presented in a brand new flake Kawasaki green. We heard tons of comments on the color. It was love or hate, none in between.

Another very interesting bike was the Kawasaki ER-6n. With a price tag of $6,399, this is a great value for someone wanting an all-around sport standard. The front is a little robo cop, but overall we really liked what this bike has to offer.



The only thing missing from bikes like the Versys and the ER-6n is ABS. Again, the Europeans have had this feature on the Versys for a couple of years. It sure would give beginning and intermediate riders much more confidence when riding in iffy conditions.

KTM was there with a bigger booth than last year. The RC8 just looks wicked. The 990 Adventure seems to be losing some of its dirt heritage. Overall the bike is much lower and with the low seat on it, it seems more like a street bike than a dirt-oriented one.

Quick hits:

• Yamaha's V-Max is over the top.

• Ducati had a nice booth. It was great to finally see the Street Fighter up close.



• The ball of death, where two motorcyclists ride inside of a caged ball, was gone this year. It was replaced by a trials bike demonstration. Don't miss this. Very impressive!

...

• One of the coolist things this year was a display featuring cafe-styled customs. One custom featured a Honda XR400 motor. Nice creativity.

• We saw some of the ugliest mufflers on bikes this year. Some are so huge they dominate the bike. Buell gets it when it comes to mufflers. Tuck them under and be done with it.

• If you are a Buell owner going to the shows, don't forget to bring your key to get a free t-shirt from Buell.

• There were some deals to be had, if you scope out the vendors. Tammie scored a two-piece Teknic Venom suit for $100.