What could be cooler than Buell's ultrafast, ultrasporty 1125R?

How about a bad-boy version?

TeamBoxer got the word today on this "sinister" looking beastie. (Sharp-eyed visitors here will know we have a test of the original 1125R on this site. And, Hey Mikey, we liked it!)

From the press release:

"Part superbike and part streetfighter, the 1125CR is my vision of a 21st century cafe racer," said Erik Buell, chairman and chief technical officer at Buell Motorcycle Company. "It's got clubman-style bars and a flyscreen instead of a fairing. Then we geared it down to optimize acceleration. With a class-leading weight-to-horsepower ratio, the 1125CR takes streetfighter performance to a new level."

Buell calls the 1125CR a cafe racer for the 21st century.

With a 146-horses try to rip loose from the reins of the Buell-specific frame, that may be an understatement. The liquid-cooled Buell Helicon 1125 V-Twin engine and Buell Intuitive Response Chassis (IRC) deliver the performance and handling of a modern superbike.

Final-drive gearing is lowered about eight percent from the 1125R to optimize acceleration — and the original R was no slouch in that department.

Will it fly in the market? Who cares. From our experience, we know it will fly, period.

Other big news from Buell? How about a law enforcement/military Ulyssses?

Buell says the Ulysses Police XB12XP is a "special duty" motorcycle intended for government agencies and private security firms requiring a quick and very nimble pursuit-and-patrol vehicle capable of travel over a variety of road surfaces.

It comes equipped with a special wiring harness for easy installation of an Emergency Response Kit, which includes special compact, hard-shell top and side cases, a siren, and LED police pursuit lamps.

Given the propensity of Ulysses' owners to farkle, this could be a really, really good thing — or a really, really bad thing.

Phew!
That was a long headline.
Well, the MMMBBC, the scourge of three-egg omelettes everywhere, was on the roll again Saturday.
Threatening skies and rainshowers couldn't slow us down as we converged on Zou-Zou's in downtown Chelsea.
This is just part of the crew.















This is not part of the crew, although they were friendly enough.
What follows that are pictures Motormaniac took at Wauseon, Ohio, during an antique bike rally. After the chuckwagon crew, feast your orbs:

Uly owners, beware!

Had a little slop in my clutch, so decided to adjust it, and lube the cable. Went to the adjuster, and this is what I found:

See the little wire pigtail clip above? Well, there are supposed to be two of them, one up, one down. The down one (which I twisted into the upper one to adjust the clutch) broke somehow.

That is allowing the clutch cable to cook itself on the header.

So ... something to check on your Uly.

Like, today.

Rumor had it that there was an informal bike night on Wednesdays in downtown Ann Arbor on Main Street.

Rumor had it that there was some cool old iron that shows up.

Rumor had it that the Mid-Michigan Motorcycle Biker Breakfast Club also enjoys evenings of hydration and carbo-loading at streetside cafes.

Rumor had it that motormaniac is fairly handy with his Nikon.

Rumor had it right.

Here's what we saw:
A pristine restored /5.
Several Ducatis.
A classic Moto Guzzi El Dorado.
A spiffy little Triumph streetfighter.
A handicap (!) motorcycle plate.
And the queen of the evening: A lovely Zundapp with a big, big tank.

The question:
How far will a Uly go after the fuel light lights up, if you take it easy?
DAMHIK

The Uly farkles continue. I bought a set of bar-end mirrors here.

They look like this:









Then you do this:












And this:









To get this:









The mirror is clear at all speeds, including, amazingly enough, idle.

The mirror will twist on the plastic Uly handlebar widget. That's a good thing. It's rather exposed hanging out there. And that makes it easy to adjust at speed.

I went with one, to keep the asymmetrical looks of the Uly. (And that left me with a spare to mount on my Suzuki DR650.)

No questions? Good. Class dismissed.

What happens when a simple quest turns complicated. Follow along in the K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple Stupid) Adventure.

Half of TeamBoxer (HOTB) recently had the opportunity to hear Ken Schmidt, former director of communications for Harley, speak.

As a longtime rider, follower of HD, HD stockholder and current owner of a Harley product, it was an interesting traipse through time.

Schmidt kicked off with the bad old days: The mid-1980s, when AMF owned Harley and pushed out, well, crap. The bikes were poorly designed, poorly built, and primarily purchased by One Percenters — the American Motorcyclist Association's infamous moniker for outlaw bikers like the Hells Angels, Bandidos, Mongols, etc.

But, round about 1985, a dozen Harley insiders put their money where their engineering skills were and bought the company. They then built the re-engineered FXRS, the first Harley to win wide acclaim among motorcycle magazines.

According to Schmidt, that was great. HD thought it had a home run on its hand.

But sales showed all the life of an AMF Harley in a rainstorm. Without any 50w oil.

As a result, Harley's brain trust took to brainstorming. And they came up with an idea: Test rides. Test rides around the country. Test rides wherever more than two bikers stood in a parking lot. Test rides where Harley would (gasp!) talk to the test riders afterwards for direct product input.

Enter HOTB. In 1985, he was in Ruidoso, N.M. at the national fall rally there, with a certain police chief (CPC). And they — aboard a Suzuki and a Yamaha — went on one of those test rides.

They road the FLT and the FLHT — the big "dresser" bikes with the frame mounted fairing and the bat-wing fairing. Good bikes. Powerful. Not sporty. Throwing some heat. Rattling the powertrain. But not junk, like the old AMF. (Which the CPC had owned. Which had failed him. Which had soured the CPC on AMF HDs.)

They returned home in two days during an epic ride. (34 degrees, rain from Ruidoso to St. Louis, with snow on the ground in the Texas panhandle.)

That's another story.

This is not: In 1986, CPC bought a Liberty Edition FLHT as a result of that ride in Ruidoso.

And in 1986, HOTB seriously considered a HD FXRT. But the Harley was twice the price and half the capability of a BMW R80RT. The BMW had a proven track record. A neutral seating position.

The Boxer got the nod, and the rest if history.

Schmidt's point: Harley woke up to the fact that they weren't just selling quality. They had to sell a lifestyle. An attitude. Freedom. And yes, that took a much higher quality bike than AMF had put out. (Interesting, Schmidt never mentioned the government market protection a recovering HD won from the feds back in those years.)

Schmidt's points can be applied to any enterprise:

Your company:
• Change the way people see your business.
• Create change — personally. There is no "we" until "I" buy in. If your employees don't believe in your business, why would anyone else?
• Companies must surprise and delight customers. Note that: customers must be surprised and delighted. Not companies. Not stockholders. (That will come, if No. 1 is done right.)
• Companies must transcend the product.

Your customers
• How do people describe your business?
• It's all about human behavior. And human behavior is inherently irrational. Data is important, but humans act in self-interest nearly 100 percent of the time.
• What do your customers want? Deliver it.

Your employees
• Saving your job is an excellent motivator.
• Employees must have a passion for their jobs. They must exude that passion to customers. Does the person who answers the phone at your business exude that passion? Does every "touch point" between your business and your customers reflect your brand, your passion to exceed their needs?

Marketing
• There is no such thing as subtlety.
• Make people feel feel better about themselves.
• Your internal company culture will determine your external image. Which is why Harley executives ride with their customers. (What do the actions of your executive team say to your customers? Your employees?)

Parts of Schmidt's talk were pretty darn funny. He pointed out one picture of a Vanson-leathered BMW rider talking Harley's denimed CEO at the annual Ride to the Wall event. Schmidt said it was pretty unlikely that the BMW guy would ever join the HD tribe.

Here's something Schmidt didn't know: There was a lifer BMW guy in his audience.

A lifer BMW guy who now owns a Buell Ulysses.

Powered by a 1,203cc HD engine.

Why? Because Buell figured out what a BMW guy wants.

Dipped the stick in the RT recently, and the engine oil looked a little dark. Was a half-quart low, so what the heck, got home and decided to change it out for the summer. (Yes, did it in the fall.)

Everything going fine. Got my Spectro 20w-50 on the shelf, all my little trick RT oil change tools, oil filter kit off the shelf.

What they hey, got plenty of Spectro hypoid. Might as well pop the corks on the trio of rear drive drains, front, middle and back and get fresh there, too.

Argh! The front one, the main one in the tranny, is the nasty in the picture above.

Hypoid was fine, nice and golden, no foaming, no drek. Hmmm.

Back one not so bad, "normal," if a little black.

Both magnetic corks always had a little debris on them, nothing you wouldn't expect. Last oil change was at the dealer. Surely they would have wiped off the gunk?

My learned sources at advrider.com tell me it is the front bearing cage of the output shaft checking out of service. And I probably caught it in time to avoid major damage.

So, time for a TeamBoxer overhaul on the old girl, I reckon.

Let's see, I'll need a Handy lift, a ...

With the Ulysses up for her 1,000 mile break-in service, I opted for Old Reliable for my morning commute today, the 1986 R80RT with 102,931 miles on the clock.

This fine lady has served me well for ... lo, these 22 years. But with the grin-inducing Uly on site, she has been rather, uh, neglected of late.

A 37 degree morning today, and the RT's floating trickle charger was showing a fat, warm green light. With showers in the forecast, that big RT fairing looked mighty inviting.

But even after only a few weeks off the saddle, some familiar Airhead traits leaped immediately to the fore:

• Communication: She wants to know what you're doing, before you do it. None of this "bang the throttle open, bang it shut" stuff, Mein Herr.

• Saddle style: The German sport-touring mission is drastically different from the Uly street-fighter experience. (The handlebar felt like a tiller, for example.)

• Size: She feels positively petite compared to the big-boned Uly.

• Juice: German or American, heated grips and electric vest hookups ROCK.

• Half in the bag: The RT's old-school BMW saddlebags are actually smaller and narrower than the Uly's. (Something I never even considered, pre-purchase.) Nice when I'm navigating between vehicles in the pole barn, though: The Uly bags are wider than the handlebars. A computer shoulder bag nearly fills one RT bag; on the Uly, half the bag is still left.

• Key messages: The RT's saddlebag latches are better, because they close securely without locking. With the Uly, I'm always digging for the little blue key. (Either way, Mr. Motorcycle Manufacturer, saddlebags should operate with the ignition key.)

• Power. What power? Just kidding. I found myself spooling the RT immediately into 5,000 rpm territory to wring out the ponies.

• Grace. The RT beats the Uly hands down in this department. She glides, she surfs, she channels through an apex like a marble in a groove. And an eye-grabbing ballroom dancer, with an instantly recognizable, classic, curvaceous, shape.

Well, all good things must come to an end.

Today we had a 600 mile pull from Knoxville back to Michigan. No sleeping in! This would be the "Stigs" biggest single day pull of his life. (n00b!)

It was a rather chilly 39° as we pulled out at 8 a.m. "Stig" had wondered about putting on his heated vest, but after five miles he had it amping away under his 'stich.

Ten miles from the hotel it started to rain. And it rained. And it rained. And it rained. All through Tennessee. All through Kentucky. All through Ohio.

Thankfully it warmed up to 40°.

This is where having the right gear makes all the difference. My Aerostich triple digit rain gloves kept the rain out and the heat in. "Stig's" one-piece Roadcrafter suit was flawless, as was my BMW Rally jacket. What could have been a miserable day in the saddle was a "so what."

Once we hit the Michigan border, the heavens opened up and sunlight streamed through. It's amazing what a little bit of sunshine can do to lift your spirits.

Just north of Ann Arbor the big GS stumbled. The trip meter read 171. I should have at least 10 more miles in her. Another stumble and I knew she was dry. The big girl was all over the map during this trip. One tank went over 220 miles. But we had been pushing hard into an oncoming wind.

The "Stig" pulled up behind. He just shook his head as I explained the situation.

You have to remember something about the "Stig." He is precise. He would have calculated the amount of head wind, our speed, gravitational pull, the curvature of the earth, the rotation of the globe, and would have figured out that we should have pulled over 9.89 miles ago.



"Stig" keeps track of every single drop of gas that goes into his bike. For all 20+ bikes in his fleet. It's his racing background. Very embarrassing to run out of gas on the track.

I would have felt stupid if it wasn't for the Jesses. Ahh, the Jesses. Those aluminum boxes are big enough to hold a kitchen sink. Or just a quart of gas.

A minute later we were back on the road.

An hour later we were back home.



I think the "Stig" had a good time.

But sometimes it's hard to tell.

By late afternoon we had found a spot to "Stig's" liking for lunch.



The Balsam Mountain Inn is beautiful. Restored to the nth degree. This would be a great place to stay for a night or a week.



The pie was good, but rather small, and priced for people who drive Bimmers. not rode Beemers.



Nice spot to let the calories do their work after lunch.

If you haven't heard, there is a road in the mountains of North Carolina called the "Tail of the Dragon." It consists of 318 curves in 11 miles and is located near Deals Gap. It is becoming famous as the premier motorcycle road east of the Mississippi.

The road draws motorcyclists from all across the nation. We saw plates from as far away as Alaska.

The Dragon was not the only strange animal hanging around in the North Carolina hills. Beasts ranging from Buells to Suzukis roamed the curves. The entire place has a carnival/zoo atmosphere. Bikes would literally launch from one staging area. Front wheels heading skyward.





Oh yeah – the bugs were out. Side note: Our hosts from the previous night told us a great story bug story. A bunch of Harley riders were going out for a evening ride on the Blue Ridge. The host said be careful of the bugs. One of the riders said that bugs don't bother us. They responded that it not the bugs it's the bats coming in to eat the bugs. The year before a bat diving for dinner got wedged in the side of an open-face helmet. He just about rode off the side of a mountain before he managed to get it out.



"The Stig" shook his head several times as we walked around the staging area. I could tell he was thinking someone is going to get hurt.



As usual, he was right. Halfway through the 11 miles, paramedics had someone strapped to a gurney while his buddies looked on. The remains of his sport bike were off to the side of the road.

The road itself is one heck of a ride. We rode through twice. The road has a nice cadence, with a few tricks up it's sleeve. If you worked on one end of the Dragon and your house was at the other end of the Dragon, life would be very, very good. (Of course you wouldn't want anyone else to know about it.)



Michael rounding a corner on the Dragon. Photo by Killboy.com



Stig always upright and proper. Photo by Killboy.com

By the time we got done with the "Dragon," daylight was dwindling. Someone had mentioned the Cherohala Skyway, and how we shouldn't miss it. So off we went.

Temperatures starting dropping, sunlight was fading, and we needed to make time. After five minutes on the Cherohala Skyway, it became apparent that not a lot of vehicles were about. We flipped the heated grips on and sped onwards.

Not sure who surveyed the Blue Ridge or the Cherohala Skyway, but they created some incredibly precise curves. After 15 miles on the Cherohala, I noticed my speeds were creeping steadily upward. After 30 miles, it was time to slow down a little bit. (Right) Incredible scenery flew by but we were in the groove and never even stopped for one photo opportunity.

After 55 miles our fun came to an end, and we pushed onward to Knoxville.

How bad of a day can it be when this is the view out the motel window?

We pulled in late in the evening and rolled through a couple of little towns looking for a place to stay. Every place we saw, "The Stig" immediately turned up his nose/helmet. So we kept pressing onward. We ended up in Little Switzerland at the Alpine Inn, run by Ron and Sue Lough.



The scenery off the breakfast deck is incredible. Owner Tom said that in a couple of weeks, once the foliage blooms out, it will feel like sitting in a tree house.

Clouds rolled over the valley during breakfast.





Great breakfast and healthy too.



With the clouds came rain. For the first part of the morning, the fog socked visibility below 100 feet. Looked like a great excuse for another cup of joe.



The Inn even has special parking for cycles.



Can you get lost on the two-way parkway? Well, if you're Michael, it is a definite possibility.



A great thing about riding the Blue Ridge Parkway in the spring? Very light traffic, and no law enforcement. We didn't see one LEO during our parkway pass-through.



Almost every vista from the Parkway is a jaw-dropper.



"Stig" loves the predictable curves.



The Stig practices Zen-like patience during yet another photo op.

The man from Kentucky gets the big bucket.

Ocracoke makes for some nice photos in the morning light.

Trying to get "The Stig" and I out of the bed before daylight is akin to getting a rooster to crow in the dark of the night. But the roosters were crowing as we rolled out at 6 a.m. There is nothing like a deadline to get you motivated in the morning. And our deadline was to catch the 7 a.m. Cedar Island ferry. This would get us back to the mainland and back to the mountains.



Well "The Stig" and I are ferry veterans, er, veterans of several Lake Michigan crossings aboard the S.S. Badger. So we figured that we would just grab some coffee and breakfast aboard the boat in the morning. You know, just like on the Badger.

Boy were we decaffeniated. Nothing but vending machines aboard. On one of the few days the saddlebag Thermos had not been topped off with java.

Even the ducks were begging for food.



So we munched on gorp, nuts and beef jerky. Then washed it down with a nice, cold Coke. Ah, breakfast in North Carolina. It really doesn't get much better than this.

Then there was the security breach incident.

As a photographer you always look for a better angle. One such angle was clearly from the top deck of the ferry.



Well no sooner did I step aboard the top deck and fire off my first frame when a rather perturbed ferryman came running out to tell me that I just breached security. Didn't I see the sign on the gangway?

Huh? I didn't see any sign.

Of course the ferryman rather doubted my story. So before you could say strip search, I walked back to the gangway. Indeed the sign was missing.

Once off the boat, we were back on the road. We figured we would take 70 all the way up to Raleigh. What a miserable piece of asphalt. It felt like all of suburbia had grown together. Finally, we got to the super slab and back on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The Stig immediately cheered up, as you can easily see.



Stig really likes the closed circuit feel of the parkway. It takes him back to his racing days. Even though he never raced blue dolphins.



Stig wasn't the only one with a smile on his face.



At one point, near Boone, the Blue Ridge was closed. It was getting late. There was nice hotel with a restaurant nearby but ... we pulled a Todd and pushed farther on down the road to Little Switzerland.

By the time we got into LIttle Switzerland the restaurant borders were closed. Even more distressing for dehydrated bikers — no beer. Anywhere. Not that "The Stig" didn't try. He even lowered himself by looking for beer at Wal-Mart. Nope, nada, no way. We ended up pouring an extra Gatorade over ice for the evening libations. To add insult to injury, the only food we could bear to eat was Kentucky Fried chicken.

The good news was that we had found a little diamond in the rough to stay for the evening. More on that in the next post.

After a 45 minute ferry boat ride, we finally rolled into Ocracoke — a whopping 71 miles down the road from Kitty Hawk. It was already mid-afternoon and the weather was drop-dead gorgeous. In the 70s with bright blue skies.

We could hop onto the next ferry, which sailed in 90 minutes, or find a place to stay and eat shrimp and drink beer.

Gee. Tough choice.



A hundred dead scrimp later and four beers and at least our stomach were full.

We found a great place to stay at Edwards motel and we were set. So we did took the tourist tack:

Visit the Ocracoke lighthouse.



Found a place for Todd to live.

.

Visit the beach



Shoot pictures of the locals.





And walk back to eat fried clams at — where else? — The Flying Melon restaurant.

If you ever get a chance to meet "The Stig" you soon realize that he is larger than life. Here is living proof at Cape Hatteras lighthouse.



FYI: No photoshop here boys and girls.

"The Stig" woke to the sound of surf this morning.



He was not in the mood for more rain. So he called to the Gods of Speed to provide some better weather. And so they answered his prayers!


The morning fog and mist disappeared, but not before rusting the discs on the bikes. Salt corrosion must be a bite if you live out here.

This was the first visit to the Outer Banks for both of us. The huge homes built on this tiny spit of land are amazing. Doubly so since this is one of the areas that continually get pounded by hurricanes. Had to laugh that one of the area high school's nickname is "The Hurricanes."



The area is filled with history. From the Wright brothers' historic flight at Kitty Hawk to Blackbeard's rampages. Wonder what the old pirate would think having his name attached to mini golf and other tourist monstrosities. Just another way to rake in the treasure, arrggggh.

The area is a birder's heaven. From sand piper's roaming the beaches to pelicans clipping the wave curls, there is a ton of birding to do in the area.

Just a quick trip recap:

Day one: Hop on the slap and hammer on down to Marietta, Ohio. Chewing up 440 miles. Lunch at Jerusalem Gardens in Ann Arbor, dinner at The Levee House Cafe in Marietta, Ohio. Accommodations at The Lafayette Motel. MAP

Day two: Back roads to Clifton Forge, Virginia, 350 miles. Breakfast at the Hotel. No need for lunch when you can hammer through curves for most of the day. Great pizza and beer delivered directly to the gazebo at the Firmstone Manor. MAP

Day three: Made a dash to the coast of North Carolina at Kitty Hawk, 311 miles. Got up late. Incredible breakfast at the Firmstone. Ride through beautiful weather through most of North Carolina until we get close to the Outer Banks. By the time we hit the causeway heading across to Kitty Hawk the winds are blowing a cold mist of salt spray at 30 mph. Thank goodness a fine meal at Goomba's along with two pitchers of beer took the chill off. Cheap motel at the Days Inn. Ya can't beat 54 bucks and right on the beach. MAP