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I should know better than to answer the phone on the last day of filing for office, especially when the call comes from the area code of the state capital or worse yet, DC. Thought I’d dodged the bullet when we found another fool for the political suicide mission of running as a democrat in my republican leaning state house district. But said fool wised up at the last minute and declined to run. Minnesota’s state house democratic majority leader then called me, at precisely an hour before filing closed at the courthouse 22 miles away. I tried to talk her out of it, but problem is, we owe her, being that’s she’s made the 150 mile plus trek from the state capital in St.Paul to our district for numerous events. And unlike our majority leader who despite living in big city Minneapolis is a closet farmer who’s decorated his capital office with model tractors he’s built, our majority leader isn’t a country mouse and probably considers her rural trips to be work. So after about 5 minutes of haggling I moved to end debate so I could make it to the courthouse and file before they closed.

So my mission (impossible) for this summer and fall is to keep the republican incumbent busy so he can’t help out other republican candidates in districts where a democrat actually has a chance of winning. Well, that’s the mission I was assigned… One of the pleasures of knowing that you’re going to lose anyway is that you can turn the campaign into an opportunity to test all kinds of campaign strategies. Like, which will get more votes… An old airhead with a classic Motorvation Spyder sidecar or a 2000 Guzzi Quota with a rainbow colored sidecar? Should I make a fluorescent Dakar jacket or a leather Army Air Corps replica leather jacket my campaign uniform? Are farm Auctions a good place to campaign, especially when there’s lots of old iron? Is it good campaign manners to shame a bunch of late model chromed out Harleys at a bike show by parking the “V-twin done right” Guzzi next to them, or would the old “survivor” airhead be in better taste?

So yes, I’ll be missing a few rallies this summer, but I’ve already worked up my excuses to sneak off the campaign trail to make the BMWMOA and Guzzi national rallies. Plus now I have an excuse to attend every car show, bike show, tractor pull, auction, and bike night in my 6 county district… Let the campaign begin!

And if elected, I’ll demand a recount!

 

If you’ve followed this attempt at a blog for awhile or know me in person, you’re probably aware that I am afflicted with a passion for politics of the democratic persuasion. Thus while the real motorcyclists hereabouts were enjoying the downpours at the Hiawatha Rally, I was driving to the Minnesota Democratic Farmer-Labor Party convention in Duluth, 300 miles distant from my heavenly Buffalo Ridge cave. 

The downside of living out here is that there aren’t a whole lot of democrats around, heck, there just plain ain’t a whole lot of people around. So for the mere mistake of showing up at the biaanual february party caucus and ensuing party conventions of ascending geopolitical square mileage, you get appointed to a whole bunch of party positions. Thus I am a county, senate district, and state convention delegate as well as “Outreach and Inclusion Officer” for county, senate district, and congressional district party units. I’m also an alternate to the debating and partying society know as the State Central Committee, which given that the actual delegates have a poor attendence record, means I’m a delegate if I bother to show up. The upside is that back in the big cities people fight tooth and nail for these positions, because they do give one a little political power base… But sorry, I can’t “fix” speeding tickets!

Now in my should be more humble opinion, political parties spend all too long and waste all too many meetings and such getting ready for elections, only to half the time lose the actual election. Meanwhile, clever people like moderate republican Arne Carlson put together a winning campaign in just a couple weeks to defeat an incumbent democratic governer in 1990. And to prove that wasn’t a fluke, in 1998 Jesse Ventura won the governership on the new Independence Party ticket with a low budget campaign that didn’t really take off until the last couple weeks before the election. The other thing that ticks me off is that the Minnesota’s capital and 2 largest cities are on the other side of the state from me, and the party thinks that’s where the statewide meetings should be held. And just so the other eastern corners of the state don’t feel left out, once in awhile they rotate the meetings to Rochester and Duluth, even farther away.

This was Duluth’s year, and despite having an abundance of incumbent governer and such and thus not much business to actually transact, the party planned a three day long friday through sunday convention to benefit the local hospitality industry. Most of us delegates, especially the poorer ones, had other plans… We drove up saturday morning to be in attendance when the bulk of the convention’s business was to be transacted, then drove home saturday evening, eschewing the evening’s partying and sunday’s trivial transaction of party business. The only thing that interested me on sunday’s agenda was rebuffing the environmental extremist’s attempt to ban copper mining in Minnesota, but the hometown labor folks rebuffed that effort quite well without my help. I swear, these unsatisfiable environmental extremists are the democratic party’s equalivent to the Tea Party that haunts the republicans- unwilling to compromise and absolute hypocrites, trying to ban copper mining while entranced with electric cars!

So I loaded up the Golf TDI Wagen with a dining table and chairs and headed to Minneapolis friday morn, delivered that load, mowed the lawn at my worthless Minneapolis home, and headed over to an old friend and fellow convention goer’s apartment for the night. Up early saturday, and make it to Duluth just as the convention is gaveled to order and an hour or three of pomp, ceremony, and time killing begins to give everyine time to get there, get registered, and find their seats. Registration was quick, thanks to rather light attendance… We had 4 delegate seats for our county, and at peak had only 3 in attendance. Meanwhile, the deluge began… Some friends of mine rode (yup, democrats ride too!) to the convention, planning on staying over until the rains let up, then had to head home to visit a hospitalized accomplice in the middle of the deluge and were thoroughly drenched, despite having decent rainsuits.

Meanwhile, there was a backstory playing out… The party is looking for a candidate in my legislative district, nobody has volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb to take on this suicide mission in this republican leaning district, and for about the last week they’ve been strongly hinting that I should run. Clearly they were getting desperate, as filing for office closes at 5 p.m. tuesday. So as I’m wandering the convention aisles, fellow democrats are encouraging me to run. Now this is a bridge way too far… I enjoy campaigning for other people, especially when motorcycles are involved. But run for office? I’d have to behave myself, dress half decent, and worst of all, hit up all my friends for money! So without even thinking, I concocted a plan… For a start I used that term “environmental extremist” on facebook, which caught the notice of a democratic legislative caucus staffer who took offense. Thus when the democratic state house majority leader was looking about the floor to fill out his slate of candidates with one in our laggardly district, he completely ignored me and found a nice lady from my district with a husband and a couple kids too boot. ‘Twas a load off my shoulders, thought I might have to really get wacho so they’d pick the hermit who lives out in the middle of nowhere and spouts conspiracy theories at anyone that will listen, and he wants to run! Funny thing, the local Tea Party wachos would probably like his conspiracy theories and vote for him…

So much relieved, I headed home, dropping off my friend and retiring for the night at my most humble Minneapolis abode. Actually the garage, a pretty decent structure of barely a decade’s age compared to my late grandma’s 127 year old house with the hole in the roof next door. This being Minneapolis and in the ‘hood to make it worse, some wannabe burglar busted out a window last winter, letting in who knows what all wildlife, so I spent the night in Hotel VW in deferance to any bats and rats that may have wandered in before I was able to repair said window. After arranging the “dunnage” used to protect the table and chairs into a comfortable bed, I slept well, trucking “bedbugs” know what I’m talking about… Pension check hadn’t shown up in my bank balance yet, so I had to exercise some restraint at Costco, then drove through the deluges home, the Golf TDI Wagen most unfazed by it all.

Just got a call from the district party chair informing me that our willing candidate wants to run, but hasn’t committed yet. I’m layin’ low ’til filing closes!

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This story starts back in the Civil War… My great great grandpa William Slyter enlisted in the 28th Wisconsin Infantry Company F and after a few minor skirmishes died of tropical disease near Memphis in the summer of 1863. Before my father passed away in 2000, he gave me an oral family history that pointed me towards Whitehall, Wisconsin. So one summer day in the 90s I rode over on the lovely alphabet roads along the great river and made the first of many visits to Whitehall’s courthouse, library, and cemeteries.

In the town cemetery I was scoping out the substantial monument to an Isaac Fuller, who William’s widow married a few years after his passing, only to have Isaac struck dead by lightning a couple years later. The ground was soft underfoot with a century’s accumulation of topsoil and pine needles, but what’s this hard thing under my foot? Looking down, I note a flicker of white stone amid the green and brown, so I get down and investigate further. Hmmm, this flat rock seems to extend a bit, and are these characters chiseled in it? removing a few handfuls of dirt revealed a broken old military standard gravestone. I got some paper towels and water, and with the help of a few selections from the BMW’s complete tool kit, the words appeared… This was the gravestone of William Slyter, my g-g grandpa!

As always happens in genealogy, opening one door merely reveals a bunch more, each full of further intrigue. I wrote out a bio of William and the family history and left copies in a baggie sticking out from under the gravestone, which was noticed by the County Veterans Service Officer who provided a proper wrought iron identifier and they decorate the grave every memorial day. The bio and history was also noted by a fellow genealogist who contacted me with a few more bits of the story.

Turns out that William’s widow Saphronia was pretty resourceful, and with 4 children to feed she had to be. She found her way across Wisconsin to Whitehall and married the aforementioned Isaac Fuller, and before his untimely end they had a child, Wellington Grant Fuller. And undaunted by the loss of Isaac, a few years later Saphronia married another local farmer, West Daggett. Being up in years by then they moved off the land into a palatial for the times house in Whitehall where they both passed away as the 20th century dawned.

Now, I should note here that my father’s side of the family, the Slyters, are with occasional exception a bunch of drunks, never do wells, etc., and thusly not much of anyone has bothered to document their dysfunctional family history. My mom’s side, the Shobe’s, has regular reunions and has even published a history book, which is updated online. This makes the Slyters far more interesting to study, and as you can imagine, William and Saphronia and all her husbands were not going to go quietly into history. Heck, William was the sane one, a carpenter, and I’ve found monuments for him at the Memphis vet’s cemetery as well as in Whitehall. That may or may not be explained by the fact that the 1860 census showed a William T. Slyter and a William F. Slyter living next door to each other in Menominee Township, Wisconsin, both carpenters and one a generation younger than the other and married to Sophronia. The military is confused too, sometimes giving William the “T” middle name and sometimes “F” in their records. They generally list the birthdate for the younger William though, but the military standard gravestone in Whitehall gives a date of death of July 15, 1862, a couple months before William enlisted and a year exactly before the date of death listed on the gravestone in Memphis. Civil War history buffs tell me this is par for the course, the war being a tragic farce of disorganization that ended only when the Union got their stuff halfway together. If you wonder why the military is so obsessed with discipline and chain of command, the Civil War made them that way- they actually had neighboring militias fighting against each other!

Given the family history, it thus comes as no surprise that the inheritance of West and Sophronia’s small mansion in Whitehall would be disputed. The disputant was an R.O. Broadway of South Dakota, who alleged by handwritten agreement that he’d somehow acquired the property from Sophronia’s son Wellington Grant Fuller, by then living 300 odd miles west in Colton, South Dakota. And Wellington claims he bought the property fair and square by making regular payments to mom and dad, with the property to be delivered upon their deaths… Suppose they did deals like that before Social Security.

Now I was tempted to ride the 600 mile round trip to visit William’s memorial and the grave at the Fort Snelling National Cemetery of another William Slyter, my father who served in World War II. But I’d been there many a time, 600 miles of 2 lane is a long day in Minnesota, and the F800S’ front tire didn’t look to have 600 miles of tread left. But what the heck… I’m right next door to South Dakota, and didn’t dad say that some of our family moved there and even ran for governor?

Now the neat thing about the genealogy web is that it keeps getting bigger and better. I’d never researched the alleged buyer of the Whitehall home, R.O. Broadway… Doesn’t just the name sound like the invention of a classic old west flim-flam man? Turns out that R.O. Broadway also put a “Dr.” before that name, and he’s listed as such in a turn of the century directory of physicians in South Dakota. But unlike most of the doctors in that directory, there’s no listing of what medical school he graduated from… And he is listed as practicing in little Bryant, South Dakota, conveniently located 100 miles west on a 2 lane I haven’t explored before.

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‘Twas pretty quiet on Main Street, and the rest of Bryant too. No sign of “Doctor” Broadway’s office, ’tis a clinic there but it’s clearly been built in the past few years. So I retreat to the town’s Cenex Co-op C-Store and grab a coffee and some Wi-Fi. Looks like Mr. Broadway was also known as Robert Broadway, and after 1905 he had no recorded presence in Bryant. But he did buy some land between Pierre and Rapid City in 1920, just in time for the dust bowl. Time to google Wellington some more… Hmmm, here’s a picture of his grave site in Colton, guess that’s where I’m ridin’ next!

80 miles further the Zion Lutheran Cemetery was easy to find, but Wellington’s grave wasn’t! Found a Fuller gravestone, but ’twas the wrong Fuller. Though I’d have time to hit Costco in Sioux Falls before closing, but spent a half hour walking the good sized graveyard before finding my Fullers. Paid my respects, took a picture, and rode the 70 odd miles home… With a stop at Micky D’s supper club to search online some more!

Rainin’ today, so no ridin’. And here’s a pix of the Suzuki rotary bike I walked away from saturday: 

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Ever optimistic, I rode a bit over a hundred miles to an auction today. The only item of interest (too me) was a 70s Suzuki RE-5 rotary engined bike, of which but a few thousand were built in one of Suzuki’s better marketing failures. As usual, the auctioneer wasted their ad space on a Harley and Sewage pump truck that shared the bill, which didn’t make much sense since the Suzuki rotary was getting way more interest than the Harley and the pump truck was near universally ignored. And the rust on the Wankel bike was well enough hidden that it wouldn’t look totally indecent in one of them tiny auction poster pictures or web page. So give the Suzuki the once over… engine turns over, rusty but not porous mufflers, dead battery, various wires loose. But seemed to be a couple halfway knowledgable buyers interested if not entranced, so hopefully I won’t need to buy and foster this rare breed.

The auction drags on, as the auctionneer works his way through the “smalls”, those little odds and ends like drills and shop vacs and coffee cans full of sockets, all probably the same size and of Chinese origin. It gets worse- No sooner is one flatbed farm wagon of smalls auctioned off and moved on, the auction helpers drag out more junk. Turns out the widow of the old geezer who’s passed on to the great gearhead garage in the sky isn’t just clearing out the geezer’s garage, she’s clearing out the house and moving to an apartment. So in gender fairness, memo to gearhead geezer’s wives: It’s OK to sell off the tools and “toys” if you ain’t gonna use them,  but hang on to the house… Better to pass on a home to the kids than a stack of rent receipts.

So I walk back over to the Suzuki and take another look. Now I don’t know Suzukis well, especially Wankel engined ones… But shouldn’t there be an air cleaner there? Said air cleaner is nowhere to be found, and checking the web, it’s not to be found in anyone’s parts inventories either. So just hang on an aftermarket ‘cleaner? Not a good idea… There’s an online forum for Suzuki rotary devotees, and the concensus there is that the filter is crucial to driveability, in fact some owner’s problems were solved just by switching back to a stock air cleaner. And did I mention, the inside of the gas tank was so barnacled that it looked like a navy rust research experiment?

So I got back on the bike, too nice a day to waste waiting for an old bike missing an unobtainium part to sell. And geezers, please keep those unobtainium parts you pull off the bike somewhere attached to it… Chance of rain monday, so I may reattach some of my own bikes’ missing parts.

Turn loose the little tykes…Image

We “think different” out here on the Buffalo Ridge, coming up with creative solutions for everyday and not so everyday problems. So a few years back the Glacial Lakes Motorcycle Club  (www.glmc.org) was founded for those of us that live out here in the middle of somewhere and enjoy riding around here. Then they came upon a nice riding area which happened to be an abandoned gravel pit and creatively got a small state grant to buy it and add a shelter and loo. And out here in these thinly populated parts we’ve got not that many riders with a diversity of interests- dual sport, motocross, trail riding, even ATVers… How do you please all of them? The solution was the “Off Road Poker Run”, a low key event where young and old and those fast people in between can plunk around or race to their heart’s content.Image

Even if that means crusin’ at barely faster than tricycle speeds. Slightly older rider here on a ’74 Suzuki 125 that’s been in his family since new, and he wasn’t holdin’ up the pace any:Image

ImageYup, those are license plates on those bikes… Looked to be a half dozen or so riders on street legal dual sport bikes.

Image‘Twas a pretty “technical” and downright rugged course too, with the exception of the loop used for the kid’s event. This hill and a couple others were the downfall of more than a few riders, and even the best riders took 6 minutes to turn a two mile lap, for a 20 MPH average speed. Though I’ve heard the course has been ridden on a 650 single, 125 to 250 ccs. seems to be the optimum size for this course.ImageAnd yes, they let the quads race with the bikes… Like I said, we “think different” here!Image

Some tough but fun riding, $3 gets you in the gate, and another $3 gets you a brat… What’s not to like?

Had some tough choices to make last weekend, the menu was full of delicious events- Lake Wobegon Airhead Tech Day in Minneapolis, Judson Cycle’s open house, and the always memorable Big Sioux Riders Campout at Fort Randall on the Missouri River. Tough choice- I like to support the airheads and our small rural clubs and dealers. But as been happening a lot this extended winter/spring, the weather decided for me… Forecast was for rain in Judson and Minneapolis on saturday but clear on the Missouri in South Dakota, and rain everywhere sunday… Guess I’m headed to the rally on the Missouri!

Now the Big Sioux Rally has been a saturday night only campout for it’s decade long history, but this year “Frump”, the lead conspirator, let out that he’d been arriving early on friday and making a two nighter of it. That mere suggestion moved the majority of this years riders to show up on friday too, and Frump has now declared that next years rally will be a planned rather than de facto two nighter. But we did a lot more than just camp and eat (too much)…

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Thus we spent a couple hundred miles wandering the wandering roads along the Missouri in South Dakota and Nebraska, taking in an expansive but not expensive breakfast and lunch in the process. Breakfast would have probably been ever more expansive, were it not for the church men’s group that had pretty well looted the buffet ahead of us, forcing us to order off the menu… IIRC, a full stack of ‘cakes was all of a quarter more than a short stack! My only objection was that the leaders of this expedition were on there own expedition for bonuses for the grand tour they’re competing in, and rode in a manner that gives “Iron Butt” riding a bad rep- 80 MPH down county roads during planting season, and a couple hours in the saddle during which the temp rose from 50 to mid 70s without a break long enough to take off some heated vests and insulated gloves. Frump, if you’ll give me a map so I know where you’re headed I’ll volunteer for “red lantern” duty next year.ImageOur ride included some less serious destinations too, and even the downright wacky. Now the winters are long here on the northern plains, and their ain’t much to do in these small towns. So gearheads sometimes find strange amusements, as pictured above. Guy’s been working on this yacht for years, and probably forgot about the minor technicalities of how it’s get from his landlocked town on a hilltop to navigable waters at least a hundred miles away. Lovely boat, but looks way too wide and tall for a normal heavy haul trailer… I’m guessing it’ll take a specialized boat moving trailer, and those generally live close to salt water. The nearest salt water is over a thousand miles away, and a trailer big enough for this load requires oversize permits even when empty… I figure at least $5 a mile or $10k just to deadhead the trailer and tractor here, then figure in a big crane at both ends of the haul to lift this piece of work onto and off the trailer and into the water. This assumes that the seldom used Missouri River nine foot channel is still a nine foot channel all the way to the head of navigation in Sioux Falls, and this boat needs seven and a half feet even empty with the keel drawn up. Gonna have to keep an eye on this project, may provide some interesting photos…

Despite the threatening forecasts, the ride home was pretty comfy… Rain let up around 6 ’til noon and it was 50 degrees and drizzle most of the way home. Got the lawn mowed between showers, then the heavens opened…

 

 

No, not for us… Just plop us in a sidecar and shuttle us from the Wisconsin Guzzi Rally to Naples Airhead Tech Day and similar environs and we’ll be happily pass on to that great rally in the sky. No, I mean our bikes, which are gettin’ kinda elderly.

Amazing how this pops up on you… Back in ’04 when the R100GS was acting up, I bought a nice R80ST with 67k mostly documented miles on the clock to take over the sidecar tuggin’ duties. Proved to be an excellent tug, combining near the R100GS’s power with the R65LS’s durability. Ran it 34k hard miles and over a hundred parades with nary a repair- a valve grind at 88k and a trasnmission bearing at 100k or so. So at 111k miles in the winter of ’10 I decide it’s time for a rebuild, ‘specially since the valves were running out of adjuster thread and you could feel the slop in the rings just turning the engine over by hand.

So in went new rings, and the heads went off for a $700 valve job with improved exhaust seats. Even though it wasn’t leaking that much oil, I bravely replaced the rear main and oil pump seals, but chickened out when I looked at the timing chain, despite the quivering timing image in the strobe light. This all dragged out from around thanksgiving through mayday. Over that time I either drained the final drive and forgot to fill it or it got laid on it side and drained itself… My first 50 mile test ride was thus accented with a baked final drive and slipping clutch. 

After recovering from the ensuing depression, I filled then drained then refilled the final drive, finding no little metal bits and everything tight as can be. I had less luck with the clutch, and despite multiple adjustment attempts and in situ spray degreasings, the slip only got worse… Heck, anything over a third throttle and I had an “undocumented feature”, an airhead slipper clutch! Took off the transmission and clutch, even ran the engine with just the flywheel on the back, and couldn’t make it leak. Even replaced a suspect PCV hose just to be on the safe side, made no difference. Took it apart again last winter, checked everything, and gave it a new “oil proof” clutch and replaced the admittedly tired clutch diaphram spring. Took the final drive to Florida, and at Naples Tech Day Roger and the assorted gurus helped me replace all the bearings, found one bad one. And acting on a hunch from a couple gurus upon finding oil between the flywheel and crank, I put thread tape on the flywheel bolts and gooped up the remaining gaps with silicone gasket maker in hopes of stopping the flow.

So I put the errant ST back together and make a few test rides… Still leaks some oil, but less. And, is that clutch slip?. Granted, I’d picked miserable weather for a test ride, 30 to 35 MPH headwinds that had the 50 HP hack down to 60 MPH, tops. And yes, the clutch is still slipping, but that now requires two thirds throttle to provoke. So while the bikes suffering has been eased, it’s still not returned to it’s youthful vim and vigor.

So adding it all up, I’ve poured a couple thousand in parts and I don’t want to add up how many hours on a 31 year old bike that still isn’t right, and even if it was right It’s worth not much more than I spent on it. I could have retired the ST, fixed the GS’s maladies, or bought a new sidecar tug. And after blowing a couple thousand on the ST, I ended up doing both of the other options- the GS was fixed and has covered 6k miles with only a chronic transmission leak, and I bought a 2000 Moto Guzzi Quota to pull the big sidecar. 

I spent most of my life in the trucking business, and saw similar expensive results from failing to timely retire trucks. Back when UPS was trying to get 20 years out of big trucks, I remember driving late 70s GMC cabovers that were functionally obsolete and in some applications downright dangerous, and often UPS had spent several times the trucks value repairing and rebuilding them. UPS wised up and decided to retire their big trucks after 9 years, although the Macks are lasting longer. But 20 years? UPS bought cabovers into the early 90s, and I last saw one on the road in 2006. While UPS was getting smarter, Hostess went crazy, first increasing expected lives for big trucks from 10 to 12 years and 15 to 18 years for the step vans. That alone paid the mechanics a fortune in overtime, and Hostess’ bankruptcies pretty much put a halt to new truck purchases after 2004. By the time Hostess shut down in 2012, the average fleet age was 18 years… Despite a surplus of “donor” trucks as the company shrunk to half it’s former size, they were running up 6 figure monthly truck rental bills by the time the Hostess trucks made their last runs.

They say our organs and bodies are like “time bombs”, geneticly programmed to fail at around 80 or so. Seems to be the same with our vehicles, as countless gaskets and seals give up and seemingly everything corrodes… Explains why my ’98 Ford Ranger has suffered multiple failures in the last year. Back in the 80s when I started riding BMWs, I remember an article in the MOA news suggesting that the then barely couple decades old /2 BMWs should be completely rebuilt if one intended to ride them much… Not sure, maybe Oak wrote that sage advice. Most of the airheads were built in the 70s, and the last ’95 models are pushing two decades old… So following that sage advice, our airheads deserve a full restoration or are gettin’ to that point if we want to enjoy them reliably. But unlike the scarce/2s, BMW built up an installed base of over 100,000 airheads in America alone. That’s enough to create a whole aftermarket of parts and considerable knowledge base, and also enough bikes that all but the rarest airheads can be bought for $2-4k in good condition. Start tearing into one, and it’s easy to spend more than that. 

So what’s the answer? For me, after making a financial fool of myself on a few rebuilds of old and not all that valuable vehicles, I replace a vehicle after 8-12 years and keep the old one as a spare, keeping it within a day’s ride of home. After 16-24 years the vehicle is retired, and even if it runs doesn’t venture much farther than walking distance, unless it’s totally restored. So in my Minnesota cycle fleet the ’07 F800S get’s ridden most, the hack’d Guzzi Quota next, the GS is a spare, and the ST is retired… Unless I get bored and restore it. When the weather or load requires 4 wheels, the 2013 VW Sportswagon TDI goes first, the ’03 Golf TDI is a spare, and I’ve about had it with the Ranger!

But the ST may have to wait for it’s rebuild, the ’66 Cooper S in the back of the garage is first in line!

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