Rockin' and Reelin' in Invercargill, New Zealand

14,857 miles. 23,771 k. 145 days. October 15, 2004 to March 10, 2005. RIP

AU$9,345 for the bike.

As I worked 2 jobs for 18 months, 7 days a week, day, swing and graveyard shifts (can't stress that enough because it was fucking miserable), I must've heard from friends, family, co-workers and strangers, "How can you trust the guy?" about 1.48 zillion times. My answer, "If he wasn't trustworthy, people would talk."

A month before I left I heard a couple warnings about the reliability. Well, it's paid for so no turning back. I show up and he wants more money. In Australia, EVERYONE seems to know his reputation -- buy parts from the guy, which are often misrepresented, but never let him work on anything. I had a stranger come up to me on the street because he saw my bike and he said the same.

Another:

"Who'd you buy the bike from?"

"Phil Hitchcock", I say.

"Funny, I've never heard of him".

Someone else says. "He means Phil the Fuck-wit".

"Oh, you just buy parts and don't let him blah blah blah". I heard it all over Australia, and the joke, "Did he see you coming or did you phone ahead?" several times. It gets better with age, that one does.

But youse pays your moneys and youse takes your chances.

Ian Gowanloch and Bob Brown both put in many hours of work that that wouldn't charge me for: you've been had, but good luck. They both also said, "Changing the oil every thousand miles is too often but that's probably why the bottom end hasn't given up the ghost. Hope for the best".

On March 11, she breathed her last. With 143 miles before the next scheduled oil change.

I should've known it was coming. For the last 3 weeks nothing had broken. Ian and Bob had worked on it and no problems. No oil leaks. The lights were working. Carb problems fixed with a wonderful Amal instead of the used and abused DellOrto. Just the slipping clutch but they were used plates and I've been on the hunt for replacements. The bike had me worried it was running so well.

When I first picked it up, it broke 2 hours later. Nearly everyday something would break or rattle off. Riding through the bush fires with the leaky tank was my favorite. I was expecting trouble, otherwise I would've taken a Japanese bike. I kept it running around Australia with duct tape, zip ties and bailing wire, but I don't think a ziptied duct tape piston would provide much compression. All I was after was the reliable engine I paid for -- which this one wasn't from the get-go.

Yes, everyone on Earth was right and I am wrong. I should've built my own bike knowing that it'd break rather than overpay someone else.

The POS clutch lever brace snapped on the morning of March 11th. Nice timing, though. About a mile before a Suzuki dealership. I got a used one and the bike ran beautifully. I think having a good clutch lever helped the slipping clutch. Finally something broke so it'll be fine for the day, I thought. Not knowing the bike bought me a birthday present.

Fizzle. Ka-chink. It blew the birthday horn, centrally located in Middle of Nowhere, New Zealand.

I knew I'd run out of money in New Zealand. I'd get a job in Japan for a year and head from Japan towards Italy. But now I'm screwed which will set me back more than expected.

The head came off and it wasn't pretty. Broken rings and the piston skirt crumbled. The sleeve has some scorch marks. I've seen worse, but I haven't done worse. It's the best birthday present I could expect in a foreign land.

I've got a round trip ticket from Christchurch to Japan for Jay and Chikae's wedding in a month. Then what? Two years working in Japan? Fly back to California and find a job? Make my way to Oregon for a job? Find $10,000 lying on the ground? Marletta, my last girlfriend, wants to join me. She'll strangle me within 500 miles, but it gives her something to think about.

Ian Gowanloch told me, as he worked on my bike, to sell it at a loss and write it off as a learning experience. He said, at best, it's a AU$5,000 bike. Ian didn't say this next part, but I suppose I paid the Septic Premium that I heard about all around Oz. Inflate the local price if an American is buying.

Ian did say sell it said he'd build me a Duc single that would make the trip. The later Spanish built singles were reworked from the larger twins instead of built up from small 175s. It's more reliable to work down than up and he'd start from one of those. An over-engineered single should last forever.

Bob Brown told me, as he worked on my bike, dump the bike in the ocean as a learning experience and he'd build a bike that'd work. He suggested a Pantah 650.

Brook Henry just laughed after Vee Two worked on it and said good luck.

John Romano told me, sell it and he would ship a Vincent Comet.

Doug Towsley, who I still need to find an Aussie Playboy for, said show up to Oregon and he'd get me a job and teach me how to work on old Brit bikes and I could build my own.

Scary John said, "I'll trade you straight across for this Rickman-framed Matchless 500" at Bob's shop.

I almost regret turning down the offers for the stompings offered by bikers (bikies in Oz) for the guy I bought the Duc from, but without the drama around this Linda Blair bike, I wouldn't have met the great people I've met.

What to do, what to do?

Afterwords:

I meet a guy named Matt in Dunedin. He's going to ride across Australia with his friend Doug and then up from Argentina to Canada. They're both mechanical engineers with matching Honda XR650s. I stayed at Matt's house a couple nights as I explored Dunedin, as I left he gave me Doug's work number.

It took me 3 days to go from Dunedin to Invercargill and I spend the day finding Burt Monro's house (torn down but there's a new house there), talking to his neighbor and finding his bikes. Burt Monro bought a 1920 Indian Scout and after 40 plus years he broke 200mph on it when he was 67 years old. Unrecorded at Bonneville but his highest recorded was 188mph. Equal crazy speeds on a Velocette single with a Vincent head. 141mph on a 500 single. There will be a movie out sometime and you should see it.

I call up Doug, we meet at a bar for a beer and he shows me around, buys me a steak dinner for being crazy and puts me up for the night.

The next day I leave headed toward's Milford Sound riding in the rain. The bike makes a knocking sound and I pull over ready to yank in the clutch if anything spooks me. I'm thinking, if I was in California, I'd put this in a truck. But I'm not. I'm in New Zealand, far from home and all alone.

The knocking stops and it smokes a bit. I tell myself, just the oil ring breaking knowing the big end was performing Last Rites but you have to have something to hope for. I'm in Te Anau and I think, well fuck Milford Sound (that's like if the Grand Canyon was at Yosemite and I backed away 25 miles from being there). I'll go slow and head back towards Amberley.

I did about 50k when the knocking starts again. I'm really in the soup now. I kill it and coast into a deer farm driveway. Pull the plug and push the kickstarter by hand. That doesn't sound right. It's a death gurgle. And then, I think, one of the piston skirt refugees worked itself into something and declared itself a political refugee. Engine seized.

I walk up to the deer farm and call Doug. Hey Doug, I know you don't know me but my bike is FUBARed and do you mind taking a 4 hour detour on your 10 minute way home from work to pick me and my bike up? He says sure. Russel McDonald, the deer farmer makes a call and arranges to have my bike freighted to Invercargill for $28. I call Doug to say nevermind, suck down a quick cup of coffee, and the truck shows up.

Doug and I yanked the head off my bike and we put it back on last night. He fed me again, and we worked on his Honda XR650. It's a lot nicer working on a running bike and ending up with a running bike.

Matt is coming down today. They were going for a ride on the XRs but instead we're going hunting. I get the idea that "hunting" means "out to the bush with whiskey and beers". Although there is a bagpipe band competition that I was interested in this weekend, I'll just drink in the hills.

Monday, my birthday, I've arranged a van rental. I'll take my bike up to Nigel's in Amberley and need to have the van back on Tuesday. I'm in a small town and can't use a van for a one-way ride. 8 hour drive each way when I take the slow boring route. Then figure out how to get from Invercargill to Amberley again.

And at some point, I'll catch up with the stories since I'm still at the mid December part and I'd like to talk about Porky & Deb and Christmas with Tony & Liz Hines and the 5 kids.

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Posted by DaveSmith at March 11, 2005 04:17 PM