Search For the Perfect Bike Hauler
Last weekend I was doing what most slightly lazier-than-average Americans were doing at 9:30 in the morning, laying in bed in a semi-conscious state, when the serenity of knowing the alarm clock wouldn’t be buzzing anytime soon was ripped away in a flash. Actually it was more like a crunch, but, either way. After a loud creaking moan, slight tearing sound, and an incredible crash, I decided that perhaps I should get up and take a peek out the window just to make sure the apocalypse hadn’t in fact begun.
I would say we have learned that the little Kia Sportage was not made to carry 500lb + pieces of wood that fall on it suddenly.
It turned out that the giant (and by giant I mean 75 feet tall and at least 20 feet in diameter at its base) maple tree that normally provides shade to my driveway while asking very little in return, had a rather large (but healthy) limb succumb to the unyielding law of gravity - directly onto the roof of my car.
Before you ask, no it wasn’t even storming at the time. It was a slightly humid 65-degree morning with a bit of drizzle; in other words, perfect sleeping weather. The “tree expert” I later had assess the situation claimed that when trees get as large as this one, the sheer weight of the limbs with all of their summer leaves can be enough to cause breakage. In this case the branch in question weighed an estimated 500-plus pounds. Suffice to say, my Kia Sportage didn’t take too kindly to the role of breaking the branch’s fall. Once I concluded that it was merely my main source of transportation destroyed in the incident, I quickly returned to bed.
By now you have to be wondering (rightfully) what any of this has to do with motorcycles and, don’t worry, I’m getting there. The Kia currently sits at the closest dealership where a team of professionals wields an array of extremely sensitive equipment: levels, micrometers, and laser alignment systems to confirm what the naked eye would lead you to suspect immediately - the car’s totaled. The roof has a concave eerily reminiscent of Pamela Anderson’s cleavage and the doors are so bowed out from the frame that it looks more feasible for them to open upward, Lamborghini-style, than outward. Once homeowner's insurance gets word of this, I just may find myself again in the used-car market.
This is important because in my long and well-chronicled history of riding, racing, and going broke over motorcycles, I have, to date, never owned a vehicle that was suitable to transport so much as a moped in relative comfort. In fact, let’s review some of the measures I’ve been forced to take in the past to get around this bike-transport dilemma.
April 1995
While the Chevy S-10 is known as a very durable truck it was unable to hold up to our Rambling Man's bad luck.
In effort to race a well-respected local motocross track, I was forced to weasel passage for both my bike and I into my buddy Steve’s box van. Due to the fact that he was already short on space, I was forced to ride the full hour and a half each way sitting in the pitch-black rear of the van (next to the bikes) on a plastic patio chair that flexed and rotated each time Steve so much as tapped the brakes. Worse still was that the box van was averaging about eight mpg that day due to the wind and cost all of the passengers a $15 contribution for fuel. At least I got to come in 23rd-place for all my troubles.
August 2000
To reach a semi-local track day, my cousin Mike and I were forced to borrow our grandfather’s well-used S-10 for the day. After loading up the bikes, to the best of our ability, among the junk already occupying the bed (tools, stray nails, screws, and staples, even the float assembly from a toilet if memory serves), we each suffered a flat before even getting to the track. Worse still is the loading ramp (a thoroughly warped wooden plank) slipped off during the unloading process and caught me square on the foot. I can’t even remember how the trackday went, but the memory of loading and unloading still burns brightly.
July 2006
While the Tahoe is supposed to be tough enough to handle the biggest family, it clearly did not meet the "
Ramblin' Man Standards".
(M4 Sherman tank is the only vehicle currently meeting that standard)
In effort to do a little trail riding up in Allegheny National Forest, I borrowed my fiancée’s father’s homemade trailer to be attached to our Chevy Tahoe. The trailer seemed alarmingly heavy to me for its fairly simplistic construction, as indicated by the fact that simply tugging it into place to line up the ball hitch required two men and a farm boy. Off we went only to arrive at the park smothered in the smell of fried brakes that was smoldering from the Tahoe’s rims. After a few hours of riding, things cooled down and no visible damage was evident. About three miles from the park the backseat began to fill with smoke. I pulled aside only to realize the entire underbody of the vehicle was on fire! Once the fire department hosed the Tahoe down, we spent three hours on the roadside in the middle of nowhere waiting for the tow-truck to arrive. The interior reeked of lime right up until the day we got rid of the Chevy a year-and-a-half later.
So you see, if ever there was a perfect candidate to seriously consider purchase of a pickup truck, dump truck, or, hell, even a flatbed, I’ve certainly got the credentials. Just the other day I happened upon a nice rusty, primer-colored work van that would have been absolutely perfect for transporting bikes. The asking price was a reasonable $650/ best offer and the windshield proudly boasted, “Runs and drives”. I’ve never really been a van guy thanks to a reputation sullied by pedophiles, the Unibomber and Mr. T in the A-Team but, really, I can’t imagine that being too much worse than the measures I’ve been forced to take until now.
