Collected Thoughts

So much time has passed... it almost seems more unreal now that Klaus is gone. In many ways perhaps even more so than before. I think what has made me more aware of it is the glorious spring weather that has finally arrived. Cousin Paul has already been out for a ride, and I am planning to join him soon. Perhaps one Sunday afternoon we can all gather up on top of Bear Mountain for a picnic lunch or some sort. For many of you, it would be a first visit, but I think it would be a great opportunity to see a slice of what Klaus enjoyed about riding, the roads, and the view from above. 

After Klaus sold the Princess Zephyria, he bought THE BANDIT. An interesting champagne color, it was the first generation Suzuki GSF 1200S Bandit, used with some light modifications and low miles. A bit lighter than the Princess, and more powerful also, with a better chassis that was more responsive, Klaus really enjoyed the Bandit. One little problem was the carburetors. For some reason, Suzuki had choked the Bandit with jetting that made it run strangely. No matter how smooth you were, the throttle response was always a bit temperamental. So, Klaus came to me with the idea to rejet the carburetors and make it run more smoothly. He purchased a jet kit, and dropped off the bike. Of course, things were busy, and I didn't start working on the bike immediately. I figured there was no big rush, since the weather was dreary like this past spring. Of course, a week later... the spring sun emerged, and Klaus was now urgently calling me every few hours to see when the bike would be ready. So, finally I invited him to come over and assist me with the process. I figured it might relax him to see how it all worked up close.

We began the procedure in the cozy confines of my garage (at my Mother's house). Simply accessing the carburetors was a bit difficult on the Bandit, as on my ZRX. Something about the design of a naked/standard that precludes easy carburetor access I suppose. After several hours and a few skinned knuckles, we had removed the carburetors. I am fairly sure they had never been removed from the bike. We drained the fuel from the float bowls (bottom of the carburetors), and then made our attempts to remove some of the vacuum hoses so we could remove the slide covers (top of the carburetors) and access the slides and needles. This is where we ran into an bit of a glitch... Since the covers were plastic, and the hoses rubber, they were fairly well stuck on each other. 

Three of the hoses came off easily, but the forth.... well, it broke it's mount. Now we needed to order a new cover, or else the bike would run like utter crap with a vacuum leak on the cover. Klaus was so so disappointed... you could see the sadness come over his face, and then his whole body. Well, there had to be another way for Klaus to ride. A bit of tinkering, and I managed to plug the vacuum port and seal the slide cover. As it dried we installed the various brass jets. Each of them were crusted over with mung from years of neglect (before Klaus took possession). We had to tap and prod and coax each jet to break it free and replace it with the new larger jet. Again, great care was taken to avoid damage to the carburetors. 

Klaus was fascinated with the entire process. The selection of tools and chemicals, the ports and passages inside the carburetors, the slide diaphragm and it's vacuum operation. None of it escaped his curiosity and wonder. As the Uncle, I had to explain each detail, each movement so he would understand why we were doing what, when.... And WHEN would it be DONE! For Klaus to sit still for so long (perhaps 5 hours that afternoon), while so close to his bike that he could not ride, was perhaps just torturous to him. 

When it was all done, I suggested that perhaps I should be the first to ride it... Just to see his reaction. At first, he was stunned, almost speechless. Then he realized I was sitting on the bike in shorts and sandals and a t shirt with no helmet, and he knew I would never ride without the gear. And he knew I was teasing him and he gave me the big smile as he pronounced himself the Test Pilot! When he returned from a brief ride, he was ecstatic. The bike was "totally transformed, it's AAAAMMMAAAZZIIING, so FANTASTIC!"

A week or so later we replaced the broken cover with a new one (I had installed it on the left most carburetor body so we would be able to change it without completely disassembling the bike). By now Klaus had put some time into riding with the revised carburetor settings, and it was still not quite perfect. So we began scouring the internet for more information. We tried removing the inlet snorkle from the airbox. We tried fitting a full exhaust from Yoshimura. Nothing seemed to work. Finally, we brought the bike to Hudson Valley Motorcycles, and let them work on tuning the carburetors. We got close, but in the end, the Bandit was never quite perfectly sweet running. 

Some of you wonder why... why this obsession with making the bike run better. Well, for Klaus especially, the entire experience on the bike(s) transported him through many dimensions. Any small distraction (like the carburetors not working perfectly) were magnified, and became even greater during this ethereal shift of reality. Klaus was always searching for THE RIDE. Where he could exist in "the zone", experiencing the world around him in a manner only the bike(s) could provide. For many of us, this is what makes riding so special, and so important. For many, it is hard to understand just how deeply passionate Klaus was about riding. A good saying among motorcyclists is "It's not the risk that makes the motorcycling experience worthwhile. Its the experience that makes the risk worthwhile." - And for Klaus, life was meant to be experienced in big chunks, with deep passion, and tremendous excitement.

 

As I gaze upon the open road, ahead are stars to light the way and signs to choose between. And behind, in the shadows, follow memories of those who shared my travels for a time. Even now as I sleep, and the roar of the wind whispers in my ears, I can see you beckoning me forward, motor warmed, magical transport awaiting.

Uncle Steve