Revival bikes

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Revival bikes
Johann

to travel

Revival bikes

Revival bikes
We don’t need millions…

From the idea of ​​riding around the world with a few leftover 70s and 80s bikes. Or at least to Corsica.

Monika Schulz, Annette Johann

08/18/2003

Everything was better. Just everything. The Alps, the cappuccino, the weather … Although ?? Strictly speaking, it was always pissed on the journey home, and the boxes were actually constantly breaking. Anyway, it was nice anyway. Back when Corsica was still at the end of the world and life lay alongside us. No money, I don’t know, but enough time, pioneering spirit and tools to turn the earth off its hinges. If necessary with the worst material, the main thing was that it had an engine and two halfway freely turning wheels. Splitting over the Splugen, triumphant through the boring Po Valley, on the last drop of fuel to the Mediterranean. “Dear mother, I’m fine, please send me my postal savings account.” It was wonderful. Okay, the bag soups might not have had to be, and the instant coffee for 1.29 marks was a bit strict, but otherwise: I’d like to do everything from scratch. Relive the first big numbers. Every kilometer, every pothole and the thrill: Does the ailing generator hold out, the sales tent at least tight from above and the ferry actually stops in Savona? Mobility guarantee, GPS, ABS ?? forget it! The adventure no longer dares to go on the road. Such a revival tour starts with the original shooting stars of the 70s and 80s. As Annette, the last screws on her ’77 Honda CB 500 Four tightens (see MOTORAD 1/2003), she knows that it will work. That everything would be exactly as it was before? with those same screwed-up nights before departure. And the rest of the small tour group knows it too: Karsten, who is currently trying to fix the screwed-up oil drain plug on a cheap Honda XL 500; Moni, whose doubts about a neat Suzuki GS 450 are growing due to the lack of chassis and brakes; Olli, whose Yamaha SR 500 Successfully resuscitated six months ago, but has since been held in dark barn custody. It starts tomorrow. Nothing is packed yet, and the four is still running far too fat. Wrong spray, guaranteed. She has to go through that now. At 2.15 a.m. no more carburettors are opened. You know it: just looked at it quickly and screwed up everything. Wrecked seals, float needle valves, or the hangman knows. No, no, better to be a tad too fat than not at all. Last short messages before the start: “Annette is looking for a handy 24-key for the ignition plate … Ollo has no sleeping mat … Moni brings a stove and pots … Eight o’clock, Herrenberg service station!” . After 145 kilometers, au cheek. Karsten’s single-cylinder enduro approved the first unction, Moni reports of anxiety in the Engelberg tunnel. In the middle of it all, the old fear: “What if the car dies now?” until we cross under the Gotthard, ”says Olli. “No way! We’re not going. ”Only the Autobahn as long as it doesn’t cost anything. »No pig could afford vignettes and tolls.« At a maximum of 110 km / h, the cabinet of horrors ottteln in the direction of Lake Constance. The XL can’t go faster, the SR doesn’t want to go faster, the CB would drink itself to death, the GS would bend. Feathers ?? yes, but the trendy 80s twin probably forgot how to dampen in a previous life: constancy, limits, stomach tingling. Do they notice? With their red license plates, GS and CB are on the verge of the tolerance of federal customs officers. But nobody is looking anyway. Nobody really looks at all. Perhaps a connoisseur of the 500 Four, undoubtedly the princess of the Panopticon. Even if she lets herself flow more and more unrestrainedly. Eight liters per 100 kilometers? Respect, lady. Everyone else is content with four to five. The combo is driven by bright sun towards the main Alpine ridge. Chur, Thusis, Via Mala, Splugen. Wow. Has it always been that high? Real pioneering feelings now: What a pass! You first have to come up with the idea of ​​blowing up a road in a mountain like this. “Alarm, Westfalia motorhome aft!” Olli’s warning scream ends the prayer: Whoever is up at the Italian border post first. Located 2113 meters above sea level, for the princess beyond good taste. With every meter of altitude, the four-cylinder runs worse, completely over-fat, and has to pit shortly before the pass. The End. Push. Beyond that everything will be fine, Annette tells her Honda. And that she would have always been great in the past ?? with the Splugens, Bernardinos and the Gotthards and so on. With a right foot and a smelly XL clutch, Karsten pushes the four up the last few meters, past the sympathetic-looking border guard. And when she rolls down to Montespluga village in the evening light, even spitting the first notes shortly before entering the village, she is almost the old princess again – 350 kilometers to Savona. First, however, vertically down the Splugen south ramp. Harakiri for family vans, Dutch cheese trucks and Harley drivers. Especially the dramatic turn right behind this Sacknacht tunnel ?? from the series »Turns That You Never Forget«. The cucumber troop slowly sneaks down to Chiavenna. Probably those who now have a little undercarriage. The GS 450 doesn’t have it, it hardly brakes at all towards the end of the descent, but shakes its hips miserably. Riding a motorcycle was different back then. Gradually the unexplained memory looms. It was less about “how” than about “in general.” The speed was adapted to the circumstances, not the other way around. And it was more exhausting too. Because 20 years ago 100 kilometers were almost exactly 100 kilometers, not half an hour on the autobahn. By the way, the autobahn, Tangenziale Nord, would have been a great alternative to the Milan rush hour. Even from Monika’s papal perspective, because there are no toll booths around the city. Only the targeted connection did not fit. So now a happy Italian evening. Horns, jostling and shoving at the traffic lights. Screeching tires, screeching engines, whistling police officers and in the middle of it all the Corsica revival band looking for the day before yesterday. With boiling clutches, jamming gears, hooking drum brakes. “Autostrada Genoa?” Shouts Karsten at a newspaper seller over the barbaric noise. “Il Giornale, Corriere della Sera, Gazzetta dello Sport …” Aha. Somehow washed up on the outskirts, people and machines run dry. Gas station. Subito! Oil, cola, water, ice, coffee, fuel ?? in exactly that order. The air shimmers with heat, the engines glow, all the dipsticks signal severe undersupply. That was clearly too much. Straight to Savona Vado now! By motorway. No argument, two and a half hours later the small parade rolls on board the Sardinia Regina. Departure 11 p.m. “It’s already landing in Bastia, isn’t it?” Olli doesn’t trust the “Sardinia” thing. “Go happily,” the ticket seller reassures him. Exhausted but happy, the tour group stumbled on deck. A round of target beer at the extremely expensive bar, red wine and dinner in the backpack. Moni is aiming for a place to sleep by the lifeboats ?? She is such a bad swimmer. 6.30 a.m., arrival in Bastia. Brief briefing about the situation. East coast, Ajaccio and Bonifacio nobody needs. Otherwise everything: Calanche, Cap Corse, Castagniccia. Karsten already has the kick starter under her boot. “Dear Renate, you have just landed in Bastia …” “Ollo, stop texting and come!” Over the Col de Teghime, take the daring D 38, then, following the thread-thin D 5, straight to the heart the island. From barren rocky landscapes down into dense chestnut forests. Meter-high ferns, olive groves, lonely farms, barking dogs. Half-wild pigs sweep into the undergrowth, old cars dawn on a better life, and above all that perfect scent of Maccia. Course: Corte. Lively city in the high alpine center of the island. Monte Cinto and Monte Rotondo set the bar at around 2700 meters. Short detour to the Restonica valley ?? how can such a small island lead so many spectacular white water rivers? As if they didn’t want to miss an inch of Corsica, the machines all run like Lottchen. All right: over to the west coast. Scala di Santa Regina, Col de Vergio, Evisa. In the dramatic Spelunca Gorge, which the roar of the four engines seems to transmit to Gibraltar, Annette falls back for no apparent reason. Down in Porto, she confesses that she’s sick of all the bends. “Only g ?? dwindle in the Calanche and watch the sunset.” Top-Test-Karsten is fully on the touring trip. “It’s not ten kilometers, is it? and who knows what’s tomorrow. ”He’s right. Off to Piana. And then this unbelievable spectacle, this unbelievable coast … bathed in flaming red by the setting sun, with turquoise-green bays and rock formations, as beautiful as if Napoleon had them carved himself. Moved, Olli sinks onto the little wall that fixes the road high above the sea. “We really did it, guys. We have arrived. «With the brave little rascals, none of whom knew whether they would even make it to Switzerland. The next day the brake is the SR 500 fixed. The piston does not go back a millimeter. Seems to be getting serious. The boys unpack their tools. Ollo? Nen Leatherman, Karsten a pocket knife … but one with 21 functions! Thank God Annette has half of her garage with her and Ollo still has a tube of “Simone Sonnencreme LF 12” which, hours and several test setups, later supplies the grease necessary to let the piston slide again. Otherwise no further lawsuits. Except that they flatten you, the little ones. Princess, for example, paralyzes the best physique for a long time with her cool M handlebars and brute force exertion for gas and brakes. Moni likes to swap, can no longer endure the sagging bench, the sewing machine sound and the folding bike chassis of the Suzuki. “I want that,” laughs Karsten, offering hammering single power, jamming drum brakes and a locking XL steering head bearing on the other hand. Olli? “Dear Renate, I’m really sorry …” “Hey, Ollo, listen, how is the SR?” “Oh, that’s okay.” Cap Corse falls on Saturday. Film-ready conclusion of the tour. Erbalunga, Luri, Canari, Nonza. Beautiful views of the coast, the two millionth bend just before St. Florent. Shortly afterwards, we crossed the finish line in Calvi. At 8 p.m. the ferry stops in the huge bay under the citadel. The next day is different. The boys have to go home rackzack (pro familia). Take off in the port of Savona, speed non-stop to Stuttgart at 105 km / h and broadcast “everything in the paint” ten hours later. “Bravo, boys!” The girls have just beaten their jingling mills over the Splugen. Until then it was a leisurely, country road, beautiful along Lake Como. But then this passport and this 77 B-Kadett from Dornbirn. He really wanted to know. Like the lionesses, the women ran, although the Four only puked from 4500 rpm. Even blow a diesel Ducato on the mountain, then a motorhome, inside! In full gas frenzy (Vmax 63 km / h) she got up to Montespluga because of her fighting spirit. After that it was a shift. Not only because of the completely coked candles, also mentally, he hadn’t let himself be shaken off, the man from Dornbirn. In addition, the CB electrics began to spin. From Constance onwards, the engine stopped as soon as the indicator went on. The cart still packed 80 on the inclines of the freeway. In the fourth! And refuel? last every 85 kilometers. Ten liters! At the last emergency stop in Sindelfingen, around 11 p.m., the unbelievable happened: a complete power failure at little Suzi. Just out of nowhere. At the probably toughest gas station beyond the Bronx, of all places, where you wouldn’t even leave your daily newspaper open. Fortunately, it started when it was pushed. Home with 70 things in the moonlight, one headlight for two, don’t let the speed drop below 3000 rpm. “Hey guys, and you weren’t there.” At 1:15 am the girls were home. »17 greetings. M.&A ??

We can also do it cheaply!

Motorcycle fun basic, without any frills, with the cheapest machines that
the market gives. Is the? We tried it out and looked for the 500 euro bike.

Ready to drive and able to survive the next 2000 kilometers without handicrafts? the search specification was manageable. An enduro and a typical 80s twin should definitely be there. The stake was 500 euros. According to classified ads and the internet, this should theoretically mean that something suitable for driving should be found. After two weeks of practical testing, the stake was increased: 750 euros. Underneath there were exciting offers, but the problems with closer inquiries with them: not run for years, letter lost or expired, brakes stuck, astronomical mileage up to complete neglect. The off-road faction was particularly complicated, and often asked prices like those at the Arab bazaar for completely ridden specimens. The well-hung, 21-year-old XL 500 R with engine paint and cool tank stickers should cost a whopping 900 euros. 36,000 kilometers, hardly any previous owners: it would be easy to hammer to Corsica. For 720, Karsten finally grudgingly agreed. The Suzuki GS 450, built in 1980, but beyond all cult suspicions, presented itself for 825 euros (the sellers initially wanted 1000) and looks forward to a carefree future with its 32,450 kilometers. More insidious were the shy finds, the Honda CB 500 Four and Yamaha SR 500. Modified around somewhere for decades and now back on the road for the tour, they brought the typical postponed damage to the stalls with them. On the Four, incorrect nozzles in the replacement carburetor (the original was completely sealed up due to forgotten fuel) as well as hidden corrosion damage in the power factory almost caused the tour to end prematurely, while the Yamaha lay flat for a short time in Corsica with a stuck brake piston. Result? Yes, it can also be done cheaply. But not overnight. One is often lucky in the small cubic capacity class of the former 27-hp squad, which are often available with TuV and immediate readiness to start. Be careful with “Barn Dreams” and “Years Confirmed”.

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