Toronto Manufacturer's Motorcycle Show - Impressions?

Having attended the show out by the airport last year and coming away generally underwhelmed by it, this year I decided to check out the other show held at Exhibition Place. Rumor was that the manufacturer's show would have more of a focus on bikes and bike culture beyond the other show's beef-jerky/leather/chrome/loud-pipes scene that doesn't really appeal to me.

Indeed, there were lots of great bikes to sit on from the big manufacturers, and it was helpful to be able to do side-by-side comparisons of ergonomics and features, especially on ADV bikes where my passion lies. So that was great.

But this wasn't:

Really, Yamaha? I get it that motorcycle culture sometimes blends with sled/ATV culture. But this thing doesn't even have wheels.

Furthermore, I can't imagine that the market for bike-sled conversions exceeds that for a mid-side ADV bike. Instead of showing us a sled, where is the highly anticipated Tenere T700? Or F900GS or F750, or the mythical CRF450 Rally or for that matter?

Usual press hype aside, my spidey-sense tingles with the idea that the market is genuinely interested in a do-all, mid-weight ADV bike that incorporates modern suspension and engine design yet doesn't break the bank and can be repaired without requiring computer science and mechanical engineering degrees. If the success of the Africa Twin is any indication, further extending the concept of less-is-sometimes-more could achieve a category-killing 450- to 750-twin ADV bike.

So many of the bikes I saw at the show either had too much weight, HP, and other costly technology and breakable parts, or were so anemic or under-specced at the low-end (cast wheels!?) that at each extreme they couldn't be considered credible ADV contenders. Not to crap on the manufacturers here: they do make some fine ADV bikes--but for other markets. Often the more desirable models aren't available in Canada or even in North America.

For me, the real value of this year's show was getting to try on new riding gear and see accessories that are normally just web pics. I was lucky to score one of the last Klim Carlsbad jackets in my size from GP Bikes, and will be reviewing it later as part of a new, minimalist system of riding wear I'm assembling to handle extremes of heat, cold, pavement, and trail for this summer's TAT loop.

Inspect your wheel bearings!

Last winter I built up a set of burly new wheels for my WR250R using SM Pro hubs, Bulldog stainless spokes with aluminum nipples, and SM Pro rims. While the combination was almost identical in weight to the WRR's stock wheels, the heavier spokes and higher tensions translated into noticeable handling improvements and the larger bearings of the SM Pro hubs (in theory) should have improved durability.

So, while tearing down my bike recently for a pre-season inspection, I was surprised to discover that one the rear wheel bearings had completely seized despite there being no obvious signs of damage to the bearing itself, although the end cap showed some suspicious, uneven scoring past the seal.

The OEM rear hub uses one 6005 bearing on the drive side and a smaller bearing on the brake side. Here's the bearing replacement kit for the OEM hub. The loose bearing lying on top is also a 6005.

By comparison, the SM Pro rear hub uses three 6005 bearings: two on the drive side, and one on the brake side. It was the inner bearing on the drive side that had seized, which struck me as the least likely bearing to fail unless there was some sort of manufacturing defect. True, these wheels saw some wet conditions last year, but after only 7,000km I wasn't expecting a seized bearing. The outer bearing on the drive side showed some corrosion but remained buttery smooth, as did the bearing on the brake side.

Here's the brake side of the SM Pro hub, with external seal removed:

And here's the drive side:

Removing the SM Pro bearings is relatively straightforward using a drift to knock aside the inner spacer tube and then tap out first one side, then the other, by driving on the inner races.

Rather than buy Moose or All-Balls replacements, for about the same price (or less) I picked up some better quality SKF bearings and seals from a local distributor. The 6005-2RS is a common part used in many industrial and recreational applications, so you can get them pretty much anywhere--including where sleds and ATVs are sold.

Installing new bearings was equally straightforward once I found a 34mm socket to use as a driver. I would've made a tool, but didn't have any rod stock in the required diameter. Sometimes buying a socket is good enough.

With new end-caps installed, the wheels feel buttery smooth again. Here are the old ones showing part numbers:

The lesson here is to not assume that even relatively new bearings are still good, and to check them all carefully before heading out on your next adventure.

Finding adventure: Why I ride

The hardest part of undertaking an adventure is deciding to go. Uncertainty about the unknown, concern about risk, and anxiety about whether it’ll be the “right” use of precious time and resources—all can defeat taking action. When “analysis paralysis” and agonizing over all the “what-ifs” take over, they often shut doors to enriching new experiences and insights.

Even for seasoned adventurers, making the decision to go may paradoxically become both harder and easier with age. This is certainly the case for me now as I ponder my 50^th year and plan a new trip.

On the one hand, I’ve had the good fortune to be able to live in or extensively visit some 35 countries since an early age. Growing up as an only child to young parents who were also students, we lived in nomadic poverty. Leaving Canada for Sweden, we wound our way through Eastern Europe to Greece and then Italy, and on to South Africa, LeSotho and Swaziland before emigrating to a small backwater town in Queensland, Australia.

Soon after, a family break-up led to the next chapter of my life and the addition of two new people who would eventually become my wonderful step-parents. It was also the start of my dual life, splitting my time between my father’s adventurous  lifestyle around the world and my more mundane routine in Canada. These adventures included sailing around the south Pacific, hitchhiking through Europe, and spending time in Switzerland and southern France with a remarkable collection of musicians, artists, and business people in my father’s (and stepmother’s) circle of family and friends. It was all bare-bones budget, often risky by the standards of the day, and certainly not what was then seen as an appropriate way to raise a teenager. It was fantastic.

This upbringing naturally drove me towards being independent and self-reliant. In that respect, a major epiphany for me was learning to ride my second-hand bicycle on our dirt road in Australia. This, and some old books on bicycle repair, kindled a life-long passion for independent, two-wheeled travel. At 16 I completed my first bike tour, a solo four-day tour through a corner of France and Switzerland. I could hardly wait until the end of high school, when a friend and I spent three months cycling across Europe and I worked as a bicycle tour guide in France.

In university I started to race bicycles, and took up running--against the advice of a doctor who was horrified by my gait. Despite being relatively late to the sport, soon I was competing internationally in duathlons and was fortunate to represent Canada at two world championships. Racing led to rock-climbing and mountaineering, and many trips to stunning locations to enjoy new challenging experiences and guide others.

Twenty years ago today, in 1998, my wife and I took our biggest risk together (besides getting married—that’s a whole other story!). We scrounged every penny, left our careers, and took half a year to travel as locals would through West Africa and the Middle East. In retrospect, it was an unusually perfect time for such a trip. The regions we visited were mostly stable and conflict free at the time, yet tourism was rare. We met many wonderful people in Gambia, Morocco, Mali, Ghana, Syria, and other places where it would be difficult at best, or outright suicidal today. We took chances and had an adventure of a lifetime.

Now—and with the accumulated responsibilities of teenagers of my own, extended family, entrenched careers, and the usual burdens of simply getting older—finding adventure becomes more challenging. It must emerge in more compact, refined forms to remain feasible. In that respect, the addition of a motorcycle license a decade ago enables adventures further afield while retaining many of the characteristics of bicycle travel. 

All this wealth of experience, while contributing to useful know-how in finding and having great adventures, also gives rise to the paradox I mentioned at the start: it stimulates the “what-ifs”. If unchecked, these what-ifs can defeat the goal of finding or enjoying new adventures. I think the key is to find an appropriate balance between experience (often gained through failure) and openness to risk (optimism that you can find a way to succeed) that is right for you. This is tricky. First you need to be aware of the issues, then you need to identify the right balance, then you need to act on it. Many people never figure it out. 

  

For myself, I think I’ve found a reasonable balance. My fears are tempered by having been in some situations that could have easily and irrevocably led to a spectacular death or at least injury. We all gotta go, someday. I just don’t think my time’s up yet. And when it is, I hope it’s while going full-throttle doing something I love.

Nevertheless, and speaking as a motorcyclist, for the benefit of my family I try to be a conservative rider who assiduously avoids traffic, main roads, and populations in general. Those are risks I can control somewhat by simply minimizing my exposure to them. The tradeoff is allowing myself the luxury of enjoying perhaps a little more risk riding on the path that’s less-traveled and definitely more rutted, rocky and remote: Pick your battles.

Probably like most of you reading this site, I ride because the combination of acceleration, fresh air, and physical exertion is intoxicating and exhilarating. Whether it’s on a bicycle or motorcycle, those two wheels become extensions of my body, allowing me to go places and find adventures that most people can’t or won’t try. The journey—not the destination—is the basis of adventure. Every ride can become an adventure if you approach it the right way. The amazing thing is, once you make that decision to go, the rest just falls into place.