When the Winds of Change Shift
When the Winds of Change Shift
LEANINGS
Peter Egan
WELL, THIS HAS BEEN QUITE A WEEK in motorcycling. I'm starting to feel like someone standing on a golf course in a lightning storm.
First, I learned that our last remaining Ducati shop in Wisconsin is closing at the end of this month, a place called Corse Superbikes in Saukville, near Milwaukee. It’s a beautiful facility, built nine years ago by a businessman/ bike enthusiast named Virgil Kreder. The place also handled MV Agusta, Aprilia, KTM and Suzuki, and it was headquarters for the Ducati Superbike team for three years.
Ever since it opened, Corse has been one of those destination shops where you plan your day oif around a visit, to test yourself with dangerous temptations (I’ve caved in at least three times), buy some parts or just talk to the guys—who are about as nice a group of people as you will find in motorcycling.
My buddies Lew and Jeff and I went over there this week on a cold autumn day, trying to tread that delicate ground between extending sympathy and looking for close-out bargains. (“Sorry to hear about the death of your husband, ma’am. Does he still have that Manx in the garage?”) None of us, however, really needed anything too desperately, so it was mostly a goodwill trip rather than a typical visitation of vultures.
I’m going to miss these guys, and the shop. A lot of us are. And now we have half a dozen more highly qualified individuals looking for other work, no Ducati dealership in the state and another unoccupied building.
On the way home from Saukville, we made our mandatory stop at Mischler’s Harley-Davidson/Buell/BMW dealership in Beaver Dam, Wisconsin, partly so I could check out that small comer of the showroom where Buells are found.
Ever since I rode our first Buell Ulysses test bike on a trip through Virginia a few years back, I’ve had it in mind to buy one eventually. I found the bike to be comfortable, fine handling and practical, with a unique combination of slightly untamed Harley charisma and scientific logic.
And I’ve long been a fan of Erik Buell’s engineering ideas. His perimeter brakes-which shorten the load path to the tires and result in much lighter wheels-along with low eg and mass centralization (short, low-slung exhaust system, oil in swingarm, fuel in frame, etc.) all make good sense to me, and you can feel the result in the bike’s dynamics. I also like a motorcycle with midrange torque—lots of it—and Buells have it. Fun bikes to ride.
Guess I should have acted on these opinions earlier. Late again.
I brought a 2010 Buell brochure home and studied it religiously in the evening (do I need the Ulysses XB12XT with full luggage or the taller and more offroadish X?), then finally turned in.
The next morning, my friend Jim called to say that Buell had just closed its doors. Out of business.
Once again, I know Erik and many of the engineers who work at Buell—a smart, enthusiastic bunch with great talent and commitment to what they build.
I don’t have a dime in that company, but its closing hit me very hard. Guess I should have bought that Ulysses instead of talking about it. I probably still will, but that won’t do the factory at East Troy any good now.
The next morning, our Editor of 21 years, David Edwards, called and said he’d been suddenly replaced at the helm.
Now, I’m too far removed from the daily running of the magazine to know what prompted this decision, but David is a good friend and long-time riding buddy, and has been a generous and understanding editor. (You’d have to be, to put up with me.) He kept me on the payroll for six months when I was too ill to get up and work more than about two days a week. And we’ve had great road trips together in places as far flung as the Alps, Canada and New Zealand—where we dared each other into bungee jumping off a bridge into the Shotover River Gorge. Lots of good roads and good times. And great issues of the magazine.
David said Executive Editor Mark Hoyer was taking over as Editor. No hard feelings there; David was already hoping Mark would be next in line when he eventually left. Mark is also a good friend of mine—and a fellow British-bike fanatic—so I was glad he got the job, too. And I don’t just say that because he signs my checks. I say it because he needs to help me find a decent Commando.
In any case, these are strange and interesting times—a little too interesting, for some. I know things change, and objects in the universe realign themselves. Sometimes readjustments are overdue, and other times they’re hard to fathom.
But the only consistent pattern I can see in any of it—whether at Corse Superbikes, Buell or on the staff of this magazine—is that all the people mentioned here are crazy about motorcycles. Think about them all the time, look at them, ride them, collect and repair them, talk about them with our friends. Pore over glossy brochures or pick them up in trucks and bring them home in parts.
We were just born to it, or it came upon us like a gift or a sudden conversion like the bolt of lighting that hit Saul of Damascus, and there aren’t that many of us, really. All these closings and setbacks aren’t just business news; they’re personal.
Motorcycling is basically a happy business. No one has to own a motorcycle in this country—cars are often cheaper and more practical—but we buy them because they make us happy. And we ride and hang out with other riders for the same reason. Bikes and motorcycle trips add color and texture to life, in the same way that rock ’n’ roll brought new life to gray old Liverpool when the Beatles came along. Like that music, they stand out in sharp contrast against everything predictable and ordinary. Those of us who know this have to stick together.
How do we do that?
I don’t know. Maybe go buy a bike. Or install a new chain. Put some chain lube on it. Change your handlebars, take a ride, get a new rear tire or go to a swap meet and buy a Bultaco T-shirt.
It’s dark out there. We’ve gotta keep the lights on in this little house of ours.
