Part Two - The Maple Leaf RallyIn 1975, my friend Bob -- owner of a showroom perfect white 1960-something R69/2 -- and I decided to take a trip to Canada. I had a bench seat on my 1968 R60/2 but had heard everyone rave about how comfortable the /2 solo seat was, so I borrowed one from our friend Mike. I then mounted a 24" x 24" piece of plywood on the back fender to strap on my gear. Like I said in part one, my bike was not pretty. The plan for the trip was to attend the Maple Leaf Rally in Windsor, Ontario, head up the St. Lawrence to Nova Scotia, then down the East coast of the U.S. back to DC. This was my first trip on a motorcycle and I didn't know what to pack, so of course I packed too much. I was worried about breaking down so I brought a lot of tools, in addition to a tent and other camping gear. We reached the rally on the second day, overnighting in New York state. One of the events at the rally was the field trial. It consisted of a number of feats of skill, some of which -- like dropping rings on soda bottles or clipping clothes pins to a line -- required a passenger, which I unfortunately didn't have. While standing in the food line I struck-up a conversation with a very attractive young lady who I discovered was a local paramedic who was part of one of the ambulance crews that was on hand at the rally. She was a non-biker, but when I explained about the field trial games and the need for a passenger she volunteered.  The first event involved
fastening as many clothes pins as possible to a line strung between two poles
about six feet above the ground. The driver of the bike had to go as slow as
possible as close to the line as possible while the passenger fastened the pins.
We started out, driving along with the line to our right with my partner sitting
on my plywood cargo platform, but she was moving around so much I could barely
control the bike. I was concentrating so much on where I was going I didn't have
a chance to look in the mirror to see what the heck was happening back there. By
the time we got to the end of the line she had only managed to attach a couple
of pins; a pretty dismal performance.
"What the heck happened?" I asked. "Well, I'm left handed." She said. She had been reaching across her body to fasten the pins with her left hand!  The next event, dropping
the rings on the bottle, was fast approaching. The bottles, like the rope, were
on the right side, on the ground. "How about if I sit backwards?" She said.
Brilliant idea! This put her left side on the right side of the bike.
So that's how we did it. Of course the crowd didn't have a clue and probably thought were just trying to show off. We started off slowly. I was concentrating on keeping a straight line and a slow steady speed. The bike was steady this time and I heard "clink", "clink", "clink", "clink", "clink". I had no idea if the metal rings had found their target or merely bounced off until I heard this huge roar from the crowd. We had gotten all five rings! The rest of the events were solo: A slow race, crossing the field as slow as possible; a teeter-totter ride; and attempting to take a bite out of an apple hung on a string. Most of the other riders were on top heavy Honda CB750s which were a handful at low speeds. I just let out my clutch slowly and idled across the field; pocka, pocka, pocka. My bike had a low ratio sidecar rear-end and could pull like a tractor. The bike's low end torque and low center of gravity -- its 6.8 gallon gas tank was nearly empty -- made the remaining two events relatively easy too. 
Balancing a raw egg on a spoon -- not recommended for bikes with custom paint jobs. When the scores were tallied we had won third place. Had it not been for starting off on the wrong foot -- literally -- in the first event we might have won, but crowd at the awards ceremony remembering our backwards antics compensated with their warm and enthusiastic applause when we went up to receive the plaque. As it turned out I had ridden the furthest to the rally, so I got a nice little plaque for that too. This really pissed Bob off because he lived about 5 miles closer. He had been riding for years, I'd only been riding for about six months and left the rally with two souvenirs; after giving my partner a quick lesson on how to ride an R60 that is. Next chapter: [ On to Nova Scotia ] [ Title Page] |
