Uzi Gets a Dirt Bike

I got a used KTM 200 EXC. Woo hoo! Right? Well, not quite. The bloom has come off of the rose, with a couple of realizations. The first realization is that I can’t get on the bike in a dignified fashion, the second is I can’t start it very easily either. I decided to fire up the new bike and so I wheeled it out into the drive, only to find that my middle-aged hips are not limber enough to allow me to throw my leg over the seat. My inseam is about 32 inches and the seat appears to be about 36 and I’m not a ballerina. I learned that I can get my knee up on the seat to a point where it becomes lodged on the top, but the rest of my leg refuses to follow after it. Unfortunately, at this point I’m stuck in a distinctly uncomfortable position accompanied by acute groin pain and a hamstring pulled tighter than the string on a hunting bow. Luckily, I was eventually able to extricate myself from that predicament without having to dial 911.

“OK,” I said to myself, “we’re going to need to do some stretching exercises to cure that.” In the meanwhile, I decided that I could carry some sort of box around to stand on to get on the bike. No big deal really unless I come off the bike in a location where there isn’t a sturdy box handy. Reflecting on that thought, I decided that I really don’t recall seeing that many sturdy boxes strategically placed along forest trails or dirt bike tracks, so perhaps a back up plan might be in order. I found that if I leaned the bike over far enough to spill the fuel out of the carberetor bowl that I can get on the bike pretty easily, but then I’m on one leg with a bike leaned way over. Well not a problem, just toe-heal, toe-heal, toe-heal, hop, hop. I made it. Much better. “Now, I’ll just fire this puppy up,” I thought.

Whoa, the location of that starting lever means I’ll have to bring my knee all the way up under my chin. “Umph, Umph. OK, my foot’s up there. Now kick!” I felt some bumps of resistance as the cylinder bobbed up and down, as the lever plunged groundward, and the bike made a few whoomphing noises, but nothing that sounded even remotely like spark hitting gasoline vapor. “Humph, Humph, foot up. Now Kick!”, “Whoomph! Whoomp!” said the KTM. Again, and again I kicked the starter until my leg ached, and my shirt was completely drenched in sweat. “OK I give,” I muttered and then leaned the bike over. Hop, hop, heal-toe, heal-toe, heal-toe, until I could get my leg over the top of the bike. I then walked the bike back into the garage and performed about four clean and jerk maneuvers on the bike to get it back on the stand that kept skittering away from the bike every time I tried to lift the bike up on it. Finally, convinced that the bike was secure, I felt around to see if I had any obvious hernias poking out of my belly. Nope, my flaccid abdominal muscles, buried under thick layers of protective blubber, seemed to be intact. “Well, that didn’t go well,” I was thinking as I walked into the air conditioned house and flopped down on the sofa, “I hope I didn’t just make a real expensive mistake.”

Later, after having time to reflect — which was some time shortly after the heart palpitations had subsided, I thought, “I wonder if the gas lever was in the on position?” So I went down to the garage and looked at the fuel lever. I quickly determined that it was impossible to tell if it was on or not, it was just too blurry. I went back in and got my super-duper reading glasses and went for another look. After wiping away a smudge of grease, I saw that one position appears to have a small “r”, another nothing at all, and in the middle position, the word “on” is stamped into the metal. Sure enough, the lever was pointing at the unmarked location. “I’ll try again tomorrow,” I thought. “You’ve won this battle my tall-seated friend, but I’ll win the war.”

Bright and early the next morning, I looked around for something solid to stand on. No sturdy boxes around here either apparently. Then I noticed the running boards on my 4 Runner. “Yes, that should do nicely,” I thought. First, I made sure that the fuel lever was in the on position, pulled the choke knob up and then thought, “Perhaps it might be easier to start the bike, before I get on.” I stood on the right side of the bike and mashed down on the starter a couple of times, “whoomp, whoomp,” nothing.

“OK, so you’re a two stroke. Well you’re like a dozen lawn mowers I’ve dealt with in the past, I didn’t take any guff off of them and I’m not taking any off of you either, and you are going to start.” When I thought about all the ill-tempered and recalcitrant lawn mowers, leaf blowers, and gasoline powered weed whackers that I have fought with in the past, I recalled that they all have a bulb to allow you to squirt some fuel into them before you start them. So I cranked the throttle open three times and gave the starter another good mash, “whah, whah, ding, ding, ding, whah, whaaaaaah.” she said as oily smoke belched out of the exhaust pipe. “Now that’s more like it.” Holding the bike up as I maneuvered around to the other side, I put my left foot up on the running board of my 4 Runner, and bingo I was sitting on a running bike.” I gave it some throttle for a bit and then reached down and pushed the choke back in. The volumn of smoke quickly subsided and the bike idled happily. Then I hit the kill switch. I pulled my foot up to the kick start and gave it a hefty push, and the bike started right up again. “Good show, you little beastie. Now you’re getting tamed down.”

Now, I was sitting on a running dirt bike started in the normal manner. I, a total dirt-bike noob, was in full control of this mechanical wonder. I confidently, popped it into first eased out the clutch, rolled on some gas and shot quickly toward my garage door. No problem — I do ride a motorcycle every day. I pulled in the clutch, applied the brakes and she quickly stopped, with well over an inch of safety margin to spare between me and further emabarrassment.

I pushed the little red kill switch and with the swagger of a corpulent Barney Fife, I whipped my right leg over the top of the seat and planted my foot back onto the ground with authority and a sense of total victory. “Wow, that really hurt,” I thought, “I hope I didn’t tear something vital.”

My next step is to find myself a sturdy box. I’ll let you know how the first ride goes.

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P. S. Several months have gone by and I can ride it now. Oh yea.