The
Natural State Rally is history for another year. We had great weather, but unfortunately there was some bad
weather to the north of us that may have affected attendance. The summary follows:
Rally
Attendance Breakdown
|
AR |
33 |
|
OK |
12 |
|
MO |
10 |
|
TX |
5 |
|
LA |
2 |
|
WI |
2 |
|
FL |
1 |
|
IL |
1 |
|
LA |
1 |
|
MS |
1 |
|
OH |
1 |
|
VA |
1 |
|
Total |
70 |
New
Rally T-shirts Remaining
|
Color |
M
|
L
|
XL
|
XXL
|
|
Yellow |
|
|
5 |
|
|
Blue |
|
1 |
11 |
2 |
|
Gray |
1 |
3 |
10 |
2 |
Old
Rally T-shirts Remaining
|
Color |
M |
L |
XL |
XXL |
|
Natural |
5 |
4 |
|
1 |
Club
T-shirts – Short Sleeved
|
Color |
M
|
L
|
XL
|
XXL
|
|
Yellow |
|
3 |
3 |
3 |
|
Blue |
3 |
2 |
5 |
3 |
Club
T-shirts – Long Sleeved
|
Color |
M
|
L
|
XL
|
XXL
|
|
Gray |
|
|
|
5 |
|
Blue |
|
|
4 |
|
Financials
Costs
Prior to the Rally $831.30 for 6 dozen Rally T-shirts
Check
paid to the Corps of Engineers for rally site camping, $416.00
Proceeds
from the rally including new memberships and renewals, T-shirt and patch sales,
and less costs (donuts, hotdogs, etc., rally awards, etc.) $1018.00
Current
account balance $1433.30. We are down slightly from this time last year but we
will not need to purchase Rally T-shirts for 2002.
Door
Prizes
A
list was made of those who donated door prizes. Unfortunately it seems to have gotten lost when things got packed
up. So from memory thanks go to:
Kermits
Touring Chairs
Bentonville
BMW
Lee
Kubicki
Fred
and Carolyn Counts
Barry
Phillips
Manni
Zank
Springfield
BMW Road Riders
I
have most likely missed someone and for that I apologize.
Club
Meeting
The
main items of business were to appoint Rally Chairs for next year and finalize
the plans for the Club Fall campout.
Fred
Counts and Harlen Brown were railroaded into being Rally Chairs for another
year. They did such a good job on this
one! I don’t think we gave them much
choice actually.
Elmer
Sveda has invited the club to a campout at his place in Arkadelphia on the
weekend of September 22-23. Elmer has
requested that it be adults only. More
details and a map will follow.
The Fall Club Campout will be on the
weekend of Oct. 27-28 at the same location that we held the Rally; Sequoyah
Campground, south of Morrilton on Hwy 9.
The club will pay for camping and dinner on Saturday evening at the
lodge on Petit Jean Mountain.
Oil: An Engine’s Blood
Eddie Daniel
Most
of us take pride in our bikes and in the maintenance we do on them. We keep them clean and waxed and if they are
outside some of us even carry a cover for them. However there is one step that can improve maintenance that few
owners are aware of. This is probably
due to lack of information. I’m talking
about oil analysis.
Most
heavy equipment owners, truck fleets, railroads and many others use oil
analysis as a regular tool in their overall maintenance program. Oil analysis is a simple process for us to
perform. We simply collect an oil
sample at our regular oil change interval and send it to an analysis company.
Now
I know how most of us do an oil analysis, we drain our oil and tear the filter
apart looking for anything unusual, then we run our fingers through all that
hot oil in the bottom of our change pan to see what comes up on our fingers.
Well that works to a degree. Laboratory
oil analysis offers a more thorough method for examining lubricants to tell us
just what is in our oil, how much of it is in our oil, and what it all means.
An
engine is made of various metals, as we ride normal wear will cause some of the
metals to be rubbed off and carried in the oil. Break in of 3000 to 5000 miles will cause high spots to be rubbed
down and surfaces mated or broken in.
This is normal, wear should then slow down and be very gradual for
thousands of miles. However sometimes
we may travel toooo long before we change our oil, or a filter might fail, or
we have excessive heat problems. A
number of other problems may occur to increase the wear rate sharply. This will increase the quantities of certain
elements in the oil, depending on where the damage is. Oil analysis may pinpoint the location of
this wear and give us a warning before any damage can occur.
Performance
Analysis Company offers a convenient oil analysis kit. You simply take an oil sample following
their instructions and send it in. They
do the rest.
At
their lab the sample will be analyzed on anatomic absorption
spectrophotometer. This machine reads
the particles of each in the oil below ten microns in size with results given
in ppm. The elements normally selected include: iron, lead, copper, chromium,
aluminum, sodium, and silicon: test for fuel, water or antifreeze and a
micrographic examination for larger particles in the oil also. You will receive your report by mail listing
the comments on the condition within seven days or if needed by phone.
NAPA
and Wix offer analysis kits under part numbers 4077 and 2477 respectively. They use the Argon Plasma emission Spectroscopy,
a quantitative analysis. Argon Plasma
Emission Analysis reveals the presence of numerous metals and other elements in
addition to lead. In the analysis
procedure, the sample is heated to a sufficient temperature in an argon
plasma. The extreme heat breaks up the
chemical bond holding the molecules together, thus “excited” individual
metallic atoms are present in the plasma and will emit electromagnetic
radiation, usually ultraviolet or visible light. Each element will emit a
unique wavelength of light. So each
metallic element will have its own “fingerprint” capable of being detected by
the Argon Plasma Emission Spectrophotometer.
The more metal present, the more light is emitted. The computer within the spectrophotometer is
capable of calculating the metallic concentration in parts per million present
in the sample. Different methods of
testing but they should give the same types of results. Lets look at some contaminants. Liquid:
Fuel such as gasoline in lubricating oil reduces the oil’s viscosity
and, with excessive dilution, hastens wear.
Water and acids, condensed moisture, together with the products of
combustion, forms sludge…. Changes oil viscosity, plugs up the oil filter and
oil passages and reduces the lubrication quality of oil. Emulsions are usually acid and can cause
corrosion. Antifreeze (some of us do
not have to worry about this) is extremely destructive, causing seizure of
engine and possible complete rebuild.
Dirt
and sand enter the oil system through engine openings. Additionally, sand in engine oil could
remain from the original casting sand used to form the block and cylinder
heads.
Lead
in engine lubricant is generally associated with fuel dilution from Ethyl
gasoline, and may indicate excessive blow by and incomplete combustion. Wear metals in engine oil can be the result
of the original machining of the engine’s metal parts. Top quality oil and oil filters help protect
your BMW engine against wear metal damage.
Abnormal amounts of oil additives could
be indicative of mixing different brands or gypes of engine oil, a practice
that could be detrimental to engine performance.
Trail of Tears Report
Lee Kubicki
The 21st. Trail of Tears Rally,
Apr. 27/29, 01, went off very well in my opinion, and also all those I talked
to there.
The weather couldn't have been
finer, but in true TOT tradition it rained. Friday afternoon Mother Nature,
just to remind us of who was in charge and what could be, let go with a couple
5-min. Texas 6-in. frog stranglers. This is where each drop is 6 in. apart and
the frogs choke in the dust kicked up by the rain.
There were 302 riders registered,
so a just right turnout for the park, really. Lots of door prizes, Otto won
one, (I can't remember what- this is, one of the two sure signs of impending
senility and NO I can't remember the other.), I won a book " Gathering
Speed" by David Braun, his collection of BMW adventures and it is a hoot.
I'm glad he survived long enough to get it written. Also, and more important,
OUR CLUB won the trophy for largest club in attendance, a pitcher all properly
monogrammed, which will be on display at the rally.
The members present, who captured
this away from the Springfield Milers, were Charlie & Debra Parsons, Frank
& Debra Floyd, Charlie Bishop, Otto Ising, Gary Longley, Lee Kubicki, and
YEA for us.
This rally has become much less
structured than years back, which I think more and more people really prefer.
Makes it less costly, $10.00 covers camping, pin, a Fri. hot dogs, and then you
are free to go your own way. Visit, go riding on those fun MO. alphabet roads,
go wading in the river, (did I mention how fine, even warm it got.), whatever
this was one of the best Trail of Tears Rallies I've attended.
(I have the sad duty to report the demise of the said Largest
Club Prize Pitcher. In unloading my
Bronco of rally stuff the pitcher rolled out of the back and onto the concrete
garage floor, with predictable results.
Something like Humpty Dumpty resulted. ED)
May
Bentonville Ride
By Gwen Rakes
Thirteen
bikes and seventeen people met at Bentonville BMW for the 13th of
May ride on Mothers Day. The weather
was perfect, clear blue skies and cool temperatures. Wayne Ackerman led us on many back roads through the Ozarks,
where we could enjoy the beautiful scenery and multitudes of wild flowers, and
the scent of Honey Suckle. I love
spring in the Ozark’s when everything is green and fresh. We made our way down 112 through Cove Springs
and Tonitown, then cut through Fayetteville to head south coming out at Winslow
off 74, then south on 71 to MountainBurg where we ate lunch. Then more back
roads 282 and into Rudy over to 59, north to 45 to Parry Grove through Cane
Hill, then cross-country to Weddington and back to 112. Close to 200 miles of peaceful riding with
very little traffic. A most enjoyable day.
Be
sure and check the Web Site at: www.bentonvillebme.com , to see pictures of the
rides.
NEWS FLASH: Bentonville BMW is moving. Jerry has purchased a building, on I-540 as
one descends the hill into Bella Vista, on the East Side of the highway. They have outgrown the current building,
mainly due to the fact that there is no area left to move the bikes into while
working in the shop. It is hoped that
the new location will be open for business at the end of the summer or early
fall. More later.
THE Y IN THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED
Mike Everett
It
was 2:30 a.m., pitch dark, raining. I was 9,000 feet high in the Andes, at a Y
in a gravel road. I turned the light
off on my Honda 650R (off-road), and thought to myself, "Mike, what *!#$%
are you doing here?" Sounds like something I made up, doesn't it? It's not.
I
had, about three weeks earlier, FedExed the bike to Santiago, Chile, and had
ridden south through Chile, then east into Argentina, then north, my destination
being Cochabamba, Bolivia. I had pre-arranged to leave the bike for a year at
the Canadian Baptist Mission there, until I returned and completed the journey.
I was traveling alone.
In
the North of Argentina, the land alternates between desert and ranges of the
Andes. In one of the desert towns, I had met three people. Christophe Stern was about 25 years old,
just out of "university" in Switzerland. He was born in Argentina and lived there his first 14 years. His father was the president of Nestle
Corporation in Argentina. He was fluent
in Spanish and English, wealthy, a bit self centered, as the wealthy are prone
to be. He made a point to tell me the Nissan he was driving was rented, that he
normally drove a BMW convertible. He was traveling for six months before going
back to Switzerland to employment with Nestle.
Two
girls were with him. Christophe's
girlfriend was a real pretty girl. Slender and graceful. Long stemmed roses for
legs. A butt like a ripe avocado. A
silk shirt full of two ice cream cones
on a hot day. "The eyes of
Caligula and the lips of Marilyn Monroe" - a sho' 'nuf' showdog, to be
sure. She was Swiss, had met Christophe in Buenos Aires, and was traveling with
him. She spoke five languages and
conversed easily on the politics of the day, even American politics. She was taking six months to travel before
beginning her career as a professional interpreter. I remember once at a gas station she opened the trunk of the
Nissan and found a bag and retrieved a pair of shorts. She unselfconsciously shed her blue jeans
and put on the shorts, standing at the
back of the car. She was wearing
underwear you could pack in a film canister - in fact, one had to look real
hard to see if she was wearing anything at all. Eighteen machismo Argentine
eyes watched her like so many compass needles on a horseshoe magnet. I, of course, turned my head and looked
away, as a gentleman. That's my story
and I'm sticking to it.
The
other girl was French, looked like Charllie Chaplin and smelled like goat. She
wore baggy pants and coat. Short,
cropped, black hair, big glasses. She
worked at a television station in Lyon.
Traveling was her lifelong passion.
She told me that she quite frequently quit her job and took off to
travel for a year or so, and that her employer always let her come back to
work. French employers must be different from American ones. She and Showdog
got along quite well, much to Christophe's chagrin. Cristophe once got in a big
argument with Charlie Chaplin and tried to run her off, but Showdog took
Charlie Chaplin's side and told him that if Charlie left, she went with
her. Helluva decision for
Christophe. I remembered an old story
about a man who left his wife eleven times because of her foul temper and came
back every time because of her cooking.
One
of the girls was named Veronique, but I don't remember which one.
The
three of them in the Nissan and I on my bike were headed toward Tucuman,
Argentina, a colonial city formed as a way station for the Spanish mule trains
carrying silver from Potosi, Bolivia, to Buenos Aires, for shipment back to
Europe to the Hapsburg rulers to sponsor a more or less continuing war with the
French, English, Italians, and the Pope.
My road map indicated a long, north-south, horseshoe in the paved road,
showing about 120 miles to ride from one end of the horseshoe to the
other. But the map also showed a
secondary road of apparently 6-8 miles connecting the two ends of the
horseshoe, substantially cutting the distance from our location to Tucuman. It was about 5:30 p.m.. We could see that
the secondary road traversed one of the Andes ranges, and thought it would be
interesting to see the scenery such a road would afford. I told them to go ahead of me, so that I
would not have to ride in their dust, and I would meet them in the zocalo (the
old town center, characteristic of colonial towns) of Tucuman.
Now
it was not unusual for South American maps to be inaccurate. But this road set a record for deviation
from the map. The road was a series of switchbacks
trekking up the mountain range, which was about 7000 feet higher than the
desert floor where we started. What
little traffic was on the road consisted solely of huge 22 wheelers, carrying
what I didn't know. The road was dry with crushed gravel and about 1 1/2 inches
of dust, apparently formed by the heavy trucks grinding the gravel. When one passed, I would have to stop to let
the dust settle.
The
Nissan quickly drove out of sight. Darkness fell like a blanket. It started to drizzle. The inch and a half of dust turned to an
inch of banana mush. First gear, five
miles an hour for the Honda, and all I could do to keep it upright at
that. I knew that the road hugged a
cliff over which was nothing but air for about 1000 feet - nasty business for a
motorcyclist. It was a bit scary, but I still felt good and there was still an
occasional truck to show that civilization was not too far off. About 12:30 a.m. I came to a small
settlement at the very top of the mountain.
An all night store, very unusual in these parts, was open and busy. I wondered what the Spanish word for
"oasis" was. My friends were
at the store, waiting on me with a bottle of champagne. This was a mining town. I discovered that the reason for the road to
exist at all was a tin mine at the top of the mountain. All those big trucks were serving the
mine. The store was open to serve the
mining crews. It had lunch type food,
like old country stores of my youth in Arkansas - sardines, cheese, potted
meat, crackers, etc., not exactly a
deli. We drank the bottle of champagne and another and, since there was no
place to stay in the town, and since we had learned that Tucuman was 40 miles
away, along a single road, we decided to push on to our goal. I was a little bit drunk when we left, but
what the Hey, Smokey doesn't prowl in these parts, does he?
Again,
we decided that they drive on ahead, since they could go a lot faster in the
car than I could on the bike. They were
out of sight in seconds. The rain came heavier and steady. It was dark, lonely,
and wet, and my mind wandered. I
thought about the Japanese who built the Honda I was riding. The bike performed
perfectly all during the trip and was steady as a pack mule. In my mind, I apologized
to the Japanese for dropping that bomb and prayed they didn't seek retribution
in the form of a defective motorcycle. Then I came to the Y in the road. Nobody there, just a Y. Wait a minute, I
thought, this was supposed to be a single road to Tucuman. Which way to Tucuman and, more poignantly,
what's at the end of the road that does not go to Tucuman? I turned off the engine and headlight. I put my hand right in front of my face. I could not see it for the dark. I kept the engine off for a good five
minutes, sitting the bike, periodically switching on the headlight, thinking. I
thought of Robert Frost's poem "The Road Less Traveled". But wait a minute, I thought, I was already
on the road less travelled. Frost did not mention anything about a Y in that
road. It seemed as though this was not just a cross roads in the Andes, but a
cross roads in my life. I could hear
nothing but the rain on my helmet, except for an instant when an owl swooped
very close to my head and nearly stopped my heart for about five beats and
might near caused me to foul myself. Such incidents, as the owl in this
situation, tends to focus one's attention and to compel decisions.
I
decided that for whatever reason I was there, I couldn't blame anyone but
myself. No need whining about it. I was
there as a natural consequence of a choice I had made. A choice to live my life as I want, to do
some things that were a bit unusual, including riding motorcycles. That choice had served me well all my life,
and I was in no position to change it now.
Yes, that choice had led me to this awkward and somewhat disturbing
position. But it had also lead me to know Christophe and Showdog and Charlie
Chaplin and to see things and experience perspectives I would never have seen
or experienced had I not made that choice.
It was like my older brother told one of his ex-wives, shortly before
their divorce - "No, no, Woman, it ain't perverted, *#@+~%*, it's my idea
of love. If I didn't like it, I'd
change it. But I do like it, and I ain't gonna change it. And I damn sure ain't
gonna apologize for it". Anyway, I
would willingly make that choice again. Logic told me that, faced with a
problem, I must choose between viable alternatives. And right now those alternatives were exhibited in a Y right in
front of me as soon as I switched the ignition and the lights came on. It was
so dark, and the road so winding, that polar direction meant nothing. The rain
had wiped out any traces of Christophe's car tracks. Each road looked equally travelled. Fifty-fifty on getting the right one, I figured. I headed the
bike straight for the crotch of the Y, undecided as to which road to choose,
until the mud forced me to turnn right.
In my mind, I almost wished I had to choose wrong and take the road that
did not go to Tucuman. But it did not happen that way. In a few miles, the
inclines became less steep, the curves became less sharp, and the land flattened. Soon the road became straight and became one
lane, the other lane taken by a pipe which appeared to be a gas or petroleum
pipe of some kind. Still pitch dark,
still raining. No houses, no traffic. Had there been houses, I would not have
known, as there were no electric lights here to penetrate the darkness.
My
heart stopped when I saw a flashlight not 30 yards ahead of me. It was too late to turn around and no place
to run to if I did. Whoever was
carrying that flashlight could run in the mud faster that I could ride. My mind
raced as to who could be out there at that time of the night with a flashlight and
I couldn't think of anybody with good intentions. I stopped and reached for my pocket knife, the only weapon I had.
Four men approached in the bike's headlight.
I got off the bike and "girded up my loins", hiding the knife
in my hand, giving them my best "Come ahead on" look. My loins came ungirded in an audible sigh of
relief when one of them hollered, "Hey, Mike". I learned that they were an engineer crew
on the gas line that was taking up half the road! The leader, who spoke English and was educated at LSU, told me my
friends, from whom he had obviously got my name, had passed some time earlier
and had left word that they would be waiting on me, ahead.
I
hurried, as much as one can hurry in those circumstances, and found my friends
waiting on the road, parked, about four miles distant, doors open, radio
blasting. The music being broadcast at
3:30 a.m. in the Argentine desert was Who's Makin' Love, (to your old lady,
while you're out makin' love) a late '60's Motown song written and sung by Johnny
Taylor, a black man who was born and raised in Crawfordsville, Arkansas, not 30
miles from where I live in Marked Tree.
In the mud and rain we danced to Who's Makin' Love and sucked down their
last bottle of champagne, passing the bottle for want of a chalice. I shall not forget that fiesta de la noche
in the desert of Argentina.
From the fiesta I followed my friends
to Tucuman. The 6-8 mile road through
the Andes lasted 72 miles, traversed in a mere 11 hours. Like the Spanish mule drivers of the 1600's,
I was glad to see Tucuman. In a hotel
on the zocalo I slept the sleep of the redeemed.
From the Editor’s Desk
by Rod Kilduff
New Members –
Welcome to the Club!
Joseph
Skaggs – Rogers, AR
Jack
Tarlton – Malvern, AR
John
P Wells – Paris, AR
Randy
& Michelle Jackson – Lavaca, AR
Ravi
N Panikkar, Ft. Smith, AR
James
Briggs, Russelville, AR
2001 Dues
There
are still a few folks who have not paid their 2001 dues. I have started dropping people who are more
than two years behind.
Your
address label shows the month and year that you are paid up to. If it doesn’t say “01/02” you still owe. The
dues are $10 for an individual or $15 for a family membership.
Wanted
Newsletter Material: Always
I am still soliciting for newsletter
articles. With this issue I have used
up everything that I have. Send that
article you have always intended to write. Many thanks to those of you; who
have submitted material already. You are allowed to send in more.
Activities
Naturally
Beemers
The BMW M/C
Club of Arkansas
BMWMOA CLUB #181
Chartered 2/88
BMWRA CLUB #74
Chartered 4/91
Steering
Committee
Donnie
Rice....................President
Otto
Ising.................Vice President
Elmer
Sveda.........................Activities
Rod
Kilduff.....Secretary / Treasurer / Newsletter
Annual Membership
Dues:
$10.00 for Solo
$15.00 for Family
Send
correspondence to:
Rod Kilduff
822 Donaghey Ave.
Conway, AR. 72032
rod.kilduff@conwaycorp.net
FLEA
MARKET
There is no
charge for the ad; we only ask that you be honest and fair. Naturally Beemers
is not responsible for the quality of the items or any transactions made
because of the ad. Ads will run for two
issues of the newsletter unless extended.
Don’t forget
the 10% Club Member Discount at
Bentonville Cycle Sales
94
R1100RS, ABS, 46K mi. color matching bags(ivory), Bar Backs, Parabellum
Windshield, Throttle
Lock
RT tail rack which accepts Top Case and Throttle Lock. $7200
Contact
Harlan Brown @501-666-7844
BMW
hard side bags for K1100RS. Painted red. $300 for both. Two Shoei helmets: red
RF 700 purchased 1995 - asking $100 and red RF 800 purchased 2000 and used twice - asking $250. Scott Simon -phone 501-614-5082, fax
501-663-8332
