Sept 5 , 2005 - SEAGOING WHEELS
by Michel & Jane DeRidder

	Lifting the Honda 90 Trailster motorcycle out of Magic Dragon's "garage" on the port side of the cockpit.
	Lowering the 180 pound bike into our dinghy.
	Ready to unload Huff the Honda on the beach.

Whenever we've crossed oceans on Magic Dragon, our 90cc Honda motorcycle has always come along for the ride. For years our only form of land transport, this gutsy little vehicle has expanded our horizons beyond the immediate waterfront into the hinterland on several continents and countless islands.

When public transport or shanks pony must be relied upon, too often we might tend to stick relatively close to anchorages, except for major organized expeditions. With the motorcycle, we go considerably further afield on the spur of the moment, as a matter of course and for next to nothing. Of the toys aboard, it is sure to have provided the most enjoyment per dollar. We've covered thousands of miles on everything from multi-lane freeways to mile after mile of low-tide beaches, from trackless hillsides to village byways, exploring, provisioning or simply joy-riding.

We have used the motorcycle to reprovision countless times, sometimes taking on supplies for many months. We've been able to carry baskets of pineapples, coconuts and papayas, enough to share with others. We've towed driftwood along beaches for beach fires. Once, we refueled using a borrowed 20-gallon drum, making multiple trips to a roadside garage. Propane bottle refills ("40-pound tanks") we have scores of times roped onto the back seat. We towed the boom for refinishing to a friend's workshop by fastening our dinghy wheels on one end. We've many times commuted to jobs as we worked our way here and there over the years.

Our 40-foot cruising sloop was designed around the Honda garage. A watertight 6-foot 4 by 2-foot hatch on the port side of the cockpit allows us to lower the motorcycle below decks without dismantling it. The wheels are firmly lashed in chocks. More lashings keep the handlebars and chassis secured to the hull. The warmth of the engine room keeps it snug and dry.

We use the topped boom and the mainsheet as a cargo boom for lifting the 180-pound bike out of its garage and for swinging it over a dock or into the dinghy. One person could handle the operation in a pinch, but it is much easier with two - one to heave on the sheet, one to steady the bike. Occasionally in rolly, surgey anchorages, a third person has helped to keep the dangling motorcycle from battering itself, ourselves, and the Dragon to smithereens.

Jane out joy riding.

At first we used a small inflatable rubber raft to transport the Honda ashore. With the vehicle standing upright on a floorboard, and with its handlebars lashed to the oarlock grommets, we towed it to a beach with our rowboat, landing it on at least one occasion in sizable surf. We used always to attach a float on a long line in case of accidental deep-sixing, but after years of taking this precaution, we've become lax. Now we rest it inclined on the sea of our 14-foot outboard powered shore boat, and take it to a convenient landing place with little fuss and bother. One small problem: as we get longer in the tooth, the bike grows heavier, so we try to enlist a bystander to help lift it in or out of the dinghy.

The original red Honda Trailster we bought in 1964 when the boat was a-building. Ten years later, it lost its below-decks garage space to a yellow brother (now a cream colour). We couldn't resist a slightly newer model selling secondhand for next to nothing. (The owner had run over a dog.) The 1967 model is more convenient to switch into trail gear: a mere flick of a lever is all it takes to gear down for hill climbing, whereas with the older bike it took about fifteen minutes to exchange the chain sprocket for a larger one and add an extra length of chain. So Huff began traveling on deck, swathed in canvas and lashed to the shrouds. It was fun having two. We sometimes lent one of them to friends on fellow cruising yachts touring in company with us. The record was reached when seven of us attended a village function - three adults on each motorcycle, with a baby in a backpack bringing up the rear. We eventually sold the 1964 model to a fellow cruiser. The later bike we still have, though we seldom use it these days for we no longer keep it licensed, exercising it off road only where such lapses are overlooked.

	The Easy Rider. A trail bike can cover terrain like a horse.

To discourage theft we've sometimes padlocked it to a lamppost or a tree. We sewed up a cover on our hand-operated Singer to keep the rain off, but also to disguise it, lending it the aspect of some mysterious animal. We sometimes find a home for it ashore, once even in someone's parlour, and once in a very grand but never used ferry terminal. "Mi casa es su casa," said the watchman each time we exchanged motorcycle for oars or vice versa. "Nuestra casa," we called it.

One of the secrets of our seagoing motorcycle's longevity is the liberal greasing it receives. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to free seized up rusty parts. As with any mechanical contrivance, it is handy to have a mechanic along - the dragon man. The motorcycle is just another thing for him to maintain. We've found it worth the bother. Spare spark plugs, points, condenser we carry as a matter of course. Tires, brake linings and drive chain replacements happen every so often. Once, broken rings called for a new piston installation. An oil pump sprocket failure necessitated the rebushing of the cylinder head and valve guide replacement. We've managed to get the necessaries wherever we've needed them.

Waiting out a rain shower on Molokai in - would you believe - 1966.

As for tumbles, yes, we've had a few of those, so far nothing that an ice pack or a hot soak couldn't cure. The worst of our spill inflicted aches and pains we soothed sitting in our plastic mini-dinghy next to a hot pool where we could replenish the hot water supply at the upwelling.

There is usually little hassle in getting permission to bring the Honda ashore in different countries. Sometimes we have been required to buy insurance or post a bond. The most complex red tape raveling took place in Belgium, immediately after which bureaucratese, we lost the valid license plate. It probably got vibrated off on the cobblestones. Rather than go through all the paperwork again, we found an old 1966 license plate aboard (we never throw anything away) and converted it to 1968 by bending the corner with pliers. Then we took a pair of tin snips and cut the CANADA off a can of Canada dry ginger ale, carefully gluing that on. We used the motorcycle with its improvised license for several weeks and were never questioned.

	It's handy to have a mechanic along.

The motorcycle has given us a host of memorable adventures and magic moments. As Robert M. Persig pointed out in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, "...in a car you're in a compartment. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame. On a cycle the frame is gone. You're IN the scene, not just watching it anymore."