Discussion in the family has reminded me that this blog still exists.
Here's a recent photo of the R90S taken at the Broadford classic bike bonanza, Easter 2016.

The Ongoing R90S Restoration

I see it is just over a year since I posted about the endless restoration of my BMW R90S.
Things have been progressing. With the incentive of making the vintage motorcycle meet at Broadford Racetrack, north of Melbourne, over the Easter Weekend, I have been diligently working away at finishing the project.
About a month ago, I finally reached the stage where I could drop in a battery and hit the 'go' button. But alas, there was no response. Many hours were then spent trying to isolate the problem, and yet another section of wiring loom ordered from the UK. On replacing that particular section of loom, it was with much trepidation that once again I attempted to start the beast.
This time, the result was an encouraging chug, chug, varoom! It's running roughly, but it does run. It is a very pleasing result.
In the process of troubleshooting the electrical demons lurking within, I had to once more achieve an alarming level of disassembly. The benefit of repeated assembly and disassembly is that it becomes quicker each time.

As is the nature of these things, it is not yet an entirely functional animal. There is some minor stiction in the front suspension, and it needs to be finely tuned. The exhaust system is a functional, if somewhat ugly unit, which will be changed at some stage.
I believe the best course of action now will be to transport the bike to some professional BMW mechanics to iron out the remaining issues, and to get it running sweetly.
The end is in sight.
The first sign of life as a complete unit can be viewed at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-qGEvEPXjo

Tom's endless BMW R90S Restoration

As anyone who knows me can attest, my restoration project has been a drawn out process, as the photo of Jack sitting astride the original beast amply demonstrates. Given that Jack is now a bona fide rock star, having just toured the country with the Big Days Out festival, as the lead guitarist with the band 'Teleprompter'.
There is a photo of Alison and I sitting astride a blue 750 Honda, which belonged to a distant cousin of Rita visiting from the UK. It was in the early 70's, when the 750 Honda was heralded as the 1st real superbike, and I was about the same age as Jack in this photo. Interestingly, both Alison & I now own bikes. There's no hope for Jack.
I was living in Perth at the time, and found an ad for this bike in a magazine, for sale in Bundaberg. I had been looking for a R90S for a restoration project for some time. The R90S was BMW's only foray into the superbike wars of the mid 70's. This model is a 1975 model, originally in Smoke Grey, and now in the Sunburst Orange, or Daytona, colour scheme. It had a 200kph top speed off the show room floor, was the first production bike to have a fairing attached, and won the Castrol 10hr Endurance race in Australia.
After convoluted negotiations over the phone, it was decided Peter and Heather would travel to Bundaberg, pick up the bike and ride it back to Brisbane. Alison then flew to Brisbane and rode it on to Melbourne. It must have been a pig to ride at the time. The clutch was about finished, and the brakes were far from their best. Alison and I had a short ride along the Great Ocean Road, Alison on her Yamaha 600 and me on the R90. I rode it around Perth until its Qld rego ran out, then pulled it apart.
It was the beginning of a complete restoration. Every moving part has been replaced, fasteners replaced with stainless steel, and some subtle modifications to improve its function. It came to Melbourne with me when I moved from Perth in '99, and lived in the loungeroom for a couple of years.
While it is well advanced from this stage, it still isn't finished. I hope that at some stage, Peter and Alison will both get to ride this bike again, and find it a much more pleasant experience than their first ride in 1995.

Peter & Tom on Cape York

Peter getting some air under the troopie on the track north of Cooktown, on the way to the Cape,



and then trying to drown the truck at one of the many river crossings on 'Telegraph Track'...






...and to prove we made it, a youthful looking Peter at 'The Cape'.

Tom's Bicycle Tour of the US, Sept/Oct/Nov 05

I set off with fear and loathing, even though visiting Las Vegas wasn't on the agenda. In fact, I was so stricken with fear, I had my hair cut short, just in case I was unfortunate enough to be in a situation similar to that of Peter Fonda and Jack Nicholson in the final scene of 'Easy Rider'.
I did encounter a bizarre scene, leaving a National Park in North Carolina, on a dank and humid morning, where maybe 100 men, all armed, were standing on the roadside, like a guard of honour. I tried a laconic 'Gday' which was met with silence, so I peddled on through the forest, wondering if I would be mistaken for a deer (or whatever it was they were about to shoot. Maybe it was black men, or cyclists) in the fog. Dr Pierce's tonic was standing me in good stead. I certainly wasn't mistaken for a weak woman. Thank God I'd cut my hair.
I set off from Vancouver after prising my bike off the eager clutches of Alaskan Air (who somewhat distressingly have a picture bearing a striking resemblance to Bob Marley on their tail fins), and rode south along the west coast. One of my favourite books is 'Sometimes A Great Notion' by Ken Kesey (of 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo Nest' fame). It is set in Oregon, and the tale is underpinned by the rain, the rain, the never ceasing rain. So while in Oregon, very near where the story is set, it rained and rained and rained.
Highway 1, or 101, is heavily populated by the American equivalent to the Grey Nomad. Except that they drive what we would call a tourist coach, decked out as a mobile home, and towing their car behind. I did see one towing a Hummer. They would terrorise me on the road all day, then pull into campsites, put a patch of fake grass at the bottom of their stairs, and disappear inside, never to be seen again, until the next morning when they'd queue to empty their shit. Seeing me dressed like this, riding a bike, was as much beyond their comprehension as if I'd just landed from Mars.
Not withstanding the Winnebago onslaught, cycle touring on the West Coast is fairly straight forward. There are not many detours off the main highway, there are biker/hiker campsites every so often (usually a moderate day cycling apart, but it must be a bloody long walk) for a token fee, and small towns for restocking at regular intervals. I was surprised, however, at just how sparsely populated the north-west is.

I flew from San Francisco to Raleigh, North Carolina (chosen mostly because my trusty touring bike is a Raleigh) and set off north towards New York. I was on a timeline to meet up with Alison, Peter, Heather, Jack and Kate, who were all there to see Peter win the NY Marathon. 2005 was noteworthy in the USA as the year of 28 hurricanes, one of which (Katrina) wiped out New Orleans. I was there a little while after the event, but by no means after the hurricane season. (They are named alphabetically, so Katrina was the 11th of the season). As I crossed into Virginia, Hurricane Rita (named after our mother) was wreaking havoc in Florida. It then passed very quickly north along the coast, and settled off the coast of Boston. A long way away, admittedly, but by this stage an enormous storm which was pulling Arctic air from the north, and pushing it south. In US jargon, this was the first 'Nor-wester' of the season. For me it meant gale force head winds driving icy rain, all at about freezing point, or a degree or 2 above. It wasn't much fun, and worsened by difficult navigation. On the worst day, I was still riding late into the night just to get to somewhere, anywhere! I still think this was one of my worst days ever on a bike (very closely followed by a 46deg day in South Australia I'd rather forget). I was depressed and disillusioned, and truly wondered what I was doing. The next day was clear and cold. My spirits rose considerably.

As I approached New York, I rode through 4 mega-tropoli in 4 days, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York. I'd ridden 3500km in total, through 10 states. And I made it in time to meet the family, and see Peter come second in the NY marathon. I don't know who won it. Don't really care.

Tom crossing dunes in The Simpson Desert

Will and Tom