SPman
27th June 2005, 07:38
Came across this editorial in Motorcycle Online. For those with subs - http://www.motorcycle.com/mo/mccompare/05_Aint_The_Tool/index.motml
For those without - thought I'd print it out -
It Ain't The Tool<o ="">
</o> Editorial By Fred Rau - April, 2005
I remember once, back when I was about 11 years old, watching a pitchman at a carnival as he demonstrated a gyroscopic toy that he balanced on a string between his hands. He made the toy run back and forth on the string, turn upside-down, do somersaults and all kinds of other incredible stunts. I just had to have one, and shelled out my whole month's hard-earned allowance of $5.00 to get "one of the last ones left." Naturally, after getting back home with my prize, I found that I couldn't make it do any of the things the carney had demonstrated. It ended up in the back of my closet, an embarrassing reminder of how I'd been taken.
Months later, when confessing to my Grandfather about what had happened, he pulled out an old pocketknife he always carried with him and held it up in front of me.
"Remember when I carved you a toy airplane out of a block of wood with this knife?" he asked.
"Sure, Grandpa."
"Well, if I sold you this knife," he said, "do you think you could carve your own toy airplane with it?"
"No, Grandpa. I don't know how."
"Exactly; it took me years to learn, and lots of practice. It ain't the tool, boy. It's the man operating it. Just like with your toy."
A couple of years later, that lesson stood me in good stead when a small-time con man came to a playground in town and gathered a large crowd of pre-teens around himself by showing off with a yo-yo. I have never, before or since, seen anyone make a yo-yo do the things that guy could. Of course, after his demonstration, he opened up a suitcase full of brightly-colored yo-yos and started selling them to all the kids for a buck apiece. Several kids ran home to break open their piggy banks, just so they could get one. I was about the only holdout--standing there thinking about that gyro toy, and what my Grandpa had said.
Of course, none of my friends could ever get their yo-yos to do any of the tricks they'd seen. Most of the toys broke after just a few hours of trying, anyway, as they were very cheaply made. If that guy is still alive today, I'll bet he's on Channel 99 at 3:00 a.m., selling "kitchen magicians."
Fast-forward another forty years later. I am riding up one of my favorite canyon roads, following my good friend Walt Fulton. We are just out for a little Sunday morning putt, but even when he's just dawdling along, Walt is a challenge for me to keep up with. Some of you older guys might recognize the name, but for those who don't, Walt is a former factory team racer for two different major motorcycle manufacturers, a four-time Daytona winner and the guy who wore the helmet camera that filmed all those famous on-track racing scenes in the movie "On Any Sunday." Even now, over 30 years later, Walt doesn't own a car, rides every day, and works as both a motorcycle riding instructor and a motorcycle accident reconstruction expert. I have never met, and probably never will meet, anyone with a greater understanding of the dynamics of motorcycling, or the skills to utilize that knowledge so effectively.
Anyway, there we were tooling up the mountain, when we came up behind two young men on what appeared to be very new and expensive hyper-bikes. One was definitely a Hayabusa, and I think the other was a CBR of some kind, though it'd been repainted and all the badging was removed, so I couldn't be sure. Both bikes sported aftermarket exhausts, and from their sound, probably had their engines tricked out, too. The riders both sported very expensive racing leathers, color-matched to their machines, complete with titanium kneepucks and those stylish new "humps" on their backs, to reduce air turbulence from the helmet when you are "tucked in." In all, they looked like very serious riders.
However, the illusion was quickly dispelled as we went around a few curves together. Though their engines screamed a beautiful note as they revved up and downshifted, and each rider hung radically off his bike to touch a knee to the tarmac, their line through the curves was wide and undisciplined, and their bikes' lean angles were actually fairly moderate. Everything about their appearance gave the illusion of speed, except the actual speed just wasn't there. Nor was the control, as they exited each turn far too wide, and well out of position to set up for the next.
It just so happened that on this particular day, rather than riding one of his newer, faster bikes, Walt was "exercising" a 15-year-old BMW Boxer of his that had, as I recall, about 250,000 miles under its wheels. The Boxer was bone stock, and by Walt's own admission was, "overdue for a whole new suspension," because it was "handling pretty badly."
Despite all that, after following the two superbikes through a couple of more curves, when they swung wide through a long, right-hand sweeper, Walt simply downshifted the old Beemer and zipped past them both in a heartbeat - on the inside. He never changed his position on the seat, or did anything trendy like sticking a knee out. He just leaned over, nailed the throttle, and smoothly and quickly knifed through the turn. I don't think either of the guys he passed even hit the apex of their turns before Walt was out the other end, straightening up and accelerating away.
Being a much less accomplished rider, I waited for a longer, straighter opportunity to pass, and caught up with Walt at a pre-determined coffee shop a few miles away. As we sat there warming up and relaxing, the two pseudo-streetfighters buzzed past and Walt said, "I was hoping they might stop in here. I would really like to try to talk them into getting some decent training. It's not just that they'd enjoy riding so much more, but if they keep up like that, somebody is going to get seriously hurt." I nodded in agreement as he continued, "It's a shame that so many of these young riders nowadays think it's all about buying the best or fastest or most expensive bike they can find. Or maybe even worse, that they think that if they buy the trickest Yoshimura exhaust can, or trendiest race tire or Ohlins suspension or whatever, that it will make them ride better. Sure, those things will give you an edge, but only if you've already mastered the basics - and they don't have a clue."
At that moment; for the first time in over 40 years, I saw my Grandfather's face again, and heard those words: "It ain't the tool, boy - it's the man operating it."
"Nuff said..
For those without - thought I'd print it out -
It Ain't The Tool<o ="">
</o> Editorial By Fred Rau - April, 2005
I remember once, back when I was about 11 years old, watching a pitchman at a carnival as he demonstrated a gyroscopic toy that he balanced on a string between his hands. He made the toy run back and forth on the string, turn upside-down, do somersaults and all kinds of other incredible stunts. I just had to have one, and shelled out my whole month's hard-earned allowance of $5.00 to get "one of the last ones left." Naturally, after getting back home with my prize, I found that I couldn't make it do any of the things the carney had demonstrated. It ended up in the back of my closet, an embarrassing reminder of how I'd been taken.
Months later, when confessing to my Grandfather about what had happened, he pulled out an old pocketknife he always carried with him and held it up in front of me.
"Remember when I carved you a toy airplane out of a block of wood with this knife?" he asked.
"Sure, Grandpa."
"Well, if I sold you this knife," he said, "do you think you could carve your own toy airplane with it?"
"No, Grandpa. I don't know how."
"Exactly; it took me years to learn, and lots of practice. It ain't the tool, boy. It's the man operating it. Just like with your toy."
A couple of years later, that lesson stood me in good stead when a small-time con man came to a playground in town and gathered a large crowd of pre-teens around himself by showing off with a yo-yo. I have never, before or since, seen anyone make a yo-yo do the things that guy could. Of course, after his demonstration, he opened up a suitcase full of brightly-colored yo-yos and started selling them to all the kids for a buck apiece. Several kids ran home to break open their piggy banks, just so they could get one. I was about the only holdout--standing there thinking about that gyro toy, and what my Grandpa had said.
Of course, none of my friends could ever get their yo-yos to do any of the tricks they'd seen. Most of the toys broke after just a few hours of trying, anyway, as they were very cheaply made. If that guy is still alive today, I'll bet he's on Channel 99 at 3:00 a.m., selling "kitchen magicians."
Fast-forward another forty years later. I am riding up one of my favorite canyon roads, following my good friend Walt Fulton. We are just out for a little Sunday morning putt, but even when he's just dawdling along, Walt is a challenge for me to keep up with. Some of you older guys might recognize the name, but for those who don't, Walt is a former factory team racer for two different major motorcycle manufacturers, a four-time Daytona winner and the guy who wore the helmet camera that filmed all those famous on-track racing scenes in the movie "On Any Sunday." Even now, over 30 years later, Walt doesn't own a car, rides every day, and works as both a motorcycle riding instructor and a motorcycle accident reconstruction expert. I have never met, and probably never will meet, anyone with a greater understanding of the dynamics of motorcycling, or the skills to utilize that knowledge so effectively.
Anyway, there we were tooling up the mountain, when we came up behind two young men on what appeared to be very new and expensive hyper-bikes. One was definitely a Hayabusa, and I think the other was a CBR of some kind, though it'd been repainted and all the badging was removed, so I couldn't be sure. Both bikes sported aftermarket exhausts, and from their sound, probably had their engines tricked out, too. The riders both sported very expensive racing leathers, color-matched to their machines, complete with titanium kneepucks and those stylish new "humps" on their backs, to reduce air turbulence from the helmet when you are "tucked in." In all, they looked like very serious riders.
However, the illusion was quickly dispelled as we went around a few curves together. Though their engines screamed a beautiful note as they revved up and downshifted, and each rider hung radically off his bike to touch a knee to the tarmac, their line through the curves was wide and undisciplined, and their bikes' lean angles were actually fairly moderate. Everything about their appearance gave the illusion of speed, except the actual speed just wasn't there. Nor was the control, as they exited each turn far too wide, and well out of position to set up for the next.
It just so happened that on this particular day, rather than riding one of his newer, faster bikes, Walt was "exercising" a 15-year-old BMW Boxer of his that had, as I recall, about 250,000 miles under its wheels. The Boxer was bone stock, and by Walt's own admission was, "overdue for a whole new suspension," because it was "handling pretty badly."
Despite all that, after following the two superbikes through a couple of more curves, when they swung wide through a long, right-hand sweeper, Walt simply downshifted the old Beemer and zipped past them both in a heartbeat - on the inside. He never changed his position on the seat, or did anything trendy like sticking a knee out. He just leaned over, nailed the throttle, and smoothly and quickly knifed through the turn. I don't think either of the guys he passed even hit the apex of their turns before Walt was out the other end, straightening up and accelerating away.
Being a much less accomplished rider, I waited for a longer, straighter opportunity to pass, and caught up with Walt at a pre-determined coffee shop a few miles away. As we sat there warming up and relaxing, the two pseudo-streetfighters buzzed past and Walt said, "I was hoping they might stop in here. I would really like to try to talk them into getting some decent training. It's not just that they'd enjoy riding so much more, but if they keep up like that, somebody is going to get seriously hurt." I nodded in agreement as he continued, "It's a shame that so many of these young riders nowadays think it's all about buying the best or fastest or most expensive bike they can find. Or maybe even worse, that they think that if they buy the trickest Yoshimura exhaust can, or trendiest race tire or Ohlins suspension or whatever, that it will make them ride better. Sure, those things will give you an edge, but only if you've already mastered the basics - and they don't have a clue."
At that moment; for the first time in over 40 years, I saw my Grandfather's face again, and heard those words: "It ain't the tool, boy - it's the man operating it."
"Nuff said..