FREE WHEELIN’

FREE WHEELIN’

Brian rathjen

You Can Go Home Again

If you have been reading Backroads for any number of seasons you might be aware that I am a “Farkle” guy. GPS, Radar, Hornet …. Whatever…. I am tossing it onto my bike.

But, with my purchase of a new BMW R1250GS last Fall I suddenly had three machines that were kinda, sorta, in some way - the same. Two GS’s and a KLR 650.

My 2012 eventually went to an awesome home and a great rider and Backroads alumni Larry Wilson (Not the ball player or LeMans racer; but a nice gent all the same), and in my mind, to replace it, I had thought of something… not normally in my script. Well, not since we began publishing Backroads.

Back in the day, way back in the day – I started my riding life with a ‘72 Kawasaki S-3 – two-stroke 3-cylinder machine. She was quick, but when run hard it tended to have oil-injection problems. I burned a lot of other riders that early Summer but then… Bang!

This came to point on a summer’s night on Cross Bay Boulevard.

Okay, let me say that again…. BANG! It was like a tiny explosion and a lock-up. Clutch pulled in I limped to the side and then a long, long limp home.

At this point, I was 18 years old and had a far greater grasp of tools and machines than anyone in my family. Well, all but my Uncle Thomas McAuley -USAF / PanAm / every tool you could imagine in the box. Add into this my other part-time Dad, Dennis Falk and I was fairly okay with a wrench. Seriously, if I asked for a Phillips in my home they would have handed me a bottle of Milk of Magnesia. Just west of Bryant High School, on the edge of 47th street and 31st Avenue, there was a small garage that three of us shared. A very decent crew of bikes and riders. One ‘75 Z-1 and a stunning Norton Commando. I was in good company – especially when I went into the engine of the S-3. Both John and J.P. looked over my shoulder. Tearing off the head it looked like Captain Kirk had fired a Phaser into the piston. Ouch. Piston burned clear through. Dead bike. My garage-mates rolled their eyes. I was a bit crushed. A few weeks later I spied an ad for what I wanted. What 18-year old man would not? A 1973 Kawasaki Z-1. Root beer and orange. New York Steak! Oddly enough this bike was just three blocks from my Uncle Tommy’s home. His big smile made the choice easy. And thus a 1973 Kawasaki 900 Z-1 was my ride and my real introduction to riding for those formative years. Drag racing at Connecting and Cross Bay, and terrible showing at Bridgehampton road course. Nick Richichi or Mike Baldwin I was not.

But, lately, my bikes have become slightly utilitarian. They work for a living.

When I sold the older GS, I promised I would buy something outside the box.

As Monty Python would say… “Now for something completely different!”

And, there it was. Resting on its laurels, for a few years at least, in the showroom at our friends Bennet Motors in Fly Creek, New York – a 2019 Kawasaki Z900RS.

It looked just like my old Z. From here on in I will be calling it my Z-1!

What Kawasaki probably would have built if they had this technology four decades ago. (Continued Page 7)