The Bike That Started It All!  My 1985 Yamaha Virago XV700N

My love of motorcycling all began with a friend of mine who was on his way to Bike Week. We were hanging out at a friend’s house when he mentioned he was going to Bike Week in South Carolina and had to leave early in the morning the next day. I asked him if I could come too, and he said “Sure…you got a bike…?”

Which I didn’t, but I was determined to get one. I had always wanted one, but, like a lot of other people perhaps, was persuaded by my mother to not get one until I was older. Well, I was older. And I wanted one. So, I took the MSF Rider Course at the local community college, got my certification, and I was a motorcycle rider! It was one of the proudest moments of my life, even though I had no motorcycle of my own.

My love affair with older machines all started in 2001 with a 1985 Yamaha Virago 700 a friend of mine gave me one afternoon in his garage. He was working on one of his three motorcycles when out of the blue he asked me “You want a motorcycle?”, referring to the aforementioned Virago that was sitting quietly in the corner.

I thought he was kidding. “Sure”, I said. “How much do you want for it?”

“Nothing, just take it.”

Having passed the MSF Riders Course recently, this was an opportunity not to be missed. Just TAKE it? SURE! Looking at my truck parked outside, I said “Let me go get a trailer.”

“No, either take it now or the deals off.”

“Does it run”?

“No, I’m not sure what’s wrong with it, but I have too many as it is. Do you want it or not?”

Foreshadowing!

But I’m no fool – at least less of a fool these days than I used to be – so I said “Sure, help me put it in the back.”

We loaded up the bike and hung out for a bit - he even threw in a helmet! -while he continued to wrench on his machines, and I proudly drove my new-to-me cruiser back up to my apartment in Charlottesville, where I worked out an arrangement to stash it in a friend’s garage while I worked on bringing it back to life.

I acquired a manual and set of wrenches and got down to the business of resurrecting my new/old bike. If I recall correctly, I changed the oil, put a new battery in it, I may have cleaned the carburetor – nothing serious – hit the starter and after a few seconds of cranking it roared to life! And ran well!

I was hooked. I called him on my cell phone with the bike still running and said “Hey! You remember that bike you gave me that didn’t run? Listen to this!” rolling on the throttle so it could roar into the phone.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “Good job!”

And I was off. I got it titled and tagged and rode that machine everywhere in central Virginia. I would stuff a map into the saddle bags and intentionally get lost as I worked on my new-rider skills, going everywhere and seeking out new riding conditions. I rode it on the highway; I rode it on the backroads; I even rode it once on the highway, to a back road, to a dirt road which eventually turned into a trail – before it finally ended in a point overlooking a creek somewhere in the middle of Greene County. And, yes, then I had to ride back out. I was relieved when I got back to the main highway. I don’t think 700cc Viragos were meant to go off-road. But what a ride!

I think it had something like 12,000 miles on the odometer when I got it, and I added another 22K to that number. I had heard that Viragos were temperamental things, but I had no problems with mine, so I pretty much left it alone. It ran, and ran well, and truth be told I had never really worked on a motorcycle engine before, and was actually a bit nervous to open up the side covers and see what’s what. Until one day…

It was late fall in 2002, maybe…? The time of year when it can get really cold in Virginia during the morning hours. By this time I had moved the Virago to the parking lot of my apartment complex, where it stayed outside under a motorcycle cover. I no longer had the option of keeping it in my friend’s garage, plus whenever I wanted to ride it was right there.

I went out to add some oil, and when I put the plastic funnel in and added the oil, as I was taking it out I somehow angled it wrong. Cold weather and plastic don’t like each other. I heard a ‘SNAP!’ and when I took out the funnel I saw about an inch of the funnel end had dropped into the engine through the oil-filler hole.

I was horrified. I repeatedly said a word that rhymes with ‘truck’ several times, got my pulse under control and assessed the situation. Time to open her up, I guess. That’s okay, I thought, it had to happen sometime.

I got my tools out, gingerly took off the left side cover like it would explode from within, and was actually pretty interested in how the gears all meshed together, how things worked and how it all went together, and recovered the errant piece of funnel laying innocently in the bottom of the case.

I buttoned up the engine and was so relieved it started and ran I went out on the road immediately to soothe my rattled nerves.

The Virago was an experience in introductory motorcycle mechanics. Everything I did, from putting new tires on it to cable maintenance, changing the plugs (and reading them), and afternoons spent washing, waxing and polishing the chrome drew me deeper into the literal mechanics of motorcycles. I rode the Virago and studied the mystifying instructions in the manual on electrical systems, transmission repair, troubleshooting and carburetor tuning. Ah, tuning the infamous Virago Hitachi carburetor - that is a story for another time. (The whole story is in the Blog section entitled 'My Hitachi Odyssey,' if you're interested).

And I still have the funnel!