honda – One Hell of a Ride

Day 13-14: Ankara

Hopefully this will be my only post where I cover two days with a single entry. Afterall, initially I had planned to stay in Ankara for only one day before going to Nevşehir.

Ankara is Turkey’s capital and one of its largest cities. Some people I met in Istanbul referred to it as the “Workers’ City”.

It does look, in some ways, more solid than Istanbul.

People definitely drive better than they do in Istanbul. In fact the traffic here is more or less bearable, although you do occasionally stumble across drivers entering one-way streets from the wrong end, and jumping the red light is of course a usual sight. The streets here are the nicest of all the other places I’ve seen in Turkey.

There’s a handful of large business buildings and the business life looks really active.

Besides that, there seem to be a lot more young crowd in Ankara than in Istanbul. This might in fact be bullshit, but I did come across a lot more young people in Ankara. Another good thing is, I also met much more people who spoke God’s language — English. People were a lot more sociable and open than elsewhere in Turkey. I asked some lady in a bus to let me know where to get off for Kızılay, and she did. After I got off and we parted to different directions, several minutes down the road I suddenly saw her running towards me.

“Hey, hey, I am really sorry!” she caught her breath

“What happened?”

“I forgot to ask!! Do you need any more help?”

That was super sweet.

Although the city has a very strong Soviet feel about itself,

You do come across some nice architecture here

Finished with beautiful modern oriental touches

And some crowd with a good taste as well!

The policemen look and act professional as everywhere else in Turkey

Honda Ankara keeps getting new motorcycles for their huge salon

Yes, there is a motorcycle in that box!

Albeit the “Servis” is uncomparable to Alaattin’s Mototal

And there is a lot of junk around

I had to stay for two days, not because any problems delayed me, and not because I loved Ankara so much.

But because I wanted to understand — what was wrong with it? Why was it so incomparable to Istanbul?

And in two days I still failed to grasp it.

Perhaps it was just not as spicy, not as juicy and it did not smell so amazingly sweet and horrible on a range of one foot?

Or perhaps it lacked something much more important?

Day 7: Silivri

“We in Istanbul do not really understand the politics against Armenia”
—Alaattin Balta

The next day I walked out of my hotel and walked to Alaattin’s Honda Service. We were both on the Asian side, and it was no more than a 15 minute walk. On my way I met a real motorcycle-only washing service, and 2 policemen on a Varadero who wanted to wash their bike.

See the couch and the armchairs on the background? That is a general sight here even for outdoor places of least significance (like a motorcycle wash service down in Kadiköy)! The guy resting on the armchair is the owner of the place.

In Honda, Alaattin was already waiting for me. “Your tires have arrived 5 minutes before you!”

While usta was changing my tires and balancing the wheels, me and Alaattin were talking about things. Apparently his grand grandparents had moved to Turkey from Adigey Republic long ago.

“We in Istanbul do not really understand the politics against Armenia”, he shrugged

“So, do you think I am safe here?”

“Of course, no problem at all!”

I wanted to finish early, because I wanted to ride to Silivri to meet some of my Armenian friends who also happened to be in Istanbul with their own affairs. There was also a Portuguese lady who I really wanted to meet. So I rushed Alaattin Bey.

“Women eh?” he smiled wide. I think he was really into women. “Women!~”

Alaattin was really proud of the job his usta did on my bike, and I was pretty happy as well.

“We are connected to Honda’s global motorcycle maintenance system. It is completely online. Every single thing that we did on your bike is recorded in the system. So next time you take your bike to any Honda in Turkey, Europe, USA or Armenia, they will have access to all that information!”

“We don’t have an official Honda in Armenia!”

“Really? How many motorcyclists are there in Yerevan?”

“Very few!”

“Very few? How few? Around 500?”

“Around 50!”

“50? Five and one zero? How many people live in Yerevan?”

“Over a million!”

“Aslan Bey!” he yelled to the chief usta, followed by something in Turkish, laughing.

“I just told him there are only about 50 motorcycles in Yerevan! That is crazy! Maybe I should open business there! Do you think there is good potential? In a million-man city with only 50 bikes there must be!”

I didn’t know what to answer. “Maybe if you promote motorcycles really well, people will start riding!”

“We’ll stay in touch about that” he concluded.

They took the motorcycle off the stand and washed it. Alaattin then rode his beautiful white motorcycle with me to the nearest petrol station where I could refuel.

Turkish 95 fuel looks much different from the Armenian 95 (“Premium” as we call it in Armenia). It is a lot greener and its smell is much more intensely chemical.

“Use 95! 97 fucks your motorcycle! Also be careful for the next 200 kilometers because of the new tires, and be easy on your brakes! Ride safe, call me if you need anything!”

“Thanks a lot!!”

I rode to Silivri. That is about 80 kilometers from the Asian side of Istanbul. After the carburetor tweaks and the new fuel, the motorcycle was flying! I felt like I had purchased a new motorcycle with at least 20 more horsepower!

The way people drive in Istanbul deserves a separate dedicated post, or perhaps a dedicated book. But anyway, the motorcycle ran perfect, the roads were awesome, and I arrived in Silivri to meet Masheé and Dina and spend some fun night at a beach with dozens of young foreign architecture students from all over Europe.

Day 6: Honda

“Normally, we are the best Honda service in all of Turkey.”
—Alaattin Balta

The bus was some huge fancy Mercedes and the comfort level was no less than in the Airbus A380 that flew me from San Francisco to Paris.

The personnel of the bus were extremely helpful in trying to make sure the motorcycle is fitted securely and arranging my actions after I arrive in Istanbul.

Some of the crowd, however, were not exactly the positive kind. A couple of guys on the back seats who were waiting for the same bus at the station were very obviously talking about me and making some jokes between each other.

One of them finally found the courage to speak.

“From?”

“Armenia”

(giggling) “Ermenistan?”

“Yeah”

“City? Erivan?”

“Yerevan”

“Yeh-reh-van! …What is?” he points at the Leatherman tool on my belt

“My Leatherman”

“Give!”

I handle him the Leatherman with a smile on my face. They play with it a little then give it back to me. How very typical.

“Photo!” they noticed the camera on my neck. They pose. I take a photograph. They make me show it to them. They don’t like the result. “Again!” — I take one again. “No, delete!” — I delete it.

“What is?” this time they point at my watch

“My watch” I shrug

“How much dollars?”

“Quite a few!”

“Give!”

“No way” I smile

“Gift to me?”

“Dude I am not giving you my Timex Expedition as a gift, sorry!” I know he doesn’t understand what I’m saying

“Change!” he points at his crappy $10 watch

“Sorry, I am not interested”

“Gift, gift!”

“No, sorry!” I smile wide again

I change my seat. They keep laughing about some things then get bored with me. Good.

After 18 hours of driving, 3 thirty-minute breaks and an annoyingly snoring man next to me, we arrive at Istanbul. The bus driver calls Honda, tells them where he “unloaded” me, tells me “wait here” and drives away. After about 40 minutes a white minivan with the Honda logo arrives. Two energetic young people ask me — “Motosiklet problem? Erzurum?” and as I nod they load my motorcycle into the van. I feel safe. It is a great feeling to know you can count on your brand!

As we drive in the van, the guys ask me questions. The one in red looks more shy than the driver who is in white. So the driver asks.

“…From?”

“Ermenistan”

“Ooo!”

After a while of driving we arrive at an official Honda “servis”. It looks very impressive. A mid-aged man approaches me with a welcoming smile and pretty decent English.

“Where are you my friend! I was calling you, but your phone was off!”

Meet Alaattin, the owner of the most awesome Honda motorcycle dealer and repair service you can imagine. After 5 minutes my motorcycle is already on the stand, and an “usta” is working on it.

The guy with glasses on the last picture is Usta’s apprentice. His job involves looking closely to what Usta does, handling him some tools if he asks for something, pumping air into the tires if needed and unscrewing the bolts Usta asks him to. Screwing them back is handled by Usta.

The folks have every single tool for the job. How do you find out the RPMs of an engine if the tachometer is broken? This is how!

Alaattin has about 10 motorcycle stands and all of them are busy. Judging by the amount of the motorcycles being serviced and the amount of those parked outside waiting to be serviced, the business is good.

The guys are doing a spectacular job at extraordinary pace. Alaattin talks to each customer personally.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asks

“Not lately I have not!”

He calls some guy who runs his affairs. After 15 minutes two kebabs and a can of coke are waiting for me at the personnel’s room.

Alaattin is aware of every little detail about his business. Oh and he loves to use the words “fuck” and “normally”. People say he is a “dinosaur” in motorcycle business in Istanbul. He’s been around since the 80ies of the past century. After repairing my bike Alaattin personally gives it a test ride to ensure everything is fine.

“It runs very good now!”

“Thanks, you guys got really awesome service here!”

“Thank you! Normally, we are the best Honda service in Turkey!”

“You look like you would be!”

“You need to change the tires as well, they won’t be good after less than a thousand kilometers!”

He is right. My tires are worn out. The worst part is, there are no motorcycle tires in Armenia.

“OK, how much would that cost me?”

“About 300 dollars for both!”

“What about the service cost?”

“It depends on whether or not you are taking the tires!”

“I will take the tires”

“Then the service will cost you $250!”

“Do you think you could drop that a little for me?” (long live Uğur!)

“What is your suggested price?”

“I don’t know… $200?”

“Deal!” — he dials Michelin and places an order for my tires. “The tires will be here tomorrow! You can leave your motorcycle in the store, and take it tomorrow after we change them — it is safe here! Do you have a hotel you will stay in?”

“Not yet!”

“Normally, I would offer you to stay in my home. But I have a 1 year old baby girl and she cries in the nights, so unfortunately I cannot do it now.”

He calls one of his employees.

“I will tell him to ride you on his bike to Deniz Hotel. We have a deal with them and they give our customers lower prices!”

“Perfect!”

The guy who rides me looks like a very typical Armenian kebab type of a person wearing an earring — an exceptional combination! I try to take some pictures as he rides me through Istanbul’s chaotic traffic.

Boy oh boy, my motorcycle is fixed, I got new tires, I only spent $550, and Istanbul looks amazing!!!!

Day 4, part 2: Mahmet

“Yarın, yarın!!”
—Mahmet

As I was talking on the phone with Honda Road Assist, some man in his 50ies was attentively listening me speak. After I hung up, he inquired what the problem was. I explained that I could not afford to pay 1600 dollars to repair my motorcycle in Istanbul, and that I had no idea what I was gonna do after getting there. “I have friends who operate a Honda-authorized repair store,” he said. “In the same quarter as my house in Istanbul. They will do it for cheap. Very cheap. Economic!”

He called his friends and asked them to call me to arrange our meeting once I arrive in Istanbul. I received a call after a minute. Luckily the guy spoke English.

“Hello, is this Areg bey?”

“Yes, I am the guy with the motorcycle problem”

“When will you be in Istanbul?”

“Tomorrow in the morning”

“Tamam! Please record my number. Call me when you arrive in the bus station. We are in Harem. In Istanbul there is an Asian part and a European part. We are in the Asian part. Do not cross the bridge to the European part, or it will be very expensive to bring you back.”

“Great, thanks a lot sir!”

“Not at all!”

That sounded hopeful. “Saying “not at all” to a “thank you” is so old-school”, crossed my mind, but overall I was certainly very happy. I had a number I could call in Istanbul! I thanked the man who arranged the contact for me and asked who he was.

“My name is Hakan.” He passed me his business card

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. Are you the manager here?”

“I am the owner.”

I looked at his business card. “KRAL Otel. Hakan Kral Yilmaz. Kral Turizm.”

“Call me if you have problems in Istanbul!”

I left the otel and figured I wanna do some sightseeing before leaving to Istanbul. This later turned to be the most stupid decision, and helped me adopt a new general rule when traveling on a motorcycle — if you have any problems with the motorcycle, do not do anything else before making sure everything is OK.

So I went to take pictures of the mosque in the center. In the outside it looked pretty Armenian. I am not an architecture whiz, so I took some photos to check later with more competent folks.

After the mosque I bought some cherry ice-cream from a store and started eating it right there in the street. I guess my behavior was very wrong for Ramazan, because I felt very much like a lady in Yerevan who smokes while walking in the street. My Armenian readers will know exactly what that means.

Then I took some more pictures to give a general idea of what life in Erzurum is like.

When I went back to the “otopark” to take my motorcycle to the bus-station, a surprise awaited me. Outside Cengiz’s booth there was a police motorcycle, a Honda CBF600!

Turned out Cengiz had seeked out some policeman who was riding a CBF and was eager to help a fellow motorcyclist in trouble. His name was Mehmet. An extraordinarily positive person who looked and acted much like a superhero from a cartoon, Mehmet was excited for the chance to help me. He checked the motorcycle’s damage and threw his hand. “You only need to repair the throttle grip, then you can continue your journey.”

He called someone in Istanbul. “Will cost you 90 liras. About 60 dollars. When you go to Istanbul, call this guy,” he passed me a business card. “Mototal. Aslan bey. He always repairs my Hondas. Good usta! Very economic!” Then he checked the damages again. “Maybe you can even repair your grip here in Erzurum! Come!”

We took Cenghiz’s Peugeot and they drove me to some places. The “usta”s said they could repair the motorcycle, but only if they had the part.

“No original Honda parts in Erzurum,” Mahmet said.

“How does the Police repair their CBFs then?”

“Ankara! We put them on a truck and send them to Ankara or Istanbul! It is best for you to go to Istanbul!”

“I have to be at the bus station at 4:00 then, I only have 10 minutes left!”

“Yavash!!”

Mahmet sat me in a car, started my motorcycle and rode it fast with the broken grip to the bus station. I came in the car. By the time I arrived, Mahmet was already there, looking disappointed. “Yarın, Yarın!” he yelled before I even managed to get out of the car. “Yarın! The bus left! And we can’t take the bike back to otopark because we had to empty the tank. You will leave tomorrow!”

He approached a police station near the bus terminal and exchanged some words with the policemen there. “Lets leave your bike here in this station,” he suggested. “You can do that. Then tomorrow you just come here, take your motorcycle and go to Istanbul.”

They drove me back to KRAL Otel and I checked in again. “Like yesterday?” I asked about the price. “Yes, 70 liras” nodded the receptionist. I wanted to say “OK”, but remembered Uğur.

“Mmhm!”, I said.

Defining Cool

Party like us.

Traffic Police, Story Three

After enjoying superb sushi and other great Asian food from some of Yerevan’s best cooks on a friend’s goodbye party at his house, we wanted to continue with an afterparty. Carlos is a marine at the Marine Security Guard Detachment Yerevan, so we decided to continue the party over at the Embassy. The Embassy car arrived to pick everyone up and drive them over, while I rode my motorcycle.

It was freezing cold late in the night, so I was pushing the motorcycle to get to the destination as quickly as possible. The entrance and the parking lot for the personnel are on the other side of the embassy. That means one has to ride all the way to the ramp across the road to make a complex U-turn and ride back. And here is Murphy’s law about rushing to awesome parties in action: just after the U-turn a traffic police car put on the siren and pulled me over. Speeding offenses in Armenia are usually fine and cheap, you can generally get away with just 5,000 drams, but then it struck me (Muphy’s law in action number two) — I left all my insurance papers in a friend’s car during the winter and never managed to take them back! Legally, this meant 50,000 drams. Realistically, this meant a little more than 5,000 drams (depending on luck and sympathy) after a long, tedious and largely humiliating chat with a person whose IQ, statistically, is below the city average. I can handle that most of the time; sometimes it’s even entertaining. But there was a party waiting for me ahead that had all the chances of being more entertaining than a conversation with an Armenian traffic police officer late in the night next to a stinking water reservoir! Now here goes all of the above paragraph and its continuation flashing through my brain on that very moment:

“Fucking cold!… Fucking pothole!… Faster’s always good when flying over potholes… Uh! (a traffic police car)… OK they won’t pull a motorcycle over… (the cops put on the siren) God fucking damn it!!!!… OK it’s only 5,000 drams (turning on the parking signal with my frozen left thumb)… I’ll explain them it was cold and the street was empty so I pushed… Shit, the insurance papers!!!!… (pressing the turn signal button to switch it off)… Only about 1km to the embassy… Honda CBF500 against Toyota Corolla… lets roll!”

“0434, driver of the motorcycle, STOP IMMEDIATELY!!!!”

Have you ever drag-raced with the police? It’s one hell of a fun! And guess what?

A 500cc Honda parallel twin engine carrying 195 kilos including its own weight plus 65 kilos of a fully–equipped Synopsys programmer smokes a Toyota Corolla carrying two tentatively chubby Armenian policemen on a distance of 1000 meters. Easily.

I threw myself towards the personnel parking entrance gate and stopped. After some seconds the cops pushed their brakes right behind me, so close I couldn’t get out if I wanted. Felt much like being in a sandwich. You know, one of those steel-gate—armenian-policemen sandwiches! Among the other ingredients, this one had some meat, a decent sausage, and a motorcycle inside. The Armenian security guards walked out of their booth amused, watching the sandwich.

“Get off the motorcycle!” Yelled the police car from behind me. I pretended I didn’t hear it and looked at the security guard that hadn’t yet said anything, and at that point was just looking at me inquisitively. Even though he had no idea what the story was about, I felt like deep inside his heart was on my side.

“I need to see Carlos!” I put out in English, trying to mimic some sort of an American accent.

“Carlos??” asked the guard

“Zero four three four, get off the motorcycle RIGHT NOW!!” Yelled the policemen again. I wondered if he realized he was being annoying. “Get a life”, crossed quickly through my mind. I repeated:

“Please sir, I really need to see Carlos right now!”

“He is a marine. This is very important!!” I cried, not even looking at the cops behind me.

The security guard looked at my visor, hesitated for a moment, then pressed to open the gate open. “He’s American. Drive off!” he threw his hand at the police car. Throwing the hand worked like a Jedi trick — the flashing siren that reflected on my visor through my mirrors during all this time immediately faded off.

“It’s always the same on this fucking road” mumbled one of the cops, annoyed. “Way to annoy me with the stupid mike!” I thought, as they drove away.

I smoothly rode into the parking lot and started waiting for Carlos, leaning on the bike. They hadn’t arrived yet.

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this post — even those based on real people — are entirely fictional. All celebrity voices are impersonated…..poorly. This post contains coarse language and due to its content it should not be viewed by anyone.

Why Ducati Monster Owns Honda CBF

“The Monster 796 is the perfect synthesis between sports performances, aesthetics and daily riding pleasure. Cared for in each single detail, it is the ideal bike for each riding style and represents the utmost evolution of the Monster family.”

—Ducati

Despite the differences, these motorcycles are essentially aimed at the same crowd: young urban dudes who want style, performance and daily commute (at our age it’s always a matter of a choice between a car and a motorcycle; both together are very rarely an option). For all these young dudes who want something more stylish (yes, more stylish!) and more fun (that’s right!) than a plastic sportbike, all major motorcycle manufacturers have something to offer. All these offers are generally within the 500cc and 800cc range naked streetfighters with upright riding position, have a good performance engine and stylish design.

Honda has two ideas of that for 2011. First is Honda Hornet, which is pretty cool looking but is not very practical due to its very low ground clearance (might as well get a CBR600) and limited accessories options. It’s awesome if you want to ride around cafes, but what if you encounter a little gravel?

Second is Honda CBF600, a 600cc 4-cylinder naked motorcycle that is fantastic in every way.

Until you see what Ducati is offering.

Oh my God! Now take a look at numbers!

	Ducati Monster 796	Honda CBF600
Engine Size	796cc	600cc
Cylinders	4	4
Power	87 hp (64 kW) @ 8250 rpm	76.43 HP (55.8 kW)) @ 10500 RPM
Weight	167kg	191kg
Gearbox	6-speed	6-speed
Ground Clearance	150mm	130mm

OK, you say, the numbers are good, the looks are definitely awesome but it’s a Ducati against Honda, and this means thousands of dollars of price difference! Ducati is the “elite” motorcycle for the posh guys (who have both a motorcycle and a car), and Honda has always been there as an affordable alternative to the European motorcycles! How much more would the italian beauty cost than its cheap japanese counterpart? And that’s where the whole point of this post comes in:

2011 Ducati Monster 796: ~$9,950
2011 Honda CBF600: ~$9,000

Question: would you pay 10% extra to ride a motorcycle that is sexier, faster, lighter, more powerful, taller, has a better build quality, is hand-made in Italy and has “Ducati” written over it?

[pe2-gallery class=”gallery aligncenter” ] [/pe2-gallery]

Note: Gallery pictures are extremely sexy and high-res, check the spectacular stock paint job of each one of these Monsters!