Mid-1970’s.
The summer fun-activities gradually diminished and “morphed” into chores. We were growing – consequently all their responsibilities now increased (my brothers’ that is). Riding began to take on a different dimension. It now became necessary transportation for schooling and work, and would remain so for some years to follow until I left to go to Europe for the continuation of my professional technical education and training.
During those years that now seemed to have passed so quickly, many other bikes/machines came in and out of my life.
Having become very mechanically and technically proficient, a lot of friendships were formed with other motorcycle owners who became very close to me because of my ability to offer and assist them with repair and maintenance work on their bikes.
An advantage I gained was more technical experience on a whole range of brands and models of machines of that era – BMW, Honda, Moto Morini, Moto Guzzi, Kawasaki, Yamaha, Suzuki, Ducati, Jawa, Tomos, Triumph, BSA, Matchless, Vespa, Laverda – I think I’ve got ‘em covered! (In the “Bikes in my Life” section of this journal you will find details on some of the bikes/models of machines that have had a great impact in shaping and forming my riding attitude and have left indelible memories and lasting impressions on me).
This guaranteed that I always had a bike at my disposal to “Test-ride” for as long as I chose.
Again, the greatest upside to all this for me was the fact that I gained and honed valuable riding experience on all sorts of different machines, of all sorts of sizes and types. Yup, from street models to dirt bikes and in conditions that are very dissimilar to those in this part of the world.
Keeping your eyes open for sand, oil, water etc on the roads, chickens, goats, dogs, cats and the like all loitering on the streets, potholes, no safe road shoulders, torrential rain during the monsoon season (typically mid April to the end of November) causing a lot of mud and of course the universal driver with no regard for motorcyclists – all commonplace.
Lane-splitting in the earlier years was safe enough on the more and better well taken care of roads in the commercial districts and downtown Accra – the capital city of Ghana - as well as on the major arteries leading to and from the city center. 40 M.P.H. in the middle lane was commonplace - nothing to write home about. Drivers of that era were very disciplined about obeying rules of the road and codes. Something that is seriously lacking on the streets of Accra today.

Those were our glory days.
Each weekend we (my biking friends and brothers) “owned” the streets of Accra. We would group together and roam the city streets.
Commercial business shut down at midday on Saturdays, and the town emptied as a result.
What a time we had. Riding through the whole city unhampered by vehicular traffic congestion for a full day and a half! It was motorcycling bliss!
Long distance touring was unheard of. We knew nothing of that. That was something one did only when traveling to another city, which was like a whopping 20 or 30 miles away. Any bike that was able to accomplish a journey like that without a fault or breakdown of some sort, commanded respect! Mechanical breakdowns in those days were commonplace due to the relatively un-sophisticated technology of the day and as such, considered part of daily life and motorcycling.
Charging around the city streets was the epitome of my riding. I was recognized citywide. Every weekend I was the king of the streets! In that realm, I ruled through the sole means of being recognized!

My very first long-distance ride that I recall was a 56-mile trip west of the capital to visit a close relative and some friends.
To cut a very long story short, this single afternoon round trip, marred by a punctured back tire (flat rear tire) ended up becoming a 1 ½ day event! 20 miles from our destination, unable to get the tire reliably repaired, no spare tube ( yeah, this was a time when tubeless motorcycle tires did not exist) or replacement available, no money in my pocket, I was practically helpless and not to mention – hopeless. 40 miles away from home this puny little teenage kid and friend were obviously incapable of pushing a 700cc – 600 lb. motorbike all the way back home! We found the local tire repair boy who offered to fix our puncture, on the promise that on our return trip from our destination, we would stop by to pay him – a true gentleman’s agreement, which in those days hinged on trust and consummated with a handshake. The plan was to borrow some money from my cousin, to whom we were headed to visit.
After repairs, which took about an hour or so, we saddled up and “hit the road” with broad smiles and a sigh of relief.
Barely 4 miles down the road as we approached another settlement, I felt a swag and sway in the bike’s handling which was an unmistakable sign of a loss of air pressure in the rear tire. Pulling over at the side of this narrow road I confirmed that we were losing air. Although not completely flat I had no choice but to detour in search of a place to air up the tire.
So after a little bit of running around and talking to several people willing to help, we found someone with a bicycle tire pump that had the same automotive valve fitting type (Schraeder). For the next hour, we took turns stroking the pump to air up the motorcycle tire.
With sufficient pressure now, we hopped aboard again and set our target for the last dozen or so miles to go to our destination.
It was now a math calculation between time and distance and rate of tire deflation. I wanted to avoid stopping again if I could help it. But high speed on a softening rear tire on a motorcycle is a sure recipe for disaster.
I rode slow!
Well, in Cape Coast, Ghana which is where we were now, my cousin was instrumental in getting us to a more qualified tire repair station where repairs were carried out for us. He paid for that, put money in my pocket and we were ready to turn around and make it back home to Accra. All our time had been spent on the road today.
So I pointed us back in the direction towards home in Accra. It was starting to get dark.
Coincidentally as we approached Mankesim ( the town we first got stranded at earlier in the day), guess what? Yup. Flat tire again!
It was now close to dark. The town was asleep already. No one in sight. Marketeers all gone home for the day. No one or service available anywhere! And here we were, stranded again at the same place with the same problem.
We spent the night in the parking lot of a Goil (Ghana Oil) gas station, huddled by the bike. It boasted the only “electric street light” of the town for miles around.
It was Harmattan season and late at night. It was cold – circa 21’C (70’F). Cold by tropical standards!

Ghana lies between 5 degrees and 12 degrees north and almost longitudinally bisected by the Greenwich Meridian (0 degrees east/west).
Each year beginning late in November and lasting through to about the middle of April the following year, the Northeast Trade Winds are prevalent, brought about by the lower pressure system created over the Gulf of Guinea causing the colder, low humidity higher pressure system from the north to blow across the Sahara desert and across the this West African region towards the Gulf.
This is pretty much the local winter season - Winter being my relative expression of “cold” season caused by these colder wind temperatures.
So naturally as the wind travels across the desert it picks up a lot of dust, particles of which are microscopically tiny/fine and depending on the concentration in the air, can affect visibility and obscure sunshine for days on end. During these times the days are hot and dry. At night and very early in the mornings, the temps. can drop by as much as 40 farenheight (22 celcius) degrees easily with humidity as low as 10 – 15% and sometimes lower.
The dust particles in the air, each easily at .5 microns in size and the resulting haze it creates looks a lot like a very heavy fog. This can dissipate the cloud cover and prevent rainfall which in turn retards and in severe cases, causes crop damage, making for almost non-existent local foodstuff availability.

Food storage and preservation is/should therefore be a priority in this region because for half the year agricultural foodstuffs are plentiful and then for the following half, non-existent.
It is this very cycle that made me choose the profession I am and have been in since I chose my professional direction – Industrial Refrigeration and Food Storage.

So why am I not in Ghana at the “top of my field”? That is a story for another setting.
I digress.
For now, let’s continue this story!

Every 20 minutes or so I would fire the engine up, warm it up and we’d use that as a source of heat.
My buddy close to one of the protruding cylinders of the Moto Guzzi V-engine and me by the other. We neither had jackets or even long-sleeved attire. Those days we never had and so obviously did not ride with jackets and protective gear, which could inevitably have helped to give us the much needed protection from the conditions of that night!
T-shirts, pants, sunglasses, sneakers and helmets were all the gear we donned. Helmets though, we were never without!
I don’t think I have to tell you what concern and stress I caused my parents and brothers. All my buddy and I did was jump on the bike to go for an afternoon ride and no one knew where we were for all that time! In retrospect I see how irresponsible I was. Back then, I was invincible.
Eventually, towards the end of the next day, we came across a low-loader driver who felt sorry enough for us, let us put the bike onto his truck and join him for the ride back to Accra. (A low-loader is a specialized flatbed transporter for heavy earth moving equipment.)

The following weekend (inner-tube replacement effected) found me back on the same road again. I needed to derive a sense of accomplishment. I had to prove to myself that it was possible to get the machine in such reliable condition to make a trip such as this without any issues. I had to break my “Mankesim Curse”. Breaking down and getting stranded at the same place twice on the same journey could not be just mere coincidence!
This custom-built, self-designed, one-of-a-kind machine demanded respect! I was both apprehensive and skeptical. Could machines of the day really be that reliable? I persevered.
And so it went!
This time I was sure to let someone know. I kept 2 of my brothers informed. Although they did not approve of it, they knew I was stubborn enough and determined to do what I set out to do.
I had to be victorious. I had to conquer this failure. I had to prove to myself that I could do it. I had to prove to myself that the machine could do it. I had to break my curse. My reputation in “my motorcycling circles” was at stake.
After all, if the top mechanic, Mr. Fix-it-all, could not have his personal machine in shape enough to make a 112 mile round trip without any mechanical hiccups, was he really “worth his salt”?
So you see, I had everything to lose! This was my whole world.
So, although apprehensive and with butterflies in my stomach, I set out again with my buddy. This time with money in my pocket – just in case and with a pullover (sweater/pullover/cardigan) for each of us – just in case and a bicycle pump – just in case!
And oh boy! What a glorious ride it turned out to be.
With determination and stubbornness, this was to be a make-or-break-ride. On this day I demanded reliability and performance from this machine. I was not happy that “she” had let me down on the previous ride. Today I wanted to reassert myself over this machine. After all, I “created” it. I was supposed to be in charge!
This was to be the day that I really got to know and bond with this machine.
My self-customized designed and self-built Moto Guzzi 700cc configuration performed flawlessly. She was a very heavy machine causing her to be very well planted and made for a sure-footed, confidence-inspiring ride.
The V-Twin delivered the smoothest, quietest and most relaxing ride of my life at that point. She munched the miles effortlessly. I was ecstatic. I had renewed confidence in the machine and a special sense of pride in her. She had transformed from the status of being just a bike to companion.
Once again, the smiles on my face and in my heart were that of the young 6 yr. old kiddo riding to school atop the Honda 50 with my dad.
Charging around city streets over weekend afternoons instantly held no more appeal for me!
My passion for out-of-town riding had been kindled. That feeling of being outside the city with zero congestion, wide open roads with little to almost no vehicular traffic, the smell of fresh vegetation and earth, blue sky, bright sunshine, a very smooth running machine ………………………. My curiosity had been awakened. Passing through village markets that swallowed up the road as it passed through the township, the smell of fresh farm produce, the acrid smell of smoke from firewood being burned as a fuel source for cooking, the fresh air of the countryside – all stimulating my senses for a completeness gained from the experience. Now I knew my baby could “get there and back”.
I had with me, what I felt were the necessary items to handle most minor foreseeable mechanical issues that might crop up – flat tires etc.
Now I was curious to find out what was around the next bend, over the next hill, where the road led and where it ended …………………
My passion had been stoked!

Early 1980’s.
My professional life started and I was privileged to be sent to Europe for part of my technical training and apprenticeship. Upon my return from Europe, my professional responsibilities dictated motorcycling into the far recesses of my mind and around this same time I met my wife-to-be.
Responsibilities of beginning and raising a family took hold. Motorcycles were nowhere in the plans. Without my realizing it, they became a thing of the past.

Mid to late 1980’s.
Oklahoma City, OK.
After the birth of our 1st daughter in 1984, It was mandatory for me to find a way to reduce my living expenses. The already meager paycheck and us being a single income family forced me to put on my thinking cap. I needed a cost-saving solution.
Long story short …………………………..
Motorcycle.
Aha!
Less fuel consumption.
Project bike – 1985 Suzuki GL1000G
Engine re-bored .010” over – restored.
Re-registered and licensed.
Voila, 8 months later it was ready to ride.
So this became my commuter. And that’s the most I ever did with it.
Go to work and come back home. That was the order of riding during this stage of my life.
Then the birth of our 2nd daughter came about in 1988 and I began to responsibly think about giving up riding but just could not bring myself to part with my bike, even though I was no longer riding as much.
Not long afterwards, we moved to Corpus Christi, Texas.
More commuting. Very hot and humid most of the time such that I preferred to drive the car. Too windy, too much road heat, sticky tar/asphalt, too much elbow grease required to keep clean. Not fun at all.
3 and a half years later came the birth of our 3rd daughter. With the added responsibilities it became all the more necessary to really give up this dangerous activity of motorcycling. So reluctantly, I sold my beloved 1981 Suzuki GL1000 GL, replacing it with a car.
I said farewell to motorcycling. At this time I believed that I had finally given up motorcycling for good. The year is now 1992.

LATE 1990’S. ACCRA, GHANA IN WEST AFRICA.
A major life-changing decision to give our kids the experience of “knowing where their roots are”, found us living in Accra, Ghana at this time.
The congestion of the capital city coupled with the indiscipline of vehicular traffic operators at this time was maddening.
Traffic gridlock was an understatement! It was faster to walk than to drive in those days. One was always in search of a shortcut or bypass. We would sit in the car, stuck for long times, all in the equatorial summer heat of the day!
Getting kids to school each morning – rush hour, and back home at the end of each day – rush hour again, was serious business. Talk about road rage!
Anyway, one option to possibly help alleviate that was to get a motorcycle which would allow me to scoot through the traffic and cut down those lengthy “sit-in-traffic” times.
So to cut another very long story short, I purchased my next bike. A 1983 Honda VT750C which, although moth-balled, I still have to this day.
I remember so fondly how each morning my youngest daughter, riding pillion, would enjoy so much leaning around 5th Circular Road roundabout, as the foot pegs of the bike would scrape the road. The spring-return fold-up foot pegs allowed a certain degree of safety for that, by not allowing the bike to pivot and possibly “high-side”. (Thank you Honda for the innovative design, which today is more commonplace on most bikes of this era). Then I’d make my way back home and fetch our eldest daughter and ride off to work together. (That period of time, we worked together at the same company).

Fast Fwd. to 2008.
The world of motorcycling had and was changing rapidly. As I delved into web/internet surfing, I found myself searching more and more about what was new in the world of motorcycles - at least new to me. My interest peaked as I began to find out that different genres of motorcycling were now being more clearly defined, with bikes to suit.
Back in Ghana in the early 2000’s, I happened to get a close up look at a privately owned ST1100. The police force at that time also ran a fleet of ST1100’s. The privately owned configuration to me was a gorgeous machine. It had every feature and quality in a bike I instantly knew I would really like.
A couple of months after that I got the chance to ride one of the police models around my then residential neighborhood. How I got this opportunity is a story for another time.
I took it around the neighborhood for about 15 minutes.
Although comfortable, it’s weight and lengthy wheelbase geometry felt nothing like any other bike I had ever sat astride! The fixed windshield, forcing me to look over its top edge made for a very strange/foreign feel, creating a lot of discomfort. I could not see the front wheel from my perch on the single seat. With the feel of this machine I had never before experienced, I was very apprehensive and consequently unimpressed. I want to believe it was the unfamiliarity of it that gave rise to the first impression I got of it. Over the years, I have never had this kind of “feedback” from any machine I have thrown my leg over! I have typically felt very much at ease astride many 2-wheelers.
So the attraction I thought I had for this bike, quickly disappeared.
At the time of writing this part of the journal, I realize now and can assertively say that it was due primarily to the fact that although “I had been riding for many years”, my motorcycling/technical riding skills were so lacking and undeveloped, to a point that the slow speed handling due to its relatively high seating height of this machine left me feeling very challenged. It is a “tall” machine. I am 5’ 10” (1m 75cm) tall with a 29” (74cm) inseam and on this machine, my toes just about make it to the ground with both feet down.
Instead of looking inwardly to my inadequacies as a rider, I rather subconsciously “wrote it off” as a machine I did not like!

The mention of the Honda ST1100 recurred over and over again in almost every motorcycle touring blog and forum I read on the internet. High accolades and almost excellent reviews of this machine abounded. I was confused. Either I did not know what I wanted or the bloggers/contributors knew very little about machine and did not have much to compare with/to. Or perhaps they knew more than I did about this machine.
My first-hand impressions of this machine were in direct contradiction with what I was reading!
I became very curious about these reviews and opinions I was reading and began to realize that my short ride on it years back, could in no way be a fair assessment of the machine. Some inner force in my being was giving it the benefit of the doubt. I began to read voraciously and sought as much information as I could about it.
(Its forte was and still is to this day, to transport you the rider, great distances in great comfort, economically and reliably all day long if desired. It will also handle the twisties and elevation changes of “canyon carving” just as easily or even better than most others out there. No other machine comes close to it in this respect. It is no doubt the king of the sport tourers! As I have come to experience and learn.) My interest in it began to surge.
As I gleaned more information about the sport-touring category of motorcycling, I began to realize why I did not enjoy riding during the period of time I had my Suzuki.
Pure and simple, it was the wrong machine for the kind of riding that I inherently enjoyed.
It had zero wind protection and its cruiser chassis configuration resulted in a not-so-comfortable riding position for me. It was a fast machine with more than good enough performance and power for me and that reflected in its fuel consumption.
So with the Honda ST1100 model no longer in production at this time, I became interested in and turned my attention and search toward its newer, improved, upgraded successor, the Honda ST1300.
Yeah right.
Good luck.
Used models for how much??
So alternatively, I began searching for a “project bike” to restore. I had time, ability, tools and the will to undertake such a project.
This option was to, and would be a cost saving and affordable measure for me to acquire one.
All I found available were 2 totally wrecked, insurance company write-offs, sitting in salvage yards halfway across the country, already stripped of many parts.
The advertised descriptions dampened my spirits. They were very “far gone” and I was certain they would cost more than what they were actually worth at this time - mechanically – not to mention the time a project like this would demand.
So back to searching for an ST1100.
It seemed to be my only remote opportunity if indeed I wanted to own a purpose-built sport-touring bike.
I searched every night on the “Net” for 13 months – I kid you not – till I found one I could barely afford on eBay. It was a 1995 ST1100 with 92,000 mi. on the “clock”.
With my wife’s support and permission, I literally “raided our “financial barrel”.
Trembling with excitement, I contacted the seller and began purchase arrangements.
After making strong assertions over the phone, signaling my intent and commitment to fly out to Sacramento, CA to buy the bike, he refused to guarantee that he would or could hold the bike for me – understandably so.
“But I’m really and honestly serious” I told him.
I could not convince him of my honest desire to acquire the machine.
So as a last resort, I asked him to send me his bank details so I could effect a monetary transaction for a deposit – if that would make him hold it for me till I planned to arrive there in the next couple of days.
He was not comfortable with that. – Obviously.
What was I thinking?
Give bank account details to a stranger over the phone?
But at the time, I was beginning to get desperate, this feeling stemming from the fact that I began to feel that I was not going to be able to close this deal. The chance to get this machine after such a long search was beginning to fade. I began to feel very disappointed.
So, last resort. I told him I’d make other arrangements and call him back right away, to which he agreed. After all, what else did he have to lose?
So I hung up the phone and immediately called my friend Evans who coincidentally lived in Sacramento, CA. (Evans and I were school and boarding house mates in college back in Ghana.)
With the trembling voice of an excited kid, I explained my situation and request to him of wanting to know if he could get in touch with the seller and set up a meeting and pay a deposit on my behalf – to be reimbursed when I arrive in Sacramento in a couple of days, so as to guarantee the purchase of the bike.
Without hesitation, Evans agreed and was ready to spring into action on my behalf.
So between the back of forth of a few more phone calls exchanged that evening with the seller and myself, Evans set up and arranged to meet with the seller the very next day and paid the agreed upon deposit amount to hold the bike for my purchase.
So with the details all hammered out and deposit put into the sellers’ hand, I was on a plane flying out to Sacramento, CA within a couple of days.
I don’t think I have to tell you, nor do I think I even have the words to be able to accurately express my feelings of excitement, anxiety and anticipation that flooded through my being throughout this whole ordeal/process.
So within a week of beginning negotiations, I flew out to Sacramento, CA and closed the deal.
Evans and I spent the whole of the afternoon after purchasing the bike, riding around in his pickup truck riding around his locale, scrounging for wood to build a shipping crate. I could not afford to pay for that “outside service”.
At 3 a.m. the following morning, I drove in the last woodscrew of the make-shift crate I had spent the whole of the previous evening building.
My flight back to Corpus Christi, TX was barely in 8 hours from then.
So arriving back in Corpus, I hired the Old Dominion Company to effect transportation and delivery of my “new bike” to me.
Having had to raid that family financial barrel and being between paychecks, my daughter Susan stepped in and forwarded the required funds to pay for the cost of delivery of the bike, at my insistence to reimburse her within a week of it’s arrival. So this deal was sealed with a hug and a kiss!

And so with the spirit and desire of a long distance rider, a new-to-me sport-touring machine and safety helmet, I elevated myself to the “big league”. Ready to undertake this stage of my motorcycling life.
I was now a bonafide long distance rider. After all, I had the machine and helmet to prove that status. That’s what I thought. At least that’s what I believed.
But deep in the far recesses of my brain/mind, the fact of my life still really quietly stood: Where had I been?
Several months went by without making a trip. I was apprehensive.
I kept making what I now know to be excuses for myself:
“Can’t get off work”.
“Too hot”.
“Not enough money for fuel”.
“Need to change oil in the bike this month”.
“No one else interested enough or able to go with me”.
“Don’t have anywhere to go”.
My list of excuses went on and on.
I realize now that all this apprehension stemmed from the uncertainty of not knowing whether I would be able to handle being “out there” alone, in the middle of nowhere, a hundred miles from home, let alone a thousand miles from home and a thousand miles yet to reach a chosen destination.
Could I really do this?
Would I really enjoy this?
Was I really cut out for this?
Was I capable?
Was this really what I wanted to do?
Really?
Did I have the courage?
And so without a personal commitment or plan for a first trip, I found myself in a self-induced state of long-distance riding paralysis!
So I began to think about planning a ride out of town to once and for all determine if this was indeed what I would enjoy doing at this time of my life.
I think I was more scared than anything else!
I really did not know how I would feel being so far from home and so far from a destination. In my mind, I could be stuck in the middle!
To make matters worse, each time I sat astride the bike as I commuted to work and back, I swear I constantly heard my bike saying to me: “You wimp”!
I felt so belittled!
But hey, what a beautiful bike though. Smooth, quiet, comfortable, not the quickest but more than fast enough, powerful ……………………. I was still the king of the highway - in my dreams and thoughts.
The daily commute set in.
Time went by.
The situation was becoming absurd for me now!
Challenging myself, I decided that if I was not going to embark on a bike trip, I might as well get rid of the bike since it would not be fulfilling the main purpose for which I acquired it.
“Take it or leave it. You can’t have your cake and eat it”, my emotions expressed.
I had to decide!
I had to get started.
It was “crunch” time. No more excuses!