At last, the truth about the Burgman subframe!... and off to Tassie.

You may recall that I had problems with my subframe snapping in Kazakhstan and later on in Europe.

I had it rewelded on my return to Ozzieland but unfortunately over the last couple of weeks the sag in the rear end has returned and it was clear that it had snapped again.

I decided to purchase a used replacement rather than attempt a third weld. The replacement subframe arrived last Friday and it is from a bike manufactured in 2005 - my Burgie was manufactured in 2002.

There are two primary differences between the two frames.

1. The hanger peg for the fuel filler is placed higher on the new frame - I had to cut this off and instead rely on the body plastics to support the fuel filler hose; and

2. More importantly,the new subframe is reinforced at the point where my old subframe snapped. You can see this in the photos below.

Original subframe

Later model reinforced subframe

It seems I may not have been alone in having a frame snap and that the Suzuki engineers have corrected this for current models. This is good news for owners of new Burgies and it shows that Suzuki, unlike some German brands which shall remain nameless has recognised this and incorporated running changes into the model run.

Anyways, the good news for me is that I have hopefully resolved this problem once and for all.

The even better news, however, is that as of this Saturday the Burgman hits the road yet again and sails off to foreign shores (apologies in advance to all Tasmanians for calling you foreigners :-) on the Spirit of Tasmania. Kimie and I will be spending a week touring the island a' la Burgie.

…. and now for the subject of Ladas.

Looking back on my time in Russia, I feel it is time to pay homage to that most ubiquitous of motor vehicles - the Lada. Originally a ruggedised Fiat 124 which was manufactured under licence by the Soviet AUtoVaz factory, Ladas have been available to the Russian motoring elite since the late sixties.

The name Lada, incidentally was originally just the export name for the Soviet built AutoVaz Vaz cars but over time it was adopted as the Russian local market name too.

Today, a Lada is to the average Russian what Holden or Chevrolet is to an Australian or North American driving public.

It is the classic western suburban working class man’s vehicle and as such, is a prime piece of machinery for the average male youth to spend all their time and money on “hotting up”.

Whether it’s simply a new set of seat covers, hub caps, fluffy dice or glow in the dark windscreen wipers, all the way through to hot motors, mag wheels and body kits, there is no such as a Standard Lada.

Cheap and ubiquitous, easy for the home mechanic to repair - yes, that is Lada below laying on its side whilst having a new floor pan welded in where the old one rusted through,

virtually indestructible and able to run on a variety of fuels (as low as 70 octane) and roads, the Lada is embraced by the proletariat and government officers whilst simultaneously snubbed by the nouveau riche and oligarchy.

The Volga, by comparison, was the vehicle for soviet bureaucrats and as such is still an aspirational vehicle, either as a stepping stone to the ultimate prize - an imported western vehicle; or as an end in itself – a smooth 6 cylinder limousine placing you one step higher on the social pecking order than the heathen Lada owner.



..... or maybe you're just a taxi driver?


However, the price of freedom for Russia’s alienated and frustrated youth has a much darker side.

Unable to afford the price of entry into an imported vehicle, your average Russian working class youth drives his vehicle as if he were a speed demon.

Never warmed up, poorly maintained with dodgy worn brakes, shock absorbers and bald tyres, and driven flat out at all times with absolutely no mechanical sympathy it is little wonder that Ladas grow old before their time.

I had the unfortunate experience of spending time in just such a Lada in St Petersburg.



The owner (of whom I have changed name and gender to protect their identity – let’s call her “Alice”) arranged to meet me downtown in St Petersburg upon my arrival from Moscow. After waiting for 1 hour I received a call to say that the Lada had broken down and they couldn’t get to our rendezvous point. I asked where they were, and what their car looked like. Somehow I managed to retrace my steps 5km back along the road and spot a pale blue Lada looking forlorn at the side of the road within its owner standing nearby with their head in their hands.

After an explanation of the symptoms I quickly determined that the starter motor was probably jammed (yes, I was unfortunate/foolish enough to own a couple of Fiats myself back in the seventies) I asked for the wheel wrench, gave the starter motor a couple of hard taps to free the engagement gear and stood back to watch as the surprised owner turned the ignition switch to hear their Lada roar back into life.

Alice then suggested I follow her the 8km through downtown St Petersburg back to her parents spacious apartment where they very generously hosted me for 3 nights.

Well, I’m not exactly the slowest driver around and the Burgman has rather sprightly acceleration compared to any four wheeled vehicle, never mind a Lada, but Alice seemed determined to lose me enroute. Belching clouds of smoke from the oil seeping past the badly worn cylinder linings and valve seals, the Lada erupted away from every traffic light, crossed multiple lanes of traffic without signalling, screeched around corners and squealed its worn tyres under maximum braking.

I had witnessed many, many instances of poor driving in Russia but Alice took the cake. Never mind Peter in Irkutsk who thought that his Honda City only had two speeds – stopped and flat out, or the crazy WRX driver who missed me by centimetres when he ran me off the windy two lane mountain road whilst overtaking a line of traffic over my side of the double white lines at a speed in excess of 150kmh. No, Alice was most definitely numero uno on my personal list of the worst Russian drivers.

We were half way back to her apartment when she tried to run her fourth red light, unfortunately the driver in front of her decided that they didn’t wish to do the same and the inevitable fender bender occurred. After examination of the damage to their respective bumpers, roubles changed hands and both drivers departed the scene quickly in order to avoid the involvement of the local traffic police (in Russian, DGA) who would shortly and inevitably arrive like vultures at the scene to ensure they shared in this exchange of roubles.

I figured that after this incident Alice would slow down somewhat, but no, it was as if a Fury had entered her body and taken leave of her senses, as she proceeded to wring out what little life was left in the Lada enroute to her home.

The following evening Alice offered to take me on a tour of St Petersburg. Reluctant, but not wanting to cause offence I experienced my most frightening nightmare on wheels ever.

For starters, it was wet night in St Petersburg. Nay, not just a wet night, it was stormy with water flooding across the roadway out of clogged gutters and storm water drains. I thought that Alice, being a an accomplished tertiary educated engineer would understand the basic laws of physics, including the reduced coefficient of friction between wet roads and bald tyres, but alas not. Initially we visited sights around town and were unable to get up to speed because of the traffic conditions and constant red lights. However, around 9pm, when I thought it time to call it a night, it was suggested that I be taken to the mouth of the Neva River and from there across the Gulf of Finland to Lomonsov where Russia meets the Baltic.

Well, a badly tuned, worn out Lada does not have much in the way of acceleration, but Alice made sure she made use of every single one of those worn out ponies in a life and death struggle to pass every other vehicle. Although we only ever reached a maximum of 120kmh (75mph) in those wet conditions, I was literally sitting in a death trap. Never in my life have I been more terrified (even in Chinese driving conditions) and I clung to my seat with my eyes closed waiting for it all to be over, whilst Alice proceeded to dodge and weave her way around all other vehicles on the road. Once we reached our destination I breathed a sigh of relief but knew I could not relax as we had to return the 30kms back to St Petersburg.

On the way back, Alice’s inner demons took over and if anything she seemed more furious than ever, violently slamming the gears down and breaking loose the wheels under deceleration, as I prepared for the inevitable.

Finally it happened, a pedestrian crossing lay ahead, the lights turned red and people dashed out from the side of the road in the rain. Alice didn’t seem to care, however, and proceeded through, at the final second spotting the woman in front, screeching to a halt and gently knocking her over.

At this point I just wanted to awaken from my nightmare and could do nothing but watch as the lady picked herself up off the ground and Alice took off as if nothing untoward had occurred.

That night, Alice and I had a long chat about her frustrations and how she shouldn’t take them out on the road, but to no avail. The following night Alice wanted to take me out on another tour of St Petersburg but I managed to find a suitable excuse which would not offend my Russian hosts, whilst allowing me to avoid another night of terror.

More random thoughts now I'm home again.

Whilst I was riding on those long stretches of open road in Russia and Kazakhstan I had plenty of time to consider what I wanted to say about various aspects of my travel. Unfortunately as one approaches one's mid-fifties, one's memory is not what it used to be and given that I neglected to write them down those thoughts disappeared.

However, all is not lost, as one's mind also has that strange ability to retrieve random thoughts at the most unlikely moments and as each one pops back into a part of my brain that I can retrieve it from, I now have the opportunity to put pen to paper (metaphorically speaking).

The first of these thoughts is what I call avoiding "big ouchies".

A Big Ouchie is what my son Julien used to call a physically painful experience when he was a young boy. I can recall the times when as a 5 year old he would fall off the swings in the playground, or from his bicycle, and graze his knee and tell me it was a big ouchie.

Whilst I was riding the gravel road sections between Khabarovsk and Chita I was acutely conscious of avoiding my own big ouchie.

I was very fortunate that I never had a single incident during my riding where I physically fell off the Burgie. There were certainly moments of trepidation when it was very easy to lock up the wheels under braking or when the gravel was so loose and deep that you effectively lost steering control, or when the convoys of cars driven by the professional drivers from Vladivostok to Western Siberia would speed past at twice my speed, in groups of half a dozen or more, flicking up rocks and creating a cloud of dust that made the route ahead all but invisible. These cars were a big challenge for me as I often had to travel down the centre of the road to find the smoothest surface and to avoid loose gravel. In these instances I had vehicles passing me on both right and left and was blind to whether there were any oncoming vehicles or whether there was another patch of deep loose gravel directly ahead which I needed to avoid.

So during these times I would tell myself to avoid "big ouchies" and this helped me put things into perspective - i.e. I would slow down or take a slightly less risky path through the dirt.

After reaching Krasnoyarsk there was minimal gravel and dirt roads apart from Kazakhstan. I'd like to retell my experiences there when travelling South from Qustanay to Khromtau. This particular road was also under construction and there were long stretches where the old road had been torn up and the new road was being built over the top of it. The state of the road was such that the road under construction could not be ridden on and instead there was just a dirt track. Now a dirt track is not to difficult to travel on at slow speed in the dry, but when the heavens open up in the forceful manner they do in Kazakhstan then it quickly becomes a quagmire. Simply holding the Burgie up in these conditions was almost impossible and I knew I had met my match when the front wheel locked up with mud between the wheel and mudguard. This was more than exacerbated by the fact that I was trying to ride on a road tyre which had minimal tread left - very difficult going and extremely trying. I came so close to losing the Burgie on that day, that it wasn't funny. Having said that, perseverance, focusing on avoiding a big ouchie, and taking it relatively easy meant I could ride till 2am - having said this, I had little choice, however, as there was no where to stop and camp until I reached my first truck stop - see below. If I had I had tried to stop at the side of the road the Burgie and I would have sunk into the mud, and I would have had to pitch my tent in the mud too.

Just a quick note to let you all know that I haven't been able to add further posts to this blog because the Blogger SPAM robots have apparently identified me as a SPAMMER extraordinaire. Hopefully this will be resolved soon and I will again be free to add to the myriad of trivia available to us via the word wide weasel.

A homecoming, yes, a homecoming. She’s taken me there… and she brought me back again. … and now I’ve brought her home too. On the 12th of October the Adelaide Express arrived in Melbourne after sailing from La Spezzia Italy on the 20th of September.

On the 16th of October the container (in which she had been travelling) was moved from the Port of Melbourne to Hoffman Freight in Newport, and unpacked.

On the 17th of October I visited Australian Customs in Docklands and obtained customs clearance – a surprisingly simple and civilised procedure by comparison with my experiences in other countries.

On the 21st of October I booked in a quarantine inspection with AQIS, fearing the worst and that the Burgie would need to have to be steamcleaned before she would pass quarantine inspection. On the 22nd of October I visited Hoffman freight, and set my eyes upon her for the first time in almost 8 weeks, to meet AQIS, only to find that AQIS had arrived 2 hours earlier and had already approved her for importation.

On the 23rd of October, Loyd and I rented a large trailer and collected the Burgie + crate to take her back to her home.

On that evening and on the subsequent day I removed the walls of the crate, bolted her back together (windscreen, bars, mudguard etc., reconnect battery, removed all my possessions which were still under the seat and in the Givi top box, and installed a new set of rear brake pads and air filter.

On the 25th I gave her a clean and today on the 26th I purchased 10 litres of fuel and filled her up prior to Loyd, Richard, Kimie and I lifting up her front end, bracing her with a hydraulic jack and putting the front wheel back on. By 2pm she was fired up and I slowly rode her out of the crate. I rode her around 30km to my parents and back twice today before changing out her vital fluids tonight. The rear drive oil was chocolate brown - yuk – but other fluids were not too bad. The rear subframe was also due for attention again as the welding I had done in Kazakhstan had not survived the rest of the journey.

This time I opted to remove the subframe completely, instead of doing an "on bike" weld, and took it round to Loyd's for him to show off his newly acquired welding skills.

Ok, so this was the historical tale but what is the real story???? …....

….well, I have to say that I truly enjoy being back in the saddle. Being back home again is great, but…. also a bit of a let down. It is oh, so easy to settle back into the rhythm of ones life, almost as if one never left it. However, I CAN’T do that – it would be WRONG to do that. I have to have something to show for my travels. I don’t mean in a tangible sense, I mean that I have to KNOW and UNDERSTAND what I have learnt, and I have to carry that with me throughout my remaining years. Being back on the Burgie encapsulates, and revives, that sense of exhilaration, and luxurious freedom, of the open road.

On the Burgie I feel once again that the road that stretches out before me has no end, and is mine to ride and live as I choose. She exemplifies to me the true existentialist notion of freedom – be decisive in my actions in the full knowledge of, and taking responsibility for, the consequences my actions. With her back it does make it easier for me to live for tomorrow, as much as today…. and with that I leave you for the moment.

On the road again........ NOT!

Thank you to all readers. I am now back home in Melbourne and today I have returned to my office and daily routine. As you can imagine, it's quite a shock to the system to be back at work and I'm slacking off to update web pages, and the like, instead.

Altogether I travelled over 29,000kms on the Burgie, 7,500kms on the Haobon and another few hundred on the Honda in Vietnam, for a total journey of 37,500kms and 17 countries over a period of 4.5 months. I will now collate all photos and flesh out this blog (which is currently really just a skeleton) such that I properly describe all my experiences. I hope it will be interesting reading for many of you and will inspire some to take your own personal journeys.

The Burgman was crated on Saturday 30th August (at great expense by a local Italian dealer) and is sailing from Genove on the 17th of September. The photo below was one of the last shots I took of the Burgie, parked in the dealers workshop awaiting crating.

It will hopefully arrive around a month later. I will then strip it down, check all mechanicals, have the subframe trued and rewelded, and probably arrange a respray for the plastic panels. Wear items such as the air filter and brake pads are now due for replacement and I was fortunate that they managed to last the complete journey.

Some of you may recall that my biggest mechanical concern was whether I would have further problems with the fuel filter after it started to leak one week prior to departure. I had the filter plastic welded but also elected to purchase a spare and have it shipped independently to Korea. Well, in a classic example of Murphy's law at work, the fuel filter was shipped back to Melbourne, still in its original packing, untouched and unused. I gurarantee that if I hadn't brought it along though, that the original would have started leaking again somewhere in the backblocks of Siberia and I would have been up the creek without a paddle.