I realize that it isn’t a very practical philosophy in this disposable society of fiberglass, aluminum and carbon fiber, but I grew up around mangy old bikers (much to my beloved parents dismay) and one of the first lessons beaten through my thick skull was “If you’re gonna ride it, you gotta learn to wrench it”.
In the early days this was easy enough: motorcycles were designed to function mechanically. Frames were made of honest steel, the weight considered a bonus for stability on those long cruises along the American interstate highways. Engines were simple, heavy containers built to control the explosion of fuel and spark and convert that into the raw power needed to turn a wheel.
We used carburetors to measure out this power, and a real biker knew the moods of those carburetors better than he knew the moods of a lover. For most of us raw speed was secondary to simplicity, because the simplicity and purity of all this power was directly tied to the soul of the machine.

Now of course the motorcycle manufacturers have all but abandoned these concepts. The ”souls” of the machines are gone, replaced by computer chips and electronics that control complicated fuel injection systems. Weight is the enemy and speed is the driving force: steel has given way to modern high-tech materials and the design of the motorcycle has been aerodynamically refined to the point that the only visual difference between company catalogs are paint schemes.
When you crash a bike now you throw it away and buy another. The days of finding a treasured, classic machine hidden in some old barn or garage are coming to an end: today’s bikes are simply recycled as beer cans and soda bottles.

Some time ago in Germany I watched a documentary that featured a Russian biologist tooling around Siberia on an old motorcycle with a sidecar. I’d lost my interest in bikes for a few years: lack of money, permanent housing, an office job and other meanderings of the life had left me thinking it was impractical to merge my old lifestyle with the new. But that short video clip stayed in my mind, and as time slipped by I found myself dreaming more often of a real machine: something with a soul, something to get me back into that world of oil and petrol and tools that are controlled by the hands instead of keyboards.

Finally, in December 2005 I ran across an advertisement for a 1953 Russian IMZ M-72 in Sofia , Bulgaria.
I managed to arrange the trip there and back, found a trailer, and 48 hours and a couple of snowstorms later the bike was safe in Varna and the adventure started.

December 2005	August 2006

Since then I've put over 15,000 kilometers (9,320 miles) on her: she's forded streams in Romania, climbed mountain tracks in Greece and plowed through dust storms in Albania. What she lacks in speed she makes up for in determination, and although I get my share of ribbing from the guys on the cruisers and café racers most of them are quick to ask for a photo.

Click here for information on the work and modifications she's endured, if you're interested in such things.