Born To Ride News

From the American Motorcyclist Association

PICKERINGTON, OH — The American Motorcyclist Association (AMA) offers its most sincere condolences to the family, friends and co-workers of Hugh H. “Harry” Hurt, who died of a heart attack on Nov. 29. He was 81.

Professor Hurt was an award-winning author best known in the motorcycling community for conducting a benchmark motorcycle safety research study in 1981 entitled “Volume I: Technical Report, Motorcycle Accident Cause Factors and Identification of Countermeasures, January, 1981 – Final Report.” Commonly referred to as the “Hurt Report,” the study was widely viewed to be the most comprehensive motorcycle safety study of the 20th century.

In addition to that groundbreaking study, Hurt was the author of dozens of publications in the fields of motorcycle handling, safety, crash analysis, and helmet performance. It was on this basis that Hurt was inducted into the AMA Motorcycle Hall of Fame in 2007.

“Harry Hurt was an icon in the motorcycling community, and there’s no doubt that his research prevented many motorcycle crashes and saved many lives,” said Rob Dingman, AMA president and CEO. “On a personal level, he was such a good friend to so many people. He will be missed greatly, and yet his legacy will live on and inspire all of us to achieve excellence.”

Hurt was a lifelong motorcyclist. Born in 1927, he grew up and began riding as a kid in west Texas. His first motorcycle was a worn-out Cushman scooter that he brought back to life. Hurt graduated from Texas A&M University in 1950, and became a Navy pilot during the Korean War. After the war, Hurt loaded up his 1947 Harley-Davidson 61 and headed west for California. He completed a master’s degree in aeronautical engineering at the University of Southern California (USC), and soon after he joined the faculty at USC.

The 1970s motorcycle boom led to an increase in crashes, and the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration issued a contract to study motorcycle accidents. The USC Traffic Safety Center got the job, and Hurt was the professor responsible for carrying out the study. The study’s objectives were to determine the causes of motorcycle crashes, analyze the effectiveness of protective gear, such as safety helmets, and then determine what countermeasures might help prevent crashes or reduce injuries.

Hurt’s investigative team, all of whom were experienced motorcyclists, went to motorcycle accident scenes, day or night, for over two years. The team collected exhaustive data on more than 900 motorcycle accidents, and interviewed 2,310 passing motorcyclists and studied 3,600 police reports from the same area. Numerous recommendations flowed from the study regarding protective apparel, riding practices and rider training.

Hurt summed up his advice about motorcycle safety in one sentence: “There is no magic bullet other than getting smart.” That perspective led the motorcycling community to focus on the creation of research-based rider training and licensing standards, and making them available in every state. As a result, hundreds of thousands of riders have since benefited directly from Hurt’s pioneering work.

“The most satisfying experience for any research scientist is to see public acceptance and wide application of their research results,” said Hurt in a 2007 interview with the AMA Motorcycle Hall of Fame. “We were thrilled that the public and industry so widely accepted and used the 1981 report.”

Hurt is survived by his wife Joan; sons Harry and John; three daughters, Julie, Vivien and Vera; and 10 grandchildren.

A remembrance will be held in January in Hurt’s honour at the Head Protection Research Laboratory that he created in Paramount, CA.

Sourec: Dec/3/09   www.insidemotorcycle.com  / Photo courtesy Motorcyclist Magazine

Man, it’s hot outside! Well, of course! It’s summertime in Florida and there is no relief from the heat until you are bombarded by golf ball sized hail from the inevitable afternoon thunderstorm. When I feel it’s getting really unbearable from either weather condition, I will leave the sanctity of my redwood deck and retreat back inside the trailer with my dog and beer. It was on one recent retreat that I learned that none of us would be here too long. Or so it seemed to one particular person.

I have heard of the internet, but I’m not one of those computer literate sort of folks, so when the ol’ lady got one of these “Laptop computer” things I paid little attention to it. “Hey look at this” she hollers from across the room. “It’s this website for the “Institute for Human Continuity.” “What’s that?” I replied. “It’s this thing about the end of the world, and you can apply for a chance to be a survivor!” After a brief examination I determined that the image on the computer screen was impressive. It appears to be a real site which warns people of the ‘end of the world.’ I dunno, I remember that once I wrote about the internet being only useful for Porn, and that assumption was based on a statement being made by a ‘wise’ man that I met, so I approached the vision of the website with great skepticism. Wow! It did look real, and the ol’ lady was enthusiastic about the impending doom, and was showing me how you could join a lottery to be included as a “survivor.” It was at this point that I went from skepticism to disbelief. I mean, how can a stupid computer save you, as a person from the end of the world? I just didn’t make sense. But she was adamant that this was real, and went into great detail about what she had read. As little as I know about the computer or the end of the world for that matter, I decided that it was time to do a little ‘research’ of my own. Nothing will cool you off like quick blast on a motorcycle, so I hollered “see ya!” and fired up the bagger and headed down the road to the Gentlemen’s club for some more alcohol, and some ‘in-depth’ investigation! Here’s what I learned…

According to the Mayan Indians, ‘doomsday’ will happen on December 21, 2012. It seems that the Mayans constructed a calendar that ends on that exact date. … Hmm, all the strange things happening around the world right now, and then some long dead people from the other side of nowhere mess my day up even worse! Just my luck! Then there’s this dude named Nostradamus who seemed to predict the same thing, but wait, he says it going to happen on the 22nd not the 21st which is not surprising to me!

There are other ancient predictors and methods used to calculate such events, but I prefer to use the ‘count the boobies’ method. It’s a simple calculation involving counting the number of boobies you see at the Gentlemen’s club, multiplying by the number of beers you’ve consumed, adding 1,655 (the amount of dollars it typically costs to pay the fine and costs for DUI) and subtracting 2. My calculation revealed that the world would not actually end in 2012 but somewhere in the area of 2029. This number was based on my unique ability of retroactive clairvoyance, and the probable existence of unobvious boobies being hidden from natural view. I am an expert at predicting things after they already happened, and appear to be a Seer when I approach those that have not already ‘heard the news.’

Postdiction aside, there was a level of disappointment in the ol’ lady’s eyes when I told her that the Institute for Human Continuity was actually not a predictor of the end of the world, but merely a very well constructed website advertisement for the movie ‘2012’ which is supposed to come out sometime in November. I also told her that continuous use of the computer could make her anti-social, and just like that tee-vee, it can make you go blind! She called me a colorful name and said she was going to throw me out of the house. I can’t predict the exact date, because it hasn’t happened yet! Until next month, speed safely and stay tuned for more. ….

Editor’s note: Gullibility notwithstanding, more than 11,000,000 people have already signed up for a chance to survive the end of the world. Are they true believers like Craven’s ol’ lady, or are they merely being duped by the entertainment industry? Make your decision by reviewing www.theinstituteforhumancontinuity.org

Even if you ride a box-stock motorcycle, you cannot possibly deny the fact that you enjoy gazing at those custom jobs. Whether it’s a billet laden radical chopper, a bobber or a vintage old school knucklehead chop, each custom motorcycle is an expression of the owners love of the lifestyle and the machine. Lately, sport bikes have undergone tremendous modifications and in the custom world, there is no limitation to what a fertile mind can produce. Extended front ends, stretched swing arms and flashing LED systems aside, one of the more popular accessories out there is the vertical license plate mount. Who knew that after spending several hundred dollars on this popular modification, it would be the one item that keeps on costing?

I saw it with my own eyes. A biker was issued a ticket carrying a heavy monetary penalty for displaying his license plate vertically instead of horizontally (to the ground). I have also overheard a series of similar stories where bikers riding custom motorcycles with this mod have experienced the very same thing. Here, insult is added to injury because persons who desire to customize their motorcycles spend heavily on accessories such as the vertical license plate mount. Sadly, some of you have paid twice.

I’m not a Cop or a Lawyer, but I never remembered having a problem reading a license plate that was not mounted horizontally. I’m not suggesting that I am better than anyone, but I have actually been capable of deciphering the plates when they were mounted upside down and covered with mud. I further am not suggesting that I try to read every license plate, but I do enjoy seeing those ‘vanity’ plates (you know like; HWG WYLD or VIBR8TR or EZ LAY etc.) which by the way cost the owner a little extra, just like their custom parts.

This law was not only ubiquitous to every law enforcement officer (looking to use an equipment violation for probable cause to stop or detain) but it was also deleterious to individuals that enjoy the sleek look a vertical plate mount provides. Customization of a motorcycle is akin to freedom of expression, and in my humble opinion persons desiring to modify their machine shouldn’t be singled out, fined or otherwise beleaguered for their artistic creations. Laws such as this one do nothing to enhance personal safety or protection of the general public and are a prime example of bureaucratic profligacy. Haven’t we seen enough?

Someone somewhere, must have agreed with me and thought that this particular law was just plain stupid, and lobbied the DHSMV and the Senate to get the statute reviewed. For once, I bring you good news! The law has been changed. …

Here then are the facts, as available on the Florida Legislature’s website at www.leg.state.fl.us:

The law was changed by a Committee Amendment sometime back in April of this year. It became effective on July 01, 2009. The Florida Statute appearing at TITLE XXIII Chapter 316 “STATE UNIFORM TRAFFIC CONTROL” More specifically Chapter 316.2085 “Riding on Motorcycles or Mopeds” was modified. I am showing the original and the modified version here:

The original Statute (at 316.2085 (3)) read:

(3) The license tag of a motorcycle or moped must be permanently affixed horizontally to the vehicle ground and may not be adjusted or capable of being flipped up. No device for or method of concealing or obscuring the legibility of the license tag of a motorcycle shall be installed or used.

Upon review by the Florida Senate the words ‘horizontally’ and ‘ground’ were removed from the vernacular by being struck through, at line 71 on page 4 of 20 in (the) Florida Senate – 2009 Bill No. CS for SB 1100.

The amended statute now reads:

(3) The license tag of a motorcycle or moped must be permanently affixed to the vehicle and may not be adjusted or capable of being flipped up. No device for or method of concealing or obscuring the legibility of the license tag of a motorcycle shall be installed or used.

I wonder if all Florida Law Enforcement Officers are aware of this change. It seems unimaginable that something so significant to bikers would be a topic at the shift meeting, or even casual conversation at the doughnut shop. I guess we will see how it goes, as now we once again have regained just a little bit more of our freedom to express ourselves in chrome and steel.

But just in case, always remember that the informed biker is a vigilant one whom armed with the correct information has the ability to enlighten Officers that are not aware of such changes. State and local Law Enforcement Officers are required to carry Florida Statute books, or have the capability to peruse the Statutes whether in paper format or on the handy computer mounted in their vehicle. If for some reason you are stopped for a vertical plate, remind Officer Friendly that Craven said that the law has been changed. After they let you out of the cuffs for mentioning my name, ask them to look up FS 316.2085(3) to verify that it is now legal for you to fly your plate in a perpendicular fashion.

Until next month – SPEED SAFELY!

It’s always a good reason to fight. Thanksgiving that is. I remember how I was raised, and taught the real meaning of thanksgiving was to celebrate the Pilgrim’s moratorium on eliminating Indians. In the old days, it was prophesized that the original celebration involved sharing food between long-standing adversaries. This tradition, in my life has never changed.

I awoke that morning with a pounding in my head. When I shook off the alcohol induced sleep, I remembered that the ol’ lady had intentionally struck me in the back of my skull with an iron skillet the night before. This painful memory was becoming more and more prominent as I walked down the narrow hall to visit the 5 gallon joint compound bucket that we call a toilet. But before I got to the door that used to house our fancy “indoor plumbing” bathroom (including a stand-up shower) I was again met with the rage of a woman. This time the ol’ lady was unarmed, with the exception of an extremely loud voice. This voice however was as painful to my aching head as the 5 pounds of steel that had bid me sweet dreams the night before. Evidently she was still pissed, but I couldn’t understand why.

After a seemingly unending barrage of verbal abuse, I learned that I had once again not lived up to her expectations. She had invited no less than 10 of her family members to our trailer for the holiday to enjoy a Thanksgiving feast with us. At that time I reminded her that we didn’t even have 10 chairs or milk crates, much less a table to seat all of her expected dignitaries in the manner that they were accustomed to. While she raced to the bedroom to retrieve the baseball bat, I stumbled down the steps out of the front door, and ran across the yard to my motorcycle. I should have attempted my escape in the pick-up truck, but I knew that it was cold-natured, and the cool November weather would make it even harder to get started, and running.

I heard a loud crack as the bat came down on the back of the tour pack. But for her it was too late. I covered her with dirt and gravel, as I dumped the clutch at full throttle and hauled ass down the cow path that the owners of the park call a ‘road.’ Once free of the threat of bodily harm, I quickly remembered that I still needed to take a leak, so I pulled off the side of the road a mile or so later to relieve myself. It was at this time that I realized that most of this confrontation could possibly have been my own fault!

You see, the night before I remembered that she gave me her monthly government check. I had initially intended to spend the entire $213.11 on groceries for the Thanksgiving dinner that she had been planning for the last year. But you my dedicated readers, as well as I, know the difference between fantasy and reality. Instead of going to get the groceries, I did what I normally do, and went to visit all my friends at the local taverns and gentleman’s clubs. Around midnight, I remembered my original mission, and spent the remaining $42.00 on a gourmet take-out from someplace called the Jerk Hut. (It was the only joint open at that late hour.) I also remembered that she was somewhat dissatisfied when I arrived back at the trailer with the several Styrofoam containers of burned chicken and mystery meat. It had all the sides you would expect – baked beans, cole slaw, and some un-identifiable liquid that resembled regurgitated sea snakes or something like that. Even though there was enough to feed everyone she was not impressed. I did my best to explain to her the burned looking chicken was really turkey, and the sea snake sauce mixture was really gravy. I also explained to her that we could dig enough potatoes out of the yard to feed her flock. I later learned that “Jerk” food was some kind of really foul tasting Jamaican stuff, and the “potatoes” growing around the park were a variety of poison gourds that were only there to ward off the raccoons and possums. I actually would have enjoyed a dinner of raccoons and possums, but her family would not stand for it. I then went to the fruit stand on the main road and bargained for a sack of potatoes on credit.

Around noon, the hungry hoard began to arrive. I had returned only an hour earlier, greeted with the shouting of my name (expletives deleted for the sake of the kids). A near miss from a small hatchet reminded me that she was still pissed over my menu selection. The already blackened chicken and mystery meat was being warmed over our “redneck fireplace” in the front yard. The sack of potatoes was boiling in our turkey deep fryer bucket. A sharp stench of un-identified spices wafted through the air. At this time I‘m figuring “life is good” But the worst was yet to come.

Go to www.borntoride.com for the rest of the story … Craven Moorehead … good day!

I suppose that when I was a little kid, I like most other people of that tender age looked forward to the Christmas Holiday with great expectation. There was always something exciting about the possibility of receiving some sort of toy or game or other item that I really wanted; and the gratification of displaying that item to my peers was the ultimate feeling of satisfaction. But I soon found out that my friends and peers really didn’t get much thrill at looking at my socks and underwear – especially when I would drop my pants just to show em off. Damn, I should have been born a girl! Then everyone would want to see my socks and underwear. That statement is based upon some of the magazines that I have seen at the local 7-Eleven. I was there the other day, talking to my friend Habib who works there. He was showing me a series of photos in one of those magazines that featured a very attractive girl posing in her underwear. She was even wearing socks. Ok, well I guess they were stockings, but it didn’t matter because she was simply captivating. She was also sporting a Santa hat but I don’t believe that anyone (including myself) would have ever noticed that hat. Not with that beautiful set of large perfectly rounded uh – eyes – staring back at me. I started thinking that, not only is it cool to look that good in your skivvies, but it must be really nice to get paid for it! I came to the conclusion that models get paid when I tried to remove the magazine from the store without paying for it. Habib said “No you stinky biker bum – you pay, you pay! Book not leave store without you pay for it loser!!” I just put it back on the counter, because I had already spent all my cash on a pack of smokes, a 16oz Bud and a lotto ticket.

Ahhh those memories! As my thoughts journeyed back to when I was a kid, I lit a smoke and savored the aroma of the toxic materials I was exhaling. I took a swallow of the ice-cold beer, and leaned back against the glass on the front of the store. Man, it was cool to be young and have expectations and dreams, and every day was a new adventure. Sometimes you got what you wanted, and sometimes you didn’t, but you always woke up with wide-eyed expectation. I heard the door open and out walks my pal Habib. He lights up a smoke and sits on the ledge next to me. He says “Ohhh man look at that filthy motorcycle you bum, you should wash! And them clothes you wear, man you stinky Craven, you dirty stinky, you should wash!” “Shaddup buttwipe” I replied. “What makes you think you are so much better than me?” “Ohhh Craven I got job, I make money, you just stinky biker bum, but I still like you!” “You don’t like me Habib; you just wish you were free like I am! I got nowhere to go, nothing to do, and nothing to prove!” He doesn’t reply but stares off into space for a few minutes, tosses his cigarette into the parking lot and walks inside. As I swigged down the last of my beer, I thought that perhaps my friend was thinking about what I said. Maybe he had some sort of expectation or some dream in a way off desert tent or something. I don’t know, maybe he didn’t have a Christmas tree or presents to open – heck he probably doesn’t even celebrate Christmas in whatever place he originally came from. Or maybe he, just like me, really has no place to go or nothing to do after he gets off work. Maybe he has nothing to prove and no expectation of happiness. Either way, it didn’t really matter at that particular moment. I just got up, threw the empty can into the trash and walked over to my motorcycle. I had a funny thought when I threw my leg over the bike – you know, what would it be like to throw your leg over a camel, and drive it home from work. Or worse, maybe one of them stinky braying jackasses like they ride around on in Mexico. I actually rode one of those smelly things when I was down there, and my pal Habib thinks I’m stinky – HA!! Anyhow, I just fired up the bike, and I was getting ready to leave when Habib runs out the door. He’s waving a bag at me and he comes up and says “Here Craven, I want you to have this magazine, you like it so I make present to you for it. You still a bum but you are my friend!” “Thanks man, I appreciate that!” I replied, as I rolled up the book and stuffed it into my jacket. Then, I dug around in my other pocket and found a pass to the gentleman’s club down the highway. I handed it to him and said “Here man, you may enjoy this!” His eyes got sorta wide, and said “Ohhh man, Showgirls club, I go there, I like! You a good friend Craven even though you bike bum!” “Yeah you’re a good friend too, so Merry Christmas Habib!” “Merry Christmas!” he hollers as he runs back inside.

As I ride down the road, I started thinking that maybe even though we’re not young anymore there are still some things that we can expect that still please us. Things that are bright and shiny, whether new or old, dusty or dirty, probably dreams, possibly fantasies, maybe even the simplest of rewards or gifts could never replace the basic art of friendship. It’s a good thing to exchange this Christmas.

The things I don’t like about Christmas. …

I don’t like those little antler things that you put on your dog. I don’t like those little Santa hat things for your dog either. Your dog doesn’t like it I don’t like it, and I will come to your trailer and teach your dog to bite you if you don’t quit doing it! No, it’s not even cute for that one photo that you want to put on the front of your Christmas card. If I was your dog and you did that to me, I would eat your favorite slippers and crap them out all over your shag carpet. Your dog is supposed to be your best friend. Why would you do that to your dog? Just stop it!

Now that we have that straight, I do want to say thanks and Merry Christmas to ALL my dedicated readers who endure my rants and raves month after month. I enjoy writing for this magazine, and really do appreciate all of you that come up to me and say “I like your articles!” Or “I hate your articles” or whatever. I really sincerely do appreciate it. Thanks again my friends, and speed safely out there!
Oh yeah, Hey Santa! I do need some new socks this year, but forget the underwear, I’m goin commando!

Cobra riders race well at Gatorback MX Park’s Mini Os

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