Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance... Quotes

“Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive”

― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

“In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame.

“The test of the machine is the satisfaction it gives you. There isn't any other test. If the machine produces tranquility it's right. If it disturbs you it's wrong until either the machine or your mind is changed.”

― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

“The real cycle you're working on is a cycle called yourself.”

― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

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Fifteen Dollar Piston

That's Paul Riding My Old Ironhead With The Fifteen Dollar Piston Blasting over the mountain, I was giving her the gas, full throttle, right against the stop, passing all the cars. That's when I heard the bang. BANG . Sounded like a 12 gauge , and the Ironhead starts losing power. Cars that I passed, start to pass me. And I notice that she’s smoking some. Well, something ain’t right; I’m turning around, I'm heading for home… And by the time I get home…I’m limping, mostly running on one cylinder. FUCK! I think that was the word out of my mouth. And I’m laying down serious smoke . The trouble was the front jug. Front one is easy to take off, so I pull off the head, and loosen the cylinder, start to slide her up over the piston. And here, is where I actually showed a lick of sense: Before I pull the jug all the way over the piston, I put a clean rag around the connecting rod, under the piston, to prevent broken metal from falling off the piston, into the crankcas...

Bad Ass Bob and the Bean Burrito Boost

A motorcycle race was the only way to settle it, and young Bob knew that his clapped out, oil burning, Ironhead Sportster, was not up to the task. But it was a warm September day in the Poconos when the fast-talking stranger rolled up and parked his flat black touring bike next to Nellie's Burrito wagon. The stranger looked like he had some miles on him, tough wrinkled, greybeard miles. And unlike the Sportster, the flat black touring bike, looked to be well maintained and fast. Oh, it was grimy, but you could just tell, it was fast. So, sitting in the white plastic lawn chairs alongside the two lane highway, next to the burrito wagon, Bob struck up a conversation about motorcycles, which eventually led to talk about his upcoming race, and he subtly inquired: "Well, how can I make my bike go faster?" So Bob and the stranger went over for a closer look at the hopeless looking iron head. Bob started the bike, and revved her a few times, and they both watched as thi...

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