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Breaking In The New Bike
by Dave Preston
Only a fool would offer printed advice on how to break in a new
bike - the written equivalent of tossing gasoline on a roaring fire.
Off I go, then…
In doing so, I will often venture into the flights of fancy we
call – with unalloyed optimism – “common sense.” Surely the greatest
oxymoron of all time, common sense is anything but common. On the
other hand, since you are reading Sound RIDER!, you’re obviously full
of common sense to the level of a convex meniscus, so everything
will be perfectly clear.
As background, I need to mention that both of my parents were
mechanical engineers, and my two older brothers were adept at
science - one of them earning a doctorate in Chemical Engineering.
(If you’re wondering how I came to be, you’re not the first…)
Essentially, I was raised in a home where decisions were made with
logic, or at least explained as such. Not necessarily perfect, but
clear and easy to understand. As a child, I wondered why “Ozzie and
Harriet” was such a big hit on TV, as most of the shows looked like
everyday life to me. I was not too sophisticated…
Let’s move on to your bike. The new bike. The one you just
purchased, the one you have every intention of owning forever, or at
the very least for a very long time, and you wonder how best to care
for it. Your first step might be to consult the Internet. WRONG!
Let’s wallow in irony here, since you’re reading this on the
Internet. There is much that is good on the Internet, and there is
much that is offal - (like awful, but worse).
Instead of the Internet, choose to be daring. Go where few owners
ever venture. Sit down; grab a beverage, and read – the Owner's
Manual.
But - before you do, let’s ponder why the Owner’s Manual exists.
Pretend you are a motorcycle (or car) manufacturer. You have
produced a new model to be proud of, and you’d better be, since the
wonks in your business office whine that you’re currently 158.634.5
million dollars upside down on this venture. You send out the word
to prepare the Owner’s Manual, and it is duly produced by writers
beholden to four pressure groups:
1. Your attorneys, who see liability suits lurking behind every
grommet, bolt and widget. To be fair to attorneys (what?), they have
reason for paranoia. Everything in the world has been the basis for
a law suit, or soon will be. I recall learning that a mower company
was sued by a man who came home and decided, with his friend, to use
his new mower as a hedge trimmer. (Yes, alcohol was involved –your
point?) After the inevitable loss of fingers, he sued because the
mower did not display a warning label that it should not be used as
a hedge trimmer. The mower manufacturer won the case, but it cost
them a great deal of time and money to defend themselves. Worse,
Porsche was sued by the estate of a woman who, while considerably
more than legally drunk, climbed into her turbo Carrera on a wild
and wet night and proceeded down the road at speed, until physics
and alcohol ended her life – with an assist from a tree. Porsche
settled the case out of court for mega-millions because they felt
the cost in negative public relations if the case went to trial
would be harder to bear. So yes, people can and will sue for any and
all reasons.
2. Your engineering staff, who want to explain every system on
the bike ad nausea and who will provide most of the content for the
manual.
3. Your sales and marketing people, who want to sell as many of
this new product as they can and do not want to be held back by any
statements that may cause alarm.
4. Your accounting office, which wants to have the manual cost
$.05 or less.
This quartet of criteria explains many of the features you find
in the Owner’s Manual. The paper is one grade above toilet paper,
because it is cheaper, and because research shows that hardly anyone
ever reads the manual (more on this later). The liability concerns
account for the warning labels and big yellow triangles sprinkled
through the book like cinnamon on buttered toast. Some of them seem
ridiculous. “Do not attempt to debone a chicken while riding at
80mph.” OK, I made that one up, but consult the Owner’s Manual for
your new bike to find others equally absurd. Some sections appear to
be the engineering staff indulging in an orgy of mechanical detail –
because they like it, and the sales people are responsible for the
really attractive pics of every side of the bike and the
instruments.
Now then, having spent a significant sum of money on your new
bike, why would you not take the time to read the manual? Beats me,
but hardly anyone does.
My own practice is to sit down for an enjoyable read of the
entire manual, ride the bike for a few days, and read the manual
again. I began doing this decades ago, and just assumed everyone
did.
In 1997, I called the service department of the dealership where we
had just purchased our Suzuki Sidekick (a fine product) to ask a
question about a minor detail I did not understand. The service
manager was shocked that I had read the manual at all, and actually
complimented me for the question! He felt his life would be a lot
easier if new owners read the manual, and his belief was that
nobody did. I felt this was an exaggeration until I entered the
motorcycle business, where the vast majority of bikes traded in did
not have the Owner’s Manual, and the owner had no idea where it
might be – because it was tossed out when the bike was purchased.
Here we have an easy-to-read book that has information about an
item of significant cost that can save you staggering amounts of
time and money, not to mention the safety and ease of operation
factors, and people ignore it? This is not logical behavior.
While I was writing this at my desk, a friend putting together a
presentation on suspension adjustment asked to borrow an Owner’s
Manual for the new BMW S 1000RR. While taking pictures of the rear
suspension the previous day, he saw something that did not agree
with what he read on an enthusiast forum later that evening. The
complaint was that the rear shock could not be adjusted more than
1/8th of a turn. Sure enough, if you look at the shock carefully, or
read the manual, golly gee – there it is – a clear description and
diagram of the set screw that holds the shock adjustment in place.
It takes 5 seconds to read the sentence, and another 5 to loosen the
screw – if you open the manual and read.
Let’s turn to the chapter that concerns breaking in the engine.
What does the manufacturer have to gain by putting in a long and
time-consuming break-in process? Such a break-in is not popular with
the marketing people, who want the new owners to enjoy their bike
immediately. It is not popular with the accountants, who would like
the manual to be as brief as possible – but on the other hand it may
lower the expense of warranty claims. It is popular with the
engineers who designed the bike, because they know the engine
(literally) inside out and are eager for the machinery to be used
appropriately.
The bottom line is that there is very little benefit to a
manufacturer to put in a lengthy break-in procedure for an audience
that will not read it. It would be easier to sell the bike, and
owners would enjoy their ride sooner, if there were no break-in at
all. Ironically, no break-in at all is what many of the “experts” on
the Internet recommend. Logically, if such a break-in procedure has
been put in the manual by a manufacturer who has little to gain by
doing so, there must be good reason to follow it.
History does provide exceptions. When the Kawasaki ZX 12R first
came out in late 1999, it had a 1,000 mile break-in procedure.
Several European journalists promptly took out press bike editions of
this newest assault on our concepts of acceleration and top speed
and ran them extremely hard from 0 miles, managing to blow up a few
of them in the process. Kawasaki responded to this by doubling the
break-in to 2,000 miles.
I purchased a used ZX 12R (with 536 miles) at about the same
time, and got to deal with the longer interval. Fortunately, a ZX12R
has such an excess of power that it occurred to me one day that in
6th gear at the recommended break-in rpm I would be traveling at
120mph! That bike, by the way, has since endured many track days,
drag races and dyno days with the nitrous bottle turned on,
countless wheelies and other sorts of hard abuse, and currently has
over 80,000 miles – on the original engine.
For a few years, I was able to break in new Harleys destined for
use as a rental fleet. Harley-Davidson required that each bike have
500 miles before being rented. This seemed excessive, as you can
feel a Harley “relax” at about 150 miles. As delivered, Harleys have
very hard brake pads (they need to be –asked to stop a very heavy
bike that is capable of significant speed) and they barely stop the
bike at all the first few times of use. Similarly, the gears are
stout to deal with considerable torque and can be stiff to shift.
Everything seemed to gel at about 150 miles, and then I’d simply
enjoy another 350 miles before turning it in and moving on to the
next one. By the way, the Owner’s Manual (yes, I read all of them)
contained recommended rpm levels – for motorcycles not equipped with
tachometers!
But what of all the advice you hear to “ride it like you stole
it” as the best break-in procedure? First of all, you did not steal
it. You paid your own money. How much of your money, at what odds,
do you want to trust to unknown “experts” whose advice is free –
compared to a squadron of factory engineers who have nothing to gain
by making the process more difficult?
Yes, I know the stories – the race team that blew up a hand-built
engine in practice, and then bought a brand new stocker and raced it
for a season, or years (depends on the version you’re listening to)
with no ill affects. I am sure such things have happened, just as I
know that enough monkeys with enough keyboards will, with the
inexorable recipe of unlimited time, random chance, Murphy’s Law,
and a pinch of chaos theory, produce a tasty novel. But, with my own
money, I choose to invest in the time to read the information
presented by the folks who built the bike, and I lean toward their
recommendations because it appears to be in BOTH of our best
interests to do so.
Many will point out that major road race teams do not break in
their engines. But yes, they do. Each part in such an engine has
been weighed, massaged and assembled with attention to detail and
time spent that would be impossible to replicate on a production
engine. Some of them are broken in on a dyno at the factory before
being shipped to the track. Finally, most race engines are rebuilt
between races as a matter of routine, or in an hour between rounds
in top fuel drag racing. You will want a maintenance schedule for
your own bike that is less intense.
At the end of the day, I hope you enjoyed reading this, because
the odds of my changing anyone’s opinion on this topic are slim to
nil. I would just make a small bleating plea for logic. It is your
bike and (more importantly, perhaps – your money). Who gains from
your lengthy and happy relationship with the mechanical heart of
your engine – the people that built it and want to sell you another
one, or the expert whose name you do not know telling you how it is
on the Internet?
If it is all too much, be of good cheer. Your new motorcycle has,
in all likelihood, an excess of performance for any likely use on a
public road. In other words, for over 90% of your ownership
experience you will be riding within the limits specified for the
break-in.
Examples? I put thousands of miles on a plethora of Harleys, and
virtually all of them were done at engine speeds that could be
rivaled by Dick Cheney’s pacemaker. Who flogs a Harley as an
everyday thing? A friend flew to Tucson and picked up a new Goldwing,
and the “break-in” consisted of a two day ride back to Seattle. When
you look at the capability of a Goldwing, and assuming he adjusted
the speed once in awhile, he was smack in the middle paragraphs of
the break-in procedure the entire time! My current BMW makes 175hp
at full chat – and where in the world am I likely to use that?
Simply put, motorcycle engines are so well made these days, have
such performance and our roads are so crowded that the Owner’s
Manual break-in procedure could be reduced to just four words -
“Don’t be an idiot” - and you’d be fine.
…Unless you’re an attorney.
Ride safe, ride well, and ride often!
Dave Preston is the author of the common sense riding guide,
Motorcycle 101
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