Heart of the Machine
Posted Fri Jun 14, 2002 in
Motorcycling
Did you ever notice that every machine has a rhythm all its own? I’ve worked on countless machines over the years, from lawnmowers to automobiles. Each one, when running correctly (and sometimes incorrectly), has a rhythm to its operation.
I have a tape by Andy Wilkinson. On the cassette is a song entitled Sandstone Champagne. The rhythm track for this song is the actual sound of a windmill pump mining water from the Ogallala aquifer. The steady beat of the pump provides the musical background for a song detailing extraction of irrigation water from a depletable resource.
On my way back from San Antonio, I started thinking about the sound and feel of my BMW R1100R motorcycle, Jezebel. She has a distinct sound, different from most two-cylinder motorcycles, because her engine cylinders are horizontally opposed. I have an after-market exhaust mounted on the machine. It’s a Staintune collector and canister. The Staintune is not loud, by any means, but is louder than stock pipes. (I used to call Jez the “stealth bike” because she was impossible to hear coming!) The pitch of the exhaust note is low and it makes the engine sound like it’s breathing much better than with the stock exhaust.
I especially can hear the exhaust note when passing under an overpass or through an underpass. I’m always stricken by that sound. I can also hear air moving through the intake tubes, through the throttle bodies, and into the engine. When the throttles are opened to accelerate, the throaty sound made at the intakes is coupled with the exhaust note of the machine. It is a sound of power, of potential to take me places. In fact, the power of that engine can take me nearly anyplace I can imagine.
At speed, while cruising at 70mph, a gentle low frequency vibration can be felt through the seat and the grips. It is not an unpleasant sensation, as the engine is very well balanced through 5,000 rpm or so. Rather, the sensation is much like a pulse, the response of a beating heart. Only this heart is not of living flesh, but is a man-made heart—a machine.
At idle that pulse is quiet but a little bumpy, representing potential acceleration and motion, and seeming almost eager to do so. At 70mph, that pulse is more agitated, but still subdued. Yet, the pulse seems more eager than at idle, as if asking to be run, to be raced in the wind. If I roll on the throttle at cruising speed, the sound of the throttle bodies opens up and the intensity of the exhaust note intensifies as Jezebel accelerates in response to the increased supply of fuel and air. The pulse becomes quicker, more excited. At 80mph, the grips tremble through my gloved hands and the seat rumbles. At higher speeds, she is animalistic, grabbing at the pavement with secure feet, gobbling up miles. Jezebel wrestles with the corners, seeking to make straight lines of them. Her engineering amazes me. The feel of lightness and nimbleness is astounding. At higher speeds the pulse is quicker, more vibrant, but never buzzy or harsh.
On slowing to a more sedate pace after the run, the pulse subsides, much like the human heart slows after a foot race. The pulse remains however, declaring its presence, still full of energy, ready to respond at my beckoning. It is the heart of the machine, beating, full of rhythm. It is potential.
My husband loves the humming of machines working correctly… We are both gadget people…
I used to take apart and repair ventilators while I worked in the hospital. It saved money, and I loved it…
— toxiclabrat 16 June 2002, 11:32 #