As I started my senior year in college, 1974, a guy by the name of Robert Pirsig wrote this philosophical novel as an exploration of the concept of Quality. What he called the Metaphysics of Quality (MOQ) originated with his college studies as a student of biochemistry. He found the number of rational hypotheses for any given phenomenon appeared to be unlimited. It seemed to him that this undermined the validity of the scientific method. He got so carried away by this concept and the tension between rational, analytical thinking (which he called “classical” understanding) and intuitive, holistic thinking (“romantic” understanding) that he got expelled and headed off on his motorcycle trip from Minnesota to Northern California (taking his son along as his foil I guess). Thus was born Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
The book is structured as a travelogue about a father and son’s motorcycle trip. The motorcycle maintenance aspects serve as both literal discussions of mechanical work and as metaphors for approaching life’s problems. At a deeper level, it’s an investigation into the self and about someone who suffers a mental breakdown and undergoes electroconvulsive therapy. Through the journey, the narrator asks the question of what makes something “good” and how we recognize it. The motorcycle (a Honda CB77, a rather small and simple 305cc bike) serves as a practical framework for exploring these ideas. Through detailed descriptions of motorcycle maintenance, Pirsig illustrates how technical work can be approached with both analytical precision and aesthetic appreciation, bridging the divide between classical and romantic mindsets. The “Zen” in the title refers to the book’s exploration of mindfulness and present-moment awareness, though it’s not strictly about Zen Buddhism. Rather, it suggests an approach to life and work that transcends the rational-intuitive divide. The book is known for introducing the concept of “gumption” – the combination of enthusiasm and determination needed to solve problems effectively – and for its detailed exploration of how mental models impact problem-solving.
That’s pretty heavy stuff by any standard, but its especially thick for most motorcyclists and for that matter, most college students. In other words, I had no idea what the hell all of that bullshit meant back in college and I barely can get my head around it now that I’m older and supposedly wiser. When I first heard about the book, I thought it sounded cool. I liked motorcycles and everyone knew that Zen Buddhism was pretty cool (even though the that wasn’t the Zen Pirsig was talking about). The book sold 5 million copies and I venture to say that few people who bought it worked their way through its entirety and if they did, had no idea what they were reading. Sometimes, someone just gets lucky and I suspect that Pirsig couldn’t believe his good fortune.
Today I think I finally understood the book…at least a little bit, and discovered what Pirsig would call a “Gumption Trap”. I was using the day to get ready for my upcoming motorcycle trip. On the occasion of Kim going off to Pasadena on her babysitting mission next weekend, I planned an impromptu ride out to a little ghost town on the Arizona/Nevada/California border. Two summers ago, while driving my granddaughters back from our family reunion in Utah, we decided to show them the Grand Canyon. I wanted to do it up right and we did the North Rim and then the South Rim on the same day. That left us with a last day ride home across some pretty desolate territory, mostly the Mojave Desert. We found a neat little ghost town called Oatman, whose claim to fame in the ghost town department is that there are free-roaming burros all over town. It’s a day ride to Oatman and a day ride back. To make it less rushed and because I had the time with Kim off in Pasadena, I planned it as a day up to the area, a day riding through Oatman and the Black Mountains where the coolest part of Rt.66 goes through, and then a day back.
I was prepared to do the ride solo, but I ended up interesting my riding friends Steve and Mark from Phoenix into making the ride and the dates worked for them. As a courtesy, I mentioned the quick little ride to our friend Chris in New York City and to my surprise, he took me up on the idea of coming out to ride over and back for the three-day jaunt. I have an extra BMW R-Nine-T 1200 which Chris has used before, so he knows what to expect of the bike, but obviously I feel its important to make sure that both that bike and my ride, a BMW R1250 GS Adventure, are fit for a three day ride across the desert, where there are precious few places to get something fixed should one of the bikes break down. I sorted through all my ride gear including a full set of tools, tire repair kit, recharger to jump the battery if needed, mini air compressor to inflate a tires and various other items to make the ride go smoothly. As I was checking over my bike, I noticed that the fog light bracket that attaches under the handlebars was wobbling because one of the two brackets had lost its attaching bolt. It was awkward, but I was able to reach up under the front housing and could feel the empty bracket screw hole, but it was particularly hard to reach.
The first job was to figure out exactly what size bolt was needed. With my cell phone and an LED lamp, I was able to get a look at the remaining bolt on the other bracket. I have a bag full of extra parts and bolts and screws from various motorcycle upgrade parts I have bought over the years (I knew I saved them for something), so I was able to find what I thought was the right size. I was able to test it in the hole with a little effort after dropping it and chasing it around the garage floor a few times, and it fit the diameter of the hole just fine. Then when I tried to put it in through the hole in the loose bracket (still attached to the fog light cross-arm), it all got too clumsy and crowed up under that spot between the two front forks. I tried and tried and then I got the idea of using museum wax (something Kim uses for decorations at Christmas) to keep the bolt on the Allen wrench I was trying to use. That only worked marginally better due to the confined space and my beefy hands. Finally I got the brainstorm to take the bracket off the cross-arm on the theory that getting it attached up in that hidden cavity would be easier and reattaching it to the cross-arm could follow after that, all with greater ease. I was headed in the right direction with that, but it was still not easy to keep the bolt from dropping at the slightest misstep. Finally, it occurred to me to use the ceiling wax to hold the bolt into the bracket and get it seated in the hole space and then put the Allen wrench up and into the bolt head. Again, that was directionally correct, but the bolt just wouldn’t go in. Finally, as the light was beginning to fade and Kim took Buddy in, as we are always sure to during coyotes feeding time at dusk, I gave in and found a longer bolt of the same caliber and used two hard rubber bushings to make up the gap and voila, I finally got it in place. The only remaining issue was how hard to tighten it and squeeze those bushings. Not possessing a torque wrench or even knowing how tight such a Rube Goldberg operation like this should be tightened, I just estimated the tightness required and promised myself I would try to take it into the shop on Tuesday to have it looked at by the BMW mechanic.
My three hours of zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance left me beyond spiritual help and wondering what the fuck the Metaphysics of Quality had anything important to do with modern life in the time of cholera (or at least in the time of riding on Rt.66),