Is It Hot In Here Or Is It Just Me?

As Austin closes in on its 70^th consecutive day with a high temperature in triple digits, one has to finally acknowledge that yes, global warming is real. Every year has record breaking highs, but this year especially. The planet is getting consistently hotter.

Maybe nothing we've done is causing global warming. Maybe it really is just a natural fluctuation in the earth's temperature. I've read that the Middle Ages were a period of higher temps, and that it led to a lot of good things, like the spread of agriculture to places it wasn't possible before, and also allowed more areas to be hospitable to human living than before. And I know that we've had at least two “mini-Ice Ages” since then. So, yes, the earth's temperature fluctuates.

However, that doesn't mean that we're not screwing up the planet. Recycling can't be a bad thing. Why throw things out when they can be reused? That's just wasteful. Reuse. Reduce the amount of crap that's going into landfills. You take the trash out of your house – you don't just throw it on the living room floor or even let the bags pile up in the kitchen. Why do the same to the earth? We have to live on this planet – let's try to lessen the amount of garbage we pile up that's not going to go away in the foreseeable eons.

Somebody once told me the hole in the ozone wasn't a real issue because it's over Antarctica. That's like saying it's no problem that toxic mold is growing in your house because it's in the guest bedroom that you don't use.

Saying “you can always grow more trees” is stupid. You cut down acres of trees in a day, and it takes decades for them to grow back. I'm not saying don't harvest lumber – I'm saying do so responsibly, and let's try to reuse as much as possible to cut down on the need for felling.

When it's summer, it's not your “fault” that it's hot, but you still feel compelled to do something about it, don't you? If we as a species were able to invent air conditioning and refrigeration, then surely we can figure out how to cool the planet, right?

If Democrats got their way, our great grandchildren might be up to their neck in debt but with clean air and water. If Republicans got their way, our great grandchildren would be debt free but couldn't breathe the air or drink the water.

Can we get off our various “platforms” and sit down and work this shit out?

I Baby Proofed the House, But They Keep Getting In

Have you seen the price of baby-proofing products? Yeah, so have we. Since Baby Girl is starting to really get around pretty well, it's time to pad the furniture. But again – those prices...

We decided to get creative and do something sorta Kool and Kustom. And of course, cheap. Definitely about the cheap.

The first thing to baby-proof is the coffee table. Not only does it have hard surfaces, but it also has sharp corners and edges. We talked about getting rid of it, but it's one of those cool tables with a glass top that you can put stuff under, and the Other Half's brother was a roadie for years, so she has all his backstage laminates under the glass. Neither of us really wanted to give that up; it's just too cool.

So, enter cheap creativity. Those foam pool “noodles” that the kids at the public pool use to beat each other over the head? They were $1.98 at Lowe's! We picked up three of them in orange, and got some nylon rope in black and orange to tie the noodles and the table together, both visually and literally.

The Boy Child was spending his weekend with us, so he pitched in both when I needed more than two hands, and also as a photographer. First, I cut the noodles to length. 

Then, using my sharpest pocket knife and a metal ruler, I (attempted to) cut a straight line through the foam lengthwise. You can see from the photos that it's almost impossible to do, but I think it came out okay anyway.

Unfortunately, time was not our friend and Boy Child had to be taken to his mom's house early to get ready for his first day back at school. When we got back, the Other Half provided me with an extra pair of hands. Back from the ex's house and back on the job, we held the cut pieces of foam with the concave side toward the table corners, both top and bottom, wrapped the rope around table and foam pieces and tied it. We started with the long pieces, and followed with the end pieces. I suppose you could do it either way.

I think it came out looking even better than expected. A lot better than a strip of Band-Aid colored rubber held in place with double stick tape like we would've gotten from Wal Mart, anyway. We did realize that the vertical edges are still exposed, but we have some noodle scraps left that we can use to fix that.

I know kids are going to get their bumps and bruises. I know it's both inevitable and even good for them so they can learn to deal with minor setbacks. This foam contraption is to keep Baby Girl from splitting her noggin open on the sharp edges. Bruises are one thing; trips to the ER are another thing entirely.

And before anyone comments about all the exposed brick in the hearth in the background – that's the next project.

Digital Reading

I read and hear a lot of derision heaped on digital books and e-readers. As if reading an e-book isn't the same as reading a “real” book. Like when I read Leo Tolstoy or Alexandre Dumas or Thomas Paine on my Nook, I'm not actually reading their works.

Really? Really, Mr. Luddite?

I'm going to come right out and call you a hypocrite, then.

Yes, I said it. You're a hypocrite. If a book on my Nook isn't a “real book”, then songs on your iPod aren't “real music”, either. Don't watch any DVDs, my friend. As a matter of fact, stay away from cable TV, my self-righteous pal.

I've read that people made similar protests when the mass market paperback book (the near-pocket size) was introduced. I imagine the same happened when paperbacks were developed.

So, if you're against e-books, then stay away from any recorded music, play, movie, or any other form of reproduced entertainment as well.

Scribes copying individual copies by hand => e-books.

Orchestra => mp3

Moving Picture => Blu Ray

Nook, iPad, Blu Ray player, cable TV. All digital.

Natural progression, folks. Evolve or stagnate. Stagnate and die.

Take The Long Way Home

Last Thursday, the computer terminal in my area went down. Everything I do has to run through that thing, and Tech Support took a message and told us they'd call back “later”. “Later” can mean fifteen minutes or four hours. I started thinking the weather sure was nice for a ride, and my paid time off balance had just reset.... 

About that time, Tech Support called back and fixed the problem in less than five minutes. Dammit.

Well, it turned out to be a light workload kind of day, and that ride just kept calling my name, so I took the second half of the day off and mounted up. I work in Westlake, TX, which is a suburb southwest of Austin, right on the edge of the Texas Hill Country, where God himself intends to retire one day. It's beautiful country – rolling hills, sage and green, and curvy roads seemingly made just for Those Of Us Who Ride.

I started north on Loop 360, also known as Capital of Texas Highway. It runs north/south and provides several good views of the Austin skyline as it cuts through the natural rocky hills.

One of these views is seen from a neat bridge over the Colorado River called the Pennybacker Bridge, which was only the second bridge of its type ever built.

Just after the river, I exited and took a left onto Ranch Road 2222. RR 2222 runs west from Austin, up more of those scenic hills. Some days, while you're riding up that hill, you can actually feel your ears pop as if you're in an airplane. As I crossed Highway 620 at the summit, RR 2222 became Bullick Hollow Rd and started turning and twisting. This is what Hill Country riding is all about. After a few miles of downhill twists and turns, I arrived at Hwy 2769, also known as Volente Rd. Again, I took a left turn and the curves got even sharper and more frequent here, as the road starts to skirt the shore of Lake Travis. Volente Rd comes to an end at the village of Volente, but the ride is just beginning. I took a right onto the notorious Lime Creek Rd.

Now, Lime Creek Rd, in case you've never heard of or experienced it, is sort of reminiscent of the Dragon's Tail in North Carolina. I doubt it has as many curves in as many miles, but I bet it's pretty damn close. A word of caution here, too. It's probably more dangerous than the Dragon, due to the fact that it's residential, and you have driveways, sometimes on both sides of the road, and sometimes around blind, Dragon-worthy curves. 

It's tempting to blast through it if you're on a sport bike, but visions of a car backing out of a driveway usually temper my throttle hand. Usually. Okay, a little bit. In the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, it turned out I had the road to myself. Lime Creek is a fun road, but do exercise caution on it.

If it were safe to do so, you'd get some great views of Lake Travis both on Volente Rd and Lime Creek. Well, also if we weren't under drought conditions. It was sad to see boat docks just stretching out onto a dry lake bed, nowhere near the current water line.

Lime Creek comes to an end at Anderson Mill Rd. Another left turn took me a couple hundred yards to Farm to Market Road 1431 in Cedar Park. FM 1431 is just an outstanding motorcycle road. It has a little of everything: scenic views, small towns, gentle curves, and some challenging areas for the more aggressive riders.

I rode from Cedar Park, through the towns of Jonestown and Lago Vista, past Smithwick and into Marble Falls. Some of the views seem to be straight out of a western movie. The Hill Country never disappoints me. Rolling hills, dotted here and there with scrub brush and trees. A small town here, a ranch there. I would have stopped to take some pictures of the views except for two things. One: you just can't frame a view like that. At least not without some high quality professional equipment. Two: a combination of a months-long drought and more than sixty days of temperatures over 100 degrees have given my beloved Hill Country a bad sunburn. Even if I'd had better photographic equipment, it wouldn't do justice to what this area normally looks like. It would be like snapping a photo of a beautiful woman who's just spent three days in bed with the flu. Not fair, not fair at all. So, I respected Texas's dignity.

When I pulled into Marble Falls, I stopped at the intersection of 1431 and U.S. 281 to get gas for the bike and water and an energy bar for myself. 

Once gassed up, I headed south on Hwy 281 through the town of Marble Falls, home of the Bluebonnet Cafe, world famous for its tasty huge pies. Unfortunately, there was no time for pie this trip. Just south of the Bluebonnet, 281 crosses over Lake Marble Falls. Trivia: Lake Marble Falls, Lake Travis, and the Colorado River in Austin are all the same body of water. As is Lady Bird Lake south of downtown.

 

A few miles south of Marble Falls, I left U.S. 281 and headed east on TX 71, back toward home. The hills here are more gentle and spaced out. Something about the scenery here always makes me hear the theme music from M*A*S*H* and I envision helicopters cresting the hills.

Hwy 71 took me through the towns of Spicewood and Bee Cave and brought me to the place where U.S. 290 and TX 71 merge headed east into Austin, or diverge heading west away from town. This area is known affectionately by Austinites as “The Y”.

Once at the Y, I turned west onto 290 for a quarter mile or so and made yet another left onto the colorfully named Convict Hill Rd, and on home from there.

I managed to turn my normal ten mile commute into a 115 mile ride. I got home hot and a little tired, but with a smile on my face.

God is Love?

So….God loves us unconditionally? Really? Huh. Oh yeah - he’s omnipotent, too. So, if he loves us unconditionally, why do we go to Hell if we don’t figure out the right way to follow His ambiguous rules? The church I went to as a child taught that God hates the sin, but loves the sinner, and He doesn’t really want to send anyone to Hell. But wait - isn’t he all powerful? Didn’t he create reality just by saying words? So, then how do my actions “force” him to send me somewhere he doesn’t want me to go?
Going back to that love thing again, if he loves us unconditionally, why does Hell even exist? If he loves us no matter what, then why would he create a place of never-ending punishment? Purgatory I can buy. Kind of like a cosmic “time out” to be punished for your naughtiness. But eternity? That’s love? I’ve had it explained to me that Hell is simply being separated from God and that through our own misdeeds or unbelief, we sentence ourselves to it. Bullshit. If he truly loved us unconditionally, he’d pull us into Heaven anyway, even against our will. I guarantee you if my child was in a drug addled stupor, freezing to death and refusing to come in off the porch, I’d drag him or her inside kicking and screaming. Why? Because I love my children and I’m stronger than them.
I’m not an atheist. I just don’t buy the dogma. I read a statement that is so great. I have to paraphrase, and I’m afraid I don’t remember the author. It says basically that if God speaks to you, it’s revelation. When you repeat what he said, it’s hearsay.

How "Free" is the Free Market?

I've noticed that a lot of the people who think that an unregulated Free Market will fix the economy are also among the first people to bitch at you when you buy an imported product.

Hey, that's the Free Market at its best, isn't it? Why should I buy an inferior product for more money, just because it's American made? Let's take motorcycles as an example. A few years ago I owned a Harley Davidson. On one of the many, many occasions which I had to take it in to get it fixed, I noticed a sign in the service department advertising what it would take to get into the "100 hp Club". Basically, for about $2000 - $3000 in parts and labor, you could get a hundred horsepower out of your Harley. Of course, this is on top of the $15,000 - $20,000 or more that you paid for the bike. (I had a Sportster, nowhere near this price range, but also not compatible with the parts advertised.) I later traded my Harley in for a Suzuki. This Suzuki was used, $5999, 1000cc (about 2/3 the displacement of the bikes targeted at the H-D dealership), and mechanically stock except for the exhaust. Had I bought the exhaust, it would have cost me only a few hundred dollars. I later had it tested on a dynomometer. It was putting out 101 horsepower. For six grand - about a third of the cost of a 100 hp Harley Davidson. Also, it gets 42 mpg. It weighs just over 400 pounds. So ... it's lighter, more powerful, more fuel efficient, and it costs less. Free Trade philosophy would dictate it as the logical choice.

I saw a friend post this morning on facebook about Obama touring in a new foreign made tour bus while talking about creating/saving American jobs. My friend called it irony. How convenient for him. He also talks about cutting spending. A lot. Now, I haven't researched and compared what the President is riding around in with a comparable domestic model. However, I'm sure that if buses are consistent with cars and motorcycles, the import probably costs less to purchase and maintain, and gets better gas mileage, too. Plus, he did support the American employees who imported the bus, prepped the bus, sold the bus and that will maintain it. I said it was convenient for my friend, because had Obama bought an American made bus, he would have left himself open to accusations of wasteful and extravagant spending for buying an overpriced gas hog and flaunting it on the American Highways.

Now, I'm sure this friend would also say that American products are more expensive because of unions. He would say the only reason the imports are cheaper is because they don't have labor unions jacking up the price of labor. Yes, payroll is cheaper in other countries, but guess what? It's management who gets paid less, not labor. So, if you want to blame greed in the U.S. for driving up the price of domestic products, look at management and executives. Companies try to hide it, too. They give their top level execs a "modest" salary, but then their contract guarantees them bonuses. Excuse me, but isn't a bonus something you get when you excel? I've always believed that a bonus is thanks for doing more or better than expected, not something to be assumed. When it's assumed and guaranteed, it becomes pay.

Just random thoughts.

Factory Custom

...is a contradiction in terms. No factory has ever produced anything "custom".

Thank you. That is all. You may carry on now.

No, wait. I'm editing. That's not all. Here's my inspiration: the term "custom chopper". By its very definition, a chopper is "custom". Saying "custom chopper" is redundant - it can't be anything else. It's a bike that's been modified from the way the factory produced it. The same goes for bobbers and café racers. A bike that was churned out from an assembly line is a production vehicle.  I don't care how many people call the Honda Fury a chopper, they will be wrong. What was chopped from it? The same with Harley Davidson's Street Bob. Nothing got "bobbed" off of it - it came from the factory that way. I would also include the Triumph Thruxton "café racer". They are all production vehicles (quite fine quality, I'm sure) which took styling cues from motorcycle customizers. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this; my own motorcycle is sort of based on a street fighter, but it's really close to stock. Thus, I don't refer to it as a street fighter or as any kind of  "custom".

Look at the following photo:

The bike on the left is a chopper, built from an older Triumph. (Pre-1973, because the shifter is on the right). The bike on the right is a late model Triumph Thruxton - a factory version of a café racer. It has a lot of items on it that are required by law to be included by manufacturers that a bike builder would remove in the customizing process.







Okay, I got pushed up onto the soapbox by hearing the term "custom chopper". I'm done. Stepping down from the soapbox now.

Now you may carry on with your day...

It's Who You Know - Or Who Knows You

(I started writing this post Friday, August 12, 2011, so the “yesterday” reference may be misleading)

Another celebrity died yesterday. I know it's inevitable that soon, maybe already, posts will be flying on Facebook and emails will be chain forwarded. Not about the celebrity, but about how tragic it is that the media all pay attention and give time to this singer's death and overlook the (fill in a number and branch of military) servicemen who died this week. The messages will most likely contain names and ranks of these brave men who gave their lives in our defense. The posts will express outrage and wonder. “Why does the media plaster photos and stories of (dead celebrity) and ignore the deaths of these courageous warriors? Let's all post/forward this and maybe eventually it will get to the right people and convince them to change their ways.”

First, let's be realistic about something. If you get any kind of statistic, political or scientific “fact” or really off the wall bit of trivia in an email forward, there's about a 99% chance that it's bullshit. Please, research this stuff for yourself before you forward it to your friends. Especially if I'm your friend. So, a lot of times when these reactions to celebrity deaths mention specific military units, or especially names of individuals, it's either completely fabricated or hopelessly outdated. Casualty counts are the same. Also, no matter how many times your message gets reposted or your email gets forwarded, it's not going to get to “the right people”. Even if it does, it won't change anything. The people in charge of the various media know their jobs and generally do them well. It's why they get paid so well.

These men and women knew the risks they were taking. I'm not being disrespectful; I took the same enlistment oath, and I accepted the same risk. They were doing a dangerous job, but it was a job they chose. Although I commend and respect them for it, the hard, cold fact is that pretty much anyone with their training could have done their job.

On the other hand, celebrities don't assume risk in the line of their work, for the most part. They perform whatever their given talent or skill is, provide us with entertainment, and get paid. Again, a cold hard fact: most entertainers are successful because they are indeed unique. When they're gone, they take with them the source of what they entertained us with.

The real reason the news media covers the deaths of pop stars and actors is that almost all of the viewing audience knows who they are. Private Doe and Lance Corporal Smith and Seaman Jones, while they are to be mourned, simply aren't known by the public-at-large. The viewing public doesn't feel any connection – these soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen are faceless names to most people. It's sad but it's true. The general public cares more about the death of Amy Winehouse or Elvis Presley or Tupac Shakur based on name recognition alone.

If this upsets you, don't blame the media. By giving the audience what the audience wants, the media is doing its job. If you want to cast blame, blame the celebrity worshiping culture in which we live.

Sound and Fury

A couple of weeks ago, I had an odd experience with Suzi, my '03 Suzuki SV1000. As I cleared an intersection after a red light, I lost power. The engine revved up, but wasn't transferring any power to the rear wheel. My first thought was that I'd thrown the chain. I looked down, but the chain was there. As soon as traffic was out of my way, I coasted to the shoulder. Suzi has a hydraulic clutch, so I checked the fluid, thinking it had leaked. I knew I was way past due on changing said fluid, and had “plans” to do so. “Plans” is in quotes because I've had these plans for months. The fluid level was okay, but sure enough, that was some dirty fluid. Over 65,000 miles on the clock, eight years old, and as far as I know, it's the original fluid. Sigh.

Meanwhile, I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, headed toward rush hour in town, and it was over 105 degrees with no shade in sight. I figured I'd limp it down the shoulder until I got to a gas station with air conditioning and cold beverages. I'd call somebody from there to come get me with a trailer.

I revved up the engine, and all I got was sound. High rpms, and an odd whirring noise, but no forward movement. I tried higher and higher revs. Now, normally, on level ground, just maintaining speed, I cruise between 4000 and 4500 rpm (redline is 11000). Once I got up to about 6000, I felt something slam into place, and suddenly, I had power. There were no other incidents on the way home. After talking to a couple of people, I decided it wasn't something I could ignore. I drove the truck to work the next couple of days, then it was time for vacation. I got the Boy Child to help me bleed the clutch line. Much like me at his age (and beyond...), he doesn't care much for mechanical work and was bored and frustrated. I called it a day after test riding. Since I had him for the next week, I thought we'd get back to it. We got busy having fun doing nothing, though. Plus, I don't want to force him into motorcycle stuff. I want bikes to be something fun that he looks forward to. So, I didn't press the issue. Last night, I got back on it.

After some online research, I thought there might be a problem with the clutch master/slave cylinders. They're located down by the front sprocket. I got a lot of help from the website www.suzukisv1000.com, specifically here and here.

Here's the bike from the left side:

The clutch cylinder assembly. Note the gunk built up around it:

The inboard (engine) side of the master cylinder seal. More gunk, built up on rubber, even:

This is where the clutch push rod comes out. I think I see why the clutch had a problem engaging. There just wasn't any room for all the pieces to move freely with all that build up: 

This is the inside of the sprocket cover: 

These show how much build up was around the clutch assembly and the front sprocket:

I've always been pretty good about maintaining chain tension and lubing the chain about every other tank of gas or so. What I haven't done regularly is actually clean the chain. You can bet I'll be more diligent about that now. All this gunk is built up chain lube mixed with dirt and whatever grime the road throws at the bike.

I got the sprocket cover as clean as I could using a small cleaning brush, an old toothbrush and nearly enough degreaser to remove my fingerprints. I'm sure there are more precision cleaning tools that would do it better, but I worked with what I had. I cleaned all around the sprocket and all the internal stuff as best I could, and got the outside fairly clean.

  I figure the outside is more appearance, plus, I'll just take it to a car wash soon and use the industrial degreaser and high pressure hose to get that stuff off. The brushes just weren't working. There are some rubber pieces in there, so I resisted the temptation to use a wire brush.

 I feel pretty good about this fix. It's definitely the most "inside" I've gotten on a motor without somebody more knowledgeable helping me.

Review - Wahoo's Fish Taco

We tried a new restaurant today.Wahoo's Fish Taco, at 1722 South Congress in Austin. They have another location in Austin, plus they're in Hawaii, Colorado, and California, where they originated.

I've been in so many steak restaurants, and “dive bars” that have gone to such lengths to look down-at-the-heels, while also overcharging you for mediocre fare and lackluster service. Not here. Despite being a chain, it had a very local business vibe and appearance, without feeling contrived. The walls were covered with stickers from local businesses, mainly counter culture bicycling and skateboarding places. A portion of one wall was dedicated to displaying custom skateboards. Now, this isn't exactly my scene, but I've been in enough biker bars that had Motorcycle Club support decals, T shirts, and motorcycle parts hanging from the ceiling and on the walls to appreciate the similarity. They also had several TVs all hooked to the same DVD player showing us some pretty impressive bicycle stunt riding. The prices were a little higher than I'd normally expect for a taco place, but the location is a popular walking and shopping area, so these prices were probably the lowest for food in the neighborhood, not counting the food trailers.

There was air conditioning, but it didn't seem particularly efficient, although maybe it was just the Texas heat overpowering the a/c. We've experienced unusually brutal temperatures this summer, like most of the country, and it was well above 100 degrees outside. It was much cooler inside, but I did notice a thin film of perspiration on my skin. In retrospect, though, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Probably about the same level of heat you'd experience on a nicer day if you ate outside at one of their picnic tables. So, I'm not going to put them down for that.

Another thing: the restrooms, at least the men's, were clean. Unfortunately, this isn't something you can take for granted, even in a restaurant. I've been told by people in the restaurant industry that the cleanliness of the restroom is proportionate to the cleanliness of the kitchen. Thumbs up for that, Wahoo's.

This is one of those places where you order and pay at a counter and they bring the food to your table. While looking at the menu board and waiting to order, I noticed they had a large and varied selection of bottled beer available, including the regular stuff, plus various bocks, IPAs, and even hard pear cider. I stuck with soda, though, not wanting to add alcohol to the dehydrating effects of the heat outside. For soda drinkers, it's one size cup fits all, and you fill (and refill) your own cup. They have Pepsi products, which works for me, because I really like Mountain Dew.

On to the important part: the food. They have a fairly simple menu; tacos, burritos, nachos – typical Mexican food. Of course, they feature fish in a lot of their dishes. I'm guessing that's a Cal-Mex thing. I've seen fish tacos around here, but they're not so common with Tex-Mex (which, by the way, is what God himself eats when he can get it). I got a plate that came with two tacos, choice of beans, and a choice of rice. I thought it was pretty cool that you get options on the rice and the beans. I went with black beans, since refried wasn't an option. I accompanied that with brown rice. My options on the tacos were fish, shrimp (additional cost), chicken, veggie or steak. I chose one fish and one steak. I went with the steak as a backup in case the fish taco wasn't so good. Turns out I had nothing to worry about.

We had cheese nachos for an appetizer. Honestly, there's rarely much you can say about nachos, because melted cheese on tortilla chips is pretty hard to screw up. However, I mention the nachos in order to to tell you that their guacamole (which, along with sour cream, is included) is pretty great. Go get some, you won't regret it.

I'm not a big fan of cabbage. Actually, I've never liked it – cabbage is the reason I don't eat egg rolls. However, that's what they use instead of lettuce on their fish and shrimp tacos. You know what? It accentuated the fish pretty damn well. This was one of the best tacos I've had. On a tangent, I may have to give egg rolls another try. I even started wishing I hadn't chosen a “backup”. However, once I started in on the steak taco, I felt vindicated. When I saw that it was listed as “steak” on the menu, I thought “yeah, right”. I expected some dried up pieces of beef left over from making fajitas. Nope. It may have been flank steak (what fajitas are made from); I don't know. I do know that it was not at all dried up or chewy. It was actually quite good.

The beans were good, too. The flavor of black beans always throws me for a loop the first couple of bites, because I'm so used to getting refried pinto beans with Mexican food. These had good flavor, though. I'm not usually the biggest rice fan, but it helped that brown rice is an option. Brown rice has some flavor of its own, as opposed to white rice, which really needs seasoning to give it any taste.

The other half had taquitos, and the Boy Child, being a picky eater, simply had a kids' order of nachos. Wee Little Baby Girl had a bottle of formula. We all left satisfied.

So, if you find yourself in a location with a Wahoo's Fish Taco location, and you're wondering whether you should give it a try, I say stop wondering, and wander in. Try the fish taco, and if you don't like it, I'll refund the money you paid to read this review.

It's Lonely In The Center

Liberals, even socialists, aren't evil thieves intent on taking your money. What form of evil intends to take something in order to give it to someone else? On the other hand, conservatives, even libertarians, aren't evil greed mongers intent on taking all your money and giving it to the CEOs. Most conservatives are ordinary working people trying to get by, and just want to be left alone for the most part. Most liberals see a need for assistance for those in need, and feel we as a community (nation-sized, but community) have an obligation to help.

Most conservatives don't hate everyone else in the world and don't want to kill them all; they just want to make sure our citizens and economy are safe. Liberals don't hate America and love the terrorists; they just believe that if we go pushing around people who aren't already an active threat, we may motivate them to become one.

Conservatives claim to want less government intrusion into our lives. What they mean is that they want less intrusion into their wallets, but they don't have a problem with legislating morality. Liberals want more freedom in the personal arena, but more economic regulation.

So, why the hell can't we all agree to quit being assholes toward each other, quit the god damned name calling, and admit the truth: We all have different theories about how to fix the mess we've gotten into, different claims about the causes, and different ideas about who can do the best job for us all. I'm all for debate. Debate, conducted with an open mind, leads to the exchange of ideas, which can lead to real solutions.

I'm so sick of agreeing with a point made by a friend, only to be appalled by the fact that their next post or verbal topic is a poison dripping, melodramatic attack on the political leader of their perceived opposition. And I see this from both sides. Dammit, it's lonely here in the center.

Seriously, people, let's stop demonizing each other and just talk. And until somebody actually introduces legislation requiring traveling papers to leave our houses and starts literally exterminating people because of their race, religion or sexual orientation, let's call a halt to comparing anyone to Adolf Hitler.

n + 1

What is the ideal number of motorcycles to own? I believe it can be stated as a mathematical equation: n + 1, where n = (current number of bikes I already own).

Seriously, though. The “Perfect Garage”. We've all thought about it. Sure, most of Us Who Ride would love to have any number of motorcycles, of various makes, styles and vintages. There's a little bit of Jay Leno style hoarder in each of us.

I've definitely given it a lot of thought over my two decades of riding. When I daydream about winning the lottery, I don't think about mansions, yachts and jetsetting to Europe. Yawn. I think about roads and what bikes I'll use to ride them. Bear in mind that this list is in a constant state of flux, both in quantity and content.

Currently, I'm thinking my perfect bike stable would contain one for performance, one for style, one for long range comfort, and maybe even a sidecar rig – what I like to call a “biker's station wagon”.

Right now, I have a naked sport bike: a 2003 Suzuki SV1000 named “Suzi”. I love this bike so much it's the only one I've named. I've tried to name other bikes, but it never stuck. I don't know if that's significant or not; I'm just rambling. Of the ten I've owned, she's the one who's traveled the second most miles with me. Barring some horrible misadventure, she'll pass up the other one (a 1985 Honda Shadow 700) fairly soon. She's got great performance, but is easily held in check, too. Reasonably comfortable; though I really need an aftermarket seat for trips.

The cruiser. Ahhh, the quintessential American motorcycle experience. Barhopping, cruising the boulevard, looking for a date or showing off the one you have. Stepped seat, big front wheel, teardrop gas tank. The style I like best has a low seat, high-ish neck, drag bars on risers, mid controls with highway pegs. I'm not brand loyal, but imagine the bike Mickey Rourke rode in Harley Davidson and The Marlboro Man. Suzuki and Yamaha are both making some bikes with the right profile. See the Boulevard series and the Star Stryker and Star Raider. Of course, I wouldn't be averse to an old 70s or 80s 4 cylinder riceburner being modified to have that same profile.

I've never really been into touring bikes. Too much windshield and fairing between me and the wind. Too much bodywork. I prefer a bike to look like a bike. In recent years, however, I've warmed up to the idea of a bagger. Maybe I'm getting old? It's not a full dress tourer, more like “half-dressed”. Hard saddlebags, a small fairing, minimal bodywork and a cut-down windshield. It's the perfect compromise between a relaxed cruiser and a gaudy, overloaded dresser. You get a little wind protection to help your back survive 800 mile days, secure, locking, waterproof saddlebags to keep your stuff safe and dry, but no annoying bodywork covering up the focal points of its “motorcycleness”. I'm really liking the looks of the Kawasaki Vaquero, the Yamaha Star Stratoliner Deluxe, and the Harley Davidson Road Glide and Street Glide.

Of course, with a twelve year old son, an ol' lady and a baby girl, that sidecar combo is kind of appealing, too. Older BMWs just look right with a sidecar attached, don't they? Fun for the whole family, with lots of room to stash camping gear and stuff for a week on the road. You know, assuming I could convince the family to spend a week on the road with me...

I seriously doubt I'll ever have all these bikes – it's a daydream. But, it's fun to dream, ain't it? Sometimes maybe it's even more fun to dream about having it all than it would be to actually have it all. Besides, none of us will ever have the perfect garage, because as soon as that last bike gets put in its stall, the algebra kicks in again.

n + 1

It's Not Junk

There's a cut up piece of sheet metal that would look like trash to anybody in the world, but I keep it in my toolbox. To me and my father, it's not garbage at all. No, it represents a memory of a shared experience. How two non mechanics put a motorcycle back on the road with improvisation and stubbornness. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Back in 2003, I was riding an '81 or '82 Yamaha XJ650 Maxim. Great bike. Small, but comfortable and powerful enough to power me and camping gear down the road to a rally at 85 mph or so. It wouldn't go any faster than that, though. I know, because the speedometer stopped at 85.

I'd had a little trouble here and there with the taillight going out on me. I messed with it a little, but I'm no mechanic, and definitely no electrician. Our brother, Gypsy Trippple Nippple once told me about automotive electrical systems: they have one “lever” - “Leave 'er alone”. I tried to stick to that philosophy when I could, but I also didn't like the idea of being rear ended because of a nonworking taillight. So I fiddled, I checked fuses and wires, and found nothing. Couldn't trace a broken wire, a short, nothing.

I was going to the Aardvark rally, hosted by the San Antonio chapter of Gypsy MC, and had an independent motorcyclist pull up next to me at a red light to tell me my “red light” wasn't working. Thanks, dude. Figures. Well, he rode next to me to the rally so I wouldn't be invisible from behind, since the sun was already down. I parked the bike at the gate, registered and paid my way in. Got back on the bike. Turned the key. Got curious. Looked back. Whaddaya know? I had a taillight. Huh. Well, problem solved. For now.

Next afternoon, the problem was back. I'd noticed while I was on the poker run that if I put pressure on the key while it was in the ignition, it would affect the taillight. So, I broke out the tools, pulled off the lens, pulled the bulb, checked the wires. Again. Thinking about the key situation, I started messing around the ignition switch area. Various people stopped to help, and/or to give helpful advice. Oh, wait, I meant “helpful” advice. The quotation marks are necessary, because free unrequested advice is usually worth every single penny. Anyway, Gypsy Mr. P.M. stopped and offered some actual helpful advice, but being a Harley man, wasn't familiar with the Yammie. Wizard and Aquaman, of the Knight Riders MC, both long time friends and brothers, stopped and helped for a while. The only thing we figured out was that there was some play between the ignition switch and the dash housing around it. The switch moving around was what was causing the problem, as far as we could tell.

Well, the problem actually got a bit worse, and once in a while I'd lose both taillight and headlight function. Not a huge deal. Well, during the day, anyway. Problem is that I ride day and night. Having figured out that if the ignition is pushed all the way forward, things tend to work okay, I started looking for a way to keep my headlight on. I tore up a business card, folded it and wedged it into the gap. Perfect. I went days with no problem. Eventually, the paper would compress and stop working. I started picking up matchbooks wherever they were offered free just so I'd have some cardstock to “fix” my problem.

I'd been planning a bike trip from San Antonio to Atlanta to visit Mom and Dad. Now a sensible person might have postponed the trip or even gone in a car instead. A person with a better budget might have put the bike in the shop to get it fixed first. Had I paid for the repair, I couldn't have afforded the trip. I'd already canceled trips home on the bike in the past, so I didn't want to do that again. Besides, I figured I'd just check the taillight at gas stops and I knew how to metaphorically Band-Aid it to keep me going.

It all went great, until I got alllllmost to the Louisiana state line. The day had been sunny, hot-but-not-too-hot, light traffic. Great day for motorcycle travel. Then, BAM!! Suddenly, all traffic came to a screeching halt. The “not-too-hot” became “too hot” as it took nearly an hour to go one mile. Finally, I saw an exit. I needed gas soon anyway, and I saw there was also a Waffle House restaurant at this exit. I grew up eating at Waffle House, but at the time there were none in Texas west of Houston, so I thought I'd fuel up, get something to eat and maybe wait out some traffic. Sitting at the counter, talking to a couple of locals, I found out the traffic was due to a lot of road construction. I was in for at least ten miles of this crap. Ten hours for ten miles? Hell, I could walk faster. One of the guys suggested an alternative route that, as luck would have it, started on the state highway that the exit we were sitting at was for. He said it would take me way out of the way, but at least I'd be moving and would probably make better time anyway. He also said it would be a better ride than the interstate. He was right on all counts. Interstate highway riding can numb the mind with boredom, and this was a fairly scenic route. I looked at the route on a map days later and it probably added close to a hundred miles before putting me back onto I-10, but I bet it was still hours quicker than staying on 10 would have been.

It was also starting to get more interesting in other ways. I was hitting rain here and there. Nothing bad, but I did get wet. As did the cardstock holding my ignition in place. Good thing I'd stocked up before leaving San Antonio, eh? Picture me packing for my trip: Clothes, check. Tools, check. Helmet, check. Spare helmet, check. Book, check. Rain gear, check.

Two dozen matchbooks and assorted business cards, check.

Then things got interesting. Not only were the lights doing their little trick, now, once in a while when I'd hit a bump in the road, the ignition would cut out and the engine would die. I'd reach up and slap the key and it would come back on. Odd, eh?

After dark, the rain got bad. Then it got worse. Then it got “oh my god” bad. I wasn't making much progress, only going about 45 mph due to limited visibility. It was after sundown, and it was really, truly. Raining. That. Bad. I was stopped for gas and a cup of coffee to wake up and warm up. A Sheriff’s deputy happened to stop by and told me it was really getting bad on the interstate: wind was picking up, rain ruined visibility, and there were wrecks all over. He told me there was a motel at the next exit, about 10 or 15 miles east. I decided to take his advice.

The next morning, I turned on the Weather Channel to see what I should expect out of my ride for the day. Wow. Turns out the night before, several tornadoes had touched down in the area. Guess my decision to stop for the night was the right choice. I also had a mixed bag for the ride to Atlanta. 400 miles of rain, sun, rain, sun, rain, sun. Oh well, at least it wasn't all rain, right?

Well, I spent that Sunday of Labor Day weekend, 2003 riding to Georgia. Pull over to put on the rainsuit. Pull over an hour later to take off the rainsuit. Pull over and shove fresh cardstock into the ignition gap so I can keep riding. Yup, interesting day, it was.

I got to Mom & Dad's house. It had been years since I'd been there, but I grew up in that house, never moving. Every single time I walk in that back door, it takes me back to childhood and the sense that I'm Home. With the capital H. I can't see myself moving back to Georgia, but there's just something about the house you grew up in, isn't there?

So, once I'm settled in and rested and all, Dad and I talk about the ignition issue. The next day, we decide to tackle it head-on. Like I said in the beginning, neither of us is a mechanic, but he grew up in the Depression. Suffice to say he's practical minded and knows how to improvise. We took the ignition out of the bike entirely and found the problem. I guess it had been too faint to see before, but had gotten bad enough to be visible. There was a hairline crack running along the side of the switch housing, almost the entire length. Hmmm....there could be the location of an intermittent short, eh? I bet that just might even be worse in the rain.....

We called the only motorcycle salvage yard around. I'd already had experience in the past paying for new ignitions from dealers, and that just wasn't an option. Not to mention the bike was only a couple years from being an antique, so most dealers wouldn't even have the part, anyway. It turned out they didn't have an ignition to fit my bike. Not exactly, anyway. They did have Yamaha ignitions, which meant the wire connections would match up. The catch was that the only one they had was from a dirt bike, and was physically quite a bit smaller than mine. Well, it wasn't going to let rain water in, or vibrate and short out, so I took it.

Dad and I got to work. There was no way this pencil thin ignition switch was NOT going to rattle around the hole where it went in the dash. The dash was smooth, so I couldn't zip tie it, either. Dad took a look at the whole arrangement, told me to hang on a minute and walked away. He came back with a piece of sheet metal left over from some home improvement project or other. We held it over the dash of the bike, made some measurements, and went to the workbench, aka the picnic table on the deck in the back yard. We drew a pattern onto the metal, and drilled out mounting holes where we'd measured the mounting screws needed to go. When the tin snips turned out to be too dull, Dad was not to be defeated. He went and got a flat head screwdriver and a heavy hammer and chiseled out the piece we needed. He even chiseled out the hole for the ignition switch with that screwdriver/hammer combo. The edges and the edge of the hole were left a little jagged. Only so much smoothing out you can do with a hammer and improvised chisel.

We took it over to the bike, connected all the leads to the ignition, and put the sheet metal in place. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than pretty: it worked. Damn near perfectly. It took me around Morrow (the Atlanta suburb I'm from), took me to my grandparents' house in northeast Alabama, and took me from their house all the way to Austin (just over 800 miles) in one day. Our improvised repair lasted longer than the rest of the bike, even. I wound up selling the bike a few years later, but I kept our sheet metal dash. I consider it an heirloom now. It's the time my non-motorcycle riding, non-mechanic Dad and I put a near-antique bike back on the road.

A Serendipitous "Oops" and a Near Miss

There are a couple of incidents that happened early in my riding life that have affected my outlook on riding ever since, and cemented motorcycles as a permanent and important facet of who I am.

The first requires an explanation before the telling. My first bike was a 400cc automatic. Well, Honda called it “automatic”. Semiautomatic would be more accurate, because you did have to shift gears – it had first and second gear, just no clutch. Neutral on the bottom. Hold in the brake, lift your toe to engage first gear, roll on the throttle and go. Around 45 mph or so, shift into second. It was a great learner bike for somebody who really couldn't drive a standard. I was able to learn about balance and how to deal with leaning and with being exposed to the elements without worrying about being in the right gear or working a clutch. I technically knew how to drive a standard; I just really really sucked at it at the time, just due to lack of experience.

I bought that bike in January of 1989, and rode it nearly into the ground. In addition to a lack of skill in operating a clutch, I had absolutely NO concept of maintenance. I went months without changing the oil (the level's okay, what's the problem?) or adjusting the chain (but I couldn't figure out what that loud clatter under acceleration was...). But the result of that is a topic for another day. Fast forward to October of '89. I'd returned from the Persian Gulf and had some cash. What to do? Head to the bike shop, of course! Luckily, I had that cash, because I had to part with a chunk of it to undo the damage I'd allowed to happen to the poor Hondamatic. Once there, I started to look around, because... well, because you can't be around that many motorcycles and not look. Or at least, I can't. The Hondamatic, being from the 70s, was what was referred to as a “standard” style bike. Meaning no real “style” to it. It had what it needed to have, arranged in an efficient and reasonably comfortable way. Kind of boring, but it got the job done. (Side note: I thought it was boring then. I've come to develop a real appreciation for the minimalist “standard” aesthetic in more recent years.) What I was interested in was a cruiser. Pull-back handlebars, stepped seat, laid back riding position. Well, lo and behold, there were two used (read: within my financial reach) bikes on the showroom floor that fit what I was looking for. They were both Honda Shadows. They were 700cc, mid sized, which is also what I was looking for – I didn't want to get in over my head either with too much power or too much weight if (when) I dropped it. I checked them out. There were the same year model, one had more miles, but the previous owner had installed highway pegs, so that saved me some trouble and money. Plus, if I remember correctly, the lower mileage one had something odd about it, like mismatched footpegs or something, leading me to believe it had probably been in an accident. I shopped around a little (very little), but wound up coming back to buy my 1985 Honda VT700C Shadow. 

 

Now we're getting to the meat of the story. It was late November by the time I got the loan from the credit union, paid for the repairs to the 'Matic, and put ink on paper to buy the Shadow. Now, I'm a native of Atlanta, where we'd get one good icy day a year and that would shut down the roads. We just didn't know how to drive in snow and ice. When I say it was late November when I picked up my new-to-me bike, bear in mind this was in Maryland. I saw my first “White Thanksgiving” that year. Also, I lived in the barracks, walking distance from where I worked. So, the bike sat for most of the winter, only going out for short rides when the roads cleared.

Spring came and it was Time To Ride. I had a friend in the barracks who'd previously owned a bike, so I loaned him a helmet and the 400, and I mounted up on the Shadow. Fun stuff. Maryland back roads, cool air, but warm sun, all in all, a pretty day. Great riding weather. Apparently, it was great driving weather, too. We hit a line of literal “Sunday drivers out for a spin”. I was frustrated by the cars holding me back. This frustration may be what contributed to what happened. I'm sure it was mainly due to having almost doubled the size and power of bike I was used to, combined with unfamiliarity with clutch operation. Plus, I'd only been riding around a year, and had just spent most of the winter not riding.

We had to stop for a red light. No problem. We were the first two vehicles at the light, so at least it would provide some distance between us and the long line of cars we'd been stuck behind. I remember having both feet on the ground, but having to keep my hand on the front brake because we were pointed uphill. On a fairly steep grade, too. The light turned green, I let the clutch out, and let go of the brake to apply throttle. And promptly stalled the bike. Sigh. Started it back up. Stalled it again. Stupid hill. Looked in the mirror and saw what seemed like hundreds of cars now being held up by me. Got a little embarrassed and a lot more frustrated. Pulled in the clutch lever. Stabbed the starter button. Revved the throttle. Revved harder. Dumped the clutch. Took off like a shot. “That's better” I thought as I pulled in the clutch lever to shift into first. And that's when the front wheel touched back down to earth. “Holy CRAP!!! A wheelie?!?!?!?” Funny how often we get the adrenaline rush after an incident, eh? That proved to be my first real adrenaline rush on a bike outside the safety class (where they intentionally pushed us to our limits). It was definitely not my last. Funny how often after that, I'd get the rpms up a bit high, before letting the clutch out a bit fast, bringing the front wheel up a bit off the ground...

The second event involved the same motorcycle, and took place a year or two later. I was married by this time, and living in an apartment off base. You know how they say that most accidents take place within a mile or so of home? Wellll....

I was going to turn left off our little side street onto a major road/minor highway. This was one of those roads that had three lanes going in each direction and a grass median running down the middle. I was at the light, waiting to turn left, and facing me from across the intersection was a woman waiting to turn right. If you ride, you already know that this is a recipe for disaster just waiting to be popped into the oven.

My light turned green, and let me add that I had the protected left turn arrow, which means Cager Lady still had a red light. Well, once my turn was made, I would have had the choice of three different lanes. Since I would be making a right in a couple of miles, I headed for the right lane. I was halfway through my turn, already set into the appropriate lean angle, when Mrs. Killabiker decided to exercise her option to turn right on a red light. I increased my lean angle and aimed for the middle lane. She kept coming. Right. At. Me. I increased my lean angle again, while pressing my thumb on the horn button, where it stayed for the rest of the incident. At this point, I was in a really sharp lean, actually into the left of the three lanes, and guess what? Yup. Madame Oblivious kept on coming all the way over. Now I was out of lanes, there was no shoulder, only the median, but all I thought was “don't get hit, don't get hit”, so I leaned more. I felt my left footpeg scrape into the asphalt. I could hear my engine roaring ever louder, and then realized that I'd leaned over so far all the weight of the bike was on the front wheel and the left footpeg. The rear tire was no longer in contact with the pavement at all! It's all a bit blurry now, due to the adrenaline at the time and the twenty or so years that have passed, but I know the main frame of the bike went sideways, but luckily, somehow my death grip on the bars kept the front end pointed straight down the road. I started pushing downward with my right foot, trying to get the bike back up, but I just kept sliding down the road. Just as I thought “This is it. I'm going down”, suddenly, I was airborne! Luck was with me right then, because I came back down to earth with the engine still revving, and the bike pointed in exactly the right direction. I'd finally managed to push the rear tire back down, but I'd never let off the throttle, so that tire was spinning fast and hard. It slung the rest of the bike up and around and shot me down the road. Half a minute later, the full realization of what had just happened hit me and I hollered “Whooo Hooo!!!!” or something to that effect, inside my helmet. Later, I discovered ways to get my bike airborne intentionally. But, again, that's another story.

The point here is that these two incidents, whether I was conscious of it at the time or not, taught me that riding motorcycles provides a (somewhat) controlled adrenaline rush. They're fun. Yes, they're dangerous, and they're not for everybody, but the danger can be mitigated and somewhat controlled by skill and experience. Luckily at the time, I had enough youth and reflexes to overcome any lack of skill and experience.

Where are you willing to pay more?

I just think it’s funny that some of the same people who tell me that unions are costing me more money on products are the same people who tell me to pay more for something from a small business than I’d pay at a big box company because the small business is local. If it’s worth paying more for the exact same item to a local business, even though the item was made by a multinational company, transported by a national company, and probably advertised by a foreign company, then why is it so evil that workers have organized to get better compensation for their work?

Sunday Night/Monday Morning

It's Sunday night, and my first inclination is to bitch about the Impending Monday Morning, like everybody else on facebook. However, if I step back and look at it, it's not really all that bad.

I can't say I love my job. There was a time that I did, but it's kind of worn thin now. However, I don't hate it. I'm inside: air conditioned in the summer, heated in the winter, sheltered from hot sun, rain, cold sleet. I may not provide a vital, life-sustaining service like medical people or firefighters, but I think it's an important one. Literacy and literature are very important to me, and I do believe books enrich lives. Not just so called "important works", either. Even if all you read is trashy Harlequin romance books, you're still engaging part of your mind that TV will never touch.  And I help get those books from the truck to the shelf to your hand. Not so bad after all, eh? Plus, let's be honest - in this economy, a job is a job.

Also, while most are commuting mindlessly in a bus or a subway, or droning away in their carbon copy Lexus or soccer mom SUV, I'm the lucky sonuvabitch who's rolling past them on a motorcycle. That's right - I indulge in my hobby/lifestyle/obsession/passion on the way to and from work.  How cool is that? While you're making your way through traffic dreading your day, I'm enjoying myself in the moment. I'll think about work when I get to work, but I'll enjoy my ride while I get there. And again when the workday is over.

Then, I get home and get to see what developments my baby girl has made during the day. I get home just in time to spend a little time with my little one before she goes to sleep. Then, I get to hang out with my beautiful lady until it's time for us to go to bed.

When I look at it like that, there's nothing to dread about Mondays.

Flashbacks and Memories

Today, we had pork chops and corn on the cob for dinner. For possibly the first time ever, I actually bought ears of fresh corn at the grocery store, and we shucked them and removed the silks at home. Brought back lots of memories of spending the better part of summer at my grandparents' house in northern Alabama. Me-maw and I would pick corn from the field behind the house, then shuck and silk it that afternoon while watching TV. Then we'd eat it for dinner.

As an adult, I've always gotten frozen or canned corn, so when I handled the fresh ears, it brought back an old, familiar feeling. I don't have a word for the feeling, I just know how I felt spending time with my grandmother as a preteen. Once we started shucking and I smelled the fresh corn, the flashbacks started in earnest. Hot summer afternoons, walking through the corn rows, pulling the ears, carrying them inside. The shucking, even flashes of stringing beans, and of cutting watermelon outside at the picnic table with all the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins around. I could taste the corn before we even wrapped it in foil to prepare it for the grill. It didn't even matter that we never grilled it back then.

My grandparents are both gone now, and I miss them a lot. Granddad was the last to go, and now the old house is sold, so I can't even go back and visit where these memories were formed. But I know one thing - I can feel like I'm back there once in a while. Yup, I bet I eat a lot more fresh corn in the future.

The Man Behind the Horseshoes and the Handgrenades

I was born December 27, 1968 in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia. I had an unusual childhood in that my parents were married before I was conceived (it was the sixties...), and they still are. Also, not only did I not move once growing up, but my father bought the house before he and my mom met, and they still live there.

Like most native Southerners, I grew up believing in a literal interpretation of the King James Bible and conservative politics. However, once I left home and joined the Navy, I began to encounter people with different backgrounds and different perspectives. Luckily I opened my mind instead of closing it more tightly. I started to think about things more critically. I slowly began a process of personal evolution which continues to this day. I've stagnated here and there through my life, but I always come back to critical self evaluation. I believe Socrates was right when he said that the unexamined life is not worth living. I try not to take anything on blind faith, but to examine it all with reason and a critical eye. I don't always succeed, but that's okay, too. It gives me more of myself to critique at a later date. 

Family. It's where we come from. It's who came before us, and who will follow us. It can weigh us down, set us free, provide an anchor, or set us adrift. I was originally going to leave my family out of my blog, but as personal as this blog has turned out to be, I've already mentioned them a few times, so I'm adding this paragraph into my bio. My parents are still happily married after forty four years, and as I said before, still happily living in the same house near Atlanta. I have an older half sister on my dad's side. She lives not too far from them. My brother and his wife and two kids live in Iowa. My poor parents have to travel about a thousand miles to see their grandchildren. Sadly, all my grandparents have passed from this life. I have two aunts and two uncles on my mom's side, along with their various spouses and children and grandchildren. I have one aunt on Dad's side, plus her husband and their children and grandkids. I've been married twice, and I have an outstanding son from my second wife. As of this writing, he's twelve years old (born in 1999). I live with a beautiful lady who has given me my second child, an equally beautiful daughter (born 2011). To protect their anonymity, I won't use their names in my blog writing. Because we're not married, and therefore, she's not my wife, but also because she's much more than a girlfriend, I will refer to milady as the Other Half. My son will henceforth be known as the Boy Child, and then there is Baby Girl.

 

I have what some people call a gift, and it can be. It can also be a curse. This is the ability to nearly always see both sides of an issue. It can be a gift, because it allows one to avoid heated, mean spirited arguments, and can allow for compromise. The good, meet-you-in-the-middle kind of compromise, not the sacrifice-your-standards kind. It can also be a curse, because it makes it hard to make any kind of long term hard stand on an issue. You have to be careful to avoid swaying too much back and forth, much like 2004 presidential candidate John Kerry. But I digress. The point of this is to say that I wound up firmly rooted in the Middle Of The Road. I will, and do, stray to the Left on some issues, and to the Right on others. But those meanderings tend to cancel each other and leave the balance in the Center.

I'm the same way spiritually. I don't see how it could all “just happen”. I believe there must have been some sort of Prime Mover – the Uncaused Cause. I just don't know which, if any, of the multitude of divine beings to whom men have given credit is actually responsible. I don't even claim to know if God is even aware of something as insignificant as we must be, much less care about what we do day to day. Therefore, if and when I'm pressed to proclaim my religious label, I usually will refer to myself as a Deist.

It should come as no shock to you by now that when I listen to music, I like pretty much all of it. '80s Hair Metal, Speed Metal, Southern Rock, Country, Country Rock, Rockabilly, Blues, Classic Rock, Classic Country, Pop, New Wave, Punk, some Rap, even older “Pop Standards”. I could put my iPod on Shuffle, and hear Pantera followed by Hank Williams, Jr followed by Frank Sinatra followed by The Eagles followed by Neil Diamond followed by The Ramones followed by Lightning Hopkins followed by Kid Rock.

I love body art. I'm heavily tattooed. I used to have a lot of piercings, too, but martial arts and body piercing don't always work well together. I'll leave that one to your imagination. The piercings, for the most part, went away. Later, because I'm inherently lazy in physical endeavors and started at a late age, so did the martial arts training. I hate to say it that way, but it is what it is. Ah, self examination, eh?

I love reading. It was my first love, and it's been the only constant in my life outside of family. I'm always reading. There's always at least one book I'm in; sometimes more. What do I read? I know this will surprise you, but it's a little bit of everything. Science fiction, fantasy (yes, there most definitely is a difference), westerns, mainstream fiction, classics, mystery. Actually, it's hard for me to read nonfiction, to be honest. I'll get really interested in a book, and then get just a few chapters in and lose interest. I think for a lot of nonfiction, I'm better off watching the History or Discovery Channel. What I can read from the nonfiction world is Biography, True Crime, and damn near anything motorcycle related. I finally figured out that it needs a narrative; a story to hold my interest. Or to be about bikes. I've actually made a career of books for the last fourteen years. I've worked for the world's largest book retailer that long. I don't want to say the name on this public forum, but let's just say it's the big bookstore company that's not going bankrupt...

My second love, and the other thing that's been a constant for half of my life is motorcycles. My first motorcycle ride was with my uncle, me straddling the gas tank of his Honda Dream. I wanted a motorcycle the whole time I was growing up, and once I'd finished my Navy training, in February 1989, that uncle sold me my first bike. A 1978 Hawk CB400A Hondamatic. Two gears, no clutch. Honda called the color “Tahitian Red”, but everybody else called it orange. I upgraded to a 1985 Shadow 700 later that year. I've been riding ever since – twenty two years and counting. In that time, I've had ten bikes. Well, ten that actually made it onto the road, anyway – there were some projects that just never got completed. Some only lasted a short time, others tens of thousands of miles. A more-than-twenty-year-old 650cc Yamaha took me from San Antonio to Atlanta to north Alabama to Austin and back to San Antonio. An 883 Sportster, not known for being a distance bike, took me on a 1,000 mile loop in 19 1/2 hours once.

I've also been a member of a Motorcycle Club for almost twenty years (with a two and half year “break in service”), so I've been around my share of motorcycles, gear, attitudes, and riding.

I have opinions. I have experiences. I intend to write about them here.

I've already done one product review, and I intend to do more. If I encounter something that's truly awe-inspiring, or truly depressingly poor quality, you'll probably read about it here.

I'll probably write about politics. How crazy I think both extremes can be. Sure, Rush Limbaugh is a nutjob. Michael Moore may be even worse. I probably will write about religious topics, as well. Religion and politics. The two things that go together like matches and gasoline. The two topics you're not supposed to discuss on a first date or at a bar. Hell, yeah! This is gonna be fun!

I may write about tattoos. I don't know what I would have to say, unless I decide to blog about a shop or convention. But you never know; I may do a tattoo autobiography one day.

Maybe I'll write about music, but probably not. I like music, but I really don't know enough about it to write on it. Again – you never know; I may encounter some truly inspirational band.

I most definitely am going to write about motorcycles. I love riding them. I love thinking about them. I love looking at them. I don't care how old or new they are, I don't care what brand they are. Brand loyalty is just waaaaaay too restricting as far as I'm concerned.

I'll be doing product reviews on various pieces of motorcycle and riding gear as I can. Mostly, this will consist of me reflecting on the time I've owned a jacket, helmet, etc. since I can't afford to run out and buy everything I'd like to use. Although I'd love to be one, I'm not a magazine writer, so it's not like manufacturers and accessory companies are sending me free stuff to test. However, if you work for one of said companies, feel free to contact me. I promise a fair and complete report, unjaded by years of having free goodies thrown at me by an editor.

Here's a list of the bikes I've owned that were rideable:

1978 Hondamatic 400

1985 Honda Shadow 700

1972 Yamaha TX650

1985 Kawasaki LTD 454

1981 Suzuki GS550L

1982 Kawasaki KZ1000

1981 Yamaha Maxim 650

1978 Kawasaki KZ1000

1998 HD Sportster 883

2003 Suzuki SV1000

Thanks for reading this. I hope you'll check back in often. Feedback is welcome.