Interesting People, the Sequel!

Apparently last night Lady Luck met up with the same interesting biker that I described in yesterday's post.

I wonder which of us will see him tonight!

Go New Places, Meet Interesting People

If you want to meet interesting people, get a motorcycle. Folks who are, uh, interesting, will come running to bask in the glory of your motorcyclitude.

The reason the interesting, or as I like to call them, "batshit crazy," folks talk to motorcyclists is that they aren't afraid of us like all the uninteresting folks.

At least, that's what I'm assuming. Maybe I'm just a loony magnet.

Some of the interesting people also ride motorcycles. If you ride, it's guaranteed you'll meet one or two.

On my way home today, I had a baffling encounter with a motorcycle-riding interesting person on the freeway. As I rode, I suddenly noticed a duplicate of my shadow in the HOV lane. With the speed and grace of a stationary brick, I realized that there was another biker very close to me.

Being a friendly sort, I waved at this mysterious blind spot-dwelling rider. He then pulled up next to me, waved, and then just stayed there, right next to me in my lane.

I pulled ahead a little bit, and soon enough he was right there next to me, helping me to storm the castle or whatever the hell he thought he was doing.

I didn't know if he wanted to race (not gonna happen during rush hour, bud) or just decided he was my new pal but he stayed there, an arms length away, apparently content.

I waved him forward. No dice.

So, I backed off.

Soon enough, he speed between two of the cars in front of us, and continued on his merry way.

I caught up to him shortly. Someone in a car next to him evidently pissed him off, because he energetically let this driver know that he or she was "number one."

He stayed next to the car, and started humping his bike while looking at the car next to him.

WTF?

A series of other communications between them transpired, but my New American Biker Sign Language skills are a bit rusty, so I couldn't tell you what they were discussing.

They were still communicating after I exited the freeway.

So, there's another interesting person I've met because of my motorcycle.

A Shift in Thinking

I mentioned a few posts ago that I want to start commuting by bicycle once or twice a week(once I'm in good enough shape). As such, I've been reading up on strategies and tips for bicycle commuters. A lot of the info I've found for bicyclists applies just as well to those of us on motorcycles and scooters.

One of the best pieces of advice that I read (and sadly, I can't remember where I found it) was that non-riders will excuse themselves from riding by saying "the roads are too dangerous" (among other excuses). Those of us who ride motorcycles probably have heard that line too. The advice given to eliminate that excuse is to stop thinking like a cager.

The best route in a cage is not always the best route for motorcyclists and bicyclists. Cars want fast, straight roads. As such, the fast and straight roads end up packed with two-ton rolling paperweights. Those of us on more nimble vehicles can take advantage of the other roads. Instead of diving into the pit with the caged cattle, we can tool along back roads and through residential areas - probably cutting miles off of the route while we're at it.

For most people, the average speed during the commute is somewhere around 30 miles per hour or less. Right now, it takes me 40-50 minutes to make my 18 mile commute, so my average speed is right around 26 miles per hour. That's even including the 80 MPH blast down the freeway in the HOV lane. Clearly, I won't lose anything by finding back roads where I can ride at 45 miles per hour and avoid stop and go traffic.

Another excuse I hear is "but I love listening to music during my drive."

The variety of stimulation one encounters on even a short ride - sights, sounds, smells - eliminates the need for distraction created in a car.* With very few exceptions, cars are less interesting than lumps of clay. As such, those imprisoned need something to take their mind of the excessive tedium of driving. This, of course, is responsible for the number of cell-phone yapping, coffee-like-beverage swilling, make-up applying, newspaper reading, inattentive morons on the road. Boredom is torture, and for that, I almost forgive the idiots that don't see me.

Which leads to another change in thought process for those on a nimble vehicle: I can dodge you. A rider requires an area only slightly larger than the width of his/her shoulders, and a little longer than he/she is tall to ride in. Granted, I prefer more space for normal riding, but I can fit between two lanes pretty comfortably if I have to. It's a lot easier for me to quickly swerve eight feet to one side than it is for a vehicle with two extraneous wheels.

So if you're wondering how those of us who commute on motorcycles do it, well, there you go. We change the way we think about travelling, and thereby sidestep the problems created by the cage-mind.


*And if you really, REALLY miss your music, you can listen to headphones.

Why I Should Not Buy a Scooter for Myself

Every now and then (read: every chance I get), I take Lady Luck's Vespa to run little errands. And every time I take the Vespa out for a ride, Lady Luck asks me to be nice to it.

She doesn't know how hard it is for me to ride the Vespa "nicely." Every time I get on it, I swear it starts whispering "Let's take that corner at 45 mph, and then ride down the sidewalk for a couple miles," in a sexy little Italian accent. "Maybe we could steal a cup of coffee right out of a cop's hand, while we're at it," it says.

Sure, the Triumph begs for a good spanking every time I ride it, but it's easier to resist. The Triumph is up front about it's intentions. It screams, "Hooligan!" I know what that bike is up to, and I can keep it under control. Mostly.

The Vespa, on the other hand, is a wily temptress. I'll think I'm riding responsibly and at a reasonable speed, then notice I'm actually dragging my knee through a blind right turn onto a pedestrian mall and yelling, "Wahoo!"

If there's a gap I can cut through in traffic on the scooter, I've already taken advantage of it by the time my brain registers the opening. This lead to disconcerting thoughts like "waitaminnit, how did I get into this lane?"

Now I'm more suspicious of the Vespa. I still like riding it, but I know that it's top agenda is not getting me to my destination in a safe and conscientious manner. Of course, no matter how careful I am to mind my speed and obey traffic laws, I still end up riding the Vespa like a crazed spider monkey.

I'm pretty sure I shouldn't get one for myself.

Rounded Bolt Heads Suck

I find myself under a minor time crunch to get my Suzuki VX800 street-worthy again. Lady Luck and I have a variety of guests staying with us for most of April. In May, it's going to start getting hot out. Thus, I basically have this week to get the work done.

Also, my tabs will be EXTRA expired come May....

Now, I expect I have four to six hours worth of work to do to get the thing passing emissions. Then I need to get new tires on, which I figure will be about an hours worth of garage time on my part.

Of course, that's not counting the filthy, despicable, rounded-off bolt that I can't get out of a valve cover. It's in a terrible, tiny little nook that I can't get a ratchet into, or many other tools for that matter.

I bought some Craftsman "Grab It" bolt removers. They seem like excellent tools, except they won't grab this particular bolt. It's too small, and too rounded.

So that means I need to spend some of my valuable garage-time this week going to buy some Vise-Grips. Mmmm, productive.

Maybe I'll get the rest of the work done more quickly than I'm anticipating, but it's frustrating all the same.

Especially because that bike needs to be ridden. I'm starting to feel rather guilty about leaving it in the garage for so long.

So, that's my excitement for this week. Can anyone recommend another good way to get that sucker out?

Wasn't It Just Bike Week a Month Ago?

Apparently, Arizona Bike Week starts Sunday. Here's an article about the dumbosity.

I laughed out loud at the quote "You don't see many of those people riding $80,000 motorcycles." Of course, I was laughing because you don't even see the people who do own $80,000 motorcycles riding them. You might see them standing in the general vicinity of their bikes, now and then.

Maybe.

If there's a biker-slut nearby.

In honor of bike week, I plan to spend my free time for the next seven days getting my VX800 running again.

Oh, and I'll probably go out and hit some twisties. I don't need to worry about the slowbies out riding them, after all. They'll be too busy comparing decorative fringe-length and relative manliness with their chaps-clad dentist.

Absolutely Amazing Rain Suit

A few months ago I bought a MotoBoss rainsuit when it was on sale. Cruddy leg zippers aside, this suit is incredible.

Any time I wear this suit, it doesn't rain! It's unbelievable! This morning, the sky was threatening, I could see lightning in the distance, and it smelled like rain. Yet somehow this suit repelled every drop of moisture - not just for me, but for everyone within a half-mile radius of me.

Truly, the five minute struggle to get into the rainsuit paid off.

MotoBoss, how do you do it?

Wish I Could Help.

I love going through my referal stats and seeing how people got to my blog. I particularly like seeing the weird search terms that get people here.

Occasionally, there are some searches where I really wish I could have answered the reader's question, or at least given a smart-aleck reply.

For example, today I got a hit from the google search string "help, I crossed cables jump starting my bike."

My response? "Oh, MAN, that sucks! Good luck with that new battery you're getting today."

But, of course, it's way too late for me to post an answer by the time I see this stuff.

Exciting Moto-Gossip

Yes, there is going to be a naked version of the Triumph Daytona 675. A couple pics and gossip are available here.

I can't wait to get my hands on one of these things.

Zero Cubic Centimeters - Pure Muscle

This probably won't surprise any of you, but I love my bicycle. When I was a kid, riding my bike was my favorite outdoor activity.

Yes, I pretended it was a motorcycle. Until I was 15. Shut up.

As a teenager, I rode several miles every day, until I got my driver's license. Then, like every other American kid, I stopped.

I finally got a bicycle again a few years ago, and riding it is still one of my favorite outdoor activities. I used to run and inline skate, but those aren't really practical activities compared to riding a bicycle (they are still fun, though). I like to go out on recreational bicycle rides, but I also use my bike to run errands. It makes exercising an integral part of my life, instead of another annoying chore.

Recently, I've wanted to start riding my bicycle to work a couple days a week. The trip is about sixteen miles one way, and I figure it'll take me about an hour. That's not that much longer than my ride to work takes anyway, and it's loads faster than taking the bus.

Of course, I'm not even close to being in good enough shape for that right now. I've got to get back into riding on a regular basis again.

Riding a bicycle has a lot of the same pleasures as riding a motorcycle, and a few others you might have forgotten about. Bicycles are quiet. It's neat to be up on two and able to hear the birds. Motorcycles are maneuverable, but bicycles are more so. Plus, if I get stuck, I can just pick up my bicycle and set it down somewhere else. I'm pretty sure I can't do that with the Triumph.

Anyway, I don't have any deep wisdom to impart today. I just wanted to say that two wheels are always better than four.

I Hope I Die Before I Get "Old"

I was leaving work a few days ago, and bumped into a new friend on my way to the parking garage. As I walked through an alley where I've met many interesting people, I saw someone at the end of the alley waving to me.

The sun was in my eyes, so I couldn't tell anything about this person until I got closer. It didn't look like anyone I knew. I shaded my eyes, and saw it was a fellow wearing a white beanie helmet. Ah-ha! A biker!

I waved back.

I caught up to him as he was getting on to his BMW. I told him to have a good ride. When he turned to face me, I saw that he was an old man - easily 70 years old. He gave me a joyful smile, and I noticed he was missing most of his teeth. His eyes twinkled, and he told me to do the same, and asked me if I'd been parked next to him on the fifth floor of the garage.

We talked briefly, and then he roared off to go pick up some older ladies, or do whatever it is old bikers do.

Honestly, he made my entire day.

I love old folks who are still living, not just waiting to die. I hope that when I'm in my 70's, I'm still riding, causing trouble, and having neighbors younger than me tell me to turn down that confounded heavy metal music.

Lust for life is not only for the young. There are a disturbing number of folks I've known/met who are still in their twenties and seem like they're just waiting to die. How sad. We are not meant to be "kids" until we graduate from high school or college, then live tedious, consumerist lives waiting to retire so we can do all the things we dreamt of doing, and then never do any of it because we're old and it's scary out there.

Fuck that.

"Old" and "Grown Up" are mindsets. My greatest fear is that I might become a cranky, paranoid, judgemental old man.

In high school, the mother of a friend asked me, in a disapproving tone, why I acted so silly. I told her that I wasn't ready to stop having fun, and I could still get away with it since I was a minor. Of course, what I thought was "So I don't end up like you, you nasty old crone."

I was a little more well-mannered in those days. Now my response would have been two words, one starting with an F, and the second with a Y.

I don't think you're "old" until you decide that you're old. Then you give up your curiosity, stop having adventures, and watch the world pass by in quiet desperation.

And that's when you die. After that, you spend the rest of your "life" regretting things you never did, trying to relive the things that you did do, and eventually you cease being.

Me, I want to live up until I'm dead - toothless, battered, joyful, sublime.

Brush It Off

Every day there are a few more former riders. These men and women lose interest, fall on hard times, give in to pressure from well-meaning (but misguided) family members, or - worst of all - let the fear get them.

I met a gentleman a while back who was a new rider. He bought a brand new Yamaha R6 as his first bike. The R6, for those of you who don't know, is a high performance bike. It's got a powerful motor, and powerful brakes to match. To ride it "reasonably" in normal traffic requires a light touch. I'm sure a newbie with tremendous self-control can learn to ride on a bike like the R6, but it's likely to be a frustrating, and sometimes terrifying, experience for most.

This particular fellow applied maximum braking at a stoplight one day, and locked up his rear wheel. At some point the rear wheel regained traction, causing the front and rear wheels to realign themselves.

If you've had this happen (and stayed on the bike), you know it's not a pleasant experience. I had it happen while merging on to the freeway once.

The difference is that when it happened to me, and I didn't fall off, I continued riding. Apart from analyzing what I did wrong (never let off the back brake when skidding), I didn't give it a second thought. It was a learning experience.

My pal, on the other hand, rode home shaken, parked the bike in his garage, and never took it out again. He eventually sold it, and someone got a hell of a good deal on a barely ridden R6.

Another gentleman I know rode gnarly old bikes exclusively for quite a while (likely because he could afford them). He claims he had fun crashing those bikes. Indeed, he says that crashing a bike into a 8 foot snow drift is an absolute blast. He thoroughly enjoyed finding the absolute limits of his bikes, and when he crashed, he got up, brushed himself off, and rode on.

Personally, I prefer to avoid crashes. I've done it, and it's not fun. On the other hand, most of the time it's not the worst thing in the world. The last time I crashed a motorcycle was when I was a teenager. After I picked myself and the bike up, my only concern was "what if I'm not allowed to ride it anymore?"

As such, I came up with the thoroughly lame story that I'd just tipped over going 5 miles an hour. Yeah. I skinned my arms from wrist to elbow, and rubbed my legs raw under my jeans going 5 miles per hour when I tipped over on grass. And my brother and all my cousins, who saw me fly off the bike, do a great Superman impression, and finally stop 20 feet or so from the bike, I'm sure they told my mom that I tipped over going 5 miles per hour too.

I doubt she bought it.

Anyway, the next day I was out riding again. I started wearing a helmet, though.

A frequent question I get from non-riders (and former riders) is "don't you get scared?" Well, of course! I don't let the fear take over, though. Yes, people have tried to change lanes into me. But people have tried to change into my lane when I'm in a cage, too. The difference is that I can easily dodge the clueless on my bike. In that way, riding is less scary - I know EXACTLY how much space my bike needs.

Some people, however, have a close call in traffic and decide that they're done. They let the fear win, and go out and buy an SUV because then they feel "safe." Personally, I'd rather feel responsible and in control of my own well-being than "safe."

It seems to me that there are two kinds of riders: the ones who brush it all off and get back up on two, and the ones who give up.

I wonder about those who give up because they got scared once. Didn't they ever fall off their bicycle? What do they do when things don't go their way in the rest of their lives? What do they do when they lose their jobs? What do they do when they screw up, or make mistakes?

It's ok to be shaken after a scary or painful experience, but letting the fear get to you, and giving up on something otherwise enjoyable decreases your quality of life, and that of those around you. Yes, your fear has an impact on others. When you tell someone "I gave up riding / flying / walking / self-employment / pizza / puppetry, it's just too scary/dangerous," that person may very well adopt your fear - even though they've never experienced what scared you first hand. They'll repeat your fear, as their own, to someone else.

Eventually, we end up with a society where everyone is afraid even though nothing bad has ever happened to them.

So don't give in to the fear. When you crash, get back up, brush yourself off, take what you can learn from the experience, and finish your ride.

A quick note concerning emails

I just deleted every item in my spam folder, and as I was doing that I noticed an email in there that actually looked genuine. Of course, by then I had already told gmail it was OK to clean the entire folder with extreme prejudice, so I couldn't retrieve it.

So, if you've sent me a relevant email, and I haven't replied... it's because it went to my spam folder and is now gone. Try again!

OK, now read my new pizza review in the post below.

Spinato's Pizza - Official Review!

As always, 1 Crying Lucky = Bad, 5 Crying Luckies = Good!

Since my plot to locate and consume new and interesting savory pies last weekend was foiled by the early closing time of the shop my bike was at, my resolve to find pizza was at an all-time high.

Enter Spinato's Pizza. I was excited to discover a Chicago-style pizza joint here in the sauceless, thin-crusted wastes of the Sonoran desert. My excitement grew when I realized that there was a fun route to get to this fine pie purveyor.

As I've said many times before, "twisty" and "Phoenix" are almost mutually exclusive. The few curvy sections of road I find here in town are noted and filed away in that special part of my brain next to my teen-aged memories of topless beaches in Sweden.

That's a story for another day, though. For today, we'll focus on the pizza and the reasonably enjoyable ride to get to it.

When I was figuring out the best path to Spinato's, I was tickled to discover that I could work in no fewer than three nice, curvy stretches with reasonably short stretches of boring, straight road between them.

For those of you here in Phoenix, start on Rio Salado headed west. Rio Salado is one of my favorite roads, because it's so close to my house, and there's a gnarly 15 mph curve that is no end of fun. Hang a right onto Priest, and ride past the zoo. This stretch is fun, but tricky because there's a stoplight around just about every curve. I always want to go about 80 mph along this road, but the abundant stoplights and asshats keeps my speeds reasonable. Eventually you hit Indian School road. Go Left. Hooray! Curves for a block or two! Then go right on 32nd St. This is boring, but eventually you hit Lincoln. Take a left. Hills!! Curves!! YAY! Beware, however, of the sudden increase in traffic. I don't know where they came from, but it seems most of Phoenix hangs out on Lincoln when they aren't being assholes somewhere else.

We arrived at Spinato's with a powerful hunger. Alas, there was a wait. You might think that's a good sign. We discovered, however, the people who wait at Spinato's are the same folks who wait at Applebee's.

To be fair, Spinato's is better than Applebee's.

We got the cheesy garlic bread to start. It was ok. The marinara sauce tasted like Prego to me.

Then we got our highly anticipated, thick-crusted, sauce-drenched, cheese and meat-covered Chicago-Style pizza. We got the "Super Six," which is sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms, peppers and ham. It was oddly sweet. Baldy-Beard commented that ours smelled like it had strawberry jelly on it.

It kind of tasted like it, too. It was that sweet.

The crust was reasonably thick, and crunchy. Personally, I don't like crunchy thick-crusts. I know I was the odd one out on this trip, however, so if you like your crust thick and crunchy, you'll be set.

The service was good, and the restaurant was brightly decorated in green, white and red. Personally, I would have preferred it wood-panelled and dark, but I guess the yuppies aren't into that yet. Thank God.

Speaking of yuppies, there were a couple of requisite yuppie Harley riders present. They didn't know what to make of the Triumph and Vespa.

I don't think I really need to go back to Spinato's. They were thoroughly adequate, however, and the ride to get there was most excellent. Thus, they get 3 Crying Luckies.

Great Post TOMORROW.

I've got a fantastic post almost ready for my snow-bound fans. I'll post it later tonight, or sometime tomorrow.

In the meantime, here's some random stuff.

Markus suggested a pizza parlour for me to hit the next time I'm in Detroit. To quote:

"Clover Bar- Grand Haven, Mi
The pizza was freaking fantastic!
5 Crying Luckies! (for personal preference of thin-style pizza)
Thin crust style, wonderful cheeses and meats.
Weird that it's named "Bar"...cause the
place is a decent sized restaurant, with only a small-ish 12ft bar.
My G/f’s father has ordered pickup there every Thursday for the last 30+ years….same pizza, same night, same time every week. They even still charge him the price from 30 yrs ago!! I snapped a pic of one of their logo-napkins for ya."

So, another push pin stuck in my tour-map. Thanks for the suggestion, Markus.

I'm sure one or two of you are mildly interested in my opinion of the Michelin Pilot Roads I just put on the Triumph (or you're bored enough at work that you'll read anything. Either way is good for me.).

The first thing I've noticed is how stable the Michelins are compared to the original Bridgestones I had on the bike. The Bridgestones were extremely sensitive - twitchy, even. With the Pilot Roads, every movement is VERY deliberate.

I haven't gotten a chance to really thrash them yet (I've only had them for 150 miles or so, and most of that is my commute), but I anticipate that they'll feel pretty secure when I've got the bike leaned over. I'm more interested to find out how they feel when flicking the bike hard from side to side.

That's it for now.

Dumb Dumb Dumb...

This weekend, I was going to go and find another pizza parlour and share with you all the details of another delicious (or perhaps not, who knows?) slice.

Before I did that, though, I needed to bring the Speed Four in for it's 8,000 mile service and new tires front and back (Michelin Pilot Roads, if you were interested).

On an amusing tangent, I pulled a big old nail out of my tire on Friday, so I was glad new tires were an anticipated expense.

Anyway, let's get back to the stupidity. I dropped the bike off for its service, and Lady Luck and I went off to do other fun Saturday things. We had lunch with some friends, stopped at a bakery co-owned by a scooter-fiend we don't actually know yet, and generally had a good time. Around 4:30, we called to find out what the hell the deal was with my bike. The dealership hadn't called, and we wanted to make sure it was done.

That's when we found out they'd closed half and hour earlier.

[Insert sound of me slapping my forehead so hard that people on the other side of the road turned to look.]

See, the dealer is closed Sunday and Monday, which means I can't get my bike until Tuesday. That means that I was bike-less all weekend.

That means that Lucky is not a happy camper.

So, back to waiting for my bike...