Further Thoughts on the Knee-Down Mind

On a good day, a rider achieves a mindset where nothing exists except the bike, the road, and the traffic around him or her.I refer to this oneness as Knee-Down Mind.

The rider who has reached Knee-Down Mind will find there is all the time in the world to react to hairy traffic situations, changes in road condition and other obstacles or dangers. A Knee-Down rider isn't filled with rage when a Blockhead-SUV-Pilot cuts him/her off because it matters not to the greater flow of Bike.

Knee-Down Mind usually doesn't last long. The world we live in, after all, is distracting and we've been conditioned to have brief attention spans.

The overall effects of Knee-Down Mind, however, last longer than the precious few miles we experience in this state. Instead of filling with a righteous anger at the morons on our roads, we react to our immediate situation and move on. We don't fret about our jobs, because (at least for now) we're up on two wheels and life is good.

This is the mythical "freedom" we hear all the chaps-wearing yuppie bikers going on about on the Discovery channel. It's mental freedom as much as physical freedom. We're free from the caged-in little thoughts, irritants and attachments that plague our four-wheeled cousins.

Like any mental state, however, we have to maintain it ourselves. Frequent riding helps, which is why high-milers tend to get grouchy when deprived of their bikes for any length of time. It's difficult to keep a Knee-Down Mind when the caged world closes in, and a Caged Mind is full of angry little demons relentlessly poking tender places, doing everything in their power to keep us annoyed and distracted.

To maintain a Knee-Down attitude when motorcycle-riding isn't an option (I hear that some states have a horrible annual occurrence called "winter"), one must strive for genuine, uncaged experiences. Get outside, away from the TV, computer or whatever else keeps one trapped in artificial light. Breathe the free air. Do something physically taxing. Picking up heavy objects and putting them down somewhere else works for me. Have a hobby that is far removed from what you do at work or school. Be passionate about it. Get uncomfortable now and then.

And, of course, ride whenever you can.

I'm Making a Stand Here.

When you think of bikers, do you think of a group of men delicately holding fragile glasses half-full of fermented grape juice? Even further, when you think of the American Male, do you think of a fellow in khaki's, swirling said grape juice around his mouth and commenting on the tannins and bouquet?

God, I hope not. Sideways was an entertaining flick (it even had a motorcycle in it!), but I don't want to grow up to be one of those idiots.

When I think of the American standard of masculinity, I think of a sweaty guy in a Dickies workshirt, clutching a can of beer in one hand and a wrench in the other, cussing at the infernal machine he's trying to repair.

Something seems to have gone wrong in the collective head of America, however. According to an article on Slate.com earlier this year, wine sales are going way up, while beer sales have barely increased at all.

Personally, I blame microbrews and the accompanying beer-snobbery. Beer now comes with a dizzying array of choices to make. IPA? Double Bock? Seasonal brews? Suddenly, kicking back with a cold can of Budweiser isn't cool. Depending on your group of friends, such a beer choice could even result in scorn and derision.

If you're smart, of course, you'll just smile all the wider as you enjoy your perfectly drinkable - tasty, even - macro-brew which cost less than half of what their "John Hancock's Extra Creamy Chocolate Stout Frappe... er, just Stout" did.

I've certainly enjoyed my share of "craft" beers,

This wasn't an issue for our fathers and grandfathers. They drank Olympia, Hamm's, Stroh's, Pabst Blue Ribbon and Grain Belt Premium with their heads high and their backs straight. It was even less of an issue before their time. Back then, you drank whatever was available locally, and you were damn happy about it.

Slowly, particularly among the moto-enthusiast community, good old-fashioned manly beers are making a comeback. If a rider sees you enjoying a frosty can of PBR, they're more likely to join you than to turn up their nose.

As such, I'd like to announce the new, ongoing investigation to be found on my blog: The Great Motorcycle Manly Beer Reviews!

For this review, I've chosen Schlitz - "The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous."

Schlitz has been around a long time. First brewed in 1849, it was one of the top selling American beers until the late 70's. I have no idea if disco was to blame for the downfall of the proud brewing company, but I like to think so.

On to the beer - Cracking open the can, the first thing you'll identify is that special "cheap beer" aroma, a strange combination of alcohol, tin can and bread. As a manly American, you wouldn't pour your beer into a glass (unless it's a glass that can hold more than one beer), but if you did you would likely admire the light, clear golden hue of the brew. The head is thin, and dissipates quickly.

The beer itself has a surprisingly thick mouth feel. Almost (dare I say it?) creamy. There is a slightly bitter aftertaste, but you can wash that away with more beer. As for the flavor... well, I would describe it as non-offensive. I mean, it doesn't taste bad so much as it doesn't really taste much at all. Schlitz is definitely a hot-garage kind of beer. It goes down easy and, for $3.64 per six-pack, you can afford to keep some on hand to refresh yourself after a hard day working on the house, in the yard, or on your bike.

This is Phase One

Some of you might recall my grand scheme to start a business selling motorcycles on eBay.

Well, I've started selling stuff on eBay. Right now, I've got a National Cycle F-16 windscreen listed. As of right now, it's almost free. It'll fit a Suzuki VX800, Honda 919 or Nighthawk, and presumably a host of other metric standards.

So, help me out, and go bid on my auction here.

Massive Disappointment

Tonight Lady Luck and I, along with a few of our chums, were planning to go and see Mono play. We all went out for dinner first at The Old Spaghetti Factory.

As we were leaving, Lady Luck and I both became rather ill. The tickets for the show were at the will-call window in my name though, so we had to go with the rest of our crew to the club in order for them to get in. It was a tense ride, to put it mildly.

We got the tickets with minimal inconvenience (but a lot of discomfort), and then booked it home.

And here we sit. Ill. Severly annoyed. Not watching Mono, who hasn't played Phoenix for a couple of years. This sucks. Stupid Spaghetti Factory.

I Got The Funk

Or, to be exact, my helmet does. After two years of daily riding through apocalyptic desert heat, my lid has a smell. A smelly kind of smell. The kind of smell that smells...

Smelly.*

I've got some Lid Cleanz which does an OK job, but the skull-funk seems to have a particular fondness for my helmet, since it keeps coming back. Lid Cleanz is only a temporary fix.

I'm somewhat distressed, as I really like my helmet. It actually fits my gigantic melon. And it's comfortable. And comforting. I don't want to have to get a new one. New helmets suck! They don't love me like my current helmet. They squeeze in weird places. They don't have 30,000 miles of road grime built up in the hard-to-reach nooks. They haven't been there to hug my head after a particularly rotten day at work.

But, I guess I'll have to get a new helmet one of these days, because I'm tired of smelling like a funky helmet.




*Yes, I did rip that off. Free imaginary donuts for everyone who can tell me what I stole it from.

Assorted Moto Musings

• The parking garage near my office has added a ton of motorcycle-only parking spots. Strangely enough, non of the other riders are using them yet, despited the huge signs saying "Motorcycle Parking Only." More space for the Triumph, I suppose.
• What is it about the Renaissance Festival and motorcycles? Any time I go to one, I marvel at the number of motorcycles that turn out.
  
• Speaking of ren-fest, I had an amusing experience at the festival in Minnesota. I was wearing a retro motorcycle-dealership t-shirt that I got in Phoenix at the local rockabilly & hot-rod supply store, Go Kat Go. The shirt is for "Ed Kretz's" Ariel, Triumph, and Cushman Scooter dealership. I have no idea if such a place ever existed. It doesn't matter. The relevant part of the shirt is the cartoon woman, who's black and white line-drawing breasts are exposed. The young woman taking tickets at ren-fest took exception to my taste in clothing, and gave me the coldest stare ever. This was amusing, because her corset was only slightly less revealing than, say, pasties.
• It's finally cool in the mornings, so long as I leave by 6:30. And I get to ride to work two days a week now. Hooray for extra moto goodness.
  

Got the Time Tick Tick Ticking in My Head

How the hell did it get to be September already?

Well, here we are, inching closer and closer to mid-September, which means November is getting closer and closer.

Which means National Novel Writing Month is approaching with a quickness.

Which means I gotta figure out what to write.

I've got a few ideas, and I thought I'd run them by you, my loyal and trusting readers.

SO! First off, do any of you have any interest in watching the novel progress in a convenient blog format like last year?

Up next, my rough plot ideas

Novel 1: Our hero wakes up as the sole survivor in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. He's never had more fun.
Novel 2: The butler keeps compulsively killing people, but he's not really such a bad guy.
Novel 3: Holy Rollers 2: Electric Boogaloo. I have zero plot here so far but I DO have two characters that are pretty loveable, in their way. I'm guessing that something bad will happen to someone, and the gruesome twosome will have to save the day / apply their own special brand of justice. Or something.

So, if you want, let me know what you think. I'm mostly curious to know if anyone would be interested in another novel blog (blovel? novelog?) Theme-wise, I'm leaning pretty strongly towards continuing the Holy Rollers story. It'll be like the next Harry Potter. Only, y'know, with a lot more swearing, general vulgarity and motorcycles. Yeah.

Also, will any of y'all be writing your own novels this year?

Red Savoy's Pizza Reviewed (along with a couple other pizzas)

After a whirlwind tour of the Land of 10,000 Lakes, I return to Phoenix wishing for more time and more pizza in Minnesota. Of course, most companies frown on month-long vacations, so we returned after a quick eight days.

Gary (of Rush Hour Rambling fame) and I had planned to meet up on Sunday for pizza and mischief, but that plan was thwarted by a sudden surge in invitations and activities with our families.

Monday, Lady Luck and I went to the Minnesota State Fair and saw a multitude of interesting things, ate interesting things (Hot Dish on a Stick, in case you were wondering, sucks), experienced some new things and generally had a good time.

Naturally, I had to seek out and sample the pizza offered at the fair. After all, the State Fair is where an everyday Joe such as myself goes to find the best hand-held foods. The first pizza I found was at The Pizza Shoppe in the main food building. I had a slice of pepperoni, sausage and mushroom pizza. Sad to say, it was almost entirely lacking. I didn't even bother to finish the crust. Skip this pie and spend your money on another order of deep-fried cheese curds. The Pizza Shoppe gets a generous 1 Crying Lucky.

After eating, we had to work up another appetite, so we set off in search of the much-rumored Buell Motorcycles exhibit. We never found it. We did however, stumble across a tent chock full of Big Dog Motorcycles. I hopped on one and was amazed at the complete lack of comfort to match the lack of taste. I guess I'm just not a Big Dog kind of guy.

Chopper-mocking gave me a powerful hunger, so I was glad to find a pizza stand nearby. A Pizza Wagon, to be exact. For those of you unaccustomed to dining al fresco, fair-style, every kind of food is better from a wagon. The slice of pepperoni from the Pizza Wagon didn't disappoint - it was definitely better than the pizza in the food building. All the same, it was not one of the better pizzas I've eaten. Pizza Wagon gets two Crying Luckies, as the sauce and toppings were pretty good, but the crust was inadequate.

Gary and I were able to arrange our schedules so we could both be in the same place at the same time on Thursday night. Gary told me I had to try Red Savoy's Pizza in St. Paul (Click here for a map and address). Lady Luck and I arrived at Savoy's just in time to see the unmistakable outline of Frogwing roll past.

Upon entering the restaurant I realized I had, actually, been to Savoy's once before. I believe it was about seven years ago, and at the time I'd been disappointed with the quality of their pie.

The interior of Savoy's is dark. So dark that I actually had to stand in the entryway for a while until I could see enough to look for Gary. Fortunately, he'd been keeping an eye on the door and came over to meet Lady Luck and me. We met his wife and daughter and got down to the serious business of pizza (and Grain Belt Premium) consumption.

We got a pizza with pepperoni, sausage, green olives, mushrooms, and green peppers. It was good. Really good. The cheese was cooked enough to be just a little crispy on top but still gooey and delicious on the inside. The crust had that certain something that makes Lucky a happy man.

And then there was the sauce. I'll tell you what, if you want me to show up somewhere, promise me a pizza with a lot of good sauce on it. I'll be there early. As Gary noted on his write up, the pizza could certainly have handled a bit more sauce, but coming from a sauce desert (as it were) I was overjoyed at bounty hiding between the toppings and the crust.

Next time, I'll get a bowl of sauce on the side. Because it's good stuff.

This pizza was so good, it didn't even last until breakfast. It was gone by 10:00 p.m. Savoy's gets a solid 5 Crying Luckies

It was a real pleasure to meet Gary, Amy and Emily. We had a great time at dinner, and checking out Frogwing afterwards. Lady Luck and I are agreed that our garage needs a KLR with a bad attitude. Gary planned to demonstrate some of his curb-hopping, sidewalk-riding commuter skills as he departed, but an officer of the law chose that moment to roll by so ticket avoidance had to be the rule of the evening.

I guess now I've got to start harassing him to get his ass down to the desert. I bet he'll be real easy to convince in March, when Minnesota has been frozen solid for three months, and the next two months look grim.