Triumph-ant Return

The other night I installed the new battery in the Triumph. Last night, I actually took it out for a test ride. Currently, the "Check Engine" light is on. I believe this is just because the battery died, and I've got to do 3 heat cycles before it will shut off. I've got two out of the way.

If it's still on tomorrow morning, I'm going to freak the hell out.

Incidentally, old school mileage counters are superior to the new computerized displays because if the battery dies, the trip odometer doesn't get cleared...

Update 7/30: The check engine light is off again. Hooray for engineers and their curious solutions to simple problems - without them the world would be significantly less interesting.

Stopping to Help

I don't know if I've mentioned it recently, but the temperature in Phoenix right now is currently hovering around hotter-than-hell. By the time I walk to the garage I'm generally covered in sweat.

Now, I realize having an over-enthusiastic cooling system is better than not having one at all. All the same, trips outside are carefully considered right now in order to minimize the amount of heat I have to deal with. Otherwise I've got to change my clothes three times every day.

So this is the time of year when I'm extra gracious to pedestrians while driving or riding. I mean, those poor bastards need to get into some air conditioning as soon as possible!

Yesterday I went to a cigar lounge to work on rewriting last year's Nanowrimo novel some more (it's coming along quite well, if you care). Ordinarily I'd go to a coffee shop, but it's just too hot for that kind of thing. The new battery for the Triumph was still charging, so I took the cage. I did some writing and enjoyed a gigantic cigar in air conditioned comfort. It was nice.

Of course, eventually I had to go home again, which meant getting into the oven-hot car. In addition to putting up a sunscreen in the windshield, we now cover the steering wheel and other controls which require handling with a towel. This is so we don't have to put on oven mitts to drive.

So, as I drove home (waiting for the A/C to really get working), I ended up stopped at a red light, waiting to turn left. As I watched traffic go by, I noticed a beat up old car roll to a stop in the middle of the intersection. The passenger hopped out and started pushing the car, but didn't make a whole lot of progress.

The light changed, and I made my turn. I parked as soon as I safely could and ran back to help push the car.

A guy in a van pulled in right behind me, and as I took off to help, I heard him say something. I'd reached the stalled car before I realized he'd asked me if I was going to help those guys.

I helped the guy already pushing the car, and a couple minutes later the other fellow who'd stopped reached us and helped push as well. The car's exterior was hot enough to toast bread, so pushing the darn thing was a little uncomfortable. The three of us got the car safely out of the road and into a gas station's parking lot. From there, I pretty much just wished them good luck and hopped back into the Mustang.

As I drove away, I considered the oddity of the other guy asking me if I was going to help. It bothered me that he felt had to ask. Did he expect me to go back there and yell at them to get their damn car out of the intersection? Tell them to stop obstructing traffic before I called the cops? Of course I'd stopped to help. That's what people do, right?

Right?

Because we're in the desert, where the weather and nature are actively conspiring to kill everyone foolish enough to live here. Pushing a car in the afternoon heat is the kind of thing that kills people.

I don't know if people are afraid of getting robbed, or lazy, or what, but I'd venture to say that most stranded vehicles are just that - stranded. In the friggin' desert! If I wanted to rob someone, I wouldn't do it by parking my car in the desert heat.

So it bothers me that stopping to help someone is so unusual that people have to ask if that's what you're doing. Maybe I expect too much.

Gremlins Caught, Being Held for Observation

Well, I'm happy to say the problem with the Triumph appears to simply be a dead battery. I discovered this when I went out to try and get it running, and noticed that the headlights were pretty dim.

Yay for the scientific method.

Anyway, I charged up the battery and the bike started right up. However, the "Check Engine" light is on. In the interest of not ending up twenty miles from home with a dead battery, I rode the Vespa again today. Tonight I'll put my voltage meter on the battery and see what happens.

The Triumph still has the original battery, so it's about due for a new one. This weekend I'll have to go and get a new one.

Vexing Gremlins

There were two reasons I didn't go ahead and get the Ducati I wanted three years ago.

The first reason was the maintenance costs. $70 oil changes? Granted, I'd take care of that myself, but if an oil change is $70, how much is the bi-monthly major service? I understand those costs have been significantly reduced, but I'm going to wait a while longer to see what owners of the new, cheap maintenance Ducatis have to say before I commit to keeping an Italian exotic alive.

The second reason is Ducati motorcycles kind of have a reputation for breaking down or bursting into flames while parked in the garage overnight. I ride every day, and dealing with breakdowns is not my idea of a good time. I understand that motorcycles are not appliances. I also understand most people use them as toys, so performance takes precedence over reliability during the design process. All the same, I'd rather have a bike known for running and running and running, considering my intended use.

So when that glorious day arrived, and I bought my new motorcycle, it was a Triumph instead of a Ducati. After all, every indication pointed towards modern Triumph motorcycles being bullet-proof. Word on the street was that quality control took precedence over everything else, and the new bikes ran every day without a hitch.

And that's been, mostly, my experience. Until last night. When the Triumph broke down while parked in the garage.

This morning I hauled the Speed Four out of the garage, locked up the garage, got my gear on, put the key in, turned it on and... nothing. The lights came on. The display lit up but did not actually display anything.

I've experienced this glitch after rain before, so I just turned the ignition off and flipped the kill switch a bunch of times. Previously, this eliminated the problem and I was on my way five seconds later.

But this morning, it didn't work. Instead of saying "excuse me, guv'nor" and starting right up, the damned thing persisted in it's refusal to run.

This is most annoying. Especially because a British bike - you know, from the land of rain and damp - shouldn't stop running just because it got a little wet. How on Earth am I supposed to trust this machine in the rainy climes of Oregon if it can't handle an occasional shower in the desert?

The good news for today is that I was able to ride Lady Luck's Vespa in to work. Tonight, I'm going to have to deal with the heat in the garage as I try to get my infernal machine running again.

It's Raining, It's Pouring

At 4:10 this morning Lady Luck and I woke to a massive thunderclap. I believe my thought process went something like this: What the hell?? Ahh! Zombie Apocalypse!! Wait. Thunder? YAY!!!

I love storms. Here in the desert they're spectacular for a couple of reasons. First, the lightning here is always amazing. Second, any variant on "hot and sunny" is a welcome change.

So at approximately 4:11 this morning, Lady Luck asked me if I was going to need a ride to work today. If I'd stayed awake long enough to answer, I would have said "Certainly not! Storms and motorcycles go together like peanut butter and bacon!"

I got out of bed a few minutes earlier than usual in order to get my rain gear out of storage. For the second time ever, it actually rained while I was wearing my gear. I've mentioned before that getting my rain suit on pretty much guarantees dry weather for the duration of my ride. Well, today I got thoroughly soaked. That is to say, my rain suit did. I was dry, comfy and rather tickled with the novelty of rain.

There was only one other rider out on my route to work this morning. Frankly, I was a bit disappointed. I thought for sure the friendly Goldwing rider I wave to on the freeway every morning would be out. The guy I did see was on what looked like a GSX-R. Apparently, Arizona's hardcore riders are all on sportbikes...

Of course, in my excitement, I also got rolling about fifteen minutes earlier than usual, so perhaps the regulars were all out and I was simply too early to see them.

When I reached the office, I got to enjoy the battery of questions and funny stares I always get when I ride in the rain, as well as some new questions I haven't heard before.

One which particularly stuck out was, "Doesn't the lightning bother you?"

I'm a polite sort of guy, at work, so I just said "No, I like to watch the lightning, really." What I wanted to say was, "Not unless it hits me."

The apparent amazement some folks have when I ride in the rain amuses me quite a bit. I mean, why would I avoid riding just because of a little water? After all, the temperature isn't going to be this nice again for the rest of the summer. Darn right I'm going to ride! I'd have to be crazy not to.

Of course, that's probably what it comes down to. I'm the crazy one. Everyone else goes for the safe and rational choice and drives to work in their cozy little automobiles. I'm the one foolishly enjoying two-wheeled pleasures that mainstream society will never know and, frankly, don't care to. The folks who see me clomping along the sidewalk in my rain gear, dripping water and grinning ear to ear don't understand. They don't realize that by seven in the morning, my day has already kicked ass and, in fact, the rest of the workday is likely to be a let down.

And between you and me, when it comes to the drudgery of rational choices such as staying dry and avoiding discomfort, I'm happy to stay here in my crazy little motorcycle world where it's always a perfect day for a ride.

You're invited.

Oh This Burning Beard

On Saturday I went to the barber. I got my hair cut short because it's too hot here to tolerate excess insulation on my noggin.

Unfortunately, the barber misunderstood my instructions concerning beard length. He removed almost all of my beard and I feel kind of like a scruffy homeless guy.

That's bad enough, but this morning I discovered he'd cut my beard short enough that it gets caught in my helmet lining and chin strap, which itches like crazy.

I was awfully happy to get my helmet off today. Now I remember why I quit shaving...

More Required Moto-Gear

You know what's great after a ride? Bacon.

But if you're in the middle of nowhere, and didn't bring your favorite skillet, how can you enjoy that real bacon flavor you crave?

Well, in the past you might have been dependent on canned bacon.

But now, straight from Sweden, the ultimate processed meat product: Squeezable Bacon.

Bring that and a tube of coffee, and you're good to go! Bring a tube of peanut butter as well for PB & Bacon sandwiches with your coffee.

More Sexy Motorcycles

I've got to stop paying attention to what the motorcycle manufacturers are doing. If I just ignored stuff like that, I wouldn't have to live with knowing the following:

1. Ducati has a new "Streetfighter" model.
2. At approximately $15,000 just to buy it (ignoring all the costly maintenance that comes with owning an Italian object of lust) I can not justify, or even rationalize, owning a Ducati Streetfighter.


Sigh.

Eyes on the prize, Lucky.

Goin' to the HD Dealership...

You might have noticed I pick on Harley-Davidson motorcycles a fair bit around here. I believe, however, that I've mentioned once or twice that the second the XR1200 came out stateside, I'd be in line to get one.

Well... why didn't anyone TELL ME they are now available here in the United States?

In the photos, they look kind of "Powerwheels," if you know what I mean. Hopefully they're prettier in real life. I'd like to get one and leave it bone stock, just to drive all the other Harley owners nuts.

Anyhow, I'm definitely going to have to check one out in person. Which unfortunately means I'll have to go to one of the local HD shops. The good news is, I seem to be Harley-salesperson-proof, so I shouldn't get hassled too much.

What I Did During Summer Vacation

Oregon had shamefully good weather the entire time we were there. I think I saw one cloud.

One.

I packed for cold, grey and rainy, and instead got warm and sunny. You might say "Lucky, you should pack better," but I say Oregon's weather should conform to my expectations.

After my last trip I proclaimed Oregon the best state in the nation. I haven't changed my mind. This time around, we took our time and thoroughly explored the places we've been considering moving to.

We arrived Friday night, and stayed with friends in Portland for the evening. We rented a car through Alamo, which wound up being a huge mistake and pain in the ass which will never be repeated. The car was filthy when we picked it up, and it got worse from there. Details later...

On the way to the coast, we cruised through Salem (woo! Capitol building!), stopped in Albany for coffee and missed Irondad by minutes. I blame poor cell phone reception and inattention on my part. From there, we went to Corvallis and met Stacy, along with her partner in crime (who had purchased a new Street Triple that very day!). Good folks! We had dinner at American Dream Pizza. It was pretty darn good. We stopped in Eugene to sleep.

From there it was straight on to the coast. We planned to rent quads and fool around on the dunes for a while, but the high winds convinced us that perhaps playing in the sand wouldn't be much fun that day. Instead we had lunch at the drive-in A&W in Florence.

Full of cheese and root beer, we rolled on up to Yachats. Along the way, we stopped and I claimed a chunk of the coast as my own:



Apparently, no one thought I was funny:


But, I managed to get out of that mess and landed back in Yachats in time to enjoy a cold one and a sunset:
The next day we checked out Devil's Churn, which was awesome and you should go:

After that we hit some of the other parks, and explored the town a little bit.

On Tuesday we left Yachats and headed north to get cheese in Tillamook on our way to Astoria. The low tire pressure light came on while we were in the middle of nowhere between Newport and Tillamook, and then we heard the THUMPITA-THUMPITA of a flat.

Awesome.

I started to change the tire while Lady Luck called Alamo's roadside assistance. The customer service person informed her that we would probably have to buy them a new tire. While she was dealing with that fun, I was trying to pull a bald tire which had the cords exposed and little pokey wires cutting up my hands. I managed to finally break the wheel free from the hub, and putting the spare on was relatively painless. The customer service person told Lady Luck we could bring the car back to Portland to get a different car. Nice.

Of course, I didn't trust the spare, (especially when the low pressure light came on again) so we stopped at a gas station to check the air in the tires. The spare was 20 pounds low, and I noticed the other rear tire was dangerously bald. Nice.

I filled up the spare, and we continued on. We reached Tillamook, and the low air light came on AGAIN, this time with a "DING DING DING." We got to the cheese factory, and I checked the tire pressure again. The spare was leaking. Nice.

This time I called the roadside assistance number, politely explained the situation, and asked when we could expect our new car. Three hours or so.

The Tillamook factory does not provide three hours worth of entertainment. We did buy a bunch of cheese, and lunch, and ice cream, and stuff to amuse ourselves from the gift shop. I got a "Sailor's Knots" deck of cards which came with a length of rope. I sat down to tie the first knot and discovered, upon completion, that it was a noose. Yeah.

Anyway, three hours or so later, the tow truck showed up with the supposedly shiny new car for us. It had decent tires, but that was the best I could say for it. The interior reeked of HORSE, there were wax pencil marks all over the exterior marking damaged spots, and it was, of course, filthy.

Nice. Seriously, fuck Alamo.

Anyway, with that fun behind us, we cruised on up to Astoria. Astoria rocks. We walked the docks in the marina, ate fish and chips from a dry docked boat, saw the Flavel mansion, had coffee from the best coffee shop on Earth (we order their beans here in Phoenix) and generally had a great time.

People in Astoria are friendly. Like, really friendly. Folks said "hi" to us on the street. The folks at the coffee shop can't wait until we move there. And they seemed genuine about it.

After two short days in Astoria, we went on to Portland. Portland is groovy. We got donuts from Voodoo Doughnut. We saw the pirate supply store. We went to Powell's. We hung around with our friends. It was good.

And Lady Luck and I decided we're moving to Astoria. Now we've just got to figure out how we're going to make a living there...