One of the recent posts over at Musings of An Intrepid Commuter discusses the need to keep one's bike in it's powerband while riding in traffic. Most of us ride at least a gear higher than we really should because, hey, it can't be good keeping the bike at those high revs. And it's noisy!
When a rider needs power, however, he or she needs it now.
It made sense to me, so I tried it out on Thursday. Instead of shifting up a gear when I hit cruising speed, I left the bike in it's current gear. That usually meant I was riding at about 8000 RPM.
Wow! I couldn't believe the difference it made in my ride. I could probably go a gear lower and kick the revs up to 9000 or so, though by that point the bike makes so much noise I get self-conscious anywhere but the freeway.
Anyway, having that power right there when I needed to speed up was quite an eye-opener.
It was also a horrible, horrible temptation. I mean, there I was on a high-powered, extremely nimble machine surrounded by slow moving obstacles. Do you have any idea how hard it is to behave in that situation?
Let's just say, "next to impossible."
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Headin' for SoCal again!
Next week I'm going to ride out to San Diego again for a few days. Hopefully I'll get to carve up some delightful Cali roads and, of course, eat new delicious pizzas.
So, I thought I should ask y'all if you know of any good SoCal pizza joints. Do you?
How about some roads that I have to seek out?
I just found out that the "Legend of the Motorcycle" show is going on up near San Francisco next weekend. I'm mildly bummed that I won't be able to make it. The trip from San Francisco back to Phoenix is pretty long for one day on a sportbike with a stock seat(752 miles/11-ish hours). I'm sure I could handle the trip on Sunday (he says optimistically), but I'm guessing my butt would demand the following Monday off.
And, of course, the only way to righteously attend such an event would be on a bike.
Next year, I guess.
So, I thought I should ask y'all if you know of any good SoCal pizza joints. Do you?
How about some roads that I have to seek out?
I just found out that the "Legend of the Motorcycle" show is going on up near San Francisco next weekend. I'm mildly bummed that I won't be able to make it. The trip from San Francisco back to Phoenix is pretty long for one day on a sportbike with a stock seat(752 miles/11-ish hours). I'm sure I could handle the trip on Sunday (he says optimistically), but I'm guessing my butt would demand the following Monday off.
And, of course, the only way to righteously attend such an event would be on a bike.
Next year, I guess.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Random Moto-Thoughts
- Are there any bikers out there friendlier than Gold Wing riders?
- Just because I saw you coming doesn't mean you aren't a jerk for not using your turn signal.
- You can not out run me in your pick 'em up truck. I promise. So stop trying. I feel bad embarassing you in front of your girlfriend. Again.
- Someday, I want to catch someone's cigarette and flick it back into their car. I don't have a problem with smokers, just assholes.
- I always feel kind of weird passing a large group of hawg-ridin' dudes. I never know if I should wave, or make the day more interesting by flippin' them off and riding like hell. I usually just wave.
- Nothing is as much fun as riding a scooter behind a patch-wearin' bro and watching him get all uncomfortable because you're back there. Scooter-cooties, after all, can jump pretty far.
- I sometimes wish I could understand what people say when they yell to me from the sidewalk/other cars. But then I figure I'm probably not missing out on anything too important.
Monday, April 23, 2007
10,000 Miles on British Steel
This weekend the odometer on the Speed Four ticked over 10,000 miles. I didn't witness this momentous occasion because I keep the digital readout set to display my trip odometer, since I need to stop for gas much more often than I need to get a tune-up.
Considering the colorful engineering history of British motorcycles (and other motor vehicles), that's pretty impressive.
Overall, I have to say it's a damn shame Triumph stopped manufacturing the Speed Four last year. The S4 is no end of fun - nimble handling, plenty of horsepower, and character to spare. Indeed, I think some of the character of my Speed Four is rubbing off on the Vespa and the VX800 it shares garage space with. I've noticed the Vespa has had a distinct increase in bad attitude since it left the showroom.
The Speed Four has some quirks, but they're tolerable. At slower speeds (3000 RPM and below, or, under 12 mph) it surges a bit. Of course, most of us rarely ride that slow, so it's not a big problem. The bike also has the famous "progressive feel brakes" which seem to be a case of making a bug into a feature. Basically, the brake lever travel increases significantly as the miles increase. Some riders get their brakes bled on a regular basis to counteract this problem - it works for some, for others it doesn't. Since the brakes aren't any less effective, I guess it isn't a huge problem, but it's a bit annoying.
Another quirk I've discovered: the oil drain plug is the lowest point on the bike (apart from the tires, smart ass). So when your local ton-up boy hits a speed bump too fast, guess what bottoms out! That's right, the oil drain plug. This can lead to amusing panic-attacks caused by the speedy oil-leak when the plug comes a bit loose.
On the other hand, this bike is surprisingly comfy for long rides. Since the range for a tank of gas is about 120 miles, there are plenty of opportunities for stretch-breaks. The seat isn't terrible, but one will have a sore butt after a four hundred mile day. It's ok, though, because everyone wants buns of steel anyway.
The powerband on this bike delivers no end of fun. Around 9000 RPM it really starts to pick up, and by 12,000 RPM you'll notice your new, involuntary perma-grin. Below 6000 RPM is kind of dull, but what are you doing riding that slow anyway?
By the way, this bike starts to sound really vicious right around 7,000 RPM. By 10,000 RPM it screams like a banshee come to collect you. Appropriate. Compared to many bikes, there's a lot of noise from the motor. Things click, rattle and buzz under the rider, as they should.
Now, let's talk about British metal for a moment. There are four basic schools: Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Motörhead. If the Speed Four were a metal band, it would be somewhere between Judas Priest and Motörhead - It delivers the business with just barely enough polish to be socially acceptable. In other words, it won't kill your neighbor's lawn the second it arrives, but only out of a grudging respect for the well-trimmed hedge.
If you can dig it.
Anyway, I really can't say enough good things about my Triumph. My next bike will certainly be a Triumph. I would encourage anyone teetering between a Triumph and some other marque to go British, and I would advise anyone looking at a Speed Four to buy it before someone else gets it first.
Considering the colorful engineering history of British motorcycles (and other motor vehicles), that's pretty impressive.
Overall, I have to say it's a damn shame Triumph stopped manufacturing the Speed Four last year. The S4 is no end of fun - nimble handling, plenty of horsepower, and character to spare. Indeed, I think some of the character of my Speed Four is rubbing off on the Vespa and the VX800 it shares garage space with. I've noticed the Vespa has had a distinct increase in bad attitude since it left the showroom.
The Speed Four has some quirks, but they're tolerable. At slower speeds (3000 RPM and below, or, under 12 mph) it surges a bit. Of course, most of us rarely ride that slow, so it's not a big problem. The bike also has the famous "progressive feel brakes" which seem to be a case of making a bug into a feature. Basically, the brake lever travel increases significantly as the miles increase. Some riders get their brakes bled on a regular basis to counteract this problem - it works for some, for others it doesn't. Since the brakes aren't any less effective, I guess it isn't a huge problem, but it's a bit annoying.
Another quirk I've discovered: the oil drain plug is the lowest point on the bike (apart from the tires, smart ass). So when your local ton-up boy hits a speed bump too fast, guess what bottoms out! That's right, the oil drain plug. This can lead to amusing panic-attacks caused by the speedy oil-leak when the plug comes a bit loose.
On the other hand, this bike is surprisingly comfy for long rides. Since the range for a tank of gas is about 120 miles, there are plenty of opportunities for stretch-breaks. The seat isn't terrible, but one will have a sore butt after a four hundred mile day. It's ok, though, because everyone wants buns of steel anyway.
The powerband on this bike delivers no end of fun. Around 9000 RPM it really starts to pick up, and by 12,000 RPM you'll notice your new, involuntary perma-grin. Below 6000 RPM is kind of dull, but what are you doing riding that slow anyway?
By the way, this bike starts to sound really vicious right around 7,000 RPM. By 10,000 RPM it screams like a banshee come to collect you. Appropriate. Compared to many bikes, there's a lot of noise from the motor. Things click, rattle and buzz under the rider, as they should.
Now, let's talk about British metal for a moment. There are four basic schools: Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Motörhead. If the Speed Four were a metal band, it would be somewhere between Judas Priest and Motörhead - It delivers the business with just barely enough polish to be socially acceptable. In other words, it won't kill your neighbor's lawn the second it arrives, but only out of a grudging respect for the well-trimmed hedge.
If you can dig it.
Anyway, I really can't say enough good things about my Triumph. My next bike will certainly be a Triumph. I would encourage anyone teetering between a Triumph and some other marque to go British, and I would advise anyone looking at a Speed Four to buy it before someone else gets it first.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
What Is This?
It's Saturday.
It's insanely beautiful outside.
We should be out riding.
Instead, Lady Luck is cleaning, and I'm listening to her clean, blogging and hoping she doesn't ask me to start cleaning.
It's insanely beautiful outside.
We should be out riding.
Instead, Lady Luck is cleaning, and I'm listening to her clean, blogging and hoping she doesn't ask me to start cleaning.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Fringe Annoys Me
Fair warning: Today's post isn't very deep or thought-provoking.
If there's one thing that I like, it's a stripped-down motorcycle. I love the aesthetic of bobbers, cafe racers and old-school streetfighters (seriously, what's up with the O.C.C.-ification of streetfighters? Keep 'em fast and flat-black.).
What I love about these bikes is their simplicity. To build a righteous bike, take away everything that is not an awesomely fast, sweet-riding 'sickle, and only add items that make the bike faster, better-handling or more reliable. I think we can all agree that these traits are highly desirable.
So what the hell is the deal with fringe? It seems to me that they make the bike slower (probably), uglier (definitely), and might even increase the odds of ocular injury to those in the vicinity of the fringe-laden motorcycle.
If, at some point in the future, you discover your bike has been infested with fringe, please do the right thing and burn it off with a clean, efficient propane torch. It's only humane, and your bike will be grateful.
If there's one thing that I like, it's a stripped-down motorcycle. I love the aesthetic of bobbers, cafe racers and old-school streetfighters (seriously, what's up with the O.C.C.-ification of streetfighters? Keep 'em fast and flat-black.).
What I love about these bikes is their simplicity. To build a righteous bike, take away everything that is not an awesomely fast, sweet-riding 'sickle, and only add items that make the bike faster, better-handling or more reliable. I think we can all agree that these traits are highly desirable.
So what the hell is the deal with fringe? It seems to me that they make the bike slower (probably), uglier (definitely), and might even increase the odds of ocular injury to those in the vicinity of the fringe-laden motorcycle.
If, at some point in the future, you discover your bike has been infested with fringe, please do the right thing and burn it off with a clean, efficient propane torch. It's only humane, and your bike will be grateful.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Lucky and the Blustery Day
Once there was an amiable biker named Lucky. He lived in the Sonoran desert and loved riding his motorcycle every day. He rode in the heat and the cold and the rain and the shine, and usually sang a merry moto-tune to himself as he rode.
As Lucky was getting ready to leave his job one day, he heard the wind howling and plastic cups, leaves and other small urban items bouncing off the window near his office. His phone rang shortly after that. His beloved wife Lady Luck had called to tell him that a dust storm was blowing in, and he should leave as soon as he could!
Well, Lucky got into his riding gear and left his office right away. The wind tried to slam the door shut on him before he had even opened it all the way!
"Oh my!" Lucky tried to say, except his mouth was quickly filled with nasty street grime, dust, and things he'd rather not think about.
The sky was a sickly yellow color as he walked to his motorcycle. The wind tried to yank his helmet and gloves right out of his hands, but he held on to them very tightly.
He got to the parking garage, and there was his motorcycle, waiting patiently for him just where he'd left it.
"Let's go!" Lucky cried to his motorcycle, as he thumbed the starter button. The motor started, and away he rode!
Plastic bags and pieces of trees blew all around him as he rolled along the nearly deserted streets of downtown Phoenix. Now and then the wind blew so hard he thought his motorcycle was going to get sucked right out from under him!
The sky got darker, the wind got colder, and Lucky felt a few cold drops of rain sneaking through the spaces in his jacket.
The wind must have been too strong for the rain, though, because it blew away too.
Lucky had to be very careful as he rode, because all the dumb cars who live on the streets just outside of central Phoenix didn't know what to do when it was windy. Some of them thought they needed to park in the middle of the road, while others roared past him at great speed, as if they could outrun the weather. Since the poor, dumb cars were so confused, several of them ran into each other and got battered and bruised.
As Lucky got closer to home, he realized there was a huge herd of cars stopped in front of him. He had to slow way, way down to keep from running into them. A traffic signal had gone out (Phoenix falls apart when the weather isn't just sunny), and the dumb cars didn't know what to do!
Fortunately, two of the local car shepherds was in the middle of the intersection, and they told the cars when they could go, and when they couldn't. The cars were pretty confused, but they slowly followed the shepherds' instructions.
Lucky had almost gotten home when he ran into another huge herd of the dumb cars.
"Where do all these dumb cars come from?" Lucky asked his motorcycle. The motorcycle didn't know, so it didn't say anything and just purred underneath him instead. Lucky had to wait and wait and wait for the herd to start moving again. All the while, the wind was blowing, and Lucky had to pay close attention to make sure he didn't get blown over.
"Crazy wind," he said to himself.
He finally got home, and when he opened the door to the motorcycle's house, all the paper and small boxes inside blew all around! Lucky hurried to help the motorcycle inside, and then shut the door. He looked around at all the stuff the wind had strewn around inside the motorcycle's house.
"What a mess!" Lucky said.
Then Lucky went into his own house, and Lady Luck was very happy to see him. She had been worried about him, since it was such a blustery day.
The end.
As Lucky was getting ready to leave his job one day, he heard the wind howling and plastic cups, leaves and other small urban items bouncing off the window near his office. His phone rang shortly after that. His beloved wife Lady Luck had called to tell him that a dust storm was blowing in, and he should leave as soon as he could!
Well, Lucky got into his riding gear and left his office right away. The wind tried to slam the door shut on him before he had even opened it all the way!
"Oh my!" Lucky tried to say, except his mouth was quickly filled with nasty street grime, dust, and things he'd rather not think about.
The sky was a sickly yellow color as he walked to his motorcycle. The wind tried to yank his helmet and gloves right out of his hands, but he held on to them very tightly.
He got to the parking garage, and there was his motorcycle, waiting patiently for him just where he'd left it.
"Let's go!" Lucky cried to his motorcycle, as he thumbed the starter button. The motor started, and away he rode!
Plastic bags and pieces of trees blew all around him as he rolled along the nearly deserted streets of downtown Phoenix. Now and then the wind blew so hard he thought his motorcycle was going to get sucked right out from under him!
The sky got darker, the wind got colder, and Lucky felt a few cold drops of rain sneaking through the spaces in his jacket.
The wind must have been too strong for the rain, though, because it blew away too.
Lucky had to be very careful as he rode, because all the dumb cars who live on the streets just outside of central Phoenix didn't know what to do when it was windy. Some of them thought they needed to park in the middle of the road, while others roared past him at great speed, as if they could outrun the weather. Since the poor, dumb cars were so confused, several of them ran into each other and got battered and bruised.
As Lucky got closer to home, he realized there was a huge herd of cars stopped in front of him. He had to slow way, way down to keep from running into them. A traffic signal had gone out (Phoenix falls apart when the weather isn't just sunny), and the dumb cars didn't know what to do!
Fortunately, two of the local car shepherds was in the middle of the intersection, and they told the cars when they could go, and when they couldn't. The cars were pretty confused, but they slowly followed the shepherds' instructions.
Lucky had almost gotten home when he ran into another huge herd of the dumb cars.
"Where do all these dumb cars come from?" Lucky asked his motorcycle. The motorcycle didn't know, so it didn't say anything and just purred underneath him instead. Lucky had to wait and wait and wait for the herd to start moving again. All the while, the wind was blowing, and Lucky had to pay close attention to make sure he didn't get blown over.
"Crazy wind," he said to himself.
He finally got home, and when he opened the door to the motorcycle's house, all the paper and small boxes inside blew all around! Lucky hurried to help the motorcycle inside, and then shut the door. He looked around at all the stuff the wind had strewn around inside the motorcycle's house.
"What a mess!" Lucky said.
Then Lucky went into his own house, and Lady Luck was very happy to see him. She had been worried about him, since it was such a blustery day.
The end.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Let's Talk About Your Big "But."
You should ride to work every day.
How many reasons did you instantly come up with for why you can't? I bet there are plenty: weather, traffic, time, comfort, being a huge wuss...
It's not so much that you can't, as you won't.
No, I'm not going to lecture you about riding to work every day. I could, and I do think you should ride to work every day, but I'd rather talk about obstacles we put in our own way.
Take a minute to think of a dream of yours. Maybe you want to take a trip to Italy, or start a business, or ride down the continental divide.
Now, what's stopping you?
Personally, I dream of running my own business. I think I've got a pretty good business idea too. It isn't particularly original (something entrepreneurs have to face is that they probably aren't the only person out there with their idea. It's ok.), but it will probably work.
My idea is to sell other people's motorcycles for them on eBay, and take a comission from the sale of the bike. They'll generally get more than they would from a dealer, and won't have to deal with the hassle of a private sale.
So, how come I'm not doing it already? Good question. I managed to come up with enough reasons why I can't do it, or need to put it off, that I paralyzed myself. The thing is, all the reasons are easily overcome.
Here's a few of my "buts":
How silly is that?
When I step back and look at it, I have to admit that my problem is that I'm afraid to do it. I have to overcome that problem, and everything else will work out.
An obstacle shouldn't stop anyone until they've run into it, tried to go over, under, around and through it and they still can't find a way to get to they're goal. A sure-fire way to miss a goal is to stop just because you know there is an obstacle out there somewhere.
How many reasons did you instantly come up with for why you can't? I bet there are plenty: weather, traffic, time, comfort, being a huge wuss...
It's not so much that you can't, as you won't.
No, I'm not going to lecture you about riding to work every day. I could, and I do think you should ride to work every day, but I'd rather talk about obstacles we put in our own way.
Take a minute to think of a dream of yours. Maybe you want to take a trip to Italy, or start a business, or ride down the continental divide.
Now, what's stopping you?
Personally, I dream of running my own business. I think I've got a pretty good business idea too. It isn't particularly original (something entrepreneurs have to face is that they probably aren't the only person out there with their idea. It's ok.), but it will probably work.
My idea is to sell other people's motorcycles for them on eBay, and take a comission from the sale of the bike. They'll generally get more than they would from a dealer, and won't have to deal with the hassle of a private sale.
So, how come I'm not doing it already? Good question. I managed to come up with enough reasons why I can't do it, or need to put it off, that I paralyzed myself. The thing is, all the reasons are easily overcome.
Here's a few of my "buts":
- I need a dealer's license to sell motorcycles
- I need a surety bond that is fairly expensive in order to get the dealer's license
- I don't have storage space for bikes, so they'd have to stay with the owners.
- Since the bikes are with the owners, it'll be hard to arrange shipping
- People might try to scam me
- etc, etc, I can't do it.
How silly is that?
When I step back and look at it, I have to admit that my problem is that I'm afraid to do it. I have to overcome that problem, and everything else will work out.
An obstacle shouldn't stop anyone until they've run into it, tried to go over, under, around and through it and they still can't find a way to get to they're goal. A sure-fire way to miss a goal is to stop just because you know there is an obstacle out there somewhere.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Electric Moto-Goodness
If you haven't heard about Killacycle, well, you should go check it out.
I'm all excited for an electric motorcycle that has significant range and power to become available to the general public. I think the work these guys are doing will help make that a reality.
I'm all excited for an electric motorcycle that has significant range and power to become available to the general public. I think the work these guys are doing will help make that a reality.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Organ Stop Pizza - Official Review
[If you're new to my pizza reviews, 1 Crying Lucky is bad, 5 Crying Luckies is good. Sorry for the lack of photos, my camera couldn't handle the dim light. ]
Organ Stop Pizza (some photos here)
1149 East Southern Avenue
Mesa, AZ 85204
(480) 813-5700
Executive Summary: Chuck E. Cheese for the Senior Set
Having house guests somehow always results in Lady Luck and I doing things that we've been meaning to do, but haven't actually done. We've been meaning to go to Organ Stop Pizza for, oh, three years now.
There are many reasons why we hadn't gone already, but a big one was that they're only open for dinner. Another one is that there is usually a line of festive retirees out the door.
Organ Stop Pizza's claim to fame is their Mighty Wurlitzer organ. It is, indeed, mighty. The restaurant is entirely dominated by the organ, in fact. It is curious, then, how hard it is to find a good seat where you can really see the entire organ. The restaurant has two levels: a main floor, and a balcony. We sat in the balcony, as the main floor was overflowing with people who seemed a little too serious and annoyed to really enjoy a Mighty Wurlitzer performance.
I think the key to getting a good seat on the main floor is by magically timing your arrival between performances.
We didn't stay for an entire performance because:
1. People rose for "Proud to Be an American." Folks, the national anthem is "The Star Spangled Banner." Would you rise for "America, Fuck Yeah!"? Do you stand for Chevy commercials?
2. Pops is well and good, but an organ that size is meant for Bach. The pipe organ was not invented to make you feel warm and fuzzy. Ok, so it's a theater organ. Fine. Play some pops, show off all the bells and whistles of the organ, but let the staff of highly-trained organists bust out their classical chops too. I guarantee none of them spent their lives learning a complicated instrument so they could play "The Entertainer" six times per night.
3. We were stuck next to a table of teens heckling the organist.
I am something of a pipe organ nerd. I love the darn things, so I was excited to see the inner workings of the organ were all on display. The back wall of the restaurant has a couple ranks of giant bass pipes that you can walk right up to and touch, if you're so inclined.
Moving on, the way Organ Stop Pizza works is as follows: you go in and order your pizza and anything else you want. You get a number. You go pick a table. You marvel at the organ. Your number comes up on a board and you go pick up your order and take it to your table. You marvel at the organ some more because the food sure isn't impressive.
Oops, did I say that?
The pizza is 100% pizza-like. We had the mozzarella sticks and fried mushrooms as well. They were terrible. In comparison, the pizza was awesome.
The pizza was "good enough." It's better than Domino's or Pizza Hut, at least. I wouldn't tell anyone to go for the food. I would, however, recommend going to check out the organ, because it's pretty neat. I've heard that they do play good music sometimes, so perhaps the organist just got a lot of crummy requests on the night we went.
The Mighty Wurlitzer really is impressive, so it was worth going for that.
Organ Stop Pizza is located in the middle of Mesa, Arizona, so the ride to get there isn't very interesting. On this trip, the journey was spiced up as Lady Luck and I both had passengers. As I said in a prior post, having someone else's kid on the back of your scoot makes for a hair-raising ride.
Anyway, I give this place 3 Crying Luckies. The food is unremarkable, but the Mighty Wurlitzer makes the trip worthwhile. Also, it's great place to watch people, as there are plenty of retirees, birthday parties, dorks like me, and other interesting people to see.
Organ Stop Pizza (some photos here)
1149 East Southern Avenue
Mesa, AZ 85204
(480) 813-5700
Executive Summary: Chuck E. Cheese for the Senior Set
Having house guests somehow always results in Lady Luck and I doing things that we've been meaning to do, but haven't actually done. We've been meaning to go to Organ Stop Pizza for, oh, three years now.
There are many reasons why we hadn't gone already, but a big one was that they're only open for dinner. Another one is that there is usually a line of festive retirees out the door.
Organ Stop Pizza's claim to fame is their Mighty Wurlitzer organ. It is, indeed, mighty. The restaurant is entirely dominated by the organ, in fact. It is curious, then, how hard it is to find a good seat where you can really see the entire organ. The restaurant has two levels: a main floor, and a balcony. We sat in the balcony, as the main floor was overflowing with people who seemed a little too serious and annoyed to really enjoy a Mighty Wurlitzer performance.
I think the key to getting a good seat on the main floor is by magically timing your arrival between performances.
We didn't stay for an entire performance because:
1. People rose for "Proud to Be an American." Folks, the national anthem is "The Star Spangled Banner." Would you rise for "America, Fuck Yeah!"? Do you stand for Chevy commercials?
2. Pops is well and good, but an organ that size is meant for Bach. The pipe organ was not invented to make you feel warm and fuzzy. Ok, so it's a theater organ. Fine. Play some pops, show off all the bells and whistles of the organ, but let the staff of highly-trained organists bust out their classical chops too. I guarantee none of them spent their lives learning a complicated instrument so they could play "The Entertainer" six times per night.
3. We were stuck next to a table of teens heckling the organist.
I am something of a pipe organ nerd. I love the darn things, so I was excited to see the inner workings of the organ were all on display. The back wall of the restaurant has a couple ranks of giant bass pipes that you can walk right up to and touch, if you're so inclined.
Moving on, the way Organ Stop Pizza works is as follows: you go in and order your pizza and anything else you want. You get a number. You go pick a table. You marvel at the organ. Your number comes up on a board and you go pick up your order and take it to your table. You marvel at the organ some more because the food sure isn't impressive.
Oops, did I say that?
The pizza is 100% pizza-like. We had the mozzarella sticks and fried mushrooms as well. They were terrible. In comparison, the pizza was awesome.
The pizza was "good enough." It's better than Domino's or Pizza Hut, at least. I wouldn't tell anyone to go for the food. I would, however, recommend going to check out the organ, because it's pretty neat. I've heard that they do play good music sometimes, so perhaps the organist just got a lot of crummy requests on the night we went.
The Mighty Wurlitzer really is impressive, so it was worth going for that.
Organ Stop Pizza is located in the middle of Mesa, Arizona, so the ride to get there isn't very interesting. On this trip, the journey was spiced up as Lady Luck and I both had passengers. As I said in a prior post, having someone else's kid on the back of your scoot makes for a hair-raising ride.
Anyway, I give this place 3 Crying Luckies. The food is unremarkable, but the Mighty Wurlitzer makes the trip worthwhile. Also, it's great place to watch people, as there are plenty of retirees, birthday parties, dorks like me, and other interesting people to see.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Slowest Ride Ever
Lady Luck and I have some guests this week. Last night, we took them out for a ride. Since the Triumph's passenger seat is only comfortable for small people, our friend's 8 year old daughter rode with me.
I'll tell you what, there aren't many things more nerve-wracking than having someone else's child on the back of your bike.
I try to ride gently when I have a passenger, since I have no idea what their moto-tolerance is like. Some people can't wait to pick up coins in curves, others are certain gravity is going to punish them for daring to defy it.
Of course, throwing someone else's kid into the equation adds another wrinkle: Not only do I have to worry about how the kid is feeling about the ride, I have to worry about how the parent is feeling about their kid's ride.
Through past observation, I have learned that a good way to get knocked the hell out is by scaring a parent who's kid is riding with you.
In light of this knowledge, I took it easy on the ride last night. Any turns happened at less than ten miles per hour. I accelerated and braked as if I had a ball of nitroglycerin balanced on the back seat.
The kid had a great time, and the parent is still talking to me, so I guess a good time was had by all.
Oh, and there's a pizza review coming up soon. Stay tuned.
I'll tell you what, there aren't many things more nerve-wracking than having someone else's child on the back of your bike.
I try to ride gently when I have a passenger, since I have no idea what their moto-tolerance is like. Some people can't wait to pick up coins in curves, others are certain gravity is going to punish them for daring to defy it.
Of course, throwing someone else's kid into the equation adds another wrinkle: Not only do I have to worry about how the kid is feeling about the ride, I have to worry about how the parent is feeling about their kid's ride.
Through past observation, I have learned that a good way to get knocked the hell out is by scaring a parent who's kid is riding with you.
In light of this knowledge, I took it easy on the ride last night. Any turns happened at less than ten miles per hour. I accelerated and braked as if I had a ball of nitroglycerin balanced on the back seat.
The kid had a great time, and the parent is still talking to me, so I guess a good time was had by all.
Oh, and there's a pizza review coming up soon. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Quite Contrary
Last weekend Lady Luck and I were running errands in the Mustang. Since it was a nice day, we had the top down. If you've got to be in a cage, after all, a convertible isn't a bad way to go.
At the top of an off-ramp, some less-intelligent silly person tried to make a left turn from the far right turn lane. As those of us who understand rudimentary physics know, two objects can not occupy the same space at the same time.
I think brakes were invented because of people who don't understand that concept.
Our silly friend was fortunate, and the driver whose space was rudely invaded managed to stop in time to avoid being part of a fascinating scientific demonstration. Behind us was a semi. The trucker felt it was necessary to blast his horn.
If you've never been directly in front of a truck when it's horn blows, well, you don't know what loud is. My involuntary reaction was to put my hands behind my head and curl up in the passenger seat.
As we drove on, I slowly uncurled and took my hands away from my head.
Lady Luck commented that it's funny that I'm terrified of traffic in cars and feel perfectly safe on my bike, when most other people feel the other way around.
What can I say? Most other people are freakin' nuts.
Motorcycles have a "dangerous" reputation, but most of the people who get killed on them are drunk and/or untrained riders. In other words, dumbasses. There are always the unfortunate few, but there are always the unfortunate few who get killed in cages, as well.
On my bike, the only blind spots I have are those built into my head. I take up less space than a car, and as such need less space to dodge dangerous obstacles like remedial physics students in cages. Furthermore, I know how to look for, identify and evaluate dangerous situations. As my MSF instructor said, not all crashes are avoidable, but they are all preventable. I'm not terrified in traffic because I identified the danger and took action a quarter mile beforehand.
In a car, on the other hand, I've got blind spots, a huge footprint and sluggish handling to contend with. Plus, there are a variety of distractions available to me in a car. There's the radio to fiddle with, climate control settings to adjust, coffee-like beverages to drink, rapidly prepared hamburgers to eat, cell-phones to answer, and the list goes on. Who's really in control of where that thing is headed?
So, cagers, I ask you - Aren't you afraid to drive that thing in traffic?
At the top of an off-ramp, some less-intelligent silly person tried to make a left turn from the far right turn lane. As those of us who understand rudimentary physics know, two objects can not occupy the same space at the same time.
I think brakes were invented because of people who don't understand that concept.
Our silly friend was fortunate, and the driver whose space was rudely invaded managed to stop in time to avoid being part of a fascinating scientific demonstration. Behind us was a semi. The trucker felt it was necessary to blast his horn.
If you've never been directly in front of a truck when it's horn blows, well, you don't know what loud is. My involuntary reaction was to put my hands behind my head and curl up in the passenger seat.
As we drove on, I slowly uncurled and took my hands away from my head.
Lady Luck commented that it's funny that I'm terrified of traffic in cars and feel perfectly safe on my bike, when most other people feel the other way around.
What can I say? Most other people are freakin' nuts.
Motorcycles have a "dangerous" reputation, but most of the people who get killed on them are drunk and/or untrained riders. In other words, dumbasses. There are always the unfortunate few, but there are always the unfortunate few who get killed in cages, as well.
On my bike, the only blind spots I have are those built into my head. I take up less space than a car, and as such need less space to dodge dangerous obstacles like remedial physics students in cages. Furthermore, I know how to look for, identify and evaluate dangerous situations. As my MSF instructor said, not all crashes are avoidable, but they are all preventable. I'm not terrified in traffic because I identified the danger and took action a quarter mile beforehand.
In a car, on the other hand, I've got blind spots, a huge footprint and sluggish handling to contend with. Plus, there are a variety of distractions available to me in a car. There's the radio to fiddle with, climate control settings to adjust, coffee-like beverages to drink, rapidly prepared hamburgers to eat, cell-phones to answer, and the list goes on. Who's really in control of where that thing is headed?
So, cagers, I ask you - Aren't you afraid to drive that thing in traffic?
Monday, April 02, 2007
At Least the Bikes Are OK.
The last 24 hours have seen me:
- Lose my trendy digital music listening device
- Fall down the stairs and sprain my ankle
- Go to bed two hours later than usual because we needed to do massive rearranging and cleaning of our house.
- Wake up two hours early because one of the cats managed to reset our alarm clock. Really. Didn't notice until I started to wonder why it was still so dark out.
- Trip and fall into our screen door, twisting my other ankle (luckily A-OK there) and shredding the palms of my hands
This morning I took the scooter in to work ( I can't really shift with a sprained ankle...). I was extra-cautious because, hey, my luck hasn't been too great so far today.
So, good news - scooters are fun!
Bad news - my Triumph is getting jealous and my ankle hurts.