The Great Motorcycle Pizza Tour

The Real Thing

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 14:31:00 +0000

Riding in the cold is nothing new for me anymore, as I'm sure it's nothing new for most of you reading this. When I arrive at work, with bright red hands and cheeks, someone invariably comments on the weather, or asks how I can do it.

Well, how could I not do it? Look at the sunrise I got to enjoy this morning. You can't enjoy a sunrise like that from a car, or from behind a window. You've got to be out there, with your legs going numb, your nose running, and your hands stinging to really get it. Because when you're right there, in that moment, it's real. It's not a painting. It's not a photograph. It's not a vivid description you once read. It's not a video.

It's a fucking sunrise, it's real, and it's right over there. It feels as though, if you could only jump a little higher, you could touch it.

Why would I give that up? There's a huge difference between what's real and what's Memorex, and given the choice, I'll take the real experience.

Granted, not every single ride is an amazing spiritual experience. Sometimes I'm just getting a frozen pizza. Sometimes traffic is snarled and slow. Sometimes my ear has a fierce itch that won't go away, and I can't get to it because it's under my helmet.

But, most of the time, riding is pretty good. And it's always better than being in a steel box behind safety glass.

Weather in Phoenix!

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 14:40:00 +0000

Those of you living in places that actually have weather that differs from day to day may not have heard, but we've had an interesting bunch of weather here in the great state of Arizona. Up in Flagstaff, according to the official weather report, a metric buttload of snow fell. Here in sunny Phoenix, we got a lot of rain. And it wasn't sunny.

I like that last part so much I'm going to repeat it: it wasn't sunny yesterday.

Naturally, I was the only two-wheeled vehicle on the road in the morning. People in Phoenix are a little strange - everyone is afraid of a little rain.

I mean, I understand that every time we get weather, the entire city falls apart and we have to make it all out of papier mache and sand again, but really a little rain won't hurt you.

Everyone thinks I'm nuts for riding in the rain. Really, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been caught in a downpour while riding, and I've ridden every day (mostly) for almost four years. It does not rain here. Or I'm a sun god. But I think it's just that it doesn't rain here. Because of this, I've worn rain gear much more often than I've needed rain gear.

Yesterday, it really seemed like I was going to need rain gear on my way home, so I wore it. I got hit by a few drops of rain on my way to the parking garage. Other than that, the rain gear just protected my clothes from the spray from cars in front of me. Actually, I was glad I had my rain gear on for that reason.

But I didn't get rained on. I was disappointed, frankly. Flagstaff got dumped on. I heard rain all day at the office. But when it's my turn? Nothing.

It's kind of a bummer.

Confounded Hose Clamps

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 21:06:00 +0000

Hose clamps are one of those inventions that make everything better and worse.

In the photo to the left, that's coolant, not Pepto-Bismol (at least, so I hope) leaking out and down the radiator.

I thought the bike had been running a little warm lately. Yesterday I discovered a little pink puddle under the Triumph, had a small heart attack (what the hell liquid is PINK?), located the problem and calmed down a bit.

It seems the problem was just a loose hose clamp. I tightened it up, and we'll see if that was the extent of the problem after I get some more coolant in there.

Hose clamps seem to cause a great number of vehicular difficulties for me. Maybe it's just the daily temperature extremes here in the desert, but those suckers work loose like no one's business. On the VX800, tightening the hose clamp keeping the fuel line on was a weekly maintenance item. I have to tighten a couple hose clamps on the Mustang every oil change to prevent losing all our power steering fluid (and steering). And now this thing.

On the one hand, I like leaks caused by hose clamps because they're very easy to fix. At least, compared to a bad gasket. On the other hand, can't someone find a way to keep hose clamps tight? I mean, I tightened that sucker once, it ought to stay tight.

Maybe I ask too much.

The Time I Crashed My Uncle's Motorcycle

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 15:44:00 +0000

My family moved to Germany for a couple years when I was sixteen. Our house in a horrid suburb of Minneapolis sold well before we were actually ready to move. My dad was already overseas, working, getting living arrangements in place and waiting for our stuff to arrive so my mom, brother, dog and I could fly over.

Since our house was sold, on closing day we relocated to a hotel for a couple days. I was surprised at how torn up I was about leaving town; seriously, I hated that stupid town. In hindsight, of course I was sad, I was leaving behind a bunch of friends. Having moved a great many times now, I've learned that I always make a bunch of new friends right before moving. So I was finally starting to feel accepted, there were some girls I liked, and I'd managed to get into a band (Dead Reckoning, we were called). I had to leave all of that behind. At the time, though, I couldn't figure out what I was so worked up about. After all, I'd been wishing we'd move out of that town since we'd moved back from Sweden two years prior.

Anyway, we moved out to my extended family's Zombie Apocalypse Survival Compound in Wisconsin for a couple months before heading to Deutschland. If you think I'm kidding, I'm not. Not much, anyway. My grandparents' house was, for all intents and purposes, a bomb shelter.

Which was pretty awesome and really explains a lot about me.

So, anyway, out in rural Wisconsin, my family's compound had about 12 acres of land on which to goof around, and I had very little to do except for mowing the lawn (a two day task). But in the pole barn was a glorious thing.

A motorcycle.

It was a 1960-something, blue and chrome Yamaha something or other, with outrageously loud exhaust and a knobby back tire (the front tire was original, I think). It had a two-stroke inline twin motor (pretty small) with a kickstarter.

I was an avid bicyclist, so the transition to a motorcycle wasn't very difficult. Plus, I had learned to drive on a stick-shift Ford Escort, so working the clutch held no mysteries for me.

I rode the hell out of that bike. If I wasn't mowing the lawn (a two-day task, remember) or digging through the wonderland of weird old stuff in the pole barn, I was riding that motorcycle. I got pretty good at maneuvering it, although I didn't know about counter-steering, so a lot of my turns were much wider than they could have been. I wasn't afraid to lean though - I scraped the pegs on the ground a lot.

In addition to not knowing about counter-steering, I also didn't know about not braking while turning. Which I think, although I'm not 100% certain, was the cause of my crash.

One day when the whole family was out, I was - of course - riding the motorcycle. As I rode past my cousins at about 25 mph, all of a sudden the Yamaha was just... gone. I think I had started to turn left, and I now believe I high-sided it. Happily, I was off-road on long, soft, cushy grass.

So, there I was, going 25 mph with no motorcycle under me. I had exactly enough time to realize I had crashed before I hit the ground, so the experience wasn't scary so much as very very surprising. I landed some distance from the bike, and immediately popped up again - chock full of adrenaline - and ran back to the bike to shut it off. The back wheel was still spinning. That was when I learned that a crash sounds like WHHHRRRRRRRRR-lub-lub-lub-lub-lub-lub.

My cousins, all of whom witnessed my Evel Kneivel moment, all together yelled something along the lines of "Are you OK?" One of them informed me I had flown off the bike. I didn't believe her, because the whole thing had happened so quickly, even though it had been a long walk back to the bike. My brother Noodles came running up to me, extremely upset, and sternly told me I needed to be more careful. He was 7.

I yanked the bike back up off the ground by the handlebars. The weight of the bike amazed me. It didn't seem that heavy usually! As I pushed the bike back to the pole barn, I noticed the handlebars were a little out of whack.

After all that, I inspected myself. I had scrapes running up the undersides of both forearms (I've still got a scar on one side), and my hands were tore up (no gloves), but I thought I was otherwise OK. The next day I would discover I had rubbed my legs raw under my jeans in a couple places, and I had quite a few sore muscles, but for the time being I was still buzzing from adrenaline and a new panic: what if I wasn't allowed to ride it anymore?

The threat of not being able to ride FAR outweighed my concerns about my injuries. I needed a plausible story. Fortunately, my mom hadn't been around to see the crash. She was out grocery shopping, I think.

So I went into the hillside bunker and asked my grandma if she had any big band aids because, you see, I'd tipped over the motorcycle while going five miles per hour. So, no need to panic, but maybe we should cover these huge, bleeding scrapes on my arms before I wreck the carpet.

Young people are stupid. Case in point - I thought that was a pretty slick lie. As if my cousins weren't bouncing up and down with anticipation to tell everyone I'd just wiped out and had a perfect three-point landing on re-entry.

Anyway, my grandma dug out some gauze and we wrapped up my arms. After a while, my mom came back and I told her, my arms now cleaned, wrapped and only a little gory looking, that I'd tipped over going five miles an hour. To her credit, she let me think she bought the lie, and just told me to let her know if anything started to really hurt.

I didn't ride the next day, because I was one sore, scraped up proto-biker, but the day after that I did. The handlebars were all out of whack, but everything else on the bike seemed fine. The next weekend, my uncle (who had experienced his own spectacular wipeout when he was my age on the same bike) straightened the bars and checked the bike over for any other damage. Then he basically told me not to kill myself and get back to it.

My uncle is awesome.

Looking back on that experience, two things amaze me. One is how stupid I was - I wasn't wearing a helmet (started wearing it the next time I rode, though), and the only reason I wore jeans was because the motor kicked off a lot of heat. The other thing is how lucky I was - I wasn't wearing a helmet, and the only damage I experienced was a bunch of scrapes.

I learned quite a bit from that experience. First, you won't expect it when you crash. Second, proper clothing can save a lot of pain and explaining. Third, "is the bike OK?" will probably be the first question any biker asks after wrecking. We can't help it.

And the last thing I learned was that nothing is as scary as the thought of not being able to ride. Rubber side down, folks.

Chilly Ride

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 14:06:00 +0000

I woke up this morning with a strong desire to stay in bed. This is not unusual. For 9 months out of the year, I just want to stay in bed because getting up sucks. But today, the reason I wanted to stay in bed was that bed was warm and cozy.

I'm sure those of you that live in colder climates know exactly what I mean.

Since I was cold before I'd even left the house, I thought I'd check the temperature before I left. A balmy 41 degrees. No problem.

The other night I had to use a bunch of gift cards or lose the value, so I went to Bass Pro Shops to get a MagLite and other completely unnecessary items. While we were there, Lady Luck spotted fleece jackets for $10. I usually don't really go for fleece, but since they came in black and olive drab, I thought they might work.

Oh, do they work. I usually wear a hoodie under my leather jacket instead of using the liner because the jackets liner is, well, perhaps not intended for high winds. These fleece jackets are way better.

The collar zips all the way up to my chin, which means I can get away with not wearing a scarf (for now. Check back in February.), and the jacket itself ridiculously cozy.

Now I just need to find some warm pants...

And, we're back

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Phew, that was one slam-bang adrenaline rush of a month...

My brain is a little fried, but I think I'll get back into the swing of regular life pretty quickly.

I don't have much to say about motorcycles or pizza today, so if you've been waiting until it was done to read this year's novel, go check it out.

Update: ARGH. I was more fried than I thought. The link above goes to the 2007 novel. So, if you want to read the one I just finished you should surf over here instead. Sorry about that.

Apparently, I can't ride

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 14:56:00 +0000

These guys have incredible skills:

Pretty Pretty Things

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 20:14:00 +0000

I really don't have much time for cars any more. I mean, I like some cars, but overall my interest level is only slightly higher than my level of interest in, say, eliminating ring around the collar on my favorite shirt.

That said, Coop has taken some mighty pretty pictures of some mighty pretty cars while he was participating in La Carrera Panamericana 2009. If you haven't seen them already, I suggest you go and check them out. Like, now.

Gosh Darn Rolling Roadblocks

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 20:06:00 +0000

I can't stand Prius drivers.

I have some serious issues with the concept of buying a new car in order to be green or to save money (ostensibly on gas), but my dislike of Prius drivers has nothing to do with their poor grasp of rudimentary math.

It has to do with the fact that they block traffic.

See, I'm all for fuel-efficient vehicles getting to use the HOV lanes. And I'm OK with fuel-efficient vehicles being slow. Designers have to make compromises for high gas mileage. No problem.

I am not OK, however, with these jackholes sitting in the HOV lane going slower than the traffic to the right. If you are slow in traffic, then get to the right. I don't think it's too much to ask. Of course, you WILL probably have to stop yapping on your cell phone for a minute in order to notice that traffic is whizzing past you on the right. And you will have to deal with the blow to your self-esteem that is driving in the slow lane.

But then, you can still be all smug and superior knowing that your car is half electric. See? So it'll all work out. Now stop impeding traffic and get out of my way, because I can get the same gas mileage as you at 80 MPH.

Nanowrimo begins...

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 02:50:00 +0000

Hey folks!

I've started the annual month of novel writing madness. For those of you who care to follow along, you'll be able to read each (unedited) chapter as I complete them over here: http://holyrollers-immortals.blogspot.com/

November Approaches

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 06:19:00 +0000

...And with November comes another Holy Rollers novel. As always, I'll be blogging this year's novel attempt for your reading pleasure.

The basic story goes as follows: When Death becomes too depressed to get out of bed and do his job, people stop dying. Chaos and creation erupt as humanity's fear of death vanishes. Accountants become daredevils. Repressed geniuses unleash their great works. And certain gods get pissed off by mankind's newfound cheekiness and refusal to die when properly killed. Our favorite unemployed biker deities return to restore the natural order until Death cheers up enough to resume his work.

Stay tuned!

My Motorcycle Made Me Do It...

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 20:02:00 +0000

Have you ever noticed how your motor sounds kind of annoying at 8,000 RPM when you're just maintaining a certain speed, but it sounds awfully good when you're passing 8,000 RPM on the way 13,000 RPM?

...Yeah. This morning was kind of a fast morning, if you get my drift. Actually, it was so easy to ride fast today that I decided it might be best if I just stayed behind the Buick travelling at a totally sane and reasonable 75 MPH.

So, cruising along at a prudent and safe 75 MPH keeping a reasonable distance between me and the Buick, I was a little surprised when the Buick's pilot suddenly darted into the next lane to the right for no apparent reason. There was nothing on the road. I hadn't been tailgating. And they weren't moving to exit. Odd.

Then I saw the bright, flashy, red and blue lights of a police patrol vehicle approaching rapidly in my rear view mirrors. The adrenaline rush made my lips and nose tingle in an unpleasant way. I moved to the right, and expected the officer to follow me - in which case I would have moved left again to the nearest breakdown lane.

Instead, unbelievably, he sped by on my left. The Buick darted right back into the HOV lane, and I resumed following the great grey whale, with a close eye on my mirrors for more officers.

I felt pretty lucky, and I did my best to ride a little more conservatively. I really did.

It didn't work. I arrived at the office shortly after unintentionally racing another guy on a CBR between stoplights. I was just trying to stay out of his way. I really was. Maybe he just really wanted to check out my bike. It happens...

I'll tell you what, the Speed Four gets me into all kinds of trouble.

Just a couple things

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 18:49:00 +0000

So, I hear (via Bolty.net's twitter feed) that Buell is halting production of new motorcycles. While I had no intention of ever getting one, I'm mildly bummed all the same. It's frustrating that the choices of American motorcycle are essentially Harley or Just-Like-Harley. I know Buell was also Harley-based, but at least he did something new with it.

And in other news, I just learned the other day that a major one-percenter club's clubhouse is within three blocks of my home. My immediate reaction was amazement, because in the four years I've lived in my current neighborhood, I've seen ONE member of that club, and it wasn't especially close to home. Once I got done being amazed, I started singing "These Are The People In My Neighborhood." I love diversity!

Dragging Up The Sun, and Stuff.

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 18:28:00 +0000

My morning commute is a pretty straight shot from East to West. As such, around this time of year, the sun rises behind me as I ride to work. If Arizona has anything beautiful, it would be the sunrises and sunsets.

Add to that the certain cool something that is casting a 100 foot long shadow in front of you and you've got the makings of a fine morning.

The temperature seems to have cooled off during the last week and a half, and I was darn glad I wore my winter gloves and a warm shirt this morning. Hopefully the weather will stay cool today, and I'll enjoy a comfortable ride home.

It seems the snowbirds are coming back, which must mean the economy is reviving. This is a good thing and a bad thing. Good because, hey, a good economy means jobs and people who want to buy a sweet Vespa ET4. Bad because, as far as I can tell, all the snowbirds do is drive around all day.

All the same, prime riding season is just cranking up here. I understand it's winding down elsewhere, and I'll do my best to have plenty of moto-adventures for y'all this winter so you can make it through the chilly season without going insane from the lack of riding.

Fun Over the Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 20:13:00 +0000

I am extremely excited about the return of decent weather. Yesterday morning. I managed to get out for a quick 70 mile ride. It was good.

You might notice the grin. What can I say? Nice weather inspires expeditious riding.

Weekend Full of Building Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 18:23:00 +0000

This past weekend, I attended a forge-building workshop at the Mesa Community Arts Center. It was most righteous. It took about a day and a half to build the forges. I think it could be an quick, one-afternoon job if you have the right tools and are just working on your own.

We built a forge for each of us, and one for the art center. They've got a pretty sweet workspace for blacksmithing. I expect they'll probably get more people interested in taking the classes when it isn't 105 degrees outside...

I learned a bunch of new stuff, including how to tap a hole (wow, was that easy...) and how to forge a bottle opener. Somehow, I forgot to take a picture of the bottle opener, but I do have a picture of my shiny new forge. I have, for reasons I think are obvious, decided to name it Dante.

Now I just need to rustle up a stand for it, and some kind of large piece of anvil-like metal to beat on, and I'll be set!

If You Don't Like Talking To People, Don't Ride.

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 19:31:00 +0000

This morning as I stomped my way from the parking garage to my office, some dude riding his bicycle said "Man, you look like the Terminator in all that gear!" as he went past.

So, I replied like anyone would, "Fock yo, ahsshole."

No, not really. Here in real life I just smiled and kept walking. Now, don't tell anyone or I'll lose all my righteous biker cred, but I kind of like talking to strangers. At least, until they prove annoying. Sometimes they'll tell me a good story, other times, I get a good story out of having talked to them. Like the time a very drunk guy staggered diagonally towards me as I was putting my gloves on and talked about his old Suzuki Ninja and how he remembered the turn signals.

I like getting dumb questions from people I work with. Yes, I get hot in the summer. Yes, I get wet in the rain. Yes, some people drive like idiots. That's too bad about your uncle that rode straight into a tree, I guess he'll know not to do that again, eh?

I like talking to other bikers at stoplights and at gas stations. I'm always mildly surprised when another biker doesn't want to talk. I mean, dude, the day can't be THAT bad, you're on a motorcycle!

Now, I have heard some cynical biker-types complaining about waving and saying "hi" at stoplights as ridiculous attention getting: "Hi, hey, hey, we're both on motorcycles, isn't that great? Hey. Hey!"

I say, yeah, it's pretty great. Why aren't YOU more excited about it?

I don't mean to say that everyone needs to be outgoing and friendly. Believe it or not, I'm pretty reserved (except when it comes to motorcycles. You just try and shut me up about motorcycles...). I don't think you have to be nice to annoying or rude people, though I personally try to be cordial and polite until it's no longer possible.

But on a motorcycle, a person kind of stands out. Other people are going to notice you. Other people are going to attempt communication. People will yell from the sidewalks. People will roll down their windows to chat about gas mileage and top speed. People are going to tell you about friends of friends who've been mangled. Other bikers are going to ask where you've been today and where you're headed and what you think about this crazy weather.

So if that bugs you, you might want to reconsider your transportation choice.

Why I Like the Speed Four So Very Much

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 14:25:00 +0000

So the weather is finally cooling down a little bit here in the desert. Yesterday for my ride home it was a cool 103 degrees outside. I thoroughly enjoyed the brisk fall weather, as you can imagine.

This morning, the temperature was GLORIOUS.

Anyway, I rolled the bike out of the garage as usual, hit the starter and I swear the bike went "WOOHOO!" before settling into it's idle.

I love the Speed Four.

Some Random Stuff for Thursday Night

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 02:49:00 +0000

So, I got to see where the cop disappeared to the other night. There's some construction going on right around the location of the disappearance the other day. I was behind another motor-cop on my way home yesterday and saw him sneak into a little spot in the construction. I'm thinking that's where my ninja cop went.

In other news, we just got the car out of the shop on Tuesday after having a bunch of transmission seals replaced, and now the A/C compressor crapped out. Yay for everything breaking at once!

In other other news, the Mesa Arts Center is having a blacksmithing forge building workshop in the next couple of weeks. You KNOW I'm all up on that scene. Once I've got that sucker, I'll just need to find a section of railroad track to use as an anvil and I'll be able to do some more smithin' this fall.

And that's about it. I've got to get back to novel revision...

Incredible Disappearing Motor Cop

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 00:34:00 +0000

I think I've mentioned it before, but police officers unnerve me. Fact is, there's a lot of laws out there, and if they feel like busting me, I'm sure there's something I'm doing that isn't strictly legal.

Also, I've been informed on several occasions that I look suspicious.

Motorcycle-riding police unnerve me extra because, for one, they don't wave back and for two, they're better at being invisible than I am.

This afternoon as I rode home from work, I took advantage of a lull in traffic and opened up the throttle a touch. Not much at all, compared to traffic. Of course, 75 in a 55 is still 20mph over the speed limit. If you're counting.

There was another rider behind me, and he actually passed me as I moved over. I gave him a wave as he went by, and noticed another biker out of the corner of my eye. I gave that fellow an up-nod, and then noticed he was a cop.

So I gracefully slowed to a more prudent speed. Which is to say, I dropped anchor and wondered if traffic school might be fun.

I sort of expected the cop to pass me. Usually, they do.

This one didn't. I moved over another lane and continued decelerating until I was moving at a totally legal 56 mph. Except for in Wisconsin, going exactly the speed limit seems to be like a big flashing light screaming "I'm up to something! Follow me for days."

He didn't pass. I got a little more nervous.

He continued his "not passing" ways.

I checked my mirrors to see if there were any pretty red and blue lights back there. There weren't.

And there was no cop.

Where the Hell did he go, I wondered. And how did I get out of being pulled over?

I see four possibilities:

1. He was in a good mood and let it slide.

2. He felt a certain bond with another motorcyclist stupid... er... rugged enough to be out in this kind of weather.

3. He was messing with me.

4. It was too hot out, and there was no cop, just me losing my mind as my skull-fluids boiled.

But seriously, do they give those guys ninja-vanishing lessons? Irondad?

Ask and Receive

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 19:16:00 +0000

Hey, looky here! A place to work on your motorcycle, including tools you probably don't own. They even have motorcycle lifts. It's even sort-of close to home!

U-Fix-It Center

I still think it'd rock to get a group of like-minded nuts together to rent out a warehouse space and set up a motorcycles-only space to work on bikes, hang out and watch people working on their bikes, and so on. It'd be the Dust Devils WC (Wrenchin' Club), complete with (shoulder) patch.

That might be a little too hippie for Arizona, though.

It Is Not Possible to Ride A Vespa Reasonably

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 14:43:00 +0000

Hey there, been a while. Sorry for the huge gap in posts but I've been in a bit of a creative slump. On to today's moto-ponderment.

The speed limit in downtown Phoenix is 25 miles per hour. Everyone drives at least 35 mph, but that's another issue.

Yesterday I took the Vespa GTS to work, partly to give it a bit of exercise, and partly because that thing is just so much darned fun. I could take the Vespa on the freeway if I wanted, but I usually don't. Scooters were meant for surface streets.

Anyway, on my way home last night, I stopped to wait for a red light fairly close to my office. An officer of the law stopped immediately behind me. This was a bad spot for me to be in.

You see, the Vespa is crazy fast off the line. It does 0 - 30 in no time flat. I can, and frequently do, find myself going 50 mph without realizing it.

I did my level best to roll easily away from the stop light, I really did. I still wound up going 35 in a 25. I assume the police weren't interested in me, but just in case I backed it down to 25.

25 is an impossible speed to maintain on the Vespa. Seriously.

Eventually, the officers took pity on me and passed so I could resume puttering along at 35. Then I noticed the second police car behind the first. Argh.

Anyway, no ticket, but a whole lot of struggling to control a high-strung scooter around the police. That bike was made for hooliganism. It's fast, it's has incredible handling, and I can't really feel the speed the way I can on the Speed Four.

I strongly recommend you get one, if you're able.

Enforced Simplicity

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 04:11:00 +0000

Have you noticed how much stuff people carry around day to day? Coffees, cellphones, mp3 players, maybe a folder of compact disks for the car, wallet, keys, lunch, maybe a book, notebooks, clean underwear and on and on...

What is all that stuff?

I get annoyed with my courier bag with a couple notebooks, pens, lunch, a sunglasses case and a cellphone. Seriously, it feels like a friggin' anchor on my back and it's not really that much stuff. If I drove a car every day, I imagine I'd find more shit to bring with. I used to do things like stop for a smoothie on the way to work, which was one more thing to carry around. The trunk of the Rat-Buick, back in the day, was a veritable storage locker with every possible item I could ever need (except, you know, the thing I needed right away).

Luckily, I don't drive a car anymore, except in dire circumstances. I ride my motorcycle instead. Which kind of makes carrying superfluous items impossible. The motorcycle suits me because I prefer to travel very light. I've got a tank bag for traveling, which can be combined with my courier bag bungeed to the back seat if I feel like pretending I'm a truck. Under the seat is my tool kit and a tire repair kit. So equipped, I'm ready to conquer the world - or at least the world within a twenty-four hour riding range of home.

There have been several times in my life when I've lived out of my suitcase, essentially, for prolonged periods. The curious thing I've found is that I rarely miss the stuff I don't have with me. In fact, it's pretty liberating not having to deal with all that junk. While all the suckers with a doodad for every possible contingency are still packing, I'm having a cup of coffee and ready to roll - if I haven't already left.

So it's not that having stuff is bad, exactly. More that if you've got something, it better be something you'll really miss if you don't have it. Something you don't really mind carrying. If you look around, you'll probably notice a whole bunch of stuff you haven't even touched for years, except maybe to move it to a different spot. Seems kind of silly, doesn't it?

This is why I'm all for having a small house. And small transportation. If there's not room to stash it or carry it, then I probably don't need it. Enforced simplicity, for me, anyhow, is a good thing.

It was... Pleasant?

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 15:12:00 +0000

I think I may have mentioned the crushing, oppressive heat we've been having this week. I got into my gear this morning (around 6:15) expecting more heat.

Instead, it was surprisingly pleasant all the way to work. It couldn't have been above 80. Hell, it felt kind of cool, really. Back to school weather.

Doubtless it was a fluke, and the heat will be back with a vengeance by noon, but I'll take whatever respite I can get.

One Hundred and Too Many Degrees

noreply@blogger.com (Lucky) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 04:28:00 +0000

I am very spoiled when it comes to my parking situation for work. I've got a nice, covered, mostly-secured garage where the Triumph can comfortably wait for me to get out of the office and back to the more important task of carving up the roads in Phoenix.

Well, this week I'm out of the office and instead spending my time at a training facility in order to be the best nerd I can be. Overall, this is pretty sweet.

However, the parking situation at the training facility, to put it kindly, sucks. Outdoors, wide open, no shade to be found. I'll tell you what, although I'd rather ride than be stuck in a cage, hopping on a black Triumph that's been sitting in the August sun in Phoenix is not comfortable.

Apart from the odd heat making me wonder if I've somehow wet my pants, the tank is hot enough to burn my legs through my pants.

I can deal with all of this, of course, but I'd really rather not.

Tomorrow I'm bringing a towel to cover the more important contact points on the bike...