Looking for a Little 'Dirty Time'?

There are times in everyone's life when it is appropriate to get a little dirty. Idle moments in the mind turn to dirty thoughts. Sights, sounds, scents and tactile sensations that under normal circumstances would be banal become the sparks of obsession.

An empty garage. The scent of leather and diesel fuel. The slipperiness of fresh oil. The sounds of a thunderstorm. Those dirty magazines and websites and advertisements conspire against my last twenty-some years of cleanliness.

Yes. I used to be a dirty boy. Memories like echos from a previous life are becoming clearer. In the garage or shed. Maybe the barn on a sweltering Saturday afternoon and out by the pond on Sunday. After school under the oak tree was a favorite.

Alright. Before I run into any trouble, I want to get dirty. I mean really dirty.

Like grease and oil and skinned knuckles and sweaty type of dirty.

Had you going???

Growing up on a farm I learned to love getting dirty repairing things. Big things, not like toasters and coffee pots and door bells. I mean big pickups and Caterpillar dozers and cranes and tractors and all means of mechanical items.

Replacing that fuel injector in my little Chevy pickup really caused a spark. Struggling through a few repairs on my Rebel fanned the flames. Repairing the clutch on my Sporty was honestly joyful.

And my poor little VX800 project bike; all 500 pieces of her. In garage where I will be moving is a place all ready for her. She will come back to life... I will get dirty again... And enjoy the hell out of it!

Message From the Past

It started as a slow trickle about two years ago. There in a box, unopened in years and many moves, was a letter. Not just any letter, but one from a dying man to his eldest son. The paper somewhat crisp after nearly thirty years but well preserved.

It was not long or deep with philosophy or emotion; that wasn't the type of man he was. It was a simple letter wishing his son well and telling of the man's recent difficulties. He was failing in many ways. Even through his honest attempt to hide this fact, it was obvious to his son.

Through moist eyes, I read the letter a few more times, smoked a few more cigarettes and swore. It was a one way letter. That man is buried in a grave to the right of this photo in the Eliza Creek Cemetery.

You see, the man sent this letter the day before he died. The son received it a few days after he passed. I was starting my senior year of high school in 1983.

The trickle slowly increased. While packing for my upcoming move, I found a shot glass. Not just any shot glass, but one my dad used to drink the occasional Canadian Club from. I packed it carefully.

Then, slowly, old friends from school would find my profile on FaceBook and add me. People I hadn't conversed with in over twenty years were contacting me as if we had only just parted.

The pace increased. A fellow I went with to my first concert contacted me. To my utter surprise, not only is he doing well, but is in a real band making money! AND, he rides a StreetGlide!

Then a few days ago, who sends me a message about a certain 25 year high school class reunion? My girlfriend from high school... AND she made me laugh by asking if I were with the Hell's Angels. (No, I am not).

Last night I was messaged by a lady from grade school!

Here is the crux of this post... I understand that there is something going on that I don't understand. Does history have a message for me? Why should these people and things start becoming part of my life again? Not that it isn't welcome, quite the contrary, but why?

And here is one of the reasons that make me wonder. A few weekends ago, while packing, I discovered a small cache of photos from when I was a kid. I was smiling and laughing and playing.

'Look at what I had, who I was and now... who I am. Where did that guy go? Will he awake? Will he rest forever? Will he till the ground again? Will he kiss the hand of a beautiful woman again?'

And words failed. For more than a week the words would simply not come out, whether it be computer or voice or pen and paper. Sentences and paragraphs held hostage in a cranial traffic jam. Off in the distance is the cause; my history and my reality. I let the words go and the traffic jam disintegrated.

What does it want to tell me, and further, do I really want to know?

Shift Of the Gears - Best Buy Selling Motorcycles?

What do you all think? In thirty years will we be heading to Best Buy or Fry's or Circuit City to buy a motorcycle? Will fake leather and armor clad riders sporting eco-friendly tattoos gather behind the local strip malls to eat artery friendly BBQ while telling stories of how loud and noisy and smelly old motorcycles used to be.

Will talk change from Synthetic versus Dino to Fuel Cell versus Nickel Cadmium?

Will us 'old timers' lament the passing of adventure riding? Cruising? Chrome? Loud Pipes? Poker Runs? Long Distance Touring? The tactile sensation of the opposite sex in real leather?

Luckily, most of us will likely have ridden into the sunset before this happens. Thoughts?

Target Fixation

One thing every motorcycle rider must learn to avoid is target fixation. Target fixation is a process or situation when the mind focuses on one thing to the exclusion of most everything else.

Beginning riders have a propensity to look down at the road in front of the wheel. They also have tendencies to focus on what their brains think are hazards. Things like light poles and caution signs and even median dividers can be deadly.

Riders fight target fixation their entire lives. Maybe drivers' education and training should focus more on this topic.

You see, I was nearly the victim of target fixation today. Not MY fixation, but the fixation of a car driver.

While riding in a little group today, a car driver seemed to become fixated on the front of our group and changed lanes... right where I was. Thank goodness for good brakes!

And thanks to the other folks in my group who watched out for me.

Ride and drive safely all!

Holding the Reins Tight

So, what to do this weekend... Saturday is to be cooler than normal, likely no warmer than 95. There are a few dollars roaming in my pocket, so where to?

There are things to do Saturday morning and a friend is coming over Sunday to help pack, so only about twelve hours. What cool place can I go within 12 hours? Someplace secluded; someplace quiet; someplace uncommon...

The first place that came to mind was Rachel, Nevada and the Little A'Le'Inn. But, why make that my point of turn around?

After poking around Google Earth, I found a little ghost town site between Rachel and Tonopah called Warm Springs. Any guess why?

If you answered, 'Because of the warm springs, duh!!!' You would be correct! Apparently this little place was home to a stage coach station back in the mid-to-late 1800's. While very few remains of the station and other buildings of that era still remain, supposedly a previous owner in the 40's or 50's tried to make the area into a nice, relaxing rest stop for people traveling between Salt Lake City and Los Angeles.

Later in the 20th century, someone attempted to operate a little bar and grill. While it is now abandoned, the building is still there.

At any rate, it seemed like a perfect little day trip for Saturday. A cool morning ride up to dip my toes in a real, natural warm spring. Then, a ride over to the Little A'Le'Inn for lunch. Finish it off with a relaxing ride back to Vegas.

So, yesterday the plan is set and I start my pre-trip bike check-out.

Oil? Check
Lights? Check
Controls? All solid. Check.
Tires?

Ah... Tires???

Hello??? Are the tires OK???

Crap. Reality hits me. I need a new front tire. Not only is the wear below the wear bars, but the tread is nearly gone. I have no problem commuting back and forth to work, but to ride 300 miles into the desert where there is no cell coverage? Maybe not right now.

So I check. $130 for a new tire and mounting from a local independent. Only $130. Nope. The cash I have is needed for the move. Next month.

So, this morning I am poking around Craigs List while waiting for some reports to run and what do I find? As some of you may know, I have a 1991 Suzuki VX800 project bike. Well, I really need a donor bike to make mine complete. I found one. Only $200 and a five hour drive away.

BUT. Cash is short. Maybe next month.

Perhaps this is a little learning experience. Right now I hold the reins tight, but definitely not forever.

OT: RIP John Hughes

John Hughes, director of movies like "The Breakfast Club," "Sixteen Candles," "National Lampoon's Vacation" and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" died today, August 6, 2009 of a heart attack. He was only 59 years old.

I was 22 years old in 1988 when I first saw "The Breakfast Club." Being a 'brain' and 'rebel' there was immediate recognition with Bender and Johnston. There is nothing but honesty in stating that is movie made me laugh and cry.

May you rest in peace, Mr. John Hughes. Whether you knew it or not, you made an impact on many lives.

Chicago Tribune Obituary

Some Braking News!!!

Does anyone recognize that silver-looking thing in the middle of the picture? If you ride a motorcycle, you should. It is the second most important part on a motorcycle. More important than the engine, clutch, tires, turning signals, you-name-it...

The only thing more important is the front brake. Ladies and gentleman, this is the rear brake of a 2004 Harley Sportster 1200 Custom.

Why post a picture of Athena's rear brake? Because we almost had an issue.

Sunday morning I awoke early, made coffee and decided to tidy up Athena. One thing that was demanding attention, was the drooping leather saddlebags. So, first things first. I remove the seat and adjust the saddle bags so that they no longer droop.

After securing the seat, I grab my cleaner and a rag and start cleaning the swing arm. Then there came a "What The..." moment. With moist cloth in hand I grabbed the brake mechanism to clean it and the darned thing was loose! Not loose, as in a 'little wiggle.' I mean loose as in 'I am jumping off this motorcycle pretty darned soon!'

A quick check of the service manual, few twists of the wrench and all was good.

Normally I do prescribe to the concept that a dirty bike is a happy bike. BUT, sometimes going over your ride as you clean it can potentially save your butt.

Transience and Permanence...

transience: The philisophic concept of embracing impermanence.
permanence: A construct that exists externally and superiorly to all things that does not change through time.

After four days or so of pondering on the philosophical constructs of transience and permanence I discovered a wall. Not one one that separates but a porous one that binds. On one side is permanence, given all its assumptions and subjective bindings. On the other is transience, flowing and ebbing without course or definition or assumptions or restrictions.

Then I threw it away.

That is the Zen thing to do. Throw away the constructs and bindings and walls.

From the Tao Te Ching:
There is nothing in the world more soft and weak than water,
and yet for attacking things that are firm and strong there is nothing
that can take precedence of it;--for there is nothing (so effectual)
for which it can be changed.

What is more transient that water? What is more powerful than water?

Rising down I95 on my daily commute, cagers and wind and varying road conditions attempt to assail my senses. They fail. Why? I embrace transience. Why are most riders avid about their riding? Perhaps they all embrace transience yet cannot make sense of it in today's world. The motorcycle gives context to that embrace.

There is the paradox. On my bucket list are entries that include things like "own my own land," and "build a house of stone." How can one embrace transience yet desire to build something as permanent as a stone house? It seems a dicotomy.

Transience; something a short term as a turning signal blinker or unexpected gust of wind is judged by human standards. What of the transience of the bearings in a motorcycle engine? Every revolutiuon changes them. A bike may travel hundreds of thousands of miles before a bearing wears out, but that is no permanence. Even the most permanent stone home over time gives way to the primal elements.

To embrace transience is to understand permanence; what it is and what it isn't.

Ride safe on those roads of transient existance, all.

Are There Coincidences?

Well, it had to happen. There was no question. Unless things changed, it was inevitable. Cox Cable disconnected my home internet.

Moving always sucks and costs money. Daughter's financial aid for school has not come through yet so I pony up the money for this semester. AND, there is the matter of paying my cable/internet bill and a few credit cards.

Just... A... Few... More... Months... My pickup, an older Chevy S10 will be paid off in October. So, after adjusting for a lower rate of insurance, that's about $200 extra per month in the bank. Then, a loan will be paid off in December. That is another $200 per month. Oh, and after I move, there should be a nice juicy deposit check coming my way.

I find it oddly curious this should happen as I write a blog post on the philosophy of transience.

Riding through life, as on a motorcycle, there is only transience; permanence fleeting. BUT, that is for my next post.

Musical Tuesday Night (Part 3) - Indestructable

This is going out to some very special people. If you know who you are, you know who you are. You will never be alone.

Musical Tuesday Night (Part 2)

Republica. Originators of the 'Electronica' genre, this song is played on some car commercials now. Pity. This song means a lot to me personally. Plus, it is just pretty rockin'. So, any body else "Ready to GO?" I definitely know of a few!

Musical Tuesday Night (Part 1)

I am just feeling a bit musical this evening...

350 Miles for the Soul

Yes, I needed to ride today. My soul, my conscious being, my what have you was beginning to get cluttered. It needed a good cleansing... and got it.

I wanted to get out of Vegas. So, after stopping at my work to get my camera, I pointed Athena North West and rode. Up ahead on I95 I saw the sign for Kyle Canyon. Downshift, turning signal, brakes, and I was on a delightful two lane asphalt road on my way to the Spring Mountains and Mount Charleston. After riding around there a while, and taking some pictures, I head toward Lee Canyon for some hiking.

The hiking didn't last long as I really didn't prepare for it. Little extra water and no emergency rations should my blood sugar do something funny. It was indeed beautiful though.
Just me in front of a big rock. I really stink at self portraits. :-P

Coming down Lee Canyon Road, I think, 'Where to next? Turn left and head up to Beatty? Maybe further? Head back to Vegas? Go back to the coolness of the Spring Mountains?

Wait! My stomach starts to think more than my brain. 'I am HUNGRY! Free grilled burgers and hot dogs at Henderson Harley.' Dang stomach even brought a financial argument and threw it on the table. Couldn't resist.

So, at I95 I turn right. Back to Vegas.

It was hot. The kind of hot that doesn't cool your skin even at 90 MPH. Yes, 90. Don't get me wrong. I like going fast, but this was supposed to be a slow day. Waves from fellow bikers out to enjoy the overcast Las Vegas day were more than welcome but that heat and speed... Just to maintain traffic speed and not be a traffic hazard a speed of 85 to 90 MPH had to be maintained. Not my idea of good riding conditions.

So, I stop at Henderson HD, have a burger, few waters, watch the Rider's Edge class, buy a quart of oil and head back to the house. After rehydrating myself, I wonder, what to do... Tidy the house and pack some more? Do yard work? Waste the day on FaceBook?

No... Let's ride...

After gassing up, I point Athena West, then South on old Las Vegas Boulevard. South of the city, this used to be the only way to travel between Los Angeles and Vegas. After I15 was built, this road was well maintaind but not used much. AH! No cagers! Speed is set at 55 and I kick back.

Turn right at Jean and head down a smaller road with some simple twisties and sweepers. Perfect. Sandy Vally Road is a lot of fun!


One day of solitary riding. It didn't change the world, but my outlook upon it certainly has.

Coming up...

Yes, a little ride up to Mt. Charleston this morning was just what the soul needed. A little hiking helped too. This is from the top of a cliff looking out over a little parking lot. Athena is there... WAY down there.

We, I am now rehydrated, found an extra $5 for gas. I am off. Colorado River this time? The Dam? Nipton, California maybe? hmmm...

Please Remove Finger from Anvil

There are some hard, difficult times coming to the Razor household. If all goes as planned, it is temporary. If it doesn't, well...

Some people may not like some of my choices in the near future and that is ok. Some choices will be made based on poor decisions I made in the past. Some will be based on the current financial, job situation I am in. Some will be based on a future that is foggy at best.

This isnt' truly a matter of fear. Regardless of what happens in the near future, survival is a matter of persistence, pragmatism and a solid grasp of reality. Fear is a lack of light.

I have goals, I have my bucket list. The paths to an end sometime have odd twists and turns. When one looses the road, take the path. When one looses the path, break out the machete.

But, in the meantime, I still have my bike and $5 for gas. A long ride is in order. Who knows... Maybe I will find a bag of money at the side of the road. Maybe I will meet someone to share a cup of coffee with. What is beyond the apex of the next twisty? I am going to find out.

Through the Singularity

The past coming to a point. Future possibilities are the result, emanating in front as we speed down the highway. An entire culmination of the universe collapsing to a singularity ahead, bursting forth to an infinity of things and places and people and actions and adventures.

Yes, Athena and I are mobile again.

2007 and 2008 - A Little Walk Down Memory Lane

2007 was a year that is indellibly marked in my memory. The arguments, the drama, doctors, police, lawyers, court... it was done. The divorce final. The end of a chapter filled with insanity and things better left unsaid... unremembered. Alas, it is etched in my mind.

One thing that I knew was necessary was to rebuild my credit. I was addicted. Lunches and nights spent on my addiction were beautiful. www.advrider.com was my addiction. It had been nearly 25 years since I had sat on a bike but I knew... I knew it was right. The trigger was pulled. I bought a bike; the first ever new vehicle I had ever owned. Something of my own chosing. A 2007 Honda Rebel 250.

Last weekend in December, 2007 I take my MSF BRC class and pass. On the last day of 2007 I take the little MSF card to the DMV so they can add the "M" to my license endorsement. On January 1, 2008 I ride 80 miles around the Las Vegas valley in 30 degree temps. I don't care. A new life.

An adventurous thought formed. A cross country ride. Insane? Some told me the Rebel's engine would blow up. Others told me I would make it to the Mississippi and turn around. Some did indeed ask, "Are you insane?"

My answer... Yes.

Toward the end of September I saddled up and headed out. Less than a year of riding and I headed out on a cross country ride on a bike most thought incapable. Cool.

Tonight I thought of writing about something else; about future rides; about my plan for earning my Saddle Sore award; about my plans of another cross country ride; about my planned ride to Yellowknife.

But I read my ride report and the responses and got a little teary eyed. Some times a walk down memory lane is a good thing.

News???

Good news everyone!

So, I drove the cage down to Henderson Harley Davidson to get the status of that bearing they have been hand crafting by 100 year old artisans in the Appalachian Mountains. Apparently the artisans' three week smoke break is over. The warehouse is no longer out of stock and all back orders have been filled and sent to the dealerships!

I just hope they didn't send the thing Pony Express...

Thoughts for the Day - Riding Withdrawls

Three Weeks!!!

That is how long it has been since the clutch throw-out bearing on Athena had a critical malfunction. She sits in the back yard next to my two other non-functioning bikes, looking sad and depressed.

And, what is up with Harley Davidson's parts department??? I ordered this bearing almost three weeks ago and was told delivery would be seven to ten days?!?!? Almost 21 days at this point. Are they hand forging this little thing???

Come on! According to some folks on the XL e-mail list, this is a common failure. With as many Sporties as there are, one would think these parts would be easy to find.

Under normal circumstances, I would just suck up this withdrawal and do some wrenching. I am moving! So, tools and parts are boxed up!

PLEASE, Motorcycle Gods, hear me! All I need it a frigging clutch throw-out bearing!!!

Death of a Euphamism

That's it! I Quit!

Quit what? Using a certain euphemism. Why? It simply is not true.

How many times have I told people to follow their own path? Ride their own ride? When the path ends, get out your machete and make your own? Your way is your way, regardless of what others say?

Yet, there is this euphemism that I still use regarding my life. "I have no life."

This started sometime in the dark times, nearly five years ago. Somehow I became involved in a conversation about hobbies and non-work activities with a few people at work. Some rode mini bikes in the desert, some went out with their significant others, some spent time on Lake Mead, many watched television, some played cards, some gambled, some enjoyed the Las Vegas night life, some enjoyed strip clubs. After admitting that I did none of those things, someone laughed, "Ha! You have on life."

Me? When I wasn't trying to muddle through a failing relationship and taking care of my daughter, I read or drank beer. You have no life, really sank in.

About a year ago a fellow asked if I were dating. "No," I replied. "I have no life." It was sticking. After that, when people asked if I were dating, the reply was "No, I have no life." It became a stock answer to questions like, "Do you watch sports? Have you been down to Lake Mead lately? Want to go out for a bit to eat after work? Did you see the last episode of Survivor?"

The list could go on, but I digress.

Six months or so ago a lady I know and myself were discussing our plans for the weekend. She was going to clean house, do some reading and maybe go out for a beer. Me? Not much. Ride down to the Boulder Dam, then around some old access roads to the Colorado River, then up for a quiet lunch at an outside cafe in Boulder City, then over to the airport for some flight training and then maybe a ride down to Searchlight or maybe even up to Mt. Charleston. Finish off the weekend by doing some wrenching and studying my flight training books.

"Damn, Ken! You are always doing exciting things!"

Nah, I just have no life. Sorry about that... I just locked up the brakes.

I see now. That euphemism is patently untrue. If anyone hears me utter these words, please squirt me with some motor oil or thwack me with a rubber band. :-D I Got a Life!

Sporty 1200C, SV650, Versys and VX800 - A Comparison

For my own edification I wanted to compare a known quantity, my Harley XL1200C Sportster with my project bike, a Suzuki VX800 and two bikes on the top of my wish list, a Kawasaki Versys and Suzuki SV650. And, here are the comparisons:

	XL1200C	VX800	Versys	SV650
Engine Type	V-Twin	V-Twin	Inline Twin	V-Twin
Cooling System	Air	Liquid	Liquid	Liquid
Valves	Two per cylinder	Four per cylinder	Four per cylinder	Four per cylinder
Gears	5	5	6	6
Final Drive	Belt	Shaft	Chain	Chain
Fuel Capacity (gal)	4.5	5	5	4.2
Displacement	1203 cc	850-875 (after cylinders are bored)	649	645
Wheelbase (inches)	60	62	56	56
Seat Height (inches)	29	35	33	32
Weight (pounds)	554	470	454	364

And, for those who like visuals...

Kawasaki Versys (Personally I like the red one)
Suzuki SV650Suzuki VX800

And, of course, my Harley XL1200C Sporty Classic.

For your amusement, bemusement or what have you... Looking at the numbers, I find it interesting that the VX is not only the tallest of the three but has a longer wheelbase, coming in at 2 inches longer than my Sporty. The VX's seat height of 35 inches doesn't scare me too much. While I may find the Versys' 33 inches a bit too high, I can mod the VX.

More Deep Thinking About Motorcycles, of Course!

Ah... Motorcycles. Something my mind can actually grasp in a concrete way. Over the last month or so, my Suzuki VX800 Project has been tumbling around in my mind. Should I keep her? Should I trade her for a different project bike? Should I part her out?

A conversation with a fellow who is somewhat familiar with the VX800 this weekend helped settle these tumbling thoughts a bit. To severely paraphrase:

Him: How much money do you have in her?
Me: About $45.
Him: Title?
Me: Clear.
Him: Frame damage?
Me: Nope. All solid.
Him: Have the entire bike?
Me: Nope. No front forks, saddle, triple tree, carbs, instrument cluster, control cables, etc...
Him: Hmmm... Anything wrong with the engine?
Me: Cylinders need to be bored out, need new pistons, new valves and the heads rebuilt. Also need new final drive splines.
Him: You good with tools?
Me: I am learning. Can't do the cylinder boring, but maybe most of the other stuff.
Him: Hmmm... You have other bikes?
Me: Yup. '07 Rebel and '04 Sporty.
Him: You are single, right?
Me: What does that have to do with this? (I smile)
Him: Dating?
Me: Ah, no. I have no life. (snicker)
Him: So you have plenty of time?
Me: In a month or so, absolutely.
Him: OK, so if someone would tell you, "Pick any bike you want, and it is yours, free and clear," what would you choose?
Me: Kawasaki Versys or Suzuki SV650.
Him: And what is your favorite kind of riding?
Me: Touring, putting around places that not many people go. Some asphalt, some gravel roads, some decent desert trails. Getting too old for dirt bikes. (laugh) Sort of 'adventure riding lite.'
Him: So, if you keep her, are you out anything?
Me: Not really.
Him: So, you seem to like the naked/standard/sport bikes; not crotch rockets. You like the SV650 that is a cousin of the VX800. That little girl will do fine with most every riding situation you like. You will have plenty of time to tinker with her soon, you already have other bikes and you are out nothing if you keep her.
Me: Yup.
Him: There's your answer, my friend.

Sometimes, talking something out does help. I will keep her.

Contemplating Contemplation and the Acquisition of the Un-Sought

Leave it to mq01 to spark my synapses. Many times I read one of her blog posts and think. And think some more. And contemplate. And cogitate.

A reply to one of her contemplative posts with something as terse but well meaning as "you go girl," or "ride safe," or "keep the rubber side down," seems shallow and not appropriate for me.

So, what is this Contemplating Contemplation and the Acquisition of the Un-Sought?

There is some serious thought behind this. No, it isn't the title of a philosophical paper, just something else tumbling around in my brain. How does one think about what one wants? How does one know that is really what one wants? How should one pursue it? Or even should one pursue it? What if an undesired goal is acquired in the pursuit of another? Is that the real goal or is it something else? Is what is desired, needed? Is what is thought of as needed, simply a desire?

Several months ago I started searching for another, second motorcycle. My Rebel had done her duty and I was pleased to let her retire to a life of leisurely rides. My list of possible bikes, in order, was a Kawasaki Versys, Suzuki SV650 and maybe a Harley Davidson Sportster Iron 883. What did I find? A 2004 Sportster XL1200 Custom that I now call Athena.

Did I acquire my goal? It was not the bike I was looking for and honestly, never thought I was a Harley Davidson sort of fellow. The moment her name came to me, I knew the goal was accomplished, regardless of the initial targets.

Several months ago I started riding with a motorcycle group with very high altruistic goals. My desire was to make a difference. Now I see this group; these people; this new family affecting me; challenging me to be a better person. That was certainly not my sought after goal yet I quite pleased.

I started riding a little more that one and a half years ago, with the goal of experiencing new things that I have barred myself from. There were dreams of riding the expanses of the US and Canada on a dual-sport; high-tech mesh armor; muddy creeks; long solitary trails; evenings at a campfire with nothing but the night speaking to me.

Yet, now I ride a loud Harley with nothing but black leathers and a helmet with skull stickers. A goal was acquired, but the right one? For me, for now... yes.

One must understand and accept the possibility that what they are truly seeking may be different from what they think they are seeking.

What is it???

What is it?

That tangible force to ride.

As I await the delivery of my clutch throw out bearing, thoughts roll through my mind as small as oak leaves, as powerful as Kenworth semi tractor.

What force embraces the rare few of us who ride? Is it the freedom? The wind in our hair and face? The thumping or buzzing of raw primal power beneath us? The thought that we enjoy something the majority of the population cannot fathom?

Perhaps it it is deeper.

Living in the moment, regrets trailing behind like so many pot-holes. Taking it all in, doing what is necessary, feeling the rush of wind, time and space go by in a continual stream of consciousness.

Perhaps it is shallower.

The primal urge of reproduction and attraction of a suitable mate directs some of us to display our chrome and steel and plastic and leather plumage. Unconsciously we seek to find an accepting social group and as each of us evolve through life simply fall into the social group known as bikers or motorcycle enthusiasts.

The later is exclusive; if it is societal or sexual, that is all there is. The former, however, is inclusive; riding is everything in time and space constricted to a single moving moment.

I like the former.

Hope my parts are delivered today. I am in desperate need for a ride.

Always On Watch

***WARNING***
***ADULT LANGUAGE AHEAD***

On this cusp of this holiday weekend, I was reminded of the necessary vigilance those of us who stand against domestic violence must hold.

While at my bank, getting a little cash for the weekend, one of the tellers that I know returned from lunch. She seemed a little shaken as she sat at her station. I welcome her back from lunch and ask what was wrong.

Her and her boyfriend went to eat at a local fast-food joint, and while leaving they witness a man beating the hell out of his wife in the parking lot. Her shirt was ripped off and blood ran down her face, staining her jeans, dripping to the ground.

While tens of FUCKING COWARDS walked by, doing NOTHING, the teller and her boyfriend call the police and drive up to the incident. She gave the poor woman a shirt to cover her while her boyfriend took pictures of the BASTARD'S car and license plate as he left.

Domestic violence can happen ANYWHERE, ANYTIME! If you see it, at least call the police!!! Domestic Violence is EVERYONE'S business! Get off your ass and do something!!! Don't be a FUCKING COWARD! Stand up for a fellow human being! Break it up! You may get punched or hurt, but that one action may save a life!

And don't forget, men, yes MEN can be abused as well. If you see a woman smacking a man around, don't simply think, "hehe good for her. I wonder what he did to deserve that?"

Maybe, just maybe... he did nothing. Abuse knows no gender, race, religious or sexual orientation boundaries.

And to those who would beat their spouse, boyfriend or girlfriend... A warning... Hear those Harley pipes thumping? It may be me... You don't scare me.

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

From Today's Bad Idea File

Nice poster. Originally from the National Association of State Motorcycle Safety Administrators.

Curious Quandries and Commentaries

Here is a quick one.

How is it I can resize images for blogger in Internet Explorer and Firefox, but not Chrome?

Motorcycle wrenching, for one reason or another, brings out my curiosity. Why is there loc-tite on those bolts? Why is there is snap ring on that shaft? Does this hose actually go anywhere? What idiot designed this? Why does six months on match.com cost $15 where three months cost $17?

Yes, my juices of curiosity were flowing last night after taking my Sporty's clutch partially apart. Seriously, I am starting to like the mechanics of Harley Davidson motorcycles. The engine and clutch are elegant in their simplicity and quite easy to wrench with the right tools.

But, I digress. Curious...

A week or so ago, after an episode of wrenching, I joined bikerornot.com at the suggestion of another rider. "It's not just for dating. It is like a cross between MySpace and Match.com," he tells me.

OK, so out of curiosity I join. Not that I am looking to date or even get into another relationship. Looking for nothing, just curious. Sure enough, it seems to be a nice, laid back social networking site for "Bikers or not".

Last week or so, a woman I know offered her services to set up a few dates for me. Curious. I declined but did put her on retainer.

So, out of curiosity last night, I joined match.com Curiosity. Perhaps there should be more feeling in this, but the voice of Spock just echos in my head... "Curious"

Now, Here's Your Problem

Well, I adjusted the throwout last night and Athena ran beautifully. Twenty miles of night time Las Vegas asphalt and she was clutching without missing a beat. This morning she flew down I-95 one my daily commute without a single complaint.

Lunch time errands included a lot of stop and go surface traffic. Up and down East Tropicana and Flamingo typically requires a lot of clutching and braking. Arriving at work, the clutch handle was getting loose again, but there was little worry. I knew how to fix it.

On the way home from work I pulled into the parking lot of the smoke shop I frequent. While riding around in first, slipping the clutch, searching for a parking spot, there was a pop. The clutch handle plunged back to the grip while Athena lurched forward. Only way to stop was to hit the kill switch.

So, without clutch, we limped the two miles back to the house. Brings back memories of the little 50 CC Honda dirt bike I rode in grade school. When its clutch cable snapped I learned the fine art of motorcycle riding without a clutch. Even though Athena is about 450 pounds heavier than the Honda, the principals of clutch-less riding are the same.

I get to the house, grab a Red Bull and remove the derby cover. Guess what tumbles out. The clutch throwout assembly. (above pic)

Hopefully this part of the clutch is covered under the extended warranty. Hopefully.

Time for More Wrenching

On the same day Athena is christened with her new name, her clutch fails. Ah well. My Sporty isn't immortal like Athena. She is steel and rubber and plastic and aluminum; things of the Earth; and things of the Earth will eventually fail.

So, along with packing, I need to be wrenching. Three bikes and not a single one runs. Vixen is in 300 pieces. Reb has a blown oil seal (that I will be ordering shortly) and now Athena's clutch fails.

Then there comes the July ride situation. There are two rides coming up in July, one to Ely, Nevada and another one to Salt Lake City, Utah. After the Utah ride, I was planning to spend a few days in Colorado. Not so sure now.

Last week discovered Athena needed a new front tire. OK, there's $150 or so. Now she needs a clutch? Another $150 or so. I would truly like to go to Salt Lake City and then Colorado. Cash is tight. We shall see.

She Has a Name

No longer will she suffer the indignation of simply being referred to by pronouns. Her name echos a symbolism, history, strength.

So... Any guesses???

Time is as Water

mq01 at Ms M's Place made an interesting statement that caused the philosophical synapses to fire.

"The more I become one with the moment, the faster the present becomes the past."

Discussed and contemplated for as long as the human species has been sentient is time. What does it mean? What is it? What is the past, present and future? What of fate? What of free will?

What is the present? There is no present. There is only the direct relationship between the immediate future and immediate past. You are not really reading this, your brain is processing what input your eyes viewed and your brain is directing your eyes to the next word for more input.

The present is a razor's edge (One of the reasons I chose that name for this blog). A perfectly sharpened razor has two well defined sides; leading and trailing or right and left, depending on your preference. A perfect razor's edge comes to a point at an atomic level, with a cloud of electrons at the utmost edge. That cloud is by nature, indeterminate. Sure, using math, one can determine exactly where the electrons are, but time must be removed and for the most part, the only thing in the system that can be measured is the position.

So? Even the edge of a perfect razor cannot be defined, just as the present.

As motorcycle riders, the now, the present must expand yet stay indeterminate. We look two seconds ahead, five, twelve and meld that into our immediate past. Traffic, road, bike and weather conditions, past and present merge into one when speeding down a long road or tearing up the twisties.

Our minds' inner eye opens to this; allows us the enviable joy of seeing more, experiencing more than the typical human being. The more one becomes in the moment, the more moment is being experienced.

Imagine a small stream babbling along the edge of a forest. Its water is not moving very quickly, simply making a leisurely trip down stream. Now, imagine a flood. The stream is now a torrent of water. It is the same stream, but it has widened and quickened. You are experiencing something wider and grander than the babbling brook. And, it is moving at a greater pace.

It may be a double edged sword for riders. The more we experience and the wider our range of now becomes, the quicker it seems to go by.

OK, enough rambling. I have work to do and a project bike to work on, not necessarily in that order.

There's a Time to Wrench and a Time to Ride

And some idle weekend thoughts.
**Warning - Adult Content Ahead**

A year or so ago on a similar weekend I became entrenched in a "conversation" with my ex that was simply exasperating. A no-win sort of situation where logic and truth was thrown out the door at the whim of an irrational mind.

After two hours I had had it. I saddled up on my Rebel and headed out for a ride. It was not good. The road, the drivers, the stop lights, even my bike seemed angry.

According to a fellow I know who has ridden for nearly two decades, these are classic symptoms of an expression of inner feelings and turmoil to the external world. To paraphrase, "When you are that pissed off, don't ride. The whole world will be angry."

After much experimentation, and believe me, there has been plenty of opportunity for this, there is but one way for me to productively unwind. To wrench.

A person I know suggested an activity requiring another person of the opposite sex. That particular stress reliever is yet untried. :-)

So, for three hours I wrenched on my little project, my Suzuki VX800. Productive, yes. Soothing, yes. Good news? No. The front cylinder may be garbage. In all, a good end to a less than enjoyable day.
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Well, I joined BikerOrNot. It is a pseudo dating and social networking website for bikers. For anyone curious, here is my profile: www.bikerornot.com/VegasRider Yes, I am also on FaceBook and occasionally check into my MySpace page. After seeing an advertisement on MySpace for Discrete Relationships for Married People, I don't go there very often. To each, his or her own. I just find that a bit obnoxious.
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Damaged goods... WTF.
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"Get out there and date!"
Why? Is this some social pressure to find someone? Have a regular safe-sex partner? I am clueless.
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Biker. I haven't been riding for even two years, yet people call me a biker, motorcycle enthusiest, and rider. Perhaps it is all in the proper attitude.
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Time may heal all wounds but it is up to us to take care of the scars.

Apology to a Driver

**Sarcasm Ahead**
I would just like to apologize to the young woman in the blue Neon, driving down Desert Inn today at lunch time. I appreciate you were driving ten miles under the speed limit, likely to ensure the safety of yourself and all others sharing the road. The line of five cars behind you must have been your entourage or security force ensuring no one came up from behind you.

I am terribly sorry my bike is so loud and sparkly and shiny. That is just the way some Harleys are. I hope I didn't startle you when I accidentally twisted the throttle hard while next to you, causing that darned loud engine to wale and scream. Honestly, my staring at you from behind my reflective face guard was simply meant as a 'I am Sorry.'

Please don't mind that bright, reflective helmet, black leathers and skull & crossbones patch. I am really a quiet fellow who never makes trouble. As a matter of fact, one thing that I love to do is read. If I could, I would read all day, tucked in my bed with Bach playing in the background, fresh cup of chamomile tea steaming on my night stand.

Please, ma'am, accept my apology. I really did not mean to interrupt your driving while you were reading a flier perched on your steering wheel. I do hope it is good reading and when you cause an accident, I pray it is only you involved.

Friggin' Idiot!!!

Just Get it Done!

Tuesday night there was a stumble; a trip; an accidental side step and there I am in the middle of a conversation. Well, more of an illogical monologue reminiscent of the Twilight Zone than a conversation.

At any rate, it was a talk brimming full of self deprecation and 'pity, pity me' sort of drama. Had two beers so can't go out for more and that was the entire household inventory, so I can't get buzzed. Drama shields to full.

...She can't go to school for her masters, she can't get a job, she can't write, she will not be able to find a boyfriend or husband, she will never have sex again, she is going to die a lonely old maid... blablabla

Now, I am not minimizing her feelings, but if someone has determined they can't do something, it is quite certain they can't. The only people who have accomplished anything are those who have tried.

This brings me to some thoughts I entertained yesterday. One thing on my Bucket List is to earn my Saddle Sore certificate. What is that? It is a documented ride of 1000 miles in 24 hours. So, why don't I just do it & get it over? It is only 1000 miles. A few weeks ago I rode a little more than 600 miles in about 10 hours. 14 more hours to do 400 miles? Child's play really.

So, when I ride up to Salt Lake for a poker run next month, I am taking a few days off, riding to Colorado for a few days, then making my Saddle Sore ride back into Vegas.

Another thought that falls into the Just Get it Done category. And now for something completely different... Concert producer.

Yup, a charity concert to kick off my 2009 Ride for the NCADV where I try to raise awareness of domestic violence. Hmmm... Why not. Hell, if I can ride a Honda Rebel solo for 5800 miles in three weeks, I can certainly organize a little musical get together.

When I started my ride last year, I pointed my wheel East and rode. I am not terribly sure which direction I should be pointing here... Anyone???

What's in a Name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Ah, Shakespeare. Not that I care much for Romeo and Juliet, I like this quote. A name is simply a label affixed to something. Us humans, we tend to label everything; types of motorcycles; tires; boats; cars; and even... certain body parts. Our motorcycles even have names, or minimally we refer to them using pronouns that infer a certain sex. Male riders typically refer to their bikes in the feminine. Female riders generally refer to their bikes in the masculine.

Many people I know give their bikes names like Bob and George and Bullet and Cherry and Donna. Why? Is it an anthropomorphizing of a machine? Is it to be cute? I think, maybe it is to bring something closer to us. We are close to our bikes, and to get closer we name them.

Why then, am I drawing a blank when coming up with a name for my Sporty? My Rebel is known to me as "Reb." My Suzuki VX800 is known as "Vixen."

Maybe it is because we have little history. I don't think lovers immediately have nicknames until they know each other, but this is different. "Vixen" came to mind right after I bought her. "Reb" came after a few months, and even before that I was experimenting with different names.

But here... blank. Maybe a few thousand miles more and something will emerge. Who knows.

Just A Biker

I've no idea who originally penned this. Regardless, it is beautiful.

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I saw you; hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line. But you didn't see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.

I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk. But you didn't see me playing Santa at the local Mall.

I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant when you saw my bike parked out front. But you didn't see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.

I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I rode by. But you didn't see me riding behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.

I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children. But you didn't see me, when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.

I saw you stare at my long hair. But you didn't see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.

I saw you roll your eyes at our Leather jackets and gloves. But you didn't see me and my brothers donate our old ones to those that had none.
I saw you look in fright at my tattoos. But you didn't see me cry as my children where born or have their name written over and in my heart.

I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. But you didn't see me going home to be with my family.

I saw you, complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. But you didn't see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.

I saw you yelling at your kids in the car. But you didn't see me pat my child's hands knowing she was safe behind me.

I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. But you didn't see me squeeze my wife's leg when she told me to take the next turn.

I saw you race down the road in the rain. But you didn't see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.

I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. But you didn't see me trying to turn right.

I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. But you didn't see me leave the road.

I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. But you didn't see me. I wasn't there.

I saw you go home to your family. But you didn't see me. Because I died that day you cut me off.

I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family. But you didn't see me.

Nice Pair

A day of somewhat delayed embarrassment. Looking back, all there is to do is laugh.

It was a gorgeous day for a poker run and my post was the third stop. Here I am, sitting behind a small table, overseeing the riders take their card and writing it on their card sheet.

A rather well endowed, well spoken woman walks up with her card sheet. She places it on the table and takes a card. Queen of Clubs. I write it on her card sheet and give it back to her. She looks at it, turns it to me, holding it at breast level and says, "Wow! Look what I have!"

Dutifully I look. Pair of Queens. "Wow! Nice pair!" I remark.

That isn't sad.

What is sad, is that I didn't realize what I said, or the fact she just grinned at me when I said it until about an hour later.

Sometimes my brain simply doesn't click.

Vivid

Psychological? Physiological? Something more? Nothing?

Much to the chagrin of a semi-hangover headache my Harley chugs to an early morning start. As her carbureted 1200 CCs warms up and my head thumps in synchronicity, I put my helmet and gear on.

As with fishing, in my opinion, a bad day riding is better that good day doing many other things.

Backing her out of the driveway two songs by Nickelback seem to be occupying the idle parts of my brain. Never Again and If Today Was Your Last Day. It is not out of the norm for songs to tumble around the idle parts of my brain as I ride.

Accelerating to highway speed on I95 toward Vegas there is something out of synch; something out of the norm. Not bad; not good; just different. Automatic danger and situation analysis kicks in. Tires are OK; bike is manuvering fine; accelleration and braking good; no cage is entering into my space.

Like some unseen hand ringing a bell, my helmet starts vibrating. Vision blurred, the apparent wind wipes my mind of everything save keeping rubber on asphalt. Slowing to about 50 it stops but we are now a traffic hazzard. I accellerate to 65 where the buzzing is acceptable.

Head throbbing, fifteen minutes later I pull into the parking lot at work. Helmet off, there is something different. Colors are popping into my visual cortex. Curves, angles, reflections, refractions seem to be alive. Red cars are RED. Yellow and white parking markers are YELLOW and WHITE. Things are different.

Not a side effect of anything determinable, several weeks later it is still here. Colors are still popping, sounds now seem to have infinite depth. It almost seems as if the universe has become more vivid.

Is this how things really are and my muddled mind had been filtering? Did my senses get jostled and wake from a long sleep? Perhaps there is more depth to everything and we simply ignore it, chosing the more hum-drum, day-in-day-out slogging of life.

Fantastic doesn't even describe it. I need to ride.