So many things, so little money and so little time...

My last little jaunt across the continent was well prepared for compared to this one. For the past month things in the Razor household and life in general has been nearly non-stop.

It has been a very good form of busy, so no complaints at all.

Trip preparations have unfortunately suffered. I may have moved more than a month ago but still can't find my tools! So, the oil needs to be changed and grips replaced as soon as I find them, before I leave.

Then there were unexpected costs not associated with the trip. Alas, about 50% of the trip fund has been drained. With enough money for gas, a few nights of hotel stay and a few meals, planned departure is this Saturday, October 17 at 6AM.

I mentioned in my previous post that live trip reports would be posted on FaceBook. Here is my FB Page for those interested. Join up. This should be an interesting ride.

Luckily, I have places to stay in Oklahoma City, Pensacola and Burlington. The rest will be cheap motels and any couch I can rustle up.

Oh, and that feeling of adventure hit me this morning. That "what in the hell am I doing," thought was nearly as palpable as a rock wall. Honestly, between us (keep it hush-hush) I nearly threw my cards in after looking at the bills. But why? I thought? Why fold now?

There is adventure out there to be had. I deserve it. There are two close friends on the other side of the continent I promised to visit this year. The route is simple. My saddle is comfortable even after 600 mile trips. I can pack my food for the most part. I am not folding. The hand has just begun and I am all in.

Perhaps life should be viewed more like that.

Getting Ready For Another Trip

Well, money will be tight. The riding will be hard to minimize hotel stays. Food will mostly be protein and granola bars, fruit I can bring along and maybe something from hotel lobbies. But, I am doing it.

Sure, I could save the money to pay down a loan I have. But this ride is just something that is necessary. Something inside that must be expressed through the art and beauty of a moving motorcycle on asphalt.

So, here is a rough itinerary...

1. Saturday - Vegas to Albuquerque, NM - 570 miles.
2. Sunday - Albuquerque to Oklahoma City, OK - 545 miles
   
3. Monday - Oklahoma City to Pensacola, FL - 900 miles
4. Tuesday - Relax on the beach.
5. Wednesday - Relax on the beach.
6. Thursday - Relax on the beach.
7. Friday - Pensacola to Burlington, NC - 680 miles
8. Saturday - Relax
9. Sunday - Relax
10. Monday - Relax
11. Tuesday - Head Back to Vegas - 2280 miles
12. Wednesday - Back to Vegas
13. Thursday - Back to Vegas
14. Friday - Arrive back in Vegas on Friday Night.

In case of weather or unexpected delays, there are two emergency days. This is going to be fun.

To keep the load lighter and less complex, the computer will stay at home. But, I WILL be posting updates via my cell phone onto my FaceBook account. For those who wish to track my progress across the country, as boring or exciting as it might be, add me there. Just log onto your account (or create a new one) and look for Ken Linder and add me. I am the one in black leathers standing in front of my Sportster.

Safe travels, please. We lost a rider this weekend.

"I Created the Sounds of Madness..."

OK, DonnaJean. Nothing to see here. :-P

Sometimes I feel the need to express my thoughts and feelings through someone else's music or pictures or words. And, well, this is one of those times. This song is played regularly on B.A.C.A. Nation and it is indeed a powerfully good tune. But the video? All I can say is, DAMN!

Sound of Madness by Shinedown

Don't Steal from a Biker

Just don't.

After a wonderful evening hanging out with Angela Shelton and the B.A.C.A. Nation folks I battled the Las Vegas winds to ride home. Made it safe and sound but with a few frayed nerves. The wind was nasty and unpredictable.

So, I go into the apartment to have a beer, check e-mail and unwind. My daughter, Ed (long story) left me a note to check around for her cell phone. I do.

Not in the apartment from what I can determine.

Maybe the pickup. I open the garage door and walk out. My pickup is parked right around the corner and at midnight or so, there is no one around but myself. So, I leave the door open. Stupid me.

I walk around the corner and check my truck. Nope. Not there. As I close the door, four teenagers (or maybe on their early 20's) walk around the corner. Two guys and two girls. The guys have helmets and are joking around. "HA, here is my Xanax money" or something to that effect.

Initially I think little of it. There are many dirt bikers here and I just thought they were clowning around with their helmets.

Wrong.

Something wasn't right. It hit me. I sprint to my garage around the corner. Helmets are not there.

Cell phone. 911.

I run back to the car they got in. They are leaving. I point my finger at them. 'They had better stop. Those are MY helmets!'

Instead they nearly run me down to speed away.

Folks. If you steal, don't do it from bikers. The cops have their license plate and the word is out to watch for my helmets.

If I see them, I have a few four letter words for them. Plans must be changed now. I was going on a charity run tomorrow morning for a Pediatric Brain Tumor organization. Can't now. I will need to spend $100 or more of my money for a new helmet rather than having that for my trip.

Normally I am very laid back. I am not laid back now. I am pissed.

Just... DO NOT STEAL FROM BIKERS!!!

Cross Country Redux - T-Minus 16 Days

More or less...

After my cross country ride last year, a decision was made. Every year I would take one helluva ride somewhere. This year there were two choices. First was a ride to Yellowknife and back. Nearly 5,000 miles of solitude and scenery and green. Second was a wild idea; a 50CC. For those that don't know, a 50CC is a hell-ride. Coast to coast, San Diego to Jacksonville, FL in under 50 hours.

Decisions...

Athena could likely do either. But, could I? Yellowknife seems wonderfully exotic but a bit expensive. A 50CC ride would be harsh and punishing. What if something broke down? What if...

One of my best friends lives in North Carolina and another in Florida. Other friends seem to start popping up; one in Texas, one in Louisiana, one in Michigan, one in Pennsylvania, one in Wisconsin, several in New England.

The decision was made for 2009, another coast to coast, not a 50CC. A three day hard ride from Vegas to Pensacola in preparation for a 50CC in 2010. But when? I wanted to leave early in October but events and plans precluded that. Early November was decided. I would depart on Halloween. But... always a but... Something had slipped my mind. An event on November 7th I needed to attend here in Las Vegas.

Leave on November 8? I would be back near Thanksgiving. There are plans in the works to be in Northern CA then. And what of the cold, unpredictable weather in the midwest?

So, I look and think. After Thanksgiving wouldn't do. I want, no, need the ride. And there it was. October 16 through Halloween. Two weeks plus one day. It is now up to my boss. If he gives the green light, there it is.

Money is tight so gas and motels will be the limit of my expenses. Food will all be packed.

I am excited; elated. Several years ago within my mind, the definition of an adventure was defined. Any time I say to my self, "what the hell am I doing," it is an adventure. Life is an adventure. Let's ride.

365 Days Ago

365 days ago... or so... I was not here.

I was warming myself in the Colorado sun riding east on my journey that would take me to Kitty Hawk, the Atlantic Ocean, Oklahoma City, Chattanooga, Route 66 and Memphis. A good memory, it pulls my mind and desires back to the road.

For those who don't feel the inner urge, the desire, any explanation would be lost in translation. It simply cannot be comprehended. Imagine someone attempting to explain quantum physics to a typical Nevada high school student.

While packing I found an aging notebook at the bottom of a weathered box. In it are trip plans first conceived in the mid and late 1990's. There are interesting titles like "Top of the World, Jeep Style" and "Alaska, Two Weeks, Two Wheels" and "Around the US in 30 Days." The pull is strong; irresistible to some. Disenchanted by Las Vegas and sensing the beginning hints of a broken marriage, the road called out. It wanted to comfort an increasingly weary soul.

I didn't listen then.

A decade later I did.

Saturday, October 31, Halloween, 6 AM, I plan to depart on on another cross country trek. Two weeks of Athena, the road and friends. For me, this is living. Hope to see some of you out there.

Kudos for Good Caging

Cagers, specifically the stupid, texting, cellphone using, reading, iPod Playing, stop sign ignoring, porn watching cagers of Las Vegas receive quite a bit of well deserved tongue lashing from me here. To those I have waggled a finger at or wrapped my engine at, you deserve it. Friggin drive that vehicle!

What is rarely mentioned are the contentious drivers out there. Earlier this week I was riding behind an older van on the I-215. The hazard lights come on and it slows while easing onto the shoulder. I slow and ease around, pulling onto the shoulder in front of the van. Turning on my hazard blinkers and stopping the engine, I dismount, look back to the driver. I flash the thumbs-up / thumbs-down to her.

She holds her cell phone out the window and yells with a smile, “I just need to make a phone call! Thanks!”

If it were not for my full face helmet, my jaw would have likely fallen off. Thank you, mysterious young lady for being a safe and responsible driver.

Last night there was an errand on the other side of Vegas that needed to be attended to. While waiting to turn left at a busy intersection an old beater pickup pulls in behind me. I look at the driver. There is no way he could be more than 18 yet he is safely one car length behind me. Not many drivers, let alone a young one, would be that thoughtful.

Maybe a fluke. Maybe he was clowning around with his young passenger and just stopped early.

Maybe not.

After turning left I get into the right lane and the pickup in the left. Down the street traffic gets squirrelly. The large SUV gas guzzler I am behind veers onto a side street, revealing the issue. A small fender bender accident is immediately ahead in the right lane.

With traffic solid in the left lane there is nothing I can do but stop and wait for the left lane to clear up. Then, what do I see? That same pickup, driven by that same young driver in the left lane, STOPPING and WAVING ME IN!

Holy Schnitzel! I ride in front of the pickup, past the fender bender and back into the right lane, being sure to wave at this young fellow. In my opinion, 75% of Las Vegas drivers should take a lesson from these young drivers.

Curiosity...

There is a certain wonder, certain curiosity we all have to varying degrees. What is this? Why is that? When will the coffee be done? And the intensity varies from day to day, hour to hour. It is normal and it is good.

For some reason this evening I wonder why some refer to me as a biker. Does a biker have a certain look? A certain attitude? A certain intangible something?

What is the difference between a motorcycle enthusiast and a biker? Is there one? Are they the same?

My reading took me to a few places...
What Makes a Biker
Are You a Biker?
Definition of a biker??
Daily Blather...

Here is what I have learned tonight. It doesn't matter. Who's up for a little midnight ride?

One Foot

Stop sign.

Small blue and silver car.

Driver didn't stop.

Second gear.

Front wheel off the ground.

One foot.

There are several four way stops near where I live. I am always, I mean ALWAYS careful. It paid off by the fact I am not writing this from a hospital room. Or worse, that I am not able to write this at all.

I stop at the same time two other vehicles do; one to the right, one to the left. Person on the right goes and person on the left waves at me. Once the intersection is clear I start. In mid intersection, to my right, a speeding car masked by the other stopped traffic.

There was no hesitation, no thought. I twist the throttle to WOT in an instant. The front wheel comes up just as the car passes within a foot of my rear fender. they didn't even slow down. Probably better for them. If they had, I just might have given them an ear-full.

If I had been in my pickup, I would have been T-Boned. On my Rebel, well, there would have been no way to get out of the way. Athena carried me through.

Maybe she was happy to get a nice new front tire. Perhaps she was watching out for me. Maybe the new ride bell a friend bought for me. Maybe it was just physics.

Any more, I don't know.

Ride safe out there, just like you are invisible.

Haunting

I try to live under the concept of "no regrets," and "live for today," and lately, "you can sleep when you are dead."

Honestly, that first one, has a few wrinkles. You see, there is a ghost haunting me. Not the type that goes 'boo' or creaks the stairs or rattles ethereal chains in the attic. This one just hangs out in my subconscious, occasionally stimulating my long term memory and visual cortex.

199o, Prospect Heights, Illinois. My ex-wife and I had just purchased a small condo for a nice price. It was right on the approach path for one of Palwaukee Airport's runways. Didn't bother us much.

It was an unusually quiet and pleasant late summer Saturday. Our third floor condo had a small balcony where I could regularly be found on the weekends grilling or watching the planes or reading or just enjoying a coffee, looking down at the small cul-de-sac parking lot. This fine Saturday was winding down. The afternoon breeze cooled the grill after sizzling up a nice round steak.

Going out to clean the grill, I see it. Them. In the car.

Now, I am 43 and my memory of things past is becoming a bit hazy. Never known for a good memory, I can't even remember my new street address after living here two weeks.

But those shoes. Those red sneakers and white socks worn by a boy, likely in his teens. Flailing under the weight of an older man, all that was visible of the two was from the waist down, hanging out of the open left rear car door.

Sneakers and socks waving wildly, trying to catch hold of something, anything. The man's waist twisting in a motion that could only indicate he was swinging his fists.

Muffled cries could be heard as I yelled down. He didn't stop. I called 911.

Part of me wanted so badly to go down there and break it up; get between the two. Another part thought of the danger and the legal issues and the fact that I had a new job and bills to pay and a baby on the way. All I did was call 911 and yell at the bastard.

The man stopped and exited. There was only a barely perceptible crying coming from below. The boy, no longer thrashing, likely exhausted and injured, pulled his legs and his red shoes and his white socks into the car.

I yell. Ignoring me, the large balding bastard closes the door, opens the driver's door and drives away. No plates.

Police arrive about ten minutes later. They take a brief statement and leave.

To this day, I wonder of that boy. Wonder if that now thirty-something man is ok. Wonder if justice or karma was served. What would have been different if I had gone down there.

I wonder.

Should that happen now, there is no question what I would do. No hesitation. No pause. No regrets. I would be that obsticle.
---------------
Kind readers, this is sadly a true story and one I don't believe has been told. It is one of my ghosts.

Passing on the Love of the Road

There are those times when we have the opportunity to pass our love of riding on to another generation, another group, another person. Those times offer infinite open doors.

What if this person asking about my bike is the next Robert Pirsig? The next Lois Pryce? The next Neil Peart? Passing the love of the road and of riding onto another can be profound to both the giver and the receiver.

This weekend as I relax with a Red Bull outside an Albertson's grocery store, a thirty-something woman and her son walk by, both eying Athena. She was freshly detailed and looking sharp in the Las Vegas sun.

Even at thirty feet away, their necks craned, they continue to look. Then, they turned around and returned. And then she asked me the question...

"How do I learn to ride?"

I have read some people feel new riders should be discouraged to cull out those who only want to ride for show or adrenalin or to look attractive to the opposite sex. The motorcycling wannabees. Personally, their reasons are of no concern to me. They are interested in riding, and that is what matters.

I show her my Motorcycle Safety Foundation BRC card and tell her of the classes offered up the street at the College of Southern Nevada. Her and her son's eyes sparkle as I tell of the BRC exercises and training and of my trips. She asks more questions, including those of danger and safety and I answer honestly.

She promised to call the college and sign up. It felt good to pass a little of my love along. A changed life, a changed world may only begin with a single change of direction.

Lessons of the Wind

The wind teaches us many lessons on a motorcycle.

A forward wind tells us to not ride so fast; relax and enjoy the scenery. Not heeding this lesson results in rider exhaustion and poor fuel efficiency.

A rear wind teaches that there are times when the natural elements can help the rider by making the path easier to navigate with less energy required.

A side wind teaches that it is folly to directly fight some forces. Trust yourself, your bike and ride easily through the crosswinds. Enjoy the lean, don't go so fast and use your mind to maintain the line.

It regularly surprises me that lessons learned on a motorcycle are directly usable to life.

Ride safe, all. There will be a tailwind eventually.

Time as the Wind Blows

Ah, the roadblock is clearing at just the right time. SO many things to write about, so many things to do, so many things to think about and SO many miles to ride.

Ever wonder how linear time really is? In reality it isn't. It bends and twists and given the right circumstances can be quite distorted.

Let's start at the beginning, nearly 30 years ago. There my grandfather and I are, sitting on lawn chairs on the bank of a small stream in Illinois. The late summer sun warmed our bodies as the early morning coffee steamed in thermos cups. My fishing pole starts twitching. I set the hook and start reeling in my catch. Pulling it free of the water, I mutter "damn." A snapping turtle.

The hook is barely in it's mouth but there is no way I would put my fingers within striking distance. My Grandfather gives me a pair of pliers and a pocket knife. After a brief struggle, the turtle is free and swimming back into the stream.

Using the pocket knife I cut the line and replace the damaged hook. When done, I hand the knife back to my Grandfather. He shakes his head, "You keep it. You need a good little knife."

"Old Timer" is stamped on its small side plate. Made by Schrade in the USA, its three small blades sharpened near the point where someone could shave with it.

Bump ahead thirty years. I am moving; cleaning out a closet. There on the floor is the knife my Grandfather gave me. I smile and place it into my pocket.

Several days later my daughter and I are out shopping. In celebration of her new job I am buying her a new pair of pants or two. SLAM goes the truck door; and the sinking feeling immediately hit. My keys are still in the truck; doors locked tight.

Locksmiths are not inexpensive. After a dozen calls, I settle on one that will open my truck's door for ONLY $50.

My daughter comes out of the store and says, "Dad, I read something on the internet. Mind if I try a few tricks with that old knife you found?"

"Sure, as long as you don't break my truck or the knife," I smile.

She takes the knife her Great Grandfather gave me... and picks the door lock in about five seconds! Not only did that save me from paying $50 but made me wonder a little more about time and fate and free will.

Maybe it is all like the wind. Free will can change its speed and direction but it is still the wind.

AH! A Roadblock!

There I am, relaxing and reading blogs. And the one-way sign seems to be up. Blog after blog, MeanDonnaJean and mq01 and Ann and Doug and Wooley and Torch and Earl and a host of others... And I so want to respond, write something more meaningful than "Yup," or "I feel ya," or "oh ya."

The words are there, simply stuck behind a roadblock. Luckily roadblocks are temporary. After I recover from my move, it will likely fall to the side of the road.

So, until I can write something that resembles cognizant thought, ride safe!

Caging is Dull?

Since getting my motorcycle license and starting to ride, driving my truck has been a secondary choice in my transportation needs. The only time I drive is when I need to transport people or things; Athena is not feeling well; or I am not feeling well. For the last two years I have not traveled out of the Las Vegas Valley on four wheels for recreation.

As circumstances would have it last Monday, I drove my pickup to work. The plans were for a buddy and myself to drive to St. George. We would have ridden but we both decided that caging it would be better.

About 3:30 in the afternoon he calls. Something important came up and he can't make it. No problem at all. I thought, 'It will be an enjoyable, peaceful, thoughtful drive. This is going to be fun.'

Apparently, motorcycle riding has spoiled me. Driving the 130 some odd miles to St. George was more mechanics than anything. For one reason or another my brain would simply not enter into a shallow, let alone anything that could be considered a deep philosophical mode. Retrospection and introspection were not operable either.

I drove. Changed radio stations. Changed lanes. Drank water and a Red Bull. It was not calm, the drive was actually somewhat unsettling.

The gorge from Mesquite to St. George was honestly boring and dull. Riding through there has always been an experience. Driving? Simply motion.

Interesting change of perspective from not even two years ago. Caging is dull? For some, yes.

Don't Wait

First of all, many thanks go out to my friends Deb and Rick for sending this. It is very much appreciated.

Secondly, instead of e-mailing it to my friends, here it is. I wouldn't want it to get caught in a spam filter somewhere.

--------------------------------

A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package: "This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package."

He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box.

"She got this the first time we went to New York , 8 or 9 years ago. She has never put it on , was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is it."

He got near the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral home, his wife had just died.

He turned to me and said: "Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion."

I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean less.

I sit on the porch without worrying about anything.

I spend more time with my family, and less at work.

I understood that life should be a source of experience to be lived up to, not survived through.

I no longer keep anything.

I use crystal glasses every day...

I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if I feel like it.

I don't save my special perfume for special occasions, I use it whenever I want to.

The words 'Someday and One Day' are fading away from my vocabulary.

If it's worth seeing, listening or doing, I want to see, listen or do it now...

I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell.

I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends. She might call old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favorite food.

It's these small things that I would regret not doing, if I knew my time had come. Each day, each hour, each minute, is special.

Live for today, for tomorrow is promised to no-one.
-----------------
Ride it like you stole it.
I added that last one. ;-)

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)