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More Bikes Me Likey

What the hay, I have an hour to kill at work doing phone support. More bikes I like.


I like the ZRX1200, and a couple of other naked sportbikes in the same vein. I know "scan" has one, so hey, I actually like a bike someone here owns -- gotta redeem my earlier bashing of everyone's bike, right? Right? Hm, seems I like yet another overpowered Kawasaki, too. Go figure...


Ducati's in general float my boat. (my boat! Arrh!) It's the desmodromic valvetrain that really piques my interest. Why doesn't everyone do this? No springs to wear out or float at high rpm's...hard metal cam followers to snap the valves shut again. I swear if I were designing and casting a new engine, I'd use a desmo valvetrain.


Yet another over-powered brute...Yamaha V-Max. Yes. Go fast, I must. Not use...gram-mar. Bike make Animal happy!


The original Buell sportbikes. Harley motor in a viable sportbike frame -- I like the idea, and I liked the early Buell bikes. Some folks thought the aero-dustbin look was fugly, but I don't. It looks functional to me.


the Ariel Square Four. I kind of like old British bikes -- sure, they had engineering breakthroughs like vertically-split crankcases, but the first bike I really remmeber around the old homestead when I was growing up was a Triumph 650 Tiger, and my own bike is trying reeeally hard to be an old Triumph. So I kinda like old British bikes.


The late 1950's Harley Sportster. Same sort of thing as the British bikes. The 650 Tiger may be the first bike I remember, but the first bike PART I remember is that bicycle-pedal kick starter -- my dad had a 1958(ish) Sportster in parts in our garage from the time I was born until he finally assembled it sometime before I turned 10. Nice bike. He still regrets selling it.


1974 Hodaka 100cc Super Rat. Okay, I'm just checking if everyone's still paying attention. Though, the old dirtbikes are kinda cool -- they're what I lusted after when I was a kid, in the 1970's -- they weren't old and lame then, though, they were brand new, sporting a mind-blowing 4" of suspension travel for those massive leaps on the Moto-X circuit.

And with that, I've used up my hour and I'm out -- It was supposed to have reached eighteen degrees out there today! Balmy!

The TV Tragedy Put to Rest. Finally.

You were hanging on the edges of your chairs waiting to find out what happened. "Please, Mr. Noodlenoggin, please tell me whatever became of your beleaguered television, the 900lb Sony one. Please?" I could hear the collective clamor for resolution, for closure, for swift justice and satisfying retribution.

Wait, that was something else. My bad.

Anyway, I picked up our "fixed" tv last night. Total outlay of funds: $64. They apparently did the TV version of hosing the thing down -- they shot a humongous charge through the picture tube and cleared out the whatever-it-is that was causing our problems. I'm assured that it'll work for a while, or not, and that they really have no way of knowing which it'll be. It seems very Dr. Bones McCoy-ish -- "This'll either CURE ya, or KILL ya...dammit Jim, I'm a DOCTOR, not an ELECTRICAL ENGINEER!"

All it really has to do is last a few more months, until we get back our taxes. When that happens, a cascade of events kicks off. a) we get a minivan. b) we sell my old boat-car. c) we buy a tv. Buying the tv is contingent on what we sell my car for...and selling my car is contingent on when we get a minivan...and getting a minivan is contingent on getting our taxes. Yes, I said "contingent" three times. It starts to sound funny in my head after that. Con-TIN-gent, con-TIN-gent. Whee!

S'okay, anyway, the in-laws are getting pretty darn antsy for their 13-year-old Sanyo back -- they've asked a few times, not-so-subtly... "So, ya heard 'bout yer tv yet?" They must be relieved.

Your tax refund is enough to buy a minivan?

PS: It should only take a couple of weeks to get your refund check.

What's More Pathetic...



...than a fat guy sitting alone, eating a pile of nachos? Maybe the guy with the hamburger up there, not sure. Point is, I hate to eat alone. This is kind of a new thing for me...I've traditionally been a look-at-you-like-you're-a-bug-until-you-go-away kind of person. Maybe it's the twins or sleep deprivation but I've been softening lately, and I really wanted to sit in the cafeteria at work with someone and eat my pile of nachos.

It's nacho bar day today at the ol' hospital...happens every Monday, and if I can scrape up five spare dollars, I'll get a pound and a quarter of make-it-myself nachos...and for the first few years I worked here, it was the high point of my entire week. Lately, I've had lunch with a co-worker, but today through a SNAFU of "where were you...where was I? Where were YOU?" proportions...I'm left with 1.35 lbs of nachos, and nobody to eat 'em with.

Now, I'll come right out with it...I'm overweight. It's not "bury me in a piano box" overweight, but it's "He should take the stairs more" overweight. So when I sit at a table by myself with an 8"x3" pile of nachos I get a little self-conscious...If it's just gonna be a table, an inordinate amount of food, and me...I'd like to have my privacy, not a peanut gallery. So I'm sitting back down in my basement lair, internetting and scarfing nachos...feeling all sorry for myself.

But here's how to make these darn-good nachos...and the order of the ingredients is important, the flavors have to have good neighbor flavors.

Plate. Cover with nacho chips, and use more than you think you need, because you ALWAYS run out and have to eat soggy toppings with a fork...oh the shame. On the chips, put a ladle or so of the nacho cheese sauce. Next, the refried beans go on the cheese sauce, so they mix together under pressure. Then a scoop or two of the seasoned taco meat. The shredded cheese goes on next, so the heat from the meat and beans can melt it. Then the cold ingredients start. Lettuce -- make a nice bed of it and put the tomatoes there. Sprinkle onions if you want 'em. (meaning if you're not joining civilization later) Black olives next, then one tablespoon -- NO MORE -- each of guacamole and sour cream, side-by-side.

Presto...just under $5, just over one pound, and primed to put you to sleep around 2pm. A perfect bite has chip, cheese, sauce, meat, beans, tomato, lettuce, olive and guac all mixed together and is spicy, creamy, cheezy, crunchy, tomatoey bliss.

Some people prefer the jalapeno rings, or salsa, but I find they easily overpower the dish -- balance is wonderful, don't overlook it. So many people order a dish, whether it's a salad, a steak, a taco or whatever...they specify exactly how they want it cooked. Then they proceed to smother it with some sort of sauce, seasoning, topping or dressing so that they have no hope of tasting whatever it is under the crap.

Take a steak...people are ultra-uber-picky about those things. "I need a porterhouse, with the fat trimmed off, and I need that on the medium side of medium-rare, with red, not pink in the middle, moist, but no blood." They send it back at least once. Then they empty half a bottle of A1 sauce on it.

Anyway...time to get back to work, lunch is over. (Howcome the "poo poo" filter doesn't catch the word "work?" That's as dirty a word as any of the others!)

It was heresey of the worst sort to A1 up a good steak around my house. And i can't help but have the same attitude when i go out and eat these days. Might as well eat a tofu brick thats been soaked in beef broth if you're gonna sauce it up.


I just get em to chase the cow around for a few minutes to warm it up, then carve off whatever looks appetizing as it lumbers past personally

Those nachos do sound good.i'll have to eat nothing but raw carrots for a week to make up for the sodium if i want to try em tho.

It's a friggin' heat wave around here!

Yeah, the temps are supposed to rise above 20 at some point today. That's Fahrenheit, for y'all metric folks north of me...that's -6degC for you. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's been -6 here lately...but that'd be negative-about-a-hundred in Canadian degrees, right? That's what "degC" means, right? Degrees Canadian?

Again with the "I so miss riding my bike" belly-aching. Because you know what? I so miss riding my bike. I want this post to be a ride-log, so as follows:

Woke up this morning, wife and kids were all at grandma's for the day, and it was already sunny and 65 degrees -- at 8am, no less. Looked like a perfect day to pull out the XS and go for a ride up the peninsula. I bolted down my Lucky Charms and coffee, pulled on my scruffy leather jacket and some boots, grabbed my Shoei and gloves and out to the garage I went. Wheeled the bike out...choke...switch on...tried the starter, but not enough juice in the old battery, as usual. Two kicks and it roared to life, anyway. It kinda hurts to hear the motor rev to 4,000 rpm first thing in the morning, but it's been doing it like that since 1993 so it's kinda de rigeur.

Bike warmed up, gear all strapped on, choke off and idle successfully achieved...up goes the kickstand and off I go. Details omitted until I reach Co633 and turn north. (don't want any Canadian stalkers finding my house to settle that whole "degrees Canadian" crack I made) It's kinda chilly yet -- 8:30a.m. and 65 degrees, after all, but it's definitely gonna warm up and probably hit 80 this afternoon. It's a nice chilly, though, bracing and clean-smelling and enough to sharpen the senses....much more and it'd just be cold.

633 north is a nice gentle start to the ride. Some ups/downs and sweeping curves in and out of some trees and fields. The road straightens out after a couple of miles and bores due north toward Traverse City. There's a nice hill-top overlook where I can see as far as the hills by Honor to my left, then it's down, down to Grawn, (called "Groin" by residents) and to the intersection of 633 and US31 -- 2-lane highway, not freeway. I stay on 633, though it's just "Silver Lake Road" now.

Silver Lake road is a windy 2-lane that zips past the homes on the little inland Silver Lake -- a not-very-pretty lake basically notable for having lots of homes around it that are really expensive because they're a)on water and b) 5min. from Traverse City. Traffic is heavy for this time of the morning, and annoying -- nobody here ever breaks the 45 barrier, and you all know how I feel about that.

But, the road is still more entertaining than boring into town on M37, and it finishes up by passing the high school and ending in a traffic light -- another name change, now Co633 has become Silver Lake Road, has become 14th street in town. The traffic light is the intersection with M37/US31/Division St, and I turn left. It's 15 blocks or so to Lake Michigan -- or at least West Grand Traverse Bay -- and it's spent around 35mph, nice trees and kinda historical homes for scenery. At last -- it's been about a half-hour since my Lucky Charms -- I'm at the traffic light by the bay. It's a Tee intersection where the road-names split. Division St. ends. US31 goes right and heads through town, as does M-37...joining with the new number: M72. Left is Grandview Parkway as well as M72 west.

I turn left, but immediately veer off right into the parking lot for the West End Beach, and have my pick of parking spots -- nobody's swimming at 9am on a spring morning -- the air is 70 degrees, but the water's still just barely not frozen. Kill the motor, pull off the helmet and inhale the heady mixture of fresh water, sand, dead fish, car exhaust and spring morning. The fish and exhaust actually serve to counterpoint the lake, beach and air and highlight their freshness, and I only spend a couple minutes here, but they're refreshing, and I always enjoy this view from the very base of the bay, with land stretching away on left and right, Power Island in the right foreground, and nothing but open water in view directly north.

Back on the bike -- fired up on the first kick, back on M72 west. It's a 4-lane divided in-town road that follows the beach, but only for a half-mile or so, then M72 cuts due west at the light, and yet another road-number comes into play: M22. This time we're on the crossbar of the tee, and the base points west, but I head north on M22, a 2-lane highway that hugs the west shore of Grand Traverse Bay and winds its way up to Suttons Bay -- cutesy little tourist town -- thence through Peshawbestown ("Shawbie-Town" to the locals) and past the indian (Native American, Sorry) gambling. Still heading north -- lake on my right, hills on my left -- and things are getting more sparse and more rugged. The gambling is where most traffic stops, honestly. It's the American Way, I guess -- fark the scenery, where can I spend some dough-re-mi?

So, the road reaches Omena, which is little more than a couple of sharp bends in the road and a defunct store...and of course my favorite local winery...Leelanau Cellars. There's a bustling wine industry up here on the Leelanau Peninsula, actually -- it's rocky, cold, windy, and it stresses the grapes in just the perfect way for wine. The wineries up here put out some Rieslings that are every bit as wonderful as those from the Mosel region of Germany where the grape was born. This particular winery makes some fortified port wines that are simply delectable -- cherry, raspberry and blueberry ports to die for.

However, I'm on the bike, and can't chance having a tasting session -- need someone to wheel me out and drive me away after one of those.

Time to go to work. More of my imaginary ride later, maybe...

More Of The Ride That Never Was...

North out of Omena I ride on M22, and the landscape is growing more sparse and remote-feeling with each mile. The road looks like it hasn't been repaved since the 1960's, yet isn't really all that torn up because it doesn't see all that much traffic. I'm riding through cherry and apple orchards on both sides of the road, with glimpses of Grand Traverse Bay through the trees on the right. A few miles later I pull into Northport and pop my visor open as I turn right at the yellow flasher where M22 turns left and heads west. I follow A604 as it winds through the "downtown" and heads north.

Northport is, as the name may suggest, the northernmost town on the Leelanau Peninsula, so after leaving the north end of town -- and it's a little town, more rustic than touristy, most tourists don't make it this far -- it's like riding into 1950's Americana. The road, in places, still has the Eisenhower-Administration black-white-black stripes down the center, visible between the modern yellow stripes. The lanes are narrower, buildings and trees are closer to the road. It feels alternately like remote New England, like my parent's era, like wilderness...and it's colder. I have to zip my coat all the way to my neck. It's worth it, though, the road winds and turns around red barns and little fruit stands that are empty now, but in a couple of months will be selling the best-tasting darn cherries I'll ever eat.

The trees that crowd the road show the signs of long, hard winters, all twisted and gnarled even as they bud up in readiness for spring -- a few of the buds are starting to sprout and in a week or two the entire area will be a riot of fully flowered fruit trees, whites and pinks and bees buzzing all over in a living postcard scene. For now, the start of the yellow-green spring buds and leaves is enough. Soon, a few miles north of Northport, I come to the end of the road: Northport Point, with its lighthouse. It's still pre-season, so the Michigan Parks'n Rec guard isn't in his little shack yet to charge me $4 to park and walk around, so I pull in, find a large-ish bit of gravel to put my kickstand on, and kill the motor again...another half-hour or so after stopping the last time. It's like a pilgrimage for me, following the land until I can't follow it any more. I wander the grounds past the lighthouse, out onto the beach and to the land and rocks uncovered when the lake levels dropped about five years ago. I follow the beaten-down footpath until I'm on stepping-stones, as far as I can go. It's not as far offshore as I can get at the Old Mission Peninsula lighthouse, but it's enough to feel like I'm standing on the northern end of the world, with nothing but water on three sides of me.

I dally around, and skip my traditional stone or three as far north as I can muster, then head back to the bike and fire up. For the first two/three miles south, there simply are no roads to turn onto -- the peninsula is only about a mile wide up here. At the first chance, though, I veer right (west) and follow the myriad numbered roads, heading west and south at each intersection. The trees generally shadow the road, their spring almost-leafiness adding some cheerful color to all the grey and black tree trunks and ground. In the summer, the road will feel like a tunnel through the woods.

There's a remote subdivision I like to check out -- there are big "Private Road" and "Residents Only" signs at the entrance...but less than a half-dozen houses built, and most of THOSE are empty right now: summer houses for rich Detroit and Chicago people. They have to be rich, these are million-dollar homes. They don't look like anything special...until you look at what's behind them: Lake Michigan. This sub sits right on a bluff that ends in the blue waters that reach all the way to Wisconsin. When I turn around in the circle at the end of the road and look south, Sleeping Bear Dunes are front and center, several miles away. I revel in spoiling the tranquility of the couple of occupied homes with my raucous old bike's raspy twin exhaust, even though the reaction is evenly split between evil stares, friendly waves and stark indifference.

Still southward, staying fairly close to the shoreline. There's a narrow road that winds downhill to Pyramid Point, and it's worth the little half-mile detour for the curves and the view at the end of the road. Some days I'd get off here and find skipping stones, but since I just stopped at the lighthouse and dallied in the subdivision I take a few seconds to look at the surf while blipping the throttle, then motor back up the road and head south again.

Before long, I rejoin M22. Where I had gone north from Northport and moseyed around, M22 cut more-or-less straight across the peninsula. Now the road follows the Lake Michigan shoreline though Glen Arbor and Glen Haven, with the impossibly blue Glen Lake to my left, separated from Lake Michigan by not much more than 100 yards of land. At my rejoining of M22 it feels like rejoining civilization. Suddenly I'm on a road with proper shoulders, and recently repaired pavement and, more depressingly, traffic. This stretch leads through all the really touristy towns and is beset upon by a stream of Camries, minivans and Buicks that make the ride much more work and much less relaxing. It's still pretty, it's still gorgeous, in fact...but now most of my scenery is dominated by someone's rear bumper and my riding speed and style are dictated by whomever's in front of me. There really are NO straight stretches or anyplace without a double-yellow here, and thus I ride into the uber-touristy Leland, and take up a parallel parking spot.


...and back to work I go. More later...

It Should be Spring
So, we left off the faux ride in Leland.

...A nice time was had in Leland. I caught a bite to eat and rode home.

So there.

It's frucking cold outside. I can't keep this up. I had to drop the older kids off at grandma's house this morning, and I had to spend a half-hour snow-friggin'-blowing to get the car out. I grew up only two hours south of where I am now...but where I grew up, spring came in March. Here? Blizzards come in March. God. So no more imaginary ride, it's just torture.

I did get a promotion at work. If keeping the same manager, getting no pay increase, and probably doing more work qualifies as a promotion. Still, I'm no longer on the eff-you-see-kay-eye-en-gee Help Desk, and don't have to sit on my cheeks, with a name tag and a head set, saying "Can I help you?" Shee-yit, I feel like I've been saying "would ya like fries with that?" Dennis Miller's who put it in my head. If you're over thirty and still wear a nametag...guess you made the wrong career choices.

Profane? Me? You have no idea. Just wait until it's April, and there's still just as much snow on the ground. THEN you'll hear me spewing hatred. You just wait. It'll happen.

"Are you off yer effin' meds?"

"Yes, but that isn't what this is about!" -- Bad Santa

Okay, yes, I'm feeling much better now.

Again, I GOT PROMOTED!! In the true style of the "lateral promotion," I get a new title, I'll sit somewhere else, I'll do more work and I won't get more money. However, I've spent the last almost-six years on an I.T. Help Desk, and now I won't have to answer the infernal phone any more. The average burnout/turnover rate for Help Desk people is 18 months to two years. I burned out after four, and then did it for another year. I've had a position for the past year that cuts my Help Desking down a bunch, but still leaves me on the Help Desk, and it's given me a year to recuperate -- but this is the real deal...there's no more "Hey, dude, Fxsxx is sick, can you answer phones today?"

And Help Desk at a hospital is miserable -- doctors think they're gods, and they're not happy to call a Help Desk. "This computer is broken and it needs fixed. Goodbye." *click* Lotsa info there. People call up and are like: "My printer is jammed and I need someone here NOW." My first thought is along the lines of "If your kids talked to you like that, you'd backhand 'em. Do you talk to your waiter like that and expect your food to NOT have spit in it?" "I want a steak here NOW!"*hawk...spitoo*

Anyway, I get to move to the "Installations" team -- the guys who bring the new equipment to the users. Thus, people are happy when we arrive, not pi$$ed because something's broken and we don't have the power to teleport ourselves. I get to work with a great team, under a great team lead (still under my miserable manager, though) doing something I basically like to do anyway. My real perk should be in finally getting off the Help Desk and getting to relax.

---

So, it's March. Where I grew up, this'd be the start of spring. I'm used to seeing grass and playing outside in March. When I was in college, I got my motorcycle and rode it from home to college on my birthday (March 16) and didn't come close to freezing. Here? We have thigh-deep snow, and we won't really see grass until May. We moved up here to Michigan from Indiana in March, and when we loaded the truck in Indiana it was sunny and 70...I was wearing shorts and there was no snow on the ground anywhere. We arrived at our new home in Michigan to find knee-deep snow, drifts and ice...for the next two months. Gack.

I'm ready for spring. I want spring. I WANT SPRING, AND I WANT IT HERE NOW!!

I have to deal with doctors too. And nurses.

Scares the everloving crap out of me. I'd almost rather trust some mountain woman that wears antlers called old crazy sue when i have something wrong with me.

The general attitude seems to be, "I am important. Gaze upon and weep at my inherent beaty and perfection." Drives me batty. But i have control of the DNS servers.... nope. they never resolve their journal sites as farmhandswithbigfingers.com. nope. never happens.