D - 308: Let's Just Move On

Ugh. The less time I spend thinking and writing about this, the happier I’m going to be. So this post will be short and there is nothing sweet about it.

About four weeks ago I went out to move my motorcycle to the other side of the street and saw that it seemed to have been jostled. One handlebar end was poking out through a small hole in the cover, and the front of the cover was partly underneath the front tire, meaning that the bike had rolled forward an inch or so. I started it up and started to pull out of my space and squeezed the front brake and the lever pulled all the way to the handlebar with no tension and no stopping power. I checked the bike and cables for signs of damage but didn’t see anything. I squeezed the brake lever a few times and eventually the lever developed some tension, as though it had needed to be pumped a few times. However, as soon as I rolled the bike a couple feet forward, I was back to the no-tension situation.

I rode partway down the street and could hear the brake pads alternately rubbing and then not rubbing on the wheel. I also noticed that the handlebar was turned several degrees to the right even when the bike and front tire were facing directly forward.

I parked again and saw that the front end of the bike – fork, fender, wheel – weren’t aligned with each other. I knew that I’d been parked behind a navy blue Forrester and I found two of those on my street and left them notes (“Were you parked at the top of the street earlier this week? Might you have hit my motorcycle? If so, call me!”), called Ol’ Dad with my tale of woe, and then told it to Geico.

They sent out an adjuster, my deductible is $1,000, the bike needs a new fork and a new brake rotor and maybe a new wheel, and I lost my helmet because I took it out to the street with me when I met the adjuster and I left it on the sidewalk. I hate everything about this story and I’m done telling it.


Actually, no. I'll throw a happy-ish ending in here. I got the little bike fixed too and it's running now, my mechanic thinks he'll have the Mean Streak done by the weekend, and I bought the 3/4 helmet with the nautical star on it that I liked a few months ago. And which is an XXL that is too tight on my head and I need to email the store to see if they'll take it back and give me an XXXL. Which is just fucking ridiculous. I was right the first time. I do hate this post.

D - 319 Days: Manning Farm Visit

First, a bone for those of you who, like me, wish I posted here a little more often. If you want more regular updates on my goings-on than this blog provides, you can follow me on Twitter (@DanGords). If history has taught us anything it's that I will probably post six times a day for a week or two, then cut back to once on a good day, and then cut back to once or twice a month before abandoning it altogether. But for now, I'm updating pretty regularly. So think about it.


twitter.com/DanGords

On Tuesday, April 28th, I left work a couple minutes early, rushed home, put a change of clothes in my saddlebags, and rode out to the Manning Farm in Dalton, PA. My friends Jason and Jaime had gotten married on Saturday the 25th and my friends Jason and Martha had extended their visit from Seattle by a couple days to see the pre-existing Mannings and meet the new Manning baby, Charlotte. Stefan and Biz were also spending a couple days out there so, over the previous weekend, I had started thinking about running out there to see everyone and meet the baby myself.

I was on the road by 6 and made it to the Farm just after it got dark, at about 8:45. Once I was clear of Canal St there was no traffic and I had a great ride.

When I got there, I was clearly right on time because pizzas were being made.


Stefan, Dough, and J as Spotter

The baby was asleep when I got there but Brian took me up to her room so I could get a look at her. Here's a picture of Brian and Charlotte that Martha took earlier in the day.


Bri and Charlotte. She's very serious.

We all hung out for a couple hours, eating pizza, drinking some beer, and suffering/joking through an episode of American Idol. What a horrible show. I can't believe anyone watches it, let alone practically everyone in America.

We got up in the morning, got to spend a little time with the baby, and then got ready to head back to the city. The forecasts had been for possible rain both Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, but the only rain we got was Tuesday night after I'd arrived. Wednesday morning was very cool but I was glad not to have to deal with rain.


Dan and Brian

The other four left in their car at the same time that I did, and we met up briefly in the parking lot of what used to be a truck stop where we thought we'd get gas and maybe have a bite to eat. The truck stop was shut down but Stefan took a cool picture of me from their car as we headed back to the highway.


Leaving Town

I headed for our Long Island office and had a nice ride, though a long one because I kept getting lost. It was awesome to be able to shoot out to the Farm just to see my friends for a little while. I was excited to make the trip because this is one of the main things I wanted to be able to do when I started riding: get out of the city, ride for a couple hours, visit friends, have some fun. I'm excited to get my bike back from the shop (more on that in my next post) so I can do more of this. Get upstate to see my parents...run up to Plymouth to see the Joneses...back down to Silver Spring to see my sisters...up to the Catskills to look at a couple properties and camp for a night...

One last note from this trip: on Monday or Tuesday, Stefan and a pretty pregnant Biz posed for a series of maternity photos. Our friend Martha is a pro photographer who specializes in motherhood and childhood work and her skills are ridiculous. When you consider how photogenically cool Stefan and Biz are; how magnificently beautiful Brian's Farm is; and how remarkably talented Martha is, you just knew the results of this shoot were going to be awesome. Here's a shot that I particularly like.


Stunning, right?

For more of this shoot and to see more of Martha's work, check out M. Larson Photography.

D - 357: Introducing Miss Alabama

"You are ridiculous."
- My Dad


No preamble, no lead-up, no teasers. I bought this. This is mine.



I spent a couple weeks scouring Craigslist and Ebay and the Kawasaki Motorcycle forum that I read for every Vulcan 900 within about a seven-state radius. Then on April 8th I clicked an ad for a 2005 Vulcan 1600 Mean Streak and life started to change. The ad in the forum included a link to this Craigslist ad.

I emailed the seller and he sent me about seven high resolution pictures and a link to this video of the bike that he made and put on YouTube when he originally put the bike up for sale. I was sold and I wrote back to clarify a couple details of the deal and ask him to take it off the market because I was coming down.

I checked in with Ol' Dad to show him the info about the bike and ask if he foresaw any problems with the size of the bike. He said he had no reservations about it, that I'd do great with it, that the size and power would serve me well on the open road. I made my travel plans and waited impatiently through three days of work. I called him on Wednesday night to say that I was heading to Birmingham the next day to buy the bike and ride it home, and he told me, very appreciatively, that I was ridiculous.

I met Wayne at the Birmingham airport at about 1:45 the next day. We talked about bikes for most of the 30-minute drive back to his house, and most of the times he talked about the Mean Streak he followed his thought with "you're going to love the bike."

We got to his house and he opened the garage door and I got to see the Meanie in person for the first time. The pictures really hadn't done her justice. I threw a leg over and fired her up and twisted the throttle. The video that Wayne had sent definitely hadn't done the sound justice. Wayne had been right. I loved the bike.

We packed the bike's stock seat into a box to ship to Brooklyn (Wayne had upgraded the seat to a touring seat with a passenger backrest). I unloaded the contents of my backpack into one saddlebag and stuffed the empty pack into the other. We further loaded up the bags with a toolkit for the windshield, the software for the Power Commander, the CD containing the owner's manual, a pair of Kuryakyn mirrors, and a couple other little things that came with the bike. We went up to his office to exchange money and title and sign the bill of sale. I noticed on the bill of sale that the bike's mileage was 9079, which is the last four digits of my phone number, too. That felt like a good sign.



We went to the post office with me riding the Mean Streak and Wayne leading the way in his car. Easing the bike out of the garage and the driveway and into the road, the extra weight felt about how I expected it would. At 653 pounds dry and probably 700 loaded with gear and a full tank of gas, the Meanie weighs about twice what my old 454 does. I knew that I'd have to be extremely careful to keep my balance at slow speeds and stops while I got used to the bike's heft, but it didn't feel unmanageable or particularly intimidating.

When I pulled away from the stop sign at the top of Wayne's street and gave her some real throttle in first gear for the first time, the engine roared and the bike accelerated up the road with even more authority than I'd expected. I was ecstatic. We rode about 15 miles to the post office, hopping on the interstate for a brief stretch, and I was obsessed with the bike's ride. The comfort and stability of the bike's big body combined with the powerful acceleration and awesome sound and warm weather and uncrowded roads made for an experience that was completely different from the cold-weather jaunts through New York City streets that I was used to making on the old 454 that always made me worry that it was about to break down. I was falling in love with the beautiful motorcycle under me and giddy about the three and a half days and 1,000 miles and perfect weather forecast in front of me, and I may have talked to the bike a little bit. Is that weird? People do that, right?

We got to the post office and Wayne got out of his car as I was preparing to back into the space next to his, while I accidentally honked the horn while attempting to cancel my turn signal. It's not my fault Kawasaki put those two buttons so close together.

I mailed the seat and then we headed for the DMV, about 15 minutes away. I briefly got separated from Wayne's car on the interstate but gave 'er a little extra throttle when I had the chance and powered past a couple of cars to find Wayne's car and pull back in behind him. That was my first time accelerating from cruising speed to what we'll call "passing speed" and I was again in awe of how effortlessly the bike gains that extra speed.

The DMV acted like I was the first person ever to request the 20-day temporary tags that their very own office had told me I could pick up at this very location. Eventually my rare case was being handled by about five employees and before too long they were filling out a paper tag for me. Wayne and I affixed it to the bike, I followed him to a barbeque joint where he bought me lunch, and then I was on my way.

It was exciting, being on my own with the whole ride home in front of me after Wayne and I split up. I got some general directions on my phone and hit the highway. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon, warm and slightly sunny, and traffic was almost non-existent by the time I cleared Birmingham. I dialed up a little extra throttle and then I was going 90 like it was nothing. But I dialed it back a little to ensure that I didn't start the trip out with an immediate speeding ticket.

I rode about 150 miles to Chattanooga, TN that night, found a Qualit Inn with a room, and took a walk to find my dinner. All that I could really find within walking distance and with a pulse was Applebee's, so I took a seat at the bar and had a couple beers and an Ultimate Trio appetizer combo while talking to a couple of the other patrons. After dinner I took my bike's picture for the first time.



Friday was another beautiful day and I got a pretty early start around 9:30. I found a pulled pork sandwich for breakfast at a gas station, and it was every bit as fancy as it sounds. I rode up past Knoxville and stopped for lunch in Bristol, which is a town right on the Tennessee-Virginia state line with a main street of shops and restaurants running through the village. I sat at an outdoor table just a few feet from my bike and ate a buffalo chicken sandwich and a Guinness. I talked to the lady sitting at the table next to mine for a few minutes and before I left she took my picture.



I rode until dark, passing Roanoke in favor of continuing on to Lexington, which a couple locals at one of my many gas stops told me would be the next town of note after Roanoke. Lexington turned out to be the home of the Virginia Military Institute and my search for a hotel room took me past its campus and sort-of college-town bordering it. I ended up finding a Best Western adjacent to another Applebee's, again the only eating and drinking establishment within a reasonable radius of the hotel. Fortunately, I like Applebee's and wasn't up for much of a walk anyway after riding about 420 miles in the heat and sun that day. So dinner was pretty much a repeat of Thursday's, though I chose three different options for my Ultimate Trio.

Oh, speaking of 420 miles in the sun:



I wasn't dying to talk to anyone at the bar, so I spent a lot of my time at Applebee's Blackberry Chatting with my friend Kate. It turned out that Kate and her family were in Bethesda for the weekend but heading to Charlottesville, VA, on Saturday to visit Thomas Jefferson's home and have lunch at Michie Tavern. I was only about 80 miles from Charlottesville at the time, and in short order a plan to have lunch together was born.

The ride to Charlottesville on Saturday morning got me off of Route 81 and the scenery was beautiful. I stopped at a scenic overlook a few miles outside of Charlottesville for a short break and got photographed.





I made it to the Michie Tavern a while before lunchtime, so I rode out to meet the Murphys at the visitors' center. I met up with Kate, her husband John, their almost-three-year-old Sal, and Kate's cousin Molly. We looked like this:



We headed back to the restaurant, which was on top of a windy hill and half-surrounded with a wavy multi-level parking lot. I followed an attendant's instructions to park in what he said was the only flat corner of the lot, next to the employee cars. I pulled into that corner going forward, then backed up while turning the front wheel to the right so I could then swing around to the left and be backed into my spot. The problem was, I didn't back up far enough and couldn't cut to the left sharply enough to clear the curb separating the lot from the lawn. With my front wheel pushed solidly up against that curb, I tried to back up enough that I could make another pass to clear the curb. I pushed as hard as I could but went nowhere. I was pointed down an incline and the bike was too heavy to roll up it (alternately, I wasn't strong enough to roll it up the slope, but that's just semantics; I'm blaming the bike). I put down the side stand and went into the restaurant thinking of options.

I was actually pretty anxious about the whole thing, especially after a couple dozen more motorcycles showed up at the place. I really wasn't looking forward to having these guys watch me try to muscle the thing out of that spot, or perhaps get some pushing help and end up off balance and dropping the thing. I told John that I was probably going to need his help getting out of there, and after lunch we settled on the plan of me straddling the bike and pushing and steering while he grabbed onto the fork of the bike and pushed straight forward. We executed the plan to perfection and in the absence of witnesses, and got me turned around just seconds before a couple of the other bikers came out.

After lunch, the Murphys were heading back toward DC and I was heading to see my sisters in Silver Spring, so we caravanned for the first 80 or so miles. We again stayed off the main highways and were rewarded with light traffic and great views, first of some Virginia hills and later of horse farms and other big open green spaces.

I got to Silver Spring just about as scheduled around 6:00 that night, and motored up to Denise's house. She ooh'd and ahh'd over Miss Alabama, as I had taken to calling the bike over the last few hours after thinking of her as just "Alabama" or "Alabama Worley" (from True Romance) for most of Friday. Laura came over a few minutes later and repeating the oohs and the ahhs and then headed out to downtown Silver Spring for dinner, drinks and then ice cream.

On Sunday morning, I hit the road around 9:00 to try to make it back to Brooklyn in time for a 3:00 bocce game. Here's a picture of Denise and me that we took before I left:



I had a good ride back to New York, including some three great trips over the Verrazano Bridge. That was kind of a remarkable development. I didn't get lost for a minute on the whole trip, didn't veer even a mile off course for 995 miles (possibly excepting some detouring resulting from disagreements between Kate, Cousin Molly, and their GPS as I followed them out of Charlottesville) and then it all goes to shit as I try to return to Brooklyn. I crossed the Bridge, hit 278, rode it for a while, concluded that I had missed my exit or was going the wrong way, turned around, and accidentally ended up on the on-ramp for the Bridge again. I got to the other side, made two quick lefts, and came back over the Bridge and, this time, navigated the rest of the way home properly. I rode right to Union Hall, got there at about 3:10, and learned that the bocce league was running a bit behind schedule. Nailed it. Even had time to give my teammates a look and listen at the bike.

I think that covers all the important parts. Maybe I'll expand a bit on some anecdotes from the trip at some point, but I wanted to mention the main points and get this thing posted today since it's already taken me more than three weeks to get anything about the trip up on the blog.



For more detail, click here.

D Minus 388 Days: Long Rides

Other than coming within 19 hours of going to New Jersey to look at a Vulcan 900 before it was sold to someone else, my most interesting motorcycle development since my last post is that I've gone on my longest rides yet.

A less interesting development is that my cheap-o cover, which has been getting ripped here and there since I got it, is now officially "in tatters." The snowstorm the weekend after Mardi Gras finished it off, as the weight from the snow tore small holes into huge ones and pulled it right apart. I'll get a new one when I get a new bike. Until then, it doesn't look like anything a roll of duct tape won't fix:




Since my last post, I've had my first four days of riding more than 50 miles. I spent some time at my company's Long Island office a few weeks ago and rode to work from Brooklyn twice. The first morning that I did so, it was 28 degrees when I left the house and, I would estimate, about 40 below by the time I was halfway there. I don't live my life beholden to very many rules, but two of my policies are that:

1) I don't get cold; and
2) if I am cold, I do not admit it.

In betrayal of these policies, I will tell you that I was wickedly cold that morning, so much so that I don't even mind admitting it. It was uncomfortable enough to take some of the fun out of riding; I just wanted to get to work, and this is probably the last time that phrase will appear in this blog. The term "chilled to the bone" makes sense to me now: it took me multiple coffees and over an hour in a warm room before I stopped being cold completely.

The ride home that day and the round-trip the next day were great rides. It's as little as a 25-mile ride in each direction, but I took a couple different routes and extended the ride home on the second day to almost 40 miles. I came all the way around the southern tip of Brooklyn on the Belt Parkway and had a really nice moment when I rounded a slight bend and saw the Verrazzano Bridge come into view over the water and below the setting sun. The Verrazanno is my 2nd-favorite NYC bridge (trailing only the Brooklyn) and when it showed up, I smiled and felt like everything had just come together nicely and everything was about right. Exactly the kind of feeling I hope to get often on my trip.


A map of my route. (Click to enlarge)

Last weekend, I looked at a Google Map and thought that Peekskill looked to be a good distance and some interesting roads away, so I Sharpie'd some directions onto some paper and electrical-taped them to my tank and headed upstate. It was a sunny and cool day and my bike ran great and I was in Peekskill in not much more than an hour. I got off the highway and cruised into town and was greeted by some sweet scenery, mountain views, a park alongside the mighty Hudson, and a brewpub serving lunch and stout.

Fully aware of how poorly text-only posts are received by some readers, I took pictures.









As it turns out, Peekskill is extremely hilly (or at least, the village sits on top of one steep hill that rises up from the waterfront). I gunned my bike up the slope and, upon hitting a red light, was pretty excited to get to try my hand (and my foot) at a new skill. I applied my rear brake with my right foot as a car cozied up close behind me. The light turned green and I let out the clutch, twisted the throttle, let go of the brake, and accelerated through the intersection, my first hill-start a success. Another start from the same light a few minutes later proved that the first one was no fluke.

The ride home was uneventful and fun and I ended the day having covered about 125 miles.

This most recent Saturday, I swung by mechanic's garage in Greenpoint because one of my lights (known as an auxiliary, driving, fog, or off-road light, according to the real web site called The Motorcycle Headlight Blog) had gone out (the left signal still worked, but not the running light). I had hoped I just needed a new bulb, but it turns out that water had gotten into the light casing and ruined the socket. So the shop ordered me a new one that I have to go get installed, and which probably costs more than a bulb. Anyway...

I headed upstate and was heading up through Westchester County on I-95 when my bike started running like a dick and losing some power and making me think it was going to conk out on the side of the road again. I maneuvered into the right lane and onto the shoulder as my speed dropped and felt fortunate to see that an exit was only about half a mile away. I had to shift all the way down to second and then to first gear, the bike alternately surging and lagging, threatening to stall with the clutch out but revving up a bit if I pulled it in, and I was surprised to be able to keep it going all the way to the exit ramp. Around that time it actually started to run a little better and I got it back up to 2nd and then to 3rd gear and maybe 25 mph. I pulled into town (Port Chester, it was called) and found a spot on the street near a Buffalo Wild Wings that had caught my eye. I had a beer and watched a little basketball and tried to decide how well I liked my chances of making it home with low or no drama (ultimately settling on 50/50).

After a few minutes of rest, I started feeling antsy to hit the road and see what would happen and at least leave myself maximum daylight in which to deal with problems if I lost the coin flip. The bike mostly ran well on the way home, behaving well at cruising speeds and at times lagging and idling unevenly in the first two gears. It works out well that I need to see my mechanic about my light this week and can ask him if he has any ideas about the power issues while I'm there.

The end.

D - 422 Days: Mileagestone

This will be a a relatively quick recap of a couple items of note concerning yesterday's ride.

Item of Note #1: Half a mile into my ride, my bike hit a mileagestone. I found it interesting enough to take a picture (well, three of them; this is the one that came out best). 20 years to accumulate as many miles as most cars get in one.



Item of Note #2: There's a cool store in Carroll Gardens, at the intersection of Smith and Butler, called Smith and Butler, which I last checked out the week they opened in the fall. I decided to spin over there yesterday because I've been thinking about getting a 3/4 face helmet to wear on local rides and I wanted to see if they'd gotten any cool new stuff since I was last there.

I really liked some of the helmets on the shelf shown in the first picture at the link above and loved one in particular. They were all size Large, and I'm at least an XL. I was being helped by an employee named Kyle and he said he'd check downstairs for an XL. He found one, brought it up (it happened to be the one I especially liked), and it still didn't fit. So he said he'd check with the manufacturer to see if they had XXLs they could send. The store was getting $170 for the helmets and, since I hadn't budgeted $170 to spend on a new motorcycle helmet yesterday, I figured it was just as well that I didn't get to buy one.

I took a break from IMing my friends and found this line of helmets online today. Here's the one that I thought yesterday was the best-looking helmet I've seen that didn't have viking horns on it:

The star on this helmet is subtler than it looks in this picture. From some angles you can hardly see it. When the light catches it nice, it looks incredible.

Looking at the full line again today, I kept coming back to this one as well:

I'd like to see this one again in person to see how well the flag is integrated into the helmet. If it looks at all like a sticker, I'm not into it. If it's clearly a part of the helmet, it's fairly awesome.

Now, the PROBLEM with going back to the store to see it is that I'd feel like sort of a dick. Because Kyle emailed me today to say that he ordered the flat black model with the star in XXL and is going to let me know when it comes in. Thing is, the same helmet that he's selling for a buck-seventy is available online for $70 (and the website-store carries XXL). So I've got to figure out how to play this one. I'm pretty sure I don't have the nerve to walk in there again, try on the special-ordered XXL to ensure a good fit, check out the flag model again, and then buy one of the two online. I guess at this point I'm leaning toward going in there, trying on the helmet, explaining to Kyle the discrepancy between his price and the interweb's, and offering him $80 or $90 cash. He told me yesterday that recently, while in college, he'd sold his beloved Honda because he was broke and needed money. So he can probably understand a customer's need not to overpay for a $70 product by a hundred bones.

I'll let you know how this pans out once the panning is complete. If you like one of the two choices a lot better than the other, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Item of Note #3: I did make one purchase while I was there. I bought this patch for four bucks and I'm going to put it on my backpack:



And yeah, it could probably be found on the internet for a dollar seventy-five, but I'm OK with not doing my due diligence on this one. I'll post a new picture once it's actually on my bag (allow six to eight months for this). Oh hey - does anyone know if you're supposed to sew these things on, or use an iron? Both? Other? Thanks.

Addendum (non-Motorcycle content): A sincere R.I.P. to the latest victims of my elite mouse-trapping skills. I wish I could fight my recent infestation through a more natural application of the food chain but I don't want to be that single guy with the cat. So the artillery in my war against mice is glue traps; I've used two to catch four. Though I am bigger and in some ways smarter (I'm book-smarter; they're probably street-smarter with better senses of direction), I am impressed by their loyalty. As Trevor pointed out the first time I caught two mice on one trap, the second one was probably just trying to help the first one. Though the results are ultimately ugly, the sentiment is kind of beautiful.



* This post (in particular, the beers I drank while writing it) sponsored by my Mom.
Happy Belated Valentine's Day, everyone.

D - 430 Days: My Bike is Back and my Back was Hurt

It’s been quite a while since I last posted. Here’s what’s happened.

1) I hurt my back. I’ve thrown out my back a little less than once a year for the past seven or eight years. Normally I’m in a lot of discomfort and have limited mobility for a day or two and then it loosens up over the next few days, returning to what I call normal in a week or two. I usually take some Motrin and pretty much let the problem work itself out. But I screwed it up worse than usual three weeks ago (on Sunday the 15th) and was still extremely hobbled on Tuesday so I hobbled to a doctor on Tuesday, right after the inauguration.

He prescribed muscle relaxants and sent me hobbling to 13th St for x-rays. I saw the doctor again on Monday the 23rd. The x-ray results were back and reported that I have some disk degeneration between a few of my lower vertebrae. I still hadn’t gotten back much mobility by this time and my positioning was limited to:

A) Lying on my back;
B) Lying on my side;
C) Crouching or squatting for short periods of time; and
D) Standing/walking crookedly for short distances.

I took a video of myself walking in my apartment on the 23rd. This was eight days after I hurt myself, in the evening, after having had the full day to loosen it up. You can imagine how much fun I had each time I had to go out to see a doctor or to see some pizza or whatever I had to see, shuffling through the Slope oozing pure sex like this.



On Tuesday, I met with a couple of physicians specializing in pain management and got a cortisone injection after a quick inspection. When he was done giving the shot, the doctor asked “how are you doing?” and I said “feeling better already” which was meant as something like a stupid joke but ended up being just about true. I walked out of the place way easier than I'd walked in, and had a good walk back to my apartment. I was disappointed to read on the Googler that patients get kind of a false sense of almost-immediate relief from the local anesthetic provided by the needle that precedes the one with the cortisone, but I’ve felt pretty awesome since the night I got the shot.

I was able to go back to work the next day, actually went back to work the day after that, and have shot #2 scheduled for tomorrow. I also got an MRI last Monday and have delivered a copy of the scans to the cortisone doctor, who should also have a full interpretation of the results from a radiologist by now. The biggest thing for tomorrow is to ask the couple of outstanding questions I have (“outstanding” meaning “still hanging out there,” although, in all honesty, they are very excellent questions) and find out what the doctors think will help fix this problem in the long term – physical therapy, stretching, strengthening, yoga, acupuncture, hypnosis, soapy Asian massage (something I saw on the internet once), etc.

2) I got my bike back! My mechanic called to say it was ready the week before last, but I wasn’t physically ready to ride just yet. As soon as I thought it possible that I was, I made arrangements to pick it up and called a car to take me over to Williamsburg. It’s got a new battery and a new ignition system (and possibly new spark plugs) and rode beautifully back to Brooklyn. It was in the 30s and windy that day and I made the ride unnecessarily long by avoiding the BQE (nervous to get back on that puppy before I knew the bike was up to it) and then by getting all kinds of lost (this happens to me automatically). It was warmer on Sunday and I had a nice ride around the neighborhood and then I parked down the block near my home.

When I went to ride again this most recent Saturday, my motorcycle was on the sidewalk next to where I’d parked it on the street and cars were parked close to bumper to bumper in the area. Don’t ask me how or why or by whom my bike was moved – I don’t know. My best guess is that a strong asshole (maybe two) saw what would be a parking space if only a motorcycle weren’t parked where it was so they moved it for me. Or maybe someone is so serious about street cleaning that they saw it on the street on Monday when the street cleaner was scheduled to come through so they moved it in the interest of maintaining a clean street. In which case it's probably the same neighbor who once left a note taped to my windshield urging me to comply with the alternate-side parking laws so the street cleaners can do their job for all of us.

I noticed a weird thing which was that there was a hose hanging down in front of the motor and behind the front tire and reaching nearly to the ground; I’d never noticed this before and the first thing I thought was that the asshole who had moved my bike had also cut a line for some reason. I tried the ignition and it started immediately and sounded great so I figured I’d just keep an eye on the brakes and steering and engine heat level for a while once I started riding (note: this storyline does not get any more dramatic; I did what I figured I would do and everything is fine).

Anyway, the sidewalk had a lot of ice and snow on the edge near the road, so I went back to my apartment and got my shovel and garden hoe (insert hoe joke here) and chipped and shoveled a path to the road. A photographer with a big video camera rig stopped by and asked if I minded if he filmed me and I said “yeah, I think I do mind…thanks for asking though, I appreciate it.” I got on my bike and straddle-walked it off the curb and into the street, returned my tools to the apartment, and went for a nice ride around the neighborhood. I met up with my friend Jason, who knows quite a bit about cars and how they are built and fixed, and we developed a couple of theories about the hose’s purpose, all of which can be summarized by saying “since it’s running fine, it’s fine, and it probably just used to be clamped or tied up to something, but came undone when They were moving the bike.” I’m very satisfied and comfortable with this conclusion.

Two other semi-interesting factoids from that ride:

A) As I came down a one-way street and slowed to a stop at a stoplight on 7th Ave, I was greeted by a retard turning the wrong way onto said one-way street. Not really too big a deal since I was already almost stopped and had time to steer further to the right-hand side of the street to allow the retard to sort of pass me while I gestured questioningly and he gestured apologetically before nearly causing a couple more accidents backing back onto 7th Ave, but a memorable moment from the ride.

B) As long as I’ve had a license plate for my motorcycle, I’ve had it attached to one side of the mounting plate with a bolt and nut that I had lying around and to the other side of the plate with a twister tie from a box of trash bags (I always grab my trash bags by the sides and tie the two sides into a knot so I have a lot of twister ties lying around). When I picked up my bike from the mechanic, he gave me a nut and bolt to replace the twister ties. On Saturday, another biker pulled up alongside me on 7th Ave to tell me that my license plate was falling off. I pulled over and, sure enough, the nut and bolt that had replaced my twister ties had pulled through the metal of the plate, which was dangling by my original bolt, whose nut was still loosely attached. I tightened that nut up and pulled a small strip of old leather off one of my saddlebags to tie the other corner of the plate to the mount and rode to the hardware store. I bought a bolt, nut and washer and thought I had my problem fixed. When I finished my ride, the new hardware was nowhere to be found and the plate hung to the bracket only by my original bolt. The next day, I tied my plate back onto the mounting bracket with twist ties. 30 miles later, the plate hadn’t budged. It’s funny how things work out sometimes.

I’ll pause here to allow Trevor to take a few deep breaths and get back his composure after giggling hysterically through a paragraph that contains the words “mounting,” “nut,” “dangling,” "hung," and “nut” again. Certain of my readers have some growing up left to do.

Yesterday, the temperature was supposed to get into the mid-50s in Brooklyn so I planned a ride to Coney Island. I Google-mapped a route and wrote it down on paper. I removed the liner from what is becoming a very beloved motorcycle jacket. I filled my bucket with a little 409 all-purpose cleaner and a lot of hot water and wiped my bike down with a small towel to remove all the salt and other road dirt that had accumulated on it, mostly on the exhaust pipes and the wheels. I taped my directions to my tank and headed out.

The ride to Coney Island was perfect. It was sunny and warm and traffic was light. The Belt/Shore/Leif Erickson Parkway runs south along the western coast of Brooklyn so I had great water scenery to my right. Everything on my motorcycle felt tight and smooth and solid. I got up into 6th gear and up to about 70 mph for the first time and felt like the bike had plenty of engine left. And I didn’t get lost.

I made my way down to Surf Ave, rode past Nathan’s and then doubled back to park near the pier. I said hello to a couple of grizzled old bikers standing next to gorgeous, fully dressed Indian bikes and then took a walk and a few pictures:





Then I headed back toward the Slope to make a 3:00 bocce ball competition at Union Hall.

In summary: my back was hurt but now feels great. Riding the motorcycle doesn’t aggravate it at all; in fact, I think my riding position mirrors the natural curve of my spine pretty nicely. My bike is back from the shop and is riding noticeably better than it has in the time that I’ve owned it. I’ve been teased with warm weather and the riding opportunities that spring will bring. And the best way to attach license plates to motorcycles is with twist ties.

D - 457 Days: More Q and A

Hello, and welcome to my first official post of 2009. I'm excited to be able now to say that my trip will take place "next year" instead of "in 2010." It makes it feel a little bit closer.

Before we tackle a couple new FAQs (one of which has actually been Asked Frequently, not only in Jack's list of questions), an update on the "broken motorcycle" situation I described in an early December post. The combination of holiday madness and winter coldness took away some of my urgency to get it fixed right away. I finally caught up with my mechanic, Mark at Triborough Motorcycles, on Saturday, and he and one of his employees stopped by in the early afternoon to pick up the bike. I'm hoping it'll be fixed for a reasonable price this week and I'll be able to ride it home from Williamsburg.

Then I'll get on with my New Year's Resolution of not breaking motorcycles and cars in 2009 (for anyone unaware, I fender-bendered my friend's car to close out 2008).

(Q4) What will you tell your boss or co-worker the day they inevitably find this blog earlier than you had hoped?

This was pretty high on Jack's list, and also one of my Mom's first questions, and something that I considered when deciding to start this blog.

First, I don't think it's quite inevitable that Work will find 600 Days. As far as I know, nobody from my company has ever seen my last blog, and I was less diligent about keeping that one out of the public eye than I am with this one. My personal and semi-professional circles don't overlap much at all. My few Facebook friendsters who know about the trip also know not to post questions about the blog or the Plan publicly (or, if they didn't, they do now). And I've selected the Blogspot options that prevent my blog from appearing in Blogster and internet searches. When I enrolled as a follower of Jack's blog, Project Mustang, I even edited my profile so that My Blogs aren't listed under "My Blogs" (that's where they'd be listed).

Second - I'd tell the nosy co-worker that (like everything you read in the blogosphere) it's all true and I'd ask for some discretion. If they tried to blackmail me, I wouldn't play ball (I've seen six movies already in 2009 so I know that, when it comes to blackmail, paying the requested monies or not is called "playing ball" or "not playing ball," respectively). Nobody working at my company really wants to be doing what they're doing, so what offense can they take when one of us decides to do something else?

My company seems to really like having me in my position. If it surfaced next week that I've set April 2010 as my termination date, I think my boss and her boss would still want me to do what I do until April 2010. Believe it or not, I do a lot of good work at this place and I'd be hard to replace. I've never done it personally, but I've seen people work really hard up to and including their last day with a company (yeah, I don't understand it either; during my last two weeks at a job, I answer most questions "NMP" - Not My Problem). And I'd be able to participate in the finding of my replacement and getting that person trained so that the transition would be smooth when I hit the road.

So I don't think that the revelation of my Plan to my co-workers would mean the end of my employment with my company. I do figure it would mean the end of getting raises or promotions, since I would stop being a good investment in that sense.

That said, it will make things a lot easier if I'm able to keep this blog out of my company's sight until I'm ready to give my notice (early March of next year). If anyone has any suggestions for increasing my chances of keeping this on the down lowdown, I'm all ears.