Day 54 - Lombard St

San Francisco used to be fun. I only hear the reports about it now but all my friends who claim to live in San Francisco actually live in the suburbs or across the bay so that tells me something. 

I just bought a Honda Scrambler like the one I used to own when I lived there. In those days you could ride in the hills south of the city. The ones you see from the freeway as you drive in from the airport. It was legal before the Green Taliban took it away to be used by only the carefully anointed. Sharing has never been their thing.

We were a young and smart set who drank cocktails and drove sports cars. At one party the talk turned to cars and who was faster than who.

My Triumph will beat your MG. My Alfa will walk all over your Triumph. My Jag will eat your Alfa alive. And so forth.

All in good fun until the 3^rd or 4^th round of martinis.

Somebody had the grand idea that a little competition was good for the soul. Since the party was over by Ghirardelli Square it was decided that racing down Lombard Street was a reasonably good idea. This would take away the power advantage from the big cars and put a premium on handling and brakes.

If you don't know Lombard Street it is a steep downhill stretch of tight hairpin curves. Look closely at the picture and you will see that the surface is paved with bricks. One of the favorite pastimes of the residents is to go out and water the little gardens which drains onto the bricks. The yahoos who think themselves great and speedy drivers hit the wet bricks and then the retaining walls all to the amusement of the onlookers.

That night our plan was simple, a couple of people went to the bottom at Hyde Street and got out stopwatches to check the times. The rest of us lined up at the top on Leavenworth. The ones at the bottom would beep their horn and start the Heuers. As the car passed by at the bottom they would record the time and note the driver. Somebody measured the distance and could calculate the speed from the time elapsed.

It didn't take long before San Francisco's finest showed up in their black and white. However, they didn't stop the fun. They found it rather amusing and let us proceed. In fact, to make it all official, they handed out City of San Francisco Timing Certificates to each driver proclaiming that they had actually gone XX mph down the hill.

True, I had to go to court to pay the fine for the frivolity but I got to keep my Timing Certificate (speeding ticket) which I treasured for years.

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Day 53 - Vintage

Click here for a little light hearted fun. Something we all need right now!

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The battle rages on. No, not that battle, a really important one. Namely, what constitutes “Vintage”.

When I was in high school my dad had a Packard that he thought was absolutely the greatest. I thought it was a Jurassic relic. It was over 20 years old!!!

Now I'm riding a bike I bought new while at UConn in '89. I don't consider it vintage and yet it's over 30 years old! The same number of years I've been married and I certainly wouldn't tell my wife she's vintage!

The current object of concern is the Honda Trail 90. Originally brought out over 50 years ago it has been re-released as the Trail 125.

Same look, same function, virtually the same price. Some of the purists are claiming that this is not vintage and should be banned from club events. Riders who have bought the new model claim that it is very much in the spirit of the original and should be accepted on an equal basis. 

If drum brakes were appropriate for the '71 model then what's the problem with disk brakes which is current technology? Honda would have used disks back then if they had them so the reasoning goes.

My '89 Transalp has a disk in the front and a drum brake in the rear so it straddles the issue. Personally, I just want to go for a ride!

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Day 52 - Insight

My main computer is being backed up so that I can replace it with a new one. This will be a short 100 words so that I can keep up with my challenge.

When the mind wanders where does it go? An existential question to be sure. I've talked to a lot of people and they all agree that some of their best ideas some while taking a shower or doing something equally mindless. The body is occupied but the mind has no boundaries. It is free from the constraints of thought and can free associate within itself.

This leads one to wonder what the mind could accomplish if it were freed from the physical shell it lives within. Sci-Fi authors have long sought answers to how the impulses of the brain could be transformed into an electronic network. There is actual research into how this transformation could be effected.

Imagine an internet of the mind. Imagine being all places at the speed of light and having all knowledge available instantaneously. Then imagine the vile poison spilling into the internet we have now. That is certainly a dark place.

We have progressed from cavemen (and women) to what we have now and think it progress. But each generation thinks it is the modern generation with everything at its beck and call. Then it finds itself to be yesterday's newsprint good only for wrapping day old fish. A harsh joke for our children and our children's children.

To look back is to see our folly. To look forward is to see our conceit. Only our arrogance keeps us from slashing our wrists and admitting our failure. The future's so bright we have to wear sunglasses until it's so dark we can't see the boogieman in front of our face. 

All the better because that boogieman is us.

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Day 51 - Republic

Halfway through this challenge and I have nothing to say. Yesterday's events have left me speechless. I would back a 25^th Amendment removal if Trump had not stated that he would leave in an orderly manner in two weeks. Any attempt to remove him would only further divide the country. 

I admit that I voted for him, thinking that he would bring business experience to the running of the government. I'm not saying that he didn't accomplish many things but his constant verbal diarrhea put everything in a shadow.

Would Hillary have done better? I doubt it. She just would have been horrible in different ways. I don't think anyone voted for either one of the candidates in the last election. I think most people voted against the one they distrusted the most.

Unlike some of the friends I've talked to I don't think the country is doomed or will fall to some bizarre revolution. We've had bad presidents before and we will have them again.

The Republic will persevere!

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Day 50 - Rally

Notes on organizing a motorcycle rally

1. Keep it simple.
   If this is your first time organizing a rally, keep it simple.
   The simplest rally that I know of was held annually in Brooklyn. A day and time were announced and everyone gathered at the starting place. Just before the appointed time a person would walk out in front of the old Town Hall and set up a card table. On it they would place a pile of route sheets. When the Town Hall clock stuck the hour the riders would rush up, grab a route sheet, and hit the road. At the destination the same person would be sitting with the same card table and a pile of Award Certificates. The route was somewhat obfuscated so there were plenty of challenges to it. The Awards became bragging points until the next year.

2. Decide what kind of rally you want.
   On road, off road, combination of the two? Strict time/distance, fun tour with questions about route points, a set of destinations to be taken in any order?
   One group bought shop towels and spray painted letters on them. The route sheet was a list of points of interest in the surrounding area. Each rider had to find the place, put their shop towel on the bike in front of the destination, take a photo, and then text it to rally central. The first person to complete the list and get back to the start was the winner.
   Another rally for vintage tiddlers was a simple tour with specific directions through the New England countryside. 1.3 miles Turn Right, 2.7 miles Left at Fork, etc. Sometimes the roads would be named, other times not. The destination was always the organizer's home so that people could find their way if they got lost.

3. Lay out the route several times.
   If it includes mileages, run the route with different vehicles to get an average of each leg. Odometers vary so have several Reset stops so that riders aren't constantly doing math in their heads to figure out where the next way point is.
   Run the route the night before to make sure that there are no surprises. Construction may have closed a road since the last time you went that way. Any number of things can happen, and will!

4. Determine your resources
   How many people will you need for support? In the Brooklyn rally one person did it all. The tiddler rally required a person to set up the route and a person to follow the route with a truck and trailer to pickup bikes that had broken down.
   Many will promise but few will show up. This is just human nature. Their puppy got sick, the in-laws suddenly showed up, they forgot … Have backups for everything and call the night before to verify their commitment.

5. Know your audience
   Who are you aiming this at? Old British bikes rules out rough dirt roads because all the parts will fall off from the vibration. New and experienced adventure riders? Have challenging expert sections but with cutouts so the newbies don't get frustrated or worse. Don't put small bikes on big highways!

6. Check the date
   Research all the other events that might cause a conflict. Super Bowl Sunday is probably not a good choice. Neither is any date that is the same as a local club event that would gather to the same riders you want to appeal to. Sometimes it can't be helped and you just have to hope for the best.

7. Get the word out
   Think of how you're going to publicize the event. If it's a club function that's easy but if it's a special affair you're going to have to put it out there for the people who will be most likely to join in. Flyers and a website are good. Make it interesting and try to enlist the help of clubs and dealers. They are generally in favor of anything that will promote the sport.

8. Have fun
   My experience is that laying out the route is the most fun of all. Finding a tricky hill that will slow the riders down or an easily missed turn that will force the fast guys to backtrack to find what they missed. Some rally masters are known and loved/loathed for their diabolical tricks.

9. Go back and look at #1
   Don't overthink your plan. If it's a good one everyone will have a great time and plan on coming back for the next one. Experience will tell you what works and what doesn't. Don't try to do it all. Save some of the surprises for next time.
   
   

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Day 49 - Taxi II

When I drove taxi I was popular with the gay crowd in the South End (as opposed to South Boston which was the Irish ghetto). I treated them with respect and always came when they requested me. In time we got to know each other and had a lot of fun telling jokes and acting up.

One of my favorites was a transvestite named Trixie. She did a lip sync show at a club down in the Combat Zone. This was an area of hard core clubs, bars, and all night Chinese restaurants. She was always trying to get me to come down and see her act.

Finally, one night I said yes and she left my name at the door so that they would let me in without a hassle. Talk about stepping into a different world. Wow! The women in there were beyond gorgeous. I just stopped with my mouth open and gawked like some plow boy fresh off the farm. Seriously, I just about had to slap myself to pull it together.

I watched Trixie do her numbers with a backup chorus of hot babes. She spotted me from the stage and came running over to plant a sweet kiss on my cheek. I had picked her up (in my cab) many times but there was a world of difference when she was standing right in front of me in spectacular form.

“What did you think?”

I blurted out something like, “You were amazing. Where did you learn to learn to sing like that?”

She giggled and wanted to flirt. I had a drink and was sociable but had to keep reminding myself - Not A Girl! - Not A Girl! - Not A Girl!

A few days later I got a request, “Cab 791 Your girlfriend Trixie wants you to pick her up at the Copley Plaza.” I wheeled around and got down there but didn't see her. I got out of the cab and looked around.

“Over here J.”

I heard the voice but didn't see the girl. Then I got it, she wasn't in drag and looked like a regular guy. Holy Crap, what a switch that was. She sat up front and we chatted as I drove her home. I didn't ask and she didn't say anything about it. Just another day in the South End.

She was a normal person, not schizo in any way. I don't know how she handled the dual persona but I enjoyed our many discussions as we drove through the city late at night.

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Day 48 - Taxi

I drove a taxi in Boston for a while. For all its liberal pretensions, Boston is a very bigoted city. Neighborhoods are clearly marked by their racial and economic boundaries. People in Roxbury don't go to Beacon Hill and vice-versa.

I was no hero but I believed that once you got into my taxi it was my job to take you where you wanted to go, no matter who you were or what your destination. This led to a few interesting situations.

One time I picked up this elderly black woman at the Stop and Shop. She wanted to go to the Franklin Hill apartments and asked me if I would take her there before even getting into the car. No surprise, Franklin Hill was notorious for gang activity and most drivers wouldn't go anywhere near the place for fear of being robbed, or worse. I told her that if that's where she wanted to go then that's where I'd take her.

When we got to the edge of the complex she told me to pull over and she would walk the rest of the way. She had several bags of groceries which would have been a heavy load so I told her I would take her to her building. She shook her head but gave me directions. When we pulled up I offered to help bring the bags up to her apartment.

She looked at me as if I was crazy and said, “It's bad enough that I have to live here without having the death of some crazy white cab driver on my conscience!” She took her bags and I left with the sound of gunshots behind me. Either they were firing at somebody else or they were just bad shots. I didn't really care which.

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Day 47 - Triumph

While I was at UConn I had this totally disreputable Triumph TR250. I can't remember if my brother gave it to me or sold it to me but it was transportation when I needed it. The tires didn't match and the heater didn't work but it got me to campus and back which was all I cared about.

However, it was a sports car when everyone else was either driving a mommy hand-me-down or walking so I was cool. The seats were out of some other car and weren't bolted down. On a fast takeoff they would rock back as if to do a flip. On Rt 32 there was a long hill with a sharp drop at the top. One of those things that would make your tummy bump when your dad went over them in the family sedan.

Most people confuse speed with acceleration. Blast away from a stop light or make sharp bends around corners and they think you're Speed Racer even though you never go past 25 mph. On the other hand, add speed slowly and you can go down the freeway at 100mph and they will never notice.

One sunny day in the Triumph with the top down I was out driving with my friend Dave. Ahead of us was the hill with the drop. I slowly fed speed to the car while keeping Dave engaged in conversation so that he wouldn't notice.

At the top of the hill we had actually left the ground for a couple of feet which I thought was lots of fun. When I looked over at Dave he was half out of the car flapping in the wind. He was holding onto the top of the windshield for dear life with a terrified look on his face. A moment he would not soon forget.

Another time a popular girl asked me if I would drive her over to town to do some shopping. “Absolutely, your chariot awaits!”

We drove along Rt 195 with the top down (I never put it up short of a blizzard) chatting away when we came to the stop light at Rt 72. Along side of me pulls up a guy in one of those “Woodie” station wagons. He looks at me and Nancy and I look at him, his dumpy wife, and the three screaming kids in the back. I nodded and give him a knowing smile, a thumbs up, and hit the gas.

She wasn't my girlfriend and the car was far from a Ferrari but he wanted to believe the dream was still alive and I couldn't let him down.

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Day 46 - Squad Car

I left San Diego to take a new job in Boston in the winter of 1979. There were more reasons to make the move than just the promise of a new position. I know leaving the sunny beaches for the winter storms of New England sounds crazy but it was something I had to do.

I had a 1963 Dodge Dart convertible that we referred to as the Squad Car. It had more than a few rust spots and a cheap replacement top from J. C. Whitney. A slant 6 engine and a push button automatic transmission. It was called the Squad Car because wherever we went it was the car we took. To the beach, to the clubs, 3 people, 8 people, the Squad Car was it.

Now I was driving across Kansas in the middle of the night heading for another new beginning. I had just passed an off-ramp for some unknown town when I began to hear a squeal from under the car. Normally I would just press on and trust to luck but something about this noise made me turn around and make my way to the town I had just passed.

It was one of those Middle America towns with maybe 600 people and a high school for all the farm kids in the county. I came down Main Street and parked in front of a service garage. It was freezing cold so I hunkered down and turned on the engine every once in a while for what little warmth the heater had to offer.

I woke to the sound of people coming to work and went in to explain my troubles to the manager. Hearing that I was on my way to a new job he told me to bring it into the service bay and they would look at it immediately. I had just started up the ramp when the right front wheel fell off! The squealing sound I'd heard was the wheel bearings committing suicide! Lucky that I had turned around when I did. 

They rushed out and lifted the front end with one of those jacks with wheels and I slowly inched the car forward onto the lift. Once there they came to the conclusion that it was indeed fatal. The parts would cost more than the car was worth. Just as I was contemplating hitchhiking to Boston one of the mechanics remarked that he thought there was another Dart out at the junk yard and they might be able to get parts off of it. A phone call confirmed the existence of the parts for the total sum of $25.

The crew seemed to think that this was the most excitement they'd had in a long time and threw themselves into gear. In the mean time I was stranded with nothing to do while they went to get the parts. The manager suggested a diner down the street for coffee and breakfast.

I walked into 1945 when I entered the diner. I took a stool at the counter and a waitress walked up. “You must be that guy with the car that the wheel fell off. Want some coffee?” 30 minutes haven't gone by since the incident and I'm already famous! I had coffee with eggs and bacon when the waitress told me that the crew had come back with the parts but it would still be a couple of hours before they would be done. She assured me that I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. I thanked her but said I wanted to walk around a bit.

As cold as it was that didn't last long and I headed into the town library for warmth. The librarian came up to inform me that they were closed except for school kids. Then she looked at me with a smile and said, “I'll bet you're the guy with the car that the wheel fell off.” Word travels fast in a small town. She told me that I was welcome to take a seat over to one side and to let her know if the kids made too much noise.

She come over later and let me know that my car was ready. My own personal assistant. I walked back to the garage and there was my car sitting out front on all four wheels. They informed me that my timing was off so they had set that correctly and did a couple of other things that “needed attention”

The bill was absurdly low for all the work and care they had put into it. This was America at its best. People helping people without agenda or expectation just because they needed it.

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Day 45 - Fortune

New Year's Day is an artifice. Today is like yesterday and like tomorrow. Maybe the sun will linger a couple of minutes longer but the cosmos won't care. Astronomers will note that the earth has regained its place around the sun again but the exact point seems pretty arbitrary.

Astrologers will mumble something about Sagittarius but can't quite agree about Ophiuchus so who knows (or cares)?

It's a great time for a party with plenty of spirits to buoy the spirit and spirituality. We can all pretend the future will be different as the ball drops in front of an empty Times Square. Kiss the one next to you and hope for the best.

Make resolutions that will last at least a week and write them down so you can reuse them next year. No more carbs and lots more exercise. Eliminate all the bad choices with partners and become your own best friend. Maybe Madame Zuzu has the answer as she reads your palm while you cross hers with silver.

At UConn I used to hang out in New York City a lot. I would take a current or potential girlfriend with me and we'd cruise the bars and coffee houses of Greenwich Village. One stop I would always make was a fortune teller on Bleeker Street.

The first time we were just walking along and stopped in on a lark. The woman was as expected; old (probably no more than 50 at most but we were 20ish so she seemed old), heavy set, and dressed in the expected manner. She asked for no money but suggested a donation be left in her basket. 

My initial offering did not impress her and she glanced at my date with a look that left little doubt about the how the psychic revelations were going to go if I weren't more generous. I quickly enriched my contribution and was rewarded with revelations of love, happiness, and a successful bonding of spirits. I few drinks at the White Horse Tavern on Hudson and everything she said came true!

From that time forward I never took a date to NYC without happening to pass by the woman's store front. “Let's see what she has to say just for laughs.” The old crone and I became partners in this subterfuge, she predicted everything I hoped would come true and I rewarded her as handsomely as I could. I doubt the girls were fooled and were happy to play their part in a future they also had in mind.

Happy New Year

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Day 44 - 35mm

35mm … Film … KodaChrome … Photomat drive-thru kiosk …

If any of this is ringing a bell you are obviously not 22 anymore. In a world of phone cameras that are smarter than your 11^th grade high school gym teacher, the act of holding a machine up to your eye to take a picture is as foreign as waving your arms to fly.

Yet there is are reasons to step back in time and actually take a picture as opposed to glancing at a subject and jabbing the screen to capture an image. It certainly isn't convenience, you can't immediately post it to FakeBook or InstaScam. It won't capture movement or sound so you can make your friends jealous for not being where you are. It just makes a noise that you hope will one day become an image printed on a piece of paper that you can look at.

Photograph - photo meaning light and graph meaning picture. A picture made with light. Hopefully, also with more than a small amount of thoughtfulness.

Thoughtfulness is the key. You have to remember to take it with you. You have to remember to bring extra film. Unlike a phone with it's nearly unlimited image capacity, there are only 24 or 36 images per roll. You have to ration them. Instead of just taking random shots and hoping one will come out OK, you have to think about what you want to achieve with your light picture.

It's slow and that's the key. Instead of whipping out the ubiquitous phone and machine gunning a scene at arm's length, you bring the camera to your eye and peer into a little replica of the world in front of you. It's a tiny piece of that world surrounded by black. As you move the camera the scene changes and you start to see details you had missed at first. A tree that seems to be growing from the top of somebody's head, a face in the crowd that seems misplaced, a child's smile that is there, gone, and back again.

A long time ago I was invited to take a master class with Edward Villella. He spoke as much about the philosophy of dance as he did techniques. Most importantly for me was his discussion of The Point of Innocence. That is, that point when all artifice and ego have drained away leaving only the purity of art.

As you peer through the viewfinder into the world in front of you there is a point when you see clearly that moment when a child's smile is not just shining but is radiant. With a little practice you come to know when that moment is coming and you wait for it.

Henri Cartier-Bresson called it the decisive moment. He said,

He said: "Photographier: c'est dans un même instant et en une fraction de seconde reconnaître un fait et l'organisation rigoureuse de formes perçues visuellement qui expriment et signifient ce fait" ("To me, photography is the simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event as well as of a precise organization of forms which give that event its proper expression.").

This decision to make a photograph rather than grab a shot, to take time instead of a random instant, is what makes a great photograph.

Not all photos on film are great works of art and there are digital images worthy of museums. The difference is time and dedication.

And sometimes just plain luck!

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Day 43 - Hiking

I went hiking in the Oquirrh mountains today. It's something I had been promising myself all summer. Rather than let another year slip by I decided that today was the day to try for the summit of a nearby peak. Plenty time for thinking as I hiked alone.

The inclination varied from 20° to over 45°. This got me to thinking about how far I was progressing on a linear horizontal plane. I dug into my memory to find the equations for sine and tried to mentally calculate the x-axis distance for the path I was covering. For 45° it is about 100' for every 141' I walked. At 30° it was ~100' for every 126'. I haven't checked those numbers for accuracy since getting back but I think they're close.

That settled I began thinking of the weight I was carrying. An old 35mm camera that is built like a tank and weighs as much. A gps to track and record my progress. Sundry other things that I might need in case of a problem. It occurred to me that if I lost the 15 pounds that refuse to go away there would be 15 pounds I would not be hauling to the top of the mountain.

This reminded me of a time at the race track when one of the riders was showing everyone his new titanium clutch, brake, and shift levers. He allowed as how the weight savings (a few grams at most) was surely going to put him at the front of the pack. He was kind of chunky and I suggested that he could save more weight and a lot of money by just skipping a few cheeseburgers. This led to a spirited race around the pit garages with me in the lead and him right behind me with a 27mm spanner in hand. Everyone had a good laugh.

I noticed some tracks in the snow that didn't look like a dog's. The area is known to be habitat for cougars and mountain lions. This made me question my choice of attire. A tan parka with a furry ruff that is about the same shade as a deer's pelt. Light gray/tan pants and dark boots also mimicking a deer's coloring. Maybe that 5 pound camera would make a good weapon to hit the attacker on the head if it came to that. Luckily, it didn't.

Snow varied between none and 5-6” along the way. This is a mixture of good and bad on a hike like this. Going uphill it forces you to lift your feet higher and then drop them into the snow again. Plodding along, looking for the thin spots to make it easier. On the way down the snow is a blessing. It cushions your footfalls and saves your knees from the shock of each step. Because it was crusty it also gave a firmer footing than the loose rocks and gravel.

Two and a half hours later I was back to my truck. Just short of 6 miles R/T with 1800' vertical climb. I didn't make it to the top but I wasn't sitting in front of the television either.

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Day 42 - Thoughts

Random thoughts:

I saw a woman the other day wearing a mask that she had either knit or crocheted. Absolutely not filtration was involved but it certainly looked nice.

Perhaps the best part of the pandemic is that those masks sure hide a lot of ugly!

Putting something away so that I won't lose it means that I will never find it again.

Whenever somebody tells me they have a Bucket List I know that it's a list of things they will never do. People who do things just do them. The road to Someday leads to Nowhere!

In 2020 I have spent $15,997.16 on motorcycles and travel, and $756.47 on booze. Not a bad ratio. Obviously gasoline is my recreational drug of choice.

A friend was putting together a first aid kit for travel and sent me the list of contents. Israeli clotting bandages and tourniquets were included but he missed the most important thing, Common Sense. For all the traveling I've done I've rarely needed more than Band-aids. You don't need clotting bandages if you don't do something stupid to begin with. Common sense is the least common sense of all.

EMT: the first person you see after saying, “Watch this!”

I leave the Christmas lights on my tree in the front yard lit all year long. They're solar powered and the neighbors have come to use them as a point of reference when giving directions.

To replace the exhaust system on a Honda Interceptor first remove the rear wheel.

That's all my brain is good for today. See you tomorrow.

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Day 41 - Shoulder

A follow up to yesterday's story:

While I was waiting for my shoulder to mend I was not supposed to ride even though I felt fine. Bored, I started tinkering in the shop, cleaning up and doing all the little things I never had time to do when riding was an option.

I had a CB450 that was waiting to be rebuilt so when I ran out of other things to do I decided it was time to get started on it. I put it up on the lift and began stripping off parts so that I could get to the engine. The double overhead cam design of the head prevented it from being removed while the engine was still in the frame.

A CB450 weighs about 450 pounds of which at least a quarter of which is the engine. So, well over 110 pounds. No problem, I had pulled many of them out of their frames in my days as a mechanic. Tilt it forward, lean it to the left and out it comes.

And it did so that I could carry it about 10  feet to my work bench. There was only the barest hint of a Crink from my shoulder as I did this. My wife confirmed that my right shoulder was now drooping dramatically lower than my left one. Back to Dr. Lars ...

X-rays showed that the steel plate he had inserted was bent! He was amazed and said he had never seen such a thing before. Always happy to extend medical science. A new surgery was scheduled and performed. He put in a titanium plate this time with the comment, "I'd like to see you bend this one!"

I was sent home with instructions not pickup anything heavier than a PB&J sandwich for the next 8 weeks. Luckily I had air tools to disassemble the 450 and a friend who came over and torqued the head for me. Putting it back into the frame had to wait.

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Day 40 - R100RS

One of the best bikes I ever owned was my 1988 BMW R100RS. Of course there is the small matter of it trying to kill me but what is a broken collar bone and a few ribs between friends?

I had always thought that the R100RS was one of the most beautiful bikes ever built. The proportions were just right and every line and curve had a purpose. Many consider it the first Super Bike.

I had just sold my '76 CB750F (bad move) and bought the RS with the money (good move). Just after bring it home I was riding up Rt 32 in Connecticut to show it off to friends from Boston. Wide right hand curve at moderate speed and suddenly I was down and sliding towards the curb.

This is when wearing a helmet pays off. My head hit the curb and bounced off. Then my shoulder hit the curb and went crunch, then the ribs followed with crunchiness of their own. Minus the helmet my head would have gone SPLOT like a watermelon hitting the ground after a five story free fall.

A semi was behind me but saw what happened and stopped diagonally to block anybody from further mangling my body. I never got to thank him but he's one of my heroes.

An ambulance showed up but I declined a ride because I had no health insurance and didn't need hospital bills on top of bike repair bills. Even in emergencies one has to maintain perspective. I'd broken the collarbone before and ribs are no big thing.

My friends showed up as I was bidding the ambulance crew adieu. We examined the scene but there seemed to be no explanation for the crash. After securing the bike at the home of a friendly onlooker, one of the guys volunteered to take me home on the back of his bike. Just imagine 35 miles of bouncing along back country roads while holding my arm up so my shoulder didn't hurt any more than it had to.

When I got home I conceded that maybe this was more than a minor scrape and deserved a better look. The urgent care clinic x-rayed the damage and informed me that my collarbone was now in four pieces and some assembly was required. I gave Dr. Lars Richardson at Massachusetts General Hospital and asked him when he would be free to put me back together again. He has a rather large file on me.

I went back to pick up the bike and really couldn't figure out what went wrong. I wasn't speeding, there was no sand in the road, nothing obvious jumped out at me. Surprisingly the bike was nearly unharmed except for scrapes on the valve cover and a crack in the fairing that I artfully covered up with a CT Rockers sticker.

I took the bike to Peter Boggia at MotoBorgotaro in Brooklyn. Peter is one of the best mechanics in the world for European bikes and we'd done business before. I trailered it down and told him that I Wouldn't need it back any time soon since I was banned from riding for a while by Dr. Lars.

The verdict came back that it was a combination of bad luck and poor maintenance by the previous owner. The tires were old and hard as a rock and the steering head bearings were worn and loose. It was a cold night and the pavement was frigid also diminishing my traction.

The BMW is a shaft drive that has a torque reaction as you get on and off the throttle. Normally this is not a big deal but that night, as I got back on the throttle to exit the curve, the rear end jacked up a bit, which caused the forks to shift position in the loose bearings, which caused the old, hard tires to lose their grip on the frigid pavement. A chain of insignificant events that would cause me view the world horizontally.

Peter put the bike in perfect condition, finding and fixing a few other problems for me. By the time my body was ready for the bike, the bike was ready for me. After that it was one of the most enjoyable bikes I have ever owned. Fast without being twitchy, able to eat miles with speed and comfort, and able to breeze through corners thanks to Peter's wizardry and a new set of tires.

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Day 39 - Rear View Mirror

One of my favorite sayings is, “There is a reason that the windshield is bigger than the rear view mirror.”

Some friends are planning a trip that they did a few years ago. Getting up there in years, they want to do it again as a Last Hurrah trip. They invited me along but after thinking it over I'm going to decline.

The trip sounds fascinating, and the people are great, but trying to recapture or relive faded glory doesn't really interest me. I can foresee a lot of “remember when” moments that I won't have any recollection of. The wonder of discovery will be lost and all serendipity extinct.

I think I'll join them for a couple of days as they pass through Colorado. It's always good to see old friends. However, I think I'll stick with my plans to go to Baja and see what new adventures I can find on my own. I prefer looking ahead to gazing at the past.

Another favorite is, “If you go real fast, you'll get there before you have an accident!”

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Day 38 - Merry Christmas

The stockings were hung from the handlebars with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

Merry Christmas from our family to yours!

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Day 37 - Shopping

Went shopping again and this time it was a lot of fun. People were scurrying around smiling and making last minute purchases. One woman and I were looking at a pile of weird items in Home Goods. We started talking about buying things like these at the last moment for people we didn't really like all that much. The tech geek at work who kept the computer running, the woman at the gym who checked you in but rarely smiled. As we kept up the banter people were stopping and giving us that knowing nod that said, “Me too.” By now we were laughing out loud and getting silly. Great fun! It was good that people could laugh again.

The story that always comes to mind every Christmas is one that I'm a little ashamed of. I was shopping for ordinary things in a CVS store when I noticed a young boy looking over the items in the beauty section. He picked up things, considered them carefully, and put them back. A lipstick, some cheap perfume, and others.

I thought to myself, “Who shops for Christmas presents in CVS?”

Then it hit me, he seemed to have little money and was trying to find something in his budget. His mother? A sister? He seemed a little young for a girlfriend.

I could only surmise why he wasn't with someone to help him. The options didn't seem promising. I thought about going over and offering him some money to expand his choices but was afraid I'd only embarrass him.

I left the store humbled, having answered my own question. Who shops for Christmas presents at CVS? Someone who cares!

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Day 36 - CB450

Some years ago a friend of mine made a living out of buying older Honda motorcycles, restoring them to good cosmetic and running condition, and selling them to millennials who had lots of cash but little mechanical ability.

I was visiting and had time on my hands so I jumped at his offer to borrow a bike and go for a ride. The ride would last a week and cover over a thousand miles but he knew it would something like that going in. Chance of a lifetime.

Even further back in time I worked for Honda of Boston as a mechanic. A bike came in that had been wrecked by the new owner with less than 500 miles on it. “Fix it and sell it!” was the description on the work order. I called the owner and suggested that the parts and labor would not be repaid in the selling price. Would he be interested in an as-is sale? “Send me a check for whatever you think is fair. I never want to see that bike again!”

It was a Honda CB450 and I rode that bike everywhere. Rather than fix the cosmetic damage I just painted everything black. New cams and high compression pistons and I was ready to fly. I used to go looking for Triumphs to race so I could show them my taillights. The Bonnevilles had better handling but I had the power and was willing to push the bike harder than most of the guys on the Triumphs.

Now, years later, I was being offered another CB450 to ride.

There are two reasons to ride an old bike: you want to relive a moment in the past or you appreciate the essence of the moment in history. The first is kind of sad, it suggests that the person has not moved on with their life. The second is a person who can savor the past but understands why the windshield is a lot bigger than the rear view mirror.

I got on that bike and rode off without plans but knew where I was going in the back of my mind. From San Francisco I rode down Rt 1, the Coast Highway, not trying to set a new speed record but savoring the day, the scenery, and the ride as one would a fine wine.

After a night's stop in Big Sur I rode up and over the coast range and turned towards the Sierras. On Rt 140, riding through Merced, Mariposa, and into Yosemite was like visiting an old friend. The bike hummed a steady beat and the curves came and went with a confident ease. No rush, no dilly-dallying, no hurry. Smooth and relaxed but rather a bit over the speed limit I must admit.

The thing about Yosemite is that most people go into the valley, take pictures of themselves in front of the falls, and go home thinking they have seen it all. In truth they have barely scratched the surface. There is Toulumne Meadows, Tanya Lake and the groves of giant Sequoia.

I've hiked to the top of Half Dome a couple of times and camped on top of El Capitan but this was a road trip so I rode out to Olmsted Point to gaze across at Clouds Rest and then turned back to ride down The Big Oak Flat road making sure to took the long way around down the old Priest Grade.

At Chinese Camp the highway straightened out and picked up speed. A few hours later and I was back in San Francisco, happy to return the bike to my friend. It was a great ride on a great bike. A moment to look back and look forward at the same time.

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Day 35 - Trees

When I was a kid my mom brought home a small tree from the grocery store that was about an inch high. She nurtured it through the years and planted it in the back yard when it was a foot tall. From there it grew to about 30' and thrived under her care.

When she and my dad moved to their restored Victorian home in Alameda she had few demands. One was my dad stay out of any planning for the kitchen and the other was that her tree was coming with her. It took an arborist, a crane, a flatbed semi, and the police to clear the way to get the tree transplanted into it's new location.

When I moved into our new house in Utah there was a flag pole in the front yard. I'm not much of a flag person so I dug it up and gave it the toss. In it's place I planted a Blue Spruce just like my mom's in memory of her. It started off at 4' and now, 5 years later, is more than 7' tall. The first year I strung Christmas lights all around it. Since they are solar powered I left them on all year long. People have used it as a reference when giving directions through the neighborhood. They can thank my mom.

Michael was on of my very best friends. He was one of the first people I met when I moved to San Diego many years ago. We shared a house in Ocean Beach and had many, many adventures together. He was creative, energetic, and not just a little crazy.

Later Michael and Nita got married and had a house in Hillcrest. It had a very tall tree in the front yard. Michael would decorate it with lights, adding a few strings every year as it grew taller and taller. Year after year, lights and more lights, taller and taller, …

It got to be such a spectacle that the pilots landing at the San Diego airport would tip their wing and point out the tree to the passengers inside. People would come from near and far to drive past the amazing tree of lights. Finally the neighbors complained that they couldn't get in and out of their homes because the traffic was so bad. The city claimed that an ambulance or fire truck couldn't navigate through the mobs of people and ordered him to shut it down.

Today we were doing our final round of Christmas shopping and visited our favorite nursery looking for last minute inspiration. There were these small pine trees about a foot tall that caught my attention. I asked one of the people about it: how high would it get? what care would it need? was it and indoor or outdoor plant? He asked me what I was going to do with it. A curious question I thought until he explained that many people bought them for decoration and then tossed them away after the holidays. That depressed me a little. I bought one of them and I can assure you that, like my mom, I will nurture it and see that it thrives!

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