Just a couple of random bike trips for food.  The first was to a place I’d not heard of before, although there are a few locations around here: Village Inn.  I hoped this would be like a King’s or Eat & Park from the northern area, but was a bit disappointed.  I tried the staple meal – burger and fries – but the burger had some seasoning or spice that wasn’t suiting me very well at all.  I could only eat a few bites of it.

It’s not all bad.  I gave up on the entree and went to dessert.  The chocolate pie was excellent and made up for most of the meal’s failure.

Then I went out to tourist country and ate at a Ponderosa.  It’s a location I’d been to before when I was not a local resident.  Interesting how differently you act towards attractions when you could go there every day…  Not that Ponderosa is an attraction, but Old Town is right there and it’s Halloween, which means they have a big push on the haunted house.

This meal I was treated to the excellent stories of a very special person behind me.  My impression is that he sees himself as some sort of consumer superhero.  As I understand the story, superboy was performing some bank transaction through the automated telephone service and answered some personal verification question wrong.  This immediately locked his account.  To resolve this, he called the bank directly.  I have no idea why, but he felt it necessary to disguise his voice, taking on the tone of an agitated old man with respiratory issues.  “Yes, this is so-an-so *cough cough hack snork* and you have locked my *cough COUGH* account with your damn computer *gag hack*.”  During this trial to get him verified, he answered all the questions correctly.  If he didn’t know one (and I’m not sure why he wouldn’t know his personal information), he would have a coughing fit to buy time.  Using typical hyperbole, he said they asked him a hundred questions.  Then using some sort of hybrid of hyperbole and stupidity, he said they asked him for his grandmother’s maiden name, but he answered using her married name.  The only thing I can deduce from these facts is that he was faking access to his father’s account (which would be his father’s mother’s maiden name).

Superboy goes off on a tangent.  Now he’s pissed because everything’s a ripoff.  Drinks are $2.50 (“that’s where they get ya”).  The onion rings cost an extra dollar (“That’s a scam.  They asked me if I wanted onion rings but never said it’d be an extra dollar.”).  But like my Village Inn dessert, it wasn’t all bad (“The 10% coupon I used paid for the extra charge for onion rings”) , but at the same time, he wasn’t letting go.  He somehow changes gears and relates a story about how he had to give a 7 cent refund to a customer because they felt they were incorrectly charged tax on a dollar item and how stupid and petty it was.  He somehow fails to relate his current bitching about the dollar upcharge to this story.

Please let me out of here.

A while ago I was browsing around and someone had mentioned a blog that sounded interesting, so I visited.  It was ok for the first couple of posts, then I left.  Recently, I hit upon another blog that gave me the same reaction.  In both cases, the blogs were trying to be raise awareness.  The first about racial stereotypes and the second about racial and gender biases.

I consider myself to be pretty open minded.  I’ll listen to anything, but I tend to just collect the information to form a complete opinion.  The more opinions you hear, the better able you are make your own.  But some people have one opinion and spout it ad nauseam.  And sometimes those people think they are being open-minded simply because their obsession is a minority position or some other radical thought.  But they’re still closed-minded, or as I say, singularly open-minded.

So, thinking about this idea made me wonder how being open-minded related to being uncommitted.  Can you be truly open-minded and still have an opinion or does having an opinion give you an artificial bias?  And maybe it has to do with the level of acceptance of differing viewpoints.  You can hold an opinion until the opposing arguments convince you otherwise.

And that’s one area I take issue with the blogs that I had read.  I can only take so much “selling” at one time.  I must have determined quickly that the remaining posts would be more of the same.  The more I hear an argument, the less persuasive it becomes.  Some of it is: You’re trying too hard.  If your idea was so good, you shouldn’t need to go on and on about it.  The other part is cynicism.  If you don’t shut up for a minute and let me consider what you’ve said, I’m not going to believe any of it.

Now I’m getting all worked up.  Thanks.

This actually isn’t a motorcycle trip.  It was a business trip.  As such, a lot of the details are hush-hush, but the trip itself – travelling – is something I don’t do as much of as I used to.

To start the whole trip on a great note, I don’t even make it to the airport garage without incident.  There are new traffic patterns I was unfamiliar with and when one sign says “Economy parking/post office next left” and a later temporary construction sign simply says “Post office”, I did not make the turn for economy parking.  So one loop around the terminal so I can be logged into NSA’s database as suspicious, then back to economy parking from the other direction, which had no construction.

Step 1 complete; I’m parked.  The shuttle bus is waiting and I hop on.  The bus will stop at the Blue side first, then the Red side.  Fine, I’m red.  We arrive at the red side and I get off the bus.  I’m the last one off because I’m not really in a hurry.  The lone luggage bag left in front of the bus is not my bag.  Suddenly, I feel I bit more in a hurry.  I grab the bag and walk back onto the bus to explain what has happened.  The driver was kind enough to drive back to the other side to see if there were some people freaking out that they had the wrong bag.  There were no people like that there.  I gave the driver my cell number and he said he would take the bag and my number to Lost and Found.  Meanwhile, I had to get my boarding pass, with or without luggage.

The trip I was taking for business was at a resort literally in the middle of nowhere.  1.5 hour drive from any metro area.  I was wondering if I could wear the same jeans for three days and maybe buy some souvenir shirts to wear the other days.  I guess I could have shopped at the airport, too, but that thought wasn’t coming to me then.  I walked down to baggage claim looking for Lost and Found.  I found instead a security guard, who told me I needed to be back upstairs and across the road.  Then he did something extra: he said he’d walk me there.  That’s pretty important to my trip because the purpose of the business meeting was to extol the virtues of service, which the security guard had just demonstrated.

So we got to L&F and I fill out the contact form.  The lady at the counter, again - pleasant, said that they already received the other person’s bag from the shuttle driver, they had contacted the owner, and that they would handle the exchange.  Simple enough, as long as these people - who didn’t recognize their bag had a handle wrap on it and mine didn’t – show up before I have to run to my gate.  As it turned out, it was only about 15 minutes that I had to wait and the crisis was averted.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful, but the business portion was very good.  The accommodations were impressive.

Being a remote resort area, it had a lot of walking paths and lots of greenery.  It would be a botanist's dream.

The only critique I could make, and I regret thinking of it now because I should have filled out a comment card, is that the whole place needed more garbage cans.  You walk around a lot and typically you’re drinking something, but then you have to carry your trash around looking for a place to throw it away.  I remember only one public garbage can.

So early in the morning we all headed back to the airport.  I made the wise decision to walk from the entrance to the terminal instead of talking the tram.  It didn’t seem too bad, the map even said 1000 ft to next terminal.  Something wasn’t quite right though, because it seemed like I walked through an extra terminal or two.  All told (thanks to Bing’s unit conversion), it was well over a mile I walked.  Before breakfast.  I’m a bastard when I’m tired or hungry, so I had both going on when I got to the gate.  Unsurprisingly, a kiosk was very willing to take 8 dollars from me in exchange for a bag of chips, a bottle of Coke, and a bag of candy.

Boarding time.  Looks like we’re early.  And the staff was giving out coupons for free Internet on the plane.  I didn’t feel like Internetting, so I passed.  All settled in and ready to go.  And we’re not going.  Still not.  Half an hour later, I’ve worked through 75% of my bag of candy and getting restless.  More waiting.  Finally, the answer comes out.  They were trying to fix the computers for the Internet, they couldn’t, and so we’re an hour late and the coupons can’t be used on that flight (save them for another flight).

We’re back now.  I got the same shuttle driver and I’m the only one on the shuttle.  Will I lose my bag again?  We chatted about the luggage experience and service and other minor topics.  I tipped him at the garage.  It’s really something I don’t normally do, and really not sure he deserved it, but I intended it to be a nice gesture that showed I was satisfied with the service of everyone at the airport: him, the Lost and Found department, and the security guard that escorted me.

Thank god. I can head home and eat.  Oh wait, there’s new traffic patterns at the airport.  This new road is nice.  There’s my exit up ahead…. but this road doesn’t connect to that exit.  Now I’m going off the opposite direction.  Damn it.  Another 20 minutes of time lost.  Finally, the drama ends and I’m in familiar territory and here I am recounting it to the best person in the world.

It pisses me off to no end that the word “sammich” exists.  It makes me violent.  That’s all I have to say.

Somewhere around 10 years ago, I had a back “issue”.  I wasn’t doing anything crazy, all I did was plug my laptop in to a power strip on the floor and stand up.  Well, I didn’t get all the way up, because I was frozen in pain.  The pale white, cold sweat kind of pain.  Off to the hospital and then home for bed rest.  If I remember correctly, it took at least a week to recover.

10 years later, I get an anniversary visit.  Again, not doing anything stressful, but maybe I can identify a little more that contributed to it this time.  The memories are not so pleasant as each one comes back to me.  This time around I don’t have the luxury of higher medication, so I’m getting by on heat, cold, and Advil.  I have a business trip next Wednesday; not sure how that’s going to go.  But I’ve had a couple observations as I attempt to remain as still as humanly possible to reduce the likelihood of pain.

This is more of a restatement of a fact I learned 10 years ago.  Once you have a back failure, you will never be the same.  And that was true.  Every once in a while I’d get a warning that I was doing something wrong or overdoing something else.  I was always careful to take it easy after that.  This time, I think I got the warnings too late.

Next, recovering from a failure is like playing Operation.  You move slowly, carefully, trying to remain as steady and still as possible, then BZZZZT! - you get zapped.  You freak out, nearly collapse from the stabbing pain (or just freeze solid), and you lose the round.  You have to start over.

Typical things become scary as hell.  Coughing, sneezing, going to the bathroom, all might trigger a slight pain or a massive wave of pain.  I am sure it is just like having any abdominal surgery except on the opposite side of the body.  Something simple like getting up to get a drink is not so simple.

Time seems to shift around.  This morning when I sat on the edge of the bed and had a total seize, when I finally got myself lying down again, I looked at the clock.  It was 9:00.  The next time I was able to look at the clock it was 9:12.  I must have passed out from the pain or something, because it only felt like a minute.

I’m not spouting these observations as complaining or whining.  I kind of find them amusing.  It’s like I was one kind of person – healthy, active (both overstatements, BTW) – and now I’m a disabled person.  To me it feels like a test, like “let’s see how you handle this.”  And for the most part, I think I’m doing ok.  I’m still as productive at work as I was when I was at my desk.  I am getting by with lunch delivered to me.  If things get really bad, I might have to have food delivered or drive to a drive-through.  I can’t walk for extended periods right now.

But being in this condition makes one wonder, what if I was like this for the rest of my life?  That’s an answer I’ll not share.

Today I decided to do a follow-up trip to the beach.  I had discovered another park with beach access that came highly recommended, so I headed out to that one.  This time, I was a little more prepared: I took my GPS and an atlas.

Let’s set something straight first.  This trip, I did not get rained on.  That’s an accomplishment in itself.  But the whole trip wasn’t a success.  I started out like I usually do, getting a bottle of water at the store on the way.  I should plan better for refreshments.  Then I made the run with only a brief stop for gas.  I found a place to eat right near my turn for the beach.

After a much-needed meal, I headed back the road to the park.  It was a very residential area, which seemed odd that a public beach would require travel through such an area.  But while slowly weaving through the roads, I saw signs directing to the beach.  Odd.  Once I got in the actual park, it seemed pretty empty.  I wasn’t sure if that was due to my late-day timing, or because the park wasn’t well-known.  A couple minutes through the park I got my answer.

The roadway to the beach, which is really just a big sandbar, is being renovated.  So I parked the bike and went walking to see how much I could see.  The answer: not much.

There was a nice picnic area and some benches for looking out at the water.  The beach itself was hidden by trees that must line the road heading to it.

So, this trip is rescheduled for the fall.  It seems like a nice place, and if it’s anywhere as uncrowded as it was today, it seems like a very nice place to visit.  Unfortunately, it is a couple of hours away.  I can’t remember the travel time for the usual beach, but maybe it’s comparable.

And this past weekend I’m having lunch at a restaurant and see a commercial for Cinnamon Toast Crunch.  A couple of pieces floating in the milk, then a third piece swims around like a shark fin.  The first piece gets sucked under the surface, then the second piece frantically tries to swim away and gets pulled below.  The third piece surfaces and licks his lips.

I think I get it.  The message is that the cereal is so good it eats itself.  Cute.  Then my imagination kicked in, which never ends well.  I only wish I had the artistic skills to realize my visions.  That really would not end well.

So, cue the eerie music on a scene of a gingerbread house in the woods.  As it slowly pans in, you hear frantic, gasping breaths and some struggling.  Cut to a close scene of a Teddy Grahams bear tied to a decrepit examination table.  Pull back to see another Teddy Graham bear standing aside wearing a dirty, stained smock.  A makeshift nametag crookedly hanging on the smock reads “Dr. Ted”.

Dr. Ted passes his hand over an assortment of sharp and pointy implements and settles on what seems to be a bone saw.  He takes the tool, places it at the wrist of the restrained bear and slowly begins sawing.  The victim screams and struggles in vain.  No blood.  They’re cookies, for god’s sake!  Ok, maybe a close-up scene of some crumbs falling to the floor and the screaming and sawing continues.

The paw has now been separated and Dr. Ted holds it up.  The victim is in shock, staring at his own sawn-off paw.  He (or she.  A female would be so much more dramatic.) musters enough strength to scream “Why are you doing this?”

Dr. Ted pauses for a second and stares blankly - as only Teddy Grahams can do.  Then a distorted smile stretches his face and he replies softly, “Because you taste…so…good.”  At which point he takes a savoring bite of the amputated cookie.  “Mmmm.”

Fade to black, then flip on a weak hanging light, flickering, showing an excessively shadowed box of Teddy Grahams seemingly trapped in a corner.  Maybe the box will shiver a little.  I don’t know. 

I suppose a lot of people wouldn’t appreciate my sense of humor.  Maybe it was because I was in a crappy mood because I got supremely drenched on the bike on the way to lunch.  Nothing catches people attention in a restaurant like a person soaked from head to toe (except I wear a helmet so my head was dry).  Ride bike=get wet.  I wonder if I should be renting myself out to some drought-stricken communities.  As long as I keep my mouth shut, I suppose I’d be fine.

This is the first year I get to show my support for 2-wheeled commuting, and I’m proud.  This is going to be kind of a rough one, because it’s my first ride on a dangerous interstate, the first where I am carrying a load (loaded backpack) and it’s going to be about 200 miles round-trip.  But that’s ok, because on Ride To Work Day, I’m going to be out with bunches of bikes and it’ll be safety in numbers.

So imagine my distress when I roar out onto the interstate at 75 mph and there’s no other bikes out there.  I counted two on the trip out and three on the way back.  That was a real disappointment.  But, I still remained focused on getting to work and back alive.

So first, riding at 75 is nothing like riding at 55.  I had heard stories that as a vehicle approaches 70, the wind resistance increases at an exponential rate.  This, I discovered first-hand.  It was extremely similar to my experience doing indoor skydiving, except instead of 15 minutes in the wind tunnel, it was an hour and a half.  I could not have done it without my CrampBuster.  Although my hand did get a little cramped anyway, the ride would have been impossible without being able to relax my grip occasionally.

So midway through the workday, clouds gather and thunder sounds.  No rain, though.  The storm just passed to the south of work.  I checked the radar before leaving work and saw I would pass between two strong storm cells on my route home.  More good luck.  And my luck continued until I reached the final waypoint.  I had travelled too fast and caught the tail end of the one cell.  Merging into traffic, things suddenly slowed down to about 30.  That either means there’s an accident or a downpour brought traffic to a halt ahead.  Noticing the shoulders of the road changing from wet, to puddles, to pools I guessed which one happened correctly.  I also relegated myself to getting drenched yet again.  And it happened.  A good 20 minutes of steady rain compounded by semi trucks passing by with their excessive road spray.  But still made it home in one piece.

Post-trip evaluation, I was soaked (nothing new there), my hands were numb (that’s new), and I was pretty exhausted.  I cleaned up and went out for dinner in the car.  After riding the bike exclusively for four days, the first thought I had when I pulled out of the driveway in the car was “This car is HUGE!”  And it looked huge.  The far corner of the hood looked like it was a mile away.  It felt huge.  It was like floating in a boat, where the motions I made on the steering wheel were disconnected and delayed.  It is unreal what a perceptional difference there was.

Riding the bike to work every day is completely impractical for me right now, but if I lived closer to work, it would be a easy decision.

There an inherent problem with anything that is claimed to be motivational and that is the cynical counterpoint.  Dilbert has done a pretty good job of poking holes in many motivational mantras.  The de-motivator meme has obviously run its course, but had some very good ideas early on.

Motivational messages are processed differently by different people, not unlike candy.  Some people gorge on motivation books, videos, seminars and have nothing to show for it.  They are useless without another fix of motivation.  Others only need a bit of motivation to keep them going – a quick pick-me-up.  Fortunately, I find myself in the latter camp.  I generally only need a reminder every once in a while of why I do what I do.  That’s not to say I don’t have slumps or have a cynical outlook on “business as usual.”  I try to not let the external influences get me down. 

But anyway, I did a quick Youtube search for motivational videos and watched the first one.  Somehow this was supposed to inspire me.  The video was about some football players that didn’t think they could beat their next game, so the coach tried to demonstrate “giving your all” using a couple players.

The coach made this guy carry another guy across the field.  The subject didn’t initially think he’d be able to make it half-way.  To prevent him from giving up when he met his mental finish-line, the coach blindfolded him.  Then, as he started to falter or complain, the coach encouraged him as only a coach would: by screaming and yelling in his face.  Finally the guy collapsed and the coach said proudly, “You made it to the end zone.”

So if you were to use this video as motivation for your employees, what exactly would you be saying?  My primary take-away: we want you to work yourself to exhaustion.  We don’t care if you are completely useless after that.  There is no sense in saving reserve energy.  If we feel you have any energy left in you, we will harass you until we wring it out.

From a psychological standpoint, I enjoyed the blindfold trick to keep the player from giving up.  But from a practical standpoint, it maps out poorly.  If you set a mental goal, that should be a realistic checkpoint to evaluate what you’ve accomplished and how much more you can do.

The bottom line is, motivation comes from within.  It can’t be fed to you and it can’t be beaten out of you, although many would disagree on that.  I think I’m going to have another read of Gung Ho!, a good example of how people motivate themselves.

Today I thought it would be good to see how far away a beach run would be on the bike.  I mapped out a rough route and took off.  This time I was prepared with GPS in pocket.

The ride out was pleasant and rather uneventful.  The crampbuster did an excellent job maintaining my speed on the long stretches.  I didn’t designate any waypoints, so I stopped whenever I felt I needed to get my bearings or take a break.  Stops included, it took about an hour and a half to get to the coast.  Still didn’t see any public beach access though, So I stopped for lunch.

On the way out, I asked where the beach access was, and was directed to a road not far from where I was.  A short drive over and I came to the “beach”.

That’s actually a pretty flattering shot.  That’s about all there is of the beach.  So, with my curiosity satisfied, I headed back.  I figured with less stops, I should get a more accurate time.  Not surprisingly, things went to crap.

That’s actually a pretty flattering shot too.  You can’t tell how dark it really was ahead.  Sure enough, in the last 15 minutes of the ride, down it came.  Fortunately, I think I missed the worst.  I can tell this by arriving in the aftermath.  Lots of debris in the road and a couple flooded road sections I had to avoid.

Now back home and warming up.  The storm should finish passing sometime soon, then I can get out again.

I figured this trip I would find out how long it would take to get to a local attraction via back roads and motorcycle.  This whole week has been rainy and miserable and a ride was just the thing to improve that.  That’s what I planned for, but not what I got. 

Looking at the map, it looked like a straight shot on three different roads.  There was a connector from one roadway to the next, but I figured that would be obvious when i got to that point.  That was a very poor assumption.  Not knowing the name of that road cost me probably 45 minutes of my route and returned to bite me in the ass again.  But when riding, you don’t get so worried about taking the long way.  That is, until you realize how badly you want the short way.

I hit the first waypoint and began the straight shot segment.  I got caught in a little rain.  At the time I was unfazed.  I got a little wet, but started drying right away from the heat and wind.  If you're not from FL, you won't believe the rain patterns.  It can be pouring down rain, but across the street, it's perfectly dry.  I have seen a downpour about the size of a couple parking spaces.

When I got to what would be the second waypoint, I didn’t recognize it.  Primarily because the intersection had a lot going on: a red light, train tracks, and a steep drop-off.   Secondly, because I didn’t know the name of the street I wanted.  So I kept going straight and ended up somewhere else.  Then the rain began for real.

It was my first rain ride and I was unprepared.  I have no luggage, so I wasn't hauling my mesh jacket's rain liner.  The downpour got me pretty good.  I took shelter for a little bit at a gas station until some vehicles wanting gas pushed me out from the canopy.  Riding less than a mile down the road, the rain stopped and the roads were dry - go figure.

I finally reached my intended destination and turned around to head back.  The sky ahead looked like dark slate.  I considered my options over a meal: try and wait it out or plow through it.  Waiting it out could mean sitting until dusk and possibly the storm would come at me anyway.  I finally decided to bite the bullet and head into the maelstrom.  With thunder and lightning all around, a fogged-up helmet, a significant drop in temperature, and an uncertain route, I adopted a steady mantra of "This sucks.  This sucks.  This sucks."  I can only hope the people in cars were sympathetic to my situation as I slowed them down quite badly. 

I had to make another safety stop at a gas station.  The counter person was kind enough to point me the right direction to get back home.  It happens I was at the intersection I needed to be at.  I got a lucky break for once.  On the positive side, because of my ill-planned route, I had to make a couple very quick decisions in turning and braking, which I pulled off without issue.  Being a new rider, I am pleased by this.

I eventually made it home, stripped off the water-weighted jacket and jeans, wrung out my socks (literally) and took a nice, long, hot shower.  After getting my sanity back, I was able to go back outside to dry and polish up the bike before putting it away.  I’ve made a mental note that I will not leave the house without the GPS in my pocket.  In fact, I will probably be ordering a trunk for the bike this week and maybe a GPS mount for the handlebars.

Today I got new tires installed on the bike and thought it would be a good idea to break them in.  So what better way than riding to work.  That would also be a good test to see if riding to work is feasible (it turns out it’s not).  My daily commute is about 3 hours roundtrip on the Interstate.  Not being comfortable at speeds over 60 on the bike, I chose an alternate route through secondary highways.

I left around 11 AM and tried to keep track of the waypoints where I would change roads.  The first checkpoint was at 20 minutes, the next was at 60 minutes, then I didn’t really know what the next road to use was.  So I wandered around taking roads that sounded familiar to me and eventually ended up on the right one.  Total trip time: 2.5 hours.  I was squirming pretty badly in the seat from saddle sores.

I stopped for food and then considered the fact that the PM storms were coming so I’d better get back home.  The thought of another 2.5 hours back was disheartening, but I sucked it up and headed out back the way I came.

That’s when things changed.  I missed my turn, which is not surprising since the road I took to get there was the first time I’d been on it.  Ended up in a city I’d only been to once before and knew I wasn’t supposed to be there.  On the way out, a road had caught my eye as a route I had taken before in the car.  When I turned around and was on the way back I saw the same turn and figured, “why not?” 

Now I’m in unknown territory.  At this point , the only thing I was really scared of was my stamina.  I don’t mind being lost - and this was really the definition of lost.  I drove through a city I’d never heard of; drove on routes I’d never heard of; took a two lane highway to a dead end (who ever heard of a highway just ending?) and had to backtrack twice.  I figured if I was on a road that went south or west, I’d have to hit a major highway sometime.

Finally, I saw a sign with a city I knew on it and was thrilled.  But I was also exhausted.  Once I hit the familiar roadways, I stopped at a gas station and got a snack and a drink.  While there, I assessed my physical condition.  My knees were so sore I could barely stand.  My back was pretty ok, which was a surprise.  My throttle hand was in sad shape – very cramped up.  My butt was a lost cause.  I had about an hour left of riding to go (this was waypoint #2).  Hopped back on and went for it.

The physical problems began taking their toll.  It was hard to concentrate.  There weren’t many stops to allow me to rest my throttle hand and air out the sweat on the seat of my pants.  My right hand starting turning to fire with piercing pain when I would try to stretch out a couple fingers at a time.  My knees would throb on occasion.  Cars and trucks behind me were getting pissed because I couldn’t keep a good speed going, so I got passed a lot.  Finally, I made it back home.  A 150 mile, six-hour journey to get lunch. 

In retrospect, I think everything happened probably as would be expected.  Many riders take a break once an hour or so and maybe I should have budgeted more stops.  I’m still new and I know I have too tight a grip on the throttle, which is having a negative effect.  I didn’t plan my route, but it would have been enjoyable with the exception of fatigue.  When getting the tires changed, I saw a product that allows you to hold the throttle without gripping it.  At the time, I thought I should get one.  Now, I’m kicking myself for not getting it then.

I have a ride planned for tomorrow, so I need to rest up tonight to do it all over again.

I’ve taken up the hobby of motorcycling in the last couple of months.  My nature is to resist acceptance of anything that seems cliché, so when a lot of oft-heard sayings suddenly became applicable to me, it was annoying.  I tried very hard to find a personal reason for feeling like I did, but for the most part had to accept that I was just like everyone else.

The first observation of my new hobby is that it slows my life down dramatically.  Before, I would hop in the car and go.  Now I have to pull the bike out of the shed, push it over to the driveway (exhausting, at times), safety check the bike, warm the bike up, get the gear on, then go.  This can be a 15-20 minute delay.  Then once arriving at the destination, park the bike safely, de-gear, lock up helmet, then continue.  Another 5 minutes.  Then more when leaving again.  The closest parallel I can come up with is that it’s like travelling with an infant.  And that is something I never was and never will be envious of.  But, it forces me to slow down, which I think has some benefits.

Next observation, my appetite is diminished.  By about half, I’m figuring.  This one I’m still trying to figure out.  Either the stress from the ride (because it’s pretty much high-alert most of the time), the dehydration from the heat and gear, or the natural workout from battling wind forces – another observation – is cutting my food intake.  This doesn’t happen on weekdays when I’m driving the car.

Third observation, riding is kind of a workout.  This is something that reminds me of a previous experience, indoor skydiving.  In both cases, your body is trying to maintain a form against wind forces causing lots of muscle micro-motions that eventually tire you out.  To a lesser degree, you are also shifting your weight fairly often when riding, which could work some muscle groups that don’t see activity otherwise.  It makes me think of someone who had ridden a horse for the first time and said that muscles he’d never known about were sore for days.  I sure don’t expect to get ripped from riding motorcycle, but I did lose almost 5 pounds after a couple of weekends.  It’s probably lost water from dehydration, but I can hope.

Final personal observation, everything is new at first, then it becomes normal.  Wearing gear seemed odd at first, but now feels normal.  I felt weird putting on this and that and the other.  Eventually you become less conscious (or self-conscious) when gearing up.  When I’m in a car, I feel very unsafe without wearing a seat belt.  I wear my seat belt even if I’m the only one in the car that does.  I am sure I would feel so much more unsafe without my gear and I don’t think any peer pressure could keep me from wearing it.  Start good habits from the beginning.  Going over 45 mph was scary at first, now 55 is normal.  You need to get used to the feeling of wind, vibration, and engine noise.  Then it becomes “normal” sound and sensation.

Lastly, all the “I told you so” things that I felt. 

• You have much greater control with a manual transmission – check.  I’d never driven anything but an automatic.  I’m not convinced I want a stick-shift car, though.
• You have much greater control on a motorcycle – check.  The braking, acceleration, and cornering are much better than a car.  You give up a lot of safety being on a bike, but it’s mitigated by the ability to get away or get around a dangerous situation.
• You feel more in touch with nature on a motorcycle – that’s a little over-romanticized for me, but I have to agree that being in the open air is a much greater experience than being in a car. 
• When you’re riding, you don’t want the trip to end – I guess so.  I have ridden past my planned destination often and purposely missed my turns nearly as much.

Last Saturday and Sunday, I didn’t drive the car at all.  This weekend, I didn’t drive Friday, Saturday or Sunday until dinner.  When I got in the car to get dinner, it felt odd.  I guess that is the first sign that being a rider is what I really want to do.  If I didn’t have such a long and dangerous commute to work, I probably would ride very day.  I regret I did not take up this hobby years earlier.

I'm nearing the end of watching a George Carlin DVD box set and I have to say I'm pretty pessimistic on our culture.  The whole idea of "gotta have it now" is becoming pretty offensive to me.  TVs, cell phones, computers, iPods... the behavior of Zune users during the 24 hours the Zune was inoperable was outrageous.  People can't live without a music player for 24 hours, or more realistically 12 hours, since you can't be awake listening to a MP3 player for 24 hours.

Carlin will do that to you after a while.  So you have a couple of choices: accept it or battle it.  I’m going to make the most of it.

To that end, I’m going to convert this to my “eating out” blog.  They say you should blog about something you’re passionate about and I do enjoy fast food (see previous post on state of food).  I had planned on developing a web site that would allow anyone to rate fast food places, but I just don’t have the energy for that right now, so this will have to do.

It’s a new year and part of the new years ritual is receiving multiple 10-pound books dropped off at the house for telephone listings.  Growing up in a small town, I remember the white pages and yellow pages being a book about a quarter-inch think.  Now living in a larger city, the yellow pages alone is…2 inches thick (I had to check).  Then on top of that, you get a second book from a competing directory.  and this one has a “smaller, convenient” version, so you can take it with you.

Ok.  Here’s the problem.  There’s something called the Internet, which is available in our house.  This Internet thing allows us to search for information, including phone numbers.  Usually, it’s faster to type in the name of what you want instead of the traditional alternative: trying to figure out what category it’s listed in, flipping through pages, and scanning the tiny type while being distracted by large ads.  Then there is issue of storage.  The directories take up…4.5 inches of vertical space (I had to check again).  That’s valuable real estate on counters or drawers.

So, in summary, the Internet is far superior to a printed list.  This is probably universally accepted.  So, I thought it was time to stop the waste of time and space… and paper.  This year is also the year I discontinued all paper statements for bills.  But back to the point, I called the directory’s service number.

The first person I spoke to was pleasant and upon hearing my request, wasted no time collecting my information and completing the request.  After I hung up, I thought, “That wasn’t so bad.  She was really nice.  Too bad I’m putting her out of a job.”  after all, these directory services are contracted by the phone company or are completely independent.

The second person I spoke to handled my request promptly also, but then asked an odd question: “Do you travel much?”  Hmmm.  I responded that I don’t travel too much.  Then the pitch came.  They also print atlases.  They had a new atlas of the United States that she could sell me for a great price.

Ok.  Here’s the problem.  There’s something called a GPS, which has recently become available in our cars.  A few years ago, I might have bought it.  I used to have a very large collection of maps from the areas I’d visited.  I was pretty proud of the collection also.  But now, my 25-pound pile of maps (I had to estimate, since they’re now disposed) has been replaced by a tiny touchscreen device.

So in summary, GPS devices have replaced atlases in much the same way as the Internet has replaced phone books.  Now, if these directory services were smart, they would partner with a GPS vendor and preload POI’s (Points of Interest) into a GPS based on their directory.  Then they would sell the GPS device.  Or they could sell a flash card with the POIs on it.

If I was cancelling my phone book delivery and the agent asked me “Do you have a GPS?” that would be a totally different conversation.  If I didn’t, I might be intrigued at buying a GPS preloaded with millions of POIs (if the price was reasonable).  If I did own one and they offered a POI card or subscription service compatible with my GPS brand, it might be attractive.

So now Circuit City is going under and the vultures have arrived.  I dropped in on day two of our local store's liquidation and it was a madhouse.  People were all over the place picking at the carcass of the former leader of electronics sales.

One of the first thoughts I had was "Where were all you damn people only a few weeks ago?"  This company needed you then, but you're here now after the pulse has stopped.  But judging by the people crowding the store today, they weren't there for the company; they just wanted the plunder.  Maybe a "Yeah! We killed the dragon, now let's rob the treasure room!" kind of sentiment.

The other thought I had was that some people scrambling for purchases took their local store for granted.  They just always assumed it would be there to provide an alternate shopping location when Best Buy pissed them off.  Now, Circuit City is going away and these people need to grab what they can before it's gone.  Because when it's gone, so is their option of buying somewhere else.

It has been reported that the liquidation company marks up the prices to mark them down over time.  These first few days of the sale would be the most profitable Circuit City would experience in a long time, if only it were them that got the revenue.

The shopping atmosphere in the store was pretty harsh.  The liquidator had obviously taken over.  They blocked off one entrance so you had one door to enter and exit through - inconveniencing incoming and outgoing customers at the same time.  But what do they care?  The liquidator is operating under another company's name and has no obligation to please anyone.  The customer has no power and no rights.  A threat like "I'm never shopping here again!" would be met with "You're correct." 

So when the company selling off another company's inventory purposely deceives customers into thinking they are getting good deals and purposely disposes of customer service because there is no value in it, who are the real vultures?

I am developing a strange addiction to watching financial news.  It's sadly like other people's obsession with celebrities.  I say that because financial news is generally crap.

It just seems that the headlines take the current headline and use that to explain the days movement of the market.  Like yesterday it was "Oil rises above $40 on Mideast tensions" and today it's "Oil drops below $40 over world economic concerns".   I don't think they have any clue.

I know it's unhealthy to watch the markets daily, but like a voyeur, I never take action on what I see, it's just filler, junk, vapid nonsense.

So anyway, that's my confession.

Detroit makes me imagine a crazy person locked in a room somewhere making and churning out dozens of ugly teddy bears a day.  Each day people come to him and say "All the kids already have teddy bears and  even if they do want a new one, kids don't want ugly teddy bears." 

But the crazy bear maker won't stop.  He makes bigger, uglier teddy bears and pushes pile after pile of bears out the door.  The people carry heaps of grotesquery off to showrooms where the bears sit unwanted and unsold.

The bear maker is proud of himself.  His whole life has been making teddy bears and he feels he is vital to the well-being of children everywhere.  Whenever it is argued that his bears are unwanted, his response is "Look how busy I am!"  He never stops, he must be afraid to.

And sadly, after all these years of building bears in isolation, he discovers he has neither the skill nor the tools to build better bears.  He will need to be retrained or replaced.  We've already committed to pay for retraining and retooling.  Time will show whether he has no choice but to be replaced.

It's actually kind of pathetic, really.  My life has primarily become about food.  There was on old stand-up routine where a comic was pointing out how different people gave directions.  The religious guy would say things like "Go past the catholic church until you get to the methodist church.  Then turn left one block past the bible store."  The fat guy would say "Go down Main street and you'll see a gym on your left.  You want to keep going right past that.  Don't even slow down.  You'll drive past a Pizza hut, Burger King, and when you get to the Wendy's, which has great food, slow down.  You'll see the place on your left."  Well, that has become me.  All my reference points are restaurants.  I know where to find the food I like in every location I frequent.  I know where most Longhorns are in about a 100 mile radius.  Geez.

So, how did this happen to me?  Simple.  That's my hobby.  If you ask, I also know where most pawn shops are in a hundred mile radius.  When eating alone, it's usually easier and arguably cheaper to eat out.  So, I visit the same places many times, in many different places.  Like my white-collar/blue-collar post, I look for these landmarks when I am in a new locale.

I take a bit of flack for eating the same things over and over.  I can count the number of entrees I eat on my fingers; it's pretty limited.  But my viewpoint is that it's not the same meal.  Eating a burger at Chili's for lunch and a burger at McD's for dinner are different.  They taste different.  That's my variety.  And I can identify the differences between all burgers that I eat, the fries I eat (including the texture of the salt), and the syrup/water/CO2 mixture of the Coke per location.  I've been on the fence for a very long time as to whether it's a good or bad thing to have the server ask "the usual?"  It depends on my mood whether I get annoyed or not.  Also, I'm not sure about getting personal with the staff.  That makes me feel like I'm paying for attention.  Whenever money is involved, I don't believe in sincerity.

Lately, our area has seen a compression of eating locations.  Within the last few months we lost: Roadhouse, Sam Seltzers, Lone Star, Bennigan's, Don Pablo's, Steak and Ale and Ruby Tuesday.  I guess the economy has hit the casual dining market hard, but then again, I never visited these places often (except Roadhouse), so maybe it's my fault too.  I guess I can't save the world, one restaurant at a time.

Now I lay me down to sleep

Whatever happens is fine with me

If I should die before I wake

Whatever.  Fuck it.  I don't give a shit.