I put together a rough draft of an itinerary for the trip to Michigan, Sturgis & Olean. Everything is still up in the air at the moment, but as a starting point, it looks like we'll be talking about 5 - 6 thousand miles for the whole thing. Not too shabby at all. Zig and I chatted briefly about it last night and we're going to see if we can get together on Sunday to go through some of the finer details.
We might talk about the possibility of picking up new rides, too. I've known that I need to make the transition to a bagger for a while now and hell; crazier things have happened. What more motivation is needed? Especially considering that a trip as great as this could easily be shitcanned by a couple of breakdowns along the way. We'd have reliability, we'd have better packing abilities, and...we'd have tunes!
Switching gears; I talked to Flex last night about borrowing his compressor and chop saw so that I can get some more work done on the basement. His brother Jimmy is coming through for me on a framing gun, I have to swing by his work on my way home and pick it up (providing it'll accept the nails I'm using). Maybe I can get some work done on the cellar this weekend, too.
That's about it for this week. Weather? We've got snow coming in tonight. Depending on what station you believe, it'll be anywhere from as little as 3" to as much as 8" inches by tomorrow morning. But then Sunday is supposed to be mid-40's, maybe even caressing 50 degrees. Winter is trying its damndest to hold on, but Spring won't be denied. The two seasons will do a dance for a while but Winter has over-stayed it's welcome and will be escorted to the door soon. (But never soon enough.)
Start getting the plans made - our season is approaching.
Ride Hard, Take Chances
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Times Change. And so do plans...
Me 'n Zig talked it over last night and, in light of how poorly the US Dollar is doing against the British Pound, we're going to scrap the Scotland plan (at least for this year). That blows goats, but we'd be getting creamed on the exchange rate so we figured it's better to stick around in the US of A and get more for our money. We still have the two weeks vacation time to work with , and that's a lot of time for us to get ourselves into trouble.
We've got an open-invite from our good friends out in Michigan, so we've set our sights there for now. Me and Zig will try to catch up with each other over the weekend and see about laying out an itinerary for the trip. Michigan Paul told me about a camping/canoeing trip they take in August so we'll see if we can model our plans to include that. 'Course, Sturgis is going on right around then, too, so who knows where we'll find ourselves winding up. Besides, that's only about 1,100 miles further...
Naturally, we'd also have to try and work in a stopover at Olean to hang out with those party animals, knock back some cold ones and share some laughs. Everything is up in the air still - which means that currently; everything is possible.
I had a dream about the Rendezvous last night - clear & sunny skies, bikes packed up, miles rolling by....it was a sign. Daylight's a little brighter in the mornings and it's sticking around a little longer in the evenings. There's snow, ice and salt all over the place still, but we've crested the Winter mountain and we're heading down into the valley of Summer once again. Riding Days are coming for us and I'm going to welcome them with open arms.
Ride Hard, Take Chances
We've got an open-invite from our good friends out in Michigan, so we've set our sights there for now. Me and Zig will try to catch up with each other over the weekend and see about laying out an itinerary for the trip. Michigan Paul told me about a camping/canoeing trip they take in August so we'll see if we can model our plans to include that. 'Course, Sturgis is going on right around then, too, so who knows where we'll find ourselves winding up. Besides, that's only about 1,100 miles further...
Naturally, we'd also have to try and work in a stopover at Olean to hang out with those party animals, knock back some cold ones and share some laughs. Everything is up in the air still - which means that currently; everything is possible.
I had a dream about the Rendezvous last night - clear & sunny skies, bikes packed up, miles rolling by....it was a sign. Daylight's a little brighter in the mornings and it's sticking around a little longer in the evenings. There's snow, ice and salt all over the place still, but we've crested the Winter mountain and we're heading down into the valley of Summer once again. Riding Days are coming for us and I'm going to welcome them with open arms.
Ride Hard, Take Chances
Monday, February 25, 2008
Basement Pics
Sorry, no thoughtful and intriguing dialogue today. First day back here and busy as all hell, trying to catch up. Just going to be pics and a few comments... 
Me, in the hole...
Fruits of my labor...(stupid rocks!) There was another pile to the left of this one, too.
I think I broke through...if you look closely, you can see a Chinaman waving up at you.
Enough! I surrender! 
Plumbing, vent and output lines are in place. Starting the backfill process...
Ejector plumbed into place, concrete base poured (for the bricks), and hole partially backfilled. (Four pipes; the main drain line is the 4" at the top of the pic, dropping down into the ejector. The left pipe is the laundry feed, tying into the 4" just about the dirt. Middle pipe is the vent and the right pipe is the ejector output, which will tie into the street exit.)
Brick walls built up. (The depth allowed us to run all the pipes out to an exterior wall so they'll be completely out of sight and we wouldn't need to build any half-walls to hide them. Additionally, with it being so deep, I shouldn't hear it operate at all.)
Everything backfilled and concreted back up. When that all dried, the manhole cover went on and we had a safe walking area again.
Another shot of the final layout and poured concrete...
Framing! Here's what will be the shower stall. Going to be all tiled, should look good.
More framing. Shower stall is in far background, bathroom area is the square in front of it. Notice the manhole cover in place, too. That will be covered by carpet and will be behind the bar, out of sight. Shouldn't need to access it for at least 20 years (so I'm told) but if I need to, there'll be easy access to it.
Running more framing along the back wall. The bar is going to butt up against the bathroom wall, in the background, and run out parallel to the framing in this pic. (Notice the soffets running along the top of the walls. What fun and time-consuming things those things are!)
That's about where things stand right now. I spent yesterday cutting/installing the spacer pieces of 2*4 that go in between the studs, and also along the bottoms, for the blueboard. I didn't take any pics of the venting in the attic - that's pretty straight forward.
Bet you didn't know that tornados have been known to touch down in Walpole, did you? Yep; very centralized ones, and they're fond of basements.
Sure hope I can get this place cleaned up before the pig roast in May!
Progress updates will be sporadic, but I'll get 'em up here as they happen.
Ciao for now.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Back to...Normalcy?
The week is over - a week spent doing plumbing and framing in my basement. The drainage lines are laid out, the vent lines have been run through dead spaces of walls and tied into the existing stacks in the attic, and the trenches have been backfilled and cemented back up. We framed in the shower stall and the bath area, and I'm pretty sure I've got a rough layout of the bar area conceived. The heating lines for the house offer a bit of a challenge as they hang below the ceiling joists, so we've had to build a bunch of soffets around those. All in all though, things are looking good. Still a long ways to go, but it'll get there eventually. I took some pics but unfortunately, my brother's laptop (which I use when I'm posting from home) runs on Vista, and that's not compatible with my digital camera (good old Vista!). So I'll have to post the pics during next week, when I'm back at work.
Ahhh yes, back to work. Well, back to my job, I guess I should say. The past week wasn't exactly a vacation, but it was a nice change-up from the usual. But tomorrow morning, it's back to the normal grind. I have to trade back the chop saw, levels, cement mixer, measuring tape, trowels, nail gun and everything else. Trade all that cool stuff back for my quiet, peaceful computer. A fair trade? Well...
Hope everyone's week was good. Pics to follow...
Ahhh yes, back to work. Well, back to my job, I guess I should say. The past week wasn't exactly a vacation, but it was a nice change-up from the usual. But tomorrow morning, it's back to the normal grind. I have to trade back the chop saw, levels, cement mixer, measuring tape, trowels, nail gun and everything else. Trade all that cool stuff back for my quiet, peaceful computer. A fair trade? Well...
Hope everyone's week was good. Pics to follow...
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Evil Lies Beneath
I was digging in my cellar this weekend, finishing what needed to be dug out to allow the plumbing to go in. I’d cleaned out the trenches and only needed to dig the hole for the ejector, and I’d be done. I squared my shoulders, took a good grip on the shovel, and set to work.
The first strike of the shovel yielded a painful shock to my wrists, as I’d made full contact with a rock, hidden just below the surface of the dirt. I adjusted the angle of the shovel and worked the offending obstacle out of place. My second attempt yielded the same level of success, and I was faced once again with an offending piece of stone. My third, fourth, fifth (you get the idea) attempts were just as fruitless. There were rocks, rocks, and more rocks. And they weren’t all that big, either. Many of them were only 4 or 6 inches across, but they were all packed together so tightly that even hitting just one with the shovel would prevent it’s forward motion, completely. Ever try to shovel a pile of rocks? No? Give it a try. Go find about a thousand rocks, stack them into a nice pile, and then try sticking a shovel into the pile and moving them. Good luck! That’s what I was dealing with. Where the F did all these rocks come from?? Who’s sick idea of a joke was this? My mind began to ponder this…
It was right around this time that something from the very back of my memory wriggled free of the dust and cobwebs, and began to work it’s way to the front of my consciousness. It was what you’d call one of those old wives’ tales. A story told to little tykes at bedtime, to make sure they stayed quiet and stayed in their beds. A story about days long past, when the earth was young. The settlers were just beginning to…well…settle. They were clearing the land and making a way of life for themselves and their families. They were working their way inland, slowly spreading from the seaside townships they’d established upon their arrival. Things were going well for them…going well…until they came to what is now called…Walpole.
When they first came upon this area, they fell in love with it’s charm and serenity. They agreed to settle here and create a bit of a…settlement. The local Indians visited them and advised the people that they should look elsewhere for a place to live. They advised them that this place, this place that the Indians called “Walpole”, would not welcome anyone. Even the Indians had not lived in this spot, as they said the ground was unfriendly. The settlers chose not to believe these stories and went about the task of building homes and meeting houses and everything else that goes into the making of a town.
But as the town slowly began to take shape, the stories began popping up amongst the settlers. Stories of hardship whenever someone tried to delve into the ground. Be it spade, hoe or just a rake, inevitably, there would be rocks to be found. And not simple rocks, these things would seem to appear where there was only mere dirt a minute earlier. The ground would seem loose and willing (my kind of dirt), but as soon as it was…penetrated (Hey, just where is this story going??), the rocks would suddenly be there. And they would seem to cling to each other, forming a bond which neither man nor tool could overcome.
People then began to talk - some even saying that the ground was indeed unfriendly, as the Indians had warned of. Some went so far as to call the ground haunted. They sent their wisest elder to seek out the Indians and ask them about the troubles they were having. The elder returned, and he was terrified. He told the settlers that the Indians had told him what the name “Walpole” actually meant. They clamored to hear the explanation, and when he told them, some dropped to the ground in sheer terror, some ran screaming into the night, still others fell silent, their mouths agape in horror. For you see; “Walpole”, means “Land of incredible beauty which has lots of tasty wildlife which is good for hunting and eating and has an abundance of rain - but not so much that your yard turns to mud - and which also comes with lots of pretty flowers but the down side is that it’s haunted by rocks that are evil”.
An emergency meeting was called and everyone assembled to figure out how to overcome this terrible news. The settlers agreed to banish them, banish the rocks. With great determination and sheer will, they dug up every single rock in the entire area and buried them deep in a giant pit which had been dug for the occasion. They filled the pit in and sprinkled holy water over it, said many prayers and asked all the surrounding priests to come and bless the pit.
Time went by and the settlers began to breathe easier. There were no more problems with rocks. The ground was rich and fertile, times were good again, and everyone was happy. The years passed by, prosperous and uneventful.
Having remembered this tale, I decided to swing down to the local library and do some research. Turns out that in roughly 1954, the landowner at what is now known as 640 South St, decided to build a house. A nice house; a ranch. Luckily for him, the ground was pitched in such a way that he only had to do a little clearing of land (didn‘t have to dig too deeply). He poured the foundation and then backfilled against the front side of it. This gave an entrance level which was even with the street in front, but which gave him almost a two level effect in the back yard (not to mention the added benefit of a walk-in basement door). And he was happy.
Making note of the latitude and longitude of my exact location, I dug further back into history, all the way back to the earliest records of the first settlers to arrive here. And I discovered two things;
A) My house was built directly on top of that pit. That pit holding those stupid f’ing evil rocks.
B) This kind of nonsense is what I come up with when I’m digging holes in my basement and my mind is left alone to wander aimlessly for hours. Have pity on me.
The first strike of the shovel yielded a painful shock to my wrists, as I’d made full contact with a rock, hidden just below the surface of the dirt. I adjusted the angle of the shovel and worked the offending obstacle out of place. My second attempt yielded the same level of success, and I was faced once again with an offending piece of stone. My third, fourth, fifth (you get the idea) attempts were just as fruitless. There were rocks, rocks, and more rocks. And they weren’t all that big, either. Many of them were only 4 or 6 inches across, but they were all packed together so tightly that even hitting just one with the shovel would prevent it’s forward motion, completely. Ever try to shovel a pile of rocks? No? Give it a try. Go find about a thousand rocks, stack them into a nice pile, and then try sticking a shovel into the pile and moving them. Good luck! That’s what I was dealing with. Where the F did all these rocks come from?? Who’s sick idea of a joke was this? My mind began to ponder this…
It was right around this time that something from the very back of my memory wriggled free of the dust and cobwebs, and began to work it’s way to the front of my consciousness. It was what you’d call one of those old wives’ tales. A story told to little tykes at bedtime, to make sure they stayed quiet and stayed in their beds. A story about days long past, when the earth was young. The settlers were just beginning to…well…settle. They were clearing the land and making a way of life for themselves and their families. They were working their way inland, slowly spreading from the seaside townships they’d established upon their arrival. Things were going well for them…going well…until they came to what is now called…Walpole.
When they first came upon this area, they fell in love with it’s charm and serenity. They agreed to settle here and create a bit of a…settlement. The local Indians visited them and advised the people that they should look elsewhere for a place to live. They advised them that this place, this place that the Indians called “Walpole”, would not welcome anyone. Even the Indians had not lived in this spot, as they said the ground was unfriendly. The settlers chose not to believe these stories and went about the task of building homes and meeting houses and everything else that goes into the making of a town.
But as the town slowly began to take shape, the stories began popping up amongst the settlers. Stories of hardship whenever someone tried to delve into the ground. Be it spade, hoe or just a rake, inevitably, there would be rocks to be found. And not simple rocks, these things would seem to appear where there was only mere dirt a minute earlier. The ground would seem loose and willing (my kind of dirt), but as soon as it was…penetrated (Hey, just where is this story going??), the rocks would suddenly be there. And they would seem to cling to each other, forming a bond which neither man nor tool could overcome.
People then began to talk - some even saying that the ground was indeed unfriendly, as the Indians had warned of. Some went so far as to call the ground haunted. They sent their wisest elder to seek out the Indians and ask them about the troubles they were having. The elder returned, and he was terrified. He told the settlers that the Indians had told him what the name “Walpole” actually meant. They clamored to hear the explanation, and when he told them, some dropped to the ground in sheer terror, some ran screaming into the night, still others fell silent, their mouths agape in horror. For you see; “Walpole”, means “Land of incredible beauty which has lots of tasty wildlife which is good for hunting and eating and has an abundance of rain - but not so much that your yard turns to mud - and which also comes with lots of pretty flowers but the down side is that it’s haunted by rocks that are evil”.
An emergency meeting was called and everyone assembled to figure out how to overcome this terrible news. The settlers agreed to banish them, banish the rocks. With great determination and sheer will, they dug up every single rock in the entire area and buried them deep in a giant pit which had been dug for the occasion. They filled the pit in and sprinkled holy water over it, said many prayers and asked all the surrounding priests to come and bless the pit.
Time went by and the settlers began to breathe easier. There were no more problems with rocks. The ground was rich and fertile, times were good again, and everyone was happy. The years passed by, prosperous and uneventful.
Having remembered this tale, I decided to swing down to the local library and do some research. Turns out that in roughly 1954, the landowner at what is now known as 640 South St, decided to build a house. A nice house; a ranch. Luckily for him, the ground was pitched in such a way that he only had to do a little clearing of land (didn‘t have to dig too deeply). He poured the foundation and then backfilled against the front side of it. This gave an entrance level which was even with the street in front, but which gave him almost a two level effect in the back yard (not to mention the added benefit of a walk-in basement door). And he was happy.
Making note of the latitude and longitude of my exact location, I dug further back into history, all the way back to the earliest records of the first settlers to arrive here. And I discovered two things;
A) My house was built directly on top of that pit. That pit holding those stupid f’ing evil rocks.
B) This kind of nonsense is what I come up with when I’m digging holes in my basement and my mind is left alone to wander aimlessly for hours. Have pity on me.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Basement Project
I’m going to be on a tangent for a while now, doing updates to the basement/bathroom project that’s been kicked off. I realize this is a bit of a transgression in that it’s not m’cycle related, but it is wintertime, there’s no riding right now, so I’m afraid all I have for you is this. So with that said;
This project has been on my mind ever since I bought my house – 7 ½ years ago. A combination of (lack of) finances, (lack of) time, and (lack of) connections has always kept this idea at bay. But I’ve been saving up for a while, I have the time (see above; ‘no riding right now’), and a connection just fell into my lap. A long-time friend of mine’s fiancé happens to be a plumber and we got together and talked about the project, and off we’re running. He even said I could work with him to save some expenses if I wanted to. Hell yeah, I want that! Now I’m pretty handy with tools and such but I’m no pro, so there’s bound to be some good learning opportunities ahead.
So Dave (the plumber) swung by the house last week to drop off the concrete cutter and lay out the lines for where the concrete needed to be removed.
This cutter is pretty sweet. I’ve never used one before, but I’ve seen plenty of them. It’s gas powered, runs like a (large) chain saw, and has a connection for a garden hose that’s used to adjust water flow against the blade. Fire it up, bring the blade up to speed, line it up with where you want to cut, and have at it.
The bathroom setup is going to consist of a tiled shower stall, toilet and sink – with a mini sink plumbed onto the opposite side of the bathroom sink wall (the mini sink will be the BAR sink!). Since my septic outflow pipe currently exits my house about 3’ above the floor, I need an ejector to get all the water (et al) up and out of the house. So…the cuts that are needed will be a trench running from the shower drain, running under where the toilet will be (which will…dump…into that drainage line), then running into a large hole where the ejector will be. A couple of small off-shoots will need to be cut as well, for vents and drainage to the main line.
I hooked up the hose, opened a couple of windows, opened doors at both ends of the cellar, and fired that beast up. Dave had advised that I just slice about an inch or so into the concrete and run the lines that way, then go back and cut all the way through. This process worked well as it was easy to make corrections if I started to drift on the initial cut, but once that was done, it acted as a guide for when I was doing the full cut. The cutter worked quite well and once I had a good rhythm figured out, I was slicing along at a good pace.
The ventilation was working pretty well until one of the doors blew shut – something I didn’t become aware of until I noticed that it was getting a bit tough to breathe. Wow, look at all the pretty colors everywhere…hey, time for a break, outside in the fresh air! Once the cellar cleared out, I propped the doors open to prevent any further issues, and finished the cuts.
Prying the concrete out of the cuts was done with a sledgehammer and a large pry bar. First, whack the crap out of the concrete to break it, then pry it up and lift it out. A very messy job, as every time I whacked the concrete with the sledge, the water and mud would explode out of the cracks and cuts. What fun! Thank god for safety glasses.
After I had all the concrete out, I shoved all the mud and water into the open slots and left things to dry for a few days. No need to be digging into a bunch of mud, thanks. I’ve been down there a couple of times this week to start the digging and it’s about 2/3 done. (The trench from the shower drain needs to be 8” deep, out to the point where it meets up with the toilet connection, at which point the trench needs to be 12” deep, running out to the hole for the ejector. That’s the fun part; that hole needs to be 4’ deep. And the stuff I’m digging into isn’t cooperating very well. It’s not just compacted dirt, it’s all kinds of rocks, rocks, and more rocks. More fun!
So that’s where things stand now. I’ll finish the digging this weekend and Monday morning (no holiday off for this kid!), Plumber Dave is showing up at 7:30 and we’re going to start laying out the drainage, maybe even get the ejector into place as well.
I’ll keep snapping pics and will keep you up to date as this thing moves along. With any luck, I might even have this thing done in time for my pig roast in May – not that I need another bathroom for that party...I have plenty of bathrooms in my back yard already – I call them ‘trees’. :-D
Oh yeah - if anyone out there has remodeled/finished their basement before, feel free to toss ideas out to me as to things you did and liked, what worked, what didn't, what you would have done differently, etc. Thanks!
Have a great long weekend.
This project has been on my mind ever since I bought my house – 7 ½ years ago. A combination of (lack of) finances, (lack of) time, and (lack of) connections has always kept this idea at bay. But I’ve been saving up for a while, I have the time (see above; ‘no riding right now’), and a connection just fell into my lap. A long-time friend of mine’s fiancé happens to be a plumber and we got together and talked about the project, and off we’re running. He even said I could work with him to save some expenses if I wanted to. Hell yeah, I want that! Now I’m pretty handy with tools and such but I’m no pro, so there’s bound to be some good learning opportunities ahead.
So Dave (the plumber) swung by the house last week to drop off the concrete cutter and lay out the lines for where the concrete needed to be removed.
This cutter is pretty sweet. I’ve never used one before, but I’ve seen plenty of them. It’s gas powered, runs like a (large) chain saw, and has a connection for a garden hose that’s used to adjust water flow against the blade. Fire it up, bring the blade up to speed, line it up with where you want to cut, and have at it.
The bathroom setup is going to consist of a tiled shower stall, toilet and sink – with a mini sink plumbed onto the opposite side of the bathroom sink wall (the mini sink will be the BAR sink!). Since my septic outflow pipe currently exits my house about 3’ above the floor, I need an ejector to get all the water (et al) up and out of the house. So…the cuts that are needed will be a trench running from the shower drain, running under where the toilet will be (which will…dump…into that drainage line), then running into a large hole where the ejector will be. A couple of small off-shoots will need to be cut as well, for vents and drainage to the main line.
I hooked up the hose, opened a couple of windows, opened doors at both ends of the cellar, and fired that beast up. Dave had advised that I just slice about an inch or so into the concrete and run the lines that way, then go back and cut all the way through. This process worked well as it was easy to make corrections if I started to drift on the initial cut, but once that was done, it acted as a guide for when I was doing the full cut. The cutter worked quite well and once I had a good rhythm figured out, I was slicing along at a good pace.
The ventilation was working pretty well until one of the doors blew shut – something I didn’t become aware of until I noticed that it was getting a bit tough to breathe. Wow, look at all the pretty colors everywhere…hey, time for a break, outside in the fresh air! Once the cellar cleared out, I propped the doors open to prevent any further issues, and finished the cuts.
Prying the concrete out of the cuts was done with a sledgehammer and a large pry bar. First, whack the crap out of the concrete to break it, then pry it up and lift it out. A very messy job, as every time I whacked the concrete with the sledge, the water and mud would explode out of the cracks and cuts. What fun! Thank god for safety glasses.
After I had all the concrete out, I shoved all the mud and water into the open slots and left things to dry for a few days. No need to be digging into a bunch of mud, thanks. I’ve been down there a couple of times this week to start the digging and it’s about 2/3 done. (The trench from the shower drain needs to be 8” deep, out to the point where it meets up with the toilet connection, at which point the trench needs to be 12” deep, running out to the hole for the ejector. That’s the fun part; that hole needs to be 4’ deep. And the stuff I’m digging into isn’t cooperating very well. It’s not just compacted dirt, it’s all kinds of rocks, rocks, and more rocks. More fun!
So that’s where things stand now. I’ll finish the digging this weekend and Monday morning (no holiday off for this kid!), Plumber Dave is showing up at 7:30 and we’re going to start laying out the drainage, maybe even get the ejector into place as well.
I’ll keep snapping pics and will keep you up to date as this thing moves along. With any luck, I might even have this thing done in time for my pig roast in May – not that I need another bathroom for that party...I have plenty of bathrooms in my back yard already – I call them ‘trees’. :-D
Oh yeah - if anyone out there has remodeled/finished their basement before, feel free to toss ideas out to me as to things you did and liked, what worked, what didn't, what you would have done differently, etc. Thanks!
Have a great long weekend.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
NorthEast Motorcycle Expo
The annual NE Motorcycle Expo had arrived in town so I grabbed a friend of mine and we went to check things out. We weren’t expecting anything terribly new or different – and we weren’t disappointed in that regard. The usual display of over-priced, over-engineered, over-the-top circus wagons were there at every turn of the head. Bikes with hydraulic lift/drop kits in them, bikes with more chrome than iron, bikes longer than my truck, bikes with painted images so detailed they looked impossible to have been done by man, bikes with gold on them…the list goes on and on. Bikes that I wasn’t sure if you should sit on them or rush them into a vault for protection (all while calling your insurance agent to have them prep a coverage policy larger than your homeowner’s).
On the flip side, there were more than plenty of offerings from local dealerships looking to unload some of their stock inventory. Whether your interest lay with the sport bikes, the cruisers, or anything in between, you could find a bike that would suit your needs/desires. The prices didn’t look to bad, either. Naturally; the urge to pick up a new bike began to rear its ugly head, but I forced it back down. Too many other expenses have been waiting their turn, and there’s no cutting in line!
We wound our way up and down the lines of vendors, checking out some sweet paint work (Wow, I can get that flamed mailbox for only $75?), some interesting fabrication ideas (Why, you’re absolutely correct, sir…that razor-sharp shark fin welded onto the backbone – directly in front of your nuts – does bring everything together quite nicely… ), some promo videos (you mean, if I buy your instructional DVD, I’ll be able to fly my bike over tall buildings, too?), and a myriad of other things. One item that did catch my eye was a bike done in a spider web theme – a lot of non-functional filigree (webbing) was…woven…throughout the bike, and overall, it made a nice presentation, but like most other show bikes; it wouldn’t have stood up to a good pounding (??) on the highway. The taillight was excellent, though. Whoever fab’d it did an exceptional job. The cutout was perfectly shaped like a creepy spider and the lighting assembly behind it was more than luminous (LED setup). I snapped a pic with the phone (again; apologies for the qualities of the pics – these were taken with my phone because I’m an idiot and forgot my camera);
From there, we worked our way to the back wall as there are always some old school bikes parked there. You’ll never find an owner here -someone looking to jaw your ear off about how they did this or that, spent this much cash, how many trophies they’ve won, etc. Just old school bikes, sitting alone and unattended, speaking for themselves. These are the bikes I like to check out. I was disappointed that there were only a few there this year, but I snapped some pics…
Another bike that caught my eye was one that belonged to the late, great Indian Larry. (Well, I believe it belonged to him. Either he owned it, or Paul/Keino built it in his memory.) At any rate, I had to take a pic of the bars. No wires, no directionals, no cables, no mirrors, nothing. Hell, they look like they were stripped off a bicycle, bolted onto this ride, and that was it. (But the giveaway was the wires winding out of the bar, just behind the headlight.) Look how clean those babies are!
We were winding our way back to the entrance and getting ready to head off to the rest of the day when one more bike caught my eye. This thing was actually sick enough to look interesting. Not sure how long it would take that engine to get those two massive chunks of rubber screaming, but can you imagine the looks you’d get from the local boys in blue once you were blasting down the highway? It looks like it’s hauling ass even when it’s sitting still. If you took this thing out, you might as well start shouting “Hey Mr. Policeman, I have too much money in my wallet and I want to give it to you!”
Having accomplished a complete tour of the event, we beat feet for the door and headed back towards home. Not a bad showing for this year’s Expo, all in all. A nice taste of biker camaraderie was shared with about 2,000 of my closest friends - and judging from all the smiles I saw, we all had a good time.
Ride Hard, Take Chances
On the flip side, there were more than plenty of offerings from local dealerships looking to unload some of their stock inventory. Whether your interest lay with the sport bikes, the cruisers, or anything in between, you could find a bike that would suit your needs/desires. The prices didn’t look to bad, either. Naturally; the urge to pick up a new bike began to rear its ugly head, but I forced it back down. Too many other expenses have been waiting their turn, and there’s no cutting in line!
We wound our way up and down the lines of vendors, checking out some sweet paint work (Wow, I can get that flamed mailbox for only $75?), some interesting fabrication ideas (Why, you’re absolutely correct, sir…that razor-sharp shark fin welded onto the backbone – directly in front of your nuts – does bring everything together quite nicely… ), some promo videos (you mean, if I buy your instructional DVD, I’ll be able to fly my bike over tall buildings, too?), and a myriad of other things. One item that did catch my eye was a bike done in a spider web theme – a lot of non-functional filigree (webbing) was…woven…throughout the bike, and overall, it made a nice presentation, but like most other show bikes; it wouldn’t have stood up to a good pounding (??) on the highway. The taillight was excellent, though. Whoever fab’d it did an exceptional job. The cutout was perfectly shaped like a creepy spider and the lighting assembly behind it was more than luminous (LED setup). I snapped a pic with the phone (again; apologies for the qualities of the pics – these were taken with my phone because I’m an idiot and forgot my camera);
From there, we worked our way to the back wall as there are always some old school bikes parked there. You’ll never find an owner here -someone looking to jaw your ear off about how they did this or that, spent this much cash, how many trophies they’ve won, etc. Just old school bikes, sitting alone and unattended, speaking for themselves. These are the bikes I like to check out. I was disappointed that there were only a few there this year, but I snapped some pics…
Another bike that caught my eye was one that belonged to the late, great Indian Larry. (Well, I believe it belonged to him. Either he owned it, or Paul/Keino built it in his memory.) At any rate, I had to take a pic of the bars. No wires, no directionals, no cables, no mirrors, nothing. Hell, they look like they were stripped off a bicycle, bolted onto this ride, and that was it. (But the giveaway was the wires winding out of the bar, just behind the headlight.) Look how clean those babies are!
We were winding our way back to the entrance and getting ready to head off to the rest of the day when one more bike caught my eye. This thing was actually sick enough to look interesting. Not sure how long it would take that engine to get those two massive chunks of rubber screaming, but can you imagine the looks you’d get from the local boys in blue once you were blasting down the highway? It looks like it’s hauling ass even when it’s sitting still. If you took this thing out, you might as well start shouting “Hey Mr. Policeman, I have too much money in my wallet and I want to give it to you!”
Having accomplished a complete tour of the event, we beat feet for the door and headed back towards home. Not a bad showing for this year’s Expo, all in all. A nice taste of biker camaraderie was shared with about 2,000 of my closest friends - and judging from all the smiles I saw, we all had a good time.
Ride Hard, Take Chances
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Bare with me...
Sorry folks, not trying to be distant again, just been really slammed between work and home.
Got some decent stuff to post about and will get to it soon. I went to the NorthEast Motorcycle Expo this past weekend - pretty typical stuff, as usual, but not a bad way to kill a few hours. I forgot to bring my camera but I snapped some pics with my phone so you'll be able to get a feel for what I'm jabbering about when I do the write up.
The other big thing going on is I've started my basement project! I know what you're thinking; "Hey meathead, this is supposed to be a blog about motorcycles and such, not about house projects!" But just bare...er...bear with me. This project has been on the back burner for a long time so I'm excited that it's been moved to 'active' list. The first step in that project is to install a bathroom, as once that's done, then I can model everything else around the plumbing for that. The plumber came over this past weekend and marked out where I needed to slice out the floor for the drainage, so Sunday afternoon was spent getting very familiar with a concrete cutter. Good times!
So again; please bear with me and I'll fill you in on all of the boring details as soon as I can. Not sure I'll be able to get caught up before the week runs out, but if not, then I'll use the weekend to do so. Oh yeah; I'm also taking next week off to spend working with the plumber so I should have some more fun stuff to blog about as the week progresses.
Weather is ass right now; low teens, high winds, salt and sand all over the road. Bike sits cold and lonely in the garage. I'm bummed, but at the same time; there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Feb is normally the coldest month of the winter for us and we're in that stretch right now. Once we're past this, we start the slow slide towards warmer stuff.
Hang on, it's only going to get better...
Ride Hard, Take Chances
Got some decent stuff to post about and will get to it soon. I went to the NorthEast Motorcycle Expo this past weekend - pretty typical stuff, as usual, but not a bad way to kill a few hours. I forgot to bring my camera but I snapped some pics with my phone so you'll be able to get a feel for what I'm jabbering about when I do the write up.
The other big thing going on is I've started my basement project! I know what you're thinking; "Hey meathead, this is supposed to be a blog about motorcycles and such, not about house projects!" But just bare...er...bear with me. This project has been on the back burner for a long time so I'm excited that it's been moved to 'active' list. The first step in that project is to install a bathroom, as once that's done, then I can model everything else around the plumbing for that. The plumber came over this past weekend and marked out where I needed to slice out the floor for the drainage, so Sunday afternoon was spent getting very familiar with a concrete cutter. Good times!
So again; please bear with me and I'll fill you in on all of the boring details as soon as I can. Not sure I'll be able to get caught up before the week runs out, but if not, then I'll use the weekend to do so. Oh yeah; I'm also taking next week off to spend working with the plumber so I should have some more fun stuff to blog about as the week progresses.
Weather is ass right now; low teens, high winds, salt and sand all over the road. Bike sits cold and lonely in the garage. I'm bummed, but at the same time; there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Feb is normally the coldest month of the winter for us and we're in that stretch right now. Once we're past this, we start the slow slide towards warmer stuff.
Hang on, it's only going to get better...
Ride Hard, Take Chances
Monday, February 4, 2008
I need your help!
I know I said I'd get back to the motorycle stuff in my next post, but I need to digress one more time; I need your help! I need to issue a missing person's alert! Has anyone seen the Patriots' Offensive Line? They were last seen boarding a plane for Arizona, but I'm not sure what happened to them after that. They were supposed to appear at a game last night but they never showed up. If anyone has seen them, please call Bill Belichick, as he's desperately looking for them.
Thanks!
Thanks!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Dorothy Magraw
I haven’t posted in a while, been dealing with a loss in the family. I wasn’t going to blog about it because it’s personal and I wasn’t sure that my blog was the right place to talk about this. But then I realized that none of that matters because this person was someone that was extremely important to me and I should absolutely tell you about her and what a wonderful person she was.
My grandmother passed away last week. She was 101 years old and lived a full, vibrant and loving lifetime. She was many things to those around her; fiercely loyal, fun loving, church going, and above all else; completely giving of herself. She constantly organized clothing drives for those in need, bake sales for local food pantries, she was a member of countless charities, and (probably the greatest feat of all) took me and Brother Bill in when we were just wee tykes when our mother passed away, 37 years ago.
Up until the summer of last year, she maintained her own home. She did her own cleaning, her own cooking, her even own entertaining (yes, she still had friends over for tea and home-made desserts). Sure, we did things like her food shopping, her laundry, and whatever else she would let us do for her. But think about it…this woman was over 100 years old at the time! Her mental clarity was amazing, her love and support for all those around her was unfaltering. The only aspect which gave any indication that the years were moving along for her, was that her hearing had slipped mostly away. But that only meant folks had to lean in close to talk into her ear - something she was glad of, for it always allowed her the opportunity to sneak in a hug or a squeeze of the hand, to those that she was talking with.
Roughly half way though last summer, she began having some complications with her quality of life and the decision was made to have her live in assisted living. She’d been fiercely against that idea for years; “It’s my house and I’m going to die in my house!”, but I’m happy to say that once she made the transition, she loved it. She loved having people around to talk to, she loved the nurses - and they loved her. (She was only there for 6 months, but in that short time, she touched so many of them, that during her visiting hours at her wake, a number of them actually came to say their goodbyes. They couldn‘t say enough good things about her.)
Even at 101 years of age, she was still quite active. (Ok, so maybe I could run faster than her, but there’s a good chance that her will would have kept her moving long after I’d run out of breath.) We spent time visiting with her almost daily and the nurses were always telling us how she’d be moving around on her own, up and down the hallways, even during the middle of the night. In fact, the night before she had her stroke, she was up at 4am, and down in the dining hall. She was hungry and was looking to see if anyone was interested in making her some French toast (she loved French toast!).
But alas, the following day, she did have a stroke - a bad one which placed her deep into a coma. We rushed her into the hospital for the weekend and the doctors ran all their tests to see how she was doing. The news wasn’t good, and we knew our time with her was short. The decision was made to move her back to the nursing home for final care. Besides, the nurses thought the world of her and we knew she’d be more than well taken care of under their watch.
We were with her each day, and we were with her at the end. And she knew that we were there, of that I am certain. Her breathing responded to our words - our words which were full of sadness, but also full of gratitude for all that she had done for us over the many, many years. We told her we loved her, that we were sad and would miss her, but that we would be ok. We told her that it was ok to let go, to join her husband and the other loved ones that had gone on before her. And shortly afterwards, she passed from this journey onto the next one ,peacefully and at ease.
The sheer volume of those that turned out to pay their respects was nothing short of amazing - but it wasn’t surprising, given the number of people she’d touched in her lifetime. She will indeed live on in the hearts and minds of many, many dear friends and family. Mine, not the least.
Thanks for listening. I'll get back to the motorcycle theme in my next post.
My grandmother passed away last week. She was 101 years old and lived a full, vibrant and loving lifetime. She was many things to those around her; fiercely loyal, fun loving, church going, and above all else; completely giving of herself. She constantly organized clothing drives for those in need, bake sales for local food pantries, she was a member of countless charities, and (probably the greatest feat of all) took me and Brother Bill in when we were just wee tykes when our mother passed away, 37 years ago.
Up until the summer of last year, she maintained her own home. She did her own cleaning, her own cooking, her even own entertaining (yes, she still had friends over for tea and home-made desserts). Sure, we did things like her food shopping, her laundry, and whatever else she would let us do for her. But think about it…this woman was over 100 years old at the time! Her mental clarity was amazing, her love and support for all those around her was unfaltering. The only aspect which gave any indication that the years were moving along for her, was that her hearing had slipped mostly away. But that only meant folks had to lean in close to talk into her ear - something she was glad of, for it always allowed her the opportunity to sneak in a hug or a squeeze of the hand, to those that she was talking with.
Roughly half way though last summer, she began having some complications with her quality of life and the decision was made to have her live in assisted living. She’d been fiercely against that idea for years; “It’s my house and I’m going to die in my house!”, but I’m happy to say that once she made the transition, she loved it. She loved having people around to talk to, she loved the nurses - and they loved her. (She was only there for 6 months, but in that short time, she touched so many of them, that during her visiting hours at her wake, a number of them actually came to say their goodbyes. They couldn‘t say enough good things about her.)
Even at 101 years of age, she was still quite active. (Ok, so maybe I could run faster than her, but there’s a good chance that her will would have kept her moving long after I’d run out of breath.) We spent time visiting with her almost daily and the nurses were always telling us how she’d be moving around on her own, up and down the hallways, even during the middle of the night. In fact, the night before she had her stroke, she was up at 4am, and down in the dining hall. She was hungry and was looking to see if anyone was interested in making her some French toast (she loved French toast!).
But alas, the following day, she did have a stroke - a bad one which placed her deep into a coma. We rushed her into the hospital for the weekend and the doctors ran all their tests to see how she was doing. The news wasn’t good, and we knew our time with her was short. The decision was made to move her back to the nursing home for final care. Besides, the nurses thought the world of her and we knew she’d be more than well taken care of under their watch.
We were with her each day, and we were with her at the end. And she knew that we were there, of that I am certain. Her breathing responded to our words - our words which were full of sadness, but also full of gratitude for all that she had done for us over the many, many years. We told her we loved her, that we were sad and would miss her, but that we would be ok. We told her that it was ok to let go, to join her husband and the other loved ones that had gone on before her. And shortly afterwards, she passed from this journey onto the next one ,peacefully and at ease.
The sheer volume of those that turned out to pay their respects was nothing short of amazing - but it wasn’t surprising, given the number of people she’d touched in her lifetime. She will indeed live on in the hearts and minds of many, many dear friends and family. Mine, not the least.
Thanks for listening. I'll get back to the motorcycle theme in my next post.
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