I was 19 when I bought my second Karmann Ghia. It was the best of the three Ghias I've owned. It was a 69 model and supposedly had a mere 54 hp engine but it was faster than any little car around Cedar Rapids, including the English sports cars. The salesman told me a young woman had driven it at college. The non-stock equalized header exhaust system made me doubt his story. Somebody had tinkered with this car and apparently they knew what they were doing.
My friend Joe and some of our co-workers rented a house together where they had some impressive parties. I arrived at one such party and parked my Ghia on the street behind Joe's VW Beetle. Joe was a pretty good bug mechanic and he had tweaked his car a bit, too.
Before I got to the door I was confronted on the porch by a couple of partiers who desired that I partake with them of their inebriant of choice. I did so. I then entered the house and ran into some co workers just inside the door. They, too offered me some kind of inebriant, which I had a taste of. I then asked where Joe was adn they directed me to the kitchen. Before I got to the kitchen I encountered more revelers with more inebriants and shared a little with them.
By the time I got to the kitchen I was beginning to feel a little bit of a buzz. The revelers in the kitchen handed me some new kind of inebriant while informing me that Joe had gone upstairs.
I didn't find Joe on the second floor but I found other people who offered me other kinds of inebriants and who told me that Joe had gone further upstairs. On the third floor, after sharing some more inebriants with the partiers there I was told that Joe was on the roof. I was directed to go through a bedroom, to climb out the window and up a shingled overhang to the flat roof above. I did so.
On the roof I found my friend Benny holding a bottle of El Toro tequila. I helped him reduce its contents then stood on wobbly legs to look for Joe. He saw me first.
"Howie!" "Joe!" "Howie!" "Joe!" We did one of our many stupid greetings routines. He was one of very few people I ever let call me Howie. It all began with our "Hello, Joe." "Howdy, Howie." greeting. I had to let him call me Howie or it wouldn't sound right.
Joe was sitting on the edge of the roof at the front of the building. I joined him and had some of whatever was being passed around. We looked down at the street and at our two Volkswagens parked across the street.
Suddenly Joe got very excited and animated. He had just had a wonderful, terrible idea. His idea was that we have a race. We would race down off the roof, through the house, out to the street, into our cars, drive to the nearest bar, drink one draft beer, then return to our cars to drive back to the party and race back up to the roof.
I do not remember my reaction to his suggestion. But I do remember that I agreed to the race.
Someone yelled Go! and Joe shot across the roof me with me right behind him. He slid down the shingles on his butt and hit the balcony. I didn't have any better idea so I did the same. He took a shortcut across the bed so I did the same. We sailed down the steps two or three at a time as I was a leggy 6' 2" and he was an even leggier 6' 4". Joe bellowed "Gangway!" or something like that and the crowd downstairs parted before us. We sailed out the door and off the porch ignoring the steps. I hauled it with everything I had and got to my Ghia at the same moment Joe got to his beetle.
Unfortunately, My car was locked and his was not, so he was firing up his engine and lurching off already by the time I was in my seat. But the Ghia fired right up and her tires squealed as she tore off after the bug. I caught up to Joe before the block was up, just in time to see him turn the wrong way up a one-way street. He was taking an illegal shortcut to the bar. I followed.
Joe parked, illegally of course, right in the bar's driveway. I had no choice but to park behind him. I shut off the engine and ran toward the bar door as Joe opened it. As I passed his car I heard the engine running. I could have stolen his keys or locked his door but I'm not a rat.
I entered the bar right on Joe's heels as he loudly and quickly demanded a beer because we were in a race. I said "make that two!" as Joe slammed a handful of change on the counter and I discovered a hole in my pocket where my wallet was supposed to be. The slide down the roof had shredded my pocket!
No time to worry about that now. I fished less than fifty cents out my pocket. Fortunately, that bar was selling thirty cent draft beer that night. Joe slammed his beer in about two big gulps and slammed his glass on the bar. I never could guzzle and had to just swallow as fast as I could. By the time I finished Joe was almost to his car.
I ran like hell and fired up the Ghia in time to see Joe turn a corner. I flew after him and caught up to him just as he got behind some slow-moving old-timer. Joe just floored it and passed the guy, so I had to do the same.
I stayed on Joe's tail because there was no way to safely pass him. We finally pulled in front of his house and bailed out, hauling ass toward the house. Cheers exploded from the roof of the party house which now contained about half of the guests. Joe stayed in front of me but I was right behind him, all the way back up the stairs. As we leaped back over the bed on the way to the roof I retreived my wallet, which had fallen there.
Back up on the roof we were both congratulated and back-slapped and handed all kinds of inebriants to celebrate. We also learned that when we first sailed out of the building, everyone downstairs wondered what Joe had done to me to make me chase him out of the house like that.
Joe won the race without question. I would not have broken half the laws he did, had he not done so first. And he was crazy enough to have passed me while I was being law-abiding and responsible. Anyway, it was more fun and exciting the way it worked out.
About a year later I was going into the Army and Nancy was so pregnant that she couldn't drive the Ghia. I traded it for an American car with more belly room.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Armourdale
This is a song that I began when I was young,
Every year it changes and it's never really done.
Why I keep on writing it I do not really know,
But for all I've seen and done it's all I have to show.
- from my barely started song, "Lifesong."
The story begins in Armourdale, a labor-class neighborhood on the south side of Kansas City. In the early 50s it was one of the stinkiest places in the world. Armourdale was adjacent to rail yards, stockyards and meat packing plants. It was cradled in a loop of the legendarily polluted Kansas River where slaughterhouses dumped what was left after they rendered livestock. A couple of soap plants spewed chemical filled smoke that didn't help the smell at all.
It was here that my mother's parents raised seven kids and lost one in a tiny three-bedroom house with no yard. This is where my mother grew up. And this is the one place my family returned to again and again during the first quarter of my life. I grew up in a half dozen homes in several states but I visited Armourdale as often as my parents could afford to, until both my mother's parents were gone.
In 1951 a flood drowned the stockyards and covered Armourdale with river sludge. My grandparents rebuilt their destroyed house and bought the lot next door, giving them an actual yard for the first time. A little while later my parents began dating.
Both of my parents lived in relatively poor neighborhoods and attended tough city schools. But they weren't like the other kids. What was unusual about my parents and what they had in common was that they were both exceptionally presentable.
First, they were very attractive. They looked like well-groomed versions of Li'l Abner and Daisy Mae from the Al Capp comic strip. And they spoke well, always using proper diction, pronunciation and grammar. They had impeccable manners and erect posture.
And they were intellectually presentable. They aspired to read good books and listen to good music and to contemplate good philosophies. They were people you could take to the symphony and not be embarrassed by them.
Dad entered the Army around the time I entered the world. It was a short two-year hitch and the Korean conflict had just concluded.
When I was about one year old I contracted pneumonia. Mom blamed herself. She said she had just bathed me and wrapped me in a towel, then carried me outside and down to the apartments' laundry room and back in cold weather. I was hospitalized at Wright Patterson Medical Center, the closest military hospital to where my father was stationed and a place since rumored to have performed alien autopsies a few years prior to my visit.
I was isolated from my parents and placed in an oxygen tent. Dad said that before this event I was a happy, loving little kid. He said he and my mother visited me at the hospital and could see me through the ward window. They waved and smiled. I gave them a dirty look and turned my back on them. For many years after that time my usual facial expression was a pissed off frown.
Every year it changes and it's never really done.
Why I keep on writing it I do not really know,
But for all I've seen and done it's all I have to show.
- from my barely started song, "Lifesong."
The story begins in Armourdale, a labor-class neighborhood on the south side of Kansas City. In the early 50s it was one of the stinkiest places in the world. Armourdale was adjacent to rail yards, stockyards and meat packing plants. It was cradled in a loop of the legendarily polluted Kansas River where slaughterhouses dumped what was left after they rendered livestock. A couple of soap plants spewed chemical filled smoke that didn't help the smell at all.
It was here that my mother's parents raised seven kids and lost one in a tiny three-bedroom house with no yard. This is where my mother grew up. And this is the one place my family returned to again and again during the first quarter of my life. I grew up in a half dozen homes in several states but I visited Armourdale as often as my parents could afford to, until both my mother's parents were gone.
In 1951 a flood drowned the stockyards and covered Armourdale with river sludge. My grandparents rebuilt their destroyed house and bought the lot next door, giving them an actual yard for the first time. A little while later my parents began dating.
Both of my parents lived in relatively poor neighborhoods and attended tough city schools. But they weren't like the other kids. What was unusual about my parents and what they had in common was that they were both exceptionally presentable.
First, they were very attractive. They looked like well-groomed versions of Li'l Abner and Daisy Mae from the Al Capp comic strip. And they spoke well, always using proper diction, pronunciation and grammar. They had impeccable manners and erect posture.
And they were intellectually presentable. They aspired to read good books and listen to good music and to contemplate good philosophies. They were people you could take to the symphony and not be embarrassed by them.
Dad entered the Army around the time I entered the world. It was a short two-year hitch and the Korean conflict had just concluded.
When I was about one year old I contracted pneumonia. Mom blamed herself. She said she had just bathed me and wrapped me in a towel, then carried me outside and down to the apartments' laundry room and back in cold weather. I was hospitalized at Wright Patterson Medical Center, the closest military hospital to where my father was stationed and a place since rumored to have performed alien autopsies a few years prior to my visit.
I was isolated from my parents and placed in an oxygen tent. Dad said that before this event I was a happy, loving little kid. He said he and my mother visited me at the hospital and could see me through the ward window. They waved and smiled. I gave them a dirty look and turned my back on them. For many years after that time my usual facial expression was a pissed off frown.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Fathers Day Ride
This morning I took my wife for a long motorcycle ride on LSD.
And by LSD I mean Lake Shore Drive. And I mean the LSD in Springfield, IL, not the one in Chicago. Springfield, too, has a lake . It's called Lake Springfield. This is an example of how creative Springfieldians are.
Anyway, the ride was very nice and so were the stops at Starbucks and the Lincoln Garden, which is really just a small oasis of woods in the endless desert of corn.
While walking the mulch and mud covered trails of the garden we saw a fearless deer, several mooching squirrels, an army of geese who were big chickens and a baby toad that I coaxed off of the trail so that he/she would not become part of the mulch.
The woods were hot and humid and we were soaked by the time we left. The first mile was pretty cool after that.
We rode until our butts were sore and had a great time.
The Triumph doesn't seem to pull differently with two passengers than with one. Braking and handling are a little sluggish with two but the motor just doesn't care. I'm not used to an OHC engine with so much low-end torque. I still feel like I should wait until high revs to shift, but I don't need to.
My Hondas didn't have any real pull until about 5000 rpm. This Triumph starts pulling at about 3000! And it doesn't rev as fast as the Hondas did so I have to teach myself to shift sooner and take advantage of the torque in higher gears. Instead of wrapping 1st out to redline before shifting, I can get in a higher gear sooner and accelerate using a faster gear ratio.
I'm not really sure which technique is faster but I'm having fun experimenting. Either way, this Triumph goes from 0 to 60 in about one gasp.
I'm one happy daddy.
And by LSD I mean Lake Shore Drive. And I mean the LSD in Springfield, IL, not the one in Chicago. Springfield, too, has a lake . It's called Lake Springfield. This is an example of how creative Springfieldians are.
Anyway, the ride was very nice and so were the stops at Starbucks and the Lincoln Garden, which is really just a small oasis of woods in the endless desert of corn.
While walking the mulch and mud covered trails of the garden we saw a fearless deer, several mooching squirrels, an army of geese who were big chickens and a baby toad that I coaxed off of the trail so that he/she would not become part of the mulch.
The woods were hot and humid and we were soaked by the time we left. The first mile was pretty cool after that.
We rode until our butts were sore and had a great time.
The Triumph doesn't seem to pull differently with two passengers than with one. Braking and handling are a little sluggish with two but the motor just doesn't care. I'm not used to an OHC engine with so much low-end torque. I still feel like I should wait until high revs to shift, but I don't need to.
My Hondas didn't have any real pull until about 5000 rpm. This Triumph starts pulling at about 3000! And it doesn't rev as fast as the Hondas did so I have to teach myself to shift sooner and take advantage of the torque in higher gears. Instead of wrapping 1st out to redline before shifting, I can get in a higher gear sooner and accelerate using a faster gear ratio.
I'm not really sure which technique is faster but I'm having fun experimenting. Either way, this Triumph goes from 0 to 60 in about one gasp.
I'm one happy daddy.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I Can't Drive... I'm 55!
In a month and a half I turn 55.
55 is the age at which I am old enough to stay at a retirement village.
55 is the age at which I can join AARP.
Yuck!
On the other hand, I am sure that turning 55 influenced my decision to buy a motorcycle.
55 is the age at which I am old enough to stay at a retirement village.
55 is the age at which I can join AARP.
Yuck!
On the other hand, I am sure that turning 55 influenced my decision to buy a motorcycle.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Road Canoe
If a big car is a boat, then a motorcycle is a road canoe.
I coined "road canoe" about ten years ago and didn't think it was very original. I figured that many people must have referred to motorcycles as road canoes, since it seemed such an obvious thing.
But I just googled the term and can't find "road canoe" as a euphemism for a motorcycle.
Can I actually be the first to think of this? Golly.
I came up with the term because at one point I thought it would be nice to have a canoe with a trolling motor. I would ride it quietly, solo, here and there, exploring little-traveled backwaters, away from the speedboats and revelers. It took little thought to realize that is precisely how I enjoy motorcycling.
I don't like to ride in traffic and I don't like to ride in the company of a bunch of other guys on bikes. I like to explore the backroads, alone. And I prefer a quiet and unobtrusive motorcycle with which I can slip in and out of peaceful lanes without disturbing the peace. Road canoeing.
Obviously a non-motorized canoe and a bicycle are equally homologous. But I like a motor. I like to relax and pay attention to what I'm riding through instead of huffing and puffing my way through it. Float trips are nice but you have to keep going downstream. I like to go whichever way the mood swings me.
And yes, I enjoy the exhilaration of quick acceleration and high velocity, sometimes. But the greatest pleasure I get from motorcycling comes from just cruising around, exploring. And exploring is not a thing to be done quickly. Moving fast through new territory is dangerous, and you miss all the finer details of your surroundings.
So the only thing I have in common with the guy riding wheelies down the interstate is that our vehicles each have two wheels.
And the helmetless guys on the big cruisers? They can't go where I go. Those big bikes aren't designed for surprises.
There are many kinds of motorcycling. My kind is road canoeing.
I coined "road canoe" about ten years ago and didn't think it was very original. I figured that many people must have referred to motorcycles as road canoes, since it seemed such an obvious thing.
But I just googled the term and can't find "road canoe" as a euphemism for a motorcycle.
Can I actually be the first to think of this? Golly.
I came up with the term because at one point I thought it would be nice to have a canoe with a trolling motor. I would ride it quietly, solo, here and there, exploring little-traveled backwaters, away from the speedboats and revelers. It took little thought to realize that is precisely how I enjoy motorcycling.
I don't like to ride in traffic and I don't like to ride in the company of a bunch of other guys on bikes. I like to explore the backroads, alone. And I prefer a quiet and unobtrusive motorcycle with which I can slip in and out of peaceful lanes without disturbing the peace. Road canoeing.
Obviously a non-motorized canoe and a bicycle are equally homologous. But I like a motor. I like to relax and pay attention to what I'm riding through instead of huffing and puffing my way through it. Float trips are nice but you have to keep going downstream. I like to go whichever way the mood swings me.
And yes, I enjoy the exhilaration of quick acceleration and high velocity, sometimes. But the greatest pleasure I get from motorcycling comes from just cruising around, exploring. And exploring is not a thing to be done quickly. Moving fast through new territory is dangerous, and you miss all the finer details of your surroundings.
So the only thing I have in common with the guy riding wheelies down the interstate is that our vehicles each have two wheels.
And the helmetless guys on the big cruisers? They can't go where I go. Those big bikes aren't designed for surprises.
There are many kinds of motorcycling. My kind is road canoeing.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
My New Motorcycle
On April 17, 2009 I bought a brand new 2008 Triumph Bonneville T100 motorcycle. I bought this particular bike because I like the looks of the T100 and they had one at the closest dealer, World of Powersports in Decatur. I went there to look at it and fell in love.
I didn't really compare model years much until after I bought the 08. After thorough comparison I prefer that year to all the others. I think it looks better than all the older and newer models.
And the 2008 is the last model to feature carburetors. Starting with the 2009 models all Bonnevilles will have electronic fuel injection and phony carbs. The phony carbs bug me. Worse, EFI controller circuitry can fail completely. Complete failure is very unlikely with carburetors. Carbs will more likely give you some warning that there is a problem rather than just refuse to work at all.
I have owned three motorcycles before (all Hondas) but none of them were new. This is the first time I broke in a new bike. The engine runs smoother and faster every time I ride. The motorcycle feels more personally mine because of the break-in experience.
This bike has the biggest engine of any bike I've owned but weighs less than my second biggest bike, a 4-cylinder Honda CB500. The T100 weighs about 450 lbs. and has a 865cc engine that produces about 66 hp and 52 ft lb of torque. That's a very good power to weight ratio for a standard street bike.
The T100 is designed to resemble a 60s motorcycle. But it's a 60s motorcycle with 21st century engineering. This bike runs as smooth as my old 4-cylinder Honda, but it's a twin! These new Triumphs have a reputation for being trouble free. This isn't a bike to tune and tinker with; it's a bike to ride.
The bike handles like a dream and the power curve is so smooth that the bike feels tame. But when you twist the throttle you better hang on.
The T100 is very quiet. It uses very efficient mufflers and the twin exhausts are connected so that each exhaust stroke goes through both mufflers; an old BMW trick. My Bonnie might be the quietest bike in town.
This area is Harley territory. I have never before seen such a high percentage of HDs to other bikes. I have seen a few parallel twin "standard" bikes here and there but I haven't seen another new Triumph yet.
A "standard" motorcycle is one on which you sit upright instead of leaning forward or back. I prefer standards and the kind of riding they are made for. I don't want to lay back and cruise the interstate and I don't want to play race driver without a race track. I want to ride the back roads, sitting upright so that I can see and deal with hazards. I like to ride roads that aren't the most suitable for cruisers or "crotch rockets." My favorite roads are the ones with lots of twists and turns and a few surprises.
I'm getting sleepy. Time to go to bed and dream of riding.
I didn't really compare model years much until after I bought the 08. After thorough comparison I prefer that year to all the others. I think it looks better than all the older and newer models.
And the 2008 is the last model to feature carburetors. Starting with the 2009 models all Bonnevilles will have electronic fuel injection and phony carbs. The phony carbs bug me. Worse, EFI controller circuitry can fail completely. Complete failure is very unlikely with carburetors. Carbs will more likely give you some warning that there is a problem rather than just refuse to work at all.
I have owned three motorcycles before (all Hondas) but none of them were new. This is the first time I broke in a new bike. The engine runs smoother and faster every time I ride. The motorcycle feels more personally mine because of the break-in experience.
This bike has the biggest engine of any bike I've owned but weighs less than my second biggest bike, a 4-cylinder Honda CB500. The T100 weighs about 450 lbs. and has a 865cc engine that produces about 66 hp and 52 ft lb of torque. That's a very good power to weight ratio for a standard street bike.
The T100 is designed to resemble a 60s motorcycle. But it's a 60s motorcycle with 21st century engineering. This bike runs as smooth as my old 4-cylinder Honda, but it's a twin! These new Triumphs have a reputation for being trouble free. This isn't a bike to tune and tinker with; it's a bike to ride.
The bike handles like a dream and the power curve is so smooth that the bike feels tame. But when you twist the throttle you better hang on.
The T100 is very quiet. It uses very efficient mufflers and the twin exhausts are connected so that each exhaust stroke goes through both mufflers; an old BMW trick. My Bonnie might be the quietest bike in town.
This area is Harley territory. I have never before seen such a high percentage of HDs to other bikes. I have seen a few parallel twin "standard" bikes here and there but I haven't seen another new Triumph yet.
A "standard" motorcycle is one on which you sit upright instead of leaning forward or back. I prefer standards and the kind of riding they are made for. I don't want to lay back and cruise the interstate and I don't want to play race driver without a race track. I want to ride the back roads, sitting upright so that I can see and deal with hazards. I like to ride roads that aren't the most suitable for cruisers or "crotch rockets." My favorite roads are the ones with lots of twists and turns and a few surprises.
I'm getting sleepy. Time to go to bed and dream of riding.
He's baaaaack!
This officially reopens the Aejotz Blog.
yay.
Now it's time to go ride my new motorcycle.
Vroom vroom.
yay.
Now it's time to go ride my new motorcycle.
Vroom vroom.
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