Sunday, March 19, 2017
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Things I Need to Say
So, this post is mainly addressed to my mother. I know she worries about all of us kids, but there seems to be one special piece (I think she probably has one special piece apiece for each of her kids) just for me that I would like to talk about.
When I first started riding a motorcycle (yes, another post about them. Get over it), I did not tell my mother. If I bothered to narrow down the reasons why, I invariably arrived at the conclusion that it would cause her quite a bit of worry. I mean, motorcycle accident can be a lot to deal with. However, I won't try to justify the numbers at the moment, because they do little to help allay fears. A number is just a number, they are very hard to take comfort in.
That said, my mother (indeed, my family) has been nothing but supportive of me and my decision to ride. They all know that I don't get on a bike without gear and that I do my best to ride as safe as I can whenever I am out. If there is one thing that has been made readily apparent in my life, my family (anyone I call family) has always been there for me. It makes it even better when they understand that riding makes me happy and keeps the shadows away.
So, I want to say this to mom (and all those others in my family who worry). I promise you that I will never get on one of my bikes without wearing my helmet. I will wear gear appropriate for riding. I will do everything I can to keep the rubber side down and the shiny side up.
I also found a prayer for you to say, if you feel you need to ask specifically (I have adapted it from it's original form):
Dear Lord, as Rory gets ready to get on his bike
keep him safe from harm and let
the other drivers see him as he rides by.
Keep him alert and watchful, don't let him ever fail
to stop and help out one of his own.
Keep his eyes focused in front of him,
show him the signs along the way,
and give him the wisdom to take the right road.
May the angels of his fellow bikers who
have gone before him guard his travels,
for they know the perils of the road ahead of him.
Amen.
Thank you for understanding, mom.
When I first started riding a motorcycle (yes, another post about them. Get over it), I did not tell my mother. If I bothered to narrow down the reasons why, I invariably arrived at the conclusion that it would cause her quite a bit of worry. I mean, motorcycle accident can be a lot to deal with. However, I won't try to justify the numbers at the moment, because they do little to help allay fears. A number is just a number, they are very hard to take comfort in.
That said, my mother (indeed, my family) has been nothing but supportive of me and my decision to ride. They all know that I don't get on a bike without gear and that I do my best to ride as safe as I can whenever I am out. If there is one thing that has been made readily apparent in my life, my family (anyone I call family) has always been there for me. It makes it even better when they understand that riding makes me happy and keeps the shadows away.
So, I want to say this to mom (and all those others in my family who worry). I promise you that I will never get on one of my bikes without wearing my helmet. I will wear gear appropriate for riding. I will do everything I can to keep the rubber side down and the shiny side up.
I also found a prayer for you to say, if you feel you need to ask specifically (I have adapted it from it's original form):
Dear Lord, as Rory gets ready to get on his bike
keep him safe from harm and let
the other drivers see him as he rides by.
Keep him alert and watchful, don't let him ever fail
to stop and help out one of his own.
Keep his eyes focused in front of him,
show him the signs along the way,
and give him the wisdom to take the right road.
May the angels of his fellow bikers who
have gone before him guard his travels,
for they know the perils of the road ahead of him.
Amen.
Thank you for understanding, mom.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Dolls
It was an uneventful sort of street; the type that was usually found in the outskirts of any city. House followed house down both sides of Apple Street in the mostly quiet neighborhood in suburban Hampton. And yet, there was, in the past few years, a growing shadow on this particular street. No one was exactly sure, upon reflection, when the pall seemed to settle over the area, but they did know that it had focused on a house that has since been labeled the "Jarvela place" and had definitely started sometime after that couple had moved in.
"At the beginning," one of the long-term residents remarked, "it was a fairly normal house, you know. They seemed a cute couple," she recalled with a slight shiver, "but they was definitely stranger than the rest."
The house, for all of the portents, seems like any other on the street. The garden in the front yard was never out of the ordinary. A flag flew from its place on the front of the house. Most weekends the lawn was trimmed, although, when pressed, no one seems to recall seeing anyone do the mowing, but most people are dismissive of such things. Cars were regularly parked in the driveway, except during the day when, obviously, the couple were at work. In truth, most couldn't exactly place why the house became such a source of dread.
They do know that it certainly became much more pronounced after the 4th of July celebrations in the year of our Lord two-thousand and twelve.
With summer in full swing by then, most of the time the streets were regular thoroughfares of neighborhood children on bikes. In the days leading up to the fourth, there seemed to be a growing murmur amongst them about the Jarvela place. Mostly spoken of in whispers while a safe distance away, most of the kids remarked that they had never seen the couple that inhabited the house. And, as children's imaginations are wont to do, the reasons for this began to take on mythic proportions as more chose to ride by and see for themselves, dredging up new and fantastic tales as to why the house seemed out of sorts.
The man, whom they referred to as Old Man Jarvela, had been spotted a few times, for sure. His large, almost misshapen figure hidden beneath an ankle-length coat, his head obscured by the wide-brimmed hat he always wore. Whether he wore glasses, or could see at all, was a matter of some debate, as some of the kids could have sworn to have seen the odd glint of glass inside the hooded visage.
As strange as Mr. Jarvela was, the imagined image of the even more rarely seen Mrs. Jarvela was expounded to near nightmarish proportion. Almost all thoughts on the matter claimed she was disfigured in some fashion; however whether it was due to some grotesque accident at birth, or due to later dark dealings in a trade not spoken of since ancient times, no one was truly certain, although the stories were readily swapped and all were taken as true at various times.
Several days before the fourth, several of the older kids were massed on the other side of the street, several houses down, talking in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
"Listen, everyone want to know what's really going on in there," one of the older kids said, apparently reiterating himself. "As the new kids in the area, you two need to prove you're cool enough to hang with us."
The two new bloods looked at each other. "I'm not so sure about this..." one of them started.
"Can it, Derek," the other one said, getting his hackles up. "If these assholes want us to do this, then we'll do it." The older kid smiled triumphantly as Derek lowered his eyes.
"I just don't think it's a good idea, Mark," Derek said, his voice small, "It's trespassing and..." his voice was drowned out by the heckling of the other kids, Mark included. Finally nodding, Derek turned his bike around and began to peddle towards the house. Mark quickly began following.
He caught up to the other kid. "Listen, it'll be easy. We look in the front window, see nothing, then come back and add to the stories," Mark said, adding a small flourish at the end. "It'll be easy."
The two began to slow down as they approached the house. Only one of the cars was visible in the driveway and, as Derek saw it, slowed to a stop. "There's someone home, Mark," he said, the fear obvious in his voice. "I think we should leave."
Mark stopped his bike and turned to the other kid. "Fine, you cry baby, go home," Mark exclaimed, bravado clearly in his voice as he continued, "then I will get all the credit."
Meekly, Derek started following again. The two dropped their bikes on the street, just at the edge of the property. Sounds seemed to become muted as the two made their way to the front stairs. Derek's heart pounded in his chest, the sound thumping in his ears. Both kids, side-by-side began to climb the few short steps to the porch, and both ground to a halt when one of the boards creaked.
They looked at each other briefly, fear springing unbidden to both. Soon, however, determining that no one had heard them, having heard nothing from the house themselves, they continued on. As they approached the heavy lace-curtained window, they could clearly begin to see inside the front room. Nothing seemed out of place, at least at first. With a quick glance at each other, they leaned in more, to try and get a clearer view.
If anything, the front room seemed like any other the boys had seen. Derek couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the colors seemed muted, somehow, as if they were staring at an old, worn photo. But the one thing that drew Derek's attention, and held onto him, was splayed out on the coffee table.
7 porcelain dolls, their legs missing, had been seemingly thrown carelessly onto the table. As he stared at the scene though, Derek began to sense a feeling of unease, as if the dolls had not been placed carelessly, but that there had been some purpose to their placement. They also seemed to be waiting, as if, at any moment, they would spring to life and wonder what had happened to them.
As they stared into the front window, they were startled by a face suddenly appearing in front of them. The two screamed and scrambled over each other to get off the porch. Hearing the door latch behind them, the two sprinted to their bikes and took off, hoping to get back to the safety of the other boys down the street.
Stay tuned for next week's installment of this story.
"At the beginning," one of the long-term residents remarked, "it was a fairly normal house, you know. They seemed a cute couple," she recalled with a slight shiver, "but they was definitely stranger than the rest."
The house, for all of the portents, seems like any other on the street. The garden in the front yard was never out of the ordinary. A flag flew from its place on the front of the house. Most weekends the lawn was trimmed, although, when pressed, no one seems to recall seeing anyone do the mowing, but most people are dismissive of such things. Cars were regularly parked in the driveway, except during the day when, obviously, the couple were at work. In truth, most couldn't exactly place why the house became such a source of dread.
They do know that it certainly became much more pronounced after the 4th of July celebrations in the year of our Lord two-thousand and twelve.
With summer in full swing by then, most of the time the streets were regular thoroughfares of neighborhood children on bikes. In the days leading up to the fourth, there seemed to be a growing murmur amongst them about the Jarvela place. Mostly spoken of in whispers while a safe distance away, most of the kids remarked that they had never seen the couple that inhabited the house. And, as children's imaginations are wont to do, the reasons for this began to take on mythic proportions as more chose to ride by and see for themselves, dredging up new and fantastic tales as to why the house seemed out of sorts.
The man, whom they referred to as Old Man Jarvela, had been spotted a few times, for sure. His large, almost misshapen figure hidden beneath an ankle-length coat, his head obscured by the wide-brimmed hat he always wore. Whether he wore glasses, or could see at all, was a matter of some debate, as some of the kids could have sworn to have seen the odd glint of glass inside the hooded visage.
As strange as Mr. Jarvela was, the imagined image of the even more rarely seen Mrs. Jarvela was expounded to near nightmarish proportion. Almost all thoughts on the matter claimed she was disfigured in some fashion; however whether it was due to some grotesque accident at birth, or due to later dark dealings in a trade not spoken of since ancient times, no one was truly certain, although the stories were readily swapped and all were taken as true at various times.
Several days before the fourth, several of the older kids were massed on the other side of the street, several houses down, talking in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
"Listen, everyone want to know what's really going on in there," one of the older kids said, apparently reiterating himself. "As the new kids in the area, you two need to prove you're cool enough to hang with us."
The two new bloods looked at each other. "I'm not so sure about this..." one of them started.
"Can it, Derek," the other one said, getting his hackles up. "If these assholes want us to do this, then we'll do it." The older kid smiled triumphantly as Derek lowered his eyes.
"I just don't think it's a good idea, Mark," Derek said, his voice small, "It's trespassing and..." his voice was drowned out by the heckling of the other kids, Mark included. Finally nodding, Derek turned his bike around and began to peddle towards the house. Mark quickly began following.
He caught up to the other kid. "Listen, it'll be easy. We look in the front window, see nothing, then come back and add to the stories," Mark said, adding a small flourish at the end. "It'll be easy."
The two began to slow down as they approached the house. Only one of the cars was visible in the driveway and, as Derek saw it, slowed to a stop. "There's someone home, Mark," he said, the fear obvious in his voice. "I think we should leave."
Mark stopped his bike and turned to the other kid. "Fine, you cry baby, go home," Mark exclaimed, bravado clearly in his voice as he continued, "then I will get all the credit."
Meekly, Derek started following again. The two dropped their bikes on the street, just at the edge of the property. Sounds seemed to become muted as the two made their way to the front stairs. Derek's heart pounded in his chest, the sound thumping in his ears. Both kids, side-by-side began to climb the few short steps to the porch, and both ground to a halt when one of the boards creaked.
They looked at each other briefly, fear springing unbidden to both. Soon, however, determining that no one had heard them, having heard nothing from the house themselves, they continued on. As they approached the heavy lace-curtained window, they could clearly begin to see inside the front room. Nothing seemed out of place, at least at first. With a quick glance at each other, they leaned in more, to try and get a clearer view.
If anything, the front room seemed like any other the boys had seen. Derek couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the colors seemed muted, somehow, as if they were staring at an old, worn photo. But the one thing that drew Derek's attention, and held onto him, was splayed out on the coffee table.
7 porcelain dolls, their legs missing, had been seemingly thrown carelessly onto the table. As he stared at the scene though, Derek began to sense a feeling of unease, as if the dolls had not been placed carelessly, but that there had been some purpose to their placement. They also seemed to be waiting, as if, at any moment, they would spring to life and wonder what had happened to them.
As they stared into the front window, they were startled by a face suddenly appearing in front of them. The two screamed and scrambled over each other to get off the porch. Hearing the door latch behind them, the two sprinted to their bikes and took off, hoping to get back to the safety of the other boys down the street.
Stay tuned for next week's installment of this story.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Certainly won't win me any motorcycling friends
Jihad: "To Struggle" - it refers to struggle against those who do not believe in Allah, or to protect against the enemies of Islam, or armed struggle against persecution, or the inner struggle of a believer to fulfill his religious duties (Wikipedia. Jihad).
Herem: "Devote" or "Destroy" - a mode of secluding, and rendering harmless, anything imperilling the religious life of the nation, or the uncompromising consecration of property and dedication of the property to God without possibility of recall or redemption, or the total destruction of the enemy and his goods at the conclusion of a campaign (Wikipedia. Herem).
The above vocabulary words will be important later on.
I don't often feel like posting political blogs; not unless they irk me to the point where I feel the need to clarify a few things in the face of ongoing, and compulsive, ignorance. And, it just so happens that this blog post relates to motorcycles as well. Why? Because of the "2 Million Motorcycle" Ride to Washington D.C. on Sept. 11th, and their obvious goal of countering the "Million Muslim March" that they felt was an affront to everything sacred in Good Ol' 'Murica!
You do realize the same laws that allowed those bikers to assemble are the same that allows the groups you disagree with to assemble as well, right? Spelled out very clearly in the 1st Amendment to the Constitution. Does anyone get the point I'm trying to make? You can't, out of one side of your mouth, spout a love of this country and out the other side spit on the very freedoms that you so espouse, just because someone who disagrees with you wants to use those same freedoms.
What hit me the most, though, had nothing to do with the motorcyclists. (I sort of knew, going into it, that most of the riders of American-style cruisers (and yes, I'm pointing a finger at the majority of Harley owners on this one) were an incestuous-style group of jingoistic chest-pounders who ride around with some sort of mandate to drink the Far-right, or alt-right, Republican Kool-aid.) What struck me was the ignorance of some of the counter-protesters that showed up in opposition to a rally whose stated purpose was to bring to light the ongoing injustice leveled at Muslim Americans (whether that's what they actually talked about is another matter. The stated purpose of the 2 Million Bikers to DC was to remember the event of September 11th, 2001).
One particularly ignorant sign said "One Nation under God." Setting aside the fact that the founders of this country did not found this country as a Christian nation, this rather asinine sign fails to take into account one major point: The God of Isaac and Ishmael (the sons of Abraham) is one and the same. What that means, boys and girls, is that the Jews, Christians, and Muslims are, in fact, worshiping the same God.
I can understand the need to honor those who died on Sept. 11, 2001. It was a horrible day for this country. But, we can not let ourselves forget the foundations of this country; the Freedoms of Speech and Religion among them. Even if Muslims worshiped a different God, this fact would still hold true and they should never be marginalized for it. Part of the problem was the media dubbing their rally as the "Million Muslim March," and insisting that their entire purpose was to, somehow, negate the involvement of Islamic Terrorists in the attack. Fewer than 200 showed up. Yeah, that's one heck of an onslaught, 150 semi-delusional conspiracy theorists vs. around 800,000 bikers.
Let's not forget, folks, that the word that we should be focusing on is "Terrorist" and not "Muslim" or "Islamic." Terrorists come from every religion (KKK, anyone?).
To let prejudices cloud our actions against fellow Americans in inexcusable, no matter what the subject matter (unless they are supporting mass genocide. Still can't get behind that one).
And for those who think that the Koran is alone in providing a justification for such terrorist acts, via Jihad, I return your attention to the word Herem above. This word is Jewish, and is "justified" several times in the Old Testament, most notably with the destruction of Jericho. In fact, the Israelites were punished by God if they didn't kill every living thing in the city (but, what am I saying? Right-wing religious nut-jobs love hand-picking only the passages that suit them).
The majority of Muslim scholars refer to two types of Jihad. The "lesser jihad" refers to physical struggles against those who attempt to oppress them and their beliefs. The "greater jihad" refers to an inner struggle to live a devout and religious life.
So, given just the basic above information, jihad is typically less violent than the Jewish alternative.
If there is any piece of motorcycling that I do not enjoy it's the seemingly endless association of motorcycling, particularly of Harley-Davidsons (and, by extension, cruiser riders), with less of the spirit of what America is supposed to be and more of what the Christian Right-Wing wants it to be.
Herem: "Devote" or "Destroy" - a mode of secluding, and rendering harmless, anything imperilling the religious life of the nation, or the uncompromising consecration of property and dedication of the property to God without possibility of recall or redemption, or the total destruction of the enemy and his goods at the conclusion of a campaign (Wikipedia. Herem).
The above vocabulary words will be important later on.
I don't often feel like posting political blogs; not unless they irk me to the point where I feel the need to clarify a few things in the face of ongoing, and compulsive, ignorance. And, it just so happens that this blog post relates to motorcycles as well. Why? Because of the "2 Million Motorcycle" Ride to Washington D.C. on Sept. 11th, and their obvious goal of countering the "Million Muslim March" that they felt was an affront to everything sacred in Good Ol' 'Murica!
You do realize the same laws that allowed those bikers to assemble are the same that allows the groups you disagree with to assemble as well, right? Spelled out very clearly in the 1st Amendment to the Constitution. Does anyone get the point I'm trying to make? You can't, out of one side of your mouth, spout a love of this country and out the other side spit on the very freedoms that you so espouse, just because someone who disagrees with you wants to use those same freedoms.
What hit me the most, though, had nothing to do with the motorcyclists. (I sort of knew, going into it, that most of the riders of American-style cruisers (and yes, I'm pointing a finger at the majority of Harley owners on this one) were an incestuous-style group of jingoistic chest-pounders who ride around with some sort of mandate to drink the Far-right, or alt-right, Republican Kool-aid.) What struck me was the ignorance of some of the counter-protesters that showed up in opposition to a rally whose stated purpose was to bring to light the ongoing injustice leveled at Muslim Americans (whether that's what they actually talked about is another matter. The stated purpose of the 2 Million Bikers to DC was to remember the event of September 11th, 2001).
One particularly ignorant sign said "One Nation under God." Setting aside the fact that the founders of this country did not found this country as a Christian nation, this rather asinine sign fails to take into account one major point: The God of Isaac and Ishmael (the sons of Abraham) is one and the same. What that means, boys and girls, is that the Jews, Christians, and Muslims are, in fact, worshiping the same God.
I can understand the need to honor those who died on Sept. 11, 2001. It was a horrible day for this country. But, we can not let ourselves forget the foundations of this country; the Freedoms of Speech and Religion among them. Even if Muslims worshiped a different God, this fact would still hold true and they should never be marginalized for it. Part of the problem was the media dubbing their rally as the "Million Muslim March," and insisting that their entire purpose was to, somehow, negate the involvement of Islamic Terrorists in the attack. Fewer than 200 showed up. Yeah, that's one heck of an onslaught, 150 semi-delusional conspiracy theorists vs. around 800,000 bikers.
Let's not forget, folks, that the word that we should be focusing on is "Terrorist" and not "Muslim" or "Islamic." Terrorists come from every religion (KKK, anyone?).
To let prejudices cloud our actions against fellow Americans in inexcusable, no matter what the subject matter (unless they are supporting mass genocide. Still can't get behind that one).
And for those who think that the Koran is alone in providing a justification for such terrorist acts, via Jihad, I return your attention to the word Herem above. This word is Jewish, and is "justified" several times in the Old Testament, most notably with the destruction of Jericho. In fact, the Israelites were punished by God if they didn't kill every living thing in the city (but, what am I saying? Right-wing religious nut-jobs love hand-picking only the passages that suit them).
The majority of Muslim scholars refer to two types of Jihad. The "lesser jihad" refers to physical struggles against those who attempt to oppress them and their beliefs. The "greater jihad" refers to an inner struggle to live a devout and religious life.
So, given just the basic above information, jihad is typically less violent than the Jewish alternative.
If there is any piece of motorcycling that I do not enjoy it's the seemingly endless association of motorcycling, particularly of Harley-Davidsons (and, by extension, cruiser riders), with less of the spirit of what America is supposed to be and more of what the Christian Right-Wing wants it to be.
Friday, August 23, 2013
School's coming...
You know, when I first went to college my dreams were grandiose in nature. I wanted to be a college professor; ostensibly to keep from having to live completely in the real world for my entire life. Well, as it turns out, that didn't exactly happen. When the dust settled on my undergrad career I was in a rough place, hauling myself back up out of the hole I had dug myself into with the help of family, friends, and an incredibly awesome therapist (Seriously, the dude helped me with my clinical depression twice and I will love him forever for it).
So, now, 7 years later, I am embarking on my graduate studies. Finally.
It hasn't quite sunken in yet.
...
...
...
Nope, not yet.
While I am looking forward to going back to school, I just haven't wrapped my head around it. I have my books ordered, I have my classes set up, and I'm getting that itch to buy fresh school supplies (despite generally hating school, except college, I always enjoyed back-to-school shopping). Despite all of that, it still doesn't feel real yet. I imagine that my first day of class will finally slam it home, but, who knows?
The most frustrating part, for me, is not having a clue as to what to expect. My sisters have mentioned what I can look forward to, as far as what the classes are like, but there is no correlation I can see between studying to get my Masters in Library Science and the studies I did for my History degree. Apart from the fact that there are papers and tests and reading (the basics, as all classes have), I'm not sure what to expect.
I also am having the hardest goddamn time trying to express what I'm talking about.
Let's look at it this way. When you tell someone that you are getting a history degree, there are certain assumptions made; the most prominent of which is that your studies include the understanding not only of the events that took place, but what transpired to cause those events. It involved sifting through historical texts, some archaeological evidence at times, and putting the pieces together to construct an plausible interpretation of events.
When I tell people I'm getting a Masters in Library Science, it seems to conjure up the idea of taking classes on how to shush people and check out books.
Now, from a purely academic standpoint, I understand that pursuing an MLS focuses on the retrieval of information and presenting that information in a form that should be, more or less, usable by anyone with a brain in their head. What I'm failing to grasp is how's. It seems, at least to me, that I'm getting a Masters degree in the proper methodology of learning how to study.
If that makes any sense, which I will assume it doesn't. Not really, anyway.
I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
All of my worrying aside, I'm very excited to be getting back into an academic environment.
Catch you all later!
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Why not talk about all gear? Bikes Count!
So, in the spirit of keeping a running blog, I'm going to keep writing blog posts as the ideas come to me. That, and it's good practice for me; helps keep my writing skills from getting rusty.
A few posts ago I talked about helmets. Specifically, I talked about my helmets and why I preferred it over others. I figure I stumbled upon an interesting topic that way: taking a look at the various motorcycle purchases made to support my addiction to riding.
What better to start with than with the bike itself?
A 2005 Yamaha Star Motorcycles XV1700AMTC Road Star Midnight.
A few stats (for the true gearheads, in-depth stats below):
1670cc 48° V-twin (It gets very warm if you sit in traffic. Kinda like having an open oven sitting very close to your gibbly bits)
Belt final drive
5-speed transmission (Could use one more, but she loves running at highway speeds)
hydraulic brakes (So, yes, mom, I can stop very quickly if I need to)
Softtail frame (don't let that name fool you, this bike is built to hug the road, so you feel everything)
A few stats (for the true gearheads, in-depth stats below):
1670cc 48° V-twin (It gets very warm if you sit in traffic. Kinda like having an open oven sitting very close to your gibbly bits)
Belt final drive
5-speed transmission (Could use one more, but she loves running at highway speeds)
hydraulic brakes (So, yes, mom, I can stop very quickly if I need to)
Softtail frame (don't let that name fool you, this bike is built to hug the road, so you feel everything)
The original Road Star motorcycle was released in 1999 and was originally the XV1600 ('cause obviously you identify motorcycles by engine displacement. It's like institutionalized pen... never mind...). Yamaha, knowing the American market, originally created Star Motorcycles specifically for the American market and the Road Star was their entry into the large cruiser field (to compete with bikes such as the HD Fat Boy). In 2004, they increased the engine displacement to its current size, but kept the rest of the bike untouched. It still uses the same brakes, suspension, electrical system, and carburetor.
What else did they change? They offered the bike with three different styling packages. The basic Road Star, the Road Star Silverado (which has more chrome than you can shake a stick at), and the Road Star Midnight (which is stripped down a little more and has blacked-out components). Now, apart from the paint and chrome, there is no change to the actual functionality of the bike.
While I enjoyed my first motorcycle, it did have one glaring drawback: it was much too small for me. Don't get me wrong, it was a fantastic bike, just not the one for me (sounds like an excuse a jerk uses to break it off with a girlfriend, "It's not you, it's me"). The first one was a Suzuki Marauder VZ800 (See, told you...) However, I was able to get a really good deal for a trade in and I was able to get a bike that was substantially better for someone my size. There were a number of different bikes I looked at the second time around.
After two hours, I had it narrowed down to the XV1700 and a Honda VTX1300. I got a better deal on the Road Star (even better, it turns out, than I thought at the time). For a brief period of time, I road it without any extras on it at all. However, I had received a lovely set of saddlebags for Christmas (thanks, ma!) and I had the tool bag from my previous bike. They got me through quite a long period of time (until a crash basically took out the saddlebags). The only other thing I needed was a windscreen to help with wind on the highway. I found a simple one online and stuck that on as well.
I distinctly remember that my first test of the bike was to ride around the Wachusett Reservoir. I figured it would take a fair amount of time to get used to the size difference between the Marauder and this one, but it proved to be less of an issue than I thought. In fact, the Road Star, if anything, handles just as well as the Marauder ever did.
Through the months I made various changes to her. Shifted things around, bought new parts. The next big thing was the engine guard:
It was in the first few months of owning this bike that I had my second crash. This time, unlike the crash with the Marauder, I was attempting to take a turn at 35 mph (or so) and dumped the bike. As with the first crash, if I hadn't gotten back on the bike shortly thereafter, I probably would have had a much harder time bringing myself to ride again. But, I had to get home, so I rode back from Danbury, CT to Watertown, MA with an injured knee and damaged ribs.
Let's call that a learning experience. Even now, I still get a twinge when going through corners. But, that crashed forced me to not take for granted certain riding techniques. The biggest one being to look through corners (stupid target fixation). It worked like a charm on my most recent ride, that's for damn sure.
Almost as important as having good riding gear for protection is having a bike that is comfortable enough to allow you to focus on doing things like looking through corners. So, the next thing to get an upgrade was my seat. Again, I scoured for the best deals I could get and wound up getting a Mustang touring seat:
Then, thanks again to my mother, I was able to add a light bar to the front of the bike:
After all was said and done, most of the changes I've made are simple seat configuration changes.
The last thing I really need for the bike is a new fairing. The windscreen I have is on its last legs. I've patched it several times over. It was a cheap, readily available fix for what I needed at the time, but, going forward, I would love something more long-term.
So, here she is as of my last day ride:
There is a new set of saddlebags on her. She is in her "day trip" setup, which means that I don't have the pillion seat backrest attached, and I'm using my tank bag. I also have my iPhone holder on my RAM mount, and a set of 12-volt sockets for recharging it and my helmet headset. It makes it a lot easier to travel all day when I don't have to worry about my cellphone running out of juice towards the end of the day.
Catch you all later!
P.S. Now, for the gearheads, the specs I mentioned above.
Tech Specs:
Engine: 1670cc 48° aircooled v-twin; OHV pushrod, 4 valves per cylinder
97mm x 113mm bore x stroke; 8.3:1 compression ratio
Mikuni 40mm carburetor
Primary Drive: Belt
Final Drive: Belt
Transmission: Wide ratio 5-speed multiplate wet clutch
Front Brakes: Hydraulic Dual 298mm front rotors with dual 4-piston calipers
Rear Brakes: Hydraulic Single 320mm rear rotor with single 2-piston caliper
Front Suspension: 43mm Telescopic front forks with 5.5 inches of travel
Rear Suspension: Single-shock, link type rear suspension with 4.3 inches of travel
Front Tire: 130/90-16
Rear Tire: 150/80-16
Dry Weight: 679 lbs
Fuel Capacity: 5.3 gallons (includes reserve tank)
Oil Capacity: 5.3 quarts
Wet Weight: 749 lbs
What else did they change? They offered the bike with three different styling packages. The basic Road Star, the Road Star Silverado (which has more chrome than you can shake a stick at), and the Road Star Midnight (which is stripped down a little more and has blacked-out components). Now, apart from the paint and chrome, there is no change to the actual functionality of the bike.
While I enjoyed my first motorcycle, it did have one glaring drawback: it was much too small for me. Don't get me wrong, it was a fantastic bike, just not the one for me (sounds like an excuse a jerk uses to break it off with a girlfriend, "It's not you, it's me"). The first one was a Suzuki Marauder VZ800 (See, told you...) However, I was able to get a really good deal for a trade in and I was able to get a bike that was substantially better for someone my size. There were a number of different bikes I looked at the second time around.
After two hours, I had it narrowed down to the XV1700 and a Honda VTX1300. I got a better deal on the Road Star (even better, it turns out, than I thought at the time). For a brief period of time, I road it without any extras on it at all. However, I had received a lovely set of saddlebags for Christmas (thanks, ma!) and I had the tool bag from my previous bike. They got me through quite a long period of time (until a crash basically took out the saddlebags). The only other thing I needed was a windscreen to help with wind on the highway. I found a simple one online and stuck that on as well.
 |
| Ah, those were the days! |
I distinctly remember that my first test of the bike was to ride around the Wachusett Reservoir. I figured it would take a fair amount of time to get used to the size difference between the Marauder and this one, but it proved to be less of an issue than I thought. In fact, the Road Star, if anything, handles just as well as the Marauder ever did.
Through the months I made various changes to her. Shifted things around, bought new parts. The next big thing was the engine guard:
It was in the first few months of owning this bike that I had my second crash. This time, unlike the crash with the Marauder, I was attempting to take a turn at 35 mph (or so) and dumped the bike. As with the first crash, if I hadn't gotten back on the bike shortly thereafter, I probably would have had a much harder time bringing myself to ride again. But, I had to get home, so I rode back from Danbury, CT to Watertown, MA with an injured knee and damaged ribs.
Let's call that a learning experience. Even now, I still get a twinge when going through corners. But, that crashed forced me to not take for granted certain riding techniques. The biggest one being to look through corners (stupid target fixation). It worked like a charm on my most recent ride, that's for damn sure.
Almost as important as having good riding gear for protection is having a bike that is comfortable enough to allow you to focus on doing things like looking through corners. So, the next thing to get an upgrade was my seat. Again, I scoured for the best deals I could get and wound up getting a Mustang touring seat:
 | |
| Note the Engine-Gibbly bits proximity clearly visible here. |
Then, thanks again to my mother, I was able to add a light bar to the front of the bike:
After all was said and done, most of the changes I've made are simple seat configuration changes.
The last thing I really need for the bike is a new fairing. The windscreen I have is on its last legs. I've patched it several times over. It was a cheap, readily available fix for what I needed at the time, but, going forward, I would love something more long-term.
So, here she is as of my last day ride:
There is a new set of saddlebags on her. She is in her "day trip" setup, which means that I don't have the pillion seat backrest attached, and I'm using my tank bag. I also have my iPhone holder on my RAM mount, and a set of 12-volt sockets for recharging it and my helmet headset. It makes it a lot easier to travel all day when I don't have to worry about my cellphone running out of juice towards the end of the day.
Catch you all later!
P.S. Now, for the gearheads, the specs I mentioned above.
Tech Specs:
Engine: 1670cc 48° aircooled v-twin; OHV pushrod, 4 valves per cylinder
97mm x 113mm bore x stroke; 8.3:1 compression ratio
Mikuni 40mm carburetor
Primary Drive: Belt
Final Drive: Belt
Transmission: Wide ratio 5-speed multiplate wet clutch
Front Brakes: Hydraulic Dual 298mm front rotors with dual 4-piston calipers
Rear Brakes: Hydraulic Single 320mm rear rotor with single 2-piston caliper
Front Suspension: 43mm Telescopic front forks with 5.5 inches of travel
Rear Suspension: Single-shock, link type rear suspension with 4.3 inches of travel
Front Tire: 130/90-16
Rear Tire: 150/80-16
Dry Weight: 679 lbs
Fuel Capacity: 5.3 gallons (includes reserve tank)
Oil Capacity: 5.3 quarts
Wet Weight: 749 lbs
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Some times you just need a really long day in the saddle...
One of the problems I've become all too aware of since buying a motorcycle is that I tend to get very antsy the longer I go between long motorcycle rides. Not just antsy, either; moody, depressed, just off. The hardest part about this year was the fact that I got a very part-time job (Saturdays only) at my local motorcycle shop, helping out in the parts department. While working in a motorcycle store is awesome, it seriously cut into my riding time this year. I really started to feel it going into the beginning of August.
That said, I was also told that, as of August, I was not to assume that I should be coming in on Saturdays at the store anymore.
Which meant that, today, Saturday August 17th, there was a perfect alignment of a completely open Saturday with absolutely fantastic weather. And how did I choose to spend this day? Riding up VT Route 100.
11 hours, ~450 miles, 10 gallons of gasoline.
And what do I get in return? Stress relief, stunning views of the Green Mountains, and various sore body parts. All told, the soreness is a fair trade for everything else.
I started out by heading west on Route 2 to get to Shelburne Falls, MA to take 112 north. It runs right into VT 100 in the very bottom of the state. From there, I just followed VT 100 north. Granted, there came a point were I was having way too much fun and I completely missed the turn I needed to continue on VT 100 and found myself on VT 30. It was a mistake that was easily corrected by heading east on VT 11 towards Londonderry, VT.
It also afforded me a chance to get a snapshot:
Unfortunately, I didn't get many more pictures since I was, as I said, really enjoying the twisties.
Anyway, once I hit Waterbury, VT, I figured I had gone about as far north as I could for the day, so I headed back via I-89 and I-93. That part alone was almost 4 hours. That said, I-89 through VT is some of the prettiest Interstate in New England, if not the North East. It cuts through the mountains all the way until Lebanon, NH.
I'm definitely going to do it again, but I really want to get to the Canadian border next time. This will probably necessitate a camping trip to make it worthwhile.
Anyone up for a camping trip to northern Vermont?
Catch you later!
P.S. Because I have to do this every time I go out:
That said, I was also told that, as of August, I was not to assume that I should be coming in on Saturdays at the store anymore.
Which meant that, today, Saturday August 17th, there was a perfect alignment of a completely open Saturday with absolutely fantastic weather. And how did I choose to spend this day? Riding up VT Route 100.
11 hours, ~450 miles, 10 gallons of gasoline.
And what do I get in return? Stress relief, stunning views of the Green Mountains, and various sore body parts. All told, the soreness is a fair trade for everything else.
I started out by heading west on Route 2 to get to Shelburne Falls, MA to take 112 north. It runs right into VT 100 in the very bottom of the state. From there, I just followed VT 100 north. Granted, there came a point were I was having way too much fun and I completely missed the turn I needed to continue on VT 100 and found myself on VT 30. It was a mistake that was easily corrected by heading east on VT 11 towards Londonderry, VT.
It also afforded me a chance to get a snapshot:
Unfortunately, I didn't get many more pictures since I was, as I said, really enjoying the twisties.
Anyway, once I hit Waterbury, VT, I figured I had gone about as far north as I could for the day, so I headed back via I-89 and I-93. That part alone was almost 4 hours. That said, I-89 through VT is some of the prettiest Interstate in New England, if not the North East. It cuts through the mountains all the way until Lebanon, NH.
I'm definitely going to do it again, but I really want to get to the Canadian border next time. This will probably necessitate a camping trip to make it worthwhile.
Anyone up for a camping trip to northern Vermont?
Catch you later!
P.S. Because I have to do this every time I go out:
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