Lessons and Tests II


Having completed some business in downtown Portland I pointed Elvira east.  The place Robert had specified for our first meeting over coffee was 50 blocks away on Hawthorne Blvd.  Downtown Portland is cut off from all parts east by the Willamette River.  Portland could be called the City of Bridges.  I chose, appropriately enough, the Hawthorne Bridge.  This is a particularly interesting bridge because the decking is metal grating.  The outbound side is a single lane and very narrow.  The left side is bordered by a concrete and steel bridge support and the right by the bridge railing next to the river.  


I guess if a rider were to go down, they would just pinball between the barriers and not plunge into the river so far below.  Probably......   


Seriously, it's simply a matter of eyes up to maintain big picture stability and don't fight the wiggle!  Firm, but relaxed.  Steady, sure, and smooth.


Robert had asked me if I was going to be a Starbucks coffee snob or was willing to try a local place.  Thus challenged, I told him to pick a spot.  It turned out to be a place called The Albina Press.    This location was one of several in the big city.  As a side note, I even tried a cappuccino which had a design just like the one in the photo.  To my surprise, it turned out to be the perfect coffee drink as a background to conversation.  A great coffee taste without the volume of liquid that makes you regret drinking it fifty very cold miles later.  


My arrival was a little ahead of Robert's.  As I parked Elvira I observed a Suzuki DR650 dual sport back in next to the bicycle rack.  I'd never seen Robert but he'd described his bike.  Congruity was the first word that sprang to mind.  Robert had told me in an e-mail that he rode the bike year round for transportation.  His bike and his gear matched that statement exactly.  I saw before me someone who obviously rode for himself rather than simply to impress others or to "belong" to a certain group.  Practicality took center stage.  I was suitably impressed.


By the way, I know it looks like I'm writing about Robert behind his back.  Actually, I'm writing about Robert behind his back in front of his face.  I have graciously been given permission to report on our meeting.


During our conversation I gathered that Robert is relatively new to riding.  Not brand new, but new in the comparative sense.  Compared to the grizzled veteran he was facing across the table, for example.  As of today I have been on two wheels for 45 years, 4 months, and 2 weeks.  What Robert brought to the table, literally and figuratively, is that he is a thinking man.  Several times during the conversation I'd notice him sending a look of concentration into the distance.  I would simply shut up so as not to block the tracks as his train of thought left the station.  The wait was well worth it.


There were two things Robert said to me that I found truly profound.


One was that it took some fearlessness to be a rider.

I totally agree.  Not foolhardy, reckless, or even a superhero, but there is a certain mindset required.  One can't dwell on all the bad things that could happen. A rider has to have faith in the bike and in oneself.   Negative thoughts can bring negative results.  The good news is that positive thoughts bring positive results.  Of course, a well developed sense of adventure never hurt, either!


In years past I've written about this kind of thing.  Here are a couple of notable posts.  If you're interested you can click here and here. 


If you want to delve further here is the link to Steve Williams' post that sparked mine.


The other profound thing that came out of Robert's Depot of Deep Thoughts was about how we are often surprised on a bike.  We suddenly find ourselves having to deal with something we haven't practiced for, yet.  Even worse, our natural reactions may be exactly the wrong thing to do.


This is one of the strongest arguments I can make for taking rider training on an ongoing basis.  Robert is exactly right in his statements.  It's like being required to take a test before we've studied the lesson.

I took this photo at a dog agility show.  As you can see, the little dog is standing just inside the tunnel entrance.  He knew to go into the tunnel but had no idea what to do next.  In this case it ended with an embarrassed laugh by the woman who owned the dog.  I'm not sure if the dog laughed or not.  Sort of a "No harm, No foul, try it again later" thing.


In our world there may not be an opportunity to take the test again.  Pass or fail becomes minor injuries versus crippled or maimed.  Sometimes literally life or death.  How much better to take advantage of the chance to study the lessons first.  Those who provide professional training know what the tests will be even if the students haven't imagined them, yet.  The proper lesson plans have been carefully laid out.  Why not consider spending some time in Study Hall?


All too soon it was time for both of us to get back to work.  Isn't it astonishing how things can work out?   Two strangers meeting in person for the first time.  At first there's the little bit of nervous discomfort.  Then, as in our meeting, it is quickly gone.  Now you can't believe so much time has passed already.  I left very impressed by my new acquaintance and plan to keep in touch.  Another gem has been added to my Treasure Chest of Life.


Thank you for the company and your words of wisdom, Robert.


Miles and smiles,


Dan




  

The Water's HOW Deep?


I'm inserting this post in here out of sequence.  The second half of the last post will have to wait.  Weather conditions have changed and I've got to get this one in while it's still hot.  Or, should I say, wet?


The last two days have brought record rainfall.  Our area received a little over six inches of rain in 48 hours.  The weather guy said the storm was stuck over us and dumping like crazy.  He likened it to being at the end of fire hose.  I agree.  It totally looked and felt like it.  Of course, who do you think was out in it on two wheels?


Yesterday morning I had coffee with Dean.  I'd been staring at the laptop for two days and was going crazy.  I had to get out and Dean was glad to oblige.  We arranged to meet at a place called the Governor's Cup Roasters in Salem.  I'm actually not a coffee snob.  I start with Starbucks in a town because it's a place I know I will find a consistent product.  Then I branch out from there as opportunity allows.


On the other hand, it does seem like a lot of my life takes place either over a cup of coffee or going to or from coffee shops.  


Anyway, the destination is about a thirty five minute ride for me.  I was running a bit early so decided to head up the South end of Salem, getting off the freeway early.  The freeway itself had a lot of standing water but I simply slotted in behind a big truck and rode its tire tracks at a safe distance.  


As I rolled into Salem I should have recognized the evil omen.  There's a housing project built around a golf course.  The golf course is called Battle Creek.  Key word Creek.  I saw a school bus that had gone through some high water and ended up in a ditch and slanted at a 45 degree angle.  The road I was riding was ok so I didn't think anything of it.  My plan was to angle off at 12th street and go up over the hill.  My oldest son lives close to this street.  From the road I can see the back of the apartment complex where he lives.  I knew he would be at work but there's still that connection.  You know what I mean?  Farther along is the BMW / Honda shop where I bought Sophie at the turn of the century.  The shop is nothing as good these days as it was then, but it's still a motorcycle establishment.


Thus committed, I rolled up 12th towards Madrona at the top of the hill.  I was somewhat surprised to see traffic backed up this far.  It was about 8:15 AM and I thought rush hour would be done.  Maybe it's the state workers who start at nine, I mused.  As I crested the top of the hill and looked down the other side I was taken aback by the sight.  


It looked like some evil cloning machine had been working overtime spitting out Rudolph the Red Nosed reindeer copies.  There was nothing but a line of red lights ahead of me as far as I could see.  I patiently worked the clutch and crept along, figuring that it would clear up as the single lane split into two later on.  No such luck.  Now there was the added complication of deep water on both sides of the street.  I noticed that several side streets were mostly flooded.  Which meant I sort of got funneled ( pun intended ) along with the flow of traffic.  


The water covered more and more of the street.  Traffic started to fan out into two lanes running pretty close together.  Up ahead, for the next eight blocks or so, the water covered the entire street and traffic went single file down the middle.  There was no graceful way out for me as the side streets were flooded, too.  So I did what any insane Road Warrior would do.  I rode through the deep water following the cars and hoping for the best.  


It's time for the "Don't try this at home!" warning.  If you asked me I would tell you this was not a good idea.  Fast moving water moves big stuff, etc., etc..  Yet, here I was.  Not on a dual sport but Elvira was willing to play the part.  There's another problem that you probably haven't thought of, yet.  Or maybe you have and thus have beaten me to the punch.


Riding through deep water is one thing.  Doing it in stop and go traffic is another.  Think about it.  When you  have to put your foot down, where are you going to do it?  That's right.  In a foot of water.  I am proud to say that I did not have to take my foot off the peg.  Between a pretty decent balancing act with my eyes up and clutch slipping, and ticking off a couple of drivers who didn't understand why I was waiting for more space to open up ahead of me, things worked out.  On the other hand, the rain falling from the sky soaked me anyway so I really wondered why I bothered with the effort.


So here are some photos.  I've included the obligatory establishing shots.  As in:  See, I was really there!


Please note the photo of the back of the young man.  He was moving bags of sand from a pickup to the front door of his place of employment,  The water was that high!

Miles and smiles,


Dan

Testing before the lesson.


On a cold winter morning recently I set out for Portland to have coffee with Robert.  He has been kind enough to read and comment on this blog.  In one of his comments Robert expressed that he would like to meet me in person.  Silly him.  However, meet we did.  We talked about how one has to be sort of fearless to ride a bike.  The subject of sometimes being tested on something we haven't studied for, yet, also came up.  I came away from the meeting impressed by having been in the presence of a thinking man.


The hour and fifteen minute ride up was cold.  According to Elvira's ambient temperature gauge it was a couple of degrees above freezing.  That was before wind chill, of course.  Call it an ego thing, but I'm really trying to refrain from using the electrics.  No pun intended, but I tend to ride briskly in the cold.  At freeway speeds wind chill drops the temperature down about twenty degrees. So the temperature I felt went from the low thirties to the low teen's.  On the other hand, you don't pay much of a penalty for riding faster.  Check out this chart over at Rick's place, "Keep the Rubber Side Down".


You only pay a one degree penalty for riding at 70 instead of 60 ( mph ).  Click it up to 80 and there's only one more degree to be paid.  Not that I would ever break the law as an instructor, mind you.  I'm only offering this should somebody else decide to spend less time freezing.


Anyway, my thoughts were filled with the upcoming meeting.  This meeting in person thing is kind of like internet dating.  We all tend to paint ourselves in a good light.  Not that I ever claimed to be a six feet two inch tall handsome athlete named Dirk with six pack abs.  Still, I have been called a legend by several folks including some of our blogging brethren who have actually met me in person.  Realize, though, that the meetings were very short ones.


What would Robert think?  Would he be awed by the legend or let down by seeing a middle aged pleasingly plump rider slipping slowly past his prime?  I decided to let things sort out how they may and not worry about it.  Which is pretty much my standard operating procedure these days.  Like me or leave me.  Love me or hate me.  As long as people have a strong opinion I'm  happy.  The worst insult one could give me is to call me "boring" or "vanilla".


( Now I'm waiting for some obnoxious soul to put that in a comment:  Jack, are you reading this? )


Having sorted out all that needed sorted I was cruising happily.  Feeling kinda cocky at being the only bike I'd seen on the roads.  Basking in feeling like the tough warrior and thinking about how any other rider out here would be wired to the gills.  Yes, Sir, the grizzled veteran was king of the roost, cock of the walk this morning.  Then I got passed by a young man on a Honda CBR.  

I caught up to  him at the rest area.  Actually, he was just leaving as I was getting off the bike.  There was barely enough time to snatch this panning shot.  The rider had no wires that I could see and even less wind protection that I had on Elvira.


Dang!  Don't you hate feeling cocky then being one-upped?  I briefly considered riding the rest of the way without a jacket but quickly rejected that crazy idea.  My ego would heal as soon as the rider was out of sight.  It's still pretty healthy these days as it gets exercised regularly.


( to be continued )


Miles and smiles,


Dan

Something Different


Ok.  Time to shake off the lethargy and get to work.  It's not a stupor in the usual sense.  It's more like a boat circling in the water until the Captain gets the compass calibrated.  Once the proper coordinates are determined it will be full steam ahead.  Or balls to the wall, if you will.


By the way, I'm not inserting that saying just for shock value.  The expression actually came from aviation, and by extension, boating.  The throttle levers have rounded balls on top.  Unlike a motorcycle throttle, to go faster in a boat or airplane the throttle levers are moved forward.  Pushing the levers all the way forward puts the little balls up against the instrument panel or dash of the vehicle.  Thus, "balls to the wall" means full throttle.  Not a painful physical accident.  Like my first time playing raquetball.


For the first time in as long as I can remember I am entering a new year without a fixed target.  It will be another month before I have all the information required to chart my course.  Either way, the course will be different than now.  Maybe more on that later.  Through it all I remain humbly appreciative to have choices realizing that others don't.


In the meantime, I've decided to quit riding in circles and go back to doing something constructive.  That includes re-energizing this blog.  I find I can't let it go.  There have been too many great connections formed through this medium.  I'd hate to miss out on continuing these and forming new ones.


I did, however, park the bike this last weekend.  On Saturday Katie and I joined our darling daughter, our great son-in-law, and our cherubic grandson in going to a street rod show.  There was a lot of money sitting in that building, let me tell you.


Cars are interesting and fascinating but you know where I ended up.  Found something with two wheels and learned something new about Vespa scooters.



I don't know what year this scooter is. I forgot to ask.  According to this website it is a 1959 model.  The guy at the exhibit claims this was the original scooter used in the movie "American Graffiti".  The scooter has been restored and travels with an American Graffiti tribute team.


Inside the wheel skirt are autographs from Bo Hopkins, Candy Clark, and a couple others from the movie.


In the movie this scooter was owned by a guy named Terry "Toad" Fields.  This was his only transportation.  Unfortunately for the Vespa reputation, Toad was portrayed as a sort of nerd and the scooter was the best he could do.  The movie itself is about coming of age.  One of the "cool" guys gives Toad his car to take care of while he is in college.  A step up, you see, according to the movie.


Anyway, there is a funny bit to this in the movie.  The actor who played Toad is named Charles Martin Smith.  Charles thought the scooter was the standard CV transmission.  What he didn't know was that the Vespa had a four speed manual transmission.  So the left handlebar lever was actually the clutch.


In the movie Toad comes screeching up on the scooter.  As he goes to dismount, he just lets go of the clutch lever.  Which, of course, launches the scooter in a not so graceful move.  George Lucas decides to leave it in the movie.


You can see the scene here. 


Something new to me, too.  Guess it goes to show we should all be sure to check out the controls when we get on a bike we haven't ridden before!

   

Hope you enjoyed this bit of trivia.  It seemed a fun way to break the ice for 2012.  Here's to a happy and productive upcoming year for all of us!


Miles and smiles,


Dan

How to Lift a Bike

I'm posting this here with the blessing of Pat Hahn, who is the Communications Manager for our training program. That's Pat in the video, by the way.  One of the things I've learned in my pursuit of photography is that there is a definite advantage to being the one behind the camera.  Especially if there is a big heavy sport touring motorcycle to be lifted.

Pat and I lifted ( well, he lifted and I grunted ) this bike several times looking for the perfect take.  We may not have arrived there but we got close.  I do get some credit for making the narration happen in time with the action!

This blog post also marks a sort of milestone for me.  I have now officially lost my YouTube virginity.  It's also the first video here.  Don't expect to see very many more.

This is a sneak preview.  The video will be posted on the new TEAM OREGON website when it debuts in January. In the meantime, I hereby present "How to Lift a Bike".

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Don't be "derailed!"


A while back I shared the three guiding principles I ride by. One of those is "Riding with Purpose".


There's a lot to it but it basically means keeping your head in the ride.  One aspect is realizing we are on a motorcycle and then adjusting our thinking according.  Something that gets a lot of riders into trouble is thinking like a car driver while riding a motorcycle.


Car drivers may not even think twice about a certain roadway condition, for example.  For a motorcyclist, though, this same thing could be a real hazard.   It's critical for us to get our thinking on the right track lest we become derailed.  In the situation I recently discovered it could happen quite literally.


Over the past few months that have seemed like years, several major arterials in Portland have been clogged by crews ripping up the streets.  I've avoided these as much as possible because I've grown tired of doing snail impressions.  The other day my dictated destination didn't leave me much choice.  To my relief the construction is done.  To my chagrin, I know now why.  


In a huge city I guess light rail for mass transit is important.  To be effective said light trail needs to go where people need to be.  Well, it now goes a long ways North and South!

As it turns out, the light rail is pretty much the right lane on two major North-South routes.  There are three lanes of  travel so we could simply ride in one of the other two, right? The fly in the ointment is that a lot of the major destinations require a right turn.  Makes the intersection a bit tricky.

Car drivers don't have any problem with gliding over and making the right turn. As riders, however, we know we really shouldn't be doing that.  Our angle should be at least 45 degrees.  Not sure how we're supposed to do that when we have traffic REALLY close on our left that impedes moving over to get that angle.  


Truth be told, with the condition of the street and tracks right now a front wheel isn't likely to get grabbed.  Eventually the pavement / blacktop will start getting big gaps.  For now, though, I see the issue as being a combination of wet steel tracks and the required braking and lean angles for turning.  I've done it successfully several times with no unsuccessful attempts.  I'm aware of the hazard and change my approach accordingly. Hope the other riders do the same.


Ride with purpose and think like a motorcyclist.  Sometimes it means we need to slow down and be cautious as much as we hate that!

Miles and smiles,


 Dan
P.S.  I'm trying Blogger's new layout.  There's a few things like paragraph spacing and stuff that I'm still working on.  The html codes seem different.  If anyone else is doing the same and cares to share wisdom I'm all ears, so to speak.

Cocky with a camera.

The day dawned with the reluctance of a hung-over person getting ready for work.  No sick days left.  The Boss won't buy calling in dead.  So it's going to happen.  It has to happen.  The process will be long and drawn out.  Without grace or warmth but with an inevitability that comes from years of routine.  Rise and shine?  Rising, certainly, but shining?  Not so you'd notice.


Cold and gray pretty much sums up the journey Elvira and I experienced together.  Cold and gray.  The early morning.  The pavement.  The expression on the faces of the commuters.  Circumstances even seemed to conspire to fill the roads with gray vehicles.


Our destination was the NW district of Portland.  It's a place with its own character.  Or a lack thereof, depending on how you measure character.  


This is the kind of place where light meets darkness.  You might even say this is where heaven meets hell.


Someone more poetic than me might call this a "forgotten place".  A place where residents of little means are dumped and forgotten.  Where those with few resources are left to fend for themselves without outside help.  


At first glance it appears to be true.  Everything within these few square blocks is in a state of seedy decay.  People in shabby clothing with dejected faces pointed toward the sidewalk wander aimlessly among the buildings.  Progress is marked by unassuming signs above doorways.  The signs don't need to be flamboyant.  These are not tourist routes.  Drawing attention from the passing hordes is not the goal here.  There are no passing hordes in the first place.  In the second place, those who come here do so for a specific reason.  They know where places are.


The building signs give you a clue as to why someone would come here.  Inside these doors is a "gentlemen's club".  Down the way is a bar that advertises female impersonators.  On the next block is an adult shop.  The sign glows softly purple as it proclaims the presence of an arcade inside.


Burnside Street forms the southern boundary.  A few blocks south there is opulent luxury.  The fancy hotels where political bigwigs and business leaders stay.  On Burnside and Broadway is a building that once housed a Burger King fast food restaurant.  Years ago I used to watch officers of the Portland Police Mounted Patrol take their horses through the drive through.  Today the building is becoming a pile of crumbling bricks.  Once the bricks were red but now they're the color of age.  Darker, mottled, and much less vibrant.  The windows have been boarded up for so long that the wood seems to be sprouting twigs.


Interestingly, in stark contrast to the distressed patina of the building, the parking lot gleams with fancy cars.  From about lunchtime on people start filtering into the neighborhood.  This is a place where the heights of human morality come into contact with the depths of primal desires.  So called "pillars of the community" move furtively about while fervently hoping none of their neighbors or associates see them.  Even if that someone else is there for the same reason there's a deep seated shame at being caught out.  


I am comfortable here.  I have business here.  I do not care who sees me.  Other people's perceptions are their problem.  I also do not worry about the residents of this area.  Law enforcement and life have taught me that there are good and evil people in all economic levels.  I take people at face value until they reveal themselves by their actions.  I have wandered these kinds of places, neither friendly or fearful.  I will admit to perhaps being a bit cocky, though.


Many years ago a close friend at the sheriff's office gave me a belt buckle.  You see, I had a bit of a reputation.  My friend and partner's name was Clyde.  He and I worked some pretty tough areas.  We were very self assured.  Some of the other cops called it cocky.  I don't think it was that bad, but whatever.  Clyde was killed in the line of duty after I left the area.  Sometimes I wonder how it would have went had I still been there for him. I keep the belt buckle as a momento of our partnership.  Those kind of treasured relationships very rarely come along.  Here's what the belt buckle says:  


"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, cause I'm the meanest son-of-a-bitch in the valley."


My apologies to the women and children as well as to those who may take this as sacrilege.  Some people live more sheltered lives than others.  Some of us have lived hard and seen a lot of stuff we shouldn't have.  We tend to be more irreverent.


I am pulling myself reluctantly back from memories of old days to come back to the story.


This day I was not only cocky, but cocky with a camera.


There is a hotel / halfway house in the slow process of being renovated.  I've been offering my services as a consultant to some of the hardware and code issues.  This has required a trip about twice a month to look at the job.  Normally I park right in front as in the photo below.



These two guys were eating donuts and comparing notes on how their respective group therapy sessions had gone.  There's a lot of healing going on in this world.  It's sad that it looks like there will be a need for a lot more before this carnival ride is over.  The room with the donuts is hidden away.  Things have progressed to the point where I am now privy to this information so I can snag a couple of donuts for myself.  I'm not bashful about eating donuts.  Just ask Troubadour after this past weekend.


The photo above is from a previous visit.  This time I couldn't park anywhere near the building.  The parking spots were barricaded or had stuff in the way like this big truck.


Judging by the truck and other stuff there was something out of the ordinary going on. My guess was that some sort of TV or movie filming was happening. Portland has worked to attract this kind of thing.


By now the sun was starting to slightly penetrate the gray layer.  The warmth was a nice dessert on top of the donuts and bad coffee I had consumed in the hotel.  I had a bit of time on my hands.  I had a camera with plenty of interesting things to take photos of.  I was a bad-ass dude in a bad place.  If I hadn't already been me I'd of been wishing I were me.


Time to go see what I could see in these few blocks.
 
"Does anybody remember the color code to these wires?!"



These kind of brought me up short. Four of the cleanest and most gleaming outhouses I've ever seen.  


Alas, I guess I wasn't Hollywood enough to use them.  I can't tell you how much that pleases me, by the way.  I've never been a pretentious pisser. The blue tape strips clearly indicated these were for the film crew only.  Did they have drink holders inside?  Perhaps heated toilet seats?  Maybe even a valet that waits outside the door with a warm washcloth and towel.  


I've used a lot of outhouses in my time.  I still find the situation extremely funny to think about.  It's amazing the difference that very thin piece of opaque plastic makes.  Recently I saw an outhouse on a trailer in the freeway median.  It was for a road crew.  I had this mental picture of some guy using the outhouse, reading a newspaper and his hairy rear end hanging out.  Right in the middle of four lanes of busy freeway traffic.


I laughed so hard I almost fell off the bike.  Thank goodness for the privacy of plastic, eh?


Check out these boom mounted lights. Can you imagine having these hooked to your DLSR? "Smile and say cheese while I light you up with these babies!" I think the only thing in the photo would be the person's scattered atoms!


I think the funniest part of the little photo expedition was this security guard.  On another street was another truck.  There were about ten security guards placed around.  Each had a block long stretch of street to watch over.  For whatever reason I decided to blow a few megapixels worth of battery power on a shot down the street.  The photo wasn't too good but I didn't delete it on the spot.  Then I wandered down to the other end of the block to take a photo of the lights.


Take a look at the first photo and you'll see the security guard on the right.  


Check out who followed me and is giving me "the stare".

 
This guy looked to be fresh out his Mama's basement where he has a little apartment.  I can picture his Mama making his breakfast.  Three eggs over easy with the toast extra crispy, "Just the way my darling boy likes it."


She probably asked him if he remembered to brush his teeth before work while slicking down his cowlick and brushing a bit of lint off his jacket collar.  Beaming proudly because her boy finally got a job, she waves goodbye while wishing him a good day at work.


As I moved across the street to take the close-up photo of the lights, Junior met me halfway across the street. 


Weirdly enough, the first thing he asked me was if I was some sort of P.I.  I presumed he meant private investigator.  I looked quickly from side to side as if afraid somebody might overhear us.


"Shush," I said.  "All I can tell  you is that I'm not official, okay?"


"You guys and your secrecy", he replied.  I kid you not,  This is exactly how it went.


Then I moved closer to the lights and raised my camera.


"Hey!  We've been told to tell people not to take pictures", Junior informed me.


"Ok", I replied.  "You asked".  All the while setting up my shot.


"What does that mean?" he snapped back.


"Just that.  You asked.  I say 'First amendment and public streets'.  Now do you want to let me get about my business or do you still want to do the monkey dance?"  My answer and demeanor threw him off.  I don't think this was the way he imagined somebody would react to his "authority".  The guy had no idea he would meet somebody like me.  Cocky with a camera.


I thrust in for another parry while he was still staggered.


"How about those women over there with their cell phone cameras?  Are you going to go confiscate their phones?  What about that couple with the little kid?  Gonna go grab the point and shoot?  Actually, you see the kid looking at us?  I'll bet he's asking his mother why that man with the camera is making the security guy all red in the face."


I have got to really hand it to Junior.  Somehow, somewhere, he found a small scrap of dignity that he pulled up and waved like a battle flag.


"Ok, take your pictures.  But don't touch anything or I can arrest you on the spot!"


I waved as I walked off.  "You got it, Sir!"  I resisted the childish impulse to touch one of the lights as I left.  Bravely guarding a very short stretch of city street is hard enough without some cocky bastard totally crushing your cajones.


The exchange I just wrote about was very real.  What wasn't real was this cafe on the corner.  It was real enough to begin with. Once upon a time it had been an actual corner diner.  However, it's been vacant for a long time.  Filming was scheduled to start after dark so the day was filled with preparations.  This place was being transformed into the Mountainview Cafe.  


I was able to gather from this crew that the reason for all the activity was an episode of "Grimm".  The hope was to have it all done in two days but it was turning into three.  


I've seen the trailers for the TV series. Not my cup of tea, I'm afraid. I've seen enough evil in the world without having to watch demonic manifestations presented in the name of entertainment. It was fun exploring the set, though, I'll have to admit. I saddled up Elvira and took off for my next destination. In the process I found that the City of Portland has been busy creating a great hazard for motorcyclists in the name of mass transit. Stay tuned. 


 Miles and smiles, 


 Dan

Oops! Now what?

Ok, here's the rest of the story. I can't believe that my so-called friends were so cynical about this.

"Looks like a set-up." "Somebody is leading us down the garden path." "Look's like you're getting ready to teach us how to pick up a bike."

Sheeesh.

I somewhat sheepishly have to admit that the cynicism was justified. Technically this isn't a post about how to pick up a bike. It's a behind the scenes look at making the video. Sort of like the extra features section on the DVD's you rent.

Meet Pat Hahn. He's the guy in the red 'Stich in the photos below. Pat is the Communications Manager for the TEAM OREGON motorcycle safety program. His duties include our website content.

Pat, knowing that I have an interest in photography and own a camcorder, called and asked if I would like to help him make a short video on how to pick up a bike. Always up for a bit of fun, I immediately agreed. Besides, I like Pat a lot. Thus we found ourselves in a parking lot with a hapless, but perhaps not totally defenseless, ST1100. This also happens to be our Eye Tracker project bike. That explains the paint scheme. More on that in a later post.

It seems like in every class past the basic training somebody asks about the proper way to pick up a tipped over bike. Pat's idea was to post a short video on our website which is in the process of being updated.

Pat came to us from Minnesota. He did a similar video back there and claims the page was the most frequently visited one on the website. It will be interesting to see what happens here. The best bet is to not drop the bike in the first place but it happens. Been there, done that myself.

Before you can pick a bike up you need to get it onto its side. One way, of course, is to simply tilt the bike up, kick the sidestand out from underneath it, then let go. Since we're true bike guys neither of us had the heart to do that. Here's a photo sequence of Pat lowering the bike so it could be picked up again.













Pat looks good, doesn't he? His glasses aren't steamed up and it hardly looks like he's exherting himself. Actually, done properly, it's much easier than it looks.

Pat did the lifting while I played the part of the off-camera narrator. Kind of like the old Wonderful World of Disney shows like "Charlie the Lonesome Cougar" narrated by Tex Ritter. Come on, I know some of you are old enough to remember that.

If there's enough interest I'll ask Pat's permission to post the finished video here. The video is on my SD card and also loaded into my computer's Adobe Premier Elements video production program. One of the takes was video only with no sound. Maybe I'll be playing Bobskoot and doing some sound dubbing.

The video is more or less the intellectual domain propery of the program even though I have physical possession of it. I'm sure permission won't be a problem, though.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Which Way Does the Shiny Side Go, Again?

Um, I'm not exactly sure how this happened.

I AM pretty sure, however, the bike isn't supposed to look quite like this.

There's also a better than average chance I'm in trouble. This isn't my bike. It belongs to the training program. I was the last to touch the STeed. Now it's on its side. While you're at it enlarge the above photo. See the big scratch on the underside of the right muffler? I put that there during a police class on a track. This is also the bike I did the 100 mph front wheel skid on. Which we recovered from nicely, thank you.

In contrast, this isn't such a glorious moment. Hero to zero?

Stay tuned.

Miles and smiles,



Dan

Slaying Dragons and Saving Lives

Whup, whup, whup, whup.

The sound came crashing onto our senses. We're out in the middle of nowhere. You don't expect sounds like this out here. The noise was as out of place as a tee-totaller at a college kegger. Yet, there it was. Wave after wave of thumping sound like somebody beating a gigantic rug with an oversized baseball bat.

A dozen possibilities as to its source raced through my brain. The last time I'd heard a similar sound was the super-sized hail beating the mobile unit in the Blue Mountains. I quickly looked at the trailer. The scars were there but no white rocks were falling from the sky.



Was it some kind of egg beater on steroids? I was pretty sure we were teaching a motorcycle class, not wrapped up in some kind of Kitchen Stadium Iron Chef nightmare. All the different thoughts crashing into each other in my brain were giving me a headache. So I kicked them all out and just stood there looking at the sky. That, after all, seemed to be where the sound was coming from.

Trying hard to resist becoming hypnotized by the rythmic pattern of sounds, I stood silently waiting for whatever IT was to reveal itself to us.

Soon enough, there it was. A gasp escaped from the students. They were locals, you see, and they had some previous experience with this thing. Nobody knew what it was really called. All they knew is that this thing swooped down from the sky with its fearsome chopping mechanisms whirling wildly. As the blades cut viciously at the air, literally chopping it apart, that horrendous noise was produced. Several legs jutted from underneath the creature. The beast seemed to be attracted to fire and heat. Perhaps the heat from the dozen motorcycles was what had attracted it.

Most menacing of all was that dangling hose. The locals claimed that the beast ate fire then sucked up great quantities of water to quench the heat. Anything or anybody unlucky enough to be nearby got caught in the suck zone. Worse, they said, a riding student on a badly smoking bike had recently been sucked up. Gone without a trace.

We all waited to see what this flying menace would do.



Bit by bit the creature revealed itself to us as it descended. I could begin to see the features that the students had described. We were all hoping that it would lose interest in us and fly away to some other place. Alas, it was not to be. The whirling dervish sank lower. And closer. And closer.

By now I could see the thing in all its menace and ugliness.



Most of the students had gathered together in a group. Why is it that humans revert to herd animal instincts in time of danger? Is there really safety in numbers? To my way of thinking the group creates a bigger target. I thought how it might even appear as a sort of smorgasbord type of buffet. All the goodies in one spot. Just pick which you desire.

I, on the other hand, took a sentinel's post. Free to see and observe. Able to act without being encumbered by the herd. Ok, so maybe I was hoping that the flying creature would be attracted to the group and not notice me. Whatever.



Suddenly, from my sentinel's post, I observed a lone student heading away from us all. Was it possible that he was oblivious to the danger? Was he going to sacrifice himself to save the rest of us? Unfortunately, I didn't have two way radio communication with him so I could ask. Are you doing this willingly to save the group? If so, thanks. Oh, and by the way, can I have your truck?

Whichever scenario it was, the student was in danger. As the senior instructor present I supposed it fell upon me to do something to help.

Wait a minute, isn't this the student that's been so mouthy? On the one hand, no big loss. On the other, the paperwork for this kind of thing was sure to be a major pain. Dang, I hate these ethical decisions.



Then there was the story of the previous student. I wasn't sure if it was actually true or not. According to the story the guy was out practicing on his motorcycle. His girlfriend had come along, driving the guy's sports car. This creature had supposedly come along and next thing you know the guy and his bike had disappeared up that big red hose. The only thing left was the guy's wallet which had somehow fallen out of a pocket on the way up. The wallet was full and the sports car was fast so the girlfriend was able to console herself well enough.

As a small tribute she is said to have spray painted the guy's date of demise and his initials on the edge of the runway. Seems the guy was a graffiti artist on the side so the paint was handy. Like I say, I don't know if the story was true. However, somebody had painted something on the blacktop and I could still clearly see it.



I quickly considered defense options. If this whirling menace did, indeed, regularly eat fire then it had to be suffering some major heartburn. Which would also explain the great thirst I'd been told about. I could understand this kind of thing. I have friends who eat molten lava at Mexican restaurants in the name of whatever, then gulp antacids. It doesn't make sense to me but, since I've seen it with my own eyes, I know it happens.



Glancing around, I see no big water puddles, Tums, Prilosec, Mylanta, or anything even resembling them. As my eyes sweep the scene I do spot something that might work. A fire extinguisher! If I could get close enough to the creature, maybe we could work something out.

Imagine my disappointment when I see the extinguisher's needle buried deeply in the red zone.



Come on, there's got to be something. Then it hits me. Mushrooms.



I had taken a hike up in the hills before class. The hike had revealed a treasure trove of magic mushrooms. The "take a trip without leaving the farm" kind. Oh, I would never use such a thing myself. No, riding Elvira wickedly is plenty of thrill for me and I don't have to wake up trying to remember everything that happened the night before.

That's not to say I don't suffer from addictions. Say what you will, but some of you are right there with me even if you won't admit it. We crave riding. We crave newer and better riding gear. Gleaming rubber tires, shining accessories, farkles, and baubles. Like any addiction it takes money to satisfy the tremendous appetite.

So I'd picked quite a few to take back with me. It was a better than average chance that I'd find a ready market for them in the Occupy Portland camps. Now it looked like I'd have to put the fungi to a different use. Sorry, Elvira, but you'll have to wait a bit longer to get your diamond studded wheels.

Pulling the other instructor off to the side I filled him in on the plan. I told him my intentions of acting as a decoy then stuffing the hose full of mushrooms when the creature came for me. To my intense surprise my partner insisted on being the decoy. I complimented him on his bravery. Bravery my ass, he said. I hurt my back and I'm in such pain that being eaten by this creature would be a huge relief!

Whatever his motive, my partner proceeded to attract the creature's attention. We all sort of held our collective breath as my partner waved his hand about.



It all turned out to be easier than we thought. My partner, battling to stay upright in the turbulence created by the heat seeking monster, threw the first mushroom into the air. His aim was good and the mushroom hit right on the end of the hose. With a whoosh the toadstool disappeared. Suddenly the hose started waving wildly about, like a hound locating a scent. Then, like a pointer's tail when it finds a bird, the hose located the pile of mushrooms. It almost looked like the creature was being dragged by invisible hands towards psychedelic nirvana. We all just stepped back and watched. I think my partner looked a little disappointed.

In no time the flying menace had consumed our offering. Soon it began to whirl unsteadily around. Where once only the blades had spun, now the entire body was slightly rotating. I pulled everybody into the trailer for cover. It was all we had since we couldn't all fit into the outhouse.

Making giddy but steady progress, the once fear inspiring flying menace settled onto the ground near a wind sock and passed out. Crisis adverted. We could get back to business.



I am so glad to report that the rest of the class was pretty much uneventful. The photo below depicts what I will say if I ever get pulled over by a law enforcement officer for speeding on a motorcycle.

"I'm not speeding, officer, I am merely flying too close to the ground."



The photo serves a twofold purpose. The second was practice on creating depth in my pictures. To take what is essentially a two dimensional representation of what we see and add the third dimension back in somewhat. I took this at f/22 in manual mode. I focused at five feet using the lense's distance scale. The cone in the forefront, the student on the bike and the plane midway, and the mountains in the distance create the illusion of depth. I was pleased to see that I find my eyes drawn down the runway and into the photo.

Having slain yet another dragon and delivering another outstanding class I made use of the facilities before leaving. Hey, even motorcycling gods have to pee, you know.



It was time to head home in the accomodations to which I would like to become accustomed.





Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking:

I hope you've enjoyed your flight of fancy. Any turbulence you may have experienced is the result of pockets of hot air and bovine excrement colliding.

Miles and smiles,

Dan