Archive for the ‘Personal’ Category

Too Close for Comfort

Monday, August 30th, 2010

Normally I leave plenty of room for escape, but the truck in front of me stopped hard before putting on his turn signal, and with a car in the right lane next to me, I had no choice but to stop too close to the back of the truck. It happens now and then. No matter how much you try to plan for a getaway path, you can’t always make it.

I spotted the gray car coming up behind me, going way too fast for the road conditions. It’s raining today in Salt Lake City and is dark, cold and overcast. The truck in front of me wasn’t going anywhere, with its brake lights burning and left turn signal flashing. I was in the center of the lane with my front brake engaged. There is no way she should have missed the three brake lights, but she must have. It didn’t look like she was going to stop. I didn’t even have time to pump the brake light to add further warning, but she snapped to awareness at the last moment and weaved into the right lane to avoid me – by inches. The wind and rain from her backwash hit my helmet and back.

The truck made its turn and I took off in pursuit. I wasn’t angry: scared is the word. However, I wanted to let her know just how close it really was.

I pulled along aside of her and motioned for her to pull over. She refused to even look my way. She didn’t appear shaken, but she was cursing under her breath. I don’t know if it was at me or herself.

She continued on the path to the University of Utah, where I work and I pulled into her lane ahead of her and turned off at my normal exit. I was about to let it go, when I decided to make a U-turn and follow her. She was heading to the hospital, so I followed her into the parking garage and parked in back of the car just beyond the stall she took. I didn’t want to present any more of an intimidating stance than I probably already was. I killed the engine, but remained seated. She gathered herself and eventually got out of the car.

My voice was steady, calm and low in volume. “That was a little close, don’t you think?”

She began to apologize profusely, managing a couple of feeble excuses as to “not seeing the truck” or me and that she worked at the hospital as a nurse. She even made a point to mention that she worked on bikers like me, who came into the emergency ward.

I made a comment at one point in her apology, that I like to make it home to my wife and kids and that she needed to take more care in driving. Again, my voice was not intimidating, I was just trying to make sure she saw the complete circumstances of her near miss.

She apologized more and finally held out her hand. I didn’t remove my glove, mostly because I just didn’t think of it at the time, but I took her hand and gave a soft squeeze and shake.

“I just wanted to let you know how scary that was for me.” I started the bike, and turned back to her one last time. “Try to have a better one.”

As I left she looked a bit relieved, (she was probably fearing the worst with a biker stopping to talk to her) but she also looked shaken. I hope she is. Not about my conversation with her, but about how she nearly created work for herself at the hospital.

A Proper Arrest

Friday, June 25th, 2010

I witnessed an arrest just minutes ago. Three campus officers had taken up strategic position around a rather scruffy looking individual with a backpack. We have had, at least from personal perception, a problem on campus here at the University of Utah with a growing population of homeless taking up residence in the buildings on campus. Obviously, they’re trespassing, although I’m sure many of those doing so think of it differently.

I wasn’t close enough to hear anything but the lead officer telling the man that he was under arrest and to put his hands on his head. (A tip for those who run across an arrest in process – don’t get close. Stand back and let them do their job.) The man was not complying and his body posture was becoming more and more aggressive as the command was reissued. Finally he took a stance which is often used just before a move to violence – head lowered, fists clenched, arms out from his sides – with one of the three officers pulling out and shaking a can of mace or pepper spray in preparation. Then the third officer came in from his flank and bear hugged him from behind.

The other two officers moved in and very carefully took the man down onto the cement walk. I was impressed. They were moving with certainty and forceful action, but they were not abusing their position of authority, nor were they enacting undo force to restrain the individual. From their actions, it was obvious that they did not want to hurt him if they could help it.

With as often as I deplore the unconscionable actions of officers abusing their position of authority, I felt it a sense of duty to also report on something I’ve witnessed personally, as a very well performed and proper action.

Officers, I don’t know who you are, but my hat is off to the three of you for performing your duty well and to the call.

Bravo.

Back in Black

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010
Honda VTX 1800

Image from Honda, Inc.

I had finally had enough.  Although there was much I loved about the 2003 Goldwing I had, there was plenty that irritated and worried me.

Probably first on the list was the failure of the frame.  To save weight, Honda decided to use aluminum for the frame instead of steel.  If done right, it works well enough and it certainly did help cut down the weight on a motorcycle that already cashed in at 850 curb.  You would easily add 100 pounds to that if the frame was steel.

But if done wrong, aluminum can be very troublesome.  The largest worry is in the welding.  TIG welding is a real art and if done incorrectly, the welds simply won’t hold.  They had been done incorrectly on mine and many like it and Honda issued a factory recall to have the frame re-welded.

Though covered under warranty, it was the first down card against the bike.  Two weeks without wheels and no out of pocket expense of any kind was tolerable.  I credit Honda for doing the right thing and not trying to make a PR mess of it, but the worries had begun.

The second down card was in the cooling.  The particular year my Wing was made, Honda had some issues with overheating engines and as a consequence, they extended the engine and drive train warranty to 9 years.  Though it never became an issue for me, it was a worry nonetheless and a couple of times, in seemingly hot, but not overbearing temperatures, the engine was running quite hot on the meter.

Other little problems started to accumulate.  The cruise control, mute and emergency flasher buttons – all push to click, push to release designs – started to stick about year three.  Sometimes they would not disengage.  The emergency flasher was the worst.  I found out it was having problems the hard way, when I stopped along a tight pass in Yellowstone, which was occupied by a bull bison.  I hit the flashers to help prevent being rear ended and found that it would not disengage when the road was clear and I attempted to move on.  Fifteen minutes of monkeying around with the button did nothing.  I finally managed to apply enough pressure with my Leatherman tool to release the switch, but now I had a dis-functional switch and 2,500 miles of road ahead of me on the trip.

The worst of it all, however, was the plastic.  I’ve come to really hate plastic on motorcycles.  My plastic woes started with paint fading.  I regularly waxed the bike and it did nothing to stop the dark red paint from turning pink, in very little time.  Six years of sun exposure at the parking lot at work, took its toll and the “up” side of the bike (when on its side stand) was turning salmon pink.  It really showed up when I went to replace the outer cover of the starboard saddlebag door, after a dog decided to scratch it up with his nails, going after a very poorly placed bag of beef jerky my wife had left on the bike seat.  The replacement not only showed how badly the rest of that side of the bike had faded, but it also slapped me square in the face with the most unbelievable sticker shock ever.  We’re talking about a piece of painted plastic here.  It isn’t titanium.  It isn’t gold.  It’s ABS plastic.  I’d guess $15 to manufacture, including paint.  The cost to buy it?  $450.  It was one of the first times I can recall, when I was so flabbergasted by the experience, that I couldn’t even find words to respond.

$450, for a piece of painted plastic, roughly 22x13x7 inches in size!

There are many words one could use to describe this, but “insane” seems to be the one that boils up most frequently.

After my bike was fixed up from the fender-bender it suffered, I asked the repair technicians about the price of all the plastic on the bike and they revealed to me a fact that still has my head spinning.  Most bullet bikes, which have an all plastic exterior like the Goldwing does, are totalled by the insurance company after a wreck, because the plastic is too costly to replace!  The frame, engine and every other system can be 100% functional, but just replacing the plastic parts of the bike is enough to overwhelm the insurance cost.

Like I said, insane. Mind boggling, bat-shit insane!

This started the seeds of a dark, growing dislike for plastic on bikes.  Before the accident and the saddle bag door replacement, I didn’t have anything against the use of ABS plastic on bikes.  Now I find that I despise the very idea.

The next little issue which cropped up out of nowhere, was that I suddenly could not open the starboard saddlebag.  The regular release simply did nothing.  The “emergency” release from inside and under the trunk worked fine, but the regular release lever was useless.

The final straw which broke my proverbial back, was a sudden failure of the bike’s computer.  The Goldwing is fuel injected, computer controlled and pretty much laden with various electronic gadgetry.  Systems like this can have problems on any vehicle, but on most vehicles you don’t have to spend two hours of labor just to disassemble the fairing to replace the damn thing. With more parts than a Honda Accord, the Goldwing is complex to work on, which translates to time, which translates to money at $90 per hour labor.

In my case the computer was going out intermittently and with multiple symptoms.  First the speedometer would come and go.  Then the fuel injection warning light would blink like a Christmas tree.  Then the overdrive indicator would come and go.

This failure in and of itself would not have forced my decision like it did, but it was the final blow.  I’d had enough.  It was time to get a different motorcycle.

Plastic, it would seem, is impossible to avoid on Japanese bikes.  I’m absolutely certain it is to keep manufacturing prices down, but there is a lot to be said for the steel used in Harley Davidson motorcycles.  Now if they could just cut their price by 50% and increase their reliability by 200%, I might consider buying one.

I kept coming back to my original quandary when I bought the Goldwing.  I had spent months debating whether to go with the Goldwing or a VTX 1800.  I’ve always loved the big V-twins, but I had figured to go with the flagship touring bike, because I enjoy long distance touring.

Now, I just don’t see the touring class bike as all that advantages anymore.

So, I started to think about getting a VTX 1800.  There was only one catch, much to my horror, Honda decided not to make them anymore.  2008 was the last year of production.  Apparently, to save cost in manufacturing, Honda decided that the VTX 1300 was good enough and there was no reason to continue with its larger sister.

The problem with the VTX 1300, is the damn plastic.  Parts that on a cruiser would normally be metal, were plastic instead.  Parts like the engine covers!

That didn’t please me one damn bit.

However, the last time I had been down to the Honda shop I frequent, they still had a 2008 VTX on the floor.  At $14,500, it wasn’t moving quickly, though several would drool on it every week.  Taking a chance, I emptied my personal belongings out of the Goldwing, put the title and maintenance records in the trunk, and drove down to see if it was still in place.

It was not, but with luck, a black VTX 1800N was sitting on the showroom floor, waiting for me.  I picked it up for about $12,000 (you can find them cheaper if you’re willing to travel to get one) and traded in the Goldwing on it, financing the difference and within two hours was flying down the highway on the new beast.

It is very different than the Goldwing.  Some things I am going to miss, but some things I now have I’m going to enjoy again, as I used to be a V-twin cruiser man before.

As I’ve already stated, for whatever reason, I love the big V-twin engines.  At 1795cc, this is the second largest V-twin I know of (the Kawasaki Vulcan 2000 is the largest) and it feels wonderful!  At freeway speeds, it sounds like it’s idling. It handles very well for the size and weight and it has enough torque to pull a pickup truck out of a ditch. Apparently, I’m not the only one who likes it.

I will miss some of the creature comforts of the Goldwing, certainly.  I can’t complain about the drive train performance or the handling, but I won’t miss the rest.  I know it may sound strange, but I feel like I’m riding a motorcycle again, instead of some Japanese Anime battle pod.

Though the fenders are plastic, the gas tank and the rest are metal.  (I have never been so happy to be wrong before.  When cleaning and waxing the bike this weekend, I found to much elation that the fenders are indeed metal.  I don’t know if they are steel or aluminum, but they’re not plastic.)

Time will tell about the longevity of the bike.  I’ve heard some very good reports on the Web, so I’m crossing my fingers.

So, goodbye old Goldwing.  You had your issues, but you did serve me well overall.  I just wish that the issues you had, did not keep nagging at the back of my head with worry.  That’s why we broke up.

Now I’ll just have to see how well this big black beast serves me.

Civil Disobedience and the American Community Survey

Thursday, March 11th, 2010

I got a visit from a federal agent last night.  Not law enforcement, but an official from the US Department of Commerce, specifically the Census Bureau. He was probably at the door to convince me that I needed to fill out the American Community Survey, which they sent to me twice, or to take down the answers himself.  I never gave him a chance to speak beyond identifying himself.

I told him what I had told the last Census Bureau employee who called my home, I consider the ACS to be a gross violation of my privacy rights, I will never fill it out and any further contact either by phone or in person would be considered harassment.  Apparently, the agent on the phone didn’t understand what I had said, for this other drone to be at my door.  Perhaps when I slammed the door in his face the message came across.

Now one might ask why it is that I object to the Census Bureau doing its job?  Because, frankly, it is not doing its job. Article I, Section 2 of the United States Constitution charges the House to make an enumeration of each state’s population, in order to determine the number of representatives that each state has in the House.  The wording is quite clear.

The actual Enumeration  shall be made within three Years after the first Meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent Term of ten Years, in such Manner as they shall by Law direct.

Simple and to the point.  Count the state populations, once every ten years after the first enumeration.  My answer to them and the only information required, is the occupancy total of adults living in the home.

The American Community Survey is not only in violation of the ten year enumeration clause, as they are spoon feeding it out to about three percent of the population every year, but it requests data which is simply none of the government’s business! From the start, the questions are very personal and only get worse as you leaf through the 28 page document.

The first question which really stands out is asking for your name.  Then your birth date.

The question immediately following asks if you have Hispanic, Latino or Spanish ancestry and if so, from where?  Mexico?  Puerto Rico?  Cuba?

What is your race? White?  Black, African Am., or Negro?  American Indian or Alaska Native?  Asian Indian? Chinese? Etc.

Once you get done filling in all this for each occupant of the home, the survey continues to probe into your housing affairs.

What kind of house do you live in?

How many acres of land does the house sit on?

In the past 12 months, what were the actual sales of all agricultural products from this property?

How many rooms does the home have?

How many of them are bathrooms?

Does this house, apartment, or mobile home have – Hot and cold running water?  A flush toilet?  A bathtub or shower?  A sink with a faucet?  A stove or range?  A refrigerator?  Telephone service?

How many automobiles, vans and trucks of one-ton capacity or less are kept at the home for use by members of this household?

Which fuel is used most for heating this home?

What is your monthly electric bill?

What is the yearly cost of water and sewer?

What is the yearly cost of oil, coal, kerosene, wood, etc. for this home?

Do you own your home?

What is your rent or mortgage payment amount?

As if this wasn’t intrusive enough and clearly none of the government’s damn business, the personal questions about each household member becomes a nightmare of intrusive query.

For up to five members of the household, you are asked what kind of health insurance coverage you have.

Is this person deaf?

Is this person blind?

Because of a physical, mental, or emotional condition, does this person have serious difficulty concentrating, remembering, or making decisions?

Does this person have serious difficulty walking or climbing stairs?

Does this person have difficulty dressing or bathing?

Because of a physical, mental, or emotional condition, does this person have difficulty doing errands alone such as visiting a doctor’s office or shopping?

What is your marital status?

In the past 12 months did this person get – Married? Widowed? Divorced?

How many times has this person been married?

In what year did this person last get married?

Has this person given birth to any children in the past 12 months?

Last week, did this person work for pay at a job or business?

At what location did this person work last week? (They ask for the full address!)

How did this person usually get to work last week?  Car, truck or van?  Bus or trolley bus?  Streetcar or trolley car?  Subway or elevated?  Railroad?  Ferryboat?  Taxicab?  Motorcycle?  Bicycle?  Walked?  Worked at home?  Other method?

What time did this person usually leave home to go to work last week?

It goes on, and on, asking about all sources of income, from Social Security to Veteran’s Compensation – requesting specific totals.  If for one moment you might suggest that the information is anonymous, think again!  They specifically ask for your full name at the beginning section and again for each individual personal survey section.

You can find an informational copy of this document at the Census Bureau, along with their claim, “Response to both is required by law.” See for yourself that I make no exaggerated claims on this document’s intrusive questioning.

The Census Bureau agent on the phone also claimed that I was required by law to fill out the ACS and send it in.  I can believe that I am required to enumerate the members of my household for the standard ten year census, though I haven’t looked up the code.  Perhaps they even have added the ACS to the required list.  But a law which violates my right to privacy, in violation of the Constitution itself, is not a law I am willing to obey.

It’s called civil disobedience, and in the case of the American Community Survey, I feel such a treatment is perfectly validated.

Following are links to other articles, videos and related material concerning the ACS:

Stop the American Community Survey Petition

The Census is Getting Personal

The Thought Police and the American Community Survey

Uncle Sam’s Way Too Nosy Survey

The US Census Bureau’s American Community Survey Interrogation

Civil Disobedience and the Census

The Census, the Constitution, and Civil Disobedience

Back in the Saddle Again

Tuesday, December 1st, 2009

I was leaving the checkout when a young woman came up to me, presumably by identifying my riding gear, and asked, “Is the red motorcycle out there yours?”

My immediate thought was, this can’t be good.  “Yes.”

“I just backed into it.”

Definitely not good.

I followed her out into the parking lot and there was my GoldWing, laying on her starboard side, with the back corner of the port saddlebag smashed. The marks on the ground where the crash guards had dug into the pavement, told that the bike had been pushed about half a foot on the ground once it was over.

To say that I was pissed off is an understatement.  How can anyone miss an eight foot long, bright red motorcycle? I went to the starboard side, checked to make sure the kickstand was in the down position and picked the bike up by the handlebar and passenger hand hold.

After looking it over, I was estimating at least a $1000 repair bill, and the damage was slight. I asked the gal if she had called the police and she said she didn’t think they needed to be called. I informed her that if the damage was over $300, the police had to be on the scene. This might not have been the complete truth, as I don’t know the specifics of Utah law on this, but this is the general limit for most states.

She again insisted that the police did not need to be contacted and I informed her that she could call, or I would.  She called them and in the process called a male friend of hers, who arrived a few minutes before the police arrived.

The woman I was upset with, but I had not raised my voice. I didn’t lecture her and I saw no need to even talk to her until the police were on the scene.  What would be the point?

She had other plans, however, and proceeded to remark on how little damage there was and again didn’t see why the police had to be involved.

I replied by giving her a short story on how I had replaced the starboard saddlebag cover, which was $450 for the part alone, and was about to go into all of the damage I saw on the bike, when her male friend suddenly shouted at me, “You don’t talk to her! You have no reason to talk to her!”

I had kept my cool up to this point, but my mind was seething now. I wanted to tell this worthless little fucking asshole that no one here had named him god and that he had absolutely no authority over me, telling me who I could or could not talk to. I wanted to tell him how little I thought of his opinion and that I was only responding to her instigation of a conversation, and that if that he was so fucking worried about her talking to me, he should advise her to shut the hell up…

Instead, I said nothing. What would be the point?  His tiny little brain wouldn’t have understood the situation anyway.

No, I had only to wait for the police to arrive.

Her friend left after a few minutes, saying, “I hope it works out for you” as he walked past.

I replied back calmly, with a slight menace to the tone, “It will.”

A few minutes of silence later, a squad car pulled into the lot.  He parked next to me and the woman walked over. The officer asked me what had happened, and I told him the truth, “This lady came to tell me that she backed into my motorcycle, so I went outside and found the bike on it’s side.  I don’t know more than that, because I didn’t see it happen.”

The woman was instantly pissed and snarled, “Give me some credit.”

I was about to start into a lecture, but figured it wouldn’t be worth it.  How could I explain to someone who is already upset that I can’t give conjecture to the officer?  I could only tell him the facts and the facts were that I didn’t know what happened, other than she had admitted to running into my motorcycle.

The officer took her aside and asked her what had happened and though I couldn’t hear the conversation, I read her lips enough to know she admitted to hitting the bike and knocking it over.  She claimed that she didn’t see it, which seems obvious to me.  While she confessed to her transgression, I started to ponder what kind of living hell she would be in at this moment, if it had been a pedestrian she had backed over instead my motorcycle. Machines can be fixed, or even replaced if they are damaged beyond reasonable repair – but people can’t be put back together all that easily.  I wonder if she had thought about this at all?

Because it wasn’t just a motorcycle she hit.  It was a big red warning sign – an 850 pound wake-up call that she needed to slow down and use far more care when wealding the most dangerous weapon she owns: her car.

The officer went back to his vehicle, plugged the registration and insurance information for both of us into his report and printed off a copy for each of us.  This is what I wanted.  This is what I had been waiting for.  I now had a police officer’s testimony that she had admitted to hitting my motorcycle.  This is what was needed to keep the fight with her insurance company to a minimum.  Again, whether she understood this or not is unknown, but I would guess she hadn’t a clue. She seemed nice enough, having come in and informed me of the accident, rather than driving off – but on the other hand she could have been forced to do so, because the parking lot was very busy and there were most likely a half dozen witnesses at the time who would have pointed the finger at her.

Hit and run, even just property damage, is a very bad move.

So, whether it was her decent nature or self-preservation, I don’t know to this day.

When I got home I called my insurance company just to let them know what was going on.  I then called her company and filed a claim. The usual phone tag game was played and the bike went into the shop for appraisal.  The accident was on the fifth of November and I didn’t get the bike back until the 27th.

My estimate was damn close.  It was about $1200 to fix, though the shop missed damage on both brake lights on the port side, which I’m now having to send photos of, so that they can file this with her insurance as well.  My guess is I’ll have to eat it, because they screwed up the first time.  I won’t be pleased if this is so.

The shop was unable to find the exact replacement highway pegs, Mick-O-Pegs.  They’re still in business, so I don’t know how they missed it.  They replaced them with Küryakyn highway pegs, which I don’t find as functional, but honesty do find to be more comfortable and better looking. In the end, I’m not upset with the change.

One thing I do regret, which might have sped things up with her insurance as well, is that I didn’t demand a rental car.  I was out for three weeks without my primary transportation.  I won’t make that mistake again.

As for the woman who hit my bike, I have no harsh feelings.  I was pissed at the situation, not at her. I doubt she would have understood that at the time.

No, the only anger I have toward a person, is toward her little shit of a friend, who thinks that he has the authority to tell me what to do. I needed to keep things peaceful, so that the law would be on my side when it arrived, otherwise I would have stopped my conversation with her as requested and leveled it in a very close and uncomfortable fashion at him.

First Snow of the Year

Tuesday, October 27th, 2009

Snow came early this year and cut me off from motorcycling today. The benches are covered right now in the Salt Lake valley.

I may be grounded from the bike today, but I can't complain about the scenery, even if the current cloud cover is making things a little dark.