Sunday, February 29, 2004

a weekend at home

When I first started riding motorcycles, I really didn't have anyone to go riding with. I had one friend for motorcycle-help, etc., and other than that I was on my own. I quickly discovered that he could not be bothered to go for rides like I wanted, and also that he was terrifyingly overconfident and underskilled mechanically.
I think we went for a ride once in the hills, and never again. Too busy, his bike crapped out, whatever. I rode alone for probably the first year or so. Head into the hills as early as possible Saturday and Sunday, most every weekend. Before that, I used to be quite a lush, drinking all my friends under the table all the time, staying out late, closing all the clubs... The motorcycle changed that. A night out meant I could not get up at sunrise to beat the traffic. A night of paying for drinks in a club cost the same as a pair of brake pads.
Nothing else could ever have competed with my drinking habit. But, motorcycles, THIS I was willing to sacrifice for.
By the way, you can ride by yourself forever and ever and not improve much at all. I really started to improve much later when I hooked up with other riders, starting with Monday Night Ride. That's another story.
Anyway, I'd get up as close to sunrise as I could convince myself and hit the road. South, always, since I know the Santa Cruz hills somewhat from camping as a kid, and my sister lives there in Boulder Creek. I pulled over for bikes and cars alike, and kept going. I knew that if I caught up to someone, they had no business being on the road. I'd run cafe to cafe, up the hill, down into the Valley, back over into Santa Cruz, stopping here and there. And then come home when it got dark. Still alone. Rinse, and Repeat.

Eventually, I found my people. A smack talking Texan and lovable Irishman, various other unseemly characters. Rides happened, shit was talked, smiles were made.

This weekend seemed like a return to the normal. The past year was interrupted with various things, the new job, the best friend with cancer, the boyfriend who never wanted to do a goddam thing. Work settled down, chemo worked, I lost the deadweight.

Friday I did NOT go to the tiki bar with the aforementioned dearest and now cancer-free friend. We did NOT order drinks by color, then adjourn to the Crowbar for some Motley Crue and Barry White. We did, however, on Saturday, get dirt tires mounted on my wheels for later, change my front brake pads and then spirit ourselves off into the hills to find trouble. One of my very favorite roads is Old Santa Cruz, just across from Bear Creek at HWY17. But it was dirty and wet. Charles is out of practice and also tire tread, and waves me forward. A nice stoppie stunt at the stop sign for Summit road (not mine) and then we take off down the road straight ahead. No one I asked knew where this road went, and I'd gotten curious a few weeks back. But that day, with the big sportbikes in tow, I'd left it for another day, and I'm glad I did. It was as close to dirt riding as I can get right now; what a mess of a road. I liked it, and it spat us out on 17 just past the safety corridor. Into Santa Cruz for ice cream, and then a quick jaunt down 9 onto Bear Creek and back into the valley. It was a short ride.
The evening was spent with lots of food, and Guinness, and good friends. And a really bad/good movie. Perfect, and we did this instead of the Mardi Gras party because we wanted to get up without hangovers, so that we could ride Sunday.

Sunday was perfect as a day can get. Well, except a perfect day would have fewer cops. (boo, but then, I managed to get home without a ticket so I should not complain) On the bike by 9:30 or so, and off and home around 5:30. THAT's how it should be! Friends did a short ride in the morning, up Mt Hamilton, where we got a stern talking to by the cop (which I'm still sure was not meant for us, but for the crappy sportbikers who were making their way up around the same time. They sucked!) Then to the Junction, where the rest turned around to go home to take care of other things. I headed off into the East Bay.

The East Bay is a giant black hole, which I cannot enter without getting lost. Mines was perfect, except I got my socks wet flying through puddles at speed. Into Oakland for lunch. I've been promised many rides to show me around the roads in Oakland, but most flake out. I've been up there once or twice, but know nothing. Fucking flaky people! Today I finally decided, like all other things, best to do it yourself.
So I looked for an in to the hills for a while, finally found a familiar road and switched back to Claremont, and away we go! Up and down there for a while, too many 25 mph cagers here! Circled back to the wall to try to find a DRZ I had encountered, surely he will have a better road in mind? Luck! I chatted with a nice greyhair on a DRZ, very very nice, and asked where Redwood was. Someone told me it was twisty, and dirty, I explained. I want to go THERE! They gave me directions and warned me that it was dirty, and away I went. Redwood is a beautiful road, but it is not super twisty, and really really not dirty. I liked it quite a lot though, and I think I actually rode it once before. In to some god-forsaken suburb for gas and then back into Redwood, up and down Skyline a bit, then back to SF. Came across the DRZ guy on my way back, he was excited to see that I'd found my way.

And home again, with not a damn (practical) thing accomplished for the weekend. And it feels great. I am tired, and sore, and, uhh, satiated. A day on the bike is a day at home.
But, now as ever, I ride alone. Still yet to find someone to keep up with me. I don't mean that in a speed way; the friends I rode with this morning WALKED away from me on Hamilton, as I'd expected.
But, is there someone to spend the days with, someone who will ride as much as I do, taking the unknown roads, trying get lost, running away from our shadows?
Shit, I don't even want to find someone to fall in love with; I just want to find someone who's in love with their bike, the way that I'm in love with my bike.

sighs and such...

Friday, February 27, 2004

Things on the brain today

1.) Good news: I went to the chiro on Wednesday. She has two good things to say:
a.) She will probably only have to see me a few times. This is good because I was afraid this would drag out. If I can settle quickly, I can get back in the dirt where I belong. (or, more specifically, where I don’t belong, but would like to, through lots of practice, before the Sheetiron.)
b.) I can go back to the gym. I haven’t been since the accident, and it was making me feel angry and also icky. She gave me limitations, but I can GO, which is a start. Yay.
c.) Also, and not related, I have a very noisy set of joints. “Do you know where that pop came from?” she asks, several times. I have no clue. All over the place?

2.) Flakey people, very irritating. I'll leave it at that.

3.) My motorcycle is the best thing ever. And when I replace the other bike, what will I think of the new one? The EX was my first love, but it sat a lot while I played with my new bike. Now, that’s fine, but how can I buy something that I love less than what I already have? It seems backwards, downgrading like that. Shouldn't you be totally in love with the newest one? Is this what it's like to have an arranged marriage when you already have a lover that you actually like?

4.) A big, hairy travel bug has crawled into my ass. I feel funny. This happens from time to time. Today’s list includes Atlanta, Austin, Chicago, New Orleans, Philadelphia, Seattle. On that list, Atlanta, New Orleans, and Philly are the three I have never visited before, so I should probably start there. Anyone? Ideas? More importantly, anyone know if I can rent a bike in one of those towns? (Not a harley) LA and Vegas are separate issues, as those are ride-trips. I will probably run to LA when I get a replacement street-y bike, and Nevada, well, I could take it or leave it.

5.) Saturday is supposed to be sunny, as of today’s most recent forecast. I will spend the weekend either hungover, or riding. Hopefully not both, because that’s a really terrible feeling. Saturday and Sunday, who wants to ride? Don’t all jump at once. I am STILL waiting for the East Bay roads tour that was promised me like 6 months ago. Holding my breath never hurt so much.

ride, please

Phew! Yesterday's fiasco is SOLVED! And no one got their legs broken. That's a good thing. Once again saved by my hero, whom I could not live without (and see what happens when I try? See?)

Went riding last Sunday on wet roads, and it was really good. Roads were essentially empty. I'm antsy to get out there again. Anyone want to ride this weekend? Saturday and/or Sunday? Anyone?

Last Sunday's route, chosen for big bikes, was: 92 to 35 to Alice's to pose and do chain stuff. 84 to Pescadero to Stage to 84 to 35 to Four Corners. stopped to fix bodywork. (just because your friends jump off a bridge does not mean you should follow.) 35 back to 92 and home, it was a shortish ride, wet and getting cold.

I know no one wants to read my routes, but I want to record them somewhere, and this seems like a good enough place.

Saturday, February 21, 2004

The first step is admitting you're a fucking failure

Alright, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm dropping my class. Too much to do, not enough going on at class. It would be a great class if I still had my shitheap to work on, but as is, I'm just wasting my time waiting for shiny matching harley parts to come in.
Except, I just remembered I needed a brake pad change, and meant to do that before dropping. Shit. Charles, clear a space in your garage and a few hours to see me!

So I'm dropping my class.
And I'm starting back up on some sewing.... I think. Well, I've just unfolded some patterns, starting small, making the messes I used to live in.
I have a lot of anxieties about sewing. One, I hate the fucking mess and all the space and time it takes. Two, the longer I let my skills sit, the more they atrophy. I used to be good at this, really good. Now it makes me freak.
I want everything to be perfect, I KNOW I can do it... perfectly, but what the hell is wrong with me now?
You used to know how to do this!
What the hell is wrong with you!??!?!
I suck.
That's the loop in my head.

There, now I've admitted it. But I know the only way to do this is to practice, and stop ditching projects mid-way when I become unhappy or bored with them.

Please don't feed me until I actually finish a project. If you see me out of the house, send me home with a note pinned to my chest. If you see me wearing the same goddam thing again, poke me in the eye and take away my candy. Tell me you don't want to see me again until I've made the perfect pair of pants and a matching straightjacket.
C'mon, make me cry.
It's the only way I'll ever learn.

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Why I did not respond to your “add as friend” request: (Myspace)

First of all, it’s because I DON’T KNOW YOU. Can’t you fucking people read?
However, if that seems incomprehensible to you, please consider the following reasons why I won’t even write you back:

-You have over 100 friends. It’s clear to me that you don’t know even 10% of them. Or, they are all silicone calendar girl types.

-YoU tYpE lIkE tHiS, or u spell like dis, cuz yer so kewl. If numbers appear in words, you are a moron. Go back to school. Get some help.

-Egregious facial hair.

-Your profile picture is of your car. I hate cars. I hate materialism. This is both.

-You’ve got a million comments from these friends that you don’t know. 90% of them are about how sexy you are, and from people you’ve never met. Back and forth banter from members of the opposite sex fighting over who gets to sleep with you? You are a giant loser. If you could get them to fight over you in real life, you wouldn’t be posting it here.

-You made some retarded come-on, or sexual comment.

-You think I would look good on the back of your bike. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same of you. I’m looking for just the right fender fluff.

-You have a bunch of anti-jew crap in your profile (for real, I got one of these) Fuck you. That is all.

-I’ll overlook the Harley, but I will NOT overlook the chaps.

-You write “poetry.”

-Your profile has a bunch of HTML. My attention span did not allow me to wait for your shit to come up.

-You refer to women/girls/chicks/whatever, as "ladies." ick.

-The non-word "LOL" appears in your profile, even once. Or, it appears more than twice in any friends' comments.

-You introduce yourself as being in an "open relationship." That's your business, and I really don't care, or judge you for it. But if you bring it up, I'm going to assume you're after something, and I'm completely uninterested in getting involved in that shit. Despite doing my best to not be judgemental, I'm going to find you creepy, and a little sad.

And a bunch of other stuff I can’t even think of.
I’ll be updating this as they come up.

I am so smart!

One more and I would have had a hangover.

Wednesday, February 18, 2004

Why am I here? (Myspace)

So I got some passive aggressive asshole writing me a bunch of obnoxious mail last week (he contacted me), the clincher of which, was, something to the effect of “I think it’s kind of stupid that you’re here trying to hook up with people, yet you write all these angry things about how you don’t want to meet people.”

I think I understand a fundamental problem here, and maybe why I get so many stupid “ADD” and “Hi, you’re hot” messages from strangers. Somehow people assume that because you are using this site, you are here trying to meet them.

Here’s a news flash:
I am not here to meet you.
I am not here looking for a piece of ass.
I’m not here to pretend I have lots of friends.

There are a lot of good uses for this thing, and here are some of the things I’m using myspace for, or have used it for:

1.) Keeping in touch with people I actually already know. And updates on what they are doing and, like, events. Novel, I know.
2.) Spamming my friends list about things I want to do.
3.) Writing really uninteresting journals about the routes I rode over the weekend.
4.) Keeping up with what’s pissing Kevy off today. No, I’m not being facetious.
5.) Randomly finding a long lost ex I’d been wondering about. This rocks. Hi James! Oh, shit, sorry, uhh, didn’t mean to use your real name. Not that the name narrows it down. (If you know me, you’ll get that joke. If you don’t know me, why are you reading this?)
6.) OK, so to be fair, I have made one new friend on this thing, who I hope to be friends with for a while. But that’s a fluke, ya hear? Plus, there was drinking involved.
7.) Worshipping Charles on a daily basis.
8.) Entertainment. Browsing a few of the real losers on the site, and it makes me feel so much better about myself.
9.) Ogling underage straight edge boys without having to hear them talk. THIS is the wonder of modern technology. (this would go under “looking for a piece of ass,” except that I’m not actually interested in contacting. It’s more like looking in the window at the pet store. "Look at the cute little puppy! I'm so glad I don't have to shovel it's shit.")

Tuesday, February 17, 2004

A weekend with my sweetheart

What a fucking awesome weekend! I had a three-day, and had tried to convince people that it would be a good idea to ride to LA with me and my dirtbike. Nobody bit. Boo.

Plan B involves lots of time on my motorcycle. I miss riding, and have not done enough of it lately.
Friday night the bike crapped out just before I got home. I think it’s a cry for help. She wants attention. Ever have a girlfriend that got pissy just before Valentines Day? “me me me,” is all I heard. Girls want you to buy them diamonds? Bikes want you to buy them wheels. Just as expensive. Just for good measure and to show her who’s who, I dropped her in front of Pancho Villa. First time I’ve dropped the DRZ on the street. Who cares, it’s a dirtbike! But somewhat embarrassing. I dropped it in front of someone who I’d never really been riding with, and now I’m convinced he thinks I’m a big goober. That’s OK, it’s probably true. Bike comes back up again, and I’m all smiles within minutes.

And Saturday, well the weather was perfect. Despite my best intentions of getting things done, I rode to the Santa Cruz hills to run away from my shadow for a while. Chose turns randomly, not knowing where I was going. It’s getting harder for me to get lost up there anymore. I know I took 35 in to Alice’s, then back out to Tunitas, all the way to 1. Then left on Stage, left on Pescadero, right on 84, right on 35, 9 to Santa Cruz. Well, I think that’s what I did. I need to buy a map one of these days. All fucking nice roads. Tunitas is stunning. This is one of my favorites, but I’ve been reminded that I HATED it when I rode the EX (no suspension).

And what to do for Valentine’s Day? Well, first off, I’m neither for or against this holiday. I’ve only had an SO once that I can think of, that was around for VD, and we were on the rocks anyhow. It’s not a big deal to me, but I’m not bitter about it either. There are a few things going on that I’d like to do. There are a couple of people in my life I might be interested in doing these things with. But, wait, one of my dearest friends has just broken up with his long time girl, and is sounding real bitter. So I escort him to an HA party. I think this is hilarious, and there’s an open bar. But I can’t drink too much, or I will start using my outside voice when I see mullets. Normally this is not a problem, and I don’t give a damn. But, I’m not stupid. I’m not bothered by HA in general, but I would not want to be pissing them off either. We leave before I get stupid and ride around for a while, stopping at Cat Club to see friends. Good times. I love riding bitch when I’m drunk.

Sunday morning, up early for another ride. I start off with a chip on my shoulder because it’s been implied that I have to ride with the girls. Generally speaking: I don’t ride with girls. Now, the FASTEST rider I know is a woman, but, generally, no. To be fair, even when I ride with her, I don’t ride with her, we just leave from the same point and meet at the destination. I think she runs a few backroads, stops to get her nails done, and still gets there fifteen minutes before me. Anyway, the day was perfect. A rain forecast and possibly the fact that a lot of guys are still off doing their valentine’s day duties, and the road was very clear. Very few bikes or cars. But the road was dry until the afternoon. Route: 35, stopped to pose at Alice’s for a while, continued 35 to Page Mill, down and then back up Page Mill, left at 35, right at 9, into Boulder Creek for breakfast, which was so-so. Back out 9 to Bear Creek, crossed 17 to Old Santa Cruz (my favorite) to Summit, then up 17 to Santa Cruz to pose at Perg’s for a while. Back over 9 to 35 to get home. By the time we hit 35, it was wet and foggy. Got home, I was tired. Pasta, Guinness, and a really really bad zombie flick, and I’m passing out.

Monday, ran some errands, puttered around with friends, got one step closer to the master plan. And ate crepes. Mmmmm, crepes.

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

a long winded entry about Sunday's ride

Sunday morning got a late start for riding. What the hell is wrong with me these days?
Cruised on over to 92, followed a VFR until I got stuck with a car, passed a few people, then railed down 35 to Alice’s The parking lot was full, like, four bikes deep. Which seemed odd, since I’d seen only one bike on the way in. Must have been posing day, not riding day. Not a single familiar face.

DIGRESSION: I hate getting checked out at alice’s, I don’t need some guy coming over and waving his dick around talking to me about what I should do with my bike. I don’t know or care what kind of horsepower I’m making. I don’t need to be told what tires I “should” be running, and I don’t need you to tell me that some of the guys are putting street wheels on these things now and racing them. Omigod, fucking news flash!
Can I get wheels to match my lipstick? Is all I want to know. And will smaller wheels make my penis look bigger.
I’m not impressed by the fact that you know what a flat-slide carb is, unless you have one in your hand and you are about to install it for me and then wash my bike while I hit on your best friend. Don’t forget to bring me a beer when you’re done.
My next helmet sticker: My MOM could race AFM, you moron.

So, I stopped, added electric vest and hoodie from my tailpack and took off just as my spidey sense started to tell me the guy in the grey leathers was starting to approach and gather his “wits.”
And tried to catch a motard guy who had taken off a few minutes earlier, southbound on 35. Did not catch him, but I did catch a van doing 25 and a guy backing up a Volvo in my lane (facing me, oddly) WTF? Boo. Pulled into four corners, Doc was there, must have been clinic day, but Jack was not there. Boo again. The goat trail at the other end of 35 is calling to me, but I need gas. Down 9, played with a Jag, we both stopped for gas at the bottom, and I headed back up. Left on 35, this is the section I rarely take. Big honkin sweepers for a ways, and then, very suddenly turns into a one lane twisty thing. Really twisty, one lane, lots of blind corners, no shoulder to speak of. I’m doing 15-20, sometimes less, and I feel like I ought to slow down. The view is spectacular. I wish there was a side of road to pull over on. But a few oncoming cars remind me, this is not a place to be inattentive. At the end, I go left because I’ve always gone right there, and want to find out where left goes. Lo and behold, it takes me to Summit, another twisty thing, which, if I remember correctly will take me over to old san jose/santa cruz road, or whatever it’s called. That’s the road I woke up thinking about. It was calling to me. One of my favorites, and I can never remember it’s name.
Except I got distracted by Zayante road, which is another good dirtbike road. Pulled over at a creek down Zayante to sit and listen to the water. Incredible.

Zayante dropped me onto Graham Hill, so I pointed myself into Santa Cruz for coffee, ran into a few people, went to Saturn with Keith, and then rolled down 17 as the sun set. And to think I was tempted to stay in bed all day. Again, what the hell is wrong with me these days?

Saturday, February 07, 2004

blindly following Mr. B.

You like it fast and strong and you drink for one reason: to get piss-ass drunk!
Congratulations!! You're a shot of some good old
hard liquor!

What Drink Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I saw that coming, duh.

But this, this scares me:
Lion King!

What movie Do you Belong in?(many different outcomes!)
brought to you by Quizilla

OK, this is really cheesy:

?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

Thursday, February 05, 2004

Random thoughts on picking up boys

Last night I sent someone over with the worst pickup line in the world, no, really, it wasn’t even a pickup line. It was a joke. A kindof insulting one, really. He bit, she bit, very funny, and it reminded me of how I met my most recent ex.

I saw him at the DNA (KMFDM show, a couple years ago?). Pretty cute, helmet in hand, clean. But what I notice is his smile. Nice to see someone smiling, especially in a goth/industrial scene. But, I’m hanging out with a friend of mine, and had recently sworn off dating motorcyclists. Mostly, I’d given up on the idea of dating, but, specifically: guys on bikes, bad. There’s another journal entry there, somewhere, later.

But I got bored, tipsy, and my friend stepped out for a cigarette. I see helmet-boy and think to myself that for fun I’m going to hit on him with a really shitty line. “So, what do you ride?”
Now this has got to be the stupidest fucking line in the world. Really, it just oozes cheesy. But, it worked.
He’s got a mille. We talk, etc, this surprises me and turns into a year and then some relationship.
Later I would remind him that he fell for the absolute worst pickup line in the world. He didn’t remember. He did remember talking about dirtbikes that night, and later he would whine “when we met, you told me you had a dirtbike, I thought you were a tomboy,” to which I would reply, “You told me you had an aprilia. I thought you were rich.” This was a very funny joke to me, but I think he never got over the fact that I am not a tomboy.

However, I think the pinnacle of my pick-up as dare/art/just-so-I-can-say-I-did-it was the motorcycle messenger guy I picked up in the gutter. I walked out of the apartment one day to go to the corner store and there was a guy laying under his bike in the red zone out front, fussing. I asked him if he needed tools or help, to which he responded “are you a motorcycle mechanic?” “sometimes.” Whatever it was, got fixed, I started to leave, and he jumped up and gave me his number. I had just returned from Burning Man, and my swollen sense of the absurd was telling me, “it would awesome to be able to say you picked this guy up, in the GUTTER.” This was around that same time that I had decided dating/picking up was really more entertainment than a means to an end. Long story short, had I been actually looking to date someone, I should have left that one in the gutter. Shits and giggles? Oh, yes, this guy was a winner, and the subject of many good laughs down the road. And these days, laughs are about all I want out of a good pick-up scene.