Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Looking for my future ex-girlfriend

Out late last night. I am damned sleepy right now.
But, what’s news here? I’m ready and looking for my next bike.

Basically, I kept the EX around for passengers (yes, I actually enjoy passengers, just not in the hills) and long trips. Plus, it was way better on the freeway than the poor little DRZ.

So that’s what I’m replacing. I am pretty convinced the SV650 is what I want. I’d also consider an F4 (not “i”), and I have some curiousity about BMW’s. I don’t know a lot about BMW’s, so that’s a really uninformed idea. Maybe I’ll go test ride the current 650GS this Saturday to see how I like it.

So, SV650. Prefer Street to Sport (SV650S), but either would be fine.
Of course, everyone knows red bikes are faster, but the blue is awful purty too. And then my bikes would match.

Trouble is, people in this area seem to think that they should sell their used bikes for near-new prices. NOT going to happen, at least with me. I’ve had nothing but bad luck with used bikes, and there’s no way I’m going to buy used just to save $1000 or less.

I don’t give a damn how much aftermarket frou-frou you heaped on there. It was a budget bike to start, and that’s what I want. Stock is good. Suspension is the only upgrade I’m willing to pay for.

I want to pay $3K. I want it to work, I don’t want a project. I’m hoping to stay away from salvage.
People in the Bay Area are probably laughing at me right now, because we’re all seeing these bikes for $5K used. I saw a salvage one in Cycle Trader yesterday for nearly $4K. Hmmm, and the MSRP is? Dumbasses.

But, I am convinced, it can be done. I’ll travel to get it as needed. I’ve been looking for an excuse to fly back to Austin, or Seattle. And riding back would be the icing on the cake.

So, please keep eyes and ears open. This is all I will talking or thinking about until it is settled.

OH, and I have a deadline. I want it by the first week of May. Because of the Sheetiron, and my worries about hammering on what is my only way to get to work, in the hardcore dirt riding. Although this morning a friend offered me a bike to borrow in that case. So maybe I can be more patient on the SV thing.

Not likely, patience has never been one of my many virtues.

Sunday, March 28, 2004

faster than you and twice the man

I thought today was going to be a snotty twisty road day. I thought I'd be riding with beemer guys, but I ended up with a flock of Ducs and a Mille. Go figure.
News flash of the day:!:!: People are flakey! Omigod! Who'd've thunk it?

The short version:
The highlight of my day was Mr. Hardcore telling me I throw my bike into corners like a man. I told him, I AM a man, and he said he'd always had his suspicions.

'nuff said.

(hmm, does this mean I throw the bike like IT was a man, or I throw the bike like I am a man? I guess I should have clarified that.)

Saturday, March 27, 2004

Ride, rinse, repeat. Always repeat.

Today rocks.
I got up at 7 and managed to get myself into the gym. For the first time since being helped off of my motorcycle by the minivan in January. This is great. I've been feeling crap about this, and wanting to get in again.

Then home, then out to meet people at Alice's for riding.
Got onto 35, the road was wet. This is a good sign, less traffic this way. Yay! Into the parking lot, got my coffee and waited. Two tasty underage boys on dirtbikes (ok, so they're all tasty until the helmets come off...), followed by an older guy on a vespa (dad?) provided a little entertainment until the rest of the ride arrived.
After a little lolligagging, we were all together and ready to go. Tunitas was roundly dismissed by people who had harleys and passengers. After much discussion, I get bored and plug-in. I can't hear what is decided, I will follow. And we all take off, beemer guys and me up front, sportbikes and Texans in the back (As it should be!).
84 to Alpine to Pescadero. I love this road! Red beemer in front of me is making a good pace, what fun!
White beemer behind me, is, well, frequently visible in my mirror...
Pescadero to what I think may be Cloverdale, past a pathetic little bicycle race. These fuckers have a little ramp to start on. Can't even pedal to get started?!? ("Get a motor!") And it ended, I don't know, maybe a mile or so down the road. Weird.
Turn left at 1, then left on Swanton (I think?). White beemer has picked up the pace, Now they are both in front of me. Then left on 1, into Davenport for lunch. To realize that the sportbikes and texans have all cheated and skipped Swanton. Hmmm...
After lunch, 1 to Bonny Dune (another of my favorites). Passenger has moved to red beemer, so I get to watch Charles be a squid on his harley. Wave him past to watch him ride it race style up the twisties, and also with the hopes that I can encourage a wheelie. Fortunately, he is easily influenced to do bad things. Yay! Harley wheelies!
Bonny Dune to Empire Grade (I think), then down Jamison. Going downhill has always been one of my greatest weaknesses. I suck. But not so bad today that anyone passes me, or has to pick my bike up.
Fly down 9, past one, two, THREE cops. Turn off at 35, on my way home. Some asshole on a crap sportbike gets all pissy at me near the end when I pass him, starts riding my ass in the straighter parts. Listen, dumbass, the fucking CARS were tailgating you through the corners. Your skills are not strong enough to carry the weight of the chip on your shoulder.

And home again, getting shit done. I've been sick all week, and everything's piled up.

I'm riding tomorrow, details not ready yet...

Friday, March 26, 2004

dirty thoughts

I’ve been sick all week, and have not accomplished a goddam thing.
Nyquil makes me have the most incredibly bizarre dreams.

Got all excited last weekend that, after two months since the accident, I’d be getting back to the gym. Finally. And not a moment too soon. But I think my weekend caught up with me, and I woke up Monday with a cold. And proceeded to sleep nearly every hour I was not at work (or shopping for work, which is worse.)

Last night I went over to see some motorcycle folks, and ran into some other Sheetiron victims (and victims to be). (Sheetiron being a 300 mile dual sport ride, and act of attrition)

So last year, I fell off of my bike twice Sunday morning, came around a corner to a nice big hill, crashed heroically, and came upon this guy standing in the ditch. I had never met him before. He offered to take my nice brand new DRZ up the hill a ways. “It does not get any better. This hill is a killer.” (you can see a picture of this exact spot in my profile pictures, which, I know, are fucked up right now for some reason. It’s the one that says “action!” and it’s there because Eric ALSO crashed there. It was a popular spot. That’s a picture of his bike. My ex-bike, with my ex-boyfriend. Both have been replaced with something better, and less-maintainance) It says a lot about how much this particular section had broken me, and a lot about the sort of friendship that forms with complete strangers in the face of the Big Evil Dirt Ride. I handed off my baby to a complete stranger, keys and everything. “Make it go away.”

Standing in that spot for a while, I was surrounded by chaos. It seemed, anyway. Somewhere up off the trail, and behind us, I could hear some guy having trouble, needing help. I couldn’t help. I could hear engines rev, rev, rev, then die. Followed by laughter, or yelling, or both. That’s the sound of the crash you can’t see. I stood there for a while, watched several people fly by, and a few more crash, before Eric came by and ate shit in the same spot I’d gone down in. Served him right, he hadn’t crashed yet all weekend. I think he was beginning to get smug. Yes, I’m aware that I make a terrible girlfriend. We stopped for a photo op and jumped out of the way of some more riders/crashers. James stopped to help a lot of people through this particular section.

Hiked back up to the DRZ, I’m not sure whether I was relieved to see it or not. Back on, then back off again almost immediately, coming down a hill, knowing I was completely out of control. Wee! Face first, plowed into the road (and by "road," I mean something a goat would not hazard) under the bike somehow, in front of where a bunch of people had stopped. If your gonna do it, at least have an audience! I’d come to accept the only way to approach this section was “how far can I get in between falling off?”

Then I realized that this guy who fished my bike out of the hill for me was riding an 1150GS! Holy crap, and I thought I had trouble! Turned out he was a friend, or acquaintance, at least, of some friends I was riding with. We ended up all riding together the rest of the day. I’m a shitty dirt rider, on a good little dirtbike. I know why my bike kept tossing me. It was embarrassed to be seen with me. “Get off of me! I’ll do it myself!” But these guys on the big bikes, are fucking nuts! And I love that. It’s so perverse. I really appreciate people who do something just because it’s not supposed to be. Because it’s fucked up, and stupid, and just because they can (or die trying!). The concept of a BMW is that it can go anywhere and do anything, and I rarely meet people who really test that.

So for the past year, whenever I run into this guy, I bug him about repeating the Sheetiron. He’s some kind of hero in my mind. He recoils every time. I can see him wince at the memory, “no way, no way, on that bike, never again. Maybe if I had a small dirtbike.” But, see, that’s missing the point.

Last night, he admitted that he wanted to do it again, and even on the beemer. Woot. Also spoke with a guy who’s gonna do it on a Tiger. It was hard to find knobbies for it, he told me. (no shit, they'd prolly never had to sell a set before!)

So, yeah, I’m sure I’ll be pissing and crying the whole time, but these guys, they are hardcore! That’s what it’s all about.
You’re all insane. And I love it.

Monday, March 22, 2004

recovering from the weekend

Holy crap, what just happened? It was a good weekend, but, tiring. I need another day to sleep.
Friday night I ran into someone who disappeared a few months back. It was terribly exciting. I’m ready to collect on that ride you promised, in SEPTEMBER!

Saturday morning I recuperated from Friday night (I believe there may have been some alcohol involved), and went to a meeting. Huh, maybe I will go to Burning Man again. I just don’t know. Last year was weird, Eric and I broke up the night before I left, and the ride in was almost as fun as the time spent there. Since I was only there for like four days, and with the stuff going on in my life, I had issues with some of the people in the camp. Which is to say, the camp gets really big, and there are a lot of assholes in it. I was displeased, and spent very little time there. First off, I don’t recognize a lot of these people. This wouldn’t bother me so much if so many of them weren’t such fucking assholes. My sister came by to drop off some of my stuff, (after checking with one of my very pleasant camp-mates that we both actually know) and was given a shitload of attitude by someone I still don’t even know. A few days later, I was very rudely told I had to leave by another person who looked a little familiar, but I also didn’t know. It’s one thing to not know, and ask nicely, but save the fucking attitude. Seriously. Maybe I’m turning into a hippie, I just don’t see the need to be a bitch to people just because you’re so omigod cool for being at Thunderdome.
Funnier still is that this chick was syrupy sweet to me when someone else intervened and said that I was ok. The loose translation of this in my mind is something like “I’m nice to people only if I can tell that they are ‘cool,’ or there is a REASON to be nice to them.” Fuck that noise.
Do I KNOW you?
No, I don’t know you, and I don’t have the time or motivation to try to. I’m jetting off to a friendlier place. I disappeared for days at a time (as per usual) into a very happy camp with a friend and a bunch of traveling Euro student types. Very nice people. And spent some time at the airport.

Anyway, the point of this digression was going to be, Saturday’s meeting was really pleasant, with a small group of people I actually like, and reminded me that I should get into this thing again.

Saturday night I went to the Fetish Ball. I went with a friend, and, upon arriving at his flat, discovered that by coincidence, we were dressed all matched. We could not have matched more had we planned it. I'm not sure whether to think it was cool or incredibly dorky. Vodka helped. Between Fetish Ball and after party, I got home at nearly 6am.

Then managed to drag myself out of bed to go riding on Sunday. Late, yes, but I did get to ride. More amazing was the fact that I was able to get the same friend to drag his ass out of bed for a ride. It was great fun, he is a good rider, we had fun, we went fast, we giggled. Route: 35 to Alice’s for “breakfast” at like 3:30, since we were both having not-quite-hangovers. 84 to Alpine to Pescadero to Stage to La Honda to Applejacks. Stopped to talk with some old racer types, then 84 to 35 and home. A short ride, but fun, lots of fun.

As I pulled up to my block to park, a friend pulled up next to me. So we stayed up and ate and chatted. Now I am tired, very tired from my weekend.

But I woke up this morning with what I think is the beginning of a cold. Crap.

Sunday, March 21, 2004

fucking sun

is coming up, and I'm just now getting home to go to bed. Boo.
can we slip in a few extra hours of night-time so's I can get enough sleep to get up and ride?
pretty please?

Fetish Ball was cool, after-party was cool, I just need more sleep-hours.

Saturday, March 20, 2004


It's 3 am, I am drunk, closed the club....
So godamm glad I made it out tonight, found someone who says they want to go on these weekend motorcycle trips I keep talking about, saw Kevy, and, most importantly, ran into a character I'd been missing since he went AWOL last Fall. I'll be so happy to have you back in my life. All is forgiven. Let's ride.


Sunday, March 14, 2004

East Bay is Pig Latin for

get the fuck out of my way, you pokey-ass motherfucker!

Tried riding in East Bay again today. Jesus, god, there are so many cars out there! 25 mph behind a car most of the day. There's a secret no one wants to tell me. I KNOW there has to be some better riding over there, but I'm not going back until someone can show me. Spending the day looking at the backs of cars makes me cranky and sleepy. Well, mostly cranky becuse I stopped for coffee twice.
And shit, these people can't drive. Before I got a half-mile out of town, I'd almost hit a motorcyclist (who didn't seem to understand the four-way stop concept) and a van making a U turn on Claremont, who waited until I pulled up very close to her to make her move. Yeah, nice, stopped about two feet from T-boning her. Which pretty much set the tone for my riding the rest of the day.

Highlights were a brief bit of go-fast on Redwood, a tiny bit of scenic-ness on Pinehurst, and running into two friends in town, not on bikes, which is to say, as riding goes, it pretty much sucked.

It's all about the South Bay. I know where there are roads: every damn place you look there's another turn-off with a secret and a view. 15 means 15 and 45 means 80. This I understand.

Saturday, March 13, 2004

I CRUSH you....uh, I think?

Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

Check it out, you're an ABC Warrior!

In bars frequented by colossal death robots, you're always the quiet guy at the back who no-one ever bothers. And for good reason. You've fought in several nuclear wars, could beat the sun in a staring match, and have a chin larger than many articles of furniture. Morals are not a concept you understand, but strangely enough, nobody ever questions your judgement. Usually because they're dead. Even Judge Dredd wets himself when you turn up. Grrrr.

Declare human life to be an abomination with the following merry image:

Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?

things that go "bang!"

I got up at omigod in the morning to jet down to SJ to play with guns today. And it was great fun. Two friends with way too many guns, and three of us with none. I really don't know a damn thing about what was fired, except that one was a nifty WWI rifle that nearly knocked me over when I fired it, one was a very dramatic (smokey) black powder thingy, and one of them burnt me when it went bang. (don't hold it so close, duh!)

The range deal was sort of a pain, all these rules, and fiteen minutes firing period, and stand behind the line, etc., etc., but all very fun.

"make those bullets disappear!"

and then mom called and we had to go home. boo.

Motorcycles, guns, good friends, a ride in the pimpin-est van ever, a visit to the parents' compound, and I have had a very very good day.

I'm working on dyeing my hair, which I haven't done in quite a while, and now I remember what I used to keep boys around for. Damnation. I hope it does not stay pink.

On the way home I got an inspiration, and now I need to make a pattern.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

We're back on!

OK, I think I'm done being depressed.
Nothing cheers a girl up like spending a couple of hours and wads of cash on frivolous new underwear.
And cleaning up the loose ends on sad things in your life doesn't hurt either.

Did both of those things today.
And I will make myself get over my downswing starting at 9:30 tonight. I should be giggling as usual by 10:00, and possibly making trouble by 11:00. I am on a tight schedule.

My mother once told me you have to make your own happiness, and I'm a strong believer in this.

I also think if there is no trouble, you must make some.
If life is too safe, pick up a brand new and very dangerous hobby.
Find new ways to take risks and put yourself in harm's way.
Live your life?
Take a bite out of it. It's fucking tasty.

"No hurt survives for long without our help, she said & then she kissed me & sent me out to play again for the rest of my life."(- Brian Andreas)

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

I am John's searing chest pain

OK, so I really want to be smug and laugh about Ashcroft’s health. But as much as I want him “disappeared,” I cannot make light of his current situation.
I had a gallstone. It fucking hurts. I have never in my life experienced anything so painful. It’s incredible how medical issues and searing pain can bring your life into an instant, narrow focus.

But, you know, I had a really big gallstone. Ashcroft made several small ones. And, I mean, if you’re gonna do something, do it once, do it right. So I made mine real big, about the size of one of those big shooter marbles. The first attack was in January. I was 19. Emergency rooms, doctors, etc. blew me off, said it was in my head, essentially. “Panic attacks,” while sometimes an actual condition, is also a nice, clinical sounding way of saying “we don’t want to deal with you.” Nevermind my symptoms were completely unrelated to anxiety disorders. Nevermind I pointed this out to them. Nevermind they lied on my charts at Saint Francis hospital.

Later it was pointed out to me that no one could tell how much pain I was in. I was too calm.

The pain was only second to the not-knowing. That was the real torture. Once they’d taken me seriously, and made a plan of action, I was relieved. Terrified of the surgery, but relieved of all the mystery.

The surgery got fucked up, because the surgeon also did not take me seriously enough. A 45 minute surgery ended up taking 2.5 hours. Again, because he did not think I was as bad off as I was. I tried to tell him, but I guess it did not show.

Coming up from anesthesia is a moment in my life I will never forget. I don’t understand it, but the sheer terror and panic I experienced in that split second stays with me and still scares the crap out of me. I remember gasping for air, desperately clawing back up to life. That’s just the beginning. Anesthesia stays in your system for months, and that’s on top of the healing problems. I was constantly tired, and incredibly depressed. I was scared to eat, and cried a lot. I had mentally disowned my left hand when they put the I.V. in, and refused to use it. I made a life in a reclining chair at my parents’ house for a week or two. I found four holes in my stomach and ripped stitches out of three of them on accident. The fourth, I had to struggle to keep them in. I hated my new scars, then became very attached to one of them. Unfortunately, that’s the one that faded the most. I wanted to turn them into more scars, tattoos, and branding, piercing, something to mark the experience.

It turns out I have a high tolerance for pain. Prior to all of this, I’d never had any injuries to speak of, never a broken bone, no stitches, no sprains. And I’d always assumed I’d have a low threshold for pain.
But when it hurt, no one could tell how much. The first several doctors didn’t think the pain was great enough for it to be an actual for-real medical problem. In the end, my mother had to tell me to over-act the pain, so they’d take it seriously. And that’s how I finally got their attention. Even now, it’s hard to tell when I’m really in pain. When it comes to doctors, I remind myself to over-act. Do not absorb the pain, toss it back up in tears… I don’t like admitting I’m hurt, and sometimes I can’t even tell myself.

So, Ashcroft? Yeah, I 'm sorry, man. That shit hurts. Bad.
I only hope they don't steal your stones like they stole mine. Fuckers.

Monday, March 08, 2004

tail lights

Sunday was a ride day. After staying out too late Saturday night, I somehow managed to drag my self out of bed in time to meet friends in Woodside for a ride. This is a good thing. Charles looked happy to see me, despite my lack of the usual perkiness. I was happily surprised to see the fastest rider I know had shown up, and got to follow her through the hills a bit. Which is ALWAYS fun. I know, the first thing when I ride with her, is get her tail light out of sight. Joanne’s tail light is like the sirens luring the sailors out to sea. And mostly, I know better. But there was a while on Tunitas Creek Road when I kept seeing her tail light ahead. I’m thinking “Either I am over-riding my abilities, or Joanne is TOYING with me!” That’s funny, she doesn’t LOOK evil…

Sometimes, it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

It was really fun to ride with people who are challenging to me. I've spent the past few weeks either riding alone, or in front. Also good things, but it's good to get the challenge sometimes too. Shit, and I was starting to think I knew how to ride!

On Stage Road, noticed something really cool that I somehow have completely missed in all the times I‘ve ridden it. I need to slow down more often. Maybe it’s time for another sportbike. (hah!)

Oh, and apparently I was talking in my sleep last night. Supposedly something about making pants while doing the Sheetiron, but that may have been bullshit. My sister told me a few years ago that I talk in my sleep, and I cannot prove this, but I've been told by a few people that it's the case. I'm really really curious as to what I say though...

Saturday, March 06, 2004

controlled burn

So, my apologies to those who've been trying to deal with me lately. These aren't good days.
And, you know, I'm pretty goddam happy, like 99.99% of the time, so I just have to cycle through this every once in a while. So, my apologies.

Did not ride today. I know I cannot ride fast enough to outrun my shadow, the fucker just keeps following me everywhere. I know damn well that I spend days at a time riding to avoid things I don't want to face.

So today I stayed in and made a skirt. Which is to say, I am trying to create again.

Recently came across someone who used to push me, hard, and I worked quite a lot when we were going out. When I rested, he bitched at me. It seemed like a pain at the time, but I miss that. We both created, a lot. I need to get that back. For the past several years I've been in severe avoidance of all the personal and creative. Finding him just smacked me in the face with "what the fuck have you been doing?!?! Why are you hiding??!?" Easy, I've been plastering my demons into the walls and covering them with clutter.

So now I need to burn it all down and start over.

I knew this was coming when I got on the bike to ride to Black Rock last year. I didn't know how long it would take me to get here, but I have to burn everything down every so often. When Eric and I broke up, I felt like I'd woken up from a really long sleep, everything was brighter, louder, more intense than it had been in a long time. It was incredible, but I let it fade, and now I can't feel a fucking thing.

I need someone to hit me so hard, I cannot sleep through it anymore.
And I'm damn well aware that person has to be me.

And, to be fair, this is just one of the things on my mind these days getting me all mixed up.
So, right now, I apologize for the interruption in the regular, happy-as-a-pig-in-shit Rebecca. She'll be back on shortly. And rolling in it, but hopefully in a new dress.

Friday, March 05, 2004

notes from my subconscious

So this morning I went to another chiro appointment. Did I mention this is totally not fun at all?
Anyway, I went into the room and there was a note written in very neat handrwiting on the little notepad on the desk, which read,

"I am ready for my torture now Mistress."

I mean, it was fitting, cuz this shit hurts, but, uhhhh, I didn't know it was that kind of place.

It's better, just not knowing the context, and forever wondering.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

Light it up

You are a PHOENIX in your soul and your
wings make a statement. Huge and born of flame,
they burn with light and power and rebirth.
Ashes fall from your wingtips. You are an
amazingly strong person. You survive, even
flourish in adversity and hardship. A firm
believer in the phrase, 'Whatever doesn't kill
you only makes you stronger,' you rarely fear
failure. You know that any mistake you make
will teach you more about yourself and allow
you to 'rise from the ashes' as a still greater
being. Because of this, you rarely make the
same mistake twice, and are not among the most
forgiving people. You're extremely powerful and
wise, and are capable of fierce pride, passion,
and anger. Perhaps you're this way because you
were forced to survive a rough childhood. Or
maybe you just have a strong grasp on reality
and know that life is tough and the world is
cruel, and it takes strength and independence
to survive it. And independence is your
strongest point - you may care for others, and
even depend on them...but when it comes right
down to it, the only one you need is yourself.
Thus you trust your own intuition, and rely on
a mind almost as brilliant as the fire of your
wings to guide you.You are eternal and because
you have a strong sense of who and what you
are, no one can control your heart or mind, or
even really influence your thinking. A symbol
of rebirth and renewal, you tend to be a very
spiritual person with a serious mind - never
acting immature and harboring a superior
disgust of those who do. Likewise, humanity's
stupidity and tendency to want others to solve
their problems for them frustrates you
endlessly. Though you can be stubborn,
outspoken, and haughty, I admire you greatly.

*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla

Monday, March 01, 2004

putting a price on love

The insurance company has just called and made me a new offer for the EX. An offer I am very fond of. (really, I didn't call for two weeks because I didn't want to deal with it, and lost the phone number. It wasn't like I was playing hardball or something.)

So, you know, you were my first, and I loved you, and we had so many good times together, and and and...

But nothing says "I love you" like cold hard cash. Well, ok, porn. Normally I say "nothing says I love you like porn." But that would not do in this case. Perhaps had I thought of it, I should have stuffed your gas tank with porn before they took you away. Next time.

This takes a lot of the pressure off, and hopefully, with two more chiro visits, I'll be in the clear and ready to close all this up by the end of the month. Then, THEN I will be looking for a cheap SV. Possibly an F4. We'll see.