One of my dearest friends, James Cornell, is in a coma in hospital at the Isle of Man in the Irish Channel. He and his driver crashed while racing last month. All the info is here: www.dawgpoundracing.com and www.jamescornellfund.org
In addition to being a major contributor to the Bay Area biker community (Vampires, San Francisco Motorcycle club, Helimot), James has been extensively involved in the local night club and underground scenes.
Here's the latest coverage from Friday's article in the SF Chronicle
I am asking all of you to send $20 via Paypal to jamescornellfund@yahoo.com, or send a check payable to the San Francisco Motorcycle Club, 2194 Folsom, San Francisco, CA 94110 The paypal link is on the jamescornellfund.org website above.
Ask yourself, If anyone you called friend were lying in a hospital bed 7000 miles away, would it be worth $20.00 to get him or her home?
This is one of my dearest friends, and I am in agony waiting for something to happen. We need to raise $50,000 for a medivac flight in a very short period of time.
Please help. Please share this message to those you Love.
Thanks Very Much,
Rebecca
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Paul brought me flowers last night, and then I proceeded to ignore him while at the DNA Lounge last night. Not really ignore him, but I felt bad anyway.
The party at DNA last night benefitting James seemed to go well, and I got a bunch of cards to send to James. Also got to meet some of his friends who I've seen for years, but never really met.
Also, after working up some alcoholic nerve, plainly stated my case for a friendship that's been long strained, and was met well. We have so many fears, and they turn out to be mostly unfounded?
It was a good night for me, though I may have drank a little more than absolutely necessary.
Paul was kept out past his bedtime and left in the corner while I worked people over to write cards, and still manages to be perfectly sweet to me. What would I do without him?
The party at DNA last night benefitting James seemed to go well, and I got a bunch of cards to send to James. Also got to meet some of his friends who I've seen for years, but never really met.
Also, after working up some alcoholic nerve, plainly stated my case for a friendship that's been long strained, and was met well. We have so many fears, and they turn out to be mostly unfounded?
It was a good night for me, though I may have drank a little more than absolutely necessary.
Paul was kept out past his bedtime and left in the corner while I worked people over to write cards, and still manages to be perfectly sweet to me. What would I do without him?
Monday, June 26, 2006
Manic
On Friday I crashed. No, not my bike. Don't get excited.
The week before, I was weird. Every night I came home feeling like I'd just drank an entire pot of coffee. I had no patience (I know, I don't usually count patience as one of my many virtues anyway), I was angry, really angry, about things that were small, maybe even imagined. I would walk into Paul's house and monologue for 20 minutes about all the crap that was annoying me. I was frantic, moving forward, plugging ahead.
It's all necessary. Everyone deals with their stress in their way. I encountered the hand-wringing defeatist, and became the optimistic locomotive. I wouldn't suffer anyone's soft feelings of being overwhelmed.
We can do better.
We can do this, we will do this, do it now, now, NOW.
If you can't do it, I will do it.
I don't take any of that back. I will still do it.
But Friday I came home and cried for a while, then napped, then cried some more.
My way doesn't show up and cry and wonder what can be done. My way shows up with energy and strategy, and momentum that will steamroll people less quick to move. What are the steps? OK, now we are taking them.
I didn't mean to feel like a speedfreak all week, but I did. Then I crashed. And that was good.
I did a little more working on it this weekend, but mostly I read a book and relaxed. Steamrolling isn't what I want to do. I have to remind myself to be soft.
Saturday I went to a baby shower, then had lunch with some friends, which was so very nice. Seems I hardly have nice quality friend times these days.
Sunday we ran some errands, I read, we downed a bottle of champagne.
Now it's back to work, but soft now. I don't feel my heart racing the way it did last week.
We all have our own way.
But we are men of action, and I won't sit around feeling like it's impossible.
The week before, I was weird. Every night I came home feeling like I'd just drank an entire pot of coffee. I had no patience (I know, I don't usually count patience as one of my many virtues anyway), I was angry, really angry, about things that were small, maybe even imagined. I would walk into Paul's house and monologue for 20 minutes about all the crap that was annoying me. I was frantic, moving forward, plugging ahead.
It's all necessary. Everyone deals with their stress in their way. I encountered the hand-wringing defeatist, and became the optimistic locomotive. I wouldn't suffer anyone's soft feelings of being overwhelmed.
We can do better.
We can do this, we will do this, do it now, now, NOW.
If you can't do it, I will do it.
I don't take any of that back. I will still do it.
But Friday I came home and cried for a while, then napped, then cried some more.
My way doesn't show up and cry and wonder what can be done. My way shows up with energy and strategy, and momentum that will steamroll people less quick to move. What are the steps? OK, now we are taking them.
I didn't mean to feel like a speedfreak all week, but I did. Then I crashed. And that was good.
I did a little more working on it this weekend, but mostly I read a book and relaxed. Steamrolling isn't what I want to do. I have to remind myself to be soft.
Saturday I went to a baby shower, then had lunch with some friends, which was so very nice. Seems I hardly have nice quality friend times these days.
Sunday we ran some errands, I read, we downed a bottle of champagne.
Now it's back to work, but soft now. I don't feel my heart racing the way it did last week.
We all have our own way.
But we are men of action, and I won't sit around feeling like it's impossible.
Friday, June 23, 2006
F@#KING Motorcyclists!
Sometimes people wonder why I don't necessarily like other motorcyclists. I wave, sure; those riders are passing through in the opposite direction. But, no, to be frank, I often don't like encountering another motorcyclist on the road in my direction of travel. I've just seen too many stupid behaviors, and, worse, I've actually been hit by motorcyclists a few times.
So the coming of summer isn't all that welcome, particularly during the commute hour, when I get on the Bay Bridge this morning. I start in the carpool lane, and, as every morning, immediately start moving left across all lanes of traffic. Why? Because I think it's best for the motorcycles to split that lane. I think it's especially best if we split the same lanes, so that there aren't bikes in between all cars on all sides. Ever seen a helpful driver try to move aside for you? Well, now imagine there's another motorcyclist on the other side. No, it behooves us to split only one or two lanes in traffic, as much as possible. Particularly when we know, as we do in the commute hour, that there are a lot of other motorcycles out.
So I move over, and this morning, as I got into the #2 lane, I slowed to check the in-between lane, and as I did that, a motorcyclist honked his horn at me, I suppose thinking I was about to run into him. I wasn't, but I waited for him to calm down and go ahead before diving in. Which was a mistake. Well, maybe not, knowing the temper he had. I mean, the guy was slow. He was riding some big late 1970's/early 80's honda thing, I think maybe an Oldwing or something? And, I split behind the guy for a while, but he's slow. Will he let me pass? No. Note: it is the polite thing to do, when someone lanesplits up behind you, to pull into the lane and let them pass.
Fine, I'll wait, and plod behind him, maybe he'll get the hint. He makes a big show of flipping a car off, for changing lanes, about 400 feet in front of him. At his speed, it was NOT a danger. He's just an ass. I start thinking about breaking my rule and going to the next lanesplitting lane over, just long enough to get in front of him. I try this, and he speeds up. Now he is racing me. Look, fucker, I'm just going to work! YOU'RE SLOW. OK, fine, I'll get behind your slow ass again. And he slows back down. And next, NEXT he punches a delivery van, for no reason. This poor cager does NOTHING, and asshole honda guy hits his mirror in. Woah! Yeah, thanks asshole, you've just made a whole new set of motorcycle-haters. And those of us lanesplitting behind you (since you won't let us pass) now have to face these drivers' anger. At this point, I can't follow him anymore, and move over two lanes to get away. At which point he starts racing me again.
I don't say this often, but I honestly hope you eat shit, and soon, since you're making the world a more dangerous place for the rest of us.
so here's a review:
1.) If you are lanesplitting, and another rider comes up behind you, pull into the lane and let them pass, and then go back to lanesplitting. Painless!
2.) If you aren't checking your mirror for riders because you're afraid you'll hit something in front of you, then you are riding too fast/over your head. Slow down, check your mirror, and let others pass.
3.) It really helps if we don't have to go to the next in-between lane to pass you, since this multiplies the problem of heplful drivers accidentally taking one of us out when they try to move out of the way of the one of us they do see. (in other words: don't surround the cars on all sides if you can avoid it)
4.) If another rider does finally go around you because you don't check your mirrors and pull over, please don't take this as an oppurtunity to race. Other riders are just trying to get to wherever they are going. The race is in your head, and you already lost it, if they are trying to pass you.
5.) If you are an asshole, just go crash somewhere by yourself, and stop flipping off and *punching* cars that didn't even do anything, as that makes lanesplitting and riding more dangerous for the rest of us.
6.) Lanesplitting is a separate skill. If you don't feel comfortable doing it and maintaining yourself, your awareness, and composure, just don't do it.
posted by:
So the coming of summer isn't all that welcome, particularly during the commute hour, when I get on the Bay Bridge this morning. I start in the carpool lane, and, as every morning, immediately start moving left across all lanes of traffic. Why? Because I think it's best for the motorcycles to split that lane. I think it's especially best if we split the same lanes, so that there aren't bikes in between all cars on all sides. Ever seen a helpful driver try to move aside for you? Well, now imagine there's another motorcyclist on the other side. No, it behooves us to split only one or two lanes in traffic, as much as possible. Particularly when we know, as we do in the commute hour, that there are a lot of other motorcycles out.
So I move over, and this morning, as I got into the #2 lane, I slowed to check the in-between lane, and as I did that, a motorcyclist honked his horn at me, I suppose thinking I was about to run into him. I wasn't, but I waited for him to calm down and go ahead before diving in. Which was a mistake. Well, maybe not, knowing the temper he had. I mean, the guy was slow. He was riding some big late 1970's/early 80's honda thing, I think maybe an Oldwing or something? And, I split behind the guy for a while, but he's slow. Will he let me pass? No. Note: it is the polite thing to do, when someone lanesplits up behind you, to pull into the lane and let them pass.
Fine, I'll wait, and plod behind him, maybe he'll get the hint. He makes a big show of flipping a car off, for changing lanes, about 400 feet in front of him. At his speed, it was NOT a danger. He's just an ass. I start thinking about breaking my rule and going to the next lanesplitting lane over, just long enough to get in front of him. I try this, and he speeds up. Now he is racing me. Look, fucker, I'm just going to work! YOU'RE SLOW. OK, fine, I'll get behind your slow ass again. And he slows back down. And next, NEXT he punches a delivery van, for no reason. This poor cager does NOTHING, and asshole honda guy hits his mirror in. Woah! Yeah, thanks asshole, you've just made a whole new set of motorcycle-haters. And those of us lanesplitting behind you (since you won't let us pass) now have to face these drivers' anger. At this point, I can't follow him anymore, and move over two lanes to get away. At which point he starts racing me again.
I don't say this often, but I honestly hope you eat shit, and soon, since you're making the world a more dangerous place for the rest of us.
so here's a review:
1.) If you are lanesplitting, and another rider comes up behind you, pull into the lane and let them pass, and then go back to lanesplitting. Painless!
2.) If you aren't checking your mirror for riders because you're afraid you'll hit something in front of you, then you are riding too fast/over your head. Slow down, check your mirror, and let others pass.
3.) It really helps if we don't have to go to the next in-between lane to pass you, since this multiplies the problem of heplful drivers accidentally taking one of us out when they try to move out of the way of the one of us they do see. (in other words: don't surround the cars on all sides if you can avoid it)
4.) If another rider does finally go around you because you don't check your mirrors and pull over, please don't take this as an oppurtunity to race. Other riders are just trying to get to wherever they are going. The race is in your head, and you already lost it, if they are trying to pass you.
5.) If you are an asshole, just go crash somewhere by yourself, and stop flipping off and *punching* cars that didn't even do anything, as that makes lanesplitting and riding more dangerous for the rest of us.
6.) Lanesplitting is a separate skill. If you don't feel comfortable doing it and maintaining yourself, your awareness, and composure, just don't do it.
posted by:
Thursday, June 22, 2006
New Rule
OK, I'm sorry if this is crass, but I have new rule, which ought to be put into action immediately:
From now on, when you write a bulletin, email, whatever about so-and-so crashing a motorcycle, having a heart attack, being mauled by squirrels, or dying, please, please, include, or link to, a picture.
I can't tell you how many times I've gotten news of so-and-so's accident, and been unsure if I even know the person. Or if I'm sure which person it is.
How many people do I know that go by, like, three different made up names? How many people do I know named James, or Mike, or Jennifer? How many people do I know, whose names I can't even remember, despite having known them for years, because I'm drunk every time I see them?
Please.
Starting now.
Thank you.
From now on, when you write a bulletin, email, whatever about so-and-so crashing a motorcycle, having a heart attack, being mauled by squirrels, or dying, please, please, include, or link to, a picture.
I can't tell you how many times I've gotten news of so-and-so's accident, and been unsure if I even know the person. Or if I'm sure which person it is.
How many people do I know that go by, like, three different made up names? How many people do I know named James, or Mike, or Jennifer? How many people do I know, whose names I can't even remember, despite having known them for years, because I'm drunk every time I see them?
Please.
Starting now.
Thank you.
James Cornell Fundraisers
As many of you know, James Cornell (of Helimot, Vampires, and San Francisco Motorcycle club) was injured in an accident late May.
James was the monkey on a sidecar, doing a warm up lap for a practice for what many consider the "holy grail" of roadracing: the Isle of Man TT. Currently, James is still in a coma at Nobles Hospital at the Isle of Man.
more info can be found here:
http://www.jamescornellfund.org/
James will need a lot of resources to get back to his home and health. Please tell your motorcycle riding friends about this website and fundraising effort.
June 25 (Sunday) there will be two events in Santa Cruz. Char will have a garage sale, and the Vampires will be selling food and drinks at We All Ride's event.
Next Wednesday, June 28, there will be a party at the DNA lounge benefitting James.
There are other efforts in the works, please keep tuned in to the website for more info.
Dude, WTF?
A fundraiser for James Cornell
Wednesday, June 28th 8pm - 3am 21+
DNA Lounge
375 11th St. San Francisco
DJ's:
Hicksmokey
Chris Venter
Chris Cendak
PS: Time to wake up James!!!!!
James was the monkey on a sidecar, doing a warm up lap for a practice for what many consider the "holy grail" of roadracing: the Isle of Man TT. Currently, James is still in a coma at Nobles Hospital at the Isle of Man.
more info can be found here:
http://www.jamescornellfund.org/
James will need a lot of resources to get back to his home and health. Please tell your motorcycle riding friends about this website and fundraising effort.
June 25 (Sunday) there will be two events in Santa Cruz. Char will have a garage sale, and the Vampires will be selling food and drinks at We All Ride's event.
Next Wednesday, June 28, there will be a party at the DNA lounge benefitting James.
There are other efforts in the works, please keep tuned in to the website for more info.
Dude, WTF?
A fundraiser for James Cornell
Wednesday, June 28th 8pm - 3am 21+
DNA Lounge
375 11th St. San Francisco
DJ's:
Hicksmokey
Chris Venter
Chris Cendak
PS: Time to wake up James!!!!!
Monday, June 19, 2006
people
Weekend was nice. We saw people. Friday night, dinner at Paul's mom's house. Saturday, wine tasting in Livermore with my family (minus brother and his wife). Saturday night, dinner with Charles and Sara! Yay! Sunday, saw some folks in Oakland (or is that Berkeley?) and had dinner and ice cream with Daniel.
Aaahhhhh, so relaxing, and yet somewhat fruitful.
Now I'm focused on the organization for fundraising for James.
There are very few things I am willing to completely push my network for, and this is one of them. So, anyone I know, well or tangentially, will be worked over for this thing. Be forewarned.
Aaahhhhh, so relaxing, and yet somewhat fruitful.
Now I'm focused on the organization for fundraising for James.
There are very few things I am willing to completely push my network for, and this is one of them. So, anyone I know, well or tangentially, will be worked over for this thing. Be forewarned.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Roll on with Style and Grace!
I've had my Playstation setup to collect one million red roses for my Katamari for the past few days. When I come home, I flick on the TV to see how my little Kuro is doing with his rolling. It's frustrating to watch. The rubberband-on-controller setup is soooo slow, and most of the time, Kuro is stuck rolling the ball in a corner.
What does Kuro do when the katamari runs into something?
Kuro keeps rolling, moving slowly to the left, until an angle comes up where the Katamari can roll on.
Kuro looks pretty happy doing this, despite the big task ahead. One Million Red Roses!
I found myself running into walls last night. This isn't about you, and it isn't about me. It's about something much more important. I got mad skillz, yo, and the stonewalling and self-defeatist attitude is helping nothing. We CAN do this, and we can do it in a big way. So it's frustrating that this personal crap is in the way.
No matter, I will keep pushing, and the angle will be there, and I will roll on with style and grace, just like the King told me to...
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Medical Advancement
Paul has offered to send his cat to Nobles Hospital to wake James up. I think this is a splendid idea, as will anyone who has met this cat.
bleaaaaahhhh!
(says the cat)
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
My Crappy Vacation, Part 1
All the reasons aside, we were on our way north on Saturday. “north” was our only destination, with an implied “Seattle” somewhere along the way, as my brother lives there with his wife.
North on Memorial Day weekend, with all the unhappy feelings we had, meant, of course, we got tagged in the speed trap in Redding. The officer who stopped us had a speech impediment of some kind, which made it a little funny, but mostly it was just the icing on a cake made of shit.
What-the-fuck-ever. We both have two matching speed tickets each now. I cannot afford to get stopped again, so the ride north became a painful exercise in speed control. It was inevitable. There must have been at least 25 cops between that area near Redding all the way up to the last pass into Oregon. I was, at that point, riding painfully slow. Which sucks, since I spend more time looking at my speedometer and mirror than the road in front of me. And it makes me soooooo sleeepy to go so slow. Whatever. I fucking hate CHP.
Since I had not packed with a ride in mind, I didn't have a few things I would have liked. Mainly, my electric vest, cell phone charger, and frankly I missed my ipod. But the vest was a real problem, and riding into Oregon at night up to Grants Pass, I could not feel my fingers. Grants Pass doesn't seem to be much of a town, but our room was fine, and Denny's was entertaining.
Sunday we headed west to the coast, sloooowly still, since I cannot afford to talk to a cop again. Then up the coast on Highway 1, which is pretty, and we are getting great mileage, but it is taking forever. Planned to get up to Tillamook or something, but as we came through Waldport, Paul saw that there was a Howard Johnsons on the on the tip of the spit on the other side of the bay. It was pretty, and we were bored of riding, and so we stayed. From the hotel restaurant, we could see seals playing in the bay, and a ton of birds. The views were nice, and there was a bar. Good enough.
Monday we headed north still, through Tillamook, which is very pretty country. North of Tillamook are some small towns on a lagoon-like bay, where we both caught sight of a bald eagle. I've never seen one in the wild before, so this was a real treat.
At Astoria, we turned inland, back to I-5 to make the rest of the trip to Seattle. We had finally called my brother from Waldport to tell him we were on our way to Seattle. Stopped for gas at the junction for the road to Mt. Rainier. I rode that route two years ago and loved it, but this time I didn't have it in me. This wasn't a fun ride, just an escape. I wanted to get to Seattle in good time, so we just took I-5 into Seattle, where I took a bit to get my bearings and then got us to Ben's house just as he and Megan were on their way out the door to dinner plans. Perfect timing. I just wanted to spend some time laying low in Seattle. Both of our chains were shagged, and we'd need to replace them before the ride home. It would have been a good excuse to just hang out in one of my favorite cities. Things should have looked up from here.
But Tuesday, well... We wandered around Fremont in the morning and then came back to Ben's house. He'd left us the spare key and we'd agreed we'd call to meet them up for lunch downtown. Before this happened, Paul spent some time checking over the bikes out front. I went in and out to get stuff and somehow managed to get locked out. I don’t really know how since I didn't actively lock it the last time I came out, but, old locks, I don't know... and with my cell phone inside too, I just decided it was miserable, and sat and felt sorry for myself. We did find an easy way in and called Ben to have lunch with them downtown. After which, we went to the Yamaha dealership where Paul had his chain and sprocket replaced (as he didn't have the right size socket for the FZ1) and then on to the Suzuki dealership to get my chain and sprocket, which Paul would install the next day. It all felt very nice and accomplished, despite the fact that in the afternoon, we dropped the FZ and broke off the passenger peg.
It all seemed great, until we got home to Ben's house and found the door wide open. And the door to the basement open. Both these doors are strictly supposed to be kept closed so the cats don't get out or in the basement. I was immediately sorry that I'd somehow fucked up and left these two doors open. After shutting them and calming down, it was probably about ten minutes before I noticed that the iBook was not on the kitchen counter. Had Megan been home? Shit, the Powerbook was not on the kitchen table! I called my brother, had either of them come home? No, and he'd rush home now, and could I call the police? Upstairs, the two bedrooms (one is really a den) were also opened. Not as they'd been left, again for cat reasons, we knew something was wrong there.
The upside is that the cats were both home, but the downside was that three laptops (Ben's work laptop was stolen from the guestroom underneath a pile of our dirty clothes, and I hadn't even known it was there despite sleeping in there.) The cordless phone handset had been stolen, but not the base (Why? Can anyone help explain this? It's useless without the base!) A jewelry box had been taken from the bedroom, including a sapphire ring that had some family heirloom value, but nothing much else in that box of real value, as I understand it. Megan's wedding bands, gone. And some credit cards, also taken (and used, at Krispey Kreme and gas stations, and some sort of catalog order I think?) Most bizarre, a Trader Joe's grocery bag full of trail mix and camp snacks for Ben and Megan's upcoming Yosemite trip was also deemed worth stealing. It was obvious from cabinet doors left open that the culprit had spent some time looking downstairs too.
The point of entry and exit was exactly as we had come in earlier. Was it a neighbor who saw us do it? It was so effortless, and obvious to us in the morning, perhaps someone had coincidentally come by that day and had the same thought? The point of entry isn't particularly visible from many public areas, so it would be strange luck for someone to have witnessed it... And regardless of anything, we felt horrible about it. Everyone, of course, feels horrible. Ben and Megan took this all very well, considering.
But it was miserable. I hope the best, I hope the stuff comes back, but mostly I hope the trouble ends there.
Wednesday, we had breakfast at a freakish restaurant run by a brainwashed cult (really) and came home to do chain and sprockets, then back across the Fremont Bridge to walk around Fremont eating ice cream and checking out Gasworks Park. With all the excitement, and since Ben and Megan were going to Yosemite in the morning, we decided to lay low with pizza delivery and Arrested Development videos at their house.
Thursday we had breakfast at Coastal Kitchen where I picked up some Italian language CDs and then hiked around Capitol Hill and Volunteer Park, up the Observation Tower for a nice view of the city. We went to the Bleu Bistro, which is a really great bar. We bought Paul a sweatshirt that said “high roller” along with glittery graphics of a roller skate with wings. Cool! Things were looking better. Every day, we kept thinking, OK, now the lemons are done falling, let's make the fucking lemonade and get on with it. How much worse could it get?
At some point in the evening, back at the house, I turned my phone on, which I'd left off to preserve the battery, as I hadn't brought the charger (since I didn't pack for a road trip)
The message was minimal, but there was something wrong. I called back, left messages, waited. I finally called my mother to help. We had no internet access either since the computers were all gone. She looked for me, and saw it, and was sorry. I'd given out my brother's home number so people could reach me as my phone was dying. I got an update later that night, and thought once again that we'd go home the next morning.
But Friday, I got up after dreaming about James all night, with a changed mind once again. There wasn't anything to be done at home, and the ride home would be hell anyway. Speaking with Lionel in the morning helped calm me a bit. To solve the communication cutoff feelings, we went downtown and bought a new cell phone (I'm sad to say, really, as I'd been very attached to the old one) Still no internet, but it was something. I just had to keep calling and bugging people for updates. At this, I truly felt that rock bottom was hit, but not by me. It put everything into perspective, but brought up a whole new range of guilt and grief and worry. It fucking sucks, is what I mean, and made everything else small. Also, shouldn't I have been there with him? That really stung, but what could I have done anyway?
But I'd lost my fight, for sure there would be no trip to Vancouver or the islands or Mt. Rainier; I just did not have it in me. We determined to stay until Ben and Megan returned, and I quietly decided I did not want to do anything besides low key wandering. NO MORE FUCKING ADVENTURES.
North on Memorial Day weekend, with all the unhappy feelings we had, meant, of course, we got tagged in the speed trap in Redding. The officer who stopped us had a speech impediment of some kind, which made it a little funny, but mostly it was just the icing on a cake made of shit.
What-the-fuck-ever. We both have two matching speed tickets each now. I cannot afford to get stopped again, so the ride north became a painful exercise in speed control. It was inevitable. There must have been at least 25 cops between that area near Redding all the way up to the last pass into Oregon. I was, at that point, riding painfully slow. Which sucks, since I spend more time looking at my speedometer and mirror than the road in front of me. And it makes me soooooo sleeepy to go so slow. Whatever. I fucking hate CHP.
Since I had not packed with a ride in mind, I didn't have a few things I would have liked. Mainly, my electric vest, cell phone charger, and frankly I missed my ipod. But the vest was a real problem, and riding into Oregon at night up to Grants Pass, I could not feel my fingers. Grants Pass doesn't seem to be much of a town, but our room was fine, and Denny's was entertaining.
Sunday we headed west to the coast, sloooowly still, since I cannot afford to talk to a cop again. Then up the coast on Highway 1, which is pretty, and we are getting great mileage, but it is taking forever. Planned to get up to Tillamook or something, but as we came through Waldport, Paul saw that there was a Howard Johnsons on the on the tip of the spit on the other side of the bay. It was pretty, and we were bored of riding, and so we stayed. From the hotel restaurant, we could see seals playing in the bay, and a ton of birds. The views were nice, and there was a bar. Good enough.
Monday we headed north still, through Tillamook, which is very pretty country. North of Tillamook are some small towns on a lagoon-like bay, where we both caught sight of a bald eagle. I've never seen one in the wild before, so this was a real treat.
At Astoria, we turned inland, back to I-5 to make the rest of the trip to Seattle. We had finally called my brother from Waldport to tell him we were on our way to Seattle. Stopped for gas at the junction for the road to Mt. Rainier. I rode that route two years ago and loved it, but this time I didn't have it in me. This wasn't a fun ride, just an escape. I wanted to get to Seattle in good time, so we just took I-5 into Seattle, where I took a bit to get my bearings and then got us to Ben's house just as he and Megan were on their way out the door to dinner plans. Perfect timing. I just wanted to spend some time laying low in Seattle. Both of our chains were shagged, and we'd need to replace them before the ride home. It would have been a good excuse to just hang out in one of my favorite cities. Things should have looked up from here.
But Tuesday, well... We wandered around Fremont in the morning and then came back to Ben's house. He'd left us the spare key and we'd agreed we'd call to meet them up for lunch downtown. Before this happened, Paul spent some time checking over the bikes out front. I went in and out to get stuff and somehow managed to get locked out. I don’t really know how since I didn't actively lock it the last time I came out, but, old locks, I don't know... and with my cell phone inside too, I just decided it was miserable, and sat and felt sorry for myself. We did find an easy way in and called Ben to have lunch with them downtown. After which, we went to the Yamaha dealership where Paul had his chain and sprocket replaced (as he didn't have the right size socket for the FZ1) and then on to the Suzuki dealership to get my chain and sprocket, which Paul would install the next day. It all felt very nice and accomplished, despite the fact that in the afternoon, we dropped the FZ and broke off the passenger peg.
It all seemed great, until we got home to Ben's house and found the door wide open. And the door to the basement open. Both these doors are strictly supposed to be kept closed so the cats don't get out or in the basement. I was immediately sorry that I'd somehow fucked up and left these two doors open. After shutting them and calming down, it was probably about ten minutes before I noticed that the iBook was not on the kitchen counter. Had Megan been home? Shit, the Powerbook was not on the kitchen table! I called my brother, had either of them come home? No, and he'd rush home now, and could I call the police? Upstairs, the two bedrooms (one is really a den) were also opened. Not as they'd been left, again for cat reasons, we knew something was wrong there.
The upside is that the cats were both home, but the downside was that three laptops (Ben's work laptop was stolen from the guestroom underneath a pile of our dirty clothes, and I hadn't even known it was there despite sleeping in there.) The cordless phone handset had been stolen, but not the base (Why? Can anyone help explain this? It's useless without the base!) A jewelry box had been taken from the bedroom, including a sapphire ring that had some family heirloom value, but nothing much else in that box of real value, as I understand it. Megan's wedding bands, gone. And some credit cards, also taken (and used, at Krispey Kreme and gas stations, and some sort of catalog order I think?) Most bizarre, a Trader Joe's grocery bag full of trail mix and camp snacks for Ben and Megan's upcoming Yosemite trip was also deemed worth stealing. It was obvious from cabinet doors left open that the culprit had spent some time looking downstairs too.
The point of entry and exit was exactly as we had come in earlier. Was it a neighbor who saw us do it? It was so effortless, and obvious to us in the morning, perhaps someone had coincidentally come by that day and had the same thought? The point of entry isn't particularly visible from many public areas, so it would be strange luck for someone to have witnessed it... And regardless of anything, we felt horrible about it. Everyone, of course, feels horrible. Ben and Megan took this all very well, considering.
But it was miserable. I hope the best, I hope the stuff comes back, but mostly I hope the trouble ends there.
Wednesday, we had breakfast at a freakish restaurant run by a brainwashed cult (really) and came home to do chain and sprockets, then back across the Fremont Bridge to walk around Fremont eating ice cream and checking out Gasworks Park. With all the excitement, and since Ben and Megan were going to Yosemite in the morning, we decided to lay low with pizza delivery and Arrested Development videos at their house.
Thursday we had breakfast at Coastal Kitchen where I picked up some Italian language CDs and then hiked around Capitol Hill and Volunteer Park, up the Observation Tower for a nice view of the city. We went to the Bleu Bistro, which is a really great bar. We bought Paul a sweatshirt that said “high roller” along with glittery graphics of a roller skate with wings. Cool! Things were looking better. Every day, we kept thinking, OK, now the lemons are done falling, let's make the fucking lemonade and get on with it. How much worse could it get?
At some point in the evening, back at the house, I turned my phone on, which I'd left off to preserve the battery, as I hadn't brought the charger (since I didn't pack for a road trip)
The message was minimal, but there was something wrong. I called back, left messages, waited. I finally called my mother to help. We had no internet access either since the computers were all gone. She looked for me, and saw it, and was sorry. I'd given out my brother's home number so people could reach me as my phone was dying. I got an update later that night, and thought once again that we'd go home the next morning.
But Friday, I got up after dreaming about James all night, with a changed mind once again. There wasn't anything to be done at home, and the ride home would be hell anyway. Speaking with Lionel in the morning helped calm me a bit. To solve the communication cutoff feelings, we went downtown and bought a new cell phone (I'm sad to say, really, as I'd been very attached to the old one) Still no internet, but it was something. I just had to keep calling and bugging people for updates. At this, I truly felt that rock bottom was hit, but not by me. It put everything into perspective, but brought up a whole new range of guilt and grief and worry. It fucking sucks, is what I mean, and made everything else small. Also, shouldn't I have been there with him? That really stung, but what could I have done anyway?
But I'd lost my fight, for sure there would be no trip to Vancouver or the islands or Mt. Rainier; I just did not have it in me. We determined to stay until Ben and Megan returned, and I quietly decided I did not want to do anything besides low key wandering. NO MORE FUCKING ADVENTURES.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
I'll still follow you anywhere
The comfort I have now is that I DID tell you how much you meant to me, before it became an “I wish I'd let him know...”
In no uncertain terms... you are one of the two or three most important friends I have, you mean the world to me, I trust you implicitly, you are one of the coolest people I know, you look great, what you're doing is amazing, I really appreciate all the things you do for me and the times we have, I would follow you anywhere...
Maybe it seemed over the top at those times, but it was all heartfelt, and now I'm glad I made it known. Maybe while you sleep you can think of these things. Maybe when you wake up you can look forward to those times again. I am clinging desperately to those tomorrows in the meantime. And I'm keeping the “that's probably one of the best compliments I could get” close to my heart too.
And everyone else, take the time to tell the important people in your life, what they mean to you and how tall they appear in your eyes, how you couldn't do it without them, how you are a better person for knowing them. So the tough times aren't filled with “I wish I'd let him know...”
These days don't seem so grey, knowing I made myself known.
In no uncertain terms... you are one of the two or three most important friends I have, you mean the world to me, I trust you implicitly, you are one of the coolest people I know, you look great, what you're doing is amazing, I really appreciate all the things you do for me and the times we have, I would follow you anywhere...
Maybe it seemed over the top at those times, but it was all heartfelt, and now I'm glad I made it known. Maybe while you sleep you can think of these things. Maybe when you wake up you can look forward to those times again. I am clinging desperately to those tomorrows in the meantime. And I'm keeping the “that's probably one of the best compliments I could get” close to my heart too.
And everyone else, take the time to tell the important people in your life, what they mean to you and how tall they appear in your eyes, how you couldn't do it without them, how you are a better person for knowing them. So the tough times aren't filled with “I wish I'd let him know...”
These days don't seem so grey, knowing I made myself known.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
ooooh! so many geeky!
You are the rare, the overlooked, yet incredibly useful dodecahedron: the d12. You are a creative, romantic soul. You often act without thinking, but make up for your lack of plans with plenty of heart. You easily solve problems that stump others, but your answers tend to put you into even deeper trouble. You write long, detailed backgrounds for all your characters, and are most likely to dress up as one or get involved in cos-play. You can be silly at times and are easily distracted by your own day dreams, but are at the end of the day you're someone who can be depended on.
Monday, May 22, 2006
"Rebecca Does the Sheetiron, 2006" was made possible by a stunning array of supporting cast.
Friday
Being car-less folk, Paul and I were to head out on our dirtbikes around 5:30 Friday. Charles had our tent and sleeping bags already up at Stonyford. We would get there just about sundown, set up camp in the dark, sleep a bit, then get up early and RIDE.
5:40pm, we are gassed up and away, on our way on an ADVENTURE! Which lasts for precisely 1.5 miles when I realize that Paul has dropped out of my mirror. We limp back to his house on the streets as his bike (which he bought last Sunday since the XR blew up) is cutting out. Vapor lock? Or something worse? Ugh, and it is raining. Paul works like a genius and we are back on the road around 7:00, hoping for the best. It is a 2.5-3 hour ride to Stonyford, and it is raining, and it is all quite stressful.
But we go, Paul in front, as fast as we can on our little knobby tires, up to Dunnigan, which is just near 505 and I5, where we stop for gas. I have been stuck here before on the way back from Sheetiron. There is a weird restaurant. There is also a motel. I am getting the lazies. There's nothing quite as nice as riding through the rain with an open faced-helmet (which is essentially what a motocross helmet is) and feeling the painful repeated pinprick impact of rain on your face. And it is dark, and we will be either setting up a tent in dark and MUD in Stonyford, or sleeping in a warm bed NOW. It's a no brainer, we call Charles and tell him we will hotel, and meet them at Stonyford to ride out in the morning. He sounds skeptical. "we will re-evaluate in the morning," he emphasizes, implying they are thinking that it will rain, and they may just load the trucks and go hang out in Fort Bragg. After a couple of hours on a dirtbike in the rain on the freeway, that sounds fine too. I really, really want to do the Sheetiron, but feel pretty unprepared, and mud riding in torrential rain doesn't appeal to me.
Saturday
Saturday morning, we get into Stonyford around 6:15, and rush to get everything done, re-arranged, set-up, and packed in the right place in the right order. Order of operations is very, very important, as anyone with a riding gear fetish can tell you. We don't actually get out of camp until about 8, which is not ideal. Feh.
Paul and I decide to do easy splits. Saturday morning, there happen to be two easy splits, one not as easy as the other. We take this easy-moderate split since it promises creek crossings and pretty stuff. It takes me a bit to get my legs for riding on the tacky stuff, but it starts to make a little sense.
Here is what I know about riding on the dirt:
1.) Stay on the Gas, or Fall on Your Ass.
Unfortunately, I have lost any tiny bit of skill or knowledge I may have ever had about turning a dirtbike. Sure, I know what you're supposed to do. I have listened to advice and instructions, and can tell you how to do it. I *know* this, but my body does not do it. Well, fine, I run through some slippy and slightly rutty stuff and it's kind of fun and terrifying. I doubt anyone can see or hear this, but whenever I hit slippy stuff, I yell in my helmet at myself. What do I yell?
"GAS! GAS! ASS! UP, UP, UP! GAS!"
"Up" is just to remind me to keep my elbows up and loose, for all the good that will do me. Well, it sort of worked. I mean, I didn't bail.
Fortunately, a chunk of the San Francisco Motorcycle club ends up mixed in with us. I've been hanging out with the SFMC folks for a few years now, and they are the best. Really, I am delighted to be near them.
A little ways in, we get to a small creek crossing, which goes off without a hitch. I look at it with a little trepidation, but it is not a tough creek really, at least from appearances, and is much, much narrower than some I've crossed before. And the other side isn't as rutted as that nasty one we crossed last time. Lionel is standing on the other side and snaps a photo of me crossing. Cool! Can't wait to get his pictures.
Second river crossing is a bit trickier. Normally, I like to size up an obstacle, and hit it from a right angle. Specifically, for a creek, I'd like to have a little running start. No such luck here. Even the small space where I'm wishing I could get my bike to in order to get optimal entry speed and angle, cannot be used as it keeps getting filled up with other riders who came after us. I have to nudge in, or may never get a chance, as new riders keep showing up.
First I watch a few SFMC guys go through. One guy goes down on a DR650, boots in the air and all as he splashes in, then fishes his bike out and drags it to the river bank with friends. Casey enters in a very strange way, trying to turn in the creek, and falls as well. So, what the hell, I go for it, (what else can you do?) and don't quite make it. I know the line I want, but somehow veer right and into a hole that I had wished to avoid. GAS! GAS! GAS! But it isn't really enough, and my bike stalls out. BUT. I have not fallen. Casey runs out to help and so does Lionel. The bank on the other side is fairly steep, and there are people and bikes on the sides. My job? To get out of the creek and up the bank without crashing or hitting anyone. Once up there, crashing is fine, just don't do it in the water, or where you might slide back into the water (possibly taking other bikes and people on the way).
Glancing behind me, I realize that Casey has somehow fallen completely in the water behind me. I don't know what happened, but as he gets up, I gas it, and the guys help guide me and the bike out of the water. Up the bank I go, and it's all I can do to get up the side without hitting all the bikes that have parked at the top of the ridge there. I glide to a stop on the thankfully wide, flat road and wait for the rest of the guys. Woo! I don't know how this could have worked out without Casey and Lionel. So far I have yet to fish my bike out of a creek, and it's not something I look forward to.
Paul arrives effortlessly, and I enjoy my early morning wet sock prize. Creek crossing in the morning means wet squishy toes the rest of the day. Yay! I soaked in it!
SFMC guys go ahead to take some hard splits, and we do the rest of the ride to Lake Pillsbury at a snail's pace set by me and my crappy dirt riding.
Lake Pillsbury lunch stop is always a trip. This place is in the middle of nowhere, and once a year the lot fills up with dirtbikes and we sit on the porch and eat our sandwiches while chickens, ducks and geese wander among us. Greg and Cindy show up. Greg is begging around for bike parts. What bike parts? Brake pads! He forgot to check them in his pre-ride prep, and they are completely gone. No one is carrying spare brake pads (imagine that), so he rides on. He and Cindy are having a blast. I haven't seen them in a long time; I have heard Cindy is quite a good dirt rider, and Greg looks great, having lost a ton of weight and just seeming more healthy and energetic. After lunch, we latch onto SFMC for Casey's cutoff to get into Fort Bragg at a decent hour. Paul and I have ridden a lot and will have a long Sunday ahead of us: 150 miles of dirt riding (like everyone else) and then a 3 hour ride home (unlike everyone else)
CRAPPY dinner in Fort Bragg, notice a new oil leak on my bike (sniff, sniff) which we will have to carry oil for now, and then to bed at a very decent hour. Stagger the fifty feet to Perko's in the morning for breakfast (which takes WAY too long, since they are shortstaffed) and then we are on the road again.
Sunday
The Sunday morning segment of the Sheetiron is a bit of a legend. The Tanktrapper, we have called it. I met Wayne in a ditch three years ago, and, not even knowing he was from SFMC or knew anyone I knew, handed him my basically new DRZ with the keys in it and told him to take it away. I had crashed something like 5 times in a couple of miles, and the ruts were so deep and overwhelming, everyone was crashing around us and yelling, there were puddles 30 feet long the entire width of the road. The first year I did it, I think we spent a few hours just getting through those first few miles.
Then, the next year, it was gone. Totally flat. Lollipop hill, we thought of re-naming it.
So there had been a lot of guessing about conditions this year. Heavy rains pointed toward ruts, but a man we met in the bar in Willits said it had been closed all year to the 4x4 drivers who are the ones who tear it up like that.
Sunday morning leaving Fort Bragg, I am looking forward to it with trepidation and a little excitement and fear and a little adventure. I expect it to be bad, and take the wrong turnoff looking for bad conditions. Oops, no it is the easy road. We ride and ride, and finally I see the spot where I did my 6th and final get-off in front of all the parked bikes that first year. Lollipop Hill it is, again this year. Hmm. I don't know if it's good or bad. Somewhere in between would be good, a little challenging without being so totally horrible would be nice. Well, OK, at least we will make better time, which we need, at our pace. Stop for a quick vista and it starts to drizzle. Damn! Drizzle is fine, but just a little! Rain, I do not want. So we plug ahead, and finally find our selves down at the bottom with the "Road Not Maintained in Winter" sign. Yay! I love that sign! But we don't get to take a picture there; Paul is concerned about my front tire: it appears low. Indeed it IS low, so he puts some air in, and we will keep checking it to see what kind of leak it is. Incidentally, the oil leak seems to have let up a bit. Still, Paul is keeping his distance after I sprayed his bike on the way into Fort Bragg Saturday afternoon.
Next up, a gravel road which I remember "fondly" since:
a.) I have seen at least one guy stuffed into a fence on a surprise right hand hairpin
b.) this is where Eric broke all his toes the first time I went.
c.) Frank from SFMC stacked on a bridge here a few years back, which I think ended with broken bones or something.
(Later I found out Greg high-sided here on Sunday)
O-tay, on we go. Farther and farther down the road, and I am feeling worse and worse. I am supposed to be getting better and better as I ride ahead and get more confident, right? No, it is not working. Toward the end, I am fucking up all the corners and feeling horrible about it. I thought "I am steering this thing like a Goldwing in a parking lot! What the hell is wrong with me?" Deciding I had gotten myself into a bad headspace, I decided to pull out near the bottom for a breather, just before the highway. Into a nice little turnout, and as I pull the front brake lever and get wobbly feedback, I realize my head problem is really a flat tire problem, and I feel elated.
"My tire!"
"I know!"
"I thought it was ME!"
We decide it really must be changed, right now, and commit to it and begin de-gearing. This will take a while; we are not experienced trailside tire changers. But Paul can do anything, it just might take a bit in this case. We are about to plug ahead, when... who is the FIRST person to come down the road after we decide to do a tire change? Phil Douglas, hero, ISDE silver medalist, The Man, the Myth, the Legend. OK, I barely know Phil, but he is easily the coolest person I know. Well, one of the coolest anyway. And although I barely know him, he has been a hero to me several times.
He slows down to see what's up and I point at the culprit. We are about to change the tube. He offers to do it. We feel bad. He reminds us that he can do it in 4 minutes. I know this, I have heard the story somewhere before, but not from him. Phil is the kind of guy people talk about. He is so talented. As I recall, changing a tire in four minutes is part of qualifying for ISDE. "No really, I can do this really fast and save you a lot of time." Of course it is true; this will take us an hour. Phil can do it in 1/15th the time. And he does. It was fun to behold, and I was so very, very thankful. Phil is the best.
Other amazing and cool things Phil has done:
1.) Saved me from putting a seized chain through my case on the EX500 when I didn't know any better.
2.) Made my DRZ400 from a cool bike into The Perfect Bike For Me. People ask me what did he do to your bike? I say "Phil put his hands on it, and that is it." I have no idea; it is a black art, and Phil is a genius. The bike handles like a dream. (though at 36K, it really should go in for a check-up) Take your bike to Phil; it is worth every penny.
3.) Picked me up out of the dirt at Metcalf twice in about five minutes, and told me exactly how to ride out. I have a problem with falling the dirt.
4.) Raised two awesome daughters. This has nothing to do with me, but it is so cool to see.
5.) Oh, yeah. Silver medal in the ISDE. I mean, I GUESS that is pretty cool.
Anyway, we move forward, through a nice paved road (this I can handle) and into the gas stop. Unfortunately, everyone else is here at the same time. EVERYONE. We lose two hours here, but there is no gas between there and the finish, and Paul has a tiny stock tank.
Second half of the day is not so nice. Mendocino National Forest roads are usually quite beautiful, but this time around, the fog is too thick to see the views. In fact, it gets so thick that at times, I can't even see where the road is going. Snow on the side of the road is usual and nice, but this year, it is raining on top of this, and then hailing. It gets so cold, that at some point, I can't feel my fingers. My limbs are stiffening up as I shiver, and this is BAD. I want the bailout. I feel we've done our time, and we have a 2.5 hour ride home on top of this. But we plug ahead, unsure of the bailout directions, and it gets colder and foggier. I am miserable and FREEZING.
But onward we go, and finally to the gate for the last road. It takes a while, but we get through it. I warm up a little as we get near the bottom, where I know there will be one last water crossing, though it is not on the rollchart. It is not a difficult water crossing at all. Finally, we are at the bottom.
Back into camp, and we are wet and miserable. It is raining again, and muddy. The plan is to get our gear, and get on the road. I'm soaked and it's going to be miserable. As we fuss around with changing our clothes and bike-gearing in the mud, the SFMC guys stepped in with ANOTHER godsend: Wayne has room in his truck, and they insist on getting us back home in the truck. Really, we can ride home in the rain. There is nothing to prove here, but it will SUCK. REALLY suck. We are so lucky, and so grateful. Bikes loaded up, and we hit the road, and the rain goes from drizzle to torrential downpour. Holy crap, are we lucky. These guys have their shit together and take care of their friends. I am so lucky to be considered a friend.
Back to Berkeley around 9:30 or so, and I spread the wet gear all over the house to let it dry before we deal with it later. And we are totally wore out. And it was a blast.
I could not do all of this without my friends. And I'm sorry for all the troubles and inconveniences, but so very appreciative. I am just a girl with a lack of skills and a sense of adventure. I always say what I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm. Well, that and a network of friends and acquaintances who are incredible, nice, and talented folk. Without them, all of my bad ideas would never come to fruition.
Thank you all!
-The Score-
Sheetiron 2006:
-The bikes have taken a beating: the XR never even got to go (blown motor) and my DRZ has finally shown some real wear, in the shape of an oil leak and odd squealing (wheel bearings maybe?). Feh!
-I did not crash at all, which leads me to believe I was being too cautious, and not challenging myself enough.
-Paul didn't crash either. He is a great rider.
-I need a lot more dirtbike practice, possibly school or something. I am tired of sucking so much.
-Our room at Super 8 smelled like biological waste. (I've stayed there several times before without problems though)
-It's just not the same without James there. We will be sure to complain about that when we see him next week at the ISLE OF MAN!!!!!
Being car-less folk, Paul and I were to head out on our dirtbikes around 5:30 Friday. Charles had our tent and sleeping bags already up at Stonyford. We would get there just about sundown, set up camp in the dark, sleep a bit, then get up early and RIDE.
5:40pm, we are gassed up and away, on our way on an ADVENTURE! Which lasts for precisely 1.5 miles when I realize that Paul has dropped out of my mirror. We limp back to his house on the streets as his bike (which he bought last Sunday since the XR blew up) is cutting out. Vapor lock? Or something worse? Ugh, and it is raining. Paul works like a genius and we are back on the road around 7:00, hoping for the best. It is a 2.5-3 hour ride to Stonyford, and it is raining, and it is all quite stressful.
But we go, Paul in front, as fast as we can on our little knobby tires, up to Dunnigan, which is just near 505 and I5, where we stop for gas. I have been stuck here before on the way back from Sheetiron. There is a weird restaurant. There is also a motel. I am getting the lazies. There's nothing quite as nice as riding through the rain with an open faced-helmet (which is essentially what a motocross helmet is) and feeling the painful repeated pinprick impact of rain on your face. And it is dark, and we will be either setting up a tent in dark and MUD in Stonyford, or sleeping in a warm bed NOW. It's a no brainer, we call Charles and tell him we will hotel, and meet them at Stonyford to ride out in the morning. He sounds skeptical. "we will re-evaluate in the morning," he emphasizes, implying they are thinking that it will rain, and they may just load the trucks and go hang out in Fort Bragg. After a couple of hours on a dirtbike in the rain on the freeway, that sounds fine too. I really, really want to do the Sheetiron, but feel pretty unprepared, and mud riding in torrential rain doesn't appeal to me.
Saturday
Saturday morning, we get into Stonyford around 6:15, and rush to get everything done, re-arranged, set-up, and packed in the right place in the right order. Order of operations is very, very important, as anyone with a riding gear fetish can tell you. We don't actually get out of camp until about 8, which is not ideal. Feh.
Paul and I decide to do easy splits. Saturday morning, there happen to be two easy splits, one not as easy as the other. We take this easy-moderate split since it promises creek crossings and pretty stuff. It takes me a bit to get my legs for riding on the tacky stuff, but it starts to make a little sense.
Here is what I know about riding on the dirt:
1.) Stay on the Gas, or Fall on Your Ass.
Unfortunately, I have lost any tiny bit of skill or knowledge I may have ever had about turning a dirtbike. Sure, I know what you're supposed to do. I have listened to advice and instructions, and can tell you how to do it. I *know* this, but my body does not do it. Well, fine, I run through some slippy and slightly rutty stuff and it's kind of fun and terrifying. I doubt anyone can see or hear this, but whenever I hit slippy stuff, I yell in my helmet at myself. What do I yell?
"GAS! GAS! ASS! UP, UP, UP! GAS!"
"Up" is just to remind me to keep my elbows up and loose, for all the good that will do me. Well, it sort of worked. I mean, I didn't bail.
Fortunately, a chunk of the San Francisco Motorcycle club ends up mixed in with us. I've been hanging out with the SFMC folks for a few years now, and they are the best. Really, I am delighted to be near them.
A little ways in, we get to a small creek crossing, which goes off without a hitch. I look at it with a little trepidation, but it is not a tough creek really, at least from appearances, and is much, much narrower than some I've crossed before. And the other side isn't as rutted as that nasty one we crossed last time. Lionel is standing on the other side and snaps a photo of me crossing. Cool! Can't wait to get his pictures.
Second river crossing is a bit trickier. Normally, I like to size up an obstacle, and hit it from a right angle. Specifically, for a creek, I'd like to have a little running start. No such luck here. Even the small space where I'm wishing I could get my bike to in order to get optimal entry speed and angle, cannot be used as it keeps getting filled up with other riders who came after us. I have to nudge in, or may never get a chance, as new riders keep showing up.
First I watch a few SFMC guys go through. One guy goes down on a DR650, boots in the air and all as he splashes in, then fishes his bike out and drags it to the river bank with friends. Casey enters in a very strange way, trying to turn in the creek, and falls as well. So, what the hell, I go for it, (what else can you do?) and don't quite make it. I know the line I want, but somehow veer right and into a hole that I had wished to avoid. GAS! GAS! GAS! But it isn't really enough, and my bike stalls out. BUT. I have not fallen. Casey runs out to help and so does Lionel. The bank on the other side is fairly steep, and there are people and bikes on the sides. My job? To get out of the creek and up the bank without crashing or hitting anyone. Once up there, crashing is fine, just don't do it in the water, or where you might slide back into the water (possibly taking other bikes and people on the way).
Glancing behind me, I realize that Casey has somehow fallen completely in the water behind me. I don't know what happened, but as he gets up, I gas it, and the guys help guide me and the bike out of the water. Up the bank I go, and it's all I can do to get up the side without hitting all the bikes that have parked at the top of the ridge there. I glide to a stop on the thankfully wide, flat road and wait for the rest of the guys. Woo! I don't know how this could have worked out without Casey and Lionel. So far I have yet to fish my bike out of a creek, and it's not something I look forward to.
Paul arrives effortlessly, and I enjoy my early morning wet sock prize. Creek crossing in the morning means wet squishy toes the rest of the day. Yay! I soaked in it!
SFMC guys go ahead to take some hard splits, and we do the rest of the ride to Lake Pillsbury at a snail's pace set by me and my crappy dirt riding.
Lake Pillsbury lunch stop is always a trip. This place is in the middle of nowhere, and once a year the lot fills up with dirtbikes and we sit on the porch and eat our sandwiches while chickens, ducks and geese wander among us. Greg and Cindy show up. Greg is begging around for bike parts. What bike parts? Brake pads! He forgot to check them in his pre-ride prep, and they are completely gone. No one is carrying spare brake pads (imagine that), so he rides on. He and Cindy are having a blast. I haven't seen them in a long time; I have heard Cindy is quite a good dirt rider, and Greg looks great, having lost a ton of weight and just seeming more healthy and energetic. After lunch, we latch onto SFMC for Casey's cutoff to get into Fort Bragg at a decent hour. Paul and I have ridden a lot and will have a long Sunday ahead of us: 150 miles of dirt riding (like everyone else) and then a 3 hour ride home (unlike everyone else)
CRAPPY dinner in Fort Bragg, notice a new oil leak on my bike (sniff, sniff) which we will have to carry oil for now, and then to bed at a very decent hour. Stagger the fifty feet to Perko's in the morning for breakfast (which takes WAY too long, since they are shortstaffed) and then we are on the road again.
Sunday
The Sunday morning segment of the Sheetiron is a bit of a legend. The Tanktrapper, we have called it. I met Wayne in a ditch three years ago, and, not even knowing he was from SFMC or knew anyone I knew, handed him my basically new DRZ with the keys in it and told him to take it away. I had crashed something like 5 times in a couple of miles, and the ruts were so deep and overwhelming, everyone was crashing around us and yelling, there were puddles 30 feet long the entire width of the road. The first year I did it, I think we spent a few hours just getting through those first few miles.
Then, the next year, it was gone. Totally flat. Lollipop hill, we thought of re-naming it.
So there had been a lot of guessing about conditions this year. Heavy rains pointed toward ruts, but a man we met in the bar in Willits said it had been closed all year to the 4x4 drivers who are the ones who tear it up like that.
Sunday morning leaving Fort Bragg, I am looking forward to it with trepidation and a little excitement and fear and a little adventure. I expect it to be bad, and take the wrong turnoff looking for bad conditions. Oops, no it is the easy road. We ride and ride, and finally I see the spot where I did my 6th and final get-off in front of all the parked bikes that first year. Lollipop Hill it is, again this year. Hmm. I don't know if it's good or bad. Somewhere in between would be good, a little challenging without being so totally horrible would be nice. Well, OK, at least we will make better time, which we need, at our pace. Stop for a quick vista and it starts to drizzle. Damn! Drizzle is fine, but just a little! Rain, I do not want. So we plug ahead, and finally find our selves down at the bottom with the "Road Not Maintained in Winter" sign. Yay! I love that sign! But we don't get to take a picture there; Paul is concerned about my front tire: it appears low. Indeed it IS low, so he puts some air in, and we will keep checking it to see what kind of leak it is. Incidentally, the oil leak seems to have let up a bit. Still, Paul is keeping his distance after I sprayed his bike on the way into Fort Bragg Saturday afternoon.
Next up, a gravel road which I remember "fondly" since:
a.) I have seen at least one guy stuffed into a fence on a surprise right hand hairpin
b.) this is where Eric broke all his toes the first time I went.
c.) Frank from SFMC stacked on a bridge here a few years back, which I think ended with broken bones or something.
(Later I found out Greg high-sided here on Sunday)
O-tay, on we go. Farther and farther down the road, and I am feeling worse and worse. I am supposed to be getting better and better as I ride ahead and get more confident, right? No, it is not working. Toward the end, I am fucking up all the corners and feeling horrible about it. I thought "I am steering this thing like a Goldwing in a parking lot! What the hell is wrong with me?" Deciding I had gotten myself into a bad headspace, I decided to pull out near the bottom for a breather, just before the highway. Into a nice little turnout, and as I pull the front brake lever and get wobbly feedback, I realize my head problem is really a flat tire problem, and I feel elated.
"My tire!"
"I know!"
"I thought it was ME!"
We decide it really must be changed, right now, and commit to it and begin de-gearing. This will take a while; we are not experienced trailside tire changers. But Paul can do anything, it just might take a bit in this case. We are about to plug ahead, when... who is the FIRST person to come down the road after we decide to do a tire change? Phil Douglas, hero, ISDE silver medalist, The Man, the Myth, the Legend. OK, I barely know Phil, but he is easily the coolest person I know. Well, one of the coolest anyway. And although I barely know him, he has been a hero to me several times.
He slows down to see what's up and I point at the culprit. We are about to change the tube. He offers to do it. We feel bad. He reminds us that he can do it in 4 minutes. I know this, I have heard the story somewhere before, but not from him. Phil is the kind of guy people talk about. He is so talented. As I recall, changing a tire in four minutes is part of qualifying for ISDE. "No really, I can do this really fast and save you a lot of time." Of course it is true; this will take us an hour. Phil can do it in 1/15th the time. And he does. It was fun to behold, and I was so very, very thankful. Phil is the best.
Other amazing and cool things Phil has done:
1.) Saved me from putting a seized chain through my case on the EX500 when I didn't know any better.
2.) Made my DRZ400 from a cool bike into The Perfect Bike For Me. People ask me what did he do to your bike? I say "Phil put his hands on it, and that is it." I have no idea; it is a black art, and Phil is a genius. The bike handles like a dream. (though at 36K, it really should go in for a check-up) Take your bike to Phil; it is worth every penny.
3.) Picked me up out of the dirt at Metcalf twice in about five minutes, and told me exactly how to ride out. I have a problem with falling the dirt.
4.) Raised two awesome daughters. This has nothing to do with me, but it is so cool to see.
5.) Oh, yeah. Silver medal in the ISDE. I mean, I GUESS that is pretty cool.
Anyway, we move forward, through a nice paved road (this I can handle) and into the gas stop. Unfortunately, everyone else is here at the same time. EVERYONE. We lose two hours here, but there is no gas between there and the finish, and Paul has a tiny stock tank.
Second half of the day is not so nice. Mendocino National Forest roads are usually quite beautiful, but this time around, the fog is too thick to see the views. In fact, it gets so thick that at times, I can't even see where the road is going. Snow on the side of the road is usual and nice, but this year, it is raining on top of this, and then hailing. It gets so cold, that at some point, I can't feel my fingers. My limbs are stiffening up as I shiver, and this is BAD. I want the bailout. I feel we've done our time, and we have a 2.5 hour ride home on top of this. But we plug ahead, unsure of the bailout directions, and it gets colder and foggier. I am miserable and FREEZING.
But onward we go, and finally to the gate for the last road. It takes a while, but we get through it. I warm up a little as we get near the bottom, where I know there will be one last water crossing, though it is not on the rollchart. It is not a difficult water crossing at all. Finally, we are at the bottom.
Back into camp, and we are wet and miserable. It is raining again, and muddy. The plan is to get our gear, and get on the road. I'm soaked and it's going to be miserable. As we fuss around with changing our clothes and bike-gearing in the mud, the SFMC guys stepped in with ANOTHER godsend: Wayne has room in his truck, and they insist on getting us back home in the truck. Really, we can ride home in the rain. There is nothing to prove here, but it will SUCK. REALLY suck. We are so lucky, and so grateful. Bikes loaded up, and we hit the road, and the rain goes from drizzle to torrential downpour. Holy crap, are we lucky. These guys have their shit together and take care of their friends. I am so lucky to be considered a friend.
Back to Berkeley around 9:30 or so, and I spread the wet gear all over the house to let it dry before we deal with it later. And we are totally wore out. And it was a blast.
I could not do all of this without my friends. And I'm sorry for all the troubles and inconveniences, but so very appreciative. I am just a girl with a lack of skills and a sense of adventure. I always say what I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm. Well, that and a network of friends and acquaintances who are incredible, nice, and talented folk. Without them, all of my bad ideas would never come to fruition.
Thank you all!
-The Score-
Sheetiron 2006:
-The bikes have taken a beating: the XR never even got to go (blown motor) and my DRZ has finally shown some real wear, in the shape of an oil leak and odd squealing (wheel bearings maybe?). Feh!
-I did not crash at all, which leads me to believe I was being too cautious, and not challenging myself enough.
-Paul didn't crash either. He is a great rider.
-I need a lot more dirtbike practice, possibly school or something. I am tired of sucking so much.
-Our room at Super 8 smelled like biological waste. (I've stayed there several times before without problems though)
-It's just not the same without James there. We will be sure to complain about that when we see him next week at the ISLE OF MAN!!!!!
Friday, May 19, 2006
Hey Joe
Joe Rocket, I see you have a zooty sportbike. That is so cool!
I see you are lanesplitting. That is so cool!
But why are you so slow, and in my way? That is so not cool!
I am very appreciative that you took the time to eliminate your fender and move your plate behind your wheel. The fender weight was probably costing you, like, 10 horsepower, and I can only imagine how slowly you'd be splitting in that case.
I see you are lanesplitting. That is so cool!
But why are you so slow, and in my way? That is so not cool!
I am very appreciative that you took the time to eliminate your fender and move your plate behind your wheel. The fender weight was probably costing you, like, 10 horsepower, and I can only imagine how slowly you'd be splitting in that case.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
oh, and by the way
My mandarin teacher was so totally frothy about me yesterday at our final.
So my pronunciation is very good, but I really need to get my vocabulary up and practice listening and responding. It's really a lot harder to engage in extemporaneous conversations than to give scripted dialogues. I can only pick up about 10% of the words I hear, it is so fast.
So my pronunciation is very good, but I really need to get my vocabulary up and practice listening and responding. It's really a lot harder to engage in extemporaneous conversations than to give scripted dialogues. I can only pick up about 10% of the words I hear, it is so fast.
2 tortoises, no hares
Sunday 280 to San Jose: fuck you, pig, I know my rights!
Then, Mother's Day breakfast at my folks' house, very nice, very relaxing. The weather finally picked up, and I felt like I was on vacation for a couple of hours.
Sunday afternoon, Paul got a bike for the Sheetiron. Paul likes to make fun of my DRZ. It's so gutless, it's so slow, blah blah blah. See, we have different needs for a bike. I see it as a Tortoise and Hare thing. I don't need a hare. I don't have the patience for a hare. I don't have a garage for a hare. Mostly, I hate pushing a hare off the freeway or back over ten miles of single track. A tortoise will do me just fine. And it has. The bike has 35K on it, which is a lot for that sort of bike, and no problems. Sure, it wanted its valves done at 27K, but what bike wouldn't need that from time to time?
My tortoise just does the job, and gets me there. I never have to worry about "it wasn't built for that." It's built to do a lot of things just fine. Not to do a few things really really well, and then blow up in-between unless you rebuild it first. I do not need a high-maintenance girlfriend.
So now Paul has a DRZ. We'd match, except his is yellow, and way, way cleaner. At least until Saturday. After watching the XR failure from 2 years ago at Stonyford, I'm relieved. Not that nothing can go wrong, just that the likelihood has gone down for THAT failure.
Now that it's a reality, we have a lot of prep to do.
Then, Mother's Day breakfast at my folks' house, very nice, very relaxing. The weather finally picked up, and I felt like I was on vacation for a couple of hours.
Sunday afternoon, Paul got a bike for the Sheetiron. Paul likes to make fun of my DRZ. It's so gutless, it's so slow, blah blah blah. See, we have different needs for a bike. I see it as a Tortoise and Hare thing. I don't need a hare. I don't have the patience for a hare. I don't have a garage for a hare. Mostly, I hate pushing a hare off the freeway or back over ten miles of single track. A tortoise will do me just fine. And it has. The bike has 35K on it, which is a lot for that sort of bike, and no problems. Sure, it wanted its valves done at 27K, but what bike wouldn't need that from time to time?
My tortoise just does the job, and gets me there. I never have to worry about "it wasn't built for that." It's built to do a lot of things just fine. Not to do a few things really really well, and then blow up in-between unless you rebuild it first. I do not need a high-maintenance girlfriend.
So now Paul has a DRZ. We'd match, except his is yellow, and way, way cleaner. At least until Saturday. After watching the XR failure from 2 years ago at Stonyford, I'm relieved. Not that nothing can go wrong, just that the likelihood has gone down for THAT failure.
Now that it's a reality, we have a lot of prep to do.
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