So Jerome turned out to be sorta cool, if you like to cruise local artists, with creations of all kinds from prints and ceramic, to textiles and glass and a lot in between. About half the place is falling apart it appears, the other half or so is either renovated or in process. Quite a few structurally dubious buildings that appeared to be inhabited, scarily enough. Lots of Harleys driven by visitors. I didn't see anything but (well, two ancient looking Hondas that I'd guess were actually residents or employees of shops, but hey). Used to be 15K or so residents during the height of copper mining activities which peaked in the 1920's. Sort of a Hippie revival started in the 60's and 70's. Hard to imagine in such a relatively small area. "America's Most Vertical City" and "Largest Ghost Town in America". I usually think of a ghost town being unoccupied, but, with a grand 450 current residents, it most certainly is not, small as it is. But, nice and funky and old, with less pretension than those shops in Tlaquepaque, I think.
More info for the curious: http://www.azjerome.com/default.htm
Bought my first piece of art (after much searching during the year), an ultra cool photo print by Tom Narwid of a slot canyon called Antelope Canyon. Abstract looking formations in close. Hard to describe. See his site below for more info. And he mans his gallery himself, which is great because he was fun to talk to and made me an offer I could not refuse on his print. If I'd had more $$, I would have bought more (so hard to decide! Not my strong suit anyway), but this my inaugural purchase, so I didn't want to get too crazy. If you are ever in Jerome, visit the American Landscape Gallery. The day I we were there,
Check out his gallery online:
http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/american-landscape-gallery.html
Also, check out Phil Timper's work, at the Artist's Coop, for "digital media" art, which I liked a lot (nice site, btw):
http://www.jeromeartistscoop.com/artist_timper.html
His personal site is also particularly nice: http://www.philliptimper.com/pt_high.html
This is the sort of digital non-representational work that looks like it might be easy to throw together on a computer (like so many things the art neophyte thinks are possible with a mere flick of the tablet), but oh, SO is NOT! Obviously personal taste here, but, you know who you are out there.
I was sorely tempted by "Doesn't Match My Couch", the title of which made me laugh out loud (anyone who has studied art in any way will understand), and "Bagpipe Innuendo." The titles are a whole fun by themselves, I thought.
Afterwards, alas, the trip ended early with a big 'ol raging funk. Me in the decidedly unhappy crosshairs. The more things change, the more they stay the same. My interstate vacating karma had slid suddenly and precipitously into the dark side. So, goodbye AZ. Apparently, our semi-dead lawn is contributing a lot of bad Feng Shui to my life...then seeping into the house from outside and hitching a ride into another state. Sounds serious, doesn't it? Is that even possible? Who knows. Glad I'm not superstitious.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Sedona
So, here we are in the famed Sedona. Fascinating. My Dad and Stepmom have been gracious enough to invite us to come up here and see the famed Red Rocks, take in the various sites and trapezo-de-touristas and hang out in general. So far, the weather is very nice and even gets cool at night, which I have enjoyed very much. Had to put on my fleece and a hat (!) this evening to avoid a chill. Lovely food, great views nearly all around. But, I find that the resorts, despite pleasant grounds and ammenities are sort of like a blight on the stunning landscape. Like someone plopped a giant CGI composite in 360 around the man-made stuff. It is weird to behold at times.
Fortunately, even a hike on what was sort of the equivalent of the I-5 freeway (so many people on the trail--nice to see everyone out, but not all at once!) was a simple pleasure that felt restorative, even as we raced back for our ill-advised meet back time, after which the National Guard would be called to scape up our bodies. Always add an hour to what seems like more than enough time. I kick myself for not sticking to my schedule guns, despite knowing better. I am so used to going solo, I guess, and being the sole judge of timing, I wimped out. I hate to rush on the trail, though I seem to do it more than I like, mostly racing the sun, being a late riser. The interesting thing about all the people on the trail was, everyone who stopped along the way to talk about where the trail ended, etc., was super nice. Or at least it struck me as more unusual than...usual. Even had word trickle back from another hiker as to the outcome of the "end of the trail", an actual sign saying just that. Amusing in every way. I don't remember ever seeing such a thing before. We didn't see it ourselves, being about a quarter mile short, we guessed, because we ran out of time. That and a few snaps later with my handy dandy little Gorillapod on SD500 camera, we were off on our race back to the trailhead. Though we "sacrificed" B's ankle a couple times (ow!) and his fussy foot in general, we were rewarded for our efforts by a end-of-the hike mule deer siting along the road. And a picture. It turns out I really needed that hike. A real plus to the day. Not long, the Boynton Trail, but worth it.
Overall, I can see why the place is absolutely chock-a-block with New Agers of every stripe. Crystal this, Aura that. It is not enough for many to see the tremendous Red Rock formations and strangely lush surrounds as an astounding natural wonder, part of the earth's timeless geologic beauty. It must be something more. Something mystical. So, in celebration, they plop businesses made of ticky tacky down in the midst, to tempt needy souls to spend $$ and thereby achieve spiritual awakenings, cleansings, centerings, enlightenings, meanings, all complete with sacred, man-made crystals. I mean, I like Enya music as much as anyone, but really. Is all that necessary? Of course it is. It turns a buck. I suppose the citizens of Sedona enjoy the taxes well enough. Keep that traffic moving, boys!
Did I say that there seemed to be churches in every other corner as well? See above for same.
Oh, and Pink Jeep tours EVERYWHERE. Gotta wonder. Yet another buck.
By the time you get to wilderness or a National Park or Forest or Monument, you really appreciate them. They seem so quaint and simple by comparison, despite the inevitable goo-gaws to be bought there as well. I still love them and need to give more of my money to them. A small drop against the rampant tide of unfettered commercialism. Phew!
Tomorrow we are heading to a place called Jerome, which sounds very promising in its funkiness and retro-hippiness. As far as Sedona, if you hoof it into "the woods", I think you get a far better appreciation for the thing's majesty. Even a little way, I think. But, I can see that in no time at all, the place is becoming a grade A trapezo-de-tourista, as the Furry Freak Brothers would say. If it isn't already there. Too bad. It seems that the well-to-do, when they decend in numbers, they also tend to "ruin the neighborhood", cluttering it up with spas and resorts that no regular person can afford, or appreciate. Artifice.
Perhaps it is just the nature of our "tour", but why not more camping areas? Are there any in numbers? I will have to research this. I will ask about it. Perhaps there are some here that are just not part of the "tour."
The "upscale" art is fun to cruise (is there any such thing as "downscale" art--besides grafitti?). I always appreciate that. I find it strangely meditative and hypnotic. One of my vices, when my feet will hold up long enough to stand, stroll and ogle what others have created. It is always vaguely inspiring looking at it all. I wish I could patronize more of it (any?) On the other hand, where would I put it? I suppose we have enough bare walls that could use something, but I always feel as if there should be more of a plan instead of a random collection of stuff. My random selections would be truly horrible to behold, I'm afraid. And, I always fear that I will tire too quickly of looking at them. One of the many reasons I have never been able to decide on a tatoo, of all things. So permanent. It would have to be something I would not have to look at every day. I cannot abide a single color favorite for more than a couple years, much less a design or picture or creation. Ah well. It's still fun to think about though.
I have to admit, I do find myself drawn to the red clay-color (more of a golden brown) dye that a local company uses on their t-shirts. If only they had sweat shirts. I need another t-shirt like I need another hole in my head (well, perhaps another ear might be nice sometimes, but really...it's hard enough to find sunglasses and hats that fit...)
Fortunately, even a hike on what was sort of the equivalent of the I-5 freeway (so many people on the trail--nice to see everyone out, but not all at once!) was a simple pleasure that felt restorative, even as we raced back for our ill-advised meet back time, after which the National Guard would be called to scape up our bodies. Always add an hour to what seems like more than enough time. I kick myself for not sticking to my schedule guns, despite knowing better. I am so used to going solo, I guess, and being the sole judge of timing, I wimped out. I hate to rush on the trail, though I seem to do it more than I like, mostly racing the sun, being a late riser. The interesting thing about all the people on the trail was, everyone who stopped along the way to talk about where the trail ended, etc., was super nice. Or at least it struck me as more unusual than...usual. Even had word trickle back from another hiker as to the outcome of the "end of the trail", an actual sign saying just that. Amusing in every way. I don't remember ever seeing such a thing before. We didn't see it ourselves, being about a quarter mile short, we guessed, because we ran out of time. That and a few snaps later with my handy dandy little Gorillapod on SD500 camera, we were off on our race back to the trailhead. Though we "sacrificed" B's ankle a couple times (ow!) and his fussy foot in general, we were rewarded for our efforts by a end-of-the hike mule deer siting along the road. And a picture. It turns out I really needed that hike. A real plus to the day. Not long, the Boynton Trail, but worth it.
Overall, I can see why the place is absolutely chock-a-block with New Agers of every stripe. Crystal this, Aura that. It is not enough for many to see the tremendous Red Rock formations and strangely lush surrounds as an astounding natural wonder, part of the earth's timeless geologic beauty. It must be something more. Something mystical. So, in celebration, they plop businesses made of ticky tacky down in the midst, to tempt needy souls to spend $$ and thereby achieve spiritual awakenings, cleansings, centerings, enlightenings, meanings, all complete with sacred, man-made crystals. I mean, I like Enya music as much as anyone, but really. Is all that necessary? Of course it is. It turns a buck. I suppose the citizens of Sedona enjoy the taxes well enough. Keep that traffic moving, boys!
Did I say that there seemed to be churches in every other corner as well? See above for same.
Oh, and Pink Jeep tours EVERYWHERE. Gotta wonder. Yet another buck.
By the time you get to wilderness or a National Park or Forest or Monument, you really appreciate them. They seem so quaint and simple by comparison, despite the inevitable goo-gaws to be bought there as well. I still love them and need to give more of my money to them. A small drop against the rampant tide of unfettered commercialism. Phew!
Tomorrow we are heading to a place called Jerome, which sounds very promising in its funkiness and retro-hippiness. As far as Sedona, if you hoof it into "the woods", I think you get a far better appreciation for the thing's majesty. Even a little way, I think. But, I can see that in no time at all, the place is becoming a grade A trapezo-de-tourista, as the Furry Freak Brothers would say. If it isn't already there. Too bad. It seems that the well-to-do, when they decend in numbers, they also tend to "ruin the neighborhood", cluttering it up with spas and resorts that no regular person can afford, or appreciate. Artifice.
Perhaps it is just the nature of our "tour", but why not more camping areas? Are there any in numbers? I will have to research this. I will ask about it. Perhaps there are some here that are just not part of the "tour."
The "upscale" art is fun to cruise (is there any such thing as "downscale" art--besides grafitti?). I always appreciate that. I find it strangely meditative and hypnotic. One of my vices, when my feet will hold up long enough to stand, stroll and ogle what others have created. It is always vaguely inspiring looking at it all. I wish I could patronize more of it (any?) On the other hand, where would I put it? I suppose we have enough bare walls that could use something, but I always feel as if there should be more of a plan instead of a random collection of stuff. My random selections would be truly horrible to behold, I'm afraid. And, I always fear that I will tire too quickly of looking at them. One of the many reasons I have never been able to decide on a tatoo, of all things. So permanent. It would have to be something I would not have to look at every day. I cannot abide a single color favorite for more than a couple years, much less a design or picture or creation. Ah well. It's still fun to think about though.
I have to admit, I do find myself drawn to the red clay-color (more of a golden brown) dye that a local company uses on their t-shirts. If only they had sweat shirts. I need another t-shirt like I need another hole in my head (well, perhaps another ear might be nice sometimes, but really...it's hard enough to find sunglasses and hats that fit...)
Friday, April 6, 2007
Work
So, I tried to phone blog today from work, but this time, it didn't want to connect up to the blog like it had before. Lots of glitches on this site! Whadya want for free, right?
So, instead, an after-the-fact, instead of a blow-by-blow boredom moment. Is that less relevant, less "of the moment"? I dunno. Certainly less timely. I'm still working on the gadgetry, afterall. But after a lot of tedious typing into the phone, I discovered a 435 character limite and a service glitch. Nice. Made the day's boredom almost exciting as the new ground covered.
Long day, even if it was only two hours OT. At least the OT was fun, on-rope practise to keep in touch with my inner SPRAT cert. But then into the regular day, which was the usual. Better than yesterday, which felt like a real half-brain, two cell day. But, after more than four years of the same show, the threads (mental, that is) are showing. My techniques for avoiding utter brain-numbing madness: Humor where I can find it (sometimes difficult due to the unwavering bitterness/grumping of a certain crew member), attention to detail (no gelling out--it's just not safe...or smart), tons of "what-if" scenarios to get any possible contingencies into the brain continuum, watching for anything out of the ordinary on stage (ya never know: live theater), my exercise interval (about ten minutes during the show when there is nothing to do but drool or get gig butt and end up doing the former "gelling" routine--again, not wise), creative thinking about numbers, like contemplating the following news item: Ford CEO paid 28 million American dollars for 4 months of work, while Ford simultaneously plans to let, oh, about 30,000 employees go. Belt tightening of course. But not for certain overvalued individuals, of course. Oh, and the $28 million was not his entire compensation, btw. The usual. Chump change in comparison with the total for the workers fired. But, hey. Why can't they ever start with Joe Overcompensated for the Job Who Could, With One Paycheck Retire and Never Work Again?? I just don't get it. I wish I had copied the poppycock PR sentence the company/board used to justify this guy's salary, too. Utter Dilbertian nonsense. One of the many things that signals that this civilization is going down, as I like to say. Hello late Roman Empire. My little watch calculator came up with an error message, the number was so big on the lost worker wages (AKA "savings for the company"). If you just did a ballpark figure of 40K per worker (pulled straight outa thin air, in case you wondered), multiplied by 30,000 of them, probably a really low number, I'm thinking, that'd give you a cool 1.2 BILLION in savings. What could you possibly be doing wrong with your company that you went "whoopsie! gotta ditch a lotta personnel!"?!
Goin' down with help from Ford Motor Company. And not in the good way, either.
Especially hard to swallow (over and over again...just cruise the business section on a given day, if you dare) when study after study shows that CEO compensation has zilch to do with actual performance or company stock performance. Nice. I'll try and remember that the next time I hear another corporate monster declare how tough the economy is and how much it costs to offer affordable health care to its workers (you know, the ones who actually do the majority of work every day).
So I guess that makes another way to avoid boredom on the job: get disgusted by the latest news headline. Does take energy. Probably burns a few more calories of indignation too. That's always sorta fun, if not overdone. Don't want to hasten an overuse injury. It would be so easy, depending upon the day. And that story was a bonus, 'cause I didn't get more than a couple headlines into the CNN list before my little calculator was buzzing and error-coding. Yes, I admit that I was lazy and didn't just add the zeros together in my head. Hey! I'm trying to do a show here too, ya know! OK, so I didn't get much into my exercise interval, what with all the righteous indignation going on in my head.
How did this post begin? Daily grind. Avoiding boredom and danger (AKA mistakes). I'm sure this will be a continuing thread, since it is so very near the surface so often. I've been good, better than the vast majority, but even my mighty powers cannot overpower the stultifying power (is that an oxymoron?) of monotony. Ups and downs and the search for something new, something progressive, something positive, something that will give an extra laugh to the day without completely flinging away the last shreds of professionalism left. Or at least not carelessly so. It's touch and go at times, I admit. But I think it's in the company's interest to have a minimum of long brewing insanity cropping up, don't you? It's nice to be in accord, isn't it? We already know we can't all get along, but it doesn't have to be morose while we're at it, does it?
All you folkies out there, sing along: ...to the bottom of the...husbands and wives, little children lost their lives, oh, it was sad when that great ship went down... Great lyrics.
So, instead, an after-the-fact, instead of a blow-by-blow boredom moment. Is that less relevant, less "of the moment"? I dunno. Certainly less timely. I'm still working on the gadgetry, afterall. But after a lot of tedious typing into the phone, I discovered a 435 character limite and a service glitch. Nice. Made the day's boredom almost exciting as the new ground covered.
Long day, even if it was only two hours OT. At least the OT was fun, on-rope practise to keep in touch with my inner SPRAT cert. But then into the regular day, which was the usual. Better than yesterday, which felt like a real half-brain, two cell day. But, after more than four years of the same show, the threads (mental, that is) are showing. My techniques for avoiding utter brain-numbing madness: Humor where I can find it (sometimes difficult due to the unwavering bitterness/grumping of a certain crew member), attention to detail (no gelling out--it's just not safe...or smart), tons of "what-if" scenarios to get any possible contingencies into the brain continuum, watching for anything out of the ordinary on stage (ya never know: live theater), my exercise interval (about ten minutes during the show when there is nothing to do but drool or get gig butt and end up doing the former "gelling" routine--again, not wise), creative thinking about numbers, like contemplating the following news item: Ford CEO paid 28 million American dollars for 4 months of work, while Ford simultaneously plans to let, oh, about 30,000 employees go. Belt tightening of course. But not for certain overvalued individuals, of course. Oh, and the $28 million was not his entire compensation, btw. The usual. Chump change in comparison with the total for the workers fired. But, hey. Why can't they ever start with Joe Overcompensated for the Job Who Could, With One Paycheck Retire and Never Work Again?? I just don't get it. I wish I had copied the poppycock PR sentence the company/board used to justify this guy's salary, too. Utter Dilbertian nonsense. One of the many things that signals that this civilization is going down, as I like to say. Hello late Roman Empire. My little watch calculator came up with an error message, the number was so big on the lost worker wages (AKA "savings for the company"). If you just did a ballpark figure of 40K per worker (pulled straight outa thin air, in case you wondered), multiplied by 30,000 of them, probably a really low number, I'm thinking, that'd give you a cool 1.2 BILLION in savings. What could you possibly be doing wrong with your company that you went "whoopsie! gotta ditch a lotta personnel!"?!
Goin' down with help from Ford Motor Company. And not in the good way, either.
Especially hard to swallow (over and over again...just cruise the business section on a given day, if you dare) when study after study shows that CEO compensation has zilch to do with actual performance or company stock performance. Nice. I'll try and remember that the next time I hear another corporate monster declare how tough the economy is and how much it costs to offer affordable health care to its workers (you know, the ones who actually do the majority of work every day).
So I guess that makes another way to avoid boredom on the job: get disgusted by the latest news headline. Does take energy. Probably burns a few more calories of indignation too. That's always sorta fun, if not overdone. Don't want to hasten an overuse injury. It would be so easy, depending upon the day. And that story was a bonus, 'cause I didn't get more than a couple headlines into the CNN list before my little calculator was buzzing and error-coding. Yes, I admit that I was lazy and didn't just add the zeros together in my head. Hey! I'm trying to do a show here too, ya know! OK, so I didn't get much into my exercise interval, what with all the righteous indignation going on in my head.
How did this post begin? Daily grind. Avoiding boredom and danger (AKA mistakes). I'm sure this will be a continuing thread, since it is so very near the surface so often. I've been good, better than the vast majority, but even my mighty powers cannot overpower the stultifying power (is that an oxymoron?) of monotony. Ups and downs and the search for something new, something progressive, something positive, something that will give an extra laugh to the day without completely flinging away the last shreds of professionalism left. Or at least not carelessly so. It's touch and go at times, I admit. But I think it's in the company's interest to have a minimum of long brewing insanity cropping up, don't you? It's nice to be in accord, isn't it? We already know we can't all get along, but it doesn't have to be morose while we're at it, does it?
All you folkies out there, sing along: ...to the bottom of the...husbands and wives, little children lost their lives, oh, it was sad when that great ship went down... Great lyrics.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Blog By Phone
Now I know why the original Kelsi photo was blurry: limitations of the phone. Well, lighting didn't help here. It was just an experiment after all.
This feature is pretty cool though.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Ogling
Through luck of association and the goodwill and enthusiasm of a dear friend, I acquired a motor scooter recently. A fine little scooter indeed. I was ecstatic, of course. It was unexpected and sudden. But it has turned out to be a gateway drug. You see, there are many things in life that sound like fun and that I know are fun, and one of them is motorcycles. Not the hyper testosterone-drive-like-an-idiot-sportbike type of motorcycle fun. That holds little appeal, I must say, including track stuff. It is more on the level of a modern Huck Finn appeal. I like fast well enough. But I like the romance part more. I don't mean candles and flowers and mournful sighs of longing "romance." I mean the spirit of adventure. You know, get on your little twiggy raft with some hard tack, your dog, Blue, your best friend and push off into the unknown. Not that there's that much "unknown" left for most of us urbanites any more, unless a more severe adventure (say, Denali) is in your mind's eye. No, I mean the idea of the thing. Something a little less protected. But, more than that: Something less predictable, more whimsical.
I discovered way back that it wasn't the potential perils of an adventure that floated my boat, but the romantic appeal. The individual struggle. Even if the struggle was plain and simple. The struggle with one's own thoughts, hopes and fears, for example. Sorta corny and narcisistic, I guess. For most, they run off and have a handful of kids and put all of that into them. Fine enough. No less narcisistic, I think, however. Just another being into whom you can place the same things. But that is not me. I suppose, it never was since ever I can remember thinking (an intriguing thought in and of itself: self awareness in thought). Around the age of seven. It is very striking to a seven-year-old, I can tell you. Very exciting. In some ways, it still is. But I digress.
So, here I am with this cute little thing, motoring about when I have a chance. Negotiating the intrigues and roadblocks of the DMV. Contemplating the possibilities. The obvious ones: commuting with less gas, more fun (and a bit more hassle: gear), less wear and tear on the car, better parking. The boring stuff (except for the fun bit). But adventure. There's the thing popping up in the back of the eyeballs (the mind's eye, afterall). Pinter pause. So I scour the web for info and tidbits concerning motorcycling, gear, my little scooter, reviews, techniques, pick my friend's brain for advice and options, all in the service of this little niggling idea. And before you know it, I am nearly consumed, drinking the Kool-aid, beginning the ceremony. I am only hampered by the limitations of my permit status and a naturally letter-of-the-law perspective in these matters (safety being one of them). This is considerable, actually, given my schedule and my other desire not to be the equivalent of single again. It is more fun doing things with your "most desired other creature" (sounds strange, doesn't it? I like it). Solo is good for when I just can't be bothered (which is distressingly often, I have found) and want to do what I want to do. Or don't have a choice. Also, distressingly often. But again, I digress.
Plotting the possibilities, I discover an ongoing travelogue of a guy who is scooting around Alaska with what looks like his camping gear (!). I didn't look closely (I'll have to look it up again), but it was so motivating to see. Mind you, this scooter does go freeway speed, if you don't weigh more than a house. More of a studio apartment. But, at the same, it looks a little wacky, which, of course, draws me further in. More Kool-Aid. Now, this might seem depressing to some of you (echo), but, I swear, I am starting to feel as if just contemplating adventure, reading about others' adventure--especially the perilous kind, mountain kind, is simply enough. I never thought of myself as much of an adventure story reader (*yawn!*) until I picked up "Into Thin Air" and "Into the Wild." Riveting. Vicarious. So that's what everyone has been blabbering about all these years! But not all types. Water-based? Not so much. Mountains and woods, yes. Climbing, definitely. Horses? Not so much. Hiking in all terrain? Definitely. Colin Fletcher's Complete Walker III &IV, I sucked down as fast as my slow-reading cells would carry me. A period when I got out, but was and still am hampered by my own over-active imagination, my childhood fueled by tales of terror. But that is for another post.
Stream of consciousness. It's just me. I do go on.
So, I am plotting. Lurking. But, much as I enjoy the look of a classic cruiser, including the new variants, I find that, lo and behold, I do not like them for actual riding position. Footpegs forward: No good. The nice scooter uprightness is too comfortable and I feel in control. So now, I sense that the sport bike look is growing on me, though I know that it will put my short torso too far forward for comfort. The touring bike is out of my range, especially for what is essentially an experiment. Perhaps someone will leave me a lot of money and I will be able to resist the temptation to save it all in an IRA. Stranger things have happened. Like my little scooter. Have I said how much I do love it? Sleek, light, simple (no clutch) and easy to maneuver. But it makes cars look even more sinister than when one is on a bicycle, ironically. With my bicycle, I know that they know I won't be going even 30 mph (on a downhill, maybe). And I'll be off to the side. But with my scooter... *shiver* I like to think of it as a survival mechanism. And, there is the specter of looking cool. But I chopped that down right away (thank you, M!) by getting a pair of actual riding pants with armor and skid resistance, instead of my way cooler jeans that would last about a half second in a skid (I know, I read it in testing reviews). I feel safer and so much less cool (the hip armor has this effect). I don't have much in the hip department, but now, thanks to these pants, I got a complimentary pair of saddlebags to go with the bike. So, I narrowly avoided the specter of coolness that I've shunned for low these *** years (you can figure it out from my earlier post).
Also, despite a lot of back and forth, as a direct result of the Kool-Aid-drinking, I decided that instead of winging the DMV skills test for my regular license, I'm gonna take an MSF course to learn how to properly ride a "real" scooter. One with a clutch and shifter. It seemed the wisest thing to do and opens up the options. I can ride my scooter day or night, with passenger or not, or pick up a more powerful vehicle and...wander much further and faster onto the wild tarmac, where the scary things are. If I can only get past the thing under my bed...
I discovered way back that it wasn't the potential perils of an adventure that floated my boat, but the romantic appeal. The individual struggle. Even if the struggle was plain and simple. The struggle with one's own thoughts, hopes and fears, for example. Sorta corny and narcisistic, I guess. For most, they run off and have a handful of kids and put all of that into them. Fine enough. No less narcisistic, I think, however. Just another being into whom you can place the same things. But that is not me. I suppose, it never was since ever I can remember thinking (an intriguing thought in and of itself: self awareness in thought). Around the age of seven. It is very striking to a seven-year-old, I can tell you. Very exciting. In some ways, it still is. But I digress.
So, here I am with this cute little thing, motoring about when I have a chance. Negotiating the intrigues and roadblocks of the DMV. Contemplating the possibilities. The obvious ones: commuting with less gas, more fun (and a bit more hassle: gear), less wear and tear on the car, better parking. The boring stuff (except for the fun bit). But adventure. There's the thing popping up in the back of the eyeballs (the mind's eye, afterall). Pinter pause. So I scour the web for info and tidbits concerning motorcycling, gear, my little scooter, reviews, techniques, pick my friend's brain for advice and options, all in the service of this little niggling idea. And before you know it, I am nearly consumed, drinking the Kool-aid, beginning the ceremony. I am only hampered by the limitations of my permit status and a naturally letter-of-the-law perspective in these matters (safety being one of them). This is considerable, actually, given my schedule and my other desire not to be the equivalent of single again. It is more fun doing things with your "most desired other creature" (sounds strange, doesn't it? I like it). Solo is good for when I just can't be bothered (which is distressingly often, I have found) and want to do what I want to do. Or don't have a choice. Also, distressingly often. But again, I digress.
Plotting the possibilities, I discover an ongoing travelogue of a guy who is scooting around Alaska with what looks like his camping gear (!). I didn't look closely (I'll have to look it up again), but it was so motivating to see. Mind you, this scooter does go freeway speed, if you don't weigh more than a house. More of a studio apartment. But, at the same, it looks a little wacky, which, of course, draws me further in. More Kool-Aid. Now, this might seem depressing to some of you (echo), but, I swear, I am starting to feel as if just contemplating adventure, reading about others' adventure--especially the perilous kind, mountain kind, is simply enough. I never thought of myself as much of an adventure story reader (*yawn!*) until I picked up "Into Thin Air" and "Into the Wild." Riveting. Vicarious. So that's what everyone has been blabbering about all these years! But not all types. Water-based? Not so much. Mountains and woods, yes. Climbing, definitely. Horses? Not so much. Hiking in all terrain? Definitely. Colin Fletcher's Complete Walker III &IV, I sucked down as fast as my slow-reading cells would carry me. A period when I got out, but was and still am hampered by my own over-active imagination, my childhood fueled by tales of terror. But that is for another post.
Stream of consciousness. It's just me. I do go on.
So, I am plotting. Lurking. But, much as I enjoy the look of a classic cruiser, including the new variants, I find that, lo and behold, I do not like them for actual riding position. Footpegs forward: No good. The nice scooter uprightness is too comfortable and I feel in control. So now, I sense that the sport bike look is growing on me, though I know that it will put my short torso too far forward for comfort. The touring bike is out of my range, especially for what is essentially an experiment. Perhaps someone will leave me a lot of money and I will be able to resist the temptation to save it all in an IRA. Stranger things have happened. Like my little scooter. Have I said how much I do love it? Sleek, light, simple (no clutch) and easy to maneuver. But it makes cars look even more sinister than when one is on a bicycle, ironically. With my bicycle, I know that they know I won't be going even 30 mph (on a downhill, maybe). And I'll be off to the side. But with my scooter... *shiver* I like to think of it as a survival mechanism. And, there is the specter of looking cool. But I chopped that down right away (thank you, M!) by getting a pair of actual riding pants with armor and skid resistance, instead of my way cooler jeans that would last about a half second in a skid (I know, I read it in testing reviews). I feel safer and so much less cool (the hip armor has this effect). I don't have much in the hip department, but now, thanks to these pants, I got a complimentary pair of saddlebags to go with the bike. So, I narrowly avoided the specter of coolness that I've shunned for low these *** years (you can figure it out from my earlier post).
Also, despite a lot of back and forth, as a direct result of the Kool-Aid-drinking, I decided that instead of winging the DMV skills test for my regular license, I'm gonna take an MSF course to learn how to properly ride a "real" scooter. One with a clutch and shifter. It seemed the wisest thing to do and opens up the options. I can ride my scooter day or night, with passenger or not, or pick up a more powerful vehicle and...wander much further and faster onto the wild tarmac, where the scary things are. If I can only get past the thing under my bed...
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