Roger "Wilco", Hawkeye Slob-san

The boss man found an internet station that's pretty good...WNEW, from New York. It's commercial-free, and I've heard everything from Marvin Gaye to Death Cab for Cutie, with some Depeche Mode and even School of Fish thrown in.

The only bizarre thing, is that I've now memorized a 2-3 minute piece from one of their DJ's broadcasting "live" from the Bonnaroo music fest in Tennessee. Which was last month. And if I could count the number of times this guy uses the words "audience" and "artist" in his spiel, they'd make up about 90% of the words spoken. It's been played so much that when I was working over by our intern, I said out loud before the DJ did, "Do the artists have the audience in the palm of their hand?" I was promptly answered by said DJ ("The artists here have the audience in the palm of their hand") and our intern stared at me...I thought I detected a little witchcraft fear in his eyes.

That audio quirk hasn't stopped me from listening, though. They even play Wilco...maybe two of their songs. And I just cannot stand them. I feel a little bad...some part of me should automatically like the band because long ago I marched with the drummer, right (I just realized what a dork that makes me...I didn't DO the drummer, I MARCHED with him)? There's a connection and I should honor it by snarfing up all their music...legally, even. Right? Agh...I just can't get into them. I give.

Mostly Naked had never heard anything by Wilco (a trend I'm finding all too familiar, even though Mostly Naked likes just about any music you could name), and asked me to describe what they sound like. I came just short of writhing on the ground in the fetal position, trying to come up with a fair but clear description. Finally, as I sat there sweating with cerebral effort and squinting my eyes as if in physical pain, I blurted out in a Tourette's-like manner, "Pussy Rock."

Sorry, Billy. If it makes you feel any better, I really like that one Son Volt song...

If you're gonna be slow...

...try to have a sense of humor about it.

My helmet, as viewed from behind


And yes...it's reflective. :-)

Everything I've ever done was out of fear of being mediocre.

Guess old Chet Atkins wasn't lying..

Sunday turned out to be a good day for me. A friend of Brother's was in town with his girlfriend for a wedding and they both ride sportbikes. So there were five of us from our house on the club ride. Turned out we had our biggest group so far...twenty, I think.

Here we pause in Chetek for a roller dog and Corn Nuts.

I felt pretty good when I woke up today. Normally, I get a little gut ache and the first half of the ride, I'm twitchy and panicky. Not today. I spent the night before telling myself I wasn't going to wig out, slam on the brakes and creep through the gravel. I was going to Eat. It. Up. And, convinced myself that going off the road was NOT an option.

I updated my mp3 player with some new, gravel-eatin' music and set out with the rest of the group as we headed north to Chetek. On the way up, we took the same route where I went off the road last month. The turn before that one was the dirty one this time, but I breezed right through. Seconds before I came up to "the turn" was when I recognized it. And, honestly, I have no idea how I could tell. There is absolutely nothing that gives it away; no signs, houses, marks in the pavement (not even from me). Yet there it was. And it was dirty with gravel. But since I rode off, enough vehicles have ridden through it to create clear lines through the turn. And I Ate. It. Up. When we stopped at the next intersection, Mostly Naked was waiting with the rest of the group, looking back for us stragglers. I pumped my first in the air and let out a whoop! in my helmet. Victory. THAT felt good.

County highway D heading south from Chetek is probably my absolute favorite road we've ridden so far. It's clean, there's a sizeable paved shoulder and it winds through the trees with fast sweepers and changes in elevation. There is a benefit to being hind tit...if the group gets far enough ahead, you can zoom through a stretch at whatever speed you're comfortable with, and there's nobody in your way. The leader is the only other one who gets to enjoy that.

I was just...switched on.

Gravel comes in different shapes and sizes, as we all know. The smaller it is, usually coincides with the fact that there's more of it. Sand would be the worst. The bigger the pieces, the less there are typically, and if you run over it in a turn, you'll feel the weight shift a little, like a wiggle, but as soon as the tire returns to the pavement, you're on your way. A little knowledge, from me to you.

Bawk!

Yeah...I made it about a mile before I told Mostly Naked (not too calmly, either) to turn around so I could get my own bike. I'd like to pin the whole decision to not ride 2-up on the suit, because this was only the second time I've ridden in it and it's still stiff and binding and mildly uncomfortable. I'd also be willing to say it was because I was sliding all over the back seat and couldn't grip Mostly Naked's tank without slipping around. Honestly, though, too scared. I think I would've been able to ride 2-up if I had my regular riding clothes on...but now that I'm back home I know better. Sitting way up on the "perch," bouncing around, sliding forward off the seat, having nothing substantial to hang on to without crushing the pilot...I will probably never ride on the back of a sportbike ever again. I need to be able to grip the bike with my legs. I have to have handlebars to hold on to. I'm suddenly aware of a bit of a control issue too.

So we turned around and I got my good old Triumph out and fan-folded myself in my suit on my own bike and we rode. Much better.

Faster can wait. I'll wear the mantle of Hind Tit begrudgingly, but at least my heart rate will climb back down off the ceiling. Annny minute now would be sweet...

That Thumping Sound....

...is coming from inside my chest.

Oh dear God...I talked myself into riding on the back of Mostly Naked's bike tomorrow (at his suggestion, obviously) as we travel to Whitehall to hang some posters for our big ride/party coming up on August 9th. I've dubbed myself the Club Hind Tit because I am the rear-most rider in the group rides. Mostly Naked usually leads the rides. Please note, it's now 10:30pm on Friday, and I'm already amped...maybe it's scared. Probably both.

Funny enough, we spent most of the time this evening hanging out at The Joynt on Water Street discussing how I must be broken inside because I've gone skydiving, crashed a motorcycle twice, and done a track day...all of which were without the usual human surge of adrenaline. Now, I'm wide awake...and what's this? Adrenaline? Think I'm gonna wear that hotbox leather suit tomorrow? HELLS YEAH.

I was just wondering if I should bring my camera and take some video from the back seat, but I think this first time I should just concern myself with that silly hanging on and concentrating on being a non-entity on the back.

What started the whole thing is that I don't feel like I'm improving fast enough and I'm getting frustrated at being in the back all the time. However, whenever I'm out on a ride I consciously tell myself to ride at my own pace...which I do...and enjoy even. Mostly Naked pointed out that I'm only in my 1st/2nd season of really riding and I just plain won't be fast for some time...at least not fast AND in control. Coming from a guy who's been on a motorcycle for...what did he say...maybe 15 years already? That doesn't make it any more soothing for an instant-gratification junkie.

So, as I'm sitting here, all a-quiver, I'm mulling over the possible blocks to my improvement. And yeah, they're all in my head. Stupid head.

1) I don't trust my tires or my bike and just how much they can do (Mostly Naked pointed that one out).
2) I don't trust me to handle whatever happens unexpectedly with clear thinking and graceful, quick reaction.
3) I frickin HATE gravel, ergo it spooks me. How come it's always in the corners??
4) Blind turns and blind hills are creepy if there's no one in front of you to follow.
5) I'm afraid if I unass my seat I won't be able to get back on (picture one of those people bouncing along the side of a horse when they lose their balance, but can't get out of the stirrup...and try not to laugh).

I ask myself, how come all these people in front of me can get through all these issues and I still don't see them until they stop to wait for me at the next change in route? How come I get to be so mental? It occurs to me, the reason for the lack of excitement in response to how I'm currently riding? I don't test myself. Yes, I'm really REALLY new compared to most of the riders in the group, but jeez...how long do I have to be the hind tit? One guy joined up this year and rode behind me because he was all panicky in turns...but one day, not too long after, he passed me and I never saw him in the back again.

No, I'm not going to go out and try to kill myself. I have a fairly strong sense of self-preservation. I'm not...brave. At least not to my satisfaction. Darn me. I am however rambling on hurriedly because I'm as excited as a 7-year-old at Christmas at the prospect of riding behind Mostly Naked tomorrow. I hope I don't throw up in my helmet. Also, he won't be mostly naked. He'll be mostly armored.

***

In other news, The Joynt is a bar I lovingly refer to as "The Place Where the Pot Smokers Congregate." It's very nearly a guarantee that anytime you walk in there, you will spot a tie-dye t-shirt or pony-tail accompanied by full beard. They have a neon sign over the bar that READS (not "says"...Mostly Naked has taken to correcting my grammar (if you can believe that)) "No Light Beer." Happy Hour? Of course! This is Wisconsin, after all. What? $.40 taps? YES. I walked in with FOUR DOLLARS and walked out with empty pockets and a sturdy buzz. This place is a study in eccentricities. Initially, my dad took me there for a drink and, coming from a sheltered, over-franchised Chicago suburb, I thought this place was a total hole. Now, it's grown on me...it's like visiting with an old war veteran; it's crusty, worn and dusty on the outside, but there's inherent charm, history, and stories if you sit still and observe long enough. With one exception; the war vet likely won't have the finest beer in all the land (Point, Grain Belt, Leinie's, Berghoff).


I'm going to try to go to bed now...and in the spirit of over-exaggerated, adolescent reactions, "OH MY GOD! He TOTALLY touched my arm in gym class today! WEEEEE! D.K. & Z.D. 4 EVER!"

..toodles...

Q: How do you avoid looking like a gimp?

A: Leave the ball gag at home.

The more I've been riding, the more protective gear I've been buying. Aside from the original helmet, armored gloves and jacket, I now have racing boots and a back protector. It's a lot of stuff to put on, but I've gotten to the point where even just riding a block to the gas station, I can't NOT wear the back protector, helmet, gloves, jacket and, at the least, thick boots. It just doesn't feel safe without the gear.

And now I own a leather racing suit.

Before my first track day back in June, I tried ordering a full suit off the rack and had no luck. I am WAY too...ahem..."curvy" to fit the waifish outfits motorcycle apparel companies are churning out. Usually, I have to resort to men's gear, but a man's suit wouldn't work...guys have no ass area. I, however, wear three. Asses.

So that rack suit shows up, I don't fit it, and it was a scramble to get my old blue and gold jacket and a borrowed pair of racing pants (that just BARELY fit) to a local seamstress to get a zipper put in both, so they'd make one piece (a requirement for track day). It did the job, but was not my first choice for long term.

No, I don't plan to ever race. I don't have the need for speed. Just fun. In my case (as with most people, I'm guessing), increased speed is fast becoming a by-product of experience, whether I like it or not (I do, weeee!). However, I want to do many more track days and a full leather suit is a necessity. Most of the guys in the club wear full suits whenever we ride.

I decided, after track day, to research more on the internet...it was obvious I was going to need custom fitting. For the asses. All three. A trinity, if you will. Suits can be expensive. Custom suits, well, they border on the ridiculous, but the better the fit, the more the armor stays put, and the less likely you are to spontaneously combust from the inside due to abrasion against your skin. You won't see a custom-fitted rider rolling around on the pavement screaming, "I'm on fire! Help me, Oprah Winfrey! Tom Cruise, use your witchcraft to get the fire off me!"

Here comes the part where every sensible-thinking person goes "whoa." I found a company in California, that might as well be a no-name, who offers a variety of racing suits for $480 with FREEEE custom-fitting AND shipping. Yeah, I thought it too..."Oh right. I throw $500 out there and 'wait-and-see.'" But, with the depressing thought that there is no suit out there ready-made to fit my trinity, I was getting desperate. Besides, the name brand suits cost MUCH more than 480 smackers. Granted, you can't tell for sure if this company knows their stuff about racing (most importantly, crashing)...more than once the thought crossed my mind, "What if the first impact makes all the seams blow apart like the skin of an over-ripe tomato?" I gave it a shot anyway, expecting to be disappointed the whole time.

While it took longer than promised (5 weeks instead of the 2-3), I had been receiving prompt responses to my emails and when I was given a tracking number, found that the suit was already in New York, on its way from, get this...Pakistan by way of Dubai. I guess I support sweatshop work however I can. When it finally arrived, I opened the box outside, in case of scorpions. Come on, it came from a freaking desert!


Pro's: It fits like a glove. The leather seems thick and the seams sturdy. It came with armored shoulders, elbows, knees, knee pucks and thick pads on the hips and back. I got to choose the pattern and colors. They say it's buffalo leather...for all I know it's made from cats, but I'll go with it.

Cons: It's hot as hell...they didn't use perforated leather anywhere or fabric stretch panels, so if it's at all muggy or hot out, I parboil inside. But, I'm also taking into consideration the fact that I've been riding in less-protective gear that is more breathable. I acknowledge the trade-off for safety. Another con: there's too much leather behind my knees and in front of the suit on the gut area. It's entirely possible that's my fault with those two areas. I had the seamstress here in Eau Claire measure me standing up instead of on the bike. I've started researching local tailors to find one who specializes in leather racing suits to see if I can get those fit issues remedied. One more con...any physical anomalies in your stature become glaringly obvious when you're wearing a second skin. Yeeeeeesh.


Overall, I think it was a good purchase, and I'm hoping with more wearing, it will be worth the current discomfort during break-in.

The company looks like they have a lot of great looking apparel for regular use as well. You can see more at LividLeather.

Negative, Ghost Rider. The Pattern Is Full

Mostly-Naked and I went up to Duluth, MN for the air show on Saturday. We've just recently watched "Top Gun" (both of us for the bajillionth time) and are throwing quotes back and forth when the situation warrants. It's no surprise, then, that we were both amped up about the air show and willingly drove the few hours north to view the spectacle (it's not dread, Momma; it's airplanes).

It's been warm and muggy here in EC for the last week or so, but when we stepped out of my mighty sedan at a Duluth mall to await shuttle pick-up, I observed, "Ooo! It's cool up here!" The temperature was decidedly lower that close to the Arctic Circle. Maybe upper 60's around 10am. Mostly-Naked Roommate, was, as you could probably guess, mostly naked. So when the skies grew overcast, the wind picked up and dropped the temperature to 55 degrees. My sweatshirt went on and Mostly-Naked's appendages retreated.

Mostlyus nakedus, spotted in the wild in rarely seen upper torso covering

....and then it rained. For hours. The whole Blue Angels segment at the end was in the pouring rain, but we refused to leave early, on account of the BA being the highlight. Turned out, we couldn't leave anyway. The traffic was backed up for at least two hours trying to get out of the airport, so we hung out in a hanger where NASA had a booth set up.

This was the first air show that I can recall going to...and the prospect of getting to watch military aircraft up close was totally goose-bumpy for me. Ever since that first viewing of "Top Gun" at the theater with my dad, I wanted to be a fighter pilot. However, I personally would have to skip the whole military part...I wasn't built for physical labor, I don't enjoy it, and having to look and do like everyone around me causes a near-psychotic episode (yeah, I was in Marching Band in high school...Shaddap. Different...downtime w as a junk-food-fueled screw-off good time, and I only had to carry a flute. Besides, the uniform made me look cool. Mandarin collars? Absolutely the way to go.).

We sort of got shafted some on the air show's content...I was hoping to get to see the as-advertised in-flight refueling demo, but that was omitted for some reason. And we waited as much as a half-hour at one point in-between flights. But we got to see F-16's, an A-10, and the Blue Angels and their transport plane. The Blue Angels are always worth seeing. Photos are posted, and a video so you can hear what these incredible machines sound like.

Duluth was pretty cool. It's got that former boom-town, post-industrial look with steep hills and the Freakin' Huge Lake Superior at its door-step.



The Chippewa Valley Air Show, right here at our hometown airport, will be in September and looks like it will have a better variety. Most importantly? A P-51 Mustang in flight. Can't wait!