Random Thoughts

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I am a fan of Hunter S. Thompson. I am sitting here watching the documentary about his life and career and I have just finished my third Rum and Coke. Not only is it a documentary about Hunter, it is a political history. As I watched it, I realized that we, as a country, are just finishing a round two of Richard Nixon. Only this time he wasn't so much a crook, at least I don't believe that he was on purpose, as he was just an idiot.

How is it that we allowed ourselves to get screwed like this for eight years? We even bent over and grabbed our ankles for a second term with this fruitcake. Why? We had to wait for his time to be up before we would make a change. I believe that if Bush was allowed to run again, our country would have gone back to him like a spouse that gets beaten, but goes back to the abuser because they are comfortable and we don't have to shift any gears. Go back to the way things were, it'll be alright. Horseshit. He was running this country into the ground and he didn't even know what he was doing.

I feel partially responsible, as I didn't vote in either election. However, as Bobcat Goldthwait put it, "it (the election) was like going into a novelty shop and deciding which was the least painful dildo". I didn't like any of my options and I had never cared enough about politics to worry about it. So then rolls around the most recent election, where Bush in no longer a factor. His term limits were up and we could finally put him out to pasture like a stud horse that was as productive as a gelding.

We arrive at our options. We have a war hero and a newbie. The war hero has both the better personality and the experience to run our country. If this had been a personality contest, I would have voted for him without batting an eyelash. However, his platform was followed several of the things that Bush had already started, thus earning him the nickname, McSame.

Our other choice this last time around is a young man, a senator, whose platform is change. Let's forget for a moment that he is African-American, and concentrate on what is really important. Although that is all the media could see, was an issue of black and white, it goes deeper than that. Why did he wind up winning? He promised that things were going to change. I am hoping beyond all hope that he pulls it off and makes some changes. Maybe get us out of this war.

We are on a recycle of the same old events however. In the 60's, there was Viet Nam, a way that was less about communism and more about politics. Here we are about 40 years later, in a war that is less about control of oil fields, and more about control.

With any luck, Obama will keep his promise to actually make change in this country. As much change as possible within his term. It is going to take more than eight years to undo that which George has accomplished.

Although our new president has a long road ahead of him, I have faith that he will not disappoint us. I am sure that he will make mistakes, as he is not very experienced, but mistakes are ways of learning. That is, as long as the mistakes are not any that get us bombed.

Teaching My Daughter How to Eat Like a Bachelor

The past few months, ever since my wife got her promotion and started working five days a week, I have been the “stay at home” parent. My son is old enough that he is in school during the day, so all I have to do is keep the two year old entertained and fed.
When my son was this age, I was working all the time, so I was unable to see a lot of the things that he did during this developmental stage. So there are a few things that my daughter threw at me that I wasn’t ready for.
Keeping her entertained is not too hard. Even while sitting at the computer I can still play games with her and make sure that she isn’t climbing the curtains. During this time my 60inch television sees more Spongebob Squarepants than anything else. Plus she likes to chase the dog through the house, so I am actually able to sit down and work.
However, one of the things that I wasn’t expecting is how much she can eat in a day. Now, she isn’t one of those kids you see on Jerry Springer, who is two years old and pushing a hundred pounds. That is why I was so surprised by how much this little girl could eat. I don’t know where she puts it, but I am betting that a lot of it gets burnt off running up and down the stairs.
I have never been a gourmet cook by any means. Usually if it doesn’t have instructions on the box, I am fairly well lost. When I am just cooking for me, I am not too picky about if I am having hot dogs for breakfast, but I would like my daughter to know better. Luckily there are microwavable pancakes and French toast. I try not to feed her unhealthy things, staying away from fast food restaurants unless we are running errands.
Even though she just wants candy all the time (she is two after all) I stay away from letting her have that. But she will eat fruit salad followed by a bowl of baked beans. She is young enough to not be sick of ramen, and she likes Rice-a-Roni. Also, I always have the old standby of macaroni and cheese.
I am not trying to sound like a guy who can’t take care of himself and would starve if he didn’t have a woman in his life to take care of him. I know my way around a BBQ pretty well and I can order a pizza with great efficiency. However, when it comes to actually planning a well rounded meal, my wife has me beat by a long shot. But I am realizing that I am going to have to learn to make real meals, otherwise my daughter is going to be in college, cooking a can of beans on the stove, without a pan. Followed by a farting contest with the guys.

Old Brits in Independence

I had driven down the road at least a dozen times before I had even noticed the motorcycles. There were only three of them sitting out front, but it was enough that it finally caught my attention. The chrome gleamed in the sunlight as I drove by, but I was unable to stop at that time. What had caught my attention was the fact that both bikes I had seen were Triumphs. Not the nice new fiberglass covered, fuel injected machines on the showroom floors. These were from at least 30 years ago and they were obviously customs. A custom British motorcycle shop? I would definitely have to go back.
I was an almost warm, sunny day in November when I finally got to go back for a leisurely look around the shop. Of course I rode my own motorcycle, as a car just would not do for this trip. As soon as you walk through the door there are the familiar scents from a mechanical shop, grease, gas, with a slight metallic hint in the air. At the front of the shop were completed motorcycles. One bike was a Triumph that was gloss black with a white racing stripe running along the tank and straight dual exhaust wrapped in black exhaust wrap. There was no front fender residing between the fork tubes and just a solo saddle. There was another that was an electric blue color with a white racing stripe and white exhaust wrap.
As you look through the walkway to the back of the shop, you can see two lifts, both of them with bikes on them. One bike is obviously a custom, purple with pin striping and one off metal work, but missing an engine. The other was a customer’s bike, a Norton, in for an engine rebuild. This one was a machine that was built for fun and speed. Handlebars that are short and clipped directly to the triple clamps, pointing in a drastic angle towards the ground to keep the rider’s elbows tucked into the side of the machine, in true café racer style.
On the day that I was there, Bob, the owner of Wheelsmith Cycles, was busy trying to finish up the Norton café racer. Although the main work was done, I could see that there was still a lot buttoning up work to be done. I asked if he minded me watching, and with a friendly smile through his bushy beard, gave me permission to watch him work. When he pulled the spark plug wires, the brass tip that slides inside the coil tip, stayed there. After pulling the wires apart, Bob grabbed a new long wire and with the skilled hands of a craftsman, he cut two wires to length, slid the boots on, and then soldered the new tips on. The whole time that he was working, he carried on a conversation with me, giving me a brief history of triumph, the name passing through many hands through history. He also told me about the Dirt Track motorcycle that was standing by the lift. Then he brought up their secret project.
He wouldn’t tell me much about the secret project, only that it will be another race bike and that it will be ready in the spring. By the look in his eyes, he was very excited about it. I guess I will have to come back in the spring. Damn, I hate waiting.
Before I knew it, an hour had passed and there were almost no wires or loose parts still sitting under the old Norton. Just watching him, you could tell that he knew his way around motorcycles. Bob has had more than 25 years of motorcycle repair experience and charges a fair rate. Shop labor is only $60 and hour, and a custom bike usually goes for around $15,000. If you are a motorcyclist that appreciates high quality customs and an experienced shop tech, it would be worth it to check out Wheelsmith Cycle in Independence, Oregon. If you would like a closer look at some of the custom bikes, or to see the custom parts available for old Brit-Bikes, simply visit the website, www.wheelsmithcycle.com.

A Plea to Not Drink and Drive During the Holidays

As the holiday season draws near, more people are having parties to celebrate. Some people like to just go out to the bar on the weekends to celebrate the holidays. As there is nothing wrong with either of these things, inevitably there will be someone climbing behind the wheel who doesn’t belong there, as your ability to make a rational decision is affected by alcohol. Although this person may be climbing behind the wheel of two thousand pounds of death, usually they are the ones that don’t get injured.
For instance, about three years ago a friend of mine, Michael Spann, was walking home from the bar with his friends. He was ahead of them, listening to his portable CD player, as was his nature. In his hand was his favorite “after a night of drinking” food, a box of Rigoberto’s Mexican. As his friends were walking along, they said a pickup sped past them. They could see the brake lights come on, thinking that the driver got a phone call, or a flat tire. After a couple minutes, the brake lights went off and the truck took off down the road. This was not an unusual thing to see out there, they lived in a house along Highway 34, just out of Corvallis.
By the time the group of friends had gotten home, there was no sign of Michael in the house. However, his bedroom door was closed so his friends thought that he had just gone in there to pass out.
The next morning there was still no sign of Michael, so one of the friends started banging on his bedroom door. There was no answer and he started getting a sick feeling in his stomach. He tried calling Michael’s cell phone three or four times in a row. No answer. Finally he broke one of the rules of the house and just went walking into the room. There was no sign of Michael in there either, but he saw something through the window. Out at the highway he could see flashing police lights.
He ran downstairs, already knowing the answers to the questions in his head, but hoping that he was wrong. There in the ditch next to the highway and right next to his own driveway was Michael’s body. They had walked right past the night before and hadn’t seen him.
As the events of the day transpired, the driver of the pickup turned himself into the police, claiming that he didn’t know he had hit anything, even though Michael was almost six feet tall and about 250 pounds. At the time of turning himself into the police, his Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) was still above the legal limit.
Through accident reconstruction, it was determined that the truck hit Michael on one side of his driveway and threw him to the other side. He had been hit so hard that it killed him instantly. Now there is a sign posted in his memory, asking people not to drink and drive. Michael was trying to do the responsible thing by walking home after spending a night out drinking. But, because someone else made a decision to get behind the wheel after a few too many, the responsible person is dead and the person who killed someone is free to live his life however he wants to.
So before you choose to climb behind the wheel this holiday season, think about what could happen, the possibility that you or someone else may not make it home to see their families because of your decision.

The Few, The Proud, The Neglected

When I was a kid, Veteran’s Day was nothing more than a day to not go to school. Even though I was raised by my grandparents and I had heard all of my grandfather’s old war stories, I never understood what the day really meant. It wasn’t until I had grown a bit and actually started listening to what my grandfather was saying that I began to realize why it was important to pay respect to our Veterans.
My grandfather fought in WWII, in the Marines. I know that he spent a lot of time in Japan, and he saw the aftermath of Hiroshima. He told me stories of seeing the silhouettes of people’s bodies burned into the cement of the sidewalks, the way an image is burned into film. He had shown me his medals, a Purple Heart, a Silver Star and several others that he couldn’t even remember what they were for. He didn’t mind telling me about his time in Japan, but he always told me that he wasn’t proud of what he had to do while he was there.
I didn’t understand this, as I had always been taught that if you were a soldier, you were proud to serve your country. I asked him about it and he explained to me that to serve his country was the greatest thing that he could do and he felt a great deal of pride for having done his tour of duty. However, the fact that he had to kill other people was something that had never sat well with him. He once told me that back in those days since they were unable to televise the war, nobody really knew what it was like until they got there. He said that it was a horrible condition to learn under.
I can only imagine the things that he has seen, the way that bullets and explosives can disfigure a human body. As you walk down the street, you see the silhouette of a woman carrying a baby, knowing that is all that is left of two human beings, bodies vaporized by the blast.
We are currently in a war, and how do we take care of our current vets? When they finally get to come home, will any housing be provided for them? Will they get job placement or vocational training? How are we going to repay the people who were brave enough to fight for our freedom? According to the National Survey of Homeless Assistance Providers and Clients, Veterans currently account for approximately 23% of all homeless people in America. This is how we are paying them back so far.
So as Veteran’s Day rolls through this year, take some time to pay some respect to those who not only gave their lives, but also the ones that couldn’t get their lives back upon their return.

Chris and Tom's Excellent Adventure

I got the call from my wife on September 17^th, asking me if I would be willing to do her a favor. She works for Home Life, a company that serves people with disabilities, and she asked me if I would be willing to take one of the clients, Tom, for a ride on my motorcycle for his 27^th birthday.

Of course I said yes, as I believe that everyone should experience the freedom of the motorcycle, and told her that as long as it could be cleared through all of the management then I was in. Luckily, everyone who was involved with the decision process thought that it was a good idea, so it didn’t take long to get it approved.

I checked the weather for the coming up week and Friday looked like the day. That morning I had my wife take my spare helmet with her into work to get it adjusted for him. During the day Desiree, my wife, and the support staff, Hal, worked with Tom during the day to explain to him how to safely ride on the back of a motorcycle. They explained to him that he needed to hang on to the driver at all times, lean the same direction as the driver and not squirm around very much.

When I arrived on my 1982 Yamaha Turbo Seca, he was more than ready to go. As I came around the corner, he threw the helmet on before I could even make it into the parking lot. Before we could take off though, I wanted to make sure that I got a picture for him as a reminder. Hal grabbed a quick picture of Tom and I standing in front of my bike and even with the helmet on, you can see the smile on his face. After a quick reminder of what to do while on the back of the bike, we took off.

Tom hung onto the sides of my jacket as I carefully took off from the parking lot. I could feel the tension in his grip, but by the time we had made it three blocks away, it had ebbed. We got to Harrison Blvd, took a right and headed towards 53^rd street. While we were at a stop light, I asked Tom if he would like to go fast. I heard, “Yeah!” from behind me, so I kept going.

Once we hit 53^rd, I headed north right into the 55mph zone. I could feel Tom grip a little tighter, but it wasn’t a grip to convey to me that he was scared. We followed 53^rd north, going around the corner where it turns into Walnut Blvd, and then continuing past a shopping center and residential neighborhoods, on to 10^th St. At 10^th, we went right, heading through more residential areas towards the downtown area of Corvallis.

As we arrived at the north end of downtown, I realized that it may not have been such a great idea. It was almost 5pm on a Friday afternoon, rush hour. Although only a town of about 50,000 people, the rush hour traffic of Corvallis can still be a huge pain, especially if you are on a motorcycle. Even through all the start and stop, Tom held on without wiggling around. We made it through downtown, over the bridge, and into south town Corvallis.

A couple blocks past the bridge into south town there is the turn off for Avery Park. We had to travel slowly through here as there are huge speed bumps along the way. This road dumps out right across the highway from the OSU campus.

I took some surface streets through campus, vaguely making my way back to Tom’s house. Before I knew it though, we were heading down the street he lived on, approaching his house quickly. After we pulled into the parking lot, we both headed into the house. Tom announced to everyone that he was back as others were asking him if he had fun. I assured Hal that Tom did a great job of leaning with me through the turns, and told him about the route that we had taken.

In the end, I felt good because I had brought a huge smile to someone’s face, and I hoped that Tom would talk about that ride for a long time to come. As they were ordering the pizza for Tom’s birthday dinner, I headed back home having enjoyed this ride more than any I had taken by myself.