unapologetic

from some of my previous entries, it may appear to the casual observer that i'm somehow down on myself - that perhaps i'm not happy with who i am, hence all this talk about change, recovery, amends and the like. one of my friends commented after a recent post something to the effect of, "...except i'm too ashamed to publicly admit my mistakes." i'm not so much ashamed to admit my mistakes as i am to keep making the same ones over & over.

my wife Laura has been reading these entries as well, and she commented that she thought i was being too hard on myself about my tendency to collect & horde "stuff." this is why i love her so much - she always lets me off the hook. i don't view it as being hard on myself, just an honest assessment - hopefully without emotion or justification.

this blog has been cathartic for me, and i treat it as a journal. i'm not so arrogant (i hope) that i believe it's going to gain a following outside my immediate community of friends and family. when i started it, i perhaps had the spark of a hope that my light would somehow shine just a bit brighter, but then i started clicking on the "next blog" link at the top of the page (see it? yeah - right up there top center). i also had to try three times to get a name that wasn't in use. i had a moment of clarity that the so-called "blogosphere" is immense, and my feeble attempt is not only really late to the party, but also merely average in its presentation and scope. i am an averagely-bright star in an incredibly expansive night sky. i'm ok with that.

i had a pretty intense spiritual moment last night after getting off the phone with a good friend. she and i don't talk so much, but we have a colorful history. our deep connection goes back to those hazy, hormonal teenage years of angst and painful growth. i was struck with this feeling of connectedness and comfortable belonging. moments like this are precious to me - when my being fills with gratitude for the person i've become, for the friends in my life, and for people who love me as much as i love them. maybe more.

this moment had been building, because i've been spending some time here, digging. picking at the scab. call it a biopsy of my neuroses. i'm ok with the fact that i have neuroses. mine're better than most, says i. i'm happy to be aware of most of them - the alternative is to be stuck in denial and blindness.

i am unapologetic today. i will stand in front of anybody and tell them honestly what i'm thinking, what i'm doing - what i'm afraid of. i can have a serious conversation with them, or i can act like a goofball. i am incredibly capable of doing many different things, but i am not afraid to ask for or accept help with the things i can't. i don't suffer very much shame or remorse for things i've done, real or imagined. if i make a mistake, i'm not afraid to apologize. if the mistake is not mine, i try my best to forgive and let it go - harboring no resentment. this does not mean that i couldn't stand a little improvement. my favorite definition of humility comes from some A.A. literature - "a clear recognition of who and what we are, followed by a sincere desire to become what we could be." i have begun to experience that desire, have made some progress in that direction.

 i am unashamed to believe in my God, and to talk about my faith. but i am careful to make sure the forum is appropriate. my faith is mine, and i neither expect nor desire anybody else to adopt that particular doctrine. as far as i'm concerned, you are all a part of my God whether you know it, or believe it, or not. so welcome aboard!

so as i lay in bed last night, realizing one of those moments of intense connectedness and gratitude, i knew that i needed to share it - that i wanted anybody who is taking the time to read my ramblings to know that i am grateful. and unapologetic.

road rage

when i first began my journey in Recovery, i was driven by fear. my drug and alcohol use, from the very beginning, was an attempt to cope with unreasonable fears - fears mostly concerning my inability to cope with reality, and my lack of self-esteem. when i drank & used drugs, it squelched the fear enough that i could step out of myself & my imagined inadequacies on so many levels, and interact with society. i could make friends, i could make out with a girl, i could even dance. and even if that last was inaccurate, i believed i could dance. this is what drugs did for me.

when i put down these things, my fears came back in a huge way. with my crutch, my courage-maker, gone, my host of anxieties returned. i have had to address my various fears and challenge their validity over the past eight years. every time i have gotten into a situation where my fear surfaces to stop my growth, i have tried to walk directly into it. i've  found that most of the time, the things i fear are illusions. it has gotten to the point that i have very few fears...and being ever the extremist, it is possible that i should have a few of them back.

this morning around 6:40 am, i was headed into town to chair a twelve-step meeting, as i do every Thursday morning. i was running on time, drinking herbal tea, and listening to NPR. in reading this, you might imagine that i was filled with serenity, at one with the world, in a place of patience, tolerance, and understanding. apparently not.

since they put in the new light at Walmart, there are two opportunities to drag-race for the interstate onramp. there's the right lane for people (sheeple) who are in no hurry to get where they're going, then three or four commuters line up left to gun it and try for an open spot before the split. my truck wasn't warm, so i was lined up right at the first light. a couple of cars - an old Honda Civic coupe & a new Element - gunned it on green & raced to the front of the line, merging right before the Walmart red light & stopping short, as there was really only room for one to slide in. as the people in front of me slammed brakes, i pulled left & timed the green, rolling past the two who had just gunned & parked. as the light turned green, the person (guy) driving the mildly-riced Civic again gunned it - he apparently took issue with me rolling by (outsmarting) him with momentum.

my truck has a 7.3 liter turbo diesel. since i'm a motorhead, it also has a few tweaks that would also be considered "ricer mods" on a little-bitty Japanese car. it has a tuner that adds 80 horsepower, coupled with a bigger-than-stock exhaust and a cold-air intake. in short, i punched it and literally smoked the dude as my big truck belched black smoke from unburnt fuel while the turbo spooled. i really get an unreasonable amount of pleasure from doing that...and i rolled on down the onramp & merged without another thought.

there are two big hills heading south into town. since I-40 is closed due to continuing rockslides, all the semis have to re-route down I-26 from Tennessee, so on these two hills, the left lane is the place to be. as i rolled up the first hill, i noticed headlights coming up behind me. i try to be a courteous driver, and if people want to go up the road faster than me, i got no problem with that. so when i crested the hill after passing the trucks in the right lane, i did the polite thing & merged right to let dude pass. dude rolled up next to my rear quarter panel and....sat there.

for more than a few seconds. about halfway down the hill, i see that i'm closing on traffic ahead pretty quick, and dude (that moron) is still on my left quarter. so before i run out of room, i punch it again & merge left. it did not escape my notice that it was the semi-riced Civic from the Walmart light. i figure maybe the car didn't have the power to complete the pass. i roll up the second hill in the left lane, and the Civic again closes on my rear bumper. at this point, i've started talking to the guy (jackass). it's worth noting that he cannot hear me. so as i crest the second hill, i again pull right after i've passed the semis, hoping this person (asshole) will just go on by. again, he pulls alongside, just ahead this time, and then....sat there. almost as if matching my speed. so at this point, i am becoming annoyed. i am cussing this person (stupid f@#king c@#ks#cker), out loud. since i'm penned in, i have to jab brakes & merge left - admittedly a bit closer than i normally would - behind this driver (g@ddamn tool). his response is to slow down just a bit more. i'm pretty convinced he's fucking with me at this point.

so, being a stupid man driven by his problematic ego, i close in on his rear bumper...really close. in a 7000 pound rolling pile of steel traveling (only) 60mph at this point. his response is to brake-check me, which i'm expecting, no sweat - i have driven race cars & bikes much faster, much closer to other racers. (and there comes my 800-pound gorilla of an ego). dude realizes that's not going to faze me, so he punches it & his car wheezes, squats just a little, and farts down the road in an attempt to gain some distance. i again spool the big turbo & follow. i'm in full rage-ohol mode now.

we both engage in a few more dangerous & stupid antics before he signals his intent to exit & swings from the left lane all the way across to an exit ramp, and i follow. this is where that fear should be kicking in & regulating my stupidity, but i am convinced i need to talk to this fool & explain the error of his ways to him. he sees i'm following, so he pulls off on the verge & stops, as do i.

we both come out of our cars yelling. he's a muscular dude with a receding hairline, probably outweighing me by 30 pounds. i have 4 inches on him, and probably the reach. he's got the wild-eyed redneck affectation, advancing on me with a puffed out chest, and since i fear no man, i stand my ground, look right back in his crazy eyes and we have words. we did not come to an understanding. the primal testosterone-and-male-ego conflict would not let either one of us admit guilt or remorse. after a couple minutes of intense exchange of our opinions of each other, we flipped each other off and went our separate ways.

i continued into town and chaired the twelve-step meeting. i took a few moments at the beginning of the meeting to recount my confrontation. in reflection, especially with people other than myself, i can understand that from beginning to end, i played a major part in the escalation. i essentially played the bully role to the hilt with my big goddamn truck, and once committed, it was even deeper fears that drove me to act beyond any reasonable response. the fear in action this morning was several layers down, and i can't really pinpoint its nature, except that i'd somehow be less of a man if i didn't respond to shots apparently fired across my bow. it sounds something like, "oh hell no - you are not gonna get away with that..."

strangely enough, i think that under completely different circumstances, this guy and i would probably get along really well, perhaps even become good friends.

the overwhelming response from my friends in the morning meeting was concern and gratitude that dude didn't come out of his car with a gun. i'm more grateful that i didn't have the gun.

moderation

i'm continually amazed at my son's natural tendency to moderate. as i've alluded in previous entries, moderation is not something i do very well. i'm not even sure it's something i can teach very well, as i struggle to examine & let go of my false beliefs. even if i can verbally instruct the boy on proper or appropriate behaviors, i inevitably show him the opposite, and the example i set is a much more powerful teacher. luckily for him, he seems to be blessed with some inherent wisdom.

even at my advanced age, i have a sugar problem. i have a 12-oz bag of peanut m&m's i bought yesterday, and they are over half gone - they will, no doubt, be completely gone by the end of the day. close to 1800 calories of chocolate & peanutty goodness in 24 hours. that can't be good for me. Lucas, by contrast, still has halloween candy left, and he didn't even score big because he was too busy running around meeting new kids to play with down in Savannah. i've bought him candy here and there since then, and much of that would still be on top of the refrigerator if daddy hadn't finished it off. at his birthday party, all the other kids crammed their cupcakes in their mouths as if they were starving refugees, but Lucas licked half the icing off & then put it down "to finish it later." i'm not sure he ever finished it.

the echoes of my own upbringing continue to spew forth at the dinner table. the myth that supper must be finished pervades. ever since he was little and struggling to gain weight at the prescribed "healthy rate," we have been forcing Lucas to eat more than he normally wants to. he still seems small for his age, but so was i for much of my youth. he certainly doesn't seem to suffer from any lethargy. he has had problems with constipation, as well, until very recently. so maybe he doesn't feel the need to fill himself up? i was always told that i needed to clean my plate. after all, there were starving children in Africa who would be incredibly grateful to eat the food i wasted. i believe i only once suggested to my parents that they should figure out a way to send that food to Africa, because i wasn't gonna eat it. Laura & i are both tired of hounding Lucas to eat, so perhaps if he thinks he's had enough, then maybe he has?

he does the same thing with Wii and the tv. if i'm not careful, i can blow an entire Saturday watching old movies & playing videogames for hours. just one more level... Lucas will play for a little while, then put the controller down & walk away. he will find something else to entertain himself. it seems like most of the time, the show or movie or game is just a catalyst for his imagination, and he will start playing some game with himself, the rules of which only he knows. all the while, my mind is screaming something unintelligible about sitting still and finishing what he started - as if he's somehow wasting the electrons zipping across the inside of the screen if he's not watching.

these ideas of "wasting" the food, the time, the toys, the electricity - are all stuff that i was programmed to believe. again i find the voice yelling in my mind is not my own. i lament about the food left uneaten, the half-cups of chocolate milk left around, lights left on. yet if i turn the four fingers back upon myself, i find i have a tendency towards wasting resources myself. nothing makes me happier than to fill the tank of my motorcycle and burn a big loop out in the sticks. i buy a $300 set of tires for no reason other than to use them up in a couple of days on the track. let's not even mention how much fuel and money that uses between getting there, riding circles for a day or two, then getting home. i'm also a huge waster of food, not so much in the respect that i leave food uneaten - no, not this guy. i swing the other way and buy a large bag of peanut m&m's to finish in a day. given the choice of buying a single donut for .59 or three for $1.59, i will always buy three. and i will usually eat all of them. i'm also an incredibly efficient waster of time.

i'm working very hard on making some changes in the way i relate to material stuff. i've always stated that i don't really have any attachment issues - which also bears looking at, because i'm probably on the wrong side of that center, in that "stuff" has no real value to me, so i don't take good care of it or i'll break it/crash it, but then feel the utter driving compulsion to replace it, whatever the cost. i sure have alot of toys, for somebody with no attachment issues...seems like i horde stuff, like i think i'm not getting enough, at some level.

i sure hope i get some of this figured out before Lucas really starts paying close attention. in the meantime, maybe i'll let his example of moderation instruct me.

broke

i'm so broke i can't pay attention. that sucking sound is my wallet. we some broke-azz nyaggahs tha's fuh sho. i have recently hit a bottom with my money situation. i am making more money than i've ever made in my life, yet we still live paycheck-to-paycheck. our credit card debt is fucking ridiculous. our equity line is floating near its max. we send an awful lot of money to various institutions monthly to make very little headway. to top that all off, we still owe the IRS $5g's from our 2008 return. we're just not healthy in our approach to handling money.

i was never taught a good attitude towards handling it. my father was a child of the depression, and he tended to walk around with large rolls of cash in his pocket that he wouldn't spend. he stressed saving for a rainy day, yet it always seemed our family was just scraping by. when he died, his minimal life insurance policy barely covered his leftover debt. i think my reaction to that upbringing was to swing the other way. i can't keep money. i spend it like an addict smoking crack. always have. i don't even have a life insurance policy, so if i died in a horrific trackday incident, Laura would have to sell my son into white slavery to pay my fucking legacy off.

i remember i had a piggy bank when i was 6 or seven, and i had amassed what seemed like a small fortune from birthday contributions - maybe $30. i have a vague recollection of surreptitiously spending every cent of it on toys & candy. a little later in life, for 7th grade Spanish class we were selling those overpriced fundraiser candy bars to subsidize an actual trip to Spain. between extending credit to bigger kids on the bus so they'd like me better (they reneged) and extending credit to myself so i could mow down on some chocolate, i went $48.00 in the hole & my dad had to pry that roll of cash out of his ass to cover it for me. i remember getting grounded for a month, doubling up on chores, and never making it to Spain.

so here i am entering my fifth decade on the planet, and i still have no idea how to properly steward my own finances. intellectually i know the things to do - make a budget & stick to it, spend no more than i earn, pay off credit cards every month rather than carry a balance, all that wise financial advice that i've heard every time i've gone for debt counseling. when it comes crunch time, i inevitably do the wrong fucking thing. i'll buy some music on iTunes & a new set of tires for my moto instead of paying extra on one (or three) of my credit cards. i always go for the shiny new stuff rather than paying for the dusty old new stuff i bought the last time.

so i've had it. it's time for a radical shift. we're going to retire the debt. i've enlisted the cooperation of my wife, which is crucial, because in many ways she is the same. she grew up accustomed to a certain standard of living, which we cannot maintain at our current combined income. i think it pisses her off at a very deep level, but it is what it is & we will never be capable of living at any higher standard until we take care of our current situation. it's not like she's bringing in a huge paycheck. for the first half of our time together, she made considerably more than i & paid the lion's share of the bills, but that situation has changed. pretty sure that pisses her off, too. at this point, it's also become obvious we can't count on hitting the Powerball - since we don't even play it.

so we're going to start with a liquidation sale. i'm going to sell my big-ass truck and my track bike - arguably our two biggest liabilities at the moment. the truck is on what used to be a low promo-APR card. not so much since the recent "credit reform;" you can bet i'll be blogging about that later. the track bike because it is my biggest luxury expense on an annual basis between a half-dozen $200 trackdays, $350 sets of race tires & all the travel to the various venues. i guess i'll get back into mountain biking in a big way. we're also selling her dirt bike & her street bike, for a time. i guess i'll find a little POS truck that i can haul my dirt bike in & that gets decent mileage.

then, for the next two or three years - whatever it takes - we are going to put every spare dollar every week into retiring the debt. first the high-interest cards, then the high-balance cards, then the equity line. maybe we can even manage to put some into the IRA. i'm just sick and tired of being sick and tired over it.

i will not touch a wheel to the track until it's done. that is my commitment, and my motivation. besides, i really, really want a Yamaha Crossplane R1 for the track. by the time we have this debt taken care of, i should be able to find one, track-prepped, for a reasonable price. and i will pay cash.

cultural mythology

my son turned 5 today (January 18th). this is a big deal to me, for a number of reasons. first of all, he's not so much a baby anymore. he's starting to read, he can take care of himself in the potty, he can brush his own teeth. he made his first contextual joke the other day - he and his mother were playing Wii tennis, and he was down "love"-30 in the game. when the Wii console announced the score, he responded "love-30, mommy - they're loving you, but not me." i thought it was hilarious.


it reminds me of when i myself was five. my family had moved from southern Maryland, where i was born, to Westchester County, New York - near the Connecticut border, maybe a 45-minute drive to NYC. i met my first contemporaries there, i started school there, and nearly all of my memories of childhood begin there. i have very little recall of times before that. i guess i'm projecting somewhat that this is what Lucas is going through - the beginning of cognizance.

i got my first bike when i was five - Lucas has been riding his since he turned three, and never with training wheels. i got my first computer - remember the Commodore 64? - when i was 13 or 14. Lucas doesn't own a computer of his own, but he can use a Mac or a PC with equal ease - can fire it up & get online to the Nick Jr site using bookmarks, and use either a mouse or a touchpad with equal dexterity. he has mastered the universal remote. he also likes to be outside, loves to go on a hike or hit the BMX track on a summer afternoon. he can ride a motorcycle since his 4th birthday. he is a product of his parents' interests, but not exclusively. i am committed to supporting him on whatever path he takes in life. if he wants to be an extreme athlete or a ballerino - i don't care, so long as he does his best at whatever things he chooses to pursue.

he started gymnastics class last week, as part of his fifth birthday present from me. he wants to backflip his motorcycle (!), and at some point during the year i told him he should take a gymnastics class if he really wanted to learn how to backflip. i took gymnastics for a year or two when i was a little older than Lucas, and my sister kept at it until she was fourteen or fifteen, anyway. he so far enjoys it, and he seems to be taking the direction of his instructor there better than he ever does from me. i guess part of being five is not needing any help from mommy or daddy.

so as his cognizance is developing, my goal is to promote his self-reliance and free thinking. i am really trying to avoid simply passing along much of our cultural mythology by rote. i guess the major exception at this point is Santa Claus. it's just too much fun to see the joy and wonder of my young child upon finding the great big pile of gifts under the Christmas tree. also, at some level, i don't want to be the heretic spoiling the myths of other parents. you can be assured, however, that there will be no Easter Bunny visiting our household, and i will make it very plain that the yearly resurrection of all things green and the renewal of the Earth's yearly life cycle cannot be cheapened by a cartoon character.

Lucas recently picked up the phrase, "oh my God," from somewhere - probably me or Laura, if i get real honest. but we've taken to correcting him out of some sense of politeness, since i guess some of our neighbors would find it offensive that our five-year-old is allowed to run around taking the name of the Lord in vain...anyway, last night he said "oh my God," about something, to which his mother & i both responded, "oh my gosh, OK? try to avoid saying 'oh my God.'"
"why?"
"well," i replied, "it's really just good manners - some people get uncomfortable talking about God, and hearing the word God tossed around. and we want to be respectful of people who feel that way."
"oh. what is God?"
(here we go...) "God is something we're all a part of, and God is inside of all of us, and everything in the whole Universe."
"inside me? and you?"
"that's right. and it's one of those things that's kind of hard to explain, especially since you're just five. maybe we should talk about God a little more when you're six."
...at which point he sorta nodded and went back to watching TV. i seem to have bought a little time on that one. it's not that i'm afraid of talking about God to my child, and i think the idea of a diety is something that every child ought to be exposed to. in my own childhood i was taught the dogma of Judeo-Christianity, which i wasn't allowed to really question or examine until much later in life - i was expected to buy it whole hog, and take the proffered answers to unanswerable questions on faith alone. and if i couldn't find that faith, then i was judged to be lacking in piety. this left me in the untenable position of being expected to profess faith in something that nobody could explain. "after all, that's why it's called faith." was the most-oft-heard lame explanation.

ever since he began asking, i have attempted to give Lucas the most logical, straightforward answers to his questions. while i was told about God bowling up in Heaven being the source of that thunder, Lucas has always (and repeatedly) been told that it is the sound of the air slamming back together after the lighting strikes, and that the lightning is like when he touches the TV when it's on, or when he pets the cat, only much, much bigger. when he asks where electricity comes from, i always (and repeatedly) tell the story of the water behind the dam or the smokestacks on the way to the airport making the generators turn, which make big electricity that gets sent to the substation like the one by the Walmart, etc...all the way to the outlets at our house.

i really want him to seek out the answers for the questions he has, on his own, forming his own judgments and opinions rather than parroting those he interprets from our cultural mythology. at the same time, when he started to get really upset because he couldn't fathom how Santa Claus could possibly get down the chimney and through our woodstove if i kept the fire going, i had to come out with it;
"Santa Claus is magic. it doesn't matter if there's a fire, he puts his finger up next to his nose and winks - and poof! he's down the chimney with your presents." God help me stick to my guns.

blood and oil mix surprisingly well

my track bike is getting a little lovin'. she's a 2001 GSX-R750 with almost exactly 25,000 miles on her. the last 2500 have been exclusively at above 8000rpm. i'm careful to change the oil frequently, and i diligently warm her up before hitting the tarmac WFO, but she's been smoking a little bit, and maybe feeling a little tired in the top gears, pushing the air aside at over 150mph. since i bought a compression tester to troubleshoot my friend Joel's Yamaha R6, i figured it would be wise to check mine, as well. a healthy sportbike engine should push 170-180psi. my old girl could only manage 110. time for a teardown!

since i was into the transmission last spring (um, twice...), it was a matter of maybe thirty minutes to drop the engine out of the frame, and get it on the bench. (i had popped off the valve cover to check clearances.) i am fortunate to have a clean, well lit, heated space to do the work in. that won't keep me from putting barriers to efficiency in my own way, though!

this thing has got to come down to its very core, as low compression indicates piston ring wear. the pistons are pretty much in the dead center of the mass pictured here.

i love to take shit apart! i'm of the school that logically unbolts components, keeping fasteners together but avoiding anything so time-consuming as bagging & labeling. when i was younger, i would throw all the bolts into a single box, and then would just depend on quick wits and common sense to ascertain where they should go during reassembly. i'm not so carefree these days, but i don't really have the patience for baggies.

pull the cam chain tensioner, cams & cylinder head. pull clutch cover, clutch assembly, starter cover, starter, starter clutch & idle gear, cam chain guides, cam chain drive sprocket & cam chain. spin it around & pull the stator cover & stator, as well as the water pump. flip the lump over & pull the oil pan. let oil drain in this pan, conveniently placed such that i will drop one or more bolts in 3 inches of oil. because i am an idiot. and Murphy is one of my dearest friends.

in the matter of another 45 minutes or so (disassembly is a false indicator of how quickly i'll be able to get this thing back together), the engine is down to the cases, ready for the heavy artillery. at this point, the "lower third" of the case has to come off for removal of the transmission. there are six allen head bolts with fairly high torque that need to be removed from the area behind the cylinders. none of them are very accessible, and the motor wants to spin around the torque applied in the amount necessary to break the bolts loose. this is a surefire recipe for some amount of body fluid leakage. i'll use one elbow to prevent counter-rotation while using two hands on a ratchet with allen-head socket, and five of the six bolts break loose at around 35-40 ft-lbs, in a nice, controlled manner.

the sixth bolt is a bit more stubborn, so the motor is trying to lift off the bench in addition to spinning, so i clamp it down to the bench with my other elbow, and then around 50 or 60 ft-lbs, this bolt goes CRACK! and suddenly spins free, but the sudden force reversal pops the ratchet mechanism into a neutral state, and the side of my thumb impacts the machined mounting surface at a few hundred feet per second. the damage is fairly minor, and as i already implied, somewhat expected. it still smarts, and i chew off the rolled up bit of epidermis before the anesthetic adrenaline burst wears off.

 i tried a couple band-aids, but they don't stick to oil & it's a funny spot to try to keep a band-aid on for any length of time anyway. lucky for me i'm a good clotter. a few moments of direct pressure & i'm back to business. oh, but look! during my fumbling with the sixth fastener, i must have jostled the cardboard enough to knock the timing chain off the bench. and wouldja look where it landed! it was while cleaning this up with my dominant left hand that i noticed the oil & blood mixing. the blood seemed rather oleophilic, to tell the truth; as if, had i mixed it thoroughly, it may have catalyzed into some new type of epoxy or perhaps some previously undiscovered biofuel...

anyway, flip the lump back over & remove the dozen or so smaller bolts from the other side (of varying lengths, but i'm fairly certain i can figure out where they go back using my superior cognitive powers). use a soft-faced hammer to pop the lower case off, set it to one side. pull out the transmission input and output shafts, complete, since i already fixed them, and lay them in a clean plastic bin together. next, remove the eleven 6mm bolts from the crankcase halves, and then the ten 8mm bolts that comprise the main bearing web. these are also very tight, so i manage to scuff the back of my right hand while further juggling the lump during this operation.

tap, tap, tap again with the soft hammer, and there we go! cases are split, and the crank is ready for the final step in disassembly - the connecting rod big ends. find the right tool for this - a "twelve point" 10mm socket, as specified in the manual. i suppose if one doesn't know what this is, or can't figure it out by looking at the star-shaped bolt heads, he has no business disassembling an engine to this point.

these bolts are also very tight, but i'm able to at least push the wrench handle thru the axis of rotation & minimize the squirming. what's left hasn't got very much mass to resist my application of torque, so it takes patience & a well-considered initial lever position to ease the process. once the bolts are loose & nearly out, a little tapping disengages the bearing caps, and the pistons slide down (up) to the bottom (top) of their respective bores. lift out the crank & set it aside after checking the bearing journals for unusual wear.

it's amazing how small the power-producing core of this engine is. it is not any longer than my forearm, and weighs maybe 30 lbs with the considerable mass of the crank, yet is capable of producing 120-ish horsepower in stock tune. i notice some normal 25k wear on the rod bearings, as well as the two main bearings on the cam-chain end of the crank. i need to order rod bearings, crank main bearings, piston rings, a new cam chain, and a gasket kit, including a new head gasket with ~.020" tighter squish - about $500 worth of parts - to put the old girl back together. it amounts to about two cents per mile, to restore this engine to better than factory spec.

down to parts in under two hours. i so get off on this stuff.

rebuttal (rightward shift pt. 2)

whew! i've gotten more than a few responses to my chosen position on the HFCS debate. apparently, it is disconcerting to my friends, and i appreciate the concern.  i'm not going to one day wake up in Pat Robertson's bed, i don't think, but i've come to understand that sometimes, nay, often, what seems like the obvious "right thing to do" has unforeseen consequences.

2010 for me is to be a year of challenging my belief systems. i have hundreds of deeply entrenched dogmatic beliefs on which i base my most of my actions and values. my conscious and subconscious reactions to people, situations, the world around me, are going to stem from these sacredly held core ideas.

and alot of them are just wrong. or under-examined, or both.

for example, i spent my entire adult life, from approximately age 13 to age 33, a staunch atheist. i could (and would) argue the nonexistence of God with anybody that would stand still. when i began my journey in substance abuse recovery, it was suggested i ought to reexamine that belief and see if i couldn't find some concept of God that worked for me, because it just makes the process less painful & more successful in the long run. i had a number of profound awakenings in a short span of time that convinced me that God is indeed a factor in my life, the lives of every being on the planet, and throughout the universe. i no longer belabor the point to anybody, however, because i realize that the spiritual paths we all take are different. i had to first be willing to examine my own core beliefs in order for any shift to occur, though.

so back to the HFCS debate. it would be easy enough for me to jump on the bandwagon and say, "hell yeah we need to ban it! it is horrible stuff and makes people fat and gives 'em the diabeetus! and obviously America isn't smart enough to realize it!" i've been on that bandwagon before, and it is littered with overly simplistic "solutions" to terrible problems. Newton's Third Law of Motion says, "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction." i think this law applies to more than just physics.

take a look at the graph to the right. it represents, as the title states, "U.S. per capita food consumption - Sugar and sweeteners." i think it is also posted on the PAGE OF THE FACEBOOK GROUP THAT STARTED THIS DIALOGUE. the convergence of the blue and green lines would seem to indicate a broad switch to HFCS in the last two decades. no brainer, right? we've already established the HFCS is cheaper, so that makes sense.

after having done some research, i found that high-fructose is no "sweeter" than granular sugar, and contains the same number of calories per gram, despite what many proponents of the "BAN" would implicate in their hastily-researched diatribes. in most breads and non-liquids, it is used in a less-potent concentration than white sugar. hmm. nonetheless, the convergence of the two lines is not the important piece of data. the red line at the top is. it indicates that Americans' overall demand for sugar had steadily risen to about the year 2000, then declined somewhat in the early "oughts." i would be interested to see the graph for the rest of the decade, myself, to see if the downward trend continued.

regardless, it is also important to point out that this is per capita data, in the same timeframe, the population of the U.S. had increased by 20% - from roughly 226 million to 281 million. now imagine the blue line of per capita solid sugar consumption if there were no green line, assuming the red line remains unchanged. it would have to represent the totals of HFCS and sugar consumed per capita, correct? also in my independent research, i found out that sugar only grows in selected climates, and its production and process is already having some pretty significant environmental impacts in those areas. so i have a single question: what do you think would happen to the agricultural landscape in those (largely second- and third-world) tropical, (relatively) underdeveloped areas of current sugar harvesting if demand in arguably the most sugar-insatiable nation in the world suddenly doubled?

i'm not invested in winning any argument - not this time, anyway. i'm only trying to illuminate the fact that there are no simple solutions. i am also aware of the irony in my decidedly right-wing response of "please stop parroting the things you hear on the interwebz and start thinking for yourselves."

further evidence of a rightward shift

i've received the Facebook invite to join the "BAN OF HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP IN THE U.S." page or group or whatever. i usually summarily ignore these invites, as do i for "Friend Suggestions." as i heard my friend Naomi say one day, "isn't that the ultimate way to not mind your own business? you're going to suggest who i should be friends with? i already have my own friends..." she went on for a little bit, but you get the idea. i understand it's a "social network," and all, and i appreciate people thinking about me, i guess. but mostly i bet it's just clicking of the boxes next to the names of people you'd like to annoy when faced with one of those Facebook "suggest friends" popups...

...anyway, this is not an idea or group i can really get behind, and not just because i selfishly enjoy my syrupy-sticky carbonated soft drinks, but also because like most good-intentioned ideas, it is ultimately short-sighted and filled with saccharine logic (see what i did there?). i'm fairly certain that banning high-fructose would bring all manner of un-thought-of negative market effects. the fact that the NAME OF THE GROUP IS POSTED IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS also just makes me crazy. it's part of the reason i don't capitalize at all. e-yelling at me is not helping your cause.

my number one objection, however, is that nobody is holding a gun to anybody's head. there are plenty of beverages and foods available on the open market that do not contain HFCS. drink water if you don't want it. it is actually possible to find soft drinks without it. eat whole wheat bread, or an actual apple. to lay the blame for America's obesity epidemic largely on the existence of high fructose is again, false logic. there is correlation, and i will not argue that it may be a contributing factor, but the fault does not, can not, lie in a substance in which the consumer chooses to partake. the fact is that Americans have gotten thirstier, and stupider. not real thirst, but well-marketed thirst. when i was a kid, a 12oz can of "pop" was the serving size. i probably had to split it with my stupid sister (no offence, Meg - just a literary device). that's what you got. today, i can go to the convenience store and grab a 24oz bottle of my favorite fizzy brown sugar-water. and nobody i know takes that bottle & pours a cup, then puts the rest of it in the refrigerator. there are four servings in there! you can wail & bemoan the marketing ploys of the beverage companies, but at the same time, nobody is complaining about getting too much orange juice. take some accountability for your own declining health, America. be parents, and don't give your little kid a bunch of soda.

next is the economical problem. the very people the BAN OF HFCS seeks to help are the ones to be hardest hit. high-fructose is a cheap way to sweeten foods. it is in the staples of the lower-class population - white bread, American cheese, cheap peanut butter, cheap pancake syrup, breakfast cereal. take away the HFCS, and the price of these things grows unaffordable to many of these less-fortunate Americans. what would work better is education. eat balanced meals, with fruit and vegetables. limit the daily intake of HFCS. be aware of what garbage goes into your body. get a little exercise, maybe. i'm pretty sure this was covered in my primary-school Health classes.

many countries who have tried this ban have reverted. Italy & Canada have both given it a go before realizing the negative impacts, both socially and economically. it again amounts to a tax on the poor. God bless those of us who can afford to choose whole, organic foods. to the rest (and much larger, population-wise) of America, it would be an expensive burden to bear for the liberal good intentions of a few.

scream about subsidies to the corn industry, big pharma all you want. if demand goes down, they will look elsewhere for profits. profits = taxes, and taxes = revenue for our grossly broke country. start eating into the profits of the largest corporations in America, and we will see even greater unemployment, even less revenue from income. there are better ways to affect change in the landscape of American society than legislatively removing our fundamental rights to choose our poison.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."


let's not forget the principles on which our nation was built.  

talking smack

my buddy Brian texted me this morning, asking if i'd ever been to Jennings GP. Jennings is a motorcycle-only road course in the middle of north-Florida nowhere. we're planning a 3-day trip down there together in mid-February. i have, in fact, been there before:

that's me, breakdancing in T1. as the poster implies, i had been taken out by some kid on a POS bike in the very first session of the day. that's his crappy bike under my flying Triumph.

nonetheless, i have been back down to Jennings since then. it's a fun, technical track with a good surface and decent weather in months when it's really too cold around here. Brian has never been, yet he has throw down something of a gauntlet, claiming he is going to beat my best laptime at Jennings, by 2 seconds, by the end of the weekend. if it were somebody i didn't know, i would probably grin and say something to the effect of, "hey - maybe so." then i would wait until the weekend in question & go throw down some halfway decent laps, letting my riding speak for itself. not to be too arrogant, but i would probably end up passing the person making the claim.

there're a number of factors at play here: 1. first and foremost, i am immensely competitive. 2. i have been on this track before (and i was not the fastest). 3. Jennings is a tricky place - half the track is balls, half is brains. 4. every time i get out on the track, i learn something, and i try to progress. 5. i have been riding for over twenty years. 6. i have raced various vehicles since before i had my driver's license, and finding the racing line is apparently in my genetic makeup.7. last but not least, Brian has never, ever, gone faster than me on the track. not by a long shot. last time out, i got on his bike with his setup and in a single 20-minute session beat his best lap time by nearly 20 seconds. one 2.54-mile lap, twenty seconds faster. obviously, Brian is talking shit. and i love it, because it instantly opens the door for me to talk shit right back.


so when i got his text this morning asking if i'd been to Jennings before, i was like, "oh hell no. he's not gonna backpedal out of this one already." and so the following mad SMS conversation ensued - 


me: Yes. But don't be gettin ur excuses lined up this early!
Brian: How many times? What gearing?
me: 3 or 4 times. It's where i met Doc the 1st time. I would use -1, +2. 
B: If u have been there that many times, i should get at least a 2 sec handicap.
me: You don't really want to start out admitting defeat with a "handicap," do you? Natural talent should be able to overcome, right?
B: I will overcome!
me: There you go. I will come to Beaverun and beat your best laptime by 2 seconds. Maybe 5. The gauntlet is now thrown.
B: the beave is my best track u will need 2 pack a lunch...and then some.
me: I will find some vid.
me: oh and...FIRST SESSION.
B: not possible
B: T8 is a wide open kink into bstretch. drift right 2 edge or u aint doin it right. if u do it right the proper line in the backstretch is very bumpy. make sure your [steering] damper is up to snuff.
me: i will take it [*the steering damper] off. 2 secs. 1st session.
B: not at the beave. not happening. i am sure of it.
me: we will see in August. maybe sooner.
B: i can go n e time to the beave.
me: i will do a 1:10 at beaverun before lunch (this last was later in the day, after i found this video on YouTube of an "A" group rider doing laps at around 1:10)





...i have yet to get a response from this last. i don't know what Brian's best laps at Beaverun are, but i have the feeling they are around 1:20.


Brian is a good friend, but he never seems to have good weekends when we're at the track together. i think at some level i intimidate him. i'm not going to be the guy who outright says, "dude - you're delusional. i put 20 seconds on your best lap at Road Atlanta on your own bike. you don't really have the skill or mindset to put two seconds on me at a track i'm good on." i want him to relax & start to put things together. the mistakes he's making are largely from always being too tense, and i've told him as much in serious conversation. but when the talking of smack begins, i have to skillfully circumlocute these cold hard realities. my problem with talking smack is that sometimes i don't know when to stop. i feel like as long as i can back up the claims i'm spitting (or take a little verbal beatdown cheerfully), it should go until the logical conclusion of somebody shutting the hell up. i think i may have hurt people's feelings in the past, however, by occasionally going for the jugular.


because nothing hurts so much as the truth when it comes to shit-talking. 

snowboarding!

man, i got to get out on the "shredsled" (i just heard that term - now i'm all hip!) for the first time in a couple years yesterday! it was an awesome time, to be sure, and one of those things i sometimes deny myself out of sheer laziness. i'll convince myself that it won't be that good, or that i can't afford it, or that i don't have time.
the surest way for me to be bored & restless is to keep myself disconnected from physical activity.

so David called me up on Friday & said they were thinking about going up this weekend. immediately i started making excuses; Laura's sick - who's going to watch Lucas - we're a little strapped - it won't be as good as that week i spent out West...then i remembered the $50 left over from Christmas i'd been saving to take Laura & Lucas to see Avatar again...she's not going to want to see a movie for several more weeks, and Lucas has already seen it.

wonder what kind of shape the board is in? it hasn't seen daylight in two years, at least. i bet the edges are rusty...nope! look at that - sharp & shiny, and the wax coat is still in good shape. i guess it oughta be - it didn't touch snow last season, and before that it spent a week in powder. OK, dammit - i'm in! so i call Dave back & let him know that i want to do this thing.

a couple false starts later, we headed up to Wolf on Sunday morning. it's cold, but not as cold as Sun Peaks, BC in 2008. i'm hoping to get some good runs in before the church folk crowd the slopes in the afternoon. $52 for a lift ticket, and we're at the top of the hill pretty soon after scoring a "locals" parking spot. not ever one to ease into something, i strap in & toss myself down the hill. it only took me about three turns to remember how to do it, and the ease with which it all came back made me feel real good about the day ahead. we spent pretty much the entire day going up, shredding down. we took three maybe ten-minute breaks, hit every sanctioned trail & a couple that weren't, even found some untracked snow to slide thru! not a bad day for the East Coast.

the snowboard is one of those activities that's rewarded by a relaxed stance, by looking way ahead, and by committing to the turns, just like riding a motorcycle or bicycle. also, most  rider inputs have to come from the hips, again like motorcycling or mountain biking. when i started, like most beginners, i spent alot of time hitting the ground, because i would tense up when it came time to change direction, and i couldn't bring myself to commit to the other edge. the board just doesn't work right when its inputs are tentative.

in order to really enjoy snowboarding, i found i need a decent core fitness, and then i've gotta relax & enjoy the controlled fall down the mountain. i had forgotten how imprecisely the thing "steers," so it took me a few edges to remember to look ahead, plan ahead. i also forgot how much i love the steeps! we dropped into "the bowl," which i don't think has been open in several years, and the adrenaline rush of looking straight down a 60 degree slope with feet firmly attached to a 5'-long slab of metal-edged laminate that has to be ridden down, is worth the price of admission. to ride terrain that steep, the level of commitment required goes up exponentially - rate of acceleration due to gravity is a constant, and is unchecked during the turns. for a brief moment, the board and rider are in essentially freefall, as you pop off the riding edge, flip the board back the other way, and dig in again. the steeper the terrain, the faster the freefall, and the higher the stakes for getting it right. when done successfully, with a measure of accuracy & control, few things are as satisfying.

i've progressed, which i think is a worthwhile goal - always progress. when i started boarding, i couldn't make it off the lift without falling down, occasionally taking some unfortunate stranger with me. with practice, i got to the point i could count on making it down an intermediate run most of the time without jacking myself up. with a thirst for progression, i became willing to hit some black diamond runs & maybe try to catch a little air here & there. yesterday, i was able to strap the board on after a two-year hiatus, and be confident enough to drop in on some icy, steep East Coast double-black runs.

i still took a pretty hard fall, straight on my ass, while standing in the lift line. i nearly took out the hapless thirteen-year-old girl in front of me as well. no matter how good i get at something, there will always be somebody better. and there will always be room for some humility.

profiler

on my way home from dropping Lucas off at school this morning, i passed a car with Michigan tags on the way up the New Stock grade. the weather around here has been a little like Michigan for the past couple weeks, i mused, as i took stock of this vehicle. "vehicle," by the way, is what my co-worker, who is from Michigan, calls a car or truck. i've formed quite a few opinions of what Michigan people are like from daily contact with this one guy. i have a tendency to profile people in this way. "profiling" is a nice word for my prejudices.

the car was a mid-90's Mercury Sable, covered in road grime, with the plastic front bumper cover loose & flapping on the driver's side. the front hubcap was missing, and the rear was cracked. the left rear tire was low. immediately i've made some assumptions - this guy doesn't take care of his stuff. it follows that he probably doesn't take good care of himself.

as i pull alongside, i see that he's pretty drastically overweight, and he's got the full beard & mustache, but not because he hates shaving as much as i do - in this case, it's just slovenliness. the car is filled with crap. i don't really have time to analyze the piles of detritus, but the back seat is filled to the bottom of the windows with disorganized stuff, the front passenger seat with fast-food castoffs. i make a few more misinformed judgements about this slob. he's a typical blue-collar Michiganer. he probably used to be an auto worker (for Ford, considering the POS Sable), and he lost his job when the economy melted down. he probably should have lost it for being a lazy slob many years before, but he had a union contract.

so in the course of a few seconds on the highway, i've judged this poor bastard & found him lacking. as if i were God. i do that fairly often. my favorite targets are found on the highway, because i get to start with the license plate or the type of "vehicle," and build my derision from a gross generalization. my favorite targets have Florida plates. you are categorically an idiot and/or a douche-bag if you happen to find yourself in front of me with Florida plates on your car.

i've learned at this point in my life that the things i dislike most about other people are the things i detest the most in myself. this has been proven time and time again in my own hypocrisy. taking the above example, if i turn the mirror back upon myself, i can see that i am also driving a grimy Ford product. every surface behind my seat is covered with my child's detritus or my own random crap. i have no idea what my tire pressures are. i HATE shaving, and just recently took the time to shave my patchy beard-ish growth. i'm probably madder at that guy because he can actually grow a beard & not look ridiculous. i love me some nasty fast food - i'm just (so far) blessed with halfway decent metabolism. i am a lazy fuckin' slob, when i get right down to it. clutter makes my OCD act up, though, so i have to clean up from time to time, or go (even) crazy(er). seems i'm jealous of my friend's lack of compulsive disorders, as well.

the funny thing is, i'm always judging in my father's voice. even if i'm talking out loud to somebody who can't hear me (and doesn't even really care what it is i have to say), if i listen carefully, the timbre and diction are not mine - they are those of my cranky old father, who taught me by example. i spent the larger part of my formative years sitting shotgun in my dad's various automobiles, listening to his commentary on the other drivers, their bad habits, and their questionable lineage. thanks, dad.

the good news that comes out of this is that if something is learned behavior, it can be modified. i can change for the better. i can un-learn how to be so relentlessly judgemental. it starts by just catching myself in the act, and stopping it. flip the mirror back on myself. act my way into right thinking.

my poor kid

i am a moody bitch. there - i admit it. most people who know me well already knew that, but i feel it's important to say it out loud, to be accountable. i know people who are generally upbeat, who always seem to be having a good day. this is what i aspire to. i also know people who are generally down on things - you know, "Debbie Downer" types who find it hard to see positive things happening in their lives. i just wish i could be so consistent.

i've started 2010 with a commitment to try and stay more grateful, more positive on a daily basis. a week in, it seems to be working out OK, but only OK. see? there i go. nothing has changed in my life significantly for the better or worse in the last week. in making this commitment to myself & voicing it out loud to people around me, i have subjected myself to some amount of internal pressure. i already tend to judge myself too harshly. unfortunately my reaction to not meeting my own standards is acting out in unjustified anger. also unfortunately, it is the people closest to me - my wife, son, and friends, who are going to see the brunt of my unreasonable outbursts.

Laura has been with me long enough that she reacts in one of a few ways, but consistently anyway. she'll generally just ignore my stupid ass until i cool down & apologize. alternatively, she'll snap back at me, asking me in various terms, "what the fuck is your problem?" as soon as i hear that, i know the answer. me - i'm the problem. i expect myself or the people around me to act in ways different than we actually do. i suffer from a lack of acceptance. always.

Lucas has been seeing a little bit of loud, scary daddy lately. he is about to turn five. he is a bundle of unhinged energy, and has been since before he came out of the womb. he is relentlessly happy, unless he is not. when i'd like him to be serious for a few moments, he giggles. when i'd like him to be still & quiet, he wiggles & chatters. when i'd like him to be happy with the things he's got, he whines about the things he wants. having just written that, i suppose it is all normal almost-five-year-old behavior. even if it isn't "normal," it is, in fact, his behavior. i, on the other hand, expect that he should act appropriately to the situation. you know - "like me."

my wife has been sick this week; horribly so - suffering both sinus & ear infections. she's in so much pain at times she just lies on the couch stifling sobs. and i am powerless to do anything about it. she has seen the doctor. she has medicine to take. i cannot take her pain away, and my powerlessness is what makes me angry most often. on top of this powerlessness, it means i have to be a loving partner & take care of all the things that need done around the house. i've had to start the day taking care of the animals, rekindling the fire in the woodstove, getting Lucas ready for school, making him breakfast, while getting myself ready to leave the house with my head attached. i have to take him to school, which generally causes me to miss my (self-imposed) clock-in time at work. i have to leave work before my (again, self-imposed) quitting time to pick Lucas up from school, go to the store, make dinner, help the boy with homework, and clean up after dinner.

it's really not that much work, and it all comes together pretty easily. but since i am lazy and selfish, i have internally made it out to be a Herculean task, and eternal. i cannot do what i want to do at this moment, and at some level i have begun to believe that it has always been, and will always be this way - even though it has only been 36 hours or so. since my (unspoken) expectations aren't being met, i have this anger building inside with nowhere to point it. i can't really vent on my wife - she didn't choose to be this sick. for God's sake, she's crying already. the dogs are also blameless - we chose to take on the care of these animals, and they reciprocate with unconditional love. Lucas is unfortunately the most convenient scapegoat for my unreasonable discomfort - the most acute cause. so i am short with him. i give him less leeway to be a child. i give him less chances to "behave" before i begin to raise my voice, begin to show exasperation. finally i snap over something trivial - the reason i have been looking for. he has drawn a little stick-man on some other (ultimately replaceable) thing - he's very artistic. but it's not paper, and he's been told to only draw on paper.

his expression brings me back to where i need to be. he can't self-censor. he doesn't yet know how to hide his hurt. his little face just starts to crumble, tears at the corners of his eyes. confusion, mostly - i can see the questions form behind his little ice-blue eyes, "what just happened? what did i do? why is daddy so mad?"

and so i apologize. i get down to his level & embrace him. i tell him i was wrong, that i'm not acting appropriately. i tell him that i'm only mad because i want mommy to feel better but i can't do that, that i'm not magic & i can't make everybody happy.

you know what he says?
"it's OK daddy. i forgive you." great - now i'm crying, too.

i hate stuff that doesn't work

what's the point of a machine, anyway, if not to automate some process to make our lives easier? if it takes just as much effort to get the damn machine to work properly as it does to do the job manually, then i think the machine should be relegated to the scrap heap.

we have a very large, aging bag machine at work, which i like to call "the 42-inch machine of hate." this particular machine has a legacy. it has been installed in at least three locations other than where it currently sits, it has been modified to perform several very different variations on a theme, and it has been programmed (at) by at least three GML code-writers; none of whom, apparently, had any contact with the others.

this machine will sit idle for weeks at a time, until my boss decides we need to accomplish some pressing run of samples which he's forgotten about and needs to be done immediately. machines hate sitting idle. things that need to slide get sticky, bearings that needs to spin freely get notchy, things that need to be smooth and shiny develop a coat of oxidation. we often forget that we needed to fix that one thing after the last time we ran this godforsaken hunk of scrap.

every time - seriously, every time, i flip the switch on the 480 volt transformer, crank up the big air compressor and dryer, and fire off the chiller unit to run this hateful beast, it develops another "new" problem. today the slitter stopped working properly. last time, the #3 servo control had randomly dumped its program. the time before that, the seal head had rotated 5 degrees & had to be completely realigned. previous to that, the cutoff knife had stopped cycling consistently. it had gotten to the point where i would come near having an anxiety attack at the mere thought of turning it on. i've gotten beyond that now. i've just accepted that nothing is going to happen good on the first attempt. and that pisses me off.

it's the ultimate powerlessness when something that has operated correctly many times in a row suddenly refuses to do so. it is humbling, and as a good addict, i do not enjoy having my ego deflated - especially by an inanimate object. luckily, i am a fixer. troubleshooting is a game i enjoy playing. if i spend a little time observing the faulty process, i can usually determine the miscue and repair it. cars are easy - air, fuel, spark. complicated 50'-long bag machines precisely sealing four layers of medical-grade plastic film together, not so much.

the thing about fixing machines in general is that every process can be broken down into smaller sub-processes and sub-routines in smaller and smaller divisions of time until each minuscule section of the process has been isolated to one motion in one direction in one unit of time - the mechanical equivalent of the atom. this is the key to troubleshoooting. find the motion that doesn't happen when it should, or that happens when it shouldn't, and you've found the problem, and you have an idea how to rectify it.

it would be so much more of an awesome contemplation if we weren't running late, having skipped breakfast, on the coldest morning of the year, when the starter goes, "click-k-k..."

but, dammit, i will fix it. because i will not have my ass kicked by an inanimate object!

durable goods

my co-worker and i have been having an ongoing conversation about personal freedoms, and it has morphed into a broader-reaching conversation about politics & economics. i'm afraid the bottom line is that i may be turning into a (gasp!) Republican. with a few caveats...

North Carolina has outlawed smoking in bars and restaurants, as of January 1st. it is ironic, considering the fact that NC is the nation's largest harvester of demon tobacco, to this day. i have to interject that i'm an ex-smoker, and i don't like breathing secondhand smoke. i still view this action by the state's lawmakers as a hugely wasted opportunity, and it has served to underscore a few of my developing core beliefs.

let's take it as a given that by this point in the year 2010, that everybody who still chooses to smoke cigarettes (or other tobacco products) is aware that they are unhealthy. it says right there on the side of the pack (and has ever since before i started smoking) that one way or another, they are going to kill you. random strangers will approach you on the street and tell you the same thing, just in case you didn't take the time to read the warning, or if you cannot read. smoking is bad, m'kay?

bars and restaurants that have maintained smoking areas in the last decade have already spent a good amount of money updating their facilities to meet the state & federal standards for adequate ventilation, smoker segregation, and the like. so why not allow smoking areas to continue to exist, with the proper Permit? bars have to purchase ABC permits to sell alcohol, so why not use this opportunity to generate some revenue for our broke-ass state by requiring establishments to apply for smoking area permits if they wish to allow smoking within the walls of their privately-owned businesses? then, if people didn't want to deal with the smoky atmosphere, they could stay the hell out. smoking isn't a right guaranteed by the Constitution, but neither is a smoke-free atmosphere. see where i'm headed? it would be the personal freedom of choice whether or not to go in the smoky building. smokers would also have the freedom of choice to light up or not, knowing all the risks.

it would be easy enough to hop on that bandwagon of maximum personal freedoms - admittedly a part of the "Republican" platform. also a part of the party line is freedom of commerce in an open market. which led our discussion to the topic of NAFTA. the North American Free Trade Agreement was spearheaded by Bush I, then ratified & finalized under Clinton. it seems most Conservatives i've talked to are not fans of NAFTA, and will badmouth it as a mistake by the Democratic Party. the truth, strangely enough, is that not only did George H. W. Bush attempt to fast-track the Agreement before he left office, but it was approved in the House and Senate by majorities of Republicans. Clinton merely added language to ensure that US Partners operating in Canada & Mexico met US environmental standards, and to "protect" American workers.

so theoretically, trade is opened up across North America, and tariffs on goods moving among North American countries are greatly reduced or eliminated. this creates a "super" free-market economy. Republicans cry foul! not fair! labor costs in the second- and third-world nations are so much lower! jobs are being exported! Democrats cry foul! human rights! workers are not being treated well in these developing markets! those countries have lower or no environmental standards! American companies are moving out! illegal immigrants, who have figured out they can make a shitload of money by working in America & sending money home, become a bigger problem.

on the other hand, as part of the pretty large picture, but the demand for American products, such as Levi's and compact discs and even big-ass SUV's, is arguably bringing as many dollars to America, if not more, as we are sending out. American companies who establish or move factories to countries with lower labor costs will post larger profits, making stock shareholders more money.

and here's the most important part, to me. the ultimate freedom as an American consumer is that of choice. if i feel strongly enough one way or the other, i can choose to buy goods made in a factory across the border by a company who has exported a bunch of American jobs, or not. the fact that prices of consumer commodities are being driven down by lower-cost, generally lower quality, imported goods is the very definition of a free-market economy. we cannot simultaneously have more choice, lower prices, and still maintain a high worker standard of living in the U.S.
if we want cheap imported crap, then companies are going to source the cheap crap in China or Mexico or Pakistan, where the cost of doing business is lower. it is then up to us as consumers to choose our poison. buy higher cost, "durable goods," manufactured in the U.S.A. by our own workers, and put our money back into our own economy, or spend our hard-earned wages (those of us that still have jobs...) on cheaper products from elsewhere & sending those dollars abroad.

generally, Americans choose the latter, then complain about our jobs leaving, along with the horribly low quality of the stuff we buy "these days." i asked my co-worker, who is a remorseless WalMart shopper, how he felt about simultaneously questioning the benefit of NAFTA and buying those low-cost imported goods at WalMart. he said, "I've never really paid any attention to where the stuff I buy is made." i did not hesitate to point out the hypocrisy.

this is where my constitutional beliefs run into their first major conflict; while i believe in maximum personal freedom, including those freedoms associated with a capitalist economy - everybody should be afforded the greatest opportunity to build a legacy for themselves and their heirs. i'm just not sure Americans are capable of making the most beneficial choices. my cranky old father was fond of saying, "you can't legislate away stupidity."

i often think we've gotta at least try...

mr. forgetful

the night before my first day of school ever in my life, i made myself a complete, nutritious lunch. i had a sandwich, a healthy snack - probably an apple or carrot sticks, a yummy treat for dessert, and a thermos full of milk. i put it all in my sweet new lunchbox, and placed it in the refrigerator to keep overnight. the next morning, i imagine, i got up & got ready for school, even got my cool lunchbox with the carefully prepared meal out of the fridge and placed it on the counter. and then i walked right out of the house, up our eighth-mile-long driveway, waited for the bus & went to school for the first time ever, leaving the lunchbox sitting right where i had left it on the counter.



this morning, i got up, took a shower, and got Lucas ready for school. i poured myself a cup of hot, tasty coffee. as i was sipping on the elixir of life, i spotted Lucas' homework binder sitting on the counter & said to him, "oh, we need to take your homework book back to school today so you can get this week's assignments." and i put the binder in a conspicuous place where i wouldn't forget to put it in the car when we left.

about halfway to school, Lucas said, "oh - I'm Mr. Forgetful*. i was going to bring a cup of water to drink." it was then that i remembered i had forgotten the homework binder. i was not surprised. i was telling my chiropractor about my memory troubles not three days ago, and he asked me if i was mildly ADHD. i told him it was highly likely, though i had never been officially diagnosed. i don't really subscribe to the theory that my neuroses can be so easily diagnosed or named.

i can't count the number of times i've had to walk around and around the huge shop floor at work, alternatively looking for the tool i've misplaced & trying to remember what tool i was looking for. or how many times i've come into my office to do something very specific on my computer or send an important email, only to sit down & then stare blankly at my CRT (although i guess they're not technically "CRT's" anymore...) one morning recently i went to make a pot of coffee at work - i'm the only person there who drinks coffee - and it was already made. obviously, i had been the one responsible for the pot of fresh, delicious coffee waiting for me in the breakroom, but i had zero recollection of having made the coffee.

should i be worried? sometimes i think i may have early-onset Alzheimer's, or some other neurological malady. but then i remember the story of my first day of school ever.

*see: Roger Hargreaves' series of very British children's booklets with dubious Anglo-Saxon moral "lessons." Lucas loves them, for some reason.

burying a trailer

i heard a story this morning about a guy who, in active alcoholism, was left by his wife. she had kicked him out & filed for divorce. apparently, this man was in construction and had access to some heavy equipment. he decided in the midst of his life problems that if she was gonna leave him, she was by God not gonna get the house. so one day, while she was at work, he took a trackhoe, dug a great big hole, and buried the entire mobile home. there's some doubt as to whether this is a true story, but being a good alcoholic, i can understand that this was a rational response to what was going on.

i completely relate to the level of bitter, devious, selfishness exhibited in this story. in my drinking years, i participated in more than my fair share of bridge-burning and buddy-fucking. ya gotta take care of #1, right? luckily, i've been able to make most of the amends that i needed to, and most relationships that are important to me have been substantially healed. there's still one girl, named Doreen (something), to whom i really owe a sincere amend. the amends process is often misunderstood by the world outside of the recovering community. the media has generally portrayed it as some hapless ex-drunk running around hat in hand, apologizing for the stupid shit he did in his neighborhood while he was drinking, "i'm here to say i'm sorry i ran over your mailbox," or "i'm sorry i tried to make out with your wife at the Christmas party." it's usually depicted to be sad & tragic & ultimately pointless, because the character in question suffers a relapse, ending the sitcom episode hammered, doing something else (or the same thing) stupid.

my understanding of it is based on the definition of amend as;
"To change or modify in any way for the better; as,
(a) by simply removing what is erroneous, corrupt, superfluous, faulty, and the like;
(b) by supplying deficiencies;
(c) by substituting something else in the place of what is removed; to rectify. [1913 Webster]

this is important - it makes no sense to even bother making the apology if my behavior is not going to change. possibly the most important part of recovery for me is the challenge of not engaging in the selfish and self-destructive patterns of my past. i have to stop cheating on my girlfriends and/or wife. i have to become conscientious, aware & concerned with things other than myself. i'm still pretty fucking selfish most of the time - it's a constant challenge. i have to consistently make the attempt to substitute the selfless for the self-centeredness i've worked so hard to remove.

so, back to Doreen. an acquaintance of mine was infatuated with this girl. i was stationed near Albany, NY, going to nuclear prototype training in the upstate woods of New York. it seemed most of the girls in this little town looked to the Navy boys for an escape, a way out of small-town doldrums. as we partied in between shiftwork, we attracted the local ladies, who brought their friends as well. i cannot remember the dude's name, but he kept talking about this girl. finally, we both showed up at the same party & Doreen was there, and she was very pretty. and i saw that he was too shy to make the move on her. so i did - mostly out of some vague jealousy of this guy. at some level, i perceived him to be cooler or more fortunate than i, so spitefully, i took "his" girl. i had responded to my own low self-esteem with the ego-inflation of selfish pillaging. seems i may owe that dude an amend, as well. Jim something, maybe?

i didn't realize or care to admit it was a mistake until Doreen and i got to my next duty station. i pretty much abandoned her there, first emotionally, then physically. i think i sent her home on a bus. i was all about getting what i wanted at the time.

a few years ago, in my second year sober, i had to go back up to the same upstate NY town for training with Serotta custom bicycles. i could not, -still can't- remember Doreen's last name. i was going to try to call her and make that amend. i take my utter lack of recall as God's sign that perhaps Doreen didn't need to be reminded of me.

and she probably still doesn't. i need to leave that trailer buried. my amends will have to be changing my behavior for the better, leaving the pillaging & burning to those still in that part of their journey.

motorcycles

so there are six (6) motorcycles in my garage. that's a bunch of toys, but only three of them are "mine." we have a Ducati, two Yamahas, a KTM, a Suzuki, and a Triumph. for now.


i've ridden motos off and on since the summer of my 13th birthday. i started on a Yamaha GT80, which was like the PW's of today. it was only 72cc in reality, but it was plenty fast for me, and i think i pushed it to its limits trying to emulate Bob Hannah & Ron Lechien around our 20 acre horse pasture. my dad took my dirt bike away about a year & a half later because i could not stay off the public roads around the house, eventually hitting some guy in a Jeep head-on one day in a blind corner. i got my first street bike in 1987 when i was 19, a Kawasaki EX500 (Ninja 500) right off the showroom floor. i was in the Navy, the financing was easy & they sold it to me without even checking to see if i could ride it. i could, just barely though, so i wrecked it on my first trip back home by crossing the double-yellow in a blind corner & stuffing it under a Ford F250. i replaced it with a GPz550 and took the MSF course. armed with a little knowledge & a too-fast bike, i imagined myself Freddie Spencer & tore up the backroads around Asheville on my frequent trips back home. i put a bunch of miles on that bike, experienced my first tank-slapper(s), but eventually lost it in my slide into chronic alcohol troubles. i think i just abandoned it after denting the front wheel in a drunken encounter with a parking-lot curb at speed in a Va-Beach apartment complex...i didn't mess with motorcycles for many years after that, and probably a good thing.

in 1999 or so, i bought my first bike in a long time - a Suzuki GS500. little side-by-side twin that sounded like an air compressor. i learned to ride again on that bike, though, as did Laura. i rediscovered the mountains around here on that little machine, alone & with groups, pushing it to its absolute limit. many times i returned home with that little half-liter smoking & ticking after several hours near redline, and still sold it for near what i paid for it three or four years later, when Laura got pregnant with the boy.

my primary ride today is a 2005 Triumph Speed Triple. in early 2007, Laura (my wife) gave me permission to get another bike after Lucas (my son) was born, and we were selling our house at the time. as i began to look at cool, exotic bikes like Ducatis and Aprilias (still gonna get me one of those), my buddy Jeff at Industry Nine told me about a Speed Triple at a local dealer. this rang a bell, as i had had an experience coming back from a dirt bike ride with some of my other buddies where just as we got on the interstate, we were passed by a bike like i had never seen, with twin headlights & a very distinctive exhaust note like the wail of a banshee. it made my spine tingle! i asked what kind of bike that was, and Bainon said he thought it might be "one of those Triumph Speed Triples."

i saw my bike and fell in love. it was destiny. i believe we attract the things we need in life, and this bike fits my personality & needs perfectly. it has a 1050cc inline 3-cylinder engine, which is unique in that it has perfect primary balance, and with the large bore & relatively low compression, what it lacks in outright horsepower it more than makes up for in torque - a flat curve around 70ft-lb from 3500 RPM up to redline! she has not remained stock.

i have a track-specific bike, a fairly mundane GSXR750. she's a 2001 model, but as i write this, she's getting a set of forks from a 2007 bike grafted on, to go with the Ohlins triple-clicker rear. the engine is stock, but may get new rings depending on the outcome of her impending compression test. after the second time i threw the Speed Triple down the track & had to spend a couple grand to put her back together, the Suzuki seemed a much more appropriate tool for the job. it paid for itself when i dropped it the first time in T3 at Barber!

my third bike is a KTM 300EXC two-stroke. it is the ultimate woods bike by the estimation of many, though i've recently lacked the time to ride it as much as i'd like. it still started on the second or third kick cold on the last snow day. another bike with an overabundance of torque. i could not get it to go in a straight line in the snow!

it would seem i have an illness, but at least i'm not the only one in the house. Laura wants to sell her Monster 750, which she has learned on, done her first trackday & now outgrown. she wants my track bike, so i'll have to get another, and she wants a dual-sport, so i'll need one of those as well so we can ride together. Lucas has his little PW50, which he got for his fourth birthday & rides infrequently. he likes it when we get out together, but he is a very cautious child, coupled with a know-it-allism that only another parent of a child this age would comprehend, so he hasn't really progressed much from riding around a big field. to be honest, i need to spend some time with him at a very slow pace, which is very hard for me.

the part of my brain that's supposed to tell me to slow down, to use caution? that doesn't seem to work in me.

next - projects past, present, future...
-fred

it's Leah's fault

i've thought of "blogging" for some time. when i owned the bike shop, one of my favorite things to do was publish my "rants" on the shop website. they seemed to be popular with my customers, but being essentially lazy, i stopped doing it regularly after a while. we'll see if the blog is the same. i hate people's "blogs" that only get updated once a year (or less!) - what's the point?
i will try to update regularly - it might keep me from talking to the walls, anyway.

at dinner NYE, Leah Broker, who was a tad inebriated, very enthusiastically told me i should start a blog; this based around a conversation we were having about my regular Facebook status updates. since my ego drives me so absolutely, i enjoy having an anonymous social outlet where i can say random things that come to my mind. this blogging deal should be an extension of that. if not, i will cancel the account and continue my fade to utter obscurity. the fact that i even think i have an audience in the vastness of the 2010 interwebs is somewhat audacious anyway. i realize this.

so i'm a 41-year-old married guy. i'm a mechanic, essentially. i do some other stuff, but my greatest successes come with a wrench in my hand - it's where i lose myself. it's complex mathematics, wherein there's usually a finite correct answer. i'm a recovering alcoholic/addict for just over eight years as of this writing. the way that works is that since i began drinking & using drugs addictively at the age of 15, my emotions stopped maturing then. they began growing again when i finally stopped using, so internally, i think and feel more like a 23-year-old, which is who i see in the mirror. i'm just now learning stuff that i should have learned when i was in my twenties - stuff about how to have relationships, how to react appropriately to things that happen in life, how to use money wisely, like that. i'm generally a very intelligent complete idiot. my job is a little bit of this, a little bit of that. i talked my way into an Engineer job with the tiniest bit of 3d CAD modeling experience, ahead of a few years in the Navy as a "nuke" mechanic on a submarine, followed by a few years in bicycle shops (culminating in the aforementioned ownership experience), and being a key member of the startup team at Industry Nine. google it - cool shit. but i am easily bored, and once i master a particular thing, i tend to search for new things to do.

i have a lovely, talented wife and a lovely, talented almost-five-year-old who are my family, and the light of my eyes. i'm generally very grateful for the life my God has gifted me. sometimes not so much. i'm sure you'll hear all about it.

Happy New Year 2010, and here's to a new decade! the last one kinda sucked.
-fred