My first ride as a licensed motorcyclist: I went to work.

That was the night of the 28th, the day I got my license. It was a little chilly, but chilly I can handle. I put all my work clothes, my dinner and a bike cover into a backpack. I wore (this becomes relevant later) a pair of corduroy pants, a t-shirt and an overshirt, my normal riding boots (which doubled as work boots), and my riding jacket & gloves. Helmet of course.

The ride to work was mostly uneventful, except that I stopped for a soda to bring to work and to put air in my tires. While I was stopped an older man asked me for directions - he had almost found where he needed to go, I set him on track. It was nice to be able to use the HOV lane into the tunnel for a change. I got to work at 5:30 PM with plenty of time to spare; I don't think I need to leave quite so early next time.

About 12 hours after I got to work I was completely, totally, and unusually exhausted. It was so bad that I was in danger of falling asleep at my computer monitor - not just a little microsleep thingy where you nod for an instant. Still, I was determined not to sleep. I kept my eyes open, and kept typing steadily as I had been for 6 hours straight. I could still see the monitor, I could still hear everything around me - hell, I was still typing - but dreams started to sneak in anyway. I got up to walk around the room a bit to clear my head when my relief arrived. I was through the door and on my way home at roughly 6AM.

At 6AM, it wasn't "a little chilly" anymore. Oh, no, "a little chilly" didn't quite cover it. I was wearing exactly the gear I described above, and it wasn't quite warm enough. Not. At. All.

On the bright side, I was as wide awake as though I hadn't worked for 12 hours through the night.

Nothing happened on the way home, but I kept finding myself fighting two diametrically opposed impulses: speed up to get home to some warmth faster vs slow down and cut the wind a little. Trying to do both resulted in neither one working.

A short way out from work I got a little reprieve: the tunnel. I'm not sure why - it never occurred to me to wonder before - but the air in the tunnel has always seemed warmer than the air outside it. I've noticed this again and again when I was driving with my car windows down. On this trip it was a godsend. I slowed down and enjoyed it for as long as it lasted, much to the irritation of the guy behind me I'm sure.

I decided to get a coffee at one of the shops along the way but by the time I got there the thought was driven completely out of my mind; all that there was room left for was accepting the cold and trying to breathe in such a way that wouldn't fog up my face shield. I got to the one stoplight I have to make a left at on the way home and sat at it for three rotations of the light before I realized that the sensor was just not going to recognize me, so I turned right and made a U-turn.

I got home, parked the bike in the garage (where it lives), and when I got inside I virtually stampeded for the shower. I must have taken half an hour in there to warm up. By the time I finished, the exhaustion had come back over me again. I crawled into bed and slept until after 1 PM.

Lessons learned: Dress for the weather, stupid. (I lived two years in Alaska and rode my bicycle there all winter long, in snow, ice, rain, everything. I should have known this lesson already, so I really earned the "stupid" moniker here.)

Trip 2? Down the street to pick up Halloween candy for Monday.
Lessons learned: If I buy that much candy next year my wife will kick me in the head.

Mileage: 452.8
Trip 1
- There: 16.45
- Back: 15.75
Trip 2: 3.5

Two days ago my new card came in the mail, this time with an M on it. I worked yesterday day, so I couldn't do anything.

Today I don't work until 6 PM, so I went down to the DMV. I got my number, filled out my paperwork, and pulled out a book to read. The place was absolutely dead, and I only read about four words before I got called.

They took my old license and permit, and had me sit down to wait to get my picture taken. I sat down, pulled out my book and finished the sentence I had begun earlier when they called me up to get my picture taken. "Have a seat while we put your license together for you."

Ok. Two or three words later... "Mr. oatmeal?"

"Yes?"

"Here's your license, sir."

That was it. I've got my motorcycle endorsement!

Ok, so this doesn't have the slightest thing to do with my motorcycle. If you're not interested because of that, by all means skip on ahead. It is about buying a new car.

No, I'm not rolling in dough, to have just bought a motorcycle and now a car. Sometimes you just find yourself needing to replace a vehicle - for example when your car needs repairs and it would cost more to fix than the vehicle is worth. The AC & heating were out, the engine light was on, the electrical system wasn't happy and to top it all off the break lights were coming on continuously. The engine? It was great, possibly the best engine I've had on a car to date. I loved that it was the luxury model.

First off, I have to admit it - I'm not very good at haggling and I had no idea what to do and what not to do when buying a new car (or used) from a dealership. I sought help from the folks on MacAddict Forums (they're very helpful). Based on their advice:

- I set up a loan in advance.
- I figured out what feature set I'm looking for and what I can live without.
- I refused to suggest a price that I'd be comfortable with to the dealer.
- I let them do the suggesting of prices.
- I used a "call me if you can do better than that" trick that they suggested on a car that I really liked but that cost too much for me (with what they were asking, anyway).
- I used http://www.nadaguides.com/ and http://www.kbb.com to get good ideas of the prices of cars I was looking at before I even went to dealerships.
- I went in prepared to walk away from a car I love if they're unwilling to work with the price.

One of the guys on MAF suggested "Driver's World" in VA Beach. He'd done his research in the area, and found them not only to be extremely knowledgeable about their inventory, but that their "no-haggle prices" were quite reasonable. So I looked around on their website, researched what they had that I would like to have, and printed out a bunch of the best ones.

This no haggle thing - after learning how to best influence the price, I ran up against their weird business model - one price, no haggling up or down. I kept finding myself trying to get him to lower the price, but it just wasn't something they negotiate. Imagine trying to haggle the price of a DVD player down in a Best Buy. At least here he was understanding that most people are used to cars with a negotiable price.

One of the ones I was really interested in was a 2003 VW Golf hatchback. I checked their price against Kelly Blue Book and NADA Guides and discovered that it was quite reasonable. I really liked the car and the price was right. A VW with 15,000 miles on it? It's practically pristine and it's likely to go for just about forever. The thing is so full of safety features I have trouble keeping track of them all - for example, there seem to be more airbags in the thing than I can count. It's not skimping on the comfort features either.

Hell yeah!

... but they almost lost me on my trade-in. While we were waiting for the appraisal they let me sit at the computer to check my email and stuff... and I of course double-checked NADA Guides and KBB for my old car while I chatted with the salesman.

It took a while, but finally the appraiser came back. His offer was $200. I said "that's a joke, right?"

"No..."

"Yes it is. It's an offensive joke, right?" I swung around to the computer and showed him the NADA Guides figures.

Him: "Yeah, but NADA shows what this would go for if this were retail."

Ok... I hit a few keys and brought the Kelly Blue Book trade-in figure to the front.

"That doesn't take into account the condition of your car." Um, yes it does. See this little area where you get to choose the condition of you car? Yeah.

Him: "Yeah, but the air conditioner doesn't work. We don't know if it's something simple or if the entire compressor is going to need to be replaced." So I took off the air conditioner, new figure on KBB was $950. I have the feeling that really wasn't going the way he hoped it would.

Him: "Yeah, but they're not sitting here ready to give you money for it. We are."

Me: "I'll tell you what. I'm sitting here with my check from the bank, ready to be filled out. I really like that VW sitting out there, and I'd like to leave here with it. He's (I gestured towards the salesman) spent all afternoon showing me around your lot, I explained to him that my wife's car is on its last legs and we're likely to need a seller we trust in the next few months. You're telling me that you can't do any better than that number there?"

He refused to budge. I stood up and walked out. The appraiser followed me to the door, and I shot a parting snipe at him about the salesman over my shoulder "he's got a 15 month old baby at home, and you've just wasted his entire day when he could have been making commission on a sale to make sure that he can take care of that baby. Congratulations." (I felt like a dick saying it, but he pissed me off and I really liked the car - I was really disappointed to have wasted the afternoon too.)

I got about five feet out of the front door when it occured to me that I hadn't thanked the salesman for his time, so I turned around and went back in to thank him and apologize for wasting his time. Even as I was saying it, the manager of the appraisal department came barreling over to tell me that if I had the time they'd try to get some buyers on the line who would be willing to pay more than that for me.

Sure, I had the time. Not much, I had to pick my wife up at her school, but I could spare a few minutes after spending this much time here already.

I sat and chatted with the salesman again, this time about his not-quite-working iMac (he saw the Apple stickers on my old car). He told me the year, and I told him the specs that he had - which surprised him quite a bit. It sounds like he's running OS 10.2. Yes, I'm a tremendous geek. We steered off that topic as the manager ran past, "we've got it up to $500, we're calling a few more to see if we can't get it up any higher."

To be honest, I would have probably settled for $500, but I said "that's good. Thank you."

They found someone willing to pay $900. (Sure, they were probably willing to pay $1,000 or more for it and the dealership was only passing $900 on to me, but it sufficed.) You know, I paid $5,000 for it in the first place and put 40,000 miles on it. Sure, it was the luxury model, but it still had over 120,000 miles on it. I got quite a lot out of that car over the years I had it. All things considered, I figured that the deal they were now offering was good enough.

My final appraisal of Driver's World: Friendly, knowledgeable salespeople, big selection, very warm atmosphere and show room floor, and reasonable prices. The no-haggle thing takes a bit of getting used to, but it's simple and someone who doesn't want to worry about it is in luck. They have their entire inventory online and every car listed has a Carfax PDF report linked (generated when it went onto the lot). That's a nice touch.

I'd recommend Driver's World to anyone looking to get a car around here... just make sure you know what your trade is worth before going in.

My first stop out of the dealership was to my wife's school to pick her up. I was half an hour late - the bruhaha at the dealership took longer than I expected . She hadn't seen it until I pulled up to the curb (tinted windows, she wasn't quite sure it was me) so I hit the button that rolled down the window.

::gasp:: "It's beautiful!!!"

Before work last night I got a call from the dealership. The parts I ordered were in. "Thanks!" I said, then forgot all about it as I got ready for work (I worked the night shift).

When I woke up it was after noon already. I got up, looked around, wondered what I should do today.

Oh yeah, my parts are in. I'll go get them. I guess I'll drive over there since my MSF thingy hasn't arrived ye... you know, I've jumped through all the hoops already. I've done everything I can to make it official, and they didn't play by the rules. I'll take the bike.

I took the bike. I didn't take the camera. Again.

I left after one, and got over to the dealership. Took only a minute or two to pick them up, I tossed them in my backpack (planned ahead, since I don't have saddlebags yet), and wondered what to do with the rest of my afternoon.

Lunch. Go get lunch. Schlotzsky's Deli is right down the street, you like Schlotzsky's Deli. Go there. Eat. FOOD!

Well, I was hungry, after all. I hadn't eaten since last night.

Afterwards I got back on the bike and turned down Virginia Beach boulevard away from my house. A little joy ride couldn't hurt, right?

Just for the heck of it, I figured I'd explore a side road or two. Before the roads looped back to VA Beach Blvd. I found a couple of small lakes full of geese that I would never have seen otherwise. It was nice.

By the time I reached VA Beach it was approaching 3PM. I turned to go South on Pacific Ave, but it occurred to me that if the thing from the DMV/MSF (I'm not sure which) came today I'd be able to squeeze in the trip to the local DMV to get my endorsement, but only if I started for home right away. I turned around and found myself on Atlantic Blvd. I hadn't been on Atlantic with my motorcycle before; it's amazing how much more you see from the higher vantage point of a motorcycle without being stuck behind a windshield. I stayed on Atlantic until it ended, behind cars that seemed determined to do no more than 5mph. Eh, that was OK, I enjoyed myself.

Back on Atlantic Ave/Shore Drive I encountered my first problem. I was in the right lane, and some guy stopped short in the left lane. The guy next to me nearly swerved into my lane, but a swift toot of the horn was enough to get him to stop in his lane instead.

The next problem was at the intersection between Rt 13 and Shore drive. A similar situation occurred, but this time the driver was an oblivious blonde in a monstrous SUV. The requisite cell phone was, of course, surgically grafted to her face. She was coming into my lane, and no amount of protest would even make her blink -- hell, she might not even have paused to wonder what the little bump was if she had run me completely over.

I had a weird reaction. My heart tried to abandon ship through my mouth, but some drill sergeant in my esophagus made it stand down. It protested, and the drill sergeant set it to run laps instead. My mouth flew open at the same time, a perfect imitation of what "AAHHHH!!!" would look like if any sound had come out.

My hands, sense of spatial awareness and sense of balance were a little more collected. Without thinking, I simultaneously gunned the throttle higher than I had ever tried to gun it before, and leaned on the horn while leaning the bike right to let it flow calmly through the three feet of road I had left open to me before the SUV Queen annexed it for her own territory.

I would have been proud at how smoothly I had reacted, but the drill sergeant hadn't eased up on my heart just yet - they had moved on to push ups by then.

The SUV queen pulled up alongside me, still plastered to her cell phone. I looked at her, she looked at... I don't know. The sky? Her mirror? A hallucinatory, seven-foot tall purple weasel with blue spots and a sombrero? (Hey, it could have been...) Whatever it was, she really hadn't noticed that anything had just happened. I really wanted to mimic hanging up a phone at her, but I was sorta busy with both hands on the bike, just in case she wasn't finished playing bumper cars.

She pulled off into the left turn lane, and I left her behind with a bit of a feeling of relief. Just then, the yellow car that had been behind her pulled up even with me; both the driver and passenger shot me big smiles and thumbs up. That made me smile back, and I began to feel a little better about the whole thing. The drill sergeant decided that my heart had been suitably punished for trying to jump ship at a critical moment.

The rest of the trip - only a few miles from there - was entirely uneventful. I got home by 3:30.


Mileage: 417.1
Trip: 46.8

Today was day two. Today sucked about as much as yesterday was fun.

Before we left yesterday we all agreed to meet at... at... I had forgotten the time we agreed to meet, so I left at 6:15 again. This time, I brought a magazine so I could sit down and relax in the base's McDonald's while I waited for people to show up.

I was just sitting down when the little chubby woman behind the counter (the manager, as it turns out) started yelling at some guy at the counter. I wasn't really interested until something flew past my head, hit the wall and rebounded off my boot. I looked to see where it had come from, and I realized that she was beginning to trot out from behind the counter screaming about "you don't call me a bitch! Get out, I'm calling the cops!"

Lady, you're the one throwing things at him (assault, isn't it?) and you're calling the cops? It's a good thing you've got lousy aim. I turned to see what she had thrown as she went through the door behind him. Pancake syrup flowed down the wall, splattered over the tables and chairs and it looked as though the splatter pattern was RIGHT where I had been holding my jacket at the time. Fortunately, she had missed me too.

She came back in and tried to say something to me about how unreasonable he was, but I was decidedly unresponsive to her. To make things even better, she turned to the retarded boy who was working on the windows and made him stop what he was doing to clean up her mess.

By that point I was about ready to explain to her exactly why the guy had called her a bitch. "It's because you are one. A crazy, violent, exploitative bitch. You should be ashamed of yourself for acting like that, and then you go and make him clean up after your tantrum? You should be ashamed!" Instead I kept reading about the bird flu. I considered saying something to upper management... but hell, she's already working at McDonalds.

I kept looking up every now and then to check out the parking lot for bikes. Shortly, people began showing up for the course, so I headed on over to join up with them. We went inside and took care of the classroom crap without much ado.

The one thing I want to mention about the classroom stuff was the video "Riding Straight." If that title wasn't suggestive enough, right after it faded from the screen an overly-pretty blond guy rode onto the screen, took off his helmet with a flourish, flipped his hair effeminately and gave an "I want you now, big boy!" smile before overacting all over the place... it was hard not to laugh. After that we took the written test (which we all passed) and got out there on the course.

I was having fun, owning the course again. We were doing the figure eights, followed by S-Turns and quick stops when I had a small backfire and fell over on an S turn that I'd done half a dozen times already with no problems. My tire just inexplicably went out from under me at less than TWO MILES AN HOUR. If that much.

God damn it!!!

The people watching said they didn't quite understand how it happened. One guy said that he saw a little sand on the course right there, but there was barely anything there. I haven't got a clue what happened or how to avoid doing it again in the future.

The only thing it was good for was driving home the message about hitting the kill switch in an accident - we'd just discussed that in the classroom, so I did. It probably saved me from more damage.

The Damage
- Me: nothing hurt but my pride.

- The Bike: Broke my clutch lever, bent the left footpeg in a 90 degree angle, scuffed the end of the handlebar, snapped the plastic arm of the taillight - the lens is fine. Tore apart the fancy work on my key and bent it out of shape. Loosened my left mirror so it swiveled uncontrollably.

The others looked it over with me and all agreed - that was one hell of a lucky fall. The only things that were damaged were little cheap things that are easily accessible for repairs, and they managed to protect almost anything that would have been pricy or hard to repair. None of the trim or cosmetic bits were damaged in the slightest - hell, even the "Boulevard" symbol on the side of the tank was untouched. Said one guy: "That was one hell of a cheap fall you took. You popped its cherry easy."

Very fortunately, the clutch lever snapped relatively close to the outer end and it was perfectly functional, if a little short and rough. I got someone to hold the bike while I bent the foot peg out into a usable angle and finished the course with it just the way it was.

Still, it was the start of ruining the day for me. I had no fun at all from then until lunch; I kept getting nervous that I was going to ditch and fucking everything else up.

I decided that I had to have developed a mental problem - after all, I was doing phenomenally before I dumped it - so I decided that what I needed was a lunch break and time to cool off, that the nervousness and skittishness would go away on its own after a good break.

Making the positive decision that that was the problem worked; after lunch I wasn't skittish or nervous anymore, but I didn't quite get back into having fun. Once or twice in slaloms I came close. I tried to get over it, but somehow the sharp metal of the broken clutch lever kept poking me in the hand, reminding me that I'd fucked up. I passed the course with flying colors, but the wreck just ruined it for me. I feel like I failed.

I filled up the tank before I left the base again. I guess I overfilled it, 'cause when I turned the bike back on gas started pouring out from underneath the cap. I cursed a little, wiped it up, and tightened it down a bit before starting up again. That was enough.

Going to the DMV really helped to compound my feeling of failure. The course instructors had warned us ahead of time that they've encountered this weird problem with the DMV lately. It seems that some locations haven't been accepting MSF course cards with the letter "B" on them instead of the letter "M." None of them seem to have a good reason for turning people away, but that's what they've been doing anyway. Some people have been unlucky enough to even have had the DMV official cut up their perfectly good course completion card - no, they're REALLY not supposed to be doing that.

Anyway, the instructors had already contacted the DMV headquarters in Richmond with our information, and they should be sending us replacement cards (or waiver letters saying that our cards are cool) in the next few days. "It can't hurt to try the DMV today if you need to, though." I wanted to, so they suggested that I ask about the 'B' when you first get there... so I did. I dropped the bike off at home and drove over in the car.

When I asked, they assured me that It was all good, they'd take me as soon as my number came up and then speed me on my way as a licensed motorcyclist. I waited for an hour only to have them tell me "Oh, we can't take this MSF card. Yes, it looks exactly like the ones we normally get, yes, everything else is proper, but it has a 'b' where it usually has an 'm', and I'm too damn stupid to input a 'b' instead of an 'm.'" (Ok, so maybe I'm paraphrasing a little...)

Can't you just put it in there? "I'm sorry, but the computer doesn't accept the ones with a 'B.'"

Did someone hack into your computer program and alter it so that it can't take the ones with a 'B' sometime in the last hour? No? THEN WHY THE HELL COULDN'T YOU HAVE TOLD ME THAT I COULDN'T TAKE CARE OF THIS TODAY WHEN I ASKED ABOUT IT AN HOUR AGO?

God damn it again!!!

From there I drove over to the dealership, who had informed me that my plates and registration were ready. I picked up the new clutch lever and ordered the other partsright after I picked up my permanant plates from the dealer. It sort of grates at you, you know? I don't even have the permanant plates affixed to it and I need to repair damage from a spill. A stupid spill.

It was $15 for a replacement clutch lever (I installed it right after the license plate), $10 for new rubber for the footpeg (it's on order), and $5 for the plastic end of the handlebar (on order). I bent the footpeg back into shape with my vise and crazy glued the light's arm, adding a little silicon sealer for waterproofing where the plastic is broken away. I'm thinking about getting a new one entirely get a new one, but they only sell the entire assembly together for $60 and I'd have to order it - if the crazy glue doesn't hold properly I'll get it. I spent another $6 for some "Plexus" for my visor while I was there.

I suppose I should be happy that I passed the course, didn't get hurt, and didn't have more extensive damage. My thing from DMV Richmond should be here in the next few days and I'll be good to go at the local DMV, so it's not denied, it's delayed. I should be looking at the bright side.

... but I'm pissed off. At myself for dumping it like that, at the course, at the DMV, about the fact that I have no idea what caused the fall or how to avoid it in the future... I hope tomorrow is a bit better, though I work.

I won't be riding again until I get my license. Up until now I could rationalize to myself that "some experience is required for the course, so I'm getting a little experience." Now? I'm so close to fully-legal that I can practically taste it, yet I still can't ride to work and making a mistake before I get my license could really screw me up. It should only be a few days now.

Mileage: 370.3
Trip: 20.3
This tank: 30.16 mpg.
Average: 33.43 mpg.
(Damn it, the average mpg is going down too! Argh!! It's the starting and stopping on the course. It has to be. Deluding myself, deluding myself... )

That was fun... but now I have homework to do.

I got up at 4am and got my usual morning routine out of the way by 5 AM. After I farted around on the computer for a while I wound up leaving the house at 6:10AM, leaving me with plenty of time to get to NAB Little Creek by 7 AM - it's about ten minutes down the road. I wanted to be REALLY certain that I had plenty of time, never having been through the morning rush.

It only took me five minutes to get in the gate, and by all accounts that is absolutely unheard of. Suited me just fine; I was left with plenty of time to find the actual location where the class was to be held. Fortunately, I wasn't the first there, so I didn't have much doubt about where to go.

We all (there were nine of us) had plenty of time to compare bikes. Mine was without question the lightest, lowest powered bike of the lot. It was also by far the newest and simplest - a couple of guys on hogs came over to admire the "simple elegance" of it.

The people... it was really weird. The group was composed almost entirely of people I know... or at least people who look so much like people I used to know that I did double-takes when I saw them. One of the instructors looks like one of my recent bosses. Another in the group looked like another recent boss of mine, several looked like old coworkers, one looks a lot like one of my good friends from around here, and one guy I actually do know - he's in charge of a CG Cutter I'm at least a little familiar with. These people all acted almost exactly like the people I used to know who look like them. Like I said, really weird.

As for bike styles, we were almost evenly matched with four sport bikes, four cruisers and a Harley touring bike. One guy had an old Suzuki Intruder that looked really similar to my S40... but larger with a v-twin and a shaft drive... ok, so nothing like mine, but it looked similar.

The instructors showed up at about 7:15 - later than we had anticipated - on an absolutely gigantic Honda Goldwing and on a sport bike of some kind. (I'm not sure what kind, they all look so similar to me.)

Once we knew we were all there we moved into the classroom to begin the day. We broke the class of 9 up into two groups, introduced ourselves, and answered a bunch of questions out of a short textbook together with the class. We watched a few videos - appropriate safety gear, and a fairly corny "Welcome to the Brotherhood that is the Motorcycling Community" thing. I guess there's some thing where when you see a motorcycle coming in the other direction you're supposed to stop, hug the person, give the secret handshake, make fun of the other people who don't know what's going on, and then go on your way. Ha ha.

Um... no.

Anyway, when we got out onto the bikes we started with the basics. How to get on and off. How to shift. The hand signals we were going to need to recognize from the instructors on the course, the rules on the course, make sure our bikes are all ready to go. My tires were a few pounds low - not bad at all.

Unfortunately, one guy had a horrible time getting his bike started. We pushed it around the parking lot trying to get it started for about half an hour since at first he thought it was the battery, but it wound up being the clutch. He had to pull out of the course - by the time he finished getting it running and fixed he had missed an entire section of the course. Rather than try to catch up he bowed out gracefully.

We did cornering drills, slalomed some cones, running on the "friction zone" where the clutch barely engages the gear... and it was absolutely pure fun. Each time we moved on to a new task one instructor would explain what they expected and the other would demonstrate the course once. When they one instructor, John, had finished explaining the first set of slaloms the other instructor, whose name escapes me at the moment, went through the course at about mach 5 as all of us became more and more apprehensive. Even John commented on it.

"Now see how he's going through the cone... uh... cones. He's leaning there... uh... and manuv... hmm... you won't have to go that fast when you go through on your turn." There was a collective sigh of relief.

When I got the chance to do it I was pleasantly surprised by how nimble my little bike really is. It was a challenge, but well within what I was capable of and what the bike was sable to do. We went through several times and each time I went through I sped up a little more and a little more. I don't think I was going quite as fast as the instructor, but I was approaching it. He pulled me aside, said "you seem to have really grasped this, wait until everyone catches up and then lead the class in the other direction."

So I did. LOTS of fun.

The next one was a much slower slalom (still fun) where we had to maneuver along the outside of cones spaced about 8 feet apart diagonally, the point being that we should get our bikes up right on the friction zone and run it through that way. Mike took his Goldwing out to demonstrate this one... and dropped his bike. We helped him pick it up again (it's truly gigantic, its size was against him in this drill and it took several people to pick it back up), he demonstrated it again without dropping the bike and we were off. It's not the sort of thing anyone's ever likely to encounter in the real world - this is a sign you'll probably never see, you know?

Mike stopped me at one point. "I know your bike is capable of it, but it's missing the point of the exercise. You need to get into the friction zone and maneuver through." Oops. I had been running it in gear, just motoring through. I got into the friction zone, which slowed me down a lot but didn't make it any more difficult. Again, the smaller, lighter bike was to my advantage.

We broke for lunch for an hour around 12:30. There was a Subway sandwich shop right there, and I ate too much meatball sub. If you're interested in knowing that.

After lunch we did some more stopping drills including quick stops from higher speed, cornering drills... I ate it up. All of it. My little S40 was perfectly suited for the every single thing they threw at me. I almost feel like I was cheating having such a light, nimble, maneuverable bike for this course.

We only stayed around for another hour - we had mastered everything they meant to be doing until 5PM tonight. At one point one of the instructors pulled me aside and asked me how long I'd been riding again. "About a month." "Wow."

When we finished, the instructors brought us all together and informed us that they had never seen a group go through everything he could throw at them like this, no crashing (not counting the dropped Goldwing), no problems. They felt that we would all, including me, be more skill-level-appropriate in the advanced course. They even singled me out to point out that they were including me in that assessment even though I'd only been riding for a month (why he stopped me to ask, he said).

Tomorrow, they say, we're going to be moving on to the difficult stuff, including the "Heartbreaker:" the figure-eight in a box. They showed us the box we'd be using for the figure-eights, and sent us on our way to get our stuff out of the classroom and go home.

When I got back out, I found a couple of people trying the figure-eight. The instructor whose name escapes me was still standing there, watching the attempts. I figured "what the hell" and gave it a try.

No problem.

The instructor asked how big my bike was, I said "650," he laughed - "oh, you've got it. You don't even have to worry about it. You're there."

I filled up the tank before I left the base ($2.63/ gallon) so I won't have to do it in the morning (I've got my first gas mileage reading, but considering the conditions I'm not sure it's what I can usually expect) and went home.

I guess I'd better stop screwing around on the computer and go do my homework. Wish me luck.

Mileage: 350.0
Trip: 22.4
This tank: 36.70 mpg.
Average: 36.70 mpg.
(I have to admit that I'm somewhat disappointed by this initial figure. I feel somewhat taken in by promises of 60-80 mpg (though I was never sure I quite believed those figures in the first place; the 60 figure was someone's measurements online, the 80 figure was in an ad). Granted, I only went 36 miles on it, only had to put 0.981 gallons in it, and most of it was starting and stopping in the class... nonetheless, that's a hell of a first impression. 36 mpg? It's barely 10 mpg better than my six-cylinder mid-sized sedan. I really hope it improves when I'm actually riding on the roads.)

... is on my friend's 9 year old daughter. When I came over the other day to show them my new bike she bumped her leg against the pipe, said "ow. That's hot!" and that was it. No crying, no carrying on, no problems. I forgot all about it.

Until last night, that is. It's approaching three weeks later (I think), and I went over for a visit. While I was there she showed me hur burn. Her larger-than-a-silver-dollar burn. Her larger-than-a-silver-dollar burn that looked like it was at least a quarter inch deep. (She's a very tiny 8 year old, that's a significant portion of her leg).

"It's starting to get better now - it's smaller than it was."

WHAT?!?

The first thing that ran through my mind when I saw it was that it had been a 3rd degree burn, no question. It did get a little infected, but was clearing up by the time I saw it.

Now, I've been wearing jeans every time I've been on it and I have yet to burn myself on it. How hot would it have had to be to cause that!?! Is that kind of operating temperature normal?

Man, I feel guilty. Last year I stepped on her kitten, now this.

"I feel horrible. Can you bring me some soup?" This was Monday - my wife was at work, not feeling very good, and she hadn't brought anything for lunch.

"Yes, yes I can bring some soup." And, as it turned out, a sandwich.

It was raining, but it was also likely to be the only chance I'd have to get out on the motorcycle this week.

I got all my gear on, threw on a backpack, and headed over to Panera restaurant where I got her a bowl of roasted tomato lentil soup and a tomato-chicken sandwich. It sounded good, so I got one for me too. I dropped the sandwich & soup off at her office, then headed back to eat mine at home (she was really busy, couldn't have lunch with me).

That's it, really. The only odd thing was a strange squealing noise that seemed to be coming from the front end... though I was wearing my helmet and couldn't be certain. It could have been the belt protesting about being wet.

Mileage: 327.6
Trip: 19 even

(AP) - A problem with a missile's rocket motor while it and other weapons were being loaded onto a destroyer Monday caused a temporary delay and forced the Coast Guard to close off a section of the York River near the Yorktown Naval Weapons Station, the Navy said.

A routine inspection during loading caught the problem with the SM-2, a 1,500-pound 15 1/2-feet long missile, around 5:30 p.m., said Lt. Cmdr. Bob Mehal, public affairs officer for Navy Mid-Atlantic Region in Norfolk, which oversees the station.

The area was secured while the missile's developer and Navy personnel inspected the missile. After moving the weapon to a safe location, the Navy was able to resume loading the ship around 8:30 p.m., Mehal said.

"This really was just a fault on the side of safety," Mehal said.

The missile will be taken to a maintenance facility Tuesday morning for further inspection.

(Copyright 2005 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

Source: AP Network News via WVEC TV 13

"Forced the Coast Guard to close off a section of the York River." That section, if you heard the broadcast from the Coast Guard, was from the Route 33 bridge in West Point (that's the point where the Mattaponi River and Pamunkey River join to form the York River) to the Coleman Bridge (near the mouth of the river). It was almost the entire river. Made for an interesting night.

Think that's overreacting? The missile, whose measurements are accurately reported above, was at first reported to the CG as having a blast radius of about 60 miles. That means everything within a 120 mile radius was potentially about to blow up. Seems like less of an overreaction when you know that.

Thank heaven that the initial report was wrong, and that they successfully dealt with it.


So that's where I went today. It was a great ride. The sun was shining, the clouds were mostly high and white (though I did ride through a couple of scattered showers). Everything was beautiful.

I crossed the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel in high winds and took the superslab through heavy construction up to route 17. I followed that up almost the whole way to Yorktown, but I turned off early down a road the name of which escapes me but is the most direct route to CG Tracen Yorktown. Before I realized it I had come right up on The Yorktown Monument. Like that photo there, it was beautiful and sunny but with billowing white clouds.

This was when I really started wishing I had my camera. My camera was sitting on my desk, exactly where it was before the ride started.
I'll try to remember the camera in the future.

From there I went through Jamestown down to the waterfront. There's not much there, by design. It's a nice quiet little area that runs under the Coleman Bridge and over to the Colonial Parkway.

The Colonial Parkway is where I was headed in the first place. I've been looking forward to riding it on my motorcycle since I first got it.

The Colonial Parkway is a 23 mile stretch of pebble-top road that has no businesses, homes, billboards, or crap to mar the view. It runs out of Yorktown and along the York river for a while (affording some excellent views of the river), then turns inland to go straight past Colonial Williamsburg and on to the James river to run parallel for some time (affording some excellent views of THAT river) before concluding at Jamestown (the first European settlement in the US, unless you're counting Vikings).

It's meticulously kept up by the parks department, is three lanes wide with no markings on it (so your lane is roughly a lane and a half wide), and it runs through some of the most history-drenched area in the US, and it has turn outs and scenic overlooks up and down the length of the whole road, each with signs telling about historic events that occurred in the vicinity. This time of year the leaves are just beginning to gently fall a few at a time, but there are none on the road yet. It's 23 miles of just about perfect, gently meandering road.

Today, while everyone was at work, it was virtually deserted. I had it almost to myself.

As I rode along 23 miles of open road without much worry of traffic, I thought a bit about what I'd read on countersteering (I am supposed to be getting good experience out there, after all).

On Sep 27 I said:

If I was countersteering, I don't know it - it was so intuitive.

Well, I decided to find out. I eased over to the left, pushed gently on the left handlebar... and the entire bike leaned right and slid smoothly across the lane without me shifting my weight. I tried it the other way; sure enough, this countersteering thing works really well. I played with it for roughly the next 20 miles, completely enjoying myself all the way to Jamestown. It threatened thunderstorms once or twice, but never did anything more than drizzle.

By the time I reached Jamestown I realized that I was right on the 27th. I was countersteering, but poorly. It just kind of happened when I leaned into the curves. Doing it intentionally produces a lot more control.

I turned around before entering Jamestown park (you have to pay to enter) and backtracked to Williamsburg where I picked up 64 again and rode straight back to Norfolk, playing with the strong winds that kept lapping over me and moving me around in the lane. It wasn't anywhere near as difficult to fight the crosswinds once I knew what I was doing with the countersteering - it's almost a hairtrigger touch that moves it.

Back at the HRBT, once I was inside the tube, the engine started faltering a little. It seemed exactly like what it was doing when I stalled on Military Highway, so I had a pretty good idea what to do this time. I reached down and turned the petcock to the reserve tank. It backfired twice and revved back up again to full speed. I only lost 5mph in the deal.

Nearly home, I let it run on the reserve tank until I got to the gas station I usually go to, only a few blocks from my house. They were out of gas. I couldn't believe it. Thanks, Katrina & Rita.

I didn't dwell on it, though. There's another station right across the street that's the SAME COMPANY. Beats me why they've got competing stations on opposite corners, but it worked for me. The whole tank at $2.999/gal? 7 bucks. Forgive me for feeling smug about that.

I noted how many miles I had at the gas station - next time I fill up I'll work out the miles per gallon.

That's about it for today. Maybe next time I'll remember the camera.

Mileage: 308.6
Trip: 106.1

Nothing significant to report. Sent some mail, got some lunch. Drove around a bit.

I'm discovering lately that I really like sushi. Who knew?

Milage: 205.5
Trip: 11.3

On my past few rides I've noticed a bit of a problem with the transmission on my S40.

I shift all the way down, say, at a stop light. Sometimes instead of allowing me to get into first, the green neutral light comes on, and it won't let me shift out of neutral. I would sit there stomping on the damn thing, trying to get it out of neutral and into first. Eventually I'd give it a kick back up into 2nd, and that won't work quite right either.

Before I left on my ride tonight I hadn't quite figured out what the voodoo is that gets it to work properly - I managed to get it back into gear each time, but I didn't know how. It was a little nerve wracking, though. Traffic all around and I'm stuck in neutral.

I asked them for some advice on the Suzuki forums, but I rode 50 miles tonight and figured it out on my own. I just got back, and their advice is exactly what I figured out.

Tonight it wasn't just getting stuck in neutral, but 2nd and 3rd as well. Then it occurred to me that I can't change my bicycle gears when I'm not pedaling and maybe this is similar. So I tried easing up on the clutch a little and rolling on the throttle - just enough to give it a feather's touch forward.

It worked. Shifts into first no problem now that I know how to do it.

The easiest solution is going to be to get into first before I stop. Nonetheless, it's nice to know how to get it to downshift reliably if I'm already stopped.


Tonight I rode down Ocean View into Virginia Beach. Nothing fancy, nothing too fast - though there were a few 55mph zones. In VA Beach I got stuck behind a slow moving SUV and two motorcycle cops passed me on the left. They didn't even look twice at me, though most other riders at least give a nod.

I returned by VA Beach Blvd, straight into Norfolk and past the Scope. I took Hampton Blvd. home... and I was tempted to swing onto 64 for a short way, but I didn't want my wife to worry.

Home again home again, jiggity jig.

Mileage: 194.2
Trip: 51.8



The title... when I was little and going to day camp there was a camp councilor named Nancy. She was driving the camp's bus, loaded with kids. We came to the biggest, steepest hill in the town I lived in where Nancy paused for a moment. Slowly, the little bus climbed up the cramped street - cars parked on both sides) to the top of the hill. When we got to the very top, the clown of the group shouted "Put it in neutral, Nancy!" We all laughed... then every one of us gasped as for one heart-stopping moment we all thought she had done it and was going to let us just roll.

The bus began to roll backwards down the hill. It was only enough time for her to go from stepping on the break to stepping on the gas, but big as the bus was and loaded with kids as it was it took a second to get the bus moving forward again.

I don't remember any of the kids on the bus, I don't remember the name of the kid who shouted, I don't remember what Nancy looked like and I barely remember which hill it was... but I'll never forget "put it in neutral, Nancy!"

The title says it. It was dark. It was chilly. I got lost on Sewell's Point Road. I didn't care; it was fun anyway.


Mileage: 142.4
Trip: 32.ish