Side Notes

Only sunglasses this go 'round!

#1~

At the end of January, I had LASIK surgery. I have worn glasses (thick ones!) or hard contact lenses since I was five years old, and that has affected the way I have done all sorts of activities. Sometimes it was a positive effect--when I performed, I went without and the audience was always nicely blurred. Most times, however, having extremely limited vision which was only mostly corrected, made things more difficult.

Two of the biggest problems came on the Alaska trip. Pulling into a gas station, as I glanced behind me, one of my contacts popped out. Those puppies aren't disposable--the one that popped out cost $120, and I didn't have a back-up. Luckily, it was found.

The second incident happened as we were riding in southern Idaho. The wind was blowing like crazy on the few miles of interstate we rode, blowing smoke, and ash from a wildfire at us along with the usual dust, dirt and grime. All of a sudden, I had a horrific pain in my right eye. I told josh we had to ge off the freeway as soon as possible, but the nearest exit was more than a mile away. My eye hurt and began to water profusely. In a show of solidarity, my left eye began to water, and I had a very hard time keeping them open. By the time I was able to get that contact out, my cornea was scratched and I was searching for drops to soothe my eye.

This trip, with my better than perfect eyesight, has been great! Case-in-point: I hit highway 99 in Bakersfield and searched for the billboards which would tell me at which exit In-n-Out was located. They weren't there! As I passed an exit, thinking, "Crap! Was it that exit!?!", I looked about a mile and a half ahead and saw the arrow sign in the sky where the restaurant was. Way to go Eagle Eyes!

Also, I don't have to save room for all the crap one needs to take care of contacts, or for a pair of back-up glasses. Great on so many levels!

Thank you Dishler Laser Institute!

 

My F650GS and I--unstoppable since 2011! We love adventure!

 

#2~

I saw loads, LOADS--quite possibly metric butt loads--of other bikes on the roads, the three days I spent riding out to California. Almost every single one was a cruiser, with the occasional exception of a sport bike. It wasn't until I was into California that I saw an adventure bike. I didn't recognize what it was as we sped past each other in opposite directions, so I'm going to say it was either the Honda or the Yamaha Super Tenere.

Where are all those big 800 or 1200GSs and V-Stroms? There have been no KLRs or KTMs. Where are all those adventure touring folk...?

 

Posted with Blogsy

Utah, Nevada, and California!

My original plan for beginning this trip was to leave the Ute Mountain work site at noon on Friday, the 27th, and get a half days ride in. At the end of the week, however, I was tired and dirty, and really wanted a shower and a real bed to sleep in. So, plans changed and Josh and I simply road back to Vernal, where we would be going our separate ways the next morning instead.

 

We got a room at the Best Western Dinosaur (not gonna lie, all the soaps, shampoos, etc. were really nice and completely gone after I had a shower that night and one the next morning!) and had dinner at the Vernal Brewing Company. We read a lot of reviews about places to eat in Vernal, and apparently there is a lot of mediocre food there. We went to VBC on a recommendation from the man two rooms down who works in Vernal and pretty much lives at the Best Western. It was within walking distance, and it was a gorgeous night. We sat out on the patio for dinner, overlooking their garden where a lot of their veggies come from. The food was excellent and I had their house made root beer. It was yummy!

Outside the hotel room in Vernal, loaded up and ready to go! My first big solo trip--I'm excited!

The next morning, after breakfast, we loaded the bikes and left--I headed west and Josh headed east. This is my first solo motorbike trip to take me out of the state, and I was excited and nervous. As it turned out, it's just like riding in state, only across state borders, and on roads I had never travelled before. I headed out 40W/191S to Duchesne, where I turned south. The road became a mountain pass, and at the summit, I finally stopped and put on warmer gloves. The road had a 50 mph speed limit, was covered in gravel, and didn't warn about switchbacks. Ok Utah, I see how we're gonna play this!

I made it through, no problem, and picked up Hwy 6W at the other end. A few miles on from there, I made my first stop for gas and a stretch at Soldier Summit. I wound up staying about half an hour, maybe longer, as I ran into a number of people to talk to. The first was a guy with a KTM in the back of his truck. He had been out riding with friends in the mountains, when his bike broke down. He was, consequently, making the beer run while his buddies continued their day of riding without him. That's a sad story.

After buying some snacks, I went back to my bike to find the owners of the Harley I parked next to gearing up and getting ready to go. Debbie and Bruce, from Northern Idaho were really nice people, and I had a great time chatting with them. They were both originally from Monterrey, California, but left about 20 years ago. They were warm, kind people with beautiful smiles, and thousands of miles under them. I really enjoyed their company, and wound up catching up to them on the road again. We rode about 20 miles together before they turned north towards Salt Lake City, and I turned south towards Provo.

Debbie and Bruce--such nice people! They're bike was shiny and well loved!

I had to ride I-15 for a little while, but was able to hop back off and onto little Hwy 6 for the rest of the day. For most of the rest of the day, I felt I had the road to myself. I listened to music and sang along in my helmet. It. Was. Lovely. I ended my day in Delta, UT and looked for a campground. About 18 miles away was the Oak Creek Rec Area, in the northern section of Fishlake National Forest. I set up camp, then drove back into town to check in with the outside world and have some fish and chips at The Delta Freeze.

When I returned to the campground, I wandered around a bit and read all the posted notices. No big deal--bear country and poisonous snakes. Sweet! Don't worry, I made it through uneaten!

As I was taking my picture, a couple on a Harley pulling a trailer rode by, slowed down and took a picture of the sign too. With me in it. Weird.

The next morning, I had a quick breakfast at the gas station--coffee, milk, and granola I made to bring with me--and I headed off for Nevada. Just across the border, I turned off the highway towards Baker and the Great Basin National Park. It is a small national park that doesn't appear to actually charge to enter. Aside from being a lovely place to visit, they have caves which were discovered about 125 years ago. I was really excited to take a cave tour, but the next one I could get a ticket for was two hours away.

This is the original entrance to the Lehman Caves. They have now put a bat friendly fence around it after they blocked off all the entrances and nearly killed all of them. Way to go guys!

Historicorps and the Ute Mountain Lookout Tower

Saturday, June 21, I changed the tube out on my front tire, checked all other vitals, and loaded my bike up for three weeks of motorbike riding, camping, visiting family, and historic restoration. The first stop would be Fraser, CO to spend the night with my friends Pete and Belinda. After a wonderful evening with friends and a great breakfast, we headed out for Utah.

Josh and I would be spending the first week of this adventure about 50 miles north of Vernal, UT (known as the "Best shopping area between Salt Lake City and Denver on highway 40!") in the Ashley National Forest, working with a not-for-profit historic restoration group based in Denver called Historicorps. Two years ago I worked with this group restoring the Baehrden Lodge in Jefferson County, and on the Tobasco Cabin outside Silverton, CO. I had a great time, learned a lot, and worked with some really wonderful and talented individuals. When my friend Ian Mcleod asked if we could join him on this project, we jumped at the chance, and I figured since I was already 300 miles further west, I would keep going to California.

 

I just managed to shove the most ridiculous sandals into my top case. Hey, I'm motorbiking and camping--I'm not a heathen....

Bikes all loaded up and ready to go. I carried nearly everything since I would be continuing on after the first week.

 

Sunday, June 24, we left Fraser around 11:45 and stopped in Vernal at about 5:00. We decided to get dinner there at a Mexican restaurant, and Ian joined us half an hour later. After we finished eating, we headed north through Flaming Gorgeto the Ashley National Forest Summit Springs Guard Station where base camp would be. We met the three other volunteers for the week--Randy, Nancy, and Ashley--and one crew chief--Stephanie.

As everyone wandered their own separate ways, Ian looked at me and sang, "B-double E-double R-U-N, Beer run!" We took off running towards the guard station full tilt, Ian in flip flops, and me in my motorcycle pants and boots. I'm pretty sure we ran like a mile. Maybe a mile and a half! I don't know! But we were winded, panting and laughing as we grabbed beers from the fridge. Now that I think about it, it felt like a full 5k.... We set up camp, drank beers, and spent the evening just hanging out.

Our camping spot at the Summit Springs Guard Station. I heard elk bugling one morning, but saw no moose....

Monday--Holy Crap it was cold when we woke up! I had slept in my heavy-weight base layers and wool socks in my -5 degree sleeping bag. I woke up comfortable, but as soon as I unzipped my bag I was freezing. That day I would wear my base layer under my jeans. We went into the guard station where breakfasts and dinners would be all week, and met the other two staff members--Chris and John. After breakfast, we headed up to the tower for our first day of work. Chris assigned tasks to everyone--Randy would help him on the staircase, Ian and Josh would work together fitting steel c-channel to existing beams, the other women painting, and at the end he looked at me and told me I'd be up on the roof with John, working on the lightning equipment.

 

On the roof.

Of the cab built 50' above the ground.

Working on lightning equipment.

 

I think it was a test....

 

A quick check of the clear blue sky told me this would be as good a time as ever. I hopped into the lift and up we went. The view was phenomenal, and I was pissed I didn't have a camera. Once we finished, the rest of the day would find me on the ground, trying to find things to fill my time, being assured the next day would have lots of projects, lots of work.

 

Back at base camp that night, we had dinner together and spent some time getting to know one another over beer, wine, and later into the evening, Colorado-made whiskey.

Tuesday, I was informed I would be on steel with "your men"--please keep that in mind, Josh and Ian, you are both My Men--and I drilled holes in steel and tore down and put back up scaffolding.

Surveying my work with the scaffold tower. Little did I know that coil of rope on the footer next to me would become my constant companion the next few days.

Wednesday was the big day. At the top of the tower below the cab, the original plans called for three 8x8" beams, but only two were ever used. In order to bring the tower up to code for public use, the engineers required that the third, which was to go in the middle, be put in. This meant putting an enormous, heavy beam--also to be reinforced with steel--into a space which had sagged over the almost 80 years the tower had been in existence. Oh yeah, and don't forget, this would be at 50' above the ground.

In a brilliant feat of planning, engineering, and with a bit of luck, we managed to squeeze an "8 inch post into a 6 inch hole." Ian manned the fork lift superbly, lifting the beam into position. Chris was on the man-lift--or as I like to call it, the lady-lift--guiding through the first holes, and in the end, using sheer brute strength to help muscle that thing where it needed to go. Next it would come to me and Josh on the first set of scaffolding. Josh and I got it through the next set of obstacles we needed to avoid, and John got it last, harnessed off of the second scaffold. Next was the enormous piece of steel c-channel to reinforce the beam. I feel certain that nothing short of a direct hit by a meteor will ever be able to take out that tower.

I wish I had video or pictures of that afternoon--it was remarkable! I was so proud of us as a team. At the end of the day, our project leader, Chris, very kindly recognized the work we had done, and Josh, Ian, and I in particular.

That night, we ate dinner outside, and most of us went to sleep before the sun had gone down.

Our crew chief, John, having a good time. That's a big part of the way Historicorps works.

 

Thursday morning, the men were up early. By the time I got out of the tent, Josh, Ian, Chris, and John were all sitting in the warm morning sun, quietly reading their books. I grabbed my iPad and went to join them. After some discussion as to whether or not I should be allowed to join them with my electronic media, I settled down and read as well. It was a nice start to a day which would prove to be physically exhausting.

We tore down and rebuilt both scaffolding towers that day. It started with a crew of about 6 people, but as we began to rebuild the first tower, we were down to three. I would wind up hauling every piece of guard rail, decking and cross bracing up as it was built, using a rope on a pulley with a carabiner to clip to things.

After that was done, I found myself on the end of another rope, this time hauling up the uncut stringer for the upper staircase. It was heavy, and my end had to go up 50'. By the end of the day, I was back to cutting holes in steel. Every part of my upper body was sore, and I was exhausted.

Everyone was tired. Josh and Ian chose a spot on the grass to lie down, drink their beers, and doze. Chris, Randy, Nancy, and I sat around the picnic table in camp chairs, feet up on the benches, with our beers and wine. The evening was nice. Quiet. Relaxing.

By the time dinner was ready, I may have fallen asleep with my face in my plate if John hadn't made the most delicious, handmade, veggie and grain burgers. We ate outside, but eventually went inside to sit around, chat, and have dessert. I would fall asleep quickly that night, but be awakened in the middle of the night...

It's hard to tell, but Ian is playing monkey-boy on the cross braces up under the cab.

...to rain. Then, there would be more rain. We should have pulled the tent down and packed everything before leaving for the work site that morning, but everything was wet. It had stopped raining by the time we were heading up, and we hoped the tents would be dry when we got back around lunchtime. Fridays are short days with Historicorps, and everyone would have lunch back at base camp, then head for home.

For the most part, things were dry when we got back. It started raining as I had everything on the bike and was checking my tire pressure. All of the gear I had on was wet as I hugged people and said goodbye, but it seemed to be okay. As with every Historicorps project, I met some great people, and made some new friends whose work I really respect. I have a feeling I'll be working with one or two of them again sometime.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

Vacation--or so I've been told

My contract for the 2013-14 season with The Denver Center For The Performing Arts came to a close in the middle of April, and instead of hopping in the car and heading immediately for San Diego, I made the decision that I needed to stay in Denver. Although this was a difficult decision, it made sense at the time, and the last few weeks have proven it was the right choice. I have to say that I will miss my friends in San Diego, seeing my California family, and the non-stop weeknights and weekends of eating (drinking) my way through San Diego with my friend Veronica.

But really, I am glad to be staying in Colorado.

My beautiful Great Dane, Nalla, was recently diagnosed with bone cancer, and last week Maceo--my big orange cat which actually belongs to Doug Sager (see previous post)--needed emergency major surgery. Nalla is hanging in there, if a bit limpy, and Maceo is crabbily roaming the house in his cone of shame. As it turns out, the four-leggeds needed me this summer.

The Cone Of Shame comes off soon!

With the end of the working season, I pictured long lovely spring days riding my big bike through the foothills, and my little bike over crazy, rocky dirt mountain passes. As it turns out, the daydreams haven't necessarily come true; having started a kitchen remodel in March, I have spent a good portion of most days on my "vacation" working on it. I also decided that since I will be here all summer long, I'm going to grow a garden. This is somewhat laughable, as in the past it has seemed as though I had a black thumb. I helped some friends move a couple of months ago, and when someone jokingly asked if I should be trusted with carrying a houseplant, I looked down in time to see a piece of the plant fall off. No really, it just FELL OFF! I didn't do anything to it--it leapt to its own death, shaming me. So I'm going to show them--a garden I shall have!

Despite all the home activity, I have gotten out a bit to go riding. Weekday riding is awesome! I have gone out to grab a couple of tags with my Front Range Tag O Rama group, and dropped a couple of new ones too. I love riding when there is no one on the roads, and last week I took a new road and enjoyed the solitude. The only downside is the wildlife. I'm pretty sure the deer know most people are at work or school, so they hang out right on the side of the roads. I can't say for sure that they are waiting for me, but I'm not taking chances anymore!

Last Thursday I rode southwest on 285 to Jefferson. In Conifer I had to stop and put the quilted liner into my riding pants. Although it was warm as I rode out of Denver, the temps quickly dropped and I found myself shivering on the road, and dropping my pants in the Conoco parking lot. Heehee.

The southern end of the Tarryall Valley. Gorgeous day, but a bit chilly!

When I got to Jefferson I turned left, heading down county road 77 through the Tarryall Valley. It was a beautiful ride, and I felt like I was the only person on the road. Well, me and the deer.... A couple of miles in, I pulled over thinking I had found my sign. But I quickly realized it was the wrong one! Dang it!! I had a sneaking suspicion that I was going to have to ride all the way through the valley to the south end to find the exact tag I was looking to grab. But you know what, that's ok. It was a gorgeous ride, and ending that far south, I decided to head east on highway 24 from there to Woodland Park, then head north on 67 and ride home through Deckers. This would mean I just make a big loop, and I could avoid riding over the Kenosha Pass and through the windy valley for a second time that day. Once was enough, thank you very much.

I stopped at Deckers Corners, a restaurant I've been to once before, to have a little lunch, and continue on from there. A bean and cheese burrito smothered in green chili and a cup of coffee later, I headed on my way.

 

At this point, there were several ways I could go home. I could leave the restaurant and continue on that road, taking the left fork, and head north to Pine Junction, riding through Pine and the spot where the buck hit me a year and a half ago. Not that I'm superstitious, but NO THANK YOU. So the other option was to take the right fork and either stay straight, riding past the historic Platte River Hotel to Foxton Road, and up to Conifer, or turn right at the dirt road and head back through Sedalia and up Santa Fe. I went the route of Foxton, running into more deer, though not literally this time.

It was a good five hours out on the road, and it was nice to get away from city for a bit. There was a little dirt, as in super easy dirt roads I could easily take the MINI on. I am really looking forward to taking the Taz out soon, on some real dirt roads. Right now I am just waiting for the thaw and sticking to pavement...

...and filling growlers in order to support my favorite local businesses.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Spring Riding in Colorado!

Left Hand Canyon--September, 2013

The state of Colorado experienced record rains and horrible flooding in September last year. The photo above is one I posted shortly following the floods, showing where the swollen river had washed away the road in Lefthand Canyon. Roads in the flood areas were temporarily repaired and open prior to Christmas, and work has continued to improve and repair the communities ravaged by the flooding.

A couple of weeks ago, I took a break from the kitchen remodel I am currently working on, and went out for a ride. My original thought was to head up north to Ft. Collins and ride around the back roads, but I found myself riding through Boulder, heading towards Lyons instead. As I passed the town of Crestview, I began wondering how the small towns were coming along, and I made a left at Lefthand Canyon Dr.

I stopped at Buckingham Park to take a walk, and was amazed to see what heights the river had reached, and the damage it had done. Healthy trees, 60' tall with trunks 18" or more in diameter, had been ripped from the ground. Concrete bridges lie crumbled, and metal structures are twisted grotesquely, revealing nature's strength. The power of swiftly flowing water was evident everywhere.

Road crews were working non-stop, as many parts of the road are temporary gravel or hard pack dirt. Many homes along the river's banks are in ruin, or partially so. Some houses lay half open to the elements; whole rooms or floors have been washed away. It was almost as if one could peer into them as one would a doll house.

I slowly rode through Jamestown, and headed out to Highway 72 via James Canyon Drive and Overland Road. Only as James Canyon Drive crested its highest point and turned into the dirt road that was Overland, did it occur to me that I had no map, had never ridden those roads, and don't carry GPS. After the brief thought that I might get myself lost, I continued on, figuring I could always turn around and ride back out the way I had ridden in.

There was no need for turning around, however, as I came out exactly where I expected to on the Peak to Peak highway. I turned right at highway 7 and rode one of my favorite pieces of highway into Lyons. Have I mentioned this before--I LOVE that short piece of road. Big long sweeping curves with a moderate speed limit that keeps a rider in a lean for almost the whole road.

Pulling into town, i saw that parts of Lyons which lie along the river looked much the same as the Jamestown area. Houses were wrecked, others had large piles of belongings lying along the roads. There is a huge effort to clean up, and restore life to normal, so I stopped at Oskar Blues to have some lunch and support the community. It was a beautiful day, and long after I was finished I sat out on the deck enjoying the warm sunshine.

---------------------------

That ride was so lovely, and such a welcome break from the non-stop work on the kitchen, that a week and a half later I insisted that Josh and I stop work early on a Saturday, and take a ride somewhere--anywhere--with our friend Doug Sager. We met Doug at work when we first moved to Colorado, and about a year later he left to travel the world with Cirque d'Soleil's Verekai. Before he left, in the summer of 2008, he and Josh went on their first motorbike road trip--a trip that would inspire each following road trip in the summers to come.

Doug returned to the states at the end of March after working the winter Olympic Games and Paralympic Games. He stayed with us for about a month, before leaving again to head to Vegas to join the Rod Stewart tour. (Uh huh, that guy is till touring!)

We set out on a warm, sunny afternoon, and headed into the hills. I rode my GS, Josh rode his V-Strom, and Doug rode his Honda Shadow 1100. We headed into the foothills (stopping so I could put another layer on--80 degrees in Denver does not mean 80 degrees in the mountains!) and spent a couple of hours riding familiar twisty roads with gorgeous scenery. Colorado is really one of the most beautiful places to ride.

Josh and our friend Doug Sager in front of Tommyknocker Brew Pub, Idaho Springs, CO.

We stopped for a bite in Idaho Springs at the Tommyknocker Brew Pub--I had to have the nachos! For some inexplicable reason, I am drawn to ridiculously high-piled plates of chips, beans, salsa, and cheese--mmmmmmmm....

As we sat chatting, out the window I noticed a couple walking across the street, as though to come in. They made a quick detour to look at the bikes, then came into the restaurant. As I watched them, I wondered which bike he was looking at, or if he was just pondering the sight of two dual sports and a cruiser, all obviously traveling together. When the couple came in, the man noticed us and our gear and came over to the table.

"Who is riding the BMW?"

Somewhat surprised, I said I was. He smiled a big, broad smile and punched me affectionately in the shoulder, saying, "Keep on riding!"

Josh and Doug sat stunned as they walked away. I started laughing and they joined in. Eventually the guy came back to the table to inform us that the V-Strom was pretty cool too. Doug pouted, and we laughed even harder. That guy, and the ride of course, made my day.

We left Idaho Springs with me in the lead, fueling up the cruiser just in case, and rode the highway that takes people to the Mt. Evans road. That is another stunningly beautiful road to ride, full of fun twists and turns. It was blissfully empty of cars for which I was thankful as we headed down the backside into Bergen Park. It was clear that although it was 80 degrees--Spring--in Denver, it was still winter up there. The roads were still heavily sanded through the corners for snow, and in some places,the snow came so far out into the road that our lane was down to being less than 3' wide.

As we dropped further down the mountain, the temperature again warmed, and we turned to head through Evergreen and Morrison and on to home. It was a great day, and I was so happy to finally get a chance to ride with my friend Doug before he headed out, once again, to live his rock 'n roll lifestyle.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Maintenance Woes and Rewards

As far as motorbiking is concerned, anyone who rides knows the rewards of maintenance. A bike that purrs along smoothly, turns without hassle or force, and money-saving gas mileage are a couple reasons to keep on top of it. Sometimes work needing to be done is expensive and sometimes it's time-consuming. Those two things suck, but sometimes it is just worth it for someone like me (less than mechanically inclined...) to try to find someone to whom I can throw money at and have the job well done.

I think someone re-used an old crush washer....

So here is where I get to the heart of this post--the intense frustration of ferreting out a good mechanic, and winding up with garbage work for a large payment. Last summer in San Diego, I knew I needed some work done so I asked around to find out who had a BMW mechanic he liked. I was given the name of someone located out in Santee, and when I looked him up online, it looked like he had loads of experience and customers.

I set up a time to drop the bike off--before his shop opened I got there, left it, and dropped the keys in the mail slot--and waited to get a call telling me what needed to be done beyond what I had asked for, and the estimate. I had asked for several things to be done including changing the front tube in my tire (it was constantly leaking), changing out my headlamp which had just gone out, and an oil change. The truth is that I am capable of doing all those things, but when I live way from home and don't have my full garage, it is much more economical to have someone else do it. At that time, I had also started to have some issues with my acceleration, and I guessed I probably needed my valves adjusted. This was something beyond my capabilities, so I took the bike in.

In the afternoon I got a call from the owner of the shop, and he listed what needed to be done, including all the stuff I asked for and valve adjustments. He also told me there was a leak between my oil and coolant and I had some of each in places it didn't belong. Crap. Ok, that was going to be expensive, but that was not what bothered me about that call. The owner spoke to me in such a condescending manner. I finally said that I was relatively new to motorcycling, and though I didn't know much about maintenance, I was trying to learn as I went. When he got done lecturing me on how long I should go between valve adjustments, he finished by saying, "...and it looks like someone has been riding this in the dirt."

Well, no shit.

This was where I lost my patience and in a very pissy tone of voice, I explained that in the past two and a half years since I had gotten the bike, I (that's right, little ol' me) had put 25,000 miles on it and had ridden to Alaska, finishing out the previous summer by taking the bike off pavement and riding jeep trails--you know, in the dirt-- and finishing out the winter by riding through a couple of snowstorms as well.

His tone of voice changed and he lost some of the condescension with which he had previously been speaking.

I okayed all the work, but that conversation should have made me take my bike back and just go to the dealer.

I got the bike back, and it felt a lot better. I was pretty happy with it, but about a week later, I noticed my front tire was low. I filled it, rode off to work, and forgot about it for about a week...when I discovered it was a little low again. I filled it, feeling frustrated, went to work and forgot about it again. A few days later I left work at lunch on the bike to go pay the mechanic for work I was having done on my truck. My tire felt low again, and when I got to the shop, I bent to look at it and found oil EVERYWHERE.

I called the mechanic and he said DON'T RIDE IT! I loaded it up in my newly repaired truck, and hauled it out to Santee again. When the bike mechanic called, he apologized and said there had been a mis-seated gasket and a loose hose clamp--no charge of course because it was their fault.

I picked the bike up the next day, and left San Diego to return to Denver, bike safely in the bed of the truck.

Since I have returned, I have also replaced my front tube--in my panic about the oil leak I failed to ask them to repair the tire they didn't the first time but charged me for--and changed my oil, finding some troubling things. I had noticed a small leak in the drain plug (did they use a new crush washer or just use the old one...?) and when I attempted to pull the filter cover off, I saw that the screws had been over tightened and one of the screw holes was cracked.

Since I have done the work on my bike, my front tire has stopped leaking, and so has my oil. I suppose these are not big problems, but what has me completely frustrated is wondering, in the wake of all this crappy work--on some remarkable simple and routine things--what the real work on my valves, brakes and oil/coolant situation is like.

I forked over $1100.00 for that work--which I had to pay for in cash because the owner is too cheap to pay credit card fees. Aargh! And I was treated like a stupid little girl!!

On the flip side of this issue stands Peak Performance--the shop in Lakewood next to Let It Ride. I have found them to be reliable, fair, and completely unpretentious. And...I am completely capable of doing some of my own maintenance. The only problem is it takes away from my riding time....

For right now, having changed my oil, front tube, and air filter, my bike is purring like a kitten. Spring has arrived--time to ride!

 

Posted with Blogsy

Seamus Raphael O'Bryan

I suppose somewhere in the back of my mind I've known that this day would come. The motorcycling world, my motorcycling world to be more specific, would lose someone precious and dear. Three weeks ago, on the morning of January 31, we lost our brother, Seamus O'Bryan.

I had the good fortune to meet Seamus for the first time a little more than 14 years ago, at The University of Arizona. Two years later, we both left, me having earned a degree, and Seamus moving on to other things. He would later return and finish out his degree in theater education, but prove that he was destined for a much wider variety of life than theater alone could provide.

Seamus, a native of Phoenix, wanted to learn to sail tall ships, and found himself on board the Alvei, a ship that circled the South Pacific, often ferrying people and supplies for an organization called Project MARC (medical assistance to remote communities). He eventually joined the group and helped bring clean water, doctors, and women's clinics to remote areas desperately in need of these things. Not long after the devastating earthquake in Haiti, Seamus found himself there in the middle of it all, giving his time and skills to help those who needed it most.

Seamus was involved with Project MARC for a number of years, during which time he would find himself back in the states working in theater to finance his volunteering. In 2008, as did most of the free world, Seamus and I reconnected on Facebook. We played a little catch up, and this past April, we wound up in the same city at the same time, working for the same company.

As this summer's work ramped up, we figured out how to do many of the things we enjoyed together, on the one day off a week when our schedules would overlap. We climbed, went to the shooting range, went to the archery range, sailed, and rode our motorcycles everywhere. His motorcycle was his only form of transportation, which works a lot better in San Diego than in most other places in the country, and we took them everywhere--we rode down into Baja one Mexico Monday, making it the third country I had been to on my bike.

We made quite the pair when we would pull up somewhere, Seamus on his shiny Honda Shadow 750, and me on my beat up BMW F650GS. I laughed often at how big my bike looked next to his, but our bikes suited us well. We traded a couple of times over the summer, but in the end, we were always happy to get back to our own.

 

In December, a couple of months after I returned to Denver, I got a call from Seamus. We chatted for a while before he had to go in for his work call. He excitedly told me about an upcoming trip he would be heading out on with his buddy Peter from Australia. Peter was coming out to the states and the plan was that Seamus would line up a bike and gear, and the two of them would ride part of the pacific coast and into Arizona right after the Christmas show at The Old Globe closed.

This would be his first real road trip on the bike, and I regularly got updates and pictures of the bike and gear, and reports on the need to get started on the trip so he would stop spending money on stuff for the trip. That made me laugh, as I know that feeling all too well.

 

Peter Newbigin and Seamus O'Bryan on their January 2014 road trip.

It looks like a quick fix was needed and successfully implemented.

The guys had a great trip, and I was looking forward to hearing the details. Seamus went right into tech rehearsals after returning, and I was in the middle of tech also. I sent him a quick note the day after my kickstand fell off, and my bike took a dirt nap at the gas station. I could hear the laughter in his response message, and we promised to catch back up after we opened our shows.

Early in the morning on January 31, the day after opening his show, a man in a Cadillac turned left in front of Seamus as he was driving down University Ave in San Diego. In an instant, this amazing human being was taken from us, leaving an emptiness that, right now, seems impossible to fill.

 

---------------------------

 

As I read over what I have written above, it seems a horribly hollow description of my friend. It would be impossible to tell his story in anything less than something the size of a Michener novel.

The last few days, we have had funeral and memorial services. As with any event of this type, we all had our times of being terribly sad. But, when we could see through the sadness for a few moments, we have also been able to tell our stories and laugh like crazy. Who else could I possibly have been sitting with in a sailor bar, and turned in surprise when someone walking by caught her peg leg on the ratty carpet, fallen, and not spilled a drop of her whiskey?

Yup, that happened. That and so much more. At his memorial in Phoenix, his mother spoke with more grace than I could have imagined was possible to possess at a moment like that. She reminded us that in the end, Seamus's life was not really cut short. He lived more in his 32 years than most will live in 80.

At the beautiful memorial service in San Diego, hosted by The Old Globe Theater and The LaJolla Playhouse, I was asked to speak and tell an uplifting story or two. It was hard to choose! I told a couple of sailing stories as sailing had brought many of the 300+ people there that night together. At the end, I told part of this last story.

Before I left San Diego in September to return home to Denver, Seamus helped me run some errands to load my bike and get new tires for my truck. As we sat stopped at an intersection, I silently ran through everything I still needed to accomplish feeling more and more stressed as I added it all up. Suddenly I feel the truck shaking violently and I look over to see Seamus dancing as wildly with his upper body as he could.

"Intersection Dance!"

I didn't play along. He kept at it until I smiled, then finally started laughing and doing my own little dance. A week after Seamus's accident, I walked into my garage and looked at my bikes. I hadn't realized until that moment that I had been avoiding doing so. Last weekend, I got on my big bike, went out and put 180 miles on in the sunshine of the day. As I rode down 85 through Brighton, I had to stop at a traffic signal. It was a long light. A fun song came on, and I threw my arms into the air and did an intersection dance, much to the amusement (I like to think) of those around me. Thank you for that, Seamus.

 

For Seamus Raphael O'Bryan

5 June 1981 - 31 January 2014

"...and I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green."

 

Posted with Blogsy