Ouch! 6/30/2008
Having fun. 4/24/2008
Hoisted on the motard. 9/23/2007
A buddy advertised his supermotard for sale last week. I read the ad in a local bike forum, and gave him a call. We negotiated somewhat on the price, but didn’t really come to any sort of firm conclusion. Then he said he’d send the bike over, so that I could use it for an extended test ride, before making up my mind. He had an ulterior motive in doing this. All my riding buddies know that I can find something to love about a bike. Any bike. Anyone lending me a bike for more than a week can usually expect a call from me asking, “how much?” This has resulted in me having more bikes than some people have pairs of shoes. My buddy also had the problem of a naggy wife lecturing him about the “why do you need to have so many bikes?’ thing. Fortunately, I don’t have this problem now. Unfortunately, someone has also told me that I will, in future, only be allowed to have 6 motorcycles in my possession at any one time, irrespective of (running) condition.
So he sends it over last night, and I parked it..well…shoehorned it in really, in and amongst the other bikes now decorating the driveway. I looked it over for about 3 minutes, and walked away. This morning, I decided to ride it in to work, just to get a feel for it. I got on the bike, noting the reasonable seat height. Strange for a supermotard, until I realised how saggy the suspension was. This did not bode well.
I pulled out onto the street, and neglected to note that there was sand on the corner. First supermotard surprise, the saggy suspension actually played in its favour. I felt the rear wheel skid out, and the bike shook its tail a little, and came back into line. I crossed over into the main road, and headed for the overpass. Supermotard surprise number two. This thing could change lanes faster than I could sneeze. Insane lean angle, due to the high off the ground engine, and a weird center of gravity caused by the plastic fuel tank.
I then got on the highway proper, and proceeded to do my lane split thing, as I do every morning when riding in to work. Supermotard surprise (well, not much of a surprise, I knew this one already) number 3. Lanesplitting was a breeze, due to the very upright seating position, and wide handlebars located above the height of standard car mirrors.
I was beginning to think this bike wasn’t so bad after all. Until I whacked the throttle open. Supermotards are known for their hooligan like behaviour on the road. Wheelies, stoppies, and general anti social behaviour are the norm. Not this one. This one was slow. So slow that I wanted to get off and see if the throttle cable was broken. So slow that I thought the bus behind me was going to run me over and turn me into pizza.
I came into the parking lot at work, and stood there a moment, looking over the bike with a critical eye. Did some mental calculations. Eyed certain dimensions. And a thought formed in my head.
Anyone got a 450 engine going spare?
Crusher. 6/30/2007
I was in 2 minds about posting this. Mainly because of what happened one post previously, and my specific comment about women drivers cutting in front of vehicles much bigger than theirs. I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m some sort of road bully, or that I use the diesel as a weapon on the road. I obey road rules. I am courteous in traffic, and will yield and merge when the situation calls for it. I signal my intentions early. I don’t tailgate or intimidate other drivers, nor do I use the sheer bulk of the diesel to force my way through traffic. But what happened to me this evening beggared belief.
I was on the way home, after work, late in the evening. There was a long line of cars waiting their turn to turn left at a “T” junction. This junction is controlled by a set of traffic lights, and the left and right turning lanes are clearly marked, with a double white line splitting them. This means that if you’re turning left, you turn left, or vice versa. You certainly aren’t allowed to wait on the right and make the left turn when the lights turn green.
The unfortunate thing is, the lights are short, and perhaps 5 or 6 cars get through at a time. I was 3 cars away from the light, and was waiting for it to turn green. I know these lights well, and had the diesel in gear, and ready to go, so that I didn’t unnecessarily delay the cars waiting behind me with a slow take off. There was a brand new Nissan on my right. I didn’t think anything of it, aside from the fact that there were 3 young girls in the car.
The lights turned green, the cars started moving, and I let the clutch out. And the Nissan next to me put its left turn signal on, and tried to quickly cut into the gap in front of me to take the left turn. Except that there wasn’t any kind of gap. I was maybe 5 feet away from the car in front, and I definitely had no where to go. I hit the horn, loudly. No, I didn’t touch the brakes. If I did, the car behind would have rear ended me. There was a high curb to the left of me, and I couldn’t even move over.
This bitch didn’t give me an inch, and deliberately tried to force her way in. Even when there was absolutely no way in. I gave up. And ran the diesel straight along the left side of her car. I crumpled the passenger side door, tore off the wing mirror, the front fender and the bumper. I definitely shunted the left front wheel, making the car undriveable.
She managed to get the car through the intersection, dragging bits of plastic along. She stopped her car, and was making motions of getting out to discuss the “accident”. I looked in my rear view mirror, and saw the guy in the car behind me grinning broadly from ear to ear. I looked over to the left, at the female passenger in the Nissan, who was pale in fright. The driver got out of the car and stood up. It was a young chinese girl, looking very butch. Very butch indeed.
She was glaring at me, waiting for me to stop and get out. I looked at her, decided that I was rather more hungry than angry, flipped her the bird, and drove off.
Never, ever, ever, fuck with the Snark and his diesel. Ever.
I think the diesel gets returned to the company pool this coming Monday, and I’m going to indent for something a little more anonymous, and a little less powerful.
An apology. 6/26/2007
I guess I owe you some sort of apology.
I mean, the gap that you left between your car and the car in front was well over 30 meters. I signalled my intention to lane change, and did so in the proper manner.
I guess I must have upset you some, because you were speeding up to try and close the gap, and then flashed your high beams to show me that you were somewhat annoyed.
I think there was really no need for you to start flashing your high beams contimously at me while I was keeping pace with the traffic in front. It isn’t really my fault you were dreaming and didn’t stay with the pace of traffic.
I definitely know that there wasn’t a call for you to start tailgating me, and showing me the right side of your car, like you were in this really fast car trying to get past on the highway. We were in the middle of the city, and it was rush hour. There really isn’t any place to go fast at that time of day.
I know you think that little local made piece of shit car you’re driving is shit hot. It’s probably your pride and joy, even though you are in hock to the finance company for the next 9 years, and paying for that car probably takes a hefty chunk out of your salary.
I know you think you’re a really hot driver as well, but you obviously didn’t think about what it was your were very dangerously tail gating in rush hour traffic, and the kind of engine it has, and what it weighs.
I know you didn’t think that the driver behind the wheel of the big diesel, i.e. me, had any kind of driving skills to speak of, or that I would be easily intimidated. I guess after you’ve shared a race track in competition with 2 men who went on to become World Champions, nothing intimidates you anymore on the road.
I think you really don’t have any knowledge of the characteristics of vehicles, and how to use their engines effectively, or that diesels have enormous amounts of engine braking available on the downshift.
I guess you also didn’t notice the tow ball at the back of the vehicle you were following so very closely, trying to intimidate the driver.
I think you might have pissed your pants when the big truck in front of you went from 90 km/h to walking pace in the space of a heart beat, without the brake lights flashing. I did see you trying to swerve, and you realising you had no where else to go in the heavy traffic.
I guess the crumple zone at the front of your car did its job, and I guess the mess from the top of your radiator being torn off by the tow ball will eventually evaporate from the road.
I don’t really care that your car is probably damaged enough that it will have to be in the workshop for the next 6 weeks while your insurance company goes through the motions. A few more scratches on the truck’s rear bumper is really neither here nor there for me. All I have to do is throw the keys to the Admin executive in the company and say to him, “get it fixed.”
Actually, come to think of it, I’m not sorry at all.
The Kiss of the Cobra. 6/24/2007
Grant S. : Did you see that cobra?
The Snark : What cobra?
Grant S. : The one that tried to strike at your foot.
The Snark : What the fuck?
The Gap. 6/22/2007
Every morning, I come down this road.
Every morning, I sit there, zoning out, cursing the fact that I am sitting in a cage and going nowhere, fast.
Every morning, I see the gap, and wish I could be slicing it.
And this morning was especially bad, when an SP-1 stopped right next to my window, and revved his engine. The booming V-twin sound caught my attention, and I turned to look. It was being ridden by a riding buddy from way back, and he recognised me sitting there in the diesel. I wound the window down, he raised his visor, and we exchanged pleasantries while sitting in the traffic waiting for the lights to change.
Then the traffic policeman waved us on. He nodded a goodbye, closed his visor, and shot through the gap, leaving me there to do the 5 m.p.h. shuffle.
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