Category Archives: Days in My Life

I don’t just sit around and watch TV.

Back in the Saddle

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My Ducati comes out of the shop and hits the road.

Before I started flying, before I started horseback riding, I learned to ride a motorcycle. In fact, it was one of the four goals I set for myself when I was in my 20s. (The goals were: learned to ride a motorcycle, learn to fly a helicopter, learn to speak Spanish fluently, and learn to play the piano. I got the first two done and haven’t done much with the others. But I have added a fifth goal: learn to juggle.)

My first motorcycle was a 1980 Honda CB400 Hawk. It was a standard bike and although it was 11 years old when I bought it, it only had 421 miles on it. The previous owner, a woman, had been diagnosed with cancer not long after buying the bike and had died soonafterward. Her husband, a motorcycle dealer, had held onto it for years before finally selling it to me. The bike was nice and good for learning. But I soon wanted something a little sportier.

I found that something at an Americade motorcycle rally at Lake George, NY one year. I went for a test ride with Yamaha and rode one of their Seca IIs. It was a 600cc bike with an upright riding position but sporty fairings. Later that year — 1992 — I bought one. (Oddly enough, the Yamaha dealer was next door to a BMW dealer and Mike bought his second bike there the same day. We certainly made a few folks green when we showed up at a motorcycle camping trip along the Delaware River on two brand new bikes.)

I liked that bike. I took it on a trip that Mike and I made from our New Jersey home down Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway into Tennesee. From there, we rode east to the coast and rode up the barrier islands — taking a few ferries along the way — on our way home. That was a camping trip; you wouldn’t believe how much gear we were able to bring along. Later, I got Givi luggage for it — expensive, Italian hard luggage that’s perfect for long trips. And a Corbin seat, of course. Comfort is important.

But I fell out of like with that bike on another one of our motorcycle camping trips with the gang. The ride was to a campground in the Finger Lakes district of New York. In trying to keep up with the guys, I found the top end of the bike. There’s nothing so disheartening as turning the throttle and finding that it won’t turn anymore as the guys you’re riding with start to leave you behind. I kept up okay, but I wasn’t a happy camper. I needed a new bike.

By that time, it was 1995 or 1996. I went to my local motorcycle dealer and, on a whim, test rode a Ducati Monster. I was very impressed, especially when I turned the throttle what I thought was a conservative amount and almost pulled a wheelie. Egads! That bike had testosterone! Of course, I didn’t like the styling of the Monster. I wanted something sportier looking. So I wound up with a Ducati 900 SS CR. (The letters stand for SuperSport Cafe Racer.)

This ain’t your auntie’s motorcycle. This is a street-legal race bike. It’s absolutely terrible at speeds below 25 MPH, making it a real drag to ride in city traffic. But get the RPMs over 4500 on a twisty mountain road, and you’re in for the ride of your life.

That’s if you can ride it.

I got pretty good at riding it. Leaning into the tight turns, keeping the RPMs high, keeping my hand and foot off the brakes. Downshift to slow down — that bike is made for engine braking. Not that the Brembo brakes do a bad job at slowing things down when you need them to.

I made only three customizations on the bike. First, I replaced the painfully uncomfortable seat with a Corbin saddle. Second, I had the gears changed slightly to make it easier to shift — I can’t remember exactly what they did, but it really helped out when I had to ride slowly. And third, I replaced the stock mirrors, which did a great job showing me my shoulders and arms, with aftermarket mirrors that actually showed the road behind me.

Not long after buying the bike, we moved to Arizona. I brought both bikes — the Ducati, for sport riding and the Yamaha for touring — with me. (The Honda was long gone; I sold it when I bought the Yamaha.) We did a lot of riding on Yarnell Hill, White Spar Road, and Mingus Mountain. But that’s all the interesting riding there was around here.

I remember when a friend of ours from back east came for a visit and rented a BMW for the day. We rode on a 350-mile loop on some of the nicest back roads in central Arizona. I took the Ducati and had a blast. But my shoulders were sore for the next few days. That bike just isn’t made for touring.

We also went on a trip with Chrome Caballeros. They do motorcycle camping tours. I rode the Ducati and Mike rode his BMW; all the other guys in the group rode Harleys. (They wore the Harley clothes, too. What’s that all about?) I took the bike as far northwest as Zion National Park and as far east as Page. One day, we rode over 300 miles. But I was in better shape then and didn’t stay sore for long.

Over time, I rode less and less. I started horseback riding instead. Then I started flying. The motorcycles spent some time in a storage shed, then moved to my hangar. The batteries always seemed to be dead when I wanted to ride them. The Yamaha needed work on the fuel system; I had it taken care of, then put it back in the hangar. Time passed.

This past autumn, I took the bikes out to ride them. The Yamaha wouldn’t stay running. The Ducati was leaking fuel from its muffler. Both bikes needed attention and I was neglecting them.

So we brought them to Dan. You may have read about Dan in another article here. He does motorcycles, too. In fact, he’s a Harley guy (although I don’t hold that against him).

I picked up the Ducati on Wednesday.

“Did you take it for a ride?” I asked Dan.

“Yeah,” he said. “That bike is fast. It surprised me.”

I didn’t say what I was thinking: heck, it’s not a Harley.

I rode it on 93 to burn the oil that had been in the muffler out of the system. It rode good. I came down Vulture Mine Road from 93 to 60, following a car. The speedometer said I was doing 70. It didn’t feel that fast and I doubted that the car in front of me would be doing 70 on that road, so I figured the speedometer was screwed up. Then I put it back in the hangar.

I had it out again today. I stopped at the airport for a latte and some chatting at Stan’s Latte Cafe. Dave volunteered to lead me down 60 toward Aguila at a steady 65 MPH to test the speedometer. We did this little test and the speedometer registered 70. (I guess I should have trusted my speedometer a bit more than I did on Wednesday. Some people just drive too fast on Vulture Mine Road.)

When the Yamaha comes back, I’ll have two bikes that need attention again. Maybe it’s time for another road trip. One I can take on two wheels.

The Painters

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I’m living in a Seinfeld episode.

About a year ago, after the roof at my condo-based office was repaired by the Association-designated repair people, my ceiling started to leak. The water from heavy rainfall had seeped into the roof, found its way between sheets of sheetrock in the ceiling, and soaked through the popcorn ceiling paint job. The water began hitting the floor about 10 inches behind my chair.

By the time the dripping stopped (about a week later), the ceiling was drooping and the paint was stained.

I was not a happy camper.

To make a very long and unhappy story short, the painters arrived today to paint the ceiling in two rooms of the condo: my husband’s office in the master bedroom and my office in the living room. And from the moment they arrived, I’ve been stuck in an episode of Seinfeld.

You know what I mean. Being in a situation so weird that you can’t believe its real. And it just doesn’t seem to end.

They’re a husband and wife team. An older couple. I can’t remember his name, but her name is Marie. All day long, I hear him calling to Marie, yelling at Marie, being nasty to Marie. Marie, Marie, Marie. When your name is Maria and half the people you just met call you Marie, it can be a very annoying distraction while you’re trying to work.

To her credit, Marie gives some of it back. But just some. I would have rammed my Keds down his throat by now. Both of them.

They can’t agree on anything. They accuse each other of doing various stupid things. They narrate what they’re doing. Maybe they think the place is bugged by the Association and if they don’t keep talking, they’ll be accused of going to sleep on the job.

The place reeks of paint, but Marie told me it’s “odorless.”

They’re done with Mike’s office and now they’re working on the “dining room” area. (They have to paint the whole ceiling in both rooms so the paint matches.) There’s plastic behind me, hanging from the ceiling. And they’re inside their little plastic tent, narrating the job, sniping at each other.

Tomorrow, they’ll do the rest of my office. I don’t know how I’m going to survive here. I certainly won’t be able to get any work done. Maybe I’ll lock myself up in Mike’s office with my PowerBook.

With the door closed.

My New Calendar

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What happens when you wait too long to buy a new wall calendar.

Every year, for the past four years, I’ve had a helicopter wall calendar. Not a military helicopter calendar. One that was mostly civilian helicopters with a few military models thrown in just to remind us that military guys do get to fly the best toys.

Back in October 2005, I ordered a 2006 helicopter calendar from Amazon.com. According to Amazon, the calendar was in stock, but it would not be shipped until December 26, 2005. That’s two months after I ordered it. What’s up with that? I asked them and they shipped everything except the calendar right away.

January came and I still didn’t have my calendar. Amazon didn’t have a clue when they’d ship. So I found the same calendar somewhere else online and ordered it. I cancelled my Amazon.com order. Of course, the second place I ordered from reported a week later that the publisher was out of stock.

So now it was mid-January and I had a blank spot on the wall where my calendar should be.

Yesterday, I flew up to Prescott with my friend Janet to do some errands. We went over to the mall, where there’s a Barnes and Noble. I figured I’d buy a calendar there.

Good news and bad news.

The good news is, they had calendars in stock.

The bad news is, there weren’t many to choose from.

The good news is, they were only $1 each.

Frog in a HelicopterThe bad news is, the best one I could find was called “Fabulous Frogs” by David McEnery. The calendar consists of 12 different black and white images of real live frogs posed with various toys. (I really can’t make this stuff up.)

The good news is, July’s frog is in a helicopter.

So now you know what I’m looking at when I glance at a wall calendar for the date.

Next year, I’ll order my calendar in September.

Land of the Sun Endurance Ride

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I mark horse butts and time in the riders.

Yesterday was the Wickenburg Horsemen’s Association’s annual Land of the Sun Endurance Ride. And, for the fourth year in a row, I was one of about 80 volunteers enlisted to help out and make the event run smoothly.

For those of you who don’t know what an endurance ride is, our endurance ride is a 25- or 50-mile horseback ride over trails in the Wickenburg area. Endurance riders — people who actually like to cover that many miles on horseback — come from all over the southwest to participate.

The trails are created or maintained and then marked with ribbons by volunteers organized by Robin Ollendick and Nancy Halsey, who manage the whole thing. There are two loops, each of which are 25 miles long. The 25-milers do one loop and the 50-milers do both. There are vet checks, water stops, and check points along the way. There’s food and beverages for riders and horses at the vet checks and riders are required to spend a certain minimum amount of time at each one to ensure the health and well-being of their horses. There are drag riders who follow the last group out and remove the ribbons.

It’s a big deal and a great western event. This year, we started out with 148 riders. A few were pulled early on or on the trail for various reasons — for example, a problem with a horses’s gait or a horse “tying up” — but the vast majority finished their courses.

As a volunteer, I had three official jobs.

The first, on Friday, was to use “paint sticks” to mark numbers on horse butts. Each horse had a number and the number had to be visible by the folks at the check points so each rider could be tracked through the course. We used yellow, pink, or green markers to put the numbers on. The markers are similar to Cray-pas — soft crayon-like markers I used as a kid. But they’re fat — at least an inch and a quarter in diameter — and they’re a pain in the butt (no pun intended) to get off your skin and out from under your nails.

My second job was to make the vegetarian bean soup I make every year for the lunch stop. A lot of the riders are vegetarians and it seems that most other people put some kind of meat in their soups or chilis. I make it without any meat at all. The flavor comes from the root vegetables I include — onions, carrots, turnips, parsnips — as well as celery and leeks. I got it cooking in our camper, which we parked at the rodeo grounds (It’s for sale and we wanted to show it off to potential buyers.), on Saturday and it was ready just in time for lunch.

My third job was to work with Janet, timing in the riders. The first 50-milers, who had left at about 7:00 AM (before dawn!), started showing up at 9:45 AM. That’s 25 miles in 2 hours and 45 minutes. On horseback. Janet wrote down numbers and times on a clipboard while I handed out check in slips with numbers and times. The 50-milers were required to wait for a hour after their horses “pulsed down” before leaving on their second loop. The 25 milers didn’t get check in slips, but they did get champagne. By 1:30, the 50-milers were coming back from their second loop. Janet and I were relieved at 2 PM, when all the excitement was pretty much over.

I didn’t take any pictures yesterday. I was too busy with my jobs. But if Janet sends photos of the winners, I’ll insert them here.

The big surprise: the winner for the 25-milers was a rider on a mule!

Apple Stores Need Help

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Apple Stores can’t keep up with customer demand.

Today was my fourth experience with Apple Stores in the past week.

If you’ve been following these blogs, you know that on Monday I went to two Apple Stores in the Phoenix area to get medical attention for a sick computer. Both stores were mobbed and the so-called “Genius Bar” was fully booked until after 6 PM. (That was at around noon.)

On Wednesday, after discovering that the techicians had failed to return my Tiger Install DVD with my computer after fixing it, I called to ask for it to be mailed to me. I listened to a ringing phone for nearly three minutes before someone answered. I was assured that the disk would go in the mail that day.

The disk had not arrived by today, so I called again. I spent 9 minutes listening to a ringing phone ?Äî no exaggeration here; my phone has a timer on it and I checked when someone finally answered. After talking to the same person I’d spoken to on Wednesday, he said he’d check to see if it was mailed out. I then proceeded to wait on hold for another 16 minutes (total time invested in phone call was 25 minutes). While listening to hold music on the house phone’s speaker phone, I dialed again from my cell phone. After four minutes of ringing phones, the same guy answered.

“Oh my goodness,” he said (and yes, that is a quote), “No one got back to you?”

I hung up the house phone. “No,” I said. I knew the truth: that he’d purposely abandoned me, never expecting me to stay on hold that long. But with a speaker phone and something to keep you occupied while you wait, it’s easy. “You need more people working there,” I added.

“That’s no lie,” he replied. “I’ll check on that disc.”

Yeah, right, I thought, as the music started up again.

He was only gone a minute. Probably long enough to put someone else on hold or peek out at the mob scene in the store. “It went out today,” he reported.

“Thanks.” My voice was flat. I was frustrated. I hung up.

Apple continues to grow and have success with its products. Its Apple Stores are doing very well. So why the hell can’t they hire enough people to handle the demand at the stores? Don’t they realize that they’re losing customers with their inability to give them the service they need and expect?

I feel another letter to Steve Jobs coming on…