Category Archives: Deep Thoughts

I think…therefore I’m dangerous.

Letting Go

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There’s no use denying that it’s time.

Yesterday, I listed my motorcycle for sale on Craig’s list.

Yamaha Seca II
Here’s my bike, with the bags removed, parked in front of Bob’s house.

It’s a 1993 Yamaha Seca II that I bought brand new in 1992. I vividly recall the day I bought it in Paramus, NJ. I was still riding my first bike, a 1981 (I think) Honda CB 400 Hawk. I’d gone to Americade in Lake George, NY, with my future wasband and the sport touring motorcycle club we rode with and had test ridden the Seca II. It had more power and was sportier than the Hawk. I decided to upgrade and went to the Yamaha dealer in Paramus. I did the paperwork for the bike and then went next door to the BMW car dealer with my future wasband, who was a big BMW fan. They had a new 1991 (I think) K65 (I think) parked in the lobby area. He bought it. We showed up a week or two later at a club event, each riding brand new bikes.

Thanks for the Memories

Other Motorcycling Posts
I started this blog in 2003, which is after my primary motorcycling days. But I do have a few posts (with photos) here about motorcycling, if you’d like to read more:

I have a lot of really good memories tied up in that bike. I bought and rode it at a time in my life when I was in a good relationship with a man who still knew how to laugh and have fun. A man who knew how to say yes instead of making excuses to say no.

We took our bikes on a motorcycle camping trip down Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway, all the way down to Georgia, then rode up the Outer Banks, right after a hurricane. It was an incredible trip — one of the best in my life.

We also took our bikes up to Lake George for Americade trips with the club and other long rides in New Jersey and New York. It was on a trip up to the Finger Lakes that I found the top end of the bike — 110 mph, if you’re curious — on a country road and began thinking about more power. I bought my 1996 Ducati 900 SSCR not long afterward.

But I kept this bike. It had the hard luggage and the comfortable seat. It would be my “touring” bike. Or so I thought.

We moved to Arizona and did a lot less riding. I bought horses and rode out in the desert. I bought a Jeep (which I still have) and drove that out in the desert. I learned to fly and bought a helicopter. There just didn’t seem to be time — or a point, I guess — to ride to the same old places, over and over. The magic was gone.

When I packed up my Arizona life to move to Washington, the Ducati was the first thing to go. I rarely rode — I certainly didn’t need two bikes. Besides, the Yamaha was already up in Washington, where I’d had it shipped a year or two before. I was tired of driving a truck all summer during cherry season so I’d had the bike shipped someplace where I would want to ride it. And I did — I rode more in Washington than I did in Arizona.

Time went on. I did a trip to Friday Harbor with my friend Bob — me on that Yamaha and him on his big old Moto Guzzi. He rode like a Harley guy, slow and ponderously — not at all like the sport touring club members who had helped me find my bike’s top end all those years ago. I think I frightened him. Occasionally, I’d take it out on a ride to Leavenworth or Lake Wenatchee or Silver Falls up the Entiat River. But then I just stopped riding it.

I was busy with other things.

Too Much Stuff

As anyone who has glimpsed the interior of my 2880 square foot garage can tell you, I have a lot of stuff. Too much, probably.

Owning motor vehicles comes with a cost: maintenance. Even if you don’t use them, maintenance is required. In fact, I’d venture to say that more maintenance is required per hour of use if you seldom use them than if you use them often.

My motorcycle became a perfect example of this. Because I didn’t use it, the crap they put in gasoline these days would foul the carburetors and cause all kinds of problem. Tires and hoses get dry rot and crack. Dust accumulates. Lubed chains get clogged with dirt. Batteries die.

After not riding for a few years, I took the bike to the local Yamaha dealer to get it running again. I rode it a few times and parked it for another year. One day I charged up the battery and started it up, only to have fuel spew all over the ground. I covered it back up and left it for another two years. I stopped registering and insuring it. There seemed to be no point.

I had my hands full using and maintaining my other vehicles. The Yamaha was neglected and ignored.

Downsizing Means Letting Things Go

I had a kind of epiphany this winter when I was traveling. I think I have to thank my friend Bill for that. He lives a simple, mobile life and seems very happy. While I’m happy in my home and have no desire to give it up, he helped me realize that I’m probably at the point where I have too much crap in my life. I’d be happier if I could make things simpler.

And, for me, that means getting rid of the stuff I don’t need or want.

Let’s face it: I’m not getting any younger. I’m 59 now and starting to think seriously about retirement. I’m already semi-retired, with real work (my flying business) only a few months out of the year and busy work (my jewelry business) off and on for the rest of the year. I have big plans for my retirement years and they definitely do not include a bunch of stuff I have. Why not get rid of it now?

With that in mind, I decided that the motorcycle would be the first thing to go.

My friend Bob — the Moto Guzzi guy — came by and helped me load the bike onto a trailer so I could bring it to a repair shop in town. They put about $700 of work into the carburetor (again) and a new battery. That got it running pretty good.

Yesterday, I picked it up and rode it to Bob’s house. He’d very graciously offered to sell it for me at his house, which is a lot easier to get to than mine. He has a garage to store it in and won’t take crap from potential buyers.

That 5-mile ride — my first time on a motorcycle in at least 4 years — brought back a flood of memories. Accelerating away from traffic, gliding around curves. Feeling the power of the bike beneath me, feeing it respond to the throttle twist and pressure on the brakes. I seemed to flash back to Sunday rides in Harriman State Park or out to the Delaware Water Gap. To trips where I could feel the wind against me, sense the subtle changes in temperature, smell the aromas of things I passed.

God, how I loved riding!

But I need to be honest with myself: if I keep it I will not ride it regularly. As I age, my reflexes will deteriorate. If I don’t ride regularly, my skills will decline — as I’m sure they already have. Poorer reflexes and skills are likely to get me killed on one of the rare instances I do decide to ride it. And then there’s the maintenance of keeping it when I don’t ride it: battery tending and carburetor repairs. Ugh.

So it’s best to just let it go.

Let go of the object so many good memories are tied to. Let go of a piece of my past that I really wish I could cling to forever.

It’s hard not to cry while typing this.

In Bob’s Hands

Anyway, I brought it and its hard luggage and the big plastic box labeled “Motorcycle Stuff” to Bob’s house. I discovered that I had not one but three motorcycle covers — two of which Bob will keep for his bikes — and not one but two tank bags. I also had two helmets (and will keep one of them in case Bob ever wants to take me riding). It’ll all go in a package.

I’ll admit that I priced it high. The bike only has 22,000 miles on it and is in very good condition with all those extras. But the way I see it, if I can’t get a decent amount of money for it, why sell it? I’m not desperate for money. Besides, it’s spring in Washington, and riding weather is upon us. It would make a great bike for commuting to work or taking a trip. Even the fix-it place said there’s a high demand for used bikes right now.

It’s in Bob’s hands. I know he’ll do a great job finding a buyer for it.

Meanwhile, it’s both sad and nice to have the space the motorcycle and its box of accessories occupied available in my garage.

Letting Go

I realize now that letting go of the things you cling to for emotional reasons is part of getting older and winding down. I think I’ve been in denial for a long time about my stage in life, but letting go of my motorcycle has helped me come to terms with it.

For my whole life, I’ve been building up skills and knowledge and wealth and possessions. It’s part of a cycle that I suspect was ingrained in me from my childhood. But the cycle has another part that I wasn’t prepared for: the winding down. That’s what I’m facing now.

Back in 2013, my godfather, Jackie, died. He was single, in his 80s (I think), and, in his later years, had become a bit of a hoarder. My mother and her first cousin were his next of kin and were tasked with getting his affairs closed up. It was a mess and a lot of work for them.

I also recall when my wasband’s dad passed away suddenly and his family — wife and three adult offspring — were tasked with clearing out the stuff he’d stored in the basement. They used a dumpster.

The way I see it, we should all be tidying up our own affairs as we age to make things a bit easier for ourselves while we’re alive and our next of kin when we die. The older we get, the less stuff we should have.

Downsizing is, in a way, admission that we’re getting old. And while I’m not “old” yet, I’m undeniably getting there. It’s time for the downsizing to begin.

And that’s why I’m preparing to let things go.

Going First Class

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Sometimes spending a little more on your comfort is really worth it.

I was brought up in a lower middle class family that, in my later teen years, was upgraded to middle class after my mom’s divorce and remarriage. I struggled financially to live on my own for a while after college, and then struggled a little less when I began living with my future wasband. It wasn’t until I was in my late-thirties that I began earning what I’d consider a very good living.

Living when money is tight — but not tight enough to actually cause you to miss meals, get evicted, or turn to payroll lending storefronts to meet financial obligations — teaches you frugality and comparison shopping skills. You quickly learn that if you need to buy something, you need to shop around a bit to get the best deal. You need your money to go further. This becomes a mindset, something you do naturally. Something you can’t imagine not doing.

Travel on the Cheap

Even when my personal financial situation started looking very rosy, I was stuck in that mindset. That was especially so when I traveled for business in my early years as a writer. I was a regular speaker at Macworld Expo in San Francisco, Boston, and later, New York. I even spoke twice at the event in Toronto.

Macworld did not cover my cost to travel to these events. Its only compensation was free unlimited entrance to the show, snacks and swag in the Speaker room, and a Speaker ribbon that often led to more swag at booths. (The Press ribbon, which I earned by writing for some tech magazines back then, actually worked better.) The cost of airfare and hotels was on me. This was a pretty big financial burden, especially when I traveled to expensive San Francisco from the New York Metro area.

So I shopped for airfare. And yes, I’d even stoop to taking a non-direct flight or redeye if it could save some money. And then I shopped for hotels, winding up with satisfactory lodging within walking distance from the venue.

The crazy thing about all this was that my travel related to the event was a business expense — no doubt about it — and I could write it all off on my taxes, which I did. (Contrary to what some people think, writing things off on your taxes doesn’t mean the government pays for it. It means that it reduces your taxable income. So if you spend $1000 on a trip and your tax rate is 28%, it’s like getting a 28% discount on that expense.) But I was still in that watch-every-penny mindset and even though I could afford better flights or lodging, I just couldn’t see spending more when I could spend less.

That all came to a head one year on a San Francisco trip.

Seeing the Light

Macworld Expo in San Francisco was held in January. While the weather in San Francisco in January isn’t nearly as frigid as it is where I lived in New Jersey, it could be cold. I’d booked a room at the Victorian Hotel — now the Mosser Hotel — on 4th Street, less than three blocks from Moscone. (I think the hotel was just beginning its name change process back in those days — maybe 1998? — because I remember the new name.) I’d stayed there at least once before, so I knew what to expect. (Or thought I did.) The hotel was popular with speakers because it was relatively inexpensive. But it was inexpensive for a reason: it was old and in sore need of renovation. (I hope it’s been fixed up since then.) It did have a good restaurant on the ground floor, though: Annabelle’s was the name. (Funny the things we remember.)

On that particular year, San Francisco was cold and so was my room. The heat — a radiator! — simply did not work. I called down to the desk to see if they could do anything and they sent up a bellman with five blankets. I slept under a pile of seven blankets for the next few nights and dreaded showering.

I remember thinking to myself: What the fuck is wrong with you? You can afford a better room that this! Isn’t your comfort worth it?

The answer, of course, was yes. The next few years, I stayed at the W across the street from Moscone, where I was introduced to modern rooms, feather beds, and other very nice treats.

Airline Travel

The airfare lesson took a bit longer to kick in.

I admit that I stopped doing flights with connections unless there was no other option early on. (My wasband, however, did not. I remember one year when he paid for his family to come to Arizona from New York for Christmas. He bought them tickets on an airline called ATA, which was really cheap, probably because it only had like four planes. The flights had a stopover in Chicago, but not at O’Hare like a normal airline. They stopped at Midway. As anyone could expect in December in Chicago, weather moved in and the plane got suck at Midway. Then there was a mechanical issue. The delay was long and when his mom and sister finally arrived in Phoenix, they were extremely travel worn and cranky — can you blame them? The punchline: he only saved $50 per ticket over a direct flight with another airline. And yes, he could afford the $50 per person.) I’d had enough experience with the problems that arise when you have connecting flights and unnecessary stopovers. Why make a trip more difficult than it needs to be?

Of course, I usually fly out of Wenatchee these days and Horizon only operates a turboprop to Seattle, so all of my flights to anywhere other than Seattle have at least two legs. That can actually work out to benefit me, as you’ll learn in a moment.

(The only trip I occasionally do that I can’t avoid three flights is to visit my sister in St. Augustine, FL. The closest airports are Jacksonville and Daytona and the last time I went there no direct flights from Seattle. That meant flying from Wenatchee to Seattle to Atlanta to Jacksonville and then doing all that in reverse on the way home. No matter how you slice it, you’re traveling for a whole day.)

A few years back, when I was still doing frost control work in California from January and into March, I had a contract where I could stay home until called out. The call would come at 3:30 PM, which is when the hyperlocal weather forecast the grower subscribed to would be released for the evening. As I talked to him, I packed. When I hung up, I booked a flight from Wenatchee to Sacramento. As I was driving to the airport, I booked boarding for my dog, Penny, and dropped her off. As I waited at Wenatchee airport for my flight out, I booked my hotel and rental car. I’d arrive in Sacramento before 9 PM, get my car, and go to my hotel. In the morning, when I was released from standby, I’d book my return flight, check out of the hotel, and go home, picking Penny up along the way.

Every time I did this trip, I earned four legs on Alaska Air’s frequent flyer program. I did it six times in one season. That put me into MVP status. Suddenly, when I started flying Alaska Air, I’d get automatic upgrades to First Class at least 75% of the time. I enjoyed that for a year and a half — and I was doing a lot of airline travel back then. It spoiled me.

First Class is the Way to Travel

You have to understand that First Class isn’t just sitting in a bigger seat at the front of the plane — although, admittedly, that’s a real bonus. It’s free luggage check in. It’s often (depending got how you got to First Class) entry into the Alaska Lounge at SeaTac and a handful of other airports. It’s boarding first. It’s having a flight attendant take your jacket and put it on a hangar (and return it to you later while taxiing to the gate). It’s not having to shuffle down the aisle, hoping there’s space in the overhead bin for your bag. It’s having a drink — whatever you want — as everyone else boards. It’s having a warm towel to clean your hands, more drinks, a hot meal, and often a warm-from-the-oven cookie. It’s not having to worry about someone’s brat kicking the seat behind you or the jackass in front of you reclining his seat so you can count his hair follicles. It’s civilized and comfortable. It makes airline travel bearable.

Honestly, if you spend enough time on long flights — which I consider any flight over two hours — in First Class, you’ll wonder how the hell you managed to fly coach all those years.

Well, that’s how it was for me.

Good things don’t last forever and eventually my status as an Alaska Air MVP lapsed. I was back in the world of regular travel and I can’t say I was happy about it.

But what I discovered is that if I buy my ticket far enough in advance and I’m flexible about travel dates and times, I can often buy a first class ticket for just $100 to $300 more than coach. Here’s a random example for Alaska Air; in this case, if I were going to visit my brother in New Jersey, I’d be buying that First Class ticket leaving Wenatchee at 6:25 AM (keeping in mind that I’m a very early riser):

Fare Example
Would you rather spend five hours and 20 minutes in First Class or stuck in coach, rubbing elbows with some guy with body odor while a kid kicks the back of your seat? Oh, and don’t forget the ability to wait in the Alaska Lounge in Seattle for the two hours between my flight from Wenatchee to my flight out to Newark. Yes, it’s worth an extra $272 to me.

While I realize that not everyone has a few extra hundred bucks sitting around to piss away on air travel, I usually do. I don’t travel by air that much anymore and I want my experience to be as comfortable as possible. I travel alone now, so I don’t have to buy a ticket for traveling companions or worry about what they might be able to afford. I’ve come to realize that my comfort is worth the extra money.

Travel in Comfort

As I get older, I’ve come to realize that my personal comfort is important to me. If I can afford going First Class, I will.

That’s why I’m flying First Class from Los Angeles to Seattle next week. (There is no First Class on Seattle to Wenatchee legs.)

If you’re in a similar situation — older, traveling alone, money in the bank — and you’re not treating yourself to First Class travel when it’s available, why the hell not?

Reality TV: British Baking vs. Blown Glass

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I compare two contest style reality TV shows.

I don’t watch regular TV. I don’t have cable or satellite, although both are available where I live. Instead, I have a smart TV and subscribe to a handful of services: Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Disney Plus. (I also watch YouTube on my TV but I haven’t yet sprung for a subscription to get rid of the increasingly annoying ads. I don’t think YouTube should cost more than Netflix.) Because I absolutely abhor commercial breaks while watching TV, I pretty much ignore the extra channels my TV offers for “free.” (My time is worth more than what I’d spend watching those commercials.) I don’t channel surf; once I start a show, I’ll either watch it all the way through or turn off the TV and do something else.

What I watch is pretty much limited to what I find on the services I get. (This means that if you try to start a conversation with me about the latest hit on CBS, you will not succeed.) When I feel like watching TV and I don’t have something specific in mind, I’ll browse to find something new. I’m big on binge watching when I want entertainment, so that occasionally has me trying new multi-episode series to see what resonates with me enough to watch.

I should mention here that, as a rule, I don’t watch reality TV. My personal reality is entertaining enough for me — I don’t need to watch some onscreen reality, manipulated by directors and creative editing to add drama. I’ve never seen Survivor or The Great Race or The Bachelor. I don’t even know the names of other shows that countless Americans waste their time watching — probably because they have time to waste. I prefer spending my free time enhancing my own reality.

Great British Baking Show Promo
The promo photo on Netflix for the Great British Baking Show.

That said, I rather enjoy The Great British Baking Show, which I believe — and you can correct me if I’m wrong — falls into the reality TV genre. It’s kind of fun and very heartwarming (at times) to see the contestants help each other out. There’s very little (if any) friction between the folks vying for the prize of top chef. I watch people struggle (or not) to bake amazing things. They succeed (or fail miserably). The hosts provide just the right amount of comedy while the judges keep things grounded. Along the way, I learn a bit about baking techniques and how people’s backgrounds influence the kinds of foods they make. There’s no fake drama — at least none that I can see. I think that’s what explains why it’s such a hit with many of my friends, although we don’t usually gab about it the way other folks seem to gab about The Bachelor. (For Pete’s sake, even one of the late night TV guys — one of the Jimmys — includes a recap of each Bachelor episode in his monologue. Who cares?)

Blown Away Promo Photo
The promo shot for Blown Away on Netflix.

Recently, while looking for something new to watch, Netflix suggested Blown Away, a contest-style reality TV show featuring glass blowers. This seemed like a good fit for me. I love the look of blown glass and sort of expected the show to enlighten me about glass art techniques, much the way British Baking gives me insight into making custard or layering cakes. I figured I’d give season 1 a try and tuned in for a few episodes.

I was disappointed. Although the show offered many clips of what the glass artists were doing, there was very little in the way of educating viewers about it.

Well, that’s not exactly fair. I remember seeing some onscreen captioning that did explain certain terms and techniques briefly, but all of those seemed to disappear by the middle of the first season’s run of episodes. Other than that, the only time artists or judges explained what was going on was to enhance the drama. “That’s a very risky procedure so-and-so is attempting.” Or “If I don’t do this just right, the whole piece can shatter.” In most cases, these insights were actually the foreshadowing of breaking glass or ruined pieces.

I know that the place must have been full of cameras because of the amount of footage they edited in that set up rivalries between contestants. One contestant leaves the annealer door open too long; cut to another one yelling, “close the door!” Another contestant is yelling at her assistants; cut to the other contestants complaining about the yelling. And don’t even get me started on the way they edited in facial expressions from competitors that were obviously not responses to things that were said in the edited video. In the final episodes, half the scenes consist of one contestant comparing his/her work to the others and saying how much better (or worse) it was or declaring that he/she should win (or should get eliminated).

Four episodes from the end, I already knew who the final face-off would be between: a particularly outspoken and prima donna-ish woman who claimed to be making art that always seemed to be gender related and a no-nonsense man who definitely had superior skills but a similarly unattractive attitude. The editors had been developing the rivalry between them for nearly the entire run of episodes; how could they possibly eliminate either one? I got the feeling the outcome was established long before the show was edited and the scenes they included were edited in to support that outcome. The trouble for me was that I didn’t like either of those last two contestants. And when it came down to the final winner, I preferred the other one to win. (I actually wanted the guy eliminated just before the final round to win; he had the skill and the humility to take his art to the next level with the prize.)

When the series was over — I watched the 10 half-hour episodes over three nights — I was left feeling disappointed. I’d learned next to nothing and felt manipulated. I’d grown to hate the host of the show and the person who won. I felt too much pity for the contestants I thought should have stayed in the running but had obviously been eliminated because they were too much like British Baking contestants and not enough like other reality show contestants who would do anything to win.

I had just started watching the first episode of season 2 — perhaps thinking it would get better? — when I realized that this was probably like most reality competition shows. Fake. Contrived drama. Judging designed to maintain the rivalry between competitors. Little, if anything, to be learned. Why would I waste my time with more of this?

I turned it off.

I spent some time thinking about how this show stacked up against a reality competition that I actually liked: The Great British Baking Show. I wanted to understand why I liked one show and disliked the other. This blog post is the result of those thoughts.

What do you think? Have you seen either show? Can you recommend something you think I might like?