Back in the Saddle

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.

No Uncertain Terms

A slow but enjoyable read.

In No Uncertain TermsI’m currently wading through William Safire’s book, No Uncertain Terms: More Writing from the Popular On Language Column in The New York Times Magazine. The odd thing is, I’ve been reading it for over a month.

William Safire writes the “On Language” column in the New York Times Magazine. That’s the magazine that comes with Sunday’s New York Times. When we lived in New York and New Jersey, we were occasional subscribers and I’d read the column whenever I got my hands on the magazine.

“On Language” points out recent word or phrase usage in the press, usually quotes by politicians and other oft-quoted people. (I had to look up oft-quoted just to make sure it was a correct usage; it wouldn’t do to make a mistake in usage in this particular entry.) Mr. Safire basically tears the victim word or phrase apart, discussing its development throughout the years and pointing out first recorded usages for each meaning that applies. It’s like reading an entry of the Oxford English Dictionary, but it’s full of puns and things to make you smile — if you catch them. And, of course, it points out whether the word was correctly or incorrectly used and why.

I’ve been reading the book at bedtime and I must admit that I can’t read more than four or five pages before my eyelids grow heavy and I have to put the book down. This isn’t because it’s boring. I think it’s because it’s forcing me to read slowly and carefully and think about almost every word.

This isn’t an exercise I’m accustomed to. When I read novels, I breeze through them so quickly that I just don’t get my money’s worth when I buy the darn things. But this book, which was a “bargain book” on BN.com (and was part of my Christmas list so I didn’t actually pay for it anyway) is definitely worth the money. It’s helped keep me entertained and enlighted — and made it easier to fall asleep — for the past month! That certainly says something.

It’s also taught me a lot about words that I use and other words that I’ll probably never use. It’s made me realize that the English language is even richer than I thought. And although I’m a writer — a real one who actually writes for a living — my knowledge of vocabulary is not nearly what I think it should be.

Perhaps that’s why I often pause while writing these entries, trying to find the right word to say what I mean. (And in most cases failing.)

But then again, it’s hard to build a strong vocabulary when you spend most of your time writing sentences like: “The Save dialog appears. Enter a name for the file in the Name box and click Save.”

Sheesh. I think that sentence appears in every single book I’ve written.

Anyway, I think this book is helping me to build my vocabulary and understanding of word usage. If you’re a word lover, I think you might like it, too.

ING

Real online banking.

One of the things a Robinson helicopter owner has to consider is the big bill that comes after 2200 hours or 12 years of flight (whichever comes first). Robinson made helicopter ownership and maintenance easy by having most limited-life parts end their lives at the same time. When that time comes, the entire helicopter goes in to the factory or an authorized overhaul center for a complete overhaul. When it emerges, it’s like a brand new helicopter.

The only drawback is that this overhaul currently costs $184,000 for a Robinson R44, which is what I own. And that amount goes up by a few thousand dollars every year.

So although my normal maintenance throughout the year is quite low (for a helicopter, anyway), I have to remember that big bill. Every hour I fly, I put aside about $85 in a “reserve” account. Right now, that’s a money market account at my local bank.

The helicopter currently has about 184 hours on its Hobbs meter. Do the math and you’ll see that I already have a pretty good chunk set aside.

The goal, of course, is to keep building up the balance in this account so when the big bill comes along, the money’s there to cover it. Lots of people go the other route — they take out a loan to refinance when the big bill comes. But I hate debt and would rather save up and be prepared.

The problem is that it’s very tempting to spend that money when it’s just sitting around, doing nothing. Especially when it’s only earning 1.25% a year. I was thinking of rolling it into CDs, which are less liquid than a money market account that comes with checks. But the rates are equally dismal at my local bank.

In New Jersey the other day, I got into a conversation about this with Mike’s ex-roommate, Greg. He suggested ING, an online bank. I checked it out last night and learned that I can get 3.5% on a savings account and 4.1% to 4.85% (depending on term) for a CD. Holy cow!

ING can offer such good rates because they have low overhead. They don’t have branches, they don’t offer checking accounts. They have very few banking products. Everything is simple and to the point. Even their Web site is simple.

The last time I had a CD was when my grandfather passed away and my little inheritance — about $15,000 — was tucked away in a CD until I turned 25. My father was the executor of the will and he put the money in a 6 month CD. At the time, inflation was running rampant and CD rates were up around 18%. My father thought the rates would keep going up, so he wanted the money to roll over at a higher rate. But the bottom dropped out and rates descended from the stratosphere. Disappointing, but not a big deal, because I wound up putting most of the money toward the down payment on my first house. But every time I think of CDs, I think about those rates in the late 70s. Today’s rates look pretty bad in comparison.

But 3.5% on a savings account is way better than the .5% my bank offers for savings or the 1.25% I’m getting on my “risky” money market. So last night I opened a savings account for my personal money at ING.

It’s an interesting process. You fill out an online form that asks for the usual information. You also provide information about your checking account, which is linked to your ING savings. ING makes two tiny deposits into your checking account and you tell ING how much those deposits were for. This is so ING can confirm that this is indeed your account. You can then initiate transfers between your ING and checking accounts via ING’s Web site or telephone. There are no fees for your ING account and no minimum balance requirements. Transfers probably take 24-48 hours, so there is a bit of a lag. But if you have a relatively large sum of money, it’s nice to have it sitting someplace where it’ll earn a decent return.

My personal savings fluctuate wildly. Most of my income comes in quarterly, so at the beginning of a quarter, I’ll have a nice, healthy bank balance but, by the end of the quarter, I may be scratching around for loose change. The ING account will work out nicely.

I’ll create a savings account and a CD account for my helicopter overhaul reserve. The CD will be short term — probably six months — and every time it’s ready to roll over, I’ll add a little to it. That’ll keep it intact and growing over the next 11 years or 2016 hours (whichever comes first).

Anyway, if you have a bit of money stashed away and you’d like an FDIC-insured way to earn a decent return on it, you should definitely check out ING.

A Trip Back East

Some photos from a trip back to New Jersey and New York for the Thanksgiving Holidays.

I didn’t want to go, but Mike talked me into it. Then we made flight reservations before I could change my mind. It would be a short trip. I’d fly out on Wednesday and return on Saturday. Only three nights, and those would be made comfortable with a room at the Glenpointe Marriott in Teaneck, NJ. Dinner with my family at my brother’s house in New Jersey on Thursday, dinner with Mike’s family at a restaurant in Queens on Friday, Dim Sum with family and friends in Ft. Lee, NJ on Saturday morning.

The New York/New Jersey metro area where I grew up and lived most of my life is very different from Wickenburg, AZ, where I live now. So different that I decided to take some photos to try to document some of the differences. I could have done better, but this is what I’ve got to share. This is the view from our hotel room in Teaneck, NJ, on Thursday morning. It had snowed and rained during the night and it was bitter cold that day.

This looks out to the southwest. As you can see, there are lots of tall trees, but they’re pretty much bare in late November. The overall effect is gray. A gray day with gray skies, gray trees, and gray pavement. I hated the gray of the New York metro area in the winter months. But it was the cold that finally chased me out of the area.

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Here’s another look from our hotel room window. This view looks toward the southeast. The highway in the foreground is I-95, which stretches from Maine to Florida. The body of water is some marshland that might just be close enough to the Meadowlands to be considered part of it. The gray buildings poking into the gray sky are the skyscrapers of New York City off in the distance. The pointy one on the left is the Empire State Building, which is now the tallest building in New York again. It formerly held that title from 1934 to 1977, when the World Trade Center was completed. With the WTC gone, this depression-era building is once again the tallest in the city.

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On Friday, we drove to Queens. Here’s a snapshot taken on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which goes from the George Washington Bridge (on the Hudson River), across the top of Manhattan and the middle of the Bronx, to two of the bridges to Long Island: the Whitestone and the Throgs Neck. When I was growing up, this area of the Bronx was filled with burned-out building shells, and we’d often see broken-down or abandoned cars being stripped on the side of the road as we drove through. But the buildings have they’ve since been renovated and people live there once again. Don’t get the idea that this is an up-and-coming area of New York, though. It’s still a poor, crime-ridden area. Ever read Bright Lights, Big City?

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I forgot to take photos the day before, on the way to my brother’s house. We took the New Jersey Turnpike (I-95 down) and there are lots of weird scenic things along that, like the big gas tanks that appeared in a scene of Stephen King’s The Stand and Newark Liberty International Airport. Next time.

Here’s a pretty poor photo of the roadway on the Whitestone Bridge.

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There are three bridges that’ll get you from the Bronx to Queens and Long Island and they’re all pretty similar in appearance: single-span suspension bridges. The Triboro Bridge has some nice art deco touches that make it my favorite of the three bridges, but that one’s much closer to Manhattan, which was out of our way. The Throgs Neck bridge has great views of the Long Island Sound which, in the summer, is full of sailboats and very picturesque. Of course, the Whitestone Bridge does offer the best long-distance views of Manhattan. I took a bunch of photos and this one was the best. It really gives you the flavor of new York from a distance. The tugboat with barge in the foreground, the plane departing La Guardia Airport (out of this shot on the left), and the huge cluster of buildings in midtown Manhattan. You can clearly see the Empire State Building almost dead center and CitiCorp Center (look for the slanted roof to the right). Astoria, Queens is in the foreground, on the other side of the water. And you can just about see the heavy black bridge of the train trestle that parallels the Triboro Bridge. If the World Trade Center were still standing, its towers would appear to the far left in this photo.

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If you’ve never been to New York and you have the opportunity to visit, don’t pass it up. New York is like no other place on earth. As I was telling a Phoenix cab driver just the other day, it’s one of the few U.S. cities that blend old and new in a way that leaves you breathless. Go downtown, to the Wall Street area, and see exactly what they mean by the “Canyons of Wall Street.” The streets are so narrow and the buildings are so tall that light rarely gets down to the street. Although midtown has more tall buildings, the streets are a bit wider. You won’t believe the crowds walking the streets during a weekday lunch hour, the sea of yellow cabs, the bicycle messengers, the street vendors. This time of year, they’re roasting chestnuts near Rockefeller Center and steam is rising from manhole covers and vents on the street.

I do love New York, but I don’t have enough money to live there the way I want to. And New York is one of the grayest places I know.

We didn’t get into the city during this trip. Next time I go back, I’ll take some photos. But you might have to wait a few years. Once in Queens, we hopped on the Cross Island Parkway to go to Mike’s Mom’s apartment. I took this shot out the front window of the car. It’s an interesting example of one of Robert Moses’s parkways. He built them all over Long Island — Queens is on the eastern end of Long Island — and this was probably one of his first. One of the trademarks of his roadways was his stone overpasses. They all look pretty much the same, but they’re really nicely executed. When you look at this photo, it’s hard to imagine that tens of thousands of people live within a mile of where it was taken.

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This stretch of roadway is sunken in and surrounded by trees. Mike and I had our first apartment together about 5 miles further down this road, in Bayside. We had a wonderful view of Littleneck Bay (you’ve heard, perhaps, of Littleneck clams?), but had to listen to a never-ending stream of cars going by far beneath our terrace.

At Mike’s mom’s place, we had bagels for breakfast. This is a photo of me holding a real New York bagel. Notice that it is large and plump. The outside is crusty and the inside is moist and almost doughy. It doesn’t have blueberries or cranberries or any other type of berry in it. This one has sesame seeds (my personal favorite), but they also come plain, egg, poppy seed, salt, pumpernickel, onion, cinnamon raisin, or everything. Everything means seeds, onion, and salt and is a real assault to the taste buds. A common way for a New Yorker to eat a bagel is to slice it open and toast it, then cover each half with cream cheese and slices of lox (smoked salmon). Some people add red onions, capers, and/or tomatoes. (I don’t like tomatoes on my bagels.) A quick spread of cream cheese is referred to as a “schmear” in New York; I prefer a more generous helping. You can’t get a good bagel anywhere outside of the New York metro area, although you can get decent ones here and there. Einstein Brothers makes a decent bagel. Bagels do not come in the grocery freezer section; anything you find there that is labeled a bagel is a mere imitation.

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The next time you go to New York, have a bagel as described above. It’s part of the New York experience and should be required for all serious visitors. And, while you’re at it, take a ride down to the Lower East Side and have a corned beef, pastrami, and tongue on rye sandwich at Katz’s Deli. Get that with mustard. Do not ask for it with mayonnaise; you will be forcibly removed from the premises and publicly laughed at out on the street. A Dr. Brown’s Creme soda is a nice accompaniment — and don’t forget the kosher pickle. Leave the Carnegie Deli for the tourists. What you’ll learn — among other things — is how to properly make a sandwich. There should be more meat than bread. That’s something they just don’t get outside the New York metro area.

But I digress, again. This is a photo of the Throgs Neck Bridge, taken from Mike’s mom’s patio. She’s on the 7th floor and has a nice view out this way. Beyond the bridge is the Long Island Sound. Imagine it with lots of sailboats and you’re imagining the view on a summer Sunday afternoon. Put some green leaves in the tree in the foreground to complete the picture.

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As you can see, it isn’t always grey in New York in the winter. Friday was a very nice day, although it was still bitter cold, with temperatures in the 30s and enough wind to make it feel a lot colder. Of course, it did get gray again on the next day.

Here’s a look at the George Washington Bridge from the foot of the Palisades. The Palisades, in case you’re wondering, are a line of cliffs along the Hudson River in New Jersey. This photo was taken from a boat basin/park area almost directly across the river from the northernmost end of Manhattan. The view is to the southeast.

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The GW Bridge has two decks — upper and lower — and is a major route between New Jersey and eastern New York. It’s actually the first bridge you get to if you sail up the river from New York Harbor. The next bridge is the Tappan Zee, which is at least 20 miles further upriver. To cross the river closer to downtown Manhattan, you can use one of two tunnels: the Lincoln (midtown at around 30th Street) and the Holland (downtown at around Houston).

When I was growing up in New Jersey, my family had a small boat that we used to take out in the river. I’ve been around Manhattan by boat more times than I can count. It’s a neat trip that you can do on the Circle Line tour boats. We also took a few perilous trips into New York Harbor and around the Statue of Liberty. I say perilous because our boat was really small and the water can get rough out in the harbor. I also remember going past Ellis Island long before it was fixed up and opened to the public. I’ve never been on the island, though.

Anyway, all those boat trips started at the base of the George Washington Bridge, on the New Jersey side. I can still remember the smell of the water at low tide, and the look of all those exposed barnacles. And the way the boat floated up and down as it was loosely tied at the boarding area. We didn’t swim in the river back in those days — it was too polluted south of the Tappan Zee — but we did fish in it, although we never ate any of the fish we caught.

Here’s a shot of one of the “waterfalls” coming down the Palisades to the Hudson River. It’s really probably just runoff from a storm drain, but when we were kids, it was a waterfall and it was one of the most beautiful things we’d ever seen. My family often drove along the river’s shore road on Sunday outings. That’s back in the days when taking a drive in the family car was a cheap and fun day out. There were no malls, no computer games, no cell phones. We’d get in the car and go for a drive and drink up everything we saw out the window. If it was autumn, we’d go to a place called Tices Farms, which had apples and doughnuts (note the spelling) and cider and pumpkins for sale. When I got out of the car to take this photo, the smell of wet leaves brought me back to a time when we would rake them into huge piles and take turns jumping in them. Leave stems would stick in our sweaters and hair and we’d be breathless in the cool autumn sun. I don’t know if you can see it clearly, but there’s ice in the water in this photo. We’re talking cold enough to make a waterfall freeze. Cold.

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The Palisades area of Bergen County in New Jersey is one of its more historic areas. Originally settled by the Dutch in the 1600s, it was a hotbed of activity during the Revolutionary War. Posted alongside roads all over the area are “Washington’s Retreat Route” signs. Yes. This is the area George Washington retreated from when we weren’t doing very well in the first war with the Brits. Why we need that on signs is beyond me. But the area is also full of walking trails that were probably built during the depression. In more than a few places, you can find stairways and paths that climb the Palisades. This is one example, that follows the road for a short distance before cutting right up the cliff. We did a lot of hiking in the area when we lived there. The views from the top of the Palisades are magnificent.

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I took the shot that appears below from the AirTrain that travels around Newark Airport. That’s New York in the background.
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This photo reminds me of a visit by one of my editors when we still lived in New Jersey. I picked him up at the airport and was driving north along the New Jersey turnpike toward our house. He looked off to the right as we climbed a bit of highway that passed over the marshes at the Meadowlands and said, “What city is that?” He was looking at New York. That’s when I realized that the skyline I’d grown up with wasn’t nearly as familiar to everyone else.

Am I homesick? Maybe a bit. Would I go back to live there again? Nope.

Been there, done that.

Shopping on eBay

I try — and fail — to get a few good bargains. But I’m not giving up.

I talked to my brother the other day. He lives back east, in the NY/NJ metro area, with his wife and dog. They live in suburbia, on a curving, tree-lined street where the houses don’t all look like each other. The first time I visited him, he had maple trees growing in his gutter. He’d just bought the house, which needed some work, and he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning the gutters yet. The trees were only a few inches tall. When we lived in New Jersey, we had a 4-foot maple growing on our roof for a while.

Anyway, my brother buys just about all of his electronic equipment on eBay. The other day, he’d just bought himself a new cell phone and was waiting for it to arrive. He already had the hands-free, bluetooth headset that would work with it and was trying it out with his wife’s phone. It seems like every time I talk to him he’s telling me about some new gadget he bought on eBay.

I’m in the market for a few electronic devices myself. So I blew the dust off my eBay account and logged in. What I discovered is that eBay is no longer the garage sale of the Internet. It’s now the flea market of the Internet.

Why the difference? Well, a garage sale is usually full of used stuff — much of it junk — that the owner no longer wants. A flea market has much of the same junk, but it also has brand new, still in the box (abbreviated NIB for “new in box” on eBay) items. Call me spoiled, but when I buy a piece of computer hardware that I need to depend on, I want it brand new.

The first thing I needed was a portable external hard disk that I could use with my PowerBook. Experimentation the other day with iMovie and my video camera ate up the remaining 5 GB of unused space on that computer’s disk. I’m not replacing the hard disk — Mike went through that with a local computer consultant a few months ago and it was a 2-month nightmare. Instead, I’ll get a portable FireWire hard disk I can use to store big, fat media files. Like video. (Although it wouldn’t hurt to pare down my iTunes library on that computer; 12 GB of music is a bit much when I carry around the same songs and video on my iPod.)

So I hunted around on reputable sites — including the Apple Web site — and found a name brand and model I liked. Then I searched on eBay. I had literally dozens of matches, many of them NIB. Wow.

At the same time, I decided I needed some more RAM for my G4, which will soon be upgraded to Mac OS X 10.4 Tiger Server. The machine, which is currently doing server duty with the dreaded WebSTAR, has 384 MB of RAM. That was quite generous when the machine was new 4 or 5 years ago, but nowadays, it just doesn’t cut it. Especially with the Webcam and audio streaming software running on it. Near as I can figure (without opening the box), one of its 3 RAM slots should be free. I figure I’d put 512 MB in there to pump up the RAM. And, if I could get the RAM cheap enough, I’d buy 2 512 MB “sticks” (apparently the RAM lingo) and throw away (or eBay) the 128 MB one I pull out. I did a search and found dozens of compatible RAM sticks. Whew.

I started bidding. And after two days, I noticed a pattern that I had noticed once before. You can be the winning bidder right up until about 10 minutes before bidding ends. Then someone comes along and outbids you. If you’re paying attention, you can bid back. That results in a bidding war and, if you’re not careful, you’ll wind up paying more than you really wanted to.

I’m careful. And I know how much these items are worth at their cheapest (or cheapest I can find) retail source. So someone outbids me and I start the process all over again with another item.

I have a theory about this. I believe that some vendors who sell the same thing over and over — dealers, in a way — have buddies who help them out near the end of an auction. Their buddies come along and bid to get the price up. They’ll bid right up to the amount the dealer really wants and step back. The bidder that crosses that line pays more than the dealer’s bottom line. And if there is no other bidder, the dealer pays the listing fee on the price his buddy “paid” and re-lists the item. This is how so many items can be sold without reserve. (A reserve is a minimum price the seller will accept. It costs more to list with a reserve and lots of buyers won’t bid on products that have reserve prices.)

The long and the short of it is that I’ll probably be ordering that RAM from an online retailer today. I can’t seem to get it on eBay any cheaper than I could get it from a retailer, so why risk a private seller on eBay?

I haven’t given up on the FireWire hard disk yet. And I’ve started looking into another iSight camera for a portable Webcam. And you know, I can really use a FireWire hub…