Rush Hour Rambling

Weather: 36°F (2°C) with light rain.
Road Conditions: Wet in most places, with patches of black ice.
In a word - Treacherous…

Scarlet posed in a surreal landscape this morning, by the Ford Chicane.

“On some days you get what you want, and on others, you get what you need.” - Hunter S. Thompson

I awoke earlier than usual this morning, feeling apprehensive. The Windsock and Crystal Ball Guild had predicted a 30% chance of freezing rain, and I had planned to ride to work. The traumas of the past few weeks were still fresh in my mind, and the temptation to just give up and drive was awfully strong.

If I ever needed a good reason to ride, today was it.

I’m starting my mornings without coffee these days, in deference to my blood pressure. So I sat there in my big chair, in front of the tube, blearily flipping through the channels and feeling sorry for myself, and maybe a little bit ashamed. This is just not me! I couldn’t figure out what was wrong or how to go about fixing it.

The truth is that I just didn’t feel like riding, and was getting more depressed by the moment with that realization.

Then, as I toggled the remote to channel 152, it happened: “Dust to Glory” had just started at 5 a.m., and I had only missed a few minutes of it. It was scheduled to run until it was time for me to go to work. How perfect is that?

I had not seen this movie yet, though I have been meaning to. It’s just another one of those things that pass me by, since I refuse to deal with crowded movie theaters or pay for premium cable channels. But this time, it was on one of the lower tier channels, and it was exactly what I needed to pull me out of my funk.

Within minutes, I was psyched! Who needs caffiene, when you have the spectacle of motorcycles racing through Baja to wake you up? If you haven’t seen this film, go get it! (I think it is offered in the latest Aerostich catalog…) It is the twenty-first century’s answer to On Any Sunday, and it even features the immortal Malcolm Smith in several scenes.

If you’ve never been there, Baja is beautiful. I really has to be seen to be believed. Some of my more fortunate riding buddies go either there, or to Copper Canyon in Mexico every year, and they always come back with wonderful photos, memories, and stories to tell.

I rode through Baja with a girlfriend back in the mid-`eighties, on a Harley Sportster 883. Nobody told me you couldn’t ride that bike, loaded down with bungied-on baggage, two-up, in the dirt. We did it then because we didn’t know we couldn’t. We just went slow when the going got rough, and stood up when the bike wanted to lay down for a rest. But that was a tough little motorbike, and we got through and had a wonderful time. Ignorance really IS bliss, sometimes.

But back to this morning…

By the time the movie was over, it was time to ride to work. While I had been watching, I was also gathering my gear and laying it out like a Samurai preparing for battle. My pulse was racing, my breathing quick, and my enthusiasm was running away with me. This wasn’t doing my blood pressure any good, but I was no longer thinking about that.

Scarlet and I hit the road as the first faint rays of sun lit the eastern horizon. The roads around home were wet, but we didn’t run into any black ice until after we crossed the river. Then, things began to get weird…

But that is a story for next time.

What I wanted to illustrate here is how funny life can be sometimes. When you’re down, maybe a bit discouraged, if you take even the slightest effort to look around you, there always seems to be some sort of inspiration to help dig you out of the hole. You have only to see it, recognize it, and latch onto it. But it does take some effort. Nothing good ever comes easy, right?

Okay, I’ll give you this much of a spoiler for next time: I was happy I rode to work this morning.

Weather: Irrelevant

Folks have probably been wondering where I’ve been for the past week or so. I haven’t even logged-on since last Thursday morning. I would love to tell you that I was out testing a fabulous new motorbike, but unfortunately, that is not the case.

The squeamish amongst you should leave now.

If any of you have EMT experience, Ssshhhhh! No telling…

The following has nothing to do with my Ride to Work, but since it did affect the regularity of this blog, I offer it as explanation:

My ride on the Rhino Rocket started in the Emergency Room of North Memorial Medical Center. A blood vessel in my anterior sinus had ruptured at about 8 a.m., and by the time the ambulance got me to the E-R, I had been bleeding rapidly out of my nose into a bucket for about an hour. Drip-drip-drip, about three drops per second, with no sign of slowing. This was getting serious.

The original “Rhino Rocket” is a sort-of tampon device put out by the Shippert Medical Technologies Company. But the name was so catchy that it has been adopted by E-R professionals to refer to a range of devices whose collective function is to stop bleeding in the nasal cavities.

The monster they inserted into my nose, after a generous injection of morphine, was made of green rubber, and had two balloon sections in it, fed by two external Leur fittings. Once inserted, the two balloons were inflated, and a dreadful pressure exerted on all of my nasal passages until the bleeding stopped.

This hurt like hell, morphine be damned. They determined that this device would reside inside my head for the next 72 hours. The pain it caused required a fresh shot of morphine about every two hours. I thought I could just live with it, as long as those shots kept coming. But they had a nasty surprise in store…

Friday afternoon, some schmuck of an E.N.T. (ear, nose, throat specialist) decided that he didn’t want to perform the removal and subsequent possible surgery over the weekend. My bet is that he had other plans, out of town somewhere. So the bastard discharged me on Friday afternoon, with a weak-ass prescription for Tylenol 3, and instructions to leave that gawdawful device stuck up my nose until “somebody” could see me on Monday.

The American Medical Industry is going to Hell in a bucket of blood, if you ask me.

Well, I spent a sleepless weekend in pain and misery. I couldn’t sleep because as I began to doze off, inevitably my mouth would close at some point, and I would begin to suffocate. BANG! Wake up time! This happened about every twenty minutes, all night long, for three long nights.

I couldn’t derive any momentary distraction from food, either, because I couldn’t put anything in my mouth that might choke me when I tried to breathe. Little sips of juice, chicken broth, or water were all I got. Here we find the only bright spot in the story: I lost 9 pounds over the long weekend. It’s not a diet I would recommend to anybody.

Monday came, and I was sent to an E.N.T. in the suburbs near work. This guy seemed to know his stuff, and at least feigned some concern at my comfort level. He removed that demonic device from my nose after bleeding off the pressure, and we had some fun with the suction hose cleaning up all the resulting mess.

When he finally got a good look at the source of the bleeding, he did what they could have, and should have done on Friday night. He cauterized the ruptured vessel. That would have saved me three days of agony, and I might have even gotten out for a ride on Saturday or Sunday. By all accounts, the weather was gorgeous here this weekend. I heard the Harley start up and depart from the house down the block.

I never even looked outside.

So, my plans for changing Scarlet’s oil and getting back on the road have been postponed for a bit. If it’s warm enough on Thursday, I may ride to work. But I’m not going to push it. I’m supposed to avoid stress, and get my blood pressure under control. That should probably be my top priority for awhile, don’t you think?

Weather: Clear and cold, 12°F (-11°C)

Click on this shot to see a wider image… Scarlet O’Baron really stands out in our wintery parking lot.

This morning, I introduced Scarlet O’Baron to the challenges of Winter riding. At first, it didn’t seem like nearly as much fun as it was last year.

As we slowly picked up speed on the snow-covered street, I couldn’t help thinking about all the salt that would find it’s way into her corrosion-prone nooks and crannies. I thought about the 15w50 oil that was still in her crankcase, clinging to the walls like molasses. I was beseiged by a swarm of anxieties as we headed west towards the dreaded Robert Street. This is to be expected, I suppose, after our last encounter. But for many reasons this morning, I was one very Uneasy Rider.

Still, there was a full moon in the sky, and the road shone with a ghostly silver light. Falling snowflakes twinkled in my headlights, and I began to recite a mantra to myself that I had invented over the weekend: “All of your tensions are your own inventions. Relax your body, and sharpen your mind. Flow with the road…”

Yeah, I know, it all sounds a bit too Yoda for me; but I’m trying something new here.

By the time we got to the High Bridge, it was beginning to take hold. I was starting to relax, and my awareness was at it’s highest pitch. The vision of that full moon reflected in the river below took my breath away. (Why didn’t you stop and take out the camera? Yeah, I know…) There were few other vehicles around, because we had gotten an early start, so we had this magical wonderland all to ourselves for a few precious miles.

The plows had already passed down Shephard Road, and there was salty, wet pavement for the entire length of it, all the way to the stop light. East River Road, aka Mississippi River Boulevard, had patches of icy pavement interspersed with a patchwork of windblown snow, so traction was tricky. We took our time, and made it to the Lake Street Bridge with little drama.

There was what looked like a convoy of SUVs on West River Road. We soon settled into a familiar groove, keeping up with traffic, but feeling no pressure to pass. I couldn’t decide whether we were better off in the tire tracks, or straight down the middle, because neither path offered much traction. We just sort of hunted around, using only the rear brake when necessary, and keeping plenty of space between us and the next vehicle ahead.

I was hoping to see Steve, the Red KLR/Black Scooter Guy coming the other way. He was out there like clockwork last week. But I guess the snow and ice is beyond his comfort zone, because he didn’t show. I seem to recall him telling me something like that.

It was still dark when we rolled into the parking lot at work. I went inside to warm up, and get my day started. But later, looking out the window, I noticed how brilliantly Scarlet stood out amongst that herd of cages, grazing on the snow-covered asphalt prairie. I grabbed my camera, went back outside, and made that photo at the top of the page.

The ride home tonight almost didn’t happen. It had gotten colder throughout the day, and I have never tried to ride Scarlet in temperatures this low. With that molasses in the crankcase, it was asking a lot of her battery and starter motor to turn her over fast enough to run. It sounded like “Rrrrr-rrrrr-CHUNK!”, every time I pressed the button. Couldn’t quite make it through that compression stroke. She finally fired up on the ninth or tenth try, though, and we had a pleasant ride home on dry, salty-white roads.

I have got to change that oil to something lighter.

They are predicting snow showers for tomorrow, but I haven’t heard anything about accumulations. We’ll see what it looks like in the morning. Maybe I’ll drive the truck tomorrow, and change Scarlet’s oil tomorrow night. Then we will be ready to go on Wednesday, and more importantly on First Thursday. I don’t want to miss that…