Looking for a car

On Sunday, the rain made me realize that I didn't want to ride in it. Kind of a late realization. I just thought, "hmm... rain... wish I had a car."

And so began my car hunt. What I'd really like is a Karmann Ghia, but they're a bit hard to find, and not so cheap, so what I'll probably get is a Super Beetle. And this causes another problem. He wants a curved windscreen because they have a little more nose room, (maybe that's how his nose got squashed?) and they only made those for three years, as Beetle production was starting to wind down. So I'll have to find one, have him sit in it, and see if he can tolerate it.

But I really do want that Karmann Ghia.

Forever is not really that long

It seems that I have been writing this blog forever, so I went back in my archives to see what I wrote 5 years ago. Well, 5 years was really not long ago, but I've only been writing this blog for two and a half years, not quite forever.

5 years ago, I was on my one year exchange program at Asia University, and I lived in the men's dormitory a cross the street from the campus. At night, when I was cooking dinner in the kitchen on the first floor, I'd watch the news on CNN. This night, when I turned the TV on, a shaky camera was focused on the World Trade Center tower, just after a plane had hit it. The reporters at the time were saying that probably a small plane like a Cessna had hit it. A few minutes later, the second tower was hit, and all doubt as the what was going on was gone. I ran up stairs and knocked on Mick's door, and told him he had to come downs stairs. We both watched the news for the rest of the night live. First seeing papers from offices flutter to the ground, then people, then the entire buildings. It was all too strange to be a movie, yet it didn't seem real. For the next several days, people asked me if everyone I knew was alright since a plane also crashed in Washington (The Washington I come from is a state, not a city, and not the capital of the US). For me the surreally I'm sure ended more quickly than for people in the US. Things were notably different when I came back though. The US had become plastered with flags.

Promotion

So I'm working now. I wrote about that right? Basically, it has sucked since I started, around the 15th. I've been putting things in boxes. So finally, last Wednesday, I got put back on the machines. I'd driven order pickers, forklifts, ect. the last two summers I worked there, so I know how everything works basically. The only difference now is that everything is done electronically. It actually makes the job harder to do, but I figured it out pretty quickly. Well last Monday, one of the permanent employees was sick and didn't come in, and the lead in the area I had been in, who goofs around a lot, was goofing around, and got demoted from his lead position the next day. The permanent employee who was gone that day, then took charge of that area for Tuesday and Wednesday. On Thursday though, he kind of blew up at the Somalian women who are working there after one hurt herself. He thought that she was faking it, and was ready to fire the whole lot of them.

So on Friday I came to work, hopped on my machine and drove down the the other end of the warehouse to start working, and the warehouse manager called me up and offered me the lead position. That meant that I had to deal with the aftermath of the previous day's events. So what was the first thing that two of the girls asked me? They wanted to leave at 4:45, one hour away. I told them that the management is not happy with the productivity of the packers, and that they're getting ready to fire some if it doesn't improve. There had been too much socializing rather than working, and tons of mistakes. And since they were in such a difficult position, asking to leave in only one hour would probably mean not coming back at all. I guess they didn't really think that they'd fire anyone because they still pressed the issue, so I referred them to the manager, who told them that it was fine to leave, but that he couldn't guarantee that their jobs would still be there on Monday. I think they got it that time, because for the rest of the night, I barely heard any talking that interfered with work, except for one girl, and another, afraid that one of the people I was talking about might be here, moved away from the other talking girls, and was fine the rest of the night.

The main problem was that the PIC (People In Charge) didn't give them any warnings, so they thought that they were doing fine. I think for at least one, it was a perceived language barrier or some other reason that he didn't want to give them a chance. On Monday my manager wants a list of all my people, and a ranking. If my lowest ranked people match the list of the guy who blew up, some heads may roll. I hope that I can prevent that though. I think that the problem was do to the old lead, who never told them when they were goofing off too much because he was always too busy goofing off himself, and the management, who would rather git rid of the whole group and start over.

So I had a bit of training today, and I'm coming in an hour early on Monday for some more training and a pay increase! That and an extra room at my friend Lyle's house means that I may be able to return to Tokyo a bit earlier than my last estimate.

Dead Bike

I've been riding my CL350 Scrambler a lot recently, but it, as old bikes will, leaks. A lot. The first engine was leaking out of the head gasket after I put a few hundred miles on it, so I figured that I'd swap it with one of the other 6 engines I have laying around. The one I put in it was out of a bike that I payed $55 for, and was seized at the time. This one ran a lot better, and didn't leak out of the head gasket much for the first 1000 miles, but just after I fixed the leak in the crankcase, the head gasket sprung a leak, and it started smoking. On saturday is started smoking so bad, that I decided to swap the engine out again, this time with the engine from the bike that Mark Risvold, Sky's dad, gave me in exchange for working on his GoldWing. I spent the better part of the day on Sunday and Monday Morning working on this, and started it up about 3 hours before I had to head to work. It sounded a lot better than the engine I had been using, so I went on my first test ride.

About a mile down the road, I thought it was sounding pretty good, so I turned onto the highway, intending to take it up to speed. Half way through the corner, my rear wheel slipped. This could either be dirt, ice, or oil. There was no dirt on the road, and it's the middle of summer, so that leaves the last option. I proceeded slowly to the first place I could park, looked down and oil was pouring out of the engine onto the ground as if the drain plug had come out. I shut it off as quickly as I could, and the oil slowed to a trickle. I had my phone, so I called both mom and dad, who were just leaving for vacation, to come pick me up. Mark however, is always free, so I called him and he was able to come pick me up.

So this week, I'm riding granddad's GoldWing, which I've gotten a lot of comments on since it's in almost pristine condition except for the dents that Kelsey put in the tank a few years ago. It's also one of the few GoldWings without a fairing and saddlebags, which makes it cool, and the bike that I wish I was on when I bad ass Harley rider (or so he thought) challenged me to a race a few weeks ago. (It would have been fun to kick his ass, but I still probably wouldn't have raced him.)

In other news, I've been working for one and a half weeks now, and I'm trying to get a job at REI. It's part time, so ideally, I can work there in the mornings and at my current crappy job in the evenings, and easily make my November goal of returning to Tokyo.

Also, coffee helps get blogs posted. This is the second post today? I've had so much that I can't stand still.

Appointment with Nick

I think I finally have an appointment with Nick to see a bike that he told me about a month ago. It's a 1953 Triumph that's torn apart in his friend's basement. I think it might be a 650 Thunderbird like what Marlin Brando rode in "The Wild One". It's missing the tank, but I know where to get one. I just have to figure out how to keep dad from claiming it as his.

Keep writing

and I keep forgetting to save what I write. I have a job, and it sucks. Not the principle of having a job, just this particular one. It's crappy. I'd much rather do just about anything else. I have some requirements, but not many.

Seattle International Film Festival

I have have a two person pass! If anyone wants to see anything with me, let me know! I'm planning on using it as much as possible. I used it last night, and it was pretty cool. I was able to just walk past all the ticket holders who were waiting in line outside the cinema, and right to a line outside the theater. About 20 minutes before the start of the movie, they let all the pass holders in for their choice of seats, then ten minutes later, they let in the ticket holders.

The movie I saw last night was this low budget Japanese movie called Princess Raccoon that was a musical, but just about the strangest thing I've seen. Tonight, mom and I are going to see A Parie Home Companion and hopefully a documentary about the Afghan buddah statues that were destroyed by the Taliabn. I'm trying to make up a schedule of movies for the rest of this week. There are at least 24 movies each day, and I can probably make it to 4 or 5 depending on the location and how sick I am of sitting in a theater.

Aaron the Riding Instructor?

Last week I took my riding class in Bellingham. The wait to sign up for a subsidized class was only three weeks versus the three to four month wait for any of the schools around here. The class was pretty easy. Two half days of class instruction, and two half days of range riding. The first day of riding was a bit boring. It was paced for people who've never touched a bike. Some of the people in the class hadn't even driven a stick car before. So the first day was a bit slow, but the second day was a bit better. Basic components of the riding course were clutch use, braking, maneuvering and cornering.

The riding test was four quick exercises, two of which I thought for sure that I'd been marked down on. But when I got my scores, the instructor said that I'd gotten the best score in the class, and asked if I'd be interested in teaching the class in the future. That was kind of cool, but I'm not interested in doing it. First, I'm planning on leaving the country again soon, and it would take up all my weekends if I weren't leaving the country.

Kelsey's been wanting me to take some pictures for her, but my good camera for that is in Tokyo, so I'm looking for a cheap medium format similar to the one I had. I'm house sitting for Steve this weekend, so maybe I'll be able to use a small about of that money on one. If I can get some shots that she likes, there's potential to make a bit of money doing shots for some of her friends, so it's not hard to justify. Plus I've been wanting a TLR to replace the fungusy one I have in Tokyo anyway, and that's justification enough.

New Bikes

 
Today, dad and I went back to the house I discovered on Tuesday. The old lady was really nice to us, but I could really tell there was a feud going on between Zach and her. She called him some pretty dirty words for an old lady. She complained that he's nosy and tries to get involved in everything. Which is true, but Zach's still a nice guy.

When we got there, the lady told us that she'd had someone from her motorcycle club tell her the values of the bikes. He'd recommended that the DKW's should go for $200 for the 3 of them, which turned out to be 2 DKW's and a basket cast Kawasaki. It was just a frame and part of an engine, so they probably assumed it was the same bike as those on either side of it. So we bought those three bikes. The Kawasaki is going to be stripped of all usable parts to be sold on eBay, but I think we can get two running motocross bikes out of the DKWs.

The BSA 441 Victor was, as I said, not for sale. However, Zach though the lady had given it to him, but there was no way the lady was going to do that. "Excuse my language, but that piece of shit thinks that just because he cleaned it up, I'm going to give it to him." initially she said that it was her son's, but as we were getting the DKWs out to the truck, she asked us if we wanted it, I think just to spite Zach. Zach, was understandably disappointed, but I think he'd rather us have it than her son, and I think she'd rather us have it than Zach, so the two played off each other in out favor. So we got the BSA for $800. I bit more than we'd anticipated, but dad's always wanted one, and and it was probably an okay deal. It looks kind of bad in the picture above, but new paint and a new seat cover, and it'll look great. And why didn't everyone make aluminum tanks? 

Barn full of bikes

That's what every collector dreams of. A barn full of whatever they're collecting. Well, I found it today. I just got a new front tire put on my CL350, and was out testing it out, when I noticed a guy walking back from the mail box into his yard full of motorcycles. The bike that caught my attention was an old Sears bike that I thought was a Honda 150 Benly. I made a quick u-turn and went back to talk to the guy.

"You know what that is? It's a Sears."

"Oh", I said, slightly dissapointed. I told him that I have a couple hondas that I'm working on resoring. Riding one right now in fact.

"Turn off your engine, I'll show you around."

I got off my bike and he showed me a couple piles of bikes in the yard. I talked to him about the bikes that I have, and he explained to me that the owner of these bikes use to race motocross in the '60s and '70s. He died a couple years ago, and he'd been kind of taking care of the place for the widow since then. I told him what I was looking for. Something a bit older that the mid seventies bikes that were out in the yard, thinking that I'd seen all there was to see.

"Come back here, let me show you something. Now I haven't shown anyone else these bikes." In another shed, further back on the property were a couple other bikes. Three DKWs, one nearly complete, one missing some engine parts, and one missing the engine altogether. I started to lift the cover off the fourth bike in the shed.

"That one's mine." He hesitated for a second, then pulled the cover of to reval a nearly complete BSA. "I've been cleaning this one up a bit. Before you couldn't even tell this tank was yellow. The engine kicks over and everything. Good compression. But this one's not for sale. This is the one bike that I got her to give to me."

We stand in the shed and talk about those bikes for a while, then he brings me into the shop. There is stuff everywhere. Chainsaws, outboard motors, lawmowers, all in various stages of disassembly. Scattered amongst the clutter, one bike catches my eye. There's a '60s road racer towards the back of the shop. Closer inspection reveils that it's a CB92R, from what I know, an extremely rare bike. It's missing the motor, which is probably around the shop somewhere, but it has a nice tank, restorable seat, and road racing fairing. If I can find the engine, it will make a very nice restoration project. Even if I can't, it would be a good thing to pick up. There is also a fairly complete Maico buried in there.

By this time, the old lady has noticed that I've been traipsing around her yard. As I've looking through the piles, I've heard all about her. How she'll ask me where I live, that the Kawasaki on the front porch was purchased by her husband for $500 9 days before he died, even though he only paid $300, and how someday, she's going to have the people from the local motorcycle club come out and put prices on the bikes. Zach introduces me to her, and she tells me about her husband, and that they've been members of the motorcycle club for 45 years, and that her husband purchased the Kawasaki for $500 nine days before he died. I tell her a little about my interests, and ask for her number. Zach coached me as to when to come.

"Come back this weekend. If you wait more than a week, she'll forget who you are. And schedule it at noon on Saturday. If you come during one of her TV programs, she wont even talk to you. You'll be luck if you get her to give you her number though"

So I asked if I could contact her and come back with dad this Saturday.

"Sure that would be fine"

Ha! I ask if I could have her phone number.

"Oh, Okay, where do you live?"

My answer seems acceptable to her, and she writes her name and number, on a notepad that she got for free from some prescription drug company. I guess that's what you get in exchange for the handfuls of pills you'll take when you get old.

Zach says that what I've just accomplished has never been done before. We talk for a while longer as the sky darkens and begins to rain. I learn that he lives in the van parked on the property. He was living at a place not to far from where we are until one day the owner came up to him and asked, "Are you Zach? Gotta move out." Being jobless and now homeless, he was offered a place to stay by the old man. As he got sicker, he sort of became the caretaker, keeping the grass from getting too out of hand, and increasingly, caring for the old man himself. He's still living there, waking at 2 am when he hears his name being called from the house. It becomes clear that the BSA is infact for sale. He needs the money. He'd like to get it running, but just doesn't have the know how to do it. He'd like to even see it run. I think I'll make an offer on it, and ride it over to show him once I get it going again.