A beast of burden

I found the perfect bike yesterday. It was the right size, the right condition and most importantly, the right price. A Honda XL350 with under 10,000 miles and the owner was asking $700. I arranged to meet him at 6pm and it turned out to be a fellow who along with his dad, repair and flip bikes as a part time job. I had been to their place twice before and left empty handed and with a sour sense of disappointment.

A common situation in their business is acquiring bikes without titles. Re-titling a bike or finding the original owner is a difficult and often impossible task fraught with various legal implications for both buyer and seller. Because of this, I have little interest in buying a bike whose title is in legal limbo.

After a nice test ride up and down the street and determining just how awesome this bike truly is, I am again disappointed to learn that there is currently no title in their hands for this bike. However, as it was explained to me I began to feel that here is where I could get into trouble. The father and son purchased several bikes from the same person and this person had just obtained the titles and was in the process of getting them into his name. Now of course this may all be true, but in my understanding of state DMV's it's a 6-8 week wait for such things to happen and they are choosing to sell the bike before the transfers take place with nothing but a good faith agreement that I may get the title sometime this summer.

I was bummed once again. The risk was far too great and considering the asking price of $700, it wasn't worth it to my conscience. I considered attempting some sort of deal, where I might give them $400 now and take the bike with the understanding that the title is worth another $300 to me which I would gladly pay when they have it in their possession. But really I just couldn't stomach it.

However, something completely unexpected did happen. There was a beat up, no title, non-running XL250 in the back of the garage that I had looked at a few weeks ago and balked at their $175 asking price. It needed lots of work to be functioning, but had plenty of good parts which I could either offer to my brother who owns the same bike, or to ebay with a fairly good chance of making a bit of dough. I mentioned them that I had been over before looking at that bike and the dad said he wanted it gone and would make me a deal on it. I didn't really even want to consider it since I came to buy a functioning and street legal bike and so said "Like 50 bucks?." He himmed and hawed over it for bit and wanted 75, but I held firm and in parting he said it sounded alright.



I guess it was a bittersweet experience. I'm excited for this bike because it has lots of potential as a woods beater if I invest a bit of effort into it, but it's still not even close to what I would have liked. Well I'd like my workshop to be busy this fall and winter and I expect this to be a good start.

Beast slayer

I've been terribly itchy lately. One cause is the recent explosion of the wood tick population and another is the complete lack of engagement both from my brain and my hands. The four motorcycles which I consider under my charge are all working. Granted there's one last tire that need changing, a kickstand that needs lowering, and a carb that could use some tuning, but everything will start and drive.

I made myself a silent promise last month that I wouldn't buy another bike, especially if it is a project until I get moved back across the state. The temptation has been pretty unbearable though.

It has been my experience that when looking at old motorcycles to buy, the owner is generally a bit cold and tries to sort of butter things up with the intent of making you feel obligated to pay what he or she is asking. Yesterday, the experience was quite different. I drove to the owner's house and met him in front of the garage. He was having a beer with a friend of his and upon me asking, they recalled as best they could the history of a particular poor bike I was interested in. The last nine years had not treated this bike well and in it's current non-running condition, it seemed fraught with disappointment. Over our discussions about the bike, I shared a few of my motorcycle ventures and this pair proceeded to talk at length about their bikes, their projects, their fool friends, and their fool mistakes. After touring the garage and its piles of parts I soon had a beer in my hand and many whimsical projects in my head. There was a XJ900 which was hard-tailed and mostly complete across from two piles which I was assured would one day become a CB900. Tucked between them has a cute CB350 which was tentatively sold and oddly enough one of his "good" bikes for sale refused to start while I was present.

As it turned out I left empty handed with nothing but the money I came with, through some divine miracle. I thought that I had truly conquered the beast of temptation, my borderline low-ball had been rejected. Little did I realize that this fellow still had my phone number and within 15 minutes I was told $300 could net me a new old bike. What a difficult beast it will be to slay.

Deep sea diving

The feeling of being trapped is a common sentiment I hear from people from all walks of life and I see it in our art and media. Whether it is a trap set by emotions or a physical set of restraints holding someone down, it leaves the individual with a broken spirit and utter sense of desperation. It is often shown that compliance and acceptance are simply a "better" option than resistance. The abused wife stays with her abusive husband and "gets by." The mentally ill resident complies with staff rules instead of acting out. Humans controlling humans.

I recently read a small novella which has also been adapted to film called The Diving Bell and The Butterfly. It's the story of a man who suffers a stroke leaving him "locked-in" to his body. He has complete awareness, but is utterly paralyzed except for his left eye-lid and some muscles in his neck. He relates his day to day experiences and notable happenings as well as reflections on the life he had that he will never have back. It's astonishing to discover that he wrote the entire book in his head and dictated it to a "speech therapist" via the blinks of his left eye over the course of two months.

It was a remarkably quick read for me and the simple and poignant writing makes the most simple of experiences seems profound. Bauby (the author) also manages such ironic humour that it truly is a terribly uplifting story. He likens the act of removing a fly from his nose to olympic wrestling and goes into an ecstasy over the scent of french fries. He is profoundly aware of his situation and holds no delusions about getting better.

Over my reflection of being trapped, Bauby comments in his writing. He recalls a certain French leader who when imprisoned for years, saved his sanity by recalling every year and variety of wine he knew of. Bauby himself reflects on his favorite experiences, both painful and sublime: traveling on the verge of breakup with an ex-girlfriend, taking his son to a play, and the fanciful stories woven by a school age friend from his past.

It was refreshing to read a story and a true one at that, which is utterly hopeless and desperate yet left me with an overwhelming sense of victory. More than anything Bauby has the attitude that since he has nothing better, he gains nothing by falling into self-pity and depression. He is unconquerable with nothing to prove to anyone. And indeed he died a mere two days after his book was published.

The First Day of Spring

I've never been one to really pay attention to the actual start of any given season. Seeing as the weather is really what's important about a particular season, and it is apt to change with little pre-meditation, a single particular date on the calender becomes increasingly irrelevant. I know, I know about length of days and the solstices, but again those don't effect my life, whereas raging blizzards and floods do.

My experience in Minneosta has shown me that the transitions from Winter to not Winter and vis-a-versa are extremely important. Everybody has different things they do to prepare or recover from months of cold and white. Such activities are so established I would say they resemble a sort of ritual. "Spring cleaning" is what parents call it, as they order their kids to pick up all their once buried toys from the yard, but my personal ritual for spring time doesn't really involve all that much cleaning. For instance, two days ago the sun was shining. I walked outside with keys, put one in the ignition and turned the tired old 1980 Kawasaki KZ250 over a few times. This amazed me, because I neglected to remove the battery when I also neglected to put this bike in the garage.

Picking up my once buried toy, and dragging it out of the snow bank was a chore, and I wasn't really hoping to accomplish anything at this time. It was just a whimsical curiousity of the day. A few minutes later with a charger set to engine start, the bike cranked hard and started to fire. Old gas, no stabalizer, and a soaked air filter, yet still she started.

And so my first day of spring was marked by a back firing bike taking me down to the gas station on out of balance snow encrusted tires. The bank said 25 degrees and there were hoards of people standing outside the Dairy Queen. I guess some people eat ice cream, but I just go get gas.