Jan 30, 2012
Ride with the Gunny?
This is the most baffling ad campaign I've ever seen. What is the attraction to riding a hippobike with a grumpy old guy? If that sells bikes, Honda should pay me to take squids out on the CBR250R. Hell, I'll even yell at them if that adds value. I'll check their hippy credentials, harass them about their poor riding skills, and hand them over to a cop for special attention at the end. We could fill a local jail with violators if that sells bikes. What do you say?
Jan 23, 2012
What Kills Local Dealers?
All Rights Reserved © 2012 Thomas W. Day
I was wrapping up a Basic MSF course a few weeks ago, telling the new motorcyclists about the 10% discount they'd receive on gear at local dealers by showing the completion card when one of the students asked, "Where do you buy your gear." Somewhat dishonestly, I named the usual suspects without thinking much about it. And I do try to buy locally whenever possible, but it's harder to make that possible all the time.
First, my favorite local dealer, Kline Motorsports, closed its doors last fall. Jim Kershaw, Kline's parts manager, went above and beyond my expectations for customer support and I, in turn, went way beyond my usual routine in making sure that I bought all of my V-Strom parts from him. When I was getting my gear ready for a 2007 trip to Alaska, I'd heard stories about how easily bad gas could wreak the V-Strom's fuel pump and I was all ready to buy a backup pump for the trip. When I explained my plan to Jim, he said, "Don't worry about it. I'll order one and, if you need it, we'll drop ship it to where ever you are." From then on, I bought everything from spare screws to gloves to repair parts from Kline. I didn't even go on-line to compare prices. I bought several hundred dollars worth of stuff from Kline every year and usually placed my orders over the phone. They didn't ask for advance payment and always delivered what I ordered within a few days.
My experience with two other local dealers goes back to when I first moved to the Cities, in 1996. I was riding a Yamaha TDM at the time and neither dealer stocked any parts for that bike, neither could get parts in less than a couple of weeks, and both required that I visit their parts room with a credit card before they'd order anything for me. I can do better than that on-line, without the hassle of dealing with the arrogant parts counter kids. Honestly, I sometimes think my usual on-line supplier is personally more interested in my business than the local guys demonstrated. Unlike most Americans, I have a long memory: "Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me." Almost 25 years later, I still have a more personal relationship with Beach Yamaha in California than I've managed outside of Kline. It didn't hurt that the service manager and I both rode XTZ550's (his was a way cooler Canadian white version), but that store actually bothered to take customer names and worked to maintain that database.
Recently, I ran myself through the local service cycle to see if anything had changed. I needed an air filter for my WR Yamaha and I wanted it fast. I called the local dealers. Nobody had a filter in stock or knew how long it would take to get one and everyone wanted a credit card number to order the part. I called my neighborhood store for an aftermarket replacement and . . . again, a credit card and an undetermined wait and the kid wanted me to call the order line because he was too important to transfer the call. I went across town, got a counter guy who claimed to be able to get the part in a couple of days. I coughed up the credit card and waited. A week later, I called about the filter and was told it was coming from the other end of the country and I'd be notified when it arrived. There was no option to cancel the late order or inclination to call to tell me the two day delivery wouldn't happen.
My favorite on-line supplier had it in stock and could have delivered it next-day if I'd have paid the extra freight. So, while it would be hip and community-oriented to always buy locally, it's often the hard way to go.
The problem is that local dealers aren't all that interested in local customers. Their employees are mostly Boomerang Kids who have been convinced that living in mommy's basement and working at a motorcycle shop makes them cool. They don't need the job, or any job, and don't give a damn about the store's customers or the store itself. The store owners are disconnected from their customers and their business processes. Yamaha doesn't do it's dealers any favors either. Yamaha's "Greater Twin Cities Yamaha Dealers" site lists six dealers, including dealers in Belle Plaine, St. Bonifacius, and Forest Lake. The Hitching Post, Delano, 61, or Starr Cycle weren't even listed.
I, clearly, have some habits to break if I want to buy locally. First, I have to give up entirely on the dealers who have been useless in the past, regardless of how close they are to where I live. Starr Cycle, for example, has been incredibly helpful in the past but the 90 miles to Mankato is an obstacle. The same goes for Delano Sports Center, 45 miles from my home. Two to five hours of road time is hard to call "local," but you do the best you can with what you have.
A depressed economy doesn't just weed out the weak and incompetent. According to some reports, Suzuki lost almost 30% of its US dealers in 2008-09. A lot of good businesses have failed in the last four years and a lot more are on the edge. It's almost impossible for a working class dealer to overcome competition that is backed by a substantial trust fund. The good dealers need all the support they can get, but it may not be enough to overcome a stagnant economy. Going through the maze of chaff to find the good dealers is enough to drive anyone to the internet (where we search for the dealers in the first place). This is exactly what kills local business.
I was wrapping up a Basic MSF course a few weeks ago, telling the new motorcyclists about the 10% discount they'd receive on gear at local dealers by showing the completion card when one of the students asked, "Where do you buy your gear." Somewhat dishonestly, I named the usual suspects without thinking much about it. And I do try to buy locally whenever possible, but it's harder to make that possible all the time.
First, my favorite local dealer, Kline Motorsports, closed its doors last fall. Jim Kershaw, Kline's parts manager, went above and beyond my expectations for customer support and I, in turn, went way beyond my usual routine in making sure that I bought all of my V-Strom parts from him. When I was getting my gear ready for a 2007 trip to Alaska, I'd heard stories about how easily bad gas could wreak the V-Strom's fuel pump and I was all ready to buy a backup pump for the trip. When I explained my plan to Jim, he said, "Don't worry about it. I'll order one and, if you need it, we'll drop ship it to where ever you are." From then on, I bought everything from spare screws to gloves to repair parts from Kline. I didn't even go on-line to compare prices. I bought several hundred dollars worth of stuff from Kline every year and usually placed my orders over the phone. They didn't ask for advance payment and always delivered what I ordered within a few days.
My experience with two other local dealers goes back to when I first moved to the Cities, in 1996. I was riding a Yamaha TDM at the time and neither dealer stocked any parts for that bike, neither could get parts in less than a couple of weeks, and both required that I visit their parts room with a credit card before they'd order anything for me. I can do better than that on-line, without the hassle of dealing with the arrogant parts counter kids. Honestly, I sometimes think my usual on-line supplier is personally more interested in my business than the local guys demonstrated. Unlike most Americans, I have a long memory: "Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me." Almost 25 years later, I still have a more personal relationship with Beach Yamaha in California than I've managed outside of Kline. It didn't hurt that the service manager and I both rode XTZ550's (his was a way cooler Canadian white version), but that store actually bothered to take customer names and worked to maintain that database.
Recently, I ran myself through the local service cycle to see if anything had changed. I needed an air filter for my WR Yamaha and I wanted it fast. I called the local dealers. Nobody had a filter in stock or knew how long it would take to get one and everyone wanted a credit card number to order the part. I called my neighborhood store for an aftermarket replacement and . . . again, a credit card and an undetermined wait and the kid wanted me to call the order line because he was too important to transfer the call. I went across town, got a counter guy who claimed to be able to get the part in a couple of days. I coughed up the credit card and waited. A week later, I called about the filter and was told it was coming from the other end of the country and I'd be notified when it arrived. There was no option to cancel the late order or inclination to call to tell me the two day delivery wouldn't happen.
My favorite on-line supplier had it in stock and could have delivered it next-day if I'd have paid the extra freight. So, while it would be hip and community-oriented to always buy locally, it's often the hard way to go.
I, clearly, have some habits to break if I want to buy locally. First, I have to give up entirely on the dealers who have been useless in the past, regardless of how close they are to where I live. Starr Cycle, for example, has been incredibly helpful in the past but the 90 miles to Mankato is an obstacle. The same goes for Delano Sports Center, 45 miles from my home. Two to five hours of road time is hard to call "local," but you do the best you can with what you have.
A depressed economy doesn't just weed out the weak and incompetent. According to some reports, Suzuki lost almost 30% of its US dealers in 2008-09. A lot of good businesses have failed in the last four years and a lot more are on the edge. It's almost impossible for a working class dealer to overcome competition that is backed by a substantial trust fund. The good dealers need all the support they can get, but it may not be enough to overcome a stagnant economy. Going through the maze of chaff to find the good dealers is enough to drive anyone to the internet (where we search for the dealers in the first place). This is exactly what kills local business.
Moose Strikes Twice
Jan 17, 2012
Cuttin' to the Bone
I'm on two legs now, walking around the house and using a cane when I go out for distance (1.5 - 2 miles a day average last week). Five weeks out from having my leg cut off and the jury (me) is still out on whether this was a good idea. I am a miserable cripple. I hate being unable to put my own socks on, let alone tie my shoes. My left leg jiggles like my belly, something that drives me crazy (both the leg and the belly). I lost about all of my muscle mass in the surgery and that comes back glacially at my age.
There is a great website, Edheads - Virtual Hip Replacement Surgery, that provides a complete look (less gore) of the procedure. Too many people, in my opinion, minimize the severity of this surgery and toss themselves into the hands of surgeons without a second thought. Go through the whole procedure, then decide how you feel about getting your leg cut off compared to whatever pain you're experiencing and disability you're suffering. If you don't have the stones to do the virtual procedure, I suspect you won't do well with the real thing. Lots of people don't.
I was in the garage earlier today, moving the battery tender from the V-Strom to the WR, and trying to imagine being able to swing a leg over either bike. It's impossible today. It's more possible today than last week, though. My wife cautions "patience." Patience, my ass. I want to ride something.
There is a great website, Edheads - Virtual Hip Replacement Surgery, that provides a complete look (less gore) of the procedure. Too many people, in my opinion, minimize the severity of this surgery and toss themselves into the hands of surgeons without a second thought. Go through the whole procedure, then decide how you feel about getting your leg cut off compared to whatever pain you're experiencing and disability you're suffering. If you don't have the stones to do the virtual procedure, I suspect you won't do well with the real thing. Lots of people don't.
I was in the garage earlier today, moving the battery tender from the V-Strom to the WR, and trying to imagine being able to swing a leg over either bike. It's impossible today. It's more possible today than last week, though. My wife cautions "patience." Patience, my ass. I want to ride something.
Jan 7, 2012
The Pace or the Ride
Sev Pearman, my Minnesota Motorcycle Monthly editor and long-time friend and co-conspirator, sent me an article written by Motorcyclists' Nick Ienatsch called "The Pace." In the article, Ienatsch extolls the virtues of a particular sort of group ride. After several people on Sev's email list responded, I felt compelled to put my $0.02 worth of bullshit into the mix.
"Responsible? A bit. Educational? Probably. Fun? Most certainly not.
"Nothing about any sort of group street riding sounds rational to me. The opportunities for misjudging the surrounding riders, for getting overwhelmed with input data, or for becoming so bored that I drive off into a ditch to keep from falling asleep and to provide myself with a little entertainment are all reasons why I always "get lost" in group rides. Make one wrong turn, and you own the road again and don't have to worry about who fell down up front or who's about to run up your tailpipe on a boring straight section or where you're going to sit when 70 bikers decide to descend on a hapless coffee shop or greasy spoon. There is an aspect of 'togetherness' that many people link to motorcycling that is, as my hero Eric Cartman would say, 'Lame, dude. Totally lame.'"
Yep, I felt pretty good about that opinionated opinion. I'm still about half-doped up with my morning dose of 15mg of morphine sulfate and 5-325mg of oxycodone-acetamineophen (Percoset), so I could be wrong.
Sev whipped right back with, "I'm gonna disagree w/ you on this one, Thomas. There are times when I LOVE riding w/ 1-5 other riders of similar skill and mindset. Parade rides of pirate-costumed riders on clown bikes? No Thanks But a spirited ride among a small group of riders can be invigorating."
Which, finally, brings us to the point of today's Geezer rant. As you know, I can't tolerate disagreement; unless I get a beer out of the deal. When it comes to off-road riding, I'm sort of in agreement with Sev, although my group size would probably be smaller (1-3, with 1 being exponentially better than 3). I found, on my trip around Superior last fall, that I'd rather be in a cage if I'm trying to hang with someone (preferably with them doing the driving) than do the group ride thing. Economically, ecologically, practically, and socially, it makes more sense.
The conversation and, probably, the drugs brought up some old memories that had been almost entirely in the old age fuzz. Must be the morphine or Alzeheimers.
In Colorado, there were a group of three guys I hung out with for almost everything. We worked together, explored Colorado's cities and mountains and ghost towns, fixed cars, did off-road remote controlled car racing, hot-wired the company's intranet so we could play networked Doom and Hell on Earth (Doom II) all weekend, and generally hung out a lot. When I first moved to CO, I was the only active motorcyclist in the group, so we naturally did a lot of stuff in our cages and the "driver" of the event picked everyone up and sort of set the 
tone for whatever we were going to do. The two vehicles of group excursion choice were often my hippie Toyota van, which had no back seats, but was "decorated" in two large beanbags (for camping), an icebox, and a great surround system and a 1960 Pontiac Catalina convertible with an even better surround system. We covered a lot of ground in those two vehicles, including trips to New Mexico and Wyoming, an excursion to visit my family in L.A., fishing on Colorado's Arkansas River, road trips up Mount Evans and Pike's Peak, and at least one lap around Colorado's state RC off-road electric championship series.
A couple of years later, everyone decided they needed to become motorcyclists. We started to try to do the same things we'd done in cages by bike. It was a miserable experiment. Our skill levels were all over the place. Every trip ended up with one of the rookies in a ditch or dragging his ass back home with parts dangling from their poorly maintained bikes. In the end, I took to planning the route and heading for the end point at my own rate, expecting to spend an afternoon in that spot while the other guys straggled in hours later. On a Denver to Pike's Peak trip, I rode the whole mountain, twice, performed a thorough maintenance on my bike, had a long conversation with one of the Peak's railroad engineers, and had lunch before the other three guys straggled into the parking lot. Around that point, I decided group rides weren't going to be my deal and I have avoided them since. I will always miss the road trips we took, but none of the motorcycle adventures.
"Responsible? A bit. Educational? Probably. Fun? Most certainly not.
"Nothing about any sort of group street riding sounds rational to me. The opportunities for misjudging the surrounding riders, for getting overwhelmed with input data, or for becoming so bored that I drive off into a ditch to keep from falling asleep and to provide myself with a little entertainment are all reasons why I always "get lost" in group rides. Make one wrong turn, and you own the road again and don't have to worry about who fell down up front or who's about to run up your tailpipe on a boring straight section or where you're going to sit when 70 bikers decide to descend on a hapless coffee shop or greasy spoon. There is an aspect of 'togetherness' that many people link to motorcycling that is, as my hero Eric Cartman would say, 'Lame, dude. Totally lame.'"
Yep, I felt pretty good about that opinionated opinion. I'm still about half-doped up with my morning dose of 15mg of morphine sulfate and 5-325mg of oxycodone-acetamineophen (Percoset), so I could be wrong.
Sev whipped right back with, "I'm gonna disagree w/ you on this one, Thomas. There are times when I LOVE riding w/ 1-5 other riders of similar skill and mindset. Parade rides of pirate-costumed riders on clown bikes? No Thanks But a spirited ride among a small group of riders can be invigorating."
Which, finally, brings us to the point of today's Geezer rant. As you know, I can't tolerate disagreement; unless I get a beer out of the deal. When it comes to off-road riding, I'm sort of in agreement with Sev, although my group size would probably be smaller (1-3, with 1 being exponentially better than 3). I found, on my trip around Superior last fall, that I'd rather be in a cage if I'm trying to hang with someone (preferably with them doing the driving) than do the group ride thing. Economically, ecologically, practically, and socially, it makes more sense.
The conversation and, probably, the drugs brought up some old memories that had been almost entirely in the old age fuzz. Must be the morphine or Alzeheimers.
In Colorado, there were a group of three guys I hung out with for almost everything. We worked together, explored Colorado's cities and mountains and ghost towns, fixed cars, did off-road remote controlled car racing, hot-wired the company's intranet so we could play networked Doom and Hell on Earth (Doom II) all weekend, and generally hung out a lot. When I first moved to CO, I was the only active motorcyclist in the group, so we naturally did a lot of stuff in our cages and the "driver" of the event picked everyone up and sort of set the tone for whatever we were going to do. The two vehicles of group excursion choice were often my hippie Toyota van, which had no back seats, but was "decorated" in two large beanbags (for camping), an icebox, and a great surround system and a 1960 Pontiac Catalina convertible with an even better surround system. We covered a lot of ground in those two vehicles, including trips to New Mexico and Wyoming, an excursion to visit my family in L.A., fishing on Colorado's Arkansas River, road trips up Mount Evans and Pike's Peak, and at least one lap around Colorado's state RC off-road electric championship series. A couple of years later, everyone decided they needed to become motorcyclists. We started to try to do the same things we'd done in cages by bike. It was a miserable experiment. Our skill levels were all over the place. Every trip ended up with one of the rookies in a ditch or dragging his ass back home with parts dangling from their poorly maintained bikes. In the end, I took to planning the route and heading for the end point at my own rate, expecting to spend an afternoon in that spot while the other guys straggled in hours later. On a Denver to Pike's Peak trip, I rode the whole mountain, twice, performed a thorough maintenance on my bike, had a long conversation with one of the Peak's railroad engineers, and had lunch before the other three guys straggled into the parking lot. Around that point, I decided group rides weren't going to be my deal and I have avoided them since. I will always miss the road trips we took, but none of the motorcycle adventures.
Jan 1, 2012
Where have all the model builders gone?
Dec 25, 2011
One Week (Movie review)
written and directed by Michael McGowen, 2008
All Rights Reserved © 2011 Thomas W. Day
This is one of the rare movies that will actually make you feel better for having spent the time; none of that bitter aftertaste of a wasted evening from One Week. The Internet Movie Database called One Week an "adventure, drama." Netflix (which currently has One Week on Instant Watch) categorizes the movie as "Indie Dramas, Romantic Dramas." I would have called it a dark comedy. It is, honestly, a lot funnier than the subject implies and a whole lot funnier than about 90% of what gets called "comedy."
The movie asks the main character, Ben Tyler (Joshua Jackson), what he would do when his doctor tells him, "I'm afraid it's not great news." Tyler learns he has terminal cancer with a "survival rate of one in ten" and an undetermined "minimum" lifetime. [Something that is true for any of us all the time.] On his way home from the doctor's office, Tyler meets an old geezer polishing up his 1973 Norton to sell because "my eyes are going, I couldn't get my license renewed."(Move to Minnesota. Anyone can pass our state's eye exam.)
The bike wasn't entirely a spontaneous decision, as "Ben had been circling around the purchase for a while" because his fiancée had told him that "driving a motorcycle represented the height of stupidity." After one of the weirdest haggling scenes in movie history, Ben says, "I'll take it."
Ben's fiancée Samantha (brilliantly played by Liana Balaban) walks a fine balance between loving, overbearing, and wounded. Her hatred of motorcycles, desperate faith in the miracles of modern medicine, and her desire not to be the woman who abandoned her boyfriend when he got cancer all blend into a complicated character you'll either like or hate; or both. My opinion of her swung from one side to the opposite in practically every scene.
Ben decides to postpone his wedding, blow off his mind-deadening grade school teaching job, and obey the instructions on his coffee cup and "go west young man." At a loss for what to do with the end of his life, Ben sets out on a bucket-list trip from Toronto to British Columbia with a minor goal of seeing all the “big things” along the way; big chairs, biggest fake dinosaur, biggest paper clip, etc.
Ben tells Samantha he’ll only be gone two days, but his real plan is to travel without a plan or a schedule. All he knows about his future is that he’s “not ready to be a patient.” Ben doesn't tell his family or employer anything. Just before he takes off on his trip, he and Samantha participate in Ben's father's 70th birthday party where Ben's dad gives thanks for his uneventful life and his good fortune. Ben doesn't ruin the moment with his depressing news.
One of the many things I was reminded of by One Week is how much I love travelling in Canada. The camera work is terrific, the music selected for the movie is innovative and sets a high bar for indie productions, and the sound quality was as good as modern movies get. There is nothing in this production to get between you and the story. In my opinion, it is as flawless a movie as I have ever experienced.
Ben's relationship with the Norton, while exceptionally lucky (based on my experience with British vehicles), is dead on the money. He was almost as perfectly unprepared for this cross-country trip as he was for his medical prognosis. Riding into the Canadian sunset in jeans, a designer leather jacket, and an open face helmet, Ben is soaked, frozen, bathed in warmth and light, and bashed about by the trip and the people he meets. You will be, too.
Dec 21, 2011
Doin' It for 45 Years?
If you read my last Geezer column in MMM, you know I've been on the tipping point for a hip replacement for a couple of years. I tipped over last week and had the old hip cut out and replaced with what I hope is a high tech prosthetics. So, I'm stuck in the house suffering the great views of a warm Minnesota December while my bikes wither away in the garage. What to do?
So far, that's easy. I have a handful of physical therapy routines to work on, I upped my Netflix DVD allowance so that I can choke on all of the western movies I can't get on-line, and I'm too doped up on morphine and oxycodone-actetaminophen to worry about anything for long. One of the movies that passed a bit of time was "Bustin' Down the Door," a documentary about the origins of pro surfing in the 1970's when the Aussies took the sport away from Hawaiian control and surfing went big-time worldwide.
There are two motorcycling-similar stories in "Bustin' Down." One was the reaction of the old-time, biker gangster types (called the "Black Shorts" and headed by a surfing Hell's Angel stereotype named Eddie Rothman in the film). Rothman and his gangbanger buddies view the beach and surfing as their territory and fought back against the Aussie invasion with the only tools they had; violence and intimidation. "If you can't beat 'em, beat 'em up" has been the gangbanger chant for centuries and, as usual, laws and the cops proved to be as useless in Hawaii as they are everywhere else. The gangbangers kept the Aussies out of championship events until 1975. The Aussies couldn't even get into major events in 1974. In 1975, they won every event they entered and major press attention (and big event purses) followed. Even in their own words, the Black Shorts characters were about preventing change, true conservatives. They wanted to maintain control of the dinky surfing pond they'd managed to create and the Aussies wanted to put surfing into the ocean. Literally, the Hawaiians were afraid to attempt the maneuvers the Aussies were introducing, so their solution was to chase the Aussies out of the sport.
In the end, the Black Shorts sort of won. Hawaii is no longer the hub of surfing. The Harley gangsters managed to pull of the same kind of coup in the US. By creating "Harley-only" race venues and through rules and intimidation, the 1960's US motorcycling gangsters drove anyone who wasn't a gangbanger to the other side. Today, the US makes marginally functional hippobikes and practically every country in the industrialized world makes real motorcycles. The conservatives won and the nation lost.
The other similarity between motorcycling and surfing was pointed out by South African, Michael Tomson, "Very few people can look through their life, and say they've been doing something for 45 years. What have you been doing for 45 years? I will surf till I die."
Before this surgery, my wife tried to reconcile me to the possibility that I'm going to have to quit riding a motorcycle some time. "You can't ride forever." I can't live forever, either, but I can keep riding for a lot more years and you may as well assume that I will ride till I die.
So far, that's easy. I have a handful of physical therapy routines to work on, I upped my Netflix DVD allowance so that I can choke on all of the western movies I can't get on-line, and I'm too doped up on morphine and oxycodone-actetaminophen to worry about anything for long. One of the movies that passed a bit of time was "Bustin' Down the Door," a documentary about the origins of pro surfing in the 1970's when the Aussies took the sport away from Hawaiian control and surfing went big-time worldwide.
There are two motorcycling-similar stories in "Bustin' Down." One was the reaction of the old-time, biker gangster types (called the "Black Shorts" and headed by a surfing Hell's Angel stereotype named Eddie Rothman in the film). Rothman and his gangbanger buddies view the beach and surfing as their territory and fought back against the Aussie invasion with the only tools they had; violence and intimidation. "If you can't beat 'em, beat 'em up" has been the gangbanger chant for centuries and, as usual, laws and the cops proved to be as useless in Hawaii as they are everywhere else. The gangbangers kept the Aussies out of championship events until 1975. The Aussies couldn't even get into major events in 1974. In 1975, they won every event they entered and major press attention (and big event purses) followed. Even in their own words, the Black Shorts characters were about preventing change, true conservatives. They wanted to maintain control of the dinky surfing pond they'd managed to create and the Aussies wanted to put surfing into the ocean. Literally, the Hawaiians were afraid to attempt the maneuvers the Aussies were introducing, so their solution was to chase the Aussies out of the sport.
In the end, the Black Shorts sort of won. Hawaii is no longer the hub of surfing. The Harley gangsters managed to pull of the same kind of coup in the US. By creating "Harley-only" race venues and through rules and intimidation, the 1960's US motorcycling gangsters drove anyone who wasn't a gangbanger to the other side. Today, the US makes marginally functional hippobikes and practically every country in the industrialized world makes real motorcycles. The conservatives won and the nation lost.
The other similarity between motorcycling and surfing was pointed out by South African, Michael Tomson, "Very few people can look through their life, and say they've been doing something for 45 years. What have you been doing for 45 years? I will surf till I die."
Before this surgery, my wife tried to reconcile me to the possibility that I'm going to have to quit riding a motorcycle some time. "You can't ride forever." I can't live forever, either, but I can keep riding for a lot more years and you may as well assume that I will ride till I die.
Dec 13, 2011
'splain This
Dec 11, 2011
Left Speechless?
$350? Who says the economy is trashed? If this lamester can get $3 for this POS somebody has a lot of cash to trash. If I ran Hardly, I'd be buying all this crap up and burning it to recover whatever reputation the company has left.
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