Combustion Junkies

I remember the first time I ever fired a gun.  It was hot, probably somewhere in the middle of July and my friend offered to take me shooting.  We stopped by his house and picked up his Springfield XD-M .40 and went on a little drive to some extremely isolated little region of the world where you could tell other people had also gone for target practice.  I was such a noob that it felt like the first day I threw a leg over a bike. We got out of the car and I glanced out over a barren landscape at some dust devils that were racing over the fields off in the distance.  It was like the scene out of a western.  I felt a little bit like what Clint Eastwood must have felt like as I squinted and brushed the hair away from whipping my face. The sun was lingering overhead and I could feel it instantly searing the back of my neck.  He popped the trunk and pulled out some ear protection. I was grinning but on the inside I was nervous. 

Out of loose tins and bottles that were laying around, he made up some makeshift targets, propping them on random pieces of wood and broken furniture. Behind it was a large dirt hill that cast just the right amount of shadow. He gave me some pointers and put the gun in my hand. It was heavy and hot and at that moment it became real to me. I laugh when I am nervous and I let out several giggles, a few chants of, "I don't know about this." And finally I had settled into a moment where I finally pulled it all together. As I raised the gun toward the target, my ear protection cancelling out everything but a subtle hum of wind, time seemed to slow and I felt my palms instantly sweating against the polymer grip. I remember thinking that if I didn't make my decision soon it was going to slide out of my hand. I took a breath, exhaled and focused my sights. At that moment the vast landscape around me had become an orange/tan blur. When it finally fired after that lingering suspenseful moment where I could hear nothing over the sound of my own heart in my chest. I was elated. Combustion; one powerful pulse of energy that propelled a single object with such intent that I simply couldn't stop smiling at the sheer genius of the engineering behind it. I felt the force of the recoil push back against me, startling me but as I held onto it and felt the energy resonate and dissipate through my body, I thought: "Holy hawt dayum... that's a lot of power!"  

"Crap... she's reloading."

Fast forward a couple of years and I've spent a lot more time over the last few months shooting other people's guns, learning, questioning, doing research, shooting some more and simply falling in love with shooting.  There are these things in life that may not have been introduced to us as kids, but that we find later on and become enamored with.  As my friend (the same friend who took me shooting on that fateful day), drove me back to my house after I had officially laid the money down and signed the paperwork on my first handgun this weekend, he asked me: "Did you ever think that would own a gun?"  Without hesitation I grinned, "Well no, but to be fair, I never saw myself riding a motorcycle either... when I was a kid I envisioned myself as a writer living in a neat little loft in New York City." Sometimes, in life, we don't get to choose where our path goes (whether we follow the rules or not) but we do get to choose how to make the most of it and sometimes we have to challenge ourselves to step outside of the mold, to pop the bubble and try something new. 

I can't put words to how innately I am moved by the power of the combustion process; whether I am holding it in my hand and squeezing a trigger, reeling back the throttle and leaning into the corners, or pressing the but of a shotgun up against my shoulder and trying to nail a clay disc that is sailing through the air. Life manifests itself in many ways, and it all starts with a spark that we have to lend ourselves to igniting... even if we've grown accustomed to living in the dark.  

Recycling: Converting a 400 Single Cylinder into a 4 Inch Barrel

It had been a long time since I watched one of my bikes leave my driveway for good but a few days ago Claudia, my beloved DRZ when to a new home.

I bought Claudia a couple of years ago from a guy who put a whopping 5,000 miles on her before he upgraded to a BMW.  She had been meticulously taken care of and she was in stock condition.  Of course, I could barely get the toes on one foot to reach the ground so I did some modifications, lowering links (I know... I am shamed), shaved the seat, handlebar risers... And when it was all said and done, I could get the toes down.  

We had enjoyed more amazing rides together than I ever could have imagined; trips to Laguna, the solo rides, the time when I asked my friend to take me up some fire roads and instead we wound up at an Off-Road Vehicle area on 80% street tires after which time he reassured me I would be fine... even though time and time again I fell over... repeatedly; with the exception of the moment when I followed him up one side of a hill and found myself confronted with only one option: riding her down a 6 story hill trying to avoid falling into the rut on the center line, and chanting "shit, shit, shit" repeatedly in my helmet all the way down as my heart pounded and I was certain that at any moment the front wheel would grab and I would go toppling ass-over-tit down the hill with a bunch of experienced dirt riders (probably total hotties too knowing my luck) held up behind me, watching in amusement the carnage of some chick in street gear wiping out before their very eyes.  That didn't happen though, and I still find that to be one of my favorite experiences on two wheels, just for the sheer amusement value of it.

DRZ's are such great bikes.  For a 400 single, it had quite a bit of stamina, even though I probably rode it harder than it could handle ( and by "probably" I mean... "definitely").  Even though they aren't the full super-moto, they are agile enough to go where you wanna go without much fuss; unless you're wanting to go down a freeway at 100 mph.  But really, who can complain about that.  This is the bike that introduced me to how much more fun and effortless it can be to ride a bike that is flickable, spunky, and light to the point where even on asphalt the pegs are delicately lingering within an inch or so from the asphalt if you're really on it in the corner. Although, the Avon Destanzias are great tires and I have to give them quite a bit of credit when it comes to asphalt prowess. Still, I am not surprised that she sold as quickly as she did.

I put the DRZ up on Craigslist and almost immediately I had 7 total inquiries, most of them serious.  At one point I received an email from a guy who offered to pick it up right then and there for my full asking price, but seeing as how it was 9:30 at night after a pretty eventful day at work, I wasn't really feeling like entertaining so we arranged for him to come get the bike the next day. The next day, after a few text messages regarding the details of the bike, he called to say he was on his way: "Yeah hi, I've been talking to a guy about a DRZ?" he says shortly after I answered his call. 

I cracked a devious smile.  Sometimes I forget about the fact that women riders are still some kind of rare breed in the central cali valley. Never mind the fact that my name is contained in my email and I don't know a lot of guys who go by "Rose."  "No, you've been talking to a chick about a bike and the bike is all ready for you to take home."  I said playfully. There was a pause on the other end, some stammering, another pause and then: "Have you been doing the work on it?"  I was trying very hard to stifle a chuckle.  Before too long he showed up and took the bike home. 

I didn't cry.  I was strong, but I definitely felt my heart grow a little heavy as I boxed up all of her accessories in a rubbermaid bin and carried it over to his truck. As I watched him ratchet the tie down straps, I remembered all of the awesome rides I had taken on that bike.  I could say that I felt regret, but honestly, I really didn't. If anything, there was a small weight lifted from my shoulders that I no longer felt obligated to get her back up to snuff when I had so many other projects going on.  More accurately, what I felt was bittersweet relief.  

I will definitely get another supermoto.  If there is one thing that my little 400 DRZ-S ignited in my soul, it was the experience of riding a bike that is light, agile, and torquey on the street.  If nothing else, it ignited my inner hooligan, and reassured the gypsy in me that my long distance travels and wanderlust could be carried out with a lot less lower back pain than I had previously experienced in doing it on a sportbike.  I will miss my mighty DRZ, but all is not lost.  A chunk of the proceeds from her sale went toward one of my newer hobbies: shooting.

Farewell Claudia DRZ, Hellllllo Claudia Springfield... XD-S 9...

Gas, Grass, or Cash... No One Survives for Free

It's 2:45 in the morning and I really shouldn't even be awake, except that I am.  I'm only really made aware of the fact that I am awake by the fact that my stirring is disrupting the peaceful slumber of the dog; who makes her discomfort known with exasperated sighs and a nudge with a nose or a paw as she tries to weather the storm of my restlessness. It's a lot like sharing a bed with human, except she doesn't snore... loudly.

The truth is, the world fascinates me today.  It does every day, but every so often there are these moments where I am awakened to something a little more profound than usual... like the fact that we live in a country that is in a major recession, that there are about 4 million people relying on unemployment benefits in the U.S., and the middle class is slowly receding into the ocean of poverty; and yet... we are paying upwards of 35 thousand dollars for a full size pickup truck that gets 22 miles per gallon of gasoline that costs almost 5.00 a gallon.  For one, it's unfathomable to me that any everyday Class C vehicle could cost that much.  Secondly, It's mildly disturbing to me.

I'm not sure at what point I became disconnected for the going rate of material possessions but today, as I was juggling a major financial decision, I stumbled upon this brutal reality. The decision is whether or not I should commit to $30,000 in student loans just to finish my bachelors degree and go to work in an industry that I already know the grim odds for stable employment and return of investment on my degree.  You might be thinking, "well you should have chosen a more lucrative and marketable degree," but if you can show me an industry outside of banking, pharmaceuticals, oil, and prisons that IS doing well enough to be stable in this economy, then I might take your word for it.  All of that aside, I'm pretty sure that a degree in Psychology will become significantly marketable in the future... if it isn't already. In fact, the irony of those industries and their relative success isn't lost to me.  As consumers we are led to spend money, inebriate ourselves from the struggle, spend a lot of money on gas (because if you're going to want access to the finer things in life, you're gonna have to drive to get there), or go to prison. At the root of it all we are conditioned to be unhappy or unsatisfied so that we continue consuming to fill the voids in our lives.

I am unhappy with that reality but it doesn't make me unhappy in my life. It has taken me some time to be able to make that distinction but it's true.  I am unhappy at the idea that people... perfectly capable human beings are conditioned to be unhappy and taught how to identify all of it's causes (don't worry, there's a pill for that), and yet never really taught how to identify or pursue happiness.  I recently saw a commercial for a pharmaceutical for some new condition that no one has ever heard of: the pitch was something along the lines of: "Do you frequently randomly burst out laughing?  Do you ever just start crying? If so you may have ... bla bla bla..." Coincidentally, I burst out laughing at it.  I mean they might as well just come right out and say it: "Do you ever feel any emotion at all?  Because if you do, you might be human... It's a rare disorder in which patients experience empathy and desire, willpower, love, excitement and a full gammut of other uniquely human phenomenon."  "But don't worry... we're gonna keep you nice and deluded so your daily life as a consumer won't be disrupted."

The idea of spending 30 or $40,000 dollars on a vehicle is extremely unappealing to me when they aren't even made out of steel anymore.  They are made out of plastics and we just buy into it, agreeing to these insanely unrealistic loan terms and winding up owing more than the car is worth when it comes time to sell or even make repairs to it. I also don't understand why I have to invest $30,000 in a piece of paper that says you know some stuff you read in a book which supposedly makes you qualified for a job.  I am not saying that it's not worth investing in education, I think everyone should invest in education... they should invest time in asking questions of their world and deducing the facts for themselves.  But I hate that my "education" is more contingent upon me sitting down and finding out which degree is the most marketable and will see the greatest return on investment, and less about sitting down and figuring out where I can contribute the most and find the most happiness. Happy people make happy consumers and I have the strangest feeling that with the statistics and reports on quality of life that have been released, consumers aren't buy out of happiness, they are buying out of despair.

What's your dream house?

I wish that we were taught the importance of human integrity and work ethic from a young age.  I wish that children were taught to look into themselves and see that they have value as people, not consumers. Because when we feel that we have value, that we are autonomous, we are more likely to regard others the same way.  I don't need a psych degree to tell me that. I don't need a psych degree to tell you that either - ha ha! I also wish that we would learn to see the value in what we do and not by how much we consume, because if we did... if we spent more time looking at the quality of what we produce, then we might also, by default, doing a better job... maybe.  Perhaps that is wishful thinking.  I try to abide by these things, or to at least give them life but I'm still human, after all. But I do my best... to live within my means.I can't claim to have any answers, but I sure have a lot of questions.