Mercury

<Mercury a motorcycle short story>

It was a crisp cool morning, 65 degrees made it feel more like October than the middle of August. The gravel crunched beneath my tires as I traversed that last half a mile before reaching the asphalt. To my left just peeking over the trees a huge brilliant sun was shining like a cosmic blow torch burning away the foggy mist that lay gently on the forests & fields that surround my Carolina country home. Stopping at the end of the dirt road, I made sure the choke was completely off, and checked my surroundings before pulling out onto the empty back road of the kind that I love so much.

After a quick run up through the gears, it was time to weave back and forth leaning the old Honda to the left and the right as far as I could without leaving my lane to warm up the tires a little and clean the sand off of the sides of the treads. So far, so good, the road is still empty so I ride on stepping up the pace a little, confident that all is well with my steed.

Then I spy a nicely banked sweeping curve that is followed by a nice long straight running down through the pine trees, so I lean forward a bit and twist the exhilarator a little bit more. While swinging through the apex of this gentle curve, I peer down the road ahead and note that it’s completely empty for at least the next 2 or 3 miles that I can see.

Exiting the curve I simultaneously lean over & reach down, wrapping my armor plated leather fist around the top of the left fork tube, while my right hand twists the throttle all the way to the stop, and my heart pounds as the devil may care grin on my face stretches from ear to ear. In that moment all is perfect, a curious mixture of calm serenity, and the heart pounding excitement of the illusion of danger. In this moment it seems that I am thundering down the back straight at the Indy Mile aboard the legendary RS750, as the crowd goes wild. Hitting the red line in fourth I shift into fifth and screw it on for just a few seconds more.

<Real Honda Dreams the RS-750>

Real Honda Dreams

Before you know it, it’s over, it’s time to let go of the dream and the throttle. Up ahead there are houses with driveways & cages, filled with prisoners, their cell phones in one hand, breakfast in the other, and a cup of coffee between their legs as they attempt to navigate through the commute that they regard as a waste of their life. To them the road is just an obstacle course to be run, a linear prison where they are held against their will, and driving is a form of punishment. God help the innocents that get in their way.

Turning onto the multi-lane roads heading into the city, two fingers on the clutch & two on the brake crawling through traffic at forty or fifty is far more dangerous than any amount of ludicrous speed on the back roads. You watch every car & truck like a hawk, trying to anticipate any bone headed moves that might punt you into the emergency room or the morgue.

Knowing these things why do I still ride? Even sensible motorcycling is still far more enjoyable than being stuck in a box isolated from the surrounding environment, you see, hear, feel and smell what is around you. But the best times for me, are the rare moments like this morning;

I was Mercury, my feet had wings, and I could fly!

<mercury flying through the sky>

 

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Riding into Fall!

 

 This morning was glorious; temperature was a very nice 67 degrees Fahrenheit (19 C) as I strapped my lunch onto the back of my old CB to come to work this morning. Later today the temperature is supposed to be back up to 90 but this morning gives the first hint of better days to come.

 Everyone knows that these old Hondas are aggravatingly cold natured even when bone stock in excellent condition. When you throw on a set of pod filters & a header you exacerbate this trait to the point that you have to be patient & let it warm up well before trying to move it. But to me it’s worth it just to hear that intake moan when you twist the right grip in anger. Properly set up on a well-tuned bike these old Keihin carburetors have a throttle response & drivability that rivals modern fuel injection, once the engine is up to operating temperature.

 After kissing my wife and telling my dog goodbye, I close my modular helmet and back out of the carport. After pushing down on the shifter and hearing the satisfying snick of first gear engaging,  I let out the clutch and head for the gravel road at the end of the drive. There are days when I miss my old Ninja & its ability to snake down a twisty paved road seemingly by thought command, but today is not one of them. On this scrambler I run twice as fast through the loose rocks and deep sand leaving my home.

 Upon reaching the pavement after looking both ways I pull out and make a quick run up through the gears relishing the delightful mechanical concerto that only an old four banger can play, especially when it is sucking in cool dense air through a set of K & N filters. It may just be in my head but to me every motorcycle I’ve ever ridden feels more powerful & somehow more alive when the weather starts to cool and the air gets denser.

 Leveling out somewhere around the speed suggestions on the road signs the cool damp air pushing through my mesh jacket gives me a little chill that is so enjoyable after the long hot summer. Right now the relative humidity is somewhere around 98%, later today when it gets hot again that will be miserable but this morning it is invigorating and I roll on the throttle some more  just to enjoy it. On days like this it is so damn good to be alive.

 Normally I try to leave the house at least 15 minutes earlier than I actually have to just because it makes such a huge difference in the traffic I encounter. Turning left off of the two lane blacktop onto a four lane highway.  I cruise toward the first small town that I will pass by on my little commute. Traffic density picks up a bit especially in the school zones, but all of the early risers don’t have to be in such an all fired hurry to get to work because they have plenty of time, so everyone is nice & polite making the drive pleasant rather than stressful. Leaving the bypass I turn down another two lane road that starts out rural but quickly turns into a crowded suburban neighborhood as you get closer to the city of Florence. Since I am early it is nearly empty, but in another 20 minutes navigating this particular road will be like driving through a pinball machine.

 There is a dense fog settled in over the little town of Quinby as I pass through, the mad commuter rush to work and school is just getting started. Visibility is maybe a half a mile and I frequently have to wipe my face shield & look out for the cages that do not realize they become invisible in the fog without their lights on. Leaving this town behind I turn right and head towards my final destination with my speed adjusted for the fog. As I am cruising along that “driver” comes flying up behind me out of the fog with no lights on of course. Young, female & aggressive, she is piloting a typical 10 ton SUV, while deeply engrossed in a conversation on the phone that she is holding up to her ear with one hand. Since there was no traffic in front of her, and she hasn’t looked at the speedometer since she got in the car she has no idea how fast she was going. Blissfully unaware that if I have to panic stop there is no way she could possibly stop fast enough to keep from running over me she pulls into position about 25 feet behind me and stays there. On one long straight stretch I deliberately slow down hoping she will pass but she doesn’t. There is no malice in her heart toward me she is just indifferent to the act of driving. I’m not in her way; she is just using me as her speedometer instead of hanging up the phone and looking at the one in her dashboard.

 Coming into the last residential neighborhood I slow down to just below the posted speed limit mindful of the numerous children waiting for the school buses that are out in the fog and ten ton Tessie in her giant white death tank actually pulls to within fifteen feet of my taillight. Knowing there is a very rough triple railroad crossing set into a high hump coming up shortly I get ready. Normally I’d slow down for this crossing but am kind of afraid to do so this morning, but hey I am riding what is basically an oversize dirt bike so at the approach to the track I stood up and gassed it sailing across the tracks and feeling nary a ripple.

 Behind me the Stupid Useless Vehicle slammed into the foot tall hump and its driver was no doubt smacked around inside of it as she panic braked across three rough train tracks. For the rest of this street she maintained a safe respectable following distance and when we reached the next stoplight she actually stopped a ridiculously long distance to my rear when just a minute earlier she had been tailgating me at 55 mph.

The last mile and a half of the trip was uneventful and pleasant and as I parked to go into the office I decided to spend my lunch hour typing this up and posting it for you. In a few hours it will be time to run the five o-clock five hundred in the 90 degree heat. But I will still enjoy the ride!

Peace Y’all

Seriously Y’all, Replace Those Cotter Pins

ATV wheel with brand new cotter pin

 

The slightly dark picture above shows an ATV that I recently re-installed the hub on. With a new cotter pin in the castle nut. Do yourself a big favor, and no matter what never ever re-use a cotter pin on any thing. Whether is a motorcycle, ATV, automobile, or any other application. They are there to prevent the sudden disastrous failure that could result from a nut coming loose on a critical component. If you really must perform an emergency road or trail side repair and re-use one to get home do not forget to change it ASAP before using the vehicle again. Isn’t your ass worth the small amount of pocket change these things cost?

Yes I practice what I preach, here is the cotter pin assortment that I keep on hand, a couple of sizes need refilling but that’s okay the piece of mind is worth it.

 

Motorcycling and ATV riding is risky business anyway, but if you insist on having a gnarly bone grinding crash, at least let it be because you were doing something stupid and fun, and not that the wheel fell of because you were too cheap to replace a 39 cent cotter pin.

Peace Y’all
‘Psyco