As mentioned earlier, this wonderful little bike came to a bad end when I took my eyes off the road for a moment to wave at one of the Administrative secretaries.
The front wheel T-boned a Fire Bird, sending me flying over the hood and inflicting severe damage to the XS Eleven.
The front fork tubes were bent, the framed was tweaked, the fairing was destroyed, and the rider was whacked around by the owner. We sent out the fork tubes to be straightened; and after a period of recovery from my battle wounds, I used a porta power device to push back the angle of the forks from 25 degrees to 27.5 degrees. Factory specs call for 29 degrees.
I picked up a cheap fairing for $50 and slid the rebuilt fork tubes into the triple tree. Hmmm, something seems to be amiss. When installed properly in the recessed grooves and tightened to the specified torque, the bike somehow seemed...taller. That’s a serious deflection for a mere 1.5 degree change.
I raised the tubes up to compensate for the changed angle and took it for a ride. It still had the pavement scorching performance and it tracked true, but the reduced angle made the bike much quicker to handle. Just think about changing lanes and you were there.
Sadly, I knew the bike had come to the end of it’s time with us. Judy would never trust it again, nor could I so we sold it cheap, telling the new owner about the bent frame. He told us he was going to have that straightened on a frame machine over in Odessa and it should be good as new. Sad day for all concerned.
Motorcycles have individual personalities and this one for sure had a fine spirit. Let‘s hope it‘s happy in its’ new home.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
38. The XS Eleven
Earlier I mentioned briefly that Judy’s XS Eleven was the fastest bike in West Texas. This begs the question, "Just what was it that made this little bike so special?"
Well, for one thing, it looked just like the little XS 400’s we started out with. Judy was riding a Suzuki 750 at that time and that was not a good fit for her. So we began looking for a bike with shaft drive rather than chain drive. I called the Kawasaki dealer to see what the Kaw’s were selling for and turned ashen at the price! $3,895 for the KZ 1100! Ach, himmel!!
He said if I wasn’t particular, the dealer up the street was selling off left over XS Eleven’s for $2,995. I’m sure he meant this a cheap shot, but I seized upon this nugget and called the Yahama dealer. Yes, he was selling them and had three left; two Indigo Blue ones and a Tobacco Brown one. Price; $2,995.
That afternoon, right after work, Judy and I headed for Shawnee Mission, Kansas on my KZ 1300 as the dealer was open till 9:00 pm on Thursday nights. We got there around 7:30 pm, rolled out the blue XS Eleven and took it for a test ride. Oh boy, was this a responsive bike. Judy liked it too. We went back in and bought it for $2,900 with a set of case guards thrown in.
What a neat bike! On the turnpike ride home, Judy throttled up and this bike nearly popped a wheelie at 60 mph. It was torque personified!
On Saturday, we sold the GS 750 and the pick up truck, so the Yamaha was suddenly free and clear. I bought a frame mounted fairing for it but no one in Topeka had a mounting bracket. I had to make a fast trip to Manhattan for that.
After assembling all the parts, it was a simple job to mount the fairing and the case guards. The bike was Indigo Blue and the fairing matched the colors of the bike perfectly. Judy took it for a ride and loved it! As she rode the bike more and more, she began to accessorize it with a radio, a tape player, a CB, color matched saddle bags and a leftover white tail trunk. This fast little machine just made itself right at home. I liked it too, very much, as it was a real hot rod.
A couple of years later, we moved to Big Spring, Texas, which was not far from Abilene, where I was raised. Judy did not share my enthusiasm for West Texas, but she did love the early morning sunrises and the spectacular sunsets. She did not love cleaning sand out of her refrigerator after one of the frequent sand storms
Excuse me for a moment while I bring you up to date on West Texans and women. Down here, women are considered to be helpful, handy, little servants...as long as they do not interfere in the business of men.
Expectations are that the little darlin’s are happiest when doing something useful for a man. Hmmm. While that would be an alternative to the northern customs, I could not see a strong willed personality like Judy fitting in this restrictive structure.
But, for the first few meetings and rides with the Big Spring Road Riders, she was somewhat laid back until one of the guys, Bubba, I think his name was, remarked about her little motorcycle and asked her if she thought it could keep up with the big bikes like the Gold Wings, Harleys, and Kawasaki machines. Hoo boy, these were fighting words.
Judy said she didn’t know, (she lied) but then asked him if he was familiar with the 55 mph roll on tests. Naturally, being a redneck from West Texas, Bubba had no clue as to what she was talking about.
She explained that in the roll on tests, two bikes run side by side on the Interstate at 55 mph in top gear. At a given signal, both riders would crank the throttle wide open and see which bike was the fastest. It was a test of extreme performance and a measurement of torque.
Hey, sounded good to him. What could Judy’s diminutive little motor scooter do against his big strong KZ-1100? I knew. I had read the same article in Rider magazine about the exhaustive performance tests of the XS Eleven. This particular test had firmly established the XS Eleven as the world champion.
Another of the performance tests was the quarter mile drag race. Where do you think the name, XS Eleven came from? Right, it was the elapsed time in the quarter mile, Maynard! That‘s right, eleven seconds to cover a quarter mile from a dead stop. Bubba was about to get a rude education.
One bright morning we all went out to I-20 west of Big Spring and the test began. Bubba called us on his CB and reported that the bikes were running side by side at 55 mph.
Cubby, the Road Captain, counted off...3, 2, 1, GO!!! It was over in a moment; Judy had beaten the KZ 1100 by 20 bike lengths. Bubba howled that he was not ready and wanted to repeat the race. Judy was more than agreeable. Sure, let’s go.
Again, the two bikes lined up. On the signal, the throttles were cranked wide open. Again, Judy walked off and left him. Bubba came back a changed man. He looked the little bike over and still could not believe it.
Next up, a hot rod in it’s own right, the Suzuki GS 1100 L challenged the XS Eleven. This competition was a bit stiffer as the Suzuki had a high performance rating as well. Close, but not nearly enough. Once again the little Yamaha won easily.
Bubba, with his KZ 1100, came back and wanted to race Judy again, but this time he would run in fourth gear while she stayed in fifth. Again, Cubby set them off and again Judy beat him. Although the race was closer it still was no contest.
Frustrated now, Bubba wanted to try one more time, but this time he would be in third gear while Judy stayed in fifth. This time the KZ 1100 stayed close for about 50 yards, then fell behind as the XS Eleven roared away.
The aftermath of this display of performance was that other riders came forward on our weekend rides and asked Judy if she’d like to ride their big comfortable (read slow) bikes. They wanted to see just what this little fellow could do. Seems everyone enjoyed the unlimited performance of Judy’s bike and it was never beaten in the highway roll on contests.
Over time, this established Judy as an equal which generated some resistance among the other wives, but several of them decided to buy bikes and ride their own! Judy the trendsetter. Look what she started.
Judy’s 1979 Yamaha XS Eleven...the fastest bike in West Texas!
Well, for one thing, it looked just like the little XS 400’s we started out with. Judy was riding a Suzuki 750 at that time and that was not a good fit for her. So we began looking for a bike with shaft drive rather than chain drive. I called the Kawasaki dealer to see what the Kaw’s were selling for and turned ashen at the price! $3,895 for the KZ 1100! Ach, himmel!!
He said if I wasn’t particular, the dealer up the street was selling off left over XS Eleven’s for $2,995. I’m sure he meant this a cheap shot, but I seized upon this nugget and called the Yahama dealer. Yes, he was selling them and had three left; two Indigo Blue ones and a Tobacco Brown one. Price; $2,995.
That afternoon, right after work, Judy and I headed for Shawnee Mission, Kansas on my KZ 1300 as the dealer was open till 9:00 pm on Thursday nights. We got there around 7:30 pm, rolled out the blue XS Eleven and took it for a test ride. Oh boy, was this a responsive bike. Judy liked it too. We went back in and bought it for $2,900 with a set of case guards thrown in.
What a neat bike! On the turnpike ride home, Judy throttled up and this bike nearly popped a wheelie at 60 mph. It was torque personified!
On Saturday, we sold the GS 750 and the pick up truck, so the Yamaha was suddenly free and clear. I bought a frame mounted fairing for it but no one in Topeka had a mounting bracket. I had to make a fast trip to Manhattan for that.
After assembling all the parts, it was a simple job to mount the fairing and the case guards. The bike was Indigo Blue and the fairing matched the colors of the bike perfectly. Judy took it for a ride and loved it! As she rode the bike more and more, she began to accessorize it with a radio, a tape player, a CB, color matched saddle bags and a leftover white tail trunk. This fast little machine just made itself right at home. I liked it too, very much, as it was a real hot rod.
A couple of years later, we moved to Big Spring, Texas, which was not far from Abilene, where I was raised. Judy did not share my enthusiasm for West Texas, but she did love the early morning sunrises and the spectacular sunsets. She did not love cleaning sand out of her refrigerator after one of the frequent sand storms
Excuse me for a moment while I bring you up to date on West Texans and women. Down here, women are considered to be helpful, handy, little servants...as long as they do not interfere in the business of men.
Expectations are that the little darlin’s are happiest when doing something useful for a man. Hmmm. While that would be an alternative to the northern customs, I could not see a strong willed personality like Judy fitting in this restrictive structure.
But, for the first few meetings and rides with the Big Spring Road Riders, she was somewhat laid back until one of the guys, Bubba, I think his name was, remarked about her little motorcycle and asked her if she thought it could keep up with the big bikes like the Gold Wings, Harleys, and Kawasaki machines. Hoo boy, these were fighting words.
Judy said she didn’t know, (she lied) but then asked him if he was familiar with the 55 mph roll on tests. Naturally, being a redneck from West Texas, Bubba had no clue as to what she was talking about.
She explained that in the roll on tests, two bikes run side by side on the Interstate at 55 mph in top gear. At a given signal, both riders would crank the throttle wide open and see which bike was the fastest. It was a test of extreme performance and a measurement of torque.
Hey, sounded good to him. What could Judy’s diminutive little motor scooter do against his big strong KZ-1100? I knew. I had read the same article in Rider magazine about the exhaustive performance tests of the XS Eleven. This particular test had firmly established the XS Eleven as the world champion.
Another of the performance tests was the quarter mile drag race. Where do you think the name, XS Eleven came from? Right, it was the elapsed time in the quarter mile, Maynard! That‘s right, eleven seconds to cover a quarter mile from a dead stop. Bubba was about to get a rude education.
One bright morning we all went out to I-20 west of Big Spring and the test began. Bubba called us on his CB and reported that the bikes were running side by side at 55 mph.
Cubby, the Road Captain, counted off...3, 2, 1, GO!!! It was over in a moment; Judy had beaten the KZ 1100 by 20 bike lengths. Bubba howled that he was not ready and wanted to repeat the race. Judy was more than agreeable. Sure, let’s go.
Again, the two bikes lined up. On the signal, the throttles were cranked wide open. Again, Judy walked off and left him. Bubba came back a changed man. He looked the little bike over and still could not believe it.
Next up, a hot rod in it’s own right, the Suzuki GS 1100 L challenged the XS Eleven. This competition was a bit stiffer as the Suzuki had a high performance rating as well. Close, but not nearly enough. Once again the little Yamaha won easily.
Bubba, with his KZ 1100, came back and wanted to race Judy again, but this time he would run in fourth gear while she stayed in fifth. Again, Cubby set them off and again Judy beat him. Although the race was closer it still was no contest.
Frustrated now, Bubba wanted to try one more time, but this time he would be in third gear while Judy stayed in fifth. This time the KZ 1100 stayed close for about 50 yards, then fell behind as the XS Eleven roared away.
The aftermath of this display of performance was that other riders came forward on our weekend rides and asked Judy if she’d like to ride their big comfortable (read slow) bikes. They wanted to see just what this little fellow could do. Seems everyone enjoyed the unlimited performance of Judy’s bike and it was never beaten in the highway roll on contests.
Over time, this established Judy as an equal which generated some resistance among the other wives, but several of them decided to buy bikes and ride their own! Judy the trendsetter. Look what she started.
Judy’s 1979 Yamaha XS Eleven...the fastest bike in West Texas!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
37. Are You A Taurus?
Following our delightful day in Boston, we departed early the next morning bound for Portland, Maine, where we would board the ferry boat for the night sail to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.
Once on board I took the Dramamine and became horizontally dormant for the entire trip. I can’t relate much about the crossing except I did not get sick which was the main objective. Can’t get used to this Canadian accent. Some lady was talking about ‘troat’ fishing. Finally I realized she meant trout fishing. They thought our accents were different too.
Riding out of Yarmouth, we headed for Bridgewater where we would spend the next couple of days spending time with Gary and Carolyn’s family.
While there, I decided to go to a music store and purchase a Pink Floyd CD. I had recently heard this group on my way home from work early one morning. The cut I heard was from the album “The Wall” and I told Judy about this new group I had just learned about.
She shook her head sadly and informed me that this was not a new group or a new song. This album first hit the stores in the mid 70’s, this was now the mid 90’s! Ah, well; I may be slow but I sure am cute.
I walked up to the counter and asked the young lady there for a CD of “The Wall”. As she was making my change she asked, “Are you a Taurus?”
I said, “No, I’m a Gemini.”
She said, “Where’s that?”
"What? I said.
Hmm, I don’t know where this conversation is going. Judy, who knows all, sees all, stepped forward and said. “It’s the accent, Dude! She’s asking if you’re a tourist!”
Yeah, I’m still slow, and maybe...not so cute any more.
Once on board I took the Dramamine and became horizontally dormant for the entire trip. I can’t relate much about the crossing except I did not get sick which was the main objective. Can’t get used to this Canadian accent. Some lady was talking about ‘troat’ fishing. Finally I realized she meant trout fishing. They thought our accents were different too.
Riding out of Yarmouth, we headed for Bridgewater where we would spend the next couple of days spending time with Gary and Carolyn’s family.
While there, I decided to go to a music store and purchase a Pink Floyd CD. I had recently heard this group on my way home from work early one morning. The cut I heard was from the album “The Wall” and I told Judy about this new group I had just learned about.
She shook her head sadly and informed me that this was not a new group or a new song. This album first hit the stores in the mid 70’s, this was now the mid 90’s! Ah, well; I may be slow but I sure am cute.
I walked up to the counter and asked the young lady there for a CD of “The Wall”. As she was making my change she asked, “Are you a Taurus?”
I said, “No, I’m a Gemini.”
She said, “Where’s that?”
"What? I said.
Hmm, I don’t know where this conversation is going. Judy, who knows all, sees all, stepped forward and said. “It’s the accent, Dude! She’s asking if you’re a tourist!”
Yeah, I’m still slow, and maybe...not so cute any more.
36. The Magic Of Boston
July 1, 1995, found a large group of us bound for Nova Scotia. One of our group had a young son who lived with his family near Bridgewater and we were going to spend a couple of days with him before going on to the Cabot Trail.
We put in a couple of long days on the road trying to reach our motel in Woburn, Massachusetts by July 3 rd. We really wanted to be in Boston for the July fourth celebrations because we had been told it was spectacular.
We were blessed with good weather the whole way and arrived at the Woburn motel in mid afternoon on the third. We rested, chatted with other guests and trying to understand the Boston accent. Simply put, P S D S becomes... pierced ears! Got it?
Early next morning, we gathered at the Amtrak stop on the north end of the parking lot. Judy had picked this motel because of this exact reason; it was for the convenience, you see.
We took over one whole car and everyone we met was very friendly, asking where we came from, what we were doing, what kind of bikes we rode, and commented on our different accents and the slow way we talked.
We were overwhelmed with the gracious good manners of these locals. We had heard many stories of the rude and nasty Bostonians, but we saw none of that. Of course, we did not run into the despicable Ted Kennedy; that would have changed our impressions.
As the train made it’s way toward Boston, some of the ladies struck up a conversation with a young Korean lad name Mike Jung. Mike came to the USA when he was three years old as an adopted child. He answered many questions, about how to get from the train to downtown, where was the Cheer’s Bar, the Commons, the Tall Ships, the Esplanade, Paul Revere’s house, etc. He must have enjoyed our company because he cancelled his work day and agreed to show us around Boston.
So we rode the “T” from the train station to down town Boston. The “T” is actually the subway known as the MTA that was made famous in the Kingston Trio’s hit song, “Charlie and the MTA.” In fact, the song kept running through my head as I saw the familiar names of the various stations; Jamaica Plain, Chelsea Street Station, Roxbury...
Soon we reached our station and disembarked. Mike counted us and took us first to the Boston Common where parades, re-enactments and speeches were underway all around us.
Some of the speeches were delivered by truly gifted actors and I got a chill thinking this is where our struggle for freedom first started. The struggle is still going on today, only we are fighting Liberals traitors from within! But enough already! This is about a great trip we took and a memorable day in Boston on July fourth.
From there we walked to a long row of street vendors with lots of good things to eat. This group has a motto, ride to eat, eat to ride. This turned our to be one of the best dinner rides we ever had!
Next up; the Tall Ships.; absolutely awe inspiring! When one stops to think these great vessels crossed oceans to get here, bearing human cargo, folks who had left everything familiar to come to a strange unknown land to begin a new life and escape tyranny where they lived, it brings home just how important our freedom really is.
From there, we went to the Cheer’s bar which is actually known as the Bull and Finch. I was surprised at how small it really is. Friendly place though, so we had a soft drink, toasted Norm and the gang, bought T shirts and hats, then proceeded to Paul Revere’s home. Of course, then we had to go see the Old North Church and follow some interpretative, self guided walks.
By this time, the girls were in need of some shopping so Mike took us all to a large shopping mall where the women disappeared inside and the men sat outside and rested. When the ladies returned, Mike headed us toward the Esplanade and we heard the Pointer Sisters sing with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. Great music!
Soon Mike gathered us together and herded us to the St. Charles River Bridge, actually taking us to the highest point so we could see the fireworks in the harbor below. This was the highlight of the day; seeing all the people and the fireworks display. Mike really did a good job today.
But there was one more task remaining and that was to get off the bridge and back to the Amtrak Station. Mike solved that by advising we should bypass the “T” and walk the eight blocks to the train. He had us hold hands in a long line like school children and we set off at a brisk pace. We got there with time to spare.
Some of us got together and starting passing the hat for Mike as he had given up a day’s pay to escort us around the city he knew so well. We came up with $100 which I thought was a little light, but hey! I’m generous to a fault. We did enjoy his company and he was an excellent guide.
He rode with us on the train as he still had to get back to his home which was well past our stop at the motel. We all shook his hand, the women hugged him and we waved good bye.
The end of the perfect day; the magic of Boston.
We put in a couple of long days on the road trying to reach our motel in Woburn, Massachusetts by July 3 rd. We really wanted to be in Boston for the July fourth celebrations because we had been told it was spectacular.
We were blessed with good weather the whole way and arrived at the Woburn motel in mid afternoon on the third. We rested, chatted with other guests and trying to understand the Boston accent. Simply put, P S D S becomes... pierced ears! Got it?
Early next morning, we gathered at the Amtrak stop on the north end of the parking lot. Judy had picked this motel because of this exact reason; it was for the convenience, you see.
We took over one whole car and everyone we met was very friendly, asking where we came from, what we were doing, what kind of bikes we rode, and commented on our different accents and the slow way we talked.
We were overwhelmed with the gracious good manners of these locals. We had heard many stories of the rude and nasty Bostonians, but we saw none of that. Of course, we did not run into the despicable Ted Kennedy; that would have changed our impressions.
As the train made it’s way toward Boston, some of the ladies struck up a conversation with a young Korean lad name Mike Jung. Mike came to the USA when he was three years old as an adopted child. He answered many questions, about how to get from the train to downtown, where was the Cheer’s Bar, the Commons, the Tall Ships, the Esplanade, Paul Revere’s house, etc. He must have enjoyed our company because he cancelled his work day and agreed to show us around Boston.
So we rode the “T” from the train station to down town Boston. The “T” is actually the subway known as the MTA that was made famous in the Kingston Trio’s hit song, “Charlie and the MTA.” In fact, the song kept running through my head as I saw the familiar names of the various stations; Jamaica Plain, Chelsea Street Station, Roxbury...
Soon we reached our station and disembarked. Mike counted us and took us first to the Boston Common where parades, re-enactments and speeches were underway all around us.
Some of the speeches were delivered by truly gifted actors and I got a chill thinking this is where our struggle for freedom first started. The struggle is still going on today, only we are fighting Liberals traitors from within! But enough already! This is about a great trip we took and a memorable day in Boston on July fourth.
From there we walked to a long row of street vendors with lots of good things to eat. This group has a motto, ride to eat, eat to ride. This turned our to be one of the best dinner rides we ever had!
Next up; the Tall Ships.; absolutely awe inspiring! When one stops to think these great vessels crossed oceans to get here, bearing human cargo, folks who had left everything familiar to come to a strange unknown land to begin a new life and escape tyranny where they lived, it brings home just how important our freedom really is.
From there, we went to the Cheer’s bar which is actually known as the Bull and Finch. I was surprised at how small it really is. Friendly place though, so we had a soft drink, toasted Norm and the gang, bought T shirts and hats, then proceeded to Paul Revere’s home. Of course, then we had to go see the Old North Church and follow some interpretative, self guided walks.
By this time, the girls were in need of some shopping so Mike took us all to a large shopping mall where the women disappeared inside and the men sat outside and rested. When the ladies returned, Mike headed us toward the Esplanade and we heard the Pointer Sisters sing with the Boston Pops Symphony Orchestra. Great music!
Soon Mike gathered us together and herded us to the St. Charles River Bridge, actually taking us to the highest point so we could see the fireworks in the harbor below. This was the highlight of the day; seeing all the people and the fireworks display. Mike really did a good job today.
But there was one more task remaining and that was to get off the bridge and back to the Amtrak Station. Mike solved that by advising we should bypass the “T” and walk the eight blocks to the train. He had us hold hands in a long line like school children and we set off at a brisk pace. We got there with time to spare.
Some of us got together and starting passing the hat for Mike as he had given up a day’s pay to escort us around the city he knew so well. We came up with $100 which I thought was a little light, but hey! I’m generous to a fault. We did enjoy his company and he was an excellent guide.
He rode with us on the train as he still had to get back to his home which was well past our stop at the motel. We all shook his hand, the women hugged him and we waved good bye.
The end of the perfect day; the magic of Boston.
35. The Raisin Bran Smugglers
Winter time doldrums had set in. Paul and I had endured as many short days as we could stand without benefit of sunshine and dry roads. We were in bad need of a fix as we were really suffering from cabin fever and needed to get ‘in the wind‘. You know what I mean?
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
In mid February, we caught a break; a day with bright sun, no wind, and mild temperatures in the high 50’s. A bike trip was in order, but where to go for an out and back ride in one day?
After much thought, we decided on Falls City, Nebraska. There was a Safeway grocery store there that sold Skinner’s Raisin Bran and that was a good enough reason for the two of us.
So...two innocent little lambs (innocent? you buy that? after reading the last story?) started out for a day of riding in the heart of winter. We had gone just a few miles before deciding we better return home and get some warmer clothes. This was way before the insulated light weight suits so popular today.
We put on thermal underwear, heavy socks, multiple layers of winter clothes, snowmobile gloves, ski masks, insulated boots, and heavy coats. We were so bundled up, one could mistake us for the Michelin Man and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We gave not a care; we were warm! And we were off for an adventure of the first rank!
We had a good ride through the back roads on our way to Falls City. Each little town brought waves from normal people who must have thought we were escapees from one of Topeka’s mental institutions. Did we care? Nein! We knew what we were doing and that was enough for us.
After a couple of hours, the cold and the coffee we had consumed created some serious problems as we could not get enough clothes off quickly in order to get rid of the load the coffee. This must have been hilarious for those who drove past and honked as we were hopping around on one leg while hiding behind trees trying not to wet down our garments.
Finally we were greatly relieved and all bundled up again. The trip continued without incident till we reached the parking lot at the Safeway store in Falls City, Nebraska. Once there, we repeated the fumbling with cold hands to remove enough clothes to be able to walk into the store.
As we strolled through the cereal aisle looking for Skinner’s Raisin Bran, we noticed a small, but growing crowd of groupies following us around. Some were even beginning to grin hugely at us. What was going on?
Ah, ha! Here’s the raisin bran. We grabbed about a dozen boxes each and headed for the check out counter followed by our new fan club. The young checker greeted us warmly and asked where we were from. She also asked if the stores there did not have raisin bran, how long would it take us to get home, what was caused those little holes in our faces, what were we going to do about the ice on the road, etc. A little child asked her mommie what was wrong with those guys.
Ice on the road? We didn’t know nothin’ about no ice on the road! Heck, we didn’t even suspect anything. We quickly paid for the cereal and headed out the door. We got to the bikes, packed the cereal into the saddlebags on the bikes and finally looked at each other. What we saw were hundreds of little red pock marks from the ski masks! Well, that mystery was solved but what about the ice on the road?
At this time a policeman drove up and asked where we were headed, We told him we were headed home to Topeka after coming here to get some raisin bran. He wasn’t sure we were safe to let go, but when he saw most of the customers and the employees of the Safeway store waving goodbye to us, he thought we were amusing at least and maybe even...harmless. He too had a big smile on his face as he watched us put on all our clothes and head for home. After all, isn’t Topeka where all those mental institutions are?
By this time, it was approaching 3:00 pm and the sun had gone behind a bank of big gray clouds. The temperature was on the bank clock and read a dismal 30 degrees. We knew it would not get warmer as we headed south. Hey, it ain’t easy being a hard core bike rider in winter. Fortunately for us the storm held off till we got home so we didn’t have to worry about slick roads. This was just another slight miscalculation as we journeyed down life‘s highway. As we rode away, the words of the check out girl came back to us.
She had said, “I nearly called in sick today. I’m so glad I came to work. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!”
Thursday, June 17, 2010
34. Melanie and the Elevator
This story really happened in a big city Hospital where I worked. The only connection to motorcyclin’ is that I occasionally rode to work. This story is simply too good to leave out.
Practical jokes are rampant in Hospitals, especially during the night shift. Some say it is a safety relief valve; others say it indicates severe mental disorders. Regardless, they are a fact of life and usually are harmless, and actually relieve the tension in long critical situations.
Let me introduce you to Melanie. Melanie is professional, competent, sweet, sensitive person who is kind to her patients; a delightful co-worker, and very attractive with blond hair and deep blue eyes.
One evening , she was called to 5 North to see a patient in respiratory distress. Since her office was on the ground level, the fastest way to the fifth floor was the elevator. So with her little bag of patent nostrums, she hurried to the elevator.
When the elevator door opened she jumped in quickly and hit the button for the fifth floor. As the door closed, she realized someone had been on there before her and had really smelled up the place. The air had taken on an unhealthy green hue and the fumes were very strong. (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means the previous occupant had farted in the elevator)
Holding her hand over her nose, she breathed very little as the elevator made it’s way up to the fifth floor. When the door finally opened, she ran out and bumped into the arms of elderly Nurse Blodgette, the house supervisor. She got part way down to her patient’s room when she suddenly realized, Nurse Blodgette would undoubtedly associate the bad smell with her! Melanie was mortified!
In due time, she treated her patient and returned to our office. I was enjoying some coffee and relaxing a bit while Melanie poured out her tale of woe. I could see the humor of the situation and suggested that I should call Blodgette and explain what had happened so she would not think ill of Melanie.
No! Melanie was adamant. Under no circumstances was I to ever mention the elevator episode to Blodgette. Ah, well; I told her I would not embarrass her further and changed the subject. I lied. Did I mention that I sometimes embellish an event to improve it’s quality? I should have.
We talked of other things and separated to make our appointed rounds. She planned to let some time go by and eventually she would find the opportunity to explain to Blodgette what really happened.
But that seemed so...incomplete. Surely I could interfere with that plan. Let us explore some of the options...
Ah, yes, my little chickadee; I have the plan right here, but I need an accomplice. The accomplice I sought was one Miss Jody, an RN working in the Intensive Care Unit with a sense of humor almost as warped as my own.
I hastened to the ICU and explained what had happened with Melanie and Blodgette. And Jody, no surprise here; immediately signed on to create more mayhem. She paged Melanie and excitedly told Melanie she was needed in the ICU right now!!
Melanie told Jody that I was covering ICU and to call me. Jody then told Melanie I was busy in the ER and she needed help right now.
Melanie then asked what the problem was. Jody said Nurse Blodgette had staggered into the ICU in serious respiratory distress holding her hands up to her throat and mumbled something about...Melanie and the elevator!
After a lengthy silence, Melanie told Jody to “You tell Pecos Bill that I said he was an a**hole!”
A**hole? Street language from such a sweet young lady?
Appalling!!
Practical jokes are rampant in Hospitals, especially during the night shift. Some say it is a safety relief valve; others say it indicates severe mental disorders. Regardless, they are a fact of life and usually are harmless, and actually relieve the tension in long critical situations.
Let me introduce you to Melanie. Melanie is professional, competent, sweet, sensitive person who is kind to her patients; a delightful co-worker, and very attractive with blond hair and deep blue eyes.
One evening , she was called to 5 North to see a patient in respiratory distress. Since her office was on the ground level, the fastest way to the fifth floor was the elevator. So with her little bag of patent nostrums, she hurried to the elevator.
When the elevator door opened she jumped in quickly and hit the button for the fifth floor. As the door closed, she realized someone had been on there before her and had really smelled up the place. The air had taken on an unhealthy green hue and the fumes were very strong. (for those who live in Topeka, Kansas, this means the previous occupant had farted in the elevator)
Holding her hand over her nose, she breathed very little as the elevator made it’s way up to the fifth floor. When the door finally opened, she ran out and bumped into the arms of elderly Nurse Blodgette, the house supervisor. She got part way down to her patient’s room when she suddenly realized, Nurse Blodgette would undoubtedly associate the bad smell with her! Melanie was mortified!
In due time, she treated her patient and returned to our office. I was enjoying some coffee and relaxing a bit while Melanie poured out her tale of woe. I could see the humor of the situation and suggested that I should call Blodgette and explain what had happened so she would not think ill of Melanie.
No! Melanie was adamant. Under no circumstances was I to ever mention the elevator episode to Blodgette. Ah, well; I told her I would not embarrass her further and changed the subject. I lied. Did I mention that I sometimes embellish an event to improve it’s quality? I should have.
We talked of other things and separated to make our appointed rounds. She planned to let some time go by and eventually she would find the opportunity to explain to Blodgette what really happened.
But that seemed so...incomplete. Surely I could interfere with that plan. Let us explore some of the options...
Ah, yes, my little chickadee; I have the plan right here, but I need an accomplice. The accomplice I sought was one Miss Jody, an RN working in the Intensive Care Unit with a sense of humor almost as warped as my own.
I hastened to the ICU and explained what had happened with Melanie and Blodgette. And Jody, no surprise here; immediately signed on to create more mayhem. She paged Melanie and excitedly told Melanie she was needed in the ICU right now!!
Melanie told Jody that I was covering ICU and to call me. Jody then told Melanie I was busy in the ER and she needed help right now.
Melanie then asked what the problem was. Jody said Nurse Blodgette had staggered into the ICU in serious respiratory distress holding her hands up to her throat and mumbled something about...Melanie and the elevator!
After a lengthy silence, Melanie told Jody to “You tell Pecos Bill that I said he was an a**hole!”
A**hole? Street language from such a sweet young lady?
Appalling!!
Monday, May 3, 2010
33. Dangerous Bathrooms
Our good friends Ken and June were camped at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison one year while on their summer vacation. Their site was a secluded one, tucked away back in a little grove of trees far from the hustle and bustle of the busy campground. They were enjoying the peace and quiet when the Wart family circus mounted an invasion! The racket they made was enough to make the welkin ring!
Mr. and Mrs. Wart had many children, ranging in age from 3 to 12. They had been very active in the early years of their marriage having brought into this world no less than nine progeny! With all these offspring, there was no need to ask what they used to do for entertainment!
Tired of producing a new little Wart every year, Mrs. Wart, in desperation, tried to dampen the fire in the loins of Mr. Wart by placing a sharp edged pebble in his shoe; reasoning that it would make him limp. Don’t laugh, it worked, because little Jeremy is now three years old and has no younger siblings...
The Warts pulled into the campsite nearest to Ken and June and proceeded to set up camp with the 32 foot long Prowler camper towed behind a large, clattering diesel pickup truck! With the great noise from the children racing around and Mama Wart screeching directions to Papa Wart as he tried to back the big trailer into a tight spot, the peacfull tranquility was replaced by pandemonium and smelly exhaust fumes.
Ken and June looked at one another with dismay as they realized that it was too late for them to move to another campground up the road. The noise from next door continued as the kids began gathering wood for a fire so they could roast hot dogs and marshmallows. End of the restful evening.
Sometime later, the oldest daughter came running back to the trailer, cutting through Ken and June’s campsite screaming, “Mama! Mama! Come quick. Jeremy’s gotten himself stuck in the bathroom and can’t get out!”
Mama Wart yelled back, “You get him unstuck and come in for the evening. It’s gettin’ dark and supper’s almost ready.”
The girl yelled again, “Mama, you don’t understand. Jeremy fell down in the bathroom. He’s down inside the big toilet and can’t get out!” Jeremy was the little three year old and at this point, Mama Wart did not yet realize that this was a chemical toilet and that her little darlin’ had fallen down into the holding receptacle!
When she finally understood what her daughter was telling her, Mama Wart looked sadly over at June and said, “Lord, I think it would be easier to just have another one than to go get this boy!”
June didn’t elaborate on whether or not she helped with the clean up of young Jeremy.
Vacations. Sometimes great, sometimes not.
Mr. and Mrs. Wart had many children, ranging in age from 3 to 12. They had been very active in the early years of their marriage having brought into this world no less than nine progeny! With all these offspring, there was no need to ask what they used to do for entertainment!
Tired of producing a new little Wart every year, Mrs. Wart, in desperation, tried to dampen the fire in the loins of Mr. Wart by placing a sharp edged pebble in his shoe; reasoning that it would make him limp. Don’t laugh, it worked, because little Jeremy is now three years old and has no younger siblings...
The Warts pulled into the campsite nearest to Ken and June and proceeded to set up camp with the 32 foot long Prowler camper towed behind a large, clattering diesel pickup truck! With the great noise from the children racing around and Mama Wart screeching directions to Papa Wart as he tried to back the big trailer into a tight spot, the peacfull tranquility was replaced by pandemonium and smelly exhaust fumes.
Ken and June looked at one another with dismay as they realized that it was too late for them to move to another campground up the road. The noise from next door continued as the kids began gathering wood for a fire so they could roast hot dogs and marshmallows. End of the restful evening.
Sometime later, the oldest daughter came running back to the trailer, cutting through Ken and June’s campsite screaming, “Mama! Mama! Come quick. Jeremy’s gotten himself stuck in the bathroom and can’t get out!”
Mama Wart yelled back, “You get him unstuck and come in for the evening. It’s gettin’ dark and supper’s almost ready.”
The girl yelled again, “Mama, you don’t understand. Jeremy fell down in the bathroom. He’s down inside the big toilet and can’t get out!” Jeremy was the little three year old and at this point, Mama Wart did not yet realize that this was a chemical toilet and that her little darlin’ had fallen down into the holding receptacle!
When she finally understood what her daughter was telling her, Mama Wart looked sadly over at June and said, “Lord, I think it would be easier to just have another one than to go get this boy!”
June didn’t elaborate on whether or not she helped with the clean up of young Jeremy.
Vacations. Sometimes great, sometimes not.
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