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| January - March 2009 |
The Kitchen Counter Archives
January 3, 2009
It's that time of year again.
To look on the bright side of winter, I get about 3 months to heal my body
from the other 9 months of racing. I also get some down time to restore my
aging fleet of dirt bikes to competition form. This winter is the first in 4 years
that I have all my worldly possessions under one roof, making it much more
comfortable to disassemble my KX250 down to its frame. It's a lot more fun
to do this in a 2-car garage whose interior temperature only hits freezing when
it's 7 below zero outside (and that's nothing a kerosene heater can't take care
of). No way do I miss that storage unit in the Chicago 'burbs.
So after 3 years of racing the KX250, it was time to clean and inspect every
component. Most of this had already been done, leaving what my
brother-in-law Brian described as a "motorcycle in a box":
To look on the bright side of winter, I get about 3 months to heal my body
from the other 9 months of racing. I also get some down time to restore my
aging fleet of dirt bikes to competition form. This winter is the first in 4 years
that I have all my worldly possessions under one roof, making it much more
comfortable to disassemble my KX250 down to its frame. It's a lot more fun
to do this in a 2-car garage whose interior temperature only hits freezing when
it's 7 below zero outside (and that's nothing a kerosene heater can't take care
of). No way do I miss that storage unit in the Chicago 'burbs.
So after 3 years of racing the KX250, it was time to clean and inspect every
component. Most of this had already been done, leaving what my
brother-in-law Brian described as a "motorcycle in a box":
I don't normally put more than 3 seasons on a dirt bike, but I've sworn off all
major purchases until I no longer own real estate in Chicago. That could be
awhile, so I'm prepared to go another year with the KX250. And why not? The
bike has been flawless (wood being knocked as I type this).
What's left is the complete engine resting comfortably on my kitchen counter,
slated for a thorough cleaning and inspection this week. And why do that
inside the garage, when my kitchen counter is so convenient (and warm)? I'll
tell you why: it's a rented apartment. There is, however, a flipside to this
logic. Right now there's a guy in Chicago, renting a sweet condo owned by
yours truly, who may just be thinking the same thing.....
major purchases until I no longer own real estate in Chicago. That could be
awhile, so I'm prepared to go another year with the KX250. And why not? The
bike has been flawless (wood being knocked as I type this).
What's left is the complete engine resting comfortably on my kitchen counter,
slated for a thorough cleaning and inspection this week. And why do that
inside the garage, when my kitchen counter is so convenient (and warm)? I'll
tell you why: it's a rented apartment. There is, however, a flipside to this
logic. Right now there's a guy in Chicago, renting a sweet condo owned by
yours truly, who may just be thinking the same thing.....
January 22, 2009
There's a scene in an old Michael J. Fox movie called Doc Hollywood where Dr.
Benjamin Stone's damaged car is repaired and the mechanic hands him the
keys and some nuts and bolts. "Always a few left over" the mechanic explains.
Same thing happens to me whenever I tear down my motorcycles. The KX250
went from this to this to this, and after was all done, I ended up with the above
homeless nuts and bolts. It's an unexplainable mechanical phenomenon.
Benjamin Stone's damaged car is repaired and the mechanic hands him the
keys and some nuts and bolts. "Always a few left over" the mechanic explains.
Same thing happens to me whenever I tear down my motorcycles. The KX250
went from this to this to this, and after was all done, I ended up with the above
homeless nuts and bolts. It's an unexplainable mechanical phenomenon.
February 9, 2009
I've been a subscriber of RacerX magazine for a few years now and always
enjoy its writing and photography. It's the ESPN The Magazine of motocross - the
depth of coverage generally exceeds the needs of most casual fans. The
March '09 issue contained a story about Honey Lake Motocross, a world class
track near Milford, California. The article describes the nearly unbelievable
efforts required of the owners to comply with local ordinances. Since 2001, the
owners claim to have spent approximately $275,000 in legal fees defending its
right to operate the track. Why?
Noise.
Based on aerial maps, the Honey Lake property appears to be within a
half-mile of a few local neighbors, all of who were initially on board with the
construction of the new track and actually provided letters of support during the
permit process. But a funny thing happened when the motorcycles arrived: the
neighbors began complaining. It wasn't the dust or the traffic or the extra
demand placed on the local ambulance service. The noise was what turned
supporters into foes.
Back in the good old days of dirt biking, personal injury lawyers and
environmentalists were common opponents of off-road motorcycling. Today,
Enemy #1 is the uncorked four-stroke exhaust. If Bill Clinton was in office the
last time you visited a motocross track, prepare for some unfamiliar sounds
the next time you stop by. Gone are the high pitched ring-ding-dings of two
stroke engines. Instead, the low braaap-brap of four stroke engines
dominates. The decibel output of these engines is often similar to that of two
strokes, but the quality of the sound is what causes problems. The low pitch of
a four stroke engine carries further - a nice thing if you're piloting an oil
tanker, but exactly what you don't want if you're a motocross track owner.
One thing is certain about the advent of four strokes in off-road motorcycling:
they are killing our sport. Actually, that isn't quite accurate. Four stroke
exhaust systems, along with riders who believe louder is faster, are killing our
sport. Nobody wants to hear dirt bikes from three miles away, but that is a very
real possibility if you strip out the internals of your four stroke muffler. Not so
with a two stroke - the sound just won't carry that far.
I have raced behind four stroke bikes at hare scrambles that were so loud my
ears hurt, and that was with my helmet on. Passing those guys is so very
satisfying, but so is getting passed by guys like Jeff Fredette on whisper-quiet
four strokes. They get it.
Too bad they're in the minority.
enjoy its writing and photography. It's the ESPN The Magazine of motocross - the
depth of coverage generally exceeds the needs of most casual fans. The
March '09 issue contained a story about Honey Lake Motocross, a world class
track near Milford, California. The article describes the nearly unbelievable
efforts required of the owners to comply with local ordinances. Since 2001, the
owners claim to have spent approximately $275,000 in legal fees defending its
right to operate the track. Why?
Noise.
Based on aerial maps, the Honey Lake property appears to be within a
half-mile of a few local neighbors, all of who were initially on board with the
construction of the new track and actually provided letters of support during the
permit process. But a funny thing happened when the motorcycles arrived: the
neighbors began complaining. It wasn't the dust or the traffic or the extra
demand placed on the local ambulance service. The noise was what turned
supporters into foes.
Back in the good old days of dirt biking, personal injury lawyers and
environmentalists were common opponents of off-road motorcycling. Today,
Enemy #1 is the uncorked four-stroke exhaust. If Bill Clinton was in office the
last time you visited a motocross track, prepare for some unfamiliar sounds
the next time you stop by. Gone are the high pitched ring-ding-dings of two
stroke engines. Instead, the low braaap-brap of four stroke engines
dominates. The decibel output of these engines is often similar to that of two
strokes, but the quality of the sound is what causes problems. The low pitch of
a four stroke engine carries further - a nice thing if you're piloting an oil
tanker, but exactly what you don't want if you're a motocross track owner.
One thing is certain about the advent of four strokes in off-road motorcycling:
they are killing our sport. Actually, that isn't quite accurate. Four stroke
exhaust systems, along with riders who believe louder is faster, are killing our
sport. Nobody wants to hear dirt bikes from three miles away, but that is a very
real possibility if you strip out the internals of your four stroke muffler. Not so
with a two stroke - the sound just won't carry that far.
I have raced behind four stroke bikes at hare scrambles that were so loud my
ears hurt, and that was with my helmet on. Passing those guys is so very
satisfying, but so is getting passed by guys like Jeff Fredette on whisper-quiet
four strokes. They get it.
Too bad they're in the minority.
February 13, 2009
On the kitchen counter today is my direct economic benefit from the American
Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009. You are seeing what is commonly
referred to as squat, zilch, dick, nada, or that space between Chris Brown's ears.
There's your $787 billion stimulus in my world. But hey, at least some houses
will get weatherized.
I was really excited about the $15,000 home buyer's tax credit (the one that
didn't make it into the final stimulus bill) but not for the reason you might
suppose. Sure, I'm in the process of buying a house right now and I'd have
an extra $15,000 in my pocket after I file my taxes next year. That would be
pretty cool. But I honestly don't care about the $15,000. Way more
concerning is the much larger-sized equity in my condo. I can't get my hands
on that equity because it's been so tough to sell the dang thing. Had the tax
credit remained in the stimulus bill, I would have dropped the condo price by
$15,000 because I'd get it back in the form of a tax credit on the purchase of
my next house. The person who buys my condo would get a more reasonable
price and might do the same thing I did - sell their existing home for a lower
price - or if they're buying for the first time, they've now got $15,000 more to
spend on the kind of stuff that keeps people employed. How is that not a
win-win for everyone (or for me, at least)?
Yeah, I know, the win-win thing breaks down when you're like me and decide
to buy a new house. There's nobody moving out of a newly constructed home
and buying another house somewhere else. But once again, we're talking
about how this affects me, got it?
But alas, I will do no stimulizing. Until that damn condo sells, I ain't buying
anything I don't need for survival (except motorcycle parts).
The federal government spends $787 billion, I get what's on my kitchen
counter.
Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009. You are seeing what is commonly
referred to as squat, zilch, dick, nada, or that space between Chris Brown's ears.
There's your $787 billion stimulus in my world. But hey, at least some houses
will get weatherized.
I was really excited about the $15,000 home buyer's tax credit (the one that
didn't make it into the final stimulus bill) but not for the reason you might
suppose. Sure, I'm in the process of buying a house right now and I'd have
an extra $15,000 in my pocket after I file my taxes next year. That would be
pretty cool. But I honestly don't care about the $15,000. Way more
concerning is the much larger-sized equity in my condo. I can't get my hands
on that equity because it's been so tough to sell the dang thing. Had the tax
credit remained in the stimulus bill, I would have dropped the condo price by
$15,000 because I'd get it back in the form of a tax credit on the purchase of
my next house. The person who buys my condo would get a more reasonable
price and might do the same thing I did - sell their existing home for a lower
price - or if they're buying for the first time, they've now got $15,000 more to
spend on the kind of stuff that keeps people employed. How is that not a
win-win for everyone (or for me, at least)?
Yeah, I know, the win-win thing breaks down when you're like me and decide
to buy a new house. There's nobody moving out of a newly constructed home
and buying another house somewhere else. But once again, we're talking
about how this affects me, got it?
But alas, I will do no stimulizing. Until that damn condo sells, I ain't buying
anything I don't need for survival (except motorcycle parts).
The federal government spends $787 billion, I get what's on my kitchen
counter.
March 1, 2009
Since I graduated from high school nearly 20 years ago, the longest I've lived
in any one spot is 3.5 years. Do the math - it's a lot of moving. With exactly
one month remaining on my apartment lease, I'm nearly ready to pack my
stuff for the 10th time since I left home after college.
Interesting reminders of the past always turn up with each move. Here we
have my student ID from the University of Illinois (1989); an old Illinois
driver's license renewed in 1999 (while I was actually a resident of Missouri); a
safe driver recognition from George Ryan (then just a relatively benign
Secretary of State); and a collection of business cards spanning my career
from 1993-2008.
Gotta run to Home Depot...used up all my packing tape.
in any one spot is 3.5 years. Do the math - it's a lot of moving. With exactly
one month remaining on my apartment lease, I'm nearly ready to pack my
stuff for the 10th time since I left home after college.
Interesting reminders of the past always turn up with each move. Here we
have my student ID from the University of Illinois (1989); an old Illinois
driver's license renewed in 1999 (while I was actually a resident of Missouri); a
safe driver recognition from George Ryan (then just a relatively benign
Secretary of State); and a collection of business cards spanning my career
from 1993-2008.
Gotta run to Home Depot...used up all my packing tape.
March 1, 2009
In my younger years, I was a regular recreational basketball player in
various moderately unorganized, call-you-own-foul games. Then came
dirt biking and hoops took a back seat to mud, sweat and gears.
However, this year I was volunteered to play in a Wednesday night
basketball league sponsored in part by a bank owned by the same holding
company as my employer. One of my co-workers sized me up as old and
thin and decided that was good enough for a spot on the State Bank team
in the Freeport 30 & Over basketball league, a/k/a Hoops for Old Guys
Trying to Relive Past Glory. I was told to show up at the King Community
Campus at 6:15 last Wednesday, which I did with a belly full of Quizno's
sandwich.
The first sign that this was somewhat semi-serious basketball came when I
pulled up the league's website. The fact that the league actually had a
website was enough to scare me. Next came my arrival at the gym, where
guys with zebra suits were standing around a scorers table. Referees?
Yikes, this was as real, like my 8th grade basketball team (starting #2
guard, baby - Stockland Shorthorns Class of '85).
various moderately unorganized, call-you-own-foul games. Then came
dirt biking and hoops took a back seat to mud, sweat and gears.
However, this year I was volunteered to play in a Wednesday night
basketball league sponsored in part by a bank owned by the same holding
company as my employer. One of my co-workers sized me up as old and
thin and decided that was good enough for a spot on the State Bank team
in the Freeport 30 & Over basketball league, a/k/a Hoops for Old Guys
Trying to Relive Past Glory. I was told to show up at the King Community
Campus at 6:15 last Wednesday, which I did with a belly full of Quizno's
sandwich.
The first sign that this was somewhat semi-serious basketball came when I
pulled up the league's website. The fact that the league actually had a
website was enough to scare me. Next came my arrival at the gym, where
guys with zebra suits were standing around a scorers table. Referees?
Yikes, this was as real, like my 8th grade basketball team (starting #2
guard, baby - Stockland Shorthorns Class of '85).
Then there were the matching t-shirts, stacked in a pile next to our bench.
I pulled out the smallest shirt then available - 2XL - and glanced across
the court. A guy with a video camera and a tripod was set up in the stands,
filming our every missed layup. An announcer noted that the games would
be broadcast on Comcast's local public access channel. Say what?
Our team was made up of a group of league veterans, who showed me
why it's helpful to actually play the game a little bit before the first night of
basketball. Within 20 minutes I had a silver-dollar-sized blister on my left
foot and a heart rate of about 340. With only 7 guys on our team showing
up to play, I got plenty of court time. Mercifully, the 20-minute halves were
on a countdown clock that didn't stop running until two minutes were left in
each half.
Although the other team, organized by the Freeport mayor, had several
more players, we eventually wore them down and pulled away in the
second half. One game, one win...eight games to go. As of today, I think
my legs are almost usable again. Almost.
I pulled out the smallest shirt then available - 2XL - and glanced across
the court. A guy with a video camera and a tripod was set up in the stands,
filming our every missed layup. An announcer noted that the games would
be broadcast on Comcast's local public access channel. Say what?
Our team was made up of a group of league veterans, who showed me
why it's helpful to actually play the game a little bit before the first night of
basketball. Within 20 minutes I had a silver-dollar-sized blister on my left
foot and a heart rate of about 340. With only 7 guys on our team showing
up to play, I got plenty of court time. Mercifully, the 20-minute halves were
on a countdown clock that didn't stop running until two minutes were left in
each half.
Although the other team, organized by the Freeport mayor, had several
more players, we eventually wore them down and pulled away in the
second half. One game, one win...eight games to go. As of today, I think
my legs are almost usable again. Almost.
March 19, 2009
The real cost of trophies is no
longer measured in dollars and
cents and visits to the doctor. It's
now measured in terms of
recovery time. Four days removed
from my first race of the year, I
am still feeling the effects. The
only visible evidence of my
Sunday at Prophetstown, Illinois
was a thumb blister and a couple
of light bruises where I rubbed a
low hanging tree branch. I was
not tired during the race, nor did I
make any uncharacteristic errors
on the course. In other words, it
was just another race.
But when 3.5 months go by
between rides, my body has a
certain way of voicing its
objections. It waits about 24
hours, then screams something
to the effect of "You are an idiot
for not riding during the
off-season and now you must
pay."
To further prove that dirt biking is
a full body workout, just about
every muscle throbbed by Monday
night. Legs, lower back, arms,
shoulders, all in unison. Despite
rockin' my 25-lb dumbbells and
incline bench all winter, as well as
occasional stationary rides on my
bicycle trainer, there is no
substitute for the real thing.
So tonight, I am nearly able to lie
comfortably on the couch in
full-on March Madness euphoria.
Next winter, I will invest in ice
studs and hand warmers.
longer measured in dollars and
cents and visits to the doctor. It's
now measured in terms of
recovery time. Four days removed
from my first race of the year, I
am still feeling the effects. The
only visible evidence of my
Sunday at Prophetstown, Illinois
was a thumb blister and a couple
of light bruises where I rubbed a
low hanging tree branch. I was
not tired during the race, nor did I
make any uncharacteristic errors
on the course. In other words, it
was just another race.
But when 3.5 months go by
between rides, my body has a
certain way of voicing its
objections. It waits about 24
hours, then screams something
to the effect of "You are an idiot
for not riding during the
off-season and now you must
pay."
To further prove that dirt biking is
a full body workout, just about
every muscle throbbed by Monday
night. Legs, lower back, arms,
shoulders, all in unison. Despite
rockin' my 25-lb dumbbells and
incline bench all winter, as well as
occasional stationary rides on my
bicycle trainer, there is no
substitute for the real thing.
So tonight, I am nearly able to lie
comfortably on the couch in
full-on March Madness euphoria.
Next winter, I will invest in ice
studs and hand warmers.
