Motorcycle Riffs
The Heretic
Sometimes it was a good thing to be stuck carless in the post-Oil
present. For a while things had gotten better. The new prez had settled
down the character issue, by actually having some. What he wasn't able
to handle was the economic mess presented by the Fed screwing with the
economy and driving it into Recession to prevent inflation. Some said
Greenspan must have lost it, did the Reagan Sleepwalk Trick where he
stumbled through his job without knowing what he was doing anymore.
Whatever the heck went wrong, the economy was hosed. It was like 1930
all over again. The big stock market crash went on and on. Down a
hundred points a week, no sign of turning around anytime soon. After a
while there just wasn't any money. Everything had evaporated. They
called it the Tulip Bulb effect.
I suppose it helped I wasn't a big spender. Money was hard to get,
along with jobs. I had one, and my woman had one too, one that paid
well and continued to do so. Ironic that she had no car anyway, and the
Recession actually helped her. With the crash of the Dot.Coms, housing
prices in the South Bay plummetted as everyone left for greener
pastures. Houses that had been bought for $650K were selling for $150K
on a tax loss. Or repossessed and auctioned off for about the same
amount.
I checked the chain on my motorcycle, lubing as needed. Finding a
used Ninja 750 was a real piece of luck. Previous owner had several
bikes, got killed in a car accident, heirs were selling them off. I
took a chance on it, took the course at DMV for motorcycle riding and
soon this overpowered bike was proving to be a very effective way to
get around. I kept my mobility, and I can cruise at highway speeds.
Checked the oil and the new seals. Got a new EFI chip, lets me burn
methanol or gasohol in any combination. Upside of the tech crash is the
hardware went on sale and the hardware hacks came out of the woodwork
when chip printing machines were on sale for a couple grand, bid down
to a few hundred sometimes. Lotsa tech floating around. Fellah up the
street got one. Anyway, guy I heard about, made a hardware hack for
motorcycle fuel injection computers, would work with a sensor and
adjust timing, compression, and such to get the best power out of a
mixed bag of fuels. They weren't designed for it, but once you replaced
that and some seals in the fuel system you were golden. Did that a week
ago and wanted to check on it, make sure it was still working.
You know, i think its the fact that California has so little
history that makes us so able to do crazy things, like fix every
problem in our way, find a new way to make a buck, find a new craze,
and invent half the world's technology. Places with the burden of
history end up bitter and broken. Ireland is stuck in the past, same
with Italy and eastern europe. Germany got so much destroyed in the big
war that they were able to reinvent themselves, same with the Japanese.
Knowing you're toast if you can't start over seems to be important. Or
maybe the Germans and Japanese aren't quitters so don't let losing a
war stop them from making their comeback. I think its the same thing
with California. We have the best weather, the best talent, good land,
plenty of food, oil, and gold. I used to fancy California should split
off from the USA and start its own country. Little did I know...
(just a little something that feels like a story. The urge should die
in a couple more days but enjoy what comes out for the meantime)
--
* Art is the sense of how a thing should be before it is. *
- The Heretic. Cartographer, novellist, trivia source, cynic,
and budding optimist. http://www.jps.net/agincourt
Sent via Deja.com
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The Heretic
The Heretic <azhi...@my-deja.com> wrote:
> plenty of food, oil, and gold. I used to fancy California should split
> off from the USA and start its own country. Little did I know...
[continued]
Refilled the tank, topping off with methanol and ethanol mixture,
some triple refined crap off some guy's still. Probably some water
vapor in it, but maybe I would be lucky. I seriously think there's a
market for a portable dipstick to test the quality of fuels, work out
the rough estimate of what's in the mix so you'll know if it will burn
or not, if there's sugar dissolved in it to eat your engine, or some
funky hazmats so the exhaust melts the pipes and gives you cancer.
I'm kind of impressed with this bike, btw. Its only about 400
pounds. I can move it around reasonably well at my low average weight
and average height. The frame is steel, engine aluminum, fairings and
tail pipe are carbon fiber. Its bright orange, black, and yellow
checkerboard. Really distinctive, may have been a secondhand racer. I
made a suit for it, same colors in leather with a kevlar liner.
Lifesaver in bad neighborhoods and maybe buy a couple seconds in a fall
on the highway. Maybe.
I miss my car stereo but it beats the hell out of taking the bus.
Waiting for the bus, getting mugged at the bus stop, etc. Lotta people
down on their luck willing to hurt others. Its on the news all the
time, in spite of orders by the Governor and Feds to block negative
coverages of public transit. Seems that everyone is riding the bus
these days. Its take the bus or you can't go. Only the wealthy can
drive cars or SUV's anymore. I still see a few middle class carpools,
every seat taken and the passengers in nice suits, going down to work.
They're probably each making over $100K a year and they're stuck in the
same car because with gasoline $30 a gallon even they can't drive alone
anymore. Makes it better for me. Fewer vehicles on the roads and those
are either trucks, buses, limos, or carpoolers. Lots of room for me to
weave in and out of traffic at any speed I choose.
I don't make much money, even before, and while I can stomach the
buses, I'm paranoid. I admit that. Its true. Crowds make me uneasy.
Menacing crowds drive a wedge of fear into my guts and they roil and
twist and roll till I wanna puke and shit my pants simultaneously in a
panic attack. I don't live in the city because I simply can't do it. It
doesn't help much that that's where my love is. She's down there
playing nightcrawling hermit, using public transit. She had a bicycle,
which was stolen. That was replaced for cheap in an unstealable color
and a lock was used. That was stolen too. Bikes became a commodity, or
maybe this was just bad luck. Such things happened, after all.
So I have to go see her at least once a month and public transit is
about a six hour trip. I can get there on my bike in three and a half
hours. Its a fun ride on the twisty roads up here, then its just a high
speed race on the flatlands. They upped the speed limits for the
convenience of truckers and limos toting the govt and ultrarich Haves.
Corp Aristos. I do work for them sometimes, more for govt types. People
trying to make their point. Or their profit. I draw the line at getting
personal in my work. Its business and I do what they ask me to do. I
get paid for that, not for how I feel about what they're trying to do.
I make the best map I can make for them and that's that. I suppose that
makes me a mercenary. Cartographic mercenary. Whatever. I don't care.
My life is about surviving to retire away from this place with my
beloved. Somewhere quiet enough for me, and noisy enough for her. And
we can both work. We used to want to head north, into the big wet rainy
woods of Washington state. I could terrorize the local officials with
doom and gloom in the form of volcanoes, earthquakes, landslides, and
tsunamis. And she to do what she does and is paid so well. Perhaps its
impossible, but the idea of it worked for us thus far.
Time to get on with it. Doublechecked the tire pressure, ran the
engine for a few minutes, sure there was no gunk in it. Hoping there
wasn't. The EFI chip was supposed to detect sugar and turn on a warning
light. No light. It was okay. Strapped on the overnight bag over the
top of the tank, triplechecked everything else then locked the house
and garage, armed the alarm, and headed out.
Wound down a twisty road, careful of the gravel on every corner,
the bane of my existence is gravel on the corners. Down Banner Mountain
to the main road, left through Burger Basin and the many struggling
businesses. It was surviving here because of the people who lived here.
Amazing accomplishment, all things considered. The closed gas stations
or the reconverted ones selling diesel and gasohol. Some with bicycles
out front, most of them used, bought from the households of dying or
dead grempers. This town is full of them, but some of them were pretty
interesting folks and still in the game we call Life. Others were
drunks or drug addicts and losing their gasoline was an improvement for
everyone. They weren't clogging the roads or running over people, and
were out walking instead, which kept them alive longer as well as
reversed the damage from osteoporosis. Me, I'm most glad they're out of
my way and not trying to run me over. It was the main reason I never
got a bike before. Too many close calls when I was on pedal power in my
home town. Now they're off the road, I'm on a really fast motorcycle,
and a brief left turn at the stoplight and zoom, I'm on the onramp
heading southwest like a bat out of hell. Revved up through the gears
to cruising speed and the wind is roaring around me, up to the usual
level of buffeting. Curve over Grass Valley like i'm flying on that
causeway, long curve left at 75 and weave around a bus, then power into
overdrive gear and run the RPM's up to 10,000, cruising speed at 90,
though the bike will do 120 comfortably, redline at 130 though I've
only gone that fast once on a smooth patch of road. That was scary and
I'm not doing it again. I'm trying to stay alive for my sweety, not die
being some dumbass kid with a motorcycle.
Speaking of dumbasses, hold on tight, ease back the throttle for
these damned trailer park driveways. Lotta people spill out of there
without looking. I think they want to get hit, hopes that their heirs
will benefit from the insurance money. Sad times, you ask me.
"Brrbrbbt!" sang my cellphone. I gotta rig in my helmet for calls.
"Phone command: answer it," I said distinctly. Gotta be distinct. I
tend to mumble. Drives my woman nuts sometimes, since she's going deaf
from her job and can't hear what I say, tends to make up the funniest
phrases in place of what I actually said.
"Dan?" fucking wrong numbers.
"Phone command: hang up."
"hey!" I heard the guy say and then it was off. Dumbass.
There was a kid walking along the road. I downshifted with my
lights nice and bright and he paused, watched me smoothly ride by.
Whew. No jumpers today. Another bus though and had to follow behind it
a hundred yards back till I was around the big turn. It was plenty wide
and there was no oncoming traffic, but I don't stay alive by being
trusting. Lotta people die that way. I've gotten away with all I'm
bound to get away with. Used up my karma brownie points. That's okay
though. I'm making up for it with caution. Strange thing for a
motorcyclist to practice, but there you go. Corner ends, take a peek.
No oncoming on either side of the bus and downshift, rev and I'm past
it in an instant, back into safety and upshift into better speed. Put
on the high beams for the big crossroads at Lime Kiln. Lotta people
killed there over the years. Even with the light, it was dangerous.
Light green and I roar through, running up the engine back to 10K RPMs
and down and around and weave here and there and pretty damned soon I'm
at Combie Road. Light against me, of all things. Grip with my legs,
slowing dramatically down the slope, stay in control. Pavement is
slippery here. Don't know why. Was like that when I had a car too.
Weird. Light changes after the bus and some hybrid car pulled out.
Revved the engine gently, released the clutch, lifted my foot onto the
peg and worked up through the gears. The bus zips by, the hybrid a
moment later. Up to speed and across the river, up the hill and the
long southward sweep down to Auburn. Through the pointless lights
slowly, stop and go. Tons of pedestrians, bicyclists, harleys, more
motorcycles like mine, and even scooters. The whole mass of us head
down the hill through the roadside strip, closed auto dealerships, or
those few still open with hybrids, jokingly called AlGores for their
gutless engines and insincere safety standards. The jokes were so
numerous as to be endemic. Finally to the bottom of the hill, past the
punks trying to pull people off their motorcycles, a primitive bike
jacking in plain sight of the local cops who had a piece of the action.
Or maybe were just bored enough to wait for an injury to pass the time.
Hey, I don't live up the hill because I like commuting to see my
girlfriend. I live there because the cops and sherrif still have
functioning law and order. My CC permit and the gun under the seat were
part of the deal.
The youngsters made a try for me and I gunned the engine, spinning
the tire on some kids steel toed boot. Pity. I was hoping I could rip
his toes apart, but that's life. I saw him jumping up and down in my
rearview mirror and raced onto I-80, merging into the truck lane and
then into the middle lane. The fast lane was govt and aristo. Us peons
had to leave it to them, even in these times of trouble.
Ran the gears up into overdrive, and up to 10K rpms again, settled
down to enjoy the ride. At least the road was in good condition. In
times past I-80 was potholes and broken pavement. Real nightmare in wet
or dark. Penryn was a blurred offramp. Loomis was another. A moment
later the turnoff for Sierra College whipped by. Passed lines of big
trucks. Limos were keeping pace with me. I wondered what they were
doing behind that black glass, if it was champagne or heated
conversations with broken business alliances and lawyers? I just make
maps. They gotta deal with their mistakes costing millions of dollars,
shutting down factories or even bankruptcy. A mistake at that level
could land you in court or prison, if you're lucky end up taking the
bus to work with everyone else. The lowrise weekly hotels flowed past.
All those mountain people from my neck of the woods were living down
here all week, then flow back up to see their families. Six to a room
sometimes, everything overcrowded. Some factories subsidized their
rents, provided transport from the hotel to the jobsite. Others didn't
and they were becoming the rule. Too many good businesses going under.
All from the Recession. Nobody wanted to call it a Depression. I think
that's what it is, just the same.
The traffic thickened up around Sacramento. It was all a blur, one
I was used to. Ran it fast and sweet, tires racing in a high speed
smooth hum on blacktop or concrete. Across the river, along the
Causeway to Davis, down to Vacaville and the thickening crowds, actual
traffic in the wealthy Bay Area. The local refineries kept gasoline in
the cars here, people still drove. It was $16 per gallon here. I still
had two thirds of a tank, even at the speed I'm running this bike takes
small sips. This is where it gets more interesting. Weaving in and out
of traffic, running on adrenaline and patience, clear mind and eye.
Across the bridge at Benecia, then down the east bay area on the 680
Freeway. Shitty road, hate this part. Even in the last couple years,
they still haven't fixed it. Go figure. You'd think they'd want it
smooth for their aristos. Down southwards, another half hour before I
hit the 237 and west at a respectable 80 mph. Ten minutes later I'm on
the 101 north, passing the Blue Cube and the big satcom dish antennas
pointed into the sky. Five minutes later I take a simple exit and curl
around south on the quiet city street. A few minutes after that I'm
there and pull into the back to park in the nook for visitors. Just an
ugly little apartment complex, damp and swampy grass, overgrown trees
and ivy, pavers cracked by the roots. Covered the bike, check around
and holstered the gun under my arm. Set the alarm and my phone
confirmed it. The bike is light, could be picked up into a truck and
stolen easily enough. The alarm calls my phone and I can defend what I
own. For once changes in the law actually benefitted common sense. The
aristos wanted protection for their stuff and use of deadly force to do
so. I can shoot and someone trying to rip off my bike. There were
downsides, and deadly disputes were happening across the state, but for
the meantime this worked for me. That and the hyperloud alarm under the
fairing. Took my bag in hand and the gate was unlocked. A new used
bicycle was chained to a steel loop anchored in the concrete. Maybe
this one would stay longer. Rang the doorbell. And there she was. My
sweetie. A welcome kiss and the door shut out the tense fury of riding.
Rest beckoned.
So that's my commute down into the land of Fog and Failed Dot.Coms.
She's very understanding of it. She takes the train up half the time.
Someday we'll get out of here, move north into the rainy woods where I
can bask in the dripping rain, the frogs and critters coaching my soul
gently, and she can take a short ride into the city to dance till dawn
at clubs playing the Phat House Tunes. We have most of our other needs
in common. Its too bad we gotta commute to see each other, but its how
things are right now. Someday this economy will turn around, or we'll
find jobs in the same area. Meantime I have my bike. She has her train.
____________________
[There, I think that's enough of a short story. Comment as needed.]
ghost
I liked it. paints a vivid picture. Though that's all it does, no real
action or development, it looks more like a begining to a slightly longer
story than a complete one. Still, it was good.
g/f
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The Heretic
33qtogd.dialup.mindspring.com>,
trm...@bitstreamnet.com (ghost) wrote:
>
> I liked it. paints a vivid picture. Though that's all it does, no real
> action or development, it looks more like a begining to a slightly
longer
> story than a complete one. Still, it was good.
Maybe the urge to write more will come. It could become a novel,
provided I can find some kind of story for it. Trouble is I'm a bit
bored of shooting bad guys and thats the kind of story I write best,
sad to say. Dunno. Where would you see yourself in times like those I
described? Revolution? Would make a good story, particularly with the
character staying out of it. This was my fourth attempt at this story,
and only by moving it along in such a short format was I able to tell
it without completely overwhelming it with front loaded details or else
face losing the character with short blips in time from the election to
the economic collapse. What with Bohr losing and Shrub winning, it
makes it a great deal harder to write, but maybe the complication is a
good thing, since its no longer simple blame for the economy anymore.
Its easy to blame the prez for the economy, but its not his fault this
time around, its The Fed and the long term effects of the stock market
crash after the buildup on tech stocks that didn't actually make
anything. That's the fault of investors, and it hurts everybody. The
economic collapse without any clear source of blame has a more
intimidating effect, imho. You just suffer as you lose your savings,
your job, your house, your cars, your stuff and end up on the streets
or working for pennies in some factory. Return to hard times. Playing
up the aristos might be worthwhile too. And the crime wave... Dunno.
There's some potential stories there worth telling, I reckon. I'll give
it some thought. Glad you liked what you read. Appreciate the comments.
ghost
<azhi...@my-deja.com> wrote:
hmmm, my only suggestion is that instead of writing or trying to write a
whole novel just write a short story that could be placed into a novel if
need be. so far the most important feature to the characters is the
commute and distance between them. Have something either happen to the
road between them or on the way for one of them.. just an idea for you to
kick around.
g/f
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