Imitation: Sincerest Form of Flattery

A fellow blogger who sometimes writes about flying is a motorcyclist as well. After a long hiatus he decided to buy a bike again. After much deliberation he is now the proud owner of an Italian job called a Moto Guzzi. I’m happy to see any rider get back “in the wind” as we say, even if it is on a quirky, un-mainstream bike like the Guzzi. If the bike is dependable and he takes good care of it, he’ll have tons of fun, which is what life is all about, right?

This blogger read the story I wrote about the trip my friend Jacob and I took to Key West. Knowing that Jacob’s Honda Shadow and my Harley Sportster are very similar bikes, he wrote:
“Did you ride the Shadow?
Compare and contrast with your Sportster if you have the time Bob.”

Happy to oblige! I started to write it as a response to my original post, but then decided it could use a post of its own.

Harley-Davidson has been making the Sportster model since 1957. Although much-improved (the new ones even have fuel-injection!), the 2010 version retains the same basic configuration and much of the styling as the original: two-cylinder, V-twin engine displacing 883cc’s. It’s an elemental, lightweight, no-frills motorcycle – just an engine, a small gas tank and two wheels. To my eye, it is what a motorcycle should look like (and be). When it was first introduced, it was a powerhouse! The Sportster is inarguably the first “superbike,” a term that has come to mean the ultimate in performance and handling. There was really nothing like it on the market. Triumph and BSA had their 650cc twins, but nothing could match the Sportster for raw performance. The Sporty was king!

With little competition, the Sportster held onto its reign throughout the 1960’s. Ah, but then came the Japanese. In 1969 Honda introduced the legendary four-cylinder CB750 model. It was amazingly fast, smooth and refined. The age of the Japanese superbike had begun. In 1973 Kawasaki rewrote the book on performance with their own superbike, the incredibly powerful 900cc Z-1. (I have two of these awesome bikes in my garage: an original 1973 Z-1 and a 1978 Z-1R.) By the late 1970’s, Honda, Kawasaki, Yamaha and Suzuki all produced scads of inexpensive, reliable, high-performance motorcycles that fed the craze occurring in the U.S. at the time.

The Sportster, which seemed so fast in the 1960’s was now bog-slow by comparison. Due to the old design of the engine, there was no way Harley could make it competitive (meaning: fast) with the new technology appearing in the bikes from Japan, Inc. Rather than change the design, Harley kept it the same, and ironically kept selling as many as they could build. See, not everyone needs to have the fastest or quickest or best-handling bike in existence. The Sportster…the bog-slow, old-technology, “boat anchor” of a motorcycle…still offered a certain riding experience that other motorcycles did not.

This fact did not go unnoticed by Japan, Inc. In 1983, Honda began introducing models targeted at Harley-Davidson, specifically the Sportster. First was the Shadow 750. It had the same basic design elements: teardrop gas tank and V-twin engine, but that engine was water-cooled and had overhead cams. Thus it was quieter and smoother and more reliable (because it didn’t shake itself to pieces like the Sportster engine did…and still does).

Then came a whole slew of models from various manufacturers, all trying to out-Sportster the Sportster with varying levels of success. The current Honda Shadow 750 is almost a dead-ringer for a Sportster – it’s that good…of a copy. But it lacks a certain…something…an indefinable quality that Harleys have always possessed. Some Harley owners call it “soul,” or “personality”…whatever. Harleys are merely different. It’s hard to describe or explain. You just have to ride one to understand. Trouble is, not everyone appreciates the Harley difference. Jacob, for one.

That's Jacob's Honda Shadow Spirit 750 on the left, and my 883 Sportster on the right on the beach in Apalachicola, Florida. You can clearly see where Honda got their, um, "inspiration" for the design of the Shadow.

Jacob’s is a 2003 Shadow 750, meaning that the engine displaces 750cc’s. Most full-size motorcycle engines these days displace anywhere between 1200 and 1500cc’s, so the Shadow and my 883cc Sportster are now considered “middle-weights.” These two bikes are about equally-matched in acceleration, and both turn in almost exactly the same gas mileage (55-60 mpg on the highway). Both have plenty of power, can carry a passenger without breaking a sweat, and both will easily run up to 100 mph or so.

Jacob does not like it when we trade bikes. He calls the Sportster “a truck,” which I suppose is fair. The clutch lever takes considerable effort to pull, despite Harley’s efforts over the years to reduce it. The front and rear brakes take deliberate energy to operate; these are not “two-finger” motorcycles like the newer designs. Although the engine is rubber-mounted, it pounds like a jackhammer and you can feel the vibration resonating through the frame, footpegs and handlebars. It occasionally backfires out the carburetor when blipping the throttle, especially if you didn’t let it warm up long enough. The transmission emits a loud CLANK! when shifting gears, both up and down. The shift lever looks like something you’d see in the cockpit of a steam locomotive. The suspension travel is small, and the ride is rough. Overall, the Sportster feels like something from the early Industrial Age.

On the other hand, the Shadow is like a Sportster with all the rough edges polished off. The liquid-cooled, dual-carburetor engine runs flawlessly: smoothly and unobtrusively. Punch the starter button and go. All the controls work fluidly, with minimal effort: a Honda trademark. The clutch requires a light pull, and the transmission snicks easily and silently from gear to gear. There is plenty of suspension travel, and the bike rides softly over bumps that launch the Sportster rider off the seat. The Shadow is a very nice motorcycle which anyone would be happy to own – and Jacob is.

So why would anybody buy a cantankerous new/old Sportster? I mean, there are so many better bikes out there. And yet I’ve owned two Sportsters so far and am actually looking for another (an older one) to buy as a “project bike.” But why? That, I cannot answer. Sportsters have some magical quality that transcends the act of riding. For all their “faults” they have a certain attraction that I cannot explain. All I know is that when I fire the thing up I am in touch with a machine which is a direct descendant of the one introduced in 1957 by a company founded in 1903. It’s weird, but I like that.

To each his own. And that's the beauty of motorcycling: There is something for everybody.

The Most Interesting Man In The World

The most interesting man in the world... on Rollerblading:

"...No."

Oh man, you know me and TV commercials.

The ad agency representing Dos Equis beer has created an ad campaign that is friggin' hilarious: "The Most Interesting Man In The World." He's an older, very sophisticated, worldly gent, always in the company of young, beautiful women. With gentle flamenco music playing in the background, he is described somberly by the same guy who narrates all those PBS "Frontline" programs.

"He lives vicariously...through himself."

"His blood...smells like cologne."

"The police often question him...just because they find him interesting."

"He has been known to cure narcolepsy...just by walking into a room."

I've always found the commercials funny. They're filmed darkly, with only the subject lit up. They often use flashback footage of TMIMITW when he was younger and darker-haired.

HERE is the Wikipedia story about the campaign. I can't believe it's been running since 2006!

Then at 8:15 PDT this morning my friend Hal Johnson facebooked: "Got my wife and son out the door this morning, and for once, I didn't feel like I was herding cats. It's time for a breakfast burrito and a Dos Equis." And I thought to myself, "Beer, so early in the morning? How interesting!" (I don't think he was kidding, either.)

24 Hours Of Crap Crammed Down Our Throats

I’m always amused when small stories from across the country get blown up way out of proportion by the national media. As a culture, we seem to revel in the trivial; every little thing captures our interest for a few moments.

When I was growing up, there were only three national television news networks, and they focused on pretty big issues. Tons of stuff happening in the country went unnoticed. But in the late 1970’s, with the proliferation of satellites, any two-bit TV station in any podunk town could get “on the bird” and have their little local reporter hit the Big Time. Accordingly, in 1980 some guy named Ted Turner got the bright idea to put up an all-news cable TV channel. Nothing but news, 24/7. Oh boy.

And then came the rest.

Now, with 24 hours of time to fill, small stories gain national importance whether they actually are important or not. Most are not. And so we’ve learned about automobile accidents, fires, killings, robberies, sinkholes and millions of mundane, everyday things going on in places that nobody cares about except the people who live there – and maybe not even them. No story is too insignificant, especially if there is aerial footage from a helicopter, which makes any story all that much more dramatic.

I remember watching CNN one day and seeing a story about a FedEx 18-wheeler burning on the side of some Interstate highway in Missouri (complete with the requisite aerial footage from the helicopter!). For some reason they spent an inordinate amount of time covering this story. I thought to myself, “A burning truck on a highway. And I should care about this…why?” Because honestly, I did not. In fact, I could not have cared less if I tried. Obviously, people thought it was an act of TERRORISM! because we have become such a nervous, paranoid society that everything bad that happens now is suspected to be a TERRORIST! act. Turns out, the driver was drowsy and just ran out of his lane and hit something that caused his external gas tank to catch fire, . Oops! (I went back and researched it for this blog reference.) No terrorism. Sorry! But by God, it could have been!

Zzzzzzz…

Everybody gets…heck, everybody deserves that “15 minutes of fame” Andy Warhol promised them, right? Everybody is a star, just waiting to be discovered and put on national TV.

And so now some pinhead in Gainesville, Florida is getting WORLDWIDE attention because he’s promised to do something very controversial and distasteful on September 11th. Making it worse, this idiot is pretending to be a pastor in a church.

It seems that everybody on the planet including those yet to be born have condemned what this lunatic plans to do. Every TV news reporter, every print reporter, every columnist, every pundit, and every politician has had to weigh-in because, you know, I care about what the actress Angelina Jolie has to say about this (not!). Ed McMahon was even brought back from the dead and asked for his thoughts. ABC News immediately flew a reporter down to Gainesville to interview the jackass and ask him inane questions like, “Pastor, what would JESUS do?”

The uproar is quite amusing – at least to me. Because we’ve created this guy. We give people like him a national stage. And then we act horrified at all the attention he’s getting. Well, duh.

In the old days, a guy like this would have been just another crazy hick in some tiny hick town in Florida. He would live his life in well-deserved obscurity, with his little 30-member congregation of like-minded, brain-dead boobs. And nobody ever would have heard of him. But in this age of instant-fame and gotta-have-it-now information, he’s become a worldwide celebrity beyond all reason or expectation. Paris Hilton reportedly contacted the man and asked if he would help with her career.

It’s our own damn fault. We’ve got 24 hours of programming to fill!

Coincidentally, the ever-sarcastic but always-funny website The Onion has an equally fake Onion News Network and in a recent report it addressed this very subject. Watch the following hilarious video at your peril – the language is kind of strong.


Breaking News: Some Bullshit Happening Somewhere

Harley Davidson 2010: The Giant Awakens!

The 2011 Harley Davidson Sportster

The Harley Davidson Motor Company has always had a problem attracting young riders to its product. Especially lately, the demographic of the typical Harley rider has been...well...me (a 55 y/o boomer). This is a problem. If you don't have young riders coming in the front door, the old riders will eventually die off.

Part of Harley's bigger problem lies in the fact that the company really hasn't made bikes that young people want. Young guys want to go fast. They want sportbikes, like those loud, annoying, psuedo-racers you see terrorizing the highways and byways. With few exceptions, these are mainly from Japanese manufacturers, who have dominated that market segment since the 1980s.

Typically, young people don't go for slow, American "cruisers," which have always been considered "old man bikes." They think sportbikes (so-called "crotch-rockets") are more fun. But there are many reasons we ride motorcycles. "Going fast" is part of the fun, yes, but only a part. It's also about what we do with our bikes.

Harleys have always had a certain undeniable charisma and attraction, and H-D has always had the lion's share of the "cruiser" market, which has been their main source of revenue. In numerous attempts to compete head-to-head with Harley, the Japanese manufacturers have produced many blatant copies of the Harley design, with varying degrees of success. Today there are models from Star-Yamaha and Kawasaki that can even fool me at first glance - they are that much of a ripoff of certain unique Harley design cues (for instance, the two-cylinder V-twin engine with the air filter and exhaust system both on the right side of the bike, the big, flared fenders, etc.).

In 1995, Honda even went so far as to produce a Harley-clone (ironically called the "American Classic Edition" or A.C.E.) in which they actually designed-in some "extra" vibration because they felt the bike was "too smooth," a Honda trademark. But see, many bikers prefer to know they're on a piece of machinery and not a sewing machine or electric motor.

Can you tell them apart? Top: Honda A.C.E., Middle: H-D Heritage Softail, Bottom: Kawasaki Vulcan

Nevertheless, "cruiser" bikes (e.g. Harleys) never really found wide appeal with the younger generation. It is true that the majority of Harleys are the big touring (e.g. "Electra Glide") and cruiser models, but they also have the smaller Sportster, which is what I own, which is more what we used to think of as just a regular ol' motorcycle. I've always felt that Harley was missing the boat by not marketing the Sportster to young people as a fun, all-around, general purpose streetbike.

It took Harley a long time to figure this out, but they finally did. More than that, they decided to do something about it. When I first saw the following commercial on television, I was blown away. I stared at the screen thinking, "This is HARLEY advertising??"



Apparently young, cool, good-looking people ride Sportsters now! Apparently these young, cool, good-looking people hot-rod their bikes around in the dirt. And have lots of other young, cool, good-looking friends. And apparently hot chicks who ride Sportsters often spontaneously go skinny-dipping! What the...?! What are you, kidding me? Harley?! I want to hang out with these people! I want to be like them! I mean, I'm not...and I already ride a Sportster! (Notice that there is not a beer-gut in sight in that spot, and the only gray beard belongs to the jealous-looking cop.)

Don't get me wrong, it's great! It's just such a different direction for what has always been such a staid, conservative, laid-back company. Talk about aggressive marketing! NOBODY is doing this anymore: showing how much fun motorcycles can be. Which they are, of course.

Harley is in trouble, as are all motorcycle manufacturers. Motorcycles are pretty much thought of as a hobby. They are bought with discretionary funds that as we all know are pretty scarce these days. Instead of just sitting back and waiting for bankruptcy, Harley Davidson has decided to do something pro-active and go after a market they have traditionally been ignoring. (By the way, I *love* how Harley brought back the classic red, white and blue "#1" logo they originally used in the 1970's. Nice touch.)

I say bravo! I hope it works.

(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

I recently posted about a motorcycle trip my friend Jacob and I took to Key West. It generated a response from another blogger, a guy also named Bob who I admire greatly. He wrote: “Sometimes I think you have the life I would have if I didn't have this one . . .”

This is a very odd thing to say, considering that I am so unsatisfied with my own life. Notice that I said unsatisfied not dissatisfied. There's a difference.

I know it must seem fun: flying helicopters and riding motorcycles and living a pretty free and easy lifestyle. And it is. But I have to admit that it leaves something to be desired. I just don’t know what. There is an emptiness...something missing. Lately, it’s been bothering me. A lot.

Back when I worked for Petroleum Helicopters I worked a week-on/week-off schedule. I had a motorcycle then, too. Often, I'd get home from work, strap my bags onto the Sportster and take off for a couple of days, roaming around, just traveling and seeing if I could get into some trouble. (I couldn't. It seems I am the most boring motorcyclist to ever come down the 'pike.)

Arriving home after one such "adventure" (heh), my mom phoned. After hearing of my trip she said...and I shit you not, this is exactly what she said, "Bobby, when are you going to stop having all this fun, settle down and get married?"

I let the crickets chirp for a while before replying. I finally said, "That's about right, huh? STOP having fun and get married."

She quickly backpedaled. "Ooooh, that's not what I meant," she said, genuinely chagrined. "Your father and I had lots of fun after we got married...just in a different way than when we were single."

Perhaps. Didn't look like it from where I stood, but I wasn't about to argue with her.

That was almost twenty years ago, amazingly. And not much has changed with me. I’m about to turn 56 years old. And you know what? I haven't really done anything with my life. Yeah, I’ve had a fun career, but there is more to life than work, no? And anyway, it is not our work that defines us. So, what does?

I have no family – not married, probably never will be. Honestly, I'm not even in the market for a relationship. I like living alone - which even I realize is messed-up. No kids. Good God, no kids! Some of us are just not parent material, and I’m one of them.

One of the women at work just had a beautiful baby girl. She brought the child in recently. All the other women in the place were going ga-ga over it - holding it, kissing it, loving on it – doing all that motherly stuff. When Jenny finally offered the baby to me I was, like, “Uhhhhhh no thanks. I…really…don’t…you know… “ I had no desire to hold her baby but at the same time I did not want to offend her. So I said I had a bad cold and went off, fake-coughing down the hall in another direction.

So it’s not that I long for a wife and kids and all that crap. I know that ain't me.

So what do I want out of life? For as long as I can remember, all I ever wanted to be was a pilot. And I have achieved my childhood dream. I should be happy, right? So how come I’m not? Why do I feel like there’s something…else…I should be doing? Maybe childhood dreams aren't all they're cracked up to be. Problem: It’s getting late. There isn’t much time left to figure it out.

Deeper thinkers than I have pondered the question of “What is life?” George Harrison for instance, he wrote a song about it. And I just wonder if this is just all there is? We live each day: We work, we play, we laugh, we love…we do all the mundane things that get us by. And eventually we die. I'm doing it; my dad did it - as did his father as well, probably (I never knew him). His father’s father too, I’d imagine. The cycle repeats.

I hope my friend Bob is not unsatisfied. From his blog, he seems to have a wonderful life, full of happiness and joy and fulfillment. His incredible posts are so much fun to read. They always bring a smile - and sometimes a tear. I won't go so far as to say I wish I had his life, but I will admit that is surely doesn't seem like a bad one. When it's over, he will have nothing to be ashamed of and indeed, quite a lot to be proud of! I, on the other hand, will have a hard time answering St. Peter when he asks, quizzically tapping his clipboard with his pen, "Sooooooo...ahhhhh, what DID you do for humanity while you were down there? We really...ahhhh...have no record of you here."

This is not one of those “I’m so depressed I want to kill myself” posts. I actually like my life and am having a pretty good time. It’s just that you get to a point where you go, “What was I supposed to do again?” Because more and more I get the feeling that what I am doing isn’t it. I think I missed the assignment.

As usual.

FLORIDA: End To End On Motorcycle

Jacob and I recently rode our motorcycles from Pensacola down to Key West. Jacob on his Honda Shadow; me on my Harley Sportster. One end of Florida to the other. Stayed off the Interstates as much as possible. It's a trip I had done before, back in the '90s, on a different Sportster, with my friend Jim on his bike (also a Honda very much like Jacob's).

During the trip down and back, we got rained on a lot. Mostly, we'd either run into isolated rain showers or we'd be just skirting the edge of them. We'd packed rainsuits, but it seemed silly to stop and put them on for the short a time that we'd actually be in the rain. So sometimes we'd stop and take a break before we got too close, and other times we just endured getting wet for a bit, only to dry off (more or less) when we came out the other side. At least getting rained on cooled us off. Good Lord, was it hot! And despite what you might believe, being on a motorcycle at 60 mph in 90 degree breeze is no picnic. You get dehydrated as hell.

Rain ahead. We saw a lot of this, going...

...And coming home.

To get to Key West, you go to Miami and then travel 127 miles down U.S. Route 1. It's basically the same route as the old Overseas Highway, which itself was built in the late 1930s on the roadbed of the Overseas Railroad which was completed in 1912 and destroyed by a hurricane in 1935. Some of the original parts of the Overseas Highway remain to this day, used as fishing piers now. It is interesting to walk on these narrow two-lane bridges, thinking about how big cars were back in the 1940s and '50s. The head-on collisions at night must have been horrible. And this was long before we had airbags, telescoping steering columns and medevac helicopters.

Here's the old bridge as viewed from the new bridge.


Look how narrow the roadway is. In the old days, the bridge was maybe a foot wider on either side, since the concrete guardrail might not have been there (see pic above). Even so, the roadway was only 12 feet wide, and that's awfully narrow. The speed limit must have been very low - and you know people obeyed it. Suuuuuure, they did.

The old bridge looks plenty stout. Obviously, these structures have survived many hurricanes since the 1930s.


It is an interesting drive to Key West. The road is wider than in the old days, but not by much. You alternate between long bridges and short stretches across islands as you hopscotch your way down. There are often periods where there is water on both sides of you - even when you're on "land." Makes you realize how vulnerable this place would be in a hurricane.

We stayed at a hotel called the Banana Bay Resort. It was a nice place, right on the water (although had no beach), close enough to downtown but not on the strip of typical chain motels. Not too expensive. Plus, the pool/jacuzzi were supposedly "clothing-optional." But there were very few people in the place while Jacob and I were there. Hardly anybody besides us was ever at the pool, and everyone kept their swimsuits on. Oh well.

Here's the pool during the daytime.

And here it is at night. They had a cool light inside the pool that changed from blue...

...To green. Neat! (Well, I'm easily entertained - what can I tell you.)

Key West is Scootertown. The streets are narrow, parking is very limited, and getting around in a car is tough. There are tons of bicycles and little scooters for rent, and everyone seems to have them. Because of this, there's plenty of scooter parking. And since our motorcycles fell into that category we never had any trouble finding places to park.

I first started coming to Key West in the late 1980s. At the time, I was partners in an airplane with which we did sightseeing tours in St. Thomas, U.S.V.I. I joke about the experience, saying that during the year we were there we lost our shirts but we got great tans - both of which were true. Retreating from the V.I. humbled and broke, we leased the plane to a guy in Key West who ran a little charter service (and suddenly the plane started generating income for us!). This worked out great for a couple of years until the guy crashed the plane, which put an end to that venture (and him, sadly).

Key West wasn't quite as much of a tourist trap back then. It was still pretty quaint and had some local charm and flavor. And it was a WHOLE LOT gayer. Now, it's just a bunch of foreign touristas clogging everything of even passing interest. Ever-entrepreneurial Americans have figured out various ways to gouge them. The gays seem to have found somewhere else to go.

Key West is not really know for its great beaches, although you'd think it would be. Above is Smathers Beach.

And since Key West doesn't have much of a beach, there are really only two things you must do: Go to the southernmost point in the U.S. and have your picture taken, and hang out at Mallory Square at sunset.

Here's the Southernmost Point. That crowd of people - mostly foreign tourists - are lined up, patiently waiting to get their picture taken in front of the monument. This was unacceptable to us, so we had to devise a "workaround."

The workaround consisted of Jacob standing up on the curb wall. Only, the guy in the orange shirt in the background wouldn't move. I was, like, "Hey buddy, get the hell outta my shot willya! Dontcha unnerstand English?" It turned out that he did not.


It used to be just a local tradition in Key West - celebrating the end of the day, watching for the green flash as the sun dipped below the horizon. The locals would sit on the pier, watch the show, then applaud when it was over. Gradually, the word got out about this and the tourists came a-running. Now, Mallory Square at sunset has become a circus. There are all kinds of street vendors and performers of varying "talent"...all of whom "worked" for tips...all of whom had "tip jugs" of some sort. One guy actually had trained his dog to circulate and take dollar bills from people. At least, we hoped nobody thought to give the guy his tip in coin. He'd have to wait a while to get those, I suppose.

Above, the teeming masses gather to gaze at the phenomenon of...a sunset. Okay yeah, Key West does have some pretty cool sunsets, but so do plenty of other places in the world.

Above: Your humble reporter and his favorite riding buddy: Me and Jacob.

I like the shot above because the little island looks like an aircraft carrier with a thunderstorm overhead.

Jacob on the pier just after sunset. Check out the stenciled warning just to the left of him. "NO SWIMING." Not too bright, boys.

I mentioned that Mallory Square becomes a circus. The picture above is of just one of the street performers: a tightrope walker just beyond a local artist selling his photographs. Just as I took this (non-flash) shot, the tightrope walker was obviously distracted by someone's video camera. I heard him yell, "Get that goddam camera light out of my eyes!" Classy, these street performers, classy.

In addition to Mr. Foul-mouthed Tightrope Walker there was a sword-swallower, the requisite human statue, and of course musicians of all kinds. Musicians?

Here is a guy we referred to as "guitarman." He wasn't very good. And he was sitting very close to another street musician playing...I think it was the bagpipes. An odd cacaphony. Guitarman had the usual tip bucket. Attached to it was a dollar bill in bait. But notice that there is writing on the bucket. Let's take a closer look!

Tips expected?! Why I oughtta... At least he had the good sense to add, almost as an afterthought, "...and appreciated."

The other side of his tip bucket had a more subtle message that despite his single dollar bill tip bait, a $5 tip was "good karma." The three nights we were there, we did not see anyone investing that much in their karma. In fact, we didn't even see anyone invest in so much as a dollar's worth of karma. We sure didn't. We hoped he had a day job...one that he was better at than his night job.

Guitarman wasn't the only marginal musician on the block.

These guys were strange. One of them was playing a xylophone of some sort, while the other was playing some PVC pipes cut to different lengths to make different notes. They were pretty good, but they only played three songs, one of which was the theme from the old video game, Tetris. We sat and watched them for a while, desperately wishing they knew more than just three songs. They never had much of an audience.

And finally...finally!...there is one thing everyone must do when visiting Key West: Get their picture taken outside of Sloppy Joe's Bar, the purported hangout of one Ernest Hemingway. Jacob knew neither of the bar nor the man.


Anyway, that was our trip. We got rained on some more on the way home. We stopped off in Tampa and visited our friend Gene who was house-sitting for his sister. We spent a week on our motorcycles - I logged 1,923 miles on mine. Our asses were pretty sore.

To see all these photos and more, you can check out my Facebook page.

David Thorne: Certified Lunatic

I have mentioned before how much I love David Thorne’s blog, 27b/6 . While reading his post, “1,000 Characters” the other night and I was laughing so hard I just about fell out of my chair. There’s a lot of random stuff in the post, but these two items really stood out. Why can't I have a sense of humor as good as this guy's?

Girls That have said no Part 1

Around the time I was twelve, my sister had really hot friends staying over. I would dress in ninja gear and wriggle 'saving private ryan beach commando style' into her bedroom and listen to their conversations. Some were educational, most were inane. A few months ago, I was standing in a cd store and a girl came up to me and said "Are you David?" to which I replied "It depends" (and immediately regretted as I knew that if she asked me 'depends on what', I had nothing). The fear must have shown because she asked "Depends on what?" and I replied like a retard "On whether it is on or off the record, I have been misquoted by you people before." and she looked at me as if I was a retard before telling me that she had been a friend of my sisters and remembered me and then actually asked "Are you still annoying?" so I asked her if she still "squeezed her nipples while thinking about kissing Michael Wilson". After a pretty long pause I asked her out but she said no.

And from the same post…

Girls that said no, Part 3

While working at a horse riding camp several years ago, I spent a good twenty minutes explaining to a group, which consisted of twelve children and their young teacher, the importance of horse safety before walking behind a horse and being kicked in the head. I recall only walking in a zigag back to the house with the muffled sounds of children screaming in the background before collapsing and waking up in hospital. While I was there, with a fractured skull, the teacher bought me in a get well soon card signed by all the children so I asked her out but she said no.


David Thorne has a book out, naturally. It is called, “The Internet Is a Playground.” In the (obviously faked) interview below, David starts off by describing an episode he had with his friend "Lucius" - you'd have to read his blog to find out who (and what) Lucius is.

I would imagine that Oprah has got the lawsuit in the works as we speak.