I'm living in rural Florida (USA) with my wife, son, two cats, and quite a few computers. I actively work in several areas of interest but still find time to manage several websites, execute home improvements, ride the Harleys, and play with cool toys. I'm reasonably fit for an Old Guy, equally comfortable wielding a keyboard, torque wrench, or spatula. I've got a scary-low tolerance for bullshit.
As a motorcyclist, I can talk for hours and hours about first-hand encounters with drivers preoccupied with their cell phones (not to mention food, newspapers, computers, GPS units, ad nauseum). We (the editorial we) pass all kinds of stupid laws all the time, why can’t we have more like these? Just as, or perhaps even more importantly, why can’t we actually enforce them as vigorously as needed in order that they’re effective in changing behavior?
There’s nothing like a trip through airport security to brighten your day. How airport security ties into a story about beer, well, you’ll just have to wait and see.
The laws for alcohol consumption vary greatly. For example, quaff your Bud while walking the street in New Jersey and you’re pretty much guaranteed a night in jail. Yet as long as they’re not actually consuming alcohol, a minor can sit at a bar all day long and suffer only boredom. In Las Vegas, though, things are different. Sin City, they call the place. You can walk down the street with a beer and no one will bat an eye. But bartenders’ nervousness increases proportional to the time that minors sit anywhere near a bar. Same with the casino games, by the way. They’re serious about their anti-loitering laws.
We picked up a six-pack of beer on our way back to the suite. On Las Vegas Blvd. that’s an expensive proposition, nearly twice what we’re used to paying. I don’t know if it was the heat of the street or if they were just selling warm beer out of the cooler, but in short order the beer was warm as piss and quite useless. What to do? Stuff it in the fridge (ah, the advantages of a suite with a wet bar) and know it’ll be good to go in the morning.
And it was. Our beer of choice, though, requires an opener and – oops – we were lacking. But a lack of opener doesn’t necessarily equal a lack of ingenuity, so the search was on. Our opener turned out to be disguised as a potted plant with a wrought iron stand.
Maybe there was just the tiniest bit of spillage, but I won’t tell if you won’t! That worked until we remembered to buy an opener; it was only a couple of days. We chose a souvenir opener modeled after a bottle, filled with a viscous liquid, various icons of Las Vegas (chips, dice, etc.) floating within. A magnet on the side would hold it to our fridge, a colorful and happy reminder of this particular adventure.
The second time (but not the first – a long story about our long journey homeward) that we passed through LAS security Pam got dinged for our souvenir bottle opener. Not because of the metal end, oh no, it was the liquid content of the thing. No matter that she only had one. No matter that we ALL only had one of them between us. No matter that it was clearly a sealed piece of plastic. They must have seen a million of them over the years! No, none of that mattered in the least. The TSA wasn’t having any of it.
There were choices, of course. Leave the security area and arrange to mail it back. Leave the security area and return to ticketing, (try to) have the agent retrieve our checked bags to add the contraband. Or surrender the item. And that’s what we chose to do. A four-dollar (plus tax – 8% tax at that) plastic doo-dad just ain’t worth three trips through airport security in less than a day! DOA, that’s what she called it. The offending item was summarily tossed into a trash bin. Black. Rubbermaid.
Before I left the area I told the agent the story. Maybe I was hoping she’d change her mind. I asked for a picture. Maybe hearing the story, holding the thing again, having another look would change her mind. Nope, it didn’t work. She reached into the DOA bin and retrieved the offending trinket, but she wouldn’t let me touch it. I got my picture, but she wouldn’t even allow her hands to appear in the image. She smiled, but firmly held her position.
We boarded the tram to the gates.
There’s nothing like a trip through airport security to brighten your day. How airport security ties into a story about beer, well, you’ll just have to wait and see!
The laws for alcohol consumption vary greatly by region. For example, quaff your Bud while walking the street in New Jersey and you’re pretty much guaranteed a night in jail. Yet as long as they’re not actually consuming alcohol, a minor can sit at a Jersey bar all day long and suffer only boredom. In Las Vegas, though, things are different. Sin City, they call the place. You can walk down the street with a beer (or anything else!) and no one will bat an eye. But bartenders’ nervousness increases proportional to the time that minors sit anywhere near a bar. Same with the casino games, by the way. They’re serious about their anti-loitering laws. (No matter that I witnessed apparent elementary school aged kids pulling slots, that’s another story. Officially, they care.)
Planter / Bottle Opener
We picked up a six-pack of beer on our way back to the suite. That’s an expensive proposition on Las Vegas Blvd., nearly twice what we’re used to paying. I don’t know if it was the heat of the street or if they were just selling warm beer out of the cooler, but in short order the beer was warm as piss and quite useless. What to do? Stuff it in the fridge (ah, the advantages of a suite with a wet bar!) and find something else to do, knowing it’ll be good to go in the morning.
And it was. Our beer of choice, though, requires an opener and – oops – we were lacking. Now a lack of opener doesn’t necessarily equal a lack of ingenuity, so the search was on. Our opener turned out to be disguised as a potted plant on a wrought iron stand.
You wouldn’t know by just looking, but there’s a remarkable similarity between that plant stand and the rear bumper of a ’64 Chevy Impala!
Maybe there was just the tiniest bit of spillage but I won’t tell if you won’t! That worked until we remembered to buy an opener; it only took a couple of days. We chose a souvenir opener modeled after a bottle, filled with a viscous liquid, with icons of Las Vegas (chips, dice, etc.) floating within. A magnet on the side would hold it to our fridge, a colorful and happy reminder of this particular adventure.
The second time (but not the first!) that we passed through LAS security Pam got dinged for our souvenir bottle opener. Not because of the metal end, oh no, it was the liquid content of the thing. No matter that she only had one. No matter that we ALL only had one of them between us. No matter that it was clearly a sealed piece of plastic. They must have seen millions of them over the years! No, none of that mattered in the least. The TSA agent was determined.
There were choices, of course. Leave the security area and arrange to mail it back. Leave the security area and return to ticketing, (try to) have the agent retrieve our checked bags to add the contraband. Or surrender the item. And that’s what we chose to do. A four-dollar (plus tax – 8% tax at that) plastic doo-dad just ain’t worth three trips through airport security in less than a day! DOA, that’s what she called it. That dangerous little thing was dutifully tossed into DOA. It looked like a trash bin to me. Black. Rubbermaid.
Dangerous Terrorist Souvenir
Before I left the area I told the agent the story and asked for a picture. Maybe I was hoping she’d change her mind. Maybe hearing the story, holding the thing again, having another look would change her mind. Nope, it didn’t work. She reached into the DOA bin and retrieved the offending trinket, but she wouldn’t let me touch it. I got my picture, but she wouldn’t even allow her hands to appear in the image. She smiled, but firmly held her position.
It seems absurdly simple. We’re spending money hand over fist. Taxes will, with absolute certainty, soon rise. It seems likely to me that taxes will rise to rates never before seen in this land.
Can anyone tell me a rational reason why churches enjoyed tax-exempt status?
We absolutely need to tax all churches, as we do every other non-profit.
Check out this Web site to read some more; it was the first hit Google returned when I searched. Oops – taxthechurches.org has apparently gone dark.
The cartoon aired in the early sixties and painted an image of the future that was just so fantastic, so far-out, that it could only exist in the cartoon world. Certainly, we would never live to see it.
Well, this is the world we do live in today.
Okay, sure, we don’t have flying cars – probably never will – but so much of what they showed is so commonplace today it isn’t funny. Think about it.
I’ll soon need to use the air conditioning in my home. It’s been so cold this spring and summer that I’ve used it exactly once so far this season. And that was only because I had changed out a thermostat and needed to test the system. So the other day I ran it all day and night. I awoke to find it running full-bore, the suction line frozen and little, if any, air moving through the ductwork.
I spend a bit of time with Google and soon learned more than I had ever known about air conditioning systems, more than enough to troubleshoot my system.
It reminded me of that old movie, The Matrix. Remember Neo’s famous line? “Jiu Jitsu? I’m going to learn… Jiu Jitsu?”
“Air conditioning? I’m going to learn about… air conditioning?”
We live in an unparalleled age where most of what you need to know is just a few clicks away. I swear, sometimes I gotta pinch myself.
Don’t take it for granted. Think, and contribute what you can.
The cartoon aired in the early sixties. It painted an image of the future that was just so fantastic, so far-out, that it could only exist in the cartoon world. Certainly, we would never live to see it.
Well, this is the world we do live in today.
Okay, sure, we don’t have flying cars – probably never will – but so much of what they showed is so commonplace today it isn’t funny. Go check out excerpts from some episodes on Hulu. [That is, if you can find ’em without paying. Seems they forbid that now so I’ve pulled the link.] Think about what you see.
I’ll soon need to use the air conditioning in my home. It’s been so cold this spring and summer that I’ve used it exactly once so far this season. And that was only because I had changed out a thermostat and needed to test the system. So the other day I ran it all day and night. I awoke to find it running full-bore, the suction line frozen and little, if any, air moving through the ductwork.
I spend a bit of time with Google and soon learned more than I had ever known about air conditioning systems, more than enough to troubleshoot my system.
It reminded me of that old movie, The Matrix. Remember Neo’s famous line? “Jiu Jitsu? I’m going to learn… Jiu Jitsu?”
“Air conditioning? I’m going to learn about… air conditioning?”
We live in an unparalleled age where most of what you need to know is just a few clicks away. I swear, sometimes I gotta pinch myself.
Don’t take it for granted, my friends. Think and contribute what you can.
“The environmental movement has evolved into the strongest force there is for preventing development in the developing countries. I think it’s legitimate for me to call them ‘anti-human’. Like, okay, you don’t have to think humans are beter than whales, or better than owls or whatever you don’t want to. Right, but surely it is not a good idea to think of humans as sort of being scum, you know, that it’s okay to have hundreds of millions of them go blind or die or whatever. Â I… I just can’t relate to that.”
Last night I enjoyed a new experience and, well, it led to some rather unexpected results. I visited a karaoke bar!
Okay, go ahead, label me deprived or something. The fact is, it’s been more than a few years since I stopped hanging out in bars for the sake of just hanging out. The activity just doesn’t hold a whole lot of appeal for me. Sure, I did my share of it back in the day but I’ve usually got way better things to do with my time. So almost every time I find myself in that environment I learn something. And karaoke… I guess it’s a trend that just passed me by.
Here’s my basic interpretation of how it works. The establishment primes its customers with alcohol while playing loud music. I think it has to be loud so that everyone needs to shout to converse. It gets the voice primed. The alcohol serves as lubricant. Then they open the mike. The operator (or MC, I guess – what do you call the guy who guides the show?) sets up the songs and works the equipment. He seemed to have the ability to mix the song’s actual vocals back in so that more reserved participants would have a little help. Lyrics are displayed on strategically placed video monitors. Available songs could be chosen from a large binder – a couple of them, actually – that could be found on the bar. The night progressed and the lubricity rose, with mostly predictable results. A couple of people were actually pretty good. Most were not, but all were entertaining to one degree or another.
Before you ask, no, I didn’t take the mike at any point, which was probably a good thing for the other patrons. I must confess, though, before the night was over I did peruse the binder of songs. The lubrication, in the form of a few Coronas, was working as expected. Had I found some Zappa I might have given it a whirl. And that leads right into the unexpected results I mentioned earlier.
Time and time again I was surprised – astounded, actually – by song lyrics. Everything I knew was wrong! Top-40, metal, didn’t matter. Stuff I kind of thought I maybe sort of knew? Nope.
I’ll never listen to music the same way again.
There’s one tune that I hear kinda regularly on the satellite station at the gym. It sounds to me like they’re singing about making and eating some kind of soup. I guess I’m wrong about that one, too.
Last night I enjoyed a new experience and, well, it led to some rather unexpected results. I visited a karaoke bar!
Okay, go ahead, label me deprived or something. The fact is, it’s been more than a few years since I stopped hanging out in bars for the sake of just hanging out. The activity just doesn’t hold a whole lot of appeal for me. Sure, I did my share of it back in the day but I’ve usually got way better things to do with my time. So almost every time I find myself in that environment I learn something. And karaoke… I guess it’s a trend that just passed me by.
Here’s my basic interpretation of how it works. The establishment primes its customers with alcohol while playing loud music. I think it has to be loud so that everyone needs to shout to converse. It gets the voice primed. The alcohol serves as lubricant. Then they open the mike. The operator (or MC, I guess – what do you call the guy who guides the show?) sets up the songs and works the equipment. He seemed to have the ability to mix the song’s actual vocals back in so that more reserved participants would have a little help. Lyrics are displayed on strategically placed video monitors. Available songs could be chosen from a large binder – a couple of them, actually – that could be found on the bar. The night progressed and the lubricity rose, with mostly predictable results. A couple of people were actually pretty good. Most were not, but all were entertaining to one degree or another.
Before you ask, no, I didn’t take the mike at any point, which was probably a good thing for the other patrons. I must confess, though, before the night was over I did peruse the binder of songs. The lubrication, in the form of a few Coronas, was working as expected. Had I found some Zappa I might have given it a whirl. And that leads right into the unexpected results I mentioned earlier.
Time and time again I was surprised – astounded, actually – by song lyrics. Everything I knew was wrong! Top-40, metal, didn’t matter. Stuff I kind of thought I maybe sort of knew? Nope.
I’ll never listen to music the same way again.
There’s one tune, maybe some kind of rap, that I hear kinda regularly on the satellite station at the gym. It sounds to me like they’re chanting about making and eating some kind of soup. I guess I’m wrong about that one, too.
I dunno, maybe it’s me. I use TweetDeck desktop client for Twitter. A while back I took one of their updates and blam! the colors went all butt-ugly and the sound went south. I’m not a Blink-182 fan, and it wasn’t a welcome change. I sort of dealt with it, and figured one day I’d bother to seek out another desktop client.
Well, today I accidentally found that the folks that make TweetDeck have realized that they made a mistake and have taken the high road. Check it out.
As I get into the morning’s activities, I’m reflecting on the fact that when I rose this morning it was 68 degrees (F). A bit cloudy then, the morning sun’s burned it off and the temperature’s risen by a couple of degrees. Nearly every window’s open and there’s a gentle breeze wafting its way through the house. Other than a short, loud blast of bad pop music as an obnoxious neighbor drove through the community, all I hear are birds, an occasional plane and the hum of my laptop’s fans.
As far as the weather goes, this is what it’s all about!
Of course, it is mid-July and this is only the third such day of summer so far. (Yes, I have been keeping count!)
There’s something wrong with the weather. But not today!
The Kelsey Charity Run on Father’s Day was a non-run, a wash. At literally the last minute we headed over to Bridgewater for the usually-pleasant ride through Somerset County. Arriving a bit late, we were directed to park on the street leading down to the picnic area. That’s unusual, we usually fill the fields, and I thought it was just overflow due to lateness. But no, the fields were empty – waterlogged – and the street easily accommodated the bikes that showed.
A photographer from the local newspaper was shooting the line as I parked. I’m on the right alongside my Dyna, Pam’s in the background on my right (straightening her helmet-hair). There are other photos from the paper as well as a short article.
It’s always fun being in others’ pictures, and this year we made it onto the official event Web site’s pictures. Pam and I are on the right, walking toward the camera looking at each other.
So, the ride itself never actually happened but we had a good time anyway eating, drinking and listening to the bands. With the wet Spring, we’ll take anything that doesn’t leave us soggy!
At literally the last minute we headed over to Bridgewater for the usually-pleasant ride through Somerset County. Arriving a bit late, we were directed to park on the street leading down to the picnic area. That’s unusual, we usually fill the fields, and I thought it was just overflow due to lateness. But no, the fields were empty – waterlogged – and the street easily accommodated the bikes that showed.
A photographer from the local newspaper was shooting the line as I parked. I’m on the right alongside my Dyna, Pam’s in the background on my right (straightening her helmet-hair).
Street Parking Only
The myCentralJersey.com site has many other event photos as well as a short article. [links died]
It’s always fun being in others’ pictures, and this year we made it onto the official event Web site’s pictures. Pam and I are on the right, walking toward the camera looking at each other.
Walking the Vendor Line
So, while the ride itself never actually happened we had a good time eating, drinking and listening to the bands. With the wet Spring, we’ll take anything that doesn’t leave us soggy!
Pam’s been great about filling our calendar with all kinds of great rides this year. We had a good time on the New Jersey segment of the Katelynn Stinnett National Memorial ride June 13th. The way I heard it, this was the first ride of its kind. It took place simultaneously in all fifty states, a separate event occurring in each state. Of course, if you were so inclined you could certainly ride to something other than your home state. I met some folks from Delaware that rode into Jersey.
We staged up over at Highroads Harley-Davidson, one of four staging locations for the New Jersey event. We weren’t sure what kind of crowd to expect. When we showed up at the Freedom Run to Ground Zero we were astounded at the thousands that showed up, overflowing their huge parking lot. The Highroads shop is small and there would have been some serious disruption if even several hundred bikes rolled in. But the lot easily accommodated our crowd.
The press was in attendance. You can see photos and coverage on the MyCentralJersey.com site.
The State Police escorted ride itself was kind of short and uneventful. Since the police at the front and rear couldn’t handle intersections the bike behind the lead would peel off to block traffic, taking up the rear position as the line passed. No, it’s not a legal move. Yes, it’s an effective and safe way to move a long line of bikes through suburbia. Our escorts kindly looked the other way, so to speak.
The after-party was pretty good. We took over the Dock’s Corner Tavern in Jamesburg. The way I heard it, the owner only warned the help of the onslaught the day before, not the best strategy. But the crowd was interesting. We met a number of people from BikerOrNot.com, where apparently much of the organization for the ride took place. Ah, social sites.
Then it began to rain. We sort of figured it would pass after just one more beer, but no, it just got worse. We bought some raffle tickets and Pam won a bunch of stuff. The rain kept coming, intensifying, and the crowd thinned, many donning rain gear and riding off. As for us, well, tank tops and jeans do not rain gear make and we put it off the inevitable as long as we could.
But finally, off we went. This was Pam’s first unprotected foul weather ride in maybe 25 years. She didn’t have much fun.
There’s a funny thing about the wet when you ride. Getting started isn’t easy, but once you get as wet as you can get and you can’t get any wetter, it’s not really that bad. In other words, the anticipation is worse than the act itself. As long as there’s a hot shower at the end.
Pam’s been great about filling our calendar with all kinds of great rides this year. We had a good time on the New Jersey segment of the Katelynn Stinnett National Memorial ride June 13th. The way I heard it, this was the first ride of its kind. It took place simultaneously in all fifty states, a separate event occurring in each state. Of course, if you were so inclined you could certainly ride to something other than your home state. I met some folks from Delaware that rode into Jersey.
(Google the title of this post and you’ll find tons of support sites. New Jersey’s is here, where Pam and me are in the banner picture, seated in the front row on the left.)
We staged up over at Highroads Harley-Davidson, one of four staging locations for the New Jersey event. We weren’t sure what kind of crowd to expect. When we showed up at the Freedom Run to Ground Zero we were astounded at the thousands that showed up, overflowing their huge parking lot. The Highroads shop is small and there would have been some serious disruption if even several hundred bikes rolled in. But the lot easily accommodated our crowd.
The press was in attendance. You can see photos and coverage on the MyCentralJersey.com site. [links died]
The State Police escorted ride itself was kind of short and uneventful. Since the police at the front and rear couldn’t handle intersections the bike behind the lead would peel off to block traffic, taking up the rear position as the line passed. No, it’s not a legal move. Yes, it’s an effective and safe way to move a long line of bikes through suburbia. Our escorts kindly looked the other way, so to speak.
The after-party was pretty good. We took over the Dock’s Corner Tavern in Jamesburg. The way I heard it, the owner only warned the help of the onslaught the day before, not the best strategy. But the crowd was interesting. We met a number of people from BikerOrNot.com, where apparently much of the organization for the ride took place. Ah, social sites.
Then it began to rain. We sort of figured it would pass after just one more beer, but no, it just got worse. We bought some raffle tickets and Pam won a bunch of stuff – she’s lucky. The rain kept coming, intensifying, and the crowd thinned, many donning rain gear and riding off. As for us, well, tank tops and jeans do not rain gear make and we put it off the inevitable as long as we could.
But finally, off we went. This was Pam’s first unprotected foul weather ride in maybe 25 years. She didn’t have a whole lot of fun with it.
There’s a funny thing about the wet when you ride. Getting started isn’t easy, but once you get as wet as you can get and you can’t get any wetter, it’s not really that bad. In other words, the anticipation is worse than the act itself. As long as there’s a hot shower waiting at the end.
There. I’ve said it. And I’ll say it again. Jon Corzine sucks.
Besides the hits those words will likely deliver, let me tell you a story about the latest affront this dope’s administration has foisted upon us poor working slobs.
The registration for one of my bikes is coming up for renewal at the end of July. I’ve had the form on my desk for a couple of months now. I’ve been meaning to ride down to the agency to take care of it – I even attempted it on one of the few days that it didn’t rain. Alas, the lines were long – must have been the beginning or end of a month – and it was just too nice a day to wait it out. So I rode instead. But I digress…
A one-year registration renewal for a motorcycle in the People’s Republik of New Jersey cost US$31.50. Yeah, I know, that’s way more than you pay, isn’t it? Well, we’re used to it.
Anyway, this afternoon’s snail mail brought an envelope from Motor Vehicle Services. As I walked in from the mailbox thought it odd – nothing was due, other than the registration renewal which was already on my desk. What could they want? Can you guess?
[insert link]
Of course! A fee increase! And not just any fee increase, a whopping 106% increase to US$65.00! And it takes effect when? Not the end of July, when the second wave of motorcycle registrations comes due (just twice a year here – something to do with the ‘riding season’). Oh, no, July 6th, the Monday after the holiday. Today’s Wednesday. Friday’s a holiday, and Saturday, too, for the State. Just one day to act.
I visited the agency just before they closed and paid the lower cost. Surprisingly, the lines weren’t *that* bad, considering it’s the beginning of the month. I saw two other motorcyclists in the fray. None looked happy.
I unloaded a little on the girl at the counter. It wasn’t personal, of course, but I felt it was my civic duty to express my displeasure. She said she’d been hearing it all day, and leaned closer to express her own displeasure with Corzine.
There’s a special place in Hell waiting for that SOB. I’ll be more than happy to drive him there myself, no State Police detail needed.
There. I’ve said it. And I’ll say it again. Jon Corzine sucks.
Besides the hits those words will likely deliver, let me tell you a story about the latest affront this dope’s administration has foisted upon us poor working slobs.
The registration for one of my bikes is coming up for renewal at the end of July. I’ve had the form on my desk for a couple of months now. I’ve been meaning to ride down to the agency to take care of it – I even attempted it on one of the few days that it didn’t rain. Alas, the lines were long – must have been the beginning or end of a month – and it was just too nice a day to wait it out. So I rode instead. But I digress…
A one-year registration renewal for a motorcycle in the People’s Republik of New Jersey cost US$31.50. Yeah, I know, that’s way more than you pay, isn’t it? Well, we’re used to it.
Anyway, this afternoon’s snail mail brought an envelope from Motor Vehicle Services. As I walked in from the mailbox thought it odd – nothing was due, other than the registration renewal which was already on my desk. What could they want? Can you guess?
Of course! A fee increase! And not just any fee increase, a whopping 106% increase to US$65.00! And it takes effect when? Not the end of July, when the second wave of motorcycle registrations comes due (just twice a year here – something to do with the ‘riding season’). Oh, no, July 6th, the Monday after the holiday. Today’s Wednesday. Friday’s a holiday, and Saturday, too, for the State. Just one day to act.
I visited the agency just before they closed and paid the lower cost. Surprisingly, the lines weren’t *that* bad, considering it’s the beginning of the month. I saw two other motorcyclists in the fray. None looked happy.
I unloaded a little on the girl at the counter. It wasn’t personal, of course, but I felt it was my civic duty to express my displeasure. She said she’d been hearing it all day, and leaned closer to express her own displeasure with Corzine.
They’ve already removed the convenience of online renewals. My pickup already costs well in excess of US$100 to register. I wonder what that increase will be…
I believe there’s a special place in Hell waiting for that SOB. I’ll be more than happy to drive him there myself, on the end of my boot, no State Police detail needed.
If you’re considering voting Corzine in for another term I’d really like to hear your reasoning. Add your comment today.
Six Flags, the world’s largest theme park company with 20 parks in the United States, Canada and Mexico, is bankrupt. Still, they’re moving ahead with planned expansions in Quatar and Dubai.
One of their parks is nearby and I’ve visited quite a number of times since they opened when I was a kid. It used to be a lot of fun. But when they installed the metal detectors a couple of decades or more ago I swore I wouldn’t go anymore. I haven’t quite kept to that.
By all accounts the parks are crowded to capacity. Admission, parking, food – everything - is incredibly expensive, even for Jersey. The lines are painfully long for every ride, all the time. I was there a while back and we spent a good deal of wait time trying to calculate the cost per minute of ride experience. In excruciating detail. It’s okay, we had the time and it was good mental gymnastics. (At least I developed my company’s slogan from that trip, so I suppose it wasn’t a total loss.)
Anyway, can someone please explain to me how it’s possible that a business like that can be bankrupt? I just don’t get it.
The weather here in NJ hasn’t been the best for motorcyclists this spring. It’s made planning rides an iffy thing, at best. Pam’s been making it her business to fill the calendar with good rides and events now that my Dyna’s configured for passenger comfort. So I was glad when I woke to clear skies and reasonable temperatures for the Freedom Run to Ground Zero. Pam’s was really looking forward to this event.
We planned to meet some folks from bikerornot.com up at Bergen H-D. (We’re riding a charity run with them later in the month.) It meant leaving the house kind of early for a high-speed blast up the New Jersey Turnpike. The Freedom Run turned out to be a huge event – maybe bigger than the organizers anticipated. I heard estimates between 4,000 and 6,000 bikes and I believe it. Staging and registration were chaotic and eventually they shut registration down completely. Â There was a definite advantage to being there earlier rather than later!
Even as close to the front as we were it took the better part of a half hour before we wheeled out of the parking lot. (Later, talking to others further back, I learned it took more than another hour to empty the lot.)
The route was to be a simple one: Route 80, across the George Washington Bridge, down the east side of Manhattan, across the Financial District to loop around the Ground Zero site, slightly north to the Holland Tunnel, then through the tube to Liberty State Park back in Jersey for the after-party. Now, how do you think they move that many bikes along that simple but well-traveled route? Why they close the roads, of course!
Have you ever experienced George Washington Bridge traffic? Even at best it’s awful, certainly NOT biker friendly. It’s very, very different when the police block traffic to let thousands of bikes pass. As for those that needed to stop and wait – probably for more than an hour – well, it sucked to be them.
The Holland Tunnel was interesting, too. Loud pipes are, well, loud in tunnels. Riding with a dozen or two is awesome. When the tunnel is filled with bikes it’s simply beyond description.
And that’s the way it was: roads closed to auto traffic, open to a rather large number of bikes. The entire route was, for the most part, non-stop – at least for those of us in the front. I heard that toward the back things were different. Drivers, after being trapped for a long time watching an uncountable number of bikes go by, were not pleased. The results of that were, well, predictable. I heard some less-experienced riders commenting that this Freedom Run was to be their last.
Ground Zero? As it happened we stopped briefly as we worked our way through traffic. But there wasn’t much to see – a chain link fence draped with opaque plastic blocked vision from the street. Pam, less familiar with the area from ground-level, didn’t even realize we were there until we had already passed the site! Still, it was an emotional moment.
We got plenty of pictures from the road. If you’ve got a few minutes then why not go and check ’em out.
The after-party was kind of a non-event. We ate a little lunch (no beer!) and wandered the vendors while listening to the band. Nothing we haven’t seen a million times before. We bought some helmet stickers (mine was fairly empty, having been replaced earlier this year) and found some excellent silver jewelry to follow up later. (edit: I’d give ’em a link – tildeath925.com – but the site’s dead. Jason’s a nice guy, I hope his business hasn’t gone tits up.) Must be the economy, the vendor turnout was pretty small, so we left. The Turnpike extension on the way back was jammed up solid with traffic. But we tagged along with a contingent of bikes using the shoulder, led by a couple of Hackensack Police bikes. That had to have saved at least an hour. It was much appreciated, thanks boys!
Back in May Pam and I rode into Rahway for their annual Hot Rods and Harleys event. The emphasis was definitely on the hot rods. It was a blast wandering the city checking out the cool iron (amazing how the $50 junker of my youth has come to be worth a small fortune), drinking beers in the sun, taking pictures. Go check ’em out if you have a few minutes to spare.
Afterward we had a minor run-in with a local LEO, but it turned out fine.
