The Billionaire's Vinegar (and the thousandaire's giclee)

"And you drove there?" my manager asked me.  My manager couldn't seem to fathom that I drove to Wyoming.

While definitely not the same as going cross country on my motorcycle, I actually enjoy the expeditions in my four-wheeled vehicle.  The trip out allows me some time to mentally prepare by shedding thoughts about work and home.  It allows me an opportunity to mentally prepare for what I'm traveling for.  The trip home gives me time to reflect - to replay events in my mind and begin to see what will stick in my memory, and what I'll be glad I've written down as I'll be sure to forget it otherwise.

These trips also allow me to read/listen to audiobooks.  I often ponder if reading a physical book is the same as listening to it.  I've decided it isn't; it is only a close facsimile.  I won't claim to be able to explain this, but I see reading a book on a Kindle or Nook to be more similar to audiobooks than the physical book.  Paper books have a tactile, almost sensualness to them that any form of digital media just doesn't have - the difference between the plastic house plant and the real one.  Both can look good, but they are not equivalent.
One of the books I listened to on my westward direction was The Billionaire's Vinegar by Benjamin Wallace.  I don't remember where I originally heard about this book, but I found it utterly fascinating.  It recounts the tale of a 1787 Lafite bordeaux supposedly owned by Thomas Jefferson, and delves into the cosmos of ultra-rare wine collecting.  Like any niche-world, this is not an arena to enter into without knowing what one is getting into; it would appear to be a world where trivial differences can be the split between something outrageously valuable and something of no value except as decoration or a conversation piece.  Fraud can be rampant, with profits to be made if one is discreet (google Rudy Kurniawan...).  Arguably, many of these rare, old wines taste good only because they are rare and old.
The Billionaire's Vinegar was so good, I started to listen to it on the return trip, but got home before the second read was done.

Ultra rare wine collecting sounds like a sister to fine art collecting.  I've never really understood art - where the value of something is so dependent, not on the thing itself, but on the person who created it.  A dusty painting from hundreds of years ago may be worth nothing, even if it appears to be a really good painting, if the artist is an unknown.  A painting of similar aesthetic value from Matisse or Steen could be priceless.
I enjoy watching Antiques Roadshow, and it isn't unusual for a participant to bring in a work of art they see as "ugly" only to say something to the effect of, "I'm starting to really like this now!" when the appraiser tells them it is worth thousands of dollars.  (Just how often are Antiques Roadshow appraisals grossly wrong?)  It seems if a painting has aesthetic value, it should be worth something.  And if it is ugly, it shouldn't?  Perhaps I am just a philistine when it comes to these things.  I am...

A relative gave me a "painting" of a leopard a few years ago.  Except it isn't a painting at all, but a "giclee" - which is an expensive way of saying an ink-jet printing on canvas, possibly touched in a few places by a brush and maybe even a penned signature.  It came with a Certificate of Authenticity and an "appraisal" which put its value at hundreds of dollars.  I can find other giclees - or seriolithographs - of this image online for even more, approaching several thousands of dollars from "fine art" websites.  Or I can find it on Ebay for a few few tens of dollars.  How much is the used car worth?  My former boss used to tell customers that it is worth what someone will pay for it.
A web search of the art seller, who also happens to be the appraiser, quickly shows the value of their certificate and what their valued opinion is worth.

• "... as well as a giclée of leopards by Andrew Bone to a man wearing a Yankees T-shirt for $1,025. (When I spoke to the Yankees fan later, he referred to the purchase as a “painting on canvas,” and I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.)"

I'm not sure what the relative paid for the image, but I suspect the frame it is in could actually be of similar value.  In the back of my mind, I can't help wonder what Andrew Bone, the artist, thinks about this racket.  Probably like Thomas Kinkade - he thinks about his bank account.  Bubble gum can be fun to chew for a few minutes.

I originally felt somewhat obligated to hang the leopard giclee up in the house, but even if it has some aesthetic value, it just doesn't look right anywhere in the house.  An African leopard in a house filled with North American taxidermy looks more than a little out of place.  Many would question my choice for decoration and I understand that.  But I'm also very aware that any offense aside, my art choice has value to me and me alone - an aesthetic reminder of my experiences rather than intrinsic worth.

The leopard print is relegated to the basement, and if the market for seriolithographs ever takes off and I end up on Antiques Roadshow, I'm not sure I'll be able to say I like it more.

Honor Flight (and some thoughts on volunteering)

I originally heard about Honor Flight from the PBS TV Show Our Ohio.  I used to watch this show somewhat regularly.  Our Ohio is still on TV, but it does not appear that any new episodes have been made in a long time.  Or at least every time I see it when flipping past, it is one I easily recognize as something I've previously seen.

I signed up to be a volunteer guardian for Honor Flight several years ago.  I knew there was a backlog and so I wasn't surprised when I didn't hear much for a long time.  Then there were a few contacts about needing guardians for upcoming flights, but they were for times when it wouldn't work out for me.  This was followed by a prolonged period of time when I assumed I must have been dropped from the list.  As it turned out, flights had nearly stopped due to a lack of funds.  It shouldn't be too surprising that programs like Honor Flight are in greater need of money than volunteers.

A few weeks ago another call went out for guardians and as the time would work well enough for me, I agreed to participate.  Training was to be held right after vacation and was listed as "optional," but I just could not see doing this without as much information as possible.  The training was on a rainy Monday, and it was more of an orientation than a training, but it did come with enough relevant information to be worth it.  I also learned that the vast majority of guardians were going with a close family member or friend.  Guardians such as myself who were helping a stranger were by far the minority.  The tentative schedule had me as a guardian for a WWII veteran.  There was some apprehension in the whole endeavor, having a significant responsibility for anyone, let alone someone why may need a lot of help, is a significant responsibility.

On the morning of the Honor Flight, and after going to bed as early as I could the previous evening, I got up a little before 1:30AM and got ready.  Heading toward the airport and the chartered flight to DC, I found it surreal that the bars were still open and hootin' and hollerin' from the previous evening.  It was raining very hard which made the early, dark drive slower than it should have been.

After parking and making my way to the airport, I entered a somewhat chaotic scene with a semblance of order under the surface.  After some uncomfortable searching, I met Mr. W, a WWII vet.  He was mostly wheelchair bound but mentally quite alert; quiet but friendly.  After some chatting with him and his daughter, she left as the swirl of activity ebbed and flowed  around us.  Soon enough, the call went out to board the flight.  We breezed through TSA which was a good thing as I couldn't imagine fully screening every passenger, especially with some of the limited mobility of many of them.

Mr. W sat right up front in first class, and I took one of the first guardian-appropriate seats near the back.  It happened to be an exit row, and the extra foot room was nice.  It takes a lot of time and coordination to board the plane, and this continued through the day every time the plane or bus was boarded or unboarded.  This meant a lot of waiting around, but it was never painful to do so.
The flight took off and headed east.  As the plane flew, a gorgeous sunrise took shape over the rain clouds below.

Once at Reagan Airport, we boarded three buses to bring everyone to the memorials.  Mr. W's bag was grabbed by someone else which caused me some angst.  I felt like I had already made a mistake (even though it wasn't anything I did or didn't do) and it was raining pretty good with a fairly miserable forecast so Mr. W's rain coat would probably be needed.  As it turned out, Mr. W's rain gear was not in his bag, but I didn't realize that until much later in the day.  His bag was located quickly enough, but was never used throughout the day.  I ended up carrying everything and gave Mr. W the rain coat I had brought.

Not many of the other guardians seemed as enthralled with this as I was, but having a police escort through the day has to be one of the unexpectedly coolest aspects of the day.  Not only did that allow us to get to our stops extremely quickly - and this was important given the schedule combined with typical Washington DC traffic - but rolling through stop signs and red lights with police sirens was just plain a hoot.  It has ruined me forever; I'll never be able to look at big city traffic the same.  Those police exhibited very little humor for drivers who did not yield to us.

Our first stop was Arlington National Cemetery.  This was one of the few places I didn't get to see when I was in DC in 2003.  The rows and rows of white grave stones was sobering.  The buses stopped near the Tomb of the Unknown, and everyone got out of the bus to heavy rain.  I was wearing a disposable poncho, and Mr. W had my rain coat; neither of these were adequate for the heavy, cold rain.  Seeing the soldier, without identified rank, guarding the tomb in heavy rain was even more impactful than it would have been on a bright sunny day - it somehow seemed fitting.  The rain did not make it very comfortable for any of the viewers of the changing of the guard, but all the veterans and guardians were stoic about the rainy weather, as they were through the entire day.

The next stop was the FDR memorial.  Most of the program seems correctly directed towards WWII veterans, and FDR is both a large memorial and has a component directed toward WWII.

The third stop was to the Air Force Memorial which is probably one of the most impressive ones in the city.  Like the Washington Memorial, it can be seen from a great distance away.  It was also our lunch stop, but the continued terrible weather meant almost everyone ate on the bus.  The constant rain was getting to be painful.

The fourth stop was to the Vietnam Memorial, Lincoln Memorial and Korean Memorial.  This was right near the National Mall and other monuments in the area, but they were not viewed directly.  It was probably the longest stop and the Vietnam Memorial is terrible for wheel chairs.  The walk to the actual Wall is partially on a section with very small pavers separated by significant spaces - it was far too easy to get "stuck" on this walkway with a wheel chair.  When rolling, the uneven surface was like a rickety Conestoga wagon.
One really neat thing was the presence of an attache from the Korean Embassy at the Korean War Memorial.  Korean veterans in our group were given medals and thanks as they walked through.

Throughout the day, many of the stops had military or civilian groups present to greet and salute the veterans.  This was really neat to see - this was a trip all about the veterans and at one point I commented to Mr. W that he had had more hand shakes on that day than I probably had in the previous 10 years.  Washington DC has a lot of active military about and at just about every stop, they took time to thank the visiting veterans.

The rain was once again very heavy at this fourth stop, and many of the veterans cut their viewing short to get out of the continued awful conditions.  Making things worse, it was an atypically cold day as well.  I'm not sure how the weather affected the overall impact of the day.

The final stop of the day was at the WWII memorial.  This was under construction during my 2003 visit so I was glad to be able to see it completed.  It really is a nicely thought out and pretty memorial.  Mr. W seemed to really like it and thankfully, the rain stopped, and it even warmed up a bit.  We were able to spend quite a bit of time walking through the memorial and taking some pictures.

After the WWII memorial, we were off to a volunteer dinner at a local fraternal organization hall.
One of the things I really liked about the Honor Flight was the constant activity.  There was some waiting when boarding and unboarding buses, but everyone was always doing something.  Flying volunteers takes up precious space for veterans, so everyone was needed.  This contrasts with many previous volunteer efforts I've been a part of.
In most of my previous volunteer events, there are 24 people with enough work for 14 - meaning busy work for too many people or, more likely, standing around feeling like tits on a bull.  Some of this is hard to avoid as experienced volunteers can do stuff faster than training volunteers that may not be around very long.  One-time volunteers end up being superfluous.  It is at the point where I would rather typically donate money over volunteer.  As evidenced by the time it took me to become a guardian on an Honor Flight, it seems that funding is in shorter supply than volunteers even for programs that use volunteers effectively.
This phenomenon was on display at the dinner.  I'm not denigrating the dinner, as it was generous, tasty and a good time, but there were clearly more volunteers than were needed.  Do not set down the fork, for a volunteer is likely to scoop it up instantly along with the plate!
To be fair though, volunteering often is partially for the volunteer as well as the voluntee (if that can be used as a word).  This makes sense when helping to instill ethics and life lessons to young people, but it can appear a little more desperate with adults.

Once dinner was over, we made our way back to the buses and headed, now without our police escort, to the airport.  Once again through TSA, we boarded the plane only to find out the plane had been overfueled.  Previously unknown to me, planes can not land with too much fuel due to weight concerns.  Everyone on the plane was tired and even though we had mostly dried out, the rain hadn't helped the mood much.  But everyone kept good spirits as we waited to have some fuel pumped out of the plane's fuel tanks.
Soon enough, we were in the air en route to home.

The welcome home was overwhelming.  There had to be at least 1000 people there giving a military-esque welcome to the veterans.  Bands were playing, military members were there, "pin-up" girls were there - although in some kind of a tribute to, rather than facsimile of WWII pin-ups.  I don't recall seeing that many tattoos on pin-ups from WWII.  Watching the reaction of the veterans was interesting.  A few were visibly moved by the huge welcoming, some showed frustration at the end of the long day.
I found Mr. W's family and we talked for a while.  Things at the end of the day were a little chaotic, so I wasn't sure if I had any final responsibilities and eventually made my way to my vehicle.

On my way home, I noticed the same bars were still open.  I found this a little sad.
Once at home, I quickly went to bed.  The next day was almost one of recovery after being awake more than 24 hours sandwiched between two nights with little sleep.

With a few days past to reflect, I was really impressed with the Honor Flight Program.  Most of the participants, both veterans and guardians, were uninitiated so there was the potential for anarchy and/or lots of grousing.  Thankfully, there was little of that and just about everyone I interacted with maintained a positive attitude.  It really was a privilege to be part of the flight and helping a WWII Vet see the memorials.
I've gone back and forth as to whether I would be a guardian again.  It was a great experience, but I can't help but wonder how much better it is for the veterans to do this with a family member or a close friend.  To be clear, guardians pay their own way so it isn't a great way to experience DC unless what one is looking for is to grossly overpay for a flight to Washington and then see only what others want to see.  But again, the program is for the veterans, not the guardians.  There probably are some veterans who do not have the support needed to see this with someone close - and for them it appears there is a significant back-log of waiting volunteers.  I'd almost see it as more valuable to help a veteran participate with a friend of or family member who may not have the means to be a guardian, but I'm at the same time not sure how to square that with using that same money to help more veterans see the memorials.  These things are never easy...

I don't know that my day as part of the Honor Flight could be considered fun.  What I can conclude is that my day with Honor flight was a brutally long day, ferociously wet, and very rewarding.  I can only hope it was for all the veterans, especially Mr. W, as well.

Thoughts on the Total Solar Eclipse

I can never predict what moment will persevere in my memory.  On my way to Alaska nearly ten years ago I rode my motorcycle across the Teslin Bridge into the town of Teslin, Yukon Territory.  I vividly remember the long grated surface of the bridge, the gravel on the road after it, the gas station in the town of Teslin and the conversation with the man pulling a large trailer.  Why this sticks with me all these years later, and I can't clearly recall more recent and more momentous events is a mystery.
I think these small moments live on due to the perception of the entirety of the occurrence.  In addition to the physicality of the Teslin Bridge and the gravel, I also recall feeling almost in awe of the surroundings - how remote Teslin felt compared to anywhere else, how far I had come, how far I still had to go.

Closing in on two weeks after experiencing the total solar eclipse of 2017, the entire brief period of totality seems almost a blur.  But what I can still clearly see is that first instant after taking off my solar glasses and seeing the blocked out sun, seeing the solar corona.  On any normal day, I could use the thumb on my outstretched hand to dim the brightness of the sun or block the view of the moon, but during the eclipse, it seemed impossible to do this.  And yet, I was struck by how small the actual eclipse looked in the darkened sky.  All the pictures I had seen leading up to the eclipse were close-ups showing the amazement of the corona.  My own pictures also show little else.  What is missing is how small it looks.  I still question how something so small can simultaneously be so grand.

After staring at the eclipse for a few moments, I looked over at my camera which was already pointed at the sun since I was taking pictures through the partial eclipse.  I quickly grabbed a few photos and saw nothing in the images.  For all my preparations, I had forgotten to remove my solar filter.
Removing the solar filter, I successfully bracketed a few images.  I looked back at the eclipse, not wanting to spend too much time looking at it through an LCD camera screen.  I looked around at the foreign horizon.  Using practiced motion, I grabbed a few more images without looking at the camera - I could do this by touch since I knew exactly where the buttons were by that point.
It seemed irrational at the time, but I remember thinking that it was odd that something so visually divergent could happen without any noise.  The sun was so stunningly different, but the abrupt change happened without any noise at all.  It might have made more sense if it had come with a roar or a howl.
I glanced around again for a few moments, looking at the odd light and its effect on the objects immediately around me.  Turning back to the eclipsed sun, it was over.  The brightest, whitest sunlight I have ever seen instantly hurt my eyes.  They call it the diamond ring, but it should really be called eclipse pain.  In the shortest few minutes of my life, the eclipse was over.

The build-up to the eclipse was a big part of the event for me.  When I went to bed the night before, I had come to peace with the fact that cloud conditions would likely prevent any viewing of it.  I had rationalized that this was OK.  But it wasn't.  At least a year of planning had gone into this.  I'm sure there would have been group catharsis, but I wanted nothing other than to see the total solar eclipse.  I had to stretch out of my comfort zone a bit to make watching the eclipse under a perfectly cloudless sky surrounded by almost nothing a reality.  And maybe that helps to create memories that persevere - allowing them to occur outside of the easy.

I desperately want to again ride my motorcycle to Alaska, but part of me is also terrified to do so.  I don't want those brief vivid memories to be polluted by new ones that are less.  I can recall stopping in Kremling, Colorado for the night on my first time in the Rockies.  That also remains a very vivid memory.  I went through Kremling a few years later and saw it only as another in a series of picturesque Western towns.  I couldn't really see anything special about it on that second time through.  I can't begin to describe how depressing that is.
When I ride the Alaska Highway again some day, I'm uncomfortable with the idea of crossing the Teslin Bridge again.  The bridge might be the same, but the gravel will not be, and there is unlikely to be a conversation with a man pulling a large trailer.  It is exceedingly unlikely that he has any idea of how that conversation played a role in my memory of Teslin and of the Alaska Highway.  I sometimes wonder if I've ever been a part of other's snippets of memories.  Almost certainly.  We continue to pass unseen through small moments in other's lives.

In April of 2024, another total solar eclipse will cross the United states.  A lot can happen in seven years, but barring anything catastrophically momentous, I anticipate doing what I can to see it as well.  April is a less opportune time for an eclipse; nothing can be done about the weather.  I guess I can start to rationalize now that not seeing it won't be the end of the world - and it won't.
I am not likely to become an eclipse chaser, spending considerable time and money to view them whenever and wherever they occur.  But I understand now a little more why people pursue total solar eclipses with such vigor.

I'm not sure what will happen to my memories of the recent eclipse over time.  The strongest memory I have now, almost immediately after it is how short it seemed.  If it weren't for the time stamps on my images, I'm not sure I'd believe how long it actually lasted in the spot that I was standing.
And that first mental image of seeing the brilliant white solar eclipse against the deep, black sky is impossible to forget.  At least I hope it is.

American Eclipse (1878 and 2017)

I just finished reading American Eclipse by David Baron.  It chronicles the path of three notable people as they prepared for and viewed the eclipse of July 29, 1878.
Thomas Edison is known as an early American prolific inventor.  He ventured west in 1878 to test an invention which was supposed to be a very sensitive heat detector.  While his experiments were largely inconsequential and his "tasimeter" a footnote at best, the theory behind its use was sound and perhaps ahead of its time as it may have been one of the first instances of searching the cosmos using radiation outside of the narrow visible spectrum of light.
James Craig Watson viewed the eclipse hoping to find the existence of a planet inside the orbit of Mercury.  He found an unknown object that he determined to be the planet "Vulcan" which he was looking for.  Dying a few years later, before his planet discovery was debunked, his legacy remains one of setting up an astronomy award which bears his name today.
Maria Mitchell went to research the eclipse with a female contingent.  Plagued by the misogyny of the era, her eclipse viewing didn't result in any immediate consequence, but her legacy lives on as an early female pioneer during America's ascendancy in science.

I read the book as I am preparing to head out to see the 2017 eclipse in a few weeks.  My upcoming eclipse viewing is strictly experiential, not scientific.  I've done as much preparing as I can at this point, which means I am now free to worry as the date approaches.
Like most people, my chosen location is based on a mix of where I live, where it is likely to have minimal clouds and where the amount of people will be tolerable.
In February of 1998, I went down to camp on St. Johns in the US Virgin Islands.  An eclipse was passing through that area but the eclipse was more of an excuse to go on a rather exotic vacation for a couple weeks.  Camping on the beach near a bizarre cast of characters and wild donkeys was quite an experience.  St. Johns was in the 80%+ band of the eclipse, and it was interesting, but anticlimactic.  If anything, the crescent shadows cast by the sun obscured by the moon were probably the most interesting feature.

I want to see totality this time.  And I'm a chronic worrier, so I have several weeks to fret.
I worry about the weather.  As much as I plan on going to an area that is likely to have minimal clouds, even the driest areas in Eastern Oregon have some probability of all-day cloudiness or torrential rain during the actual event.  I am aware that I can do nothing about this, and while minor adjustments can be made, major changes will be difficult within the time frame of accurate weather forecasts.  My preparation has essentially locked me into the general area I've chosen.  More out of curiosity, I looked at major destinations on the path of totality to see what, if any, hotel rooms were still available.  Few are, and they are all really expensive; in the most egregious example, a 1-star hotel with bad reviews in Casper, Wyoming is still available ... at a cost of nearly $1200.

I worry about people.  I plan on going to a less-populated area of the country, but will thousands and thousands of other people have the same idea.  Intuitively I think not; a small subset of the population will be going to great length to see the eclipse and a larger subset will make an effort near where they live, but I don't believe the entire path of totality will be crawling with people to view an event which is to last only a few minutes.  Still, I'd rather not view the eclipse while stuck in some traffic jam which is historic for the area I'll be in.

While I enjoyed reading American Eclipse, I'm not sure it was wise to do so.  David Baron writes of the inability of people to find boarding rooms in 1878.  There are a lot more people around with a lot more ability for information 139 years later.  In some sense, being in the right kind of crowd may be fun for an event like this - I just hope to have a few square feet for me and my tripod.
He also writes about terrible weather leading up to the eclipse.  But in the end, the eclipse day was clear and weather forecasts have come a long way in 139 years.

I guess as with any kind of travel, the anticipation is part of the experience.  Forty-nine days and counting...

Will Quitting My Job Give Me Sunburn?

It is Memorial Day Weekend.  The unofficial start of summer.  Societal summer, not meteorological summer.  There are a lot of people on vacation right now, which means it is a terrible time to go anywhere.
For me, summer starts when it gets warm and stops when it gets cold.  Anytime might be a good time to go anywhere.

With summer here, news stories keep reporting the statistic as fact that even one sunburn in childhood doubles the risk of skin cancer.  This might be true; I've yet to see this reported with any link to a credible study backing this up.  The other statistic I keep seeing is 5 sunburns through young adulthood increases skin cancer risk by up to 80%.  Again, this might be true and at least there are hints this comes from research, hopefully peer reviewed.  I should point out that both of these being absolute facts is mathematically impossible.  Both of these statistics keep referring back to a handful of dermatologists.  I'm sure they are brilliant practitioners.
Somewhere around 1996, SO went to a new dentist.  She came home with a list of treatments that were urgently required and with a cost that could have bankrupt us.  A few days later, a coworker was almost in tears wondering how she was going to pay for dental work required by her new dentist.  The required work was eerily familiar.  It was, predictably, the same dentist.  Neither SO nor Coworker got the imperatively needed dental work.  Both are fine.
In 2007, Dr. Stokes was sentenced to over 10 years in prison for scamming money through unneeded surgery as a dermatologist.  Legalities aside, not all doctors are ethical.  I actually think I might have known Stokes' kid at one time?  Probably not.  More than likely, I'm confusing names from a long time ago.

And if a statistic is reported often enough, it eventually becomes true.  72% of the population knows this.

Last year for a few weeks in August, the news repeatedly reported that flossing has no benefit.  Children everywhere rejoiced.  The news got it almost right; reporters often get things wrong.  A much more accurate reporting would be that studies looking at the effectiveness of flossing were not rigorous - so the benefit is not conclusive.  This doesn't make as clicky of a headline.  The AP, when dryly reporting, gets it right more often.  Flossing may still be either a critical health habit or a phenomenal waste of time.

I don't like gunk in my teeth - I will continue flossing.  Sunburn hurts - I will continue to wear sunscreen.

Work has been a bit slow this week.  This may be partially due to people's vacation.  It is sometimes astounding how various tasks spontaneously become less urgent during weeks common for vacation.  There are really only two big things going on and both of them are disorganized clusters.  Motivation is predictable.
Too often recently, I think I really want to sell everything - everything - and travel on the cheap for the rest of my life.  Maybe I really want to, or maybe I do like my stuff.  After a few frustrations this week, it seemed like it wouldn't have taken much...
Niue here I come.  I shouldn't have looked at flight costs online, I could get to Niue for around $1000(US).  One way.

If one sunburn doubles the risk of cancer and 5 sunburns increases the risk of cancer by 80%, what is this relative to?
I don't believe I've ever met anyone who hasn't had a good lobster boil sunburn at least a few times.  Sunburns were a rite of passage for 1980's summer Michigan.  SPF5 was seen as overly cautious while suntan oil took up copious shelf space in the drug stores.  The day after spending a sunny day on the shores of Lake Michigan ... skin so biting that wearing pants at work was excruciating ... peeling so bad a few days later that noses look like egg rolls and foreheads look like old onions...

"Boy, I'll tell you I'm the luckiest son of a bitch on Earth.  Sorry, we're closed." - Sam Malone, Cheers final scene

Six Months 5000 Mile Review of the 2017 Honda Ridgeline

John Davis of Motorweek often describes Honda as doing "everything really well, but nothing great."  That is probably a good description of the Honda Ridgeline.
It isn't a ten ton backhoe hauler.
It isn't a Moab rock crawler.
It doesn't have the biggest bed.
It doesn't have the best fuel economy.
But it does the job of what a truck is needed for really well.

My truck is the RTS trim level in "obsidian blue" - why do all vehicle manufacturers insist on superfluous color descriptors?  It is dark blue.
The RTS trim level is one above the base level.  It has the more basic radio, textile seats, no wizz-bang auto-braking or automatic target acquisition system.  Some of these features I may have appreciated, but I'm a bit of an outlier in that I really dislike leather in a car - it cooks in the summer, freezes in the winter.  Heated and cooled seats are a just a fix for these symptoms.

Aesthetics are subjective and initially I was 100% neutral on the appearance of the truck.  After owning it and seeing several others around, the look of the vehicle has grown on me.  I do think it looks better in darker colors relative to some of the lighter options, but I wish Honda didn't use such a benign color palette.  All the available colors are somewhat corporate.  Blue is, of course, the fastest color.

I'll start off with what I don't like about the Ridgeline.  I really miss my manual transmission.  My left foot sits there forlornly and my right hand has little else to do other than occasionally helping to steer.  Only a little over 2% of the cars sold in the US still have a manual transmission, and many manufacturers are saying it is just a matter of time until they do away with them completely.  I'll just have to get over it, but I won't be happy about it.

In some ways, all future four-wheeled vehicles will be compared to my 1994 F-150.  I loved that truck, although it was probably as much because it was my college graduation present to myself as anything else.  Given the slow growth in size of almost all vehicles over time, the Ridgeline is pretty close in size to that '94.  But space is more usable for what I need now with the crew cab and smaller bed.  I'll still plea for a smaller capable truck in the US, but they just don't exist anymore.  Thank you chicken tax...

Coming from my last vehicle, a Toyota Tacoma, I love the power level of the truck.  It isn't a rip-snortin' Raptor, but acceleration is quite quick and the payload of the truck is more than adequate for a midsize truck - on par with other similar vehicles.  Fuel economy and power level are often trade-offs.  So far, fuel economy is averaging just over 23mpg vs 22.8 for the Tacoma - given the mileage difference, I'll call that the same, so the increase in power is comparatively great.  Many of my vehicles had slight overall increases in fuel economy over time while the Tacoma's mpg decreased slightly.  Only time will tell how the Ridgeline acts, but at this point, I'm very happy with both power level and efficiency.
I'm somewhat surprised at the performance of the Ridgeline engine.  The V6 redlines at 6750 - this compared to another Honda I own, my GL1800 which redlines at 6000RPM.  The Goldwing has solid shim-under-bucket lifters with far less reciprocating mass, yet the Ridgeline engine still revs higher.  However, I'm probably unlikely to use the upper limits on the Ridgline as much as I do with the GL1800.

Getting to where the rubber meets the road - lots of people hate this truck because Honda has taken a slightly different approach to many things.  The 4wd vs AWD is probably the biggest one.  In place of a 2-speed transfer case, the Ridgeline has permanent All Wheel Drive.  This past winter was sort of the winter-that-wasn't, but on the few occasions I needed it, I was quite impressed with how the truck handled on snow and ice covered roads.  And with more advanced ability to place torque to the wheels with grip, it was slightly better than most previous 4wd vehicles I've driven in the winter.

Off road manners have been similar to driving with poor road conditions.  I had a hog hunting trip in the swamps of South Carolina and I never once felt uneasy about the conditions I had to put the Ridgeline through.  One of the message boards I sometimes read through had a Tacoma owner say, "I can't wait to see one of these stuck."  The cliquey mean-spiritedness aside, this shows ignorance more than anything else.  The system used on the Ridgeline is not dissimilar to what has been used for decades in other AWD vehicles that have demonstrated good capability in poor traction conditions.  On a road trip out west last year, I talked to a guy in a Subaru in Nevada who had outfitted his Outback for off-roading.  He had some good stories to tell about its capabilities.  I have gotten 4wd vehicles stuck in the past, although that was due to crappy tires as much as anything else.  I don't worry about getting stuck in the Ridgeline any more than that.  The hog hunting trip was successful.

There is some AWD push/understeer; the front wheels do push gravel around my parking area during tight turns.  But I've yet to own a vehicle that doesn't do this at least a little.  This is far less than in SO's much smaller Ford Focus.

Where the Ridgeline really shines is interior.  With a unibody construction, there is much more room inside to work with.  Honda has laid out everything fairly well.  The digital speedometer took some getting used to as I can't look at it askew and lie to myself that I'm going a more compliant speed as I can with an analog gauge, but I've adjusted to that quickly.  There is a large center console, although I wish it was a little taller - it would give more room and stop the dogs from walking on it quite so much.  Seats are comfortable enough that my trip to South Carolina (11 hours) was done easily.  Interior noise is minimal and the audio system works well.  It was nice to dump a few books onto a USB drive and listen to that for my longer trips.

Some people have complained about how far the rear doors open, but they open wide enough to get a double rifle case into the back seat area - or UNDER the back seat!  This frees up tons of space for other stuff.  The complaints about the rear doors seem to be niggles about nothing.

Ride quality of the truck is fantastic.  With fully independent suspension, my commute in the vehicle is very tolerable.  Bumps that would have the Tacoma bouncing down the road are soaked up by the Ridgeline.  The truck feels solid with very little road noise.  There is one downhill section of torn up road with a stop sign on my morning commute which would always set off the ABS on my Tacoma.  I've yet to have that happen on the Ridgeline.

The truck has an automatic climate system which I was somewhat leery of at first.  I tried to use it manually and it was slightly frustrating.  Eventually I just hit the Auto button and - surprise - it worked very well.  Much like the permanent AWD system, it just works - trust it.  I still use manual when the temperature is hovering between needing heat and cooling, and the ability to force the AC off while in "Auto" mode is a nice feature as I don't like AC when the temperature is only moderately warm.

I'm currently around 5000 miles on the truck after six months.  The Ridgeline has an automated system to tell me when maintenance is due - which is both good and bad.  I suppose this will help save money in the long run, but it makes it really hard to plan as I intend to do most of my own maintenance.  Based on what I've read about other Hondas, it seems the Ridgeline has slightly more required maintenance than something like the Ford F-150.  I've read about 15k differential fluid changes and 30k transmission fluid changes, but I really haven't put enough miles on it yet to know that for sure;  I'm currently at 50% oil life which would suggest somewhere around 10k between oil changes, longer than I'm used to, but I'll adjust and it will save time and money.

As a comparatively low volume seller, getting good information on the Ridgeline can be a little more challenging than some other vehicles.  There are lots similarities between the Ridgeline forums and other trucks.  There are the ever-present people who will do nothing but complain about their newly purchased vehicle, or write stuff with the delusional belief that Honda is anxiously reading forums and individual buyers will cause them to change something.  There are also the clearly ignorant people, and the bafoons who insist on arguing with them.  

As two examples, one guy on a Ridgeline forum was complaining about the amount of rust on his suspension parts.  Who would have thought unpainted steel would rust?  And this is clearly not an issue.  A guy on a Tacoma forum was complaining about a high steering effort, only to find out later in the thread that he had put his truck in 4wd, and had never taken it out.  The fact that his truck was still driving shows the strength of the drivetrain on the Taco - but I would never want to own his used vehicle.

Thankfully, the Ridgeline shares a lot in common with the Honda Pilot - so with a bit of creative searching it is possible to get informed opinions from multiple sources.  Still, it never ceases to amaze me, regardless of make or model, how many people have never read through their owner's manual.

Some of this review may sound like I'm knocking my 2009 Toyota Tacoma - I am not.  At the time, it was the best option for me.  The first generation Ridgeline had, quite frankly, terrible fuel economy for what it was.  My Taco was a great truck for well over 100k miles.  Over time, I'm sure there will be things I grow to like more and less about the Honda.  

I need a truck for commuting, home projects, for hunting road trips and all kinds of other things that come up day to day.  John Davis is probably right, the Honda Ridgeline appears to be doing everything very well and maybe even great.

As If I Needed Yet Another Reason Not To Fly

Full disclosure:  My last flight just over a year ago on American Airlines went smoothly.  All four legs of the 9000 round trip flight departed and arrived nearly on time.

I hate flying.  A decision to fly anywhere means handing over an unlimited amount of time to a soulless corporation.  I know the statistics, driving is more dangerous.  I understand the clock - planes fly fast.  But the pain is just not worth it.
My previous flight in 2008 was more typical for my flying experience.  Arriving on a morning with questionable weather, I checked in to a plane that was initially listed as on-time before its status was updated several times, leading to lots of confusion.  Eventually on the plane, departure was greatly delayed as the Captain informed us there was a minor mechanical problem with the plane.  Eventually we took off, exceedingly late and arrived in a special kind of hell - Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Airport.  Missing the second flight of the day, I sat in the airport for several hours.  The airline decided the first flight's delay was due to weather, not the mechanical problem the Captain knew about.  Eventually, I asked to be put on the next flight home.  This was not possible since one connecting leg of my return flight was not on the same airline, meaning I had no choice but to sit several more hours in Atlanta.  Eventually, I was put on a plane in an opposite direction from my final destination of Las Vegas, NV.  I was again blessed with several hours sitting in another airport.  While Fort Lauderdale seems like a nice place to spend some time, airports are like public restrooms - they are pretty much all the same and the goal is generally to get out as fast as possible.  Eventually I was put on a plane bound for Las Vegas.  By the time I was outside of McCarran Airport, I could have driven from my home to Nevada in less time than what the airlines were able to do.

And that gets to my biggest problem with airline travel.  Arriving a day late, stinking and feeling shitty, after being routed all over the country counts as a win for the airline, "You got there, it was only a day late."  But the Las Vegas Trip in question was only a few days.  There is nothing I value more than my vacation time and the airline stole a considerable percentage of it.  Once I bought that ticket, I was under the whim for whatever the airline wanted to do.

My 2008 flight was glorious compared to a recent situation.  Filed under current events, a doctor was recently physically dragged of a United Airlines flight from Chicago O'Hare bound for Louisville, KY.  He wasn't drunk.  He wasn't unruly.  He was a paying passenger, sitting quietly in his seat, just trying to get home.  The flight was overbooked and United found it more important to get a few employees to Louisville rather than any passenger; United Airlines found its business more important than the reason for the business.
I understand why airlines overbook, but when it doesn't work out in their favor, they need to bite the bullet.  Better options include:
Moving employee schedules since they screwed up and paying lots of overtime or whatever it took.
Putting the employees in a nice rental car to drive the five hours (yes, only five hours) to Louisville.
Chartering a plane since United screwed up.
Continuing to raise the amount paid to overbooked passengers until someone volunteered (give me lots of cash and a rental car and I'll drive myself to Las Vegas!).
Paying to move people to other airlines.
Anything ... other than dragging a bloodied elderly man off of a flight after he was allowed to sit down.

Making the situation even worse, the CEO issued a statement applauding the employees, while one of the officers involved in dragging the man off of the plane was put on leave.  A CEO should not make up words like re-accommodate to try to sugar-coat the situation.  What a wretched euphemism.  Maybe the CEO should be re-schooled in the reason for an airline.
One of the rules we all learned in kindergarten was when we screw up, admit and say sorry.  Doing otherwise makes a bad situation worse.  Perhaps Oscar Munoz didn't learn this early in life; there is also a relatively high possibility that he may be a psychopath.

In the sad state of airline travel, there is no way to win.  Paying more for a business class flight doesn't change the likelihood of getting anywhere on time (private jets probably do, but...).  The people in the front of the plane are just as unlikely to arrive on time as the proletariat.  The only way to slightly hedge the odds in the favor of the average traveler is to minimize connecting flights - a cheap 3-leg flight has at least 3x the chance of mayhem over a more expensive direct flight.

I never lived through this, but I sometimes wonder what flying was like before it was brought down to the lowest common denominator?  Before people were crammed in a seat only big enough for a prepubescent anorexic girl.  Before a short flight becomes an all-day affair.  Despite my poor personal record with airline travel, I'm always friendly with the people at the gate and on the plane; at times, they have a painfully tough job becoming the face of bad corporate policy.

I'm hoping to head south for a day of ocean fishing in a few weeks.  My travel time will be more than the time spent at the coast, but I'm looking forward to that as much as the fishing.  I'll get to see familiar sites, and look for opportunities on taking a new route.  I'll stay in cheap hotels and eat at small restaurants.  I'll probably get to talk to interesting people and see things impossible to comprehend from 30,000 feet.

Thankfully, I love driving.  I've turned "travel" from the worst part of my vacation to the best part.  I've ridden my motorcycle through 50 states (*Hawaii was a rental).  I love the areas that look like home in the Midwest; familiar, yet different.  I love crossing the Mississippi and seeing the rolling hills transition to the great American plains - so much better than the lousy United planes.  I love the big empty.  I love the mountains and how arriving at them having crossed the whole country brings with a better frame of mind compared to being dumped out of an aluminum tube.  I love the heat, the cold, the smells, the rain.  I look forward to the challenges of roadway travel, because I know I have a little more control in how to resolve them.  And I'm reasonably certain that nobody will drag me out of my vehicle because the road is overbooked.

Starting Over

A few coworkers were discussing the relatively recent trend of "Tiny Houses" and the perceived benefits versus the negatives.  This discussion evolved into one about the more generic wish to simplify.  The interpretations of this ranged from winning the lottery and buying remote land to just moving to a smaller house.  It seems like Tiny Houses keeps most of life the same but just deletes some comfort from that same reality.
My comment, "I want to sell everything and travel on the cheap for the rest of my life."

I'm assuming this exists in many cultures, but the idea of throwing off the shackles of work, of possessions, of interconnected responsibilities runs deep in America.  America was built on the idea of carving out a new life as the country slowly migrated west.  The image of the cowboy riding off into the sunset is part of many fantasies.
Elizabeth Greenwood wrote Playing Dead - about people who fake their death in order to start over.  While not addressed directly in the book, the idea of walking away from everything by faking one's death is just an attempt at simplification.  Albeit this rather drastic way to simplify is more often used to ameliorate one (or a few) specific problems.  I enjoyed the book even as it was written from a very Millennial perspective.  Her personal narrative shows the consequences of making some choices early without thinking about the long term implications.  I suspect this is something everyone does to some extent.  Faking death ultimately just appears to create lots of new complications in the end.

Cheryl Strayed tried to write about her experiences hiking the Pacific Trail.  I admire her quest and success in taking on the challenge, but her writing reeks of self-help, and the self-help genre approaches a status somewhere between a cult and a drug.  While self-help books may give short term relief, they too quickly need to be reinforced by another.  And another.  Sadly, Strayed is more Brand than honest inspiration now.

Bill Bryson hiked (most of) the Appalachian trail and wrote about it as only he could.  Mr. Bryson is a bit of an enigma, he comes across as very condescending in The Lost Continent.  Small-town America deserves better; the heartland is only as terrible as he makes it out to be if a traveler demands that it is.  I suspect his interaction with the British is far different than mine has been.  The people in small-town England could be small-town Americans if it weren't for the accent.  Having spent a few days in Dusseldorf, Germany several years ago, I found it as charming as Gary, Indiana.  A Walk in the Woods was more genuine, less snarky, more personal.  Bill Bryson didn't use the Appalachian Trail to start over, but he paints it in places as a form of contemplation.

Geraldine Largay was determined to hike the Appalachian Trail at the age of 66.  Originally with a partner, she ended the adventure on her own, and it ended tragically.  From the Donner Party on, American history is littered with the dead.  As the saying goes, "Every corpse on Everest was once a very motivated person."

It is probably impossible to talk about this without remembering Chris McCandless.  After bouncing around the country immediately after college and (literally) burning his money, he ended up in Alaska.  He hiked out on the Stampede Trail near Healy, before living in a bus bear Denali National Park for a few months.  Surging rivers prevented his return, and that bus ended up being where his life ended.  Whether thought of as idealistic or a degenerate, his story is part of the American lexicon, with Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, PBS' excellent documentary, or Sean Penn's subpar movie all telling his story.

Christopher Knight really did throw off the shackles for a long time.  A new book (I haven't read it yet) out by Michael Finkel tells the story of how he lived in the Maine woods for 27 years - living off of what he was able to steal from nearby homes and cabins.  Mr. Finkel wrote a riveting article about this in 2013 and I can't help but wonder what new information will be included in the book given that the end of that article seems to indicate the end of that relationship, "...we are not friends ... I’m not going to miss you at all."  Michael Finkel's book True Story - another book about people tragically starting over - was good, so I'll probably have to read The Stranger in the Woods.  Hopefully it gives a little insight on how Mr. Knight is fairing now.

And among these more notable cases, there are countless tales never told of people doing something, anything, to start over.

I try to be very honest with myself and the chances of selling everything and traveling on the cheap for the next few decades is very, very unlikely.  Not impossible, but the odds are terribly long.  The events recounted here suggest no shortage of situations where these things end very tragically.  But I can't help but wonder what else exists from vagabond and vagrant through beige suburbanite, and where on that continuum I am ... or could be.

The Perfect Motorcycle

Some uncharacteristically warm February weather last week, coupled with a few good travel articles in Rider and Wing World Magazines have me craving to head out on a road trip.  The last full week in February saw several days with temperatures in the upper 60's to nearly 80.  These warm days are not too unusual as Spring starts to peak around the corner, but having them for several days in a row was unexpectedly pleasant.  The warm weather allowed some seat time on the motorcycle, bringing me to the right frame of mind to read a few good motorcycle travel articles as the local weather returned to something closer to normal.
Any real motorcycle adventure is still at least several weeks away.  But mentally travel can start at any time.

I had a major service done on my Triumph late in 2016.  It was expensive and was also a major pain since the dealership took longer than anticipated and is sort of far away.  There is another dealership in Cincinnati, but every single interaction with that dealership has been negative so I just can't bring myself to go there for anything.  That recent service has got me questioning my Triumph ownership long term - even if a new bike is largely an academic exercise since I really do like the Trophy and a new truck late in 2016 makes another vehicle purchase improbable.

Does the perfect motorcycle exist?  No...  But it is fun to think about.  My Goldwing is an exceptionally capable bike for long distance 2-up touring.  However, it is a very heavy bike and riding it daily is a little like driving a small motorhome for commuting and grocery shopping.  I have no plans to get rid of the Goldwing, but what about for my daily rider and for solo trips?
1.  The perfect bike needs to have a comprehensive dealer network, preferably with a good dealership close enough to home to get there easily on a work day.  The Motus looks like an absolutely amazing motorcycle, but the nearest dealership is well over 100 miles away and if an issue would come up while I'm traveling through Rapid City, SD it would be an eight hour drive to get dealership help.  The BMW Dealership network is adequate, but the nearest dealership to where I live is also well over 100 miles; I'm convinced a franchise opportunity exists here.
2.  The perfect bike needs to be shaft drive.  Chain drive has been used forever and is well-proven.  Belt drive is in a similar state.  I'm a chronic worrier though, and when I did have a bike with chain drive, I found myself constantly checking/lubing/adjusting/etc.  As much as I know this concern is partially misplaced, I also know that my personality isn't going to change on this one.  I suppose I could argue that I'm going to worry about something, so worrying about a chain and sprockets is probably as good as anything.  I will gladly pay a little more and live with a few horsepower lost to a shaft drive.
3.  The perfect bike needs to have cruise control.  My motorcycle adventures sometimes take on a life of their own and on a few occasions, I've found myself a day and a half from home with less than a day to actually get home.  This usually means a slog on the superslab, and cruise control becomes a near imperative.  If my ST1300 had cruise control, I can't imagine I would have gotten rid of it.  As bikes move from throttle cables to drive-by-wire, cruise control becomes more an issue of software vs. hardware so manufacturers not including it starts to get harder to understand.
4.  The perfect bikes need to have simple maintenance.  I don't really care about fuel economy in a motorcycle.  All the bikes I've owned have gotten at least 40mpg over the long haul, so fuel costs are not an issue.  Maintenance cost (and pain) is a much bigger deal.  Most of my recent bikes have been fully faired bikes which adds to the time and/or cost.  Removing tupperware isn't hard, but the plastic can be fragile and removal and reinstallation takes a lot of time on top of routine maintenance.
5.  The perfect bike needs to have simple valve adjustment.  As a subgroup to maintenance, valve adjusting shim under bucket valves has a lot of collateral costs.  Harley Davidson is a near lone holdout in the hydraulic lifter world and there are some bikes which still use rocker arms, but too many manufacturers default to shim under bucket designs.  This makes sense in a hyper-performance bike, but on daily riders it is unnecessary.  I miss bikes like the Honda Pacific Coast 800 which were designed with maintenance in mind.  I was appalled recently when I saw that the Honda NC700 requires valve inspection checks every oil change - unless that was a misprint?
6.  The perfect bike needs to be comfortable.  I loved my VFR800.  The symphony of those screaming gear-driven cams will live with me forever.  It was not a comfortable bike, even after I added Helibars.  I was good for a couple hours at a shot, and an all-day ride, even with a few stops, made me question my sanity.  My wrists ached if I overindulged in miles on the VFR.  I should be able to burn an entire tank of fuel before lunch and two or three more in the afternoon without complaining.
7.  The perfect bike needs to have heated grips as an option.  I used to think heated grips were a gimmick.  Then I bought electrically heated gloves and got a little more curious.  Then I got heated grips on my Triumph.  I ride a lot in cool  to cold weather - having heated grips as a factory option is not an imperative, but it is approaching one.
8.  The perfect bike needs to have adequate, but not excessive weight.  My last four bikes have all been what can probably be considered heavyweights.  Despite what the scooter crowd might say, weight has benefits for touring as well as in bucking wind, etc.  Still, I'm missing the simplicity, handling, and tire life that inherently comes from lighter weight bikes.

So the unicorn I am after seems be a light-weight, low-maintenance, comfortable bike with yesterday's simplicity.  I'll throw in that I want tomorrow's performance.  Can it be inexpensive too?
This doesn't exist and it probably won't.
Life is a series of trade offs, so maybe my next bike will be a lightweight bike like the previously mentioned Honda NC700 - at least the valves are rocker actuated and inspection/adjustment looks quite simple.
Or maybe it will be another sport tourer.  It seems like at some point I'll need to own a Yamaha FJR1300.
Possibly I could trade off on dealer network and finally buy a BMW?  Probably not, I'm just not ready to stand proudly and commit to being a BMW-guy.
Or maybe I'll go with something super simple like a Zero electric bike, and further my Goldwing riding for anything beyond the range of batteries.

What is odd is that my current Triumph Trophy checks most of the right boxes.  There are quite a few Triumph dealers, even if I've had some negative interactions with the closest.  It has shaft drive.  It has cruise control and is very comfortable with well-integrated heated grips.  Maintenance is all pretty easy, and valve inspection interval is a tolerable 20,000 miles.  While heavy, it is on par with other sport tourers and loses weight very quickly once in motion.
So why am I thinking about other bikes?  Oh yeah, warm weather ... and travel.

1 Tire : 2 Weeks : 3 Punctures

The aluminum alloy wheels on my 2009 Toyota Tacoma are horribly corroded.  All alloy wheels corrode, and as I've been paying attention to other vehicle's wheels, my non-scientific observation is that Toyotas in general seem to be worse, with only Fiat-Chrysler vehicle wheels showing more oxidation.  But very few Taco's seem as bad as mine.  I'm baffled by the level of corrosion, as while I don't wash my truck frequently, I am sure that I'm not alone in this.

Because of the wheel corrosion on my Taco, all my tires have very slow, persistent leaks.  This is only mildly aggravating; every couple weeks I check them and top them up.  Having an air compressor in the garage and pole barn, plus a portable air tank makes this tolerable.  For whatever reason, the driver's side are worse than the passenger side.  Given road crowns concentrate corrosive salt and other flotsam and jetsam to the outside, it would be more easily explainable if the passenger side were worse.
I'm not sure if the difference is due solely to metal, but I've had rusty 40-year old steel wheels still hold pressure just fine.  I understand the benefits of aluminum for wheels, but isn't there better metallurgy available without huge cost increases?  My underpowered truck isn't a Maserati, I can't help but think steel might have been a better option.

The first puncture:
On my to-do list before the opening day of the deer season, was to check my tire pressure.  This would be one less thing to worry about going wrong when focused on sitting in a tree for hours on end.  That afternoon before opening day, my driver's rear tire was alarmingly low.  Looking around the tire, I spied the tell-tale shiny spot of metal embedded in the tread.  A quick test with soapy water showed that it was leaking, followed by a worse leak after a yank with needle-nose pliers.

No worrys, Stop&Go to the rescue.

The Stop&Go is by far the best emergency tire repair system I've used.  The hole is reamed out to an appropriate size, and the tools in the kit are used to force a mushroom shaped plug into the hole.  I much prefer the mechanical fixture of the mushroom plug, over the (hopefully) sticky and stringy plugs widely available.  Having done this too many times over the years, the whole process only takes a few minutes.

Most, but not all leaks, are effectively sealed and it is instantly effective (or not) without needing to wait for glue to dry (or not).  The worst leaks that are not completely sealed, are at least dramatically slowed down.
Now I KNOW!!!!!!! that any repair done from outside of the tire must be considered temporary.  I've yet to see one seal a leak and subsequently releak, and I've never seen the plug come apart or come out when correctly installed.  So I still consider it temporary, just sometimes temporary for a very long time.  Temporary might be shorter in a motorcycle however, depending on the nature of the actual tire damage.  Margins are always thinner when dealing with only two wheels.
The leak in my Tacoma tire was repaired, and hunting season progressed.

The second puncture:
After a few days of hunting, I noticed my driver's rear tire was still losing pressure at an atypically high rate.  My first thought was that the rim was the issue, since disturbing the bead while repairing the last puncture in the face of the heinous wheel corrosion can cause an increase in the rim leakage.  I've slowed this down in the past by letting all the air out of the tire and cleaning the bead as best as I can without dismounting the tire.  A small amount lubricant can also help slow leaks and minimize ongoing corrosion.
Once I pulled the tire off the truck, it was sadly easy to find nail number 2.

The leak was again quickly and effectively plugged by the Stop&Go system.  The rim was cleaned up and the tire was doused with soapy water looking for any other tell-tale bubbles.  All looked good and I was able to merrily go on down the road.

The third puncture:
Leaving for work a few days later, the TPMS light came on my truck.  Again, it was the driver's rear tire.  A quick look in the morning darkness found predictably nothing.  I grossly overinflated the tire, and put my portable air tank in my truck for the drive home from work if needed.  As an aside, the portable air tank is basically a pressurized bomb.  I am made quite nervous by having this enclosed next to me in my vehicle, should it become self-mobile during any unexpectedly rapid trajectory changes.
Three tire issues within two weeks is starting to feel like more than a coincidence.  Maybe the rims are beyond oxidative hope?  Maybe someone has it out for me?  Maybe someone doesn't like where I park?  Maybe the deer have a ploy to keep me out of the trees?
The tire was low enough after work for the TPMS light to come on again.  I stopped by a tire store on my way home and they were too busy to look at it, but did air up the tires and give the low tire a wet down with soapy water, unsuccessfully.
Back at home, I was able to find the leak, another puncture, but this time without anything in it.  It also wasn't a nice clean puncture, but more of a short slit in the tire, and right near the edge of the tread where repairs should be attempted cautiously, if at all.  Stop&Go was not able to stop this leak, but did slow it down.

I thought about taking this as a sign that it was time to do something more permanent about my wheels and tires.  I have good tread left, but the wet grip of my tires sometimes makes me wonder if they are made out of slippery eels or something.  I drove to my local tire shop that I've had good luck with in the past (local as in 10s of miles away), to see what they could do for wheels and tires.
En route, I changed my mind.  My spare, while original to the vehicle, was the same type of tire as the current road tires.  I could swap the spare to the road, replacing the now leaking tire (with at least three "temporary" plugs) and buy the cheapest new tire available as a spare.

This was done, with the warning from tire guys that the formerly spare tire was getting old.  Noted - and thanks for doing it anyway.

The fact is, I know I'm on borrowed time.  Hopefully I'll be able to continue to borrow that time until my tire tread shows Lincoln's head and at some point in the future, I'll be able to reboot my contact patch with new wheels, tires and TPMS sensors (the sensors are all original to the vehicle, and with 8 years on the batteries, I'm expecting a failure soon).
Whether I run out of the borrowed time or I impulsively get rid of the Taco first is still to be determined.  Hmmmm, a new Honda Ridgeline probably wouldn't have corroded wheels....

Where the rubber meets the road, it has been a tough year.  I think there was one other truck tire effectively repaired by Stop&Go.  One massive gash unrepairable on another car, along with a repairable drywall screw in that same car.  There were also at least two, maybe more punctures of motorcycle tires.  Please people, keep your sharp crap off of my roads!

For now, I guess I'm headed to CraigsList.com to look for wheels.

The Sounds of Summer

I've tried to listen to summer more this year.
Watching a local outdoors show in the depths of winter, it isn't unusual to have a summer scene come on.  Sometimes I'll quit watching whatever the actual show is, and just listen to the background.  Crickets.  Tree frogs. Katydids.  And of course cicadas.

I just got back from a vacation - a 6000 mile road trip out west.  The two weeks of time spent motorcycling throughout the country was glorious.  On the road every morning near daylight through some of the most amazing scenery in the country; a different town almost every night.

Outdoors sounds different in different places.  The upper elevations, through mountains and high deserts are often quieter.  Cooler, sometimes cold temperatures don't support the same kind of cold-blooded life; there was one morning where temperatures were near freezing while most of the Midwest was still in the pressure cooker of heat and humidity.

There is a lot to see in a seemingly parched desert, the landscape and geology is nothing short of amazing.  But the invertebrates seem to live quieter, more solitary lives.  I bet this changes during wet times, but I've never consciously experienced that.

The summer music has probably been more boisterous than many years, since there has been a lot of rain.  The swampy part of the back yard has remained wet much of this year; the amount of life back there has been astounding.
As I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, I often pause, especially on clear mornings, and look up at the stars.  I generally don't turn on the outside lights when I let the dogs out, and the stars can often be dramatic.  The sound from the crickets and tree frogs is wonderful music.  It accompanies the specks of light above in a way nothing else can.  I often think about how fortunate I am to live in the Midwest - how fortunate I am to live in a rural area without cars buzzing around and artificial light to spoil the sky.
The neighborhood is rarely quiet when I get home from work in the afternoon.  Over the din of distant lawn mowers or farm equipment,  katydids are often squeaking, sounding like rusty springs.  And the cicadas - oh the cicadas.  Even though there aren't very many mature trees nearby, they still scream with the heat of the late summer day.  Walking the dogs or riding the bike by areas with a lot of mature trees, things get even louder.  What I'm always amazed by is how easy it is to tune this out - how this background noise becomes just that, background.  And yet, stopping and listening, it is surprising just how deafening this often is.
Evenings wind down the singing of the day; at times there may be a period of almost complete stillness where everything collectively decides to shut up for a while.  Maybe even the insects need a few minutes of quiet before the tree frogs start their nightly chorus.

On the road home from the recent road trip, I knew I was getting nearer to home by the sound (and the smell - the mowing of a roadside ditch filled with Queen Anne's lace).  Above the whirring of the engine and buffeting of the wind on the motorcycle, I could hear cold-blooded creatures of all sorts creaking and buzzing while riding down a nearly empty road.  I was somewhat pensive since the trip was almost over, but the noise kept me anxious to be home at the same time.

The stillness and quiet of winter is its own mystery to witness.  Especially if there is snow on the ground to further muffle any sound, an eerily quiet winter morning is another phenomenon that should be experienced consciously.  It is hard to compare this to the cacophony of summer.
The sounds of summer on TV in the depths of winter often seem louder than they are in real life.  They aren't, it is just the wistful look forward and backward to what summer has provided and what it has to offer ... if we take the time to listen.