Belly Button Lint: Rick Ramsey's Weblog

Don't know who wrote this, but I love it. Forwarded by D.C.Dog.

• Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul.
• Most motorcycle problems are caused by the nut that connects the handlebars to the saddle.
• Life may begin at 40, but it doesn't get real interesting until about 110 mph!
• You start the game of life with a full pot o' luck and an empty pot o' experience... The object is to fill the pot of experience before you empty the pot of luck. If you wait, all that happens is that you get older.
• Midnight bugs taste best.
• Saddlebags can never hold everything you want, but they CAN hold everything you need.
• Never try to race an old geezer, he may have one more gear than you.
• It takes more love to share the saddle than it does to share the bed.
• The only good view of a thunderstorm is in your rearview mirror.
• Never be afraid to slow down.
• Don't ride so late into the night that you sleep through the sunrise.
• Sometimes it takes a whole tankful of fuel before you can think straight.
• Never hesitate to ride past the last street light at the edge of town.
• Never do less than forty miles before breakfast.
• If you don't ride in the rain, you don't ride.
• A bike on the road is worth two in the shed.
• Young riders pick a destination and go... Old riders pick a direction and go.
• A good mechanic will let you watch without charging you for it.
• Sometimes the fastest way to get there is to stop for the night.
• Always back your bike into the curb, and sit where you can see it.
• Whatever it is, it's better in the wind.
• Two-lane blacktop isn't a highway - it's an attitude.
• Winter is Nature's way of telling you to polish.
• Good coffee should be indistinguishable from 50 weight motor oil.
• The best alarm clock is sunshine on chrome.
• The twisties - not the superslabs -separate the riders from the squids.
• A friend is someone who'll get out of bed at 2 am to drive his pickup to the middle of nowhere to get you when you're broken down.
• Catching a yellow jacket in your shirt @ 70 mph can double your vocabulary.
• There's something ugly about a NEW bike on a trailer.
• Don't lead the pack if you don't know where you're going.
• Practice wrenching on your own bike.
• Everyone crashes. Some get back on. Some don't. Some can't.
• Don't argue with an 18-wheeler.
• Never be ashamed to unlearn an old habit.
• If you can't get it going with bungee cords and electrician's tape, it's serious.
• If you ride like there's no tomorrow, there won't be.
• Gray-haired riders don't get that way from pure luck.
• There are drunk riders. There are old riders. There are NO old, drunk riders.
• The best modifications cannot be seen from the outside.
• Always replace the cheapest parts first.
• You can forget what you do for a living when your knees are in the breeze.
• Only a Biker knows why a dog sticks its head out of a car window.
• It is good to have an end to journey towards; but it is the journey that matters in the end.

Another philosophical discourse on the nature of Winter, by Da Don himself.















Ya know, I'm kinda likin' this winter weather. Hell, these cold-ass temps with snow everywhere remind me of the winters of my youth. You know, back before global warming.

I remember when it'd be below zero for a coupla weeks or more. Then, one day, the temp would get up to 1 above. How warm that felt.

I like scraping my windshield. Especially if the wipers are frozen to the glass. It's fun.

I also like where my car barely starts. It does a coupla slow grinds like it's not going to start and then, VOILA!, it starts. White Lightning is such a fooler. Remind me to NEVER buy a battery from WalMart again.

I like listening to the guys talking about going ice fishing. Man, what fun that'd be. Wish they'd ask me to join 'em. I can't think of anything I'd rather do than sit on the wind-blown ice in the middle of a lake, with temps below zero, watching tip-ups, and getting frostbitten. Drinkin' beer Slurpees is fun too.

I'd like to go skiing and perhaps fall and break a leg. On second thought, maybe I'll save the lift-ticket money and just be careless while walking down my back steps, slip on some ice, fall, and break my hip instead. Yeah, I know, it's ain't as glamorous, but, when you're broke, ya gotta make do.

Remember when you'd go ice skating, fall, and crack the back of your head on the ice? That's anudder thing I miss.

While I like da cold-ass weather, the snow is too dry for having real fun. I miss the fact that I can't do fun shit like have snowball fights, build snowmen, build snow forts, have someone shove snow down my shirt, wash my face with snow, have my gloves get soaking wet and freeze solid on my hands, having an endless supply of snot to lick off my upper lip...

I hope it snows like hell this weekend so I can have a heart attack while shoveling my driveway/sidewalk. Oh, and I hope it snows so that I have to go out every few hours to shovel some more. And then, when I leave for work Monday morning with snow still falling, the city can bill me $35 for cleaning the sidewalk that I cleared a dozen times the day/night before. Is that asking too much?

I hope winter never ends.

Da Don

You know those guys you see strutting down the middle of the hall all confident and stuff with half a dozen people vying for their attention and an intern walking backwards holding open their laptops for them? Well, I am one one of those guys, now. Yes, I am a bonafide Tech Guru. The award was given to me by the Clearwater chapter of the world-renowned Deuce Owner's Group after an exhaustive review of the technical contributions of its members over the years. Here is the award letter:

Methinks you've hit da nail on da head. That is, Rick is da ONLY technical guru on here. We rely too much on Rick to buy, install, experiment with, and bleep up motorcycle accessories/riding garb and then report back. Perhaps a coupla da rest of us could actually go out and buy a REAL motorcycle and then maybe we'd have something to contribute. But NOOOO! We're content with just ridin' da key-BORED while bad-ass ruffians like Rick do da dirty work.

There you have it. I am so proud. The paper that earned me this accolade:

I was installing 16" apes on my 02 Deuce, and I needed to solder in some extensions to the wires so they'd reach. I'd disconnected the wires a couple of times before to run them internally on different bars I tried, so I was kinda tired of lifting the tank and working underneath it. I decided to remove the tank entirely.

First thing I needed to do was drain the tank. I had enough sense to walk the bike outside of the garage onto the asphalt driveway, but that's as far as it lasted. I got a big ol' bolt and a big ol' bucket and a sharp pair of scissors and a itty bitty rag to clean up the drips. I cut away the plastic sheath and the retaining clips from both sides of the crossover hose and loosened it. Don't ask me why. Maybe because the tank was full of gasoline.

My plan was to cut the crossover hose beneath the tank, slip the bolt into one side as a plug, and direct the flow of gasoline from the other side into the bucket. A simple plan, indeed. Flawed, but simple.

When I cut the crossover hose, gas flew out of both sides like piss out of a race horse. I panicked, and stuck with my plan even though it made no sense. While the gas flew out of both sides of the hose onto the frame, the engine, and the asphalt, I tried to plug one side with the bolt. The bolt slipped out of my fingers. I picked it up and tried again. After a couple of tries, with the gas tank half drained, I realized I didn't need to plug one side of the hose. I could just direct both sides into the bucket. Doh.

So that's what I did. Or tried to do, rather. The hose halves weren't quite long enough to both hit the same bucket, so gas continued to drain onto the bike and the asphalt from one hose while I tried to stretch the other. After a good amount of frantic pulling, I managed to yank the hose off the tank nipple, and watched, with a hose segment in each hand, as the gasoline poured out of the bottom of the tank.

I was so disgusted with myself that I dropped both hose halves and sat on a chair to watch the rest of the gasoline drain from the tank and run down my bike. There is a certain relief in admitting defeat. That's when I noticed that the gasoline was eating its way through the warm asphalt. Understandably alarmed at the sudden appearance of a large hole beneath my bike in my once solid driveway, I ran for the garden hose. If I could wash away the gasoline from underneath the bike, I might be able to save my driveway and keep my bike from sinking all the way to China.

I turned the water to full on and aimed it at the sink hole beneath the bike. As expected, it washed away the gasoline. Then the tar, then the rocks in the sink hole. The more water I poured into the hole, the bigger it got. So I stopped. That's when I noticed that the entire bottom half of the bike was coated with warm tar. It had separated from the asphalt, and the water had splashed it onto the bike. I believe I made a sound like a hound dog getting his bleep caught in my pickup's transmission.

I did manage to patch my driveway and get the Deuce cleaned up, as you can see:

















You can see more pics of the Deuce at Vagabundo's folder on Smugbug

Excerpt from a biker forum conversation with Da Don

(PG-13 Rating for suggestive language and mild scatological humor)

Da Don:

As has been happening a lot lately, last night I got stuck at work for about 22 hours. Seems like something takes a s**t every other day. My life sucks. In fact, it took a turn for the worser tonight.

Coming to work tonight, I FORGOT MY PP COLA! HOLY S**T!

Yeppers, I fired up a Lucky, went to grab my PP Cola, and NO PP Cola. I immediately panicked.

I got to the town where I work, stopped at a gas station, went in to buy a PP Cola, and NO MONEY! Jesus H. Christ! How bad can it get? As if by magic, some frantic pocket digging turned up a dollar bill. Plus some change. So, I was able to get my PP Cola. WHEW!

Then, finding that I was suddenly RICH, I decided to invest some money in a snack. But then, I couldn't decide between Nutty Bars or a Zebra Cake.

Decisions, decisions.

Finally, I asked the clerk what she'd choose. Figgered she'd know because she's a BIGGER girl, if'n ya get my drift. We settled on Nutty Bars.

So, now I'm at work, tippy-tappin' away, ridin' da key-BORED, PP Cola at my right hand, and Nutty Bars to the left. Headin' outside in a minute to fire up anudder Lucky. Life is good.

Rickster:

Da Donster, you have a unique talent for making the mundane sublime.

Da Don:

I hope that's a good thing. Although, it doesn't sound dirty, so how good could it be?

Now, if you'd written that I was a procrastinator, which I am, BIG TIME, I'd really appreciate that. Why? Because "procrastinator" sounds NAUGHTY.

Doncha like clean words that sound dirty? I do.

Oh, here's anudder: ASININE! Tee-hee!

Rick, next time, write, "(blah, blah) mundane asinine." I'd like that.

So, whatcha been up to?

Rickster:

I've been spelunking for pulchritude, Donster. Well, I wish I'd been. Instead, I've been spending a lot of time alone, prognosticating. Actually, I equivocate. I have learned a few colloquialisms, but they don't sound naughty, do they? "Mildred, darlin, would you mind slipping on that pretty little colloquialism?" Doesn't do it for me. Does it do it for you?

Cuneiform kinda does it for me. "Martha, what say you and me cuneiform for a spell?"

On the bike front, I'm waiting for my custom-made throttle cable that I ordered from Motion Pro. I'm gonna run it through the Flanders chimps I put on the bike and have myself a clean-lookin front end. Ooops. Did I just say something naughty?

Da Don:

Thanks. I needed that.

As a textual predator, naughty-sounding words really get me excited. Your reply was especially gratifying.

Next time, write something using onomatopoeia. Perhaps you could throw assonance in there too.

For extra credit, try using coccyx, titular, and Volvo.

Rick, I've been told that a person can get a really good view of Uranus from the shores of Lake Titicaca. Is that true?

Oops! Looks like you're still IT.

Biker s***: Nope, still not ridin'. However, I did order two new tires. Also, called Lyndall, left a message, and didn't get a call back. So, maybe tomorrow I'll have better luck.

Rickster:

You're welcome, Donster. Hey, this exchange don't qualify as a geezer version of Broke Biker Mountain, does it? Did I just have an assonance there? If I did, it was definitely titular.

I'll tell you a little about Lake Titicaca. As you know, it straddles the border between Peru and Bolivia. Peru is on the left, Bolivia is on the right. When I was a kid, we claimed Titi for Peru while leaving c*c* for Bolivia. S**t is definitely an instance of onomatopoeia, though I don't understand how its Spanish equivalent would be unless my kinfolk had particularly noisome personal moments.

I'm about to slide my coccyx into da wife's Beetle and drive my little one to school. (We sold the Volvo years ago.) Looks like I gotta do a forums interruptus on ya. I apologize if I left you less than fully satisfied.

This piece was written by Da Don. Don puts about 30,000 miles a year on his Deuce. Don is a real biker and a great writer.

Problem is, damn deer are everywhere. Well, OK, they're not in a few places, but in most places. And, wherever they are, they are in abundance.

I've had a few close calls, but, so far, so good. The last couple of times I wasn't able to stop and so I just tried to go where the deer wasn't.

I snuck behind one sumb**** last fall--barely missing it--only to have it TURN AROUND and come back into me. Pipes scared da s*** out of it. Luckily for me, I was quicker than it was. Still, I could have petted the god**** thing as I was flying by.

Most times I see 'em grazing along the roadside. Many times Da Pythons will spook 'em and they'll haul a** into the woods/corn. Other times they'll just continue eating.

It's rarer to catch 'em running at night. However, that's normally the case for daytime sightings. Scares da s*** out of me when one streaks across the road in front of me at night. They are like apparitions.

In the daytime I can usually spot 'em before they hit the pavement. Sometimes I can use Da Pythons to either stop 'em or make 'em change direction.

While I don't like riding at night because of da deers, I'm often forced to. When I do ride after dark, I slow down. For awhile there I was trying to scan both ditches at the same time. Now, however, I've settled on just looking straight ahead and hoping to catch 'em out of the corner of my eye.

Too much PEERING can make ya go blind. Plus, after awhile it gets hypnotic and EVERYTHING looks like a deer. God**** mailboxes, shrubs, beer cans glistening in the ditch... That's scary and tiring.

If I get a RAGE going, I don't give a s***. F*** da deer!

Also, if it's really miserable riding, I almost hope I hit a deer so that the ride will end. The prospect of laying on warm highway pavement after hours of riding in the rain and cold can be quite inviting. Like I always say, "One way or another, this ride is going to end as quickly as possible."

If there's no traffic on a road, I have pretty decent visibility with my high beam. Low beam SUCKS!

I like to follow a car (if it's moving fast enough) and use its headlights. Last fall, while riding at night across Northern Michigan, I let a car pass me. Luckily, the car was moving right along. 65 to 70 MPH. Woo-hoo! Only problem was, the driver didn't put on her brights. Well, OK, she would, but it'd take her forever to do it.

I hung back a little and rode using her lights. It worked. One time I spotted a deer in the car's headlights. I immediately rolled off the throttle. Which was lucky because the unpredictable forest rat waited for the car to pass and then shot across the road right in front of me. No problemo however, because I was prepared.

Still, it irks me that so many drivers don't use their high beams.

I don't like riding behind semis. For one thing, I can't see the road up ahead. So, if a "smart" deer was looking to scoot behind the semi, I'd have no chance to react.

For another, I have a friend who drives the big rigs. She's also a biker. She told me NOT to follow a semi too closely at night. According to her, if the truck hits a deer and you're following too close, you could run over the carcass. She also mentioned that if a deer gets caught up in the duals, you don't want to be riding through/over what comes out the a**-end of that truck.

That brings up another point. It's incredible how butchered deer can get. A couple of months ago, while riding back from CheezeDOG Keith's house, coming down a fairly busy 2-lane highway, I ran through two fresh kills. This was barely after dark too. Luckily, the carcasses were just pieces of meat and deer hide with a big splash of blood. It was lucky there was nothing bigger because the "spot" suddenly appeared from under the car in front of me. No way could I avoid "mushing" through it.

I hate deer!







Da Don

It was while hanging off the left side of the bike, knee tucked into the fairing wing, toes on the pegs, elbows down, arms relaxed, head level, looking through the corner at the apex of the two-lane in Northern Maine while keeping the three Ducatis I was chasing in my peripheral vision that I realized I needed to sell my 130 hp BMW autobahn burner and go back to riding Harleys.

After six hours of Northern Maine I can't tell you what the place looks like. At the end of the ride the Ducs and the Beemers that were chasing them gathered to eat and brag, but I couldn't bring myself to do either. I just kept looking out the window at the Harleys that potato-potatoed by.

The latest Suzuki GSX-1000 reaches 105 mph in 1st gear. If you're still holding the throttle wide open when you hit 60 mph or so, it will pop a wheelie. It has enough power to do a Mister Potato Head impersonation before you can say "Ooops." One buyer at a local dealership took delivery of his brand new Gixxer only to launch it straight into the sturdy New England rock wall across the street. He put less than .1 miles on the odometer.

But Harleys are pigs. They don't accelerate. They don't turn. Compared to the GSX-1000, they sure don't.

Don Hippo, a minor legend in Harley online circles, put it best...

"It's more fun to ride a slow bike fast than a fast bike slow.

The Pirate, a minor legend in online BMW circles, would reply with...

"Yeah, but it's more fun to ride a fast bike fast."

You can reduce motorcycling to the thrill of speed and the mastery of the turn, but it's so much more.

It's the simple joy of traveling through the outdoors, the feel of wind in your hair, the smell of cows in the pasture and flowers by the side of the road. The pleasure in the center of your chest a V-twin engine gives you at 3000 RPM. It's appreciating the texture of the controls and the glint of metal off the headlight. It's the way the bike pulls without effort from its sweet spot and how a subtle shift in your weight makes it move over. It's your singleminded focus on surrounding traffic. It's the geometry of lining up the throttle, transmission, wheels, and body perfectly for the next turn. It's sensing the tone and behavior of the engine you service and tune as it changes in changing weather, knowing every tick and click it should or shouldn't make. It's having photo wars with your daughter along Connecticut's two lanes in Autumn. It's the smile on a riding buddy's face. It's the satisfaction of pulling into a small town, stopping at the light, dropping your boots on the pavement, and taking a deep breath in the afternoon sunshine while the motor rumbles beneath you.

If I could afford it, I'd get a used Ducati and ride it on the track. Ducatis rock. But for motorcycling through America's two lane roads, give me a Harley.

Penny my 4 year old boxer is a true biker. Unlike me. Yeah, I talk like a biker and have friends who are bikers, but I'm more of a motorcyclist who prefers to ride Harleys. Why don't I qualify? Because I've read both of David Hough's "Proficient Motorcycling" books, I wear wussy boy protective gear with sissy fleece, and I really hate it when my friends relieve themselves on my jacket. I hate to admit it, but as a biker I'm a poser.

My dog, however, is not. This morning she accompanied my daughter and me to the bus stop. She was in a great mood, jumping and spinning in the air, intimidating stray leaves who blew into her turf, snorting a lot. Because the temps had dropped into the low 30's, my daughter decided it would be a good opportunity to try out the new gear my wife bought Penny: a doggy fleece blanket. It covers her entire torso and is held in place by a big velcro belt.

She wrapped it around Penny and off we went to meet the bus. Instead of alarming the squirrels and head-butting the German Shepherds across the street (who can't chase her off because they're restrained by an invisible fence), Penny lumbered beside me, her head down.

When we reached the bus stop, she sat down at my feet. That's unusual. At this point in our morning walks she's usually tormenting the Newfoundlands behind the fence across the street or digging up shrubery somewhere. My daughter thought it was because she was comfy and warm.

I wasn't so sure. I've been around enough bikers to recognize an extinguished spirit. So I took off the blanket.

Penny jumped so high she almost vaulted over me. Back to jumping, spinning, doing burnouts in suburbia. Penny was not about to sacrifice freedom of movement for comfort. No how, no way. She's rather shiver and run the open road. Like the true biker that she is.

Real bikers don't purport. Or profess. They don't suggest, recommend, or wonder. So let me just tell you that motorcycle gear has a weatherspan of 10 degrees. A leather jacket works between 70 and 80 degrees. A t-shirt, between 80 and 90 degrees. Here's the weatherspan for my jackets:

Motorcycle: Harley Davidson Softail Standard, no windshield, no fairings
Conditions: Dry, 60 minutes minimum, freeway speeds

90 degrees and up
- Get hosed down every 30 minutes

80-90 degrees
- Mesh jacket or t-shirt

70-80 degrees
- Leather jacket

60-70 degress
- Leather jacket + warm liner

50-60 degrees
- Windproof jacket

40-50 degrees
- Windproof jacket + fleece

30-40 degrees
- Windproof jacket + electric heat

below 30 degrees
- Nothing works

In the event of rain....

If you have waterproof gear, rain reduces the effective temperature by 10 degrees. If you don't have waterproof gear, it reduces the effective temperature by over 20 degrees.

There you have it. If you disagree, take me out back of the dumpster and beat your opinion into me, like a good biker would.

2006 Harley Davidson Softail Standard
Stock CV carb with 48 pilot jet and 190 (stock) main jet
Crossroads Mali Air Cleaner with K&N filter
Supertrapp true dual exhaust with 18 disks and HD dresser tips
Sundowner Touring seat