One thing I noticed about having the bike instead of the car over a weekend is that the Safeway people got to know me pretty well. This is because I had no soda in my apartment, and since I couldn't exactly fit a 12-pack of Dr. Pepper in my tank bag, I had to keep going back to Safeway every evening for a couple of cans. Of course, I forgot to get a 12-pack when I had the car yesterday, so it looks like I'll be maintaining my newly-formed relationships with the Safeway employees through the week. The sucky thing about this, though, is the Evil Quick-Mart Driveway that I have to pass on the way home from Safeway. Coming out of the Safeway lot, I turn left, go through a stoplight at a huge intersection, and then the Evil Quick-Mart Driveway is immediately on my right. Each and every time I've driven past it on the way home from Safeway, some jerk comes cruising out of that driveway at like a million miles an hour, and doesn't bother looking for *anything* (much less a motorcycle) until they're halfway into my lane. Luckily, the times this has happened, I've been far enough away that I've only needed to brake pretty hard (as opposed to a full-on emergency stop) to avoid splatting against their pretty sidepanels (it was always an SUV or a big van, too. Coincidence?). Grumblegrumble.
my bike is my new bestest friend.
It's getting kinda creepy. Now that I'm actually taking the bike around
places and using it as my main mode of transportation, I'm getting a little
weird about it. I had to park it in front of Peter's house the other night
(I usually park in the driveway, but there were 2 cars in it this time),
and all night, I'm like, "I hope no one hits my bike." "Oh, Parter's coming
over? Did you tell him not to pull in behind your car, or he'll hit my bike?"
"I hope Parter sees my bike." Peter showed amazing restraint and patience
by lasting through about 2 hours of this before he was finally like,
"your bike's not invisible, you know. I'm just sayin'." Incidentally,
neither Parter, nor anyone else, hit my bike.
I have also become a bike hypochondriac. Today, I took the bike from Peter's house to the not-in-downtown-San-Jose branch of my workplace, to see some people and sign some forms. I was just on normal sidestreets, and I noticed a wobble. Not anything huge or dangerous, just a definite wobble. It felt as though I was constantly swerving back and forth. It was a really weird feeling. I didn't really notice it on the way back to Peter's, but decided to give the bike a lookover anyways. I checked the tire pressure for like the third time this week (no wonder it's low), but it was only like 2 psi's under the recommended pressure. This caused me to fret and worry that the wobble was therefore something expensive; I fretted all afternoon until the Bright Idea finally came to me to ride the bike around the neighborhood a little and see if the wobble was still there. I did. It wasn't. *shrug* Haven't noticed it since. So, yes, I'm a bike hypochondriac.
me go fast. zooom.
This is a long entry today, isn't it? There's even more, too, I hate to tell
you. The short version of this segment is that I finally took the bike
on Central Expressway this weekend, which is the fastest way to get between
Peter and my places without actually taking the freeway (back in WI, an
"expressway" and a "freeway" were actually the same thing -- a big
multilane thoroughfare with no stoplights and a high speed limit. Here,
an "expressway" seems to be this nebulous middle ground between a normal
street and a freeway -- the speed limit is 50mph, and they're up to 4
lanes, but they stick stop lights in at random intervals just so you have
to slam on the brakes every once in a while. They're actually relatively
annoying because of this, and, as Peter's pointed out, more dangerous than
the freeways.). So I took Central, at 11pm on a Friday night, with a
full tankbag and wearing a full backpack, and got up to 60mph for the first
time ever. It was pretty exciting. I felt like a big balloon with all
the air rushing into my jacket and baggy jeans...made me realize more than
ever that I really should go and get a "real" (i.e. ventilated and fitted)
motorcycle jacket soon. Pfeh. But yeah, it was a pretty big thrill.
I felt more in control than I thought I was going to, and it wasn't
actually that much scarier, going that fast. It was actually more
frightening being back on Lawrence Expressway, which I've done before,
since there are more cars and therefore more idiots.
did i mention idiots?
So, as I mentioned, I went over to work today. The parking lot at work
is underground, and has a big steep driveway going to up to a pretty
major street. Today, as I left, there was a Big-Ass Semi that was
parked on the street, and the cargo area was blocking the righthand half
of our driveway. So, basically, in order to get out of the parking lot,
you'd have to go up this incline, go around the semi to its left, and then
turn right onto the busy street. Fun! Two cars ahead of me played this
game. As the car in front of me went, I could see Joe Assplunge in his
beat-up van try to make a left turn from the busy street into our driveway,
only to notice that he was about to hit an exiting car head-on, so he
aborted the turn and continued on down the street. Now it's my turn.
I rev the engine a little, get some momentum going, head up the steep
incline, am *just* at the spot on the top where the incline meets the
flat sidewalk (right where I have to start turning around the semi), when
suddenly, who's aiming right for me with no signs of slowing down? Why,
it's Joe Assplunge! He must have made a U-turn in the middle of the busy
street, to come at the driveway from the other direction, and was just
jetting his happy ass right into the driveway (and therefore taking up the
other half that wasn't being blocked by the semi) RIGHT AS I WAS ENTERING
THAT SAME SPACE!! I had to slam on the brakes, and as I put my foot down,
realized that my foot was over the incline, and so down the bike went.
Boom. The thing that pissed me off is that not only did Joe Assplunge NOT
immediately stop to help me, he didn't even slow down. Just went right
into the parking lot without a second look at the motorcyclist that he
almost sent cruinsing into a parked semi. Ironically, the semi guy
saw the whole thing, and helped me get the bike up. Not surprisingly, the
shift lever bent under the crankcase again (grr), but he helped me out with
that too. So, thanks, Mr. Semi Guy. You get a few karma points. It's
worth pointing out that Joe Assplunge passed us again on his way *out* of
the parking lot, while I was still trying to get the lever out, and he
still wouldn't even look at me. What a weaselbutt.
So then after that, I almost got hit by an undercover cop. I was in the far left lane of Lawrence Expressway, coming up to a red light. The cop was in the center lane (immediately to my right), and was at a full stop with his left turn signal on, as he was too stupid to get into the lane earlier. Since there were stopped cars just ahead of me, I didn't want to accelerate past the cop so he could pull in behind me; therefore, I just slowed down sooner than I would have normally, and waved for him to pull in ahead of me. He didn't. He started moving a little, and since I was slowing down for his dumb ass, we were soon right next to each other. The cars stopped for the red light were now maybe 50 feet ahead of me -- there was no way I was going to speed up only to ram into a bunch of stopped cars. So I kept slowing down. Barney Fife then speeds up until he's *right next to me again*, and THEN MOVES INTO MY LANE! The doofus had obviously seen me, or he wouldn't have slowed down for me to pass him (I'm assuming that's what he wanted me to do, though I'm not sure why a cop would want me to pass him only to have to immediately slam on my brakes for a red light). So why wait until he can run me out of my lane for sure before he switches lanes? Eek.
are you still reading this?
So that's my bike excitement for the weekend and today. I'm keeping the
bike here for the rest of the week, to do errands on and apartment-search,
so I'm sure I'll have lots more mechanical hypochondria and encounters
with idiot drivers to report. I'm going to try my luck on the freeway
this week, too -- wish me luck. ;) Maybe we'll even get Peter's tire
taken care of, so we can ride together again (he decided against doing
it ourselves, which I don't really think was a bad decision *wink*).