How ironic.
A high school in Berkeley, CA has a socialist preamble in its charter (From each according to his/her ability, to each according to his/her need).
Wait, it gets better.....
When the pilgrims came to this country, they were required by their financiers to live in a shared/socialist society where nobody owned anything and shared their labors with everyone. They did so for two years, during which more than 1/3 of them died of starvation and disease.
Finally, Governor William Bradford disposed of this written declaration and awarded each settler his/her own property with the rights to keep whatever profits they could glean from it. And they prospered.
You know what that original, written requirement was called? The "Berkely Charter", or "Berkely Compact", as some call it.
I love history. And irony.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
One day Mr America opened his mail to find a letter from the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). He had ridden his motorcycle past a mobile, roadside emissions check point and the thermo-optic sensor detected that the vehicle was in violation of federal smog requirements. It was approximately 10% out of compliance. He was further advised that this non-compliance would have to be corrected before he would be permitted to renew the annual registration.
So Mr. America made an appointment for his beloved motorcycle at a shop he’d used before and had had good experiences. When he dropped the bike off for the appointment, he told the service advisor what the EPA Letter had said. The advisor noticed that Mr. America looked a bit worried, so he calmly explained that being out of compliance by 10% was something to definitely rectify, but not to worry about. He was certain that the competent technicians in the shop could find the problem.
In a few days, the shop called Mr. America to tell him the good news and the bad news.
The good news was that they had given the bike a good going over and, thanks to experience and technological advancements, had managed to eliminate the 10% non-compliance smog emissions. They’d found some vacuum hoses that were leaking, a plugged crank vent filter, and they’d installed a brand new type of spark plug that yielded a dramatically hotter and wider-arced spark. When the service advisor told him what the parts and labor total would be, Mr. America was able to calculate that it was merely a fractional amount of his income and he could easily afford it.
But the bad news.
They had received an email from the EPA just that morning advising them that they were not permitted to rectify the motorcycle’s problem. It was permissible only for the vehicle to be fixed at an EPA approved facility. He explained that the bike’s Vehicle Identification Number (VIN) had been flagged in the Federal Department of Transportation (DOT) database and a message had popped up on their computer screen saying that it could only be worked on at one of the new Federal EPA facilities. The service advisor apologized for the timing, but explained that it was actually quite common for the government to be slow in releasing communications. Anyway, they regretted the inconvenience and delay, but they had to undo all the work they’d done, plus they still had to charge him for their labor time. And of course, the bike would still be 10% out of compliance.
So Mr. America looked up the closest EPA facility and dutifully made the appointment. When he brought the bike in, the service advisor there was completely unfamiliar with the Year-Make-Model-Engine (YMME) and needed Mr. America to assist him in filling out the paperwork. Furthermore, when they went to log it in to the computer, the bike’s VIN did not appear in the non-compliance report that that the private shop had seen.
“Not to worry,” explained the smiling federal service advisor, “these things always take time. It will probably pop up in a day or two.”
Additionally, Mr. America was concerned that this shop did not have the printed limit of liability paragraph on the bottom of the form like the other shop had. The smiling service advisor told him that the Fed shops were not subject to the same limits and laws regulating privately owned shops. But he smiled and urged him not to worry, because the Fed shops had been established for the very purpose of protecting the consumer by stimulating competition among the private shops, and giving him more choice. As such, he could expect the bill to come out substantially less than the private shop had billed him.
So, Mr. America left the bike at the Fed shop.
A week later and no word from the Fed shop, he called to inquire. The same polite, smiling service advisor he’d met before answered the phone. He told Mr. America that there was no word on the bike and please call back again in about a week, and the phone went silent. Nervous, but still hopeful, Mr. America complied. He called back a week later, with the same outcome.
After yet another week, he drove to the Fed shop personally to inquire. Upon seeing him, the smiling service advisor told him that the bike was indeed ready to go. It had been ready for about 4 days, but they had been kinda backed up and unable to call. Mr. America was perturbed by the lack of communication, but also relieved that his bike was finished, so he asked to pay the bill and be done with it.
The smiling service advisor brought the bill out, and Mr. America was absolutely flabbergasted. Doing some quick math in his head, he calculated that the bill to fix the bike was about 1/6 of his entire income!!!!
“How is this possible???” he screamed at the smiling service advisor. “The private shop eliminated the 10% non-compliance for a fraction of this!!!! Then you made them undo their work and charged me more than 1/6th of my annual salary!!!!”
The smiling service advisor showed him a foot-long list of parts and a dizzying array of labor charges, explaining that they took apart and rebuilt the entire engine. He explained that the engine was now in compliance and Mr America could take comfort in the fact that it had not been achieved through those “band-aid” fixes that the private shop had done.
Nonetheless, Mr. America was incensed. “I WON’T PAY FOR IT!!!!! You can keep it!!!” he screamed at the smiling service advisor.
“Actually, Mr. America,” he smiled, “we have the authority to garnish your wages until the bill is paid. So do you want to pay that now or set up installments?”
Mr. America was bewildered. How could this be? But it was. It just was. It had been done. He had no recourse against the Fed shop for the expenses incurred on his bike. He had to pay it. “I’ll have to make installment payments,” he said with resignation. “for many, many years.”
“Of course, I understand,” the smiling service advisor said. He went about filling out the paperwork, explaining everything in great detail. Funny, Mr. America thought, he knows these complex rules and regulations through and through, and yet he doesn’t know one end of my bike from the other.
As they wrapped up the complex paperwork, the smiling service advisor put it all in a massive folder and said, “Now there is one more thing you need to know. In the future, all maintenance and repairs have to be done only at Fed shops. The law is that once you’ve come here you can no longer have your bike fixed at a private shop. Doing so is a violation of Federal law, and we don’t want that, do we, Mr. America?”
So Mr. America made an appointment for his beloved motorcycle at a shop he’d used before and had had good experiences. When he dropped the bike off for the appointment, he told the service advisor what the EPA Letter had said. The advisor noticed that Mr. America looked a bit worried, so he calmly explained that being out of compliance by 10% was something to definitely rectify, but not to worry about. He was certain that the competent technicians in the shop could find the problem.
In a few days, the shop called Mr. America to tell him the good news and the bad news.
The good news was that they had given the bike a good going over and, thanks to experience and technological advancements, had managed to eliminate the 10% non-compliance smog emissions. They’d found some vacuum hoses that were leaking, a plugged crank vent filter, and they’d installed a brand new type of spark plug that yielded a dramatically hotter and wider-arced spark. When the service advisor told him what the parts and labor total would be, Mr. America was able to calculate that it was merely a fractional amount of his income and he could easily afford it.
But the bad news.
They had received an email from the EPA just that morning advising them that they were not permitted to rectify the motorcycle’s problem. It was permissible only for the vehicle to be fixed at an EPA approved facility. He explained that the bike’s Vehicle Identification Number (VIN) had been flagged in the Federal Department of Transportation (DOT) database and a message had popped up on their computer screen saying that it could only be worked on at one of the new Federal EPA facilities. The service advisor apologized for the timing, but explained that it was actually quite common for the government to be slow in releasing communications. Anyway, they regretted the inconvenience and delay, but they had to undo all the work they’d done, plus they still had to charge him for their labor time. And of course, the bike would still be 10% out of compliance.
So Mr. America looked up the closest EPA facility and dutifully made the appointment. When he brought the bike in, the service advisor there was completely unfamiliar with the Year-Make-Model-Engine (YMME) and needed Mr. America to assist him in filling out the paperwork. Furthermore, when they went to log it in to the computer, the bike’s VIN did not appear in the non-compliance report that that the private shop had seen.
“Not to worry,” explained the smiling federal service advisor, “these things always take time. It will probably pop up in a day or two.”
Additionally, Mr. America was concerned that this shop did not have the printed limit of liability paragraph on the bottom of the form like the other shop had. The smiling service advisor told him that the Fed shops were not subject to the same limits and laws regulating privately owned shops. But he smiled and urged him not to worry, because the Fed shops had been established for the very purpose of protecting the consumer by stimulating competition among the private shops, and giving him more choice. As such, he could expect the bill to come out substantially less than the private shop had billed him.
So, Mr. America left the bike at the Fed shop.
A week later and no word from the Fed shop, he called to inquire. The same polite, smiling service advisor he’d met before answered the phone. He told Mr. America that there was no word on the bike and please call back again in about a week, and the phone went silent. Nervous, but still hopeful, Mr. America complied. He called back a week later, with the same outcome.
After yet another week, he drove to the Fed shop personally to inquire. Upon seeing him, the smiling service advisor told him that the bike was indeed ready to go. It had been ready for about 4 days, but they had been kinda backed up and unable to call. Mr. America was perturbed by the lack of communication, but also relieved that his bike was finished, so he asked to pay the bill and be done with it.
The smiling service advisor brought the bill out, and Mr. America was absolutely flabbergasted. Doing some quick math in his head, he calculated that the bill to fix the bike was about 1/6 of his entire income!!!!
“How is this possible???” he screamed at the smiling service advisor. “The private shop eliminated the 10% non-compliance for a fraction of this!!!! Then you made them undo their work and charged me more than 1/6th of my annual salary!!!!”
The smiling service advisor showed him a foot-long list of parts and a dizzying array of labor charges, explaining that they took apart and rebuilt the entire engine. He explained that the engine was now in compliance and Mr America could take comfort in the fact that it had not been achieved through those “band-aid” fixes that the private shop had done.
Nonetheless, Mr. America was incensed. “I WON’T PAY FOR IT!!!!! You can keep it!!!” he screamed at the smiling service advisor.
“Actually, Mr. America,” he smiled, “we have the authority to garnish your wages until the bill is paid. So do you want to pay that now or set up installments?”
Mr. America was bewildered. How could this be? But it was. It just was. It had been done. He had no recourse against the Fed shop for the expenses incurred on his bike. He had to pay it. “I’ll have to make installment payments,” he said with resignation. “for many, many years.”
“Of course, I understand,” the smiling service advisor said. He went about filling out the paperwork, explaining everything in great detail. Funny, Mr. America thought, he knows these complex rules and regulations through and through, and yet he doesn’t know one end of my bike from the other.
As they wrapped up the complex paperwork, the smiling service advisor put it all in a massive folder and said, “Now there is one more thing you need to know. In the future, all maintenance and repairs have to be done only at Fed shops. The law is that once you’ve come here you can no longer have your bike fixed at a private shop. Doing so is a violation of Federal law, and we don’t want that, do we, Mr. America?”
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Motorcycle Commuting and Commitment
Gas will never be $2.00 a gallon again, and the rain has stopped, so you find yourself thinking about the dust-covered motorcycle that’s been sitting dormant in the garage for three years. Or you think about Bob down the street who mentioned last week that he was selling his old Honda. Or you just picked up a “basket case” at a yard sale for $100 that the seller swore up and down only needed a tune up to get ‘er runnin’ good.
After you realize that all of these prospects will cost you several hundred dollars (or more) to make road worthy, you press ahead anyway, justifying it with the savings you’ll enjoy once you start riding. And you think about how cool it will be to ride a bike again.
But on that first day of commuting, amid the noise and congestion of those big scary automobiles, you are jolted to reality. The drivers are distracted by their cell phones and the application of their make-up in the mirrors. And they don’t really give a rip about the rules of the road. When you were safely ensconced in your car/suv/truck, these observations were minor annoyances, safe as you were within “the cage.” But now, out here on two wheels, where there is no such thing as a fender bender, those bad habits and bad manners suddenly carry a new weight and a new reality. Those people could kill you!
And it is kind of hot out here without air conditioning. The heat bounces up off the pavement, off the engine, and off all the cars around you. And the wind! Wow, it really dries out your mouth and nose, not to mention the buffeting your ears take from the turbulence.
Through all this, if you quell those doubts with a shrug, because deep down, riding is just plain fun, then welcome to the club. If they keep nagging at you, and you find yourself pining for climate control, cruise control, and a place to hold your latte, then just give up already. Sell the bike to someone who will love it.
Commuting daily on a motorcycle is a lot like marriage. It takes commitment and a willingness to accept the bad with the good. But with the right mind set, a little flexibility, and the right partner, it can be beneficial in even more ways than you expected.
After you realize that all of these prospects will cost you several hundred dollars (or more) to make road worthy, you press ahead anyway, justifying it with the savings you’ll enjoy once you start riding. And you think about how cool it will be to ride a bike again.
But on that first day of commuting, amid the noise and congestion of those big scary automobiles, you are jolted to reality. The drivers are distracted by their cell phones and the application of their make-up in the mirrors. And they don’t really give a rip about the rules of the road. When you were safely ensconced in your car/suv/truck, these observations were minor annoyances, safe as you were within “the cage.” But now, out here on two wheels, where there is no such thing as a fender bender, those bad habits and bad manners suddenly carry a new weight and a new reality. Those people could kill you!
And it is kind of hot out here without air conditioning. The heat bounces up off the pavement, off the engine, and off all the cars around you. And the wind! Wow, it really dries out your mouth and nose, not to mention the buffeting your ears take from the turbulence.
Through all this, if you quell those doubts with a shrug, because deep down, riding is just plain fun, then welcome to the club. If they keep nagging at you, and you find yourself pining for climate control, cruise control, and a place to hold your latte, then just give up already. Sell the bike to someone who will love it.
Commuting daily on a motorcycle is a lot like marriage. It takes commitment and a willingness to accept the bad with the good. But with the right mind set, a little flexibility, and the right partner, it can be beneficial in even more ways than you expected.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Embarrassing Moments in Motorcycle History....
This is purely for the benefit of a fellow rider who believes he committed the ultimate in embarrassing motorcycle stupidity. After reading this, my friend, you will know that I got you beat.....
July, 1986, I was on a tour of the Western States and BC Canada on my trusty and beloved Yamaha Venture. As a much-anticipated part of that tour, I rolled into Yellowstone National Park to witness the natural splendor of Old Faithful Geyser.
The parking lot was a flat, wide open, easily navigated piece of real estate with well-marked spots and prominent sidewalks. Hardly a recipe for disaster. But upon entering said parking lot, what did my 20-something year old eyes see, but a trio of fine looking lasses about my age. Upon hearing the quiet-but-authoritative rumble of the Yammie's V-4, they turned to look. Of course they did. Why not?
For upon the two-tone blue beast sat I, the tank-top wearing, broad-shouldered and imminently cool pilot. They were looking, and I knew it. I was Joe Cool. Bad to the Bone. The Man on the Scene. I rolled right past them, mere feet from where they stood on the sidewalk, conscious of my oozing cool factor. Pointed the Yammie to a parking spot right up front (where else?) and prepared to dismount in a continuing aura of cool. Except......
When I leaned it over onto the kickstand, there was no kickstand. In my focus and attention given to being cool, I'd forgotten to put the kickstand down. By the time I realized this, the bike was already past the point of no return. Slam! It went to the pavement.....
The sheer volume of laughter and giggles from every direction was equaled only by the panic I felt at my inability to pick the bike up. I was young and quite strong, but the overloaded Yammie was just too much for me. Mercifully, a very large guy came trotting over and assisted me, without derision or comment. I think he knew there was literally nothing he could say to make me feel better, or worse.
And I never mustered the courage to make so much as eye contact with the three lasses whom I'd previously held in rapt attention.
So you see, my friend, while your mistake was a combination of ego, weather, and an unfamiliar road, mine was naked ego. By my estimation, yours was a common mistake, made over and over again by riders of great experience. Mine....I have never seen nor even heard of being duplicated by even the clumsiest of scooter riders.
July, 1986, I was on a tour of the Western States and BC Canada on my trusty and beloved Yamaha Venture. As a much-anticipated part of that tour, I rolled into Yellowstone National Park to witness the natural splendor of Old Faithful Geyser.
The parking lot was a flat, wide open, easily navigated piece of real estate with well-marked spots and prominent sidewalks. Hardly a recipe for disaster. But upon entering said parking lot, what did my 20-something year old eyes see, but a trio of fine looking lasses about my age. Upon hearing the quiet-but-authoritative rumble of the Yammie's V-4, they turned to look. Of course they did. Why not?
For upon the two-tone blue beast sat I, the tank-top wearing, broad-shouldered and imminently cool pilot. They were looking, and I knew it. I was Joe Cool. Bad to the Bone. The Man on the Scene. I rolled right past them, mere feet from where they stood on the sidewalk, conscious of my oozing cool factor. Pointed the Yammie to a parking spot right up front (where else?) and prepared to dismount in a continuing aura of cool. Except......
When I leaned it over onto the kickstand, there was no kickstand. In my focus and attention given to being cool, I'd forgotten to put the kickstand down. By the time I realized this, the bike was already past the point of no return. Slam! It went to the pavement.....
The sheer volume of laughter and giggles from every direction was equaled only by the panic I felt at my inability to pick the bike up. I was young and quite strong, but the overloaded Yammie was just too much for me. Mercifully, a very large guy came trotting over and assisted me, without derision or comment. I think he knew there was literally nothing he could say to make me feel better, or worse.
And I never mustered the courage to make so much as eye contact with the three lasses whom I'd previously held in rapt attention.
So you see, my friend, while your mistake was a combination of ego, weather, and an unfamiliar road, mine was naked ego. By my estimation, yours was a common mistake, made over and over again by riders of great experience. Mine....I have never seen nor even heard of being duplicated by even the clumsiest of scooter riders.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Motorcycles, 4X4's, and Design Conflicts
I'm thinking of installing one of those trailer hitch kits on my venerable Triumph. With towing capability, I could get more "utility" out of the British beast. The Yamaha Venture I had back in the 80's had a trailer hitch on it and I towed all manner of dirt bikes and camping gear with it. I even went all the way to Michigan and back in 1987 with a trailer in tow (had the wife along for that ride - ha ha).
So, I could hook up a 6' X 12' utility trailer to the Triumph when I go into the BLM land to cut a couple cords of wood. But you object.
You say, "Wait a minute! You've forgotten what that motorcycle is designed for! It might tow a couple hundred pounds on a tiny little trailer, but you're talking about a couple THOUSAND pounds!"
I counter intelligently, "So?"
You emphatically counter-counter, "It's not designed for that kind of towing! It's designed to carry two people, to go fast, to get good gas mileage, to carve a nice line on a mountain road, to accelerate and to stop better than a Porsche! That's all it's designed for."
Correct.
So will someone please tell me why, then, every douchebag in a diesel powered 4X4 will try to out-accelerate me to the merge lane on a freeway onramp? Did someone not explain the design of the truck to them when they bought it?
So, I could hook up a 6' X 12' utility trailer to the Triumph when I go into the BLM land to cut a couple cords of wood. But you object.
You say, "Wait a minute! You've forgotten what that motorcycle is designed for! It might tow a couple hundred pounds on a tiny little trailer, but you're talking about a couple THOUSAND pounds!"
I counter intelligently, "So?"
You emphatically counter-counter, "It's not designed for that kind of towing! It's designed to carry two people, to go fast, to get good gas mileage, to carve a nice line on a mountain road, to accelerate and to stop better than a Porsche! That's all it's designed for."
Correct.
So will someone please tell me why, then, every douchebag in a diesel powered 4X4 will try to out-accelerate me to the merge lane on a freeway onramp? Did someone not explain the design of the truck to them when they bought it?
The Case of the Cheap Sunglasses
This very morning I was riding to work and felt a tickling on my forehead, near my left eye. I thought nothing of it, perhaps a loose thread from the helmet's interior stitching. But 3 seconds later, a spider walked non-chalently across the lense of my sun glasses! Not a minor issue at 75mph in heavy traffic....
Fortunately I wear a modular (flip-up) helmet. I quickly flipped up the frontal "lobe" and grabbed the sunglasses with my left hand, jerking them off my face. I saw the little arachnid hitch-hiker still clinging to the lense. Ha! One quick blast 0f 75 mph wind will remove him!
Wrong. Held those glasses out in the breeze for at least 5 seconds, watching for him to disappear. Next thing I know, the traffic in front of me has slowed dramatically. Moment of choice: Slow the bike with the right hand only, or lose the glasses? No time for any other decisions.....
I hope that little 8-legged b*****d was still clinging to them when the truck behind me ran them over....
Fortunately I wear a modular (flip-up) helmet. I quickly flipped up the frontal "lobe" and grabbed the sunglasses with my left hand, jerking them off my face. I saw the little arachnid hitch-hiker still clinging to the lense. Ha! One quick blast 0f 75 mph wind will remove him!
Wrong. Held those glasses out in the breeze for at least 5 seconds, watching for him to disappear. Next thing I know, the traffic in front of me has slowed dramatically. Moment of choice: Slow the bike with the right hand only, or lose the glasses? No time for any other decisions.....
I hope that little 8-legged b*****d was still clinging to them when the truck behind me ran them over....
Fuel Tank Capacity, Fuel Line, and the Stimulus
OK, so your normally well-tuned engine is sputtering a bit. You've done the typical diagnoses (yes, that is plural), but can't figure it out, so you take it to the shop.
The shop calls and reports that they believe they have the solution, but they need your approval in person.
Upon arriving, you see (to your horror) that they have strapped a 25 gallon fuel tank where your sensibly-sized stock one used to be. WTH?
The tech explains that he thinks the problem is that the engine is starving for fuel, so naturally a bigger tank will solve this problem. You're wondering how the bloody heck you are going to actually ride the bike with that humongous tank on there, but you decide to play along for the moment. "OK, let's hear it run," you say.
He starts it up and it idles fine, but when the throttle is seriously opened up, it stumbles and misses just as before. The tech scratches his head, bewildered that he has not solved the "obvious' problem of fuel starvation. He begins to check the fuel lines for kinking and what-not, and that's when you notice the fuel line he used to attach this monster tank to the carburetors is only 1/8" diameter!
You encourage him to find a larger line, which he does and then affixes it in place. He starts the bike up and the engine runs flawlessly, at all rpm's and throttle openings. Then you get curious and ask him if he has your old fuel line sitting about. He does, and he retrieves it for you. You give it the old "blow through" test and find that you can harldy blow any air through it at all. That was the problem all along!
The moral of the story is that a highly-tuned engine (American Capitalist Economy) needs only a modest-sized fuel tank (Government cash reserves), but more importantly requires a low-restriction fuel line (fewer government regulations) to run efficiently. An enormous reservoir (Federal Stimulus) is useless to a highly-tuned engine (Economy, stupid) when it is linked through a tiny fuel line (numerous government restrictions). IN summary, all the American economy needs right now is just a modest boost of cash, but implemented in such a way as to infuse the cash quickly and effectively. If more of our elected officials rode motorcycles, maybe they'd know this?
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