Dodging Storms

A study in opposites: a computer tech programming websites next to a full-face white helmet, white armored leather jacket, black armored pants.
I hurry my gear on, throwing the jacket with the spine protector over a canary yellow polo. My wallet, phone, ipod, and car keys are nestled in the backpack beside 2 laptops and a kindle. A struggle later and it’s slipped over my armored forearm. I’ll be the most expensive thing on two wheels in a minute or two.
It doesn’t look great out, the clouds are a little too ominous, the air is a little too sweet for less than a mile off the parkway. It’s going to come down, and I’m not quite ready for slick roads on two wheels.
“Hold on, your backpack is open.”
“Are the zippers on the side? Can you put them there?”
“Huh?”
“Uh, can you pull the zippers around to the side? When they’re on the top it opens. I’ve gotten home two or three times and it’s been wide open.”
“Yeah.” He closes my backpack up and I can feel him pull the zippers over.
“Thanks man! Have a good weekend.”
I snatch my helmet off the desk and walk down the hall. It occurs to me that I look huge; the armor adds a good inch to my frame, riding boots add another to my height, and I’m moving fast. I smirk at the thought of secretaries hurling stacks of paper as they dodge me.
I wave to the security guard as I pass his desk then pull my helmet over my head, snug against my face. Every piece of gear is important, every piece protects. When I see someone on a bike with shorts and a wifebeater, I wonder how long they’ll have their skin.
My bike stands out among behemoth SUVs, a dwarf there in the center of its allotted space.
My visor collects tiny gems. The storm is here.
Grasping the right handbrake I throw a leg over and sit in the saddle, turn the key, and kick up my kickstand.
Ignition.
Now to dance.
I slip through the parking lot, weaving on the asphalt floor and slithering around cement islands. Is it coming from the West, or the East? How long do I have until downpour?
The light to the on-ramp is red and I can see traffic is stopped going East from my vantage point opposite. If I go left I can do a few traffic tricks and jump the gridlock, but I’ll miss the HOV entrance. And the rain is coming.
The light changes.
Now the race.
I pull around the car in front of me and take the inner lane, jumping to the speed limit with a throttle wring then jumping lanes again to get around an SUV napping at the newly changed light. If traffic is light at the overpass…
Bingo! I slip in before the light changes and ride the service road. Traffic is still backed up. What a mess.
I wring the throttle again and leapfrog a line of cars using the entry to cut off the traffic, nestling in to the highway and starting the slow migration left toward the HOV.
There’s that feeling you get in traffic sometimes, after you’ve made a decision you wouldn’t normally make because of some new data - a sign blinking ‘Two Lanes Closed Exit 53’ and you wonder how close to 53 you should go before jumping on to the service road to dodge the bulk of traffic - and I’ve got it.
Thing is, in the car I’d just be in for a boring crawl in climate control. On the bike I’ll be taking a shower. Soppy wet underwear in waterlogged khakis. Raindrops at 55 miles an hour hurt.
Should have made the left.
But, I’m not wet yet. Keep crawling. Still have time.
I look over at a woman in an SUV scowling at the backup. Everyone seems to notice when you look at them from a bike, or they’re always about to look at the bike and you only sometimes notice. She turns to me, looks down at my two wheels and gives me a snide look. You’re fucked. Yep.
The lane moves. We’re a good quarter mile off and I swing out to peer down the lane. It’s open, the cars are favoring the right. That’s an invitation, right?
A drop of rain on the back of my neck. Go!
The white striped pre-entrance zone to the HOV will be deadly in another five minutes, coated by rain and slick as oil. For now its an ally against the traffic. I pass over it like a bird gliding over the ocean. Before me the sky is open, bright and blue but behind it is dark, ominous and vivid.
The entrance opens and I transition, no one near me.
I pull the throttle all the way out and catch the wind like an open parachute: every gust shakes me, I lock my neck to resist the buffeting winds. The storm approaches, gnashing at my back. Always check the weather in the morning. Idiot.
Little gemstones populate my visor, headlights flash on in my mirror. The clouds dance above, wisps and tails twist like tendrils, a shadow growing behind. 56. 55. Exits and miles between. A midnight blue Honda Accord, a white pickup truck. I wouldn’t wish a white pickup truck on my worst enemy.
Green sign overlooking the lane. “Motorcycles Permitted”. Thank god.
It’s darker. Raindrops on my windscreen. You never know when the rain will make every strip of paint a frictionless plane. Coming up on a bumper and the HOV exit to my real exit approaches.
I dart over the dotted line and pull the throttle, popping up to 70 and jumping past about fifteen queued cars. The road at the head of the snake is clear, I swing out and migrate to the outside lane.
The sky roars, a fine burning slice of light in the dark behind me. There’s a particular way the front of a storm looks, like a haze masking the vehicles, the paint on each car a shade darker then they should be.
I jump into the entrance lane, discarding all pretense of politeness. I’m about to be soaked, you’ll all be warm and dry. Let me squeeze on by, I swear you won’t even see me in a quarter mile.
I come up on backup up traffic at the merge, pick my spot between two cars, and slow for it. But the car I’ve picked isn’t moving as traffic accelerates. Is he napping? I jam the break, slow to a stop beside him.
He waves, knows perhaps. Or realizes why I am urgently darting between the hulking metal death machines. I wave, throw into gear and move up a spot. No time for pleasantry's my good man. Storms to dodge and all that.
The traffic eases, unbinds. We move. Storms comes.
There’s my exit. What’s another traffic violation? Go!
The great round burn. Exit arc.
Green light at the intersection: Bonus time! Left turn and I’m parallel to the storm front.
Weave like a skier, burst like a sprinter. Those your strengths, wouldn’t you know?
A grand curve, a switchback. Heading back at it. Can you dodge something you’re driving straight toward?
Answer: Yes. Dodging storms.
Home stretch, coasting to my parking spot.
Cover it, protect it, engine’s burning hot.
But we’re safe and dry.

Ireland Saturday July 28 2012 - Dublin

So, what can I say now that the jet lag is gone?

Air Travel

Red-eye was perfect for us. We left on a 9:45p out of JFK to Dublin (arriving 9:30a). The flight with Aer Lingus was nice despite an individual who preferred to be the only jackass in the entire plane to have their window open over the cloud line. We even arrived in Dublin early!

Getting Around

Getting from Dublin Airport to Dublin city center was easy providing you’re okay with asking some questions - we asked some kiosk attendants in the designated bus area and pretty soon we were waiting for the line that would take us to our hotel. The only oversight here was that we almost missed our bus when they changed attendants and I didn’t tell the new guy to warn us.

I’d like to put out there that it was brilliant to do the bus; still reeling from the flight length and timezone travel, I was not in any condition to decipher the driving-on-the-other-side-plus-wheel-on-the-other-side car thing while also trying to navigate traffic circles.

First (and only!) Hotel

We arrived, got our room set up at the O’Callaghan Merrion Square hotel. Our first room was… not good. Short list: No A/C, I had fix the TV speakers (with my fists), and I ended up jamming our window open with the Guest Service binder. I called the desk but the women there blew us off. Half an hour later my girl went downstairs to retrieve someone, he had us moved to a much more functional room. I would rate their customer service high, and the new room was as expected and very nice.

We went off to walk around to the city and try to find the ‘Queen of Tarts’ for tea and lunch. We had two hurdles here 1) we were in a touristy area, so no one knew where we were going, and 2) our Frommer’s map was off by like, 4 blocks.

Allow me to stress this: Ask a bartender. Every bartender we talked to was perfectly polite.

We made it there with the bartender’s direction. The food was delicious and the coffee excellent considering the wild number of warnings I received about the lack of good coffee in Ireland.

On Cork Lane near there were some excellent local artisans who made some awesome stuff. One guy who works in one of my favorite artistic styles whose name evades me completely. It’s really like ‘found art’ but anything that breaks the ‘4th wall’ between art and canvas works for me. This particular guy made bowls and display pieces in chunks of wood, allowing the natural contours of the bark to show through when it’s appropriate. It was truly brilliant.

We next wandered to Ha’Penny bridge and at Grafton street found plenty of familiar places; Starbucks, McDonalds, Burger King, all the stuff we were so desperate to escape. So it goes.

Trinity College

Our hotel was right near Trinity College so we stopped in for a tour but the last one had already left by 3:40. We did a naughty thing here and jumped on with an in-progress group, but I would have happily paid if given the chance. The campus is beautiful and I urge anyone to take the tour to get an idea of the college, there’s plenty of photo opportunities.

We ended the first night (and 32 hour day) with dinner at Porterhouse bar, which is known for it’s good food and craft beers. We both had the sampler which was three drinks each a third of a pint. We picked a Porter, a lager and ale each, all awesome.

I feel like I have too many good things to say. The weather sucks! When someone tells you that Ireland ‘is the country of four seasons in one day’ then nods sagely, they are not kidding. Everyone neglects to mention, however, that it includes monsoon season in that rotation. Bring an umbrella, preferably a sturdy one, and some warm clothes. Despite being here in the Irish summer, I was wearing 3 layers at all times, two being a hoodie and a jacket.

Weirdest thing so far? Stuff closes. I live in NY, this closing thing is totally ridiculous. Plan to get your shopping done early kids! They don’t mess around when it comes to quitting time in Ireland.

Short Story: Escape

Escape

That’s why you ride.

To get out of your head. To get out of the grind. To save on gas. To be with friends. To dance with modern day predators. Cat and mouse. Bug and bird. Man versus metal.

Even though the season is ending, its a great day for a ride. The last ride - after this I’ll fill the gastank, coat the chain, and cover it for the winter months. But this is too nice a day to give in. I just need to get my work laptop, what’s the worst that could happen?

I crest the first hill of a small valley and do the usual assessment of the situation: The light is red but will be green by the time I get there, no cars leaving any of the stores, no one making the left turn of death from oncoming. The four-way intersection is empty.

The signal turns green and I see a sedan approaching from the right street. Their blinker is on to take the right in to my lane. But no one could be that much of a-

The sedan jumps out

I swerve into the left lane

Gun the throttle.

I’m beside them, alive. Then the front left turn signal comes on and they merge in to my lane.

I jam both breaks, swerve and lay on my horn, the bike vibrating like a jackhammer. I’m riding the yellow line and just as I’m about to ditch the bike he swerves away, I release the breaks and gun the throttle.

Escape

That’s why you ride.

Escape

That’s how you survive.

I flip him off and coast away to the waiting red light, shifting in to the right lane in case he decides to rear end me to complete the full gambit of dumb shit to do to a motorcyclist. My heart is beating in my ears, I’m sweating in my helmet, and my hands are shaking, but I’m fine. No worse for the wear.

It’s only another hundred feet to the first turn that leads to the highway and that’s where I forget the damage that was done to my good mood. The momentary doubts of whether I should ride anymore are gone, I’m leaning in to the turn, dodging the potholes and wringing my throttle to slalom the staggered vehicles.

It’s good to be riding one more time.

I make it to the highway as night proper sets in, the streetlights make halos on the asphalt. I watch my shadow get impossibly long then squish and squat then spin off me like the hand of a stopwatch in retrograde. You only get so many nights like this to ride on Long Island.

There’s barely any other cars around and I’m smirking behind my helmet, the cool air slips around me. Now that’s air-conditioning. There’s no apprehension when you’re alone on the highway, no fear of other people, there’s just you, your bike, and all the asphalt you can traverse. It’s beautiful.

I gun the throttle to 75 for a moment then ease back to 65. I was told somewhere it’s good to break in the engine with a few blips. I’ve still got less then 1000 miles on it, that needs to change next season.

I need an excuse next season.

Escape

I’m at my building before I know it and my laptops secured in a blink. I have the rest of the ride back to think about how much of a waste this is. I just wanted to be on the bike one more time.

And when I get on?

Escape