Bascomb's Regrets

RaineyMot and I were out at the large parking lot by where the Giants play. I had set up the cones for a serpentine course on the motorcycle, which she was negotiating well; I had just pulled the cones out for a ‘challenge’ run when an SFPD motorcycle cop pulled up. I wasn’t sure that what we were doing was legal; but I knew that every interaction I’ve ever had with cops on bikes in California has ended with me getting a ticket.

RaineyMot cones

This guy was different. After a quick explanation of what we’re up to, he turns to RaineyMot, says, “Let’s see you do it.”  You know how hard it is to get it right the first time even without an audience; well, doing a low-speed serpentine course for a motorcycle cop is about as tough as it gets. Before I could beg off, though, Lormot was through the first two turns. She says she tapped her toe once, but to us it looked like a perfect run. Not to be outdone, our man in blue has a run at it in the 850-pound Hawg. A respectable attempt, but I had to pull the cones in a good bit before the big bike could manage it.
I think she’s ready to take the motorcycle driving test (after two lessons!)–even if she doesn’t pass, it appears she’ll still be able to outmaneuver anybody who tries to pull her over…

Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m getting up there, but I glanced at this sign: “Death…overage…35″, and I felt like the dude in Soylent Green. Sort of…old. Death–but at least there’s no contract out on me yet. I’ll stick with T-Mobile, thanks.

Lots of little things have returned to my awareness since returning to two-wheeled wide-area transportation. Here are a few.

Push-to-cancel turn signals. Most modern bikes give you the comfort of ‘push-to-cancel’ turn signals. This explains what you see as a car driver: you’re waiting to turn left at a yellow light, and a biker enters the intersection across from you, his left turn signal blinking. Just as you’re about to turn left, he gives you the finger and cuts you off. I have ridden all the way across town with my turn signal on. Now you know why some bikers just stick to hand signals.
Putting your foot down. Putting your foot down is what you do when you ride a two-wheeled vehicle and you’re about to stop. (Yep. I’ve done that too.)
Bike lane is for bicyclists. Once, on my way home after a particularly trying day, I was coming up Valencia street–a street on which I have routinely been a bicyclist–being pretty psyched about passing all those cars and bicycles. One of the bicyclists pointed out I was in the bike lane, which was reserved for bicyclists. Lesson learned.
Furniture. Forget the danger posed by other motorists. The worst hazard on the freeway for two wheeled vehicles is the suite of dorm furniture that gets laid out on I-280 every Saturday morning. You’d think it wouldn’t hurt to drive over a mattress…
Motorcycle cops… do not, as a rule, think it’s cool that you ride a motorcycle too. In fairness, I have to say that the only time I was ever pulled over and *not* given a ticket (1 time out of 9 since moving to CA), it was by a SF motorcycle cop.
Progressive Insurance. My insurance bill for one year of driving a car in SF: $1200. Motorcycle insurance for the same year: $100.
Traffic Signal Sensors. You can wait forever at lights if the induction sensors in the pavement don’t register your bike. Only a few intersections are problematic; and these times I’m glad to see an SUV pull up behind: they always trigger the light.
Paying tolls. Nothing like pulling up to the toll booth and having to put your kickstand down so that you can root around in your backpack for $4. That’s right, motorcycles do not get to skip the Bay Area tolls… But from a cost perspective I can’t complain: I didn’t visit the gas pump for 6 weeks after I bought the bike.
Reverse gear? Even my light dualsport weighs 400 pounds. If you wind up pointed the wrong direction down a narrow downhill dead-end, you’re going to put some wear on your sneakers before you’re out of it.
Lane splitting in traffic. Whenever I see other bikers do it, I call them idiots. Then when I get on a bike and see the string of green lights down Cesar Chavez St, I can’t resist it either. Lane splitting must have come into being in the 60s and 70s when cars were lower than motorcycles. These days, you have the problem of mirrors at SUV height: exactly the same height as yours. I often sit stewing behind a pack of SUVs snuggled woolly-mammoth-style together so that I can’t get through to the green.
Conference calls. I used to burn through a big chunk of my 1500 T-Mobile minutes in the car. Not anymore. At least, not until I figure out how to get the headset working in my helmet.
A bike helmet is a great asset in a bar fight…whether you’re wearing it or not.

Any Jenga buffs out there want to play for higher stakes?

We got to try lots of different types of transportation in Cuba.

The classic American cars were cool. But there’s a difference between classic cars and classic airplanes. Let’s just say I would rather cross Havana in a Ford made under Eisenhower than cross the Caribbean in a Yakovlev made under Brezhnev. The entry door was so low that I had to bend at the knees to enter the aircraft. Pictured: our YAK-420 and our ride to the airport: a Chevy with about 400,000 miles on the original engine.

After finishing a tasty pizza in Havana’s Chinatown I wandered among the spaces between the buildings and found a lot where some guys were working on their cars. Hector tested the brakes on his Chevy by circling the lot gathering speed, and then aiming straight for the mechanic leaning against the concrete wall. He braked at the last second, and apparently both owner and mechanic were satisfied with the result. I asked him in broken Spanish whether he was named for the guy who got dragged around Troy by Achilles. I don’t think he was too offended; he asked me what size my hat was. When I took it off to examine the label, he snatched it from me and put it on his head. “It’s my size,” he said.

Havana is known for its maintenance and use of American cars from the 50s. Just to prove that nothing is ever that simple, I was recently briefly infatuated with the Lada Niva and did some research on US car clubs that fix up and race the aging Russian SUVs. It’s hard to get parts for them, and attempts to market the new versions in the US by GM have stalled over and over again. But they’re cool: they have a top speed of 80mph, get 30mpg and have full-time 4WD with the ground clearance of a VW microbus. Only the very well-heeled cool in San Francisco can afford to maintain one. But it turns out that new Lada Nivas are being produced and sent to Cuba for use by government ministries. Pictured below: a recently produced Lada Niva.