As with everything on this project, I’ve under-estimated how much room is actually required for things.  The Cycle Spinner fits where I’ve placed it, and my bike can be spun… but there is a nary [...]]]>

The last piece has arrived, and my Vulcan landing pad is, for this year at least, complete.  Behold, the Cycle Spinner:

As with everything on this project, I’ve under-estimated how much room is actually required for things.  The Cycle Spinner fits where I’ve placed it, and my bike can be spun… but there is a nary a hair’s width of extra space fore and aft.  I will be scraping precious chrome and rubber if I don’t park the bike just so on the rotating contraption.  I could relocate the spinner to the wider part of the landing pad area, but then that leaves a difficult angle to ride the bike off and on.  No matter what I do, or how much care I take with measurements- reality is always a little different.  The net result is that, barring relocation of the spinner, I won’t be able to ever own a motorcycle longer than my current bike- not even one inch longer.  It really is that tight.

Regardless, the spinner itself is a brilliant piece of engineering and manufacturing.  Basically, it’s a lazy susan, but on a much expanded scale.  A dozen or so wheels underneath, each rated at over 250 pounds of support, permit the spinning motion.  The central frame is bolted to the concrete (a story in itself), and the platform is polished aluminum with a thick layer of oil-resistant rubber compound over the driving area.  The whole thing spins more or less as easily with the 650 pound bike on it as it does unloaded.  Unfortunately, because my concrete isn’t perfectly level, the spinning isn’t quite so easy that a six year old child can manage it… but it is pretty easy.

A side note to anyone in Canada considering the Cycle Spinner.  I had some difficulties finding a vendor in the U.S. willing to ship across the border.  The manufacturer doesn’t sell direct, and the first company they referred me to kept me dangling for weeks while they “checked out” shipping options.  When I realized they were never going to get back to me, I picked the next dealer in the list: The Garage Store.  Charlie there was a great help, and thanks to him the shipping got worked out via UPS Freight within a few days.  However, be prepared for a bit of sticker shock: the freight itself was over $400, and brokerage fees to get it into Canada were another $250+.  I was expecting about $600 for shipping (the Spinner is shipped on a pallet and weighs around 200 pounds), but some people might not be prepared.  If you have a truck and can drive to the U.S., you might find it cheaper to pick it up at a dealer there.  Regardless, costs quickly start to approach $2,000: this isn’t a cheap option.

So what’s next?  Well, as soon as I received the spinner and got it installed, I went out and bought a bike cover and lock.  That takes care of the essentials.  I also cut back more of the plants at my excessively narrow entrance to the landing pad.  When I complained about this, Irene said something like “I thought that looked too narrow”, at which point I rather forcefully reminded her that the reason it is narrow is because she whined and complained about any impact on her precious greenery, at which point she reminded me that I could have paid to have all her plants transplanted to another location, at which juncture I clarified that we had established that there was no room elsewhere in the yard.  It was a fun discussion  As it is, I suspect I will be clearing out some plants and putting a few concrete bricks in to provide an extra few inches at the entrance.

I have three more  accessories for my bike on the way: handle bar pullback risers, an airhorn, and a new saddle.  I think that covers everything I want for this year- Irene says “it better”

First, I picked the [...]]]>

I’m having a parking space built for my motorbike.  There isn’t any extra room in the garage for it, and my car is tired of being parked out on the road.  But like a lot of things in my life, this simple change is far more complicated than I was originally hoping.

First, I picked the spot, and frankly there was absolutely no choice here- it had to be along the east side of our house.  This is a small space, at most about 12 feet wide, but narrowing down quickly- I knew from the start that this was going to be cramped, and likely would require installation of a device to turn the bike around.   It also required removing one fence panel and the gate, but that was a small problem: the gate on that side of the house has never been very effective.  I have a longer term plan to have that replaced with an aluminum fence and gate once the concrete and other necessities are in place.

My next challenge was finding a contractor to do the work.  My first attempt consumed about three weeks of exchanging information back and forth before I concluded the company just wasn’t going to be one I wanted to deal with.  They weren’t returning my messages or calls, and after another couple of weeks still hadn’t provided a quote.

Fortunately, the site pictures and “design” I created were useful when I found the actual firm to do the work: L&L Hanson Construction Limited.  Jeremy there responded quickly and I had a quote within a couple days of talking to him and providing the details.  The price was going to be steep: higher still once I decided to have the original sidewalk in that area, which was cracked in several places, ripped out entirely.  But the work was under way… sort of.

I knew I had a sprinkler head in that area that needed to be moved, so I called our sprinkler company, University Sprinklers, out to have that done and to have the area inspected to confirm whether there were any pipes running under the area to be covered in concrete.  Guess what?  That’s where our main sprinkler line to the back yard runs.  So that had to be dug out, sleeved (i.e.: a larger “conduit” pipe put around it), and replaced.  That added another couple of weeks and hundreds of dollars to the price.  The guy from University was great, and did a wonderful job putting things back around the deck after having to move everything to find the sprinkler valve- I’m glad he was able to complete the work.

Today the concrete is being poured, which is a primary milestone.

Soon, the space will be complete.  However, I can’t really park my bike here yet: the space is too small to practically turn the bike around by hand.  A seven foot long bike takes a lot of back-and-forth to turn around in an 8×16 parking space, and this space is about 8′x10′, with a 4′x10′ extension.  I knew this was going to be tight but, with more experience on my bike, I now know it is on the edge of impossible.  The solution?  A motorcycle turntable.

Of course, the manufacturer of the turntable I want is in the United States, with no dealers in Canada.  So I’m working with a U.S. dealer to see what it would take to get it shipped up here.  In the mean time, I have a slab of concrete that has now cost several thousand dollars to get installed.  On the plus side, my bike just had its 1,000 km (1,265 km on the odometer) “break in” service: oil changed, bolts torqued, and ready for another 5k of riding.  That should take me through the summer, I think…

I’m part of the Apollo generation.  The era during which the U.S. was dominant in space, with hundreds of [...]]]>

The last shuttle mission has flown and, with nothing to replace it, the U.S. manned presence in space has ended with it.  The shuttle astronauts in the picture below are the last ones we will ever see.

I’m part of the Apollo generation.  The era during which the U.S. was dominant in space, with hundreds of manned missions.  The moon landings, Skylab, the shuttle, deployment of Hubble, and the ISS: all of these things marked milestones in my life.  The men and women of the space program were, to me, sterling examples of the best humanity has to offer.

The tiny cost of the U.S. space program (the entire 50 year history of which costs less than what the U.S. spends in a single year on the military) has paid off in technological advances worth trillions.  And yet, due to the shortsighted and unimaginative nature of current society, it is all over.  There are no manned space vehicles being built or maintained by the U.S. after this month.  There is a partially designed manned capsule, the Orion, but nothing to launch it with.  When Americans want to go into space, they will have to beg the Russians or, perhaps, the Chinese for a ride.  Nothing is left other than a vague intent to “one day” go to Mars, but without sufficient funding or a specific plan to do so.

To me, the end of the manned space program marks the end of my youth, and of many of my dreams for mankind.  It feels as if the only outcome now is the gradual decay of humanity’s ability and will to go beyond.  In a world dominated by petty squabbles over race, religion, and natural resources, the space program was… hope.  A dream, I guess, and not a reality.

What is left to inspire us beyond our petty hatreds and cancerous greed?  My belief is that it is the dreams that lift us above our animalistic need for territory, wealth, and dominance.  The fact that the wealthiest and most powerful nation on Earth has abandoned its greatest and most noble dream tells me that we are failing.   A tiny fraction of the hundreds of billions spent every year on destruction could have kept that dream alive, and yet it is over.

I’m hopeful that some fraction of humanity might step up one day to embrace “the other things“.  Not because they are easy, but because they are hard…

The illness has somewhat impacted my “biker geek” adventures, but hasn’t halted them entirely.  I’ve managed [...]]]>

I’ve been sick with a sinus infection for the last several weeks, and am now mid-way through my second week of antibiotics.  The infection was the outcome of my earlier flu that made my motorcycle lessons a bit more challenging.

The illness has somewhat impacted my “biker geek” adventures, but hasn’t halted them entirely.  I’ve managed to put a bit over 600 kilometres on my Vulcan, 200 of which was accrued on my ride yesterday with my Nephew Shane and his cousin.

We met in Abbotsford and then went up to Lake Whonnock.  Apparently I went there at least once before with Judy and Shane when I was a teenager: I can’t remember that earlier instance, but this ride was definitely memorable.  I was “in the saddle” riding my bike for about five or so hours in a single day, which is about three times my previous daily maximum.  When I got home I was tired, but it was a good kind of tired: my sinuses and cough were, if anything, less problematic.  I’m not sure if I’d call the ride physically therapeutic, but it definitely was worthwhile mentally.

Bulletproof Butt

This was also my first extended ride with my new Draggin Jean motorcycle pants.  These made-in-Australia pants (I bought the cargo style) are partially Kevlar/Dyneema lined, and are quite a bit more comfortable than my armoured pants.  The thing to note is that, unlike my armoured pants, there is no real impact protection (by default) in Draggin jeans: their main safety feature is to protect against abrasion.  The main advantages over full armoured bike pants are comfort and convenience.  Comfort comes from the flexibility and comparative coolness of the fabric.  The convenience factor is that you can wear them in to a restaurant or at work, avoiding the hassle of changing clothes when you stop.

I should point out that Draggin jeans are much more expensive than the pants you pick up at Walmart: it is debatable whether the extra protection is worth four or five times the price.  But I kind of like the idea that I have the same material used in a bullet proof vest protecting my butt….  Note: Draggin jeans will *not* render your backside bullet-proof, just skid-resistant.

GPS for motorbikes

The other “new” thing I’ve been using a lot in relation to my bike is a Garmin Zumo GPS.  This is a motorcycle-specific GPS: some might ask “why motorcycle specific?  Why not use a cheaper “normal” GPS like a Garmin Nuvi, which is half the price of a Zumo.

Truthfully, there is nothing stopping you from using a normal Nuvi or any of the even cheaper GPS devices: you just need to mount them securely to the bike.  The problem is that “normal” GPSes are neither shock/vibration nor water resistant.  From what I’ve read on various forums, normal GPSes mounted on motorcycles are pretty hit and miss: many people report them simply dying after a month or two of use, others seem to be able to keep them running much longer.   Note that if your car GPS fails when it is mounted on a motorcycle, you will probably have voided your warranty.   Personally, I don’t like the idea of replacing my GPS every year or so, nor do I like the concept of it my warranty being invalidated as soon as I attach it to my bike.  It is also worth noting that the Garmin Zumo 660, which is the one I bought, includes a complete RAM mounting kit which, if you bought the parts separately, would cost somewhere around $50.

The Zumo 660 mounted easily to my Kawasaki Vulcan 900 with the included mounting kit.  The only “challenge” was hooking the power cable to the Vulcan’s accessory connector.  The accessory connector on the Vulcan is sort of a giant-sized version of a female blade connector, which kind of looks like this:

Unfortunately, neither the Source (aka Radio Shack aka The Shack) nor my Kawasaki dealer had the right part.  I read on the Vulcan forums I occasionally visit that something called a “bullet connector” would fit into the “rounded” portion of the female blade.  I was doubtful, but back to the Source I went and picked up a package of connectors that look like this:

The male connectors from that set fit perfectly into the connector on my bike, and also support the right gauge of wire (22-16) from my GPS kit.  Even better: there is a spare “hole” in the blade for a connector to fit later.  The downside: the accessory connector on the Vulcan (which is under the seat- apparently there is a second one somewhere under the gas tank) is unswitched (i.e.: anything connected to it will draw power all the time, whether the bike is running or not).  Fortunately, I will always be removing and carrying my GPS with me: the Zumo mounting kit has a quick-disconnect switch and a carrying case for the Zumo itself, so that is something of a no-brainer.

One “fun” thing I never really anticipated when I bought the GPS: it keeps a complete “track” of each ride (from Zumo power on to power off) you go on.  You can download that track from the Zumo into software on your computer.  On the Macintosh I’m using Garmin’s BaseCamp, which is available for free to registered Garmin users.  Basecamp can then send the track data to Google Earth, which can then replay your trip with full satellite imagery.   When I say “replay”, I mean it animates your path with a sort of “low altitude” (700 m) viewpoint.  The first time I did this, it felt like I was flying an ultralight along the same route I had ridden earlier that day on my motorbike.   Very cool, indeed.

Bilbo and Susu joined Irene and I and our two cats Jaegar and Leopard in 1992. [...]]]>

Last weekend we made the decision to have our cat Bilbo euthanized. I’m still dealing with it, and probably will be for several weeks if not months. He was, after all, my friend for the last eighteen years.

Bilbo and Susu joined Irene and I and our two cats Jaegar and Leopard in 1992. I had promised Irene that, once we had our own house, we’d adopt a Siamese cat. After some discussion, we agreed that the right thing to do would be to adopt a pair of siblings. We wanted “traditional” Siamese, sometimes called “apple-head” Siamese to distinguish them from the more “pointy” (elongated) cats that most Siamese have become. Bilbo and Susu were two of three kittens still awaiting homes from a purebred litter. When we brought them home they were about 14 weeks old.

Bilbo’s name was chosen primarily as an outgrowth from several nicknames he had as a kitten: “big brother”, “bad boy”… and a desire to have a two syllable name to match Susu who’s title was already selected before she came home with us. And of course the name has a nice ring to it for a fan of J.R.R. Tolkein’s works (pun intended). Bilbo Baggins, known mostly as “Bilbo”, seemed comfortable enough with his name.

Bilbo and Susu both had an air of royalty about them. They played, but in a reserved fashion. Catnip was beneath them, as were most crazy running around games which the other cats that joined our household occasionally played. And oddly enough, the other cats generally deferred to the Siamese. But neither Bilbo nor Susu were standoffish, not in the slightest. Both of them loved being cuddled and held once they settled in with us, and would consistently be the first cats on our laps when we sat down on the couch. Purrs were a normal part of this process. And I can’t recall ever hearing a serious hiss from either of them, although both of them had a tremendous vocabulary. That is one of the joys (or curses) of Siamese cats- they love to talk.

I had only been a married man for a couple of years when Bilbo came into my life. I was 28, still “young” by many standards, and we had just bought our first home- an acreage east of Edmonton. For the first eight years of his life, Bilbo lived on a quasi-rural environment: his back yard was acres in size, a space he shared with horses, rabbits, mice, shrews, hawks, dogs, deer, and coyotes. He became the patriarch of an increasingly large family of cats, as many as seven others sharing his home and his humans with him. But Bilbo was always the gentleman, and tolerantly greeted new members of the family.

Bilbo became our feline ambassador, and for the younger cats he was “Uncle Bill”. Sick or scared cats seemed to draw out some sort of mothering instinct in Bilbo: almost without fail, he would curl around and cuddle scared newcomers before others would get close. I think his example was a strong reason why we were so successful in integrating new cats into our household.

Bilbo and Whisper

Bilbo and Rommel

Bilbo and Willow

Bilbo and Iris

Every time I picked Bilbo up, he would immediately settle himself in the crook of my left arm with his head on my shoulder. If I forgot his preference and put him on the right side, he’d scramble to correct my error. Sometimes he’d meow several times to chastise me for the incorrect placement. His crossed eyes made him unsure of new spaces, but once he got things figured out he was as brave as any cat. When I slept, he’d generally try to insinuate himself under the covers in the crook of my arm as well, although for some reason he was less choosy about which side when I was horizontal.

Amazingly, despite how odd his vision must of have been, he was a proficient hunter on our acreage when he was younger. I think, however, that Bilbo was what could be called a “sport hunter”: it was an enjoyable activity for him, but not something he felt overwhelmingly compelled to do. From time to time he’d bring us a bird or mouse, more or less (it seemed) just to say “you see, I’m still quite the hunter. Now where is my canned food?”.

Bilbo was a part of arguably the best time in my life. Irene and I were figuring out married life, my career was doing well, and there were lots of positive changes happening every year. He moved with us from Alberta to B.C. and, after the trauma of the trip (he hated it) settled in happily in his new home, despite having to give up his hunting grounds. The milder winters agreed with him, and he he was completely at ease as a purely “indoor” cat.

The only really unpleasant part of Bilbo’s life that I am aware of came in the fall of 2005 when he disappeared outside and was missing for over a day. When he came home he was in sorry shape: he had obviously had a run-in with something big enough to bite his back, and it took weeks for Bilbo to return to his normal happy self. I still wonder how much of his life was consumed in surviving that one incident. Bilbo showed absolutely no interest in getting outside from that day forward.

The last couple of years were tough for Bilbo. His kidneys started to fail, and he lost over half his body mass despite special diet and care. In his prime, Bilbo was over 6 kilograms: during the last month of his life he had dropped below three. We started regular at-home doses of sub-cutaneous fluid, and that seemed to perk him up. He was still fairly mobile, although increasingly wobbly, until the last week.

Watching him wobble and collapse as he tried to walk from his chair to the water bowl during the last week of his life broke my heart. It was clear that his strength was gone- he could barely hold himself up as he drank, his front legs collapsing and folding up at awkward angles. I knew it was time, but that didn’t change the sorrow I felt at having to make the decision to end his life.

Bilbo’s vet, Dr. Michelle Levesque, helped us through the decision and the process that followed. I’m afraid I didn’t hold up very well, but Irene and I were there with Bilbo when he died. Eighteen years is, by some measures, a long time- but right now, it seems far too short a span.

Click the photo below to see pictures I took during Bilbo’s last two days with us.

A couple of weeks ago [...]]]>

I am not going to post right away about the unhappy news this week about Bilbo. I’m still digesting that. Instead, I’ll talk about something you may have noticed in my recent Twits (twitter posts), or if you follow me on Facebook. I’ve been talking about a re-awakened interest in motorbikes.

A couple of weeks ago my Nephew bought a motorbike from a friend: a Harley Davidson 1200 Sportster, at a very good price. This tweaked my interest and got me thinking. I’ve been lonely lately despite the attentions of my loving wife, and looking for something. Shane is my best friend out here on the coast, and here, suddenly, was something he was excited about. He booked riding lessons, and started talking about road trips with friends. It sounded like a lot of fun.

The most practical evidence of my current affliction is the fact that I have signed up for serious lessons. Two weeks, nearly 40 hours, of road and classroom training starting April 21. To prepare for those lessons, I’ve purchased an armoured motorcycling jacket and boots. And I’ve researched half a dozen different motorbikes to find the right combination of features that “spoke” to me.

But aren’t Motorcycles dangerous?

Yes, they are: they aren’t nicknamed “murdercycles” for nothing. The statistics show that you are nearly 20 times as likely to suffer “serious injury or death” in a collision while riding a motorcycle as you are in a similar collision in a car. The problem isn’t that motorcycles themselves are inherently unsafe, but that the roads are full of cars. Cars are, in comparison, like armoured tanks: ten times as heavy, covered in sheet metal and steel, and with various crumple zones/impact barriers intended to turn even high speed impacts into highly survivable events. Motorbikes, on the other hand, place pretty much nothing between the rider and an impact. Add to this the fact that most car drivers are blissfully unaware and unprepared for the existence of a motorbike on “their” roads, and you have a greatly increased risk.

The one advantage a motorbike has over a car in a potential accident situation is maneuverability. Like a skilled martial artist, the biker has to master the art of not being where the accident will happen. This means that someone on a bike has to be far more aware of their surroundings and potential risk situations than a car driver. If you ride a bike like you drive a car, you are in for a world of hurt. Defensive driving is absolutely mandatory for a motorcyclist.

I’m a defensive driver, and I have been for years. I also rode a motorcycle for a couple of years, and rode bicycles for a couple of decades: I’m pretty good at avoiding accidents. With the right training, I can reduce the risks of riding a motorcycle significantly. It won’t be as safe as driving a car: it simply can’t be. But it won’t be nearly as dangerous as, say, rock climbing, parachuting, or other “extreme” sports.

Why do I want a motorbike?

To explain my interest in motorbikes, I probably should go back to my youth. When I was about six years old, my brothers had a broken down motorbike that they rode in the alleys near our house. Later Colin had a Honda CB100, and later still Ron and Colin both had various bikes of increasing size and capability. So I’ve been around bikes since I was little, and everything about them interested me. The noise, the “freedom”, the personal space a bike provides- it is much different than a car.

I substituted bicycles for a motorbike when I was too young for motorized transport. My Mom will probably remember me trying to convince her I needed a mini-bike when I was ten or so: I never got one, and in retrospect I’m glad I didn’t. I had a nearly endless series of different bicycles that took the place of that mini-bike. I spent endless hours trying to make several of those bicycles like a motorbike. Sissy bars, banana seats, speedometers, noisemakers in the spokes: whatever I could do to get that feeling, I did. I recall getting on my bike when I was about ten or so, and riding around and around the sidewalks in our condominium complex. I was, in my mind, riding to Red Deer. I think I made it there- about 70 or 80 miles- by riding dawn until dusk over a weekend. Of course, in reality, I was never more than 200 feet from the front door of our condo, but my imagination was strong. Later I had a motocross bicycle complete with shocks and fake plastic gas tank. Truthfully, it wasn’t as much fun to ride as my “mustang” style bike, but visually it was pretty cool.

I went through a series of mopeds in my early teens. The motors on these things would have been anaemic for the purpose of mowing a lawn, but they pushed or pulled me around at amazing speeds of up to 50 km/h: I finally had a motorbike! Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed by my various schools to park my moped, so the primary purpose of a bike (getting to school) was curtailed. Eventually I went back to riding a bicycle, but by this time I upgraded to the more mature 10 speeds popular at the time.

When I was about 19 I purchased a proper motorbike. It was a Suzuki 250 cc bike, a great bike to learn on. I had my motorcycle learners, which technically restricted me to riding only under the supervision of a licensed adult. I broke that rule a few days after I got the license: try finding a person with a motorcycle license willing to spend hours with someone to teach them how to ride. I’m not sure why I didn’t just take lessons: probably the cost was too high. I rode all over- mostly on suburban roads, but fairly regularly to places like my friend Chris’ house. I eventually took my road test… and failed. I think I rode the bike for a year after that, but never re-took the test, and eventually sold it with about 2300 miles on the clock.

Why did I fail my motorcycle road test? My road skills were fine, but I had never, not even once, practiced riding around pylons or the other things that are a mandatory part of the skills test. I wasn’t prepared, and was crushed when I realized I wasn’t going to be licensed. Again, I have no idea why I didn’t think to take lessons after that initial failure. Maybe no one suggested it, and I was too caught up in my disappointment to think about it. Or maybe again I just didn’t have the money.

So, to summarize: I’ve wanted a motorbike since I was six years old, and my failure to get a motorcycle license is one of the few “unfinished business” things from my youth. Its time to address both issues. It could be argued that this is a “mid-life crisis” event, but… I’m not sure if that’s true. If it makes it easier to swallow, that’s what I’ll call it.

What kind of motorbike does a geek ride?

Geeks are just as much, probably more, individual than “mundanes”. So the type of motorbike your friendly geek might ride will vary as much as snowflakes. For myself, I’ve been torn between “highly practical” and the type of bike I’ve always dreamed of. I’ve looked at a dozen or so different bikes, and it really came down to two:

The Practical: Suzuki Burgman 650 Executive

Technically, the Burgman isn’t a motorcycle: it is a “scooter”, which is loosely defined as a two wheel motorized vehicle with a step-through frame and automatic transmission. It is a very large scooter, however: 638 cc, and fully highway capable. The basic feature list:

• 638 cc ~45 hp liquid cooled engine
• automatic transmission (computer controlled CVT)
• 60+ litres of storage
• full fairing with gloveboxes and power outlet
• ABS brakes
• power windshield and mirrors (seriously)

The Dream bike: Kawasaki Vulcan 900 Classic LT

The Vulcan is a mid-size touring bike. It is a “proper” motorcycle: gas tank between the knees, manual transmission, and no power windshield The features:

• 900cc ~55 hp liquid cooled engine
• manual transmission (like 99% of the motorbikes on the road)
• < 40 litres of storage with included saddlebags
• front and rear disk brakes (no ABS)
• windshield, but no fairing, and no glove boxes

I’ve been debating this with myself for a week, and until a day or so ago was torn. After all of my analysis, I have settled on the Vulcan.

Why not the practical bike?

Re-read the last couple of sentences: I said I was torn. But when I was a kid, the type of bike I wanted was a bike that looked like the Vulcan: I never thought about automatic transmissions, ABS brakes, power windshields, or trunk space. Emotionally, the Vulcan is the bike I wanted, right back to when I was 8 years old and was making “vroom vroom” noises while riding my little bicycle around.

An interesting fact about these bikes: the Vulcan is actually a couple of thousand dollars cheaper than the Burgman. Yes, you read that right: the bigger bike, arguably the more serious bike, is cheaper. My decision, however, had little or nothing to do with money, although that did weigh in to my emotional decision. I’ll admit, the choice *is* emotional, and it is important to note that riding a motorcycle at all for me is not a practical necessity. I can get where I need to go perfectly well with my car. It is an emotional choice all around.

Setting aside the emotional aspects, I’m not going crazy here. The Vulcan is a “mature” touring bike: unlike hardcore bikes, it is comparatively small (900cc vs 1700+cc for the big tourers), liquid cooled, and according to the reviews very easy to ride. It has the “relaxed” riding posture I like, and in a strange way reminds me a lot of my little 250cc Suzuki. Yes, it looks “cool”, at least to me, and probably it is too cool for a geek like me to ride. But one thing a geek has is the ability to buck convention, and to do things differently. In other words, I don’t have to ride the bike you expect me to

What happens once you have the bike?

Once I have my license I’ll take delivery of the motorcycle. The licensing here in B.C. is a little different than in Alberta when I was pursuing a license: there are three stages instead of two. The written test gets you your learners, with three restrictions: supervised by a motorcycle-licensed person, no riding after dark, and no passengers. The second test is a skills test in a parking lot: once you complete that, the “supervised” restriction is removed. I might take delivery of the bike then. I’ll probably put a deposit down soon since the prices right at the moment are pretty good (early in the season).

And once I have my full license, in early May, what then? Well, I’ll ride to work when the weather is nice. But that’s not the main thing. The big purpose of the bike will be to go on small road trips with my Nephew and his friends. I don’t know exactly where we’ll go- mostly anywhere we can travel to and from in a day, I’d guess. Later, after I’ve got a few thousand miles under my belt, I might take a longer trip- perhaps down Highway 101, or how about back to Edmonton to visit? Probably not until next year, but that’s on my list.