But we do have a surplus of beady-eyed women who blame the world for their bad choices in life. And the type of reptilian men who go out with them. That’s my incentive to move to Boca. And join the university glee club as the only baritone. Did you know I was once goalie on an all-girl hockey team? I scored a lot. I repeat that joke every so many years, too.So I drove up to Boca bookstore. I miss the open road so bad I was tempted to keep going. But I only had $80 on me. I took A1A and tourists should know that except for a couple blocks on South Beach, the only place you can see the beach and ocean is Ft. Lauderdale. And even then only for a big mile with limited parking. If you are planning a scenic drive, the Florida Atlantic is not your best bet. I got me an awful lot of thinking done along the way.
The Colorado formula worked best—stop and see things [on the] outbound [leg], [then] take a high speed run back before sunset. Observation: men will yell out and compliment your ride while you are moving, women will only say something when you are stopped at a light or something. The Barn in Boca is across the road from Florida Atlantic, this is the second time I’ve been there. I do not believe anyone working a computer in public is getting anything done. I was the only person with a pencil taking notes.
On everyone’s lips is the question of how did the GPS perform on its maiden run. I dunno, not being used to the thing, I was in Palm Beach County before realizing I’d forgotten it. I have some critiques on it already, though. First, it comes without instructions either in the box or on-line and that just isn’t right. It has a series of defaults I don’t care for though at this stage that might be me. It is difficult to use without a specific known address of a destination, including a postal code (why the hell isn’t that programmed into the thing?) and it has no mode for just asking it, “Where will an hour’s drive take me?”
It has a very limited battery life, which makes me wonder why it has a setting for walking and bicycling. The charging plug is one of those auto cigarette-lighter style gizmos, shown here [on the robot workbench] is my workaround charger. I’ll have to install a socket on the batbike, but where? And to think I threw one [matching assembly] out just a week ago because it was a little rusted. The GPS unit, though about the size of a slim camera, does not have a handy shoe mount assembly, which I consider an oversight. Say hello to my favorite aisle at Winn/Dixie. I’ve never indulged because they don’t sell anything by the slice. This is not a sepia tone photo, it just looks that way from all that chocolate. What? Oh, I don’t dare buy the whole thing and take it home. Temptation has its limits. My trip to the grocery was to buy 250 packets of Sweet ‘n Low. Returning across the lot, a vet begged me for change, I told him no. He said he’d come to Florida for a job, but at 62 he found nothing. Saying he’d done two tours in Nam, he finally opted for his SSI of $1140 per month, but it didn’t start until February.
As I drove away, I stopped him and asked where he had been stationed. He rattled off the fire base locations in the correct order. With a damn good accent, too. So maybe I shouldn’t say how I gave him $20 because it would look like I’m bragging. So I won’t mention it. He was stunned, saying he could eat at MacD’s for three days. Remember, it was a similar situation where I met JP and I never regretted that twenty bucks. I wonder, did he ever pay me back? I think he did.I’ve ordered the new headlight and windscreen for the Honda. That faring has to go, the one that is useless and was never mounted properly. I opted for some fancy chrome with outrigger turn signals. It will also give the machine a lighter, airier look. Somehow I suspect the faring is interfering with the airflow over the engine block cooling vanes. Either way, expect more motorcycle data now that my beautiful sidecar is back on the road. I’m heeding Marion’s advice to mount a second headlight, this one on the sidecar and they are not cheap.
