So what did I actually say? I implied, based on lack of similar topics on the motorcyce trip sites, that I am probably the first to make the trip on a Goldwing with a Ural sidecar towing a solar-powered camper I built from scratch. Funny how they never argue that point.
Having said that, I should emphasize some distinctions. Be aware I travel alone. Thus, I stick to paved highways with regular services along the route. Do not go cross-country alone, with or without a motorcycle. I travel too slow for other riders to tag along with me, but there is a fraternity out on the roadways. I always stop and offer assistance when I see a stranded motorcyclist unless he is on the cell phone. I always carry extra gas and water. Being there [on the road] is enough adventure for me, I do not take unnecessary chances.
At the bakery with Dee-Dee this morning, Awnew (that’s the nickname of the owner’s mother, who is the real baker behind the scenes) brought us some Hungarian white pepper. Shaped like regular bell pepper, this is the first food in my life that I could not taste or smell. Everyone else said it had a distinct aroma and spicy taste. I’ve found all food to taste as I expected and I like it all except poi, beet juice, and too much cucumber. So I say this is the first different reaction I’ve ever had. When I bit into a slice, nothing, just ordinary green bell pepper taste.
We had a Russian candy wrapper at the bakery but it was thrown out. And nobody remembers where it was purchased. Too bad, it was a matchless design, showing all the cherry and chocolate ingredients until you looked closely in the background. It was overlaid on a picture of a shotgun. It went a long way to explaining Russia’s unique approach to opening new consumer markets. Them Ruskies know much more than we do about influencing consumer demand.
Phlebotomy. It is Latin for making an incision in a vein. Needles have irked me from such a young age that I never considered becoming a doctor. What? Oh, when I was a kid my parents led me to believe that doctors gave needles and ran hospitals. I’m not over the fear, but I was able to administer my own doses, so there is a twelve-week course being offered downtown beginning in January. It is not the lab experience I want, but I’ll bet you I’d meet someone who knows. No promises, but I will check on the price. (Later. It is $1,100. I’m thinking.)
My old union has sent me their annual beg-for-money letter. I shit-canned that. It was some thirty years ago I told them I’d give them two bucks for every one they gave me when I needed it. All my co-workers got their jobs through relations and marched their paychecks right down to the stripper bar. I know the union can’t control that, but they had no fund for members, only others who didn’t work. They turned an institutional blind eye on people like me struggling through expensive night school courses, but they had lots of cash for “underprivileged foreign students”. (Yeah, underprivileged enough to fly across the Pacific.) And they want free money from me now so they can feel good about themselves?
It is clearly not enough to discipline the wrong-doers [meaning the cops and lawyers who lie or coerce], they must live in fear of punishment. Reasons? For police misconduct, a 45% rate of evidence fabrication and suppression of exculpatory evidence. For the courts, a 65% rate of suppression of exculpatory evidence and knowing use of false testimony. That is outrageous and unacceptable.
And of course, there should be complete prohibition of media publication of the accused, so if they are acquitted, there is no public record of it. I know I’ve said prohibition does not work, but it is done, for instance, with the suppression of race elements in the news. Dee-Dee disagrees with all this. She feels, as does most of the public, a need for balance when a crime is committed. Thus, anyone arrested “must have been guilty of something”. But this ignores matters when the police commit willful misconduct to get a conviction. The accompanying chart is from page 265 of "Actual Innocence".
Zumba was packed tonight. My all-girl Zumba class, and it was also Roxi’s birthday. She put us through the paces but I made it. For the first time since my initial heart attack, I can easily touch my toes. Some may laugh at such small victories, but their turn is coming. I never thought I’d have any physical problems until in my 70s, I was in great physical condition (and damn good-looking, too) until the incident. And there was no warning.
ADDENDUM
As I put the finishing touches on the camper, I further opted to replace the front Honda tire. The sidecar causes slightly more wear and tear along the road contact point so you get a worn tread with new-looking sidewalls. But the near-finished camper takes the pressure off the budget. Still, a Dunlop installed is going to set me back $180.
The tonneau cover is nearly done, but some of the leather straps were too short. The shoemaker also put the rivets, two on each strap, one behind the other, so only the front one is doing the job. The sidecar is for short trips, it would not be comfortable to ride in that six hours per day. So I’m putting the tonneau on semi-permanently and using the space for a bit of cargo. See, I’m learning.
I’m designing a bug screen to fit into the camper hatch so that I can sleep under the stars unless it is raining. On the club’s suggestion, I’m making a larger frame to fit over the panels to hold the protective wire mesh. I’m searching for a camper lock that clamps on while the hitch is connected. The other kind only work when the camper is parked. And I need some kind of non-standard lock to batten down the rear hatch.
