6/11/07

—A beautiful day for a Poker-Run:
Yesterday (Sunday, June 10, 2007) was a beautiful day for a Poker-Run.
Don’t know as there actually was a Poker-Run, since the Legion-Hall up the street was not processing motorbikes. —Usually the Legion-Hall is a checkpoint on a Poker-Run.
But so far 89 bazilyun blatting GeezerGlides have roared past, most with very little muffling (“Loud pipes save lives”).
Some are clearly not Harleys; mere metric wanna-bees.
And try as they might, the Japs have yet to make a metric-cruiser sound like a GeezerGlide; that is, generate the God-awful, infernal racket a Harley makes.
About two months ago I overheard a conversation in the Canandaigua YMCA locker-room, where some wiry little guy was telling about pulling his gigantical Harley next to some four-wheeler at a traffic-light.
The four-wheeler driver proceeded to power down his window, and began loudly excoriating the Harley-guy.
So Harley-guy twisted his throttle and roared loudly off into the distance, leaving four-wheeler in his dust.
And that’s how it is, chillen. Them metric-cruisers may make gobs more horsepower than a GeezerGlide, but they don’t make the God-awful, infernal racket.
The way to make a statement is with a GeezerGlide

—Helmet-law:
Saturday-night (June 9, 2007) the local TV-news covered an ABATE (American Bikers Aimed Toward Education) rally in Rochester; and they mentioned helmet-use is optional.
Well, that’s news to me (proving yet again that I am utterly clueless).
As far as I ever knew, helmet-use in New York state is required — or at least was.
Yesterday (Sunday, June 10, 2007) as I proceeded to mighty Weggers, I was passed by a biker without a helmet — blatting GeezerGlide of course.
Maybe they actually got the law changed — it was ABATE’s mantra for eons.
Supposedly the rally was to educate automobile-drivers about the presence of motorbikes. Apparently some dude just got killed by some four-wheeler pulling out in front of him.
All I ever worried about was that New York State not make helmet-use illegal. Required helmet-use is stupid. Riders should have a choice — just like required seatbelt use is stupid. (BIG MOTHER ALERT!) So much for freedom! (Citizens are showing their disdain of ridiculous laws: the anti-cellphone law is universally disobeyed, as is the headlight/wipers law, and even the seatbelt law. People are so flaunting the speed-limits the cops only ticket for excessive speed — like 10 mph over the limit.)

—Power-wash:
Yesterday morning (Sunday, June 10, 2007), our painter-guy arrived to power-wash the house before staining. He arrived about 8 a.m. — while we were at the so-called elitist country-club. He had called the day before, and I said we might be at the park. He said it didn’t matter as long as there was a garden-hose outside (and a spigot).
He was already power-washing the house when we pulled back in.
He had apparently arrived in a giant F150, which of course makes him small-time, since it ain’t a Chevrolet.
And his power-washer was only a small Honda (“I can still see that oily, black pillar of smoke TOWERING above that ship”), which obviously makes him small-time since he wasn’t pumping concrete into the stratosphere.
He claimed his power-washer generated 1,000 psi — I kinda doubt it, although maybe so; obviously I’m utterly clueless having majored in History (LIBERIAL-ARTS ALERT!)
When I worked for Mahz-n-Wawdzzz we had a gigantical Schramm air-compressor that delivered 650 cubic-feet per minute. It had an 8-71 V8 bus-diesel, and was an all-powerful monster.
That thing would push four six-bag sandblasters with two-inch rubber-hose outlets — that’s one-inch inside diameter.
It was probably getting 150+ psi for air — you couldn’t bend the hose to cut off the flow; it was too strong.
But then water is different than air. Maybe that puny Honda could actually generate 1,000 psi; but it seems to me, dreaded Liberial-Arts major that I am, you’d need a fire-truck feeding off a hydrant to get 1,000 psi.
WHATEVER: the spray from the spray-wand looked about twice as strong as the nozzle on my garden-hose. I can’t see a 3/4-inch spigot delivering enough water to get 1,000 psi.

—Ker-lunk; ker-lunk, ker-lunk, ker-lunk:
Yesterday morning a tremendous commotion began emanating from the laundryroom: ker-lunk; ker-lunk, ker-lunk, ker-lunk.
Linda was outside, unaware of the gathering disaster, so I had to run to the laundryroom, where I found our fantabulous valentine had already jumped five inches rearward, and was heaving at least six inches with each revolution.
Linda had attempted to wash both the bed-quilt and the infamous Chessie afghan, and waterlogged the afghan was much heavier.
The afghan was on one side of the machine, and the machine was trying to spin it.
Seems the aged Maytag, which this valentine replaced, would quit if things were out-of-kilter.
But not the valentine. It was gonna spin that sucker even if it had to take out the drywall.
I lifted the lid to stop it and redistributed, but ker-lunk; ker-lunk, ker-lunk, ker-lunk.
I redistributed again, but again ker-lunk; ker-lunk, ker-lunk, ker-lunk.
I gave up. It looked like all would have to be hung outside.
Linda came in, redistributed, but again: ker-lunk; ker-lunk, ker-lunk, ker-lunk.
She redistributed yet again, but this time it spun; no ker-lunk.

—Valero:
That’s Valero, guys; not Valerio, or that horrible piece of music by Maurice Ravel that he hated....... (“are we at the end yet?”) and Bo Derek loves.
A gas-station on Route 15A between Honeoye Falls and Rush is our first Valero. It used to be an accessory to an automobile mechanic shop (a Shamrock — and I guess they’re related), but apparently the gas-station has changed hands.
It used to sell Diamond-Shamrock — i.e. it wasn’t an oil-company outlet (unless you wanna consider Diamond-Shamrock an oil-company outlet).
But now it’s under new management; i.e. independent of the automobile mechanic shop.
And the new management made it a Valero-station.
I would have had no idea whatsoever what Valero was; were it not that my brother works for Valero (I think).
Valero is not a major player in our area (nor was Diamond-Shamrock) — in fact, it’s the first Valero station I’ve ever seen up here — previously the onliest Diamond-Shamrock in our area.

—611:
Today is June 11, 6/11; the significance of which was posited by my sister in Fort Lauderdale as related to the 9/11 disaster.
Well, okay; but to me 611 is the number of the greatest railroad steam-locomotive I have ever seen: Norfolk & Western J #611.
No doubt this will elicit a torrent of fevered and tiresome blustering from West Bridgewater, that Nickel Plate #765 is a better engine, and I prefer it over over 611; it looks more like a steam-engine, and has a much better whistle.
But 611 would pull 765 off the set. It has more boiler and firebox, plus it’s all roller-bearings throughout.

RE: “GeezerGlide” equals any large Harley-Davidson motorcycle. My loudmouthed brother-in-Boston owns a very laid-back Harley-Davidson ElectraGlide cruiser-bike, and since he’s 50, we call it his GeezerGlide.

RE: “Proving yet again that I am utterly clueless” refers to my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston’s fevered assertion I have absolutely no clue whatsoever about anything.

“Mighty Weggers” is Wegmans, a giant supermarket-chain based in Rochester we buy groceries at.

“The so-called elitist country-club” is nearby Boughton (BOW-tin) Park, called that long ago by an editor at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, where I once worked, because the park would only allow residents of the three towns that own it to use it.

RE: “in a giant F150, which of course makes him small-time, since it ain’t a Chevrolet.” An F150 is a Ford; my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston is a Chevy-man. “Smalltime” was his putdown of anyone other than himself.

RE: “since he wasn’t pumping concrete into the stratosphere.....” refers to the fact my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston had his garage-slab contractor pump the concrete over his house to the slab-location, so he could take a picture, thus proving his grand superiority in all matters.

“Mahz-n-Wawdzzz” (Myers & Watters) was the painting-contractor I worked for during college — we painted high steel; usually in oil-refineries. “Mahz-n-Wawdzzz” because that was the way our Greek supervisor pronounced it.

“Liberial” is how my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston insists “Liberal” is spelled.

RE: “our fantabulous valentine....” is the Kenmore washer/dryer set we purchased around Valentine’s-Day of last year; to replace our aging Maytag washer/dryer set. The washer was leaking slightly, and wouldn’t fully empty.

“Chessie afghan” is our Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad afghan — it has a print of the C&O mascot during the ‘40s; an abandoned cat named “Chessie” found on a passenger-train

My brother-in-Delaware works for the Valero refinery in Delaware where my father once worked, although at that time it was Flying-A.

My loudmouthed brother-in-Boston lives in West Bridgewater, which is south of Boston.

“Norfolk & Western #611” and “Nickel Plate #765” (both railroad steam-locomotives) still exist. “Norfolk & Western #611” ran for a while, but was recently retired. It was owned and operated by Norfolk Southern Railroad, a merger of Norfolk & Western and Southern railroads. “Nickel Plate #765” was recently reconditioned, and still runs (historic excursions, fan-trips, whatever) and is owned and operated by the Fort Wayne Historical Society. Nickel Plate Railroad no longer exists. I have ridden behind both. 765 is a Lima-built SuperPower Berkshire: 2-8-4 (many other railroads had engines similar to the NKP Berk; many built by Lima). The J-series (4-8-4), of which 611 is the only remaining example, was N&W’s premier passenger-engine. It was built by the railroad in Roanoke, VA.