Time flies when you're having... fun?

I just realized that I have been on this little journey for over a year now. December of 2006 this hunk of Japanese aluminum and American steel came into my life. And what a strange journey the chop has taken.

Starting (supposedly) from Arizona. To camping outside the garage of a group of people that believe they are living with the second coming of Jesus. Really, they do. I cannot make this kind of shit up. Then being hauled over to my Pop's house and camping out on the back patio. To being hauled over to my one bedroom apartment and taking up a lot of space in my kitchen. Then back to Pop's for a few months before brining it over to my new digs and placing it gently in my carport.

No one told me it would be easy. Actually I think most people have said I am fucking nuts. All the while with a look of envy. Funny how that seems to be. I get these guys telling me I am more or less a nutjob for taking this task on and then doing the 20 questions bit about the entire build. Occasionally getting a hold of me just to see where I am at on it.

Yeah I have been both fanatical about building and completely lazy about even stepping out to look at it. I have weaseled every piece I could, and now I am at the point where I am trying to set aside green to buy stuff for it. I have busted knuckles, stayed up late, fantasied and ignored this bikes existence. All the while adamant that I will get it back on the road.

So where does that put me now? Guess it is time to get back to work on it. I have no excuses. I am only working one job at a time. It is starting to stay light out past five. My girl is all for me messing with it in my spare time. Though she says the sissy bar looks ghetto. But I am still keeping it. And I have all my parts right here.

Now it is time to try and get off my lazy ass and start buttoning it back up to see what stuff I have to get for it. I am going to start hauling out the parts in my kitchen closet/laundry nook out to the carport this weekend. It is time to get it all nearby. Of course it is also in some small part due to fact T brought all her stuff over and we need to find homes for it all. And carburetors in the kitchen, while giving me a hardcore biker fanatic credentials, is not really the proper place.

Welcome to your new home.

So yesterday afternoon, I brought an old member of the family home to stay. That's right, I finally got off my (heavier, post-holiday) ass and picked up the Honda. T was kind enough to let me sully up the back of her Jeep (with leather, even) to get it. Perhaps she didn't realize just how dirty this thing really is. Or maybe she kinda likes me.

No matter, I did make sure to lay out my over shirt to keep any grime from being left in there.



There she is. All nice and cozy in the back. Awww. It just makes me feel like a proud papa. Well, not really. But it is nice to get this near me.



Off to the left is T's hand. She made me promise not to upload any pics of her. I did try to get her to pose on the pile of motorcycle parts for me, but she just wasn't having any of it. Damn.



So I had help getting the pieces of the Honda in the Jeep, but pulled it out solo. T offered to help, but she does have a bad back and anyway, I need to prove that for the extra inches around the waist and my computer job. I am still a M-A-N.

That was not the brightest thing to do, but I never said I was really that sharp anyhow.

CB750 engines are heavy. Very. Heavy.

What's next? Well, I need to get the neck measurements off the neck and see what kind of the neck my frame was made with. I am debating about whether or not I should really bother trying to salvage the girder. It will require a lot of patience and welding and machining. And of course time and money. If I buy something that is in better shape, I may just need money. Plus I still need to get some pipes cut for it and the intake and the wiring and the tires, and, and, and.

Someday it will get finished.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Ever get that sinking feeling in your gut that you really need a head check? I get those. Usually after I pull some stunt where I do the very thing I shouldn't do. So let me say that I am no great guy. Just an average ass that messes up things. But what I lack for in amount, I make up for in intensity. So I may not screw up thirty times in a day, but the few times I do mess up, I really screw the pooch.


The bike is still sitting under the not so graceful cover of a car cover. I hope that it hasn't caught too much of a rust bug since the last couple of rains. But I haven't been by where it is stored at to look. Some other issues really have kept me from going by. But me and T have talked about it recently. She suggested that I should try haul it over here to mess with it. It would be a lot easier to tear into the bike when it is sitting in my carport, rather than being across town.

Nah man, I ain't quit. I just been a bit distracted.

Well, a good day/afternoon/night/3 a.m. boredom session to you great internet readers.

I have not died, quit, fallen off my tricycle, or been mauled by wild debt collectors (yet). As the title states, I have just been a touch distracted. Well perhaps that is an understatement, I have been wholly distracted and occupied by a life that has more turns than a rally race.

I know I said that I was planning on doing some machine work on the bike. It is still a plan, just hasn't actually made it to a reality yet. I have worked pretty much every lunch break I have had since that post and I can no longer hang out late here at work. So when 5 o'clock hits I have to go and brave the freeway to get home.

In the last few months, I have gone from the single, divorced dad with weekend visits, trying to figure out what in the world I am supposed to do with my afternoons. And somewhere in the last few months have become the sappy in love, full-time dad and student that can't figure out how to fit everything in the time I have in a day. So the bike has suffered from a serious case of neglect. If it was closer to me, I bet that I would get the evil eye every time I walked by it. But luckily enough the chop is way on the other side of town under a tarp. Hidden. That's right, my chop is in solitary confinement. I can hear its lonesome sniffles from my seat here, nearly 60 miles away.

"Come to me and save me from a fate worse than rust. I am lonely and neglected. You promised to fix me up and take me down the freeway so we could kick the mirrors on luxury cars. Don't you remember that? Where is the love?"

So yeah. I am a bad builder. I have left my mid-life crisis toy languishing in a backyard. I should have my perpetual teenager card revoked. And be soundly beaten with a wet noodle.

Please forgive me for my sins.

So you want to drive in Southern California - Part 3. Beware the idiots

That's right, beware of those that are clearly idiots.

I have a tendency to see many morons first hand. And I am here to pass this knowledge of what to look for when traversing the freeways.

To put it in the simplest terms. Everyone on the freeway is an idiot. But that really doesn't help you, does it? There are a few classes of idiots, and each have their own things that you should watch out for. So let's cover a few here.

Luxury cars, watch for the Lexuses (Lexii?), for they do not know what they do. Yes keep a close eye on any and all true luxury marquees. These are the people that have spent insane amounts of money for status. They have made it to this point by stomping on anyone they deem lesser than themselves. And on the freeway they are no better. As they are left behind by the car before them, they do not care about the people that await their use of a gas pedal. Nor do they move to another lane to let people pass. These are not the type of people that will allow anyone to pass them. They are your managers and their goal in life is to be an obstacle in your drive from point A to point B. It is much like the way they operate at work.

And on that note. Also watch for the old luxury cars. These are the vehicle of the wannabe's. That's right welfare mom's and deadbeat dad's that wish they could be rich. And they would do it too, if it wasn't so much work. So instead they will drive a 1982 BMW with a blown headgasket and duct taped quarter windows with Dayton wire rims. Too fucking cool.

Anyone with a NASCAR sticker. I don't give a damn if it is a Flash Gordon, or some ridiculous number sticker on the back of their Caravan. The only reason these people are NASCAR fans is due to the fact they are fascinated by anyone that knows how to keep a vehicle under complete control at speeds over 35mph. These people live vicariously through their tube framed "stock car" racing, Southern heroes.

The American made full size Tonka truck. These are owned by women with weight issues and men with penis envy. Please do not get this mixed up with a serious off-road machine. You will know the difference. A serious vehicle is designed to hit the dirt at WOT and the people that own them know what they are doing. No, the ones I talk about are the ones with a 14" lift using blocks on the leaf springs. 22" rims with rubberband tires and enough chrome lights to keep the Mohave lit up like Christmas. These people have spent insane amounts of money on something that can't even make it over a concrete divider at the local Wal Mart without the owner becoming anxious. You rock people. And someday when my hair falls out and my penis cannot stand up without the aid of blue pills, I may have to buy one myself. Nahh.

Now for a minor detour back to the original purpose of this blog.

I have gotten the OK to use a mill at my job. So next week I hope to drag my trees over and get the nasty stuf taken off and get it ready for new nasty stuff to be welded back on. So stay tuned for some bike building.

So you want to drive in Southern California - Part 2

Let me give a brief idea on the layout of this wondrous system of roadways here in So. Cal.

I have heard the line about the interstate and freeway system being the arteries of the nation. The same is true for California. The roads are what keep California alive and rockin'.

But you have to understand these are not the arteries of a 20 yr old marathon runner. No. These are the arteries of a night-shift factory foreman. You know the one. That guy in the glass room. The cheap beer swilling, burger chomping, 2 pack a day smoking, 5 years from retirement foreman.

And the cars in these cholesterol hardened roads are its life's blood. Just looking for the perfect place to lodge itself up against and create a wondrous aneurysm.

There are only a few things that really gum up the works here in So. Cal. I will list a few here for you.

Interchanges.
Reduction in lanes.
Accidents.
Expansion in the number of lanes.
Curves.
Straightaways.

I am not trying to say that the drivers on the freeways are complete morons. No, not at all. Perhaps they would do very well on bicycles. Unfortunately when you place them in or on anything that goes faster than 20 MPH, their IQ begins to drop by an equal amount. It could be from the lack of real driving adversities. Those without a challenge will create challenges for themselves. Thereby making life miserable for those of us that just want to move along and are honestly entertained by seeing the road move beneath their feet.

So you want to drive in Southern California - Part 1

Since I am currently in slacker mode for the bike build, I have been rather sporadic on my updates. Mainly this is due to the fact that there has been no progress on the Honda. With this in mind the blog has taken a slight detour into the slightly disturbing and convoluted corners of my mind. This might be a bit off-putting for some folk, but please bear with me. I will return to the roots of this blog. Me and the blog we have had some good times, you know?

So since I am unable to update my little blog with anything motorcycle related at the moment, I will just have to do a little song and dance to keep people coming to the shores that is the deserted island of me.

Now as do most other Californians, I commute. I get up in the morning, drink my coffee and rush onto the roadways to spend an hour parking in the morning. Do some work for 8+ hours. Rush out of the office and park for another hour. It is a good time to be had by all. Now I bet you are saying, "Well Shroom, what the fuck do you do during the two hours of your life that is being slowly drained away by sitting parked in long lines with your fellow sheeple?"

I could listen to tapes on CD or cassette. Listen to talk radio, someone interesting and deep like Dr. Laura or Rush. Or even learn how to phase through walls from deep Zen meditation. Do I do any of these? Nah. I think about things.

"What kinds of things?" you may ask. All sorts of things that only deep intellectuals like myself think about. Well intellectuals and sociopaths. I think about the life, the universe, and everything. I think about the meaning of Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, where those lost socks really go, and why the sky is blue. I think about love, like, family, and why ketchup tastes so damn good on fries. Deep meaningful thoughts.

But for a little while I want to take you into my head and tell you about this special thing I get to experience daily, called Southern California commuting. This is going to be a multi part series. As of this time, I have no idea how many parts. More than likely I will write about it until I either

A. Get bored.
Or
B. Get side-tracked.

So stay tuned for this new series, only available here. Unless I can gain syndication with a high class magazine, like Penthouse.