So, summer is upon us and that means one thing for gamers. The Steam Summer Sale. Can you say 75% off Mirrors Edge? Cause I can. And I did. And a few other games.
But that's not what this is about. This is about a very important thing in our lives. Memories. How does this relate to buying dirt cheap video games? It's because I had to tweak my hard drive partitioning to fit some of the games because I have quite a lot. Again, that's a little beside the point, but we're getting closer.
I have a 500GB hard drive in my laptop, which for most college students would be plenty. But I'm not the average college student. For one, I take CIT classes that require storage intensive programs, and for another I'm a GoPro fanatic that has a good chunk of that hard drive dedicated to those videos along with pictures, documents and music.
A few nights ago, my external hard drive decided to crap out on me, and I started freaking out. I had my life backed up on there. I had my Windows Disk image, school projects since high school and tons of GoPro memories. After a minute I calmed down because I remembered that all those files were backed up multiple times over.
-My Windows disk image was on a USB drive and (now) another CD
-My documents were backed up in Google Drive and Microsoft OneDrive
-My pictures and videos were on primary internal, back up internal and backup external hard drive in a fireproof safe at my parents house.
I would have to really have to try to destroy things in order to get rid of everything. So I'm not too torn up about things. Which brings me to a point of this
BACK UP YOUR CRAP.
Seriously. If you have one hard drive that contains your life on it, you're asking for trouble. For $50 you can have a Terabyte hard drive that will keep most everything you could want on it.
Which brings me to another point, my family is not in that category. There's a reason my dad has 6 Terabytes of storage in his computer. We use a good chunk of it. A while ago my dad recorded off all of our old analog home videos to digital. After that was said and done and counted along side our existing digital video, we had over 2 Terabytes of video. With HD video getting bigger and bigger, it's only using up more space.
On top of the videos, we have all our pictures converted to digital. The summer before college I scanned in over 25,000 pictures spanning a 30 year time period. In total, we now have close to 35,000 photos on our hard drive. To further put that in perspective, in 2008, my mom got a DSLR camera for Christmas. Since that time till now, we've shot over 7,000 photos. So we've shot 20% of our photos on our hard drive in the last 6 years. To add to the hard drive strain, those photos are an average of 6 Megabytes in size. Your standard camera will take about 100 Kilobytes. They're a lot bigger.
But now I'm rambling. The really cool part about all of this is the fact that these photos and videos are instantly accessible. I can go home, get on my laptop and in a few clicks, access these photos on my dad's computer and start a slide show of our Disneyland trip in 1996 because they're there and they're organized by year and month, usually with a tag about what's happening in the album. This is all awesome because our brains are not hard drives. Memories come in fragmented and fuzzy for most. Heck, most my memories are actually just replays of home videos. with the digital age, it's easier than ever to have those memories back.
Want them printed? Click. Done.
Upload a cute photo of us cousins to Facebook? Click. Done.
It's that easy once all is said and done.
I know so many people that all they have is a photo album or two to flip through, or they're photos are still titled "DS10000232" or whatever on there hard drive. That would be maddening to me.
So my plea to you is two fold.
First is to back up those memories you have. Put them in a safe, take a copy to grandma's house or a safety deposit box, because two is one and one is none when things go wrong.
The second is to start copying those photos to digital. Most scanners will have trays to do negatives, or you can scan in the prints. Both work. Videos need some special software and equipment, but it's fairly easy. Because the fact is that right now those prints are sitting in that dusty old cardboard box in your basement storage. That one solitary copy is encased in cardboard inside a wood frame house.
And those two things are flammable.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Monday, May 19, 2014
Random Thought 16 My Blog is Better Than My Sister's Blog
Okay, so it's not. But I figured it would catch the attention of my sister, so that's the title. My blog is terrible and boring. My sister on the other hand has a baby. I have a truck. One of these things is a lot more adorable and it's not the thing with four wheels.
To be honest, I have no idea what I was going to blog about tonight until I read my sisters blog.
Enter shameless plug for family member: sansfamily.wordpress.com
I remember the first time I met my now brother-in-law Riley was at a Bill Cosby show. I think. That's my first concious memory at least. Anyway, this Riley kid was a total dork. He had these big old thick rimmed glasses, some t-shirt from Deseret Industries and I had to sit next to him while watching Bill Cosby. I thought, "Oh great, they actually like each other. I'm going to have to deal with another goober until she pulls her head out of this one."
That didn't happen. Nope. Not at all. I saw this get pretty freakin' serious pretty freaking fast. Next thing I know, this kid is stealing my sister away for weekends in some Podunk town called Inkom. (I thought some rednecks from Pocatello named the water tower next to I-15 for the longest time.
So in this short amount of time, I kinda start to get to know Riley. We do stuff. Memory escapes me, but it was fun stuff. And then freaking pow, this kid proposes. What the crap? I never thought my sister would be getting married. Savanna and I were just going to be the perpetual bachelorette and bachelor of the family and we were going to always be the ones stuck together in coupled out family photos.
And then I turned into the single one of the family. The 11th wheel. the awkward kid on the end of the family photo's while all the rest of the siblings are huddled around their kids and spouces and I'm just over in the corner internally crying.
True story.
But when that wedding day rolled around and everyone but Savanna was dressed in brown (I still think it's the lamest pun on a last name ever, I'm sorry. It's a dad joke at it's finest) I realized that I was getting an older brother I never really had.
Sure, I had Nicolas. But we were ten years apart. I wanted to emulate him when I was a kid, but we never really "hung out" like we would have if we were closer in age. Nyk was just as old as Nicolas and had much less (seat time) with me, Pauline was 7 years ahead of me and a little closer, but she was a girl, and never appreciated a good fart joke. Tiffany was pretty dang tough for a girl, but again, not the one you want to try your latest fart joke on. Savanna was the closest thing I had to a slightly older brother, but again, she was a girl, but a weird one at that. Like, there's a reason we cal her the Sanimal. She also was a little more up to date on "what the kids are into these days".
And then Riley came along and I thought that I was going to lose that. The one sibling that I truly totally, completely comfortable with sitting around at 3 in the morning watching Netflix and making those 3am jokes. You know the ones.
Then I realized that Riley was the missing link. He was the same age as Savanna, he liked all the best video games, Harry Potter, computers and obscure YouTube references. He started wakeboarding, dirt biking and snowmobiling. I realized that not only was he perfect for my sister, but he was perfect for our family. He didn't take away anything. He added to it. When I have a fart joke to try out, I send it to two people. My dad, and Riley.....and sometimes Savanna.
So now, as we approach 9 grand children in the family, and me eventually getting married, I realize that there's no taking away in my family. We just keep getting bigger and closer with every passing year. And we just keep getting dorkier.
Welcome to the Woolstenhulme Home for Excellence in Dorkiness. We can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message and we'll get back to you. Right after we clean the spit up off the couches, turn off the N64 and put away the princess clothes and dump the Hot Wheels back in the bin.... so that might be a while.
To be honest, I have no idea what I was going to blog about tonight until I read my sisters blog.
Enter shameless plug for family member: sansfamily.wordpress.com
I remember the first time I met my now brother-in-law Riley was at a Bill Cosby show. I think. That's my first concious memory at least. Anyway, this Riley kid was a total dork. He had these big old thick rimmed glasses, some t-shirt from Deseret Industries and I had to sit next to him while watching Bill Cosby. I thought, "Oh great, they actually like each other. I'm going to have to deal with another goober until she pulls her head out of this one."
That didn't happen. Nope. Not at all. I saw this get pretty freakin' serious pretty freaking fast. Next thing I know, this kid is stealing my sister away for weekends in some Podunk town called Inkom. (I thought some rednecks from Pocatello named the water tower next to I-15 for the longest time.
So in this short amount of time, I kinda start to get to know Riley. We do stuff. Memory escapes me, but it was fun stuff. And then freaking pow, this kid proposes. What the crap? I never thought my sister would be getting married. Savanna and I were just going to be the perpetual bachelorette and bachelor of the family and we were going to always be the ones stuck together in coupled out family photos.
And then I turned into the single one of the family. The 11th wheel. the awkward kid on the end of the family photo's while all the rest of the siblings are huddled around their kids and spouces and I'm just over in the corner internally crying.
True story.
But when that wedding day rolled around and everyone but Savanna was dressed in brown (I still think it's the lamest pun on a last name ever, I'm sorry. It's a dad joke at it's finest) I realized that I was getting an older brother I never really had.
Sure, I had Nicolas. But we were ten years apart. I wanted to emulate him when I was a kid, but we never really "hung out" like we would have if we were closer in age. Nyk was just as old as Nicolas and had much less (seat time) with me, Pauline was 7 years ahead of me and a little closer, but she was a girl, and never appreciated a good fart joke. Tiffany was pretty dang tough for a girl, but again, not the one you want to try your latest fart joke on. Savanna was the closest thing I had to a slightly older brother, but again, she was a girl, but a weird one at that. Like, there's a reason we cal her the Sanimal. She also was a little more up to date on "what the kids are into these days".
And then Riley came along and I thought that I was going to lose that. The one sibling that I truly totally, completely comfortable with sitting around at 3 in the morning watching Netflix and making those 3am jokes. You know the ones.
Then I realized that Riley was the missing link. He was the same age as Savanna, he liked all the best video games, Harry Potter, computers and obscure YouTube references. He started wakeboarding, dirt biking and snowmobiling. I realized that not only was he perfect for my sister, but he was perfect for our family. He didn't take away anything. He added to it. When I have a fart joke to try out, I send it to two people. My dad, and Riley.....and sometimes Savanna.
So now, as we approach 9 grand children in the family, and me eventually getting married, I realize that there's no taking away in my family. We just keep getting bigger and closer with every passing year. And we just keep getting dorkier.
Welcome to the Woolstenhulme Home for Excellence in Dorkiness. We can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message and we'll get back to you. Right after we clean the spit up off the couches, turn off the N64 and put away the princess clothes and dump the Hot Wheels back in the bin.... so that might be a while.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Random Thought 15 The Simpsons
So, one of my favorite shows is the Simpsons. I remember when I was younger, my grandma shaking her head at me, my brother and cousins for watching it, but she really didn't get the underlying message to almost any episode. That's the message of making up for your mistakes. All she saw was a drunken father who had married up, a dysfunctional son, over achieving daughter, and a surprisingly normal baby. I feel she was getting Family Guy and The Simpsons mixed up. Family Guy wishes it was The Simpsons, plain and simple.
In almost every episode of the Simpsons, excluding the Tree House of Horror episodes, someone screws up, usually Homer or Bart. Then, they face the consequences of those actions and try as hard as they can to make up for it. The thing that makes this series great is that it follows the classic Rising Action, Climax, falling action and resolution. It's a time honored formula and it really works for the Simpsons.
This Plot setup, unlike Family Guy that usually stakes the farm on crude jokes and a talking dog and baby, the Simpsons can be analyzed as an actually well written piece. All the while, it's still hilarious without a talking dog.
The prime example for me, and one of the biggest and most in your face examples, is The Simpsons Movie. Homer doesn't listen to anyone, dumps pig waste in the lake, and gets his family essentially kicked out of Springfield. After moving to Alaska at Homers request with a struggling and reluctant Marge and family in tow, they try to live a normal life, but eventually his family abandons him to try and save Springfield. Homer, belligerent and unwilling to help the very people that kicked him out of his own city, stays in Alaska.
In time, Home realizes the error of his ways. His family was his everything and without them, he's just a lump of fat with no real purpose in life. Eventually, he finds his way back to Springfield in time to help save the city from being blown up. Homer earns the trust and love back of his family and friends and they all live happily ever after.
My point in all this, is that the Simpsons family is far from perfect. They screw up quite regularly in fact. But they eventually try to fix their mistakes. They learn a lesson from whatever they did, and make up for it by any (sometimes hilarious means) possible. He's not the best father or husband, but he really sincerely tries at what he does. He improves upon himself and almost never does life get him knocked down for long.
In short, I want to be like Homer Simpson when I start a family (Minus the alcoholism, fat gut and baldness)
because Homer is one of the best examples of a man who tries his best despite what the world thinks of him, that I can think of.
In almost every episode of the Simpsons, excluding the Tree House of Horror episodes, someone screws up, usually Homer or Bart. Then, they face the consequences of those actions and try as hard as they can to make up for it. The thing that makes this series great is that it follows the classic Rising Action, Climax, falling action and resolution. It's a time honored formula and it really works for the Simpsons.
This Plot setup, unlike Family Guy that usually stakes the farm on crude jokes and a talking dog and baby, the Simpsons can be analyzed as an actually well written piece. All the while, it's still hilarious without a talking dog.
The prime example for me, and one of the biggest and most in your face examples, is The Simpsons Movie. Homer doesn't listen to anyone, dumps pig waste in the lake, and gets his family essentially kicked out of Springfield. After moving to Alaska at Homers request with a struggling and reluctant Marge and family in tow, they try to live a normal life, but eventually his family abandons him to try and save Springfield. Homer, belligerent and unwilling to help the very people that kicked him out of his own city, stays in Alaska.
In time, Home realizes the error of his ways. His family was his everything and without them, he's just a lump of fat with no real purpose in life. Eventually, he finds his way back to Springfield in time to help save the city from being blown up. Homer earns the trust and love back of his family and friends and they all live happily ever after.
My point in all this, is that the Simpsons family is far from perfect. They screw up quite regularly in fact. But they eventually try to fix their mistakes. They learn a lesson from whatever they did, and make up for it by any (sometimes hilarious means) possible. He's not the best father or husband, but he really sincerely tries at what he does. He improves upon himself and almost never does life get him knocked down for long.
In short, I want to be like Homer Simpson when I start a family (Minus the alcoholism, fat gut and baldness)
because Homer is one of the best examples of a man who tries his best despite what the world thinks of him, that I can think of.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Random Thought 14 What The Crap Is Wrong With Me?
This question comes up pretty much every week for me as I try to explain to people why I'm part of Monty Python's Ministry of the Silly Walks. It's one that I can't really explain in depth without really boring people, or telling them in a concise manner. You see, I was a pretty screwed up baby.
To start, I was born 12 weeks early. So that's like 28 weeks along... or something like that. Mom got sick in the middle of the pregnancy.... or something like that, and a little while later, SURPRISE. Mom goes to the hospital, and through divine intervention (EIRMC in Idaho Falls had a good NICU, but not good enough) my mom was sent on a helicopter down to Primary Children's Medical Center, one of the leading hospitals in the west when it comes to child care. I was "technically" born at University of Utah Medical Center, but both facilities are actually interconnected. More importantly, I'm technically a Utahn. Yuck. My cousins enjoy reminding me of that one.
In a perfect world, I would have come into this life like any other premature baby. I would have been a little weak for a baby and a little small, but would have spent a few weeks in the hospital and gone home. But I didn't. Completely unrelated to any of the prematurity was my diagnosis of VACTERL Association (vac-ter-ul). This is an acronym for a wide array of not necessarily, but usually paired together birth defects. Basically, the doctors say, "Screw it, this kid jacked up, yo!" Doctors speak like that, too.
To break it down:
V is for vertebral- Anything that has to do with your spine. Usually a partially formed vertebrae, or can develop scoliosis. I have some curvature to my spine, but it isn't progressive. I also had a "tethered spinal cord" which basically meant that the end of my spinal cord is supposed to just kinda... float there. But it attached to the wall of my vertebrae.
A is for anal- Well that sounded awkward. This also includes general intestinal problems. Luckily I have very limited problems with the anal portion and more with the intestines. My anus works fine thank you, but my stomach hates me usually. Just ask my roommates.
C is for cardiac- Heart problems, in a nutshell. These were the least of my worries though. I had what's called a patent ductus arteriosus (PDA). This wasn't necessarily lumped into VACTERL's. It's cause is more because of my prematurity. Essentially, there is a valve between your pulmonary artery and your aorta that regulates pressure between the two, which is supposed to close off after a while, but I wasn't "cooked" long enough to get it closed up so the doctors had to do it for me. This was my second surgery and was hours after my first. Now my heart pumps just fine and is one of the best
TE if for Tracheoesophageal Fistula- Try saying that five times fast. I'll wait........... This was my first surgery that was performed just a few hours after I was born.
Okay. So your trachea is your wind pipe. It goes from your throat and forks into both sides of your lungs. What happened, is my esophagus came down along side my trachea, like it was supposed to, but then it just stopped. So If I ate, the food would have just dumped into my body cavity. The end that came up from my stomach that was supposed to attach to the other end, came into my esophagus, which is also not good. If there had been food in there and I had barfed, it would have gone into my lungs. Now, because of this surgery, I have occasional acid reflux and scar tissue in my lungs that makes it hard to breath. Once upon my a time my lungs were "underdeveloped" for my age, which was the reason I huffed and puffed, but now it's just the scar tissue that kills me. So if see me get winded going up stairs, that's why. I'm as fit as an ox, guys. My lungs just hate me.
R is for renal, which is your kidneys in a nut shell. This can also mean urinary problems. 98% of the time, I have no problem with this. That other two percent of the time, your bladder shuts down the day before your oldest sister gets married and you end up in the ER with your mom making frantic phone calls making sure all the last minute things are in order. I wouldn't recommend it.
L is for Limb defects. This is really the most noticeable aspect of my VACTERL craziness. I gots jacked up legs folks. If you haven't noticed, you obviously have either never seen me walk, or you haven't seen me in shorts. Now, in long pants, it just kinda looks like I limp. At least that's what people tell me. But it's a whole heck of a lot more than that. There are three basic parts to my jacked up legs.
-One- I had Clubbed Feet. basically, my feet were turned in and looked golf club like in their angle. There can be some pretty severe forms. I had it good compared to many.
-Two- I'm hypertension in my hamstrings. Usually hypertension is a heart condition, but if you break it down, it's hyper(over) tension. My hammies were super tight, causing me to walk with a crouch, which I still tend to have thanks to years of muscle memory. The tightness is almost nonexistent any more.
-Three- Joints. My leg joints are jacked up... like all of them. My hips are alright, but not great. My knees look over inflated and are stiff, and my ankles have almost no range of motion.. That's why it took me two years to find the right wakeboard bindings and why it takes me 5 minutes to get motocross boots on.
Oh yeah. I had an extra thumb too.
So on top of the VACTERL, I had what's called Hydrocephalus, also called water on the brain. This is usually caused by brain aneurysms, commonly called a stroke. This caused excess cerebrospinal fluid on my brain which build up pressure, which isn't really good at all. So they put in what's called a VP shunt to hook up to the top of my head and drain that fluid down into my stomach. The first one was put in a month after I was born, then it failed and they had to put a second one in when I was 3 and another was placed a year later.
I can also stick my tongue in my nasal cavity, but I don't think that has to do with any of this. Not sure though.
Soooo..... that pretty much sums me up. twenty-one years and twenty some-odd surgeries later, I am pretty much as healthy as I'll ever be and I thank God that I'm at this point. Because at first, we were just hoping I wouldn't be a vegetable. Though sometimes I'm a couch potato. But that's technically a tuber. Not a veggie.
To start, I was born 12 weeks early. So that's like 28 weeks along... or something like that. Mom got sick in the middle of the pregnancy.... or something like that, and a little while later, SURPRISE. Mom goes to the hospital, and through divine intervention (EIRMC in Idaho Falls had a good NICU, but not good enough) my mom was sent on a helicopter down to Primary Children's Medical Center, one of the leading hospitals in the west when it comes to child care. I was "technically" born at University of Utah Medical Center, but both facilities are actually interconnected. More importantly, I'm technically a Utahn. Yuck. My cousins enjoy reminding me of that one.
In a perfect world, I would have come into this life like any other premature baby. I would have been a little weak for a baby and a little small, but would have spent a few weeks in the hospital and gone home. But I didn't. Completely unrelated to any of the prematurity was my diagnosis of VACTERL Association (vac-ter-ul). This is an acronym for a wide array of not necessarily, but usually paired together birth defects. Basically, the doctors say, "Screw it, this kid jacked up, yo!" Doctors speak like that, too.
To break it down:
V is for vertebral- Anything that has to do with your spine. Usually a partially formed vertebrae, or can develop scoliosis. I have some curvature to my spine, but it isn't progressive. I also had a "tethered spinal cord" which basically meant that the end of my spinal cord is supposed to just kinda... float there. But it attached to the wall of my vertebrae.
A is for anal- Well that sounded awkward. This also includes general intestinal problems. Luckily I have very limited problems with the anal portion and more with the intestines. My anus works fine thank you, but my stomach hates me usually. Just ask my roommates.
C is for cardiac- Heart problems, in a nutshell. These were the least of my worries though. I had what's called a patent ductus arteriosus (PDA). This wasn't necessarily lumped into VACTERL's. It's cause is more because of my prematurity. Essentially, there is a valve between your pulmonary artery and your aorta that regulates pressure between the two, which is supposed to close off after a while, but I wasn't "cooked" long enough to get it closed up so the doctors had to do it for me. This was my second surgery and was hours after my first. Now my heart pumps just fine and is one of the best
TE if for Tracheoesophageal Fistula- Try saying that five times fast. I'll wait........... This was my first surgery that was performed just a few hours after I was born.
Okay. So your trachea is your wind pipe. It goes from your throat and forks into both sides of your lungs. What happened, is my esophagus came down along side my trachea, like it was supposed to, but then it just stopped. So If I ate, the food would have just dumped into my body cavity. The end that came up from my stomach that was supposed to attach to the other end, came into my esophagus, which is also not good. If there had been food in there and I had barfed, it would have gone into my lungs. Now, because of this surgery, I have occasional acid reflux and scar tissue in my lungs that makes it hard to breath. Once upon my a time my lungs were "underdeveloped" for my age, which was the reason I huffed and puffed, but now it's just the scar tissue that kills me. So if see me get winded going up stairs, that's why. I'm as fit as an ox, guys. My lungs just hate me.
R is for renal, which is your kidneys in a nut shell. This can also mean urinary problems. 98% of the time, I have no problem with this. That other two percent of the time, your bladder shuts down the day before your oldest sister gets married and you end up in the ER with your mom making frantic phone calls making sure all the last minute things are in order. I wouldn't recommend it.
L is for Limb defects. This is really the most noticeable aspect of my VACTERL craziness. I gots jacked up legs folks. If you haven't noticed, you obviously have either never seen me walk, or you haven't seen me in shorts. Now, in long pants, it just kinda looks like I limp. At least that's what people tell me. But it's a whole heck of a lot more than that. There are three basic parts to my jacked up legs.
-One- I had Clubbed Feet. basically, my feet were turned in and looked golf club like in their angle. There can be some pretty severe forms. I had it good compared to many.
-Two- I'm hypertension in my hamstrings. Usually hypertension is a heart condition, but if you break it down, it's hyper(over) tension. My hammies were super tight, causing me to walk with a crouch, which I still tend to have thanks to years of muscle memory. The tightness is almost nonexistent any more.
-Three- Joints. My leg joints are jacked up... like all of them. My hips are alright, but not great. My knees look over inflated and are stiff, and my ankles have almost no range of motion.. That's why it took me two years to find the right wakeboard bindings and why it takes me 5 minutes to get motocross boots on.
Oh yeah. I had an extra thumb too.
So on top of the VACTERL, I had what's called Hydrocephalus, also called water on the brain. This is usually caused by brain aneurysms, commonly called a stroke. This caused excess cerebrospinal fluid on my brain which build up pressure, which isn't really good at all. So they put in what's called a VP shunt to hook up to the top of my head and drain that fluid down into my stomach. The first one was put in a month after I was born, then it failed and they had to put a second one in when I was 3 and another was placed a year later.
I can also stick my tongue in my nasal cavity, but I don't think that has to do with any of this. Not sure though.
Soooo..... that pretty much sums me up. twenty-one years and twenty some-odd surgeries later, I am pretty much as healthy as I'll ever be and I thank God that I'm at this point. Because at first, we were just hoping I wouldn't be a vegetable. Though sometimes I'm a couch potato. But that's technically a tuber. Not a veggie.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Random Thought 12 Lil' Honda Hallie
Well, I'm sitting in a hospital right now and for once in my life, I'm not the one in the bed. My sister is pushing out niece #3 for me and grandchild #6 for mom and dad. Of course I've been browsing all the little dirt bike related onesies, booties and hats, because they're just so stinkin' cute. Yeah. I said cute. Cause they are.
After looking at the ridiculous price and ridiculously cute sizes gear comes in, I started remembering the days when my gear was that small. Granted, being 12 weeks premature, I was about the size of a 6 year old when I was 8, but hey.
I can vividly remember riding on my dads gas tank and making runs into some pretty gnarly territory. I remember the day I got my first dirt bike, a 2001 Suzuki JR50, and I ran the poor thing nearly out of gas. I had a loop that I would run from the backyard and into the front yard and I ran that until dinner and then had dad turn the backyard lights on so I could keep running. I can still remember when I was first starting out, Dad would put along in front of me and would give me hand signals of what gear I should shift into. And I remember when I would layout my bike around a corner and stick my foot out (likes the pro's of course) my sisters would get mad at me because they said my foot would get caught on something and I would break my leg. I when whining to dad to see if I really was in the wrong or not, and guess who else stuck his foot out in corners?
Yeah. I won that argument.
All of this got me thinking about how much I love dirt biking. Now don't get me wrong, I do enjoy snowmobiling, and I especially love the fact that I can ride any sled I please. I can't really do that with a dirt bike. Not on seat heights are created equal with those, sadly. But dirt biking is quite a bit more challenging, while at the same time, you don't have the risk of avalanche, or dying of hypothermia if your sled brakes down. Dirt bikes are quite a bit less expensive than snowmobiles in the long run as well.
But I realized that regardless of dirt biking or snowmobiling, I've been incredibly blessed for the opportunities in my life. How many kids can say they had a four wheeler when they were 5, or their own snowmobile? Now, a lot of kids think that I'm just spoiled. They are partly right. I do have a couple of big ticket items in the garage, but there's a lot more that factors into this.
I was a sickly child as most of you should know if you've read my last post. The doctors told my parents that walking was going to be extremely hard for me (no duh) and that due to lung capacity and asthma and the brain bleeds (stroke) i had in childhood, it would be in the best interest that I would stay away from contact sports.
Well, my siblings had played baseball as kids on the city league, my brother played basketball in junior high if I remember right, and drill team and gymnastics were thrown in there for the girls as well, but we never TRULY got into "normal people" sports.
Dad had oil in the veins. Even mom grew up on fourwheelers and snowmobiles. So when it came to recreation as a family. It was already built in. I was on dad's gas tank as soon as I could hang on, and I never let go. We've probably put more miles on a bike together than I have apart since I've started to ride myself. My older brother was usually there for the ride as well. Eventually, we had 6 snowmobiles and too many dirt bikes to count. We had to buy a bigger trailer just to fit.
I now realize that some of these rides that I've been on with my family, like our trip to Moab a few years ago are some of the best memories I have. Yeah, Disneyland is great, don't get me wrong. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't want to be at Disneyland, and I'm 20. But there's something about being with my family out riding dirt bikes. It's watching my siblings and parents do something out of their normal comfort zone and just being able to take a break from the boring routine of life.
So now, as I try and find some cute pink jersey and pants combo for little Hallie (At least I hope they end up naming her Hallie) I realize that this girl doesn't have a chance. She has a dad that glommed onto dirt biking like a fly to a turd and a mom that is one of the best women riders I know. Not to mention two grandpa's, a grandma, two aunts, four uncles and a cousin that rides dirt bikes too.
And you can bet she'll be reppin' pink gear.
After looking at the ridiculous price and ridiculously cute sizes gear comes in, I started remembering the days when my gear was that small. Granted, being 12 weeks premature, I was about the size of a 6 year old when I was 8, but hey.
I can vividly remember riding on my dads gas tank and making runs into some pretty gnarly territory. I remember the day I got my first dirt bike, a 2001 Suzuki JR50, and I ran the poor thing nearly out of gas. I had a loop that I would run from the backyard and into the front yard and I ran that until dinner and then had dad turn the backyard lights on so I could keep running. I can still remember when I was first starting out, Dad would put along in front of me and would give me hand signals of what gear I should shift into. And I remember when I would layout my bike around a corner and stick my foot out (likes the pro's of course) my sisters would get mad at me because they said my foot would get caught on something and I would break my leg. I when whining to dad to see if I really was in the wrong or not, and guess who else stuck his foot out in corners?
Yeah. I won that argument.
All of this got me thinking about how much I love dirt biking. Now don't get me wrong, I do enjoy snowmobiling, and I especially love the fact that I can ride any sled I please. I can't really do that with a dirt bike. Not on seat heights are created equal with those, sadly. But dirt biking is quite a bit more challenging, while at the same time, you don't have the risk of avalanche, or dying of hypothermia if your sled brakes down. Dirt bikes are quite a bit less expensive than snowmobiles in the long run as well.
But I realized that regardless of dirt biking or snowmobiling, I've been incredibly blessed for the opportunities in my life. How many kids can say they had a four wheeler when they were 5, or their own snowmobile? Now, a lot of kids think that I'm just spoiled. They are partly right. I do have a couple of big ticket items in the garage, but there's a lot more that factors into this.
I was a sickly child as most of you should know if you've read my last post. The doctors told my parents that walking was going to be extremely hard for me (no duh) and that due to lung capacity and asthma and the brain bleeds (stroke) i had in childhood, it would be in the best interest that I would stay away from contact sports.
Well, my siblings had played baseball as kids on the city league, my brother played basketball in junior high if I remember right, and drill team and gymnastics were thrown in there for the girls as well, but we never TRULY got into "normal people" sports.
Dad had oil in the veins. Even mom grew up on fourwheelers and snowmobiles. So when it came to recreation as a family. It was already built in. I was on dad's gas tank as soon as I could hang on, and I never let go. We've probably put more miles on a bike together than I have apart since I've started to ride myself. My older brother was usually there for the ride as well. Eventually, we had 6 snowmobiles and too many dirt bikes to count. We had to buy a bigger trailer just to fit.
I now realize that some of these rides that I've been on with my family, like our trip to Moab a few years ago are some of the best memories I have. Yeah, Disneyland is great, don't get me wrong. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't want to be at Disneyland, and I'm 20. But there's something about being with my family out riding dirt bikes. It's watching my siblings and parents do something out of their normal comfort zone and just being able to take a break from the boring routine of life.
So now, as I try and find some cute pink jersey and pants combo for little Hallie (At least I hope they end up naming her Hallie) I realize that this girl doesn't have a chance. She has a dad that glommed onto dirt biking like a fly to a turd and a mom that is one of the best women riders I know. Not to mention two grandpa's, a grandma, two aunts, four uncles and a cousin that rides dirt bikes too.
And you can bet she'll be reppin' pink gear.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Random Thought 11 A Blog Within A Blog
Well world, I have no idea if people actually keep track of this thing, or if the 250 pageviews I've had are from people finding this blog on StumbleUpon, but in case you didn't know, I've been on a mission for the past three months.
Now I'm not talking a goal oriented "I'm going on a mission to lose ten pounds" mission, but an actual church mission. given my lengthy medical history, I was given the option to instead of serve a two year mission like most guys in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints go on, but a three month mission. Short-term, trial mission, whatever you call it, I don't think there was a defined term, but basically, I served for 12 weeks in the Idaho Twin Falls Mission. The purpose was to test if I would really be able to hold for 24 months of walking around, knocking on doors and teaching people about Jesus. So, I was sent off to a foriegn land, two and a half hours down the Interstate and was told to teach the gospel.
Normally, a new missionary goes to what's called the MTC or Missionary Training Center for about two weeks, or six weeks if you're learning a language. There are several around the world and they are facilities to help prepare and obviously train the new missionaries before the go out "in the field" and do the "real" work. Well, I didn't get that opportunity. Literally, the night before I went on my mission, I was watching Netflix in my basement till one in the morning.
So I was thrown into this experience feeling like I had no idea what I was doing. My companion that I would be with for the next six weeks or more asked me on the car ride to our area we taught in what I expected of him, and of the mission.
I had absolutely no answer. I had no idea what teaching was like. I had no idea what the schedule was like. I had no idea what on earth I was doing. And so that first day, we went out there and taught a few people lessons, had dinner, and taught a few more. The next morning, we woke up at 6:30 and did it all over again till we got back to the apartment at 9:00 that night and going to bed at 10:30.
We also had a car. Our apartment was about 8 miles from the center of the town of Jerome, where we did most of our teaching, so we had it good. We drove everywhere, and do to my physical limitations, we were basically given as many miles on the car as needed. Most missionaries are restricted based on the size of their teaching area, if you're lucky enough to have a car in the first place.
But despite the cushy apartment we ended up with (most are pretty mediocre) and the nice little 2011 Toyota Corolla we had, my body still hated me. Despite being able to drive to all of our appointments, to drive to every dinner we had with church members, I just couldn't keep doing it day after day. The mental and emotional stress, combined with the physical stress of everything was just a bit too much. When most missionaries go to sleep exhausted at night, I came home exhausted, with my ankles locked up and my knees inflamed. I would pop 800 milligrams of ibuprofen to curb the pain and try to get some sleep, which came in fits.
I did this for 12 weeks. 90 days. 1260 hours. The only relief was the one day a week we got to prepare for the week, email our families and hang out with other missionaries. But the day was pretty much only from 10:30am to 6:00pm. the rest of the day was normal schedule.
So, here I am. Home. Do I feel ashamed? You bet I do. No matter how many people tell me "You did all you could do." or "Your body just wasn't meant for a full two years." There is still the fact that I wasn't able to do it. Do I let it fester inside of me all the time? No. But when other missionaries come home, and I get to see them, or I get emails from other missionaries, it reminds me of what I could be doing right now, and I do get a little frustrated. But such is life.
The fact of the matter is that many times in this life, we're put in situations that sometimes we don't know the outcome. Many times that outcome is "bad" or not the way we want. But how we come out of that trial is up to us and if we handle it with constant shame of not living up to expectations, we can become toxic to ourselves.
With that tinge of remorse that I feel occationally comes a sense of pride that I actually did it. I put forth that faith not knowing the outcome. The fact is that this is exactly the outcome my Father in Heaven wanted and I know that he's happy with me. I was never meant to serve a full two years. Do I know why? No. But I can tell you that I feel a great deal of accomplishment in getting as far as I did Because it's purely voluntary. I have friends that went on missions and friends that didn't, and I can tell you that even with only three months under my belt, I feel so much more prepared for life, learning, and just EVERYTHING in general, that I feel good about what I've done.
It doesn't matter how long I served. it doesn't matter that I had to "quit" after barely getting started because the Lord new exactly where he wanted me. It's all just up to me to keep His same attitude about the situation.
The reason this blog post is out, is so any of you "followers" if there are any, can know where I've been for a while, and to let you know that I'll be starting a blog within a blog. My life has a little more than just cars, dirt bikes and snowmobiles in it. For some strange reason, my relatives miss my letters home, and think I should start a "post-mission blog" which isn't going to be all that thrilling, but I'll give it a shot since I love them.
Smell ya later!
Now I'm not talking a goal oriented "I'm going on a mission to lose ten pounds" mission, but an actual church mission. given my lengthy medical history, I was given the option to instead of serve a two year mission like most guys in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints go on, but a three month mission. Short-term, trial mission, whatever you call it, I don't think there was a defined term, but basically, I served for 12 weeks in the Idaho Twin Falls Mission. The purpose was to test if I would really be able to hold for 24 months of walking around, knocking on doors and teaching people about Jesus. So, I was sent off to a foriegn land, two and a half hours down the Interstate and was told to teach the gospel.
Normally, a new missionary goes to what's called the MTC or Missionary Training Center for about two weeks, or six weeks if you're learning a language. There are several around the world and they are facilities to help prepare and obviously train the new missionaries before the go out "in the field" and do the "real" work. Well, I didn't get that opportunity. Literally, the night before I went on my mission, I was watching Netflix in my basement till one in the morning.
So I was thrown into this experience feeling like I had no idea what I was doing. My companion that I would be with for the next six weeks or more asked me on the car ride to our area we taught in what I expected of him, and of the mission.
I had absolutely no answer. I had no idea what teaching was like. I had no idea what the schedule was like. I had no idea what on earth I was doing. And so that first day, we went out there and taught a few people lessons, had dinner, and taught a few more. The next morning, we woke up at 6:30 and did it all over again till we got back to the apartment at 9:00 that night and going to bed at 10:30.
We also had a car. Our apartment was about 8 miles from the center of the town of Jerome, where we did most of our teaching, so we had it good. We drove everywhere, and do to my physical limitations, we were basically given as many miles on the car as needed. Most missionaries are restricted based on the size of their teaching area, if you're lucky enough to have a car in the first place.
But despite the cushy apartment we ended up with (most are pretty mediocre) and the nice little 2011 Toyota Corolla we had, my body still hated me. Despite being able to drive to all of our appointments, to drive to every dinner we had with church members, I just couldn't keep doing it day after day. The mental and emotional stress, combined with the physical stress of everything was just a bit too much. When most missionaries go to sleep exhausted at night, I came home exhausted, with my ankles locked up and my knees inflamed. I would pop 800 milligrams of ibuprofen to curb the pain and try to get some sleep, which came in fits.
I did this for 12 weeks. 90 days. 1260 hours. The only relief was the one day a week we got to prepare for the week, email our families and hang out with other missionaries. But the day was pretty much only from 10:30am to 6:00pm. the rest of the day was normal schedule.
So, here I am. Home. Do I feel ashamed? You bet I do. No matter how many people tell me "You did all you could do." or "Your body just wasn't meant for a full two years." There is still the fact that I wasn't able to do it. Do I let it fester inside of me all the time? No. But when other missionaries come home, and I get to see them, or I get emails from other missionaries, it reminds me of what I could be doing right now, and I do get a little frustrated. But such is life.
The fact of the matter is that many times in this life, we're put in situations that sometimes we don't know the outcome. Many times that outcome is "bad" or not the way we want. But how we come out of that trial is up to us and if we handle it with constant shame of not living up to expectations, we can become toxic to ourselves.
With that tinge of remorse that I feel occationally comes a sense of pride that I actually did it. I put forth that faith not knowing the outcome. The fact is that this is exactly the outcome my Father in Heaven wanted and I know that he's happy with me. I was never meant to serve a full two years. Do I know why? No. But I can tell you that I feel a great deal of accomplishment in getting as far as I did Because it's purely voluntary. I have friends that went on missions and friends that didn't, and I can tell you that even with only three months under my belt, I feel so much more prepared for life, learning, and just EVERYTHING in general, that I feel good about what I've done.
It doesn't matter how long I served. it doesn't matter that I had to "quit" after barely getting started because the Lord new exactly where he wanted me. It's all just up to me to keep His same attitude about the situation.
The reason this blog post is out, is so any of you "followers" if there are any, can know where I've been for a while, and to let you know that I'll be starting a blog within a blog. My life has a little more than just cars, dirt bikes and snowmobiles in it. For some strange reason, my relatives miss my letters home, and think I should start a "post-mission blog" which isn't going to be all that thrilling, but I'll give it a shot since I love them.
Smell ya later!
Friday, August 9, 2013
Random Thought 10 ROAD TRIP!!!
Oh gosh. This is going to be a long one boys and girls, but over the past week I've had so many thoughts go through my head, and I just wanna get them out there.
So, be warned, your computer might explode from the length of this (although the little box they give you always makes things seem much longer than they actually turn out to be) (you can laugh and make a wiener joke now.) But I just did anyway by saying that.
So, in the month that I haven't posted on my mediocre, hardly viewed blog, I got a road bike. And not some stupid ten speed. It's a REAL road bike.
Okay, it's not quite a "real" one. You're probably envisioning some sleek, blacked out Harley Davidson. Nope. I hate Harley's anyway. But that's for another post. My bike is a 2002 Suzuki Savage 650. A tiny little cruiser that most people view as nothing because it only has one cylinder. A Thumper, as they say. And by they, I mean we. And by we, I mean motorcyclists.
It's usually a girls bike. I'll be the first to admit it. But the fact is, I'm the size of most girls. And I've accepted that. I don't care that I'm riding a "girls bike" because this thing is funner than heck! Anyway. I'll get on with my post.
I just got back this afternoon from a three day up through Idaho and Yellowstone. I live about two hours away if you take the highway, so we've been there often, but this was my first and my parents second time up on bikes. This was also my first "real" ride. I've been out on little half hour jaunts around the area, but nothing like this.
First, what I learned about riding street bikes in general (well, mostly the bad things) (I've been dirt biking since I could touch the ground on a bike)
1- Bison are cool in a car when they're in opposing traffic, but scary as hell when you're on a bike.
2- GoPro's are great when you think you're about to be gored by a bison. Capture your last moments in stunning 1080p.
3- Rain sucks.
3- Same goes for semi's in opposing traffic going 75 with a crosswind.
4- PVC rain pants will melt on your exhaust (anyone have a solution to that?)
5- Put that rain gear on before your actually get to the rain.
6- Bread bags over your socks work great if you don't want soaking feet. Again, put them on before the rain.
7- Pack extra socks You might hit rain and not have your breadbags on yet.
8- Mom's are secretly terrified of street biking (she was looking back on almost every corner for the first two days.) It was especially fun when I passed that 1 ton up the hill.
9- Wasps can somehow still get inside your jacket, and sting you.... multiple times (3 to be exact) before they find their way out the bottom of the leather.
Second, things I learned about my Savage.
1- This thing has plenty of balls to haul my scrawny butt around. My dad named him "Lil' Thumper" cause it's "The Little Thumper That Could" After I passed a 1 ton truck up a mountain pass doing about 80 or so. With a pretty gnarly headwind to boot.
2- If you're a small guy (or girl) like me at 5' 4", 130lbs. The Savage is a GREAT bike. Especially if you've never even touched a manual gear box on a vehicle. The things just lugs WAY down low and I'd have to try to get it to stall on take off if I wanted to. My only problem is I'm still trying to run the thing like my dirt bike, or my brothers Ninja 250 so I'll get the thing pretty rapped up before I shift. I need to learn to just chill.
4- Road bikes are pretty much the most fun you can have in the mountains. Not only can you blast around some windy corners, but your whole viewing angle changes. Instead of the 30 degrees you have looking out the side of the car window, I have 180 degrees (give or take) of awesome. I've been to "Jellystone" so many times in my life, but none of them were like this. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
4- My dad's bike is fast as hell. (2003 Kawisaki Concours) When you line up next to your old man, who's total bike weight with gear and all is about 1300lbs, you're not even touching 500lbs, and you still get your butt handed to you, you know that bike is fast. But that's what you get when you have an engine with more power than a Civic and redlines at 12000 rpm. The crazy thing is that they now have a Concours 14. 400 more cc's to scare the crap out of you.
5- Your hands go numb and your ears start to ring after about an hour of riding at 75 in the wind.
6- 50mph is like the perfect speed on this bike. Enough to see the country go by, be comfy in your rpms, and still have enough umph to get around the slower traffic. Lil' Thumper just purred.
I'm in love with this bike other than the speedo being in the tank. It's a pain to have to look down to check your speed, but for the most part, I was behind dad, so I just gauged my speed off him.
As far as a review of the actual ride:
Day One: Mainly just taking the backroads around S. E. Idaho and finding towns that I didn't even know existed. Which is really cool. I saw a "Pop. 75" sign. Going out on the farmland that's west of the Idaho Falls and Rexburg area with just wide open stretches of awesome. Especially now when the grain harvest.
We stopped off at Big Jud's in Ashton for dinner. (They have a Boise shop that was features on Travel Channel's Man v. Food. Yes. I've had a Big Jud, and yes, I regretted it.) Pretty much every burger on their menu is great. If you're in Boise, Archer or Ashton Idaho, you gotta stop in.
Then we went on up to our cabin in Island Park. It was my first full day of riding, and I was pumped to say the least.
Day Two: This was our "Yellowstone Day" We hand intentions to try and hit the whole Grand Loop, but people think they have to get their telephoto lens set up on their camera and take a snapshot of one little bison a 1/4 mile away from the road. EVERY TIME.
Sorry, local guy rant. But it makes for asinine traffic back ups. When you're in a black leather jacket, on black asphalt, on a black air cooled bike, you have something to complain about.
Oh, and the rain I eluded to earlier. That slowed us up quite a bit. So, we ended up just taking the Lower Loop. But it was still gorgeous.
There were many nice little twisty spots that if you're lucky, you can catch them just right to not be ruined by the family in the Subaru Outback that seems to always be going 5-10 under the limit while looking for an animal.
BIG FOOD TIP
If you're coming in through the west entrance around meal time DO NOT stop to eat in West Yellowstone.
Those $5 foot longs everyone loves. They're $9. Want the Buffalo Chicken (my favorite) $12. Go to one of the little places in Island Park. Ponds Lodge, Macks Inn, and the Henry's Fork "something or other) Grill will get you twice your meal for the price. It's only about a 20 mile distance from their to "West". It's worth it if you're cheap like me and you happen to be in the area.
Day Three: After waking up to what looked like certain rain, I slipped on my trusty bread bags in my newly dried boots and fresh socks and expected the worst. We came out of Island Park on the Mesa Falls Scenic Highway, and I have to say we should have gone up that way. One of the funnest stretches of pavement on the whole ride, and the landscape is gorgeous. If you haven't, you need to stop at the Upper Mesa Falls. You get about 50 yards away from a big old waterfall. Makes for some great pics for your riding scrap book.
We came off the "mountain" and headed for Teton Valley by way of Felt. Yep. That's the town name. Felt, Idaho. I know.
Teton Valley is one of those places that it would be nice to have a little cabin there, or you could live there if you really wanted it. Jackson Hole is only a hop, skip and a jump away and the place is infested by the people that didn't want to pay the asinine home prices in JH, so they settle for the next best thing and ruin The Valley. Sorry, another local rant. That's where my grandparent grew up, and where an aunt/uncle/cousins live, so it's a common discussion.
Wanting to get home in time to take a nice nap, we decided to not go through Jackson and cut through Pine Creek Pass through to Swan Valley (Yeah, it depends on the day, or who I'm talking to if I say creek or crick) Swan Valley has the Rainy Creek Store commonly referred to as "the square ice cream store". They have square scooped ice cream. It's made by a local company called Farr's Ice Cream, here in Idaho Falls. I recommend the Huckleberry. Farr's also has some pretty rockin' candy. The squared-ness of it all is really just a novelty, but it's a good way to cool off, and a spot to gas up at the least.
The 50 miles from Swan Valley back to Idaho Falls were brutal. We had some pretty gnarly crosswinds. My dad wasn't even flinching for most, but I had some pretty heavy counter steer going on to keep me centered in the lane. The Semi's in opposing traffic didn't help either... nor did the howling wind noise.
Anyway. That was my trip. If you have any questions if you have a trip planned, I know my way around the area. Feel free to hit me up. Or don't. Your choice.
So, be warned, your computer might explode from the length of this (although the little box they give you always makes things seem much longer than they actually turn out to be) (you can laugh and make a wiener joke now.) But I just did anyway by saying that.
So, in the month that I haven't posted on my mediocre, hardly viewed blog, I got a road bike. And not some stupid ten speed. It's a REAL road bike.
Okay, it's not quite a "real" one. You're probably envisioning some sleek, blacked out Harley Davidson. Nope. I hate Harley's anyway. But that's for another post. My bike is a 2002 Suzuki Savage 650. A tiny little cruiser that most people view as nothing because it only has one cylinder. A Thumper, as they say. And by they, I mean we. And by we, I mean motorcyclists.
It's usually a girls bike. I'll be the first to admit it. But the fact is, I'm the size of most girls. And I've accepted that. I don't care that I'm riding a "girls bike" because this thing is funner than heck! Anyway. I'll get on with my post.
I just got back this afternoon from a three day up through Idaho and Yellowstone. I live about two hours away if you take the highway, so we've been there often, but this was my first and my parents second time up on bikes. This was also my first "real" ride. I've been out on little half hour jaunts around the area, but nothing like this.
First, what I learned about riding street bikes in general (well, mostly the bad things) (I've been dirt biking since I could touch the ground on a bike)
1- Bison are cool in a car when they're in opposing traffic, but scary as hell when you're on a bike.
2- GoPro's are great when you think you're about to be gored by a bison. Capture your last moments in stunning 1080p.
3- Rain sucks.
3- Same goes for semi's in opposing traffic going 75 with a crosswind.
4- PVC rain pants will melt on your exhaust (anyone have a solution to that?)
5- Put that rain gear on before your actually get to the rain.
6- Bread bags over your socks work great if you don't want soaking feet. Again, put them on before the rain.
7- Pack extra socks You might hit rain and not have your breadbags on yet.
8- Mom's are secretly terrified of street biking (she was looking back on almost every corner for the first two days.) It was especially fun when I passed that 1 ton up the hill.
9- Wasps can somehow still get inside your jacket, and sting you.... multiple times (3 to be exact) before they find their way out the bottom of the leather.
Second, things I learned about my Savage.
1- This thing has plenty of balls to haul my scrawny butt around. My dad named him "Lil' Thumper" cause it's "The Little Thumper That Could" After I passed a 1 ton truck up a mountain pass doing about 80 or so. With a pretty gnarly headwind to boot.
2- If you're a small guy (or girl) like me at 5' 4", 130lbs. The Savage is a GREAT bike. Especially if you've never even touched a manual gear box on a vehicle. The things just lugs WAY down low and I'd have to try to get it to stall on take off if I wanted to. My only problem is I'm still trying to run the thing like my dirt bike, or my brothers Ninja 250 so I'll get the thing pretty rapped up before I shift. I need to learn to just chill.
4- Road bikes are pretty much the most fun you can have in the mountains. Not only can you blast around some windy corners, but your whole viewing angle changes. Instead of the 30 degrees you have looking out the side of the car window, I have 180 degrees (give or take) of awesome. I've been to "Jellystone" so many times in my life, but none of them were like this. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
4- My dad's bike is fast as hell. (2003 Kawisaki Concours) When you line up next to your old man, who's total bike weight with gear and all is about 1300lbs, you're not even touching 500lbs, and you still get your butt handed to you, you know that bike is fast. But that's what you get when you have an engine with more power than a Civic and redlines at 12000 rpm. The crazy thing is that they now have a Concours 14. 400 more cc's to scare the crap out of you.
5- Your hands go numb and your ears start to ring after about an hour of riding at 75 in the wind.
6- 50mph is like the perfect speed on this bike. Enough to see the country go by, be comfy in your rpms, and still have enough umph to get around the slower traffic. Lil' Thumper just purred.
I'm in love with this bike other than the speedo being in the tank. It's a pain to have to look down to check your speed, but for the most part, I was behind dad, so I just gauged my speed off him.
As far as a review of the actual ride:
Day One: Mainly just taking the backroads around S. E. Idaho and finding towns that I didn't even know existed. Which is really cool. I saw a "Pop. 75" sign. Going out on the farmland that's west of the Idaho Falls and Rexburg area with just wide open stretches of awesome. Especially now when the grain harvest.
We stopped off at Big Jud's in Ashton for dinner. (They have a Boise shop that was features on Travel Channel's Man v. Food. Yes. I've had a Big Jud, and yes, I regretted it.) Pretty much every burger on their menu is great. If you're in Boise, Archer or Ashton Idaho, you gotta stop in.
Then we went on up to our cabin in Island Park. It was my first full day of riding, and I was pumped to say the least.
Day Two: This was our "Yellowstone Day" We hand intentions to try and hit the whole Grand Loop, but people think they have to get their telephoto lens set up on their camera and take a snapshot of one little bison a 1/4 mile away from the road. EVERY TIME.
Sorry, local guy rant. But it makes for asinine traffic back ups. When you're in a black leather jacket, on black asphalt, on a black air cooled bike, you have something to complain about.
Oh, and the rain I eluded to earlier. That slowed us up quite a bit. So, we ended up just taking the Lower Loop. But it was still gorgeous.
There were many nice little twisty spots that if you're lucky, you can catch them just right to not be ruined by the family in the Subaru Outback that seems to always be going 5-10 under the limit while looking for an animal.
BIG FOOD TIP
If you're coming in through the west entrance around meal time DO NOT stop to eat in West Yellowstone.
Those $5 foot longs everyone loves. They're $9. Want the Buffalo Chicken (my favorite) $12. Go to one of the little places in Island Park. Ponds Lodge, Macks Inn, and the Henry's Fork "something or other) Grill will get you twice your meal for the price. It's only about a 20 mile distance from their to "West". It's worth it if you're cheap like me and you happen to be in the area.
Day Three: After waking up to what looked like certain rain, I slipped on my trusty bread bags in my newly dried boots and fresh socks and expected the worst. We came out of Island Park on the Mesa Falls Scenic Highway, and I have to say we should have gone up that way. One of the funnest stretches of pavement on the whole ride, and the landscape is gorgeous. If you haven't, you need to stop at the Upper Mesa Falls. You get about 50 yards away from a big old waterfall. Makes for some great pics for your riding scrap book.
We came off the "mountain" and headed for Teton Valley by way of Felt. Yep. That's the town name. Felt, Idaho. I know.
Teton Valley is one of those places that it would be nice to have a little cabin there, or you could live there if you really wanted it. Jackson Hole is only a hop, skip and a jump away and the place is infested by the people that didn't want to pay the asinine home prices in JH, so they settle for the next best thing and ruin The Valley. Sorry, another local rant. That's where my grandparent grew up, and where an aunt/uncle/cousins live, so it's a common discussion.
Wanting to get home in time to take a nice nap, we decided to not go through Jackson and cut through Pine Creek Pass through to Swan Valley (Yeah, it depends on the day, or who I'm talking to if I say creek or crick) Swan Valley has the Rainy Creek Store commonly referred to as "the square ice cream store". They have square scooped ice cream. It's made by a local company called Farr's Ice Cream, here in Idaho Falls. I recommend the Huckleberry. Farr's also has some pretty rockin' candy. The squared-ness of it all is really just a novelty, but it's a good way to cool off, and a spot to gas up at the least.
The 50 miles from Swan Valley back to Idaho Falls were brutal. We had some pretty gnarly crosswinds. My dad wasn't even flinching for most, but I had some pretty heavy counter steer going on to keep me centered in the lane. The Semi's in opposing traffic didn't help either... nor did the howling wind noise.
Anyway. That was my trip. If you have any questions if you have a trip planned, I know my way around the area. Feel free to hit me up. Or don't. Your choice.
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