Connie to the Rescue

Coming back from a week in Maui is such a drag. How can you compete with sun and sand, whales cavorting in the deep blue sea, a Mustang convertible ready to drop its top for you at the flick of a switch? You could drink, take drugs, chase wild women, or realize it was just a vacation and you should get back to real life. Or, you could try trading in your trusty Honda Magna (see previous posts) for a beautiful Kawasaki Concours, 1997 style. What?!!, you say, you only got the Magna in June last year, for goodness sakes! Ah, but look at the road-worthiness! No more "out of gas" scares every 80 miles. No more burning blue jeans!
The Honda cranked up fine after winter in the barn, ran like a top all the way down to Powersports Inc. in Sioux Falls, and seemed to be happy to be getting a chance at a more appreciative owner. Traveling across Wyoming, for gosh sakes, with a three-gallon gas tank. Whattayathinkin?! It'll be happier cruising the streets of Sioux Falls, lookin' good in red.
But green is my color now. The Connie (or Conk, to some) is dark, but in good light you can see that green glow. I pulled the bags for now, including the quick-release helmet trunk on the back, but they'll all come in handy on the open road. And that nice fairing will keep my legs dry and warm unless Katrina's sister finds her way into the wild west.

Magna Comes Home

Saturday I got home with the new Magna and recruited JB to come and help me unload it. Here's how it arrived. Yesterday after some problems getting it started I learned about the kickstand kill-switch and then was able to take it for a spin, which included a close encounter with a duck and an actual encounter with a small bird, which made me appreciate the windshield.
Otherwise, the day was a good one, with a backyard grilling, good ribs, company, and then a later ride with the wife.

Becoming Magna-ficat

Surprises in store at every turn, suddenly yours truly finds himself here in the Twin Cities, the proud owner of a spanking Honda Magna, 1996 version, 750cc's of motorcycle. Who knew? This photo isn't mine (it's a 1999 model), but it's almost identical. Mine doesn't have the leather dangles on the levers.

Humping It Through the Week

The Smith-Zimmermann Museum, of which yours truly stands as board member, vice president of the Lake County Historical Society, had an excellent day today as a couple hundred people showed up for our annual auction, raising about $20,000 for our endowment. Hoo-rah! Most of the items came from Charles Wiedeman, who donated his household goods and two vehicles. Excellent weather and quality items brought out the folks who paid generously for the stuff we'd hauled out of his house and collected from area contributors.
With that done, the Society members breathed a sigh of relief, as the Chautauqua and this auction have kept us hopping recently.
What did I buy? After intense bidding, I managed to snag this cool statue of DSU's fearless leader, General William Henry Harrison Beadle. So what if it needs my crafty attention? I can now return the bust of the General to his old office, now mine.
So what else has been going on? TQ and LS came for beverages last evening, I sent off some Ebay goods that I sold, I got books ordered for classes, I sent off thank-you letters for Chautauqua volunteers and contributors, the wife and I took a trip to Sioux Falls for shopping purposes, I gave some rides on the Magna to three Japanese young men from Tamagawa University (none of whom had ridden on a motorcycle before and one of whom couldn't help squealing like a girl every time I hit the throttle), I got a couple of runs in, I visited with JS after a long day working on the auction, and I visited EJ who showed me what was new with his hot rods. Busy.

A Kindness Among Acquaintances

Here's an example of the advantages of living in a small town--or, at least, how small town people overcome the disadvantages of living in a small town.
Yesterday I decided to change the oil in my Honda. I had the filter, and I had the oil. But my oil drain pan was full, so I went down to the farm supply store, Campbell's, to pour the oil in the tank that sat there free for anyone to pour their used motor oil into. It had a new cap and a lock on the spout. Previously it had been open all times of the day. I went inside and asked about the oil tank. "I'll open it up for you," the guy in the red shirt told me. On our way out, he mentioned that some people would continue pouring oil even when the tank was full, so they needed to control it. He opened the tank and asked me to lock the padlock again when I was done. Their response to the problem wasn't to give up taking oil, or to hover over people as they poured, just to take a minimal step to address the problem.
That's not the end of the story. I returned, drained the oil out of the Honda, and put on the filter. As a precaution I checked my manual (it's the first time I've changed the oil on the Magna), and it mentioned a particular kind of oil I should have--API SG. Mine said SM. The manual said the clutch might be damaged if I didn't have the right oil. So.
It was about 5:35. I thought the parts stores might be open. All three had closed at 5:30. I went to the hardware store; it was open. I explained my dilemma to Jim, the owner (the guy married to the lady who used to be half-owner of the coffee-shop, the friendlier one). Hmm. "Check CarQuest," he said. "I just came from there," I told him. "I don't have this stuff," he said. Yep, small town. "Let me call out do D and R," he said. No answer. He called the owner, who said he would be out to the shop in seven minutes. I drove out to the little building on the edge of town, where a couple of old motorcycles sat in the windon and waited. Here he came, the guy from CarQuest. He found me four quarts of Castrol GTX, meanwhile showing me the shop I'd never been in. "How late are you open?" I asked. "Until ten," he said. "You're just open in the evenings?" No, his son kept the shop open during the day, basically, and he came out himself to work in the evenings. "It's my addiction," he said, "we live and breathe motorcycles."
So he told me about the custom bikes they build and how people still prefer the old rat bike in the window, a primitive Triumph 750 chopper. With that, I wanted to get back and finish my own work on my bike, so, with my good oil, I came home and finished the job with the help of my fellow citizens.