Mexico bullshit, the true grit way
Filed under: Baja, Long trips, On the road, Stupidity plain and simple
Author’s note: I tagged this with the Baja, but it’s about travel on mainland Mexico. Same dif, just a more diverse part of the country. And yes, I’ve ridden the mainland too — in fact, those very same roads that this guy whines and snivels about.
While I recognize the need for some to embellish their tales of motorcycle derring-do, it disappoints me greatly the length to which some will go to provide false and misleading information. Over the years I have ridden to Mexico many times, and have never encountered one problem. However, that’s not to say that there aren’t any.
For a most enjoyable read on wintering in Mexico, fast forward to this post.
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I’ve been reading about a bike trip some clown on a bagger took from Victoria, Canada to Mexico. It’s titled “Mexico Standoff”. Apparently this guy had been planning his ride to Ixtapa for years, but when he finally started his online research, everyone he contacted cautioned him against making the trip by motorcycle “with a lot of negative and scary reports”.
Oh mommy, don’t make me go.
By the third picture of his motorcycle, and the eighth paragraph of his sad tale, somewhere by Ely, Nevada, he’s complaining about strong wind threatening to throw him off of “his steed”, and rain showers. You pussy. Why not take the opportunity to vist one of the whorehouses in Ely — say, the Stardust — and relax with a beer while talking up the girls? You don’t have to sample the wares; you can just sit there and bullshit. But I digress.
By Nogales, he’s gotten himself checked into a sleazy motel right by the border. Yeah, shure. I’ve been through Nogales a time or two, and let me tell you, there are no sleazy motels right beside the border, chum. The border is completely denuded of anything for quite a distance. Those pesky coyotes and the illegals have seen to that.
While crossing into Mexico at a major port of entry can be a bit of an adventure, it usually entails riding on past the marker and watching the light. If it stays green, you keep right on going. Only when it turns red do you pull over for an inspection. Nogales is one of the more benign ports, believe me. It’s pretty much devoid of the traffic hassles that you can get riding into Mexicali or Tj. There’s not much chance you’ll get run over by an impatient truck or taxi at Nogales.
Naturally, once across the border, this guy’s paranoia factor is wound up to 10 because the poverty-stricken are watching him on his Harley-Davidson. Well shit, that’s a given. You get people staring at you in Bumfuck, America when you ride through town. Take a valium, dumbass, because almost everyone wants to look and listen when you ride by. It’s human nature for the great unwashed to want to fantasize about being out on the road and on their way to nowhere while riding a motorcycle loaded to the gills. Furthermore, in Mexico your fat ass is sitting on more dollars than most of those people will get their hands on in a lifetime.
Before I conclude my whining about this loser’s life, let me explain one more thing that he goes negative on, and that’s the military checkpoints. He makes a point of disparaging the young soldiers and their commanding officers that man these checkpoints by suggesting that they might want bribes. In my entire riding life down Mexico way, never — and I repeat, never! — have I ever been asked for money from anyone at these checkpoints. That is complete and utter bullshit, and to even suggest that it might occur is beyond the pale, in my opinion.
There’s much crying about bad roads, bad roadblocks, bad policia, bad military checkpoints ad nauseam. To top it all off, a day and a half from this guy’s destination, the dumbass turns tail and rides back home.
Oh mommy, I miss you.
Now that’s true grit.
Fingerprint finagling
I have had some good fortune.
A site was skimming my feeds and had successfully posted a feed article without attribution.
I complained to the host.
Site and posting have disappeared from the internets.
Good job * pats self on the back * but it wasn’t really all my doing.
Thank you, Digital Fingerprint plugin.
Grey Power redux: You don’t drive like her does
The Trafalgar Insurance Company is yet again foisting upon us the screaming ninny characterized with such zeal by their Grey Power television commercials. I would have thought that by now, enough people with grammar skills, as well as women and men who take exception to being zealously characterized as horrible, screaming, angry and incompetent drivers, would have registered enough complaints that Grey Power and its grammatically challenged advertising agency would have been banished to the dustbin of bad television commercials.
Not so.
Thankfully, the television remote has been designed with not only an off or a mute button, but also with the ability to change channels to one that does not feature the Trafalgar Insurance Company and their ear-splitting, grammar-challenged Grey Power commercials.
Link to my previous entry on Grey Power and Trafalgar here.
Motorcycle boutiques
Filed under: Disappointments, Mechanical, Stupidity plain and simple
I almost forgot about this.
In an earlier post I proclaimed how great it was that H-D dealerships would take a long-distance rider in and do things like oil and tire changes without appointments. And yes, it still is a great accomplishment for most dealerships.
Well, subsequent to the oil change that I received at that dealership in Winchester, Virginia, I happened to have run another 5,000 miles, thus a requirement to change the oil and filter back in August. Lo and behold, the dumbass responsible for doing that oil and filter swap in Winchester managed to completely screw it up.
No, there was plenty of oil in the bag. I checked that out in their parking lot before I pulled out.
Lets make a list.
- After removing the magnetic plug on the oil pan to drain the engine oil, the maintenance tech proceeds to wrap Teflon tape around the threads and re-insert.
The stupidity in this is that there’s an o-ring on the plug to prevent leaks, thus negating the need for any kind of sealant on the threads. Additionally, Teflon tape isn’t a friend of oil, and it will dissolve due to the heat and composition, thereby causing possible blockage of an oil passage. There are proper compounds available to seal such plugs, but obviously the individual wasn’t aware of them, and whether they were needed or not.
- When installing the new oil filter, the filter was torqued on so tight that on removal, the filter was attached to the adapter plug and it came off with the filter. Red Loctite is used from the factory to hold the filter adapter in place, so you can imagine the torque that the tech used to hold the oil filter in place.
I had to use a power bar to remove the oil filter, and as noted, the adapter nut came off with the oil filter. Now, attaching an oil filter is not rocket science. Whether it be car or motorcycle, you screw the new filter on hand tight, then apply a quarter-turn past that. Can someone show me where it says to torque down an oil filter so hard that you need two men and a boy to get it off?
Nope, didn’t think so.
So, while happy with the Winchester dealership’s ability to get me in and out quickly for a basic oil and filter change, I must take exception to the competence — or lack thereof — of their service department’s capabilities. Obviously, competent professional motorcycle technicians aren’t something Winchester H-D is capable of employing.
I thought of sending an email or making a phone call, but do I really care if they screw up their local customers’ motorcycles in their shop? They’re a boutique, after all, and what should one expect from a boutique other than doo-rags, dog leashes, suspenders and fingerless gloves?
Road signs, revisited
Filed under: Long trips, On the road, Short trips, Stupidity plain and simple
I know I’ve said this before, but entering Ontario via Buffalo and the Peace Bridge is a pain in the ass when you’re trying to cover new ground and there are no signs directing you. The Buffalo side has plenty of signs to point you to the border. The Canadian side continues to be a mystery, and finding your way — especially if you’re new to the area (or visiting after decades of absence – is a royal pain.
The monolithic tourist information center visible across the way was a nice touch, but I never saw a sign pointing towards it from the convoluted road system, either. Thus, I was unable to discover Ontario in the fashion and manner to which, I’m certain, Ontario would desire.
The absence of meaningful directional signs until 20 miles past the border, on some road, is ridiculous. But of course, it’s Ontario the good, isn’t it? Idiots.
Here’s a Wikipedia explanation of concession roads in southern Ontario. After reading it, there is no doubt that southern Ontario has got to have one of the most convoluted and stupid highway naming conventions in North America. And I haven’t even begun to talk about those miniscule white on dark blue county road signs that are hidden on electrical posts and lighting standards. Try following those through a city some day.
Put up a series of meaningful directional signs, you morons. I’d prefer a variety that is plainly visible, of standard dimension and color, and that actually point me in a direction that I choose to proceed. Of course, that’s only me. I’m sure local yokels who never travel out of the valley and other miscreants are quite happy the way it is.
Otherwise, don’t bother — which appears to be the direction that Ontario chooses to follow.
Trolls ‘r’ us
Here’s an addendum to my original post on internet trolls.
The New York Times online has a seven page discourse on modern-day trolls and their absurdities. From that article you’ll find that trolls have graduated to an ever more mean and hateful presence, even making fun of and encouraging suicide.
Even if you only get as far as the first page, you’ll find it enlightening and disheartening.
Link to full New York Times article here.
More border static
Who is really targeted, and why?
U.S. authorities now have the power to seize and detain travellers’ electronic devices, including laptops and cellphones, and make copies of their contents at an off-site location, under newly disclosed customs policies. — cbc.ca news
Border agents may now seize documents, books, phamplets and hard drives from anyone who crosses the border. Such items may be duplicated and shared with other government agencies.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a lawyer with client data on your way to a trial? Or a business person with material in your care subject to non-disclosure agreements?
I suppose this isn’t really a huge deal, since it’s their border and they can do anything they want to anyone who desires entry. After all, it is their country, too. Look at what they’ve done to it over the past eight years.
Just more of the same.
Highlights and lowlights
Filed under: Long trips, On the road, Stupidity plain and simple
I had an amazing trip this year — 6,000 miles in all kinds of weather — although I prefer to avoid the massive thunderstorms I experienced in the Dakotas. It’s no fun on a motorcycle to be hassled by hail, driving rain and strong winds, all at once. I followed the back side of that storm all the way east, during which time there was only one day that I could make 500 miles.
Okay, so I’m whining about the weather. I do have a very good rain suit, but I just hate to have to put it on.
I discovered a couple of great places to eat, and if I’m in the neighborhood again, I’ll stop for a bite.
On the other hand, I discovered a place where I will never ever stop at, never stay at and never eat at again!
Interstate riding is still boring, no matter the flora and fauna — and even when the countryside is green, treed and covered with lakes.
A rain shower in the northeast is not like a rain shower in other parts of America. You’ll get very, very wet and miserable if you don’t don your rain suit. I got fooled once this year. Two years ago, in the same area, I got lucky and rode through a sprinkle. I assumed that the storm cell I rode through this year would be the same light sprinkle I rode through then. Wrong! It turned into a downpour.
I learned that if you do a walking tour of D.C., wear the most comfortable shoes you own. Seriously — no matter how bad they look. You’ll be glad you did at day’s end. Fortunately for me, I could relax on the VRE (Virginia Railway Express) during the trip home.
Entering Ontario via Buffalo and the Peace Bridge is a pain in the ass when you’re trying to cover new ground and there are no signs directing you. The Buffalo side is fine; there are plenty of signs to direct you to the border. It’s the Canadian side that continues to be a mystery, and finding your way — especially if you’re new to the area (or visiting after decades of absence) — is a royal pain. The absence of directional signs until 20 miles past the border, on some road, is ridiculous. But of course, it’s Ontario the good, isn’t it? Idiots.
Here’s a Wikipedia explanation of concession roads in southern Ontario. After reading it, there is no doubt that southern Ontario has got to have one of the most stupid highway naming conventions in North America. And I haven’t even begun to talk about those miniscule blue and white county road signs. Try following those through a city some day. Put up a meaningful sign, you morons.
The Tobermory ferry is still the most motorcycle-friendly, two-hour ferry ride that I know of. Motorcycles do not require a reservation, they get first-on and first-off treatment, and the cost is only $35.00.
Shea’s Ice Cream Oasis is truly an oasis in the middle of nowhere.
Yet again, my motorcycle ran flawlessly with nary a whisper of any problem whatsoever.
I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
Well, all of it but the Lone Steer Motel, that is.
Let’s make fun of…
Filed under: Long trips, On the road, Stupidity plain and simple
Ontario has, without a doubt, the ugliest and most boring license plates of any jurisdiction in North America.
I crossed the Peace Bridge from Buffalo into Ontario, Canada. No problem with that; however, while trying to find my way north to Toronto, I encountered two road signs: Concession Road North and Concession Road South.
I don’t know about anyone else, but to me, a concession road is a farm road. Now, why on earth would I take a farm road anywhere? Right. I wouldn’t. Unfortunately, the Ontario tourist information building — which I could see! — was across on another farm road, and there was absolutely no signage to direct me to it. I know this to be true, because I tried to get to it.
Twenty miles down a road, I finally discovered a sign with directions for Toronto, London and some other mystery destination.
How these southern Ontario farm boys find their way around their own country is a mystery to me, although, I suppose if one is a local farm boy, he already knows how to get to Toronto for his rub and tug.
How about some signage for the tourist?
Better yet, how about some meaningful directional signs right after one leaves the border station?
Hunting for the Snark*
*With apologies to Lewis Carroll
A U.S. federal appeals court judgment has highlighted some of the most ridiculous claims of the government in the trials of the people unjustly rendered, detained and imprisoned at that bastion of American freedom and justice known as Guantanamo.
…a three-judge panel said the government contended that its accusations against the detainee should be accepted as true because they had been repeated in at least three secret documents. The court compared that to the absurd declaration of a character in the Lewis Carroll poem “The Hunting of the Snark”: “I have said it thrice: What I tell you three times is true.” — William Glaberson, nytimes.com online
Link to article here.
That courtroom must have been quite a sideshow during the prosecution’s arguments. After listening to that fine example of lawyerly logic and government jurisprudence, the appeals court threw out the charges and ordered that the defendant must either be released, transferred to another country, or given a new hearing to determine if the defendant had been properly classified.
Will the nightmare never end?
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