hiplog of the prescott trip
For those just joining us, here's that link again to the hiplog from my Arizona trip:


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July 21, 2003

stupid arms.
So, I'm typing this entry on my laptop, with my wrists in the full metal braces. The length of the entry will be directly proportional to how long it takes for this to annoy the hell out of me.

I'm not sure what caused this latest tendonitis flare-up. Obviously the Arizona trip exacerbated the problem, but my arms were hurting before the trip as well. Grumble. It's that stupid prickly pins and needles feeling; it's really intense on the tops of both hands and gradually fades as it climbs halfway up both arms. Occasionally, for variety, my right elbow feels like someone's shoving an ice pick into it. Oh, and then there's the dull ache in both forearms. I should just lop both arms off at the shoulders and be done with it.

weekend fun.
I was supposed to go riding with Kim this weekend, but thanks to her IM messages being dropped on my end, and her cell phone battery being dead, we never managed to hook up. She has her new bike now, the Yamaha YZF600R, and we were hoping to get together and see how we do.

I did end up going to lunch at Alice's with Peter, though, which was fun. I hadn't ridden on anything even approximating twisties in a while (seriously, the exit ramp coming home was the curviest part of the Arizona trip), so it took me until we were up 9 and most of the way up 35 before I felt like I was riding properly. I hate that "how the heck do I steer this thing, anyway?" period when I haven't been up in the hills for a while.

Almost every single car on the way up pulled into turnouts for us. The one (one!) that didn't had the common courtesy to be irritating right as we came to a passing zone. It was truly a religious experience. About four minutes later, hell froze over.

We had a little excitement as we got to Alice's...for the non-residents, Highway 35 is a two-lane road as it passes the restaurant; my preferred (trans: flat and clean) parking lot is on the right and the small lot (trans: sloped and gravelly) and building are on the left. Highway 84 intersects 35 at an angle; 84 has stop signs, 35 doesn't.

Anyhoo, I was riding down 35, slowing to turn right into the parking lot. A minivan was stopped at the 84 stop sign, on my left. Apparently, the driver decided that I also had a stop sign, because s/he started moving again just as I was approaching the intersection. I laid on my horn, Peter (who was behind me) laid on his horn, random people in the various parking lots laid on their horns. The cacophony caused the minivan to, naturally, come to a dead stop in the middle of Highway 35. And therefore, so did I. I was somewhat surprised to find myself in netural at the end of all of this; I did the embarrassing "vrroOOOOMMMMMMm....oh, ha ha, *downshift clunk*" neutral-rev, but Peter swears that everyone was still glaring at the minivan and didn't notice.

The minivan wasn't a problem for me, really, since I had already slowed to second gear and was continuing to slow down to enter the lot. I didn't even get an adrenoline rush from the sudden braking -- it was just this side of an emergency/panic stop. The scary thing is that people often tear by Alice's at 80mph or higher, which would have been a bit of a mess for a clean-up crew.

There's just no excuse for running that stop sign; there are signs everywhere saying that cross-traffic on 35 doesn't stop.

the usual alice's gang.
After lunch, Peter and I ran into the bayareariding.com guys, so we hung out and lied with them for a while. I was a big loser and didn't introduce Peter to anyone, but it's his own fault for never riding with us. ;) I was just happy to prove his existence ("suuuure, you have a boyfriend, carolyn."). Honestly, I just forget who does or doesn't already know everyone else.

While we were hanging out and being generally obnoxious, the usual CHP crew came by to pester the ricers who ride without license plates. They've been patrolling Alice's all summer, so frankly, I feel that whoever risks going up there without a plate is really just asking for it.

At any rate, the officer found a couple of guys at the end of the row without plates, and started talking to them. We couldn't hear from where we were sitting, but the miming was excellent, and we were able to figure out that the rider had just put on dual underseat exhaust pipes, and had not yet figured out where or how to mount the plate. He was, however, carrying the license plate around with him in his underseat storage. He popped off the seat, pulled out the plate, and showed it to the cop.

The cop made some gestures to clearly indicate that he would now be walking back to his patrol car to leave, and would stop by and re-visit the young lad on his way out, and by god, that license better be affixed somehow to that motorcycle. Hilarity ensued as our ricer friend attempted to attach the plate in such a way as to avoid blocking the pipes. He eventually gave up, and ended up with the plate mounted directly over the exhaust openings. The cop, obviously enjoying this as much as we were, encouraged the rider to go on his merry way, and he would happily wait for the rider to make sure that, y'know, the plate didn't fall off again or anything. The ricer boy miserably geared up and started up his bike, causing the plate to flap and rattle against the exhaust pretty darn audibly. We were on the ground laughing at this point.

We got to see Paul's new ride, too, a Triumph Thunderbird Sport. Yum.

To top of the afternoon, I had a good ride down Page Mill, too. I was countersteering in the hairpins more than usual, which increased my average speed quite a bit.

speaking of page mill.
I finally got a write-up of Page Mill to Tim over at pashnit.com, and he's linked it up. Look, mum, I'm on the internet!