Moto Broad

Cataract surgery for the left eye was 10 days ago; it wasn’t perfect (some difficulty getting all the cloudy lens out; a bit of scarring already — apparently that’s not uncommon in younger patients), but there’s still a huge improvement in vision (well, on one side, anyway). The blinding glare is gone — it’s like having half a clean windshield. I yielded to the temptation of the warm spring day after work today and went for my first ride since the surgery.

Colors and contrast are improved: whites are bright and clean in the post-op eye, still slightly subdued and yellowish in the “old” eye. I can see more detail in shadows because there’s more contrast. Distant vision is sharper than it was before, but I still need reading glasses. And I no longer fear riding at sunset. I’ve approximated the improvement in the Yield sign photo: the left side gives you an idea of the results of surgery. It’s not quite as perfectly sharp, but it’s a heckuva lot better.

I’m afraid to get anything — even dust or pollen — in the eye, so I bought a pair of cheapie gasketed sunglasses (Undercover Eyewear from Mountain Motorsports in Conyers; $20). They’re reasonably dark, supposedly protect against UV rays, but aren’t polarized. Later, I’ll find some higher-quality shades, but it was the gasket that most appealed to me. They do a good job of keeping out wind and particulate matter (a very good thing on a day with 6000+ pollen count). Even though I have a full-face helmet, there’s enough airflow to provide a ram-air influx of pollen and dust that I feared would glom onto the healing eye.

This Tuesday, I go for the second surgery. I’m looking forward to having a matched set of eyeballs (but I’m glad I’m not a spider with another six eyeballs to fix).

In a post about 18 months ago (”Blinded by the Light”), I described how blinding the setting afternoon sun was: I could see nothing else, and my eyes recovered so slowly from the glare that I couldn’t handle the quick light/dark transitions. I thought it was just a combination of lighting conditions and old, scratched sunglasses.

Turns out it may have been something more — the beginning signs of cataracts. If I didn’t feel old before that diagnosis, the C-word did the job.

Now it all makes sense: my reluctance to ride into the setting sun, the difficulty dealing with oncoming headlights at night, the increasing difficulty reading street signs because of double images (the manipulated image above gives you an idea). The good news is that cataract surgery is apparently not as traumatic as “We’re going to cut something out of your eye” would lead one to believe, and friends who’ve had the procedure rave about the results.

The bad news is that, because of my extremely high deductible, it’s going to cost me the equivalent of a Triumph Daytona 675.

A friend and I rode our bikes through the oven of Atlanta today (mid–to-high 90s) because, well, we thought that if we moved fast enough we wouldn’t be miserable (we were wrong). As a couple of old farts, we thought it might make us feel young again to go listen to some indie bands (we were wrong about that, too).

We went to funky East Atlanta to participate in the Corndogorama Music Festival. Cute area; despite living in the adjacent Inman Park area for several years in the 70s-80s, I’d never been to East Atlanta. I’d go back just for the Blue Frog Cantina alone.

The theme for this year’s Corndogorama was “Yes, We Corn.” We declined the opportunity to have our photos taken with the official Corndogorama placards, despite strong temptation (below).

(Photos aren’t the greatest, but not bad for a cellphone, eh? Courtesy of my BlackBerry 8330 Curve. Love it.)

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One of the joys of motorcycling is the closeness to your surroundings: you have a full sky overhead, the landscape is a complete panorama, uninterrupted by metal pillars — and you can smell so much. It’s not always good, of course (do I detect the piquant bouquet of freshly flattened polecat?) You catch quick samples of a driver’s cigarette, a passing diesel’s too-rich mix, a woman’s overpowering perfume, stale burger-joint stench.

But when it’s good, it’s wonderful, at least here in the South.

There’s freshly-turned earth and new-mown lawn this morning. There’s delicate wisteria in late March/early April: it’s not strong, and if you really want to wallow in it, you have to park the bike and stick your face in one of the lavendar bunches. Soon there will be magnolia (also a park-and-smell experience). But right now, in early May, might be the best. On my morning ride, I drank in the rich drafts of honeysuckle, blooming in huge stands beside the country roads. Wave after wave; I never get tired of it. No dismounting necessary — it hangs in the air, heavy and sweet, almost visible.

1. Take all the armor out of riding jacket and give the jacket a spin in the washer.
2. Put the  jacket in the dryer on the recommended cool setting.
3. Be driven mad by the loud clunking noise coming from the dryer.
4. Hang the jacket in the shower and hope it will dry out over the next four humid, rainy days.
5. Knuckle down and work on those book chapters that are due Friday.
6. Clean house.
7. Check www.weather.com every 30 minutes to see when the sun will shine again.

Scientist Ryuta Kawashima (developer of the “Brain Training” software titles) and Yamaha Motor Company have teamed up to test the effects of motorcycling on the brains of middle-aged men. The results? Daily motorcycling sharpened their memories and reduced their errors at work.

See the full story here.

Guys, if you’re looking for more ammunition to convince your wife to let you have a bike, this can’t hurt. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to go out and spend a few miles improving my brain.

Now I see why people love eBay; it’s the Everything Market. (I know: I’m a late bloomer.) So I went back.

I was hoping to find a miniature of my bike, but nobody seems to make a naked (non-faired) model; I guess they aren’t deemed racy enough. But I found the closest thing, a tiny SV650S (with a tiny price to match — thanks, Philip!), and it was too cute to pass up.

The detail is astonishing. How do they do it — with some sort of “Honey, I shrunk the motorcycle” ray? Little radiator and oil cooler, tiny chain, perfect exhaust . . . even the instrument panel is anatomically correct. So what do you do with such a thing? I’m not sure: maybe twiddle the teensy handlebars while making vroom-vroom noises on a cold winter night.

I like tools. Always have. When I was a kid, I took things apart (and, for the most part, reassembled them successfully). So it’s no surprise that I liked Tim Allen immediately when I saw his first cable special, “Men Are Pigs” in 1991 or so. I laughed. I cried. I grunted.

I taped it and passed the tape around to all the guys in my neighborhood, and it struck the same nerve with them. Soon, we would greet each other with grunts, and communicate with those primal tonal utterances: “How’s it going?” “Aruhhhhh!”

I became a faithful viewer of “Home Improvement,” and so wished Tim would put out a line of super-powered, over-engineered Binford Tools. Alas, Binford remained a fictional entity, but he did partner with some tool manufacturers to market some power tools and hand tools, as well as some kids’ toy tools and project kits. I missed the chance to get any of the offerings while they were current.

Shortly before Christmas, during a “Home Improvement” marathon, I had a sudden urge to check eBay. Now, I’m actually the last person on Earth to purchase something from eBay — I was an eBay virgin, believe it or not. But, lo and behold, there it was: a Tim Allen Signature Ryobi cordless drill, model RRR722 (I kid you not). For a whopping six bucks.

It’s not perfect, of course. No battery, and clearly it’s been much used. But the seller threw in a charger, and a spiffy holster and belt.

And — guess what — I found a battery! On eBay, natch. I guess this is how it starts.

I have no idea if the battery will hold a charge (probably not), but at least the drill will be complete. If I can’t resurrect it, I’ll put it in a shrine.

[Later entry: the battery is pristine, looks like it's never even been in a drill. But it's dead as a dadgum doornail. No amount of cajoling, wiggling, or sanding the contacts could bring it back to life. Guess I'll dig a hole and bury it.]

Some people use those cheesy pine tree air fresheners hung from the rearview mirror. Not me. I went for the fully-organic, completely natural solution:

Of course, I’ll never get all those pine needles out of the upholstery…

It’s cold now, even here in Georgia. We skipped Fall and went straight to Winter, it seems. So, between the cold, windy days and the gray, rainy days, there are fewer opportunities to ride enjoyably. I confess, I bundled up in my lined, padded jacket and donned my insulated balaclava one day to brave temps in the high 30s, and it actually wasn’t so bad. But you have to allow for an extra 20 minutes of zipping and wriggling and de-fogging just to get prepared, and it’s easier to just take the car.

But there are other ways to celebrate riding when you’re housebound for the holidays…

I couldn’t resist the motorcycle party lights from Aerostich, so they’re riding across my fireplace mantel (click for larger view):

They’re rather nicely detailed:

And my friends Billy and Melinda gave me a really cute stocking-hanger Harley Santa dude. He’s quite detailed, down to the box of tools, including tiny combination wrenches:

Hope your holiday is happy, and that you get lucky and are graced with a few unseasonably warm days so you can celebrate by spending some time in the wind.