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.

The Gerbing jacket liner ($199.95) utilizes Gerbing’s patented Microwire technology to smoothly distribute warmth throughout the liner, with no hot spots, and no bulky electronic components. It feels like a cushy windbreaker — nowhere near as bulky as my Olympia jacket’s winter liner.

Gerbing 12V jacket liner

I’d looked at the TourMaster Synergy liner ($199.99) and the First Gear liner ($199.95), but both are slightly, well, lumpier than the Gerbing. All three brands would be satisfactory, I think, but when I tried on the Gerbing, it was love at first zip. (I couldn’t find Gerbing equipment at local shops; I purchased from Shango Rider’s booth at a motorcycle show. Dan Allen is the owner; he’s very knowledgeable and gave great service.)

Gerbing offers very flexible sizing options: for example, you can order a small jacket with long sleeves, a large jacket with regular-length sleeves. etc. (Because Shango Rider didn’t have the “perfect fit” in stock, Dan arranged free shipping from the factory to me. How cool is that? And the liner is indeed a perfect fit; Dan’s suggested size/sleeve combination was spot-on.)

On my SV650, the battery harness was easy to install: there are just four bolts to remove the seat for access to the battery. I removed the bolts connecting the battery cables and existing pigtail for the Battery Tender, added the contacts for the Gerbing harness, threaded the wires so the Battery Tender and Gerbing connectors were accessible from the outside, and reinstalled the battery bolts, seat, and small side panels. The hardest part was threading the cable ties through the frame to anchor the Gerbing connector — I spent some time blindly stabbing behind the frame spar until I finally found a way through. There’s a lot of stuff crammed in there, and it’s hard to find your way when you can’t see.

When I finished, the install was neat, and the Gerbing connector was easy to reach for plugging/unplugging. There’s even a little attached cap to protect the connector when it’s not in use.

Cable positions

It does take a little extra preparation to ride —What do I plug first? Oops, I can’t zip that just yet! — but it’s more than worth it. Without the bulkiness of the original padded liner and a sweatshirt, I can actually bend my elbows and turn my head easily (you just need a light shirt; I wear a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt under the liner).

With your core warmed, it seems that your body is more willing to send blood out to the extremities; I found that my hands didn’t get cold as soon on a ride, and they were never as cold as they had been on previous rides without the warm liner. If I can find some hand guards to block the wind, I think I could get by without buying Gerbing’s electric gloves. Only my thighs were icy; now I can see the appeal of chaps.

That’s what makes motorcycling (or any hobby) expensive — the accessories! But I have to say that the heated jacket liner is a wonderful investment in comfort and riding enjoyment. I’d describe it as an essential piece, not a luxury.

Now if Gerbing just made an air-conditioned jacket liner for summer in the South…

The Schampa Zip D’Zip (hey, I didn’t name it) is a soft fleece neck warmer with a front zipper. Easy on and off, and truly cuddly. It’s high enough and thick enough that it acts as a soft gasket to keep wind from whistling through my helmet, so I think it may replace the bank-robber balaclava I used last winter.

Funny how my helmet doesn’t feel all that well-ventilated in summer…

The instructors, Teresa and Paula, were great. Patient, thorough, and realistic. No excessive praise, good constructive criticism. I was surprised how quickly I overcame my clumsy attempts to stand up on the pegs. Once I fully unfurled and found my balance, it became easy. I even shifted without falling over

The last exercise of the day involved riding up a small hill, turning around a cone, and coming back down the hill. From a distance, it looked painless; the hill seemed tiny. Until we walked up it and looked back down. Suddenly, it seemed steep and slippery. We attacked it from two directions. In the first exercise, we rode up the right side, rounded the cone, and turned left down the hill. Hey, not bad! But I always find turning left easier (I think most folks do).

When we switched sides, I resolved to stay on the throttle even more and not lose any momentum at the top as I turned. But I miscalculated, lost altitude, and couldn’t recover. In what seemed like slow motion, I fell over to the right, dropped the bike on my right leg, and rolled over once more after the bike caught on the right footpeg. At least the bike wasn’t sliding and rolling with me, but I felt so stupid. And dirt is much more forgiving than asphalt.

Driving home, I was tired, but felt that I’d done well (except for the showy spill). But by late evening, my leg was throbbing, and I dug out the ice pack. The bruising was nowhere near as extensive as when I dropped the bike in the church parking lot 2 years ago, but it stung. I think my recent diet of ginkgo and other circulation-enhancing herbs may have led to easier and deeper bruising.

I probably would have been fine if I hadn’t had to fly two days later, spending 9 hours on a flight to Europe. Despite my efforts to stand and stretch, the long confinement, followed by extensive walking through the breathtakingly beautiful scenery of Bregenz, Austria and Lindau, Germany, took a toll. By the second sleepless night, I was sporting Mega-Ankle:

Clumsy + dirtbike = cankle.

My leg was swollen and tight from knee to toe, and punctuating my day with stabbing pains. Sheesh. I suddenly felt my age. I ended up coming home from Europe two days early to nurse the elephantine leg before I had to travel again, and I’m deeply disappointed by that.

But a few days of icing and keeping the leg elevated have paid off. It’s been a bit more than two weeks, and it’s much better now. So don’t be discouraged by my setback: just lay off the ginkgo and aspirin before you go playing in the dirt!

This is a permanent condition, apparently.

My excitement about next Sunday’s “Dirt ‘n’ the Skirt” dirtbike school is tempered by the forecast on weather.com: looks like it’s gonna rain for the rest of the century. Explains why that guy up the street is building a boat. And why he asked if I had two cats he could borrow…

Ah, well, it’ll strengthen my character; I’ll just take a change of clothes with me.

My country neighborhood

The air today was flavored with the crispness of freshly-cut grass fields, with a touch of the impending rain. It’s not cold yet, but there are pools of cool air at the bottom of dips in the road. Soon it will be time for the jacket liner and longer socks. Yum.

In the Collision Traps Test, you’re presented with images of real traffic conditions (merging vehicles, pedestrians sneaking up in your peripheral vision, debris in the road), and you must choose the key issue from a list of options. It’s educational, and I do think it could help refine your responses.

Whee! I just signed up for the “ladies only” dirtbike class to be held in Alpharetta, GA September 27th at the Motorcycle Safety Foundation campus. I have no intention of wearing a skirt, mind you. But I’m really looking forward to spending a day playing in the dirt. I think it will help me work on balance and bike handling.

Just sits there. Like I’m going to be crazy enough to pull past him?! I’m still screaming. Finally he starts moving again. I wait to make sure he’s actually going, then pull in some distance behind him.

He pulls into a decel lane entering a subdivision and stops. Maybe he wants to apologize, maybe he’s mad, I don’t know. I’m not taking the chance. I slow as I pass him and shout “Watch where you’re going!!”

Perhaps I should have stopped, and given him a lecture, or an opportunity to apologize, but I was so shaken that I just wanted to get home.

Just goes to show you that all the caution and bright yellow safety clothing can’t protect you from a case-hardened moron driving a moving weapon.