My New Mexico Adventure. Aka, I'm a Gawddamn Roadside Warrior. #wrench

I left Lone Grove at 8pm, and drove all night towards Carlsbad, NM.  I got in at about 3am.  I ducked into the shadows of a Chevron gas station, and I rolled into the bed of the truck.  I made use of an empty water jug and dumped the contents out the back window, before crawling into my sleeping bag with my boots on.  Now, I knew my feet would be swampy, but I wanted to be ready to jump at a moments notice.  Small town politics kept me more at a state of unrest, on the edge of ready all night, with the sound of cars driving by just feet to my left, up and down the main drag, and an occasional customer filling their tank.  I set my alarm for 6am. 

When my alarm went off, I sprung into action.  The sky was just getting some slim hints of light to it, and the roadways were packed with work trucks, country trucks, and I knew there was some industrial work drawing the town to life.  Disheveled as usual, and under slept, I just stood in the middle of that convenient store trying to figure out my next move.  Diner, I wanted a diner.  Turns out the diner I wanted, wasn’t open until 11am, and I couldn’t complain about it, cause it was called the “No Winer Diner.”  How suitable.  I drove toward the edge of town closer toward the caverns, and a taco truck caught my attention.  “A burrito will be nice and fast” I said aloud to nobody.  I waited for oncoming traffic to pass, and I pulled left into its makeshift parking area.  The morning was cooler than Oklahoma had been, because I was up in that middle to high New Mexico desert.  

So there I was…getting back into my truck, when I smelled something funny.  I swung the door back open, popped the hood, and looked for any funny stuff.  My radiator bottle was full up.  And I could see some spillage.  “Oh man.”  I immediately looked up the nearest auto parts store, 1.9 miles back in the direction I’d just come.  When I pulled up they were closed, so I inspected the engine a bit closer, and you know what I saw?  I saw a split alternator belt.  yep, the whole thing had just gone up and split in two. That would explain why my things just weren’t working all that well.  Right then and there I set my sights on changing my belts, and before you'd know it, I was well into misadjusting my pulleys and getting those belts off.  Grease and dirt and wrenching are my friends, so I was in my natural habitat.  Soon after they’d opened, I was in there, a handsome ball of grease and parking lot gravel, with my old belts in hand, and walking out with my new ones.  Within minutes I'd gotten them all on and adjusted to Toyota specs, a highly scrutinous process.  I poured what had over flowed into the bottle, back into the radiator.  And I was back on the road by 9:30 am.  Everything seemed fine.  

Carlsbad Caverns was a couple miles off the main road, so I took that short stroll up to the mountain top, and walked around inside their museum and displays.  Their elevator into the cave was broken, so I had to vow to come back on another trip and do the 3+ hour hike.  Once again I was off on the road, heading towards Phoenix, my destination for the day, and where I’d spend the next few days having a good time.  I was motoring along for a couple hours in the dead zone in and out of New Mexico and Texas territory, where there’s no cell service, and I was relinquished to the limited iTunes selection on my phone, plus there were no Truckers on any of the CB channels to listen to.  Up ahead I could see this huge steep mountain hill that seemed to come out of nowhere, but I had to climb it to get out of that flat zone.  And wouldn't ya know, that as soon as I started to climb that steep mountain hill, the truck started overheating.  Now, this was the first time in it’s entire life that it had ever overheated, and I was super bummed.  I knew I had to get that needle down below the red F, so I slowed the rpms, and climbed as slowly as I could, not putting any stress on that engine.  As soon as I got to the crest, I pulled into a lookout parking lot.  Figuring there was something that needed adjusting, I popped the hood, checked the belts and because they were new, I gave them a tiny little tighten.  Now, I figured they didn’t cost much, so if one of them blew I could just put some new ones on again.  

        The truck had cooled down by this point, and the rest of the way to the next town was downhill, so I’d just ease the truck to the nearest gas station.  I picked up a bottle of coolant, thinking that the truck fluid was actually low, and as soon as I made an old coffee cup into my new funnel, boy did my radiator guzzle that fluorescent green liquid. So I started getting curious about the radiator.  I got back on the highway, and before I knew it the needle was heating again.  This time I pulled over at the New Mexico welcome center, and I called my dad.  Cause he’s always my favorite car person, and makes everything better.  I decided in that parking lot, of adobe shelters over concrete picnic tables that I had to change my coolant completely.  I dumped out the contents of straps and bungee cords from a bucket I kept in the truck.  I found the radiator drain, used the coolant overflow tube as an attachment to the petcock, and let all that old rusty brown coolant flow into that bucket.  I then poured the rest of that new coolant gallon into the radiator and then ran the truck (with the cap off) to let it normalize and flow easier into the compartments of the radiator.  That’s the trick. 
       I never waste an opportunity to be a good tourist, so being as I graciously took liberties in their parking lot,  I decided a little spin inside the visitor center would be mighty right.  I went ahead and signed the visitor center book (always).  I also grabbed some free literature on "New Mexico Tourism", mainly cause there was a picture of some snow skiers on the front, and part of this trip I was on was all about the skiing.  I gave the woman attending the visitor center a synopsis of my trip and the way my morning had gone, and she obligingly told me there was a gas station 10 miles in the direction I was headed, so down the road I slowly went.  The needle kept teasing the heat line.  I kept the engine low and slow all the way to the gas station.  I parked right in front, went inside and bought a nice looking bottle of coolant, the 11 dollar kind. I topped the truck up, and ran the motor, same thing (cap off).  Then I let it cool down, and I added some more.  The truck was having some trouble starting each time, because basically, slowly over the course of the last couple days, since the belts were so busted, the alternator wasn’t doing its job of recharging the battery.  And well, I had to get some good driving on her to really get her back up to operating efficiency, so the truck was just slowly cranking, and I had to give her gas every time.  
        After I topped the truck up for the last time, the dude who was leaning against the wall, looking like he either wanted to help, or throw me into his van, walked defeatedly off toward a far part of the parking lot, as soon as I closed the hood, and locked the truck to head into the store for one last round of resources before I braved the road again.  (I feel like I really dodged a bullet with that one).  

I pulled onto the road way, and gradually gained speed down the onramp, onto the highway, watching that thermostat needle ever so carefully for the slightest move past middle.  Nothing.  Not a budge.  In fact it stayed middle for a whole 3-4 hours of normal driving speeds.  I was home free.  Problems solved.  But then....I had just reached Picacho Peak in AZ, when my dad called me back, and I couldn’t wait to tell him the good news.  “Dad guess what? …..Oh, no!  wait!  Never mind.  Dang!”  The needle had started climbing toward the H line.  Most of my disbelief came from the fact that the needle had stayed middle until both Picachu Peak and My dad had called.  I couldn’t believe the coincidence.  I didn’t know if I should blame the spirits of Picacho, or the fact that my truck didn’t want me to give my dad any good news.  I pulled over at the nearest station.  The whole station was empty, except some accommodating overhead lights.  Though I still had to put my head lamp on to inspected the engine.  Dry.  Not a lick of coolant could be seen, so no over-flow problems, but the radiator top felt unnaturally cool.  Turns out the thing was really low, and thus the coolant wasn’t flowing in the upper compartment of the radiator as a result.  I looked around the bottom of the truck for any signs of leak.  Nothing but a puddle of my pee.  No immediate radiator drips to be seen.  But then I did noticed that my drive line was showing signs of immense wetness.  So I deduced that to radiator fluid leaking slowly as I drive. I spent the rest of my coolant on filling the radiator, and I headed to the next nearest "open" station for another bottle to top it off.  The bottles kept getting more expensive the closer I got to Phoenix.  Something to do with supply and demand I guess. Visuals of those pesky graphs from business school flowing through my mind. 

As I drove the slow 60mph just 50 miles outside of Phoenix, I got pulled over by a cop, who was nice enough to tell me that both my license plate lights were out, and that the ball hitch I had mounted was an obstruction, and he couldn’t really read my plate.  We had a friendly banter.  And then he ran my license, just you know, because, and I wasn’t much worried about anything, being a good citizen and all.  Then I answered “No” to all questions about drug transportation, and before you could say the alphabet backwards I was back on the road.   

I arrived at about 1am, backed into the driveway, grabbed my giant green sleeping bag, and found the couch.  It was a glorious arrival, and much awaited slumber. 

True your spokes.

Is this the ending of another era?  Not until, I come home.  Not until I take flight, and everyone finds me alive on the west coast.  The east coast has been interesting to say the least.  Most of it trying, and most of it bullshit, and most of it I can't wait to just turn my back on and leave, knowing and hoping that I learned the lessons I was meant to have learned.  Never be that person who gets out of one relationship and doesn't bother to reflect on their experience, to grow, nor change, nor better themselves.  That person is only out to do more harm to themselves and the relationships that they end up destroying as a result of passing along a damaged soul to the innocent folks just looking for love and honesty.  Because if one can't be honest with themselves, how can one be honest with others?  Taking emotional damage and baggage into a new relationship, is like putting a new tire on a fucked up rim.  But if you are wise, then you take the time and due diligence to true the spokes before you put the new tire on, that way you are getting the most mileage out of the new tire and doing yourself the good of a decent go at a new run.  Without bothering to true the kinks and wobbles and hops out of that old damaged rim, then you haven't learned the lessons you were meant to learn.  And you're going to have a shitty run at a new opportunity for a clean start, and a nice fresh ride.  True your spokes.  True your soul.  Listen to your soul.  Your soul needs food, it needs honesty, and it needs time.  Time to heal and reflect.  You owe it to yourself, and to others, to give everyone your best self.  True your spokes.

The gun

Do not be afraid of guns. Most folks who I know are deathly afraid of guns, just don't know how to use one, operate one, handle one, have never seen one in person, and that makes them incapable of wrapping their brain fully around the issue. And I've seen some very skilled, responsible, and disciplined folks handle guns so safely and proficiently, that you'd be proud to go shooting with them any day. So as anything powerful requires skill and discipline, and restraint, so to must we exercise the same diligence of mind with anything that we utilize in society with such wielding strength. For instance, there are some really bad drivers on our streets. Cars are extremely dangerous, and all it takes is a small written test, and a small dinky and slowly demonstrated driving test, and badda bing badda boom, they're behind the wheel on their own, of a large thousand pound vehicle driving as fast as they want. Yet we trust these folks. It comes down to "respect" for the thing which you know possesses unrestrained power. You become the restraint. And "skill" when you must wield and build on the fundamental skills that you started with, in order to become a proficient driver. And the rest of us have "trust" to get out there on the roadways with all these drivers that we have no idea what kind of driver they are, but we get in our lanes, and use our signals, and learn how to co-habitate on the roadways, through prescribed guidelines. Now how hard was that? Do not fear the gun.

Dice Party Friday night Brooklyn Invitational

So a remarkable thing happened:  I went out tonight in Brooklyn for the Dice Party, and I ended up having a remarkably good time.  I ran into guys and gals that I had no idea I was gonna see.  We had beers, shared smiles and laughs and company. I shook my shoulders and fingers to the music.  And got in a very small mosh pit. I also got to re-meet a very special icon, someone I met when I was a dorky little college student in SF.  George had a small motorcycle shop two blocks away from my house.  And I was shy and so wishing I had a bike.  And he was so nice and cool.  Anyway.  Got to share that memory with him tonight.  Fun times, night one, Brooklyn Invitational. Tomorrow is gonna be the main daytime gathering and show so stay tuned.  Going to bed with a little beer on the breath and a warm heart.

Tandy Leather

Today I rode 130 miles north to Tandy Leather in Connecticut.  Now 130 miles on the east coast/New York wise, is about 4 hours.  The entire thing is road work, and traffic jams, narrow lanes, and well, yeah 4 hours.  I arrived at the supposed location of the Tandy Leather store at approximately 3pm, after some detours through towns and makeshift routes.  Google Maps chimed in "destination is on your left."  Guess what I saw, to my chagrin...an empty store.  Famished, sunburnt, and thinking "of course it's not there"  I pulled over to cool my jets and call the number of the store, cause I figured they'd just re-located somewhere in town.  Someone answers I put the phone up to my helmet to try to get an ear on their location.   They moved to a place called Berlin, 15 miles south, down another highway, but still on the way home.   And what's 15 miles when you've just come 130.  I was Stoked it wasn't a complete waste of an overshot.  Although I could have done without all that 84 road work/traffic.

So there I was, hungry, and keeping their doors open, drooling all over the tools and rolling in the beds of fine leather.  The gal helping me find all the things I need was a real help, she gave me all sorts of advice and showed me all sorts of tools that I'd need after explaining in amateur depth what my projects were to consist of.  So, after trolling the aisles and throwing everything in my basket, I'd racked up a good pile of goods/necessities up at the register.  Basically I was like, "ring it all up, and I'll take the stuff off that I really don't need according to how affordable it all is and how much I can strap to the bike.   The first tally was up in the 190's, so I took a couple things off, talking briefly about each item, to each item, about how I really didn't need it.  Then we were down to 170's, then 160's then 150's and then when it got down to the 140's and I couldn't really do without anything I definitely needed, I was like, "let's do it."

I boxed and double bagged, and then shook that woman's hand.  Then I proceeded to cleverly strap everything: large roll of leather to the back of the sissy bar, standing out proudly far above my head, much the way a flag pole would. The pack of holster patters went delicately in a backpack, and the 'how to carve leather' book and box of tools, rode right behind me strapped to the passenger seat.  Then I went next door for Chinese food, at the kind of place that just had bare tables, and no service.  Not the way I expected Chinese in Connecticut to be.  But I was hungry, and the guys at the table next to me, owned the white SUV outside with the stenciled letters that read loudly across the back window "White Knight."

I made it out of there safely.  And me and my new trade tools, rode home a new route through the ups and downs of what Connecticut probably calls mountains.  It was the 15 south.  Decent separated two lanes up, two lanes down.  And the flow of traffic was delightful.  I knew I was making good time.  I left at 6:30 and I got home at 10. So I'd say I made better time for sure getting home.  Navigating the city is always going to be a labor of time/traffic/and wondering why people/I, deal with this shit.

Ok, It's late, I've got a ripping headache, and neighborhood kids are underaged drinking outside.  I'm going to bed.  Stay tuned for photos of my leather goods, and videos of my trip back from Connecticut.  I took one video. haha

Do the Hokey Pokey.

This is the European report on preventing violence and knife crime.  In the U.S.  this title would read "U.S. report on preventing violence and gun crime."  So basically that's what Im saying.  It doesn't matter really what tool you take away,  there will be a transfer of attention onto another means as soon as you do.

Same shit, different weapon.  Same shit, different island.  Same shit, different shitty people.   Basically, people will find lots of ways to kill and injure each other.  We are a demented people.  Take guns away, we'll use knives.  Take knives away, we'll use forks.  Take forks away, we'll use our hands...hey, hands are used to wield all of these things.  Hands are the real enemy.  Outlaw hands!  Wait that's ridiculous, hands can't be to blame.  What controls the hands?  The messages that the brain sends it...Outlaw Brains!  Or better yet, how about we raise healthy and responsible brains, that will use their hands for good rather than harm.  Well that's impossible to do these days because we've already become such a shit race of violent humans.  Everyday we are surrounded by bad examples of humanity, and bad influences.  It takes quadruple the effort to reverse the years of damaging humanity.  It takes calling people out on their shit when you see it.  Holding folks accountable, when nobody probably ever held them accountable for anything in their entire life.  When nobody probably bothered to teach them to challenge and hold themselves to a higher standard in the face of adversity, and bad peer advisory.   Those of us who hold ethical high ground, are usually passive or quiet, going about our day peacefully, trying to be and worry about ourselves only, being model citizens.  But we need to be the voices that the bad peers need to hear.  It takes vigilance.  But like bad habits are born out of repetition, good habits must be as repetitive and demanding if we are ever going to change.  Telling some one to pick up their litter and throw it away.. Telling someone at the grocery to push their cart to the cart holder.  Not just leave it in the empty parking stall.  Calling people out on their shit!  These kind of folks never developed that heightened state of awareness and cognitive ability, so now they're shitty adults lacking the discipline and leadership abilities, that a little positive peering and encouragement and the correct amount of discipline in their formative youths could have instilled.

New necklaces up for sale.

https://www.etsy.com/listing/243756303/letther-necklace-letters-leather

These are leather letters that I stamp and cut and then make whatever name you want made put on a really great stock of flattened cable chain.