A Holmes Run

No matter whom you are there will come a point in time during this small piece of writing where you will be convinced, and without hesitation skip passed the remaining wit and ramble and jump right to the main event. The only question that remains is how long I can hold your attention before the facts become too overwhelming…

I’ll begin by reminding you that I have an extensive background in Film. I am the audience. I watch movies and I watch them well. I’m not chit-chatting during the previews, or showing up partway through the opening credits, I’m not asking for spoilers, or forgetting release dates; I take this shit seriously. With that said I’ll continue by stating that I have now found the most anticipated feature of 2009. Queue the Cast: Downey Jr., Hey-Jude Law, Miss McAdams, the mysterious Mark Strong. And who to conduct such an ensemble of flare and personality, none other than that RocknRolla himself, who Snatch’d the crown as ruler of the London Underground, lighting up the screen with his Revolvers and Two Smoking Barrels; The Guy Ritchie.

That was the good news, here I hold the bad: with an official appetizer currently on the big screen, we have to now Larry-David 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' as the real reel won’t roll until December 25th.

If you haven’t yet scrolled to the Official Trailer, I can either label myself a true talent or conclude that you have no concept of the difference between good, great, and life-altering. Downey Jr. should have been enough, G. Ritchie then should have been the last name you read, but if these names won’t do, try:

SHERLOCK HOLMES

You-Tube-it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4K3aM5H5KM

or check out JustJared.com: http://justjared.buzznet.com/2009/05/19/sherlock-holmes-trailer/

My Great Triumph

The in-line 3 sounds like a smile when you call on it. This girl purrs like she has something important to say. And she does. While the Triumph Daytona 675 has great handling, it also offers a fantastic amount of power. And with it's light and narrow theme, this bike allows for controlled access to every one of those torqued up 120 plus horses. Plus this bike looks goooooooood.

My road to this ride is somewhere between 'common' and 'chaotic', and now that I've joined the Triumph family I am all kinds of happy.

Like many I liked the idea of riding a motorcycle. About a year ago I began introducing myself to the world of Bikes. I exposed myself to everything from long-winded tall tales from friends of friends, to massive motorcycle exhibitions, to buyers guides, TV specials, monthly magazines, and even (quite often) tremendous day dreams. But it wasn't until I attended the four and a half hour in-class portion of the Too Cool Motorcycle School course that I truly felt like I was moving forward.

Along for the journey was my Motorcycle partner-in-crime / Dad, Rick. Together we had been fueling each others Bike excitement with anything and everything 'Motorcycle'. We left the in-class session with an extraordinary amount of knowledge and even more enthusiasm to learn to ride. Trevor and Rob from Too Cool had covered everything from the mechanics of Motorcycles, to the proper gear, to the safety on a Bike, the right attitude, the operation of machine, and the fun you can have when Riding. And they delivered it all with true passion. I knew we were in good hands.

Two weeks passed; two slow, long weeks. Then finally the on-bike portion of the course began on a Monday night. In a closed parking lot with three instructors, some beaten down pylons, and a variety of 250cc bikes, I said good bye to my life before Motorcycles.

Day One introduced us to the Motorcycle. I started the day with a history of having done nothing more than sit on a handful of bikes and poorly operate a friend's dirt bike or two. By night's end I was riding a motorcycle. I was freezing and exhausted, but I was actually riding! This was amazing. And it was only the first step. Day Two was a skills night complete with shifting in turns, working slow maneuvers, and dodging through serpentines. Every drill that Trevor, Rob, or Jordan demonstrated had me muttering 'not a chance, there's no way I can do that', followed shortly after by 'that's crazy, did I just- noooo... yep, I did it... unbelievable'. And it was. It was unbelievable how far the entire class had come after only 9 hours of on-bike experience. I was all smiles, still cold and soar, but all smiles. Day Three was something different - Emergency Maneuvers. I left after the class with the words 'Don't Panic' tattooed to my brain. Not only did Don't Panic mean that a calm, cool head was need to escape danger on a motorcycle, but Don't Panic was also what I was telling myself as I realized I was so far from ready for the Real Deal. The more you know, the more you know you don't know. However, the next day I realized that Trevor had taught us the fundamental skills for emergency stopping, collision avoidance, and general road awareness. At this point I became aware that riding a motorcycle with out the tools that a solid Course can provide is just irresponsible. Queue Day Four. We put it all together with a nice in-lot warm up that prepared us for our Road Ride. Thinking back on it, I was anticipating a nice little loop around the university campus, or perhaps a tour of one of the quiet adjacent communities, how wrong I was. With the three instructors, two guest riders, and the class of ten, we took to the streets like a legitimate motorcycle gang. Sure we were a gang sporting bright orange vests on 250cc bikes, but we were a gang nonetheless. And we prowled the town. I had several 'Holy Cr@p!' moments where I caught myself instinctively avoiding Danger Zones, casually nodding to other riders, and taking in the setting sun that lit a sky full of fluffy clouds far too big for a windshield to handle (granted these clouds had been throwing snow at us earlier in the ride, they now were part of my amazing memory). We rode in and around Calgary for 55k. It was without a doubt something impossible for Jack-from-four-days-before. And the craziest part was, the whole class did it. Everyone who strapped on a helmet at the start of day one, rode for 55 kilometers with traffic, from the city to the country side, in winter-like condition, into the dead of night. It was one of the most incredible experiences I've had.

Trevor's final words were of 'Luck' and 'Experience'. He said that as Motorcycle Riders we carried with us two bags, a bag of Luck and a bag of Experience. Being beginners we had a full bag of Luck, but nothing in our Experience bag. Trevor said that it was our job to start slowly filling our Experience bag so that we didn't have to always rely on the Luck. I wanted to start gaining that Experience.

After the four day course I was a wreck; a wreck that couldn't shake a goofy smile and this need for more. My Dad and I couldn't stop ranting and raving about the brilliance of Trevor's Too Cool Motorcycle School course. It was definitely time to continue the journey. Unlike my Dad, who had been one with the motorcycle at my age, I needed my Class 6 license. There were two things standing in my way, both very much a test, and both very much a problem: Knowledge Test and Road Test. I was told by several people not to worry about them. I was worried about them.

My first trip to the Registry was my first look at the 30 multiple choice questions testing my Knowledge of Motorcycles and the Rules of the Road. I was told after I paid for my test that I was allowed to get 5 wrong. 6 wrong was a big, fat, useless Fail. Having taken a few tests in my day (it was basically a weekly event in the Faculty of Engineering at the UofC), I was convinced that I wouldn't let stress or anxiety come into play. That of course was before I was plagued by questions about minimum ages for learning to ride a motorcycle, licensing of Mopeds, and rules specific to the operation of Scouters. On the 30th question I had 5 'wrong', 24 'correct', and 1 'remaining' (the computer keeps you well informed of your progress, which really only intensifies the experience). It came down to a choice between b) and d) that had me sweating every move of the cursor. I guessed wrong. Devastated. Screw Mopeds, and if I'm 25 what do I care if you can or can't learn to ride a motorcycle at 16. But I shook it off, returned the next day, and dominated 25 straight questions to get the Pass. One down, one to go.

So with plenty of contrived confidence trying to distract me from the battle between fear and anxiety that rattled my brain, I began my Road Test prep. A quick review of the Too Cool handbook, a discussion with fellow Riding Student (the Father), plenty of visualization and mental practice (from shifting to breaking to the rules of the road), and I was ready to attack the next challenge. It would be the greatest challenge since opening the throttle for the first time.

I arrived early to the McMahon Stadium parking lot. I had driven the 30 minute trip with my cellphone off and the radio silenced in order to be completely focused on the road and place myself in the right frame of mind for the Road Test. Don was a big man with a big bad Harley Davidson build disguised in an enormous Hawaiian shirt. Immediately I was trying to figure out what I was dealing with. His smile was friendly, this swagger was casual, and his few pre-game pointers lead me to believe that Don was as laid back as his scruffy facial hair. I was wrong.

The test breaks down like this: The examiner drives a car behind you while you execute maneuvers that he relays to you through a headset. Turns, lane changes, merging, yield signs, intersections, parking, pedestrians, cats, school zones... for 45 minutes it's you, the bike, and the Real World. I was so focused, so aware of my surroundings, and so attentive to all the little things that Trevor, Rob, and Jordan had spent the last week drilling into my head. And things went well. Things went really, really well. Part way through the test I actually thought to myself "Jack, you are doing a really super job, good for you, just great stuff". When I was finally guided back towards McMahon and had successfully parked the bike, I was all smiles. I had been so stressed out over the last 24 hours, so beaten up after all the work during the week, and so emotionally drained after the failed Knowledge test, it just felt so good to finish the final step in the process. As I listened to Don's post-test advise (I got the sense that this was his time to shine, to 'make a difference' and share some of his experience) I couldn't shake the pure joy I was feeling. I was beyond happy.

"... and so I had to give you a No Pass."

What was that? Wait, wait, wait, that's not really adding to my happiness Don. It sunk in; Don - casual, easy going, cool as cool can be Don - had FAILED me. WHAT?!?!?! I wasn't even disappointed, I was just shocked. I was completely surprised. How was it that that great ride that I'd just taken was the same ride that Don wanted no part of. It was right around this time when I became very aware of the required criteria to Not Pass the Road Test. If one receives over 75 points, it's a big Faileroo, and/or if one violates 1 of the 'Disqualification' scenarios (the equivalent of a Harry Potter Unforgivable Curse), massive, painful, instant Failage. He handed me the evaluation sheet, I looked down at it, then back up at No-longer-my-friend-Don. The explanation that followed was a big pile of garbage (in my opinion, of course). Without going into the detail that would absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, completely convince you that Don is out of his mind, here are some highlights:

- Driving Too Slow (a 30point slap to the face - that's 3 separate 10pts infractions, the maximum punishment): Don was quite passionate about how driving at 25km/h in a school zone (where the posted 'maximum speed' is in fact not 25 but 30km/h) can result in you endangering yourself and other drivers. Additionally, driving between 35-40k in a residential area is Not the 50k that you should be driving. I assume that since I didn't actually kill any of the small children playing on the sidewalk and adjacent lawns that I could have bumped my speed up to that of Sound. In all fairness to Don though, he did give me a warning 3 minutes into the ride when I was rolling along at 65 in a 70 zone (thanks new-best-bud) - I should have taken this as a sign that I was doomed.

- Failing to Shoulder Check (merci, that's 10points earned): I know for a fact that Donny wasn't paying attention to me, the bike, or my very athletically sound head-on-a-swiveling skills because every time I SHOULDER CHECKED I saw Don not see me see him. I felt like this was a bonus infraction - 'Listen Don, if I take these two for 10 points each, and that one for 30 points, and this other little 10 pointer, what can you do for me? Shoulder Checking? Can you throw in Shoulder Checking? Niiiiiiiiiice.

- Failing to Assume Own Right of Way (there's a nice round 10points for ya): Lesson Learned O-Wise-One, throw caution to the wind and tear-it-up! I was told that I didn't need to adjust my speed at uncontrolled intersections unless there was someone to my right; no visible cars, or something hanging out to my left, just barrel right on through. Now I'm all for driving proactively and carrying an assertive attitude, but I'm also all for not dying and not wildly launching my bike into an UNCONTROLLED crossroads. Why is it that when I ease off the throttle it is assumed that I don't know the rules of the road, and not that I want to survive and not dive bomb my bike into a Honda Odyssey.

- Incorrect lane positioning in a Right Turn (dix points pour moi): I guess, I mean this could be correct. Don advised that when making a right turn at an intersection you must first move over to the right side of the lane before moving through the turn and maintaining lane position. I had been under the impression that in most cases, including turns through intersections, that the recommended lane position was either left or who-the-hell-cares. There are definitely scenarios where it is advantageous and safer to move into the right portion of the lane, but trading me 10 points for my beautifully executed left side of the lane turn, just doesn't seem like a fair exchange.

- Ability to Shift Gears (take the number of gears, multiply it the number of hands needed to complete a Shift, subtract the displacement of the bike you are on, and add the derivative of 'You're-a-big-Meannie... 10, again): Don, Don, Don... Come-on now, we're getting a little too creative here. He assured me that these lack of Shifting skills had nothing to do with my driving of the vehicle, it was simply the difficulty I had in putting the bike into Neutral. Oh phew, cause for a second their I thought you were just making sh!t up. Turns out that when the operator of a motorcycle stays calm, cool, and collected while his used-and-abused driving school bike slides from 1st to 2nd to 1st to 2nd without wanting any part of that happy medium, Neutral, said motorcycle operator is one of those "can't shift gears" types. Never mind the other forty-four and a half minutes of gear shifting, the extra effort I put into eventually motorcycle-whispering the transmission into neutral was unacceptable in old Don's books.

And then at the end of the test, just to add some extra flavour to my No-Pass, Don tossed in a few extras in the Disqualification column:

- Lack of Skills: which he said he decided to mark-up because of my lack of Shifting capability (classy choice).

- Obstructing Traffic: this one is rich. Don said it wasn't a big deal (no, no, it's just a capital F on the test, nothing major), but in order to bring it to my attention he wanted to have it on record (beautiful). Turns out that as I was leaving the parking lot, seconds after turning on the bike, I 'obstructed' the hell out of another vehicle. Here's the layout: it's a one lane in, one lane out parking lot entrance, I am in the left of centre to centre portion of the exiting lane, preparing to turn left. Behind me is Don's enormously wide boat of a car, and behind Don is the obstructed vehicle. The story goes that the car behind Don was preparing to turn right, and because I wasn't positioned properly, that car wasn't able to make it's turn until I had completed mine. I don't even want to get into the subject of a motorcycle being considered an equal to a four-wheeled vehicle with respect to the rules of the road, and there's no point in emphasizing the fact that there was only one lane leaving this lot, I'm interested in how Don figured that this car was able to get around his house of an Oldsmobile but was all 'obstructed' to sh!t by my cute little 250cc Ninja. By this point I had already started referring to explanations such as this one as 'Classic Don'.

So there it is. I crept passed the allowable 75pts with a kick to the junk 80, and just to colour up the test results page Big D tossed on a couple immediate Fails. So I Failed. Or as I spent the next week saying: 'I didn't Pass'. Despite my vivid description, I truly wasn't discouraged. I can understand where Don is coming from (now, I can also think he's out of his mind at the same time) but I know that even with the list of infractions, I can still operate a motorcycle and ride safely. And that was the attitude I was going to hold on to for the next week while I waited for take-2.

Unfortunately as the week progressed I let myself drift towards Negative Town. I had no means of practicing and thus nothing to replace my most recent riding experience. I caught myself several times re-living the Road Test, questioning my decisions, hearing Don's explanations and allowing them to nurture clusters of doubt in my hectic mind. I became nervous, and stressed out, and before long I wanted nothing to do with another Road Test. Why was I even trying it again? I hadn't done anything to remedy the issues that resulted in my last failure (No-Pass), I didn't even know if I'd be able to get a bike going again it had been so long, and I saw no way that it was possible to spend 45 minutes on a motorcycle and not accumulate over 75 points. I couldn't stop thinking about my Sunday morning test. I just wanted Sunday afternoon to show up and tell me that it doesn't matter, that failing (Not Passing) for a second time isn't as bad as it sounds. It sounded bad. It sounded like a tremendous catastrophe. I felt sick. I was a mess.

The week passed, Sunday morning arrived, and I found myself back at McMahon. The parking lot was empty, except for a large boat of an Oldsmobile. Perfect. Out of all the examiners in Calgary I managed to snag the same guy twice. Don was wearing the same scraggly facial hair and a brighter more flowing variation of last week's Hawaiian shirt (I pictured his closet; dozens and dozens of disasterous Hawaiian shirts all lined up on hangers like a hitman's collection of black suits - I was today's mark, challenge accepted Donald). As I approached his car I realized that like any test, like any exam there is a large portion of the evaluation that deals with the student's ability to Take the Test. You can know all the answers, but if you can't execute, if you don't know how best to move through the 'questions', you might as well be driving blind (which doesn't really favour the operating of motorcycles). I knew all the answers and now I knew Don. This was a good thing. I didn't need to figure out another examinar, I just had to play by Don's rules for 45 minutes, and then walk away.

Don didn't remember me until I started rhyming off my collection of past infractions. He really got enthusiastic about the Driving Too Slow and the Shoulder Checking, obviously a few of his favs. I didn't want any more surprises, so I spent 10 to 15 minutes having a nice casual chit-chat with Don. It was like catching the teacher moments before the final and getting hints on specific questions he had stuck on the test. It was brilliant.

45 minutes later I pulled into McMahon and completed the loop. I didn't have the emotional energy to assume anything. The test went well, just like last time. I didn't alter much of my performance, but I was willing to fully participate in Don's crazy game. I pulled off my helmet and Don started offering me 'advice' again. This time I knew what I was looking for. I slowly started to lean around until I was able to see the little report card he was studying as he spoke. The first spot that my eyes landed on was a 50. I let a small smile slip; one down, one more to go. But his thumb was strategically covering the lower left corner of the page and I couldn't see the 'Pass / No-Pass' check boxes. Then Don's enthusiasm returned, and as he started talking with his hands the thumb shifted revealing a sloppy check mark:

PASS

BAM! Just like that I couldn't feel even a hint of anxiety. I felt light and full of life. Man, I wanted to let loose a Johnny Chase 'Victoryyyyyyyy!' I spent another minute being advised by Don, doing my best to not dance like Elaine Benes, and covering my goof-ball smile with my 'focus face' (which involves tight lips and a quizzical furling of the brow). And then it was over. I was back in my car, driving home with my evaluation form confirming that I would never have to deal with Don again.

And so today I road my bike in to work. It's been a couple weeks since I thanked Trevor, Rob, and Jordan for all their help, and ever since then I've been doing my best to 'Fill my Bag of Experience'. And I've loving it. Riding a motorcycle is like flying. The freedom, the control, the peace, it's all like poetry. It has to be, otherwise no one would climb on to these rockets and try to move around all the monsterous vehicles that can't see you and yet want to run you over. I've only been in my car once since buying the Daytona, and the whole time I was regreting the decision of 4-wheels-good, 2-wheels-bad. Because in my opinion it's definitely 4-wheels-good, 2-wheels-better.

Having taken the course, passed the tests, bought the insurance, aquired the licence, set up the registration, covered myself with the gear, and picked up the bike, the next challenge is to stay focused when I'm not riding. All I want to do is find the hidden highways that maps don't talk about. I want to pull up and park the bike and let it take the spot light. I want to give two-fingered waves as I pass another member of the club. And I want to gear up, pull out of the garage, and follow the sun with my Pop and his F800S Beamer roaring along, leading us on an adventure.

This motorcycle was a good idea. A terrifying, dangerous, fun kind of good idea. Now all I have to do is give her a name.

Worry About ME!

Yesterday an email dropped into my inbox and the subject was 'A New Idea'. This New Idea was a whole list of activities mapping out a few could-be futures for my recently graduated younger brother, whom everyone seems to be worried about. I talked to my brother about the worriers, and he doesn't seemed to be worried about the worrying at all, which is maybe the reason people are worried. What I'm worried about, is the lack of worrying that is being devoted to my cause. So in an attempt to sway the band-wagon worriers back in my direction, I responded with this appeal:

I read this email and I have some thoughts. I seem to think this is the second message in the last little while where someone has commented on this topic of 'Worry about Neil'. My question is, 'What in the Heck! Why is there no worrying about the Jacksonian?!?!?!' Sure I smile a lot, and have a job, and take care of my body, and dress well, and like to partake in activities, and eat in moderation, and have friends, and no longer talk to stuffed-animals, and don't murder people, and brush my teeth, and aren't addicted to Crack, and shake hands firmly, and own a car, and like to listen to music, and find Puppies cute, and hate Jihadist Terrorist Cells, and can tell time on an analogue watch, and enjoy travel, and play team sports, and never stare at the sun, and never say 'never', and have the ability to tread water, and can rub my stomach and tap my head at the same time, on a good day, when no one is watching, if I rub with the left and tap with the right, and really concentrate on it, and only do it for 3 to 5 seconds... But Honestly! What's the Deal! People should be worrying about me all the time. All the Time!!

I don't think it worked though. It's much like the concept of insanity; to think you are insane in fact proves that you are not. Likewise, to ask for people to worry about you tends to suggest that they don't need to be concerned. Now, on the other hand, if you blog about worrying...

Fear the Flu

Earlier this week I read an article and had the following thoughts:

That's the spirit, a touch of the positive. Up until now I have faced the Fear-of-the-Flu with my usual approach to life's Less-Desirable situations; Let Future-Jack deal with it. I've more-or-less assumed that everything will simply take care of itself, and in three weeks my biggest worry will be 'have I spent enough time dosing under this palm tree'. But dammit if the Global-Gossip column won't let me dream my dream. Pandemic or no-Pandemic, Mexico or no-Mexico, 28-Days-Later or Shaun-of-the-Dead, the one thing I am ready to take from this whole Swine Flu ordeal is probably best descibed by one Jules from the Pulp: "Pig's a filthy animal..."

Below is the April 26th True/Slant article by Turi McNamee

http://trueslant.com/turimcnamee/2009/04/26/swine-flu-nothing-new/

As for the rest of that classic Quentin:

Vincent: Want some bacon?

Jules: No man, I don't eat pork.

Vincent: Are you Jewish?

Jules: Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that's all.

Vincent: Why not?

Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.

Vincent: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.

Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eat nothin' that ain't got enough sense enough to disregard its own feces.

Vincent: How about a dog? Dogs eats its own feces.

Jules: I don't eat dog either.

Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?

Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.

Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?

Jules: Well we'd have to be talkin' about one charming motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?