cold

I made an off-hand comment about "not needing the expense of heated gear" for motorcycling in Dallas and within fifteen minutes had two e-mails recommending this new jacket liner from Tourmaster — both senders were quick to point out it was half the cost of everything I had previously looked at since it included all necessary temperature controls and wiring. I checked out their website and was impressed. I stopped at my local Cycle Gear store on the way home from work. They didn't have the jacket liner in stock, but they had vests. I was impressed with both the fit and the quality of the materials. So I ordered one. It arrived two days later, and I picked it up Saturday morning after breakfast at the Original Pancake House next door.

Some bicycle time was in order before I could try out my new toy, but that was OK. Since I'm still not sure which heated grips I want for my motorcycle, I'm only halfway toward bliss in sub-freezing temperatures...

Once I returned from the bicycle ride, it took less than 10 minutes to install the wiring harness, zip tie it appropriately and do a quick test-heat to make sure everything was working properly. I showered and geared up for a ride.

Based on others' recommendations, I set the control on medium and headed out. By the end of the alleyway, I could feel heat. The heat produced is very even with no hot spots. More impressively, even though it's a fairly tight fit with the liner under my Icon leather jacket, there are no hot spots. I feel like I have more freedom of motion with this heated liner than with a light wool sweater under the same jacket.

Shortly down the road, I noticed that heat had stopped. Odd. I pulled into a parking lot and discovered that the waterproof cover on the red "off" switch was, well... off. I maneuvered it around a bit and was able to turn the heat back on, but headed home. I was able to repair the cover, but found this problem disconcerting. I'm not sure what the cover could have caught on while I was riding, and it's worrisome to think the cover could be pulled loose so easily. I'll call their tech support later this week when I have a minute and see what they have to say.

In any event, with the heater working again, I headed back out again. This time everything remained quite functional for a two hour cruise through Collin County countryside as I headed northeast through New Hope to Blue Ridge and returned via Princeton and Lake Lavon. The only other problem was that the controller came loose from the leg strap on the return trip and I had to stop to clip it back on. I had been warned about this and had originally taken measures to prevent that problem, but had forgotten to wire it back together after the repair.

I was impressed by how comfortable I stayed even as the mercury dropped to an indicated 27° on the VFR's thermometer. My hands stopped being warm at about the 1:30 mark, but I don't think it'll take much from grip warmers to keep them comfortable. My legs and feet stayed fine throughout. I was wearing Olympia armored pants with a quilted liner and Sidi Touring boots with wool socks.

Hmmmm... Maybe some heated insoles would be nice... or maybe heated gloves instead of grip heaters... I think this is exactly why I was avoiding the heated gear road in the first place...

Disclosure: I bought this product with my own money from a retailer.

After being completely or partially incapacitated for nearly two months, it felt great to do something last night. Two somethings, actually... I changed the oil in the RX-8 and I replaced the ignition element in my upstairs furnace.

The oil change went Exxon Valdez when the cold temps apparently took their toll on my catch pan and caused it to spring a small leak. Even after the impressive spill in part one of the fiasco, I then tried to drop the pan on the other side of the garage, catching it just in time to merely slosh more oil out... Fortunately we have kitty litter. Even more fortunately, it was still out in the garage.

I hope the climate in the house will be a little better balanced with both furnaces running without us having to resort to opening the bedroom door (and thus, releasing the invisible cat to do mischief throughout the house...).

I knew it was cold outside this morning. The long blasts of hot air blowing from the furnace are fair warning that it is cold out there. No need to check the thermometer... The last couple Dallas winters have been blissfully mild, sparing us the indignity of real and proper cold weather. We're currently in the midst of a solid cold streak, and Thursday and Friday are currently forecast to provide sub-freezing high temperatures.

I got a further hint of that chill that awaited me outside when Fiona was a little extra snuggly after returning from her early morning outing with Amanda, and I got poked in the shoulder with a bitterly cold wet nose.

When the time rolled around to pack up and head for the office, I went to round up the dogs and move them to their respective holding areas. Fiona was waiting in her crate for me to come close (or forget to close) the door.

But, no Wickett. I checked the usual spots... He wasn't sleeping on the litter box. He wasn't curled up on Amanda's pillow. He wasn't on the throw rug in front of the shower. How odd... I started to go check if he had escaped to go nap on his bed in the living room when I heard the blankets snoring...

I ran a few more errands (I may, allegedly, have visited a guitar store and picked up a new guitar. Allegedly.) before bundling up and joining a crew for an afternoon ride. While there was certainly no shortage of Indians, we had a surfeit of cheifs as well. Yet, somehow, we all agreed to proceed in a generally southeasterly direction. Unfortunately, we seemed to agree to do so at mach 3. A tad quick for my broken self. Fortunately, they took mercy upon me, and we carried on at a more reasonable pace over to Sachse where we dropped George. And Charles.

By the time we made it back to Plano, I was utterly and completely done for. Longest 3 miles in my life back to the house. But, a good night's sleep, and I enjoyed a lovely ride down to SMU on Sunday morning with Nick and T-Bob. Bob and I may, allegedly, have suggested that the operator and passenger of a black Land Rover were douche bags. Allegedly. On Lover's Lane no less. I'm pretty sure they were late for church.

By the time we got to SMU, it was really threatening to drizzle. So we bailed. Yup. Turned right around. Well. Almost. T-Bob may have decided to have a "Dude! Hold my beer and watch this!" moment with a curb. He's only in a soft cast. Heal up quick, dude! With our wounded compatriot in tow, we took it easy back home. It turns out 31 miles were about right for me on Sunday, given the cold and the general level of pain from ambling along with a broken ankle and broken shoulder blade. Amanda, it seems, rode 27 miles. Which, by her account, was clearly 6 miles too far. Perhaps she'll share her side of that story.

We capped off the morning the best way possible. With a cheeseburger. Not just any cheeseburger, but the sort of goodness one finds at the Twisted Root Burger Company.

I can honestly say the only appropriate follow up to their burgers is a nap. Which I also took.

The experts can say what they will about the importance of diet and appropriate physical therapy following an injury. I'll stick with some painful miles on the bike and a burger. Thanks.