A three digit area code may specify what state or county is being dialed in the USA, but the three digit prefix that Hollywood always represents as “555″ in a phone number tells the dialer an awful lot about a phone number. What would be gibberish of (123) 456-7890 can be decoded rather quickly to the savvy. Back home in Tucson I could tell from a 298, 730, 295, or 791 prefix if the phone number belonged to D-M Air Force base, a Verizon wireless cell phone, the Air Guard unit by the airport or the city government. I’d be willing to bet major hospitals or the University own their own prefix.

But most importantly, that means that every phone number within a common prefix everywhere I’ve been in the United States has been referred to by the last four digits. Whether it’s been a military base or a city fire station, the numbers after the dash have all been recited.

Need to call so-and-so in that other department? He’s at 5210.

Personnel office? Call 3795.

Sergeant Jones? The supply person? 7413.

So it’s very strange to hear people here refer to a number by just the last three digits. It kind of makes sense, because the base is so small all the phone numbers share the prefix and the first digit of the last four. So every number would be something like 123-4XXX.

The problem is I’ve got 30+ years of phone numbers being in a 3-3-4 format, plus 15+ years of technical understanding the “why” and background to it. I just can’t think the way they do here, so when somebody tells me to call Dave by dialing 237 I wind up just staring at them in a befuddled state. That’s not the way the phones here work. If I just dial a random three digits I get tones and the “call cannot be completed as dialed” message. I still have to dial the prefix, and the first of the four digits that I don’t know because nobody ever bothers to say it aloud. So for all I know, the phone numbers here are (123) 456-X789 and I never know what X is.

It’s frustrating because I feel like an idiot, but it’s also comical because everybody on base is saying phone numbers “wrong” but they all know what they’re talking about. Just another of the dozens (hundreds?) of little bits of culture shock here in the northern prairie…

The most common aftermarket windshields I see on BMW R****R bikes are from Cee Bailey’s and they’re so ugly I’d rather sell the bike and ride something else. Seriously. Thankfully, there are other options and I’ve found this one. The wind noise isn’t as perfectly quiet as it could be- standing on the pegs still puts my helmet in cleaner and almost silent air. But it’s livable now and much quieter than it was, pushing more air than one might expect. My torso is fatigue-free and the wind hits my helmet right around visor level instead of a massively loud blast at the base near my neck. I wear an Arai XD3 and removing the peak will likely change the noise level. I’m 6’0″ with a 33″ inseam and further tinkering of riding ergos like the bars and seat will all have their effect, as well.

What really blew my mind is how difficult it is to install; my wife said it took around three hours. The instructions aren’t clear at all, neither are the pictures, and all the included bolts are hex-socket despite all the bolts on the bike being Torx (so it requires two separate sets of tools). Behind that clean and simple looking fairing are brackets to reposition the blinkers, a few hours’ stress over how parts are supposed to align, tears of anger at instructions’ poor translation… And I had parts left over: two small bolts and some washers. I assume because BMW’s sport flyscreen was installed and Wunderlich has the kit designed and written for a naked bike. But eventually we got it fitted correctly and it is rock-solid. The difficulty in getting parts aligned and installed correctly comes from how precisely it is designed to fit. The fairing looks and feels so much like an OEM part that the only betrayal of aftermarket origin is the headlight can’t be adjusted while it’s installed.

Wunderlich calls this fairing the Trophy. Merriam-Webster doesn’t give a perfect definition for the twist I want to put on the end of this post so I’ll take liberties and use a synonym. I like the fairing a lot, but the real treasure is my wife who supported such an expensive bit of farkle and spent the aforementioned three hours helping me install it. The part has a price tag, and installation time is billed at an hourly rate. A wife who is supportive and understanding and helpful? She’s priceless.

This post is attempting to tackle two topics. I am almost positive they will not be intertwined in anything resembling an artful manner. So as you muddle into this ham-fisted essay, Dear Reader, remember I write this for my entertainment and not always yours. I’d say “caveat emptor”, but you’re reading this for free. -Eric

I’m somewhat embarrassed that other book I forgot to list reading in my last post was probably the one I enjoyed most. Eating the Dinosaur by Chuck Klosterman is a collection of essays much like my introduction to the author, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. These two books in particular are collections of essays, and Klosterman is only six years older than me, so a lot of the Gen-X-ish stuff he writes about really speaks directly to me. That, and I’m a recovering pop culture junkie and Kevin Smith fan. So a former music critic for Spin, Esquire, GQ, etc. that makes a lot of footnotes (have you seen how prolifically I use parenthesis?), hilarious and seemingly random pop culture references, and is also really dang smart and analytical was just irresistible to me.

And yes, the “Gen-X” and “random pop culture references” bits were specifically to say, I understand he may not be for everyone. But since Michael Chrichton is dead, Klosterman just might be my favorite living author.

Granted, I’ve only read two of his books and both are essay collections rather than longer narratives. I get that. But now I’m “stuck” living in Fargo with my job, and as fate would have it another of Klosterman’s books that I want to get now is Fargo Rock City. Fargo is a cute little town, but at least ten years behind the cultural mainstream. The big concert they had last year was Creed, and I was offered free tickets because “I don’t know who these new bands are”.

2012. Creed. “New band.” Let that swim around in your brain a little. There was a pretty quotable joke at Creed’s expense for being lame/passe in Without a Paddle, and that was in 2004.

I understand pop culture is fickle, and this isn’t intended to get off on Creed nor Fargo bashing tangent. No, more than anything I feel like I can identify with Klosterman even more now. But I’m also pretty sure if I continue down a path of “we have so much in common” praise I’ll come across like Jennifer Jason Leigh in Single White Female (poorly re-made as The Roommate in 2011), so I’ll mention here that he’s also a huge sports nut with a couple essays devoted to the topic in both books and I only read them to avoid missing any interesting insights or particularly funny zingers. I just don’t care about sports beyond college football and motorcycle racing, and even those are pushing it.

Anyhow, if essays comparing David Koresh to Curt Cobain, analysis of Saved by the Bell, why Garth Brooks went crazy and tried the Chris Gaines project or the stupidity of sitcom laugh tracks (both of which I’ll touch on later), I recommend either book. Eating the Dinosaur struck me as a little bit shorter and harder to follow, though that may have been because it was on my kindle and footnotes were relegated to a separate section rather than available at the bottom of the printed page, a la my copy of Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. The majority of complaints from the minority of low-star ratings on Amazon claim he sounds like a know-it-all. As I’ve said, I think he’s just really dang smart; I suspect these readers didn’t like having their intellects challenged. If it sounds like a personality fit for you, give him a read.

Completely unrelated has been my exposure here while deployed on a NATO installation in Afghanistan to ze German culture. It’s been interesting, because I’m developing first-hand knowledge and experience with a people most Americans know anecdotally. In recent years the Germans have morphed into an almost mythical ideal in my mind because my exposure or knowledge of them has been primarily based on the vehicles, firearms or things they produce. Jony Ive may design some beautiful products for Apple, but his influence was Dieter Rams. I’m unsure if my awareness of design is a product of a more mainstream recognition or just the websites I tend to frequent, but references to Bauhaus have been prevalent for me the past two years. My Lamy pens are from Germany. My SIG P6 was made in West Germany, and Glocks are Austrian (close enough, to an American). I drive a Porsche 987 Boxster and a BMW motorcycle, and these people have autobahns and the Nürburgring. I even started listening to techno back in 2009 and loved the somewhat cold, modern functionality of my Volvo 850 Turbo (again, Swedish, but it’ll do for my purposes here). I believe efficiency should be considered a virtue. A people regarded for their precision (Swiss watches, again, close enough) were like gods to me.

Okay, so there was their bizarre fascination with David Hasselhoff and they always play the villains in movies, but whatever.

So actually being here and interacting with so many of them has been educational. I’ve only spent 24 hours in Germany before on a long layover. It was a beautiful country and they make my favorite beer in the world, but they’re still just people. It’s odd now to think “less” of a people than before yet still not think poorly of them. I haven’t met a German yet that can’t also speak English, and they pretty much ignore the speed limit they impose on everybody else when driving on base. They walk out into the street either oblivious or rudely demanding the right of way from vehicles, which is behavior completely unlike I expected. They play some really goofy music, like “Barbie Girl” in the gym (as opposed to American gyms playing rock almost exclusively), and can listen to Abba or disco without the slightest hint of giggling, mockery, sneering, irony, or embarrassment at a guilty pleasure. My wife even mailed me a cyalume glow stick so I could mock rave with them when they blast their music in our shared hangar.

But the thing that really cracks me up as a veteran of the American military is the ze Germans obviously have no dress code regulations on grooming/haircuts. Here’s a comically bad drawing I’ve done to illustrate.

That’s supposed to be a really long mohawk, slicked back like something out of Mad Men, worn with muttonchops. I’ve seen that particular hair cut minus the facial hair on more than one guy. I’ve seen otherwise attractive women with long hair, but either the left or right side of their head shaved. I’ve seen way too many guys rocking a chin curtain beard. (Very few people can actually pull this off, despite its wild popularity in the Fargo area. I think we’re being invaded by the Amish.) The only thing I haven’t seen in skull hair sculpting is a soul patch. I inelegantly recall Chuck Klosterman to quote why:

In the ten-thousand-year history of facial hair, no one has ever looked nonidiotic with a soul patch. In fact, the zenith of the soul patch’s legacy was Matt Dillon in Singles; Dillon grew a soul patch specifically because he was portraying an alt-rock d-bag.

Despite my concern over the chin curtain beard’s prevalence, even ze Germans have shown they have limits to their silliness.

Of course, this is really all just a difference of culture, what’s considered normal, and our general inability to see the really bizarre things we all do within our own societies. The example I offer up is polite laughter.

Klosterman’s essay on sitcom laugh tracks essentially asserts that we’ve all been subconsciously programmed to laugh at things that aren’t really very funny. (He uses a great breakdown of a Friends scene to illustrate.) But if you think about it, it makes sense in a way. How often do we type “haha” or “LOL” when we’ve uttered nothing of the sort? We don’t laugh out loud, but we claim to have in text messages all the time- all while thinking that guy on the bus who does laugh to himself at seemingly nothing is completely bonkers. And yet so much of our “laughter” is purely conditioned out of politeness, or for filler during impersonal conversations.

The Germans don’t fake laugh. To them, we all look like the crazy guy sitting on the bus. Klosterman writes, “This is not the only reason Germans think Americans are retarded, but it’s definitely one of them.”

Keeping that in mind has helped me stop calling people “weird” quite so freely and helped me experience foreign cultures better. Because apparently we’re all a little crazy, and we don’t even realize it.

Daily writing has proven to be good exercise not just for my penmanship, but my imagination. One hopes love letters never get stale, but there’s still the motivation to try and keep each letter unique and interesting; it becomes an exercise in creativity to constantly come up with a new idea or angle on “I love you” to write home. Some days I resort to using the letter as a journal about the day’s events. [I've also finally begun to write in my actual journal about my thoughts and observations here in Afghanistan. Alas, these have a slim chance of ever being published on the blog due to OPSEC. Nothing classified gets written down, it's just... personal.] But other days, the Groundhog Days, a little more creativity is required. [Sweetheart, quit reading the rest of this paragraph unless you want mild spoilers about letters still winging their way home to you in the mail.] Some of my proudest ideas and missives home have come from defying convention of the letter home and penning my own poem to her about our life and courtship, or deciding to poorly illustrate a story using stick figures and overt comedy. These breaks from the typical letter are remarkably refreshing as the author because they remind me that the only limitations being imposed are that of the paper’s dimensions and my own imagination. The sky isn’t the limit when you’re writing- you can sail right past atmospheric limitations. What goes down on the paper is a new world to be crafted with no rules but those set by its creator.

Which brings me in an unexpected fashion to discussing one of the books I’m reading, actually. Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men, basis of the Coen brothers’ 2007 film of the same name, is like nothing I’ve ever read before. In some ways I’m glad I saw the movie first because the book is so unlike any other leisure reading that I could imagine having trouble constructing its tone in my mind. Having Tommy Lee Jones’ voice in my head for Sheriff Bell’s narration doesn’t hurt, either. But another startling realization for me is that whether by McCarthy’s artistic choice or a product of poor e-book transcribing there are no quotation marks signifying any of the dialog. Conversations still happen, but there are no defining queues establishing its rhythm. There’s very little in the way of punctuation at all, actually. The language is steeped in ruralization or capturing the dialect of the region and time, much like reading Mark Twain. And there are run-on sentences galore as McCarthy describes the actions of Llewelyn Moss, using “and” four or five times to stretch small actions into one longer process. I haven’t noticed this in the passages describing Anton Chigurh and I can only assume McCarthy does this as if writing in deference to the character. It’s fascinating and effective at making me pay much closer attention the words used in deducing the action, rather than “coasting” through with punctuation as my guide.

I accidentally left my kindle [left lowercase a la the logo] back in the tent tonight, and I can’t recall an exhaustive list of everything I’ve read from memory. Among them was The 4-Hour Body (interesting, scientifically based, and fun to read), Ayn Rand’s The Virtue of Selfishness (just scratched the surface so far, since philosophy truly requires study to absorb), Rich Dad, Poor Dad (which has me thinking about saving and investing in a whole new light), and finally what I think might be the most interesting book of them all, Was America Founded as a Christian Nation? by John Fea.

Fea does something really interesting in this book: he actually looks for the answer to the question and even questions the question itself, rather than cherry-picking examples of text to support his own predetermined conclusion. The result is one that Daniel Walker Howe was quite right in describing as “a scrupulous presentation of evidence that may surprise people on both sides of this hot topic.” Fea truly comes across as having no agenda at all, but simply presenting the evidence of both arguments and, as such, much more honestly than so many other voices in the debate. I’ve only read the preface, introduction and Chapter 1 so far, but already it is like a breath of fresh air without any axe to grind or “fisking” and skewering of others’ work (though that may come later). The narrative is clear and easy reading, with the establishment of the time and cultural climate done well. Expect more updates on this book.

Some of what chapter one makes stand out in my mind is that the United States were not formed as a Christian nation as a de jure standard (not du jour), but as a de facto existence owing to the overwhelmingly Christian population. Christ and Christianity are mentioned precisely nowhere in any of our government’s founding documents, and yet plentifully abound culturally at the time in personal correspondence and around our framing documents. Most interesting is the example of the American Civil War, where both sides firmly believed they were on the side of angels while the other was atheistic and hell-bound. (The Confederate states even had God directly written into their constitution.) Looking at it from a historical point of view, one can even see the origins or similarities to today’s “Bible belt” South and New England liberal elitist stereotypes. What seems very clear already is that the question and the answer are much more complicated than the simple black/white answers sought or used for political posturing.

Both the North and the South interpreted the Bible and their view of history to how they saw fit in order to compliment their lives. This is probably not so different than what people have always done, or what happens today (on both sides of the issue). The truth is, we’re discussing real people who lived back then and had stories to tell, circumstances to live through, and events shape their lives. How accurate would it be for somebody else to tell your story after you’re dead and gone and simply peg you as “this” or “that” with no further dimension to who you are? This is what Fea avoids, because hinging the argument of America’s founding as a Christian nation is too deep a subject to simply declare that “the documents prove we’re secular” or “the culture proves we’re Christian” and never the twain shall meet. The truth, and the story, is nuanced just like the people who wove it.

One of my favorite podcasts is Hardcore History by Dan Carlin, and one of the things he says is that you can predictably see a trend in historians’ accounting of an event over time. First there will be an overwhelming trend to portray the event or time period in a certain light, and this can be either positive or negative. But as time passes, it becomes more fashionable for the historians to become contrarian to the previously established history and begin to portray the event in a completely different light which, relative to my last sentence, would now be either negative or positive, respectively. Eventually, as enough time passes, cooler heads (perhaps further removed from the circumstances) begin to discern the truth that lies somewhere in the middle as they empathize with both sides while taking neither. So far, it seems like this is what Fea has done, and I can’t wait to read more. It’s early in the book for me to be recommending it, I know, but it seems like something both the pious and the secular need to read for a little bit better understanding.

Like I said earlier, expect an update as I read more. At only 246 pages (excluding notes and references), it should be a quick read.

But the other thing I’ve been doing is keeping up with writing my wife a letter a day (mostly) and filling out my journal with stories of the things I’ve seen on this trip. Thanks to Goulet Pens I’ve got a great assortment of ink samples, a few new pens, and three tablets of different stationery and matching envelopes to keep her letters varying and always something new. But it struck me that while I posted about my Lamy 2000 love previously, that’s not what I write to her using. While changing out my ink every three days I use two different pens for a better idea of how good a job I do cleaning them, and avoiding color contamination for each new vial of ink.

So here are the two pens I’ve been using most lately- and they’re much more affordable than a 2000.

Image used without permission from Rick Conner at penspotters. Note the red cap of the Z24 filler.

The first is a Lamy Vista, which can usually be had for around thirty bucks. It’s got a triangular section for your fingers to grip toward the nib as you write, and I really like its physical profile. They’ve also got some flat edges to the round profile so they won’t roll off a desk. The Vista, Safari, and Al-Star pens all share the same profile, and are more budget priced to keep them affordable and friendly to students (apparently they find a lot of use in the hands of European kids, opposed to the disposable Bics most American children know and, well, probably loathe). The Safaris are plastic and come in different colors whereas the Vista is clear and the Al-Stars are aluminum bodied. Safaris are Al-Stars also release a limited edition color each year, for those of you who care. They come with a stainless steel nib that I don’t like as much as the 14k gold nib of my 2000, and I’ve heard Lamy nibs can be inconsistent (read a better review here). It’s designed to be used with a replaceable cartridge, which makes inking these clean and easy, but there’s also a Z24 piston converter for using with conventional inkwells. I like the converter in the Vista for a couple of reasons:

• I love Lamy’s ink bottles, but I’m not really in love with any of their actual ink.
• The red knob on the Z24 adds internal color to the translucent body.
• Filling from an inkwell makes it easier to change colors day-to-day.
• The piston facilitates flushing water in and out of the pen when cleaning.

And it’s this last point that brings me to recommending clear pens for a beginner.

Fountain pens work through a combination of gravity and capillary action, so to really get it clean between different inks you have to flush out the feed (the perpendicular cuts in the internal structure that control the flow). Once I push the remaining ink back into its respective jar, vial, or wherever I got it from it’s time to flush it with water. I just fill a glass (or here, a paper cup) with water, then draw it into the reservoir and flush it back into the cup. Repeat three times, then dump the glass out and refill it with fresh water. I do this for about 3 different clean glasses of water, but between each glass of water I get all the moisture out of the feed that I can. A bunch of nice absorbent toilet paper and a clear body make this part easy.

You can actually watch the feed empty into the absorbent paper.

The other pen I just started using today and now see why people love it is the TWSBI mini. It’s a short barrel, so to write comfortably I have to post the cap on the end, but it was designed to do so and the cap actually screws on both ends of the barrel. How cool is that?!?! Mine is also completely clear, and the huge internal reservoir looks really cool when showing off your ink’s hue. And it’s got a more traditional exposed nib and feed. I haven’t changed out the ink or cleaned it yet, but it writes really nicely (maybe because the stainless steel nib is longer, allowing it to flex more?) and is just plain good-looking. Also a bargain, it can be had for $50-$60 USD and so far appears to be much nicer than its price would suggest. This may be my new favorite pen and warranting another write-up here in the future after more use.

Readers already know I’ve fallen in love with fountain pens. Now I’ve gone even further old-school with my own wax seal. Nostalgic Impressions made it for me, and I couldn’t be happier. They also carry some great colored waxes. Make your letters really stand out.

I’ve been in love with BMW motorcycles since cutting class back in high school. Looking back, it seems somewhat apropos that my dad told me motorcycles were for rebels and those were the shops I most wanted to frequent as a truant. The best of them was Iron Horse Motorcycles. Around 1995-1996 I simply couldn’t stop daydreaming about owning and riding a green R850R. Sure, the 1100 had more power, but what did I know about motorcycles? I wouldn’t be able to use all that “oomph” anyway and an 850cc motor just sounded so strange and intriguing to me. And the 850 was cheaper, so easier to imagine affording someday. (Later my daydreams dropped in scope to an MuZ Skorpion 660cc single cylinder because it was only $6000 and even closer to being attainable.)

Anyone who’s read my other motorcycle posts knows that Harleys have just never done it for me (though Buells did). They’re too dime-a-dozen, or appear that way because of Japanese knock-offs, and bolting on Arlen Ness or factory parts is a cheesy way to call it “custom”. But BMW? It was just so… odd! And delightfully so, with a long heritage of building tough and reliable bikes. I was hooked, and I’ve never kicked the desire to own a BMW R-series bike since then. (I should probably go for the full effect and listen to some old Pearl Jam or Weezer’s blue album while I type this.)

So now that I own one, what’s the verdict? Is it everything I hoped for and more, or have years of dreaming about one led to the reality becoming a let-down? The truth is, it’s a little bit of both, so let’s dive in.

The bike itself is great as an all-around bike. I’m not a moto-journalist and can’t tell you how it handles or performs any better they’ve already done here, here, and here. What I can do though is talk about what it’s like to actually live with. Where I love it, but also where BMW Motorrad got it wrong.

I bought this bike when I was living in Las Vegas, NV because I wanted a standard motorcycle and this was the best option. I don’t care for feet forward cruisers because I want better control for tight turns in mountains and canyons, but my commute was 40 minutes of straight and boring highway so a sport bike was ruled out for luggage limitations and wrist strain. With no Triumph or Ducati dealers in town (Bonneville or Monster) and all the Japanese bikes looking rather garish, the only other option that appealed to me was Haley-Davidson. I came very, very close to buying one, but the only bikes without forward controls were Sportsters with fuel tank issues; they were either too small for my commute to be practical, or plastic and had issues with warping in the XR1200.

The ergonomics and power on the R1200R made it a no-brainer.

The HP2-derived “hex” head.

Air head, oil heads, & original hex head.

The 2011 R1200R got a revised head based off the HP2 and it makes plenty of power. BMW’s “1200″ is actually 1,170 cc and slightly smaller than Harley’s 1,203 cc motor, but it makes far more horsepower and torque (which Harley always touts). But this does come at a price, as Harleys tend to get better gas mileage and I only average 42 mpg (USA). Not bad (gas mileage and tank size are why I opted against a Diavel), but for my Vegas commute I’d have appreciated even better. The power is addicting though, and the number one reason I hesitate when I start thinking about trading it for something else. I don’t feel a real need for more power though I wouldn’t call the Roadster overpowered either. I’d just hate to knowingly get with fewer ponies because twisting the throttle to escape any car I choose on the Interstate is immensely rewarding. And a big reason I bought this bike was the power and the sound of the exhaust- it was perfect just as delivered from the factory. I love that it’s not too loud and obnoxious (seriously, I hate loud, obnoxious pipes), but it’s got just the right amount of snarl. I refer to it as the Gentleman Hooligan.

Speaking of gentlemanly behavior, my bike has anti-lock brakes and traction control, both great features. BMW has now made ABS standard across all their bikes, and I applaud them for it, because despite the protestations of old know-it-alls the fact is a panic stop is exactly that: panic. Grabbing a fistful of brake and not losing control in an emergency is invaluable. Traction control can be turned off if I feel like lofting the front wheel in a “display of speed and power” (the ticket written for wheelies in Tucson), but the reality is it kept me from going ass-over-teakettle on some remarkably slick roads in Las Vegas. It may be more computer controlled complication, but they’re sure nice to have and safety features are hard to bemoan.

Another of my favorite aspects to the bike is how well designed it is. The rails for the panniers integrate almost seamlessly and the quick-release for them is great. On and locked or off the naked-looking bike in 30 seconds and it looks natural in either state. Harley made a big deal about this capability (and named yet another motorcycle, the Switchback, after one silly feature) that BMW has incorporated for years. I like being able to rest my feet out on the cylinders on the highway, but have my engine stay cool when stopped in the desert because the jugs are actually out in the wind to be cooled. I like the dash display more than many other bikes, and liking the looks of the dash is important since it’s the part of the bike you should be seeing most often!

So why does trading it in for something else cross my mind every now and then? Mostly the aesthetics of the Classic trim package. It looks good at first blush, but before long it begins to feel like it doesn’t really fit with the character of the bike. Frankly, I think the bike looks more genuine in a flat, more modern color and wheels. In particular, pay attention to the hand rails of the tail section, and the taillight- there’s just no way to vintage-ify it. The angles there and on the frame are just… Well, wrong for a “classic” motif. The sharp angles cut into the tank for riders’ knees and the telelever front suspension (the part with the spring behind the forks)… In the darker shade they blend better, but the bright paint in Classic trim just shows how modern it is and conflicts with the rest of the bike’s theme. (I also think the frame should have stayed black, rather than drawing attention to itself.) Look back at the R850R picture and you can see how much softer the whole look of the bike is. It would just lend itself to the paint scheme, chrome, and spoked wheels so much easier. One of Dieter Rams’ ten principles of good design states “Good design is honest”, and the classic package on this particular bike just doesn’t seem very honest at all. Such a modern design splashed with affectations of yore rings false.

Look at the above photo of the post-2011 all kitted out and it seems natural. But a tank bag on the Classic package would cover the only visible (to the rider) part of the racing stripe. I suppose if I add the rear top case I could repaint it and continue the racing stripe there…? I jest, of course, and I realize quite a bit of riding a motorcycle is suiting one’s vanities at the expense of practicality. The Classic just strikes me as a bit too far since touring would leave only the wheels, front fender, and exhaust to truly stand out.

There are two options to correct what I perceive as a grievance- either strip it off to resemble an un-optioned bike or take the retro theme even further. I’m opting for the latter, because it’ll look good and be less expensive than buying a new set of cast wheels and exhaust.

Finding chrome valve covers for the post-’11 hex head is tricky and they’re $350 US each. Ouch. I’ll opt instead for this retro looking crash bar that’s half the cost of a single cover and looks like it came straight off an old R60. It’s from Wunderlich, a company with the sole focus of creating products for BMW motorcycles, and the chrome finish should compliment the exhaust and mirrors, while it’s simple line looks perfectly at home next to the broad white racing stripe.

Speaking of the racing stripe, the bike simply needs more of it! Since the tail section doesn’t have a rear fender like more classically styled (or truly vintage) motorcycles for the flash of contrasting paint to display itself across, this front fender also offered by Wunderlich looks like the perfect device way to be a little more showy even when using a tank bag. With a truly clear windscreen it should display the continuing stripe much better, it gives the bike another much more pronounced retro nod to the cafe racers of yore, and should provide some more wind protection than my currently fitted “sport” shield pretty handily. Which leads to my only other real gripe…

The bike itself is fairly quiet and pleasant, but the wind noise is bizarrely LOUD. The little sport windshield does a wonderful job of keeping wind blast off my torso and making a ride comfortable, but the noise roaring in my helmet is insane. I’ve taken the shield off, and it’s better at times but then I feel battered at speed. A Triumph Bonneville is still dead silent at the same speeds, so all I can figure is it’s being caused by turbulence coming off the instrument cluster. On my long commutes to and from Vegas it wasn’t uncommon for me to actually stand up on the pegs just to get my helmet into clean and undisturbed air for some silence. Hopefully a new windshield will correct this.

The only other quibble I could muster is the hard luggage. I love the quick on-and-off and that it’s keyed to the ignition, but the shape could use some tweaking. The bags are designed to accept a full face helmet and seemingly nothing else- they’re very wide, but despite the massive volume I can’t fit a 15″ laptop into them except at bizzare angles that take up most of the usable space. They’re a very poor physical profile for city commuting.

This seems somewhat long winded for only two real gripes of aesthetics and wind noise (bags can be taken off or replaced) and not nearly enough praise for a wonderful motorcycle. In standard paint, and for a different length torso or windshield this would very likely be the perfect all-around bike. Add luggage and handlebar-mount GPS for touring, the bike comes stock with power outlets for heated clothing. Strip it all off and blast through canyons at top speeds I’ll not admit to seeing. Or simply enjoy riding a unique and good-looking European bike as you strut around town to various coffee shops.

I don’t own any of the pictures used and I’m not advertising anything, these are simply my observations. But I can teel you this: finally owning a BMW R-series bike after years of fantasizing hasn’t been a let down at all, and if anything has only strengthened my affinity for the brand.

BMW. Das schnellste Motorrad der Welt.

I’ve mentioned writing longhand as a lost art and advocated for it recently. But part of what has made my rediscovery of cursive (or script) writing so pleasurable has been my Lamy 2000 fountain pen. I use a fine nib, and typically stick with Pelikan 4001 Royal Blue ink. On truly white paper, it just pops and looks really nice. (I’m also a proponent of using some really nice paper. My folio is stocked with Southworth 25% cotton fiber linen, and I have some A5 stationery tablets from G. Lalo and Original Crown Mill of classic laid and pure cotton. Remember to get matching envelopes for the full effect.) My pen should appear as the featured image above this post, actually.

My own quick thoughts about this pen can be summed up with a love for all the details. For such a simple, modern design, it’s very thoughtful. The 14k gold nib writes smoother and nicer than the cheaper stainless steel nibs I’ve dallied with in other pens. The makrolon barrel has a pleasant texture and appears to age well, but also hides fingerprints and smudges that would appear on glossy black plastic. The aluminum stainless steel section toward the nib allows ink from a bottle to wick right off after filling and clean easier. The pocket clip is inflexible steel, and is hinged and sprung. It’s heavy enough to feel like something of substance and importance without being burdensome. I love the windows built in for viewing the ink level. And it disassembles for cleaning easily.

In short, I began my interest in fountain pens wanting a Montblanc Meisterstuck 149. After being talked into trying the Lamy 2000, I want nothing else. Any other pen I collect is now just for whimsy. I’ve found the only pen I really need.

So without further ado, here are some more in-depth reasons you should try a Lamy 2000 fountain pen and enrich your own writing experience.

• The Fountain Pen Geeks review.
• Analog Dog‘s lack of capitalization irks me, but she has good ink level window photos.
• A Fountain Pen Network review with a pleasant amount of history and background.
• A 15,000 word essay about Lamy design, for those really into it.

And they can be had for a good price from Amazon.com (though I recommend someone like Goulet Pens who specializes in the field). Now get writing!

Eish! Bar is one of those places that seems incomprehensible in the United States (except maybe small towns in the midwest) in that it doesn’t have a website; just a Facebook page, and even that won’t tell you anything about it, really. The only other mention I can even find about the place in a quick Google search turns up a cursory mention in this article which is more about rugby, and tweet. And that’s if “Eish Bar” is specifically entered into Google. Otherwise this is a place with no digital signature on the web (’til now, I suppose), no signs posted or advertisements of its existence, and the entrance is facing away from any possible foot traffic. The only way to find this joint is by word-of-mouth, or happening upon the shack during a match and deciding to investigate a creepy-looking structure in the dark because screams that may well be murder intrigue you. (And if you’re one of the latter type, have you never seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre?!?!)

One of the guys also deployed at the site, Wally, was the latter (don’t ask me, he was a Harley nut and claimed to know Sonny Barger) and a gregarious soul, so when he found this place that was only open one or two nights a week he went exploring and came back to our villa with the coolest and most disgusting tale of initiation ritual I could imagine trying at the time.

If it’s your first visit to Eish! Bar, you have to shoot the boot.

The tale, as it is told, is that years ago a U.S. Navy ship came through the area and during shore leave a couple sailors found out about the island’s rugby club. A friendly match ensued, and to everyone’s amazement the Americans won. Generally speaking, we don’t even know what rugby is, much less play it, much less play it enough to beat a bunch South Africans. One of the sailors was actually quite rugby savvy and knew about shooting the boot, so when they won he pulled off his cleat, filled it with beer, and drank it in one long guzzle. They all became fast friends and the boot was presented to the club, where it continues to live on a trophy shelf by the door, unwashed, and as grimy and disgusting as you might imagine to greet newcomers.

Just say “no”. It works in most languages.

I’ve already mentioned in the past that SeyBrew is a terrible beer. The “distinctly Seychellois” lager is done no great favors when poured into a stinky and decaying shoe, either. But amidst cheering South African accents and a warm reception, what can you do? You hold your nose and gulp it all down in one attempt, that’s what. And it’s easier to chug an entire beer in this manner than you might think, because the knowledge that stopping for a reprieve just means having to go back to it a second time encourages you to finish quickly.

I never knew that an entire beer could fit in a shoe, or that a shoe would be quite such a good vessel. As I saw this terrible dare being assimilated in front of me, I was really hoping the dirty and tattered looking thing might be full of holes, or that liquid would spill out and spare me from having to drink the entire thing. If anything, the newly fluid contents of the cleat seemed to soak into the sole and soft interior to revive past years of stale beer from previous dares, and drag along a new infusion of what I can only imagine was foot, sweat, and sock. Mmm… Tasty.

I wanted to hold my nose, but I didn’t know how well I’d be able to swallow then and the tongue and upper of this disgusting idea would be up against my face as I supped from the heel anyway. There was no getting my hand in there. And with thirty smiling, welcoming, expectant faces around me there was no backing out (or insulting them or acting milquetoast in front of them). I flashed back to the enthusiasm I felt earlier in the day to have this crazy story and was reminded once again of the phrase I utter all too often: It seemed like a good idea at the time. I held my breath, and I drank.

Because I’m a lousy story-teller, I’ve presented the narrative a little out of order here and already described the flavor. I won’t describe the texture, because I think it’s gross enough to mention simply that there was one. Use your imagination and you likely won’t be far off. But the cheers that erupted in that tiny shed almost eradicated any revulsion that I felt from this deed. Almost. The two fingers of Jameson on the rocks I sipped for the next hour did a lot more to cleanse my palate and ease my soul. Surely nobody had died from drinking that, had they?

Wally and I hung out there a bit longer as the South Africans drank more and the game (pardon me, match) went on. I demonstrated my knowledge of the game, which consisted of it being played with a ball and only being allowed to pass laterally or behind oneself. And I was pretty sure there was something called a scrum. Turns out, scoring is called a “try” in rugby, which sounds goofy until you defend the term “touchdown” for American football and have pointed out that our game rarely involves kicking the thing and is named somewhat ironically. I thought it was funny to see sponsors names actually painted onto the grass, rather than the digital overlays that seem to happen so often now in televised American sports coverage. It was the Cape Town Storm vs. New Zealand Hurricane and I didn’t have a clue what was going on. But when surrounded by South Africans, I figured cheering for Cape Town was a safe bet. The cheers and shouts drowned out anything the tiny TV we gathered around could have told us, but that wasn’t the point, really. It was the fellowship that people had gathered for.

All in all it was a pretty great night, spent with friendly people in high spirits. I’m not about to start advocating for the abandonment of basic hygiene, but I will say I was excited by the idea from the first time I heard about it. And there’s something key in that.

It seems like the older we get the more we say “no” or resign ourselves to opportunities. So few people I know have an adventurous spirit- I’d guess maybe five percent. So I tend to think that adventures and maybe even silly dares are, in themselves, the fountain of youth. Ponce de León’s most famous obsession isn’t a thing to be found, but a spirit to be fostered. And it doesn’t have to involve some hidden away island bar in the Indian Ocean. It could be something as simple as going hiking, trying Geocaching, or turning down an unfamiliar road. My point is simply this: be willing to abandon your comfort zone, just for a little while. Because that’s when discoveries are made and cool stories are gained to tell others. The power to make your life story more interesting is in your hands. Get out there.

So for the past while, I’ve been reading every single chance I’ve had. A physical book may still be preferable to e-readers, but my kindle lets me slip a thousand books in the back pocket of my jeans. And considering weight and space limitations when deployed (as I currently am) to Afghanistan, this little thing has become my best friend over here. Well, my kindle and the cans of flavored Blue Diamond almonds my wife sends me to break up the chow hall monotony.

I’m guessing it took me a total of about three weeks to read all seven Harry Potter books, and I’m really glad I did. I enjoyed them immensely. This deployment has been really good for me in some ways, as my last one was spent mostly writing in this blog, then watching movies and playing video games. I feel more… Aware? Quicker thinking? The description for what I’m feeling is escaping me at the moment. I think I’m just happy to love reading again. I loved reading as a kid, and then television slowly took over… Some books by Ayn Rand and then The Art of Racing in the Rain rekindled my love for reading a scant few years ago, but is was quickly extinguished my American Gods. I had loved reading a novel that seemed to qualify as “literature” and actually finding it engaging, rather than boring and dry and relying on thrillers from Michael Crichton.

I thought for a brief moment I was going to get to be one of the literati, a high and mighty intellectual snob looking down my nose at those simpletons watch American Idol. Turns out, not so much. (Though I still shake my head sadly at the popularity of “reality” television.)

I’m guessing I don’t read as quickly as I used to. And certainly the chaos of my office mates raucously shouting at each other, launching aircraft (actually having to work), and letters home to my wife or messages on Facebook all conspired to interrupt my reading speed. Because of this, I sometimes wonder how educated on a topic some people can really be. There’s so much to be caught up on, and seemingly even peer pressure to be aware of everything in the news, Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Sons of Anarchy, The Walking Dead, the latest book or album, the movie sure to be nominated for an Academy Award… That’s before the quite possibly endless amount of distraction on the internet from YouTube, Facebook, and the list goes on… (Fun fact: more hours of video were uploaded to YouTube in the last year alone than ABC, CBS and NBC have ever broadcasted in their existence combined.)

Frankly, this makes me think a lot of those oh-so-learned folks are full of it. Everyone who claims to have been through The Chomsky Reader and Dharma Bums and also professes to speak from any position of authority when combating, say, the Tea Party or Ayn Rand’s views or Cato Institute… And then turn around and comment on the latest in pop culture… No, I think it’s far more likely that even those who preach from on high simply fill their heads with what they prefer and take summaries or allow their opinions to be dictated to them by others. There’s just no way (unless their profession is a think-tank) that they’ve actually read both sides or all sides of so many social arguments. I just can’t believe any men’s magazine like Esquire is staffed by people who are actually up on everything they publish (which is why they have so many different contributors to create an issue).

So I don’t feel that bad about skipping my blog for a few days in order to read more or write my wife more love letters. And I certainly don’t feel bad about not seeing this movie or that TV show. I still have my vices, and can’t wait for the last few episodes of Breaking Bad. And I don’t feel inadequate or “lesser” for reading what I assumed were kids’ books instead of the latest hoity-toity novel by some pompous author. (Right now I’m thinking of American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis. The books becomes monotonous and excruciating to read, while the film made the same points much more succinctly.)

And even now, with all the noise from aircraft, phones ringing, and a certain coworker who I swear is the stupidest, loudest, and most boorish individual I’ve had to bite my tongue around in years… (I think I hate this guy and really wish he’d leave.) I’m still somehow strangely appreciative. Because as much as the interruptions frustrate and annoy me, or even fluster me when I’m under pressure or time constraints, it’s reminded to me to prioritize and maintain a clarity of focus. And if I have to ignore blog to prioritize writing to my wife (or reading books she loves so I can share that with her), then it’s worth it. And if it’s ignoring some inane “reality” tv shows or distracting website…? So much the better.

I know the “best” way for me to try and cram everything I want to accomplish in a matter of time is probably to block off certain hours of the day, or even dedicate certain days of the week to certain projects. But in the meanwhile, I’ll still wish I had 37 hours a day so I could accomplish even more.