Yeah, I’m the guy who used to post articles here almost daily, sometimes multiple articles in one day. I’ve been very, VERY busy the last couple of months and in the last 14 days or so I’ve finally managed to come up for air.

The weeks have zipped by since leaving Xerox (good riddance!) and although it’s been a very stressful and challenging ordeal to change clients and outsourcing comapies at the same time, I have finally gotten comfortable enough in the new environment to actually be able to sleep at night relatively worry free.

Coinciding with the reduction in stress came an appearance by Petra in Longview, a Christian rock band that started in the early seventies. Robin and I took the opportunity to see them with Mike and Shelby the weekend before last, then we all did some antique shopping and dining in Jefferson, Texas, along with a bit of sightseeing at Caddo Lake.

The Classic Petra concert was incredible. The lineup from the late seventies / mid eighties reunited to deliver a heart felt, bone shattering heavy metal Jesus rock experience. Lead singer Greg X. Volz’s vocals and stage presence having done nothing but get better over the last forty years, and I’d dare to say he has achieved perfection, reaching a quality in pitch and tone that rivals the original studio album versions of the songs.

The Rolling Stones may still be rocking after all these years, but I’ve not seen any bunch of geriatric rockers that can hold their own against their glory day selves the way the guys from Petra do. Were it not for the grey hair you’d think they were all in their twenties. The last time I’d seen Petra live was during their “Not of this World” tour around 1983. Last Friday night they were so much better. And I wouldn’t have thought you could get any better than the “Not of this World” event I saw in Reunion Arena some two and a half decades ago.

Pictures? Video? Are you kidding? I was too busy applauding and stomping my feet to do anything with the phone camera. Sorry. I think the bass and wailing lead guitar would have shattered the Gorilla Glass anyway.

Mike and I did some riding, but I was so focused on just enjoying the chance to have a weekend of not worrying over server outage reports and root cause analysis documentation updates that I decided to leave the video gear and DSLR in the touring trunk for the whole trip.

The good news is my brain has finally got a few cycles back from work focus to start posting on the blog again, so stay tuned for more of my drivel with new pictures and video, and of course, more cowbell!

As my son, Brandt, reminded me the other day, routine is important. The human brain relies on routine to free up cycles for decision making. I’ve been off my “routine” for a couple of months due to the new job and all the adjustments related to it.

Here’s to a wonderful start to the Easter weekend and me getting back into my routine.

This morning Robin and I got up and headed to Possum Kingdom Lake. I mounted the GoPro and set it to snap a pic every 60 seconds in hopes that among the hundreds of photos it captured along the way there’d be a few nice shots of the landscape with that big Triumph front fender and Daytona brake caliper in the edge of the frame.

Nada. I didn’t bother to look at the camera again until I got home to discover that a bug had kamakazied into the lens in the tenth shot and blurred out everything for the duration of the trip.

Oh well. At least we have the photos from the trusty DSLR below to prove we were there.

Smith & Wesson Holdings Corp.

A few months ago Robin and I decided it sure would be nice to have the spa running to relax in during the cold winter evenings. The buried 250 gallon propane tank in the back yard had been close to empty for a couple of years, so I ordered up a 700 dollar refill.

The fellow who came to certify and fill the tank also checked the regulator on the spa heater for me and found that the thirty year old item was defunct. I had him change it out for an additional 75 bucks. Then we fired up the pool pump, flipped the switch on the heater, and watched it light up.

All was well for about five minutes, then water came rushing out of the bottom of the heater, extinguishing the burner and effectively shutting down the whole operation. Inspection revealed that the heat exchanging manifold was corroded away and leaking like a sieve.

Cha-ching! I went on a search for a replacement pool/spa heater, and after discovering I could save 40% on a RayPak 266,000 btu unit via the internet (model PR266AEPX) with free shipping vs any of the DFW area pool supply companies, I decided to install myself.

Two weeks later the unit was dropped at my curb, and I installed and wired it in that weekend.

Here’s where it gets tricky.

Attached to the wiring harness was a big red tag with wiring instructions. On one side was a diagram for wiring the thing with 240 volts. The opposite side was a diagram showing how to wire it for 120.

I was wiring into a 240 feed. While laying the harness and tools out, the red wiring diagram tag blew off the top of the heater and went sailing across the yard. Robin (who was standing by with 911 on speed dial as she always does when I’m pretending to know what I’m doing with electricity) chased it down and returned it to me. I slapped it down on the top of the heater again and used a wrench as a paper-weight to ensure it stayed there this time. What I didn’t notice was I had placed it 120 volt side up this time.

I proceeded to go through the happy and simple motions of wiring the thing in with wire nuts and electrical tape. When I was all done I had Robin flip the breaker on.

I cranked up the pump and flipped the power switch on the RayPak to the on position.

The digital display lit up with what appeared to be Martian hieroglyphs for a moment, then there was a nice crakling sound and a curl of smoke drifted out of the housing in the general area of the transformer.

Upon opening the cover I saw the transformer had blown and then realized what had happenned as I referred back to the diagram and saw that the 120 volt side was facing up.

I ordered a new transformer for 80 bucks and sat around for another week until it arrived.

That evening I replaced it, being careful to wire for 240 volts this time.

When it came time to power the RayPak on the thing fizzled again, only this time the smoke came from the controller board.

Surmising that the previous incident had likely blow something in the circuits, I ordered a new controller board for around 300 dollars and waited a week for it to arrive.

It sat on the shelf for another month while I served my first four weeks at my new job. I was too consumed with drinking from the fire hose as I figured out new systems and processes to bother with any household projects.

Finally today I managed to install the circuit board without incident. The spa is currently heating up to a relaxing 103 degrees and this evening Robin and I intend to cook ourselves in it like a pair of happy lobsters.

Close inspection of the old circuit board showed that the enemy once again was a fried component. It’s not a capacitor this time, but rather appears to be a resistor that failed to resist the strange load that was sent to it as the original transformer fried to a crisp.

For those who think the lesson learned from this is to have professionals perform these jobs, I must remind you that even with the additional expense of 500 bucks or so in replacement parts, I still came out over 500 dollars cheaper than if I’d bought this same RayPak heater from a pool supply here, and that doesn’t even include the savings on labor, either.

I guess we’re both blind as a bat.

And that’s the sort of thing that proves God has a sense of humor. The albums I would listen to over and over all day every day drive her nuts. Meat Loaf is my favorite by far, but the other stuff I love consists mostly of heavy metal’s beginnings.

You know, back when devil music was wholesome.

Ronnie James Dio (RIP, my man). Ozzy. Deep Purple.

And my southern rock brothers, like Molly Hatchet.

So the motorcycle and a few hundred miles of winding road become the perfect combination of music and self reflection every few weeks. With tunes like “Wasted Youth” and “I’m Still Alive” blasting through the helmet speakers as I roll the power on and climb hills as if launching for distant galaxies. Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills” adds thundering hooves to the roar of the engine and I imagine the battles between native Americans (my ancestors) and the invading Europeans (also my ancestors) as I journey through the roads that are hedged on either side with the same woodlands those ancients passed as they hunted, fought, lived, and died.

One can easily get swept away if Pandora presents “Bat Out of Hell” at the wrong time. Like: just as you’re sweeping into a long spiral curve on the razor-edged ridge of an Ozark peak. The lyrics:

…And I never see the sudden curve ’til it’s way too late
then I’m dying at the bottom of a pit in the blazing sun
torn and twisted at the foot of a burning bike…

just taunt you to push it to the very edge and see how close to dying of idiocy you can come. But it passes, and as you ease back into the straightaway “Heaven Can Wait” gently returns you to sanity.

I like to imagine living out my music. Like a good novel, it helps take me away. It becomes the sea that the motorcycle sails on, and I alone pilot it far from the shores of noisy, bustling cities.

I’m not afraid to show you who I am
And I am not ashamed of my life
Though I’ve walked alone down this cold and soulless road
I’ve always felt your heat in my bones

With every step I rise and fall
With everything to gain I end up losing it all
When the darkness gets in
I scream out and your light sets me free

I’m not afraid of the past no more
I’m not afraid and I’m bad for good
I used to dance to the devil’s beat
If I could bust into hell I would

I’m not afraid to shed all my skin
I’m not afraid of the faults you see
I’m tearing down these walls right now
They’re comin’ down ’cause I believe

Your love is blind, blind as a bat
The way that you’re leading me home like that
Your love is blind, blind as bat

I’m not afraid when they kick me down
I’m not afraid when I start to bleed
I’m not afraid if I live or die
I’m not afraid ’cause I believe

Your love is blind, blind as a bat
The way that you’re leading me home like that
Your love is blind, blind as bat

And I wish that I could give you something in return
For the precious time you wasted on the tears I’ve never earned
For reaching out to help me ‘cross the bridges that I burned

And in the end you’ll finally see
That, baby, I’ve done everything I possibly can
I do it again ’cause know you’re everything that I need

I’m not afraid of the the truth no more
I’m not afraid of the lies I hid
I’m not afraid of the past of my sins
‘Cause I paid for the wrongs I did

I’m not afraid of the things you know
I’m just a book for the world to read
My final words on the final page
Will be amends ’cause I believe

Your love is blind, blind as a bat
The way that you’re leading me home like that
Your love is blind, blind as bat

Your heart is kind, mine’s painted black
The way you forgive me and just take me back
Your love is blind, blind as bat

Your love is blind, blind as a bat
The way that you’re leading me home like that
Your love is blind, blind as bat

Your heart is kind, mine’s painted black
The way you forgive me and just take me back
Your love is blind, blind as bat…

- Music and Lyrics by Desmond Child and James Michael, sung by Meat Loaf

…and I believe you’ll remember this little poem I wrote eleven years ago (I can’t believe we’re at 13 years already! Time flies when you’re having fun!)

The first Ghost Rider vehicle was some overdone sculpture based on some unknown brand of v-twin chopper. It was laughable to think an old school 50′s technology V-Twin could go more than a hundred miles per hour, with a six foot flaming skeleton wrapped in 75 lbs of logging chain and a fork length of seven feet. It made little sense that it could even keep up with the ghost horse ridden by the retiring Ghost Rider.

But Hollywood has come to its senses and the reality crowd has won. Now you have a very plausible Yamaha V-Max literally burning up the road. Truly, it’s much more believable that a V-Max could fly on the highway at 300 mph fully involved with non-consuming flame and cross thousands of miles without refueling just like the magic 30 shot revolvers of classic 80s cop movies.

Thanks for keeping it real, Hollywood!

Despite our tongue-in-cheek attitude, we are looking forward to this movie, and truly grateful for the departure from the constant barrage of choppers and American made V-Twins. If you want great performance, Cage and Yamaha can certainly deliver it better than Cage and whatever that other silvery plastic thing with the unworkable chain forks was.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, we’ll just enjoy our big triple and imagine that the inside of the engine looks like the outside of Ghost Rider’s bike while we await the premiere.