Since it is largely rumored I am a dumb guy, I want to take the time to dispel the rumor and remove all doubt. There is nothing typical or cutting edge going on within my cranium. I figure the only way to show the vast expanse of idiocy going on inside my head on any given day, was to let you spend part of the day sitting inside my head and actually observing how a real dumb guy thinks and acts. Please feel free to put your feet up on my frontal lobes and take notes if you wish. Seat belts are mandatory.
The day starts off in a normal fashion as I get out of bed and trip over my shoes that I left next to the bed the night before. As I get up off the floor, dazed, I realize this happens every morning and every morning I think: I need to start taking off my shoes somewhere else. Since no place else comes readily to mind, I put this idea into my mental shredder for another 24 hours.
After a shower (with only one slip today), breakfast is next. I make myself a meal that all of my many doctors tell me that, if eaten, a cardiac episode is imminent. I think: If the good Lord wanted us to eat healthy he wouldn’t have invented hogs, chickens, and cows. After breakfast I slam down dozens of pills prescribed by as many doctors. I think: Those babies will counter- act any bad stuff from breakfast. I’m good to go.
I make my way to the garage where my Vision awaits. Since I am retired and have nothing to do most days, cleaning my blacked out Vision is an almost daily thing.
I open the garage door and jump three feet into the air and scream “YIKES!!!!! Look at the size of that Spider!” I get control of myself enough to kill the ugly thing by throwing objects at it until I score a direct hit. My neighbors are used to the noise. I calm down and try to tell myself that I just pulled off a courageous feat. I also realize I need to stop screaming out loud like a woman. As I pick up all of the two dozen tools and boxes I threw at the spider, I think: Now what did I come our here for? After about thirty minutes I remember. It was to clean the Vision.
Cleaning my bike is NOT an easy chore. It is, however, a chore I don’t mind because, as a non handy person, it is a chance for me to play with tools. Not just ANY old tool. I get to play with AIR TOOLS!
First step, fire up the air compressor. The last time I did this the regulator broke off in my hand shooting high pressure air at me. I fled the garage screaming in terror until all of the air was expelled. I remember the next door neighbor, a young war veteran, hit the deck as the sound of the air and the sight of me fleeing the garage gave him a flash-back. He got up and karate chopped my neck dropping me like a sack of bowling balls. We’ve since recovered and are friends again.
Next step, move the lift towards the center of the garage.
Next step, put the lift back because for the 1000th time I forgot to pull the bike out of the garage first.
NOW pull out the lift. Ramps and chock in place, I hook up the compressed air. Now I’m thinking: Here he is ladies and gentlemen. The worlds foremost stunt motorcycle rider, Evel Knevel! He will attempt to race his bike up the ramp of the lift of death and into the chock! An imaginary crowd gasps and says “No Evel! No! You will DIE!” I accelerate the huge bike to about 1 mph, feather the clutch, and walk it up the ramp and into the chock while thinking: “HE DID IT!!! Evel Knevel just NAILED the shot into the CHOCK OF DEATH!!” (on only the third try)
I figure that today I will clean the top of the bike first because, somehow, it seems more logical. I think: A lucid thought so early in the day?
To clean the top of the bike, I need to get onto the seat to get at the massive dash area. As I climb aboard with the lift all the way down, I mount the mighty steed of steel and plastic. Suddenly, as I sit atop the humungous bike, I think: My spirits are rising or….Am I rising, like a great bird into the sky? Then I realize I AM moving upward! I had accidently stepped onto the lift foot control as I got on the bike and now me and the bike were ascending upwards into the garage door opener motor. I scream: My GOD! I’m gonna DIE!!!! Unable to reach the foot control, I have no option but to dive off the bike onto the hard floor a few feet below. As I slam the floor I also stop the lift by slapping the foot control with my hand a split second before the rest of me hits the floor like, well…a sack of bowling balls.
WOW! What a close call, I think (as I cough up some blood and rearrange my lungs): I still have the reflexes of a cat the way I stopped that lift. That was a move right out of the Superhero play book.
I reflect for twenty minutes as I cough through a good cigar. I replay the day so far and am intrigued that I have so few bruises this early in the day. If I could only scream soundlessly though, the neighbors just might stop laughing at me.
Skipping ahead, after I taped my ribs, the bike is now clean. The cleaning was mostly uneventful, except for the Plexus I sprayed into my eyes causing me to once again fall off the bike. I decide to head to the Victory dealership and chew the fat with the boys.
After all the hellos and me telling lies like “Nothing new with me, how about you?”, I have a coffee and peruse the magazines on the wall. I had decided not tell about the hair- raising tale of the lift because I didn’t want to give the impression I was an idiot.
So there I sit with Jerry the owner of Prescott Valley Motorcycles (located on Highway 69 in Prescott Valley, Az) and Big Joe from Kewlmetal (6724 Corsair Ave, Unit 5, Prescott, Az.) . Jerry said I smelled like Plexus. I explain that I spent the last three hours detailing the bike, when I hear a loud clap of thunder. Big Joe says “Wow! What a storm! Hey Jetsn, are you on your BIKE?” he asks incredulously as he and Jerry laugh themselves silly.
Good shot, guys. And to think I just gave their businesses a shameless plug.
As the skies opened up and dropped gallons of water on my immaculate bike I just sat there thinking: Here it is just noontime and I was already nearly killed by my shoes again, attacked by a large spider, and I was practically slammed into the ceiling of my garage by a runaway lift, and now three hours of hard work was all for nada because I didn’t realize that bad weather was right above me as I rode in ignorance.
Jerry and Big Joe suggest I wait out the rain but I decline. It’ll probably rain all day, I say. As I head out the door I realize I left my rain suit home. In 15 seconds I am drenched to the bone. In 16 seconds, the rain inexplicably stops. I look to the heavens and say, “Good one, God. Good One” as I hear Jerry & Big Joe start laughing all over again.
Frank “Jetsn” Gary Copyright © 2009