So, I passed.

I alluded to taking a MSF Basic Rider’s Course in my last post. I passed! It means a trip down to the DSCC (Georgia’s DMV) to get my licence endorsed.

Whoopee!

It means another quandary. What kind of bike?

In the good old days, say 1990, I’d get a small 125cc bike to learn on. The trouble is, they don’t sell them in the US any longer.  The smallest (real) bikes are 250cc. (Honda makes one that is a 125cc, but it’s tiny.)

There’s another problem. Motorcycle technology has advanced, but not all bikes share in the advances.

  1. ABS (antilock brakes). These are much safer and more effective than standard brakes. Most small bikes don’t have them. Those that do are “sport bikes.”
  2. Choke vs. Fuel injection. You can still buy a new motorcycle with a manual choke and good old fashioned carburetor.
  3. Wire Wheels vs. Solid Wheels. Wire wheels look neat, exactly what a motorcycle “should” have. They need to be tuned or “trued.” Not an inexpensive process.

The small “standard” bikes, like the Kawasaki Tu250x or Honda Rebel, are what I imagined riding. None of them have ABS.

1312322859suzuki_tu250x_-_ten_motorcycles_under_5k1

The sport bikes, like the Ninja 300 ABS or Honda CBR300 ABS, look like racing bikes (they aren’t). They use modern technology.

ninja300

Decisions.

Addendum: The issue has been studied and the evidence is indisputable, even in multiple nations. A sport bike it is.

The Art of Deception 33

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

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This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, the Alice and Lucy discussed the Roderick and Edward with Lucy’s “Aunt Heather.” Roderick and Edward arrived to escort the women to dinner at the York. They are too early, and in the meantime Roderick (Mr Stanton) takes Alice for a walk to inspect the preparations.


Alice brightened, “Yes, there is that; shall we?” Mr Stanton offered his arm to support her, and she gladly took it.

“Thank you for stopping my horse; I hope I wasn’t ungracious.”

“Not at all; a bolting horse is always a shock; I’m just glad I was there in time.”

Yes, how did you know to be there, I thought you were ill.  “I’m not sure that having you and Mr Spode host our dinner is exactly the best way to say thank you.”

“It was Edward’s idea; To impress Miss Haytor,” my feelings had nothing to do with it; nothing!

Alice stopped, disengaged her arm from his and turned to face him, “Are you sure, Monsieur, that there is nothing you want to tell me.”

Yes, no, “Nothing other than to ask you what wine you would prefer with your meal.”

Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.


My apologies for creative punctuation.

The York still exists. Unfortunately, it’s been bought by an American chain – Travelodge. So the famous “York Family Hotel” is now run by the same company as Motel 6.

I may be a little late at replying to comments this weekend. Taking my Motorcycle Safety Foundation “Basic Rider Course.” Uneasy Rider strikes again. Serious accident rates with motorcycles are more than ten times lower than just riding horses and about a thousand times lower than horse racing (and the training cuts the accident rate even further).

Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.

I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere Miss_devere_1 This is a fun read.

Frankenkitty is available.
Frankenkitty What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.

Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are three free complete short stories (including an ARC for Frankenkitty) available after you’ve gone through the hoops.

Loneliness

The Deer are browsing the acorns and getting ready for the winter.

Trumbull Stickney, 1874 – 1904

These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown,
The sward with shrivelled foliage strown,
The shrubs and trees
By weary wings of sunshine overflown
And timid silences,—

Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours,
Seem happy, and the gladness pours
From day to day,
And yester-year across this year endures
Unto next year away.

Now in these places where I used to rove
And give the dropping leaves my love
And weep to them,
They seem to fall divinely from above,
Like to a diadem

Closing in one with the disheartened flowers.
High up the migrant birds in showers
Shine in the sky,
And all the movement of the natural hours
Turns into melody.

Sunday Snippet, A Formulaic Romance.

A Formulaic Romance

This is the start of another story Amelia and I are putting together. There’s a pun in the title that will become obvious in time.

It starts with the trope, Lady Rachel on her way to London, is stranded in the country by an unfortunate accident. Her carriage is a wreck, the thoroughbrace, a leather strap that holds the cabin up, broke. When the cabin fell, it broke the axle. It’s snowing and they’re in trouble.

An Interruption.

“That’s bloody torn it!” Miss Rachel Heppleworth, the youngest and only surviving daughter of Lord Hayforth, rarely used such rough language, but her ancient carriage finally failed on her way to London.

On her one chance to join society and find a suitable, rich, and hopefully reasonably good-looking or at least good mannered, husband. Preferably, not vicious, a non-smoker, though she approved of snuff, at most a moderate gambler, and willing to squire her to the occasional assembly. It would be an extra benefit if he were discreet in his affairs and sensible in his conversation.

She and her maid stood while the rain soaked through their pelisses and trickled down their backs. They surveyed the wreck of their carriage. One postilion had ridden ahead to find help. The other had simply ridden off.

Lucinda, her maid, companion, and confidant replied, “Miss?”

“The weather … raining, almost snowing, the thoroughbrace broke and the weight of the carriage body snapped the rear axle. We’re stuck, here in the middle of nowhere, and worst of all we were due in London by the end of the week.”

“Miss Rachel, we can always send a letter. Lord Bromley would understand.”

“If the post runs out here.”

Lucinda shivered; the cold and damp had already penetrated her pelisse. Miss Rachel did not fail to feel the chill, nor did she ignore her maid and companion’s discomfort. She pointed to a massive pile of bricks and spires in the distance. “We could look if anyone is living in that pile of stones. There seems to be a fire and lights.”

 

 


The experience of riding in a carriage is one that modern people, most of them at least, don’t really appreciate. One good reference for this is Mark Twain’s “Roughing It.” The first half of the book describes his journey with his brother Orion to the Nevada territory. (Orion really was Twain’s brother.) They had the thoroughbrace fail, but the carriage didn’t fail as severely as Rachel’s does.

The Art of Deception 32

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

12241791_735836876546522_6197947469406170479_n

This week continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week (I didn’t count correctly, so it became a bigger sunday snippet.) Roderick and Edward discussed the evening ahead, and that their rooms had been searched. This ten line extract shows the other side’s opinions of the state of affairs.


Lucy knocked on the door and came in, “I’d say he’s unusual; Did Alice tell you he saved her life this afternoon?”

“He did, how?”

“My horse bolted for her barn; he helped me get the screw under control”

“Oh … I presume he is an adequate horseman.”

“An excellent one.”

“Then I wonder how he is with his lock picks; he had a full set of screws and burglars’ tools; the only thing missing was a jemmy.”

“Did you find anything else?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Lucy continued, “Edward and Mr Stanton wished that we would join them for dinner; I think Edward wants to ask me something.”

Alice rolled her eyes; then she glanced at Martha; it was clear she was equally amused.

Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.


My apologies for creative punctuation.

lockpicking_tools

The featured image shows historic lockpicks. Isn’t it interesting that you can refer to a poor excuse for a horse as a ‘screw’ and the word at the time for a lock pick was also a ‘screw’? The most common mechanism for locks has changed since the early 1800’s and with that the form of the picks. The two ninety degree bent objects on the left of the image above are the most important part of a lockpicking kit – tension bars. You use them to place the lock in “tension” so that the pins can be adjusted until it opens. Unlike Hollywood, you can’t just use a pick on its own. The actual “pick” itself isn’t as critical. I’ve had best luck with the feelers (picks 1 and 4) but the others work – especially if you’re better at it than I am. If you have a tension bar, you can improvise a pick from almost anything you can reliably shove in the lock cylinder. One of the more amusing examples is a strip cut from the lid of a can of cat food.

Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.

I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere Miss_devere_1 This is a fun read.

Frankenkitty is available.
Frankenkitty What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.

Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are three free complete short stories (including an ARC for Frankenkitty) available after you’ve gone through the hoops.

Spiny Orb Weaver.

dsc_0021

It’s a Spiny Orb Weaver. Knew from the web that it was likely an orb weaver, but it’s nice to have it confirmed.

The Drought

One of the unfortunate side-effects of the drought this fall has been the difficulty of taking good pictures of the wildlife. It’s worse for the wildlife – at least I have food and water – but there aren’t the normal plethora of fall flowers and butterflies.

The featured image shows a neat spider.

dsc_0246 It’s been an insane year, spring flooding, followed by extreme heat and now dry.

 

 

 

Normally by now we’d have seen things like these:

dsc_0018

I hope it’s better soon.

The Art of Deception 31

The Art of Deception

or Pride and Extreme Prejudice

This started out as a weekend writing warriors post, but like most mathematicians I can’t count and put in 11 lines instead of 10 (ARRGH). It continues a spy story set in late Georgian England, the year before Trafalgar. Last week, Roderick arranged for Alice’s horse to misbehave. This week shows the two men discussing the afternoon. Since space no longer prohibits me from putting in that Mr Spode disapproved of his friend’s use of “a bolus prepared by my friends” to figg Alice’s otherwise tame mount I added a fair bit to the snippet to round it out. While crude, this put the women under a social obligation – one can’t cut off the man who rescued you. Mr Spode is struggling with his tie at the start of this excerpt.


Roderick stood in the doorway to Mr Spodes’ room, watching him finish with his neck cloth, “You really should stick to the coachman; simple, elegant and easy to tie.”

“Not this time … a waterfall or nothing.”

“The way you’re going, nothing … by the way, was your room searched this afternoon?”

“What?”

“Mine was; expertly, whoever did it knew how to replace a chip, and even noticed the tell-tale hair I’d placed on my dresser door.”

“Really?”

“Had they not disturbed my screws I’d never have known.”

“Can’t have been that Miss Mapleton you’ve been on about; both she and Lucinda were with me all afternoon.”

“I know.”

“That Aunt; I don’t like the look of her.”

“Could be, I inquired and there was an older servant looking around the inn this afternoon.”

“Hmmn, I suppose. Wouldn’t put it past her. Two of them working together?”

“Probably the three of them, Edward. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when they’re all in the Tower.”

“Right, I still can’t believe Miss Haytor is involved. She’s such an innocent. What did you find with your, ah, explorations?”

“That was also interesting. The dashing young Miss Mapleton left a chip in her wardrobe door. Had a devil of a time replacing it. Other than that nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, no letters, no diary, no nothing. Not even a lock of hair from an old school friend. Dashed odd of a female, you know. The Aunt’s room and Miss Haytor’s were the same. Except their chips were easier to replace.”

“You have a suspicious mind Roddy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must concentrate on this waterfall.”

A few moments later Edward examined his work in the mirror. “Not perfect, but close enough. Where were we going to host dinner?”

“I arranged for a parlour at the York. Neutral ground as it were.”

“Excellent, I’ve heard good things about their chef. Shall we meet Miss Haytor and party? With your heroic ride this afternoon, they cannot refuse our company.”

Roderick smiled, “Yes. Worked out rather well, didn’t that?”

“What did you do?” Edward was suddenly attentive to his friends’ words.

“An old horsecoper’s trick.”

“You didn’t ginger up[1] Miss Mapleton’s mount? I mean that’s just not done, figging a horse … she could have been hurt, killed.”

“Didn’t use ginger, but, ah, yes something like that. A special bolus prepared by my … acquaintances. Worked out well, so what’s the problem?”

Edward shook his head, disapproving of his friends’ activities.

“All’s fair.”

“No it dashed well isn’t. Ungentlemanly of you. Not good for the poor horse either.”

“You’re right, but I had to rig something, and at the time that was the best option. Shall we meander?”

Edward paused, “I’m not sure I can associate with you Lord Fitzpatrick. That was ungentlemanly.”

“She’s a French spy, I’m an agent. You know both sides will do what they need to do. She’d have done the same, or worse, to me had she the chance.”

“And you’re going to eat with her?”

“Why not? It isn’t as if she’ll poison us, and this way I can keep an eye on her.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s part, no most, of the reason that I booked a parlour at the York – and did not tell them where we were dining. I’m sure they’re waiting for us, expectantly. On tenterhooks as it were.”

[1]          Gingering up is a modern term, historically it was known as figging. The idea is to stuff a stimulant such as ginger, tobacco or hot peppers into the rear end of the horse in order to give it “pep.” It is a cruel thing to do, but effective.

Now that you’ve read my hackery, please see the talented writers in Weekend Writing Warriors.


My apologies for creative punctuation.

neckclothitania-1818The featured image, from Punch in 1859, shows the way the Victorians thought about Regency fashion. They considered it hopelessly old-fashioned and restrictive. Neckclothitania is a book entirely devoted to the art of tying “starchers.” While I’m a fan of knots and knot theory, as I sit here in my formal “HackGSU” t-shirt, I can’t help but be glad that I don’t have to tie these things.

Like poor Cecelia, “The Curious Profession of Dr Craven” is back from the dead.

I’ve released a sweet regency romance, Miss DeVere Miss_devere_1 This is a fun read.

Frankenkitty is available.
Frankenkitty What happens when teenagers get to play with Dr Frankenstien’s lab notebooks, a few odd chemicals and a great big whopping coil? Mayhem, and possibly an invitation to the Transylvanian Neuroscience Summer School.

Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are three free complete short stories (including an ARC for Frankenkitty) available after you’ve gone through the hoops.

Progress on “Illegal Aliens”

Amelia and I just crossed the 45000 word mark on an experiment in horror/fantasy/Science fiction romance. So it looks like we’ll actually finish this one.

In it the ancient gods aren’t dead, they’re in hiding. As one puts it, “if the humans think they can just pray they won’t do anything.” He, Aker, has chased most of them back to Duat (They Egyptian land of the gods, not quite hell, but close enough). Since then he’s been hiding, in human form, and reinventing himself every few years. He buries his knowledge about the gods so deeply that he doesn’t know it himself – at least most of the time.

Set, the funny headed one on the left, avoided him and is causing trouble.

Aker is the two lions in the middle. In real mythology, he’s a rather enigmatic critter, who was worshiped in the early dynasties and disappears by the time of the cult of Osiris.

The story starts when a team of scientists, working on what will be a warp drive, cut a hole in reality. The Goddess on the left of the picture, Bastet sneaks in and occupies one of the scientists – after she (the scientist) is nearly killed in a lab accident.

Unfortunately, creating a warp attracts the unwanted attention of real aliens, who are bent on bringing Earth into their empire. Not as equals, mind you, more as cattle.

It doesn’t help that excavations on the underground release another ancient horror.

A Visit to the Asylum (School’s started)

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 – 1950

Once from a big, big building,
When I was small, small,
The queer folk in the windows
Would smile at me and call.
And in the hard wee gardens
Such pleasant men would hoe:
“Sir, may we touch the little girl’s hair!”—
It was so red, you know.
They cut me coloured asters
With shears so sharp and neat,
They brought me grapes and plums and pears
And pretty cakes to eat.
And out of all the windows,
No matter where we went,
The merriest eyes would follow me
And make me compliment.
There were a thousand windows,
All latticed up and down.
And up to all the windows,
When we went back to town,
The queer folk put their faces,
As gentle as could be;
“Come again, little girl!” they called, and I
Called back, “You come see me!”

The madhouse of university instruction has started again. Idiot administrators, daft students, and struggling faculty. I’m counting the days.