Since I started the new and seldom updated Frenchy’s Rant, I’ve been secretly using Google Analytics to monitor the meager traffic that trickles through my site. Honestly, the Faithful Fifteen seem to have stuck with the blog, and every now and then someone new stumbles along. Full disclosure, anytime I am feeling good about myself, I check Google Analytics . The extremely low number in the Daily Visitor column ends that feeling pretty quickly.

Google Analytics offers tons of information on the visitors to the blog. I can see where people visited from, how long they stayed, what they read, and now I can even see which keywords in a Google search brought visitors to my little corner of the intertubes. Usually the keywords are blog related: ‘motorcycle’, ‘frenchy’s rant’, or something similar. However, sometimes those keywords are in no way blog related at all. One in particular, a string of almost nonsense words really got me wondering: “How the hell did a random bunch of words like that led someone to Frenchy’s Rant?”

I Googled the great phrase to find out. At first I found nothing. I had to dig fourteen pages deep to solve the mystery. The keywords somehow matched up to my Scotland ride report. Here is the passage that made the curious searcher stop by and check out my blog:

‘When riding conditions really suck in the middle of a ride, … Look at that fucking rain! It’s coming down sideways! … much better than the Indian food of the day before, I decided to try something REALLY adventurous for lunch. … beverage is lovingly created – the Macallan distillery, but that got washed out.’

The phrase that matched that post? I swear I am not making this up: ‘an indian boy suckng really milk from a girl and fuckng her very lovingly‘

Priceless!

The rest of the information from Google Analytics completed the story for me. This search was performed on Christmas Eve! That right there is the best Christmas present I could ever hope for, and is the reason, low traffic or not, I will do my best to continue to blog.

The show that never ends has landed in Sheffield, UK this week, solidly putting the World in World Wrestling Entertainment. Sheffield is about as nice a place in England as can be found, which means it’s not quite as rainy, damp and cold as London is. When it’s not pouring down rain, the view from my hotel room is pretty nice:

And of course, as every city in England seems to have, there’s a big Ferris wheel in the center of town.

Thrilling.

It’s almost sad that coming to the United Kingdom has become humdrum, just another place that work takes me. Speaking of work, this week I am working in a small, cramped audio closet in the back of a TV truck.

This tiny work area may have something to do with the humdrum feelings, as well as the claustrophobic ones.

Monday and Tuesday are show days. Parole starts Wednesday, when Fiona joins me in Manchester for some vacation in an undisclosed European destination. By undisclosed I mean undecided, in that we have no plan yet except to wander over to the airport in Manchester at some point and see where we feel like going. To me, is the best way to go on a motorcycle-less vacation.

Thrilling.

This past week, Fiona and I got to play host. ‘Flat’ Stanley Lambchop arrived in an envelope to the Kingdom of Rhode Island for a visit.

He crawled out of his manila travel pouch, and in his unique, high-pitched, two dimensional voice, introduced himself to us, saying, “I’m Stanley, and I’m here to learn about the cultures and customs of your great state.”

As anyone who reads this blog knows, the Kingdom of Rhode Island is as close as one can get to paradise, closer even than Knoxville. Fiona and I, being the goodwill ambassadors we are, set out to show Flat Stanley the wonders of the Biggest Little State in the Union.

On the way he started whining, “It’s fucking cold in this dump. This sucks.” Fiona, ever resourceful, quickly fashioned our flat visitor a hat, mittens and gloves from some extra construction paper we had laying around. This seemed to cheer Stanley up a bit.

Welcome to Rhode Island, Stanley!

“Yes, yes, wonderful. The Ocean State,” said Stanley. “Wow. A sign. So clever. But umm… where’s the ocean?”

I shot Fiona  a glance, the one that says, “Stanley is kind of being a dick, isn’t he?” She just smiled, obviously smitten with Mr. Lambchop’s charms. Ah well. Maybe it’s just me I thought.

The ocean? OK. No problem. We took Flat to see the wonderful Atlantic Ocean, certain that he’d be impressed with the best ocean on the whole planet.

Stanley By The Sea

“This the best your state has? It’s a bunch of cold water!” he grumbled. “Shit, this is going to be a long day.”

My feelings exactly. I pondered buying a lighter and making Stanley’s day a bit more interesting by warming him up a bit. That idea was immediately shot down.

Fiona, repeating the one true fact that I know for certain about my state, the one fact that is always sure to impress, asked F.S. “Did you know that the Rhode Island State House has the fourth largest unsupported marble dome in the world, after St. Peter’s Basilica, the Minnesota State Capitol and the Taj Mahal?”

“No, but I bet we’re going there now, aren’t we?”

Yup.

Stanley at the Rhode Island State House

“Well, at least this shitty state is small, so we don’t have to waste the whole fucking day driving around in it!” said Stanley.

OK, I’ve had enough. I took him aside and hissed, “Stanley, what’s your problem?”

“I came here to learn about culture, not all this bullshit!”

“But Stanley, this IS culture!”

“It sucks!”

Fiona asked him, “Well Stan, what kind of culture would you like to learn about?”

Laughing, he cried out, “You know, real culture! Like the ballet!” Then, in the most improbable display of inanimate cardboard animation ever, Stanley grabbed my wallet, shoved me out of the way, and with a scream of “See ya suckers!”  jumped behind the wheel of the Jeep and took off down the highway.

Stanley Gets His Culture On

When we finally caught up with Stanley, he was nearly out of money. It took the threat of meeting up with Mr. Shredder to get him out of the club. On the way home, the annoying little bastard started screaming once again.

“Stop! Stop right now!”

“What? Whassamatter now?”

“I need booze! I need cigarettes!”

Fine. Whatever it takes to shut this cardboard character up.

By the time we arrived home, Stanley had slammed a six pack and half a bottle of Rumplemintz. Full of liquid cheer, he suddenly became… almost, but not quite… charming.

“Wow, your state is really great! Thank you so much for such a good time!” Finally, some appreciation from Stanley. Maybe I misjudged him all along. He continued, “Any chance you can go out and get all of us some dinner?”

I knew he was up to something, but it had been a long day, and we were all hungry, so I drove down to Bollie’s Chowder Shack for some good ol’ fashioned RI sustenance – clam cakes and chowdah. When I returned home, I immediately noticed a mysterious trail of confetti leading directly to the bedroom. Following the trail to the end, I couldn’t believe my eyes…

Somehow Flat Stanley had seduced Fiona! I saw the red mist and without even thinking I grabbed this cardboard jackass by his ridiculously long neck, crumpled him into a neat little ball, shoved him in the shredder, lit his remains on fire, threw the ashes of Crispy Stanley Lambchop into an envelope, and mailed him right back to Fictionland, CA where he came from.

With another great riding season safely tucked away in the history books, it’s time to plod forward into Fall. Somehow, Summer snuck out of town when nobody was looking, and now there is early morning frost (!) on the motorcycle, and what leaves remain paint the gray New England sky with frozen fireworks.

And of course, as the brilliant frozen fireworks display slowly fades away for another year, the lawn slowly disappears under remnants of Ma Nature’s spectacular show.

Soon enough, the lawn will disappear under a blanket of snow, and bare branches will scrape the sky. This time of year is difficult for me, as I wind down from the frantic pace of trying to cram the most excellent of everything into each day. A mild depression usually sets in, as I reflect on everything I did, and everything I still want to do. Without another great ride to plan, there seems to be nothing to write about, which is why this new blog doesn’t get updated as often as it should. The words that came so effortlessly now don’t seem to come at all. This winter promises to be especially depressing, as I’ll celebrate the dreaded arrival of the Big Four-Oh.

Ugh.

Yeah, it could be worse, it always could. I’ll enjoy the change of seasons as best I can, staying warm by the fire, planning new adventures, and of course toasting each day as the Best Day Ever, safe with the knowledge that as sure as the snow will soon fall, another riding season is just around the corner.