Frenchy's Rant

My good friend Kid Vicious recently went through his old shoe boxes in the attic and came up with a few recordings of my great high school hair-metal band Triton. The band featured Josh Lyon on guitar, brother Alex Lyon on vocals, Kid Vicious on keys, Frank Gilmette on bass (it was his last gig with the band), and yours truly on drums.

El Kid V has graciously posted one of these recordings, a memorable 1988 show from the historic (and now defunct) club The Living Room in Providence, RI.

I really miss that place.

If you’re really jonesing for some totally awesome original 80’s metal from ‘The Premiere Haaahd Rock Band called Triton’, check out this link: Triton Rocks the 80’s.

счастливого Нового года

Весели празници!

SreČno Novo Leto!

明けましておめでとうございます

Срећна Нова година

새해 복 많이 받으세요

Laimingų Naujųjų Metų!

نيا سال مبارک

Once a year, instead of actually writing something new, I take a look back at my top five favorite posts of the year. Hardly anyone reads this blog on a normal week, and this week being the last of the year the hit counter will sit virtually still. So, instead of coming up with something marginally interesting, I’ll gladly take the lazy way out.

It’s fun to go through the past year’s worth of posts, because it confirms the theory that bad writing equals low readership. Faithful Fifteen, I present, in no particular order, five posts out of 156 that suck a little less than the rest:

5: The Great Coffee Connundrum

4: Two Gentlemen Tour Scotland

3: The Best Stories Never Make The Blog

2: A Thousand Virgins in South Dakota

1: Speechless

Enjoy the lack of sucky posts until 2009, when it starts over again!

Happy New Year!

Santa Claus came early to California this year, and since Sleeping Beauty has been a good little girl, Mr. Claus brought her a pretty sweet gift.

Sleeping Beauty – Now ‘Little Red Riding Hood’

I am proud to report that as of Thursday, Fiona is the proud owner of a brand new 2009 Kawasaki Ninja 250!

Usually for Christmas, Fiona and I take a trip. Two years ago we went to Alaska (my idea) and last year we went to Costa Rica (her idea) Since this year was my turn to pick, I gave her an option. New Zealand or a new motorcycle.

The last thing I wanted to do was put any pressure on her, because the way I see it, either way, I get something good out of the deal. And, unlike me who went out and bought a bike the day after I passed the test, she has remained somewhat cool to the idea of motorcycle ownership, which I feel is understandable.

I suggested stopping at Bert’s Mega Mall, a huge dealer-stealer ship just to see what was available, and what would fit. She was drawn to the red Ninja 250, both for it’s size and look. I have to say, for what it is, Kawasaki seems to have gotten this one right. It doesn’t look like a dorky beginner bike, it has style and nice, sexy lines.

Dinosaur Not Included.

The one thing that I didn’t like about the bike was Bert’s ridiculous markup.

$6751? Seriously?? The drugs they have in the break room must be pretty good to try and charge this much for a Ninja 250. For what they want in freight charges, that bike must’ve come from Japan on the QE2! The salespeople at Bert’s work on commission, which means they are like sharks circling helpless prey, and also explains their attempt at getting GSX-R money for a Ninja 250.

The lead shark, sensing blood in the water, moved in for the kill. “What would it take for you to walk out the door today with this bike?” I could see Fiona’s pulse quicken, and gave her ample opportunity to walk away and think about it. Instead of leaving, she said to me, “Let’s see what they can do for us.”

My number was $4500 out the door. Rounds of negotiations began. The sales team (there were three of them, The Good Cop, The Bad Cop, and The Chick) worked on us, throwing laughable terms like ‘paying a fun premium‘ and ‘not much commission‘ around. My response was the same every time.

“$4500 out the door.” No matter how many times the Bad Cop exhorted me to work with him, I held fast. There is no way in hell I am going to pay more than that for a Ninja 250. They wouldn’t budge enough to make it worth while.

Finally, I got frustrated, and got up to leave. After all, this bike isn’t a Ducati 1098…

Before I left, I gave them one more opportunity to sell me a motorcycle. “Listen, in this economy, you should be happy to have a potential sale sitting right here. I can’t believe you’re gonna let us walk.”

The Bad Cop shrugged, “We’ve already sold ten bikes today.”

“OK, time to go. Thanks for trying guys.” We stoop up and I extended my hand. He motioned me to sit back down, saying, “Come on,” he said, “work with me at least a little here.”

“I am,” I said. “$4500 out the door.”

The back and forth continued for a while longer. After the Bad Cop gave up, the Good Cop worked us a bit, every time receiving the same refrain, “$4500 out the door.” When the Good Cop left, the Chick came over and whispered, “Don’t worry, they’ll do it.”

And they did. Almost. The Bad Cop, now just playing the game for the sake of the game said, “What if I offered it to you for $4550?”

‘No! I told you a hundred times! Fourty…”

Fiona interrupted. “We’ll take it!”

And with that, she became the owner of the little red Ninja, as well as the owner of a new Shoei Multitech helmet, Alpinestar leather gloves and a new Fieldsheer jacket.

She couldn’t wait. As soon as we got home, she wanted to ride. In the driveway.

Roll. Stop. Roll. Stop. Clutch out, shift down into first, roll. Stop.

The next day we continued with the driveway drills, until she felt comfortable enough to venture out. The streets in the neighborhood are relatively traffic free, so I woke Rain Cloud Follows from a long winter’s nap, and we set out to conquer the mean streets of California.

I don’t know who is more nervous about this big step, her or me. It was hard to watch her make her first ever turn as a motorcycle driver; she went in too tight, and my heart was in my throat. She recovered without panicking, and we made about ten laps around the neighborhood in that first session, each lap showing a little improvement.

It’s going to be a long time before Little Red gets her Iron Butt certification, but with steady practice, a return to the Motorcycle Safety Foundation class, and a very patient built-in coach, I really think that by this summer, we’ll be taking some overnight trips, and if we’re really lucky, maybe even riding in New Zealand. And if not, there will be a red Ninja for sale, no harm, no foul.

I lift my glass of Macallan to Fiona for trying something that is admittedly scary, and giving it an honest try.

Merry Christmas, babe!

After four months dealing with nervous anticipation of rejection, with a simple email, I got the best Christmas gift of all!

Dear Frenchy:

You are receiving this e-mail because of your application for a ride certification. This note is to let you know that your ride has been approved and although your ride documents may take a few more weeks to arrive, your membership has also been approved and entered into the Iron Butt Association’s member database.

Welcome to the Iron Butt Association!

The story of the ride, completed in August, can be found here.