Man Points

A Theory of Male Homo Sapiens Behavior

This rather strange story is a way of trying to explain why men do what men do. When you see a guy riding a motorbike on a frigid day in February, it’s perfectly reasonable to think the guy is nuts. But he can’t help it. He’s just a citizen of Man Planet hunting for Man Points.

Man Planet exists for all men. Some men are aware of Man Planet others are not, yet all go there at one time or another. When a man really focuses, Man Planet feels like an actual place, but it’s imaginary — a way of thinking — a centralized repository of Man Ideas located in the purely sophomoric hormonal reptilian brain of human males.

To go there, think of the wackiest, yet most enjoyable things you do — like playing football in the mud, barefoot waterskiing, bungee jumping, elk hunting, “reading” Playboy, shotgunning beers, watching NASCAR, taking your girlfriend to a Rambo movie, or riding your motorcycle in 20° weather — remember that it’s not all about being stupid, insane, or anything gender-specific. Not about any lack of certain physical attributes, or sexual orientation, honestly. No, it’s really, mostly about doing things that are, well, kind of crazy.

The rules of Man Planet are simple. There is very little contemplation, and certainly no planning. It’s about urges. About feeling good about yourself. Getting outside your comfort zone. Living life rather than watching it on TV. Naturally, the global slogans of Man Planet are “Go With Your Gut,” and “Live For Today.”

The central activity of Man Planet, and its almost exclusive reason for being, is the acquisition of Man Points. Why? There’s no explaining it. It just is.

The awarding of Man Points is odd, to be sure. Silently, without even knowing it most of the time, Man is keeping a ledger in his head, a Man Points scorecard of sorts about himself and other men. One can award Man Points to oneself, of course. One can also award Man Points to a stranger even though the stranger does not know it. In fact, if you are awarding Man Points to a stranger, he’s probably awarding them to himself, too. Man points can be deducted, but that’s another story.

Man Points can be competitive, or not. The guy with the giant tires and giant shocks on his giant four-wheeler is probably more competitive than the guy with the little yellow VW Bug, then again, the guy in the Bug could be a skydiver, the crack-heads of Man Points. Make sense?

A Man Points Story: You commute to work on your motorbike. Man Points. It’s about 100 miles round trip, not a trivial ride, especially in February. Man Points. It’s just sunrise when you start out, and it’s probably going to be dark when you head home. Man Points. You wear a Gerbing’s heated jacket liner, turned all the way up to hot-high. No Man Points. (Heated clothing is a must on a cold day, but is sometimes called a “wussy-suit,” so you don’t get Man Points unless it’s snowing.) There are no other bikes on the road. Man Points.

No, wait. Three quarters through the commute you see another bike coming in the opposite direction. You wave, he waves back. Even though you have no idea who he is, you give him Man Points. Even though he has no idea who you are, he gives you Man Points. You give yourself Man Points. He gives himself Man Points. You both smile. See how it simply it works?

The hope here is to provide a shorthand explanation for some of the things Man does. So, now you know, when you think cliff diving, hurricane surfing, bull riding, funnel drinking, skydiving, and winter motorcycling, don't think crazy, think Man Points.

Are you what you eat? Or how you eat?

Book Review

After a 400 mile day, after the tent’s all set up, nothing’s better than plopping down in a camp chair with a beer and a good book. It’s an essential part of motorbiking, second only to food.

If you’re a typical American it’s highly likely that you have a store-bought rotisserie chicken cooling in your fridge right now. According to the meat counter guy at the local Sam’s Club in Santa Fe, they sell about 60 fully cooked chickens an hour on any given Saturday afternoon. And it’s no wonder, they’re really easy, very tasty; and three-pound bird is just five bucks.

If you’ve ever wondered how such a thing is possible you may have also wondered where that particular chicken is from, how it is grown, even what it is fed. You may have even wondered if cheap, delicious chicken … is really a good thing. The answers to those kinds of questions, and many more, can be found in a book by Michael Pollan called The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals (Penguin, Paperback. $16 retail, about $10 from Amazon.com).

According to his biography, Pollan is a San Francisco bay area foodie, professor of journalism at Berkeley and a contributing food writer for the New York Times. Clearly an old-school journalist, sometimes called a “Big J” journalist, who is not afraid to dig for a story, even a story about food, and keep digging until all the roots are exposed. The first big scoop is that what we eat isn’t what we think it is. That chicken, for instance, really is a chicken, but it’s a chicken made from corn. Same with that steak and that pork chop.

It’s called “commodity corn” and bears only a passing resemblance to what we normally think of as corn. Pollan breaks down a dinner-for-three from McDonald’s with assistance from a Berkeley biologist and a mass spectrometer — now that’s digging. What he exposes is that his family’s cheeseburger, fries, McNuggets and Cobb Salad represents about six pounds of corn; that the soda pop is 100% corn, the burger 52%, McNuggets 56%, and the salad dressing 65%.

When the book focuses on beef we learn that animals evolved to eat grass are now forced to eat corn, which will eventually kill them if the slaughterhouse doesn't come first. The reasons for force feeding corn to grass eaters are a complicated knot of economics, politics, pharmaceuticals, and tradition. This much is for sure, beef would not be as plentiful or available year round, and much more expensive, without the current system.

Pollan explores niche agriculture, organic, and corporate-organic farming to explain that there exists more than one way to feed a nation. Sure, it’s probably better for our health and for the environment, but it’s not cheap and it’s not big or organized enough to satisfy our National Hunger.

The book goes beyond what we are eating and into how we are eating, with an extensive breakdown of a meal that is personally hunted, gathered, and cooked by the author. The imagery alone of a neophyte city-boy crashing around in the woods with a loaded rifle hunting wild Sonoma County pig while worrying about the ethics of his actions is worth the price of the book.

Thinking about food and where to get it, whether that be a grocery, farmer’s market, or restaurant; and how to prepare it, whether that be a campfire, cooking system or restaurant, takes up a lot of brain space when motoring down the road on two wheels. This book provides a whole new perspective on those ruminations. It’s not enough to make you stop eating bacon, but when you’ve finished Omnivore’s Dilemma you’ll not soon forget the stories of happy pigs, cows, and chickens allowed to be their essential selves instead of simple commodities at a place called Polyface Farm before they give up their lives to be our dinner.

Waldo Canyon

A Favorite Weekend Journey

Experienced drivers northbound on Interstate 25 begin the steep climb of LaBajada Hill knowing that their journey from Albuquerque to Santa Fe is nearly done. At the top of LaBajada, just before the the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and Santa Fe come into view, there is something of a mystery.

Many a curious driver used to openly wonder when they saw the old sign for exit 267 — Waldo. The question, “What’s Waldo?” doesn’t linger as much anymore since the sign’s been changed to read Waldo Canyon Road. At least now we know it’s a road, but what kind of road, and to where?

Waldo Canyon Road does not appear to go anywhere except into the horizon. The section of asphalt visible from the Interstate runs straight and flat across the eastern part of LaBajada Plateau, and vanishes. The really curious driver can, of course, look at just about any map and see where Waldo Canyon Road goes, but what no map can show is what a fun ride it is on a dual-sport motorbike.

The road is not for cars, especially in wet weather. The asphalt runs out after only a couple of miles and turns into a semi-maintained dirt track that is anything but flat and straight. The road is part washboard, part gravel, with plenty of sandy bottoms, deep ruts, and treacherous potholes. The road has enough up-and-down and round-and-round to keep every rider laser focused. Big bore dual-sport bikes with street-knobby tires can keep up a moderate pace, but the 250cc class dirt bikes with long-reach shocks and full knob rubber can really scream into the corners and raise the dust. Either way, the road is a fun, short ride perfect for a sunny Sunday when all you want is a couple of hours in the saddle and a dusty bike in your driveway at day’s end.

And the road does go somewhere. Waldo Canyon Road is an interesting shortcut to both the village of Cerrillos and the more famous artists’ community of Madrid. Both places are great motorbike destinations because of their respective histories as mining towns and their quaint old west semi-ghost-town vibe. Madrid is the larger of the two, with many more shops and a popular restaurant that almost always has a parking lot full of Harleys.

For a bit more adventure, there’s another shortcut across more dirt to the tiny village of Galisteo. From Cerrillos you take State Road 14, known locally as North 14, to Camino Los Abuelos. The road is well maintained, but has enough whooptie-whoops and soft sand to be well worth it. At Galisteo the road intersects with SR 41 and easy routes back to both Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

New Mexico is dotted with an almost unlimited number of really fun, little dirt roads that go largely unnoticed by the Interstate crowd, and also actually go somewhere cool. Santa Fe in particular is a city that has easy access to rides that hit the trifecta — fun, scenery, and truly unique destinations — all in an hour’s ride. So, here’s to Sundays, mysterious freeway exits, and motorbikes that do both street and dirt. And, more importantly, here’s to springtime, may it begin soon.

Motorbike archeology and campfire eggs

Testing the Jetboil Fluxring frypan

Lurking there underneath months of common garage accumulation, the trained motorbike archeologist begins to make out the familiar shapes of windscreen, handlebars and mirrors. Yes, with just a bit of digging the comforting shapes of wheels and boxer-twin engine will be unearthed, the signature curve of BMW exhaust pipes yearning for speed will once again, with luck, be exposed to sunlight and allowed to reach operating temperatures.

But it’s early and the thermometer reads just 31.1° Fahrenheit. If the National Weather Service predictions hold, the mercury should reach 45° by mid morning and with luck could climb to 55° by afternoon. Today could be the first day on two wheels since Thanksgiving.

But before beginning any motorbike dig, it’s good to remember that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

A nice windless, sunny morning offers the perfect opportunity to test the latest edition to the motorcamping kit, the Jetboil Fluxring frypan.

The Jetboil cooking system is designed primarily to boil water and it does this with amazing speed — as if boiled at the tailpipe of a Fighter Jet on afterburners. Boiling water is the catalyst for all freeze-dried camp meals, and of course the only true necessity after a night in a sleeping bag besides a bathroom; hot coffee. The basic water boiling system consists of an aluminum cup wrapped in a neoprene cozy, a tiny canister of isobutane/propane fuel, and the burner unit. The fuel can and burner tuck neatly away into the cup, resulting in an impossibly small package — ideal for the motorbike camper who is obsessed with packing small.

But man does not live on freeze-dried food alone. Man must cook meats. More specifically, man must fry.

Enter the Fluxring frypan. The Fluxring refers to a heat distribution device that’s integral to the bottom of the pan, a zig-zaged heating coil of sorts that helps spread out the ultra-focused and ultra-hot flame from the Jetboil burner.

It’s an 8 inch pan that’s 1 ½ inches deep. It’s got a cool folding wire handle that’s coated in plastic and doesn’t get too hot to hold. It’s advertised as “non-stick,” but that’s a term open to interpretation, as any cook will tell you. The pan retails for about $50 but can’t really be used without $20 worth of accessories — little stabilizers for the pan and fuel can.

Bacon slices placed in a cold pan begin to sizzle almost immediately after the burner is turned on, which is accomplished matchless, by turning on the gas and pushing a little button that creates a spark. Luckily the Jetboil burner has a pretty fine control knob, and can be turned way down to low — otherwise the bacon would turn to cinders in a blink.

The center of the pan gets understandably hotter than the edges, but the bacon fries up crispy with moderate attention from the cook. The bacon leaves a thin fond in the pan, which could be deglazed with chicken broth and turned into passable gravy with just a bit of flour.

Most non-stick pans don’t allow any little bits of browned goodness to stick to the pan — caused by the Maillard reaction, occurring when proteins and sugars are heated to more than 360° — but this one does, which is a good thing, in terms of sauces and gravies.

Two eggs plopped into a bit of the remaining bacon fat begin to cook up well, but cling to the bacon bits stuck to the pan. The eggs do scrape up easily with a little coaxing from a plastic bladed spatula. Heat regulation is key to campfire eggs, and this system yields tasty over-medium orbs that are crispy on the outside and smooth on the inside.

Campsite cleanup is something that is usually done in the absence of soap and water, and this pan wipes out fairly well with a dry paper towel. To get it truly clean however, hot soapy water is required along with gentle scrubbing. The pan does come completely clean, true to its non-stick promise.

In the time it’s taken to write this review, the thermometer has risen to 44.4°. With bacon and eggs under the belt, the archeological dig will begin soon. Assuming the battery charger's working and no fuel lines are clogged, the motorbike’s Metzeler tires will taste asphalt and dirt today for the first time in 2008.

More about “first ride” next time.

Cold Weather Obsessions

Furry Prognosticators Disagree — Scandal!

Punxsutawney Phil, clearly the most famous weather-predicting rodent in the World, is not a singular animalistic meteorological oddity, however. It seems that all manner of towns and hamlets in the U.S. and Canada have their annual “see-or-don’t-see your shadow and thereby predict the length of time left until spring” events – they just don’t get the kind of publicity the folks in Pennsylvania do.

The Internet has changed all that.

For the better? Who knows?

What we do know this Groundhog Day 2008 is that most of the lesser-known beady-eyed burrowing weather-chuck-hogs disagree with the venerable Phil. Seems Shubenacadie Sam and Wiarton Willie of Canada, Woody the Woodchuck of Livingston County Michigan, Staten Island Chuck, and New Hampshire’s Pennichuck Chuck ALL predicted an early spring this morning. Only Phil, who in one incarnation or another has reportedly been predicting the distance to springtime since the 1886, says it’s six more weeks, the rat-bastard.

It kills the spirit, but you’ve got to go with Phil. His overall stats are pretty impressive, even though it’s all make-believe and he lives in a stump.

Six more weeks of winter, that can only mean one thing. Gerbing’s Heated Clothing.

The Gerbing’s heated jacket liner is a mainstay for any rider wishing to start early or extend the motorbiking season into the cooler, even significantly colder months. On a non-wind-chill 20-degree day the jacket liner under a normal motorcycle jacket is as warm and cozy as a crackling fireplace in a rocky mountain log cabin. It’s wired like a thin electric blanket, only with sleeves, collar, and zipper, and made from 100% nylon and thinsulate. The collar is also wired and stands straight up to protect the neck. The wiring system has interconnects that allow hooking up a chain of accessories, like electric gloves, pants and even socks. Sizing is excellent, fitting every rider from the tall and gangly willow trees to the short and squatty beer barrels.

The garment is hand-wash and hang-dry only. I’d recommend sponge-bath surface cleaning as dunking the whole think in a hand-wash bath is a bit frightening.

The Gerbing’s electrical systems draw too much juice to be hooked up to the standard BMW auxiliary power outlets, so it’s best to tap directly into the battery with an easy to install harness. The liner comes with a basic lighted on-off switch, but you can’t beat the temperature regulator (a simple rheostat) that allows the rider some level of comfort control without having to constantly fiddle with the switch.

The heated gloves are a dream. They come in a variety of styles. The pair designed and marketed to the snowmobiling crowd are a bit bulky but nevertheless work very well on the motorbike. Combined with heated grips they ensure that the hands are never too cold, which is a big deal when you need subtle throttle control or the ability to reach clutch and break levers in a hurry. Construction, fit, and finish are superb. I found that, oddly enough, the color matched, and the piping lined up perfectly with my Cortech ADX jacket.

The gloves plug neatly into the jacket liner’s sleeve sockets, and when not in use the sockets tuck easily away into their own personal zippered pockets,

The liner and gloves don’t look electric, either. So don’t be surprised when you ride on a particularly freezing day and have people unconsciously give you major Man Points for being such a hardy soul. You don’t have to confess when they make the question/statement, “seems a bit cold for motorcycling?” You can just smile, bank the Man Points, make that “I don’t really understand the question/statement” face and say, “No, I’m really good to go anytime after Groundhog Day.”

More on “Man Points” later.