Date: Fri, 29 Aug 2003 12:39:32 -0700
Reply-To: Tromper <tromper@COMCAST.NET>
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From: Tromper <tromper@COMCAST.NET>
Subject: Re: Dr. Diesel meets Mr. Harley
In-Reply-To: <20030829183227.77703.qmail@web14611.mail.yahoo.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII"
Since the olfactory senses of that kind of fellow, and interior
designers are very sensitive I suggest you use some "Floral" Scented
lamp oil in your fuel mix for the interim. This should not only
help your power and mileage a bit, it will also improve the odor
of your exhaust and all who ride motorcycles in it.
I don't know what effect the floral scent will have on your injectors
but the vanilla didn't do anything detectable to mine.
Tromper
82 Dieselfant II
Formerly Vanilla, now Gas scented exhaust
-----Original Message-----
From: Vanagon Mailing List [mailto:vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com]On Behalf
Of Jeffrey Earl
Sent: Friday, August 29, 2003 11:32 AM
To: vanagon@GERRY.VANAGON.COM
Subject: Dr. Diesel meets Mr. Harley
As some of you may or may not know, Milwaukee is
currently hosting the 100th birthday of
Harley-Davidson Motorcycles, with 200,000 to 300,000
riders and spectators expected to attend. So streets
and highways in this entire part of the state are
crawling with these over-chromed and under-muffled
mechanical anachronisms. Many of their portly and
unwashed owners apparently secretly suffer from
chronic testosterone deficiencies, for which they
compensate by needlessly twisting the throttle at
stoplights, and roaring around town, weaving thru
traffic.
This morning on my daily freeway commute in my 1983
diesel Westfalia, a routine check of my mirror
revealed a Harley rider approaching from behind,
presumably on his way to the barbarian festivities. As
luck would have it, we soon began ascending a hill and
my 1.6L diesel briefly went into her James Bond
smoke-screen mode, laying down a pretty good trail of
soot. The leather-bound biker immediately changed
lanes to avoid the hazy billows of smoke, and the
clattery 'blap-blap-blap' of his rusty steed soon grew
even louder as we crested the hill and he finally
passed me.
As he went by I saw that he wore an old-timey leather
cowboy duster with furred collar, a greasy red
bandanna, and an incongruous pair of
fluorescent-green-framed mirrored sunglasses. The big
engineering boots and lack of helmet told me that he,
perhaps quite rightly, placed more value on his
yellowed toenails then the contents of his cranium. As
the two-wheeled desperado pulled back into the lane
ahead of me, he looked back over his shoulder and very
theatrically pinched his nose, the universal sign for
"phew, you stink."
I considered this for a moment and acknowledged that,
at least momentarily, he was quite correct, then
replied by pasting my face into the windshield and
making a big show of plugging my ears with my fingers
while grimacing and shaking my head.
He stiffened in the saddle and seemed to falter a bit
as he glared at me in his own mirror, his ten little
piggies conferring amongst themselves to interprete my
gesture and formulate a response. Finally, frustrated
at having run out of clever visual retorts, he
delivered to me the internationally recognized
middle-fingered salute, and with a flatulant roar rode
off into the sunrise.
I don't know who got the last or best word in this
little morning exchange on the highway, but at least
until after the weekend, I'll be sticking to the back
roads ...
Jeffrey Earl
1983 diesel Westfalia "Vanasazi"
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