Every story has a beginning a middle and and end. If the story is a play (which, for my readers under 30, is a movie performed live, on a stage, with actors) then the script will usually have three parts also known as acts. Act I, Act II, Act III. As an audience member the separation between acts is fairly obvious. For example there may be a black-out or an intermission. In some cases there will be other clues such as the play stops and everyone claps and goes to the bathroom. In any case, an act usually ends after some big event or something really important to the story happens.
Real life is also broken up into separate acts and though we know how the first one starts and the last one ends, the number of acts in anyone's particular story can vary wildly. More importantly, there is often no clear delineation between the acts. I mean, when does childhood end and adulthood begin? One year you're dressed up for halloween and trick-or treating, the next you're too old. How the hell did that happen? What, all of a sudden you don't like free candy? Who doesn't like free candy? I would take a bag of free candy from a stranger right now! Unfortunately, if I showed up at a strangers' house at night wearing a mask and demanding stuff now it would be a felony.
There are times in life when what seems like the end of one part is actually the beginning of another. Like so many things in life, it's simply a matter of perspective. You've no doubt heard the expression "when God closes a door he opens a window" right? Or the old chestnut "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade". Good expressions, both, but not everyone likes climbing out windows and some people think lemonade tastes like battery acid so when life's tedious monotony grinds you down, or when things don't go the way they should, or for whatever reason, you need to make a change or gain a new perspective there is another very old saying that I just made up; "hey, let's just move to Finland".
Feel free to use it anytime.
Yes, Finland. No, not Newfoundland, Canada or Finslin County, SD. I mean actually, Finland, it's a whole other country with its own language and flag and everything. It's situated right up there next to Buyafreakingglobeistan and is the birthplace of, among other things, Nokia, the sauna, several motor sport world champions, and really really dark bread. Oh, and Mixo.
The decision to leave Los Angeles, a place we love living, and move to Finland was remarkably easy. Probably because when the decision was made it was only theoretical. As the date of departure got closer and the move became more of a reality things became decidedly more stressful.
Not only were we moving which, for most people, is a major pain in the patootie, but we were moving to a different country, selling, storing, or packing everything we own, AND selling our house. Oh, and we have three cats. Any one of these things taken individually is worth several grey hairs, but taken simultaneously they're good for a massive breakdown or three.
It is at a times like these that you find out who your friends are and, fortunately, we have some very good ones. Unfortunately, I owe a lot of people in LA drinks and will be mowing at least one lawn upon our return. You may also find out that your significant other is a pack-rat just shy of having her own hoarding reality show. No really, one of us has a problem because have way way too much crap. As we were packing our massive storage unit to the brim with our lives' detritus I kept imagining what it will be like to unpack all that stuff and how many times the phrase, "why the @#!$% did we keep this?" will be uttered. My guess; a lot.
As for selling the house goes all I can say is that the only thing which is a bigger pain in the ass than selling a house is buying one. This is mostly due to an entire industry of people who have made the process so complicated that they then need to be hired so they can explain it and thus have a job. What if every transaction was so convoluted? Going to the grocery store would require a mountain of paperwork, six weeks of negotiations, and a team of lawyers just to buy a steak that you'd probably overcook anyway. Buying and selling a house should be just like buying and selling a used car; find one you like, make a deal, give cash for title, and be done with it. If there was a craigslist for home buying then real estate agents would be the Nigerians. Ok?
It is amazing how time gets compressed. What once was several months until we were to leave LA quickly whittled down to only minutes. At the end we had none to spare barely getting everything done before heading off to LAX.
At the airport we checked in with the Helga (a standard term for German women, look it up) at the ticket counter who, though nice, was not convinced that she should upgrade our tickets to first class for free. She was also not convinced that our extra luggage was a set of very short skis (you are allowed one checked bag and one ski bag at no cost. Which makes sense because people who fly from Los Angeles to Munich often need to bring their skis. Duh!). We then sent the crate full of three howling cats off to be loaded. By the way, did you know that the sound a really unhappy cat makes is remarkably similar to that of a screaming child? It's true. So if that sound is ever coming out of a crate that you happen to be pushing around an international airport and people are staring try this little tip; yell into the crate "look I'm sorry, but do you know how much white babies go for these days? I'm sure you're new parents will love you just as much." Then look at the interlopers, laugh and tell them, "probably a lot more actually".
Works every time. Ok seriously, don't do that. But it was really funny.
Then, despite being at the airport the requisite three hours ahead of time we almost missed our flight thanks to the usual grope and grab in security becoming a TSA drill in which everything inexplicably stops for ten minutes. We were not the last ones to get on the plane, however, that honor went to some pregnant woman with a child, a stroller, a carry-on bag, a neck pillow, and a small dog in tow.
So finally, after months of talking about it, weeks of planning, a few more weeks of procrastinating, reams of papers, hundreds of phone calls, the logistics, the fretting, the worrying, the gigantic stress of it all was about to pay off. We were settled into our seats (in coach thanks a lot Helga) and leaving Los Angeles.
The end of one part, the beginning of another. I can't wait to see how this story turns out.........
Up next; What's a celsius and why don't we have any?
Friday, March 4, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Round and round we go .......
Have you ever gone shopping and found just the right item? The perfect thing that you have always wanted? Maybe it was that pair of shoes you could not live without or a shirt that was the exact color to makes your eyes just pop. For me it's stuff that's on sale.
Like when I sort of need a new pair of gloves, but not really because only some of the fingers in the current pair have holes in them. Right? I know that means those gloves are still good, but then I see a pair on the closeout sale rack and realize that I really do, in fact, at this moment, need a new pair of gloves. Those gloves, right there, the nice ones that nobody else wanted so they're cheap.
Whatever it is, whatever the consumer product, everyone knows that feeling of "I must buy this to make my life perfect. If I do not possess this item I will be unhappy". So we reach for said item, we know what it is and we know we want it. We know we need it. We know that our very happiness for at least the next few moments depends upon the successful acquisition of this, this, this thing in front of us. Grab it we do and gleefully, giddily we try it on.
And it doesn't fit.
It's not even close.
And, no, they don't have a bigger one.
We walk away. Unfulfilled, unhappy, unsatisfied.
But sometimes stuffing yourself into something that's way too small can have benefits. Sometimes it can even be a whole lot of fun. Sometimes something that you thought was too small for you is actually a pretty good fit. And, no, I'm not talking about those skinny jeans you've been eyeing. They really are too small and fit like a like a cheap hotel (no ballroom. Ba-dum-bum).
I am talking, of course, about the singular pleasure that is mini-bike racing.
ever worn a thong?
ever ridden one around a track?
This past weekend marked the first event on the 2011 M1GP calendar; the time trials. Time trials are a way to figure out which class people will race in for the coming season, "expert", "novice", or in my case "old and slow". For those of you who don't know, and I'm assuming that's just about everyone, the M1GP is a dedicated group of people who get together at a prearranged place and time to stuff themselves into suits made of dead cows, sit on children's toys, and go around in circles as fast as possible.
Sound like a cult? Sound like a group of lunatics? Sound like fun? It is, well ok, it's not really a cult. Maybe.
More specifically, the M1GP is a Southern California based mini-bike racing organization. Don't be confused, though, these are not the mini-bikes once available from Sears. Those weedy old death traps with a Briggs and Stratton lawn mower engine which, when ridden, would usually result in some kid being launched through the neighbor's hedge. No, these are a completely different animal. These are purpose built from the factory race machines, which, when ridden will sometimes result in a kid being launched through the neighbor's hedge. So there.
The most popular mini is the Honda NSR 50. It's a single cylinder, 49cc, liquid cooled, two stroke. It has a modern six speed transmission, front and rear disc brakes, decent suspension, twin spar frame, and in my opinion it sucks. Mostly because I have Yamaha YSR 50's which despite being cooler in every way and not being a Honda (always a plus), are a lot older and slower. The YSR may not have all of the NSR's modern parts or fancy good looks, but it does have something no Honda ever has; a soul. Yes, a soul, and no I'm not at all biased. It's a known fact, ok, Honda's are perfect and have great fit and finish and run really well and, whatever, they're soulless.
The YSR was last sold in the US some 20 years ago making it a lot older than some of the little pipsqueaks I have to ride against. Not only are these kids younger and riding faster bikes, but they also cheat by having loads more talent than I do. Jerks.
That's not to say there is a shortage of adults racing minis. In fact, the majority of people at the time trials were fully grown men and women. And even though it is a great deal of fun, minibike racing is no joke. These things are real motorcycles being ridden at the limit and will spit you off in a heartbeat if you're not careful. Everyone wears the same safety equipment as "big bike" racers; full leathers, quality full face helmets, gloves, boots, and back protectors. The machines are all maintained to the standards expected of their bigger kin (except mine because I'm lazy) and must pass a technical inspection before going out on track (except mine because I bribe the officials).
Once I got out onto the warming track I gave the tires a lap to get up to temperature before really putting my head down and trying to put in some fast times. I would have really shown those other folks a thing or two if only they would have stayed behind me for a minute. But, no, they had to just keep passing me like I was standing still. Always in a hurry to rush off to the next corner. Nobody had time to just sit back there and learn how to do this stuff properly, no, they just wanted to be all fast and stuff. Eventually, I remembered a little bit about how to ride a motorcycle and the previous night's sampling of some questionable meatballs had given me the world's first methane powered turbo boosted YSR, I was still unable to get my times anywhere near the respectable level. Even so, it was some of the most fun I've had on a racetrack.
Grace Chiplinsky (#44) and her hubby Adam (star on the tail) are Roo Racing (they're from down under). He's slightly faster than her (for now), but she looks a whole lot better doing it.
The time trials were held at Willow Springs which is a famous racetrack (to people who already know about it). It has been the scene of many a motorcycle racing legend and just as many motorcycle racing legends have been there. They come to test their mettle on the "fastest road in the west" as the sign out front says. Yes, it is a storied race track that demands respect and punishes the unprepared and out in the back of it's overflow parking lot were only those who come late dare to park there is another track. A much, much, much, smaller track. It's tiny, in fact, a track far too small for a normal sized motorcycle. A track that not that many people know about (even those who have been to Willow) and that my friends is where the minis rule.
Willow Springs is situated in an area of the California high desert. An area that sounds a little like Fran Drescher when it says, "so this is what the world would look like with no water or people". Which is why on a February day when most of the rest of the US was digging out from under a pile of snow there was a group of people enjoying a sunny day at the track.
It was nice to get one more roundy - round with the minis before mothballing them in storage while we head off to yon European continent in search of more moto-related shenanigans. Thanks to Young Lee and everyone at M1GP for all their hard work and for keeping mini racing alive and well in SoCal.
And for anyone who wants to check out the fun first hand go to http://www.m1-grandprix.com/
All pix by Mix, words by Josh. See you all next time I'm off to bed.
Like when I sort of need a new pair of gloves, but not really because only some of the fingers in the current pair have holes in them. Right? I know that means those gloves are still good, but then I see a pair on the closeout sale rack and realize that I really do, in fact, at this moment, need a new pair of gloves. Those gloves, right there, the nice ones that nobody else wanted so they're cheap.
Whatever it is, whatever the consumer product, everyone knows that feeling of "I must buy this to make my life perfect. If I do not possess this item I will be unhappy". So we reach for said item, we know what it is and we know we want it. We know we need it. We know that our very happiness for at least the next few moments depends upon the successful acquisition of this, this, this thing in front of us. Grab it we do and gleefully, giddily we try it on.
And it doesn't fit.
It's not even close.
And, no, they don't have a bigger one.
We walk away. Unfulfilled, unhappy, unsatisfied.
But sometimes stuffing yourself into something that's way too small can have benefits. Sometimes it can even be a whole lot of fun. Sometimes something that you thought was too small for you is actually a pretty good fit. And, no, I'm not talking about those skinny jeans you've been eyeing. They really are too small and fit like a like a cheap hotel (no ballroom. Ba-dum-bum).
I am talking, of course, about the singular pleasure that is mini-bike racing.
ever worn a thong?
ever ridden one around a track?
This past weekend marked the first event on the 2011 M1GP calendar; the time trials. Time trials are a way to figure out which class people will race in for the coming season, "expert", "novice", or in my case "old and slow". For those of you who don't know, and I'm assuming that's just about everyone, the M1GP is a dedicated group of people who get together at a prearranged place and time to stuff themselves into suits made of dead cows, sit on children's toys, and go around in circles as fast as possible.
Sound like a cult? Sound like a group of lunatics? Sound like fun? It is, well ok, it's not really a cult. Maybe.
 |
| Young Lee, M1GP president, dices it up with Josh Tootell |
More specifically, the M1GP is a Southern California based mini-bike racing organization. Don't be confused, though, these are not the mini-bikes once available from Sears. Those weedy old death traps with a Briggs and Stratton lawn mower engine which, when ridden, would usually result in some kid being launched through the neighbor's hedge. No, these are a completely different animal. These are purpose built from the factory race machines, which, when ridden will sometimes result in a kid being launched through the neighbor's hedge. So there.
The most popular mini is the Honda NSR 50. It's a single cylinder, 49cc, liquid cooled, two stroke. It has a modern six speed transmission, front and rear disc brakes, decent suspension, twin spar frame, and in my opinion it sucks. Mostly because I have Yamaha YSR 50's which despite being cooler in every way and not being a Honda (always a plus), are a lot older and slower. The YSR may not have all of the NSR's modern parts or fancy good looks, but it does have something no Honda ever has; a soul. Yes, a soul, and no I'm not at all biased. It's a known fact, ok, Honda's are perfect and have great fit and finish and run really well and, whatever, they're soulless.
The YSR was last sold in the US some 20 years ago making it a lot older than some of the little pipsqueaks I have to ride against. Not only are these kids younger and riding faster bikes, but they also cheat by having loads more talent than I do. Jerks.
 |
| yours truly. almost looks like I know what I'm doing. almost. |
Once I got out onto the warming track I gave the tires a lap to get up to temperature before really putting my head down and trying to put in some fast times. I would have really shown those other folks a thing or two if only they would have stayed behind me for a minute. But, no, they had to just keep passing me like I was standing still. Always in a hurry to rush off to the next corner. Nobody had time to just sit back there and learn how to do this stuff properly, no, they just wanted to be all fast and stuff. Eventually, I remembered a little bit about how to ride a motorcycle and the previous night's sampling of some questionable meatballs had given me the world's first methane powered turbo boosted YSR, I was still unable to get my times anywhere near the respectable level. Even so, it was some of the most fun I've had on a racetrack.
The time trials were held at Willow Springs which is a famous racetrack (to people who already know about it). It has been the scene of many a motorcycle racing legend and just as many motorcycle racing legends have been there. They come to test their mettle on the "fastest road in the west" as the sign out front says. Yes, it is a storied race track that demands respect and punishes the unprepared and out in the back of it's overflow parking lot were only those who come late dare to park there is another track. A much, much, much, smaller track. It's tiny, in fact, a track far too small for a normal sized motorcycle. A track that not that many people know about (even those who have been to Willow) and that my friends is where the minis rule.
It was nice to get one more roundy - round with the minis before mothballing them in storage while we head off to yon European continent in search of more moto-related shenanigans. Thanks to Young Lee and everyone at M1GP for all their hard work and for keeping mini racing alive and well in SoCal.
And for anyone who wants to check out the fun first hand go to http://www.m1-grandprix.com/
 |
| this kit contains everything needed for two adults to enjoy a day of mini-bike racing (some assembly required). |
All pix by Mix, words by Josh. See you all next time I'm off to bed.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The beginning
Ok, so you're probably wondering what this is all about. Right? You're surfing the net while waiting for your friends to comment on your latest witty facebook status update and stumbled upon my blog. Now you're thinking, "oh joy yet another blog by an American and Finnish couple who left California to live in and travel through Europe so they can go to motorcycle races. And blog about it. I bet it will be full of opinions masquerading as facts, questionable judgements, and ridiculous or even fake racetrack interviews with whoever they can talk to. I'm sure the authors will attempt to be funny and the writing will be full of bad grammar and spelling mistakes".
Well, dear reader, allow me put your mind at ease and assure you that we here at Klaus und Hammer will make every attempt to use the spell checker.
Who are Klaus und Hammer (pronounced with a heavy and very fake German accent)?
We are Josh Steinberg and Mixo Kallionalusta. We do not know which one is which, but what we do know is that one day in the not too distant past while driving along "das autobahn" while on holiday we started speaking to each other as the natives did (the natives of course being Germans as we were in Germany at the time if you didn't pick up on that). Maybe it was the long hours on the road, maybe it was the scenery, maybe it was the combination of shnitzel and Black Forrest Cake from roadside venders, we may never know, but everything that came out of our mouths sounded like Germans in a Mel Brooks film and Klaus und Hammer were born. As for why the blog is named after them? Well, we suck at naming stuff. Ok?
So enjoy the blog. We will be posting a new one when ever we have something of interest to, uh, post.
Oh and pictures.
Next up; Grown men and women who pay good money to go in circles in the California desert while riding motorcycles made for children.
Well, dear reader, allow me put your mind at ease and assure you that we here at Klaus und Hammer will make every attempt to use the spell checker.
Who are Klaus und Hammer (pronounced with a heavy and very fake German accent)?
We are Josh Steinberg and Mixo Kallionalusta. We do not know which one is which, but what we do know is that one day in the not too distant past while driving along "das autobahn" while on holiday we started speaking to each other as the natives did (the natives of course being Germans as we were in Germany at the time if you didn't pick up on that). Maybe it was the long hours on the road, maybe it was the scenery, maybe it was the combination of shnitzel and Black Forrest Cake from roadside venders, we may never know, but everything that came out of our mouths sounded like Germans in a Mel Brooks film and Klaus und Hammer were born. As for why the blog is named after them? Well, we suck at naming stuff. Ok?
So enjoy the blog. We will be posting a new one when ever we have something of interest to, uh, post.
Oh and pictures.
Next up; Grown men and women who pay good money to go in circles in the California desert while riding motorcycles made for children.
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