Positive Motorcycle Quotes

A firm may achieve differentiation, yet this differentiation will usually sustain only so much of a price differential. Thus if a differentiated firm gets too far behind in cost due to technological change or simply inattention, the low cost firm may be in a position to make major inroads. For example, Kawasaki and other Japanese motorcycle producers have been able to successfully attack differentiated producers such as Harley-Davidson and Triumph in large motorcycles by offering major cost savings to buyers.

This book offers another, more serious alternative to material success. It’s not so much an alternative as an expansion of the meaning of “success” to something larger than just getting a good job and staying out of trouble. And also something larger than mere freedom. It gives a positive goal to work toward that does not confine.

Good riding techniques result in immediate automated control forces, resulting in controlling scary situations automatically. Sliding changes seat, peg and grip positions relative to the rider. Good riding techniques use these changes to your advantage. Good body posture, weight distribution and muscle tension then result in the desired immediate automated control forces.

They always think things could be much worse and surprisingly they found comfort in that. When I fell from the motorcycle, they said “At least you didn’t injure your head...

Riding Practice Here’s an exercise you can practice to gain some experience crossing edge traps. Be sure to wear your crash padding just in case you haven’t quite absorbed the correct techniques yet. Ride a figure-8 path over different edges, concentrating on positioning your motorcycle to cross as close to a right angle as possible and using a bit of throttle to drive the front tire up and over. Yeah, it gets harder as you move down the list. • A wood 2 x 4 or 2 x 6 that’s at least 6 feet long • A low curb • A stiff garden hose • A large-diameter rope that’s at least 10 feet long

Thanks in part to his support of the Taliban, Karzai became a candidate for the position of United Nations ambassador for the Taliban administration.24 It was a tit-for-tat deal. His father, Abdul Ahad Karzai, had supported these tribally-related Taliban in early meetings in 1994 in Quetta and in Kandahar, and wanted something in return.

Damping is viscous friction. It turns kinetic energy into heat and is sensitive only to damper velocity and not suspension stroke position.

The L2 measurement is next. Put the motorcycle back on the ground and place the rider on board. Have the rider grab onto something to balance or use a wheel chock, like the Condor Pit-Stop, while the rider is in position. Now push down on the suspension about 25mm (about an inch) and very slowly let the suspension rise back up and stop. If there were no friction in the suspension, it would continue to come up further. Where the suspension stops is the L2 measurement (measure between the same two points as L1).

Though Crawford was speaking specifically to the plight of the knowledge work middle manager, the “bewildering psychic landscape” he references applies to many positions in this sector. As Crawford describes in his 2009 ode to the trades, Shop Class as Soulcraft, he quit his job as a Washington, D.C., think tank director to open a motorcycle repair shop exactly to escape this bewilderment. The feeling of taking a broken machine, struggling with it, then eventually enjoying a tangible indication that he had succeeded (the bike driving out of the shop under its own power) provides a concrete sense of accomplishment he struggled to replicate when his day revolved vaguely around reports and communications strategies.

I’m going to forget the kiss with Alex happened even though I was up all night replaying it in my head. As I’m driving to school the day after the kiss that never happened, I wonder if I should ignore Alex. Although that’s not an option because we have chemistry together. Oh, no. Chemistry class. Will Colin suspect something? Maybe someone saw us drive off together yesterday and told him. Last night I turned off my cell so I didn’t have to talk to anyone. Ugh. I wish my life wasn’t so complicated. I have a boyfriend. Okay, so my boyfriend’s been acting pushy lately, interested only in sex. And I’m sick of it. But Alex as my boyfriend would never work. His mom already hates me. His ex-girlfriend wants to kill me--another bad sign. He even smokes, which is totally not cool. I could make a huge list of all the negatives. Okay, so there might be some positives. A few minor ones too insignificant to mention. He’s smart. He has eyes so expressive they give a hint to more than what he portrays. He’s dedicated to his friends, family, and even his motorcycle. He touched me as if I were made of glass. He kissed me as if he’d savor it for the rest of his life.

But Alex as my boyfriend would never work. His mom already hates me. His ex-girlfriend wants to kill me--another bad sign. He even smokes, which is totally not cool. I could make a huge list of all the negatives. Okay, so there might be some positives. A few minor ones too insignificant to mention. He’s smart. He has eyes so expressive they give a hint to more than what he portrays. He’s dedicated to his friends, family, and even his motorcycle. He touched me as if I were made of glass. He kissed me as if he’d savor it for the rest of his life.

I’m okay, honest.” I sighed heavily. “Well, as okay as I can be after that.” I squinted up at him. “Exactly how many jobs do you have, anyway? Barista, self-defense guru, fixit guy, parking enforcement officer—and by the way, does that mean you gave me the ticket I got last spring for two measly minutes of double parking when I ran into the library to return a book?” His shoulders relaxed with my teasing tone, and I was rewarded with the ghost smile. “I plead the fifth on that. I write a lot of parking tickets. The, um, fixit thing is rare. And I volunteer time for the self-defense gig.” What I’d left off this list, and what he didn’t add: economics tutor. “I guess we should add one more, huh?” I said, watching him closely. He had a superb poker face. No reaction at all. “Personal defender of Jacqueline Wallace?” The faint smile appeared again. “Another volunteer position, Lucas?” I asked coyly, brows rising. “How will you have time for studying? Or anything fun?” His hands reached for me, gripping my hipbones and pulling me forward. He stared down at me, his voice low. “There are some things I will make time for, Jacqueline.” Leaning, he kissed the spot just in front of my ear, the spot that made my breath go shallow. And then, he turned and jogged out to his motorcycle, leaving me standing in the entryway

He then pointed to the right, and I turned to look. Exactly on cue, something massive came around the corner: a snaking, vehicular army that included a phalanx of police cars and motorcycles, a number of black SUVs, two armored limousines with American flags mounted on their hoods, a hazmat mitigation truck, a counterassault team riding with machine guns visible, an ambulance, a signals truck equipped to detect incoming projectiles, several passenger vans, and another group of police escorts. The presidential motorcade. It was at least twenty vehicles long, moving in orchestrated formation, car after car after car, before finally the whole fleet rolled to a quiet halt, and the limos stopped directly in front of Barack’s parked plane. I turned to Cornelius. “Is there a clown car?” I said. “Seriously, this is what he’s going to travel with now?” He smiled. “Every day for his entire presidency, yes,” he said. “It’s going to look like this all the time.” I took in the spectacle: thousands and thousands of pounds of metal, a squad of commandos, bulletproof everything. I had yet to grasp that Barack’s protection was still only half-visible. I didn’t know that he’d also, at all times, have a nearby helicopter ready to evacuate him, that sharpshooters would position themselves on rooftops along the routes he traveled, that a personal physician would always be with him in case of a medical problem, or that the vehicle he rode in contained a store of blood of the appropriate type in case he ever needed a transfusion. In a matter of weeks, just ahead of Barack’s inauguration, the presidential limo would be upgraded to a newer model—aptly named the Beast—a seven-ton tank disguised as a luxury vehicle, tricked out with hidden tear-gas cannons, rupture-proof tires, and a sealed ventilation system meant to get him through a biological or chemical attack.

His big hands moved quickly, efficiently, over the hard polymer—re-assembling the Smith & Wesson M&P Compact he’d brought with him across the unguarded border with France. No borders. It was a lofty idea, in theory. In reality, it only served to make the work of men like him easier. He lifted the semi-automatic pistol in one hand, sliding a full double-stacked magazine into the grip. Twelve rounds of 9mm Federal Hydra-Shok, jacketed hollowpoints. Carrying hardball wouldn’t have been of much use—pistol rounds weren’t going to go through good body armor on the best of days. The Smith & Wesson went into a holster under his armpit, in a cross-draw position. Another pair of loaded magazines went into the pocket of his motorcycle jacket. Along with a long, thin suppressor.