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Categories: all aviation bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater
Wed, 28 Feb 2007I did my taxes early this year, and it was plain that I was getting a little something back from the IRS. Enough to justify a completely frivolous purchase: a Nintendo DS. I've vaguely wanted one for a while, and that extra cash plus a looming trip to San Jose (which would involve long hours in airports waiting for the probulator) pushed me over the edge. So, after a bit of digging, I picked one up used from Craigslist. It came with one game: Bust-A-Move, which isn't real compelling for me. It's fun enough, but my forte doesn't lie with quick-reaction games. I cruised the reviews a bit, and settled on a different game I was interested in: Animal Crossing: Wild World. I picked up a copy at Fry's (already being there for a different mission). I haven't really been able to put it down since. It's a strangely compelling game. It's a sort of "life simulation," in which you're a character in a little town. You play the only human (unless you have friends who also play), and everyone else is a computer-controlled anthropomorphized animal. There's a koala, a frog, a chicken (confusingly named Goose), a duck, and so on. The whole thing happens in real-time, which is to say that the game's clock is tied to the real clock. It gets dark in the game approximately when the sun goes down outside. There was snow on the ground until February 26th, at which point it was suddenly spring-like (maybe the Japanese have an odd idea of when spring starts). You can go fishing, or hunt bugs, or dig for fossils. These things can then be sold for money (to pay off your mortgage, of all things), or donated to the museum, or given to other characters in the game, who usually respond with some other item. It sounds simple and silly, but if I'm not careful, two or three hours can slip by as I play. Anyway, I wanted to put up some news that wasn't all depressing like the last few posts. I'd definitely call this good (or at least engrossing) news. Just in case any of my half-dozen readers also plays this game, drop me a line with your friend-code. I'd love to try out the Wi-Fi connection, but trading codes with JoeCool2143 from some Animal Crossing chat board seems like a questionable idea at best. Posted at 14:58 permanent link category: /misc Fri, 23 Feb 2007So, you remember that minivan I bought a few weeks ago? Yeah, the one that was the nice, reliable Toyota, that despite nearly 200 thousand miles, didn't seem to have any troubles? It has troubles. While I was running around in Oregon recently, I noticed that the heater wasn't working all that well, then later noticed it was nearly overheating. I stopped at the nearest place which had water and antifreeze, since it was obviously low on coolant. I waited the requisite 30 minutes to open the cap, since I didn't want to compound the situation with steam burns on my hand. Filled the tank (there's no radiator cap), and drove on. No problem. Then, on the way back home, it did it again. This time, if I shoved the heater control all the way to "hot," the problem went away. The rest of that trip was spent with the temperature gauge as part of my instrument scan, and a quick hand for the heater lever. A week ago, I had another occasion to take it out, and when I got to one of my destinations, I heard an ominous bubbling as I pulled to a stop -- and realized I hadn't been keeping the temp gauge in my scan. I clicked the key momentarily back to ON and sure enough, the temperature gauge was pegged. I went off and ran my errand, and an extra one a few blocks away, to pass some time. I filled the tank (having kept the antifreeze and water handy), and proceeded home. So I brought the van into a very reputable shop yesterday, and described the symptoms, and what I thought the problem was. The man behind the counter kept this bemused expression on his face which said, "You have no idea what you're talking about." I assured him that I did know what I was talking about, but agreed that I didn't want him to blindly fix what I thought it was. Rather, I wanted him to find the real problem. He said he'd get to it around midday today, most likely. As I was riding home last night, I heard my phone ring, so I pulled over and flipped it open. "This is Ian." "Hey, this is Nathan, from the shop. I'm calling about your van. I'm afraid I've got bad news." "Lay it on me," sez I. "Well, we started looking at it, and decided to do the head gasket check first. It failed. Badly." "Oh." "Yeah, so this problem usually totals one of these cars: it's a $2500-3000 fix. You have to drop the motor, blah blah blah," he went off into technical details. Bottom line, my $3k investment ("Hey, I should be able to sell it for about what I paid when I'm done, right?") is gone. Three grand essentially wasted. I might be able to sell it for $500-1000, maybe, or it may be that I'll have to sell it to a scrapyard for a couple hundred dollars. It's got a lot still right with it, so I'm also going to look into finding a used engine, and I may just drive it as-is and top off the coolant every time I drive it. Anyway. So much for selecting a brand known for longevity, and a model reputed to be without problems. So much for paying a mechanic to do a pre-purchase inspection. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate dealing with buying and selling vehicles? Yeah. Posted at 09:51 permanent link category: /misc Tue, 20 Feb 2007
Welcome to your new Stadtsflughafen. You will obey!
I took a flight recently for business. I came away with a few impressions. The first step of the journey was to visit our friendly government website describing which substances, devices, and articles of clothing were allowed on a plane that day. Hmm, although there's only about .7 ounces of deodorant left, that container is a 5 oz container, so it's on the no-fly list... Ditto the toothpaste, guess I'm checking a bag... 3:30 am: the alarm goes off, and I stumble out of bed. The taxi will be here in 30 minutes... Blargies... Food. Peanut butter, sure. Apple juice. Augh! Why is the refrigerator light so bright? The sun won't be up for another 3 hours, I don't need this kind of blindness right now. The phone rings, and I answer. "This is Ian." "Hello, this is the Greytop/Yellow cab company calling." "Hel--" "We are calling to let you know that your taxi will be there in two minutes. Click" Urgh. Slam remaining apple juice. Say goodbye to blissfully-sleeping Kristin. Into the cab. "Good morning, Mr.. Ian, right?" "Yeah, that's me." Forced, too-chipper conversation. This is the cabbie's first time? Oh, today. He knows how to go, right, because he went to college down that road. Ah, a BA in Poly-Sci? Wow, that's... yeah, you're driving a cab. Seattle is pretty before sunrise. I wonder what the other drivers are doing on the road at... Ugh, 4:20 am. No one should be awake at this hour. Fiddling with the tiniest credit card device in the world. Receipt. Shuffle forward into the line... Line? Check watch -- yep, 4:30 in the morning, and there's a line at the ticket counter. Must remember: never travel on a Monday morning again. Plastic smile on the person behind the counter. She labels my checked bag. "Sir, would you mind just pulling this off for me?" The strap has offended her. Into the side-pocket with you, non-TSA-compliant strap! Little bag (with potentially deadly .7 ounces of deodorant! and toothpaste! inside) dissappears into the krill-straining maw of the metal whale. Security line. Long tape barriers stretched out to keep the mob in line, only there's no mob. Stentorian voice: "Remove your shoes. Take off any metal objects and place them in your bag. Place your laptop in a separate bin. Place your shoes in a separate bin. Your belongings will be searched. Your orifices are ours for the probing." What? The Orwell is strong with this one. A low-production-quality video accompanies the Big Brother speech, showing a lifeless automaton obeying the stern commands. A suspiciously phallic "metal detector wand" sweeps over the dull subject on the screen, but the scene cuts before anything "happens." Shuffle forward. No crowd, but you still have to wait. "Sir, do you mind if we re-scan this?" "Do I have a choice?" I don't say. "Of course not," with a plastic smile. Can't upset the TSA people, or they'll have that "wand" out. Citizen, relinquish all freedoms! Your flight might take off without you! They didn't find any bombs or 3.1 oz bottles of hair gel, and hand my bag back. I re-attach all the metallic fiddly-bits to myself, and shuffle down to the subway to the N gates. Frightening, Stalinist mosaics of frustrated travelers, straight from Monopoly money, stare down at me, mocking the shuffling pre-dawn zombies. Automatic, driverless subway train pulls up, and the zombies swap places. I sneak a glance at the robot's guidance system -- those rails are only a foot apart! Who decided on such a narrow gauge track? What am I, some kind of subway-track nerd? The robot drives us on, along an Oruboros track to nowhere. Up, up, into the N gates! Two sets of escalators and one set of stairs. I'm the only person who opts for the stairs. So static and unpowered. How will I ever manage? The sign points thataway, at the furthest corner of the building for my gate. The Alaska Airlines tuba song from their 80's ads plays in my head, replacing the Communist Russia march which had been playing. I march forward, sweating under my bag, past the sports bar (open), bagel restaurant (closed) and the newsstand (closed). What's wrong with this picture? At last, rest. At my gate, with only... Check watch. Oh look, I'm an hour and a half early. Sigh. Ah, the gate attendant is here, I can check to see.. if.. That sign-board they're booting up is showing the Windows XP startup screen. I should have known, we're all doomed! And it's throwing errors! Ugh. ... So, yeah. It could be safely said that flying is not the most enjoyable thing I've ever done. Posted at 22:19 permanent link category: /misc Wed, 14 Feb 2007Just in case any of my (and Kjersten's) old friends are reading this and getting timely information from it, I have word of her memorial service:
Posted at 14:28 permanent link category: /misc Mon, 12 Feb 2007
Saying goodbye to someone I hardly knew
(I've updated this entry a bit as memories clarify themselves to me.) I found out today, as described in this article, that my old friend Kjersten Oquist died yesterday. I first met Kjersten when I was in 7th grade. She was in 9th grade, and played the violin, although even at that age, she was starting to tend towards viola. We played together for a year in the school orchestra. She was one of the better players in the orchestra, and I think held first chair of the second violins. We got to know each other a little bit over the year, although the difference between a 7th grader and a 9th grader was sufficiently huge that I perceived a huge gap between us, even though there wasn't really one. The year ended, and she went on to the high school (I was in junior high, which goes from 7th to 9th grade, and the high school covered 10th through 12th). Despite being in different schools, we still saw each other on occasion. I know we met at the odd orchestra festival, and we may have attended each others' performances. She had apparently marked me out as someone to watch, as I recall meeting up with her specifically at festivals, where other people from the orchestra passed by with a nod. A couple years passed in this fashion, as we met occasionally, and we maintained a sort of loose friendship. I always admired her, for her musical abilities, her intelligence, and increasingly for her sheer attractiveness. (As I've previously mentioned, I seem to have had something of a scattershot approach to crushes in my early "love" life, since they seemed to be confined solely to my own mind. Kjersten was, in retrospect, a very worthy subject of my admiration.) We met up again in high school. I was now in 10th grade, and she in 12th. We interacted through the orchestra, as well as through mutual friends in the drama department, and through the school paper. She was the editor of the school paper, and I quickly signed on to be Photographer General. Actually, I was just one of the photographers, the other was a young woman whose name I've momentarily forgotten, who was also a senior. I credit her with teaching me a great deal about how to develop black and white film (yes children, back in the day when a camera used an arcane chemical process, rather than an arcane electronic one!). In any case, I wanted to be on the paper because they needed a photographer, and I was deeply into photography. It was a pleasant bonus that Kjersten was the editor. I could describe all sorts of things about being on the paper, but all of the memories of Kjersten are pleasant ones. She was a very forgiving boss (if boss is the right term). We would commonly stay late (I think we had a staff of about 5 people, and getting the paper laid out and together would commonly take until 9 pm with all of us working hard from the end-of-school bell at 3-something), getting the paper ready for the printers. This involved these obnoxious and universally-reviled wax applicators, which were supposed to roll sticky wax onto the back of copy, so it would stick to the layout sheets. Instead, they seemed to apply wax to anything which came within a few feet of them: clothing, hair, hands, shoes, all over the table, all over the layout paper, etc. Finally, we resorted to using the wax roller as a heating pot, and were just applying the wax with brushes. It was easier, cleaner and neater. Throughout it all, Kjersten maintained a wry sense of humor that kept everyone going. There were tense moments, to be sure, but we were all having fun. It didn't take long for me to develop a full-blown Deep Crush<tm> on her, although I never did anything about it (since it was all inside my head). Late one night, we were alone in the newspaper room, everyone else having finished their jobs and gone home. Kjersten and I were finishing up the layout, and she would drive the assembled sheets over to the printer in the morning. Something had just happened which put me in a bad mood, probably a mis-placed 1 pt line (imagine nearly hair-width black tape used to outline stories). Utilizing my new Adult Vocabulary, I exclamed "Fuck!" about whatever had just gone wrong. She looked up from the table, smiled sweetly, and said, "Maybe later." Stunned at the potential implications of this (having taken a minute to work out what the implications were), I must have smiled shyly at her, and continued about my job, the tension having vanished. (This may have been the moment when the mere Crush turned into a Deep Crush<tm>.) I have, etched permanently in my memory, an image of her leaning over a layout table, with a grey felt fedora perched incongruously on her head, smiling back at me. Her smile is sweet, her eyes twinkling despite the dull flourescent lights glowing from the ceiling. Between late nights working on the newspaper (copies of which were usually found littering the halls of Woodinville High School mere minutes after it came out) and orchestra, we saw a fair amount of each other. Looking back on it, we were actually pretty good friends, although the age gap was enough at the time to prevent me from thinking of her as one of my social circle. She was, but I wasn't experienced or mature enough yet to figure that out. Kjersten had a face like those excessively cute Campbells cherubs from a contemporary ad campagin, cute dimples and all. Except, she looked more grown-up, as if one of the rosy-cheeked cherubs had gained about 12 years but kept the innocence. She had blond hair which fell straight down to her shoulders. I don't specifically recall her height, but it strikes me that she wasn't tall. Mostly, I was perpetually aware of the simple presence of her. I don't recall, now, if I attended her graduation or not. It seems likely I did, although it was probably in my capacity as a cellist playing Pomp and Circumstance with the orchestra, and I certainly don't have any reliable memories of the event. I had a surprising number of friends who were 2 years ahead of me, and it was within that circle that I found myself most comfortable. My own classmates were never very interesting, although that may have been a case of the grass looking greener over there. Fast forward many years, to 1997. I'd just graduated from college, and was living in Seattle. I got an invitation to Kjersten's wedding. I was pleased she still thought of me, and gladly attended. I was late for the majority of the service, probably because of traffic. She got married in Bellevue, which can be quite a trip from Seattle if it's a high-traffic time. But I was there for the recessional, and the reception afterwards. Of course, it was nearly impossible to get near her or the groom (who I didn't know), but I got a moment to say congratulations and give her a hug. Practically speaking, that's the last time I saw Kjersten Oquist. About 4 years ago, I got a note from her, passed by my mom, that she'd like to hear from me, accompanied by a phone number. Perhaps a year later, I finally tried calling the number, but it rang with no answer, and I put it in the back of my mind to try later. Of course, now it's too late. I don't feel too bad about that, we chose our separate paths, and I don't think she felt neglected by my lack of contact (I didn't feel neglected by hers). I was pleased to know that she was working with my mom, and I'd hear of occasional sightings as they passed at rehearsals. As has happened with many people in my life, she drifted out of it, but I was still happy to know that she was around. Now, that happiness has drained away. When I read the article I mentioned at the top of this entry, it had been forwarded to me by my mom, with the simple title "Bad news multiplies." I read through the headline, thinking one of her orchestra companions (largely unknown to me) had passed away -- some of the players in orchestras can be quite elderly, and indeed that's sometimes how new players get openings to join orchestras. When I started the first paragraph, a little chill came over me, and my eye skipped down. When I saw Kjersten's name, I felt a physical shock, like I imagine it would feel if a ghost flew through you (see the Harry Potter movies). It was this enormous, unreal moment. The conference call I was on became so much buzzing in the background as I read through the details of the article, and realized the enormity of the sudden change in my life. It's a little bit too late, but, thank you Kjersten, for helping me get through the morass which was secondary education. I am very happy to have had you as a friend. I hope that, whatever happens after this life, it's pleasant for you; you deserve it. Fare well. Posted at 17:54 permanent link category: /misc Thu, 08 Feb 2007
With thanks and 99% writing credit to Eric Westervelt and National Public Radio. Original story appears here. This version is intended as political satire. I was listening to this story this morning, and was inspired to try making a "local" version. It's about as frightening as I thought it would be. Posted at 09:44 permanent link category: /misc Wed, 07 Feb 2007
A picture is worth a couple hundred words, at least
I can already tell that you, my clamoring public, demand the very best. And there ain't nothin' better than pictures:
That's the van as I looked at it on Saturday. It looks pretty much the same now, but not quite so surrounded in speedboats on trailers. Posted at 12:04 permanent link category: /misc Tue, 06 Feb 2007I've done it. I bought a minivan. What's funny about this is that everyone I know has asked me questions like, "Why are you buying a minivan?" and "Are you crazy?" These are closely followed by, "I wouldn't want to be caught dead driving a minivan!" Then they lose a bit of hyperbole, and just start making jokes about soccer balls. As I've mentioned before, a minivan is actually a really excellent match for what I want to do: haul boxes and building supplies, and later maybe people and theater stuff. And, I've actually dreamed, on and off, of having a minivan for a number of years now. Strange as it sounds, they've long appealed to me for their immense practical value. Anyway, the van I picked up is a 1995 Toyota Previa. It's the rear-wheel drive version (versus the all-wheel drive version), and being a 1995 model, includes a supercharger. Yep, I own a supercharged minivan. Dear god. I actually can't tell there's a supercharger there, although I'm assured there is. It doesn't make that cool turbo whine or anything. My new minivan (which I shall call any of "TIE fighter," "Godmobile" or "The Jelly Bean" -- the first due to its license plate, the second due to its previous owner (a Brazillian missionary), and the third because it looks like a jelly bean) came with 198 thousand miles on the odometer, but doesn't really look like it. That is to say, it's in very good shape. It drives like a minivan, and not like a tired old minivan. The inspection revealed almost no problems. One very interesting problem is that the windshield washer doesn't work. "Interesting?" I hear you mockingly ask. Actually, yes. I popped the hood, and peered down into the washer tank. It was bone dry. "Oh duh," thought I, and grabbed a pitcher of water to pour in. I started pouring, thinking "This is going to be the cheapest repair ever!" Then, I noticed the noise. It was the sound of water pouring onto the ground. Apparently the reservoir tank has a hole the size of Michigan in it. I wonder if epoxy will stick to that plastic... (Ok, maybe it's not interesting to you. It was to me.) Anyway, when it's all said and done, I'm really glad to have that off my mind. I was spending too much time cruising Craigslist and Auto Trader looking for minivans. Now I can get my mind back on more important things, like packing, and writing journal entries. Posted at 23:36 permanent link category: /misc Sun, 04 Feb 2007So, take a look at this: Pretty neat, really. If you ignore the text in the corner, you could almost believe that's a real person riding a real motorcycle. What it actually shows is a collection of pixels generated by my PS2 as I played Tourist Trophy, which is the best motorcycle videogame I've ever tried. That's "me" riding a Honda CB400SS, which may or may not be a real bike. Available evidence suggests that it's not real, but I'd love to be proven wrong on that one. Whether or not it's real, it's very cool. I was riding on TT's representation of the Infineon Raceway. I actually saved a whole slew of pictures like this, just to see how it'd work. They're all of roughly the same quality -- a little bit too perfect, but close enough to reality that you have to look twice to make sure. I'm fairly impressed. So yeah, TT is a neat game. It's still plainly a video game (for instance: you can grab your brakes full-force while leaned over as far as possible -- in reality, this would immediately dump you on the ground, but in the game, it tightens up your line nicely), but it's the closest to reality I've found yet. Of course, now I'm afraid that it's training up a bunch of young potential motorcyclists who are going to think it's just hunky-dorey to grab a handful of brakes to tighten up their line through a corner. That group is in for a few hard lessons if common sense doesn't take over quickly. Posted at 21:44 permanent link category: /motorcycle There's apparently a new record shop opening up in Greenwood (a neighborhood of Seattle). A Golden Shower of Hits I could not make this up if I tried. Posted at 14:21 permanent link category: /misc Sat, 03 Feb 2007I should just start a series, entitled "How not to do it." Anyway, I went down early this morning to look at two Previas. Both were in Tacoma (well, one in Tacoma, one in Gig Harbor). I had arranged to meet with seller #1 at a YMCA in Fircrest, which is a suburb, perhaps, of Tacoma. We were to meet at 9 am, which was early, but made space in the day for other things I had to do. It happened that I talked to someone about another one in Gig Harbor, which is close enough to Fircrest that it'd be silly to pass up the chance to see it too. I arranged with seller #2 that I'd call him after I was done with #1. Kristin, in a fit of boldness, decided to come with me, which made the trip a bit easier -- it takes 45 or 50 minutes to drive to Tacoma, even with no traffic. We arrived at the appointed spot after a bit of confusion -- he'd given me the address as 1102 S Pearl St, but the YMCA was plainly at 1002 S Pearl. Oh well, I got into the parking lot, and cruised up and down. And up, and down. And sideways, and some more up and down. Damn, that's a big parking lot! We spotted two Previas, but no one was hanging out by either one. I pulled out my phone, and called the number I had for him. No rings, straight to voicemail. Ok, that's not cool. I left a message saying I was waiting for him. We eventually settled in a parking spot to wait to see if he'd call back. I called him perhaps 5-6 times, each time greeted by his voicemail prompt. Finally, having patiently waited until 9:30, I called him again and left a message saying I was off to look at #2, and he could call me until 10:30. After that, yeah, don't bother. So, I have to say, if you're trying to sell a car? Maybe try showing up for appointments. And even so, maybe keep the phone on. That kind of treatment is bad enough that I wouldn't buy his van even if it was the perfect thing. Fortunately, #2 (a 1995 model) turned out to be in very good shape, even though it had 198,638 miles on it. The AC didn't work, and the driver's side mirror wobbled, but those were the only two complaints, really. I was impressed. Fortunately again, while I was calling dork #1, I got voicemail from someone else who was selling what I'll call #3, a 1991 Previa with about 140k miles. I'll be looking at that tomorrow. Best of all, it's been maintained by Highroad Automotive, who are famous for doing preventative, "keep it running forever" maintenance. Cool! Between numbers 2 and 3, I feel like I've actually got choices. Maybe it'll even be a hard choice. Posted at 13:53 permanent link category: /misc Fri, 02 Feb 2007Well, it's not a lot of progress, but it is some. Wednesday evening, through the exceedingly kind graces of Cascade Auto Clinic (who stayed open 40 minutes past their normal closing time for me), I was able to drive a Toyota Previa. The one they have for sale is busted down and overpriced, but that's not the point. The point is that the Previa, as a model, is perfect for what I want. It's got a little engine (and so won't be terrible on gas mileage), a timing chain versus a belt (no changes every 90k, or worrying about whether it's been done), and it's huge inside. They're also available for around $3000-4000, which is about what I want to spend. So I have finally made the decision on which model to look out for. That is an unreasonably large relief, I think I was starting to go crazy trying to balance all the tradeoffs and options available. The particular one I drove was in kind of a sad state. The salesman (who, again, was very nice and pleasant to work with) said, "One of the rear wheel bearings is starting to go, and for our price, we'll replace that." So I was prepared for a bit of bearing noise. I got out to the van (in a pitch-black lot to the side of the building), and started going over it with the little keychain flashlight I had handy. Generally looked pretty good, although the front right tire was a touch low on air, and there were numerous slow leaks apparent on the engine case. I got in and started the engine. It turned over and caught with no trouble, and ran a little rough for the first few seconds. Nothing too unusual. I started playing with controls: heater, fan, lights, air conditioning, turn signals, radio, etc. That's when things started to get pretty wonky. The hazard flasher, which was the first thing I tried, didn't work right. The lights would blink on and off once, then stick on. Try again, they just came on without blinking at all. I tried the normal turn signals, and they seemed to work alright. I turned the lights on, and movement on the dash caught my eye: the engine temperature gauge had flickered from "cold" to "mid." I noticed a minute later that it was back down to cold. The radio, although lit up, wasn't making any noise. I played with a few radio controls, but it was obviously having none of it. Several control backlights (apparently a weak feature for Toyota) were non-functional. One of the brake lights wasn't lighting up when I stepped on the pedal. The "Oil Change" light was illuminated on the dash. The air conditioning button produced no change whatsoever. No indicator light, no change in engine speed, no change in temperature (the heater was blowing warm by this point). At least the fan worked. I got permission to drive it after a couple minutes' wait in the office while my driver's license was photocopied. I climbed back into the driver's seat and got myself adjusted. Oh, and the electrically-operated outside mirrors weren't working. They were close to the proper adjustment, at least. I put the transmission in drive (alas, manual transmission is pretty much unheard-of any more; another sign that the average American consumer is getting less and less connected to anything), and rolled out. Immediately, the back of the van emanated a loud noise. I pulled out onto the road, and it got louder, but then when I took my foot off the gas pedal, it faded to nothing. Oops, that's not a wheel bearing, that's the rear differential! That'll be the difference between a $5 part and a $500 part. I'm not so sure of the techs at Cascade Auto Clinic, now. The rest of the drive (brief though it was) passed quickly. The rear differential was clearly on the verge of failure. The turn signals ended up having the same hanging problem as the hazards. Otherwise, it handled really well for a big van-thing, and I was surprised at how easy it was to drive (or I was totally distracted by the loud banshee-wailing coming from the back of the van, I'm not sure which). I was very pleased with visibility out of it, and it was pretty obvious to me that, for my purposes, the Previa was the best compromise I'd find. It lacks in the "dirt-hauling" category, but at least one review I read suggested that they all come with a trailer hitch receiver, and even if they don't, it won't be too expensive or difficult to fit one. Toyota apparently rates towing capacity at around 2500 lbs, which is more than I'll even want to haul behind it. So, hooray for narrowing my choices! Now I just have to find one that doesn't have a gazillion miles on it. Posted at 12:44 permanent link category: /misc Categories: all aviation gadgets misc motorcycle theater Written by Ian Johnston. Software is Blosxom. Questions? Please mail me at reaper at obairlann dot net. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
![[1995
Toyota Previa]](/reaper/journal/images/previa.jpg)
![[Ian riding a
CB400... Or is it?]](/reaper/journal/images/tt1-md.jpg)