I think I finally triumphed over the server problems. For the past month, I had been having a problem with my Linux server where the network interface would go deaf. It retained the ability to send packets, but one-way transmission makes communications difficult, so the server was inaccessible. The most frustrating part of the problem was that it usually only occurred in the afternoon, magically fixing itself in the wee hours of the morning. Utilizing various tests, I determined that the problem was not: a cron script; another computer on the network; the router; an ARP failure; related to the internal real-time clock. I would have hooked up a terminal to the server during the deafness, but the box was 600 miles away in a locked room. I grew to suspect either a bad NIC or a bad driver in the kernel, so I purchased a new D-Link 10/100 card, drove to Indiana, and popped it in. The server hasn’t had any issues since then.

Yes, I am back in Indiana. More on that in a moment…

Two weeks ago, I received a motorcycle endorsement on my Minnesota driver’s license. I took the Minnesota Motorcycle Safety Center‘s ‘Basic Rider’ course to supplement my previous experience and to garner a skills test exemption. The course was excellent; I highly recommend it. Now all I need is a suitable bike. I would like a mid-90’s super-sport ‘crotch rocket,’ perhaps a Katana 600 or a CBR600F3. If only I had the money…

The day after I got my endorsement, I had my two lower wisdom teeth extracted. I had enjoyed my last ‘real meal’ the previous Saturday: an Applewood burger at Bar Abeline with Justin, Webb, and Eric. Monday did not arrive fresh and rosy-fingered; rather, it was dark and storming. My mom drove me to the oral surgeon’s office, the logic being that I would be unfit to drive after the extraction. I checked in, signed a liability waiver, and was led to a room with a TV. A nurse started a short video tape explaining the procedure, potential side effects, and post-operative care. I met the surgeon then was led to the surgical suite. I had previously been given the choice of local or general anesthesia. To minimize potential complications, I decided to have local anesthesia. This consisted of nitrous oxide (“Laughing gas”) as a sedative and lidocaine as a anesthetic. A nurse started up the nitrous oxide, and I breathed it heavily. In short order, I was tripping on Cloud 9. I felt like I was floating, and suddenly I started babbling to the nurse. Whenever I said anything, I would end the phrase with a chuckle, not unlike the Beavis and Butthead laugh. Oddly, I was fully aware that my comments weren’t funny, but I could not resist laughing and talking more. I recall apologizing for acting so childish, a comment that, of course, was ended with a giggle. The surgeon noticed my drugged behavior and turned down the nitrous a bit. On went the topical anesthetic, in went the lidocaine needles, down went the plungers. Wait five minutes for maximum potency. I never lost consciousness, but I abandoned all concepts of time. In what seemed like five minutes, my two wisdom teeth were out, the stitches were in, and I was returning to earth via pure oxygen. The surgery actually took about half an hour. I felt no pain, as the lidocaine was still active, but I received prescriptions for Vioxx and Vicodin “just in case.” My mom drove me home where I relaxed in a chair, changing the gauze in my mouth every half-hour. The bleeding for my right tooth stopped in about two hours; the left took about four. After a while I made and carefully consumed a smoothie. The taste was bland, thanks to my tongue and mouth being completely numb. Several smoothies later, about ten hours after surgery, the numbness dissipated. I was quite happy, and not just because I no longer was drooling on myself: the lack of numbness meant that my nerve had not been injured during the procedure. I quickly tired of smoothies. By end of the day following surgery, I was carefully eating Fig Newtons. By Friday I was eating Hawaiian burgers at a joint in Wichita, Kansas. It has been almost two weeks since the surgery. I am eating everything I always ate. At no time did I ever feel any pain — and not because of the Vioxx and Vicodin, for I took a total of two Vioxx pills and no Vicodin. Did you hear that, world? I had my two lower wisdom teeth removed, experienced absolutely no pain, and was essentially back to normal food within 96 hours.

Did I mention Wichita? Yep, it appears I did. Last weekend I went to Wichita, Kansas with my friend Eric for the GM W-Body Gathering in Eric’s Grand Prix GTP. It was fun, although Eric had a bad experience washing his car. First, the car wash pressure washer stripped a chunk of paint from his car. Next, while drying his car, he discovered that the towels were leaving some sort of white film on his black car. At about the same time, he noticed that his aftermarket high-polish rims had been corroded by something during the wash. After getting back in the car and starting it up, the ABS and Traction Control lights came on, probably due to his washing of the engine bay. We got back to the hotel (Saturday night) and started working on the ABS problem. At this point the “Service Engine Soon” light came on and the transmission started acting very strangely. Not wanting to make maters worse, and at this point having an undrivable vehicle, Eric decided not to dyno nor drag race his car. After the dyno and drag racing times (now Sunday evening), we returned to the hotel to work on the car some more. Numerous repair methods were employed, but in the end, the problem turned out to be a fuse. With the fuse replaced, the car ran like a dream, albeit with the ABS and TC lights on. Monday morning we packed up and returned to Minnesota. To get to Wichita, we drove on the Kansas Turnpike. There are many ranches along that road, though very few buildings and even fewer access ramps. However, there are so many cattle that bridges have been built over the freeway exclusively for the livestock!

The Fourth of July was fun. I had the chance to ride a 110 h.p. Polaris SL900 personal watercraft (a.k.a. Jetski). What a rush! There’s nothing quite like jumping waves at 50 m.p.h. Sure, PWC’s are loud and annoying, but they’re so much fun that nothing else should matter.

I returned to Terre Haute on Friday. For the summer, I’ll be staying at the Pike house. Right now I’m the only one on the grounds, so I’m eerily lonely. Seven other Brothers will be coming back on Sunday, so human interaction should pick up a bit next week. Things are a bit of a mess here, so I spent all of Saturday cleaning around the House and running errands. The question is: why did I come back? The answer will need to wait for a future entry…

Dawn of Saturday (one week ago, the night after University Avenue) arrived, fresh and rosy-fingered. I hooked up with my buddy Eric for the ride to Rock Falls, Wisconsin. We planned on meeting one of Eric’s friends, Lyle, in Hudson, WI. Eric has a Grand Prix GTP and Lyle has a Fiero with a GTP (3800 SC) motor. They were eager to see how their cars would do on the drag strip. Only one thing stood between them and quarter-mile bliss: helmets.

To race at Rock Falls, one must wear a helmet. Eric planned on wearing Lyle’s helmet. Unfortunately, when all three of us were in the East Metro, Lyle phoned to say that he forgot his helmet. He suggested that new helmets be purchased accross the river in Hudson. Hmmm… where does one purchase a helmet in Hudson at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning? For that matter, what store is open at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday in Hudson? Ah-ha! Fleet Farm! Sure enough, the Hudson Fleet Farm was open (filled with throngs of people, no less) and sold helmets. DOT-certified helmets, that is. Why would this be of concern? For Rock Falls, as with almost all sanctioned amateur motorsports, a helmet must be Snell approved. If a helmet does not bear a Snell sticker, it cannot be used for racing. For a variety of reasons, mere DOT certification is insufficient. This presented a problem: where else can one procure helmets at (now) 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday in Hudson? Time to whip out the ‘ol cell phone to consult the wireless web. After a quick visit to the yellow pages, we ascertained that St. Croix Outpost was open, in Hudson, and carried Snell-rated helmets. After a quick stop there, we continued on our way.

Rock Falls was filled with cars. Nowhere near capacity, mind you, but a healthy showing nonetheless. Almost all of the cars racing were trailered in, tuned as dedicated drag vehicles. The GTP and Fiero felt decidedly out of place. Eric and Lyle did some runs, came back, iced down the superchargers, and watched the big guns go by. Among others, we saw a 9.2 second modified snowmobile, a 9.4 second Hayabusa, many 10-second muscle cars, and an 8.8 second top-fuel-esque dragster. V-8 power dominated the day, which, as an aside, was warm, humid, and sunny. The Fiero ran a best of 12.92s, and Eric would rather I not mention his E/T :-). I took several photos of the event (sorry about the low quality!).

It was a fun time, and I’m glad I went.

Friday night in Minnesota. The sky is clear, temperature about 80 degrees. Absolutely beautiful weather. Even better, the mosquitoes haven’t hatched yet, giving an evening free of buzzing, biting, and welts.

A group of my friends and I got together, destination unknown, time unheeded. Eventually we ended up on University Avenue in St. Paul. We were not alone: thousands of people young and old converged on the street. Porky’s Drive In was the central gathering spot, but the throngs extended several blocks in either direction. Resonating through the hearts and souls of all present was a love of cars. Cars everywhere, mingling with the masses. Old cars, new cars – show cars, go cars. The marques – Ferrari, Porsche, DeLoarian, Chevy, Ford – became one with the buzzwords – big block, supercharger, nitrous oxide. The sweet smell of exhaust wafted by, periodically garnished by the odor of burnt rubber. Hot Rods, ‘Stangs, and imports cruised up and down the street, which led to the occasional stoplight skirmish. Not to be outdone, the motorcycle comminity made a strong showing, arriving with speed and style on their cruisers and crotch rockets. We were lost in the crowd yet accepted like family. Everyone was happy to be there, happy to be living life. There was a youthful exuberance in the air — an innocence, a reminder of simpler times, days of yore. This was perfection, the acme of existence. This was America.

Eventually we departed, but not before making plans to reconvene the following morning. Destination: the quarter-mile track in Rock Falls, Wisconsin.

Summer is upon us.

I returned to Minnesota last weekend on the tail of a grueling finals week. I convinced myself to go home with less than half of my possessions in tow. At about 4:30 p.m., after a brief segue to the Indianapolis airport, I began the journey. Things went very smoothly, a lack of CD changer notwithstanding, until halfway through Wisconsin. More than a land of cheese and beer, Wisconsin is home to a notoriously watchful state patrol.

I was cruising along in the Bonneville at a brisk 80 m.p.h. clip, enjoying the night and singing along to Counting Crows. As I entered a wooded stretch of freeway, I found my path occupied by a lethargic pack of cars. Not wanting to disengage cruise control, I swiftly changed to the high-speed lane. The moon shone brightly above, casting a soft glow over the pavement. My mind was wandering, off in places unknown yet still conscious of my driving. I recall thinking about how well my recently repaired fog lights lit the unknown ahead.

What’s that? Amber parking lights in the forested high-speed median? That could only mean… BRAKES! BRAKES! Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe he’s holding out for a ‘bigger fish.’ Maybe… On flash the headlights. Red sparkles the cherry top. I’m going down; it’s obvious he caught me. I’d better move over in preparation for the inevitable. He’s gaining speed — I drop well below the limit. Closer and closer the red and blue fury becomes, until — no, it can’t be. The vehicle previously astern me is on the shoulder, and there behind it is the stopped cruiser. I guess it wasn’t my time.

Skip ahead in time one week to last Friday night.

After nearly a month long hiatus, I’ve returned. What’s new? Well…

• My car, along with seven others, got totaled by a guy in a Chevy Avalanche.
• As my old car was inoperable, I got a new car, very similar in apperance to the old one.
• I was voted into my Fraternity’s executive committee, as the secretary
• I will turn 20 in less than half an hour. Strange to think that I will no longer be a teenager. Where does the time go?
• I am still without a job for the summer.

Overall, things are going well. Last Friday I flew back to Minnesota to pick up my new car. The next morning, I left Minnesota and drove back to Indiana. After about an hour, I boarded a charter bus along with the rest of my Brothers to go to St. Louis for a banquet. The banquet was held on a riverboat on the Mississippi. Although the boat was nice, the banquet seemed short given the distance traveled. Overall, I’m glad I went.