Persian Odyssey: Part VIII – a dirt bike isn't made for heavy loads

After a brief hiatus I have decided to continue with the reconstruction of my yearlong 1978 residence in Iran and my motorcycle odyssey through the ancient Persian archeological sites. 1978 was the year of the Islamic Revolution in Iran and it's reverberations are still being felt today in the ongoing tug-o-war between Iran and the West, especially with Israel. How this will develop is anybody's guess, but I hope that this bickering will eventually be resolved without resorting to armed conflict, which would solve nothing and only pour gasoline on a Middle East already in flames.

To bring the series up to date, after being caught up in the violence of the revolution in Kermanshah and faced with a choice to continue on my trip or turn back I decided that I would probably have only this one chance to see the ancient sites and decided to go on.

Taqwasan

After a brief stop at Taqwasan I made a cursory examination of the bike. Everything seemed to be in order and I headed south for the long descent into the Mesopotamian Valley and the site of Susa, the winter capital of the Achaemenid kings. Kermanshah and Hamadan the summer capital are at high elevations in the Zagros Mountains and cool in summer. However, I stupidly neglected to closely inspect the drive train, the chain and the sprockets, that turn the rear wheel. 

A dirt bike is a little like a temperamental sports car. It's made to be fast, agile and responsive, not, like a Harley touring bike, to carry heavy loads. A cursory look at the picture of my seriously burdened Enduro makes my error in overloading it glaringly obvious. In retrospect it looks ridiculous. I mean, really, camel bags on a dirt bike!

imagine the thickness of the teeth 

(here normal) like the edge of a sharp knife

Anyway, it's a no brainer to keep the correct tension and lubricant on the chain to prevent friction damage to the sprocket. So far I had neglected to check the slack on the chain because I didn't take into consideration the extra weight I was carrying. Some kilometers out of Kermanshah and I began to sense a rattling that shouldn't have been there. I pulled over as soon as I could and inspected the bike. I noticed that the chain was drooping. When I manipulated it, it was too loose. No problem, just tighten it and be on my way, eh? Nay. I got a tight feeling in the gut when I looked at the sprocket. Teeth that should be about 3/16 inch thick, had been worn down to a knife edge sharp enough to cut a finger. Irreparable, the sprocket should have been replaced immediately, but where to find a bike shop in the middle of nowhere? The best I could do for the moment was tighten and lubricate the chain and reduce speed—and hope to find a bike shop with the right sprocket. I continued descending the Zagros range and headed for the town of Dezful, not far from the site of Susa, hoping to find one. 

To be continued...

Not yet 100% landed

my mascot - care to name him/her?

After umpteen hours and three sleeping pills and a decent night's sleep in my own bed I find myself sitting at my old computer desk in my son's old room, now my den, with my little mascot watching over me, wondering as usual after more than 12 hours (give or take) at 35,000 feet, the usual awful survival food, a movie (Meryl Streep was in top form as Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady), the first pill and a couple hours' sleep, more crappy food, a 6+ hour layover at Incheon with a free shower, another pill and three hours' sleep on a bench and two planes, where the hell I am. [Did you manage not to get lost in that sentence?] 

The surroundings are familiar yet somehow not. In a previous post I introduced the concept of a rubber band that connects the body with whatever it is that we perceive the world around us—spirit, soul, vacuum cleaner. Vacuum cleaner? Road buddy's in cleaning-up-the-house mode apparently having no problem keeping body and soul together. Maybe instead of a rubber band she is held together with some less elastic, firmer stuff, female feet on the ground, less male head in the clouds. Aha, that's it, feet on the ground versus head in the clouds, or, at 35,000 feet above the clouds, where the sun always shines. While I'm wondering where my head is at, she's vacuuming the floors. Practicality. TGFI--in someone else.

Airbus A-380 at Incheon

At Incheon airport (Seoul, South Korea) yesterday I saw the big new A-380 from Airbus—leaving the Boeing 747-400 behind as the biggest flying contraption in the world. The whole body of the aircraft is double deck, whereas only the forward part of the 747 is. It never ceases to amaze me how these big babies ever get off the ground—but, by god, they do. More later, gotta reconnect the battery on the car and see if it will start—places to go, things to do, people to meet—spirit still somewhere over the steppes of Russia or not. 

The rubber band slowly contracts. I should be my complete self in a day or two. Right now I'm just running on autopilot—Prague a fond memory, going around like a phantom in this not quite familiar place I call home. But at least we got the plants back from the nursery (albeit with several brown tinged leaves on the coffee tree) and the house is beginning to look more familiar.

looking a little more like home with the plants back

A martini should help.....

Nope, just makes me sleepy.

By the way, the car started right up. 

Farewell to Prague - The Last Show...

Largo al Factotum - S. Sem

La Calunnia - R. Raimondo

Una voce poco fa - Vesselina Kasarova

stage set and chorus

...and what a show it was—Rossini's The Barber of Seville. Very tight and nuanced overture by conductor Tomas Brauner. Figaro came on strong with the critical first aria Largo al factotum delivered slightly cynically in a warm deep baritone by Svatopluk Sem who played Figaro with the brio and panache needed for the scheming con-man of Seville—with just the right touch of devil-may-care cool. Mr. Sem in the title role was by far the star of the evening. I was lucky enough to find a YouTube clip of Mr. Sem singing the Largoin concert in Ceske Budejovice here in the Czech Republic. The tenor, Martin Srejma, as Count Almaviva, started out disappointingly weak but warmed up sufficiently to share a skillful duet with Mr. Sem. His singing was good, but not great, for the rest of the show.

l. to r. - Sem, Vernerova, Srejma, Brauner, Horak

A wonderful surprise came with the role of Don Basilio as expertly interpreted and sung by Milos Horak in his strong and deep baritone. His aria La Calunniawas the second aria highlight of the opera. The role of Doctor Bartolo was played for laughs and sung with the great and versatile voice of Pavel Klecka. A true comedian with a voice that ranged from a quite high falsetto to his natural baritone he stole the show for comic effects.

With considerable regret I have to pan the performance of soprano Ludmila Vernerova in the important role of Rosina. I had seen her previously in a disappointing interpretation of Micaela in Carmen. Unfortunately she was just a bad in Barber. To my ear, her voice didn't sound like that of a trained opera singer, but more like that of a musical comedy star. In fact, I've heard better voices in musical comedy singers. Apparently the rest of the audience must have shared my opinion since applause for her was lukewarm at best. The irony, perhaps, of this performance was the wasted talent of mezzo soprano Sylva Cmugrova in the role of the maid Berta. She would have been much better in the role of Rosina, which is often played by a mezzo such as Vesselina Kasarova in a DVD of The Barber of Seville that I have at home.

Overall, though, the show was great fun for our last show of the season. We leave Prague a little wistfully with a wonderful opera season under our belts to return home on Saturday. Alas! I am going to miss this place.

l. to r. - Cmugrova, Klecka, Sem, Brauner, Vernerova, Srejma