Fun with Fobs

 I am a bit behind in the contributing department this season, so have a round on
what is
left of my card.

My (genetic) brother is a fine fellow but tends to be a bit disorganized, as in
lost his
wallet, keys, etc. so many times I can't say. Got himself a right fancy Road
King
muddersickyl that he has taken quite a shine to. This magnificent contraption
features a
"security" system that prevents it from being hijacked unless it is in the
presence of a
dangly thingamagig reefered to as a "fob."

What with yesterday being Father's Day and all, and what with him and me being
fathers
both, and what with our actual daddy reposing peacefully upon the grassy knoll,
he shows
up at Casa Ruth for to go riding with his brother, who in this instance would be
me.

Now as a convenience to hisself and those near and dear, his habit is to keep
the
aforementioned "fob" in his tourpack, which yesterday, what with riding solo and
all, was
left safe and "secure" in his garage. He pulled into my drive, we shared a bit
of pleasant
conversation re: kids, potential destinations, life and all. I wheeled the
SuperGlide out
onto the warm afternoon sun, kissed the 50YORHHC g'bye and we mounted up.

For those of you not plagued by the cult of fob, his bike won't start unless
said fob is
quite a bit closed than the 9 miles (14.5 KM for you base-ten math types)
betwixt his
abode and mine, in spite of his being up on a bluff.

After a brief interlude of self and brotherly depricating humor, we decide that
the course
of least resistance is for me, astride my somewhat clattery, carburated,
unsecured,
decidedly unfancy SuperGlide to go to his house and return with said "fob."

After about 15 seconds of warmup (you did read your owner's manual, no?) I putt
away,
alone with my thoughts. Heh, heh.

Got the "fob." No problem. Then, I deliberately set about the bit of deception
that I
share here today.

Side note: Most of what little I know I have learned here in RMH, and I do
reefer to "my
internet Harley thing" from time to time when sharing my vast trove of acquired
wisdom
with my brother.

Upon arrival back as Casa Ruth, I state, falsely, with the straightest face I
can manage,
(turning my back to the audience helped a bunch) that the house was all locked
up, but
that I recalled (again, a total fabrication) a secret sequence of button presses
that will
unlock the security system, and for additional credibility, that I had learned
it right
here on the intertubes.

Thanks, by the way, and please do have another round. You must need it by now.

After considerable prestidigitation and mumbling incantations, the beast
miraculously
thunders to life! Wife, brother and dog are all quite impressed! I giggle and
confess.
It's a bad habit, but it's what I do.

Then we went out for coffee.

Thanks for listening. See you out there.

--
Rand McNally BS#263
Yer not lost if you get back before the search party finds you...

 On Mon, 20 Jun 2011 14:29:45 -0400, Rand McNally

<schnipp>


miraculously

confess.

Substitute coffee with coldbeers and you won't have that "bad habit"
anymore.  Guess where I learned that...

Snarl... nice write up, thanks mang

 On 6/20/2011 3:42 PM, snarl@trippin.com wrote:

On the interwebs?

I'm pretty sure that if I could be cured by coldbeers I'd already be cured, but
I suppose
a few more tries can't hurt, much.

--
Rand McNally BS#263
Yer not lost if you get back before the search party finds you...

 On Mon, 20 Jun 2011 16:53:43 -0400, Rand McNally


I suppose

I think it's one of those *so close, but yet so far* deals.  Maybe
just one more...

Snarl

 

Sounds like the kind of dipstick that'd take a road trip with brake pads
about to grind metal on metal.  <snerk>

<snippage>

Had the FOB on the '07. PITA. Had to wait a while for the current barge
because I specifically didn't want the Security System. I'm now FOBless. Oh,
the shame... the horror.

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