Jan 19

Written by: reh
1/19/2004

January 19, Monday Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is widely read but, in my opinion, seldom understood. Many think it is a story of a turbulent relationship between a man and his son. Not so. The father simply wanted his son to understand that he (the father) is not crazy, though society says that he is and the son simply wanted his father to affirm to the son that he (the father) wasn’t crazy. Others think it is a chronicle of a cross-country bike ride where the author describes every malfunction of the bike. Not so. All of the breakdowns were minor and easily fixed. The journey is a backdrop for Pirsig to explore some philosophies of life. He concludes that there are two components of a meaningful life: Quality and Value (as in worth doing, not dollars). Oaxaca is Pirsig’s city.

January 19, 2004, 9:00 AM, Monday The Guzzi dealer in Oaxaca is too far from the hotel to walk so I rode over. The storefront and showroom are very clean and well lit, very up-scale. I explained that I had ridden the Guzzi down, and that I wanted a service and once-over before continuing. The manager (owner), Mr. Rafael Candiani, got me a cup of coffee and some pastry and insisted on a tour of their facility while we spoke of bikes and long distance rides.

When one walks from the showroom through the door to the shop, one steps from 2004 to 1955. The shop is one poorly lit large room as wide as the store - approximately 50 feet and a little deeper. The shop is unpainted block walls with a concrete floor and a tin roof. The large side windows have no glass and the back is open to the walled back storage lot. Workbenches are cluttered and poorly lit. Electrical outlet covers are missing and the wiring system has been re-worked a thousand times. The yard behind the shop is about equally large and fill 55 gallon drums, parts bikes, and like stuff. A very high (at least 12 foot) chain-link fence with concertina wire on top surrounds the garage and supply lot.

There were two mechanics and a helper working in the shop. I took some time to watch the mechanics at their crafts, and I want to take a minute to describe what I saw because we don’t see this type of craftsmanship in the U.S. anymore.

Clearly, the shop doesn’t stick strictly to bikes because the second mechanic was welding a truck wheel rim. Many stress fractures were radiating from the center hub hole to the wheel bolt holes. The mechanic cut away a slight slit along each stress fracture. Then, using only a three pound single-jack and his eye, he welded and formed the wheel so that the wheel remained concentric and balanced. The years of experience required to understand metal that well, the attention to detail, and the overriding desire to get it right, simply doesn’t exist in small shops in the U.S. I understand that a new rim from China can be bought in the U.S. much cheaper than a welder with many years of experience could fix the stressed rim. We don’t do it because it’s not economical. Not because we can’t. Still, the demonstration of quality and value that Pirsig describes is a joy to watch. This finished rim is art that any fabricator would be proud to hang on his wall. We (society) lose something when this quality of craftsmanship is no longer needed.

This type of quality (resulting in value) can be seen in the extensive art and craft industry that thrives in Oaxaca. The black clay pottery is already known throughout the world. Paintings of Oaxacan artists are known and respected throughout Latin America and Spain. Their paintings are actively collected. Sculpture, and metalwork that incorporates craft and art are becoming recognized .The income they generate is causing the craft community to grow.

On the motorcycle image: There is no “bad-ass biker” connotation in Mexico (or in Central America). Cruisers and sports bikes are simply toys for the upper class. In the US, if you see a group of vintage sports cars together, you look at the cars admiring the beauty, the simplicity, and the detail. You feel sure that the owner can afford his toy, knows the value, and cares for it accordingly. You don’t conjure up images of “bad-ass sports car owners” terrorizing the neighborhood. Smaller bikes from motor scooters to dual sport bikes are considered utility vehicles and no glamour is attached to them.

After delivering the Guzzi to the shop I set out to complete several tasks in preparation of my continued trip south. I flagged down a taxi and climbed in. The driver looked a little surly. He sped from one crowded intersection to the next liberally using the horn and calling vituperations through the front window.

Every time we passed a church, he crossed himself with his right hand and touched his lips to the knuckle of his first finger. During the course of accomplishing my errands we passed the churchs more than once. He crossed himself in the same manner every time.

As we came to one particularly busy area near a plaza, he was using his horn liberally (I never understood what good honking a horn, while stopped in a line of similarly stopped cars, can do). Then, while stopped cattycorner from a church, a dwarf, with a donation can in hand, appeared at the driver’s window. He was wearing a white tee shirt with a large bright red heart on the front. A large torch was printed over the heart and, I think I remember a circle of flames printed around the picture. He was also wearing khaki Bermuda shorts that reached his ankles.

The driver automatically took a coin from the ashtray and put it in the can. The dwarf gave a benediction or blessing while the driver bowed his head. The driver respectfully thanked the dwarf and continued to our destination.

I don’t know what powers the church vested in this dwarf, or what powers he assumed to himself, but I do know that the driver (and presumably many others) have respect for this authority.

Later,
Ron

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