Back in the Saddle 2

I was forced out of the saddle and off the bike for three weeks due to a normal eye function gone awry but was released back to “normal” activities midweek last week and I just had to get out on the bike; even this urbanized ride is feeling pretty good. I went out the 210 to Bert’s Mega Mall if only just to walk around a showroom floor full of bikes and check out the accessories shop. Yes, in my mind the best looking and riding bikes they have are Victories. From there I decided to check out the Santa Fe Dam area and look for a nice place to read a book, something else I wasn’t allowed to do for the three weeks or so. When I got to the top of the dam it looked nice in the park but I didn’t feel like paying the $10 entry fee; a contributing factor to that feeling being the fact that I had only $5 in my pocket at the time. Note to self; hit the ATM before heading out. Since I’d fasted before communion at church by the time I turned it around on the dam I shrugged it off and headed to my chosen lunch destination, The Honey Badger Café in Alhambra for a great sandwich and some writing; creative writing something I just hadn’t been able to get much into since I felt totally out of synch with the eye thing going on.

The Honey Badger Café is an internet café about two blocks from my office. I’ve been trying to come here once a week for lunch and some writing but have missed it the last three weeks since I have been working out of the house to help the eye finish this little “process”. Week days at the café are nice with subdued patrons eating lunch and scanning the net with a nice mix of music over the sound system making for a good place for me to work on PAR’s story and the blogs. I found out that Sunday is a different story with folks, assuredly younger than me, at every booth and table with at least two people at each table for the most part and nearly every single person with a screen open in front of them. The energy is much higher today and wouldn’t be suitable for writing a book. For a blog on motorcycle stuff, not too bad at all and I’m feeling particularly good about putting this short post together.

Riding motorcycles is high energy, high focus, and high vigilance. If it’s not then you’ll never be an old rider. This is what has captured my interest in riding; total involvement of mind and body in the effort to get from one place to another. Today’s ride and a couple of commutes next week should get me right back into riding form for next weekend’s Veteran’s Day charity ride benefitting “The Blue Star Mothers”, my first charity ride. I am looking forward to meeting other riders and enjoying the company of people who love to ride and love riding to benefit others.

Time to head for home but no freeways, just my favorite way home from the San Gabriel area, up Garfield to Mission, over to Orange Grove through South Pasadena and then down to Linda Vista above the Rose Bowl, past Descanso Gardens along the oak canopied drive and up to Foothill for the short jog over to Briggs and on up to home.

That was a week ago. Today I finished my prep for the charity ride by adding chrome hard bag rails and a chrome flag billet complete with flag. I’m ready and excited to meet riders I don’t know for a nice ride and for a good cause.

 

Wistful Thinking

Leaving the house for work this morning before sunrise I had a thin sliver of moon to watch over me as I wound down Terrace and Shields and the Cheshire smile was all but gone giving me pause as I remembered the fickle and mischievous nature of the cat. Vigilance, always vigilance while on the road, especially on my Victory Cross Country (VCC). I thought about the dearth of Iron Side Up postings and that even the last few were about some four wheeled adventures in the 24hrs. Of LeMons. With the exception of a run up to Walnut Creek for a special birthday party for a very special friend and back down the Pacific Coast I have only really been riding to work and back.  I don’t know why I didn’t write that one up, maybe I’ll have to do it far back in the review mirror. So, what to write about? How about a trip I’d rather have taken on the VCC?

I left my friend Jim’s house in Walnut Creek early one morning while on a work related field trip after having driven up there from SoCal the afternoon before in my AT&T Chevy Silverado, Crew-cab 4X4 for two days of site visits for upcoming microwave radio projects. I love spending time with Jim and his family and feel right at home with them so I was already in a wistful mood and looking forward to being back with them for the Bossk’ birthday party, Bossk being a one year old Mastiff mix with a penchant for long jumping into the pool.  It didn’t take much for me to switch into the mode of wishing I had the Victory to ride instead of even my cool work truck. I recommend this as a ride and have put it on the list of rides to take for myself; Walnut Creek to Sonoma to Lake Berryessa and back to Walnut Creek, about 185 miles.

The only four-lane roadways were right in and out of Walnut Creek but even that was a nice two-wheeler’s track as Highway 680 takes you across the Benicia Bridge ($5 toll going north, nothing specific about motorcycle tolls) with a great view of the bay and estuaries and then over Highway 780 across another raised roadway along the north lobe of the San Francisco Bay to CA-37 toward Napa. It was an ornithologist’s dream or maybe nightmare since I couldn’t really stop and observe. I recognized the graceful necked American Avocets, Black-necked Stilts, Great and Snowy Egrets, Great Blue Herons, dozens of other wading birds that I would need binoculars and a field guide to name, and hundreds of water fowl. The tide was up but receding and the wading birds swooped in to freshly exposed mud flats all along the roadways. The streams of water wound their way through the tall marsh grasses. The only improvement that I could think of on my drive was having nothing overhead and a true wide angle view from the back of a motorcycle.

The route transitions from the 780 to the 80 to CA-37 in a little less than 10 miles so you need to stay aware and be in the correct lanes to make the junctions. CA-37 and the short section of CA-121 were a bikers delight and not too shabby for the working man either. Two lanes of good tarmac, some nice technical riding with clean blacktop at the apex of the turns, no sand; all this while traversing through the vineyards of the foothills of the Sonoma Mountains. Each time I passed a bike going the other way I sensed the smiles even if there was a full face shield in the way. My wistful thinking turned to wishful thinking turned into downright wanting to jump on the next bike I saw and ride along. I had to remind myself that I was being paid to drive through this wonderland of roadways and that it violates company policy to ride a motorcycle while on company business; the only other such limitation on transportation is flying one’s own personal plane. I got into Sonoma, grabbed a smoothie and met up with the rest of the team that would be going first to our site at Red Mountain and then on to Lake Berryessa. We left Sonoma in a caravan of my truck, two Hybrid Tahoes, and another technician’s 4X4 truck. The road up to the site access road is a true mountain road worthy of a rider’s full attention. However, I wouldn’t recommend the access road with a mix of asphalt and dirt that didn’t quite require the 4X4; doable but not pleasurable on a touring bike.

The run up to Lake Berryessa over CA-12/Sonoma Hwy, some back roads to CA-29/Helena Hwy, and then to CA-128/Sage Canyon Road is completely worthy of two wheeled travel. After leaving the Sonoma Valley and the vineyards you wind your way up toward the resort communities near and around the lake, through the rolling hills dotted with oak, sycamore, and pine. The road around the lake offers good viewing of the reservoir lake and surrounding mountains.

Along the way I passed quaint looking motor hotels, bed and breakfast places (particularly around the vineyards), and camping for those so inclined. The round trip for me that day was about 185 miles or so, 95 from Jim’s place in Walnut Creek to our site at Lake Berryessa, pictured here.

My take on wistful thinking is that it is not too bad of a pastime as long as you don’t let it drive regrets at being in the moment doing what you’re doing and being with the folks you’re with and as long as you don’t let wistful thinking take the place of getting out for a pleasure ride now and then.

LeMons Post 3 – Our 24 Hours

Our opening line-up of drivers was going to be Trekkor, Christen, me, Cameron, John, and then Jim. We needed to alternate the McClelland drivers due to some shared race equipment issues. Once the cars lined up, all the fooling around was done, not necessarily the foolishness, just the part we did for laughs. The race was like bats out of hell from start to finish. If you’ve never seen bats out of hell check out the YouTube link and simply switch the bats for cars in your mind and you have an accurate depiction of the race, all 24 hours of it except the drivers are not equipped with radar, only small mirrors with no time to study them. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WiSl9YesOLg

Trekkor got us out and going, with his LeMons racing experience, getting the feel for the car and avoiding all the troubles 130+ cars will make going at race speeds on a 3 miles track. I did the math; evenly spaced going the same speed we would have about 70 feet between each car. That barely happened; only on the opening few laps under the yellow flag when each car was let onto the track one at a time; picture a funeral procession with everyone going at a sedate speed, no passing, all polite and respectful. Then the green flag came out and you should refer back to the bats-out-of-hell view of the race. The only times it wasn’t so nuts was when the yellow flag came out and then there is no passing from yellow to yellow. There were two corner worker changes that came under a double yellow flag with two emergency vehicles keeping everyone in check and the slow procession was on; we learned from the first switch of corner workers and ducked in for a driver change and fuel stop loosing only a lap in the process.

The only other exception to cars going round and round the track was under the one red flag condition. Everyone stopped where they were when the red flags came out once the car rolled that I referred to in the first post. With all the video available on this race I am really surprised that nobody caught this. It was a scary moment in time met with a relieved cheer when the driver climbed out on his own power and walked it off.

Round and round the track is merely a figure of speech for the Buttonwillow Raceway. Here is a track map of the raceway; they have 29 different race and test configurations none of which are circles or even close to an oval. It is a very technical track to drive and that’s one thing that attracts me to it. The other is the utter majesty of the surroundings. Well, I couldn’t find the sarcasm font for that part…

This is the map of track configuration #15. It doesn’t really do justice to the banks or lack thereof or of the hills that are just big enough to hide the back side. A nice, technical track, sure to test drivers of any experience level.

Christen’s stint was cut short after only a few laps when the driver of another team slammed side on into her, cracking two rims while blowing out the tires. She did a fantastic job of limping the car into our pit where we spent about 30 minutes or so doing body work, changing to the older worn tires, getting me ready to take an early shift, and costing us a minimum of 10 laps. In my opinion, this other team should have been DQ’d for being so out of control even though the driver found her and apologized. During the award “ceremonies” we had to restrain Christen from going after them when they were named the B Class winners. Secretly, I wanted her be for real mad and break free so I could separate them but she was clowning, mostly; peacemakers have opportunities most folks don’t notice during the fray.

Getting into all of the driver’s gear and squeezing in through the roll cage is a chore and takes practice. The driver dives through the cage in full gear, settles into the seat, and gets his arms out of the way while two team members strap him in. I had to laugh when I got home Sunday from the race when I found ESPN on the tube and they were showing a driver being belted in by two teammates; it was exactly what we went through over our 24 hour race. I couldn't find a YouTube video of this chore so you'll have to use your imagination or watch the next race on TV. Picture putting a sardine back into the can and re-sealing the it.

I was completely un-prepared for my first shift. I got onto the track having gotten lost on the way and then sped on to merge with traffic, not too bad getting on and then I was through turns 2 and 3 and heading to a nice configuration of turns when the bats caught up with me and there was not a moment of relative peace on the track after that. Even the yellow flags gave only a few minutes of respite from the hectic pace. I got two or three laps in when I blew the first of two valve cover gaskets having gone well over our self-imposed 5,000 RPMs in my adrenalin induced need to complete and keep the other, more aggressive drivers off my bumper…and fenders. I lasted another few laps and spent a total of about 45 minutes on the track when the second gasket went. I know I cost us six or so laps with that.

We changed quickly from me to John ostensibly to get him on the track in case we had to pull off for good if the high oil pressure couldn’t be controlled. John did great, giving us many good laps over his two-hour shift without blowing a gasket as did everyone else who drove throughout the race, even me, until the last couple of laps when Jim went more all out to catch the eventual winner, more on his final stint later.

There were no other incidents of note along the way that brought us to a halt or even a long pause. My second shift was from 10 p.m. to midnight when I turned into a pumpkin. Somewhere along the way between shifts I caught a 30 minute nap and was really ready to go; more prepared for the pace of the race, my own driving shortcomings, and 4,500 RPM limit we put on the car. Driving at night was surreal; the track was barely lit by only reflectors and the islands of light surrounding the turn worker stations. We were going so fast that to take your eyes off the track could send you out into the dark, lost from all observers, only to be found after sunrise and the circling Turkey Vultures. Headlights, driving spot-lights, and the lighted decorations of the cars made it like some sort of B movie horror flick of monsters chasing monsters through the night. As I said, I didn’t blow another car gasket, only the gasket we have between race competitiveness and road rage when a bedeviled BMW dove in on me and hit my left front bumper. I barely maintained decorum where I could have turned hard into the contact and sent him spinning off into the infield where he belonged and we both continued on. I have to confess here that I took some perverse pleasure in seeing the devil car being towed off on a flatbed truck and out of the race for good sometime later in the pre-dawn hours.

We then arranged our rotation so that Jim could cross the finish line and receive a well deserved checkered flag. I drove just before him for my final shift from 6 a.m. to 8 a.m. having found an hour nap with a couple of noddings off here and there. Daylight had just taken hold when I re-entered the track and my nemesis, the stretch limo/Titanic, was just ahead of me early on. I kept getting stuck behind him not having the race skills required to get around him without causing a multicar pile-up. I totally misjudged my opportunity with nobody behind me coming on and I tried to pass him on the outside of a sharp curve leading into the ess turns. He just kept coming further out into the turn and left me nowhere to go but off and so into the penalty box for leaving the track at a further cost of 3 laps. After getting back on the track I made some decent laps, not enough to overcome the eventual winner, but some decent laps. I did get rear ended when a very slow moving car was in front of me going into a curve and someone fast approaching me from behind. The driver in front inexplicably went to his brakes; I was able to avoid hitting him but the guy in back of me got me. I thought we were going to lock bumpers but was able to shake him off and continue on; it was a close call with a serious time wasting as the penalty if we couldn’t shake it off; there were no black flags for us and we went on our way.

Jim got into the car and we only had a three lap deficit. As the race neared the climax more and more teams gravitated to the second story of the race tower just behind the finish line. There was loads of excitement as different teams calculated their positions in the race using a smart phone app tied right to the race computer. Jim closed the gap and then the red flags came out when the car tumbled off the track and back on. It was another 20 minutes until the race restarted and that could have meant another lap on the leader for class C. As it was, there wasn’t enough time even without the stoppage, Jim pushed the car and turned a 2:22 on the lap. That’s 17 seconds better than my timed run in the racing 914 without other drivers around to contend with. Amazingly, he blew out the gasket on the last lap, received the checkered flag and immediately left the track by the back door because he was out of gas and sputtered into our pit area.

I hate doing the math on this since we finished second by a mere two laps and everywhere I looked my shifts cost us laps. Somewhat objectively and very much in the way of emotional self-preservation, we overcame everything within our control but could not overcome the eight lap penalty and the 10+ laps the classless B driver cost us early on in the race. Jim was ecstatic about the whole race, our team, and our getting it all done. That was my victory lap.

For an official race wrap up by the organizers go to YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWIJ-8H29Ow

For more videos search YouTube on: 24 hours of lemons 2012 buttonwillow

Part 4 will be my personal reflect on "The Race in the Rearview Mirror".

jjwhite

24 Hours of Lemons - Post 2 - The Bug Team

Our team came together from Del Mar, La Crescenta, Napa, and Walnut Creek, CA on Thursday afternoon and set up our pit area complete with a carpeted car port for working on the car, a hauler trailer with refrigerator, swamp cooler, generator, storage, and sleeping area. Thursday evening and all day Friday were full of car preparation, the tech inspections on Friday afternoon and our brief beer lap, and then finishing the car prep late Friday night. The race start was at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday, and was to finish at, you guessed it, 10:00 a.m. on Sunday, unless your car became un-driveable beforehand. To get to the start on time, Jim and Trekkor, the geniuses behind our car, worked feverishly until 11:00 the night before, fixing the battery tie down infraction and an electrical problem (something shorting out the gauges). They were brilliant, got us through second tech, and got us on the track for the start. I was, and am, in awe of their determination, creativity, and drive; they were indefatigable and would not be deterred.

Dos Equis Race Team - Post Race

Our team, from left in the post race photo:

Christen McClelland – Daughter of Jim and Shirley McClelland, former bartender, current nanny extraordinaire, up and coming cross-fit boss, and hands down the best looking driver on the team.

Kristen Reina-Giatzis – close friend of the McClellands, and extraordinary mother, and our hydration/nutrition specialist, we’d have all passed out without her.

Kaleb Yager – friend and project partner with Trekkor Willis, our amazing crew chief, tool retrieval magician, man of the pits, refueling maniac, and a real cool dude to hang around.

Shirley McClelland – wife of Jim, mother of Christen and Cameron, menu expert, food preparation wizard, and a real boost in the morale. We’d have starved without her and fought like barbarians.

Jim McClelland – Jerry’s best friend, see above for all the relationships, architect, king of the car, speed dreamer of the team, one hot driver, and our coach.

Cameron McClelland – Jim and Shirley’s son, water polo coach, former BMW person, with a future that is wide open and ready, and a skilled driver. I just like being around him.

Jerry White – that would be me, Jim’s longtime friend, microwave radio planner, would be writer, and lucky to be allowed back on the track as a driver.

Trekkor Wills – Friend to Jim and now to us all, Tile Man Supreme, gifted fabricator, tireless innovator, and a lead-off driver that could drive in anyone’s lineup anywhere in the lineup. Cool as cool-aide.

“The Most Interesting Man in the World” – Even his cardboard cutout outclasses us all.

John Maple – Jim’s friend and former business partner, architect, ultra-compatible roommate, driver extraordinaire, and an all around good man.

This is a fun loving crew that is no-nonsense when it came to the car and driving it. Even in the midst of a wild race baptism for me I felt safe and supported. I’ll go to the track with any and all of them any time.

More photos of the team:

Post Race w/ the star in front

3 of Amigos - Post Tech, John, Jim, & Jerry

What a great cast of characters for a memorable chapter in life's wonderous story.

I have to confess that the funny pilot's hats were my idea and what's more is that I'm wearing mine as I post this.

24 Hours of LeMons – An Iron Side Up Perspective

Post 1 – The Race Concept and Our Car

In the interest of full disclosure, this post is not about a motorcycle ride or riding but is about my experience in The 24 Hours of LeMons, “Arse Sweat Apalooza“ car race from my Iron Side Up point of view. Iron Side Up is the older and complementary version of “Keep the Rubber Side Down”. I always feel it is a good idea to do that on roads of any kind and during this weekend’s race felt it was especially true with a startling reminder with less than one hour to go in the race when a car rolled after being hit by another and ended up with the rubber side up and iron side down. Thankfully, the driver climbed out of the car on his own power and walked away; a testament to the safety measures required for each car.

The race is just as advertised; a 24 hour endurance race of cars best described as lemons with a purchase price of $500 to get the car and get it running with no cap on spending to have it safe with a full roll cage, safety seat and racing harness, brakes and tires. Drivers have to wear full double lined driving suits (or singles with Nomex underwear), fire rated driving shoes w/ Nomex socks, fire rated driving gloves, and a fire rated helmet w/ visor, a HANS neck restraint device, and a Nomex balaclava if you have facial hair. Any of you who have seen me without facial hair for the first time in over 28 years now know why I did it; so I could breathe in the 90 degree plus track heated car for two hour driving sessions.

The BS Judge grilling Jim

Of course there is cheating on the $500 limit and each team had to determine how much gray area would be stretched to cover their car. There was no room for cheating on the safety of the car and every car had to pass a tech inspection and meet every criterion, bar none. Our bug had one minor infraction on the battery tie down and would not be allowed to run until it was fixed. From the tech station the car and team goes to BS tech where we are grilled (pun intended) about how much the car cost to get into running condition. If you lie too much or don’t have a great story to tell about it you get docked a number of laps or moved up a class (A, B, or C); we stayed in C class with an 8 lap assessment, our 914 type 4 motor with nice looking carbs was too clean looking and therefore suspect. Maybe spreading some dirt and grime on the outside, nothing to impinge on performance, would have been helpful or maybe our driver’s group should have put on more of a show to distract this particular BS judge. Or maybe we could have done all of the above and gotten the judge to laugh and give us the penalty anyway, his looks were deceiving and he was very perceptive. 

For a quick look at most of the cars, a time lapse video of the BS judging: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foKhqi1PxWc

 Note the sophisticated BMW group with the goofy VW group. It was a nice pairing.

Each team comes up with a theme for their car and drivers with crazy decorations for both. It is great fun with some real crazy cars; sharks with fins on the roof and tails up the side of the car to the wing, painting to match; a stretch limo as the Titanic complete with four smoke stacks with trash bags as smoke and a mannequin on the hood; a “Team Apathy” with black on one side, white on the other side, former governor Romney and President Obama campaign slogans on opposite sides; a birthday cake reminiscent of the “Animal House” closing scene, just to mention a few since there were 130 or so cars in the race. Yes, that meant mayhem on the track, more on that in later posts. Our car joined with an existing team under the name “Cerveza Racing”, Dos Equis, and great graphics spoofing the advertising theme “The Most Interesting Man in the World”; the BMW car is “The Most Interesting Car in the World” and our bug is “The Most Interesting People’s Car”. On race eve we pushed our cars around the paddock and served beer from kegs mounted in the cars to the other race teams who were all in various modes of race preparation. Yes, we were popular.

Bug and BMW Cerveza - Rear View

Bug and BMW Cerveza - Side View

 

Cerveza anyone?

Early In + Early Out = Fun Mid-week Ride

My plan was simple and therefore, perfect. Go into work at 5:30 a.m., take a half hour lunch, and leave Alhambra for Oxnard at 2 p.m. missing most of the rush hour traffic through Los Angeles. Leave it to the L.A. Kings’ celebration for winning “the greatest trophy in all of sports” to mess it up. My chosen route was to take the 10 freeway all the way to Santa Monica and then one of my favorite local rides up the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) into Oxnard. I knew that I would encounter traffic along the 10 Freeway through Los Angeles and even out to the 405 interchange in West LA but it got ridiculous really quick. I met all my planned time marks for my escape and actually exceeded one by having the route fully entered to my Waze app on the iPhone loaded before uncovering my Victory Cross Country and heading out. I was doing fine and completely feeling like I’d get through the city without undue traffic right up to the 710/10 interchange. That is when I saw the harbinger of bad traffic; the Goodyear Blimp flying over L.A. and planes with advertizing banners trailing behind with the addition of a Sherriff’s helicopter circling the festivities. I totally missed the idea that the Kings would get a parade for the first time in 43 years. I love those guys but they got in the way of me getting to see my grandkids… and their parents.

From shortly after the 710 all the way through LA to the 405 I was rarely out of first or second gear because I refuse to split the lanes and don’t weave; it’s just not my style since I’m cruising and feel that a great majority of traffic snares announced as “motorcycle down” are due to these very behaviors by would be stunt riders. I’ll take advantage of openings here and there to merge with a lane moving faster but for the most part I stick to a lane and eat the slow pace. On the rare occasions on this ride where I got out of second and into third and fourth gears it was also an occasion for vigilance as the drivers got so exited at reaching near speed limits they had to slam on breaks for hard stops when they closed the gap with the looming back up in traffic. I got through all this and all the more looked forward to the PCH while really only taking an extra ten to fifteen minutes longer than my estimated time.

Once the traffic diversified itself between north and south 405 with a small contribution to the westbound 10 from the 405 we were at freeway speed and breathing a little easier. Cornering off the 10 to northbound PCH was a nice 35 MPH corner that we all took at fifty and then hit the brakes out of the tunnel leading to the PCH’s first signal off the freeway that happened to be red for us. At the light I was able to take in the Pacific Ocean to my left and observe the bicycle traffic on the bikeway; the beach scene melted away the city traffic stress like waves washing away a sandcastle. Traffic along my route dwindled constantly the further up the coast I rode with folks finding their destinations and turn offs. With the light onshore breeze I was able to watch gulls and occasional pelicans soaring along PCH using the updrafts created by the breeze encountering the palisades on my right like they were private flyways. There were a couple of pelican flights of eight or more birds in formations over the surf that reminded me of the WWII movies showing our big Flying Fortress, B-17 bombers flying over Europe.

I love this ride along the coast; through Santa Monica and on up to Malibu by all estates of the wealthy and the celebrities; riding along the Malibu business area I looked for the pizza place where my late friend Doug and I would go for Saturday dinners after work when I could convince him there were other meals beyond the hamburger, mustard only, fries, and Dr. Pepper that he would gladly eat 3X7 but the place is either gone completely or renamed for the thousandth time since it’s been over 37 years.  Shortly after that I road over the Malibu Lagoon and then passed by Pepperdine University at Malibu Canyon. Pepperdine is the place where my teammate Brian Gorgian played his college basketball that launched him into a very successful international coaching career and also the current college home of one a young friend of mine from the youth group of whom I have tremendous respect for and fond memories of at our Mission Arizona trips. Beyond Pepperdine the development starts to thin out and as you come up over a rise to pass by the Malibu Cove Colony and around the point there you are offered a great view of the coastline up to Point Dume that marks the end of Paradise Cove, the place I spent a couple of happy years as a pier coolie working my way through school. Zuma beach is just beyond Point Dume and had a goodly number of people laying out, tossing Frisbees, and just enjoying an early summer’s day before the crowds overwhelm the beach.

I rode past all the canyon road outlets that lead to some pretty great riding which I plan to someday explore during the week since weekends bring out hundreds, if not thousands, of street bikers racing along at speeds I don’t need to approach.  It’s a nice open ride after the Ventura County line and takes me to one of my favorite scenes, Point Magu and its sentry rock that I slide by and cruise down to a stopping point overlooking Magu Lagoon. I like to stop there and stretch a bit and watch the traffic go by with the bikers offering a nod and their favored salute, usually two fingers held low and the to the side, to acknowledge fellow riders. I took heed of the napkin note at the lookout warning me to watch for the rattlesnake but was not given a look at this more deadly part of nature, only the egrets working the wetlands and the chaparral birds looking for seeds and insects.  From there it is just around the corner and inland to Oxnard and I had to rely on my GPS app to get me to their hotel; Waze performed very well and got me there without a hitch where I enjoyed a few hours with my grandchildren, Teya and Jeremiah, and their parents, Matt and Ashley. We were able to hang out a bit, eat a room service meal on the balcony with a view of the windswept Pacific, then had a nice little walk over the sand to touch the surf only then to be swept up in one of Teya’s fantasy excursions where the two of had to outrun the water that was sure to overtake us if we didn’t get off the sand and up the stairs to the room. I bid them all a good night as the kids jumped in the tub and had a nice, if uneventful late evening/night ride home. I took the 101 south, 126 east, 5 south, and 210 east to home. The night was fully engaged while cruising along the 126 when my headlight lit up the sign “Watch for Wild Animals” and I made it back without being eaten.

JJ’s Big Bang Episode

It has been some time since my last Iron Side Up post; not that I haven’t ridden at all since Laughlin; it is just that I’ve been focused on Mission Arizona and work and Calvary’s Thread, and PAR, and…you get the picture. I suppose that I’ve been spread a bit thin to carve out time for writing about riding.

Today’s ride into the office was pretty normal, to start out with. Same old thing; get up, shower, shave, read emails, comics, sports, and browse the internet headlines for news I could live without. It’s warmed up for the morning commute so I put on my mesh Victory jacket with a sweatshirt underneath, gauntlet gloves for the way in, boots (as always), and helmet, again, as always. I was a few minutes earlier than usual for heading straight to the office without a morning swim so it was more quiet going down Briggs and then a few less trucks on the 210 eastbound than normal. Merging into lane four from the Ocean View on ramp was no problem and I was able to make the number three lane with no one around. I won’t say I was complacent; actually I held my normal moderately high level of vigilance but was nevertheless surprised with the loud bang went off while making the lane change to from lane three to number two where there would be fewer semi-induced potholes. The timing was perfect for the explosion; I’d turned to check my blind spot and was just crossing the lane dividers when it went off. Due to my head being turned I thought it was behind me and on the Cross Country so I whipped my head back around to check my saddle bag lids to see if either had popped open on crossing the lane bubbles. Nothing wrong there and when I turned back to the forward view I was rewarded with seeing a shower of steel-belted tire rain down in the number three lane I had just vacated. A truck towing a mobile office about four car lengths ahead of me in lane four blew out a tire and was then making the quick pull over to the shoulder.  It was a somewhat close call for the major bits of tire and I was able to avoid the smaller pieces that made their way into lane two.  Smoke billowed out from the blowout but I was by it well before I had to suck any in.

I guess the moral of this is that while we remain vigilant while riding, driving, walking, and just going through life we also must be prepared for the adversity that comes our way in spite of our vigilance. Have a plan and a way out; be prepared to make a move to avoid the worst of the conflict that the rising adversity brings to us. In this case I didn’t have to make a sudden move but was best served by taking in the whole situation in a flash before overreacting and getting myself into more trouble than had I just kept on the path. I had space to move, lane one was clear if I needed it; I wasn’t on somebody’s butt and wasn’t in danger of rear ending another panicked driver; and lane two was clear enough that I wasn’t in danger of a swerving avoidance maneuver from someone else.

What about life and the adversity we all must face at some time? The unexpected news from the doctor for yourself or a loved one; the surprise change in your employment status; or even the long overdue reaction to the direction life has taken that you did not want? Vigilance will only be step one in mitigating the results of the adversity event. I had the good fortune to view a presentation at work that was very inspiring with Erik Weihenmayer, the blind man who scaled Mt. Everest and a whole bunch of other climbs sharing some of his experiences and Dr. Paul G. Stoltz, a collaborator of Erik’s, who talked about the Adversity Quotient and what it means and how we react to the adversity when it strikes. Dr. Stoltz laid out four key questions that I found of key interest:

1 – Control, what facets of the situation can I potentially influence in the given situation?

2 – Ownership, how can I step up to make the most immediate difference on the situation at hand?

3 – Reach, what can I do to minimize the downside and maximize the upside?

4 – Endurance, how do I get past this as quickly as possible while making the most of the situation?

Being vigilant is the state of being alertly watchful especially to avoid danger. I believe that vigilance gives you the most advanced warning of potential danger and that part of being vigilant is knowing the four key questions to consider. Now, vigilance while riding a motorcycle or bike, or while driving means you have to constantly be evaluating the environment and be prepared to act on the instant. On the road we can control our position in traffic, our speed related to the flow of traffic, and how well we can operate our machine. We have to take ownership and make the most immediate and positive difference in the present road conditions. We have to reach and minimize the downside of our ride/drive and maximize the upside and we exercise endurance by getting past the present negative road condition as quickly as possible without creating a worse one. In life, for the most part, we have more time to slow down and consider the four keys and allow ourselves the best chance of making a difference on the situation rather than have the situation control us.

Stay alert and prepared to act. Keep the iron side up. Peace.

A Wet Wyoming Ride

I am sitting in my little computer room and thinking about writing and riding all the while listening to the rain patter down on the roof and watching it dimple off the birdbath in the back yard. It’s been over a month now since my big ride to Laughlin and my three posts about that adventure. My riding has been pretty tame since then with one ride to Santa Barbara and only commutes to work to round it out. Rainy days are great for reading, writing, and considering things, all sorts of things, and most of them pretty pleasant.  Riding in the rain is one of my least favorite conditions but I am reminded today about one of the many chapters in Jim’s and my big ride, so set the “WABAC” machine to August, 1972. Jim will likely have some different recollections on this and I can’t wait to hear them.

We broke camp, literally, somewhere in the Big Horn National Forest with building excitement for the end of the day’s ride, Yellowstone National Park. Taking off after packing everything on the bikes, Jim’s Honda 350 Scrambler and my Honda CB 500, we headed west on Wyoming State Highway 14 and had the road pretty much to ourselves on a grey day and mild temperatures. It wasn’t too long after we dropped out of the heavy forest area and winding our way along when we passed two Boy Scouts hitchhiking along. We passed them by and then looked at each other with the question hanging in the air between us, “Were those guys hitchhiking us?”  We each shrugged our shoulders in a “why not” sort of way and doubled back to ask them. Since there was no one else on the road they were asking us or kidding around. When we asked them if they really wanted the ride they looked at each other real quick, shrugged their shoulders and said that they would ride. It took some doing on our relatively small bikes to put two up and all the gear for four guys securely mounted for the ride. We couldn’t do this today because we only had one spare helmet and that meant one rider was helmetless.

Not long after we rolled out with our Boy Scout friends we got our rhythm going and everybody seemed comfortable. Shortly before hitting Greybull, Wyoming we came out of the hill country and had a long plain in front of us; it was a beautiful sight up to the point where we could see the rain starting under the darkening sky. The clouds had thickened up and we could see the line of rain cutting the plain and putting up a curtain blocking out what we wanted to be seeing, Highway 14 stretching out and inviting us to Cody and beyond that to Yellowstone. Jim and I pulled over and broke the news to our passengers that we were putting on our rain gear and they were welcome to continue on or look for a covered ride. They were up to it though and put on rain gear of their own and five minutes later we were wet. So wet. When I tell the story these days I say that we went 150 miles in the rain but as I look at my US map today it was somewhat less than a hundred. It just seemed like 200 and I rounded down to make it believable.

We passed right through Cody hopping to still make Yellowstone and a place to make camp but it was not to be this day. In Wapiti, just before the climb up to the park entrance we were informed that the pass was closed due to snow. Over 8500 feet of elevation will do that, even in August. Just about everything we had with us was soaked; our cloths even through the rain gear, sleeping bags, and nearly everything in our packs so we looked for a laundry mat to dry what we could. The very kind woman who ran the place came out and belied all the warnings we received from the motorcycle shops that we would meet with people out to get us as motorcyclists. The fact was that with only one exception we ran into really great people all along our way and have kept them memory of them as a hopeful sign of the health of our country. She took pity on the four of us and unlocked the biggest set of dryers she had and we got it all dried out for free. Jim and I asked about hotels in the area but they were filling up fast with the pass closed and people delaying their entrance as well. Once she found out we were Christians she suggested a halfway house that a pastor friend of hers ran as a place to sleep. Our scout friends went their own way and we ours at that point.

We found the halfway house for drug addicted young people coming clean and were given the floor of the living room to bed down on and were grateful for it. We had gotten there later in the evening and the pastor was pretty busy but not so much so that we didn’t have a few minutes to talk. He was a good hearted man and cared for the drug weary folks seeking shelter just like the Good Shepherd himself. Giving us one last word on the rules of the place he noted that the police had free access to come in and check people for drugs and sure enough, our motorcycles and road worn looks brought them in around two in the morning. They were nice enough about it but flashlights in the eyes at that time of the morning after the long and wet ride were pretty harsh.

The storm passed through that night and we were greeted with the news that the pass was open and our trip would continue that day. We loaded up again, got breakfast at a home style coffee shop and were on our way. As we left Wapiti and the good folks we’d met behind we saw our scout friends just out of town on the road hitchhiking again. They saw us just after we saw them and they both suddenly needed to find out how much change they had in their pockets; they took no chances but missed a fantastic, if chilly, ride into Yellowstone National Park.

VMC SW Meet – Day 3, "The Road Home"

Sunday morning came and I was up with the sun, showered and then went out for a walk along the river to pray a bit and then find a quick breakfast; a McDonald’s #2 breakfast meal. Since I didn’t connect with the L.A. riders I was on my own and decided getting on the road was a good idea. After the big group ride I looked forward to being solo for the day but open for what might come along. I gassed up at the same place I did on my way in to Laughlin at the junction of Highways 163 and 95. I bought myself a new license while I was there and then jotted down a couple of notes on thoughts I had during the last couple of days.

The Lone Shepherd, not a good pick for a handle for me, but something I was feeling like over the weekend and I tried to fit Jesus into that. Not a perfect fit but in many ways he was on his own during his earthly ministry with only that exceptional connection to the Father and the Holy Spirit. None of the disciples were capable of taking leadership responsibilities from him even though they got their feet wet when he sent them out in teams of two. The few times we see the disciples stepping out on their own they became object lessons. It wasn’t until Jesus went to the right hand of the Father and the Holy Spirit had come upon them that they became leaders and established the church.

I think it is good for us to ride with the pack, do things we wouldn’t normally do or wouldn’t even attempt on our own. Of course there is good and bad in that and at the end of the day we are the ones who’ve done them and are responsible for the choices we made along the way; at least that’s what I’ve told my kids and need to own up to for myself. I like the solitude of solo rides, at my pace, over my routes, and the quiet. It is even more profound this morning after my frantic ride with 80 plus bikes yesterday. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do it again someday.

High winds picked up about 10 a.m. just as I made the transition to Highway 40 and it was chilly, down in the 50s and I eventually pulled over and changed my mesh gloves for the full gauntlets and wish I had pulled on my long-sleeved shirt under my jacket. It stayed windy for two hours until I made it to Barstow for a lunch stop and it was a tense and exhausting ride navigating the cross winds but the desert still held pretty scenes with high clouds giving character to the sky and dappling the desert floor with fantastic spots of shade as they shot across the sky. The big trucks rumbled down the highway like wild fires creating their own windstorms and the 40 was full of them. Eddies they created were tricky coming up behind them and then along side where the under-winds of their trailers wanted to push my wheels out from under me. The only thing I could count on with the trucks was the gale force wind they pushed out front and to the sides and I got skilled pretty quickly at timing my lean into them.

I found the In-and-Out in Barstow and had lunch; this was the busiest one I’ve ever seen with five order takers and a line of “guests” feeding them. I couldn’t count the burger makers and there was at least one fry maker pushing potatoes through the slicer to cut them up busy at all times. Amazing. I ate outside where dozens of House Finches set up a chorus of chirps waiting for any crumb to fall or even not waiting and landing on my table to make tentative hops toward my fries. I never encourage them with junk food; what’s not so good for my large body has to be devastating to their tiny frames. I had enough space to read a chapter of Luke before gathering my stuff and heading for the bike when Kevin and the five or six other bikes from San Gabriel and Santa Clarita pulled in for lunch. I found him and shook hands and finally made an acquaintance. Of course I promptly forgot their names because I’m horrible at names; just ask any youth basketball player. It was always about three games into the season when I finally stopped yelling “Hey You!” to get their attention on the court.

I had intended to take the same route home as I did going out but I missed the connection to the 138 in Victorville and decided to continue on down the 15 to the 210 rather than doubling back. I was more into getting home by then than I was about the route even though the Cajon Pass blows with the downhill pace many drivers keep and their abrupt maneuvers they use to keep that pace. How rude. Once I got through the pass and sped down to the 15/210 interchange I took note that the partly cloudy skies of the desert had became mostly clouding skies in the valleys that looked pretty threatening. Since there had been no prediction of rain I hadn’t packed the rain suit that I didn’t own and I hoped that I wouldn’t have to dodge raindrops to make it to the Dorothy Street. At least if I did get wet it wouldn’t have been for long and I’d be home to dry off. Note to self: buy and bring a rain suit. A decent one doesn’t take up that much room. “Vigilance in all phases of the ride” will be my new motto.

All in all, it was a good experience and I plan to do other rides with groups or to a big rally like the Fall Street Vibrations in Reno. I’ll have a more refined set of expectations and a better idea of how to move about scene for the next one.

VMC Meet Day 2 (@ Laughlin and the Mob Rides)

My biological clock was in good form and I woke up before dawn but had the good sense the work on sleeping in until 6:30 which left me with four hours before the big group ride started. I got up for good then showered all the while thinking about how to get to Cinnabon over at the Riverside Casino and Hotel. I walked along the river walk and into the casino, around the casino, upstairs from the casino, to the casino map and was still unable to find it, not even a whiff. I decided to walk it off and spend some time praying again for La Crescenta and about my own day ahead and really enjoyed the stroll nearly as much as I had imagined the cinnamon roll would taste. Almost.

I stopped for a little bit and watched the waterfowl at work. A few Coots, Ring-necked Ducks, and even a Double-crested Cormorant were working the river. The birds in the middle of the river would drift by on the main current only to pick up and fly back upstream for a ways and float back down occasionally diving after fish. Actually, the coots would run/fly, flapping their wings and running on the water. The few birds plying the shoreline, mostly pairs of Mallards, would paddle themselves upstream looking for tidbits in the river grass and moss but it seemed to me a lot of hard work for the rewards. While the river offered life sustaining sustenance it made them work for every scrap.

Deciding on a real breakfast I went back to the Aquarius and ate at the diner having a skillet of scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes which were too obviously from a frozen package. There was a big table of six Victory riders breaking up as I came in and we exchanged greetings. Towards the end of my meal a guy came in and sat down at the table next to me; he could have been a rider but I wasn’t sure with his nicely trimmed hair and clean shaven face while wearing casual clothes like a business man on a work trip. I went out to my bike early thinking I’d be one of the first out there and this was not the case as there were many riders out wiping down their bikes, cleaning the windscreens, and checking out their gear. About 20 minutes later the guy who sat near me at breakfast came out in worn riding pants complete with wallet chain, a finely festooned riding vest, and his hair all spiked up. I chuckled at this and then pondered my own transformation with new harness style riding boots as opposed to the lace-up with ankle buckles style I had been wearing, my new leather jacket I’d gotten with this trip (and winter riding) in mind as opposed to my mesh jacket with padding, and I was wearing a Victory bandana. The bandana is no stretch for me as I can be seen in any water park, rafting trip, Mission Arizona, or desert work trip photo with one. Nevertheless, even my choice of helmets for the group ride was to look like a cool cruiser as I went with the shorty helmet instead of the full-face helmet I had ridden in with. We do tend to dress the part and work for acceptance, something that can work to my disadvantage as a Christian living in the world but not being a part of the world. It’s a fine line that gets rubbed out in the sand like the batters’ box chalk lines on a ball field by the second inning.

Riders started mounting up and the parking structure rumbled and shook with the roar of the engines, especially Ron’s Kingpin. We pulled out of the structure and out to the parking lot where we could form up and the ride leader called us over for the pep talk; we’d ride in staggered formation, within 5 miles of the speed limit and right at the limit when going through a couple of little towns. The ride leader’s handle is LordandMaster; unfortunately I never got the chance to explore that with him but I have my doubts that it’s the same Lord I call Master. I’d never considered a motorcycle handle for myself until this trip when I was asked what mine was for my banquet name tag. I’ve had a lot of nicknames in my life; some would be decent riding handles, others, not so much, and still others inappropriate in any case. While Jer-Bear works around church and the kids it hardly fits the type of persona I’m trying to project as a tough rider. Thoughts on how I would come up with a handle swirled around in my head the rest of the trip. I have a couple of scenarios that might work for me but what is the correct etiquette on something like this? Wouldn’t it be somewhat pretentious to come up with one myself and have a readymade story about it? Shouldn’t you earn a riding moniker and have it bestowed on you in some tribal ceremony? I see the need for research before I make an unalterable blunder. Who knew trying to fit in a riding club could be so complicated?

We rumbled out of the parking lot, eighty bikes, two of which were the first Victory trikes that I had seen. We soon crossed the Colorado River into Arizona and made our way to the Kingman Victory Dealership and a free BBQ lunch. Don’t worry, he probably broke even with all the clothing and gear everybody bought and his store got a lot of attention that day. It was quite a site with sixty or so bikes stretched out over a quarter of a mile ahead of me and another twenty behind me. We wove our way through some small towns after lunch and worked our way up to Meadview where we could have ridden down at twenty bucks a bike for a look at the lake; no one did. We stretched at a little gas station market and looked at the mountains that separated us from the Grand Canyon which we could have seen by riding over a 20 mile dirt road to the Skywalk; image the dust that would have been raised for everyone except the LordandMaster. A young mother with two small children came up to me to find out what so many bikes were doing in one place at one time. I told her it was a club meeting ride and that we were also doing a fundraiser for the Susan B. Komen Foundation. Even with the controversy for that group she thought it was cool and went away happy we weren’t a rough and tumble biker gang that had come to town.

 That was the turnaround point and when we headed back and I put myself closer to the front of the pack and wished later that I stayed back when we made an interchange and I got stuck waiting. It took a pretty fast pace to catch up and lead my sub-pack back to the group and once there had to maintain an uncomfortable pace of over 80 MPH to stay with them, so much for staying within five miles an hour of the speed limit. It was just like a bunch of rental horses once you turn them around to head back to the stables. There wasn’t much time to enjoy the desert surroundings doing that kind of riding and I was glad when the leader pulled over to gas up his smaller bike and basically told everyone that we could go on. It was nice following three Victory Visions at a statelier pace the last thirty miles back to the Aquarius. I wiped down my bike and went to my room for a little reading of “Taken” by Robert Crais before going down to the banquet.

Kevin and his group from San Gabriel Valley and Santa Clarita had a table filled up so I found one and joined a couple from Flagstaff, Arizona. They store their bikes in Phoenix to get more opportunities to ride through the summer. Soon another solo rider joined us from Corona and then Jerry and Susan from Phoenix who ride one of the trikes sat down with us. I’d struck up an acquaintance Jerry and his wife as this was their first time at an event like this, were more nervous about it than I, and he had the same name so memorization was not a problem. Our table was rounded out by a couple from Utah who had to trailer their bike south to reach passable roads to join the meet. They don’t know my old high school teacher Joseph Jesnsen but we had bikes in common to talk about. Age wise, I believe that I was about the middle of the age range at the table which is another strange occurrence as I’ve spent so much of my time with young students and their parents, also younger than I am. During the raffle drawings I was the only one at the table not to win anything and we held out for me to win the 50/50 drawing. No luck. The evening came to an end without having a lasting acquaintance started unless we all happen to make next year’s tenth anniversary event and actually remember each other.

I went out to the casino, worked the poker machine to break even for the trip, went to my room and finished “Taken”.

VMC Meet Day 1 (Getting to Laughlin)

Friday morning, the 10^th of February came and I had my kickstand up and wheels rolling by 8:20 in the morning and hit the 210 West moments later. As the Verdugo Hills Golf Course slid by on my right I felt the tug of leaving home and being on the road alone but once I was heading down the grade to the Hansen Dam basin I was into it. With no traffic to speak of west bound and the heavy work traffic east bound I was tempted to shout out “SUCKERS!”. Who but me would hear it and then I’d have to live with the echoes of it in my helmet. Next up was the wonderful 210/ 5/14 interchange where I could choose LA, Bakersfield, or Palmdale; not a very romantic sounding trio of destinations. I took the 14 northbound and quickly left the heavy development behind through the Newhall Pass. My Victory Cross Country paid little attention to the upgrade and I was passing folks who delayed putting their foot down to maintain speed and I reminded myself to remain vigilant even when I found a nice bubble in the traffic. Shortly after the interchange and as the truck lane merges again with the freeway is when the less astute drivers remember to depress their gas pedal to maintain uphill speed and jump on it to make up for slowing to 60; they seem to find their aggression about then and you have to be wary of them running up your backside.

On my way up to the Pearblossom Highway (138) I noted some of my landmarks; Sand Canyon Road just because it sounds interesting, the Red Rover Mine Road that would lead me to Hauser Mountain up above where I had built my first, and only, microwave radio site from the ground up, then Acton, known as Yuckton by less enthusiastic residents I’ve known where there is an interesting business with western wagons and life sized or larger plastic animals for sale that I’ve always meant to go to and bring Cindy back a six foot rooster. Perhaps it would be better to drop in on a ride some time so I’d be less likely to let my humor stray and lay an egg of a joke. I passed by the off ramp to the Angeles National Forest Highway that would have beautiful, chilly, and only ended  me back at home until I found the exit to the 138. This route took me along the western side of Palmdale with the speed limit of 60, residences along the east side, and stop lights every half mile. I’m never comfortable about this speed limit here; it just seems unnatural going so fast in a neighborhood.

Once I got out of the town and heading along the 2 lane highway toward Littlerock the Angeles Forest was on my right and should’ve been shrouded in snow this time of year only now there were just patches on this north facing slope, still pretty but it left me with worries about a possible new drought. Going the route I’d chosen allowed me to avoid the 210 East to the 15 and only cost me about 10 miles of travel. It was worth it since this route is free of the urban surroundings and let me feel like I was away much earlier than the shorter, faster route. I kept an eye out for other riders making their way along to Laughlin but found none. I kept some hopes of finding some at Barstow, just up Highway 15 from Victorville where I made the change from the 138 to 15. It was good to be on the 15 for only 40 minutes or so with the Vegas crazies hitting 85-90 MPH; not that I couldn’t run with them on this bike but it’s just out of my comfort zone and the sooner I was off of the 15 the better it would be.

I gassed up at Barstow and checked my mileage which was a respectable 50 MP/G for the highway ride then paused for lunch and to take a few notes for this post and then looked around quite a bit for other Victory riders heading my way. No luck there. The group from Santa Clarita and the San Gabriel Valley all left Thursday making it a four day ride weekend and I was planning to meet up with them at the ride sign-in at the Aquarius in Laughlin. No luck there either as it turned out. I headed out of Barstow and jumped on the 40 east toward the 95 where I took the 163 toward Laughlin and where I gassed up to be ready for Saturday’s ride. The 40 was nice, quite a few trucks but they were orderly and professional. The Joshua-tree groves here and there were nice and for some reason made me think of my grandson Jeremiah; sometimes strange dots are connected on a long ride and you take your pleasant thoughts when they come and where they take you.

I didn’t see another Victory rider all day until I pulled into the parking structure and our “designated” area where I found about 30 bikes and more groups of 2 or 3 bikes at a time pulling in as I made the acquaintance of Rob, a rider older than me who rode a 1999 Kingpin, the first year Polaris started making motorcycles. He was a proud owner and technically much more savvy than I about the bikes and their equipment. His was equipped with loud and hot pipes, neither of which is a favorite thing to do with a bike for me. Rob is a Veteran, proud of it, and passionate about honoring the Armed services and he had patches on his vest to prove it. This would be a fairly common theme amongst the riders many of whom ride honor guards for fallen soldiers and others returning home to their communities.

I stuck around the sign-in area hoping to meet some folks and snag an invite to dinner but none was forthcoming. I wasn’t feeling very outgoing as my heart and mind where with the CVHS students and community with the tragic suicide at my old high school; I know several students there and considered going home once I found out what had happened while I was on the way out. Instead, I prayed in my room and on my walks for them but it was hard to shake the feeling that I wasn’t where I was needed or where I should be.

As I wondered around the casino scoping out the bars and other gathering places I saw many of the other club members who were easily identified by their club gear mostly in the form of vests festooned with club patches, Victory caps, tee shirts, and mechanic’s style Victory shirts. I only have the cap for when I’m not on the bike; maybe I’ll have to add a vest or something so that I can be more easily identified at club events. I saw Kevin, my L.A. area contact but he was heading out with a group; he wouldn’t know me by sight and I’m not one to intrude. After dinner by myself I walked along the river and listed to a flock of Canada Geese up stream, played a few bucks worth of video poker, and then went to my room to read and catch up with Facebook news of the tragedy. It was a sad day indeed for our little town.

I ended up getting to sleep a little later than my regular time which is early. With over 300 miles ridden that day and a 200 mile day full of the unknown starting in the morning it was a good choice.

Anticipation

“Anticipation, anticipation
Is makin' me late
Is keepin' me waitin' “ Carly Simon

It is one in the morning and I’ve been priming the pump, hoping for inspiration, looking for a reason to write. Priming the pump by reading scripture, reading about writing, planning a pathway to PAR’s story; even this blog as well as Calvary’s Thread has been meant as a warm up to a larger work. Who is to say what actually woke me up to get a drink this morning and crawl back into bed only to have sleep elude me as worries invaded my thoughts and danced around in some bazaar rehearsal of personal interchanges that I would just as soon avoid. I fought off the destructive thoughts by engaging in the fantasy of rebuilding my past with some out-of-reach sports glories only to have me start in thinking about my upcoming trip and how it will relate to PAR. The struggles continued until I gave into the small voice that told me to write and now here I am writing about wanting to write. It’s makin’ me late, keepin’ me waitin’ for sleep but that’s what anticipation does.

Friday, I head off to Laughlin, NV for the Southwest Region of the Victory Motorcycle Club (VMC) meet and ride. Anxious anticipation; I won’t know anyone there, been a Lone Wolf rider and now looking to see what the pack might have to offer, what sort of story materials will be there. At this time it looks as though I’ll ride out in lone-wolf style, by myself and on the route I choose. Riders from the Southwest will converge on Laughlin so at some point in time I will likely see others and we’ll fall in together for the remainder of the run. Anxious anticipation; I am out of my element having worked with youth for so long I’m more at home and more friends with them than any adults even approaching my age. Now I’ll be trying to mingle having been told by my one contact with the ride just to “look for the bad looking bikers in the Casino and start introducing yourself.” I’m committed though, to see PAR through and experience what he might feel going out to find people he doesn’t know, riding his bike to a place he’s only been to with friends and his only love, not on vacation but on a mission. My mission? It is to break out of my normal pattern of sitting back quietly observing the interactions of others and forming my own story for them. Now I need to interact quietly and observe myself meeting new people, interacting with them to find common ground to see what it is God wants for me in the situation. Anticipation has loosened the mooring lines of my mind to the pier that has kept me from running the rapids of writing a story that will lead to uncharted places. That’s a very exposed place to be and I’d rather be in bed.

Saturday the VMC has a group ride with “75 to 100” bikes going somewhere to “have a free lunch”, you know what they say about free lunches, and then come back. Doing a big group ride has been on my list and may find its way into PAR’s future so this is good. I’ve been anticipating riding along with rumbling bikes on the two-lane highway to some cool place to have lunch and hang with new friends, assuming I break out of my introverted cocoon Friday. While many of these folks are going to be bad looking bikers, they are not a hard-bitten motorcycle gang and outlaws and will be providing me with materials for the stories I’ll write and posts I’ll make here. Anticipating is keeping me waitin’ to go back to bed to be ready for a full and busy day at the office. But first, I’m anticipating how I am going to present myself to complete strangers as a man of God, a spiritual person first, and biker way down the list. Tricky that; don’t want to be overtly sanctified and scare them off and don’t want to be of the world so much that I indulge in hypocrisy. Saturday evening there will be the VMC banquet and I should be able to tell if I’ve made friends or alienated people. PAR will be with me; our Lord and most of the folks interested enough to read this will be too. I can sleep on that, “So I'll try and see into your eyes right now…And stay right here 'cause these are the good old days”.

Mr. Jerry’s Wildlife Ride(s)

Good Lord! There is nothing quite like a pre-dawn encounter with a skunk while riding a motorcycle. I leaned into the curve on Shields Avenue and as I reached the apex and was about to lightly accelerate to come out and head down to Briggs I saw the white stripes, black as night body, and the waddling gait of an obstacle. Thank God He put those stripes on Mr. Skunk. I knew in a flash I was in trouble but what was I to do? I could break firmly and throw myself dangerously close to the retaining wall and chain link fence to pass in front of the poor animal. I could goose it and accelerate into the low inside part of the curve and into the oncoming lane to risk the far curb to pass behind but (or butt?) within range of the potent end of the little beast. This would have been the aggressive approach and for sure would have startled the skunk. I don’t know how fast he could have turned around and given me his opinion of the maneuver but I knew the option of running him over was bad for both of us. He would be dead and the bike and I would carry the evidence that folks downwind of us would recognize for quite some time. The calculations were nearly instantaneous. I opted to not panic but to slightly let off the gas and come out of the lean to pass dangerously close to the skunk’s weapon of choice praying for benevolence from my new friend. He somehow recognized that I had no ill intent toward him and completed his trek across Shields to continue up the embankment as though nothing had occurred and thus letting me make it to the office unmolested.

I have had other wildlife encounters on both two wheels and four; this is a two-wheeled account, self-propelled but two wheels nevertheless. There was a 5 year period of time when I rode a bicycle to work in the early mornings. Picture the YouTube video of the bicycle and the wild antelope. I was coming around Linda Vista before getting into the arroyo just where a little v-canyon comes down the mountain to the road. As the sun was going to break over the hills I saw a big deer, a four or five point buck, grazing about two feet from the curb. He rose up on his hind legs with his forelegs pawing the air. I thought he was going to give me a big head-butt and skewer me. Instead, he pirouetted and bound up into the canyon to the cover of darkness and the scrub oak. Exhilarating.

Back in the day, during an epic trip with my best friend Jim leading the way somewhere in Wyoming and in free range grazing area we were riding along a beautiful two-lane highway in the hills weaving our way along, he on his Honda 350 Scramble, me on my Honda CB500 Four. We came upon several steers grazing in the long grass on the outside of a corner in the lazy sunshine. Jim beeped his horn which sounded like the Road Runner with a cold but it had a profound effect on the cattle. The biggest of the bunch bellowed, shook his head in fright and anger before bounding across the road in front of me with the others rousing from their torpor to follow suit. The animal was huge and an impact with a ton of beef was unthinkable so I went into full avoidance mode and instantly banked left behind him. Then I cranked the accelerator, banked right and passed safely just in front of the others. At the time it was all slow motion in my mind. By the time we came to a stop at a pullout further up the road it was nearly stop-motion for both of us and we burst out laughing. Hey, when you are 18 it’s easy to laugh off close calls.

I’ve saved one of my favorites for last. It was on the same trip, part of a six thousand mile adventure and we were in Yellowstone National Park. Jim and I had a bear plan in place in the event that we came across one of the infamous bear-jams but never encountered any during our trip. We made camp near the visitor center our first night in the park. During the evening we heard the eerie bugling of elk echoing across the forested valley. It was awesome. The next day I took the lead as we worked our way through the park to see the sights on our way to the western entrance of the park. I had set a sedate pace through some of the most beautiful country we had seen up to this point in our trip. There was no traffic to speak of and we weren’t in a hurry preferring a gentle pace to wind through the forest. I came around a blind corner with a brush covered hillside to the inside and there she was, a full-grown female elk strolling across the road. She stopped, I stopped, and I can’t even recall if Jim caught up and ever saw her because I was instantly enthralled by her. She stood there looking at me as I stood over my bike a mere fifteen feet from her. Her eyes were huge and level with mine. I got enveloped by them as she wondered why I was there just as I wondered what she was doing in the middle of the road. It seemed to last for a very long time and etched itself into my memory. The sun-dappled road, the doe elk in her soft brown cloak worn with complete elegance. I uttered, probably stammered, a quick heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving as she turned and disappeared into the underbrush. No rush, she glided.