Dear LCpl Getscher

Dear LCpl Getscher (Caleb),

This coming September 11, 2016 I will be riding in the Ride to the Flags from Naval Base Ventura County (NBVC) to the 'Waves of Flags' at Pepperdine University. I’ll be riding along with a few friends of mine from the Southern California Victory Riders’ group and in the midst of 500 or so bikers.

I have been reading your story and the bits and pieces of it that I can find on the internet because I’ve wanted to write something for my friends, my family, and the greater riding community so that they will know why we ride the RTTF and to help myself to have a deeper understanding of the event and the man we are riding for, you. We ride, we give, because you count and because your sacrifice has incurred a debt that cannot be fully repaid. I give to help you establish yourself as a new man with new capabilities. I'll ride to show I care, I’m giving to help even just a little.

I confess that I have not served our country in the military and though from time to time I’ve regretted that, or at least considered what it would have been like, I am just as glad that Uncle Sam did not invite me to Southeast Asia. This is probably a part of why I am having such a hard time understanding the depth of your sacrifice, both on the field of battle, and now at home as you continue to work through your loss. You are an incredible man. Thank you for your service – I am sorry that it requires such a drastic sacrifice.

Though my reading about how you were injured and what you’ve gone through in your recovery has been sobering to me, I have come across some things that give me hope. Hope for you, hope for our future. I believe that beyond the persons counted as casualties it is the mothers and spouses of those men and women that feel it most keenly and I’ve seen that your mother and wife are exceptional women who, while they’ve suffered that loss alongside of you, they have also had your back all the way. I thank your mother and your wife for all they’ve suffered and for all they do with you and for you.

The Getschers at home

There is one picture that has stood out for me that gives me hope for you, rather several pictures. They all have two things in common, you and your daughter on your lap. Invariably, she can be seen with the most genuine of smiles and completely at ease with you. You, the man you are right now, is the dad she knows and loves and it is obvious to me that she thinks the world of you. I loved reading how the two of you sprawl out on the floor and play together – it speaks volumes about who you are to each other. Knowing that you have the space to do that and that your home is set up in a way so that you can move about is a comfort to me. It seems that it’s the least we could have done for you. I am thankful for your daughter and what she means to you and your family.

I hope that you find a way to define your new normal and that it gives you a sense of worth and fulfillment. I pray that your new normal gives plenty of room for the extraordinary and that the extraordinary becomes the baseline for your new normal.

Thank you for being a man of honor and sacrifice, a man of dedication and determination and a man who cares for his friends, family, and country. I appreciate you for being a person who takes a stand for the oppressed.

God bless you.

jerry white

This is the link to the Southern California Victory Riders’ donation page for those who want to participate with us in spirit as we ride or who want to join the team for the day of the event: 

Southern California Victory Riders' Donation Page

Dear Ireland - Finale - Her People

Your people are gracious, welcoming and wholehearted. In our time there, in all our driving and walking and riding buses, we did not meet one untoward person. For instance the four of us; Cindy, Daniel, Ani, and I, traveled by bus on our last night in Dublin, three buses to be exact for Cindy and I. Each of the drivers was kind and understanding and this in an occupation that tends to breed curmudgeons injecting coarseness into every soul. Thank you for nurturing the collective kindness of your people.

My dear Ireland, you got me over myself in many ways. One result was that I had no problem asking even the simplest thing when we had a question – Where to go? How to tip? Do you have gluten free and vegetarian menu items? When does the music start? (Really though, it never stopped) In every case there was first a smile, then the answer, then the reassurance of ‘no worries’, with a parting wish for a great trip. You made me feel at home and amongst friends. When we looked lost or confused your people stopped and sought us out, going out of their way to make sure we could find our way, always with a smile and so pleased that we were visiting Ireland.

Galway Street Club
See postscript for YouTube links

Speaking of music, on our way back to St. Anthony’s B&B from the Spanish Arch in Galway we chanced upon a joyous scene where a couple of hundred people had gathered as the Galway Street Club performed their music. Performed is not quite the word I want. They reveled in it and the crowd enjoyed a good rollick as well. We took up the whole of the wide cobbled walkway, some dancing where they stood, many tapping out the rhythm, and still more singing along in the well-known choruses. Folks who wanted simply to pass through wormed their way through the crowd and walked between the performers and watchers while skipping and dancing their way by as often as not. I lost track of time we spent there and was lost in the music. After a time we said that we’d leave after the next song and said the same thing song after song until a slight break in the enchanting scene allowed us to break free of the spell and head back to our rooms.

We stayed at an array of Bed and Breakfast establishments and each was overseen by excellent people. Three of them stood out to me and I’ll name them here so that you can remember them with kindness as they represent your people.

Lissyclearig Thatch Cottage
Artwork by Quirky Paintings - Kenmare

Carmel Breen and her husband Davey opened their heart and home to us. Lissyclearig Thatch Cottage has as much country character you could hope for. Davey built it from the ground up as well as most of the furnishings including dining tables, frames, hearths, and lamps. The craftsmanship is superb and is a testament to the Irish tradesman pride. I suspect he implemented Carmel’s vision to a tee. The cottage is decorated throughout with family memorabilia and surrounded by fanciful gardens to the front, vegetables and flowers to the rear. Carmel is gregarious and her convivial approach to the breakfast started our days off on the right foot. While Davey prefers the quiet pursuits of craftsmanship and fishing he took humble delight in our praise of the wonderful cottage. Cindy and I spent our layover day there at the cottage as well as a walkabout in the town of Kenmare. It was a sanctuary for us.

San Augustine’s B&B in Swords, Dublin was our final stop before heading home. Anna Walsh, the proprietress, greeted us with alacrity and a sense of humour that is sure to bring a smile to the weariest of travelers. She got right down to the business of arranging breakfast and a cab for us as we dropped our cars off that night and had a need for an early ride to the airport the next morning. When we jokingly asked about breakfast before our 4 a.m. cab arrived she laughed and said something to the effect that God doesn’t get breakfast at that hour. She related the story of how Ann Eagers dropped off a package for us and how amazing that was to her. I suspect she goes the extra mile when the occasion warrants it just as she did for us with the cab and sharing a laugh with us.

Banner House in Rathcoole, Dublin was our first B&B stop. However, I saved the Banner House story for last because the proprietress, Ann Eagers, was most amazing, even to our friend Anna at San Augustine B&B. Ann got us off on the right foot for our B&B experience welcoming us into her house and showing us the way of things. I loved the sun room between the main house and the extension, great for a read and write session. The Irish breakfast was excellent and she was efficient. As we prepared to leave for our next stop at St. Anthony’s in Galway Ann asked for our voucher. “Voucher”, I replied? I was not aware of the need for vouchers and had failed to print them. Ani and Daniel had already pulled out as we were taking separate routes to Galway that day and I was the lost soul of a rookie B&B’er.

Ann brought me into her kitchen and we sat at her new computer where I was able to find the vouchers. The new computer wasn’t able to send anything to the printer so Ann called her daughter who arrived from next door with her computer and her son in tow. We found and saved he vouchers to her computer and she ran home to print them out. During the interlude I learned that peek-a-boo is an international phenomenon, the boy is delightful. Ann handled a stressful situation for me with grace and I was relieved that I hadn’t ruined the whole trip for us. And this was just the beginning of Ann going the extra mile for us.

Sometime after our arrival at St. Anthony’s B&B we discovered that we’d left something in the wardrobe back at Banner House. We despaired that we would never see the piece again and reduce the once thrifty purchase of the coat to a marginally wise purchase since we had traversed the island from the east coast to west coast on our 210km drive. Prior to our departure after our two night stay at St. Anthony’s I took my newfound shamelessness and emailed Ann about the garment. She answered promptly and ended a couple of logistical questions with “Let me know where you will be staying and we will take it from there.” As it turned out, or so she said, Ann and her husband were visiting family in Swords and dropped the coat liner off at our final B&B at San Augustine.

My final email response to Ann was, “A favorable trip advisor report would have been a joy to write in any case, this puts you in a category beyond any reasonable definition. You have become my Irish champion.” And, she is. Cindy was pleasantly surprised that her coat had been made whole.

A final lesson I learned while being introduced to you, Ireland is this: There is not enough of a life span to know even the smallest of countries. For one, its people are too diverse to allow for a complete understanding of the land. There is only enough time in one’s life to walk with an open heart and receive life’s bounty as it is presented wherever and whenever it comes along.

The greatest vista we enjoyed was overlooking the Lakes of Killarney. Cindy had me stand on the low rock wall at the edge of the car park and lift my hands for a photograph. While posing thus I was drawn to bless Ireland and worship God. I’ll not call it a benediction, I don’t want to put final punctuation to my experience with you.

I love Ireland, her people, her land, and her poetry.

YouTube links to Galway Street Club: 

My short video clip of the group:

A more complete video and song from YouTube:

Dear Ireland - Part 2

Oh Ireland, we walked your island here and there and at each turn and cresting of rise your history was revealed, your traditions and passions opened as the wild fuchsia in the fields. Your arms were opened wide to us, your vales welcomed us in, and your abbeys soothed our souls. You made me believe I could be a poet, and so for a time I was.

Athenry Priory

It seems that every farmer has an ancient wall or arch in his fields and that all sheep are afforded the comfort of a medieval tower. It appears that each town has sprung up around a castle and/or an abbey and I think they have done just that. Our first impromptu excursion was in response to a highway tourist sign with a castle icon imprinted on it as though it was an everyday occurrence to find a side road to a castle. We jogged over to Athenry, or ‘Ford of the King’, and felt very brave to so; getting off our route to Galway for this was chancy, but we were richly reworded for our efforts. We paid our small entry fee for the Athenry Castle and were afforded a personal tour by a young woman whose passion for the history of her people was made evident in each room and with every story with which she regaled us. We would have loved to record a little of her talk but she is shy in that regard. Her fierce sense of independence and pride in her heritage were infectious – I could have taken up arms for Athenry. The priory of Athenry with the cemetery surrounding the old Dominican sanctuary was enthralling, especially considering we were free to walk about the grounds and found nothing defaced in the whole of the ruin.

We found your abbeys, priories, town walls and bridges, castles and their walls in every place we paused throughout our travels. These and the old churches are a marvel and I often found myself in a quiet solitude of the moment. There I could offer prayers for friends and family, for you and your people, and often ended my prayer in dumbstruck silence listening to the ancient chants echoing through the halls. Thank you for those moments where I sensed God’s presence and felt at home.

Me at Cromwell's Bridge

We loved our time in Kenmare or ‘the little nest’. Sprinkled amongst this active village are remnants of times long past and Cindy and I gave ourselves a walking tour. We found the misnamed Cromwell’s Bridge built sometime in the 11^th century and marveled that we could walk over and touch it, no velveteen robes to protect it, no garda to warn us off. I like the idea that the Irish word ‘cromael’ meaning moustache is more likely the source of the name since the high arched bridge indeed looks like a fu manchu. We found the Kenmare Stone Circle built sometime in the Bronze Age, as old as 2,200 years BC. What a marvelous thing! Before that, the oldest ‘structures’ I’d seen were undated American First Peoples’ house rings on top of Mormon Peak above Death Valley. The stone circle stirred our imagination and we could readily see how these places could capture the imaginations of modern day writers like C.S. Lewis and Tolkien and their peers.

At Blarney Castle we climbed the tightly wound stairway to the ramparts and there kissed the Blarney Stone. I am hoping that the legend is more blarney than baloney so that my writing will be enriched for the climb and the kiss. Blarney’s Poison Garden was both amazing and repulsive – I guess it’s the dad in me that shrieked loudest at the thought of a wondering tot sampling the available foliage of the place. I am glad that there is such a castle and such a stone as Blarney, it gives me hope. Thank you.

A Letterfrack Waterfall

We all paid a visit to Kylemore Abbey, a relatively new structure having been started in 1867. The romance that spawned the building of the castle and the twists of fate that brought it to become a Benedictine Community home could inspire a wealth of stories. Of our time spent on the grounds what touched me most was our walk on the Letterfrack Poetry Trail. I was brought to tears at the poems, the waterfalls, and moss-covered walls amongst the ferns made me believe I could be a poet. Indeed, thank you for the fairy’s touch that could make me believe such a miracle as that.

I had but a glimpse of your past, of the lives that came and went in your hills, and of your watchman’s ways in every tower overlooking vales and upon your flinty coastline. The romance and severity of it all leaves me searching for truths long lost through the ages of advancement. I hope that I could embrace a simple country life and be satisfied. But in a world overrun with people, their machines, and appetency for more, more of everything, I cannot withdraw and must take up arms for Athenry with my words and soul to find a way to instill the simple life in a world spinning out of control.

Such is your legacy Ireland. Thank you.

Dear Ireland - Part 1

I would despair going home were it not for the vast wealth I have stored back in the U.S. You know the wealth I’m talking about – children and grandchildren, family and friends that I could not bear to separate myself from and put such a distance between as our continent and the vast Atlantic Ocean between. Otherwise, I could be happy with you for the rest of my days because of how you opened your deep and kind heart to us.

It was the cumulative experience with you that has captured my heart. Your landscape, the climate, and your people – all instruments in your wonderful orchestra. I’m sorry. That’s a poor analogy at best and I apologize for it. While I have no doubt that you have wonderful orchestral musicians, I have to say that your traditional Irish music touched me most and fits perfectly with your towns and farms and countryside. Cindy and I whetted our appetites by sitting in a few sessions with traveling Irish musicians. And just last night I relived walking through your Abbeys and castles and strolling along when we attended a seisiun with Rattle the Knee who regaled us with reels and jigs, ballads and laments as they combined voice, uillean pipes, tin whistles, guitar, and a marvelous fiddler. I was transported and because you touched my heart it was all so very real.

Your ancientness was evidenced in every town and valley with Abbeys and castles, towers and walls, bridges, stone circles, and more – they all spoke to us of your enduring qualities as a people and as a country. We were awed by your Book of Kells with its art and the attention to detail. Your reverence to the King of kings demonstrated both on the ancient ruins and the library but was most on display with how openly we were welcomed by your people.

Of all the things I experienced while touring your country it was your driving style that was most foreign to me. This driving on the left side of the road in right-hand drive autos never really allowed me to relax behind the wheel. That’s saying a lot because I like to drive; at times I love to drive. The great thing about driving your roads was that we did not witness one accident or lack of consideration for other drivers. True, as with all places, native drivers go faster and make us visitors a bit nervous. Coming from America where our tolerance (mine included) has worn thin, it was quite amazing that I was not yelled at once, even when trying to complete a left turn into an occupied right-hand lane.

I love your rolling hills and wide valleys with the neatly sectioned off fields for livestock and crops. Your old stone walls, in town and field, create their own growing ecosystems with fern and lichen clinging to every surface, cropping out of every nook. We saw the Cliffs of Galway, marveled at the birds seen there, and wondered at the monumental cliffs running north and south of our viewing points. We pulled to the side of the road overlooking the Lakes of Killarney at the Ladies View Pub. My wife had me pose there upon the rock wall lifting my hands in blessing and worship. It did it gladly and from my heart. Time and again you gave us a 360^o panorama of beauty.

With the exception of one day we had at least a little rain fall on us as we wove along the roadways and walked your cities and parks. We are in draught here in Southern California and we found ourselves refreshed. I guess the price of being known as the Emerald Isle is the rain whenever the mood strikes Mother Nature but we reveled in it often going without our hoods up to feel the rain upon our heads and wash over our faces.

Cliffs of Moher - O'Brien's Tower

At first glance your Cliffs of Moher (Irish: Aillte an Mhothair) appear severe and inhospitable. The Princess Bride miscast them as The Cliffs of Insanity, although to great effect for the storyline. After a time of walking along the trail atop the cliffs I could see them as serene and embracing, at the same time an implacable force keeping the Atlantic from surging in to cover the greens and ensalt your beautiful loughs.

As a lover of birds for as long as I can remember, an observer of them for over three decades, I had one of my most memorable experiences with my avian friends. I was fortunate enough to lock onto a Great Black-backed Gull with my pocket-binoculars as he soared along the cliff face with his five and a half foot wings (1.7m) outstretched for an effortless glide first south toward Hag’s Head and then, with a glance over his shoulder, he banked over to head northeast where he went out of sight behind the point at O’Brien’s Tower. I was at the same time bereft of my travel with him and enriched for having watched such effortless flight along the magnificent vistas. Thank you for that, I will relive the gull’s flight over and over again.

In the city of Galway we walked through the Spanish Arch and down to the River Corrib and there watched nearly an hundred Mute Swans ply the waters to snack upon the mosses. I watched as a Grey Heron glided in to wade along the river’s bank just below the concrete embankment. I was able to stretch out and over the edge to capture what is most likely my best bird photograph.

The view of your Lakes of Killarney from Ladies View is stunning, I imagined myself spending days on end exploring the vale and lakes getting to know flora and fauna. I believe that any road we could have taken would have led us to some dale or field or copse and there to find creatures of legend where we would have been happily waylaid for an extended visit.

Thank you Ireland

The Beat Goes On - A 2016 Amazing Motorcycle Adventure Ghost Post

The Quintet from left: Sue and her Oboe d'amore, Jed and his Heckelphone,
Tim and his Cor Anglais (English Horn), Jeannie and her Shehnai,
and Bev and her Hautbois Baryton (baritone oboe)
@ the Dee Wright Observatory

The beat goes on in the Comet Man’s Opus and the quintet, shed of the bit-players are cruising on to Boise, Idaho as I write this, my first ghost post. The Northwest Victory Meeting awaits them with a time of biker fellowship and a full orchestra of instruments both amazing and mundane, all making beautiful music with scheduled renditions of the classics and jazzy riffs of an unplanned nature.

Our heroes for the story have made their way from San Jose (they knew the way there) to Fort Bragg, CA to Coos Bay, OR, and to Bend, OR for a layover day of no riding to tune up for the Boise concert; a meeting up of old friends and the making of still new friends.

Not even a third of the way through the trip and already they have amplified the opus with shopping, drinking, and eating; sights and sounds to tuck away in the memory banks. They’ve seen Trees of Mystery, bays, rivers, and roads to inspire the best of road songs. The quintet has had roadside repairs and puppies, winery repairs to go with a toast or two; wineries and fruit of the vine. Did I mention the Comet Man is a sommelier par excellence?  

@ Naked Winery gift shop

I have perused photos showing them all, including the shot of Paul Bunion and his nearly anatomically correct blue ox, Babe - team members fondly observed those amazing things. Food and wine, wineries and casks of promise…the good stuff. True to their word my friends have taken me with them and rather unceremoniously added me to photos, some best left to the imagination. I love them for this and have been laughing on and off each day. Heaven knows why they put me in a women’s tank top… 

Our Shehnai player’s ride? A 2009 Kingpin, rumored to have been formerly owned by Stephen Thrasher. ‘Twas her bike hoisted on a forklift in a wine cellar (Handley Cellars Winery) for wiring repairs by McGyuver Jed, aka our Hecklephone player. Jeannie rides a very nice line on the twisties and keeps time to the ride like a pro. My day up to San Jose with the group was my first real chance to ride with her and I know it would have been a great pleasure riding with her for the rest of the Amazing Motorcycle Adventrue. She fits very well with the others of the quintet and offers a fine counterpoint along with her distinct harmonies.

Forklift Hoist and Wine Cellar wiring repair ongoing

I offer here a quote from Jeannie that captures the heart of the rider on a grand adventure: “Well, tomorrow is another day of glorious riding, and I can’t wait to see everything that is on the horizon. I really wish my memory was better so I could forever have these amazing times with me but I know I will forever have the best of friends. I can never thank them enough for what they have allowed me to experience!! Y’all are absolutely the best!”

Enjoy the day wherever you are; whatever you are doing, go easy on the binders, and keep the iron side up. Peace

jerry

Post Script: When I ride I recognize other riders using a low two and three finger wave. For groups of three or more riders I add an Iron Side Up salute for the last rider whereby I raise my arm and fist at a forty-five degree angle and give a pump, a howitzer canon salute. When I offer my prayers for this quintet and my other riding friends on the road I punctuate my ‘amen’ with the Iron Side Up salute. Boom! Bless you all.  

Comet Man's Opus

Comet Man w/
2016 Motorcycle Adventure
Shirt

Comet Man as The Maestro may have produced his finest piece to date. I watched as he placed each note, bar, and cleft upon his score sheet – a first draft, a second, and a third. A tweak here and a tweak there as he orchestrated each rest, full stop, and divergent run.

All the while the conductor sought players for his opus. First there was a quartet including himself as he always loves most to perform the piece he has composed. It has something to do with working a finely tuned instrument in concert with others as he leads.

The working group for the piece became a sextet but that didn’t seem quite right for one member couldn’t quite get tuned up, his timing was off and could not fully commit. For a piece such as this not less than one hundred percent commitment would do. Though it saddened him, he knew it was best to withdraw.

Finally the day arrived and the opus was complete; the dry run through the piece was done and all of the instruments had been tuned and fitted for the performance of their lifetimes were complete. First one arrived at the stage, ironically the one that had dropped from the group for while he knew he wasn’t right for the full piece, he had to taste the first few lines and see it well launched.

The maestro and his wife arrived next awash with eager anticipation; he with his English Horn, she with her Hautbois Baryton for this is a piece written for woodwinds with brassy bit-players as counterpoint. The next pair arrived; the man with his Heckelphone, of all things, and his wife with her Oboe d’amore. They are a fine sounding duo and when added to first pair they spin quite a rambunctious quartet.

The five of us took off on a preamble, the four woodwinds and a slide trombone. We picked up the fifth member with her Shehnai with the other bit player and his odd-man-out instrument, an interesting percussive piece, the idiophone. The main quintet and their two accompanists headed out for the first movement of Comet Man’s Opus after a brief interlude to re-tune and position all the players. From the preamble (Interstate 5) we did a lilting jaunt (Hwy 58) to pick up the main strains of the movement (Hwy 101). The setting was ideal, weather and humidity perfect to start a long composition.

Our composer/conductor dabbled with some woodwind-mariachi (lunch in Soledad at La Fuente’s) and then diverted us for a bit to explore a gathering of thousands of other players (Hollister Bike Rally). All the instruments were represented there, all the genres in play; Jazz, rock, rap, full orchestras, country in fine fiddle, even some folk players. Groupings buzzed around like swarms of bees looking for a new hive. It was cacophonous. Once we’d had a taste of the gathering we marched on toward the first full-rest of the opus (The Residence Inn @ San Jose) with only one minor hiccup in the performance, if you will.

Not to worry, they are a well led quintet with a well written piece and instruments aptly suited to the players. The impromptu changes to the piece are what will give it lasting personality, something to aspire to but won’t be duplicated. Every piece is different, all of them are worth playing.

Ride well my friends, keep the iron side up, and stay in harmony. Peace

jerry

Post Script: I had fun putting this post together. While I didn’t name any of the players I did provide a photo of one and many of the readers will know who is riding on this grand adventure. I’ll leave it to you all to put the riders with their instruments. With that in mind I offer a little bit about the instruments I used. You can use your imagination to match them up.

English Horn – aka cor anglais. This is a double reed instrument in the oboe family and is approximately one and a half times the length of an oboe at a perfect fifth lower in pitch than the oboe.

Hautbois baryton – aka baritone oboe. An octave lower than the regular oboe as a soprano. If you’ve heard the bike I reference to then you know why she plays a Houtbois baryton. And, ‘it has a deep, full tone somewhat akin to that of its higher-pitched cousin, the English horn.’ (Wikipedia)

Heckelphone – initiated by Wagner, invented by Wilhelm Heckel. It is similar to the oboe but has a wider bore creating a heavier and more penetrating tone than the oboe. It was the name that attracted me to this instrument for the quintet but the double reed construction is applicable for our woodwind group.

Oboe d’amore or Italian for ‘oboe of love’ – what better piece to put with the Heckelphone? This instrument is slightly larger than the oboe and is less assertive having a more tranquil and serene tone.

Shehnai or mangal vadya – this instrument is similar to the oboe and common in India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. It is made of wood and double-reeded with a flared bell at the end sometimes of metal construction for the flare. The sound is thought to create a sense of auspiciousness and sanctity.

Slide Trombone – in the brass family and creates sound by vibrating the player’s lips, the slide changes the pitch. It is the perfect instrument to play ‘wha wha whaaaaa’ and that’s all I need to say about that.

Idiophone – our percussion instrument for the first movement creates sound primarily by the whole instrument vibrating without the use of strings or membranes. Struck idiophones include wood blocks, singing bowls, marimbas, and steel tongue drums. 

Transpo - Irish Style

Lakes of Killarney
There's a road around that a bike wants us to ride

I don’t mind telling you this. I’m screwed up. As evidence I offer you that this is our fourth morning home from Ireland and I rolled out of bed at four this morning to happily start pounding out this post fifteen minutes later. Each morning has gotten progressively later for my wake up; 2:30 a.m. the first morning, then three, and so on. However, I plan to make early mornings my regular routine again as I write more during the day having gotten the early start before our little corner of the world stirs.

The four of us, my son Daniel and his wife Ani and Cindy and I, flew out of LAX to Dublin and back. We used a pair of rental cars while there and took a couple of public transport options for short excursions. For my motorcyclist readers, my terrestrial transportation was always seasoned by ‘what if I rode?’ More on each to follow.

The flights were an interesting mix. The most comfortable seat was on Aer Lingus between Dublin and Amsterdam, the shortest hop at 465mi./748km for 1hr. 35 min. The worst/tightest seat? Why of course, it was on the biggest plane I’ve been in and for the longest flight – The KLM Boeing 747-400 from Amsterdam to LAX at 5560mi./8950km for 10 hr. 55 min. On the plus side of the 747 seats; exit row behind first class and we could stand up and stretch before wedging ourselves back in, great window seats to see Iceland, Greenland, and northern Canada, and we were first off the plane, but not before I had to set a screen on the first class passengers.

It was over 12,000 air miles in 24 hours of flying (plus an extra two hour in-plane delay in ATL) and seven days of driving and I ended up in the same location but not the same place. Ireland will do that to you.

We flew all the way to Dublin for my first passport stamp only to have Dooley Car Rentals put us in a pair of Ford Mondeos, aka the Ford Fusion. Excellent cars to drive even if they did put the steering wheel on the wrong side. For some reason this made me want to drive on the left side of the road which seemed contagious as everyone else was doing it. To be honest I never got truly comfortable with this arrangement with the exception of the motorways. In particular, the tight left hand maneuvers were tough.

In some respects I found Ireland to be like any other place I’ve been, the locals take to the roads as though there were no other people using the tarmac with them. This was okay as long as there was a line down the middle of the road and no sheep to avoid. It seemed that once the lane marker was gone the hedges and stone walls immediately grew up next to the road and there was no shoulder. Couldn’t see around many of the bends and I slowed way down though not quite slow enough for Cindy in the passenger seat who had hedges whipping by tapping the window and rock walls threatening her physical well-being. This made for some fun tailgating sessions. We survived it. We didn’t enjoy the drive but our pullover stops were all wonderful; lovely really, to use an Irish turn of phrase.

You can put a biker in a cage but you can’t take the biker out of the driver. I considered every road driven, each town traversed, and the changing vistas that went unseen in our car from a rider’s perspective. While the Ford Mondeo offered a good field of vision for driving it sucked for panoramic viewing. Add to that my need to lock in on the road and concentrate on the left hand driving experience and I missed most of the scenery. Cindy had barely more of an opportunity than I at viewing from her passenger seat. We needed fewer miles and more stops. Biking has spoiled me for scenic driving.

I put a motorcycle tour of Ireland on my bucket list even with the near daily rains. Most of the tight country roads with their hedges and rock walls would be no problem on a bike with more lane room and sitting high enough to see over them and out to the countryside. With the exception of two one-lane tracks, and them only briefly, we had excellent road surface to drive on, nothing crappy like L.A.’s roads.

The island is a ring of coastal mountains surrounding low plains at the centre of the island. The highest of these is Carrauntoohil (Irish: Corrán Tuathail) in County Kerry, which rises to 1,038 m (3,406 ft) above sea level. (yes, those links will work) The low plains are crisscrossed with two-lane roadways curving this way and that with the contours for the plain. Every town has an ancient Abby, castle, and/or artifact. The valleys are dotted with them; you’ll go around a corner and find a 1200 year old ruin, easily accessible and without having been vandalized.

The mountain roads are twisties, pure and simple. I imagined riding these roads with a biker’s connection to the road and the countryside, green on a 360^o panorama, horizon to horizon, checkered with wall and hedge round each field, old forests on the mountains, and roads crossing streams on bridges originally built a thousand years before.

I had one direct contact experience with a pair of riders. While Cindy and I were on our personal walking tour of ancient sites in Kenmare I spotted a Kawasaki with a wide sidecar parked in a handicap spot, complete with handicap card in the covered sidecar. We had found the Kenmare Stone Circle which was placed during the Bronze Age, 2,200 – 500BC and as we strolled around the circle I saw a couple approach from the access walkway, a man dressed in motorcycle gear pushing a woman dressed for the ride as well. I approached them, offered to take their picture at the site, and confirmed that they were the sidecar couple, a German pair having ferried from the mainland to England and then to Ireland. I thought of how amazing it would be to spend a month or two biking Europe. A motorcycle GPS is mandatory, B&B layovers highly recommended.

I’d start my motorcycle tour planning at Celtic Rider:

 http://www.motorental.ie/index.php/tours

I haven’t been able to find V-twin rentals other than hogs. I could live with riding BMW on tour.

And finally we turned in our Fords and bussed it into Dublin for our last dinner in what became our beloved Ireland. Cindy and I experienced three bus drivers that last night, each of them a jewel on the Emerald Isle. In an occupation that breeds curmudgeons these three men were refreshing. One gave us directions for once we were in town, the second gave us a free ride to the correct bus, and the last gave us more than fair warning for our required stop. And they were each happy to do it all.

Keep the iron side up, dream big without regret, travel well and soak it in. Peace

jerry

Trip dates 6/12 through 6/21/2016

For a retro bike tour:

http://www.retroventuresireland.com/escorted-motorcycle-tours-in-ireland

Half & Half - Thank You

The Group - 1 and All
Photo courtesy of a stranger intent
upon making us laugh.
Kneeling from left: Vicki and Bev
Standing from left: Kevin, Jerry, Steve
Mary, Bill, Jane, Andy, and Tim

I don’t mind riding solo. In fact, there are times when I prefer it for the sense of solitude and personal adventure. But riding with friends is great fun and I don’t think I could get too much of it for myself. I guess the bottom line is that I like to ride. With a group of friends there is a sense of purpose for the day, interesting destinations, thoughtful planning by the ride leader, new friends, rekindled friendships, and a mindset of the group to have a good ride for all. The cohesion of riders with differing skill sets and preferences into a finely tuned formation is a thrill. Almost always, the folks I ride with are consummate practitioners of the art of the group ride and yesterday’s Cambria bunch excelled.

My ride day was Half & Half. The cream of my day was joining up with a bunch of Southern California Victory riders on their outbound ride to Cambria for the weekend. I mixed that in with a solo homebound ride from Buellton where my friends headed north and I south. It was the best of both with the minor exception of drudge riding in heavy traffic through Santa Barbara’s afternoon commute then along the eastbound Hwy 118.

Our first meet point was at Kanan Road in Agora near the old central office from my early AT&T days, an hour’s warmup ride for me from home. Ride leader Tim  on his Enterprise Vision with his wife Bev on her Victory Vegas arrived just ahead of me and we fueled up and caught up as we awaited the others. We were soon joined by Andy and Jane, our two-up couple, on their red Vision. Steve pulled in right behind them on his Vision. Vicki rolled in on her Honda F6B just at KSU time. It was a gathering of riders from all over with warm greetings and a shared anticipation of the ride ahead. The casual formation of our order belied the vigilance each of us rides with, a must ingredient for a well-ridden event.

We snuck up on Fillmore by cutting through canyons and using back roads, twisting and turning, bobbing and weaving to meet up with Bill on his Harley Screaming Eagle Road King and Mary on her silver Can-Am Spider. Our group was complete, or so we thought. Kevin joined us after lunch riding his Vision bringing the total number of Visions to four. This is the first Victory group ride that I can remember while being the only Cross Country rider.

Video, pulling out of Fillmore meet spot:  

Fillmore Orange Orchards and Hills

Out of the curve and
into the hills

I had the pleasure to follow Andy and Jane throughout our ride out of Fillmore, up the mountain to Ojai and back down to skirt around Santa Barbara on backroads until we hit State Highway 154 to ride by Lake Cachuma through the Santa Ynez Mountains and to drop down on Stagecoach Road for lunch at Cold Spring Tavern. Two-up riding such as Andy and Jane were doing requires a breadth of styles, particularly on a route picked by our intrepid leader. Our couple demonstrated them all with grace and agility. They waltzed through the sweeping canyon turns and then picked up a hot rumba when we got into tight twisties. I loved following their line, it was impeccable and never varied from a line I would have picked for myself. All this time I had Mary riding her Spider on my six and I could only observe her in my mirrors. It’s not the best way to see someone’s style but I had enough to get a sense of her intensity through the canyons. She too held a great line; this on the three-wheeled Spider while staying in on the bars and riding ahead of the curve. Her joy of riding was evident in her posture and was contagious. These people make me smile.

Cold Spring Tavern was set up as a stagecoach stop in 1865 as a relay station for changing horses and allowing travelers food and rest and while we didn’t change horses we got our food and rest. The place has the old style charm and provided us with the opportunity to talk over the road behind and the adventure laying ahead of us. I learned a lesson there. I need to insert myself into the middle of the table rather than take a seat at either end if I want to have material for posts from/for the whole group. Live and learn.

Video leaving Cold Spring Tavern: 

Kevin joined us as we exited the tavern right after lunch; he had gotten there just after we’d squeezed into our table for nine back in the corner. He was a pleasant addition to the group and I look forward to really riding with him some day. Getting out of the gravel parking area was a pain but we all got out and on to the road down to Buellton for a fuel stop and goodbyes for me. The prevailing thought was that I’d miss the rain while the others would get a little wet. The guy at the gas station that made this same observation to me was proved wrong and five minutes into my run south I pulled over at the Gaviota rest stop and put on my rain gear.

My ride home can best be summed up with my Facebook post, a formula:

Formula: Rain suit + cessation of precipitation that caused donning of said rain suit + Santa Barbara stop and go traffic + rise in temperature to mid-seventies = inadvertent continuation of unintended weight loss program.

Show above formula as (*) and secondary formula is thus: (*) + reaching Summerland + returning to acceptable freeway speeds = swamp cooler chill and aaaaah nice.

Video - Rainy Highway 101 Ride:

All in all I have to say that Half & Half is better than staying at home but not as nice as the cream of the whole ride.

Keep the iron side up, ride with people you love, love the people you ride with, even when you ride alone – life’s too short to do it any other way. Peace

jerry
Ride date: 4/22/2016

On The Memorial Trail

Two memorial services in two days. Consecutive tear evoking emotional roller-coasters that couldn’t have been more different from one day to the next. And yet at their base level they were the same. The cast of our human dramas had changed, the names on the marquee were different, the size and scope of the production were polar opposites, and the lines for the key roles were scripted with different pens. But at the end of each day we’d bid farewell to a friend, parent, sibling, and spouse and the aches in our hearts were all too similar.

Friday, April 1, 2016 Betty M. Horst was laid to rest at the Eternal Valley Memorial Park in Newhall, California, nine short days after her passing on March 23, 2016. Betty is my sister Stacey’s mother-in-law, a relatively recent addition to our extended family with the late summer wedding for my sister and her husband and friend Glen. (I refuse to think we are in the fall season of our lives) About 30 or so gathered in the Chapel of The Oaks at the mortuary. There are a couple of 36” flat screens mounted on the wall just above the chancel, big enough for anyone seated at the back pews to see clearly as the photo montage of Betty’s life rolled throughout the service from black and white portraits through the family shots with Glen as a little boy in suspendered pants and then as a young man with black mustache while wearing Magnum style shorts and finally shots of Betty at various events.

The program for Betty’s service in front of me is a classic “In Loving Memory” style with a photo on the front and historical dates under Betty’s photo. There are a few key photos inside the heavy stock paper document with the 23^rd Psalm printed on the facing page while on the back is more historical data. There was no agenda other than to read the Psalm and talk a little about the woman we knew.

Stacey’s grief was palpable while Glen held himself in check with a key role to play in the service. This was the memorial service for a member of our parent’s generation and was all the more real to us with the struggles of our dad and my wife’s mother ongoing. As folks arrived they came to pay respects to Glen, Stacey, and Gene, Betty’s husband of 65 years. Tears flowed and hugs were exchanged while some words just couldn’t be expressed.

The itinerant pastor took the dais after the mortuary representative welcomed us and thanked us for attending. Itinerant Pastor is my best description for him. He was next in line from Eternal Valley’s call list who spent all of fifteen minutes with the family in preparation for the service. He read the Psalm and spiced his oration, largely about his own experiences, with seeds of hope for those Betty had left behind.

Glen presented his mother to us with words from an aching heart at the loss of his mom. He was eloquent without being flowery. He was honest and direct about how she lived, what her passions and prides were, and what she means to him. When he faltered he gracefully gathered himself to the task and let us come to know Betty M. Horst all the more deeply. Glen provided all we need to hold the memory of Betty close to our hearts as we pray for peace for Glen, Stacey, Gene, and the rest of the family and friends.

After the service each of the attendees made their way over to gather in the courtyard of a Mexican restaurant for appetizers and soda. Cindy, three of Stacey’s kids, Kaylynn, Brad, and Jeff, and I took a table inside and had our own family time when the courtyard setup was overrun. We made a place for Stacey to get a break from it all to join us from time to time. A little Mexican restaurant was where the celebration of life took place and that was all right with us.

On April 2, 2016 I met seven other motorcycle riders at a Shell station in La Canada to ride out to the Centerpoint Church in Murrieta, CA. We picked up a ninth rider along the way and took a businesslike trip down the freeways to join up with another 60 or so bikes in the parking lot. It was a destination ride to celebrate and memorialize our friend and fellow rider, Joe V. Ramos, who had lost his battle with cancer. Cancer sucks.

Joe V. Ramos was taken on February 18, 2016, over 50 days before. Joe was a former California State Park Ranger and a motorcycle enthusiast. I met and rode with Joe and Karen, his wife, on one ride. That’s it, one ride. I wish it had been more. I was touched by Joe through the Facebook posts I saw scrolling through as he battled cancer and finally succumbed. The best that I can explain it is that I was moved by God’s Spirit to write a memorial post to Joe from and with our mutual friends (http://ironsideup.blogspot.com/2016/02/tribute-to-joe-ramos-dear-joe.html).

Centerpoint is a cavernous meeting hall with stackable chairs for several hundred. A 30 foot screen is mounted center stage with two 8 foot screens to either side, both are conservative estimates. The program of Joe’s service is printed on magazine quality paper with his State Parks photo on the cover and a Sunrise of 6/3/1959 and a Sunset of 2/18/2016. This is a man in the early part of my own generation, a peer, if I could be called that. A history of “Team Green” is printed on the inside cover with a photo of Karen and Joe riding off and a photo of Karen, Joe, and his two kids, Amanda and Joe. The contrast to Betty’s service shows up on the agenda. There was meaningful music to Joe and a thorough Eulogy from long-time friend Ken Roybal who Emceed the service that included special guest speakers and presentations from the California State Park Rangers that included a flag which had flown over parks where Joe had loved and served as a Park Ranger. There was a Proclamation from the California State Senate and plaques with various insignia from the State Parks and four riders’ groups; The Inland Empire Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club, The Lost Coast Victory Motorcycle Club, The Southern California Victory Riders, and the Southern San Joaquin Victory Riders Motorcycle Club. I think I mentioned that Joe loved riding and loved riding with Karen.

The service was wrapped up with an open microphone with heartfelt comments from Karen and the two kids who all did a wonderful job of sharing Joe with us. Several friends took the mic and shared stories of Joe. The open mic was followed by a video tribute, closing comments, and an excellent prayer by Kevin Shaw.

We adjourned to ride and eat, two of Joe’s favorite things. We rode in a stately group of seventy bikes or more, complete with blockers and sweeps and a lighted State Parks vehicle. It was a tightly packed and well ridden tribute to Joe and his rider’s legacy. Dale Moews had the honor of riding Joe’s Anti-Freeze Green Victory Cross Country. Dale was as profoundly affected by Joe’s life and death as anyone I met throughout the day. Peace Dale.

We gathered at Ken Roybal’s place in Lake Mathews in the Perris area at the end of our 65 mile ride. We had food and the fellowship of riders and family, two distinctions that blur during our times together.

What draws us to memorial services? I can think of four things and many times our attendance is a combination of the first three. We attend because we are there to honor and celebrate the life now gone by, we go to be a comfort to the family and close friends of the deceased, we go to be comforted, and in the end, we go because we’ve lived a life worth remembering and are the one being celebrated.

Still, why do we have a need to memorialize and remember? I believe it is because we have a deep need to be connected to people, someone special to us. And because of that deep need, once we’ve found someone, we realize that it is difficult to let go without wrapping up our memories with other friends and family members.

As a Christian I have what I’m sure some people, even other Christians, would think of as an odd take on this. It was during that somber 65-mile ride that I considered what Jesus felt about the need to be connected. Did He have it? Yes He did. While it was paramount for Jesus to be connected to the Father, he surrounded himself with close friends, 12 disciples, his mother Mary, Mary and Martha along with their brother Lazarus for whom Jesus wept (John 11:35).

His need was so deep that Jesus took several of his closest disciples with him to pray during the darkest hours of his ministry on earth. He was disappointed when they could not remain awake with him as he faced the final hours of his earthly ministry, his betrayal at the hands of someone he loved, his trial, beating, and crucifixion. The Sacrifice that he made gives us hope as we remember those we love and have lost at their final day with us.

So, for the facts that Jesus wept for a friend, remembered them fondly as they passed on, and made the ultimate sacrifice for us, I say we should memorialize to our hearts content and remember Joe and Betty for the lives they lived, for the love they gave, and that we hold on to them in our hearts to live our lives knowing the difference they made to us.

Keep the iron side up, ride with passion, live with integrity, love like no one does it better… Peace

jerry