A Tale of Two Rides

 

I am an old-guy biker and so occasionally someone will ask me how much longer I intend to ride. It is a fair question and one I ask myself now and again. I’ve pretty much settled on the idea that I will ride until reverse gear gives out. That is a concern as I have had aging knees for half my lifetime. When I was 35 my orthopedic surgeon told me he would replace my knees by the time I was 55 if I didn’t quit playing basketball. I wept. Then I took steps to fix the problem on my own by ceasing my city league playing and not playing anymore pickup ball. But I kept running with the teams I coached and as many CVHS Alumni games as I was in town for.

The main thing I did was to ride my bike to work three to five days a week at 11 to 14 miles each way depending on the route I chose for the day that added up to 120 miles a week plus recreational rides like taking my birthday off and riding at least as many miles as I was old. I have Cindy to thank for her insightful suggestion. Thanks, love! The company moved our office from Pasadena to Alhambra and that ended my bike commuting but other forms of exercise took over though once my Lauren grew out of youth basketball. Life got busy with other pursuits and regular exercise waned. My knees recently started complaining daily even though, or because of it, I was walking with Ollie between three and five miles three of four days a week.

I dusted off my bicycle, got it going again, had the gears tuned up and started riding a few times a week around the Rose Bowl and have worked up to 15 miles on any given ride, occasionally popping up out of the bowl to add some hill work. Then I added a nice set of knee supports with more a thoughtful design than my old neoprene braces. It has been as close to a miracle as I will claim for myself. I am busy extending the life of reverse gear.

I decided to ride a bike trail I hadn’t ridden since some long-ago birthday ride, the San Gabriel River Bike Trail. My goal was to take a little break from my routine rides to help keep my interest up and extend myself to an 18-mile ride. I thought I would show up at the Sante Fe Dame Recreation area close to their opening, pay for the parking, then peddle around to find the start of the bike trail. My GPS took me to what ended up being the back gate into the park. Shit. I drove around and found the line into the park. I am unfamiliar with this park but was okay with waiting in line until I came around a corner and saw the line heading off into the horizon. I pulled a quick 180 and hunted for a marked entrance to the bike trail.

I ended up driving right by the place the GPS aimed me for and came upon the Whittier Narrows Recreation area, parked and rode around a bit to warm up, and headed back the way I’d come. I found the ‘marked’ entrance at a ‘nature center’, a pocket park of sorts. I rode through, found a sign pointing the way to the bike trail which is loosely packed dirt and not great for my road tires. I found the entry – it was locked. Shit.

I decided to ride by the seat of my pants and using the tried-and-true method of dead-reckoning found a way onto the trail. The marine layer was still in effect and I couldn’t see the mountains for reference and took a guess as to which way would take me back to the Sante Fe Dam. Ten miles later I was proved correct and was looking up at the back side of the dam. By the time I returned to the car I had exceeded my 18-mile goal by two miles and learned a couple of lessons for the day – don’t bother with the Sante Fe Dam until school starts back up and then on a weekday and always verify the GPS.

I haven’t quite gotten to the point where my bicycling is second nature so those rides have not leant themselves too much in the way of introspection. There is a lot going on for me to keep the cycle going without crashing – skinny little wheels that can’t be over corrected, keeping the legs pumping, eyes out for obstructions, worry over speeding cars while sharing the road with them, etc.

It is different for me while riding the motorcycle. Even though vigilant to all the obstructions and cagers on the road, a part of my brain can work through an issue I’m facing or return to that thing I’m thinking about without much effort when the circumstances of the ride allow for it.

I haven’t been riding much lately due in part to several of the people I have enjoyed riding with moving away from riding and on to other pursuits. One of riders from our group decided on a ride for July 4^th. We were to meet for breakfast and then ride the Angeles Crest Highway west to east, ending at Highway 138 around Victorville in the southern end of the Mojave Desert. I’ve done the ride before and it is a twisty-lover’s paradise. But cooler heads prevailed and we decided to avoid the 120 degrees heat we would have ridden into. Greg and the love of his life stayed around the coast for a little ride and I took an early solo run up the Angeles Forest Highway, down the Sierra Highway, and finished up the loop on the 14 freeway to home.

Wind therapy. There was little traffic to worry about and I could take the twisties at my leisure. I let my subconscious work through a couple of nagging issues to the point I that I now have a path forward I am at peace with. The path stretches through the year and likely into 2025 so I am well prepared for course changes as things arise. With my reverse gear improving I should be able to take a ride or two to effect acceptable course corrections without jeopardizing my long-range goal.

Find your center, work to maintain it, and don’t hesitate to invite others to help.

Keep the iron side up,

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White.

The Comfort of an Old Friend

 

STICKII at Triunfo Pass

True friends are gifts from God, blessings given sometimes when we least expect it or feel we deserve it. They come in dressed up as best friends, BFFs, Best of Friends (if you are so lucky fortunate as to have more than one), sisters/brothers from another mother, pals, chums, homies, four-legged friends, any number of other terms, or one of my favorites – ride buddies. Some might be new, some old both in age and term of service.

A hallmark of a true friend is the ability to pickup where you left off even if it’s been months, perhaps years, since you’ve seen one another. Once you are with each other, the talk might seem as though you are catching up with each other but the flavor of it is that of reminiscing. It is uncanny. Indeed, it can be unsettling and can leave us with thoughts of why we let so much time go by without seeing our friend.

I am fortunate to have true friends within all the above listed categories and some of these friends fit nicely within more than one. Regarding the term ‘fortunate’ and my strikeout of the word lucky – I had the occasion to discover the difference when someone I love and care about made some poor decisions and paid a dear price for them but recovered over time. Someone said he was lucky but I thought he was fortunate. Luck would have had him found passed out on the couch. Good fortune got him to the ER instead of someone finding him when it was too late.

I’m writing this because one of my Old Friends is an inanimate object, allegedly. STICKII, my Victory Cross Country is certainly an old friend to me and the two of us reconnected today when I rode her church. Also, I am writing this because I feel like it and all these thoughts about friendship crossed my mind as we rode along. Names and faces flitted across my memory pages and each of you made me smile. True friends.

As planned, I took the long way home, the route unplanned with the exception of the first leg which was through La Tuna Canyon to a good lunch stop, Yoshinoya in Sun Valley. Once there I was regaled by the symphony of laughter and voices from a family gathering, better than any piped in music the restaurant good of put out. Most Sunday rides home are a simple run up Sunland Blvd. and across Foothill Blvd. to home but I hungered for more and chose a nice little route – up Sunland, over Foothill to Oro Vista Ave. and then up to where it ends at Big Tujunga Canyon Road which I took on up to the Angeles Forest Highway and then down Angeles Crest Highway to take Foothill and on home.

That made a nice loop with plenty of juicy twists and turns. On any given Sunday I would normally avoid this route because there are too many people out challenging their riding or driving limits on bikes or in cars of every description. With the exception of one pack of sport bikers and an irritating Hummer H2, it was pure pleasure with perfect weather and clear roads.

This being late Spring, the chaparral is now ablaze with blooming Yuccas, scientifically known as Hesperoyucca whipplei. Colloquially, they are known by many names like the chaparral yucca, our Lord's candle, Spanish bayonet, Quixote yucca or foothill yucca. Mostly, they look like giant Q-Tips stuck in the ground with a fan of spikes guaranteed to remind you of why they should not be run into, I can attest to that from personal experience but it is a tale for another telling. The shapes of some reminded me of the Grinch’s hat or giant lollipops. The size of their blooms is impressive, some that would be as tall as me. Okay. Maybe not as tall as me but certainly as tall as Shawn.

It amazes me that I can throw my leg over STICKII and feel right at home as though it hadn’t been weeks since my last little ride. I’ve been fortunate like that since the day I first rode after my quarter of a century fast from riding.

So, get comfortable and connect with an old friend today, maybe more than one.

Keep the iron side up.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Where's Shakepeare?

 

Where’s Shakespeare? Or shall I say, wherefore art though, Shakespeare? It has been one year, two months, and twelve days since I last posted in Iron Side Up. 439 days of writer’s hibernation. Perhaps it is time to turn in my name patch. Where has Shakespeare been? I could tell you but I do not want to elicit the ‘Ah, poor Shakespeare, we knew him well’ responses. Do not pity me as pitiful as I can be at times. Instead, let us see where I have been today and take joy from that.

I took the long way home from church, first stopping for fuel because I did not want to be forced into gassing up if I was in a great riding zone. On this mild day in the lower seventies, I took Foothill Blvd. out to Oro Vista Avenue and up on to Big Tujunga Canyon Road. That’s right – twisties galore for Shakespeare to lean one way then another and then a little more and I was in heaven. Well except for one thing, the road surface on this road sucks. It is pitted and rutted and pot-holed and still the road was unable to quell my enjoyment of the moment.

I went on to and along the Angeles Forest Highway northbound on a better surface, more twisties, and some competition along the way with sport bikers that I encouraged to pass me and made room for them to do so. It is not about the speed for me, it is about moving along, one with the bike, and working toward excelling at a solid tactical ride. For such an old rusty dude I came close.

The Angeles Forest Highway gave way to the Sierra Highway for a short jog to the Pearblossom Highway and I reached Palmdale where I tooled around and used dead reckoning in search of the All-American Dog. That’s right, I did not use my GPS in my quest for the elusive All-American Dog (note that the dog is capitalized and therefore a title of an actual menu item).

Of course, I failed at locating this dog and retraced my steps to the point that I rejoined the Sierra Highway heading south. Please note, I did not see the Sierra Nevada Mountains from the Sierra Highway. Shucks. When I reached Crown Valley Road I pulled in to settle for a surf and turf lunch and at that, below standard. Still, 65 or so miles of riding can overcome nearly any sort of average meal. And not one mile on the freeway.

I jumped on Highway 14, my first freeway of the day, and skedaddled home to do something I had not done in several weeks, write for fun. One hundred and seven miles can give one a wonderful perspective on the road and oneself.

Keep the Iron Side up and stay in perspective.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Every Dog has a Calling – 2018 Ride for the Guides

Lorri Berson with Carter (her guide dog) calling out the raffle winners

Every dog has a calling. However, every dog does not have the opportunity to live their calling out. All you need to do is watch daytime or late night TV once in a while and you’ll see poor abused beasts being paraded across your screen as the SPCA guilts us into donations or adoptions. The dogs that puppy farms churn out have a calling beyond the profit these factories reap. While we can point to the obvious dog careers such as K-9 Police Units, bomb, drug-sniffing dogs, and guard dogs there are callings so mundane as to escape notice but as important to their hooman friends as the search and rescue dogs. I’ve seen the working-dogs at their trade and they are amazing to watch.

I’ve seen family pets work their magic on little kids, lonely shut-ins, and folks with broken hearts. While I can’t tell you what each dog is called to, I can tell you dogs are never called to the pits or viciousness. Sub-humans train them that way. I’ll tell you this – our little labradoodle fills a part of his promise with each costume placed on him and during every mile he walks with us. He’s our friend and a noble one at that.

We are like dogs in this, every one of us has a calling. Maybe more than one and often times we are called from purpose to purpose. I pray that each of us finds our calling and have the great blessing to pursue it, or them.

This past Sunday our group of Victory riders, listed below, and over 400 of our closest riding buddies got together for a Poker Run to raise cash for some of the most noble of dogs – Guide Dogs for the blind. The poker run started out at an amazing facility in Sylmar, California, Guide Dogs of America (GDA). We were greeted by dogs ready for partners, or dogs in training, and a volunteer staff eager for us to experience a touch of these dogs’ calling.

After picking up our first card we set out for stop #1 at a service station on Angeles Crest Highway just off of the 210 Freeway. Yes, there were more dogs there and at each stop on the run. And yes, we overran the station and the folks just trying to gas up for a Sunday. On a normal Sunday afternoon the station is the meet point for hundreds of bikes and groups heading up into the Angeles National Forest for a Sunday putt or in the case of the vast number of sport bikers, to challenge the hell out of the twisties (every weekend one or two are carted down in ambulances or medevacked out to area hospitals). We added an extra 440 registered riders over about a two hour period of time to flow of the station and it was a bit chaotic.

Singles and groups of between two and twenty wove their way over the Angeles Crest Highway to head down the Angeles Forest Highway to the next stop in the run at the 49er Saloon in Acton where were we picked up our third card and overran the restrooms of the very cool bar. I’ll head back for lunch sometime. Oh, with my third card I was effectively out of the running for best hand (5 Jacks with 3^rd best) even though I later chipped in for two draw cards for an unsalvageable hand. Hey! It’s for the dogs.

We were then off to the VFW Post in Canyon Country for my favorite adventure of the day, parking on a dirt lot. It makes me shiver just to think of the notion of me on my Cross Country dirt riding. It was there we took our group photo. We were able to get most of the core group in but missed Greg Brown as he was busing doing what Greg does when around canines; speaking their language and giving them love and respect. Notable occurrences of the day included Jeanie’s first group ride on her new Can-am and Larry Novak joining the usual suspects for the day. Cheers!

One of our favorites of the day - photo by Greg Brown, a lover of dogs and other humans

The poker run ended where it began at the GDA facility where we had burgers and hotdogs and plunked down some cash for raffle prizes. Tim and Bev had tickets pulled twice, it was their day. Lorri Berson, the event planner, told us a bit of her own story and how her canine guide changed her life. Her mom accented the talk with effusive praise and thanks to GDA. These two rocked the house of hardened bikers and riders of every description. Lorri is an amazing woman with a self-effacing sense of humor guaranteed to put any sighted person at ease.

I’ll end on this note, thank you to Tim and Bev for organizing our day of fun and of riding for a meaningful cause. Thanks Jed for taking the lead. Thank you to Lorrie for her great planning and welcoming demeanor as hostess while sharing with us how she sees things. And, special thanks for the dozens of volunteers for the event and their continued support for this vital service to the blind.

Y’all keep the iron side up and ride with cause.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

The parking lot at GDA a beautiful facility

Cast of Characters for the ride:

Tim Robertson on the Enterprise with a new seat, resplendent

Bev Hope on her Vegas

Kevin Shaw – Vision

Jeanie Fimbres on her new Can-am

Karen Drake on her Can-am

Keith Drake on his Harley

Gregg Brown on his Cross Country

Aaron Falls and Lupe Delgado Falls and their Vision

Jed Bourquin on his Vision

Sue Bourquin on her Cross Country

Larry Novak on his Vision – thanks for joining us Larry, your riding fit right in

Todd Skaggs on his Vision

Me on my Cross Country

Our group sans Greg, photo by a strange on Bev's phone
From left: Karen and Keith, Bev and Tim, Larry, Jed and Sue, Jerry, Jeanie and Kevin

Spring Into Action

Harbingers of Spring are everywhere. Our front yard is a riot of clover sporting bright yellow flowers, everything is green, buds are at the tip of every living branch, and the pines are losing a deluge of pollen – everything standing still outdoors has a fine yellow coating and I dared not take a Sunday afternoon nap out on the porch. The occurrence that truly sets up Spring is Daylight Savings Time and the setting of our clocks ahead one hour which took place the night before.

Cindy had just left for a night shift at the hospital and I sat at this keyboard with a view of our riotous front yard and the birdfeeder visited by increasingly colorful birds. I had, and still have, things I needed to write, things I should have been doing and so I wrote the following Facebook post thinking that would do the trick and I’d dive right in:

“Such a conundrum; the house emptied out, there's an extra hour of sunlight, and a motorcycle in the garage...and my "God Said, 'Let's Ride'" tee shirt in the drawer.”

I may have been all right had I not added the tee shirt quote but I did and I listened to it call me. Less than ten minutes and I was coursing down Freeman Avenue and off for an opportunistic ride with staying off the freeways as my only requirement. I rode up Foothill Boulevard to Big Tujunga Canyon and took it through the neighborhood of Sunland/Tujunga into the foothills and on to the Angeles Forest Highway where I opted to head on up to the Angeles Crest Highway and down into La Canada. Just under an hour later and in a little less than forty miles I had sprung into action and was returned home. Some itches need to be scratched.

As I entered Big Tujunga Canyon with the stream-bed on my left and mountainside to my right I had the evening sun still streaming into the canyon at my back setting it up so that I was riding sweep to my shadow. My shadow kept a better line through the twisties than I did and I wasn’t bothered by that in the least. Once I rounded a particular long bend in the road I lost him anyway and I was on my own again.

At one point I rode directly under a drone and thought how nice it would have been to be carrying Mississippi’s sidearm of choice from El Dorado, a holstered sawed off shotgun. I could have taken that thing out without gearing down and rode on completely at ease. Wistfully I remembered Magnum’s satisfaction when he blew Higgins’ gas powered remote control plane from the Hawaiian skies.

The roads were clear enough that I never had to slow down for a soul with a few riders and cars passing me the other way. I did pull over for a string of cars - a mix of sports and muscle cars - and then had fun staying on their six until we reached Angeles Crest Highway where we went our separate ways.

I was able to catch the sun setting through the canyons as couples embraced while sitting on the hoods of their cars parked in the viewpoints to watch it set, and photographers snapped photos as the glorious orb went to rest for the night. My helmet cam didn’t do it justice but that’s the way of the photograph, they rarely catch what the mind tells us our eyes see.

Coming down the last stretch of twisties I was able to look out over the LA Basin in early evening light to see the marine layer coming in to consume the buildings leaving islands of skyline far below me.

All in all it was a pleasant resolution to my conundrum. Spring into action my friends and when you do, keep the iron side up.

Peace

jerry

My video heading into Big Tujunga Canyon: note here that not one sport biker returned my biker's solute.