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

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.