Plan It or Fuhgeddaboudit!

 

The left book we got in 1972, probably from my folks. The right book I probably scammed from our rummage sale a couple of years ago.

Want to take a ride? Want to make it epic, something to tell your grandkids about? Plan it, or fuhgeddaboudit.

I’ve been in the doldrums* as a rider and writer for so long I am embarrassed. And yes, riding and writing can certainly be connected though not inevitably. I’ve used riding to prime the pump for my writing, this might be an attempt to reverse things.

*Doldrums, as defined by my friend Webster is a spell of listlessness or despondency or a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or slump.

It seems that if I don’t plan it, it won’t happen, even taking the bike to church. If a ride is going to be epic or otherwise memorable, the plan needs to be well put together but allow for some spontaneity.

Some considerations for a good ride plan might include:

• Destination and/or route. Do you have one or the other, or both? I’ll list some of my ideas below.
• Riding alone or with others?
• The motorcycle.
• Capability of the rider.
• The Calendar, including weather patterns therein.
• Money.

Destination and/or route: It might make a fine ride to simply through your leg over the bike and take off but reaching the epic status will take filling in some of the items in a solid plan on the fly. Pick a place, pick a route, then plan. I’ve had a couple of routes and destinations wafting by at the back of my mind. I suggest writing them down and having a tried and true list:

• Route 66, end-to-end.
• Pacific Coast route, Canada to Mexico
• Reno Street Vibrations
• Ride To The Flags (a charity ride I’ll be taking)
• Make one up to fit all the other plan considerations.
• I would like to hear your dreams…

Riding alone or with others?”: For me, this could be a case of “Plan it and they will come”. Often a group of friends and riding-mates create a synergy and an epic ride emerges. Even so, this is no guarantee you’ll take the epic ride. I was on the verge of taking one and then regrettably dropped out toward the end of the planning phase. It would have been epic and would have completed the ride I did as a kid but which had to be cut short.

Start the planning and talk about it (or write about as I am doing) with your rider community and maybe it will turn into a group ride. Or start talking and see what develops.

Or maybe, a solo ride is one of your primary objectives. Fine then, be that way.

The motorcycle: Speaking from experience, this may be the most critical piece of a well-executed ride plan. My best friend, Jim McClelland, and I planned and executed an epic ride in the summer of 1972, we were 18 and 19, respectively. I think we had the orange book pictured above in hand, probably provided by one of our parents. We violated one of the key components found in the Table of Contents, pictured below – Selecting a Touring Machine. We were indestructible, or at that age, felt like we were. Heck, we took the bikes we had; Jim’s Honda 350 Scrambler and my Honda CB500. The 350 had a sissy bar and I had a passenger backrest and rack. No wind management, no saddle bags, not even a tank mounted map case or gear case.

We left in August following my summer basketball league and practice schedule. We had rain nearly every other day and snow once on the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado. By the time we made our exit out of the Western end of Yellowstone National Park, Jim was burnt toast on his two-cylinder machine and I was nearly done in myself on my four-cylinder, but small, bike.

Our plan had been to ride up into Canada to Banff National Park then across to Washington State and down the coast to home. Canada had not been kind to us in sending all that rain and we had talked about alternatives. Jim opted to go straight home. I was chasing a dream of walking onto the Division II basketball team at Humbolt State College in Arata, California and needed to get there, see the campus, and pick up paperwork to start that phase of my dream. Had we had touring bikes, we could have, and certainly would have, braved the weather, and kept to our plan.

The facing page of “Two Wheel Travel. Motorcycle Camping and Touring” simply says: “retreat gracefully”.

Plan a trip with your bike in mind or get a bike with your trip in mind. Make sure it is a sound machine from the rubber on the road up through and including the mirrors.

Capability of the rider: How’s your health? Plan a ride you are physically, mentally, and emotionally capable of completing. Keep the Dirty Harry quote in mind, “Man’s got to know his limitations.” The lowest common denominator for this will be the most limited rider in your group.

The Calendar: This is likely the most limiting factor for my riding. When I got back onto a motorcycle, I made a personal commitment of my own volition to myself as well as my wife that I would not ride when it precluded doing something that could be done with the family. We now have seven grandchildren, a strain on any calendar.

Pick a ride that fits with your calendar, plan your calendar to fit with your ride. Do it early so that you can plan your other commitments around your ride. Had I done that, I’d be heading to Reno Street Vibrations this year. By the time it did come to my attention, I’d already made a commitment to others on a big event at church. C’est la vie, as I always say.

Money: This will determine how long you can ride, if you need to camp even if you’d rather stay in resorts, how you feed yourself, and what gear you pick up along the way.

Path forward: It is too late in this season to plan and execute my Route 66 ride but not too early to start planning it for next season. So, I’ll start that and see how it goes. I’ll need to get from Chicago back home so a route back across the country to the start of the Pacific Coast Route is a possibility.

However, it is not too late to put together a ride that fits my current calendar. It might not be epic in the bottom-line sense of the word, but it could be something special and inspiring. Now, if I can only get the weather to cooperate. Writing this during the dregs of Hurricane Hilary doesn’t inspire all that much confidence. But no plan – no ride, and plans can be altered to fit changing conditions.

Don’t fuhgeddaboudit, plan it. Keep the iron side up while you do.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Back in the Day - Jim and Jerry

 

Jim ready for a cold and wet ride on his half of
The Gross

    

Jerry at Bass Lake w/ Loaded STICKI

Just after my Senior Year basketball season ended in 1971 my dad and two or three of his buddies went out and bought Honda Mini Trail 70s (CT70) so they could knock around the dirt fire and logging roads during their annual pilgrimage to Doc and Al’s, just outside of Bridgeport, California. He let me ride that thing to school and work. When my best friend Jim McClelland got one the two of us were off and riding. We called ourselves ‘The Gross’ because between the two of us we totaled 144ccs. We rode all over the place and made nightly forays onto the 210 and 2 Freeways then under construction.

Early in 1970 my paternal grandmother passed away and left me $1500 that I hadn’t been aware of. Early in my freshman year at Glendale Community College, my dad decided it would be safer for me to ride a real motorcycle as my primary vehicle. He told me of his scheme and the money he had sitting there for me, so we set off for Carnes Cycle Shop in Sunland to buy a Honda CB450K3 to meet the declared safety objectives. We opened the doors to the shop and were greeted by a new model, the Honda CB500 Four. It was love at first sight. I had Carnes add the engine guard (because the term “crash bars” would have scared my mom), a rack, and passenger backrest. No “sissy bar” was installed because, well, “sissy”.

Jim followed suit by purchasing his older brother’s Honda CB350 Scrambler and we started planning a summer trip for 1972. We mapped it out at around 6,000 miles that would take us out to Yellowstone, up into Canada and Banff National Park, over to the Pacific Coast and back down to home. Our kickstands were up in mid-July, me with my girlfriend on the back (for the first week), Jim and I both loaded down with backpacks, a tent, sleeping bags, etc. We could fill a book with the adventures and challenges we faced on that trip (some self-imposed). Perhaps someday we will.

We ran into intense weather nearly every other day. Snow on the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado and torrential rains here and there almost daily. Imagine how spent we were by the time we headed out of the western gate of Yellowstone, particularly Jim, vibra-massaged on his two-cylinder underpowered bike (hence, Honda’s appropriate model name of “Scrambler”). Neither of our bikes were equipped with wind or weather management gear. The storms were all coming down from Canada so we scrapped that loop. Jim headed straight home but I needed to work my way over to the California coast to stop in at Humboldt State University in Arcata so I could see what I needed to be doing to apply there after my sophomore basketball season ended in the Spring of 1973.

We had started out with a six-week plan that allowed us to spend a day or two in a few of the places we rode to and through but the weather pushed us the edge every day for three weeks before we split up.

I made my way down spent a couple of days at Bass Lake visiting my grandparents before finishing up this trip, getting home, and going back to work.

As abbreviated a trip as it was, it was epic for us and something we refer to now 50 years later, as a defining summer for us.

Off into the sunset. Or was that the sunrise? After 50 years, either way works for us.

Faithfully submitted, a near as we remember it,

Jerry White and Jim McClelland

Jerry’s note: In July of 2022 I submitted this the American Motorcyclist Magazine for their monthly section entitled, oddly enough, “Back in the Day”. They never gave me the consideration of a reply and the article hasn’t appeared with lesser entries. Their loss.

Dear Jordan - 2022 RTTF

 

Dear Jordan,

You were prepared to pay the ultimate price in the service of your country - our country. I admire you for that. In many respects, the price you’ve paid, and continue to pay on a daily basis, is steeper still than you were prepared for. Every day you put down a deposit that most of us will never consider making.

However, judging from what I’ve read about you so far and heard you speak of in the Ride to the Flags (RTTF) video, you are squeezing every benefit you can manage from surviving a horrendous Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), the loss of a leg, and the loss of much of the use of your right arm: you have a wife and two kids who are amazing in and of themselves and more so with you at their side; you are waging a continued fight for your wounded comrades and speaking on their behalf; you are a better father, husband, and friend (your words).

It’s funny though – from the perspective on old unpaid writer, your benefits look like a lot of work. I admire you for that.

It will be my honor to ride for you on 9/11 in the RTTF. I’ve been stirred by the 9/11 commemoration at Naval Base Ventura County - Pt. Mugu in the past and getting to know you through the various media sources will make it that much more poignant for me. Thank you.

Speaking of ‘thank you’, I don’t think I can find sufficient ways to say it for the amount of sacrifice you are making. I guess I will just need to keep trying, keep praying, and keep looking – looking for the opportunity to thank you and your comrades.

Keep the iron side up.

Respectfully submitted,

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Iron Side Up Riders fundraising page: 

https://ridetotheflags.funraise.org/team/iron-side-up-riders

EOD2 Jordan Stevenson video: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7DWSo3_1Es

Prime Ride

 

Can't quite get myself to call this bunch the 'Dirty Dozen' but this is us

My first group ride in what seemed like ages was set for June 5, 2022*. Home to Buellton and back, hosted by Jed and Sue with a visit with others for lunch. (I didn’t know who all would be there when I started) I set out a little early for the meet point just off Golden Valley Road and was on my own for the first twenty miles. The weather was excellent and boded well for the ride up. Prime number = 1.

Jed and Sue arrived at the pumps just as I was topping off. Warm greetings were exchanged in the cool of the morning. The days since we last rode together had rushed by like the Rogue River on a storm-swollen day. They are a joy to ride with and Jed always sets a great pace on a well-chosen route. Before mounting up he laid out our route for the morning run – over Newhall Ranch Road to Highway 126, through the agricultural area and Fillmore and Santa Paula to Highway 101 and on up the coast to Buellton. I love this section of the Pacific Coast Highway and travel it often to see my daughter’s family. I waved to them just after passing their offramp in Santa Barbara; pretty sure they didn’t see us flash by. The weather held perfectly; the traffic was agreeable for us but not so much the southbound traffic. Prime number = 3.

We arrived at Flying Flags RV Resort (that’s code for glamping) right around 10:30 a.m. and we were able to locate Tim and Bev’s nifty trailer to park our Victories behind it. Another long overdue series of hugs ensued. I miss these guys. We availed ourselves of a key resort facility and hung out for a little while hoping for the next pair to join us. During the wait I was gifted two excellent journals from Bev, a gift I felt was from all of them. I put my new “Sin City – Victory Motorcycle Club, 20^th Annual National Meet Journal to work right away for this posting, pen and journal helping me keep the momentum up for me getting back. Prime number = 5.

We didn’t have to wait long for Kevin and Jeanie to join us as they pulled into the space next to the trailer, Kevin on his Victory Vision, Jeanie on her touring Cam-Am. They were packed and ready for a stay at a hotel within walking distance of the RV resort. More hugs and more catching up. I love it! Their ride over from Bakersfield over Highway 166 and south on the 101 was a bit more congested than our ride in but was nevertheless appreciated. Prime number = 7.

We ambled over to find Karen and Keith and were joined by Karen’s mother, Norma and thus ended my theme of prime numbers but I wasn’t about to be the one to tell her she couldn't hang out with us and I wasn't willing to stand apart. Norma and I were the only unattached attendees and made our number eight when she joined our stroll. Nevertheless, it was prime time for friendship. Norma fit in the group like a glove and I found myself calling her ‘mom’ like everyone else.

We arrived at Karen and Keith’s space and I found myself touring the most luxurious motorhome I’d ever been in. Slide outs for the length of the RV made it spacious and I was informed that the group, as assembled just then, had broken it in with style and grace with a dance. I’m reserving my own assessment on the grace until I have a chance to see them in action. I made two new friends here in Calvin and Lisa though our interaction was limited. And then we were a dozen.

Lunch for our group of twelve was at Firestone Walker, a brewery/restaurant. The food was excellent and conversations even better. I had a nice corner seat that allowed me one of my favorite pastimes, watching people loving being with each other. An observation worth mentioning is that three of the five couples were made up of a husband and wife who had each lost a spouse. Love had found a way, several times over and in my estimation included the other two couples. I will attest that each of these five relationships are made up of people with large hearts capable of holding on to memories of lost loves and still able to hold on to the one found – without remorse and likely made all the stronger. I’ve seen it and written about it for them in the past. I was honored to be there and watch it happen and honored to watch it continue. Thank you, friends.

Now, I need to make a confession here. I know one of the other two couples are holding fast to second (and third chances) but I don’t quite know about my ride-mates for the day and I am flummoxed that wouldn't know them down to the day they wed. But, I love researching my stories…

Our ride home was more eventful than anybody ever wants.

We stayed off of the PCH and thus missed the southbound grind above and into Ventura. Jed had us winding through foothills and canyons, twisting and turning and loving nearly every moment. Our route back was on Hwy 246 through Solvang with its smorgasbords on to Hwy 154 taking us by Lake Cachuma on to Hwy 192 through the foothills above Santa Barbara to Hwy 150 through Ojai where we fueled up to continue down to Santa Paula and on home.

The downer was along Hwy 192 (I think). We were in a long string on vehicles on the two-lane highway with a long string of cars heading the opposite direction as well. I spotted a deer grazing at the edge of the highway on our side. Just as I was passing a signal to the following cars the deer picked her head up and stepped in front of Jed. Jed swerved and narrowly (within inches) missed the deer who leapt to clear Jed but directly into an unsuspecting oncoming car. Sue swerved further to the right to miss the poor beast while I moved on to the shoulder in case the car who struck the deer lost control. It was over in a flash.

By the time we fueled up in Ojai the adrenalin rush was over and we were spent. We related the event to each other from our various perspectives and splashed down some Gatroade. We headed home somewhat heavy hearted. This was a sobering part of our day, an event that brings a harsh reminder that when we ride we have to be ever vigilant.

Ride safe and keep the iron side up. And for God’s sake, keep your big hearts open and love.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

* Jed, Sue, and I actually got together for a short ride on 2/27/22 to Ojai for lunch.

Patina of a Remembered Romance

 

I dressed for church – Kevlar lined riding pants, Sunday ride-shirt, mesh riding jacket for the unseasonably warm day (70s in February?), and my western boots suitable for riding (They saved my ass from a spill on the Mulholland Highway once).

I took my open-face half helmet down because this would be a short ride to church followed by taking the long way home, a twenty-mile putt. The gloss of the black helmet was covered with a patina of dust. As I looked over my bike, I could see that they matched with the same dusty haze dimming the tank, saddlebags, fenders… You get the picture. I hadn’t ridden in a while.

It seems my riding has been reduced to quick solo rides when I’m going somewhere by myself. I don’t want sympathy here, I’ve had plenty of that. Here is a short list of why there is a coating of dust on STICKII, which I love to ride, a romance well remembered: Pandemic and the closures of great destinations, caring for and losing my parents over the last two years, and now the duties of closing out their estate, and a calendar rife with responsibilities that need tending to and I can’t shake the guilt if I take a day off for a ride (my own darned fault there). Those last two pretty much shut down any multi-day rides.

I haven’t had a group ride over these past two years either except for the brief one-way ride when I crashed Jed and Sue’s New Year’s Day lunch at Duke’s. Was it two New Years ago? My memory is dusty as well. Along with all the culprits mentioned above we suffered a momentous loss within the core group of riders I have shared the road with. Mr. Tim Robertson was forced into riding-retirement due to health issues resulting in pain that puts him at risk if he rides.

Tim is a master planner of rides and get-togethers. His destinations are creative, fun, and inclusive. His route planning is meticulous and while challenging, never dangerous. The pace he sets from the front of the formation never stresses me, I can fall back if needed and be assured of catching up. Within the group I have learned comfortable lines on twisties and discovered how to be at ease with my bike and in my own rider’s skin while growing my skills.

I have missed my gregarious friend, his warm smile scarcely hidden beneath his beard, feeling welcome and appreciated, and knowing that at the end of the day I will have had a good ride and get home safe. I am saying special prayers for him as he has sold his bike, The Enterprise, the pride of our little fleet. I know it was a sad day for him and I felt a bit of kinship in that as I considered the same fate for STICKII, my Cross Country. After all, it should never get dusty just sitting there, dirty from a well ridden road, yes, dusty in the garage, no.

Tim’s rides and those of the other planners in the group and riding with this group inspired me to write about them, both rides and riders. My Iron Side Up posts have been appreciated by many of you and earned me a ride-name that Tim bestowed on me. Shakespeare. I’ll keep that one, thank you very much, and work to find ways to keep it dusted off.

So, what’s a rider to do now that he’s confessed to ignoring his bike and taking her for granted? Back her down the driveway, washer her down and shine the beauty up. Make opportunities to go out and get some good old fashioned road dirt on her – bugs on the windshield and roll bars, splash marks from wayward puddles, you know – a down and dirty date, long and luxurious and speeding up at just the right moments.

Dust off the helmet, clean the face shield, and plan a destination ride while writing about the planning. What better thing for a writing rider?

Remember friends, don’t let the dust and rust build up, keep the romance fresh and keep the iron side up.

Shakespeare

Me and my Sunday Ride-shirt

Une Sortie, Déjeuner Pour Trois - New Year's Day 2020

Une Sortie, Déjeuner Pour Trois

New Year’s Day 2020

Tradition held on by its finger tips for New Year’s Day in 2019 and a group ride was held with a destination well south of my usual ride and we lunched at the Coyote Bar and Grill in Carlsbad as opposed to Duke’s in Malibu.

Tradition lost out altogether this year and no group ride was planned that I could see and I didn’t do anything much to help with that. It appears I’m more comfortable riding sweep or in the middle of the pack and writing about it. I hadn’t ridden in a while so I planned a solo (une) ride out (sortie) to Duke’s. I geared up for a chilly ride but not so cold that I had to power up my new electric socks. I decided to head up Highway 5 and over Rte. 126 to Fillmore so I could pick up Rte. 23 and ride south to the Pacific Coast Highway.

It was a fine crisp and sunny day for a ride but I was a bit melancholy for my friends and especially Tim who has been off the bike for so long I can’t remember when last we rode together. His body just has not responded as we’d like to the corrective surgeries. His pain is my pain. Tim has been the ride planner I’ve most relied on and I’m the poorer for his absence. My frequent prayers are for him to return to good health.

Once the technical part of the ride started on the 23 my thoughts were consumed with keeping a good tight line through the canyon roads and along the twisties, and there are plenty of both sandwiched around the brief portion where the Highway 101 and the 23 are merged. I had Pandora playing through my headset and there was a lot of good riding tunes from the CCR radio channel. The Pacific Ocean gleamed like a lover’s eye when he spots his inamorata. (as in Tim for Bev, Jed for Sue, Kevin for Jeannie, Aaron for Lupe, Keith for Karen, Shawn for Danielle…) Funny thing about those parenthesized riding couples I know, the gleams are two-way all the way and here’s a little prayer for them and other readers: May God bring you ever closer, may you find new facets to love in each other, and may you have good health and peace.

The morning ride down to Duke’s was wide open with the majority of people on the road being other enthusiasts; bicyclists, walkers, and motorists of all kinds. We shared the lanes nicely, thank you very much. Heading down the PCH and past former haunts (I worked on the Paradise Cove pier for a year and a half) gave me crystal clear views of waves on beaches backed by cliffs. I was restored and refreshed for my new year.

I have to confess that I had been holding on to some hope that I would find a friend at Duke’s, a fellow rider or two that had the same notion as I did though I had some grave reservations about crashing anyone’s party. The parking lot attendant waved me on by and over to the motorcycle parking area where I saw three bikes already leaning into their stands. The first thing I really saw was Walter’s head, Walter being the grumpy old puppet and curmudgeon supreme created by Jeff Dunham. I was so struck by the humor of this sight that I nearly dropped my Cross Country right there. I believe it goes like this - Tim had won Walter in a raffle during a Ride for Guides charity event and gifted him to Jed and I think there were performance tickets involved and now Walter accompanies Jed.

In any case, I struck gold and parked StickII next to Sue’s nearly identical Cross Country. There is a conduciveness to joy with many of the riders I run with and Jed and Sue exemplify that trait. I found them sitting at a table outside by the glass wall overlooking the waves. Jed was sitting with his back to me and it took a few seconds for him to turn around when he saw the look on Sue’s face when she saw me walking toward them.

There is a moment at times like this when someone first sees you that almost defies description, the pure joy on the other's face at seeing you pierces your heart with a very special arrow from Eros. He has special bolts for each; the lover, the family member, and the good friend. All my reservations about crashing a party were melted away and we moved to a table for two with three chairs whereupon another couple moved to Jed and Sue’s table on the water and we then took their seats at a table for four with three chairs. The poor wait staff handled the confusion with good humor and alacrity.

Our lunch was filled with wide-ranging talks about close calls with fires, blessed holidays, trips we’d like to make, friends we want to see more of (couldn’t think of anyone we want to see less of), and how in retirement both Jed and I thought we would ride more and not less. I turned over 50,000 miles on the way up Highway 1 at Trancas Canyon Road. When I got this beauty 10 years ago I thought I’d have had about half again as many miles by now. Ah well.

So my solo New Year’s Day ride turned into Lunch for Three (Déjeuner Pour Trois) and I couldn’t have been more happy with it. Well okay, maybe if two or three or six or ten of you others could have been there then I would have been happier.

The Irish have one of the best blessings ever and this is my 2020 wish for you all:

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

the rains fall soft upon your fields

and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Postscript notes: of my 200 miles, the sweetest were riding sweep behind Jed and Sue up the Pacific Coast Highway…

STICKII turns 50,000 miles

From Highway 23

The law was out too....

Heading south and solo

Laughlin...and Ritely So (2019)

photo courtesy of Little Chapel of The West, see link below

We descended on Molly Brown’s in Victorville from various locations across the Southland and beyond like family-pods of orcas on mostly grey-scale machines accented by a couple of red ones for good measure. We devoured our breakfast in a near frenzy. However, I’m pretty sure no one ate turkey sausage.

We’d ridden through temperatures from the mid-30s to the low-40s and this required hot drinks for the thawing out process as we caught up with each other. Friends we haven’t seen for too long, new friends, and friends we’ve not seen in so long they were like-new. After the preliminaries were over it soon became apparent this weekend was all about two people, Jeannie Fimbres and Kevin Shaw. And ritely so.

Riding sweep into Laughlin

 Talk centered on our Saturday destination ride. Most years, our Saturday excursions are designed to include amazing geography, twisties, and a little in the way of iconic stops like Cool Springs or Oatman. This year our destination was Las Vegas and the wildness of Vegas traffic on the very edge of the Strip. Not exciting in and of itself, but still, we were riding and in good clean formations with a few autos thrown in for good measure. We took over most of the parking lot at the Chapel of the West for Kevin and Jeanie’s wedding where a couple of classic autos joined us. I can’t begin to name names as we nearly packed out the little chapel with 30 or so people.

We toasted, and roasted, the happy couple at every opportunity during our group meals and gatherings in the suite provided this year by Karen and Keith. It was a biker’s love fest and a weekend long celebration with two people who hadn’t particularly been looking for anyone at the time, the time being last year’s Laughlin ride. Things between our friends progressed pretty fast when you consider the distance they live apart, Bakersfield and Monrovia. It was no wonder that Kevin popped the question in another state altogether.

Lunch, dinner, and evening gatherings after the ceremony were opportunities for toasting Mr. and Mrs. Shaw. We made good use of our raised glasses. A pastor I had back in the day loved saying that at a wedding, everybody gets a little more married. I saw couples sitting a little closer, holding hands a little longer, and generally being more attentive of each other. It was a good sign for Kevin and Jeanie, a good way to start out.

Little Church of the West is a wedding machine, to be sure. They did allow Kevin to invite me to do a blessing, an honor I did not, nor still do not, take lightly. I think it went well even though the clock was ticking on me and I had to edit my little prayer. I was blessed in the giving of it. Thanks Kevin and Jeanie.

Bev and Tim stood with the bride and groom while Nicole, daughter of Jeannie, escorted her down the aisle. We all gave Jeannie to be wed to Kevin, much to the chagrin of Nicole. She did well to assert her claim. One amenity they offer is a streaming service of the ceremony and a place to link to and see it all again. It was reported at the start of the ceremony there were 24 people in remote attendance, several of whom we hoped were couple’s kids from far away places. For you convenience, here is the link to the seven-plus minute video:

Kevin and Jeanie's Wedding video

Weather had been a concern throughout the weekend. Aaron and Lupe braved snow, rain, and winds to join us the day of arriving just as we trooped into the chapel. Nearly everyone booked and extra night at the Aquarius to miss the projected winds and rains for Sunday. I was unable to do so with a meeting Sunday night I couldn’t miss and that weighed heavy on my heart. I can be a morose sun of gun under normal circumstances – the added gravity to the upcoming meeting subdued me a bit for the Saturday night festivities. Sorry folks.

I put my kickstand up at 4:43 a.m. Sunday morning to beat the winds and did but ended up in the low-30s for most of the first half of the ride home. I didn’t see 50 degrees until hitting the 57 freeway on the 210. The ride got very interesting in the Cajon pass where it started to rain and the winds gusted up. It was a comical scene when I pulled over in a Cal Trans lot to put on my rain gear. I looked like a dog chasing its tail trying to get my second arm in the sleeve. I skipped the rain pants and let my new chaps do the work and get more broken in. Back on the 15, I headed into wind, rain, and low clouds with a fogged up shield. I had to crack it open just to see and then, only after reaching in and wiping a little strip. It was entertaining and kept me awake for the rest of the ride.

For Kevin and Jeannie, a biker’s poem (feel free to claim it for yourself):

May the roads you travel be trouble free,
clear of pitfalls, obstacles, and debris.
May love fuel your engines, and your tank never run dry,
so remember to show it often; or at least always try.
May kindness and compassion be the lubricant for any friction that comes along,
let forgiveness and understanding help to keep your love strong.
May you hold on tight, as you round each corner, and pave new roads together,
your love will steer you straight and true, through any kind of weather.
May you be mindful of the speed of life and the need for shifting gears,
knowing when to take things slow, as you enjoy the coming years.
For time will take its toll on your soft and youthful skin,
but always remember, beneath that leather, there’s a gentleness within.
May your love endure beyond the setting sun, as your future unfolds ahead,
So say “I Love You” each time you saddle up, and each time you go to bed.

John Meissner

Keep the iron side up my friends.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

In case you’d like to look at the photos:

 https://photos.littlechurchlv.com/FEBRUARY-2019/Shaw-2919/

Dear Holly - RTTF Honoree

Photo courtesy of Carrington House, a charitable foundation

On Saturday September 8, 2018 I will take a ride with around 500 friends. We’ll be on every kind of bike imaginable and we will have ideals from all over the spectrum. On Saturday we will ride with one purpose – to honor and support US Navy Chief Petty Officer Holly Katke, HMC. We will ride for two heroes, Holly and her daughter Leia

We’ll gather at the Naval Base/Ventura County, register and have a little breakfast while we await a stirring 9/11 Commemoration Ceremony. We will meet our hero and a few White Heart Foundation alumni and dignitaries before we mount up and Ride to the Flags (RTTF) at Pepperdine University where there will be one 3’X5’ flag for each casualty of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, 2,977 flags in total. We’ll see flags from a variety of nations sprinkled in among our American flags, a flag for each person’s nationality - 90 International flags. I won’t be able to say much as I walk from one end of the display to the other, I’ll only be able to offer a quiet prayer for the people and their families, for the casualties of war, for those still in harm’s way, and for the wounded like Holly and their support groups like Leia.

Then we will listen to music, visit sponsors of the event, knock back a few beverages, and plunk down some cash on raffle items we may or may not be able to strap to our bikes for the trip home.

Holly’s story:

Chief Petty Officer Holly Katke was an Independent Duty Hospital Corpsman and earned the title of the highest enlisted medical care provider in the Navy. She is also fluent in Arabic and as a female was frequently the only person local women would talk to in Iraq. Holly was serving with a Navy Seal team when the outfit came under fire. They were at fleet station when she took a sniper round to the head, one eighth of an inch from being killed in action.

The bullet stayed lodged in Holly’s brain for three months causing multiple strokes resulting in the loss of the use of her right arm, half of her vision, and much of the functionality of her right leg. Her memory is sketchy – she describes it as like ‘fifty first dates’. Holly has continued her education and achieved her Bachelorette degree and works to study environmental issues.

Through all of this, Holly is a single parent to Leia, her highest priority and Holly’s primary helper.

The funds raised by our ride will provide Holly with specialized rehab equipment and help with transportation for her and her daughter.

Five minute video on Holly: https://youtu.be/myyopWnRbXE?t=353

If you feel inclined to donate you can do so through the links below, my fundraising page or to White Heart directly. If you don’t feel so inclined, stop for a moment and pray for Holly, her daughter, and all of our wounded veterans. Thank you.

My fundraising page: https://donate.whiteheart.org/event/ride-to-the-flags-xi/e191755

Or White Heart Foundation at: http://www.whiteheart.org/

Dear Holly,

Thank you for your service and the sacrifice you’ve made for us as a country, for your fellow Seals and Sailors, and for freedom. I appreciate how you’ve battle back and continued to fight through your injuries in order to be there for your daughter and to be there for our world as a researcher.

I am honored to ride for you and make a bit of a difference to you as you live and love. I am humbled that I’ll ride with hundreds of others who feel the same way for you and other wounded veterans.

I appreciate the sacrifices that your daughter has made and continues to make for you and I love how she loves you. And if I may be so bold, I love how she taps out the beat.

And, I pray for continued healing and miracles for you and through you. I pray for your daughter so that she’ll have endurance, focus, and be a source of pride and fulfillment to you. In my heart, I know your daughter is a great source of strength to you, I pray she finds her way and achieves her dreams.

Keep the iron side up,

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Death Valley to Las Vegas - 2018

Group photo in Lone Pine - Snow Capped Eastern Sierras in the background

Riders gathered from all over the Southland; from the valleys in Simi and San Gabriel, from the foothills in Santa Clarita, from as far north as Bakersfield, as far south as Murrieta, as far west as Huntington Beach, from outlying areas like Desert Hot Springs and Redlands, and at some point, from Vegas. Riders on Harleys, Visions, Cross Countries, a Victory Vegas, Indians, and Can-Ams met up in smaller groups to home in on a proper breakfast at Chelly’s Café in Palmdale.

The pit stop at Indian Wells Brewing Co., Inyokern, was a spacy experience where the riders were greeted by an escapee from Area 51 with gifts of out-of-this world brews. Death Valley Pale Ale is brewed on the spot…an aptly named beverage for the following day’s ride.

The main group rumbled up Highway 395 to Lone Pine for a night at the Dow Villa Motel, a little place full of history and kitsch. The question on everybody’s mind is, “Who will end up with the John Wayne room and what hijinks and good camaraderie will we find there?” (none did) followed up by “Will there be man-stew served this year?” The answer to the last was a no but was topped by Victory Stew with many in the group taking a nice swim after a day in the saddle.

A few puffs of wind tugged at memories of gusty rides to Laughlin and Tombstone and basically anything taking riders through the Mojave Desert. Nothing major, nothing serious enough to turn back any in this bunch. Speaking of memories, the pack of riders cruised downslope into the Panamint Valley on Highway 190 toward the Panamint Mountain Range to successfully log a recreation of our iconic photo from three years ago. The Panamint Mountains form the western edge of the Death Valley, a wild place of strange beauty and amazing formations, not too different from the group of riders themselves.

                                         

Down Hwy 190 into the Panamint Valley and back up the 190 to the Sierras

Riders are a mostly gregarious bunch and this group is no different. That being the case, meal times turned into celebrations during the Death Valley <> Vegas adventure; celebrating the ride, each other, and life. Proper breakfasts were had each morning, followed by stops for proper lunches, only to be topped off with dinners of varying propriety. Glasses were clinked and ‘dilly dillies’ rang out and were surrounded by laughter and good times. The stay at the Silverton Casino and Lodge was the ideal spot for a good layover...personally, I like the huge aquarium.

As with many an extended motorcycle ride the ending came far too early and earlier for some than for others. A few left for home Sunday, the others Monday after a now standard proper breakfast (this one at the Cracker Barrel in Vegas). Individuals, pairs, and pairs of pairs split off from the group after breakfast all to make it home safe and sound.

And…they went without me.

But weep not for me because I was in Ely, Nevada spending time with my new grandson making notes and dreaming of reading to the little guy. As it turned out we weren’t all that far behind the Monday group as my wife and I passed through Vegas in the early afternoon for a late lunch/early dinner at The Mad Greek in Baker.

I pictured every twist and turn in my mind, each rumble of the engine, and every toast of dilly dilly.

Happy Trails and until we ride again…keep the iron side up.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White