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

Winter Wonderland Run - Caged

 

Mount Whitney while driving through Lone Pine

Cindy’s and my drive to Dayton, Nevada started out as expected. No, strike that. It started out better than expected for a Saturday as the traffic on the westbound 210 Freeway moved along even with the lane closure and ongoing construction. Since we stayed to the right to head up Highway 14 we didn’t get into the mess that almost always is the case when being in the left lanes to drive north on the 5 Freeway.

There was no rain in the forecast, no snow either, for our quick jog nor was any predicted for our return drive on Monday. During the week before we had five inches or so in La Crescenta while it snowed in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. There were also no predictions of chains being required for the trip in any of our research so I left them in the boot below our luggage and gear. Our drive through the Antelope Valley, Mojave Desert, and brief winding through the Red Rock Canyon State Park was without incident and seemed to me to be full of hope. The desert was coming alive with standing water in places and waterfowl enjoying the break on the last legs of their journeys south.

Highway 14 ends at the junction with Highway 395 just above Inyokern. We began seeing dustings of snow on the north facing slopes of the southernmost peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The further north we went the more prominent the snowcaps became. We passed through towns like Grant, Olancha, and Cartago, slowing for each town to speed limits as low as 25MPH. My philosophy of never being the fastest and letting the rabbits run ahead keeps me from worrying too much about legal entanglements and having to answer the question, “Do you know how fast you were going?”

I love driving through Lone Pine with the western feel to the town – boardwalks and storefronts heighten the old frontier sense. Mostly though it is because of the great memories the Dow Vista Motel has for me as a stopping point with my Victory friends. Lone Pine provides an excellent view of Mount Whitney, the tallest peak in the contiguous United States. She was resting under a blanket of snow that is now being amplified and hopefully packed as it should be this time of year.

From Lone Pine we continued north past Manzanar, through Independence, and on to Big Pine where we made a fuel stop. The snowline continued to drop or perhaps we simply continued to climb and rose to meet the snow line. Yes, yes that’s the ticket because when we pulled into Erick Schat’s Bakkery in Bishop we had to be wary of ice on the parking lot and hidden in the scattered snowdrifts on our way into the bakery.

Sandwiches and baked goods in hand, we continued north with snow at the side of the road and a brief notice of a chain requirement further on but to brief for me to read. The views were spellbinding and I struggled to keep watch on the highway. Less than a quarter of a mile past the Mammoth Mountain turn off we came upon the chain requirement in earnest. Evidently the snowplow folks do not see the need to plow the road further on because everybody’s destination must be Mammoth Mountain.

Some folks pulled over to put on chains, others did not bother and simply applied chains in the middle of the lane. We wove our way through them all and decided to put the mud and snow tires to the test on our all-wheel drive Subaru Forester. We traversed about ten to twelve miles with one side on and one side off the snow and ice pack. We did simply fine and came upon one more section of icy roads before getting to Bridgeport where we’d planned to eat our sandwiches on park benches which we found with six inches of snow on them like a generously iced cake. We opted to eat after our arrival at Lauren and Taylor’s place in Dayton.

Our stay in Dayton was brief, two nights with a run up to Virginia City and a midmorning departure on Monday. Lauren and Taylor are the consummate hosts and our grandchildren, Becca (20mos.) and Logan (3yrs. 20mo.) are the best enjoyment for which we could hope. The purpose of our visit was to watch Logan’s inaugural performance in dance during the first recital for a newly formed dance school. The venue was the Virginia City Opera House where four hundred or so participants and audience members crammed in. Logan was outstanding. Our afternoon was capped off with me winning the 50/50 drawing that was contested by an 8-year-old girl who had thought she had won. I did not have to fight her for it, lucky for me. I kept it all.

Our departure was tempered with the knowledge we would be together at our place in a few short days for Christmas It was a Christmas that was subdued by the fact Logan had come down with a flu bug of some sort. It was not Covid as we all were tested for it and came out with negative results. We have a compromised family member to see – the deepest source of our muted celebrations. God’s peace to the Chambers family. The return trip was no less spectacular with the freezing temperatures conserving the snowpacks though the road was more open after two days of traffic to help clear it off.

This being an Iron Side Up post I should point out that during our drive I often imagined making the trip on STICKII, my Victory Cross Country. I could have made it just fine up to the point where the chain warning came into effect. Well, except for the sub-30-degree temperatures. I would have needed industrial strength heated socks and gloves, the socks to counter my impaired toes from the freezing ride from Laughlin in 2019 where I contracted a hearty case of Chilblains, one step from frostbite. I will surely make this run in the next few months and I will love every mile and do it with a smile on my face with the thought of Opa hugs for my grandchildren.

Keep the iron side up, stay safe, and be well.

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Note: Photo credit goes to Cindy, a most excellent navigator and on-the-run photographer.

Red Rock Canyon

Eastern face of the Sierra Nevada Mountains

The Walker River

Outside the Virginia City Opera Hall

Pre-performance excitement ran high inside the opera hall

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

ATGATT

Photo of a photo my Grandma Matt took in their yard at Bass Lake,
near to the campground I took those kids around. STICK1 and me near
the end of a 4-week, 4k+ mile ride and a year before this story took place.

I was 19 and knew nothing while living moment-to-moment believing I wouldn’t live past 22. The Viet Nam War may have played a part in that belief even though by then I’d escaped the draft by luck of the lottery. I was coming out of my dark days and trying to figure what the long play of God’s plan was for me since my dream of playing Division II basketball, possibly at Humboldt State, had crumbled like a sand castle built too close to the surf.

I worked weekends during the school year and full-time over the summer as a pier coolie at Paradise Cove to pay for community college plus gas and upkeep on my Honda CB500. I lived in my friend’s family trailer up in the park from the cove and on any given weekend Doug and I would have breakfast at 5:30 a.m. at the Sandcastle Restaurant before working our 10-hour shift on the pier running personal fishing boats up and down the pier, launching them and the fiberglass rentals via the hoist at the end of the pier opposite the Baywatch hut. The uniform of the day was deck shoes, swimsuit, Hawaiian Coconut Tanning Oil, and maybe a tank-top.

The trailer park, pier, and restaurant were run by a guy everyone called The Commodore. I don’t think he owned the place but you wouldn’t have known it by him. Bob ran the bait and rental shop out on the pier and was our boss. Doug, Rob, and I were the three-man team running the hoist and taking care of the outboards and fiberglass boats during weekends. Chuck was the head of maintenance for the whole shebang and was a known alcoholic, a man of dubious mental stability.

Living moment-to-moment left me vulnerable to swings in my temperament and I was far from what I’ve become – patient and even tempered, even if a bit stern and surely.

During a particular day of the summer of ’73 Chuck had come down from his yard up on the bluff to repair a metal railing on the ramp that led to the loading area and launch dock. Lit as he was on this early afternoon, he pulled his arch-welder out. I was tasked to assist him and held the two railing pieces together that need to be welded. I felt a charge run through me when he flipped the power to ‘on’. I let go and looked at the idiot happy he didn’t try to arch the railing. He pulled over a dry (ish) pier plank and told me to stand on it to insulate myself. Flip – buzz – and I let go again. I told him he’d kill somebody and left him to himself. I was not too happy with the man.

That evening after the pier shut down the younger crowd gathered around one of the picnic tables between the restaurant and the set for The Rockford Files. And by younger I mean little teens I needed to be careful around, me being an adult teen. I had my bike with me in the parking lot which was posted not to allow motorcycles (much different than today). It was after hours, okay? Chuck turned up reeling and stinking drunk with a handgun stuck in his waistband. He ordered me out of the lot all belligerent like and posing for the kids. My recollection is that he chest-bumped me while he kept a hand on the butt of his gun. I probably could have taken him down gun and all but some reason prevailed and I left.

I was in a rage when I got on the bike; no gloves, no helmet, no goggles or jacket. I raced up the entrance road to the PCH and headed north leaving reason behind with my friend. By the time I hit Zuma Beach I was zoned. The last I’d looked at the speedo I was near 90 mph. A second or two later my eyelids flipped up to my brows and reason took over again.

Since then and to this day I’ve not ridden without my helmet and gear with the exception of second-gear rides around a campground with a kid on the back wearing my helmet. How close was I to self-fulfilling a prophecy of dying before 22? Close enough.

The point is this, or rather, points are these:

Œ  All The Gear All The Time (ATGATT)

Œ  Check your mood and emotional well-being before turning over the engine

Œ  Know the roads and your capabilities at the start of the ride, don’t learn them during the ride. You will improve and live and live to improve.

Œ  Be vigilant

Ride and ride safe – let’s keep the iron side up, shall we?

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

---------

PS – just now I am recalling a time that puts a lie to the notion that since that day I hadn’t ridden without a helmet with the one exception. It was during my second life as a rider and I had just checked into McGrath State Beach campground with a day pass to visit friends camping there. I road from the kiosk to their camp space with my helmet on the passenger backrest of my Honda VT1100. My friend reminded me that the helmet law applied to state park roads as well.

When I got home that evening I pulled into the garage to park the bike. I didn’t get the kickstand down all the way and it slid under the bike as I leaned it over and the doggone thing threw me into the workbench where I knocked my helmet against the table leg. You don’t even have to be moving to need a helmet while on a bike. At least I don’t. And, I guess, we all need reminders for important things.

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

An Evening With A Dangerous Man

Book, notebook, pen, and keyboard - tools

Wednesday, August 7, 2019 I decided to ride STICKII (my Victory Cross Country motorcycle) over to Vroman’s Book Store and thus, my reasoning for posting this write-up on my motorcycle centric blog. Deal with it. I think Elvis would have said the same while the corner of Joe’s mouth would have twitched.

The occasion was a visit with my favorite author, Robert Crais, as he presented his latest book, A Dangerous Man, a Joe Pike and Elvis Cole story. This one is from Joe’s perspective as the primary character with a captivating heroine. I arrived early though not early enough for a front row seat. This is okay by me because with my height I tend to stay on the aisles and back a few rows so as not to block anyone’s view. I picked up my copy of the book there at Vroman’s and had it ready for Mr. Crais to sign. There are only three authors I would do that for and Sue Grafton passed away late in 2017 so I’m down to two.

I’ll confess that, like most of the folks there and especially those 25 or so who were earlier than me, it is nearly as much about the characters as it is about the writer. As a wannabe author there are many parts of Robert’s writing I try to emulate, if it’s okay to be so familiar with his name. The big bonus for me on this night was hearing him talk about his writing, his process, and how he loves what he does.

Robert led off his talk by relating his previous day where he’d spent eight hours solid doing a raft of satellite radio interviews and having his jug at the ready. No breaks – the interviews fell like well-placed dominoes, something you’d see on a weird science program for kids. It was grueling for him and required self-control at hearing many of the same inane questions all while some of the interviewers made it more about them than the author or the book. It’s one of those things he does for the loves of his life; Joe, Elvis, and their stories. It would be just fine with me if you applaud him right here.

About the time Robert finished up this part of his talk a man’s chair collapsed under him. Genuine concern on Robert’s part for the man’s wellbeing led to a humorous request for the gentleman to join the book tour. It broke the ice and we went on to listen like a bunch of folks hearing to our friend talk about the coolest thing to happen to him in ages.

After reading a couple of sections of the book Robert answered questions from the gathering. Here are a few answers in no particular order: Kim Stanley Robinson is a school mate in the best-of-friends’ category. Robert gets his military information by research. He loves all his books and has no particular favorite. Maggie will be back but sans Joe and Elvis. He does not have a favorite author, reads more non-fiction these days, and reads broadly. And finally, I won’t spoil the next book by revealing a certain character, but he/she will make an appearance. Buy it, read it yourself.

Now, about those readings by the author – though he said acting is too hard when asked why he doesn’t read for his audio books, Robert’s reading is infectious. The love he has for his characters is evident in his reading and it is contagious. I clearly heard his voice in my head as I read the book, especially the two sections he read for us. I had fully intended on completing this post before reading A Dangerous Man but with the disarray that has engulfed my writer’s life I simply could not wait to give it a read. For the first time ever I will reread a book back-to-back. It is that good, that much fun.

Mr. Crais signs his books with a personal note for each person. He thanked me for my kind words which was me thanking him for all the work and all of himself that he puts into his writing. Kindness does not have to be complicated; a simple thank you in my case. Or for Joe Pike in A Dangerous Man, simply being true to himself and getting involved. Pike’s kindness runs simple and deep. “You good?”

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Postscript notes:

The ‘Shakespeare’ is my ride-name given to me by my rocket scientist (he really is one) friend Tim who set a bar so high I routinely walk right under it. And without much fuss.

“You good?” is a simple and kind inquiry Joe Pike has used in a couple of stories. His use of it to small tot inspired me to use it with my grandkids. It works just fine for us.

I finished my reread and was ready to go for round three but my wife seems to think she should have a chance to read the book first.

Our first encounter at "An Evening with Michael Connelly and Robert Crais" from the Santa Monica Public Library, February 7, 2012

Robert at the 2018 Writer's Digest Novel Writing Conference delivering the keynote address

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/