God must hate me...

**No, that is not my sentiment, but one I hear a lot. Here is a little biker story for you. Hope you like it.

A biker out on the road is pushing his limits, trying to ride long and hard to his destination. His body jittery from too much coffee, cold and wet from a light evening thunderstorm, continues into unknown darkness. Engine sputtering, he switches to reserve, thinking, 'Damn, there should have been a town out here by now! God must hate me.'

Ten minutes later, he sees a camp fire, tents and a few bikes along the side of the road. He pulls over to ask directions. They are all warm and dry and laughing and drinking and generally having a great time. The guy manning the fire introduces himself.

"Hi buddy! I'm Mike. The woman over there in the red hat is Sharon, my wife. She rides the old CBR440. Kim and Nikki are her sisters, riding those matching DR-Z 400's and mine is the old BMW. Damn you look cold and wet! Why don't you stay for the night, have a drink and some burgers. I've got plenty. Oh," he winks, "Kim just got back from four years in the arctic and Nikki was divorced a few months a months ago," he laughs. "This might be an enjoyable rest stop for you."

"Oh no. I have a few hundred more miles to go. Thanks anyway. But, do you happen to have some spare gas? And, where the hell is Interstate 213?"

"There's some spare gas in my Jerry Can, but I213? No idea. I'm not from here. When we ride, we just ride. Only ask for directions to get back home when we are ready."

The biker gets the Jerry Can and empties it into his tank.

"Thanks a lot for the gas, Mike. Here's ten bucks, I really should be going."

"Keep your money, " Mike laughs. "You just be careful out there, OK. And check into a hotel or something. There's another storm coming, I think. Sure you don't want to ride it out here? Plenty of beer and burgers!"

"Nah, I need to go. Thanks a ton!" And the biker mounts his ride and sets off down the asphalt into the pitch black.

Five miles down the road, without warning, the asphalt becomes graded gravel. Lightning in the distance illuminates the large warning signs. "Caution! Road Construction Ahead!"

'God must hate me...'

Ten more miles down the road and it becomes little more than a pot-hole filled rough single lane gravel road. Lightning is flashing all around as the storm gust blows him from one side of the road to the other.

He passes over several old bridges, as the wind picks up. He comes around a sharp corner to see a large lighted sign, 'Local traffic ONLY!' but he goes on. 'God must hate me...'

Not five miles down the road and it becomes a mixture of mud and gravel. The road construction equipment safely tucked in a large machine shed not fifty yards away. He continues on. 'God must hate me...'

It starts hailing. He takes the next blind curve too fast, bike looses traction, slams against the guard rail and launches him to his death, down a two hundred foot chasm.

He awakes in a blinding light. Surrounded by beautiful green pasture and trails, he is sitting on a fully dressed, immaculate Triumph. He rubs his eyes. 'What in the hell is this place?' he wonders.

At that moment, a brilliant white Harley Hardtail chopper crests a nearby hill. It's rider effortlessly pilots his bike down the hill and stops right in front of the biker.

"No, son. This isn't quite Hell," the old man says, taking off his helmet. He is in all white leathers with a long white pony tail and flowing white beard. He shakes the biker's hand. "Son, I'm Saint Peter. Welcome to heaven!"

"But..." the biker stutters, "I'm dead? I had plans! Things to do! And, now I'm dead?!?!?! God really does hate me!"

St. Peter scowled, "Shush, man! The boss doesn't like that kind of talk! And, it's bullshit! Let's look at your last evening on earth, shall we?"

"Remember that diner where the cute waitress gave you that black coffee and her phone number? HA! That was espresso to keep your butt awake. And that first little thunderstorm? Same thing. Getting lost and running out of gas? Why didn't you just get off the road, pitch your tent and have a drink?" St. Peter shakes his head.

"Remember that road getting worse? We were working our butts off to get that done before you got there. Those signs, and the road, the weather, the bridges, the machine shed... we did it all to save your sorry ass. YOU just had to make the choice to stop."

Then St. Peter lowered his voice and winked. "We even offered you free beer, hamburgers and," he cleared his throat," the company of two beautiful, intelligent, single women. That was Michael's idea."

"But no, you had to go on..." he trails off to a sad whisper. "God doesn't hate you. Look at all those opportunities he offered. You were too blinded to see. That's the same with most down there."

Gentle tears running down St. Peter's face, he puts his helmet on and fires up his bike. "Let's go, son."

Accidents

Since I am holed up in the house for yet another sick day, I thought I would do some reading about motorcycles. (Like, I never, ever do that!!!! :-) )

I google motorcycles, and Buell Blasts, and the Yamaha TW-200 and the Triumph Bonneville. Somehow I accidentally searched on Google News and ended up with pages of motorcycle accident reports. Some morbid curiosity overtook me, and I started counting which accidents were the motorcyclists' fault.

1. Too much speed and loss of control. Rider was in the wrong lane and collided with a truck.
2. Small truck sideswipes a rider.
3. Rider looses control and collides with tree.
4. Rider looses control and collides with stop sign.
5. Rider without right of way T-Bones a truck (killing three people).
6. Rider fleeing police (he had a suspended license) looses control and slams into a traffic sign.
7. Rider was put into the hospital after hitting a stationary street sweeper. He was weaving around cars that were stopped in traffic behind an accident.
8. Man buys a brand new Harley, takes off into the dealer's parking lot, looses control, smacks into a parked vehicle and dies. No helmet.

So, from those eight incidents, only one was not blatantly the riders fault. Seven times in eight was the rider. Yes, riding is dangerous. The danger is within the riders, not the cagers. It is our responsibilities as riders to drive that danger out. If we do not, we will kill ourselves.

Another Day of Scrubbed Plans

Yes, another day of scrubbed plans. Not called off due to weather or bike problems or any ethereal voice telling me to stay home. It is all due to a lovely little virus. Earlier this week I started to feel some congestion in my sinuses and a little fever. Nothing to keep me from going to work, or forcing me to stay on the couch.

Tuesday night was the worst. Wednesday I even decided to drive, not completely trusting my balance. Thursday was much better. My sinuses were opening up and overall I was feeling much better.

Sitting down last night, I planned out a day-off-work ride up to Pahrump, then Ash Meadows, and back to the house. Throttle hand twitching, I went to bed last night fully expecting to be on the road by seven AM.

The 5:30 AM alarm went off this morning and all I could do was cough and hack and spit out green globs of sickness. I wobbled out to the kitchen, hoping I would regain my balance and ability to breath without coughing more than two or three times every five minutes.

No luck. After a Vitamin C chewable, three cups of green and mint tea, and a little breakfast, the plans are pushed off to this weekend.

Regardless of plans, there are always events that can alter them. Recognizing and accepting these altered plans is a fine ability, so long as alterations do not become the norm.

Riding History Redux

This is not a typical motorcycling blog entry, on the surface anyway. This entry starts with a retelling of two vivid dreams I still recall from childhood. The memory of these dreams has been carefully protected, deep inside. Why, I am not sure yet, but they are safe and it is time I record them on a more permanent medium.

Slowly waking up one lazy Summer Saturday morning for cartoons and an afternoon of fun in the country, a loud train whistle in the distance jolts me upright. I look out the window, to the top of the valley that surrounds our farmhouse and see an old steam engine chugging along with several passenger cars behind. I rub my eyes but the locomotive is still there. Only six years old or so, my brain even then could remember no train tracks in the area. Consciousness still fuzzy, I dart down stairs yelling, "Mom! Mom!"

She is in the yard hanging clothes on the clothesline. Running over to her, I look up the hill again to where only a few minutes ago there was a steam locomotive from the late 1800's. I remember being confused.

"Mom, are there train tracks on the hill?"

"Oh, no," she smiled. "Why don't you run on into the house and get some breakfast."

Even more confused, I walk slowly and quietly, looking at the top of he valley, straining my ears to hear the train whistle. After a hearty breakfast and an hour of cartoons, the imagery of the train was pushed into the back of my brain, and filed under the category of weird dream. Caught in an altered state, just between dream land and the real world, my adolescent consciousness did its best.

The second was pure dream with no intermingling or intertwining of consciousness beyond the understanding that it was a dream. I am sitting on an outside porch, a very young child of three or four, playing with a rather chubby baby. To the side was a very young version of my father washing his hands and face with cool fresh well water from a wash basin. Since I was in my early teens when this dream occurred, the time frame was fairly easy to determine. It was the early 1900's, maybe 1930's or so. The dream mostly took place at an old house that wasn't so old within the time frame of the dream. It was white and nicely kept.

The next frame was of me, a little older, dressed in mourning black, riding in a wagon next to a crying woman and another man, both dressed in black. In the back was a simple casket. I knew the destination but the road looked unusual. The sun was at an odd angle. I awoke simply thinking of this as a common dream.

Decades later I become interested in the history of the place I grew up. Maps and stories and family trees and histories were for the most part easily accessible in the internet.

My first entry into odd feelings of deja 'vous began in 2003 when I found online, a very late 1800's Illinois railroad map. The dream became vivid in my mind and goose bumps ran down my back. There, near the top of that valley where I grew up, ran the telltale hash marks of a railroad. Running from New Boston, near the farm, then up to Rock Island. No other maps showed this line, either before or after.

The originator of the map told me by e-mail that the it also showed lines that were planned for construction, as well as existing lines.

Then I looked at an old plat map. It was from the 1920's if memory serves. I notice something odd. The road I remember as a child, that ran from our farmhouse to the cemetery was not there. Instead there was an angular road at that time, now gone and covered by a corn field. The other dream jumped from my deep memories. THAT explained the odd angle of the sun.

Riding my motorcycle out into the desert and places less traveled, there are times when I swear I can hear people talking, children laughing. Dust clouds rise and rumbles in the distance for no apparent reason are the norm.

What is it that separates the now from the then? What separates the now from yesterday's other possible futures? Maybe they are all riding along together with only a thin film between.

If this is the case, and yesterday and tomorrow and today and yesterday's other tomorrows are all intertwined, and night time dreams and fantasies are merely peeks to other times and possibilities, there is but one type of person who will discover it.

That person will be a motorcyclist, riding down a desert trail or jungle road or snow covered tundra. That is the only type of person who could grasp the entirety, the concept, the Zen of everything and nothing in an instant.

Riding History

South of Henderson is an extension of Horizon Ridge. Or rather, the paved Horizon Ridge is an extension of a desert road that served miners and settlers alike in the mid to late 1800's. People in Arizona and New Mexico wanting to come take part in the Nevada Gold and Silver Rush would come west, cross the Colorado River near Laughlin or other points south, then follow the river north. Searchlight was an important stopover for miners and settlers alike. At the time, Boulder City did not exist, so the road was almost straight from Searchlight to the small settlement of Las Vegas.

The old desert road from Las Vegas to Searchlight. This was a good part.

To the east of Sloan Canyon this desert road undulates up and down, right and left, just a bit, around small mountain foothills. This is knows as Dutchman's Pass. Between Dutchman's Pass and Sloan Canyon is a mine, and supposed ghost town of Quo Vadis. Unfortunately my Honda Rebel is just not the right vehicle to get there. But, before I leave the area, I WILL get there.

I am not sure why there is this attraction. Quo Vadis was a very small, very short lived town, supposedly with a few saloons, a church and a few houses. I read somewhere that only a foundation for one of the saloons still exist.

Perhaps it is the feeling, the drive, and perhaps the need to explore; to do things that are not of the ordinary. This was not an ordinary ride... nearly 20 miles of desert riding on a Honda Rebel.

Now, if you will pardon me, I need to go figure out how I can afford to get a little Yamaha TW200. No way can I do a lot of desert riding on the Rebel.

Lone Rider

Looking at my pay-stub from last week, I decide to have the 'V-Word' talk with my boss. And I received three straight weeks of vacation later in the year. That is rare. Typically vacation is limited to one week at a time. I have three. Plans for my solo-ride across the country are coming together. Updates as they occur.

My Home

Why do I feel more at home on roads like this? My skin is not my own unless it is wrapped in leather or body armor. My head feels incomplete unless it is encased with a helmet. This is my home, always transient, always moving. Searching for a green field with trees and a garden and an old farmhouse; a place that may only exist in my mind; a place to plant and to grow and to enjoy. I shall continue to ride alone, two wheels to asphalt or gravel or dirt. I am alone but not lonely.

A friend lost, knowing not why nor for certain how. Accepting is all that can be done. Accepting that I lost a friend. Accepting that my home, a place of peace and growth and healing may not exist; may not come to be. Perhaps it is all for the better. There is no looking back, only wishing the best for those behind.

And I ride alone.

Ebb and Flow of The Universe

There is a certain ebb and flow to the universe. The tide comes in, the tide goes out and the end is the same as the beginning. To fret and worry too much about the interim is a waste. There are good times and bad, and when all is summarized, it is just time.

For the past several weekends over the course of a few months I have been spending considerable amounts of time attempting to repair my ex-wife's car. It wasn't in terribly good shape when we bought it. We were told that it needed new struts, new engine mounts and a little oil change, and that was it.

Well, I don't think the guy was completely straight up with us. One of the spark plug cables was busted. Two of the spark plugs were completely destroyed to the point where the little four cylinder engine was only running on two cylinders. The heater hoses were in such a state of disintegration that they were literally falling apart. Several weekends, a few skinned knuckles and probably too much money was spent repairing these, as well as some other problems.

The car was at the point where I felt safe riding in it. The motor seemed to be purring and not overheating or clanking. New tires let the car track straight and true down the highway and there was a certain satisfaction to driving this machine around.

Apparently she had had enough. This weekend, on the way home from picking up my daughter from the airport, the engine threw a rod. That car is now, for the most part, scrap.

Ebb and flow.

Saturday was quite the opposite adventure. I awoke about eight, fired up my bike and headed out of town. I rode out of Las Vegas to the West, past Red Rock Canyon. There is always a smile on my face when I can see Las Vegas in my rear-view mirrors.

Out on State Route 160, traffic was light and the ride beautiful. I was surprised at how willing my little Rebel was behaving. 75 miles per hour was no problem at all.

I arrive in Pahrump, NV for smokes and coffee. After a pleasant chat with an elderly gentleman about motorcycles and trucking, I continue North to Johnnie, Nevada. For the most part, Johnnie is a ghost town. There is a house trailer, and another building that could pass as a house, but that is the only thing there that could be classified as recent.

Old mining equipment and remnants of buildings still litter the desert there. Twenty minutes or so of riding the trails and I am back on the asphalt to Crystal, Nevada.


There isn't much there, in the little town of Crystal. Two legal brothels, a Museum of Brothel Art (that just happens to be closed for renovations), very small bar, a Piper airplane on a desert landing strip and a few houses. After a brief chat with the owner of the plane, and a more than brief lamenting that I had no camera, I left on the road I came in on. It is little more than asphalted desert rubble.

Purple and white and yellow desert wildflowers are blooming all throughout the area. Some sort of small cactus is blooming as well. Its blooms looking more like a tangle of red hair than a flower.

I stop again at Pahrump and have lunch at the Pahrump Cafe. Should anyone ride your bike through this quaint, quiet little town, I highly recommend it. Just stop at a gas station and ask for directions.

I try to delay my inevitable return to Las Vegas by riding a lonesome desert road out to California. There were more motorcycles on that road than cars or trucks. It was beautiful.

Returning, riding past Red Rock Canyon, I feel the pressures of Las Vegas begin their assault. I will miss the adventure of riding out into the desert and its inherent solitude, but I will not miss Las Vegas.

So, 250 miles later, I park my bike and crack open a beer.

It's all ebb and flow. Fighting against it will only tire you out and piss you off.

View Larger Map...This map is not accurate and shows the route where I rode into California incorrectly. Click the "View Larger Map" for a more accurate representation...

Conspicuity Enhancement - On a Bike Near You!

Do some motorcycles just catch your eyes? Do some look spooky or menacing or just down right scary? Well, they are supposed to. Researchers call it "conspicuity enhancement".

According to Honda scientists, slanted headlights on the front of a motorcycle designed to look like a face, giving it an 'angry' look, are "significantly" more visible to other drivers. Chrome and bright colors may do a lot to grab cagers' eyes, but these scientists are even using Functional MRI to confirm their statements and support their research.

Many other motorcycle manufacturers, such as Triumph, Suzuki, Kawasaki, Yamaha, Ducati and Buell are catching onto this as well. Many of their bikes have face-like qualities to them, usually menacing or angry instead of warm and fuzzy. This is because the human brain recognizes these sort of features in a face and relays it to the conscious very quickly. That way, drivers' brains force the motorcycles into perception rather than filtering them out.

Here is a nice article about this research: The canada.com website.

And the Winner Is!!!!!!!

Just a quick note in passing, the Motorcycle Bloggers International voting is over and the ballots have been counted! Some of the winners include:

• The Honda EVO 6
• BMW Website
• Triumph Street Triple 675
• Lois Pryce

And the list goes on! Jump over to the MBI Website to see all the winners... and a few losers.

Arthur C. Clarke, March 19, 2008, RIP

see more crazy cat pics
This is not a blog entry about motorcycles and riding, per-se. This is about the loss of a fantastic author and thinker. The world of science fiction literature and telecommunications technology lost a great mind today. Arthur C. Clarke died at the age of 90 at his home in Sri Lanka.

He was born in England and served the Royal Air Force during World War II as a RADAR Specialist. He was knighted in 2000 by the Queen of England, and in 1945 described the utilization of geostationary orbiting satellites as perfect platforms for stable, global communications. Hence, the Clarke Belt.

I attribute much of my early development as a person, science fiction reader and amateur writer to many of his books, including Rendezvous with Rama, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Childhood's End, Against the Fall of Night, and 2010: Odyssey Two. As a matter of fact, I have a copy of The Fountains of Paradise on my book case at work.

Please, take a moment and say a silent 'thank you' to Sir Arthur C. Clarke for what he has given us. May he rest in peace.

Special thanks to Daniel Meyer for finding the cat picture. I had no idea he had died until I read Daniel's blog, and the picture he found was perfect. You may read more about Mr Clarke on his Wikipedia page.

Making the Best

My daughter is right at this very minute sitting at an outdoor table overlooking the crystal blue Pacific Ocean. The sushi is fresh and the air moist and clean. She is in Hawaii without her computer and none the worse for wear.

She forgot it. Oh well. Such is life.

There has now been two days of problems and compromise here. My cold and the beautiful riding weather. My website was shut down because I forgot to pay for it... for the last six months. The want to get my daughter some nice new clothes for her trip, but my severe lack of money. My dead cell phone because i can't find the charger and can't afford a new one until my next paycheck. The list goes on.

Well, nobody has punched me in the mouth and it doesn't cost any money, so I just smile.

And I am smiling! This Saturday I am planing on one of two little day trips. One will be a little ride to Mesquite, Nevada through the nice quiet road near Lake Mead. Total of 205 miles round trip.

View Larger Map

The other possible trip is through the high desert to Pahrump, Nevada. Total of about 140 miles round trip.

View Larger Map

Either way, I hope to go for a ride, have a nice little meal, drink a beer and enjoy a little quiet socializing. I hope I can borrow a camera from someone at work. That's one thing my daughter didn't forget!

SWM Seeking SF

Are you a single female who enjoys leaving the Weather or Travel Channel on the TV while reading motorcycle travelogues? Does the thought of riding out to some unnamed, desolate place and camping out make your throttle hand twitch and mouth water? Feel more comfortable in your riding gear than a dress or slacks? Do your dates' eyes glaze over when you talk about compression ratios or knobbies versus semi-knobbies or the Fujita Scale or cold fronts? Does he ask for the check when you mention the thrill of storm chasing or guerrilla camping or riding solo to the Arctic Circle? Single? Give me a call!

Just kidding! Maybe... Sort Of...

Seriously I am not looking at this point, but if I were... and if I were to post a personal ad, it would be something similar to the above. I have gone back and forth on the subject of personal ads. On one hand there seems to be a certain desperation to them. On the other, a sort of optimistic light, as if coming from an individually unique light house. Riding down a back road, who's to say that woman riding the BMW doesn't thrill to the thought of watching a wall cloud and just happens to be single?

Perhaps when I am ready you may see the above posted somewhere. It's not a call of desperation, just a CQ of sorts. And, if you are piqued by my posting above, and know what a CQ is, maybe you should contact me at your earliest convenience. :-)

This is just a test...

I did manage to get out on the bike today. I rode over to the AutoZone to pick up a few things for my Ex-Wife's car repair project. It was only five miles round trip but was wonderful. It's interesting to me how this simple mode of transportation is so much more.

Anyway, after overdoing it today, once again I feel like crap... Happy crap, but crap none the less. So, here I am on the couch, reading the Adv Rider forum and Rebel 250 forum and playing with Google Earth and so forth. Anyways, what follows is an attempt to post my little motorcycle trip from Henderson to Nipon, CA.


View Larger Map

Little Under the Weather

Sickness and I are not friends. The fever, the headache, the sore throat, the periodic sweats and hot flashes, the dizzy feeling and let's not forget the coughing and hacking and sneezing.

So, today the couch is my place of residence. My daughter has been sick with this, off and on, for the past two weeks. Typically my body is able to fend off these microscopic intruders, but not this time.

No work, no lunch meeting with pizza, and most importantly, no motorcycle ride. Seventy five degrees outside in the calm desert air. Thin strato-cumulus clouds overhead. Very light western breeze. I am not sure which is worse, the cold symptoms or motorcycle riding withdrawal.

There will be other days to ride, not not another today to ride.

Repair

By nature, humans are builders, tool makers, fixers. We revel in success of even the most mundane tools. Take, for instance, the humble spark plus. It's purpose is simple; make a spark. That spark then ignites a compressed air/fuel mixture in a cylinder. That ignited mixture presses against a moving piston, giving it energy to move a car or truck or motorcycle or lawnmower.

Several weeks ago my truck started exhibiting a rather odd symptom. I would press on the clutch pedal but the clutch would not completely release! After a week or so of parking the truck on the street, I decided to attempt my own repair. Parking the truck on the street had nothing to do with it's poor behavior. The street angles downhill slightly, giving the advantage to a poor, clutch challenged pick-up.

After buying a repair manual and a few other necessities, I decided the time was right. I dug in. After one other trip to the parts store and a little crawling underneath the transmission, the drive train was running fine. I had done it! I am HUMAN!

So comes this weekend and the weather here is beautiful. Temperatures in the 70s, sun shining and brilliant, one could barely ask for a better day for auto repair. New spark plugs in one hand and tools in the other, I take on the task of performing a minor tuneup on my pickup. In two hours, she was puring her enjoyment as if I had freshly groomed her.


Testosterone was flowing. Another trip to the parts store and I was elbow-deep in the grease and grime and gunk that thrives under the hood of my ex-wife's paperweight of a car. Four spark plugs, two ruined grease rags and a set of spark plug cables, and while the little car wasn't necessarily purring, she was definitely operational and running.

Finish it all off with two or three beers and an hour washing my motorcycle as the sun set over Black Mountain. For all those years I had been told to, "...just let the mechanic fix it." Forgotten over the past 20 some years was the simple joy of performing minor repairs; simply fixing something. There is so much simple joy in these actions.

Saturday Ramblings

I did something a few months ago that was curious in retrospect. I am not going to try and un-do it, rather just observe. I can't blame my old buddies Johnnie Walker or Jack Daniels for this; they haven't visited in quite some time. You see, I signed up for a dating and social website.

Several months ago, I became a little curious about dating again, now that I am single. So I signed up with bikerkiss.com Just for curiosities sake, mind you. I had the impression that dating sites were like meat markets where you show up, pick a cut that pleases you, and, well, get together. I was admittedly wrong... I think anyway.

Even thought I have posted there a few times, dating is not in my realm of interests right now. I think I will leave the account open. Worst case, maybe I will go on a ride with one of the members. Who knows. That is why the account will stay open. The unknown, unseen road.

YES, it is that time of the year, folks. Browse over to http://www.mbiweb.org/2008/vote.html and cast your ballot where it counts. No “hanging chads” or “...she's a monster..” comments or other political rhetoric. Cast your vote in the 2008 Riders Choice Awards. It's fun, interesting and if the wrong candidate wins, it will likely not set any nation into an economic depression or cause global chaos.

That Damn Game!!! With the best of intentions last night, I sat down on the couch to accomplish a little planning for my trip. Coffee steaming on one side, maps on the other and computer on my lap, I settle in for an enjoyable evening of fantasy roads and adventure.

Then my daughter comes out, “What level are you now?” she asks.

“14 or so. You?”

“HAHA, NOOOOOOB. I'm not telling!” And she dances back into her bedroom.

As I log into the game, I think, 'Friggin teenagers.'

It is a game called Mabinogi by Nexon & DevCat. For me, this damned game is rather addictive and fun. DAMN IT! So, 1AM comes and I level to 16 and log off, coffee cold and cat sleeping on the unopened maps. She comes out, “So what level are at now, noob?”

“16,” I stick my tongue out at her.

“You kill a bear yet?”

“No”, I say under my breath, logging back in. She grabs a late night snack & goes to sleep as I am quite soundly trounced by a bear or two. 2:30AM and my blurry eyes and I log off, put the maps away, dump the coffee and fall into bed.

Damned teenagers! Keep your fun and interesting games to yourselves! I'm too old for this crap! Oh... and Stay Off My Lawn! XD

Quiet Journey of 2008

And here we have it boys and girls. A rough map (from maps.google.com) for my planned quixotic journey. I will start in Las Vegas and ride the United States from there to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Places I plan to visit on my little journey include: Laughlin, NV; Flagstaff, AZ; Socorro, NM; Lubbock and Sherman, Texas; Ft. Smith, AR; Springfield, MO, my pseudo-home town, New Boston, IL; some Chicago suburbs; and Dayton, OH.

In all reality, there are only three places that I absolutely MUST go through. These are Sherman, Texas, New Boston, Illinois, and Kitty Hawk. All other places and routes will probably be flexible up to the time I ride on the actual road.

I look at that map and think to myself, 'Am I insane?' Maybe just a little. A certain amount of controlled insanity is required for any adventure.

I know cross-country trips have been taken before, and they are not terribly un-common in the world of motorcycling. Several members of Motorcycle Bloggers International ( http://www.mbiweb.org/) have taken, or plan to take similar rides. What is unique among all of them is the journey. We are all born, we all die, it's the journey that is unique.

Playing the part of Rocinante in my little adventure will be a challenging little steel horse known as a Honda Rebel. Not even 250ccs of engine and I plan on riding 3,300 some miles. Now that's unique.

Or is it? Lois Pyle rode a little Yamaha XT225 Serow from Anchorage, Alaska to Ushuaia, Argentina! I read of a fellow who rode a little Kawasaki Ninja 250 from the East coast to the West. I read of a person who rode a Rebel from Florida to Las Vegas. While not common, it can, and has been done.

It's all in the journey. More to come...

Communication Skills

Several recent occurrences have made me think about my ability to communicate with people. Whether by purpose or coincidence, this internal contemplation is the result. I honestly thought I was at minimum, a fair interpersonal communicator. After some internal dialog and evaluation, I wonder...

One thing I enjoy about riding is the lack of verbal communication. I only ride solo, and as such, talking is not needed. I like it that way. That doesn't mean there is no communication.

On the contrary. When piloting a motorcycle there is a huge amount of communication going on. Palpable, physical vibrations from the tires, motor, brakes, clutch and transmission must be processed. The rider must listen and interpret many things like noise from the wind, bike motor, tires and even wind and tire noise from other vehicles. Visual communications is SO important for safe and efficient riding. Riders must always be alert for visual communications.

Communicating requires a dual pathway for information to flow. A rider communicates with their bike through body movements. Most bikes don't typically understand yelling. Physical communication from the rider is what it understands. There is a syntax and structure and even accents. Twist and lean and brake and shift is part of it's language.

Safe, efficient and enjoyable motorcycle riding is all about perception and action. Communication.

So, those riders out there, if you are like me and feel a little insufficient when it comes to verbal communications, don't worry. If you ride a motorcycle, chances are good that you communicate just fine.

Farkling the Honda Rebel

On a shoestring, of course...

Above is a picture of a small... very small something that passes as a luggage rack, or more properly, a mini-rack. Truth be told, this rack is quite short and narrow. Its functionality seems to be limited to carrying small things like cat food or a two liter bottle of soda or maybe a small extra fuel container.

Part of the problem with farkling a Rebel is the fact that Honda placed the rear tail light and turning signal stems back from the end of the fender. This makes placing larger racks or saddle bags on the bike, a challenge.


Enter ingenuity with a dash of circumstance! Parking my bike yesterday, after our trip to Nipton, I saw a stack of wire mesh squares in the garage. My ex-wife picked these up for a craft project of some sort, but other uses were going through my mind.

They are one foot square and have a reinforcing loop of wire around the edge. My mind started working. If I place one of those on the pillion and bungee it down, I have a nice square platform to strap light groceries or other things to. Perhaps functional for light things, but not really good for heavier items.

Mind still working, I remember some 1/4 inch Aluminum rod stock in the back yard. I can cut those to length and use little metal hose clamps to secure them to the wire mesh, thusly reinforcing it. That buys me a few more pounds but now stability is an issue.

I am still working on this but there is definitely something functional in my mind. I should be able to provide a nice sturdy foundation for dressing my Rebel with these things! No fear. I shall post pictures and a full description after it's all worked out.

Beautiful Day For a Ride!

Ah, the wind, asphalt and humming motor. This wonderful Saturday I decided to take a little road-trip to the tiny little town of Nipton, California. To date, this is my longest trip on my bike. A total of 130 miles.

It was not without problems, or rather should I say irritations. On the way out, I experienced a headwind of about 20 MPH. My little Rebel struggled at times to keep the speedometer at 55. It wasn't just the wind; the uphill riding had a lot to do with it as well. Coming back, with a tailwind, she easily maintained a speed of 75MPH.

Just outside of Searchlight, Nevada there was a guy on the side of the road with a stalled Kawasaki. Big bike. I pulled off the road and with my limited toolbox, helped him take his seat off and check his electrical system. After about 45 minutes of pondering and poking and going through all the fuses, he found the master fuse. Sure enough it was blown.

So, he puts in a spare and the bike starts right up. But why did it blow? He poked around and found it. For one reason or another, several wires were routed next to the exhaust. The heat melted the insulation and zap. It shorted out the electrical system.

I poked around alongside the road and found a partially unused roll of electrical tape! Imagine that! It's funny the things one can find along the side of a desert road! He wrapped the wire in tape, we shook hands and off we went.
Here is a rather poor picture of Searchlight. Unfortunately I couldn't find the camera for this trip. Next time I definitely will not forget it!

At any rate, this was a very nice ride. I contemplated quite a few things as the asphalt rushed by. One is my seriousness with regard to having fun, relationships and enjoying the here-and-now. While in Nipton, I sat outside enjoying a Gatorade, a smoke, great weather and the view of 20 some motorcycles in the parking lot.

As I sit there, a younger woman, maybe 35 or so, curvy, attractive, comes out of the store and playfully yelled something to some other bike riders. She grabbed her breasts and yelled "woo hoo" a few times. I smiled, enjoying the very real, free, somewhat sexual playfulness she had. Somewhere I have that too. I wonder if my bike will carry me down the path to find it. Maybe???

Not a Proud First

Yes, this is a first that I am not proud of. This morning, while making the typical U-Turn back to the office, I low-sided. It was a noob mistake that shouldn't have occurred. I remember in the BRC, both instructors iterating several times to NOT go into a curve too hot. I was too hot.

Luckily there was no traffic coming the other way.

As I leaned into the turn, I remember thinking, 'Oh, I am going to grind the peg a little. No big deal.' Well, it wasn't a big deal until that peg hit a spot of pavement that had a little 1/2 to 3/4 bump. That was enough to jar the rear tire into loosing traction. Down I went.

For me, my knee hurts a little and my left rib cage is killing me. My bike has a bent chain tension lock bolt, and a busted clutch handle assembly. Only about $35 for parts on my bike. Probably a day or two on the couch for me.

Stupidity CAN be painful!

Take care & watch your speed in those curves!

Countersteering

In the world of motorcycle riding, one of the most important but not well understood maneuver and skill is the countersteer. Basically it is steering the motorcycle in the direction opposite of where the rider wants to go. Want to turn left? Steer the bike to the right.

This manuver only works when the motorcycle is traveling at a speed where the gyroscopic effect of the wheels start playing a role in stability. Usually that is around 15 miles per hour.

What countersteering does, is lean the bike effectively in the direction the rider wants to travel. The gyroscopic effect of the wheels help the bike pivot on an axis parallel to the direction of travel.

Perhaps some videos of effective counersteering could help...
Countersteering on a Honda Rebel...


A more scientific description of countersteering...

I hope that helps some of the new motorcycle riders out there that wonder what the heck countersteering is.

Ride Safe!!!

Thoughts on Gas Mileage

My little new Honda Rebel rolled the 1200 mile marker. No champagne or party favors or loud noises. Just her, the road and I.

This mileage milestone sparked a thought; just how much money am I saving by commuting with my motorcycle rather than my truck. So, I whip out the calculator and do some calculating...

For simplicity's sake, I made a few assumptions.

1. My motorcycle gets an average of 60 MPG. In all reality, it is closer to 70 or even 80 or better on a good day. This is not a calculated or advertised MPG, but measured.
2. My Chevy S10 pickup gets an average of 15 MPG. That's on a good day!
3. I drive or ride a monthly total of 1200 miles.
4. Gas costs $3.10 Yes, that is perhaps an average or approximation, but close enough.

So, if I ride 1200 miles on my Honda, I will be using 20 gallons of gas per month. That's $62 in gas per month. Extend out a year, and thats 14,400 miles using 240 gallons of gas, costing $774.

Now, what if I apply the same number of miles to my truck. 1200 miles in my Chevy would use 80 gallons of gas. That's $248 per month! On gas for my pickup! Extend it out a year and it will consume 960 gallons, costing $2,976!

That's a savings of... Drum roll please... $2,202! Just the gas savings alone could pay off my motorcycle in a little over two years.

Here's to a great year of fun riding and gas savings to all!

Relationships

All those knobs. Are they necessary? I have had conversations with people about relationships and whether they need to be complex... with all those knobs.

The resounding answer is a definite NO.

My experience shows otherwise. Granted, I have had limited experience in this respect but I wonder sometimes. One misadjusted knob and that little device could easily overheat. Yes? No? I don't honestly know.

The relationship with my motorcycle is simple. I keep her maintained and she takes care of me. It is simple and reciprocal. There are few surprises.

I ride down the road and forget the clutch and throttle and brakes and gears. We meld together and function as one. I understand that a good relationship should be like this. Sure, there will be slippery spots on the road and she or I may make a mistake from time to time. That is the nature of life.

I wonder if a relationship, a close intimate relationship can be like this. I wonder...

Wind and Enjoyment

What can start as a warm, fair weathered trip can always end up windy and cold. Like today. 2PM and I was out the door to run a few errands and then head out towards Hoover Dam. The warm spring-like air seemed to beckon bike riders to the road. Not five minutes when by that I didn't see another bike.

After finishing my errands, I am off. Riding into the new headwind was a challenge on my Honda Rebel. It's 239 cc motor does very well commuting to and from work at a nice rate of 35 to 55 MPH. Riding uphill into a headwind of 20 MPH is not it's forte.

None the less, I enjoyed the ride. It was more challenge than I was expecting but all the same, a difficult, challenging ride is better than a day in the office.

Pic of my 2007 Honda Rebel 250 with Lake Mead in the background.

By the end of the day, the previously warm air had chilled by ten degrees and wind was gusting to more than 30 miles an hour. To make things even better, the wind had switched directions so going back home, there was also that pesky head-wind to battle with.

Only about 80 of my planned 100 miles. A day well spent.

Detour

“A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery while on a detour” -anon

I had plans today. A quick mid morning ride to work, then onward to the most northern reaches of Las Vegas Boulevard. According to google maps, round trip should be more than 125 miles of mostly empty two lane asphalt.

Even good roads have detours.

Weekends at work are usually non-events. When there are problems though, they are typically serious. Saturday was the beginning of one of those weekends. What I had expected was a quick thirty minute test of our e-mail system. Murphy was busy. A detoured day. Four hours later I needed a break.

Myself and a few other programmers had little to do while the system admins plied their skills. Detour was the theme of the day, why shouldn't a ride reflect that theme?

According to Google Earth, Lake Mead Boulevard exits the city to the east, becomes a two lane highway, winds through the the foothills around Frenchman's Mountain and makes its way toward Lake Mead. As enjoyable as maps and charts and even programs like Google Earth may be, nothing rivals the feel of the road and wind.

And this was a very nice ride. Rather chilly but the sun warming my black leathers ensured comfort. Above is a rather poor map of my route. As a point of reference, the dark green circle in the upper left highlights the Nellis Air Force Base runways. Regardless of how well Google Earth represents Nellis, there is nothing like looking down on the runways, F-16s on one end, holding short for permission to take off.

The light green line follows my path up and out of town. After making it out of the foothills, I decide to take a small paved road known as Pabco Road. Following it north would take the traveler past the Pabco plant, across the original Spanish Trail, then end at I15 and Las Vegas Boulevard. I turn back right after passing signs that read “Trespassing” and “Blast Danger”.

This nice piece of narrow two lane asphalt has it all for a noobie rider. Minimal traffic, smaller hills and valleys, sweeping curves and even a few twisties. I put the little yellow circle on the map to indicate a little challenging section. Coming back, and I should have remembered this, there is a slightly rising hill. At it's apex, the road immediately starts to drop and curves to the left.

Took me by surprise but didn't loose it. I would be lying if I said there was no adrenalin. WHEW!

The dark blue line follows my return path on Pabco Road, then continuing on toward lake Mead. This short run was indeed enjoyable. I lost count of the motorcycles on that road. There must have been at least fifty, nearly all waving or nodding acknowledgment.

At the entrance to the Lake Mead Recreational Area, a set of toll booths, I turn around and return. (Purple-ish? Line) It was rather uneventful but enjoyable. A quiet road with almost no traffic, I buzz myself back to work.

Yes, even detours can be quite enjoyable.

(I am tired, and as such this is probably not one of my better blogs...)

Opportunities and Leather

Several evenings ago I was riding to the local grocery store to buy a little something for dinner. I remember back years ago when my daughter would eat just about anything. Now at the old age of seventeen years, she can be rather picky. If not served too often, roast chicken is good and her complaints only start after three days or so. So, I am on a chicken run.

I pull my bike up and park next to the bicycle rack. Instead of human powered cycles using the slots, a small herd of scooters rest there in the 30-something degree temps. Several look sad, abused and not well maintained. The small scoot on the opposite end of the rack from my bike was a well ridden but clean older white scooter of unknown make.

An attractive woman comes out of the store and turns toward the herd. She looks at me while I take off my helmet and gloves and places her purchases on her scoot.

“Do you have a smoke?” she asks.

I am unsure whether smokers have a 'look,' or maybe there is some assumption that if a person rides a cruiser, they have a higher likelihood of smoking. It is something worthy of some research somewhere or contemplation by someone else. Or... Maybe she was just making conversation... Breaking the ice, so to speak.

“Sure, regular lights OK?” I remove a pack of my 'cheapest generic smokes anywhere' and hand her one.

“Oh, thanks! I left my Marlboros at home and just wanted one before going back there.”

“Do you need a light?”

“No thank you. I have plenty of matches.” Quite polite.

I noticed her eyes first. Deep dark blue with wide pupils. Perhaps my age or even younger, mid or late 30s. Her hair short, maybe shoulder length and somewhat curly, a dark blond.

“You want another for the ride home?”

“Oh really? Sure! Thank you SO much!” She takes it, touching her warm, soft but well labored hand to mine, and places it in the storage compartment under the seat. I notice the typical items there... Matches, tissues, screwdriver, crescent wrench, tire gage and a book. A thick paperback book. What was it? Damn. She closes it too quickly. Grisham? Shoot! Looked like some sort of spy thriller or maybe a science fiction by the looks of the cover artwork.

“Well, ride safely,” I say, waving and walking off, into the store.

Why did I leave like that? Why didn't I ask her out for coffee or continue the conversation? She obviously wanted to talk. What's the harm in talking with someone new? I am restless in the store, somewhat glad to have some separation from a situation of potential verbal intercourse. But, I wondered. Why not ask her over for a quick cup of coffee?

I hurriedly buy my roast chicken and walked out to where the herd rest, hoping for the opportunity to just say “Hi, would you like a cup of coffee?”

She and her white scoot were both gone, to where I may never know. And, that's OK. I really want no one involved with me right now... A recently divorced middle aged man with a seventeen year old daughter, still cohabitating with his ex-wife for financial reasons.

Maybe it's better I wear this leather jacket. Minor, and even some not-so minor abrasions never touch my skin, and I am protected from certain elements of this harsh world. And it helps protect others from me.

Roast chicken strapped to the rear of my bike, I roar singularly off into the night.

1K

Nine hundred forty seven. That is how many miles I have ridden my Honda Rebel since October when we first became acquainted. She had her 600 mile checkup and oil change earlier this week. I must admit a few things. The shifting was starting to be a bit grabby and oil was starting to be discolored. However, I had the engine running pretty well after tuning the carburetor a bit. I just wanted them, aside from performing the regular service, to check the engine tuning.

Well, I know they changed the oil and checked the valve clearance. They cleaned the bike, albeit not as well as I have done in the past. The chain and cables were well lubricated and adjusted, transmission and clutch are nice and smooth now. The idle setting was also lowered to spec. I had adjusted it to be a bit too fast.

However, it still sputters and hesitates at times and now cuts out completely when accelerating from stop and the engine is not completely warmed up. I am working from a disadvantaged point of view. My riding skills and experience is relatively thin, so differentiating hardware problems from rider problems is not as easy as one would think. An experienced Rebel rider could probably determine where the problem lies, or perhaps that there is no problem.

As a whole, I am quite happy with my bike and my progressing skills.

In celebration of our 1k mark, I hope to take a little ride this weekend if weather permits. Perhaps even if the weather doesn't permit we will go. I need the time out. The two of us seem to understand each other; that we need to get out and go. I sense it when we reach 55. She purrs and I relax.

What barely passes as scenery on my daily commute to and from work slips by in slow motion. Not just viewing the scenery, but being part of it, is now vaguely understood. There is a conflict. Las Vegas is the bane of my existence and I yearn to remove myself from this scenery, yet riding integrates my soul further into an environment that I wish to separate myself from.

As with most things in life, there are good and bad aspects to everything; left and right; up and down; positive and negative. Or better, Yin and Yang. Understanding that there is no “good” or “bad” may be one of my larger challenges. There just is.

Embrace Nothingness

Embrace the nothingness of the universe and all knowledge shall flow forth.

The Zen of motorcycle riding is much more than trite allegory. A rider cannot simply rely on reflex and palpable stimuli. Doing so would be too coarse or too slow. One must reach into the nothing of the universe and see all, sense all. Raw processing of all input while flying at 70 miles per hour only inches above asphalt is staggering. Piloting a two wheeled vehicle is not a practice of processing but of trust.

Trust in the physical world. Physics keeps the bike vertical at 50 miles per hour. Physics makes the tires stick to the road when cornering. The environment will always affect the rider and bike in predictable ways. Brakes will work only to a certain predetermined point before the tires loose traction and become ineffective. A motor can only accelerate a bike at a certain rate.

Trust in the ethereal world. The Tao. Nothing and everything. There is a higher being or knowledge or what have you; conventional or not. Trust it is there.

Trust in your inner self. Trust in your abilities. Trust in your skills. Trust in your knowledge. Trust that you have limits.

Lasty, trust that you can meld the physical, ethereal and inner self. That is key in any journey, whether it be on a bike or within the context of a life.

A Crack

A door has been opened a crack. Through it a light that illuminates but does not shine fell forth. All and nothing from within. Only a crack. Gaining a glimpse of eternity, truth in the shadow of a life partially lived.

Unexpected revelations occur at unexpected times under unexpected circumstances. That is the nature of the unexpected. A short ride, a novice on a willing conveyance of the soul. Utter clear concentration and focus allows things to happen within the searching soul. A door. Hinges unused for an eternity creak.

Piloting a car, one may enjoy the concept of free physical travel. On a motorcycle this is a soulful epiphany. Only a small view is sufficient to know the path is right and just; that there are more things in the universe unseen than seen. The soul moves and is freed by the joining of the real and ethereal existences.

Traveling from point A to point B is nothing. So much worldly energy is expended on the points and transitioning from one to the other along a line. In mathematics, points are nothing more than dimensionless coordinates in space. The line nothing more than than a one dimensional entity connecting two points. And this is many peoples' lives complete; the points and lines.

There is more to life. There is everything between.

The door now opened cannot be closed. The light does not blind but is warming and gentle and illuminating. Light reflects from what was, what is and what could be. As the door opens, so does the mind.

130 Miles

One-hundred thirty miles. Two-hundred nine kilometers.

That is how many miles I have ridden since January 1st, 2008, 8 AM. That's an average of about 43 miles per day. Extrapolate that puppy out, and I have 15,695 miles for the year. Not bad, but I want more.

Today was the first day I rode to work, for work. It was exhilarating, empowering, fantastic!!!

On the first day of this year I did go on a little ride. It was all of 25 degrees when I started out. I had no idea how cold 25 degrees was, when on a motorcycle at 50 MPH! WOW! I didn't really let it get to me until the feeling in my fingers started to leave. Then there was no choice. A few quick stops along the road, shove the gloves in the little spot behind the cylinders, hands in pockets, toasty gloves on the hands, and off we go.

The hum of the motor. The smells and sounds. The feel of the road underneath. Attention focused sharply ahead, flying by, to be left in its appropriate place; behind. If life could only be more like that.

Death and danger surround me at all angles. And I am not afraid.

Happy Last Day of 2007!

And I must say, I am not displeased to see this year end. It was a turbulent year in my life, full of ups and downs; highs and lows. But it certainly ended on a high-note.

This weekend, the last of the year, I attended a session of the Basic Rider Course, put on by the Motorcycle Safety Foundation and the College of Southern Nevada. The two instructors, Larry Loyd and Rod Hahn were great. They taught the basics in a way that was gentle to the riding noob, while emphasizing the importance of doing things right. Bad judgment and lack of skill for a particular situation can be deadly, especially in turns and traffic.

Riding in the early morning Las Vegas air was chilly. Saturday and Sunday both started in the mid 30's. After moving around a bit on the bike, the coldness just seemed to fade away.

Saturday riding was fun. I discovered that I REALY liked the weaving exercises. REALLY! I was weaving in & out like nobody's business! Third gear seemed like it would be fun, but that might have been too much...

Sunday morning was more range and practice time. Fast swerving around an obstacle. Oh my. I can swerve without thinking on my Rebel, but here on this little Nighthawk, my brain just seemed to cramp up. Then there were other things that started to tick me off. The bike would skip into neutral on it's own some times. I would forget the kill switch when starting. I only turned the fuel valve partially on once. I was overly heavy on the rear brake and not heavy enough on the front brake.

I was frustrated. All of the exercises I completed were ok after a few runs, but things simply were not clicking like Saturday.

Practice over. Break time. Larry and Rod briefed us on the practice; we were doing well and about two hours ahead of schedule. While we went to the restrooms, smoked, whatever, they would set up the range for the skills test. I was first in line.

Test one – The figure-eight-in-a-box. Previously I had dropped my foot twice out of about six practice runs. I was a little nervous. What the hell. I go for it. NOT a problem. No dropped feet or bike; no wheels over the line. YEA!

Next was the avoidance swerve. After practicing the thing about two dozen times that morning, I aced it.

Third test was the fast stop. Lost three points for not stopping soon enough. Analysis: On my Rebel, the front brakes are quite strong. It doesn't take much front to stop it. So on the Nighthawk I had for the test, the front was a little weak and the rear grabby. So, I skidded the rear. Oh well. That's just three points.

Next was the 130 degree turn. It was timed. Aced that puppy, but then again, I like the curves! Even ground the foot pegs on the Nighthawk a couple of times in practice!

So, in my pocket is a little piece of paper that instructs the DMV to give me a license with a motorcycle endorsement! That is one helluva way to finish off 2007!!!

Burn-Out

Last Saturday I was spending a little 'alone' time, simply e-baying and writing and so forth. I open Chapter 3 of Blood and Snow and start in with my little brain dump. As luck or fate or karma or whatever would have it, my brain dump stalled. I just stopped. Like someone threw a switch somewhere; broke the circuit. I wonder... Is the end of a life like that? Like someone throwing a switch?

burnout – from dictionary.com

1. a fire that is totally destructive of something.

2. Also, burn-out. fatigue, frustration, or apathy resulting from prolonged stress, overwork, or intense activity.

Life burn-out. I am just tired of so many things. Burn-out is probably the best definition. At work, I know I am capable but things really don't hold my interest. I used to be a 'go-getter'. Now, if I am done and there is nothing apparent to do, I will just surf the web or do something non-productive. That is SO not like me. I like productivity; doing something that has a goal.

I look at a problem and know I can solve it. A little voice somewhere whispers 'WHY?' That little voice is intruding on several parts of my life, it would seem. Perhaps, just perhaps... that little voice will not like the solitude of the open road.

However, I have a sneaking suspicion it will take more than an afternoon ride to rid my brain of that voice. It has been with me for quite some time. At times, his little apathetic 'WHY' is warm and comforting. Maybe that is a peek into my own apathy; my own depression.

For my sake, I need a solution. Not a band-aid or temporary fix; a solution.

My Daughter Has Great Musical Tastes...

Some days I wonder where the youth of today are headed. I doubt many.

Then I see something, hear something like this and I am assured in my soul that the future is in good hands.

Thank you, Bri.

---The Frey - How to Save a Life---
Step one you say we need to talk
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best
Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you've told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you've followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he'll say he's just not the same
And you'll begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
How to save a life
How to save a life

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life
How to save a life

Saturday Night Thoughts...

Special note: I have had a few drinks... nuff said.

It sucks when you loose a friend for what ever the reason.

I am SO broke. I promised my daughter she would be signed up for the classes she needs to graduate, before Christmas break. I couldn't pay for it... not enough money because I was stupid enough to loan my ex enough to fix her car. Now, not only can't I pay for her school, but I can't buy her Christmas gift - A new keyboard..

Can't pay credit cards, can't pay the regular bills. My truck broke down early December and had to spend $700 or so. Well, didn';t have to. did

Was moving out a week ago. No go. Not enough money. Still here

Here indefinite

Jitter... Sad... Must move on.

Blood and Snow - Chapter 2

And here is chapter two from my brain-dump. As this is flowing from brain to keyboard, it seems I have seven chapters in total. I'm not asking, and my gray matter isn't telling. :-) So... Here is two-of-seven...

Bulldog slumbers and smiles, his friends laughing and playing in this mortal universe; mortal but immortal. Need.

Friend honor betrayal. I make happy. Battle within not without, I fail; loose for my strip of recursive iteration. Paper. Judge. It is done.

Friend and mate walk away to the shade of an oak. Marlow and I subsist. Cookies of grain. I work and learn and fail; more school to be a notch up. Up. A thrown wine bottle, night, green park and smoke.

Twist. Hot sweaty nights in my cave. Universe dark from my own blanket of depression and honest understanding. Poke and prod for light and I see through a tunnel but resist, comfortably warm in my blanket.

And there she is. Embodied lust to illuminate. My world is bright while dark matter and orbiting rocks remain at bay; stable but unstable; waiting for the fateful; the inevitable.

Quickly jump my dear frog. Electrode to muscles I push the buttons, hand held by another. I enjoy and am consumed by this new universe. Twisting beautifully into a spiral galaxy. Beauty in the chaos.

Twist and conjoin and lustfully consume. Wait! Slow! Too soon! No! Hold On! Plans and hopes scream! They fall asleep; inattention. Red banners pushed to the periphery.

Warm in my new blanket I revel in the possibilities. I am desired. Plans and another carriage. We join under the darkness of privacy and another mortal paper is signed in watercolor black. I ride along in the back of the truck. Smiling, I sleep.

Into the Fire Again

Just some ramblings & a little update.


Saturday started as rather benign. That was a blessing since Friday was a rather confusing day. I am not exactly sure what to think. I am no stranger to confusion but this certainly came from an unexpected direction.

I am out driving the ex-wife to a store Saturday to get something; a simple hour trip. The water pump on my truck locks up. $650 to get it fixed. But I had planned on moving in a week; moving out of chaos. $150 for taxis and other associated expenses. Hat to wait for four hours or so for a taxi.

So I had to use my apartment money to repair my truck. I didn't have to, but if I didn't then I couldn't move. Sure, I could have rented a moving truck, but that would be more unexpected expenses.

No choice; back into the fire until February. And my daughter will suffer. I see echoes of my ex-wives behaviors in her. I have failed her in some way. I know it.

Until later...

Blood and Snow - Chapter 1

Here it is. It is more than a little cryptic and odd and strange; somewhat like parts of my life! I am not going to explain this; only say that this is a flow, right from brain to computer. All I am doing is correcting the spelling.

---

Dawn. My adolescence blooms into a rancorous period of puberty. Smells and tastes and touches and sites are different. Adrenalin and hormones mix in an intoxicating cocktail of manhood. The way of wandering the woods wondering of animals and monsters and glaciers and storms pass, allowing a new sentient being to emerge.

Strength and intelligence and desire spread out to the world. Senses heightened to my body and its inherent biological purpose. Disinterested girls skirt my universe with little more than passing glances. Inner galaxies tumble into serene pools of my mind as day after long day pass.

There, amid the din of daily parochial life she emerged from a newly birthed world. Dawns were deeper blue and sunsets a deeper crimson. Hands and lips and bodies touched; Devils and angels merging to form a being not unlike the one before. Full was I with life and death.

Pappa. My blood. My progenitor. My teacher. Floating on a tempest sea, raft of cornstalks and broomcorn. Impermanent, fibrous existence stripped from inside and out. His heart tired and broken rages no more. Eyes still, cold and sunken. The bulldog rips and discards the straw and sticks floating on the surface. Rest well my father, may you farm in peace forever. May the tears of my soul provide gentle spring rains and may you never worry of many things solely within the domain of this, my mortal world. I pray this to repay my foolish choice as our small world; my childhood home sold to the highest bidder with nary a tear or shudder. A singular word, “YES,” never uttered.

My carriage passes by a singular tulip on the bank. I know her from another time and another existence. Her beauty absorbs the color from nearby space with the promise to repay the debt double over. Light and her very essence swirls and plays around my soul as I pass. I freely drink the brilliant red laughing tendrils of memory swirling within my consciousness. An acrid intruder bursts forth. I twist left and right, knowing my universe has changed but not immediately how. I see him. The bulldog of brimstone and smoke tramples the singular tulip and exits this dimension, leaving only a cloud burning flesh in exchange for now nonexistent happy futures.

My mate and I weep over a singular perfect tulip petal mired in mud and blood and asphalt. The bulldog did not accomplish his insidious goal. Another younger tulip grows unseen. Tiny narrow green shoots of youth peek through the otherwise lifeless ground, promising to honor its mother's debts.

Dark gas of death comes forth when summoned. Filling the cage with odorless stench. The bulldog laughs. Blooms wilt and die, their invitations for the gas' visit etched in their eternal souls with a rusty nail. Sobbing and confusion and sadness saturate the universe and the world's oceans are filled with the tears of fond friends. A fleet of boats pitch to the storm. The bulldog sleeps and the dark odorless gas leaves a permanent tendril of its existence throughout all universes.

White beauty of youth, long black hair, flowing wedding dress. Simplicity. Bounding through the fields and forests of exuberance and youth and lust do we go together. Touching and experiencing. More responsibility that others but in the same, less. Trees of knowledge grow for us and we eagerly consume their offered fruits. Ageless streams, fed by virgin springs quench our lustful thirst and baptize us unto nature.

I please. Anger and conflict do I avoid. Tales and fables told to settle and calm. I scar my own soul. Only ten lengths down the road I see. Not a single sin did I commit but tales continue. Discontented smoke swirls, words to cover. Why? 'Tis not a sin? Yet down that path I continue.

Bikers Against Child Abuse - Another PSA

BACA International

Bikers Against Child Abuse

Tumbling in My Brain

There is another tale tumbling around in my brain. This is an important one, I feel. It is close to my heart and must be written. It is not something concrete, but rather flowing. It is full of cryptic symbolism and unexpected references.

I see a sharp turn up ahead at the crest of a hill. I know not what direction it shall take me; sharp to the right or sharp to the left. I only know it is there, and that knowledge keeps me safe... relatively so.