Get it in Gear!

A vital function of an operational motorcycle is the transmission, which means that a vital function of the motorcycle operator is the ability to shift gears! One would think that shifting gears is no big deal - pull in clutch, tap the shifter into the next gear, release the clutch and you are back on your way. But like so much in riding and in life, it is a bit more complicated than that.

The problem lay not so much in the physical aspects of dis-engaging and re-engaging the transmission as in the consequences of said actions, which is really the important part. Pulling and tapping are actions necessary to accomplish the task of transferring power from the engine to the wheels. Clumsy, sudden, or inefficient engagement of clutch and shifter is a prescription for trouble, since those actions affect the transfer of power, and transfer of power is what makes a motorcycle go ... or not.

Racers spend a lot of time thinking about how to improve shifting, since every fraction of a second matters. Smoother means faster, faster means more efficient, and more efficient means time is saved - the secret to winning a race. Folks such as Lee Parks take that knowledge and share the insights with us every day riders. In his classes Mr. Parks spends no little amount of time on how to efficiently shift gears and one important aspect is what is termed "pre-loading" which simply means that you gently nudge your shifter prior to needing to shift. By doing so the amount of time and energy it takes to actually shift into gear is reduced, producing the probability of a much smoother shift.

Given how often we hear the phrase "get it in gear" it seems to me that this concept of pre-loading, of preparing yourself to move from one activity or level to another, is a concept applicable to life. This really came home to me this past week.

The Christmas seasons often brings out the best and the worst in people, which means that as a pastor I must respond to a variety of situations. The other day I had spent the morning in pastoral care, listening to concerns and fears, sharing sadness at loss, trying to offer comfort to folks in distress. Then the secretary came into my office to tell me of an aggressive and confrontative person in the Church; she was scared and needed some assistance. As an urban church we have lots of folks come through seeking help and most are polite, respectful and appreciative. But now and then you get some folks with mental health issues and other folks who are just plain mean.

This guy was the latter.

I went out, chatted with him and offered him the services we have available; however, we require folks to give us their names and he absolutely refused to do so. I twice explained to him why we do this and he continued to act in a belligerent manner. I told him that I respected his position and without thinking I reached out and gently touched his arm as I did so.

Big mistake. And I know better; when confronted by an angry person you DO NOT touch them, as regardless of how gentle the touch they will respond to it as an attack. But I was still in "pastoral" mode where a gentle touch is reassuring and comforting. I had not "pre-loaded" myself so that I was prepared to shift gears quickly and efficiently and deal with this gentleman in a manner appropriate and effective for his situation.

The end of the story is that the guy became even more aggressive, I asked the secretary to call the police (if I was going to get smacked in the snout I would rather have the cops on the way before getting pummeled than after), and then escorted him out the door. He went without physical violence and my snoot remained without need of physician, much to my relief.

All of us in life are faced with various and sundry demands on our persons and our times. I have a hunch that a lot of conflict emerges because we have not adequately pre-loaded and prepared ourselves to shift gears as necessary: unexpected demands and needs often result in us responding with anger, frustration, or confusion which then leads to conflict.

I have no handy-dandy method to suggest how to accomplish this pre-load. Sometimes I remember to do it on my bike, and sometimes I don't. The same is true in life. But the more we adequately pre-load, that is, the better we are at preparing ourselves to shift gears, the smoother the transition. And smooth is good!

Traction

I've got traction on the mind, which is no surprise given that I have moved to a record rainfall season in Seattle from "it's a dry heat" Arizona. Traction, the adhesive friction that exists between tire and road, is vital as it is what allows you to go, stop, and stay upright.

Traction is generally not much of a problem on Arizona roads given temperatures such that the tire practically melts onto the road. Add broad, flat, straight streets and you have the perfect environment for tootling down the road admiring the scenery.

Not so in Seattle, where hills abound and the curves are so numerous as to make one wonder if the bike will ever stand up straight again. Add a bazillion cars dripping all kinds of fluids on to a road that never seems to completely dry out, and that is a prescription for disaster if one tootles down the road admiring the scenery.

At most the amount of traction a motorcycle tire has is an area about the size of a deck of cards. Add lean, acceleration, or braking to the equation and that area decreases exponentially; factor in loss of traction due to a slippery surface and the actual size of contact patch that keeps the bike on Terra firma is frighteningly small. So while it is amazing how little traction is actually necessary to keep you rolling safe and sound, the moral of the story is that Traction is Good.

Traction is good ... for motorcycles AND for human beings. You see, traction is really just the friction created between tire and road surface and while we generally think of friction as a bad thing in human relations, it is actually necessary. We human beings are constructed for action and inter-action; just like a muscle which should be used rather than rested or it will atrophy, so it is with human interaction, or traction, which is the adhesive friction which exists between one human and another. If we don't find it naturally, we will create it artificially.

If there is no adhesive friction which allows us to move, we will create it, whether by so doing it allows us to move forward OR backward in the relationship. We just can't stand still!

I just spent six years serving in a retirement community and I found that those men and women who had given thought to retirement and sought creative expressions for their lives were delightful, healthy, well adapted folks. Those who had not done so were often petty and argumentative nit-pickers who, because of the lack of meaning in their lives, sought to create meaning out of the most meaningless issues.

But the same is true of working folk; if you have a job that is mostly enjoyable and provides opportunity for creative expression, life is good. If you don't have such a workplace, or have one which provides TOO MUCH traction (which in the interaction of tire and road prevents you from moving at all) or friction, life is not so good either.

Too little traction and you slide out of control; too much traction and you can't move. So finding the right amount of traction may be the secret to life, just as it is to happy riding.

Pay Attention

'Tis the season when we think of shepherds and Stars, Magi and mangers, Angels and announcements. I have been thinking about all of the above, but especially about Angels and announcements.

My morning commute takes about twenty minutes, give or take. After riding it for about three weeks now I have the route down, know where the bottlenecks are located, the best angles to take during wet weather and dry, and have the green light timing down so the communte moves pretty well most mornings.

But as with all things in life, there is an "X" factor: the Other Driver.

Washington is a hands free state, which means that you are not supposed to text, talk on your cell phone while it is in your hand, check your email, or perform any of the other tasks available through that tiny hand-held device that has more computing power than the Apollo 11 moon rocket. But of course we humans are quick to affirm that laws only apply to other people and it has been my observation that the hands free law is visible more in its disregard than its application. Commuting in the early-morning darkness, when the glow of the the hand held device is more obvious, has only strengthened that view.

Most mornings are not too bad, but today was particularly pernicious. I was cut off twice by boneheads checking messages while changing lanes, once by a guy pulling out in front of me and then slowing down as he dialed a number, and one woman who weaved all over the road as she leaned halfway across the car to dig in her purse for her phone. Luckily none of this provided any real threat to me as I continually adhere to the best piece of motorcycling advice I ever received: Just assume that everyone in a car is out to kill you and ride accordingly.

So I am a pretty attentive driver. Which brings us back to Angels and announcements. One of my favorite movies is "Michael" starring John Travolta. Travolta plays the Archangel Michael, who accompanies a group of hack writers heading back to their corporate office, all the while engaging in various adventures. It is a sort of cosmic journey film.

Two scenes in particular stand out for me; the first is when Travolta announces to the questioning of the angel expert played by Andie MacDowell that he is "not that kind of angel" and the second with MacDowell where he shares remarks on her character with stunning revelation. In a state of shock at his cogent observations, MacDowell says to him "How do you know that?" To which the Michael character responds: "I pay attention."

Therein lay a key to much of life: "I pay attention." How often do we fail to pay attention - while driving, while working, while conversing with friends and loved ones - and thereby cause harm? To pay attention is an act far more complicated than simply hearing the words or observing the scene, for it involves living with others and for others. Paying attention is the process by which we deeply inhale the moment and all of its implications, for us and for others, which can reveal far more than mere words.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once observed "What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say." That's paying attention - comprehending the meaning which exists beyond the words.

Regardless of one's faith stance, this is a season to be reminded of the value of paying attention, particularly to issues that transcend our own immediate wishes and desires, like checking messages or attaining the new record for commute time. Pay attention, for this is a season when angels abound ... and not always in the guise in which we expect!

It Is What It Is

Commuting in heavy, urban traffic is no picnic, so I garaged the big, heavy, great-for-wide-open-spaces cruiser for the smaller, lighter KLR650 (since nick-named "The Beast"). I bought the KLR, a single cylinder, dual sport bike in Arizona and used it primarily for off-road adventure with a buddy (accompanied with lots of bruises). The KLR is great off-road but lacks that little extra "umph" you can use when accelerating in traffic. But given that my wife prefers window coverings and carpets over a new motorcycle (hard to imagine, huh?), I am stuck with it in a different role. So I figured I would do some modifications to juice it up just a bit.

Thank God for the internet and the thousands of folks who work on and communicate about, their bikes.

My first thought was to add a new exhaust, as doing so on my Harley project bike (Puff the Magic Dragon) had really pumped up the torque in the mid-range RPM's. So I started researching what others had done and was shocked at what a learned. Adding a new exhuast adds 1 or 2 horsepower at best, and even a cheap exhaust system costs $300+. So maybe you rejet the carbs as well at a cost of another $50-$100. But again that nets only one or two additional ponies to your stable. And on and on it went. It finally occured to me that with probably $1000-$1500 worth of changes and an incredible amount of work I could increase engine performance by about 5 HP. Does that make sense? Especially after you have already spent $500 adding protection to the bike for off-roading (which you shold now remove, since added weight decreases performance). Fifteen hundred dollars is a nice down payment on a new bike!

But I figured there must be some solution to my perceived problem, so I kept reading and the more I read, the funnier it got. For example, there was lots of discussion about making your KLR perform well enough to do wheelies.

Huh? Why would you buy a single cylinder dual sport bike, spend an amount equal to 20% or more of the original cost to modify it just to get it to do wheelies? You can buy some beautiful and relatively inexpensive bikes - Kawasaki Ninja, Ducati Monster, Honda CBR, Yamaha FZ8 - that will do wheelies right out of the box for about the cost of the original KLR plus mods. Why would you buy a bike meant for a particular purpose and then try to dramatically alter it to fit another purpose?

And then I began to think of the many human relationships I have witnessed over the years where folks fell in love with someone and then tried to change them into something else. Why would you fall in love with someone, presumably because of who s/he is, and then try to get that person to change into something else?

Why would you fall for an alcoholic and then be surprised that s/he does not quit drinking?

Why would you fall for a person who has never met a budget s/he liked and then be surprised that they are always broke?

Why would you fall for someone who says they never want to have kids and then be surprised that they actually don't want kids?

There is a difference between necessary adaptation and change for personal preference. All of us have to adapt to changing circumstances at various times in life: if you lose a job and have to change your lifestyle, you do it. If you grew up as an only child but married someone from a large family, you figure out how to make holiday's work. That's adapting to fit circumstances. If your spouse loves his work as a caprenter, you can't change him into a rocket scientist; if your kid loves reading more than running, you can't turn her into a track star. That's trying to change someone for personal preference.

I bought a dual sport and now I ride it primarily for commuting. It will never have the zip I would like for commuting, but it sure is a safe and dependable ride, well adpated to commuting. It is what it is, and actually, that's quite good, so I think I will quit trying to change it. Guess my wife will get her window coverings and carpets after all ...

Be Prepared

It doesn't freeze in Seattle ... except when it does. It doesn't snow in Seattle ... except when it does. And yesterday it did both. And the roads were messy but worse, the drivers were terrified. When you have little experience driving in snowy, slippery, weather on hilly, curvy terrain, it can lead to trouble. And I saw lots of it - cars sliding, people over-reving their engines and spinning their tires (which only increased the sliding) and this morning on the way to work a plethora of abandoned vehicles.

I must admit it was not the weather that worried me, but the unprepared drivers and road crews. Now, to be fair to both, in truth there are only a few days each year of of snow/ice in this part of the Northwest, and as we in the ecclesial business say, "You can't build a church for Easter Sunday" (though perhaps we should re-think that ... grist for a future blog) so stewardship dictates that highway and road maintenance folks not spend the huge amounts of money necessary to buy equipment and chemicals. It is simply more cost effective to let most businesses shut down for two or three days each year. And it is fun to have a couple of "snow days" as well.

But having lived and driven in the Chicago area and not completely cognizant of the above mentioned realities, we ventured out last night to have dinner with some folks. But before we did I threw some some sutff in the back end, just in case. Be prepared. And I was, even though I didn't need it. But a lot of other folks sure did.

I wonder how often in my life that little Boy Scout motto has saved my bacon? Be Prepared ... which in this instance means having the right gear available if you need it AND constantly looking ahead for what might cause some trouble. Just like you do when riding a motorcycle - so being prepared is all about thinking a few moves ahead, like in chess.

Driving in snow/ice Be prepared means keeping a safe following distance, using a low gear, and especially watching out for what kind of bone-headed maneuver that other inexperienced, unprepared person just might do. Be prepared means watching the behavior of other cars in certain spots and either following or avoiding those spots. Be prepared means relaxing your vision and taking in the whole view rather than focusing on any one place or thing. Be prepared means applying the lessons of motorcycle riding to auto driving, like understanding that the vehicle by nature wants to go straight, squeezing the brakes instead of stomping on them, not over-reacting, using momentum to get you up a hill, following a line, braking before you think you might need to brake ...

It has been almost forty years since I ended my direct association with the Boy Scouts of America, but the lessons learned still hold, for riding, for driving, for living. Who da' thought?

Be prepared.

Giving & Taking

Had my brand-new rain gear stolen from the office the other day. After a wet early morning commute I hung it up on the coat rack to dry and later went out to have coffee with a member. When I got back to the office it was gone ... no doubt an impulsive grab & go crime of opportunity.

I have been robbed several times in my life; once it was a new coat (not yet completely paid for), another time some equipment from my back yard, but the weirdest was my car radio. I got a call around 4 AM that a parishoner had been in a bad accident and was not going to make it. I jumped into the car, put it into gear and headed off for the hospital. Trying to wake myself up I reached down to turn on the radio and found myself reaching into an empty dash instead. The worst part is that at the time I had a Schnauzer that barked at everyone and everything - mailman, parishoners, small children on bicycles, old people with canes, flies - you name it. But the lousy mutt slept through the great radio rip off. Worthless bag of bones ...

Anyway, I must admit that my first thought was "Somebody is going to die." Not exactly the most spiritual response but typically human and pretty much what I have thought every time I have been ripped off. But in each instance afer my temperature dropped my faith climbed; for me to lose a coat or a radio or rain gear is a real pain-in-the-ass, but not the end of the world. When I lost the coat I was cold for a few days and now I will be wet for a few days - not exactly Armegeddon. I won't say that it does not aggrevate me to need to replace the gear, but the truth is that I have a warm home in which to dry off, a loving wife and family to embrace, a job I love and good friends with whom to whine (and wine). My life is pretty darn good. Faith reminds me that I must never confuse temporary inconvenience with authentic loss.

Some folks are cold and wet every day with little option for changing the situation and while I do not condone theft, I do know that when we are miserable we commit acts that might otherwise be alien to our behavior. Thus I choose to affirm that the act was inappropriate but the need great, shrugged off my loss, got on the internet and ordered some new gear and am grateful that I can afford to stay dry on a rainy day.

But in the midst of this I struggle with a far more important question; my faith tradition states that if someone takes your coat you should give them your shirt as well. So I wonder: What if the person who took my rain pants had just looked me in the eye and asked me for those pants, would I have given him my coat as well? Would I have had the authentic courage of my convictions and walked the walk, or would I have said something preacherly like "I'll pray for you" which is a lovely sentiment but does nothing to actually reduce suffering at the moment? Would I have voluntarily chosen to be inconvenienced for just a short moment to help another person, as my faith demands?

Of what value is faith if it does not cost us a little bit now and then?

I think I'll head out and take a ride in the rain ... it will remind me how lucky I am.

Idol-Idyll-Idle

I pulled up next to a guy on a scooter at the stoplight. I purposely looked over to give the guy a thumbs up - it was a rainy, miserable day but in spite of that we were both rolling on two wheels. But he studiously avoided me, concentrating on staring straight ahead; when the light turned green he hit the gas and whipped through the intersection. As I eased on the throttle and slowly let out the clutch I found myself shaking my head and thinking, "What an idiot. Gunning it like that on wet streets is a perfect way to find yourself laying on the ground."

But then I had another thought: "Why that behavior?" And while I am not a mind reader and cannot know for certain, it occured to me that perhaps this guy had been treated poorly in the past simply because he rode a scooter. It's 2010 and some folks still have this 1960's Mod vs. Rocker mentality (look up the movie 'Quadrophenia' set to the music of the Who if you are unfamiliar with the reference).

I have a couple of good buddies who ride scooters and they have told me about some of the crap they take from so-called "bikers" who are usually weekend warriors riding high-dollar, pimped-out toys. These types imagine themselves as outlaws but they are really just wannabe's; watch them and you can see that they are just accidents waiting to happen. They confuse appearance with essence and have thus created a false idol, mistaking the outer covering for the inner reality. They think that looking the part makes you the part, that the clothes make the man. Nope - they just prove that advertising works.

One of my scooter-owning buddies had been riding two wheels for forty years ... and then he got cancer. Physically he can no longer swing his leg over a saddle or handle the 700 pound hog he rode all that time. But he wanted to ride so he got a spry little 400 cc scooter that will get and go, and he can still feel the wind. He understands essence.

And every time I see someone on two wheels I give them a wave, because regardless of the machine we all seek the same thing, the essence. You can love the tradition of American Iron, the sexiness of the Italian bikes, the supurb engineering of German craftsmanship, the absolute dependability of metric machines ... it doesn't matter, because it's all good.

It's not the bike, it's the ride.

How Bad Could It Be?

After seven years in the desert, I am re-learning how to ride in the rain. I am also remembering the kinds of gear one should wear while doing so. As a kid in Florida I knew about rain; every afternoon we expected a 'sun shower' which simply meant that the sun was shining and the rain was pouring. I had been in plenty of rainstorms, walked in the rain, run in the rain, sat in classrooms soaked from the rain, and even sailed in the rain. At age fifteen I got my first motorcycle, learned how to ride, so sooner or late I was going to ride in the rain. I knew about rain and just didn't worry about it - how bad could it be?

Real bad.

Little raindrops at slow speeds don't hurt; those same raindrops at 40 or 50 MPH hurt a LOT!!! I should have known better; I grew up around guns and understood the concept of low caliber, high velocity. And in science class we had done an experiment about force, velocity and mass, first propelling a bowling ball against a target and then doing the same with a marble. We measured and compared the effects and quickly determined that getting hit with a bowling ball at slow speed was far preferenable to getting hit with a marble at high speed.

But at age fifteen (actually at most ages) we don't always transfer lessons from one field to another. After all, what do bowling balls and marbles have to do with rain?

Turns out, a lot.

Under the right conditions I actually enjoy riding in the rain, as it affords a nice change (remember I come most recently from the desert - ask me again in six months) and the opportunity to practice riding under different circumstances, both of which have value for me. And I have remembered that there are three basic options (or combinations thereof) when faced with traveling in the rain: don't go there, increase your outer protection, or slow down.

Small is endurable; small with a lot of speed or velocity hurts. The marble experiment taught me that and the rain reminded me of the lesson. Little raindrops can be refreshing and delightful; little raindrops at high speed HURT! Words, looks, or actions can seem small by themselves but when hurled at high velocity, line whenwe are angry or frustrated or embarrressed, can hurt a lot. So depending upon where you find yourself in the intereaction, make a choice: don't got there, slow down, or increase your outer protection.

Idle-Idol-Idyll

Moving from the desert of Phoenix to the dampness of Seattle has brought with it the need for all kinds of adjustments for me and for my machines. The Big Kawi is EFI so that has not been a problem but the KLR and the Harley are both carburated and they have become a bit cranky in the rain.

The KLR is my daily commuter (lighter and zippier in traffic) and the other day it started idling high; it jumped from 1300-1500 RPM up to 1800- 2000 RPM which is not horrible but certainly enough to get your attention. The good news is that this moderate jump can be handled with the idle adjustment screw: just turn it until it gets rough, back it off about a 1/4 turn, and then she settles right in. Whew! When I first moved up here I had some concerns about needing to re-jet the bikes, but looks like I will be OK with far less serious adjustments.

As I was adjusting the idle screw my mind started wandering, as it is wont to do, and I began to masticate on the word "idle" which has all sorts of negative connotations in our American society. Remember grandma's words: "Idle hands are the devils workshop!" We just don't do "idle" in America because we think of it as a bad thing since it is non-productive.

And that is precisely what got me to thinking. When the motorcycle is idling it is not "non-productive" but rather "pre-productive". The energy contained within the machine is simply waiting in a state of preparedness for the opportunity to be activated. And that is often true of us humans as well.

Now and then parishoners will come into my office and find me just staring out the window. I remember once in particular when a very successful entrepreneur came in, saw me and asked what I was doing; I responded: "Thinking." I wish I could have captured the look on his face for it was a mask of utter confusion. In America you don't think, you just do! His pledge the next year reflected his disdain for a thinking pastor ...

But the truth is that when I am thinking I am not idle, but idling, getting prepared for action. Sermons, reflections, or teaching material for classes are not simply plucked from a tree but are the result of well ... thinking! The same is true in any industry - you must have "idle time" to prepare for action/production; time during which the motor is running, fluids are circulating, and one is in that state of pre-production.

Idle hands may sometimes be the devils workshop, but they can also be angels wings, taking us to new heights.

Picking a Line

As mentioned before, keeping your eyes ahead and down the road is a difficult but vital task in riding. Closely connected to this is "picking a line" (significantly different from picking your nose or snorting a line, either of which one assumes would be rather difficult while wearing gloves and a faceshield) which simply means tracing, in your minds eye, the route your tires will follow to a given point. Although you know your ultimate destination, however distant it might be, you recognize that to get there you must pass through a series of other immediate/closer destinations which are at the most only a few hundred yards ahead. So while looking ahead to your immediate/closer destination you pick a line of travel, scanning that line for potential hazards (like bumps, slick spots, or dead animals) and continue doing so as you move through that line. You don't look down directly in front of your tire, but constantly look ahead and extend the line to a new point. And you continuosly repeat this process until at last you arrive at your final destination.

This sounds quite easy but in fact is not because, as discussed in the Sept 10 post Looking Ahead, our natural tendency is to look at our immediate surroundings for imminent danger. To survive we have learned to focus on the problem close at hand. The difficulty with this evolutionary turn in our modern world is that imminent has become a relative term; when one is traveling at 50 MPH imminent can look a long way down the road when in fact it is ... well, imminent.

So it requires great discipline to pick a line, keep you eyes ahead, and then follow that line without staring at it but instead keep tracking ahead to pick a new line. You have to trust the decision and course you have chosen. And of course implied in this is that as you are picking your line, should you observe a potential danger you would adjust to a different line to avoid that danger with plenty of time to spare, thus avoiding the need for any sudden inputs which might result in disaster (as discussed in the Oct 25 post ... see how this all goes together!?).

For example, just the other day I was traveling to work on a dark and stormy morning (oops, literary theft) and following a van which blocked my direct line of sight. In such situations one increases the following distance and makes certain to ride to the outside of the lane in order to increase the possibility of escape in an emergency.

Now, here in the Seattle area I am learning about "Northwest Nice" which means there is a general tendency to allow pedestrians the right of way. The exception proves the rule, however, as some folks do ignore it. We approached a curve and I could see 'round the bend the flow of traffic; at the same time I observed a crosswalk with a pedestrian waiting even as traffic continued to move in disregard of Northwest Nice ... perhaps there is an exclusion for rainy mornings at rush hour? At any rate, I immediately assumed that the fellow in front of me WOULD exercise Northwest Nice and I had better adjust my line of travel to make sure that should he suddenly hit the brakes I had someplace to travel other than his rear bumper, as four wheels stop much better on slick surfaces than do two wheels (remember that "suddent inputs" stuff?). Sure enough, he hit the brakes, I had to slow to a controlled stop, and because of my pre-emptive actions (adjusting line AND slowing down) I stopped with no problem. Whew!

It seems to me that this concept of picking a line has great value in achieving a goal as well. In business circles they might call it following a process, but by whatever name it smells as sweet (more theft - my apologies to the Bard). For example, in my current church we are discussing how we might best leverage our highly desired downtown property to better provide ministry in our setting. Many attempts have been made to do so over the years, but as I have read all the documentation it appears that not enough was done in the way of picking a line; instead folks tended to jump to conclusion - ultimate destination - far too quickly. Frankly some of these conclusions I have found absolutely brilliant, but without a process - a line of travel to follow - they simply were never able to be actualized. When confronted with the need to adjust because of changing circumstances, there was no mechanism to do so.

You can't just look down the road, you have to look through the road, through the line of travel, to discern the best route to the destination and then trust your decision as you move forward. Only then can you avoid potential dangers and be prepared to adjust to changing circumstances.

Slow and Steady

I once took an advanced riding course from a professional racer - the point of the course was not to turn us into pro's, but to reinforce the lessons learned long ago and improve our skills. We focused a great deal on curves - entering, exiting, apex, lines, etc. - and at one point the instructor talked about the importance of "slow in, fast out" in curves. We watched videos of the best riders, like Ben Spies and Valentino Rossi, and he pointed out over and over again how they entered the turn slowly (relatively speaking!) and exited at a higher rate of speed. As he was talking about the point at which to begin acceleration, I said something to the effect of that being the point to "punch it." The instructor smiled and said, "We never punch anything; all inputs are slow and steady."

I have been thinking about that a lot as I adjust to a new climate in the Northwest. I have spent the last seven years riding in Arizona, with a large number of wide, straight, flat dry roads that are pretty forgiving for sudden inputs of throttle or brake. Now I am experiencing a learning (actually re-learning) curve as I constantly remind myself that on wet, curvy, hilly, leaf cluttered roads you never, ever, never-never-ever, "punch it" if you want to stay upright. All inputs should be slow and steady, with nothing fast or sudden.

As I adjust to my new professional position the same rule applies: slow in, fast out, with no sudden inputs. When you find yourself in a new position there are all kinds of possibilities and folks tend to be very excited. But there is also a certain amount of nervousness as people adjust to one another. There is the tempation to leverage that excitement and "punch it" in order to get things done, but I am not sure that is wise. I think there is far more wisdom in taking time to learn about folks, about their habits and preferences, to discern the difference between local tradition versus simple habit, observe discomfort zones, and then set up your line as you work towards a goal.

Slow in, fast out, with no sudden inputs. I know it works on wet streets and I'll let you know how it works in new jobs.

Pump It Up

I went to put air in my tires the other day - after a 1500 mile transport to a different altitude the tires had lost pressure, as expected. One of the worst things you can do is run a bike on low tires - at best it promises a sure-fire prescription for wearing out your tires very quickly, or at worst sluggish response when you need it most. It's too simple a matter not to take care of on a regular basis.

So I checked the tires (I have four different tire gauges - keep trying to find the one that will do the most work for me) and sure enough each bike was low. I don't have a compressor with me and no longer have the advantage of free air just a mile from my home, so it was off to find an air pump. Back In the Day every gas station had one and you could use it for free, but no longer. Up here the water is free but the air costs $.75 per use, which is a pain in the you-know-where. First on the list when we move into our new house is an air compressor.

Anyway, I found a pump at a station just up the block, loaded up on quarters and started the process. As I was filling-checking-filling-checking the tires, I started thinking about how I am not so good about checking my own air pressure and sometimes run low. And I am not talking about air in a metaphorical sense, but real oxygen in the lungs kind of low. We get used to breathing shallowly and forget what a big difference a good cycle of inhale/exhale makes in everyday life. We run on low tires.

When I was training/competing in karate, I was reminded over and over again to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth; the same pattern is used in simple weight training. Inhale and then exhale on the exertion move. Meditation teaches the same technique, whether it is Yoga posture style or just sitting zazen: breathe in and out. Shoot, you can use it to help you open a jar of pickles! But we forget this simple technique in regular moment to moment living. We run on low tires.

The Judeo-Christian creation myth reinforces this understanding of the need for air, for breath. In Genesis it states that God "breathed the breath (ruach in Hebrew, spiritus in Latin) of life" into humanity. At the most basic level there is an understanding that breath is a very foundation of life. No breath, no creation.

So don't forget: Just breathe.

Balance

When you start a new job you are filled with excitement and enthusiasm, just rarin' to go. And if you have half a brain you hit the ground running, trying to learn new systems, new cultures, new people. Add to that the confusion of living in a new town in a new State - you don't know where to find the grocery store, post office, cheapest gas or any of the other bazillion things that are a part of everyday life and you end up running out of gas.


Although there are many important secrets to riding a motorcycle, the most basic is balance. In the Motorcycle Safety Foundation basic course one of the things often asked o fthose who have never ridden a motorcycle is "Can you ride a bicycle?" If you can then learning to ride a motorcycle is just a matter of adaptation because you already have the most basic skill: balance. all those years of my childhood riding that Schwinn I had no idea I was in training for riding a motorcyle. Pretty cool.


The curious thing is that it is easier to maintain balance on a motorcycle at high speed than it is at slow speed. A motorcycle is built to travel in a straight line and if you just point it straight and give it a little throttle, you will have no trouble keeping your balance. People think going fast is the hard part, but it ain't. I've ridden tens of thousands of miles and never once come even close to tipping at high speed. But in parking lots at about one mile an hour ... I once dumped a bike before I even got it started. Had ten things going on in my head, wasn't really paying attention when I jumped on the bike, leaned it too far right as I mounted and over she went. Nothing like a parking lot full of people thinking "Yikes! If he can't even keep it up before he starts it I never want to see him on the road!" to keep your ego in check. Moron.

Try walking straight ahead at a fast pace. No problem, right? Now stand on one foot and lift the other up as high as you can. Big problem!

We all know of the danger of losing balance when we are going fast, when work or school or something else consumes us, but I want to suggest that it the transition points of life, when we are slowing down and coming to a halt, that are potentially more dangerous. We think we are safe, we think we are in control, but it actually takes more mindfulness and skill to handle the parking lot than it does the fast lane.

A Twist of the Wrist

Not too long ago I read an article about the number of sport bikes with less than 500 miles on them that one could find in the moto-graveyards. The point the author sought to make was that the sportbikes available on the market today are WAY more powerful than most average riders can handle. When you have 150 horses right out of the box and can do the quarter mile in under 12 seconds but don't have the proper training or situation in which to do so safely, it is a prescription for disaster. Even though we know better, the simple truth is that most of us men, regardless of our training or actual ability, imagine that we can handle it. The axiom here is "If you have Throttle you will use Throttle" and whether or not you know what you are doing is moot!

The same is true for us men in many arenas; take explosives, for example. My son-in-law Justin (who is really a great guy - I tell my daughter Carly that if she ever gets a divorce I am trading out and keeping him, and she thinks I am kidding!) had some pretty powerful firecrackers one time and just couldn't resist sneaking out to the driveway and lighting one of the little buggers off. The upshot is that he cracked the windshield and blew the trim and blinkers off his wifes car ... who no longer allows him to play with firecrackers!

The point is that power - any kind of power - in the hands of a man is a dangerous thing. Psychologically I suppose it has to do with impulse control, but I prefer to think that we can't help it - it is in our DNA. We are pre-programmed to do stupid stuff; it is our default setting.

Which of course leads to trouble, like blowing up cars or in my case almost having a very long hike. I was riding my Kawi cruiser on a deserted road in western Kansas; it was a beautiful day and I was going WAY too fast. I looked down and realized my carefully calculated MPG had been cut in about half through my over-zealous twist of the wrist and it suddenly became very doubtful that I would reach the next fuel stop. I literally coasted into the gas station. Dumb. But typical. I can't help it - I'm a man. And I have buddies who want me to install a computerized power commander which will boost output. Just what I need, another opportunity to do something stupid. I already scared the bejesus out of myself when I made a few mods to my 1986 Harley and increased torque so much that it jerked my head back the first time I punched it. And the second time ... and the third ... you get the point.

Power of any sort is a dangerous mistress. And we are learning that the seductive nature of power is not limited to men ... the current political situation is demonstrating that a woman is just as prone to mis-using power as any man. It seems that the adage If you have throttle you will use throttle applies to all sorts of situations and can often lead to disasterous consequences.

That's why God gave us a brain and rules, so that we can over-ride our default settings. But it sure ain't easy ...

Unknown Samaritans

We made the big haul from Phoenix to Bellevue, WA last week. Lots of friends helped us load the truck over the weekend and we hit the road early on Monday morning. In Nevada it got messy ... very heavy rain, sleet, hail, and an unexpected detour around Hoover Dam. Seems Homeland Security no longer allows rental trucks to cross over major dams. I get it, but it is frustrating to think that in some ways the terrorists are winning.



Around Henderson, NV it got really messy - I mean the kind of rain/fog/hail that makes you think "I need to pull off the road NOW!!" They literally were shutting the road down behind us. But as we made a curve and hooked up with another highway, I saw a biker moving on down the road. The guy was an excellent rider with lots of guts and confidence - I had already seen two or three bikes pulled off under overpasses, and I must admit if it had been me on the road I would have been with them.



But like I said, this guy was an excellent rider who kept a steady speed, a very straight line, and didn't flinch even when idiots went roaring past him on the left side, kicking up buckets of water as they passed. Now, when riding in the rain and on a slick road the biggest danger is not falling, for if you run the bike at a reasonable speed and are dressed in good gear you are pretty much guaranteed that if you do go down there will be more damage to your pride than your body. It's the 27 cars lined up behind you whose drivers are not paying attention and run over you that causes the real pain! All those "thump-thumps" over your prostrate body can pretty much ruin your day.



So I pulled in behind him since I figured I knew what to look for if he started to lose it and was going at a speed that would allow me to stop and if anybody hit anything, it would be this honking big U-Haul I was driving instead of him. What the heck, I had bought the extra insurance anyway!



So we headed on down the highway, the biker running great lines, straight and true, and never getting rattled by the boneheads roaring past him. I was really impressed but also wondered what he thought of me ... I am assuming he was not a mind-reader and had no idea of who or what I was. All he saw in his rear-view mirror was a big truck with a driving grinning like an idiot. I was grinning because I was so impressed with his riding, but for all he knew I was grinning because I was planning on running him down! He had no idea that I had his back.



And I began to wonder how many times people had protected me without my ever being aware of it. And not just on a bike, but so many times in life. In my profession you are open to a lot of hits, and I wondered how many times parishoners had blocked a personal attack on me. I wondered how many times my mom or my wife or even my kids had covered me without me being aware of what they were doing. I wondered how many strangers had picked up after me, covered up for my inattention or even protected me from my own stupidity. I mean, I am not the only nice guy in the world, so if I would cover this stranger on a bike, how many others must have watched over me?



So there are guardian angels ... and mostly they don't have wings or big messages from God. Mostly they are just normal folks who take a moment to care about others. Wow.

Live to Ride ... A UFO

I pulled into Roswell, NM after a long, hot day through Texas, but in spite of the temperature I was psyched. As a kid I grew up with aliens on the brain, what with The Outer Limits, My Favorite Martian, and The Three Stooges in Orbit on television and Devil Girls from Mars (!), Alien, and E.T. on the big screen, followed by early video games such as Space Invaders. For years I have read various accounts of Roswell and the 1947 UFO incident and of course Area 51 in Nevada. So this was a big moment, one planned for some time and I intended to make the best of it.

I tend to be a proponent of the theory that popular culture reflects current angst. With the rise of industrialism in the west came such novels as Mary Shelly's Frankenstein and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which reflected fear and uncertainty about the reach of science and technology. This fear was revisited during the Great Depression, as filmmakers put their own technological twist on the gothic novels of the 19th century, demonstrating again the uncertainties of technological utopia when faced with the vagueries of climate and the greedy financial manipulations of man. Western's filled the movies houses during the period of World War II and immediately after, when we ardently desired the US Cavalry to ride to our rescue, and of course the 1950's saw peak in the alien invasion genre, the spectre of the Cold War and those "godless Commies" who were out there and going to get us. Crime dramas filled the airways during the chaos of the '60's and today we see that genre, in combination with new horror/alien movies, returning as fear mongers stir up in us the threat of a new invasion of aliens.

I don't pretend to understand what the so-called "reality shows" reflect. Years of serious drug and alcohol abuse, maybe?

All of this comes to mind because of the newspaper headline "Ex-military officers: UFOs real" in my newspaper the other day. The upshot is that a group of former Air Force officers has asserted that UFOs visited their bases and that the government is covering it up. We are just certain that some unknown someone out there is going to travel a bazillion miles to snatch away from us Truth, Justice, and the American Way, and of course the government itself is involved in the conspiracy!

Or maybe not a bazillion miles ... maybe just across the border. But "they" are going to get us, none the less and "government" can be depended upon to help snatch our freedoms. We never get tired of this stuff, do we?!

Anyway, I pulled into my motel, got settled and started making the rounds. I loved the International UFO Museum and Research Center, where they sure do put together a convincing case for the veracity of the Roswell Incident and government cover-up. I chatted with locals and with visitors, some of whom were delightful and others who were clearly nuts ... but fun none-the-less. Some were sceptics, some were believers, and some were just like me: interested in learning more.

We live in a time when we are very afraid of aliens ... a sadly typical response to times of economic uncertainty when we look for scapegoats upon which to heap our fear and anger. We become afraid of that with which we are unfamiliar; having been steeped for a lifetime in an Enlightenment worldview which says that we can control everything, when the reality of post-Modern chaos strikes we seek to place the blame somewhere, to imagine that if we just get control of this one thing, then the world will resume turning on it's proper axis. And right now taht someone is the "aliens" among us. I wish the world were that simple.

The truth is that we do not have an immigration problem and we do not have a political problem, we have an economic problem. And come to think of it, maybe we don't really have an economic problem, but rather a moral problem: greed. I think maybe it is greed that is the true Alien germinating inside of us, just like that slimey critter inside the crew of the Nostromo which, under orders from their corporate masters, had stopped to pick up this horror. They were unwitting slaves considered to be expendable by those in power, motivated only by corporate profit.

That there are aliens I have no doubt; the question is do they come from within, or from without?

This Town

This town is my home, it's deep in my soul

That's why I'm at home even when I'm on the road

I inherited nomadic genes from my mother. If it were not for World War II my dad would never have ventured more than a couple hundred miles from his birthplace, but not my mom. Mom's side was the most nomadic; the legend is that my first English/American ancestor was a Puritan who fled London for the New World after being involved in a plot to kill the king. His family stayed in the northeast for about 200 years, and then the nomadic gene reared its head once and they started heading west again. So it's no wonder she beat feet outta' town as soon as she could, flying a bi-plane with her boyfriend around the midwest, working on the Alcan Highway during WWII, runninga flower shop in Gallup, NM, and travelling all over the country.

So my ancestors were a mix of nomads and settlers. Near as I can figure out, both sides settled in northwest Missouri/northeast Kansas almost 200 years ago. Those are deep roots ... it is no wonder that my daughter Carly has made her home in that region; it's almost as if the land calls us.

The Nomad gene can lay dormant for awhile, but eventually it rears its head again. Scientists experimented with fruitflies, trying to breed certain traits out of them. But even after one hundred generations those traits would pop up. And so it was with mom, and so it is with me.

But then when times get tough, you find yourself drawn to your roots. When mom's first husband - the true love of her life - died suddenly, she returned home to St. Joseph, Missouri and stayed for twenty years. But then she got a new opportunity in another state; I was around by then and mom never tired of telling folks about what happened when she asked me what I thought about moving far away, leaving friends and family. She just beamed when she would recount how as a ten year old I said nothing, just went into my room, packed a bag, and said, "When do we leave?"

But though she lived a long life and travelled far from home, when mom lay dying she told me she wanted to be buried in St. Joe, with her family. She wanted to go home. So we returned her ashes there and as I stood in the midst of my family history, I felt the call to home as well, even though I have not lived there in over forty years. Weird. But maybe not. Maybe all of us who wander carry home with us, which is why we can wander. St. Joe had it's best days around 1890 and was already a town in trouble when I was growing up. But the solid foundation laid as I was a child - the friends, the family, the memories - have served me well over the years. Injust a few days I head off for another new place, another home, another group of new friends. I have come a long, long way from home ... and I have never left home. This town is deep in my soul, and I suspect that is true for many of us who wander.

Link to YouTube video showing scenes of St. Joseph, MO set to Rehab's "This Town": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP9d4wJMOnQ

New Friends

My first motorcycle was a 1970 Honda CL 70. With a single cylinder about the size of my fist it wasn't much - most self-propelled lawnmowers today have more horsepower! But it had two wheels, it was mine, and with it came freedom. It was a new friend that allowed me to expand my horizons and make many more new friends.

Over the years I have made many new friends; some were of the mechanical kind and had names like Honda, Kawasaki, and Harley-Davidson, while others were of the human species with names like Kelly, Dale, and Belinda. Some machines had single cylinders, V-twins, or in-line four's, but each delivered on the promise of getting me from one place to another. Some people were heterosexual, others homosexual; some Caucasian, others people of color, but each delivered on the promise of human relationship, of kindness and grace.

So both had something very important in common - they opened my eyes in new and exciting ways. Each provided me with new experiences and understanding.

I have never understood motorcyclists who disdained rides other than their own brand. You can be loyal to a brand (I am a primarily a Kawi guy myself) and still appreciate what other bikes bring to the scene. Each type of motorcycle has its own wonder and beauty. Who cannot love the rumble of American Iron, or the incredible dependability of the Japanese imports? Or marvel at the superb engineering of the Germans or curvacious sexiness of Italian makes? Each has something distinct and wonderful and can open us to a new and deeper level of understanding, just like a new friend. At every invitation I am offered I try out a new bike - make a new friend - and see/experience the world in a different way.

In just one week my wife and I load up the truck and leave Phoenix, Arizona for Bellevue, Washington. We leave a lot of good friends here ... just as we have in Glen Ellyn, Waterloo, Wichita and so many other places. And we will make a lot of new friends in Bellevue ... just as we did in Glen Ellyn, Waterloo, Wichita, and so many other places.

I have never understood human beings who disdain humans other than their own brand. You can be loyal to a brand (I happen to be an American Christian, myself) and still appreciate what other cultures and religious traditions bring to the table. I have been privleged to worship with Hindu's, Jews and Muslims and each has taught me something new and wonderful. I spent five years sitting Zazen with the Buddhists and treasure every moment of that experience and every lesson learned.

There is nothing like a new friend, regardless of brand. They open our eyes, they give us new insight, and they provide us with an expanded view of the world. I'm looking forward to my new friends in Bellevue, both human and mechanical!

Commonweal & The Law of the Bro

One of the lessons I learned when I began to rebuild old bikes is that if you replace one old or broken part on the bike, the other parts get jealous.


"You love First Carburator more than me," says Second Carburator after I have replaced a gasket on leaky First Carburator. And like any jealous sibling, Second Carburator decides to act out and leak as well, and of course at the most inopportune spot, just like when your kid throws a screaming fit in the grocery store where there are eight hundred potential witnesses that prevent you from duct taping the little bugger to the cart .... oops, did I say that out loud?


Anyway, as I was testing the 1978 Cafe Racer (picture) after completing some modifications, I smelled gas, looked down and saw Second Carburator leaking like a sieve. With age comes wisdom and wisdom dictated that, given the high temp of a running engine AND the Arizona desert, I shut down the bloody machine and pull over to the side of the road to see if I could apply a temporary fix to prevent some sort of spontaneous combustion that would in future years be ascribed to aliens from Planet X.


A short digression: in Motorcycle Mythology, there is the Law of the Bro' which states that should one Motorcyclist see a Brother Motorcyclist stopped by the side of the road, Bro #1 should stop to inquire if Bro #2 is having trouble or simply relieving himself. Such consideration for the stranger and sojourner is an act which benefits the common good, and can be traced back thousands of years, as virtually all sacred texts commend this act to be honored among all people. It can be seen as altruistic but it also prudent; I may need your help one day and our mutual survival depends upon acting for the common good, so a moments inconvenience is little investment in potential future compensation.


Now back to our narrative. I was pulled over on the side of the road, laying under the motorcycle with parts and tools scattered about, trying to figure out what to do (Note to self: When traveling with small children and motorcycles ALWAYS carry duct tape) when I heard the rumble of not one but of many V-twin engines. Oh joy, rapture! The cavalry has arrived ... help motors ever closer with the roar of American Iron! Surely one among them will have some duct tape ...


But as I peered out from under the bike to welcome my saviors, I my jaw slackened as, one by one, they motored on down the road, without so much as a "Howdy-do" or "That'll teach you to ride metric!"



The words which crossed my lips in those moments would do a sailor proud. I brought down upon those buggers the wrath of Zeus, Kali, Czernobog, Loki, Set, Cybele, Khan, and every other potential bad-boy of whom I could think. How much more friggin' obvious could it be that a MotoBro needs help!!!! So much for the Law of the Bro'.


Which brings me to the Commonweal, a foundation of American democracy. Almost a decade of the so-called Bush Tax cuts has resulted in the loss of millions of jobs, forecloseure on hundreds of thousands of homes, the need for the taxpayers to bail out the large economic institutions of Wall Street, and a humongous increase in the deficit. Americans in the top two percent of wealth - who receive the greatest benefit from both the tax cuts AND government services in the form of the protection and infrastructure provided by the American government - continue to proclaim that it's "their money" and that tax cuts are the only way to save our economy. How much more friggin' obvious can it be that people need help? So much for the Commonweal.


Yeah, just like a half-dozen motorcycles roaring by me is the best way to encourage me to buy a different kind of bike.


I personally don't think ANY of the tax cuts should be maintained. People are hungry, homeless and lack adequate medical care in this, the wealthiest nation of the world. If I need to pay a bit more, sacrifice some small amount at this time in my Nations history in order to help those in need today and to provide a more secure future for those who follow, so be it. Safety, security, and freedom have been bequeathed to me by my forefathers, and I should do no less. Enlistment in the military is not the only way one can serve his/her country and the greastest test of our moral fiber is not a declaration of faith, but our active willingness to sacrifice for the sake of others.

Nothing New Under the Sun

I love to read and I love to ride, so it is no suprise that I love to read about riding. One of my favorite genres is the journey narrative, particularly if the story is about motorcycle travel that predates 1940.

You see, we human beings have a tendency to imagine that the universe revolves not around the sun, but us as individuals. We imagine that our personal experiences - both positive and negative - are the biggest or the best or the worst or the first or the greatest or the latest. We forget (or ignore) that, as the Preacher said some 2300 years ago, "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again, there is nothing new under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

As much as I enjoy reading contemporary journey narratives, a constant irritation for me is that the authors rarely, if ever, acknowledge that someone has gone before them. Each author seems to imagine that THEIR journey of discovery is something revolutionary and radical ... and perhaps it is to them, but not to the cosmos. I would just like to see a little humilty and perspective.

For example I recently read a book about a woman who traveled by motorcycle across North America. The story was filled with insight and elegant prose, but I wearied of the constant "It's hard to be a woman on the road" refrain. While that is no doubt true to a degree, it is a heck of a lot easier to be a woman on the road in 2010 than in 1910.

You think it's tough riding across the USA wearing leathers, try wearing "a close fitting cap, sailor blouse with green coat and regular riding breeches with leather leggings" like Margaret Karslake in 1916 ... who advised how much more comfortable this outfit was than the normal long skirt!

You think Blue Highways are a pain ? How about 1400 miles of mud and macadam between New York and Toledo, ridden by Katherine Kelly in 1911!

You think it is hard to find gas in western Montana ? Try riding with the van Buren sisters (pictured) in 1916 Mexico! And on and on it goes ...

One of the privileges of thirty years of ministry has been to listen to the stories of people whose working lives ended about the time mine started. I never cease to be amazed at - SURPRISE! -how adventuresome many were in their youth, and how they did dumb and delightful youthful things just like me. My own mother for example shared some of the stories of her life during Prohibition ... OMG!!! There are just some things a boy should not know about his momma ...

We need to put some perspective in our lives. As complicated or joyful as a single moment may be, it is only one of bazillions of moments in eternity. Each moment and experience of an individual life is important and has value, but we are living in a time when it seems that too many folks think every moment of their lives deserves applause. Like I really care what somebody had for breakfast this morning!

In America we place great emphasis on individual worth and self-esteem. Frankly I think we would be better off toning it down a bit and placing more emphasis on the commonweal, what one might call the One Body. As great as any individual or single experience might be, chances are that somebody has done it before, which does not take away from its importance but only keeps it in perspective. You see, there is nothing new under the Sun ...

Humility

There is a common saying among motorcyclists: "There are only two kinds of riders - those who have dropped their bikes and those who will drop their bikes."

The simple truth is that with only two wheels and a contact patch about the size of your palm you will invariably put your foot down on a slippery surface or squeeze the front brake while the wheel is turned, lean the bike beyond its tipping point and find yourself having to pick several hundred pounds of machine up off the ground, which while not impossible, ain't easy.

The good news is that generally a dropped bike occurs at slow speeds, where control is far more difficult and skill far more important, so the damage is mostly to pride rather than person.

There are exceptions to the rule. I once saw a beautiful, very expensive Dual Sport bike loaded with extras - panniers, headlight guards, skid plate, nerf bars - parked outside a store. In fact the extras probably cost as much as the bike itself.

Anyway, I walked toward the bike and thought "Wow. This rider must have some stories to tell." But as I got closer and started really examining it, I realized there was not a scratch or dent on the bike - the paint was impeccable, the fixtures highly polished, and the tires barely used. As I looked it over the owner came out and I learned more: it was a three year old model with about 1200 miles on it and the owner proudly declared "It has never been dropped."

No doubt, Sunshine, since you only ride the thing from your momma's house to the store. The dude had probably spent more on soap and polish than on gas and oil. I have never understood why in the world someone would buy a fine bike like that and never ride the thing ... who does s/he think is impressed?

But enough of my rant for the day. You get the point -if you have done any riding other than straight lines you have, or will, drop your bike. And my own experience is that you usually drop it at the most humiliating times.

Like when I had traveled several thousand miles in all kinds of weather on all kinds of roads and not had a single problem. Then I pulled into my daughter's house and being tired (a bad sign) thought I would pull up the steep drvieway onto the narrow sidewalk flanked by my son-in-laws carefully manicured lawn/flower bed to unload the bike. Nothing like saving yourself ten steps ...
You guessed it. I headed up the steep drive, didn't keep the RPM's high enough, tried to turn too sharply to avoid the posies, started to wobble, squeezed the front brake and suddenly found myself rolling down the steep driveway with 700 pounds of motorcycle sliding down behind me. The good news is that the bike stopped and I kept rolling.

There I was, with my bike laying on its side in the driveway with the tires stuck up in the air like a dead possum. Daughter Carly came out, looked at the bike, shook her head, and went back inside. I had begun to hope the "dad is an idiot" stage had passed ....

Anyway, there was nothing I could do about it because of the angle of the drive (did I mention how steep the sucker was?) until my six foot something, 200+ pound son-in-law got home to help me pick it up soo I went inside and waited.

And you know, it is amazing how helpful folks want to be. In the following forty-five minutes no less than five neighbors stopped by, rang the doorbell and asked "Do you know you have a motorcycle laying in the driveway?"

Really? It must be those pesky Schnauzers down the street - always getting into mischief! Arrggh!!!! Of course I know it ... I'm the idiot who dropped it there, thank you for reminding me!!!!

When the bell tolled for the sixth time I picked up a bat and with murder in my eyes opened the door ... only to find a guy standing there grinning. "Saw the bike. Did the same thing myself last week. Need some help?" Rage subsided, we picked up the bike and I was saved from further curious inquiries as to the location of my motorcycle (though I think the children did have a conference to see if they should petition to have my license removed).

A year passed with no further incidents and the season for my annual road trip once again rolled around. First stop this year was other daughter Ashley's house in San Diego. The ride was good (although VERY hot) and the final stage along Highway 78 absolutely beautiful. Got there with no problem, pulled into the steep drive (carefully), unloaded the bike, changed clothes, and then thought I would just run down to the gas station and fill her up. So down the driveway I headed (did I mention how steep it was?), saw a car coming, turned the wheel ever so slightly and squeezed the front brake ... yep, you guessed it. Down I went, followed by more head shaking.

No wonder my wife and kids worry about me when I hit the road. Everytime they see me it is with the bike on the ground.

Thank God I only have two daughters ....

Why Be Nice?

Given my life history, there are only a couple of people who know me from almost the beginning, and only one with whom I have had constanct contact for over forty-five years, and that is my best friend from elementary school in St. Joseph, MO, Mark Smith. We are "blood brothers" in the sense of having taken that Native American stuff seriously and actually pressed bleeding cuts against one another (I know, I know ... we were kids for God's sake!).

I left St. Joe just after the Sixth Grade, but Mark and I stayed in contact over the years and the various ups and downs of life. After reading my post "Memphis Blues" Mark asked me the question, "Why be nice?"

I refrained from inquiring as to why he asked, since we have been friends long enough to have had some less-than-nice encounters (I recall a couple of fist-fights and he once smacked me in the kisser with the butt-end of a rifle), but it got me to thinking: Why Be Nice? And I have come up with three answers.

The first is that it is simply part of the social contract; we are nice to each other because it greases the wheels of life and just helps the day go far better. When I am working on a bike and get in way over my head, I call CLS Cycles, a little independent bike shop in Cave Creek. There are only a couple of guys there, but they are invariably helpful, courteous, generous with their time ... in other words, nice. I thanked Cameron (the owner) one day and complimented him on the attitude of the shop. He looked at me and said, "I just treat you the way I want to be treated." Pretty cool and a perfect example of the social contract. Imagine if we put that into practice on the road and extended courtesy to others, like letting someone in in front of you instead of hitting the horn and putting the pedal to the metal, as is the wont of most of us American drivers?

Perhaps this kind of interaction is "phoney" in the sense that such behavior is automatic, but that is OK, because behavior can affect our attitude and suddenly that which we had been doing by rote becomes internalized and a part of us. I am no longer "being" nice, I am nice! Like they say in marriage counseling, "Fake it 'til you make it."

Second, sometimes being nice can change another person's behavior or attitude. At Sherwood Elementary School we had a principle, Mercedes Gibson, whom we called "Merciless Gabson". She was a tough old gal and I can remember complaining about her to my mom. Now, back in the day if you complained about a teacher your parents did not go running to the school to find out why they were treating Their Precious unfairly but instead told you that you probably deserved it. Mom was of that mold and just looked at me and said, "Why don't you try being nice to her?"

I figured I had nothing to lose, so I started saying "Good morning Mrs. Gibson;" "How are you Mrs. Gibson?"; "Can I help out, Mrs. Gibson?" And doggone it if mom wasn't right. All of a sudden Mrs. Gibson and I did not have a problem. Who'd a thought?

Which leads me to the third and in my mind most important, reason to be nice: because it is the right thing to do. It is a form of action instead of reaction. I am choosing of my own free will who I will be and how I will act, rather than responding to the actions of another and allow them to determine who I will be. It is an ultimate act of freedom because I am choosing to be master of my life rather than giving that power to another. It takes guts and discipline and there is no promise of reward, but like I said in Jazz Man, sometimes doing the right thing is it's own reward.

Looking ahead

A vital skill of riding is the ability to look ahead, not just in the figurative sense of anticipating potential problems, but literally looking ahead, down the road, rather than staring at the ground just in front of the bike. Navigating curves, executing u-turns, or manuevering through crowded traffic conditions is made far safer and easier by this one habit. But training riders in this simple to understand but difficult to execute practice often results in severe headaches for the trainer (or for the rider who fails to heed the advice - see picture!).

And now I know why: Evolution.

Even though we have the physical ability to gaze into the horizon, it seems that we are hard-wired to look only as far as our immediate interests and concerns reach out, a trait necessary for survival. Psychologist Bernt Spiegel writes: " ... looking ahead goes against a deep rooted behavior: the greater the danger and the sharper the experience of threat, the more restricted the view will be to the immediate area ... As soon as a danger (or the fear of danger) pops up, our view is limited to the nearby surroundings."

Simply put, that means when we see danger we look at the danger in an effort to monitor it and protect ourselves. This is good in many instances; if, for example, a man-eating predator is within striking distance I bloody well better pay attention rather than worrying about how difficult it might be to ford that river a few miles away.

But this instinctual habit is not so good in other situations, like when riding a motorcycle we enter a curve WAY too fast and find ourselves creeping towards the guardrail, and fixate on the guardrail. Since a bike tends to go where we look, a nasty crash is often forthcoming. This target fixation in motorycling can get you killed, but such instincts are very difficult to overcome. The only solution is to raise your head and move your eyes from the problem (guardrail) to the solution (the safe road), which is counter to the "Watch out for the guardrail!!!!" screaming in your head. This solution, while simple in theory, is very difficult in practice and requires discipline; you must let your brain over-ride your instinct.

I think this brain/instinct struggle factors into a great deal of decision making/problem facing in our lives. When confronted with an unpleasant situation, we tend to focus on the problem rather than the solution and as a result the problem - the perceived threat - suddenly seems insurmountable, a form of target fixation. We get so focused on the problem that we don't look at the solutions and eventually the problem wins. So just as with riding we have to make our rational brain (training & experience) over-ride the bird-brain (instinctual response from 10,000 years of evolution).

Instincts have kept us alive but in a new world it is ultimately our brains - our ability to learn and adapt - that will keep us alive, both literally and figuratively, whether on the road or in the job.

Where they burn books ...

I first traveled to Berlin just after the fall of the Wall and I fell as well - in love with the city. Such adoration is not uncommon, and there is even a phrase for it, from an old Marlene Dietrich song: "Ich habe noch einen Koffer in Berlin" - "I've still got a suitcase in Berlin".

I have visited and even lived in Berlin since that initial infatuation. With each visit I wander the streets, visit the museums, and return to my favorite haunts. I have spent so much time just meandering that I actually know Berlin better than any other metro area! Although the city is young in terms of years (it was really only a hodge-podge of villages until the 18th century), so very much has transpired that there is much to learn.

One place of return is the Bebelplatz, located across from Humboldt University along the Unter den Linden. I return there to be reminded of one significant event: at that spot on May 10, 1933 Nazi students and members of the Hitler Youth piled up and burned as many as 20,000 books, including those by Ernest Hemingway, Jack London, & Helen Keller. After World War II a memorial consisting of a glass plate (pictured) through which one can view empty bookshelves was built. Next to it is a plaque with a quote from a play by Heinrich Heine, lamenting the forced conversion of Muslims to Christianity in Spain: "Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen" - "Where they burn books, ultimately they will also burn people."

Which brings us to the so-called Christian church in Florida which is sponsoring "International Burn a Qu'ran Day" on the anniversery of 9/11. Such an action is reprehensible; it no more represents Christianity than destroying the Twin Towers represents Islam. To destroy the holy book of another religious tradition is itself an act of terrorism and betrays the core values of the Christian faith.

In Nazi Germany they burned books and the Christian church remained largely silent. Thank God that many Churches in America are not remaining silent, but speaking out against such vile behavior. I urge every person who claims the Christian faith to encourage prayers of support for our Muslim brothers and sisters during the time of worship. A moment of silence will not do - too often silence is seen as acceptance.

I have learned much from my time on the road and perhaps the most important lesson is that there is a time for silence and a time to speak out. Now is the time to speak out.

Memphis Blues

I was in Memphis and no visit there is complete without hitting Beale Street, visiting Graceland, spending more than a few hours at the Civil Rights Museum, and seeing Sun Studios. I was within walking distance of Beale Street and the Civil Rights Museum, but a long way from the Home of the King and Sun Studios. I snooped around a bit and discovered that it would actually be cheaper (and certainly easier) to take one of the pre-packaged van tours that would cover both, so signed up for a trip the next day.

The van showed up, made a couple more stops to pick up some other folk and off we headed, all the while Paul Simon's tune playing in my head:

I'm going to Graceland,
Graceland,
in Memphis Tennessee
I'm going to Graceland,

The day was great. I really enjoyed seeing Graceland (stuning how small it really is) and later standing on the exact spot at Sun Studios upon which Elvis got his break. The day was a good reminder of how hard work, persistence, and a bucketful of luck go together to make success, AND how it can all suddenly disappear. And then in a blink of an eye it time to head back.

That's when the day got funky ...

Seems that one of the vehicle's used by this company had broken down, so we were doubling up. Space was not a major issue, but geography was, as we now had passengers who were literally on opposite ends of town and Memphis ain't no small town. And it quickly became apparent that I was to be the last one dropped off.

Patience is definitely not one of my virtues - just ask my daughter Carly who will tell you of the lecture about "chillin'" she once gave me when some clown cut me off in traffic and I went all Jerry Springer on him. But then make sure you ask her husband about her temperature in traffic ... the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, even if the apple doesn't want to admit it. So when I realized that the half-hour ride was going to be a two and one-half hour tour of "Motels in Memphis" I was not pleased.

But every now and then something clicks and we find The Zone. Atypically for me, I accepted the fact that there was nothing I could do about the situation, sat back, and enjoyed the scenery. I just chilled.

As we finally arrived at my motel, the driver asked me to wait. He made a call and then said to me "Look, you have really ben a great guy and we feel bad about the delay. How about we treat you to some real barbeque in the best Blues place in Memphis?"

To which I responded with typical wit: "Huh? You talkin' to me?"

"Man, most folks would have belly-ached the whole ride, but you smiled, helped old folks with their souvenirs, and didn't complain at all. We just want to do you right."

I honestly didn't think I deserved anything for just being a nice guy, but didn't want to appear rude so said, "OK."

"Here's the address; just show them your drivers license and it's on us."

Now, I am not a connoiseur of barbeque nor an educated music critic, so I don't know if this was really a great place or just his cousin's resturant, but a couple of hours later I showed some folks my drivers license, had a few beers, ate like a pig (actually I think I ate a pig), listened to some blues, and had a hankerin' to return to Memphis ... soon. It was a great night.

Mostly the reward for doing the right thing is just doing the right thing. But every now and then the Blue's ain't so bad ...

Photographs and Memories ...

On my wife's phone is a picture of me with our two granddaughters, Kyleigh and Tallulah, both of whom hover around two years of age. As you can imagine they are Opa's ("grandpa" in German) delight and as any proud grandparent will tell you, the most beautiful and intelligent children God put on the face of this earth.

The photo shows the three of us sitting on the kitchen floor eating. I got the munchies one afternoon during our family reunion, rustled around until I found something, and was quickly joined by the two waifs who heard the sound of a package being opened. Neither of them has met a food they won't at least give a try and they figured I was a sucker for a pretty face, so we sat down and started snacking.


My father disappeared from my life when I was about five years old and that made things kind of rough for my mom. Make no mistake, I never went hungry, never slept in a dumpster, and always had clean clothes - but there wasn't much left for "extra's" during those first years. But every now and then my mom would shout "Let's have a party" and get out some crackers and cheese and we'd sit down to chat or watch TV and munch away. Curious, is it not, how the simple memories are often the fondest?


I thought of those "parties" with mom as the three of us sat on the floor having our own little party. And I saw my mom smiling in Heaven, watching her son and great-granddaughters continuing the tradition. Charlie had his angels, and Opa has his: Kyleigh, Tallulah, and mom.

Photographs and memories ...
All that I have are these
To remember you ....


But as long as we have those photographs and memories, the person lives on, no matter how long they have been gone. Perhaps memory is one aspect of eternal life.

I don't think I will ever let my wife change that wallpaper on her cell phone ...

A License to Practice ...

I pulled out of Carson City, NV headed for Berkeley to meet my wife for a few days of R&R. We had just finished a week of family reunion in Colorado and as much as I love and delight in my family a reunion with 50+ folks is not restful! So I traveled south to hook up with CA 4, which looked to be a lovely road and lots of fun.

Lots of work is more like it.

CA 4 IS a lovely road, with lots of hairpins, switchbacks, incredible scenery, and quaint little towns. Perfect for zipping around on a light and nimble sport bike. But if you are riding a 700 pound fully loaded cruiser you sure as heck don't "zip" and you better pay attention as you navigate tight turns with queerly canted inclines or you are going to find yourself sitting in the street wondering what just happened.

I was bemoaning the fact that I could not enjoy the scenery because I was concerned about not taking a header over an embankment when I suddenly thought: "But you love to practice, dummy." I do love to practice ... about once a month I head down to the church parking lot, set up a course with circles and weaves and practice all the techniques I have been taught over the years. And of course I have spent a large chunk of change learning those techniques from highly competant professionals.

So in an instant my mindset changed ... I was no longer dragging along the road but instead was practicing entry, apex, and exit on an incredibly beautiful track. And when I finally reached my destination several hours later I was in a state of exhilerated exhaustion, having engaged my mind and body in a delightful day of practice at absolutely no cost!

I am currently reading a complex but fascinating book by the German psychologist Bernt Spiegel entitled "The Upper Half of the Motorcylce." Spiegel has spent much of his career with Formula 1 racing, but in the past decade or so turned his attention to motorcycle riding. And when I say psychology I don't mean the fuzzy, feel-good nostrums one sees in pop-psychology, but the down-and-dirty, let's attach electrodes to the gonads, establish measurements for stupidity, or dissect the brain and see what's going on research kind of psychology. His focus is on what one might call the Mind-Body continuum, arguing that there are times when one should let the "gut" decide a course of action and other times when the brain should override our natural tendencies; this ability is only achieved through contstant practice, both physical and mental. By doing so we can in some mysterious way become one with the bike so that the "bike is riding us" rather than us driving the bike - we become the upper half of the motorcycle. The book is rather pedantic (what would you expect from a German researcher?) but if one can wade through the facts and figures there is incredible knowledge to be gleaned.

In one section he speaks about the novice rider and the development of technique and offers this quote: "A license is permission to continue to practice without supervision."

I love it! Ever time we ride we have the opportunity to improve our skills, to actively concentrate on what we have learned and make ourselves better and safer, riders. And when I say practice, I mean within appropriate limits. Entry, apex, and exit combined with speed are the most important elements in riding curves, and the failure to execute them properly leads to many, many accidents. So when I "practiced" along CA 4 I did not vary my entry-point, set up a deeper apex, change the exit and experiment with acceleration all at the same time but instead altered only one variable at a time, learning about my machine and my own abilities. After awhile I was able to connect all the elements within safe margins and discover that my riding had improved tremendously.

Permission to practice is not license to risk hurting someone else; it's fine to push limits on a track where there is someone to cart your dumb-ass to the hospital and broken machine off to the bone yard, but NOT on a public road where your mistake could not only kill you but injure someone else.

I think we should apply a variant of this concept to ourselves: "Life is permission to continue to practice without supervision."

None of us gets it right all the time ... we are human after all and sometimes we fail to let our brains override our "fight or flight" tendancies, often with unfortunate consequences. Like me on CA 4 now and then we find ourselves in a less than optimal situation. But if we view those situations as opportunitie to practice that which we claim to hold true, such as kindness, respect, graciousness - how much better human beings might we be?

Have a good day's practice!