Mu-shin Riding

Good, good, good, good Vibrations?

2012-01-17T08:00:00.000-08:00

If you do not care much for metaphysical speculation, quit reading now. If, however, as so many who ride you speak in almost spiritual tones to describe the feeling you have when you ride, read on.

More and more scientific research in is providing empirical evidence for what spiritual traditions have claimed for millenia. Not always is science proving that which is claimed in the holy books of various traditions, but it is helping us to understand the why and wherefore of that which certain traditions have held as truth. For example, some of the laws which are found in the Jewish Torah or what Christians refer to as the Old Testament, are clearly understood today to be health related; foods and practices prohibited by certain of those laws we know today to be clearly unhealthy. Through observation and using the knowledge available at the time, the ancients recognized a certain relationship and thus created laws related to protecting members of their tribes.

Now we also know today that some of the established laws and beliefs were based on cultural norms not necessarily related to what we would deem as scientific, and we have discarded adherance to those beliefs, such as the Earth being 6,000 years old and the center of the universe.

With those caveats, let us consider what science and some spiritual traditions have to say about vibration, and combine it with some thought about motorcycles.

In the Hindu tradition it is believed that all creation - plants, animals, humans, everything - comes from the Primordial Vibration; in Sanskrit this concept is referred to as the Unstuck Sound or "the sound that is not made by two things striking together." One might also use this imagery related to vibration when considering the Muslim, Jewish, and Christian traditions which embrace the narrative that "God said" (speech pathology having taught us that speaking is in fact the result of vibration) as the prelude to the creation of all matter: "God said let there be light ...God said, 'Let us make humankind ..." and so forth.

In the material world we recognize that all ordinary audible sounds are the result of two objects in concert: vocal cords, waves against the shore, wind against the leaves, etc. In physics it is held that everything is the result of occilation or vibration; E = MC2 is the mathematical foundation indicating that all matter is an expression of energy (supposedly Einstein stated that "Everthing is vibration" though I have as of yet not discovered the original source quote).

What does this have to do with motorcycling? First, we know that motorcycles vibrate; since the advent of the self-propelled two-wheeled riding machine engineers have been seeking ways to reduce vibration to endurable proportions. Yet for all of us who ride, the "vibe" of the machine is in fact important. In an interesting book by Stephen L. Thompson entitled Bodies in Motion, the author sets out to explore this aspect of the rider-machine relationship, the response of the rider to the vibration produced by particular motorcycles . He argues against the assertion that motorcyclists ride only for social reasons and instead maintains that we ride for primarily psycho-biological reasons. He holds that while culture can induce one to first try riding a motorcycle, it is genetic heritage that causes one to experience the pleasure (he is not speaking here in sexual terms!) that many riders describe and thus keep on riding.

One must agree that at some level there must be something different about the rider who chooses to experience the viscissitudes of wind, rain, temperature, and the danger of riding a two-wheeled platform that is relatively prone to de-stablization. It certainly would not appear to be the most rational of decisions ... yet we ride. Why? And the answer "If you have to ask you would not understand" does not suffice for me, for I AM a rider and yet at times wonder why, even as I clamber into my gear and climb on the bike for yet another wet and cold sojourn.

That is why I was so intrigued by Thompson's thesis. We know riding is not a rational event, but is it necessarily an irrational event? Is there something simply non-rational, something one might even call spiritual, that results in such a choice? More and more science is experimenting with the interface between biology and spirituality; for example researchers are discovering that certain parts of the brain light up in response to practices such as meditation and prayer. It seems that some humans are hard-wired in such a way as to be more receptive to so-called spiriutal stimuli. Tomio Hirai has done much to map the brain in response to Zen Buddhist practices and simply because we can understand how something works does not mean that we have discovered the why or first cause. Hence my excitement about Thompson's thesis.

Alas, Thompson provides us only wth an intriguing thesis backed up by no real empirical evidence nor reasoning. His "book" is really a series of disconnected essays with a veneer of scientific research applied. Half the book is a series of charts that demonstrates the results of vibration testing on various bikes, conducted at Stanford University. The ultimate conclusion is that different bikes vibrate at different rates in different places.

No shit. I can put my seven year old grandson on my Harley, my Triumph, and my Kawi and he can tell me they feel different. I don't need two hundred pages (!) of appendixes from tests done at Stanford to tell me that.

And that is the disppointment. I think Thompson is on to something; in Zen Buddhism it is believed that any activity can result in the achievement of Enlightenment if only one pursues that activity with full mindfulness. So why not through motorcycling? How often have I heard motorcycling referred to as "the lazy man's Zen"? Perhaps it is the physical vibration of the bike that somehow triggers something in the brain that connects in ways we do not yet understand with that which we label "spiritual". I know in my own life I have had experiences on the bike that I would call spiritual, and I know that although I see value in all types or motorcycles, I do have my "default" preferences for riding and would be at a loss to explain exactly why. So perhaps differing vibrations from differing bikes do resonate in different ways with various people - although I would not entirely discount the social aspects in discussing why someone rides a particular bike.

So keep riding; maybe the Beach Boys were more right than they realized?

"I'm pickin up good vibrations,
She's giving me excitations,
Good good good good vibrations ...."

Image or Authenticity?

2012-01-10T08:00:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago I went to the International Motorcycle Show here in Seattle. I go every year as it is an opportunity to get out, see the some of the latest and greatest from the major manufacturers, and it is just fun to hang with some buddies.

Like most years, this show had displays of classic bikes which are always neat to see, lots of vendors selling all kinds of crap that I have lived without for years but now must have, and of course the plethora of outrageous bikes along with jaw-dropping prices.

A bike in latter category that gave me pause was a heavily tarted up $35,999 V-Twin Bagger, loaded with a comfort fit gel seat, fairing, backrest, grip warmers, every conceivable electronic device possible to load on a bike, a primo paint job, all topped off with a chromed skull emblem on the front of the fairing.

A bike with a chrome skull ... for $35,999? Anyone who could afford this bike probably does not live a skull lifestyle. I stood in front of that bike for a long time, thinking that a purchase such as this is about image, about the look, not the living. But goodness knows there is a great deal of image around motorcycling.

Years ago I was fed up with the ministry and was offered a job in sales with a deal of a major US motorcycle manufacturer. I was ready to dump the collar and don the chaps until the sales manager concluded his pitch to me by saying, "We don't sell motorcycles, we sell a lifestyle."

That's when some bells went off. I realized that if I was going to sell a "lifestyle" that I much preferred it to be one that comes through belief in something more than a material object that has built-in obsolescence. So the local church is my vocation and riding my avocation ... a decision I do not regret for one minute!

Recently I came across a website dedicated to thrashing all things Harley-Davidson and though the author is quite witty I thought some of his rants a bit extreme, especially as he claims that he does not care about image but just rides what he wants to ride. Which sounds good except that what he wants to ride is always a sportbike, which definitely has an image associated with it. I challenged him on this in an email and never got a response ...

But the truth is that in challenging him I was challenging myself as well. My first bike at age fifteen had nothing to do with a biker image; it was just the next step in extending my freedom. But isn't that something to do with image, with who I wanted to be?

Soon I came to love riding in and of itself; on my Long Rides five hundred mile days are minimal and it is an act of discipline for me when I am with buddies who love to stop and smell the roses. I take two or three classes each year to improve my riding skills, and although my default bike tends to be metric, I currently own a Kawi, a Triumph, and a Harley and appreciate each for what it has to offer. The only reason I don't own a sport bike is that after about five minutes of that hunched over position my middle-aged back is screaming at me ... but man, do I love the power and zip those devils possess!

So on the one hand I could claim that I don't care about image but yet ... in my heart of hearts, I know that I do care. When I was fifteen and riding my little Honda down the road and a dude on a chopped H-D gave me the upraised clenched fist in a sign of moto-brotherhood, I became part of a tribe and still have that image of unity burned in my memory. I love it when I am on the road and stop at a gas station and have some kid who is dying to get out of that one-horse town talk to me about his dreams. I love it when at that same gas stop some old guy will talk about the ride he had back in the day. I love it that my parishoners are tickled that their pastor rides a bike up the ramp to the front door of the church each day. When people ask me about my riding, I always make it clear that I commute every day, rain or shine (mostly rain in this part of the world!) and am not just a fair weather rider. And honestly, all of that is about image, at least to a degree.

So how do we differentiate between what we do for image and what is somehow authentic to our selves? I honestly don't have an answer ... perhaps it is a chicken and egg sort of question. Maybe we try on images, not unlike clothes, as we seek to determine who and what we really are. In my life I have known people who imagined themselves rebels or pioneers or laid back when in fact they were really quite traditional settlers who had little patience for that which was beyond their control! But they tried on the image for a while before becoming comfortable with who they really were, but in my opinion were often better for trying on that image (and here I am not talking about being some sort of gangster or bad ass biker, but folks who try the Nine to Five and find it does not fit, or the pseudo-Hippie who realizes he likes a regular paycheck).

I know that in my own life my struggle with image has in fact made me a better human being; the truth is that I am a pizza loving, beer drinking redneck; I grew up around a beer distributor so can be quite profane, patience is not a virtue I possess, and I still think flatulance is funny. These are not necessarily the top qualities one seeks in a pastor. But by modulating what some might call my "authentic self" with an image that is in fact important to my profession, I have become a better person. There is nothing wrong with discipline and in fact I think it may be quite neglected in our time.

So on the one hand maybe image is not all bad. Maybe image can help us extend our own boundaries, or become better people, at leat when we choose positive images. And while I have my doubts about the image of a chrome skull on a $35,999 bike, who am I to judge?

These are the Good Old Days

2012-01-05T08:00:00.000-08:00

As a middle-aged Boomer, every now and then I get a hankering for something from "the good old days," a piece of nostalia from my youth. This craving is no doubt fed by watching such programs as "American Pickers" where every week I see something that reminds me of my long ago!

Like the memory of my first car, a 1964 VW Beetle, the first year the crank sunroof was available. The car was cheap, great on gas mileage for the time, easy for a sixteen year old to repair, and greatly extended my nomadic range... not to mention my date-ability. So the hunt was on and I anticipated some sort of nostalgic epiphany as my middle-aged self connected with my youthful self.

I followed up several leads, only to find junk at the end of the rainbow. All it takes is a couple of minutes to spot a cracked head, twisted frame, or some other malady that the seller is trying to pass on to an unsuspecting buyer. But finally I found a 1968 model in cherry condition with no major issues (you will always have some issue with a used vehicle). So my wife and I jumped in for a test run, drove up and down a few streets, accelerated, stopped, shifted gears, and the car continued to prove road-worthy. Finally we returned to the home of the seller, I thanked her for her time and we got in our car and drove away.

My wife was quite puzzled; "You said it was great?" "Yep," I responded. "It was great ... for a thirty-five year old car. But what a piece of crap to drive!" My nostalgia for youth had been superceded by my appreciation for 21st century technological improvements such as EFI, disc brakes, and power steering. Luckily I got that "Bug" out of my system BEFORE I bought it.

But it bit again a few months ago when I decided I needed something better than my KLR for commuting daily. Having learned at least a little bit from the Great VW Hunt, this time I decided to upgrade my nostalgia a bit and looked at motorcycles that had a retro look but kitted with modern technology. I focused on the Brit bikes that were the "must-have" of my youth, such as the modern Bonneville and the updated Royal Enfield. But even updated they were puny; when I twist the wrist, I like to go and when I squeeze the brakes I like to stop. I had become spoiled by all that modern tech has to offer and so the brain overrode nostalgia once again and I ended up with a Triumph Tiger 800, a relatively new model which is perfect for me.

All of this got me to thinking about nostalgia and about how often I hear "The times were so much simpler years ago; those were the good old days." No, the times were not simpler, YOU were simpler. In childhood and youth I got up, ate breakfast, went to school, played with my friends, ate lunch and dinner, watched some TV, went to bed and did little more than anticipate the next day. I was the simple one: my needs, wants, hopes and desires were focused in the moment and with the task at hand, which is actually very Zen like.

As I was riding to work on Christmas morning, I felt that way again. It was a lovely dry morning, the Christmas Eve services had been wonderful, my kids and grandkids are doing well, the roads were clear, and I felt that wonderful sense of simplicity wash over me. That is when it hit me. What made the good old days ... well, the good old days, were not things, but me. If I had different possessions back in the day, like if my first car had been a Corvair instead of a VW, then that is the car I probably would have been seeking. And if it was me that provided that wonderful sense of simplicity back then, it could be recovered, since it is not dependent upon a possession but an attitude. Simplicity is a state of mind, not a possession.

So maybe the lesson here is that THESE are the good old days.

Throttles

2011-12-12T17:03:00.001-08:00

Long ago, when I took the Basic Rider Course through the Motorcycle Safety Foundation, the instructor, a retired motor officer, recited over and over again his belief that there was no such thing as an accident. His argument was that every accident was in fact the result of inattention and/or making poor decisions. We offered example after example and in each instance he could lead us to one final conclusion: trouble could have been avoided if the rider was simply more aware and thus more in control.

I can't say I liked his thesis, but I must admit I could not find a hole in it. Perhaps I did not like it because it placed responsibility on me! As I thought of my own close encounters (thankfully only one of which involved an actual collision) I kept reaching the same conclusion: the "accident" could have been avoided with increased awareness or a different decision.

As a result of his teaching, one of the games I play on my daily commute is "How much can I control the bike without using the brakes?" I accomplish this by using the throttle and clutch, trying to maintain safe following distances and approaches to traffic signals with subtle inputs with the throttle and downshifting to match rpm's to the throttle input, rather than a touching of the brake. It is simply a means of staying in control and acting, rather than re-acting, to potentially dangerous situations. It is one means by which I can affirm responsibility for my own riding and thereby avoiding the need to exclaim: "It was an accident!"

For example, as I look down the road beyond the vehicle immediately in front of me, if I see brake lights coming on from the cars down the lane I decrease throttle and downshift at the appropriate time; if I see a car approaching an intersection from my right, I watch the wheels move left in the lane while decreasing throttle thus giving myself time and distance to brake if necessary; if I find myself in the blind spot of another driver I either increase or decrease throttle to move out of the blind spot. It's all about awareness, anticipation, and subtle input.

It seems to me that such an approach to many emotional encounters might be valuable as well. How often has someone let loose with a barrage in anger only to later say, "I didn't really mean it." They were angry and couldn't brake fast enough to prevent the anger from coming out of their mouth. Throttle control - input - might have helped avoid the crash! It's all about looking ahead, acting rather than re-acting, and taking responsibility for one's own situation.

Maybe my instructor was right ... there are no accidents!

Adapting

2011-10-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

Riding a motorcycle at high speed in a straight line is not hard; give me ten minutes and I can teach anyone who has ever ridden a bicycle to balance and accelerate. What is hard to develop is the ability to effectively read and ride curves and turns. A well trained rider can watch another rider take a curve or turn and tell whether that rider is a novice, a weekend warrior, or an experienced biker.

Like all skill sets, there is a standard taught by MSF courses, referred to as Outside-Inside-Outside, which simply means that as you approach say, a left hand curve, you enter the curve from an apex on the right side of the lane (outside), move towards the left side of the lane (inside) as you round the curve, and then accelerate towards the right side of the lane (outside) again. This process allows the rider to keep the machine in an upright a position as possible, which is the safest means to take a curve. While it may look cool to stay in the center of the lane at a constant lean, by so doing one reduces the contact patch of the tire on the road and is riding with less traction. And traction is what keeps us in control!

That having been said, as with all teaching this one comes with a caveat: You can't always maximize Outside-Inside-Outside and thus have to adapt. For example, what happens if there is gravel or a pothole somewhere on your perfvect line of travel? Do you stick with Outside-Inside-Outside and just run through the gravel or pothole? Of course not, for if you do you risk sliding, blowing a tire, losing control, and all the possible injuries that come from such events! The purpose of Outside-Inside-Outside is to keep the rider safe, but when adhering to the letter of the law could result in greater danger, you have to remember the spirit of the law and adjust. That adjustment might include not only picking a different line, but slowing down so as to maximize the safe entry as well.

Much of life is like that; we have general rules for living but at times we must adapt to new or unexpected circumstances. To adhere to one way of thinking is to create an idol, seeking to cram a universal concept into a specific circumstance, and that just does not always work. As the old proverb goes, "The tongue is soft and remains while the teeth are hard and fall out."

Grapes of Wrath II?

2011-09-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

It was the end of this years Long Ride; a buddy and I hit the road early on Friday out of Ely, NV and we had a brisk but lovely ride together into Austion, where I turned north while he continued west. Folks call Highway 50 the "Loneliest Road in America" but trust me when I say there are far more empty roads in Nevada and Oregon! But I stray from my thoughts ...

First, two observations about signage in Oregon ... well, actually one observation. It sucks.

Point 1: coming out of McDermitt there is a sign saying "100 miles to next gas." I glanced down at my gauge and saw four bars ... four gallons. I am a bit of a ninny when it comes to gas, having literally coasted into a gas station several years ago, so I did not take this information lightly. But at the very worst consumption I have ever had that gave me 140 miles, so no problem. Of course about five miles later the fourth bar disappeared and that left me with 105 miles at worst ... still fine.

What no sign tells you is that about 85 miles into the journey you come to a junction and of course the 100 mile gas is off to the right, while I needed to head to the left. Son of a .... so anyway, I head fifteen miles to the right, for a total of 30 miles off track and the privilege of paying $4.50/gal for 85 octane. I could just see the monkey's grinning when I drove up ...

But I am back on track after about forty lost minutes.

Point 2: Hours later I come to another junction with the next highway I need, but of course I have been winding around back and forth, it is mid-day, and so I have no idea which way is north or south. I make a decision, stop and fill up with gas and ask how far to my next marker, and the fellow responds by pointing and saying "about 200 miles down the road." So off I go ... in the wrong friggin' direction. All along the way signs tell me I have the right road, but no indication of north or south, and as I said it was mid-day so I could not even use the sun as a guide. About fifty miles down the road I happen to glance at a sign from a cross street that DOES tell me which direction I am headed, which is of course the wrong way. So I whip around and start back ... another 100 mile detour. So on the longest day of this Long Ride I add an extra 150 miles to the trip. Moron. If it were't for bad luck I would not have any luck at all (and don't start on me about GPS ...).

Now, I am not one who thinks God meddles in our day to day lives, but every now and then I think God gives me a nudge to show me something new, which is actually the point of this tale. Throughout the day I had noticed far more folks at truck stops and gas stations than I have ever seen in all my years on the road; they were all moving from here to there looking for work. Throughout the day I chatted with them and wondered at this fact.

By 7:30 PM I was bone-tired after having traveled 844 miles and badly in needed to get off that bike. So I said to myself, "The next motel I pull over." Moments later I saw a sign for a motel: "Under New Management. Truckers welcome." Cool - truckers know value. So I pulled in and as I did so I noticed there were plenty of cars, some very nice but some ... not so much so, and only a couple of trucks. Nonetheless I asked about a room, was told there is one available for $30 and I quickly forked over the cash. Only then am I told my room is "around the back." Oh-oh.

I pulled around and was shocked by what I saw. All kinds of piece-of-crap cars, about 15 ratty looking little kids running around, and a scene right out of Grapes of Wrath. I got off the bike and chatted with some folks and found a world most of us don't know about ... the world of the working poor. These folks live in this dump (kinda clean but VERY well used) because that is what they can afford. Hard working folks ... low-skilled laborers, waitresses, you know the type. All looking for work, migrating from here to there, trying to take care of their kids. My wife wondered if since it was Friday it would be party night, but these are folks with real family values and by 9 PM everyone was indoors and they were putting the kids to bed. The AC was a joke so I had the windows open all night, and my room was on the second floor right next to the stairs. I didn't hear a single footstep all night. These were decent, hard-working folks who just wanted to do an honest days work, get paid a fair wage, and take care of their families.

There was no resturant within miles, so I broke out my emergency MRE and ate it, sharing the gum and cookies with some kids. Dirty and dressed in ragged clothes, they were normal kids just trying to have fun. And very polite - "Thanks, mister." Their parents were good people - not college educated or prepared to share a learned discourse on geo-politics, but folks with integrity who expected no one to take care of them.

I continue to spend a great deal of thought on this experience. I read that the market has fallen and I have lost most of my 2011 gains .... and I have three motorcycles in the garage and plenty of cash to take a two week wander with my friends. In fact I have enough cash that I can choose to spend $90 a night or $30 on a motel room. I am so privileged ... these folks don't have that luxury.

Our so-called leaders argue and fuss based on ideological perspectives and the latest election popularity polls instead of considering how this great country wastes such precious human resources. I listened to some "religious" TV the other day and heard how America is a Christian nation, and I almsot threw my coffee cup at the TV. How can we call ourselves "Christan" when we refuse to adapt to new economic realities and help the least among us find jobs and take care of themselves? Authentic Christianity is not the nonesense about homosexuality or individual rights, but about taking care of the least among us. At least that is what Jesus said, and it seems to me he should know.

From the files of "You're kidding me!"

2011-09-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

The following is for your entertainment pleasure and should be consumed along with copious amounts of alcohol, which will make the tale quite palatable.

Having exahusted my search for a higher "umph" commuter bike with ABS (more accurately, too cheap to pay $12K for a higher "umph" with ABS fourth motorcycle) I did my reaserch and discovered I could increase both HP and torque by about 10% on my lovely little KLR, and more importantly drop peak torque by about 500 rpm's, if I purchased an aftermarket exhaust.

Once more I did my research and found two suitable candidates, the Jardine RT 99 or Two Brother's M7. I preferred the sound of what was purported to be the Jardine, so placed my order with said company.

About ABS I can do nothing for the KLR, but I can improve braking simply by changing out the OEM pads and replacing the rubber lines with braided ones. Said order was placed, I received confirmation via email, and the parts arrived as promised.

As to the exhaust, not a word. I tried for two days to contact the company, with no success. On the third day some poor sap answered the phone and I asked about my order. I was put on hold and when he returned he explained that the pipe was on back order. "How long for back-orders?" I queried. Again I was placed on hold, but to his credit he returned and said, "Well, actually we will not start manufacturing that pipe for another eight to twelve weeks."

You're kidding me!

Needless to say I cancelled that order, made some gentle suggestions about customer service, and headed on down to the local bike shop for the Two Brothers M7, which just happened to be on close-out for 50% off. Nice!

The Missus was off to San Diego to care for our newest grandchild as his mother goes back to work, so the weekend was free and I looked forward to the task at hand.

Saturday morning I was up early, had a stout breakfast, laid out the tools, reviewed my plan, and started to work.

Old exhaust off - no problem, just filthy from this nasty black stuff I ran through in the desert in Arizona. New exhaust on - no problem. Fired up the bike, more umph as promised and the sound is definitely a neighborhood irritant if I should arrive home late at night. Nice.

Now for the brakes. Bleed the line dry - no problem with my handy-dandy Mity-Vac bleeder. Remove the caliper and OEM pads, replace with new aftermarket pads, and replace caliper. No problem, all by the book.

Remove the old brake line, replace with new braided line (in Kawasaki green, of course), thread the line through all the various parts of the friggin' front end, hook up the banjo bolts. A bit of twisting for an old man to get the line where it needed to be, but no problem.

Now, according to Mr. Clymer, the last thing you do is open the master cylinder, remove any remaining fluid, and refill while bleeding. No problem. Except that the screw holding the cover on is made of putty and with a simple twist of my wrist I sheared the head off.

You're kidding me!

Mr. Universe I ain't; for that screw to strip so easily is a statement in poor quality control.

So it was off to Ace Hardware, where for $8 I purchase a titanium bit (I had already busted two bits trying to tap the friggin' screw) and a little reverse threaded goomer which is placed in the pre-drilled hole and then screwed out with a pair of pliers. Nice.

Instructions followed, the screw comes out. No problem.

So it's off to the local Kawi dealer to get a replacement screw. I was going there anyway to get a new air filter. Even thogh the OEM foam filter is reusable, mine was so filthy from Bud making me ride in that black shit that I thought I would give the new exhaust a fighting chance and buy a nice, new clean filter.

Arrive at Dealer, get filter and inquire about screw. Here is the dialogue:

Kevin: "Hey, I managed to shear off the head of the front master cylinder screw so I need a replacement."
Parts: "No problem."
(pause)
Parts: "Well, we don't carry those in stock."
Kevin: "I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood. Can you repeat that?"
Parts: "We'll have to order the screw."
Kevin: "OK, how long?"
Parts: "Seven to ten business days."
Kevin: "You're kidding me!"

So here I sit, beer in hand, KLR on stand, for seven to ten business days. The moral of the story: "Always have more than one motorcycle in your garage."

So when I sober up I think I will take a ride on my trusty Vulcan .... always have a Plan B.

ATGATT

2011-08-09T06:30:00.000-07:00

It is amazing what the mind can do, even (especially?) in times of danger.

A few weeks ago I took the four day course "Ride Like a Cop" offered by the Northwest Motorcycle School. The training consisted of various slow- and high-speed exercises and at the end of the four days we were tested against four benchmarks: high-speed braking and evasion; a timed slow-speed precision course; lock-look-lean (tight figure eights); and counter steering.

The high-speed braking exercise required that we enter a gate (a set of cones) at a miminum of 40 MPH and then come to a complete stop within 62 feet, all the while down-shifting into first gear, checking the rearview mirror, and then immediately turning left or right around an imaginary object stopped in front of us and pass through another gate without knocking over any cones.

I was doing well and all through the course had been trying to increase my entry speed. The precision drill looks neat and requires skill, but it is the braking and evasion that will save your life. The instructors had both praised and warned me that I was coming close to the edge (the edge being locking up the front tire). Feeling quite confident of my ability, I hit the gate at 48 MPH and pressed on the brakes ... too hard and too long on the front brake as it turned out.

One of my fellow students later said all he heard was a screech and turned to see me flying sideways off the bike ... at 48 MPH, according to the radar gun. At that moment time slowed down for me, and as my kevlar covered shoulder skidded along the pavement and my DOT approved helmet bounced off the blacktop, I thought to myself "Huh. This is why you buy good gear."

I was later told that I came up kicking and cussing at my own stupidity. The instructor immediately came over and asked if I was OK, to which I replied in the affirmative. Not a scratch. He then asked me if I knew what I did wrong, and I responded, "You mean besides crashing the @#&* bike?"

He later said that when I came off the bike I did a perfect shoulder roll. To which I must thank all the years of martial arts training. My martial arts instructors always said our most dangerous opponents would not be others, but ourselves. Who knew how right they were ...

I thought of this moment often during the past two weeks as I engaged in another summer Long Ride. Too many times I saw other riders with little or no gear on whatsoever. While in Sturgis I happened to see a man in shorts on a bike, with a three or four year old child in front of him and an eight or nine year old behind him, neither of whom had any gear on what-so-ever. Though I am not really a confrontational kind of guy, I turned around to have a word with him but he had disappeared by the time I returned. That man was an idiot and his own hubris will get him - or more tragically someone else whom he claims to love - hurt.

At another time I chatted with someone about wearing gear and he simply said "I don't plan to crash."

No shit. So who does? I certainly didn't, but it happened. I am an experienced rider and had been practicing that particular exercise under controlled conditions for four days. But nonetheless down I went, and good gear saved me from road rash and sprains at best to something potentially far worse. Far bigger surprises can happen in a nano-second while on the road and faced with so many other X factors.

None of us plans to crash, but we better be prepared if we do crash. This is true not just for motorcycling, but for many things in life. None of plans to lose a job, but we better be prepared if that crash comes; none of us plans to hurt others, but we better be prepared to respond if we do; none of us plans for all the hurts in life, but we better be prepared when they come, for they will.

ATGATT: All the Gear, All the Time. For motorcycle riders and for life.

Motos, Modernism, & Metaphors

2011-07-21T07:49:00.000-07:00

Modernism is the name given to the period which began roughly with the Enlightenment, as rationality and science began to replace superstition and religion as the primary arbiter of truth. It really gained steam with the Industrial Revolution and served as the philosophical foundation for most of the Twentieth Century. But throughout that period Modernism had its detractors, those who argued against universal truths, until finally towards the end of the Twentieth and the beginning of the Twenty-first centuries a new school emerged, which is referred to as post-Modernism (which says more about what it is not, than what it is). Science itself has lent credence to this movement, as the new physics, specifically Chaos Theory, is demonstrating that at the sub-atomic level there appear to be no rules, or at least none which are detectable to us at the present. Modernity as a system of approaching ultimate truth is rapidly crumbling in the face of various truth claims from science, philosophy, and religion.

I have been struggling with this changing reality for some time, as it has a tremendous impact on my professional life. The Christian faith, so long held (or at least given lip service) as the arbiter of Ultimate Truth, has found itself challenged in this claim from various fronts, including from within.

And now, after having read a couple of recent essays dealing with motorcycles and Modernism, I find that my struggle is extended from my vocation to my avocation! Sigh ... is nothing safe!?

Let me share my pondering. In a blog written by Paul d'Orleans (The Vintagent), he discusses the history of the "industrial suit" or one piece utility suit (coveralls). First developed as a "boiler suit" in the early 1800's to protect workers who had to climb into the fire box of coal burning steam engines to clean them, it rapidly gained favor in many industries as a pragmatic tool and became a symbol of industrial progress. d'Orleans goes on to state that Adolf Loos declared the one-piece industrial suit as the ideal expression of Modern dress, devoid as it was of useless ornamentation. The industrial suit, connected with ideas of efficiency as demonstrated in Henry Ford's mass production techniques and the Bauhaus School of architecture ('form follows function') became the "model for humanity's salvation from itself."

Let's explore this a bit. Anyone who is an aficienado of Moto GP knows full well the advantage and value of the ubiquitous one-piece riding suit, contructed of the latest in space-age developed and wartime-tested material and armor. In virtually every race one can see one of the superb riders taking a spill at VERY high speeds, man and machine sliding along not inconsiderable distances; when the dust settles 99 out of 100 times the rider stands up, basically unscratched to bang his head at the mis-step that led to the fall.

And therein lay the rub, so to speak. While it is certainly true that on occasion the machine will fail and result in a wreck, most often it is the man that fails: a poorly chosen line, an overly optimistic entry speed, a moments hesitation, a little too much brake or many other acts of pilot error usually cause the spill. Man puts himself at risk through his own hubris.

That is the Modernist error - thinking that we can save ourselves from ourselves, if only we have the right knowledge, applied correctly. The Utopian ideal of which thinkers such as Charles Fourier, Comte de Saint-Simon, Marx, Engels, William Morris, and Edward Bellamy all wrote. Yet they all failed in the same fashion; the very concept of Utopia came from the work of future Chancellor of England Thomas More, who used it to describe a perfect world which does not exist!

What does this have to do with one-piece riding gear? One must differentiate between protection and salvation; the riding suit protects us from the results of our own hubris, but it does not save us from the hubris itself. The post-Modernist understands that salvation lay beyond the self, just as the motorcyclist understands that good gear protects, but only right understanding (how to pick a good line, how to apply brakes - information which comes from beyond oneself) combined with right action (actually picking a good line and actually applying proper braking - choices one makes) saves.

Leadership & Group Riding

2011-06-27T07:11:00.000-07:00

When I lived in Arizona I was part of the Black Mountain Motorcycle Club, a group of folks dedicated to having fun and riding safely. Group rides were always well organized, planned, and carried out with maximum fun and participation the goal. Ride Captains had scouted the routes prior to our group ride, rally points were established to make sure that if someone fell behind they were not lost, and if the group consisted of a large number of bikes (which was often the case)you were assigned to a smaller, more manageable group of ten-twelve riders.

Having relocated up here to the Seattle area some nine months ago, I have really missed the camaraderie of a club. Plus since I really don't know the area at all, I thought it would be great to connect with other riders who could show me around.

I looked around for a club and the one that caught my eye was affiliated with a local moto-store; although the store sells just one brand of bike, they are smart marketers and have a group which is open to everyone who is interested. They of course offer regular test rides of their bikes in hopes that you will eventually buy their brand, which is actually kind of fun.

I kept waiting for good weather to sign up for a ride, but finally decided that if I continued to wait for good weather then I would never ride with the group, so I signed up and headed out last weekend.

The weather wasn't bad, the scenery was lovely, the people were nice, but the group riding discipline was AWFUL! Probably 2/3 of the bikes were high-end sport tourers (that BMW K1600 GTL is absolutely gorgeous and transcends the mere sobriquet 'motorcycle' as it is something else ... but I guess it should be at $30,000+), with a couple of bigger cruisers (my VN 1600 and a dude on a Honda Rune ... a beautiful, funky bike with a wheel base about as long as my chevy), and a couple of smaller bikes - a V-Star and a V-Strom (both 650 cc's).

Anyway, all 17 of us gathered at the store, we were handed a sheet with directions, and then it was basically every man for himself. No real ride captain, no sweep, no smaller groups, and no rally points along the way. The leader pulled out of the parking lot and the friggin' race was on. I got cut off at a stop light with about half the pack behind me (figures the AZ guy with no GPS and no clue where he is going gets put in lead) but once we got through the city and on to the highway another guy whizzed past me (for which act I was actually quite grateful, as he had GPS and I was glancing down at poorly written directions in small font) and seemed to know where he was going, so I just twisted the throttle and kept up.

I don't know if these guys have ever had any group ride training; no hand signals, the leaders just zipped out or around other vehicles with no thought to the folks behind them, no use of good intervals or staggering, poor use of lanes, and many took curves at VERY high rates of speed. I can carve as good as the next guy on a cruiser, but there is no way on God's green earth I could keep up with the speed the sport touring bikes were holding through those blind and unfamilier curves. I've had enough pucker moments in my life, thank you very much! So I had to use every bit of track day training & technique I have ever learned and a lot of straight-away throttle just to keep up ... and you can imagine what it was like for those poor guys on the smaller bikes, as well as others with little or no training.

We went to this one beautiful spot overlooking Skagit Bay (the road up the mountain was narrow and pretty hairy, with tight switchbacks and decreasing radius turns - a neat technical piece of riding) and after parking all spread out kind of looking around when suddenly the "leader" (an employee of the store) and a few guys mounted up with no warning and headed down the mountain and on to the resturant! So the rest of us hopped on our bikes and headed down as well ... hoping for the best.

This was not a group ride; this was a pack headed in the same direction. There is a great difference in life between the two assemblies and I think we have forgotten that reality in America. We have confused individuality with autonomy, and thus lost the ability to self-differentiate which often leads to a herd mentality. At first I tried to keep up with the "leaders" but quickly realized that so doing would probably get me hurt. I decided that they could call me a punk if they so desired, but I was not going to get killed just for bragging rights while doing something stupid. Looking at the faces of some other folks I had to wonder if they had not succumbed to the herd mentality and survived mostly through luck and superior machinery that kept them from killing themselves.

Leaders have a moral obligation to act in the best interests of the whole; ripping out ahead of others because you like to do it or just for fun is irresponsible and thoughtless. While leaders in every endeavor in life must be out in front, blazing the trail and establishing new goals, they must never get so far ahead of the community that by so doing they endanger others. True leaders move forward in the manner best suited for the whole; true leaders share expectations with others. If a ride is not really a group ride but the chance to show off one's ability, then say so in order for others to make free choices about participation. There is nothing inherently wrong in going fast and pushing your limits; it only becomes wrong when you do not allow others to make informed choices on their own.

Leaders don't show off nor do they lead others into blind and unfamiliar territory for which they are unprepared. Leaders are not leaders when those behind them do not trust that choices made are in the best interests of the whole. Morality dictates not in constraining oneself to the least common denominator, but nurturing and protecting the most vulnerable. A group - any group of any size, whether a moto-club or nation - that neglects that rule has by definition become immoral.

Guess I'll be looking for another riding group ....

How Big is Too Big?

2011-06-02T09:33:00.000-07:00

Some buddies and I have been giving thought to the question: "Generally speaking, if you could only own one motorcycle, what would it be?" We are not talking about manufacturer (that debate been beat to death) but rather about type and size of engine. We have gone ‘round and ‘round, but having ridden on the wide roads of AZ for several years and now with a whole eight months of commuting in an urban center under my belt, I personally keep coming back to ... "It depends."

It depends on what type of riding will be primary for the rider, as well as the location in which s/he is riding. If you are city type with lots of commuting, then a smaller displacement, lighter weight bike is definitely the way to go. As much as I love my VN 1600 Cruiser and as great as it is on that 5,000 mile long ride each summer, it is a ponderous beast in city traffic, especially on hilly terrain. I often practice tight maneuvers at slow speed and am reasonably adept, but flickable this Kawi ain't. So, while I would love a bit more torque out of my KLR 650, it is great in traffic and with the high center I have on more than one occasion jumped a curb and parked next to a building, avoiding the cost of a parking meter.

As a result of these experiences I have come to the conclusion that if one is going to have a single, all-purpose bike, something between 650 and 900 cc's is probably optimal. Light enough for traffic, big enough for longer cruises. After a couple of decades of emphasis on Brit Twins that ran in the 500 to 650 cc range (Marlon Brando rode a Triumph 6T in The Wild One) and with the Harley 74 ci (1200 cc – think Peter Fonda and Easy Rider) considered an absolute bad-boy monster, the introduction of a 750 cc bike was considered HUGE to the average rider. Remember that classic long distance trips such as Robert Pirsig’s famous Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Honda Superhawk CB77 – 305 cc’s) and Ted Simon’s Jupiter’s Travels (Triumph Tiger 100 – 500 cc’s) were made on pretty small displacement bikes.

This of course is in opposition to the American standard of “bigger is better” but how big is big enough or, dare one even whisper it, too big? A modern liter sport bike can generate over 70 HP and run a quarter mile in 12 seconds, right out of the box. A BMW R1200 RT can produce 109 HP with 88 ft. lbs. of torque! Either of those, along with a list of others as long as my arm, will get you where you want to go with speed and style, or kill you in a New York minute. But a 2200 or 2300 cc bike? At what point does a motorcycle turn into a Frankenbike?

But maybe excess is the lesson for the day. Experts agree that the current economic recession is due in large part to a bigger and more is better gluttony, at both the individual and corporate levels. How many square feet in a house are enough? How much money is too much? How much credit is dangerous? Just how much can you squeeze workers before they pop?

Gluttony and greed are not limited to food or money but have to do with insatiable appetites. Winston Churchill pointed out that we shape our buildings and then they shape us; Sherry Turkle argued that in the 21st Century we shape our technology but then our technology shapes us. Is that also true with motorcycles? Is there a point at which we lose control and allow our appetites to own us? And if our appetites own us, who is consuming whom?

Welcome Back!

2011-05-25T12:47:00.000-07:00

The weather has turned better (not great, just better) in the Seattle metro area so we are starting to see more bikes on the road. To this reality I have three distinct and parallel reactions:

1) Welcome back, it's great to see you!
2) Where have you sissy's been for the last eight months?
3) Oh-oh.

Now let me unpack each response.

WELCOME BACK! It's always great to see more riders on the road. I pulled up behind two other riders at a stop light the other day and it was fun to head down the road as a group, something I have not done in quite a while. And now I often find riders at the supermarket or coffee shop and take the opportunity to chat, discuss bikes, and get to know folks in this region, to which I am still a newbie.

WHERE HAVE YOU SISSY'S BEEN FOR THE LAST EIGHT MONTHS? With daily commuting in all types of weather comes a certain arrogance; having endured rain, sleet, ice, hail, snow, and all the crap that comes with it, such as freezing one's jujubes off and having to pry one's fingers off the handlebars, one tends to romanticize one's Moto Creds.

OH-OH. The truth is that motorcycle skills are perishable; that is, if one does not ride regularly and/or practice certain skills, those skills will diminish. Any idiot can ride in a straight line at 70 MPH; only a skilled rider can manage stop and go commuter traffic at 5-10 MPH. Basics such as throttle management, picking an appropriate line, and carving curves at a decent speed must be re-learned to a degree.

So we are now in what I would term the Danger Zone. Folks who have not been on bikes in several months have checked the tires, filled the tank, zipped up the leathers, loaded momma on the back and are hitting the road. But too many of them forget that their skills have gone rusty; just like a fifty-five year old who thinks he can do everything he could do when he was twenty-five, they imagine that they can pick up right where they left off at the conclusion of the last riding season. But they can't.

I ride every day and every day I practice figure eights, tight turns, and weaving through parking lots and the truth is that some days I am really on and some days not so much so. Thus it is fair to say that one who has not ridden in several months may not be at his or her best performance level.

All this makes me wonder what other skills that we imagine are up to par have in fact diminished. Skills like listening, relating to others with compassion, or sensitivity to others. Humans are by nature self-interested. This is important for survival and not necessarily immoral. What is immoral is when naturally self-interested persons become unable to transcend themselves when appropriate so as to recognize the needs and concerns of others.

There is nothing wrong with choosing not to ride in inclement weather; in fact it may show a certain intelligence that I appear to be lacking! However, to imagine oneself a better rider than one actually is can result in putting oneself - and others - in harms way, and that is by definition immoral. And so it is with many aspects of life; living as a moral person does not come easily and requires daily practice.

Pre-programming

2011-05-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

Many years ago when I was young enough to play Little League Baseball, I had a coach who worked very hard at teaching us not just how to play the game but to use lessons from the game for life. One of the first things he taught us was to think with about what we would do if the ball was hit to us in our position in the field. For example, I was a first baseman, so if someone was on first and a ball was hit to me, I was to "pre-plan" what I would do with that ball - would I tag the runner, touch the bag, throw it to second, etc.

When I began receiving professional motorcycle training I got the same advice, though with the advent of computers and new studies of the brain it was now called "pre-programming." But regardless of the name, the principle was the same: the best way to avoid trouble is by being prepared. For example, if you are riding along in traffic with proper following distance and you see a car coming from a side street and the wheels are still rolling - if they try to sneak into that space between you and the car in front of you, what will you do? Hint: accelerating, laying on the horn, and flipping them the bird is probably not a good strategy.

Last weekend I took a class with a former Motor officer trainer; we worked on control at slow speed through manipulation of throttle, clutch, and rear brake as we rode through various course layouts. There were eight of us and at one point we were broken down into two groups of four as we practiced riding figure eights. The class consisted of riders of various skill levels, and with that many machines in such a small space, something was bound to go awry. Experience has shown over and over that when riders get a bit nervous they tend to look at the problem and grab brake; in a figure eight this translates into a low side to the inside of the circle and with four bikes in tight formation if one goes down the odds are pretty good that everyone will go down.

I have enough experience dropping my bike without any help from others, so I asked myself: "What am I going to do when bikes start tumbling?" Once again, experience has indicated that people at slow speed will grab the front brake, which means they will fall towards the inside of the turn. So the answer was simple: "Keep your friggin' hand off the front brake and turn sharply to the outside."

We were having a ball but sure enough one guy lost RPM's, grabbed the front brake and went down, followed in quick succession by two other bikes repeating the same mistakes. I was the guy left standing because I turned outside and throttled away from danger.

Now, I would like to say that it was my superior skill and reflexs that helped me avoid the pile-up, but that would be a lie. I have pretty good reflexes for a middle-aged guy, but they are certainly not what they were when I was 25 years old! The truth is that I simply used my brain and pre-programmed my response. When you are an old dude you gotta' compensate with your brain for lack of physical ability!

This notion of pre-programming has many applications. In my professional life I often find myself asking "What is the worst possible outcome of a certain action?" and adjusting my behaviors accordingly. Too often we let emotion over ride intellect and honestly that is a poor use of resources. We have been given this amazing tool called the brain which can be used to keep us out of serious trouble, if we only use it. Too often we resort to a sort of "Yeehaw" default setting in our actions; we need to re-program by pre-programming. Taking a tumble at three miles per hour is not a real serious problem; getting run over at fifty miles an hour, or making a decision that will negatively affect the rest of your life is a serious problem.

Middle-aged Adolescent

2011-03-28T08:15:00.000-07:00

When I was in High School I would on occasion perform an act that required forethought and consideration; on other occasions I would act as a typical adolescent male, by which I mean I would do something impulsive and stupid that lacked any rational explanation. Examples of the latter were usually followed by my mother shaking her head and saying somewhat wistfully, "Sometimes a man, most times a boy." The advantage of aging is that with enough life experience behind you (read: reflection upon stupid stuff you did), the middle aged man is better able to make decisions based on rational thought and consideration of logical consequences rather than impluse and a "Cowabunga!" mentality.

Better able does not translate into always.

A few days back I was cleaning and lubing the chain on my bike and noticed it seemed a bit loose. No problem: loosen the adjusting screws and axle nut, slide the wheel back a bit, retighten everything and you are good to go. Except the axle nut would not budge. I tired every wrench I had and even bought a bigger one using a pipe for leverage. No good. Not too many years ago my response would have been to get a hammer, yet larger wrenches, more pipe, and pushed-pulled-banged until the I sheared the nut or twisted my back. But experience has taught me that I would never get the bloody nut loose, so I simply called up a buddy who has a pneumatic impact wrench, set a time to load the bike up on his lift, and all was well. The middle aged man acting upon experience and rationality.

It was a glorious sunny day (rare this time of year in Seattle), the appointed hour came, and I rode the bike over to my buddy Pat's house. We pulled his project bike off the lift and prepared to put my bike on. Now, I know that one should not try to ride a bike onto a lift - it is simply too narrow for good balance and if you don't get the throttle just right the momentum can actually push the lift forward. This is why professional's never ride a bike on a lift - they wheel it on. But do you think those facts stopped me? Nah. The middle-aged adolescenct acting out of some ancestral gene labeled "Stupid - remove through evolutionary process". Except there seems to be a flaw in evolutionary theory, as it appears you can never evolve out of stupid.

So I fired it up, let out the clutch, rode up on the lift, couldn't quite get the back wheel over the lip, gunned it again and set down my foot - remember I said that lift's are narrow? - which of course slid off the side, causing me to lose momentum and balance. I looked at Pat as I toppled in slow motion and very calmly said, "I'm going over." You could just read it on his face: "No kidding." He later claimed that I was already shooting up the lift before he could suggest this was not a good idea; I personlly think he just wanted to see me do something stupid...

Anyway, over I went. Now, Pat has a small work space crammed with cabinets, half-disassembled motors, and various tools and parts laying around. There is only one small space in which one could fall and not smash oneself against various sharp objects. I landed in that very spot. It is said that God watches after young children and fools. I am proof positive of that proverb. We picked up the bike, levered it up on the lift, strapped it down and got to work. And as we were working, I swear I heard a heavenly voice: "Sometimes a man, most times a boy."

Yep.

Don't Do Anything Stupid ...

2011-03-16T09:19:00.001-07:00

The three most valuable pieces of advice I have received during many years of motorcycle training are "Assume everyone is trying to kill you," "It's not personal," and "Don't do anything stupid."

Actually they all go together.

With millions of vehicles of all shapes and sizes on the road, driven by millions of folks with varying degrees of experience, ability, and attention, it is a wonder there are not far more accidents. At any given moment there are more distractions effecting one's driving skills than can be counted: road and weather conditions, emotional turmoil , bio-rhythms, amount of sleep, a need to urinate ... all impact one's ability to navigate a three ton missle on wheels.

And that ain't good.

So Admonition #1 is simply the realization that motorcycles are small, cars and trucks are big, and folks are probably not paying as much attention to their driving as they ought to be. Lack of attention equals bonehead moves, which put your life in danger; ergo,Assume everyone is trying to kill you.

Which brings us to Admonition #2: It's Not Personal. Just because folks are not paying attention does not mean they hate you personally. In fact the problem is that they do not even recognize that you exist! Human beings - each and every one of us - are pretty self-absorbed, and I mean that as an observation rather than a judgement. We get caught up in the multitude of things listed above and we just don't pay attention to others. But if while tootling along on a beautiful day some knucklehead drifts into your lane while chatting on a cellphone, makes a left turn in front of you because the friggin' GPS told him to, or travels at 29 MPH in a 40 MPS zone trying to figure out which street is the one he wants, it feels quite personal. Especially if said actions result in you having to lock up the breaks, swerve off the pavement, or arrive late at an important meeting.

Here is where we key Admonition #3: Don't do anything stupid. Which is hard when your adrenaline is pumping, your whole body is shaking, and your emotional mind is bent on payback. Flipping someone off seems like the minimal appropriate response and thoughts of putting a series of steel-toed boot prints along the offending car's doors seems quite rational. But discipline is the key here, as one must let the rational mind over-ride the emotional mind. Nothing, I repeat, absolutely nothing, will be gained by either of the above responses or anything in-between. Feeling pissed off is an appropriate response to almost getting whacked by some thoughtless, self-absorbed chump. Getting into a fight, causing damage that could result in your arrest, or risking another accident because of a pride-filled, adrenaline-fueled act is stupid.

Bruce Lee often spoke of emotional content when speaking of the martial arts, and by that he meant you use the energy generated by a negative experience to acheive a positive result. There is no positive result in continuing the cycle of stupidity or violence.

The same is true in all of life; often we find ourselves in situations where we need to remember that actions that effect us are often not meant to be personal, even if they are harmful. We cannot control the actions of others, only take responsbility for ourselves by both watching out for the harmful behaviors of others and remembering not to do anything stupid ourselves. So we choose to yield to reality, shake off the anger, and live to ride another day.

It's not easy, but nobody said riding, or life, was easy!

That's No Bull!

2011-02-28T11:10:00.001-08:00

It was along Highway 50 in Nevada - "America's Loneliest Road" - that I pulled into the sho' nuff' honest-to-God old fashioned roadhouse. You just don't see those any more, and after a hot and dry hundred and fifty miles and a visit to the Shoe Tree (which I have learned was just cut down by vandals), I was ready for a break and some lunch.

The building was a Hollywood set and the staff was right out of central casting: the barkeep was a skinny, bowlegged cowboy with a handlebar mustache on his face and a "Howdy" on his lips. The cook was a pretty little gal with a ready smile and a fast hand on the grill. I sat down and ordered a burger and a root beer and with a "Comin' right up" the slab was on the fire and the taters in the grease. By the way, you can call me a sissy but I follow the "no booze when you are riding on two wheels" rule, as given the number of cagers out there who seem to have as their singular purpose in life the goal of running me over, I have enough diffculty staying alive without adding my alcohol addled brain to the mix.

So I drank my sody, watched Ms. Grill Gal work her magic on my meal and listened as a city slicker hit on her. There was some construction going on down the road and some pretty boys from DownTown were pretending to be roughnecks. Funny. She handled him with grace and charm and the song "Brandy" by Looking Glass kept going through my mind (listen to it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-tRXewCAmU). Following this delightful entertainment my meal came, I chowed down with gusto, and had fun people-watching as other folks slowly drifted in.

After licking my plate clean of any possible trace of french fries (a rare treat for this middle-aged, pre-hypertensive white boy) it was time for this Mysterious Stranger to empty his bladder, wash his hands, and head off into the Sunset.

I asked Cowboy Bob behind the bar to direct me towards the toilet; he pointed to the next room and said "It's just behind the pool table, to the left." So I headed on over to the next room, opened the door to the left of the pool table and just as I stepped in I thought to myself, "Funny, there's a bull on that door over there but this one here has a cow on it."

You ever those moments when even as the brain is screaming important information you still go ahead and do something stupid? Those moments are getting more frequent for me - I guess as you age the doggone processor slows down.

So of course as the door closed behind me I was standing in a sparkling clean, pink-frilly, not a friggin'-urinal-in-sight bathroom. I had, in all my leather clad, motorcycle riding, masculine glory, just stepped into the ladies room, clearly marked by a sign with a Cow ... not a Bull.

Merde.

Great. City-boy don't know the difference between a cow and a bull. Except he does, having been shipped out to a farm for a year. But that doesn't do any good if city-boy's perspective is different from Cowboy Bob. My understanding of "behind the pool table" was different from that of the proprietor of the establishment and I had just followed instructions ... obviously incorrectly, much to my consternation.

I now had a decision to make: stay and go, or go and go. Scheise. I thought to myself, "I'm here and nothing's going to change that fact - I can't unmake my decision. And how much worse could it get (I made sure to lock the door to avoid it getting any worse)?" So I lifted the seat (wife and daughter's have trained me well), finished the business at hand, flushed and closed the seat and lid (did I ever say how scared I am of wife and daughters?), stalled for time as I washed my hands and then finally opened the lock and prepared to walk into a room full of smirking derision.

But nothing happened. No looks, no laughs, no snarky comments, not even a glance my way. And as I moseyed out the door (you always mosey in a western Roadhouse), I was reminded of two things: 1) generally speaking, most people don't give a hoot about the dumb stuff you do so long as it ain't dangerous; 2) clear communication is EVERYTHING!

Relative to number 1, most of us worry a great deal about things that just don't matter. Because our world revolves around us, we assume that everyone else's world revolves around us as well. But it just ain't so ... their worlds revolve around them, so about 999.9 times out of 1000, other folks really aren't paying attention.

As to number 2, when training in grad school we role-played techniques for establishing clarity in communication: repeating, re-phrasing, double and even triple checking .... all to make sure that we really understood what the other person was saying. We practiced these technique because communication is actually a very complicated process involving numerous opportunities for screw up between what is actually meant and what is heard and understood. Language, perspective, inflection ... a million tiny concepts go into communicating effectively, and if any of those gets misunderstood, the whole thing gets wacky. Even something as simple as walking into the correct restroom.

Kind of like the NASA project a few years ago, when they forgot to convert metric measurements into SAE measurements and missed their target by - oh, about a million miles!

This was a great reminder of how important clarity in communication really is, whether one is at the negotiating table, trying to understand another's point of view, or just trying to find a toilet.

So, stomach full, bladder empty, dignity somewhat rumpled and humility re-established, I continued my mosey to the bike, fired it up, DID NOT drop it in the parking lot and headed on down the road, laughing at my own foibles and thankful for a beautiful day. You see, if on any given day the worst communicaton error you make is to walk into the wrong toilet, it's a heck of a good day.

Not All Who Wander are Lost

2011-02-22T07:45:00.001-08:00

... that is a bumper sticker given to me some years ago in recognition of my joy in traveling unguided, with only the foggiest of destinations in mind and little in the way of navigational equipment. This in spite of the fact that my proclivity for directional confusion is well known in my family. Take my wife blindfolded to any state in the Union, spin her around, and she can find north. I have a hard time finding north with a compass on a sunny day and have pretty much been lost everyplace in the US and many places in Europe. But I always find my way home.

It's kind of like the story attributed to the frontiersman Davy Crockett who, when asked if he had ever been lost, replied: "No, but I was a might be-wildered for three days one time."

We live in an age where one should never get lost, what with MapQuest, Google, Smart Phones and GPS. But not all who wander are lost ... and not all who follow the soft voice transmitted from a GPS are found. I read a study that says we humans tend to respond in a positive fashion to a human voice and thus are wont to do whatever the voice says, in spite of all evidence suggesting that so to do can lead to disaster. Add this to the fact that we are dependent upon technologies and you have some of the most bone-headed moves imaginable, like driving into a canal in front of you, down private roads clearly marked "DANGER" and turning into trees because the voice told you to Turn Right, Now!

The truth is that as humans we have developed automatic responses for dealing with the vast amount of information that comes our way; we cannot possibly process it all in such a way as to keep us safe, and so we default to tried and true methods of coping. But by so doing we often become captive to our creations, and they slowly begin to create us. The more embedded we become to technologies like GPS the less able we are to be reflective about their impact on us. The end becomes pre-determined by the means.

This is not a diatribe against modern technology or the use of GPS! There are times when it is great to simply plug a destination into to your GPS and get a route. And although I have heard horror stories to the contrary, I have found MapQuest to be pretty accurate.

But when I hit the road every summer, I just want to wander a bit. I have found some of the neatest people and places, seen some great sites and had wonderful conversations, when I was "lost." Lots of fascinating sites are not listed in any guidebook, like the broken down and shuttered bar in Mississippi where I stopped to eat my lunch one day and discovered a plaque on the wall, rusty and dusty, announcing that the birth of a famous blues group began right there. Or the fellow in some grease spot in New Mexico, who drank his malt liquor at 8 AM and told me about how he had kicked Troy Donahue's ass back in the 1950's for making a pass at his wife. Cool stuff ... and it never would have happened if I had not wandered into those places.

There is a time to be found and a time to be lost ... we just have to discern the difference.

TC Bank- Dream Rangers

2011-02-14T07:43:00.000-08:00

If picture is worth 1,000 words, then this short video is worth more than I can write in a lifetime; it is the heart of Mu-shin Riding! Dream on ...

Slow in, Quick out

2011-02-10T07:31:00.000-08:00

I am one of those folks who likes to head into a new project at full throttle. When starting a new job I am energized and excited and generally spend an incredible amount of time and energy reading, learning, reflecting, developing a plan, and then acting. And generally that approach has served me well.

But as with so many strategies in life, a quick entry is not always the best approach. Sometimes you have to take it slow (what ever that might mean within a particular context), ease into the project, and then accelerate out. That is particularly true when you are entering some unknown territory, just like you do when riding through a curve.

Twenty-five percent of all motorcycle accidents involve only a single vehicle (nothing but the motorcycle) and 3/4 of those accidents involved over-braking or sliding the bike on the road, generally in a curve. Stated simply that means that the dirver entered the curve way too hot, panicked, grabbed the brake, and ended up in "collision with a fixed object" (DOT speak for "on a beautiful day with no one around the idiot was not paying attention and rammed his bike against the guardrail-road-telephone pole-etc.").

One of the most exciting parts of riding a bike is taking the curves at speed; there is a definite adrenalin rush as you lean the bike into the curve. That's fun. But there is also a rush when you smack your face onto the pavement or freak out and fixate on that wall that is drawing ever closer. That's stupid. The only real pucker moment I have had riding at speed was when I was getting cocky and entered a curve way too hot and realized that I needed more lean in the bike than my skills would probably allow me to achieve. I started looking at the wall as it got closer and closer, and it was only through the shear discipline affected by the teaching from good instructors that I tore my eyes away from the wall, looked down the road, and arrived home safe and sound ... though not without a bathroom stop prior ...

Over and over again instructors hammer into us: Slow in, Quick out. Watch the pros and you see this pattern every few seconds as they run the course. And these are the big boys and girls, folks with incredible skill riding machines that have been tested and re-tested and fine-tuned to travel safely at maximum lean through curves. But they slow down (relatively speaking) as they enter and then accelerate out of the curve: Slow in, Quick out. Experience has taught them the prudence and pragmatism of this approach, as if you want to win you have to finish, and a crash is not the kind of finish that leads to winning. It's a long race which is won not in any single curve but in prudent control of many curves.

And in normal riding, Slow in means paying very close attention to the posted speed limits for curves; they are not posted there just to piss people off or in an attempt to reduce personal freedom, but to keep everyone as safe as possible. The regulations are there to help, not hurt.

One of the hardest things to teach anyone who is excited about his/her profession is Slow in, Quick out. Most of us, when we come out of our educational programs, think we know it all (or just about all of it) and are ready to take on the world. Certainly this is true for clergy and I suspect the same principle applies to all professions; we are ready to go and tend to enter very quickly, certain that we can handle it. And sooner or later we find that we are moving way to fast for our abilities and either get lucky and avoid a crash ... or not. In my own life it has taken a long, long time to learn how to apply the principle of Slow in, Quick out to my profession. It's a long race which is won not in any single curve but in prudent control of many curves.

I personally believe that a contributing factor to the current economic crisis is the failure to apply this Slow in, Quick out concept appropriately. In an ever accelerating material world the demand for enormous and immediate profit over-ruled prudence and any sense of long range thinking. Enter fast and Exit faster seemed to be the operant norm. And riders of any skill level will testify that sooner or later you over reach with only one option left: a crash.

In riding it's one thing to make choices that - at least theoretically - involve only your own life. I say theoretically because the truth is that we all exist in relationship and any decision I make will have an effect on others. And ultimately there is no excuse for making choices that involve the lives of other innocent folk, like passengers, other riders, some guy walking his dog, or anyone else on the road. Such reckless behavior is immoral, all protestations of individual freedom aside. My freedom ends where it impacts the freedom of another, and crashing into someone else is a definite impact.

The reckless behavior of large businesses and the dismantling of appropriate reguations designed to protect people led to a crash from which many of the drivers emerged relatively unscathed even as they left others devastated in their wake. It is as though the rider of a motorcycle entered a curve far faster than safe for circumstances, hit a slick spot and went into a slide, but was able to dismount the bike as it careened through a crowd of people. Slightly scruffed up they could yell that the slick spot was not their fault (or that 'somebody' should have posted a warning!) and escape prosecution even as their insurance paid for the replacement of the bike. It is irresponsible and immoral but perfectly legal.

Slow win, Quick out. That's what not only wins the long race but keeps others safe as well.

Perishable Skills

2011-02-02T11:56:00.000-08:00

Every rider will tell you that getting a motorcycle running at high speed in a straight line is not a problem - all the dynamics of physics and engineering reinforce the natural desire of a bike to head in a straight line. Within five minutes I can teach anyone who is able to ride a bicycle how to control the throttle, clutch and brake and get rolling down the road.

Slow speed manuevers on the other hand, are where we separate those who love to ride from the weekend warriors, since at slow speed one loses all those wonderful dynamic forces which keep you upright while roaring down the road at full throttle. So those who love to ride and seek to improve ability (and thereby increase average life expectancy) constantly train at what are referred to as "perishable" skills.

Perishable skills are just what they sound like; skills which although once learned and perhaps even mastered, perish over time without practice. One would think, "How hard can it be to make a u-turn on a little motorcycle?'" And the answer, from every rider who has grabbed brake and fallen, or had to stop and push the bike back in what is in effect a three point turn, is: "Harder than you imagine!"

Because the dynamics of speed, gyroscopic and centrifugal forces disappear and are replaced by gravity, it requires great finesse to turn a 750 pound beast (or a 400 lb lightweight for that matter) at slow speed without dropping it because the bike's natural tendency is to fall in the direction of the turn, which is helpful when navigating a curve at 5o MPH but a real pain when trying to manuever around a parking lot at 5 MPH.

So at every opportunity I practice u-turns, tight circles, stop & goes, or swerves. The Church is located in dowtown Bellevue, WA next to a big parking lot and every morning before I park the bike for the day I make it a point to perform several u-turns between parking spaces and tight circles around a light post. No doubt observers wonder if I have lost my mind but it is a simple and convenient way to keep up my skills. And having dumped my bike on more than a few occasions at slow speed (once even standing still, before I had turned the engine on), I figure I need to keep up my skills!

And I wonder what other skills I possess that are perishable without practice? Listening, for example. Not just hearing but really listening, with all my senses. Or caring. If you don't care long enough, can you reach a point where you can't care? And playing; how long has it been since I just played with no worry about scores, or winning or losing?

We are given so many gifts and so many abilitie. I wonder how many we squander for lack of practice ...

Carpe lux Solis!

2011-01-27T07:50:00.000-08:00

One of the most obvious advantages to living in Arizona is Aeterna lux solis - eternal sunshine. Bike dirty and need a good cleaning? Sunny, warm and dry out today, the perfect combo for cleaning up the ride? No problem ... do it today or don't, because tomorrow will be much the same. A re-run of "Big Trouble in Little China" playing on TCM for the umpteenth time? Hey, the bikes can wait until tomorrow. Livign in Arizona for six years I got pretty comfortable cleaning the bikes when I felt like it rather than when the weather offered me the brief opportunity. What a luxury!

The same is not true for the Seattle area. Up until last Saturday we had experienced only one twenty-four hour period without precipitation in the entire month of January - one day out of twenty-two. Obviously with my every day commuting in such muck my bikes were less than gleaming, and so on Saturday when the sun came out and dried up all the rain, I headed out to the garage with bucket, sponge and sham in hand because it was unlikely there would be a sunny tomorrow - literally. Thus there is a certain 'seize the day' attitude necessary if you want to keep your bike clean around here.

Some say Why bother? since it is more than likely that the rain will return and the bike just get dirty again. But to me a part of what makes us human is our refusal to give in the inevitable, to make some choices not 'because of,' but 'in spite of.'

And I had a ball, as I am one of those guys who really likes to keep his bike clean; I follow the proverb that says take care of your machine and it will take care of you. So for two or three hours I was washing, scrubbing, and polishing; contorting myself in all sorts of odd positions to get at dirt and grime in curious places ... just how in the world does grit manage to get thrown where it does get thrown, but no matter which way I twist the hose the water jet will not reach it? Weird.

As I was cleaning I began to wonder how many opportunities I had missed in life because I imagined (or convinced myself) there was a guaranteed sunny tomorrow? How often had I sat on my butt rather than engaged life? How many times had I missed a chance to make a new acquaintance, ease someone's burden, or simply enjoy the view because I had not been disciplined enough to take advantage of the moment?

I have buried enough people in my career to know that there are no guarantees. And I am not advocating an 'eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die,' anything goes lifestyle, only a recognition that our own lassitude may prevent us from enjoying life in a multitude of ways.

Those bikes got a good scrubbing on Saturday and sure enough on Sunday the rains returned. All might appear to have been for naught as my bike got dirty again ... but not for me. Although Sunday was rainy, it was still a Sun day inside of my soul.

TCB - Taking Care of Business

2011-01-18T08:21:00.000-08:00

The traffic was light, the morning was clear, and the roads were dry - a delightful morning for my MLK Day commute to work. I snicked the bike into gear and headed out, unimpeded by traffic, catching every light for the first half of my commute and enjoying the curves of the road and the scenery around me.

As I approached the half-way mark of my morning commute there was an eighteen wheeler in the left lane beside me. Long haul trucks are big, motorcycles are small, and I watched him carefully, concerned that he did not see me as he drifted slightly to the right. Then I noticed his left blinker was on and I figured he was just doing a bit of the old "edge right to go left," which is understandable with those big rigs. I continued to watch and when I saw his brake lights come on I glanced up to see the left turn signal become red. All was well.

Except it wasn't.

This particular juncture of my commute has a bit of a blind curve to the right as you drive through a freeway overpass. There are signal lights just beyond the overpass which are not visible as you make the curve and you have to be sure you look up and watch for the light as you drive through the overpass. I know this because I have been driving this route five or six days a week for three months. But knowing and doing are separate acts, and on this particular morning I was paying so much attention to the truck and his driving that I was not paying enough attention to my own driving.

Just as I glanced up and saw his red light, I observed that my light had just turned red as well. It was one of those "Oh, crap!" moments as I realized I was going too fast to stop before the intersection without locking up the brakes and probably skidding into the intersection. I glanced right (it is an off-ramp so no traffic enters from the left) and saw that the front wheels of the car had not yet started moving, so I punched it and roared through the red light. And as I did so I caught the eye of the driver and thought to myself, "Great, I have just added to his list of why he doesn't like motorcyclists."

He didn't have to say it of me, because I thought it of myself: Moron.

Paying attention to other drivers is important for safe riding, but doing so without paying attention to your own behavior is dumb. I was safe from the truck on my left but not from the poor schlub on my right, and it was my own fault.

How often in life do we get so worried about somebody's else's behavior that we don't pay attention to our own actions? How often have I heard one person screaming about another's inappropriate behavior without recognizing their own faulty actions? It is very easy to criticize the other guy, to observe his behavior and provide our "shoulda-woulda-coulda" commentary without taking a moment to ask questions about our own behaviors, our own culpability in complex situations.

TCB - Taking Care of Business means taking care of your own business before worrying about the other guy.

The Little Things

2011-01-13T08:33:00.000-08:00

I have about a ten mile commute to work. The route itself is delightful, with hills, nice gentle curves, and some very pretty scenery. But between rain and traffic I am rarely able to really enjoy it. Only on occasion am I able to get into fourth gear, let alone fifth, and spend a lot of time practicing slow speed driving in first and second gears as I try to keep good intervals between the driver in front, beside, and behind me. It's not bad as commutes go, and riding a bike sure beats driving in a car, but usually it's just a commute.

But every now and then ... I have been working long hours for a few weeks so the other day I decided to head home early. I got on the KLR and remembered that it had not rained for about 24 hours so the roads were dry. I pulled into traffic and realized that I was late enough in the day to beat the lunch hour rush and early enough to be ahead of the home bound commuters. I had a few blocks of downtown lights to get through before hitting the less impeded part of my travel ... and the road suddenly opened up. No traffic, no slick streets, temps about 45 degrees. Perfect.

So I opened it up a bit - nothing nuts, it is still an urban area after all - but enough above the speed limit to really be able to lean into the curves and enjoy the zip of the bike. It didn't last long, maybe only three or four miles before granny pulled out in front of me and proceeded to drive five miles per hour UNDER the limit, but it was long enough to keep me smiling all week long.

We live in an incredible land with so much which goes right that I think we often take the good things for granted. We have come to expect life to always be good, food to always be tasty, conversations always to leave us fulfilled, and traffic to move as we want it to move. When it does not, we get cranky because we have forgotten how complicated life is for most folks in the world.

But every now and then something small happens - an unexpected smile, an "atta boy" from a boss or colleague, a sunny and dry day with no traffic - and we remember how important the little things are in life. We remember to be grateful, to appreciate what we have been given.

Especially given the tragic shooting in Tucson this week we should remember how precious is all of life and to appreciate every moment as a gift ...

Loud Pipes

2011-01-06T07:31:00.000-08:00

There is a saying among MotoFolk: "Loud pipes save lives." This saying is popular with - imagine that - those who like loud pipes. The problem is that there is absolutely no statistical information to back up this claim, and I can add to the anecdotal evidence that refutes its veracity.

The only moving accident I ever had was riding a project Harley with really, really loud pipes. I bought the bike from a kid who had positively trashed the bike, stripping the excellent Vance & Hines pipes off and replacing them with straight slash-cuts, which provided no muffling what-so-ever. I was working the bike over and got the wiring replaced and a new front end put on and thought I would take it out for a quick test-run. The biggest mistake I made here was thinking that since it would just be "around the block" a couple of times I would not bother with any protective gear, including a helmet.

I fired it up, snicked it into gear, and headed down the road. All the electricals worked, the front end held true, and everytime I twisted the throttle the bike would rear up with a mighty roar. It was a beautiful day.

I came around a curve and pulled up beyond a senior gentleman in a monster SUV. I dropped it down into first gear and followed him at a safe distance for a block or so. He continued to drive more and more slowly until he finally pulled over a bit to the right and came to a stop. Thinking he wanted me to pass I checked the mirror, eased it to the left, and hit that throttle for a quick pass.

Then of course he turned left in front of me into his driveway. Pull to the right, stop completely, don't use a turn signal, don't check your mirror, and then execute a left turn. That's how they teach it in drivers ed, right?

I registered about an Eight on the sphincter scale, locked up the brakes, skidded the rear tire to my right, twisted the front end into the skid, and thought I was going to miss him.

Then of course he stopped. In the middle of the street and his own friggin' driveway. He later told me he didn't know I was there and didn't realize he had stopped (again), he just ... stopped.

It's funny how while the bladder and bowels are emptying themselves the brain fills with images, a series of snapshots which are permanently imbedded in the "Oh, shit" file in your brain. I saw my front wheel bounce off his back tire, I heard a "pop" while watching my handlebars swivel into the rear panel, and then observed the bike laying on its' side with fluids pouring out. The most amazing thing is that I saw all of this from a distance of about fifteen feet, standing straight up, not a scratch on me, observing it all just like a pedestrian who happened to be walking by. That "fight or flight" instinct ain't all bad.

I immediately ran over to the driver to make sure he was OK. He just looked at me and said, "I had no idea you were there."

No idea??!! I had the loudest pipes one could have and they were definitely roaring when I hit the gas, and he had not heard a thing. So much for loud pipes saving lives ....

The end of the story is that neither of us was hurt, my bike was OK, and his side panel was repairable. But it sure made me think about some things, like how dumb it is to even just "go around the block" without gear. I was very, very lucky. The other item for reflection was "loudness."

Ever notice how when people are in conflict we tend to raise our voices? As temperatures rise so does volume, as though louder will win ... but it doesn't. Loud pipes don't save lives or win arguments. You may shout the other person down but that does not really constitute winning, does it?

Loud pipes on a bike don't save lives, thoughtful driving does, and thoughtful driving is the product of listening to and observing the environment around you and then adjusting accordingly.

Loud pipes in a disagreement doesn't win the argument, thoughtful discussion does, and thoughtful discussion is the product of carefully listening to and observing the other person, and then adjusting accordingly.

Funny how those Hebrews from 3,000 years ago knew what they were talking about: "A gentle answer turns away wrath but a harsh word stirs up anger." - Proverbs 15:1

I wonder if they had any sayings about loud camels ...

Get it in Gear!

2010-12-21T11:06:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-16T08:50:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-08T08:09:00.000-08:00

'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

2010-11-30T07:31:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-23T07:45:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-16T07:47:00.001-08:00

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

2010-11-10T07:39:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-11-03T07:25:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-01T08:35:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-27T07:37:00.001-07:00

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

2010-10-25T07:34:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-19T07:57:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-15T08:05:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-13T07:51:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-11T07:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-29T10:58:00.001-07:00

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

2010-09-29T08:31:00.001-07:00

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

2010-09-27T07:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-22T08:05:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-19T11:40:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-15T09:03:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-09-13T07:30:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-10T06:45:00.000-07:00

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 ...

2010-09-08T09:23:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-06T08:25:00.000-07:00

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 ...

2010-09-02T10:12:00.000-07:00

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 ...

2010-09-01T07:29:00.000-07:00

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!

To be or not to be ... Rude

2010-08-28T11:30:00.001-07:00

I was intentionally rude to someone the other day, the practice of which I do not make a habit. But I found myself in a no-win situation and had to make a decision ...

Every pastor gets sideways with some parishoners. You do your best but sometimes the politics or the personalities just don't work out. If we are lucky the folks just go to another church and leave it at that. But mostly we aren't lucky and have to deal with some pretty nasty behavior aimed personally and directly at us. And as pastors we are supposed to eat it up with a big ol' spoon in the hand and a smile on the face, resisting the urge to release our inner cage brawler. That's probably why the disability insurance for ministers is in the same category as high-steel workers and undersea demolitions experts; ten or twenty of thirty years of that kind of suppression means that when we blow, there ain't no coming back.

Any way, I was walking to work the other day and came face to face with a member of the church who had publically bad-mouthed me, made statements that were absolutely false, lied to me when I confronted her about the behavior, and had declared she would never return to our church as long as I was in the pulpit (to which I must admit I had uttered a grateful "Amen").

It had just become public that I will be leaving my current church in October to serve a church in Bellevue, Washington. As we encountered one another on the street that morning she smiled and yelled "Good morning!"

We have not spoken in eighteen months, she dislikes me intensely, and the only thing that made it good for her was that I was leaving in six weeks. And encountering her at that moment meant it definitely was not a good morning for me.

So I simply smiled and grunted. She then began to tell me about how they had just been in Bellevue to visit their daughter and how neat a town it was ... etc., etc. I must admit my blood was boiling, the synapses were firing, and the many nasty speeches which I had mentally rehearsed during the months of her attack on me began to make their way to my tongue ...

Once upon a time a novice asked an ancient desert monk, "Abba, what is humility?" The monk replied: "To do good to those who hurt you." The brother said: "If you cannot go that far, what should you do?" The old man replied: "Get away from them and keep your mouth shut."

I put my head down, buttoned my lips, and just kept on walking without a word. And of course when I was down the road a bit she reverted to form and uttered some rude words at me.

There is no joy in me with the nature of this encounter, but sometimes the best you can do is not make a situation any worse.

Church For Sale

2010-08-27T06:59:00.001-07:00

One of the saddest experiences of traveling through small-town America is the economic devastation one sees. I was in one little town in the West (I'll keep its identity secret) and after unloading the bike and checking in I did my normal walk-about.

I've been in a lot of small towns off the beaten track and seen lots of economic pain, but this town certainly took the prize. On virtually every street there were numerous buildings, houses, and businesses for sale: a dance studio, a bakery, a dozen small retail shops, a couple of motels, a car dealership (for sale by owner), even a church! And the bad news is that I discovered one church that had already been sold and was being turned into low-end apartments - Yikes! You know it is really bad, both economically and spiritually, when churches (plural) start folding. Banks don't want to foreclose, members do everything they can to keep the doors open, and in a town where the only thriving businesses were bars and casinos, you know there is a problem.

Not that I have an issue with bars and casinos - this is a free country after all, and goodness knows I have stepped inside more than a few bars in my life. Casinos not so much ... watching all that money go back and forth positively freaks me out. We were in Las Vegas once and my wife won $1.25 (yes, that's right, one dollar and twenty-five cents) on a nickel slot and I immediately started shouting "CASH OUT!!!!"

But my admittedly anecdotal experience is that usually you find a balance between bars/gambling halls and banks/churches. But not in this place: the whole town was for sale. Even the job training center was shuttered up and on the market! That tells you how bad things are in this town.

When I see businesses shuttered up I tend to stand and gaze at them for awhile, trying to imagine the joy and hope of the owners when the business first opened. I imagine the work that went into planning and stocking the shelves, the meetings with bankers ... I see the "Grand Opening" and I imagine the first heady days as a long-held dream was finally realized.

Then my heart cries as in my minds eye I see month after month of downturn until finally the coffers are empty and the owner has to shutter the door and walk away, downcast. How horrible it is to have your dream morph into a nightmare.

All of this was going through my head as I stood and gazed at the "For Sale" sign on the church pictured here. But then something curious happened ...

It was six o'clock and from some other part of that town I heard ... church bells. How long had those bells tolled the hours in this town, reminding folks - reminding me - of the contstant movement of time? The bells rang and my heart lifted, for they reminded me that "to eveything there is a season, and a time to every matter under heaven," and that though it was true that the time for this place of the worship of heaven was finished, Heaven itself was still a living reality.

Jazz Man

2010-08-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

I have discovered that although I prefer urban living, I most enjoy small town visiting. While on long rides my habit is to find a little town - the more beat up the better - get a room, unload the bike and then wander the streets. I get off the main drag and try to make contact with local folks and my ventures never go unrewarded in some way.

I was in Ely, Nevada - a cool little town though pretty beat up - and after getting settled at the Hotel Nevada ($40 a night for a great room in what back in the day was at four stories the tallest building in Nevada) I set off a-wandering.

Like so many small towns in America, there was a lot of sadness in this place. It had been a boom town with a couple of mines in the late 19th and early 20th century (hence the Hotel Nevada) but those days were long gone. The little cracker-box houses which had no doubt seemed palatial to mine workers a hundred years ago are now pretty decrepit. But even with run-down buildings and for sale signs, there are a good number of folk who call this town home and have happy lives. I got to become acquainted with a couple of them.

As I wandered off the beaten path I suddenly heard some pretty good jazz licks. SoI headed towards the location of the music and saw a fellow clad in only his pajama bottoms, smoking a cigarette and leaning up against a car, just listening. I figured "when in Rome" so headed over to say howdy. We got to chatting and I learned the author of the music was a jazz musician who was re-habbing the place across the street and every now and then he would just stop the construction work and pick up his trumpet. Whenever the Jammy Man heard the Jazz Man he would step outside and just listen.

After a bit Jammy Man asked me if I would like a beer (to which I responded in the affirmative - wouldn't want to be rude!) and we leaned up against his car and drank just like at any good jazz club. The weather was beautiful, the company was interesting (although it did take me awhile to get over my companion's attire), the jazz was great, and it was all for free.

So find those little towns, turn off the electronics and wander off the main drag ... like the man said, there are a million stories in the city (even little cities) and even if I can't collect all of them, I'm going to get a lot of them!

Mistakes and Regrets

2010-08-09T06:00:00.000-07:00

I think we don't differentiate enough between a mistake and a regret. I believe that most of us make the best decisions we can with the information at hand but still those decisions don't turn out the way we had hoped. That's a mistake and to my mind something easily forgetable and forgivable. A regret on the other hand is a decision or a choice or circumstance that leaves a profound sense of loss from which we can never fully recover - forgivable but not forgetable.

And I think that those folks who say they have no regrets are either liars or have not lived life nearly to it's fullest.

A few years ago when I headed out on my first official long ride I loaded the cruiser, set off down the road, and along the way made a detour down a dirt road to see something that interested me. The further down the road I went the worse the road became, until I finally realized that I was in way over my head, especially riding a loaded cruiser. So I started a u-turn, hit the gas too fast in that dirt, slid the rear tire and of course dumped the bike. There I was in the middle of nowhere, six hours into my first long ride, with 700 pounds of me, motorcycle and gear lying in the dirt. And at that moment my cell phone rang; it was my wife, just "checking in." How do they know???

So I twisted the truth just a bit and told her everything was fine Iwhich I really was), then dusted myself off, set a spell to get my head together, then picked up the bike and learned a lesson: cruisers and dirt do not play well together. That's an example of a mistake (dumping the bike, not lying to one's spouse which, if not appropriately confessed later, could be a BIG regret!).

On the other hand, I do have a couple of regrets in my life. Without going into all the detail, I have a brother, Archie, who is eighteen years older than me whom mom threw out of the house when I was very little. Archie had his own family, my mom and I relocated to another state and I lost touch with him. I tried to find him many years ago but everything I found indicated he was dead.

So imagine my surprise when, two years ago I received an email from his daughter, telling me that Archie was very much alive and doing well. So my brother whom I had not seen in 45 years and thought was dead, was found! We have spent much time together since and it means to world to me to find my lost brother. But I deeply regret the many years which we have lost and the moments and depth of relationship that we can never regain.

But mistake or regret, there is usually nothing we can do to change the past. All we can do is determine how we will live in the new moment.

So Many Roads

2010-08-04T06:06:00.000-07:00

I saw a bumper sticker the other day that I really liked: So Many Roads to Ease My Soul. All of us in life have more than a few instances of soul exhaustion due to our own decisions or circumstances beyond our control. And when I say soul exhaustion, I don't mean when we feel a little blue or even find ourselves in a psychologically depressed state, although they can be related. Soul Exhaustion is when you just don't see any options, when friends are absent and you feel completely invisible - when you are ready to say "Not even God likes me."

But then the fog clears bit and a road appears, almost as if by magic; a mystical path of possibility - not necessarily a final destination, but at least a direction. The road itself may be rough, full of potholes, just a rugged trail, but at least it's a road, and a road means someone else has traveled here before. And just knowing that someone has gone before us can make the road less lonely, more hopeful.

But like any journey, it is up to us to keep our eyes open for the road, or to at least listen to our friends who will point us in the direction of the road.

Certainly in my life I have experienced both soul exhaustion and roads that eased my soul. But the road was always made better with a companion, a friend who was just walked with me or family who refused to let me remain lost. And at times I have even been the one who walked the road with another, helping to provide some ease for their soul.

So Many Roads to Ease My Soul. Ain't it the truth ....

American Exceptionalism

2010-08-02T06:34:00.000-07:00

Durng the 19th century a school of thought called American Exceptionalism emerged. With roots in Puritanism, the original concept was that God had chosen this land to have a unique place among the nations of the world; over time other foundations for this notion of emerged, based on our geography and abundance of natural resources, and ultimately on our political system, based as it is on representative democracy and "self-evident truths."

The past decade this idea of American Exceptionalism has grown, gaining credence among many who have advocated a new form of Manfiest Destiny, combining all the above foundations with American economic and military might. As a result our nation has acted imperialistically and then been surprised when people are mad at us.

There are two kinds of travelers on the road: tourists and companions. Tourists grab the low-hanging fruit; they simply want to see the natives do their cute dances in their quaint costumes, sample a little bit of homogenized local fare, grab a few trinkets, and then head home. Tourists really don't want to see the indigenous peoples. These are the kinds of folks who advocate American Exceptionalism.

Companions on the other hand climb high into the tree to spend time with the locals, ask questions, and venture far beyond the tourist meccas. Companions want to see and experience life from a new perspective, to understand the people with whm they travel and thereby understand the world in a new way. I would say these folks advocate American Acceptionalism.

I love what President Obama said: "I believe in American Exceptionalsim, just like the British believe in British Exceptionalism and the French believe in French Exceptionalism."

The truly Exceptional are the ones who are Acceptional.

The Invisible Man

2010-07-30T06:55:00.000-07:00

Each summer on the road I assign myself some new reading, choosing an author such as Steinbeck or Dostoyevski (ugh - never again) or a genre like journey stories such as Travels with Charley, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, On the Road, The Dharma Bums, & Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

This year as a bit of a lark I decided to read the classic horror stories of the 19th century - including Dracula, Frankenstein, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, The Phantom of the Opera, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and The Invisble Man among others. It was this last one, The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells, that got to me thinking during my current long ride.

The story is bascially about a scientist who figures out how to refract light in a particular way to mke himself invisible; the problem is that he cannot reverse the process and goes mad. It's that last part that got me to thinking: How many of us would, or have, gone mad because we feel ourselves "invisible", that is, without any sort of authentic corporeality in the world?

I think of the young men of Columbine, who were "invisible" except as objects of scorn. I think of those who have lost jobs and the experience of invisiblity which drives them mad, that is to extremes of behavior, usually sociopathic in form. I think of times in my own life when others have treated me as virtually invisible, and the anger and hurt I felt.

I wonder how often I have treated others as invisible, as not worth my time and effort. I think of the literally hundreds of people with whom I interact on the road - do I treat them as invisible? And what gift I can give to them by treating them as visible, as real people with real feelings and real needs, especially the need to be treated as a real person. A little kindness, a please and thank you, a smile, a door held ... each of these small actions tells them that I see them, that they exist to me, that they have some meaning, however small and momentary, in the world.

It seems such a small thing, to see and be seen. But perhaps these small acts can save the sanity of another, not to mention ourselves: "For when you have done it to the least of these my brothers, you have done it to me also."

Coffee Snob

2010-07-28T08:05:00.000-07:00

My wife says I am a coffee snob. Not the grande-double shot-chocolate-mocha-machiatto-with whip cream kind of snob, but the kind who likes strong coffee with real flavor. That doesn't mean I won't choke down a cup of Sanka if offered by a gracious parishoner, it's just that if I have a choice I would rather drink nothing at all rather than a weak cup of coffee.

While on the road I stay at the cheap places, like those your mom used to veto when you were on vacation, or the decrepit but probably something back-in-the-day kind of place. I find several consistencies in such places: the proprieters are friendly, they are usually a good value, and IF they offer any coffee in the morning it ain't very good.

The other night I stayed in a cabin in a camping & RV park. It is a fact that you get what you pay for and I did not pay enough to expect a cup of coffee upon my 5 AM rising. So I loaded the bike and hit the road, figuring I would find something somewhere down the road. After a couple of hours of beautiful early dawn riding it was time to find some coffee. I pulled into a little place, the kind with a hand lettered Coffee & Baked Goods sign and, given my location between nowhere and can't see nowhere from here, my expectations were not very high.

Man, was I mistaken.

The baked goods smelled wonderful so I ordered a croissant the size of Rhode Island and asked for a cup of coffee. Imagine my surpise when asked "What kind would you like?"

Huh? What do you mean, "What kind?"

To which she responded that they had two Italian blends, one light & mild and one dark & strong. Needless to say I opted for the latter and with my first sip I knew I had made a very good decision. With my coffee & croissant I could have been sitting in a bistro in Paris or a backerei in Berlin ... but I was sitting in Backwater, USA with a satisfied smile on my face.

Just a good reminder of how dumb pre-conceived notions (prejudices) are.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

2010-07-26T08:00:00.000-07:00

Remember the 1970 tune Signs by the Five Man Electric Band:

"Sign, Sign, everywhere a sign,
blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind.
Do this, don't do that,
can't you read the sign?"

The song was a rejction of accepted cultural norms like profiling (Long-haired freaky people need not apply) and exclusivness (You got to have a membership card to get inside), while offering a paean of thanksgiving:

I got me a pen and paper and I made up my own little sign
I said thank you Lord, for thinking about me
I'm alive and doing fine

Yep, there are signs everywhere and I honestly think some of them should be disobeyed. But signs do have value, especially on the road. A warning such as "Dangrous Curves" can keep you alive and the "Duck Xing" can keep you from beinb labeled a mass murderer. While we may not always like the signs that block out the scenery or break our minds, and may choose to do 60 MPH in that curve instead of the recommend 50 MPH, it is wise to at least consider the information the signs provide, even if you aren't sure what they portend.

Like one sign I encountered on a back road in Utah: Motorcycles use Extreme Caution.

Not just caution or extra caution, but EXTREME caution. I didn't know what it meant, but I sure as heck slowed down and looked around. I really don't think the folks who post those signs are just trying to mess with drivers and probably had some reason for posting that information in the first place. So I paid attention, and extreme caution was warranted as the turns were very tight and rocks littered the road. And even though I was using extreme caution I was still dragging hard parts avoiding rocks and leaning into the turns.

So signs are important, especially those that require a little thought to interpret. In fact I think the less obvious signs are the most important because they point to not so obvious underlying problems.

Signs like manure on the road. It was dawn and I was heading east into the sun, up into some of the most awesome country on the face of this planet. As the sun rose the shadows cast by the mesas and mountains added a glorious wonder to the morning but also left some blind spots. It was when I saw the manure that the alarm bells went off and I remembered that those less obvious signs are very important.

And I was right, because suddenly one of the "shadows" started moving. It is amazing how the mind can say "That ain't right" even as the feet and hands are braking, downshifting, and preparing for evasive action. Which is good, since the shadow turned out to be a calf just wandering across the road. I was never in any real danger and because I had paid attention to the manure doubling as a sign I was able to swerve and avoid the calf with only a minimal rise on the sphincter scale ...

About a mile down the road there was a posted sign, one of the helpful obvious kind: Open Range. Yeah, thanks but I figured that out.

We don't pay enough attention to the signs all around us, especially the less obvious ones that point to truths we deny even as we act them out. We are so busy posting our own signs that we don't pay attention to all the danger signs in our culture, like lying as an accepted norm to achieve an ends, property before people, and jumping to conclusions with no consideration of facts. These are the signs we need to observe very carefully.

To intentionally disobey a sign is a matter of free choice; to pay no attention to a sign is dangerous.

A Taxing Situation

2010-07-23T04:35:00.000-07:00

I don’t mind paying taxes. I think there is a very important place for government and the taxes to finance government. I know being against “government” is all the rage and lots of folks, like the so-called “Tea Party” movement are very much against taxation and any form of government involvement. At least until they need help. Witness the BP oil disaster and the cries for “the government should do something”.

But I digress.

I don’t mind paying taxes because each and every time I ride the roads of America I am reminded of how much I get for my taxes, whether local, state, or federal. Yesterday I road through some of the most incredible scenery on the face of the planet, all through the courtesy of tax financed roads and highways. I marveled at the engineering that had to take place to blast pathways through canyons and construct bridges over rivers. I actually stopped at one point to examine the roadbed, trying to imagine the thought that went into grading and laying the road. I did some quick math to try to figure out how much it cost and could not come up with even a gross estimate. And my tax contribution to the total cost was miniscule but there I was enjoying the gift of that road.

The past couple of days I have ridden through about five national parks/forests, all financed with tax dollars. And I benefitted from the foresight of politicans and conservationists who made sure that land was avialable for everyone to see and not limited to a few privileged folks who have the personal resources to do whatever they want. All financed with tax dollars.

Often the people who holler most about taxes are those who benefit the most from the infrastructure which the taxes provide. A defense system which is often used less as a tool to protect Americans and more as a means to expand American capitalist interests and protect our materialistic way of life. Roadways, airports, ports - necessary to transport the goods from which people make so doggoned much money - all financed with tax dollars. And not current tax dollars, but past. The Federal Highway Act passed in 1956 and it was dollars from back then that financed much of the road system on which I am privileged to ride today.

Is there waste in government? No doubt … but how much of that waste can really be laid at the feet of private industry which takes advantage of government systems?

Are politicians fallible? Of course ... But thirty years in the ministry have taught me that EVERYONE is fallible. Welcome to the human race.

Millions of citizens before me have paid their taxes and I am the recipient of their contribution to the commonweal. So send me my tax bill and I am happy to pay, because I get a heck of lot for my money in this great land of freedom and I am determined that my children’s children shall enjoy the same benefits.

Freedom in Motion

2010-07-21T17:32:00.000-07:00

After five hundred miles I am in Escalante, Utah. Northern Arizona and southern Utah have remarkable geographic diversity and beauty. I went through mountains and moonscapes, forests and fields, rain and shine. I struck up conversations with Japanese tourists, a developmentally disabled chap on vacation, and the owner of the local bike shop. Now I am sitting outside my little cabin at Bob’s RV park just thinking about how lucky I am.

As I motored along today and gaped at the incredible scenery, I thought how lucky I have been in my life. I have been able to take advantage of the world of motion and have been privileged to visit many places and to imbibe much of what creation has to offer. I find incredible freedom in movement and travel, and as I gazed at the glory around me I began to wonder about those who have not been so lucky.

Some folks simply are not travelers and have no real interest in seeing something other than what they already know. I must admit I don’t understand those folks.

Some folks simply don’t have the economic means to go very far from home; when I was in High School I worked at a marine science center one summer, and our job was to introduce elementary age kids to the wonders of marine life. I was stunned to find out that children living in Florida had little or no experience of the beach, the ocean, or forms of river life. It broke my heart then and it still does today.

And there is a third category of person who has not been as lucky as I have been: the one who has some sort of physical or mental impairment that prevents him from seeing or doing, that prevents them from finding freedom in motion.

But perhaps I am judging from my own limited perspective. Perhaps I am the one who limits himself to finding freedom in motion. I mean, think of folks like Christopher Reed or Stephen Hawking. A tragic accident bound Reed and a vicious affliction still holds Hawking in its grip. Yet both of these men … and many, many more like them … have refused to be limited by the physical world. Hawking has gone places in his mind that most of us mortals cannot even conceive, and up until the very end of his life Reed reached out to others.

Finding freedom in motion is a gift. Finding freedom in spite of the lack of motion is a blessing.

The Sound of Silence

2010-07-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

We live in a pretty noisy world. We are constantly bombarded with sound from televisions and telephones, computers and Blackberry’s, all demanding our immediate attention. And while I think this potential for communication is great, my own observation is that the gizmos keep us tethered rather than connected.

In communication theory the actual process of communicating is quite complicated and filled with lots of opportunities to mess up: we can encode a message improperly, we can send it along a poor channel, it can become distorted by various kinds of “noise”, it can be improperly decoded … about a million chances to make certain that what I said is not what you heard. And a big part of this problem is that we don’t really listen. We may hear, but we just don’t listen.

There is a neat scene in Pulp Fiction where Mia (Uma Thurman) says to Vince (John Travolta), “Do you listen or just wait for your turn to talk?”

I think that is a key point – most of the time we wait for our turn to talk rather than really listening, and miss a whole lot as a result. Our ego needs are so great that we find it impossible to be silent and listen.

Silent is an anagram for Listen. Being Silent is not necessarily an absence of noise, an external reality, but rather the intentional focus of one’s attention, an internal decision. There is a lot of road noise on a motorcycle, even with ear plugs. But that doesn’t stop you from Being Silent and hearing many things that would otherwise float away.

I was headed down the road, cruising along the Mississippi River towards Memphis. As I was rolling along a song started playing in my head: Precious Lord, by Tommy Dorsey. I don’t have an iPod or MP3 player, so the only music I hear on the road is what rolls around in my brain. Usually the music is classic rock & roll or Reggae but Gospel music is virtually NEVER part of the playlist.

But the song was there and it was on replay, so I just went with it and was quite surprised at how much of the tune I actually knew – I guess a lifetime in the church has left its’ mark! Eventually the song ended its run and I pulled into Memphis and headed for the National Civil Rights museum, located in what was the Lorraine Motel, the location of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. As I worked my way through the motel I was reminded of how our legal system has so often sanctified injustice.

At last I made my way to the site of the assassination and was stunned by what I read: Dr. King was standing at the railing speaking to the band leader for the evening, making sure that his favorite song, “Precious Lord” was played that night, when the bullet struck.

Wow. For just a little while on that road to Memphis I had been listening, really listening to something far beyond my comprehension. And as I stood in silence and awe I wondered: How much have I missed just because I couldn’t be silent and listen?

American Pickers

2010-07-16T08:42:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite television shows is American Pickers, broadcast on the History Channel. It is about Mike & Frank, “two ordinary guys looking for extraordinary things” and the show “follows them as they scour the country's junkyards, basements and barns for hidden gems.” I am always amazed at the breadth of knowledge they demonstrate as they root through what seems to me like junk and find “stuff” that commands some amazing prices.

But what I like most about the show is not the stuff they pick, but the stories. Each episode involves not just buying stuff, but interacting with the people who own the stuff. And it is the picking of the stories, the narrative and history behind the stuff, which I find most fascinating.

Every summer for the past few years I have been able to wander around the country on my motorcycle, usually traveling the back roads and Blue Highways located throughout the country. It is along these routes that I am able to see stuff like the Blue Whale in Catoosa, OK; Carhenge in Alliance NE; and the World’s Biggest Ball of Twine in Cawker City, KS. But more important than seeing this stuff are the people I meet and the human stories that I am privileged to “pick” along the road.

Like one little town in New Mexico. When I pulled in I stopped for gas and the attendant came out to talk. He looked my bike over, asked where I had been and where I was going, and then talked about his plans to get out of that town: “Ain’t nuthin’ here but gas stations and motels – everybody is just passin’ through.” He dreamed of a finding himself somewhere else.

The town seemed interesting even if somewhat decrepit, so I decided to stay the night. After checking in at a run-down hotel which had been quite The Place back in the day (various fading autographed pictures of long-dead movie stars lined the walls), I wandered around and found a local museum. There I met the curator, a middle-aged woman who shared her story. She grew up in that town and left for the Big City as soon as she was able; in the Big City she imbibed deeply from the well of a dissolute life until many years later she found herself waking up from yet another binge of “the good life” and realized that instead of finding herself, she had lost herself. So she returned to her hometown, cleaned up, and was now the happiest she had ever been.

I hit the road early and the next morning was loaded by 5:30 AM; there aren’t many folk awake at that time of day. I was rummaging around the motel looking for some coffee when the night auditor offered me some of his and we got to talking. He had grown up “back east” and lived a good life there but was just never satisfied. Then a few years ago he packed his bags and headed west, looking for … he was not sure what. One day he stopped in this town, loved it, and will never leave.

Twenty-four hours, one town, three people and three stories. Now that’s American Picking.

Beginners Mind

2010-07-14T08:43:00.000-07:00

Do you remember when you first started to learn a new skill? It was a feeling of fear – “Can I do this?” – mixed with excitement and anticipation – “I want to do this!”. I love to watch people get their first lessons on a motorcycle – it is really neat to see how in such a short time uncertainty and fear are transformed into confidence and joy.

When we first learn a new skill, we love the act of learning and practice, practice, and practice some more, reveling in the enjoyment of the act itself, losing ourselves in the pure feeling of the moment. Hours pass and it but a short moment.

The great 19th century Japanese Swordsman and Zen Master Yamaoka Tesshu said that there are two aspects of practice: Technique and Principle.“Particular and Universal are the two aspects of practice. Particular is technique and Universal is mind.” Technique simply refers to the “how” or specific skill itself; in swordsmanship it is the form with which you make a particular stroke, in motorcycling it is such things as pressing or leaning, in sewing it is using a certain kind of stitch. Universal is the principle, what we might call the “Why” of a technique; understanding the principle allows us to apply it to various new situations, not being limited to a simple laundry list. Technique is mechanical and specific to the art while Universal is principle and transcends any specific art; Universal can be applied to many kinds of situations, becoming a sort of metaphor for much of life.

Anyone can learn technique; I can teach anyone how to ride a motorcycle with a modicum of skill in about two hours. But therein lay the danger: once the technique is learned, we begin to think of ourselves as experts, and experts can become dangerous: “In the beginners mind there are many possibilities, but in the experts mind there are few.” ~Shunryu Suzuki.

The true expert is the one who keeps Sho-shin – Beginners Mind. In motorcycling these are the folks who never lose their awe of, and respect for, the machine. These are the folks who constantly train and go to classes to improve, realizing that true mastery is never attained. Beginners mind is the mind of the student, the one who experiences the same excitement the millionth time s/he cranks the engine as s/he felt the first time mounting a ride. Every moment is a new experience, and instead of being limited by what one already knows one is freed by the endless possibilities that exist. With Beginners Mind, no two journeys are the same and even the most familiar road is filled with new possibility.

You Go Where You Look

2010-07-12T08:55:00.000-07:00

One of the most important lessons of riding is that the motorcycle will go where you look. Countless accidents and fatalities can be laid on the doorstep of this simple to understand yet difficult to affect principle: the motorcycle will go where you look.

Our human tendency is to focus on the things that scare us, the people and places and objects from which we perceive threat, rather than those things that liberate us. That kind of threat-based focus can lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy:

if we think we are going to run into the wall, our tendency is to stare at the wall, allowing it to fill our consciousness, and we are drawn into it;

if we expect our children to lie to us, we often put them in the position of lying. Instead of saying “Why did you take that toy from your sister?” we say “Did you take that toy from your sister?” Why are we then surprised when the kid seizes the opportunity to tell a lie to try to get out of trouble?

if we think that the world is a corrupt place, then we will see the only the corruption;

if we think that all French folks are rude, then we will re-tell the story of the one obnoxious jerk we met or the perceived slight from someone who simply did not understand what we were asking on our two week vacation instead of the dozens of folks who were kind and helpful.

You go where you look. Certainly I have experienced this more than once in my riding, since it requires incredible discipline NOT to focus on the threat you perceive. For example, a few weeks back a buddy and I were way out in some Arizona desert and got into this nasty, talcum-powder fine dirt that was about six inches deep and allows virtually no traction. I was skidding along when I spotted a rise to my left. So I thought “Nuts with this; I’m going to jump the rise and get on solid ground.” So I fish-tailed left and started the climb … and then looked down. The picture captures the result. I was spitting dust for a week. If I had kept my eye on the horizon, on the solid ground, I would have made the climb. But I looked down at the danger – “OMG!!!” - and sure enough, I looked myself into a crash.

We are living in a time of Civil War, a time when too many folks on both sides of the political spectrum are going where they are looking, and are looking only at the perceived threats. We may be shooting at one another with words rather than guns, but families are divided, sides are being chosen, and propaganda and lies are used to reinforce pre-conceived prejudices. We are going where we are looking.

We expect undocumented workers to commit violent crimes, and use any instance of violence as proof;

We label Conservatives as racist and see every statement of political disagreement as reinforcement;

We label Liberals as socialist and use any argument for government intervention as proof;

We hang on to a single ideology with such might that we refuse to recognize that no one solution fits every problem.

We go where we look and our human tendency is to look at the perceived problem rather than the possible solution. We focus on our fears rather than looking beyond the threat, towards the horizon. It takes incredible discipline to look to the horizon, as it means we must let go of our preconceived notions, release fear’s control, and force ourselves into seeking solution rather than spinning around in problem. To look at the horizon is not easy … but failure to do so leads to dangerous consequences. Just look at the picture of my bike and imagine what I looked like …

You go where you look.

Peace in Motion

2010-07-09T13:24:00.000-07:00

From the moment that unknown stranger invited me into the riding clan, the road called to me, awakening nomadic genes which had lain dormant. I was born in the same year as the Federal Highway Act, which set the stage for the construction of 44,000 miles of interstate. Many of my ancestors were nomads, from Jasper Crane who boarded the ship Hector in England in 1635 and helped found New Haven, Connecticut and then Newark, New Jersey; to my great-grandfather Edwin Thomas Crane, who in 1870 as a fifteen year old orphan left the farm in Pennsylvania and walked to St. Joseph, Missouri; to my mother, Helen Maurine Crane Brown, who in the late 1920’s flew around Missouri in a bi-plane with her boyfriend and sold rides, worked on the Al-Can Highway during the Second World War, and later opened a flower shop in Gallup, New Mexico. So it is no wonder that I am a wanderer.

Hence my fifth lesson: the discovery of Peace in Motion. Sometimes it beckoned for me to ride alone and other times in the company of good friends. Sometimes I travel by motorcycle, sometimes by car, and sometimes by train or bus. But I travel.

Counselors and psychologists often recommend that individuals journal when they are going through a process of self-discovery. Certainly that is a helpful technique, and I think many people do journal - maybe this blog is a sort of journal. But I have a hunch that most men journey a great deal more than journal.

So maybe cars and motorcycles are good metaphors for men. Whether we salivate over the latest and greatest, most power-under-the-hood ever new car, or fantasize about the old first-love car of our youth, it is about journey. The former seeks to drive into the future with an illusion of new power, the latter hold on to something good, but mythic, from the past. But both are really about the current journey, just from different angles.

I’ve made a lot of road trips in my life, and basically there are two ways to make the trip: fast and furious with only the destination in mind, or slow and meandering, with only the driving having any importance. I’ve burned across America from Miami to San Francisco in three days, and I have meandered around the Southwest, Midwest and the South with no place to go and nothing but time. Both are ultimately about journey; it’s just that sometimes it is the getting there that is important, and other times it’s only the going that matters.

Sometimes on the journey we keep our eyes focused on what is ahead, like the twenty-year old, and sometimes we let someone else take the wheel and we look back on where we have been. I think a lot of fifty year-olds are taking time to look back. I know I am. And every good driver knows that you have to be smart enough to watch the road ahead AND remember to check the rear-view mirror now and then. It is appropriate to watch ahead and glance back … on any journey you gotta’ consider where you’ve been in order to decide where you want to go.

Some time you have been to places you to which you definitely desire a return; at other times you wouldn’t go back to a place for love nor money. All kinds of things blow us off track; we take a wrong turn, get a flat tire, or see a sign for the world’s largest ball of twine and decide to make a side trip. That’s often the most fun part of the trip. So there is always a need to make course corrections; where we have been has a lot of influence on where we are going, whether we admit it or not.

I am told by those who know about such things that the most stable platform is a tripod and certainly it is true that authentic spirituality, of whatever tradition, consists of three legs which in Zen are often referred to as Attitude (one’s mental state), Practice (learning and repeating the techniques), and Understanding (awareness of the principles which transcend the specific art). So I am on the road, seeking to effect attitude, practice the tradition, and ultimately obtain understanding.

Discovering Solidarity

2010-07-08T07:44:00.000-07:00

Well, as stated previously, my first lesson in motorcycling was actually two lessons: the technical aspects of riding a motorcycle and the love of a rider for his bike. So as Norm picked up his bike and I picked up myself, a relationship was born.

And thus in spite of my bruised backside and the discovery that I was not as important as a machine, I had $300 saved up and a couple of months later sans the blessings of my mother, I bought a Honda CL 70 and got my first dose of mobility and freedom. But with freedom comes responsibility, and before my girlfriend would be allowed to ride double with me, her parents had to check me out. So they came over, watched me ride up and down and all around, and feeling quite accomplished, I decided to do a quick u-turn in the driveway. Unfortunately said drive-way was dirt, and I promptly dumped the bike.

The third scooter lesson: over-confidence is a vicious mistress.

Later that same day, downcast and passenger-less, I took a ride. I headed along Ocean View Blvd (a name reflecting more of a dream than a reality) in Jensen Beach, Florida and coming towards me I saw a guy on a chopper. Long-hair blowing in the wind, with loud pipes roaring, he was for me the epitome of cool. And there I was riding a single cylinder bike that could do only do fifty miles an hour going downhill in a hurricane. But as the gap between us closed, I saw his face break into a smile as his arm rose from the handlebars and his left fist clenched in the motorcyclists sign of brotherhood.

To me.

I was a just a skinny kid riding a scoot that most good athletes could outrun on foot. But I was riding two wheels, and I had just been accepted into the fraternity. For a boy seeking identity (and wondering if he would ever get his girlfriend on his bike), in those few seconds that act by a complete stranger had taught me my fourth lesson in riding: solidarity.

This was a pivotal moment for me, not just as a rider, but as a human being, and a fourth lesson from motorcycles remained: little acts of kindness can change a persons’ life in ways we will never know.

A New Journey

2010-07-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

I have reached middle age and am reflecting upon my life thus far, and it occurred to me that there are a lot of similarities between me as a fifty-year old and me as a twenty-year old. Both want to figure out who they are based on the circumstances and experiences, and the particular perspective, of their lives. When you are twenty, the whole world lay before you, the choices and possibilities seem endless, and you are certain you can change the world. You know just enough to be hopeful … even certain … that the world can be a better place for everyone, and you can help make it happen.

When you are seeking identity as a twenty-year old, you are looking at the future, at potentialities, at what you can become. You head down the road without a glance in the rear-view mirror. When you are fifty, you are looking as much at the past, at reality, at what you have become, as you are looking at the road ahead. Hence the proverbial mid-life crisis, when far too many of us men spend a great deal of time trying to recapture our youth (staring in the rear-view mirror) and doing stuff, ofttimes stupid but sometimes healthy, to remake ourselves.

At fifty you pretty much look in the mirror and have to say, “This is it.” The big advantage over being twenty, however, is that you can look back on far more choices, good and bad, and far more experiences, both favorable and unfavorable, and reflect upon them with a different kind of perspective. One can look back and discern pivotal moments in life, realizing how small those moments seemed at the time but how many important lessons they imparted to us.

Like when I was fourteen years old and my buddy Norm Wantland taught me how to ride motorcycles on a Honda CB160. Norm, though only fifteen years old himself, was quite a patient teacher. But in spite of his thorough and well thought out teaching methods, like any beginning rider, I dumped his bike in the street while trying to make a u-turn. And like any normal rider, Norm left me lying in the street while he picked up the bike and cleaned it off.

So my first riding lesson actually involved two lessons: the technical aspects of operating a motorcycle and the emotional aspects of a rider for his ride.