Welcome Back!

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

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

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 ...

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!

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

... 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

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 ...