Stolen! My BMW 1973 R60/5

I’m trying to keep all Zen about this but my BMW was stolen this morning. From the McDonald’s parking lot here in Rome, Georgia! Anyway, it’s a very unusual looking bike so it can be easily identified. Not that I expect my viewers in Brazil, Myanmar, or the UK to be on the lookout. (But do keep an eye open!)

I’m just glad I still have my Harley, Big Red.

Traveling mercies to you.

 

 

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Autumn is Coming, Pirates, Hungry kids, Random Acts of Kindness

Autumn is coming. Trees on the hills are gossiping about their changing colors.

Despite having put 10, 000 miles on the bike this summer I can’t stop riding Big Red, my 2004 Harley Road King Classic. I enjoy it so much. We’ve been having a drought here in Georgia so every day’s been dry. And hot too. So hot that chickens have been laying boiled eggs; men have been proposing to tall women just for the shade. You get the idea.

Yesterday, as I headed home from work the rain started falling. It wasn’t too bad at first but then it became heavier. At this point bikers usually look for an overpass they can park under to either wait it out or put on their rain gear. Or maybe they start looking for a gasoline/petrol station where they can hunker down for a while until it lets up. That’s what I did. I knew there was a station just a few miles down the road so I kept going. While riding there, rainbows started to almost crowd the sky. It was like they had been waiting for the damn drought to be over so they could show off their beautiful colors. Rainbows to me are always harbingers of hope, reminding me that we all can learn to be at home with insecurity. Leaving the gas station a drizzle continued and I watched the mist, rising off the hot asphalt and the fields near the road, and watched it kissing the low lying clouds. Romance is everywhere.

Rode Big Red up to work to teach my class, and since it was International Talk Like a Pirate Day I dressed up. Hopefully, I can get a picture attached.

I also rode it up to the free meal program I volunteer at and enjoyed the excitement of the little kids who climbed up on it and tried on my helmet. I don’t do much at that program other than read books, make paper airplanes, talk to folks and mop up. I can swing a mean mop. I offer my students extra credit if they’ll go to the program, not tell folks they’re students or what they’re doing, mingle a little, have a meal and write a paper about it. I usually only get a few students who’ll do it but they always find it a profound and humbling experience. It’s one thing to read about poverty and see it and another to feel what it’s like. No one wants to ask for help, or be seen receiving it.

Big Red brought me over to the river the other day so I could walk on the tree lined path that accompanies it. It was hot and I got pretty sweaty. I had a Harley shirt on and some jeans but I must have looked a little rough when I stumbled into a barbecue joint to get some ice water. After sitting there munching on ice for a while a man walked up to me and said in a low, gentle voice: “Excuse me sir. My family and I are were talking and we wondered if we could buy you a meal?” I was surprised, smiled and told him thanks, that I was alright. What would you have said?

They must have thought I was homeless. That’s fine with me. But heartfelt, courageous, random acts of kindness are so beautiful they fill me with hope, just like rainbows.     wp_20160919_15_08_51_pro

Day 35: Peoria to Paducah; 315 miles; Total Miles So Far: 8763 (14, 102 km); Follow Your Dreams.

I left Peoria around 11 this morning. So hard to say goodbye to my great friend Kathy who had made the days there so wonderful. Last night we went to the Peoria Brewing Company, which was great fun. We tried a few of their beers, had some pizza and lost badly in the Hawaiian Trivia Night Quiz. (See photo). Yesterday I also had to visit the Harley deal in Peoria. Routine maintenance for the most part. Big Red needed a new back tire and, apparently, the rear brake pads needed to be replaced. $386, before tax, on the tire. And $73.70 for the brake job. That’s the way things roll with a Harley. I had planned in my budget around $1000 in repairs for the trip and so far we’re under that at around $900 – but that’s for 8000 miles, so I’m happy with that. (Knock on wood).

I hope to make it back to Rome, Georgia tomorrow. My phone tells me I have about 340 miles to go. That will put me over 9000 miles for this trip. Wow. I wasn’t sure I could do it, old man and all, and with all the medical problems I have. Don’t ever talk yourself out of your dreams! One step, one day, at a time. You can do it. WP_20160629_19_19_01_Pro

One Day Until I Head off to Alaska: Saying Goodbye; Thoughts on Mortality

This week has been a tough lesson in saying goodbye. First, my senior students graduated on Saturday and so I rode Big Red up to Dalton and donned the cap and gown and walked in the procession during their ceremony. I’ve known them for three years since they took my Introduction to Social Work course. I’m so proud of their accomplishments and yet so sad to see them go. All 20 have gotten job offers and over 75% have been accepted to graduate school.

Then we had to pack our offices up. They’re remodeling. It reminded me of my last packing in Ireland,  when I left there 4 years ago with just 4 suitcases, after having lived there for 16 years. That was a tough goodbye, but it taught me some profound lessons; letting go, trusting, risking, humility and compassion, to mention a few.

Then it was saying “goodbye” here in town to the many kind friends I’ve made since I moved to Rome. I’ve been told they’re taking bets on how far I’ll make it. How many times I’ll stop at Harley shops along the way. It’s the usual ribbing, the taking the Mickie out of me, by friends, mates or “muckers”, that lets you know they care. Okay, well some of them. (You know who you are!) I know that I should be back in a few months’ time but motorcycle trips have a way of causing everyone to think about the rider’s mortality, especially the rider. Still, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing. All true adventures have an element of peril in them.

I am excited and optimistic about the trip. I figure it’ll take me about 14 days to get to Alaska and I hope to keep posting everyday along the way. From Alaska I’ll head down the west coast and spend some days on the Pacific Coast Highway all the way to LA.

But for tomorrow, I’m aiming to get to Paducah, Kentucky!

 The Summer Day – Mary Oliver

… I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Announcing: Summer 2016 Motorcycle Trip! 9000+ miles

Rome to Nome to Hannah to Home

Specifically, Rome (Georgia) to Nome, (Alaska, actually probably Juneau but Nome rhymes) to Hannah (daughter in Los Angeles) to home (Rome)
I’ve been thinking about this trip for some time now and it’s finally time to announce it and start planning. As a teacher, I’m fortunate to have summers off and so I’m planning on heading out around the 10th of May.
I’ll keep you posted as plans progress! Wish me luck!

A Motorcycle Ride Against Cancer; Because No One Should Journey Alone.

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Yesterday, along with around 60 other bikers, I took part in a motorcycle ride in memory of Darlene Bagley, with all the proceeds going to Cancer Navigators of Rome, Georgia.
Big Red and I had to leave early in the morning to get to Adairsville in time, especially, since it included a stop at Hardees first for a biscuit and coffee. It was only 74 degrees when I left (It would reach 96 later) and patches of mist were still ghost hovering over the Oostanaula River. The farmer’s market at Ridge Ferry was open, walkers were sauntering down the path along the river and folks were already trickling into yard sales. A veil of blue grey mist hung on the hillsides in the trees. A breeze rippled across their tops making it look like the trees were still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.
After fueling up on coffee and a biscuit I headed to the park in Adairsville and found bikes, cars and police escorts in a lot near a large covered area.
I went in and registered, bought a tee shirt and took stock of the gathering. Men, women, children, a St Bernard and a black kitten meowing in a travel box. Most of the riders were men though I saw at least two women bikers. Folks wore Harley shirts, some sleeveless so you could see their upper arm tattoos. Others wore black and pink Cancer Navigator shirts and other tee shirts. Heads were adorned with Harley and American flag skull caps. A number of men had leather vests stitched with the names of their organizations: Missionaries on Bikes, Cruisers for Christ, Biker’s against Child Abuse and OBK – which I found out later, stood for Outrageous Beardsmen Koalition. I kid you not. Since my biker name is Monk (Long story –not that exciting) I thought about creating a group called Monks on Motorcycles. The logo could be a hooded monk on a Harley Road King and above it M.O. M. Okay, maybe not.
After a brief speech on the amazing supportive work of the non-profit Cancer Navigators, and a few testimonials and a prayer it was almost time for “kickstands up.” I ran into a friend Carol, herself a cancer survivor, who said she would love to go on the ride with someone. I usually ride without a sissy bar and an extra helmet but before leaving that morning “something” told me to put one on the bike, so I did. She hopped on and the big procession began rolling slowly over the speed bumps out of the park. I love these police escorted and intersection-blocked rides. We zoomed down the highways enjoying the thrill of running red lights! We cascaded over the shadowed, narrow back roads and the wind created from our bikes caused the trees to shake in support. Almost looked like they were waving at us. Okay, not the whole tree waving in support, maybe just a few branches. Carol did her fair share of waving to folks who had parked their cars on the sides of the roads as a sign of respect. We did about 85 miles through the foothills and forests of Northwest Georgia, passed farms, ranches, fields, wet bottomlands, lakes and thick forests of pine, oak and maple. Pink flowers from Crape Myrtles, yellow dandelions, blooming Mimosas and purple flowers dotted the countryside. The sky was blue with wispy white clouds. It was beautiful. After about 1 ½ hours of riding we were back, hearts soaring even though many butts were sore-ing. A great ride.
Afterwards there were soft drinks, burgers and hot dogs and the fixings. Camaraderie, hugging, back slapping, jokes and folks telling stories ensued until the auction for donated cakes and baked goods began. (An Italian Crème Cake went for 80 bucks!). Then the raffle began. I watched for a while and then skedaddled with a lot on my mind.
For me this wasn’t just a charity ride. It was a big reminder about some important things.It reminded me about how a small group of people can change things. How a group of professionals gave up large salaries and started a non -profit for the sole purpose of supporting cancer victims and their families, folks usually abandoned to find their own ways after the diagnosis has been given. How one man started a benefit ride for his wife and kept it running every year to raise money. How folks and businesses contributed their cakes and their prizes to help raise even a bit more money for the cause. How families were brought together, families of friends, supporters and bikers. It was more than just a charity ride. All these people felt good about having an opportunity to show their compassion, to be a part of larger cause, to contribute in their own way. It was a beautiful thing!
I rode home overwhelmed by the heat and the gratitude in my heart. I can’t contribute much, but I can ride.

Next Big Ride: “People Shouldn’t Have to Journey Alone”

July 11th – 6th Annual Motorcycle Ride in Memory of Darlene Bagley to benefit Cancer Navigators

Adairsville, Georgia

“People Shouldn’t Have to Journey Alone”

This is the motto of Cancer Navigators of Rome, Georgia, a nonprofit organization funded entirely by donations, which supports cancer patients and their families as they navigate the medical, social, financial and emotional maze that accompanies a diagnosis of cancer. Nurses, social workers and service navigators support cancer patients from the first medical appointment, throughout their treatment and beyond by providing an amazing array of services.

Their service area primarily encompasses Floyd, Chattooga and Polk counties of Northwest Georgia and last year they helped 689 newly diagnosed cancer patients and their loved ones.
Find out more about their services about their informational, supportive, practical and educational services at their website: http://cancernavigatorsga.org/

I’ve been so impressed with them I dedicated one of my Amazon eBooks (Nights at the Round Table – Gene Powers; there’s a link on this blog) to them and all the proceeds from the sale of that book go directly to the organization.

If you live nearby, come ride with me that day. If you don’t, then buy a book to support them, give one as a gift, or make a donation directly to them via information on their website.

Safe riding. And remember: “People Shouldn’t Have to Journey Alone”

Here’s information about the ride:
This will be our 6th annual ride. All money raised will go to Cancer Navigators in Rome, GA. It will be at Manning Mill Park on July 11, 2015. Registration starts at 9:00 and the ride will start at 10:00. $20.00 per bike, $10.00 for passengers and that includes food and drinks. We will be selling t-shirts for $15.00 and we will have hamburgers & hotdogs. Even if you don’t ride please come out and support us!! You can pre-register by e-mail or phone so we will know how many bikes will be attending.
Buddy Bagley – abtransport2003@yahoo.com or (770-313-8190)
Thank you and we hope to see you there. This is for a great cause!

Why Pay Day Takes So Long to Come. Zeno’s Paradox. My 41 Year Old BMW Hits the Road.

There’s a philosophical reason why payday always seems so incredibly far away. To disrespectfully borrow from the Greek philosopher Zeno it would go something like this. Today is Monday and payday is Friday. For me to get to Friday I have to get half way there, say Wednesday. And for me to get to Wednesday I have to get half way there, say Tuesday. Maybe you see where this is going. For me to get to Tuesday, I have to get half way there, which is about 4 pm today. Then there’s half way to that, and half way to that. In other words, there’s an infinite number of half “times” I have to reach before payday. May not be scientifically true but it certainly explains psychologically why payday always feels as if it will never come!
It’s Monday morning and as usual it looks like payday will never come. I’ve got to go to work. I stare mournfully at the back tire on the Road King (AKA Big Red). I have almost 9000 miles on that tire and there’s an angel hair’s width of tread still on her. I’ve needed a new one since El Paso, Texas, almost 2 months ago. Harley whitewalls aren’t cheap. About $300 installed. There’s 4 days until pay day when I can get it replaced. I like to pay cash. And it’s the same 4 days on which I have to make the 100 mile round trip to Dalton, where I work.

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R60/5 with the toaster gas tank

I was out in the garage staring at Big Red’s back tire, shaking my head when the Old Knight, the 1973 BMW R60/5, whispered to me to let her out of the cage. She could do the run up to Dalton she promised. I tilted my head and stared at her. I had been riding her around town for the last year and she’s done alright. She’s had a few problems but nothing you couldn’t work through or around when you ride her. The thing is that she’s 41 years old. She has four speeds, a 599cc engine (Big Red has five and most new bikes six) and doesn’t have a windscreen. She has Mikuni carbs on her which work far better than the custom Bing ones. (“Why do they call Bing carburetors Bing? Because that’s the sound they make hitting the trash can.”). Why not give the Old Knight a try?
There’s nowhere to stash the coffee thermos and no saddlebags so I just “bungeed” my laptop bag to the seat and took off. She handled beautifully as she always does. Engine’s quiet and she just thumps along. The acceleration’s not fast but it is consistent. After a while I relaxed and just enjoyed crossing the rivers and watching the mist rising in the hills and mountains.
But then I hit Interstate 75 for my last 20 miles. Cars and trucks whizzed by as the bike slowly gained speed. She was straining, but happy and still had more throttle left when I got her to 80 mph.That’s when the problem with the tachometer needle started. These old BMW’s are notorious for having bad speedometer/tachometer units. For the last month my rpm gauge has acted like a metronome with its needle flipping right and left. Now it started going wild. For a while it ran all the way to the right and stuck in the red zone like I was redlining it. It remained stuck there all day Monday.
On Tuesday the rpm gauge tip finally broke off and the base of the needle began spinning around like a fan or like the newspapers hot off the press in those old movies. Slightly mesmerizing if you stared at it, so I just didn’t. Besides, who needs an rpm gauge? My Harley didn’t have one.
On Wednesday a loud whirling sound, related to the engine speed, started coming out of the headlight unit, where, of course, the speedometer/tachometer is located. On the way home the speedometer needle started bouncing around like it had the hiccups. One moment it showed I was going 40mph and the next moment 80. It finally settled down and stopped, showing me riding at a cool 120 mph.
Thursday morning, one more day to go,and the Old Knight put her brave face on again. Who can resist the pleading grin from that shiny chrome toaster tank? I strapped on my laptop bag, cranked her up and rode her down the driveway and out to the main road. That’s when the clutch started slipping. I managed to turn her around and ride back up to the house but the clutch kept slipping and she couldn’t make it up the driveway. I parked her on the street, grabbed my backpack and sped out on Big Red, fearing I was going to be late for class. I was there 2 minutes early.
When I got home, after parking Big Red, I went down to tinker with the BMW. I got her started, took her for a spin and then managed to ride her back up the driveway to the garage. There she sits, proud but with a slightly burnished ego.
Friday, I drove Big Red down to the Harley dealer and had a new tire put on the rear.

The next repair work will be on the Old Knight, next pay day, of course that’s if it ever comes.

Day 16: Henderson to Holbrook; Random and Unruly Thoughts I have while Riding

Day 16: Henderson to Holbrook; Random and Unruly Thoughts I have while Riding

Today I decided that I’d take out my laptop when I took a break and write down the thoughts I’d been having during the ride. After all, the subtitle of the blog is: Motorcycles and Mindfulness; Two Wheels Move the Soul. While riding, I find that I can balance focusing on the present-what my senses are telling me while I ride, e.g. sounds, smells, feel of the bike, reacting to the wind, reading the road ahead- with being mindful-thinking about issues, as long as they are in the present, and not the past or future. If I get into memories or thinking about what I’m going to do I get distracted and lose awareness.  That’s never good.

You will probably conclude that I’m pretty weird (if you haven’t already!) but welcome to my world! Here’s what I recorded at my breaks. I did edit it when I got to the hotel!

Break 1: After 100 miles. Kingman.

Whoo wee! That was a windy ride. I left Henderson, skirted around Lake Mead and Hoover Dam and was met with signs saying: gusty winds next 2 miles”. I tensed up; even though that’s the worst thing you can do on a bike. Winds are definitely a flow you’ve got to go with and you have to trust your experience and the bike. Though I did wish the highway people would start out with more gentle warning signs such as: “Not sure, but it could be a little windier than usual up ahead”, next sign: “We’re pretty sure now it’s going to be fairly windy”, “Okay, we were wrong it’s going to be gusty up ahead. Sorry.” I could then ease into it. Otherwise, I start to get anxious and tense. I look around.  Okay, where are those pesky winds hiding?

I spent two hours in the traffic and the gusts, did 100 miles and made it to Kingman, where I am now having some iced tea and relaxing. The winds were bad, but I’ve been through worse. Hurricane Point above Big Sur will now be my standard measurement. But now, the tea is cold, sweet and great. I’m happy as Larry, as they say in Ireland, though I never had a clue who this Larry was.

I was thinking about how I love how most bikers (90+ %) will give a little salute to other bikers as they pass. Normally, it’s the left hand down, extended outward but sometimes it’s a wave. It’s like we’re saying: He there buddy! Ride safe! I remember how when I was younger, out in different parts of Georgia car drivers would give a little wave. More recently, I remember driving in the Mourne Mountains in Northern Ireland where passing motorists will still wave to each other. It was quaint and I liked it.

Break 2: Williams Arizona for Lunch

Magnificent clouds met me when I left McDonalds. Huge feather clouds taking up half the sky, scudded by fleecy clouds underneath. Wow.  

Awareness and going with the flow to me means being patient, not in a hurry, enjoying the ride, recognizing that on the bike or off, our life is a ride. What applies on the road applies in life.

What gets in the way of our enjoying life are our expectations of things. We think things should be a certain way and they’re not and we get frustrated and angry. In restaurants we don’t like waiting. We get angry at the waiter. There’s some guy driving slow in front of us; another guy hogging the passing lane and we get angry, ride on their tails. It reminded me of a poem I wrote last year about geese. When I get to the hotel I’ll find it and stick it in here.

 (Here’s the poem!)

An Alternative Theory on Flying Geese and War

There’s a charming and inspiring story

About geese flying in a V formation,

Taking turns to lead

And honking to make contact

To support and encourage each other.

You’ve probably heard it.

Or you can Google it.

Personally, I don’t believe it.

Apply Ockam’s Razor,

The simplest explanation is often the best,

And you’ll see that they honk,

Like we do

When others get in our way.

Sky rage, road rage,

Sidewalk rage, rage between countries

What’s the difference?

For heaven’s sake the honking

Is not a “contact call”.

It’s not saying:

“I’m right here behind you!”

Geese aren’t stupid.

We know, they know

When some other goose

Is flying close behind our tail.

I don’t know about you but

No one ever encouraged me

With a honk.

We’re like the geese

Always in motion,

Heading in some direction which

To us feels sacred and inviolate

Wanting others

To hurry up

And get out of our way.

Think about it:

Hasn’t all our heartache,

Violence and war come from

Our desires to

Be some where

(Where is this where?)

Or be some one

(Special, acclaimed?)

Or have some thing?

(A person, fame, wealth, property?)

And damn it if other geese,

People, countries

Just won’t get the hell out of our way. 

They honk.

We honk.

 

Ha ha! That was fun.

 We’re in such a hurry. To where? In a car I’m thinking how this place is boring and how fast can I get across this bareness? I listen to the radio, keep changing stations, listen to a cd etc. On a motorcycle I’m immersed in this barrenness. The Buddhist might say that I am at one with the barrenness, and that maybe the barrenness isn’t really barren at all.

I see a bike ahead and can tell from the outline it’s an Electra Glide like Jeff’s. I can’t make up the color but no way I’ve caught up with him. I get closer and see it’s white, the guy has no helmet on, bless Arizona. I pass him and wave and he smiles and waves back, He has a bandana on and a long smoky grey beard that flops, doubling, as he waves. He’s cruising at 65 and enjoying every minute of it.

It is at this point that a wind zaps me into awareness again. Damn wind! I start thinking about it and wonder if any biker has compiled a typology of winds. Well, I’ll do my own.

  1. Zephyr. A gentle breeze.
  2. Directional wind. Wind coming from one direction.
  3. Cross winds. Winds sometimes from the left alternating with winds from the right.
  4. Buffeting winds. Winds created by large trucks when you are following them.
  5. Truck passing winds. Winds created when you’ve decided you’ve had enough and you’re damn well going to pass that truck. With these situations you have to factor in the Bernoulli Effect –which I won’t describe now but involves differences in air pressure which actually suck you towards the truck as you pass. (A whole independent treatise could be written on the crazy dynamics of these kinds of winds! Maybe I will.)
  6. Reappearing winds. They hide when you are passing the truck but when you reemerge they’re back with a vengeance.
  7. Wacky winds. Impatient, unhappy winds. They think the wind is greener on the other side. They dart through you, decide they don’t like it on the other side and quickly dart back. And they keep doing this like a kid changing channels on his TV.  
  8. Whacking winds. These appear out of nowhere and just whack you. The universal response is almost always something like: Where the hell did that come from! They remind me of what some Zen monks do to students who are meditating. If the student looks like they are drifting off into daydreaming then the monk will whack them on the shoulder with a stick. It’s for the student’s own good. Yeah right. Whacking winds can be helpful if you’ve lost awareness and focus, but I still hate them.  

 Then I’m back to thinking about the Geese poem again. Don’t all religions preach love, kindness and compassion? So my goal is to love the person in front of me, as Kierkegaard would say, not as I want them to be, wish they could be, but as they are, without any judgement, expectation, or demand that they be different. But our beliefs and ideas of right and wrong get in the way. (Where did they come from? What we think about our country, our rights, our religious beliefs? Are we sure about them?)  

We have so many beliefs about what we think is right and wrong and we never question them. We listen to other people and news sources which only serve to confirm our beliefs. We make fun of other groups. I’ll confess that I used to have a rough time with rich people and assumed all sorts of things about them. I didn’t like them. I also used to think bad things about overly demonstrative religious people. (And I would use parts of the Bible to justify these e.g. pray in quiet. But haven’t people always used the Bible this way? Look how many southerners used the Bible to justify slavery.)

I started thinking about the 16 years I lived in Northern Ireland. Now the people there were wonderful. And I’m not going to then say: “But bless their hearts!” and lay into them. They ones I met were and are wonderful. And I met some “chancers” as they would say over there!

But I remember once going on a cross cultural peace retreat at a peace center called Corrymeela. They had some great speakers and facilitators that tried to get you to look at things differently, to understand better where you and others were coming from.  I remember a leader saying: To Jesus right or wrong wasn’t the most important thing. It didn’t matter if the person was a prostitute, leper, tax collector, a beggar, or a rich man, it was the relationship that he had with that person that was of utmost importance. He put aside His judgements. He saw the person and he loved them. That stuck in my head. Ideas can get in our way and we don’t even know it. Catholic or Protestant? Years ago, before they had the long time now peace process the old joke used to go: A car gets stopped at a paramilitary road block in Belfast and a man with a gun asks the driver. “Are you a Catholic or a Protestant?  In those days, depending on where you were in Belfast the answer to that question can make a huge difference as to whether you continue to drive in your car. Anyway, the man says: “I’m a Buddhist.” The paramilitary man thinks for a moment and then replies: “Yeah, but are you a Catholic Buddhist or a Protestant Buddhist?”

I figure my job is to let go of labels and judgements. If I’m busy criticizing or making fun of others, be it Republicans, liberals, Democrats, rednecks, immigrants, gay people, people from other countries, whoever, then I’m digging a hole for myself. Besides, I love what Anne Lamotte said: The surest sign that you’ve created God in your own image is when it turns out He hates the same people you do. My goal is to love others. Judging gets in the way of that.  I need to watch out for this. I can slip into judgements and expectations of others in the blink of an eye.

I’m writing this down (most of it-edited later) while sitting out in the sun having lunch, a beer and listening to a well-travelled, folk and blues player.  This man has paid his dues. He seems to be happy in the moment. He jokes, shares stories, plays requests and pets his dog during the break.  

I look over at a gabled wall and read: Williams- Last Route 66 town bypassed by 1-40 on October 13th 1984. 

It feels great to be off the bike, to sit in the sun, to watch the families, the children goofing around and to listen to the music.

The food comes. The cole slaw is better than good, even has some walnuts in it. The fries are very good. The amber ale is excellent but I don’t like the barbecue sandwich. I am disappointed but not upset. I could get mad but what will getting mad do for me? For anyone else? I’m happy. Maybe it’s a different style of barbecue? Arizona style, where apparently they don’t know how to make real barbecue! I don’t eat it. I let it go and enjoy everything else.

I’m rewarded brilliantly when the musician plays two tunes I love and hardly ever hear. “Looking for the Heart of Saturday night.” By Tom Waits and a real obscure song called:   

“1952 Vincent Black Lightning.” By Richard Thompson. Wow.

 I figure I’ve got about 130 miles to go. It’s 3:15 pm. An easy two hours with more stuff to think about.

 Break 3: in Holbrook, Arizona.

Jeff’s already here and we chat. It’s good to see him again. He tells of his adventures and I tell mine. I hope he’ll blog them because the man can tell a story and he’s funny as all get out.

I collapsed on the bed. I was exhausted. My head hurt and I fell asleep.

Later, when I woke up we talked some more. I asked him if he’d seen the man on the yellow Victory. He hadn’t. So I told him the story.

When I was leaving Williams and topping up the gas tank I ran into another biker doing the same thing. He was on a yellow Victory motorcycle. He came hobbling over to talk.

“You hurt yourself?” I asked.

“Yep, I’ve dropped the bike 5 times. Last time was up at the Grand Canyon. Slipped on some gravel. bike fell on my foot. I’m not used to the roads.”

“Dang!” I replied. I walked over to his bike. It looked nice but dirty and a bit dented.

“You been on the road long?” I asked.

“Just 10 days. Had a fog light here.” He said pointing to where there were only two wires sticking out. “Knocked it off when I dropped her. Other one still works.”

“You been riding motorcycles for long?” I had to ask.

“Yep. This bike has 35,000 miles on it. But these roads are different than the ones back in Tennessee.”

We talked for a while longer. I was going East and he West.  I wished him well as we said goodbye.  “And no more dropping your bike!” I said.

When I left I gave thanks for not having had his experiences. And I said a prayer for him.  

 

Jeff and I chatted off and on. He wrote, I wrote, he called his wife. We discussed things. He’s a witty and clever and fun traveling companion. I’m lucky. He, not so much.

Before he headed off to bed he said: “Lookie here, ain’t that nice they put a special pad under my sheet. I guess it’s in case I pee during the night.” He laughed.

I said: “Well Jeff I gave them those special instructions  because I’m not going to pay those motel surcharges for you any more.”

He laughed: “Yep, I bet you’ve already forked out $200 in paying for new mattresses!”

“Yep, and I ain’t gonna do it any more.”

Dads and Daughters and Heart Drives

Hannah and Her Dad

Hannah and Her Dad

Dads and Daughters and Heart Drives  

It’s been great these last few days visiting my daughter and her husband, of whom I fully approve. Not that my opinion matters, or should. She was raised to think for herself, to trust herself, to be independent and strong and to follow her own path. I told her that she was not in this world to live up to my expectations, though in fact she has exceeded them. I’m one lucky dad.

Bill is a great guy. Funny, witty, talented, kind, but most of all he’s great to Hannah. I love watching how playful and loving they are with each other.

It’s going to be hard to leave. Harder on her because all her family is so far away; I’m in Georgia and her brothers, mother and closest friends in Ireland. Thank God Bill is such a wonderful and supportive husband. I hope to be like him when I grow up.

But tomorrow we hit the road again. A bit of my heart will stay here and a bit of hers will go with me. In computer terms these bits go into our “heart drives”. That’s the way it is. Hopefully, the bit of my heart will remind her that she is always loved; loved simply for who she is, not what she does. The bit of her heart that goes with me reminds me that I am loved, no matter how silly, clumsy and lost I can be at times.

In about 12 hours we’ll be back on the Harleys again, heading up the Pacific Coast Highway while Bill and Hannah are back to work and school. But we are here now, savoring these last moments, storing them in our heart drives.