tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55429915930663981932024-03-13T04:40:42.397-07:00Souldance: Life on Two WheelsThe first motorcycle I fell in love with was a Hodaka Dirt Squirt. She was just the right fit, nimble, forgiving and easy to read. It became clear early on that learning to ride was a lot about learning how to live. It feels like the right time to start writing some of this out. May the writing be like my first motorcycle...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-39240678770199741502013-12-01T10:08:00.000-08:002013-12-01T10:09:33.066-08:00Heading Out<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
It’s Thanksgiving weekend and the recent snowfall
has melted. I’m sitting in bed here in Michigan, remembering details from my
trip with <a href="http://www.perumotors.com/index.html">Peru Motors</a> last
year.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day before we set out to ride, we all gathered outside
in La Gruta’s garden to discuss logistics of our trip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lars prepped us about what to expect
while traveling. We would awaken early each day to eat, pack up our gear and be
on the road by 7:00AM. We’d ride for about 4 hours, stop for lunch and ride
again until we reached our hotel around 4:30. Lars explained he’d be leading us
on his bike while our second guide, Eduardo, (who proved invaluable for many
reasons I’ll get to eventually) followed us in a truck that hauled a trailer,
tools, spare tires and our luggage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGd2GeI4_JDIvYV0AcA_oE28C2DoBZfVTsMiN2KT2ruOi-aV6nNt9ZR_uYHCewDWtqlIEQdQuKT_RToxCl3yK1pSWuxGMQHA28NdpyV6IQd6FDp0ehAQrRLmbf6Z4Rcsu7RZJGGXYuM8Y/s1600/SAM_0332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGd2GeI4_JDIvYV0AcA_oE28C2DoBZfVTsMiN2KT2ruOi-aV6nNt9ZR_uYHCewDWtqlIEQdQuKT_RToxCl3yK1pSWuxGMQHA28NdpyV6IQd6FDp0ehAQrRLmbf6Z4Rcsu7RZJGGXYuM8Y/s320/SAM_0332.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our bikes and back-up vehicle lined up in front of La Gruta the morning of our departure.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Lars finished up our meeting by helping us sort out who would
ride which bike. We were able to chose between Honda Falcon 400’s, Kawasaki KLR
650’s and an old Honda XR650 while one person upgraded to a BMW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After our meeting we took some time to
properly outfit our bikes with gadgets and such. I brought along an Airhawk
seat cushion and heated jacket for comfort so I hooked up the battery harness
and attached the cushion while others secured Go-Pros and rigged up tank bags
and secured straps for daypacks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The remainder of the day was spent exploring Arequipa (pronounced
ah-ray-keep-ah).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hotel was walking
distance from town so we gathered up our cameras and and walked into town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This city, like many of the others we
visited, has a “Plaza de Armas”-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a
park-like area at the center of town. This one was filled with lush foliage
including palm trees, pruned shrubs and specimen trees that surrounded a
central fountain. The fountain was bordered by wide walk-ways paved with tiles and
lined with park benches.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fCT2zUmhCyrdC0QY0Vl7eY_IJ-wXNvF8JRH6hUgrF1DX7ECeIJ65xexeDCOqapN1GDMiepZ7XPRcq57oActQcD4T_V9OdyL3z7A400n_p2wc4wMgju2WpbLRc8wdn072DRPAF49pz-w/s1600/PB220106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_fCT2zUmhCyrdC0QY0Vl7eY_IJ-wXNvF8JRH6hUgrF1DX7ECeIJ65xexeDCOqapN1GDMiepZ7XPRcq57oActQcD4T_V9OdyL3z7A400n_p2wc4wMgju2WpbLRc8wdn072DRPAF49pz-w/s320/PB220106.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">La Plaza de Armas in the center of Arequipa</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The plaza was surrounded by Spanish inspired architecture on
three sides and a cathedral on the fourth side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.museocatedralarequipa.org.pe/home.html">The
Basillica Cathedral of Arequipa</a> was so large, it spanned one block, was
fitted with three towers and massive arches on either side. (So big, in fact, I couldn't fit the whole thing in one picture!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qNNsIguXZZ8uA8qkjgi_wOQCELaXDaycWm-dlqJUAIosrn2PWS5GIu5T0odHkdtlHT9YFbXyJldYt9aphjnqJMQQaeaQTQ6tXWFA7oolz-0sJjpMymTH8Jbgsa3OYEJBAyVQoU0hY6k/s1600/PB220013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qNNsIguXZZ8uA8qkjgi_wOQCELaXDaycWm-dlqJUAIosrn2PWS5GIu5T0odHkdtlHT9YFbXyJldYt9aphjnqJMQQaeaQTQ6tXWFA7oolz-0sJjpMymTH8Jbgsa3OYEJBAyVQoU0hY6k/s320/PB220013.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Basillica Cathedra of Arequipa- a cathedral museum.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It, like many of the buildings in the city were made of sillar, a white stone quarried from volcanoes that surround it. Joe, Lars H. (not our guide, but a fellow rider) and I took a tour of it our first day, the day before everyone else arrived. The cathedral is a museum
that showcases stunning artistry inside: larger than life statues of the
apostles along the aisles, cavernous domed ceilings, detailed moldings and an ornately
carved pulpit. On the wall opposite the altar was an enormous pipe organ that filled the entire wall.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26U_7qbCwQqiNKLfZ_AFaCqRlONc2jW2wYwCCJvmWD-Dk2Pdww6GedhspB5zIHkkOlF-F65eldecUk1v1uCprZr2WqcWuCXQXMp5OO8-THJvuV9iKtabukE-a70aSy3u4r-3RESTkNTc/s1600/IMG_4114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26U_7qbCwQqiNKLfZ_AFaCqRlONc2jW2wYwCCJvmWD-Dk2Pdww6GedhspB5zIHkkOlF-F65eldecUk1v1uCprZr2WqcWuCXQXMp5OO8-THJvuV9iKtabukE-a70aSy3u4r-3RESTkNTc/s320/IMG_4114.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Inside the Basillica Cathedral</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Before this, I’d never been in a church as old and
elaborate. We toured interior rooms showcasing solid gold scepters and crowns accented with precious gems as
well as intricately detailed vestments. We also went to the top of the building where we were able to touch and photograph the bell in the main tower. This gave us a birds eye view of the Plaza de Armas (photo above) and the buildings alongside it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENVR8rWCFcD8aSTyYFjMSk6X2Q6BjrenMg3nOYyPFLzF6UxNAgycCBRbu3mLTNKjOsBQKJtwxPP6mFvBMAoldhN1q0paIpwB0recruUS8gWgl9N1axsY37e00W65ZEMUL5-mULm7SyF4/s1600/IMG_4137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENVR8rWCFcD8aSTyYFjMSk6X2Q6BjrenMg3nOYyPFLzF6UxNAgycCBRbu3mLTNKjOsBQKJtwxPP6mFvBMAoldhN1q0paIpwB0recruUS8gWgl9N1axsY37e00W65ZEMUL5-mULm7SyF4/s320/IMG_4137.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This building ran alongside La Plaza de Armas and housed many small stores and restaurants. Photo credit: Lars Helgeson</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For lunch we had many options to choose from in restaurants
along the narrow streets or in the wide, tiled alleys between buildings. There
was traditional Peruvian food, wood-fired pizzas and even Chinese food. For ordering, I was glad to have
practiced my second language by listening to tapes in the months leading up to
the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Lars and Eduardo spoke
English and Spanish so while I was glad for the opportunity to use
Spanish, it wasn’t necessary once we left town. Our guides served as translators for details such
as menu options and finding bathrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But more than that, they were our cultural insiders. They were friendly and
knowledgeable about all sorts of interesting tidbits and they enjoyed answering
questions and telling us all about what we were seeing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d talked with several folks about the tour before going.
One person was insistent that he could get a better and cheaper trip by just
loading his bike in a trailer and heading down to Mexico. Here’s the thing-
Peru Motors costs are well below the going rate for other tours in South
America. They provide the motorcycles, assist in route planning, book the
lodging, know the best restaurants and are familiar with the must-see places.
They even know where to stop to get the best pictures along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I particularly liked having the back-up
vehicle following us so we could stop and for photos without fear of being left
behind. But most importantly, they could make small repairs, were equipped to
change tires, refill gas tanks or haul a bike to the nearest shop for repair.
So for me, the guided tour was a blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the most basic level, having everything planned out allowed
me to really focus on the riding and the experience of being in Peru.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Cambria;">The morning we left La Gruta on our bikes, I was filled with excitement
and anticipation. Lars warned us that we’d have to stay close together while
riding through the city so we wouldn’t lose each other. All but one of us who
went on the trip were accustomed to group riding through our motorcycle club
where there were very clear guidelines about how to ride: remaining
side-by-side in a staggered formation, moving through stops as one unit, communicating with hand gestures – all
to help us ride safely and keep us together. Lars assured us that those skills
would not be useful to us in Peru. And he was right. From our first turn onto
city streets, we were on our own. Our leader wove in and out of traffic, split
lanes and raced through lights. It was clear within minutes that
we needed pay attention or we’d get lost in a sea of vehicles - without GPS, cell
phone reception or maps. Of course when there was a turn, he’d stop and wait
until those in the rear could catch up, then he’d move on through the city. We
road like this from light to light, turn by turn, surrounded by vehicles of all
types- small cars, motorcycles, bicycle taxi’s and buses. Our first destination was a gas station. As attendants fueled up our bikes, we took pictures of each other and the volcano sitting at the edge of town overlooking the city. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4oqpuHtb6CKSd2Tw85CDC-WW-N36t7tpIfVTzKfDeqPeBR7Y33L4cb9oRvGf548MAV9Z61EFrVkekfj2ounNhOBAeOE0TlpfbGdx8HdgXRxXwDuDAuYllOybE-Dwu9u-bjB63BA3fj0/s1600/PB240158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4oqpuHtb6CKSd2Tw85CDC-WW-N36t7tpIfVTzKfDeqPeBR7Y33L4cb9oRvGf548MAV9Z61EFrVkekfj2ounNhOBAeOE0TlpfbGdx8HdgXRxXwDuDAuYllOybE-Dwu9u-bjB63BA3fj0/s320/PB240158.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Grinning ear to ear while fueling up after our first ride through town.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Those first fifteen minutes on
the bike were exhilarating; they pointed to all the wondrous things to come! Next Sunday, I'll tell you all about that first day of riding...</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-78713754293013208602013-11-24T15:43:00.001-08:002013-11-24T15:43:33.851-08:00Arriving in Peru
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I woke up this morning, fluffy white snowflakes were falling from the sky. I'd rather be on the bike than on skis so this isn't good news but with no accumulation, it's a slow start to Winter and I'm grateful to be easing into it. This time last year, I was in Peru...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three of us flew together from West Michigan through to Peru
on the day before Thanksgiving. Can you say long travel day?! Grand Rapids to
Chicago to Miami to Lima - through customs- ugh!) - and finally to Arequipa. We
arrived a few days earlier than we were scheduled to ride so we could acclimate
to the altitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It worked out
well because that gave us two days to recover from our hectic day of flying,
check out the city and review our tour plans with the guides. The remainder
of our group arrived in the days following. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arequipa is the second largest city in Peru (by population)
but you wouldn’t know it from the airport. As I looked down from the plane I
was mesmerized by brightly colored squares – turquoise, magenta and yellow- and
flickering silver shapes. As we descended these squares became cubes and were
quickly revealed to be metal roofed houses sitting precariously close to the
airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This had me wondering if
land near an airport is cheap because of all the air traffic!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our plane landed near a simple building right out of the 50's. If it weren’t for the sign above the door (and the airplane we’d just come out
of) I wouldn’t have believed it was an airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the view being what it was, the building didn’t really
matter though. We exited the plane via large wheeled staircases to find we were
surrounded by three mountains. I found out later, during a tour in the
city these we actually volcanoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> One of them can be seen below, </span>right behind the airplane.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuD3sm4RcTbM7iVFH_N-6rEv7VW-qgB263USHQKfbfkyWbYG1Y9qTU4np5zkwASWnbbN5Bfr2EivPdrriLcUmhmUfl-DgvBvzPbTz1s38iCCcJ8gNV240BAXMLVIoIR-8S5_riC27GE64/s1600/IMG_4091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuD3sm4RcTbM7iVFH_N-6rEv7VW-qgB263USHQKfbfkyWbYG1Y9qTU4np5zkwASWnbbN5Bfr2EivPdrriLcUmhmUfl-DgvBvzPbTz1s38iCCcJ8gNV240BAXMLVIoIR-8S5_riC27GE64/s320/IMG_4091.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the tarmac behind the plane we just exited.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our tour package included transportation to our hotel. We
were picked up by two cabs - this is the first of many examples of Peru Motors expertise: they know just how much gear folks bring on these
trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between the three of us and
our luggage, we completely filled both vehicles. I don't know which view was better- the one of the city or the cab itself. Check out the in fur-lined dash!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtno_2BJ5s7v51Vc33muDU_UowApMsKwfruc6RwCqSEaupZlzd032ZbVGZcyq1Ek6j3jV2qcBG1Cw4Kr84T5eebnPccABSdEoAe9fSuNOLuFgigv4-4ilT1OpA69AwAd837-T2KT4OfQI/s1600/IMG_4093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtno_2BJ5s7v51Vc33muDU_UowApMsKwfruc6RwCqSEaupZlzd032ZbVGZcyq1Ek6j3jV2qcBG1Cw4Kr84T5eebnPccABSdEoAe9fSuNOLuFgigv4-4ilT1OpA69AwAd837-T2KT4OfQI/s320/IMG_4093.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The owners of Peru Motors have a hotel in Arequipa
called La Gruta. The building was a good introduction of many we encountered on our trip. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU56bhx7rP2X-WV2N997KLj81ta1be93UOqQ0kJ2fKe5PqLspUDXd80bSs9YClvh7RS1-wVUWWyasbi9vN9FNv7xAlKcFqALNanp0NFEphhRRp-IXPWFcGEGIhzkaDUM6u2-D4aJXuOcc/s1600/SAM_0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU56bhx7rP2X-WV2N997KLj81ta1be93UOqQ0kJ2fKe5PqLspUDXd80bSs9YClvh7RS1-wVUWWyasbi9vN9FNv7xAlKcFqALNanp0NFEphhRRp-IXPWFcGEGIhzkaDUM6u2-D4aJXuOcc/s320/SAM_0334.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gruta- the hotel we started and ended our trip in.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The exterior was modest and simple, which belied what was found inside. Beyond the front desk was a dining area. The first floor rooms extended from that down an interior hallway. Each of the rooms exited onto one of two lush outdoor gardens filled with tropical plants.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RFe9LOk0yaWiFnU96fbd0Ljblr7EGeQRND4DxZ-8tikVmdbpIB8CnfxnhF6eA1UA6DTNByGKZRTqB1iD78G6Wka6iv2eroAFRrAr0Rhk45JLCFYw88qzGSWitajwBAK6RF3R5O8NK5o/s1600/IMG_2167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RFe9LOk0yaWiFnU96fbd0Ljblr7EGeQRND4DxZ-8tikVmdbpIB8CnfxnhF6eA1UA6DTNByGKZRTqB1iD78G6Wka6iv2eroAFRrAr0Rhk45JLCFYw88qzGSWitajwBAK6RF3R5O8NK5o/s320/IMG_2167.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My room opened onto this outdoor garden.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first morning there, I sat in the outdoor garden off my
room luxuriating in the sun. Lars, one of our guides, stopped in and warned us
to be careful as the sun is very low in the sky and you can burn easily. Mind
you it was 8:00 in the morning so I never would have thought to put on
sunscreen. That was one of many things that made me feel like I was in a
different world!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I were to pick out key phrases from this blog over the
years, I’m sure I would find “a different world” a dozen
times. It seems to be a theme of mine to refer to this. More than that, though,
I think it’s something I both associate with, and look for in riding. In fact,
I think that’s why I ride. I want to escape the everyday. I want to flee
normalcy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
I came across a quote recently that really hit home: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span> </span>“When’s the last time you did something for the first time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t particularly like routine, but I tend to fall into
it. At about the same time each evening I start getting ready for work the next
day- packing a lunch, setting out my clothes. I brush my teeth, do my stretches
and head to bed. While the regularity helps me get out of bed in the morning, it also ensures I’m bored. And that’s the thing about Peru. Every
single day, I did 800 things for the first time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You read that right. 800. Now I never actually counted but
that’s what it felt like. And instead of getting nervous about forgetting
something or anxious that I’d be late, I felt free. I felt wildly and
ecstatically free! I woke up around 5:30 each morning without an alarm (never
in my life have I done that- this in itself is miraculous) and I was absolutely
exhausted by 9:00PM. I didn’t have too many “nights on the town” like some of
guys did, but I didn’t miss a thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At home I often wish there was someone to get out of the house with. I
browse local calendars of events for “something fun to do.” While in Peru, everything
was fun. Everything was new. Life had energy and I had zeal. I didn’t have to
look for it or manufacture it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I talk about missing Peru, that is what
I miss. Everything <u>new</u>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, when you set yourself on a course for adventure,
things don’t always go as planned, and this was no exception. When the 10 of us
signed up for this South American tour, we elected to tour 3 different
countries- Peru, Bolivia and Chile. Once we got there though, we found out from
our tour guide that there were issues with the border crossings. To be fair, we’d
been warned there were always issues with border crossings and that travel can
be significantly delayed because both people and the bikes have to clear
customs. After much discussion and a vote of the majority, it was decided that
we forgo Chile (and therefore Bolivia- because we needed to go through one to
get to the other) and remain in Peru.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our guide insisted we would get a far better tour by staying in one
country because there was so much to see in
such a short distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he was
right. Our tour involved the southern part of Peru and included high jungle,
snow-filled mountain passes, desert, and the coast. And we were able to add in
Machu Picchu, too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But because we had planned for over a year about what we wanted
to do while there, it was pretty disappointing to find out we couldn’t take the
trip we’d planned. That first day of riding, we talked about it at several
stops. Even the next morning it came up. And one guy decided to cut his losses
and head home because he couldn’t let go of the trip he wanted for the one we
were getting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I wish Bob had been able to adjust to the change the
rest of us did, his choice to leave influenced many of us in an unforeseen way:
we continued to ask ourselves throughout the trip “what if I had missed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That became a lesson for me, almost a mantra. How many
things do I miss in life because I’m so disappointed (or frustrated or angry or
sad) about what didn’t happen. I’m the first one to say we need to feel our
feelings when they come up, so I’m not talking about pretending everything’s
all right when it isn’t. But I began to see how easy it is to get stuck in
those difficult places and forget to enjoy the ride.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If there was a second theme to most of these blog posts,
that would be it: enjoying the ride. But let’s face it, figuring out how to
ride a motorcycle, isn’t the same thing as figuring out how to get through some
of what life throws at you. Or is it? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you've read any of my other posts, I guess the cat's out of the bag; I learn a lot about life through riding. Maybe I won't be spoiling anything by saying that as I review photos and share more about Peru you're likely to find out a little of what I learned as well as see photos from a spectacular country. Set your alarm and get ready for the next leg of the adventure
with me! </div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-39420719390768135182013-11-16T19:37:00.002-08:002013-11-16T19:37:25.342-08:00Remembering Peru
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nearly six weeks ago, I climbed into my truck and haven’t
looked back at the bike. I removed her battery, filled up her tank and settled
her into the corner of the garage to rest until Spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will miss riding her, miss the trips
out of my everyday life into other worlds. But as I sit here reflecting on the
past year, I realize I have enough memories of riding to keep me through the
Winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last year at this time, I was packed and ready for my
motorcycle trip in Peru. Although I came home, it’s as though I haven’t really
returned. It took me a month to look at the pictures we took because I hadn't wanted it to end. The events of those
weeks were burned into my mind and yet revisiting them seems painful because I miss it so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve not written about the trip or much
else since coming home. I know it
will be some time before I can take another trip again whether its back to Peru or on to other countries like India or Scotland. I think in some ways, I’ve been holding so tight to those
memories to keep them safe, to keep them mine for just a little longer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few months after coming home, I met up with members from my motorcycle club for a slide show presentation of about a 100 pictures. I talked about some of my favorite things but kept the stories and details to
a minimum. I couldn’t figure out how to talk about this trip in a way that captured my experience of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still,
I’m surprised I haven’t written about it yet. I had even planned to write
another article for Rider magazine about it and that hasn't happened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last year while unemployed, I received assistance from the
government to support myself and got financial help from friends and family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the people who went with me- who
I invited along - told me a few days in, how angry he was that I took this
help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His argument was so forceful
and so devoid of any compassion that it divided us. I couldn’t understand why
his politics were more important than me or our friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In writing this, I realize that some of my silence about the trip is
related to my shame about my financial situation that year and the fact that I
needed help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted the support
of my friend. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t believe I
had let someone who was so selfish and mean get so close to me. I was angry I
had given him my friendship and that he chose not to support me when I needed
it most. We haven’t seen each other since. While there, I had put all those feelings about him aside so I could enjoy the trip. While it was only a small part of what happened while there, I can see now how much it impacted me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sit here typing, I peer
outside to see a mail truck door slide open
and my carrier reaching inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon I
will hear her footsteps on my porch stairs and the metal latch on my mailbox
open as she slips my mail inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A year ago, this is what I would have seen and heard. Now, after one
year into my nursing job with the Postal Service, I see so much more. I notice
she is dressed appropriately for the weather and that her footwear is sturdy
and protective. I notice that her satchel is positioned across her body to distribute
the weight. I know she has been trained to use it to fend off a dog attack if
necessary. She is careful to finger her mail while stationary to avoid
tripping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her boxy white vehicle
is referred to as an LLV (Long-Life Vehicle) and she has parked it
strategically to avoid being hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once, years ago, I ran into this carrier at the grocery store.
Although we had waved, I had never spoken to her while she was delivering my
mail. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the store I walked up to
her and told her I thought she was my carrier. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asked for my address and when I told her, she described
my house to me! I didn’t know until then how much carriers know about the
neighborhoods they work in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I have established myself as an Occupational Health Nurse
and while I hadn’t<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>forseen my
career moving in this direction, I have enjoyed the change. In my office at work I keep
framed pictures from Peru nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
is a close-up of the architectural details of a building in Arequipa. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another picture is a view from a mountain road overlooking the mountains in the distance. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBKB4qArR4GGsvYuZmn1x-oZZQ8jICJBteeV6nlZ6KxUKxphVHHBXM-_hpP0aAI4HfkIRctLnSTNkmC9rAlwdo00c0EH4ieV67caKXY0k0o05NqZ_ReBJWl99NFJvOYuamEtMHtANHxY/s1600/IMG_1882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBKB4qArR4GGsvYuZmn1x-oZZQ8jICJBteeV6nlZ6KxUKxphVHHBXM-_hpP0aAI4HfkIRctLnSTNkmC9rAlwdo00c0EH4ieV67caKXY0k0o05NqZ_ReBJWl99NFJvOYuamEtMHtANHxY/s320/IMG_1882.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I think back to Peru, there are things I hope I never
forget. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like how it felt as though I was riding through a watercolor painting because the beauty of the landscape
was so overwhelming. In fact, I often found myself riding along with tears
streaming down my face. There was a simplicity to life in Peru that drew me in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our lunch stops were leisurely as we waited for our meals to be prepared - either soup or meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While riding in the mountains we saw homes with thatched roofs that stood amid fields surrounded with square plots outlined in
rocks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnKBJKOyNcz7SatCRUm_6uGWtCh8UFcRkMEd7Yo0VDRYf2bsiciqrvGHiySkUbD65-E3zuP7h6smPBr-W5z9lxnrnuMSn0qMLIMZs2kMVJJWjzJ9DzsrkuaWGVa6OUVM0bnVG0mn4rU4/s1600/IMG_4412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnKBJKOyNcz7SatCRUm_6uGWtCh8UFcRkMEd7Yo0VDRYf2bsiciqrvGHiySkUbD65-E3zuP7h6smPBr-W5z9lxnrnuMSn0qMLIMZs2kMVJJWjzJ9DzsrkuaWGVa6OUVM0bnVG0mn4rU4/s320/IMG_4412.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw fields being plowed with oxen and sown by hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once while riding along, I saw a farmer
reaching into his sack for a fistful of grain. I watched his arm move back and
forth again and again in a rhythmic pattern, the seeds spraying forth from his
hand with each swing of his arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had done this a thousand times before. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Streams flowed down mountains and ran right over the roads; the engineers hadn’t bothered to find another route for the water but instead let it take its natural course. (There is a tiny red dot in the center of the picture- that is Lars on his bike approaching the waterfall.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9L0H9w0GeGk0bEUQJbnbqmwuKaG8gSyYka1zyDJN2MQHoU1fRcvnO9UaNZY5ITuZ14jgOzxOMJWKxc__rIrtfDg9hSm86ZOZgS2V9zJDt5YCXorLun8M1e4t77TvZiWq_CmptLWP5pV0/s1600/IMG_0475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9L0H9w0GeGk0bEUQJbnbqmwuKaG8gSyYka1zyDJN2MQHoU1fRcvnO9UaNZY5ITuZ14jgOzxOMJWKxc__rIrtfDg9hSm86ZOZgS2V9zJDt5YCXorLun8M1e4t77TvZiWq_CmptLWP5pV0/s320/IMG_0475.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've only described a few of the many moments where I was lost in time,
lost in the experience of it all. While I know that reading about it isn't the same as experiencing it, I nevertheless feel an urgency to communicate more about what happened for me while I was in Peru. It’s a siren call pulling me back and encouraging me to bring
others along with me, too. The photos I have are a vivid reminder of how much I saw in one day, how many places and people, how many mountains.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At work and at home, I've settled back into ordinary life. Preparing meals, cleaning the house, making phone calls, shuffling paper. I'm grateful for an interesting job and that the difficult choices I made last year allowed me to keep my home. I am still working to pay off some debts but it feels manageable. A few weeks ago, I had the option of signing up to contribute to charities through payroll deduction. The decisions came easy and included one organization that fights homelessness. I have spent the last year continuing to grow in my relationship with Tom, a fellow rider who also came on the trip. We talk often about our time there and plan to visit more places together. Things are good in my life, steady and stable, but there is something missing. I think it's back in Peru.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have talked about the roads, the landscape, the people and
yet still I have not mentioned the feeling of place while there. I could have focused the
whole post on this one aspect of Peru. Some directors understand this
concept so thoroughly that it<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>becomes a character in their films. While I know of this, I hadn’t
experienced it until I was in Peru. The feeling of the land there was as much a
part of the trip as anything that happened while I was there. The land itself
was like the protagonist in a novel. It was the thing through which all was
experienced and around which all things unfolded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One morning I was riding along a straight stretch of road.
Off to my right there was a vast expanse of flatland with herds of vicuna
roaming about. (These are deer like animals).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my left side, a
mountain rose up out of the land. My eyes were continually drawn to look upon
it. With its jagged and rocky face, it became personified. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the mountain was one thing among
many in the landscape, its presence was palpable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lure of it was so strong that I finally pulled off the
road so I could capture it with my camera. It would not be ignored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (And of course the picture does not capture the feeling it imparted to as we rode by it.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZcUYcJhgRGCkuta2uhCfuUi6ZWMhCdAXsRtty3P4e_P5LcqfvwyRsYj9d4V1Tlt8OIrids9C9_SZiT6COIt9ALM17okbwS1fK4gpJ0e2ewyeroGam5wDaEoSyg4h55eyTDvfaxrenN0/s1600/PB260300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZcUYcJhgRGCkuta2uhCfuUi6ZWMhCdAXsRtty3P4e_P5LcqfvwyRsYj9d4V1Tlt8OIrids9C9_SZiT6COIt9ALM17okbwS1fK4gpJ0e2ewyeroGam5wDaEoSyg4h55eyTDvfaxrenN0/s320/PB260300.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For those of you accustomed to traveling in the Appalachian or
the Rocky Mountains, this account might seem strange. Let me assure you, it was
strange to me as well. Despite numerous trips through other mountain ranges, I
had never had a personal encounter with a single mountain. I’d never felt one
reach out and pull me toward it. But that is what happened in Peru. And it
wasn’t just this one mountain. They were everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In fact, y</span>ou’ve likely seen the most famous one in pictures
of Machu Picchu. If you’ve never noticed it before, take a look.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BmOmywYDTSzRM-wQBHaX5y9IeA8VevZEqaVXxzgzIoQ8QLpz9gG0gEJN3_jE2OotylamqQnQ7IGQWDYi0X9Qatv33jlLwPvk3zDHoQXtjlF8b_6u_LBUwiOUlvXvtX2SheVDfAfvQUQ/s1600/PB290497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BmOmywYDTSzRM-wQBHaX5y9IeA8VevZEqaVXxzgzIoQ8QLpz9gG0gEJN3_jE2OotylamqQnQ7IGQWDYi0X9Qatv33jlLwPvk3zDHoQXtjlF8b_6u_LBUwiOUlvXvtX2SheVDfAfvQUQ/s320/PB290497.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can you see how the mountain seems to stare down into the
grassy "town" below it? This isn’t just the perspective of the photograph- it’s
what you feel while standing in front of it. There is an ancestral quality to
it. Pure and simple, it’s sacred.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m glad I finally took some time to write about this trip.
Keeping so much of it to myself for so long must have been necessary on some
level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I have to come out <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>from behind my desk at the office and stare
into those pictures a little more often.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can hear these mountains calling out to me. I know they have more to
tell me if only I'll listen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Perhaps you'd like to come along, too? </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-57503569037528736172012-11-21T13:07:00.003-08:002012-11-21T13:07:28.100-08:00On My WayMy bags are packed and sitting next to the door- a backpack and two duffles are filled with gear, goods and my passport. I've been planning for nearly two years and yet I'm still in disbelief that the trip is going forward. Back in March, I lost my job and hoped to launch a writing career. While I've written a lot (and am expecting publication in Rider magazine sometime next year), I've come to realize that writing regularly requires the safety of a steady income. My dream of freelancing is tempered with the reality of supporting myself; maintaing my home and world travel on a motorcycle take an income that writing alone doesn't yet provide. As a result, I've returned to working as a nurse- most recently as an instructor for a nurse aid program. They agreed to my vacation upon hiring me and the supplemental income that provided made the trip feasible after all.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow Joe, Lars and I fly out of Grand Rapids to Arequipa, Peru (via Chicago, Miami and Lima). We'll arrive Wednesday and have a few days to adjust to the altitude while taking in the local scene. The rest of the group will be here by Friday and we'll begin riding on Saturday. We plan to cover about 1800 miles over 15 days through Peru, Bolivia and Chile. One of my favorite things about riding is the new landscapes that I get to explore and this trip promises that with views of the Colca Canyon, Lake Titicaca, the Andes, the desert salt flats and active volcanos. With all the cameras and Go-Pro video recorders between us this will be a well-documented trip!<br />
<br />
Despite all the preparation, I can hardly believe I'm going.<br />
<br />
This trip is special because unlike other goals, I've put so much time, effort and money into making it happen. I set up a savings account, listened to Spanish language tapes, and researched health information related to travel. I've visited the Health Department for my immunizations, AAA for my International driving permit, and Walgreens for more over-the-counter medication than I'll probably need. I've purchased merino wool shirts and socks to help regulate my body temperature while travel pants keep my load light and versatile. I researched gear options for months before deciding on rugged waterproof riding jacket, pants and boots. I'm bringing along my heated jacket and gloves to help deal with low temperatures we'll see as a result of early morning rides and high mountain passes. A backpack with a hydration pouch will function as my tank bag loaded with essentials such as earplugs, gloves and aerosol-free faceshield cleaner because cans won't like the altitude fluctuations built into our trip. Guidebooks and Google images have detailed the places we'll be traveling. Despite all this planning, I've found myself fearing that the trip would get derailed. I think it's because there's so much about this trip I can't really imagine- the lodging, the food, the riding conditions- and what's more, there's nothing else I can plan for. It seems that all my efforts have brought me to this point but now I must let go of all expectation and just see what happens. There's always an element of being out of control on a bike- the road conditions, weather, fatigue- but in this case, being immersed in differing cultures, amid peoples speaking a different language and along routes that often have poor roads (or none) make for a level of uncertainty I've never encountered on the bike.<br />
<br />
The seed for the trip was planted when a group of RIDE members went to South America 5 years ago with the same tour company we're using- Peru Motors. I told myself then that if the trip was ever repeated, I would go. I vowed to improve my skills and life circumstances so I could go. When I think of what's come to pass since I made that promise, it's hard to take it all in. So much is different that I hardly recognize my life. I've divorced, had several fascinating jobs, bought a Triumph Bonneville, found new friends, started a blog and ridden- a lot. Despite the uncertainty of so many factors related to this trip, I know that I've already done the unimaginable and come through it with vivid memories, great stories and more confidence in myself. This challenging tour is possible because of what I learned riding my Bonnie. At 32, 584, both the odometer and my life are a clear indicator of just how many miles I've traveled in the last 5 years.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-9234817968784056882012-08-29T08:56:00.001-07:002012-08-29T08:56:45.641-07:00Perspective on the Way Home
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the morning I was to leave Georgia after a week-long
visit with my cousin, I awoke to the sound of rain on my tent. I was besieged
with the same feelings I usually have when awaking to a rainy motorcycle trip.
My mood was as heavy and dark as the storm clouds above. This was in contrast to the previous few days where I had gained a sense of harmony while camping in the woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As I turned off the land and rode toward the highway, I was afraid that
I’d get so tired by my ride home that I’d lose the peaceful feelings from the weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I decided to take a direct route home via I-75 with an
overnight stop in Cincinnati. I reviewed my maps to determine some intermediate
stops and give myself smaller goals to work toward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set my sights on Knoxville where I’d enjoy a hot meal and
refuel. Despite the rain coming down at a steady drizzle, I rode on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The same tactic I use in riding is useful for writing; I go
toward one goal at a time. In my efforts toward freelance writing I’ve explored
what magazines I want to write for and reviewed their editorial guidelines.
I’ve researched how to write query letters and come up with a few ideas for
articles for motorcycle magazines. One of my stories was published for their
blog so I thought I’d try my hand at their print publication. I write and
rewrite, sending samples to my writer’s group for suggestions and then I revise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve gotten discouraged by the work but
I’m also heartened; I’m doing what I want to do, I’m writing what I want to
write.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few hours in the rain, and a stop for breakfast, I
continued north on the expressway bound for Cincinnati.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ride-break-ride strategy gave me the
freedom to take a step back from my feelings to examine them. This is the
second long-distance trip in which I’d found myself riding in the rain. While I
wanted to hole myself up in a motel bed and watch movies, my tight schedule
demanded I continue. I normally don’t mind the rain, but this time I felt as
though I was being punished. Even while I was having these thoughts, I was
surprised by them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like I
was gripped by a false sense of reality.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My writing life has been like this, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is incredible freedom in having
the time to write, in exploring new themes and finding publications I feel good
about supporting. Yet I’m also worried- there is a lot of
pressure to write well, to get published and to earn a living. It’s the ideas
around writing that have come to the forefront.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The question of “when can I write” has been replaced with a
new question: “how do I write?” The worry about writing gripped me just as my
feelings about being stuck in the rain did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My feelings of overwhelm increased as
the drizzle turned into such a forceful downpour that cars were pulling to
the side of the road. I couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead. Semi’s became
weapons as their tires shot walls of water that completely covered me when I passed
them. And thus my feelings from earlier in the day were confirmed - I was stuck
in a blinding downpour so fierce that I couldn’t see a safe way through it. I
rode on, though, marching through the wet, determined to break free.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After many miles and a stop to refuel, I found myself looking
up to clear skies, with the warm sun driving me to daydream. The worry I’d
known in the rain was replaced with a reassuring calm. I recognized the
dreaming as fatigue and turned off at the next exit, a remote road, for a nap. A sparse row of houses lined one side and an abandoned development lay on
the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled my bike into
the short dirt entrance, removed my rain gear and settled down on a small hill in the field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
few minutes later I was fast asleep. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up to repeated cries from a police woman who’d been
called to investigate. It was an alarming way to wake up but she treated the
situation as a routine stop and I was soon on my way again riding toward the
Ohio River basin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pfQ21SO7L4vab6ytTWzrvx2TpVAZwqQCtBH3cFrx3T-y56tCMsFEO5plLURIlcmOXR6wlzIcmlRNUB1BgEtJty5EgrwnfXqfGil2jSWduFhp4SojskZ4hLgAw1hnT358DKBO165PeWE/s1600/Cincinnati_oh_skyline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pfQ21SO7L4vab6ytTWzrvx2TpVAZwqQCtBH3cFrx3T-y56tCMsFEO5plLURIlcmOXR6wlzIcmlRNUB1BgEtJty5EgrwnfXqfGil2jSWduFhp4SojskZ4hLgAw1hnT358DKBO165PeWE/s320/Cincinnati_oh_skyline.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Cincinnati with the Brent Spence Bridge in the foreground</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>The city of Cincinnati greeted me with the biggest welcome possible-
the Brent Spence Bridge- a double-decker cantilever truss structure that spans
830 feet and affords a spectacular view of the city and the Ohio River. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned onto 50 East which follows
along the edge of the river before it meanders further north. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met my friend Chris who lives there. After the 430 mile trip, I was
glad to share dinner and conversation with him. Back at his place, I borrowed a
bed and settled in for the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the morning I made my final push north to Grand Rapids by
continuing along I-75 accompanied by music from my iphone. I let the music
lead my thoughts as I considered this leg of the journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day before had begun with some
fierce emotions as I braved the clouds and battled the rain. But that mood
lifted without effort as the clouds cleared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I keep moving, the difficulty passes and the path ahead
is visible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The following day, I was slated to meet with RIDE Motorcycle
founders Dick and Jerry to interview them for an article I planned to write for
Rider Magazine. The meeting was a milestone. When I joined RIDE, I had just
purchased my first bike and was a novice. Nearly eight years later, I was
returning from an 1,800 mile solo trip on my second bike, looking for a second
career. With the club I’ve learned about the freedom that both riding and
writing give me. One informs the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wanted to write an article that would describe RIDE, all the things
I’ve come to love about it, and all I’ve learned because of it. I wanted my
words to show Dick and Jerry how thankful I am they started the club. It seemed
like a big scope for one article though, and I didn’t know where to begin. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">I found myself riding amid a sea of wind turbines o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">n Ohio’s 30 near Van Wert</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;"><span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px;">The turbines reached upward, their blades spinning against a blue sky filled with clouds. I’ve heard it said that we can only see what our minds can comprehend. Looking up at these enormous structures that idea was brought to life. I had no concept for understanding these giants- their size, the shape, the way they moved. I was mesmerized. I stopped at a rest area that sits among the turbines so I could get a closer look. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZGqvJ2Xii4uQJAyxiBQWEazi0WbVRrrTRfKMiyWcle7JSK2ZUDbXHqQoiHUClTVk-kee_vkYxIURHlAQm6-m4__awWZ8XxZEWqGBZICoUECUIThVkR29llnaq2n8zdK0aZtJs0G19mc/s1600/P1011140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ZGqvJ2Xii4uQJAyxiBQWEazi0WbVRrrTRfKMiyWcle7JSK2ZUDbXHqQoiHUClTVk-kee_vkYxIURHlAQm6-m4__awWZ8XxZEWqGBZICoUECUIThVkR29llnaq2n8zdK0aZtJs0G19mc/s320/P1011140.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The base of one turbine with a house and truck nearby for perspective</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Standing
at the foot of the nearest, I had to crane my neck to look up into its whirling
blades. The miniature house and even tinier truck at its base hinted at its true size. It was like the
RIDE article ahead of me – the scope of it seemed so big, I couldn’t find a
starting place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with some
perspective I could see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
then I knew I’d talk with Dick and Jerry about what lead them to start the
club. I wanted to hear about how they decided to focus the club on safety, education and camaraderie. I knew once I heard them talk, I'd be able to funnel their enthusiasm and nostalgia into a story. As I climbed back on the bike toward
home, I felt buoyed up as though the windmills had lifted me into the heavens.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-49049508493431677222012-06-10T12:50:00.003-07:002012-06-15T19:28:59.016-07:00Back to NatureThe second part of my ten-day trip to Georgia involved
spending time with my cousin in Atlanta as well as attending a camping festival
with him in northwest Georgia. We’d never spent more than an evening together before this so I was a little
nervous but also excited. And
because we were camping, I looked forward to the time I’d have to reconnect
with nature. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wednesday afternoon Joseph and I made cakes for the festival
with his friend Kate. That night, Joseph and I went to dinner at the “W”, where he
works. We rode over on my bike and
pulled in front; they have valet only parking but gladly made an exception in
our case. I rarely eat at fine
dining restaurants and was unnerved by all the attention: staff filled our wine
and water glasses after only a few sips, replaced napkins several times and
brought new silverware between courses. After a long dinner filled with sumptuous food, we rode
around the city. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Atlanta is large but riding around the streets it didn’t
feel like it. It has a relaxed
easeful vibe about it. I was taken
in by the unique buildings. One of
my friends who loves cinema, has a knack for identifying cities in movies. She’d say, “see that building right
there? That’s in Seattle!” At the time I was awed by her ability
to do this. Now, with all
the traveling I’ve done by bike, it seems natural. Each city has its own feel and it’s own shape against the
sky. Generally, I’m not a
fan of riding on the expressway but on a bike it's different. I welcome a ride around and then into a city because it provides a distinct
vantage point. Riding then, has made me more
aware and appreciative of not only mountain views, but city views. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day we packed our gear in a friend’s car and took
my motorcycle to the farm where the festival was taking place. We jumped on the expressway to get out
of the city then slipped off to ride among hills and fields. I rarely ride two-up so it took some
getting used to. I don’t adjust my position as readily when there’s another
rider on the bike so I got sore more quickly. One thing I’ve never become accustomed to, is how every
movement of a passenger makes inputs into the bike that I have to counter. At each stop sign, I’d look back and
give him another instruction: “hug your knees around me when we’re at slow
speeds” or “wait to reposition yourself until we’ve stopped and my feet are on
the ground.” It felt foreign
having another rider along, but also fun to share the experience.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although the land where the festival was held was at a farm,
it had no crops, no livestock and no barn. The owners rent out the property for various events
throughout the year. It’s a
perfect location because it’s set off the road and situated between hilly
meadows and forested areas. It has
a stage, a pond, and a pavilion that are all connected by a winding dirt road
that runs through it. Alongside
the road, are group camping lots and trails that lead back into the trees for
wooded campsites. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been to a few music festival camping weekends but
nothing quite like this one. This
gathering was organized to celebrate Beltane- a pagan festival centered around
the May pole. In the interest of
preserving the sanctity of the week, I won’t discuss details of the celebration.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Approximately 200 people came out to celebrate with music, dancing, a pot-luck and bonfires. Many knew each other from previous festivals. As people
arrived, they introduced themselves. Even as our numbers grew, and it was impossible to meet everyone, people
made eye contact when passing each other and extended a greeting, treating each
other as though they’d met somewhere before.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My tent sat some distance from the pavilion, off a long
trail that lead into the forest. It was in a small clearing surrounded by a ring of trees. I collected large branches from the
surrounding woods and hung them between the trees. They formed a fence-like structure that encircled my
camp. A stump became a chair and
several rocks topped with a board, became a ledge for my canteen and knife. I hung my hammock made from orange
nylon between two sturdy trees. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5Hh_HxQBNU8uvY17poRrG61GDvt2TNkQU66gGWIxOe78ZnjNfdw5935eYoXv-f2VGdaQ5lW3YqBhAE2qwNNOa4kPbbEk4w32RheWZ8s_fYR4AOB40cnTqCw6c8pLlN_INQ0rCc76-dw/s1600/P9190869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5Hh_HxQBNU8uvY17poRrG61GDvt2TNkQU66gGWIxOe78ZnjNfdw5935eYoXv-f2VGdaQ5lW3YqBhAE2qwNNOa4kPbbEk4w32RheWZ8s_fYR4AOB40cnTqCw6c8pLlN_INQ0rCc76-dw/s320/P9190869.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Joseph introduced me as “my cousin Lisa who drove all the
way from Michigan on her motorcycle." In his simple introduction, he helped people connect to me. He told them what they
were doing was so important that people would come far to
experience it. And he gave them, as one woman described it, “a whole
different picture” of me. Indeed, as the weekend unfolded, I heard again and again, “oh, you’re the one who drove
down on your motorcycle!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friday night, I gathered in a
circle of women in a pasture lit only by stars. For hours we danced and sang accompanied by
drumbeat. Afterward, I felt tired, but also renewed and purposeful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saturday afternoon while the women cleaned up camp and
prepared food for the evening potluck the men took part in their own
gathering. They sang while they worked. Their words reverberated through the camp, lending its potent energy to
all we did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That night we all gathered around the Maypole and sang and
danced together to the rhythms of a celtic band. Tea and the cakes Joseph, Kate and I made were passed
around to the crowd. Afterward, we shared the potluck meal while another band played for us. The evening wrapped up with a bonfire. Masterful drummers sat nearby while
women danced in small groups at the edge of the fire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every day was different but a similar thread ran through
each. After some time with others, I returned to my camp. I climbed
into the hammock and stared at the canopy of trees above. I reflected on our interactions and the rituals we engaged in. After a time, answers came to questions I didn’t know I’d asked. They came to me as if carried on the
trees that swayed back and forth above me, shaking their leaves at me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span id="goog_2102740736"></span><span id="goog_2102740737"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After this long weekend, of
camping, dancing and celebrating I felt renewed and more connected with myself
and nature- exactly what I was hoping for. I also felt connected in some mysterious, primal way, to
many of the other campers. That
was completely unexpected. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-62693633955242148512012-06-03T05:30:00.003-07:002012-06-03T05:44:56.507-07:00Georgia BoundIn early May I took a ten-day motorcycle trip down to
Georgia and back. While there, I
met up with my cousin and we went camping. This was one of 3 overnight solo trips on the bike. Each time out I feel more comfortable
about how to manage the details. A
motorcycle camping trip to Northern Michigan taught me how to sort and pack essential
gear. My trip to West
Virginia taught me to devise a route around ideal roads and spots of interest. Still,
each ride has its own story, each area it’s own feel. This trip feels like three different
ones: the ride down, camping and the ride back.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I left a day early because rain was expected all night long
and into the next day. I took 69
south into Indiana before the storm arrived. Just as with the West Virginia trip, I started out on highway. I planned to ride expressways until Tennessee
and northern Georgia, where I’d ride the sweeping back roads in the mountains. I
wanted to break up the monotony of the freeway, by stopping at motorcycle gear
stores on the way down. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few hours of riding, I spent the first night at a
cheap motel just outside of Fort Wayne.
I woke up early and headed south. The scenery in that part of Indiana is
much like Michigan; the road was lined on either side with fields and dotted
with barns and farmhouses. Irrigation
equipment stretched across the fields like giant robotic insects, spraying
water high into the air. My bike droned
on, a kind of metronome to my thoughts on the ride. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I got into Kentucky, I left the expressway to find the store
in Louisville. I was surrounded by
homes that blended into the landscape.
The roads weren’t in a grid pattern but rather wove around linking one
section of town with another. Businesses had discreet signs. Once at the gear store, I didn’t find
the 3-season touring gear I was looking for so I jumped back on the bike. I
continued east on 64 into the heart of Kentucky under expansive blue skies. As I neared Lexington, the land around
me changed. Instead of crops,
there were grassy fields lined with mile after mile of 3-rail horse
fencing. Stately houses stared out
over the land. There was an
aristocratic feel to the place.
Even my mind chatter took on a southern drawl. One horse nibbled at grasses while another galloped across a
field.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I settled that night in London, Kentucky - a few drops of
rain on my face shield while unloading my bike promised a wet night. I grabbed a
sit-down dinner at the restaurant next door before bed. The next morning I headed out again to
get some miles in before breakfast- a trick I learned from Michael, while
preparing for my West Virginia trip.
I took 75 South with plans to stop in Knoxville at another motorcycle
gear store. I made quick work of the miles- riding fast toward my destination.
This Cycle Gear location had some gloves and boots I tried on for size. I
wanted to order them via mail instead of making room on the bike. I still had a full day of riding on
mountain roads so I pushed on, taking 129 South out of the city. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tone of my trip changed here- from rushing ahead, to
easing into the ride. I rode
through town, which felt familiar. I passed the airport where Joe and I had stayed in a hotel on
my first trip down in the Spring of 2009.
I recognized a few stores and the Princess Motel, where
previous Gap riders had stayed.
Finally, I approached the turn-off for Deal’s Gap and took it. This road begins the curves that won’t
stop until I’m well into Georgia. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt the anticipation building in my body- I hunched
forward, my legs hugging the tank, toes up on the pegs. I used my upper body to help me lean the
bike into the corners, angling my chest toward the side mirrors. The bike was responsive and adjusted
with light pressure to the inside peg. Oncoming motorcyclists waved their
welcome after my long journey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I passed a lake surrounded by mountains and crossed a bridge. I climbed up and around, anticipating
the mountain look-off. Before
long, the road twisted around then opened up and I pulled off at the unofficial
start of the Gap. I’ve taken pictures here each year I’ve visited with
friends. I stop for another
anyway, marking my first solo trip there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGS7WSVPhdXTDZilzKcqaEuOs0yQuWO1ook6hx8HPW1U2aIi7b3gI3wrxx0hPtDGil4jzHB9c1554ueuDqfhba08nihfm5Vlt-ggaT1h_M_UgyXLLlUx3As5qB8JBSwGislhDsP4P_ZMg/s1600/P1011114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGS7WSVPhdXTDZilzKcqaEuOs0yQuWO1ook6hx8HPW1U2aIi7b3gI3wrxx0hPtDGil4jzHB9c1554ueuDqfhba08nihfm5Vlt-ggaT1h_M_UgyXLLlUx3As5qB8JBSwGislhDsP4P_ZMg/s320/P1011114.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "unofficial start" of Deal's Gap</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Gap is famous in motorcycle circles for its many curves
in a short distance. People often
ride through on sport bikes in full leather, as though they are on a track
trying to beat their best time.
I’ve ridden it aggressively but this time I couldn’t muster up the
will. In fact, I had the opposite
happen: I felt compelled to ride it slowly, and I became fearful of what lay
around each blind corner. Just a
few miles in, a van came around a bend half way in my lane. It had just enough room to correct its
course before I reached the exact spot it had overreached its lane. My relaxed approached seemed to be
divined. I continued on, watching
the road twist back on itself again and again. I passed two photographers perched at a corner taking photos
of vehicles riding by. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGazfy4Ss5cWurySztc9igNhPTpJ7ir4dQZ2yUpLuN30waOJAdYZrCaIwUpyOtAvG5WX0amcstNwNPXBPU6e3s8ixim72D1ATekFmZRlzjCKredmbrm0aAIlZNyA8DL0DiVysLia-eKt0/s1600/Deal's+Gap+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGazfy4Ss5cWurySztc9igNhPTpJ7ir4dQZ2yUpLuN30waOJAdYZrCaIwUpyOtAvG5WX0amcstNwNPXBPU6e3s8ixim72D1ATekFmZRlzjCKredmbrm0aAIlZNyA8DL0DiVysLia-eKt0/s320/Deal's+Gap+2012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riding the Gap- thanks to Xtreme Sports Photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Three
mini-coopers raced past me, going in the opposite direction. Still, my pace was easy. My mind returned to past trips as I
rode through particular curves:
here, where a full dresser rolled off the road into the forest below,
and there, were I’d overshot and crossed the center line- a life threatening error
in the worse circumstances. I pulled off to grab a picture of these curves, so
unlike any I’ve ever traveled.
After two quick shots, I returned the camera to my tank bag. Just then, a car came around the corner
completely occupying my lane- the lane I would have been in, had I not pulled
over. This second miss in just a
few miles, seemed to insist that I travel only at posted speeds the rest of the
way through the Gap. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmR3Tq1DVslLZ7Svgo7sOqprYE_C0vAKvEWtgxbQyRM7EwOvBYLXdbNnsAtMq67blASSCwZ0D6vQnIEDb7kICNjMh6qti7WtNYLk5k3_3HB3_fTCPFInxknqwwlhrPt4KjFItEztPz8s/s1600/P1011115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmR3Tq1DVslLZ7Svgo7sOqprYE_C0vAKvEWtgxbQyRM7EwOvBYLXdbNnsAtMq67blASSCwZ0D6vQnIEDb7kICNjMh6qti7WtNYLk5k3_3HB3_fTCPFInxknqwwlhrPt4KjFItEztPz8s/s320/P1011115.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deal's Gap: notice the blind curves and changing camber of the road<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I passed a sign saying I’d entered North Carolina just
before the Deal’s Gap Resort. I
continued on, following signs to the Cherohala. In years past, I’d taken these sweeping curves at speed,
testing myself and my skill. This
time, after riding so furiously on the expressway and the close calls just
minutes before, I eased through the curves, enjoying the gentle side-to- side
motion as I navigated the roads. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The landscape is so foreign compared to Michigan with its
rocky outcroppings, lush forests and valley views. I am a traveler in a foreign land there. The forest when seen from above,
becomes a verdant sea of green. I
searched for a break in the trees while riding along, hoping to catch a glimpse.
Finally, I pulled off at a roadside stop, and headed for a bench with a
promising view. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bench is a constructed of a stone so large it is the
backrest while a wooden platform wraps around it, serving as the seat. Brush had been cleared in this corner
of the roadside park, affording a view of the valley below. I sat with my back
against the cool rock and looked into outward. Directly in front on me I found a dip in the mountain range. Staring into this cleft, I felt myself
open up inside and become more expansive.
I breathed more deeply and slowly.
I felt myself loosening up and softening. This is why I ride- to connect with myself and the land
around me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJs5dusnUkZaxLeMN6-TwGJwP43xxZPJk7BwQnOEEhP1jp3HCgDWqTeXAUcJ1D_TZptBhT-InS7ltPUqvY1rdvaLT2PQsGXmFhCxaIq1Kb5mUSYGc2QBoLBHovzFZEs_yiulCqT-Rl2Y/s1600/P1011121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJs5dusnUkZaxLeMN6-TwGJwP43xxZPJk7BwQnOEEhP1jp3HCgDWqTeXAUcJ1D_TZptBhT-InS7ltPUqvY1rdvaLT2PQsGXmFhCxaIq1Kb5mUSYGc2QBoLBHovzFZEs_yiulCqT-Rl2Y/s320/P1011121.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from a roadside park along the Cherohala</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I got back on the bike and continued on these sweeping
curves that wrap themselves around the mountain. The roads were nearly empty. Single motorcyclists slipped past me intermittently. I was a lone wolf. I continued on 19 heading south into
Georgia, toward my cousin’s home in Atlanta. Mountain views fell away and I found myself riding between
large hills, up then down, again and again, past little towns bordered by gas
stations and fast food stops. As I
neared Atlanta, I jumped on the expressway. Six lanes wrap around the city and then turn South into
it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This trip came about because my cousin Joseph invited me for
a visit. He and I are part of a
large extended family and because we grew up in different states, we rarely saw
each other and don’t know each other well. After connecting at our family reunion held last July, we’ve
been talking regularly by phone.
It seems strange to be finding the time for a friendship now, with both
of us in our forties, but it also feels like a gift.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before long, I found my cousin’s exit and rode along
tentatively, searching for his street.
I turned onto a narrow road, hidden from the city by mature trees that
lined the street. I slip slowly
along, the scent of honeysuckle hanging in the air. After two full days of riding, I finally arrive - a charming
bungalow with a purple front door greets me. The first leg of my trip was complete.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-85436997886966882532012-04-21T10:04:00.000-07:002012-04-21T10:04:11.677-07:00Spring Cleaning<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although we’ve experienced a few weeks of rain, the ride
season began in earnest in March, giving me over a month of riding that I
normally wouldn’t have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has
allowed me to meet up with other friends who ride sooner than usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve gone from being secluded in my
home watching movies, to RIDE club dual-sport rides and bike church
Sundays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This has been the
third season I’ve gone to bike church - the local coffee shop around the corner
from my house where other riders meet for </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
conversation and coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like seeing the same people
again year after year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me
feel like I have a lot of friends on the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I wave at a passing rider it might be someone I’ve met
at bike church; it makes the world seem smaller and more friendly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Along with these riding opportunities,
early warm weather has brought other gifts with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m walking, doing home repairs and taking stock of my work
life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pia met me at bike church. We talked until everyone else was
gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat so long, a few people
I had visited with earlier in the morning rode by again and we exchanged waves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided to spend the afternoon
riding and then stop for lunch in Richland, which is about an hour away as the
crow flies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took the long way
around, though, with me leading her there via favorite roads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we left Grand Rapids, I found
myself committed to the happenings on the ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sights and sounds of the trip flitted past me,
registering not only in my mind, but in my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True to the spirit of riding, I was no longer thinking about
our destination, but instead, was taking in the details of the areas we passed
through. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We took Fulton into Ada where we drove through town and past
the softball field and the covered bridge, under the railroad tracks and around
the edge of the lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there we
turned onto Buttrick, a road that links one subdivision to another. It is edged
by a paved path and we passed runners and bicyclists and young couples pushing
strollers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We came to Whitneyville
road and headed south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here,
houses are set far back from the road – we passed a man on a riding lawn mower
tracing neat lines in his front yard and sending the scent of freshly cut grass into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We turned east and hit winding roads past a man who had pulled off to
fish in a near-by stream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wore
gators and was sorting through a tackle box with his pole perched against his
car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We turned south again and
passed a road-side park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw two
pair of flip-flops sitting on a picnic table before spotting their owners peering
into the creek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We picked up speed
as the houses spread out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dirt
side roads appeared as tributaries on our route.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With another turn, we were in farm country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We rolled up and down hills and wound around
curves nestled among fields, riding from one barn to the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sky was robin’s egg blue with clouds
floating so low over the land, we passed through cold spots as we rode
underneath them, the sun’s warming rays just out of reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fields were freshly plowed into neat
rows and the smell of rich loamy soil rose up around us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every ride is an opportunity to practice, but early season
rides remind me why- some of my actions felt stilted after so much time off
during winter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I refreshed my
cornering skills amid the freshly-tilled countryside: slowing to a safe entry
speed then rolling on the throttle as I reached the apex of the curve. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loosened my grip, dropped my right
shoulder and shifted my upper body toward the right mirror, preparing my body
for the sweeping right-hand curve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This week I have awakened each morning and walked for an
hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take a different route
each time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk to the end of
each street then turn, walk and turn, letting my feet guide me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes while walking, I get a
picture of a part of the city in my mind’s eye and I start heading in that
direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a microcosm of
my motorcycle rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let the
route unfold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watch my body
loosen up as it wakes up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While
walking, I practice different strides- first short quick steps then longer
while lifting my knees higher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
move my arms like windmills or hug myself or stretch both arms behind me and
clasp hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking like this is
a meditation for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not
timing my miles, not aiming for distance travelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only want to feel my body and discover what it’s capable
of. I am preparing my body for the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pia and I continue our ride into Middleville and turn on to
M-37 for a short stretch until we find M-43.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This road takes us past a Goodwill and a turn-off for Yankee
Springs, toward tiny towns. We ride through Cloverdale and into Delton past two
cruisers parked outside a bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
follow behind a small red car going much too slow, past a fun trio of curves
between Gull Lake and Little Long Lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finally, we arrive in Richland at the Blackhawk Inn where we stop to
talk and lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the ideal
way to spend an afternoon- riding with a friend whose company I enjoy off the
bike as much as on it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our conversation at lunch was just as varied as the roads
we’d traveled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked about our
careers up until that point and what direction they’re taking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked about relationships we’ve had
and how disappointed we’d been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
talked about new people in our lives and the possibilities that exist with
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shared fears of loss and
sought answers to questions we didn’t know were there until we started
talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the way of women-
discussing, divulging, discovering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The ride down was a chance to escape our histories, the lunch a chance
to review it and the ride home was a new beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is deepening in relationship with another and I am
deepening in relationship with myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am preparing myself for a new life as a writer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been following the urges to move everyday through my
morning walks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve also been
doing some work around the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I feel driven to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s had me sorting and discarding, raking and sweeping, digging and
planting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s made me find tools
I haven’t touched in many months- a hammer, drill, screwdriver, wire
brush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve pulled out gallons of
paint and bottles of spackle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
hear the faint sound of my father’s table saw and see his pencil caught behind
his ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see parts of him in me
as I work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am engaged in other
work here- inner work, it finally occurs to me, as I move my desk into position
in a new room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am setting up
shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am rearranging and
repairing- all in preparation for a new beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am preparing my home for my new life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some roads have become as familiar as old friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I return to them year after year to
reset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gauge my riding skills
since the last time on that route, make adjustments to my body position and break habits to find newer, safer ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The riding season is another way I tell
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another way I take stock of
my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I return to the ritual of
Spring cleaning to sort through old belongings, repair what is broken and discard
what isn’t worth saving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look at
friendships that have worn thin and new ones that offer support and guidance. In
all I do- whether on a ride, in a relationship, in my home or in my body- I am
finding a new way. A way that enlivens, enriches and encourages me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year holds much promise- I look
outside at the daffodils and see this promise reflected in the bright faces of
their Spring blooms nodding in the breeze.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-63626582086828968122012-03-22T13:09:00.001-07:002012-03-22T13:15:46.126-07:00Heat WaveThis has been a record setting month for high temperatures in Grand Rapids. Outdoor enthusiasts of all types have put away their scarves and winter boots and pulled out their warm-weather adventure gear. Tennis players volley, basketball stars fill the urban courts and kids are lining sidewalks with chalked art and lemonade stands. And motorcyclists have bypassed their heated gear and gone straight to vented jackets.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today, mid-March, it’s 85 degrees out. I am planning yet another local tour of West Michigan on two-wheels. And by planning, I mean I’m getting on the bike to follow the roads, not a map. I seem to like these adventures the most. As soon as I start to consider which destination will offer the best views or ice cream stop or meal, I become stuck, as though I’ve gotten turned around and can’t find my way. This signals that my destination is not the important thing, but that simply getting out for the ride is. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been taking the bike out every day since my last day of work. It’s the best treatment for “what-do-I-do-now” fever. My mind keeps urging me toward the job search while my heart keeps guiding me back to the tasks of the day- walking, doing dishes, paying bills. Even as my mind wanders to what I “should do,” I work to remember that there is enough on the “to-do list” already and I silently grant myself permission to hang out with friends, visit with my sister, take a nap. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am falling out of the habit of a work-laden life. As Sunday afternoon approached, I shoved aside the normal routine- making lunch for work on Monday, washing my uniforms, tidying up the house. I dismissed myself from these normal chores of the day only to be confronted with seasonal chores- cleaning out the garage or tackling yard work. These chores, too, I pushed aside. I will do them when I want to. I finally itched the “should” scratch by paying bills and scheduling some appointments. There’s so much I can do yet I am making a new practice of doing what I want to do. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve decided that on my Sabbatical (as my down-sized job release is now fondly being called) I will do things I want to do more often than things I have to do. I will resist repainting the house, repairing plaster and landscaping my yard. Instead, I plan to do some form of physical activity and write every day. These are my new daily habits. This is the new life I am committed to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I ran into a former supervisor while out on a walk yesterday. She is a free-spirit herself who was given the gift of some time off a few years back between jobs. She asked me if I was getting restless yet with all my free time as she recalled feeling unsettled and purposeless while unemployed. Because I’ve been off less than a week, I haven’t yet started to feel that. And I am determined that I won’t. I don’t mean to say that I won’t be nervous or a little afraid of how I will support myself financially, but I also realize that I am perfectly equipped to commit to my writing life and see where those efforts lead me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the last few weeks at work I was asked to fill out a self-evaluation that listed tasks I had completed in the previous year. My list was over 2 pages long and I even impressed myself with what I’d been able to accomplish in that one year. I helped reorganize the physical space for better use, transitioned the clinical staff to electronic medical records, updated policies and procedures for greater safety and efficiency, for example.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Reviewing this last year of my employment helped me realize that I have all the skills I need to make my writing the center of my life instead of something I try to make time for. There is much I don’t yet know about how to publish my writing but I have the resources to find those things out. Just as I learned which person to call for IT issues, or OSHA related questions in my former position, I also have a list of “specialists” in the writing world that I can call on for support. In addition, I have friends who are already helping. Aaron told me about a contact of his with Rider Magazine and Amanda introduced me to her mom who is also a freelance writer. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I keep hearing myself generate all kinds of ideas of making money- through repurposing furniture, making cards and jewelry, working for friends- and then I gently remind myself that I can do any of those things I want to do but I will not resort to them because I feel like I have to. There is a balance, of course, and I will have to see how the finances work out. But I know that I have to stay focused on what I can do rather than acting out of fear about money. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today I started brainstorming ideas for articles and projects and sorting out journals who may be interested in my work. I’m in my “gathering ideas” phase of this new role where I’m investigating all the possible routes of travel before determining what to focus on. It’s an exciting time for me. During dinner the other night with Aaron, he remarked, “I didn’t realize you were going through all that! You don’t look like you’re stressed.” I continue to hear those words echo in my mind because they reflect a clear truth of the experience of losing my job: I am not as stressed out by it as I am excited to have this time for myself. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I will be settling in here at home to see what writing comes forth. It’s easy to get on the bike and ride to a destination writing spot, with fancy ideas of what I can produce while surrounded by books, magazines and cups of liquid inspiration. But all my writing thus far has come while camped out on my couch or propped up in bed. And I’ve got a hunch that the next year in those same places will bring as much life to my writing as writing to my life. In the meantime, it’s time to get out on the bike and see the city on two wheels- that view continues to be my best inspiration of all.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-84789298407185104072012-03-04T08:20:00.000-08:002012-03-04T08:20:21.771-08:00Unexpected Trip<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I’m feeling restless these days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We keep getting teased with warmer temperatures only to wake up with blustery winds and a dusting of snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The icy roads tell the truth: that Winter is still upon us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weather reports have taunted us this season- and with typical accuracy for West Michigan, have often been wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sundays are my favorite day to write because it’s the day that feels like both the last and the first day of the week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the day I reflect on the previous week and plan for the week to come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This past week I got word that my position at work was eliminated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of this, I will be taking a severance package.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, I am faced with the decision to continue on my current career path or take another direction altogether.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time I have the benefit of many months of paid time off to decide.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I spent yesterday afternoon with Anita- we had lunch and drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She summarized my current situation like this: “you’re on sabbatical for the next few months.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that way of looking at it so much that I am deciding from this point forward I will refer to this situation not as “being downsized” but as “going on sabbatical.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s heard me talk about writing and offering workshops for long enough that she knows I can use this time to put those dreams into action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friends certainly help me keep a healthy perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My bike is sturffed in the corner of my garage, the seat off, with the battery on a trickle charge in the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday I daydreamed about putting her back together and riding her down to Lifecycle in Kalamazoo to get some brake work done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I pictured myself riding down, there was no snow on the ground and I wasn’t wearing long johns and my heated gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no helmet or sunglasses and there was plenty of money in my bank account to cover whatever repairs and upgrades were needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, it was an absolute fantasy my imagination had concocted because I have been feeling hemmed in, constricted and limited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this time of the season, I’m no longer comforted by sleeping in while the snow piles up- I feel frustrated that I can’t just throw on some shoes and go for a walk without first layering and donning and bundling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to roll in the grass and jump in puddles, not shovel snow and slip on ice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During the Spring and Summer, when I use only my bike to get around, I rarely speak about the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With rain, I put on rain gear; cool, I put on the heated gear; hot, I put on the ventilated gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike some of my riding friends, I’m not a fair weather rider and I don’t check weather reports all day long to see if I’ll be able to head out for a ride after work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I check the weather the old fashion way- by stepping outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I pull the bike out of the garage, I’m looking at the sky and taking in the feel and smell of the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless, riding daily is a commitment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes planning and, as you may have noted, lots of gear or at least proper gear to cover the variety of riding conditions we encounter here in West Michigan. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In my daydream, there were no preparations, no consideration of the weather, no gear at all, even- just me and the bike and the promise of future riding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I contrast this with how I live each day- factoring in so many different things: the temperature, the destination, finances, food – I am always, at some level attempting to prepare myself for whatever lies ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The irony is, that after all these years, I still can’t predict what’s coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Nearly three years ago, I was working for the Grand Rapids Dominicans and struggling with the job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as in my current position, I was being asked to take on more duties – the scope of my practice was so large and had become so stressful, the things I enjoyed the most were “not a priority” to the organization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back then, I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>daydreamed regularly of losing my job so I could write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fast forward to today and I am finally getting the chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t planning to leave my present employer and it never occurred to me that my current position would dissolve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That said, my frustration and disappointment are mitigated by the fact that I have several months of paid time off to explore the things I was daydreaming about just a few years ago.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Patrick called last night with an extra ticket to the Grand Rapids Symphony- his wife is a violinist and suggested he invite me to watch the performance with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked me up 30 minutes later and off we went to the “Soul” themed evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The event opened with a piece that sounded like a movie score- its energy and tension peaking and receding throughout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other pieces followed including a jazz singer who pulled out a Bobby McFerrin song backed by a choir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The evening ended with several performances by Dianne Reeves, in tribute to Sarah Vaughan. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like I was taken on both a musical and emotional journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her voice is so rich and full, and comes from deep within that I was willing to follow wherever she led.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Short stories she shared like vignettes before each song had the audience laughing or rejoicing with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she would pause and as the first few bars of music began, the audience caught the story that continued through the feeling and lyrics of the song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The musicians pulled the audience into the performance so completely, that the subject/object relationship between them and the audience dissolved. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In listening to her, I felt part of her show and she in turn, expressed the same when she said, “I’m leaving home with many gifts tonight.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Life takes so many twists and turns, and I’m as grateful for the fork in the road that led me to last night’s performance<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as I am for the writing sabbatical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know the daydream of riding unencumbered by weather or gear choices is not just a desire to for Summer riding but is born of a deeper desire to let myself be led by the road in front of me, and not just by the path I have marked on the map.</div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-89219930819393850752012-02-26T07:04:00.000-08:002012-02-26T07:04:42.333-08:00Far Off Travels<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our first heavy snowfall of the year happened late in the season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Winter is here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s in the stillness of the early morning, the crunch of snow underfoot, in branches and tree crooks accented with white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few days ago, I saw shades of brown everywhere but when there’s this much snow the world is white, punctuated with black accents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things are simple and straightforward, easy to discern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw several bikes out this month as weather crept into the 50’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take the insurance off the bike (and thus the bike off the street) during the Winter to save a little money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year I wish I hadn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the way to visit Lisa in Muskegon for lunch I found myself enveloped by a sea of snow-coated trees rising out of the earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For just a moment I was part of the scene, swimming in it- much like when I’m on the bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wished for my bike so the feeling could continue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I could be part of the world around me instead of just watching it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When everything around me is buried, I often bury myself in books or movies or writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I’m outside, tromping in it, I welcome the season, but it takes a few hours to pull me from my bed, from word-making as pictures swirl in my mind.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been pre-occupied with trip planning over the last few weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going to Peru, Bolivia and Chile in November on a motorcycle adventure tour with others from RIDE motorcycle club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got a plan to help the months in between go by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m checking out travel books from the library, designing t-shirts and completing my passport paperwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a calendar on my fridge and I’m marking off the days until it’s time to go. With each paycheck, I tally the vacation I’m saving - now at 57 hours. I need 102 so I’m more than halfway there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I'm also shopping for gear. This year I hope to purchase a new set of 3 season waterproof gear- no more stopping to put on the rain suit. No more frustration that I left the warm gloves at home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are 10 of us going on this trip so there’s about 10 different ideas of what we should do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In our early discussions, we were doing a 17 day trip starting in Arequipa, Peru going east into Bolivia down across the Andes then west into Chile and north again back into Peru.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This route didn’t include Machu Picchu however. As one of the great cultural sites of that region, there’s a big push to incorporate it into the trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are enough of us who want to do it and do it right, that we are willing to tack on a few extra days to make it happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m looking forward to getting the route firmed up so we can purchase our tickets and get the travel dates locked in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I look at pictures of the country-side we’ll be traveling and it’s such a lush green I can barely fathom it, especially when held against the gray brown Winter peeking in at me from the window near where I write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems such a long way off both in time and in territory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am looking forward to the travel for so many reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoy experiences that get me out of my current view of the world- I think I like foreign films for this reason- so being in another country, with a different landscape, culture and customs<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is exciting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every now and again I look at this life I’ve carved out for myself and I wonder how much longer I will participate in life in this way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still spend more hours working a job that takes more from me than it gives only to come home to a house and responsibilities that require more time and energy than I want to put into them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Travel out of the country is also a symbol for me of traveling out of this life I have known, in search of another life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drive to take this trip has been so powerful, and the fear that something will interrupt it so palpable, that I know it is something I must do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reasons why aren’t quite clear to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what will be introduced into my life as a result of these travels but I know I must find out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the past several months I hear myself say over and over, “I’m going to Peru!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And like an oft repeated line in a play, the effect of the statement continues to change and expand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a promise of adventure, of exploring new territory and discovering new worlds.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Winter skies this season have been more blue than grey and the ground more brown than white so I’ve been tricked by the landscape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I expect to see the crocus peaking up in the front yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then I step outside and see my breath in the air and the crystals that have formed on my windshield overnight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I run inside and grab my gloves and a scarf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peru is still many months away.</div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-2433754357973970422011-12-31T19:07:00.000-08:002011-12-31T19:07:00.469-08:00The Final Days<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">(I pick up here where I left off in September, on the final days of my last motorcycle trip. Thanks to cousin Dan for the nudge.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I slept in the following morning, warm and cozy in my tall bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ventured out to the dining room, where I’d eaten dinner the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a breakfast of French toast and fresh squeezed orange juice, I reviewed brochures about the city of Lewisburg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m a product of the North, more thoroughly that I’d known up until that meal there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two men that worked in the restaurant during my stay where black men, both with a charming southern drawl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were dressed in back pants and white short-sleeved shirts topped with black vests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was greeted with a “hello Miss, where’d ya’ like to sit this morn’n?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first feeling upon seeing them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were waiting on me in a colonial home in the South, filled with antiques.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a moment, I felt lost in time, as though they were servants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt uncomfortable, out of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to talk myself into the present day: they were employees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were being paid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I would tip them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Much of my trip was filled with this juxtapositioning of time, people and situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself yearning for some time off the bike and for connecting with the people of the town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to explore the town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked down a gentle sloping hill into a cluster of shops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided against trinkets for myself and picked up a birthday gift for a friend instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lunch was a light salad and glass of chardonnay in a restaurant serving mostly local fare- it reminded me of Mia and Grace back in Michigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While out strolling, I found a movie theatre and checked show times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed an afternoon nap and snack before returning for the movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended the evening in one of my favorite ways- in bed, writing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The following morning, I was unsure of whether to head to Michigan or continue West into Kentucky for another day or two of riding. I’d already ridden my “must-do routes” and felt unsure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to ride north and see how I felt after my day of rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was cold and drizzling and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be wet again. About 40 minutes into my drive, I decided to head home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was done battling the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My final day of riding was infused with tension.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was eager to get back to familiar landscape, to my bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, I was still on the bike, surrounded by beautiful land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like in the dining room of the Inn, I felt myself held in two different times- on the bike and in my own home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a familiar pattern for me- stuck between where I am and where I want to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this case, I was happy to be on the bike but also terribly frustrated that so much of the trip had been punctuated by rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was proud of myself for planning and making the trip, and simultaneously aware of the trips I could have had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This last day was filled with these dichotomies- the road I could have taken and didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no regret or sorrow- enough of the new direction was behind me that it had begun to feel like the only choice to take after all.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was so deep into West Virginia that I was far from the expressways and mentally shifted gears to enjoy that leisurely leg of the ride while the straight and fast highways waited ahead. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A</span>nimals dotted the landscape and 2 lane roads narrowed into river forging bridges. The roads I found myself on mimicked my inner experience- I was nestled against the mountains while at the same time, entertained valley views.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt supported while I sought new experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At a gas stop, I reviewed maps and found my quickest route home. I’d get myself into Ohio and catch 77.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a time when my mind left me on the bike and I thought only of home and warmth and my animals waiting for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted familiar smells and sounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted straight roads that showed me where they ended, instead of tricking me with turns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something would jar me out of my reverie – gears grinding when a semi-downshifted on a steep slope – and I’d be back on the bike again, wading between hills like waves one after another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wanted to find a route that would take me past wind turbines, though I wasn’t coming out the same way I’d gone in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, cresting over hill, I saw several in the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hoped to capture a picture of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, I found myself along a perfect path between mountains that lead me through a field of turbines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was between two realities again- I was saddened by the killing of trees needed to make room for them, yet mesmerized by their presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each turbine I passed was nearer and nearer and thus larger than the one before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Even</span> a single blade was incomprehensibly large: I was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>awed by their stature: a trio of turbines, peaking out between two mountains with limbs that reached toward me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A single turbine perched on a hill, peering down at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A series of towering points along a distant ridge with arms that swirled around and around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never got that perfect photo - yet still they sit, still etched in my mind.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once in Ohio, I realized there was no hiding from the roads between me and home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While in a car, I seek out things that distract me from the journey- something to make the trip feel shorter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I get that feeling on a bike, I recognize it as a warning flag; my mind is wandering, my body is worn out. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t until I stopped for gas that I realized I was stuck in the think-loop of “I’m almost home.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> I was at least 4 hours from home, but since I’d already ridden 10, it felt like I was nearly there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In reality,</span> I’d been riding in darkness and rain with only the taillights of the vehicles ahead to guide me when I finally stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the danger in riding long distances- the mind can trick you but the body knows when it has had enough. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I found a motel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t eaten in hours and was so hungry and tired by then, I couldn’t decide what to order from which restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally pulled quarters from my duffel and selected orange juice and a tube of nuts from the vending machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soon settled into sleep. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the morning, I packed up the bike for the final time and readied myself for the leg home. I reveled in familiar names on roadsides: Ann Arbor, Lansing, Ionia, Lowell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I entered my driveway, I noticed a sense of relief I hadn’t felt since I’d first started riding- I was glad to have made it home. My bike did not break down, nor did I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, while tired from the week-long journey, I also felt invigorated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Planning this trip was simple- getting out of my head about the logistics was the biggest challenge- and easy enough with the help of a few friends to guide my route.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking the trip was even easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to leave my work life behind and tap into other parts of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parts that are easier to access while on a bike, engaged in the ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also recognized this trip as an important part of assessing my readiness for a trip to South America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been entertaining a 2 week journey without being on a bike for more than a few days at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With this ride behind me, I knew I could do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d have to make more preparations, but I’d banished all doubts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-51919665648205092682011-09-12T18:54:00.000-07:002011-09-12T18:54:16.670-07:00Driving Rain<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I awoke the next morning of my motorcycle trip- in no hurry to venture out into the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met two other couples in the dining room of the motel and we chatted about our routes over breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had come from Seneca Falls and recommended it for the scenery. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the cabins they told me about would be something I’d enjoy, I really wanted to head south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The fourth patch I could earn on this trip was for traveling a trio of roads: 219, 250 and 220.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A glance at my map, revealed two options for this route- I decided to take 250 east to 220 then head south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would put me in southern West Virgnia, where I could sleep in one place for a few days and take short day trips on the motorcycle. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before falling asleep the night before, I’d washed all my clothes and developed a strategy for getting through the following rainy day- a habit, by now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d dried my gloves on the vent and let my pants and jacket hang to dry overnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That morning, I lined my duffel bag with garbage bags and packed all of my belongings inside them. I wore lightweight pants under my rain suit and tucked my feet into plastic bags to prevent them from getting wet again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I slipped my rain jacket on over my leather jacket, put on my helmet and took off in the rain, headed for 250.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Within a matter of minutes, my hands were freezing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going to be battling the rain <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> the cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped at the mini-mall to find a pair of latex gloves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only pair available ripped as soon as I put them on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rode on further- determined to make a go of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t get far before I pulled over to gas up and change under the awning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Water had managed to leak into my right boot and my foot was soaked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I changed my socks, adjusted the plastic bag turned liner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also exchanged the leather jacket for the heated jacket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Topped with the rain jacket, I would stay warm <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and</i> dry, yet still have freedom of movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also put on my heated gloves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Newly armed, I ventured back out into the rain. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rain lightened up a bit as I wound around and through the mountain roads past streams and forests growing from rocking outcroppings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riding in some mountain ranges, one can see the towering rocks pushing up into the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through this area though, it was the tree tops that formed the mountain range.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the trees linked together created a great sea of green rolling across the edge of the sky like a wave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the base of this sea was a great golden “beach” of farmland dotted with farmhouses and barns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I rolled through each curve, I’d see this range and the farms below it through the breaks in the trees at the road’s edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like a little gift each time the trees parted to afford me that view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh180tNCe2iOxyKXt7lEkZQOZ8wug-mH1haUoi_gnMJE8VDNX93Io7bbRMfluFzfbrXfXyMUGin0nXHX-J5LSazaxBhYTvHVgwNctcU9GfJ7b_BlGOF0E6rFSacXyMHXn8Uuk2SKR9pkgo/s1600/P9061045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh180tNCe2iOxyKXt7lEkZQOZ8wug-mH1haUoi_gnMJE8VDNX93Io7bbRMfluFzfbrXfXyMUGin0nXHX-J5LSazaxBhYTvHVgwNctcU9GfJ7b_BlGOF0E6rFSacXyMHXn8Uuk2SKR9pkgo/s320/P9061045.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>I was riding my favorite kind of roads in beautiful country but felt like the ride had become all about dealing with the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of challenging my riding skills, the trip was challenging my coping skills. The rain was pouring down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt like I was just hanging on for the ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bike was holding up, the roads were in excellent condition but the rain was seeping into me and sapping my strength.</div><div class="MsoNormal">To get a break from the rain, I stopped in a quaint town for sandwich and tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My map made 220 look like a straight shot and I thought I’d pick up speed and cover some ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sure enough, the ride was fast and easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Covington, appeared to be one massive industrial plant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three separate driveways along a one-mile stretch lead into the plant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like coming upon a scene in a sci-fi movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Semi’s turned out of the plant, one after another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Piles of saw dust stood high as sand dunes underneath conveyor belts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This town felt empty and sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left it behind quickly by jumping on 64 west; I was on a mission to find lodging for the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were several hours left in the day to ride, but my body was done. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spotted signs for a visitor center and stood just inside the door, a pool of water gathering around me, as I asked for suggestions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The B&B they referred me to, didn’t have any clean beds after the holiday weekend; she steered me “just 9 miles down the road” to Lewisburg, West Virginia with promises of an Inn and an attached restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rain continued to poor down on my ride and my reserves were gone- I needed the charm of an Inn, rather than another Super 8 and marched on expectantly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I pulled up to a 2 story white colonial with a circle drive and front porch that beckoned me in with its double-door entry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside, an antique desk with a ledger and hand-loomed oriental rugs greeted guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A drawing room off to the left was filled with antique chairs grouped together around a fireplace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I followed the hall around the corner down to my room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside, a double bed stood so tall, I needed a stool to climb into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was topped with a down comforter and 4 fluffy pillows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next to it was a small walnut desk and chair and beside that a narrow closet for my riding jacket and pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A television stood atop and antique dresser across from the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the corner, a narrow door lead into a crisp white bathroom just big enough to stand in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lugged in my bags, hung my gear up to dry out and filled the tub for a hot bath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although these accommodations were more luxurious than I’d intended for my trip- they were exactly what I needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called the front desk and told her I’d take the room for two nights then I grabbed a book and settled into the tub to warm up and relax.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After cleaning up, I nestled in bed with my computer to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Up until that point, I hadn’t carved out any time to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promised myself the next 2 days would be devoted to writing and enjoying the town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d had enough of trying to get somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted time to reflect on all I’d seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-54768578085431408952011-09-10T08:50:00.000-07:002011-09-10T08:51:28.026-07:00Take me home...I awoke, on the 3<sup>rd</sup> day of my trip, in Winchester, Virginia to wet pavement and dry skies. I expected rain, after the forecast but hoped I’d get lucky, like the day before. There were clouds above with patches of sky and sunlight poking through. My first route for the day consisted of a purple line at the top of my map - across route 50 from Gore, Virginia heading West to Grafton, West Virginia. This is another RIDE club patch road. I hadn’t intended to make my entire trip about getting patches but it was lining up that way. From the map, it looked like it would be great route for views- it runs along the base of the mountains- as well as for curves – it squiggles across the page.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I gassed up and headed out, expecting to find breakfast at a little diner along my way. I eased out of Winchester along route 50 which took me toward the mountains. Misty clouds hovered along the peak just at the edge of town. I slipped through a mountain pass and found myself on the other side of the mountains, beginning to wind my way up and through them. About 40 minutes in, I rounded a corner and came down a hill into a town with a quaint diner posting a sign which read “Open Labor Day.” While I’d been glad to gain an extra day by planning my trip over the holiday weekend, I hadn’t considered how many businesses would be closed on Sunday and Monday. It made my strategy to acquire patches a good one- there wouldn’t be much site seeing off the bike. I sat down for a hearty breakfast of eggs and sausage while I reviewed my maps. After 50, I’d planned to head south for a 3-road tour and another patch. I’d have to see how the weather held up first.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Filled up and warmed up, I hopped back on the bike and settled in for the ride. I continued through the mountains, which meant the roads continued to climb up and up, while off to one side stands of trees flitted by. A few were turning color here and there, so I’d be surrounded by green when a lone tree, dressed in red would appear, standing amid them. I found myself once again lost in the road, trying to stay in the best lane position while it snaked back upon itself. An occasional car would appear from around a bend in the road, alerting me to stay wider in corners than I’m used to. Riding tight on a track, when I can see all the way through the turn is one tact, but the mountain twisities require another. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’d been a little afraid of this trip and what it would bring up for me. I knew I’d see some beautiful things and hoped I wouldn’t mind too much seeing them by myself. When I’d come around a corner to find a break in the trees and get a glimpse of the valley below- that’s when I’d pull over and grab the camera for a shot. Taking my camera with me was a way to bring a friend with me- I thought of those back home who’d be waiting to look at them with me. When Erica asked me why I was doing this trip, I told her it was because I really wanted to and was really afraid of it at the same time. We have this common understanding, her and I, that our fears sometimes direct us to what we really need to do. As I was riding along that day, the fear was gone. I found myself narrating my route, eager to share it, but glad to be there alone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZasYJDUXUgUkls_D_TtpVHyr19ErsIS8Kog04R739CnHWjC-BsMEYhgKg7uktZ26KB1ndsRsV3RhDaI_iECYjy4vb5rMEiz2UpB1GrTaeWuRRsobNYX0cjguSREySBKfx8-sG1Bm4ZoA/s1600/P9051008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZasYJDUXUgUkls_D_TtpVHyr19ErsIS8Kog04R739CnHWjC-BsMEYhgKg7uktZ26KB1ndsRsV3RhDaI_iECYjy4vb5rMEiz2UpB1GrTaeWuRRsobNYX0cjguSREySBKfx8-sG1Bm4ZoA/s320/P9051008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The road continued on, winding through the hills. At one point, a great wind picked up some fallen leaves and swirled them up and around me as I passed by- it felt like a hug from the wind- I smiled and a song from John Denver came to mind: “West Virginia, mountain mama, take me home, country roads.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Route 50 took me from Virginia into West Virginia, Maryland and back into West Virginia, all in one straight stretch heading west. It was a marvel riding through this area, marked into statehood by such strange boundaries- not a river or a mountain range or even a lake, as is Michigan. It had me wondering how these territories came to be divided. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rain started in, sprinkling here and there and I hardly noticed it for the rivers sneaking along the roadway and the rocky outcroppings out of which the forest grew. The sky above was filled with layers of clouds in all shades of gray until finally, they opened up and sheets of rain came down. From Grafton, I headed south on 119 to 250. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">West Virginia is loaded with signs along the roadside proclaiming historic areas- the first farm, the site of a particular battle or the home town of a general. So much of this state’s history seems to reside in its place in the civil war. I remember very few details of the war from elementary school and don’t feel it’s pull on me. In fact, quite the opposite- I felt repelled by the signs urging me to visit a battle ground. This contrast was made even more stark as I pulled into Elkins to find a place to stay for the night. Across the street from the Marathon station and the McDonald’s was a “trading post” selling “genuine Indian” artifacts, which most likely meant turquoise jewelry and moccasins. How is it that current literature about the civil war proclaims victory in battle during the French and Indian War, while stores hock “artifacts” from cultures our ancestors denigrated and destroyed? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The last hour of riding had soaked clean through my riding pants and jeans. My leather jacket was soggy and gloves useless. My feet were sloshing around inside my boots. I found myself a restaurant in hopes a hot meal would warm me up enough to continue. I thought I could use the dry table to spread my maps out and plan the rest of the day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once inside the Applebees, I warmed up my insides with a few cups of coffee and some wings. The manager was kind and gave me leads on a few places outside of town. He urged me to head east toward Seneca Falls where I’d find cabins to rent ‘real reasonable like.’ I sketched out a few ideas on the map but couldn’t get a feel for how much further I wanted to go. Once outside, I got the clarity I needed. It was cold, still raining and I was still wet. I decided to call it quits right there and headed, once again, for the cheapest place in town – the Super 8. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The place had been updated recently and I found a washer and dryer for a dollar a load in a room right off the lobby. I parked my bike out back and lugged my gear inside. I separated my belongings into 2 piles. Wet and clean and wet and dirty. I threw the clean pile in the dryer, the dirty in the washer and headed back to my room to dry out my gear. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In planning this trip, I was looking forward to the roads I’d ride and the views I’d see. I was hoping for a neat side trip or two and thought I might meet some other motorcyclists on the way. I prayed I wouldn’t have to deal with any bike repairs, or worse, any damage to me, after taking a corner to hot. What I didn’t expect to get out the trip, was a sense of achievement from tackling the elements. Nevertheless, that was already shaping up to be one of the big “take-aways” from the trip. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-66979608763790339672011-09-09T15:52:00.000-07:002011-09-09T16:09:42.222-07:005 States in One DayRiding through western Ohio reminded me a lot of Michigan. The roads were straight with views of fields and farmland as far as I could see; it was beautiful. Because the land was more flat than Grand Rapids area farmlands, I could see much farther. Groups of trees were more linear, demarcating the fields of wheat from corn, from alfalfa. The sky above was filled with whispy billowing clouds. After 69 turned south, my body asked for a break from the pummeling it takes at high-speeds so I got off the expressway and I headed east from Auburn through Defiance into Findlay then south toward Columbus. I passed through lots of small towns where the speed limit dips down to 35 mph. It’s a welcome change of pace though it slowed me down. I fought off frustration that I had turned off the expressway too soon and lost valuable time. Then I caught myself- it was only day one and I was already feeling like I’d messed up. I pushed those ideas from my mind and focused on the road in front of me. I eased through the farmlands at a moderate pace with very little traffic. I finally hit 270 around Columbus and made a push for Zanesville via I-70. I crashed at a Super 8 right off the highway and grabbed dinner at the A&W next door. I retired early knowing my next day of riding would be a long one. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I woke on Sunday morning to hear that Hurricane Leo would be bringing in storms with expected flooding over the Midwest and South throughout the week. As I packed my bags, I tried to fight off the frustration. I wasn’t concerned about riding in the rain but I was worried about how well my rain gear and my spirits would hold up if it rained non-stop. More than that, I’ve found that rain and cold are fatiguing. I’d planned for 2 long days of riding with rests midday at roadside parks. Without the option for a quick nap, I’d have to find a new strategy for getting down into southern West Virginia where the great roads were waiting. I couldn’t count on covering a lot of miles if I needed to take frequent breaks to warm up. And I’d need a Laundromat to dry out my gear. The weather radar showed rain was expected in every area I would ride in the next 2 days. I briefly considered abandoning my planned trip and choosing another area to ride in. From the radar, it looked like I'd have two days of rain no matter which route I took, so I dismissed the idea of riding out of it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My plan for the day was to run the 555 from Zanesville through to Little Hocking and then ride through 4 other states. That'd get me two RIDE patches in one day. I'd expected to do the 555 the first day so I was slightly behind schedule and wasn’t sure if I could do it. I reviewed my West Virginia map again and set up several alternate routes that could get me through each state more quickly if needed. I didn’t know how long it would take me to get through the winding routes so I left the motel at 9:00am, fueled up, checked tire pressure and headed out. Although, feeling behind, I knew I wouldn't enjoy the trip if I focused on the variables I couldn’t control. I decided to take it one road at a time. I wanted to get on the 555 and see where it lead me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few turns out of town I found myself in the most beautiful country. Eastern Ohio is hilly territory. The 555 curves unlike any I’ve ever been on- even Deal’s gap. It’s nestled between hills that wind through tiny towns divided by farms. Neighborhoods consisted of groups of houses clustered together between these farms. I marveled at the twists these roads took- perhaps fashioned from old horse and buggy trails. Not only did the road jog from side to side but it climbed up and down. Riding along at top speed- only 25-30 mph- felt like riding a roller coaster. I could not travel faster safely, because I could not see the road in front of me for the hills and the twists. More than once, I’d slowed for a hill only to discover it took a sharp turn just beyond the crest. I continued the route, slowly and took in the views. I remembered requests from two friends to take lots of pictures so I found myself stopping every few miles to snap a photo. I came upon only 3 other vehicles on that route- a car, a truck and an ATV – so it felt very isolated. I often stopped right in the middle of the road to snap a picture. I was riding at the edge of beauty. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCX-6O5NStDi_z_oZoFhPFDPW95Q9iMuZxCtk8Kj-_gkc5yxOmnFXPmbPFowFbW8nAFYchs56jzds8yQ8aomBlqnFi2NGXruKAbVRH5LJ-6gvMEmSDn8mf0g6k9rttG1x1zFHz3BX5fg/s1600/P9040972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCX-6O5NStDi_z_oZoFhPFDPW95Q9iMuZxCtk8Kj-_gkc5yxOmnFXPmbPFowFbW8nAFYchs56jzds8yQ8aomBlqnFi2NGXruKAbVRH5LJ-6gvMEmSDn8mf0g6k9rttG1x1zFHz3BX5fg/s320/P9040972.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
I felt myself staring into the landscape as though prying into another life. What is it like to live for the land and the animals you keep on it? The hillsides were dotted with cattle of every color- unlike the Michigan dairy farms I’d seen with black herds. Whatever kind of cattle they were- beef or dairy- no doubt the signs advertising their products would say, “grass fed” for these small herds were spread over hundreds of acres of land. I wondered what these hills and valleys, and the roads winding through them, meant for the people who live there. How had it shaped them? When I was riding through it, it felt like undiscovered territory. I don't think that's just because it was knew to me; I think that was the feel of the land. When I ride along Michigan's western coastline, I feel an absolute sense of freedom- like I'm opening up inside. When I rode this part of Ohio, I felt like I was coming upon a secreted place. These homes and lives were hidden amongest these hills.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I finished the 555 and turned towards Parkersburg, West Virginia. I didn’t know yet, if I could make all 5 states but I planned to work my way toward it one state at a time. Crossing into West Virginia, the road continued to swerve around, this time through dense enough forest that I caught glimpses of a massive steel structure through clearings. At first glance, I couldn’t imagine what it was, as I’d never seen anything like it before. As I drew nearer, I noticed a river- a very wide Ohio river and realized I was seeing a bridge. I’d have loved to get a picture of it - it wasn’t just a feat of engineering, it was an artist’s vision. Because I was on a freeway, I couldn’t get a shot of it. Crossing the bridge put me in state 2 for the day and I headed northeast to hit Pennsylvania along route 7. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This part of West Virginia felt a lot like eastern Ohio without the hairpin turns of the 555. I continued to marvel at the farms that stretched out before me that were placed amid such sloping acreage. The road traveled alongside streams with slate stacked hills on the opposite side. Between the stream and the mountains beyond, were plains that had become farmland dotted with rolls of hay. I tried to imagine riding a tractor in this terrain. It must feel as though you were leaning back in chair, riding up those steep hillsides. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I made it into Pennsylvania without a hitch and found a café just off the expressway. I just missed the first of the pouring rain as I settled in for lunch of homemade perogis in a butter sauce. I pulled on rain gear before hopping back on the bike. Each time I stopped for gas at a place right off the expressway, I found myself facing familiar fast-food stops and gas stations. While the landscape was different, the businesses weren’t. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I gained understanding of the term “Anytown, USA” because so many towns were edged by the same businesses: McDonald’s, Shell, Family Dollar, Applebee’s, Days Inn. It was hard to feel like I was leaving anything behind, when I kept coming upon the familiar. I recalled the fact that I have boycotted McDonald’s and Wal-mart for over 10 years, until recently. I had avoided McDonald’s after reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fast Food Nation </i>and Wal-mart after watching a documentary about it. I found the business practices of both to be unsettling and I determined that spending my money elsewhere was my way to take a stand. Riding past another group of the same tired businesses, woke me to my naïve thinking. Wal-mart and McDonald’s weren’t the problem. They were only two examples of many who are part of our capitalist society. It’s not that my boycotts were misguided, but I was seeing they were ineffectual. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I headed south into Maryland, thoughts flitted through my mind but then the landscape would jolt me out of my reverie and I’d be right back on the bike, on the road, making my way into a new world. It felt like I was clearing away debris. And as I climbed into the mountains, I looked up to see a huge thundercloud hanging in the sky up ahead. It occurred to me then, that hurricane Leo hadn’t done what the forecasters said, or what I’d feared. It hadn’t wrecked my trip. I was nearly through my second day of riding and I had gotten caught in a few sprinkles, but not the serious downpour I was expecting. At that point, I had only one more state to get through to earn my second patch of the day, and it was clear in my mind, if not the heaven’s above, that I would make it into Virginia before the day’s end.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Virginia greeted me with more twists around mountain curves. I could rarely focus on anything around me except the road for all it's switchbacks. At points, trees from both sides would canopy me in and I'd ride along as if in a tunnel of filtered light. I'd clear the tunnel and sweep left, then sharp right up a steep incline. Back and forth, I'd ride, the engine whirring faster, then slower, again and again. Finally, the road evened out and I dared look out beyond it into the valley below where farmhouses nestled at the base of the mountains. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, hungry and tired, I headed for the expressway and the businesses I knew would be at it’s edges. While the rain hadn’t wrecked my trip, the long day of riding had sapped my energy. I pulled into the Super 8 at 9 PM, unloaded my gear from the bike and changed into dry clothes. I dined on sushi and sake at the place next door and then settled into the bed for a little T.V. until my eyelids grew heavy. Sated in every way from the riding, I turned out the lights and settled in for a restful sleep.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-4602961583404472842011-09-08T04:48:00.000-07:002011-09-08T04:50:38.085-07:00Planning My TripOn Saturday I left for a solo motorcycle trip down south. After much deliberation, I finally realized I really wanted to go alone, but was concerned about how to plan it. The bookstore, riding friends, and two girlfriends helped me.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve never ridden longer than 5 hours a day and I’d never taken a multi-day trip with overnight stays in more than one location. When I’ve heard others talk about long trips, it was always broken down into miles as in, “we covered about 400 miles per day.” Some of the best things I’ve seen have been by accident and I was hesitant to plan too carefully yet the distance I hoped to cover required some homework. To prepare for it, I talked with several friends for ideas. Michael had just come back from a solo trip of his own around two of the Great Lakes. He told me he’d started with how many days he wanted to travel and then worked on a general route with a few ideas for day trips, should he decide to stay in one place more than one night. That first conversation helped me realized I didn’t need to worry about being too rigid in my planning. I could make this trip whatever I wanted and didn’t need to feel constrained by miles, hours, too specific a route or overnight accommodations.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I made two trips to the bookstore to review books written on “scenic byways.” While there weren’t books specific to motorcycling, I found one that outlined scenic routes from Ohio, south to Kentucky and Indiana and west up through Illinois. Ken leant me a motorcyclist’s guide to scenic routes in the south including West Virginia, Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. After studying these routes on Mapquest, a general plan began to develop. I found myself drawn to eastern Ohio, West Virginia and Kentucky. I purchased state maps and started highlighting scenic routes from Ken’s book. Finally, I met with Michael again, to review my route ideas. He had ridden West Virginia a few years back with Geoff and Mark and said the roads there could keep me occupied for days. He also told me it was easy to find motels near expressway exits and mom and pop places at the edge of town. He taught me a thing or two about reading maps and reminisced about his own trip as we finger-traced routes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was also interested in challenging myself in another way on this trip- I wanted to incorporate some “best roads” and “challenge” patches from the RIDE club. Once a RIDE member earns 10 patches he earns a “doctorate” from “Two-lane University.” This is the playful part of RIDE membership that I really enjoy. After this trip, I’ll be referred to as “Dr. Souldance.” Michael and I mapped out a route I could take to earn the “5 states in one day” patch. I also planned to ride Ohio’s 555 and a route in West Virginia and Virginia covering roads 219, 250 and 220. With the 9 days I had available to ride, I was also hoping I might bring home the “2,500 miles in one trip” patch. Planning around these patches helped me break the trip down into little bite-sized pieces and made organizing the ride less daunting.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The week of the trip, I set up final preparations. I laid out all my gear including supplies for rain, cold, hunger, bright sun and bad hair: rain suit, heated jacket, granola bars, sunglasses, and a hat. I also gave the bike a bath and an inspection. Patrick changed my rear tire, which arrived just in time. Anita agreed to watch my kitties and Amy volunteered to keep watch for me via text. Armed with well-marked maps, a few changes of clothes and my camera for charting my trip, I set-out for Ohio.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In my excitement, I talked to several friends and coworkers and got lots of interesting responses: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “What are you doing that for?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Aren’t you dreading the drive?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"> “Oh, my! All by yourself?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Each answer lead me closer to my own understanding of why I was taking the trip. I needed to be alone. I needed to take stock of what’s important to me without the influence of others. I needed a break from daily life in my home and at work. I needed to carve out enough time for myself so I could reconnect with the part of me that has answers at hand, instead of those that come only after sifting through other’s expectations and desires. I wasn’t just taking the trip alone, I was also tuning out email, Facebook, phone calls and texting. I know I sometimes use these communication tools as a crutch when I’m feeling lonely. And the irony is, I often don’t feel less alone after a conversation than before it. I wanted to take enough time for myself so that lonliness, even if it crept in, was only part of all the many things I felt in a day instead of the feeling I kept trying to drive out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I pulled out of my driveway, I was undecided about which route to take to get out of Michigan. I realized then that all the planning I needed was already done. My Michigan map was laid out in my magnetic map pouch and affixed to my tank. I just had to pick the first road to start out on and from there the rest would come. My destination was Zanesville, Ohio where I would pick up the 555. Tom was the last person I spoke with on Friday night before I headed out. He encouraged me to quickly make my way east through Ohio as “there is nothing” in western Ohio. I picked 96 East out of Grand Rapids to begin my journey. It turns south and heads straight into western Ohio. Once I got into Ohio, I didn’t know if I’d jump on the tollway and run quickly east or stay on back roads and head south. Once I got to the exit though, the answer was clear to both my mind and my body. I headed south. I was as eager to ride along the rural roads as I was to find out what “nothing” looks like.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-30012871549567212292011-09-07T08:53:00.000-07:002011-09-07T09:10:14.682-07:00Choices: Bonneville or Thruxton?Months after the Gilmore Car Mueseum’s motorcycle show, I continued to fantasize about the Thruxton. Because of that, I started searching for ways to transform the sophisticated Bonneville into the racey Thruxton. While I adore my Bonneville, I’m determined to find a way to combine what I love most about each bike. <br />
<br />
An extensive study of websites selling Triumph parts reveals numerous options. Through bike church, I met another Triumph rider who directed me to Newbonneville.com. This site revealed a variety of parts to customize my Bonneville that improve both function and style as well as performance. My search also lead me to a few other sites including Cal-moto, Bellacorse and Pure-Triumph. I love the simplicity of my Bonneville and have never before considered altering her appearance or performance. Previous purchases included saddle-bags for convenience and gear for various riding conditions. When I bought my bike, there were add-ons like colored cam covers, valve stem caps and seat cowls but I was surprised to see so many other options on these websites: custom oil filler caps, brake fluid filler caps, colored sprockets, chains and brake lines. A whole world was opening as I discovered all the parts available. Next, I searched for photos of Thruxtons and Bonnevilles and zoomed in for ideas. Hours later, my mind was awash with images and ideas.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is possible to spend thousands of dollars on modifications, but since I’m still making payments on her, I didn’t want to spend another two grand on upgrading her suspension with new shocks and forks or her engine performance with new cams or race carburetors. While I believe some mid-range suspension upgrades will make a noticeable difference in the ride, that is a change I can make next year or the year after. Delaying modifications is a simple choice when I consider other plans I’m saving for. I don’t think I need that level of performance upgrade on a bike I already enjoy so much. Besides, what I really like about the Thruxton isn’t her performance so much as the riding position and sportier feel. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After eliminating the pricier options, I focused instead on cosmetic changes I could make while spending less than a thousand to achieve it. After considering cost, my next decision was to determine an overall vision for the bike. I have the 2008 Bonneville black with chrome accents. Unlike Thruxtons, which have two-toned color scheme, my fenders, side-panels and tank are all painted the same color, and my engine is neither chrome, nor brushed metal, but matte black. While I want a sportier feel, I want to be true to the Bonneville styling and the red or yellow seat cowl and cam covers aren’t to my liking. I have no brushed metal on the bike so the brushed metal options were easily dismissed. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To help me get clear on what options made sense, I gave the Bonneville a bath and then sat across from her and studied her. I started with her headlight and moved toward her back end. I considered fork gaitors, front faring and headlight accessories. I looked past her engine to her side covers, foot pegs, chain cover, chain, sprocket and guard. Finally, I examined her rear fender and lights. I imagined changing out parts I’d seen on the various websites I explored. Each part I changed in my mind’s eye, came with it an accompanying feeling of promise or disregard. Using this approach, piece by piece, it became clear which parts I would change and which I would leave. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is also the approach I use when trying to make other kinds of decisions in my life. For example, I’ve been yearning to take a vacation so set aside the week after Labor Day. I had several options available for travel and I narrowed them by focusing in on one thing at a time. Firstly, I realized I really wanted to take a motorcycle trip. Secondly, I realized I didn’t want to do a trip planned around someone else’s schedule. And finally I realized I wanted to ride more days than not. What I ended up planning is a 7-day solo trip down south. I’m making it sound easier than it was – I was nervous about up-ending plans with a girlfriend in California and 3 others I was planning on hanging out with Labor Day weekend. There are a few new folks joining the Gap trip this year, which was also an option and while I knew it would be an interesting trip, what I realized was that the only person I want to please that week is me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As for the changes with the Bonneville, there’s a whole lotta things I could do that might make someone else happier with her performance- new carbs and even engine enhancements. The thing is, those aren’t things that I really need or even value. One friend laughed at my changes, which include some chrome accents, saying it was a waste to spend money on something that only improved the bling factor. He said he doesn’t care much for improving the look of a bike. My automatic retort: “a person doesn’t buy a bike like this if she doesn’t care about looks.” And right there in that moment, I had resolution to an internal conflict I didn’t know I’d had up until that point. I was feeling some reservations about spending money on this great bike that were only intended to improve her looks. In fact, most of the changes would probably go unnoticed by most. But there it was: I value the look of the bike as much as her ride. I don’t need her to be the fastest production bike ever made and I don’t need shocks that offer performance perks I’ll never benefit from with the way I ride. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The fact is, I fell in love with the Bonneville because of her looks. And then I rode her and I fell for the feel of her ride. And I haven’t fallen out of love – I still turn around to look at her after I get off her. I like how she pulls me through corners and powers from a stop. I know she likes 4<sup>th</sup> gear more than any other and that she stumbles a little until I get her there. I recognize her hesitation up around 100 miles on a tank of gas – 124 if I’ve ridden slower- when she needs her reserve tank. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There may come a time when I want a little more power out of her. But that’ll be after a southern solo tour, and after an adventure tour in Peru next Fall. I changed out her handlebars, so they’re lower and a little straighter. I replaced her round upstanding mirrors with rectangular bar-end mirrors for a little sportier look. I also replaced the choke and idle knobs and the oil filler cap with chrome ones. I'll be putting on the new fork gaitors over the Winter and I hope to find a deal on a black seat cowl and front fly screen, too. For now, though, she done- and she’s as pretty as ever. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-6202446430787496942011-08-14T14:12:00.000-07:002011-08-14T14:13:10.000-07:00The Gilmore Vintage Motorcycle ShowEach year the Gilmore car museum hosts a vintage motorcycle show. I look forward to seeing the old bikes and to test driving the new models that Lifecycle brings out. This year Patrick and I road down together after meeting up at bike church. On the way there, we found ourselves positioned behind a pack of motorcyclists out for their Sunday ride. They were lazy riders, slowing down by at least 10 mph to crest a hill and manage the curves. I found it frustrating to be “stuck” behind a large group I couldn’t get around. I like pushing myself through twisting roads and challenging my skills. This group wasn’t interested in riding that way but rather were out for a leisurely stroll. The weather was perfect for a day of sightseeing – a little cool - and the roads on the route we took were filled with motorcyclists I imagined were either coming or going from the museum.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This year seemed to have as many visitors as the last several years. They had more food carts – all selling the same fare: hot dogs, nachos and elephant ears. We parked in a field with hundreds of bikes of all varieties and surveyed the grounds. There were a few rows of trailers and tables set up swap-meet style with an assortment of motorcycle parts and accessories. A few vendors were selling embellished bandanas, chrome polish and t-shirts. Lifecycle set up a great display again this year with two huge tents of gear, a semi trailer to dyno your bike and a cache of bikes to test ride. At the center of all the vendors was a sea of bikes on show. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Patrick and I started out with a trip to the food carts to warm up with a hot beverage. Once there, we ran into Deanna, Ben and Andrew – part of the Deal’s Gap crew. Together we strolled the grounds, checking out the old bikes. The show hosts a variety of bikes- from choppers that appeared to be assembled in a piece-meal fashion, to pristine bikes fully restored to vintage glory. I continually found myself drawn to the BSA’s, Nortons and Triumphs, particularly those set-up in a café racer style. They have a paired down appeal to them with little plastic and just the right touch of chrome. Signals tend to be smaller, handle bars simple and straight. I like the design touches, too, with strategic placement of traditional parts. One of my favorite bikes this year was styled with bar end turn signals and mirrors mounted to the headlight. It was simple and stunning. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While checking out the grounds, I ran into two guys I know from RIDE motorcycle who I went to Detroit with for the MSF rider course back in April. One of the bikes on display was from a man I’d met the week before at Festival in downtown Grand Rapids. I found myself standing in front of the bike he’d shown me pictures of just the week before. It was a chopper with crazy styling- huge bars, a long rake and a small tank painted with a blood-shot eyeball at it's apex. I spotted Pat, my mechanic from Lifecycle in the crowd of museum-goers as well as several people from bike church. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It struck me then, that my motorcycle life was on-display for me that day and not just the bikes. I was running into people from all parts of my motorcycling life: my club, the coffee shop, trips and late night rides. All these friends I’d made, all these faces familiar because of my love of riding and my riding life. It was a welcome realization; I found myself marveling at the coming together of all these people, from all these travels of mine. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We finished the show off with two demo rides each – an easy ride down and back a strip of pavement long enough to capture your heart if you liked the bike beneath you and short enough you don’t mind if it doesn’t. I took out a Triumph Speed Triple first. When sitting on it, I felt as though I was perched atop it rather than nestled into it. The bike was agile but the ride was flat and left me wanting more. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The second go-around was on the Thruxton. Her forward bars and rear set controls grabbed my attention within seconds of mounting her. She was nimble and responsive on the throttle. I felt excitement and didn’t want to get off her when we lapped back around to the starting point. I’ve always loved the styling of the trio of Triumphs: Bonneville, Scrambler and Thruxton. A few years back I rode the Thruxton and the Bonneville on this very track and had disregarded the Thruxton for its forward riding position which I thought would be uncomfortable around town. A month later, I ended up purchasing the Bonneville; a front-runner in style and ride. So here I am three years later, at the same show, and I find myself falling for the Thruxton. I shouldn’t be terribly surprised because all three of the Triumphs I love are based on the same bike with the same engine, but differ in their styling details and a few performance modifications. The Scrambler, for example, has high pipes that come along-side the bike. They’re chrome and showy hanging about calf-height, one stacked on the other with a chrome heat guard for protection. The distinctive styling of this pipe grabs me every time. Details that make up the Thruxton include a tachometer, shortened rear fenders, a front faring around the headlight, exposed chain, rear foot controls and handlebars that have the rider reaching forward with the foot controls slightly behind. The racier feel in the styling- often with a stripe or checked pattern down the tank is backed by adjustable forks. The way I feel about the Thruxton, is pretty much how I feel about the Bonneville. It’s got a hold on me and I can’t get it out of my mind. In fact, I’ve been thinking about what modifications I can make to the Bonneville to get her a little closer to the café styling of the Thruxton without sacrificing around-the-city riding comfort.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like all annual events or activities I engage in, the Gilmore Museum trip has become another way for me to measure time. It makes me reflect on the changes in my life since the first visit 3 years ago: the people who are in my life and the ones who aren’t. Towns surrounding Grand Rapids are now connected by familiar back roads. I’ve changed my career path from elder care to women’s health and now am working in family medicine. The 8-inch pots of perennial grasses I planted in my backyard have grown three feet around and 8 feet tall. The paint on the garage door has weather and faded. I ride the motorcycle now, not to conquer fear, but to connect with myself and remember what’s important in my life. I’ve fallen for a machine- my Bonneville lives and breathes with me. I feel the subtle shift in power just as the last bit of gas leaves her primary tank, before I flip it to the reserve. I notice when her front end loosens up at high speeds and when the clutch has too much play. I climb off her only to stare at her- the parts I have become familiar with through maintenance and cleaning- and I see both the individual parts that make her up and the wondrous wholeness of her. I love what my life has become because of her- the riders I’ve met, the adventures I’ve had while riding her and learning to care for her. Sometimes the ride seems too slow- like the trip out to the museum where I felt held back by the riders ahead of me- but upon reflection, and with the perspective of time, the ride feels like it’s all unfolding as it should. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-79376519424794294772011-06-08T22:09:00.001-07:002011-06-08T22:11:40.616-07:00The Riding and Writing Life<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I awoke Sunday, just as I did Saturday, knowing I would ride. It’s a comfort, this riding, the will to ride. It’s an old friend I return to. I started the day with bike church and met another Triumph rider named Andrea. And I met Julie, who plans to take an MSF course next month and is thinking of getting a Triumph. Her smile and eyes danced with anticipation for the class. She’s been wanting to learn for a long time. She’s met lots of women who ride and thinks they are sexy and strong and cool. Its seems to me that some of her yearning to ride is connected to her observations about those women.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When my mom talks about her career as a nurse what she says is that the work is what gave her a sense of herself as a strong, capable, intelligent woman. I am in my sixteenth year as a nurse and what I know of myself so surely arises from that work that I can’t identify all the ways it has informed my sense of myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a time early in my nursing career when I would meet someone who asked me, “what do you do?” and I would answer, “I am a nurse.” After a time I found myself too identified with the nurse role and started telling people “I work as a nurse,” when asked the same question. This represented not only a change in language, but a shift in perspective that gave me more room to cultivate other aspects of myself. Those parts that make me feel “sexy and strong and cool.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I felt equally pulled to write and to ride. I felt that if I rode, I’d shake loose some thoughts and free them up to write about them later. So I climbed on the bike and headed south. Last Fall, Dick took me out to his shooting club. On the way there I found myself on a short stretch of curves that I thought’d be fun on the bike. Today, as I passed 100</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> street off of M-37, I decided to turn toward the club to see if I could find that winding road again. Within a few minutes I spotted my favorite road sign- the yellow sign with the curving black line on it- the one that signals twisty roads ahead. I continued on, turning again and again, guided by instinct. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, sunburned and slightly tired, I headed back toward Grand Rapids to my favorite bookstore so I could write. As a result of the ride, my thoughts had slowed down and words had risen up from within, asking to be heard. This is how writing is for me. Just as some of my best rides come from turning onto roads that seem to call out to me, rather than following familiar roads, so too, does the writing start with words that just fall onto the page without a clear idea of exactly where they are headed. Sometimes I ride to get where I want to go and sometimes I ride to find where I need to be. This is writing, too. Sometimes I write to say what needs to get said and sometimes I write to find out where I am. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have written on and off for most of my life whether journaling, completing homework assignments or for work projects. Still, there have been times when the idea of writing was more alive for me than the writing itself. I would dream of a life that was filled only with the writing, where I was paid to write and loved the freedom the writing offered me. It was at those times that I often was not writing, but rather dreaming of the writing life. So the will to write was not always connected to the actual writing itself but what I thought about it, or what I thought it might mean for me. I think Julie is there, too, thinking about riding and what it might mean for her. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These days my writing is steady and I return to it often and consistently. I’ve written my way into the writing life and it looks nothing like I thought it would when dreaming about it years ago. This shouldn’t be surprising- I never imagined that those first tentative rides on the Dirt Squirt, would have lead to friendships, vacations and a wardrobe driven by a passion for motorcycling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today the writing and my life feel a little aimless. There’s no sure path, there’s no direct line, no end point visible. It’s hard to write this way, or rather hard to let the writing be just this, without trying to make more of it. This too, is life. Sometimes I don’t know where I’m headed. I can’t see where the road leads, I’m just turning at each intersection, refueling when I need to and continuing on. I think I’ll know when it’s time to stop. I take stock now and again but I just keep pushing on, not sure of exactly what’s next for me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is the real work of writing and the real work of life, too. It’s being willing to be lead by an inner compass, without the assurances of where it’s going. I was dating someone once who told me how wonderful it is to be in a relationship with someone because you always know, “no matter what, you’ll always have each other.” I didn’t agree then and I still don’t. There is challenge in relating deeply with another- I’ve often found myself pushing against someone rather than aligned with them. It isn’t always us against the world but rather one of us against the other, trying to find the best way and knocking each other over in the process. And the kind of writing I’m talking about now is just like this. I don’t know what the writing wants of me, I don’t know what direction it’s taking me in and I don’t know if I’ll like what it shows me once all the words are out on the page.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I do have now, that I didn’t have ten, or even five years ago, is experience. My women friends would call it wisdom, even. It’s a trust in the process and in myself that I can do this, one word at a time, just like I take the riding one road at a time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sunday, while following these twisting roads around through farmland, it felt like I had entered another world. I’ve ridden alongside farms before but something was different that day. I found myself riding past acres of farmland as far as my eyes could see. Undulating fields, with neatly plowed furrows were dotted with white farmhouses and red weathered barns. Beyond every turn was another field, another farmhouse, another barn. There was a familiarity to the scenes rolling out before me and yet it was new at the same time. Even though I didn’t know where I was headed, I trusted the images, the scene, and the roads to get me where I needed to go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few times, I found myself with tears caught in my throat as I tried to make sense of all the feelings arising within. I don’t know what’s caught there and I don’t know why. I want to know both. I hope I find out. And soon. But for now, I’m just going to keep writing until the tears dry and the way is clear.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-51258449545268736002011-05-30T11:21:00.000-07:002011-05-30T11:27:14.530-07:00Let's get out of this place<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been saying for weeks now, “I just want to get out of here. I just want to get on the bike and go.” So last weekend I finally made it happen. Sporadic plans encouraged me to venture close to home rather than head out of town all weekend. While I’d been yearning for different scenery, far from the obligations of house and home, I decided to travel to nearby cities and find new roads and routes on the way.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I left work early on Friday and rode out to Muskegon with Patrick. We shared a gourmet lunch at Mia and Grace while there. All their fare is made from scratch from local farm-fresh ingredients whenever possible. To drink, I had a lavender vanilla soda which was a perfect accompaniment to the pear tartlet appetizer. My main course was entirely home made from the all-beef hotdog to the mustard, ketchup and bun served with a side of fennel coleslaw. I finished with key lime pie – the tangy tartness was the perfect end-note for the meal. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We jumped on the expressway back towards Grand Rapids. Although not my preferred way to travel on a bike, after so many weeks of cool, wet weather, I found I needed the jostling about that me and the Bonnie get when traveling over 70 miles an hour. So I took the route home at 80, barely aware of the landscape around me, riding just to feel my hands gripping the bars, the wind knocking me around and pulling at my clothes. We rode that way until we came to the Coopersville exit, until familiar roads could guide us home. The swish and sway of the highway, along with the noise of the wind, had lulled me into a calm so that the view from the road could penetrate me. We slipped through a village at 25 mph where houses hugged the road and the post office, small as a single stall garage, had room for only 2 cars out front. Underneath the canopy of tree-lined streets we rode. We passed houses with hanging plants and bundles of lilies for sale. Before long, the houses came farther and farther apart and were set back further from the road. Out past hedges and picket fences we rode toward farm country where the roads curl around and through the fields. The road-side trees fell away and arms of lush green fields opened up to greet me. My breathe came deeper with these fields before me. The spaciousness of it seemed to move into me -it’s as though the sky swooped down into me and filled me up. My spine lifted up and I felt myself pulled up into the air as though being picked up from above. The ride seemed to clean me out, wake me up and at the same time, relax me. We rode like this for some time, eased by the scenes passing by us. As we approached town, little business cropped up- a gas station, an ice cream shop, a tailor - and stop signs turned into stoplights. The asphalt hugged the tires and I felt weightier, settled. That night I slept heavy and hard and dreamless.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Saturday I awakened quickly and wrote for some time before the sound of an incoming text grabbed my attention. It was an invitation to ride - and within half an hour, I was off on the bike again. We ate a quick breakfast and then headed out on some of my favorite roads- West River Drive to Cannonsburg to Honeycreek. We rode down into Ada past the covered bridge and softball field under the railroad tracks and around the lake. We passed neighborhoods and baseball diamonds and rode along the river. Sometimes there is no one ahead of me on this route and I can take it about 10 over the posted speed-limit swaying and swerving through corners. This morning I was put in check by vehicles up ahead, including a truck pulling a trailer-full of lawn equipment. There was no getting around this group. We took Thornapple River Drive through one small stretch of curves at a pace much too slow for me. But I was patient - I had ridden this patch before with no one ahead or behind and I will do so again on another day. Finally, the cars turned off and after one last light, we were off quick as the flick of a wrist, the road speeding past. I took my friend down along the river through a residential neighborhood. He was cautious and I was less so. The road was familiar and I navigated the curves with a press and a lean on the bars. We hit 84</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and my friend was done with me. I too, needed to ride alone. I felt the pull to follow my own route without concern for his preferences, his manner of riding. He headed off toward town and I turned in the opposite direction, free to explore on my own. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few years back I led a ride south of 84</span><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">th</span></sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Street, armed with maps and a GPS but Saturday I let myself be guided by memory. I wound my way down through Middleville and out past the last of the familiar roads. At the next T in the road, I did what I love to do most when riding out by myself. I looked left and then right and I turned toward what felt most “right” as though guided by an inner compass. I repeated this pattern until I came to M-43 and followed these signs on a lark. Before long, I realized I was headed toward Kalamazoo and I decided to continue on to Lifecycle. The ride took me through curves and past lakes. Fields of green swept out and away – so far away, the green looked misty in the distance. It made me feel as though I was in a dream. This, yet another aspect of the ride that I love: the way the landscape takes on a dream-like quality. I become part of the dream and with that shift in perspective, problems loosen their grip on me and recede into the background. If I let myself ride long enough, this feeling always returns. It is in fact, the reason I ride. To get to the place where problems in life know their place and everything else, the truer and richer part of life comes alive again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I continue on, these roads unknown. There is something special about riding when I don’t know what’s around the next bend. Each sweeping curve is a surprise and so is what’s beyond it. Finally I came to M-43 and M-89 where the Blackhawk Bar and Grill sits. Last Fall I went there with a group of friends during a Sunday afternoon ride. I drove on past, reassured to have found something familiar. I continued on and before long, I reached Lifecycle. I looked over their gear for women- they have the largest of any of the motorcycle shops I frequent. What really grabbed my attention though, was the seat I’ve been coveting. It has vintage appeal – a flat topped, embroidered 2-seater -but was updated for the 2010 model year. It has been carved out for comfort with a narrower front and firmer base. It’s a much better fit for my body and at half the retail price, was a fit for my wallet, too. While there I asked if the seat bolts had been upgraded yet; a design flaw, the bolts can only be reached with a long armed allen wrench - but not too long, for the taillight would catch it. Triumph has manufactured the extenders I’d been hoping for so I picked those up, too. Despite the rain, as I pulled out of the parking lot to head home, I was cheerful. My purchases were for long-awaited finds and I was thrilled to have both. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took the expressway north until familiar roads beckoned me off it. I don’t remember much about that part of the journey. After a long day of riding, I had melted into the bike and my mind had left me. I wasn’t thinking anymore, just riding. I do remember passing one area in particular as if in slow motion. Trees along the roadside parted to reveal a pond surrounded by trees. The sky was deep gray and the lake was a metallic black, its surface pierced exquisitely by droplets of rain so that for a moment it seemed as though the rain was coming up from the lake rather than falling from above. It was one of those moments that seem free from time – so much so that it is isolated in my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That view, like so many views from the seat of a bike, was just what I needed that day. Sometimes those moments come 10 minutes into a ride, and other times it takes all day. In that moment, underneath the grey sheeted sky, rain falling all around me, I realized there really is no best time to ride. If I were only a fair weather rider, I would have missed that view, missed that reminder.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sunday morning started with biker church. I said hello to familiar faces and started conversations with new ones. A couple from England, regulars there, invited me to their annual season opener (riding season, that is) with a cook-out at their home in Holland. I spent several hours that morning riding around again, this time into Yankee Springs and west out M-89 into Plainwell. I stopped for an afternoon visit with Amy then headed off on the bike again toward Holland for the cook-out. I met lots of new people - several from the Triumph rat club - and munched on some chili before the clouds and my weariness got my attention and asked me to head home. I let chores go undone and gave myself what I needed most: a another ride to lose myself in.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I didn’t get an out-of –state adventure (what I thought I really needed when I kept repeating to myself, “I need to get out of here!”) I did have a fabulous weekend of riding. It took more than a few miles but finally I abandoned the notions of what I thought the ride should be and where it should go and let the ride and the route arise spontaneously. I put over 500 miles on the bike and found a new seat, more favorite roads and more life lessons. Last week on the bike reminded me that there is beauty in all the routes, while with another or alone, on familiar roads or foreign, in fair weather or foul.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-18204205837822622562011-04-20T15:47:00.000-07:002011-04-20T15:47:38.152-07:00Be Watchful and Wary<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">The other day I was driving along and a group of deer leapt across the road in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two charged on and one turned back around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the last one hadn’t averted its course, I may have run into it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another few miles and a squirrel skipped across the road, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I navigated around potholes and steered past the gravel lying in the corners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I counted the blind driveways and intersections on my route.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of this note taking, all of these near misses, happened on my last day with the rented truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d call it a stroke of luck that I wasn’t on the bike when all these obstacles showed themselves, but I don’t think of it that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather, I think it was one good test before the riding season actually began for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sort of practice run before the fun starts, before my “danger detection” brain kicks in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Riding a motorcycle has made me a better driver – I’m constantly scanning the path ahead of me for potential problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a defensive driver now, alert to hazards, watchful of road conditions and the play of shadows on the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m also more mindful of other vehicles on the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That said, I’m more lax in a car, than on a bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll eat breakfast on my way to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make a quick phone call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not constantly wary while in the truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that last drive in the truck was meant to put me back into alert mode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It worked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now I can’t stop seeing all the hazards while driving around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s those first rides of the season that really get my mind working again because I’m forced to remember all the riding tips that keep me safe.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s like picking up a golf club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad and mom are both avid golfers so it was natural that dad would take me out in the front yard, armed with a pile of practice balls and a 5 iron and set me to swinging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the years since his death, I’ve picked up his clubs a handful of times to hit balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time out, it’s like I’m 12 years old again, listening to him tell me how to line up the ball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I can still feel him standing across from me on the driving range with a basket of balls on its side between us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every now and again, he’ll scoop up a few balls and push them my way, rattling the rusted yellow bucket with his club to shake them free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There among divots and broken tees, we stare out at the flags marked with numbers- I pick the closest flag- 150 yards- and point my shoulder toward it like he tells me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I balance my weight on both feet, line the ball up with the inside edge of my left heel and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>intertwine my fingers on the club in a secure grip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I straighten my arms, draw back slowly without breaking my wrist and swing down and through while keeping my eyes on the ball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have never acquired the love of golf my parents have, but I do love to hit balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s special time I have with my dad, listening to his instruction all over again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Riding the motorcycle early in the season, is just like hitting balls. I hear all the rules for riding that are designed to keep me safe. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I pass a large black object I can’t identify until it’s right underneath me, I hear a voice saying “look where you want to go” not at what you want to avoid.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When going through a curve I catch myself scanning for gravel and I hear the same voice saying, “look up ahead through the curve.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the warnings come in other ways. I would have hit a brick last week had I been traveling in a different part of the lane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was a good reminder to keep a longer following distance behind cars so I have time to react to an object that suddenly appears from under a car as we’re driving along. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last week I went over to Livonia with 10 other members of the RIDE club for a Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few of us rode over while others trailered our bikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a prime spot in the passenger seat of Ken’s truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I napped on the drive there and back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After spending all day in class, I welcomed the comfortable seat for the ride home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The course consisted of several hours of classroom time followed by skills practice on the range.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were nearly 50 participants in the class and we divided up into four groups for range time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This class was different from other MSF courses I’ve taken because we discussed various strategies for riding while in small groups.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was more collaborative and interactive. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another exercise had us look at slides of road signs and situations to see how much we could take in, in just a fraction of a second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a lesson to find out how much I miss with just a quick glance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the range, we practiced some familiar skills such as cone weaving, swerving and quick stops before we progressed to turns and curves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like to begin the riding season by reviewing riding techniques and follow it with practicing maneuvers on a closed course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fun to be on the bike alongside others who love riding, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s still early in the riding season and I have lots of opportunities for riding this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between RIDE, biker church and the Deal’s Gap crew from last Fall, I could be riding with someone every weekend if I want to. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure how I’m gonna decide what to do but I should probably get the calendar out soon and mark down a few dates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last few weeks have prepared me well for a Summer of riding adventures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be listening for all those voices telling me what to watch out for.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-8301462448442435012011-04-08T22:52:00.000-07:002011-04-08T22:52:25.186-07:00Summer Dreams<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I got in another ride today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Took the Bonnie out at nightfall for a little ride downtown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was too chilly for anything lengthy or fast without the heated gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t the only one, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I passed one other rider and several other bikes parked along the city streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know there will be a time when the heat of Summer is so strong it presses itself against me like a lover but right now that is just a memory- and a hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m trying to enjoy the days for what they are but the fact is that this time of year- the time between Winter and Spring is a difficult time of year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cool stagnant energy of Winter is not yet gone from the air, the ground, my body or my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still find myself hibernating;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>tucked away from friends with brooding foreign films and cheap crime novels for company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I long for the vibrant colors of Spring and pungent smells of soil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spring isn’t far off I know, for the tulips and hyacinths are pushing their way out of the earth in my yard, bearing promise of color and life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the backyard, while taking my kitchen scraps out to the compost pile, I found lily of the valley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This plant has long wide leaves with slim green stalks bearing tiny white flowers shaped like inverted bells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have an intense floral fragrance that is shocking as it comes from such a quaint petite flower.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few weeks back I attended a yoga workshop held in the Aquinas College student center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a mid-week workshop and happened to be held on a day that was one of the warmest we’d had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the snow on the ground, people were out biking and running, walking dogs - enjoying the warm-weather offering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man conducting the work-shop is from Arizona and he was marveling at our proclamations of the warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “this is hope people!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is snow on the ground and yet you see Spring!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what avid motorcyclist do, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Temperatures hit 50 degrees and we squint our eyes to see ourselves mid-Summer riding winding roads amid Michigan farmland despite the layers we don to enjoy those first early rides of the year.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Those tiny white bells so fragrant in early Spring are like beacons to those of us yearning for the longer and warmer days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their scent breaks into the reverie of Winter by forecasting the bright blessings of Summer just like these early cycle rides are mere hints at the rides to come.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While riding along today I was surprised to find myself standing on my footpegs for potholes I remembered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next I swerved around a man-hole cover and took a turn wide due to the gravel in the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised because without quite realizing it, I had in fact been memorizing the road conditions over the past several months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I recognized this, I realized I had already mentally mapped out the “line” I would take on my route to work. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This line has me avoiding all those fatal features that can be deadly on Spring rides when the potholes and gravel feel like an obstacle course for the motorcyclist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riding is so second nature: that I am “riding” even when in my car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few weeks ago when I squeezed in a mid-day cruise over the weekend, I found myself enjoying cornering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forget how much I miss it until I get a taste of it again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love twisting my wrist on the throttle and feeling the bike pull me out of the corner tight and fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like it so much that the last few weeks in the truck haven’t been quite the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m frustrated with the lack of power it has, with all the metal blocking my view, with how heavy and cumbersome it feels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m ready to give the truck back to its owner and get myself back on that bike for a good long while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise I won’t complain about the wet days still ahead as Spring beckons or the cool weather that lingers; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be on my bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I need my bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need her more than I want to admit and more than I should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She makes me feel young and strong and alive and free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She makes my body feel agile and alert- like Summer does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk a little taller and with a little more spring in my step because of her, the bike and the rides she takes me on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reminds me that Summer is coming and that Summer is more than a season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a feeling that eases into my body, my days and my way of being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m looking forward to Summer, to the riding and to the feelings that await me. </div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-14654924352730550182011-03-20T06:58:00.001-07:002011-03-20T06:58:33.182-07:00Decisions, decisions<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I got together with a group of riding friends last week when one friend came into town on work-related business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he was driving up from Ohio, Chris made a bunch of calls in hopes we’d meet him for dinner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few hours later, 6 of us sat in Peppino’s in downtown Grand Rapids reviewing our trip to Deal’s Gap last Fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the end of the week, we’d spent several evenings together talking about how we want to spend this riding season.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Snow has melted for the second time this year already, and we’re eager to get out and ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regular riding isn’t yet possible- temperatures are still dipping down into the 30’s- so we’re restless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The six of us huddled around appetizers with mugs of beer in hand and talked about the trips we want to take this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of us want to revisit the Gap with a few changes in the planned rides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m looking forward to a lengthier trip further into Georgia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Austin has some great routes all mapped out courtesy of a local rider he encountered while there a few years back. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked about breaking up into small groups for extended rides rather than short loops around the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked about skipping the Dragon one day in favor of new roads, new routes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is a diversity of experience and interest in the Deal’s Gap crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some ride dirt, some track on sport bikes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some ride supermoto and some just ride street every day because it’s the way they prefer to get around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems that for some of us, exposure to a new type of riding brings a desire for a new way to ride. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, when I went up to Brevort a few years back with Aaron, Phil and Joe, I fell in love with dirt riding and especially single track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d started on dirt and hated the deep sand so I didn’t think I’d like it much all these years later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But after a full weekend of it, I was in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Riding in dirt requires a whole new set of skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was challenging and took all of my mental energy- much like when I first started riding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To top it off, it was physically demanding and I liked the way my body felt afterward: stronger, more aware, alert. Austin and Mike have dual sport bikes as well and are also interested in a trip up north for a weekend of dirt riding.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For some of the Deal’s Gap crew, sport bike riding has become an engaging pursuit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few track days last year, Austin and Amanda bought bikes for the track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before long, they outfitted themselves with leather suits, boots and gloves after some savvy internet shopping. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t yet ridden on the track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I plan to do a track day this year simply to improve my riding skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a little nervous about it - I may fall in love with track riding, too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It leads to a question I don’t have the money for: how many bikes is it reasonable to have?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But perhaps I’m asking the wrong question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many bikes will it take to make my riding life as diverse as the rest of my life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that’s a good question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, if money weren’t an issue, the answer is three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Money is always an issue though, and still the answer is three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ideal fleet would include my current getting-around-the-city bike, a dual-sport for off-roading and a sport bike for laying it over in the twisties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I could squirrel away a little cash and get a used-dual sport this year and get onto the single-track up north again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aaron’s up for that and I’ve got no doubt we’ll have quite a group signing up for that trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Off road riding is another sport of itself though and means I’ll need more gear- a chest proctor, helmet and jersey- as well as spare parts and the accompanying tools - shift levers, clutch levers. And I’ll have to know how to work on her- break downs are to be expected when navigating over stumps, around tree limbs and into sand pits. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it’d be worth the investment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just have to decide whether I want to be paying on two bikes this Summer or pay one off first and get the second one next year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be an easier decision if I wasn’t trying to be responsible about it at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My third bike will be a sport bike- they don’t grab my eye like the Bonneville did in terms of styling so, much like with the dual sport, I don’t have my eye on a particular bike yet but rather I know I just want to do the kind of riding I can do on that sort of bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After riding Joe’s for a few miles a few years ago, I understand the allure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sport bikes are built for speed and for agility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was on Joe’s (I can never remember what kind it is- except fast) I couldn’t feel the wind on my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bike wanted to go fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I’d be going 40 or 60 with such ease it didn’t seem real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my Triumph, I feel her speed up at around 70.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that she doesn’t go faster than that, it’s just that she doesn’t feel like she needs to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sport bike however, begs you to go faster and harder still. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unless I win the Lotto (which will be especially difficult because I don’ play) I won’t be getting both a dual sport and a sport bike this season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s often the case that what I want to do doesn’t really mesh with what my finances, or my time and even my energy will let me do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I think about what I really want out of life and from myself, I get bogged down by it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How am I going to make it all happen?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or even, how is it possible for all of this to happen without a great deal of energy and effort?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And do I really want to do all of these things- spreading myself that thin- or just pick a few and really devote myself to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At this point I’m not just talking about which kind of bike to ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m talking about starting a new hobby vs. continuing to work on my other love- writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m talking about whether I plan on making another trip to Deal’s Gap when there are so many other roads that I haven’t explored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I finally pick up that guitar in the corner and start practicing or do I save that energy for writing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I start thinking these <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>kinds of questions, I understand that I really don’t know the answer yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are the questions I’ll just have to live my way into.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Chris here, I went out with the cycle crew 4 times in one week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chris was poking fun at me saying he was “getting me out of the house.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when I realized that I have in fact, been staying in more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that I don’t have other things I can do- it’s just that most nights I’d rather be writing so that’s what I’ve been spending a good deal of my time doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So even though I don’t often make a formal decision to do something, I find myself doing the things I really want to do anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of course, getting a second or third bike are gonna require definitive action but I still don’t know what feels like the right choice just yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So despite the email spam I’m getting from Mike with used dirt bikes for sale, I’m unsure which direction I’ll go in - second bike this year or next?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By the end of our week together, 6 of us had laid tracks for several trips- Deal’s gap this Fall, dirt riding up north this Summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aaron will teach again this year with Class Schools and Austin plans to do some racing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope to make at least one trip camping with the bike and explore roads I haven’t yet travelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s even a snowboarding trip planned for next Winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not thinking about Winter yet, with this one barely over but I like Mike’s philosophy on this- with a Winter hobby you can keep occupied doing something you love all year long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes the Winter fun instead of loathsome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to find another way through Winter besides holding my breath until Spring gets here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could probably get a good deal on snowboarding equipment now that it’s the end of the season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There it is again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I do this or that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now or later?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess I’ll just have to sit on that one, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I’ll put on the heated gear and go for a ride - let the road help me decide. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-31248906799953164252011-03-05T07:33:00.000-08:002011-03-05T12:01:38.078-08:00Getting an Education<div class="MsoNormal">I have a second strategy for making it through the Winter doldrums. I decided to help organize a few of RIDE Motorcycle club’s winter education nights. I thought it would be a good review for me, a chance to learn a few more things and also thought it would help “keep the ride alive” through the cold weather season. I decided along with Ken that I would focus on group riding skills. We have some newer members and a group of women joining this Spring who are new to riding with a group so it was a natural place to start. Part of the difficulty in structuring the discussion revolved around not knowing the experience level of the riders who will be joining us. After talking about it with Ken and reviewing articles in hand and on-line, I finally decided on a comprehensive approach to the class. While it wasn’t the most simple, it was the most complete, and it will give any rider new to our group a framework for what to expect when riding with us. It also provides riders with some sound information about how to manage oneself on a ride. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I first started riding I had conflicting feelings. I wanted other riders along in case I had questions or problems, but I didn’t want the pressure of going faster than I was comfortable with. The best tip I got back then was to “ride your own ride.” Traditionally this phrase is used to infer that each rider is responsible for his own safety on the bike. Each rider has to watch for obstacles, road conditions and traffic signals and respond appropriately regardless of what the group is doing. It's a warning to be mindful of one's own performance and to avoid falling into a group-think approach that could compromise one's safety. Even at this most basic level, this is good instruction. Making a rider responsible for his own ride means that he can't blame the group if he chooses to run a red light. I took the instruction to "ride my own ride" to another level. What it meant for me was to continue riding alone until I had conquered some of my other concerns. I needed to feel comfortable operating the motorcycle before incorporating another's riding style and preferences into my ride. Riding primarily alone or with one other rider initially, gave me the courage and practice I needed to feel comfortable in groups later on. However, I have friends who are newer riders who prefer group riding rather than alone. That is the beauty of such a simple directive: ride your own ride not only refers to being responsible for how you manage your bike on a ride, it also means how you manage your own desires and preferences. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In researching skills for riding, I came to understand how critical it is to understand one key concept. Riding with a group of people requires a unique set of skills. Stunting, track riding, dirt riding and group riding all require different skills. Because I “grew up” in RIDE, I didn’t particularly appreciate this concept until last year when I started riding more with others outside the club. The first thing I noticed in riding with another group of friends was the sense of uncertainty and even frustration that would develop on rides. I’d find myself thinking, “I just want to go home.” What I’ve come to understand is that these feelings and the accompanying internal dialogue was a reflection of my discomfort on the rides. It has taken the last month of reflection and preparation for the education night, for me to understand the root of these reactions. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Riding with others who have the same understanding about what to expect on a ride and who regularly practice particular behaviors together, creates a framework for the ride that is predictable. This approach supports the individual and the group as a whole. Uncertainty is diminished and this allows for a relaxed baseline for each motorcyclist. With that starting point, the challenge and thus excitement, is reserved for navigating the ride itself rather than negotiating around other riders.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Let me give some examples. RIDE motorcycle members drive in an established pattern- we ride side-by-side in a staggered formation 1 second behind the closest rider in the opposite lane and 2 seconds behind the rider directly in front. While this is not a fixed distance- it adjusts according to road conditions and when navigating through the “twisties”- it is the standard. The ride pattern is strengthened with the use of particular roles on a ride – the leader, wingman and tail. Riders in these roles serve particular functions that are known to the group and that promote a sense of safety because of their supportive functions. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We use other strategies as well- a set of hand signals to communicate with, a pre-planned route that is reviewed with all participants prior to the ride and an unwavering commitment to safety – wheelies, stoppies and other stunts are expressly discouraged due to the distraction and sense of uncertainty they can create for other riders. While this last factor is specific to our group, I have come to believe that any kind of framework for individuals and group functioning can improve the riding experience for those involved. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have several friends interested in racing and stunting – most of them get those interests met among riders who share the same focus. So while they may not have “avoid excessive speeds” listed as a guide for how they operate as a group, they still adopt other parameters that make the ride safer, such as riding in a staggered formation or riding in a setting designed for their particular style of riding. All of the long-time riders I know though, are clear about one thing in particular: riding with those whose riding style you know creates a more relaxed riding experience. That doesn’t mean the ride isn’t challenging or stimulating- in fact, it means just the opposite. The ride is exciting but the riders are calm rather than distressed or distracted by unpredictable riding. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I offered my first ride education class last week at El Arriero to 15 riders in the club. That’s a good turnout for any ride gathering. The discussion went well with a few folks new to RIDE in attendance. Detailing group skills was punctuated nicely with stories from long-time members Michael and Mark. It gave us a chance to confront our own biases as we explored our group communication practices with Gala, who is unaccustomed to using hand signals and finds it an unwelcome distraction while riding. Her input reminded me how important it is to practice new skills. The signals we use to “talk” initially felt awkward to me, too, but now they are reassuring and contribute to a feeling of camaraderie. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Reviewing strategies for group rides, gave me the basis I need for going forward in this next riding season. I’m thinking it’s also pretty helpful in how I’m going forward in friendships. I find myself focused on creating a framework in my relationships as well. While I really enjoy the company of others, I also like being alone. Recognizing that sometimes I need a solo ride is an important part of understanding what it means to “ride my own ride” on the bike and in life. When I say to a friend “I don't want to hang out tonight," what I'm really saying to myself is that I need some time alone. In so doing, I’m creating space for myself and my desires. Until recently, I had roommates. Sharing my home with others became very stressful for me. I found myself trying to coordinate sharing responsibility for upkeep of the house. I was also trying to balance the need for privacy with socializing. Much like my early riding experiences, when I am in the company of others, I tend to focus on their needs and desires and set my own on the back burner. Although my need to be alone seemed to contradict my desire for companionship, I finally accepted that I need a lot of alone time. Living alone is a part of how I ensure I get that time. Since living alone again, I'm doing more with much less effort. While I don't prefer alone time over time with friends - I need both- living with others for awhile helped me understand my limits. Turns out, discerning my own preferences, is the best ride strategy I have both on and off the bike.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5542991593066398193.post-54698216710418514882011-03-03T18:37:00.000-08:002011-03-05T12:02:47.436-08:00Gear Talk (or How to Make it through the Winter)Although I haven’t been on my bike for months now, I continue to think about riding. A few weeks back, I went with a vanload of RIDE club folks to Chicago for the International Motorcycle show to “get my fix” just as the Winter blahs were encroaching. It was fun being out with the group I’ve shared so much of my riding life with. Gary, Ken and I went to the Chicago show together several years ago- this year we attended again with other RIDE folks including a few new to the RIDE club. We met up with people from two other chapters as well, including Jess and Andrew who relocated from GR to Elkhart a few years back. While there, I sat on some bikes, looked at gear and outfitted myself with a few new things for the coming riding season. I also found myself reviewing gear options for women with Gala.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gala hails from Europe and has gear I’ve never seen before- she was unimpressed with the vendors here in the U.S. - noting how heavy the show is in cheap leather goods that are not fashionable or functional. I take it for granted that I have to weed through the stuff that doesn’t suit me to find items that fit my riding style, personality, taste and preferences. For example, I love my Frogg Toggs® rain gear for the seam strength, breathability and easily compressed size but I remain frustrated with design flaws. I was hoping this year’s model would include longer leg length with a sturdy zipper and elastic strap to hold the pants in place. While they have made changes in the pant length, they have not incorporated the other changes. Another issue for me remains: tops and bottoms continue to be sold as suits rather than separately. Because of this, I didn’t purchase new raingear after all.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every motorcycle show I’ve attended has several vendors for custom-fit earplugs. This year was no exception. Michael and I asked for more information about them in hopes of understanding their popularity at the shows. As it turns out, they offer some great benefits. The biggest benefit is the molded earpiece that ensures a perfect fit. Secondly, they can be made with wires to integrate them into use as earpieces for an mp3 player or phone. Made from silicone, the earpieces are said to offer better protection against noise than is achieved with foam or plastic earplugs most commonly used. While I can understand why someone would be drawn to these, the $70-$350 price tag seems unreasonable and was easy to resist. I’d rather have another jacket for that price, than a pair of earplugs – especially since I seem to lose them so easily. I have difficulty enough justifying the cost of good eyewear (also easily misplaced), let alone earplugs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been searching for a small tank bag for many months now that I can use while commuting. I’ve never had a tank bag and didn’t realize what I was missing out on until I borrowed a friend’s bike. It’s very convenient- much easier than stuffing it all in my pockets or reaching around to my saddlebags. I finally found one that’s just the right size and style for my Bonneville. I’d spotted it while shopping on-line but hadn’t purchased it because I was unsure about the size. I managed to find the exact bag hidden among a pile of gear at the show. It’s big enough to hold a small bottle of water, a snack bar, my wallet, sunglasses and a camera.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My first Chicago motorcycle show was over 5 years ago. At that time, women’s gear was new to the market and the only jackets available exclusively for women, were in powder blue and light pink. While color options for women’s gear have changed considerably since that time – now available in teal, hot pink, yellow, brown and tan- manufacturers are still offering gear that is shaped for men but fit and accented for women. What results, is a linebacker shaped jacket with topstitching in a floral pattern accented with rhinestones. Designers have yet to learn to appeal to a wider range of women by changing their whole approach. Simply shortening sleeve length to accommodate women and adding sparkle and butterfly detailing isn’t enough. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Alpinestars is one company that has reached beyond the traditional in creating a line of motorcycle apparel that appeals to fashion as well as function. The cut and fabric of their jackets blend into a wardrobe for appeal off the bike as well as on it. This is a revolutionary approach to gear and I was disappointed that I wasn’t able to find their line at the show. I did find one small start-up company offering leather jackets and suits for riders. Although style wasn’t at a premium, function was- the company provided a few key pieces with astute design details related to function. I wasn’t surprised to find that one partner in the company was a design engineer. I put my name on a list to be notified about their upcoming demo suit for women. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am excited about what’s in store for motorcyclists as new gear becomes available and manufacturers continue to evolve their product line for a wider range of riders. There may have been a time when fringed leather chaps and tiny triangles of leather were standard for female riders but I’m grateful that time has passed and there are other options. Although riding apparel in particular continues to miss the mark on cross-over styling (into everyday wear), many companies are at least designing for women. I was glad to see the Chicago show included a whole booth devoted to women riders but next year, I’d like to see it include a larger selection of gear with more diverse color and style options. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Since talking with Gala about women’s riding gear at the show, I’ve had time to reflect more on our options. I realize I’ve grown accustomed to the problems I’ve encountered in gear fit, function and styling. I’ve just accepted it as normal. Now I’m wondering what a trip outside the U.S. would yield. I’ve shared my frustrations about women’s gear with other riders and have even talked about developing a line of gear that fits what I see missing. I haven’t the vaguest idea how to start. But the Winter months where I’m holed up waiting for the snow to clear and the weather to warm offer the perfect opportunity to dream about what’s possible. I hope to find some bridge between my desire for safe, functional apparel that is stylish and simple. Maybe that means I’ll have to design it myself, even if it’s only in my own mind.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13930446747267141147noreply@blogger.com1