Slaying Dragons and Saving Lives

Whup, whup, whup, whup.

The sound came crashing onto our senses. We're out in the middle of nowhere. You don't expect sounds like this out here. The noise was as out of place as a tee-totaller at a college kegger. Yet, there it was. Wave after wave of thumping sound like somebody beating a gigantic rug with an oversized baseball bat.

A dozen possibilities as to its source raced through my brain. The last time I'd heard a similar sound was the super-sized hail beating the mobile unit in the Blue Mountains. I quickly looked at the trailer. The scars were there but no white rocks were falling from the sky.



Was it some kind of egg beater on steroids? I was pretty sure we were teaching a motorcycle class, not wrapped up in some kind of Kitchen Stadium Iron Chef nightmare. All the different thoughts crashing into each other in my brain were giving me a headache. So I kicked them all out and just stood there looking at the sky. That, after all, seemed to be where the sound was coming from.

Trying hard to resist becoming hypnotized by the rythmic pattern of sounds, I stood silently waiting for whatever IT was to reveal itself to us.

Soon enough, there it was. A gasp escaped from the students. They were locals, you see, and they had some previous experience with this thing. Nobody knew what it was really called. All they knew is that this thing swooped down from the sky with its fearsome chopping mechanisms whirling wildly. As the blades cut viciously at the air, literally chopping it apart, that horrendous noise was produced. Several legs jutted from underneath the creature. The beast seemed to be attracted to fire and heat. Perhaps the heat from the dozen motorcycles was what had attracted it.

Most menacing of all was that dangling hose. The locals claimed that the beast ate fire then sucked up great quantities of water to quench the heat. Anything or anybody unlucky enough to be nearby got caught in the suck zone. Worse, they said, a riding student on a badly smoking bike had recently been sucked up. Gone without a trace.

We all waited to see what this flying menace would do.



Bit by bit the creature revealed itself to us as it descended. I could begin to see the features that the students had described. We were all hoping that it would lose interest in us and fly away to some other place. Alas, it was not to be. The whirling dervish sank lower. And closer. And closer.

By now I could see the thing in all its menace and ugliness.



Most of the students had gathered together in a group. Why is it that humans revert to herd animal instincts in time of danger? Is there really safety in numbers? To my way of thinking the group creates a bigger target. I thought how it might even appear as a sort of smorgasbord type of buffet. All the goodies in one spot. Just pick which you desire.

I, on the other hand, took a sentinel's post. Free to see and observe. Able to act without being encumbered by the herd. Ok, so maybe I was hoping that the flying creature would be attracted to the group and not notice me. Whatever.



Suddenly, from my sentinel's post, I observed a lone student heading away from us all. Was it possible that he was oblivious to the danger? Was he going to sacrifice himself to save the rest of us? Unfortunately, I didn't have two way radio communication with him so I could ask. Are you doing this willingly to save the group? If so, thanks. Oh, and by the way, can I have your truck?

Whichever scenario it was, the student was in danger. As the senior instructor present I supposed it fell upon me to do something to help.

Wait a minute, isn't this the student that's been so mouthy? On the one hand, no big loss. On the other, the paperwork for this kind of thing was sure to be a major pain. Dang, I hate these ethical decisions.



Then there was the story of the previous student. I wasn't sure if it was actually true or not. According to the story the guy was out practicing on his motorcycle. His girlfriend had come along, driving the guy's sports car. This creature had supposedly come along and next thing you know the guy and his bike had disappeared up that big red hose. The only thing left was the guy's wallet which had somehow fallen out of a pocket on the way up. The wallet was full and the sports car was fast so the girlfriend was able to console herself well enough.

As a small tribute she is said to have spray painted the guy's date of demise and his initials on the edge of the runway. Seems the guy was a graffiti artist on the side so the paint was handy. Like I say, I don't know if the story was true. However, somebody had painted something on the blacktop and I could still clearly see it.



I quickly considered defense options. If this whirling menace did, indeed, regularly eat fire then it had to be suffering some major heartburn. Which would also explain the great thirst I'd been told about. I could understand this kind of thing. I have friends who eat molten lava at Mexican restaurants in the name of whatever, then gulp antacids. It doesn't make sense to me but, since I've seen it with my own eyes, I know it happens.



Glancing around, I see no big water puddles, Tums, Prilosec, Mylanta, or anything even resembling them. As my eyes sweep the scene I do spot something that might work. A fire extinguisher! If I could get close enough to the creature, maybe we could work something out.

Imagine my disappointment when I see the extinguisher's needle buried deeply in the red zone.



Come on, there's got to be something. Then it hits me. Mushrooms.



I had taken a hike up in the hills before class. The hike had revealed a treasure trove of magic mushrooms. The "take a trip without leaving the farm" kind. Oh, I would never use such a thing myself. No, riding Elvira wickedly is plenty of thrill for me and I don't have to wake up trying to remember everything that happened the night before.

That's not to say I don't suffer from addictions. Say what you will, but some of you are right there with me even if you won't admit it. We crave riding. We crave newer and better riding gear. Gleaming rubber tires, shining accessories, farkles, and baubles. Like any addiction it takes money to satisfy the tremendous appetite.

So I'd picked quite a few to take back with me. It was a better than average chance that I'd find a ready market for them in the Occupy Portland camps. Now it looked like I'd have to put the fungi to a different use. Sorry, Elvira, but you'll have to wait a bit longer to get your diamond studded wheels.

Pulling the other instructor off to the side I filled him in on the plan. I told him my intentions of acting as a decoy then stuffing the hose full of mushrooms when the creature came for me. To my intense surprise my partner insisted on being the decoy. I complimented him on his bravery. Bravery my ass, he said. I hurt my back and I'm in such pain that being eaten by this creature would be a huge relief!

Whatever his motive, my partner proceeded to attract the creature's attention. We all sort of held our collective breath as my partner waved his hand about.



It all turned out to be easier than we thought. My partner, battling to stay upright in the turbulence created by the heat seeking monster, threw the first mushroom into the air. His aim was good and the mushroom hit right on the end of the hose. With a whoosh the toadstool disappeared. Suddenly the hose started waving wildly about, like a hound locating a scent. Then, like a pointer's tail when it finds a bird, the hose located the pile of mushrooms. It almost looked like the creature was being dragged by invisible hands towards psychedelic nirvana. We all just stepped back and watched. I think my partner looked a little disappointed.

In no time the flying menace had consumed our offering. Soon it began to whirl unsteadily around. Where once only the blades had spun, now the entire body was slightly rotating. I pulled everybody into the trailer for cover. It was all we had since we couldn't all fit into the outhouse.

Making giddy but steady progress, the once fear inspiring flying menace settled onto the ground near a wind sock and passed out. Crisis adverted. We could get back to business.



I am so glad to report that the rest of the class was pretty much uneventful. The photo below depicts what I will say if I ever get pulled over by a law enforcement officer for speeding on a motorcycle.

"I'm not speeding, officer, I am merely flying too close to the ground."



The photo serves a twofold purpose. The second was practice on creating depth in my pictures. To take what is essentially a two dimensional representation of what we see and add the third dimension back in somewhat. I took this at f/22 in manual mode. I focused at five feet using the lense's distance scale. The cone in the forefront, the student on the bike and the plane midway, and the mountains in the distance create the illusion of depth. I was pleased to see that I find my eyes drawn down the runway and into the photo.

Having slain yet another dragon and delivering another outstanding class I made use of the facilities before leaving. Hey, even motorcycling gods have to pee, you know.



It was time to head home in the accomodations to which I would like to become accustomed.





Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking:

I hope you've enjoyed your flight of fancy. Any turbulence you may have experienced is the result of pockets of hot air and bovine excrement colliding.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Good story; bad photos.

2:05 AM. Exactly four minutes since I had last looked at the clock. People often see something in others that they perceive as a blessing. In actuality those who possess the so-called "blessings" often find them to be a curse. Everything has a price. What has been a long standing pleasure can suddenly turn into a source of pain. Resolve will be tested. A Warrior must either slay the dragon or become a casualty himself. This day would be one wherein all these things will be dealt with.

I have been summoned to the Mothership near Seattle. The man who signs the paychecks is the King of the Realm. When he calls his Knights to the Roundtable all must heed the command or risk being banished from the Kingdom. I am free to roam my assigned countryside representing the King's interest as I see fit. In exchange for such freedom is the agreement. When the decree is issued I must traverse the vast distance without faltering. All Knights are thus summoned. My journey is the longest of those traveling.

These days the Knight is fond of spending evenings amidst the warmth and comfort of the home fire in the company of his beautiful Lady. Thus I chose not to journey North the night before. An alarm was duly set for 2:45 AM with a departure time of 4 AM. It is difficult to contemplate retiring to bed immediately after the evening repast has been enjoyed. Heads hit pillows shortly before 10 PM. Katie falls asleep soon thereafter as is her custom. I, however, do not.

Katie tells me she is jealous of my quick mind and great memory. Most of the time it does prove to be a blessing. Until times such as this. Now I envy her ability to compartmentalize. Cares are shrugged off. It is time for sleep and so she does. The brain that performs so wonderfully during the day turns into a seething monster at undesirable times. When one should be sleeping, the brain conjures up worries and concerns. It floods the landscape with a myriad of other thoughts. A voice says that nothing can be resolved, accomplished, or concluded during these hours. The brain ignores this voice. Instead, the whirlpool of electrical activity intensifies. Eventually it will exhaust itself in its own time. That time usually doesn't coincide with my desired schedule. So the curse keeps me awake when I should be sleeping.

It is futile to stay in bed, so I get up. Soon, coffee in hand, I open the front blind and sit on the end of the couch. It is my cozy cave within the cave. Sitting in the darkness I look out the window and mentally prepare for the trip. Today the preparation has a different and unusual tone. Riding gear is all laid out. There is never any doubt that I will ride if at all possible. The bike and I charge out like a Warrior and his steed, blazing sword raised and ready. Today I feel like my sword is more of a kitchen butter knife.

Creeping clock hands move surely towards the time to leave. I start towards my riding gear then hesitate. My eyes sweep to the small box where the car keys live. Shaking myself, I pick up the riding pants. Once again, I hesitate. I move to pick up the gear and put it away. I am frozen in place. Indecision has robbed me of the ability to move. This feeling is decidedly foreign to me. I try to reason it out.

Sickness is certainly in the equation. It is amazing how a microscopic creature can fell an adult body and leave it weakened for days. Weak in both body and resolve. I've ridden while sick before, though. A lack of sleep also resides on the minus side of the scale. I try to tell myself that I am hesitating out of concern for safety. After all, it is cold and rainy. The distance is 575 miles with half of it coming after a long day of meetings. My arrival home will be 18 hours after my departure. Nobody could fault me for erring on the side of safety. Safety trumps all. Yet, that is not my reputation. Riding safely is important, of course. "Playing it safe" though, isn't always the first card I deal off the deck. It is just an excuse. No, there must be something more.

Eventually the problem comes down to two simple facts. The pull to drive is because I want nothing more than to be warm and dry. The pull to ride is nothing more than stubborn pride. A hardcore reputation is a badge of honor. It can also be like a harsh whip goading one reluctantly along. A pleasure and a pain. Stubborn pride wins out. However, the real test of resolve is yet to come.

We are on the road. The meeting starts at 9. We should arrive at 8:45. Four hours and forty five minutes of riding loom ahead of us. I find myself wishing I had taken the time to wire Elvira for electrics. Previously I haven't cared. This day I do.

I don't really want to know but I look it up anyway. Like something so horrible that you can't pull your eyes away. Before I leave I check the windchill factor on this website. According to the results, the windchill is 19.4 degrees (f) at 70 mph. Chances are good that we will be traveling a bit faster than that here and there but I don't want to know the rest.

Now the brain is playing an interesting game. It checks the elapsed time and distance. Calculations are made. At this point there is still time to go home and get the car without being late. We're not turning back. The calculations continue. My resolve wavers. I'm feeling the cold and it is getting wetter. By the time Mike sees us on the freeway in Portland, we've passed the point of no return. I'm now resigned to the ride but the biggest test of resolve is still to come.

This inner struggle to keep riding baffles me. If I have felt like this before it is long enough ago that I can't remember. It must be the sickness. By the time I roll into the rest area North of Vancouver, Washington I am literally shaking with the cold. Rain has been falling heavily and steadily for the last sixty miles. My Aerostich and boots are fending off the water so far. My helmet, however, has betrayed me. For some reason the heavy rain has found a way to seep inside the top of the faceshield. Cold drops fall across the bridge of my nose and onto the left side of my face. Raising Elvira's windshield helps keep the rain out, but then I can no longer see the road in the dark.

One blessing is that when we are at a low point our appreciation for the small things in life greatly increases. Things we take for granted and pay no attention to suddenly take on such significance. Such was my encounter with the God of Warmth.

Even early in the morning a rest area gets traffic. A few guys entered and left the restroom while I was there. If they thought it strange that a guy in riding gear was hugging a hands dryer to his chest, screw them. I didn't have the strength to worry about it.

Back onto the freeway in the darkness. Incredibly, the rain has worsened. Now I find I can't keep my visor clear without pain. With the shield down the rain covers the outside. Fog from my breathing clouds the inside. I'm amazed my breath is actually warm enough to fog the shield. Warmth has once again quickly drained from my body. Like the enthusiasm of the crowd when a performer is falling flat. I'm forced to open the face shield. This lets in the rain drops that sting my face. Once more I try to hunker down behind the windshield. In the dark and rain I can no longer see the roadway. I need to be able to watch for things like ruts full of water and broken truck tires. Better to feel the sting of the rain than to hit unseen stuff in my lane..

I pass the next 63 miles in a miserable state. I try to tune out the misery while staying tuned into the ride. For a brief moment I find myself hating this ride. What has happened to the Road Warrior who literally laughs and scoffs at terrible weather?

Exit 72. Rush Road just South of Chehalis. 153 miles into the ride. Elvira needs fuel. This is a convenient place to stop. There is a Shell station just past the Burger King. It is nearing 6:30 AM. This photo was taken on the way home. The lighting is the same but the rain had stopped by evening. Burger King offers a warm restroom and hot coffee. A bite of warm breakfast sounds appealing. Much more so than the bagel I had fixed the evening before and taken out of the refrigerator in the middle of the night. The bagel is probably frozen by now. Do you see the theme, here? Warm, warm, and warm.

In the parking lot I spy a familiar car. It is a company car issued to an associate. He lives closer than I. He's only an hour into his drive. He's in the restroom when I enter the restaurant. I order my coffee and breakfast sandwich then sink gratefully into one side of a booth, my wet gear draped on chairs around me. The woman at the counter is the Goddess of Human Kindness. She's told me not to worry about dripping on the floors. The restaurant is quiet.

Tom exits the restroom and spies me. He waves and goes to order his own coffee. Then he slides into the booth across from me.

"You look miserable", he states.

"I'm fine", I lie in a return statement. "It's been a great ride so far."

We look at each other in silence for a bit. Then we engage in conversation. Catching up on kids and life with a little gossip tossed in for spice. It's time to move on and we gather up our garbage.

"Hey," Tom says. "Why don't you leave your bike here? You can put your gear in my trunk. Ask the lady at the counter if they would mind your bike being in a corner of the lot for the day."

I stiffened and froze. There it was before me. The Offer. Like a woman who's knuckle-bitingly beautiful. She's just clearly told you that she is more than willing. The wonderful possibilities crash through your brain like fireworks. God, she is so damn tempting! You badly want her, except....

......you think of your loving wife of 32 years. That promise you made. That thing called commitment. Good times and bad times. Sickness and health. Protecting your reputation. How would you explain it to everyone who saw you stray? Giving in would mean a new reputation. One as a quitter, somebody who gave up when the going got tough. How would I explain to Elvira why she was abandoned in a strange parking lot all day with me being hours away?

The Offer was gracefully declined. Tom shrugged and gave me a "it's your funeral" look. Off he went as I slowly pulled wet gear back on and shuffled back to the bike. Resolve. Stay with what you know is right. It will all work out for the best.

Which is what happened. The rain stopped. A tiny bit of sunshine peeked through the clouds. The temperature went up a bit. As did my mood. By the time we got to Tacoma the freeway was clogged with morning rush hour commuters. Mercifully, the car pool lane was still moving swiftly and I could use it. I saw Tom stuck in traffic by Fife. I waved as I went by. I'm pretty sure his real reason for The Offer was so that he could use the car pool lane, too!

That's The King in the brown long sleeved shirt in the photo above. I really enjoy working for him, actually.

The day of meetings went well. I had a most excellent Chicken Club sandwich for lunch. I hit the road home in the worst of rush hour but I've never been one to be able to just sit and wait for it to clear. I need to keep moving. Or sitting in traffic pretending I'm making progress. The car pool lanes worked just as well in the evening as they did in the morning. Burger King got a second visit for a late bite and some more fuel for Elvira.

Nearing Oregon in the dark, the rain returned. More like scattered sprinkles this time. A signboard proclaiming a wreck on Interstate 5 made me decide to detour around via Interstate 205. Slightly longer but I was ok by now. The Dragon that had weighed me down so mightily in the middle of the night and early morning had been slain. The Knight was once more ready for battle.

All the traffic that detoured clogged up the alternate freeway as badly as I suspect the original one was. Nearing the point where we merged back onto Interstate 5, we were sitting a bit. I took advantage of the opportunity to pull out the G11 and snap a few shots.

I made one last stop at a rest area just North of Albany. I was only twenty minutes or so from home but planned to get fuel once more. I didn't want to be dancing around while trying to fill Elvira. Here's another photo of the bike.

It looks a lot like the one from seventeen and a half hours earlier, just not as wet! Start in the dark and end in the dark.

We arrived home safely. Things have a way of working out despite the chance encounter with dragons and demons. I slept well.

Miles and smiles,

Dan