Never stop living.

Powerful. The fact that it's an advertisement for a bank doesn't negate the power. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vksdBSVAM6g&feature=player_embedded

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Cinnamon rolls and sporting goods.

Sometimes you just get hungry for something. When you have a little sunshine peeking out between the clouds and a motorcycle it doesn't matter if that certain something is an hour away. So we set out to satisfy the cravings. Riding and eating. What more could you want?

Katie and I were hungry for cinnamon rolls. We tried the frozen kind you bake yourself. No good. I could have made some but that would mean being inside all afternoon. Why do that when you can ride a motorcycle to a place that makes good rolls? Not just any place, mind you? We were after Cinnabon rolls. Valley River Center in Eugene has the only one I know of within 50 miles of us.

We got our rolls. As the true prince I am, I gave Katie the heart of mine. The really gooey, sweet part. Have to pamper a wonderful partner, you know.

Anyway, this really isn't about the cinnamon rolls even though I'm quite enjoying the memory. This is a follow-up to a previous conversation. Where in Springfield is the new Cabela's store going in?

After the rolls I added a bit of preload to Elvira's suspension and we headed to the Target store at Gateway Mall. There I saw it. So now we know.


This spot used to be occupied by Ashley Furniture. I had noticed the space being empty for quite a while. Here's the construction outside the mall.

At this point it doesn't look like the store will be as large as the free standing ones. Still great to see it coming, though!

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Put a leash on it!

I came across something that may be of interest to those of us who ride and take photos. This might even make it possible to do both at the same time!

You may remember that one of our own who lives north of the Canadian border dropped his camera. Admittedly, this device may not have prevented that particular accident. For those who carry a point and shoot in their pocket ( which probably means no long lenses ) this contraption looks like it would provide some fall protection.

This photo is from the manufacturer's website. Not the best graphical presentation I've seen, but it gives you the idea.

The Gear Keeper Camera Retractor is a tether that's available with either a touch-fastener strap mount or a snap clip mount to attach to any loop or strap.

According to John Salentine, co-founder of Hammerhead Industries which manufactures Gear Keeper, "Gear Keeper systems were originally engineered for scuba diving so they were literally born out of a need to secure items in situations where you hands are otherwise occupied."

The Camera Retractor is built to hold up to 9 oz, enough for most small digital cameras, and can extend up to 25" so you don't have to unhook it to snap a photo.

There are other tethering systems on their website for various outdoor activities besides motorcycling. Which I didn't actually know existed. Activities other than motorcycling, I mean.

List price is somewhere around twenty bucks. ( U.S. )

Be aware that I have not personally tried this device. I am only passing along the information I have received. I also do not get any sort of compensation. They don't even know I exist, I'm sure. I simply figured this would be useful to those of us who like to take photos.

If you care to check it out, the website is http://gearkeeper.com/flyfish/cameraretractor.html

This will take you directly to the Camera Retractor page. If you want to check out other items you can navigate from there.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Let there be heat!

Irondad plugged in the fuse and heat came to be.

There now exists a plug for a heated jacket liner or vest. There is another one near the passenger seat for Katie. Yes, I did later erase my diagonal marks that helped find the center of the plate. That's why you use a pencil for such things.

There will be no heated grips, or seat, or whatever such. I reluctantly offer up this appeasement to the Gods of Comfort. I stoically bow my head as a blow is struck to my reputation as a hard core and spartan rider. It is necessary for the greater good. As was pointed out to me by Troubadour ( read the comments ), I must walk the talk of an instructor. If I preach the virtues of being comfortable on a motorcycle then my own steed must show the brand. Elvira has thus been suitably marked.

I have been riding this past week while deep in the grasp of bronchitis. The heat has been somewhat comforting. One day I was not up for going anywhere at all. Katie told me that she was sure even Superman stayed home and drank chicken soup once in a while. So I relented and went back to bed.

As a matter of utility rather than comfort, I also wired in the mount for the Garmin Zumo 550 GPS. To date I'd been using it by sticking the Garmin in the tank bag. I have a streamlined Jabra bluetooth device that fits nicely under my helmet. Voice directions arrive with the reliability of a back seat driver. The only two drawbacks to this are the fact that the GPS has to run on battery power and I don't get any clues before the voice commands. It's nice to glance up at the screen once in a while to see how far until the next turn, etc.

The Zumo comes with a motorcycle mounting bracket. It's monster sized. I also had kicking around a mounting plate based on this decorative nut on the steering head.

Firstly, I wasn't able to get this nut off in my first few attempts. I also wasn't anxious to try real hard. Secondly, even that mounting contraption was big and ungainly. With an added curse of putting the whole GPS thing right in front of the ignition key and instruments. Size alone was bad enough. Kind of like putting a bicycle rack on top of a Ferrari. It would be okay on a BMW but not on a sleek and sexy Yamaha. It would also seem that some people can't tell the difference.

So I found this.

It fits the feel of the bike. I stole the photo from their website but I'm pretty sure they won't mind as I'm promoting their product.

The unit mounts with screws that replace the existing clutch fluid reservoir screws. All in all a very nice installation that looks classy and puts the GPS into a good place for me. Here's the end result.

The company that makes this mount is called Adaptiv Technologies. They have a lot of useful stuff. Click here for their website. Notice how I cleverly waited to put this link at the end of the post so when people clicked they'd be done reading, anyway? Pretty smart for a guy obsessed with motorcycles, isn't it?

So there you have it. May our electric coils help delay the shrugging off of our mortal coils. Or at least may they make these aging coils more comfortable. Peace be the journey.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

For the right reasons.

It's 27 degrees (f) outside. A nice brisk morning except for the freezing fog that has settled into our valley. The roads are white. In some places it looks like it has snowed. As you'd expect, the streets are a little slick. And I'm out on a big sport touring motorcycle. My destination is 30 miles north. As I ponder for the second time turning around and going home, an unfamiliar question enters my head and lights up like a rescue flare.

Why am I doing this? The answer will prove a bit unsettling to me. I finally have to admit something to myself. I'm sharing it with you in the hope that you will find some value in it.

This is a really bad photo from my ancient cell phone but you get the idea. Cold and frosty. It's not the cold, it's the freezing fog that acts as villian. Here's what our local newspaper had to say about the day. This is an excerpt from an article on the front page of the Democrat Herald published on Wednesday, January 5.

"Freezing fog greeted some in the mid-valley Tuesday morning, and there was heavy frost at the Santiam Rest Area on Interstate 5, at points east, and around Albany, where in some places it looked as if it had snowed.

Despite Tuesday's slippery roads and streets, only a handful of wrecks occurred, and no injuries were reported."

I live in Albany and my travel route put me on Interstate 5 northbound. Right past the Santiam Rest Area. So named because it sits beside the Santiam River. This was the second place where I seriously considered going back home. The first was in the busy commercial district of Albany. In the first case the roads looked really treacherous but got better after a mile or so. Imagine my disappointment on encountering the bad spot by the rest area. It looked bad as far as I could see and the elevation climbs from there.

Yet I pressed on, thinking about the guy who tried to swim across the ocean. He got halfway across, decided he couldn't make it, and swam back. I'm this far, let's keep going.

It pleases me to say that Elvira and I arrived at our destination without incident. In fact, once at the top of the big hill, we were rewarded by clear roads and bright winter sunshine. I sent Katie a text telling her of our safe arrival. She had been really worried. Heck, I was concerned! I wanted to reassure her that things were fine.

( This is a photo of the streets about a mile from my house. Things got worse from here. )

I could see the worry on Katie's face when I left. She won't say anything to me. I don't know if that's a testament to her personality or a condemnation of mine. Katie knows my skill and experience level. On the rare occasions she does say something, she tells me that it's not me she's worried about. Katie's concern is the brain dead drivers out on the roads at the same time. There's a lot of merit to that statement, I'm sorry to say.

By the way, has anyone ever expressed a similar sentiment to you? They'll say something like,

"It's not you I'm worried about, it's the other idiots!"

Wait a minute. OTHER idiots?

This is just another among thousands of times I've ridden in bad conditions. I rode again in freezing fog again yesterday, now that you mention it. In fact, it's become sort of a running joke with Katie.

"Dan never seems to ride when the weather is nice. He's not interested until there's nasty weather of some sort."

There's more than a little truth behind the joke. During a lot of my rides Katie's worried. Once in a great while I'm a little concerned, myself. I can tell by the tense muscles and slight pucker factor. So, why?

That's the question begging attention. Why ride when it can seem smarter not to?

There's a smaller answer and a larger answer.

Ego plays a part. That's the smaller portion. I think it's perfectly fine to have a healthy ego. That's what drives us to excel and to be proud of our accomplishments,.

Take a rider that's worked hard on their physical and mental skills. Combine that with the experience gained from countless miles on a bike in all conditions. Why shouldn't they enjoy the fruitage?

Why not enjoy the feeling of doing what so many others can't or won't? Why not get a kick out of seeing drivers shake their heads in wondering consideration of our sanity? You can supply your own examples. Like I say, a healthy ego is a good thing as long as it doesn't replace reason or interfere with good judgement.

A larger portion of the answer, in my case, is this.

I believe that my reputation, in my mind, has become a monster demanding to be fed.

It's not healthy. I'm uncomfortable confronting it. Even more so sharing it. I'd like to just think of myself as a swashbuckling road warrior with a lot of bravery. Yet, the serious consequences of getting it wrong on a bike demand that we all make honest evaluations. Part of that "getting it wrong" is being on a bike when we shouldn't. I debated about writing this post for a long time and finally decided to offer this peek under the armor as a way to break the ice. I'll go first in order that others may feel more comfortable to follow. Your thoughts don't have to be public, of course. ( If you don't care to look feel free to use the big red X at the top right of the page. I won't be offended )

The pressure on me doesn't come from thinking about what others expect. Rather, it's more what I expect. I've been hardcore for so long now. It's become a case of,

"I can't NOT ride. Think of who you are."

Up until lately I think it was more innocent. I just loved to ride. Anything that threatened to keep me from doing that was simply regarded as an obstacle to be surmounted. The old, there's no bad weather, just bad gear thing. Extreme cold, nasty weather, big city traffic, you name it. I used my skill and experience to conquer it. If I got to enjoy bragging a bit about it, big deal. If I took pleasure in seeing somebody's jaw drop when I rode up on a bike, no harm. I'd earned the right.

So what changed?

At the risk of making this post too long to suffer through, I need to share this story from last fall. I'm pretty sure that my reputation, and the desire of somebody else to emulate it, probably put somebody I care deeply about in danger. That's been sort of nagging at me for a few months.

This is a quick snapshot I took during a Rider Skills Practice course in the summer of 2009. The red VFR on the outside belongs to my son Clinton.

Last September Clinton decided to ride this same bike to Aberdeen, Idaho to see somebody special. He rode straight through on the way there. It's around 700 miles and 11 hours. Quite the trip and his first really long ride. The weather was fairly warm and by the time he got to Boise it was nearly hot.

I knew Clinton's plan was to stay a few days then repeat the straight through ride on Friday. Since he had to be at work on Saturday this gave him the most time in Idaho. In the meantime, though, the weather was expected to make a turn for the worse. Heavy rain storms were forecast to roll though the area. I sent Clinton a text and told him I'd pay for a hotel if he wanted to break the trip up into two days. He politely declined my offer.

Long story short his ride home was very tough. He got a later start which meant a lot of his ride was in the dark. Heavy rains at night are bad enough without the added adversity of the battering and gusty winds in the Columbia River Gorge. If you think I was concerned about Clinton you'd be absolutely right. Not so much in his riding abilities per se. I'd taught him to ride, after all, and I'd seen his physical control of the bike. In fact, I had let him ride Elvira when she was brand new.

My concerns were his lack of experience and the really bad riding conditions. Fortunately he called in to give me an update and ask for some advice. Here's a hint towards what I'm referring to. During one call Clinton said,

"I'm sure glad I have Irondad to call and get advice from!"

At least his calls gave me a reading on his location. During the coming hours I was constantly running calculations in my head. I've traveled that route a lot and know it well. So much time to here where there's a gas station, or fast food, or something. Clinton called in about every hour and a half. So far so good. I repeated my offer of a hotel.

No matter how close to home, when it's time to get off the bike it's time. Don't fall victim to "get-home-itis". Find a hotel and call me. I'll give the desk a credit card number. Even though Clinton said he came close to taking me up on the offer he pressed on. Safely, thankfully.

Here's another clue that I may have had an unhealthy influence on his epic ride. It will probably embarrass Clinton so I offer you my apologies in advance, my son. It's for the greater good.

When Clinton was young we gave him the nickname of Pooh Bear. You know how parents are when the kids are cute. When Clinton completed his ride under very trying conditions I told him I was changing his name. From now on he would officially be known as Iron Bear. He had earned it.

You think the kid was proud? He only uses that signature on every other text and e-mail. He should be proud and I'm certainly proud of him. We've never talked about it, but I'm pretty sure a part of the reason he pressed on was me. Oh, he probably wanted to prove himself like a young man will. I can't help but wonder, though, how much living up to me was on his mind?

I've never put that kind of pressure on the kids. Still, a young man will often want to be like his father. I can't help but wonder if that unspoken pressure put my son in extra jeopardy. Guess we'll have to talk about it sometime.

So, there you have it.

There are a lot of reasons for riding as well as for not riding. Same goes with gear, the way we ride, and who we ride with. I'm always floored by how much influence pressures like peer groups and other things have on riders. Or potential riders. Toward both positive and negative actions. I would just ask you all to think about it. If it's not the time to ride that's okay. The ones who really matter will respect you. Not that I matter, but you will certainly have my respect, as well.

So much of being safe and successful on a motorcycle depends on good judgement. Don't let anyone or any pressure compromise that judgement.

As for me, I will admittedly keep pushing some boundaries when appropriate. My resolve is to make sure I'm doing it for the right reasons.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Who's under there?


Speaking of peeing, which we were recently and I can't believe my blog ever got to that level, this came across our instructor's list. It seemed relevant to the subject. A few commenters also noted the additional complications to taking care of "business" caused by the many layers we wear in the cold. Sometimes, even if we know each other, we're not really sure "Who's under there?"

Without further ado, here is the short tale.

One bitterly cold Winter's day a police patrolman came across a motorcyclist, who was swathed in protective clothing and helmet, stalled by the roadside.

"What's the matter?", asked the patrolman.

"Carburetor's frozen", was the terse reply.

"Pee on it, that will thaw it out", said the patrolman.

"I Can't."

"Ok. Watch, and I'll show you", offered the patrolman.

The patrolman lubricated the carburetor as promised. The bike started and the rider took off, waving. A few days later the Commander of the local police station received a note of thanks from the father of the motorcycle rider. The note began:

"On behalf of my daughter, who was recently stranded............"

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Swimming in a crowded aquarium.

It's almost old history by now but I have to finish the story.

Swirling traffic finally spit me out into a parking lot. Drifting towards the edge of the current I found a relatively quiet place to park Elvira. Both of us crave elbow room and we find a tiny bit of blessed breathing room.

The telephoto lense compressed the distance. It was actually a nice little walk to get to Sears. Just after dismounting and pulling my helmet off a guy walked by. He'd parked close by, probably figuring it was easier to follow somebody than to blaze his own trail. As the guy passed, he said,

"Nice bike!"

I couldn't hear him clearly at first, not having gotten to pulling my ear plugs out, yet. So I asked him to repeat what he had said.

"Nice bike! Nice BMW."

I looked closely at the man's face but saw he was serious. I guess some of the things we take for granted aren't as obvious to others without the same interests. The man's statement was meant as a compliment so I let it rest and took it that way. Elvira doesn't care, either. Call her a wife or a mistress, as long as you tell her she's pretty!

Having my priorities dictated to me I headed directly upstairs in Sears. The restrooms are at the rear after you get off the escalator. On the way I passed a female clerk. She didn't see me until I got close to her. She thought she was alone while putting some stuff back on a rack. Her face was etched with battle weariness. Seeing me, though, she somehow pulled a genuine smile out of the depths of her soul and gave it to me as a gift. Gotta love people like her.

Feeling so much better than I can describe, I exited the restroom and went looking for a bite to eat. I know it's kind of like having one foot in quicksand and then firmly inserting the other. What can I say? I was already there and riding in the cold burns a lot of calories.

Negotiating heavy human traffic in the mall felt like swimming in a crowded aquarium. Outside the stores the corridors are big and well lit from above. Combined with the big glass storefronts it does feel a lot like an aquarium. Full of other fish. I'll share a little secret with you that makes navigating around people coming at you just a little easier. In case you hadn't discovered this for yourself.

Oftentimes a person coming towards you will glance ever so slightly in the direction they intend to pass you on. You have to watch closely as it sometimes is just a flicker of their eyes. Knowing this makes things smoother. Although this secret is proving less useful as more and more people seem to be freaking oblivious. That's all I'm going to say about that as I can feel my blood pressure rising.

Upstairs in the food court I followed my usual method of picking out what I wanted to eat. Which place has the shortest line? Subway was packed, as was Panda Express. Sbarro's is way over-priced. Taco Time had a two day waiting list. So the little stand offering Greek fast food was the choice. There was only one guy in line. I really didn't want to spend time pondering why the place wasn't busy. I chalked it up to people not being able to think for themselves and bravely ordered a steak Gyro.

This was only the third one I'd ever eaten. I'm pretty sure none of them have actually been authentic. Seems like for a true Gyro there is only one way to prepare the meat even if the sauce might differ. Maybe Nikos could help us out there. Gyro in hand I went in search of, believe it or not, more coffee. I know, fools rush in.....

I almost abandoned the quest when I saw the line at Starbucks. There are two of them in this mall. Pretty posh, eh? I tend to prefer the newer store because someone I know works there. This day she happened to be working which proved a real blessing!

Quick background. When I'm in the Portland area I often use one of the nearby malls as an office. They have coffee, food, restrooms, and a place to sit. Makes a great office away from the office. At Washington Square I tend to favor some chairs right next to the North entrance of Nordstroms. This is also close to a Shutterbug camera shop ( cool, huh? ) and some sort of spa.

One day last year there was this ebony skinned young girl sitting in the chairs across from me. I knew she worked at the spa. I finished a call to my mother and looked over at the girl. I told her she was a perfect advertisement for the salon. She just has these natural Ivory Girl good looks. She thought it was sweet that I regularly called my mother. Mind you, I never flirt with other women. I'm still totally taken with Katie. Women seem to relax and feel safe around me. I hope to God it's because of my attitude and not because they don't find me potent in a masculine sort of way!

Long story short this girl and I got to where we would chat when I was in my "office". She'd come out and sit for a few minutes when she could. She'd tell me about her young son and I'd tell her about Ryan. Then I didn't see her for a while. One day she showed up working at the Starbucks. She told me she was tired of pampered rich bitches and the new job worked out better for her situation as a single mother.

Seeing me walking away due to the long line she called out to me. I always order a 12 oz. plain coffee. My friend brought it out to me and I gave her the money. They say it's great to have friends. One of these days I hope to find out for myself!

Wanting a view while I ate ( such as it was ) I went back upstairs and found a table in the food court. It overlooked a main corridor of the mall. While I was sitting there a group of folks brought a tray of sandwiches and sat down. Actually, one person carried the tray but they all sat. These were folks from a group home, out for lunch. Near to me was a strapping young man that looked like a corn fed farmboy. He looked like perhaps he was challenged with something like Downs Syndrome. Perched on top of his head was this big black ten gallon hat. Anybody looking at the young man could tell this big hat was really special to him.

You know, I could totally relate. After all, I'd been walking around the mall carrying my Arai helmet in my hand. My helmet is pretty special to me, too. I admired his hat. He admired my helmet. It was a short exchange as he got distracted by one of the caretakers, but I considered it a pleasant addition to my day. Years and years ago I filled in for a month on a morning bus route. The bus was for people going to work at a rehabilitation center. It was a valuable education in getting to know people before we make a judgement. On my last day of driving every single passenger handed me a hand-made card of thanks and saying goodbye. I wish my heart were always as pure as theirs.

Arriving back at Elvira, who'd been patiently waiting for me, I was greeted by this sight.

Calling Elvira a BMW was one thing. Parking this truck next to her is another. Since the trailer stated it was a veteran owned business I decided to shrug it off and quietly head out. We were both glad to leave the crowded mall and head for freedom.

We didn't see any other bikes all day. We did, however, get to enjoy a stretch of highway with the late afternoon winter sunshine gently washing over us. Nothing warms a cold day like a bit of sunshine brightening your visor. Life isn't too bad, is it?

Miles and smiles,

Dan

When Nature calls.....

When we last met boxes of smoked salmon were being delivered to our distributors. I was in NW Portland with the next stop being down in Tigard. Normally it's not a bad trip due to the large arterials in a big city. My plan was to grab I-405 just as it came off the Fremont Bridge. Funny how we get so complacent about the marvels we encounter on a regular basis.

Just as a quick side trip, the Fremont Bridge has the longest main span of any bridge in Oregon. It also holds the distinction of being the second largest tied arch bridge in the world. Whatever in the heck that means. I'm just glad it doesn't fall into the river while I'm crossing it.

Anyway, the plan was to take I-405 South, the Sunset Highway West, and Highway 217 South. The trip is around 15 miles as the crow flies. Depending, of course, if your crow flies straight or imbibes in a little corn mash brandy in the crow bar beforehand.

Like any big city Portland has an ebb and flow of traffic. There's good times and bad times for being on freeways. Bad times make up the majority, of course. This day all bets were off. It was three days before Christmas and closing in on lunchtime. To top if off, my destination was very near one of the largest shopping malls in the area. It would not be fun. However, I'm not Irondad for nothing so I fired up the bike and faced the ride.

Imagine, if you will, a morning spent on a motorcycle riding in the cold. Mix in a few stops where coffee is consumed while business is discussed. About the time traffic started backing up there was this nagging urge for something else to flow. Like a small stream heading for the ocean, the farther I traveled the larger the current grew. Will power and fortitude were called for. In great measure. Laugh if you will, but you've been there. Indelicate as it may seem.



At last I exited Highway 217. I knew a back way to the distributor's business. I headed North on Cascade Blvd. Coming up was Bob Lamphere's motorcycle store where I had purchased Elvira. It seemed like a great place to head into the pits. For some illogical reason I decided to press on. It wasn't much farther to my destination. It's a sickness at times. Oh, to be like Steve Williams who thinks nothing of hopping off the scooter every 10 or 20 feet to make pictures, eat pastry, and drink tea. And, er, other things.

I, on the other hand, act more like a Japanese bullet train at times. Pick a destination, board the train, and hang on! The resemblance ends there as I am not long and sleek. Nor have I reached those speeds despite coming close at times.

Elvira and I have to contend with road construction just after we pass the motorcycle shop. The kind where there are two flaggers and one-way traffic. We sit and wait for a good ten minutes which feels like ten hours. Once past, we finally make good time as we are heading away from the mall. Kind of like a salmon swimming upstream. Which doesn't actually work as a good illustration but I'm trying to bring it back to the smoked salmon in Elvira's trunk.

We arrive at our destination at 11:30 AM. The only guy I know at this establishment is the owner. They only sell a small portion of our stuff so contact is very infrequent. His big corner office facing the front is dark. I decide to leave the salmon and Christmas card with the receptionist. Who just happened to frighten me. A lot.



She is a battle axe with a capital Medussa. Make-up cakes her face like a San Diego mud slide. I'm pretty sure that if one were to scrape off all the cosmetic formulas they'd find Jimmy Hoffa. In an effort to look somewhat pleasant she has a red smile painted where her mouth would be. If she were human, that is. The actual effect is more like lipstick on a dragon. I'm still in my 'Stich and standing in front of her counter. I don't know if it's me or the motorcycle gear, but she looks like she wants to drag me off and feed me to her young.

After reading various of his blog entries, I'm pretty sure that Jack R was married to this woman once. Perhaps that explains the venom in her eyes as she looks my riding gear up and down.

I already had to pee. Now this woman is scaring it out of me. Which is weird. I mean, here I am, a bad, tough, rider who's covered a hundred fifty miles on a cold morning already. I have on thick ballistic nylon gear. Somewhere underneath it all a Glock is cozily nuzzled up next to me. Yet, facing this woman I somehow can't muster up enough intestinal fortitude to ask,

"Do you mind if I use your Little Motorcyclist's room?"

So I do what any other tough guy would do. I slink back to the bike still holding it. Fortunately, the seated position helps while I ride away and ponder my next move. I just hope it's a voluntary one.

I'm drawn back towards the motorcycle dealership until I remember the road construction. So instead of turning left onto Cascade Blvd. I stay on Greenburg Road. I mention the street names because those of you who are local will understand what's happening. Greenburg Road crosses Highway 217. You can head North or South. If you stay on Greenburg without turning off you will find yourself at the South end of Washington Square Mall. I tried real hard to exit onto 217. Really. However, it's a long dang ways to the next restroom stop that isn't as crowded as a snow cone stand in Hell.



By now visions of Niagra Falls, Victoria Falls ( I put that one in for you, Dave ) oceans, aquariums, fire hoses, rivers, and broken dams are flooding my brain. Pun intended. Part of me is screaming that this is a huge mall three days before Christmas!!! The other part is screaming that it's close, dang it!! While sanity and physical misery fight for top spot my body is sort of just drifting along. My path of travel is largely dictated by traffic. Elvira and I are going with the flow while trying to avoid close calls that will make the final decision moot.



Now I realize it's too late. For changing our destination, that is. You were secretly hoping I'd embarrassed myself, weren't you? Like a bug drifting towards a whirlpool we don't realize we're trapped until it's no longer possible to escape. I'm not a trials rider, nor is Elvira a trials bike. Although the image of a large Yamaha sport-tourer up on its back wheel and riding over cars IS interesting to think about. Elvira's sleek and fast but that won't help in all this traffic, either. We're being sucked down the drain into The Mall. So I guess the decision has been made. It's kind of like standing and arguing about whether the tracks are from a deer or a bear until the train runs over your butt.



I'm going to pee at the mall, which will be both a blessing and a curse. While I'm there I might as well find some food and do a bit of looking around. Which is another story that will be in the next post.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Small blessings.

One of the great things about riding is how it helps me appreciate small things. Ok, not always. There's days when I hit the road, put my head down, and twist the throttle. Then there's days like this week. The agenda calls for a couple of hundred easy miles a day. I'm playing Motorcycle Santa again. Stops are loosely scheduled which leaves a lot of room for discovery. Here's some small thoughts from today's run.

First stop is in the Northwest Portland industrial area. For those local, it's way out west on Columbia Blvd. Mapquest says it's 73.86 miles from home. Nice distance for an early morning jaunt in the cold. On the way up I pass by Mike's tram and have a great view of Mt. Hood. The day is cold and cloudy, but one side of the mountain is lit by some distant sunshine. It's photo worthy but I'll be danged if I'm going to stop in the curves and get my ass run over for a picture. You'll just have to look at Mike's post to see the mountain.

Each year we hand out cards and a box of smoked salmon to our distributors. Four boxes will fit in the Givi. There's enough distributors for four day's worth of riding. Sweet!

It's more than a small blessing, but picture going to bed at night and thinking about work the next day. Sleep can sometimes be fleeting from stress. Not so this week. Sleep is still fleeting but it's due to enthusiasm about the coming work day. I've been greatly blessed to be able to ride for work a lot. This week has been especially great.

What's really interesting is the reactions from the people that work at the distributors' offices. Guys want to talk bikes. Some of the women look at me with extra interest. The same women, who if they saw me on the street sans riding gear, wouldn't look twice. Worse yet, they'd look away!

We have this one distributor where the owner has pictures of himself all over his office walls. Most are of him on bikes at different track corners. This guy is my age but much crazier. Hard to imagine, I know. He crashes more than he finishes a race. Each visit is filled with stories of his daring exploits, track and street. Last time he told me how he ran his KTM off the road into a muddy ditch and had to be towed out. He knows I ride and am an instructor. Not sure how he feels he's going to impress me with his crash stories.

Today I showed up on Elvira.

This is in their parking lot with Columbia Blvd behind the bike. You can see the pavement's still wet. It was 33 degrees (f) when I left home. By this time it was all of 37 degrees. By the way, if you look closely you'll see I've done something that I tell new riders to never do. There might be a prize for the first correct answer.

Anyway, this guy comes out to look at Elvira. He's still telling stories. I see him look at the tires, both of which are scuffed all the way out on both sides. He looks at the ground off peg feelers. Then the sidestand all scraped up. He bends down and looks at the scraped center stand. He gets quieter and quieter. Kind of like somebody bragging about doing something finding themselves next to somebody who's actually done it. I don't say much. Elvira's doing the talking for us. I know it shows my big ego, but it was pretty cool!

My next stop is on the road out of Portland towards St. Helens. It's still darn cold and my route has taken me along the river. Which is a cold and foggy trip through the shipping ports of Portland. I have to wait a bit to see the owner.

There's a shop dog that hangs out here. He's a huge Newfoundland with a friendly personality. Like a St. Bernard, but black. I'm standing in the lobby in my 'Stich. My hands are freezing, despite my heavy gloves. The dog wants me to pet him. There is no way to describe how wonderful it is to run cold hands through that long black fur! The dog loves the attention and I luxuriate in his warmth! When else would you discover such a blessing except during a cold motorcycle ride?

Back at the bike, I grab my cell phone from the tank bag. There's a missed call from the boss. I return the call. At the end of the conversation I tell him that I'm on the bike today. Telling your boss that you will be unavailable for a while because you're riding? Priceless!

This post is getting long so I'll split it up. Stay tuned for Part 2 and how Irondad gets trapped in a whirlpool while looking for a restroom.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Grandma Got Molested at the Airport

Been spending time on planes lately. Good for business. Not so good for riding. Elvira looks ready to run away from home from lack of companionship.

A sympathetic friend sent me a video. Airport security being what it is. Thought I would share it. Just be aware that there's a couple of borderline potty humor references. Exercise a bit of caution with work mates you don't know too well and impressionable young children.

Check it out here.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Cameras plus Caffeine = Zoom Lense!

Since there seems to be a lot of camera buffs on two wheels I thought I would share my new lense purchase with you all. The lense has a great portrait focal length range being a 24-70mm on my Nikon with a 1:5 correction ratio. It's pretty "fast", opening to f2.8. If that's neither fast nor far enough, there's an accessory that adds even more speed and zoom factor.



As you can see the lense does zoom. There's an extra thick cap for protecting this high end G series NIkkor lense.



Being both the wild man and coffee hound that I am, I've discovered how to get even more from the optics. How many of you people are brave enough to pour strong Starbucks coffee on your lense for extra performance?

Should you, too, wish to follow in the wild footsteps of Irondad and become your own wild Ironperson without the discovery risks I've taken ( pause for a breath after reading that sentence ) simply click on the link below. Operators are standing by. I think. Unless they're on coffee break.

Photojojo.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Removing the Labels.

The east and west coasts of the U.S. may be getting closer due to air travel, but it's still a bloody long time to sit in an airplane seat. During the round trip there was plenty of opportunity for me to reflect on this past year. My motorcycle training season has ended. Travel to the east coast caused me to miss our end of the year banquet. It's a great time to see old friends and for all of us to wrap up the year together. This is the first time I've missed the event. So I had to do my own wrap-up.

One of these years I'm going to write a book. I think I'll copy Robert Fulgham who wrote "All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten". My book will be called "All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned on a Motorcycle".

Yes, I'm still in that philosophical rut about how lessons in life and in riding intertwine. It's also a pretty deep endeavour for a Road Warrior. Kind of like asking an elephant to do a waltz. Strike up the band, Johnny, because Matilda's going to give it a whirl!

One particular thought came into my conscious recognition this year. It's something I have always sort of realized but never voiced. During my musings on the plane the watery substances gelled into a solid mass of quivering Jello. Suddenly it was clear. At least as clear as red Jello gets. Hey, I'm a Redneck, what kind of analogy were you expecting? Actually, I used the term Redneck with a clear purpose. It's a label. That's the point of my sharing this.

There are a lot of labels that people attach to other people. Some are innocent and some aren't. Giving to others with the goal of helping them to achieve success is a great way to remove the labels. Motorcycle training is my own personal vehicle to go down this road. As do many things related to riding, the principle applies to other aspects of life. Thus would be the premise of my book, in case you hadn't figured that out by now.

In the interests of truth in advertising, I'll be the first to admit that I often apply labels to others. I don't do it with evil intent, but it happens. A lot of the reason is my upbringing. Blame it on both nuture and nature. More on the nature part later.

I grew up in a small town. Rural America. Grandpa was a blue collar cowboy. Literally. He always bragged that he had me riding a horse before I could walk. I was brought up immersed in that setting. Gramp was a good man. He taught me morals and manners, respect for others, chivalry towards women, and the fine art of fisticuffs. There's more but you get the idea.

The other side of the coin is that those who didn't fit his picture of what a person should be were distrusted. A guy who could work but wouldn't. People who let their homes develop a "trashy" look. God forbid a man should show up with long hair. Even worse, a pony tail! I remember a few guys being offered a hair cut with Grandpa's sheep sheers. Even I would get threatened if I went too long between haircuts.

"You either need to get a hair cut or a dog license!", he'd tell me.

Interestingly, the labels always had to do with how a person presented themselves by either dress or actions. Never by race, religion, or skin color. In Gramp's world, a man was a man as long as they acted in the way Gramp thought a man should act. I know it was a somewhat narrow view of the world, based as it was upon Gramp's definitions. However, I can honestly say that racism has never been a issue for me.

One of the great things about those days is that troublemakers would get a quiet "talking to" in a dark alley. I kid you not, I was there as a teen for some of those sessions. The "trouble" either quit or the perpetrator left town. I think one of the reasons this worked so well was that Gramp had worked his way up to assistant police chief by then. It was never really violent. The force of numbers might have implied it, but I never saw or heard of anyone being physically hurt. The troublemaker was informed that his actions weren't approved of by the rest. Having the men of a town hold someone accountable was kind of a good thing. The labels weren't such a good thing.

People can claim what they will but I think everyone labels others whether they will admit it or not. It seems to be a human need to sort our world. We need to "fit" things into our world. How often do you hear somebody describe another human as just a "person"? It might be as simple as using the labels "man", "woman", or "child". Sometimes we try to inwardly match a person's occupation or hobbies by their dress. We form preconceived opinions based on how a person presents themselves.

Again, to be honest, when I see a guy with his ass hanging out and his pants down to mid thigh I'm not favorably impressed. I associate that with ganster rappers. That's a pretty negative picture in my mind. It might just be a kid trying to fit in with his peers but what he presents is a pretty strong label.

To one degree or another, like I said above, I firmly believe we all use labels and form preconceived notions about others. On the surface, I don't think that's by itself a bad thing. As long as we're willing to stand corrected by further discovery. The harm occurs when we let those labels stand in the way of discovering what's in a person's heart. Forming an initial impression should be a very distinct thing from judging a person's character by their words and actions. Unfortunately, a lot of the problems between humans comes from the fact that way too many fail to make that distinction.

Wow! Those are a couple of heavy sentences for a Road Warrior motorcyclist. I think I hurt myself writing them! Let's get back to my comfort level and talk about riding. Particularly, about reaching out to help others achieve success as riders.

Our classes are comprised of many diverse individuals. On the first night of class I'll have a group of 24. We break the group down into two groups of twelve for the actual rest of the course. Which means I'll be closely working with, and responsible for, a group of twelve. In an Advanced Rider Training course it will be up to 18 individuals.

Out of even that smaller group, how many do you think are going to be different enough from me to cause me to be tempted to put labels on them? If you guessed most, if not all, you'd be right. Don't go getting all up in arms, here. It's just the way I sort my world. This guy might be "Joe Biker Dude". The kid might be "Ricky Racer". I've had "Poor Little Rich Kid" and even a "Rich Bitch".

For those of you with pure hearts, are you getting a bit steamed at me, yet? Look at the next picture and cool off a second. I'll elaborate in a bit. By the way, speaking of photos, these are simply random shots I've taken from classes. None of these folks are in any way, shape, or form, meant to illustrate any particular personality type or label. They are simply photos of students!

Truth be told, there are going to be people who show certain personality traits. There are going to be spoiled rich kids who think they should be passed on through because Daddy has money and influence. There are going to be people who think they know it all. The only reason they show up to class is because they need it to get an endorsement. There are pampered women who expect to be specially catered to. We all know guys whose only concern is appearing macho and cool.

I've been a professional evaluator of human character for over four decades. From law enforcement to corporate management to motorcycle training. Add extra training in things as diverse as psychology, tactical evaluation, human motivation, and so on. Total up the number of employees, customers, and students and the figure will be in the thousands. What it boils down to is that my initial assessments of people are pretty darn accurate.

Knowing that, what are the chances that any of these personality traits are going to prevent me from giving a student ( we'll keep it to motorcycles, here ) my very best in order to help them succeed?

Zero to none. Period.

I make this unspoken promise to a student.

"I probably won't agree with your politics or a number of other things. There's a pretty good chance that we won't be "buds" after this class. In fact, we'll probably never see each other again. However, I will treat you with respect as a person. The same as I would like to be treated. Your success will always be my number one goal. I will use my understanding of your personality type to help me find the best approach for you in my coaching. Even if you have a "difficult" personality type, I will try hard to find something to like so we can relate. This is most likely your one and only shot at professional training and you deserve my very best. My promise is to deliver that."

That promise is kept. Then a very interesting thing happens.

Labels are removed. Individuals emerge in their place. This is no longer "Joe Biker Dude". Now he's Rory, the guy who is kind of insecure and needs to put on a fierce exterior for protection. Once you see past that exterior, Rory's really a caring kind of guy.

"Ricky Racer" is really just Mark. A young guy trying to be cool and impress everybody as young guys are often known to do. Often the one he's most trying to impress is me, the instructor. What Mark's really looking for is approval. He's got great physical coordination and energy but it needs to be funneled in such a way that Mark will benefit from the class. I tell Mark that I'm impressed by some of his qualities. He's the kind of rider the rest of the class will look up to. I help him keep his cool image by encouraging Mark to be a great example for the rest of the class. Whenever the rest of the class needs to see what they should be doing, all they have to do is look at Mark. Hey, it works. 9 times out of 10 a "Mark" will be my buddy for the rest of the course. A little extra praise goes a long ways. Mark gets what his teenage psyche needs and learns in the process.

These are just a couple of examples. The names are made up but represent real people. You can fill in your own stories.

One summer in Roseburg I had a student that looked like the typical biker troublemaker stereotype. I'll never forget him. We'll call him Cody. ( yes, I remember his real name ) After talking with Cody off and on during the first day my assessment was confirmed. Cody basically had a good heart. He'd just been the kind that never excelled socially or academically. In self defense he acted like the tough guy and that had gotten him into trouble off and on. So the cycle continued.

At the end of the first riding day I could tell Cody was bored and a little frustrated at having to follow the rules involved with safety. Day 1 deals with the very basic skills of riding. The guy could ride much better than the other students in this class. Cody was there solely to get legal. I could also see that Cody needed the advanced skills we'd be working on the next day.

Anyway, Cody told me he probably wasn't coming back. This was too much to put up with, according to him. He'd continue to ride unendorsed. I looked at him for a minute. There was a lot I could say. Legalities, consequences, etc. That stuff wouldn't matter. I needed to reach him as a person. Fortunately, I'd made the effort to see the real him. At least as much as I could in the short time I'd known Cody. I shuffled through the responses and picked one. Thus I said,

"Man, Cody, you can't leave now. You're my best guy!"

It was amazing watching Cody's face. I could see the struggle taking place. That stern look was trying desperately to hang on but there was this big, goofy, Golden Retriever grin trying to take over. That grin never really gained hold, but I saw that it was there. Cody looked back at me and said,

"You know, nobody's ever told me that before."

Cody came back the next day. I genuinely liked him by then. Cody also passed the class with flying colors. He got what he needed which were the skills to keep him alive on the streets. I got to feel good about touching another human in a positive way.

Not every story will have a happy ending. Sometimes a jerk is a jerk is a jerk. There are some people I will never reach. The important thing is that I made the effort to see past any label to find the real person underneath. It sounds like this great and noble thing. Forget it. It's not that hard. I'm just a Road Warrior. Certainly nowhere near the likes of Gandhi or Mother Teresa. I'm not even that altruistic.

I am, however, smart enough to follow simple direction. Followed by some effort. Like this quote from Mother Teresa.

"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."

Again, when it comes to philosophical stuff I'm like a bull trying to do needlepoint. I just think the world would be a much better place if people spent more time trying to connect with each other as humans. Remove the labels and see what's really there. We're so much more alike than we are different.

For me, reaching out to help others achieve success is a great way to see past the labels and connect with people as individuals. Again, teaching motorcycle classes has been the perfect vehicle for my personal journey. I consider myself extremely blessed to have found this world. The amount that I have given has been returned to me several times over. In this season of giving I sincerely and humbly hope I've offered something worthwhile to reflect upon.

Miles and smiles,

Dan

Motorcycle Restraint.

If you came across this post title on a search engine and surfed over hoping to see some stuff about about B & D, S & M, M & M's, and so on, you'll be disappointed. If you don't know what those letters mean, good for you. I think. You may want to find out for your own protection. Here's a bit of help. M & M's are candy. I just threw those in because they seemed to fit and I wanted to watch myself type. You still need to be wary of the other letters.

For example, you may one day find yourself strolling across an empty parking lot just before dark. Before you a mountain of a man on a red K bike with a Pennsylvania plate pours into a parking space nearby. Pulling off his helmet, you can see his face. It looks innocent. If you look closely, though, you'll see his habitual leer trying to burst out around the edges of that face. You'll see him pull some leather pieces out of the bike's tail trunk. Walking towards you, his innocent look tries to get even more innocent.

"Excuse, me," he says. "I'm making a leather riding garment for a 'friend' and you're about their size. Would you mind trying this on so I can get an idea of how it's gonna fit?"

That's when those letters above should flash like warning signs in your brain. Three other letters should light up in Hi Viz retroreflective yellow-green. R_U_N!!!!!

Ah, but I digress. I should have shown more restraint. Which is, after all, the point of this post. Not the bondage kind, but the mental kind. I know the two are sometimes impossibly tangled in some Twisted ( Roads ) minds, but bear with me. Successful riding often involves exercising restraint.

Isn't it interesting how those of us who ride a lot often find that the line between our riding behaviour and that of our personal lives blurs? I've written this before about riding:

It's who I am. It's what I do.

That isn't meant to be some sort of melodramatic statement. What it means is that I learn things while riding that I can bring back to my life otherwise. I learn things in my life that help me to be successful at riding. I tend to live hard. I spend a lot of time on a bike. Pretty soon the two become almost indistinguishable from each other. Thus my statement about it being who I am.

Learning to exercise restraint is a useful tool. In fact, it's hard to survive long if we don't. Here's an example or two from a couple of days spent riding for work this week.

I know, this is a baby toy. It's stretched across the front of Ryan's car seat. If you push one of the frog's eyes the thing plays one of three songs. Every kid seems to need to take some portable tunes along for the ride these days. I call it Ryan's iFrog. Anyway, the batteries were wearing down. I decided to stop and get some new ones while I was out and about riding for work.

Ryan's mother is a little annoyed by the iFrog. However, Ryan's mother is also my daughter. So the amount of restraint I needed to show was a little less than one might normally expect. Just like in riding it's all a matter of calculated risk. I figured the odds were in my favor so I went for it.

Ok, ok. I can hear what you're thinking. Show some restraint of your own, already. Don't tell me you've never done something similar. I can see the horns poking out of your halo.

Here's Elvira behind Gateway Mall in Springfield. You will notice she is not alone. The van wasn't there when I arrived. In fact, there was no other vehicles around me. That's one of the reasons I chose this spot. I also figured that the curb and the trees would encourage people to park elsewhere more convenient for getting out of their car. It was actually a cold and gray day but I was shooting in Raw format and warmed the picture up a bit in Photoshop. Makes the contrast between the black bike and white van a little easier on the eyes.

I'm heading back to the bike with batteries in hand and a couple of laps around the mall worn off my riding boots. I try to get some exercise besides pushing my luck. Staying in some sort of shape helps with riding a motorcycle. Round is a shape but it's one I'm trying to avoid. It's another example of how exercising restraint helps one to be a successful rider. I'm trying to push away from the table a bit earlier these days.

Anyway, I'm in my riding gear and carrying my helmet. Halfway between the mall and my bike I encounter this old man. He puts his hand up and slaps me on the shoulder. Then he tells me he parked behind my bike to help protect it. Or some such bulls**t. So now I have a choice of how to respond.

Several options cross my mind. One of which is to warn the guy that if he ever touches me like that again he and his arm will be going home in separate bags. Plus some other things that I won't mention because I don't want to have to put a parental warning on my blog.

What I actually do is force a smile and walk on by without saying anything. Who knows? Maybe the old guy was some shell shocked veteran like in yesterday's post. It wouldn't really have done any good, anyway.

The same thing happens on a bike, doesn't it? We always have to weigh the return versus the cost. Another driver does something that offends us. Then it's decision time. You know what I'm saying. You see what I mean about riding and life being intertwined? In either case it's a question of how far past the end of our noses we look.

Incidentally, when I was taking a picture of the van and Elvira I saw this old white poodle in the front passenger seat of the van. It saw me and drooped down into the seat. Kind of like,

"Hey, don't look at me. I only work here and I'm just trying to live out my days in some sort of peace and comfort."

I assured the poodle that I wasn't holding it responsible for its owner's behaviour. It look relieved and promptly settled back into napping on the seat.

Here's another example of learning restraint from riding that proves valuable in life.

Those of you with a romantic flair might think I was buying flowers for Katie. The floral shop is empty and Katie hates to watch the flowers die. Just concentrate on the parking space. This is downtown Corvallis. There's one word spray painted on the street next to the yellow curb. It simply says "cycles". Presumably it's for bicycles judging by the rack on the sidewalk but I would argue that Elvira is a cycle. Don't know how parking enforcement could win that argument.

I like the spot because there's elbow room. Parking and walking is just fine by me. I think it was Robert Frost that said:

"I'd rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself than to be crowded on a velvet couch."

Anyway, the point is that riding reminds me of the value of living simply. I'm not saying that a person shouldn't have "stuff". What I'm talking about is showing restraint in not dedicating our life to the pursuit of "stuff". It's hard not to live simply when riding. We simply can't take much with us. It's us and our surroundings. Leaves some concentration for things like the way the air feels, the way things look in different lighting, and so on. For me, that's the value of living simply. The ability to immerse myself in the journey. I pray to never lose the wonder of seeing all the small and beautiful things around me. Both in riding and in life. Again, the bond between the two.

Looking across the street I watch this woman in a Mercedes finally pull into a parking space. She has circled the block a few times waiting for a spot close to her destination to open up.

There was another empty spot when I took this picture later. When I first saw her things were more crowded. It's always hard to know where another person is coming from as a casual observer. To me it didn't look like she had any trouble walking. She looked about my age but was much better looking! Of course, helmet hair always puts one at a disadvantage. I could be totally wrong but it seemed her and I were approaching the morning from opposite viewpoints.

It was time to get some coffee and return some phone calls. Some of you may have noticed the Starbucks at the far right of the block. That wasn't where I went. I know that's my usual modus operandi as evidenced by this picture I took on Wednesday at Washington Square. It was 48 degrees (f) before windchill. Hot coffee was welcome as I made some phone calls.



Just because I USUALLY stop there doesn't mean I ALWAYS go there. If you want to get your exercise by jumping to conclusions, that's okay by me, though. A couple of doors to the left of Starbucks is the New York Bagel shop. I sat outside with a cup of coffee and a toasted chocolate chip bagel. Restraint is a fine thing but one shouldn't get carried away with it.

I find it fascinating to reflect on how my riding and life have become so entwined. For some people riding a motorcycle is a hobby or a sport. For me it's a way of life. More accurately, it's a major part of my life. It's been a journey of over four decades so far. I hope it continues for a while longer, yet.

Saturday will see me winging towards Hartford, Connecticut. That's where corporate headquarters is located for the USA divisions. I've been invited for a week's worth of management training. I probably won't post but the G11 will get a workout. Stay tuned for later.

Miles and smiles,

Dan