Final Drive: Zen and the Art of the Motorcycle Trip

Apologies to readers, as I haven't posted in while. This is part one in a three part series.

Snake River

This article isn't about Zen Buddhism in particular, but it is about a motorcycle trip. A motorcycle trip I had hoped would help clear my mind and be a sort of private Chautauqua in order to give myself a little direction, a little relief and some hope. On Friday, August 19, Ross Chess and I took off on a trip to Crescent City California as I discussed in my last column entitled Anticipation. The day was a nice clear day without threat of storm or other foul weather and we took of from the Kum and Go off exit 117 on I 80 at 7:25 AM. Ross rides a 2010 Goldwing, which is a natural for long distance tours. Our destination for the day was Rawlins Wyoming. Rawlins is a small rural town of 8500 people nestled at 6800 feet above sea level in Carbon County Wyoming, which I call Tom Horn country after the tracker, scout and stock detective. The town of Rawlins itself was named after Union General John Amos Rawlins just because he camped there. If I knew it was that easy, I would have tried that long ago.

Anong's Thai Cuisine

Still, for the short time we were there, it was time well spent. We met with old friends Joel Schneekloth, AKA Waterman, Bob Wittman, AKA Landman and Noel Burke, AKA Badger, who were on their way to the Rally in the Redwoods as we were. We had dinner at a Thai restaurant, Anong's Thai Cuisine on 5th Street. I had the yellow curried chicken with an egg roll and satay for appetizers. It was good, but the curry dish was on the bland side. No pain at all, even though it was listed as a spicy dish. Almost all was well after a night at the local Econolodge, but the RT was a little slow cranking in the morning and required a slight twist of the throttle to get it started. This it turned out, was a remnant from a battery issue I had a couple weeks previous. One night after a terribly hot day, I tried to start my bike and it would not start. I expected some remediation from the dealer I bought the bike from, but did not receive it and that is another story for another column. Anyway, we set off that morning for Twin Falls, Idaho by way of Jackson Hole, Wyoming, while our friends departed on a different route, riding I 80 most of the way and getting off at Winnemucca Nevada. This part of the ride introduced me to a whole new level of what BFE means. Wyoming is not the place you want to screw up by yourself as depending on where you are, no one would find you again. The roads were in decent shape, so as long as we went according to plan, I didn't foresee any problems.

Jeffrey City

Riding through such towns as Jeffrey City, Muddy Gap, Sweetwater Station, Lamont and Bairoil also brought a sense of the poverty and hopelessness I have seen in other areas of the southwest where Native Americans live. I can't believe anyone would want to live like that in the 21st century in America. Jeffrey City is a boom to bust uranium mining town whose population was 106 in 2000, but 40 to 50 years ago it had a population of several thousand. With the collapse of the Uranium market in the 1970's, the population has since dwindled down to the point that Jeffrey City is for the most part a ghost town.

Going towards Lander on WY 287

As we moved northwest though, the fortunes seemed to change with the landscape. Our route took us on Route 287 to Route 26, which goes through Lander, Dubois and eventually Jackson Hole, which is a very trendy place, reminding me of a western version of the Hamptons. Coming up route 287 to Lander through Kotey Place, the scenery improves with color and terrain and although not as colorful as Sedona Arizona, the light neutral pastels and rock formations offer a welcome change from the sagebush and open range.

The Grand Tetons

As you can see from the photo, there must be some money in that part of Wyoming. The Tetons were stunning, absolutely stunning, showing their granite prominences with patches of snow that give the effect that they thrust through the earth's surface in effort to say "I am".  After an arduous trip the day before, the landscape this day was a reward for the boring prairie of Nebraska and the high plains of southern Wyoming. We were approaching the part of Wyoming that would have been Absaroka, the state that never was with a sense of urgency and determination to get over the Tetons. We had a lot of miles to cover in a short amount of time.

The Purina Check a Mix elevator
in Lander WY.

Upon arriving in Lander, I took the picture at the left to send to my friend Rob Larsen, who grew up in Lander and I took the photo to see if he would recognize it after all these years. At this point we are nearly halfway through our trip out to Crescent City with almost 1000 miles under our belts.

This trip also follows to some degree the excursion my ancestors took over 140 years ago when they left Missouri and Iowa after the Civil War, looking for a new life in north-east Oregon. Their trip was much longer than mine, fraught with a lot more danger, more hardships and more interaction with native peoples than mine. I can't imagine doing this in a covered wagon, especially with children in tow.

Getting over the Tetons was interesting. The road over the Teton Pass was under construction and a lot of it was just dirt and gravel. Not a difficult thing with four wheels or a dual purpose motorcycle, but a little worrisome with a sport tourer. Non-the-less, we pushed on, which would be a central theme for my trip. Patience is not only a virtue, but more so is perseverance. After the Teton pass, we continued on Route 22 into Idaho where it becomes Route 33. At Victor, we changed direction, heading south-west on Route 31 or Pine Creek Road on to Swan Valley, the home of the Rainey Creek Country Store, home of the square ice cream cone. My ancestors never had it this good although a square cone seemed kind of odd at first. Hey, whatever works.

After Swan Valley, we headed west on Route 26 to Idaho Falls where we picked up I 15. We were still 164 miles from our destination for the evening, which was Twin Falls Idaho. Once down I 15 a ways, we picked up I 84 west to Twin Falls. I was hoping that Ross would want to stop in and see fellow KawaNOW member Bud that lives in Pocatello as my sore ass was getting to me and I could use a break. Such was not the case.  Ross has an ass of stainless steel, so instead we pushed on to our destination, still over a 100 miles distant, outrunning more than one storm in the journey. As lightning struck in the mountains to the south, I prayed that we would make our destination safely. You see, 12 years ago I was closing the windows to the Florida room in my house during a storm and lightning struck in the back yard giving me a shock as if I had touched a 240 volt circuit. My wife said that it looked as if an aura was around my body. Since then I have been scared senseless when lightning strikes within visual and audible distance. Call it irrational, but I'd rather be on the safe side.

Snake River Canyon west side

We arrived in Twin Falls with very little fanfare and very tired bodies. I have to say some parts of Idaho remind me of Iowa, but with mountains. It is a drier climate though and we are back in sagebrush country again. Tonight we would stay in an AmercINN, which was a huge improvement over the Econolodge of the night before. After registering and settling in, Ross and I decided to visit the Golden Corral for dinner. It was already past 8 PM, I was bushed and the Golden Corral was only 100 yards away. Note to self: Don't eat from the salad bar at the Golden Corral. Considering our proximity to the Snake River Canyon, lets say I got Evel Knievel's revenge. This was the start of some physical woes. At this point, my forearms and wrists started bothering me and it wouldn't get better.

Evel Kneivel, Snake River Canyon

After a restful night's sleep, we headed over to the free breakfast and planned the day. We would ride 180 miles to Ontario Oregon and peel off to US Route 20. In case you didn't know, US Route 20 is a coast to coast route that traverses 3,365 miles from Boston Massachusetts to Newport Oregon, a mile from the Pacific Ocean. It also is the longest road in America. We gassed up and hit the interstate, hoping to make time, but our hopes were short lived. A tractor trailer carry large diameter steel pipe had crashed through the guardrail and left its load all over the highway. We had to wait as traffic was rerouted through the off and on ramp on the westbound I 84 exit in Jerome. We had no idea if anyone was hurt, but it was a reminder that bad things happen on the road and to remain vigilant when riding. It is all too easy to fall into a false sense of security, thereby throwing situational awareness to the wind.

The Sagebrush Saloon

By the time we reached Ontario, I was starting to think about lunch. US Route 20 is not the interstate and a rider cannot make time on this road like he or she can in the interstate, as I found out. About 20 miles west of Ontario Oregon, we stopped in Vale Oregon for lunch. Vale Oregon was the first stop in Oregon on the Oregon Trail. I am sure my ancestors stopped here and if it was good enough for them, it should work for me. Being Sunday, there weren't many businesses open in this neck of the woods. We happened upon the Sagebrush Saloon, which is on East A Street, which runs parallel to Route 20. I ordered a western bacon burger, which is a bacon cheese burger with BBQ sauce, red onion and cole slaw with a side of fries. All I can say is that it was one tasty burger. In fact the best burger I had in a long time. If you are out that way, it's worth the stop.

From there, we proceeded on our way to Bend, which was our destination for the day. This would leave about 275 miles for the final leg to Crescent City. Route 20 is a two lane road and I found out a couple things about this part of Route 20 that I didn't know before. Unlike Route 20 in Iowa, which is straighter than the shortest distance between two points, Route 20 in Oregon has some twisty sections that run along the Malheur River, which was a taste of things to come. Another difference is that Route 20 is 2 lanes at best, a lot like Route 169 in Iowa. It was also a very hot day with temps between 100-103. In fact I learned something else from riding through this area, which is something called Virga. Virga is the evaporation of rainfall such that it never makes it to the ground. With the heat we were riding through, we could have used some precipitation.

As the day wore on, my wrists and forearms continued to fatigue and hurt. During the trip I made sure I drank both water and drinks containing electrolytes. The problem as I have been able to understand it is that the ergonomics of someone of my height, torso length and arm length create an ergonomic problem where I am leaning forward a bit. This gets exacerbated on downhill grades where I put more weight on the grips. It doesn't normally affect me in Iowa because we don't have any real grades that would magnify this issue and riding for days with grades doesn't help at all. By the time I got to Crescent City, my forearms were so over-trained in effect, that I had trouble cutting with a knife at dinner or holding a fork correctly. My thumb dexterity and strength was shot and I was getting persistent numbness in my forefingers. Understand that I have no problem with 100lb grippers and if I work out, using 140lb gripper is easy. But doing resistance training involves rest periods and limited duration of the exercise. The bottom line is that ergonomic considerations that won't show up if a rider is a commuter or short tripper will rear its ugly head on long distance rides. In my case, I was taking a trip where I would average over 450 miles a day for 9 days with a day off. I had no idea I would have this issue. The result was what I started calling "goofy hands", which would affect my ability and confidence in riding.

Kathy's Oasis

Continuing on Route 20, both Ross and I found the heat exhausting and decided to stop in Juntura, which is x miles from Vale and still x miles from Bend. We stopped at the Oasis Cafe, which was surrounded by trees and was a cool 95 in the shade. Believe or not, it felt refreshingly cool. We decided to try the lemonade, which was fantastic. It was worth the stop. May be I was just that thirsty, but it was welcome none-the-less. To see better pictures of Kathy's Oasis, go to this blog and scroll down. We met Scott too, although we didn't have the biscuits and gravy or any other solid victuals. It could have been our loss. From there we scooted across eastern Oregon, heading for Bend for our final night on the road for our trip out to Crescent City. So far, the RT has performed flawlessly on the road, even running on fuel below the recommended octane with no ill effects other than less power. BMW's motorcycles use a real closed loop management system that adjusts for octane level. BMW recommends 89 or higher and suggests 93-94 to get the best performance, but I had to put 87 octane in and it worked without consequence. As a rule, I run the highest octane available at the pump, which usually is 91 octane. This is amazing considering that the RT has a compression ratio of 12:1, but it does run better on the higher octane gas. I'd love to find some 94 octane Sonoco Ultra.

Upon arriving in Bend, we decided to try the first motel we saw, the Sleep Inn, which is on the east side of town off Route 20 and NE 27th Street. At this point I was looking forward to getting off the bike and laying down for awhile. Upon hearing the price of the room, which, if I recall was well over $100, Ross thought better of it (it was a little rich) and we headed to the other side of town to the Days Inn on the Dalles-California Highway and NE Irving. I don't think we went out to dinner that night and hit the hay early. Unfortunately someone had a small child that was screaming all night. Having five children, I fully understand, but at this point I was ready to launch someone. Luckily, I was able to fall asleep, but I was awakened by a screaming child the next morning. All I can say is that it was worse for the parents than it was for me. After a quick breakfast it was down Route 97 for a 101 mile ride to Crater Lake.

Crater Lake

The ride to Crater Lake, for the most part, was one of the most pleasant rides of the trip. With morning temps starting out in the 50's, with crisp dry air and the smell of pine, it reminded me of Jackman Maine, where I had spent many summers as a youth. Central Oregon is beautiful that is for sure. We stopped in the La Pine mini mart for fuel and drink and headed down Route 97 and made a right to head west on Route 138 to Crater Lake's north entrance. Going west on Route 138 and into the park, we continued to climb in altitude and while the bike handled it fine, I could feel the temperatures drop, which was confirmed by the thermometer on the RT's computer. Upon reaching the overlook where the Rim Drive begins, you can see above what is called Llao Bay. Crater Lake was formed from a volcano, not a meteor as some believe. Some 7700 years ago, what was Mount Mazama erupted in a cataclysmic event that would have made Mt St. Helens look like a kids science project. Several cubic miles of ejecta were blown into the atmosphere and deposits can be found as far as Canada. All I can say is that must have been some sight. 

Behind Crater Lake

Along Rim Drive are patches of snow off the road, hard pack leftover from the winter, even though it was August, and while the temperature in Medford would be 100, it was in the low 50's up there.  While riding along Rim Drive the brake failure light came on and while the brakes seemed to work, it brought some concern. This motorcycle is a lot different from the Nomad I had in that it relies on computers for its functioning and a brake failure light could mean a few things at the least. This, coupled with goofy hands, made for an interesting ride. On top of this, I experienced something I never experienced before. Normally when I ride very twisty roads or roads I consider twisty for Iowa, I usually concentrate on the coming corner ahead of me as far as I can see into the corner. I found myself looking past the corner, out into the distance over the edge as it were and I have to admit it unnerved me, which didn't get better on this trip. I still don't completely understand why I had these issues with my hands/arms, tight curves  and overlooks at altitude, but may be someone reading this can give me some clue. I never experienced anything quite like this before. When I was younger, none of this would or did bother me, so it's a little bit of a mystery. I should mention that the brake failure light went off when we left Crater Lake and I didn't give it much more thought as the brakes were working.

Cascade Mountain

Anyway, heading out of the park, we headed down Route 62 towards Medford. As the altitude dropped, the temps went up and we were on our way to our destination. I was amazed at the speed of the motorcycles that passed Ross and me on Route 62. One squid on a liter sportbike had to be going well over 100 mph in a 45 mph zone. We were doing 50-55 mph, which is a comfortable pace that while above the speed limit, isn't crazy. Right after the squid came a K1300GT doing what I would estimate between 90-100 mph. Not as fast as the squid, but definitely getting someplace rather quickly.

We decided to stop in Medford for a much needed break at the Burger King to have it our way. At this point, I was looking forward to arriving in Crescent City and taking the next day off to give my hands/forearms a rest. Crescent City is only 112 miles from Medford, so we were really on the last leg of our trip to the rally. So we proceeded on I 5 to Route over Grant's Pass to Route 199 and as we descended towards Crescent City through towns like Cave Junction, Illinois Valley and O'Brien, so did the temps. I was glad to be where we going to be where we were supposed to be. 

To be continued...

Final Drive: Anticipation

Easy Rider

No, it's not the Carly Simon song, and certainly not the Heinz commercial from the 1970's. No, this is not about the epicurean wonders of catsup or the songs by one of the ex-wives of James Taylor. It's about vacations, and specifically road trips. The road trip is almost mythological in the minds of motorcyclists around the world. From Che Guevara to Dr. Greg Frazier to Robert Pirsig in the real world to Easy Rider and Wild Hogs in the celluloid one, motorcyclists are drawn to the road trip like true believers that are called to a pilgrimage to a holy land.  All of us get the itch, the desire to hit the open road, explore new places and people and get the wind in our faces.

Robert Pirsig

I can't help but believe there is some primeval force inside us that draws us to the road trip.  Right now I am getting ready for a road trip to the west coast, specifically Crescent City California for a motorcycle rally. While this trip's seemingly primary importance is to go to the Rally in the Redwoods and meet old friends, in another sense it is to develop and delve into my own private chatauquas in an effort to gain clarity, focus, direction and even desire. As my profile on this blog says, I am basically trying to figure it out. I have spent many years doing a particular kind of work and to be honest, I am burned out. My own father was not only in the same profession for 39 years, but worked for the same employer during that time. I wish he was still here as I would like to know how he did it and better yet why? Dad never did chatauqua's that I know of, nor did he ride a motorcycle after getting married or did he ever go off on road trips. Dad was from a different generation and in some ways a different person. He had the patience of Job and at times the countenance of a champion poker player. Not much riled my dad and in my whole life I only heard him curse once in English, but that is another story.

Wild Hogs

So, tonight I wait in anticipation of this trip. Questions arise like, is my motorcycle ready? Am I ready? What will I encounter? Will I find what I am searching for? All pertinent questions, all will be answered in due time. Patience is one virtue that I do not have enough of and endurance is the other. They go hand in hand. The truth is, the answer is already there, but with this trip I hope to quiet my mind enough to see it. In the meantime, I still have to go over a few things with the bike, pack a fix-it bag, wash the bike, pack my clothes, pack the bike and gas up. I also have to make sure that everything is fine at home too. I wouldn't leave unless it was.

Robert Louis Stevenson 1854-1894

UNDER the wide and starry sky

Dig the grave and let me lie:

Glad did I live and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you 'grave for me:

Here he lies where he long'd to be;

Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

And the hunter home from the hill.

And the motorcyclist home from the road trip.



Thank you for reading this blog.

Final Drive: The Consequences of Compromise

Compromise: The acceptance of standards that are lower than is desirable. Now, this is a straightforward definition that when applied to my premise, at first blush you may think I am batty. The context of this discussion is motor vehicles, but allow me to explain.

Motorcycle Cruiser

In the age I grew up in, vehicles were pretty specialized. We had pickup trucks, station wagons, sedans, coupes, sports cars, etc. With motorcycles, we have sportbikes, cruisers, touring bikes, standards and adventure bikes. In the past 10 years or so I've seen a trend in vehicle design where the lines have been blurred and in the case of cars, I see vehicles that are crossover-stationawagon-suv-minivan-sedan like in design. Look at the new Ford Explorer or Chevrolet Traverse and you will see what I mean. I see some of the same things starting to happen in the motorcycle world. Bikes like the Vstrom and R1200GS are a couple that come to mind. Are they dirt bikes or touring bikes? R1200RT, Concours 14, ST1300 and FJ1300. Are they touring bikes or sport bikes? This trend in design reminds me of politics. Some politicians try to be everything to everyone and therefore cater to whomever they are speaking to at a particular moment. The thing is, the only people that could truly be that way are narcissistic sociopaths. Most people have a particular slant. In a sense, both voter and politician compromise something in the process of achieving some sort of consensus. With vehicle design, it would seem that a swiss army knife approach to design is in vogue. What of it?

It seems people want there vehicles to be able to everything capably, if not exceeding well. This is a daunting task as if you were designing a sports car or sport bike, you would have a set of requirements unique to that type of bike: Light, fast, quick (there is a difference), exception handling and exceptional stopping ability.  If you were designing a vehicle meant for trips short and long, to have some capacity to carry more than just occupants, you'd have another set of parameters. Comfort would enter the equation, so would storage capacity and fuel range. In trying to merge differing classes of vehicles, there must be compromises made. For instance, in designing such a machine, It will never handle quite as well as a sport bike, but better than a full boat tourer. It will not have the storage capacity of a full boat tourer, but it will be worlds better than a sport bike. The same would be true of comfort. In each case there is a lowering of some standard to make it good enough in the new "swiss army knife" category.

Don't get me wrong. Right now, both cars and motorcycles demonstrate unprecedented reliability and performance in most cases. Gone are the days of carburetors, poor charging systems and kick starters, and believe me, one used to follow the other. My 1978 KZ1000 had a kick start and I was glad for it. The 2007 Nomad I had and my RT are paradigms for reliability, at least they were and are in the time I have and had owned them. While I think there will be further advances, I believe we are doing pretty good today. 20 years ago, I wouldn't have made that statement. Still, I feel a certain loss. I am the type of person that believes in the purposefulness of my tools. I've never been one for having a 4 in 1 screw driver or one of those multi-size rotating ends box wrenches. I prefer separate examples please. There's always the right tool for the job. So it goes with cars and motorcycles. If I want something to scare me, I'd buy a Corvette or a S1000RR. if i need to haul stuff, I'll buy a regular cab Ford Super Duty F350 or Dodge Ram 3500 with a Cummins, not a Honda Ridgeline or a Chevrolet Avalanche. If I need a Family carrier, it's have to be a Chevrolet Suburban or a Ford Expedition EL, not a minivan nor a 4 door sedan (I hate both minivans and 4 door sedans. Neither were meant for over-sized humans like myself). If I wanted a touring bike, I would buy a Gold Wing or a Cross Country Tour. Or would I?

The problem in my own theory of purposeful tools is that in order of live that way, expect to spend more cash, not matter if we are talking screw drivers or motorcycles. I can't afford to own more than one bike (I might if someone would pay me to write, but that is another story) and with cars, we just have two, a 2009 Suburban and a 2001 Jetta, which simply refuses to go away. My RT was a compromise, but so was my Nomad. I liked the Nomad. It was an easy bike to own. Not a lot of maintenance and what maintenance there was, it was easy. The problem was it wasn't feature rich with things like cruise control and heated seats and grips. Speaking of seats, even with a mustang seat, it was torture going more than 60 miles on that bike. When I looked for a new bike, I had always wanted a BMW. Their reliability is legendary, or so I think it is. I really like the R1200GS Adventure. It is built for someone my size. I can even keep the balls of my feet on the ground when it's on the center-stand. The mistake I made was bringing my wife to look at it. The GSA was outfitted with the optional panniers and my wife commented that they looked like organ donor boxes and she also said that she'd never ride on it, so I got the RT instead. The RT does so many things well. It handles better than I will ever ride, stops like an F-18 landing on the USS Roosevelt, and has adequate acceleration. It came with cruise control, heated seats and grips, computer, a power adjustable windscreen and electronically adjustable suspension. It's an amazing bike. A compromise on many levels, but still an amazing bike. Still, I find myself bored somehow. Is it too good? Does it lack character? Is there anything missing? Sure I'd like more stonk. I'd like a better seat for sure and with the titanium color, if you can call it that, well, it's boring. There I said it. Boring. My Nomad was the girl next door and this is her cousin from Germany that's a lot higher maintenance although she makes up for it in almost every other way. Still, as Eddie Murphy once said, after awhile it's the same old ritz cracker.

At this point you are saying, huh? Well, the one thing I get now is why riders of Harley Davidson's like them so much. They aren't the best at anything except may be style and character, which they have in spades. I also understand why squid riders like their crotch rockets. On some level there is no compromise. They buy them for one reason and this fosters commitment. In fact I would say it demands it. I guess it comes down to what is important to you. Is it image, all out performance, long distance travel in comfort or the ability to play in the dirt? I do know that we do have enough choices out there that it shouldn't be difficult to satisfy any taste although I hope the motorcycle industry doesn't fall into the everything to everyone trap that the automotive industry has created. I see signs of it, but we still have a nice selection to choose from. Yes, compromise has a consequence and it's basically a lack of satisfaction. I don't recommend it.

Final Drive: Much ado about nothing

Shakespeare

No, this article is not about Shakespeare, nor is it about nuptials either. In fact it's more like Seinfeld, in that it's not about anything in particular.  So instead of a show about nothing, it's a column about nothing or much ado about nothing.

I usually have an article idea days or even weeks before I write. For some reason, I couldn't come up with any ideas this time around. Like a student frantically trying to remember the answer to a test question, the harder I tried, the more elusive it became. May be it's because I may have pissed someone off with my last column, or may be I may have run out of ideas. Lord knows I don't want to piss anyone off, but it is one of the few things I am good at.

Pashnit

That said, on this Sunday morning, I decided to write about nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but with no plan or should I say no destination in general, other than getting it done. Right now my thoughts are on a trip I am planning to go on in three weeks time. In fact, in three weeks, I should be in Oregon at this time. On the Friday before, I will have left home with a friend, Tom, AKA TRosco, on a trip to the Rally in the Redwoods. Tom and I used to be owners of Kawasaki Vulcan Nomads and members of KawaNOW or Kawasaki Nomad Owners World-wide. We still participate in discussions on the KawaNOW forums even though I have moved on to a BMW and Tom has moved on to a Gold Wing. This trip has been in the planning for some time, my having made reservations months ago, but it hasn't hit home until now. Last weekend I did some preventive maintenance on my R1200RT, changing the oil, transmission gear oil and final drive gear oil. The only thing left is to decide if I need to replace the tires now or later. With 4000 miles on the bike, the tires are not nearly done, but could be sometime during the trip as we will be riding 4-5000 miles in nine days. After looking at the tires, I think I will be ok. If worse comes to worse, I can stop in Salt Lake City on the way back or Medford Oregon to have the tires replaced. BMW dealers are pretty good at servicing motorcyclists on the road.

Devils Tower

Still, I have apprehensions about the trip. My longest motorcycle journey before this one was a ride out to the black hills a couple years ago. That was 665 miles each way, doable in one day. This will be a real test of my motorcycle and myself. Tom and I want to make Rawlins Wyoming on the first day. That is about 750 miles. The conventional wisdom here is that it will make the rest of the trip shorter for each day, with the last day being less than 300 miles. Can I do it? Then there are the groups rides for three days. I may take a day out to visit a friend in Arcata and then there is the ride back. I have my doubts about the bike and myself. While BMWs have a storied history of reliability and have their own motto of "Unstoppable", I've also read about other people's trips that didn't quite turn out that way. Then there is my own history with that Custer trip. My ass hurt for a week after that. I am wondering if I am in for quadruple the pain. All I remember is upon arriving home, I sat in my comfy chair and it felt like I was still riding the bike. For quite some time.

So, instead of focusing on the negative, for which I have a special talent, I really should look at the upside. I will have nine days to really hash things over in my mind, allowing for a continuous autodidact of my current situation and decide on what's next. I am the type of person that needs time and space to reflect on things in order to make a good decision. It's not that I cannot make good snap decisions, I can in emergencies, but with my current opportunities I need a little more time, clarity and focus. This trip will provide me with those opportunities. I also hope to meet new people, make new friends and some connections too, as I understand that representatives from Kawasaki will be there. It really is an opportunity on so many levels, with the common theme of proving myself, if for no one else but myself. If there's one thing I can tell you about reaching middle age, it's that there is a frustration where the fire burns inside and the desire to say "I am" burns strong, yet the body isn't as willing and the mind isn't as confident. It's not so much a crisis of age per se, but one brought about by the realization that there are fewer days ahead than before and upon examination, things haven't gone as well as we planned. In my own case, couple this with some health issues (cervical disk issues) that have to be addressed soon and have had an impact on my strength. As a physical person who not that long ago felt immortal and unbeatable, I suddenly feel vulnerable. In spite of this, the fire IS still there. Some may say the heart is the last to die, when at that point, acceptance is the only way short of a self-imposed post-life experience facilitation. Lets hope we pick door number one.

So, here I am on a Sunday evening, wondering what to write about, where I am going, and what I will do. Much ado about nothing? Not really, but at least I know I did write, I will go and that I will do something. Things are always better on a motorcycle anyway, no? I think so.

Thank you for reading this blog.

PS:

I welcome and wish good luck to Eurosport of Asheville, which is opening this week. They are a new BMW dealer in North Carolina. Good luck Justin and Thomas.

Final Drive: Groupon or Groupoff?

If you ride motorcycles long enough, you will learn about group riding. Some might consider it a rite of passage, while others consider it a necessary evil, to some may be both. Group riding, as the name implies, is riding with more than one motorcycle together, usually with a common destination. Unlike solo riding (there are rules, but they seem more fluid), there are specific rules to group riding that participants should follow. The basics are that the motorcycles are ridden in a staggered formation. I am sure you have seen it: Dozens or more motorcycles riding staggered, many times Motorcycle Clubs going on some run. The leader, also known as the "Road Captain" or "Lead Road Captain", leads on the left, near the center line. Here is a picture:

Rose City MC

The riders maintain two seconds distance from the rider directly in front of them and one second from the rider diagonal of them. The last rider in the group, is sometimes called the tail-gunner or "Sweep Road Captain", rides in the middle of the lane, not in the left or right of the lane as shown here:

Sunset Hogs

If the group is large enough, there will be a Middle Road Captain. Slower riders are usually put in the back and if the lead captain is sane, the group will be broken into smaller groups when the number gets much more than a dozen. Unfortunately, this is not the case many times and it can get hairy very quickly. I have ridden in groups as large as 38 motorcycles and it was an experience I will not soon forget. There was rain, grades as steep as 12% and speeds at or greater than the posted speed limit. In general, I don't like group riding. To me it's like herding cats. Why bother? As a group, motorcyclists or bikers are supposed to be the most individualistic people in our society. You'd think they'd be more inclined to ride solo, but like hungry cowboys hearing the ring of the dinner bell, when it comes to a group ride, they respond. It's a dichotomy that I may never understand. 

I do ride with a group once a week during riding season and while the number of motorcycles are relatively small, usually from 8 to 12 motorcycles for a given ride night, I still find it frustrating because of not only the too diverse riding abilities, but also expectations in terms of riding style. Many times it's like riding in a funeral procession, and depending on who is leading, it can mean that we will ride 60 mph on the interstate, yet exceed the speed limit on back roads. Of course you're saying "he's a malcontent that doesn't lead", but I tried that too. At the time, the person that normally led the group was in number two position and when we hit a 4 lane highway with a 65 mph speed limit, I decided to go 60ish and I looked in the mirror to see the normal road captain going what was 50 mph if that in a 65mph zone, with the group falling behind. First off, this is dangerously slow for the road in question and whatever lesson that was intended didn't sink in. After than I never led again, nor will I, at least with that group. Life is too short to willingly deal with control freaks.

I guess my point here is that while there are specific, useful and necessary guidelines to riding in a group of motorcycles, you really need to assess your needs and riding style before taking off on a ride with a group. I would also suggest that anyone assess their riding abilities as if bad things happen, it's not just you. Group riding isn't for everyone and in spite of my protestation and complaints, I still ride with a group once a week as I have a good time with the people involved once we make it to our destination (food based) and my oldest daughter likes to ride pillion too.

So, is it group on or group off? You decide.

To those that are members of BMWMOA and read ON Magazine, I saw the article on group riding (much to my dismay as I had this in the pipe over a week ago), but I have not read it yet. Now I will.

Final Drive: The Botway Factor

In my Father's Day piece, I left out one person that deserves as much credit as any of the rest in fomenting motorcycling to me. It wasn't a purposeful oversight, the truth is, I forgot. Stanley or Dr. Botway as I used to call him, was a chiropractor in North Merrick, NY. My mom had gone to him for years and I when I started having my own back issues in my late teens, I started going to him too. Stan is a gregarious sort of chap with a fantastic sense of humor and he resembled Benny Hill a little too, which adds to the flavor. As you know, I was exposed to motorcycles and people that rode them from a young age. What made Stan different is that he rode a BMW. Once you got to know Stan, it was understandable: He liked the very best in any hobby or interest he pursued. Stan also collected firearms and knives, which were other areas of interest we shared. His tastes in those also showed a tendency to favor what would be considered best in class.

Still, when I was young, I never understood the draw towards BMW as a motorcycle. They were stodgy, parochial and to be honest, seemed to be odd to me. They were a bike for old fuddy duddies. Stan would regale me with stories and opinions of how balanced they were in terms of performance and functionality. Stan certainly had the riding chops to back it up, with riding around half a million miles lifetime in a sport where some people wouldn't do that in five lifetimes. He would often take off for as long as six weeks in the summer and tour the country going as far as Alaska. In spite of these stories, I went a different route, starting off with a 1978 Kawasaki KZ1000 in 1987. While the KZ would run circles around any boxer of that day, in time I would find out the limitations. The KZ could go well enough, but stopping and handling were another story. From there I went to a GPz750 that was my brothers. I kind of got it back in shape, but gave it back to him when I moved to Iowa, as I already had a Vulcan 800 Classic at the time that was going with me. Since then I have owned a Vulcan Nomad 1600 and now a 2009 R1200RT, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Over the years I had kept in touch with Stan and used his services when I had to. He was the only chiropractor I had ever used prior to moving to Iowa. Since then, he retired from practice and moved to North Carolina. Some years ago I had gotten in contact with him and we converse through email. About a year ago, I felt that the Nomad wasn't the motorcycle for me. It's a lovely bike ridden within it's limitation or even mine, but it's not complete or well balanced. It doesn't have ABS, cruise control, or heated seats and grips. Speaking of seats, Kawasaki must have hired CIA interrogation operatives to design the stock seat. I couldn't ride that bike without wanting to jump off it after an hour. I tried a Mustang seat, and it was the biggest waste of money I had spent on a motorcycle. I still wanted to jump off after an hour and half. Anyway, I felt I needed something more balanced, more complete. As luck would have it, Stan had a 1998 R1100RT, complete with Russell Day Long seat and a trailer. The price was very good, but I decided against buying it. I felt bad about it, as it would have been nice to "inherit" a bike owned by Stan, but I wanted something newer, more modern, something complete and balanced.  I could afford to do it, so I did. Last October, I found a leftover 2009 R1200RT at a local dealer. I think I may had momentarily disappointed Stan, but I heard he sold it to a neighbor.

I could write a tome about Stan or at least my impressions and interactions with him, but in a nutshell, he was a great factor, an immeasurable one in my starting out and continuing to ride motorcycles. My mom was scared to death that something bad would happen to me. She had a very negative view of motorcycles and Stan understood that. One, he told her he would talk to me about riding safely, and two, he reassured her that I would be ok. Mom trusted Stan and it went a long way in keeping her peace of mind. Stan's advice to me was to always have the attitude that everyone on the road is trying to kill you, where on purpose or otherwise and have eye on all sides of your head.  His advice works as far as I am concerned. He was my chiropractor, friend, set a good example as a fellow human being and on this past Father's Day, I wish him the best and thank him for being there for me. With him, I would not be riding today and it's as simple as that. My only other wish is that we lived closer. God bless you Stan and thank you.

Thank you for reading this blog.

Final Drive: 3000

This past weekend was a weekend for barriers to be broken, records to be set, new territory to be gained. Yes, Derek Jeter hit and surpassed 3000 career hits lifetime, all as a Yankee. He's the first Yankee to hit 3000 or more hits as Yankee and only a Yankee. Ruth didn't do it, Mantle didn't do it, Gehrig didn't do it, no one else had done it. On top of that, Derek Jeter did it. The captain of baseball's most storied and prestigious team, a Mr Clean in an era of steroid abusers, womanizers, alcoholics, drug addicts, gambling addicts and all around derelicts. He deserves all the kudos he receives and more. Bravo.

Another milestone is that My RT crossed 3000 miles. Hardly notable for a BMW or any motorcycle really, but I usually like to keep track of these milestones and where they happened. In this case, I was on route 141 and 170th street at the time, going somewhere north of 75 mph. Right now I have something like 3072 miles on the bike. I'll be changing all the fluids soon in preparation for a trip I plan to take in late August to Crescent City California for the KawaNOW West Coast Rally. I used to own a Kawasaki Nomad prior to the BMW, so I still keep in touch and I am part of that group. A great bunch of people. Anyway, I plan to change the oil, transmission and final drive fluid, in the next couple weeks. All this was supposed to be done with the 600 mile service I had done at 450 miles, but in my paranoid head, I wonder if all of it was done, and so it will be. On the return, it will be past the 6000 mile service and at that time, I will do that too. This includes oil change, transmission and final drive fluid change, valve clearance check and adjustment and throttle sync adjustment. On this oil change, I plan to switch to synthetic as it will have over 8000 miles at that point, which is beyond the 6000 miles recommendation by BMW to switch to synthetic engine oil. At that point I will probably need tires too.

If the RT makes it through this without a hitch, I have no reason not to foresee a long relationship. I've only owned Kawasaki's before the RT and I never had any issues with motorcycles bought new, where I broke it in myself and maintained it thoroughly. I have to admit that I have my doubts, reading about broken final drives, fuel strips, ESA shocks and ABS units. All very expensive to fix out of warranty, and a still a pain when in warranty. So, the question remains, at least for me, will I have a Derek Jeter, a Mickey Mantle, or Bob Uecker? Some days I have my doubts, but so far they have been unfounded. Every ride confirms my previous experiences with the motorcycle and that is, it's the best bike I have owned to date. Why I have these doubts, I am not sure other than the perception of how costly it is to maintain and repair these machines. On the other hand, my Kawasakis were very easy to own. So, you may ask, why did I switch? That's a subject for another column.

Thank you for reading this blog.

Final Drive: I am an addict

This column is an inaugural column that I will do weekly, called "Final Drive". It will be an editorial piece that allows me to write at whim about motorcycles and motorcycle related content. Think of the editorial columns in the old Cycle or now Cycle World and you get the idea. Hopefully all who read will enjoy.

By Jim Lagnese

Kurt Sutter/SutterInk

I admit it. I am an addict. Not long prior to a recent vacation out west, I discovered a new addiction through Netflix. Originally, we subscribed to Netflix in an effort to keep my six year old daughter occupied on long trips, both abroad and to blanket street. In perusing their catalog, I came across a series I had always wanted to watch, but never could get control of the television when it was on or I was asleep at the time. Of course this show is Sons Of Anarchy, the FX television series by Kurt Sutter, staring Ron Perlman, Katey Sagal and a cast of rather unusual characters.

I watched season one before our trip and with internet access in the car during the trip, I was able to watch season two. The sad thing is, Netflix has only the first two seasons. Now I suffer, waiting for season three to come out on video and season four to air. My initial impression of the show was that it was Deadwood/Sopranos on Motorcycles. In fact, you will see a lot of actors from the series Deadwood on the show. I just wish they could get Ian McShane on the show. That said, after watching both seasons, I have to admit, I feel a little conflicted. It's the same conflict I felt when I watched The Sopranos. Being of Italian ancestry, I had an understanding of the show that some people might not get. It's a type of twisted pride that when I really think about it, I usually ask myself, am I nuts? On one hand I can relate to the culture on the Sopranos, but the behavior not so much, although I suspect there must be a genetic component that allows for that pride and understanding that transcends all things. So it goes with Sons of Anarchy.

Kurt Sutter/SutterInk

When I watch the show, it touches that individualistic spirit inside of me, the one that likes to give society, law and order the middle finger. I am not a troublemaker, but may be I would like to be and I think that is what the show tries to do. It tries to connect with my inner miscreant, my inner dirt bag. It's a little disconcerting, living in middle america, riding a BMW,  with a somewhat normal job, home and family. Is it that I feign my daily existence or that I want to feign a contrived one on the TV? That's where it breaks down for me. Like the tale of the turtle that helps the snake cross the stream, the reality of what a 1% Motorcycle Club really is comes back full circle, just like it does with the Sopranos, whose sociopathic tendencies are well documented. Anyone that reads Hunter S Thompson's Hells Angels or Queen's Under and Alone will quickly realize that something isn't quite right with these people. This is brought home in the episode "Hell Followed" in season one. In this episode, Marcus Alvarez, head of The Mayans, a rival MC, orders the hit of his own son Esai, for pay back on the attemped hits on Clay (reference: SAMCRO Wikia). I just can't fathom killing my own child and if you watch the episode, it doesn't seem to bother Marcus much. It's a reminder of who these people really are. It would seem to me, that in joining such a club, one would have to put the club before careers, friends, family, religion and country. Pretty much everything. And I don't get it (I do get it, I just don't subscribe to it).

From Maryland Travel Guide

1%er MC gangs are often portrayed as some 20th century version of the American cowboy, gunslinger and anti-hero rolled into one. The alleged paradigm of rugged individualist seems to fall apart when you examine some of their rules and behaviors around them. Their colors, kuttes and territory (or even the requirement to ride a Harley). Beat downs and I bet killings have happened because of some violation of a non-club member of a rule they may or may not be aware of. Living within such structured guidelines and the behavior to defend something that at best seems childish is hardly what I would call living as a rugged or any other kind of individualist. It's tribal, sometimes at its worst and in my opinion, an effort to setup a parallel structure of authority within our existing society. It's nothing new and just another mob whose methods are force and intimidation. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. Honestly, if they had anything of value to bring to the table besides physical violence and selling drugs, I might sit up and listen. True freedom is about the idea that anyone can pursue their dreams according to their will, restricted only by the equal rights that everyone has. Men exchange ideas, goods, and capital freely without fear, intimidation, or political interference. When we get there, I will let you know, but the lifestyle isn't about that. They are just another tribe that wants to compete with the head tribe.

Now that I have totally gone off the tracks here, let me say that in spite of this, I still like the show a lot and I am attracted to some of the themes, particularly the idea of hero/anti-hero in the context like Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven. Specifically in the series, the character of Wayne Unser comes to mind. Here is a man that is a dirty cop, and yet he is also a good guy too. It's multidimensional in a world if white hats and black hats, I do appreciate the effort to portray people in a more substantive and sophisticated way. That said, I am probably too much of an individualist to be part of something like a 1%er MC as I have my own moral compass that I follow which is uniquely my own and I wouldn't compromise it for Uncle Sam or the Hells Angels. I guess I'd be an outlaw amongst outlaws. Anyone that colors outside the lines or isn't like the rest tends to get hammered eventually. Believe me I know first hand.

Willam Lucking, SutterInk

 So now I am forced to wait for the 3rd season on video, so I can get the background for the forthcoming 4th season. My favorite character on the show is Piney. I am a big guy like him, but about 21 years younger than Bill Lucking. May be I could play his kid brother? That would be a gas. Anyway, in spite of my discourse here, I do think they have a well produced and acted show with writing that is more than adequate. It does follow a serial format where you need to watch the shows and seasons in sequence, hence my animated desire to get season 3 under my belt, and I will.

Thank you for reading this blog. 

Father's Day

It's that time of the year when on one day, the third Sunday in June that we are supposed to pay homage to our fathers. On this day, I want to honor fathers in a different way. Instead of just paying homage to just my biological father, I'd like to also give thanks to those men who inspired me to ride.

I will start out with my Dad. Dad was born in 1925 to Italian immigrants and grew up in Westbury Long Island. Dad served in WWII in the Army Air Corps as a tail gunner on a B-17 and after coming home, like a lot of guys looking for excitement after the war, he got into riding motorcycles. Dad's first foray into two wheeled transportation was a Vespa, after which he graduated to a Zundapp 250. After that it was a Triumph Tiger, a 500 cc parallel twin. Dad rode with his cousins Tommy and Lou, who rode a triumph and BSA respectively, if I recall correctly. Dad would regale us about their trips to Laconia and other places, when during one such trip cousin Lou fell asleep while riding his bike. They saw him nodding off and got on either side, revving their engines, trying to get his attention and wake him up. Luckily for Lou, it worked. Because of dad's stories, from an early age, I wanted a motorcycle. This of course was tempered by mom's dislike for two wheeled transportation, but you can probably guess who won.

My first foray into two-wheeled motorbike nirvana was a Rupp Mini Bike. I was in the 8th or 9th grade at the time and I remember Mom bought it at a garage sale for a song. My brother Tony and I painted the frame Chevrolet Hugger Orange (I still love that color), and the gas tank Argent Silver. It had a tired three and a half horsepower Tecumseh flat head engine and under dad's supervision, we honed the cylinder, re-ringed the piston, rebuilt the carburetor and did a valve job. It ran very well after that. Before, it could barely go faster than 15 mph. Afterward, we were clocked at 35mph. It could go faster if the governor rod was held in. Eventually the engine threw a rod through the crankcase, probably from exceeding the governor once too often.

My Dad's cousin Lou was an influence. Lou continued to ride well into middle age. He used to stop by our house on the way home from work sometimes and I would always get excited to see what he was riding at any given time. I remember he had a Norton 850 Commando, black of course, and that was a neat bike to be sure. I also remember he bought a new Honda CX-500. I remember he had windscreen on it and it was a very quiet bike. The one bike I really liked to see was a Harley Davidson XR-1000 cafe racer. It belonged to his son Mark, but he would ride it from time to time. As a kid, I loved Harleys and Triumphs. Between Easy Rider and the custom bike shop down the corner, Custom Cycle, I developed a liking for choppers. I remember this one chopper. It was a triumph with a 500 cc Engine, single carb, what seemed like at least 12 inch extended forks. It was painted a metal flake plum crazy purple. With the drag pipes and the 360 degree firing order, I could recognize that bike's sound anywhere. I remember a MC type rode it, a real gruff chap that frequented a local biker bar. Those were the days.

Another guy that figures into all was a guy named Bill Biesecker. Bill lived down the street and rode a Honda 350/4. Bill rode rain, shine, all the time except in snow. My friends and I would go down the block just to shoot the breeze with Mr. Biesecker or have him diagnose problems with our Minibikes. I remember when my friend Manny bent the rim on his dad's orange Honda CT90. He wasn't supposed to be out riding it and took it up to the high school with his little brother on the back. He went over a metal edge on the track, which bent the rear rim. We took it over to Mr. Biesecker who took the kink out of it. Still, Manny's dad found out and took it out of his hide. Mr Bieseker was great guy and we lost him to cancer before he was 40 years old.

Sometimes an influence is not so much a direct hands on influence as much as an example of what's possible.  One such influence was Dad. Not my dad, but a guy we called Dad. His name is Frank Donelan, who was at the time, 55 years old and a corporate lawyer. Frank raced with a bunch of guys who called themselves DC Racing, which stood for Discount Cycle Racing, supported by a local independent motorcycle shop owned by Lenny Mastro. Dad raced a KZ1000 drag bike in the Pro Street class. It would get well into the 9's at something around 140 mph. Not bad for a middle aged dad. If that wasn't enough, Dad went out and bought a Kawasaki ZX-11D. I remember he took it on the Sagtakos Parkway and did 175 mph with it. For an old guy (55 was old to us guys that weren't even 30 yet), Frank could still kick ass. He was a very talented rider and very smart man whose advice went beyond motorcycles. I often wonder if Frank still rides in retirement. I bet he does.

So, on this third Sunday in June of the year 2011, I want to give thanks to not only my real Dad, who was a guiding influence on me in my life, motorcycle and otherwise, but also to those men who guided me, influenced me and helped me along the way, particularly with motorcycles. Without them, I wouldn't be riding today one way or another and I wish all of them a happy Father's Day and give a hearty thank you to all of them. Have you thanked the motorcycle dads in your life?

Thank you for reading this blog.

I don't know dick

No pictures needed here. I admit it. I do not know dick...about a lot of things, in spite of an alleged education and experience. One thing it seems I don't know dick about it journalism, specifically motojournalism. I would like to know dick, but I don't. I admit it. Coming clean is the only way to get better.

Once upon a time, back in the days when I had no gray hair, I had no spouse let alone children, I had a dream. You see I had many interests, but topping the list was cars and motorcycles...and guns, but that is another story. In my so called mind, I thought I could do it. I thought I could write about what I loved. At the time I had a freshly minted degree in American Studies. I even graduated with honors. I had the bright idea to apply to New York University's graduate program in journalism. Today it's called the Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. I studied both broadcast and magazine journalism. I had great teachers like Jon Katz, Udayan Gupta, Jane Stone, David Dent, John Capouya, Bob Spitz and Mary Quigley. I also ran out of money, but that is another story too. I used to joke that I got a Harvard education for the price of a NYU education, but that sentiment is lost on most. It was and is a very expensive school, but you will be exposed to people and opportunities not found anywhere else.

Back then, the new media didn't really exist. There was newsprint, magazine and broadcast. I did a hybrid as both appealed to me for different reasons. Broadcast is fast paced, exciting and there's nothing like being in a studio with a live broadcast ready to go and the director counts down to show time. On the other hand, traditional print allows for more development of ideas and it appeals to my cerebral side. That said, life happens and through a series of circumstances, my life changed direction and the idea, the dream of writing or producing content for journalism went into the dustbin. One of things I did carry away was computer technology. When producing an issue of Manhattan South, the school magazine, I learned how to do magazine layout on a Macintosh. You see, no one else in the class wanted to do the dirty work. The other editors wanted to edit other students work or write the articles themselves. I ended up volunteering for the job of doing layout, but at the time I didn't realize where it would lead me.

Not long after this, I met my future wife and I decided to change careers. I wasn't doing journalism at the time, and I ended up going into technology, which I have been in for 17 years now. I specifically went into Macintosh technology, supporting pre-press shops and service bureaus in my first IT job. I got married, we had kids, bought a house and life moved on. During a period of underemployment after 9/11, I had gotten a new bike, a Vulcan 800 Classic, and the idea of writing crossed my mind again. At the time, I read several magazines and one of them was Roadbike. The tech editor at the time was Mark Zimmerman. I decided to email him and ask him out to lunch. To my total bewilderment, he accepted, and not only that, he took me out to lunch and although I had to ride up to Danbury, it was worth the trip. Mark is an incredibly funny, articulate and knowledgeable person. He's also gracious and open. I asked him if he could read some of the stuff I had written at NYU and give me his opinion. Like others before, he said I could write, but I need to work at more and develop my voice. Once again, life intervened and I ended up taking a job in Iowa, which move our family 1200 miles away. Over the years I have kept in touch with Mark although we haven't talked shop as it were.

Now, some years later I find myself at a point in life where I feel I need change. May be change isn't the right word, may be truth is the right word. I am tired of IT and even though I can do it, I feel no affinity for it, not anymore. It's like being able to do an autonomic bodily function. At that point, it becomes just that, if you know what I mean. So at the advanced age of 49, I have examined my options. Underlying this though is what I call "the four legs of the stool", and I am not talking autonomic bodily functions either. Consider it like a bar stool. One is engagement. I have to be engaged mentally, emotionally, may be spiritually and sometimes physically. I have to use my faculties to their fullest extent, if possible. Two is voice. Do I have a voice not only in what I will do or how I will do it, but just the act of being able to be heard, to have my opinion valued? Three is the social aspects. If I am with a group, how do I fit in, do I have a place where I am comfortable and am I accepted? Four is, "do I make a difference?" Is what I am doing shedding any new light, offering some value, making a difference in someone's day, in a more meaningful way than just "I fixed X".  Honestly, right now I am 0 for 4. My options are to do nothing, to look for something in my current field and "settle" for a leg or two, or to change careers. Problem is, I don't know dick. I don't know Dick either. I'd like to as he seems like a good chap (someone I met on Linked In who gave me some advice), but where do I start (besides from the beginning)?

Hope is a funny thing. Not funny ha ha, but funny interesting. For me it has ebbed and flowed with the days and weeks like the tide that comes in and out of Monterrey Bay, which is down the block from where I am writing this now. If anyone has pointers, advice, words of encouragement or even deridement at this point, all will be welcome. Like Sisyphus, I need a rock to push against, but unlike Sisyphus, I need to push it over the hill.

Thank you for reading this blog.