The Evolutionary Process

Everything Changes. Nothing remains the same for long. These connected rules apply to every aspect of life, including our passions and what we do as well as how and why we do things.
Two weeks ago I encountered this evolutionary process in clear display while riding to Washington DC to take part in the Rolling Thunder Memorial Day events.  I was riding across U.S. 30 in eastern Ohio.  The current route 30 is now a divided four lane limited access highway. This new expressway replaced old US 30 recently.   Old 30 being  mostly a two lane federal highway, though parts of it were four lanes.  Old 30 itself had replaced the 1928 version of the Lincoln Highway. which had replaced the 1918 version of the  LH, which had replaced the original 1913 version. What is remarkable is that the last three versions of this road across American had completely different roadways. It wasn't simply upgrades to the same road, it was the building of completely new parallel roads for the most part because the 'old technology' was so out of date that it couldn't be simply updated, it had to be totally replaced. 
Today it is hard to find remnants of the original 1913 Lincoln Highway as originally conceived and laid out by Carl Fisher, an Indianapolis automotive entrepreneur who knew that the future of the budding automotive industry a century ago depended on the construction of roads more than on the construction of more automotive factories.  Kind of along the same theory that without cell towers, cell phones are pretty worthless.
As I was riding in the cold wind and under dark scudding clouds just barely off the deck, I saw a motorcyclist along the side of the road up ahead.  Now I still believe and generally follow a cardinal rule of motorcycling learned in the 1960s and 1970s - that is, if you see a biker on the side of the road, you pull over to offer your help in whatever manner you can.
So I pulled in behind the lone rider, who was kneeling beside his vintage 1975 Suzuki, cussing loudly while trying to get to the bottom of the mystery of why it kept shutting off on him every few miles.  I was of no help in finding the problem but after a bit he got it running again.  I told him I'd ride along with him in the event it quit again. I did, and it did. But the next time it quit he'd had enough. He pulled out his cell phone and called a friend.   Once it was clear that he had made contact with his rescuer with a truck and trailer, I wished him the best and was on my way.  In reality, there was really no reason for me to have stopped. Like almost every other person in North America he had a cell phone on him and he was in range of one of the thousands of cell towers that dot the countryside.  He didn't need me nor my ancient code of motorcyclist honor.

Reality of the changing world that we live in really struck me then and there. The road I was on had evolved from a muddy trail carrying horses and a few ancient undependable cars to a multi-lane expressway carrying tens of thousands of modern cars and huge trucks on its concrete surface every day.  My 2008 model motorcycle was vastly improved in every possible way to the nearly forty year old Suzuki (which was a marvel in its day - I remember!).  And the ability to communicate has changed from helping out by running up to the next gas station with a pay phone and making a call for the stranded rider, to his simply pulling out a smartphone that has more capability than the most powerful computers of the 1970s. And I could probably ride for many miles before finding a pay phone that worked today!  It all makes a code of honor to help someone in need almost unnecessary any longer. Over the last 10 or 15 years every time I've pulled over it was unnecessary.  Twice it turned out to be state troopers parked off the highway tracking speeders with a radar gun - which I didn't see until I was right up to them - and they weren't pleased to see me pull up to them, I'm sure they thought I was some wise ass trying to cause them trouble.

Anyway - this is all going somewhere.  Like dirt roads, and contact points and distributor caps, blogs are kind of old technology.  I think it's time to move on.  Time to park this 2005 model that just isn't sexy and shiny any more and is beginning to show its age and faded glory by the technology being ignored by most Internet users, and time to move on to something just a couple years newer - a facebook page that is based on my various books and my related travel and book event activities.  The URL for the page is:  https://www.facebook.com/BooksByBillMurphy?ref=stream&filter=1   called the Motorcycling Books & Travel page.
It is on this page that I now intend to start making more frequent, though much shorter, entries and updates.  These entries will be about a range of topics, from trips and status updates, to items about book selling events & personal appearances.
Please follow me on this Facebook page, and for the folks who I know from various contacts who have been reading this blog - thank you!
Ride Safely & Live Fully (and stay thirsty, my friends).

Patience Prevails - And Once Again It's Time To Ride!

The calendar has progressed to the month of May, always a time of renewal and hope to me. As late as April 20th we awoke to snow-covered ground and things were looking dismal and frustration was running high, but that's all in the past now.
 In the northern parts of the U.S. May doesn't just gradually arrive it bursts onto the scene, in an explosion of green leaves and yellow daffodils. The weather suddenly ends the radical swings from below freezing to temps in the 40s or 50s on warm days to a steady diet of absolutely delightful days in the 60s and 70s.  It's still bug-free and it seems that the whole world has undergone a thorough spring-cleaning by the rains of April. It's a new world; fresh, clean, good smelling, warm, beautiful, and nigh on perfect.
And of course one of the several outdoor activities that riders cram into a busy spring is motorcycling. The bike has long since been cleaned and polished, the oil changed, tire air pressure topped off, riding gear cleaned and made ready for use - as soon as weather conditions allow. Well, they now allow, and it's time to ride!
I find planning a trip or ride very enjoyable, whether it's a car trip with the family or a solo motorcycle ride across the continent. Anticipation and planning truly are part of the adventure for me, and many others I know. My solo rides never go exactly according to the plan or schedule, but that's fine. I enjoy plotting a route but also know full well that I might meet a road that I just can't say no to. Several years ago I was on my way to the Barber Museum in Alabama when I saw a sign near Nashville for the Natchez Trace - a historic road I had always wanted to ride. Well, then and there I changed my plans and instead of ending up in southeast Alabama I ended up four days later in Natchez, Mississippi, after riding the Trace. It was incredible and I don't regret the snap decision for a moment. From there I continued west and had the opportunity to also ride the Talimena Scenic Byway in the beautiful Quachita Mountains of eastern Oklahoma and western Arkansas. It's an incredibly scenic area with roads custom made for riding, and I might not have ever rode them had I stuck to the script.
Sometimes I feel like we motorcyclists share a secret that no one else knows or has access to. Our sport is so awesome and I feel so fortunate that be able to participate that I sometimes wonder why everyone doesn't jump on the bandwagon.  But of course not everyone can nor wants to, and that's as it should be. It's great that most of us are fortunate enough to pursue the things we enjoy,  no matter what it is.
I was talking with someone the other day and he asked if I was going on a motorcycle 'vacation' this summer.  The word vacation struck me as odd because I never thought of riding as a vacation, but rather a physically demanding adventure.  I think of laying on the sand on a Florida beach for a week (yuck!) as a vacation. It's relaxing and involves very little physical activity. I view a week or two on a motorcycle as an adventure the same way as I might view a week on a white water rafting trip or a hike through the wilderness.  It's time away from the routine of life, but it's not a vacation in my view - - it's better and more fulfilling than that.
Having said that I have 2 or 3 major adventures planned for the summer. A ride to participate in the Rolling Thunder celebration in D.C. over Memorial Day is the first of the multi-day events, followed by a trip around Lake Superior, a ride west, and some other multi-day adventures. My aspirations for this riding season are high. Hopefully real world realities will see it my way and cooperate.
So whatever it is in life that you love go pursue it with a passion. Time waits for no person and the unimportant things will always be there demanding your time and attention.
As no doubt more than one wise person reportedly wrote - no one on their death bed has ever said "I wish I had spent more time at work."

Call it What it is - - Whining

It's been two weeks since my last rant / whine / post about the weather and the impact it's having on two-wheeled activity. As can be seen from this picture taken yesterday, things haven't improved much since the below picture of two weeks ago. Unless a person is riding a Ural sidecar rig, 2-wheel drive preferable, they aren't doing much riding yet this winter...er, spring.
But we can still dream and plan.
I see the Washington DC Roaring Thunder event, a ride along the Lincoln Highway to mark its centennial, and attending various events planned along its route, and perhaps a major trip through northern USA and Canada in the Great Lakes region - all are looking like very definite possibilities; if and when the snow melts.
I brought my removable windshield inside last week to scrub all the dead bugs and road crud off of it in the kitchen sink, and brought all my leather items in to thaw out and then treat with leather preservative. Once the garage warms enough all vinyl parts and pieces on the bike, from wire harness protectors to hoses, will be treated with vinyl protector to protect them from another season of sun, salt, and chemicals. Then of course oil and lube & filter change, basic maintenance checklists, a thorough wash and wax, and it's ready to go.
So I'm doing my part - planning, anticipating, imagining, and hoping. Now it's up to the groundhog and Old Man Winter.

Hopeful Signs

March 8th Snow
 

Looking out my front door to the street is still quite depressing. There is a lot of snow to melt though the next few days might do just that. Forecasted highs in the 40s and sunshine should make a dramatic difference within 2 or 3 days! By Sunday I hope to see nothing but dead grass instead of all the snow.
Lots of motorcycling activities to think and read about now. Advertisements, facebook posts, catalogs in the mail, dealer open houses, swap meets, and notifications from places such as the National Motorcycle Museum and AMA regarding upcoming events help get over the inability to ride yet.
I started the King in the garage today to once again circulate the oil and make sure everything is in working order. I'm ready to go as soon as the roads dry and the temperature gets a little higher. Maybe a St. Pat's Day parade next weekend, if the weather cooperates.
I'm making summer trip plans. One of them will be to celebrate the centennial of the Lincoln Highway - the first transcontinental road (actually a muddy dirt horse trail) laid out in 1913 by auto industry executives. They simply 'hooked' existing trails and farm roads together on paper so that a network of lanes extended across the continent. The executives knew that if people didn't have anyplace to drive their newfangled vehicles they had no reason to buy them!  The federal government didn't get into road building, design, or marking until the mid-1920s.
Kearney, Nebraska is hosting a big centennial celebration June 30 / July 1 which I plan to attend - hopefully to participate as a vendor as well as a ride destination. Kearney is on the Lincoln Highway - right in the middle of the country, 1,733 miles from Boston and the same number of miles from San Francisco.
I might also do the Rolling Thunder ride to Washington DC for Memorial Day again, since it's been several years since the last time I went.
This period of planning and anticipation is an important part of the riding year for me. I've always thought that thinking about and planning for an event is half of the fun. And it helps extend a short riding season.
Attended a Patriot Guard funeral service yesterday for a veteran who died and whose family requested our presence as an honor guard. It was a cold, cloudy, breezy day. One brave soul rode his bike but the rest of us drove our cages. I guess I'm just not that tough any more.
So once again, it's time to Think Spring.

Old Man Winter is so Thin-Skinned!

So a few days ago I wrote a short blog about how much I dislike February, and in particular this year's vacillating weather and Old Man Winter gets pissed. The very next morning 4 - 5 inches of new snow fell, making driving difficult and of course requiring shoveling from the driveway and sidewalks.
You would think he, and his fickle mother - Mother Nature - could take a joke!
From the looks of the long range forecast it looks like the joke will be on me for the next couple of weeks.
At least two more weeks of hibernation for the Road King.

I really dislike February!

Even as a kid, when I really liked winter, I disliked February. After months of cold dark slushy slippery uncomfortable weather that severely limits a person's activities, it's just time for it to move on. Maybe if I lived in a snowbelt where deep clean snow could be counted on for virtually the entire winter it wouldn't be so bad. But living in an area where one day it can be forty degrees and raining and ten degrees and snowing the next just stinks. Even the warm days are almost always too cold or wet to do much outside, certainly not suitable for motorcycling, and of course the cold days have their own issues.
It's been over a month since there was a day with the combination of temperature and dry conditions needed for a ride. Several of those days were above freezing, some even well above freezing, but accompanied by melting snow and rain. Not good conditions to go for a ride, or winter activities such as skiing.
It's just time for winter to move on!
Looking at the long range forecast makes me doubtful that I'll get a ride in this month. I usually ride at least one day each month but sometimes the weather and conditions just don't cooperate in the long dark cold days of winter.
I attended a motorcycle swap meet this past weekend and enjoyed talking with lots of people about riding and about my books. I was pleased that several women bought Grace and Grit after my telling them about the marvelous adventures of women riders of a hundred years ago. I am pleased that my motorcycle touring series continues to be popular. Many people make it a point to stop at my table to tell me that they bought the book or even two or more of the books, and how much they enjoy them. Always happy to hear that. It's nice when work is appreciated.
These swap meets and bike shows are nice breaks in the non-riding season.
Spring is just a month away, so there is a light at the end of this dark cold tunnel. Hang in there!

A Midwinter Booster Shot

Right now the ground is snow covered and the temperature is in the teens. The wind chill is in single digits, though a bright sun makes it look warmer than it really is. Just two days ago the temperature hit 55-degrees and since that day followed several preceding it that were also above freezing, the ground was bare and the roads were ice free.  And that, of course, meant a mid-winter ride!
I put on over 60 very enjoyable and relaxing miles through the barren countryside, enjoying the smiles, thumbs up gestures, and finger pointing that I received from people in cars or along the road. I'm guessing that some of those folks were also riders and envied my good fortune.

A person has to earn a mid-winter ride - you don't simply jump on the bike and ride away like in the warm months. First the cover must be removed, battery trickle charger unhooked, parts that had been removed for storage put back on (seat and backrest in my case), and of course a thorough check of everything from tire pressure to tight bolts.  So time and effort is invested in the venture, which makes it all the more worthwhile and appreciated.

I really look forward to these midwinter booster shots - I feel that if I can get in at least one ride each winter month it goes a long way toward helping the cold season pass by faster and with less withdrawal pain.
I had actually planned to go skiing this past weekend but when Mother Nature threw me a curve ball I hit a home run off her by taking a fun ride instead! Flexibility is the name of the game.

I received the flyer about spring motorcycle swap meets in the mail last week. Kind of like getting the first of the many spring catalogs that come in the mail, with pictures of warm weather activities on the cover. I plan to be a vendor at a couple upcoming meets - probably the one in Cleveland and perhaps in Milwaukee. I enjoy selling books at these venues and being able to talk with hundreds of like-minded folks about motorcycling, travel, exploring, and so on.

I received some great news recently about a proposed article in a national motorcycle enthusiast magazine - my article was accepted and will be printed in the coming year. I'm very appreciative and plan to do more of this type of writing.
The first day of spring is just a bit more than two months away - and I plan to use this time wisely planning my summer road trips and travel adventures!

Sunshine & Sta-Bil

Mild temperatures, bare trees, blue skies, and light traffic
make for a rare November treat.

November can be a dark, drizzly, dreary  month. Summer is long gone, winter hasn't fully arrived yet, and the best part of Autumn ended weeks ago. It's a 'tween period that offers little to recommend it, especially if warmth and sunshine are vital to one's activities. But the rarity of nice days in November is exactly what makes them so precious.
November rides are a decades-old tradition for me, and they serve two purposes. First, it's simply very enjoyable to get out on the bike when the November sun makes a welcome appearance and the temperature rises to a decent level. A person doesn't have to ride far to enjoy the respite from cloudy days and gloomy mixtures of rain and snow.  A ride of only twenty miles is enough to remind us why we ride; the sound, the feel, the joy of it all. This past Sunday was such a day; 55-degrees and beautiful blue skies, hardly a cloud in sight. Such a November day begs to be taken advantage of.
And besides the simple fun of the ride there are other benefits of riding in November - there is less traffic, better vision due to less roadside foliage and harvested field crops, fewer deer to worry about, and no insects. And for me there is the annual rite of adding gasoline stabilizer to the tank full of gas, and running the bike long enough so that the stabilizer makes it through the entire system - keeping the gas and injectors clean and clear for the next ride. The best way to ensure an adequate distribution of the fuel stabilizer is to take a ride.  It gives me a feeling of purpose and importance knowing that I can tell anyone I meet that I'm not simply wasting a Sunday afternoon, I'm doing something necessary by following well established standards of preventive maintenance on my mechanical equipment. And everyone involved in any manner of skilled trades understands the need to protect your equipment.
Riding opportunities will become severely limited in the coming months, though even in mid-winter there are days when the ice melts off the roads, allowing for short excursions - again, for the mechanical equivalent of 'for medicinal purposes only'.

A few photos from last summer:



National Motorcycle Museum, Anamosa, Iowa

The Corn Palace in South Dakota
 


 


Antique Archeology / American Pickers, Iowa

Franklin Grove, IL

Overheard Under an Overpass

Now that my injured knee is essentially back to normal and I'm getting lots of time in the saddle, I have had time to reflect under the best conditions possible - while riding.  Last weekend a friend and I had a wonderful two-day blitz trip to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan - one of the garden spots of earth - for the simple reason of riding a newly paved road that ranks among the nicest in the state. While there we took time to smell the flowers also, in the form of admiring waterfalls and viewing the immensity and beauty of Lake Superior from atop the cliffs that make up the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. Truly there are few sights that rival gazing out on the cold steel blue waters of this huge freshwater lake, bordered as it is by cliffs and forests. Our short time in the UP provided a booster shot of enjoyment and appreciation that will likely have to carry me through the upcoming months of dark and cold.

The trip also provided time to think back on the scores of trips that began with a ride north on US-127 / I-75 to the Mackinac Bridge. From the north end of the bridge prior trips have taken me in every direction, some ending at the Pacific Ocean, others in various Canadian or US locales. But all a marvelous experience that expanded my experience and knowledge.
I've crossed the Mighty Mac on a motorcycles dozens of times and loved each one (well, okay, maybe two of those fifty or so rides were less than wonderful, and they were both in the last two years. In 2011 it was wet and windy when I crossed and the outer concrete lane was closed for maintenance, leaving the steel grate lane. My bike wandered and dove like a drunk boxer and I was very relieved when the ride was finally over. The other, admittedly a distant second place, was the return trip this year - it was very windy with a southwest gusty wind that presented the worst effects of a crosswind and a head on wind. Not exactly white knuckle riding, but close enough so that I was once again happy to arrive at the Mackinaw City end of the span.)

Much of my thoughts were taken back to trips in the 1970s, '80s, 90's and '00s when we passed under certain overpasses. A great many of these overpasses had memories of the times I stopped under them to wait out a rain event. But the real memories had to do with people, total strangers who temporarily became close friends, that I spent time with under these overpasses. For a half-hour or more those of us who shared the dry space under the bridge like so many biking trolls spoke of adventures, travels, family, and life in general. Each overpass that I had spent time under brought back different recollections and feelings - all of them reinforcing why I so enjoy riding and so enjoy the camaraderie of my fellow riders.
I have shared space under overpasses all across the nation. I'm certain that those folks in cars who observed us shook their heads either in sympathy or in wonder as to how people can be so stupid, but the joke was on them.  It's impossible to explain, but in the same way that people come together under circumstances that take them out of their normal warm and dry and safe existence, bikers waiting out a storm in a temporary refuge see the positive benefits much more than the negative reality. It's a time when normal reticence and mistrust of strangers is dropped completely, replaced with a feeling of shared circumstances, community and mutuality.

Facebook Photo

This year I continue to join other Patriot Guard Riders at many funerals for those killed in action or for veterans who died and whose families requested our involvement. These events are somber but at the same time powerful displays of humanity and community at its best. As I have written before, the presence of flag-holding semi-military motorcyclist honor guards is a strong visible manifestation of appreciation and honor. The sight and sound of dozens of motorcycles slowly and respectfully taking part in an escort procession of the deceased from the airport to funeral home, or to the cemetery, is enough to bring entire communities to a respectful standstill. There have been too many this year for young men who were killed in Afghanistan, but what a supportive emotional boost it must be for families to see such a strong and clear sign of  respect by total strangers for their loved one.

Yesterday, while riding to yet another PGR event at the Great Lakes National Cemetery, I reflected on the many lives we have touched by providing this service. I am also so proud that it was brothers from the Vietnam War that started the Patriot Guards to ensure that never again would America ignore, or worse, blame returning veterans, for a war these young men and women didn't start or want. I'm also very proud of the motorcycling community for devoting the time and expense of providing this wonderful service. It's not easy or fun to stand for several hours in blistering heat or biting cold, but it is what we will do as long as families of KIAs or veterans ask us to.

I close with a question - did anyone see the time thief who stole the summer of 2012? It had barely begun when suddenly it's gone!

On The Road Again!

At the fascinating Hopewell Mounds Park near Chilicothe, Ohio
during a trip earlier this summer. The park contains Native American
ceremonial and effigy mounds that are about a thousand years old.

Willie Nelson's iconic song On the Road Again has long been one of my favorite tunes to sing to myself as I ride. Usually it means I'm on a road trip heading for a distant destination.
Today it has a special meaning quite different than past rides - it literally means that after a month I was back on the road again. Because of some fairly major surgery to repair meniscus, muscle and tendon damage in my left knee, it has been over three weeks since I took even a local ride of a few miles, and the last time I took a ride of more than a few miles was over a month ago.
But today I rolled the bike out and headed toward one of my favorite local back roads rides. It was only about 25 miles but that's fine - I was on my bike on a beautiful day under blue skies.
Unfortunately the incision for the surgery was on the inside of my knee - exactly at the spot that the knee rests, or bumps, against the gas tank. I had to adjust my sitting position to keep the knee away from the tank because otherwise it was less than comfortable. I also found that although we shift gears with the left foot, the muscles that move the toes up and down all come through the knee.
But despite the small price to pay in a little discomfort it was the first step forward after too long out of the saddle. After a few break in and readjustment rides I hope to be somewhat back to normal in a week (though the doctor warned it would be another month.)
I'll soon find out whether years of surgical training or pure determination win this disagreement.

A Mission of Honor - the Patriot Guard Riders

I recently wrote the below article for the Midwest Motorcyclist journal. It was published in the August edition of that newspaper.  I thought I would post it here so that folks who don't have access to Midwest Motorcyclist can also read about the PGR. It's a marvelous organization whose members stand in honor for today's veterans and casualties of war.

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A dozen motor officers led the procession of motorcycles, looking very sharp in their dress uniforms as well as the skillful manner in which they operated their machines. Immediately behind the police were 83 Michigan Patriot Guard riders – mostly on Harleys – with a mix of other machines filling out the half-mile long motorcade. The parade of motorcycles, followed by family members in funeral home vehicles, had begun minutes earlier at the gates of Flint’s Bishop Airport.  It was there that the body of Sgt. Joseph Lilly, killed in action in Afghanistan just days earlier, arrived on a chartered flight. Sgt. Lilly’s family requested that the Michigan branch of the Patriot Guard Riders serve as an honor guard for his arrival at the airport and later at the funeral home. They also invited the Guard to be part of a procession of motorcycles from the airport to the funeral home; a visually and emotionally powerful sight. Every facet of the mission was based on support and respect for Sgt. Lilly and his family.

 The Patriot Guard Riders was formed by a group of Kansas Vietnam veterans, who were also members of the American Legion Riders, in 2005. Michigan’s branch was formed the following year. It was the unimaginable protests staged by members of the tiny Westboro Baptist Church, a church also located in Kansas and led by the Phelps family that prompted these veterans to create the concept of the Patriot Guard. The Phelps staged protests at the funerals of soldiers killed in action causing unimaginable grief with signs and statements such as “Thank God for dead soldiers”, “God hates your dead soldier” and similar insults that stagger the imagination of any caring and respectful person.  The intent of the Guard was to organize motorcyclists to form a protective line between the protesters and the family of a fallen soldier. There would be no interaction or even acknowledgement of the protesters, simply a silent and respectful line of flag holders separating them from those attending the funeral.  This tactic worked marvelously well at many funerals across the country at which Westboro tried to protest. The signs and shouts of the protesters were muted by a wall of flags.

 
As with all military funeral and welcoming home events in which the Guard participates, the average age of participants in the solemn event on that hot June day at Bishop Airport was reflective of Vietnam Era veterans. Many younger riders also participate, including veterans of Afghanistan and Iraq, but it is fitting that Vietnam veterans continue to fill the ranks of those on hand to show respect to veterans returning from overseas service today.

A new attitude of the Guard has evolved with influence from the many Vietnam Era veterans who are members. This underlying principle is that no veteran today, especially those killed in action, will be the victim of the kind of apathy or outright antipathy that Vietnam veterans endured forty years earlier.  “Never Again” is the motto of these older vets, and by the thousands they have stood for hours in burning sun or freezing cold in flag lines at funeral homes, churches and cemeteries. 

Anyone can become a member of the Patriot Guard Riders. Being a motorcyclist, or a veteran, is not a requirement.  All one needs is a desire to honor those who serve our country.  As a Vietnam veteran I am immensely proud of this noble undertaking that my brothers from another time and war have undertaken. As a motorcyclist I am also filled with pride every time I see riders contributing their time and energy to this splendid mission.  There is something profoundly powerful about a funeral procession in which motorcycles are a key component.  Cars stop along the road and people on sidewalks stop to stare, filled with a solemn awe at the sight, while the procession slowly passes.

 On a frequent basis the gatherings are much happier events because the Guard is also in the vanguard of numerous welcoming home ceremonies for individual soldiers or entire units returning from service in combat zones.  Thanks to the Patriot Guard Riders, servicemen and women across the country are receiving the kind of respect and honor that is owed to all who serve and sometimes die for our land. 

Scars Tell the Story of a Person's Life

A couple days ago I washed and waxed my car. I am one of those people who thinks that a person should put a good layer of high quality wax on vehicles at least twice a year. Some 'experts' claim that with today's paint and metallurgy technology this is a waste of time and money, but I respectfully disagree. Cars and bikes that are waxed just look better than those that never see wax.
One of the downsides to waxing a car is that you see all the scars the vehicle has accumulated; the dings, bumps, and scratches that result from living life on the road. If a car were kept in the garage all the time it would stay in perfect shape, but of course unless the vehicle is a one-of-a-kind super expensive rarity, it's going to see life on the road, and as a result it's going to experience life's hard knocks, which show up as blemishes that most car owners hate to see accumulate but accept as 'life'.
I do what I can to avoid vehicular scars. I normally park in the further reaches of parking lots, not in the congested areas close to the stores. I take other precautions designed to keep the interior and exterior looking as nice as feasible.
And so it is with life in general. If we all stayed locked in our houses "hiding in my room, safe within my womb" as Paul Simon described in the 60's hit song "I am a Rock" we would never get any scars. Of course we would also never experience life.
Scars chronicle life in the same way that a trophy room tells the story of an athlete's life. A competitor can tell the story behind every trophy or commendation he or she received.
I do the same sometimes when I see the many scars on my own body.  I see the scar on a knuckle and can clearly recall the day when I was 19 and an oilfield gas engine backfired as I was cranking it, laying a large part of my right middle finger bare to the bone.  Every time I look in the mirror I see a nose bent in a bad car accident that happened when I was four years old. I had a broken nose but nobody knew it and it healed badly and out of line.
I feel the pain in my right shoulder and recall the day when I was a high school senior and my arm got caught in a spinning wheel on farm equipment. Or see some small scars on that same arm and recall the mine that exploded at my feet in the jungles of Vietnam - maiming the man next to me but somehow sending only small shards my way.  Two larger scars on my back chronicle different adventures. One happened as a child - another accident on the farm when I took a bad fall into a pile of glass jars (farm life is wonderful but dangerous for adventuresome kids); the other scar happened a few years later on the other side of the world again. This time it was a mortar round, compliments of the North Vietnamese Army, that exploded behind me. It destroyed the PRC-29 radio I was fortunate enough to be carrying, and as a result had a less serious impact on me.
And on it goes - the many stories my blemishes can tell. The broken toe that resulted when I dropped a crankshaft on it while working at Chevrolet's V-8 Engine plant; the bad scar on my left arm resulting from a deep cut by a  sharp piece of sheet metal; the scar on my left pinky that was the result of a fight; the three teeth lost in a skiing accident in the Cascade Mountains; and on and on the stories go.
When I was done waxing the car I felt a little sad because my two year old car is already showing the signs of a rough life, even though I try to baby it and protect it from the dangers of the real world.  I'm more sanguine about the scars that I receive personally because I know that scars are like memories, manifested in a physical form. I love the idea of creating as many memorable moments as possible. If that means getting a few dings, bumps and scratches while traveling the road of life, then so be it.
Scars are like a photo album - a person should look at each picture now and then and recall just how that trophy was acquired.

I Love the Sound of a Harley in the Morning!

At the famous, and quiet, Legs Inn, early on a Sunday morning.



I had a quick but wonderful ride this past weekend to what I consider Lower Michigan's gold coast - that area from Traverse City north along Lake Michigan to The Bridge. It's a beautiful, historic, and unique area of towns, orchards, farms, and forests; with the vast blue waters of Lake Michigan never far away. It actually started as a work trip, a book signing at a Traverse City bookstore on Saturday. I left home early that morning, riding about two hours behind the rain for the entire trip. I ran into wet roads but never actually felt a drop fall from the skies. By the time I got to TC blue skies beckoned.
Once my time at the table was over I headed north on US31 along the shoreline, through the hills and orchards of that region. I camped at Fisherman Island State Park, which was almost empty this early in the summer season, and had a campsite just a short walk from the shore. The sound of waves greeting the rocky beach provided a relaxing backdrop all through the night.
As usual, I was up very early on Sunday morning, about 5:00 a.m. early in fact, with the sun already providing enough light for a walk to the lake in the early fog. Crows provided an early warning system and every animal and bird for hundreds of yards knew of my arrival.
By 6:00 I was dismantling camp and shortly thereafter I was ready to go. The thought of pancakes and a cup of coffee at a restaurant just up the road, and the desire for a long day of two-wheeled exploration pushed me on.
The only other campers in the park were also near the beach so were fairly close by. I started the bike without the usual revving of the engine (a habit from the old days when a person HAD TO rev an engine to keep it running when cold) and idled as slowly and quietly as I could past the other campsites and onto the main road. Once my personal fuel reservoir was filled with syrup and caffeine, and the bike's tank filled with premium fuel, I headed north.
Ernest Hemingway was the unofficial focus of my ride that Sunday, so I spent several hours exploring Hemingway's haunts in places like Charlevoix, Horton Bay, Petoskey and Harbor Springs. Beating the crowd allowed me the opportunity to park in front of places such as train depots and general stores where Ernest hung out a century ago. I was a powerful feeling to stand on the same front porch where this adventurous writer also stood.

After several hours of following Hemingway I had ended up at Harbor Springs, on the north shore of Little Traverse Bay, and also the southern terminus of famous M-119. If you've ever motorcycled in Michigan you need no introduction to 119 - better known as the Tunnel of Trees. This state highway (I use that word loosely) is the only one in the state with no center line and no shoulders. It's narrow, twisty, and wonderful. Occasional views of The Lake from atop high bluffs add extra spice. Don't gawk, however, as the road is unforgiving. If you run off the blacktop you will hit a tree that is old enough to have been present two hundred years ago when Native Americans gathered here. One tight curve called The Devil's Elbow isn't hype. The road is wonderful but demands close attention. On a Sunday early in summer it is especially enticing.
To cap it all off, the village of Cross Village, and the famous Legs Inn restaurant, is at the north terminus of 119. It was closed still when I arrived, which was fine by me, as it allowed me to get some great photos that wouldn't have been possible with the normal crowds that gather to eat their famous platters of delicious and abundant calories.
Photo taking and visiting with other bikers who also stopped to look around finally completed, I headed east through the rolling hills of Emmett County, taking a series of county and lightly used state highways south and east towards home, arriving with plenty of daylight left on these delightful early summer evenings.
It truly is amazing how much a person can cram into a two day adventure. When I left home early Saturday morning I thought to myself 'I Love the Sound of a Harley Early in the Morning - it is a robust and confident sound that holds the promise of adventure.'
I certainly wasn't disappointed!

The old train station in Petoskey that Hemingway often used.

Thoughts and Observations From Too Many Hours on the Road

Since my last post about six weeks ago I have been on the road a great deal. I have also appeared at a wide variety of events being a capitalist - selling an item I created (with the help of others! I totally get the concept that none of us succeed entirely on our own - we all depend on others around us and on those who came before us.)
With that basic civics lesson firmly in mind, I have appeared at several speaking events at libraries and group gatherings, at motorcycle dealer open houses, at car and motorcycle shows, and more. All to entertain and educate, and in the end, sell books. But along with the sale of books - about motorcycling in one way or another - I also sell information.  People have an interest in the stories and information contained in my books and are thus interested to hear me talk about them, and in reading the books.  This fact still surprises and astounds me, even after seven years of doing this as my primary pastime.

This past weekend I attended the Vintage Motorcycle Rally at the National Motorcycle Museum in Anamosa, Iowa - a very cool place - if you enjoy motorcycles and motorcycling history this museum is a must for your bucket list.  I was there selling books, and trying to walk around to view the various vintage bikes on display and walk through the museum again - though I was there just two years ago.
On the way to Anamosa I took I-80, which crosses the Mississippi River at LeClair, IA, which also happens to be where Antiques Archeology is based - the guys from the History Channel's American Pickers. I really enjoy watching this show because if I had the space I would definitely be a picker and collector. But with a two car garage that's already filled with two cars and a large motorcycle, I just don't have much room to store things.  I enjoy the antiques I do have, mostly in the old tools category, but I yearn for much more.  So I satisfy this yearning vicariously by watching American Pickers.
At LeClair I stopped at their small shop and got a kick out of all the other people there, including a number of motorcyclists crammed into their tiny parking lot, looking at the many signs, motorcycles and parts and pieces, and odd items of every description, many of which regular watchers will remember being found and prices haggled over.
(The Von Dutch VW bike is front and center as soon as you walk into the shop)

Just one of dozens of various signs for sale at Antiques Archeology in LeClair, Iowa

Three weeks prior to my Iowa trip I headed south for a thousand mile ride through northern WV, KY and southern Ohio. This is motorcycle Nirvana in my opinion. I was there on official business also and I hope to have a story come out of this region in the coming months. But the trip itself was enjoyable and affirming of why I love riding and enjoy exploring sites of early American history. 

Clifton Mills, over two hundred years old. Clifton, Ohio

My book selling events at motorcycle dealers are especially fun and uplifting. I find the wide variety of people that I talk with to be incredibly interesting and life-loving men and women. These are folks living life to its fullest and I love being around them and talking with them about mutual passions. In three days I'm heading to a local HD dealer to participate in a Women's Garage Day event. These are always enjoyable, and it's wonderful seeing motorcycle dealers doing all they can to bring the female half of the motorcycle population into the fold. This wasn't always the case in the past when it was viewed as a macho and male activity. Like the women in Grace & Grit, many of these female riders and racers will put many men to shame with their raw ability and toughness. I am happy to see the sport of motorcycling expanding to include everyone who has the interest and ability.

I'm going to do a lot of riding this summer with the American Legion Riders and as many local trips as I can squeeze in, but this summer will have fewer two-wheeled miles than the last few. Darn capitalistic demand anyhow!

Mural on the flood wall in Portsmouth, Ohio. This is just one of many very large panels depicting a wide variety of historic scenes.

Surrounded by Indians!

Last week I truly felt that I was surrounded by Indians, or perhaps immersed in Indians would be a better description. I spent a day in Springfield, MA at the city museum complex, which includes a marvelous Indian Motocycle Company museum. I gave a talk there about my latest book - Grace and Grit - a book about 1910s women motorcyclists; two of whom used 1916 Indian PowerPluses as their bikes of choice.

1916 Indian PowerPlus motorcycle

While in Springfield I made pilgrimages to the two former factory sites. One is now an apartment complex, though the original multi-story brick building remains, and the other houses various small businesses on Hendee Street - named of course after the man who basically started it all.

The next day I drove to Newburgh, NY to the MotorcyclePedia Museum - a wonderful new facility that has at least one Indian bike on display for all but two of the years they were made, from 1901 - 1953. (a 1901 model is one of the years they're missing, not surprisingly)

I highly recommend going to this museum if you're anywhere near New York City - it's worth the ride or drive. Besides Indian Motorcycles and a great deal of Indian artifacts, they have other great displays, with antique motorcycles of numerous brands and years, including an impressive Harley-Davidson display. They have one section devoted entirely to the 1960s and 1970s style chopper culture, including artifacts from the many outlaw or Easy Rider style of movies that were produced in the late 60s and early 70s.
 They have also expanded into cars, and have a wall of death (motodrome) in which motorcycles race horizontally on the vertical sides of the enclosure.

I have long been impressed by the skill and pure toughness that was required to ride pre-1920 machines. They were cantankerous, hard to start, required much fiddling and adjusting, had no or very little suspension other than the springs under the bicycle-style seat, no protection whatsoever from weather or wind, and had tires and inner tubes that frequently went flat at the most inopportune times.
What I also find amazing is that for many years they had simple bicycle coaster brakes on the rear hub as the only means of stopping (other than dragging your boots on the ground to slow down). Indian didn't put front brakes on their machines until the 1927 model year! By then motorcycles were capable of impressive speeds, and while the rear brake had evolved to a better external expanding drum style they still provided relatively little in the way of stopping power. Front brakes supply somewhere near 75% of the braking power on a motorcycle (which is why they must be used very judiciously) so riding one with no brake on the front must have frequently resulted in situations in which the pucker factor was over the top!

1927 Indian front brake - first model to have one.

1902 Indian - a somewhat beefed up bicycle with a motor.

A motorcycle adapted for use on railroad tracks!

There are many outstanding museums across the country where a person can marvel at the fascinating two-wheeled world of a century ago. MotorcyclePedia has joined the list of some of the best. The National Museum in Iowa, Barber in Alabama, the H-D Museum in Milwaukee, Wheels Through Time in NC, and many others exist that are protecting this irreplaceable heritage and allowing new generations of enthusiasts a glimpse into what used to be. Time does fly and what seems the norm soon becomes the way it used to be. Having lived through the chopper craze of the 60s and 70s I never dreamed then that I would see those bikes and movie posters in a museum - I assumed in my youthful view of the world that the here and now would remain in place forever.

The dog ate my homework

It's been two months since my last post. I'm an adult and should not feel guilty about that - the same way I felt as a kid when I didn't get my homework done and the teacher told everyone to pass their reports forward - only I couldn't because it wasn't finished. The teachers used to say I had a  good head if I'd just apply it, but with so many distractions in life, whether you're 15 or 50 (or more), who can blame you if you don't get assignments finished on a timely basis?  Besides, I have a dog that truly is capable of eating my homework, so the excuse that my best friend as a fifth grader actually did use as his excuse for not being able to turn in his homework assignment is also a viable one for me.

It's been a busy couple of months in my personal version of Lake Wobegon. My latest book became a reality, but with a few birthing pains that complicated matters. I've been busy on the phone contacting motorcycle dealers, museums, libraries, and bookstores in many states, setting up selling & signing events along with talks and slide shows about the characters in the book.  There is a reason I didn't dream about being a salesman or marketer when I grew up - it's not my natural strong suite - and not the favorite part of my new 'job'. But the talking circuit has begun and so far, so good.
I had an enjoyable day in Madison, WI last Saturday, participating in Capital City Harley-Davidson's annual Women's Day event. Lots of time to relax on the round-trip drive and listen to my ipod fed through the fancy stereo system of my car (it's fancy only in my 1960s mindset. USB ports for ipod and other devices are pretty standard in cars today). I refuse to listen to talk radio when I drive - left or right on the political spectrum; it's divisive, hateful, narrow-minded, intolerant, un-American, and of no value beyond making multi-millionaires out of the entertainers who spout all the garbage. (that's just my humble opinion, of course)
The drive had other impacts - it once again reminded me of a personal rule of motorcycling that I have told many dozens of people over the years - that if you cannot give 100% of your concentration 100% of the time to your riding, then do yourself, your family and society in general a favor and stay off a motorcycle. 

Riding in the rain through I-80 and then I-90 near and through Chicago, I had four events happen that had I not been on high alert could have been very serious indeed.
The first was a tire / wheel laying in the center of the lane as I came over an overpass. Had I been daydreaming it likely would have done some major damage to the underside of my car. Had I been on a bike and hit it, it would have been fatal. One hundred percent focus, one hundred percent of the time.
The second was a large semi-truck that had missed its exit and was backing up on the X-Way in order to get back to the exit he wanted a couple hundred yard back. He decided to make his turn just as I was about to pass him. Fortunately I was on high alert and had an escape route already in mind when he did turn - had I been daydreaming it might have been ugly. The third incident involved somebody who for no apparent reason hit his brakes very hard three cars ahead of me, causing the two cars right ahead of me to slam on theirs. Because of a protective space, which I always maintain when on a bike, I had room to maneuver. Had I been tailgating or daydreaming - chain reaction multi-car accident.  The fourth was a deer on the way home in the dark near Hammond, IN. I constantly scan for them and saw this one before he started  onto the roadway.

All of these proactive defensive driving behaviors are the result of forty years of motorcycling. I have carried them over into my car driving and there are times when I've automatically done something, such as look both ways at a green light before starting ahead and seeing a truck running the red light, that no doubt have saved my life.  It pays to be paranoid when in a car or on a bike - people and conditions really are out to get you!
The beautiful early summer weather we enjoyed for a couple of weeks recently was great for outdoor activities, including of course motorcycling. I've got a few hundred miles on from local rides. I participated in the Grand Ledge, MI St. Patrick's Day parade with the local American Legion Riders and it was incredible - felt more like a July 4th parade rather than the typical St. Pat's Day where cold rain, snow or sleet is the norm. Motorcycles and parades go together like hot dogs at baseball games.
I've had the maps out over the last few weeks planning some summer rides. Nothing quite as ambitious as last summer's two rides of 5,000 miles each, but short or long, they're all fun and interesting experiences that stay with me forever.
I gave a talk last evening at a local library and after the show was invited to the home of a couple who has ridden together for decades. Two other couples were meeting at their house after the talk for dessert and I was happy to be part of the gathering. We shared stories of experiences and travels, the good and the not so good but memorable just the same, and had a wonderful time. I was reminded once again of how much I have gained as a result of forty years of adventure and experiences on two wheels - all of which would have been missing had I not taken this road in life.  I'm very grateful for all that I've been able to experience and enjoy.
So there - my homework is done. Now I have to sweat and worry until I find out what grade I get.

Stuck in the Middle With You

For some reason Gerry Rafferty's odd song Stuck in the Middle With You often plays in my head. For years I haven't been able to find the delete key or escape button that will make it go away.

Well I don't know why I came here tonight
I got the feeling that something ain't right
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

It comes to mind again because I feel like I'm stuck between the cold of last month and the cold of next month. Stuck in the middle, and it's a feeling that definitely ain't right - not when I'd much prefer to be outside soaking in the warm sun on a long and winding road.

I haven't been able to focus on spring and riding these past two months, but I definitely had motorcycling on my mind and at my fingertips.  I have just finished a book about some amazing motorcyclists from back in the day - back when girls were girls and men were men - and all that nonsense.  Except that the 'girls' in the book I've just finished would probably kick most guy's keisters all the way across the continent and back!
The book is about some amazing and very tough women who explored their world on ancient motorcycles way back in the 1910s - when you had to be tough and resourceful to be a rider. No pavement, no push button start, no computerized engine and fuel controls, no nothing, except a very rough ride down muddy trails.  But the women of whom I write had the right stuff - courage, brains, resourcefulness, spirit, and one more thing - man could they ride motorcycles!

The full name of the book is: Grace and Grit: Motorcycle Dispatches From Early Twentieth Century Women Adventurers (Grace & Grit for short)

You can check it out on its very own blog site:  http://graceandgritbymurphy.wordpress.com/

It will be on bookshelves across the nation in March. If you like American history, motorcycling, antique motorcycles, women motorcyclists, stories of daring, danger and conquest - you'll like this book.

I saw an ad for Samuel Adams Spring Beer on TV last evening. It brought a huge smile to my face because it must mean that spring is in the somewhat foreseeable future. Large commercial interests have full faith that spring will arrive eventually and are preparing for it. If it's good enough for Sam Adams it's good enough for me. I'm going to start thinking spring, planning rides, shopping for accessories and clothes at my local dealer, and take the cover off my bike and just sit on it for a few minutes. Hopefully my wife won't open the garage door at that moment and make me look foolish. I do that often enough as it is without even trying.
It's probably all that bad influence from the clowns to the left of me and jokers to the right.

Kindred Spirits

Motorcycle dealerships are unique. They are one of very few commercial places where people feel free to hang out and talk with the workers and other customers as if it were a club instead of a business outlet.  I've witnessed this phenomenon dozens of times and find it fascinating.
Nobody would go into a grocery store, department store, office supply store and so on just for the fun of it; simply for the opportunity to hang out and be around people with similar passions and interests. For one thing, they likely wouldn't be welcome.  If a person went into a Krogers and just hung around, talking with the help and other customers about the bananas or corn flakes, they would eventually be told to leave.
But folks are more than welcome to come into a motorcycle dealer's showroom and just hang around. They can look at the bikes, talk with the sales staff, sit in one of the chairs that are there for visitors, read the magazines and journals that are kept just for this reason, and talk with other customers and browsers - for a couple hours or more - without anyone telling them they have to leave. Obviously the repair shop is off limits because of safety and productivity issues, but the sales area is almost like the club grounds for members - a bottomless pot of coffee is as much a feature of motorcycle dealer showrooms as are the products they sell.
This is very cool. It's just one more example of the unique relationship that exists between riders and the places that sell bikes and accessories. It's a relationship and community, not just a business (though it is a business also, and one that must survive financially. Keep this in mind and support your local dealer or they won't be there when you need them. You can't meet your friends, look at the bikes, and get free coffee at an Internet site.)
I witnessed this relationship again this past weekend, this time at the Grand Rapids, MI BMW dealer. The number of customers who came in and spent a large part of the day there, just browsing, talking, enjoying a coffee and snack, and basking in the camaraderie and the impressive display of machines and gear was amazing.
Like the old Cheer's TV show, it's a place where everybody knows your name and you are always welcome; more of a family gathering than just another commercial retail outlet whose goals are to make a sale and move customers quickly and efficiently in and out of the doors.

Motorcycle Art (Who knew bikes made beautiful music and are so often the topic of fine literature)

It's the first day of November, the month that most motorcyclists dislike perhaps more than any other. It signals the end of another riding season for most of us in the northern hemisphere; at least those riders who live north of say the 35th degree of latitude. Depending on how far south of that imaginary line one lives, the riding season is a bit longer, though even the far south has days in the dreary winter months that aren't suitable for man nor beast - be that beast made of iron or flesh.

But on this first day of the dark month it is beautiful and I took advantage of it. With temps in the mid-50s and blue skies, I took what will be one of my last rides for the season. I hope to get one or two more in before winter settles in for good, but today was one of those gifts that must be taken advantage of. Though the trees were mostly bare there was still much beauty to be seen; a flock of wild turkeys enjoying a feast of spilled soybeans in a harvested field, deer in the back corner of a picked corn field, even a turkey vulture circling in the blue skies, extending his stay just one more day before moving south. (The thermal updrafts that these birds love to soar on are mighty rare this time of year). The deer cooperated in my adventure by staying away from the road and not causing me undue concerns.
As I cruised the back roads I was once again reminded how much I love the sound of motorcycles. It's a very basic thing for me - I think that the four-stroke internal combustion engine, properly muffled, (not too much, not too little) makes some of the prettiest music you'll hear anywhere. The sound of those power pulses string out behind as we ride, rising and falling with slight twists of the wrist. It's a beautiful sound that I enjoy listening to for hours. Motorcycle music is one of the many varied reasons I love to ride. Depending on the location the sound takes on different harmonics - next to a woods or rock wall it reverberates with a harmony unlike any other. On an open road the pitch changes to a muted trail of stacatto beats and I often wish I was somehow following behind me so I could hear the sound from my pipes more fully. Want to increase the cadence and volume - twist the right wrist just a bit to increase rpms and get more of those bass notes flowing. Want a little less forte and more pianissimo in your music? Roll off the throttle and listen as the harmony and dynamics change to a gentler more subtle music.
Of course a group of bikes is needed to really make beautiful music. A half-dozen bikes on the open road can produce a harmony of sound unlike any other.

Not all bikes make beautiful music. I had several two-strokes in my earlier riding years and I never did grow to like the harsh metallic ring-a-ding-ding of two stroke engines. And I don't care for the harsh ear splitting sound of un-muffled bikes at all. Those explosive sound waves emanating from within the engine need to be molded and tempered just the right way to get that wonderful and powerful visceral sound that can be both heard and felt. Proper tuning is necessary, just like good music made by any other musical instrument.
In my mind, the V-Twin engine makes the best music of all. To each his or her own - I like the firing interval of the twin and its unique low rpm power pulses and sound, other love the high speed turbine-like whine of a four cylinder engine at high rpms.

And motorcycle art goes beyond music. Look in any motorcycle accessories catalog and you'll notice dozens of books about the topic of motorcycling. They range from technical and mechanical treatises to adventure stories based on bikes, and pretty much everything in between. It's a genre in and of itself.
I've read quite a number of books over the years that were in some way about motorcycling. The very first was way back in 1974, and of course it was the venerable Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I've read it a couple of times since and I think I'm beginning to understand it just a little. (If you really want to be intellectually puzzled, try reading some of the other books that Pirsig wrote!)
This past year I have made it a point to read several books about the sport of motorcycling. They included: The Old Man and the Harley; The Vincent in the Barn; Live to Ride; the Long Way Down and Long Way Round books; The Perfect Vehicle (What is it about Motorcycles);  Motorcycle Girls 1900 - 1950; and an unusual one that I highly recommend for anyone interested in the overlap of major historic world events and motorcycling - Captain W.H.L. Watson's Adventures of a Motorcycle Despatch Rider. It's the true story of a young Englishman who joined the English Army's Signal Corps as a motorcycle dispatch rider in 1914 / 1915, when massive armies were moving across France and Belgium. His descriptions of the conditions and circumstances of the first year of The Great War, and of riding a motorcycle through the maelstrom of war, mud, snow and confusion, is fascinating. Just reading firsthand accounts of the descriptions of horse-drawn artillery and mounted cavalry battles, and the unimaginable (in this age of satellites and instant communications) often total lack of communications between units and the lack of knowledge of what was taking place just 2 or 3 miles away, is hard to comprehend today. And that was just one century ago!
Watson wrote his book shortly after his experiences and it's thus long since out of print - but it can be downloaded for free from Amazon on a Kindle or Kindle-equipped smart phone.
I've recently ordered Motorcycling Grandma, the story of Hazel Kolb and her marvelous journeys around America, from a book reseller, through Amazon. I'm looking forward to this next read.

Don't be too hasty about winterizing your bike and ending another season of fun. But when it is time to call it quits for the season, remember that there are dozens of enjoyable and interesting books out there that can make the dark cold winter more bearable. There are also many books and videos that will make a rider a better and safer rider - I can't think of a better way to spend an evening than watching one of these videos rather than the usual junk that's on TV.

 I added Sta-Bil before today's ride and topped off the tank with high-octane after the ride. I expect to have to do these and other winterizing steps again, as I fully intend to ride a few more times this year. Usually by mid-November I'm forced to call it quits. I don't ride in the winter except on the unusual warm day when the ice on the road has completely disappeared. I have nothing to prove and won't take unnecessary chances on ice and snow-covered roads. Too many people die trying to prove how macho they are. I'm past that point, fortunately. (And I survived that period in my life! Yahoo!)
So I'll soon hook up the electric life line to the bike's battery, clean it completely and wax all painted and chrome surfaces, and cover it for another long night's sleep.

Hondas in the Hills

The calendar says we've already closed out the first full week of September. The temperature hereabouts is dipping into the 40s and low 50s at night with very pleasant 70ish temps for highs. Actually very nice conditions, but every year I feel the same blues and a powerful longing for summer to last just a little longer. It's been that way all of my life.
As a kid I wanted to wander the fields, ride my bicycle, and play baseball just a little longer. School was low on the list of my favorite things. The end of summer meant the end of many things I loved, and the beginning of some that I didn't. (Working on a farm in the winter is hard, cold, downright miserable work.)
Makes me think of a Beach Boys song - All Summer Long (Hondas in the hills; We've been having fun all summer long; Won't be long til summer is through; and other typically light and cheerful lyrics of Beach Boys B-side songs.) Come to think of it, all the Beach Boys songs are about the joys of youthful summers; their memories are still powerful stuff.
Maybe Bob Seger's Night Moves and his "Autumn closing in" line are more appropo for the end of summer blues at this point in my long and full life. Except that, unlike my favorite Motown sage, I feel that I have just as much to live for now as I did decades ago when the volume on my transistor radio was turned as loud as it would go to hear Brian Wilson and those surfing beach bums harmonize about our beloved summers.
So, you're beginning to wonder, what has all this got to do with motorcycling, travel, exploring, and so on?
A lot, actually. It's a chance to think about the details of this just completed summer of travel and adventure, to think about next year, and ponder all those heavy and serious things that also make up the fabric of our lives.

Like another funeral last week for a soldier killed in Afghanistan as a member of the Michigan Patriot Guard. It's so powerfully sad that ten years after 9/11 young Americans are still dying as a direct result of that terrible day. I read an amazing article today that listed 100 changes in America due to the 9/11 attacks. One of them was the formation of the Patriot Guard by Vietnam veterans, and the concept that American veterans would never allow another generation of servicemen and women to arrive home knowing that nobody gives a damn, or to have a family grieve alone because their son or daughter died for their country. Returning service members would be honored, not ignored, and casualties of war will be given the honor and respect they earned by doing what the rest of us can't or won't.

The end of this summer also allows me to consider what it now means to me personally having fulfilled two goals in my travel life.  I have now traveled through all fifty U.S. states! In so doing I have been constantly reminded what a large and incredibly beautiful country we have the good fortune to live in. I have also now motorcycled throughout all the 'lower 48' states, having only Hawaii and Alaska to motorcycle in before I complete that additional layer of travel.
Hmmmm - maybe I could ride all the way to Alaska next summer!! Something to seriously consider and start saving for!

I have decided that I won't be riding to the southwest any more. Too hot, dry, dusty, windy, and far. I've done it all by bike and car and though we will likely make car trips there, I doubt that I will do any more long trips on two wheels in that direction. I plan to now focus north, northwest and perhaps mostly, northeast. Spending more time in New England, the Canadian Maritimes, and Quebec's Gaspe' Peninsula are high on my latest priority list.
That area is beautiful, unique, cool, scenic in the extreme, different than much of the continent, and it is green! I love the verdant Midwest and northeastern part of our country because of the forests and fields. I have just never developed an affection for hot and dry. I love the majestic scenery of Utah, Arizona and New Mexico, but I need water and chlorophyll-bearing plants.

I've also been toying with the thought of purchasing an antique bike to work on and show, and hopefully ride a bit. Not a basket bike really, because I lack the skill to fully restore a basket case. But rather one that needs some work that I'm able to do to bring it to a running condition, and looking nice, with original parts. Maybe a 1970s Japanese bike - one of the kind that I rode all over this part of the country back in the '70s. I'm familiar with them, they are fairly plentiful and much less expensive than old European or American iron, and parts are more available.  If only I had a shed to work in!
I have read many an article or book that describes how an antique motorcycle graces the foyer or living room of a house. This makes perfect sense to me, but it's a losing argument so I won't even go there. I have seen meticulously restored antique bikes that are nothing short of beautiful works of art, worthy of being displayed as such. (In fact, the Guggenheim Museum has done shows based on the art of the motorcycle, where the entire show was comprised of beautiful antique bikes)

Glancing at my last post, I noticed that two paragraphs were somehow deleted. The entire description of my travels through the forests and plains of northeastern Oregon, and the sudden presence of endless wheat fields of southeastern Washington, was AWOL. Perhaps someone from the Walla Walla area is responsible. I did have some somewhat unflattering words for the area around Walla Walla, and the stretch of road from WW over to Yakima. But in any event, I did spend time exploring that part of the country - I did not simply beam myself from Hell's Canyon, Oregon to Mount Rainier National Park in western Washington. (Mental image coming into focus - I can't imagine two more different geographic areas than Hell's Canyon with its complete lack of green and cool, and Mount Rainier with its snow and towering forests!)

I've been doing some reading about a fascinating man & wife motorcycling adventure team from Nebraska. From about 1960 to 1965 they went from the Arctic Circle to the tip of South America, experiencing some amazing and downright dangerous encounters along the way. To top this off the duo then rode from the northern tip of Norway down to Cape Town at the southern tip of Africa; again going places that nobody had done before on a motorcycle. Their stories, published in a magazine and later in a book, make for fascinating reading.

So, to complete the literary circle, the end of yet another summer is approaching; autumn is closing in. But I apply this line of thought only to the year 2011, not to life in general. I expect that 2012 will dawn just like every year before it, with a promise of all that life throws at us; the good, the bad; and the downright ugly. I'll appreciate the good and ride over the ugly. With luck and God willing I plan to have many more summers in which to explore and satisfy my curiosity about this grand planet we live on.
In the coming months I have some questions to ponder: should I buy an old bike to restore? Should I plan a trip to Alaska or be reasonable and head to the Maritimes? Or be even more reasonable and stay closer to home?

The bike that started it all. A 1969 Kawasaki Samurai 250cc two-stroke.
Yes, that's a kick starter, and yes, those are drum brakes, capable of gradually slowing the bike down after
the passage of significant time and distance.
Many 2-wheelers have followed this one and the joy of riding hasn't been reduced by the passage of time and distance.