Christmas letter 2005
Dear Family & Friends,
Merry Christmas!
(It’s a little long again…sorry)
2005....
If you were not subjected to the five-page Christmas letter/ rollercoaster ride of the year commonly referred to as 2004, then just understand that I knocked on Death's door many times and lived to tell the tales... it just took five pages to do it. This year is a tale of a different sort, and I hope you can take the time to ride through 2005 and find some enjoyment in my little adventures…
Allow me to preface by stating that the following events are all very true, with all the details… in fact, there are some details and some people I left out, for no other reason than to keep the letter shorter than it could be. So, with that in mind, hope you’re reading goes well and you have a very Merry Christmas!
This year I decided to pick up a couple new hobbies to fill those few seconds of peace I should have used to extend my life, but who wants to sit still, really? Isn't it enough that we have to sleep? I know... 'Sleep is what our bodies need to recharge'... it becomes inconvenient, in my opinion. Some would say 'that's where you dream and escape reality'. But my life has been strange enough; I think my dreams may be having trouble keeping up.
I began the year with a commitment to learn how to snowboard. After suffering bruised ribs from my first trip, and then a badly sprained wrist on my second trip, both of which resulted in visits to urgent care, I decided crashing violently should be avoided as much as possible. This philosophy changed my approach to the slopes. Primarily, I decided that the controlled 'drop – recover’ technique is not a crash necessarily, but can hurt all the same. 'Drops' tend to bruise the butt, but leave the ego intact along with the bones. The funny-factor was reduced greatly as well. I suspected several people were stopping on the slopes simply to find humor in my crashing. Those same people haven’t been seen on the slopes since. Curious coincidence or fact? You decide.
In my quest for advancing my snowboarding skills, I found a couple other people to leech tips from. Basically, I’m a scrooge and didn’t want to spend the money for real lessons. My friend Corrie gave me some great tips and shared great bits of wisdom, like: "don't be afraid of speed" and "don't run into trees", she had experience with both, as it turns out. At that time and for many months beyond, I recognized that high speed snowboarding actually results in high speed crashes, which then reduce the possibility of a controlled 'drop', turning it quickly into an uncontrolled, body thrashing I had already been subject to in my early trials.
Corrie had a lot of patience with my inexperience, and took the opportunity (during my 'drop - recover' process) to amaze me with a series of flat spins, which I'd not seen before. And after seeing her skill, I began to suspect she may be from another planet... Pluto, maybe; where there's plenty of ice to play on.
My snowboarding adventures ended the 2004-2005 season with 5 trips to the mountain. The beginning of this 2005-2006 season started a little different in that I made 4 trips by the 3rd week in December with 2 more planned before the end of the month. What's different this year?
Well, let me tell you…
I teamed up with my friends Chris and Ariane. You may recall their names from the 2004 Christmas letter, and I haven’t decided if they’re a good or a bad influence on me yet... They too have great patience for my 'drop - recover' method of snowboarding, and gave me tips to improve just a little. Until one day....
I treated my boys to snowboarding lessons just after Thanksgiving. Us three boys stayed with Chris & Ariane at the Eagle Crest resort in Redmond for a couple days and made it to Mt. Bachelor for the boys’ lessons. As the boys learned the ‘right’ way of snowboarding, I beat myself up, as usual, until the very last run. Something clicked for me... suddenly, something started to make sense. But, the day was over and I didn't have a chance to understand it fully. Meanwhile, my boys' lessons resulted in the following analysis of snowboarding (in their words):
"It’s fun to go really fast and crash really hard." - Both boys. (It helps when you're less than 5 ft tall, I guess)
And
"It hurts really bad when the instructor bashes your knee with his snowboard" - JR (he got to ride down the hill on a snowmobile, which I have yet to do)
And
"That was fun, Dad… now, where are the jumps?" - Will
So I realized what I'm faced with: two boys that will quickly exceed my snowboarding skills unless I never take them snowboarding again, or I figure this snowboarding-thing out pretty quick. I chose the latter of the two.
Then it happened: My life changed drastically. Chris and Ariane passed along a tip that enabled me to turn better, fly faster, and do things I had only seen people do... like thoroughly enjoy themselves. The flat spin thing still eludes me, but it seems plausible. I just need to take a vacation on Pluto, I think.
My last trip (just prior to writing this) with Chris and Ariane to Mt. Bachelor proved to be the most fun I’ve ever had in the snow. Yeah, I crashed a couple times. Yeah, I used the ‘drop – recover’ method a small handful of times… BUT I went fast and dodged trees, just like Corrie recommended. I found out later that Chris had us going down a slope that isn’t even defined on the trail maps! My questioning of him later regarding this issue brought a sheepish grin and a comment a lot like ‘yeah, but you made it a couple times, didn’t you? I’d call that a black run.’
So that's the adventures of the mountains, now allow me to regress to the beginning of 2005. You see, I had enrolled in an Adult-degree completion program at Corban College. It's an online course that is very intense, with very few breaks, and is very fast paced. In May of 2006, if all goes well, I will graduate with a Bachelor degree in Business Administration -Management & Communication. It turns out that I can't limit myself to an overload of school work, and snowboarding, I need to fill my life with other things, which brings me to my next little adventure added to my life.
After experiencing the river adventure of last year with Chris and Ariane; nearly losing my leg from infection and coming within a few feet of being launched over a diversion dam, how could I resist the opportunity to learn to hard-shell kayak? I met a guy in Newport who attempted to teach me the famous “Eskimo Roll”, which wasn’t as easy as people make it look. Looking back, I think it was a big mistake for him not to teach me how to get out of the kayak if I couldn't roll it back upright. Breathing apparently is important for staying alive.
So I abandoned the Newport guy and teamed up with Chris to teach ourselves. It eventually worked after about 5 pool sessions and some serious frustration, and we began tackling rivers, such as the one that tried to kill me in 2004; the North Santiam River. I had a bone to pick with that river....
I found out that rolling a kayak in a pool is just a little different than rolling in a river raging through twisted trees and jagged rocks. The first trip down the river proved most difficult. I had to eject from my kayak several times because the river remembered me and found out that I was still alive, and used the opportunity to try and remedy that.
That first trip made it clear: helmets and rocks DO meet underwater, and they don’t like each other; and freezing cold water sucks the energy through your very pores. Another thing became clear to me... my birthday present to me needed to be a dry suit. Now I'm always cozy and warm and occasionally puff up like a marshmallow if the suit still has air in it.
In my new found adventure of kayaking, I've encountered many river-runners that love to swap stories, and I was invited to join a river tour put on by the North Santiam River Guides Association. I agreed to accept the invitation even though I KNEW my skill level was far below what was needed to run the section of the river they targeted. This was the upper section of the same river that kept trying to kill me; a section I had been warned about by a book Chris owned.
Planning for that event caused great fear to well up inside of me. Yet, I did not back down. Sadly, I did not have Chris to help me through with his encouraging words like, "Holy Schnykies!" and "Look what that rock did to my helmet!" and "I just threw up in my mouth". Nope, I had no friends to lend such comforts. Chris did contribute to the event by leaving me phone messages that went like this:
“Yeah, hope you’re having fun… while I’m working.” Click
And
“Chris again… (Frustrated pause)… wanted to let you know I’m still working while you’re on the river.” Click
And
“Hey… thinking you didn’t survive… (Heavy sigh)… told you not to go.” Click
Chris has a couple different moods that have been skillfully identified by Ariane. One of which is referred to as “River Chris”; a happy, bubbly Chris… his messages were NOT the “River Chris”.
The trip had about 24 drift boats, which are like gigantic barges on the river; 3 pontoon boats, which catch a lot of air when they flip; and one enormous raft. I was the token kayaker for their entertainment, it seemed.
In my limited kayaking experience, I had only traveled with fellow kayakers. The river trip taught me many things about playing with others. First, drift boaters drink a lot of beer, and the boats (and some of the people) tend to be really, really slow, like large WWII bombers a couple bombs short of a payload. The caravan of boaters stretched for as far as the eye could see, and I ran into just about every single one of them.
My kayak, as it turns out, is by nature extremely fast and maneuverable; completely opposite of the great behemoth drift boats. Early on in the day I apologized for my collisions more times than I can remember. I even apologized when my paddle got in the way of a drift boater’s oar trying to take my teeth out. After being yelled and cursed at by semi-intoxicated drift boaters and their companions, I decided to launch through the herd toward the front of the line, find a nice rock to hide behind, and watch the passing parade of pickle-brained people. Drift boaters are indeed a breed in themselves. Possibly even inbred, but studies haven't been completed yet.
The river tried and tried to take my life that day, but I came through victorious albeit worn out and suffering from an injured right thumb. To this day, I’m not 100% certain how the injury occurred, except that I know when it occurred. You see, the river has several points of interest along the way with nifty names such as The Boulder Gardens, Carnivore, Spencer’s Hole and Mill City Falls… allow me to explain.
The Boulder Gardens were actually a beautiful stretch of large rocks; each about the size of a dump truck or bigger. They provided a lot of opportunities and challenges to stay upright and for ramming my fellow boaters. Carnivore was avoided for very, very good reasons, like the fact that it will destroy anything that wanders into the swirling mists of death.
Spencer’s Hole can be avoided, but who would give up a chance to fly through a river section that gets squeezed from 70 feet wide to 22 feet wide?
You might take this opportunity to visualize what happens to a garden hose when you block the water with a thumb… it gets really fast, really powerful, and really quick. Now, imagine a river doing the same thing (minus a giant thumb); throw in some large boulders and walls of rock on either side, and drop the river by a couple feet. What this creates is a whitewater chute that launches drift boats vertical, spits pontoon boats straight up into the air, and my little kayak…. Well, this is where I hurt my thumb.
Me in my little kayak launched over the first crest, dropping down into a hole that stood higher than I could see out of; we then ripped right through the wall of water before us, only to be hammered and flipped upside down by a side wave that towered over my left shoulder. I didn’t have to depart from my little kayak, thankfully. The entire group of drinking drift boaters was waiting along the banks for my passage and cheered me on as I rolled upright between them all.
The river held one last trial for my tour: Mill City Falls. During that particular time of year, the falls are about 6-8 feet high, and as I watched the drift boats drop over the edge, I heard their hulls smack the rocks with loud clunks. I won’t mention the specific words I was using to express my anxiety… kids may be reading this, but let me say I was very, very apprehensive about going over the falls. But alas, I could wait no more. I was the final soul to throw their lives to the mercy of the river.
I aimed just to the left of the whitewater rooster tail, as the river guide instructed, and paddled my little heart out. What I found was that the water’s path to the left of the rooster tail formed an off-set V that, as I dropped down, hit me first from the right and then from the left, causing a violent whip-action and sending me upside down into the large group below. I was so worn out and exhausted, I actually risked my life by hitching a ride with a drift boater, who smelled like beer, coffee, sweat and cigarettes.
I made several trips down the North Santiam and the South Santiam rivers this summer, and even gave a couple shots at ocean surfing in my kayak, and loved every bit of it. Yes, it scares me… but what else am I suppose to do with my time, right? Well, as you may have guessed (because I’m not ending the story yet) I came up with something else to fill my time….
Early September, I had the flame of my youth reignited: motorcycles. I found myself riding on the back of a street bike a couple of times, and realized I would never be content to stay on the back. Within 2 weeks of that re-ignition, I successfully completed a motorcycle endorsement class, got my license and even bought a motorcycle. Actually, the motorcycle came before the official license. I am now the proud owner of a 2000 Yamaha Roadstar Silverado.
It’s a deep, dark purple, chromed to the hilt, modified front to back, is very, very loud and yes, it goes really, really fast. For the benefit of my sister Connie’s heart, I will say that I am very safe and rarely exceed the posted speed limit… if it’s in view.
As soon as people heard about my intentions to ride, I was assaulted with terrible stories from concerned co-workers, friends and family. It seems that everyone on motorcycles die instantaneously when the bike moves into traffic. Connie’s fear was so evident, I thought she was going to hurl when she saw me for the first time; which, by the way, was the very first day of my license! I rode with some other bikers over 130 miles after work… into the late evening, and didn’t set a key to my car for over 2 weeks! How incredible is that?
Ok, Connie was pretty stressed out, so for her I bought a couple dog tags naming her as the emergency contact. One tag is on my life vest for kayaking, the other on my saddle bags for riding. I’ve ridden in all sorts of conditions now, and have had the dreams of my youth realized. Yet the fact that I’m dressed in black leather, and have the appearance of one you’d rather not tangle with, admittedly has come with a close call or two, which is probably from drivers attempting to rid the road of biker-trash more than complete unawareness of their surroundings.
The adventure of riding comes with rewards such as participation in the Veteran’s Day parade and a toy-run for a local charity. It also comes with flying debris, awful smells, and blissful escapes from hoards of traffic. Long, lonely stretches of winding roads are indeed some of the best parts of riding; the call of the open road has beckoned for far too long.
So as I head to the mountains, the rivers, the beaches, and roads, allow me a quote in closing:
“There are risks and costs to a program of action. But they are far less than the long-range risks and costs of comfortable inaction.”
~John F. Kennedy
Hope you have a great Christmas, and a wonderful, safe and eventful coming year!
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas!
(It’s a little long again…sorry)
2005....
If you were not subjected to the five-page Christmas letter/ rollercoaster ride of the year commonly referred to as 2004, then just understand that I knocked on Death's door many times and lived to tell the tales... it just took five pages to do it. This year is a tale of a different sort, and I hope you can take the time to ride through 2005 and find some enjoyment in my little adventures…
Allow me to preface by stating that the following events are all very true, with all the details… in fact, there are some details and some people I left out, for no other reason than to keep the letter shorter than it could be. So, with that in mind, hope you’re reading goes well and you have a very Merry Christmas!
This year I decided to pick up a couple new hobbies to fill those few seconds of peace I should have used to extend my life, but who wants to sit still, really? Isn't it enough that we have to sleep? I know... 'Sleep is what our bodies need to recharge'... it becomes inconvenient, in my opinion. Some would say 'that's where you dream and escape reality'. But my life has been strange enough; I think my dreams may be having trouble keeping up.
I began the year with a commitment to learn how to snowboard. After suffering bruised ribs from my first trip, and then a badly sprained wrist on my second trip, both of which resulted in visits to urgent care, I decided crashing violently should be avoided as much as possible. This philosophy changed my approach to the slopes. Primarily, I decided that the controlled 'drop – recover’ technique is not a crash necessarily, but can hurt all the same. 'Drops' tend to bruise the butt, but leave the ego intact along with the bones. The funny-factor was reduced greatly as well. I suspected several people were stopping on the slopes simply to find humor in my crashing. Those same people haven’t been seen on the slopes since. Curious coincidence or fact? You decide.
In my quest for advancing my snowboarding skills, I found a couple other people to leech tips from. Basically, I’m a scrooge and didn’t want to spend the money for real lessons. My friend Corrie gave me some great tips and shared great bits of wisdom, like: "don't be afraid of speed" and "don't run into trees", she had experience with both, as it turns out. At that time and for many months beyond, I recognized that high speed snowboarding actually results in high speed crashes, which then reduce the possibility of a controlled 'drop', turning it quickly into an uncontrolled, body thrashing I had already been subject to in my early trials.
Corrie had a lot of patience with my inexperience, and took the opportunity (during my 'drop - recover' process) to amaze me with a series of flat spins, which I'd not seen before. And after seeing her skill, I began to suspect she may be from another planet... Pluto, maybe; where there's plenty of ice to play on.
My snowboarding adventures ended the 2004-2005 season with 5 trips to the mountain. The beginning of this 2005-2006 season started a little different in that I made 4 trips by the 3rd week in December with 2 more planned before the end of the month. What's different this year?
Well, let me tell you…
I teamed up with my friends Chris and Ariane. You may recall their names from the 2004 Christmas letter, and I haven’t decided if they’re a good or a bad influence on me yet... They too have great patience for my 'drop - recover' method of snowboarding, and gave me tips to improve just a little. Until one day....
I treated my boys to snowboarding lessons just after Thanksgiving. Us three boys stayed with Chris & Ariane at the Eagle Crest resort in Redmond for a couple days and made it to Mt. Bachelor for the boys’ lessons. As the boys learned the ‘right’ way of snowboarding, I beat myself up, as usual, until the very last run. Something clicked for me... suddenly, something started to make sense. But, the day was over and I didn't have a chance to understand it fully. Meanwhile, my boys' lessons resulted in the following analysis of snowboarding (in their words):
"It’s fun to go really fast and crash really hard." - Both boys. (It helps when you're less than 5 ft tall, I guess)And
"It hurts really bad when the instructor bashes your knee with his snowboard" - JR (he got to ride down the hill on a snowmobile, which I have yet to do)
And
"That was fun, Dad… now, where are the jumps?" - Will
So I realized what I'm faced with: two boys that will quickly exceed my snowboarding skills unless I never take them snowboarding again, or I figure this snowboarding-thing out pretty quick. I chose the latter of the two.
Then it happened: My life changed drastically. Chris and Ariane passed along a tip that enabled me to turn better, fly faster, and do things I had only seen people do... like thoroughly enjoy themselves. The flat spin thing still eludes me, but it seems plausible. I just need to take a vacation on Pluto, I think.
My last trip (just prior to writing this) with Chris and Ariane to Mt. Bachelor proved to be the most fun I’ve ever had in the snow. Yeah, I crashed a couple times. Yeah, I used the ‘drop – recover’ method a small handful of times… BUT I went fast and dodged trees, just like Corrie recommended. I found out later that Chris had us going down a slope that isn’t even defined on the trail maps! My questioning of him later regarding this issue brought a sheepish grin and a comment a lot like ‘yeah, but you made it a couple times, didn’t you? I’d call that a black run.’
So that's the adventures of the mountains, now allow me to regress to the beginning of 2005. You see, I had enrolled in an Adult-degree completion program at Corban College. It's an online course that is very intense, with very few breaks, and is very fast paced. In May of 2006, if all goes well, I will graduate with a Bachelor degree in Business Administration -Management & Communication. It turns out that I can't limit myself to an overload of school work, and snowboarding, I need to fill my life with other things, which brings me to my next little adventure added to my life.
After experiencing the river adventure of last year with Chris and Ariane; nearly losing my leg from infection and coming within a few feet of being launched over a diversion dam, how could I resist the opportunity to learn to hard-shell kayak? I met a guy in Newport who attempted to teach me the famous “Eskimo Roll”, which wasn’t as easy as people make it look. Looking back, I think it was a big mistake for him not to teach me how to get out of the kayak if I couldn't roll it back upright. Breathing apparently is important for staying alive.
So I abandoned the Newport guy and teamed up with Chris to teach ourselves. It eventually worked after about 5 pool sessions and some serious frustration, and we began tackling rivers, such as the one that tried to kill me in 2004; the North Santiam River. I had a bone to pick with that river....
I found out that rolling a kayak in a pool is just a little different than rolling in a river raging through twisted trees and jagged rocks. The first trip down the river proved most difficult. I had to eject from my kayak several times because the river remembered me and found out that I was still alive, and used the opportunity to try and remedy that.
That first trip made it clear: helmets and rocks DO meet underwater, and they don’t like each other; and freezing cold water sucks the energy through your very pores. Another thing became clear to me... my birthday present to me needed to be a dry suit. Now I'm always cozy and warm and occasionally puff up like a marshmallow if the suit still has air in it.
In my new found adventure of kayaking, I've encountered many river-runners that love to swap stories, and I was invited to join a river tour put on by the North Santiam River Guides Association. I agreed to accept the invitation even though I KNEW my skill level was far below what was needed to run the section of the river they targeted. This was the upper section of the same river that kept trying to kill me; a section I had been warned about by a book Chris owned.
Planning for that event caused great fear to well up inside of me. Yet, I did not back down. Sadly, I did not have Chris to help me through with his encouraging words like, "Holy Schnykies!" and "Look what that rock did to my helmet!" and "I just threw up in my mouth". Nope, I had no friends to lend such comforts. Chris did contribute to the event by leaving me phone messages that went like this:
“Yeah, hope you’re having fun… while I’m working.” Click
And
“Chris again… (Frustrated pause)… wanted to let you know I’m still working while you’re on the river.” Click
And
“Hey… thinking you didn’t survive… (Heavy sigh)… told you not to go.” Click
Chris has a couple different moods that have been skillfully identified by Ariane. One of which is referred to as “River Chris”; a happy, bubbly Chris… his messages were NOT the “River Chris”.
The trip had about 24 drift boats, which are like gigantic barges on the river; 3 pontoon boats, which catch a lot of air when they flip; and one enormous raft. I was the token kayaker for their entertainment, it seemed.
In my limited kayaking experience, I had only traveled with fellow kayakers. The river trip taught me many things about playing with others. First, drift boaters drink a lot of beer, and the boats (and some of the people) tend to be really, really slow, like large WWII bombers a couple bombs short of a payload. The caravan of boaters stretched for as far as the eye could see, and I ran into just about every single one of them.
My kayak, as it turns out, is by nature extremely fast and maneuverable; completely opposite of the great behemoth drift boats. Early on in the day I apologized for my collisions more times than I can remember. I even apologized when my paddle got in the way of a drift boater’s oar trying to take my teeth out. After being yelled and cursed at by semi-intoxicated drift boaters and their companions, I decided to launch through the herd toward the front of the line, find a nice rock to hide behind, and watch the passing parade of pickle-brained people. Drift boaters are indeed a breed in themselves. Possibly even inbred, but studies haven't been completed yet.
The river tried and tried to take my life that day, but I came through victorious albeit worn out and suffering from an injured right thumb. To this day, I’m not 100% certain how the injury occurred, except that I know when it occurred. You see, the river has several points of interest along the way with nifty names such as The Boulder Gardens, Carnivore, Spencer’s Hole and Mill City Falls… allow me to explain.
The Boulder Gardens were actually a beautiful stretch of large rocks; each about the size of a dump truck or bigger. They provided a lot of opportunities and challenges to stay upright and for ramming my fellow boaters. Carnivore was avoided for very, very good reasons, like the fact that it will destroy anything that wanders into the swirling mists of death.
Spencer’s Hole can be avoided, but who would give up a chance to fly through a river section that gets squeezed from 70 feet wide to 22 feet wide?You might take this opportunity to visualize what happens to a garden hose when you block the water with a thumb… it gets really fast, really powerful, and really quick. Now, imagine a river doing the same thing (minus a giant thumb); throw in some large boulders and walls of rock on either side, and drop the river by a couple feet. What this creates is a whitewater chute that launches drift boats vertical, spits pontoon boats straight up into the air, and my little kayak…. Well, this is where I hurt my thumb.
Me in my little kayak launched over the first crest, dropping down into a hole that stood higher than I could see out of; we then ripped right through the wall of water before us, only to be hammered and flipped upside down by a side wave that towered over my left shoulder. I didn’t have to depart from my little kayak, thankfully. The entire group of drinking drift boaters was waiting along the banks for my passage and cheered me on as I rolled upright between them all.
The river held one last trial for my tour: Mill City Falls. During that particular time of year, the falls are about 6-8 feet high, and as I watched the drift boats drop over the edge, I heard their hulls smack the rocks with loud clunks. I won’t mention the specific words I was using to express my anxiety… kids may be reading this, but let me say I was very, very apprehensive about going over the falls. But alas, I could wait no more. I was the final soul to throw their lives to the mercy of the river.
I aimed just to the left of the whitewater rooster tail, as the river guide instructed, and paddled my little heart out. What I found was that the water’s path to the left of the rooster tail formed an off-set V that, as I dropped down, hit me first from the right and then from the left, causing a violent whip-action and sending me upside down into the large group below. I was so worn out and exhausted, I actually risked my life by hitching a ride with a drift boater, who smelled like beer, coffee, sweat and cigarettes.
I made several trips down the North Santiam and the South Santiam rivers this summer, and even gave a couple shots at ocean surfing in my kayak, and loved every bit of it. Yes, it scares me… but what else am I suppose to do with my time, right? Well, as you may have guessed (because I’m not ending the story yet) I came up with something else to fill my time….
Early September, I had the flame of my youth reignited: motorcycles. I found myself riding on the back of a street bike a couple of times, and realized I would never be content to stay on the back. Within 2 weeks of that re-ignition, I successfully completed a motorcycle endorsement class, got my license and even bought a motorcycle. Actually, the motorcycle came before the official license. I am now the proud owner of a 2000 Yamaha Roadstar Silverado.
It’s a deep, dark purple, chromed to the hilt, modified front to back, is very, very loud and yes, it goes really, really fast. For the benefit of my sister Connie’s heart, I will say that I am very safe and rarely exceed the posted speed limit… if it’s in view.As soon as people heard about my intentions to ride, I was assaulted with terrible stories from concerned co-workers, friends and family. It seems that everyone on motorcycles die instantaneously when the bike moves into traffic. Connie’s fear was so evident, I thought she was going to hurl when she saw me for the first time; which, by the way, was the very first day of my license! I rode with some other bikers over 130 miles after work… into the late evening, and didn’t set a key to my car for over 2 weeks! How incredible is that?
Ok, Connie was pretty stressed out, so for her I bought a couple dog tags naming her as the emergency contact. One tag is on my life vest for kayaking, the other on my saddle bags for riding. I’ve ridden in all sorts of conditions now, and have had the dreams of my youth realized. Yet the fact that I’m dressed in black leather, and have the appearance of one you’d rather not tangle with, admittedly has come with a close call or two, which is probably from drivers attempting to rid the road of biker-trash more than complete unawareness of their surroundings.
The adventure of riding comes with rewards such as participation in the Veteran’s Day parade and a toy-run for a local charity. It also comes with flying debris, awful smells, and blissful escapes from hoards of traffic. Long, lonely stretches of winding roads are indeed some of the best parts of riding; the call of the open road has beckoned for far too long.
So as I head to the mountains, the rivers, the beaches, and roads, allow me a quote in closing:
“There are risks and costs to a program of action. But they are far less than the long-range risks and costs of comfortable inaction.”
~John F. Kennedy
Hope you have a great Christmas, and a wonderful, safe and eventful coming year!
Merry Christmas!
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