Back in the Saddle Yet Again

Reawakening my motorcycling skills.

This week, I jumped back into a hobby that had once been an integral part of my life: motorcycling.

A Little History

Years ago, when I was in my 20s, I came up with a personal list of skills I wanted to acquire during my lifetime. Although they didn’t have any particular order, the one I went after first was learning to ride a motorcycle.

I was 29 when I bought my first motorcycle. It was a 1978 400cc Honda Hawk — what we might call a “standard” bike with an upright seating position. It was black with red trim, and despite being 11 years old, it only had 941 miles on it. Its previous owner, also a woman, had died of cancer 9 years before and her husband had been unable to part with it. A motorcycle dealer, he’d kept it in mint condition and I was the lucky person to buy it. I don’t remember what it cost, but I do remember that it was a good deal. Wish I could find a photo of it.

Because I understood the importance of safety and I didn’t know anyone who rode, I signed up for a Motorcycle Safety Foundation course (highly recommended). Mike, who was not yet my husband, also signed up. His idea was that after taking the course, we’d both go riding on my motorcycle. I made it quite clear that my motorcycle was mine and if he wanted to ride, he needed to get his own. So he bought a very functional but tired looking BMW Boxer.

We met other motorcyclists at the safety course and it wasn’t long before we were riding weekly with a group. They were, as you might expect, mostly male and all right around our age or a bit younger. Women, when they came along, were usually passengers. The bikes were mostly sport bikes — crotch rockets, as some people call them — and the group rode fast on twisty roads, mostly in Harriman State Park north of our New Jersey home. It was challenging to build the skills to keep up with them.

1992 Yamaha Seca IIWe went to Americade with the group one year and that’s where I got a chance to test ride what would be my next motorcycle: a 600 cc Yamaha Seca II. The Honda was a nice bike and it had helped me build and refine basic skills, but I was ready for something more sporty. Almost a year passed before I took the plunge in 1992. Right next door to the Yamaha dealer in Paramus, NJ was a BMW car dealer that just happened to have the previous year’s model BMW K65S (I think), still new, in an electric blue color. Mike bought it. A few days later, we rolled up to an upstate New York campground on a pair of brand new bikes, shocking the hell out of the members of our riding club that were also on the trip.

We did a lot of riding in those days. One of my favorite vacations was the trip we took from the New York metro area down through Washington DC and onto Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge parkway. It was a motorcycle camping trip and folks in the campgrounds we stayed at couldn’t believe how much gear we were able to pack on those bikes. We came all the way down the Blue Ridge Parkway to Tennessee, with a great ride through Deal’s Gap, then headed over to the coast and came up the barrier islands, following the wake of a hurricane that had battered Hatteras. Mike didn’t tell his mom that we were doing the trip on motorcycles — she thought we were driving. During one call to her while on the trip, I heard him assure her that I was doing just as much of the driving as he was.

Time went on. We did another camping trip with the club, this time up to New York’s Finger Lakes area. Riding through farmland at speeds I don’t want to admit, I found the top end of the Yamaha’s power curve. I instantly fell out of love with the bike.

1996 Ducati 900 SS/CRIt wasn’t long before I bought my next bike, a 1996 Ducati 900 SS/CR. Now here was a bike with testosterone. I recall trying to find the top end one day on a piece of long, straight desert road. I got to 130 mph when I decided that I didn’t really need to find the top end. Needless to say, I had no trouble keeping up with the group.

Things change. We moved to Arizona where the riding wasn’t quite as good. We got horses, which were more interesting to ride. Later, I learned to fly helicopters — another one of the skills I had on my list. I bought my first helicopter. Which do you think is more fun to take out for a spin? The motorcycles gathered dust in my hangar.

Fast Forward to Today

I’m up in Washington State for the fourth summer in a row, working a series of cherry drying contracts. With me are my helicopter, Mike’s pickup, and my very large fifth wheel trailer, the “mobile mansion.” The pickup is my only means of ground transportation.

Last year, I almost bought a Honda scooter. This year, I looked at them again and realized that a 30 MPH top speed would not be much use for serious transportation. I even looked at motorcycles with the thought of getting a dual purpose bike I could take off-road a bit. But when a reality check reminded me that I’d be turning 50 this year, I decided against such a purchase.

I wished I had one of the motorcycles I already owned, which were languishing in my hangar 1,200 miles away.

I called Dave, who runs a motorcycle shop in Wickenburg. I asked him if he knew of a company that could ship one of my bikes up to me. He not only knew a company that could do it, but they could do it for about half of what I thought it would cost. I told him to fetch the Yamaha from my hangar, do what he needed to to get it running, and ship it out to me.

The Yamaha ArrivesIt arrived on Thursday, on a specially designed dolly in a 18-wheeler filled with motorcycles. I took possession about half a mile down the road from my temporary home, at a closed-down weigh station. I’d asked Mike to put on the Givi hard luggage I’d bought for it; the helmet and my old denim riding jacket were stowed inside. Once I remembered how to start it — I knew there was a primer switch somewhere but couldn’t remember where at first — I was good to go.

That first half mile ride was the first time I’d been on a motorcycle in over two years.

Motor Skills Return

Yesterday, after a long, hot day of doing helicopter rides at a local winery, I climbed on, put on my helmet, and rode the 5-1/2 miles into Quincy for dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant. I admit I was nervous at first — what if I screwed up and killed myself? The speed limit on the road between my RV and town has a 60 mph speed limit. It didn’t take me long to get it up to speed, though.

But what really surprised me is the way my hands and feet seemed to go into auto-pilot mode. My right hand and foot automatically moved to the brake lever and pedal to apply just the right amount of pressure for braking. My left hand and foot automatically moved to the clutch lever and gearshift to change gears smoothly. Balance comes naturally, even in the gravel parking lot at the RV park.

I’d been hoping that the skills would return. I’m thrilled that they have, but admit I’m very surprised that they have returned so quickly. I guess that’s what experience is all about.

Back in the Saddle

Today I’m planning my first big ride — a 70-mile trek from Quincy to Chelan, WA. I’m toying with the idea of mounting my GoPro for the ride — I’ll be riding along the beautiful Columbia River most of the way — but don’t need even more video footage I can’t really use. So I’ll likely just take it easy and enjoy the ride.

It’ll sure be nice making the trip in something other than a 3/4 ton pickup.

More Blog Posts…Soon

Still very busy, getting ready to relocate, but the end is near.

First of all, you need to understand that I really do like writing in this blog. It makes me feel good to post something each morning as I enjoy my morning coffee. Whether it’s a poorly disguised rant or a detailed account of my latest helicopter trip, it feels good to get the words out and share them with others. I am, after all, a writer at heart and writers need to write.

And that’s actually what I’m doing. I’m working on a revision to a 600+ page book and am about 3/4 finished. There’s a very tight deadline — one I’m not sure I’m going to make this time (don’t tell my editor) — and I’ve been working my ass off on it, getting very burned out in the process. I’m not complaining; this one book earns a whole year’s income so it’s worth what I put into it. But it does leave me too tired and burned out to write in this blog — and not really enough time to do it right anyway.

But the end is near! I’ll soon be repositioning my helicopter and RV to Washington State for the summer. (My house-sitter is already installed to care for the fish and backyard birds and keep an eye on things.) Once there, I’ll finish up the book and have a lot more time for other projects, including some videos and, of course, this blog.

Between now and then, I’ll be making two trips from Phoenix to Washington. On one, I’ll be a passenger in my own helicopter for a day or two. On the other, I’ll be driving my “rig” on a two to three day journey through Arizona, Nevada, Idaho, and Washington. On both trips, I won’t be writing about computers. So I expect to have a clear enough head to share some stories about the trips. Maybe some photos, too. With both hands free in the helicopter, I’ll have no trouble taking photos.

So bear with me just a little longer. New blog posts will come soon. I promise.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses at My Doorstep

And the reason why I spent 30 minutes talking to them.

The other day, a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses showed up on my doorstep. I knew they were Jehovah’s Witnesses when I caught sight of them on my driveway, walking up to the house. Two women, one older carrying a book and pamphlet, one much younger. Nicely dressed, looking very out of place.

Understand that I live at the end of a road — actually, beyond the end of a road. To get to my house, you need to drive at least a mile past where the pavement ends. The last stretch is a very steep — think 10% grade — and deeply rutted because one of my neighbors (and his family and friends) doesn’t know how to drive up a steep dirt road without spinning tires. One you get past that, you’re in a dry wash where there are three driveways, one of which is mine.

Because of this, we don’t get many strangers stopping by. The folks who do make the trek are either paid to do so — UPS, FedEx, USPS, repair guys, etc. — or very motivated.

Perhaps motivated by God.

I opened the door just as they rang the bell, prepared to tell them how not interested I was and send them politely on their way. Although a lot of people are very rude to Jehovah’s Witnesses, I don’t get rude unless they get stubborn. Although I’m an atheist, I respect people’s rights to believe whatever they want to believe — as long as they don’t use my tax dollars to spread their religious word. (And yes, I don’t think churches should get any kind of tax break; they should be operated like businesses and pay the taxes at the same rates that my businesses do. But that’s another topic for another blog post. Save your comments, folks.)

I got right to the point without even looking at them: “Jehovah’s Witnesses?” I don’t even think I gave them a chance to reply. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested at all. You’d be totally wasting your time with me.”

I really don’t remember what the older woman replied, because by that point, I’d gotten a good look at the younger woman. Woman is being generous. She was a girl, perhaps in her late teens. She had an interesting round face that reminded me of the actress that played Wednesday Addams in the Addams Family movies. She even had the long, straight brown hair, parted in the middle. (The IMDb tells me it’s Christina Ricci; if you follow the link, be sure to look at her Addams Family shots, too.) Of course, she didn’t have Wednesday Addams’ glum features. Instead, her face looked more non-committal.

And my heart was instantly filled with sadness.

Here’s my reason — which took quite a while for me to figure out afterwards: Here was a young girl, perhaps just getting started with her “mission” of spreading the word of God (or whatever they say their mission is). She’d be knocking on doors, likely facing rude, obnoxious people every day she hit the streets. People who would ignore her knock (if she was lucky) or people who would answer the door, curse her out, and then slam the door in her face. How often did Jehovah’s Witnesses actually score a “hit”? Get a door answered by someone who wanted to listen to their line? Judging by the people on Twitter who chided me about talking to them for 30 minutes, not very many.

I thought about these two women, going door to door in rural Arizona on whatever schedule they might need to keep. And I thought about all that time utterly wasted. Life is so short — why don’t people see that? — and it can be snatched away at any time. In fact, during our conversation, I suggested that they might better spend their time doing something more interesting together, like going shopping or learning to knit. My words were directed toward the girl, even though I said them to the woman. I was hoping to plant a seed.

And I guess that’s the reason I spoke to them for 30 minutes. I was trying hard to plant seeds in her young mind, hoping to give her real food for thought. Our conversation covered my beliefs — or lack thereof — and some of their standard line about prophecies. I was pleasantly surprised when I gently told them that I didn’t believe God existed and they didn’t get offended or angry.

We talked about the Bible and I told her what I think of it: It’s a collection of stories written by normal people who may have been inspired by faith. I did not believe it was the word of God — how could I if I didn’t believe there was a god? The older woman, who did most of the talking, tried to convince me that the Bible was more than I thought, using Ezekiel’s prophecy regarding Tyre as “evidence” (her word) for the Bible being God’s word.

I was not familiar with the prophecy, which surprised me. Despite being a non-believer, I’ve done a considerable amount of research into the bible — although, admittedly, mostly New Testament material. Because I looked at things with a skeptical eye, if this prophecy was such strong evidence in favor of the Bible, I thought I might have heard of it before. It puzzled me that I hadn’t.

They went on to tell me that the prophecy, which was given by God to Ezekiel, had come completely true — that the Island of Tyre had been destroyed and no longer existed. Not having any facts at hand, I was not willing to debate their claim, yet I told them that I still did not believe the bible was the word of God.

That’s when the young girl chimed in, asking if I believed then that it was just a coincidence that the prophecy had come true. I told her that if it had indeed come true, I did believe it was a coincidence since I did not believe in God. To their credit, they took that with ease. I suppose they must hear all kinds of things from the people they talk to.

The WatchtowerThe older woman tried to give me references to the Prophecy of Tyre, but I assured her that I didn’t need them and that I would Google it later on. She also tried to give me a copy of The Watchtower, which she had with her, but I wouldn’t take it.

We talked about what’s going down in the world — how everything seems to be “going to hell in a handbasket” — my phrase; not used in the conversation, but you get the idea. They apparently believe that it’s a sign of the end of days. I obviously don’t. I told them that most of the world’s problems are caused by greed and selfishness. We agreed that if people would consider the consequences of their actions as they affect other people before taking them, they might think twice about taking those actions. We talked about some local and national level examples — for example, the scraping clean of the desert to build huge housing subdivisions that, because of the housing bubble bursting were never built. The natural landscape destroyed because of greed, with no consideration for others. I told the girl that I felt bad for young people like her who were inheriting this mess.

Then we talked a little about the young birds accompanying their moms to bird feeders and letting their moms feed them seeds. The older woman was amazed that the fledgeling chicks were nearly as big as their moms but wouldn’t feed themselves.

They were nice people and I felt bad for them. When we said goodbye, I told them to have a good life. My words were addressed primarily to the young girl, who still had her whole life ahead of her.

When they left, I went back into my office and Googled the Tyre Prophecy. I found two kinds of articles. One kind were created by believers to support their claim that the prophecy had come true, thus proving that Ezekiel had basically written down what God told him. The other kind were created by skeptics, like me, which presented detailed analyses about the facts of the prophecy, actual history, and the current situation. I found this one by Dave Matson that takes the prophecy, point by point, and details how it differs from reality. It is supported by actual bible quotes and a multitude of documents that are all cross-referenced at the article’s end.

In short: Ezekiel’s prophecy did not come true. So, as “evidence,” this particular prophesy falls far short of what I need to be convinced.

Did I waste 30 minutes of my day? I don’t think so.

I admit that I am fascinated by true believers — and these people — especially the older woman — definitely fell into that category. Why else would you go door-to-door relentlessly, getting the foul treatment handed out by people who simply don’t want to be bothered? These people have true faith — which is something most people claiming to be Christians don’t really have and something I definitely don’t have.

They didn’t convince me — although they did get me to do a bit of research and expand my knowledge of the Bible and religion. I didn’t convince them — although I demonstrated that a non-believer could be reasonable and share some of the same non-religious views. We had a nice discussion and perhaps — just perhaps — I planted a few seeds of reason in that girl’s head.

And, by the way, if you’re tempted to use the comments feature to blast me for my religious non-beliefs, don’t waste your time. After “The Bible in the Refrigerator” debacle, I no longer allow any personal attacks on anyone to appear on this blog. If you feel compelled to show your un-Christianity, show it elsewhere.

Homeless in Page, AZ

A true story.

“Can you help me…with some food?”

The query came from a Navajo woman with a cane in the Safeway supermarket parking lot in Page, AZ. I was just walking up to my rental car when she came up to me.

I thought for only a moment. “Sure. What would you like?”

“Taco Bell.”

The Taco Bell was just down the street. “I’ll take you there,” I told her. “Hop in.”

She walked around to the other side of the car while I climbed in my side. I put my Starbucks latte in the cup holder and tossed the lemon coffee cake I’d bought onto the dashboard. I had some things on the passenger seat and moved them for her. Then she climbed in, putting her cane between her legs and shut the door. She was conservatively dressed, looked clean, and didn’t appear (or smell) drunk. She had a round face with flattened features and half-opened eyelids. She looked almost Asian. I remembered that the Navajo were descended from the people who had crossed the Bering Strait into North America in prehistoric times. She looked to be in her sixties.

I started toward Taco Bell. It was 9:40 AM. “It’s not even 10 o’clock. Do you think it’s open?” I asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” she replied thoughtfully. “It’s open until 11 at night.”

“How about McDonald’s?” I suggested. “They make a good breakfast.”

“Okay.”

McDonalds was down off the mesa on Route 89, about 2 miles away. I started down the hill.

“Do you work for a hotel?” she asked me. She’d obviously seen my rack cards, which I’d be bringing to the airport the next day.

“No,” I replied. “I work for a tour company.”

“Where are you from?”

“The Phoenix area,” I told her. “Wickenburg.”

“Oh, I know Wickenburg,” she replied. “I used to live in Glendale. Peoria, El Mirage.” She thought for little while and added, “I moved there when my husband died. Now I’m just homeless.”

I steered us down the hill. Lake Powell and the Glen Canyon Dam came into view.

“Can’t they help you at the Chapter House?” I asked. It didn’t seem right that the Navajo people would let one of their own remain homeless on the streets of Page.

“No, they can’t help me.”

The conversation died as we rolled down the hill. I suspected she wasn’t telling me everything. She was too clean and well kept to be truly homeless. She must be going somewhere at night.

“Do you have family in Page?” I asked her as I made the left turn onto Route 89.

“I have a son in Salt Lake City and another one in Phoenix,” she replied.

The conversation died again. This time she revived it.

“I heard that Chinatown got wiped out.”

I made her repeat what she said; I didn’t think I’d heard it right the first time. But I had.

“Chinatown?” I repeated. There was no Chinatown within 500 miles of Page, AZ. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I heard it on the news.”

It came to me suddenly. “Oh, you mean Japan. The earthquake and tsunami.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

By this time, McDonald’s was in sight.

“Can we go to Burger King instead?” she asked.

I saw the Burger King logo just up ahead. “Sure. You like that better?”

“Yes. They have a good deal. Two hamburgers for three dollars.”

I pulled up to the drive through at Burger King. The menu was on a board beside the talking box. “What do you want?”

“Two hamburgers,” she said. I think she was trying to save me money.

“Some orange juice to go with that?” I asked. I was thinking about getting something healthy into her.

“Yeah.”

“Anything else? Some fries?”

“No fries.” She was reading the menu board. “Maybe the sausage, egg, and biscuit,” she said suddenly.

“Okay. And two hamburgers for later?”

“Yeah.”

After what seemed like eternity, a voice came through the speaker. I ordered the sausage, egg, and biscuit breakfast meal and two hamburgers. The order taker asked if I wanted coffee or orange juice with that. I asked my companion.

“Orange juice.”

The order taker read back our order. It came to seven dollars and change. She told us to pull up to the second window.

At the window, the order taker took my money and gave us the orange juice and a straw. Then she asked us to pull up and wait in the parking lot while they made the burgers. Because it was so early, they’d have to be made special. So I pulled around to the parking lot.

While we were waiting there, I asked, “Why did you come back here from Phoenix?”

“I wanted to come back to my reservation,” she said. After a while, she added, “My mother and father live here.”

“Do they live far from Page?”

“Yes. Very far. Thirty-six miles. You go down Haul Road and then you keep going.” She added the name of the town but I didn’t catch it. Later, I found Kaibito on Route 98 36.9 miles from Page in the right general direction.

“Maybe you should go live with them for a while,” I suggested.

“I been thinking about it.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” I said honestly. I hesitated, then asked: “Do you need someone to drive you there?” I would have done it to get her off the street. My morning was wide open.

“No,” she replied. “I can hitchhike.”

I knew that hitchhiking was a popular means of transportation among Navajo people on the Reservation. I’d picked up a hitchhiker once myself, when I was driving through the Rez with some friends. She’d be okay.

The order taker came out with her food and I handed it over. I backed out of my parking space and prepared to take her back up into town.

“Can you drop me off at McDonald’s?” she asked.

McDonalds was just down the road, near the Wal-Mart. “Sure.” I drove over and made the turn. “Where? Here or near Wal-Mart?”

“Here,” she said. “By the tables.” McDonald’s had some outdoor tables in the sun. “I can sit and eat here.”

“Okay.” I drove over to the tables and stopped. For a moment, she struggled with her bag of food, orange juice, and cane. Then she managed to get the door open.

“Do you think you can help me with some money?”

I was wondering if she’d ask and was prepared. I handed her a $10 bill. “Here you go. Use it to get something good for yourself.” I still wasn’t convinced that she didn’t have a drinking problem — alcohol is a major problem on the Rez. But I couldn’t say no. I have so much; she had to ask strangers for food.

She took the money. “Thank you.”

She got out of the car, closed the door, and stood still behind it. I shifted into drive and pulled away slowly. When I’d gone around the McDonald’s to the exit, I saw her sitting at the table with her breakfast and lunch.

I drove back to my hotel, just down the road.

February Needs More Days

We are experiencing scheduling difficulties. Please stand by.

Ever have one of those months where there just aren’t enough days? We all say that about February — mostly because it usually only has 28 of them — but even if it had its full share, it wouldn’t be enough. Mine is booked solid.

Want a glimpse of what my work/personal life is like right about now? Here’s the bullet point edition:

  • I have two chapters left to write on a book I’ve been struggling to finish since November. Part of the problem was that my editor didn’t seem to take much interest in the project, which led me to feel much the same way. Now, of course, they want it done already (as they should) and I also feel the same way.
  • One of my other publishers suggested a topic for a brand new book for them. I need to come up with an outline and make contact with the public relations person for the software company to see what kind of support I might be able to get from them.
  • That same publisher is gearing me up for a revision of my Mac OS X book for Lion. That book, which I also do layout for, has a brand new look, requiring a new template and mindset.
  • Another publisher is making noises about another revision for another project. I’m think it might be pretty far out on the horizon, but I need to chat with them about needs and scheduling.
  • AircraftOwner Online has announced that my monthly article deadline is now the 12th of the month rather than month-end.
  • I’m under contract to write two more articles (that I keep putting aside) for a Web publication. I won’t get paid for the first one I wrote (last year) until I hand in these two.
  • One of my aerial survey clients wants a 1-2 day wildlife survey flight in northern Arizona next week. (This just popped up today.)
  • One of my aerial photo clients has booked a 4-day photo flight in Arizona and Utah for mid-month. The flight requires me to obtain permits for flying low level in three different national parks. (And yes, one of them is the Grand Canyon. Wish me luck.)
  • I have to drop off my helicopter for its 100-hour inspection in Mesa, AZ; a few days later, I have to pick it back up. I also have to hope there’s nothing wrong with it that would prevent me from picking it up on time.
  • I have an FAA Part 135 check flight scheduled near month-end.
  • I have a day trip to Sedona scheduled near month-end.
  • I have a week-long vacation in the Bahamas with my husband. (A business trip for him; a chance to breathe for me.)
  • I have to drop off and then pick up Alex the Bird from his boarding facility before and after the vacation.

Get the idea?

You might have noticed that blogging does not appear anywhere on this list. That’s not a mistake. Blogging falls very low on the priority list. So low, it doesn’t even appear on lists. So this might be the only original blog post you see for quite a while.

Just thought it fair to warn you. This is going to be a very long short month.

And who says freelancers don’t work hard for a living?