Where in the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks Am I?

I cannot find my way out of a paper bag. My internal compass, if I even have one, has never served me in the ways I have observed in others. Over the years this has resulted in many an unfortunate incident, some of which could have easily turned tragic. A few memories of my youthful dating episodes come to mind which in hind sight make me shudder at the “what if” possibilities that could have unfolded.

My husband is forever exasperated that I never know where I am. “We have been here a million times!” he’ll exclaim. He soon dismisses me as it is inconceivable to him that someone could be so turned around as to not know where they are. While on vacation with two other couples, both of whom are GPS equipped, he would remark “I don’t need no stinking GPS” and would boldly point in the direction we should travel. At one stop, when directions were being discussed, he raised his hand, wiggled his fingers as if “recalculating” his internal GPS and then pointed “that-a-away!”

There is something that happens to me when I feel I am lost. My stomach twists and my respiration and heart rate quicken. Suddenly I’m in full blown panic attack. My poor friends have often been confused and suffered through accusations that they are to blame for me being lost. Here is the unfortunate truth. I too have a GPS. Until yesterday I had not really mastered all the nuances of what it can do. OK, so maybe I haven’t mastered it, but I’m a lot closer than I was last week.

I have had a GPS for a few years now. Initially I bought it so that I would know where I am. Following behind Andy on the motorcycle always leaves me in a bit of a panic if I can’t tell where we are. Looking down at the unit is like a security blanket. I can see the major roadways and our relationship to them. Sometimes I can even get myself from point A to point B using whatever the unit suggests to me as a route. There is also a great feature that takes you home from anywhere, or at the push of a button tells you were in the world you got yourself too now.

I have been the recipient of many great motorcycling routes to download into the GPS unit. All these routes were devised by other people. I have been able to follow these successfully! All of the routes I try to devise for myself never seem to work. The unit returns error messages, or doesn’t take me to the waypoint I want. It is all so confusing!

This week found our office full of employees from various parts of the country for training. One gentleman, who was traveling from nearby Massachusetts approached me and said “tomorrow, I’m riding my Road King here so I can park it next to your bike in the parking lot!” To which I replied “it would be a shame to leave them there during lunch on a beautiful day.” With that we agreed that the next day we would ride.

Since it is my back yard, it would be I who would lead. Just beyond the major roadways are some great back roads. I had an idea of where I wanted to take us but my mind was thinking how embarrassing it would be if I got lost! I started working my mind through all the issues I have encountered trying to devise a route that loops back to where we start. In the past I used the software to construct the route. I don’t have the software here at work, so I used the menus on the GPS itself. With the help of a Google map for a large visual and the GPS map, I carefully marked waypoints. One after the other, I placed them sequentially, eventually constructing a loop that should take us one hour to complete.

Lunch hour arrives, and we depart. “I’m going to use the GPS” I tell my riding friend. “I’m hoping we don’t get lost. But if we do, who cares, we’re on a bike. Right?” “Right!” he exclaims with a grin from ear to ear. To my astonishment and pride the route on the GPS progresses along nicely. I am even pleased, when at an intersection in a wooded area, (a place I would typically go right when I should go left) the GPS points me accurately in the direction I should go. We even arrive safely at the designated lunch spot and find our way back to the office trouble free. “Thanks a bunch for a great ride through the wilds of New Hampshire” the employee says. I am beaming with self pride. Little does he realize that I have just led my first ride. To top it off, the route was planned and executed by me, also for the first time. Why, I do believe it’s possible that I’m ready for my very own rimby.* (Ok, let’s not get crazy.)

*New England Rider speak for Ride In My Back Yard.

From Misc

From Misc

From Misc

From Misc

Sometimes A Flat Is Just A Flat

Perspectives

My weekend is punctuated by contrasts so vast, that my troubles and worries seem somehow silly. Punctuated by such perspectives I find that I am using these events as opportunities for personal growth. I do after all consider myself the “grasshopper” so to actually see the opportunity for growth is a new level of self awareness that leaves me feeling ever so humble.

On a pleasant ride along route 17 in Maine, our group stops at an overlook to appreciate the beauty of Mooselookmeguntic Lake. It is here, that Andy notices that his rear tire is low. We roll the bike forward and sure enough, he has ridden over yet another nail in the road. This is the third nail for this tire, and seems odd that someone should have such terrible luck. The tire is not yet flat, and with the help of one in our group, we pump the tire up to get to the next town ten miles away.

From Birthday Bash

From Birthday Bash

From Birthday Bash

Upon arrival, we discover that the local bike shop had closed an hour before. We make our way to an auto store where Andy buys a can of some sort of gunk in the hopes it will patch the tube a bit so we can make it back to our hotel. We decide this is as good a place for lunch as any. I don’t really feel hungry, but eat anyway. I get a stomach ache and realize that I may have fallen into my other bad habit; stress-eating. I didn’t feel worried, I thought, but the stomach ache is a sure sign that I am.

From Birthday Bash

From Birthday Bash

After lunch, the group decides to head back the way we came as it is shorter than continuing on with the loop. We make it back to the overlook and pump the tire again. We begin to hi-tail it back along route 17. Route 17 is full of ruts and frost heaves, and with each bump, bump, bump in the road I am watching the tire deflate. The tire finally gives out, and we are all stopped along a narrow stretch of roadway with only soft shoulders for minimal comfort from oncoming cars and enough moose tracks to let us know we are in the middle of nowhere.

From Birthday Bash

I take out my cell phone and there is no signal here in the dip. I want to call another group member who has trailered his motorcycle here to Maine. Maybe he will come for Andy. I volunteer to go back up to the overlook for a signal and insist that I will be fine alone. I start back, and am going at a good clip. Then I see another rider following behind. I’m miffed at first thinking that Andy doesn’t trust me to be safe. In that instant, I hit one of those ruts hard and it sends me to the wrong side of the road. I swing way out, slow and pull myself back over the yellow line. Now did I say I wasn’t really stressed? I realize yet again, that I am not holding my mind correctly. There is no need for speed. The tire will still be as flat in 10 minutes as it is now.

We reach a spot where I have a signal, and I call one in the group which is a number I have in my contacts. I’m given instructions to sit tight and he will contact the trailer owner and call me back. While waiting, I take the opportunity, to send a text message to two of my friends. It reads “Andy’s tire found a nail. Fun times!” I get a reply message from one, reading “my father died last night.”

The flat tire seems so silly when measured up against a man’s life. My misplaced worry about the ride being spoiled for others, or what options are available to us for repair seems trite. While I wait for the call, I exchange a few more text messages with the friend in hopes that it will be of some comfort. The call comes; the trailer is on the way. That was easy, and of so little trouble to me. It could have been so much worse. The tire could have blown and Andy could have lost control. A car could have been coming in the opposite direction when I traveled over the line, and then the rider behind me would have paid the price having to witness such a thing.

The trailer arrives, and I ride with two who came to the rescue. Andy is following on my bike. I tell them both about the text from my friend, and how a flat tire seems so small in comparison. It is the death of the friend’s father, due to heart surgery, that triggers the response from one. He lost his son in early spring, and the boy’s heart was donated to save the life of another. His story goes on to say how he and his wife had lunch with the recipient, and what it meant to all of them. My worry now about finding a place for repair on a weekend seems even more inconsequential than ever.

From Birthday Bash

That evening, not realizing what I’m doing, I stress-eat again. I spend most of the evening in the room instead of socializing because of the stomach pain I am once again enduring. It was all for nothing too. In the morning, we found a great guy to pick up the bike and put on a new tire and tube. The lesson here is evident. Every problem has a solution. Every question has an answer. Most of our troubles are small. It is only our thinking or how we hold our minds that make them big.

From Birthday Bash

From Birthday Bash

From Birthday Bash

See all the weekend photos here:
Birthday Bash

Signs, Symbols and the Voice of God

Labor Day weekend finds us once again on the road with friends. Our destination for this motorcycle adventure is the Catskill Mountains of New York, with an overnight into Pennsylvania. The sky is of the soul penetrating blue that can lull you into a hypnotic state, and the smells of harvest, hay and alfalfa are as aroma therapy. The mind easily wanders as the roads are made for relaxation. The Catskills were made for unwinding.

It may be this combination of factors that relax the body and mind, so that both are open and receptive to suggestion. The signs and symbols along the way take on deep and meditative qualities that under other circumstances are glossed over by everyday stress. Things seen yet unseen, voices heard, yet never understood, messages sent, but never received are somehow delivered more easily. In the saddle the world is seen so differently. I sometimes think of astronauts viewing the earth in ways we never will. It is the same earth; it is the perspective that changes everything.

So it is in this way that my perspective is seeing things from a whole new angle. I see three signs in our journey that are sticking to me like pucker brush. I can’t just brush them away; I am made to pay attention. The first is a church placard that reads “God wants full custody, not just weekend visits.” One can easily imagine that what the poster is intending us to think about, is that we should not just occupy space in a pew on the weekend, but live our lives as loving and caring human beings. Or it may cause one to feel a twinge of guilt at even missing the “weekend visit.” It is possible that both of these messages fit me, but somehow, it doesn’t quite sit right. Then I realize that God does have my full custody. Anyone who rides a motorcycle already understands that they are never alone in the saddle. Our lives are entirely in the hands or our creator. Our skill level has little to do with what others are doing around us. Each time I throw a leg over the saddle, and before I kick into gear, a silent prayer has already taken wing. I am not alone, God has full custody and He or His messengers are at my side.

“Former site of Olive” is the next sign that has burrs. I can’t shake the thoughts of the people displaced by the creation of the reservoirs. Neversink and Bittersweet, New York, are now under the Neversink Reservoir; the towns of Olive, West Shokan, Brodhead Bridge, Brown's Station, Boiceville, West Hurley, Glenford and Ashton (in the Catskills) were sacrificed to create Ashokan Reservoir. If we “drill down” from town, to street to household, to individual, there was someone here who made a sacrifice for the good of many. Whether willingly or unwillingly their sacrifice was made for the common good. What happened to all these people? Do any of the thousands of people ever contemplate the fate of these folk when they turn the tap? My sister tells a story of her father-in-law, who will point out town landmarks over and over accompanied by the same old stories again and again. So often in fact, that the good mother-in-law once proclaimed, “Erect a plaque already!” or words to that effect. These folks cannot bring their grandchildren here and say “this is where I was born.” It is a memory of words only, as you look across the water. The lesson here? We never fully appreciate the sacrifices others have made for our welfare.

With the “former sites” still burning images in my mind, how we are all interdependent gripped my heart as well. I realize with more clarity that what happens to you happens to me too. As if this message was the theme of the day, the next sign on the road reads “eat here, or we’ll both starve.”

Catskills