The Old Man Down the Road to Sturgis

I waited maybe 35 years before taking the motorcycle plunge. I'd wanted one pretty much my entire life.  I had friends in high school who rammed around on Honda 90s, then moved up to Honda Dreams and Scramblers. I rode around on those sometimes but couldn't think about it at the time. Easy Rider came out and that was it, the fire was going. Off to college where a friend had a Triumph Bonneville that ramped everything way up. Other guys in Winona were getting into Harleys and Indians, and then choppers.

Working in NW Iowa one summer a friend of a friend was a guy who'd been badly broken up in a car wreck, and spent a year working on a crazy Harley chopper from a body cast.  He didn't want anything to be easy, and his left leg was wrecked anyway, so he had a suicide shifter on this thing. Being crazy, he and another friend sat me on this thing and said, "Go".  I'd never seen a foot operated clutch or stick shifter on a bike, let alone tried!

You can imagine that didn't go so well but nothing got broken, on me or the bike.

Anyway, long years later Leslie sort of reluctantly went along with my folly and I got my first Harley, a 2006 Sportster Custom 1200. I loved that thing and would love to have been able to keep it instead trading when I moved up to a brand new 2008 Street Glide, supposedly the sportier of the Electra Glides. Really I picked the SG because it was more stripped down and easier to keep relatively clean. That's an issue since I'm in the "ride it, don't rub it" gang.

I ride most every day the weather allows, and I rode in everyone of the past 12 months. Even in the worse weather years I won't put it away until after Thanksgiving, and I probably get it back out sometime or other most Februarys.

It's hard to say what is so captivating about these things. Certainly the whole, Get your motors running, head out on the highway...thing. 

I've come to believe there are two kinds of guys. Those who are on their Harleys, and those who aren't yet.  Of course the other side of that is that there are two kinds of guys with Harleys.  Those who have wrecked, and those who haven't wrecked yet. 

Luckily - in the weirdest way - I've wrecked and so hopefully have it out of the way without too much damage (to me anyway). My sporty got sort of rolled up into a ball, and when my thighs blew through the bars they were bent all all the way around, each side 180 degrees, so that they were crossed completely. I have actual dents in my quads still and that was over six years ago.

The next day I walked into the Harley store and they let me back in the shop where my ride was up on a lift with four guys standing around poking at it. They turned around and saw me and couldn't believe I was on foot. Leslie exhibited the most ridiculous level of understanding I could have ever imagined, and I'm still on two wheelers six years later!

Last winter a friend at work asked if I'd be interested in going out to the Sturgis Rally as he and family and friends go most years, but his spouse wouldn't be this year. I said sure, even though I had no big desire to ever do it, but it was so cool that he invited me that I didn't think I should pass it up.  Leslie practically insisted I had to do it, so I was off.  

Right before we left an important conflict developed for me and Dave Amy, the friend, rearranged a bunch of reservations to make it still happen.  We headed out on the Thursday prior to the start, arrived Friday after two easy days, some beers and pizzas, and a nice night's sleep in Pierre SD.  Friday we had great steaks and prime rib in Custer. Saturday we went in to Sturgis and rode all over the Black Hills, including the Custer State Park wildlife loop in the early evening. Sunday we did the big rides, Needles Highway and Spearfish Canyon and had a blast.

       

Beautiful downtown Sturgis SD, this is a day before the rally officially starts. I never really thought about doing any of the big rallys. Except for for rock and roll, crowds aren't my thing at all. It turns out that folks flock to the Hills earlier and earlier and things are really cooking a week ahead and a week after these days.

  

 Dave Amy and I taking pictures of each other on The Needles Highway. We had to stop so I could catch my breath after holding it for too long. "Highway" is loosely used in this case. It's maybe 16 feet wide total with plenty of steep downhill 180 degree turns that zip right around and send you back up the same 9-10 degree slope you just came down, but with only about 200 bikes per minute coming at you and untold thousands behind. I was very happy my peeps didn't ever have to wait for me, and that I never held up those behind.

 My baby back in the driveway in Northfield. We did over 1,600 miles, including 620 in one day on the way home. No problems at all on the long day. It was surprisingly easy and we were safe the whole way.

We saw one bad wreck on I-90 on our long day home, and indications of a couple while in the Hills as entries to some of the roads at intersections were blocked off for rescue folks. I think three people were killed during our time out there. It's really terrible and literally makes me weep that folks get hurt during what should be their coolest of times.  I saw all kinds of numbers about how many people were out there and still coming. The miles people ride related to the rally add up to very many millions, so I'm not sure the injuries are more than might be expected for that many miles anywhere, but it's still hard to think about.

We met really cool, nice, folks everywhere, and the big lesson for everyone else is that no books should judged by their covers!  

Sustainability #1

As part of my work in higher education facilities management over the past thirty plus years I get involved in all sorts of sustainability issues. A myriad of technical things are involved certainly, but I worry that we are losing sight of the conceptual and if that's so we can quickly screw up the ways we think about the technical.

The upper midwest family farm, between the late 1800s up to maybe WWII, may have been “our” most sustainable living model. In this case, “our” is us – the immigrant population. This model couldn’t support a huge population, but if we’d stuck with it, there probably wouldn’t be so many of us either!

Many earlier Americans lived more sustainably, although that thinking can tend to be too romantic. The mysterious disappearance of the Anasazi is probably not so mysterious; it’s likely that their lifestyle overcame the local biosphere’s ability to support it when stressed by drought and so on. 

In spite of that, the Navajo have lived on much the same land for centuries, I think because they have a really “outside the (or at least, our) box” idea about what’s needed. If you’ve ever driven through the Four Corners, and so across much of the huge Navajo Reservation, you’ve seen really little, maybe sort of dilapidated homes, off in the distance, where – from inside our box – it doesn’t seem reasonable to live. Traditional Navajo work to live with the concept of “Beauty”. I can’t possibly truly understand this, not having grownup with it, but I think that being in a state of Beauty means that one is in harmony with their setting, themselves, and their neighbors. When this state of harmony exists, a person just doesn’t need a lot of material to be well.

There’s a Minnesota writer I like named Kent Nerburn who has done a lot of work with folks on the Red Lake reservation over time (he lives in Bemidji). I found an interview with him some time back and something he said hit me hard.

Interviewer: “Do you think Native Americans have something important to teach us? If so, can you somehow express what it is?”

Kent Nerburn:

“Own less stuff. Listen to the land. Care for family. Be as responsible to your past as to the future. Value honor as highly as freedom, and know that there are some bondages that are good. Recognize that the spiritual lives in the funkiest corners of your daily life as well as in the most elevated places of your search for God. Stop thinking that you're hot shit.”

He wrote my favorite non-fiction book, Neither Wolf Nor dog, On Forgotten Roads With an Indian Elder. There’s not a good way to explain this book; if you know it, you also know what I mean. Even though the people are Lakota and not Navajo, as you read this you’ll start to understand both the idea of Beauty and where the quote comes from. As the adventure unfolded, I found myself first wondering what on earth this well meaning but naïve new American was thinking attempting to do the project in place, and at the end wondering why he would go back where he’d been.

I recommend Neither Wolf Nor Dog to every person concerned about the ways we live in the world – it will get you thinking about what you believe you need versus what is truly needed to live in the beautiful place.

The Old Man Down the Road

What's all this about The Old Man Down the Road?

For a long time I thought I might become a cantankerous old coot, sitting in my rocking chair on the front porch with a cane. I wouldn't need the cane, but it would be handy for whacking anyone who bugged me across the ankle. Seemed like it might be kind of cool being the neighborhood  crank!

John Fogarty is a genius of sorts, no question, but he's better at lyrics than the business of being in a band, thus, no Creedence. Since Creedence however, he's still whipped out some classics, maybe most notably, "The Old Man Down the Road". You know, the weird guy in the neighborhood pretty much everyone warned us about. Maybe the Boo Radley of the end of the century. The only difference is, you probably DO want to stay away from this one!

This Old Man is a far darker version of me rocking with my cane, waiting for someone to bug me.  Anyway, The Old Man Down the Road seems like a good blog handle, and the cool kids will get it.

Beyond the eeriness of the words, the music could have come from Green River, way, way, way, back in the day.

The verses scare me!

He take the thunder from the mountain

He take the lightning from the sky

He bring the strong man to his bended knee

He make the young girls mama cry

You got to hidey-hide

You got to jump and run

You got to hidey hidey-hide

The old man's down the road

He got the voices speakin' riddles

He got the eye as black as coal

He got a suitcase covered with rattlesnake hide

And he stand right in the road

You got to hidey-hide

You got to jump and run away

You got to hidey hidey-hide

The old man's down the road

He make the river call your lover

He make the barking of the hound

Put the shadow across the window

When the old man comes around

You got to hidey-hide

You got to jump and run again

You got to hidey hidey-hide

The old man's down the road

The old man is down the road

The old man is down the road

What can be cooler than this? Maybe some Chris Rea or Dylan could evoke the same scariness, but maybe not too.

Grampahood

It seems like everyone's blogging these days. How anyone ever finds any given blog and starts checking regularly is not well known - at least to me. My D-I-L started years ago and fans started showing up with comments, commiserations, and short responses. It became a generally safe place to make observations, rant once in a while, and mostly share the joy of all the steps a new family goes through.

So - I like to make observations, rant, and share the joy of being one of the patriarchs of her evolving family. Added to that, why not throw in politics, athletics, travel, my own nuclear family, and my Harley?

Grampahood? Well, most simply, being a Grampa is the best job I've ever had!

About six years ago Leslie quit her dream job to embark on a new adventure. Daycare for grandchild #1, driving to Bloomington from Northfield five days a week. I was in the midst of getting a $64,000,000 project built, and didn't know if I was coming or going much of the time.

We're not old, but certainly at least on the way. Our schedule consisted of hopping in bed at 9:00 PM, sometimes earlier, trying to read for a bit, conking out, and jumping up at 6:00 AM to scurry around and head out in different directions. We realized that we were spending about an hour and half actually together per day. Weekends were consumed with "catching up." Grandma started staying in one or two nights per week, and soon it became clear that her quality of life was better not driving.

We started looking at better ways to live, and ultimately sub-let a little condo about a mile from our son, daughter-in-law, and #1 for Grandma. I stay in our town during the week in a little room in the lower level of our house with various combinations of younger sons and significant others paying some rent.

I zoom up to "Grandma's new house" (according to grandchild #1) as early as I can on Friday. Strangely, we each have our chores all done before I get there, and we get to hang out and enjoy our time.

This combines to mean I get to spend a lot of time being Grampa. The Northfield rent equals Grandma's rent, and with the gas money we're not spending we have a net financial gain, plus a huge personal gain.

In December 2008 #1's  twin brothers were born and Grandma took on the whole gang, but added a helper. Not long after, our daughter gave birth to #4, and she joined the fray too. By now #5 has joined our daughter's family, and that was finally too much for Grandma.

#1, 2, and 3 are now with a family friend who was recruited specifically for this important treasure chest of little guys, and Grandma is with #4 and 5 full time.

One of the greatest joys of all this is that these cousins have grownup with each other on a daily basis and clearly each adores the other four.  In September 2012 #1 goes off to kindergarten and is so excited sometimes he almost is ready to burst. #2, 3, and 4 will all be together in one of the pre-school programs #1 went through earlier.

I try to see both sets of grandkids every weekend, and demand the right of first denial when they need weekend babysitters. 

Now, it may not be surprising that very many folks think we are off our rockers. I recently started thinking about "normal". All our stories are so different that I'm now sure there is no one normal.  I've come to call our situation the new normal, ours, and I no longer care at all what anyone else thinks normal is.

Grampahood is definitely a huge part of my normal!