Jeff Maddox

September 8, 2014October 21, 2015

Twice on the Cheek

Sunday mornings. Quiet, with coffee and thoughts of how my day needs to go. Lots of things to do, but never enough time. I try to get over to my folks house to see how they’re doing on Sundays and to show them that living about 6 blocks away from them really isn’t that far. Even though I think at times they think it is, as I’m guilty of not coming over more often.

It was about eleven o’clock in the morning and my mother had just gotten up. She struggles at her age with her tired body and dad is great about letting her rest. He usually gets a few things done around the house and then goes in and wakes her up around 10:30 and makes her something to eat. I got there about the time the cinnamon toast and scrambled eggs were ready so I sat at the kitchen table and visited while they ate.

It’s amazing to watch my parents interact. Humor is a big part of every conversation and it makes me smile knowing that no matter what, they still have something to laugh about. With everything going on with my mom, I heard her laugh today. She smiled and made a couple of comments that made me smile. She is also an inspiration to me. For a split second I had a flashback of when I was growing up and sitting at the dining room table and seeing my mom there. I could still see her in her 40’s and the only difference between then and now is she’s the one having a seat while dad makes breakfast, does the laundry and cleans the house. I’m sure she would rather be doing it.

These are the days when I appreciate what my folks have gone through in this life. A lot of years of raising kids and working and just trying to make ends meet all the while enjoying said family and making the memories to recall when you become tired and somewhat dependent on someone else. I know the reality of the situation although I don’t want to think about it. We all get old but some just get older faster. Does that make sense? Of course it does.

When I got up from the table explaining I had a bunch of stuff to do, I leaned over for my mother to give me a kiss as she always does. Twice on the cheek. I held her hand for a moment saying my goodbyes and then I gave my dad a hug before leaving. A Sunday with my folks watching my mom and dad eat a late breakfast and listening to their banter is hard to beat. I know I need to cherish these moments of cinnamon toast and scrambled eggs while I can – and if they only knew what that short visit does for a guy like me. It makes me smile and is the highlight of my day. Twice on the cheek.

September 4, 2014

Peak Performance

This past Labor Day weekend I traveled to Colorado Springs to see my daughter Kelly, her husband Chanse and my grandkids Kylie and Casen. A quick trip indeed riding my latest bike, a ’06 Ultra Classic. Leaving Saturday after work puts me in Colorado Springs around 8:30 pm mountain time and can make for a long day. But as riding to Colorado goes, longer is better, right?

After a short visit on Saturday night I was eager to get some rest as Chanse had planned a ride to the top of Pike’s Peak Sunday morning before the rest of the house woke up. Pike’s Peak? I’m in. I will tell you from a Kansas boy’s perspective that a little bit of altitude can make me feel a lot light-headed. The highest point around where I live is Blythe’s hill. The first day of visiting with the kids is always an adjustment, but after that I’m good. Unless you’re expecting me to run, walk or climb a bunch of stairs. We head out on our bikes for the 20 minute ride there, and of course, the excitement is building. You can’t help but look at the front range as you’re rolling through town and again for a Kansas boy, well, I think you know.

We stop for gas just before the entrance and I have to admit I wasn’t sure what to expect. Temperature was in the high 50’s so after gassing up I put my gloves on. I already had my leather jacket on so let’s do this! After Chanse paid the way into the park he let me lead. It’s still pretty early in the morning and the shadows were making cornering difficult. Those decreasing radius corners wreak havoc on a guy riding a big bike on an unfamiliar road. I know they race up this mountain every year for the Pike’s Peak International Hill Climb and right now I’m in last place. 19 miles and counting.

We soon fall into a rhythm and I start to relax. That’s the key to this – relax. With very little traffic I feel we’re making decent time and I will say the view is spectacular. As we approach the tree line where the terrain begins to change to moon-like, things become different. The temperature is dropping, the air is thinning like the hair on my head and the road is becoming more difficult. Speed isn’t a real factor, but momentum is. Slow is good as long as you’re not going too slow. At this point it’s obvious I’m not dressed warm enough and the sign I just passed indicated I still had a few miles to go. Up that is. It’s becoming windy and I later find out the gusts are up to 50 mph. Like a punch to my face, the wind hits me every so often and I can’t breathe. I look in my mirrors to see if Chanse is still back there in hopes that I would have to turn around and go back looking for him. Chanse is still there, and I think he let me lead so he wouldn’t have to go back for me.

The last 2 miles were difficult for me. Old and out of shape doesn’t help and neither does a lack of oxygen. We get to the top and park the bikes, climb off and look around. Fun Fact – it took us about 45 minutes to reach the top and the winner of this year’s Pike’s Peak Hill Climb was one of only three people to do it in less than 10 minutes. To the winner, speed is a factor. To me? Oxygen. We are both freezing as the wind chill is hovering at 30 degrees or so and we seek shelter in the gift shop. Closed. It doesn’t open for another 10 minutes and shelter from the wind is found on the side of the building. Finally the doors open in what seemed to be an hour later and we find the restroom to warm our hands under the hand dryers. I ask Chanse why people are wandering around here with shorts and light jackets on and he tells me they hiked up Pike’s Peak. On foot? “Yes” he says. I asked him what day would you have to leave to get here before us and he tells me at day break. I’m winded and I rode up the mountain. They hiked and look great!

I could hear the voices in my head saying we will have to go back outside and ride back down even though my body was telling me to have a seat and stay awhile. At 14,110 feet they really need to pump oxygen into the gift shop. My head is now pounding and Chanse has his butter pecan fudge he bought for Kelly and we are ready to go. We start to take a picture by the sign at the summit for proof of this adventure and a gentleman walks over and volunteers to take it for us. Chanse reciprocates for him and as far as I’m concerned we can’t get down to 5000 feet soon enough. Oh, and as I said the view is spectacular.

Chanse leads the way and immediately I feel better. Slow and sure we work our way down as the traffic is coming up. A real advantage of getting there early. I’m finally able to look around and take it all in. This is really a great experience and it’s something everyone should do at least once in their lifetime. Coincidently, there were only a couple of times I thought I was going to die. I didn’t of course, but what makes a story more interesting than having a close call? This was a great ride to share with my son-in-law Chanse. Epic for sure and I would do it all over again. Thanks Chanse, for a great day!

August 12, 2014

Flying by the Seat of Your Pants

It isn’t always about the destination. I know, I’ve heard it all before about the whole destination and journey thing but it’s more about the time on the road with nothing but the elements that surround you. The smells and temperature changes, the wind and sounds of your motorcycle and an occasional confused deer on the road. Both of us wondering which way to go.

Another trip to Sturgis South Dakota is behind me and I must admit, it was more about the ride there and back. It’s an opportunity to have some uninterrupted time to think about what is really going on up there. You know, just below my thinning hair-line. Friends and family and where this life is taking me are always something to think about, but the highway is always pointing me down this old road of life and it’s been doing a pretty good job so far. Looking back would I have taken any different roads along the way? Yes. Can I go back and change directions now? No, but all I can do is be who I am and make the best of it all.

I’ve always been an optimistic guy and I approach life in a very easy-going manner. Road maps and flying by the seat of your pants are two different ways of getting to the same place, but let’s face it; it’s all in how you want to get there. Some of life’s best moments are the ones that came along unexpected. Just as a road map leaves no doubt on where you’re headed or where you’ve been, some unexpected turns and encounters along the way can make it all the more interesting. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I do know that my outlook on life and how I handle those unexpected turns can determine how this trip through life will be. Don’t get hung up on the small stuff, and find the adventure in everything. It’s supposed to fun, right?

This trip to Sturgis put some things into perspective for me. Rain is only water. Life is short so hug your mom and dad. Tell those who mean something to you how you feel about them. Be nice – always. And more than all, appreciate those in your life and this beautiful, amazing world we live in. This road of life we travel, whether by motorcycle or not, isn’t always mapped out. It’s full of ups and downs and even has a few curves thrown in to keep you guessing, but that’s okay. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

July 16, 2014November 21, 2014

The Spirit of Adventure – OUTLAND MOTO

If you’re going to do it, it might as well be an adventure.

It’s not just the travels on our motorcycles that makes our life an adventure. We can spend many hours in the saddle finding the picture perfect view that is camera worthy, or challenge ourselves to go places that only a few have gone. Sure, it’s likely we’re not the first one to pass down this road or trail, but it can always be my first time. I have found we motorcyclists can be up for any challenge put in front of us, and even if it’s uphill both ways I think we’ll be okay. As long as there is some good scenery.

But it’s not always the adventure of riding that fuels our passion. It can be all that surrounds our passion which quickly becomes the challenge. We pour our heart and thoughts and emotions into what we love so much that it too can be quite the adventure. My good friend Jim Vota knows this all too well. While he and his crew at Outland Moto are passionate about the adventure side of motorcycling, they are also passionate about showing it to you. To channel the Spirit of Adventure and the dedication of something you love into a lifelong dream can only be a good thing. And it shows.

Look for amazing things to come from Outland Moto. Pictures, video, product reviews and so much more can be found at Outland Moto following the lifestyle of all ADV riders. I know for Jim, this is just as exciting as any adventure he’s taken on a motorcycle. But I also know that he would rather be out on some rock strewn path taking him up towards a summit somewhere. And if you want to see the results of his life’s adventure, check out Outland Moto. Of course, he wants to see what kind of adventures you’re on, so share some of your favorite photos with them. After all, it’s about the community and the stories behind every moment we experience that makes it all come together.

Thanks Jim, for all you do. And I look forward to seeing where your adventure takes you!

If you can’t go on your own adventures, follow Outland Moto on theirs!

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July 7, 2014July 25, 2014

Bread Crumbs

The small town. How can it be that a small town is the topic of conversation wherever I go? It inevitably comes up when questions get asked, so can it be that I wear it on my sleeve for those who don’t know me to see? I know it’s assumed that any small town has a deep effect on those who live there. Childhoods are formed, friends are made and memories carried forever – and even I’m guilty of stretching the truth when it comes to how really small this town is and how slow-paced life can be. I’ve never thrown a rock from one end to the other, but c’mon, is it really the town that gives us this deep down feeling of Mayberry?

I’ve been thinking about this for the past week or so, and I’ve come to some sort of conclusion; there is something about the gravel on the streets and the red bricks making up the main drag through town. That feeling you get on a Sunday driving down main street when there are no cars parked along the curb, and not one soul in sight. The quiet of the country as it creeps into the city limits around dark, and the sound of a breeze blowing the cheers from the football field on game night. But wait, it’s more than that. It’s the people. It’s those within the community that can have a lasting impression on a small town guy like me. Over the years there have been many – and for you the list maybe different from mine – but just like the bigger cities where it’s bumper to bumper or elbow to elbow, it’s the people who rub off on you. Slow down, take a breath and stay awhile.

I can remember Harold Anderson sweeping the floor of the lumber yard at closing time. He always sprinkled a green floor-sweep all over the floor to put some oil back into the wood, and that always impressed me. You could always find Keith Lee somewhere in town standing waist-deep in a ditch digging up a water line with a big smile on his face. Keith Kahnt, Jim Barber and Lacy and John Mahon; Buck Sangwin, Butch Krause, John Kohler, Perry Moore and Vernon Rose were also right there in town every day touching the lives of those in White City. Frank Nelson and his son Frankie, Fay Comp, Herb Nuemeyer, Bill Calvin, Kenny Ingmire, Don Sanford, Bob Roberts and the list goes on and on. Let’s not forget those school teachers who helped shape the community with their time and efforts; Leland and Mary Lawrenz, Mary and Nancy Laudeman, Mr. Otis, Mr. Haun and Mrs. North. Sybil Effland, LeAnn Hickman, Don and Karen Harmison, Peggy Stenstrom and Harry Granzow among others. It would be very hard to name everyone and it would be easier to just pick up the phone book and open it. So many people in and around White City have made this community what it is and Joann Kahnt has had a big part in keeping our memories alive – by taking and recording photographs for our kids to see what we all used to look like when we were their age. It doesn’t seem like it now, but in a few years we will come to appreciate her hard work.

The shift changes every decade or so with those who pass the responsibilities they’ve held on to someone else. This small town has a way of letting you go out and find your way in life, but leaving a trail of bread crumbs so you know your way home. There will always be a familiar face somewhere and a smile and laugh to take with you when you go. As I said, your list may be different. For me and my memories, this is just a short list of those who had a hand in them. Some of these good folks are still with us, and some have gone to a better place, but if you stand in front of the community building around dusk, I swear you can see them rolling up the sidewalks on main street.

July 1, 2014October 27, 2015

A Stone’s Throw

Yesterday I pulled over on the short side-road next to the Skiddy cemetery to help a large turtle cross into the ditch. With my new-found friend safe from harm and turtle pee on my boot, I looked towards the southeast at the small town of White City off in the distance. I’ve seen this image many times as I come home this way every day. I laughed to myself about the illusion the grain elevator and the water tower give of being so far apart from each other, but I know they are only about 3 blocks apart. It’s a small town, so what isn’t 3 blocks away? I took a minute to think about a few things like the upcoming 4th of July celebration and how this week has always been one of my favorite times of the year. For a small town, White City has the ability to pull things together by putting on a parade, ball games and fireworks all infused with that old magic ingredient called home.

I know White City isn’t the only community in which this happens, but it’s the one I live in so I can speak first hand about it. I also sat there for a minute and thought about friends I haven’t seen for a while. Once in a while a name or face pops into your head and you wonder what they’re doing now. From my vantage point at the cemetery the town seems so far away, but the fact is it’s only about 8 miles. Just like old friends, at times they too seem like a distant memory but actually they’re not that far away. We can always pull a memory or two out of nowhere closing the gap between time and distance, and by scanning the horizon I know some of those friends are just a stone’s throw from town. Much like the illusion of the grain elevator and water tower.

Now that social media has played such a large role in getting us all back in touch, it’s easier than ever to know what everyone’s up to. But, I will say there is nothing that beats lunch with a friend and the laughter that follows. We take so many things for granted when we’re young and reckless that we never saw the wave of life coming. Some caught that wave out of town while others hung on tightly to the city’s edge. Neither being wrong or right, it’s just the way things ended up. We still have those friends whether or not our paths ever cross again. Of course it can never be too late.

We take so many things for granted when we’re young and reckless that we never saw the wave of life coming.

Who knew helping a turtle across the road would give me so much to think about? Was this his big break from the small ditch he grew up in to a bigger world where the pace is much faster and the grass is taller? Do turtles have a “fast pace?” Was he returning back to a place where he grew up? Was this turtle a symbol of small town life? Crazy questions for a small town guy like me. I may never know the answers, but it made me feel good to get him off the road.

After a few minutes of taking in the scenery, I fired up my Road King and headed into town. Another confused turtle saved from what might have been, and some memories of friends that will always be…friends.

June 20, 2014November 21, 2014

Plugged In

I have this same, eerie feeling now as when the first microwave oven graced our kitchen counter. I was standing there, in complete awe and fully aware of how my life would never be the same. Pretty cool. Harley-Davidson just announced to the world that an electric motorcycle – apply named Project LiveWire, with that familiar Bar and Shield on its faux tank – could possibly be coming to dealers near you. I will spare you the humorous names I’ve come up with. No, on second thought; Electric Glide, Volt-Rod, FXAC/DC and many more. All kidding aside, let’s take a moment to let this all sink in. When the Motor Company came to be in 1903, there really wasn’t any clarification on what kind of motor it would be – combustible or electric. A company steeped in tradition and often criticized for not breaking out of the original mold from which their bikes are built, has shocked the world with this announcement. Yes, I said shocked.

I wrote about the 2014 release of the Rushmore Project in a previous post The Paint is Dry at Harley-Davidson on how the Motor Company may have painted themselves into a corner with those who buy their motorcycles. Tradition can definitely hold you back when your customers expect business as usual. It’s hard to break free of what works so well, but it can also be liberating when you finally do so. If the Rushmore Project, the Street 500 and 750 and now the Project LiveWire are a sign of things to come, then hang on, it’s going to get exciting!

Whether you think an electric motorcycle makes sense or not, it’s truly about making those innovative changes, flexing gray matter and pushing the limits of design and technology. Here’s what impresses me most with the Motor Company. For a 110+ year old company with a reputation of building their bikes using the same parts over and over, they surprised us with something a bit futuristic with very little resemblance to anything within the walls of the Harley-Davidson Museum. Sure, every company goes through some weird times with ideas and designs, (Harley-Davidson is no exception) but to actually push the limits of what they built the entire company on is surely a sign of new blood and enthusiasm within the Motor Company.

Is it in our near future to see the electric motorcycle capable of touring? Will I be traveling to Sturgis for a week of touring the Blackhills on an electric bike? Probably not in my lifetime, but there was a time when I didn’t think it possible to heat soup in a little electric box in a matter of seconds, either. You must admit, Project LiveWire is cool. We must applaud the Motor Company for stepping up and stepping out of the corner in which we painted them into. That’s right. We held the Motor Company back by our childish wants, needs and desires to hang on to the past. But, Harley-Davidson allowed us to hold them back. Sure, we were comfortable and what the Motor Company was doing worked for so many years. But just as the microwave changed my household forever, I didn’t stop buying soup because of it. I like soup.

I’m excited, not only for the loyalists but the Motor Company as well. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain when limits get pushed. As Harley-Davidson steps out of their comfort zone and goes to the public and asks their opinion, it can only be a good thing. For a company to be that plugged in to their customer base speaks volumes to where Harley-Davidson is headed. So the next time you use any of your modern gadgetry just ask yourself this; would you have it any other way? Welcome to the future.

Please check it out!

Harley-Davidson

Project LiveWire

June 17, 2014October 27, 2014

Lost in Translation

It’s nothing but words. Words of description, feelings and stories. They roll out of our mouths or with pen and paper, and in some crazy, weird way they come together to say what we want to say. Right or wrong, intentional or with regret, they come out and all of a sudden the bell has rung. We can apologized, repeat and explain but just as the “ayes” have it, the words have spoken.

This morning’s ride to work had me thinking about how the written and spoken word has changed. We no longer write long letters on paper placed in an envelope or stand in the kitchen talking on a phone with a 3 foot cord. Communication is instant these days and can often be misunderstood. As fast as our thoughts will allow our thumbs to type, a message is sent and then read to see if we actually sent what we meant to say. I’m not knocking this type of communication, I’m just trying to understand how we got here.

Before the instant message, we sat down to put our thoughts on paper. Each word and sentence thought out carefully and a lot of concentration was given to show the recipient that we had decent hand writing. When we were through with the letter we actually penned our name at the bottom with some sort of closing wishing them well or expressing our feelings. Done. Fold it up, put it in the envelope and lick the seal. Now in a couple of days they will know exactly how I feel. Today, they know exactly how we feel – RIGHT NOW. If you needed to talk to someone immediately, you picked up the phone, dialed their number (after looking it up in the phone book) only to be greeted with a “hello?” How archaic.

It’s amazing how I can’t remember ever throwing away a letter. It’s almost as if it was something to be cherished and kept to read again and again. I think we’ve lost something in translation – but it’s not in the words we say or write. It’s in the amount of thought and effort we put into it. It’s hard to show how good my penmanship is in a text message. Who am I kidding – I have no penmanship. The keyboard and mouse have taken over and I can’t even find a pen. The phone calls are more convenient now and I don’t have to stand in the kitchen to talk, but now they come more frequently and the topics are less in-depth. It used to be when the phone rang we looked at each other to see who would get up to answer it. Now, we look to see who’s phone is ringing. We usually don’t pick up with a hello and hang up with a goodbye, and I’m a little sad about that.

So back to my ride in this morning. When I finally pulled into the parking lot at work and shut off my bike, my phone rang. It was my dad calling to see if I had called him. You see, he doesn’t have caller ID on his phone so when he sees a missed call he calls everyone to find out who it was. Although he has an answering machine at home, he doesn’t have voicemail on his cell phone. We had a short visit, I told him I loved him and he said the same and we hung up. I thought about how I answered the phone and whether or not the traditional hello and goodbye was used. They were not. But I heard “I love you” before I hung up and that’s just as good in my book. That’s one thing not lost in translation.

June 14, 2014

Tastes Like Chicken

Let me explain something here. I’m not crazy. This morning’s ride to work couldn’t have started out any more normal. I’m on time, I’ve prepared myself and I have my wallet; so what does this have to do with my mental state? As I traveled down the 5 mile stretch of road between home and Skiddy, I found myself riding with both hands in the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. The throttle was set and my hands a little cold – so they found refuge. It crossed my mind that I’m literally sitting on a 800 pound machine careening down the road with no apparent signs of control, but hey, my hands were a little cold so what do you do…

My second observation was the freshly cut grass along the side of the county road. The day before I hadn’t noticed this, but this morning it caught my eye. I love fresh-cut grass. It smells good and it was so even and straight that I couldn’t have done it better myself. Who did it? Do they have as much fun cutting grass as I do? Does my grass need cutting? All really good questions, and I’m betting whoever cut it loves to mow grass.

As I dropped down into the valley just before Skiddy I came upon what appeared to be an exploded chicken. That’s right, feathers everywhere. I am familiar with free range and I must say I’ve never seen a loose chicken in this area, so I determined it was some other form of fowl, but at 60 miles per hour, who knows. Of course by now my hands are back on the bars and my mind is picturing chickens running across the road in their track suits but I still wasn’t convinced if that was actually a chicken. Of course it wasn’t I said in my head, but my mind keeps telling me that’s what I saw. Who knows? I’m guessing not. But maybe.

After coming out of the valley past Skiddy my mind switched gears to how a short morning cloud burst of rain made the pavement wet. I thought about how tires are pretty amazing to keep me upright going around curves in the road even while wet. At just that moment a plastic bag from Walmart came flying up at me out of nowhere. Remaining calm on the outside, I managed to contain any signs of surprise while keeping my wet tires planted firmly on the pavement. How did I know it was a Walmart bag? It got hung up on my mirror and flapped around until I could get it off. Of course my thoughts turned to how a plastic bag could be blowing around out here in the middle of nowhere, with all the barbwire fence, trees and tall grass for it to snag. So for the last three miles I’ve been thinking about chickens dressed in track suits, wet pavement and plastic bags. Is there nothing else going on in my pretty little head?

I promise you there is more to what really goes on in my head than that. Sure, our minds are free to wander as we ride our motorcycles and it’s not always about solving life’s problems. I would rather say that my ride to work this morning covered the great mysteries of life and how the food chain really works, along with how plastic bags have an effect on our planet. Not to mention the laws of physics when riding down the highway with both hands in my hoodie completely in control with a little out-of-control mixed in. As for the chicken? I may never know why he crossed the road.

June 10, 2014June 11, 2014

Spending Time

Years wasted. Time spent and keep the change. It comes down to making the most of what you’re given and picking up a little extra a long the way. Search the seat cushions, ashtrays and the top of the dryer for whatever you’re short, because sometimes all we have is pocket change.

Blame it on Old Father Time for being cheap. He knows before the end of the week I’m going to be hitting him up for an advance to get me through another rough spot. Who knows, maybe this time I’ll be able to pay him back. How do we buy more time? We can’t. It’s all borrowed with no refunds or returns.

As we get older we find every minute has a price tag. To say “precious moments” might even be an understatement when it comes to the older we get. When our age and shoe size matched, time wasn’t a big deal. We had plenty and we didn’t care if we wasted it. Save it? Impossible. We burned through it like there was no tomorrow. Now, we wonder if there really is a tomorrow.

If there is one thing we need to do more of it would be to spend our time where it does the most good. Throwing our loose change in a can for a rainy day is great idea as long as that rainy day comes. What’s that old saying? You can’t take it with you, so spend your wealth with those who mean the most to you. Your time is the most valuable thing you have – not that fist full of coins from under the front seat of your car.

Spend your time doing the things that make you the happiest. Whether it’s watching, listening, participating or just being, in the end you don’t get to keep the change.