Category: Humor

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100 Miles

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One hundred miles sounds far, doesn’t it? If you had to walk it or even ride a bicycle that far you would have a full day ahead of you…or in my case several days ahead of me. But we ride motorcycles and one hundred miles may take a couple of hours if you find the right road. You see, as bikers it’s not about how fast you get there, it’s about the quality of the ride. It can actually be a “longer is better” mentality. Do we do that in our car? If you drive a classic Mustang convertible or a Jeep Wrangler with the top off you might feel this way. But the Chevette isn’t the “long way” approach of getting there.

That’s the difference of enjoying the ride or plain transportation. The motorcycle can pull double duty combining the commute with the long way home and that is often the case for the motorcyclist. For those of us that ride we might even take the long way home while driving our car because we know the mental benefits of doing so. But I might add that if you don’t ride a motorcycle and you find yourself taking the long way home-you are a biker in the making. You just don’t know it yet.

So this one hundred mile theory works just the opposite for bikers. We WANT the ride to take a couple of days if not literally, then figuratively. We NEED the ride to last longer than a mile a minute, so we take the long way. If it was all about getting there in a hurry we could drive-maybe not in the Chevette, but you know what I mean. We want one hundred miles to feel like three hundred.

I can’t change time and distance from the seat of my Road King, but I can change the speed it which I travel. I can change my attitude and the direction I go. So in a sense, I have a little bit of control over how late I will be when I get there! If you ever find yourself tired with your commute, that same old road you travel every day, think about taking the road less traveled. Motorcycle or not, you control how you get there. If you’re in a hurry, you might have to ask yourself “why.” Don’t we spend enough of our day in a blur? Slow down, go the extra few miles, and appreciate the scenery. You might be surprised how good the “long way” really feels!

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So What’s Your Excuse?

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Can you smell it? It’s called anticipation, or maybe it’s exhaust fumes from you running your motorcycle in the garage waiting on that semi-nice day to ride. Either way its safe to say we all want to get the riding season underway. For some of us this will be a typical year of a few planned short trips and hopefully a couple of longer rides that require a little more thought. If you’re lucky like me you can ride to work to get that fix on a daily basis.

That’s why we have this motorcycle in the first place, right? You got into this for the freedom and the life-changing aspect that riding gives us, didn’t you? Or was it just to make the neighbors jealous of you because you have that “wild side” they don’t have? Whatever the reason, that motorcycle is sitting in the garage like a dog that is begging to be walked. You’re tired, sitting on the couch and Scout sits by the door looking at you-waiting for that sign that this time you aren’t getting up to go to the refrigerator. So what’s the excuse today?

It’s cold. It’s hot. It’s windy. I’m tired. Should I continue? We’ve all said it before, but really? Remember that feeling you had on your last ride and how you came back from it ready to take on the world? That short ride with your friends that took you down some beautiful back roads? Or was it that time you went somewhere and the weather turned bad and you had to suck it up and get through it. But afterwards you had something to talk about and it even made you say to those that didn’t go “exactly where do you buy your underwear, because it’s not the big boy department!” And yes, you STILL talk about that day and how amazing it was that you survived.

So this year you are going to challenge yourself. Un-plug your bike from the battery tender, un-plug yourself from your cell phone and go for a ride. The more you ride the more you want to ride. The less your ride, the easier it is to make excuses. Make your friends and neighbors really understand the reason you have that bike in the garage. Turn the TV off and get off the computer, put your gear on and go! You won’t regret it. Good weather or not so great, you will come back wondering why you struggled with the decision whether or not you wanted to. Of course you wanted to!

So the next time you have the urge to get on your bike and that little voice of excuses starts talking, you have a choice to make. You can turn the volume up on the TV, or you can fire up that motivator you have in the garage. It’s your choice.

But I warn you. If you are not going to do it, at least take Scout for a ride.

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This Life Of Mine

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I know it sounds crazy but I just don’t feel my age. It’s a younger me that rolls around in my head and there is a constant argument of how young I think I am, and the reality of how I look and feel on the outside. Let’s face it, I think I’m in my thirties and some would say I act even younger than that. What’s the old saying? “Act your age not your shoe size.” Well I would say I act a little older than ten and a half but not by much.

We all have those days when the mind and body are not talking to each other. It might be the weather, our health or it’s simply that time in our lives when no matter how hard we try we just can’t get ahead. Our mental state can be affected by just as much as our physical state. And those rare days when both are humming along at the same speed life is good!

So with age comes experience in life that we don’t have when we are young. But if you think about it, what is wrong with the youthful enthusiasm and curiosity that some lose as they get older? I can appreciate the experience I’ve acquired over the years but I still want to live my life and take some chances that I did when I was younger. I just don’t want to repeat the stupid mistakes that gave me the “life experience” to know better. We need to get that enthusiasm and curiosity back and take those chances with the experience that adulthood gives us to really find that perfect mix.

We all have our ways of feeling young. Some live vicariously through our kids, while some are active in their own forms of recreation. I ride motorcycles. I’ve been riding a long time and it has always been a way for me to connect to my youthful side. Do I think I could go out and win a few trophies at my age? Sure! The key word here is “think” and I do believe I could. Could I go out and ride hard enough to win? Maybe. Would I be embarrassed to try? No, I would always have my age to blame!

I think the secret to that youthful feeling is “living in the moment.” As kids or young adults, we specialized in living right there in the moment. Not worrying about yesterday or tomorrow, or even an hour ago or an hour from now, and that gives you sense of freedom. Some adults are still good at that. But for me? I go on worrying or at least thinking about adult things. For a short time while I’m riding my motorcycle that will usually go away. Right there in the moment, riding nowhere in particular, and for a brief time my head will clear. I’m sure if you had me hooked up to a machine you would see stuff like my heart rate go down, my bad cholesterol clear up, or my waist size shrink, who knows for sure. But one thing I will say is I feel better and I feel like a kid again.

I’m not suggesting we all go out and re-live our youth, that would spell trouble. What I think we need is a double-shot of whatever comes out of the fountain of youth. When I was young the fountain of youth must have been the end of the garden hose because I sucked on it all summer long. Whatever we do that gives us that feeling of “acting our shoe size” is exactly what we need to have that balance of our youth and adulthood. Don’t feel bad when your body says you “can’t”, it just hasn’t received the memo.  

 

 

 

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The Reason I Ride

sturgis100_4434To look back over the forty years I’ve been riding motorcycles is easy. I like thinking about all the experiences I’ve had and even looking at the photographs I’ve got stored away in an old envelope on the shelf. Notice I said “shelf” not “memory stick” or “hard drive”. That’s back in the day when someone had to take your picture and then a conscious effort was needed to get the film developed all the while hoping at least one of the pictures wouldn’t be blurry. If nothing else the old photos prove that at some point in my life I have been in shape and I have had a full head of hair.

So as I look back I often wonder why the motorcycle impacted my life instead of football or any other type of sports or recreation. Simple explanations for gravity or inertia I can give, but an explanation of why I ride might be difficult. But I ride when those friends of mine don’t. They’ll watch football or basketball and I’ll watch Supercross or Moto GP racing. The funny thing is the majority of my friends don’t ride motorcycles. I know what you’re thinking. A guy like Jeff must be surrounded by the latest and greatest machinery out there. He must ride a million miles a year and his house is filled with trophies of championships and with friends who ride and do nothing but talk about two-wheeled adventures. The reality is I do ride a lot and I rarely hang out with my motorcycle friends. My close friends all watch the games on TV and come Monday I’m at a loss for what to say when everyone is talking about the weekend in sports.

Going through my formative years at school in White City, I just didn’t play much football or basketball. In a community where team sports are the talk of the town, I was riding my motorcycle out to the trails to practice, eventually racing motocross until I broke my leg in 1987. Was I any good? From the side of the track I probably appeared to be somewhat awkward and squidish. From inside my helmet looking out I was awesome! Fast and smooth and wheeling away from the pack! But average is more like it, although I finished my best year ranked third in the state.

I think the real reason I ride runs a little deeper than just individual sports versus team sports. I missed my chance to play team sports and if I could do it over I would have played more in school. This is something I’ve come to realize as I have gotten older. Again, from the sidelines at the game I’m sure I would have appeared awkward and squidish, but I would have been there all the same. I wouldn’t necessarily change things as they turned out, but it would have been a life experience to add to the many I already have. So back to the reason… 

Just like those folks that like football or NASCAR, I like motorcycles. It really doesn’t need to be explained at all. We are individuals that have our likes and dislikes and I like the two-wheeled kind. I think most people associate me with motorcycles by now and that’s no surprise. They sure don’t mistake me for a guy in shape with a full head of hair!

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Faith Hope Live Laugh

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Words to live by. I have always felt strongly about this phrase and many times I have needed to say these words out loud to myself. You see, there have been times over the years that one of the four has been missing in my life. Maybe not missing entirely, but lacking might be a better way of putting it. I’ve always tried to maintain a positive outlook on life and I have found rolling along with the punches does make life a little easier. But as humans do, we usually search for those inspirational sayings to help us through. One thing I have always said to myself when the day is going less than good is “this day too will end”. It tells me that no matter how hard it is or how hard it can be, this day is just that. A day. It will end just like yesterday did and how tomorrow will. It will be ok.

Faith for me has been something I’ve needed to work at. I haven’t struggled with it, but I have not been the person I have wanted to be when it comes to my spiritual side. My relationship with God is strong but as a man I can be better. God knows me better than I know myself, and He’s working on it. And so am I. Our Faith gives us strength and in my life when my Faith was on the back burner is when I felt the weakest. Thank you God for being patient with me, I will try harder.

Hope is really easy for me as I am an eternal optimist. Faith and Hope go together, and if you ever hear me say ” I Hope you have a good day” understand that this is my way of saying I care about you and I think about you and I want your day to be amazing. It just always comes out, “have a good day.” Simple words I know, but it’s all about sincerity. And of course being polite!

Live your life as if it is your last day on earth. I know it’s easier said than done, and I really don’t want to leave this world washing the dishes, but you know what? What’s wrong with that? If I die tomorrow doing the dishes I am doing what needs to be done. That’s who I am. I am not above it and I’m good with that. As long as I can leave with those close to me knowing how I feel about them then what I’m doing at the time isn’t important. To die saving a puppy from a well and making the local newspaper isn’t my style anyway. Although “Man dies washing a puppy” might have a nice ring to it.

Laugh and the world will laugh with you. If anyone knows me they will tell you that I think I’m pretty funny. I am usually laughing or trying to make someone else laugh all the while not taking myself seriously. Even on those days when most things don’t seem funny, I try to spin a little humor to lighten the load. We need to laugh. We want to laugh. And we will. Some days it might be harder than others and sometimes it comes from nowhere. But don’t hold it back. Laugh.

The one thing I’ve left out is this; As I go through my daily life and deal with everything that comes my way, good or bad, I rely on all of this to not only help me through but to make it more enjoyable. Surround yourself with family and friends and enjoy every minute.

Faith gives us Hope to Live our life with the ability Laugh about it.

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Snapshot

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The weirdest thing happened to me this morning. I was thinking about the start of the day and I started thinking of small bits of time throughout my life. Just things I remember about growing up. Like a birthday party in the yard or sitting on the back steps of the house with my BB gun. Or coming out of the walk-out basement door. You know the kind where you have to reach up and open it while you were walking up the stairs.  And the old metal shed on the other side of the driveway. It wasn’t used much and seemed real big at the time, but really it wasn’t. The feeling I had at night walking from the barn back to the house and having the urge to run. So many things that came to me like old Polaroid pictures that had to be shaken before you could see them. All are clear as a bell unlike the same old pictures from back then. Welcome to digital.

It’s funny how a mulberry tree in the back yard brings back some old memories or the fact that we raised bird dogs on the side of the barn that was located next to the same tree. English Setters and there were a lot of them. But what fun it was to be tackled to the ground like I had a pheasant in my pants. I’m a pretty likable guy, and it is apparent that is also true in the dog world. Or is it I smell remarkably like a bird?

But what fun it was to be tackled to the ground like I had a pheasant in my pants. I’m a pretty likable guy, and it is apparent that is also true in the dog world. Or is it I smell remarkably like a bird?

Even some of the “snapshots” I could see in my mind were of real pictures that were taken. The first day of school with me and my brother Danny standing next to our bicycles in the front yard. Sun in our faces, and our best plaid shirts on. Thinking about this makes me realize that my mother was standing there taking it as we were squinting and looked less than happy. I actually remember the picture but not my mother taking it. Weird. It had to have been around 1974 and even though we weren’t happy about it, I’m sure mom was ecstatic! After all it was probably a long summer of the screen door getting a work out, sewing patches in jeans and hearing “I’m hungry!”

I know we all have experienced something specific from the back of our minds that takes us to that very moment. It could be anything and anyone we’ve come across that sparks this feeling. I’m not sure what mine was today, but there is something nice about it. It is usually all good and it never fails to make me laugh. I hope today is a day that I can look back on and smile. Hopefully the “picture” in my mind will still be clear as a bell!

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Dad

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Dad,

Somethings are hard to say out loud. Like, “I broke the lawn mower” or “I put a dent in the truck”. As hard as it was to fess up to something, you showed me it was OK to. And I’m not sure if it was something I had to say as a boy because I think you already knew most of what was going on when it came to us kids. I know this now, as I’m a father myself. But some of the harder things to say back then have become so much easier to say now that I have grown to really appreciate who you are as a man in my life.

I want you to know that I couldn’t have had a better childhood. You gave me so many things a young boy needs to grow into the man I want to be, without making it difficult. It was easy to be your youngest son and there were so many times that I was amazed at what you could do. Maybe you knew I was watching, maybe you didn’t but I loved seeing what you were building or fixing. Hands on, focused and making it look easy. That’s just how you did it.

I like to think I’m a lot like you. If I don’t seem that way it’s not for a lack of trying. You have a good sense of humor but I will probably give most of the credit to mom. But you and mom together…cracks me up! Where I really wish I could be like you is the talent you have with your hands. It all comes natural to you and I could only hope to be half as good as you are when it comes to woodworking. Sure the old saying of “measure twice, cut once” comes to mind. But you just knew how something was going to turn out before you picked up a hammer or saw. For me it’s more like “cut once, go back to Home Depot”.

But back to the things that are hard to say out loud…never mind about the truck or lawn mower. Thanks for being my dad. You did a great job and I love you. You taught me so much without saying a lot and you led by example. I thank you for making me a good father for my two sons. I use you as MY example when it comes to my boys. I know it was hard for you to retire from what you loved doing and I fully understand the difficulty in putting the hammer down and taking it easy. You’ve earned it and more importantly you deserve it. Mom appreciates it too.

But the one thing I have always wanted to say to you but haven’t…

Dad, I’ve always needed you.

 

 

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Chasing Horizons

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The need to get there. You know…over there. Someplace you are not. We bikers are real bad about that as we are constantly searching for the “new” perfect road. Even as we travel the same old boring rides over the years, there is a pit in our stomach that there might quite possibly be a more perfect way of getting there. You know…over there. Better trees, curvier curves, more scenic bridges and more hilly terrain. I think you get the idea. And so the search continues.

Just when we think we’ve found our utopia, we realize it’s just not enough. Like a kid is to sugar, we bikers are to scenery. Our drug of choice is the feel of the wind and the sound of our bikes as we ride down another less congested highway to somewhere we’ve never been. Sounds easy right? Right. But life can be that way. We should always be searching or at least looking around with our head up instead of walking in circles looking at the ground. We should be wanting to discover things and places we have never experienced. Some people do and others…well, do not.

I must admit when I take on a new day I’m just as much in a rut as the next person. But once in a while I do wander out of my little world and take life on. It’s exciting to be somewhere new and to talk to new people, experience new things and make some new memories. But the searching I speak of is different. It is the horizon that we just can’t get to. It’s always just over the next hill. You know…over there. It’s that constant drive and curiosity that keeps us in motion. And besides, what would we do when we get there?

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Days of Demolition

Sunday, while out and about I drove by the house where I grew up. It must have something to do with mirrors and shadows, the house, while growing up was big, but today seems small in comparison. The pasture next to it that separated Green Acres from our house also seemed small. This is where we rode our motorcycles before venturing down the side streets to get out to the Katy trails. Lawless, I tell you! The yard appears to be smaller or was I just complaining about the size of it as we used push mowers to cut the grass? Regardless, as I passed by I realized that for about twelve years of my life, things were pretty simple.

Sure, school took up most of my time, but there were always the summers. We had a barn in the back yard that we hung out in and plenty of stuff to climb around on. Bicycles to get up-town to the Vicker’s station or the pool hall and then there were all the yards I mowed for money. My dad painted houses with Sammy and sometimes I would help. So as kids, we were constantly in motion.

One summer, Lacey Mahon asked me to tear down a two-story garage/shed that he had in his back yard. Lacey Mahon owned The White City Register which was the local newspaper. The paper office was only about three blocks from his house and he was a hard-working man who was dedicated to providing our community with a valuable piece of information and historical journal every Thursday in the form of a newspaper. I already mowed his grass and apparently the look or eagerness on my face told him I would do it. It was a big  job as he expected any good lumber to be saved, cleaned of nails, stacked and covered and the rest of it to be hauled away to the dump. I was about fourteen years old and looking back it was probably a little bigger project than this guy should have taken on. Remember the look of eagerness?

And so the roof starts to come off. Wooden shingles and nails falling to the ground. My brother Danny is helping and my dad provided the tools and the ’67 Chevy truck. We were making it happen! I was actually surprised how quick it was coming along. My brother and I found out that if you stayed on the roof with the truck below, we could toss the scraps into the bed saving all kinds of time. Only later did we find out (from our dad) that all the lumber that missed the bed of the truck… those boards that just fell short, might have left dents in the side off the truck. Might? They did. Oops.

Through the hot summer days we worked. We knocked down boards and pulled thousands of nails, some of which we straightened and saved, and it all took time, but we got it done. Many loads to the dump, lumber sorted and stacked and in between days of demolition I was mowing yards around town. I had been keeping track of my hours and figuring in my brother Danny’s help, for that day to finally collect. As a young man walking down the street with my hours figured on a piece of scratch paper, I was nervous that the total was going to be too much. After all, we tore down a two-story garage! When I asked my dad what he thought about how much it totaled he said, “is that how many hours you worked?” I guess that meant that it wasn’t too much.

I remember the day I walked down to the newspaper office to collect. We had just finished up and I knew Lacey was there. Of course he was there as he was always there. I walked in, stood at the desk where Lacey was sitting and told him I was finished. He pulled out his check book with his ink-stained fingers and asked how much. I explained how much work it ended up being and that it took a little longer than I thought. He said he appreciated the cleaning and stacking the lumber and that the rest was hauled off and to tell him how much. “$167 dollars” I said. He wrote me a check and I walked out a much better man than when I walked in. I cut Lacey’s grass for several years and always thought a lot of him for letting me do this. And I was always proud of myself for taking on a project of that size at that age. But I still feel bad about the dents in the side of the truck. Sorry dad!

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Thanks To My Mother

I have to give thanks for the lessons my mother taught me. As the youngest child, most would think I got everything I ever wanted and could get away with anything I ever did. Ok, so maybe that’s true. But it doesn’t take away from things I learned from my mother along the way.

She’s a pretty special gal, my mom. Looking at some old pictures of mom and dad you have to appreciate the difference in what a photograph meant to them compared to what they mean to us today. Sunday best, or jeans and t-shirts. There was usually a car in the background, standing on the steps of the house or they were at an event or going somewhere. Today, we take pictures of everything but it usually isn’t choreographed. In most of these pictures my mom stands the same way. One foot slightly in front of the other, turned a little to the side and hands together. Very feminine and elegant, she always takes a very good picture.

But there was so much to the making of Jeff Maddox than meets the eye. From an early age I picked up on little things that made me who I am today. For instance, a man always carries the heavy packages. A very simple rule I know, but valuable to say the least. It IS my responsibility after all and I do it willingly. Also, a man should always hold the door for a woman. Of course! We should hold the door for anyone, agreed? But always for a lady. Another is walking on the “street side” of a woman. As you are walking down the sidewalk, it should always be the man walking next to the curb. I’m good with that. Alright, so far I’m walking along the curb carrying the heavy packages, hands full and getting ready to hold the door…

Next, it is the man’s responsibility to pay for the meal. This too is something I agree with. And while you’re there, the woman orders first. Always. So, where are we now? Walking, carrying the heavy packages, holding the door to the restaurant and then paying for the meal. I like it so far!

But there is so much more to it than that. Watching my mother and father dancing down the aisle at Gibson’s to the elevator music playing in the store is priceless. In her eighties, she still has a sense of humor and makes me laugh. And she knows that it’s good to laugh at yourself. I’m lucky as both my mother and father have a great sense of humor.

Through the years, these little things have stayed with me. I still believe in the lessons learned, but find them harder and harder to do. Mostly, because people just aren’t used to the way it used to be. People don’t make eye contact any more and if you hold the door they seemed surprised. Things have changed, people have changed and they look at me funny when I talk about this. But it’s who I am and I’ll never change. I have my mother to thank for that, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope my boys heard me when I spoke of these things. It is important to me that they uphold the gentlemen’s way. After all, it’s a dying art and as a man, we have our responsibilities. I love you mom!