Category: Humor

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Ride 50 at 50 Part 2: This Just Got Real

Hands will be raised just like the laughter that will follow, and the memories will be born.

Adrian David Andy SFAs so the journey begins. It’s a simple concept, really. Pack a few things, jump on a plane, fly to America and rent three Indian Motorcycles. Once you land, it’s three weeks of riding highway 50 across the country with three of the best friends imaginable. Lot’s of 3’s here.

Nobody said it would be easy. Hell, even friendships can be hard at times, but adding the stress of where to stop and sleep and eat can just put each of you on your last nerve. Just remember, no matter how hard it is, every moment will be looked at and smiled upon once this epic ride is over. Hands will be raised just like the laughter that follows and memories will be born.

Adrian, Andrew and David are wheels-up on their way to America, and it’s about time. All of the anticipation and planning, logistics and doubts have all met in the intersection. This just got real. But soon you will find the rhythm of the road and I know the places and people you meet will bring it all together. Remember to breathe, but more importantly remember to put yourself smack-dab in the moment. Slow down and let this ride unfold into everything you want it will be.

Please follow along on this ride of a lifetime. Three Amigos on Indian Motorcycles riding east to west on Route 50. It doesn’t get any better than that.

 

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From the Ground Up

It isn’t always blue sky and rainbows. Sometimes our day consists of grinding it out only to look up at the clock and see its been 10 minutes since the last time we looked. I’m not sure how many clocks have been replaced over the years by people who are convinced theirs have stopped working. It must be either a time warp or a clock manufacturer’s conspiracy to keep us guessing. Well, maybe not.

Weekends? Right now that’s too far off to think about. After all, it’s only 7:30 a.m. Thursday. That’s like an eternity in work hours.

We’ve all had days like this, where our work life and our personal life collide. A day when The Man won’t leave you alone and you swear he’s the one tampering with the clocks in the office to get more out of you. All I know is our bills show up in the mail every day convincing us we have to pack a lunch and ride to work, but the beer in the fridge and the flip flops we mistakenly put on our feet as we started out the door remind us that there is a life after 5 p.m. Weekends? Right now that’s too far off to think about. After all, it’s only 7:30 a.m. Thursday. That’s like an eternity in work hours.

So, about this grind. It’s necessary. It’s what puts food on the table and affords us all the bad habits we can acquire. It fills the gas tank and allows us a roof over our heads and puts flip flops on our feet. Oh, and work clothes and stuff like that. And when the grind becomes too much, we slip in a vacation to put it all behind us. Before we know it, the vacation is over before what seems it ever started. Good times. Forget the pizza and chips because it’s back to Lunchables and a Diet Coke and a date with a time-clock. At what point during the week does it turn from the grind to ground-up for you?

There is no cure for this. Work and be happy. Find a balance and put your priorities at the top of the list instead of in the sidebar. Take a minute and do what makes you happy, even if it’s between the Lunchable and punching your card. Make friends with The Man and maybe you’ll find some common ground where you both can sit and share a Diet Coke and a smile. Okay, I went a little far with that.

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Blipping the Throttle

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Things haven’t change much in my 45+ years of riding motorcycles. Or have they? When I first got my start riding these crazy things, it was a much simpler time. Long, endless days of riding beneath the blue skies and hot sun in the pastures and back roads of rural Morris County. Our bikes were pure and uncomplicated and they did it all. A direct reflection of who we were and of course a mirror to who we are today.

Our bikes were pure and uncomplicated and they did it all. A direct reflection of who we were and of course a mirror to who we are today.

Little did I know that what I was actually experiencing in my little corner of the world was a culture not only defined by two wheels but whatever it was that bounced around in my head at the time. The same head that wore a helmet with a bubble shield much like the one I have today. Change? Some things will never change. I was becoming a product that was built from ideas of what I wanted it to be. In essence, I was creating a definition based on my perception of a culture that is ever evolving. And it still is. Now, within this culture of motorcycles is another underlying sub-culture of riders finding their own way and setting their own standards. The only rule is to be unique. Easier said than done, in a world of it’s all been done before.

I was creating a definition based on my perception of a culture that is ever evolving. And it still is.

This brings me to Ian Davis. The owner of a Kansas City coffee house in the West Bottoms called Blip Roasters. Ian is bringing two of his passions together whilst bringing us all together. From his vintage coffee equipment he succeeds in pulling in a mix of retro and custom hand-built motorcycles and an equal mix of riders that find that no matter how different we all are, there is always that mix of brew and bikes putting us on common grounds. How fitting to be in the industrial part of town.

I have to hand it to Ian. Both of his passions reflect a timeless tradition and will do so long after we’re gone. My only hope for Ian is his continued success in the Kansas City area and beyond. And thanks for promoting a lifestyle that has changed so little but changed so many lives, mine included. Follow along with Ian on Facebook and Instagram and check out their upcoming events if you’re in the Kansas City area.

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Scootin’ America – Kansas Style

 What a leap of faith it takes to dedicate a couple of years time and ride thousands of miles spreading the word benefitting those who need a hand.

 

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For the last few days I’ve had the opportunity to meet and hang around Adam Sandoval as he travels around to every Harley-Davidson dealership in the United States with Scooter “Trash” Sandoval, his Chihuahua, raising money and awareness for the children of fallen soldiers. Since I work at a Harley-Davidson dealership it was inevitable that we would meet. Scootin’ America indeed.

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What a leap of faith it takes to dedicate a couple of years time and ride thousands of miles spreading the word benefitting those who need a hand. Now I could write about Adam and his accomplishments, but this has already been done. For me it’s more about what drives someone to be a motorcycle gypsy, putting most of your personal life on hold and hit the highway hoping, just hoping people will show up and donate to a worthy cause. Most people talk about or dream of doing this but that’s where we commonly stop – just short of pulling the bike out of the garage. After all, “it’s just wishful thinking” and “someone else will do it.” It’s one thing to say we want to do something similar to this on our very own motorcycle but to actually do it speaks volumes to a big heart, and a drive to make a difference. Both he and Scooter are going the distance to showing it can be done. Now if only more folks would actually follow through with an idea, just think of what could be accomplished on this big blue planet we call home.

I have to hand it to Adam. Riding a 1996 Harley-Davidson Electra Glide 100,000 plus miles through all kinds of weather would make most people rethink their big idea of riding the United States but I don’t imagine that’s the case here. Adam is sincere and genuine. And appreciative. Even Scooter is happiest when riding or stopping to have their pictures taken. But put yourself in Adam and Scooter’s position; ride, stop, meet and greet, hammer down to the next stop and repeat. The many faces and the endless handshakes, the well-wisher’s and the logistics can wear you down, but in meeting Adam I didn’t sense any of this. He was present in the conversation and took the time with everyone he met. This is a man who believes in his cause, and who is willing to do what it takes to get the job done.

 

It was an honor to meet you Adam and Scooter, Judge and Julia, who you can follow as HarleyBabe. I wish you all safe travels, and thanks for all you do. And if you see Scootin’ America on the highway or at your local Harley-Davidson dealership, stop and say hello and donate to the cause if you can.

 

 

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Smoke’em if You Got’em

Living in the great state of Kansas, we go through a period in the Spring when farmers and ranchers burn pastures because it’s been proven to release nutrients into the ground, which help revitalize the prairie. It’s also a great method of brush and weed control. I love watching the fires at dusk as they give off a glow, reflecting off the smoke as it rises above the pasture. Beautiful.

But it is a little different when you pass by while riding a motorcycle. By the time I get home, I feel as if I’ve smoked a pack of Camel cigarettes with no filter. In my mind, I’m the well-dressed guy in the smoking lounge wearing my leather Harley-Davidson jacket as my Biltwell Helmet traps the smoke against my face. No second-hand smoke here folks. First-hand and fresh.

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I’m always glad when I pull over and become a participant in this thing called life. It sure beats just being an observer.

I’m always talking about how riding puts us bikers smack dab in the middle of the elements. Rain, wind and temperature swings are the most common elements I deal with but wild animals, debris and of course smoke can make any ride more interesting. While we spend our rides hoping for a babbling brook or a scenic tree line to capture on our phone, we often stop to take a picture where man and Mother Nature meet.

Living in this fast-paced world we often forget to stop and smell the roses, or smoke in this case. I’m always glad when I pull over and become a participant in this thing called life. It sure beats just being an observer.

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Ride50at50 Part 1: Packing Light

Sydney Christmas

Sometimes you have to just jump right in and do it. When I think of planning a birthday party I usually think of finding a restaurant and having myself a nice meal with family and friends, opening a few humorous birthday cards or a gag gift or two. If I were to set some birthday goals, I would probably think of taking the day off and do something for myself. I know when I turned 50 years old there was little more than a reminder given to me that my father’s birthday was coming up in two days. Oh, and the 4th of July falls in between the two of ours. Who could forget that?

Somewhere within social media I stumbled upon Dave Berman and his life-long friends Adrian and Andy, who are planning a celebratory birthday trip to the United States from their homes in the United Kingdom to ride highway 50 in the U.S. for their 50th birthdays. An epic journey in another country riding Indian motorcycles picked from the fleet at Eaglerider Motorcycle and Tours in Washington D.C. sounds pretty good to me. Hell, even the plane ride to get here and back would be a pretty special birthday present, but they are taking it a step further. Air travel is fine, but the real meat and potatoes is hopping on motorcycles and immersing themselves into this landscape we call America. What better way to see this country than from the seat of an iconic brand and mingling with the locals every chance you get? I can’t think of any better way. And mingling is one of my favorite things to do.

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Now I’ve taken a week-long ride on my motorcycle before and I know the importance of packing light. Along with the daily necessities and toiletries you must also carry a wide range of gear to counter inclement weather should you run into it. I also prefer to save a small portion of storage for anything else you find along the way that you just can’t live without. We bikers are Master Packers.

We are just a few weeks away from the beginning of the 3 Amigo’s trip. I’m to meet up with this band of birthday brothers around the 8th of May in Kansas City to ride along to Council Grove Kansas where they hope to spend the night. After all, I’m somewhat of a local. The next day, with their permission, I will tag along for a few miles and re-acquaint myself with western Kansas. I know this trip will be a memorable one for you guys and I appreciate you letting me be a small part of it . Who am I kidding? Hold on tight, it’s going to be quite a ride.

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Grey Matter

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If only it was as simple as black and white. The grey area that resides in the between black and white can put our grey matter to the test each and every day. Maybe when growing up, my life was more black and white because the Polaroid’s and television sets hadn’t received the color treatment yet. Like some old photograph of the family as we were loading up the car to leave Grandpa Todd’s house in Benkelman Nebraska to head home, we were oblivious to whether we lived in color. But I do think our whites were whiter.

 Like some old photograph of the family as we were loading up the car to leave Grandpa Todd’s house in Benkelman Nebraska to head home, we were oblivious to whether we lived in color. But I do think our whites were whiter.

It goes without fail, as technology grabs us by the short hair we quickly end up expecting more. Once electric windows in our cars replaced the awful, exhausting and primitive way of manually cranking them up and down, we then decided AM radio wasn’t good enough. Don’t get me started on vinyl seats. I’ve never felt so alive when climbing in a hot car and letting the vinyl covered bench seat scald me. The familiar pattern of sweat on our backs during the summer would act as a primitive form of air conditioning once we exited the car. This my friends, was the birth of A/C in our automobiles.

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There is a certain innocence to black and white. It takes the eye away from the pretty colors and lets us focus on what is truly being photographed. What better way to see me in my natural habitat than in monochrome. You are less distracted by the green in the grass or my dark blue jeans. Although my hair now is about as gray as the picture showed it to be then.

 

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Scout’s Honor

Old dogs. There is something to love about an old dog who asks nothing from you other than to be a part of your life. Scout is a part of my life. He’s about 14 years old, and I’ve had him since he was a pup. In fact, one of his first duties was to ride shotgun with me while I tinted windows on the weekends. He became somewhat of a local celebrity with many of the referral customers because when I showed up with Scout they would tell me I was recommended by a friend who told them I would arrive in a Jeep Wrangler with a miniature Australian Shepherd. He loves to go and he doesn’t care where.

He is the kind of dog you can only hope to have. As a puppy he would fetch a ball or Frisbee without any coaxing. He not only had fun growing up but he is also a working dog. Put a bandana on his neck and he knows it’s time to go. I never worried about leaving him in the Jeep during the summer, even with the top off as he wouldn’t run away. I could tell him to stay and he would. If we both got out of the Jeep he would walk just slightly ahead of me, but always seemed to know where I was going. A leash? Not at all. Folks would freak out when we got out at Broadway and Crawford at my friend Mike’s car lot on a Saturday thinking Scout would take off into traffic at the busy intersection. But he was more interested in seeing who was inside the building. After all, it was time to go to work.

Anytime I go through a drive-thru, Scout will always get the attention he deserves. All I can say is he can be a little picky when they send a dog bone his way. I’m really not sure where he gets that from. He is also a good judge of character, and I trust him when it comes to this. When he’s not sure of someone, he sits at my feet but usually he will be there to greet someone he’s never met.

Scout loves to stop and see my folks. He knows my dad will scratch him in all the right places and that my mother has a bag of treats hidden in the storage compartment of her foot stool. She a softy and he’s not afraid to capitalize on it. The funny thing is, as picky as he can be, no matter what my mother gives him he will take it. He knows it’s the right thing to do and how happy it makes her.

He’s listened to Journey’s Greatest Hits more than he probably cares to and I’m sure when he’s sleeping he’s humming a few bars of ‘Don’t stop believing’ in his dreams.

He’s a good dog. No wait – a great dog. And as his hearing has faded to the point where I can get home on my motorcycle and he sleeps right through it, he is always happy to see me. That’s the worst part of riding my bike, that he doesn’t get to go along. Believe me, I’ve thought about getting the pet carrier to take him, but that’s just not his style. Nobody puts baby in the corner, if you know what I mean…He sits up front with me.

As he and I are both getting older, he knows I can’t throw the ball as far as I used to and he doesn’t want to run as fast as he did before. But that’s okay. I also know that Scout has made my life better just by being in it. He’s listened to Journey’s Greatest Hits more than he probably cares to and I’m sure when he’s sleeping he’s humming a few bars of ‘Don’t stop believing’ in his dreams. I can only hope that I’ve made his life as enjoyable as he’s made mine.

 

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Lost in Place

20160317_182756_HDR[1]It’s easy getting lost in this big ‘ol world. Maybe not as easy as it used to be, but not that difficult either. There was a time when just packing up the furniture and moving without leaving a change of address would confuse a whole lot of folks, and if we didn’t have the telephone that hangs in the kitchen connecting us to the outside world, those same folks would drive over to see if you were okay. When did so many people care to know where I am? Nowadays, if your battery goes dead in your cell phone we feel like George Clooney in the movie Gravity as we float off into space with both the earth and Sandra Bullock fading away. The whole lot of us are lost in space for sure.

As a motorcyclist, we actually try to get lost when we ride. We look for those old blue highways to take us someplace – any place – that we’ve never been. But unless we are willing to dedicate a few days of riding to get outside of the circle of scenery we call our stomping grounds, we might as well accept the fact we’re going to be spotted by someone we know. Lost? Hardly.

We all need to let our minds wonder as we wander down these old blue highways.

But those old blue highways can always give us the opportunity to disconnect from the world we are so connected to. Even though I’ll never make it to the edge of space on my bike, by just throwing my cell phone in the saddle bag away from view and vacant from that pocket where vibrations are felt, I can disconnect my mind for a few minutes. We all need to let our minds wonder as we wander without feeling like we’re being followed.

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So until I find the time to break out of the box I call my daily routine, I’ll find ways to get lost in place. Look! Someone is sending smoke signals up to find out where I am.

 

 

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The Calm Before the Morn’

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For this split-second, this sliver of my life, I am standing here in the right place at the right time.

Who wouldn’t like to see this every morning? It can be easy to be preoccupied enough to let a moment like this slip away, but I just can’t do that. With the constant hurry and this wierd feeling I need to be somewhere lingering over me, I still want to stop and take it in. All of it.

We motorcyclists are often credited with pinning the throttle or living life on the edge, but sometimes we actually do stop and realize we aren’t bigger than life but actually a small piece of it.

I wonder how many moments I’ve missed over the years because of my own lack of awareness? The ability to stop and appreciate something so big and out of my control is a learned trait and one that may take years of practice. Or maybe a few birthdays to realize life is more than a daily commute. We motorcyclists are often credited with pinning the throttle or living life on the edge, but sometimes we actually do stop and realize we aren’t bigger than life but actually a small piece of it.

This is what I need each and every day to prepare me for what’s ahead. It’s this calm feeling I need before the storm of life hits the shore. Even though the temperature is 36 degrees, just knowing the sun is coming up to warm the skies makes me feel anything is possible. In a matter of moments this sunrise will change and evolve into another day, but for right now it’s majestic and worthy of a moment of my time.

For this split-second, this sliver of my life, I am standing here in the right place at the right time to take this in. Sure, I may be standing in the ditch but I wouldn’t want it any other way.