Category: Small Town

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Mind Over Matter

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So 2015, it’s been nice knowing you. I’m not sure about the “older you get the faster time flies” thing because it seems this year has lasted longer than 365 days. And besides, when did I get old? Who am I kidding…

I know one thing for sure, if how I felt was a true measure to how old I am, I would not be able to buy beer. Of course, I  don’t feel that old. My mind is still telling my body that anything is possible, and it is more mind over matter anyway. Just tell that to the guy behind the counter at the liquor store.

So for 2016 I will make some promises to myself. Not the usual lies I tell myself every new year, but the ones that really, truly matter. Why we always pick the beginning of the year to make these random claims of personal improvements is beyond me, but here I go;

Laughing More – I need a huge belly laugh where the snorts and snot come from my nose. The kind where Diet Coke comes spraying from my mouth like a split radiator hose. Admit it, you want to laugh like that too.

Working on My Health – I know, right? My mind is telling the matter down below everything is fine, but at my age I know better. I need to stretch, walk and eat better for the health of it. Why? It’s the right thing to do and I can only imagine I would feel better. And besides, a nice evening walk gives me plenty of time to think. My motorcycle does the same thing but without all the cardio.

Take Some Time Off – I need this for my mental state. I’m not sure if this is good or bad, but I’m sure it will depend on how I use this time off. Beer and Nacho Doritos or stretch, walk and be active? Mind over matter, right? I also want to take a ride someplace I haven’t been on my motorcycle. Maybe to the southwest. That’s where Nacho Doritos are made right?

Be a Better Listener – Pay attention and be present daily. Or better yet, shut up and let people talk. I have been told I’m a good listener and I have the stories to back this up. I have perfect strangers tell me things they may not tell anyone else. It must be the perfectly timed concerned nod I give.

Sunrise and Sunsets – I talk a lot about my morning and evening rides on my motorcycle reflecting on how beautiful these are and how each one is unique and beautiful in its own way. I also know others are looking at them too from their own perspective and vantage point, but from now on I’m going to appreciate the beauty of both the visual and spiritual sides of these daily wonders. The beauty as it happens and how and why it happens, and in turn, give thanks each day for this amazing gift.

Appreciate – So much wasted energy is given to those things we cannot change and I will dedicate this energy to appreciating all that is around me. I will also communicate my appreciation to those who are important to me. I hope you don’t mind, because this matters to me. Get it?

One thing is for sure, every day is a gift and there isn’t any point in wasting it. Make the most of your time spent on this earth and give it all you have while making a positive difference in someone else’s life.

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Peak Performance

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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!

 

 

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Bread Crumbs

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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.

 

 

 

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Spending Time

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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.

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My Folks and Fried Chicken

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If you look hard enough, a bright spot will appear in your day. On a cloudy, wet, cool day here at the motorcycle shop, my folks stopped in to say hello. Both in their eighties and slow to get around, they came to town to pick up a few things. Mom doesn’t always get out of the car at every stop as it can be difficult at times, but today was an exception. Dad is great when it comes to helping her around and for me it’s not hard to find a moment to stop and sit down while at work and visit with them even if its only for a few minutes. Even though they live about 8 blocks from me, it’s always good to see them, and it’s nice to know they want to stop and see me while they are in town. The conversations aren’t usually too deep; it’s mostly about the how everyone is doing and the buzz around the community or where the gas prices are the highest. Dad will let me know where and when I should buy gas to save a penny or two and as crazy as it seems – I do it. After all, a penny is a penny.

This particular trip to town, my dad picked up some fried chicken at the local full service grocery store, and my mother was looking forward to getting home and having dinner. She’s very petite but a pretty good eater so dad felt like he couldn’t leave her alone in the car with the fried chicken. Although the chicken was safe in the back seat, he thought it better to bring her in. It’s always great to see them and listen to the banter they have going back and forth. It shows me that after all these years they both still have a great sense of humor. I can only hope to have the ability to laugh at myself at their age.

My folks are always amazed at the motorcycles on the showroom floor. We talk about how much they cost and who in the world would pay that much for something like that. They are always impressed by how beautiful they are and as I have ridden motorcycles for the last 40 years – my mom and dad have never ridden. Pretty amazing. While we were visiting, just five feet away from us sat a 2014 Harley-Davidson trike. Dad looked at mom and without any hesitation said “if I were to get one it would be this, and I wouldn’t let you eat fried chicken on it.” Like any new vehicle ever purchased, I guess there are always rules for drinks and food.

I love my folks. My mother is a dear and as in any conversation, she has a hard time keeping up. But if you listen real close to what she has to say, it will make you smile. I love my dad as well. I am lucky to be graced with his looks and I wish I had half the talent he has with a hammer. Good people and awesome parents. When I see them together I consider myself lucky to be their son.

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A Front Row Seat

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My, what you can see from the seat of your motorcycle. There is the obvious; people on cell phones and what appears to be cars veering out of control with the intent of doing you harm, or an occasional wild animal coming up on the road to get a better look at you, and then – the wonder of this beautiful world around you. Have you ever wondered where that jet in the sky is going? I’ve looked up and counted the jet trails crossing above me only to think of all those people in the plane looking down, also in amazement of this place we call home. For the last few years when I see the path of a jetliner it always takes my thoughts to a particular place.

Just as you settle in on a ride, you slowly open your eyes to the scenery that surrounds you. It begins with a deep breath as you find your rhythm and everything seems to fall into place. This never gets old. Sunrise, sunsets, valleys and hills. The feel of the wind as it pushes you around and you just know that your are really only along for this ride. I’m only a spot on the landscape in a much bigger picture, so with all this going on around me, where do I fit in?

When I’m on my bike I become a participant in a spectator sport. I am moving within the environment that I find so beautiful. As quick as I can appreciate the simplicity of big round bales of hay lining a fence row, I ride into a valley that was created over many lifetimes. A man-made road that leads me past beauty created by the Man Himself. How can I complain about anything when reality says to take it all in. You are here, you’re breathing in and out and life is good – everything else can go in a worry pot.

The motorcycle is my front row seat to the world before me. You may choose to see it from a boat or on the deck by a fire pit and I’m good with that. We’re all different in many ways but also similar in how we process beauty. We see things and translate them in our own language, but the end result is how it makes us feel. Like the feeling I get when I see a jet crossing the sky or the sun coming up, it affects me the same way – it puts me in a place to appreciate what it all represents.

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Stories

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We’ve turned the corner on how our memories are kept. Old photographs stored in albums or randomly placed on edge in a shoe box are holding the images of our lives. The time it took to take these photos and the once-a-year our albums are opened for that walk – the walk that takes you to the back yard or the steps in front of the old house. One leads to another and each picture has a meaning and a story. We were there. We remember that moment, and it speaks the truth. The truth that we were young once and what seems so long ago really wasn’t. We look at those photos with emotion because we know how the story plays out. We move, we change, we grow up or we lose someone close to us.

Some stories are still being told and some we know the outcome. Pictures in black and white of our parents and grandparents tell the stories of their lives and how they became who they are, while our lives transition from black and white to color allowing a broader spectrum to our own life. We knew the importance of those pictures we took and we treated them as such. They recorded us as we really were – young, innocent, naïve and in our natural habitat. Good times.

Not all albums and yearbooks are easy to look at. Pictures can’t lie and they show the good and bad regardless of what’s in it, because the picture is only the beginning of the story. The rest of the story is kept in our memories and some of these stories are hard to tell. As time moves on and our memories fade, it’s these photos that soften what might be bad and hopefully bring back more of the good. After all, it is the story of us. And it’s hard to argue with proof of how we looked, what we wore and where we were. I look at photographs in my old yearbooks and those days seemed to last forever. Looking at them now, I can see it was just a moment in time in the life of a young man who didn’t know where he was going or how his story would be told. I do now – at least up to this page.

Our lives are ever-changing right before our eyes. We take more pictures than ever before and they are brighter and more colorful than seem possible, and this is good. It makes it all easier to remember later in life when our mind forgets those moments. Tell your story and let it be the kind of book you want to read over and over, and be sure and listen and share the stories of those who are near the end of their books – and make sure you include the pictures!

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The Snot Indicator

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For the last couple of weeks I’ve been battling a cold. Headache, coughing and a runny nose, along with the usual achy feeling you get when the crud is winning. That, combined with extremely cold weather, has kept me off my Road King for a few weeks. Now that it appears all that remains is a runny nose and the Kansas temperatures are back to what’s typical in January, I’ve been back to riding to work. This morning as I was getting my leathers on to leave for work, stopping every few minutes to blow my nose, I thought to myself once I get my helmet on I won’t have the chance to blow it again for about 25 minutes. So the helmet goes on as I go out the door.

When its 18 degrees outside before you get on your bike, you know you’ll be in for a cold ride. I’ve been here before and for me it’s more of a mental thing. As long as I’m prepared inside my helmet, I’ll be okay. It only takes a few miles to realize where the short-comings are in your winter riding gear as my fingers start getting cold. The face shield of my helmet is opened slightly to keep it from fogging over so my eyes start watering and of course that runny nose of mine is a bit of a nuisance. As I slow down two miles west of town to make the corner, I raise the face shield and use my gloved thumb to wipe the snot from my nose before it goes any further down my lip. Nobody ever said riding a bike in the winter was glamorous.

Another 5 miles and my nose is needing wiped as I roll down the hill to Skiddy. Again, I raise the face shield of my helmet to use my thumb and another crisis is averted. This allows me to focus on more important things, like I shouldn’t have had that second cup of coffee before leaving the house. It’s still a beautiful morning no matter how cold and it’s seeing the sun shining and the few clouds in the sky that make it all worth the hassle. As I came to a stop at highway 77 for the final leg of my ride, I had a realization; my nose had quit running! It appears that at 18 degrees with a wind chill of who knows what, snot will eventually stop running from your nose. A small victory I know, but I’ll take it. I finally pulled into work and removed my helmet and found a paper towel to blow my nose on. Much like molasses when exposed to this temperature, snot will slow if not stop when placed under harsh conditions such as this. My gear is a pretty good indicator of how cold a temp I will be willing to ride in, but my snot indicator tells me the colder the better.

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Rolling Over

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New Year’s Eve to me is like sitting in the back seat of the Plymouth Fury as a young boy, hardly big enough to see over the bench seat in front of me. You remember – vinyl seats, crank windows and the am radio playing KFDI 1070 Country with Don Williams singing in the background. Looking back on those days, it was actually kind of nice to have someone driving me around while I observed the world passing by from the back seat. I surely wasn’t buckled in, so the back seat was this giant playground, at least until things got out-of-hand. That’s when dad would shut down the shenanigans, at least for a while.

But just like New Year’s Eve and the count-down to the ball dropping, when the odometer would be close to a milestone of flipping over to say 70,000 miles, we would all hop up to put our chins on the back of the front seat and count down the miles. 69,995! 69,996! Unlike the count-down to the ball dropping, as you can imagine this took several minutes. And if you were actually driving through town, you could expect it to take longer. But wait for it…69,999 and….70,000!! A loud cheer and it was over for another year or so, and we went about our daily business. Always kind of a big deal back then, I still find myself watching the odometer click over. We didn’t make any odometer resolutions, but in some small way it did put a mark on the year. An ending and a new beginning all at the same time! It was exciting, we had a small celebration and it made us happy. What more could you ask for? Maybe an oil change.

For most of us, the new year indicates the beginning of what we hope will be a good one. We put the bad behind us and as we look ahead, we hope to be better people and make a difference in those around us. While you celebrate your odometer rolling over, remember those who are no longer with us and those who have just joined the party. Carry the feeling of a new beginning with you throughout the year and make a difference in someone’s life. Smile more and laugh a lot. Or at least until Ralph puts and end to the shenanigans!

Happy New Year!

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Twists and Turns

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This road I’m on, much like a book, has a story to tell. Whether built out of commerce or curiosity, it is here to take me to a place only the author knows of. Each chapter changes as the storyline becomes real. The harder the road is to build, the better the story gets, and it takes longer for the story to be written than ridden, so like a good book it will have its ups and downs and whirlwinds of emotion, taking us chapter by chapter until we reach the end. We can feel the hard work the author experienced and we can see his intentions of bringing this book to life. So we ride on.

Traveling through the hills and valleys on a motorcycle can tell us of the trials and tribulations of building a road this difficult. I can appreciate the difficulty and both the builder and I know that it isn’t easy to finish something that can withstand the test of time. His way of bringing the landscape to life with the sweat of his brow gives all that read his book the best seat in the house. Like every story, you can always flip back through the pages to read certain passages over and over, and as this road twists and turns, I may have to return to ride this road again. It’s that good.

Who knows how this ride will end? The suspense is building and the road only gets better. The way the author placed the sunset in just the right place and the tree line of pines with just the right amount of backdrop. Beautiful in a way, that only the one who had a hand in building this road could do. He must have been a motorcyclist as the curves come at the right time and it all seems intentional. This must not be his first time of building suspense and putting us in a place of his choosing. But we are here, immersed in his interpretation, and I think I know where this story is going to end; I think.

As you would expect, this book ends with a happy ending. I’m glad this story ended the way it did, and it has only added to my experience and imagination. I will ride this road again and I’m sure I will pick up something I didn’t see the first time and as all stories go, it leaves us in a better place. Much like a road we discover, regardless of having ridden it before, something as simple as the seasons changing can put a new twist on the story. Whether you ride a motorcycle or not, ride the “Story of Life” and see where it takes you. If nothing else, the ending may surprise you.