Category: Small Town

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Our Town

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Our town can be anywhere, and the boundaries of a zip code are no match when it comes to who we are as a community or where we end up as an individual. People come and go and even as the distance becomes greater to those who chose to explore the horizons that surround our town, they are still in some small way connected by friends, family or memories. Our town is wherever we make it and as life and surroundings change we often stay the same. We can throw ourselves into the world but if there is just a bit of small town in you, it is carried wherever you go. It’s an impact we have on those who haven’t been to our town and we wear it well. We may disguise it on the surface, but at some point our town will come up in conversation and only then will they understand who we are.

We can always return, but mostly we never left. If our town was just a little closer to where we ended up, it wouldn’t be the same. There is a threshold that is called distance, and once it’s crossed our memories become clearer and reflections become necessary. Our town is who we are no matter where we are and it shows in the foundation built by the people of every community. Is it that our town is getting older, or is it me? It was here long before me, and it will be here long after I’m gone. So leaving those imaginary boundaries of our town should be easy. For some it is, and for others, well, it is not. Someday.

There are those that only lived in our town a short while, and we hope that their experience will go with them in a positive way. For it is those few that will look back with a greater opinion of what our town is really like. Family, friends and neighbors all have that deep connection, and we see our town from a different light, but those whose roots are short should experience it in only a positive way. After all, those who left our town have also experienced a new and different community and all it has to offer. We only want the best for those who left and should welcome all that come. That’s just part of the foundation of our town.

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The Big Picture

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There are some things in life that give us the sense of how small we are and how short a lifetime really is. Small in comparison to the power and forces of nature and all things we take for granted in the world around us. How many years have the rivers flowed and the mountains stood before our very eyes along with all those who saw them before us? Quiet, patient and without fail they continue to do what they do best while life around us goes on. We take these moments to stop and snap a picture but then we move on about our daily lives, while the mountains and rivers wait for the next photo opportunity to come along. Long before the camera, let alone the smart phone, explorers drew pictures and painted their likenesses on canvas just to capture the moment. They too were in awe of the beauty – the only difference, they had to enjoy the view a lot longer to get it down on paper or canvas.

As a motorcyclist, we will go out of our way to find such picturesque places, but we soon turn our backs to move on to whatever comes around the next curve or bend in the road. What took an eternity to make, becomes a moment in time, a memory to some, but to others it becomes an attitude. A chance to take it in and become a better person, and to be humbled with realization that I am not everything I think I am, but rather I’m brought to this place to appreciate its beauty and to allow it to change me from the inside out. It’s telling me to be quiet, patient and to be without fail.

We sometimes measure our lives in birthdays or decades, but the big picture tells us that no matter how long our life is, it’s the impact we have on those that pass by us leaving them with memories and impressions that withstand time. The moments we share with others, no matter how small or insignificant, can leave those we know and love with an everlasting snapshot of who we are and what they mean to us. So while we continue to take a lot of pictures to remember the moments and beauty that we behold, there will also be those taking their own mental pictures of how they want to remember us. Let’s leave them with some great pictures.

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A Little Bit of Epic

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Some people have a way about them. There are those who are driven and challenged to be something bigger than the moment they live in. I believe Neale Bayly is this kind of person. I haven’t met Neale, but I understand him from a motorcyclist’s point of view. As bikers, we are always looking for “epic” in every ride but end up finding so much more than that. Neale has a series airing on MAVTV this month about his ride on BMW GS series motorcycles through Peru to the Hogar Belen Orphanage. The ride takes Neale and his friends from Lima to Moquegua to visit this orphanage where Neale has visited before. He was inspired enough to start the nonprofit organization called Wellspring International Outreach to help orphans and abandoned children.

It becomes about the surroundings and environment you’re in and it changes you. There is something about traveling on a motorcycle that brings the people to you.

The world can seem so big but so small at the same time. Neale has traveled this world and along the way has had plenty of time to think and take in all the sights, smells and sounds that travel can put you through. As a biker myself, I can tell you it runs so much deeper than that for him. I have taken week-long trips and as the ride goes, your mind will take you further into the trip than any motorcycle ever will. It becomes about the surroundings and environment you’re in and it changes you. There is something about traveling on a motorcycle that brings the people to you. No matter where you are headed, you are the one traveling into their world where you are welcomed with smiles and waves, and complete strangers are coming up to you to talk about your trip. Now take that to a global stage, where language and barriers require you to be dedicated to the trip at hand. For that I admire anyone who can take that on. At this point, language becomes secondary as compassion takes over.

 To simply say “it changed my life” does not do it justice, and in Neale’s case it inspired him to change other people’s lives.

Epic trips take the ordinary and familiar to an extraordinary level. When a trip becomes epic it transforms you and all those involved. To simply say “it changed my life” does not do it justice, and in Neale’s case it inspired him to change other people’s lives. Now that is epic. I would like to think as I have traveled on my motorcycle and I’ve taken the time to say a few words to someone I have met, they will take something away from our chance meeting – I know I do. The faces, the words spoken and the handshakes and smiles are forever burned in my memory and I did nothing but ride into someone’s life and say hello. Now picture yourself taking the time to actually change someone’s life for the better and the impact you can have on a community and the people who need the help. Epic.

I look forward to watching Neale Bayly Rides when it airs. I’ll watch because it is about Neale and his group riding motorcycles through Peru on an adventure of a lifetime. But let’s face it – it’s not about the motorcycles, it’s about everything around the trip that makes it epic. If motorcycles are the reason you check it out, that’s okay too. But as you’re watching take a minute to look at the people and the faces in the background. Watch Neale’s reaction when his fellow rider’s Troy, James, Laura, Brandon and Bill meet the children of Hogar Belen; that is when the trip just became an epic adventure.

I said before that I haven’t yet met Neale. I say “haven’t yet” because as a motorcyclist our paths may cross at some point. As bikers we ride with our heads up looking at all that is around us, eager to meet fellow riders and locals along the way. Every ride has a little bit of epic built-in and I know Neale’s epic rides will continue. They have to – because the inspiration he gives to those of us that do ride and the impact he has on those because he rides can’t be measured. Thanks Neale, and ride safe!

 

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The Same Mistake Twice

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The further I get into the future, the more I reflect on the past. It’s funny how the older we get the more we say “I remember when.” We often use that term when it comes to cars, motorcycles and even our friends because the history we are creating while living our lives often requires us to look back to tell the story. So that’s what we do – we tell stories, stretch the truth and laugh about the good times. We look back and laugh because even those bad days weren’t that bad after all.

I’m as guilty as the next person when it comes to this as my tall tales get even taller and in most cases it always ends up being funnier than when it actually happened. Case in point; it was 1976 and me and my trusty Yamaha DT175 were out to the Katy trails just behind the White City Cemetery for a little fun in the dirt. Disregarding all common sense for my own safety, I would usually ride alone and not once in my Bell helmet did I hear my mother saying anything about clean underwear or “wait until your father gets home.” So off I went the two miles or so as the crow flies, (of course I felt like I was flying as any teenage boy would on his motorcycle) to spend the afternoon jumping and climbing a few hills.

Who hasn’t ridden a motorcycle only to suffer a mechanical break-down? Not me. Over the years I have become very keen on what is a real break-down compared to a road-side fix. But it wasn’t an overnight education. After the first few minutes of getting to the Katy trails, I laid my motorcycle over on the left side. Not a real bad crash by any means, but it was enough to get up and dust myself off. I picked up the DT to find my shift lever bent underneath the engine case. Not knowing what to do, I pushed it more than two miles home (I’m not a crow) back into the yard. My brother Danny was a huge help in pointing out the obvious solution to my problem – grab hold of the shift lever and bend it back out. There, problem solved. Why wasn’t it obvious to me? It sure would have saved me a lot of effort and it would have kept me riding for the afternoon. But from where I was standing the problem seemed to big to handle on the side of the trail. I was apparently more concerned about clean underwear and if my dad was home yet I guess.

Looking back at the situation now I can laugh about it. Not only did it not seem funny at the time, it also gave me plenty of time to think about it as I pushed it home. But it’s a lessened learned and it definitely builds character. It also gives you the satisfaction of knowing that you won’t make the same mistake twice. Fast forward to 2008 and I’m riding my Harley-Davidson Heritage Softail. For some reason, every time I shift gears up or down, it takes excessive force. What in the world is wrong with my transmission? After talking to a friend of mine, he told me I need to put a little lubricant on the pivot for the heal-toe lever. Hmmm, lubrication. Who would have thought? At least I had my clean underwear on.

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Home by Midnight

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I know since the 1970’s things have changed, but really some things never change. I still live in the same small town, and I don’t really feel different different, so I suppose from the outside looking into my life some would think the opposite. Being a teenager in this mile-long town didn’t require much effort at all. I knew everyone and everyone knew me, so as in many small towns, the news of what you did usually beat you home. For the most part, everyone just got along and we grew up without much drama.

Saturday nights were predictable as you would either have a date or maybe you would just hang out with all your friends in front of the pool hall. Four blocks of Main Street kept the cars cruising back and forth and even though you passed Russ or Richard or any one of your classmates or friends out cruising, you would still give the “country wave.” There was usually a crowd in town on those Saturday nights, and after everyone had gone to the movies or out to eat we would always end up back on Main Street in White City going up and down that brick four blocks. You didn’t want to miss anything so you kept an eye on where everyone was and without the luxury of cell phones, we actually talked face to face with one another-or waved. Go figure…

Once in a while we would head out East to the edge of town and make a U-turn far from those pesky street lights of main. There was a stop sign there and as you turned around you could see my house. That house still stands and it brings me back to a time when life was moving at a slower pace-you know like cruising four blocks in my Dodge Charger and making endless U-turns, your girlfriend by your side listening to Chicago on the 8-track.

But it has to end sometime and she needs to be home at midnight, so using the old math problem “if one train leaves the station at 3:15 traveling at 60 m.p.h. and a second train leaves the station at 4:20…” we hurry back to her house to stay in good graces with her folks. Remember, we need to be able to go out next Saturday night and getting grounded puts a damper on things. We pull into the drive, shut the car off and kiss goodnight, just waiting for the porch light to flash on and off indicating the evening is over, or that my watch was wrong. Just one more minute and one more kiss. It was hard to let go of her to say goodnight even though I knew I would always see her again. I hated the drive home alone but it was always a good night. Sunday, with a little bit of luck, I could find myself at her place to share the afternoon.

Looking back at those days I realize this small town made me the guy I am today. I still do the “country wave” when a car passes by me, whether I know who it is or not, and Saturday nights aren’t quite as exciting as they used to be. I wish I still had that Charger and who knows where it might be. But whoever has it must know that every four blocks that Charger travels it wants to turn around. Some things never change.

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Motivation by Recreation

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It’s been a long time. Years. A certain period of time in your life when the weather was just winter or summer. Nothing in between, just one or the other. We were either going to school or we were out for the summer, and as kids that was all we knew. As we got older, we started to notice the difference in the seasons and that there was actually a clock on the wall. Life was going on around us and we were taking in the view beyond the grasshoppers, mud puddles and those really straight sticks you would find every so often that you couldn’t stand to leave behind. We were growing up.

All of a sudden life became a little bigger. Where you sat in the car became somewhat of a status symbol. Back seat – a friend, front seat passenger side – good friend, driver seat – popular with your friends, and sitting in the middle of the front seat – girlfriend. At this stage we were just trying to figure out what we were going to do next Saturday night, not what we were going to do with the rest of our lives. We looked forward to the weekends for reasons other than getting caught up on yard work. Motivation by recreation.

But we keep getting older and that clock on the wall keeps ticking. It’s funny, as kids we didn’t notice the clock on the wall and time literally stood still. Now the clock is such a big part of who we are and what we do, it demands our attention. Like it or not, it’s ticking. But as young adults we were starting to realize that there was something bigger coming down the pike.

I’ve ridden motorcycles for a lot of years and just like my friends who played sports in school, I found a sport that I connected with. Somewhere in the middle of White City Kansas as I was riding a wheelie through one of those mud puddles, it should have hit me then that this is what I could be doing for a living. At seventeen, having the 8-track stereo in your car and enough money for pizza and a movie with your girlfriend was the depth of my focus, not a career in the motorcycle business. Looking back there were a couple of things I would have focused on more and that could have directly changed my life.

The winding road of life can take you to places you never dreamed of. Sometimes it’s the long way around and sometimes it was the obvious route that our stubborn, teenage pride or angst ignored. Either way, the old saying “it’s not the destination, it’s the journey” holds true. So here I am, fifty years old and working in the motorcycle business, motivated by one of the things I enjoy doing. The clock is still ticking and I’m still intrigued by a really straight stick when I see one, but I’ve learned to leave it on the ground. I’m riding and writing about motorcycles and my life of growing up in a small town in hopes that someone will find a little humor in it. It has taken a few years but it has finally dawned on me that life is as big as you make it. And I’m in the driver’s seat!

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“And Then the Rain Came”

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“And then the rain came.”
Motorcycles and rain…makes you think, doesn’t it? Like a boat without a trailer and Ramen Noodles without that little packet of brown stuff-something’s just not right. Motorcycles, with their lack of all-weather protection, just aren’t for everyone. There is plenty of gear for the rider to wear to help fend off any inclement weather, but that is only going to stop some of the elements. You can bundle up when it’s cold, put on your rain suit if it’s raining, and any combination of heavier or lighter gear as the temperature fluctuates. Sometimes it’s a combination of several weather conditions we deal with at the same time, and that too, is a challenge.

A few years ago, I took a solo ride to Greeley Colorado for a family reunion. The weather man, in his war against motorcycles, was predicting heavy rain on the Friday morning in July I had planned to leave. Normally his ten percent accuracy rating would not bother me, but this time he seemed serious. My morning alarm was a clap of thunder and without too much trouble I could hear the heavy rain as it came down. But we’re riding today, right? Yep.

I had already loaded my motorcycle for the weekend trip, and with just less than 500 miles to get there, I was looking forward to it. I’ve ridden in rain like this before, and I knew getting on the bike that I might get a little wet. My rain suit is on and away I go down the street to the stop sign. Boy, it is raining. For the next 150 miles of interstate the rain would not let up. I’m not uncomfortable riding in this at all, but I think there were a few motorist that were afraid for me. I stopped in Hays Kansas at the Harley-Davidson dealer to take a break and have some coffee. For July in Kansas can be hot, with the rain the temperature was just right.

Any of you that have ever ridden with a rain suit on know that you will still get wet as the rain will creep in around your neck and up your sleeves-and this ride was no different. After thirty minutes or so, I put my rain suit back on and decided to head North to avoid the storm as heading West would have put me in it for several more hours. A few miles up the road the rain suit came off and although a little cloud cover was hanging over me, it had stopped raining.

The rest of the ride was fantastic. Sometimes it takes a storm to put you on the right road-the one you should have been on to begin with. Kind of like “life.” When you’re pushing hard in the direction you think you should be going, and you’re fighting it every step of the way, change your direction.

I ended up taking the back roads through Benkelman Nebraska and Wray Colorado where my folks grew up. We visited these places a lot when I was growing up to see family but I had never been through here on a motorcycle. Kind of appropriate since I was on my way to a family reunion in Greeley. The weatherman was right and I’m glad he was.

 

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A Back-Roads Summer

100_4734Living in a rural community in Kansas, it’s not hard to travel the “back-roads.” After all, you have to take these quiet highways just to get anywhere. In about twenty minutes these two-lane roads around home can get me to any of the neighboring communities while throwing in a little bit of scenery along the way. Sure, in some parts of Kansas you can see the next towns elevator or water tower in the horizon, or maybe it’s wheat fields and sunflowers for miles. I truly can find the beauty in this being from Kansas and all. But as I travel these roads almost daily on my way to work or running errands, sometimes I just let it roll by without taking it in. We bikers always talk about taking the long way home or we listen for someone to speak of an interesting road they were on that we have yet to find. I have found that if you have the same predictable pattern of where you ride, these roads become stale and a bit boring. Sure the seasons change and that will give you a different perspective, and we all know every little bit helps.

But what would happen if we just reversed the route in which we take? How about taking the long way to work? Hey, I’m a creature of habit, and the long way home after work always leads to, well… home. But what about taking the long way to work? Sure, it can be done. I just have to get up a little earlier and be mentally prepared for wild animals and unfamiliar corners that sneak up on you. Who knows, maybe by changing my route to work I can convince myself that this back-road is a new, untraveled road that I can tell my friends about. Of course by changing my route, those that I regularly see on my way home or to work will wonder where I’m at, while the new route will bring brand new people to wave at and curiosity will make them think a biker has moved into their community. Just like the family that lives near the train tracks, after a while you don’t hear the train. My new route will have people thinking a train is coming! Come on, my pipes aren’t that loud…

So make this a “back-road” summer. Take the long way home or the long way to work. Change it up and make it interesting. Do what you would normally NOT do. Be different. But make sure you do the one thing you want to do-RIDE.

 

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A Gift

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The ride into work this morning on my Road King, although frosty at 20 degrees, gives me time to reflect on yesterday and get’s me prepared for today. Of course I’m speaking mentally as my fifty-year old body doesn’t need much preparing. It has had ample time to put on a winter’s worth of fat to keep me warm on just this sort of ride. As I headed out, the sun was just starting to come over the horizon and I knew by the blue sky and dark blue scattered clouds that this sunrise would be amazing. I have about twenty-three miles to get to work and I’m either heading West or North at any given time and with little effort I can take in the beauty of any of the morning’s wonders.

So as I’m heading out, it doesn’t take long before I can see in my mirror, through my fogged up Fulmer helmet  face-shield, the sun as it is climbing its way up over the hills as I’m West-bound. Beautiful-and I never get tired of this. Sure it’s cold and I will only get colder, but you can’t take anything away from a gift like this. To me, both the sunrise and sunsets can put everything in perspective. Although difficult sometimes, each day is a chance to start fresh-and make a difference. Whether it is your life or someone else’s, today is the day.

Today, like every day, this gift I witness before me is awesome. I am humbled by God and the gift He gives me every day. No matter what happens the rest of this day, I’ll be OK.

For the rest of my ride I thought about how my day ended yesterday and how I woke up at 2:00 a.m. and couldn’t go back to sleep. And how today would probably be a long day because of it all…and I realized that I can’t change yesterday and today is short when compared to the bigger picture. Instead of complaining today I will give thanks for it-and the opportunity to make this a good day as well. Did I mention it was 20 degrees when I left for work? I didn’t notice it at all!

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Fun-Factor

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Attending this year’s Dealernews Dealer Expo in Indianapolis is a motorcyclist’s dream. As a small town boy I’m no stranger to looking out over my handlebars at the tall grass pastures of Kansas, but here in the Convention Center, standing on acres of confetti inspired carpeting it becomes apparent that I need to get out more. As always, anytime you can see and touch new motorcycle industry related products versus the internet, or worse yet, hearing it second-hand from the guy down the street who got his information from some other guy further down the street…I think you get the idea. So for those of you out of shape, I recommend walking mile after mile on carpeting. You will thank me. But seriously, it’s great to see what’s new and what’s improved for the coming year. There was plenty of enthusiasm in everyone I met and I think we all agree it will be a good year in the motorcycle industry.

I always recommend walking through events like these with your head up scanning the room. I know it’s hard to resist the patterns on the carpet but trust me you’ll be surprised at who and what you’ll see. I ran into Marc Cook with Mortorcyclist Magazine and we had a very good talk about the past, present and touched a little on the future of this great sport. We both agreed the smaller displacement motorcycles coming out recently are going to surprise many new and seasoned riders. We also talked about how big is big enough. My first “real” motorcycle was a Yamaha DT175 and at the time I felt like that was all I would ever need. It could run on the highway, pull wheelies and go off-road. Sometimes all within a block of my house. Remember, I grew up in a really small town.

Marc mentioned his first motorcycle was a Yamaha RD 400 Daytona. Another relatively small displacement motorcycle but cool nonetheless. He told me that his friends actually tried to talk him out of it because it was probably too much motorcycle for him. You know what? There is some truth to that statement! We often look at a GSX-R600 as a starting point, and I have to admit, I have been riding for 40 years and a 600 has more than enough power on the streets where stop signs and potholes live. You can always move up, but let’s be real here. A new rider that gets in over his head may never throw a leg over another motorcycle if the experience starts out as a bad one. So think about that for a minute. Your first won’t be your last as long as the “fun factor” doesn’t become the “fear factor.”

I think we need to get back to the reason we all ride. It truly is for the fun of it. Sure, size matters but fun is where it’s at. If my skill level exceeds that of the motorcycle I’m on it’s still fun. Next time you walk up to your bike or any bike for that matter, look for the Fun Gauge. You won’t find it anywhere – until you climb on it. You see, WE are the Fun Gauge. We determine how much fun we have on any particular motorcycle, whether it’s slow and down on power or just ridiculously fast, on road or off-road it doesn’t matter. Either way, our internal Fun Gauge will tell us the level of fun we’re having. We all to often get caught up on the “bigger is better” mentality and for some that is what they were told by the guy down the street who got it from…You get the idea.