Movement

Took Burtie out for an early morning spin while the world still slept. We encircled the city in a grand miles-wide loop for a couple hours as the sun creeps into the sky and, eventually, we wind back into our own neighborhood and familiar territory again, just in time for a couple nearby coffeeshops to finally open. Sunday mornings in the cities make for nice riding.

Why does movement feel so good? So essential? When did sitting still become anathema to my being? I feel the urge to sit, but I am compelled to stay in motion. I feel the urge to quiet my mind, and yet the myriad responsibilities and demands that have been laid upon me, and those that I put on myself, all come calling every waking second of the day.

Stillness is what I sorely need and can little afford at the moment. At least that's how it seems.

This Life

Since I got back yesterday at midnight in the truck, I've been riding Burt around town trying to finalize plans for a trip out west. Work was brutal yesterday, a long 11 hours of crazy - and more demanded of me this weekend.

I called my father this morning after riding the cityscape for an early couple hours, trying to reset my brain and think a bit. The morning air is perfect, the sky perfect, the roads perfect. And the early morning weekend traffic seems more calm than usual. Quite excellent riding. 

My dad sounds better; he says he is feeling much better. I'm trying to get him to come back with me and promise him I'll return him back to California whenever he likes, but he wants more time. He says it's going to take him a few weeks to get ready for a road trip, to feel 100% up to it. I reluctantly understand. 

It can't be easy at his age, although I'm only 35 years from being there myself. That time will fly by... it already has been flying by.

My mom, however, is torn between the life she used to have (when she actually felt alive and joyful) and this life of obsoleteness that she is living now, stagnating her days away as my brother's live-in bank account. Her purpose, her reason for living, is and was always outside of her, external to her, her whole life. Even now she clings to any outside purpose she can, and my brother gives her purpose by having her pay for everything. With the years she has left, she could make changes. She could re-invent herself. But mom is vehemently refusing to invest in herself that way, to develop a new purpose - a real *inside* reason to exist and feel alive again. Again, I understand. It's tough to make changes when your life's patterns have been cut so deep. 

Everybody chooses how they go.

Seeing the two of them, both my parents and both from the same start and being the same age, yet so different in their outlooks and outcomes... it really fuels me to live each day to the absolute fullest, to maximize my friendships and my partnership with my wife... to really just live this life in the most positive way possible. 

Really live it.

Exploring

It was a beautiful week this week for exploring.

Every morning, either Burt (my Honda Shadow Spirit 750dc) or Sunshine (my Suzuki Bandit 1250s) would launch into the pre-dawn gloaming. Usually it's Sunshine and me, and also usually, we point our noses east so that we catch full view of the delicate hues in the lightening sky as the sun crests higher. The show starts around 4AM these days, and every morning saw us on a different route, purposely launching into unfamiliar territory, just seeing what's out there for the sake of being out there.

By the time we leave the big city in our rearview and find ourselves immersed in countryside along twisting river-hugging or hill-hugging views, the "oranges" start. A faint burnt umber glow emphasizes the underbellies of any cloud, the striking contrast complements of the sky's big, blazing brush as it comes into view on our side of the planet again. Winding through turns on a bike and watching it all, it feels like a privilege to see the world wake up like this, as the experience wakes up my mind and body along with it.

On all days, slowly, the throng of traffic starts. Other vehicles begin merging into the flow, headed every-which-way. The sky puts away the morning show and drapes itself in blues and whites, and the day is officially "started" again.

On Tuesday, I used the morning to ride into Wisconsin and check out the flooded river valley. They just had a dam break and most of the other dams in the area are flooded over. The dam at Taylor's Falls had floodwaters moving right over top of it, at least a couple feet over it. The entire St. Croix river valley I rode across was flooded.

Trees living on the low-lying lands that pepper this part of the river were completely underwater along with their grassy island homes. Interstate and Wild River parks were flooded as well, and parking lots and buildings were partly or fully submerged.

And the waters are supposed to keep going *up* for a while, yet.

I take in the beauty and the crush of too much water and marvel at the power of nature to do what it's going to do. I start that work day in Taylor's Falls, MN and finished it in Osceola, WI, and ride back with thoughts of floods in my head.

Yesterday, however, I spent the morning hours from pre-dawn to the start of my work day riding due north. I was headed to our farm in northern Minnesota and planned to spend my work day in Ely, a charming northern town on the border of BWCA.

Although I wanted to make it a slow-and-lazy 250 mile trip and come back the following day, there was an urgency to my ride. My father, 85 years old, who lives alone in California, has been sick, and my instincts are telling me I need to go check on him.

Although I could take Sunshine west and south to Los Angeles, from where I live about 2000 miles distant, I'm just afraid it would take too long and I'd need a lot of days to get there on bike. And so the morning ride up north was to a purpose: fetch my reliable old truck from the farm, park the bike, and continue west in a vehicle that I can sleep and work in.

I wrap up my work day in Ely, park the bike at the farm, and drive the truck back in the middle of the night. It's going to be a long trip to California, but worth it to spend time with my dad again while he's still around.

Rain

Minnesota has seen a lot of it. Every day this week I've encountered it on the bike. Morning, evening, daytime. Every day.

It's ok - I really don't mind a warm rain, the soak feels kinda good actually. The bike gets cleaned off (well, not really, but the muddy dirt is concentrated to a few spots where the water tends to accumulate as opposed to a fine dirt laying all over the bike) and the wetness cuts the heat of driving around in summer with full gear on. Most of my gear sheds water fine, but I have to come up with a way not to end up with inches of standing water in my leather boots by the end of a long rain ride. Haven't figured that out yet.

The actual challenge of riding in and through lightening, hail, rain, downpours, etc. seems pretty straightforward now, known actors and all that. It's also pretty sweet that the streets (wet as they are) are usually empty during the thick of a storm. People seem to slow down and stay sheltered, and that's just fine by me. I don't mind being the only bike and one of the few vehicles 'braving' the road. It's really no big deal.

I'm sure some of my confidence comes from these new Pilot Road 5s - they are outstanding wet weather tires, even driving through several-inch deep 'hydroplaning puddles', the bike stays pretty firmly in place most of the time. Still, I try to avoid the deeper water (or steer through the water's periphery if can't avoid it entirely) because I don't know what obstacles lay hidden in any of those rainwater washes.

During the last thunderstorm ride, I drowned my cheap-o ($50) Amazon Bluetooth headset receiver, so now I'm looking for a wired setup to replace it. Even if it was still working perfectly, my rides these days are taking me longer than the battery life of most of these devices, and so I'm faced with either carrying around multiple charged wireless devices so I can stay dialed in, or just eliminating the wireless factor altogether and just going wired with my phone-to-helmet setup.

The weather has been charged these days. Very changeable and erratic/unpredictable. A lot like my life these days. So much in flux, so many storms all around, but I'm navigating through those, too.

The bike and the freedom to ride helps a lot with keeping all that in check.

Living Life

I had a nice talk with my dad the other day, and he reminded me how important it is to really *live* your life. Face challenges head-on, take on bad actors with confidence and honesty, and always just go-for-it to your purpose, whatever that may be.

And so, it's been a while and I had an "itch" that I needed to explore. In short, I miss the sky.

I used to skydive every weekend and fly small planes as well. There is something about being vertical and having vertical freedom. It's been said many different ways by many more eloquent than me, about breaking the shackles and rising against gravity and all that... but still, there is *something* to being in the sky like the birds that really has no comparison.

And so on that note, I left pre-dawn. It's nice now that the morning and evening sun grants me plenty of time for distance travel before I have to work my day job. I decided to skip the interstate and head north to a drop zone I was only vaguely aware of, Skydive Superior, on the shores of Lake Superior in Superior, Wisconsin, just south of Duluth. The sky was calm and the early morning roads perfect as I carved endlessly through backcountry Minnesota out towards the river valley, then up the scenic river valley route for an hour through a green-saturated countryside road that follows the river north. I reached my cross-over point at St Croix Falls. There we dive into Wisconsin's highway 35, a more or less northbound backcountry road that itself took me past seemingly-endless barns and silos and farms and through charming towns in rural Wisconsin. "Population: 125" kind of towns.

The final push up from a comfortable coffee shop in Webster, Wisconsin (Fresh Start Coffee Roasters) into Superior lead me straight to the airport terminal and a CLOSED hangar. "Skydive Superior", it seems, is no more. Instead, there is now Skydive Duluth in its stead, a brand new drop zone started by one of the die-hard locals who wanted to keep skydiving alive in the Duluth area. As the story goes, this all happened after a very unfortunate Skydive Superior airplane crash involving skydivers. It had a happy outcome. Luckily, when airplanes go 'bonk', skydivers and their pilots are all wearing parachutes. :-)

I chat for a long while with one of the FBO (terminal operator) folks, who fills me in on the back story. Then, one of the flight instructors there comes in and we get to talking. I reminisce about my old days of flying and, before long, I am signing up to come fly with him in the coming week. What? Am I really ready for this? My heart says yes, willingly, gratefully "yes!", to the idea of flying again. I guess I'm going to be airborne again soon, one way or another (or both), as a pilot and as a skydiver.

I thank him and find a Superior-based coffee shop in which to finish my work day. I close out the place and head home, through another long windy Minnesota road, across old railroad bridges and down along the Veteran's Memorial Highway. It is an hour of stunning (STUNNING) and curvy countryside with massive evergreens and maples towering on both sides of the road. Loved every minute of it.

But, as with all good things, I was forced to call it and head for the interstate when I saw huge thunderstorms brewing to the south of me. The wind started howling, gusting 30-50 mph due west and the cutting crosswind made my speedy interstate ride southbound into the looming storm a bit challenging. Still, we make it just in time to avoid the bulk of the rain I see washing down from an angry looking sky just to the southwest.

As I tuck Sunshine, my Bandit 1250, into the garage and connect up her charging station, I think about the day we just had. After a nearly 400-mile roundtrip and all that we saw and did, I pat her seat and remember Dad's words.

A day well-lived, that's what today feels like.

Engine & Sudden Stops

Rode out at dawn this morning, packed for a 250 mile ride up north but something didn't feel "right" about the bike or the ride. I couldn't shake or ignore that nagging feeling. The interstate was empty and I was moving fast and would make good time and get there before 9am, but... I turned east about 50 miles north of the city and decided I'd ride the Minnesota-Wisconsin river basin back south towards the city in a grand loop. Ending up back home today felt "more right" than continuing northbound.

Staying close seemed/felt like a smart move, but I still couldn't put my finger on it. Sunshine, my Suzuki Bandit 1250s, is riding fine. I lubed her chain and did my morning checks but something still felt 'off' as I was headed down the long country road. The hairs on the back of my head were standing up. Something was definitely off.

The ride was nonetheless beautiful, the sun slowly warming up the world as it started to blaze higher in the sky. I got to the river valley and found a small cafe I've been to before near a local rock climbing hotspot and pulled to the right to let a car that was behind me pass. I intended to do a sharp left u-turn and park in front of the cafe.

The blue car that was tailing me passed and I started a sharp left turn with plenty of room to spare and ... Sunshine just quit without any warning. Her engine stopped dead.

I was mid-turn at the time, the bike was leaned over and I was stand-up steering her left when the engine quit. I was moving forward about 3 miles per hour, so really I had no momentum to work with. I threw my left leg down and tried to keep her upright and we did the 'hop-drop-hop-drop' dance a few more feet until she just fell over onto her left side soft bags. It was all I could do to set her down gently. I immediately cleared the area for dangers and put her hazards on and flagged the oncoming traffic to slow down. There were cars and a dump truck now in my lane and heading my way. They all slowed and gawked and moved on by, and when I had a free moment and a blank space on the road, I lifted her up and walked her over to the side of the road and parked her.

I tried a couple times to start her up in the street, but she was not interested in turning over. No starter noises or relay clicks. Nothing. I was in neutral, and checked the kill switches and kick stand, ignition was on, clutch was in, but twice I tried and twice she ignored my 'start' key entirely. I parked and got off the bike, frustrated that this is the second time she's quit unexpectedly in the middle of a turn.

I look for loose wires, check the EFI harness and look for 'check' engine warnings on the dash with the ignition turned 'on' - nothing wrong. Since it had been a few minutes since my last attempt, I try one last time to start her up and ... she lights right up. Engine revs fine, I try and she pulls in first gear, she revs in neutral, all as though nothing happened. I put her on the center stand and make sure her wheel spins in first, neutral is neutral, etc. All fine. So I decide to give her about 45 minutes to cool down while I have a coffee and consider my options.

I'm a long way away from home and my garage and tools, so I decide to head cautiously back in that direction, the slow way, using sparsely-used back roads the entire way. Now I have to fit the ride back into my work day, but Sunshine and I will get there eventually. And it's a pretty way to get home, so why not.

In all, I'm very glad I trusted my instincts again. Glad she didn't quit while I was passing a semi at 90 mph on the interstate. I can handle a controlled set-down onto her soft bags. Everything worked out ok because I am used to listening to and trusting my gut.

Yeah... it is frustrating when life doesn't give you a problem you can readily solve. But I'll get to the bottom of it. Just a matter of time.

The Riding Life

I no longer drive my Xterra as a means of getting from A to B. My truck is parked about 225 miles north of here and serves as a 'haul equipment and tools and trailers' vehicle for the farm.

I just ride. Every day, in all conditions, on the cruiser or on my sportbike, I just ride.

The riding life is really addictive. It feels like with every ride I'm learning, getting better, getting smarter, more dialed into both the bike and the ride. Every mile makes a difference. Every minute on the bike counts for something.

And it's very zen, a very meditative place for me to be. Even when I'm just circling the city or riding to a coffee shop, the bike instantly calms and focusses me on the task at hand.

There really is nothing like it. None that I've experienced anyway, and I've done a lot of things.

Challenging Weather

I parked my Xterra up at the farm I'm rehabbing over a week ago, and have been riding a motorcycle since. I need the truck up north to help move around sheets of drywall and roofing materials, etc, but for the rest of my travel needs, I've been on two wheels literally every ridable day this year.

I had planned to work on the farm again this weekend, so Friday morning pre-dawn I left on Sunshine, the Bandit 1250s, to make the 225 mile trip to our northwoods farm. I would spend the morning riding up, the work day on my computer, and then I would be positioned to work the evening and rest of the weekend on the roof and house.

Although the trip went fine, the weather had shifted and it became bitterly cold (down into the 40's) once I was about 50 miles north of the city. At the 100 mile mark, it started to drizzle and by the time I was 150 miles into the trip north, the drizzle had turned into an icy rain that just zapped all the heat away from my layers and hands faster than my body could replace it. I finally stopped at a McDonalds, with about 90 minutes of rainy, cold, backcountry travel ahead, because I could no longer legitimately feel my fingertips and my fingers were unbearably stiff. Even preparing for the stopping and clutching at that stop was challenging, and it took a lot of aggressive hand shaking and fist squeezing to get enough blood going to manage fine motor control of the bike again. At least the rain had stopped a few miles back.

But we parked and I ordered coffee and considered my options. After nursing all the heat out of that large McD's coffee and guzzling what remained for future inner warmth, I set out again for the final stretch of treelined country roads. It was challenging but, eventually, both Sunshine and I pulled into the tall grass of the farm. I set a flat board under her kickstand so she wouldn't sink into the now-muddy stuff and I set about warming myself back up and getting on with work and house business.

Fast forward to yesterday, and although there was a brief period on Friday evening where the rain had let up, the clouds were now back-building again - another storm was brewing. The ominous forecast for yesterday said a morning of cloud building would lead to even more cold and howling winds and thunderstorms and rain for at least 24 more hours. A storm front that had produced tornados further south was now headed directly this way. 

No way I would be on the roof or doing anything productive in this weather, and so I called it and decided to ride back. Unfortunately, it took a while to get things settled at the farmstead yesterday, consuming most of the morning. By the time I was heading out, the wind was literally roaring through the trees and dark clouds and lightening were massing up on this huge north-south front some distance to the west. Confident, or really more 'hopeful' than confident, that I could outrun the storm by heading straight south, Sunshine and I launched towards home again. 

We made it exactly 30 minutes into our trip before the sky just opened up and let us have it. The gust front that proceeded that weather actually lightened up her tires and started to pick her up and away from the wet asphalt as we were taking the merging bend onto Highway 53 southbound. That is a very unnerving feeling in a wet curve at 65 mph. 

I finally found and pulled under a nearby small-town gas station awning to regroup and put rain covers onto my soft bags and rearrange my backpack with laptop to try to keep the contents dry. Water was in everything. My phone was wet and my outer soft-bag pockets already had a couple inches of standing water in them, so I decided that's it, I'm gonna wait until the building storm starts to subside and make a break for it back to the farm.

Well, the weather never did say 'uncle', and even more storm cells came through and the rain keep saturating the ground and the wind kept howling out of all directions. I sat and ate a slow breakfast burrito and talked with the locals at a nearby food co-op, and watched and waited. Bummer. The forecast weather, according to the weather radar, was just gonna get worse as the day turned to night. So much for waiting, I'm heading back to the farm NOW.

The folks in the co-op couldn't believe it when I finally got up and started to gear up again.

"You're going to ride out there in that?!", the cashier called to me when she saw me zipping up my jacket. 

"No time like the present to do something stupid," I called back to her with a smile. I was on the bike and headed back to my farm a few minutes later. What proceeded was some of the most challenging and technical wet weather riding I've ever been through. 

Although I was well-used to being able to clear raindrops off my helmet at speed by simply looking left and right quickly to get the water to bead up and roll off the visor, the rain was so constant now and the wind so violent that that technique did nothing, the visor was instantly speckled up with moving water after every attempt to clear it. So I gave up trying, and I found my brain instead picking up familiar shapes through the downpour and random moving blotches of wet and indistinct clarity available through rain-blasted view through my helmet. 

Woah, there's the yellow midline. Brake lights ahead? Is that a deer? Is that road debris or standing water? Headlights coming. Stay in your lane. Avoid standing water on the bends. Stay loose, stay relaxed.

But we charged ahead, Sunshine and I, unwise as it may have been, in the earnest desire to just get to familiar ground once more. It took all of my learned skill and experience on the bike thus far to keep myself safe and upright, and, strangely, through all the chaos of the stormy ride, my inside voice was actually silent and still. 

I was 100% present in that moment. There was nowhere else to be. Nowhere else to think about. Nothing else to occupy any portion of my brain because my brain was saturated by everything - every tiny bit of stimulus from the outside world and all the feedback from my senses - in order to keep me upright and moving forward and safe. And through it all, I actually felt strangely relaxed and calm. 

Pulling into the tall grass again was a relief. 

Even as prepared as I was for the wet weather, my leather boots had a couple inches of standing water in them and my pelvis had a strange "ice cream headache" from the inches-deep puddle of icy rainwater that I'd been sitting in on the ride back.

It was a wild ride through challenging weather - and it was really good. The ride made me touch something, reach someplace, that I'm not sure how to describe, even through I've been there a few different times before.