Revisiting The Past

Time to blow off the dust, again.
As one might expect, a lot has gone on since my last post. Changes in my life and the lives of pretty much everyone else I know...good, bad, everything in between. I rolled up my colors just under a year ago, having found(with some insight supplied from my family) that my focus needed to change; a difficult decision, to be sure. The biggest part of my reasoning pivoted on why I ride in the first place: I no longer felt the freedom and enjoyment that attracted me to riding.
It was time to move on.
That theme has continued to play out for me. Here at Chateau Loki things went on as they had for some time, but change was in the offing - not for the way things are with the family, thank the Gods - as of last July, something happened to me that had not happened in 43 years: I was fired from my job. In my position I had a great deal of responsibility, and very few of the kind of mistakes I could potentially make would be less than serious. As it was, I made enough of them, over a time period stretching from May of  '13 to last July, that by the standards I was held to, I was let go. Funny how you don't think about how tied up in a job, particularly a long-term one that you truly enjoy, your ego can be - at least while you hold it. Leaving it on purpose for another position is one thing - that's an adventure you planned on having! Getting fired is definitely not the "setting out on an adventure" I had planned...and my ego took a large hit. I didn't see it at first, and it kicked my ass pretty good.
Still, time to move on. Some relief followed: I was unemployed less than three days, found work at an outfit where there were folks I'd worked with before, and moved forward with the understanding that, at some point, I'd be a permanent member of the team. Did I mention the haircut?

Job hunter biker

Then came the physical.
Drug test? no problem. Hand-eye coordination? Check. Range of motion, eyesight, check, check. Muscle condition, check. Blood pressure...a bit high. Okay... Then I hear, 7/9 points too far up for me to be cleared for work...and it went up another 9/2 points.
What. The. Fuck.
I knew I was stressing; who hasn't upon losing a job? Who hasn't, when faced with the reality of having ones income reduced by roughly a third? And then, maybe not keeping the new job?
Yours Truly would love to say that I faced this with calm and rational thinking.
{snort}
I've never experienced an out-and-out anxiety attack, but what I put myself thru on Thursday last seems pretty close: heart rate way up, breath short, sweating...and let's not go into what I was thinking. Scared. Suffice to say that, in my most recent literally life-threatening situation, I was a freakin' iceberg by comparison to Thursday.
I considered some really knuckle-headed nonsense courses of action. Instead, I went for a ride.

I don't mind being scared, in the main; fear has a remarkable way of sharpening my senses and focusing my thinking, most of the time. Fear can keep me from being really, really stupid. I have a lot of experience with it that has been exhilarating after the fact.
Not this time. No exhilaration here, just a hunkahunka self-hate. I let the merry-go-round in my head take the pole position and roll, roll, roll. As has happened to me a couple of times before, when going through something I've never gone through before, I played the bad hand that I had not yet been dealt, went through all the shitty scenarios I could project...until I put things into a different perspective. Until I chose to turn the negativity away, and focus instead about what I could, and can, do. Which, while I was riding, included a "conversation" with myself.
When I ride, I wear a helmet. Most of the time. It keeps my eyes from drying out, keeps the grit and rocks off my pretty face...and prevents other drivers from seeing for themselves just how crazy I can be...
Helmets are designed with several things in mind: to protect your melon from becoming a different shape in the event of impact with objects harder than it is(yes, there are some things harder than my head), to keep your face from being ground off in the event of an unintended dismount, and to place on the heads of small children(at their request, having nothing to do with riding).

Precocious Grandchild

Helmets have several materials in their construction. mainly cloth and plastic, encasing a Styrofoam shell, designed for safety and comfort, designed to keep your melon safe from the outside forces that would otherwise rearrange it.
Inside forces - sneezing,  or blistering language, for instance - are not taken into account.
B. H. (Before Helmet), if another driver did something especially stupid in my vicinity, it didn't matter if the windows were up and the stereo was loud. My displeasure was easily visually noticeable, and my vocal projection was trained into me by an older male who, at one point in his life, spent some time using his considerable lung power motivating other young men in BDUs to do his bidding. The only way to not hear me was to have your music volume up around 32 or 33.
Then came the last wreck, and the helmet.
Now, unless I roll right up on the offending driver and stick my head into the vehicle(and probably not even then, it's a good helmet), all anybody will hear is "WOOFAHUDOONUFWOOFINMOARUN"
which brings a reaction similar to the one I get, when I make a noise at Morey the Boxer, and she doesn't quite comprende: "Ur?" Tilted head and all. Kinda spoils the effect, y'know. Hard to remain furious at someone who looks dumber than a dog, since they didn't actually cause me to, you know, die or anything.
Which brings me back to the inside of my helmet. And blistering language. When I say "blistering language", I mean the kind that, when one utters it, the air seems to take on that shimmery quality associated with an open hatch on a blast furnace. Styrofoam doesn't like blast furnace, right? My "conversation with myself" while I was riding the other day originated in the depths of my blast-furnace regard for certain behaviors in myself and others. I got it out of my system, stopped for a while to watch fighter jets practice touch-and-go at the local base - awesome - and went home considerably calmer.
I will deal with whatever happens, the right way, like I always eventually do. Seeing my doc, taking the meds he prescribes, moving on in my life and making it better wherever and whenever I can, for myself and those around me.
Last night, when I put on my helmet to go out, I thought it seemed a little looser in the front, down where my mouth is.

Post Thanksgiving Rambles

I blew the dust off here and figured a little catching up was in order.
I've been having a ball reading other people's blogs - it's ever so much easier than writing to my own!
Since my last rant, about the Occupidiots, most of what's been going on has been close to home. I was engaged in pulling together enough scratch to rebuild the power plant for Her Darkness(if you read an earlier entry, you noted that I had a major engine failure outside of Tucumcari), helping my bros in the Club get things together for a Clubhouse, trying to balance work and family and Club. Fortunately I lost my mind some years ago, so while it got a bit stressful at times, it didn't become overwhelming.
The Clubhouse we all worked so hard to get together became a reality after we leased an 'Office/Warehouse' space and remodeled it. With the talents of several and the labor of all, we turned it into a great hangout for our weekly gatherings of members and friends, with video games, a pool table and and an electronic dart board.

We like it...

The trick paint job is courtesy of Joe Larry, father of the ever-snarky prankster Spike. All told it was almost four months after we leased that it was mostly where we wanted it.

As for Her Darkness, her heart was turned over to a fella whose expertise has no equal when it comes to S&S engines. He pretty much replaced everything but the crank and jugs, had the heads rebuilt, and cleaned it up real fine...

Shiny. Ready to drop in, and I promptly did. The builder stopped in when I had her ready to fire up - his courtesy extended to helping me dial in the timing and carb. I hit the starter after makin' sure oil was pumped throughout the galleries and such.
Gods, what a lovely sound... and I was back on 2 wheels again.

More to come. Time for sleep...

Stuff It, OccupyWallStreet

I've been observing the so-called 'revolt' in various cities around the country lately, and boy, some of the vids coming out could almost make me feel ashamed to belong to the same species as those people... but not quite.
Self-important li'l cupcakes going on about eating the rich, redistribution of wealth, down with corporations - all the while sporting their various electronic gadgets, wearing their mass-produced shirts with the slogan or portrait of choice(oh, the irony, it burns!), and getting mad when not being allowed to go into a nearby restaurant for the express purpose of using - and possibly vandalizing - the crapper. I found Ed the 3rd especially hilarious. I can't even remember what he was squealing about, I started laughing, then had to shut it off after he got through a few sentences. It was too painful to finish. (I find myself doing something similar with "Fail" or "Funniest" style videos - can't bear to watch the dopes crash and burn for the sake of getting on the Internet or TV.)
What I see is a grip of pissants. I've got nothin' for 'em. (Yes, I said 'grip' - as in, 'a bunch of''.)
Go ahead and try telling me about how entitled you are to what I've earned with sweat and pain.
Tell me how I should send you donations and food as you talk trash about the country of my birth, walk on, stomp on, crap on the flag that represents it, the place where even punks like you can do all that and not be arrested or 'disappeared'. Unlike in the countries some of your mentors would have this country turned into. Gods, you don't even listen to yourselves.
But that's okay.
While I must suppress my desire to rub your face with that feces-violated flag, I won't lift a finger to stop you from saying any of the ignorant, childish or unutterably stupid things that you do. Because unlike you, I'm not a hypocrite. While you might try to shout me down, or even (if you're really, really stupid) threaten me with violence when I try to speak, you won't get that treatment from me - I believe in the principles this country was founded upon - all of them, applied equally to all of us.
I started a family too young. Got off my butt after living off of my in-laws for months too long, started sweeping and mopping floors for minimum wage. Moved up to a production bakery job which paid enough for me to afford my first house, and also allowed me to make enough mistakes that I lost the place and took a bankruptcy a little over ten years later. I'm grateful there was a fall-back, however much I hated to use it; I had my family to consider, and living on the street was not an option I'd allow. I worked two jobs, getting up at 0600 and going to bed at 2300, and so did my wife. We muddled along but my kid didn't starve or go homeless. Moved back here when the main job ran out and prospects for staying looked bad. Had a job waiting when I got back - Thanks, David - and started all over again. Muddled through some more. Got divorced. Paid back over 13k in taxes and fines without borrowing, in five years, so that I & my new wife (and she had stuff of her own to pay off, too, which she did) could purchase our first home - a home built by folks with the same dreams as I, of having, and owning, things we earned by our work. We've had our financial ups and downs. I've been on unemployment once during that time, getting back a little of the money that I and my past employers put aside for that purpose. We've given of ourselves, and received in the times we needed -as loans, to be paid back. Because I've had the ability and a good job, my wife has been able to stay home and do the majority of the really hard work and raise two fine fellas, as well as be there for my first boy when he needed someone to talk to. I was in an accident and off work for four months, but the LTD from work and some assistance from the family got us through. We didn't plop ourselves down on the street downtown and demand that somebody feed us and pay our bills. We got through the tight spots by getting rid of fluff like cable tv and other non-necessities. When it hasn't been tight I've spend plenty of my hard-earned extra cash on my passion - rebuilding basket case motorcycles and riding them all over the western US.
I've made it happen by working 6 days a week, accompanied by a great gal who picks up a little spare cash fixin' computers, when she isn't pullin' support duty for three guys, a dog and a tortoise.
When the country prospers by way of the things people with money do, we all prosper - those of us that aren't actively trying to leech off of the rest, anyway. I don't count those who are unfortunate through no fault of their own and need help to get back on track as leeches.
You spoiled brats with your signs and slogans, you aging hippies who never saw a bad cause you couldn't get behind, you parasites who demand that others should give up what is theirs so you can take it without a fight - get stuffed.
You're 99% nothing.

That Did Not Mean What I Thought It Meant

Road Trip!
After much anticipation, preparation, and aggravation I rolled out of Phoenix with my pal, headed for parts and folks known. A beautiful if warm day's ride took us up I-17 to I-40, and east into New Mexico, coming to rest at last in Tucumcari. From there we would cut NE thru Texas and Oklahoma, into Kansas and over to Clint's place outside of Topeka. Not before dinner and some sleep, though. Had some good chow at a little crossroads place called The Rockin' Ys - thanks folks for letting us in so close to closing! - and settled in.
Up early, over to a truck stop for some coffee, and on we went into a gorgeous, cool country-road kinda morning.
16 miles out of Tucumcari, the bike quit. The motor stopped firing. I still had electricity, but it was like I'd hit the kill switch. What the f...?
At first I thought my electronic ignition had failed, but, following a suggestion from one of the bros, I went a little deeper - and found that the cam was no longer turning. So much for a roadside fix. 644 miles on the trip meter out of an easy 3560 miles total, finished on the morning of Day Two. I put most of the loose pieces back on, made a call for a tow truck to get me back to Tucumcari, and morosely pondered my position. Accept the things I cannot change, accept the things I cannot change... And then Solid found somethin' for me:
...A Warm Fuzzy!
Seems that a teddy bear got lost by the side of Highway 54, waiting for Kv to have his bike break in order to be rescued. Hard to stay depressed with all the little things that pop up on the road, so to speak.
Got Her Darkness trailered back to Tucumcari. Solid and I ate breakfast, we arranged my rescue from the Evil Clutches of Tucumcari, and he rode on up to Denver to see his family.
I spent the rest of the day alternately hangin' at the hotel and walking around T-Town. Lemme tell ya, Tucumcari ain't exactly the liveliest joint on Sunday. By the time I figured out that I was hungry and wanted dinner, everything in walking distance was closed. Damn! At least I got treated to a little thunderstorm that evening. Cool air, nice sunset. I reminded myself that there are worse things in life than a broken motorcycle - and I've been there. As with any situation that goes this upside-down, it takes me a little while to reconcile myself to it.
About 1:30 in the morning of the 4th, Auz rolled in to the rescue. We got the bike on the trailer and hit the rack for a few hours. Up with the birdies, checked everything, and on the road home we went.
With a couple of stops on the way - for some proper 4th of July goodies, and some rocks by Sandia Peak, we managed to get home soon enough for me to get the bike squared away and head over to my In-laws for some tasty BBQ, card playin' and whiz-bang stuff to round it all off.
It turned out to be a Road Trip, all right. Just not the one I thought I was gonna take...

Boy howdy, when people say, "Maybe you just weren't supposed to go..." I just wanna... mmmph.

Father's Day

Bittersweet...
I've been blessed with four Dads in my 54 years, and three Demi-Dads as well. Two dads were my mom's partners - Richard, my father, and Cliff, my step-father; the other two, Fred, and Al Sr., the fathers of the two leading ladies in my life. My Demi-Dads? Uncle Don, Uncle Howard, and Uncle Jerry, men who've greatly influenced me during and since childhood.
Each has played a part in helping me shape some portion of myself directly, or a portion of my life, or simply how I see things in life.
Rather than try and describe all of that, I'll just say: Thanks to you all. You that remain in my life, I don't see or speak to you as often as I'd like - something this wanderer is attempting to improve upon - but I'll hear your voices today. I'm grateful to the Old Ones that I still can.
Oh, how I miss the rest... and I'm grateful for that, too. Today I can drink the cup to its dregs, with no complaint, yet still. Still. A hug, a spoken word, some good-natured teasing about my hair(Uncle Don - always!), or how I spent my birthday money getting something inked on - Dad would always say, upon seeing a new tattoo, "Man, I'm gonna stop giving you money for your birthday! Always gettin' tattooed!" Which lasted right up until I got him a tattoo for his birthday... Gods, the phone call I got from Mom when, a month or two later, she caught sight of it. (How the heck did he hide it so long??) Even the sometimes testy political discussions with Cliff.
Stuff like that. Things that make me smile, even as tears come to my eyes.
Bittersweet.