Solo Trip: Part Two

The first day on my trip to Loveland, Colorado from Olympia, Washington was to be an easy day.  Just a half-day’s ride from my home to Pendleton, Oregon.  I had stayed in Pendleton a lifetime ago when I moved to Washington State to go to school and my mother drove with me.  I set out from the local gas station with Sophie (my miniature standard poodle -- a runt at only nine pounds) eagerly nosing the scents on the wind.  It was hot, hot, hot.  I took Highway 14 along the Columbia river.  A four-lane that narrowed into a two lane with curves and cliffs and overhanging trees.  It felt good to be out on our own, seeking adventure, just my puppy and me.

We crossed the mighty Columbia river at the “Bridge of the Gods” for a fifty-cent toll.  Once on I-82 we rolled along faster, passing slower cars when necessary.  We pulled over for gas and water a little more frequently since I was concerned about Sophie getting heat stroke.  She drank water and when she was done, I poured the rest of it on her to keep her cool through evaporation.

Eastern Oregon is a lot like Eastern Washington, high plains desert, arid, rock cliffs overlooking the Columbia River.  With the temperatures hovering at 110 degrees, it was like riding in a blast furnace.  For the first time I wore a base-layer shirt to wick away moisture and heat; it worked really well.  I was not as dehydrated as I would usually get, it kept me cool under my t-shirt.  We passed cars and sometimes cars passed us.  On a motorcycle the patches of cooler air are delicious, like riding out of the blast furnace into, say, a toaster oven.

The heat really sucks the energy out of you and as we headed toward Pendleton, I was glad we were almost ready to call it a day.  Sophie was a trooper, she drank a lot of water, and didn’t object too much when I used a syringe to force water into her mouth at one stop.  When we checked into the motel, she was happy to have air conditioning and stretched out on the bed, belly up.  She spent the night getting up for a nibble and some water, so I wasn’t too worried about her.

We rolled out of Pendleton bright and early on Tuesday morning. We climbed undulating hills covered in fir and pine, with miles long inclines in an unbroken chain of wide sweeping curves; they seemed to go on forever. Then we rushed down into lush, verdant valleys and bucolic farms. We climbed again into rolling hills tufted with grass, sage brush, and scrub cedar. Ragged chunks of rock pushed through the soil to give the hills claws and teeth. We passed into the arid portion of Idaho and Utah, the hills were mounds of earth with rock laid bare, like the gaunt bones of half-eaten carcasses. Now we see plateaus, with stiff brims of granite around the top, like a marine's rigid buzz cut. Higher mountains awaited us, bare rock and sparse soil, a cloud leaving its rain shadow on the far side. We started out chilly, then exchanged delectable, soft, cool air for the dry, baked heat of the high plains desert. Bill Sublette, Joe Meek, Jim Bridger, and others dragged themselves across this land in search of beaver fur, competing against the Hudson's Bay Company. The Snake, Crow, Lakota, Black Foot, Absaroka, and other native Americans lived in harmony with this land. Buffalo once blackened the river valleys.  But what I was thinking about was an air-conditioned room, a shower, and a comfortable bed. So I steered us off of the freeway, and our day was done. Sophie appreciates the soft comforts of modern living, and so do I. 

The day was full of amazing moments, commonplace, but moments of the awareness of God and His unending mercy and love, surrounding me, lifting me up.  Unemployment and all the stresses that accompany it were far away.  I felt a lifting of stress.  I snuggled into the pillows and was soon asleep.  Tomorrow I would reach my destination and see my high school friend, a chance to visit after thirty-some years.

Solo Trip

Recently, I completed a 3,000 mile trip from my home in Washington State to Loveland, Colorado.  Just my dog and me. I've done some longer rides where I'm at my destination by nightfall.  This was my first several-days-on-the-road trip, ranging cross-country, into new territory. It was fantastic. No, it was amazing.  Dare I use epic?  You see, I've been unemployed since February 28 and multiple sequential rejections had eroded my self-confidence.  Desperately in need of a change of scenery and the accompanying change of focus, I decided to take up my friend's offer to stay with her.  With a sense of disbelief, I packed (25 percent too much) and loaded the bike.  My German Kleinpoodle, Sophie, was beside herself with joy and excitement.  I had a job interview that morning, then I would change into riding clothes and point my bike south.

My first encounter was in my hometown, at the gas pump. Dressed in a pink Harley shirt and jeans, my dog in her carrier, and the luggage strapped down, I pulled in to fill up the tank. 

"Hello.  Nice bike."  I turned around to face a woman in a full face helmet.  "That's my bike over there," she pointed with pride to a black motorcycle laden with luggage.

We talked a few minutes and it became apparent that she was filled with fear.  Fear of being recognized as a female rider, fear of riding in some ways, fear of the freeway, fear of who she'd encounter along the way.

"How do you do what you do?" she asked, wide-eyed.

How did I get here?  I remember dressing "mannishly" so that others would think I was a male rider.  I remember hesitating before heading onto the freeway for the first time.  But my creator endowed me with a sense of adventure and fearlessness that I strive to take full advantage of.

The answer, I guess, is one step at a time.  I didn't start here, this is where I am now.  I started out doing little rides around my neighborhood, then branched out as my confidence grew.  Facing challenges head on, riding with more experienced riders, listening to others' tales and advice.  Women who have gone before me, who have faced challenges and grown through them to face even greater challenges.  We don't do anything alone.  What I do today will lay down a path for those who come after me.  What beacons of hope can I share by my experiences? What truths can I lay bare for those who face the same questions I have faced?

My life has not been smooth, I have made poor choices, other times I've made better choices.  I've been abused and treated as less than human by the one who vowed before God and family to cherish and love me.  And now I've been fired because my boss wanted to reorganize the agency and didn't know how to tell me I was going be demoted or eliminated.  I'm not the only one to face such challenges; others have gone before me and come through with flying colors.

Thinking all these things, wondering what adventures were yet before me, I checked that Sophie was strapped in and pointed my bike down the highway.

New Year Musings

My youngest son was home for ten days over Christmas, a breezy vacation that was over much too soon.  We went riding together, it was dry and cold and the sun was brilliant in azure skies.  He rides a little Honda Rebel 250, much too small for his almost six-foot frame.  But he earned it himself and it's his first bike.  As a student he can't afford anything else at the moment.

Last year his bike wouldn't start and I let him ride my Harley.  He's a careful rider, he's my son, and he can borrow it any time he wants.  Oh, my, you should've seen the brouhaha on Facebook when I playfully mentioned that he removed my red, white, and blue lever fringes and stay-back whip.  People were incensed, outraged even, and they let me know.  How dare he modify anything, they asked angrily.  "Does he even know what an absolute honor it is for you to let him ride your bike?" was one infuriated comment.

I had to ask people to chill out.  The "modification" he asked for and I agreed to was minor; those fringes and whip could be replaced in less than two minutes.  Besides, I reminded everyone, he's my SON; he has special privileges that no one else has.  Why in the world would I make him feel under obligation to use my bike when I'm not using it?  Sheesh.

Fast forward to this year.  He worked on his bike and got it running.  He made several solo trips and enjoyed the feeling of speed, dancing through curves, and the wind in his face.  We went on some favorite back-county, no-shoulder roads that rolled and twisted and turned and curved through woodlands, farmlands, and climbed high into the foothills.  We had a marvelous time and stopped to take a couple of pictures.  I have heated gear and could've gone on for a long time.  His poor fingers were numb, so it was time to head home and warm up.

As we were locking up our bikes, I asked him, "Did I go through the curves fast enough for you?"

"No," he replied with a grin, "but you did okay, it was a safe speed."

Memories!  We will never have that moment or that ride again!

Is Suicide Selfish?

The million-dollar question. The dividing line between two schools of thought. I'll add my opinion to the fray, maybe it will be heard above the noise.

Is it selfish? Yes. No. It depends. How's that for decisiveness? I've been on both sides of the question, watching as loved ones struggle with a suicide within their realm; I've struggled myself with the dark despondency and contemplated that irreversible decision.  We can talk about platitudes, advice, guilt, the whole gamut. We can delve into the spiritual, mental, physical, and chemical reasons. But I'm not going to do that. I'm just going to talk.

A dear friend, a love of mine, is tired. So very tired of life. Weary beyond measure. So he's quit taking all his meds. The psychotropic as well as the blood sugar meds. He was on quite the cocktail of psychotropics, which messed with his brain and emotions and made him more unstable. I can understand weaning oneself off of those. But, come on? Blood sugar meds? He's hoping he'll have a heart attack or stroke that will kill him. The brutal, ugly reality is, he'll most likely become debilitated instead, and even more dependent on the medical field than before.

He's the most selfish person I know. He's thinking only of himself, not those who will have to take care of him, or those he leaves behind. And we'll all blame ourselves. Some of us more than others. "Why didn't I know?" "Why didn't I say this ... or this... or that?" "I should have tried harder to reach him." And we'll curse at the shadows, we'll cry out in pain and guilt. And some of us, in the depths of our despair, may follow him into darkness, imitate his final decision.

He's stubborn and refusing counsel, he's obstinate and won't listen. He's always been an attention whore; so part of me wonders, is it all just a ploy? He'll play us along and then when we're all at the right pitch of anxiety and alarm, he'll go back on his blood sugar meds and get his health under control.

So, yes, in this instance, suicide IS selfish. His son will be deprived of a parent and will grieve the rest of his life. His MC will be left with a big hole, not just in the organization, but the people's hearts. His ex-wives and girlfriends, his friends, coworkers, all of us, will fall on the double edges sword of self-reproach and rage -- against ourselves, him, others, medical personnel. The pain will never leave. It will scar over, but it will always chafe and burn and rub and grate against our hearts and minds.

A year ago, a dear friend took her life in the midst of an argument with her boyfriend. It was a desperate move, a fatal gamble that I do not believe she intended to be permanent. I blame him. He belittled and maligned her, with constant and repetitious pounding into her psyche that she was worthless, unloved, and absolutely unlovable. After months, days, hours of his vile, hateful haranguing, she snatched up his handgun, put it between her teeth, and pulled the trigger. A rash, final act of defiance against a world that had crushed her beyond repair. She was not selfish, she was already destroyed and acted out utter desolation.

My nephew was selfish. He, too, shot himself, but after a long and thoughtful pursuit of the matter, he wouldn't listen to reason and then fooled us all by making plans, pretending to be happy. Did he think of how it would affect the girlfriend he claimed to cherish beyond all others? They were planning to move in together. She will never get that image out of her mind. What about the friends that helped her clean up the blood? How are they to cope and not blame themselves? I watched my sister, bewildered by her son's actions. Stunned by the finality of death, bowed down with guilt and despairing grief.

We'll all have nightmares. We'll be stunned by grief and crushed down by guilt. And we'll be angry. At ourselves for not doing enough or saying enough. At God. At the world. At him, for so selfishly destroying hope and love in hearts that he should have cherished and guarded from pain and danger. He was too selfish and self-absorbed, he couldn't look us in the eye and tell us we're not worth the effort to stay around.

Live With No Regrets

As I look back on my life, I have a lot of regrets. I regret letting fear hold me back from some momentous opportunities.  I regret not following my gut instincts. But, then, if I'd followed my gut, I wouldn't have the four wonderful, intelligent, and creative children that I now have. They'd be different children, maybe nothing like the four on loan to me now.

If I had more courage, I would've started writing sooner. I would have explored this world more. For sure, I would have ridden a motorcycle much, much sooner.  I also wouldn't have followed the crowd as much.  That's a skill that we learn as we get older isn't it? 

We all want to be different, to stand out in the crowd; bikers above all people, I think.  Yet look at us. The vast majority of us wear black leather, black helmets, put patches on our vests to distinguish us from everyone else. I don't know about you, but, when I'm on a poker run or an organized ride, I can't recognize anyone from a distance until I see them on their bike. Even then I can't be sure.  "Oh, yeah, I know him. Bald, goatee, smokes a cigar, has ape hangers on a black Road King." There are at least a dozen guys that match that vague description that I personally know.

It's easier to stand out as woman. Women comprise the fastest growing demographic in motorcycle purchases and riding. They're still in the minority around here. Sometimes they're praised, sometimes ridiculed. Sometimes we have to defend our choice of ride. Not all of us choose small, safe bikes. We ride pretty much anything out there, with regular bars, mini-apes, ape hangers, loud pipes, solo seats, equipped for passengers, you name it, there's a woman out there riding it.

Here I am, trying to live my life without regrets. It doesn't just mean rushing into something, it can also mean looking ahead, seeing the dangers, and choosing not to make that decision or take that path.

A Fresh Start

Sometimes, life is about new beginnings. As the youngest child entered his senior year of high school, I entered a new chapter in my life. Again. I took up motorcycle riding.

A friend asked me to take the endorsement class with her.  And that was the beginning of a new passion. I'd always wanted to ride, I thought it would never happen for me. I watched as other women in my life, and on the edges of my life, went to the endorsement class and began their own adventures in riding.

From the first it thrilled me. After enduring an abusive marriage, divorce, the deaths of my closest sister-friend, my mother, and several other friends.  Riding a motorcycle helped me find my sense of self. It empowered me:  I felt strong and free behind those bars!

Riding is now a passion, alongside several others.  In the last five years I've learned a lot, about myself, about riding, about the biker world, about friendship and compassion, and about trust.