Pornography

No, I mean it.
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I related this story to my co-workers on Monday.
Back in the mid-70's I spent some time with the U.S Air Force. During that time I went to a friends house to hang out with some of the guys.
At one point I noticed a Hustler magazine laying on the table and picked it up and spent some time checking it out.
Somewhere very much into the magazine, I came across a page that was splashed with the word PORNOGRAPHY. At the time, the U.S. Government was involved in a case against the magazines founder, Larry Flint regarding this pornographic magazine. At the time, if memory serves, pornography was considered to be offensive and indecent to the common morays of our society.
On the pages following the short article about the case against Mr. Flint were pictures that he thought were truly offensive and indecent. There were a number of very graphic pictures from the War in Viet Nam. Visions of horror and humans that looked anything but human. Visions of what we and they had learned over the years to dismember and ultimately destroy a human life.
Then I related to them something "I" felt to be pornographic, offensive and indecent. On the front page of the Sunday Daily Oklahoman newspaper was a picture of a beautiful 11 year old child who had committed suicide. She had taken pills from the medicine cabinet. The very thought of a child that age even imagining ending her own life was a vision I found too disturbing to comprehend. Reading further I found out that the number 2 cause of death in Oklahoma, from age 10 up to 24 is suicide. In the very state that I love and have adopted as my home. Our children are taking drugs and killing themselves at an alarming rate.
I told them I had intended on bringing the paper to work so that everyone with children and grandchildren could sit at the table and read the story and show their kids that there are ways of working out problems and that the parents/grandparents will always be there for them, under any circumstances. I really have to believe that those words are true. They have to know and it must be true.

Used without permission, for non-commercial purposes

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I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I got my plastic Jesus
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
Comes in colors, pink and pleasant
Glows in the dark because it's iridescent
Take it with you when you travel far
Get yourself a sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestone,
sitting on a Pedestal of abalone shells
Going ninety,
I ain't scary
Because I got the Virgin Mary
Assuring me that I won't go to Hell
Get yourself a sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestone,
sitting on a Pedestal of abalone shells
Going ninety,
I ain't scary
Because I got the Virgin Mary
Assuring me that I won't go to Hell

Miss you Ma.
Nobody said it would get easier,
but I sure wasn't expecting it to get harder.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHf7TD4qwjk

Didn't want to go there.

Really didn't.
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Someone I work with gave me a little booklet today. It was entitled "Steps to the Ride of Your Life, Jesus". OK, no problem.....except....the guy has spent the rest of the week trashing me to everyone at work that will listen to him. I have senority, several years of it. For the last 4+ years it has been maybe a forgone conclusion that I would take the Department Head position when the present head retires. Which he has said is in two years. Well to be fair, this guy has done plenty, he works very hard, comes in early, making every effort to learn everything he possibly can. Swears he will stay in this department forever. But...there are skills that can't be learned or taught. You gotta have them. He doesn't. Anyway, it lit me up, kick me in the nuts all week and then play christian on Friday. I've been there, much deeper than most. Plenty deeper than him. I don't talk about it much, no need. Either whomever doesn't believe or they don't believe. I have had the hand of God touching my face.........for a time, a long time. Long ago and far away. I have ministered to the sick and homebound, the hospital bound, the ones wihout much hope. As a Catholic, I have taken the very body of Christ to people who ordinarily would not have had the chance to receive it. The Catholic church has what is known as the Diaconate, it's where you get training to become a deacon. You have to be recommended. I was recommended by a priet who in his 25 years as a priest had never recommended anyone. I was also recommended by the head of the Diaconate. I was going to take the Lord's number of seven other people to recommend me before I truly decided, I had ten. I have been deep. What I say now is, if you are real, you do not have to say a word, believe me I will know. Do not ever kick me and then think you can pull this off on Friday. Just because I may not live like you think I should, maybe not as I think I should, I'm far from ignorant, you will not fool me. I truly apologize for going into this subject, I never intended for my blog to be one dealing with politics or religion. It was and is intended for my life stories and that is the way it's going to be. I'm sorry about allowing myself to be distracted to this point and I hope you will continue to follow as you have. Thank you for your kindness and the wonderful comments. It has being very encouraging for me.

Mom's Memorial Run

Had to do it.
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Well this is it, the story you have been waiting for......for real?
At the time I made Mom's Run, I had already found an interest in the Iron Butt Association. I talked to some who weren't impressed and someone I knew from another area at work even stated that Iron Butt was for people who didn't ride much, so they could impress people who don't ride at all. Hmmm, takes all kinds. Anyway, at one point I was looking into making that run into an Iron Butt run. Might as well, riding the distance anyway, and surely going to be steady on the move. But I felt I might have been too distracted and the guys that I was in contact with were wanting to meet me in Savannah. I really didn't think I would pass Statesboro for that reason. I knew I would go no further than Statesboro.
Well the notion stayed with me, all I needed was maybe an excuse. So on the Memorial Weekend following the first anniversary of my mother's passing, I took my plan and took off.
I had planned on leaving Duncan, Ok at midnight Saturday. My reasoning was that the dark travel would be done while I was full of adrenalin and the adventure would be fresh. I didn't want to be returning after dark, tired and pushing. Proved to be a good idea.
I also planned on making my turn around spot Graceland Harley Davidson. Thought how cool it would be to run in and get one of those way cool T shirts. One that has a pic of Elvis on a Hog and the caption says " A Legend, Made For A King". Awesome. But leaving here at midnight put me in Memphis around 8-8:30 am. They don't open until 9 am and I wasn't going to lose time waiting. So my destination ended up at Horn Lake, MS, at another of Mr. Rossmeyers dealerships, Southern Thunder Harley Davidson.
Leaving was no big deal, I had got off work and laid down for a few hours rest. I got up about 10 pm and had some breakfast and headed out. I filled up with fuel and got my timed receipt at 11:58, close enough.
I guess the first "experience" came after I crossed the Arkansas line. At some point, I started feeling claustrophobic. I was thinking that a few hours in the dark had started messing with my head, so I tried to ignore it. I can assure you that you cannot ignore something in your head at that point. With only my headlight showing the way, no traffic for a looooog time, your head truly takes command. I started thinking about animals, even though I never saw one. I did figure out after a time that the closed in feeling was the trees that line the side of the interstate in Arkansas, don't have that in Oklahoma.
After a while, of course you become somewhat automated, drive, stop get fuel, use restroom, drink water or coffee and run. I did actually have one of those moments described by the Iron Butt Association travel tips. If you get to a point where you have a problem making a decision, stop. I passed an exit where I thought of getting fuel and it spooked me. The fact that I felt I had made the decision, but didn't act on it. I was in fact pushing the mileage and I had brought a small gas can, just in case, but I had actually told myself it was time to stop and I didn't. Needless to say, the next one I did NOT pass.
One of the most incredible occurances, that was later confirmed by other Iron Butt riders, was sunrise. Riding steady from midnight until whenever, the sun breaking through the sky was like taking some kind of drug. It's euphoric, you can feel yourself recharging. The blood seems to all of a sudden start charging through your body, your focus and all systems go on alert. The most incredible feeling, impossible to really describe.
I pulled into Memphis, not much traffic, but kinda cloudy. Wasn't going to complain, because the trip had been so flawless to that point. After a hiccup, I found Southern Thunder. It had started to sprinkle a little but the place was packed. Bikes everywhere. Finally found a parking place and was approached by a guy who asked my name and where I was from, chatted a little and walked away. I ended up having small talk with several very friendly folks by the time I got inside. The place was barely breathing room only. Everyone moved at the same time. As I was looking for the perfect T, I noticed 3 different colors being worn and also plenty of women inside. Hmmmm, then I started thinking, this can't be good. Past experience with clubs and a mixture of women and the close proximity.........time to go. I picked out what was actually a very popular T with the shoppers, paid, got my time stamp for my turn around spot and headed out.
The sprinkes continued all the way into Oklahoma, not bad for traveling. Keeping things cool and the air cooled engine loves it.
Coming in to sight of the Oklahoma Welcome Center i saw the wall cloud. Huge and dark and imposing. I pulled in, leathered up and filled the tank with the gas out of the can, didn't want to stop for fuel in what I knew was coming. Everytime I leave Ok, I get spanked when I return. Once I got into the storm, it was raining hard enough for the underpasses to be full of cars, the other bikes had stopped at the welcome center. I had a schedule to try to keep.
Hey, one point worth remembering. I was crossing the bridge over Lake Eufala. It was raining so hard I had slowed to 45 miles per hour. Lightening was everywhere. It was me and trucks, that was pretty much it. I look over and see some guy in a speed boat and he's moving, fast. Weaving and circling and having a fine ol' time. Out there all alone. And I'm thinking, what a freaking fool. Then I laughed outloud, because I bet he was thinking the same thing. What an idiot, riding that damn motorcycle in such weather.
I got within about 75 miles of Oklahoma City and the rain stopped and the wonderful, warm Oklahoma sun came out and the clouds rolled away. I got all dry, then...........crap, my legs started to cramp. Soaking wet, now warm and dry, the muscles decided to try to fold up on me. NO way was I going to stop with no more gas stops to make, I had it made. I stretched them out and put them on the crash bars. Oh man, couldn't stop now! Wouldn't. Didn't.
I got to the Harley Davidson dealer in Moore, Ok. My home away from home. And hey, they were having a party. Hooters girls! Harley's Angels! Beer! BBQ! OH YEAH! Like a homecoming. Then I started looking for the guys who were going to verify my time. Went in the shop and hung out a bit, duh. Talked to the guys and all, went back outside and I saw him. Clean cut, sitting on his cadillac, uh I mean Gold Wing, scanning the area. I walked up to him and said "Hey, you know you gotta park that Honda in the grass, this area is for Harleys only". He looks at me with surprise and says, "sorry man, I'm supposed to meet a guy named Gary Manning here". So I laughed and said, you just did. He laughed and shook my hand and we yakked a bit. We were looking around and we see what has to be the other guy. He is sitting on his BMW with his clean face and straight back and pants and vest with matching color and security stripe. He looks like a cop. So we start making faces at him and he finally recognizes his friend on the Wing and comes over. He says damn, I'm supposed to be looking for a guy with long grey whiskers on a black Harley. That is EVERY guy here! Again with the laughter. Was a fine time, was an incredible ride. Official certification: 1,058 miles in 17.5 hrs. Didn't figure that was bad for an ol' man.
And as far as this year, did you know there is actually a sign that says "standing on a corner in Winslow, Az"?
All the time, when I felt like turning around and saying, forget this, I kept telling myself...........Ma........this is for you. You would say it was not very smart, but it's all I got, it's all I can give for you now. I miss you and I never got to give you that ride, so I'll make it for you..........for as long as I can.

Memorial Run

Anniversaries are not always................
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We are coming up on an anniversary. Maybe not one you want to celebrate, even though we probably should. Easter Sunday, 2008, my mom started another journey. That will come later, this is the story about, what I've called "Mom's Run".
When you make a choice to live 1000 miles from home, you have to know, part of the cost, is "the call". You must know and accept the fact that it is going to come.
When it came, I knew I was leaving, not sure how to pay or whatever, but I had to go. The cheapest way for me was the Harley Davidson Electra Glide sitting in the garage. Long ride, hadn't done that before. But as it would turn out, it was the only way to go. Sure, it had it's drawbacks, that I survived, but then it became something else. I decided to call it, as I said, "Mom's Run".
A couple of the lessons I learned were, for one, when wearing steel toed safety boots, when the toe gets cold, it will stay cold. Regardless of what the temperature does during the day, they will not warm up. I ended up stopping and buying some of those hand warmers that hunters use. You open the little pack and when air hits the stuff, it gets warm and will stay that way for several hours. At the time, I didn't realize that they made different ones for your shoes. But they worked and I keep them in the saddle bags always. Like the rain gear and the leather, it stays with the bike. I also realized that, as a friend once told me, you don't need a radio on a motorcycle. You listen to the music in your head. Songs you've liked forever come to you as you ride along and without those annoying commercial breaks I detest. The motivation has to come from somewhere, to keep your spirits up and keep you going, maybe longer than you normally would. It's not anything like spending hour after hour in a car. The weather and your own body challanges you, tempting you to stop and rest, when you know you shouldn't.
I never will forget one defining moment on that trip. I was riding the unending highway leading from Macon, Ga. on down to Statesboro, Ga. I had an old favorite "road" song going through my head as I was being passed by a car. I was at the part where they say, " I'm out on the road and I'm not gonna stop, gonna roll til I'm old, gonna rock til I drop........", like that song, and I look over at the car passing me. The old man in the passenger side was looking at me. I'm used to that, I rarely pay any attention, for a reason. But this time was different, he was looking and I know he couldn't see much, black bike, black leather, black full faced helmet, dark visor. But when I did decide to look over, he raised his gnarled old hand, with years of painful arthritis clearly marked and manages a "thumbs up". He couldnt see my smile, but he did see my black leather glove sending back a thumbs up. Never will forget that moment.
The ride into Statesboro was beyond words. The warm sun, the azaleas and other flowers bloomed out and the grass greener than green, beautiful. My mom had picked a wonderful place and a wonderful time.
The ride back, somber, colder. The first leg got me back into Nashville, missed the break I'd planned in Whitwell, so I kept going. As I was drinking that wonderful motel room provided coffee, I was looking outside the window into the dark evening watching my motorcycle being covered with snow. Man. Come daylight, or close enough, I took one of the towels out and began cleaning off the snow and frost. My motel neighbor was loading his mini-van and stopped to watch me. Standing there shaking his head. Needless to say, my next stop was 750 miles away, Rush Springs, Ok. where I was hoping it would be warmer. I did make it, something like 13 hours, stopping for gas and a stretch and go.
There is much more to this story, but what it started was my memorial. A memorial to my mom. When I first saw her, I exclaimed, "hey, I just rode over 1200 miles to see you and you just gonna lay there?! Get up and let's go for a ride!" I always teased her about how a couple of us would get together and put her on the back and tie her to the back rest and go for a ride. Anyway, the ink I will get someday will say, "Mom's Run, 03.22.08".
And by the way, I did make a memorial run last year, on Memorial Saturday and I'm planning this year's run as well. Those stories are forthcoming, soon.