Shelby’s Neighborhood

First, there's the acceleration. I'm a guy, so I like the acceleration. Sure, I appreciate the benefits, but it's also just plain fun. That's a rush that I never want to outgrow.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up, even though it put me way out of my comfort zone. I went knowing nobody, but hoping to meet some nice folks. It was the Texas Adventure Ride, based in Junction, Tx. From there, over 200 people took their Dirt bikes and Dual Sport bikes down a bunch of dirt roads, creek beds and twisty pavement, just for the joy of it. 

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My DR-Z only had about 330 miles on it when I loaded it into the truck, but it came back with close to 900. I had taken it around my mom's hayfield a few dozen times back last year, but had done little other riding off the pavement. So when I followed a group down one of the county roads I eased into it, learning to ride while standing on the pegs, which allows you more control over the bike. Soon I was hanging the tail out a bit and getting quite comfortable.

There must be something about Motion that eases our soul, fires our passion, or challenges our self-control. In my case, I found myself soaking in the surroundings while I moved through it. It wasn't a huge rush, but a gentle move towards relaxation for me. I started to meld with the bike, moving with the bumps, feeling through the curves. My control was challenged. A couple times I got stuck and needed a gentle shove to get out of a bind, though I only dropped the bike once, while taking it off the truck when I arrived in town.

The group I was riding with were good folks - the front two or three of 'em opened and held all the bump-gates, and as I was riding tail-end charlie most of the time, I just cruised through. Of course it was pretty dry most of the time, so I was eating my share of dust. I didn't mind, though. I had good gear on - my goggles did their job (some of the guys had MX-style helmets and shades and were complaining of dust in the eyes), it never got too hot, and the countryside was beautiful.

Here's a picture of them:

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That's Brian on the green KLR, Katie (I think) on the yellow DR-Z, Marlon on the exotic Aprilia, Trey in the lead on the Yellow DR, Kevin (I think) on the other KLR and for the life of me, I can't remember the name of the guy on the other DR. All in all a good crew, although Marlon was a bit of a goofball, deliberately roosting some of us in the creek crossings. 

I threatened to give him a titty-twister.

Here's me, near the end of the day - covered in dust and loving it:

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Sometimes certain activities are asked of me, as a member of our community. Though these duties are not productive in the immediate, personal sense - and are, in fact, a bit of a hassle - they do add value to to the community as a whole. 

... and sometimes it's determined relaxation.

The combination of circumstances was a bit too perfect to deny the opportunity, so I set some time aside - an hour is usually sufficient - put my folding chair on my front porch, along with one of my sofa cushions for lumbar support. The temperature was perfect tonight, and the crickets would keep me company with their mellow chirruping - there was little other sound.

I then went back to the kitchen, fished a beer from the fridge, (Shiner 98 - a sassy brew with a mirthful bouquet and a confident finish) popped it's top and set it aside. Then I pulled out a cigar from a specially designed and overpriced humi-baggie. After clipping the cigar and testing it's draw, I used a long match to start lighting it. It didn't go so well - I don't like these matches and so I switched to a normal butane lighter with its consistent flame. After getting a good cherry on the end, I grabbed the beer, went out to my porch and took a seat.

The cigar was a Padron 6000, a lovely figurado made from Nicaraguan tobacco. I know enough about cigars to know what I like - this one was not too mild, not too strong, but rich. I took a puff, held the smoke in my mouth for a second, then I adjusted my embouchure and used my tongue to push out a nice little smoke ring. I watched it while it shifted and distorted, then faded completely as a result of entropy or brownian motion (I can't remember which, it's been a long time since high school physics). As the last tendrils of smoke disappeared, I sunk deeper in my chair, put one of my feet against the railing and took a long slow breath. The slight breeze was like a divine caress as it moved across the exposed skin of my legs and arms, adding to the pleasure of the moment.

So time passed - I would take a puff, then another and then wait for a little bit, allowing the fire on the end of the cigar to cool down some. Then I would repeat this, but follow it with a drink from my bottle - and time continued to pass, as my thoughts slowed and allowed me to catch up. A car would occasionally pass by, but I would ignore each one. I was almost invisible because my porch light was off and the tree in my front yard hid me from the street lamp. I was left alone, allowed to observe and survey the street right in front of my house as my mind wandered far, far away.

I spent some of the time expressing gratitude to my maker for the breeze, for the tree in my front yard, for the money to spend on trivial things like cigars. A melody drifted through my head - Chris Isaak's Blue Spanish Sky.  "It's a slow, sad Spanish song - I knew the words, but I sang them wrong..."

Slowly, as the fire crept closer to the fingers holding my cigar, and the beer warmed a little, losing it's savor (perhaps its finish was a little over-confident) - I came to know that the moment had expired, this pleasure had come to an end. It did, however have the lasting result of a taking me a significant metaphorical step further away from the brink.

Cheers

... So  when I do actually finish a book, it's a momentous occasion. Glen is a first-time author, and a very thoughtful guy - not on exactly the same socio-political page as I am, but I can appreciate where he's coming from, and I think he's the kind of guy who would appreciate where I'm coming from.This is a good read, even if you don't ride or travel.

Two Wheels Through Terror: Diary of a South American Motorcycle Odyssey

Glen Heggstad

After nailing up the first of four 3'x16" pegboard panels, I decided to put the others off until tomorrow afternoon, thinking that maybe hammering away in my garage at 10pm wasn't exactly neighborly. Hm. Maybe I'll work on recording some music. Or maybe I'll update my blog. Yep, that's what I'll do.

I have a terrible confession to make. I'm actually ashamed of the fact I'm about to reveal. In twenty years as a musician, I have maintained (not by choice) a stubborn mental block regarding the use of multi-track recording. And this is in spite of the fact that technology now makes this a kindergarden-level excersize.

Wow, so I never finished my trip story - apologies to anyone following my progress. To be honest, my account was a bit boring - I really wasn't putting much heart into the telling. And now, it's been, what, a month since I've paid any attention to my blogsite dealy. 

Kanab, Ut