Day 36 - CB450

Some years ago a friend of mine made a living out of buying older Honda motorcycles, restoring them to good cosmetic and running condition, and selling them to millennials who had lots of cash but little mechanical ability.

I was visiting and had time on my hands so I jumped at his offer to borrow a bike and go for a ride. The ride would last a week and cover over a thousand miles but he knew it would something like that going in. Chance of a lifetime.

Even further back in time I worked for Honda of Boston as a mechanic. A bike came in that had been wrecked by the new owner with less than 500 miles on it. “Fix it and sell it!” was the description on the work order. I called the owner and suggested that the parts and labor would not be repaid in the selling price. Would he be interested in an as-is sale? “Send me a check for whatever you think is fair. I never want to see that bike again!”

It was a Honda CB450 and I rode that bike everywhere. Rather than fix the cosmetic damage I just painted everything black. New cams and high compression pistons and I was ready to fly. I used to go looking for Triumphs to race so I could show them my taillights. The Bonnevilles had better handling but I had the power and was willing to push the bike harder than most of the guys on the Triumphs.

Now, years later, I was being offered another CB450 to ride.

There are two reasons to ride an old bike: you want to relive a moment in the past or you appreciate the essence of the moment in history. The first is kind of sad, it suggests that the person has not moved on with their life. The second is a person who can savor the past but understands why the windshield is a lot bigger than the rear view mirror.

I got on that bike and rode off without plans but knew where I was going in the back of my mind. From San Francisco I rode down Rt 1, the Coast Highway, not trying to set a new speed record but savoring the day, the scenery, and the ride as one would a fine wine.

After a night's stop in Big Sur I rode up and over the coast range and turned towards the Sierras. On Rt 140, riding through Merced, Mariposa, and into Yosemite was like visiting an old friend. The bike hummed a steady beat and the curves came and went with a confident ease. No rush, no dilly-dallying, no hurry. Smooth and relaxed but rather a bit over the speed limit I must admit.

The thing about Yosemite is that most people go into the valley, take pictures of themselves in front of the falls, and go home thinking they have seen it all. In truth they have barely scratched the surface. There is Toulumne Meadows, Tanya Lake and the groves of giant Sequoia.

I've hiked to the top of Half Dome a couple of times and camped on top of El Capitan but this was a road trip so I rode out to Olmsted Point to gaze across at Clouds Rest and then turned back to ride down The Big Oak Flat road making sure to took the long way around down the old Priest Grade.

At Chinese Camp the highway straightened out and picked up speed. A few hours later and I was back in San Francisco, happy to return the bike to my friend. It was a great ride on a great bike. A moment to look back and look forward at the same time.

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Day 35 - Trees

When I was a kid my mom brought home a small tree from the grocery store that was about an inch high. She nurtured it through the years and planted it in the back yard when it was a foot tall. From there it grew to about 30' and thrived under her care.

When she and my dad moved to their restored Victorian home in Alameda she had few demands. One was my dad stay out of any planning for the kitchen and the other was that her tree was coming with her. It took an arborist, a crane, a flatbed semi, and the police to clear the way to get the tree transplanted into it's new location.

When I moved into our new house in Utah there was a flag pole in the front yard. I'm not much of a flag person so I dug it up and gave it the toss. In it's place I planted a Blue Spruce just like my mom's in memory of her. It started off at 4' and now, 5 years later, is more than 7' tall. The first year I strung Christmas lights all around it. Since they are solar powered I left them on all year long. People have used it as a reference when giving directions through the neighborhood. They can thank my mom.

Michael was on of my very best friends. He was one of the first people I met when I moved to San Diego many years ago. We shared a house in Ocean Beach and had many, many adventures together. He was creative, energetic, and not just a little crazy.

Later Michael and Nita got married and had a house in Hillcrest. It had a very tall tree in the front yard. Michael would decorate it with lights, adding a few strings every year as it grew taller and taller. Year after year, lights and more lights, taller and taller, …

It got to be such a spectacle that the pilots landing at the San Diego airport would tip their wing and point out the tree to the passengers inside. People would come from near and far to drive past the amazing tree of lights. Finally the neighbors complained that they couldn't get in and out of their homes because the traffic was so bad. The city claimed that an ambulance or fire truck couldn't navigate through the mobs of people and ordered him to shut it down.

Today we were doing our final round of Christmas shopping and visited our favorite nursery looking for last minute inspiration. There were these small pine trees about a foot tall that caught my attention. I asked one of the people about it: how high would it get? what care would it need? was it and indoor or outdoor plant? He asked me what I was going to do with it. A curious question I thought until he explained that many people bought them for decoration and then tossed them away after the holidays. That depressed me a little. I bought one of them and I can assure you that, like my mom, I will nurture it and see that it thrives!

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Day 34 - Tradition

Went out to see the Christmas Star this evening. Jupiter and Saturn converged, diverged, and said, “See you again in 800 years!”

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Traditions are very important this time of the year. Especially this year with the virus ruining just about everything everywhere. Something to hold on to, an anchor in these times of distress.

My friends, Dave and Audrey, hold a Christmas dinner for a small group of us who met at UConn. Through the years it has been an event that has held us together. Good times and bad we have joined together to celebrate our friendship. In a larger group of the same people, Steve and Carol hold an annual New Year's Eve party. These are the things that bind us together even when we are far apart.

The island of Nantucket has its annual Christmas Stroll. If you haven't been there, it's off the Massachusetts coast and is more relaxed and less pretentious than Martha's Vineyard. One night before Christmas the shops in town light their colored lights, stay open late, and pass out cookies, punch, and sometimes something stronger. It's a great time to walk around, possibly with snow on the street, and greet friends with a cheery “Merry Christmas”

The Nantucket church has an annual Christmas sing-along that culminates in a recital of the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah. People practice their parts for weeks ahead of time. Everyone sings and it's quite moving. Saints and sinners united in creating beautiful music.

A small tradition of my own is to take one of my photographs from the year and reproduce it for friends. It makes a connection with people who are now spread across the country and around the world.

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Day 33 - Christmas Eve

When I was a kid the family tradition was for Santa Claus to bring the tree and presents on Christmas Eve as was done in the popular “'Twas The Night Before Christmas” poem. Of course it was my parents who were Santa's helpers in this enterprise.

It was the early '50s and people were still recovering from WWII both financially and spiritually. Christmas was a time to celebrate the men and women who had returned and remember those who hadn't. There were Christmas tree lots scattered all over the city and lights aglow in every shop. The Montgomery-Ward Christmas catalog was the favorite literature of the season.

Some of my friends families put up trees early but we had to wait for Santa to bring ours because we were special. My father would go out night after night, trying to find that special tree. It was always a Silver Tip fir and he'd stash it in a garage up the street. He and my mother would go out on secret shopping missions while we were watched over by Marilyn our 16 year old baby sitter from the neighborhood.

Presents were wrapped in secret after we went to bed and then stashed in the attic, a place we were forbidden to enter. My mom also went into overtime on her sewing machine, making pieces that were fitted and then disappeared. All very hush hush with a wink and a nod.

On Christmas Eve we would watch some movie like It's A Wonderful Life on our little 12” black and white TV while drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows. Finally we would go to bed and lay awake waiting to hear the sound of reindeer hooves on our roof. Despite the excitement, and not a little because of a threat from my father, we soon fell asleep.

When they were sure we were dead to the world they would spring into action. Dad would go up the street to retrieve the tree while Mom went into the attic to fetch the presents. They would both string lights on the tree, my dad occasionally using a few choice words when one of the lights burned out and the whole string went dead.

Tinsel, ornaments, a sheet of white felt to resemble snow, and, of course, a lighted angel to top it all. A furious round of last minute present wrapping and they could finally fall asleep themselves. Although for only a precious few hours before the little demons awoke and wanted to rip all their hard work apart.

My father seemed to feel that he was a budding Cecil B. DeMille so we waited impatiently while he set up his 16mm movie camera. Then we were directed to spontaneously run in and select a present to hold up for the camera. One by one we acted out our surprise as we carefully unwrapped our treasure and presented it to be preserved for posterity.

Finally, after a few panoramic shots, a couple of still shots with his 35mm Contax, and a group shot with the timer, we were allowed to rip and shred through the rest of the booty. My father, remembering the lean years of his youth during the Great Depression, was always generous at Christmas. There were toys galore, all the things he wished he could have had when he was a kid.

In turn we each offered the presents we had bought or made to Mom and Dad. They Oohed and Awed as they undid the careful but childish wrappings. Each lopsided ceramic dish and hamburger press was a prize fit for a king and queen in their benevolent judgment. We were thrilled that they were so generous with their praise.

After all the mayhem and excitement we sat down for breakfast with thoughts of new toys to play with and new clothes to wear. Wasn't it amazing that Mrs. Clause always knew our exact size!

In later years, as I got older and wiser, I was recruited as one of Santa's Helpers. I kept the secret of the Santa story and went to sleep with my sister and brothers. Later my mother would wake me and I would help put up the tree and the ornaments. It was fun in a new sort of way but never as great as the miracle of Christmas Eve. I was in a hurry to grow up but reluctant to leave my childhood behind.

One thing that has always haunted me is my lack of appreciation for my mom's work. I wanted store bought clothes and thought little of the shirts and sweaters she made. She made them by hand with her Singer sewing machine and each stitch carried her love. I came to realize just how profoundly valuable they were too late. I only have one left and it's my greatest treasure. When I put it on it's as if she were with me giving me a hug.

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Day 32 - Movies

'Tis the season to watch Christmas movies. Here are some of my favorites:

5. Christmas in Connecticut - A classic rom-com in the very best tradition. Every actor is outstanding in their role.

4. Nightmare Before Christmas - Tim Burton at his best.

3. The Bishop's Wife - David Niven, Loretta Young, and Cary Grant. This is a Christmas movie that is not only heart felt but thought provoking as well.

2. Holiday in the Wild - The story is predictable but the scenery is spectacular!

1. Love, Actually - The mixture of the sweet and bitter-sweet make this my all time favorite.

0. It's a wonderful life - Who hasn't seen this a dozen times? Still a classic after all these years.

Bonus: Anything by Vanessa Hudgens - Sappy, predictable, happy-ever-after movies that let you relax and forget the crazy world around us.

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Day 31 - Robbery

There has always been bad guys. In the past Bonnie and Clyde stole money from banks, stores, and gas stations. John Dillinger, with his gang, robbed banks of large sums of money and police stations of guns and ammunition.

What distinguishes these crooks is that they did it all in person. They walked into a bank or store and looked the victims right in the eye. They held the loot in their hands as they made their getaway.

Now thieves and robbers use computers and the Internet. Cash is so passé. A few numbers garnered from identity theft and the money is transferred into ghost accounts. Botnets, computers connected into networks and programmed to steal, easily take more in minutes than Dillinger took in his lifetime. Even banks like Wells Fargo get in on the action when they see the sums that can be produced with just a few key strokes on a computer.

Passwords are a pain to create and remember. One site wants a certain format, another site wants something different. Using the same password for everything means that once broken it can be used everywhere. Password programs are little help because they seem to get confused so often.

If you think that you are to small and insignificant to be a target you are wrong. The botnet doesn't care who you are or how much you have, it wants it all. It starts with a list of accounts and methodically goes to each one to see if it is able get in. If it can, it takes everything. One cent or one million dollars are all the same to it.

The bad guy in Romania or China will never walk into your bank or look you in the eye but they will have all your money just the same.

• Use clever passwords. Use a pass phrase if possible. The longer the better since that takes more time to break. Something like “1968YamahaDT-1Enduro” is not easily guessable. It may sound cold hearted but you want the bot to give you a pass so it can rob the next guy.

• Read your bank statement and balance your account often. I'm amazed at the number of people who have only a vague idea of how much money they have and where it is going. That's what Wells Fargo was counting on with their fraudulent scheme.

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Day 30 - G/S

In 1980 BMW released the R80 G/S (Gelände/Straße - German: off-road/road). I was immediately taken by the concept and vowed to have one. While visiting friends on Martha's Vineyard I saw a guy ride up on a white one. I practically ran to catch up with him to talk about the bike. He was quite proud of it and willing to discuss it's power and handling.

Then he did something really amazing. He thrust his helmet at me and handed me the keys. “I have some shopping to do, why don't you take it for a ride and see for yourself.” Gasp! I replied that he didn't know me or anything about me. “You obviously know about bikes and you can't go far.” And with a wink, “Besides, I know when the ferry leaves!”

One of the most generous things that has ever happened to me. I slapped on the helmet and took off. Martha's Vineyard is a small island and I quickly found a wooded section where I could access the off-road prowess of the G/S. A few slides, a couple of jumps, and I was thinking I'd found the perfect motorcycle.

I also found myself getting a little too carried away with somebody else's brand new bike. I took it down a couple of notches and reluctantly headed back to return it. The owner was standing there with a grin as big as mine. “Wonderful bike isn't it!” I could only agree.

I never got his name or ever saw him again but I have never forgotten his warmth and charity to an unknown stranger. It would be a few years until I bought my Transalp, Honda's version of the G/S, but that's a story for another day.

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Day 29 - Girls

By the time I got to high school there was nothing I was more afraid of than girls! I didn't worry about the bullies or the jocks, they were nothing compared to anyone in a skirt. My blood ran cold, my world got dizzy, and words came out of my mouth without benefit of any intervention by my brain.

Since then I have learned a few things although I can still make a fool of myself with blinding rapidity.

1. Girls^* are willing co-conspirators. Maybe I had watched too many John Wayne movies or maybe it was just the era I was brought up in but I thought that any interaction was something that I guy wanted but a girl didn't. Imagine my surprise to find out that girls liked kissing as much as guys. And were generally a lot better at it.

2. Girls go for guys who are confident more than they do for guys who have flashy cars. Another surprise, they were just as mixed up about life and hormones as I was and wanted to be with someone who at least acted like they had a clue. Dropping my facade and being myself was the surest way to know which way I was going. Fast cars may have impressed other guys but caring and thoughtfulness impressed girls.

3. Girls can be your friend. Despite thinking thinking they were an alien species sent from another universe to torment me, it turned out that they were quite pleasant to be around when you treated them as human beings. Not all of them of course but many of them liked the same things I did. Once I got past stammering out Hello I found they were happy to share a camping trip or a museum visit. The best part was that once the gender tension disappeared it was so much better for both of us.

Of course there was so much more to know. In fact, after all this time, I'm still finding out new things. That's what makes girls so wonderful!

^* I use the term Girls from the perspective of a very young male. I was a boy, they were girls. We would become men and women in time but not yet.

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Day 28 - Kid

I was a skinny kid. How skinny? When I took swimming lessons I couldn't even float. They had to let me scull with my hands so I could pretend to float. I was awkward, gangly, and hyperactive. Which is to say, I was very irritating to everyone around me. The only thing I had going for me was that I was really smart, something that everyone also found irritating.

Having no coordination I was terrible at sports. How bad? When choosing up sides for teams I was always the last one chosen. So bad, in fact, that the team I ended up on would often negotiate with the other team to take one of their good players if they would also take me.

The only thing I was good at was tetherball and the only reason I was good at it was that I figured out that hitting the ball in a parabolic arc would lift it over the opponent's head while dropping it down on my side for another hit. Needless to say everyone found my technique irritating and refused to play with me. I was a lonely kid.

By the time I got to UConn I had learned to be more social and less irritating but I never forgot the kid who was always on the outside looking in. I was always organizing parties, picnics, and hikes. My favorite was softball games.

What's the worst thing that can happen when playing ball? Think back to your own experience. The worst thing that can happen is to strike out! You're standing up at bat, everyone is watching you, you swing, and miss. OK, it happens to everyone. But then it happens again, and again, and you're OUT!

The walk of shame back to your team, you let them down, you're thinking bad thoughts even though everyone is telling you it's alright and you'll get it next time. You let them down.

I knew what that was like and that's why I was always the pitcher. I made sure that everyone got a hit. I pitched the ball so that it would hit the bat. I watched their swing, high or low, early or late, and made sure the ball was going to be there when the bat came around.

It didn't matter if the ball arced into the air and a fielder caught it. Or if it was a ground ball dug out by the shortstop and tossed to first base. They had hit the ball. They didn't have to feel like a loser. With a couple of hits and some new confidence maybe the next time would be better.

We all need to think of the people at the edge who don't quite fit in. The ones who can be irritating. How hard is it to include them and help them fit in? 

Superiority comes not from excluding people but from drawing them in and adding to them to the group. You don't have to sit around and sing Kumbaya but you will find your life is richer for the effort. It's hard work to always be the one of the Kool Kids. And generally pretty lonely.

“There is a destiny which makes us brothers; none goes his way alone. All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own.”

― Edwin Markham

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Day 27 - Short

It's been a tough year. The virus has taken most of the joy out of our lives and locked us down into little shells of ourselves and our worlds.

If there is a silver lining in these dire times it might be that we have slowed down and reflected on what is most important to us. Do we wear a mask to protect ourselves? Or to protect the ones we care about? Have we paused the rush forward so that we can spend time with the ones we care about? Maybe read a book we have put off or wrote a letter we meant to send?

In this holiday season I hope that people realize that presence not presents is what matters. Quiet time with family and friends is more important than frenzied parties and vacuous affairs. Perhaps even a time to rebuild bridges that were burned in the past.

Without getting too sappy, life really is too short …

 

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Day 26 - Women

Last night's Christmas party was great. Thus, this note will be short. I'm sure you understand.

Best motorcycle travel book by a woman - Lois on the Loose by Lois Pryce. The cover blurb say it all, “One woman, One motorcycle, 20,000 miles across the Americas” Typical scenario, worker bee by day decides to chuck it all and go for a ride. Except that this time the bee is a woman and the bike is not some enormous adventure bike but rather a pedestrian Yamaha 250 dirt bike.

She leaves her job in London, ships her bike to Alaska, and heads south. She collects friends and bruises along the way and shows that imagination and grit will win every time. She had a follow up book Revolutionary Ride about her trip across Iran.

Worst motorcycle travel book by a woman - Lone Rider by Elspeth Beard. Same story as Lois Pryce but Ms. Beard is whiney and irritating. I tossed the book into the recycle bin after the first 50 pages to make sure nobody else had to suffer through her endless whimpering about her bad decisions.

Bonus: Best motorcycle travel videos by a woman - Itchy Boots - Noraly is tough, resourceful, and so darn smart! The videos show off a first rate sense of humor! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCEIs9nkveW9WmYtsOcJBwTg

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Day 25 - DBAJ

Is Adventure Riding A Middle Age Death Wish? 

A 7 minute YouTube video asks this question and then tries to answer it by saying, “Dirt riding is not as bad as street riding.”

That is, riders who hung up their helmets because of career or family, and who now want to start riding again, must be too old and inept to do it safely. The narrator then goes on to state that dirt riding is much safer because …

Actually he makes no case for the safety of dirt riding other than saying that he has only broken his bones a couple of times. To make his point the background of his narration is a video, shot with a super wide lens and speeded up 25%, of riding through the woods on a dirt bike.

The fallacy of this argument is obvious. Riders in the woods get hurt and die just like riders on the street. Admittedly dirt riders don't have to contend with distracted drivers texting or surfing Facebook. However, jumps, cliffs, and gullies have claimed their fair share of rider accidents. The variable is not locale but rider training and awareness.

Coincidently, several people were visiting this evening for a holiday party. A few of them are riders and some of the others were interested in joining, or rejoining, the ranks of motorcycling. What kind of bike should they buy? How big should it be? Was one brand better than another?

Those of us who ride unanimously agreed that what they should do first is to go take the Motorcycle Safety Foundation (MSF) course before doing anything else. MSF has courses for first time and returning riders. They teach the right techniques for riding safely. Throttle and brake control, scanning for traffic and other threats, are taught by instructors who know how to teach and correct rider errors on a closed course.

Riding safely is all about being aware of your bike, the environment, and your own ability. Paramount is Clint Eastwood's quote, “A man's got to know his limitations.”

A bike won't go any faster than the rider twists the throttle. This is true whether in the dirt or on the street. When I ride my mantra is, DBAJ, Don't Be A Jerk. It doesn't mean being a wuss, it just means weighing the odds and looking before I leap. It has kept me alive all over North America both on the street and in the dirt.

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Day 24 - Beryl Markham

There are many books that have influenced me and my adventurous nature. Perhaps the most important of these has no motorcycles and is not by a man.

West With The Night by Beryl Markham is the autobiography of a woman published before I was even born. Beryl grew up in Kenya as a bit of a wild child. Her playground was the Serengeti and her playmates were Masai tribesmen who taught her the ways of the wilderness.

Not content to marry and stay at home, she went to the world with confidence and poise. She was a successful race horse trainer who followed her father's trade. After that she learned to fly and became the first woman with a commercial license in Kenya.

Building on this second career as a bush pilot she went on to become the first person to fly non-stop from England to North America - east to west. Charles Lindbergh flew from west to east helped by the tailwinds. Beryl did it the hard way against the headwinds.

She writes with simplicity and clarity. Lions and tigers were not story book characters but real and dangerous. Her character comes through not as bravado but as confidence in herself and her abilities. She writes about the wonders of her life with a purity and innocence that conveys the reader into her world. One wants to jump into the passenger seat and go for a ride.

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Day 23 - Ted Simon

If Zen and the Art … is the worst motorcycle book, what is the best?

There are many nominations for this title and different people will have different opinions but, for me, Jupiter's Travels by Ted Simon wins the prize. The writing is simple, humble, and unpretentious.

1973 - I was partying at UConn and pretending to get an education. I had a motorcycle but I don't remember which one. Considering that I lived with the two biggest dealers on campus it's a wonder I remember anything.

1973 - Ted was loading up his bike to go for a ride. This ride would last four years and cover 63,400 miles. And it was on a Triumph! Not the most reliable bike of the day.

In those four years Ted finds a panoply of challenges, experiences, friends, and fiends. He finds ways to overcome the challenges and fiends, and to optimize the friends and experiences. He does it as a person would, with an inquiring mind, a bit of trepidation, and a lot of curiosity. No mystical spirituality required!

Ted grows and the reader grows with him. He's a marvelous writer who is able to convey his thoughts and actions as if you were right there with him. It's not an action thriller but rather the memoir of a man you would love to go for a ride with.

I met him once at a motorcycle show. I almost missed him because he was just sitting there like any other person who wanted to get out of the sun. No big sign pointing and shouting, “Look at me. I'm a really big deal!” We chatted a bit about our experiences in Africa before others begged for his attention. I came away thinking that he exemplified the epitome of the adventure traveler. Doing it not for fame and glory but simply because he wondered what was around the next corner.

Note - this is available on both Amazon and audible.com - highly recommended!

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Day 22 - Pirsig

My bookshelf is stocked with every type of book relating to motorcycles and travel. Round the world or round the block. Hiking, adventure biking, 4x4ing, I've got lots of them. One book I don't have is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig.

Amazon describes it thus,

“One of the most influential books written in the past half-century, Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is a powerful examination of how we live and a breathtaking meditation on how to live better.”

Maybe it's me but I think it's the worst book ever written about motorcycles and motorcycling. Pirsig has his head so far up where the sun don't shine that he will never need sunglasses.

I remember when it first came out, I was first in line to get a copy. Prepublication news said that he had ridden across country on a Honda Super Hawk and written about his trip. Coincidentally, I had just finished riding across North America on a Honda Super Hawk and wanted to compare our trips.

We must have been in different universes because nothing he wrote matched anything I experienced. I had no existential revelations or spiritual visions. Ghostly Indians did not ride alongside me to cause me to question my life.

I rode along US 6 and my trip was about the beauty of the world I was passing through. My contemplations consisted of wondering if I had enough gas to make it to the next town and whether I should seek shelter because it looked like it would rain soon. Meeting people along the way who were warm and friendly was all I need to believe the world was in good shape.

Instead of contemplating my navel I concentrated on the slight ticking sound coming from my engine. I thought about the friends I had left behind in Boston and speculated on what lay ahead when I got to San Francisco. I didn't need a mantra to clarify my purpose in the world. I ride, therefore I am.

I'm sure the crowd that claims spiritual powers from crystals loves the book. Whenever someone claims that the book really spoke to them I excuse myself and walk away as fast as I can.

In 1974 I got about 1/4 through the book and tossed it into the trash. My only thought was, “Boy did he save a lot of money on sunglasses!”

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Day 21 - Blood

It's a little after midnight so I'm over the time limit but I gave blood nine hours ago so I'm claiming the Red Cross exemption for

 today's post.

Giving blood is a simple chore that is made irritating by all the protocols that surround it. They ask you your name and date of birth over and over as if you might suddenly have been switched with an alien presence. If they're so concerned about safety why not give you a wrist band that they could scan?

Then they want to know all about your sexual habits. Again, redundant questions that would be easy to lie about. Have I paid for sex? Have I paid for sex with somebody my own gender? Have I had sex with anyone who has or might have HIV?

How many people are there that are taking time out of their lives to put themselves through all this and then lie? I get that someone who hadn't come out about their sexuality might feel peer-pressured into giving blood. However, that very fact means that they must have tests to assure the blood is clean before passing on to the recipient. Add in the Covid-19 protocols and it verges on a gothic inquisition.

They also have a questionnaire with ~84 questions that you are supposed to complete on line before coming to the donation center. This is new and supposed to speed things up but it doesn't because they ask all the same questions all over again. Twice!

Finally, they actually take the blood. That takes half the time the questioning does. “Lie down”, “Make a fist”, “You may feel a needle prick”, Be bored for ten minutes while a little bag fills up with your vital fluid.

After that somebody smiles at you and says “Thank You” You get a juice box and a mini bag of cookies and go home.

Why do people do it? The same people, over and over. Not knowing who it will go to or why. Putting themselves through this exasperating process when they have other things in their lives.

Simply because it's the right thing to do. It's the ultimate altruism. You don't know who you're giving this gift to; cop or crook, black white or green, republican or democrat. All you know is that somebody will need this and you're there to make sure they get it. No gold star, just the feeling that you did the right thing.

See you in six months when we do it all over again!

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Day 20 - Bison

The first thing you need to know is that bison do not like being called buffalo. Buffalo are their Asian and African cousins, Bison are all American.

When the call went out for volunteers to herd bison I was all in. Who wouldn't want to be part of the traditional western scene of herding animals across the prairie? At 10am I was standing with a small group of other people who were also looking for fun and adventure in the old west. This being the 20^th century our first task was to sign a liability disclaimer agreeing that if we got maimed or killed it was our own damn fault. Then we got the safety lecture. Regrettably there were no donuts in sight.

The plan was to herd the bison into a corral using quads, atvs, and our trucks. The trucks would form a moving conga line parallel to the fence and the quads would keep any strays from getting away. The modern quarter horse.

As you might guess nobody briefed the bison on the plan and as we tried to move them to the southwest corner of the field they decided they liked the northeast corner better. Cutting across open ground in the Blazer at 45 mph while chasing very large animals is pretty exciting!

Once we got lined up again we were able to minimize the chaos and move the herd into the corral. This led to the second part of the day which consisted of weighing, immunizing, and tagging them.

They are moved from the corral into a long corridor of heavy steel bars. The calves weigh ~300 pounds and the bulls are ~2000 pounds. None of them are especially pleased about the whole process and continually expressed that opinion by kicking, ramming the steel cage, and making loud, angry noises.

My job was to wait until the animal came down the chute and pull a lever that put a collar around its neck so as to immobilize it while the inspection and immunizing took place.

Standing 6” away from a pissed off bison that weighs nearly as much as my truck got me to wondering about how good the welder was who put this all together. Luckily they seemed to be up to the task.

One by one the animals went through the line and when I released the collar they were only to happy to bolt from the chute, out through the gate, and back into the field where they came from. Home, Home on the Range.

It was a great experience on a warm sunny day. The owners told us we did a great job and we all said we would be back again next year for another roundup.

Then the donuts came out and my day was complete!

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Day 19 - The Train

Rocky Mountaineer’s New Glass-Domed Train Runs From Colorado to Utah

For a lot less money you can take the Amtrak California Zephyr from Salt Lake City to Denver, stay the night, and come back the next day. 22 Jun is generally the longest day of the year so you will get to see the sunrise just before going over Soldier Summit and down the other side of the Wasatch mountains. There is the boring part across the desert from Price to Green River but after that it is all scenery all the time.

Amtrak's Vista Dome cars may not be quite as fancy but they are just as good for looking around and seeing the sights. The food in the dining car is great and reasonably priced. They fill the tables up so you are certain to meet new people to share the experience with.

Past Grand Junction you are into the Rockies and running along the Colorado River. A quick stop at Glenwood Springs and then into Glenwood Canyon.

There are only two ways to go through the canyon; take the train, or raft down the river. Just before entering the canyon the conductor walks through the cars advising people with a “sensitive nature” to relocate to the left side of the car. The reason being that the rafters all know the train schedule and make sure to pull over so the can moon the train as it goes by. I think the engineer aids and abets this time honored tradition by sounding the horn along the way.

The rest of the trip down into Denver is scenic and relaxing. A perfect end to a great ride. A nice dinner in town and an AirBnB bed completes a memorable excursion.

The next morning it's up early to get back to the train station for the trip back to Salt Lake City. This is a perfect complement to the first ride. Heading west in the morning gives the scenery an entirely different perspective. Serene and composed. This time you will be going over Soldier Summit as the sun is setting and will be getting into Salt Lake late. I find the rush of the train through the urban scene to be an enjoyable counterpoint to day's natural wonders.

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Day 18 - Covid Counterpoint

I'm going to relinquish my own words today in favor of my friend Dave who offered an excellent counterpoint to my discussion of Covid and the failure of the government and media to properly explain it to the general population. Dave has done some excellent research that fills in many of the blanks. Too bad that much of what we get in the news is only sound bites and fear mongering.

~70k drug overdoses in the US in 2019. 200k+ deaths from Covid from March through November. This includes the insane death curve of the opioid thing over the past few years. Back around 2010 we had a bunch of years with 12-15k per year. I hope that puts Covid in perspective. I have three doc friends, in different areas of the country, who have never seen anything like this in 20-35 years of work at the hospitals they are at. They claim dying the way these folks do is about as dark as you can imagine with slow-growing brain tumors as amongst the few ways they would less prefer to go.

Note that if 1/1000 people died in the US it would be a tiny percentage and still 320k. The kill rate is much higher than that if we all got it though.

A bit more: I know a 38 year old 2:45 marathon runner who got it. No comorbidities^*. He was sick for 4 weeks, was not hospitalized, and has lost nearly 60% of lung function. He will never run again, so he is now an ex-marathoner with his last in late fall 2018. I also know a guy who lost his father-in-law and that man's brother in the same three week period. One had heart disease (so do 50% of men over 47 years of age by they don't know it) but the other didn't have comorbidities. Maybe they just didn't win the gene pool but who knows.

We can know a lot of folks who got sick and "are fine" but that doesn't mean the hospitals won't overflow and such as it doesn't take that many folks who would have otherwise been fine to block them up.

Dave

^* the simultaneous presence of two or more diseases or medical conditions in a patient.

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Day 17 - The Mall

Dreary is the only word for it!

I went to one of the largest malls in town today. If there was any holiday spirit there I didn't see it. Just people milling around like zombies going through an ancient ritual that had lost all meaning.

The clerks were cheerless in their greetings as the shoppers shuffled along, looking at things they weren't buying. Nobody wanted to touch anything for fear of contamination.

The stores were roped off to allow only a few people in at a time. Few people were willing to wait. Move along, don't look left or right, just go through the motions until you can get home and order on line.

Santa sat in his chair behind a Plexiglas screen. Children were not allowed to approach. The Grinch has finally stolen Christmas. The Amazon driver is Santa's new helper. Don't smile. Don't touch. Be afraid.

I fear the loss of joy more than I fear the virus. The death of joy is worse than any mortal wound.

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