John, Author at Tacking Into The Wind

Great Falls Montana

I was glad to finally end my ride and my brother and his wife feted me with leftover chicken casserole which set very well as I had been living off snack food all day. This is the Malstrom Air Force Base RV park and would serve as home for the next few days. I didn’t do anything the first evening, just relaxed and enjoyed visiting with my family.

These are the great falls for which the city is named. I imagine this rages wildly with snow melt if seen at the right time of year. They do have it damned up here and they use the surplus runoff to generate electricity at this damn.

This tells how in 1805 Lewis and Clark made a portage around these falls.

We visited this Veteran’s Memorial nearby. It was a beautiful place.

I was taken with this statue. The doves being released reminded me of a funeral service I participated in a while back in which white doves were released by the next of kin of a serviceman killed in Iraq. He is holding several dog tags in his right hand that you can’t see in this picture. I found this very touching.

Cheyenne to Great Falls

It is now Thursday, August 13. Yesterday it was in the 90s. Last night and this morning it was much cooler. I put on my heavy coat for this ride and before the day was out I was fully suited up for wet and cold weather. The dry Texas summer was far behind me and it felt real good to plunge heedlessly without a care into the infinite asphalt and steel ribbon before me, the road north to Great Falls, Montana. That is 682 miles.

I-25 was just outside my door so it was a fast getaway out of Cheyenne. The bike screamed at the distance and it melted in submission to the dauntless intrepidity of this bike and rider. I was the can-do kid this morning, ready for whatever this day had to offer up. It was bright and sunny all the way north through Wyoming. I shed the coat about 10 a.m. Not far after I took this picture I was passing through Hardin, Montana. The Battle of Little Big Horn, also known as, Custer’s Last Stand, took place near here. You can see the grave markers from the highway. I stopped at a nearby rest area and when I came out of the rest room an Indian man of an age with me had laid out his display of Indian jewelry on the grass. I picked out a nice necklace. He was Navajo and we talked for a minute about his work and about my travels. He was a real nice man and I liked him. I thought his work pretty nice. I picked this up for fifteen dollars. When I got home Kristi was quite taken with it. She is very parsimonious about handing me compliments, but I got one for my good taste for this selection.

Here I am at the border.

Click on this to view larger image and note the stickers people have climbed up here to apply. You can see this sign has been shot up a little with a rifle and a shotgun. A couple of the rounds seemed to have come in from a great angle indicating the shooter was probably way off to the east somewhere.

When I got to Billings I left the interstate to take a hundred mile shorter route to Great Falls through Lewiston. After Lewiston there was a construction zone, the worst one of the trip. There was a lot of deep very loose gravel and an occasional fist sized or larger rock. Not fun at all to ride through. It was about this time that it clouded over and I ran smack into a cold front. So, it’s in the upper 40s, it’s raining, the wind is blowing, the road is slick and muddy, and, on top of all that, it is like rush hour traffic in Dallas on this two lane road. Am I having fun yet? But, you know, if you want fine highways you have to take the occasional construction zone. We are blessed to have these paths. Like any other path, I intend to see where it leads.

This picture’s subject is the green fields. That yellowish field on the right is winter wheat, still not ready for harvest, though by and large most of the wheat fields I saw had been harvested.

I just wanted to get this picture of the clouds rolling in. That is a pretty big mountain in the distance, it’s peaks shrouded in the cloud layer. It is really a lot darker than it seems from this rendition. It was serious gloaming out that afternoon.

This is the view west where I stopped to put on my cold/wet weather gear. It started raining almost immediately and continued till, well, for the next few days, off and on. I got my left hand in the frame here. That is not a pink cloud bank, or at least that is not how I recall it.

The photo does not do this justice. Click to enlarge. That inner rainbow actually went across the whole sky, horizon to horizon.

Wichita to Cheyenne

Interstate 80 here has a 75 MPH speed limit. Kansas is 70. You would think that 5 miles per hour would make little difference but it does. The bike and I want to go much faster anyhow, at least a hundred, but I think I can get away with about 78 so that is what I set it on. The traffic is moderate and I park it in the left lane for the most part because the right lane is more or less owned by the truckers whom I pass by the hundreds. I only know of one time that I got clocked by a state trooper. Construction zones came up a few times but were not too much of trouble. It is 609 miles from Wichita to Cheyenne. That is a pretty fair ride and it was in the mid 90s I guess. The wind was strong out of the south making the bike tack a little to the left as I attacked the distance. My brother and his wife were camping in their RV in Cheyenne I thought and it was my intention to visit them. They didn’t know I was coming so when I got to Sidney, Nebraska I stopped for gas and called to let them know my intentions. They had moved that day to Helena, Montana. I was pretty tired so I thought I would just stay in Sidney so I checked out a few places but they wanted more than I was willing to pay. Motel six was about a hundred dollars. No way was I going to do that. Sidney is where Cabella’s outfitters has their headquarters. I think that is why the rooms are so expensive. So I mounted up again after wasting an hour in a fruitless search and headed again into the westering sun.

Arriving in Cheyenne about four in the afternoon I cruised the main drag looking for a good place to overnight and eventually ended up at the Roadway Inn near I-25 on the west side of town. Here again as I was checking in I asked the desk clerk about a good place to have a drink that evening. She told me I should check out the Outlaw saloon just south of I-80 near down-town. After taking a shower and working a little on my equipment and gear I headed out at sunset for the Outlaw Saloon.

The Outlaw bar is country/western and there too I found some motorcycles. Parking next to these you could hear and see a band with the volume cranked way up. There was a patio there and an indoor/outdoor bar where I ordered a scotch and soda from the very tall and stout female bartender. The club was almost empty and what people there were were concentrated on the patio which was fairly pleasant in the early evening air. The best part about it was the music was at a little distance. It was too loud. Four ladies shared the bar with me. They were maybe in their late fifties. As I walked across the patio I locked eyes with an attractive brunette who was maybe 35 or so. I caught her looking at me. We exchanged greetings and she went to her table where she joined a small group. I took a place at the end of the bar leaving a space between me and the ladies.

Once I got served I walked around the patio, checking things out. A lone dancer, a guy, was whirling and jumping on the dance floor in something he no doubt thought was a dance. I thought it was the dance equivalent of the visual artist who is unconscious of the fact that his rendering of his profound vision is tantamount to a baby discovering he can play in the stuff in his diaper.

I turned away from the music putting my back to the bar. About that time a guy approached me from my right. I could see a name tag on his shirt that said “staff”. He asked me if I knew the time saying he didn’t have a watch. I had my left hand in my pocket. His time query was just a ruse so he could see the back of my left hand because when I pulled it out he said, glancing at my hand that I needed a stamp there. This bar had a cover charge. He said I needed to go pay so and so lady across the way five bucks. I said no thanks, that I would just leave instead. I didn’t like the way he handled me. I didn’t know there was a cover but, never mind. I didn’t particularly like the place anyhow.

I rode the mile or so down town and parked in front of the Plains hotel. I love this place. It is a 1911 period piece. I walked through the lobby following the path of all those people who came before. There weren’t but a couple of people around the lobby besides the doorman and a lone desk clerk. I wanted to go to the bar but I was also interested in staying the night at some point so I got the price. About $100. The bar was pretty active with a lot of people eating at their tables. There were two women at one end and a guy with the biggest black felt cow boy hat one is likely to run across. The bar was a beautiful piece of sculpted wood. It was dark coloured, but not too dark. You just wanted to touch it, rub on it. I sat down leaving one seat between me and the guy in the big hat. No sooner did I settle down than he warmly introduced himself as Don. I said my name is John. He said Don John. That’s easy to remember. I laughed. I ordered my second scotch and soda for the evening at the same time greeting the bartender. He was pretty nice. His name was Artie and he drove a Budweiser beer truck for his day job. I commented on how many pounds he lifted per day and his retort was that it was tons not pounds. I thought he might be working his way through college but he said he wasn’t in school at the time.

Meanwhile Don and I are talking too. He is actually a frequent guest of the hotel. Works for Makita, the tool people. He is of an age with me and we hit it off pretty well because he was also a fan of BMW motorcycles. He used to have an R90/6, he said. A 1974. I have a 76. These are fine machines. He said he made a twenty thousand dollar bet with a guy once on a race to New York City. His friend was a Harley guy. He lost. His bike broke down several times on the trek, but not the Beemer

We had a pretty good little party. I also talked a little across the bar to the two women on the end, when I could interject a quip, and the girl to my right, when her boy friend would absent himself for a moment, I engaged also. I thought they left once and when they came back she told me they had gone out to smoke. This gave me a chance to loudly declaim that the world must be truly changing because I was sure that the smoking Nazis would never find success in Wyoming of all places.

I turned over 100,000 miles today.

Cool picture of bike from my balcony. I took this the morning of my departure for Great Falls.

Austin to Wichita August 11

It’s Tuesday morning. I’ve been thinking about this trip for months but could never commit because of pending issues at home, and in my heart. I can’t write about the biggest thing going on in my life. Know that I am dragging around a ball and chain on my feet, and Monday I had a long standing appointment. With it over I was free as I wanted to be. I went to bed Monday not knowing what I would do. I was restless as I have ever been. It felt wrong to go. It felt wrong to stay. I needed to shake something loose no matter what. Introduce some chaos into life’s stream. If you want your situation to mutate into the unexpected then get up and go and meet life head on. I had done all I could do about the unnamed affair, all to no avail. I cried all my tears and lived for weeks as if my increasingly shriveled heart would fix itself. Ah, that organ, so sensitive, so easily ruined, so in need of renewal. Tuesday morning my waking thought was, OK, let’s get it done. Do something even if it is wrong. We are going to leave all this behind and maybe nothing good will happen. But at least I can still make something happen. If you want a new form of life you have to plant a lot of seeds in order to get one mutation. So, as I had my morning coffee I packed up the “K” bike and by seven thirty I was heading down my driveway to I didn’t quite know where. I got on I-35 near Walburg, Texas and joining the stream of humanity heading north, hiding there in my helmet, I flew along the macadam of the interstate highway as fast as I thought I could get away with. As it turns out this is the same path I took in June. I had a notion, more or less, that I would ride till four in the afternoon.

It is 515 miles to Wichita, Kansas. The cities rose up out of the plains and swallowed me up and spit me out the other side. Waco, Fort Worth, Denton, Norman, Oklahoma City, Edmund, and finally, at four P.M., Wichita, Kansas loomed on the horizon. It was hot and sunny all day. I was glad to be at a stopping place.

I stayed in the Scotchman Inn on Kellogg Avenue just west of downtown. While checking in I asked the clerk where I could find a tavern nearby and after I unpacked the bike and showered and changed into street clothes I headed out. West avenue was just over the river only a mile or so back towards town from my Inn. It was real cluttered with suburban blight but I found Yvie’s bar and grill. There were two Harley’s sitting by the front door and several cars. I backed my beemer in next to the Harleys. Some guy went in ahead of me carrying a fancy cue stick case. I went in and took a seat at the bar. There were several pool tables. Two middle aged ladies were standing at the bar. They ordered some beers and went to play pool at the nearest table. I sat down at the bar and when the bartender asked me what I wanted I ordered Dewars and soda. On my left were two empty stools. On my right a guy was drinking beer. I didn’t talk to him and thought about moving over one seat to put some space between us as I intuited he didn’t really want me there.

I sipped my scotch and minded my own business and watched the other happenings in the bar. The barkeep was a woman in her thirtys maybe and she was real busy. I don’t think they had anyone else helping except in the kitchen so she not only served drinks but also waited tables, serving food and drink. The place wasn’t full but I don’t think there were any tables completely empty either. She was busy. I just nursed my drink, bided my time, ignored the guy to my right as much as possible. He was trying clumsily to chat up the bartender and she was friendly in a businesslike fashion. So, nothing really happened. I had a drink and it slaked my thirst and cut through all the dirt and grime in my mouth, in my mind, accumulated riding the trail from near Austin, Texas to Wichita, Kansas. When my glass was empty the girl presented herself in front of me and asked if I wanted another. I looked at her, locked eyes with her, put a friendly look on my face, waited to the count of four, and said I would be leaving. She said, “OK, then that will be five dollars.” Looking into her face still I said, as I reached for my wallet,, “what is your name?” “Angie,” she said. Handing her a ten dollar bill and a one I said, “Give me back a five, keep the dollar for a tip.” She went to the cash drawer and fished a five out and came back to me. I had meantime collected a book of matches with the name of the bar printed on the cover. “Angie,”, I said, “sign your name on this for me.” She smiled, and said, “Oh, you collect matchbooks?” “Well, no,” I said. The guy on the right was intent on this exchange, I could tell, but he kept his distance. Looking at her signature, I said, “I might start a collection.” She smiled as I put the five back in my wallet and got up from the bar stool. We exchanged pleasantries, “good bye, have a nice evening.” As I turned to go I spke to the back of the guy’s head sitting there on my right and said, “and you too, man.” He still didn’t acknowledge me and almost cringed, I thought, as I walked out the door. So, the first seed successfully planted.

I went back to the Scotchman and checked the bike over for tomorrow’s run. My gear was in need of some reorganization because in my haste to get on the road I just stuffed things anywhere. After a bit of this I turned in and slept fitfully till about six thirty Wednesday morning. By seven thirty I was in the lobby where I grabbed some cream cheese and preserves to go with my bread for a snack on the road.

An elderly couple were having cereal. We exchanged greetings. I didn’t sit down. Obama was on the TV. It was a news clip about the health care debate. I addressed the couple about the AARP and how they were for this but that a lot of our seniors were beginning finally to see that this would adversely affect their lives and were strongly coming out against it. I don’t know how politically aware these folks were but they listened politely neither agreeing or no as I said my peice. That too was a seed planted.

It was a nice day, still cool, when I mounted up and headed out for Nebraska straight up I-35. But in a few hours it was in the mid 90s with a south west wind. The prairie rolled up under my spinning wheels and the vast regions of my mind likewise rolled up behind my rapidly advancing thoughts and feelings. Heart and soul, mind and body were one in purpose and intent. I only stopped for fuel and one rest area where I had a snack about mid day. I got to York, Nebraska, where Interstate 80 headed me due west across southern Nebraska. It was hot when I stopped there for fuel. I struck up a conversation with an attractive girl at the fuel island. She was headed for Chicago and had come from the direction in which I was going. I asked about road conditions and such just wanting to hear a human voice and especially hers. She was quite open and didn’t object to this chance meeting. Finishing up our fueling we parted wishing one another safe trips.

Northwest Passage

rough roads, rain, wind, heavy traffic

Then cheyenne to great falls live in trailer visit sip and dip then side trip to ft benton grand union hotel girl at hotel, gail on bridge, and at night iron pine bar back in great fallsthen sunday, john 17 with gary, then st johns lutheran

West Glacier to Billings, Wednesday, August 18, 2009:
couple of thoughts. The reason I ride a MC is I want to be validated. MC riders wave. People in cars don’t. MC riders show up for life. Car drivers don’t They are focused inward. MC riders outward. They are involved in the world car drivers ware involved with themselves it was warmer, but not uncomfortable. back hurt. fast hard ride to billings. No bar. chicken in room ugh no call from kristi since monday.

Regarding last night, tuesday night, at fredas in west glacier it is a damn shame two beautiful young and very available girls went begging to a 65 year old bon vivant because the multitude of young men on the scene couldn’t or wouldn’t step up to the need. Why? Multiculturasits should have jumped at the opportunity to mix it up with norwegian girls and vice versa. why didn’t tina marie and heidi act more agressively? Good qhueston. The boys, brannen, brandon, marshall (levi and brannen weren’t there monday.)kurt, and others, never approached them. I watched this little side show for over about two hours before I made my move.

I sat down on the floor, my back to the door jamb. Heidi, I didn’t know her name at the time, was also sitting on the floor. Whe was leaning back against the opposite jamb. To my rignt, on a bench, I met Emma, from New Zealand. She was living in Nevada and traveling with a friend. I spent a few minutes talking to her before turning my attention to Heidi, on my right. I think I simply asked her during a lull in the conversatinon what language they were speaking. Another older guy had moved in by now, but he was not agressive. He seemed only peripherally interested in the girls. His name was John Paul and he went by Paul. Interesting. I, of course, am John Paul, but I go by John. What kind of confluence of cosmic forces and mundane events such as passed that evening could account for what seems like some kind of mockery from the absurd itself.

Entelechy

What is the end within? The end within a rose bud is a rose. An acorn becomes an Oak tree. The end within. Blow this up. All things have an end within. A purpose. How can you say that there is no purpose to creation as a whole when you must realise that the rose bud is a manifestation of what is going on on the grand scale? If a rose bud’s purpose is to display the rose within, then the purpose of the cosmos is presumed to be a very real, a very live, thing. You, your life, is that end within. You are the rose. Get over it!

This is Aristotle via me.

Existentialism

Existentialism: Ex nihil, nihil fit. Out of nothing comes nothing. That is what I reject, and, well, the real purpose of this sentiment is to provide an indulgence for the subject. It makes no more sense than saying out of everything comes everything. It is a mere tautology, its only possible reference is back on itself. Therefore it conveys no meaning. It is like living in the sentiment that existence, that life, is nothing but a flight from the alone TO the alone. I reject that, too.

Note re equality tards

In a closed system, such as the Cosmos, the Universe,
If there is light and dark, eventually that which is dark merges with that which is light and you have neither dark nor light. If there is hot and cold, the same formula applies. If there is organised and chaotic, the same. That is the second law of thermodynamics. That is immutable. Dead stop!

Strange jump! The equality tards seek to accelerate this process. Don’t they know it means death?
So, the struggle between liberty and statism is the struggle against entropy on the political level.

Nuff said!

Business as usual

I went for a bicycle ride early this morning. You have to get out early to beat the heat this July. On my way back I could see coming down a hill that two Labrador Retrievers were nosing around in the corner of a maize field ahead. I knew these dogs to be aggressive. Across the road, with his back to me, was a Great Dane. I’d tangled with all of them before. I hoped to sneak by them but just as I got within twenty feet or so of one of the Labs, my movement, noise, caught her attention, and she turned on me. I went straight for her, she ran off across the road and I made my turn left. The second my back was to her she charged. The other Lab was close too and the Dane, old as he was, was gallomping his self hard to get in on the action. The first, then the second, Lab, got a taste of my right foot. I popped both of them in the nose real hard. My knee was fully cocked when I let fly. They peeled off and fell back and I jumped on the pedals, outdistancing them. I could hear and see the Dane out of the corner of my left eye. His huge nails scraping on the asphalt added a funny kind of staccato background to the deep throated rumbling that he issued for a bark.

Meanwhile, up ahead, a pickup swerved in order to run over a large snake. I pulled up and these two guys, young construction workers, watched this corn snake in its death throes. I asked one guy who got out to take a picture, to stomp his head. Put the creature out of its misery, you know. He ignored me, concentrating on his cell phone camera. The driver said there was a board in the back. It was a two by four about four feet long. I stradddled the thing and bludgeoned its head to a pulp and wished all a good day as we parted company. It was friendly. Just three guys having a chance encounter over the death of a feared reptile.

Its not easy losing the love of your life and then getting attacked by a pack of dogs and then having to put a snake out of its misery.

After what I have gone through in the past two weeks I thought this was somehow a double bad omen. And, last night, I dreamed of rats.

Oblivion

Isn’t oblivion where I came from? Isn’t oblivion our greatest fear? So. We fear our origin? Passing into that great unknown the idea of not being remembered haunts us. We fear not having anything to cling to. We want order to reign, not chaos. The whole thrust of our being seems to be to stave off entropy. Abhorrent dissolution! This is the fiendish chain that binds us and this in a way is liberties opposite.

Liberty is a universal, a principle. That something is a principle means it is a force. Love, as principle, posits love as force…of nature, on a par with gravity. The same holds for all concomitants of sentient life. Always there are forbears who have struggled with these eternal verities, trying to see a clear path through an absolutely impossible maze.

Reading of Soren Kieerkegaard for instance: The soul is like a channel that opens into the sea. The closer to the sea the wider the channel. The boundaries of the individual soul increasingly dissolve as the “channel” merges with the sea. On meditation the personal soul resolves into the spirit of God, the cosmic soul. This is true transcendence and is not available to those trapped in subject/object modes of being. Those that have consigned their spirits to a “having” existence as opposed to “being”. Freedom is in being in the world. Slavery is in having objects in the world, in mere materialism.

The tone of this is that the sea is the repository of great joy, which I think is true, but for most of the lives of most people this great all encompassing sea is the abyss, the void that swallows up all purpose and meaning. It is oblivion, chaos, entropy. We have vehicles for coping with this and to follow that path the abyss becomes full not empty.

Faith is a vehicle for coping with our seeming estrangement from the real itself. Guilt is this same estrangement from reality. The Christ teaches us that there is a way out. Jesus said I am the way, the light, and no man cometh to the Father except by me. Here he is disembodying himself. He identifies with the “Way” to God and with the “Light” itself which illuminates this path. So, the way to God and the light shining thereon are principles too, and Jesus Christ was a living embodiment of those. In other times and other places, across the entire Cosmos, other beings live that also give a living body to these same universals. Isn’t it a necessary truth that there are many “Christs”?

Just wanted to get that off my mind.