Things that bind us together

A Dedication to my Mates:

The in-between year

In my life I can clearly remember with vivid details the events that shaped my being. The school year 1979 - 1980 was a year I consider.....nearly a loss, but also transitional. It was our Junior year at the mighty BL. The previous year was almost surreal. Still, it is with only fondness that I recall the events of our sophomore season. Going into that middle season was met with much uncertainty. It was clear our innocents was wearing away, but we wore the mantle of pride with some degree of honor and consent. It felt as though we all had shoes far too large for many of us to fill, but fill them we'd try. So many things happened that year, it is hard to believe it happened at all. Before we knew it, that season had passed and we, the fledgling class of '81, were out front - but no so fast....

Our football season during that "in between year" was filled with high expectations, but produced less than could have been imagined. I played a lot of football that year. Spending a week at a national camp during the summer, I got to play with some of the best in my age group. I spent the summer running stairs and practicing deep kicks nearly every night. By the time summer conditioning had started, I had already worn-out a pair of cleats. By our second game of the season I had worn the rubberized coating nearly completely off of my facemask. Playing a ton of JV and some Varsity, I was hitting a lot. But the first hard facet of reality set in after missing an extra point in an overtime that cost us the game. You see, I'd never really practiced field goals, or extra points - I didn't know anything about it. Coaching...right - none to be found here. I was called into service after the kid that really wasn't a kicker, and was thrown into a "no win" situation and got injured. I had no idea what I was doing, but the situation was "hot". It didn't go well....  After the longest bus ride of my life that night, I headed straight home and crashed on my bed - HARD. With the FM dial still playing quietly in my bedroom the next morning, the very first thing I heard was the score of the previous evenings game. Cypress 19, Ben Lomond 18. Kill me now! The rest of the season didn't get much better over all. I personally seemed to get past that night, but we just struggled. And then there was the blow up at half time. It was the rivalry game at home. The head coach went after one of the team captains for allegedly missing a key block. The captain in response was having nothing of it and laid into the coach. Suddenly we were a team again, but this time we had our work cut out for us. Having won our only game of the season, in the weeks previous contest against a very weak team, we had nowhere to go but up. In classical fashion, we won and retained the "Horse", but that would be the end of any daylight for that year. From there, days were filled with obligations and formalities. There were a few highlights, but for the most part, that year was a bonified write-off.

I can recall the music I listened to during that year, the friends I ran with and the struggles I encountered. Somewhere just after the New Year holiday, I bought The Beatles - "Let it be" vinyl. I listened to that thing over and over, trying to pick all the guitar parts out and understand how they did it. I was an absolute Beatles fan, from way back. My older sisters had turned me on to Sgt. Peppers when I was in the sixth-grade. I had started concert band at ten years old and was captivated by the arrangements of several Peppers tracks. McCartney was a god to me. I had read so much about all of them by the time I purchased "Let it be" on vinyl. As the year wore on, I of course moved along with the flow, doing what came with the seasons of the year. By Summer I was changing my routine to focus on extra-points, field-goals and running my guts out. I took a few days to make a trip with a youth group to Calf-Creek Canyon, of the Escalante drainage. When I returned home that Saturday night, my life had changed in ways not to be understood for many years later.

By now, the innocents was nearly completely gone and we were on our way.....to somewhere. 

Trials and Shaping

When football "two-a-days" started, I was literally uncertain of where I'd be going in life. I had total confidence, but nearly zero self-esteem. It wasn't but only a few days before our season opener that I challenged a kid for a position and won the job. I guess I had waited all that time to simply be "given" my position. So determined was I in winning that spot, that kid challenged me directly after having beat him to win the position, that I accepted the challenge and beat him again. The coaches tried to stop it as this could have been a mess. However I said "lets settle this thing here and now" which we did. I earned my spot and I owned it for the remainder of the season. We started off well, but lost our rivalry at the end of the season, as well as our chance of playing into the State playoffs. From there the cold winter seemed to set in - with no snow and only smog. Seemed only fitting for the time.

There are things that happen when nearly every person can recall where they were, what they were doing, or how they came to know of an event. That school year had several of those events; the hostages were freed from Iranian captivity, Ronald Regan was shot, the "Miracle on Ice", the Pope was shot and of course....the untimely death and senseless murder of a Beatle.  December 8th, 1980 - the evening John Lennon was shot and killed outside the Dakota in Manhattan. I had just finished arranging a Christmas gift for a girl I had been "dating", as well as purchased a Vinyl copy of The Edgar Winter Group's "They only come out at night" vinyl. A friend was just dropping me off at home. It was dark, cold and smoggy. I remember the details of that gold-braid rope bracelet as if I still had it in my hand. Everything is so vivid to this day. I heard on the radio as I was getting out of my friends truck that John Lennon had been killed. Everything about that night was solidified in my mind forever. I don't recall everything that happened over the next few weeks, other than the usual tasteless tabloid fodder and crap, but I knew the world was changing - and I in the middle of it all.

Getting Back

There are few people my age who would likely know as much Beatle trivia as I - for any number of reasons. Last week I finished watching Peter Jackson's remake of the Michael Lindsay-Hogg documentary, "Get Back". I know the entire backstory. I know all about the fracturing and struggles. The whole Alan Klein thing, Billy Preston and of course the legendary "roof top concert" (fifty-three years ago to this very day). The 1970 documentary painted a picture of nothing but tension between the lads. The events that followed were widely publicized in the media and tabloids, but all fed a specific narrative. It seemed to be so true, in fact nothing but true for so many years - until last week. I've been told by people who know me, they can tell I love playing my guitar just by how I change when I pick it up. I can see it in others, because I can see it in myself first. And then there is just absolute chemistry. Watching early on when the lads were being "pimped" by their own label, it was clear that the loss of Brian Epstein was more than anyone else could have predicted - and now they were facing the world on their own. After several days of deteriorating conditions, they relocated to more accommodating surroundings at the newly formed studio arrangement. With this, George Harrison invited Billy Preston to sit in with them and play their newly acquired Fender Electric piano. Billy was simply there to do the "Lulu" show, not as a session player. If there was any chemistry, this would be the precipitate. In all of this, you can clearly see the undeniable bond between Lennon and McCartney. It hit so hard, it was almost difficult to watch - knowing how it all would end only a few months later. But the "end", we were all told was a lie; packaged by media and attorneys to meet their needs. The truth is, that bond wouldn't die until a bullet did the deed more than ten years later. Having that fresh in my mind, I sat down and listened to the entire "Let it be" album all over again. Somehow in those noise cancelling headphones, it was the spring of 1980 again. Lennon was still alive, as were most of my own dreams and aspirations. That trip to Escalante hadn't yet happened, nor did I know the pain of any betrayal, or distrust. For just under an hour I got to go back. And "get back" I did. What I would give to have that year to do over the right way.

I won't let you sink....

I have brothers and sisters from the time of my youth. Some are more so than others, but they are all still my brothers and sisters. We generally best remember those things of a positive nature. Some we choose to forget, as it carries too much pain. Over time we also forget some promises we made to each other, both verbally as well as implicitly. Some promises were meant to be kept, others just shallow mumblings of nonsense. But as we examine our past, we understand more of our future - as it is clearly written before us. We have all been so changed and challenged by our own life's events. For many, we'll never recognize who we've become. For others, we get subtle reminders of who we really are under the façade of our own making. Fortunate are the few that can actually remind each other, we are far more than the sum of all the events of our lives. Much simpler in fact, in that we may be who we truly are - and not what we have otherwise become.

"Jump. I won't let you sink."

Those words weren't just words...... I had no idea this opener would haunt me 40 years later.

Click here for "Two of Us"

Ride HARD!

Changing the Purpose of the Porpoise

Going Back to the Roots

Ben Lomond

Ben Lomond is a mountain in beautiful northern Utah. At the far north end of the Wasatch front, it distinguishes itself from the rest of the range by jotting out from east to west, where as the predominant direction of Wasatch runs nearly dead south to north. As such, the broad shoulders of the mountain are clearly identifiable when entering the Salt Lake Valley from the south, driving over "The Point of The Mountain" - nearly 80 miles away.

The mountain was named by early Sottish immigrant settlers of the area, as it reminded them of a mountain in their homeland that bares the same name. The settlers (Montgomerys), eventually settled in the upper Ogden valley, where as there is a dark black mountain that sits directly north/east of Ben Lomond, that is akin to the island called "The Black Island", which resides in Loc Lomond, beneath the Scottish mountain itself. As such, this dark, rocky and steep mountain is named appropriately "The Black Mountain". A dead give away as to someone that is not "from around here" as they will always call it "Blacks Mountain" (flat landers anyway).

My entire life has been either living on one side or the other of Ben Lomond. For the majority of my life I have lived where I can view the abject beauty of it's prominent eastern features year round. For as many times as I've been to the top, the influence doesn't reside on the rocky slopes alone.  There is a lot more to this story...............

Why We Are Scots

The story of what was to become Ben Lomond High School is a bit.....sorted.

At the early 1950's, Ogden was clearly divided by the Ogden River and the wide valley in which it runs. Ogden High School (the "million dollar school" with the "two-bit student body") had established itself in the current location by nearly 20 years at this point. Never mind the fact that Ogden High itself originated many years before the "new school" had been built, at the old Central Junior High School location. That school had pedigree that included the likes of Moses - or so I'm told. The area north of the river was verboten and considered by many as not truly part of Ogden proper. When a new high school was proposed to be built across from the State School for the Blind, as well as the State Tuberculosis Sanitarium, it was to be called North East Ogden High School. The school colors were to be red and black, as opposed to the OHS orange and black. The moniker was to be the Spikes, again as opposed to the OHS Tigers. How noble, right? I mean tigers are black and orange, where as other animals at the zoo may display variations of red and black (baboons - you figure it out). How could this go wrong?

With the deep seeded animosity between the two geographic locations, there was already a critical distain toward the proposed new high school name. With the gymnasium still under construction at the start of the new school year, an assembly was held with the entire study body in one of the shop areas (either the Auto Shop, or Carpenter Shop) at the new school. At this assembly the root of our inherent pride was clearly manifest. Not only was the general student body not having anything to do with "Ogden High School", they didn't care for the color scheme, or the proposed moniker. I mean, what the hell is a fighting spike anyway? 

Perhaps there may have been a proposal to name the new school "Beckers Academy", but nobody can really vouch for that story (as in the old Beckers Brewery). Rather, it was clearly decided by the student body to name the school after the most prominent feature on the Wasatch front; Ben Lomond High School. The moniker (or mascot) would be the Scot and Lass, with the colors being Tartan Plaid. And there you have it, the rebellious spirit that many yet to come would not only be born, but fully embrace and exemplify. It was only the beginning of what was yet to come.

As I was growing up in the "forbidden land of the under class north east Ogden", Ben Lomond, or BL as it was regularly known, had considerable community pride. There was a rock feature directly at the top of Douglas Street (350 south), that was assembled atop the foothills, making a large and clearly discernable BL, painted white, as to be seen across all of Weber County. Sure there was a "W" around the south side of the same foothills (for Weber/Shopko Highschool), but no O for Ogden, T for Tiger, or anything else to identify the "School of Gilded Alumni". BL symbols meant pride, but not because of any specific notable event, or person (no, Robert Burns is not an alum), but rather from the inherit spirit of identity and rebellion. It was truly a pride in the community and school itself. In 1968, Ogden City completed the through roadway from 9th and Harrison, through river valley and orchards, up the newly built dugway, to 20th and Harrison. Not that this immediately promoted free flowing charity between the two distinctly different sides of Ogden, rather it solidified the differences in earnest. Within 20 years the flow between the two sides would completely dilute, if not dissolve nearly every identifiable feature that led to the original decision of the high school name.

All kidding aside, the pride that was BL in the 1960's and 70's has gone the way of the public payphone and 19 cent Dee burgers. Perhaps loosing the Dee burger was a good thing, but pride of the north side was a monument of character that is sorely needed in today's world.

Loosing an Identity and Selling-Out, a dime at a time....

As I have aged, I have come to realize that I'm truly not the person I have become. This is what has happened to the Pride of the Scots; given away little by little until it is only a slogan. The rock BL was moved to the place of the former "W" in or around 1975-76. One could argue that this coincided with the disintegration of what was the foundation of pride. Certainly not the cause, but a landmark date in time all the same. Few if any truly remember the community pride that was BL. The representation of the school was paramount in my youth. By the time I graduated, many of the staples had already been removed, or remade. I guess it had to be done, as the rebellious streak had turn almost criminal in some respects. I often wonder what my 12-14 year old self would think of the person I've become. At the same time, I wonder what those students some 70 years ago would think of the pride that is at best, a window dressing. Have I sold out, or have I just survived? If this is maturity, I want to be a kid again. Maybe I need to assess what is important and why. Perhaps a Scot can find his way home yet.....

Making the Journey

In my life I have been over the top of that big rock countless times. It is my home. It is were I can find my solace. The bike picture way above was from many years back; a solo ride in the late Autumn, on the old 26" directly on the peak itself. Nobody can ever take that away. To that end, nobody will ever know the deep down inside where I may go when trekking to that spot. For that short period, I see the person I truly am and it haunts me - that I can be something so far from where I truly am. On most weekends, the North Ogden Trail Head going to the peak is a virtual freeway. Apparently everyone has caught on. The image below is from 1919, when the North Ogden Divide was a rocky sheep trail. There are the faces of now long departed scouts that made that trek before it was a Saturday morning activity. They are all gone, but I'll bet the memory of that day lived with them forever. Be capable of all your potential, but don't sell out. Perhaps today is your chance for inventory. Perhaps if you make that trek, you too will be haunted by what you find inside. Perhaps you'll find the true you applauding all that you have become. One can only be so lucky....

Be prepared to fight! Be true. Be who your 12 -14 year old self would admire.

Click Here for In My Life

Ride HARD!

Final Post of 2020 - FINALLY!

 Putting it all behind us- Perspectives

The same place, same time of day - about 7 months later & in the snow.

What a year it has been.  But then again, why do we always delineate our lives by the beginning and end of years? Kind of funny how that happens; as if magically, January 1st erases everything and we get a fresh start. If it were only that way. The truth is we can't uncouple the past.  It is inextricably connected to us, no matter how far forward we may go. So....perhaps we should recognize the past for what it is and embrace what comes next with gusto (if that is even a word in today's lexicon). But here we are.  And all that may really have changed is our perspectives. Chalk it up to our life's experiences. What a ride it has been, and it isn't over by any means - yet!

Brothers and Sisters

The first post for this past season included a subheading called "Brothers". Being true to my methods, I don't use pictures, names, or descriptions of anyone as part of the storyline.  The picture....well, really  was not of the "brothers".  So who are these guys?  It's not that easy. Beside, it is truly brothers and sisters. Over the course of those formative years, I was in the mix with a unique group of kids.  At the time, I don't think any of us thought we were unique.  As time has gone along, it is truly the case. Some of the little jabs we gave each other, the pushing and support....maybe even a little competition between us. In the end, those were the little influences that made our character.  Sometimes a bit more feisty, while knowing where not to stick our noses. Then there were the sisters. One such particular was without a doubt one, the most athletic in our class. I always had tremendous respect for her as a competitor. She also ran with a group of what I would call "compasses". You know the ones. At the end of our sophomore year, she wrote in my year book, "you are the funniest, but laziest person I know". I'm certain it wasn't meant in a derogatory manner, but I never let that out of my head - to this day. Wanting to never be the person that cost us "the game", I worked my tail off. Knowing how hard others would have worked, made me want to work that much harder. Fact is, I needed to work harder than everyone else, just to stay up with them. I'm sure nobody else ever knew how much extra I had to put in, but that's not why I did it. I really couldn't stand the thought of letting any of them down. Believe it or not, that did happen. I doubt anyone else will ever remember, but I sure as hell will never forget. The next morning as I was waking up, on my radio I heard the score from our game the previous evening "19 - 18". I thought I would throw up. By our senior year, I had worked my guts out. By mid year, football behind us (most of us), I began to be complacent. Those others.... they excelled and became stars. Maybe I am lazy, but I don't think I ever let any of them down. I hope I never do let them down either. They are my brothers and sisters.

Two views of Ben Lomond

We are Scots and Lasses

That big rock is more than a landmark. It is my home. Ben Lomond was named by early settlers (Montgomery's) as it reminded them of the mountain near Loc Lomond in Scotland. As seen from my house, you can also see "THE Black Mountain", as in similar to "THE Black Island" in Scotland, in that same lake as well. When our high school first opened, it was already called "East Ogden High", the moniker being the Spikers and the colors being Black and Red. True to the spirit of what would become a lot of us, there was a push-back against the whole "East Ogden" thing. Rather, it was decided by the first student body to call it Ben Lomond, as the Scots/Lasses, and Tartan Plaid as the colors. I don't know that any of us knew it at the time, but we still had the same spirit. Sure it is just a high school, but for us...it was one with our character and pride. I make it a point to visit the Ben Lomond Peak annually. In recent years, it has become rather popular. As the entire Wasatch range runs directly north-south, Ben Lomond cuts abruptly to the west and then back again toward Willard Peak. It is easily noticeable well to the south, as well as from the north by air. When taking the eastern routes back from Detroit, or Minneapolis, we'd quite often cut right over the top. Over the past several years, I have lost far too many of my friends from here. Sure, there are those that were just passing through, but then there are we; born to be here in our time. Our bodies are wearing out, and falling apart, but we still have the benefit of experience on our side. Add this to our Tartan Pride and I think we have one good run left in us yet. Okay...we may have to repent and dump a few extra pounds, but we have it in us to do so. We lost a couple more this past year, and it will only continue. My challenge to all of you reading this is to put that hike on your calendar for 2021. Do what it takes to make it happen, then spread the news to others. This is our year!

The Birthday List:

About a year ago, the group (having just got together for the first time since Moses), started texting each other on individual birthdays. As usual, I had other commitments and wasn't there. After everything that has happened this year, I must admit, it was nice to know they are still out there. Most of the time I would get these messages well after the fact, or while completely pre-occupied. I haven't seen most of them for years and wouldn't recognize them if I did, but they are still there - and they are my brothers. You guys are all awesome! I will always be grateful for ya'll.  And the sisters...I guess they'll have those special days too.  They just don't age, so they can't be birthdays. The compasses and drive......man was I blessed, or simply lucky?

A very short break

Late night in the snow at the fire, with the moon parting the trees and clouds.

This will be by far the biggest riding year for me personally.  There is a lot to do and some serious training to be had. The details will be trickling out just after the first part of the year - February-ish. I won't kid anyone, this is punching well above weight, and will need everything I can muster to pull it off. In the end, it is to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I'm looking for supporters; not for me, but for the purpose "the Porpoise". Swing back around in a couple months. We'll put 2021 on the map!

Going out on a high note this year, and hitting the hill with some speed.  Hook on.  We're going after it!

Lets make 2021 what was taken from us this past year and then some! Time to shove back!

For our gang! Kill'n it still...'81

The Porpoise - 2020

A gift - Please Share it with Everyone

 That good that comes from......!

It is too early to shut it down for the season, but I've come across something that needs to be shared, to everyone, by everyone. Back in the old-timey days, you'd occasionally run across something in the record rack, that just seemed to be overlooked. You'd try it and..... How did you ever not hear it before?  We'll here is that very thing.  There are 100 tracks by two of the most talented people I've ever seen.  Talk about chemistry. They call them "Quarantunes". They were recorded during the spring/early summer quarantine, from their home in NYC (according to the description). From the garbage of that period of time, something truly amazing. I can't image this would have ever happened otherwise.

The very first track (the final of their 100) is a cover of REM's "Everybody hurts". I wrapped the season a few years ago with this - a live recorded cover by the Corrs. It was after a rather surreal weekend and summer.  It's still back there in the many posts.  I don't want to wrap this season on another down note, but I want everyone to hear and see these guys. This is really worth the time, and it will take time.  Thus the early Christmas Gift. Put it in the context of the pandemic crap.

It is simply amazing, the precious gems that can be found in the heaping rubble of what we think was a "bad time".  Thanks Doug and Morgan - for simply not giving up. 

Enjoy these, but please, please, please - pass this along. The world needs to hear what was left in the back of the rack.

Click here for 100 Quarantunes - Morgan James (and Doug Wamble)

Final Post in two weeks. See you then..........

Ride HARD!

The "Brown"

Riding in the Rocks

Technically challenged may be a nice way of describing how bad I am in the rocks.  But, that is what you have on the area of Shoreline that I prefer to ride. You really need to have a little confidence, check that - a ton of confidence to ride these areas. I often find myself getting stiff arms and less than "fluid" in motion.  A bad combination for riding in rocks.  This isn't like "pump-track", or bike park riding.  This is brutal in spots.  Basically I suck at this type riding, but I still do it.

If you didn't know better, one might think parts of this trail are in North Fork.  Nope!. Not even close.

Still it is dirt riding, just different.

You can never go back

This place has changed a lot over the years. There a lot of memories from up here. Some good, some not so good.  And frankly some are just bad. We used to spend a lot time chasing game birds up around this particular spot. When not hunting season, it was a convenient place to get away from society - for a while. From this setting above the waterfall in Ogden Canyon, you could see down into the canyon itself and over to the hot-pots. Quite a few rattle snakes kept you on the watch. Some rather crazy stuff was known to have occurred right here. The crooked steps and structure have been there as long as I can remember. A lot of the other stuff was cobbled-in later on. Knowing so much of what happened here kind of haunts me. I'm likely not alone. You go to a place that used to be a get away, only to be chilled by memories.  Maybe those days weren't so great after all. Those crooked stairs.

There is a lot to do and the clock is ticking. I'm wasting time already, but I have less than zero motivation. You want so much to go back, but those bridges went out a long time ago. There is truly no going back - only forward. What's it gonna take?

Looking to wrap up in the next coupled weeks, but hate to do it on a bummer. Enough of the whining - REALLY!  Lets toss these stupid masks and get on with it - whatever IT may be.

"If you only knew, you'd wish you were in my shoes....Do Do those things you do". The smoothest blued-eyed soul I've ever heard.

Click here for the absolute greatest Bill Withers cover "Use Me"

Ride HARD!

 

Melancholy

 Back to the other side...

Sunset from the bottom trails at Bonneville Shoreline.

Finally got back on the mountain bike, but on the other side of the mountain.  The Bonneville Shoreline Trail (BST) is quite different from North Fork. It takes a little getting used to, but a great place to work on the off-season skills. This particular segment will burn-off earlier then other areas and usually gets a ton of traffic. Tonight was just a quick up and back. Nothing too serious.  Only enough to burn my lugs with the cold air - kind of stupid.

The need to condition is ever present, but the need to improve some basic skills is very important as well.  There are a lot of differences between road riding and dirt riding.  There a lot of different types of dirt riding and bikes to go with them. Dirt riding requires considerably more athleticism than road riding, well beyond conditioning. Knowing your bike is only a beginning.  Mastering basic skills is a must. Improving advanced skills, makes the experience a whole lot better. At the end of it all, we only do this for the escape.  Who needs more stress?  The satisfaction of riding to ones limits are ingratiating. Setbacks suck, but that's what makes us better; pushing through the hardship.

Hats off to Katie

I don't really follow anyone else, but I do kind of pay attention.  There are a ton of people that have biking gigs on Youtube. I'll occasionally watch some of them for some ideas, but really don't stay up on them.  I was truly impressed by Macky's Everesting attempt earlier this fall. That guy is a lot tougher than I would have given him credit.  I will link that one below. The one that kind of struck home was Katie Kookaburra's thing the other day. Again, I don't follow her either, but am intrigued by her story. I'll post that link below as well. A huge fan of the human spirit, I love to see people overcome those things that seem hard. It is simply amazing what we can do if we let ourselves overcome the pain and discomfort. 

In a way, I can kind relate to Katie, in that I'm slow on the climbs.  I'm not built for cycling, but I love it all the same. When I was 19 years old, I had just finished playing varsity football my freshman year of college. At 184 pounds, I was less than 8% body fat. According to every chart known to man, that is still too heavy to be a competitive cyclist. So here I am how many years later, 20+ pounds over that in the off season, and no chance of ever getting below 190 again, but trying to compete with 165 pound rockets.  That's okay, but I'll never own a KoM record. Then again, maybe I need to be more demanding of myself. After seeing Katie smoke her goal, I feel like I should stop being a victim of my own self doubt.  Sound familiar?

There is a lot coming this next season, and I need to find that motivation  - FAST!  

Meanwhile, hats off to both Katie and Macky (& Syd).  You are truly studs in my book.

Click here to see Katies QoM.

Click here to see Macky's Everesting - You will hurt!

If I could only be as tough....

About Heroes

 What Really Matters

If you're not from around here, it's likely you've not seen this spectacular site in person. That is a look up into Cold Water Canyon, above North Ogden. The flag (called "The Major"), is placed there by a group of volunteers every year for election day, through Veteran's Day. It is suspended by a large cable, from one side of the canyon to the other. The story behind the flag is truly inspiring and tragic. It is the true cost of freedom measured in one's own life. Without the details, it was started when a local man was killed overseas, serving our nation. It happened just after the election day of that year. He had written a article about the importance of voting, the respect for the process and how essential it is to our freedom - regardless of for whom, or how you may otherwise vote. It is not free...

The Crew...

I've shared this image before. It is very personal for me. A group of nineteen year olds, leaving for another mission - a raid if you will. An entire life ahead of them, and everything to live for, but willing to put it all on the line for the sake of freedom. Those guys all made it home and went on to live their lives. They are all gone now, but their dedication, willingness and courage live on in the freedom that was eventually preserved and won. Those big mitts manned those twin-fifties in the upper right hand side of the frame. They taught me how to shoot, and about everything else I needed to known to survive in my earlier life. The tall skinny kid was shoved into the tail, guarding from rear with a set of Brownings as well. I met him about thirty years ago - like meeting a legend you may have thought was only a myth. The flight engineer manned a set in the top turret, while the radio man doubled in the "waist gunner" spot. The other wait window gunner, ball gunner, pilot, co-pilot and nav are not in this picture. The ground crew chief is there in the middle - responsible for getting that bird off the ground and back home - still part of the crew all the same. I can't imagine what nineteen would be like in that world. I have the rest of the pictures that are equally important to me. In my office I don't keep any personal effects. I do have a picture of this bird in flight shortly after V-E day, flying a "blue-bomb" mission over Scotland. It serves as a constant reminder to me of how many paid a price along the way, for what we all take for granted today. No, none of them were perfect - far from it. But then, if we waited for perfection to grace us, and preserve the day.....it may be a long wait. I'll take the crew any day.

The Entire Crew without the officers - hardly menacing. 

Lessons learned too late to appreciate

There are heroes and survivors all around us, if we could only recognize them for what they truly are.  In this case, these guys all just wanted to go home and put the war behind them. When I was in junior high, we had a teacher that survived the concentration camps. He had still had the tattooed marking given him by his captors. He was a thin man, very unassuming. Nobody really knew his story, as I think he just wanted to put the war behind him as well. It wasn't until years later that I found out about his history. They are all gone now, but not in my own mind. The things I learned from all of them didn't set in until much later in my own life.  I am a fool. My riding buddy is a retired vet - something like forty years. A very good friend, a neighbor, served in Vietnam. He is suffering the effects of exposure to chemical agents while there, but he doesn't complain. A dear friend of mine told me recently of her dad that fought in the Navy. The family apparently hardly knew anything of his service, but only of his influence and example. You see, that is how it works.  These guys have been all around us, but we just don't appreciate the price they have paid - generally until it is too late. Well...better late than never, right? What is important is that we never forget our heroes - and they are all heroes to me.

More than  twenty years ago, I had the opportunity to meet a Marine (there is no such thing as a former Marine). It was all business, but right toward the end of our transaction, he made mention of something that tipped me off as to him being a Marine. When I inquired, he told me only of his unit, and only because I asked. He was certainly not volunteering anything. I commented that February 19th, 1945 was a big day for him, in which replied with some curiosity "how did you know that?". That was the initial invasion of Iwo Jima. He then started telling me of his experience - it just roll out. It was one of the most awesome, but humbling things I had experienced. He then abruptly stopped and said, he didn't understand why he was telling me any of this, as he had never even told his own family. He then proceeded to tell me even more of his experience on that island. He described in detail how his best friend was killed laying directly to his side as they tried to take shelter in the hot volcanic ash of the initial assault. And later how another fellow was killed just to his other side exactly the same way. A string of bullets skipped over him both times to take the person next to him. I will never forget how he told me he was scared to death from the day he shipped out of San Diego, until the day he got back to San Francisco in the end. I couldn't believe what he had shared with me - and particularly how personal it was. I never saw him again, nor can I remember his name. I will never forget him sharing that with me. I have been in the presence of legends!

So what does this have to do with riding? Nothing. Nothing at all. I pretend to be a hero and ride my bike - as if that is hard, or heroic. I know that defending the otherwise defenseless is necessary, but how can I ever measure up to such a tall standard? If I could only be a fraction of what any of these guys are, I'd be something.

Thanks to you that have had to fight and did so willingly. You are my heroes....

Here's to all my heroes - Click here

It's snowing................